Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) Read Online Free
Author: John Connolly, Jennifer Ridyard
Nairenes’ expectations of her faded away to nothing, for she was so clearly born servile andignorant, and so obviously doomed to remain that way. The Sisters had happily handed her drudge chores, setting her to cleaning and dusting just to keep her out of the way.
By now Elda should by rights have been a Half-Sister, clad in the proud sea-green robes of those who had all but completed their education, who were only awaiting investiture into the order as full Sisters, but still Elda trailed around dull-eyed in her threadbare butter-yellow robes, the robes the Novices wore every day in the Marque, and gradually her garments had faded to the white that the lowliest, most unpromising order of the Sisterhood—the Service Sisters—donned when they were supervising cleaning, or on kitchen duty.
And somehow, somewhere Elda became invisible to those who believed themselves her betters, just as servants often do.
Syl had realized this as she was on the verge of almost ceasing to notice Elda too, and she had quickly taken her cue from the older girl’s cleaning headscarf and washed-out clothing, wrapping her own telltale bronze hair in a piece of sheet torn from her bed linen, and even stealing one of Elda’s dirty-white robes from the gymnasium when the girl had been hard at work in the showers in nothing but her underwear, scrubbing the moldy floors clean as water splashed on her bent back. Guiltily, Syl had replaced the garment with her best robe, crisp and fresh and yellow, but Elda seemed not to notice, putting Syl’s clothes on without even raising an eyebrow.
Slowly, Syl had started to explore, modeling herself on Elda as she did so, gradually moving farther into the places that were off-bounds to a mere first-year Novice, a bucket of cleaning utensils and dusters in her hand at all times. She did not risk venturing out often, and certainly followed no pattern, but when she did explore she hunched her shoulders, shuffled her feet, she practiced disappearing into the background. On the rare occasions when she was stopped or questioned, she claimed to be there in place of Elda or on the orders of a Service Sister, mumbling and apologizing until she was sent on her way, sometimes with a sharp word and once with a very nasty pinch to the soft flesh on the underside of her upper arm. Yet nobody seemed unduly perturbed by her presence. After all, those within the Sisterhood accepted the honor of their place here: surely there could be none inside that intended harm or serious insurrection. There were so many females crowded into this space that it was relatively easy to disappear in the throng.
So Syl dusted libraries that weren’t meant for juniors; she wiped surfaces in higher Scriptoriums where the older Novices worked; she mopped floors in the Half-Sisters’ hallways, listening to their conversations; and she opened books that were not for her eyes. But so many corridors remained unexplored—countless warrens of rooms and chambers and private quarters, of dead ends and blank walls, and the main channels all led inevitably to the sealed door at the end of the Thirteenth: the sealed door painted with the red eye of the Sisterhood.
Too often, with her efforts frustrated, she’d lie on her bed, hatching new schemes as she dreamed of how she could make her world—indeed, all worlds—right again.
Yet sometimes she found herself dreaming of other things and other places too, dreaming of warm sunshine and the smell of roses, of dewy grass and birdsong, of an eagle soaring against heavy Scottish skies, of a deer walking beside an icy Highland stream, of fingers drawing a heart on her back . . .
Dreaming of the human boy she’d kissed on Earth.
Dreaming of Paul Kerr.
CHAPTER 4
P aul was roused from his private thoughts by Steven’s voice rasping over the comms system.
“Destination in sight. Touchdown in five clicks.”
“Thank God,” said Cutler. “Tell your brother I’ll walk back.”
Faron also looked
By now Elda should by rights have been a Half-Sister, clad in the proud sea-green robes of those who had all but completed their education, who were only awaiting investiture into the order as full Sisters, but still Elda trailed around dull-eyed in her threadbare butter-yellow robes, the robes the Novices wore every day in the Marque, and gradually her garments had faded to the white that the lowliest, most unpromising order of the Sisterhood—the Service Sisters—donned when they were supervising cleaning, or on kitchen duty.
And somehow, somewhere Elda became invisible to those who believed themselves her betters, just as servants often do.
Syl had realized this as she was on the verge of almost ceasing to notice Elda too, and she had quickly taken her cue from the older girl’s cleaning headscarf and washed-out clothing, wrapping her own telltale bronze hair in a piece of sheet torn from her bed linen, and even stealing one of Elda’s dirty-white robes from the gymnasium when the girl had been hard at work in the showers in nothing but her underwear, scrubbing the moldy floors clean as water splashed on her bent back. Guiltily, Syl had replaced the garment with her best robe, crisp and fresh and yellow, but Elda seemed not to notice, putting Syl’s clothes on without even raising an eyebrow.
Slowly, Syl had started to explore, modeling herself on Elda as she did so, gradually moving farther into the places that were off-bounds to a mere first-year Novice, a bucket of cleaning utensils and dusters in her hand at all times. She did not risk venturing out often, and certainly followed no pattern, but when she did explore she hunched her shoulders, shuffled her feet, she practiced disappearing into the background. On the rare occasions when she was stopped or questioned, she claimed to be there in place of Elda or on the orders of a Service Sister, mumbling and apologizing until she was sent on her way, sometimes with a sharp word and once with a very nasty pinch to the soft flesh on the underside of her upper arm. Yet nobody seemed unduly perturbed by her presence. After all, those within the Sisterhood accepted the honor of their place here: surely there could be none inside that intended harm or serious insurrection. There were so many females crowded into this space that it was relatively easy to disappear in the throng.
So Syl dusted libraries that weren’t meant for juniors; she wiped surfaces in higher Scriptoriums where the older Novices worked; she mopped floors in the Half-Sisters’ hallways, listening to their conversations; and she opened books that were not for her eyes. But so many corridors remained unexplored—countless warrens of rooms and chambers and private quarters, of dead ends and blank walls, and the main channels all led inevitably to the sealed door at the end of the Thirteenth: the sealed door painted with the red eye of the Sisterhood.
Too often, with her efforts frustrated, she’d lie on her bed, hatching new schemes as she dreamed of how she could make her world—indeed, all worlds—right again.
Yet sometimes she found herself dreaming of other things and other places too, dreaming of warm sunshine and the smell of roses, of dewy grass and birdsong, of an eagle soaring against heavy Scottish skies, of a deer walking beside an icy Highland stream, of fingers drawing a heart on her back . . .
Dreaming of the human boy she’d kissed on Earth.
Dreaming of Paul Kerr.
CHAPTER 4
P aul was roused from his private thoughts by Steven’s voice rasping over the comms system.
“Destination in sight. Touchdown in five clicks.”
“Thank God,” said Cutler. “Tell your brother I’ll walk back.”
Faron also looked
Readers choose
J. F. Jenkins
Evelyn Vaughn
J.M. Hayes
Arlette Lees
Christopher Rowley
Andie Lea
Michelle Sagara
Bette Lee Crosby
G. A. McKevett