by Sarra Cannon
“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
Dawn had begun to tinge the edges of the sky gray by the time Cianne left. She had stayed with Kila for far too long, even though
their time together had felt like mere moments to her.
You must be careful. You cannot afford to make mistakes, she chided herself.
She knew it was the truth and yet she didn’t want to accept it. She wanted to snatch every last moment with Kila she could have. When Cianne’s mother had died, she had experienced the painful first steps into adulthood, into understanding that those who were there one day might not be there the next. She couldn’t say why she had fallen back into her childish beliefs when Kila had appeared in her life, why she had convinced herself that he would never leave. The blow reality had dealt her when she had discovered his absence had been grievous. Ever since, she had learned not to trust in assurances that the people she cared for the most would never leave her. Lach had been slipping away from her for years, their unmatched feelings for one another building walls between them of which he was as yet unaware. Though losing Lach caused her untold pain, the thought of Kila’s disappearing again was far worse.
She loved him. She had loved him since she had been thirteen, though the love had been different then. Starved for attention, she had lapped up everything he offered her, becoming his devoted puppy. She hadn’t known enough then to fear he might take advantage of her, but she knew enough now to understand that was something Kila would never do. Being gods-gifted with the skills of an Enforcer didn’t ensure that an Adept felt a deep sense of devotion to protecting the weak. No, that was something that came from within Kila himself, from the depths of his character.
Over time her love had grown and matured, though she had never let herself really acknowledge it. Whenever his face had appeared in her mind, she had tried to resist its allure. For all she knew she had mythologized him, and he was nothing like what her memory insisted he was. Yet now that he was back and she had spent time with him, she knew she hadn’t overinflated his attributes in any way. Kila was a man of honor, a man who believed in ferreting out the truth, no matter the risk he incurred. He was kind, intelligent, and considerate, and he could make her laugh even when she was at her lowest and thought she might never laugh again. Her esteem for him had continued to grow, until she could no longer deny to herself that there never could have been room for Lach in her heart. He had never had a chance of winning her because her heart had long belonged to Kila.
She had been through too much to cherish an unwavering belief in happy endings, however. She wouldn’t even let herself imagine what might happen between them. They had work to do, a mystery to solve, and she would focus on that work with singular devotion. Wondering about what might happen later, afterward, was a pointless waste of energy, and Cianne wouldn’t allow herself to indulge.
The city had begun to wake. Shimmying up a baker’s chimney was out of the question as the bakers had already started heating their ovens in preparation of baking the day’s bread. She had made the mistake once of trying to scale a too-hot chimney, and it was a mistake she would never again make. Burns aside, the racket she had made when she had squalled with pain had been enough to bring everyone in the bakery running out into the alley to see what was the matter. She had barely been able to drag herself away, squeezing under a gap in a fence, biting down on her lip until it bled so that she could hold back the cry of pain as her burned hands had scraped over the alley dirt. For weeks she had been forced to find increasingly creative ways to hide her hands from her father. Training had been out of the question.
That was a shame, because the most direct route would have been to climb to the roof of the bakery on the next street over from Kila’s and leap from roof to roof back to the outskirts of the enclave.
Instead she had to climb the university tower. She held her breath as she swung up onto the headmaster’s balcony. He tended to be an early riser, but luck was with her. Not two seconds after she leapt to an adjacent roof, the headmaster stepped out onto his balcony. Flinging herself into the alcove of a chimney, Cianne folded in on herself, making her body as small as possible, and managed to escape the headmaster’s notice. She waited impatiently for him to go back inside before she continued on her way. The near miss drove home why she took that risky route as infrequently as she could, but she had no choice this morning. Every other route would have taken far too long.
To her relief, Cianne made it back into her bed with moments to spare. The servants had begun their day, preparing breakfast for the Wylands and commencing their ceaseless battle against dust, scuffs, and smudges. Cianne slipped in through one of her windows, tore off her dark clothing, stuffed it into the space she’d hollowed out beneath her floorboards, yanked a nightgown over her head, and vaulted between the covers just as Vivie’s soft knock sounded on her door.
“Miss Wyland? Would you like your tea?” Vivie called out in a low voice.
“No tea,” Cianne muttered, making herself sound as sleepy as she was able. “Sleep.”
“Very well then, Miss. I’ll return later.”
