The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(46)

Production assistants attach bands to our heads that beep. I touch the warm metal of mine, only for a spark of electricity to snap at my fingers.

“You can’t leave us here,” screeches Ingrid. “I didn’t consent to hostile simulations or out-of-Phangloria excursions.”

I nod along with the Noble, and the other girls voice their noisy protests.

A hundred feet away stands various methods of transportation. A covered jeep that can fit twelve, two topless jeeps, six quad bikes, twelve camels already laden with blue saddlebags, and six zebus, carrying the same bags. Zebus are horned cows with a massive hump used by the deliverers in Bos to transport dairy products to other towns within the Harvester Region.

One of the production assistants guides Berta, Gemini, and me over a wooden pathway to a cordoned-off platform. We’re the only group sectioned off like this, and all the other girls gather to our left and right. Maybe they’re going to ask the girls to throw things at us in revenge for my hurling a tomato at Prunella’s face during the audition.

Prunella spreads her arms wide. “Welcome to your first trial.” She turns to the camera with a solemn expression. “Look around, people. This is what lies beyond the desert, a hostile, toxic wasteland riddled with monsters warped beyond sanity by the evils of pollution.”

I glance at the polluted scenery, not knowing what to believe. The yellows are too vivid to have come from nature, the greens make me wince, and everything apart from the boiling puddles has dried to husks.

“Is this place real?” I whisper.

“We learned about it in Environmental Sciences,” Gemini whispers back.

I note that she doesn’t confirm that the Detroit Depression really exists. This feels like a propaganda message designed to remind the lower Echelons that the Nobles provide us with refuge from something worse than just the desert. Maybe this is why Mom is so grateful to be a Harvester, even if that means constant hunger and hard work. Maybe this is really what’s out there, and we’re lucky to be in Phangloria.

Prunella makes three sharp bursts with her whistle. I shake off those thoughts and focus on the rest of her announcement with the reminder that Harvesters contribute more than we consume.

“This is an exercise in teamwork.” She claps her hands together. “Form groups of six and use any means of transportation to cross the Depression and reach the Mirage, which you’ll find in the north. The first girl to enter the threshold will enjoy dinner or breakfast with Prince Kevon.”

My stomach churns at the implication that we’ll be here all day and possibly the night. All the other girls turn to each other and talk, drowning out Prunella’s words.

“Settle down,” she squawks. “Apart from this meal, there will be no opportunities for one-to-one time with His Highness until the palace round.”

Some of the girls shriek, and my head pounds from the oppressive heat and the impending dehydration. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Prunella points a gun into the air and shoots a red flare. “Go, go, go!”

The Amstraadi girls sprint toward the largest jeep before Prunella stops speaking, while the Nobles and Guardians rush to the other two jeeps. Meanwhile, Corrie Barzona from Bos leads the Harvesters to the Zebus.

I curl my fingers around the barriers encasing us and want to spit on the ground, but three assistants point cameras at our faces. We’re the entertainment, but this situation looks like it could kill.

A moment later, the girls pile out of the jeeps.

Berta barks out a laugh.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“They’re not authorized.” She claps her hands together and watches the Guardian girls run to the solar bikes and race toward the Mirage. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

I shake my head but can’t stop staring at the mad scramble for transportation. The Amstraadi girls all vacate the covered jeep and rush to the vehicle that the Guardian girls abandoned. One of them starts the engine, and they all roar with triumph.

They split into two teams—one to drive that jeep, and the other to commandeer the vehicle that the Artisan girls can’t get to start. A moment later, they race down the wilderness.

A camera focuses on Berta, who says, “Nobody can drive a vehicle if they don’t have authorization from the onboard computer.” She points at her wrist cuff. “All our information is stored here.”

The Noble girls get the larger jeep working and drive off after the Amstraadi girls.

I shake my head. Not only is this trial rigged, but they’re not even trying to hide their blatant bias toward the Nobles. Why do they get the only covered vehicle? The Industrial and Artisan girls, who didn’t attempt to get a vehicle working, each mount a camel, and the Guardians mount the bikes.

Byron Blake opens the cordon, and I take my first step onto hot ground that crunches beneath my feet.

“How are we supposed to reach the mirage?” I ask.

One of the stagehands emerges from the other side of the coach with a herd of long-bearded goats with oversized horns that point toward the sky. Another assistant drags three backpacks across the yellow ground.

“Good luck, girls.” Byron boards the coach.

Prunella and the camerawomen follow him, then the door hisses shut, and the coach reverses out through what appears to be a black hole in the atmosphere. A swarm of hand-sized drones fly in, each carrying cameras.