Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,9

said coolly.

Marcellus’s pulse spiked as a hundred thousand crimes filtered through his mind at once.

Does he know where I’ve been?

Marcellus glanced back down at the ruffled comforter of his bed, where he’d just thrown his little tantrum. His grandfather had seen that.

“You weren’t answering your AirLinks.” The general nodded to the TéléCom that was folded up and sitting idly on Marcellus’s bedside table. Even though the tracking capabilities on the device were deactivated, he’d still left it behind as a precaution.

“Yes … um … ,” Marcellus began, wishing that, just this once, he could talk to the general without stammering like an imbecile. “I just stepped out to get some air and I … forgot it.”

His grandfather lifted an eyebrow. “And Chacal says he stopped by the TéléSkin fabrique yesterday—where you were supposed to be investigating the recent attack—but you weren’t there.”

Marcellus felt a storm brewing in his chest. His grandfather had appointed him lead officer on the investigation of the recent TéléSkin fabrique attack. It had killed twelve workers, including Chatine’s sister, and they still had no idea who was responsible. But Marcellus had been so busy deciphering the message that the Vangarde had slipped to him in the Frets and mentally preparing himself for his meeting with Mabelle, he’d let some of his officer duties slide. But he never thought that clochard Chacal would rat him out for it.

Marcellus fought to keep his face neutral as he tried to come up with a believable excuse. “I’m sorry, Grand-père. I haven’t been myself since the funeral.”

The general’s cool hazel eyes bored into Marcellus. “Must I remind you that Laterre is in a precarious state right now?”

Thanks to you, Marcellus thought bitterly but he shook his head and muttered, “No, sir.”

“Tensions are mounting. The Third Estate are getting out of control, rioting almost daily. And with Inspecteur Limier still missing, we need everyone around here to pull their weight.”

The fearsome head of the Vallonay Policier had vanished two weeks ago. He’d ventured out to the Forest Verdure to arrest two wanted criminals and never came back.

“This is not the time to be lazy and distracted, Marcellus.”

Marcellus felt his blood start to boil. His fists clenched at his sides, desperate to strike, to pound, to pummel. But he forced himself to remember Mabelle’s words.

“… you’ll have to work extra hard to convince him of your loyalty.”

Marcellus swallowed down the rage. “Of course, Grand-père. I apologize for my actions. It will not happen again.”

The general scrutinized him, the edge of his jaw pulsing. It’s what his grandfather did when he was holding something back. Then, silently, he stepped forward and reached a hand toward Marcellus’s face. Marcellus flinched as his grandfather dragged a single finger across his cheek. When his hand retracted, Marcellus could see the smear of mud on the general’s fingertip. Remnants of his disguise.

For a long, tense moment, both of them just stared down at it.

Finally, his grandfather spoke. “You need to come with me.”

The room tilted. Marcellus wished he could grab on to something for balance. For a moment, he considered running. He eyed the balcony, trying to gauge how far down it was to the forecourt below. Would he survive the jump?

“Why?” he whispered.

The general released a heavy sigh. “The Patriarche has summoned us to go hunting.”

Hunting?

For a full three seconds, Marcellus was certain he had misunderstood.

“Prepare your status report on the investigation and make yourself presentable.” The general nodded dismissively toward Marcellus’s face and then strode toward the hallway. “And meet me in the foyer in thirty minutes.”

The moment the door slid shut behind the general, Marcellus let out a shuddering breath. The beautiful air flooded back into his lungs. He darted to the bathroom and splashed ice-cold water on his face, trying to bring the sensation back to his skin. Tilting his chin at various angles, he searched for any more traces of mud before drying his face with a towel and turning back toward the door. But something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and pulled him up short.

He spun around and stared down into the corner of the bathroom. Beside the toilette, a single floor tile glinted in the light. He’d accidentally wrenched it loose when he was a little boy, and it had been his secret hiding place ever since. When he was younger and Mabelle was teaching him the Forgotten Word, he used to hide folded-up pieces of paper in there, lines and lines of practiced letters