Jacqui watched Marcellus intently but didn’t say a word. Her steady gaze, however, was enough to encourage him to keep going. Keep searching. Keep unraveling.
“He’s always talking about how perfect the Regime is. The envy of all of the System Divine.”
But that was a lie too.
His grandfather hated the Regime. He hated being under the thumb of the Patriarche. He hated taking orders from a man just because he was born with the right blood in his veins. Doing all the work but getting none of the credit when things went right. And taking all the blame when things went wrong. He hated being stuck in the middle. In the Second Estate with no chance of ever ascending . . .
But is he really capable of murdering a child?
As soon as the question popped into his mind, Marcellus knew the answer. His grandfather was the ultimate strategist. He never did anything without the endgame in mind. And now the trail to that endgame was appearing in front of Marcellus like stepping-stones.
The murder of Marie had led to the cancellation of the Ascension, which had led to the riots in the Marsh. The public execution of Nadette and her alleged association with the Vangarde had escalated the tension. Over the past week, the planet had been plunged into chaos and was now on the brink of another rebellion.
And who better to swoop in and restore peace and order than a general? Who better to rule a planet than someone with his grandfather’s experience?
His grandfather knew, just as Marcellus knew, that if you want to overthrow a regime, you have to take out the heir. If you want to bring down a monarchy, you have to make sure there’s no one left to fight for it.
But there was something morbidly and disturbingly poetic about his grandfather’s actions too.
Patriarche Claude had taken his son from him.
Patriarche Lyon had taken Commandeur Vernay from him.
And now his grandfather had taken something in return.
Marcellus looked into Jacqui’s eyes and she nodded once, reading the painful comprehension on his face. But before he could utter another word, the room started to tremble.
Marcellus glanced to the door and knew exactly what was happening.
Chacal had managed to override Marcellus’s orders.
The droids were coming back.
He glanced desperately between the two women, but neither of them was looking at him. They were looking at each other. They almost seemed to be speaking in some silent language.
“We’re out of time,” Jacqui said to the other woman.
The silent operative nodded, and before Marcellus could react, she had reached out and snatched his TéléCom right out from under him.
“Hey!” he said. He leaned across the table to grab it back but stopped abruptly when he saw that the operative was tapping furiously on the screen, accessing panels and programming screens that Marcellus had never even seen before. “What are you doing?” he asked, and then turned to Jacqui. “What is she doing?”
But neither of them answered his question. The thunderous footsteps grew closer. The silent woman continued to hastily tap on the screen of his TéléCom.
Jacqui caught Marcellus’s gaze, speaking urgently. “Listen to me. She’s ready, but she will need your help.”
“What?” Marcellus asked, confused. “Who?”
The other operative suddenly thrust the TéléCom back at Marcellus, gripping his fingers in hers as she whispered in a gruff voice. “Find our Little Lark.”
Then the door of the interrogation room unsealed, and two droids marched inside.
- CHAPTER 74 -
ALOUETTE
ALOUETTE PLANTED THE SHOVEL INTO the wet dirt and pushed down with her foot. Even in the cold night air, she was sweating under her tunic and coat. She wiped her damp forehead and, with one hand, dumped another shovelful of dirt onto the growing mound beside her.
“Should be just a little farther,” her father said. “Here, let me help you.”
He started to push himself up but Alouette tossed him a glare. “No. For the last time, you are in no condition to help me. I can do this.”
“But you’re hurt,” he argued, gesturing to her right hand, which hung limply at her side. It was still screaming in pain from the pressure of the inspecteur’s boot.
“Not as hurt as you,” she replied, putting an end to the argument.
Hugo collapsed back down against the tree. Through the light of the nearby lamp, Alouette could see that even the small effort of trying to stand up had pained him. He held his head in his hand and pressed his lips together, as though fighting back a moan.
The inspecteur’s final blow to his head had been enough to knock her father unconscious for a few minutes. He was awake and speaking now, but Alouette was still worried about him. She’d shone her flashlight into his eyes, just as Sister Laurel had taught her, and his pupils had reacted normally, but she knew he needed more help. She needed to get him back to the Refuge so Sister Laurel could examine him and perhaps give him one of her healing tinctures.
Alouette dug her shovel into the dirt again. With only one hand, it was slow going, but she was making progress. The hole was almost as deep as her knees now.
After her father had shown her where to find his shovel, hidden under a layer of soft dirt and wet leaves, he’d pointed to this spot, near a diamond-shaped grave. He’d sworn he’d buried something here, but she was starting to fear that someone had already gotten to it.
She was anxious to get out of this clearing. The eerie mist seemed to slink between the trees like phantoms, the strange sounds of the forest echoed around her, and of course, there was Inspecteur Limier.
He was still lying a few mètres away. He wasn’t stirring, but he wasn’t dead, either. His chest was moving steadily up and down, and every so often, his circuitry would fritz and spark, causing Alouette to jump.
She had no idea when or if the inspecteur would wake up and what condition he would be in if he did. The sooner they could dig up whatever her father had buried and get out of there, the better.
