“In exchange for this generous boon, we require more. More hours, more output, and more reporting of those who contravene our laws.”
My throat dries. This isn’t what Prince Kevon wanted. That water was freely given without requirements. I want to shout this out to the masses, but the lives of Vitelotte and my family are dependent on delivering this exact speech.
I glance down at the tablet and read the next words. “Phangloria accepted your ancestors through the Great Wall on the condition that they contributed to our society. They readily agreed to our stipulations in exchange for sustenance and shelter. Most Harvesters have performed their duties, and we have punished the exceptions.”
Every cord in my voice box quavers. Queen Damascena is making me sound like I aspire to become a Noble. New words pop up on the screen.
“A Harvester who was welcomed to the Princess Trials planned a heinous attack on the royal family.”
Whispers spread through the crowds, indicating that news of Prince Kevon’s stabbing didn’t reach OasisVision.
“Bring forward Vitelotte Solar,” I rasp into the microphone.
Marching feet sound on my left, where a cordon of guards create a walkway from the stage to a side door. Huge guards walk toward us, dragging Vitelotte to the stage. She’s barefoot, covered in ashes, and wearing a sack with holes for her neck and arms. A silver collar stretches from her chin to her collarbones, and bruises mar her face.
I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a cry.
They release her arms and step back, letting her fall onto her hands and knees.
Closeups of Vitelotte fill the screen, making people in the crowd cry out. They’re the same sounds of anguish that rang through my ears each time I received a whipping for attacking a guard.
Despair turns my insides to chalk, and my heart crumbles into dust. They’ve twisted Prince Kevon’s mercy into prolonged torture. The computer tablet’s screen flashes, indicating for me to continue reading—or else.
I clear my throat. “This young woman nearly condemned her entire town when she committed a heinous act of violence against Prince Kevon. Such an act would have gotten the entirety of Rugosa sent out to the desert from whence you came.”
Shouts fill the air. There are so many voices, I can’t tell if they're in support for Vitelotte or for her condemnation. My chest tightens, and my breath quickens until only the barest amount of air grazes the tops of my lungs. I want to stop reading, but new words appear on the screen.
“I pleaded for the traitor’s life and explained to his Highness that Harvesters have forgotten the promises of their ancestors.”
My mind stutters with a new thought. What if those who came to Phangloria seeking refuge did so after having seen the broadcasted images of the Oasis? Why do the border guards tell Foundlings to leave their possessions behind? Tizona implied that genetically perfect Foundling children went to the Oasis to become servants. What if she was right?
Thoughts spin through my head, and I have to hold onto the lectern for balance. Foundlings come here under false pretenses. The lucky ones get to grow food for the Nobles, and those whose offspring reach a certain level of perfection lose their children—also to the Nobles.
Spots fill my vision, and clouds fill my head. My fingers curl around the lantern, and I force every ounce of my concentration into not joining Vitelotte on the floor.
A slender hand wraps around my arm. I don’t need to glance over my shoulder to know it belongs to Lady Circi. “Keep reading.”
“Bring the Solar family,” I murmur into the microphone.
The guards drag a dark-haired man about the same age as Dad, an old lady with wrinkled skin and gray hair, and a young man clutching two infants to his chest. The children don’t even look like they’ve reached their first year.
“Vitelotte Solar.” My voice cracks. “For the crime of attempted regicide, I banish you and your family into the Barrens, where you will all serve out life sentences for three generations.”
She raises her head, her face twisting with anguish.
The old lady collapses onto the stage, and the guards leave her where she lies. Vitelotte crawls to her grandmother and cries for her to wake, but she won’t move.
Rumbling shouts reach us from beyond the dome, and the distant sound of machine-gun fire fills the air. The crowd surges forward, and a sea of angry faces snarl my name. This is just like Montana’s daily quota reports, where he pits Harvester against Harvester by making us compete for the prize of extra rations. Except nobody can see that I’m not the person banishing the Solar family.
I want to scream my innocence, but Lady Circi’s warning rings through my ears. If I say anything other than the words written on this tablet, the guards will shoot Vitelotte and whoever stands with her.
They’ll kill the grandmother, if she isn’t already dead. They’ll kill Mr. Solar and Vitelotte’s older brother. And they’ll kill the babies in his arms. I’ve got to keep reading because they’ll also kill Dad.
“While we watch the repercussions of one selfish young Harvester on her father, grandmother and siblings, consider your actions. Those of you who spurn our hospitality and flout our laws will no longer face punishment as individuals, but as entire families.”
I gulp at the next sentences that appear on the screen. “Hours ago, the following Harvesters condemned their entire households to the Barrens. Cole Taylor for the crime of brewing alcohol, William Packham for the crime of gambling, and…” My breath catches. “Ryce Wintergreen for conspiracy to commit regicide.”
Carolina shoots out of her seat. A guard drags her across the stage and throws her face-down onto its floor. She falls beside Vitelotte and the old lady.
Roars of anguish spread across the crowd. Harvesters surge forward, their faces twisted with rage. The guards spray bullets into the
