“Stop parroting every little thing your grandfather ever told you!” It was the first time Mabelle had raised her voice since she’d arrived. It caused Marcellus to flinch and snap his eyes back open. “Your mind is stronger than that. You have the rare ability to think for yourself. If you would just shut off General Bonnefaçon in your head for one second, you could see the truth.”
The woman fell silent, letting her heavy words sink into the soft ground beneath their feet.
“And once you’ve seen it,” she went on, her voice back to its usual gentle timbre, “then you’ll come to us. Then you’ll join us.”
Marcellus’s jaw clenched. He shook his head back and forth, back and forth, as though hoping the repetitive motion would help convince him. “I will never join you.”
Chatine steeled herself, fully expecting the woman to explode again. But she didn’t. Instead, she smiled another knowing smile, shot a quick, distrustful glance at Chatine, and then took a step toward Marcellus. Marcellus’s whole body seemed to turn to stone as she placed a hand on either shoulder and leaned in close to him.
The woman’s lips moved rapidly as she whispered something into Marcellus’s ear. Panicked, Chatine strained to hear what was being said. She could not miss a single word. She could not give the general any reason to go back on his promise. She took a quiet step closer to Marcellus, but it was too late. The woman was already pulling away.
Chatine wanted to scream and kick the ground. She could tell by Marcellus’s numbed expression that something important had just been conveyed. Something Chatine needed to know if she was ever going to fulfill her end of the deal with the general and get the fric off this planet.
Suddenly the sound of music filled the air, breaking into Chatine’s thoughts.
It was faint and wispy, like a song caught in a breeze. She glanced around, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. That’s when she noticed Marcellus’s face. His expression had changed. He no longer looked stunned and terrified. He now looked pained and almost wistful.
Chatine cut her gaze to the old woman. Her lips were closed but the music was definitely emanating from her. It wasn’t a tune Chatine recognized, but it didn’t matter. She could tell from the smile on the woman’s worn and lined face, as she hummed the melody to Marcellus, that this wasn’t just a song.
This was a message.
- CHAPTER 35 -
MARCELLUS
MARCELLUS’S HANDS HADN’T STOPPED SHAKING since they’d gotten back to the cruiseur. He felt cold. So very cold. And he didn’t think it had anything to do with the fact that the pants of his uniform were still damp from the Tourbay.
Théo had tried to speak to him the whole walk back to the cruiseur station—asking him questions about Mabelle, his childhood, his grandfather—but Marcellus had been unable to respond. He still couldn’t bring himself to speak. Finally, the boy had given up.
The landscape outside the cruiseur was dark. Sol 1 had set, and the inky black night had begun. Twelve hours of total darkness, where no light could be seen. Having been born in the season of the Darkest Night, Marcellus had never known any other sky. Apart from the fake replica that hung inside Ledôme. He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like when Laterre entered the season of the Blue Dawn and the soft azure glow of Sol 3 could be seen in the night sky.
Despite the darkness outside, Marcellus’s brain was alight with confusion as they glided above the frozen ground of the Terrain Perdu, back to Vallonay. Nothing about his life—his entire existence—seemed to make sense anymore. He struggled to put his thoughts and his memories in logical order, but they kept getting scrambled up in his mind.
Mabelle had insisted that his father was innocent. That he hadn’t blown up the exploit back in 488. But that was impossible! Why else had they sent him to prison? Innocent people didn’t go to prison.
But then Marcellus thought about Nadette, sitting in a holding cell in the Precinct, awaiting her fate for murdering the Premier Enfant. Marcellus still wasn’t certain she had anything to do with it. She had loved Marie like her own child. Was it possible Marcellus had been fooled by her, too? The same way they had all been fooled by Mabelle?
And then there was the thing Mabelle had whispered to him. Just before she started humming that vaguely familiar song. Marcellus hadn’t stopped singing it to himself since they’d left the Tourbay. He knew he’d heard the song before, but where? And when? And what did it have to do with what Mabelle had said to him?
