by Sarra Cannon
The past nine years in tiny forest towns hadn’t been a total waste as he’d continued to hone his skills, but they certainly hadn’t done much to advance his career, given that he’d been operating in obscurity. Crime had been low, so his Enforcer abilities hadn’t been much in demand, but he couldn’t turn his abilities off at will. He doubted there was a villager in that part of Astoran whose secrets he didn’t know. He was no Intentionist; he was still mostly as clueless as the next person when it came to deciphering the motivations behind others’ actions, but he had become very good at putting together the tiniest of clues until he managed to form a larger picture. Had he been less scrupulous he could undoubtedly have put all of this information to good, lucrative use, but that was contrary to his nature. Instead, he had settled for becoming far more intimately acquainted with his various neighbors than he would have liked.
If nothing else, his free time had been abundant, for which he thought perhaps he should be grateful. It had provided him with an unprecedented opportunity to continue his study of the deshya, his people’s martial form. He had no hope of holding his own against a gifted Battle Master, of course, but he had a fair chance of giving a middling one a run for his or her gold.
And now he was back again. Frankly, he still couldn’t quite understand why he had agreed to take the post. Yes, it would offer him more career options than he’d had up to this point, but with the exception of one aspect of the city, he hadn’t thought of Cearova without bitterness for even one day.
Pure curiosity, no doubt. Liable to get myself killed because of it.
Chief Enforcer Luwin Meara had died a year ago, and Symone Flim had been chosen to take over the position. The news had surprised Kila when he had heard of it, months after the fact. Flim had been his partner in Cearova, and while her work as an Enforcer was solid and aboveboard, she was a careful and circumspect woman, unlike Meara, who had been an outright House bootlicker. Kila wouldn’t have thought it possible for someone not in the pocket of the mighty trade Houses to manage to rise to the position of Chief Enforcer.
Yet times had changed, there was no denying it. Ever since the royal family had been assassinated almost twenty years ago, the realm had been in a near-constant state of upheaval. The regents were ostensibly holding the realm together, and between Astoran’s martial might and the trade Houses’ economic power, the other realms gave all appearance of keeping their distance, but the fractures had done nothing but widen. Things would come to a head soon if a new ruler wasn’t chosen, but no one could seem to agree on whom that ruler should be. The obliteration of the royal line had been almost absolute, and now the realm was down to examining the claims of fifth cousins twenty times removed. None of them in particular struck anyone’s fancy.
Fortunately for Kila, he was considerably less naive than he had been during his first tenure in the city. It had been a pit viper’s nest then, and he had no doubt that it had become even more of one during his absence.
Spurring his horse, he continued on from the city gates to Enforcement headquarters at the city’s center. The building looked as if it too had been renovated in the recent past, and Kila wondered how much compromising with the trade Houses Meara had done to get the building in such shape. The man had never shown the slightest distress at the grievous wounds turning such a blind eye had inflicted on his character. Kila had been convinced that of all the men in Cearova, Meara was likely the one who had slept the soundest.
Kila left his horse at Enforcement’s stables and headed into the building, smoothing his travel-rumpled uniform as he went. His was old and undoubtedly out of fashion. The uniform he’d worn as a Cearovan Enforcer no longer fit him, though, and even if it had it would still have been hopelessly outdated. Such matters weren’t of a very pressing nature in the places where he had been serving, but they would be here. He didn’t like walking into the building looking like a bumpkin as it would leave a decidedly uninspiring first impression on the others, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The chief was conferring with senior staff, he was told, and he was invited to take a seat and wait for her. The young clerk made no secret of his examination of Kila, which lasted no more than a moment before Kila was summarily dismissed. Apparently the clerk had deduced him to be no one of any great importance, and an unexpected grin broke out over Kila’s face, which he did his best to conceal.
Ah, Cearova. The entire realm may change, but you will go down with your ship like a true Staerleigh.
