A House Divided (Astoran Asunder, book 1) (8 page)

Stripping off his formal uniform, Kila pulled on a loose tunic and a comfortable pair of breeches. His new lodgings were slightly larger and quite a bit nicer than the old, as another aspect of the trade Houses' public works project had been to arrange for Enforcers to be able to obtain better housing in more desirable districts at a discounted rate.

Like slipping so many sweets to small children.

He couldn't argue with the benefits, though. His needs were modest, but his lower rent coupled with the slight increase in his wages would allow him to live more comfortably, and it was difficult to quibble with that. He was certain there was something to it. Large, lavish gifts were nice, but something told him that it was the small touches that were more prone to increase one's sense of gratitude and, therefore, one's sense of indebtedness.

Leaving his bedchamber, he went into the room he had set up as an office. His quarters also included a privy room that was large enough to accommodate a stone tub, and a large common room that served as kitchen, dining, and sitting room. The fireplaces in his bedchamber and the common room worked well enough, and the lodgings seemed as if they'd be relatively cozy in the winter, but he found himself thinking longingly of the modern system at Enforcement headquarters, and he shook his head. Reeled in already.

One wall in his office was covered with scraps of parchment that he arranged and rearranged at will, helping him to sort the information he'd gathered as he tried to establish links. Lengths of string extended from some bits to others, forming connections wherever he found them. Writing with a brisk, sure hand, he jotted down his new additions and added them to the wall. Stepping back, he stroked his chin and squinted, turning his head this way and that. Sometimes the answers leapt out at him, but at other times they were coy. He had made several leaps during the course of the assembly, but nothing of serious concern. Such personal information might prove itself useful at some point in time, but as of yet everything he'd gleaned was of a petty, unimportant nature.

Rolling his head around on his shoulders, he shook out his arms. Exercise would help. Allowing his mind to work through the knots while he focused on something else often resulted in his most useful discoveries, and he had learned to walk away whenever he began to feel stymied.

His new quarters also included a walled garden, but it wasn't any larger than the old. The previous tenant hadn't been much of a gardener, judging by the jungle-like growth in the yard, nature reasserting her claim. Kila frowned in distaste, but the physical labor would provide him another avenue for quieting his conscious mind, so it wasn't all bad. He liked to cultivate herbs, but more important to him was that his garden was in good order, laid out in lines that were pleasing to the eye and soothing to the mind. He would have his work cut out for him with this garden, but he would wrestle it into submission in due course.

He had just transitioned from the first to the second form of the deshya when someone pounded on his door. Concentration shattered, Kila stared at his garden door with a frown. Who could be calling at this hour?

The pounding grew more insistent, and he hurried through his house to his front door, surprised to find Burl on the other side.

"There's been a problem at the enclave," she said, the words clipped. He had the distinct impression that she was not happy to have had to stop and pick him up, and that instilled a sense of urgency in him.

"Let me change into my uniform," he said, ushering her into his lodgings. He would have invited her to have a seat, but she stopped a few inches from the door, crossing her arms, her face tight, and he decided not to bother with pleasantries.

He was back in uniform within minutes. Burl's eyes flicked over the neat tail of his hair, his shiny uniform buttons, and his well-polished boots, and he would have wagered she was disappointed not to find anything she could criticize.

"Let's go," she said. "I've a carriage waiting outside."

Hurrying after her, he waited until the carriage door was closed and they had set off with a jolt before asking for details.

"A prominent House member has committed suicide," she said with a whiff of disdain.

His stomach sank. Suicides were sadly fairly common, but not as prevalent amongst the members of the upper class. Burl's tone indicated she saw such an action as due to either a weakness or a character defect, and Kila wondered if her indignation was personal or if she considered the occurrence an affront to the House.

"Who?"

"Toran Stowley."

"He was at the assembly," Kila said, conjuring up a picture of the man's face. He remembered Toran laughing with his son, who strongly favored him, and casting fond glances at his son's companion, Miss Wyland. Kila had been an Enforcer long enough to know that appearances could be deceiving, but he was nevertheless surprised to hear the name. No one had seemed particularly depressed at the assembly, but based on the bits he'd gathered he could think of several others he might have deemed more likely candidates for suicide.

"Yes, he was," Burl said, her stony gaze fixed on him.

"Did anyone witness the incident?"

"I've told you everything I know."

Nodding, Kila said nothing more, but something nagged at the back of his mind. Several indelicate questions begged to be posed, but he hadn't the first idea how to address them with Burl. He wouldn't have hesitated to let them fly with Flim, who had encouraged her junior partner to question everything, but he knew Burl wouldn't appreciate such conduct, especially since she might interpret his questions as casting aspersions on House Staerleigh. Instead, he kept them to himself, deciding that following her lead would give him an excuse to keep a close eye on her.

"It's not my place to question anything. House Staerleigh knows and trusts you. I am at your—and their—disposal," he said.

Her response was a curt nod, though her eyes didn't leave his face. He found her reaction intriguing. That she intended to intimidate him went without saying. What interested him was the motivation behind her intentions. Plenty of officers made a sport of tormenting their subordinates purely for the fun of it, but he didn't think that was what was driving Burl. He had to be careful lest any preconceived notions crept in, but his first instinct was to chalk her intentions up to an attempt to keep him as in the dark as possible, at least until such time as she decided she could trust him, if ever. He wondered how far his deception should go. Making her aware of his shrewdness didn't seem advisable, even though she might admire it and wish to make use of it. Playing the ignorant was easy enough now, since he was still so new to her, but maintaining such a ruse would be no easy feat. Whatever Burl was, he was quite certain she wasn't a fool.

