A House Divided (Astoran Asunder, book 1)

by Nicole Ciacchella

  "And on this night," she said, her voice faltering.

  She didn't say anything for so long that he had to prompt her. "What is it?"

  "On this night, my father paid a visit to a shop in the city center, though it was well outside of business hours and the shop was closed."

  Chapter 17

  Cianne heard Kila's surprised intake of breath. She was more controlled, though her mind was a tumult, her emotions a wild roil. Was her father somehow caught up in all this? If Toran had been murdered, could Daerwyn have been involved? Cianne believed her father was capable of many things, but she had never imaged he might be capable of conspiring to murder someone.

  No, you don't know anything for certain. You're reaching! You saw him going into a shop at night once and you're ready to convict him of murder? What kind of daughter are you?

  The kind of daughter who was caught between a sense of obligation to be loyal to her House and the fear that her House might be involved in something dire. Attempting to write her feelings off, she told herself that she was itching to find something to throw back in her father's face, something she could use to prove to him and the rest of her House that they weren't superior to her and never would be, but it wasn't that simple. She wasn't above wishing for petty revenge, but this, whatever it was, went far beyond that. She had to follow this trail to its end, whatever that end might be.

  "Miss Wyland," Kila began in a hesitant voice. "Are you certain of this?"

  She appreciated his trying to give her an out, but she was so distraught that her voice was sharp as she responded. "Of course I am. Do you think I'd say such a thing if I weren't?"

  He held his tongue, but she knew what he was thinking. It wouldn't be the first time she'd deceived him, and he was right to be wary. He couldn't trust her. For all he knew she might be spinning a web about him, trying to snare him in something meant to serve her own ends.

  "I saw my father that night," she said, speaking more calmly. "I followed him to that shop, and I saw him enter. He tapped the door in a pattern, like a signal. That's what struck me as so odd about it. He could have been meeting with the shop owner to discuss House business, but if that were the case, why didn't he knock on the door in a normal manner? Why the code?"

  Frowning, Kila stroked his chin. "Very well. It's an avenue worth pursuing."

  "I know you don't trust me. You've no reason to trust me, but I swear to you that I wouldn't lie about this," Cianne said, meeting his eyes. "I want to know what happened with Toran. If he did commit suicide, I need to know why, when he gave every indication that he would never have even contemplated such an act. And if he didn't commit suicide…" She allowed her voice to trail off. It went without saying why she'd want to pursue the investigation in that case.

  "Is there anyone in your House we might count on as an ally? Anyone you can trust?"

  "No one," she said. Of that she was certain.

  His eyes were full of pity, and she wanted to turn away. She'd always known he'd pitied her. Had she been in his place, she would likely have pitied herself as well.

  She didn't want his pity. She didn't want anyone's pity.

  "Not even Captain Stowley?" he asked.

  "Not even him," she said firmly. "As insincere as you may find this, I believe you know more about me than he does."

  He said nothing, studying her with a probing gaze that should have made her feel uncomfortable, but that instead made her feel something very different. He might not know her favorite color, might not know her favorite book, but he knew the real her in a way Lach never would, for all his good intentions. Lach had an idea of the Cianne he wanted to know, and he projected that image onto her, an image that made her fit neatly within the Staerleigh framework. Choosing between Cianne and the House was unthinkable. He needed to believe that the House cared about her as much as he did, and so he decided that the House cared about her, thus freeing himself from one day having to acknowledge that the House to which he belonged body and soul wasn't as benevolent as he was convinced it was. Whenever she protested, he brushed her off, determined to show her the error of her ways.

  It didn't matter that he did so gently, that he did so with respect for her feelings, that he didn't want to offend or belittle her. He might talk to her, he might hear what she had to say, but he didn't listen. He never really had.

  Kila did listen. He always had.

  Nodding, he plucked a quill and a small book from his desk, making notes about the three dates they'd discussed. He asked her if she knew anything about the others, and she filled in as many details as she could. Some of the dates were meaningless to her, but when she had finished going through them it was clear that House Staerleigh had a regular pattern of conducting secretive meetings with the other Houses. Though Cianne had noted the presence of a few of the other Houses' Elders at some of these meetings, she didn't know what positions all the meeting participants held. She did know that the most prominent members of her own House were attending them, though. Given that and the presence of the other Houses' Elders, she and Kila surmised that the meetings must have been orchestrated by the House elites.

  "To what purpose?" he asked.

  "I don't know," she said, shrugging. "I never before connected the dates, so they seemed like isolated incidents, unusual but not anything that rang any particular warning bells for me."

  "Why did you follow them, then?"

  Cianne had the grace to feel abashed, and she let him see it. What must he think of her, spying on her own House members—not to mention slipping into his home uninvited, whenever the mood struck her. He'd have every reason to think her no better than a common Cearovan street thug.

  "I worried my father was involved in something," she said. "Sometimes I'd lose track of him and follow the others to see if he'd be wherever they were going. Sometimes he was, but not every time. Whatever it is, he is involved, but he's not alone. I see that now, but in the past my focus was too narrow. I wanted only to know what my father was up to."

