My nostrils flare, and my gaze darts from side to side at a sea of hostile female faces. Of all the times to dredge up wild speculations, why are they choosing the middle of an invasion?
Ingrid’s lips twist into a smirk, and malice glitters in her eyes. “Zea-Mays Calico, I find you guilty of high treason, and I sentence you to death.”
Chapter 27
At Ingrid’s words, a cold fury seeps through my veins. I glance down the aisles from girl to girl, looking for someone, anyone to speak in my defense, but they’re all silent. My jaws clench, and the pounding between my ears drowns out the sounds of the girls’ chatter.
“You don’t have the authority to sentence anyone,” I say.
Ingrid tilts her head to the side and smirks. “In the event of a hostile invasion or an uprising and the death or incapacitation of the Monarchy, members of the Noble Echelon must protect Phangloria at all costs.”
It sounds like she’s reciting a law, but it’s either paraphrased or a complete fabrication. Another Noble girl nods in silent confirmation, and sweat beads on my brow.
Ingrid wants me out of the Princess Trials by any means, but the others? I just saved their worthless carcasses. How dare they stay silent and let this lying Noble twist events to make me look like a traitor?
She stretches out the hand not holding Queen Damascena’s gun. “Give me that weapon.”
“Why?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“How do we know you won’t turn on us next?”
“Are you crazy?” I hiss. “They were going to take us beyond the Great Wall and maybe to Amstraad. I had to do something to stop them.”
“And you endangered our lives in the process.” Ingrid points her gun at my chest. “One of us could have gotten shot during that little scuffle.”
I inhale a sharp breath and straighten my features. She’s right, but I would rather die from a bullet than leave Phangloria. A large hand lands on my shoulder. I flinch, but it’s only Berta.
“Of all the ungrateful wenches,” she snarls. “Calico just saved your pampered behinds, and this is how you repay her?”
Ingrid sniffs. “From where I was sitting, it looked like you were the one doing all the work.” She points the rifle at my feet. “Surrender that firearm, and I’ll consider reducing your sentence of treason to reckless endangerment.”
“Why don’t you surrender yours?” I snarl.
“Strab can’t fire that gun,” says Berta. “She doesn’t have the clearance.”
Ingrid’s lips pinch. “You know nothing about the Noble Echelon. I’m the great-granddaughter of King Phallon. If Phangloria maintained an extended Monarchy, I would be the daughter of a duke.” She raises her gun’s muzzle into the air. “And as such, my fingerprints are in the database of personnel authorized to use emergency Royal weapons.”
She fires a shot into the ceiling, and all the blood drains from my face. Constance steps beside Ingrid and smirks, as do the other two Nobles from the front seats. The echo fades, leaving the kind of tense silence, the stomach-churning trepidation I’ve only ever experienced before a whipping.
My fingers tighten around the gun. I can’t release it. Last night, some of the girls in this vehicle gassed my room, and one of them tied a noose around my neck. If the attempted murderer was Ingrid, relinquishing my only means of protection would be suicide.
“We’ve got to drive away from here,” I say, particularly to change the subject but mostly because it’s true. “The Amstraadi have probably dispatched a fleet of hijackers after us.”
Constance shakes her head. “That may be so, but I don’t feel comfortable in a vehicle with a murderer.”
“Get out, then,” mutters Berta.
“Ridgeback is right,” says Ingrid. “We should all leave this secure vehicle and wander around the Barrens in the middle of the night, just to please one selfish, murdering rebel who cheated her way into the Princess Trials,”
The girls behind us shout their protests, and my skin prickles with irritation. They were fine with Ingrid pointing a gun at me after I disabled our hijackers, fine with Ingrid calling me a traitor, but the moment they need to rise from their comfortable seats? I twist around and shoot them my filthiest glare.
“Silence,” Ingrid snaps. “We might have discarded our Amstraad monitors, but the vehicles are tracked. Our next best chance of survival is traveling on foot to the nearest watchtower.”
“Why can’t we just drive there?” Emmera whines from the back.
“Because I’m not going to stay in a confined space with that maniac and her gun,” Ingrid yells.
Emmera sobs, “Then let her get off the bus.”
My free hand curls into a fist. So much for Harvester sisterhood. I want to fly down the aisle and ram my fist down Emmera’s throat.
Ingrid’s eyes shine like lit coals. “You heard your Echelon. Get out.”
“Wait,” I shout. “You can’t—”
She fires a shot that lands an inch away from my feet. “The next one won’t miss.”
“Strab,” Berta bellows. “What are you—”
Ingrid raises her gun to a point above my shoulder. “Quiet, or you’ll be next.”
“Alright,” I yell. “But lower the gun first.”
Berta shoves past me toward the front. “They’ll probably turf me to the side unless I’m driving this thing.” When she settles into the driver’s seat, she turns to me but doesn’t meet my eyes. “It’s nothing personal. When we reach the watchtower, I’ll ask them to send a search party.”
Bitterness coats the back of my throat, but I don’t speak. I don’t cry, complain, or rant. It’s what the Nobles want—an excuse to shoot me. Ingrid and Constance’s gleeful smiles convince me that they were the girls who gassed my room last night.
Pointing my gun at Ingrid’s chest, I edge around the driver’s body toward the exit. If she shoots me, I’ll blast her through the heart on the way down.
The door hisses open, bringing with it a gust of balsam-scented air. Normally, the smell of tree resin soothes my senses, but right now, it grates on my sinuses.
I reach the top of the
