Hale waits for me at the top of the stone steps. I wince with each footfall but I finally make it to his side. Instead of going right down the short hallway to the door leading out, as we did when we went to the fields, he veers left. I am relieved that we are not going back to the fields. And then my spirits rise slightly. He's going that way. The door is the other way. What if I—

I have a split second to decide whether or not to make a break for it.

I sprint to the right, hoping by some miracle I will make it out the door to freedom. I have to try. I owe it to myself to ignore the pain. And fear. I reach the door and throw my weight against it, while rattling the knob. It is locked from the outside.

A firm grip on my elbow tells me Hale could have stopped me before the lock.

"No more spoiled princess crap," he says in a tired voice. "I want to sleep."

I stare at the ground and let him drag me down the hall into the church building. I stumble even though he keeps a steady, slow pace. I try to look around but most of my effort is focused on not keeling over.

We go up a rickety spiral set of stairs, almost like we're going to the belfry. It's not a normal stairway. But then we duck through a small door into a loft of sorts. It's a small room with three walls and an opening looking out onto the sanctuary.

I am struck by the sad, silent sanctuary of this old dilapidated church with its empty, scratched pews and cracked, stained glass windows. The floor is littered with torn pages, glass, dark spills, and tattered cloth. Yet, I still feel a reverence in the surroundings. The destroyed beauty before me is compelling. I drift to the edge of the loft, noting the sharp drop off and the distance to the floor: not jumpable. Maybe fifty feet. I get a bit of vertigo and take a tiny step back.

The windows are boarded up, the pulpit is overturned, and torn hymnals are in piles. Dust and cobwebs coat the ornate wood and glass chandelier, which manages somehow to still be elegant. I guess no one could get high enough to take it down. The pews are stripped of cushions, the walls have no fixtures, and the rugs have been pulled up by scavengers.

Even from this height I can see rodent droppings and smell the foul odor of long neglect. I have to breathe through my mouth and fight my lurching throat to keep from vomiting. The smell sifts with the layer of salve still coating my skin and becomes something even worse.

I turn back to find Hale lounging on a makeshift bed. It is many mattresses piled up to waist level with several blankets and pillows thrown over it. It seems luxurious by my current standards. The floor is bare wood but recently swept. No droppings or cobwebs are anywhere in this small loft. There is a metal box near the door and a wooden crate near the bed like a side table. On it is a candle and a gun. Hale sees me eyeing the gun.

"Not loaded," he says. "But I have a knife on me at all times and easy access to the bullets. Don't make me confirm the rumors that the future queen is dead."

I glare at him.

"What?" he says innocently. "There's been no sight or sound from you in a week. Even your dad can't spin that into a spontaneous engagement trip with Ean. People suspect the worst. Assassination, illness, heart trouble, so many rumors. I won't tell you which is my favorite...or which I started." He watches for my reaction so I keep my face blank. It's not hard because it hurts to move any muscle, even my cheeks and eyebrows.

He continues. "But you know what? There's hope in people's eyes as they see Kadan on the broadcasts next to your dad. Who looks a wreck, by the way. Completely defeated. I guess you were Daddy's girl?" He sneers.

I tilt my head. He seems so bitter. "What'd we ever do to you?" I carefully ask, wincing with the added pain of speaking.

Hale scoffs. "At least with castes we had jobs. Your dad stripped us of numbers and left us to fight for the few scraps he allows Illea to make. Why do we import so much? Why not improve infrastructure and produce here? Why does he forbid unions?"

"I don't know," I admit. He jerks his head up and furrows his brow. I shrug and look away.

A heavy sad silence fills the small alcove and I wish I was brave enough to ask more about the outside world.

"Eadlyn, how can you be so naïve?" he asks.

I don't say anything, afraid to risk this slight gentling of his treatment. I am not sure why he has brought me to this clean, open air loft. I prefer it to my cell, but he is lying on the mattresses like it is his room. A twisting unease fills my gut but I stay standing and silent.

Suddenly, he says, "Some people think you're with your Mom and Ahren."

"My mom?" I can't help but ask.

"I wonder if your dad told her about your disappearance."

"My kidnapping."

He shrugs. "They don't really know what it is."

"What do you mean?"

"Some people think you ran off with Kile."

"Kile?" My voice breaks on his name. I think about his soft hair and his goofy smile and comforting arms.

"He's off on the job you assigned him to, doesn't even know you're missing most likely. You sent him away, remember?"

