Between Burning Worlds

by Jessica Brody

  It wasn’t until they had broken through the thick atmosphere and were surrounded by the vast curtain of stars that Marcellus noticed the fourth seat was empty.

  - CHAPTER 45 - CHATINE

  EVEN FROM HALFWAY ACROSS THE camp, the noise was thunderous. Chatine had no idea what the Défecteurs were doing out there—what this mysterious “linking cérémonie” was—but they certainly weren’t being quiet or discreet about it. With all that banging and hammering and clanging, she was surprised every Ministère officer and Policier sergent on the planet hadn’t been summoned to this very spot. After all the effort these people went through to shield themselves from the Regime, the ruckus they were making out there seemed decidedly counterproductive.

  Chatine had been hiding out in the treatment center since dinner. If there was one thing she was certain about, it was that she wanted nothing to do with any Défecteur cérémonie of any kind. Just the word “cérémonie” made her hackles rise and all of her former prejudices about these people come bubbling back to the surface.

  Then, somewhere far in the distance, in amongst the pounding and clanking, a melodic chorus of voices rose up, crooning in unison.

  And now they’re singing. Fantastique.

  She was definitely not going out there.

  The clanking and banging continued for what felt like hours. It would halt only long enough for a large group of people to shout something and cheer or break into another song. Chatine pulled a pillow over her head to try to block out the noise. Which is probably why she didn’t hear the chalet door sliding open and the footsteps approaching.

  When she felt a tiny tap tap tap against her arm, she screamed and sat up, wielding the pillow as a weapon. It was only when her eyes focused, the panic subsided, and she saw little four-year-old Astra standing in front of her—dressed in her reflective, hooded coat, with two fingers jammed in her mouth—that Chatine realized how ridiculous her reaction was. She lowered the pillow.

  “Did I scare you?” Astra asked around her fingers. The notion seemed to delight her.

  “No,” Chatine said, but quickly changed her answer to the truth. “Maybe a little. What are you doing here?”

  Astra removed her fingers from her mouth and dried them on the sleeve of her coat. “I’m supposed to come get you and bring you to the cérémonie.”

  Chatine shook her head. “Actually, I think I’m just going to stay here. I don’t feel very good.”

  “He said you would say that, and he said to tell you that it’s a lie.”

  “He?” Chatine cocked an eyebrow. “Let me guess, did Etienne send you to fetch me?”

  Astra popped her fingers back into her mouth and nodded. Her face looked pretty adorable peeking out from her puffy, silver hood. Chatine had no doubt this was all part of Etienne’s plan. Send the cutest one of the bunch, who was almost impossible to say no to.

  “Uh-huh,” Chatine said warily. “And what other excuses did he say I would give you?”

  Astra tilted her head, as though trying to remember. She removed her fingers from her mouth again so she could count on them. “Your leg hurts. You have a headache. You ate too much bread at dinner. You have mensly cramps—no, men-sta-rally cramps.” She huffed in frustration. “Men-stu—”

  “Okay.” Chatine stopped her. “I get it. Fine. I’ll come. But only for a few minutes.”

  Astra beamed triumphantly before scampering to the door and standing on her tiptoes to pull down Chatine’s coat from the nearby hook.

  “Merci,” Chatine said, sliding her arms into the sleeves.

  She followed the little girl out of the chalet and in the direction of the noise, which was still going full force. Although Chatine could walk without her crutches, she was still slow moving. But with the girl’s tiny stride, they turned out to be well matched. The light was dim in the sky, the Sols setting somewhere above the covered walkways, beyond the clouds. As they walked, she could hear Astra quietly slurping on her fingers, despite the cold outside.

  “Why do you do that?” Chatine asked, glancing over at her.

  “What?” Astra garbled.

  “Suck on your fingers like that?”

  Astra shrugged and pulled her hand down. “Because they taste good.”

  Chatine smiled. She couldn’t think of a better answer.

