“Kevon.” The Hierophant steps toward us. “Is this young woman your choice of bride?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The older man beckons me forward.
I glance at Prince Kevon, whose head bobs with an encouraging nod.
“Zea-Mays Calico, is it?” asks the Hierophant.
My heart spasms. How does someone holy know my name unless he watches the Princess Trials? Should I nod, should I bow, should I curtsey or kiss his ring? Prince Kevon addressed him by his title, which means he’s probably higher in rank.
I clear my throat. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Then the videos on NetFace are true.” The Hierophant’s face breaks into a smile. “Thank you for your valiant rescue of our future king.”
Heat rises to my cheeks, and my words dry up on my tongue. If I said I would do the same for anyone, it would diminish the depth of my feelings for Prince Kevon.
The Hierophant chuckles, and the moonlight streaming down on us brings out the silver highlights in his blue eyes. “I’m delighted with your choice,” he says to Prince Kevon. “You have my blessing to proceed.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” the prince replies.
A thrill of happiness shoots through my insides as Prince Kevon turns to me with a smile. “I’m giving a eulogy the top of the stairs. Could you wait for me with Forelle?”
“Of course.” I incline my head at the two men and continue alone down the walkway and down another set of stairs.
When I reach the bottom, the only face turned to mine is Forelle’s, as everyone stares up at the main stairs. I take my seat, and all the tension leaves my muscles in a relieved breath.
“People of Phangloria, we gather in this temple and in our domes to celebrate the life of—”
The chamber goes dark, and my ears fill with the sound of an explosion.
Chapter 19
I suck in a breath through my teeth, grab Forelle’s hand, and push us both to the ground. Shrieks erupt through the temple, their echoes mingling with the sounds of explosions and gunshots. Keeping my best friend close, I glance from left to right, but I can’t see any of the flashes of light I would expect from gunfire.
“Kevon,” Garrett yells, but his voice is lost in the chaos of shouts and screams and cries for help.
Forelle whimpers at my side.
I wrap my arm around her back and pull her through the dark in the direction of the pillars. “Stay calm. It’s not real—”
Someone hooks an arm around my middle, lifts me off my knees, and tears me away from Forelle. He’s as big as Dad with a grip like steel and smells of chlorine.
A scream tears from my lips, but my captor clamps a hand over my mouth and carries me at a sprint.
Harsh, rapid breaths wheeze through my nostrils, and my entire consciousness centers on the large body encasing mine, the man’s mechanical movements, and the rapid beat of my heart. This has to be the work of Queen Damascena. I should have known from the way she looked at me earlier that she planned something terrible.
His arms pin mine to my sides, and all I can do is thrash with my legs and hope it’s enough to trip us over. He takes us through doorways, down stairs, and around corners, each passing second separating me further from Forelle and Prince Kevon.
Then as suddenly as he scooped me up, the man deposits me on the hard floor and releases my mouth.
“Who is this?” I swing my fists around in the dark.
Somebody’s muffled laugh turns my fear into fury. I charge in the direction of the sound and manage to land a hit on hard flesh.
“Why have you taken me?” I snarl.
“I apologize for the alarm, Miss Calico,” says a familiar voice.
My brows draw together. He sounds like…
A thin light flares, illuminating the collar and face of Ambassador Pascale. “We don’t have much time. Assassins are approaching the outskirts of Rugosa.”
“My family?” I say with a gasp.
He nods. “An hour ago Queen Damascena gave the order to slaughter your father and hold your mother and brothers hostage until you agree to her demands.”
“How do you know this?” I whisper.
“How indeed?” drawls another familiar voice.
“Mouse?”
“As I implied earlier, Miss Calico, we have mere minutes before the Devotees of Gaia work out how we have sabotaged their lighting and acoustics. Your family, however, do not have the luxury of time.”
Lights from the men’s collars flash on and off, and their excited breaths rattle through my ears. This has to be part of the larger game show he wants to export to the Amstraad Republic, but do I believe the ambassador?
