Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,16

the loose floor tile in Marcellus’s bathroom. Marcellus assumed the general hadn’t had a chance to watch the footage yet. But it would only be a matter of time. And then, his grandfather would know.

That Marcellus had learned the truth about the copper exploit bombing.

That Marcellus had been in contact with a convicted Vangarde spy.

That Marcellus knew his father—the man he’d been taught to despise, to distrust, to banish from his thoughts—was innocent.

Which meant that the time Marcellus had to find this weapon his grandfather was building just got a whole lot shorter.

“What about those operatives you arrested?” Marcellus barely recognized his own voice as the words charged out of him. He cleared his throat and continued. “The ones who tried to break into the warden’s office and infiltrate Bastille’s security system? Surely, they should be able to tell us where the base is.”

The general shot Marcellus a scathing look as the Patriarche pounced on his suggestion. “Exactly! Why haven’t you extracted information from them, General?”

“They are still our best leads, yes,” the general said tensely as he ripped his gaze from Marcellus. “But unfortunately, despite vigorous interrogation, they are proving difficult to crack.”

Marcellus’s stomach rolled.

Vigorous interrogation.

He didn’t have to be a trained officer of the Ministère to infer what that meant.

“Obviously not vigorous enough,” the Patriarche blustered.

“I assure you,” the general replied, the slightest hint of annoyance cracking through his façade, “they will break eventually.”

“Perhaps I might have a try,” Marcellus offered, attempting to sound nonchalant. If he could be allowed to interrogate the operatives, if his grandfather told him where they were being kept, Marcellus could find out what Denise knew about the weapon. “If I’m going to be commandeur one day, I need to be well versed in these … interrogation tactics.”

The general scrutinized his grandson, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “I appreciate your newfound initiative, but that won’t be necessary. As these operatives are our most important leads on the Vangarde, I am handling the situation personally.”

Disappointment stabbed Marcellus. He had been right. This was an impossible task. If his grandfather was keeping a secret, there was no way Marcellus was going to be able to uncover it. He’d need a miracle.

“In the meantime,” the general continued as the Patriarche once again took aim at the TéléSky, “we are analyzing the devices found on the Vangarde operatives when they were captured.”

Lyon Paresse lowered his gun. “What devices?”

“Necklaces, sir. Made of what appeared to be some sort of metal beads. But we believe they are more than just decorative. Possibly communication devices of some kind. Directeur Chevalier’s team at the Ministère’s Cyborg and Technology Labs is working on them now. We hope that they might provide a legitimate lead to the base.”

Metal beads.

With a shiver, Marcellus’s thoughts raced back to that night two weeks ago, in the hallways of Fret 7, when a similar necklace hanging from Alouette’s neck had triggered a mysterious message to appear on his TéléCom. A message he still didn’t know the contents of, but that he was certain had been sent by Denise.

“Very good,” the Patriarche said. “But if those operatives won’t talk, we do have other means of dealing with them.” He aimed his gun at a flock of birds that had just fluttered up from the ground.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

“Blast.” He lowered his weapon and glared at the general. “What is the progress on the exécuteur, General?”

“My techniciens in the munitions fabrique are working on the reconstruction. I have been told it will be completed in the next week.”

Marcellus shuddered at the thought of seeing that monstrous contraption again. The Third Estate were already calling it by a much more appropriate name—the Blade. After witnessing the sick swiftness with which it had sliced Nadette Epernay’s head from her body, Marcellus had been glad to hear that the rioters in the Marsh had ripped it to pieces.

“But they’ve already been working on it for two weeks!” the Patriarche boomed. “Why is it taking so long?”

“We’ve had to rebuild the device from scratch. The last one was completely destroyed in the recent riot. We were not able to salvage any parts.”

The Patriarche huffed and then, under his breath, muttered, “I’m sure the scientists on Albion wouldn’t need this long.”

Marcellus could almost feel his grandfather’s muscles tense. It was a well-known fact that Albion had the most superior tech-development program in the system. Far more advanced than any other planet. But no one on Laterre—Albion’s long-standing enemy—liked to admit that, especially