A House Divided (Astoran Asunder, book 1) (30 page)

She wanted to be well rested for that evening, but her worries kept circling around and around in her mind until she gave in and spent some time in her rafters, pushing herself to move faster, to work harder. She moved until she could move no more, and then she collapsed in one of the alcoves formed by a joist and a strut, folding herself into the tiny space. The sun's position told her it would soon be time for dinner, and she let her eyes go unfocused, the fragments of color thrown off by her glass baubles softening and going blurry around the edges. When she swept her eyes around the rafters like that, taking in the refracted light, she felt almost as if she were sitting in a rainbow, high up in the clouds, far from the city, far from House Staerleigh, far from anything that could hurt her.

Would her illusion of safety and security ever become a reality?

She lingered as long as she dared and then leapt lightly down to her bed frame and set about getting herself cleaned up and dressed. Her gear sack had long since been packed and repacked, checked and double checked, and was hidden under her floorboards with the clothing she'd selected for that night. Once she and her father finished dinner she wouldn't have much time. She would have to get back to her quarters, change, and climb out through one of the upper story windows in a matter of minutes. Otherwise she risked losing sight of her father, who she knew would leave promptly after dinner ended, as he had every time he had attended one of these secretive meetings.

"Cianne, you're looking well tonight," Daerwyn said as she joined him at the table.

"Thank you, Father," she replied. No matter how much icy water she had splashed over her face, she hadn't been able to rid it of the flush brought about by her exertions. She worried that he suspected something, but he gave her no more than a cursory nod of approval before focusing his attention on his meal.

They ate for a while without speaking, Cianne casting about for safe topics, but she no longer had any idea what was safe. Every subject seemed to hold twice the meaning she believed it to hold, and she felt as though she had to tiptoe around everything while with her father. She lived in dread of that one misstep, that one slip that would reveal her hand. Though she had been about the practice of deceiving him for many years, she had begun to wonder if she was up to the task of continuing.

"How are the preparations for Lach's journey coming along?" she asked at last.

"Very well. I had initial concerns because he didn't show much interest in the preparations, which, as you know, is quite unusual for him. But he's come around of late, is almost acting like his old self again, so whatever you said to him helped."

Was he testing her? She sent an appraising look at him from beneath lowered lids, feigning modesty at the compliment. Nothing seemed amiss. Even so, she felt a tingle of apprehension at the base of her spine.

"I'm glad I was able to help him, though I don't think I can take all the credit. The decision to send him on this journey did him a real service, but then you, Moiria, and the Elders have always looked out for his best interests."

"Always will, as we would for any member of our House. We must none of us neglect our duty to our House," her father said, a note of something in his voice that Cianne didn't like.

"I have done my best these past few weeks to do mine as well," she said, speaking in a low voice, head hung as if in embarrassment for her past transgressions.

"You have made great strides this week, my daughter. I'm very pleased. Is it possible you believe you have discerned your role in our House?"

"Yes, I believe I have," she said, raising her eyes to meet his, letting him see her determination.

"You cannot imagine how glad I am to hear it," he said, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. He rose, tugging his embroidered silk waistcoat into place. His manservant emerged from the shadows lurking around the edges of the room and helped him into his frock coat. "I hate to rush off on you like this, but I've an engagement with Rayshford tonight. It may run late. Have you any plans?"

"No, I don't," she said.

"That's a shame," he said, displeasure flickering across his face.

It would have been far better had she been able to claim some engagement. Her lack of invitations alarmed him, and she knew he must be particularly disappointed that she wasn't to spend the evening with Lach. She had no one to cover for her, though, so it was best she not have to try and invent something plausible. It kept things as simple as they could be, considering the circumstances.

"Don't wait up for me. I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast," he said, and like a dutiful daughter she turned her cheek for a kiss. His lips didn't even make contact, and then he was gone.

Feeling as though she might fly out of her skin, Cianne forced herself into an appearance of tranquility, taking a few more slow bites of her dinner before wiping her own mouth and leaving the table. She hurried along the corridors as much as she could without giving the appearance that she was up to something. Her heart pounded and her palms were sweating as she threw herself into her room.

Vivie had the evening off, which was good for Cianne. Another servant had already seen to her fire, and no one would venture all the way up to her quarters unless she summoned them, which meant no one should notice her absence from the manor.

Unless anyone sees you spying on them, that is.

She ignored the thought, willing her fingers steady so that she could get herself out of her casual dinner gown and into her leathers as swiftly as possible. Strapping her gear over her back and sheathing her daggers, she climbed through her window and out into the night.

Fortunately for her, a mist was rolling in off the sea, providing her with additional cover. Unfortunately for her, it also decreased the range of visibility, so she had to move more slowly than she would have liked, her sense of impatience rising until she thought it would make her run mad. In the enclave she had no choice but to tail her father over the cobbled streets, keeping to the shadows and maintaining a considerable distance so as to avoid detection. Unlike him, though, she wore boots she'd had specially designed, the soles soft and pliable so that they were soundless, while her father's fashionable shoes clicked with his every step, helping her to track him.

She slipped up and over the enclave wall at one of her usual spots and resumed tailing her father. Now that they were in the city proper she could do so from rooftops. The height should have provided her with an advantage, but the misty night was working against her. She had to hunker down, eyes straining, in order not to lose sight of him, moving at a crouch that made her thighs burn in protest. Ignoring the discomfort, she kept pace with her father.

