Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,80

speaker paused and straightened her spine, her eyes suddenly glittering. “But we must show them. We must awaken our sleeping camarades. We must call them from their deadly slumber.” She raised her own fist in the air. “This is a war! And we are the first soldiers in that war.”

Just then, Marcellus’s gaze suddenly snagged on the curly haired man who stood protectively beside the speaker. His gleaming pale eyes weren’t staring out at the crowd like his fellow guards on the ground below. Instead, they were staring straight at Marcellus.

For a moment, their gazes locked, and Marcellus immediately recognized the look that flashed across the man’s face. He’d seen that same look a thousand times in his life. It was the price he paid, the burden he bore, for being an officer of the Ministère. And not just any officer. The grandson of the general and the son of a renowned traitor.

It was the look of recognition.

Despite the Third Estate disguise, this man knew who he was. Which meant it wouldn’t be long until others did as well. Marcellus dropped his gaze and faded farther back into the crowd. He had to find the person he had come here to see. He had to get word to the Vangarde about the general’s weapon.

Marcellus pushed his way through the throng, trying to reach the far end of the bar.

“The planet is wounded,” the speaker was now saying, “and we are the new growth that has risen up around that wound. We are the scar of a corrupt regime. We are doing the work that the Vangarde failed to do.”

A stunned hush fell over the crowd. Marcellus’s feet froze, his attention snapping back up to the speaker.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “The Vangarde failed you. You heard the alert tonight. Their precious leader, Citizen Rousseau, is dead. The Vangarde are no more. They are not the hope they once were. They are not the saviors we once turned to. They are nothing. We are that hope now. We are those saviors.” She gestured to the red-hooded men and women standing guard below her. “We are the Red Scar of this crooked Regime, and we are the ones who will finally bring it to its knees.”

The crowd started to chant, “Red Scar! Red Scar! Red Scar!”

The speaker raised a hand to quiet them. “This a Regime of thieves. Not only do they steal our hard-earned largs and food and shelter. They steal our loved ones. Like my little sister—poor, innocent Nadette Epernay—who was executed for a crime she did not commit.”

Sister?

Marcellus gaped in wonder at the speaker, suddenly realizing why she felt so familiar. It was because she looked like her. Like Nadette.

“They stole her from me. Just like they stole so many of your loved ones from you. And now we will steal something back from them. I, Maximilienne Pierre Epernay, am here to tell you that we can do this. We can awaken the people and overthrow this corrupt Regime. And we will do it by any means possible. We will take back what is rightfully ours. Our freedom. Our power. And our planet. It is time, camarades. It is time to take up whatever arms we can find and FIGHT BACK!”

At these last words, the whole inn boiled over with a cacophony of applause and stamping feet. Soon, everyone in the room was shouting, “Fight back! Fight back!”

Marcellus glanced uneasily around at the sea of dirty yet eager faces and then back up at the speaker and her legion of guards. A shiver of fear and trepidation shot through him. Now that Citizen Rousseau was dead, now that there was a big empty hole left in her place, was this what would fill it? This thirst for violence and war?

The crowd continued to chatter, working their way into a frenzy. Marcellus was being shoved from all sides. He no longer felt like he had control of his own feet. He looked helplessly around him, searching for something to grab on to. An anchor in this stormy sea. And that’s when his gaze landed on a man standing at the edge of the bar. Up until now, his face had been shielded by Maximilienne and her red-hooded soldiers.

But the moment Marcellus’s eyes landed on him—his tall, lanky frame and thick beard—Marcellus knew it was him. The man he had come here to find. The man who had once provided instructions on how to find Mabelle. This man was Marcellus’s last