“Zea!” Forelle rushes forward and wraps me in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. Georgette just told me what happened with the queen.”
I’m still feeling unsteady from the choke-hold, and I tap Forelle’s arm for her to draw back. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m escorting you to the funeral.” She raises her hand and flashes a thin bracelet set with colorless crystals and blinking lights.
My mouth falls open. “Is that the latest Amstraadi technology?”
“Garrett proposed.” Forelle flashes me a grin. “He just returned from visiting my Mom and Dad to ask for permission.”
A boulder of dread rolls in my stomach. I’m happy for Forelle—Garrett is a great guy who will offer her a happy and less complicated life, but if asking the family is the tradition for Nobles, it means that Prince Kevon doesn’t have any plans to marry me soon.
“Congratulations.” I wrap my arms around Forelle and give her a hug. “When are you getting married?”
She draws back and raises a shoulder. “We’re waiting until after the funeral and coronation.”
I nod, noting that Forelle didn’t mention a royal wedding. My heart shrinks until there’s an empty cavity between my lungs, and I smile so hard that the muscles in my face tremble. Any decent young man would balk at a girl who kicked his mother, let alone a prince, and I haven’t forgotten the odd look he gave me when I freaked out about unbuttoning my jacket.
As my expression collapses, I turn to Georgette. “Is Master Thymel making the dress?”
The other girl smiles back and raves about her cousin’s selection of wedding gowns, which makes the pair dance around the walk-in wardrobe like we’ve just completed a massive harvest.
Ingrid’s words roll to the forefront of my mind like tumbleweed. Royal brides outside the Noble Echelon don’t live long enough to make the history books.
I push away those thoughts and turn to the garment bag. Ingrid just tossed me a handful of paranoia seeds with the spores of self-doubt. The next time I see her, she’ll water them and sit back while they sprout.
Georgette unzips the garment bag and reveals a full-length silver dress with the silhouette of a Harvester Uniform, only it’s made of one huge piece of silk with a white sash around the waist. Its long arms are as thin as spider webs and look like they would cover my wrists.
She explains that Master Thymel based it on the gowns worn by medieval queens and he wanted to reflect the virtue, generosity, and integrity of being a Harvester. As Georgette helps me into the outfit, Forelle brings her own garment bag and changes into a similar gown the color of the stars.
After a light supper of lobster soup, the guards walk Forelle and me through the hallways, down the stairs, and into an underground parking lot, to a fleet of white limousines. Our driver takes us out of the palace grounds and into the Oasis streets.
I lean forward in the back seat and peer out of the window. The streetlights are off, with the storefronts and full moon providing illumination. Nobles and the people who serve them stand on the streets, raising white flags. White ribbons stretch from the trees and lampposts and shimmer in the moonlight, presumably representing the king’s ascension to Gaia. It’s a beautiful display, but I can’t stop thinking about the Harvesters who got gassed.
Five years ago, we had to gather in Rugosa Square to watch Princess Briar get married. The guards provided Phangloria flags, and there were even extra rations of water and seasoned corn nuts. Would the guards wait a few days to announce the king’s death or force everyone from their homes to watch the funeral without enough water to wash the cepa gas from their eyes?
Forelle wraps her fingers around mine. “Are you nervous?”
“I never want to see another camera,” I say with a groan.
She hums her agreement. “Eden says they don’t allow reporters into Hesiod Hill.”
I lean back in the leather seat and exhale a relieved breath. Eden is Garrett’s sister, who has given her a warm welcome to the family. Now that I know a little more about the cousins’ upbringing, it makes sense that they’re not like other Nobles.
Our car travels through a boulevard that stretches across a lawned area and then slows to join a procession of white vehicles moving down a long road that leads to a hill. Vertical road markings reflect the moonlight and spotlights illuminate the silver bark of olive trees that line our path.
The wheels rumble beneath us, reminding me of the uncovered roads of Rugosa. I press my face against the window. Unlike the other parts of the Oasis, there are no buildings, no greenery, and no other plants, save for these olive trees. It seems strange that a temple would occupy such humble surroundings.
