To Jessica Khoury, our guiding star in the Darkest Night
L’etat, c’est moi.
(I am the state.)
—Louis XIV
OVERVIEW OF BOOK 1,
Sky Without Stars
Marcellus Bonnefaçon:
Second Estate. Officer of the Ministère. Grandson of General Bonnefaçon and son of Julien Bonnefaçon (an infamous traitor and member of a rebel group known as the Vangarde). As the general’s protégé, Marcellus was a loyal member of the Regime until recently, when he discovered that seventeen years ago his grandfather framed his father for the crime that sent Julien Bonnefaçon to prison. Marcellus now suspects the general is responsible for murdering Marie Paresse, the Premier Enfant, and plotting to take control of the Regime by force.
Chatine Renard:
Third Estate. A skilled thief and the daughter of con artists. Grew up in the Frets (slums) of Vallonay after moving from the mining city of Montfer with her family when she was a child. For the past ten years, she posed as a boy named Théo to avoid the blood bordels, which prey on young women. She was hired by General Bonnefaçon to spy on his grandson, Marcellus, and was later sent to the prison moon of Bastille for refusing to give up the location of the Vangarde’s rebel base.
Alouette “Little Lark” Taureau (aka Madeline):
Third Estate. Daughter of wanted fugitive, Hugo Taureau, recently revealed not to be her biological father. When she was a young child, her mother left her in the care of the Renards who badly mistreated her. She was later rescued by Hugo and brought to live in the Refuge of the Sisterhood, an off-grid, underground bunker. For the past twelve years, she’s served as a guardian of the First World knowledge and the Forgotten Word before recently discovering that the sisterhood is actually the Vangarde and the Refuge their secret rebel base.
Hugo Taureau (aka Jean LeGrand):
Third Estate. Alouette’s adoptive father and wanted Bastille fugitive, Prisoner 2.4.6.0.1. Intimately acquainted with Alouette’s mother. Hugo recently escaped to the planet of Reichenstat after being discovered by his longtime pursuer and nemesis, Inspecteur Limier.
Inspecteur Limier:
Second Estate. Cyborg and head of the Vallonay Policier. For years, he’s been hunting down runaway convict, Hugo Taureau, and recently tracked him to the Forest Verdure where he managed to capture Taureau. He was soon after incapacitated by Alouette, allowing Hugo to escape again.
General Bonnefaçon:
Second Estate. Marcellus’s grandfather and Julien Bonnefaçon’s father. As head of the Ministère and chief advisor to the Patriarche, he is one of the most powerful men on Laterre. When Marcellus confronted the general about hiring a spy to follow him, the general responded by brutally beating Marcellus. A ruthless strategist, the general is determined to take control of the Regime by any means necessary.
Julien Bonnefaçon:
Second Estate. Son of General Bonnefaçon and father to Marcellus. As a member of the Vangarde, he was framed by the general for a copper exploit bombing that killed 600 workers and brought an end to the Rebellion of 488. Julien was sent to Bastille when Marcellus was a baby and recently died in prison. He left behind a message sewn into his uniform, directing Marcellus to find Mabelle Dubois.
Mabelle Dubois:
Third Estate. Marcellus’s childhood governess, who secretly taught Marcellus to read and write the Forgotten Word. When Marcellus was eleven years old, Mabelle was discovered to be a Vangarde spy—and sent to Bastille. A recent message left by his father led Marcellus to Montfer where he tracked down Mabelle who tried, and failed, to recruit him to join the Vangarde.
Patriarche Lyon Paresse:
First Estate. Leader of Laterre and direct descendant of the founding Paresse family. Lyon lives in the Grand Palais in the center of Ledôme and has always been more interested in hunting than running the Regime—until his young daughter, Marie, was poisoned. The Patriarche suspects that Citizen Rousseau, the imprisoned leader of the Vangarde, was somehow behind the murder.
