"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.
"There might not be," Ilan said quietly as the little star burned cold in her palm and his skin warmed the back of her hand beneath. "But you're our best hope."
When he said it like that, she could breathe again and almost believe she was.
They'd searched the cracked eastern walls, turned over what was left in the library— all the most important papers had been moved out with the clergy for safekeeping— until the both of them were voiceless with exhaustion. There was no way to know what was happening on the streets while wrapped in the walls of the church, not with the demon or Mihály. Sound was muffled, the sky still dark, and it was very like being the only people left alive.
She cupped Ilan's mark like a child holding fireflies, the glow hazy against the folds of her palms. When she closed her eyes, she could feel the filaments of divinity still woven through the church, a web tattered to the center. They whispered to her like the call of water washing over rock, cleansing and wearing it down at once. She glanced to mention it to Ilan, and saw him leaning against the wall. His head had dropped forward, a fan of blonde hair obscuring his face. She had half a mind to find a cushion to and attempt to make him comfortable; it wasn't like anyone else would get any more use out of it. But he'd only wake up and be cross with her.
The thought was strangely tender. He could be cross with her all he liked as long as he stayed honest.
He opened his eyes, and she flushed to be caught staring.
"Did you find something?" he asked, wincing at the crack of a joint as he straightened his neck.
She shook her head. Maybe they should both go to sleep, but trying to sleep only meant thinking of death and loss. In the liminal space before drifting off it would be easy for her mind to forget everything but the familiar walls of the church building and make her think Ágnes was alive, only for the crash of reality seconds later. It was sharply painful every time.
"It's almost morning. I don't know how much time we'll have before they start sending acolytes to collect the bodies."
Ilan nodded. "It's not just acolytes we have to worry about. Whoever sabotaged the church wanted everyone out for a reason. Mihály might get Tamas, but I doubt he was working alone. There could already be an infestation."
They both paused at his words, but the air was empty of other breaths or footfalls. The cathedral might as well have been a crypt.
"You think they'll go after the seal themselves? They've already ruined the city."
"If they can find it?" His lips thinned. "I have no doubt. We keep going."
But the western walls seemed equally unwilling to give up any secrets, with no catches for searching fingers.
"Can't you sense it?" Ilan complained as she slapped her palms flat against stone in frustration.
He certainly thought a lot of this supposed new divinity. "I'm sorry, I can feel it's there, but I don't have the ability to dissolve layers of rock. Perhaps ask your dog."
He raised an eyebrow at her testiness, and she forced back another apology.
"If he were as good at scenting holiness as he is at corpses, we'd be set. But he doesn't even seem to like Mihály."
Mihály. The fact that the Izir wasn't back was worrying in itself. They didn't know where the demon was or what else Tamas might have planned.