  "You must have had other reasons for being suspicious. Following him around the city could hardly have been worth your time without some inducement."

  Exhaling, Cianne fought to keep her shoulders from tensing as they wanted to, but then she decided not to bother pretending around him. For one, it was easier. Maintaining control of herself at all times was exhausting, but it was also necessary if she wanted to ensure the House never thought of her as anything more than a stain on their honor. It would be disastrous for her if they started to view her as possessing a brain capable of logical leaps. With Kila, though, there was no need for the pretense. She might as well show herself as she was to him. She longed for one honest relationship, but more than that, she felt she owed him her honesty.

  If there is ever to be anything between us…

  She pushed the thought aside. Age might no longer be a factor. Distance was no longer relevant. Yet neither made the situation any less impossible, no matter the level of fervency with which her heart might wish otherwise.

  "It's hard to explain to someone outside the House," she said, turning to face him, wanting him to see her earnest expression, her open face. He might still think it a charade, and she wouldn't blame him, but at least she would know in her heart that she wasn't misleading him. "A lot of subtle things started happening. My father has always been important to the House, but his status has become even more elevated in the last few years. No one doubts that he'll take over for Elder Borean when the time is right. My father was always a possible candidate for the Council, but something he did has clinched the position. Anyone else who might have been a contender has faded into the background.

  "Minor privileges, small marks of esteem have followed. My father is invited to meetings non-Council members aren't typically invited to attend. He's been given more power to authorize agreements with the other Houses. I can't remember our family income ever being anything less than comfortable, but new signs of wealth have been springing up around the man
or, gifts from the Elders, I suspect, though I couldn't say for certain. One day a valuable book will appear in my father's library. Another I'll find a Shaper-made trinket or a Weaver-fashioned carpet."

  "He's never said anything about them?" Kila asked, looking dubious.

  Color rose to her cheeks. "No. He thinks me too dim or too oblivious to notice, I expect. They simply appear, there one day. Besides, none of it is ostentatious enough to be noticeable to most."

  "You notice," he said, and something about his tone made her feel an absurd sense of pride. Was it admiration she heard?

  "I've made it my business to notice many things my House could never dream I notice."

  "Evidently." This time, the admiration was unmistakable, and she felt as if she were about to crack wide open.

  The way she drank up his praise embarrassed her. Was she so desperate for a compliment? Lach provided her with them in abundance, but his compliments never made her feel this way.

  You've known for years that Lach can never have any hope of making you feel the way Kila makes you feel.

  Her little girl fancies were mortifying, and if Kila were ever to receive any indication of how she felt, she would be humiliated. He could never see her as anything more than the quirky, strange, wounded child she had been when they had first met. Surely he couldn't.

  And even if he could, what did it matter? There could never be anything between them. She could hardly march him to her manor and introduce him to her father. An Enforcer and a foreigner to boot, come to call on Cianne Wyland of House Staerleigh? To say it was unimaginable wasn't overstating things.

  She had no romantic notions about running away with him. Life was difficult enough for him as it was. Asking him to take that step with her, even if he could ever feel a fraction of what she felt, was something she could never do to him. His not being a native of Astoran didn't matter to her in the least, but it made him an outcast, and if she were to leave her House to be with him, he would be reviled as having corrupted her. That the truth would bear no resemblance to that characterization wouldn't matter. He would be subject to most of the blame, because no House member would be able to stomach the thought of another member being capable of defiling the House in such an unspeakable manner.

  A life with her could be nothing more than a life of exile, and while it was a sacrifice she'd be willing to make, she wouldn't ask it of him. Exile had been forced upon him once already.

  It wouldn't be a sacrifice, not for me, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. Being with him could never be a sacrifice. Being with him would be a privilege.

  He didn't seem to notice her inner turmoil, so perhaps she was better at withholding than she thought, even when she didn't intend to withhold. She didn't know what that said about her.

  Obviously deliberating, he rubbed his chin several more times, then came to a decision. "Chief Flim suspects the Houses are up to something."

  Shocked, she stared at him in disbelief. "She does?"

  The current chief didn't pander to the Houses the way former chiefs had, but as far as Cianne knew the House Staerleigh Elders merely considered her standoffish, not a threat. Were they to find out what Cianne knew, though… Kila's trusting her with the information was an immense leap of faith.

  Nodding, he said, "It's why she brought me back to Cearova. She knew I had no loyalty to any of the Houses, and she hoped that the fact that I'm an outsider would help me catch anything she may have missed."

  Alarm shot through Cianne, though she did her best to control it. "Have you told her about me?"

  "No," he said, meeting her eyes.

  Crumpling a bit in relief, she nodded too. "Thank you."

  "You're a valuable asset, Miss Wyland. I've no wish to compromise your safety."

  How should she feel about that? While she appreciated that he had kept her secret, he made it sound as though he had done so because he wanted to keep pumping her for information. Yet she knew he wasn't like that. Deep down inside, she knew. The man who had shown such kindness and patience couldn't do something so mercenary.

  Couldn't he? He's been gone a long time, forced to live in obscurity for years, sent away to a place where he could have had no hope for career advancement. How much might he have changed during those years?

