Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,178

her parents. She’d probably looked like she’d seen a ghost. And she wished she had. All of Laterre would be better off if the Renards were dead. But they weren’t dead, as she’d spent so long hoping. They were alive. They had somehow managed to escape the Policier droids. And now they were here. The scums of Laterre. In this camp. With these innocent, unsuspecting, peaceful people.

Etienne had obviously sensed something was off. But when he’d tried to ask Chatine what was wrong, she’d dismissed him without an explanation. She’d simply muttered that her leg was bothering her before turning away and returning to the treatment center without another word.

Now, as she moved silently through the camp, she thought back through everything the Défecteurs had told her about their favorite new “gridders.”

“Everyone loves Fabian and his wife, Gen.”

“The people here can’t get enough of them.”

“One of the pilotes took them to look for their lost children.”

“Fabian does magic tricks. He makes things disappear.”

Chatine grunted.

I bet he does.

It was a con. She was sure of it. That was the only reason her parents would infiltrate a Défecteur camp in the middle of the Terrain Perdu. The only reason they had gained these people’s trust, invented new names and a ridiculous sob story about missing children.

As always, the Renards were plotting something.

Checking one last time to make sure she hadn’t been followed, she eased open the door of the farthest chalet and slipped inside.

“There she is,” came a gruff female voice. “Our darling daughter. Our lost child. We thought we’d never see you again.”

Chatine squinted into the low light to find her parents sitting at a table in the corner, fabric scraps spread out around them. It took Chatine all of two seconds to realize they were sewing a collection of handmade sacs. Perfect for looting.

She clenched her teeth to keep from lashing out.

“Yes,” her father added in a sugary tone that made the faint scar on Chatine’s left palm twitch. “We heard you had a little run in with the Policier. Got yourself shipped off to Bastille. But I wasn’t too worried. I knew you’d land on your feet. Just like you always do, my little kitty cat. After all, you have Renard blood running in your veins. And we all know the Renards always land on top. With all the squabbles and riots and silly rebellions on this planet, we’re the ones who make it in the end.”

“Stop,” she spat. “Just stop. What are you doing here? What are you planning?”

Monsieur Renard tipped his head back and let out a long, deep belly laugh before sharing a knowing look with his wife. “Didn’t I tell you, chérie? Didn’t I predict she’d come here begging for a cut?”

“You’re wrong,” Chatine replied. “I don’t want a cut. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Oh, but you will when you find out what we’re after,” Monsieur Renard said. “It’s the con of the century, my dear. You’d be foolish not to want a cut.” Chatine rolled her eyes. She’d been listening to her father claim he was planning the con of the century since she was a child. “And since you seem to have won these people over as well, we could probably use your help. How’s ten percent?”

“No!” Chatine bellowed.

“Keep your voice down!” her father scolded her.

Chatine bristled but lowered her voice. “I don’t want any of it. I want you to leave. Now.”

Her mother chuckled. “Leave? Why would we leave when we’re so close? We’ve already secured a buyer.”

Comprehension struck Chatine in the chest. So that’s what they were really doing this week while they were out “searching for their lost children.”

“A buyer for what?” Chatine asked. “What are you selling these poor people out for?”

Her father let out a huff of frustration. “My sols, Chatine, you really can be dense sometimes, can’t you? Sometimes I think you’re even thicker than Azelle was.”

Chatine flinched at the mention of her sister’s name but fought to keep her expression neutral.

“Have you not noticed the stockpiles of a certain highly valuable metal these people have been hoarding?” her father asked.

Chatine clenched her fists. The zyttrium. Of course that’s what her parents were after. It was the most valuable commodity in this camp. Bastille was running out of it. The Ministère needed it to keep the Third Estate Skinned and obedient. And the Défecteurs were rich in it. Her parents probably had no trouble at all finding someone who would pay top larg for