Prickly shame rises to my cheeks, and anger flushes through my veins. I grind my teeth and snarl, “That still doesn’t explain this awful outfit.”
Ignoring me, Lady Circi places a hand on the small of my back and ushers me out of the building’s double doors. It’s still dark with no sign of sunrise, and only four jeeps are present in an asphalt forecourt that could accommodate hundreds.
A black car waits at the bottom of the steps, its headlights illuminating the space. The driver, a pale-skinned woman wearing a similar black outfit to Lady Circi, opens the door.
She motions for me to get inside. With no means of escape, in a hideously revealing dress, and under the threat of something terrible happening to Vitelotte, I have little option but to obey. I slide into an interior that smells of polish and settle into the leather seat.
Lady Circi enters and hands me a computer tablet. “You’re giving a speech. Her Majesty has ordered marksmen to shoot Miss Solar if you don’t read exactly what you see.”
“What?”
She turns to me, her green eyes as hard as malachite. “Do as you’re told, read what’s on the tablet, and you’ll get to rejoin the Princess Trials. Mess this up, and your regicidal little friend gets shot along with whoever stands with her.”
My throat convulses, and I tap the screen of the tablet.
The speech doesn’t seem too atrocious. It’s mostly innuendo about how I convinced Prince Kevon to increase the water rations, along with a warning against attempting to murder the royal family.
“Prince Kevon believes in making Phangloria a better place for all,” I say. “That includes making sure everyone has enough water for drinking and growing food.”
Lady Circi snorts. “What is it about men and naive farm girls?”
Irritation tightens my skin, and a barrage of retorts gather on the tip of my tongue. If she wasn’t the lady-at-arms, wasn’t carrying a gun, and wasn’t in the position to beat me to within an inch of my life, I would tell her exactly what I thought of her cynical view of life.
I clutch the tablet so hard that my knuckles turn white. “Maybe Kevon wants to rule Phangloria with compassion instead of cruelty. Maybe he wants to fall in love instead of making an arrangement. Maybe—”
“Do be quiet,” Lady Circi snaps.
My mouth clicks shut, and we speed through the lamplit highways in silence. Lady Circi reaches into a pocket behind the front passenger seat and pulls out another computer tablet. I let my gaze wander around the vehicle. It’s similar to the car Prince Kevon drives, except there are four seats instead of just two. The driver must be important because she wears the same Amstraadi monitor in her ear as Lady Circi.
I turn to the window and watch the cornfields rush past. The moon illuminates the tassels swaying in the breeze, and my heart aches for home. As the car turns down the road that leads into Rugosa, I twist around to Lady Circi and pluck up the courage to interrupt her reading.
“What’s happening to my family?” I murmur.
“Nothing apart from the inconvenience of guards around their home,” she mutters without glancing up. “Your father, on the other hand…”
My breath catches. “What?”
The car stops at one of the streets that leads to Rugosa Square, and Lady Circi steps out. I scramble out after her with a question on my lips, but the sight of the square steals my breath.
All the floodlights are on at full force, lighting up the giant geodesic dome and the paved expanse that make up the square. Along three sides of the space are more black trucks than I can count, as well as a marquee similar to the one used in the first round of the Princess Trials. It’s also the same structure the guards use whenever performing mass raids.
An invisible rope wraps around my neck and tightens into a noose.
Lady Circi walks ahead of me with rapid strides.
I wrap my forearm around my chest and jog after the woman. “What were you going to say about my dad?”
“He’s another one who doesn’t know his place.” She turns to me with a raised brow, and her lips tighten with what might be a suppressed smile. “He’s wearing the guards’ patience with his endless questions, but they won’t harm your family unless you displease Her Majesty.”
Blood drains from my face, and my feet freeze into place.
Sirens blare across the square and over the streets beyond. I glance at the dark sky and back at Lady Circi. It isn’t even four o’clock and people are still sleeping. What on earth is happening?