“I have proof that your father is innocent. I hid it for you in my room at the Palais before I was arrested. It’s been waiting until you were ready to find it.”
Marcellus’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud grumbling sound, which he soon realized was coming from Théo’s stomach. He suddenly felt guilty for not having offered to feed the boy before. He’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts and insecurities, he hadn’t even bothered to consider that the boy might be hungry.
No, not hungry, a voice inside his head reminded him. Starving.
Marcellus searched the inner compartments of the cruiseur until he found two protéine bars. He handed one to Théo and began to unwrap the second.
Théo watched Marcellus carefully, as though he’d never seen a protéine bar and didn’t know what to do with it. Marcellus took a small bite of his, showing the boy that it was edible.
After that, the boy did not hesitate. In the blink of an eye, he had the wrapper off and had stuffed the entire bar into his mouth, struggling to chew.
Marcellus stared, wide-eyed, as the boy swallowed it all. He glanced down at his own bar with the dainty little bite taken out of it. “Do you want this one too?”
He’d barely even formed the question before Théo lunged forward and grabbed the bar out of his hand. He wolfed that one down in a matter of seconds as well.
“I guess you were hungry,” Marcellus joked.
The boy leaned back in his seat and spread his arm over the top, looking content and much more comfortable than he had on the way out here. Now the boy really did look like he rode in cruiseurs all the time.
“Just out of curiosity,” Théo said a moment later, “why don’t you want to join the Vangarde?”
“Because there’s nothing wrong with the Regime as it is,” Marcellus replied automatically. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Marcellus realized they were not his own.
“Stop parroting every little thing your grandfather ever told you!”
His eyes flicked to meet Théo’s, and all he could see was the boy’s dirty, gaunt face and his frail frame hidden beneath layers of black fabric, endless pockets, and wire stitching. Then Marcellus remembered walking through that tent city in Montfer, seeing the way the exploit workers lived. And suddenly he felt like throwing up.
“Well,” he mumbled, averting his gaze. “Even if it’s not perfect. Violence is not the answer.”
“Mabelle said the Vangarde doesn’t endorse violence.”
“She’s lying,” Marcellus snapped, but it was too hasty. Too angry. He tried to soften his tone. “Of course the Vangarde endorses violence. Everything they do is an act of violence. They killed six hundred workers in that exploit bombing seventeen years ago.”
“She also said they didn’t do that,” Théo reminded him.
But Marcellus didn’t need to be reminded. It was all he could think about. Mabelle’s whispered words were playing on an endless loop in his mind.
“I have proof that your father is innocent.”
Proof? What proof? Marcellus couldn’t think of anything that would exonerate his father now, seventeen years later. Plus, anything she might have hidden in her room in the Palais would have been found by now. That room had been occupied by countless Palais servants since Mabelle’s arrest. Most recently, it had been Nadette’s room.
“You don’t believe her?” Théo asked.
Marcellus slid his gaze to him. “What?”
“You don’t believe Mabelle? W
hen she told you that your father wasn’t behind the exploit bombing?”
Marcellus blew out a burdened breath. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
And it was the truth.
Suddenly everything he thought he could stand on was being shaken loose beneath his feet, like those giant tremors that used to destroy entire cities in the First World.
“So, what if you change your mind? Did Mabelle tell you how to contact her?”
“Do you want me to join the Vangarde?” The question shot out of Marcellus so quickly, it seemed to startle the boy.
“I don’t care,” he snapped, but looked slightly caught out.
“Really?” Marcellus asked. “Because it sounds like you’re trying to convince me to betray my planet.”
Théo looked down, rubbing at a stain on his pant leg. “Honestly, I don’t give a fric what you do.”
“I think you do,” Marcellus said, and the intensity in his voice caused the boy to look up again. When he did, Marcellus was right there. Leaning forward, latching on to the boy’s gaze. “Tell me. Tell me honestly right now. If you could change the system—if you could bring down the Regime tomorrow—would you do it?”
