A House Divided (Astoran Asunder, book 1) (28 page)

Lach arrived shortly after she had eaten her lunch alone, her father tied up at the Council Hall. She hadn't much taste for her food but she forced herself to eat anyway. With the amount of energy she was expending training with Kila and working herself up into a state about Lach, she would need the fuel.

"Hello, Cianne," Lach greeted her when she let him in. The words were a monotone and his face was unreadable, but she suspected that was because he was working hard to keep himself in check, for which she felt guiltily grateful.

"Come in," she said, leading him to her sitting room, where they could speak in private.

She had taken extra care to provide some subtle insulation, filling any gaps and cracks she found and ensuring that her door fit snugly into its frame. Fortunately for her, her sitting room fireplace stood to the right of the door, near the corner of the room, and she had set her chairs well back from it. Were anyone to press their ear against the keyhole, they wouldn't hear much above the crackling of the fire. It wasn't foolproof, but it was the best she could do to prevent anyone from eavesdropping on her without them noticing the efforts she had made.

"What did the Elders say?" she asked when they were settled and she had poured him a cup of tea.

To her surprise, he accepted the cup and began sipping, holding the saucer in his left hand rather than setting it down. It was the most interest she had seen him take in sustenance in longer than she could remember.

"I'm to leave in a week," he said, trying for a smile and a bit of self-deprecating humor. "I must be a mess if they're sending me to Leonovia with a ship full of cotton. Haven't done a run this simple since I was eighteen."

"They've been worried about you."

"It would seem everyone has been. And rightfully so."

"How are you feeling today, Lach?" she asked, cutting through the banalities.

"I don't know," he said, a muscle working in his jaw. He took another sip of tea as if to steady himself and continued. "I can't say I'm feeling better, but I guess I may feel as though I'm seeing things more clearly. I've done no good here in Cearova. It is time for me to return to sea, despite the aversion I seem to have developed for the very idea. I suppose I'm punishing myself."

"For what?"

"For not stopping my father," he said, his voice tapering off to a whisper. He set his tea down at last and rubbed his eyes. "You don't have to say anything, Cianne, because I know what you'd say. It doesn't make it any easier to accept."

"No, of course it doesn't."

"I wanted to apologize to you."

"Why?" she asked, stunned.

"I've been mistreating you these past few weeks. I've taken advantage of our friendship and imposed myself upon you in ways I had no business doing."

A strange awkwardness settled between them. As difficult as it had been for Cianne, due to her awareness of the depths of Lach's feelings, their friendship had still been that: a true friendship. She had relied on Lach, had counted on him to be in her corner, to be someone on whose strength she could depend when she felt she was at her weakest, and she had extended that same consideration to him. She had known that at some point the difference in the extent of their love for one another would cause irreparable harm to their relationship, but she supposed that, childishly, she had tried to deny that knowledge, had tried to convince herself that nothing would ever change.

"I think, considering the circumstances, it's understandable," she said.

He flashed her a pained smile. "That's very tactful of you."

"I'm sorry, Lach," she said, the words bursting forth. "I feel as if I've failed you, as if I'm incapable of giving you what you need, and it pains me a great deal."

He shook his head. "Please, no. Let's not have this conversation. If anyone has failed anyone, I have failed you. I haven't been a true friend to you, and I can't express how much I regret that."

"I wish—"

"We all wish for many things, don't we? I should go. I've a great deal to do to prepare for this journey. We'll talk more when I return. I think everything will be clearer then."

Distance grew between them, widening into a chasm Cianne was certain they could never bridge. Something inside of her felt as though it were fracturing, and she feared that any additional pressure would cause her to shatter entirely.

They rose and left her sitting room, heading down the stairs in silence. There were so many things she wished she could say to him, but she didn't bother with any of them. None of them were what he would want to hear.

"You'll always be dear to me, always, you know that, don't you?" he asked as she stood at the door with him.

"I can't put a value on your friendship," she replied. "I don't know what I would have done all these years without you. I owe you so much."

"It's never been about that, Cianne. With us, it's always been give and take. Sometimes perhaps the giving hasn't been equal, but that's of no consequence. Sometimes I've tried to take more than I should." He brushed a light kiss over her cheek. "I'll bring you that gift I promised you."

The lump in her throat ached so fiercely she felt as though it were strangling her. "I'll look forward to it. Will I have a chance to say goodbye to you?"

"Of course," he said, his face softening. "My mother is having a farewell dinner for me the night before my departure, and she commands your and your father's presence."

"We'll be delighted to attend," she said, unable to offer him anything better than a wavering smile.

After he was gone she allowed herself to do something she hadn't done in many years. She retreated to her room and wept for hours. Despite the grief she feared she had caused him, despite the pain she knew he felt, she couldn't suppress the liberating sense of relief that engulfed her, and the shame of it was almost more than she could bear.

When her tears dried up at last, she sat up in her bed and drew in several long breaths. She squared her shoulders and gathered her determination before cleaning all traces of her sorrow from her face.

Her father was late to dinner, and then he hurried through the meal, so distracted that she didn't have to expend much effort with him. Even so, her shoulders loosened when he was gone, and she returned to her room to prepare for her training session with Kila. She was destined to move from one emotionally draining incident to another, all in one day, it seemed.

