by Sarra Cannon
Come to think of it, he had. Cianne couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, and the realization prompted her to ring for tea.
“You have to eat, Lach,” she said, in response to the way his lip curled at her action, his face spasming with revulsion.
“I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t do anything until I know the truth,” he said, his voice harsh, scratchy.
A twinge of guilt ate away at her. Here she was investigating the circumstances of his father’s death, and yet she wouldn’t tell him a word of it. He was living in torment and she wouldn’t do anything to ease his pain.
“The Elders have asked her to go through your father’s things, you know that, Lach. They have to know what the state of his affairs was. It concerns the House as a whole,” she said, trying for a reasonable approach. She thought he might respond to it, given the many times he had tried to get her to see what he insisted was reason when it came to the House.
Turning on her like a rabid dog, he snapped, “She wants to move on.”
“Lach, your mother… She and I have had our differences, that’s no secret, but she did love your father. You know that as well as I. You’re hurting, and I understand that, but you know she grieves in her own way, just as my father grieved in his after my mother died.”
He turned his head away. She had him there. He could hardly argue with her that his mother’s behavior was an indication that she didn’t care about her husband’s death. She wore her emotions on her face much more readily than Cianne’s father ever had, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the loss of Toran had torn Moiria apart.
“Are we to erase him, then? Remove all trace that he ever existed?” Lach whispered.
Cianne stood to go to him, but someone knocked on the sitting room door, interrupting them. It was a servant with the tea tray, which Cianne took, and by the time she returned to Lach he seemed to have collected himself.
“I’m sorry,” he told her in a broken voice, wiping at his cheek. “I know I’m not myself. I don’t mean to lash out at you.”
“I’m worried about you,” she said. Pouring a cup of tea, she added some sugar and cream to it, hoping that if he wasn’t going to eat she could at least get some sustenance into him that way.
He accepted the tea but set it beside him, immediately forgetting it. “I can’t accept that he’s gone.”
“I know, Lach, I know. Sometimes in the morning when I wake I still expect to hear my mother’s voice, scolding me to get out of bed, chiding me for being so lazy.” Fresh pain washed over Cianne even as she smiled, and she could feel tears rising to her own eyes.
“Oh, Cianne. No one understands what this is like the way you do,” he said, reaching for her hands.
He had said the same thing many times over the last few weeks, and each time he said it Cianne’s guilt and discomfort increased. He was enclosing them in a bubble she feared she wouldn’t be able to pierce without lacerating them both.
“No, Lach,” she said, making her tone as gentle as she could. “Don’t do that. Don’t deny the grief that others are feeling. Don’t deny that your mother is in pain too. I made that mistake, and I don’t want to see you make it. Your father was her life partner. Do you think it a simple matter for her to get over his death?”
Releasing her hands, he sat back in his chair and stared off into the distance, separating himself from her. She let him. She wasn’t certain whether it was wise to continue to indulge him as she was, but she was at a loss as to what to do. The hope that he would pull himself together hadn’t dimmed, despite his continued distress, and in the meantime she felt all she could do was wait and ride it out with him, as he would ride out a storm at sea.
Except that he could control storms at sea, could bend the water to his will courtesy of Cearus’s grace. His grief, however, was a tide he couldn’t turn, no matter how hard he tried, and Cianne had never before realized how helpless this made him. Unlike her, he didn’t know what it was like to be battered about by the winds of life, to learn to endure.
“She goes out, late at night,” he said, sounding as though he were in a trance.
Leaning forward in her chair, Cianne stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“She goes out, late at night,” he repeated. His eyes focused and he returned her stare, his gaze burning with intensity. “She thinks I’m asleep. I’ve heard her do it twice since my father— She did it in the past too, before.”
His voice trailed off, but Cianne knew what he had been about to say. Since her initial conversation with Kila about the dates of Toran’s entries, she had gone over her own notes, stashed at various safe locations throughout the city. She had discovered that Moiria hadn’t gone out just the one time she had recalled, but had done so several times over the course of the last two years. In fact, by studying her notes, Cianne had realized that the only House members who had gone outside of the enclave on these secretive nighttime excursions had been Moiria, Daerwyn, Elder Borean, and Elder Vorfarth. The other three Elders had been present at clandestine meetings held on enclave grounds, but they hadn’t ventured beyond the walls like the others. Since they were very elderly, their age may have been a factor, but Cianne had the distinct impression that whatever was going on between them was being orchestrated, for the most part, by her father, Moiria, Elder Borean, and Elder Vorfarth.
She hadn’t thought Lach knew a thing about it, as he had been away at sea for a good number of the meetings, but he was apparently more perceptive than she had given him credit for being.
“Perhaps she’s taking walks, trying to clear her head,” she said. She wanted to know more, but if she started questioning him directly he might get suspicious. How would another House member react? Wouldn’t they try to placate, believing him overwrought by his grief? She thought that was how she ought to play it.
“When has my mother’s head ever been anything but clear?” he asked with a snort. His attitude toward his mother was shocking. Though she had gotten under his skin in the past, he had behaved with a great deal of indulgence toward her, as if she were a well-meaning child who didn’t know any better. Cianne hadn’t imagined he felt any scorn for his mother, let alone that he would express it so openly.
“Very well,” she said, stiffening her spine as if feeling rebuked. “Why do you think she goes out, then?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair. “Sometimes she goes to see the Elders, which is strange, but other times she leaves the enclave. What reason could she have for doing that?”
“Lach, are you certain—” she began in a delicate tone, but he cut her off.
“Cianne, come on,” he said, the words exploding out of him. “I know you’re not as dense as the House members make you out to be.”
She didn’t need to pretend to stiffen her spine; she was well and truly offended. She stood, fighting to contain her anger. “As you said, you’re not yourself. I think it best if I go.”
“Cianne, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he moaned, burying his face in his hands, his tears starting afresh. “How could I? You don’t deserve that. There’s no excuse for me to— Not when I—”
“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 reas
on 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?’
“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 r
ather 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.
