The two other Noble girls rise from their seats and join the argument, but there’s no sign of Constance Spryte, who has taken up the role of Noble spokeswoman since Ingrid fell out of favor with her peers. They talk over each other and hurl accusations—some of them dating back from when they were children.
Byron tries to get them to return to their seats, but they ignore his pleas to remain calm. The back door hisses open, and the production assistants not holding cameras stream out and hurry toward a large van. I can’t tell if they’re trying to escape or desperate to edit footage of what’s shaping up to become a one-sided catfight.
I turn to Emmera, who takes several long gulps of her water. “Are you looking forward to going back to Rugosa?”
She licks the moisture from her lips and exhales a long sigh. “Actually, I am.”
“Really?” I reach into the bag of chipped vegetables and take what looks like a dried piece of kale. It’s crunchy and tastes like bacon. My brows draw together. The sun-dried tomato slice I eat next also has the same delicious taste.
“The Oasis people might have all the food and water they can drink, but they’re miserable.” She flicks her head at the squabbling Nobles. “They’re not capable of loyalty or love. What’s the point of being rich if everybody wants to stab you in the back.”
I stare at my lap and ponder her words. She’s right to an extent. I think Prince Kevon’s apprenticeship in the Barrens made him so different from those power-hungry harpies. Being born into ultimate power also meant he never needed to seek more.
A pang of sadness touches my heart. Emmera is the last Harvester girl in the Trials. Now, it will be two Nobles, three Amstraadi, and me.
She meets my eyes. “What will you do?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Even a scarecrow with buttons for eyes can see how much they’re trying to push Ingrid and Prince Kevon together.” Emmera takes another sip of her water. “Will you step back and let him go, or will you fight for the prince?”
My gaze darts to the light flashing overhead. I think I have an ally in the Amstraad Republic. Both Mouse and Ambassador Pascale have made enough cryptic comments to suggest that they want me to win the Trials, and I’ve got to see if there’s a way to neutralize the threat of Queen Damascena. There’s no way I’ll broadcast any of these intentions to my enemies, but I also don’t want my words twisted at a later date.
“You know what?” I pluck a long piece of chipped carrot from the packet. “I want Prince Kevon to end up with the girl who’s both right for him and for Phangloria.”
Emmera tilts her head up and smiles. I think she’s caught sight of the camera, but she seems satisfied with my answer.
“Miss Calico.” Byron stands at my side.
I draw back. Apart from grabbing me ten minutes ago, he has barely acknowledged me since he interviewed Forelle before our auditions. “Yes?”
“The coach will make a detour in Rugosa.”
Emmera leans forward. “Can I go home?”
Byron’s gaze doesn’t waver from mine. “A representative from the court of Queen Damascena will meet you in Fort Meeman-Shelby with instructions.”
Sweat breaks out across my palms. That’s where Prince Kevon stayed last night, but he would hardly refer to himself as part of his mother’s court. “What’s this about?”
Byron shakes his head. “They didn’t specify.” His gaze wanders to the squabble taking place at the front of the coach. “Excuse me, I have more important things to do than relay messages.”
“Miss Hull asked you a question,” I say.
He frowns, not seeming to understand my words. “Pardon?”
“Can I get off the coach in Rugosa?” Emmera asks.
Byron waves his hand. “If she’s prepared to find her own transportation home, she’s free to go wherever she wants.”
As he walks back to the screeching Nobles, Emmera leans close and whispers, “He was better as Prunella’s assistant.”
I raise a shoulder. Byron might be incompetent, but there’s only been one attempt on my life since he has taken charge of the Princess Trials. “He must be here to make sure Ingrid wins.”
Villosa shoves Ingrid in the chest. Ingrid grabs onto the braid wrapped around the other girl’s head, making her screech. Another Noble tackles Ingrid to the ground, allowing Villosa to stomp on her head. The other girls join the attack, and the Amstraadi girls rush down the aisle to cheer.
My head pounds, and questions swirl around my mind. What if there’s a firing squad waiting for me in Fort Meeman-Shelby? What if I disappear? What if that’s where they’re holding Mom and Dad hostage? I can’t think of what I might have done to incite the queen’s wrath apart from my hospital visit with Prince Kevon.
Byron orders the driver to open the coach door. Any satisfaction I might have gotten from seeing Ingrid get her comeuppance pales with the gut-churning worry of what Queen Damascena plans to do to me in Rugosa.
A pair of camerawomen set down their equipment and escort Ingrid out. Emmera taps at me to let her watch Ingrid leave the coach, and I swing my legs to the aisle. From what I can hear between the girls’ hooting laughter, Ingrid is having difficulty walking. I tune out the voices and focus on the challenge ahead.
An hour later, the coach stops at Fort Tyler, where Byron joins us for a late lunch in the dining room. I pick at my food and tune out the other girls’ grumbles about how Ingrid probably got an even better room of her own.
We drive through the day and most of the night, only stopping for the production assistants to bring dinner. The Lifestyle Channel broadcasts highlights from the dates with Prince Kevon. While the Nobles flirt with the prince, the Amstraad girls tell him about their struggles to grow food
