Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,115

conversation from his grandfather’s study.

“Yes, Monsieur Patriarche,” the general replied calmly. “I just watched the footage. It is dreadful news.”

“Three superviseurs dead!” the Patriarche said. “And an entire hothouse obliterated!”

Marcellus’s stomach clenched. Another attack on Laterre?

“These victims are members of the Second Estate!” the Patriarche went on. “And they’ve been murdered! Murdered right in their own hothouse. Who will be next? Will it be us? Will they come after the First Estate? Are we all going to be murdered in our beds right here in Ledôme!?” The Patriarche’s voice was trembling now.

“No,” came the general’s reassuring reply a moment later. “Of course not. That will never happen. Ledôme is impenetrable. Its perimeter is guarded by droids, and officers are on patrol throughout the interior at all times. If anyone wanted to get inside Ledôme, they’d have to go through me first.”

Marcellus shivered at the words. They almost sounded like a threat.

“I assure you, Monsieur Patriarche,” the general went on, “this assault on the Regime will not be taken lightly.”

The Patriarche sniffed a skeptical sniff. “And who are these people anyway? I’ve never even heard of this Red Scar.”

The entire couchette seemed to tilt underneath Marcellus. He gripped the side of the bed for balance as images from the Jondrette came flooding back to him. Those stoic guards in their red hoods. That fanatical woman with her steely gaze and provoking rhetoric.

First the TéléSkin fabrique and now a hothouse?

“I don’t know,” the general admitted. “I’d never heard of this organization until today.”

“So they’re not associated with the Vangarde?” the Patriarche confirmed.

“It would appear not.”

“Well, they’re making a mockery of the Regime,” the Patriarche thundered, “sending that horrible footage to the entire Ministère. How did they even do that?”

Marcellus moved like lightning, snatching up his TéléCom from the table. The Red Scar had sent a message to the entire Ministère? Why hadn’t he received it?

“Access Ministère portal,” he commanded the TéléCom.

“Access denied,” came the chilling response not a second later. “All clearance levels have been revoked.”

Right, he thought miserably, letting the TéléCom fall back onto the table with a clank. Wanted criminals don’t have security clearances.

“My officers are working on tracking down the perpetrators of this heinous act,” the general was now saying, and Marcellus could hear the frustration in his voice. This was clearly not a twist his grandfather had foreseen. “Once found, their punishment will be swift.”

“Exactly,” said the Patriarche. “They must be dealt with. Is the exécuteur ready?”

“My techniciens in the munitions fabrique have just completed the final product today,” said the general.

“Good. Once these murderers are found, I want their heads to be the first ones under that blade.”

“Yes, Monsieur Patriarche.”

Heavy footsteps filled Marcellus’s audio patch, and he imagined the Patriarche pacing back and forth in front of the Regiments board that hid the auditeur. “Ungrateful sots! My ancestors built this planet from nothing. They rescued these people from the Last Days. From a horrible fiery death on a collapsing planet. They gave them a place to live. Food. Shelter. Jobs. And five hundred years later, this is the thanks we get?! Murdering my superviseurs, destroying my fabriques, and rioting in my streets? You would think the news of Citizen Rousseau’s death would have scared them off, but instead it has only seemed to rile them up more!”

“Perhaps,” the general said, still maintaining his trademark impassiveness, “the Third Estate simply need a reminder of your … generosity.”

The heavy footsteps paused, and Marcellus’s brow lifted.

“What do you mean?” the Patriarche asked.

The general cleared his throat. “It’s quite possible that, with all of these disturbances, the people have simply lost sight of what’s important and what a just and fair ruler you are.”

“Obviously.”

“Might I suggest, then, that you reschedule the Ascension?”

“WHAT?” the Patriarche roared. “You mean to reward them for this treachery?”

“I mean to pacify them in the midst of it.”

The Patriarche grunted in response.

“The people need to remember who is in control here,” General Bonnefaçon continued. “And most of all, they need something else to think about outside of these attacks. Something to hope for.”

“Uh-huh.” The Patriarche did not sound convinced. “So you’re suggesting we reschedule the Ascension as a distraction?”

The general faltered for a moment. “I’m simply saying it might help. It’s kept the Third Estate in line thus far, it might do it again.”

Marcellus narrowed his eyes, immediately suspicious. Why was his grandfather pressing for this so hard?

“And you think this will quell any future disturbances?” the Patriarche confirmed.

“I think it’s worth a try.”

“Because I will not