A House Divided

Chapter 11

Kila's words lifted the weight of the enormous burden Cianne had been carrying for the past several years, and she sagged with relief. She was no fool, and she trusted that her instincts were decent, but knowing this and trying to square it with her emotions was something different. Despite that she had long felt like an outsider, ostracized by those who looked down on her because she wasn't an Adept, Staerleigh was still her House. The loyalty that had been ingrained in her since birth tugged at her, crept into her thoughts when she least expected it, made her question everything she observed and heard. She had written her worries off for years, telling herself that her House was simply doing what it had always done: working to secure its position. But things felt different of late, and she couldn't shake the impression that she was on the cusp of uncovering something monumental, that what she had learned about House Staerleigh thus far was but a small portion of what lay hidden beneath the surface.

Before Kila's return, she had lacked an ally with whom she could discuss her suspicions. Before Kila's return, she had lacked a great many things about which she had tried and failed to train herself not to think. She knew she ought to be cautious, but she was so very tired of feeling alone, and with him she had never felt alone.

"It's a long story," she told him, rubbing her weary eyes. Sapped of her tension, it would seem she had also been sapped of her strength, and she felt so tired she longed to curl up and sleep and sleep. She wasn't certain she had truly felt the impact of her new reality yet. Toran Stowley was gone, forever.

"Please, sit. I'll make us some tea."

A faint smile lifted her lips. "I always was fond of your tea."

He smiled in response. "But not my attempts at cooking."

Laughter burst from her, taking her by surprise. "Not that, no," she agreed.

She watched him move about his kitchen, eyes drinking in his graceful motions. As a child she had spent hours marveling over his fluidity, wondering if she would ever learn to move as he did. It was as if he were preternaturally aware of everything in his surroundings, which she supposed was the case, given his Enforcer abilities. Even so, she'd never thought Burl particularly graceful. Canny, deliberate, and exceedingly difficult to deceive, yes. Graceful, no.

The years appeared to have been kind to him, if not mentally at least physically. He had been tall when she had known him before, his body lean and solid. He had filled out more in the intervening years; though he wasn't as bulky with muscle as a Battle Master, his power was evident in his taut arms, his controlled movements. He wore his sable hair longer than he had in the past, but he still tied the wavy strands back in the familiar, neat queue, which now hung between his shoulders rather than brushing over them. His eyes were even darker than his hair, a deep black that could be soft and warm or penetrating at turns. Tawny-skinned, he had high, strong cheekbones, an aquiline nose, a nicely formed mouth, a somewhat prominent brow, and a square chin. She had contemplated these features many times as a twelve and then thirteen-year-old, her initial girlish admiration for him blossoming into something that had confused her.

His face was the same and yet different. Age had improved his features, leaving them more chiseled than they had been when he was eighteen, as if he hadn't been fully formed then. She supposed she hadn't been either.

That face had filled her dreams and many of her waking moments for the last nine years, though the inexorable passage of time had eroded away the details until she'd been left with no more than an impression. She'd had no likeness of him as an adult other than what she had carried in her head, and her eyes were eager, hungry to fill in the blanks left by time.

"You've continued practicing the deshya," he said as he came to sit across from her, setting down a tray bearing his teapot and two cups. He'd added a plate of grapes, a few slices of cheese, and some olive-studded rolls. Her stomach growled, making her aware that she was famished.