Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,249

toward the exit.

The alleyway between the Frets was teeming with people. All of them on the move. All of them heading determinedly in the direction of the Marsh. Marcellus’s gaze flitted around, astounded, as they joined the moving crowd.

“What’s going on?” Chatine asked, fear glimmering in her cat-like gray eyes.

Marcellus shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The AirLink conversation had been brief. Too brief to make sense of.

“Meet me in the Marsh. Near the west entrance. She’s gone too far.”

And then it had been over. The pale-eyed man had vanished, leaving Marcellus and Chatine in a stunned silence. At first Marcellus had believed it was a trap. But there was something about the urgency in his voice and the fear in his eyes. It was real.

A Third Estate man in a ragged hood shoved Marcellus from behind. “Better hurry up, or you’ll miss it,” he growled before disappearing into the river of streaming people.

Marcellus and Chatine shared an anxious glance before picking up their pace. Jostled and breathless, they finally reached the Marsh and both came to a skidding, astonished halt. The marketplace, even though it was the dead of night, was jammed. Marcellus had never seen so many people crammed into this space, even on the busiest of market days. The shuttered stalls had been shoved aside, some even pushed over, and the thrumming, vibrating, boisterous crowd were all moving in the same direction. Toward the center of the Marsh.

Toward the towering statue of Thibault Paresse, the Patriarche who had founded this planet.

“What is this?” Marcellus asked as a shiver traveled down his spine.

“It’s her,” came a voice behind them.

Marcellus and Chatine spun to find themselves face-to-face with the man from the TéléCom screen. The man who had stood idly by as a hothouse was demolished and three innocent superviseurs were killed in the blast. The man who had held Cerise down while his sister tried to brand her with a laser. The man who had played a vital part in the death of Azelle Renard.

The brother of both an innocent victim and a guilty terrorist.

Jolras Epernay.

Marcellus felt his blood grow hot at the sight of him standing there, trying to remain still amidst the jostling crowd that pushed past them from every direction.

“It’s Max,” he said, and Marcellus could hear that same urgency and fear in his voice.

“Who?” Marcellus asked.

“My sister,” Jolras said. “Maximilienne. She’s … She’s out of control. I’ve been trying to warn you for days.”

“Why me?”

“Because I saw the arrest warrant,” Jolras said. “I know you’re with the Vangarde. And we need their help if we want to stop her.”

“I am not your ally,” Marcellus spat. “I don’t want anything to do with the Red Scar.”

“Neither do I,” Jolras said. It came like a slap. Fast and unexpected with the sting of surprise.

“What?” Marcellus snapped.

Jolras glanced around at the thick sea of bodies and huffed out an impatient sigh. As though he wasn’t sure how much time they had for explanations. “At first, yes, I was excited about the idea. I was angry about what the Ministère did to Nadette, and it felt good to be doing something to retaliate. But Max, she …” His voice trailed off and he tugged brutally at the end of one of his curls. “Her anger goes beyond reason. Beyond limits. She’s turned into someone I don’t even recognize. Something has to be done. She’s …” And then he repeated the same chilling words he’d said on the TéléCom. “She’s gone too far.”

Marcellus narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked.

But it was the crowd who answered. A raucous, deafening cheer exploded all around them, and they were suddenly shoved forward. Marcellus tried to peer up ahead, in the direction everyone was moving. At first, through the gloom, he could see nothing but bodies and the shadows of the giant Frets looming over the Marsh. But as the tide jostled the three of them deeper into the marketplace, toward the looming statue up ahead, Marcellus caught sight of something he’d wished and prayed he would never see again.

It was the blue glow he spotted first.

And then, as he moved closer still, he saw the perfectly straight line of light sending sparks and blinding azure flashes into the misty air.

His body went cold. Colder than it had been crammed into a crate full of ice packs in the cargo hold of a voyageur. Colder than it had been trapped in the frozen tundra of the Terrain Perdu.

This was a cold