Brunnea Pomifera is the girl from Morus who cartwheeled her way to the audience’s hearts. She, the Industrial girl, and most of the other Harvester girls cast me hateful glances as I walk across the dance floor with Berta, and nobody offers any applause.
Montana clears his throat. “And before Ambassador Pascal has any last-minute changes of mind, please give the girls going home a warm send-off.”
As polite applause rings through the ballroom, something up in the ceiling tinkles like glass and then creaks. I tilt my head up in time to see one of the huge chandeliers falling. Cold alarm squeezes my heart, and I join the screaming audience with a cry for the other girls to run.
It’s too late. The chandelier falls on the girls in an explosion of metal and glass and sparks.
I rush forward. “Gemini!”
Berta grabs my arm and snarls, “Stop trying to be a hero and let the guards put out the flames.”
“Flames?” I twist around to find that parts of the wreckage have caught fire.
A hand emerges from the ruins of the chandelier, followed by an arm. My heart lurches. Someone is still alive. Tinkling fills the air as whoever survived the chandelier accident pulls herself out. From the pale skin, blonde hair, and pistachio-green gown, it can only be Gemini.
“Let go.” I struggle in Berta’s grip.
“Stay away from her,” Berta snarls.
I twist around and glare at the taller girl. “Is this because they’re calling her father a traitor? After what happened last night, I thought you would understand the concept of collateral damage.”
Berta releases my arm. “It’s your funeral pyre.”
“What are you talking about?” I snap.
She points at the burning side of the chandelier. “Put it this way. There might be a reason why no one has rushed to those girls’ aid.”
I step away from Berta. Every person in this room would hurry to their assistance if the girls who had been crushed were Nobles. According to the crowd watching this spectacle, Industrials don’t even deserve clean air.
Gemini staggers to her feet. Blood seeps through her gown, which is torn in several places, and burns and bruises mar her bare arms. One of them hangs limply as though it might be dislocated or broken.
Her blue eyes focus on me, and she raises her left hand. “Zea, stay back.”
“What’s wrong?”
She parts her lips to say something else, but a bright light flashes from her mouth, followed by a loud bang. I twist and crouch with my hands over my head, and pieces of hot, wet flesh splatter down onto my dress.
Chapter 25
I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t think of what just happened. All I can do is stare at blood-spattered pieces on the white marble floor, on my arms, in my hair, and on my gown.
The bodice of my dress tightens around my lungs and constricts my stomach, and the sour taste of half-digested burger and milkshake hits the back of my throat. I swallow hard, willing the contents of my gut to stay down.
Falling chandeliers don’t cause people to explode. They crush bones, skewer bodies, maybe even cause electrical fires, but they don’t fill a person’s throat with light and blow people into tiny bits. My gaze rises the stairs, where Prince Kevon stands, his body bent double by Lady Circi’s arm lock.
His gaze flickers from me to the chandelier wreckage, and then he lurches out of Lady Circi’s grip and down the stairs. Maybe he’s thinking the same thing. This is another two-pronged murder attempt. When throwing Rafaela out of a building didn’t work, her Amstraad monitor electrocuted her heart.
I stagger toward the group of shocked girls, shaking my head from side to side. How could anyone insert an explosive inside a girl? Why would anyone drop a chandelier on a girl when she’s standing among innocent people?
Prince Kevon emerges from around the girls and grabs my forearms. My head snaps up. His deep blue eyes are wide, frantic. His lips move, but I can’t hear a word through the ringing of my eardrums and the booming of my pulse.
I think he’s asking if I’m alright, so I force a smile and nod.
He crushes me to his chest, knocking all the air out of my lungs. The embrace should feel stifling, and I should struggle out of his grip, but Prince Kevon’s strong arms are the only thing keeping me together.
Heartbeats later, he draws back and guides me toward the steps. Queen Damascena and Ambassador Pascal rise from their thrones. Neither of them looks at the wreckage. The ambassador smiles down at us, but the queen glowers. Lady Circi descends the steps with her gaze also fixed on Prince Kevon and me, but I can’t decipher her expression.
Noises—screams, the trampling of feet, the rumble of chairs and tables hitting the stone floor—rush to my ears, and I blink myself back into awareness.
“Somebody call a medic,” Prince Kevon shouts to the side. The anguish in his voice makes me flinch. “Zea.” He cups my face and stares into my soul. “You’re suffering from shock. I’ll get you some medical attention.”
“I’m…” My voice comes out a rasp as though hoarse from hours of screaming. “I’m… You said she wouldn’t die.”
“She promised.” His voice breaks. “She said Gemini would be pardoned.”
“What about the chandelier?” The words tumble from my mouth.
Prince Kevon draws his brows together. “Do you think—” He stops, and his face turns ashen. “It’s just like Rafaela.”
“If the chandelier didn’t kill her, the explosion would,” I whisper.
Prince Kevon’s fingers curl around my arms in a grip that borders on pain. Above the sound of panic, he says, “Gemini Pixel wasn’t the target.”
A shaky breath escapes my nostrils. The moment that chandelier fell, a seed of insight formed deep in the back of my mind, but the