He didn’t know how long he sat there while he waited for the chief. Time had lost most of its meaning for him, and he had learned to spend it in a myriad of ways. The bustling Enforcement offices offered him abundant distraction, and he made the most of taking mental notes about the comings and goings in the office. He might be the newest officer, but he had no intention of being the most clueless.
“Kila an Movis,” the chief said, a broad smile on her face as she strode toward him. She extended her hand, and they clasped wrists in a hearty shake.
“More likely than ever to break my wrist with that greeting,” Kila said, a smile spreading over his own face. He was surprised she had come to greet him herself rather than send one of her underlings, and he had to remind himself that the way things had run when Meara had been chief would probably not be the way they would run with Flim as chief.
“Never thought I’d see your hide back here.”
“Never thought my hide would ever be back here.”
Gaze darting around the room, Flim jerked her head to the side. “Walk with me.”
Back when they’d been partners, he and Flim had developed a secret language of sorts. She hadn’t always allowed him access to what was on her mind, but she had used a variety of subtle gestures and facial tells to clue him in when she wanted to share with him. He found it happening as they walked through the corridors and she pretended to give him a tour of the building. He studied the other officers as they passed, sorting them into those he’d known his first time in Cearova and those that were unfamiliar. Later he would comb his memory and retrieve as many details as possible, but at the moment he was finding the building too full of bustle and confusion. He hadn’t realized how small and quiet things had been in the forest villages, but the point was driven home quite forcefully for him now.
They reached Flim’s office, and she closed the heavy door, palm pressed to the wood, her back to him for a moment. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face him, her expression cautious.
“Why am I here?” he asked, deciding to get straight to the heart of the matter.
Flashing a wry smile, she moved behind her ponderous desk—the same one Meara had used, Kila noted—and gestured that he should take a seat.
“Your leaving wasn’t my choice, you know,” she said, studying him with care.
“I deduced as much,” he said in a mild tone.
Sighing, she ran a hand over her tightly coiled ebony hair. Six years his senior, she was still a young woman, but the strain of the years had left visible marks upon her. Furrows marred her brow, and fine lines radiated out from her eyes and mouth.
“I’m taking a risk here,” she said. Picking up a quill, she twirled it between her fingers. She was jittery with nerves, and Kila was taken aback. Flim had been good at concealing her feelings in the past. It was what had kept her in a place of prominence in Enforcement, and probably what had enabled her to become chief. Most everything was a game in Cearova, and she excelled at playing. “And yet I’ll be blunt: I need allies. I need people in my corner that I know I can trust.”
Leaning forward, Kila met her eyes. “The Houses?”
Dropping the quill, she twisted her mouth in disgust. “Hasn’t it always boiled down to them in the end?”
She’d never shown any particular loyalty to them in the past, but she had been good at appeasing them. He hadn’t thought her a sycophant like the former chief, but he was surprised to realize he had thought her a sympathizer, at the very least.<
br />
Something about his expression must have given him away, because she graced him with a cynical smile. “Surprised you, did I, old partner?”
“Yes, you did,” he said, seeing no reason to dissemble.
Flim exhaled in a huff and leaned back against her chair. “The problem with you was you never knew when to keep your mouth shut.”
He opened it to protest, realized what he was doing, and snapped it shut again, making her smile and shake her head.
“See what I mean?” she asked. “That mouth got you into trouble the last time around, and it will again if you’re not careful. Difference is, this time I’ll also take the heat for it.”
“So why did you risk bringing me back?” he asked, perplexed.
“As I said, I need people in my corner, and I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you that I’m hard-pressed to find them here.”
With a rather rueful shake of her head, she paused. Lifting her lips in a grim smile, she said, “Damn, but this all makes me sound mercenary. By Vyram’s flame, I swear I never once forgot you all those years, Kila. I would have saved you if I could have.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said, unable to stop himself from biting off the words. He hadn’t blamed her, not really, but it had stung that she hadn’t stood up for him. True, they hadn’t been partners for long, but they had been partners.
