The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(22)
We drive toward a wall of interconnected domes that stand four times as high as the one in Rugosa Square and stretch out for miles. It’s just like the pictures I saw projected at school, but until now, I hadn’t realized the scale of the glass structures that surround the Oasis.
Forelle clutches my arm. “Is that—”
“The botanical gardens,” I whisper.
Excited chatter explodes through the coach’s subdued atmosphere as everyone leans to the window to take a better look. This is the source of every seed ever grown in Phangloria and the birthplace of our country.
All thoughts of revolution tumble to the back of my mind. “I wish we could stop and take a look.”
“What I wouldn’t give to spend a day in the gardens,” says Forelle with a sad sigh.
Garrett appears at our side. “I can take you.”
Forelle’s lips part and mine purse. Her mouth opens and closes and she seems to flounder for words. I hold my breath, waiting for her to respond, but she smiles and says, “After the trials?”
“Of course.” He grins. “I’ll even show you my favorite spot.”
I turn to the window. Garret has just acknowledged that no Harvester girl stands a chance with Prince Kevon. Not that it matters, as there will be no need for monarchs in the new democracy.
An archway opens up between two of the domes, where there’s another checkpoint. The guards scan our bracelets once more before letting us through. I glare at the glowing object, hoping it doesn’t also monitor our locations. With all the sneaking about I’ll be doing in the palace at night, I can’t let myself get caught.
Beyond the dome, a train emerges from the ground and speeds along a track. I follow its progress along swathes of meadows that lead to a forest.
I shake my head and exhale an awed breath. “Have you ever seen so many trees?”
Emmera pokes her head through and glances from me to Forelle. “We have orchards in the Harvester region, you know.”
“But these trees aren’t growing in straight lines.” I point at the wooded area. “And they’re all different.”
Her face softens. “I didn’t know land could be so beautiful.”
“Yeah.” I stare at a lake whose surface shimmers in the morning sun. There’s so much water just lying there and no sign of any pumps. The Oasis is green and lush and a perfect growing environment, but I can’t see any crops. It’s such a flagrant waste of resources.
I press my head to the window, my gaze fixed on the distant city. Tall, pale buildings loom from the top of a distant hill. They sparkle in the gold sheen of the morning sun. Considering that the land outside Phangloria is a desert wasteland, I can understand why our capital city is called the Oasis.
Emmera launches into a monologue about everything she wants to see during the trial, not giving Vitelotte a chance to respond. I haven’t seen the purple-haired girl since we boarded the coach, and I hope she hasn’t crumbled under Emmera’s attention.
Eventually, the road leads to a street lined with trees that don’t appear to grow anything apart from pink and red flowers. Behind the trees stands seven-story stone buildings with iron balconies.
“Is that where the Nobles live?” asks Forelle.
“I always imagined them in castles,” I reply.
The further the coach drives us into the city, the greener it becomes until I feel we’re driving through a park from an old documentary. Lush, green lawn covers the landscape with the occasional fountain and flower bed. We pass hundreds of feet away from stone mansions, which I guess answers Forelle’s question.
“Which one is the palace?” she asks.
They all look like palaces to me, but none have the ostentatious fountain.
The coach drives alongside a lake that seems to stretch into the horizon, and I bite down on my lip. How big is the Oasis? Even driving at a slower rate, it appears larger than Rugosa. It’s hard to tell, but I suspect the maps we learned in geography class aren’t entirely accurate.
We pass over a bridge that gives us another view of the city. Tall trees with dense foliage hide all the dwellings, but I suppose the architects have designed the Oasis to offer maximum privacy and comfort for its inhabitants.
On the other side of the bridge is a built-up area that reminds me a little of Rugosa Square, except that there’s a river running through it and ancient stone buildings with spires that curve around to a fountain far bigger and more wasteful than I could ever imagine.
“Look at…” Forelle’s voice trails off because there are no words to describe it.
A stone Gaia stands on a podium in the middle with her arms outstretched. She’s pregnant with a crown of flowers. Around her, statues of people hold up offerings of water that cascade over the goddess.
Sergeant Silver stands in the middle of the aisle. “Ladies of the harvest, thank you for your patience during this long journey and welcome to the Oasis. Congratulations on passing the first round of the Princess Trials. We are approaching the Gloria Concert Hall for the televised auditions.”
Up ahead lies a large pond with a bridge that leads to another stone building. This one is larger than the others in the Oasis with double-height floors and a round, vaulted roof that reminds me of the Rugosa Dome.
My throat dries, and I no longer want to get off the coach. In all my sixteen years, I’ve only seen guards and other Harvesters. Everyone here wears different colors and styles, and it’s a level of freedom I’ve only seen in Sunday movies played on OasisVision.