"It seems like years ago. Why was I so dumb?" To refuse an honest person who truly loved me, beyond the throne or some silly Selection game. I didn't even give him a chance to decide for himself. I ordered him gone and now look. I needed him and he never knew it.

Hale gives me an odd look but I ignore him. He seems in a talkative mood. I should make more if it but I am so sore and his news of Kile hurts more than my injuries.

In a secret part of my heart I thought Kile would find me. It's silly and childish and fairy tale ridiculous but I thought Kile would be the one to put the pieces together about where I was. But he still doesn't even know I'm gone. Most people don't. My spirits dash against the cold stone walls of the abandoned church.

Hale breaks through my lamentations, "Some people think you and I ran off together."

"No!" I gape at him.

"What, so hard to believe? Neena likes me pretty well. I got her on board with a basic wink."

"Gross."

He laughs, seemingly truly amused. As opposed to his persona at the castle, I realize humor is a rarity for this quietly cruel man.

"We disappeared at the same time. We both have common interests and you seemed to favor me in the broadcasts. The guys used to give me a hard time about it."

I snort and try to ignore him. What's his point? What am I doing out of my cell? He isn't thinking...

"Don't look at me like that," he chuckles and throws a blanket and a pillow on the floor. "You can sleep at my feet. It's a step up."

I shake my head, speechless.

"Come on, I'm trying to be decent."

"Nothing about this is decent," I choke out.

He sits up, sudden fire in his eyes. "You know half of your country sleeps in conditions worse than this, right? No roof, no blankets, and no soft pillows filled with feathers. You have no idea do you? You are ignorant, like the rest of the rich airheads."

My own fury rises to meet his. I'm tired and hungry and dirty and worn down. How dare he blame this on me?

"I have never left the castle walls! How could I have known? I was raised to be ruler, my entire life spent with books and reports and lessons and etiquette and visiting dignitaries. I didn't have a fun, playful childhood. I don't know why I haven't been aware of the conditions of my country but I sure as hell know it's not my fault! I have done my best at every turn, even having this stupid Selection! So don't act like my ignorance was purposeful. I was in the dark. I had no chance to be fair or react appropriately. Your ways are purposeful...and reprehensible! You'll be hanged!"

He rolls his eyes at me. I grab the pillow and hurl it at his head. He shoulders it aside but I run and pick it up and whack him with it. "Don't! You! Roll! Your! Eyes! At! Me!" I yell.

He laughs and grabs the corner of the pillow so I have to stop whacking him with it.

"Eady, you are really growing on me," he says with a wide smile. It's infuriating. Especially the smile.

"You might have a point. I'm not sure why they wouldn't show you the real state of affairs. Were they going to?" He shrugs. "Think how far I got into the castle. No one suspected me. I even got you out of there with no problems. I don't think they'll ever catch me to hang me, but keep dreaming if it helps."

I shake my head at him in disgust.

He lies back down, brings his hands under his head, and closes his eyes.

"Sleep or don't. I'm exhausted. The door is locked, FYI, and I have the key in my pocket, where I'll be sure to notice if you try to palm it out." He opens one eye to squint at me. "Jumping would be suicide. Remember I have the knife, too. Night, sweetie."

"I'm not sweet," I mutter through gritted teeth.

"Good point," he chuckles.

I seethe for what feels like hours, watching his easy deep breathing and resenting that he is actually sleeping. Then I eye the blanket and the pillow that fell near the bed. I drag it over to the door where I test the metal box, find it locked tightly, and then lean on it with the pillow behind me and the blanket over me. It's better than the cell. Warmer, less scurrying noises in the dark, and cleaner. I am surprised to find my eyelids drooping. Soon I drift off into dreams of a quiet boy who loves books and ugly ties.

Someone is screaming. A palm tenderly smooths my hair off my damp forehead. I'm trapped. I can't get out. I scream again. It is me, screaming for my life.

I rip my eyes open and blink into darkness, breathing rapidly, my heart tripping and my hands clenching and unclenching. The action hurts like the devil. With effort, I force myself to stop.

The hand. The palm on my forehead. It's resting on the crown of my head. I reach up and put my own hand on top of it. Male. Not my dad. Not Kile.

"Hale," I grind out. My whole situation crashes back into my consciousness. "Don't touch me," I hiss and then I curl tighter to avoid his reach.

He chuckles softly into the night. "You were too loud, Eady. You woke me up, along with every single mouse and roach in this place."

My hand wraps around my aching throat. Yes, it feels sore and swollen like I've been screaming. Hale does not seem concerned that another person will hear me. This makes me worry that no one would be around to help me if I found the chance to escape. Is Hale the only one guarding me? Where is Neena?