Matrone Veronik Paresse:
First Estate. Wife of Patriarche Paresse and mother to the Premier Enfant, Marie Paresse. Before the shocking death of her daughter, she spent most of her time dressing in the latest Laterrian fashions and drinking champagne.
Premier Enfant Marie Paresse:
First Estate. Daughter of the Patriarche and Matrone and only heir to the Regime. Just before her third birthday, Marie was poisoned and her murder (and the subsequent cancellation of the Ascension lottery) ignited riots on Laterre.
Nadette Epernay:
Third Estate. Governess to the Premier Enfant. She was recently accused of working with the Vangarde to murder her charge, Marie Paresse, and was soon after put to death by exécuteur (aka “the Blade”) in the Marsh, the central marketplace of the Frets.
Citizen Rousseau:
Third Estate. Former leader of the Vangarde. In 488, Citizen Rousseau led a rebellion that sought to end the Regime’s inequality and injustice, but was eventually arrested and sent to Bastille where she has been kept in solitary confinement for the past seventeen years.
Monsieur and Madame Renard:
Third Estate. Con artists and parents of Chatine, Azelle, and Henri Renard. Former owners of the Jondrette Inn in Montfer, they moved to Vallonay ten years ago where Monsieur Renard became the leader of the formidable Délabré gang. After Hugo Taureau, the escaped convict, was spotted in the Frets, the Renards pursued and kidnapped him, in an attempt to secure his bounty, but were soon after arrested by Inspecteur Limier.
Azelle Renard:
Third Estate. Oldest daughter of the Renards and sister to Chatine and Henri. A law-abiding employee of the TéléSkin fabrique, she dreamed of winning the Ascension lottery and ascending to the Second Estate. But in the recent spate of unrest, the TéléSkin fabrique was bombed by an unknown attacker, killing Azelle and eleven other workers.
Henri Renard:
Third Estate. Youngest child of the Renards and baby brother to Chatine and Azelle. Chatine believed him to be dead until recently when it was discovered that her parents sold him off to pay their debts.
Sergent Chacal:
Second Estate. A bullheaded Vallonay Policier sergent who reports to Inspecteur Limier. Chacal is ruthless, cruel, and doles out violent punishments with a metal baton.
Commandeur Vernay:
Second Estate. The general’s closest friend and former commandeur of the Ministère. She was killed on a failed mission to assassinate Queen Mathilda, the “Mad Queen” of Albion (Laterre’s longtime enemy) during Usonia’s recent war of independence. Since her death, General Bonnefaçon has been grooming Marcellus to take Vernay’s place as commandeur.
Roche:
Third Estate. An orphan—or “Oublie”—who grew up in the Frets of Vallonay. He was recently arrested for delivering messages for the Vangarde. In an attempt to prove he’s innocent, Marcellus recruited Chatine to interrogate Roche which inadvertently resulted in Roche’s imprisonment on Bastille.
The Sisters of the Refuge:
A secret society of ten women who protect the Forgotten Word and an extensive library of books rescued from the First World. Led by Principale Francine, all ten sisters live in a bunker hidden beneath the Frets and wear a string of “devotion beads” around their necks. For the past twelve years, Alouette Taureau has lived and studied with the sisters, unaware until recently that they are also the leaders of a rebel group known as the Vangarde.
The Vangarde:
A rebel group believed to be dead after their leader, Citizen Rousseau, was arrested and sent to Bastille during the Rebellion of 488. They’ve spent the past seventeen years in hiding, buildin
g their numbers in preparation for a resurgence. The Refuge of the Sisterhood is their central base of operations. Two of their operatives—Sister Jacqui and Sister Denise—were recently captured during a mission to break into the office of the Warden of Bastille in an attempt to free their imprisoned leader.
- PART 1 - CITIZEN ROUSSEAU
Like flowers toward a Sol, they turned to her. Like birds searching for a warm current, they found her. Like fish in the ocean, they swam toward her wake. She opened their eyes with her words and their hearts with the truth. She showed them that power was not outside of them, pressing down like a vast stone that could never be moved. Power was within their own bodies, their own hands, and their own minds, just waiting to be found.
