The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(7)
In Red Runner meetings, Carolina is our fearless leader, the aggrieved widow. She wants to free Phangloria for the benefit of the Harvesters, the Foundlings, and those downtrodden by the Nobles. She always pauses to smile at Ryce, which softens the sharp edges to her personality, but today, she’s all business.
Finally, she turns to me, flicks her head to a doorway and strides in its direction. “Walk with me.”
I glance at Ryce, who sweeps his arm out in a gesture for me to follow his mother. Carolina disappears into another hexagonal room, which is larger than the floor space of my entire house. Floor-to-ceiling racks line the walls, each laden with rifles, handguns, grenades, and metallic disc-like weapons I can’t begin to describe.
My mouth drops open. “Where did you get these?”
Carolina doesn’t answer but stands with her hands behind her back and rocks forward on her heels. My shoulders deflate at the obvious question. Most members of the Red Runners already know that this armory is the culmination of over half a century of pilfering weapons.
My gaze fixes on a short-barreled machine gun positioned lengthwise mounted along one wall. With thick, twelve-inch-long magazines, it looks nothing like border guard rifles. I want to ask Carolina how she obtained such sophisticated firearms, but she wouldn’t answer.
“We have enough weapons here and in our other stores to arm a thousand Harvesters,” she says.
I suck in a breath through my teeth and nod, flattered that Carolina has brought me into her confidence. It’s hard to picture so many armed rebels, but there are easily that many people in Rugosa Square every day.
“Can the revolution happen soon?” I ask.
Ryce stands at my side and places a hand on my arm. The strobe light harshens his earnest features. “There are fifty thousand Guardians in Phangloria, and five-thousand of them operate within the Oasis.”
My spirits deflate. It would take an eternity for any kind of revolution that doesn’t result in massive Harvester deaths. I bite down on my lip and glance at Ryce. Despite the pessimistic numbers he just presented, his eyes dance with excitement. Why?
I glance at Carolina, who stares at me with the same eager expression as her son. My heart skips. What I did today with my poisoned dart has given them some kind of hope.
Camel reed grows in the water filtration plants and around the expanse of drylands separating Rugosa from the Barrens, as does bamboo. They’re both types of grasses with hollow stems and are plentiful. Plentiful enough to equip thousands of Harvesters with blowguns.
Hope thrums through my insides, and I clear my throat. “Do you want me to make—”
Carolina raises a finger, making my mouth click shut. “Two hundred guard the palace.”
She steps back, and a cool smile crosses her features. It’s the barest curve of the lips without an ounce of mirth or warmth, but her breathing quickens, and her blue eyes become manic.
What is she talking about? I drop my gaze to the thickest machine gun on the wall, whose scope looks long enough to shoot a person from a thousand feet.
Ryce’s large hand slides around my waist, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to fall into a gibbering heap. His warmth seeps through the fabric of my dress, and his earthy scent fills my nostrils, making my heart pound so hard that its reverberations reach my fingertips.
I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the situation. This isn’t real. If Ryce Wintergreen wanted to make a move on me, he wouldn’t do it in front of his mother.
A thousand armed rebels could subdue two hundred palace guards, but Carolina’s suggestion is flawed. Even if we traveled through Phangloria undetected, we would never get through the palace gates. Nobody gets to enter that building unless they’re royals, ambassadors from the other kingdoms, or nobles. Or…
My head snaps up. “The Princess Trials.”
Ryce steps away with an approving nod. “I told you Zea would be perfect for this mission.”
“Me?” I slap my hand to my chest.
“Why not?” Ryce walks around me in a circle. “You’re pretty enough to reach the finals. Committed enough to find a hidden passageway into the palace. Brave enough to lead the revolution.”
“A spy mission?” My voice shakes.
Carolina nods. “You’re the only Harvester girl in the age bracket we can trust.”
A sharp breath whistles through my teeth. All these years, I thought myself an anonymous foot soldier. Carolina and Ryce barely acknowledged me after I had failed to identify Mr. Wintergreen’s murderer. No matter how hard I trained in Ryce’s youth cell, I had felt beneath their notice.
Ryce stops circling and places both hands on my shoulders. “You’ve grown from a frightened girl to a warrior brave enough to risk her life to save another.”
Carolina stands at his side and dabs a knuckle at the corner of her eye. “Just like my Sylvester.”
The reminder of Mr. Wintergreen makes my heart still. For a moment, I’m that quaking little girl who stepped into Carolina’s kitchen to share the terrible news. Dad had held onto my shoulders to keep me from falling into a sobbing heap as I spluttered out the words. Seeing Carolina howl with grief had nearly been as bad as witnessing the guard’s attack on poor Mr. Wintergreen.
“You can do this.” Ryce squeezes my shoulders.
His words snap me into the present, and I’m lost in his eyes. They’re the same color as mine but on the opposite spectrum of blue—pale as the horizon with flecks of white, reminding me of the sky before the rainy season. His pupils contract, and his hand lands on my shoulder, slides up my neck, and cups my face.