Between Burning Worlds

by Jessica Brody

  “The hero of the week,” he corrected. “This is the second time I’ve bailed you out, Chevalier.”

  “I know, I know. I owe you one now. But listen, we really need a ride back to Vallonay.”

  He let out a deep belly laugh and rubbed his hands over the vehicle’s contrôleur. “Of course you do.” He peered out at their desolate surroundings. “So, are you going to tell me what you’re doing out here freezing in the middle of the Terrain Perdu?”

  Cerise glanced at Marcellus, and Chatine immediately recognized the distrust in his eyes.

  “Um, probably not. No,” Cerise said. “But I will regale you with all the details of how I once hacked Papa’s TéléCom to play his AirLink messages backward.”

  Grantaire snorted. “Then, you’d owe me two favors.”

  The smile suddenly slid from Cerise’s face. “Look, you know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

  Grantaire’s gaze drifted from Cerise to Marcellus to Alouette to Chatine before finally settling back on Cerise. Then he exhaled a heavy sigh. “It’s a good thing I have no life. Get in already. You’re letting all the cold air in.”

  Cerise clambered into the transporteur and beckoned for the rest of them to follow. Alouette climbed aboard next, while Marcellus turned toward Brigitte and reached out his hands for her to take.

  “Merci,” he said. “For saving him. For keeping him safe here. And for helping us.”

  Brigitte nodded. “You’re welcome. Good luck.”

  Marcellus released her hands with a squeeze and boarded the transporteur. As Chatine watched him disappear inside the hovering vehicle, she felt a hotness under her collar. A burning in her cheeks. Her gaze snapped to the left to see that Etienne was watching her. Glaring at her. Those huge dark eyes of his boring into her like a médecin’s laser.

  She opened her mouth to say something but was cut off by Cerise, who suddenly came tumbling back out of the transporteur.

  “Brigitte! Wait.” She ran back to Etienne’s mother and fidgeted awkwardly with her hands. “Watch out for Gabriel, okay?”

  “Of course. I will take good care of him.”

  Cerise cracked a smile. “No, I mean, you watch out. He’s a criminal mastermind, you know. A good one. And he can be extremely disagreeable.”

  Brigitte chuckled. “Merci for the warning.”

  As Cerise watched Brigitte turn and head back to Etienne’s ship, tears began to pool in her eyes. She seemed frozen to the ground until Alouette re-emerged from the transporteur and guided Cerise back inside.

  And then, Chatine was alone with Etienne.

  But with the distance between them, she may as well have been out here all by herself. He was standing a few mètres from her, but he felt oceans away. From the moment she’d defied him and landed his ship in the Terrain Perdu, he’d been acting so strange. So different. His playful, jesting nature was gone, consumed by a darkness that had settled around his whole body, dimming his eyes.

  Etienne was the first to speak, and his words felt like daggers through her heart. “You don’t want to get involved in this, Chatine. This is exactly the kind of trouble you should stay away from.”

  Chatine dropped her gaze to the ground, feeling hot tears of frustration prick her eyes. “I have to do this. Did you not hear what Marcellus said?”

  “I heard everything he said,” Etienne muttered and then under his breath added, “and didn’t say.”

  Chatine wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but she brushed past it. “The general is going to turn the Third Estate into an army. An army only he can control. Do you know how many are going to be killed if we don’t try to stop him?”

  “You?” he fired back. “Why do you need to do anything about this? This doesn’t concern you. We don’t get involved in matters of the Regime, remember?”

  “That’s right,” Chatine snapped. “Because you only look out for your own, right? You only protect your own people. Well, these are my people. You can take away my Skin and hide me out here in the middle of nowhere, but I am still Third Estate. I am still one of them. And I will not let the general use them as a weapon.”

  Etienne huffed. “The code says—”

  “Fric the code!” Chatine shouted. “It’s not my code, it’s yours. I lived by a code of my own for years. A code that said I only help myself. And it brought me nothing but grief. I’m done with codes. And if you keep insisting on living by yours, eventually you’re going to become one of the general’s weapons too.”

  The line of Etienne’s jaw pulsed. Chatine knew he was trying to think of what to say next, but it didn’t matter. Her mind was made up.

