Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,92

it behind. Heading toward Bastille to serve a twenty-five-year sentence. Now, as the strange Défecteur man’s even stranger ship surged through space, and she saw the giant white-and-gray planet looming in front of them, Chatine felt a curious sense of peace. She was going back. She was going home.

And she was going to find her brother.

The pilote eased his hand off the contrôleur and flipped a switch on the console.

“Autopilote engaged,” the breathy voice of the ship announced.

“Okay,” he said, swiveling his capitaine’s chair around to face Chatine, who was still strapped into the jump seat, her injured leg extended out in front of her. “Lives saved. Autopilote engaged. Now for pleasantries.” He held out his fist like he was going to punch Chatine in the face. She ducked out of striking distance.

The young man laughed. “Oh. Right, sorry. I keep forgetting you don’t do this.” He nodded toward his fist. “We tap to say hello. Well, Maman likes to kiss on the lips, but I won’t do that to you.”

Chatine instantly felt her cheeks flush with heat and berated herself for it. She’d learned her lesson about blushing for pretty-faced boys. And although this boy was decidedly rougher-looking than Marcellus—with shabbier clothes, short braided hair, and a scoundrel’s smile—his face was definitely still pretty.

He extended his closed fist forward. “I’m Etienne.”

Chatine remained silent.

“And you are?” he prompted slowly.

“Oh. Um, my name is …” A rush of exhilaration shot through her at the endless possibilities. This was her chance. Her chance to reinvent herself again. To become someone completely new. Without a past. Without a criminal record. Without a heart that had been shattered by a pair of dark hazel eyes. But, as countless new names and identities filtered through her mind, she found herself feeling not inspired, but exhausted. She’d been someone else for so long—Théo, the Fret rat; prisoner 5.1.5.6.2.—she found herself actually wondering what it would be like to simply say …

“Chatine,” she whispered. And once it was out, she was grateful that she couldn’t take it back. Couldn’t change her mind. This is who she had to be now.

Chatine, the sister of Henri and Azelle.

Etienne tilted his head, as though he were listening for something. “Chatine,” he repeated and Chatine felt like she was hearing her name for the first time. “Hmm.” He tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair before finally deciding. “I like it.”

She scoffed. “Well, thanks. I’m so glad you approve.”

“Okay. Let me show you how it’s done.” Etienne proffered his fist again. “Make a fist like this.”

She did as she was told, but she kept it close to her body and Etienne had to lean forward—nearly falling out of his chair—to tap his fist against hers. He pushed himself back with a dramatic grunt. “Okay, we’ll work on the extension part later. In the meantime”—he spread his arms wide—“welcome aboard Marilyn!”

Chatine rolled her eyes. “I just told you my name is Chatine.”

He shook his head. “No, not ‘welcome aboard, Marilyn.’ ” He pointed to Chatine and then gestured grandly again to the interior of the ship. “Welcome aboard Marilyn.”

Chatine stared blankly back at him.

His arms collapsed. “The ship is named Marilyn.”

“You named your ship?”

“Of course I named my ship.”

“Who names their ship?”

“Everyone names their ship.”

“I don’t think everyone names their ship.”

Etienne crossed his arms over his chest in a challenge. “Oh really? You know a lot of people with ships?”

“Well, I definitely didn’t know Défecteurs had ships.” Chatine was still trying to wrap her mind around that part.

The man quirked his lips into a knowing smile. “What did you think? We just hold hands, sing songs, and eat wood chips all day?”

Chatine bowed her head, feeling heat warm her cheeks. “No.”

“Sure, sure,” the man said. “I know what you gridders think of us.”

Chatine’s head whipped up. “Excuse me? What did you just call me?”

“A gridder. Someone who lives on the Regime’s grid. Watches all the Ministère broadcasts and Universal Alerts with wide, hopeful eyes. Buys into the whole three-Estates-divided-by-nature thing. Prays to win the Ascension. Plays by the rules—”

“Whoa. Whoa. I do not play by their rules.”

He looked her up and down, taking in her blue prison uniform. “Fine. But you’re still a slave to that.” He pointed to her Skin, which was still covered by the giant metal cuff he’d insisted she put on to block the tracker.

Embarrassed, Chatine hid her hand behind her back as she stole a glance at Etienne’s left arm. There was nothing there but smooth,