A House Divided (Astoran Asunder, book 1)

by Nicole Ciacchella

  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 hide. 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."

  "Then we tell my son we want to start him out slowly," Moiria said.

  "Will he believe it?" Elder Maizton asked doubtfully.

  "It's the truth, isn't it?" Daerwyn asked. Cianne could practically hear him shrug.

  "But—" Elder Florius began, before Elder Vorfarth cut her off.

  "Ellium, my dear, we cannot mince words any longer. Forgive me, Moiria, but it's no secret that Lachlon has been in a terrible state since his father's death. The best thing we can do for him is get him aboard his ship once more. If he remains here he may not recover."

  "What do you think of this, Moiria?" Elder Florius asked.

  Her voice steely with resolve, Moiria said, "I think Corlinda is right, Lach should be given the Leonovia run. Were anything better available, I would suggest we opt for it instead, but it's the best we can do on short notice. I can't bear seeing him like this any longer."

  "Moiria," Daerwyn began, but she cut him off.

  "No, we've discussed it and discussed it. It's time to do something. Cianne has done her best to help him, but even she hasn't been able to get through to him."

  In spite of herself, Cianne's cheeks flushed. She'd had no illusions. She had long known that other House members, and especially the Elders, had often discussed her relationship with Lach, but it made her feel filthy to hear them discussing the intimate details of what should have been her private life.

  "Perhaps she has begun to lose her influence with him," Elder Maizton said.

  Everyone went quiet for a second, even Cianne.

  "She's made far more progress with him than anyone else has managed," her father responded in clipped tones.

  Two contradictory emotions flooded Cianne. On the one hand, she was utterly humiliated to hear the Elders speaking about her in this manner, particularly in front of her father and Moiria. It filled her with a sense of rage at the indignity of it all. Here Lach was trying to deal with his father's death, and the Elders were bickering over whether or not Cianne had a hold over him. She hated it. She hated that they took her relationship with Lach and turned it into yet another piece on their chessboard.

  On the other hand, she felt a pathetic sense of gratitude that her father had stood up for her.

  Of course he did, whispered a voice in the back of her mind. You think he wants you to lose whatever power he believes you have over Lach? Imagine how bitter it would be for him to have to see his dreams of a triumphant union between his daughter and the beloved Captain Stowley dashed to pieces. Do you think he sees you as any less of a pawn than the Elders do?

  "Daerwyn's right," Moiria said.

  It seemed Cianne wasn't the only one surprised by Moiria's allying herself with Daerwyn. "What happened to your fears about the dilution of your line, dear?" Elder Florius asked her.

  "Enough," Elder Vorfarth said. "We are all of us under a great deal of strain, but we will not allow that to cause fighting between us. Who are we, House Rolland? This backbiting suits none of us."

  "Ellium has a point," Elder Maizton said. "Will there or won't there be a union between your daughter and Lachlon, Daerwyn?"

  "Cianne is to give me an answer within the month."

  "And Lachlon?"

  "He will wait. He's always been nothing if not willing to wait for her," said Moiria, a note of disgust in her voice.

  So much for being allied with my father, Cianne thought.

  "Haven't we learned over these many years that patience is our greatest asset?" Daerwyn asked. "This is but another bump in the road, and we shall survive it and endure as we have every other bump in the road."

  What in Cearus's name does that mean?

  "I think this conversation has become rather too candid," said Elder Maizton.

  "Agreed," said Elder Vorfarth. "Daerwyn, you are prepared? You have received word?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I suggest we all go about our business and meet at the usual time afterward."

  "Allow me to speak with my son first," Moiria said.

  "And I'll speak with Cianne," Daerwyn said. "I'll ask her to reason with Lach, to help him understand that a voyage is to his benefit. She will be able to persuade him to go."

  "Are you certain of that?" Elder Maizton asked.

  "Of course I am," Daerwyn said icily.

  Collapsing her listening device, Cianne pocketed it again as the Elders took their leave. Her mind was racing. She was about to make her way back to her room when she realized she had heard only the Elders' voices fading away, not Moiria's. Pulling her device out again, Cianne could hear her father mumbling, and she was frustrated with herself for missing his words.

  "What does it matter? They're beginning to doubt us," Moiria responded, her voice pitched so low Cianne had trouble hearing her even with the aid of the listening device.

  "You will cease to give them reasons to doubt us. We cannot afford to let that happen, not after all we've sacrificed," Daerwyn said, his voice hard. "I won't tolerate it, Moiria."

  Chapter 22

  "I found one," Cianne said, slapping a note down on Kila's desk. Her color was high, her face pinched in anger, and he was astonished at the show of emotion. Her posture was rigid, as if she were having trouble preventing herself from lashing out.

  In the two days since they had performed the deshya together, he had spent every free moment thinking of her and the things they had discovered. Combing through Toran Stowley's ledger, Kila had tried to glean some new information, but to no avail.

  Ledgers didn't seem to be much of a friend to him as of late. He and Burl were still working on tracking down the shopkeeper's murderer, Kila not having made much progress with the shopkeeper's ledger either. Burl's face had been openly suspicious when he had reported back to her, and she had taken the ledger home with her the previous night. Her tone had been grudging this morning when she had admitted she hadn't found much e
ither, but he had felt a glimmer of relief. Her skills were impressive, but the evidence that they didn't overshadow his was mounting. He didn't care about his pride taking a blow, rather he was concerned that Burl might be too much for him, that she might catch on to the fact that her new partner was doing some investigating on the side. Chief Flim had assured him Burl had no idea what he was up to, but he wasn't willing to get comfortable.

  "Where did you find it?" he asked, smoothing the crumpled, singed sheet. He was quite certain Cianne hadn't been the one to crumple it, which indicated that if it were a love letter as the captain suspected, his mother appeared to have been jilted.

  "Moiria's study."

  "So perhaps she hasn't been storing anything at the Council Hall, judging by the state of this letter," he said. "She may be in the habit of burning anything incriminating."

  "It's possible. At any rate, my hope is that this may provide us with a lead. I was able to get into her study seconds after she stepped out, and I managed to snatch this from the fire before it could catch. Whatever it is, she didn't want anyone to see it."

  A single column ran the length of the page. Each line was a jumble of letters and numbers.

  "Looks like what was in Toran's ledger," Cianne said.

  "No," Kila said, seeing immediately that Moiria's letter bore no resemblance to what Toran Stowley had written. "See here? It's designed to look like it might be counting book figures, but I'd be willing to wager that it isn't. The numbers and letters repeat in distinct patterns, and the combinations are different from what Toran Stowley used."

  "Do you think you can crack it?"

  "I can try, but I can't guarantee anything. Chances are that if Moiria and anyone else in House Staerleigh are in the habit of exchanging coded messages they're changing the cipher on a regular basis."

  "Could you do what you can?" Hands on hips, she paced restlessly, like a caged animal.

  "Of course. Has something happened?"

  She recounted for him the conversation she had overheard in her father's study, and he understood her ire at once.