Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,130

her arms through, the bag sat oddly and uncomfortably against her chest and stomach, making her feel like one of those mothers in the Frets who attached their small children to the fronts of their bodies by fashioning old sheets and fabric scraps into slings. It made it even harder to maneuver around on the crutches, but eventually Chatine made her way through the door.

The air outside was freezing. Even more so now that night had fallen. It stung her cheeks and chapped her lips.

She followed the same route she had taken with Brigitte earlier, shuffling down the long, covered walkways, past the washroom and the grain silo before finally arriving at the storage chalet whose slitted windows glowed blue from the copious amounts of zyttrium inside. Chatine still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that the Défecteurs stole zyttrium from the Regime.

All this time, while the Ministère was busy manufacturing thousands of Skins each year, the Défecteurs had discovered how to use the zyttrium to hide themselves. To build stealth ships and invisible roofs.

She respected the con, for sure. There was always honor and respect among talented thieves, but she still felt angry at the sight of all of that stolen zyttrium. How many people had frozen and suffered and even died to wrench that precious metal out of the rock? People like her. And Henri. And Anaïs, who would never make it back to Laterre. Didn’t it make these people—these Défecteurs—no better than the Regime?

Chatine glanced up at the building, her mind whirring to calculate how much just a single bloc of zyttrium could fetch from an illegal smuggler like the Capitaine. The dwindling deposits of it on Bastille and the Ministère’s dependency on it would certainly make it worth a pretty larg. Enough to set Chatine up for a lifetime. Or two. Enough that she wouldn’t have to ever steal again.

Her fingers itched. Her heart pounded. Her adrenaline spiked.

It was the same sensation she used to get in the Frets right before she lifted a First World relic from the neck of an unsuspecting Second Estater or pinched an apple from a passing cart.

The same sensation that used to fuel her, feed her, light the way through her darkest nights.

And yet, somehow, standing here right now, squinting through the narrow windows of the chalet, she didn’t feel fueled. She didn’t feel full. And she definitely didn’t feel light, despite the iridescent blue glow that illuminated her face.

She only felt darkness.

And the blaze of her prisoner tattoo burning through the fabric of her coat. Five metallic bumps burned into her flesh like a brand. A constant reminder of the price she’d paid for her former life.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to turn away from the storage chalet and keep walking. With the heavy sac banging against her chest, she slowly made her way down the walkway, past the lodge, away from the protection of the chalets, and into the great unknown.

As she stared out at the dark, frozen terrain in front of her, she wondered if she was insane for doing this. For even considering it. She’d said so herself earlier: No one survives in the Terrain Perdu. But when she glanced back at the cluster of buildings behind her, she knew she couldn’t stay here. Brigitte had been right: Some monsters you stay and confront. Some you turn away from.

Chatine knew what kind of monsters awaited her here if she stayed. If she lay around all day and did nothing while Henri was possibly still alive out there, lost and alone. They were not the kind of monsters she wanted to face. She’d spent the past twelve years believing he was dead when he wasn’t. She wasn’t going to make that same mistake again.

If he was alive, she would find him.

She’d found him once before. She could do it again. She would cross to the ends of the galaxy if that’s what it took.

Balancing on her good leg, she planted her crutches on the ground, testing the feel of it. It was rugged and uneven. And frozen solid.

She swung herself forward and immediately felt the chill of the open air batter her face like one of her mother’s slaps, but she kept going, holding Henri’s face in her mind.

She was only a few mètres from the camp when her crutches hit a patch of icy ground and slid out from under her. She hit the ground hard. A bolt of pain shot up her left