A House Divided - Nicole Ciacchella (the alpha prince and his bride full story free txt) 📗

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.

"Not the most pleasant of things to overhear," he said mildly when she was finished.

Patches of color stained her cheeks, and she shook her head. "I don't care what they said about me," she said, but she was lying. "I'm far more concerned with the whole nature of the conversation. I suspected my father was up to something, but now I am certain, and it gives me no pleasure.

"I am concerned about what they said about Lach. Something about the conversation gave me the impression they weren't comfortable with his presence in Cearova."

"Considering he is their best captain, doesn't it make sense that they want him back at sea? House Staerleigh presumably stands to lose considerable amounts of gold if the captain remains at home. Couldn't their concern be financial?"

"I've no doubt that's a factor, but I don't think that's all of it. He seems to be making them nervous."

"Due to his behavior toward his mother?"

"That could be it. Or it could be that he wreaked havoc with their timeline. Had he not returned home early, he wouldn't have been in Cearova when his father died."

"And he's been expressing his disbelief that his father would have committed suicide," Kila said. "Has he spoken with anyone else about it?"

"Not as far as I'm aware, but we both know the walls have ears. Any number of servants—not to mention the Apothecist who sedated him the night of his father's death—heard at least some part of what he's been saying."

"Sending him out of the city would get him out of their way."

Cianne nodded. "They wouldn't want to harm him. He's far too valuable to them. He brings in a great deal of gold."

"As did Toran Stowley."

She bit her lip but said nothing in response to that.

"Cianne, what if you're in danger?" Kila asked.

She met his eyes, something flickering in hers at the sight of the concern he hadn't hidden from her. "I may very well be, but I can't leave this alone, not now. I have to know the truth. I have to know what's going on in my House."

"If anything happens, anything at all, I want you to come to me and I will find a way to get you out of the city safely."

"I can't ask that of you," she said, turning away.

"You're not. I'm offering."

"I won't put your life at risk," she insisted.

"Cianne, we're in this together."

Turning back to him, she offered a tremulous smile. "I thought being alone was difficult, but somehow this is much more difficult."

"Trusting your life to another is no easy thing," he said.

"That's not it. I do trust you with my life. What isn't easy is the knowledge that I might be the cause of any harm that comes to you."

"I would have poked my nose into this with or without your interference," he said, making a gentle joke of it. The truth was, he probably would have. He hadn't forgotten the jarring sense he'd had that everything seemed somehow too neat at the Stowley manor. His gift was such that if something nagged at him, some loose thread he hadn't unraveled, he wasn't able to rest.

"Should we perform the deshya again?"

"Yes. I think it would do us both good to spend some time clearing our minds."

A fine mist fell from the sky, but the night was still warm, and the distraction was good. As students advanced in their studies, their parents often staged distractions to try to shake their focus. Becoming a deshya master was more than a feat of physicality, it was a feat of mentality as well.

He couldn't fool himself, though. The rain was nothing compared to how distracted he was beginning to feel by her presence. He hated to see her hurting, and he longed to say something to her about it, but it wasn't his place. He couldn't allow his own unspoken desires to prompt him to do something that might cause her additional pain.

How can Moiria Stowley fail to see her worth? he wondered as he and Cianne began to move in unison. How can she be so blind?

It shouldn't have struck him as odd. There was nothing uncommon about Adepts looking down on those without abilities. Even at home, Kila had been one of the few children he knew who had one Adept and one non-Adept parent. Though there were, of course, exceptions to the rule, many highly gifted Adepts tended to see themselves as something more than human. After all, if being a non-Adept was the natural human condition, then being an Adept must be something closer to divinity.

Time was lost to him as they moved, and he realized with sudden clarity that continuing on this way with her put them both at increasing risk. Being with her had begun to feel like time out of time, as if they were stealing from the gods themselves, and there would be a price to pay for it. But how could he deny himself this? What was the harm in it, as long as he strove to maintain his distance?

His life hadn't been devoid of happiness, but the years since his parents' deaths had been years of near-constant struggle, struggle to adapt to Astoran culture, struggle to deal with his bitterness at having been cast out of Cearova, struggle to come to terms with his presence in Astoran in the first place. When he was with Cianne he struggled as well, but even so he had no desire to be anywhere else.