I feel his warm presence crouched next to me. I'm not being loud now. Why is he still here?

"You are so fragile," he says contemplatively.

I almost answer with a Duh, but I don't think he means fragile like a beautiful piece of unique art. I think he means fragile like dandelion fluff.

"It's like your skin had never seen the sun before," he talks almost as if to himself. "It wasn't even that hot."

"Like hell it wasn't," I answer out loud this time. "You cooked me."

I hear him laughing and I regret saying it.

"You never got sunburn before?" he asks.

"I've never been out in the sun without a hat and sunscreen. At least a level 30. I wear cotton gloves for outside appearances, and have never gardened in my life." Then I ask, "What was that stuff we were putting on the dead plants? Was it poison? For like, insects?"

Hale sighs. "I guess Jayel wouldn't have told you."

"She said nothing to me."

"She hates your kind."

I scoff. "You know, she might hate me, but there is no 'my kind'. Everyone is a person with ideas and feelings. You can't lump all of us together and make a blanket judgement like that."

"Like you did with the Selection."

"What?"

"And you did with the people you thought blindly obedient and at your beck and call. And how you lump the people you rule into a group of mindless followers."

"I do not do that," I say into the dark room. He does not answer for a long time. I refuse to consider his words, yet they sink in all the same.

Finally when I am calm, I say, "I have made mistakes. I do not deny it." I wish it wasn't dark because I'd like to see his face.

I think he's fallen asleep when his voice rings out, strong and sure. "That was just nitrogen and sugar and some biological agents to speed up the decaying process. I'm sure they sell a machine to do it but the more jobs we can make up the better. People want to work. Why does the monarchy import field workers from Jordova when people right here are desperate for the jobs?"

I mumble, "I think it was considered beneath them to do manual labor like that."

"But being jobless and starving is better?" Hale scoffs.

"If you want me to help things to change, you'll have to let me go back."

"Fat chance, Eady. I kind of like having a pet." With a pat on my head, I hear him move back to his bed. Minutes later he says, "I'm glad you didn't know how bad it was, it motivates me to put a spotlight on the truth. Who else is in the dark? We'll see. Your Kile has amassed quite a following with his little houses and on air updates from the work sites."

My Kile. Is he teasing me?

Hale adds a bit more, like he can't help himself, "He's the best thing to happen to your family in a decade. Since your mom."

My heart clenches and I bite my lip to stop from snarking back. The more he tells me the more I have to work with. Where is Kile's work site? If he has followers does that mean they might help me if I could find them?

I wake up to his toe in my face, tapping.

I huddle away from him, against the wall.

"I guess I have to take you to work with me, Eadlyn. I expect you to behave."

"Not the fields," I whimper.

"No, but you'll have to work hard to be given food and water. Try to escape, and I leave you with Jayel or Burke. Do you understand?" he asks.

I stand up and splay out my palms. They are crosshatched with barely scabbed over scrapes, and my knuckles are swollen and peeling.

His lips twist. "I'm at the textile factory today. You're going to be on the assembly line, under the watchful eye of one of my people. Gemma does not want to hear about how you miss your satin sheets or tiaras. Got me?"

I stare at him with a blank face. He wants me to submit to his kidnapping like a docile idiot? No way.

He pats my back, slow and firmly. It kills. I hiss out a muffled scream and curl my shoulders in, enduring the fiery pain.

"That's how it's going to be, Eady. You are going to listen, or it's going to hurt."

I swallow, unable to speak even if I had something to say.

He encircles his fingers around my wrist and leads me to the cart. I endure a bumpy ride, but he does not tie me to the back. Nor does he slow down enough for me to jump out.

When we reach the textile factory, I barely have time to see the outside. It's a ramshackle but monstrous building with no windows and a huge roll up door. Hale hustles me inside, dodging other people rudely. He insisted that I wear a scarf but with this sunburn and salve on my face, I doubt anyone would believe I am me. I'm in a drab button up shirt and baggy pants that are cleaner than what I had before at least. Hale threw them at me and told me to be ready in one minute after we woke up.

At the factory, he walks so quickly I have to run to keep up. He pushes me into a small room, the size of my bathroom in the castle. Eight women sit at small desks flush up against each other. The lighting is poor, so they bend over pieces of fabric, working with small tools. I squint to see what they are working on, but I stumble. Hale grips my bicep tightly.