  This place—this community of kind, caring, hard-working people—had somehow managed to extinguish her anger and soothe the pain she’d carried around all of her life. But this was a new kind of anger. This was a new kind of pain.

  This was a pain that would not just be felt by her.

  It would be felt by the whole planet.

  And General Bonnefaçon was not the kind of monster you walked away from.

  “Au revoir, Etienne.” She spun toward the transporteur but stopped when Etienne’s hand wrapped around her wrist.

  “Wait.” His voice was urgent. Hurried. With a heavy breath, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, crudely made device, roughly the size of a Skin. “Take this,” he said, shoving it into her hand. “You might need it.”

  Chatine removed her gloves and turned the device around in her hand. She had started to get used to the community’s strange, unfamiliar gadgets. But she’d certainly never seen this one before. “What is it?”

  “That is how we took out the power on Bastille.”

  Chatine’s mind flickered back to that night she’d awoken to pure darkness in the Trésor tower. Everything around her had gone out: the microcams, the doors, the locks on the vents.

  “You did that with this?” she said incredulously, waving the slender contraption.

  “Don’t be fooled by appearances. The Ministère wants you to believe that power has to come in a flashy package. But it’s that very shortsightedness that has allowed us to outsmart them for all these years.” He nodded toward the device. “It’s called an impulsion. It will take out everything connected to the nearest power grid. Lights, locks, monitors. But it won’t work on anything self-powering, like Skins or TéléComs or droids.”

  As Chatine stared down at the handmade contraption, a sudden sadness began to settle over her. “I guess there’s no way to convince you to come with us?”

  Of course, she already knew the answer. But hearing it spoken aloud felt like she was being hit by explosif shrapnel on the roof of Bastille all over again.

  “I don’t get involved.” His voice was suddenly so cold, so fitting for this barren landscape around them.

  “Not even …” She bit her lip to keep the courage from rushing right out of her. “Not even for me?”

  For just a split second, the darkness faded, the walls came down, the old Etienne was visible through the lingering shadows, and Chatine felt her heavy heart lift.

  “I—” he began tentatively.

  “Chatine? Are you coming?” Marcellus’s head suddenly appeared in the loading door of the transporteur, staring down at Chatine with those flecked hazel eyes.

  She nodded, her throat dirt dry. “One minute.”

  Marcellus disappeared back inside the vehicle, and without even thinking, Chatine’s fingertips went straight to the ring. Like it was a Sol and she was a lonely, barren planet with no orbit. Like it was titan and she was a croc on the prowl for something to steal.

  Etienne’s gaze dragged downward until his eyes were locked on the silver band around her thumb. Then he looked up at the open door of the transporteur, and Chatine could clock the second that he figured it out.

  When she focused back on his face, the old Etienne was gone again, consumed by the darkness, as though he’d never been there at all.

  “I don’t think
you need me to get involved for you,” he said before turning and walking back toward the ship, the glowing morning skies reflecting off his coat.

  “Etienne!” Chatine shouted into the void of the Terrain Perdu. But her voice felt just as lost as the land that surrounded her.

  “Good luck, Chatine,” he called over his shoulder. And with that, the new Etienne was gone too.

  Chatine watched him go just long enough for her anger to build, to rise up, to fuel her, to push her into that transporteur, and to not look back.

  - CHAPTER 63 - MARCELLUS

  THE VAST TÉLÉSKY OF LEDÔME arced above the transporteur, glowing and blue and dazzling with the three Sols hanging in the center in all their sparkle and grandeur. Marcellus had been gone less than two weeks, but the whole thing seemed so much brighter and more vivid than he remembered. Now, having seen real blue sky and the real Sols setting over the Albion horizon, the charade of all this was more obvious to him than ever. Almost like these artificial Sols, hanging in their artificial sky, were trying too hard.

  “I never thought I’d find myself back here,” Marcellus muttered under his breath as he gazed out the window.

  Chatine barked out a laugh. “Me neither.”

