by Sarra Cannon
“Lach, please,” she said, tears flooding her eyes. Her throat closed, rendering her unable to say more.
Shaking his head, he said, “I’m not asking you to promise me anything. I know it’s not fair of me to put even this much on you. It’s one thing to need someone, but I don’t want to suffocate you with my need. Being apart from you will be extremely difficult for me, though, and I have to feel as if you’re with me. I’m trying to be strong, but I need your help. Can I have a lock of your hair? I’ll wear it in a ring, and then you’ll always be with me.”
It seemed such a small question for such a huge request. Giving him her hair was a promise of a sort. She needed him too, needed him as her friend, needed to know she had someone on her side, but he didn’t need her like that. She was frightened of his need, of the magnitude of it, of what it meant for her to deny that need. He could say he wasn’t asking her to promise anything, but he was edging closer to that point every day.
“I don’t want to mislead you,” she said, the words strangling her. “I can’t mar—”
“Ssh,” he said, laying a gentle finger over her lips. “I know you don’t want to mislead me. You’re not. I’m not asking you for anything more than this. I know you, Cianne. You’re afraid of hurting me, which is what makes you such a good friend. But you’re not hurting me because you’ve said nothing to hurt me. I’ll go on this voyage, and when I come back we’ll be friends, as we’ve always been.”
She nodded, but she didn’t dare hope. Perhaps distance and time at sea would be what he needed to learn to accept the fact that she didn’t want to marry him. Perhaps it wouldn’t, but she had to give him that chance, had to hope that he could come to terms both with the loss of his father and her inability to offer him anything more than friendship. She hoped he would grow to understand that her not loving him as he wanted her to love him wouldn’t mean she was lost to him as well.
“All right,” she said, emotions making her voice hoarse.
He flashed her a quick, unsteady smile and stood, leaving the room. Cianne didn’t bother to rise. Her knees were too weak and she was too weary.
When he came back he had scissors, and he knelt next to her, looking at her questioningly. She nodded and he lifted her hair carefully, his eyes reverent. She looked away. The sound of the scissors severing the lock sounded so final that something burst in her chest, nearly making her double over.
“Thank you,” he said.
She said nothing. There was nothing she could say.
He left her alone once more and she collected herself as best she could. He was waiting for her near the front door when she emerged at last.
“I’ll bring you a gift,” he said, his smile faltering.
Her lips wouldn’t cooperate, so she settled for a nod.
“May I come see you tomorrow, let you know when I’m leaving?”
“Yes, please,” she managed to reply.
He kissed her cheek as he did every time he said goodbye to her, and she waited until she was home before clamping her hand over her mouth to hold back her scream.
How long would it be before her father discovered that Lach had her hair?
The day couldn’t pass by quickly enough for her, and she felt a sense of rising desperation as she waited for the sky to darken, for time to release her from her prison.
Her first breath of night air tasted like freedom, and she sucked it in, inhaling until her lungs could hold no more. Her clothing hugged her like a second skin, warm and soft.
Why stay? Why not throw every caution to the wind and ask Kila to leave with her?
It was a mad idea, and she knew it. It was also intoxicating, so seductive that she crouched in the shadow of her manor’s chimney and closed her eyes, allowing the images to wash over her. None of it was definite, no detailed picture of the house they’d live in or where they could possibly go, because none of that mattered. All that mattered was that she was with him in her dreams, that she had broken away at long last, that she at last had everything that was dear to her in the world.
She held the thought close and then she released it. She couldn’t be happy that way, not because she wouldn’t be happy with him, but because she would know she had abdicated her responsibility. Whether or not he would agree wasn’t even worth consideration because she would never put him in that position. What could he say in response to something as wildly inappropriate as that?
He isn’t immune, a sly voice whispered at the back of her mind.
She was fully aware he wasn’t. She had caught him looking at her, had seen the conflict in his eyes when they lingered on her face or her lips. He was attracted to her and determined to hold himself back from acting on that attraction for reasons she well understood. Part of her wanted to surrender to the attraction, she couldn’t deny it. That part wanted to throw herself in his arms and give in to every fantasy that had ever played out behind her lids.
It wasn’t good enough for her, though. Oh, she wanted him, craved him in a way she had never before known, but her urges weren’t confined to her body. What she felt in her heart was real. Everything in her world made sense when she was with him. She felt ensconced in warmth, safety, and contentment. Her soul recognized the twin to its own.
That was worth so much more to her than a temporary physical release. He might be attracted to her, but she didn’t know if his feelings extended any farther than that. If she surrendered to her urges, if she gave up everything for one night with him, it would never be enough for her, she was wise enough to recognize that. She would have precious moments to hold onto, and she wasn’t discounting that, but she would be left without the things she most desired. What good would that do her?
All or nothing, that was what it was to be, she supposed. What other option existed? She was no more able to deny what she felt for Kila than Lach was to deny what he felt for her. She wanted nothing of a pale imitation of love, wanted nothing of spending her time trying to make someone feel for her what she felt for him. She had witnessed what it had done to Lach, and she wouldn’t allow herself to plummet into that same pit.