Lady Circi continues toward the dome without looking back. She knows I won’t run away when the guards outside my home are itching to hurt Dad or when not saying the words on the tablet exactly as Queen Damascena demands will result in Vitelotte’s death.
I follow her across the square, past guards in black saluting by their vehicles, and we step into the Rugosa Dome. Two people stand on the stage across the wide, empty expanse. Mayor Shoepeg, a stout, little man with a bald head and Carolina Wintergreen who stands as tall and as unsteadily as a cornstalk.
Ropes of resentment tighten around my chest until I can barely breathe. Despite Vitelotte’s confession, I still think it was Carolina’s idea to murder Prince Kevon.
The mayor rushes down the side of the stage and across the dome’s expanse. “Zea-Mays, thank you for taking a break from the Princess Trials to introduce the new water rationing.” His gaze lines on the exposed skin that stretches down to my waist. “I appreciate the efforts you made to influence Prince Kevon.”
Heat flares across my cheeks and travels to my ears and down my chest. My gaze darts to Carolina, whose glare is sharp enough to cut me in half.
“Welcome back, Zea-Mays.” She offers me a cold smile. “I trust that you are progressing within the Trials.”
Lady Circi waves them away. “Miss Calico needs to practice her speech.”
The two Harvesters return to the stage, just as the first sleepy people shuffle into the dome. I dip my head and follow Lady Circi up the stage steps and to leather seats occupied by high-ranking guards in black armor.
I cast the senior Harvesters a wistful glance. That’s where I belong, not with these Guardians.
Over the next twenty minutes, the dome fills with bleary-eyed Harvesters. It’s about four-thirty, at least an hour before most people awaken, and everybody looks confused at the early roll-call.
As thousands of people fill the dome, the screen behind us broadcasts the floodlit square now crammed full of Harvesters. The pulse between my ears muffles the blare of the Phangloria national anthem, and I place my damp palms on my lap to soak up the excess moisture.
The mayor introduces me, and the crowd roars with applause. I gulp, not knowing what on earth Montana has shown them on OasisVision. I’m shaking so hard that Lady Circi helps me up and walks me to a wooden lectern. If she wasn’t part of the duo holding the lives of my family hostage, I would have described her gentle support as an act of kindness.
I keep my gaze fixed to the screen that projects from the dome’s ceiling and away from the faces a mere ten feet away and read the first lines of the speech. It contains a light-hearted greeting, an apology for the early start, and assurances that they will make up for lost time on the fields with a shortened lunch break and an hour added to their workday.
A stony silence spreads across the dome, and a shudder runs across my stomach. Of course, they’re not going to cheer at the prospect of longer hours. Whoever created this speech made it sound like the directive is coming straight from me.
When I tell them that each Harvester will receive double their usual water rations, the air fills with gasps, but the sound does nothing to quell my anxiety. I glance down at the screen, where words appear that weren’t in the version of the speech Lady Circi showed me before.
“In exchange for this generous boon, we require more. More hours, more output, and more reporting of those who contravene our laws.”
My throat dries. This isn’t what Prince Kevon wanted. That wa
ter was freely given without requirements. I want to shout this out to the masses, but the lives of Vitelotte and my family are dependent on delivering this exact speech.
I glance down at the tablet and read the next words. “Phangloria accepted your ancestors through the Great Wall on the condition that they contributed to our society. They readily agreed to our stipulations in exchange for sustenance and shelter. Most Harvesters have performed their duties, and we have punished the exceptions.”
Every cord in my voice box quavers. Queen Damascena is making me sound like I aspire to become a Noble. New words pop up on the screen.
“A Harvester who was welcomed to the Princess Trials planned a heinous attack on the royal family.”
Whispers spread through the crowds, indicating that news of Prince Kevon’s stabbing didn’t reach OasisVision.
“Bring forward Vitelotte Solar,” I rasp into the microphone.
Marching feet sound on my left, where a cordon of guards create a walkway from the stage to a side door. Huge guards walk toward us, dragging Vitelotte to the stage. She’s barefoot, covered in ashes, and wearing a sack with holes for her neck and arms. A silver collar stretches from her chin to her collarbones, and bruises mar her face.