The rain had let up by the time they were finished, and they sat next to one another again. The ground was wet, but it hardly mattered as he was soaked to the skin, his clothing plastered to him. Cianne was every bit as wet as he was, but considering how tight her clothing was to begin with, it didn't make much difference.

He felt a vague whiff of disappointment at the thought.

Once again she unpinned her hair, letting the damp strands hang loose. The moisture intensified the curls, making her hair more voluminous than usual, and he found himself smiling at the sight.

"I look a fright, don't I?" she said ruefully. "Cearus must have a sense of humor to have given me hair like this, considering how close I live to the sea."

"You look anything but a fright," he said. "You've a leaf caught in your hair."

"Where?" She patted her head, trying to find it.

"A little lower. No, to the left."

"Oh, bugger it," she said. "I'll be at this all night. Would you be so kind as to pull it out for me?"

Swallowing, he nodded, and she turned her back to him, allowing him better access. The air felt heavy, and she was so still. He was glad she couldn't see his face, couldn't see how his hand trembled as he reached for her hair. A light breeze kicked up, tangling the strands, and he separated them with gentle fingers.

"And here's the offender," he said, holding the leaf over her shoulder so she could see it. He didn't want to admit that he did so because he was worried that she might think he had invented a feeble excuse to touch her hair.

She took it from his fingers, her skin brushing his. "Invader! How dare you!" She released it, and they both watched it drift away on another breeze.

"You told me I might share my pain with you, if I ever felt so inclined," he said, the words tumbling from his mouth of their own accord. He wanted her to have a reason to stay because she would otherwise feel obliged to leave, now that they were finished with the deshya.

He knew he should let her go. The last time she had been here they had made the mistake of lingering too long, and he had sat in his sitting room watching the sun rise, fretting that she might be caught sneaking back into her manor. Yet he was unwilling to let her go.

Wordlessly, she turned back to him, her gaze trailing over his face. "And I meant it," she said at last.

"I lost my parents when I was young," he said, studying the ground. "My mother was an Enforcer too, and she was attacked one night while on duty. At first it seemed she might survive, but then an infection set in that the Healers weren't able to control. My father was married to an Adept; he understood there were limits to their abilities, but he was crazed with grief. He accused them of having failed her, said they hadn't tried hard enough."

"How old were you?" Cianne asked, her voice hushed.

"I was fourteen."

Her gasp made him look up, and she squeezed her eyes closed. Lines of grief bracketed them, and he could see that she felt his pain as if it were her own. In some ways, it was her own.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice choked.

"Thank you," he said.

The next words would be the most difficult of all. Just thinking of them made him feel as though they were alternately trying to squeeze their way out of his throat and then shove themselves back down. He had never before spoken to anyone about what had happened.

"From there, he got worse. He drank to try to dull the pain, but even that didn't work. He would empty a bottle, pass out, and wake up to the reminder that she was gone, which started the cycle anew."

She looked horrified. "Were you alone with him?"

He shook his head. "No, my uncle helped, took me to his house when my father was in a truly bad state. This went on for the next two years. By then I had begun my apprenticeship, and I spent most of my time at my uncle's house. My father was a recluse, the house falling down around his ears.

"The day after my sixteenth birthday, he took his own life."

"Oh, gods, Kila," she said, covering her mouth with her hand. "That's why you said what you did about strength and pain and weakness. You think he was weak."

"Don't you?" he asked, the words harsh.

Shaking her head, she gazed up at him sadly. "I think he was broken."

Anger lit a flame within him. "Don't make excuses for him."

"That's not what I'm doing, Kila. I understand why you're angry with him. You'd already lost your mother, and then he left you alone. But he must have been in such enormous pain. I can't help but feel compassion for him."

Kila clenched his jaw, unwilling to let her words penetrate. They did anyway.

"It's personal for you, isn't it?" she asked softly.

He didn't need her to clarify. "Yes, I suppose maybe it is," he admitted, dragging a hand over his face.

When he'd found his father, the scene had been so chaotic, so messy. He knew this wasn't necessarily the case with every suicide, but he also knew that his abilities didn't save him from his own presumptions. It was why Toran Stowley's tidy, orderly study had caught his eye.

"I wish I could find the right words