Chapter 15 Csilla #2
Csilla hesitated, searching for the right words as she cradled a teacup in her hands.
Ilan was the embodiment of the rule of Asten.
He would hurt her in line with those principles, but if he thought helping them was the divine will, he would do that, too.
‘We want the same thing: home. Safe in the Church. You want to restore your position. I need a miracle to stay.’
Because whether it came from Asten or Mihály or the gracious leave of the Faith, that was what staying would be. A miracle.
Droplets of tea dribbled over the lip of the cup, a line of burnt brown down white porcelain as her hands shook.
‘If catching sinners earned you miracles, I’d be the most blessed man in the Union,’ Ilan said, but his voice was softer.
Was that compassion? She looked up to the quietness in his gaze. It was certainly the least fearsome look she had seen on him, and she wondered what hope kept him praying in the dark.
‘If you do want to work with us, it may mean accepting a certain amount of . . .’ She didn’t want to call it heresy. ‘. . . unconventional doctrine. He’s done a lot of research, you know. Everything we have isn’t everything there is.’ She paused. ‘Please don’t hurt him.’
Ilan was quiet for a long moment, tightness in his jaw. ‘I will not act against the Izir unless absolutely necessary, regardless of how I feel.’
That promise was a small relief, though she had only her trust in his honour that it wasn’t a lie. ‘You probably won’t like him—’
‘I already don’t like him,’ Ilan cut her off. ‘He’s obnoxious.’
That startled a laugh from her, and she smothered it. Ilan had meant it as fact, not jest.
‘I’m sorry about what’s happened. I was always afraid of you, but I didn’t mean for you to lose your position.’
‘You were afraid of me?’ Ilan let out a disbelieving breath. ‘What did I ever do to you?’
What had he ever needed to do to anyone? The sure violence of his bootsteps in the corridors had been enough to have even the Prelate stand a little straighter.
‘Well now you’ve arrested me, and not very nicely.
’ Her chest still hurt from where he shoved her.
‘But it wasn’t what you did to me.’ She’d been close enough to his interrogation halls to hear every cadence of scream, and mercy work was often the tail end of delivered justice.
‘It was what you did to others. Ordinary men don’t take such joy in punishment. ’
His eyes glittered, blue as the sapphires she’d given away. ‘Ordinary men have not been called.’
From down the hallways came voices, one of them distinctly Mihály’s forceful baritone. Csilla let out a quiet sigh of relief. She didn’t want to argue with Ilan about the Church’s stance on pain.
He threw the door to the room open. His skin was damp with a light sheen of sweat, his pupils dark and wide. Tamas’s warnings about spells came back to her.
‘Csilla, you’re alright, aren’t you?’
His words were half-lost in panting breaths as he charged forward, and she barely had time to set her cup on the table as he came at her in a storm of worry, kneeling and grabbing her by the shoulders.
He was partially undressed, shirt untucked, pants creased, and the scent of tobacco clung to his hair.
‘I was absolutely panicked.’ He turned and looked at Ilan, face half a snarl. ‘And apparently I have a good reason to be.’
Were you? It was an uncharitable thought, but by the wrinkled state of his clothes and the smell, he’d been somewhere in the house smoking and dozing.
‘I’m fine.’ She gave a small, reassuring smile and removed his hands, though the flush lingered.
It was nice to be worried about, even with the sobering knowledge that she wasn’t really the one he was panicked over.
‘The inquisitor brought me back.’ She paused.
The least ridiculous way was just to say it. ‘He wants to work with us.’
‘ “Want” is a strong term,’ Ilan said, standing.
Mihály’s flustered worry turned slate. ‘Last time we spoke, you all but threatened to have me flayed.’
Ilan scowled. ‘You deserve it.’
Csilla looked between them, exhausted shoulders sagging further. This was wonderful. If the two of them couldn’t speak civilly for five minutes, they were all damned.
‘Goodbye, Inquisitor.’ Mihály gestured to the door. ‘If that’s all you have to say, you can leave.’
Ilan made no motion to do so. ‘Csilla tells me you have delusions of saving the city. Why do you think you’ll be able to do what I couldn’t? We’ve been hunting the killer for weeks.’
‘Other than the fact that Asten clearly likes me more? That has to count for something.’
Ilan’s fists clenched, and Csilla had a sudden vision of scrubbing blood of various degrees of holiness out of the rug. She put a hand on Mihály’s arm, but he wasn’t in the mood to be pacified.
‘Go back to the cathedral. This doesn’t concern you.’
Ilan’s frown deepened. ‘It’s in my city, under my charge; it most certainly does. Hopefully before Silgard rots even more.’ There was something grave and unsettling in his gaze, and Csilla rubbed her scars. Ever since she’d touched the body, they’d prickled like an ivy rash.