The boy blinked his cat-shaped gray eyes at Marcellus, and once again, Marcellus couldn’t escape the feeling that the boy was trying to tell him something.
Look at me!
See me!
Understand me!
Understand what? Marcellus tried to shout back. I’m trying to understand you.
He collapsed into his seat with a sigh, giving up.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” the boy replied quietly a moment later.
Marcellus looked at him, surprised by the answer. “It matters to me.”
Théo let out a dark, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not like most of the Second Estate.”
Marcellus felt his mouth go dry. He had no idea how to respond to that. Or if he even should. But then the boy seemed to startle at something and glanced down at the inside of his left arm, looking annoyed at the interruption. Marcellus watched, intrigued, as the boy tapped his Skin a few times, dismissing whatever alert had just appeared on the screen.
“Curfew warning,” the boy answered his unspoken question.
Right, Marcellus thought, feeling stupide. He glanced at the clock in the cruiseur. He’d completely forgotten about the Third Estate curfew.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll make sure you don’t get in trouble.”
“I’ll be fine,” the boy shot back.
Marcellus raised his hands in the air. “Okay.”
The Skin lit up again, and the boy groaned and pressed another button. As Marcellus continued to stare at the glow of the screen implanted in the boy’s arm, he couldn’t help but think, again, about the girl he’d met in the Frets yesterday.
Alouette.
She should have had a Skin. But instead, she had a long, rectangular scar where a Skin used to be.
“What are you staring at?” Théo grumbled as he pulled his sleeve down.
Marcellus tore his gaze away from the boy’s arm. “Nothing. I was just wondering if you’d ever met anyone who didn’t have a Skin.”
He snorted. “Yeah, you.”
“No, I mean, someone who’s had theirs removed?”
“Only crazy Défecteurs remove their Skins. The rest of us need ours to live.”
Marcellus couldn’t help but laugh. “I take it you don’t like Défecteurs?
“What’s to like? They’re a bunch of lazy dropouts who think they’re better than the rest of us because they can live outside of the Regime and survive on love, kindness, singing songs, and eating wood chips.”
“I don’t think they eat wood chips.”
“Whatever,” Théo mumbled. “They’re crazy and unpredictable. I don’t like crazy and unpredictable.”
“Have you ever met a Défecteur?” Marcellus asked.
Théo crossed his arms over his chest. “No, and I hope I never do.”
Marcellus smirked, his brain welcoming the change of topic for a minute. “Then how do you know you don’t like them?”
“I don’t like them on principle.”
“So, you’re saying they still . . . exist?”
“Of course they exist.”
“But,” Marcellus began uneasily, “my grandfather rounded them up years ago.”
Théo scoffed. “Wow. You do have a lot to learn.”
Marcellus cocked his head. “What?”
The boy quickly dropped his gaze to the floor. “Nothing. Never mind.”
“Where do they exist? Where do these people live?”
The boy shook his head. “I don’t know. Like I said, I’ve never met one.”
Marcellus leaned his head back against the seat and tried to picture Alouette’s face in his mind. It was getting fainter and fainter with each passing hour. He wondered if he would ever see her again. “I met this girl,” he murmured. “In the Frets yesterday. I think she might be a Défecteur, but I don’t know. I just can’t get her out of my head.”
Marcellus expected the boy to reply to this—perhaps more bitter rantings about Défecteurs—but he was strangely quiet. “Has that ever happened to you?” Marcellus asked. “Have you ever met someone that you just couldn’t stop thinking about?”
“No,” Théo replied flatly.
“Really? Never?”
“Never.”
Marcellus sat up, suddenly struck with an idea. “Hey, maybe you know her.”
“I just told you, I don’t know any Défecteurs.”
“But I’m pretty sure she lives in the Frets. Alouette. Does that name sound familiar?”
