A House Divided by Nicole Ciacchella (the giving tree read aloud txt) 📕

swallowing his own gasping breath. Her lips were warm, sweet, and though she was startled, it didn't take long for them to move in response to his kiss.

He lost his head completely. He kissed her as he had longed to kiss her, desperate to prolong the contact with her mouth for as long as he could. Her tongue slipped over his, and he nibbled at her bottom lip.

All at once reality came crashing down on him, and he pulled away so abruptly that she stumbled. His dagger had slipped from his fingers at some point, though he couldn't say when, and his heart pounded, his body throbbing with the urgent need to pull her near and lose himself in her kiss again.

"Cianne, I—" he began.

"I'm not a child anymore," she said, her voice harsh. "Don't you dare treat me like one. Don't you dare say—"

"Is that what you think? That I still see you as a child? Believe me, Cianne, I couldn't be any more aware that you are no longer a child if I tried. Why do you think I maintain my distance? Why do you think I never touch you?"

She flinched as if his words were physically striking her and took another step away from him. Shaking her head, words tumbled out of her in a torrent, gaining momentum. "No. This can't. We can't. No. No. I won't. Not if… No."

He felt like he was being torn to shreds. What had he done? He had no right to kiss her, no right to take advantage of the situation. "I'm sorry, Cianne. I am so sorry. I never want to hurt you. Never."

Her eyes were wide and wild as she stared at him one brief moment more, her lovely face stricken. Then she gave her head one last shake and bounded out of his garden and into the night.

 

 

Chapter 27

 

 

 

When Cianne woke the next morning the turmoil started up anew. Touching her fingers to her lips, she couldn't slow her racing pulse as she remembered what it had felt like for them to be claimed by Kila's. Nothing she had ever imagined had compared to the reality, and she wouldn't have stopped kissing him if he hadn't stopped kissing her. She might have kissed him the entire night, might have kept kissing him well into the following day.

It was stupid, dangerous, and she knew it. Hadn't she promised herself that she wouldn't allow something like this to happen because she knew there was no hope for it? The thought of being apart from him brought her nothing but pain, but she couldn't see how being with him would bring her any less. How long could they carry on a clandestine love affair? At what point would stolen moments cease to be enough to satisfy her?

And what of Kila? She didn't think he intended to use her, especially not after she had heard the vehemence in his voice as he had vowed that he never wanted to hurt her. She trusted that his intentions weren't untoward, but what good did that do either of them? He knew as well as she did that there was no hope of anything between them, no matter how much they might both want it. They couldn't be together.

Can't you? You know you can't remain here, and at any rate you might soon have no choice. Why can't you be together?

Yet there was no use in revisiting previously trodden ground. She couldn't ask it of him. She wouldn't ask it of him.

What if he were to offer?

No. She refused to think of it. Too much was happening, too many things conspiring to throw her emotions into chaos, and she couldn't afford to be so distracted. She would have to keep her wits about her if she were to have any hope of keeping all the balls she was juggling up in the air. She couldn't afford for everything to come crashing down around her, for her own sake and for Kila's. Everything she did put not just herself at risk, but him as well. She might well have to destroy Lach, there was no way around that, but she would not be responsible for being Kila's downfall as well.

Her hands shook as she dressed. Every part of her longed for Kila, longed to feel his touch, and the wanting made her weak. Never before had it hurt her this much to deny herself something, and the recognition that she now had some inkling of what Lach was going through exacerbated her discomposure until she began to wonder if it might be wiser to hide in her bed the entire day, claim she was ill.

But no, she couldn't do that either. Lach had asked to come see her and tell her when he was leaving, and she wouldn't hide from him. He deserved better than that.

That she also needed the information pricked at her conscience, regardless of the fact that it wasn't she who had orchestrated the situation. Many times she had been overcome with anger and frustration at her father, but this was the first time she had begun to feel true rage. How could he do this to her?

What if it's nothing? a very faint voice wondered, but she barked out a laugh at the thought. Of course it wasn't nothing. She was well beyond the point of believing that, of deluding herself into believing she was reading more into things than what was there.

She spent the morning cleaning her weapons, conditioning her leathers, and performing the deshya in her rafters, and all these things helped to calm her, particularly the deshya. Emotions were a force, and she could gather that energy and use it to her benefit. She didn't have to be ruled by it, and it helped that she had the chance to remind herself of this.

