A House Divided (Astoran Asunder, book 1)

by Nicole Ciacchella

  "I'm trying to be patient with you," she said quietly, not willing to be mollified yet. "But I will leave if you continue to treat me in this manner."

  She was angry with him, but she also hoped she could jolt him back into the real world, the world where he didn't feel as though it were his right to lash out while wallowing in his own self-pity. She wouldn't judge him for his behavior, not while his grief was still so fresh, but nor would she accept that this might become his normal conduct. He could be forgiven for acting mad with grief for a time, but at some point a line had to be drawn. She would not allow him to abuse her.

  "You're right," he said, lifting his face, his cheeks streaked with tears.

  "You need to eat, and you need to sleep," she said in a sharp voice. "That's part of the reason why you're acting this way. I know it hurts, and I know you feel like you can't go on. I know that, Lach, but you can't curl up and die either. Do you think that's what your father would want?"

  "No," he said, his voice so small he sounded like the boy he had once been. "He would want me back at sea. He would want me to attend to my House duties. He would want me to be the man he was proud to call his son."

  "Then be that man."

  Nodding, Lach wiped his face with a napkin and took an unsteady sip of tea. "I will," he said. "But I must also be the man who uncovers the truth. Perhaps my mother's meetings are unrelated, and perhaps they're not, I don't know. Until I do know I won't be able to let it go."

  "All right, I understand. But what if you're grasping at straws, Lach?" She posed the question because she needed to do so if she were to maintain the fiction that she didn't think there was anything to his suspicions.

  "Then I'll loosen my grasp," he said. He offered her a one-shouldered shrug, his mouth twisting into a rictus of a smile. Even so, she saw some glimmer of the old Lach.

  "Tell me about your mother's excursions," she said, sighing. She sat across from him once more, putting a few finger sandwiches and some grapes on a plate, and handing it to him with a stern look.

  Obediently, he began eating, pausing between mouthfuls to talk. "I don't know where she goes, exactly. I haven't followed her."

  "What do you think is going on?"

  Lowering his eyes to his plate, Lach became suddenly very interested in his food. "I think she may be having an affair," he mumbled, ashamed.

  Disbelief and relief flooded Cianne. If he thought that was what was going on, then he couldn't personally be involved. Cianne hadn't yet found an explanation for what was happening, but if there was one thing she knew for certain it was that his mother hadn't been carrying on an affair. Whatever it was, it was of a far more dire nature than that.

  "Why would you think that?" she asked, injecting appalled shock into her voice.

  "Beyond the late-night meetings, you mean?" he asked, still giving his plate his full attention. "She's received some odd messages."

  That caught her attention, and she was glad not to have to hide her interest. "What do you mean by odd messages?"

  "Coded or something, I don't know. All I know is I couldn't make sense of them. Can you imagine the effect it might have on the House if she's having an affair with another member? She could cause untold strife. Worse yet, what if she's carrying on with someone outside the House? She could be compromising our House unity, could be engaged in something that could tear the House apart," he said, his voice catching. He paused for a moment, taking another drink of his tea and putting a grape in his mouth, his jaw working vigorously as he chewed.

  It was fortunate that he was so preoccupied with his own distress that it prevented him from noticing Cianne's. With a dizzying whoosh the blood had drained from her face, and she was glad he had lowered the blinds. The dim light would prevent him from seeing how pale she had gone.

  "The thing is," he continued after a moment, "I think my father knew about it. They were in his study, in the middle of an argument the day I came back from my last voyage. I walked in on them. They brushed me off when I asked, but I heard my father as soon as I came through the front door. Over and over again he was shouting, 'How could you? How could you take part in such a betrayal?'"

  Chapter 20

  "I may need your assistance with something," Miss Wyland said as she slipped through Kila's back door.

  Anticipating that she might drop in, he'd been on alert the entire evening, listening for her. He had taken to leaving his back door unbarred, his windows unlatched, when he was at home and awake. She'd already proven to him that she could sneak into his lodgings whenever she liked, so he doubted practicing her skills on his security would help her develop them any further. Why not make things simpler for her?

  "Oh?" he asked, lifting a brow as he turned to her, wiping his hands on a tea towel.

  Her face was drawn, her eyes troubled, but she brightened at the sight of his preparations. "Two cups?" she asked, her lips quirking in an amused smile.

  Shrugging, he said, "I've decided it's best to be prepared. Been putting out an extra cup every night."

  He would have called her expression wistful, but that didn't make much sense to him.

  "That's kind of you," she said.

  His traitorous eyes wanted to drink in the sight of her, and he found the urge difficult to resist. She was dressed as she always was, in tight, form-hugging black clothing that intrigued him more than he cared to admit. Her eyes were almost indigo in the flickering candlelight, and he felt himself being drawn into them. Tearing his gaze away, he returned his attention to the tea preparation.

  Words tickled at the back of his throat. He wanted to tell her how much he enjoyed her company, but he wondered if that would sound odd, considering they were caught up in the midst of an intrigue. Would things be different once they managed to untangle the threads and discover what was happening in House Staerleigh? Was the chemistry simmering between them due to the excitement of being embroiled in a secret together, or was it more substantial than that? Would she continue to visit him at night after they'd solved the mystery?

