Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,227

by a dazzling tiara encrusted with a rainbow of multicolored gems. They were flanked by advisors in deep green robes and handmaids who swarmed like fluttering butterflies in lacy, brightly colored gowns. As the entourage slowly descended the curving stone steps from the Palais’s vast terrace, a chorus of trumpets and cheers erupted from the Imperial Lawn below.

Marcellus watched the procession from his hiding spot in the hedges, his heart whirring into a tempest. He had attended Ascension banquets all his life, but he’d never seen anything quite like this. The sheer number of people packed into this garden was staggering. Normally, when one winner was chosen, the guest list consisted of the lucky Ascendant, their immediate family, and a host of important Second Estate members. But predictably, with fifty winners, the Third Estate far outnumbered the Second Estate. Which was exactly how his grandfather had intended it.

“Don’t they look fantastique, everyone?” Georges Bissette exclaimed from the stage in the center of the lawn. But no one was looking at the well-coiffed man in the bright blue tailcoat anymore. All the Third Estate eyes were trained on the Patriarche. On the great leader of Laterre. The very person they had unknowingly been brought here to kill.

Marcellus darted his gaze to the champagne fountain, where a flock of waiters dressed in velvet, high-collared jackets was already beginning to arrange crystal flutes to fill for the toast. His eyes tracked outward until he spotted a flash of color. A green gem glittering amongst a sea of shimmering silks. Chatine was almost to the fountain, her long dress billowing behind her like smoke.

“Absolutely radiant!” said Georges Bissett as the trumpets gave way to a rousing anthem played by a string quartet and the Patriarche and Matrone continued their long procession down the stairs. Marcellus couldn’t help but remark that the Patriarche looked somewhat unsettled, as though something was troubling him.

Across the Imperial Lawn, the crowd’s cheers had lulled to a swarm of awed whispers.

“They look so different in person.”

“She’s much thinner than I imagined.”

“Well, she did just lose her precious bébé. I’m sure she hasn’t eaten in weeks.”

Marcellus kept his gaze locked on Chatine, still weaving through the crowd. She was now only a few mètres from the fountain. Nearly there, he told himself, trying to calm his frazzled nerves.

So far, everything had gone according to plan. Cerise and Alouette had broken into the Ministère server room. Chatine and Marcellus had infiltrated the banquet. Marcellus was in prime position with a perfect view of the terrace steps, which his grandfather would be descending at any moment. Now all they had to do was get that inhibitor into the champagne before the official toast.

“The Matrone’s ceremonial tiara is made of one hundred percent titan and is encrusted with over two thousand First World jewels,” Georges Bissett explained, causing the crowd to gasp and sigh.

The Patriarche and Matrone had almost reached the bottom of the steps. Marcellus scanned their parade of advisors and escorts. There was still no sign of his grandfather.

He turned back to Chatine and the fountain, but something flickered in the periphery of his vision, snagging his attention. It was a figure dressed in a dark uniform prowling through the crowd, only a few mètres behind Chatine. As Marcellus focused on the complex network of circuitry implanted in the man’s face, dread immediately began to ripple through him.

Inspecteur Chacal.

What was he doing here? Had he spotted Chatine? Had he recognized her?

“And tonight, the Patriarche is wearing a stunning satin cravat imported straight from Samsara,” Georges announced as the Patriarche and Matrone reached the base of the stone steps and waved cordially out into the crowd.

“Chatine,” Marcellus whispered urgently into his audio patch. “We might be in trouble. Chacal is right behind you.”

He watched Chatine continue to move toward the fountain. She didn’t even so much as flinch at his words.

“Chatine?” he said again. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Cerise? Alouette? Is anyone there?”

The silence brought Marcellus’s galloping heart to a lurching stop. He hastily pulled out his TéléCom and checked the connection. It was dead.

Fear prickled his skin and blurred the corners of his vision. Why had the AirLink been severed? But he didn’t have time to dwell on the answer. If Chatine couldn’t get the inhibitor into the champagne and neutralize the weapon, the rest of the plan would fail.

Marcellus edged out from his hiding place and darted toward the fountain, concealing himself behind one of the many elaborate ice sculptures punctuating the