Free The Choosing by Rachelle Dekker Page B

to relax.
    “Hello?” a voice called.
    Carrington looked around but saw no one else. “Hello,” she called out. Something shuffled behind a large oakdesk against the far left wall and a body popped up in the dimness.
    “Carrington?”
    Larkin’s curly brown mop was pulled up on top of her head, and she was dressed in a long housecoat that could have easily wrapped around her twice.
    “Larkin? What are you doing here?” Carrington asked.
    “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
    Carrington could feel Larkin’s defensive stance from across the room. Carrington didn’t blame her. She couldn’t deny the guilt that had traveled with her since their dispute that morning. Twice Larkin had tried to show Carrington kindness, and both times Carrington had practically spit on her. Most girls were barely looking at her, much less speaking to her.
    “I couldn’t sleep,” Carrington said.
    Larkin paused, seeming to assess the situation, then dropped her arms from their position tightly crossed over her chest. “Me neither.”
    “I’m actually not really sure how anyone sleeps in this place.”
    Larkin moved out from behind the desk, a book in hand. “I kept telling myself it would eventually get easier, but guess I was wrong.”
    Carrington chuckled sarcastically. “Great.”
    Larkin stopped a few steps away and placed her book on the table in front of Carrington. “I’m surprised to see you here. I mean, no one ever comes here.”
    Carrington glanced around again at the humble room. “I wasn’t sure where else to go.”
    “No, it’s fine. The company is probably good for me. Otherwise I end up talking to the books.”
    Carrington smiled and walked over to the nearest set of shelves. “Anything good?”
    “A couple of things   —some older stuff on the Old Americas   —but for the most part, it’s the same as what we read in practicing lessons.”
    No surprise there. “So no one really ever comes here?”
    “Nope. I don’t think most girls even know it exists,” Larkin said.
    “I guess it’s always nice and quiet then.”
    “Sometimes I come here to avoid too much quiet. At least in here the air unit sparks some life. Seriously, my room can get spooky silent.”
    “I know. It’s too quiet to sleep.”
    “Too quiet to think.”
    Carrington shared a knowing look with Larkin, and for the first time since stepping across the Stacks threshold she didn’t feel utterly alone.

    The Authority gathered as they always did on the twelfth day of the month to discuss matters of business. The Council Room was grand, in keeping with the rest of the Capitol Building. The size of the room far exceeded whatit would ever accommodate. The walls were painted gold, the floor was polished daily, and large bay windows let the warm sun sparkle over the marble statues and the mahogany furniture. The draperies were heavy purple velvet and the table sitting in the center was thick oak and a similar color to the chairs surrounding it. An elaborate chandelier glistened over it, throwing beautiful prisms of color around the room.
    Isaac sat in his usual seat, to the right of the head seat, and greeted the others as they took their places around him. Ian Carson was the last to enter the room. Although Isaac would never say so out loud, he was sure the Authority President intentionally waited to be seated last so everyone else was forced to watch him glide to his seat . . . because he did, in fact, glide. His movements were uncommonly fluid. Ian was an impressive man with a well-kept head of silver hair, piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything at once, pristine skin, and perfectly tailored suits. He was king in his court, and he viewed the rest of the members as his instruments.
    Isaac had often found Ian’s self-exalting attitude loathsome. He had become consumed with leading the council by his power alone, having to be reminded often that his power lay within the bounds of the law. The way of God. For a time