Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,173

my grandfather gets closer to his weapon. As soon as Dr. Cromwell delivers the TéléReversion program and the general updates the Skins, that will be it. He’ll activate his Third Estate army, and he’ll take control of the Regime. And meanwhile, we’re just sitting here, waiting for the fric-ing Albion Royal Space Fleet to find us.”

Alouette glanced at the glowing, cratered moon that loomed just outside the window and wondered if the pull of it wasn’t driving them all a little mad.

With a sigh, Marcellus dragged a hand roughly through his already disheveled hair. “I’ve been trying to distract myself with this, but clearly it’s not working.” He gestured to the table and Alouette caught sight of a familiar red spine. The Vangarde’s compendium of reports was open in front of him.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You can read that? Have you been practicing the Forgotten Word?”

Marcellus shrugged. “It’s still difficult. But I had to communicate with the Vangarde, so, yeah, I’ve been practicing. I was surprised, actually, at how quickly it came back to me. Once I stopped fighting it. It’s like, for seven years, I was pressing against a door, trying to keep everything locked inside. Then, once I let go, the memories just rushed out.” He caught Alouette’s gaze and flashed her a half smile. “But it was you who first reminded me how to open it.”

Alouette felt for the metal tag dangling from her neck, remembering how earnestly he’d struggled to read its engraving back in the Forest Verdure, when they’d sat around a fire that Marcellus had built. When the world felt full of possibility. Not heartache.

“I’m still pretty rusty though,” Marcellus said. “Certain words and letter combinations trip me up. Like, is this how you spell your mother’s name? L-I-S-O-L-E?”

Alouette tilted her head toward the book and saw that Marcellus was reading the report about her mother getting fired from the Palais. She nodded. “Yes. That’s—” But the words evaporated on her tongue when her gaze snagged on the date scrawled at the top of the page.

Month 7, Day 4, 488.

She could have sworn the reports about her mother were all written in Month 6. Around the same time that the Rebellion of 488 ended.

“Let me see that,” Alouette said hastily, turning the book toward her. Her eyes skimmed over the dense handwriting, butterflies taking flight in her stomach as she quickly realized that this was not the same report. This was a different report which mentioned her mother’s name. Written more than a month later. Alouette had been so convinced she’d read all there was to read about her mother. And then the voyageur had been overtaken by the Trafalgar warship, and the book had been pushed to the back corners of her mind. She hadn’t looked at it since.

“What is it?” Marcellus asked.

“It’s another report. About my mother.”

“Read it aloud!” he urged.

Alouette nodded and bent her head over the page.

Month 7, Day 4, 488

Operative: Mabelle Dubois

Location: The Frets, Vallonay

I found Lisole today in one of the dingiest, darkest hallways of Fret 10. Her couchette was leaking and cold, littered with cockroaches and dirty puddles. The sparkle had gone from her eyes. Her beautiful dark curls had been shorn off.

Even some of her teeth were missing.

“I borrowed money from the wrong people,” she said, covering her still swollen mouth with one hand and waving me inside with the other.

She insisted I sit in the one rickety chair in the room, while she leaned against the filthy, cracked window.

I couldn’t conceal my sadness and concern as I peered around the couchette.

“They wouldn’t give me a work assignment.” She glanced down and smoothed her hand over her belly, now a gentle curve under her ragged dress. “Not like this, anyway.”

In a rush of words, I said all I’d come to say. I told her who we were. Our mission. I told her about our safe hideaway, concealed from the rest of the planet.

“You can live there. You and your baby will be safe in our protection. Guided by our love. The sisters will take care of you both.”

But she shook her head. She refused. She told me she didn’t want to get tangled up in any more trouble.

Our name, soiled from the recent failed rebellion, clearly terrified her.

I tried to explain that we were innocent in that horrific bombing that killed those exploit workers one month ago. I tried to tell her that we were framed. We are not the terrorists the Ministe`re has