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

Yes, that temptation again. Her father was fond of dangling it in front of her, and the problem was that it worked. He knew full well that she would like nothing better than the chance to get out and see the world, but she had no means of doing so on her own. Only Adepts were permitted to crew House Staerleigh's vessels, and only House Staerleigh's vessels were large enough to ply the open seas. The House controlled all major sea trade routes in Astoran, while the Caravanists controlled all major overland routes.

Plenty of Astorans resented this arrangement, but they hadn't much of a leg to stand on. No one was outright forbidden from conducting their own trade, but the Houses' Adept abilities made their routes far more profitable and far safer. A few smaller companies in other cities stubbornly persisted, and some had achieved modest success, but they couldn't hope to match the prowess of their House counterparts. One of them might delight in hiring a defector from House Staerleigh, but Cianne would have to renounce her House and everyone in it. She wouldn't be the first House member to do so and undoubtedly wouldn't be the last, but she wasn't yet prepared to take such a drastic step, not without a backup plan in place.

Thinking about it caused a wrenching pain in her chest. Cianne knew a great deal more about life outside the House enclave's walls than anyone else could imagine—even Lach—but she had no illusions about such a life being easy for her. Having grown up surrounded by privilege, she had few practical skills. The best she could hope for would be to one day hire herself out to a mercenary company, and despite that she chafed behind the walls of the enclave, she had no real wish to become a mercenary either.

"I know, Father, and I know I must make my intentions clear, and soon. I promise to think on it."

"So you've promised me many times before," he said, his voice taking on a sharp edge. "I'm beginning to doubt the sincerity of your promises, Cianne. It's time for assurances."

"What kind of assurances?" she asked, fighting to maintain her deferential tone.

"You have six weeks to make a final decision. Should you decide not to marry Lachlon, I will find a suitable position for you."

The finality in his voice brooked no argument, but she wasn't about to start one. She knew better than to press her father and risk his keeping a closer eye on her. At any rate, she couldn't vacillate forever, and she was aware that was what she had been doing. The time had come for her to declare her intentions once and for all.

"Very well, Father," she said, wiping her eyes and straightening her spine.

They exchanged little conversation after that point. Cianne's mind was whirling as she sorted through her options and tried to determine what course of action to take. She waited until a just barely civilized time to excuse herself and then fled to her quarters. Claiming exhaustion, she hid her impatience while Vivie laid out her night things, then she wished the maid good night.

Alone and safe in her room at last, Cianne barred the door and leaned against it, rubbing her forehead. Tumultuous emotions swirled through her, but she wouldn't allow herself to be pulled into their current. Taking deep, slow breaths, she stilled her thoughts.

Lach's latest gift sat on her chest of drawers, and she picked it up, turning it delicately in her hands and examining it. She hadn't noticed before, but the bird's cage had a tiny latch, and with a fingernail she nudged it, surprised when it slid to the side and the door fell open. The bird inside was poised on its perch as though it were about to take flight, soaring up and away from its bonds forevermore, and she stared at it for a long moment.

Cutting off a length of fishing line, Cianne wove it around the bars of the bird's cage, tying a perfect knot with deft fingers. Every child in House Staerleigh grew up knowing how to tie knots; they could all make them in their sleep. Satisfied that the knot was secure, she looped the line around several of her fingers, the ornament dangling, and climbed on top of her bed frame, balancing on one foot on the narrow edge of her carved headboard. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at her ceiling.

Her rooms were in the round tower at the southeast corner of the manor. Her sitting room was on the third floor, the uppermost floor of the manor, but her bedroom was at the top of the tower. The other three towers were used for various purposes, but none of them were bedrooms. They hadn't been built with that intent, but she had begged and begged to move her room there after her mother's death, until her father had finally relented. He had dismissed the eccentric request as the unfathomable whim of a grieving child and been done with it. The move seemed to ease Cianne's pain, saving him from the necessity of attempting to deal with her grief.

He hadn't been unaffected by his wife's death. More than once Cianne had heard him giving vent to his own grief while eavesdropping on him, but her father had never had much skill in dealing with other people's emotions. He had enough trouble dealing with his own.

