Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1) by K.F. Breene Read Free Book Online Page A

to mention many artifacts that were metal. By Shanti’s standards, this room was cloaked in wealth.
    Shanti sauntered over to the couch, the gobs of fabric adorning her person so loud she’d have to ask her enemies to plug their ears so she could sneak by. What a ridiculous fashion these people employed. Like most ceremonial dress, it was completely without purpose. It was also extremely uncomfortable. It was work just to wear the stuff.
    Shaking her head, she felt the leather. Soft as an infant’s backside. And squishy. It was more inviting than a feast.
    As she was about to sink into the welcoming leather, Molly screeched. “You’ll be all creases!”
    “ Do you stop sitting after you get dressed up?” Shanti asked in confusion, butt halfway to the cushion.
    “You have to know how to sit, or else you’ll look like a day old kitten!”
    “Your people trap themselves in garments that don’t allow them to breathe, let alone move naturally, showing parts of skin that make young boys crazy, then forbid sitting unless a new approach is learned? Are you playing a roark on me? A…what’s the word…joke?”
    Molly was shaking her head again, dragging Shanti to the door while shoving a biscuit into her mo uth. “The Captain expects it.”
    “Ah, so the Captain is responsible for these torture devices. And no one has rebelled? Called down his service?”
    “He’s not—just—it’s fashion!”
    They stepped outside onto a clean cobblestone street, where every so often a large metal pole reached into the sky with thick candles nestled into a decorative steel cage at the top. Shanti noticed a man walking through the street with a long metal rod, reaching up into the metal cage to extinguish the small flame. The street held many small abodes like Molly’s, most with activity now that the sun rose, but a few without.
    “Is this a main path?” Shanti asked curiously, taking in the stonework that overlaid the ground.
    “Street, you mean? This is one of four main streets, yes. The smaller streets aren’t lined with candles—just the main ones. That’s why I live here—just in case someone from out of town needs a place—”
    Shanti deafened her ears, a skill she’d learned within the first half day in that small room with the chatty woman. She turned her thoughts, instead, to her surroundings. One main path of four. Rather wide, too—big enough for two teams of horses pulling a cart each. It was a city, but not an incredibly large city. Harder to blend in with the difference in coloring and feature, but not impossible.
    “Miss Molly.” It was a youth’s deep voice not yet filled out into the drum of manhood.
    Shanti spun quickly. Her mind blossomed open, the net of her conscious ness spreading out around her in a ten span radius—shockingly small for two days of rest. She should’ve done it earlier, though. She needed to stop being a tourist.
    A large , young man strode toward them, arms swinging with lanky abandon. Wide shoulders nearly taking up the whole of the footpath, his muscles were already defined though he was probably only Marc’s age. Shanti had no doubt he would only get bigger. He had the potential for great strength and prowess, but now he walked more like a floppy puppy that still needed to grow into its feet.
    “Xavier!” Molly said in a gush. “Who would’ve thought I would get all the promising new boys stopping by!”
    Xavier. Shanti had heard that name before—the man she had taken down. His mind shed pleasant expectation, happy to meet a stranger and enjoy the morning walk. He harvested not one ounce of fear. He not only did not know her capabilities in mind or body, but he thought her harmless. And if she were wearing that corset, not able to breathe, sit, or bend at the waist, he surely would’ve been correct.
    She retracted her Gift , backing away from mind contact. She needed the strength. Plus, moving like a stick man held together with yarn, two strikes would be enough to