There was something sweet about the guilt on Mihály’s face.
‘Well, there is one way to check.’ Tamas procured a small, wrapped bundle, the embroidered yellow and red flowers far too cheerful for the atmosphere. He unwrapped the cloth and tumbled the glass piece onto her palm.
She held her breath, waiting for the shimmer of a soul.
There was still nothing save shadows cast by firelight.
None of them should have expected any better. She squeezed her eyes shut. It didn’t matter – she still had things to do, a slice of hope thin as her new cuts that they would perform some great good for the city.
Her stomach rolled at the thought, and she slumped against Mihály. Surely she hadn’t lost enough blood for this level of exhaustion. Even her thoughts were slow.
Tamas set the glass down hard enough to rattle. ‘Let her rest.’ The words were more an order than request.
‘Well I won’t be able to look after her, I’m escorting that woman to her party.’ Mihály gave an irritated inhale. ‘And if I don’t go . . .’
‘You’ll piss that old woman off and lose what home you have managed to give the girl. Go with her. I’ll take care of Csilla.’
‘You’re right,’ Mihály said, and there was a softness in his voice, in his hands as he stroked her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Csilla. I’m so sorry.’
The apology wasn’t much, but it was genuine.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, bracing herself to stave off the dizziness. If she just said it enough, even to herself, it had to be true.
25
Ilan
Saving the city was well and good, but there was nothing better than being right.
Ilan drank deep of the satisfaction as the elders and Sandor looked at him with alarmed expressions. Ágnes was seated, wrapped in a grey shawl and murmuring prayers between hollow coughs. Abe’s face was unreadable, but he was listening. Frozen in stained glass, the angels seemed to be listening, too.
‘Look at the evidence, the history. We can’t deny the connections.’
He gestured again to his notes, the paper still creased where it had been folded by Mihály’s hands; he pressed his lips at the reminder of the Izir. ‘I assume the completion of the ritual will cut the continent from Arany’s protection entirely.’
‘And erase the Seal?’ Prelate Abe asked, pale.
‘I don’t think that’s possible,’ a congregational elder interjected. ‘Not unless they pollute it directly. And it’s protected.’
We were protected, too.
‘If they complete their ritual, it will hardly matter. A heart can barely beat if the body is so broken. Maybe those lucky enough to have been confirmed here will still be effective, but there are hardly many. And it’s not as if the angels show a sign of comingback and bleeding for us again.’ He looked up to the image of Arany. The gold on her wings was dull orange in the low light, but the red-stained glass at her feet had darkened to the richness of wine.
‘Then, forgive my language, but we are already fucked, are we not?’ Sandor’s hands slapped his thighs, and a few jumped at the sudden echo. ‘There’s only one place that’s left uncorrupted, even if the Church guards the Seal.’
Ilan frowned. ‘That’s no reason to give up. We can still find whoever did this now that we know where they’ll be hunting. There are priests here who can still banish.’ Abe nodded at that, clearly grasping at the slim thread on offer. ‘We can get the demon out of whoever it’s possessing to do this dark work and see if they know how to reverse their spell.’
He’d pull the details from their killer himself – the killers, if need be. There was always a possibility the demon was using more than one body. Anyone greedy or foolish enough to let a monster in deserved their bones smashed to powder in their skin.
‘Reasonable.’ Abe stood, smoothing down his robes. ‘We will send out small patrols, inconspicuous, with a Silgard-sworn priest in each. Keep the people inside. Don’t trust anyone you speak to, save each other.’ He touched his mark, the glow faint as the last slip of sunset. ‘And pray.’
‘I also would like a word.’ Ágnes stood before the members could depart. ‘I’ve decided to take my anchorage. I’m too tired for mercy work, and my priests’ hands and attention are far more needed by others now.’ She smiled weakly, spiderweb-fine wrinkle lines around her eyes crumpling. ‘I should like to spend my last days praying for the safety of the Union.’ The soft acceptance of pain reminded him of Csilla.
The air sank with the intake of breaths. Abe moved first, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder. ‘You’ve more than earned your rest. We will make you comfortable.’
Csilla. She’d been heartsick enough over not being able to tend to the old man. She’d never get over this.
The other priests touched Ágnes’s hands in blessings and reverence. The touch of those about to enter anchorage was also sacred, close to Brilliance as they were.
