A House Divided (Astoran Asunder, book 1) (27 page)

"No. I'll head there directly from my lodgings; meet me at the enclave gate."

"I will."

Her nod was a sharp, precise gesture, and then she was gone.

On the way home Kila decided to stop and have a drink at a tavern that he happened to know was popular with Enforcers, many of whom patronized it on a regular basis. Several were in attendance when he got there, and not one of them looked askance when Chief Flim arrived and sidled up next to Kila at the bar.

"Burl may be attempting to recruit me," he said in a low voice that only she would be able to hear over the bustle.

Flim took a long drink of her ale, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "That's good."

With a nod, Kila drank from his own tankard.

"Good work on the shopkeeper murder. Glad to have that one closed."

"Makes two of us."

"Foster!" Chief Flim called to a young man a short distance away. Kila recognized him as one of the officers who had worked the scene. "Come have a drink on me."

"Celebrating the closed case, are we?" the man asked with a grin. "Not that I need a reason to accept a free drink, you understand."

"We certainly are," the chief said, slapping the man on the back. She accepted an overflowing tankard from the barkeep and handed it to Foster.

"To a job well done," Foster said, saluting Kila with his drink.

"I'll drink to that," said Flim, raising her own tankard.

"As will I," said Kila.

He shot the breeze with Flim and Foster for a while, their party enlarged by the addition of Zader, another officer who had worked the case. All in all, it was a pitch-perfect scene of officers celebrating their efforts.

Things were starting to get loud when Kila begged off, bidding all of his colleagues—Chief Flim included—a good night. Light spilled out onto the cobbled streets, along with snatches of song, the salty scent of the sea mingling with the tang of alcohol. He saw no sign that anyone was following him. He'd become quite diligent of late at paying even closer attention to his surroundings than he normally would.

Cianne was waiting for him when he arrived home, pacing his common room with nervous agitation.

"Has something happened?" he asked her.

"No. Well, yes, but it's… It's Lach."

"Ah," he said, turning away from her as he removed his greatcoat and hung it on the stand near his door.

"The Elders are sending him to sea again."

"Are they? I thought you said he was still in a state of great distress."

"He is, but I think they want him out of the way so they can search Toran's study at last."

"Do you think they'll notice the missing ledger?" Kila asked in alarm, facing her again.

"No, I don't think so. If they had known it existed, I should have heard at least some whisper of it by now."

"Don't tell me you're thinking about trying to get into that study again," he said sharply.

"Perhaps," she said, flashing him a strained smile. "I'm curious to know what they're looking for."

"Does Captain Stowley suspect they're trying to get rid of him?"

"Yes, but not for the reasons we do. He believes that his mental state is the full extent of their concern, and that they want to send him to sea in the hopes that he'll get better."

"How did he react to the request that he return?"

"Not well," she said, sinking into a chair and kneading her forehead, her eyes falling closed. Tension radiated out from the corners of her eyes, her pinched mouth. "My father asked me to talk him into it, and so I did. As much as I hated doing it, and whatever the Elders' motives may be, I think it's for Lach's own good. He needs to get away. I don't think he'll make any progress until he does."

Taking a seat across from her, Kila reached a hand toward her but then let it fall. "You're concerned about him."

"He's my friend."

"When is he set to leave?"

"I don't know yet. He's to meet with them tomorrow, and he'll let me know afterward."

Kila didn't know what to say. He longed to run his fingers over her brow, smooth away the furrows. He longed to take her hand, to give her something to hold onto, to let her know that she wasn't alone.

"Though I keep hoping he'll work through his feelings while he's gone, I'm afraid he'll ask me to marry him when he returns, and I will have to tell him no. He almost asked me today, and I— What am I to do? I can't say yes, but how am I to say no? I'm terrified of what will happen. I've never seen him like this, as if he's teetering at the edge of an abyss. What if I push him over the edge by telling him I can't marry him?"

Her words tore at Kila. He was glad she intended to refuse Stowley, even though he had no right to feel such relief. Yet he ached for her, for the obvious torment in which she found herself. He wished he could take the pain from her, that rather than possessing the gods-granted ability to fit together the pieces of a puzzle, he had been granted the ability to fit together the broken pieces of a human heart. Had he had that ability, perhaps he could have saved his father.

"Whatever happens, Cianne, it won't be your fault," he said gently, knowing the words would be no consolation to her despite that they were true. She wasn't responsible for the actions of others.

No more than you are, and hasn't that done wonders to ease your own conscience?

He hated his impotence.

"I know that, but I can't make myself believe it," she said, her voice ragged. She met his gaze with a pleading look, and he wished he could answer it. "Can we spar, please? I need the outlet."

"Are you certain that's wise?"

Giving him a bitter smile, she said, "Of course it is. Do you think if we discover what's going on it won't have any emotional impact on me? I know how I must appear to you, but I promise you that I am good at keeping my emotions in check when I fight."

He said nothing in response, merely rose and headed out into his garden, Cianne following him.

They agreed to spar with daggers. He had promised to provide her with blunted practice weapons so that she wouldn't have to carry any with her, which would necessitate her leaving some of her lethal weapons at home. He wanted her fully armed whenever she was out on the streets, though he didn't tell her so.

"Have you learned anything new?" she asked as they assumed their positions.

"I think House Staerleigh has been bribing people," he said, feinting toward her.

She recognized the ruse, sidestepped it, and evaded his follow-through. "Who? And why?"