My pulse quickens, and sweat forms on my brow. Mouse has never steered me wrong, and he probably works for Ambassador Pascale. I don’t think it matters if I believe him or not because an attack on my family is exactly what I would expect from Queen Damascena.
“What do you want from me?” I whisper.
The lights on Mouse’s collar shift, as though he’s adjusting his jacket, but Ambassador Pascale’s face remains patient and still. The expression doesn’t match the supposed urgency of the situation, making me doubt their claims.
“We have agents stationed in Rugosa, ready to slaughter Queen Damascena’s assassins,” says the ambassador.
My hands curl into fists. I want to grab that glowing collar and shake the answers out of the little man, but fold my arms across my chest. I’m trapped in a room with two or more Amstraadi soldiers. Even more Amstraadi soldiers are within reach of my family. I’m in no position to make demands.
“Alright,” I say.
“Once they have secured the area, my people will escort your family to the Amstraad Embassy, where your mother, your father, and your twin brothers will remain in comfort and safety until the coronation of Prince Kevon.”
“And then what?” I ask.
The ambassador makes a dry chuckle that sends disgust rippling across my skin. “As soon as the new king disbands Queen Damascena’s royal court, she will be powerless to act against your family.”
Mouse steps forward, holding a computer tablet. “See for yourself.”
My throat dries as I stare at the tablet’s screen. Two dots—one white, and the other red—appear on a map of Phangloria in the location that was once Memphis, Tennessee. He taps again, and the map expands into the Harvester Region. Then with another tap, Rugosa, and another brings up the long stretch of land between the cornfields and Rugosa’s residential area.
“That white dot is my house?” I croak.
Mouse’s finger hovers over the red dot, which races across the screen toward the white. “As you can see, the assassins are close.”
My insides quiver with anxiety, and I clap a hand over my mouth, trying not to hurl half-digested lobster soup over the computer tablet. I wish I wasn’t trapped in this room with two men whose motives I barely trust, wish I could call Mom and Dad to check that they’re alright, but I can’t. I can’t afford to gamble the lives of those I love.
I clear my throat. “You haven’t told me what you want in exchange.”
“The opportunity to grow crops in the Amstraad Republic,” the older man replies.
My gaze lifts from the computer screen, and I meet the ambassador’s watery eyes. “That’s it?”
His lips form a tight smile. “That is all. Agree to do your utmost to convince Prince Kevon to allow us to extract viable seeds from the produce we import, and I will save your parents.”
I nod. “Alright.”
His brows rise, and he twists his thin lips into an amused smile. “How can I trust you will carry out your promise when you ask for so little?”
The red dots separate, implying that there are two vehicles. Each stops in front of the white dot. Mouse taps the tablet, bringing up a screen split into four images. Footage of my house’s exterior, footage of a small car and a large van, the kitchen, and the view from the top of the stairs.
On the top-left quarter, dark figures step out of a black car, each holding guns that glint in the moonlight.
A dagger of white panic sears through my heart. “Please, save them.”
“Do you know what the Amstraad republic sends to Phangloria in exchange for crops?” asks the ambassador.
The figures move toward my house, and I glance at the screen on the top-right. This footage has to be live because the distant cornfields only glow this brightly during full moons.
A pair of guards appear from the direction of the house next door and approach the assassins. From the height difference, it’s obvious that they’re men and the assassins are women. The women raise their guns and shoot. Both guards fall to the ground.
I stifle a cry.
“Fifty percent of the Amstraad Republic’s medical staff work in the Oasis,” says the ambassador in the calm voice he used in the garden party. “They serve Phangloria in juvenation hospitals that help Nobles to add decades to their lives. Do you know what that means?”
I shake my head, barely listening to his words. The women stand back-to-back, looking out for more guards to arrive.