  As they passed through a cluster of chalets, the banging and clamoring seemed to reach a peak. Then they turned a corner, and Chatine froze when she saw the spectacle in front of her.

  Every single Défecteur in the camp was here, and every single one of them was in motion. Working, chattering, hammering, digging, and most of them singing as they did it. They were gathered around a patch of muddied ground that had been dug into a neat square and bore a partially built metal frame. Men and women were carrying buckets of earth away from the site, while others shared the weight of long beams that were carried in and bolted into place. Some of the older children were hard at work too, digging and sifting over the ground, removing pebbles and stones from the site.

  Chatine wasn’t quite sure what she’d been expecting, but she knew it wasn’t this. She stood frozen on the walkway, taking it all in. She was certain her mouth must have been hanging open, because she could feel a gust of cold air rush to the back of her throat.

  “Don’t just stand there like a sot, come on.” Astra grabbed her hand and pulled her closer to the construction zone.

  “What are they doing?” Chatine whispered, although she wasn’t sure why. There was no way anyone else would be able to hear her over all this noise.

  “They’re building a new chalet!” Astra explained with great pride and enthusiasm. “For Saros and Castor.”

  “Who?” Chatine asked.

  “Saros and Castor.” Astra pointed to two men sitting on the sidelines of the construction zone. They were holding metal cups full of some steaming hot liquid and singing at the top of their lungs. Chatine watched, mesmerized, as one turned toward the other and they shared a long, passionate kiss.

  “They’re getting linked,” Astra explained.

  Chatine glanced between the half-finished chalet and the two men, trying to piece this all together in her mind. “So, the whole camp is building them a chalet?”

  “Of course,” Astra said, as though this were the most obvious conclusion to the chaos that ensued around them. “Whenever two people get linked, everyone helps build their chalet. Except Saros and Castor, obviously, since it’s a gift for them. And us, little kids. We have to watch until we’re old enough to help. But this time, I get to put on the connecteur at the end!”

  “But why?” As soon as the question was out of her mouth, she realized how ignorant and stupide it sounded, yet it was the only question that seemed to come to her mind.

  “So they have somewhere to live,” Astra said. “Come over here. You can sit with me and watch.”

  Numbly, Chatine allowed Astra to guide her to a small area set up on the sidelines of the construction zone where the rest of the young children were gathered. But they weren’t sitting in the chairs that had been set out. They were all on their feet singing and laughing and some even danced with each other. Chatine not only felt out of place in this festive energy, she felt like she’d crash-landed on the wrong planet.

  Astra climbed into one of the chairs, and Chatine took the seat next to her. All Chatine could do was stare in wonderment at the new chalet rising up in front of her very eyes. Despite the chaotic noise, the whole operation looked surprisingly organized. And just like Astra had said, everyone seemed to have a job. Chatine had never witnessed anything so … She struggled to even think of the right word.

  Collaborative.

  Among the crew of hardworking men and women, Chatine spotted Etienne soldering a complicated corner joint onto the chalet’s frame. He caught her eye, smirked, and then looked at Astra beside her and mouthed the words, “Good job.” Astra giggled.

  Chatine felt heat rise up inside of her. She didn’t like being colluded aga
inst, and she definitely didn’t like losing. She was about to get right back up and return to the treatment center—she’d come, she’d seen, she’d participated—but just then, a young woman came rushing up to her with a squirming baby in her hands and deposited the infant right into Chatine’s lap.

  “Oh, thank the Sols, you’re here,” the woman said hurriedly, “I have to work on the roof, and wiggly little Mercure here wiggled right out of his sling.”

  Chatine opened her mouth to protest, but the woman was already gone.

  And now there was a baby on her lap.

  A baby.

  A baby that was heavy and drooling and definitely not hers. She hoisted it out in front of her like it was a batch of rotten eggs she didn’t want to get too close to for fear of the smell.

