I reach into the quiver, pull out one of Firkin’s darts, let my hand drift up, and plunge it into her forearm. Berta flinches but maintains her immovable grip. I clench my teeth and thrash. The water probably washed away most of the poison. When my lungs are about to force me to inhale, she releases my hair, and I flail through the freezing water with limbs too cold for speed.
As I haul myself out of the water, something sharp pierces me between the ribs, and I collapse onto the hard ground.
Berta falls back with a loud splash, and the edges of my vision go dark.
I lie helpless on my side, rasping out choking breaths. My lung capacity dwindles, but I’m not sure that it’s from nearly having drowned.
Footsteps echo in my ears. A figure in black armor walks toward me. No matter how much I command my limbs to crawl away from the water, away from the approaching male, they won’t move.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. A tiny voice in the back of my mind says that Ryce has come to rescue me, but I haven’t heard from him since yesterday. Besides, he and Carolina probably think I switched to the other side.
My only consolation is that I will die before the approaching man exacts vengeance for his fallen comrades.
Chapter 29
Being stabbed in the back isn’t as painful as I had imagined. After the shock of a blade cutting through my chest, it’s just a background pain that’s no different to the bullet wound.
Numbness seeps through the edges of my consciousness, and darkness races toward the center of my vision. I don’t know if I accidentally scratched myself with one of Firkin’s poisoned darts, but I can’t move. It’s only when large, gentle hands roll me onto my side, and pain quickens through my wounds that I remember that I’m in the biggest danger of my life.
The man’s tone is sharp, but the roar of blood between my ears muffles his words. A groan pours from my lips. This has to be Colonel Mouse or whatever he calls himself. I dismissed his warning and the offer of help, and now he’s either here to punish me or to gloat.
He places something heavy on both sides of my wound, dislodging something deep inside my body. I hiss through my teeth. Berta left the dagger in my back.
“Sorry.” The word echoes across the cavern.
For what feels like forever, the man tends to my injury under the instruction of a voice at the other end of a mechanical device. As he tears strips of material and packs it around my wound, I force my thoughts to drift.
Did Carolina know she would send me into a nest of backstabbing sand snakes? My throat convulses. I doubt that even she could have predicted the Princess Trials taking such a violent turn. It was supposed to be a beauty pageant, but surely her spies in the Oasis would have given her some kind of warning.
I force rasping breaths in and out, but they only reach the tops of my lungs. What about Ryce? Did Prunella Broadleaf publish that awful footage of Lady Circi dragging that girl out of a hospital room? My heart sinks. Maybe they have abandoned me after all.
The man lifts me off the ground and cradles me to his chest. He’s warm and strong and smells of antiseptic, but I’m not safe. Safe would be watching this spectacle from the comfort of the Rugosa dome. Safe would be never to have overestimated my abilities and agreed to this suicidal mission. I’ve failed Ryce, I’ve failed my family, and I’ve failed every Harvester who longs for freedom.
Maybe before the Amstraad ambassador executes me for wrecking his invasion, he might explain why on earth he asked me to join the Princess Trials.
The next time I awaken, it’s in a white room similar to the one in the Royal Hospital, except I’m alone and pale light streams in through a square window feet away from the bed. The screen overhead shows my vital signs: blood pressure, heart rate, body temperature, and a few other measurements I can’t fathom.
My shoulder itches, and I ease the white gown down my arm. The bullet wound has knitted together, and there’s no scar. I roll my shoulders, and there’s no stabbing pain in my back, but a metal cuff wraps around my wrist.
Carolina and Ryce don’t have access to this level of technology. I’m likely being held by Mouse or one of his comrades.
Someone turns the door handle. I flop down on the cot and close my eyes.
“Good morning, Miss Calico,” says a male voice. “There’s no need to feign sleep as the elevation of your blood pressure indicates that you’re awake.”
My eyes snap open, and I stare into the ebony gaze of a man wearing a doctor’s coat. His ageless features and cropped, blue-black hair tell me he’s the same kind of Noble as Montana and the Chamber of Ministers.
“Is this the Royal Hospital?” I whisper. “Who brought me here?”
He chuckles. “Your host will fill you in on all the details. Needless to say, you’ve suffered a few cut and scrapes—”
“I was shot and stabbed in the back.” My insides cringe with mortification. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but this doctor talks like I just tripped over and wasn’t in a fight for my life. “Sorry. Could you tell me who saved me?”
The doctor smiles and pats me on the shoulder. “Microsurgery and a few nanobots fixed the damage. I can’t say you won’t itch for the next few days, but don’t do anything strenuous for forty-eight hours. I’m glad you got through the trials relatively unscathed.”
My throat thickens with gratitude, and I blink back tears. A knife in the back
