The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(6)
At the back of the stagecoach sit two-dozen dirt-covered Harvester men, who reek of manure. They are soil builders, who prepare the desert for crops. It’s smelly, back-breaking drudgery, and the more arable land they create, the more Phangloria expands.
I give Ryce an apologetic shrug for asking such a delicate question outside. Even when nobody seems to pay attention, someone is always listening.
Ryce takes my hand as we cross the stretch of dirt track that leads to the cornfield. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You’re not to mention what you see to anyone, is that understood?”
I nod, and we continue through the expanse of corn. The lines of stalks stretch on forever, a lush, forest green with a smattering of golden cornsilk, and their tall leaves form a shady canopy. We continue in silence through the field, and my pulse thuds with the promise of adventure.
Hundreds of feet ahead stands a baobab tree with a trunk thick enough to fill the entire house. Dark-limbs protrude from its crown-like tentacles, which twist and split into branches and the thinnest twigs. That baobab tree has been struck by lightning so many times that the earth around it has turned barren.
“Don’t be alarmed.” Ryce lets go of my hand, approaches the tree, slips into its hollow, and disappears.
“Ryce?” I try to keep the tremble from my voice.
He doesn’t answer, and I squeeze my eyes shut and blow out a long breath through my nostrils. This is a test. Ryce probably wants to judge my worth to see if I can be trusted with a stealth mission. Wiping my damp palms on the sides of my skirt, I glance over my shoulder and follow him inside.
Darkness engulfs my senses, and an electrical charge makes my skin tingle. The fine hairs on my body stand on end, and I suck in a shocked breath. It’s so quiet inside the tree that the thud of my pulse becomes deafening. One foot stumbles after the other, and I fall forward, only to land in strong arms.
“Careful.” Ryce wraps an arm around my back. “I should have warned you about the uneven floor.”
My nose grazes his neck, and I can almost taste the salt on his skin. Heat flares across my cheeks, and my throat dries. Right now, I’m glad there’s no source of light in the tree.
“What is this place?” I whisper.
“The entrance to the Red Runner headquarters.”
Ryce takes my hand, and every knot of tension that has formed on my muscles unwinds. He guides me a few feet forward, then down a ladder and down an underground hallway, warning me that the passage is fraught with traps. I stay close for safety, but his steady presence at my side is intoxicating.
I’m not sure if we’re traveling away from Rugosa or toward it but eventually, lights flood the passageway, making me blink.
Ryce places a hand on a door screen that scans his print. The technology is alarmingly similar to the ignition used in solar jeeps. “She’s waiting for you in here.”
The door clicks open. A whirr of fans fill my ears, and the scent of stale coffee invades my nostrils. Ryce steps into what I can only describe as a monitoring station, a hexagonal room with two massive screens on each wall displaying footage from all sixteen towns within the Harvester region.
Six people wearing black clothes sit in the middle of the room at work stations that contain four monitors. My gaze lands on the screen flashing images from Rugosa Square, our street, and the cornfields, and of a truck arriving into our town. The young man observing them raises his head, and his entire lower jaw appears missing.
Shock flashes through my insides like lightning, and I clamp my lips together to hold back a gasp. Swallowing hard, I blank my reaction.
What is a Foundling doing in the Harvester region? I’m not complaining—I’m not, but the Guardians would never let someone who looked like him into Phangloria.
My throat dries, and I drop my gaze to the ground. There’s a special group of Guardians called midwives that don’t help women give birth. They assess babies’ viability based on a range of unexplained tests and criteria.
Three years ago, a young Harvester woman with a healthy child birthed a baby that required two midwife visits. Nobody knows what was wrong with the baby, but the entire family disappeared overnight.
“Zea-Mays Calico.” Carolina steps out from a doorway on my right.
Her features have hardened over the years. The unfairness of having a husband brutally killed and his murder dismissed can do that to a person.
As usual, guilt tightens my chest at the sight of Carolina. I hadn’t seen the guard’s face. I hadn’t been able to identify the monster who had slammed the butt of his rifle into Mr. Wintergreen’s head until it split open like a watermelon. Because I had been paralyzed with terror, there had been no justice.
Carolina places her hands on her hips, and her assessing gaze roves my form. “What did you do to that guard this afternoon?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the people watching the monitors turn, but my gaze fixes on Carolina. Pride straightens my posture, pulls my shoulders back, and lightens my chest.
I’m about to answer when Ryce rushes forward and tells his mother about the mandragon berries. My insides deflate a little at losing my chance to shine in front of the Red Runners’ leader, but it makes my heart swell that Ryce has listened so carefully to my account of today’s events.
Carolina nods throughout Ryce’s explanation, and I step back and watch. She paces up and down the room, firing questions at him, and seeming more like a general than a mother. It’s a stark contrast to how they interact in public.