The building up ahead is a silver dome that shines even brighter than the palace. Moonlight catches its metallic roof, and the tall columns supporting the structure glow with an internal light.
“Is this where the princess got married?” I ask.
Forelle opens her hand, and light streams from her new bracelet. She taps a few commands onto the images on her palm, explaining that this new health monitor also contains NetFace.
“This is the original Temple of Gaia,” she says. “The Hierophant lives inside the hill.”
My brows draw together. “How do you know so much about this technology?”
“When I’m not spending time with you or Garrett, Eden shows me around the Oasis.”
Forelle wiggles her thumb, and more text appears on her hand. “The Hierophant and his devotees commit their lives to the service of Gaia. Their duties include presiding over royal weddings, funerals, and coronations. In modern times they reserve a life of peaceful existence within the olive groves that surround their home, but they once protected the temple from encroaching predators and wild men.”
By the time Forelle finishes reading the article, our vehicle reaches the top of the hill and stops at the temple’s steps. A tall devotee wearing a hooded, white robe opens the door, letting in the scent of burning resin.
As we step out into the night, we meet another man in white, who sweeps his arms toward the stone steps, where other guests wearing white ascend toward the entrance.
Forelle climbs the steps at my side. “We’re sitting together, no matter what.”
“Thanks for returning to the palace for me.” I bump her on the shoulder.
“You and I are going to have a long, happy life as cousins-in-law.” Forelle loops her arm through mine.
The muscles in my face twitch, and I rub the high collar of my dress. “He hasn’t proposed.”
“That’s because he’s waiting for the right moment.”
I want to ask if Garrett told her this, but we reach the top of the stairs, where another devotee in the same white robes as before bows. He holds up a piece of parchment that welcomes us to the funeral of King Arias II and asks us to give our names to the usher, who will guide us to an assigned seat.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He inclines his head, and we walk through the pillars into a candle-lit interior of carved, stone walls and vaulted ceilings. Our footsteps echo on the hallway hard floors, adding to the voices of the group of girls standing at the side of tall, wooden doors.
Ingrid stands aside from them and glares into Constance’s eyes. An elderly devotee whose white hood has fallen down holds them apart, as though he’s just separated them from fighting.
“The other Noble girls attacked Ingrid on the coach,” I whisper to Forelle.
“We saw it on Netface,” she whispers back. “None of those awful girls are fit to rule anything except a lizard fight.”
I press my lips together and hold back a laugh. It’s so unlike Forelle to speak badly of anyone. We reach the end of the line, which mostly consists of girls I recognize from the Princess Trials. All six of the Nobles stand at the front, along with the Guardians and Artisans who got eliminated at the Chamber of Ministers. There are also a few girls I don’t recognize, whose blue-black hair indicates that they are Nobles.
“Has any
one claimed responsibility for all that leaked footage?” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “Nobody believes the official statement that it came from Prunella Broadleaf.”
A huff of disbelief escapes my nostrils. I’m about to tell her my Amstraad Republic theory, when a group of Nobles in identical white robes stride past. The Minister of Justice walks among them and glowers at me from the corner of her eye. Montana strides behind her but stares straight ahead.
The devotee at the double doors lets the Ministers inside a moon-lit chamber. Forelle gasps at its interior, but I’m too busy watching a short-haired Minister pull Ingrid aside.
He’s about five-ten, with a hooked nose a little too large for his pinched features, and thick brows twisted in a similar scowl to Ingrid’s. He wraps a hand around her bicep and hisses at her through bared teeth.
“That’s the Minister of Integration,” whispers Forelle.
My brows furrow. If she’s right, then that’s Ingrid’s father. “How do you know?”
“He’s the one Prince Kevon argued with the most when he approached the Chamber of Ministers to stop that dangerous trial.”
I would ask which one she means, as most of the challenges were perilous, but I’m sure she’s talking about the one in the Gloria National Park.
