The taller of the stagehands turns to me. She’s a stern-faced woman with iridescent violet eyes that catch the light. “Watch carefully. After the break, you’re next.”
Gulping hard, I nod.
She projects OasisVision onto the wall, but there’s no sound. The Harvester girl is blinking rapidly and has stretched out a palm the way some people do when they’re trying to look in the distance when the sun is too harsh. I make a mental note to keep my hands at my sides.
Montana is his usual chatty self, but the panel of judges seems bored. It’s probably because they know that the Harvester portion of the Princess Trials won’t lead to anything but false hope for our Echelon.
I imagine everyone huddled around Rugosa Square, watching out for the four of us, and my heart aches. What are Mom and Dad doing now? Are they worrying about me? I suck in a long breath and hope he will one day understand I joined these trials for a larger purpose.
Prunella Broadleaf appears back onscreen. She leans forward with her fingers steepled and stares into the camera with narrowed eyes. Next, the camera switches to the girl, whose mouth drops open.
“What are they saying?”
“Pru’s having a little fun with the girls,” replies the stagehand.
I glance at her headphones. “Can I listen?”
Her face twists with disgust, and she steps away from me as though I’ve proposed something indecent.
The Harvester girl gives the judges a sharp nod and takes several steps back. I lean forward and frown, wondering what on earth she is doing. Then she takes a running jump, stretches out her arms, and performs one cartwheel after another.
Applause seeps through the stage doors, and a boulder of dread drops into my stomach. I lean against the wall and stare at the screen.
“She’s dancing,” I whisper.
“Someone has to break up the monotony,” the stagehand mutters.
Tremors make the ends of my fingers vibrate, and I curl them into fists. The judges could at least make it look like they took us seriously. “Did the Noble girls have to perform?”
Her colleague’s lips tighten, and she looks at me as though I’m something that has soaked through the sole of her espadrilles. “When one is educated and poised, it’s enough to entertain the crowd with wit.”
My stomach churns, and my heart pounds so hard, I forget to flinch. I can’t dance or sing or recite poems, but I have a good eye, and I’m accurate with distance weapons. But I won’t reveal the blowgun in my pocket or the poisoned darts.
I’ll just have to refuse if Prunella Broadleaf asks me to amuse those Nobles. The Harvester girl skips around the stage, kicking her legs up and treating the audience to a view of her ankles and calves. I shake my head and feel bad for her parents, who must be horrified at the display of flesh. I won’t perform. I won’t make a national fool of myself for Mom, Dad, and the twins, to watch on OasisVision.
“You’d better start thinking of something interesting to win the audience’s vote,” says the stagehand who projects the image. “This girl is winning everyone’s hearts.”
“Will dancing like that help me become the Queen of Phangloria?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“No, but it will get you to the palace round,” she replies. “You might even meet someone special at one of the balls.”
The mention of the palace round strengthens my resolve. Public humiliation is a small sacrifice to complete my mission. When the revolution comes, the Nobles’ cheers will turn to screams. They’ll want to dance jigs for our amusement.
My shoulders slump, and I run trembling fingers through my hair. I still don’t have a talent I can share with the audience.
The shorter stagehand places a hand on my brow. “You’re clammy.”
“I am?”
She places her fingers on my pulse. “Are you going to faint on us?”
“No?”
“Are you prone to swooning?” she asks.
“Swoon—” My brows furrow. “I’ve had enough water if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Drink more.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a water bottle.
“What is it?”
She twists the lid with a crack of its seal and places the bottle to my lips. “Smoky Free.”
I rear back and glance at the mountains on its label. “Smoky Water?”
“You get that in the Harvester District?” she asks.
“On the coach.” My fingers wrap around the bottle, and I take a sip.
Soft moisture floods my dry mouth. It reminds me of being young, tilting my head to the skies, and welcoming the first drops of rain on my tongue. There’s no flavor to this water, yet it’s the best I have ever tasted. I gulp down mouthfuls and squeeze my eyes shut.
For this blissful moment, there’s no Princess Trials, no OasisVision cameras, and no audience of Nobles baying for me to perform acrobatics. It’s just me, this water, and the hope that I’ll provide Carolina with vital intelligence that starts the revolution. When it’s over, Ryce and I will take our places together in the new democracy, and he’ll remember me as the girl who brought him peace.
I swallow the last drops of water and exhale a long, satisfied breath. “Thanks.”
“Feeling better?” asks the stagehand with a grin.
“Much.”
By now, the Phangloria emblem is onscreen, and the co-host from earlier broadcasts from the waiting room. He’s standing with the Harvester girl who just did the cartwheels, and she’s looking dazed.
“You drank double the amount as the last girl,” she says.
“Huh?” I stare at the bottle, but my vision blurs. “I can’t see—”
“Oh, dear,” she says.
“What?”
“You’re one of the zero point two-five percent who react badly to Free.”
“To water?”
“No,” she snaps. “Free is a stimulant that releases inhibitions.
