Chatine glanced over at her sister’s arm and caught a glimpse at the familiar face of one of the Second Estate’s most famous members: the grandson of the powerful General Bonnefaçon, and an officer. The Ministère loved broadcasting Marcellus’s pretty face on the Skins whenever they got the chance. They’d been doing it ever since he came of age, turning him into a regular Laterre celebrity. He was almost as famous as the Patriarche and Matrone themselves.
In the clip, Marcellus was sporting that ridiculous shiny dark hair, flawless Second Estate skin, and gleaming smile.
Fric, Chatine thought. Does the boy clean his teeth with soap? Who has teeth that white?
Azelle jabbed at the screen, maxing out the volume of the implanted audio chip in her ear. “Oh,” she sighed at whatever Officer Bonnefaçon was saying in the clip. “He’s so charming!”
Chatine knew that all the girls in the Frets had a hopeless crush on Marcellus, including her sister. Another unobtainable thing for them to dream about. But Chatine honestly couldn’t understand why. He was one of the highest-ranking members of the Second Estate, which automatically meant he was stuck-up, pretentious, and despicable.
“Did you know General Bonnefaçon is grooming Marcellus to be the next commandeur of the Ministère?” Azelle asked wistfully. “That’s what everyone in the Frets is saying. They think that’s why he’s been seen around the Marsh lately. He’s been training with Inspecteur Limier.”
Chatine shuddered at the memory of her earlier encounter with the creepy cyborg inspecteur.
“He’ll probably be there today for the Ascension. Are you going back to the Marsh? Maybe you’ll bump into him!” Azelle said with sudden excitement. “Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
“Yes,” Chatine replied. And she meant it. Marcellus Bonnefaçon was extremely wealthy. The thought of the things she could cop off that boy if she ever got the chance to bump into him made her head spin.
But she would not be returning to the Marsh today. Not if she could help it. With the Ascension happening, that place would be a mess and she wanted to stay as far away as possible. Even Azelle was smart enough to watch the ceremony from home.
Her sister sat up in bed, leaning her back against the wall and tucking her legs in while she kept her gaze trained on her Skin. “Oh Sols, please pick me this time. Please pick me.”
Chatine watched her with a mixture of pity and annoyance. If Azelle spent half as much time and energy conning as she did collecting points for the Ascension, their family would probably be rich by now.
Chatine checked the messy knot of hair at the back of her head, making sure it was properly hidden behind her hood. It wouldn’t be much longer now until she could sell it all to Madame Seezau. The croc paid well, and it was a nice side income for Chatine. She just hated this in-between phase, when her hair was long enough to give her away as a girl, but not yet long enough to get the full two hundred largs.
Azelle sighed dramatically, cupping her chin in her hand as she watched more pre-Ascension footage on her Skin. “I mean, how fantastique would it be to live inside Ledôme? Where the Sols shine four hundred and eight days a year.”
“Fake Sols,” Chatine corrected.
But it was as though Azelle hadn’t even heard her. “There’s never any rain. And you get to live right next to the Grand Palais. I bet you’d even get to see the Patriarche and Matrone every once in a while. I like this one so much better than the last Patriarche. He was so serious and boring all the time. This one looks like he’d actually be fun to hang out with. And his Premier Enfant is so cute! Did you see the special they ran on her yesterday? She’s turning three next week and is finally speaking full sentences. She still can’t pronounce ‘Third Estate,’ though. She calls it the ‘Terd Estate.’ Isn’t that beyond adorable? I think she looks like the Matrone, but Noemie was saying yesterday that . . .”
Chatine rolled her eyes and left the room without bothering to hear the rest of the story. She knew it would probably be minutes before Azelle even realized she was gone.
Her parents were still arguing over the Ministère buttons on the table when Chatine re-emerged into the living room of the couchette. Her mother glanced up long enough to shoot Chatine a nasty glare and toss her the leveler.
“I’ll be checking it as soon as you get back,” her mother sneered. “So don’t even think of trying to steal from me.”
Chatine grimaced down at the device in her hands and felt a chill at the task that lay ahead of her. She told herself she’d just do it quickly. If she skipped it, her parents might grow suspicious and interfere with her plans. She’d just have to get it over with. Get in the morgue and get out. Then she could move on to her more pressing errand of the day: a visit to the Capitaine. She couldn’t wait to show him what she’d snagged in the Marsh today.
Chatine murmured something that resembled a good-bye, shuffled out of the couchette, and headed down the No Way Out hallway of Fret 7.
As soon as she was outside and alone, she patted her chest again, feeling the weight of the gold medallion hanging from her neck. Her heart raced at the thought of what it meant. What it represented.
It was her one-way ticket off this miserable planet.
It was literally her salvation.
Azelle was more than welcome to sit around all day waiting for the greedy pomps in the Second Estate to help her. But Chatine was much more inclined to help herself.
- CHAPTER 3 -
MARCELLUS
“YOUR FATHER IS DEAD.”
Marcellus Bonnefaçon heard his grandfather’s words but could not seem to process them.
Dead?
Father?
It had been years since Julien Bonnefaçon had even been mentioned inside these walls. And now the sentence came so coolly from his grandfather’s lips, it was as if the death of Marcellus’s father was just some minor detail, barely worth mentioning.
Although Marcellus knew, after what his father had done, it probably wasn’t worth mentioning.
Marcellus kept his gaze straight ahead. His grandfather’s words might have turned his blood to ice, just for a second, but he knew better than to stop walking. He knew better than to react.
Instead, he made sure to keep his stride in sync with his grandfather’s. Orderly and methodical. Just as he’d been taught since childhood. They walked in silence down the long corridor of the Grand Palais’s south wing. Chandeliers with thousands of handcrafted crystals dangled above them, and the polished marble floor beneath their feet winked and flashed in the morning Sol-light.
There were so many questions fighting for space in Marcellus’s mind, but he shoved them back one by one. This was all part of his training. He knew that. Command your emotions. Stabilize your breath. Keep your mind clear at all times. If there were more details about his father’s death worth giving, his grandfather would give them. But, as they entered the banquet hall, Marcellus couldn’t help but steal a quick glimpse at his grandfather. Firmness lined his features, nothing to hint that the man’s only son had died. Marcellus honestly wasn’t sure why he’d expected otherwise. In the seventeen years that he had lived with his grandfather, he’d rarely ever seen a trace of grief on the man’s face.