“How do you know?” My voice sounds far away.
Ryce frowns. Then his face breaks into a wide smile. It’s the first I’ve ever seen anything but him looking grave. It’s a grotesque baring of both rows of teeth, the type of expression a person makes during the rare times we get to see a Guardian dentist.
“What are you talking about?” he says with a forced chuckle. “I should ask why you ran past me in the gardens when I called your name or why you never answer my attempts to call you on Netface.”
My nostrils flare. If he’s talking about the whisper I heard when I ran half-blind for my life to the guesthouse after being gassed, I’m not going to apologize. This whole conversation is a waste of my time. Ryce will say anything necessary to keep me spying for the Red Runners, even at the cost of my family’s life.
“Where’s Sharqi?” I snap.
He flinches. “Who?”
“My bird,” I say through clenched teeth. “The one you thought was a kakapo. The one you said you would take care of. The one you sent to the Oasis with a watch in her mouth.”
He lowers his lashes. “She flew home to spend time with her chicks.”
A tight fist of grief slams into my heart, making my eyes sting with tears. Sharqi probably got shot while trying to find her way back to Rugosa. I jerk away from his touch and turn to the side.
“Zea.” He tilts my head towards his and forces me to meet his hard eyes. “While you’ve luxuriated in palatial surroundings, over two-hundred-thousand Harvesters worked in back-breaking conditions. Our water rations are barely fit for humans. People are dying every day, Zea. Dying.”
That last word hits like a punch in the throat, and I can’t breathe. They’re dying… just like Mr. Wintergreen.
Ryce nods with confident satisfaction, as though he’s found the exact sequence of words to manipulate my heart. “We’re all depending on you to find a way into the palace and lead us to freedom,” he murmurs. “What is your report?”
Burning hatred sears my veins and makes the blood surging through my ears roar. How could I have ever allowed Ryce and his mother to maneuver me into such a perilous mission with little training and no backup? Guilt. Guilt for having once been a nine-year-old girl too frightened to stop a brutal murder. Now Ryce is using that guilt with a hefty dose of feigned affection to make me sacrifice everything for the cause.
Now, when I stare into those eyes, they’re glacial. White striations run through the frigid blue, revealing glimpses of a calculating, twisted soul.
Prince Kevon showed me how a man acts toward a woman he holds to his heart. He pays her attention, helps her when she’s in trouble, and does his best to keep her happy and safe.
Ryce only stopped ignoring me when I poisoned a guard. Then, on the pretext of paving the way for a better world for our future, he convinced me to join the Princess Trials as a spy.
I’m not selfish. I care about the wellbeing of my Echelon more than my own happiness, but I can’t, I won’t, I refuse to sacrifice Mom, Dad, Yoseph, and Flint.
“What have you learned, soldier?” he said.
I want to tell him about the secret entrance that leads from the navy barracks into the palace, the secret underground river, or any of the other secret and poorly manned passageways I’ve seen in the palace, but not if that means hurting Prince Kevon.
My gaze drops to his shoulder, and I offer the only piece of information I feel is safe to share. “Something’s wrong with King Arias.”
Ryce’s breath quickens. His fingers close around my arm, and he gives it a hard shake. “What?”
“He’s dying.” I pull out of his grip. “From the way Prince Kevon talks about things, it’s only a matter of weeks before he takes the throne.”
His eyes bulge, and he grabs my shoulder. “Is the king in the hospital?”
I shake my head. “They’ve put him in a secure room.”
Ryce nods, his eyes turning vacant. “Can you—”
“What?” I snap. “You want me to murder a dying man?”
He flinches. It’s the barest movement, and a look of realization sharpens his eyes. The hands around my shoulder tighten, and his fingers dig into my flesh. Wincing, I try to wriggle out of his grip, but it’s too tight.
“Are your loyalties drifting toward the Nobles?” he snarls.
I shove against his chest. “You’re hurting me.”
“Answer my question,” he says from between clenched teeth.
“I’m loyal to my people.”
His fingers loosen so the grip no longer hurts, but he doesn’t release me. “You’re falling for the prince.”
I shake my head. “How will the Red Runners protect my family from the guards posted outside my house?”
“I’ll take care of it,” His hands slide over my shoulders and up my neck.
My skin tightens, and a tight band of alarm forces the air out of my lungs. Will he strangle me for failing to report the secret passageways?
When one of his hands cups the back of my head and he strokes my cheekbone with the other, some of the tension around my chest relaxes. Weeks ago, being held by Ryce Wintergreen was my most fervent dream, but his touch is unwanted and feels like yet another threat.
“Let go of me,” I say. “They’re going to notice I’m miss—”
His lips crash onto mine, and I open my mouth to scream, but he slips his tongue between my lips. The taste of tannin floods my mouth, along with the scent of bitter red wine. I’m choking. I can’t breathe. My fists pound on his chest with all my strength, but he’s too big, too strong, too determined to force this mockery of a kiss.
He draws back, breaking his assault. I strike out with