They arrived at the Stowley manor, which was blazing with light. Guards flanked the front entrance, directing surly gazes at Burl and Kila, even after they'd shown identification. Their reaction came as no surprise to Kila. Doubtless the House would be quite concerned about how to handle this matter.

As if to prove his point, they found several members of the Council of Elders assembled inside, along with Daerwyn Wyland. Refreshments covered one long table, but there were no servants in sight, and Kila presumed they had been banished.

"Officer Burl," Elder Borean said, stepping forward to press her hand between his. His long face was mournful, his eyes watery with tears.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Burl said, pressing the man's hand in return. It was the first time Kila had seen her show any semblance of warmth, and it took him aback. Perhaps she wasn't as hard-hearted as he'd believed.

"It's a tragedy," said Elder Vorfarth. She dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "Toran was… Such a good man. I can't believe he'd do such a thing." Pressing her lips together, she abruptly stopped speaking, and wiped her eyes with more vigor.

"Where might I find Advisor Stowley?" Burl asked in a gentle tone.

"In Toran's study, with Chief Flim," Elder Borean answered, his voice thick. "I'll take you to them."

Kila was surprised that the chief had beaten them there, and he wondered what Burl would make of it. He couldn't discern her reaction. Her expression remained unchanged, her sympathetic eyes fixed on Elder Borean.

"Thank you, Elder Borean."

The older man shuffled down the corridor, and they left behind the muffled sounds of low chatter and sniffling. The corridor was deserted, and Kila wondered if the servants were all up in their quarters, huddled together and mourning or gossiping. Servants were an excellent source of information, when one could get them to talk. He had a feeling luck wouldn't be on his side in that regard this time around.

Elder Borean left them at the door of the study, and they entered to find Moiria Stowley slumped in a chair, a glass containing two fingers of amber liquid dangling from her limp hand. Chief Flim was crouched next to Toran's body, which bore no obvious signs of the means of his demise.

"Chief. Advisor Stowley," Burl said in a very low voice. Even so, Moiria startled, the liquid sloshing around in her glass. She juggled it for a second before setting it down on the large, ornate desk, a fat amber bead trickling over the glass's side.

"Officer Burl," Moiria said, moving to rise, but she collapsed back in the chair.

"Please, don't trouble yourself," Burl said gently.

"He was… I had no idea that… Toran," Moiria whispered, her voice breaking on the last word.

Burl exchanged a look with Flim. As Burl turned back to Moiria, Flim acknowledged Kila with a brief nod.

"Advisor Stowley, perhaps you would be more comfortable—" Burl began, but Moiria cut her off.

"No! No, I won't leave him!"

With a jerk of her head, the chief summoned Kila over to her while Burl crouched before Moiria's chair, talking to her in a low voice. Kila squatted next to the chief, who silently pointed to a few details before gesturing at a tea cup on the desk, an empty vial lying alongside it, its stopper cast off to the side.

Kila wondered what had been in the vial, but he thought it best not to sniff it or examine it until Burl convinced Moiria to leave the room, which she succeeded in doing a moment later. The new widow leaned heavily against Burl, who'd wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, and they left.

"Self poisoning?" Kila whispered to the chief.

"There's a note on the desk," she muttered, her lips all but motionless.

"Suspicious?"

"No."

Frowning, Kila examined the body, taking note of the crushed pile of the plush carpet, the curl of the man's fingers. Whatever had killed him appeared to have worked quickly. A slight grimace marred Toran's face and he'd vomited a bit, but his body was prone, not curled in on itself as if he had suffered.

Something more was going on here. Chief Flim hadn't shared all the details with him. He supposed the argument could be made that her actions were prudent. Setting aside her assertion that it was better if no one knew too much, keeping him ignorant made sense. Enforcers' skills weren't infallible. They were as human as the next person, and their personal prejudices could influence the conclusions they drew. Abundant evidence went a long way toward making them comfortable with their convictions, but they could make mistakes like everyone else. The less Kila knew about the chief's suspicions, the less he could shape the evidence to fit them. He didn't like being in the dark, but he could grudgingly admit it might be best for him to remain there, at least for the time being.

Burl rejoined them just as Kila was thinking about examining the note and the vial, but he stilled himself. Chief Flim rose, brushing her hands over her breeches, and joined Burl at the desk.

"You should look at this as well," Burl said, crooking her finger at Kila. All three bent over the note.

My darling Moiria and Lach,

Please know that you are not the cause of this. There's nothing you could have done. The one thing that might have stayed my hand was the fear that you would blame yourselves, but this pain has become unbearable. I hope you'll understand, and I hope you'll forgive me.

With everlasting love.

The note bore no signature, but parchment was scattered over a good portion of the desk's surface, and the handwriting on several pieces signed by Toran matched the suicide note's handwriting.

"What does he mean by the pain is unbearable? Was he ill? Was he despondent over something?" the chief asked.

Burl shook her head. "I don't know. I have no knowledge of any illness nor could I say if he was despondent, but the Houses are very private."

So Burl was claiming some ignorance as to the goings-on in the House. Kila could believe it. Chummy as the trade Houses might be with their Enforcement liaisons, they were still an insular group. They were co-dependent on one another for their livelihoods, but each House still barely trusted the others, let alone outsiders.

"Moiria Stowley is in too much shock to answer many questions at present. I've arranged for the body to be taken back to headquarters, so that our Healer may examine it," the chief said. "All signs indicate that this was a suicide, so I don't anticipate that the Healer will find anything contradictory."