Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,219

neck to peer above the sea of coiffed hairdos, wide-brimmed hats, and feathered hairpieces. “Okay, it looks like they’re just bringing it out now.”

Chatine followed his gaze and tilted forward on the tips of her shoes, momentarily grateful for the extra height. She spotted two waiters guiding a large cart across the lawn. On it, a glorious fountain glimmered with bubbling golden liquid that cascaded over its numerous tiers. The surrounding crowd stopped to gawk and admire the spectacle while some Third Estaters captured footage on their Skins.

“Got it,” Chatine said. “Will anyone be guarding it?”

Marcellus shook his head. “I highly doubt it. I don’t think my grandfather has any suspicion that we’re about to bring down his entire plan with champagne.”

Chatine nodded and surreptitiously ran her hand under the bottom edge of the dress’s suffocating corset, feeling for the two objects she’d stuffed in there before leaving the manoir.

The first was the strange contraption Etienne had given her back at the camp. He’d called it an impulsion. She still wasn’t sure what she would need it for, or if it would even work, but she figured it didn’t hurt to have it with her. The second object was the vial of inhibitor. Alouette had warned her to keep it secure, and Chatine could think of no better place. Nothing was moving around in this dress.

As the waiters positioned the fountain amongst the other banquet tables, Chatine angled her body toward the hedge and reached down the front of her dress to pull out the vial. For a moment, she studied the small container, wondering how these few drops of liquid could possibly protect all these people from the general’s weapon. But Alouette had assured her it would be enough, spouting something about self-propagation.

“All good?” Marcellus asked.

Chatine nodded as she tucked the vial into her palm, making it disappear like she’d done so many times with precious relics lifted from unsuspecting marks.

“Remember,” Marcellus said, “you need to get the inhibitor into the fountain before they start filling glasses for the toast. It’s the only way to be sure that everyone here drinks it and the weapon is neutralized before the general has a chance to activate it from his TéléCom.”

“But what about everyone else?” Chatine asked, a potential flaw in the plan just now occurring to her. “All the Third Estaters not at this banquet. If he tries to activate the weapon, won’t they all—”

Marcellus shook his head. “No. The scientists on Albion told us that the program is configurable to any size group. This is a targeted attack. The general has only one goal today. He has no reason to activate anyone else.”

Chatine released a breath. It’s just another con, she told herself. Like the countless you’ve done before. A sleight of hand. A quick tip of the wrist and it’s over.

She peered up at the vast TéléSky above their heads, where countless stars shimmered and winked like tiny, precious gems around a white moon.

And suddenly, just like that, she was back there. Up there. The last time she’d looked at a great dusting of stars like this, she’d been on Bastille. A chain tugging at her neck, choking her breaths. Her fingertips raw and shredded from a long shift in the exploit. And every part of her cold. So very cold.

Chatine’s knees went weak. Like they were made of nothing stronger than flimsy twigs. She could feel her confidence drifting away on Ledôme’s artificial breeze.

“Sols, I can’t do this,” she said under her breath.

Marcellus positioned himself in front of her, his face only centimètres away. He slid the Sol-glasses off, and suddenly all she could see were the endless flecks of green and brown in his eyes. “Yes, you can. You can do this, Chatine.”

“I—I can’t … ,” she stammered, shaking her head. “I can’t go back there. If anyone recognizes me—”

“No one is going to recognize you,” Marcellus assured her. “You are the master of disguise, remember?” A small smile quirked on his lips. “You fooled me into thinking you were a boy for a whole week. You can fool anyone here.”

Chatine glanced around, focusing on the hundreds of Third Estaters crammed into the garden. All of them were dressed in sharp tuxedoes and plush gowns which glittered under the lamps that dangled over the lawn like rows of miniature Sols.

Yet, despite their elegance, their excitement, their awe at the food and the music and the opulence of the Palais, Chatine could see in their faces and