No one joined him in his walk. He had turned his collar up and he walked with purpose, head bent, looking like any other Cearovan citizen hurrying to get inside, away from the damp chill. The streets were less crowded than usual due to the weather, and Cianne didn't notice anyone who struck her as suspicious, but then there was no real way of telling. Would whoever her father's secret partners were keep lookouts along the streets, taking note of his progress and ensuring that he made it to the meeting safely without anyone following him, or did they try to involve as few people as possible, the better to keep things secret?

He paused when he reached a warehouse not far from the Mallay enclave. A man and a young woman loitered near the door, the woman pressed up against the warehouse wall while the man leaned over her in a manner that suggested they were seconds away from a heated embrace. Daerwyn opened his coat enough to flash something at them, and the man and woman resumed their charade as he slipped through the door.

Relief flooded Cianne. The meeting's being held in a warehouse made her task much easier as it would offer her plenty of hiding places. True, it meant guards could be hiding as well, but she would take whatever small advantage she could get. Slipping into the building through one of the high window vents would be an easy matter for her, and if she were fortunate she could take up a perch in the rafters, which would give her a bird's-eye view of everything below her, including any hidden guards. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she said a little prayer to Cearus, asking him to ensure that her father's and his conspirators' voices would be loud enough for her to hear, or that the warehouse would have the courtesy of having excellent acoustics, so that their voices might carry.

Skirting the warehouse, she leapt from roof to roof, surveying the building's perimeter. She saw another man a short distance from the south side of the building, and a couple of women talking and laughing half a street away from the building's eastern side. Best to assume they were all guards, she decided, and used the western wall as her entry point.

By the time she was inside the meeting had begun. The participants weren't far from her, but their voices were a murmur that was too hard for her to make out. She had no choice but to get closer. Lowering herself to a beam spanning the length of the warehouse, she hugged it, shimmying along until she was close enough to hear. She would have liked to have been farther away from the participants, giving her more of a lead should she need to flee, but there was nothing else for it.

"…making noise again," a woman was saying. The warehouse was very dim, which provided cover of darkness for Cianne but made it difficult for her to see who was below. All she could discern was that the woman appeared to have light hair, and that she was shorter than Daerwyn, though nearly as broad. The coiled energy with which she moved suggested a powerful woman, one comfortable with the physicality of her own body.

In addition to Daerwyn and the woman, Cianne saw one hooded and cloaked figure, a man with flaming red hair, and another woman, this one with short, dark hair.

"Aren't they always?" Elder Borean's voice came from under the hood. That made two people Cianne knew. As for the others, they were unfamiliar, and she was too far away and the light too low for her to be able to make out the details of their clothing or appearance. Were they Caravanists, as the proximity to the Mallay enclave might suggest? Perhaps at least one was a Coin Master?

"I don't think you appreciate the gravity of this situation," the dark-haired woman said. Her voice was a velvety purr, but a steely note lay beneath. "They've taken it upon themselves to demand we pay more for their silence."

"Have we any leverage we can use?" the other man asked. His voice was low, gravelly, and not one Cianne could recall ever having heard before.

"There's always leverage," Daerwyn said dismissively. "It's simply a matter of finding it."

"I'll see what I can dig up," the light-haired woman said.

"They won't be easily dissuaded," the dark-haired woman warned, sounding dissatisfied.

"They never are, are they?" Elder Borean asked.

"That is the price we knew we would have to pay in order to ensure conditions remain favorable to us," the other man said.

No one argued with him.

"What of our friends in Vyramas? What news do they send of this succession battle?" Elder Borean asked.

"It's no closer to ending than it ever has been," the light-haired woman said. "Our sources take care to sow the seeds of discontent to ensure the battle continues to drag out."

"At this rate, none of us will live to see a successor," the other man said with a sardonic chuckle.

"Would that we could be so fortunate," Daerwyn said.

"That is good news indeed," Elder Borean said. "Any other matters of concern?"

"One," the dark-haired woman said. She strutted from one person to the next, making a circuit of the meeting's attendees. Every one of them stiffened at her approach. "One of our House members doesn't want to be a good little boy and tow the line. He's asking questions. Uncomfortable questions."

"Get on with it, Farla," the other man growled. "How close is he?"

"Rather closer than anyone else has been," she said. "I can't help but admire his tenacity, to be honest."

"You sound smug for someone who was so worried about our miner friends a moment ago," the light-haired woman noted.

"That's because I, like my good friend Daerwyn here, know how to deal with the members of my House who run amok," she said.

"It's come to that?" Elder Borean asked, sounding weary.

"Like your man Stowley, I'm afraid the boy is starting to connect too many of the dots, wondering how the poor royals—"

"Enough," the light-haired woman said, moving aggressively toward the dark-haired one. "We get your point. Take care of it, as Elder Borean and Daerwyn did."

Cianne's blood ran cold, and she felt so faint she had to clutch the beam, her lungs burning as the force compressed her chest. A violent shiver tore through her, and she clamped her mouth shut to prevent her teeth from chattering. The floor of the warehouse seemed to rush toward her and then away, toward her and away again.

"Mustn't forget dear Moiria," Farla, the dark-haired woman, said. "But, then, I suppose she has you to turn to, doesn't she Daerwyn? So sad when one can't keep one's spouse in line."

Rage swept through Cianne, mingling with the fear until her pulse pounded with such force she felt her head might burst. She wanted to scream, wanted to tear every beam from the rafters and collapse the building in on its occupants, even if it meant she would be crushed along with them.