  The baby—Mercure—was dressed in a shimmering silver, one-piece outfit that seemed to be made of the same material as Chatine’s coat. A single dark curl sprang out from underneath his puffy hood. Chatine stared at the infant, shocked and incredulous. He stared back, looking equally shocked and incredulous, his huge dark eyes open wide.

  Then he began to cry.

  No, not just cry. Wail. A piercing, shrieking, earsplitting wail. The sound—Chatine was certain—was louder than the construction noise. An impressive feat for something so tiny.

  “What is happening?” Chatine asked to no one in particular. She still held the child at arm’s length as it howled and squirmed in her hands.

  “Make him stop crying,” Astra replied, as though this were the easiest, simplest feat in the world and why hadn’t Chatine thought of it?

  “What?” Chatine shouted over the noise. “I don’t know how to do that. This is not my baby!”

  “So?”

  “So?” Chatine repeated, frustrated. “Why would that woman just dump a baby on me that’s not mine? And then expect me to shut it up?”

  Astra gave Chatine a very strange look. As though Chatine were speaking with words too complex for her little four-year-old brain to comprehend. “Babies are everyone’s,” Astra finally said.

  “No, they’re not.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  Chatine huffed. “No, they’re not!” she shouted, which only made the baby startle and then scream louder. Chatine didn’t even realize that was possible. How many more levels did this thing have?

  All the small children had stopped dancing and singing, and were now just standing there, staring at her.

  “Why are you holding him like that?” one of the boys asked. It was Perseus.

  “How am I supposed to hold him?” Chatine fired back.

  “Not like that,” Perseus replied unhelpfully. “Don’t you know how to hold a baby?”

  No, Chatine thought. She did not hold babies. She did not associate with babies. Not anymore.

  Gruffly, she stood up, keeping the crying infant extended out in front of her as she scanned the construction site for the child’s mother. She spotted her high up on the chalet frame, affixing a rafter for the flat roof. Chatine sighed and searched for another capable-looking adult or older child, but they were all occupied in the building of the chalet. With the frame now almost complete, people were busy bolting together sheets of metal to make the walls, and the older kids were laying down big interlocking tiles for the floors. In desperation, Chatine turned toward the couple seated off to the side, but they had gone back to kissing.

  Chatine glared at Mercure. Her ears were starting to burn from his earsplitting wail. “Um, excuse me,” she said to him, trying to keep the frustration from her voice. “Can you please be quiet now?”

  The baby just continued to cry, his face now twisted and angry, tears streaming down his cheeks while his little chest puffed from the effort.

  “Look,” Chatine said reasonably. “You’re obviously upset. I get that. So why not just stop crying and we can all stop being upset. Doesn’t that sound like a good solution?”

  More tears as Mercure began to wriggle and squirm.

  “Yeah, I don’t like this situation any more than you do,” Chatine said, glancing around the construction zone. “I’m trying to find someone who can—”

  Mercure gave an angry, tearful wrench and slipped right through Chatine’s hands. The baby fell. Chatine gasped and lunged, her arms outstretched. Her injured leg made a disturbing ripping sound, but she barely heard or felt anything except the infant’s tiny body landing in her arms, just centimètres before striking the ground.

  Shaken and breathless, Chatine clutched the infant to her chest and held it tightly as she slowly maneuvered herself back down into the chair. “Sols,” she whispered into the baby’s ear. “That was very stupide of you. Don’t do that again.”

  And that’s when she smelled it.

  It wasn’t the scent of rotten eggs.

  It wasn’t the scent of rotten anything.

  It was sweet and warm and soothing. Like freshly baked bread. Like the nine-year-old memory of Sol-light on her face.

  “Like Henri,” said a quiet voice in her head.

  Chatine shut her eyes and welcomed the voice back with open arms. It had felt like forever since Azelle had spoken to her and Chatine had feared that she’d left her back on Bastille.

  Yes, Chatine whispered back into her mind. Like Henri.

  And just like that, she was past the fence. She was inside the danger zone. She was living in it as though it were right now. As though it had never ended. As though it had never become a place of danger to begin with.

