Read The Select's Bodyguard (Children of the Wells - Bron & Calea Book 1) for Free Online

certain of it. The stairwell of the Column is a long way from her room, but the most protected from outside attacks. She is taking the long view. It is perhaps a wiser choice than my headlong rush upward. Wiser, perhaps, but not faster. I prefer a straight line, even with roadblocks.
    Still, it has taken me a long time to reach this place. She could be long gone by now. The marks of blood have vanished. I stop. The floors above have collapsed, blocking the entire hall. I backtrack, taking the first passage I find. It is only a small detour, one she must have taken.
    My assumptions are compounding. It may not even have been her blood.
    I stop again. I force myself to stop. It is difficult. I have been pressing and pressing; it seems a sin to stop. I wait a whole minute, impatiently trying to reevaluate my options. One thought overrides the others: I must protect her.
    It is not just a thought. It is a belief, a decision, an ethic.
    I continue forward. My path is set.
    Another collapsed hall. I turn again, now veering farther from my original path. And I see her.
    She is on the ground, on her belly. I stop a third time, this time to say, carefully, “Calea?”
    She starts to turn her head--yes, she’s alive. “Go away.”
    I somehow expected the response.
    “Are you hurt?”
    “I said, go away.”
    I step forward to help her to her feet.
    “Go away!” she screams. Her body shudders.
    I think she is crying. That silences me. I wait until she calms herself. It takes longer than I expect. Then I wait. I wait for her to speak.
    Finally, she does. “Why are you here?” she accuses me.
    I do not answer. She knows why I am here. Any answer I give will infuriate her.
    I have been studying her closely. She does not seem injured, but her mechanical limbs have not moved. Something is wrong with them.
    “I don’t need you.”
    “Apparently.” I decide to try a different angle. “Is no one left on this floor?’
    “I heard them evacuating, heading to the Column.”
    “They didn’t come looking for you?”
    “No. Why would they?”
    A cold answer. She had long ago taught the other Select to avoid her except in precisely defined circumstances.
    “I know the truth. They did come.”
    “One. I told her to leave. I had something I needed to do.”
    “And you’ve crawled all this way?”
    She cursed. “Idiot. You think it’s funny.”
    “I think it’s unnecessary.”
    “What’s happened? Tell me that.”
    “I don’t know. The city’s in ruins.”
    “The city? I don’t care about the city. Let the city burn and the people bury their dead. I hope they die. I--” But she catches herself.
    “You what?”
    A long, scathing pause. Then: “I want to die. Is that fine with you? I want to die! Are you happy now?”
    “We can repair your limbs. Whatever happened to them--”
    She screams at me. It’s a shriek of rage and pain, cutting off my words. I take a step back. I have never heard such emotion from her. I begin to doubt my previous conclusions. Perhaps she is mortally wounded or she is suffering from some delusion. The cry passes, like a siren dying away. She takes in lungfuls of air. I dare not speak. I want her to let me help her; I do not want to force the issue. It will make things unpleasant. More so, it will injure her deeply, and I have vowed to protect her.
    “What?” she demands after a time. “What do you think of me?”
    “I think you are holding something back.”
    “Are you so dull? You’ve made a mad dash from whatever smoke-filled den you frequent and you don’t know? I knew it from the first. It’s gone. I can’t feel it anymore.”
    She wants me to ask. I do. I don’t mind playing the fool; most times, with her, I’m not playing. “What is gone?”
    “Magic. The Well is empty. It’s gone. All of it. Jalseion has fallen.”
    I am not sure I believe her. I don’t know how to believe such a statement. But she is supremely confident. I understand, too, what Select Grigor meant. He