Ambassador Pascale’s illuminated head glides toward me like a specter. “They use our nanotechnology, take the organs of healthy donors to transplant into their aging bodies, transfuse their blood, undergo cosmetic procedures, all to live an undeservedly long life.”
The horror in his words barely registers, even though a voice in the back of my mind screams at me to pay attention. I can’t. Not when assassins step into the house, holding their guns aloft.
“I…” My voice breaks. “I already agreed to ask Prince Kevon to let you grow crops. Please, don’t let my family die.”
A large hand squeezes my shoulder. It could only belong to Mouse, but I can’t tear my gaze from that terrible screen. On the bottom-left, the assassins walk through the hallway and reach the bottom rung of the stairs.
“Now, we want to know what you want from us in exchange,” says Mouse.
“What?” I whisper.
“Within three years of receiving untainted crops from Phangloria, we aim to make the Amstraad Republic self-sufficient,” says the ambassador.
My mouth drops open. “I said yes. Yes. I’ll do it.”
“A country that no longer needs to import food also no longer needs to export its medically trained staff or its technology.” The ambassador’s voice trails off.
Realization soaks through my skull. Phangloria probably kept the Amstraad Republic dependent on them because it needed this advanced technology. Advanced technology I know nothing about. I rub my dry throat. This isn’t a decision I can make on behalf of a country, but I’ll do or say anything to keep my family alive.
The assassins turn around. One of them races to the front door and flings it open, while the other pauses halfway up the stairs.
My heart thunders. My mind races. My mouth opens and closes with rapid breaths. Ambassador Pascale wouldn’t have approached me if he didn’t need a specific answer. What did he say to me when we spoke at the garden party?
Wiping my brow, I clench my teeth to stop them from chattering. Ambassador Pascale said his country would never waste its people on menial work that could be replaced by machines. And the Amstraadi girls used their dates with Prince Kevon to show him their growing domes and agricultural machinery. Tools like this would mean that Harvesters wouldn’t have to work so hard and for long hours.
As the assassin at the door turns to her companion, my thoughts coalesce. “I promise to convince Prince Kevon to exchange untainted staple crops in exchange for the equipment you use to mechanize your agriculture.”
The ambassador nods.
My tongue darts out to lick my dry lips. “We can also discuss what you need from Phangloria in exchange for maintaining life-saving medical technology and…” I gulp, trying to stop my voice from trembling. “And the networks that support our country.”
“Very well.” The ambassador offers a thin hand.
We shake on the agreement, not caring that it’s soaked with my sweat. He feels like bones encased in soft flesh, but I can’t think about that until he stops those assassins from reaching the top of the stairs.
I tighten my fingers around his hand. “Please, save them.”
Mouse taps a command on the tablet. An explosion fills the bottom-two screens. On the top-right, balls of fire smash through the window.
Cold shock barrels through my insides with the force of a truck, and I drop onto my hands and knees. The noose around my neck tightens, and I can no longer breathe. My vision turns black, and it feels like my insides have disintegrated with the explosion. After agreeing to their demands, the Amstraadi tricked me into ordering everybody’s deaths.
“Easy, now,” Mouse says with a chuckle.
Mouse wraps an arm around my back and helps me to my feet. My limbs are so heavy that I can barely support my weight, and tears blur my vision. They’re gone. Destroyed by people who murder each other not for ambition but for entertainment.
Maybe I should have walked out, maybe I should never have played along, but it seems like they’ve toyed with me since the moment I threw a tomato at Prunella Broadleaf’s face. I blink, letting hot tears roll down my cheeks, only to find Ambassador Pascale staring at me with a maniacal grin.
“We evacuated them the moment Queen Damascena gave the order to seize your parents.” His watery eyes widen expectantly through his glasses.
My mind blanks. “What?”
Mouse taps another command on the screen, bringing up an image of Mom and Dad huddled together in the back of a van. The twins sleep within contraptions that strap their little bodies to the seats next to Mom.