Minister Strab jerks Ingrid’s arm and says something that makes her face crumple. I bite down on my lip. At least I know where she learned to be so nasty.
“He looks like a bully,” Forelle whispers.
I cup my hand around her ear. “His daughter hunts Foundlings who stray from their camps.”
She rears back, her face slack.
I nod. “Ingrid boasted about it before trying to shoot me.”
The Minister of Integration releases Ingrid’s arm with a force that knocks her into a Noble girl, who shoves her aside. Her father straightens his robes as though he didn’t just hurt and humiliate his daughter in front of her peers, then strides through the double doors.
A few other people walk past, including the Amstraad Ambassador and Princess Briar, both clad in silver. Following them are a quartet of soldiers in white dress uniform, including Mouse, who turns to me and winks. I smile back in silent thanks for helping me through the truth serum.
Just as the devotee at the door opens it to let us into the temple, Ingrid walks in the opposite direction with her lips pressed into a tight line.
“Where’s she going?” whispers Forelle.
I shake my head. “Let’s forget about her and go inside.”
The temple’s interior is circular, about twice the size of my suite, and seats about three-hundred. Around its edges are more pillars than a ballroom, and the entire space is lit by the moon. At the far end, a set of stone steps leads to a marble elevation carved with statues of Gaia, Uranus, and the other gods and goddesses the Nobles revere.
“Is that an altar or a mausoleum?” I whisper to Forelle
She shakes her head but doesn’t make a move to look it up on NetFace.
As the devotees guide the girls in front to the seats at the back, it soon becomes our turn to find our places. Forelle and I introduce ourselves, then an elderly man in white robes steps forward and guides us around the back of the pillars through a darkened walkway.
My heartbeat echoes through my ears, and I grab Forelle’s hand. Our usher walks past where his colleague seats the other girls, past the Chamber of Ministers who sit in the rows closest to the front, and stops at the first row to the three empty seats next to Garrett.
I gulp and peer at the people sitting next to him, a Noble girl about his age, Lady Circi, a Noble who looks like an older version of Garrett, and Queen Damascena. On the queen’s other side is an empty space I guess is for Prince Kevon, then Princess Briar sits with Ambassador Pascale.
Garrett stands and motions for us to sit beside him. I want to ask if he’s sure that we’re allowed at the front, but Forelle lowers herself into the seat.
He leans forward and meets my eyes with a frown. “Zea, I heard about what happened. Are you alright?”
I’m too nervous to do anything but nod. Garrett’s gaze flicks somewhere over my shoulder, and I turn around to see who will occupy the seat next to mine.
Two figures stand in the gap between the nearest column. An usher, and Prince Kevon, who wears a white naval jacket with silver buttons and trim that contrast with his dark skin and hair. My breath catches as he walks toward me, but when he lowers himself in the seat next to mine, the tight bands of tension around my chest loosen.
I clutch his hand and resist the urge to kiss him.
“Thank you for coming.” His eyes soften, and a wistful smile curls his lips that melts away all my doubts. “It means so much to me, considering everything my mother has done to sabotage us.”
I want to tell him that I would stay at his side forever, when a chorus of male voices echoes through the chamber. The sounds are so deep and resonant that my bones vibrate. I glance around to find figures in white standing in the spaces between the pillars.
Prince Kevon explains that the Devotees of Gaia are also direct descendants of Gabriel Phan, the man who founded Phangloria. He gestures at an older man at the top of the stairs wearing a silver robe that shimmers in the moonlight and says he is the Hierophant, who will preside over the funeral.
When the voices fade into whispered echoes, the Hierophant tells us not to weep for King Arias because Gaia will welcome him into her celestial garden and reward him for restoring the earth.
A lump forms in the back of my throat. Even though I don’t believe in an earth goddess, these words are more comforting than the urn of ashes bereaved Harvesters receive on their doorsteps.
