Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,149

empty, reached for the serving spoon and began piling on more eggs.

Thankfully, Etienne changed the subject. “How’s the leg?”

She shrugged. “Fine.”

Etienne cocked another eyebrow. “Just fine?”

She sighed. “Actually, a lot better.” It was still an understatement. When Brigitte had changed her bandages this morning, Chatine was shocked to see the wound was healing faster than she’d expected. She was even able to put weight on it and walk to the lodge without the use of her crutches. “Your maman is kind of magic.”

Etienne smiled. “Yes, she is. She’s very good at her job.”

“Is that because she used to be a cyborg?”

Etienne shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Some people just have a gift, you know? She understands things on a level that most people don’t. It’s hard to explain.”

“I get it,” Chatine said. Brigitte had a calmness about her. A quiet complexity that Chatine had never experienced before. It left Chatine feeling both at ease and desperately curious at the same time.

She scanned the lodge and spotted Brigitte sitting a few tables away. The woman caught Chatine’s gaze, and as she smiled, the skin on the left side of her face crinkled around its maze of twisted scars.

“Why did she choose to take out her cyborg circuity?” Chatine asked, keeping her voice low, even though they were still the only two at the table.

Etienne took a sip from his cup of hot chocolat. “She said it was because her soul finally caught up to what her mind was doing, and it broke her in half.”

Chatine squinted at him. “What?”

Etienne sighed. “She doesn’t talk about it much, but apparently when you’re implanted with the cyborg circuitry, your mental capabilities are incredibly enhanced. But to protect the Regime from you turning your abilities against them, you’re also programmed not to question authority or disobey orders. Which means your ability to navigate moral ambiguities becomes clouded.” He chuckled. “Her words, obviously.”

“You lost me,” Chatine said.

Etienne leaned in closer to Chatine, his piercing dark eyes making it hard for her to swallow. “All I know is that right before she left, she was put on some special assignment that she won’t talk about with anyone.”

Chatine felt herself being pulled toward him. Partly because of those eyes, and partly because of her own curiosity. “What kind of assignment.”

“I don’t know. Like I said, she doesn’t like to talk about it. But apparently, it was classified and very confidential. There was only one other cyborg working with her. A woman, I think. All Maman will say about the project is that it was bad. Disturbing. And when she realized its repercussions for the planet, she woke up from the ‘cyborg sleep,’ as she calls it. After that, she and this other woman removed each other’s circuitries and left the Ministère.”

“What happened to the other cyborg?”

Etienne shrugged. “She doesn’t talk about her much either.”

Chatine stole another glance at Brigitte before turning back to Etienne, prepared to ask another question. But just then, the door to the lodge burst open and a gaggle of children came barreling toward their table.

“No! I’m sitting next to him!” one of them shouted.

“No, I am!” another one said. “You sat next to him at dinner.”

“I did not! That was Comète.”

“You sat on the other side.”

“Well, you’ll have to beat me there!”

The mob continued to rush the table, elbowing one another to get ahead. Chatine felt the sudden inclination to run the other way. In the Frets, a gang of children charging at you meant only one thing: You were about to be jumped and robbed. They often worked in numbers to compensate for their size.

The group screeched to a halt in front of Chatine, their confused gazes darting between her and Etienne in the next chair, as though this seating arrangement were some complicated puzzle they couldn’t solve. Then their eyes swiveled toward the empty chair on the other side of Etienne, and four of them dove for it at once, pushing and shoving one another out of the way. Somehow, in the fray, the smallest of the bunch, a young girl with dark glittery eyes and a riot of curls, managed to squirm her way into the chair. She looked to be no older than four. A wide grin spread over her face, and her stubby legs swung gleefully.

“Astra! Get down!” one of the boys cried. “You can’t sit there.”

The little girl—Astra—stuck two fingers in her mouth and sucked on them contently. But she did not move.

The boy, who wore a giant hat