Was Tamas.

Mihály let out a long breath. “Look. The seal is ruined. There isn’t going to be a church for you to join, Evie’s gone, so fuck it all. Let’s just leave. Whatever you are, we will figure it out later. It’s not safe here.”

There wasn’t anywhere safe, not anymore. Perhaps they could find somewhere to hide from Shadow, but it wouldn’t save them. Running would be a disgrace.

“You should earn that blessing you were born with.” The words came from somewhere deep and boiling. “Even if you don’t care about me, you should care about the people who put their faith in you. They’re still here.”

This time when Mihály met her eyes there was no endearment. Fine. Let him resent her for who she was. Better than being loved for the ghost she wasn’t. “I do ca-”

She put her fingers over his lips, silencing him with pressure and light. “I don’t want to hear another lie out of your mouth. You owe me more than that.”

He exhaled against her hand, bowing his head. “Then what would you have me do? Find Tamas, bring him here to be punished?”

“And us as well, I suppose.” She would stay here as everything horrible and miraculous faded into a dull and sunken quiet. Even if no one else knew, she had the memory of the knife in her hands and the sick knowledge that when asked if she would accept darkness, she’d said yes. Why she’d said yes didn’t matter. “I could have stopped it, too. I just wanted to believe you.”

She met Mihály’s gaze, a new quiet on his face. Resignation, without pretension or defense.

“Csilla.” Mihály reached out to graze her cheek, silver on his fingertips. “All my life people—including you— have offered me very undeserved grace. Try extending it to yourself.”

She took a deep breath and gave the smallest nod. Ágnes would have wanted that, too. “Go get Tamas.”

Mihály’s smile went grim. “We don’t have to waste time dragging him here. I’ve killed before.” The paleness in his face undercut the words.

“No!” Csilla shook her head, grabbing his sleeve. “I don’t care what you think about your divinity, you’re not staining yourself.”

Ilan made a hm of agreement, a sharp light in his eyes. “He can’t talk if he’s dead. But go fast. If this was all they were after, he’ll likely have run.”

“Ilan, you’ll keep her somewhere, won’t you?” Mihály said. “At least now we don’t have to worry about anyone getting killed on the streets.”

It was a poor attempt at levity, but she let him get away with it, and Ilan hummed an affirmation.

Csilla sagged in relief, suddenly desperate for quiet, to sit with Ágnes in the dark. This was where they’d found her at the beginning of her life. It was right she be in the same spot to see Ágnes through to brilliance, no matter how it hurt.

Her tears finally fell, as steady as a shower of blessed gold.

31

Csilla

Ilan hadn't asked her to move, and for that she was grateful. There was something primal about sitting with a body, appeasing the inner animal that had to see a thing with its senses to know that it was true. Ágnes was stiff, but so was she, shoulders curled and legs drawn up, back cracking every time she shifted.

And Ilan, sitting on an empty bench with his dog at his feet, eyes never leaving her. His face was gaunt, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. She likely didn't look any better. It would be smarter to go and rest. Things always were clearer in the morning.

She didn't want to face that clarity. The bone-ache of sleeplessness and the fog of grief were a welcome cushion, no matter how much they hurt.

"Do you hear a voice?" Ilan asked, the words echoing in the midnight still. His tone was measured, but she could hear the hope behind it.

She brushed a fingertip across the metal pin on Ágnes' still chest, the light dancing across it no longer pleasing. Saints didn't get to pick their miracles, and the truth of that left her sour. "No. It wasn't me doing anything or being told to do anything. I couldn't control it. If I could..."

She still would have saved Madame Varga. She would have just done more.

She wanted someone to hold her and tell her it would be fine, but the only person willing to was cold.

Well, and Mihály. Perhaps she should have asked him to give her some of that drink he used to forget his own pain. She could forgive him the vice more easily now that she knew what it was to have your heart smashed to ground glass, tearing bits of you from the inside with every beat.

Ilan was no doubt thinking how glad he was that she had been sent out from the church- no one this embarrassingly distraught deserved to serve the divine. Grief was for laypeople who hadn't fully surrendered their lives to a greater plan.

"Come on," Ilan stood and gestured for her to follow him. "You need to rest. You've done your sitting. You can tell me whatever stories you like. And in the morning we'll start her rites. I fear that things are going to get lost."

It was a short mourning. Whatever family she still had should be told, and Csilla didn't even know who her family might be, only that she'd been raised in a mountain village near Kis that she didn't often speak of. Csilla had loved the woman with the simple selfish innocence of a child, never taking the time to understand her as a person. It was cruel that this is what it took to realize that.

"Thank you." She rubbed the scratch of drying tears from her face, then placed her palm against Ágnes' cheek in a silent goodbye. "For doing this for her. For me. Even though..."

"Even though?" He ushered her out of the sanctuary, blocking her from turning back. That was kind; everything in her wanted to stay.

"Even though you don't like me. And I'm a murderer." It was by manipulation and circumstance, erased by something strange and holy, but there was blood crusting under her fingernails all the same.

His hand pressed harder against her lower back. "I never said I didn't like you, Csilla. And there wasn't any sin on you." He turned her down a corridor she dimly remembered as leading to his room. This far in the stone interior was untouched by the fire, but the char flavored every breath.

"There was never any visible sin on Mihály, either. And he did awful things." Perhaps she was trying to goad him into punishing her. Burned skin or broken thumbs couldn't feel worse; physical pain had to be better than this. "I wish I'd been stronger, like you. If I'd just obeyed…" But if she'd had the choice to make again, she would have chosen the same, and she hated herself for it. "You would have killed him."

"Without a second thought," Ilan agreed. "And we wouldn't be any better off for it. They would have found another way." He pushed open his door, nose wrinkling at the stale air. The odor of char had permeated even here. "You can recite for her in the morning."

"I'm no priest." Nothing she could say would help Ágnes, and there was no one around who needed soothing through grief except her.

"No." His voice was low, half-whisper. "But you are something holy."

"Shouldn't you take me to the Prelate, then?" To anyone who had knowledge of why a girl without a soul would be worked through for a miracle. A small part of her hoped he'd be pleased to see her shine.

There was a long pause, then his voice quieted even more. "I don't know that we can trust the Prelate."

Csilla stiffened in surprise. "What?"

Ilan locked the door and stepped away from it but still kept his voice near a whisper. "Whoever tried to burn the church did it from the inside. It was someone with intimate knowledge of the architecture, of our schedules. I don't think we can trust anyone until the Incarnate gets back to put things right. Or we settle this ourselves."

Her hand pressed her mouth. There was no one to trust.

"Whatever happened, I'm going to protect you. And I'm going to get you down to the seal, whatever is left of it. You might be able to save us."

She sank down on the bed, gripping the edge as her head fell forward, all energy drained. She dearly missed her cat and had half a mind to get up again and try to find her and steal a moment of normalcy. "I'm afraid I might be one miracle and done."

"Be that as it may, right now we have a demon in our city, others across the continent. Even if we find Tamas and banish this one, it's not going to help the other territories. We might not even be able to banish this one. The glass is dead. I saw Rozalia, decaying like any other corpse. I don't know where the seal is to see if there's still anything there."

"So there might not be anything to save." The hollows beneath the church might be nothing but mud and bones. But more than knowing the physical heart of the church was empty, it hurt to know the people might be, too.

Ilan touched his fingers to his mark, where the metal stayed dull. Then he took it off and placed it in her hand, his own resting beneath. It glowed in misty silver. She could have laughed. Now she was the only one who could see the divine, and it was at the doom of Their creation.