Alouette stepped on the top of the shovel blade, trying to force it farther into the dirt. But it didn’t seem to want to move. It was blocked by something.
“That’s it,” Hugo said, wincing as he bent forward to peer into the hole. “That’s the box.”
Relieved, Alouette dropped the shovel, sank to her knees, and started pushing the dirt aside with her good hand until finally she could glimpse the surface of PermaSteel below. She fought to get a grip on the edge of the box and heaved it out of the hole, grunting from the effort.
Hugo let out a chuckle. “You definitely have my strength, Little Lark.”
Alouette smiled at the compliment and carried the box over to Hugo. He dusted dirt from the top and sides, popped the latches, and opened the lid. Alouette felt the breath hitch in her chest.
The box was filled to the brim with titan. Blocs so shiny and smooth, they sparkled in the lamplight.
Despite the humidity in the air, Alouette’s mouth went dry. She knew that titan was very valuable and that the First and Second Estates stored their wealth in blocs like these because they didn’t trust digital currency. But she also knew it wasn’t the kind of thing you’d normally find in the possession of a Third Estate convict.
She didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to start another fight. She was done fighting. But she knew if she didn’t ask, the question would always haunt her. “Papa. Did you steal all of this?”
Hugo’s head bowed low and Alouette swallowed, preparing for the worst. “Not all of it.”
His answer surprised her. “What?”
“Not this.” Hugo reached deep into the bottom of the box and pulled out a long, tapered object that Alouette immediately recognized.
“Another candlestick?”
“They come in pairs,” Hugo explained. “This one has the tracker.” He tapped the top of the candlestick in his hand and then pointed at the matching one still lying on the ground nearby. “And th
at one has the map. They’re designed to help you find your way back to something.”
“And you didn’t steal them?”
A far-off look passed over his face. “No. I didn’t. They were given to me. As a gift.”
She waited for her father to elaborate, but he didn’t. Instead, he reached for his sac and began stuffing the titan blocs inside, retreating back into his usual silence.
Alouette was starting to wonder if she would ever know all of her father’s secrets.
“Papa—” she began to say, but was cut off by the sound of leaves crunching.
They both looked toward the fallen inspecteur, only to find the ground empty where he once lay.
Alouette leapt to her feet and spun in a circle, her heart starting to pound again. “Where is he? Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.” Hugo hurriedly cinched up the sac and threw it over his shoulder. “But we need to get out of here.”
Despite his condition, he was on his feet in a flash. He grabbed Alouette by the elbow and began to pull her toward the trees. “Let’s go. We won’t be able to outrun his transporteur in open terrain, but we can hide in the forest and wait until it’s safe to escape.”
Alouette stopped walking and tweaked her mouth into a knowing smile.
Hugo turned around. “What?”
“Outrun him?” she repeated playfully. “Silly Papa. We don’t have to run.”
• • •
Alouette pulled the stolen moto to a stop between Fret 7 and the entrance to the Marsh. It had been difficult to steer the bike with only one hand, but she’d somehow managed to get herself and her father home in one piece. Maybe she was finally starting to get a hang of this moto-driving thing. She climbed off the bike and beamed back at her father, who looked a little ruffled by the ride.
He clutched his sac tightly to his chest. “Where did you learn how to drive one of these?”
Alouette opened her mouth to explain, but her father held up a hand.
“You know what? I don’t think I want to know.”
Alouette let out a deep, full belly laugh. It felt so good to laugh with her father again. To be with him again. The notion that she’d almost lost him for good made her chest ache.
But then her laughter subsided as she took in her father’s kind, familiar face with all its lines and creases and untold stories.
“I’m so sorry, Papa,” Alouette blurted out. “I’m sorry for everything I said yesterday. You’re a good man. I know that now. I’ve always known that. I just . . . I don’t know. I guess I got confused. I found out about the prisoner tattoos and then I found your candlestick and those horrible people said you weren’t my real father and then Limier said—”
Hugo pulled her to him and enveloped her in his huge arms. “Hush, Little Lark,” he said again, and this time the words did calm her. She took deep breaths, inhaling the musty scent of his shirt. It reminded her of her childhood. It reminded her of the Refuge. It reminded her of home.
“I’m sorry to say, it’s all true,” Hugo said. His voice was so soft, Alouette was convinced she hadn’t heard him correctly.
She pulled back and looked at him.
“It’s true,” he repeated. “I’m not your father. At least, not your real father. But I loved your mother. More than you’ll ever know.” He tapped at his temple and smiled. “More than this lowly brain can ever put into words. And when I met you, as soon as I saw you, I loved you with all of my heart.”
Alouette felt a lump form in her throat. These were the words she’d been waiting for almost her entire life. The story she’d longed for her father to tell. The truth she’d craved more than anything.
Hugo reached out and touched Alouette’s cheek. “A good man once gave me the gift of virtue. But you gave me the gift of love, Alouette. You were like the lark, singing in a new morning for me. My poor old heart, which had almost died in that prison, which went into hiding for too long, it came alive again. First with your mother, and then with you.”
“Did she really give me to those horrible people?” Alouette asked, shuddering at the memory of that man and woman in the forest saying those dreadful things about her mother.
