A few feet away from the Minister of Justice, a smaller figure cowers within a box-like structure. A closeup of their face appears onstage. It’s Prunella Broadleaf, her face twisted with anguish, and her reddened hands clutching a metal collar around her neck.
“By the blessings of Gaia,” Prunella says through panting breaths. “I only meant what was best for Phangloria.”
The Minister of Justice leans forward and steeples her fingers. “Am I to believe ambition was not a factor in your decision to murder Rafaela van Eyck?”
“Never.” Prunella’s shoulders rise to her ears, and her eyes roll to the back of her head. Her spasming fingers scratch at her chest, and convulsions wrack her torso. “Aaah!”
“What is this?” I whisper.
“An interrogation collar that monitors heart rate, brainwaves, and body heat for signs of falsehood,” he whispers back.
My brows draw together. “How do you know there isn’t someone sitting in another room with a computer and making it shock her for saying something the ministers don’t like?”
“Do you think she’s innocent?” asks Prince Kevon.
“I don’t know.”
Prunella Broadleaf reveals that she wanted the Princess Trials to be the most sensational event of a generation. She hoped the Chamber of Ministers would reward her with a place in the Noble Echelon to replace the status she lost on the dissolution of her marriage.
Strangely, nobody asks if she was under orders from Montana, or asks if she collaborated with the Amstraad ambassador over Rafaela’s murder. From the way they speak, it’s as though the girl died from her fall.
The Minister of Justice shakes her head. “This is a very sorry tale indeed, Miss Broadleaf.”
Prunella opens her mouth, but she raises a finger. Either Prunella is terrified of the other woman or her finger operates the collar because Prunella stiffens, and her mouth clicks shut.
“Please only speak when invited to by the Council.” The Minister of Justice pauses. “You say the purpose of the interim round was to whittle forty-five girls to thirty. Is that correct?”
Prunella nods.
“How do you explain the chandelier that fell on Miss Pixel, the Harvester, and those unfortunate Industrial girls?”
“I wasn’t there—” Prunella’s shoulders rise, and her arms twist across her chest. She slumps forward and sobs.
“Miss Broadleaf, we don’t have all morning,” says the Minister. “I would encourage you to cooperate with the interrogation collar.”
Prunella lets out a gasping breath. “When the attack on Miss Calico’s room failed, the chandelier was set up to eliminate her from the trials.”
Prince Kevon squeezes my hand, and I lean forward. Prunella didn’t admit to setting up the chandelier accident. Why is the minister protecting her accomplices?
“Thank you, Miss Broadleaf. Please sit on the bench for further questioning.”
An assistant in a burgundy vest and matching pants scurries across the semicircular floor to open a hatch in Prunella’s box. She rises from her seat and leans heavily on the assistant, who escorts her to a bench on the stage’s left.
The Phangloria insignia appears on the screen for several seconds, followed by the Minister of Justice’s face. “We all got to witness the thrilling adventure-simulation our plucky candidates undertook at the palace ball. Let’s show our appreciation for Ambassador Pascal and his Amstraadi volunteers, Queen Damascena, and Lady Circi for the wonderful performance they put on for the Princess Trials.”
Cheers and applause fill the chamber. I huff out an exasperated breath and turn to Prince Kevon. “Did anyone actually die last night?”
Prince Kevon shakes his head. “The bullets shot last night were beeswax encased in spider silk that break the skin and tear through muscle, but they are not supposed to kill.”
A knot tightens in my belly. Ingrid’s gun had killed Firkin. No one could survive such a horrific neck wound. She implied that her gun was the one Prince Kevon left behind, but what if someone had placed a real gun under her seat?
As the applause fades, the Minister of Justice says, “Next, we will hear from a young woman who witnessed the off-camera events. Darby Abraham, please step forward.”
The Noble girl who sat across the aisle from me rises from the front tier. She wears the flowing dress that’s been our uniform during the interim rounds, but her long, blue-black hair is adorned with white roses.
An assistant leads her to the box, and she sits. “I thank Gaia for the opportunity to address the learned Chamber.”
“Can you tell us in your own words what happened when the bus reversed to retrieve Miss Calico?” asks the Minister of Justice.
As Darby tells a garbled version of the events of last night, Prince Kevon wraps an arm around my shoulder and warns me not to interrupt as the consequences for disrupting the Chamber of Ministers are dire. Nodding, I clench my teeth and listen to a pile of horse manure big enough to feed Dad’s micro gardens for a year.
According to the Noble girl, I ran off the vehicle in another tantrum. She and a few others chased after me and got attacked by a mutant with a blowgun. Ingrid fired on the Foundling in self-defense, who dropped dead from fright.
The Minister of Justice offers Darby a sage nod. “It was fortunate that help arrived before the Foundling’s poison could take effect.”
An assistant rushes to the minister’s side and hands the minister a tablet. Her perfect brows rise before she announces, “Zea-Mays Calico has entered the building.”
Applause breaks out, and I exchanged a confused glance with Prince Kevon.
Someone places a hand on my shoulder. Another assistant in burgundy leans into my side and whispers that I must give evidence.
Prince Kevon nods, I rise and follow him on shaky legs down the steps, past the guards at the bottom, and onto the stage, where the applause turns to wild cheers.
I watch my brow furrow on the big screen behind the ministers. What on earth did these people think I did yesterday?
Once I’ve settled in my seat, the assistant closes the box, and the Minister of Justice
