A House Divided (Astoran Asunder, book 1) (11 page)

Before Kila's return, she had lacked an ally with whom she could discuss her suspicions. Before Kila's return, she had lacked a great many things about which she had tried and failed to train herself not to think. She knew she ought to be cautious, but she was so very tired of feeling alone, and with him she had never felt alone.

"It's a long story," she told him, rubbing her weary eyes. Sapped of her tension, it would seem she had also been sapped of her strength, and she felt so tired she longed to curl up and sleep and sleep. She wasn't certain she had truly felt the impact of her new reality yet. Toran Stowley was gone, forever.

"Please, sit. I'll make us some tea."

A faint smile lifted her lips. "I always was fond of your tea."

He smiled in response. "But not my attempts at cooking."

Laughter burst from her, taking her by surprise. "Not that, no," she agreed.

She watched him move about his kitchen, eyes drinking in his graceful motions. As a child she had spend hours marveling over his fluidity, wondering if she would ever learn to move as he did. It was as if he were preternaturally aware of everything in his surroundings, which she supposed was the case, given his Enforcer abilities. Even so, she'd never thought Burl particularly graceful. Canny, deliberate, and exceedingly difficult to deceive, yes. Graceful, no.

The years appeared to have been kind to him, if not mentally at least physically. He had been tall when she had known him before, his body lean and solid. He had filled out more in the intervening years; though he wasn't as bulky with muscle as a Battle Master, his power was evident in his taut arms, his controlled movements. He wore his sable hair longer than he had in the past, but he still tied the wavy strands back in the familiar, neat queue, which now hung between his shoulders rather than brushing over them. His eyes were even darker than his hair, a deep black that could be soft and warm or penetrating at turns. Tawny-skinned, he had high, strong cheekbones, an aquiline nose, a nicely formed mouth, a somewhat prominent brow, and a square chin. She had contemplated these features many times as a twelve and then thirteen-year-old, her initial girlish admiration for him blossoming into something that had confused her.

His face was the same and yet different. Age had improved his features, leaving them more chiseled than they had been when he was eighteen, as if he hadn't been fully formed then. She supposed she hadn't been either.

That face had filled her dreams and many of her waking moments for the last nine years, though the inexorable passage of time had eroded away the details until she'd been left with no more than an impression. She'd had no likeness of him as an adult other than what she had carried in her head, and her eyes were eager, hungry to fill in the blanks left by time.

"You've continued practicing the deshya," he said as he came to sit across from her, setting down a tray bearing his teapot and two cups. He'd added a plate of grapes, a few slices of cheese, and some olive-studded rolls. Her stomach growled, making her aware that she was famished.

"I have," she said. Unable to stop herself, she reached out and ran her fingers over his teapot. He'd told her once it had belonged to his mother. The cobalt glaze was smooth to the touch, pebbled by the stoneware underneath it.

"I've managed to keep it in one piece all these years," he said, noticing her gesture.

"It's strange, seeing you again," she said, the words slipping out.

He nodded and looked self-conscious. "I'm sorry I didn't recognize you."

With a soft smile, she said, "I'm not, not entirely. There's a reason why I never gave you my true name. I didn't want you to know who I was. And it's understandable that you didn't recognize me. I wasn't much more than a child the last time you saw me. I've changed."

"Yes, you have," he said, the words unreadable. "Why didn't you want me to know who you were?"

"For once I wanted to be someone other than Cianne Wyland of House Staerleigh. I wanted to just be me. I was tired of my role in the House defining me."

He seemed uncertain what to do with her blunt words. She was taking a leap of faith with him, trusting that what she said wouldn't get back to the Elders. It might be foolish of her, but if she was going to talk to anyone, he seemed the best candidate.

"Why did you come to me?" he asked. He poured the tea but kept an eye on her as he did so.

Accepting the cup he handed her, she wrapped her hands around it, warming them. "You're an outsider. You've been away from Cearova and the trade Houses' influence for some time, and even when you were last here, you weren't subject to their influence."

"How do you know?" he asked, seizing his turn to be blunt.

She would give him the truth, all of it, even if it didn't paint much of a flattering portrait of her. "I followed you. I listened. I went places I wasn't supposed to go."

"And still do, I'd wager." He lifted his brows.

"Yes, I still do," she admitted. "And that's why I'm here. I don't have any evidence to lay at your feet, but something is off. Something has been off since before Toran's death." Her voice cracked as she said his name, and she swallowed. Sipping her tea, she tried to collect herself. The scent of it, the fondly remembered spice and vanilla flavor, helped soothe her.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't believe Toran would have done this to himself. He showed no signs of any such inclination. Things were going well for him. The Elders put great stock in his advice. He made it his business to learn everything there was to know about trade conditions. He developed advantageous connections within House Mallay and House Rolland, gathering all the data he could find. His recommendations as to which goods our ships ought to carry earned Staerleigh—and, by extension, the other Houses—a great deal of money."

"Professional success doesn't equate with happiness," Kila said. He wasn't questioning her, but he was challenging her to consider all the angles and to offer proof to back her argument, making it clear she had his full attention.

"No, it doesn't, but I mean to illustrate that he had no reason to be despondent on that point. All indications were that his star would continue to rise."

"Very well. But what about his personal affairs?"

"Again, I can think of no reason why he might have been depressed. He was almost universally loved in the House, and not just because of his business acumen. He was one of the kindest people I knew, and he was blessed with the type of disposition that prompted him to find the bright side of every situation, and the good in everyone. Moreover, Lach had just returned from a long voyage."

