“You think this is some kind of conspiracy?” Her exhalation was a brittle laugh. “I didn’t kill him because I’m not as good as you I suppose. And as for your work, I just needed the information. Not for anything bad.”
“Why?”
He didn’t sound like he believed her. Her breathing quickened. She knew what happened when he didn’t believe someone- screams and burns and blood. He reached for the cell lock, fingertips scraping the iron.
“Ilan, what is the meaning of this?” A new priest was behind Ilan, arms crossed, and Csilla had never been so glad to see a member of the faith. This strange man wore the Head Inquisitor’s robes, and his lack of familiarity with her would only serve her well right now.
“This is the last of them?” He tilted his head. “Good. Question her and be done with it. No need to toy with her like a cat.”
Csilla pulled her hands to her chest as if that could spare them from fetters. Ilan didn’t take his eyes from her, pinning her as surely as with iron.
“I know this girl, and I know she hasn’t killed anyone.” Csilla shivered at the slither in his voice; he called her innocent, but there was no exoneration there.
“Then she has something to say about someone else?” The man’s expression lightened. “Come, then, girl, out with it. Who should we be bringing in for iron shoes tonight?”
“I- no one!” Csilla stuttered. “I don’t know who the murderer is.”
“You won’t give us a name, any person who might have information? It will be a blessing on your soul."
She winced as he continued.
"Surely you must have some little sin you wish to clear. And we have ways if you don’t wish to talk.” He delivered the threat with no change to cadence, so smooth it almost slid right past her.
Torturing people for information? She chilled at the thought. The church was there to protect the faithful, and if it hurt them it was only in the name of salvation. Her eyes flickered to Ilan, but he didn’t say anything, not about the torture. Not even about the fact that there was no way to view her sins.
And she certainly had sins now. She pressed her lips together and shook her head.
The large man reached past Ilan, taking the key and freeing her. “Well then, we’re done here. And you,” he said, eyes back on Csilla. “You’re always welcome to return with better information.”
Ilan’s fingers tightened around the bar, and his face took on the terrifying calm of a holy statue. “Come then, Csilla. I’ll take you home.”
“I’m staying with the widow Varga,” Csilla tried to fill the cold morning air with chatter, if only to stop Ilan from asking the questions he clearly wanted to. “She was very kind to take me in.” Her head pounded, and she realized 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 hm, not even 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.
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 and into her sternum.
“Now that we are alone, tell me the truth. What were you looking for?” His eyes were icier than a mid-winter 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 realized that was the point.
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 Orban, 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 strange man and his soft request for names came back to her. He’d been wearing the uniform that had once been Ilan’s. “This has something to do with the new Inquisitor, doesn’t it.” She could have laughed. She’d always respected Ilan’s role, if not liked it, but being bullied over what amounted to a professional rivalry...
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.
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 this isn’t another one. The fact that Sandor let you go is proof enough he doesn’t understand our city and should return those reins to me.”
The passion in his words reminded her of Mihály, when he was lecturing her about his theories.
“You didn’t tell him what I was.”
Ilan blinked, face shifting in surprise. “No. I didn’t.”
