Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,124

us.”

“So, the best way to win the game,” Cerise’s voice rang out from across the lounge, “is to maneuver your most powerful pieces—like your brigadier or legionnaires—up the levels of the board to eventually capture the other player’s Monarch.”

“That’s it?” Gabriel asked. “That’s the only way to win?”

“Yes. That’s how you win. By capturing the Monarch.”

“And the brigadier and legionnaires are the only ones who can do that?”

“Not necessarily,” Marcellus cut in, causing everyone in the lounge to turn to him. “You can always try for the Peasant’s Revolt.”

“The what?” Gabriel asked, looking between Marcellus and Cerise.

“You don’t want to try for the Peasant’s Revolt,” Cerise said decisively. “It’s a fool’s move.”

“I am a fool,” Gabriel replied.

“Well, at least we agree on that.”

“So tell me what it is already.”

“Fine,” said Cerise. “The Peasant’s Revolt is when you use your peasant pieces to surround and capture the other player’s Monarch.”

“What’s so foolish about that?” asked Gabriel.

“It’s just incredibly risky,” Marcellus replied. “Because in order to get enough peasants up to the top tier of the board to trap the Monarch, it usually requires you to sacrifice several of your more valuable pieces, leaving your own Monarch vulnerable.”

Cerise scoffed. “Which is foolish, because the peasants are the weakest pieces on the board.”

“Individually, they’re weak,” Alouette corrected.

Marcellus peered at her in surprise. “You know how to play?”

Alouette nodded.

Gabriel stood up from the table. “That’s it. I’m done. This game is stupide and confusing and—”

“Oh, sit down,” Cerise said impatiently. “You just have to start playing. You’ll pick it up eventually.”

Gabriel succumbed and plopped back down into his chair.

“Where did you learn to play Regiments?” Marcellus asked Alouette.

She flashed him a sad smile. “Sister Jacqui taught me.”

Marcellus fell silent for a long time as he stared down at his hands. Alouette knew he was thinking about Jacqui and Denise, the last remaining leaders of the Vangarde, locked up in some facility somewhere, being tortured by the general. A small part of her—the saddest part of her—almost wished they were dead too.

“I met her, you know?” Marcellus said softly. “Both of them. Jacqui and Denise. I met them right before the general relocated them. She was …” He paused, seemingly searching for the right word. “Intriguing.”

Alouette nodded. It was the perfect word for Sister Jacqui. She felt tears sting her eyes and quickly blinked them away. “Is that how you got recruited to join the Vangarde?”

He shook his head. “Actually, no. It was Mabelle Dubois who recruited me.”

Alouette’s breath unexpectedly hitched in her chest at the name. There was something achingly familiar about it. She swore she’d heard it before. Or read it before? “Why do I know that name?”

“It was sewn into my father’s prisoner shirt. Remember? You read it to me in the Frets? The day we met?”

“Oh, yes. Right.” But something was still niggling at her. “She was your … governess?”

Marcellus nodded, and Alouette recognized fresh pain on his face. “She had been an undercover spy in the Palais for more than ten years before they found out she was a Vangarde operative. She started working there during the Rebellion of 488.”

Alouette’s mind was churning now, dates and names spinning across her vision.

Mabelle Dubois. Operative. 488.

“Oh my Sols!” she said, launching out of the chaise.

Marcellus stood up too. “What? What’s wrong?”

But Alouette didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer until she was sure. Until this gnawing feeling in her chest was either confirmed or denied. Darting through the viewing lounge, she brushed past Cerise and Gabriel, tore down the stairs, and barged into her couchette with Marcellus close behind her.

The thick red-spined book that Principale Francine had given her was lying on the bedside table. Full Compendium of Operative Reports from 488 to 489. She scooped it up and flipped to the table of contents, running her fingertip down the list of headings scrawled in neat cursive handwriting.

And there it was.

Her finger froze halfway down the page, on the line that read:

Surveillance Reports from Operative Mabelle Dubois

The connection to the name must have slipped her mind when she’d read this yesterday. It was too out of context. Too far buried in the haze of the past few weeks. But now the connection seemed far too strong to be a coincidence.

“What is that?” Marcellus asked. He’d stepped up beside her and was staring down at the words half-hidden by her fingertip.

“I think …” Alouette felt a shiver run through her. “I think they’re reports from when Mabelle was working as your governess. Principale Francine gave