Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,79

every face. There were so many of them.

What are all these people even doing—

Marcellus’s thought was cut off by a commotion. Shouts and cheers erupted all around him as everyone’s attention was suddenly directed toward the back of the room.

“Welcome, camarades,” a commanding voice called out, immediately bringing a hush over the crowd.

Marcellus glanced up, following the countless gazes to a woman who was now standing on top of the bar, addressing the crowd. She was dressed in a dark red coat, the hood thrown back to reveal a shaven head and fierce gray eyes.

“You know why you’re here,” she went on, her voice grave and authoritative. “You recognize the pang in your chest that guided you out of your beds and brought you to this place. That is the pang of injustice. That is the pang of knowing you want more than this pitiful existence you’ve been given. That you deserve more.”

Marcellus watched in awe as every person in the room stared at the mysterious woman with reverent, glassy eyes. As though just the sound of her voice had lulled them into a trance.

“But they don’t want you to know that,” the woman went on. “They don’t want you to feel that pang, and they definitely don’t want you to listen to it. The Regime wants us to live in fear. Numb, mindless fear. They want us to stay hungry and weak. They want us to stare at our Skins all day long. They want us to collect our Ascension points and dream of living out the rest of our days high up on a hill in their precious Ledôme.”

Murmurs broke out across the room. Some people raised their fists in the air and shouted their agreement. Marcellus noticed that, beside the speaker on the bar, a tall man with glimmering pale eyes, a high brow, and flowing, curly hair stood with his arms crossed defiantly. And, on the floor below, eight soldier-like men and women were standing rigid with their legs spread apart and their hands clasped behind their back.

They all wore the same hooded coats as the speaker.

Red.

Laterre’s official color of death and mourning.

But this was certainly no funeral.

“They want us to work. Work and work and work. Even when they unjustly cut our wages, they still want us to make the silk dresses they wear, the satin sheets they sleep in, the cruiseurs they ride in, and the sugared treats they eat all day while we starve.” The speaker paused, letting her audience jeer and nod and shout obscenities about the Regime. More fists shot into the air in a show of solidarity.

For a moment, Marcellus forgot why he was even here. He was too mesmerized by the woman standing on top of the bar. But try as he might, he just couldn’t manage to grasp what was so captivating about her. She had a way of pulling you in with her impassioned words and intense stares. In spite of her fierce tone and ferocious eyes, there was something delicate about her. The arch of her top lip, her high cheekbones, the curve of her hips and waist. And something vaguely familiar, even though Marcellus was certain he’d never met her before.

“But most of all,” she continued once the shouts had died down, “they want us to stay quiet. They want us to stay docile and passive. But now is not the time to be quiet. Now is not the time to be docile or passive, is it?”

“NO!” yelled the audience in unison.

The woman jabbed her own fist in the air and shouted, “Now is the time to RISE UP.”

At these words, the crowd seemed to congeal around Marcellus, as if it were one living, breathing being. He wondered if this is what it was like back in 488, before the rebellion was stamped out. He’d heard rumors that Citizen Rousseau had led rallies like this in secret, spreading her message, moving people to her cause.

The speaker lowered her gaze and shook her head. The crowd quieted, sensing a shift. “Unlike us, however, too many of our fellow Laterrians are asleep. Too many Third Estaters are passive and docile, just as the Regime wants them to be. They do not feel the pang like you do. Like I do. They listen obediently to their Universal Alerts. They are content with their Skins, their Ascension points, their ridiculous hopes for winning a better life in Ledôme. Their apathy makes them hungry and cold, miserable and wretched.” The