But her message threatened those who preferred silence.
Those who demanded obedience.
So they stole her voice and tried to erase her name.
From The Chronicles of the Vangarde, Volume 1, Chapter 1
- CHAPTER 1 - MARCELLUS
MARCELLUS BONNEFAÇON MOVED LIKE A shadow among shadows, ducking under cables and darting around rusty cages that sat empty and gaping like sinister, hungry mouths. With every step he took through the abandoned exploit, his heart pounded harder, making him feel more and more like the traitor he had become.
The traitor his grandfather always knew he would become.
You were right, Grand-père. I am just like my father.
Rain splattered up from the puddles as Marcellus wound his way past a collapsed hoist tower that lay twisted and decaying on the uneven ground. The old copper exploit hadn’t been operational in seventeen years, but it felt as if it had been deserted for centuries. It was an eerie, ominous place, with rows of abandoned shaft entrances, dark and empty like black holes in a galaxy. Two weeks ago, Marcellus might have turned around, his fear sending him scurrying back to his plush, well-lit rooms in the Grand Palais. But not now. Not with the memory of the Premier Enfant’s tiny red coffin still vivid in his mind. Not with this bruise on his rib cage still tender and throbbing.
Everything was different now. His senses were sharper. Sights and sounds and smells were stronger. His eyes were wide open.
And the world had turned red.
A dark, crimson red.
The color of death. The color of rage. The color of fire.
But you were also wrong, Grand-père. I can fight back.
As Marcellus shimmied along the wall of one of the old processing plants, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the warped metal siding and nearly jumped at the sight. He barely recognized himself. The young man looking back at him was too unkempt. Too rebellious. Not the buttoned-up, obedient officer his grandfather had raised him to be over the past eighteen years.
Before leaving the Grand Palais earlier this evening, he’d washed the gel from his thick, dark hair, letting it dry tousled and wavy. He’d donned this stolen exploit coat and streaked mud across his cheeks and neck. It was an effective disguise. A good way to disappear. A Fret rat had once taught him that. Someone he used to know.
But he tried not to think about Chatine Renard now.
Much.
Marcellus peered up at the sky, hoping to catch a rare glimpse of the prison moon of Bastille. But of course, he saw nothing. Nothing but a dark, unfathomable abyss. The constant cloud coverage of Laterre’s atmosphere made it impossible to see anything else.
There were no Sols. No moon. No light. It was a sky entirely without stars.
But Marcellus didn’t need the stars or the moon to guide him tonight. He had the fire to do that. A red-hot blaze that had been lit deep inside of him. A flame that he was certain would never die.
And of course, he had his instructions. Mysterious words written on a piece of paper by an unseen hand. Words that had lured him out to an abandoned exploit in the dark hours of morning.
I will meet you at the beginning of the end.
Marcellus followed a narrow path through a cluster of buildings, passing piles and piles of debris: discarded boots, cracked helmets, decomposing jackets, and a canvas gurney streaked with blood.
Some people believed that the old copper exploit was haunted. That the ghosts of the six hundred workers who had perished in the bombing seventeen years ago still lingered here. Trapped underground forever.
Marcellus didn’t want to believe that. But walking through this forsaken place, he could understand why no one ever came out here.
This was a picture stained with death and grief and time.
A picture no one should have to see.
But that Marcellus needed to see.
This was the reason his father, Julien Bonnefaçon, had spent the last seventeen years of his life in prison.
And this was where the mysterious instructions had been leading Marcellus. He was certain of it.
The beginning of the end. For his father. For the Vangarde. For the Rebellion of 488.
The sinister silence was suddenly shattered by the sound of footsteps. Panicked, Marcellus flipped up the hood of his stolen coat and tucked himself into one of the rusty metal cages. The suspension cable above creaked and whined, and Marcellus felt his stomach drop as he glanced down into the two-hundred-mètre deep chasm below. He sucked in a breath and kept perfectly still, praying those footsteps didn’t belong to a droid.
