Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,37

and into this faraway city that filled the sea air with the smell of burnt metal. The light from the dock streamed into the belly of the ship, and the crowd jostled in anticipation. Alouette held tight to the sac strapped around her chest, clutching the only possessions she had left in the world.

As she waited to disembark, the memories of the events that had brought her here, to the other side of the Secana Sea, cycled through her mind on an endless loop. She could still see it all so clearly. She could see herself flying down the low hallways of the Refuge, the place she and her father had called home for so many years. She could see herself storming into the sisters’ Assemblée room—a room she’d always been told was for private meditation and prayer. She could see her own face twisted in shock and disbelief as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.

It was not a room for private meditation and prayer.

It was a control center.

The heart of an underground movement.

It was a deep, dark secret that Alouette had been shielded from her entire life.

“Sit down. We need to talk.”

Principale Francine’s words came back to her now like sharp daggers in her side. The words that had turned Alouette’s world from a familiar place of safety and surety to an unknown place of danger and uncertainty.

“We, the sisters, are the leaders of an underground movement, working to bring about an end to poverty, sickness, and suffering on Laterre,” Principale Francine said. “We call ourselves the Vangarde.”

Alouette stood frozen in shock, unable to move. Her eyes glazed over as she took in the wires and cables and circuit boards. The books and papers and screens. So many screens. She simply couldn’t stop staring at this strange new world that had somehow been part of her world the whole time. But she’d never seen it. Never known. How could the sisters have kept this from her for twelve years?

Her eyes drifted to the seven other women in the room—Sister Laurel, Sister Muriel, Sister Marguerite, Sister Nicolette, Sister Léonie, Sister Clare, Sister Noëlle—all of them stationed at various monitors and control panels. These were the sisters Alouette had grown up with, eaten meals in grateful silence with, practiced Tranquil Forme with. These were the women who had raised her and fed her and cared for her when she was sick. And they were all in on this?

“You, Little Lark, are part of a very important legacy,” Principale Francine continued. “A legacy that is destined to heal our broken planet. We, the Vangarde, are Laterre’s last hope. The people’s last hope.”

Alouette felt like every organ inside her body was shutting down, one by one. Her liver, her spleen, her brain, her lungs, her heart. When she finally found her voice again, it was cracked and shaky. “I don’t understand.”

Principale Francine sighed. “The Regime is extremely corrupt. The very origins of Laterre were unjust and divisive, designed to keep the poor downtrodden and defeated and ignorant. Seventeen years ago, we tried to do something about it. Our rebellion began peacefully. Our former leader, Citizen Rousseau, rallied the people behind our cause with words and emotion and a shift in perspective. But eventually, the movement got away from us. It escalated. It became violent. Instead of peacefully demanding change from the Regime—the way we envisioned it—the people started fighting the Regime. And the Regime fought back. Not just with their droids, but also with their lies. They framed us for violent acts that we were innocent of. They turned the people against us. Citizen Rousseau was captured and incarcerated on Bastille. The spirit of what she represented—what we all represented—died. And our rebellion died right along with it.”

Alouette pressed her fingertips into her temples. She was vaguely aware that Principale Francine was speaking, but the words came to Alouette in floating fragments. Space debris that seemed to drift by before Alouette could make sense of it. The sisters had another leader who was in prison?

Her gaze found its way to the black pedestal that stood in the dead center of the Assemblée room. Just above it, a hologram hovered and glowed, like it was burned right into the air.

She’d recognized the image the moment she’d first walked into this room.

It was a map of Bastille. The prison moon of Laterre.

But now, as she peered closer to the hologram, Alouette spotted details she hadn’t noticed before. The crisscrossing lines, precise angles, and