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.
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.