The Kwisling [The Isbjørn book 2]

Forty-six

Daire had chewed Axem's ear off for a solid thirty minutes. He had expected to be terminated but was sent away with his job intact and a while new set of guidelines.

"You can't— you can't just let John do whatever he wants. He's an idiot." This was contradictory to everything he had said before. Just yesterday he had overheard Daire praising the man's genius.

Daire had sighed. "Just keep him reeled in. Don't let him talk you into circles; engage as little as possible. No going past the bridge. Avoid leaving the palace at all if you can. He's your superior but you report to me."

"I'm confused."

"He's dealing with alot right now. Just keep him alive, preferably not bleeding. Can you do that much?"

Axem had never thought something under 200 pounds would present him with such a challenge. Of course, he was up for it, just not too eager to get caught in an altercation.

He followed the man down the hall, brushing past Daire. It was clear enough that something had happened in the War Room. Already, Axem could tell he would not like where the evening was headed. "You left early," he observed cautiously. He drew up to the table, where John was drawing a finger over a topographic map.

"Mmmhmm," he said, clearly unwilling to engage.

"Planning a trek?" he asked cautiously, hoping against all his fears that John was just a map enthusiast on top of everything else.

His eyes remained on the page. "It doesn't concern you anymore, you're dismissed."

Axem dropped his shoulders and drew his head up. "Have I been replaced?"

"No." His eyes flickered upward for just a moment. There was something dreadfully unsettling about his eyes. "I resigned from the council. You're no longer required to guard me."

Axem stared at the map then back up to John. "I hadn't heard," he replied cautiously.

"Very recent development." So recent in fact that he hasn't quite processed what had happened. Daire was angry. Daire was never angry, especially at him. If he dared put an ounce of concentration into incident he knew he would dissect it into something that did make sense. Instead, he focused on the map.

"I'd like to hear this from Daire." From what he knew, John was trying to pull something over on him. Either way, Axem was going to be forced to say the words. "I've been forbidden to let you venture past the bridge."

He sucked in his teeth. "Forbidden?" John didn't have to ask who gave the order.

"You gotta be tired anyway, after all of this morning."

The man began folding the map, taking a bite from a piece of fruit before he tucked the creased page into a bag. Still, Axem had his orders.

"The council is still in session , perhaps—"

John pulled himself up onto the table with an abrupt movement. The Isbjørn had almost lurched forward, thinking it was the begining of a chase. Instead, John pulled up his pant leg and propped his prosthetic up onto the table.

He seemed to pull a wretch out of nowhere, tightening one side of the joint on his knee. After waking he had finally given in to his burning desire to tinker with the leg and he had not stopped with tightening the knee joint. He had reinforced the ankle joint, widened the base of the foot, worked more weight into the ankle, and added one last personal flourish. Storming off, he had felt the joint was a little loose. He left the wretch on the table, moving to crouch on the table top. "I'm leaving with or without your blessing."

Axem's ears drew back, his narrowed eyes giving warning. John did his best to mimic the expression without the tick of his ears. Axem could see him calculating.