Chapter 26
“Well done,” Burl said as they watched a junior Enforcement officer lead the shopkeeper’s murderer away.
“Thank you,” Kila said.
He was satisfied to have closed another case. Since the ledger had proven to be such a dead end, he had gone back over the crime scene, combing it for several hours before noticing something they had missed the first time around: a scrap of torn parchment with part of an emblem on it. He had then walked the city streets for two hours, examining shop signs, until he had found one with a matching emblem.
The case had evolved quickly from there. It turned out that their victim hadn’t been murdered by the supplier with whom he’d been overheard arguing, but by a competitor who was being driven out of business by the victim’s securing exclusive agreements with their mutual suppliers in a latch-ditch effort to save his own business at the expense of his rival’s. Fifteen minutes of intense questioning had been enough for Burl to break the man. Sobbing and shaking, he had confessed, telling them about the axe he had used, how his first swing had missed. Every detail he provided was an exact match for what they’d found at the crime scene.
“You could be a valuable asset to Enforcement,” Burl added.
Kila darted a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She was focused on the arrest, but he had the impression that she was assessing his reaction to her words.
“I’d like nothing more.”
Nodding, she swept a frank gaze over him and headed back to her desk without another word.
The day was quiet. A few petty thefts were reported, and one altercation at a dockside tavern, but nothing that concerned Burl and Kila. He was grateful for the chance to catch up on some of the reports he’d neglected, and to have some time to think.
He had spent hours with the missive Cianne had given him, breaking the code at long last. Something about its patte
rn had teased at the edges of his recollection, and he had dug through his things until a prickling intuition told him he’d found what he’d been searching for. Sure enough, his old code book, one his mother had given him as a child, had provided him with the answer he’d been searching for, enabling him to determine that the code used was a standard Arcarian cipher. From there it had been a simple matter of determining the matching text, which hadn’t posed much of a challenge for him as during the investigation into Toran Stowley’s death, he had noticed the spine of one of Stowley’s books protruding slightly from the shelf and made note of the title. A quick trip to the Cearovan library provided him with the tome he needed, and within hours he’d deciphered the message.
As he’d suspected, the note consisted of dates, figures, and initials. He needed to retrieve Stowley’s ledger and examine the two side-by-side. The initials in the missive didn’t match those in the ledger, but he remembered seeing matching figures and dates, and he suspected the note and ledger listed the same transactions. If they were simple business transactions, why go to such lengths to obscure them? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that they were perfectly legitimate, but Kila had a strong suspicion the money hadn’t been used for purchasing material goods, but for purchasing information, or silence.
Twilight fell over the city, and the warm glow of the candles made Enforcement headquarters seem cozier and more modern than ever. Hearts and minds indeed. Kila knew for a fact that plenty of his colleagues felt a great deal of gratitude toward the Houses for having liberated them from the cold and dank of their old headquarters.
Burl gathered up her things, fastening the top of her greatcoat with a clasp that had long since garnered Kila’s notice. It was just a little too finely wrought, the metal a little too pure for it to be a simple costume fastener of the type most Enforcement officers wore. Burl was meticulous, but she apparently hadn’t been able to resist this one small show of wealth. She paused at Kila’s desk, her hand resting casually on its surface.
“I’ve an appointment with House Staerleigh’s Elders in two days. I think you should accompany me,” she said.
“I would be honored. What time are we expected?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“Shall I meet you here?”
“No. I’ll head there directly from my lodgings; meet me at the enclave gate.”
“I will.”
Her nod was a sharp, precise gesture, and then she was gone.
On the way home Kila decided to stop and have a drink at a tavern that he happened to know was popular with Enforcers, many of whom patronized it on a regular basis. Several were in attendance when he got there, and not one of them looked askance when Chief Flim arrived and sidled up next to Kila at the bar.
“Burl may be attempting to recruit me,” he said in a low voice that only she would be able to hear over the bustle.
Flim took a long drink of her ale, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s good.”
With a nod, Kila drank from his own tankard.
“Good work on the shopkeeper murder. Glad to have that one closed.”
“Makes two of us.”
“Foster!” Chief Flim called to a young man a short distance away. Kila recognized him as one of the officers who had worked the scene. “Come have a drink on me.”
“Celebrating the closed case, are we?” the man asked with a grin. “Not that I need a reason to accept a free drink, you understand.”
“We certainly are,” the chief said, slapping the man on the back. She accepted an overflowing tankard from the barkeep and handed it to Foster.
“To a job well done,” Foster said, saluting Kila with his drink.
“I’ll drink to that,” said Flim, raising her own tankard.
“As will I,” said Kila.
He shot the breeze with Flim and Foster for a while, their party enlarged by the addition of Zader, another officer who had worked the case. All in all, it was a pitch-perfect scene of officers celebrating their efforts.
Things were starting to get loud when Kila begged off, bidding all of his colleagues—Chief Flim included—a good night. Light spilled out onto the cobbled streets, along with snatches of song, the salty scent of the sea mingling with the tang of alcohol. He saw no sign that anyone was following him. He’d become quite diligent of late at paying even closer attention to his surroundings than he normally would.
