Not fully safe. A strange dank odor on Mihály skin lingered even under his clothes, a smell that was half-storm and half-burned sugar wafting off him. His fingers were stained charcoal dark where they had touched the creature.

Those blackened fingers twirled a few chestnut strands of her loose hair in soft connection and Csilla couldn't bring herself to push him away even as her skin crawled. Ilan’s frown only deepened.

“We can’t risk more traffic in or out.”

Her stomach clenched at the very idea. This was a pilgrimage city where people came for hope. No believer should be denied that.

But if Mihály looked bad, Ilan looked worse, and that was only after one brief encounter.

“I should have been there.” She’d let them go alone, convinced it was better, and they might not have come back at all.

“There’s nothing you could have done, and you’re the most vulnerable of us,” Mihály said, a plain truth that still ached. The honeyed affection in his tone was meant as a balm over her worry, but it only made it sting. “We made it back.”

“Does it mean we’re already too late?” But they had managed to banish the demon. They weren’t totally powerless.

“Frankly, it doesn’t matter to me.” Mihály brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek, an exhausted tremor in the gesture. “My power is fine. Certainly still effective enough for our plan.“ He slid his arms around her and pulled her to him, delicate fetters around her waist. Ilan coughed and Csilla turned, an elbow wedged against Mihály’s side to give herself air.

“Mihály. It matters to me.“ Whatever the demon contact had brought out in him was ugly and raw. Maybe it had always been there, and the scab had only just been pulled away to reveal the wound beneath.

“We’re likely too late for most of the continent,” Ilan said quietly. “Even if the Incarnate returns now.”

Csilla shook her head, the words refusing to sink in like oil sliding over water. “I don’t understand. The Church’s magic still works, you banished the demon...”

“That was Mihály. I was useless.” The words came with a flash of self-loathing even she could see. “I don’t think you understand the seal, Csilla. In fact, I’m starting to suspect none of us did, not really.”

Mihály opened his mouth to speak, but Csilla stopped him with a raised hand. “What do you mean?”

“You know Silgard was founded to be a central gathering point for the angels; that’s where the districts came from. Each got a seat for their territory, a place for their citizens to stay when they came to the grand cathedral to worship or for an audience with Arany.”

“Yes, and?” That was the most basic point of church history, after the Severing. A significant part of her early lessons had been reciting the territories, their angels and saints, and learning where they’d made their home in the capitol.

“And after Arany’s sacrifice, we wanted people to know. Priests from all the territories took Silgard’s dirt and blood for the mock seals in their home territories.”

“Of course they did. Not everyone can travel to Silgard. It was a kindness to have reminders all over the Union.” The mock seals weren’t powerful except in the way that any visual representation of the faith was.

“It’s a kindness we still bleed over with our vows. But those seals and centuries of blood connected us to this city and our angels, feeding the original seal in loop. And with each polluted district, the connection is severed, the original seal weakened.” Ilan flexed his scarred hand. “I was confirmed in Saika.”

And now that district had fallen and taken Ilan’s blessing with it. What was it the woman she had helped said about Orban? Csilla closed her eyes tightly. She’d said they’d gone through several priests before finding one who could still banish. It must have been one whose home was still tethered. And as each fell, the number of priests who could stand against Shadow shrank.

There were very few confirmed in Silgard itself. The clergy here were more often given the position as a reward.

“So whoever, whatever it is, they have to kill here next.” Csilla kept her eyes down, not wanting to see the confirmation. “And then what? Even if you catch them...” The damage had been done. There wouldn’t be any way to strengthen the seal again. They no longer had any divinity to sacrifice.

“As long as we can keep part alive, there’s hope.” Ilan’s voice was strangely quiet. “I’m working on it. But I’d like to speak to you first. In private.”

Csilla blinked, mind still on the horror she’d just been told. “About what?”

Ilan’s eyes slid to Mihály, and his hands tightened around her.

“I’m not going to let you rake me over when I can’t even defend myself.” Mihály turned her to more firmly look at him. “Please assure him that you know all about what I intend to do with Evie’s soul and that it doesn’t bother you.”

He had an awful lot of confidence in her being unbothered.

Ilan tilted his head. “Is that true? Are you happy to be his lover?”

The direct question, addressed as she rested in Mihály’s arms, sent a bolt of hot shame through her.

The inquisitor stepped closer. “You know he doesn’t even...”

Mihály’s eyes went white-wild and betrayed. “We were in confession.”

Ilan’s breath was a hiss sucked through clenched teeth.

“He doesn’t even what?” Csilla broke from the suddenly loosened grip, stepping closer to Ilan. The stink of Shadow was worse on him. Her hands ached to touch him and brush away the darkness she’d brought him to.

Ilan stepped closer, then back. “Don’t go through with what he wants, Csilla. Don’t become someone else. It’s not worth it.”

Not worth it. When her other option was to live a life never being accepted, never serving? Her hands clenched at her sides. It was the easiest thing for him to sit and give judgments about what should be done. The consequences would be entirely on her. “If I don’t get a soul, I can’t join the church...”

“Then don’t join the church,” he snapped, and she jerked back, thumping against Mihály’s over-warm chest. “There might not even be a church if this continues. If you walk away, at least you won’t be damned. At least you’ll stay yourself.”

“I think you should go.” Go, before she started crying. Though it didn’t seem she could lose any more of his respect.

“Csilla.” His face was near to pleading.

She wanted to imagine there was an apology on his tongue, but the odds of that were slim. She raised her chin before he could speak again.

“Do you know what I was doing when the two of you were out?”

“Writing letters, no?” Ilan said, and Mihály nodded behind her. She looked between them, frustration rising. They really didn’t understand.

“Writing letters to the family of a man who was brutally killed, a man I’ve known since I was six. Someone I’d promised to take care of, in life and in death.” She held up her cross-marked palm. “Someone I won’t be allowed to sit with, or wash, or speak for. The only family I have are the people I’ve cared for.”

Ilan’s expression sharpened. “When you’re Varga Evaline, do you think you’re going to care?”

Tamas had said the same thing. It was like a flexing grip around her heart, doing its best to squeeze out every stubborn hope. She couldn’t allow that.

“I have all the information I need, anyway,” he continued, no longer meeting her eyes. “The pair of you stay inside. The city will be locked down by tonight.”

“But don’t you still need our...” She was drowning, grasping for a buoy and finding only water passing through her fingers.

“Help? I know what we’re facing. And now I know where to look next. Your cooperation is no longer needed.”

He was going to take everything from her. “But you know we need the killer. We need the blood of whoever is directing this.” They did, even though it sickened her to say. “You’re really not going to help...”

“Csilla, I am helping you. I’m telling you to stay inside; this district is the most dangerous at the moment. And I’m telling you to forget everything the fucking Izir has ever told you.”

She stepped further back against Mihály, curling against him like a wounded animal. She wanted to snarl, but the only thing that came out was a whimper. “Go.”