An older woman comes over, a mound on one of her shoulders and a hitch to her gait. She is in a drab smock dress and her gray hair is back in a bun.

"Whatcha got?" she croaks out, looking me up and down.

"One more worker just for the day," Hale says, clamping my arm so tightly I want to scream. This woman looks none too friendly as she eyeballs me. "Watch over her until I'm done with the Scafes?"

The woman spits on the floor and says, "I ain't your babysitter, boy."

"She'll work." Hale shakes me. "Won't you, E? Tell her." He shoves me forward so I am directly in front of the woman. Then Hale rests his hand on my back, causing waves of pain to jolt through my senses.

"Yes," I blurt out. He removes his hand.

"She can share my space," the lady mutters, bending down to mumble to the closest woman. Hale pushes me ahead of him down a very narrow aisle between the desks and the wall. I have to press my back painfully against the wall to avoid bumping the cloth on their desks, which trails down to the floor. Hale manages his larger frame gracefully. He's clearly been here before. The women each smile up at him, revealing very few teeth amongst the group. They pull their things out of his path, as if he is a messiah.

When we reach a desk in the back corner, he bends down and I have to arch away to avoid pressing into him. He clicks something and then winks at me and strides quickly out of the room. All eyes follow him except mine. I stare at my foot. He has shackled me to this desk.

I see red as I screech and yank my leg against the chain.

I look up to see the crone nodding down at the desk where there is a pile of fabric.

"Take out the thread. Snip with your teeth. Then use yer nails. 'Til there's no thread left. Kay?"

I swallow and nod, and then lower myself into a crouch. I can't sit, I am too tall for the mini bench seats which attach to the work desks. The woman seems to fold herself in. We both squint and hunch over the fabric. I watch her for a second and see how basic our task is, then I begin with a length of fabric. It's a large and uneven piece of paisley linen, similar to what a tablecloth would be for a fall harvest celebration at the castle. The hems we are removing are tight and neat, making me wonder where this originated and why we are dismantling it.

I would say it takes me two hours to do my piece. When I look up, the room is just as it was when I entered. Everyone is still working. They all have blunt scissors though, whereas I am biting through the thread I can't pull out.

The crone pushes another length of fabric into my hands. I get back to work.

I assume it's lunch time but no one breaks. My stomach makes noises but no one comments. They are silent. There is a mechanical buzz from another room. That and the snip snip of our work is all I hear for hours on end. I manage to complete four pieces when I hear the door. It hasn't opened all day: not one bathroom break, not one comment or hum or sneeze. Just hard, nonstop work.

Hale appears in the doorway. He asks the crone, "Did she behave?" I bristle but stay quiet. The lady nods. He smiles and the ladies all stop and stare at him. His teeth are a novelty but I think it's his overall charisma they are gaga for. The lady swats my arm and Hale beckons for me. I look down and realize she has unshackled me. She had the key. Dang it.

I stand and sidle over, trying not to bump anyone. They are all gazing at Hale, and yet they narrow their eyes at me when I join him. I want to say, It's a hostage thing! But I don't dare. Hale's hand hovers over my back, like a warning. He fastens his fingers around my wrist again and leads me through a large room with a high ceiling. In this room there are dozens of sewing machines with women bent over them. There are absolutely no windows. There is a thick smell to the air, like many many thread pieces are aloft and swirling into every breath. I cough, and people look up, eyes widening when they see me. Recognizing me, maybe. I don't know. I look a fright with the dried balm and sunburn and peeling and blisters. Hale guides me around the edge of the room, headed toward a group at the edge near the doors.

Then, the crowd at the door shifts slightly. The world slows down into micro-moments.

Warm, gray green eyes.

Tousled hair, thoughtful frown.

Kile does not see me. He is deep in conversation with a man in coveralls.

They are with three women. Each woman is hunched over and squinting. Women who work here.

What is Kile doing here?

I surge forward, but Hale whips me back, spinning me until my face is pressed against his chest.

"Hale?" I hear an achingly familiar voice call out.

Hale rakes his fingers down my back and I scream into his chest he mashes my face so the machines muffle me out.

Into my ear he hisses, "Get down behind this machine and stay quiet. Or I swear I will assassinate your father myself, then your mother, and after you've watched it all and maybe made some babies for me to help run the country, I'll kill you slowly myself."

The pain is so vivid I am seeing splotches over my vision, I open my mouth, but Hale forces me to my knees and shackles me to the machine closest to us, so that my body is hidden from view of the crowd.

