A House Divided

Chapter 9

Cianne had never seen Lach in such a state, and the force of his grief felt as though it were tearing her to shreds. He was inconsolable, barely coherent, and unable to respond to any of her questions, leaving her feeling more lost and helpless than she could have imagined possible. His mother had entered the room a short time ago, taken one look at her son, burst into tears of her own, and fled.

"Father," Lach said, his voice so small and broken he sounded like a child.

Tears streamed down Cianne's face. The pain she felt at Toran's passing was a ponderous weight, but she could have borne it if not for Lach's pain. She felt it almost as her own, and though she shed numerous tears for Toran, many of them were due to Lach's agony.

"How could he?" Lach demanded, over and over. "How could he do this to the House?"

Cianne also wondered how Toran could have done it, though she was far less concerned about the impact his death would have on the House than she was about the impact it would have on his son. She hadn't seen any sign that he was even contemplating taking his life. Toran had seemed his usual cheerful self at the assembly that night, teasing her and heaping kind compliments on her. Sometimes she wished he weren't such a lovely man, as the thought of disappointing him by not marrying his son made the whole affair so much worse for her. It would have crushed Toran to learn he couldn't count on having Cianne as his daughter-in-law, unlike Moiria, who probably would be relieved.

"My mother will look after him," Cianne whispered, wishing she could offer Lach something more comforting. She had no doubt that Annalith would guide Toran into Cearus's embrace, but what good would that do? They were both of them gone forever, and no amount of wistful thinking of them being with their Lord would ever lessen the pain of the loss.

"How?" Lach asked, raising his tormented, tear-streaked face to her. The torture in his eyes nearly undid her, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding herself together as fiercely as she was holding him together.

"I don't know," she admitted, her voice cracking. "I wish to Cearus I did."

"Captain Stowley?" a respectfully hushed voice asked as the door opened. "I'm so sorry to trouble you at this time."

"How could he do this?" Lach demanded, his voice rising into a howl that made Cianne wince.

"Leave us. He's in no condition to talk," she said, surprised by the ferocity in her own voice. She knew the Enforcers were just doing their job, but rage filled her all the same, reminding her of how she'd felt when her mother had died. Why couldn't everyone go away and leave Lach in peace? If he'd asked her to leave, she would have gone too, but he wanted her there. He shouldn't have to deal with anyone he didn't want.

"My apologies," the voice said, the door closing with haste.

"How could he?" Lach asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Closing her eyes, Cianne held onto him, his face pressed against her chest. She rocked him like a child, but his wild sobbing didn't cease, and she was relieved when Elder Borean entered the room, the House Apothecist trailing in his wake. Lach turned away from them, burying his face in Cianne's shoulder, and she lifted her eyes to Elder Borean.

The Elder said nothing, but pain limned his features as he gave Cianne a slight nod, which she returned. Tears poured over her cheeks, blurring her vision, and she tried to blink them back. The Apothecist parted her lips as if to speak to Lach, but Cianne stopped her with a vehement shake of her head. Elder Borean put his hand on the woman's shoulder and nodded at her.

Handing Cianne a small vial, the Apothecist mouthed, All of it. Cianne nodded to indicate that she understood, and the other two withdrew from the room.