The carpet’s thick tread gives under my jute espadrilles, and I glide forward with the poise and grace of a woman worthy of capturing Ryce Wintergreen’s heart.
Harvesters crowd behind the walls of guards. I glance into the crowd for signs of Mom, Dad, or the twins, and meet nothing but a mass of faces. My heart sinks, but I hold my expression into a smile. If things go right, I might return to them by the end of the week.
When we step into the stagecoach, nearly forty other Harvester girls sit in the back seats, and I wonder when Montana’s announcement started among the other towns. From the bored looks of some of the girls, they’ve been here since the morning.
“Ha,” says a male voice. “I told you that skinny one would be a virgin.”
I whirl around and glare at a pair of guards. “What?”
One of them takes off his helmet and leers. It’s the guard who helped us through the crowd. “We saw you tripping over yourself to get to the front. You must be eager to meet that prince.”
I raise my chin and glower into his mocking, brown eyes. “What are you, jealous?”
His grin widens. “Hardly. But it looks like you might be jealous of all the beautiful women on board.”
Prickly heat rises to my cheeks. I long for the day when I’m the one holding the gun so I can throw the truth in his ugly, grinning face. His friend, the sergeant with the silver-blond hair takes off his helmet and shakes his head, but I’m too busy glowering at Corporal Clown to see his expression.
The dark-haired guard nudges his friend, who I decide to call Sergeant Silver. “What do you think of this one?”
“You’ve dyed your hair black to look like Prince Kevon,” I say in a baby voice. “But nobody wants a cheap imitation.”
Sergeant Silver chokes down a laugh.
“Zea!” Forelle pulls me into a seat, and I sink into its cushioned depths. “What are you doing?”
“He’s so annoying.”
Her gaze flickers to the pair who are now standing above us with annoyingly wide grins, and her pretty features morph into a tight frown. She stands and holds onto the backrest of the seat in front. “Swap places.”
“Why?”
“He won’t annoy you if you’re at the window.”
“Fine.” I scoot to the seat furthest from the aisle and notice the refrigerator beneath the armrests of the places in front. I open it, enjoying the freezing air that puffs out, and grab a water bottle from the armrest. It’s nearly a pint—over half a day’s rations. The seal opens with a crack, and I take my first sip of what tastes like nectar.
“Smoky Water,” I read out loud on the label. “Filtered through layers of ancient rock and infused with watermelon, kiwi, and lime.”
Forelle takes a sip and hums. “Even the Oasis water tastes better.”
My throat closes. I had always pictured the Nobles eating and living better than the other Echelons, but drinking water that tastes of fruit? I shake my head and sip another mouthful of Smoky Water. I couldn’t wait for everyone at home to try it, too.
Emmera Hull, the twins’ sister, sits with Vitelotte Pyrus in the seats in front of ours. She sticks her head in the gap between the backrests. “Hey.”
I exchange a glance with Forelle.
“You,” she hisses. “The skinny attention-seeker.”
“What?” I snap.
“You stole my sister’s place.”
Before I can reply, Forelle says, “They were never going to let a twin onto the coach.”
Emmera points through the gap and scowls. “I won’t forget this.”
I purse my lips. Soon, she’ll understand that marrying Prince Kevon won’t lead to anything more but a place beside him in his cell.
The carriage speeds out of town, and I glance out of the window at wheat fields lit by the half-moon. We’re headed in the direction of Panicum, which grows mostly millet. I’ve been there a few times with Dad to barter wild herbs with the apothecaries, but I’ve never left the Harvester region.
Corporal Cringe sits in the seat opposite and leans across. Forelle straightens, blocking his view of me.
“You like Prince Kevon, huh?” he asks.
Forelle makes a choked giggle. “These trials are a good opportunity to see if we’re a match.”
“Why would you apply if you don’t know him?”
I sit back in my seat and roll my eyes. That’s a question he needs to pose to his superiors, not to girls at the lowest Echelon of society and desperate for a day off work. A laugh bubbles from my chest. It catches at the back of my throat, and my lips curl into a smile. If only Prince Kevon knew.
We pass acres of crop fields that stretch out into the dark. Roads in the Harvester region aren’t lit. That would be a waste of energy considering everyone’s usually in bed to start work before the sun becomes too hot.
Forelle continues chatting with the guard for the next twenty or so minutes until the bus slows, and we enter Panicum town center. I wait for him to step off the coach before speaking.
“Do you need to swap places?” I ask Forelle.
“Why?”
“Aren’t you tired of Corporal Creep?”
A smile curves the corners of her lips. “He’s not that bad.”
“Alright.” I raise a shoulder and glance out of the window as we approach a crowded town square and stop at the back of a marquee. Apart from the trees in the distance, this could be Rugosa.
The door opens, and the roar of the crowd fills the coach. As soon as four new Harvester girls board, we head for the next town. I twist around, count the number of passengers, and close my eyes—five more towns before we can even begin to head to the Oasis.
Hours later, a bump in the road jolts me out of sleep. Sunlight seeps out from beyond the horizon, coloring the meadows.
The black-haired guard stands in the aisle, chatting with Forelle about his apprenticeship with the Guardians. From what I overhear, his name is Garrett,
