“Found one!” says a triumphant voice from behind.
“What?” I turn around.
An ash-blonde Harvester girl shrieks as a guard hauls her out of the back seat. “What did I do?”
They march her off the coach without explanation.
As Sergeant Silver passes, I lean across and whisper, “Excuse me, what just happened?”
He frowns. “Your Amstraad bracelets have been monitoring your health for hours. Some of the conditions it screens for take that much time to detect. Those guards found something that disqualifies her for entry into the Oasis.”
“What’s going to happen to her?” I ask.
“If it’s curable, they will take her to an infirmary.” The blond guard excuses himself and walks to the front of the coach.
Forelle and I share a look. From the pain etched around her eyes, I can tell she’s also wondering if the guards will take the easy route and make that girl disappear.
After passing through swathes of countryside filled with deer, wild horses, herds of buffalo, and even lush forests, we pass through a meadow. By now, the sun is halfway to its zenith, and it lights up a poppy field. It’s a vivid array of red and purple that fills my heart.
I release my joy in a wistful sigh. Nobody grows ornamental plants in the Harvester region. Dad’s cacti soak up rain and wastewater through their shallow roots and store liquid in their stems. They’re a source of nutrition should life ever become dire.
We drive toward a wall of interconnected domes that stand four times as high as the one in Rugosa Square and stretch out for miles. It’s just like the pictures I saw projected at school, but until now, I hadn’t realized the scale of the glass structures that surround the Oasis.
Forelle clutches my arm. “Is that—”
“The botanical gardens,” I whisper.
Excited chatter explodes through the coach’s subdued atmosphere as everyone leans to the window to take a better look. This is the source of every seed ever grown in Phangloria and the birthplace of our country.
All thoughts of revolution tumble to the back of my mind. “I wish we could stop and take a look.”
“What I wouldn’t give to spend a day in the gardens,” says Forelle with a sad sigh.
Garrett appears at our side. “I can take you.”
Forelle’s lips part and mine purse. Her mouth opens and closes and she seems to flounder for words. I hold my breath, waiting for her to respond, but she smiles and says, “After the trials?”
“Of course.” He grins. “I’ll even show you my favorite spot.”
I turn to the window. Garret has just acknowledged that no Harvester girl stands a chance with Prince Kevon. Not that it matters, as there will be no need for monarchs in the new democracy.
An archway opens up between two of the domes, where there’s another checkpoint. The guards scan our bracelets once more before letting us through. I glare at the glowing object, hoping it doesn’t also monitor our locations. With all the sneaking about I’ll be doing in the palace at night, I can’t let myself get caught.
Beyond the dome, a train emerges from the ground and speeds along a track. I follow its progress along swathes of meadows that lead to a forest.
I shake my head and exhale an awed breath. “Have you ever seen so many trees?”
Emmera pokes her head through and glances from me to Forelle. “We have orchards in the Harvester region, you know.”
“But these trees aren’t growing in straight lines.” I point at the wooded area. “And they’re all different.”
Her face softens. “I didn’t know land could be so beautiful.”
“Yeah.” I stare at a lake whose surface shimmers in the morning sun. There’s so much water just lying there and no sign of any pumps. The Oasis is green and lush and a perfect growing environment, but I can’t see any crops. It’s such a flagrant waste of resources.
I press my head to the window, my gaze fixed on the distant city. Tall, pale buildings loom from the top of a distant hill. They sparkle in the gold sheen of the morning sun. Considering that the land outside Phangloria is a desert wasteland, I can understand why our capital city is called the Oasis.
Emmera launches into a monologue about everything she wants to see during the trial, not giving Vitelotte a chance to respond. I haven’t seen the purple-haired girl since we boarded the coach, and I hope she hasn’t crumbled under Emmera’s attention.
Eventually, the road leads to a street lined with trees that don’t appear to grow anything apart from pink and red flowers. Behind the trees stands seven-story stone buildings with iron balconies.
“Is that where the Nobles live?” asks Forelle.
“I always imagined them in castles,” I reply.
The further the coach drives us into the city, the greener it becomes until I feel we’re driving through a park from an old documentary. Lush, green lawn covers the landscape with the occasional fountain and flower bed. We pass hundreds of feet away from stone mansions, which I guess answers Forelle’s question.
“Which one is the palace?” she asks.
They all look like palaces to me, but none have the ostentatious fountain.
The coach drives alongside a lake that seems to stretch into the horizon, and I bite down on my lip. How big is the Oasis? Even driving at a slower rate, it appears larger than Rugosa. It’s hard to tell, but I suspect the maps we learned in geography class aren’t entirely accurate.
We pass over a bridge that gives us another view of the city. Tall trees with dense foliage hide all the dwellings, but I suppose the architects have designed the Oasis to offer maximum privacy and comfort for its inhabitants.
On the other side of the bridge is a built-up area that reminds me a little of Rugosa Square, except that there’s a river running through it and ancient