The woman working at the machine meets my eyes as she darts out a hand and slaps it against my mouth. My eyes bug out. They all do whatever Hale wants.

Hale's voice is farther away now. "Is that you? Man, what are you doing in my neck of the woods?" I hear a slight pinch to his tone. He is shocked to see Kile here.

This is my chance. What are the odds? I yank at my chain but the woman kicks me in the shin. I try to bite her but she yanks my hair back while pressing her palm to my lips. I imagine she looks like she is fixing a machine or picking up fabric scraps. Maybe the other women are covering for her, hiding us.

Then I hear his full, earnest voice floating to my ears like a taunting glimpse of a better life.

"I'm on the hunt for eco-responsible fabric."

I thought he was going to say on the hunt for Eady. My heart sinks. He has no clue, Why else would he be here looking at cloth when I am missing? He doesn't know.

"I wish we could help you," Hale's voice says hurriedly.

"It's not out of the question," Kile responds, with a hint of something new in his tone. "Your foreman is confident you could tweak the machinery to accept natural fibers, harvested and milled from our own Illea cotton hybrid. It's a two layer product, one side for winter, and one for summer. The solar side absorbs to help maintain the heat in the home and the gel cling layer prevents heat from seeping in. The mechanism that retracts it also operates on a solar trigger."

"Ingenius," Hale says, his voice getting farther away. "Tell me more about it in the comfort of my office."

"How many factories do you run?" Kile asks, his voice also drifting away. Tears slide down my cheeks. They drip on the floor, unnoticed. "I don't remember you mentioning..."

And then the voices fade and are gone. The woman lets go of my mouth but whispers, "Quiet or I hurt you."

I huddle under the work station, defeated and weeping. Until I see a broken needle. A scrap of fabric. I pick up the needle and search the floor for thread. I see none. The needle is not sharp but it has the eye intact. I pick at the fabric swath, trying to get a bit of thread loose. It only thins the fabric. Inch long pieces are all I can salvage. My mouth is dry and my heart speeding. I have this one chance. Panicking, I bite my lip and try to think past the pain and loss and bitterness.

I use the needle to poke through the fabric, hoping the holes will be visible enough to convey a word, a message. The fabric is so small, so thin. It tears but I keep at it, until I have managed to make a poked message: Help Eady.

The H is crooked and the a is more of an 8 but I roll it up and press it under my arm, wondering if I will have a chance to do anything with it. I glance up at the women, all working hard, none noticing or caring about me scrunched under here. Yet they all saw what was happening. So I can't send it to him through one of them. The women I worked the day with would surely show Hale before helping me. The man in the coveralls did not belong here, but he would not know me.

A large hand hauls me up. I face Hale. He is pale and wide-eyed.

"Close call," he says, and kisses the girl who helped him on the cheek. She literally swoons and her co-workers on either side come over and fan her.

I roll my eyes and Hale smirks.

"We have to get you out of here. He's the only one who might see through all the...crap." Hale flicks his finger at my body.

"Come on," he drags me. I keep my eyes wide, looking for a place to break free, but his grip is very tight.

I don't see Kile. I don't know if he is still here. I don't see the man in coveralls either. Hale takes me out the back and begins to push me into the cart.

"NO!" I scream, and kick him in the groin. I catch him by surprise and he lets me go.

I race around the dusty brick building, no idea where I'm going. Maybe I can make my way in and find Kile.

Hale is on my heels, already recovered enough to give chase. I dash over a ramp and scrape my leg sliding over a small concrete embankment. I'm in a parking lot, full of all sorts of transportation from donkeys to rusted out trucks to many bikes. I sprint around them, trying to put as much between me and Hale as possible. This is my only chance. I haven't been this close to rescue before and I probably won't again. It gives me energy and strength when I thought I had none left.

I'm facing the front of a gray warehouse type building, with barbed wire fence around the periphery. I can't escape that way. The gate behind me is locked with a guard house and I flounder for a short second before heading back to the entrance of the textile mill. Hale darts out from behind a rusted out giant spool. His hand grazes my hair. I twist away, hopes plummeting. The door is fifty feet ahead, and cars and bikes are in my way.

Then I see it. Kile's horse. The best one in the lot. Healthy, dappled gray, and patiently waiting for its master. I always thought it matched his eyes. I lean against it, acting like I'm hiding although obviously Hale can see me. I hastily slide the fabric under the saddle, just as Hale puts me in a headlock and drags me backwards. I start to gasp for air, and then it all goes dark. I can hear his heavy breathing and then nothing at all.