Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,112

to protect the written word.”

“B-b-but,” Alouette stammered, shaking her head. “But I’ve read the Chronicles. Every volume. They don’t say anything about any of this. About Citizen Rousseau or the rebellion or the Vangarde.”

Francine lowered her gaze to the floor, looking almost ashamed. “Actually, they do.”

Alouette was about to speak again when suddenly Principale Francine stood up and walked over to the far wall where Alouette could see a large, metal cabinet. Then, slowly, Francine cranked on a heavy, round handle and the glimmering doors on the cabinet winched back to reveal shelves and shelves, filled top to bottom with clothbound books. Alouette let out a tiny gasp as Francine continued to wind the handle and the first set of shelves moved away, revealing even more shelves behind them. And even more books. Books upon books. Packed tightly onto the revolving shelves, with spines of all different colors.

“Chronicles,” she murmured under her breath.

But these weren’t the Chronicles Alouette had grown up reading and dusting and protecting in the Refuge’s library. These were something different. Something Alouette had never seen before. These were the chronicles of the sisters’ deepest, darkest secrets.

The Chronicles of the Vangarde.

“Remember, Little Lark. Knowledge is always available for those who seek it.” Francine ran her fingertips over the books before plucking a single red-spined volume from the shelf. She handed it to Alouette. “Start with this one.”

Alouette had felt the weight of the book as Principale Francine had placed it in her hands that night. The weight of all those unread words, unknown histories. Truths that Alouette had been denied access to for all these years.

When she’d left the Refuge that very next morning, she’d taken this book with her as a reminder. A promise. That never again would she allow herself to live in the dark. She hadn’t read it yet. She hadn’t been able to. Twice on the bateau to Montfer, she had tried. But both times, she’d barely been able to lift the cover. The pain of the sisters’ lies and betrayal had still been too fresh. Too pulsing.

But now, she knew it was time.

She pulled the volume toward her and, with a steady breath, flipped open the cover.

Her gaze scanned over the long title on the first page.

Full Compendium of Operative Reports from 488 to 489

Alouette frowned at the words. Operative reports? She certainly hadn’t expected that. She’d assumed this was another volume of the Chronicles, like the ones kept in the library: beautiful, poetic histories and accounts of their world and the world that existed before them. But as her eyes roved over the table of contents, listing operative names and corresponding page numbers, she realized this book, with its bright red spine, was something different.

Had this really been what Principale Francine had meant to give her? Of all the books in that vast vault, why had she chosen this one?

A gentle knock came at the couchette door, startling Alouette. She closed the book and pushed it aside. “Yes?” she called.

A second later, Gabriel tentatively poked his head into the room. “Were you sleeping?”

She shook her head. “No. Come in.”

He stepped inside but halted when he saw Alouette’s face. “Are you okay?”

It was only then Alouette realized what she must look like. Tear-stained cheeks, red-rimmed eyes, and disheveled hair. She wiped her face with the heel of her hand. “Not really.”

Gabriel walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Do you … want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Alouette said again, even though she was certain Sister Jacqui would tell her that she should talk about it. But she knew if she talked about the sisters, she would only start crying again. And she was so sick of crying.

“Are you hungry?”

As soon as Gabriel asked the question, Alouette’s stomach rumbled. “Yes, actually. Famished.”

“I thought so.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small loaf of bread, which he broke in half and offered to Alouette.

For a long moment, all she could do was stare down at the jagged half loaf. A chill passed through her as a hazy memory tickled the corners of her mind. Something about this situation felt achingly familiar.

“It’s okay,” Gabriel said, nudging it closer. “I washed my hands.”

She looked up into his dark eyes and then back down at the loaf. And that’s when it hit her. The memory slammed its way back into her mind. She saw those same eyes, that same hand unfurling to revealing a tiny piece