I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a cry.
They release her arms and step back, letting her fall onto her hands and knees.
Closeups of Vitelotte fill the screen, making people in the crowd cry out. They’re the same sounds of anguish that rang through my ears each time I received a whipping for attacking a guard.
Despair turns my insides to chalk, and my heart crumbles into dust. They’ve twisted Prince Kevon’s mercy into prolonged torture. The computer tablet’s screen flashes, indicating for me to continue reading—or else.
I clear my throat. “This young woman nearly condemned her entire town when she committed a heinous act of violence against Prince Kevon. Such an act would have gotten the entirety of Rugosa sent out to the desert from whence you came.”
Shouts fill the air. There are so many voices, I can’t tell if they're in support for Vitelotte or for her condemnation. My chest tightens, and my breath quickens until only the barest amount of air grazes the tops of my lungs. I want to stop reading, but new words appear on the screen.
“I pleaded for the traitor’s life and explained to his Highness that Harvesters have forgotten the promises of their ancestors.”
My mind stutters with a new thought. What if those who came to Phangloria seeking refuge did so after having seen the broadcasted images of the Oasis? Why do the border guards tell Foundlings to leave their possessions behind? Tizona implied that genetically perfect Foundling children went to the Oasis to become servants. What if she was right?
Thoughts spin through my head, and I have to hold onto the lectern for balance. Foundlings come here under false pretenses. The lucky ones get to grow food for the Nobles, and those whose offspring reach a certain level of perfection lose their children—also to the Nobles.
Spots fill my vision, and clouds fill my head. My fingers curl around the lantern, and I force every ounce of my concentration into not joining Vitelotte on the floor.
A slender hand wraps around my arm. I don’t need to glance over my shoulder to know it belongs to Lady Circi. “Keep reading.”
“Bring the Solar family,” I murmur into the microphone.
The guards drag a dark-haired man about the same age as Dad, an old lady with wrinkled skin and gray hair, and a young man clutching two infants to his chest. The children don’t even look like they’ve reached their first year.
“Vitelotte Solar.” My voice cracks. “For the crime of attempted regicide, I banish you and your family into the Barrens, where you will all serve out life sentences for three generations.”
She raises her head, her face twisting with anguish.
The old lady collapses onto the stage, and the guards leave her where she lies. Vitelotte crawls to her grandmother and cries for her to wake, but she won’t move.
Rumbling shouts reach us from beyond the dome, and the distant sound of machine-gun fire fills the air. The crowd surges forward, and a sea of angry faces snarl my name. This is just like Montana’s daily quota reports, where he pits Harvester against Harvester by making us compete for the prize of extra rations. Except nobody can see that I’m not the person banishing the Solar family.
I want to scream my innocence, but Lady Circi’s warning rings through my ears. If I say anything other than the words written on this tablet, the guards will shoot Vitelotte and whoever stands with her.
They’ll kill the grandmother, if she isn’t already dead. They’ll kill Mr. Solar and Vitelotte’s older brother. And they’ll kill the babies in his arms. I’ve got to keep reading because they’ll also kill Dad.
“While we watch the repercussions of one selfish young Harvester on her father, grandmother and siblings, consider your actions. Those of you who spurn our hospitality and flout our laws will no longer face punishment as individuals, but as entire families.”
I gulp at the next sentences that appear on the screen. “Hours ago, the following Harvesters condemned their entire households to the Barrens. Cole Taylor for the crime of brewing alcohol, William Packham for the crime of gambling, and…” My breath catches. “Ryce Wintergreen for conspiracy to commit regicide.”
Carolina shoots out of her seat. A guard drags her across the stage and throws her face-down onto its floor. She falls beside Vitelotte and the old lady.
Roars of anguish spread across the crowd. Harvesters surge forward, their faces twisted with rage. The guards spray bullets into the air, but people continue onward.
