The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(39)

“Really?” I smooth my hair over my shoulder. “You must have been watching me from afar because until we boarded the coach, I never once noticed you.”

Her nostrils flare, and her arm twitches. I raise my chin, waiting for the slap. Instead, she twists, grabs a glass of water and tosses it at my face.

I dodge left, letting the water splash on the ground. “They should make you the copy cat or the hog that just wasted a precious resource.”

Emmera’s eyes widen, and she stares at the empty glass, her face frozen in a rictus of horror. She’s probably thinking the same as me. Everybody who ever worked the fields will look upon her actions with disapproval. She’s just told the whole of Phangloria that Harvesters don’t value water.

“Wonderful!” Bryon Blake rushes toward us. “Keep up the tension for the next few days, and I’m sure the viewers will vote you both into the palace round.”

The other Harvester girls walk out of the room, leaving me alone with Emmera, whose face has turned the color of corn milk.

“Why does she get to compete when she didn’t even make the vote?” she whines.

“Friends in high and foreign places.” He flashes her a grin and heads to the table of Nobles, where a short-haired girl sits with her shoulders shaking with rage.

I don’t wait around for Emmera to finish her tantrum. Instead, I hurry out of the room and follow the other girls down a hallway that leads to a huge lawn.

As I step out, the scent of warm earth mingles with the sweet aroma of grass, reminding me of Herdwick. It’s a town of shepherds, where everyone either grows herbs in huge semi-circular tunnels covered in shaded fabric or tends to sheep or goats. I went there with Dad to buy seeds for his micro gardens.

The grass in this part of the Oasis grows about an inch high, but there are no droppings on the ground to indicate the presence of ruminant animals to keep the growth so trim. Beyond this pristine meadow are shrubs and trees arranged like borders. I continue down a path of stepping stones toward a large tree with a twisting trunk. It rains down branches with tiny mauve flowers.

Footsteps strike the stepping stones. Gemini hurries behind me. “You didn’t have to play up to the cameras like that.”

“I’m the bucking bronco. That’s my job.”

She raises her thin shoulders. “At least you have a way out. Stay quiet and don’t react to anything. Nobody will vote for you, which means going home.”

It’s excellent advice, but I need to get through this round or I’ll fail my mission. A long breath heaves out of my lungs, and we continue walking the grounds in silence. I can understand why she’s advising me to go home.

“Are you a Noble?” I ask.

She shakes her head and stares down at the stones. “Guardian. My father designed Netface.”

Our footsteps thud on the stones as we head toward the tree. If it wasn’t for the explosion of mauve, I would have identified it as a weeping willow. “How does Netface work?”

“It uses similar technology to how you get the government news channel down in Rugosa,” she replies. “But it’s two-way communication, so they can see and hear you while you’re watching them.”

I shake my head. It’s something else they’re keeping from the Harvesters. “What else does it do?”

“Everyone’s Amstraad monitor contains a camera that communicates with the Royal Hospital and the Central Guard. It’s the same with every vehicle.”

My heart sinks, and I think about the guard I poisoned with my darts. We reach the huge tree, and I duck under its pendulous branches. The tree’s thick canopy blocks all but the barest chinks of sunlight and creates a cool respite from the heat. A sweet, floral scent fills my nostrils, and it’s the first time I’ve smelled something so rich and fragrant.

“Why would people agree to be watched?” I lean against the twisted trunk.

“If someone falls ill or has an accident, the monitors send a message with their location as well as images to make them easier to find.”

I bite down on my lip. Carolina has to know about this network of cameras. Her underground monitoring station must have somehow grafted itself onto a similar communication system.

The scent of the flowers become cloying, and we continue to a large, sprawling pond where four-and-a-half-foot-tall birds with hooked, black beaks stand around the banks feeding on something in the shallow water. I want to say they’re flamingos, but they’re a fluorescent green.

Gemini stops walking and frowns at the birds.

“Why do they think your father is a traitor?” I blurt.

She turns to me, her pale eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You’re the first person who didn’t call him that.”

People in Rugosa get arrested for all kinds of reasons, few of which are actually crimes. Guards throw out words like treason, sedition, and subversion, without defining them. Even looking at a guard funny can get a person locked up if the guard is in a bad mood. I rock back and forth on my feet, struggling with how to phrase what I want to say.

I shrug. “It’s hard to accuse someone without any of the facts.”

“They let me visit his cell.” She blinks, releasing the tears, then wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”