“Zea!” Forelle rushes forward and wraps me in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. Georgette just told me what happened with the queen.”
I’m still feeling unsteady from the choke-hold, and I tap Forelle’s arm for her to draw back. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m escorting you to the funeral.” She raises her hand and flashes a thin bracelet set with colorless crystals and blinking lights.
My mouth falls open. “Is that the latest Amstraadi technology?”
“Garrett proposed.” Forelle flashes me a grin. “He just returned from visiting my Mom and Dad to ask for permission.”
A boulder of dread rolls in my stomach. I’m happy for Forelle—Garrett is a great guy who will offer her a happy and less complicated life, but if asking the family is the tradition for Nobles, it means that Prince Kevon doesn’t have any plans to marry me soon.
“Congratulations.” I wrap my arms around Forelle and give her a hug. “When are you getting married?”
She draws back and raises a shoulder. “We’re waiting until after the funeral and coronation.”
I nod, noting that Forelle didn’t mention a royal wedding. My heart shrinks until there’s an empty cavity between my lungs, and I smile so hard that the muscles in my face tremble. Any decent young man would balk at a girl who kicked his mother, let alone a prince, and I haven’t forgotten the odd look he gave me when I freaked out about unbuttoning my jacket.
As my expression collapses, I turn to Georgette. “Is Master Thymel making the dress?”
The other girl smiles back and raves about her cousin’s selection of wedding gowns, which makes the pair dance around the walk-in wardrobe like we’ve just completed a massive harvest.
Ingrid’s words roll to the forefront of my mind like tumbleweed. Royal brides outside the Noble Echelon don’t live long enough to make the history books.
I push away those thoughts and turn to the garment bag. Ingrid just tossed me a handful of paranoia seeds with the spores of self-doubt. The next time I see her, she’ll water them and sit back while they sprout.
Georgette unzips the garment bag and reveals a full-length silver dress with the silhouette of a Harvester Uniform, only it’s made of one huge piece of silk with a white sash around the waist. Its long arms are as thin as spider webs and look like they would cover my wrists.
She explains that Master Thymel based it on the gowns worn by medieval queens and he wanted to reflect the virtue, generosity, and integrity of being a Harvester. As Georgette helps me into the outfit, Forelle brings her own garment bag and changes into a similar gown the color of the stars.
After a light supper of lobster soup, the guards walk Forelle and me through the hallways, down the stairs, and into an underground parking lot, to a fleet of white limousines. Our driver takes us out of the palace grounds and into the Oasis streets.
I lean forward in the back seat and peer out of the window. The streetlights are off, with the storefronts and full moon providing illumination. Nobles and the people who serve them stand on the streets, raising white flags. White ribbons stretch from the trees and lampposts and shimmer in the moonlight, presumably representing the king’s ascension to Gaia. It’s a beautiful display, but I can’t stop thinking about the Harvesters who got gassed.
Five years ago, we had to gather in Rugosa Square to watch Princess Briar get married. The guards provided Phangloria flags, and there were even extra rations of water and seasoned corn nuts. Would the guards wait a few days to announce the king’s death or force everyone from their homes to watch the funeral without enough water to wash the cepa gas from their eyes?
Forelle wraps her fingers around mine. “Are you nervous?”
“I never want to see another camera,” I say with a groan.
She hums her agreement. “Eden says they don’t allow reporters into Hesiod Hill.”
I lean back in the leather seat and exhale a relieved breath. Eden is Garrett’s sister, who has given her a warm welcome to the family. Now that I know a little more about the cousins’ upbringing, it makes sense that they’re not like other Nobles.
Our car travels through a boulevard that stretches across a lawned area and then slows to join a procession of white vehicles moving down a long road that leads to a hill. Vertical road markings reflect the moonlight and spotlights illuminate the silver bark of olive trees that line our path.
The wheels rumble beneath us, reminding me of the uncovered roads of Rugosa. I press my face against the window. Unlike the other parts of the Oasis, there are no buildings, no greenery, and no other plants, save for these olive trees. It seems strange that a temple would occupy such humble surroundings.
The building up ahead is a silver dome that shines even brighter than the palace. Moonlight catches its metallic roof, and the tall columns supporting the structure glow with an internal light.
“Is this where the princess got married?” I ask.
Forelle opens her hand, and light streams from her new bracelet. She taps a few commands onto the images on her palm, explaining that this new health monitor also contains NetFace.
“This is the original Temple of Gaia,” she says. “The Hierophant lives inside the hill.”
My brows draw together. “How do you know so much about this technology?”
“When I’m not spending time with you or Garrett, Eden shows me around the Oasis.”
Forelle wiggles her thumb, and more text appears on her hand. “The Hierophant and his devotees commit their lives to the service of Gaia. Their duties include presiding over royal weddings, funerals, and coronations. In modern times they reserve a life of peaceful existence within the olive groves that surround their home, but they once protected the temple from encroaching predators and wild men.”
By the time Forelle finishes reading the article, our vehicle reaches the top
