The Lotus Effect (Rise Of The Ardent) by Bridget Ladd Read Free Book Online Page A

each hand firmly grasping the handle of an axe. I blinked, turning the page again, and looked upon the illustrations that had always fascinated and soothed me the most.
    The trees.
    An Architect’s journal always consisted of straight, no-nonsense lines. This page however had curves and spirals that matched the floral patterns of my room. Cylindrical brown trunks with branches alive with greenery reached and spiraled towards the sky.
    The only person who had ever spoken to me of the trees was my grandmother. These illustrations in her journal—she’d told me long ago—depicted trees from before the time of the Breaking—the birth of City Prosper. Grandmother Everette, always the free spirit, divulged that these trees gathered together and created vast forests that could even block out the power of the sun.
    I blinked, remembering her leaning in close to my ear, making me feel adventurous. “ Lily, darling? Did you know the trees breathe life into each and every one of us? That without them . . . we too would soon wilt away? ”
    To this day, I still do not understand what she had meant. As a child, I had asked her, and she simply smiled. She then asked me if I was alive. Confused by her question, I had looked myself up and down and nodded uncertainly. She had laughed and bent close to my face, pinching my right dimple.
    “ Then so are they ,” she whispered in my ear.
    I hold that day clearly in my mind. After what she had told me, she had winked, smiled, and kissed my cheek before finally swiveling on her heels in search of that day’s Council meeting. It was her last Council meeting. That was the day she disappeared.
    I should’ve known better. A Mistress’s journal holds the entirety of their life’s work. They are incomplete without it.
    My grandmother, like myself, was a curious being. And in Prosper, curiosity could get you killed. I had hoped I would be better at hiding it than she was. Tonight however put a halt to that attempt. My beliefs were out in the open.
    And now? Now I had to fight to keep them.
    ~
    I expected them to come for me, but they never did. Having packed a few essentials into my satchel which I now had sitting ready at the foot of my bed, I waited.
    The Council would not look kindly upon the little scene I had caused. But now, under the Barrage’s jurisdiction, I shouldn’t need to fear the assassin’s knife to the ribs or a garroting wire to the throat.
    As a participant in the Barrage, my fate now lay in the Magistrate’s hands . . . an uncertain enough fate, to be sure, but not one the Council dared contradict with their own brand of justice.
    You don’t know that for sure, my mind recalled to me.
    Exhausted, I sat back against my wrought iron headboard, staring at the shadows that moved across the ceiling, cast by the lurking clouds that flooded the streets at night.
    Many preferred to stay inside their homes during this time, claiming the clouds were a curse sent by the witches of the Outlands.
    I loved them.
    Running, enveloped within the dense clouds during my unapproved nighttime strolls as a child had made me feel as though I was flying. It was exhilarating to feel like no one was watching, to know that I was free to move as I wanted, to think without reproach. The Sector was renewed during this time as the dirt and grime of the day was covered by their thick white vapor.
    I managed a slight smile as I remembered the look on Mrs. Fawnsworth’s face on the mornings after. She would eye my soiled garments suspiciously, but thankfully that was as far as she ever went with questioning me about it.
    So long had it been since I acted as such . . . .
    Looking over to my dresser, I leaned into the poufy comforter of my canopy bed. I typically hated the frilly fashion I was forced to wear, but I did have to admit, I loved my green and golden trimmed coverlet. On mornings when I felt particularly unsociable, Mrs. Fawnsworth had to practically drag me out of its clutches . . . .
    I