“I think I do,” she said. “I’m not proud of it, Kila, the way I let the bodies pile up. But the fact of the matter is that I knew Cearova needed someone looking out for the city as a whole, rather than just looking out for the Houses. I’ve lived here all my life. Cearova is my home.”
“I remember.”
“Then hopefully you understand why I had to do what I did. I had to keep playing the game to ensure the safety of the city’s unconnected citizens. Trust me, it was bitter medicine to swallow. And if you think I’ve had it easy these past nine years, you’re mistaken. I’m exhausted.” Her face collapsed as she spoke, and she looked every bit as exhausted as she claimed she was.
“I do understand.”
He did, as much as he could. He had never had much of a home, moving from place to place with his parents as a child, and then with the upheaval that had resulted as a consequence of his two years in Cearova. Even so, he did understand what Flim was fighting for. He too had devoted his life to upholding justice and pursuing the truth, despite the little good it had done him.
“I still don’t know how I can help you,” he said. “I have no connections that will be of any use to you, and House members have long memories for words spoken against them, so I don’t see how I can be anything other than an additional problem for you to handle.”
“They will remember you,” she acknowledged, her face pinched. “But with luck they will also think you chastened by your spell in the forest and eager to look out for yourself, lest you end up there again.
“Still, I owe it to you to inform you that I’m asking you to take a risk. For now I’m maintaining the appearance that everything is normal in Cearova, but the Houses have become too powerful for me to sit on my hands any longer. I have to take a stand. The Houses need to know that Enforcement is no longer entirely in their pocket.
“Please, Kila, help me defend the defenseless. I don’t think you can abandon them any more than I can.”
A face rose in his mind, the memory of a young urchin, a girl who’d skulked through the streets on her own late at night. She’d had no one to look out for her, that much had been obvious when she’d stumbled into his scrap of a garden. He’d taken her under his wing as much as he’d been able, showing her the basic moves of the deshya, hoping his feeble attempt would be of at least some assistance to her.
How many others were there like her in Cearova, children without anyone to look after them, children forced to grow up far too fast? The Houses were more than capable of looking after their own, and they didn’t care if protecting their own interests could only be done at the expense of everyone else.
Locking his eyes with Flim’s, they stared at one another for a long time. Her gaze didn’t waver, and he watched the lines on her face slowly ease.
“Reporting for duty, Chief Flim,” he said, saluting her.
The lines disappeared completely as her face relaxed in relief.
Chapter 3
“I’m told Lachlon paid you a visit already,” Daerwyn said when Cianne joined him for dinner. She wasn’t surprised that he knew. He had many sources for information, which was why she had made it a point to uncover every one of them. Her father had to believe that he knew everything there was to know about her, and she took great pains to maintain the ruse.
“Yes, he did,” she said with unflappable composure as she lowered herself into her seat and spread her napkin over her lap. “It was a shock to see him so soon, but he seemed in good cheer, so I take it his trip was profitable.”
“Very,” her father said in a tone of deep satisfaction. “It’s a shame you did not invite him to stay to dinner. I should have liked to see him.”
I’ll bet you would have. Must make certain we’re securing our interests, mustn’t we?
“He promised his parents he would dine with them.”
“Pity he didn’t invite you along, then.”
Cianne wore her mask well. Her smile didn’t indicate to her father that anything was amiss. His hints had become so heavy-handed of late that, like this hint, they could hardly be called by that name.
“I’ll see him tomorrow, at any rate,” she said, slipping a morsel of roasted pheasant into her mouth, more so that she would have an excuse not to speak to him than because of any real sense of hunger.
As they often did, her eyes strayed to her mother’s empty chair. Though she had died shortly after Cianne’s twelfth birthday, Cianne had still never gotten used to the idea of her mother’s being truly gone. Before Annalith’s death, Cianne had been able to count three amongst those she knew loved her and would protect her: her mother, Lach, and Lach’s kindly father, Toran.