“No,” the boy said again.
Marcellus rubbed his chin. “It’s so strange. I couldn’t find her in the Communiqué.”
“Why would she be in the Communiqué if she’s a Défecteur?”
Marcellus shrugged. “I don’t know, I just thought maybe—”
“Maybe she’s lying to you. Ever think of that?” There was something so cold and biting about the boy’s tone that Marcellus flinched.
“You think?”
“Probably.”
“Well, how do I find out? I mean, I still don’t even know where to find her or if I’ll ever see her again. But what if I do? What should I say to her?”
The boy stared blankly back at him. “How should I know?”
Marcellus bit his lip, frustrated. “Okay, well, will you just let me practice for a minute?”
“Excuse me?”
“On you.”
“On me?” the boy repeated, still clearly not getting what Marcellus was asking.
“Yeah, you be Alouette and I’ll be me.”
“No. No way.”
“C’mon,” Marcellus pleaded. “I need help. I don’t know how to talk to girls. They don’t . . . they all seem so scared of me. Or they just giggle and run away. I don’t know what to say to her. Just, you know, pretend to be a girl for a minute.”
“Pretend to be a girl?” Théo repeated.
“Yeah, just for a minute.”
The boy sighed, relenting. “Fine.”
Marcellus sat up, clearing his throat. “Okay. So, I guess I’ll just start.”
The boy raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
Marcellus cleared his throat again. “Um, hello, Alouette. How are you?”
“Fine,” Théo mumbled. “Whatever.”
“I haven’t seen you in a little while. Where have you been?”
“Oh, you know, around,” Théo replied stiffly.
Marcellus slouched. This was not working. “No, no, you’re not doing it right.”
Théo stared blankly back at him.
“You need to act more like a girl.”
“I don’t know how to act like a girl.”
Marcellus sighed. “Okay, so like if I grab your hand like this . . .” He reached out and took the boy’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb gently over Théo’s fi
ngers. Marcellus immediately noticed the boy’s cheeks turn pink beneath the layers of grime and dirt. “Yes!” he shouted, pointing at his face. “Just like that!”
The boy looked horrified and yanked his hand away. “I don’t want to do this.”
“But you were starting to get the hang of it.”
“I said I’m done,” Théo barked with such forcefulness, it plunged them back into silence for the rest of the ride to Vallonay.
When the cruiseur docked at the station inside the Frets and the doors hissed open, the boy jumped out, looking desperate to get away from Marcellus.
“Hey!” Marcellus called after him, standing in the doorway of the cruiseur.
The boy stopped and turned around, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat. “What?”
Marcellus searched for the right thing to say. They’d been on quite the journey together and he had no idea how to end it. He didn’t feel good about simply letting the boy walk away. He pulled out his TéléCom and tapped on the screen. “Here are the tokens I owe you. For your troubles today.”
Marcellus could swear he saw sadness pass over the boy’s face. But he couldn’t be certain in the darkness.
The boy glanced down at his Skin, which was now glowing from the transaction. “Thanks,” the boy muttered, and then started to walk off again.
“Wait!” Marcellus leapt from the door of the cruiseur and jogged to catch up to Théo. “Will you do me one more favor?”
The boy rolled his eyes. “What?”
“Will you see if you can find out anything about Alouette? Ask around, maybe find out where she lives. Anything?”
“Fine,” he said, and turned his back on Marcellus, once again looking anxious to get as far away from him as possible.
“I’ll see you around!” Marcellus called after him, but there was no reply. The boy was already gone, swallowed whole by the night.
- CHAPTER 36 -
ALOUETTE
IT WAS ALREADY WELL PAST her usual bedtime when Alouette finally closed Volume 7 of the Chronicles and carried the heavy, clothbound book back to the library shelf. As she slid it between Volumes 6 and 8, making sure the spines were all aligned, she let out a deep, anxious breath. She was really doing this. This was really happening.
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