  For a few blissful seconds, she was back inside a time when he was the safe place.

  I miss him, Chatine told Azelle. I miss our little brother.

  “I know,” Azelle whispered.

  A lump formed in Chatine’s throat as she searched for the courage to say the words that had been clinging to the back corners of her brain ever since she’d received the alert about the explosif that had taken Azelle’s life. Words that had seemed to grow stale and soggy, like chou bread left out too long in the rain. But words that she knew she still needed to say.

  And I miss you, Azelle. Every day. More than I ever thought I would.

  Azelle made no reply. But Chatine could swear she felt her sister smile.

  She brought her face closer to the baby’s cheek and breathed in his beautiful, fresh scent. Her arms instinctively tightened around him, and she began to sway back and forth. As though she had no control. Her body moved separately from her mind. The memory took over.

  And soon, she was whispering into his ear. “There are three Sols in the sky. Yes, three! Sol 1 is the white one, Sol 2 is the red one, and Sol 3 is the blue one. Aren’t we lucky to live under so many stars?”

  Tears blurred her vision. Her heart heaved. But when she squeezed her eyes shut tighter, bracing herself against the pain, she felt only light and weightlessness. Like a voyageur breaking through the clouds.

  She buried her face in the side of the baby’s hood, keeping her lips close to his ear. “When we’re big,” she went on, “we can go up there.” Her voice was cracking. But it seemed like every other part of her was coming back together. Fusing like broken bones. Melding like healed skin. “We can zoom off in a big space voyageur, and we can see all the stars really close. Would you like that? Would you like to see the stars?”

  Her cheeks were wet with tears now. They were flowing like water from a busted pipe. Pooling at the bottom of her chin. She shuddered and pulled the baby’s tiny body closer, drawing strength from his scent, determination from his warmth, and courage from his innocence.

  And there she fell into a deep, peaceful trance. She didn’t know how long it had lasted. She hadn’t even realized the baby had stopped crying. When Chatine lifted her head, she saw his tiny eyelids were closed, his eyelashes clumped and wet with tears. His breathing was now soft and even. All of his former anger and resentment having faded into dreams.

  Only then did Chatine notice that all the children had gone back to dancing. Even Astra had joined them. The wo
rkers continued. The chalet rose before her like a feat of impossible hope. And Chatine was all alone. With a sleeping baby in her arms and a dead monster lying at her feet.

  - CHAPTER 46 - ALOUETTE

  “GABRIEL!” CERISE WAS ALREADY UNBUCKLING her restraints and jumping to her feet before Alouette had even finished processing the empty seat next to them.

  They left him behind?

  No. They couldn’t have. Her mind scrambled to piece together the pandemonium of the last five minutes. She’d seen him on the tarmac when they were running to the ship. She swore she had. He had been right next to her. But had she actually seen him board the ship?

  Her stomach seized.

  It had been too chaotic. First the aerodrones, then Dr. Collins getting shot, then the guards firing at them. It had been impossible to make sense of anything. She’d been so focused on getting to the ship, getting on the ship and getting as far away from that planet as possible, she hadn’t even noticed Gabriel was …

  The breath hitched in her chest.

  They left him behind.

  She heard voices around the ship, calling his name. Searching for him. “Gabriel?”

  Hands trembling, Alouette fumbled with the buckle of her restraints until the latch popped open. She set Dr. Collins’s canister down on the seat, and then she was running. Darting from room to room. The galley. The sleeping couchettes. The—

  “Oh my Sols, Gabriel!” Cerise’s voice howled from the cargo hold.

  Alouette hammered down the steps, but her feet skidded to a halt as she took in the scene in front of her, her mind struggling to make sense of it.

  Blood. So much blood. Rivers of blood. Leading to …

  A body. Lying on its side. Curled in on itself, as though trying—and failing—to keep all that blood inside. Cerise was already on the ground, assessing the situation, her hands and clothes stained red.