My insides cringe. At this rate, she’s going to alert the guards.
“Stop it,” I say.
She rushes at me with her teeth bared. “Is that what you want? Do you think it's fair that Harvester girls get violated for the benefit of one spoiled little prince?”
If this was the secure environment of a Red Runner cell, I would rant alongside her, but it’s not. “Someone’s going to hear you.”
The girl straightens. “Maybe they should. Maybe all those people standing in squares thinking that the Princess Trials are the biggest opportunity in a generation should know what the Nobles do behind closed doors to innocent girls.”
Forelle whimpers and huddles to my side.
“This is subversion,” I hiss.
The door opens, and a guard steps in with his bleached blond companion. It's the one from earlier, who grabbed my arm, only this time, his eyes aren’t smiling.
“Out,” he says to the girl. “You’ve disqualified yourself from the trials.”
She bares her teeth and snarls, “Not before I’ve had my say.”
My heart flips, and every instinct screams at me to jump up and stand between this Harvester girl and the pair. But that would ruin my mission and help no-one. Instead, I clench my fists and glower.
“Do you know what they did in there?” she screeches.
The guard scowls. “A routine fertility test? Do you know how many women in the other Echelons struggling to conceive would kill for such an advanced medical procedure?”
My skin crawls, and I feel like a sickly tomato sapling covered in aphids. I shake my head from side to side and scratch at the sides of my face. Was this a lie or the might of Amstraad technology?
The dark-haired guard grabs her arms and marches her out of the room. Forelle wraps her hand around mine, and I squeeze back. They won’t kill her. Not for words, but the events of the afternoon rush to the front of my mind.
I lurch forward, and Forelle pulls me back.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
“I’ve got to check—”
“You’ll get yourself arrested and disqualified from the trials.”
The back of my eyes sting, and my chest tightens. Mother’s voice rings in my ears, telling me that I can’t protect everyone, and Carolina’s voice tells me to focus on the mission.
The rest of us sit in silence, no one daring to speculate on that girl’s fate. At best, they will tie her to the whipping post for a public lashing. I don’t want to think about the worst.
The scars on my back throb with remembered pain, and I suck deep lungfuls of air to keep calm. I’m doing this for girls like her, girls like my former self, who witnessed too much at a young age, and the two-hundred-thousand-plus Harvesters surviving on the brink of dehydration.
“Sixteen girls,” drawls a voice. “This was more than expected.”
I glance up to find a pale woman in a cerise catsuit flanked by two women in white. Each stare down at us with cold smiles. Behind them stands two Harvester women: the mayor’s wife and Carolina Wintergreen, his assistant.
“There are four places for Rugosa on the coach and thirteen girls whose beauty and health qualify them for the Princess Trials.” The catsuited woman’s smile turns down around the edges. “One of you has already eliminated herself and will await an appropriate reprimand.”
My throat thickens, and it takes an effort to continue breathing. Carolina’s face hardens into a blank mask, and I guess she’s also frustrated at not being able to run to the girl’s rescue.
The woman continues. “We have evaluated your applications. Those of you whose names I don’t call out will be eligible for servitude at the Oasis, should you desire to move up in our society.”
I tear my gaze from Carolina and wait for the woman in cerise to stop drawing out the suspense.
“The following girls will leave through the doors at the end and enter the coach. Forelle Pyrus.”
My friend squeaks and raises her hand.
“Vitelotte Solar.”
The stout girl with the purple curls nods.
“Emmera and Polenta Hull.”
Two of the three blonde sisters wrap their arms around each other and squeal.
Every ounce of hope escapes through my nostrils, and I deflate like an empty bladder. I failed.
“Why?” The rejected twin shoots up, leaving her sisters staring at each other. “I’m identical to Lina, why didn’t you call out my name, too?”
The woman glances down at her tablet. “I see,” she says, not sounding like she understands why she chose one twin and not the other. “Let me consult my notes.”
“Mistress Broadleaf.” Carolina speaks to the woman with uncharacteristic deference. “The Hull sisters are beautiful, but are you sure about admitting twins? A queen with an identical counterpart might be disruptive to the peace of our nation.”
The woman taps her bottom lip and stares into the screen, not seeming to have heard Carolina’s words.
One of the women in white pipes up. “Prunella, I have an idea. Why don’t we ditch the twin? The older sister is far prettier, and Prince Kevon isn’t going to need three girls who look the same.”
“An excellent idea!” Prunella Broadleaf’s head snaps up.
I steal a glance at Carolina, whose brows flicker with the barest trace of annoyance.
“Mistress Broadleaf.” I stand and dip into an awkward curtsey. “There’s a blonde, a redhead, and a girl with purple hair. How about a brunette?”
“And you are?” she asks.
“Zea-Mays Calico, Mistress.”
Prunella Broadleaf glances around the small room at the other girls who passed this first obstacle of the Princess Trials. Vitelotte and Forelle stare at me, their eyes wide, but Emmera, the sister of the twins glowers. She probably thinks I ruined their chances. If the girl who hadn’t been chosen had kept quiet, nobody would have noticed her twin. My pulse echoes in my ears, and it feels like my entire head is pounding with anticipation.
I urge Carolina to say