Lach arrived shortly after she had eaten her lunch alone, her father tied up at the Council Hall. She hadn't much taste for her food but she forced herself to eat anyway. With the amount of energy she was expending training with Kila and working herself up into a state about Lach, she would need the fuel.

"Hello, Cianne," Lach greeted her when she let him in. The words were a monotone and his face was unreadable, but she suspected that was because he was working hard to keep himself in check, for which she felt guiltily grateful.

"Come in," she said, leading him to her sitting room, where they could speak in private.

She had taken extra care to provide some subtle insulation, filling any gaps and cracks she found and ensuring that her door fit snugly into its frame. Fortunately for her, her sitting room fireplace stood to the right of the door, near the corner of the room, and she had set her chairs well back from it. Were anyone to press their ear against the keyhole, they wouldn't hear much above the crackling of the fire. It wasn't foolproof, but it was the best she could do to prevent anyone from eavesdropping on her without them noticing the efforts she had made.

"What did the Elders say?" she asked when they were settled and she had poured him a cup of tea.

To her surprise, he accepted the cup and began sipping, holding the saucer in his left hand rather than setting it down. It was the most interest she had seen him take in sustenance in longer than she could remember.

"I'm to leave in a week," he said, trying for a smile and a bit of self-deprecating humor. "I must be a mess if they're sending me to Leonovia with a ship full of cotton. Haven't done a run this simple since I was eighteen."

"They've been worried about you."

"It would seem everyone has been. And rightfully so."

"How are you feeling today, Lach?" she asked, cutting through the banalities.

"I don't know," he said, a muscle working in his jaw. He took another sip of tea as if to steady himself and continued. "I can't say I'm feeling better, but I guess I may feel as though I'm seeing things more clearly. I've done no good here in Cearova. It is time for me to return to sea, despite the aversion I seem to have developed for the very idea. I suppose I'm punishing myself."

"For what?"

"For not stopping my father," he said, his voice tapering off to a whisper. He set his tea down at last and rubbed his eyes. "You don't have to say anything, Cianne, because I know what you'd say. It doesn't make it any easier to accept."

"No, of course it doesn't."

"I wanted to apologize to you."

"Why?" she asked, stunned.

"I've been mistreating you these past few weeks. I've taken advantage of our friendship and imposed myself upon you in ways I had no business doing."

A strange awkwardness settled between them. As difficult as it had been for Cianne, due to her awareness of the depths of Lach's feelings, their friendship had still been that: a true friendship. She had relied on Lach, had counted on him to be in her corner, to be someone on whose strength she could depend when she felt she was at her weakest, and she had extended that same consideration to him. She had known that at some point the difference in the extent of their love for one another would cause irreparable harm to their relationship, but she supposed that, childishly, she had tried to deny that knowledge, had tried to convince herself that nothing would ever change.

"I think, considering the circumstances, it's understandable," she said.

He flashed her a pained smile. "That's very tactful of you."

"I'm sorry, Lach," she said, the words bursting forth. "I feel as if I've failed you, as if I'm incapable of giving you what you need, and it pains me a great deal."

He shook his head. "Please, no. Let's not have this conversation. If anyone has failed anyone, I have failed you. I haven't been a true friend to you, and I can't express how much I regret that."

"I wish—"

"We all wish for many things, don't we? I should go. I've a great deal to do to prepare for this journey. We'll talk more when I return. I think everything will be clearer then."

Distance grew between them, widening into a chasm Cianne was certain they could never bridge. Something inside of her felt as though it were fracturing, and she feared that any additional pressure would cause her to shatter entirely.

They rose and left her sitting room, heading down the stairs in silence. There were so many things she wished she could say to him, but she didn't bother with any of them. None of them were what he would want to hear.

"You'll always be dear to me, always, you know that, don't you?" he asked as she stood at the door with him.

"I can't put a value on your friendship," she replied. "I don't know what I would have done all these years without you. I owe you so much."

"It's never been about that, Cianne. With us, it's always been give and take. Sometimes perhaps the giving hasn't been equal, but that's of no consequence. Sometimes I've tried to take more than I should." He brushed a light kiss over her cheek. "I'll bring you that gift I promised you."

The lump in her throat ached so fiercely she felt as though it were strangling her. "I'll look forward to it. Will I have a chance to say goodbye to you?"

"Of course," he said, his face softening. "My mother is having a farewell dinner for me