  The guards hadn’t even checked the cargo hold of the transporteur when Grantaire stopped at Ledôme’s west gate, scanned his biometrics in, and explained that he was making a special delivery for his mother, the Policier inspecteur of Montfer. They’d simply waved him through. Now Marcellus, Chatine, Cerise, and Alouette were seated in the front compartment of the vehicle, watching the bright and colorful sights pass by through the windows.

  With every turn and tiny jolt of the transporteur, Marcellus felt like his heart might thump right out of his chest. Their plan had been cycling through his mind on a never-ending loop since they’d left the Terrain Perdu. On some level, it seemed so easy. Simple. As though nothing could possibly go wrong. And yet, at the same time, it also felt close to impossible. As though they were fools for even trying.

  But fools or not, Marcellus knew they had to try.

  “So,” Grantaire said, nudging Marcellus with his elbow as the transporteur turned off the main avenue and into a quiet neighborhood. “I can’t help but notice that we’re here. We made it. I got you safely into Ledôme.”

  Confused, Marcellus glanced uneasily at Grantaire, unsure what he was getting at. “Yes. Merci. We really appreciate it.”

  Grantaire held up his hands. “Okay, I get it. I get it. Officer Bonnefaçon still doesn’t trust me.”

  “W-w-what?” Marcellus stammered, taken back. “That’s not true.”

  “It is true,” Grantaire deadpanned, and upon seeing Marcellus’s baffled expression added, “You can’t be the son of a celebrated Policier inspecteur without picking up some of her skills. But I don’t need cyborg circuitry to sense when someone doesn’t like me.”

  Marcellus faltered, searching for an excuse, but nothing came.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” Grantaire said. “I have to earn your trust. I respect that. I’ll work on it.” Grantaire winked at him. “I like a challenge.”

  Marcellus fell quiet and returned his gaze to the window. Outside, nestled behind towering oak and chestnut trees, the manoirs of the Second Estate looked like over-frosted gâteaus. Gaudy painted reliefs covered their walls and pediments. Ornate golden tiles decorated the roofs, and tall, striped columns guarded the front doors.

  The transporteur pitched to the left and glided into a long circular driveway before coming to a stop beside a gushing fountain. This manoir was just as grand and opulent as the rest, with a myriad of windows that dazzled in the artificial Sol-light.

  Cerise gave Grantaire a hug before hopping out of the vehicle and calling back, “You’re the best!”

  Grantaire waved and called back, “If only my maman felt that way!”

  “I owe you one!” Cerise said before blowing him a kiss.

  Alouette and Chatine both thanked Grantaire and stepped out onto the driveway, so that Marcellus was the only one left.

  “Look,” he began, feeling awkward. “It’s not that … I just …”

  Grantaire smirked at him, like he was enjoying this.

  Marcellus wrung his hands together and huffed out a breath. “Just get out of Ledôme, okay?”

  The smirk evaporated instantly from Grantaire’s face. “What? Why? What’s going on?” His eyes narrowed. “Does this have something to do with the Ascension banquet? Fifty winners is—”

  “Just go. Turn around and get back to Montfer.”

  Then, before Grantaire could ask him any more questions, Marcellus climbed out of the transporteur and hurried up the driveway.

  “Well, here we are,” Cerise said, gazing up at the manor. “Home sweet home.”

  Marcellus couldn’t help but remark on the sadness in her voice. It was as though this was the last place Cerise ever thought she’d end up. Marcellus felt the same way. When he’d left Ledôme and the Grand Palais behind, he’d been certain he would never come back.

  And yet, here they were. About to infiltrate an Ascension banquet.

  But first, they needed supplies.

  “You live here?” Chatine said, doing very little to hide her disbelief and what sounded like a hint of disgust.

  “Unfortunately,” Cerise muttered.

  She guided them all through the front doors and into a large foyer. Polished marble floors stretched out under their feet, and above their heads, a vast chandelier bloomed with a thousand tiny crystals. They passed gilt-framed paintings, opulent handcrafted sculptures, and a sprawling, intricately woven rug that led to the base of a sweeping staircase.

  In her arms, Alouette held tightly to Dr. Collins’s canister like it was a lifeline. And it was. It was crucial to their plan. Tonight, that one remaining vial of inhibitor would mean the difference between life and death for a lot of people.