  Now Chief Flim has brought him back here to work on her special project, offering him a chance for advancement at last. What do you know of the lengths to which he'd go to secure his position?

  Perhaps he wasn't alone in his leap of faith, then.

  No. She refused to think that way. She was tired of seeing enemies around every corner. Kila was her friend, she was certain of that. He wanted to protect her just as she wanted to protect him. That they both stood to lose so much was a testament to this fact. They could trust one another and only one another.

  Chapter 18

  Long after Miss Wyland had left, she occupied Kila's thoughts. They had gone through the dates together and made detailed notes about everything she could remember. She had taken the notes with her when she had left, promising him that she had a secure spot where she could stash them. He didn't doubt it. Everything he had learned about her so far had pointed to her considerable skills at deception. She would have made a minor Obscurist proud.

  Despite the cautious side of him that urged him to be careful with her, he believed he had found an ally in her. She knew a great deal about him, but he knew a great deal about her as well. This provided him with leverage, should she do anything that might compromise his position.

  The thought was vaguely distasteful. Being cautious made sense, but the thought of hurting her turned his stomach. A part of him still tended to think of her as the young, vulnerable girl he had instinctively protected, but another part of him was aware that she was no longer that girl. She was no fainting maiden in distress either, and he admired her wiles, her stealthy skills, and her quick mind.

  Not to mention that hair, a voice whispered. He remembered the masses of curls she had worn the night of the assembly, contrasted with the tight braids she'd worn tonight. The night of the assembly she'd looked like a lovely lady of means, all soft hair, glowing skin, and floating gown. On this night she had looked every inch the capable spy, her body as tightly coiled as her hair, her stride purposeful, her movements assured. He liked the thought of seeing these two sides of her rather more than he should, and he batted away the annoying voice that wondered which was the real Miss Wyland. They both were, of that he was certain.

  I wonder how she would look with her hair down, loose and flowing about her.

  That thought was certainly one in which he wouldn't permit himself to indulge. He had business to attend, and attend it he would.

  It was late, and if he wasn't careful his lack of sleep would catch up to him, something he couldn't afford to have happen. He forced himself to go to bed in an attempt to get some rest, but he spent hours tossing and turning, thinking about his father's book.

  Shock had crashed over him when Miss Wyland had handed it to him. As he had told her, he had been certain the book had been lost. It hadn't occurred to him that she might keep it all these years, nor had he ever imagined he would see it again.

  It had been a complicated gift. Watching her struggle with remembering each position and how to transition to it had reminded him of his own youth, of the days he had spent with his father, alone in the forest clearing that his father had declared their secret world. His mother had known about it, of course. She had known everything, and though she had pretended to mind that she had been banned from it, Kila knew she hadn't minded one bit. Laurisha had loved her son and her husband, and seeing the two of them in harmony had been one of the great pleasures of her life.

  And Kila and his father had been in harmony, at least then. They had spent hours together, and there had been nothing his father had been unwilling to tell him, nothing he had been unwilling to share. The general assumption had been that Kila would gravitate more toward his mother; after all, t
hey shared a common bond in their Adept gifts. But though he had loved her, his father had been his favorite. Kila had thought everything about his father was wonderful, even some of the things others had seen as his shortcomings. So Sylosh had trouble remaining with a job, had a tendency to get restless and move from one thing to the next. So what? His father's mind was of such a curious bent that of course nothing could satisfy his intellect for long. Kila had found it natural that Sylosh would want to try everything he could, learn everything he could.

  Laurisha had tried teaching Kila the deshya, but the truth was she hadn't the talent for it. Somewhat impatient by nature, she had never been able to grasp why what she felt was her clear, succinct instructions failed to make sense to her son. Sylosh had taken over from her, a twinkle in his eye when he had teased his son that they would go to their secret spot, away from Laurisha's prying eyes.

  Kila hadn't been reluctant to learn the deshya, but having been granted cerebral Adept skills as well as a keen intellect of his own, he had always been more interested in matters of the mind than matters of the body. It was his father who had shown him how the deshya could help him focus, how physical exertion could clear his mind, opening the door for his thoughts to flow freely.

  That didn't mean teaching his son had been an easy matter for Sylosh. Kila wasn't naturally in tune with his body like his father had been, and Sylosh had soon realized that his son wasn't likely to catch on to the subtle movements, or to master with ease the strenuous muscle control that the deshya demanded. Relishing the challenge, Sylosh had treated it like a game, trying out technique after technique to help his son, devising riddles and songs and competitive bouts until his burst of insight: since his son showed such a marked preference for books, why not teach him using a book?

  Laurisha had been appalled. The deshya was never depicted in books, it simply wasn't done. The form was meant to be passed down from parent to child by way of practicing together, going through the movements in tandem, the parents correcting the child where necessary. The idea of committing it to written record had scandalized her, but Sylosh hadn't been dissuaded. In addition to Kila's love of books, he had been transfixed by his father's drawings, a skill Kila had never been able to master, no matter how he applied himself. Sylosh had known that the combination of the two would be irresistible to his son.