We step through an electronically protected doorway that leads to a wide hall with a glass ceiling that drenches the space with orange light from the setting sun. With each step, the emotional impact of past events weighs heavier in my chest until I can barely breathe.
The suppressant’s effects ebb into the background, and cold reality cuts like a blade.
I’ve lost everything, including Prince Kevon and Dad.
“Can you sew?” Master Thymel’s voice cuts through my despair.
He steers me to the left, into a huge workshop that would take up the entire floor space of our house and backyard. The walls are white and all but one are covered in garment rails and in the spaces between them are colored sketches of men and women’s clothing. Above them are high shelves that hold dozens of differently-sized tailor’s dummies.
My mouth drops open as I take in the sight of eight people dressed in white coats, pinning fabric to dummies. In the far corner, three women sit at sewing machines, and a man with long, white hair stands at a cutting table slicing around a sewing pattern with a blade. A black-haired woman stands next to him with her gaze fixed on a wall screen where the Noble girls from earlier speak with an unseen interviewer.
I turn away from the Lifestyle Channel. “Are we making the vest right away?”
“Yes, and I want them ready before he goes to bed,” he replies. “If we create a batch in the next few hours, I can deliver them to the palace and pick up the rest of your family on the journey back.”
The weight in my chest lightens. I inhale a calming breath and give him my first genuine smile. “May I help?”
A few of the people around the room turn to look at us, and most offer sympathetic smiles. They don’t seem to be surprised at the sight of me in my Harvester uniform, and I guess Master Thymel told them I was coming. Chiffon and Charmeuse appear behind us, holding a bolt of white fabric. They lay it on an unoccupied cutting table.
While I follow the girls to cut the fabric, Master Thymel walks to the other end of the room and pushes the back of a muscular tailor’s dummy about the size of Prince Kevon.
Charmeuse huffs an annoyed breath. “Not him again.”
I glance up to find her looking at the wall screen. Before I can see who she’s talking about, the camera cuts to a view of the palace servants standing in a line at the grand entrance’s double doors. Then it cuts back to Mouse.
Chiffon snorts. “Someone has to take over from Byron, after…”
An awkward silence spreads across the room at what Chiffon leaves unsaid. I stare down at the floor, aware of the staring faces looking at me. If the Thymels saw me stab Dad with the Scorpio tail, they also saw how I abducted Byron Blake, forced him to take me to Mom, and then discarded him as soon as he was no longer useful.
“After I killed him.” The words taste like ashes on my tongue. “After I shoved him into Scorpio’s path and let him get beaten to death.”
“Zea?” says a new voice.
Georgette stands at the door, wearing a white jumpsuit and her black hair held in a high ponytail. The last of my tension melts away from my muscles at the familiar face, and we rush toward each other. We hug nearly as tight as Forelle and hold it for several moments.
“You’re all over the gossip rags,” she murmurs. “Even if it doesn’t seem like it, people care what happens to you.”
I nod and think about Garrett, the Thymels, Forelle, their friends, and all the others who have helped me throughout the Princess Trials. Even Lady Circi, who in her own strange way, did what she could to help. She’s probably dead now that King Arias isn’t around to offer her protection.
“It’s Prince Kevon,” someone says with a gasp.
All the activity in the room ceases, and I turn to the screen. Someone increases the volume, and Mouse’s voice fills the room.
“Your Highness,” he says. “How does it feel to be back home?”
Prince Kevon’s smile is tight. “I’m thankful to the team of medical professionals responsible for my fast recovery.”
“Twenty-four stunning beauties are eager to meet you.”
“Let’s not keep them waiting, then.”
Nothing in Prince Kevon’s voice suggests he’s in the mood for socializing, and it’s not just my wishful thinking. The camera cuts to a narrow chamber that looks about fifty feet long. Up on a high dais, Queen Damascena sits alone on a golden throne, holding a scepter. She wears a one-shouldered, ivory dress that reminds me of something worn by the Statue of Liberty before it was destroyed by an atomic bomb.
Standing at her left are Garrett and his father, whose stiff postures and blank expressions display their discomfort. Dr. Ridgeback stands on the right of the throne in a green, floor-length gown with the general at her side wearing a tuxedo.
I gulp. If he’s not wearing a dress uniform, it means that his sabbatical has started early.
A red carpet stretches down from the throne and toward the door, and the twenty-four girls stand on both sides, each clad in long evening dresses and sparkling jewelry. While most of them have the blue-black hair of Nobles, some are blonde, and there’s also Tizona, whose skin is darker than Lady Circi’s.
“They’re all Nobles,” mutters Charmeuse.
I point out the trio who came with me to escort the Foundlings through the gates. They stand closest to the dias. “Those three are Amstraadi.”
Chiffon waves a hand. “They’re only there to keep their ambassador happy.”
“And they probably made another deal to get that sadistic clown to present the show.”
Before I can ask how they know Mouse, he appears back onscreen. “What a wonderful selection and each personally vetted by Queen Damascena.”
A wide
