“Hurry,” Lady Circi hisses.
Prince Kevon steps aside and says to me, “You first.”
I bound up the stairs and meet rows of frightened, tear-streaked faces. The Artisan girls hug themselves, the Guardians sit stiffly despite their tears, and the Nobles’ faces are pale and unmarked. Emmera wails in the back, her head on Vitelotte’s lap, and Corrie Barzona strokes her hair.
“Get on your feet, Strab,” snarls the lady-at-arms from outside.
Feeling no stab of satisfaction at Ingrid’s reprimand, I walk past the front, where Queen Damascena sits next to the empty driver’s seat. She clips a fresh magazine into her automatic rifle, making my skin crawl as I pass the Noble girls and lower myself into the place next to an ashen-faced Berta.
The door slams, then Prince Kevon bounds up the stairs. Lady Circi emerges from behind him, rushes to the driver’s seat, and fires up the engine.
“Ladies.” Prince Kevon stands in the aisle with his hands on the tops of the front seats. “Please remain calm. This is an armored personnel carrier. It’s bullet-proof, shrapnel-proof, and will withstand even weapons of mass destruction of a chemical, biological, or nuclear nature.”
Someone in the back row shrieks. It’s probably Emmera, but I don’t turn around to check.
The vehicle rushes forward into the dark.
“My mother, Lady Circi, and I have practiced this drill dozens of times. We will drive through one of the underground roads that lead out of the Oasis and into a secure facility where we will wait in safety until Guardians arrive to subdue the rebels.”
“Rebels?” snarls Berta. “It’s those cyborg Amstraadi. They’re probably tracking us as we speak through our health monitors.”
Nausea ripples up my throat, and I wrap my hand around my neck. Berta is right. I should be the one coming to these conclusions, but my mind keeps skipping back to Gemini and the chandelier, and my insides won’t stop trembling.
“Alright,” says Prince Kevon. “Miss Ridgeback, will you collect everyone’s monitors, please?”
Ingrid shoots to her feet, unclips her ear cuff, and drops it into a sick bag. “I’ll be happy to help.”
Berta stands in the aisle and demonstrates with a hairpin how to remove a wrist cuff. Following her instructions, I find the red and green flashing lights and stick the pin into the tiny dip hidden between them. With a stinging sensation of needles withdrawing from my skin, the cuff clips open. I let it fall onto my lap and rub the damp ring it’s made over my wrist. My skin is raw over the parts the cuffs pierced, but it doesn’t bleed.
“Have you calmed yourself yet?” Ingrid says to me in a cloyingly sweet voice. She stands in the aisle and shakes a plastic sick bag. “You know, those in our Echelon are accustomed to the dangers that Royals face. We practice security drills all the time. You should go home. Life is much safer in the Barrens.”
“Is that why you faked a sprained ankle and needed Prince Kevon to haul your carcass?” I snap.
Berta snorts. “Nice one.” She drops her wrist cuff into the sick bag. “I never pegged you as a fainting fancy, Strab.”
Ingrid fakes a laugh. “Oh, Ridgeback. It’s wonderful that you’re so robust.”
“Actually, it is.” Berta folds her arms across her chest and raises her chin.
I drop my cuff into the bag, and Ingrid wrinkles her nose as though it’s somehow tainted. I turn away from the girl and stare out of the window. Yellow lights whizz past in the dark with the occasional red marker. Either this vehicle’s wheels are thick enough to absorb the bumps in the tunnel, or the ground beneath us is as smooth as a regular road.
“Did you see?” I whisper.
“What? Pixel’s explosion?” Berta replies.
I nod.
“That was a bunny bomb.”
I turn and meet the other girl’s pale eyes. “What?”
Berta scratches the side of her chin. “Border guards use it all the time when the wild men group at the Great Wall. Stick a small explosive down the mouth of a Checkered Giant, send the creature through a hatch and let it run. They all go chasing after the fresh meat and boom.” She spreads her hands wide. “No more wild men.”
“What if the rabbit runs faster than them?” I ask.
“What are you talking about?” Berta twists in her seat, impatience etching her features. “No animal, no matter how fast, can escape human endurance. Those wild men are insanely strong. It might take a minute or two, but they catch up with the bunny eventually. That’s when the guard at the viewing tower or someone watching the creature’s collar will detonate the bomb. Simple.”
Swallowing hard, I restrain myself from asking how they put the bomb in Gemini’s throat. If Berta provides me with a callously worded explanation, I don’t know how I will react.
The adrenaline from our escape wears off, leaving me feeling like I’ve had to fight my way through poisoned gas. My shoulders slump, and I bow my head. “I should have said something earlier.”
Berta leans into me and whispers, “If you’re feeling guilty about Pixel’s death sentence—”
“Not that.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I knew the Amstraadi were up to something.”
“So did everyone else with a set of eyes,” Berta says with a chuckle. “So does everyone who noticed they didn’t join us on the bus. The Amstraadi girls who didn’t make the palace round also walked out of chandelier-range. Nobody but those dependent on juvenation treatments trust them.”
“Aren’t you worried?” I ask.
“Hey.” She nudges me on the side. “Do you really believe the entire Royal Navy is out there investigating a tsunami?”
I raise my head. “What?”
“My cousin’s brother-in-law’s uncle is a commander camping out at the base of the Smokies. As soon as the border guards, the navy, and the palace guards regroup, they’ll reduce every single Amstraadi in the Oasis to body parts and circuits.”
I bite down on my lip and wonder if
