The camera cuts to a palatial building in the Oasis, where a pair of burly Harvester men drag two unconscious Nobles down its front steps and into an armored truck.
I draw in a sharp breath through my teeth. “They’re rounding everybody up.”
Moments later, a loud ringing sounds through the room, and the wall screen displays a pair of men in Harvester uniform. This looks like a video entryphone feed rather than any government channel because they’re standing on what appears to be a doorstep with a black vehicle at their back. The younger is as tall as a stalk, with bowl-cut hair that shimmers like corn silk. Next to him is an older man with puffy cheeks, piercing eyes, and a nose as sharp as a raptor’s beak.
For the next few moments, nobody moves or speaks. The men turn their raised heads from side to side, looking like they’re trying to find a way into the compound. I bite down on my lip, wondering what orders Carolina gave them for Nobles who live alone.
The younger man’s lips tighten, and he rings the bell again. “We know you’re in there.” He holds up a hand-held tablet. “You deactivated your cuff, and a squad of comrades is on its way. Open up now, or we’ll judge your accomplices.”
“Answer them,” Charmeuse whispers to her twin.
Chiffon taps a command into her watch. “Welcome to the House of Thymel.” Her voice shakes. “How may we help you?”
“We’re here for the Noble,” the older man growls.
I gulp. The Amstraad Republic must have planned this revolution for months. Carolina and the Red Runners could never have coordinated so many attacks on their own.
“Don’t let them in,” says a voice from the other side of the workshop.
I wrap my arms around my middle and stare out into the wall screen. Behind the Harvesters, a black truck waits on the roadside. On the other side of the road is a stretch of forest that leads up to the mountains. If reinforcements arrive, the electrified fence that protects the House of Thymel from wild animals won’t hold back the Red Runners.
“Anyone caught harboring an oppressor will be put to death,” the older man says, his voice weary. Even if he’s reluctant to open fire, his younger comrade looks ready to kill.
I stumble to my feet. “Let me go.”
Georgette jumps up and grabs my arm. “We should move to the basement storeroom before—”
“They didn’t mention Master Thymel by name, did they?” I ask.
She shakes her head and glances at her cousin, who still lies on the floor with his head covered in silk fabric.
I turn to the watchmaker and hold out a hand. “Myatt, can I have one of your wrist cuffs?”
His eyes widen. “To fool them into thinking they’re picking up your signal?”
“That’s right.”
“One moment.” He pulls out a wrist cuff, smashes it with a mallet, and hands me the pieces. “That will explain why your signal suddenly died.”
“Thank you,” I say.
The twins stand. “You’re really going out there?” asks Charmeuse. “Even though they’ll take you to the Oasis?”
“They’ll go away if they complete their mission,” I reply. “Besides, I need a ride to the capital.”
Chiffon and Charmeuse walk around their brother and wrap their arms around my shoulders. It’s not quite a Forelle-strength hug, but the warmth in their embrace fills my heart with courage. They thank me for my sacrifice, but it’s me who should be thanking them. If it wasn’t for the revolution, General Ridgeback would be hunting me through the streets in revenge for Berta’s death.
If these Harvesters can take me to the Oasis, I might be able to convince them to help me find Mom and the twins. After that, I can save Prince Kevon.
They draw back and stare at me through shining eyes, and my mind drifts to my identical twin brothers. Yoseph and Flint are out there with Mom, tired and scared and exhausted. They probably don’t know about Dad.
“Are you sure about this?”
I glance around the room, over the worktables, over the mannequins covered in half-created outfits. My gaze settles on the frightened people by the water dispenser. Master Thymel might have been awarded the status of a Noble, but he treats his employees right. Those two Harvesters at the door would take one look at his fine clothes, bleached hair, curled mustache, and dismiss him as a vain and callous oppressor.
With a nod, I offer them a tight smile. “Thank you for helping me when I needed it most, but I really need to leave.”
“Zea?” Myatt raises his head. “The fabric also works if you wrap it around the cuff.” He pulls the silk loose and loops it around Master Thymel’s ear. “That way, His Highness can see where he’s going when he finally awakes.”
Georgette taps her watch. “Hello?”
“Finally,” the older man sneers. “Backup is on its way.” He points up at the sky. “Will you release the Noble, or will we have to blast open your doors?”
“She’s coming,” says Georgette. “This is a very large estate, so it will take time to reach the gate.”
They exchange puzzled glances, which I think is because they’re expecting Georgette to say they’re bringing me out.
“Good luck.” Chiffon slips a slimline cuff on my wrist. Its black screen displays the time, 16:59, and an icon for Netface. “We’ll get in touch with the location of the people who are keeping your family safe.”
“Thanks.” I squeeze her hand.
Georgette shoulders on a thin backpack and fastens its straps around her front, making it look like a body warmer vest. As we walk through the workshop, the employees murmur messages of good luck.
Trepidation ripples through my insides, and I offer them tight smiles. At the cutting table, I take a piece of faraday silk large enough to wrap around Prince Kevon’s chest, and a few smaller pieces for his and Garrett’s ears. By the door, Georgette pauses at a closet, pulls out a similar backpack in Harvester brown, and arranges it around my torso.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Gilet-packs,” she replies as she fumbles around my back. “I’m stuffing it with vacuum-packed Harvester uniforms.”
“Why?”
“His Highness will need a disguise when he sneaks out of the palace,” she replies.
I’m about to ask why Artisans hold stocks of our uniforms, then I remember the farmers’ market. None of the people we met had actually been Harvesters, and some of them had even been Nobles selling home produce. I fill my lungs with air, pushing down a rush of emotion. At least I have a plan to rescue Prince Kevon.
Georgette finishes, zips up my bag, and ushers me into a stark hallway of white walls that extend around a corner. She walks by my side and murmurs, “Why do I feel like I’m walking you to your execution?”
“Because they have guns?” I ask.
Georgette shakes her head and sighs. “It feels like the end of the world.”
My mind drifts to Prince Kevon, who is probably lying in a cell. The day I volunteered for the Princess Trials, I had pictured a revolution. It was going to be a glorious event where I led the Red Runners to the palace, we imprisoned the royals, and…
And what?
Carolina’s vision usually skips to the part where she runs the country and divides rescuers equally among its citizens, and Harvesters are freed from having to work the fields. In all these years of being a Red Runner, I’d just pictured us taking over the palace and setting up a new government.