Mistress Pavane taps girls on the shoulder as they waltz past and tells them to move to the side of the room. All six Amstraadi pairs stand among the three Noble and Artisan pairs.
Within moments, the dance instructor tells two pairs of Guardian girls to stand aside, leaving the final pair of Guardians, all the Industrials, the Harvesters, Berta, and me.
“Stop,” I say to Berta. “This isn’t working.”
“It would if you listened to my directions.”
I shake my head and pull myself out of her grip. Maybe she’s had lessons, but I haven’t, and neither have those whose families work six days a week with only a seventh day to have a decent bath and tend to their own business.
Emmera dances with Corrie Barzona, the milkmaid from Bos, but even they struggle to perform steps they haven’t learned.
Vitelotte, the purple-haired girl from Rugosa dances with the girl from Morus, who cartwheeled through her audition. She holds her face in a neutral expression, but her nostrils are flared, revealing her displeasure.
The door opens, and a production assistant steps inside. “May I borrow Miss Calico for a moment?”
Whatever goodwill I have left plummets like a dandelion seed caught in the rain. If Prunella has shown Lady Circi this supposed footage of me sneaking into Rafaela’s room, no amount of talking will help me escape her wrath.
Mistress Pavane shoos me away.
I walk across the room to the production assistant, who hurries down the hallway and won’t answer any of my questions. Part of me wants to return to the dance class, but I think about the larger prize. Even if it means being tripped up or turned into a donkey’s behind, I’ve got to endure it until the palace round.
The assistant opens the door to an office with dark wood furniture and a gold-button naval jacket hanging on the wall. The bookshelf of leather tomes and globe give it an old-world feel, and the sight is ruined by Prunella Broadleaf sitting behind the desk with her tablet. She has changed to a pastel green version of her black suit, which looks terrible with her peach-colored makeup.
Prunella points at a low, metal stool in front of her desk that reminds me of an upturned bucket. “Please sit.”
“What’s this about?” I ask.
“The nation is curious about your origins,” she replies with a gentle smile.
Casting a glance at the camera, I say, “I don’t understand.”
“Everyone wishes to know what kind of people birthed the bucking bronco.” She sweeps her arm toward the wall, which turns from white to black. Images of cornfields flash through the screen, ending in one familiar sight. “Netface.”
I gape at a still picture of my house. It looks so small and shabby compared to the stone structures of the Oasis, and the surroundings are more yellow and drier-looking on camera.
“The network is in Rugosa?” I ask.
A soft snort escapes her nostrils. “Hardly.”
One of the camerawomen gets into position at the end of the room and nods at Prunella.
She leans forward, steeples her fingers, and smiles. “I’m here live with Phangloria's favorite fool, Zea-Mays Calico.”
My mouth drops open, but I don’t rise to the bait. Did Prunella just make that up, or is that really what they’re calling me?
“Zea, do you miss your parents at all?” she purrs. “We’ve never heard you speak about your family. One would think you were ashamed of your humble beginnings.”
“That’s not true,” I say with my brightest smile. “Every time I taste something wonderful or see one of the many wonders in the Oasis, I wish my brothers and parents were here to share the experience.”
Her brows waggle. “And last night with Prince Kevon? I’m sure your mother won’t approve of what you showed him in the flowerbeds.”
“Last night, someone close to the prince died,” I say with more bite in my voice than I intend. “It’s a sad day for all when a young life is so brutally cut short.”
The smirk on her face fades into a mask of horror. Since this is a live broadcast, she won’t be able to ask her precious camerawomen to remove that footage.
“Of course,” she says. “We’re all devastated to lose poor Rafaela van Eyck. She is with Gaia now, and no cheap substitute can replace her.”
Her barb might have stung if I actually wanted the prince, but I give her a sage nod. “Let’s put my parents on before you say something even more tasteless.”
The image of our house disappears from the screen, replaced by a shot of Mom and the twins. They’re sitting on her lap and waving into a screen that looks a mere foot away from their sticky hands.
It’s only been days since I’ve left, but seeing them makes my heart ache. I’ve never been away from my family for longer than a half a day and can’t believe how thin and drawn they look compared to the people I’ve met here.
“Zee!” says Yoseph. “We saw you on OasisVision.”
“Will you save us a tomato?” asks Flint.
“Hello boys, have you been good for Mom?” I ask.
“Yes,” they chorus. Before Mom can get a chance to speak, Yoseph tells me Sharqi and her babies have gone missing.
My throat dries, and I smile wider to keep the alarm out of my expression. I don’t tell her that my kakapo has flown to the Oasis. Prunella might make a huge show of having the poor bird executed.
“What charming boys,” Prunella says in a tone that means the opposite. “But we really wanted to hear from your parents. Mrs. Calico, what do you think of your daughter’s burgeoning relationship with Prince Kevon?”
Pride shines in Mom’s eyes. “He’s a very handsome young man, and I’m sure he will make a strong king. I’d be delighted if he chooses my daughter, but it’s too early in the contest to comment.”
Warmth spreads across my chest, and I smile. Mom combines humility and poise and quiet strength.
“A nice way of saying she doesn’t have a chance,” says Prunella.
“It’s