That Moiria, Lach’s mother, didn’t much care for her went without saying, but Moiria wasn’t a woman to look a gift horse in the mouth either. Cianne might not be up to Moiria’s standards for her son, but a union between Cianne and Lach would bring undeniable connections to the family, what with Daerwyn’s being on track to become an Elder. Such a union might dilute the bloodlines, but Moiria placed so much stock in her son’s Adept abilities that she was confident the strength of Lach’s blood would offset the weakness of Cianne’s. From time to time, even two non-Adepts could produce an Adept child, so surely even Cianne’s polluted blood couldn’t diminish the strength of Lach’s line. Besides, Daerwyn was such a useful man, and such a dear friend of Moiria’s.
Cianne knew all this because she’d read all of Moiria’s diaries and correspondence. Twice. She wondered if Lach had the first idea about the true substance of his mother’s character.
“Yes, the dinner party at Elder Borean’s manor,” Daerwyn said with obvious relish. He’d worked hard to ingratiate himself with Borean, and his efforts had paid off richly.
“I was thinking of wearing my yellow gown. Elder Borean complimented me on it the last time I wore it.”
“A good choice,” her father said with an approving nod. He and Cianne butted heads with regular frequency, but she was careful not to do anything that threatened his grasp on power. Daughter or no, Daerwyn wouldn’t stand for Cianne’s disrupting his grand plans.
“I’m glad you think so, Father,” she said, hoping her deference and sly change of topic would be enough to make him forget about Lach. They weren’t.
“You’re twenty-two, Cianne,” he said, as if imparting some knowledge on her that she herself was lacking. He surveyed her over the rim of his goblet. “You will need to announce your intent soon.”
“Father, you know of my fears,” she said in a quiet voice. She lowered her eyes and blinked several times, wanting him to think her on the verge of tear
s.
Lately, she’d had the sense that her marriage to Lach played into some plan her father was hatching, but she hadn’t been able to uncover the nature of the plan, and that disturbed her. Daerwyn was a circumspect man who kept nothing untoward in their home. Cianne had searched time and again to no avail. This struck her as odd. Experience had taught her that no one was as clean as her father. Everyone had their secrets. Wasn’t she living proof?
Could her father be moving to seize power from the Elders? No matter how much she tried to push the thought aside, it continued to assert itself in her mind. She tried to tell herself that it was ridiculous, that Daerwyn had spent his life doing everything the House asked of him for the express purpose of protecting the House, but she couldn’t force the suspicions from her mind. Something strange was going on.
“While it’s noble of you to worry about the dilution of his line,” her father said, his annoyance ill-concealed, “I counsel you not to give your fears too much sway. Think, Cianne, of the advantages to yourself. If you were to marry Lach, you could embark on his voyages with him.”
Yes, that temptation again. Her father was fond of dangling it in front of her, and the problem was that it worked. He knew full well that she would like nothing better than the chance to get out and see the world, but she had no means of doing so on her own. Only Adepts were permitted to crew House Staerleigh’s vessels, and only House Staerleigh’s vessels were large enough to ply the open seas. The House controlled all major sea trade routes in Astoran, while the Caravanists controlled all major overland routes.
Plenty of Astorans resented this arrangement, but they hadn’t much of a leg to stand on. No one was outright forbidden from conducting their own trade, but the Houses’ Adept abilities made their routes far more profitable and far safer. A few smaller companies in other cities stubbornly persisted, and some had achieved modest success, but they couldn’t hope to match the prowess of their House counterparts. One of them might delight in hiring a defector from House Staerleigh, but Cianne would have to renounce her House and everyone in it. She wouldn’t be the first House member to do so and undoubtedly wouldn’t be the last, but she wasn’t yet prepared to take such a drastic step, not without a backup plan in place.