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

"Cearus protect us," Cianne said, creasing her brow in a show of distress. "Is the House—"

"No need to trouble yourself, truly. It's a matter of a small wrinkle. It will all be resolved once Lach is back on the roster." Gracing her with a reassuring smile, her father gave her a light kiss on the cheek. "Will I see you for dinner tonight?"

"No. Lach has asked me to dine with him and his mother."

"It's just as well. Gorian Mather is coming to dine, and I know how it bores you when he and I discuss innovations in ship design." For the first time in far longer than Cianne could remember, her father's smile was genuine, and she was unable to resist smiling back.

"I am more grateful than ever to have escaped," she said in a fervent tone, making him chuckle.

Staring at the empty archway after he'd left, her mind was busy. Her father hadn't disclosed much, but it was obvious that he thought she might be able to persuade Lach where the Elders might fail. He'd also mentioned that Lach's absence would give Moiria a chance to set her affairs in order. The implication that Moiria wanted Lach out of the manor while she did so made sense, given Lach's resistance to his mother's suggestion that they go through Toran's things, but Cianne suspected there was more to it than that. If Lach were gone, Moiria could go through Toran's office with meticulous care, ensuring he hadn't left anything behind she didn't wish others to see, and Cianne doubted she would do so alone.

She might have been reaching, but Cianne felt a strong conviction that getting Lach out of the way was of the utmost importance to the group she was beginning to see as conspirators. Had Lach not arrived home early, they would have had time to search Toran's office before Lach returned. Having him in the manor while they were uncertain whether there was something for him to uncover must be stretching their nerves taut.

The exchange with her father had also left her with a sense of longing. How different could her life have been had she and he known more than a moment of harmony here and there, had they managed to capture more than brief snatches of contentment at being in one another's company. She didn't think things had always been this way between them, though it was admittedly difficult for her to call forth a clear recollection of how things with her father had been before her mother's death. She did know that they had once been a happy family, that the three of them had spent some wonderful times together.

Since her mother's death, however, nothing. Her father had held her at arm's length, growing increasingly discontented with her. Perhaps she reminded him too much of her mother; she had been told that she favored Annalith.

Be cautious, Cianne. It's tempting to think life could be nothing but easy waters, but could it? Blind loyalty to your House, dutiful obedience, aren't guarantees of peace. You need only look at Lach to realize that.

Chapter 24

"I haven't been able to discern much of anything," Kila said without preamble when Cianne let herself into his lodgings that night. "I suspect these may be dates, these may be figures, and these may be initials, but that's as far as I've gotten."

He showed Cianne the relevant columns and left her to examine his notes while he went into the common room to make tea.

"Let me help you," she said, coming to join him. With a shrug and a self-deprecating smile, she added, "I'm not likely to find anything you've missed, am I?"

Remaining silent for a moment, he decided to do away with all pretense of formality between them. She wanted to confide in him and he wanted to confide in her. Circumstance had made them partners, but his wish to be her friend came from within.

"They're not infallible, you know," he said.

"What aren't?" she asked, glancing at him as she measured the tea leaves.

"Adept skills. We make mistakes, just as everyone else does."

He couldn't interpret the expression on her face.

"They make your life much easier," she said, the words clipped. He had the impression she was spoiling for a fight.

Curiously, this didn't offend him. He suspected she so rarely was able to speak to another person with any real candor, and he wouldn't try to deceive himself by insisting that he wasn't flattered she had chosen to speak candidly with him.

"Oh ho, is that what you think?" he scoffed.

"Yes, it is," she said, turning to face him. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to level a neutral expression on him, but every line of her body was aggressive, and her eyes were mulish.

"Did it ever occur to you that the opposite is true?"

"Please! Spoken like one who has no idea what it's like to have no gods-given powers to rely on," she said, the words bursting out of her. One hip jutted forward, and she planted her hands on them.

"Spoken like one who thinks gods-given powers are all that's important in life." The moment the words were out he regretted them. He had gotten caught up in the heat of the moment, and he was afraid he had said something truly hurtful, something that would deeply offend her.

She flushed and hurt did flicker in her gaze, but then she relaxed her stance and turned back to the teapot. "Very well, perhaps you have a point," she said, mumbling the words in a grudging tone.

A smile flashed over his face, and he hid it before she could see it. "Neither of us know what it's like to walk in the boots of the other, do we?"

