“What have you done?” I place a hand over the needle mark on my neck.
“The first shot was a sedative and the second, a suppressant for those who need to persevere through times of stress,” says the doctor. “It will wear off in three hours.”
“Why?” I rasp.
Queen Damascena places her champagne glass on the side table and picks up another. “So you can make a coherent confession.”
My gaze darts around the mobile dressing room. It’s just closets down the right side and on the left, a vast table of uneaten snacks. Lady Circi isn’t here and neither is the blonde servant from before.
What did they do with Mom and the twins? “Where’s my—”
The queen stamps her foot and sharpens my focus back onto her. “Listen to me, Zea-Mays Calico. The life of your mother and twin brothers are in my hands. If you wish to save them, you will listen to me.”
My throat spasms, but I think it’s some sort of muscle memory reaction to a threat. A comment like this should generate a wave of fear or fury, but I feel absolutely nothing. It’s not the same numb shock as before or the determination I felt from the ambassador’s drugs. This is an emotionless void.
For the next few moments, Queen Damascena stares down at me with rapt attention, her fingers steepled in front of her mouth. It’s as though she’s savoring the sight of me cowering on the floor of her van, having lost my home, my father, my fiancé, my freedom, and possibly my family.
I hold her gaze and wonder why the queen needs to go to such despicable lengths when she has everything.
But she doesn’t. King Arias preferred someone else and likely only married her as a bargain to stay close to Lady Circi. Her son wants to confine her to the home of a father she loathes, and the Chamber of Ministers treated her like a joke the moment she lost her power.
Queen Damascena can’t command any respect without threats and murder. I know it. She knows it, and everyone in power knows it.
She exhales a satisfied breath and relaxes into her seat. “Your entire family is back in the stadium, waiting for a technician to repair Scorpio’s extensive damage.”
A breath catches in the back of my throat. “Dad’s alive?”
Queen Damascena raises a brow but doesn’t reply. The wretched woman is trying to draw out the suspense.
I hold her gaze, not reacting until her superior expression fades.
“Scorpio is the name of the machinery,” she says. “How many fathers have you killed now?”
Dr. Ridgeback forces a laugh. “Three.”
The third is Mr. Wintergreen. Somewhere, deep within the recesses of my mind, my heart sinks. While Mom wouldn’t hold a nine-year-old responsible for failing to rescue an adult, these two supposed mothers use that event as a weapon.
The queen smirks. “By the way, your mother cries like a constipated cow.”
My jaw clenches and I curl my fists, but there's no surge of anger. At least Mom has emotions. Mom never had to bargain for a husband, and she actually loves her children, unlike this monster.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Your confession.” She draws her head back and stares at me through narrowed eyes. “I want you to appear on camera and tell Phangloria how you joined the Princess Trials to stage a revolution, seduced my son into wasting precious water on your greedy Echelon, poisoned King Arias, and ordered your Red Runner comrade to assassinate my son.”
“What?”
“It’s the truth.” Queen Damascena sips her champagne and smirks. “If you don’t, the next Scorpio will kill the rest of your family.”
My shoulders slump. I can’t let Mom and the twins go through any more torment. “What happens to them if I say those things you want?”
“They’ll live a life of obscurity in the Barrens, where they belong,” replies the queen.
“How do I know you won’t kill them?” I ask.
Her smile widens. “You don’t.”
I clench my teeth and fill my lungs with air. She won’t even let me feel the unfairness of my predicament. This is what the Nobles have wanted all along—an army of uncomplaining Harvesters slaving on the barest of rations for their benefit. We’re not even human to these monsters, and Queen Damascena resents me for capturing the heart of her son.
“Alright,” I croak.
“Splendid.” The queen claps her hands together. “Lady-at-arms, help Miss Calico into her old Harvester uniform.”
Dr. Ridgeback rises, her cold, gray eyes promising a lifetime of torment. “When the suppressant wears off, you’ll feel a fraction of the anguish you caused me when you killed my daughter.”
Is there any point in denying what these women know to be true? Queen Damascena has footage of Ingrid promising Berta the position of Lady-at-arms in exchange for my death. Berta left the vehicle and drowned in the very chamber where I bled from the dagger she plunged into my back. The only reason I’m not in trouble for Berta’s death is because Queen Damascena has already framed me for regicide.
“Berta tried to kill me.” I say.
“That one is full of excuses.” The queen reaches for a side-table, picks up her computer tablet, and taps the screen. “She acts as though the life of a Harvester is of equal value to that of poor Alberta.”
I can’t even feel the sting of her words. “Where’s Lady Circi?”
Queen Damascena gazes at her outstretched fingers and yawns. “Her services are no longer required.”
“You killed her too?”
She snorts.
I wait for her to elaborate, but she continues drinking her champagne. Dr. Ridgeback shoves a box in my hands that contains my Harvester uniform, complete with the tomato-stained apron. Unfortunately, they’ve taken away my poisoned darts.
The doctor walks
