Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,189

and a few gnarled twigs, clearly picked from the sparse shrubs and bushes that managed to grow out in this wilderness. Alouette’s frozen eyelashes shimmered in the afternoon light, and ice crystals clung to every tight coil of her hair.

“It was hard to find anything even close to dry,” she said, setting down her armful of kindling next to Marcellus.

He sighed. “It doesn’t really matter. I can’t keep a flame lit. It would help if I had matches but …” He sighed, once again berating himself. “I don’t.”

Gabriel let out another moan, and Alouette immediately scrabbled toward him on her knees. She peeled back his blankets and started to check his wounds again. The narrow escape from the burning voyageur and then the boisterous crash-landing on the Terrain Perdu had not been kind to Gabriel. The bandages had been soaked with blood. Alouette had packed the wound with ice and used a spare blanket to make a new dressing, but it had been another temporary measure. And they all knew that.

“How is it?” Cerise asked.

Alouette was silent for a moment and then said, “Good. It looks good.”

So, Marcellus wasn’t the only one who had resorted to lying.

“Pi …” Gabriel whimpered, his eyelids struggling to open. “Pi …”

Cerise looked urgently from Gabriel to Alouette to Marcellus. “What is he saying?”

“I don’t know,” Marcellus said, shaking his head. “He’s been mumbling that for a while.”

Alouette reached over and felt Gabriel’s forehead. “He’s still a little feverish from the infection. But thankfully, I don’t think it’s gotten any worse.…”

Marcellus could have sworn he heard Alouette add the word “yet” under her breath. But like his momentary flame earlier, the word was stolen away by the brutal wind. He looked at Gabriel for a long time before snatching his abandoned pieces of stone and steel and banging them furiously together. But still, he could not achieve anything more than a useless spark. His jaw clenched with the effort. His freezing fingers struggled with the disobedient instruments.

Scrape … spark … nothing.

Scrape … spark … nothing.

Scrape … spark …

And then, fire.

But not blazing in front of him where it was supposed to be. This monstrous flame ignited inside of Marcellus. It was the same fire that had been burning inside him for weeks. Lit from the stinging heat of his grandfather’s betrayal, the friction of this losing battle Marcellus had fought for his entire life, and the kindling of his hatred for the man who had raised him.

It all exploded inside of him, more colossal and destructive than ever, until his heart and body and mind were consumed by the roaring blaze, burning as wildly and violently as the flames that had once destroyed the First World.

“I did this!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “I did this to Gabriel! To all of you.”

“Marcellus,” Alouette tried to argue, but he promptly cut her off.

“No. Gabriel is dying because of me. He was right. This was a suicide mission. Which means it should be me lying there with a cluster bullet wound in my stomach. Not him. And we’re all going to freeze to death out here because of me. Because I can’t defeat the almighty General Bonnefaçon. I’ve tried. Too many times now. And I always, always fail. He always wins and I always lose. We had the inhibitor. We had a surefire way to stop him. But we lost almost all of it because of my stupidity. And now the general has control of the Skins and the Third Estate and, soon, the planet. AND I CAN’T STOP HIM!”

Alouette and Cerise both stared up at him, startled.

“Marcellus—” Alouette tried again, but still, he would not allow her to finish.

“Stop! I never should have brought any of you into this. I never should have even let you onto that voyageur to Albion.”

“Let us?” Cerise fired back. She was on her feet too, facing off against Marcellus, her cheeks puffed with sudden fury. “I’m sorry to break it to you, Officer, but you’re not the Patriarche. I don’t need your authorization. You didn’t let us do anything. We volunteered. All of us. We volunteered knowing the dangers. And we didn’t need you, your Sol-Almightiness, to give us permission.”

This stopped Marcellus short. He was so taken aback by Cerise’s outburst—by an anger that nearly matched his own—that he momentarily lost his train of thought.

“I’m sorry, Marcellus, but I’m tired of your pity parade,” Cerise went on. “And your pathetic attempts at martyrdom. You’re not the only one here