The Choosing (The Arcadia Trilogy Book 1) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Rachel Hanna, Bella James
than willing to tangle with Kellan for the last potato.
"There's more in the kitchen," mother said, and rose smoothly to go fetch it, as if her back didn't ache and she wasn't bone tired.
When her mother was at the far side of the kitchen, forking up potatoes into a scarred metal serving bowl, Livy leaned quickly to her father and said, "What happened that you're making bullets?" Because asking about the collectors would tip her hand that she was listening and she'd lose one of her best sources of information.
Her father bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes evasive. "We'll talk about it later, Olivia. You know you mustn't tell anyone, right?"
How stupid did he think she was? "Yes, of course, but father – "
But her mother was back with potatoes and a little more of the meat they'd been eating whose provenance it was best not to inquire too closely about. Looking at father and daughter sharply, Maddy asked, "What are we talking about now?" and Livy's father subsided into tactics to distract her while Livy let herself be pulled into yet another conversation about boys.
There was nothing else to listen to anyway.
" I 'll take care of the dishes," she told her mother, and Pippa could escape, "Hey, Pip, I'll let you tell me everything about Denny and give you my most sage advice if you'll help me out."
If Pip had any sense she'd have declined – Livy had even less knowledge about boys than her sister. At almost sixteen she'd been kissed once and once narrowly avoided the clutches of a group of Centurions drunk and stumbling from a tavern with ill intentions on their minds and too much distance between them and the closest pleasure palace. Otherwise, she'd found no one she wanted to spend her life with, no one she even wanted to spend an afternoon with, and that was fine. She had her family. She had her grandfather. If it came to that, she had her friends and she had a goat.
But as long as Pip thought she knew something and was willing to help, Livy was totally taking advantage of that.
S pring evenings in Pastoreum were cool. The house was divided by sections, into Grandfather Bane's curtained off room with its own exit, to the kitchen and eating area where they all spent the most time in winter, to the room where they sat beside the fire in the cooler seasons like a spring night. There were three bedrooms past that, her parents' and the boys’ room and the girls'. The house wasn't huge, but they'd done all right. Her father was respected in the community, able to make things work again when they'd stopped and willing to work on Before Times machinery. He'd more success than most and the Centurions would bring him their own malfunctioning machines and farm equipment. For all that they worked directly for the Plutarch, most of them belonged to enormous family clans in order to eek out a living from the ground, just like everyone else.
And not just like everyone else. Thinking so got people killed. A Centurion could be posted in a community's midst for a decade and turn on them the first time anyone did anything remotely traitorous. They were cold, frightening, distant men. That her father could count them as customers was a saving grace at times. That her father might count them as friends was nothing more than a fantasy.
She'd just finished the evening chores, and Pippa had disappeared into the family room without a backward glance ( and you're very welcome for my sage advice , Livy thought, amused) when Grandfather Bane emerged from his room, holding the book diffidently.
"You found a prize, Livy girl," he said, smiling at her. His blue eyes, so like her own, looked faded. "This is Shakespeare. Henry the Fifth. About a ruler in Before Times, about a war to end all wars. I can tell you the story, perhaps better with everyone, but do you want to practice?"
Livy grinned. "Always."
Grandfather eased himself onto one of the chairs at the table and placed the book reverently there. Maddy would have a fit if she saw
"There's more in the kitchen," mother said, and rose smoothly to go fetch it, as if her back didn't ache and she wasn't bone tired.
When her mother was at the far side of the kitchen, forking up potatoes into a scarred metal serving bowl, Livy leaned quickly to her father and said, "What happened that you're making bullets?" Because asking about the collectors would tip her hand that she was listening and she'd lose one of her best sources of information.
Her father bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes evasive. "We'll talk about it later, Olivia. You know you mustn't tell anyone, right?"
How stupid did he think she was? "Yes, of course, but father – "
But her mother was back with potatoes and a little more of the meat they'd been eating whose provenance it was best not to inquire too closely about. Looking at father and daughter sharply, Maddy asked, "What are we talking about now?" and Livy's father subsided into tactics to distract her while Livy let herself be pulled into yet another conversation about boys.
There was nothing else to listen to anyway.
" I 'll take care of the dishes," she told her mother, and Pippa could escape, "Hey, Pip, I'll let you tell me everything about Denny and give you my most sage advice if you'll help me out."
If Pip had any sense she'd have declined – Livy had even less knowledge about boys than her sister. At almost sixteen she'd been kissed once and once narrowly avoided the clutches of a group of Centurions drunk and stumbling from a tavern with ill intentions on their minds and too much distance between them and the closest pleasure palace. Otherwise, she'd found no one she wanted to spend her life with, no one she even wanted to spend an afternoon with, and that was fine. She had her family. She had her grandfather. If it came to that, she had her friends and she had a goat.
But as long as Pip thought she knew something and was willing to help, Livy was totally taking advantage of that.
S pring evenings in Pastoreum were cool. The house was divided by sections, into Grandfather Bane's curtained off room with its own exit, to the kitchen and eating area where they all spent the most time in winter, to the room where they sat beside the fire in the cooler seasons like a spring night. There were three bedrooms past that, her parents' and the boys’ room and the girls'. The house wasn't huge, but they'd done all right. Her father was respected in the community, able to make things work again when they'd stopped and willing to work on Before Times machinery. He'd more success than most and the Centurions would bring him their own malfunctioning machines and farm equipment. For all that they worked directly for the Plutarch, most of them belonged to enormous family clans in order to eek out a living from the ground, just like everyone else.
And not just like everyone else. Thinking so got people killed. A Centurion could be posted in a community's midst for a decade and turn on them the first time anyone did anything remotely traitorous. They were cold, frightening, distant men. That her father could count them as customers was a saving grace at times. That her father might count them as friends was nothing more than a fantasy.
She'd just finished the evening chores, and Pippa had disappeared into the family room without a backward glance ( and you're very welcome for my sage advice , Livy thought, amused) when Grandfather Bane emerged from his room, holding the book diffidently.
"You found a prize, Livy girl," he said, smiling at her. His blue eyes, so like her own, looked faded. "This is Shakespeare. Henry the Fifth. About a ruler in Before Times, about a war to end all wars. I can tell you the story, perhaps better with everyone, but do you want to practice?"
Livy grinned. "Always."
Grandfather eased himself onto one of the chairs at the table and placed the book reverently there. Maddy would have a fit if she saw
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