All it would take was one scan. One encounter, and his disguise would be rendered useless. His biometrics would be detected. His identity known. And then it would all be over. This perilous task that loomed before him would no longer matter. Nothing would matter. Because he’d be rotting away on the moon with the rest of the traitors.
The footsteps grew closer. Marcellus listened in the darkness, his heart hammering in his chest. Peering out from under his hood, he tried to pinpoint where they were coming from, but the exploit had fallen silent again.
Had he imagined them? He wouldn’t be surprised. After the events of the past few weeks, he’d been imagining all manner of ghastly things. His visions kept him awake at night. He’d hardly slept since the funeral.
A damp breeze kicked up and started to batter at his coat. Hearing a soft creaking noise up ahead, he stepped out from the rickety cage and squinted into the darkness where he was just able to make out a small, rundown hut with a lopsided door swinging on the hinges. Marcellus plunged his cold, shaky fingers into his pocket and pulled out a small container of matches. The first one struggled to catch light in the wet air, but the second sparked and bloomed into a brilliant orange flame. Protecting the glow with his cupped hand, he held the light up to the hut until he could see the distinct marking slashed across the door in mud.
Two diagonal lines descending toward each other.
The letter V, he remembered with a jolt of anticipation. He was in the right place.
The roof of the structure sagged at a strange angle, and the hut’s rusting walls seemed to billow as the angry wind picked up speed. Marcellus pushed open the corroded door and stepped inside.
Shadows swallowed him. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the low light. And then he saw her.
She was sitting on a wooden bench, her hands tucked into her lap, her head turned so that Marcellus could see her profile. A face pulled straight from both his darkest and brightest memories. When she turned toward him, her lips curled into a warm, familiar smile. “Marcellou. I hoped you’d come.”
Marcellus’s legs gave out from under him. He sank to his knees in front of his former governess, feeling every emotion that he’d blocked out for the past seven years suddenly wash over him at once. Anger, frustration, betrayal, regret, guilt, longing.
It was the longing more than anything. Mabelle had been marked as a traitor to the Regime. An enemy spy. He was forbidden from missing her. From thinking of her in any way but resentment. But, Sols, how he’d missed her.
There was so much to say. And yet all he could utter as he knelt by her feet was, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
What was he apologizing
for? For treating her like a criminal when he’d come face-to-face with her three weeks ago in Montfer? For believing his grandfather’s lies about her? Even when they scratched against his heart in the most uncomfortable of ways? For not saving her that day seven years ago when the droids dragged her away?
But he knew the answer.
All of it.
He was sorry for all of it.
Suddenly, he felt Mabelle’s gentle yet reassuring hand on his head. “It’s okay, Marcellou. It’s okay.” And for the briefest of moments, every last drop of his anger melted right off him. He felt safe. He felt protected. The decrepit and wind-beaten hut he’d entered had turned into a warm place, a familiar place, a place of love and light. Suddenly, he was a little boy again, playing with his little plastique transporteurs at Mabelle’s feet while she read aloud from one of the books she’d smuggled into the Palais.
“Does anyone know you’re here?” Mabelle asked, her voice suddenly taking on a grave tone. “Were you followed?”
Marcellus momentarily thought of the footsteps he’d heard earlier. The ones he was now certain he’d imagined. “No.”
“Are you sure?” Mabelle asked. “The general has spies working for him all over the planet.”
And just like that, the bubble burst. Marcellus was thrust back into the present moment. Everything flooded into focus: the leaking, rundown hut; the cold, uneven floor under his knees; Mabelle’s drawn, weather-beaten skin; and the splintered bench where she sat. The anger came flooding back too, seeping into his bones, returning his vision to red.
“I know all about his spies,” he muttered, thinking once again of Chatine. “I took precautions.” He pushed himself back to his feet. “I left my TéléCom back at the Palais. I exited the grounds through the gaps in the perimeter you showed me when I was little. I parked my moto far away from the exploit.”
Between Burning Worlds Page 1
