Prunella’s smile freezes at Mom’s lack of deference. “It’s customary for the lower Echelons to refer to the Nobles as Master or Mistress. Did they not teach you that in the Barrens?”
“Forgive me,” Mom says. “I thought the rule only applied to those born into the Echelon, those who have earned a place through supreme excellence or those not discarded by their Noble spouses.”
My jaw drops. Prunella’s husband left her? Where on earth did Mom get that gossip?
“Thank you, Mrs. Calico and the twins,” Prunella says through clenched teeth. “Those corn husks won’t clear themselves.”
I turn to Prunella and smirk. “Mom’s happily married, and she stays at home looking after the household.”
“And she’s done a wonderful job of turning you into the polished young lady you aren’t.”
A laugh huffs from my chest. Everyone watching has already seen Prunella match wits with a Harvester housewife she implied more than once was a Foundling. It’s her who looks like an idiot, not Mom.
A gloved hand lands on Mom’s shoulder, and I clench my teeth. The black leather could only belong to a guard. Harvesters don’t even get to use the materials for shoes.
“How are you transmitting from Rugosa?” I ask.
“A friendly Guardian volunteered for the job,” she says with her voice full of renewed cheer.
My smile falters. Are they watching my parents, now?
Mom lets the twins off her lap and moves offscreen, revealing the canvas seat of a solar jeep. Gemini mentioned once that Guardians had remote access to Netface, but it still doesn’t stop me from worrying that the monsters who killed Mr. Wintergreen and dismissed his death as inconsequential are around my family.
Dad comes onscreen, a frown marring his brow. “Are you taking care of yourself down there, Zee?”
“I’m well, and the food is great.” It’s only half a lie. While the rations and the skipped meal is worse than the fare at home, last night’s French onion soup was sumptuous. I’m sure that whatever Prunella eats at the head table is sublime.
“Good.” He nods as though thinking of how to phrase what he’s about to say. “Everyone here is very proud of you.”
A breath catches in the back of my throat, and it looks like he’s forgiven me for joining the Princess Trials as a Red Runner spy. “I want everyone to know I think about them every day.”
“Are you sure you want to do this, Zee?” Dad swallows. “Montana explained the new rules when the ambassador let you through to the next round, and a bucking bronco is just as dangerous as a—”
The transmission cuts off.
I turn around. “What was he going to say?”
“Your ten minutes are up,” Prunella says with a sneer.
“What was the point of cutting us off?” I say.
Her eyes harden. “The next time you speak to me with disrespect, remember my fans can access your family at any time.”
All the blood drains from my face. “You’re threatening their lives because you don’t like how I play the role of the bucking bronco?”
Her cheeks redden, and she presses her lips into a thin line. It doesn’t matter that she’s made an idiot of herself again. Prunella Broadleaf has the power to hurt the people I love, and I can’t afford to risk my family over petty victories.
I clench my teeth, painfully aware that the camerawoman has that infernal machine trained on my face. If Prunella carries on like this, Rafaela won’t be the only person who gets pushed from a great height.
Chapter 20
By the time I return to Mistress Pavane’s class, the room is empty, and the helpful camerawoman filming my confusion informs me that there’s a garden party outside.
My nerves are already brittle from the sight of those guards around my family, and I’m desperate to speak to them without an audience to find out what’s really happening in Rugosa.
I hurry through the silent hallway with the woman trailing behind me like a hungry corn lizard with the click-clack of her shoes filling my ears.
I push open the double doors that lead to the lawn, which is no longer a sea of green but a busy gathering of over a hundred people. A third of them are the girls competing in the Princess Trials, but nearly everybody else wears white from their summer hats to their shoes.
Whoever has decorated this space has made it look like a wedding. Tiny, white flags with the Phangloria Tree hang from the branches on long strings, and round, white lanterns float above us.
My brows rise. One of the girls died yesterday, and Prince Kevon is in mourning. This event should have been canceled out of respect.
The scent of grilled meat fills my nostrils, and I turn to the far end of the garden, where a man in burgundy slices meat from a pig on a spit.
Despite my sour mood, saliva floods my mouth. It’s rare to get meat, and I’ve never known anyone to be able to purchase so much pork. Another assistant packs the pork into thin slices of bread and hands them to the people standing in line.
I head toward the spit, but the camerawoman places a hand on my shoulder and informs me that the girls will eat from the salad room. She points at a white, bell-shaped tent with open sides. Most of the girls form a line with the ones in the front holding plates. My face remains impassive. I’m not going to give her a reaction.
Berta walks past with brisk strides. Her shoulders hunch halfway up her neck, and her fists clench and unclench. A camerawoman has to jog to keep up.
I hurry after her. “What’s wrong?”
“This.” She sweeps her arm out and presses her large palm into the lens. “We’re being paraded to the Chamber of Ministers for their amusement.”
I take another look at the people around us. The Chamber of Ministers is the group of Nobles who run the country. They set quotas
