Read Online The Select's Bodyguard (Children of the Wells - Bron & Calea Book 1) by Nick Hayden - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nick Hayden
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deepest on record. How would we get down? Fall?” She grimaces from pain as she speaks; I think she humors the conversation because it keeps her mind busy.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Why not the city? Don’t I have a better chance of surviving the trip to the city?”
At first, I do not know if I will answer her. Perhaps I am wrong. What does it matter if I am? “You will not make it, because you will not try to make it. You will give up. You think there is nothing left for you.”
She watches me carefully. “And the Well?”
“If there is magic, there is hope for Jalseion--for you.”
She looks at me from behind her mask. “I would rather stay here.”
“You don’t really have a choice. I’m the one carrying you.”
Chapter 8 - Revelations in the Lab
One Week Before
Calea sat at the desk in her lab, welding on a square of outer metal to the damaged shell of her arm. That afternoon, an attempt at compacting magic into one of her thimble-sized batteries had pressed against the limit of her ability. The resulting explosion tore into her arm and singed some of her clothes. She’d been wearing a mask, so she was unhurt except for the cosmetic damage to her upper arm.
She’d found the best way to weld was to use some sort of “lightning rod,” a piece of metal that focused the magic she pulled up from the Well. The thin rod of metal worked wonderfully in directing the fine manipulations of heat. The tighter the flow of magic, the trickier it was to direct accurately, even as its accuracy became essential.
Bron entered just as she finished. He was a few minutes early, which was just on time for him. He kept a squeaky clean record, never a tardy or sick day, never an indiscretion with wine or women after work. Calea had watched carefully for one for the last five years, with no luck.
It didn’t matter now. She’d gotten her way. It had taken persistence and not a little pressure, but it was done as of tonight.
“Thank you for coming, Bron,” she said formally. “This won’t take long.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “I no longer require your services. You’re officially dismissed.”
He started, a rare occurrence. Slowly, he took the sheet and read it over. “Straight from the Overseer.”
“I didn’t want there to be any confusion.”
“May I ask why?”
“Why now or why in general? I think you’re well aware of the second.”
“You think you don’t need me.”
“I know I don’t. A maid can do your work, and for significantly less pay.”
“This isn’t about the money.”
“Of course.” Calea waited. “You can leave now.”
She honestly didn’t know what Bron would do. Would he protest? Probably. Would it come to threats? Sometimes, she thought it might. She believed, though he had never given her indication, that he had a temper below the surface. He was self-righteous enough; would he act on it?
He did nothing for a long time, maybe half a minute. Then he handed back the paper. “I’m...sorry.” He headed for the door.
What did he mean he was sorry? He hadn’t said it in an accusatory manner. He had meant it. He wasn’t going to make this about him.
“What do you mean?” Calea demanded.
“Nothing. Just what I said.”
“What are you sorry for? For being a waste of flesh? For being unable to do the least to actually protect me? For having rocks for brains? You are a brute, single-minded, obsessed with your own ideas of what the world needs. Haven’t five years shown you? Did I take weeks to recover from that abduction attempt? No! You did. If you’re sorry for anything, be sorry you wasted my time.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You still haven’t. Tell me what you meant. I want to hear it. I demand it.”
Bron stood there, his eyes meeting hers darkly. “If I am no longer employed, I will take my leave.”
Calea shot to her feet. “Don’t you dare! You stubborn, horrible, wretched, hurtful man! Who do you think you are?
“I don’t know yet.”
“Why not the city? Don’t I have a better chance of surviving the trip to the city?”
At first, I do not know if I will answer her. Perhaps I am wrong. What does it matter if I am? “You will not make it, because you will not try to make it. You will give up. You think there is nothing left for you.”
She watches me carefully. “And the Well?”
“If there is magic, there is hope for Jalseion--for you.”
She looks at me from behind her mask. “I would rather stay here.”
“You don’t really have a choice. I’m the one carrying you.”
Chapter 8 - Revelations in the Lab
One Week Before
Calea sat at the desk in her lab, welding on a square of outer metal to the damaged shell of her arm. That afternoon, an attempt at compacting magic into one of her thimble-sized batteries had pressed against the limit of her ability. The resulting explosion tore into her arm and singed some of her clothes. She’d been wearing a mask, so she was unhurt except for the cosmetic damage to her upper arm.
She’d found the best way to weld was to use some sort of “lightning rod,” a piece of metal that focused the magic she pulled up from the Well. The thin rod of metal worked wonderfully in directing the fine manipulations of heat. The tighter the flow of magic, the trickier it was to direct accurately, even as its accuracy became essential.
Bron entered just as she finished. He was a few minutes early, which was just on time for him. He kept a squeaky clean record, never a tardy or sick day, never an indiscretion with wine or women after work. Calea had watched carefully for one for the last five years, with no luck.
It didn’t matter now. She’d gotten her way. It had taken persistence and not a little pressure, but it was done as of tonight.
“Thank you for coming, Bron,” she said formally. “This won’t take long.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “I no longer require your services. You’re officially dismissed.”
He started, a rare occurrence. Slowly, he took the sheet and read it over. “Straight from the Overseer.”
“I didn’t want there to be any confusion.”
“May I ask why?”
“Why now or why in general? I think you’re well aware of the second.”
“You think you don’t need me.”
“I know I don’t. A maid can do your work, and for significantly less pay.”
“This isn’t about the money.”
“Of course.” Calea waited. “You can leave now.”
She honestly didn’t know what Bron would do. Would he protest? Probably. Would it come to threats? Sometimes, she thought it might. She believed, though he had never given her indication, that he had a temper below the surface. He was self-righteous enough; would he act on it?
He did nothing for a long time, maybe half a minute. Then he handed back the paper. “I’m...sorry.” He headed for the door.
What did he mean he was sorry? He hadn’t said it in an accusatory manner. He had meant it. He wasn’t going to make this about him.
“What do you mean?” Calea demanded.
“Nothing. Just what I said.”
“What are you sorry for? For being a waste of flesh? For being unable to do the least to actually protect me? For having rocks for brains? You are a brute, single-minded, obsessed with your own ideas of what the world needs. Haven’t five years shown you? Did I take weeks to recover from that abduction attempt? No! You did. If you’re sorry for anything, be sorry you wasted my time.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You still haven’t. Tell me what you meant. I want to hear it. I demand it.”
Bron stood there, his eyes meeting hers darkly. “If I am no longer employed, I will take my leave.”
Calea shot to her feet. “Don’t you dare! You stubborn, horrible, wretched, hurtful man! Who do you think you are?
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