Cheers fill the auditorium, and I glance around the stage. Lady Circi stares straight at me, but I can’t make out her expression. Princess Briar bows her head, and Prunella Broadleaf beams. Everyone but me seems to understand these terms.
“What is a bucking bronco?” Nobody can hear me because they’ve cut my microphone.
The guard clamps a hand around my bicep and pulls me offstage. Bucking bronco. Underdog. Scapegoat. I know the definition of these terms, and only one of them is good, but what on earth do they mean for the Princess Trials?
Chapter 9
Laughter rings in my ears as the guards march me through a set of doors, and my head pounds in time with my heart’s frantic beat.
As soon as the door slams shut, the relative silence of the hallway clears my head, and regret crushes my chest. I should never have trusted those stagehands with that Smoky Water bottle.
Ryce would be disappointed with my performance. If it hadn’t been for the Ambassador’s last-minute request, I would be tied to a whipping post and lashed for attacking Prunella Broadleaf with a tomato.
“What’s happening?” I say to the guard who clutches my arm.
His lack of answer makes my heart sink, but the Free still running through my veins causes me to blurt, “Have they cut your tongue?”
He glares down at me through his visor and snorts. “I’m going to enjoy watching you act the bronco.”
“What’s a bronco?”
The guard stares straight ahead. He’s probably enjoying my turmoil, considering that I have a record for assaulting two of his colleagues. Three, but I’m not about to blurt that out.
At the end of the hallway is another set of doors, which leads to the seats where I found Sergeant Silver. The chairs are empty, but OasisVision blares out from the screen.
Montana has already introduced the next girl, and the audience reverts to its lackluster applause. It’s stupid, but annoyance plucks at my nerves that I made such an insignificant impact on those Nobles.
“Are you taking me to the palace?” Hope fills my chest and lightens my voice. I might have disgraced my family, but I’m one step closer to fulfilling my mission.
“I’ve got your royal chambers right here, bronco.” His colleague opens the door to a white room. It’s empty apart from a wooden bench and the wall that broadcasts a Harvester girl who looks like she’s going to faint.
With all the dignity I can muster, I walk into the room and take a seat. There’s no point in asking questions or pleading. I’m exactly where I need to be.
I rest my head on the wall and stare at the screen. Prunella Broadleaf is the only person acknowledging the girl. Someone has cleaned her face of tomato, but the olive makeup thins around the forehead and eyes, revealing her naturally pale skin.
The Harvester girl onscreen is pretty with wavy, brown hair and bright eyes the color of hazelnuts. There’s no sound, so I can’t hear what Prunella is asking her, but the girl’s eyes darts to the audience, and she smoothes down her dress.
My gaze drops to my crumpled skirt. It’s as though they wanted us to look our worst for the Trials. I wish I had ventured out to Rugosa Square at least once this week instead of staying in to play with Sharqi and her chicks.
The girl onscreen tightens her face and her bottom lip wobbles. She’s trying not to cry, and I ache to know what Prunella said. If my mission succeeds, I want to blow a poisoned dart right where I smacked her with the tomato.
“Wait there,” says a gruff voice at the door.
A girl with pale blonde hair steps inside. I can’t see her face because she’s bowing her head. Behind her, the doors close, but she doesn’t sit. She is wearing a white cotton nightgown that trails around her ankles.
“Hello?” I say.
She raises her head, revealing eyes puffy and bloodshot from days of crying.
“Are you alright?”
The girl doesn’t answer.
“Do you want to sit down?”
Still no response.
My shoulders droop. What’s wrong with her? I ask her a bunch of questions. I try prompting her to speak by asking her name, where she lives, and if she’s in the trials, but she sinks to her knees and sobs.
“Sorry.” I scoot over the row of chairs. “Was I asking too much?
She crouches on all fours, resting her cheek on the stone floor between her flat palms. It’s the strangest sight I’ve ever seen, and she reminds me of an old widow who once stumbled into Rugosa Square one Sunday, so delirious with thirst that she lay on the hot paving stones.
I kneel at her side, stroking pale strands of nearly white hair off her face. Apart from the deathly pallor of her skin, the swollen, red eyes, and her pink nose, she appears unhurt.
“Who are you?” I whisper.
Moments later, the door opens, and the largest girl I have ever seen enters. She’s as tall and broad-shouldered as the guards, except that they are wearing armor, and she is wearing a long, black dress. Freckles sprinkle on her nose and cheeks, but that’s the extent of her cuteness.
The girl turns to the guard. “Thanks, guys.”
They nod back and close the door.
“Hi,” I say. “Can you help—”
“Is that Gemini Pixel?” The big girl tilts her head to the side and frowns. “I wouldn’t bother with that lost cause.”
I glance down at the crying girl. “You know her?”
“Only through the treasonous acts of her dad, Leonidas Pixel. Network geniuses are rare, and he’s too useful for execution, so she’s taking his place in the firing squad.”
My brows furrow. “The Amstraad ambassador mentioned something about her joining the palace round as a scapegoat.”
She rolls her eyes and heads toward the seat closest