“Yes, but only because she couldn’t afford to take care of you. She had every intention of coming back to get you. But then she fell very ill. I promised her I would find you and take care of you. I gave the Renards money only so that they would leave us alone. They are greedy, depraved people.” He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. “They treated you badly, Alouette. Very badly indeed. And I’ll never forgive myself for not coming to find you sooner. I think that’s why you don’t remember any of it. You buried those years far away. Deep inside. And I let you, because I didn’t want you to remember. When I came to get you in Montfer, I found you wandering alone in those creepy boglands, collecting reeds for them. You were terrified. Your skin was sore and blistered. You had bruises.” His words hitched in his throat. “Sometimes when I look at you, I still see that child lost in the mist. Skin and bones. Frailer than a little bird.”
A tear rolled down Hugo’s weathered cheek. The sight of it caused the lump in Alouette’s throat to rise up, and tears pooled in her own eyes as well.
And then, suddenly, she could see it. The inn. The place under the table where they made her sleep. The back of Madame Renard’s hand before it would strike her cheek. The terrifying boglands where she would be sent with her pail. There were two other little girls there. She remembered them now. She remembered their bowls of food, always bigger and fuller than Alouette’s. And yet, in their eyes, she could see they were hungry and frightened too.
The name from the forest suddenly came back to her.
Chatine.
Then another name.
Azelle.
And then . . .
“Madeline,” she whispered. It sounded curious yet familiar on her lips.
Hugo nodded. “Your mother loved that name. I was so sad to have to change it. But I couldn’t risk anyone finding us.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. Alouette looked up into her father’s tender brown eyes.
The same eyes that had come to take her away from there.
She could see that night now too.
His smile. The way he’d emerged like a ghost from the mist and helped her with her heavy pail. She remembered the kindness in his voice. A kindness that she’d never heard before. She remembered the doll that he’d brought her, Katrina. How she’d had to fight for it when one of the other girls—Chatine or Azelle?—had tried to steal it from her.
Then she remembered running.
Running so fast and for so long.
And even though she had no idea where they were going, somehow she’d known that they were running to safety.
To love.
To her own new morning.
She pulled on her father’s hand and began to walk toward the entrance of Fret 7. “C’mon, Papa. We’ll get you back home. Sister Laurel will clean you up and give you something for the pain.”
But her father didn’t move. And when Alouette turned back to look at him, she saw a heaviness in his eyes. “Little Lark, I’m not going back.”
“What?” Alouette asked. “Why not?”
“I told you, it’s not safe anymore. Inspecteur Limier is still out there somewhere. And as long as he’s alive, he will continue to hunt me down. I will always be a fugitive here. I can’t stay on Laterre.”
Alouette swallowed hard and stood up taller, bracing herself for what she was about to say next. “Then we’ll go to Reichenstat. Together.”
Her father shook his head as he pulled two titan blocs from his sac and slipped them into the pocket of Alouette’s coat. “Laterre is your home.” He lifted his hand to his chest. “I have a feeling, right here, that you will do great things. With your love and your trust and your intelligence, all the gifts the sisters have given you, you will do great things. You, Alouette, are needed here. This place,” he said, motioning to th
e darkened Fret and murky skies. “This place needs you.”
“But I want to be with you,” she said, her voice desperate and shaking. “I can’t lose you.”
Hugo smiled. “I know. But I promised your mother I would keep you safe, and as we’ve both seen tonight, I can no longer do that if we are together. I have to make the right choice for you. And right now that choice is to leave you in the protection of the sisters. They will take care of you.” Despite the tears still rolling down his cheeks, Hugo’s lips curved into a smile. “They will teach you how to fly, Little Lark.”
Alouette lunged for her father, crashing into his massive chest and wrapping her arms around him. She was crying now with huge, heaving sobs.
Because, suddenly, she knew.
She knew there was nothing she could say to make him stay. But she also knew—she knew deep in her sad, devastated heart—that she was going to let him go. She had to let him go.
Because she had to stay.
Hugo could take care of himself; she realized that now. He could protect himself like he’d always done. Like he’d always protected her, too. But now it was the sisters who needed protecting. Alouette had brought danger too close to their quiet and peaceful world. She’d brought danger too close to their sacred library.
And she knew she had to keep them both safe.
But to do that, she had to let her father go.
“I love you, Papa,” she murmured as her warm tears soaked his shirt.
Hugo bent down and kissed the top of her head one last time. “I love you too, Little Lark.”
- CHAPTER 75 -
CHATINE
THE WRECKAGE CRACKLED AND HISSED as Chatine disembarked the combatteur behind the general. The view from above as the structure vaporized into a blazing ball of light before her eyes was nothing compared to the view right now. On solid ground. As the remaining strands of metal continued to burn and breathe smoke into the air.
Chatine had never seen fire before. It wasn’t commonly used on Laterre. Except, she supposed, for things like this. For destruction. For death. But she felt oddly entranced by the flames. As though they were calling her, pulling her in, reminding her that they were one. She and the flames. They were the same. The Ministère might have brought about the destruction, but this was still their fault.
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