Without a word, I hurry across the dance floor and join the other girls. Mouse’s laughter rings in my ears, and the dread rolling through my belly doubles in weight. Have I made a terrible mistake?
We stand in our groups. Nobles at the front, followed by Guardians, then Artisans, then Industrials, then Harvesters, and then Berta, me, and Gemini, who I haven’t noticed until now. She wears a floaty, pistachio-green dress with white lilies embroidered into the fabric. Her pale hair is swept back into a high bun and decorated with even more of the flowers. The effect is otherworldly.
I turn to her and smile, but she stares straight ahead.
“Gemini?”
She turns to her left, where one of the Amstraadi girls now stands. Another takes her place at Berta’s right. Further up the rows, one Amstraadi stands to the left and right of each Echelon. My gaze trails up to where Prince Kevon sits with the queen. Neither of them appears concerned with the arrangement, but Mouse’s words reverberate through my skull. Did he want to keep me safe from his female comrades?
Ambassador Pascal, who hasn’t moved from the throne all evening, stands. The black tuxedo he wears looks and hangs like it’s made of plastic, but the white shirt and bowtie might be leather. Lights shine from his cuffs and lapel pin.
“First, I choose which six Amstraadi candidates will progress to the palace round.”
“What happened to the public vote?” I whisper.
“He probably pledged another hundred monitors or the loan of a juvenation doctor,” Berta whispers back.
I want to ask whether she’s talking about a doctor specializing in keeping patients young, but the ambassador taps the side of his spectacles.
“Captain Sabre, then Captain Katana. Lieutenants Jian, Tizona, Kalis, and Wallace will progress to the next round.”
All the girls on the left march to the foot of the staircase.
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I take stock of what’s left. Twenty-four places for thirty-three girls. Nine of us will leave.
Montana smiles, but there’s no warmth in his eyes. “Thank you, Ambassador Pascal, for your charming choices. I will now announce the names of those who will join us in the palace for the next round of the Princess Trials.”
My chest tightens, and I hold my breath.
Ingrid Strab gets the highest votes. She takes her place of pride beside the Amstraadi girls, followed by a Noble named Constance Spryte with blue-black ringlets and then the other three from their Echelon. The next names come from the Artisan and Guardian Echelons, which is no surprise.
Berta leans into me and whispers. “I don’t know why they don’t just award Ingrid the crown. She’s going to win no matter who the prince chooses.”
Anger flushes through my veins. I would bet anything that Montana’s auditors made sure Ingrid came first.
Montana turns to smile at the girls on the winner’s side of the room. “Aren’t they a gorgeous representation of Phangloria and its allies?”
The ballroom explodes into applause. Even the orchestra claps.
I fill my lungs with air and survey the winners. Six Amstraadi, five Nobles, six Guardians, and six Artisans. That’s twenty-three spaces taken. Provided that nobody voted for the other Amstraadi girls, there are fifteen girls left vying for seven places. I gulp. If the viewing public selects all six Harvesters based on beauty, that leaves only one spot left between the Industrials, Berta, Gemini, and me.
As predicted, Montana calls out the name of each Harvester girl along with an Industrial girl who doesn’t look as beaten down by the polluted atmosphere as the others.
A gasp escapes my lips, and I sway on my feet.
I’ve failed. Failed my mission, failed Carolina, failed Ryce, and most importantly, failed the Harvesters.
“Yes!” Berta clenches both fists. “I’m going home.”
The seven girls join the winner’s side of the room, and I can’t breathe. Pressure builds up in my chest, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to collapse on the marble floor.
Tonight, they’ll either send me back to Rugosa, or Prince Kevon will offer me a place in Garrett’s guesthouse where I’ll be… What? The girl he visits while deciding who to marry? The girl ever vying for trips to the palace? The applause feels like thunder in my ears, and I lean on Berta for support. She doesn’t shove me away.
“One moment, please.” The voice of the Amstraad ambassador cuts through my mental fog and brings me back to the dance floor.
Montana frowns. “Your Excellency?”
“Does your vote include the three girls I selected?” Ambassador Pascal’s voice projects through the speakers.
Montana pauses for a moment longer than is comfortable. “It was my belief that you already selected the six you wanted to progress to the next round.”
“The six Amstraadi girls.” The ambassador raises a crooked finger. “Will you humor me and read out where my three picks came in the public vote?”
Hope germinates in my chest. I inhale a deep breath and stand straight.
Next to me, Berta whispers, “Oh, no,”
Montana’s lips tighten. “Zea-Mays Calico came ninth, and Berta Ridgeback came thirtieth.”
Berta stiffens. “No, no, no, no.”
My heart quickens, and I glance at the other side of the ballroom, where the girls turn to each other and frown. Surely the ambassador won’t give up three of his girls?
“And this show is being broadcasted live?” Ambassador Pascal asks. “What a disappointment it would be to all those who didn’t get a chance to vote if the rules can be changed to fit the agenda of the Noble Echelon.”
Whispers spread across the ballroom, both from above and our level. If the ambassador was a Phanglorian, his words would be seditious. They more than hint at corruption and would get a person dragged away and disappeared. But he’s not one of us. He is the person who supplies our country with medical equipment and if Berta is to be believed, methods to keep the Nobles young for longer than they deserve.
“Of course,”