A hand claps over my mouth, its fingers trembling like leaves in a breeze.
“Your family didn’t die in the explosion,” says Mouse. “We’re transporting them to the Amstraad embassy, where they will enjoy a stay in our luxury apartments.”
My gaze darts from the ambassador’s twinkling eyes to Mouse’s symmetrical grin of perfect teeth that glow in the light of the computer screen. I turn my eyes back to the ambassador, who winks.
Mouse squeezes my shoulder. “We’re using this segment to advertise the Princess Trials on our most popular show. If you would like to speak to your mother and father, just repeat the words, ‘My name is Zea-Mays Calico, and I’m an April fool.’’
“What?” I shake my head from side to side. “They’re alive?”
“Just say your name, followed by a statement that you’re an April fool.’’
I stagger back a few steps. “Why did you let me think they were dead?”
Both men erupt into laughter, and the ambassador rocks forward.
“April fool, Miss Calico,” he says between wheezing chortles. “I haven’t seen a reaction like yours in years!”
I swallow several times in quick succession as the words sink in. This was a trick so that people could laugh and tune into the Princess Trials for more. “But…”
“Would you like to speak to your parents?” asks Mouse.
Adrenaline surges through my veins, and every muscle in my body tenses with the urge to lash out with feet and fists. How dare they toy with my emotions? How dare they use Mom and Dad like pawns? How dare they record such a moment to broadcast to an entire country?
Ambassador Pascale makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat, and my jaw tightens with contempt. “Everyone has their weaknesses, Miss Calico,” he says. “Your family is yours.”
“And yours?” I ask through clenched teeth.
The older man chuckles. “My country, I suppose. Now, say the words, and you may speak with your parents.”
I suppress the urge to rage at these sadistic monsters and force calming breaths in and out of my nostrils. “My name is Zea-Mays Calico, and I’m an April fool.”
Mouse taps the screen. “Mr. and Mrs. Calico, can you hear me?”
Dad turns his head from side to side. “W
ho is this?”
My heart leaps. “Dad?”
“Zea?” says Mom. “What’s happening? Some guards grabbed your father in his cornfield and then brought him home. Now another group of people is saying we’re in danger.”
“They’re taking you to a safe place.” I inject as much false cheer into my voice as I can muster and try not to cause them alarm. “I’ll see you soon.”
The lights turn on, and Mouse taps the screen, making it go blank. Ambassador Pascale sweeps his arm toward a door. “Let’s join the others on Hesiod Hill.”
I shake my head. “But my parents—”
“We will safeguard the future queen’s parents.” Mouse slips the tablet into the inside pocket of his military jacket and places a hand on the small of my back. “Everyone has evacuated the building, and they’ll soon know you’re missing. Hurry.”
We rush through darkened hallways leaving the Ambassador trailing behind. Mouse’s jacket emits a faint light that illuminates stone walls that look like they’ve been excavated with one of those pickaxes Soil Builders use to break through hard ground.
My mind whirls with what I’ve just seen. The explosion of my house and those assassins, Mom, Dad, and the twins once again held captive. Mouse and Ambassador Pascale must have known I would agree to their demands, otherwise they wouldn’t have stolen my family and installed explosives in the house before the assassins arrived.
The corridors wind and twist and split, but Mouse navigates them with ease. We run through an archway, and Mouse pushes open a door. A cool breeze carries the scent of fragrant shrubs, and we step outside into the night. Dried soil crunches underfoot, and rows of olive trees stretch out in the distance. The temple behind us illuminates our patch of the hill, as does the full moon.
“It’s this way.” Mouse beckons for me to turn left.
I follow him around the hillside and resist the urge to shake my head. “Why go to such lengths for a fair trade of your technology?”
“Would you believe that we have petitioned successive monarchs to allow us to grow our own food?”
“And they all said no?” I jog to keep up with his long strides.
The Princess Games: A young adult dystopian romance (The Princess Trials Book 2) Page 27