Nausea swirls through my insides, and the muscles of my stomach spasm. It doesn’t matter how many guards they post in Rugosa. There are enough weapons underground to arm every Red Runner, and I’m guessing there are plenty of us in the crowd.
Queen Damascena has just made a fatal mistake.
Chapter 16
My leg muscles tremble so much that I clutch the edges of the lectern to keep from falling. The crowd roars loud enough to make my ears ring, their volume punctuated by gunshots.
Tears sting my eyes, and I can’t stop blinking. My sinuses tingle with a familiar but unpleasant sensation. Feet below us, wisps of white smoke seep through gaps between the people, who stop surging. I inhale a sharp breath and fill my nostrils with the scent of onions. This has to be cepa gas that Prunella Broadleaf streamed into the room I shared with Gemini and Berta.
“Zea-Mays.” Carolina raises her head and meets my eyes, her face twisted with anguish. “Don’t let them—”
One of the guards kicks her in the back of her head, and she drops face-first onto the stage. Shock hits me in the gut. I rear back and clutch at my face. I can’t defy Queen Damascena by helping them. Vitelotte crawls over to Carolina’s fallen body. The guard aims an electroshocker at her, but she catches his foot, and drags him to the ground.
Her father stomps on the fallen guard’s ribcage, making him scream. Another guard rushes at him with a raised fist. Mr. Solar charges at his attacker and knocks him into the crowd.
With a triumphant cheer, they swallow him up in a rain of kicks, and the crowd bellows for blood.
Spasms squeeze my heart, and I can barely focus on the words flashing across the screen. A guard on my left shoots at the Harvesters storming up the stage’s steps, and I swallow back a cry. No matter what, I must complete this speech.
Before I can read the words on the screen, a guard grabs my wrist and flips me over his shoulder.
My stomach lurches, and a scream tears from my lips. He sprints across the stage like a maniac, securing my leg to his chest with a muscular arm. With the last of my strength, I thrash my legs, pull on his gas mask, and pound my fists against his armor, but he only tightens his grip. Cold sweat breaks out across my skin. If I don’t get back on that stage, it will mean death for Vitelotte, Carolina, her father, her brother, and those babies.
> Hisses sound from beneath us, and I turn back to the crowd. The wisps of white smoke become opaque clouds that engulfs the mass of rioters, who stop shouting to cough and choke. Smoke fills my mouth and burns the back of my throat. Tears blur my eyes, and I can’t even rub away the sting. Even if I wriggled free, there’s no way I could stand onstage, let alone see the monitor.
My abductor leaps down the stairs, and dashes through the cordon of guards into a side-door. It slams shut, muffling the crowd. My eyes don’t hurt as much as they did last time, but they won’t stop streaming. I’ve failed, but maybe this smokescreen will give some of the captives onstage a chance to escape.
The guard rushes through a maze of hallways. We pass the medical center, where we get our annual vaccines, and the mayor’s office, where Carolina once worked. At the end of the walkway, he presses his palm on a wall panel. Another door opens, letting out a gust of warm air. As soon as he steps inside, the guard loosens his grip.
“Let go!” I raise a fist and punch him hard in the chest.
He pulls off his gas mask and groans. “Zea.”
My muscles stiffen. “Kevon?”
“Please, stop fighting me.”
We’re moving through one of the pockets at the back of the dome that contains folded-up tables for rations day, cardboard boxes containing canned food, and crates of vodka. A hum fills the air, and I turn to find the curved wall lined with a row of solar generators. Prince Kevon heads toward the back door, showing no sign of setting me to my feet.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Saving you from becoming the most hated girl in the Harvester Region,” he replies, still carrying me through the cramped space. “I woke up in the middle of the night to find that someone leaked this footage onto Netface, and I got to Rugosa as quickly as I could.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The ministers must have released that awful speech for those who mistrust the Lifestyle Channel. This is their retaliation to whoever’s showing the truth on NetFace. Those wretched Nobles are desperate to discredit me.
The Princess Games: A young adult dystopian romance (The Princess Trials Book 2) Page 22