  “Are you sure your parents aren’t going to come home?” Chatine asked, still gawking at the interior of the house as though the walls were crafted out of pure titan.

  Cerise snorted at this. “Come home? Right. Now that would be a surprise.”

  “Your parents don’t come home?” Chatine clarified. “Ever?”

  “Well, not like ever. I mean, Maman does need a place to unpack and repack her suitcase. But mostly never. Papa practically lives at the Ministère headquarters, and Maman prefers Samsara this time of year.”

  “You mean,” Alouette began cautiously, peering into a vast salon with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a sparkling blue-water pool and sprawling green lawns, “you live here alone?”

  “Pretty much.” Cerise beckoned for them to follow her up to the second floor, and as Marcellus climbed the steps and glanced back over the railing at the magnificent marble foyer below, he suddenly noted the emptiness of it. The coldness of it. Their feet on the stairs echoed across the great manoir like there was nothing around for kilomètres to stop the sound.

  They reached a large set of double doors at the end of the hallway, which Cerise opened with a flourish. Stepping inside, she threw out her arms. “And this is my room,” she announced.

  The bed chamber was large and filled with light from its ribbon of high-arched windows. A vast canopy bed covered with a mountain of colorful silk pillows stood like a regal centerpiece in the middle of the room. Paintings lined every wall, and a deep-pile rug sprawled across the polished floors.

  “It’s … nice,” Chatine muttered. She looked extremely uncomfortable inside the room. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her gray-and-white Défecteur pants and her elbows were pinned to her sides, like she was afraid of knocking into things.

  “But the piece de résistance is in here.” Cerise led them through a door, and their jaws all immediately dropped open at the sight in front of them. Technically, the room could be described as a closet. But it was unlike any closet Marcellus had ever seen before. There were racks and racks of shoes of all shapes, styles
, and colors. Pristine leather handbags were displayed behind illuminated plastique panels. Every centimètre of hanging space was filled to the brim with blouses, skirts, and dresses in every shade and fabric Marcellus could imagine. And, on the far back wall, were floor-to-ceiling shelves stocked with more gadgets than he’d ever seen outside of the Cyborg and Technology Labs.

  “Holy fric,” said Chatine. Her eyes were as wide as moons. She turned to Cerise with what could only be described as admiration. “You’re like a Second Estate croc.”

  Cerise grinned. “Merci.” She spun around and plucked a gadget from one of the bins on the back shelf before placing it atop a chest of drawers in the center of the room. A moment later, the device glowed to life, and a large-scale hologram map of Ledôme fanned out across the closet.

  “Okay,” Marcellus said, stepping forward to take command of the map. He zoomed in on the Grand Palais. “The Ascension banquet starts in two hours. Here. On the Imperial Lawn.” He pinched his fingers, directing the hologram to a large swatch of bright green grass that stretched out behind the Palais. “Chatine and I are going in as guests. We will enter here, at the main security checkpoint in the administration wing.” He zoomed in farther to reveal a courtyard at the far end of the Imperial Lawn, opposite the Palais’s main building.

  “That’s where your biometrics will be scanned,” Cerise added, “and cross-referenced with the guest list.”

  “Are you sure you can pull this off?” Marcellus’s heart raced at just the idea of getting anywhere near a Ministère scan.

  Cerise flashed him an annoyed look. “Haven’t we been over this? Expert hacker, right here.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if we just scaled a wall or something?” Chatine asked, looking anxiously at the map.

  Cerise huffed. “Trust me. I got this.”

  “All right,” Marcellus said, trying to capture air in his rapidly constricting lungs. He turned to Chatine. “If anything goes wrong and you need to escape, use one of the loopholes in the security shield around the Palais.” He reached back toward the hologram and zoomed out until the perimeter fence was in view. “Mabelle engineered them years ago, and as far as I know, all four are still intact. She marked their locations by bending the fleur-de-lis ornament at a slight angle.” He pointed to three spots around the perimeter of the fence before dragging his finger to a fourth point near one of the numerous gardens. “This one is closest to the banquet, so it’s our best escape route.”