consequence of his two years in Cearova. Even so, he did understand what Flim was fighting for. He too had devoted his life to upholding justice and pursuing the truth, despite the little good it had done him.
"I still don't know how I can help you," he said. "I have no connections that will be of any use to you, and House members have long memories for words spoken against them, so I don't see how I can be anything other than an additional problem for you to handle."
"They will remember you," she acknowledged, her face pinched. "But with luck they will also think you chastened by your spell in the forest and eager to look out for yourself, lest you end up there again.
"Still, I owe it to you to inform you that I'm asking you to take a risk. For now I'm maintaining the appearance that everything is normal in Cearova, but the Houses have become too powerful for me to sit on my hands any longer. I have to take a stand. The Houses need to know that Enforcement is no longer entirely in their pocket.
"Please, Kila, help me defend the defenseless. I don't think you can abandon them any more than I can."
A face rose in his mind, the memory of a young urchin, a girl who'd skulked through the streets on her own late at night. She'd had no one to look out for her, that much had been obvious when she'd stumbled into his scrap of a garden. He'd taken her under his wing as much as he'd been able, showing her the basic moves of the deshya, hoping his feeble attempt would be of at least some assistance to her.
How many others were there like her in Cearova, children without anyone to look after them, children forced to grow up far too fast? The Houses were more than capable of looking after their own, and they didn't care if protecting their own interests could only be done at the expense of everyone else.
Locking his eyes with Flim's, they stared at one another for a long time. Her gaze didn't waver, and he watched the lines on her face slowly ease.
"Reporting for duty, Chief Flim," he said, saluting her.
The lines disappeared completely as her face relaxed in relief.
Chapter 3
"I'm told Lachlon paid you a visit already," Daerwyn said when Cianne joined him for dinner. She wasn't surprised that he knew. He had many sources for information, which was why she had made it a point to uncover every one of them. Her father had to believe that he knew everything there was to know about her, and she took great pains to maintain the ruse.
"Yes, he did," she said with unflappable composure as she lowered herself into her seat and spread her napkin over her lap. "It was a shock to see him so soon, but he seemed in good cheer, so I take it his trip was profitable."
"Very," her father said in a tone of deep satisfaction. "It's a shame you did not invite him to stay to dinner. I should have liked to see him."
I'll bet you would have. Must make certain we're securing our interests, mustn't we?
"He promised his parents he would dine with them."
"Pity he didn't invite you along, then."
Cianne wore her mask well. Her smile didn't indicate to her father that anything was amiss. His hints had become so heavy-handed of late that, like this hint, they could hardly be called by that name.
"I'll see him tomorrow, at any rate," she said, slipping a morsel of roasted pheasant into her mouth, more so that she would have an excuse not to speak to him than because of any real sense of hunger.
As they often did, her eyes strayed to her mother's empty chair. Though she had died shortly after Cianne's twelfth birthday, Cianne had still never gotten used to the idea of her mother's being truly gone. Before Annalith's death, Cianne had been able to count three amongst those she knew loved her and would protect her: her mother, Lach, and Lach's kindly father, Toran.
That Moiria, Lach's mother, didn't much care for her went without saying, but Moiria wasn't a woman to look a gift horse in the mouth either. Cianne might not be up to
"I still don't know how I can help you," he said. "I have no connections that will be of any use to you, and House members have long memories for words spoken against them, so I don't see how I can be anything other than an additional problem for you to handle."
"They will remember you," she acknowledged, her face pinched. "But with luck they will also think you chastened by your spell in the forest and eager to look out for yourself, lest you end up there again.
"Still, I owe it to you to inform you that I'm asking you to take a risk. For now I'm maintaining the appearance that everything is normal in Cearova, but the Houses have become too powerful for me to sit on my hands any longer. I have to take a stand. The Houses need to know that Enforcement is no longer entirely in their pocket.
"Please, Kila, help me defend the defenseless. I don't think you can abandon them any more than I can."
A face rose in his mind, the memory of a young urchin, a girl who'd skulked through the streets on her own late at night. She'd had no one to look out for her, that much had been obvious when she'd stumbled into his scrap of a garden. He'd taken her under his wing as much as he'd been able, showing her the basic moves of the deshya, hoping his feeble attempt would be of at least some assistance to her.
How many others were there like her in Cearova, children without anyone to look after them, children forced to grow up far too fast? The Houses were more than capable of looking after their own, and they didn't care if protecting their own interests could only be done at the expense of everyone else.
Locking his eyes with Flim's, they stared at one another for a long time. Her gaze didn't waver, and he watched the lines on her face slowly ease.
"Reporting for duty, Chief Flim," he said, saluting her.
The lines disappeared completely as her face relaxed in relief.
Chapter 3
"I'm told Lachlon paid you a visit already," Daerwyn said when Cianne joined him for dinner. She wasn't surprised that he knew. He had many sources for information, which was why she had made it a point to uncover every one of them. Her father had to believe that he knew everything there was to know about her, and she took great pains to maintain the ruse.
"Yes, he did," she said with unflappable composure as she lowered herself into her seat and spread her napkin over her lap. "It was a shock to see him so soon, but he seemed in good cheer, so I take it his trip was profitable."
"Very," her father said in a tone of deep satisfaction. "It's a shame you did not invite him to stay to dinner. I should have liked to see him."
I'll bet you would have. Must make certain we're securing our interests, mustn't we?
"He promised his parents he would dine with them."
"Pity he didn't invite you along, then."
Cianne wore her mask well. Her smile didn't indicate to her father that anything was amiss. His hints had become so heavy-handed of late that, like this hint, they could hardly be called by that name.
"I'll see him tomorrow, at any rate," she said, slipping a morsel of roasted pheasant into her mouth, more so that she would have an excuse not to speak to him than because of any real sense of hunger.
As they often did, her eyes strayed to her mother's empty chair. Though she had died shortly after Cianne's twelfth birthday, Cianne had still never gotten used to the idea of her mother's being truly gone. Before Annalith's death, Cianne had been able to count three amongst those she knew loved her and would protect her: her mother, Lach, and Lach's kindly father, Toran.
That Moiria, Lach's mother, didn't much care for her went without saying, but Moiria wasn't a woman to look a gift horse in the mouth either. Cianne might not be up to
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