The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(21)

“Neither of you have a chance of winning these trials,” she whispers. “I doubt you’ll even get into the palace.”

“Careful, Em,” I say. “If you make a sour expression at dawn, it will stay on your face until sunset.”

Her eyes bulge, and she disappears into her seat.

“I hope she isn’t going to be like this in the Oasis,” whispers Forelle.

“I hope she continues.”

“Why?”

“The sooner they see what she’s like, the sooner they’ll send her home,” I whisper back.

Not everyone in Rugosa supports the Red Runners. Mom doesn’t because she thinks the Harvester region is some kind of paradise, but there are a few who direct their animosity toward the other towns. If Panicum wins the water bonus, then they’re the enemy. They’re too small-minded to turn their anger to the one withholding the water. Emmera reminds me of that type of person.

Four more Harvester girls join us, but they’re different from the others. Their hair is glossier, their cheeks rounder, pinker, and they have a vitality I’ve only seen on guards.

“Wow,” says Forelle.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Bos.”

“Ah.” Now it makes sense. These girls live close to the Cumberland Dam and handle livestock. Just like we’re free to harvest seeds from fallen fruit, they must get a chance to consume some of the excess milk and offal.

Moments later, the doors close, and Garrett returns to Forelle’s side. “You’re awake.” He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Looking forward to meeting Prince Kevon?”

“Looking forward to stretching my legs,” I say in my sweetest voice. “How many stops until we reach the Oasis?”

“Bos was the last.”

Sergeant Silver drags Garrett to the front, and he glances over his shoulder and winks at Forelle, who giggles. I slide further into my seat and rotate my ankles.

Forelle had only tried to stop that guard from harassing me, and now he won’t leave her alone. Being pretty has its disadvantages, like becoming a magnet for unwanted attention.

The coach drives down a highway and into what I can only describe as gloom. I’ve seen sandstorms, dust storms, and solar eclipses, but I’ve never seen fog. It’s dense enough to blot the rising sun.

Smokestacks twice as tall as the vast buildings spew gasses into the sky. I clap a hand over my mouth to suppress a gasp. Around me, all the other Harvester girls are doing the same. This can only be the Industrial region.

Forelle leans across my seat and peers out of the window. “How can anyone live without clean air?”

The answer comes as we pass a troop of guards standing beneath bright floodlights. Below the usual facemask on their helmets are respirators with two huge protruding filters on the left and right. They herd a group of shabbily dressed workers who tie kerchiefs around their noses and mouths. Some of them cover their faces with rags.

“This is terrible,” I whisper. We may not have enough water, but at least we can breathe. As soon as I can get a message to Carolina, I will ask if the Red Runners extend to the Industrial region. This place makes Rugosa look like heaven.

We pass through this region, and the air clears, revealing the morning sun. We pass by a paved city consisting of large corrugated iron structures that remind me of storehouses. They last for another half hour before the coach stops again.

Everybody groans. This is the longest I’ve sat in my life, and the Oasis seems a lifetime away.

“Roadblock,” says Garrett from the aisle. “Excuse me, ladies.”

The door opens, and guards clad in black armor step into the coach, each clutching hand-held monitors.

“Show your bracelets,” bellows the one in front.

I stare down at the blinking device. Did they think one of us has counterfeited our way onto this coach? The guards scan the bracelets of the girls in front, scan ours, and then move to the girls sitting at the back.

“Found one!” says a triumphant voice from behind.

“What?” I turn around.

An ash-blonde Harvester girl shrieks as a guard hauls her out of the back seat. “What did I do?”

They march her off the coach without explanation.

As Sergeant Silver passes, I lean across and whisper, “Excuse me, what just happened?”

He frowns. “Your Amstraad bracelets have been monitoring your health for hours. Some of the conditions it screens for take that much time to detect. Those guards found something that disqualifies her for entry into the Oasis.”

“What’s going to happen to her?” I ask.

“If it’s curable, they will take her to an infirmary.” The blond guard excuses himself and walks to the front of the coach.

Forelle and I share a look. From the pain etched around her eyes, I can tell she’s also wondering if the guards will take the easy route and make that girl disappear.

After passing through swathes of countryside filled with deer, wild horses, herds of buffalo, and even lush forests, we pass through a meadow. By now, the sun is halfway to its zenith, and it lights up a poppy field. It’s a vivid array of red and purple that fills my heart.

I release my joy in a wistful sigh. Nobody grows ornamental plants in the Harvester region. Dad’s cacti soak up rain and wastewater through their shallow roots and store liquid in their stems. They’re a source of nutrition should life ever become dire.