He wouldn’t think about how she shook tucked in front of him on Vihar, her small hands and their years of thankless work. “If that is Asten’s will, so be it.” He’d borrow a little of her kindness and make the cuts as clean as possible.
7
Csilla
The slice-thunk of knife through onion was repetitive enough to be soothing and quick enough to distract. Kitchen preparations were hardly Csilla’s favorite duty, but today she was grateful. She could be alone, with only the cat twining around her feet waiting for her generosity, and any watering eyes could be blamed on the onion sting.
Had Mihály run? It was the only question that mattered. If he’d been wise and left the city, she might have a prayer of staying. She would have at least gotten the trouble out, and that had been the result they’d wanted. Even if every second of her continued service was a lie.
The cat, Erzsébet, batted at her skirt hem, catching a dangling string and rolling, fiercely defeating the cloth. As Csilla glanced down with a sigh for the new fabric now fraying, and the cat gave a hungry and hopeful yowl.
“You can’t even eat these. Bad for cats,” Csilla cautioned, leaning over to scratch the tabby between her ears and earning a swat at her hand. At least Erzsébet pulled her claws this time.
When she looked up, Ágnes was in the doorway.
Csilla’s smile fell at the sorrow in Ágnes’s expression. The woman had aged a dozen years in the span of as many hours.
“Oh, my Csilla.”
All the weight of the world was in those soft notes. Csilla’s throat closed, and she set her knife down.
“Show me your hand.” Ágnes gestured, and Csilla had the immediate urge to shove it in her apron pocket like a child insisting her fist wasn’t full of sweets. But she wasn’t a child, and she couldn’t lie. She uncurled her fingers one by one and offered her palm.
The truth of where she’d been and who she’d let touch her was undeniable on her skin.
“So it’s true.” Ágnes‘ voice quivered.
Csilla’s breath quickened as apologies, excuses, and confessions all struggled to come out at once. I showed mercy. I made a kind judgment. She needed Ágnes to see how well she’d paid attention to everything she’d been taught, but her nerves failed, and she stayed silent, back pressed against the counter.
“I don’t blame you,” Ágnes said as she squeezed the blasphemous hand, the words so quiet it was as if she were afraid of even their god overhearing. “But I’d hoped they were wrong.”
“They?” For a dizzy moment Csilla thought she was referring to blessed Asten. Had her weakness been so wicked They’d sent Ágnes a personal vision to torment her? But Asten could never be wrong.
Ágnes didn’t let her go. “The Church knows you didn’t do it.”
How? The question scratched, but it was smothered by the older woman’s sudden, uncontrollable cough. Sharp worry seized Csilla, and she swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Mihály heals. If you talk to him...”
Ágnes caught her breath. “Mihály? You speak of him like a friend now?” The disappointment in her tone was worse than any childhood slap. “We taught you mercy, but perhaps you drank too deeply. Obedience is an equal virtue. As is justice.”
Everything in creation was balanced. Even mercy had counterweights.
Csilla’s answer was cut off as Abe and Ilan entered. Her eyebrows knitted together at the grim procession. Of course the Inquisitor had been the one to turn her in. He should have taken her directly to the gates and thrown her out if this was how it was going to end. Why even pretend to care whether she returned safely? Why pretend he hadn’t known?
“Csilla,” Abe said, and she stepped into the cat, who gave an indignant hiss that nearly made her laugh; Erzsébet wouldn’t understand the gravity. She looked from face to face—sorrowful, judgmental, indifferent. “The Izir showed up at our gates asking about you. How is that, assuming you did the task we entrusted to you?”
Mihály. Here. Even after what she’d done he’d come for her. The thought gave her a kernel of heart. He’d known her an hour and offered her more grace than those who had raised her.
“Was there some intervention?” the Prelate continued. “A reason it didn’t work, perhaps?”
He was trying to excuse her, Ágnes nodding at the gentle question. It was kind, but futile.
“I gave him a tainted bottle.” She was always careful with her words, but she could never resist adding a little extra truth to lay herself bare. “After telling him it was poisoned.”
“Csilla." Ágnes sagged against the countertop, and Csilla blinked away new tears. It was horrible enough that her only family had to hurt, but it was hot-iron agony to be the cause of the pain. She should shut her mouth to anything except apologies, and pray they were enough of a balm.
But there were more truths she had to say, lest they choke her where she stood.
“The taking of a life is reserved for Asten and Asten alone. I won’t make myself a murderess or him a martyr.” Her voice shook, but the words made it out. She loved the Church, and in this the Church was wrong, and both those things could be true even if it ripped her apart inside.
“The Incarnate speaks for Asten and Their will. Do you deny it?” With every word Abe closed the space between them.
“No.” But she’d never met the Incarnate directly, only seen him in his coat of brilliant silver riding far from the people he guided. She’d felt Mihály’s power on her skin.
“Then you admit you think yourself above him?” He was close enough now to fill her vision, and the waft of sandalwood clinging to his robes mixing with the kitchen scents curled her stomach. It was the smell of a place of comfort, even as he shifted his knife.
“Of course not!” Csilla’s voice colored in despair. “I don’t understand why you’re acting like I’ve done some horrible thing when all I did was choose not to kill someone.” She didn’t want to be disobedient, but they had to understand that it was too much to ask. No matter how they justified it, it was wrong. If it hadn’t been, one of them would have gone instead. There would have been no question of sin or glory.
The Prelate’s eyes darkened. “You didn’t just fail, then. You refused to protect the Church.”
The truth of that slid between her ribs, hitting vital spots.
“Then I was weak, and I’m sorry.” She glanced towards the inquisitor standing at attention in the doorway, his face a mask. He no doubt already had an appropriate consequence in mind. Hopefully she came out of it with all her fingers. “If you’re going to punish me, fine, please at least wait until I’ve finished here. People are hungry.” Others shouldn’t have to suffer for her failure.
Abe cleared his throat. “There’s no sense in cleaning your soul when you don’t have one.”
The words dropped like stones in still water. They would kill her.
