A House Divided

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.