Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,40

over them like rusting battlements. The nearby streetlamps did little to chase away the all-consuming blackness of Laterre’s Darkest Night or the terrors that seemed to lurk around every corner of this town.

“I’m Dahlia.” The woman introduced herself without turning around.

“Nice to meet you,” Alouette muttered, caught between her inclination to be nice and the guardedness she was quickly developing.

Dahlia snorted. “And do you have a name?”

Alouette swallowed. “My name is Alou—” But she stopped herself, realizing she probably shouldn’t be using that name anymore, especially to someone like Dahlia. Alouette was the daughter of an escaped convict named Jean Legrand. And now, through no fault of her own, Alouette was also associated with the Vangarde. Despite having left the Refuge, she was still in hiding. And she feared she would be for the rest of her life. Whether she liked it or not.

“I mean,” Alouette said, “My name is … Madeline.”

The name still sounded foreign on her lips. She’d only just found out about it two weeks ago. It was the name her mother had given her. Before her father had changed it to Alouette when they’d come to the Refuge.

The woman chuckled again. “Are you sure about that, chéri?”

Despite her trepidation, Alouette found herself smiling at the question. “No,” she admitted. She wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

“Well, you better make up your mind. And fast. You’re not going to get very far on this planet if you don’t know who you are.” She picked up her pace as they passed by another long alleyway. Alouette made the mistake of peering down it, into the darkness, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Through the gloom, a dozen pairs of eyes flashed and stared back at her, and on the ground, there was a series of strange, misshapen shadows. Almost like a row of bony carcasses—

“That’s the Taudis,” Dahlia whispered. “Gang territory. I wouldn’t linger.”

Alouette scurried away, a chill seeping into her skin that had nothing to do with the damp, cold air. Somehow, this place, this city, seemed even worse than Vallonay. Worse than the Frets. She didn’t know how that was possible. She didn’t know such worseness could exist.

“This your first time at a blood bordel?” Dahlia asked, casting a doubtful, sidelong look at Alouette.

“Yes,” Alouette said quietly, debating whether or not she should elaborate. She quickly decided not.

“I remember my first time.”

The shock on Alouette’s face made Dahlia laugh. “Don’t look so surprised, chéri. Every girl around here has done it at least once. When the babies are screaming from hunger or freezing from the cold, you’ll do just about anything to make it stop.”

Alouette cleared her throat, unsure what to say to that. So she simply asked, “Does it … Did it hurt?”

Dahlia shook her head. “Maybe for a second. But it’s over pretty quick. It’s the next few days you have to worry about. That’s when the regret sinks in. When your body is too tired to do anything, and the bruises start to appear, and no amount of food seems to quench the hunger. Not that there is any food.”

Alouette’s mouth went dry. There was still so much of this world she didn’t yet know. So much the sisters hadn’t prepared her for, despite how many volumes of the Chronicles she’d read.

She clutched her arm tighter around her sac as they passed by another darkened alleyway. At the end of this one, however, Alouette could see a warm, golden glow. Almost like a Sol rising in the distance. Which of course, she knew was impossible. Night had fallen hours ago. And even if it were dawn, she would never actually be able to see a Sol rise on Laterre. The cloud coverage was too thick.

“Second Estate quartier,” Dahlia said, as though she could read the question right on Alouette’s face. “Where the superviseurs and foremen have their manoirs. They couldn’t be bothered to live over here with the rest of us dirty déchets, so they built a wall.”

“How long have you lived here?” Alouette asked uneasily.

“All my life,” Dahlia replied, and Alouette remarked on something unusual in her voice. It wasn’t pride exactly. It was more like dignity. “Don’t worry. You get used to it after a while. Home is home.”

Home.

The word was like an angry punch in the gut for Alouette. Four simple letters that had sent her chasing dust across the Secana Sea.

Sols, how she longed to be as certain as Dahlia about that word.

She remembered the message Sister Denise had sent Alouette