  He hoped very much that she would. Her secret skills and sharpness of mind intrigued him, made him want to learn more about her. He would like to spend time with her, note the changes the years had wrought. He longed to know this new, adult version of the sweet young girl he had once befriended.

  He kept his thoughts to himself.

  They sat at his small table, Miss Wyland's shoulders relaxing as she sipped the tea. She was pensive, though.

  "How may I assist you, Miss Wyland?" he asked.

  "Miss Wyland?" she repeated, her lips curving in a full smile that snagged his gaze once more. "Really? When did we end up on such formal terms?"

  "What should I call you, then?"

  "You should call me by my first name, like you used to—" she cut herself off, looking abashed. "Right. I guess you didn't know me as Cianne then either."

  "No, but I like to think I knew you."

  His response pleased her, judging by the color that rose to her cheeks, the hope on her face. "You did know me. You do know me."

  "Cianne it is, then, if that's what you would like."

  Her cheeks got even pinker at his saying her name. "It is."

  "So, how may I assist you, Cianne?"

  "I may need to break into the offices in the Council Hall."

  He wasn't surprised, not truly, but he did feel wary. Not because he didn't trust her, but because he wondered if it was a risk she should take. Her position within the House seemed precarious as it was. He did not think the Elders would be lenient if they caught her.

  "Are you certain that's wise?"

  "No, but I'm becoming convinced it may be necessary," she said. "Lach told me two things that strike me as very odd. For one, he said his parents were arguing the day he returned from his journey. He wasn't expected so early, if you recall, so they wouldn't have known he would walk in on them. He said his father was shouting at his mother, 'How could you? How could you take part in such a betrayal?'
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br />   "The second odd thing he told me was that his mother has been receiving coded messages. I plan to have a look around her study in the Stowley manor as well, but something tells me she wouldn't have kept them hidden there. My father doesn't keep anything of interest in his study."

  Kila sensed something else was troubling her, but even as she continued to share more information with him, he couldn't shake the feeling that she was holding back.

  She told him about the connections she'd made between her father, Moiria, and the Elders. He had to admit that all of it did sound rather strange. Why would the Elders be so secretive? The Houses were as strong as they were because transparency was the standard. House Elders guided the House and stepped in to make decisions where necessary, but most House affairs were settled by consensus. Since every member of the House felt as if they had a vested interest in House outcomes, it kept them all loyal, involved, and motivated to do what was best for the collective good. Yes, some fared better than others, but when the House in general prospered so did even the lowliest of House members. It was what made the Houses such a force to be reckoned with, as many a non-Adept had complained to his or her companions in the local tavern. Hoping to win one House member to your side, to persuade them to go against the rest of their House, was considered a losing proposition.

  "Very well. Should it become necessary to break into the Council Hall, I will assist you. I would very much like to see these coded messages," he said.

  "As would I."

  "What does the captain think his mother is doing?" he asked, wondering if Cianne intended to bring Captain Stowley in on their investigation.

  Her face tightened at the mention of the captain, and Kila had the feeling that whatever she was holding back had to do with Captain Stowley. "He thinks his mother is having an affair."

  "Do you mean to disabuse him of this notion?"

  "No."

  Her painful conflict at not sharing the truth with her friend was obvious, but he was glad she'd made the decision to keep what she knew to herself. As a general rule he wasn't necessarily in favor of going things alone, but he felt that in this circumstance secrecy was warranted. He was beginning to trust that she would defy her House if necessary, but he wasn't willing to bank on anyone else's willingness to do so.

  "I think that's for the best, as difficult as this must be for you."

  "So do I," she said with a heavy sigh. She threaded her fingers into her tightly bound hair and began kneading her scalp.

  "Do you think the captain could ever be an ally?"

  "I don't know. Perhaps. If we can find definitive proof that his mother did murder his father and that she and her conspirators covered it up, it might be enough to turn Lach. But I don't think it's wise to even consider bringing any of this to his attention unless we can find solid proof."

  "I agree. I'm sorry. I wish I knew of some way to make this easier on you," he said, full of sympathy for her. He didn't like to see her under such strain.

  "You help make it easier on me," she said, glancing at him. "Knowing I can speak freely with you, let down my guard, that does help. More than you might think."

  "You may unburden yourself to me any time you wish."

  "Do you know what would help me even more?"

  "What's that?"

  "Performing the deshya with you."

  "I would be glad to have someone to practice with."

  She was so lovely when she smiled.

  Together they gathered the tea things and then headed out into his darkened jungle of a garden. Kila was accustomed to darkness, having spent many evenings staking out suspects and tracking wrongdoers, and his eyes adjusted quickly. Cianne didn't need much time to get her bearings either, as he'd suspected, and they took up positions across from one another, close but leaving an arm's length between them so that neither would accidentally strike the other.