The kettle whistled and he poured the boiling water into the pot. She hadn't moved aside to allow him more room to work, and he could see it was because she was lost in thought. Their bodies were close, close enough for him to feel the warmth emanating from her skin, to smell her tempting scent. He caught himself leaning in even closer, drawing in a deeper breath than normal.

"No, neither of us does," she said, her eyes meeting his.

"You have lovely eyes," he said. More words escaping. Did he intend to make a habit of this?

Her eyes darkened, her lips parting slightly, and he knew how gratifying she found the compliment. "Thank you," she said, her voice throaty. "I've always liked your eyes as well."

Dangerous territory. Extract yourself at once.

"Shall we sit?" he asked, seizing the tray.

He could have sworn it was disappointment that momentarily marred her features.

"Yes."

He poured for them, feeling far more conscious of himself than he had ever felt. Making a fool of himself over a woman was something he wasn't in the habit of doing. He hadn't extensive experience with romance, but there had been a few women in his past, women with whom he'd passed a pleasant enough time but with whom he hadn't shared the sort of bond his parents had shared.

Then again, perhaps he did his best to prevent himself from feeling that sort of bond. Look where it had gotten his father. Kila didn't know if he was willing to make himself that vulnerable, if he was willing to risk the possibility that he could be crushed, heart and soul, by loss.

"Sometimes being gifted makes life more difficult," he said, deciding to pick up the threads of the conversation they'd been having before he'd gone and lost his senses.

"How so?" she asked, willing to go along with him, to his relief. Her interest was genuine, though. Eyes fixed on him, she offered him her undivided attention.

"I can only speak to my own experiences, of course, but it can be tempting to rely too much on my gifts. Because they make some aspects of my life so easy, it's oftentimes a real blow to find that everything about my life isn't that effortless."

Nibbling at her bottom lip, she knit her brows, then nodded. "Yes, I have sometimes thought that of Lach," she admitted.

He hated hearing her speak about Captain Stowley, and felt an overwhelming desire to wince every time she referred to him by his nickname. He couldn't say why. Jealousy wasn't the problem, of that he was certain. Or at least not jealousy over the fear that Cianne might be interested in Stowley as more than a friend. Kila believed her when she said she didn't intend to marry him. When she spoke of him she didn't manifest the slightest indication that she cherished any tender feelings for him beyond friendship.

No, he supposed his dislike stemmed more from the fact that she seemed to know the captain so well and he her. Stowley knew Cianne in a way that Kila longed to know her, a way he feared he might not ever know her.

And Stowley has no need to hide his attraction to her. Were Cianne interested in him, Stowley would be free to pursue her.

Pushing his thoughts aside, Kila said, "I've known Adepts who devoted themselves to their skills with single-minded focus."

"Like the Seventh Sisters?" Cianne asked, a look coming over her face that he knew all too well. Everyone was fascinated by the Seventh Sisters, it seemed, even Kila himself.

"No, I don't think so," he said. "I don't know much about the Seventh Sisters, but then that's the way they prefer it, isn't it? What I meant was that some Adepts get to a point where they seem to forget that anything exists in the world beyond what they themselves are capable of doing. I've seen it especially with Shapers, Composers, and Performers, many of whom become so consumed by their art they forget to do things like eat and drink, and have to live with people who will remind them to see to their basic human needs."

"How does that differ from the Sisters?"

"I suppose because the Sisters alone possess more than a single Adept ability. I've never met one, you understand, so this is pure speculation on my part, but I imagine they have a better understanding that the world is a multifaceted place. They know it takes more than one narrow skill to make the world function. However helpful my ability might be in some situations, it's entirely useless in others. It can't make me a better friend, it can't help me grow crops, it can't help me soothe a broken heart."

"I don't know if I agree with that. In some ways it can, I would think—not growing crops, obviously. What I mean is, if you solve a crime, it must mean a great deal to the victims or to the loved ones they've left behind. It might not mend their broken hearts or free them from the trauma of what they've suffered, but doesn't it go a long way toward helping them move forward?"

"Perhaps for some. But, Cianne, you're capable of solving crimes too. You're capable of smithing a sword, or holding your own against an opponent in a dagger fight, or weaving cloth. You're capable of making things grow, of creating beauty, of caring for others."

"Like your father was."

"Like my father was," he agreed, swallowing against the lump in his throat. He pulled his father's book out of his pocket and showed it to her. "Thank you for reminding me of that."

"I hope… I hope I didn't overstep my bounds when I spoke to you about him," she said hesitantly.

"You didn't. I think I needed to hear what you said. I think I needed to learn to judge him more