Hale jerks his thumb at the field to our right.

"Grueling work, but it's got to be done," he says. "Here's the situation. I have to go to a meeting, just a stone's throw away. Jayel is gonna keep an eye on you for me. She and I go way back. If she gets word to me that you're being a baby, I'll give her permission to treat you like every other worker." He gives me a hard look. "That means: don't try to run, don't complain, and get the work done. It'll be a first for you."

I open my mouth but there is so much to say I have no words. A traffic jam of fear and rage and confusion leaves me gaping.

"That's right, princess. By the end of one day doing actual work, you'll be wishing I had put you down."

Put me down? Like a dog? As in killed me?

I scrutinize the field. I can't tell what is growing, but I think it's just dead stalks of maybe corn. Women are scattered about the rows throwing something down on the ground. They all carry large bags on their backs as they scuffle forward inch by inch.

"I don't know how to do that," I say, flapping my hands at the hunched women in the field. I spin in a slow circle and see fields just like it all around us. Only this one has workers in it. All of them are peppered with rotten crops.

"I'll be of no use," I finally say to Hale, who is tightening a bolt on the cart's wheel. He straightens and peers down his nose at me.

"Truer words you've never spoken," he smirks and then actually tweaks my nose. I'm too slow to smack his hand and by the time I realize what he's done, he has stepped back a foot and put his hands on his hips.

"Be good, Eadlyn. Jayel is a serious person and she doesn't like people wasting time."

He turns to go and I panic. "Let me talk to your boss," I plead. "The rebellion has to have a leader, right? I can negotiate for my release. Set some terms. Please, Hale. I will be of more use speaking directly to the person at the top. Take me to him."

Hale scoffs and looks up at the sky, where the orange gold glow of the sun is slowly blooming into full morning. It's going to be hot.

"Stop. Giving. Orders." He bites out.

I try a different tact. "Maybe I can help in your meeting." I mime writing notes. "I can record the minutes," I suggest, trying to look helpful.

"Nice try," he says, and is about to add something when he glances over my shoulder. His face loses all expression.

A woman sidles up next to me.

"Here she is," Hale nods at the woman. I offer her my hand but she ignores it.

Instead, she spreads her lips to reveal a gaping grin with no teeth at all. She has a whip coiled at her waist and a pendulous, pregnant belly. Her skin is bumpy and rough looking; especially her face which is made more prominent by her receding hairline.

I've never met anyone like her. I can't help but blanch at her grotesque, jack-o-lantern visage.

Hale mutters to me, "Behave. I can't have you at my meeting but I'd rather you not die on this field, either." He turns to Jayel and nods.

The woman roughly pushes me forward into the field.

"Careful," Hale says loudly.

Jayel turns and they share another look. I think he's trying to intimidate her. She seems immune to any such efforts.

Hale says slowly, "I might need her later."

"Ye can have me," Jayel says with a leer. Hale approaches her and leans down to say something in a low voice. It makes her laugh so hard she has to bend over and put her hands on her knees.

Hale catches my gaze and drawls, "Later, sweetheart."

With sudden hate fueled adrenaline, I shout, "Don't call me that!"

He winks and drives off.

The second he is out of sight, Jayel kicks me in the rear with her dirty boot toe.

"Stop!" I shout, in my croaky voice. That earns me another kick. I fall to my hands, scratching my palms and narrowly missing being impaled by a corn stalk. It's a fitting start to what will become the worst day of my life.

Jayel watches me all day. It is all she does.

With crude words and sign language she shows me what to do, roughly pushing me when I'm not fast enough for her liking.

It's outrageous.

Humiliating.

I order her to stop.

I shout at her to never touch me.

I remind her of who I am and what would happen should she be caught.

All she does is laugh and hurt me. Sometimes both at once.

My job is to throw down some powder from a large bag that slings around my neck. It's smaller than the ones the other women carry. I can barely stand its heavy, dead pull on my body.

I stagger down row after row, clumsily tossing white stuff on the dead clumps of what I think once was corn.

