When Ro revealed the full extent of Xylia’s plan, Amira’s gut fell through the floor. Sweet, gentle Ro. Ro the strategist, the quietly studious academic, sent to assassinate the king? The idea seemed ludicrous. But then again, how well did Amira really know the girl? They had been training at the same flower academy for several months, even sharing meals and sleeping quarters. But Amira supposed not everything between them had been shared.
“A few years ago, the king hired one of the most highly qualified commercial window tinting companies Melbourne has ever seen,” Ro was saying. They had taken a break as the sun rose overhead. It was supposedly to help them catch their breath, but to Amira it felt more like finding her footing. She had just had the rug pulled out from underneath her by the two people she trusted most in the world. Ro was one thing, but Xylia was another matter altogether. Amira had been led astray, led like a limp puppet on the most dangerous mission of her life. And now that the truth had been revealed — now that she had figured out the plan by putting together the pieces of the puzzle all by herself — she was suddenly supposed to adapt to the new plan, as though she had known all along?
“The most difficult part is going to be seeing which room the king is in, since he’s got this kind of window frosting on all of them,” Ro was saying. “Amira? Are you listening?”
Amira tore her gaze away from the grass to look incredulously at Ro. “Am I listening?” She bounded to her feet, scattering Ro’s neat piles of flowers. She thrust a fistful of the torn petals into her face. “We’re not here to talk about glass, or glass walls, or glass partitions, or whatever else it is you’re going on about. I came here to steal the seed compendium, to give our people a better future! This has nothing to do with the king!”