A House Divided (Astoran Asunder, book 1) (6 page)

Other Adept Houses were represented in the city as well, but their landholdings tended to be smaller, single grand manors instead of sprawling miniature cities within cities consisting of multiple glittering homes. The trade Houses liked to think of Cearova as the dazzling jewel of the realm, an attitude that didn't much endear them to the residents of the other four main cities in Astoran.

The other Houses comforted themselves by whispering that the trade Houses would be nothing without them. After all, what reason could the Seafarers have to brave the waves if not to carry other House-made goods to far-flung locations? What reason would the Caravanists have to send their carts, wagons, and beasts of burdens out onto the roads if not to distribute throughout the realm the bounty of the Agromancers' labors? What would the Coin Masters count without the Ore Masters and Distillers to craft goods that commanded such a high price?

But wait! How could any of them hope to exist without the Battle Masters' prowess to ensure they were all safe to engage in their fabrication, their performing, their trade?

Bored. That was how Kila felt whenever conversation amongst Adepts degenerated into these tired, worn out squabbles. He had no idea if the Adepts of Myrsha, his native land, had put together a better system, but he didn't much care. Adepts in general seemed to overlook the fact that, special though some of them might be, they would be nowhere on their own. What would the Coin Masters eat? Gold? Who would the Battle Masters beat into a bloody pulp? One another? The fact of the matter, as Kila saw it, was that they were all tied together, Adepts and non-Adepts alike. The world as a whole was a codependent organism, and everyone would be the better for it if they would wake up and realize this.

It wasn't a view he shared with many.

Following a couple of steps behind Burl, Kila took in the elegant stone and marble abodes of House Staerleigh. The structures were light and graceful, their façades appearing to consist of layer upon layer of lace, so elaborately worked was the stone. Every last one boasted a balcony or two with balustrades of iron wrought by the Shapers, but each was unique. One home's bore a woodland scene, while another's depicted a flower garden, and still another's brought to mind a sky replete with stars. The main gates had been wrought into the forms of crashing waves that gave Kila the creepy sensation they were about to sweep him away, and the farther they proceeded into the enclave, the more he felt like he was being sucked into a current.

Burl came to an abrupt halt and gestured curtly to the building before them. "This is the Council Hall," she said.

It was the tallest building in the enclave thanks to the spire that soared up into the sky, piercing the inky darkness. The outside of the building bore carving upon carving of figures, and Kila was willing to bet the Hall was meant to tell the history of House Staerleigh. Ships and roiling waters figured prominently, and looking at them made him queasy.

"And those homes?" he asked, pointing to the five largest.

"Council members' homes," she said. Was her tone naturally that clipped or just when she talked to him, he wondered. "I haven't the time to tell you whose is whose, but tomorrow we will study a map of the enclave and you will memorize the location of each home and to whom it belongs."

"Stellar," he murmured, and pushed an expression of utmost innocence onto his face when she frowned and examined him.

Don't get cheeky,
he told himself when she finally looked away.
You don't know the extent of her gifts, and it would certainly behoove you to determine that.

His own gifts were quite strong, a fact that he liked to keep mostly to himself. Then again, it could be that he thought so because his former colleagues' performance hadn't been much more impressive than that of very discerning non-Adepts. During his previous tenure in Cearova he hadn't had much opportunity to develop an informed opinion of the extent of his colleagues' gifts, and he hadn't been in the city anywhere near long enough this time around to form anything like an accurate picture. He could imagine one of two scenarios, and it would be to his benefit to uncover which theory, if either, was true. Did the trade Houses do their best to keep the most gifted Enforcers in Cearova, believing it was in their best interests to populate their department with those who would be most capable of controlling the criminal elements in the city? Or did they prefer to send away the most gifted in order to maintain a firmer grasp on the less able, more controllable Enforcer Adepts?

Kila followed Burl into the Council Hall, which was no less impressive inside than out. A beautiful fresco depicting Cearus's benevolent reception of offerings from the faithful covered one wall. It was one of the most exquisite frescoes Kila had ever seen, so lifelike that he half expected Cearus to step out of the wall and begin mingling with the guests. Squinting at the signature, Kila made out the name of one of the most celebrated Composers in history and was duly impressed. Even the palace in Vyramas could boast only a few small paintings created by the same Composer.

Tapestries lush with vibrant colors covered the other walls, interspersed between the graceful arched windows. The intricate hangings were a testament to the skill of the Weavers, as were the wondrous garments worn by several of the ladies and gentlemen present at the assembly. Stunning silver chandeliers with faceted crystal drops twinkled with hundreds of pure, white tapers, casting a warm, burnishing glow over the room.

Smell the gold perfuming this rarefied air
, he thought, resisting the urge to inhale deeply.

His gifts kicked in, making him pick up subtle details that would escape the notice of most who lacked Enforcer abilities. Seemingly disparate elements coalesced in his mind, cluing him in to the identities of several of the Hall's occupants, as well as things they might mistakenly believe secret.

A semi-concealed jewel winking from one woman's bodice hinted at an assignation with someone other than her spouse.

The scuff marring another man's boot suggested either his valet was lax or he was trying to appear wealthier than he was. No, Kila decided, the man was wealthy, but he likely had a gambling problem exacerbated by drunkenness, as indicated by the still-small broken capillaries lining the man's nose, the slight ruddiness to his complexion.

Focusing, Kila wrestled his abilities back under his control, ignoring the extraneous details. The manner in which Enforcers experienced their abilities was some indication of the extent of their powers. Some described the flow of information as a trickle while others experienced a flood. Kila experienced his more like a sudden plummet into a lake. Getting his feet wet didn't affect his perception much, but sometimes information inundated him like water closing over his head. Crowded places typically brought on the plummet.

