Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,235

an end to the threat.

A sickening sensation of defeat started to settle over Marcellus. The Patriarche’s chances of getting out of here alive, he now realized, were slim at best. Soon, the general would have exactly what he wanted. He had all but won. He had activated the weapon. He was controlling them all.

Controlling them.

The thought burst into Marcellus’s mind, and his gaze shot back toward the gardens. Third Estaters in dresses and tuxedos were still punching and bludgeoning and clobbering anyone they could find. But, of course, none of them were in control of their own fury. All of them were being manipulated.

Which meant the general had to be close. He had to be watching.

Marcellus scanned the Imperial Lawn, searching for the source of this anarchy. At the base of the steps, two Third Estaters pummeled an officer in a white uniform, dragging him to the ground.

And that’s when Marcellus lifted his eyes skyward. That’s when he realized his grandfather would not be down here, putting his own life in danger. He would be somewhere safe. Somewhere high up, where he could manipulate his soldiers. Move his little peasant pieces across the board. Observe his victory unharmed.

Then, almost as if his grandfather had shouted out to him, Marcellus’s gaze instinctively tracked up to the second floor of the Grand Palais.

And there he was.

General Bonnefaçon stood on a balcony, half hidden behind the door. Marcellus instantly recognized the location as his own rooms, the very place where he’d been arrested a little more than a week ago. The general’s body was rigid, his face stoic, his eyes scanning the massacre with a mild curiosity. And clutched in his hands was his TéléCom.

A calm suddenly spread over Marcellus. Deep and profound. The deafening sounds around him faded away, as though they were nothing more than quiet ripples, traveling outward on a pond. Every distraction in his mind stilled. Every thought solidified. Until he felt more focused, more determined, than he ever had.

“Always so hasty to act, aren’t you, Marcellus? Always rushing into things.”

Not this time. This time, he was playing to win. And there was only one move left to make.

Spinning around, he climbed the stone steps to the terrace and slipped quietly through the door. Compared to the Imperial Lawn outside, the Palais was quiet. Eerily so. Like it was keeping vigil, holding its breath for the outcome of this night.

Marcellus silently crept up the servants’ staircase and down the long corridor of the south wing. The door to his old rooms was left slightly ajar, just as it had been the last time he was here. Before he’d stormed in to discover that General Bonnefaçon was framing Marcellus for his own crime.

Never underestimate the element of surprise. His grandfather had taught him that. His grandfather had taught him everything.

With steady hands, he flicked his thumb over the toggle switch on his rayonette, hoisted it in the air, and stepped into the room.

Check mate.

- CHAPTER 72 - ALOUETTE

GARGANTUAN AND COMPLETELY DWARFING, THE structure soared above Alouette. The latticed metalwork glinted and glistened under the inky star-filled TéléSky, and its four massive feet hulked around her like the claws of a strange, gleaming giant.

“The Paresse Tower,” she murmured under her breath, as she looked up and up and up, tracing its great bowing ascent into the air. Standing here, under this massive, intimidating edifice, Alouette felt so infinitesimal, so insignificant, so small.

Yet, she knew she was not small. And she was certainly not insignificant.

For somewhere up there, so high it almost touched the artificial Sols, was a vault that only she could open. A stronghold of corruption that only she could bring down.

A Forteresse.

The guard station at the base of the tower was empty, the officers clearly having been called to the commotion at the Palais. Alouette stepped into the tiny elevator and crouched down to examine the control panel affixed to the side of the cage. It was a complex mechanism, undoubtedly with layers of security. Yet, a knowing smile crept over her lips as she reached for her toolbelt, now truly understanding why Denise had taught her so much about the inner workings of Ministère technology.

The elevator moved swiftly, like a bird swooping toward the sky. There were no plastique windows or solid walls inside the car, just a frame of intricate curling metalwork that allowed the artificial Ledôme breeze to whip through and tug at Alouette’s curls as she ascended. She gazed down at the ground receding below.