Cianne was waiting for him when he arrived home, pacing his common room with nervous agitation.
“Has something happened?” he asked her.
“No. Well, yes, but it’s… It’s Lach.”
“Ah,” he said, turning away from her as he removed his greatcoat and hung it on the stand near his door.
“The Elders are sending him to sea again.”
“Are they? I thought you said he was still in a state of great distress.”
“He is, but I think they want him out of the way so they can search Toran’s study at last.”
“Do you think they’ll notice the missing ledger?” Kila asked in alarm, facing her again.
“No, I don’t think so. If they had known it existed, I should have heard at least some whisper of it by now.”
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about trying to get into that study again,” he said sharply.
“Perhaps,” she said, flashing him a strained smile. “I’m curious to know what they’re looking for.”
“Does Captain Stowley suspect they’re trying to get rid of him?”
“Yes, but not for the reasons we do. He believes that his mental state is the full extent of their concern, and that they want to send him to sea in the hopes that he’ll get better.”
“How did he react to the request that he return?”
“Not well,” she said, sinking into a chair and kneading her forehead, her eyes falling closed. Tension radiated out from the corners of her eyes, her pinched mouth. “My father asked me to talk him into it, and so I did. As much as I hated doing it, and whatever the Elders’ motives may be, I think it’s for Lach’s own good. He needs to get away. I don’t think he’ll make any progress until he does.”
Taking a seat across from her, Kila reached a hand toward her but then let it fall. “You’re concerned about him.”
“He’s my friend.”
“When is he set to leave?”
“I don’t know yet. He’s to meet with them tomorrow, and he’ll let me know afterward.”
Kila didn’t know what to say. He longed to run his fingers over her brow, smooth away the furrows. He longed to take her hand, to give her something to hold onto, to let her know that she wasn’t alone.
“Though I keep hoping he’ll work through his feelings while he’s gone, I’m afraid he’ll ask me to marry him when he returns, and I will have to tell him no. He almost asked me today, and I— What am I to do? I can’t say yes, but how am I to say no? I’m terrified of what will happen. I’ve never seen him like this, as if he’s teetering at the edge of an abyss. What if I push him over the edge by telling him I can’t marry him?”
Her words tore at Kila. He was glad she intended to refuse Stowley, even though he had no right to feel such relief. Yet he ached for her, for the obvious torment in which she found herself. He wished he could take the pain from her, that rather than possessing the gods-granted ability to fit together the pieces of a puzzle, he had been granted the ability to fit together the broken pieces of a human heart. Had he had that ability, perhaps he could have saved his father.
“Whatever happens, Cianne, it won’t be your fault,” he said gently, knowing the words would be no consolation to her despite that they were true. She wasn’t responsible for the actions of others.
No more than you are, and hasn’t that done wonders to ease your own conscience?
He hated his impotence.
“I know that, but I can’t make myself believe it,” she said, her voice ragged. She met his gaze with a pleading look, and he wished he could a
nswer it. “Can we spar, please? I need the outlet.”
“Are you certain that’s wise?”
Giving him a bitter smile, she said, “Of course it is. Do you think if we discover what’s going on it won’t have any emotional impact on me? I know how I must appear to you, but I promise you that I am good at keeping my emotions in check when I fight.”
He said nothing in response, merely rose and headed out into his garden, Cianne following him.
They agreed to spar with daggers. He had promised to provide her with blunted practice weapons so that she wouldn’t have to carry any with her, which would necessitate her leaving some of her lethal weapons at home. He wanted her fully armed whenever she was out on the streets, though he didn’t tell her so.
“Have you learned anything new?” she asked as they assumed their positions.
“I think House Staerleigh has been bribing people,” he said, feinting toward her.
She recognized the ruse, sidestepped it, and evaded his follow-through. “Who? And why?”
“I don’t know yet.” He parried her blow and advanced, forcing her to return to the defensive. Neither of them were holding back, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up the conversation much longer lest he become too winded. “I need to take another look at the ledger and compare it to the stolen note.”
“You think there are matches?”
“Yes.”
Conversation ceased as they devoted their full energies to sparring. Cianne was good, but it was obvious she wasn’t used to working with a partner. He admired her self-taught skills and her discipline, but they would only get her so far. She could do with the practice so that she could learn to read and anticipate her foes.
Bit by bit, he wore her down, until she fell for another of his feints, enabling him to seize her. Whirling her around, he trapped her against his body, one of his hands splayed over her belly, the other around her shoulders, his dagger held to her throat.
Her chest heaved as she drew in air, and she angled her neck, her eyes locking with his. Those eyes seemed to bore into him, to search every corner of him for his secrets, and he allowed them to do so, mainly because his eyes were doing the same to her. She smelled of exertion, but the fresh scent also emanated from her skin, worming its way into his senses. Her belly quivered under his hand and liquid heat shot through him, made him aware of how her form molded against his.