A short distance to his right, a diminutive young woman stood conversing with a handsome, tall man. The medals pinned to the man's coat, the pale highlights streaking his hair, and his tanned skin indicated that he was a Seafarer of rank, probably a captain, if Kila had to hazard a guess.

However, it wasn't the man who had captured his attention, it was the young woman, though he couldn't say why. Scanning her, he took in her delicately embroidered sage green silk gown, the froth of dark curls crowning her head, the candlelight catching on the strands of red threaded through them. Something about the shape of her mouth, the violet hue of her deep blue eyes, stroked at his memory with elusive fingers. She wore matching silk gloves, and the turn of her wrist struck him as familiar. Frowning, he averted his gaze before she caught him staring. His gift tugged at him, urging him to take a closer look at her, to tease out what it was about her that made him feel as if he knew her.

"That man over there is Captain Lachlon Stowley, the youngest captain in House Staerleigh history," Burl said, pointing at the man talking to the woman who had caught Kila's attention. He slanted a glance at Burl, wondering if she had noticed him examining the woman, but if she had she gave him no indication. Cursing himself, he vowed not to be caught off guard in front of Burl again.

"Over there, to the right of Captain Stowley, is Elder Borean, and he's speaking with Daerwyn Wyland," Burl said, skipping over Stowley's companion. Continuing in a circle, she pointed out other illustrious personages to him, and he tried to commit them all to memory.

She had just finished when Daerwyn Wyland approached them with a welcoming smile. "Officer Burl," he said. "How good of you to come."

"I was honored by the invitation," Burl said, giving him a short, stiff bow, which Wyland returned.

"I'm not acquainted with your companion," Wyland said, his eyes flicking to Kila.

"This is my new partner, Officer Kila an Movis," she said. "Kila, this is Daerwyn Wyland."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," Kila said, mimicking Burl's bow.

"Likewise, I'm sure," Wyland said, sounding as though he were chewing the words.

"I see Captain Stowley has returned safely," Burl said.

The comment pleased Wyland, who beamed. "He has indeed. That's my daughter, Cianne, he's talking to." His tone was so pointed that Kila didn't need to be an Intentionist to catch his meaning.

"Ah, yes, Miss Wyland," Burl said. "She looks well. Might we pay our respects to her and to Captain Stowley?"

"Of course," Wyland said, looking even more pleased, if that were possible.

This is a man of ambition.

Taking note of Wyland's attire, Kila filed the information away for future reference.

"Cianne, Lach, you remember Officer Burl?" Wyland said.

"Yes, of course. How do you do?" Stowley asked, bowing to Burl.

"Officer Burl," Miss Wyland said, with a slight incline to her head.

She doesn't like Burl. Interesting.

"Allow me to introduce my new partner, Officer an Movis."

The expression lasted a split second, but Kila caught it. His name made Miss Wyland's face go rigid, and when she turned to look at him he could see her fighting for control. Her uncanny blue eyes were wide, but she covered up her discomposure with a tepid smile.

"Officer an Movis, it's a pleasure to meet you," she said.

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Wyland, Captain Stowley," Kila said, bowing to them both.

"If you'll excuse us, I should introduce Officer an Movis to the Elders," Wyland said to his daughter and Stowley.

"Of course," Stowley said. He didn't seem to mind at all. As it was, his eyes had barely strayed from Miss Wyland, though he had been very civil with both Kila and Burl.

Kila could have sworn he felt eyes on the back of his neck as Wyland ushered them away. Venturing a glance over his shoulder, he saw Stowley talking to Miss Wyland in animated tones, her attention focused on the captain. But Kila could have sworn he had seen her eyes dart away just as his landed on her.

Chapter 7

Heart seizing, Cianne tried to beat back the wave of dizziness that swept over her. Her pulse pounded, her blood roaring in her ears like Cearus's wrath. Over the years she had become good at marshaling her emotions, concealing her thoughts, but the shock of seeing Kila was so great that all her training had gone out the window as she was catapulted back into the skin of her twelve-year-old self.

***

Her nightly forays into the city began shortly after her mother's death, her need to escape overruling all sense.

Daerwyn treated her as if she were an unwelcome stranger. Overwhelmed by his grief and his need to control it, he put on a good show outside of the manor, projecting an image of dignity and strength to the other House members. Inside the manor, he had no room for his daughter's pain, unwilling to offer her anything to help her navigate it.

Coupled with his grief was the bewildering challenge of determining how to raise her on his own, a child he already found so unfathomable he didn't quite know what to do with her. He had counted on Annalith to be there for him, to see to it that Cianne didn't become the wild, feckless creature he feared would disgrace him and their whole House.

Lach was more than kind, though. Annalith had been like a second mother to him, and his affection for her had been genuine. His sense of loss was keen, if not quite as keen as Cianne's. For the first few days after Annalith's death they had spent the bulk of their time together in one another's arms, sobbing over their broken hearts. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how desperately he wished he could do so, Lach was unable to help her find her way through her despair.

House members crowded the manor, demanding recognition for their own suffering, and she wasn't merely beyond being able to accept the possibility that they were hurting too, she was indifferent to their pain. Who were they to lay claim to her mother? What did they know of her? What did they know of the hole her mother's absence had punched into the universe?

Annalith's funeral was lavish, and Cianne felt in her bones that her mother would have hated it. Clad in the customary deep green, the color of the sea at its most forbidding, every member of the House had crammed into the Council Hall. Funerary rites were read, offerings were made to Cearus, and many House members took their turn to say some words about Annalith, but Cianne was aware of none of it. Her eyes were fixed on the empty, gilded casket, as if they might catch sight of that beloved face one last time if only they could bore through the wood.