A House Divided by Nicole Ciacchella (ebook reader for surface pro txt) 📖

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 pattern 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 answer 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.

Unable to bear it any longer, he lowered his head, his lips claiming hers. She gasped,