Chapter 14 Csilla #2
Her head pounded, and she realised too late she should have asked for water while she was still in the cell.
Mercy would have had them give it to her.
He only answered with a considering hmm, not looking at her.
Even she wasn’t naive enough to think he’d forgotten the wrong she’d done.
But maybe, if she was quick, she could stall it long enough to cross a friendlier threshold before being questioned. Use Mihály as her shield.
Mihály, who hadn’t come for her, even though he must have guessed. She had to soothe that anger, lull it into something harmless, before going back to him.
‘You know, I can find my way myself,’ she tried, walking a little faster. ‘Please, you’ve done more than enough.’
He gave her a slanted look that cut off her protests.
As they rounded the corner to a deserted street, something changed in Ilan’s step.
Csilla’s heart skipped, reacting to some instinct a half-second before he grabbed her and yanked her into an alley so quickly she couldn’t scream.
He jammed his cane against her chest, the pricks of the ears on the silver wolf-head handle biting through her shift dress and into her sternum.
‘Now that we are alone, tell me the truth. What were you looking for?’ His eyes were icier than the midwinter wind.
Her heart hammered, but the rest of her was frozen, torn between the pain that would come from both lies and the truth. He tilted the cane slightly.
‘You’re hurting me,’ she spat, but her words died as she realised that was the point. He was no longer the Head of Justice, but he’d have the interrogation.
His eyes narrowed. The pressure grew until she was sure there would be spots of blood beneath her chemise and the imprint of brick on her back as she tried to shy away.
‘We want to find the killer,’ she forced out, and he withdrew the cane, a sweet relief. ‘He’s helping me save the city.’
She’d caught him by surprise. An awkward sense of pride cut her fear at the open confusion on his face. She had to take advantage of it.
‘I know the Church wanted him dead. If it’s willing to break its own laws, things must be dire.
’ She couldn’t read what Ilan was thinking, but the fact that he clearly was thinking was a good sign.
‘I was looking at your things because I needed names to know where to start. And you showed me the demons, and I just talked to refugees from Ruze, and . . .’ Her rushing voice caught, remembering the fear in the woman’s eyes. ‘And I think you might be right.’
Ilan’s posture eased a fraction.
‘And I’m not going to say Mihály is perfect.’ She wasn’t entirely sure she would even say he was good. ‘But he is blessed. And he knows things.’
‘Does he have any leads?’ There was something new in his gaze now. Curiosity.
‘He has ideas.’ Terrible ideas, yes, but at least that was true. ‘And power. With the Incarnate gone, Mihály is the most blessed thing our city has.’
Ilan hesitated a moment, then stepped back. ‘I’d like to talk to him.’
Csilla stiffened. She’d meant to save herself, not set the idea out as bait. More time with Ilan was the last thing she wanted.
‘I’ll tell him, and we’ll send a message . . .’ That would give her a little time to confer with him at least.
‘Now will do.’
The stranger and his soft request for names came back to her. He’d been wearing the uniform that had once been Ilan’s.
‘And why didn’t you bring this up in front of the new inquisitor?’
He tapped his cane against the ground sharply next to her foot, and she winced, though it only hit stone. She shouldn’t have spoken, even if it was to remind him of what he should already know.
The ice in his eyes had turned to fire.
‘I’m sworn to follow Asten. There have been missteps in the past. I’m making sure Sandor isn’t another one.’
The passion in his words reminded her of Mihály, when he was lecturing her about his theories, but the name was unfamiliar.
‘Sandor? Which church did he come from?’ She hadn’t heard of any priests on the way to Silgard from other territory basilicas or smaller houses of worship.
‘Directly from the Incarnate’s warfront.’
She gave a disbelieving cough, then smothered it.
Directly from the warfront, and Ilan was questioning it.
There was having a suspicious nature, and then there was wounded pride making more than there was of a situation.
She’d always respected Ilan’s role, if not liked it, but being bullied over what amounted to a professional rivalry . . .
She shook her head. ‘If your position has been taken from you, I’m sorry for that. But we don’t get to choose how we serve, and—’
‘The fact that Sandor let you go is proof enough he doesn’t understand our city and should return those reins to me.’
Let her go. A new thought dawned.
‘You didn’t tell him what . . . who . . . I am.’
For all his anger and suspicion, Ilan hadn’t said a thing about her soulless nature or shown the man her crossed palm.
Ilan blinked, face shifting in surprise, as if he hadn’t realised it himself. ‘No. I didn’t.’
Csilla let out a soft breath, twisting her hands together. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to hear him out. Ilan was the striking hand of the same Church that wanted Mihály gone, but he also had details they needed.
‘If you let me take you to Mihály, he can explain things better than I can. But you have to listen. Regardless of what heresy you hear, you have to remember that we are trying to save the city. Like you.’
Ilan’s jaw tightened, weighing the choice. Finally, he gave a little nod.
Csilla swallowed hard and motioned for him to follow her. He was no demon, but angels had once been equally terrifying in their justice – perhaps all the more so because the punishments they dealt were deserved.