“Fine.” She gives her hand a dismissive wave. “Send for their parents.”
Hope springs through my insides. I’ve passed my first obstacle. If my luck continues at this rate, I’ll be in the palace for the trials by sunset tomorrow.
Chapter 5
As Prunella Broadleaf and her entourage leave the waiting room and the door clicks shut behind them, her words burrow into part of my mind that deals with paranoia. What do they want with our parents?
My breaths quicken, my fingers tighten around the bench, and my heel won’t stop bobbing up and down. The white floor blurs before my eyes, as I imagine the most likely scenario.
Forelle rubs her hands back and forth over the apron of her dress. She’s probably as anxious as I am, but the noise grates on my nerves. With each passing moment, my chest tightens until only I can make only the shallowest of breaths.
If the organizers performed fertility and other kinds of tests on us, it makes sense for them to want to check our parents. A shudder travels down my spine at the thought of either of them in that medical booth.
The sound of another door clicking open breaks me out of my thoughts, and the two guards from before walk in through the door they dragged out that protester.
One of them raises a gloved hand and beckons. “Winners, follow us.”
As the other girls stand, Emmera, the twins’ sister, hisses at me with a venomous look that makes a breath catch in the back of my throat. Of course, she blames me for her sisters not getting through to the next round.
What she doesn’t understand is that these trials will be meaningless. When the revolution comes, life will be better for every Harvester, not just a select few who get to eat excellent food at the palace.
I stand, pull back my shoulders, and push thoughts of what might be happening to Mom and Dad to the back of my mind. The organizers might just want to take photos or ask if we had tantrums or were well-behaved as children. If I succumb to paranoia, I’ll never complete my mission.
The dark-haired guard leads us through another part of the marquee with perspex wall dividers that stretch up to the ceiling with four evenly spaced doors. I’m the last to leave the waiting room and pass the platinum-blond guard, who takes up the rear.
As we reach the first door, the blond places a hand on my shoulder. “This room is yours.”
I glance at the next door, which his colleague opens for Forelle.
“What’s happening next?” I whisper.
“The assistants will pick your family out of the crowd and give you a chance to say goodbye in private.”
“Oh.” All the tension around my chest releases in an outward breath.
He grins. “Were you expecting an interrogation?”
A laugh that I think is more relief than mirth escapes my lips, and my gaze skims the three stripes on his arm that marks him as a sergeant.
“This entire day has been unexpected,” I say.
He opens the door to another white room with the kind of stuffed armchairs I’ve only ever seen on Sundays when they play old movies or shows on OasisVision. The familiarity eases a little of the tension, but now my stomach flutters at the thought of facing Mom and Dad. I can’t predict how they will react to my joining the Princess Trials without their permission.
I step inside, and he closes the door with the click. The slide of a mechanism turning in a lock is no surprise.
On legs that feel like wooden pegs, I walk to the armchair furthest from the door. The seat is harder than expected, but maybe this firm surface is what I need to calm before I face Mom and Dad.
I close my eyes and suck in deep, meditative breaths the way Ryce teaches us at the beginning and end of each Red Runner meeting. Inhale through the nose until the ribcage expands, hold for a count of five, and then a slow exhale through the mouth.
The door opens, and the guard lets in Mom, whose eyes are wide and filled with tears. She’s alone.
I scramble to my feet. “Where are Dad and the twins?”
“Zea.” She hugs me so tightly that all the breath leaves my lungs, and her insides shake with sobs. There’s a garbled explanation that I’m allowed ten minutes with four visitors, so they’re each going to say goodbye on their own.
Mom’s never broken down like this. Not even when the guards wouldn’t send her father’s ashes after his death in the Barrens. She’s always the optimistic one in the family, the one who keeps us together, the one who makes desserts from cactus fruits and can turn lizards into delicious casseroles.
My chest tightens. “Mom, what’s wrong?”
She draws back with the most dazzling smile. “You listened.”
My mind blanks, and it takes a heartbeat to realize that she’s referring to our conversation from earlier in the day. She thinks that her speech about joining the Trials to influence the Nobles actually worked, and I feel like a fraud.
The only reason I’m sitting here is because of Carolina. Once I’m in the palace, I won’t even spare Prince Kevon a second thought. The mission requires me to find a way for the Red Runners to enter, and I want to be eliminated the moment that mission is complete.
Mom’s hands tighten around my forearms. “I’m so proud of you.” She guides us to the sofa, tears still streaming from her eyes. “Our teachers showed us parts of the last Princess Trials, and it seemed like another world. I couldn’t even imagine myself serving at the palace, let alone having a daughter compete to be the next Queen of Phangloria.”
Nausea churns in my gut. Mom’s unique childhood will forever make her grateful to the Nobles for her life in the Harvester Echelon, but all I can
