ice.
He knew. Of course he knew.
“Listen,” she began. But Etienne held up a hand and didn’t allow her to finish. Why should he? There was no use trying to explain now. He knew who she was, who her parents were. He’d heard her agree to their plan. He knew she was planning to steal zyttrium from the storage chalet.
“Come with me, please.” His words were stark and cold, like they belonged to a stranger. Like he was speaking to a stranger. Not the girl he’d rescued from the roof of Bastille. Not the girl he’d smiled at from across the fête. Not the girl she so desperately wanted to become.
The girl she had become … if even for a splinter of a second.
Gripping the bag tightly in her hand, she kept her head down and followed behind him. He walked quietly, stiffly, the flashlight beam illuminating the walkway ahead of him. She didn’t know where he was taking her, but she knew she wouldn’t run. She would face up to her crime and her punishment.
It wasn’t until they had made the final turn that Chatine recognized the path. Her gaze snapped up and she squinted at the shadowy shapes of the buildings around them, trying to confirm her suspicions.
The night’s darkness was beginning to creep away, and, in the murky predawn gloom, she was now quite certain they were nearing the storage chalets. The buildings were taller and longer than the other structures, and their sides were punctured by slits instead of windows.
“What are we doing—” Chatine began to ask, but once again she was interrupted before she could finish as Etienne placed a single finger to his lips. She watched in astonishment and complete bewilderment as Etienne approached the door of the last chalet, pulled a small piece of metal from the pocket of his coat, turned it in the lock, and beckoned her inside.
All the breath seemed to leave her body at once as she gazed around the interior of the chalet. Chatine had seen zyttrium before. She’d spent seemingly endless hours mining it on Bastille. But never like this. And never so much of it. Shelves upon shelves bordered the entire space, and on every single one, small blocs of the processed metal were stacked in orderly piles. The whole place, even Etienne’s clothes and hair, glowed blue. It was like she’d been transported into the hidden depths of a shimmering sea.
For a moment, Chatine wondered if this was some kind of trap. But then Etienne silently reached out and pried the handmade sac from her tight grip. Chatine’s throat went dirt dry as she watched him count out seven gleaming blue blocs of zyttrium and place each one carefully and reverently into the bag.
Something stirred inside of her. Something so great and overwhelming and unfamiliar, she nearly sobbed. She reached out and braced herself against one of the shelves as the strange sensation trembled through her like a rolling explosion.
Once the Renards’ sac was weighed down with the precious metal, Etienne turned to face her and finally answered her question, “I heard all of it.”
He extended the bag toward her, and—with shaking, numb fingers—Chatine took it. It felt impossibly heavy in her hands. Heavier than seven blocs of zyttrium should feel.
Then Etienne offered her the tiniest, yet most monumental of smiles. “Flying lessons start after breakfast,” he said before turning and leaving the chalet.
- CHAPTER 54 - ALOUETTE
THE PARACHUTE DEPLOYED ABOVE THE escape pod, and suddenly they were drifting, buffeting across an endless gray-and-white sky.
“What were you thinking, going back in there?” Cerise bellowed at Alouette. “You could have gotten yourself killed! You could have gotten us all killed!”
“I had to … ,” Alouette began weakly, but she couldn’t find enough breath to speak. So instead, she carefully unfolded the blanket in her hands, like she was unswaddling a baby. And there, nestled in her arms, was the object she’d risked her life—all of their lives—to save.
Marcellus sucked in a sharp breath as his gaze fell upon the sleek silver canister. “The inhibitor,” he whispered dazedly.
Alouette nodded and gave the barrel a sharp twist. The top hissed open with a puff of steam. Her vision cleared and then… every last ounce of hope leaked out of her.
Where there were once twelve intact, glowing vials, there was now a splatter of broken glass and congealed serum. All but one of Dr. Collins’s doses of inhibitor had been destroyed.
Marcellus stared numbly down into the barrel, looking like he