"I don't know yet." He parried her blow and advanced, forcing her to return to the defensive. Neither of them were holding back, and he knew he wouldn't be able to keep up the conversation much longer lest he become too winded. "I need to take another look at the ledger and compare it to the stolen note."

"You think there are matches?"

"Yes."

Conversation ceased as they devoted their full energies to sparring. Cianne was good, but it was obvious she wasn't used to working with a partner. He admired her self-taught skills and her discipline, but they would only get her so far. She could do with the practice so that she could learn to read and anticipate her foes.

Bit by bit, he wore her down, until she fell for another of his feints, enabling him to seize her. Whirling her around, he trapped her against his body, one of his hands splayed over her belly, the other around her shoulders, his dagger held to her throat.

Her chest heaved as she drew in air, and she angled her neck, her eyes locking with his. Those eyes seemed to bore into him, to search every corner of him for his secrets, and he allowed them to do so, mainly because his eyes were doing the same to her. She smelled of exertion, but the fresh scent also emanated from her skin, worming its way into his senses. Her belly quivered under his hand and liquid heat shot through him, made him aware of how her form molded against his.

Unable to bear it any longer, he lowered his head, his lips claiming hers. She gasped, swallowing his own gasping breath. Her lips were warm, sweet, and though she was startled, it didn't take long for them to move in response to his kiss.

He lost his head completely. He kissed her as he had longed to kiss her, desperate to prolong the contact with her mouth for as long as he could. Her tongue slipped over his, and he nibbled at her bottom lip.

All at once reality came crashing down on him, and he pulled away so abruptly that she stumbled. His dagger had slipped from his fingers at some point, though he couldn't say when, and his heart pounded, his body throbbing with the urgent need to pull her near and lose himself in her kiss again.

"Cianne, I—" he began.

"I'm not a child anymore," she said, her voice harsh. "Don't you dare treat me like one. Don't you dare say—"

"Is that what you think? That I still see you as a child? Believe me, Cianne, I couldn't be any more aware that you are no longer a child if I tried. Why do you think I maintain my distance? Why do you think I never touch you?"

She flinched as if his words were physically striking her and took another step away from him. Shaking her head, words tumbled out of her in a torrent, gaining momentum. "No. This can't. We can't. No. No. I won't. Not if… No."

He felt like he was being torn to shreds. What had he done? He had no right to kiss her, no right to take advantage of the situation. "I'm sorry, Cianne. I am so sorry. I never want to hurt you. Never."

Her eyes were wide and wild as she stared at him one brief moment more, her lovely face stricken. Then she gave her head one last shake and bounded out of his garden and into the night.

Chapter 27

When Cianne woke the next morning the turmoil started up anew. Touching her fingers to her lips, she couldn't slow her racing pulse as she remembered what it had felt like for them to be claimed by Kila's. Nothing she had ever imagined had compared to the reality, and she wouldn't have stopped kissing him if he hadn't stopped kissing her. She might have kissed him the entire night, might have kept kissing him well into the following day.

It was stupid, dangerous, and she knew it. Hadn't she promised herself that she wouldn't allow something like this to happen because she knew there was no hope for it? The thought of being apart from him brought her nothing but pain, but she couldn't see how being with him would bring her any less. How long could they carry on a clandestine love affair? At what point would stolen moments cease to be enough to satisfy her?

And what of Kila? She didn't think he intended to use her, especially not after she had heard the vehemence in his voice as he had vowed that he never wanted to hurt her. She trusted that his intentions weren't untoward, but what good did that do either of them? He knew as well as she did that there was no hope of anything between them, no matter how much they might both want it. They couldn't be together.

Can't you? You know you can't remain here, and at any rate you might soon have no choice. Why can't you be together?

Yet there was no use in revisiting previously trodden ground. She couldn't ask it of him. She
wouldn't
ask it of him.

What if he were to offer?

No. She refused to think of it. Too much was happening, too many things conspiring to throw her emotions into chaos, and she couldn't afford to be so distracted. She would have to keep her wits about her if she were to have any hope of keeping all the balls she was juggling up in the air. She couldn't afford for everything to come crashing down around her, for her own sake and for Kila's. Everything she did put not just herself at risk, but him as well. She might well have to destroy Lach, there was no way around that, but she would not be responsible for being Kila's downfall as well.

Her hands shook as she dressed. Every part of her longed for Kila, longed to feel his touch, and the wanting made her weak. Never before had it hurt her this much to deny herself something, and the recognition that she now had some inkling of what Lach was going through exacerbated her discomposure until she began to wonder if it might be wiser to hide in her bed the entire day, claim she was ill.

But no, she couldn't do that either. Lach had asked to come see her and tell her when he was leaving, and she wouldn't hide from him. He deserved better than that.

That she also needed the information pricked at her conscience, regardless of the fact that it wasn't she who had orchestrated the situation. Many times she had been overcome with anger and frustration at her father, but this was the first time she had begun to feel true rage. How could he do this to her?

What if it's nothing?
a very faint voice wondered, but she barked out a laugh at the thought. Of course it wasn't nothing. She was well beyond the point of believing that, of deluding herself into believing she was reading more into things than what was there.

She spent the morning cleaning her weapons, conditioning her leathers, and performing the deshya in her rafters, and all these things helped to calm her, particularly the deshya. Emotions were a force, and she could gather that energy and use it to her benefit. She didn't have to be ruled by it, and it helped that she had the chance to remind herself of this.