Below this one sentence, in curling black ink, Renya’s father, King Marchant, has placed his signature and seal.
Renya has finally come through for me. Just a few hours more. Then my father will be on his way to the Citizens Hospital with this order in his hands, and I won’t have to be fearful anymore.
“My mother’s been dead since I was seven years old,” I say to the princess as I slide across the smooth rear seat of her motorized carriage right at six o’clock. “But this evening, you’ve said no more to me than she has.” It’s true, and it’s odd, because Renya is almost never sullen. On the night of the carnival, of all nights, I’d expect her to be buzzing with anticipation and gossip, but she’s as quiet as the dead.
She gathers her skirt up and pulls in her feet, and the porter shuts the carriage door behind her. “Sorry,” Renya says. “It’s just something my father said to me at tea.”
Whatever was said, it’s filled her head and sealed her lips. Thoughts light in her eyes, but she doesn’t share a single one.
The carriage lurches forward. We are just passing through the palace gate, and I can see all the way down the hill to the shoreline. With the sun setting and the rooftops glowing gold, the city reminds me of a living heart, the roadways reaching into the countryside like arteries.
I fidget in my seat, smoothing the skirt of the borrowed red dress and checking and rechecking the small purse I carry, which holds nothing but the royal order. Beyond the city, the edge of the bay is marked by twinkling lights, except for the smudgy shadow of the wall that surrounds Camp Hope. I visited Marlon and Papa there just this morning, to make sure they fully understood where they needed to be at the Apple Carnival, so that the princess could hand Papa the order while drawing as little attention to it as possible. I don’t need fancy citizen doctors, my father had grunted. If royal orders are so easy to come by, get one for yourself, or one you can use to help Marlon.
Don’t worry about me, Marlon had said, repeating words he’d heard Papa say a million times. But I’d seen the anxious look in my brother’s eyes. So often he seems blissfully unaware, but Marlon knows what it means to be an indentured Outsider. He knows what lies ahead of him.
At the door, I’d tried to cheer Marlon up with a riddle. He’s a master at puzzles of all sorts. What feeds bees, people, worms, and fires, in that order?
An apple tree, he’d said. Too easy.
I’d stood there shaking my head. See you both tonight.
See you both tonight, he’d repeated, and closed the door behind me.
The carriage is already halfway down the hill, and still Renya hasn’t spoken. “So what is it, then?” I say when I can’t stand it anymore.
“He warned me to be on my best behavior tonight.” For a moment I don’t understand. The king always warns Renya to behave. But then she adds, “They’re expecting members of the OLA to be at the carnival. The Enchanted Authority is on high alert.”
OLA stands for Outsider Liberation Army, and their name tells you everything you need to know about them. They provoke complex feelings in me. Of course I want liberation, but their violent methods sometimes cause Outsiders more harm than good. “If the OLA disrupts the carnival,” I say, “you may not get the chance to give my father the order tonight. He’d have to wait—”
“I suppose.”
But that’s not what’s churning up Renya’s mood. The princess has a history with the OLA that is personal and dark, and now, I understand why she’s so sullen and withdrawn.
If it had ended differently, it would have been as romantic as a fairy tale. A fairy tale about a princess, a boy from the OLA, and a secret romance. But the romance was discovered, and instead of happily ever after, it ended with the worst beating of my surrogacy. I could have died—would have died—if it hadn’t stopped right when it did.
It took a week in the infirmary before they were sure I’d survive. It’s something we never talk about, and we’re not going to start tonight.
Before the silence between us can become any more uncomfortable, the carriage comes to a stop, and the door beside Renya is pulled open. We are in the center of the city in Queen Rosamond Square, at the edge of the Apple Carnival.
Everything is decorated with flowers—vendors’ stalls and carnival games and clusters of tables under bright red awnings where food will be served. Garlands of poppies and apple blossoms are wound around every pole. Chains of daisies crisscross overhead, back and forth above the footpaths. And intermixed with it all are a thousand twinkle lights, flickering to life in every corner of the square.
Not far away, someone is playing a lilting tune on a tin whistle, and I can’t help but relax. The threat of the Outsider Liberation Army upsetting my plan to get this order into my father’s hands seems more remote now than it did in the carriage with sulky Renya.
But then I notice Prince Lars stepping from his carriage just ahead of us, and of course Kit, his surrogate, is with him, and I doubt there are enough twinkle lights and tin whistles in all of the King’s City to keep me in a good mood if they are going to be around all evening. To be honest, I hate the sight of them. They are both brutal and cruel, and have done enough to hurt me over the years for me to never forgive them. I turn my head quickly so as not to let them catch my eye.
A breeze drifts over us, carrying the warm scent of apples baking. Renya grabs me by the hand and tugs me toward the carnival gate.
“Princess!” It’s the voice of Sir Arnaud, climbing out of the king’s carriage behind us. In front of us, a line of Enchanted Authority guards move together to block the princess’s way. “You know better. Please adhere to protocol!”
Enchanted Authority guards are always around to protect the royal family, and on a night like this one, with rumors circulating about the OLA, I’m not surprised to see so many. But Renya’s not happy. In her eyes, the guards are here to enforce Sir Arnaud’s restrictions on her, or maybe to protect her from her own inclinations. Renya spins on her heels, and I can see the angry child inside her—the angry child who has never really gone away even as she’s grown up. I can tell by the sour expression on Sir Arnaud’s face that he can see it too. But then his daughter, Sir Millicent, steps forward and sets a hand on Renya’s arm, and she calms a bit.
We’ve grown up together—Renya, Millicent, and I. Tonight is the first time since she joined the King’s Knights that I’ve seen Millicent in her black-and-red dress uniform. It has a strange effect. She looks like she’s aged years since I saw her this morning.
“Well, Princess,” calls Arnaud from behind us, “we have thirty minutes until the opening of race registration. You seem to be leading the way, so where to?”
It’s funny how a person’s words can seem so accommodating while their tone is anything but. Good thing Renya doesn’t care. She presses forward, her eyes bright and hot under the flashing lights. The air smells of cider as we linger to watch two flute dancers skipping in circles. I’m trying to figure how they keep from falling down, and then one does. I offer a hand but then we’re moving on, and I lose the dancer’s grip as I’m jostled by a few of the biggest Authority guards. The cider smell fades, but I pick up the scent of apple cake again. At a poppy-strewn booth, Renya takes up a handful of darts, but throws only one at the spinning target before passing the rest to Prince Lars. She’s restless. “May I?” she asks the attendant at the darts game, scooping up a few loose poppies.