I don't ask what the plant is, but I do ask for gloves. Jayel laughs and then steps on my socked foot with her thick boot. As I bite back tears of pain, she indicates that now I have to pull up a nearby cluster of stalks.

I grip and then heave with my entire body weight. It's a stubborn, coarse plant, and it clings to the ground with more strength than me, apparently. I'm pretty sure Jayel is only having me pull it up to torture me. My palms slip and get sliced up on the dry ridged stalk. When I eventually succeed, I turn to her with the unearthed plant in my hands like a trophy. I dare not smile but I finally did it. Eadlyn vs plant. Victor: Eadlyn.

Jayel pushes me forward to continue work, heedless of my torn pride and the blood now trickling from my palms. Every time she pushes or kicks me, I feel less and less like myself. My brainpower floats off into the hazy heat. I'm left with a simmering, childlike frustration at Jayel. This helpless anger is entangled with a desperate need to do as she says, in order not to be kicked to my knees.

I go up and down the rows, sprinkling powder, up and down.

Hours pass. The sun burns high in the sky, making the air shimmer.

We do one row, then the adjacent one.

Then the next.

Up and down.

My palms sting, my face burns and my back aches.

Up and down. All Jayel does is watch me.

The other women keep a good distance. In moments of heightened despair, I try to yell for help. They ignore me. No one comes down the dirt road all day. I lose track of time. My pain becomes a dull nonstop throb in my every sinew. My main focus becomes remaining upright. I'm scared of what will happen if I fall down. I suspect she will kick me.

Later in the day, Jayel hikes up her skirt and squats right where she is. I realize she is relieving herself. Without any more thought, I make a run for it.

I head to the woods. My feet scramble over small rocks and I go as fast as I can. I make it thirty yards before her whip slices into my back. I flop forward into the dusty dirt and get a face full of the grit in my nostrils and mouth and eyes. I'm not sure I can stand. I bring myself to my hands and knees. The bite of her whip tears into my back again. It scrapes a searing groove into my skin and I cry out, arching away from the pain.

Jayel yanks me to my feet, laughing in my face with her feral toothless grin.

I shut down inside of myself as far as I can. I must survive. I push the pain and anger deep, deep down. I focus on breathing. And walking. That is all I can manage.

I walk up the row. I sprinkle powder. I go down the row. I sprinkle powder.

Ten hours later...

I barely recognize Hale when he walks up to me in the field. I blink at him. I didn't hear him drive up. He takes in my full appearance and hands me his flask. I take a long swig without wiping it first.

We don't speak. He snakes his arm around my back and helps me to the cart. I don't resist. From his pinched expression, I think he is shocked at how the day took its toll on me. Then again, he might just be surprised I am alive.

He leaves me in the cart for a second to speak to Jayel, who is in the field still.

I close my eyes. He won't have to tie me to the cart this time. I can't move. I am stiff and sore and my back is on fire. Even the soft breeze hurts.

When Hale strides back to me, he looks furious. Like he did when he found Burke attacking me.

I don't ask. I suppose my report card was less than perfect. Hale drives too fast on the way back. I'm too weak to hold my head up properly. My skull knocks against the cart every time he hits a bump or takes a turn quickly. I am sure I have a concussion to add to my other injuries.

It's dark when we get to the church. Hale comes around to the back of the cart. In one fluid motion, he scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder. I would protest but I am grateful. I don't think I can walk much less face the stone stairs in the church.

Hale deposits me in my cell and sets my food bag next to me. I devour the jerky and the bread and the small flask of water. Then I lie in the lump where he put me, almost wishing I was dead. Almost. The day was extreme, but I will never give up.

I fall into an exhausted slumber, careful to lie on my side because of the painful gashes from the whip. To think the future queen will bear these scars on her flesh forever more. I have no energy to be as outraged as I should be.

Rough hands on my back rouse me.

I start to scream but Hale's voice stops me.

"Be still. I want to clean your back."

My back. It's burning worse than when I was whipped. I moan and try to swat Hale away. He pulls me into a sitting position.