"He was close with his son?"

"Yes, very. Lach's return was a surprise. He wasn't due back for a couple of weeks, but he said conditions were favorable and he had a very profitable journey. Toran would have wanted to celebrate that fact with him. He was delighted to see his son and thrilled about Lach's success, which he cared more about than his own."

"He had aspirations for his son?"

"Everyone does," Cianne said, her voice tightening. "Lach is House Staerleigh's golden son."

"I was under the impression you were friends with him," Kila said, studying her.

"We are, I think. I don't know. It's a complicated situation," she said. To her horror, she felt her cheeks blaze. How could she possibly explain the situation to him? It was awkward beyond endurance, and she hadn't managed to make sense of it herself.

She didn't love Lach, that she knew, not in the passionate, all-consuming manner of lovers. As a friend, yes, but she was devoid of any physical or emotional desire for him.

That wasn't the case for him. Cianne knew he desired her, and the knowledge of it was a constant torment. He cared for her, of that she was certain, but she wasn't certain his feelings for her could survive the blow she would have to deal them. He carried a blazing torch for her, everyone could see that, and she didn't know how he would react when she extinguished it. She desperately wanted to believe the best of her friend, desperately wanted to rest in the assurance that, like his father's, Lach's heart was too pure for bitterness to corrupt him. Yet whenever she dared to test the waters, to dip her toe in, the depth of the hurt on his face was enough to tell her that refusing his suit would devastate him. What would she do if her best friend grew to despise her rather than love her?

Wasn't it selfish of her to delay the inevitable because she dreaded finding out?

Kila's presence in the city was dangerous, far more dangerous than he knew. Not only was she asking him to take on the Houses, she was doing so while cherishing feelings she shouldn't have. She had told herself time and again that her adoration of him had been nothing more than a childish infatuation. She had never believed herself.

"Do you and Captain Stowley have an understanding?" Kila asked.

Gods, but having to speak to him about this was excruciating. Still, he would hear it one way or another, and she would rather he heard it from her.

"Everyone expects me to marry him. He hasn't asked me to be his wife, but he's made his wishes plain. I won't marry him, though," she said softly, staring down at her hands.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry into your personal life."

"You didn't," she said, shrugging a shoulder. "And all this may seem irrelevant, but I don't think it is. You should know what the situation is like in House Staerleigh, and I suspect my relationship with Lach factors into it."

"How so?"

"As I said, I've no real evidence. But I have noticed some things. For instance, the presence of the Elders at the Stowley manor felt odd."

"Isn't it standard practice for the Elders to visit the family in times of loss?"

"It is, but they arrived at the manor even before Lach, my father, and I did. The moment we received the news, we raced to his home. As you've seen, the manors are all close to one another, so it isn't inconceivable that they could have reached the manor before we did, but it was still odd."

"Do you know what time it was when you received the news?" Kila asked, his face suddenly intense with concentration.

Cianne thought carefully. "Lach and I left the assembly at around eleven. I remember because it was somewhat rude of us, but allowances are always made for Lach, and he wanted to catch up with me away from the crowd. He was supposed to report to the Elders in the morning to discuss his next excursion, and his mother told him not to be too late because he would need his rest."

"Do you get along with his mother?"

"She despises me," Cianne said baldly. She tried to keep the bitterness from her tone. "She's never thought me good enough for Lach. I have no Adept abilities and no position of any prominence. Were my father not as powerful as he is, I would likely be relegated to second-class status within the House."

"Would she approve of a match between you, then?"

"She would to secure an alliance with my father."

His face pensive, Kila rubbed his chin. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to interrupt you. Please continue with what you were saying."

Concentrating, she did her best to pinpoint a time, which was difficult as she hadn't consulted a clock and could do no better than estimate. "We had finished tea, but Lach hadn't yet said anything about leaving. It was perhaps midnight, or a quarter past."

"Was your father at the manor with you?"

"He was, but he was in his study. The messenger didn't say that Lach's father had died, but he said there was an emergency of a dire nature, and Lach should return home immediately. Lach was alarmed, and there was a commotion as I called for servants to bring his things. My father came out of his study, and Lach told him about the message, at which point my father said he would come with us."

"He said he would come with you? Or Captain Stowley asked him to come along?"

"He said he would come. Lach was concerned only with getting out the door as quickly as possible."

Kila's face was pained. "Annali—Miss Wyland, is it possible that your father is connected to whatever you think may be going on in your House?"

"Yes," she said. It was a betrayal, and she knew it, but she wanted to find the truth, even if it implicated her father.

Or especially if it implicates him?

No, she refused to believe that. She and her father had their differences, but she wasn't acting out of malice. She wouldn't allow either guilt or a misplaced sense of duty to dissuade her.

Kila accepted the information without saying anything more, though his eyes were sympathetic. "How long do you think it took you to get to the Stowley manor?"

"No more than ten minutes from the time we received the message."

"So in order to have beaten you there, the Elders would have had to receive the message at around the same time you did, if not sooner."

"Precisely. Which raises many questions, at least for me. Moiria would have wanted the Elders informed, but shouldn't her first reaction have been to inform Lach, then the others?"

"It does seem odd," Kila conceded.

Glancing out the window, Cianne saw that the night was fleeing. She had best get back to the enclave. "I must go. I know I haven't given you much to go on. I have more to tell you, but it will have to wait for another time. No one in the House can know that you and I are meeting privately."