The Princess Trials (The Princess Trials #1)(94)

“Zea?” asks Prince Kevon.

“You’re right,” I say, my voice choking with bitterness. “They meant to kill me.”

“Why don’t we have a little music for our heroes?” says Montana. “Conductor, do you know Girl on Fire by Keys?”

The audience chuckles.

Before I can react to the tasteless joke, men in black rush through escaping crowds with military precision. One of them stands at the dance floor, points their gun at Montana, and bullets explode from his chest.

Screams fill the air as Montana hits the floor, and blood pools around his still body. I stagger back with my hands over my mouth. This can’t be the Red Runners. They’re supposed to wait until I show them a secret entrance to the palace.

Palace guards in purple armor rush through the doors, and the men in black throw grenades that fill the exits with fire. Guards fly from left to right amid a spray of debris.

A pair of the men in black turn their guns to us. One shoots at someone up the stairs, and the other yells, “Stay still, and no one will get hurt.”

“Get down,” Lady Circi barks behind us.

Everybody, including Prince Kevon, crouches. I twist around to find both Lady Circi and Queen Damascena shooting at the invaders. The men who pointed guns at us fall, and the two women rush down the stairs, leaving the Amstraad ambassador standing at the throne with a smirk.

My hands curl into fists. “I knew it.”

“Zea?” shouts Prince Kevon at my side.

The machine-gun fire is so loud, so relentless that I can’t tell when one shot starts and another ends. Eventually, they stop firing, and footsteps thunder down the stairs.

“These gunmen are Amstraadi,” I say.

“Everybody, follow us.” Lady Circi runs down the side of the orchestra. The conductor cowers behind a man sitting around a set of kettledrums, but the musicians remain in their seats with terror etched on their faces.

I turn to the tables that border the dance floor. Everyone has either fled, fallen, or is flinching at the far walls. The girls stream behind Queen Damascena, who disappears into an exit set within the staircase. Lady Circi stands to one side of the door, beckoning us to hurry with a small machine gun.

Prince Kevon ushers some of the more frightened girls to run. I stay at his side, making sure everyone is following directions.

Ingrid rushes toward us and grabs at his lapels. “What’s happening?”

“I’m not sure,” he replies. “Stay with the group. Her Majesty will lead you through an underground tunnel to transportation out of the palace grounds.”

My throat spasms. I’ve found a secret passageway, but why am I thinking about my mission amid murder and chaos? More girls rush ahead, and Ingrid remains close. As the last few depart through the door, Prince Kevon, Ingrid, and I take up the rear.

“Hurry,” hisses Lady Circi.

As we pass the lady-at-arms, I glance at the door. Its interior consists of metal thick enough to secure the safest of vaults. We’re in a long hallway that slopes downward and is lit by bulbs so dim they’re barely noticeable. Lady Circi steps in after us, pulls the door shut, and slams her palm on a glowing view-screen. The bulbs flare to life, bathing us in light.

I turn to Prince Kevon. “What about Garrett?”

“Move!” Lady Circi sprints ahead.

Prince Kevon and I break into a jog. He turns to me and replies, “Garrett left the ball an hour ago.”

“Thank Gaia.” Ingrid places a hand on her chest.

As soon as Lady Circi disappears into the crowd of girls, Ingrid stumbles and holds onto her calf. “Oh!”

Prince Kevon pauses. “What’s wrong?”

“Leg cramp,” she replies with a sob in her voice. “Run ahead, Your Highness. Save yourself.”

Prince Kevon scoops her into his arms, and Ingrid rests her head on his broad chest. The part of me that might have bristled at her transparent tactics remains dormant. Gemini’s mouth, the horror in her eyes, the explosion of her body parts on my bare skin rush through my senses. All I can do is keep running and hope that the palace’s security system isn’t built on Amstraadi technology.

“What’s happening?” Ingrid whispers, her voice soft and vulnerable. “Why do so many people have to die?”

Ingrid’s arms wrap around Prince Kevon’s neck, and she sobs into his chest all the way to the end of the slope.

We reach an underground space that reminds me of the one I saw in the Concert Hall, except it’s not filled with vehicles. Lady Circi stands at the door of an armored bus about half the size of the coach that transported the Harvester girls to the Oasis.

“Hurry,” Lady Circi hisses.

Prince Kevon steps aside and says to me, “You first.”

I bound up the stairs and meet rows of frightened, tear-streaked faces. The Artisan girls hug themselves, the Guardians sit stiffly despite their tears, and the Nobles’ faces are pale and unmarked. Emmera wails in the back, her head on Vitelotte’s lap, and Corrie Barzona strokes her hair.

“Get on your feet, Strab,” snarls the lady-at-arms from outside.

Feeling no stab of satisfaction at Ingrid’s reprimand, I walk past the front, where Queen Damascena sits next to the empty driver’s seat. She clips a fresh magazine into her automatic rifle, making my skin crawl as I pass the Noble girls and lower myself into the place next to an ashen-faced Berta.