He was in the garden when she arrived, his eyes fixed on the wall. She remained crouched in the shadows for some time, studying him. The light spilling from his lodgings illuminated one side of his face, and she followed the aquiline slope of his nose, examined the shape of his lips, swept her gaze over the light stubble darkening his cheek and jaw.

She loved him. Like Lach, she would have to find some way of living with her unrequited feelings.

"I wasn't certain you would come," he said when she dropped down onto the grass and padded over to him on silent feet.

"Nothing has changed, Kila. We have only three days left to train, and I need the practice."

Hurt flickered through his eyes and his jaw tightened. He nodded. "I shouldn't have—"

"No, you shouldn't have," she said, meeting his gaze. "But not for the reasons you think. I have been in love with you since I was a girl, and I have dreamed of you for many long years. It doesn't matter. There's no place for us, and I will have to learn to accept it."

His jaw tightened further as he nodded again. "No place for us," he echoed, and she couldn't quite make out what it was she heard in his tone.

"I think we should focus on our training," she said in a gentle voice. "I need your help."

"You will always have it."

Everyone seems to be making vows to me this day, and yet what good are they? What use have I for empty words?

She turned away under pretense of examining the practice weapons he had spread out over the grass. She couldn't stop herself from feeling the bitterness, but she could prevent herself from allowing him to see it.

"Cianne, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to perform the deshya first, to center myself before we spar," he said.

"Very well." A shiver of misapprehension ran down her spine, but she kept her face serene.

It wasn't as terrible as she had feared, though. Standing across from him, locked in an intense gaze, she didn't feel the turmoil she had anticipated feeling. Her love was there, her pain at having to deny it an ever-present ache, but the calm came, as it always did. She hadn't expected to find this tranquility with him, and she felt as though she were receiving her own long-awaited gift from the gods.

From the deshya they moved promptly into sparring, working harder than they had the night before. Kila disarmed her several times and overtook her once, but she held her own better than she had the previous night, and he was as good a teacher as she remembered him being. Patient and helpful, he was able to illuminate for her where she went wrong and what she could do to correct her technique. She knew she couldn't come close to mastering her skills before their spying mission, but at least she would go into it more prepared than she would otherwise have been.

"I'll be at the Staerleigh enclave tomorrow morning," Kila told her as they sat resting on the grass afterward.

"Why?"

"Burl is meeting with the Elders and she asked me to attend."

"They intend to size you up."

"Most likely," he agreed.

She could feel him watching her out of the corner of his eye, and she knew in which direction his thoughts had bent. Any attempt of his to dissuade her from trying to eavesdrop on the meeting would be pointless, so he didn't bother, though it was clear he wasn't happy about it.

"I've news for you too," she said before he could say anything about the Council meeting. "Lach is leaving in one week."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Relieved, for many reasons. Not least of which is the hope that he'll be gone when I figure out what's been going on."

"You want to protect him from learning something about House Staerleigh that might hurt him."

"Yes."

"Who will protect you?"

Blowing out a breath, she stared off into the overgrown, darkened yard. "I'm not concerned about protection. I'm concerned about finally knowing what the next step is for me. I can't know that until I know whether I need to break away from House Staerleigh once and for all."

"Either way, it won't be easy for you," he said, caution in his tone. "You're going to learn things you might wish you had never known."

"Is that what it's like for you?" she asked, turning to catch his eye.

He gave her a grim smile. "Every day."

"I've no doubt it's not easy, but I would rather be wise than be ignorant."

"Even if being wise destroys your happiness, your peace of mind?"

"Even then. What use is happiness or peace of mind if it's built on a foundation of lies?"

"I admire your spirit." He made no move toward her but she felt physically comforted nonetheless.

"And I yours."

Chapter 28

"Good, you're early," Burl said, inclining her head in a slight nod of approval when Kila met her in front of the enclave gates ten minutes before their scheduled meeting with the Elders.

"I didn't want to risk being late," he said. He had to make a conscious effort to focus on Burl rather than allow his eyes to dart around what he could see of the enclave, searching for Cianne.

As if he would see her, at any rate. Her fighting skills could use some polish, but he had a hardy respect for her stealth skills, which, as she had pointed out, were far more formidable than his own. It didn't mean he would stop worrying about her, though.

He wished he had found the courage to share with her what had been in his heart the previous night. He cared for her, deeply. At first he had told himself he was confused, the friendship he felt for her becoming muddled with his increasing attraction to her, but he knew it wasn't true. His feelings were growing, ripening, becoming so much more. In the face of her admission that she was in love with him, it struck him as a betrayal not to have told her the truth about his own feelings.

She was right, though. There was no place for them. He hadn't let his mind dwell on that fact, but she had been right to bring it up. What did it matter if they could share something beautiful, something for which he had come to realize he had long been searching without being conscious of the search? She filled his life, lit up his days, and inspired in him more physical and mental passion than he had ever imagined he could feel for another person.

None of that would change the fact that their relationship could go nowhere, that to cross the line as he had, to answer the call he felt thrumming within him morning and night, would inevitably bring them far more pain than it would pleasure.

Would it?

Someday, years from now, would he look back on his life and feel relief that he hadn't allowed himself to know her touch, to lie with her in his arms? Or would it be his deepest regret?