His restrained expression and the tense set of his jaw and shoulders tell me that he is displeased.
“Time’s up, boys,” says the blond guard.
“No,” Flint howls from my lap.
“No,” Yoseph howls from the floor, where he’s sitting on my feet.
My throat spasms, and I hope the guard lets my brothers remain as a buffer between Dad and me.
Dad fixes them with a stern glare. “Go to your mother.”
I know that tone. It’s the if-you-don’t-do-what-I-say-this-instant-I’ll-swat-your-behind tone, which Dad hasn’t used on me in a decade. Both boys stop howling and scramble to their feet.
After a lingering hug, they rush out of the door, and the sergeant shuts me in with Dad, who won’t look at me. His gaze fixes on the armchair opposite, a sign that he’s struggling for control.
I chew on the inside of my lip. Nobody is allowed to discuss their membership of the Red Runners. We’re a secret group, and the mere mention of our existence—even to a family member—might expose our group to the guards.
Nobody wants to risk a slew of mass executions, which is what Carolina says will happen at the merest hint of treason. I think he’s also part of another Red Runner cell. That, or he’s sympathetic to the cause.
It was Dad who cradled Carolina and Ryce as they cried about the death of Mr. Wintergreen. Dad, who reported the shooting to the mayor, the guards, and even wrote on behalf of the widow and her son for Mr. Wintergreen’s ashes. Because Dad kept the murdered man’s name on everyone’s lips, they awarded Carolina an easy job as the mayor’s assistant.
After a long minute of silence, he walks to the end of the sofa and sits.
“What have you done?” His words are more sigh than speech.
My throat dries, and I swallow hard. What on earth does he know? “Dad…” My tongue darts out to lick my dry lips. “I—”
“What were you thinking?” he says from between clenched teeth.
“It’s just a beauty pageant.”
Suddenly, I’m twelve years old again and trembling. This time, it’s not because I’m traumatized by what I’ve seen. Now, I’m terrified at what Dad isn’t telling me.
“I was your age the last Princess Trials,” he mumbles.
“What was it like—”
“They’ll tell you it’s just pretty girls in ball gowns, but it’s not.”
My breath quickens, and I lean forward, my eyes wide. “What happens?”
“They form alliances.” He raises a thick finger. “Sometimes Nobles with other Echelons, other times, the Echelons stick to themselves.”
I clasp my hands, waiting for him to elaborate. So far, it doesn’t sound dangerous.
“Queen Damascena won last time because she allied with one of the cleverest and most beautiful girls in the Princess Trials.”
“What happened to the other girl?” I whisper.
“She became the Lady-at-arms.”
My head tilts to the side. “Lady Circi was in the trials?”
Dad nods. “From the Guardian Echelon, if I remember right, and the favorite of King Arias.”
“Why didn’t she win?” I ask.
Dad’s lips tighten. It’s the expression he makes each time I ask a question when the answer is obvious.
If Lady Circi was a Guardian, the previous king probably wouldn’t want her to become the next queen. But if she stepped back and let her Noble ally take center stage, then Lady Circi would get an important role in the new royal court.
“They made a deal?” I whisper.
Dad nods. “The skills your mother and I taught you should have set you up for a decent life within our Echelon, but if you have aspirations for more, neither of us will object.”
My mouth drops open. Dad thinks I’m serious about the Trials. I glance at the door, wondering if I should say something, but I remember the mission and let my mouth click shut.
“Don’t aim to be the queen,” he says. “Make friends with all the girls, and maybe the winner will like you well enough to serve at her court.”
“But I—”
“Zea,” he hisses through clenched teeth.
I jolt at the ferocity in his tone. “Dad?”
“The bird that stays under cover of the leaves never gets shot. Why?”
My throat convulses. “Because nobody sees it.”
“Don’t be the bird who launches herself out of the trees. Do you hear me?”
I nod, but I can’t work out if he’s trying to warn me not to become the queen or because the other girls might shoot me down or because there’s going to be a revolution. Now, I regret obeying Ryce’s orders to keep my membership of the Red Runners a secret from Dad.
The door opens, and Carolina stands in the doorway with Ryce. Dad’s jaw drops, and all the color leaches from his face. The panicked look he gives me tells me everything.
One, he knows that Carolina leads the Red Runners. Two, he now knows that I’m a member. And three, he also knows that I have joined the Princess Trials on a mission.
“Alright, Mr. Calico,” says the blond sergeant. “It’s Mrs. Wintergreen’s turn.”
No one else can see his expression because his back is to the door, but it’s the same helpless rage he holds back each time I get whipped. Something in my heart crumbles. I’m no longer the girl he knew, and I’m not sure that even the prospect of a revolution will ease Dad’s suffering.
“Mr. Calico?” says the guard.
Dad stands. This time, he’s not avoiding my gaze. The accusation in his eyes slices through me like a scythe. If I fail my mission, if I get caught, it won’t just be me facing execution.
Without a word, he turns and walks out of the room. Carolina’s gaze slides towards Dad as he passes, but from her unchanged expression, I don’t think he made any eye contact.
“We came to wish you the best of luck.” Carolina claps her hands together.
When the door clicks shut
