I clutch the tablet so hard that my knuckles turn white. “Maybe Kevon wants to rule Phangloria with compassion instead of cruelty. Maybe he wants to fall in love instead of making an arrangement. Maybe—”
“Do be quiet,” Lady Circi snaps.
My mouth clicks shut, and we speed through the lamplit highways in silence. Lady Circi reaches into a pocket behind the front passenger seat and pulls out another computer tablet. I let my gaze wander around the vehicle. It’s similar to the car Prince Kevon drives, except there are four seats instead of just two. The driver must be important because she wears the same Amstraadi monitor in her ear as Lady Circi.
I turn to the window and watch the cornfields rush past. The moon illuminates the tassels swaying in the breeze, and my heart aches for home. As the car turns down the road that leads into Rugosa, I twist around to Lady Circi and pluck up the courage to interrupt her reading.
“What’s happening to my family?” I murmur.
“Nothing apart from the inconvenience of guards around their home,” she mutters without glancing up. “Your father, on the other hand…”
My breath catches. “What?”
The car stops at one of the streets that leads to Rugosa Square, and Lady Circi steps out. I scramble out after her with a question on my lips, but the sight of the square steals my breath.
All the floodlights are on at full force, lighting up the giant geodesic dome and the paved expanse that make up the square. Along three sides of the space are more black trucks than I can count, as well as a marquee similar to the one used in the first round of the Princess Trials. It’s also the same structure the guards use whenever performing mass raids.
An invisible rope wraps around my neck and tightens into a noose.
Lady Circi walks ahead of me with rapid strides.
I wrap my forearm around my chest and jog after the woman. “What were you going to say about my dad?”
“He’s another one who doesn’t know his place.” She turns to me with a raised brow, and her lips tighten with what might be a suppressed smile. “He’s wearing the guards’ patience with his endless questions, but they won’t harm your family unless you displease Her Majesty.”
Blood drains from my face, and my feet freeze into place.
Sirens blare across the square and over the streets beyond. I glance at the dark sky and back at Lady Circi. It isn’t even four o’clock and people are still sleeping. What on earth is happening?
Lady Circi continues toward the dome without looking back. She knows I won’t run away when the guards outside my home are itching to hurt Dad or when not saying the words on the tablet exactly as Queen Damascena demands will result in Vitelotte’s death.
I follow her across the square, past guards in black saluting by their vehicles, and we step into the Rugosa Dome. Two people stand on the stage across the wide, empty expanse. Mayor Shoepeg, a stout, little man with a bald head and Carolina Wintergreen who stands as tall and as unsteadily as a cornstalk.
Ropes of resentment tighten around my chest until I can barely breathe. Despite Vitelotte’s confession, I still think it was Carolina’s idea to murder Prince Kevon.
The mayor rushes down the side of the stage and across the dome’s expanse. “Zea-Mays, thank you for taking a break from the Princess Trials to introduce the new water rationing.” His gaze lines on the exposed skin that stretches down to my waist. “I appreciate the efforts you made to influence Prince Kevon.”
Heat flares across my cheeks and travels to my ears and down my chest. My gaze darts to Carolina, whose glare is sharp enough to cut me in half.
“Welcome back, Zea-Mays.” She offers me a cold smile. “I trust that you are progressing within the Trials.”
Lady Circi waves them away. “Miss Calico needs to practice her speech.”
The two Harvesters return to the stage, just as the first sleepy people shuffle into the dome. I dip my head and follow Lady Circi up the stage steps and to leather seats occupied by high-ranking guards in black armor.
I cast the senior Harvesters a wistful glance. That’s where I belong, not with these Guardians.
Over the next twenty minutes, the dome fills with bleary-eyed Harvesters. It’s about four-thirty, at least an hour before most people awaken, and everybody looks confused at the early roll-call.
As thousands of people fill the dome, the screen behind us broadcasts the floodlit square now crammed full of Harvesters. The pulse between my ears muffles the blare of the Phangloria national anthem, and I place my damp palms on my lap to soak up the excess moisture.
The mayor introduces me, and the crowd roars with applause. I gulp, not knowing what on earth Montana has shown them on OasisVision. I’m shaking so hard that Lady Circi helps me up and walks me to a wooden lectern. If she wasn’t part of the duo holding the lives of my family hostage, I would have described her gentle support as an act of kindness.
I keep my gaze fixed to the screen that projects from the dome’s ceiling and away from the faces a mere ten feet away and read the first lines of the speech. It contains a light-hearted greeting, an apology for the early start, and assurances that they will make up for lost time on the fields with a shortened lunch break and an hour added to their workday.
A stony silence spreads across the dome, and a shudder runs across my stomach. Of course, they’re not going to cheer at the prospect of longer hours. Whoever created this speech made it sound like the directive is coming straight from me.
When I tell them that each Harvester will receive double their usual water rations, the air fills with gasps, but the sound does nothing to quell my anxiety. I
