Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,232

hands and pried open the lid to find two strands of hair tucked inside. One dark and curly, like her own, the other a glimmering shade of auburn. The same shade she’d seen only moments ago. As the Patriarche had stood in front of her and called her Lisole.

She didn’t want to accept it. She didn’t know if she could ever survive the aftermath. But she knew now that she didn’t have a choice. You can’t unstrike a match. Or repack an explosion. You can’t unbreak a lock. Or stuff the contents back inside.

And you can’t unknow the truth.

Who am I?

I am the daughter of the Patriarche.

Who am I?

I am a Paresse.

Who am I?

I am the Lark who has finally flown home.

For minutes—maybe hours, maybe lightyears—Alouette sat perfectly still. As though this terrace floor that propped her up was made of nothing more stable than withered First World paper, and a single twitch might cause it all to come crashing down. As though every breath she took from here on out held a different meaning. As though the next move she made might decide the fate of a planet.

When the Lark flies home, the Regime will fall.

Sister Denise knew. She knew who Alouette was. That was what she’d been trying to tell her through the message on Marcellus’s TéléCom.

“Home” wasn’t the Refuge, as Alouette had believed all this time. Home was here. Ledôme. The Grand Palais.

Alouette was a Paresse. The Paresse heir. The only heir.

A petrified scream punctuated the darkness of the terrace, and Alouette leapt to her feet. More screams followed, and then Alouette heard the unmistakable sound of bodies colliding. Hundreds of them. She ran toward the stone staircase that led down to the gardens and froze. The Imperial Lawn was a blanket of blackness, pierced only by the flicker of glowing Skins. And in the dim light, Alouette saw her worst nightmare come to life.

Fists punching and hands clawing and mouths open in bellowing roars.

It was like Dr. Cromwell’s lab on Albion multiplied by a hundred. No, by two hundred. Two hundred guests turned into weapons.

The general had activated the TéléReversion program.

Breath shuddering in her chest, Alouette charged down the first few steps toward the lawn, readying herself to fight again. But a second later, something in the distance caught her eye, pulling her to a halt.

Far off, in the darkness of Ledôme, a lone star twinkled.

Alouette stood paralyzed and speechless, her thoughts blurring in and out of focus. It couldn’t be a star. It was too low in the sky. But somehow, it seemed to be calling out to her. Like a beacon. A monument of hope.

Twinkling just for her.

The Paresse Tower.

Suddenly, like a Sol exploding, sending shards of light to the far reaches of the galaxy, a thousand voices from a thousand moments in time rushed into her mind at once.

“… we need your help, Little Lark …”

“It’s called the Forteresse …”

“… you should always build a kill switch into any large-scale system …”

“He wanted this lock to only open for his direct descendants …”

“It makes sense to hide it, right?”

“We called it the Sovereign gene.”

“You are more useful than you realize, Alouette …”

“… it only activates after a Paresse heir has come of age.”

Alouette sucked in a breath, steadying herself on the handrail of the staircase as all the voices slowly morphed into one. One voice. One sentence. One destiny.

“We’ve just been waiting.… Waiting for you to be ready.”

Those were Principale Francine’s words to her that night she left the Refuge. That night she turned her back on the Sisterhood. On the Vangarde. On her planet.

When the Lark flies home, the Regime will fall.

Alouette now understood everything.

“Home” was both the Palais and the Refuge.

Denise knew, just as all the sisters knew, that Alouette was important to the fate of Laterre. To the war that was coming. To the revolution. But not only as the Paresse heir.

Because the truth was, Alouette was not just Paresse.

She was also a sister.

She was also Vangarde.

She was also the Little Lark.

And she would see the fall of this Regime.

- CHAPTER 71 - MARCELLUS

MARCELLUS COULD HEAR THE CARNAGE on the Imperial Lawn in front of him. Bodies slamming together. Great guttural roars scraping the air. And the screams. The heart-wrenching, piercing screams that he knew would haunt his dreams forever. But it wasn’t until the lights came back on and illuminated the Palais gardens that he could see the devastation with his very eyes.

And he almost wished the lights would