The truth of the matter was that she had longed for the solitude of the space, but she had also chosen the tower room because of its ceiling. Beams and struts held up the pointed roof, like the spokes spiraling out from a nautilus's shell. The effect was lovely, if somewhat dizzying, but that hadn't been its main attraction for Cianne, who had recently begun a covert second life about which her father still knew nothing. Those struts and beams offered her a place to practice, away from prying eyes. When Lach had begun bringing the glass trinkets back for her, she had quickly determined that they made perfect additions to her practice regime, adding new challenges to familiar routines.

Another thing all House Staerleigh children grew up with was a familiarity of ships. Boldly clambering up the masts and riggings, racing one another to the crow's nest, was a favorite game of House Staerleigh children, a pastime their parents encouraged. After all, while some of the children would spend most of their lives on land, serving House Staerleigh in other ways, the majority of them would be at sea. Thus, it had struck no one as odd that Cianne had taken to climbing up into the rafters and dangling her many glass objects from them.

What they didn't know was that she darted, danced, and swung around those rafters, sometimes with a weapon and sometimes without, depending on which skills she was focused on practicing. The glass baubles presented her with a plethora of obstacles to dodge past and duck under, and the more she added the more challenging her practices became. Her skills had grown to such an extent that she rarely broke any of them anymore, even though the space she could navigate kept decreasing. Luckily for her, she was small, slight, and light on her feet, and her upbringing guaranteed her a certain amount of dexterity. But it was her dogged determination and her focused discipline that had led her to develop skills far beyond what any of the House Staerleigh trainers could have taught her. No one had any inkling of what she was capable of doing, and she intended to keep it that way.

Skimming swiftly over a beam that was only a bit wider than her foot, Cianne found the perfect spot for her bird. She wound the line around the beam and took extra care with the knot, mindful of the value of the gift.

She spent the next hour practicing her forms, flowing from one to the next. That finished, she drew her rapier and went through the forms again, the weight of the weapon forcing her to adjust her lines and balance. The blade flashed in the candlelight as she slashed right then left, darting her weapon in between the dangling lines and baubles, tumbling and ducking and rolling without brushing against a single one of them.

When she finally shimmied down from the rafters, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her arm, the birdcage door still hung open.

Chapter 4

A mere four days passed before Kila was called to action. His new uniforms had arrived just that morning, and the cut of the high collar was different, chafing him. He might have looked the part of a Cearovan Enforcer, but he certainly didn't feel it. He forced himself not to pry his strangling collar away from his throat as he hurried to answer the Chief's summons.

"Have a seat," she said in a brisk voice, and he hastened to obey. She closed the door behind him before perching herself on her chair. Her rigid posture and tense face told him that something serious was happening.

"How are you settling in?" she asked.

"Well enough," he said, nonplussed by the direction of the conversation.

"Have you surveyed the lay of the land?"

"I have," he said, the purpose of the conversation beginning to dawn on him.

Flim hadn't assigned him a partner yet, instead instructing him to study their current open cases. He had also taken the opportunity to study his fellow Enforcement officers. Some showed such obvious signs of favoring the Houses that he was able to quickly pinpoint them. Others were cagey enough that he knew he'd best be wary around them. Each House had a formal Enforcement liaison, and it was a given that these men and women would be in the Houses' pockets, or as good as. Even if they hadn't begun their posts with the intent of acquiescing to the House's every whim, it was a fair bet that the Houses had found a variety of ways to purchase their loyalty. For all he knew, it was entirely possible that some of them were of unimpeachable character, but for the time being he felt it more prudent to outright eliminate them as possible allies.

The pensive look on his face made her nod. "Yes, I had a feeling that spending some time observing would prove very educational for you."

"I've come to some conclusions," he said carefully. "But it might be more efficient if you were to give me some guidance."

Shaking her head with a sigh, she pinched the space between her brows, deepening the furrow there. "Trust me when I say it's best at this point if you don't know."

"Because you don't trust me? Don't take that as a criticism. You'd be wise not to trust me."

Giving him a crooked smile, she said, "That may be a factor, but it's not the entire reason. The less you know the less anyone can extract from you, either by covert or overt means."

It made sense, but he didn't like the idea of not having at least one ally in whom he could place his trust. He and the chief shared the same sense of urgency when it came to maintaining a deliberate distance between Enforcement and the Houses, but he couldn't be seen in the chief's office with any regularity. A close relationship between the two of them would raise eyebrows, and neither of them could afford that.

"Very well," he said, settling back in his chair with a frown.

"I'm asking you to take a lot on faith," she acknowledged. "This is a delicate dance we're doing. I'll help you as much as