  Performing the deshya with a partner was an intimate act, which was why parents taught it to their children as a bonding exercise. Staring steadily into another's eyes for such a length of time was no easy thing, and it was thought that growing comfortable in performing the deshya with a partner was a good means of building trust. Kila suspected this was true, but he hadn't enough experience to say for certain. He had certainly trusted his parents, but aside from them Cianne was the only other person with whom he'd performed the deshya. After his departure from Cearus, he had been convinced he'd never perform it with a partner again.

  The overgrown state of his garden heightened the sense of intimacy. The huge, unruly plants provided them with extra cover, shielding them from stray eyes. With so little space to work out, they had to be closer to one another than they might otherwise have been.

  Threads of trust tugged at him as they glided from one form to the next without hesitation. When she had been younger the direct eye contact had made Cianne giggle in embarrassment, but now her face was serene as she moved. He was impressed by how well she performed. Her movements were lithe, fluid, beautiful to behold. She might not know it, but when she performed the deshya she was as much a child of water as any member of House Staerleigh. What a pity they couldn't seem to understand that value didn't lie solely in the Seafarer gifts Cearus had granted most of them.

  Afterward they sat next to one another in the patch of scrubby grass, catching their breath. Kila had brought out some cool, weak ale for them to drink, and they gazed up at the stars as they recovered.

  "Your skills are astonishing," he said.

  "Because you wouldn't have believed me capable of developing them?" she teased. There was nothing but lightness in her voice, telling him that she trusted him to see her in ways her House couldn't.

  "Yes, that's it," he said, deadpan.

  "Thank you very much for that wonderful compliment," she cried, nudging him with her shoulder.

  The contact sent a shiver through him that had nothing to do with the night air cooling his overheated skin. His mouth went dry as she plucked pins from her hair, causing it to tumble over her shoulders and down to her waist in a cascade of loose curls. Breathing out in evident relief, she combed her fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her face. His fingers itched to reach out and touch it.

  "You must have dedicated yourself to practicing," he said instead, hoping his voice was level.

  "I did," she said, all seriousness. "I loved the deshya from the first moment you showed it to me, perhaps because it was so difficult for me. I was nimble enough, having grown up scrambling about ships, but I think I needed the challenge then. Once my mother was gone, I…" Pausing, she swallowed, staring off into the inky darkness, pinpricked by thousands of tiny, white stars. "I feared I wouldn't find my place in the world. When I found you and you showed me the deshya, I felt as if I finally understood where I belonged."

  The words made his pulse leap in a manner he didn't quite understand. He recognized his attraction to her for what it was, had acknowledged that he was far more attracted to her then he had ever been to another woman, but he was also confused. She was no child, and he saw her as a woman, yet something held him back around her. All things considered, it would be a lousy time to become involved with anyone, but he felt as if becoming involved with her would be a violation even under the best of circumstances. Was it because she was a member of House Staerleigh and he knew that there could never be any hope of anything between them, or was it because he felt like he'd be committing an act of betrayal against the child he had once known? Either way, he could promise her nothing, which meant he had no business even broaching the topic.

  He tried to find a delicate way to pose his next question. "You did grow up around ships? I would have thought that…"

  She smiled at his obvious discomfort. "Don't worry, you haven't offended me. All House Staerleigh children are assumed to be Seafarers until proven otherwise. Ships are our playgrounds when we're young, and our parents encourage us to learn about every aspect of ships and sailing. We're formally tested at ten." Her smile
faded as she spoke, pain etched around her eyes and mouth.

  "I shouldn't have asked," he said, his chest aching. "I seem to have a talent for inflicting pain on you."

  "You didn't inflict this pain on me," she said quietly.

  Staring off at the stars, he said, "Do you know what idea irks me more than any other? The idea that pain makes us stronger. Pain may make use wiser in the best cases, may make us more cautious, but I don't think pain makes us stronger. I believe strength is something you either have the will to muster or you don't."

  She said nothing for a while, staring into the sky as well. "If you can't muster the strength, does that make you weak, then?"

  "I don't know. Perhaps," he said, his thoughts chafing at him. He had tried so many times to make sense of it, but he'd never been able. He hadn't thought his father weak, and still wasn't convinced that his father was. But what other explanation was there for his father's actions?

  "You have allowed me to share my pain with you, and I want you to know that you may share yours with me, if you wish to do so." Gathering her hair with her hands, she twisted it with deft fingers and pinned it back up again, then rose, offering him a hand. He took it, the contact with her skin once more making his nerves tingle, and got to his feet.

  "Shall we go again?" she asked.

  It was late but he wouldn't be able to sleep, due to his agitated state of his mind. He was unwilling to let the night go, to put an end to the pocket of peace they had managed to carve out. He appreciated her offer, and appreciated even more that she had left it at that. It was clear that she understood how private a thing pain was. Someday he hoped he might find it within himself to share his pain with her.

  Kila felt a sense of release as they repeated the deshya, as if he had begun to loosen his grip on the things that caused him the most distress. Cianne's motions were a mirror of his, and as he stared into her eyes, he could have sworn her emotions were also a mirror of his.

  Chapter 21