"Hold up your shirt or I'll take it off," he says rudely.

I fumble around my shirt hem trying to pull it up, knowing Hale is true to his threats. But my hands are so badly swollen with sunburn, I cannot bend the fingers. My hands are useless hunks at the end of my arms.

Hale tugs up my shirt and puts the hem over my head like a hood. My belly is exposed but the shirt bunches just below my breasts, so I am decent.

"There," he says. And then he dribbles some searing liquid on my back. A dry, hoarse scream pours out of me. The pain is horrendous. I feel like I might pass out.

He smoothes on a shockingly cold salve next. It brings relief. I finally exhale normally.

"I...I..." Hale searches for words. It's an oddity. He is usually such a smooth talker, be it favors or threats.

"I didn't know it would be like this for you. I thought a day in the fields would be good for you. I didn't mean for it to...ruin you." His voice sounds genuine. It doesn't make much difference to my back or my hands or my oozing face, but I do believe him. "You're like veal. So soft and pampered, you can't function in the real world. I had no idea how weak you were."

I should protest. I'm not veal. But I have no strength. Whatever. Veal I am.

"I want to wrap gauze around your back and put some salve on your face but you have to sit up on your own." I realize then that he is supporting my hunched position with his knee and hand.

I try to sit up fully. My limp body refuses.

He drags me to the wall and brings over the stool so he can wedge me into a sitting position. He manages to bind my wounds. Then he smears a different foul smelling salve on my face. I wrinkle my nose.

"Yeah, it smells godawful but it works. You'll be improved in a day or two and hopefully you will avoid blisters." He darts his eyes to the corner of the room. "The whip was a threat. She wasn't supposed to use it."

I let him rest my body back on the hard ground. Vaguely, I sense him settling down to sit near me.

***

The next day I wake up crying. I cover my sunburned face with my blistered palms. Everything hurts. Stings. I am alone in my cell. I don't know how I know it's morning but I do. The smell is awful but I do think my face and back hurt a bit less than last night. I see a bag and open it to find bread and water which I devour.

I think about examining my feet but the bloody marks on my socks make me too scared. I can't do anything about it anyway.

The day passes. I drift in and out, managing the pain the best I can. I recite poems and lyrics backwards and compose countless letters and emails. Someone delivers more bread and jerky to me when I'm asleep. I like it better than seeing Neena or Hale.

The person I miss most is Kile. My biggest regret is how I treated him. I can't believe I did that to him. Rejected him and his true feelings just because of a few barriers. By giving him that job, I put him in the position where he had to go. I took the choice away from him just like his mother was doing by guilting him into staying. I cornered him into leaving and into doing what I wanted him to do. I'm not sure I would have ever realized that without this imposed isolation. All day to think. When have I ever had that? Never.

If I was at the castle right now, I would be drowning in wedding prep. Bustling from the seamstress to the event planner, florist, tailor, chef ... whisking Ean along with me, without really knowing him at all. Butting heads with my dad, oblivious to the people I am dedicating my life to serve, secretly pining for Kile. Why couldn't I have just stopped and thought about everything for a while? Why do I have to be basically on my deathbed to realize my sins? I have no chance to rectify them. Or even ask for forgiveness. Kile will never know I regret hurting him. That I would take it back if I could. That happiness does have value in a ruler's life. Of course it does. It's a basic human need. How did I forget that? Or, did anyone ever teach me that?

My parents did. By example. And yet I resisted seeing what they had built. That's why they wanted me to do the Selection. To thaw out. To get to know the regions through the men they sent. Except the one I already knew, the one who was from the same place I am from, was the one to crack through my façade. Kile.

I wonder if he likes the job. I wonder if he knows I'm gone. I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to apologize.

Much later, the door opens and Hale appears. He shakes his head at my disintegrating appearance.

"Come on," Hale says. "I've realized I can't trust anyone else to look after you." He stalks out, leaving the door open behind him. I manage to scurry after him, hunched over like an old crone. I hope but don't believe that he could be letting me go.