Mihály raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down.
‘You know, I seem to remember more decoration on that cassock of yours. So, you’re acting on your faith, but the Church has lost faith in you.
Don’t come here looking down your nose when you’re asking for our help, as selfish as the rest of us.
Say we help you. When you do get your position back, what of us?
The killer’s trail is lined with heresy.
When you’re back in charge, will you remember what you saw and bring your justice down on us?
We’re trying to clear my name, not ruin it. ’
Ilan opened his mouth, but Csilla cut him off, even as it pained her to do so. ‘You promised you’d listen.’
He shifted, looking to her. ‘And I did. Now I’m starting to feel like I made a mistake. This is no path to Asten’s return.’
‘Then we don’t need your help,’ Mihály said. ‘No doubt there are plenty of people breathing a sigh of relief you’re not in charge of their souls anymore.’
‘I don’t trust the man they’ve placed in charge.’ Ilan’s voice was level, but there was murder in his gaze.
Csilla edged her way in front of Mihály. The Church had wanted him dead once. Ilan could probably get away with trying it again.
‘Of course you don’t. He stole your job.’ Mihály’s words were strained with incredulity. ‘Coming to us is a bit extreme, don’t you think? If you truly believe we’re evil, you’re risking your own eternity being here.’
It was true. Of the three of them, Ilan was the only one with something left to lose.
‘You were at the club too, weren’t you?’ Ilan asked, looking Mihály in the eyes. ‘Maybe I should bring you in . . .’
He shot Csilla a look that set off fresh guilt. He didn’t know what had happened. ‘Why? I left right after Csilla. Lost my appetite. You can ask anyone there.’
‘Mihály,’ Csilla started. ‘Someone was killed there. In the exact same way.’ She’d assumed he’d heard the commotion if nothing else. But if he’d come home to sulk, he’d been gone before the alarm was raised.
Mihály’s eyes widened. ‘But we were just there. I didn’t see anything.’
‘No one ever sees anything,’ Ilan said, voice clipped. ‘That’s the trouble. You’re very sure you didn’t see anything? No one with a darkness on them?’
‘I don’t know that I would have been able to tell. I don’t carry Church glass.’
‘I would have thought you could sense a demon.’
At that, Mihály sat back. ‘The Church thinks it’s a demon now? Open-minded of them to consider a failure.’
Ilan drew himself up. ‘I think it is.’
‘And that’s why they aren’t letting you be in charge anymore, is that it?’ Mihály’s grin was the closing teeth of a bear trap.
A muscle in Ilan’s cheek twitched, a clear fight for composure. ‘Yes. And their attempt at fixing things is only going to make it worse.’ Ilan turned back to Csilla. ‘You heard Sandor’s new policy. He’s promising indulgence for turning neighbour on neighbour.’
Mihály cocked his head and gave half a shrug. ‘Not that I’m endorsing the method, but if they have information, maybe it will help.’
‘Anyone who has actual information would have already brought it to us,’ Ilan said. ‘Now they’re just trying to shove someone else in front of them to avoid suspicion, and our time is going to be wasted squeezing stones for blood.’
‘Torturing innocent people, you mean,’ Csilla said as her heart skipped.
Mihály settled close beside her and put his hand on her leg for reassurance, and Ilan raised an eyebrow.
Csilla didn’t shift. She wasn’t entirely comfortable, but it was rare to be offered comfort, even if it did lessen whatever opinion Ilan had of her.
Ilan nodded slowly. ‘And they’ll hate the Church for it.’
‘What does it matter to you if you’re whipping one citizen or ten, for sins you’ve catalogued or ones he’s trying to find?
’ Mihály prodded, his fingers tightening on Csilla’s thigh in his passion.
‘They call you the wolf, but you’re really the Church’s dog, and the second they give word you’ll snap to heel. ’
Ilan snarled in a way that did little to disprove Mihály’s assessment, but the Izir continued to stare him down. ‘So you don’t like the new man in charge. So the Church doesn’t believe your theory. Doesn’t mean we should help you.’
Ilan was going to walk out and take all his information with him. Whatever his feelings, he still knew more about the murders than they did. This was their chance to get help from someone on the inside.
She put her hand over Mihály’s, his fingers loosening to allow hers to slide through.
‘Mihály, he’s right. We don’t know what we’re doing.’ Regardless of what Ilan would say about what they planned to do with the killer, they didn’t have much hope of finding him alone. Ilan would be useful.
Mihály’s glare had a hint of betrayal, but he didn’t contradict her. He sighed, then moved his arm to slip around her shoulders. It was uncomfortably warm, but she forced a smile.
‘Fine,’ the Izir said finally, continuing to hold Csilla so she couldn’t even squirm. ‘But if you want to work with us, you see all of it.’