Vivie’s footsteps faded down the corridor and Cianne sat up in her bed, rubbing her burning, weary eyes. Her feather mattress conformed to her with delicious softness, beckoning her to lie down for a few moments, close her eyes, and take a nap, just a little one.
She couldn’t afford to do so. She had a couple of hours until she was due at Lach’s house, but some of the Elders were coming to call on her father, and she wanted to eavesdrop. True to her word, Vivie wouldn’t return for hours, so no one would suspect that Cianne was up and about.
Taking a few moments to ensure that her secret stash of clothing was secure, Cianne removed her nightgown and pulled on a pair of the fine woolen breeches and billowing linen shirt she typically wore when she was at home. Her freedom of movement was more restricted in such clothing, and she had to take care not to allow her overlarge sleeves to catch on something, but she would have to make do. Should she be caught sneaking around the house, she’d have plenty of questions to answer without throwing her tight black apparel into the mix.
A knock rang out downstairs, and Cianne heard a servant answer the door, greeting the Elders. She counted four distinct voices, which was good. The more Elders that were present, the more of a tizzy the servants would be in as they bustled about making tea and ensuring that everything in the manor was set to rights. None of the House members liked to be embarrassed when the Elders visited their homes, and the servants considered it a point of honor to bend over backward to ensure they met the Elders’ every need or whim.
“Hoping to curry favor,” Cianne had once heard their cook whispering to a chambermaid.
“Elder Borean in particular has a long memory, so I’m told,” the chambermaid had whispered back.
Naturally, a position in an Elder’s household was the most desirable of all for the servants. Lacking Adept abilities and proper family connections, no other position was more worthy of bragging rights than that of an Elder’s trusted household servant.
Not for the first time, Cianne felt a flash of frustration. The problem with being a well-known member of the House was that she couldn’t hope to insinuate herself with the servants. They were the key to any real information she could hope to gain, but she had yet to devise a means of getting that information from them. Kila would be no help in that regard either as all House servants familiarized themselves with every Enforcement officer.
Pressing her ear to her door, Cianne listened, meticulously cataloging every sound she heard and estimating its origin. When she was confident that none of the servants were in the immediate vicinity of her quarters, she slipped through her door and crept down the stairs to the second floor. The servants’ stairs were off-limits as they would be crowded at the moment, so she had to risk the main staircase. Dashing across the corridor, she threw herself into the library, ghosting along the floor-to-ceiling walls of bookshelves.
Faint noises drifted to her, telling her that a servant was within, dusting the shelves, and Cianne cursed silently. Backtracking, she walked through the corridor without making a sound, but she didn’t bother to try to hi
de. It would look far too suspicious if someone caught her skulking along. Better to run the risk of being seen and think up an excuse on the spot, which shouldn’t be too difficult, considering that the servants would be far more concerned about the Elders than they would be about her.
Passing through one room to another, Cianne crouched in what had once been her mother’s study, which shared a wall with her father’s. He hadn’t done a thing with the room since Annalith’s death, and the air of neglect within it sent cold fingers skittering up Cianne’s spine no matter how many times she visited the room. She had gone through it inch by inch a variety of times over the years, but had found nothing out of the ordinary. Her mother’s books, papers, and personal effects were still scattered about the room, kept dust-free by the servants, as if Annalith might one day reappear in the room, muttering to herself as she dug through the mess on her desk in an effort to find whatever it was she was seeking.
“…Lachlon…” Elder Borean’s muffled voice said through the wall. Something else followed, but Cianne couldn’t make out the words.
Frowning, she reached into her pocket, her fingers closing around one of her most prized possessions, which she’d procured courtesy of the city’s black market. The small brass object collapsed flat and looked rather like a funnel when she extended it. She pushed aside all thought of the questions that would ensue if anyone were to catch her with it, as if finding her huddled against the wall separating her father’s study from her mother’s wouldn’t be bad enough. She would have to risk it. There was no other option if she wanted to hear more than meaningless snatches of their conversation.
“…past time for a new voyage,” Elder Maizton said, her thin, feeble voice quavering.
“I agree,” Daerwyn said. “Lachlon’s deterioration is a matter of considerable concern. Returning to sea would be the best thing for him.”
“There’s the shipment bound for Leonovia,” Elder Vorfarth suggested.
“That won’t do!” responded Elder Florius’s fretful voice. “It’s been years since we’ve sent him on such a simple voyage. It’s hardly worth his time.”