Next, the Hierophant invites those in the front row to climb the steps and pay their last respects to the king. He walks through what appears to be a passageway that extends to the left beyond the stone stairs, and everybody, including Forelle, rises.
Prince Kevon takes my hand. “I want my father to meet you.”
My insides twist into knots. Garrett brought Forelle to the front row because he’s going to marry her. There’s no doubt how everyone in the temple will interpret my presence.
“Alright.” I rise to my feet, and whispers spread across the seats behind us.
Queen Damascena pauses at the foot of the stairs and stares straight into my eyes with a gaze that burns with determination. She nods as though to say I might have won her son today, but she will never allow me to become the queen.
Clenching my jaw, I match her stare with equal heat. Once the Hierophant lays King Arias to rest, the power she holds over Phangloria will wane.
Prince Kevon’s hand slides down my back. “Are you alright?”
I turn to him with a tiny smile. “Let’s meet your father.”
The queen ascends the stairs and glances at something with pitiless eyes before turning to the Hierophant. Whatever he says to her makes her lips tighten, and she walks past him and down another set of back stairs. Next is Lady Circi, who says a few words to King Arias before speaking to the Hierophant, and after that is the man I assume is Garrett’s father, who steps up with the Noble girl.
“Doesn’t Garrett have a mother?” I whisper.
Prince Kevon’s features still. “It’s complicated.”
I nod as we ascend the steps. It’s common for women to die in childbirth, although I thought medical technology would help Noble women to survive. My chest tightens as I think about Vitelotte and her family. I’ve also been so busy with recent events that I haven’t even asked anyone what happened to the Wintergreens.
Garrett and Forelle speak to King Arias next. His arm is firmly around her waist, and Forelle’s eyes unfocus as though she’s about to faint. She bobs into a curtsey, and Garrett steers her toward the Hierophant.
My pulse pounds a rapid beat in my ears, and the sensation of crawling centipedes seizes my stomach. This is worse than standing between two gliders above an unfathomable drop. I glance over my sh
oulder at hundreds of people whose gazes fix on my back.
At any moment, one of the spectators could aim a weapon at me and shoot. I’ve amassed more enemies than I can count, and those who might have once supported me now think I’ve convinced Prince Kevon to imprison families for the merest infraction.
Clenching my stomach muscles, I inhale the chamber’s resin-scented air and try not to think that they’re using it to mask the smell of a corpse. Garrett and Forelle finish with the Hierophant, and it’s our turn.
I lace my fingers with Prince Kevon’s and force myself to stand strong at his side as an equal, someone who will support him through the difficult times ahead, and not a weak farm girl who constantly needs rescuing.
“Are you ready?” I murmur.
He turns to me with a tight smile and nods.
“Let’s go.” I take the next step up the stairs.
At the top, we turn left and continue down a short walkway toward the Hierophant, a short man in his sixties, who smiles at us with compassionate eyes. He might have descended from Gabriel Phan, but the deep lines around his eyes remind me of old, retired Harvester men.
The Hierophant steps aside, giving us space to approach the body, which lies in an alcove.
King Arias looks nothing like the dying man I saw in the hidden room. Whoever prepared him has removed the dark capillaries, evened out his sunken cheeks, and added back the beard. White disks, painted to look like the moon, lie on his eyes. I know nothing about juvenation surgery or embalming, but he now looks exactly like the man I saw on OasisVision the day I signed up for the Princess Trials.
I glance at Prince Kevon, wanting to ask if this is his father, but the unshed tears in his eyes tells me he recognizes this person as the king.
“Father,” he says. “I followed your advice and found a girl I love and who cares more for our people than she does for herself. Her name is Zea-Mays Calico, from Rugosa.”
My throat dries, and I bend my legs into an awkward curtsey. “Your Majesty, I wish we met under different circumstances.”
Prince Kevon swallows, and I squeeze his hand to offer my support. “Farewell, Father. I hope you find peace with Gaia.”
The Princess Games: A young adult dystopian romance (The Princess Trials Book 2) Page 26