"Abby? Hello? Earth to Abby?"

I blink rapidly, the words on the page swimming back into focus as a voice cuts through my thoughts. Meg is sitting across from me, waving her hand in front of my face; a look of amusement crosses her fine features.

"Yes, sorry. Did you say something?" With some difficulty, I force myself to concentrate on the Princess. We are in the library, sitting together on one of the overstuffed couches, books lying open across our respective laps. We are of the same mind that the pressures and drudgery of Palace life are best left to the shallow-minded and we have fallen into the habit of sneaking off together to share the always-abandoned seventh floor.

"Welcome back. Where did you go? I know you can't be too wrapped up in that book—I've read it before and it is exceptionally dull." Meg arches an eyebrow at me, her tone teasing but her eyes concerned.

"Oh, I just completely lost my focus, I suppose. I must be tired." I shut the book and stretch my arms, giving an exaggerated yawn to reinforce my point. When I open my eyes again, I see her expression hasn't changed.

"All right," she says. Her tone is unconvinced but for now she seems unwilling to push the point. She closes her own book and re-crosses her long legs.

The afternoon sun washes over us, warming my shoulders and making even the cavernous room feel cozy. The overall effect makes me drowsy and threatens to pull me back into my thoughts of the previous day. I look toward the library's expansive windows, watching as one of our airships floats lazily across the sky, destined for the Wastelands.

I wonder if Edmun is aboard. My stomach flips just thinking about how scared he must be, an unwieldy weapon clenched in a hand better suited to a blacksmith's artistry. I turn and regard Meg, reclining comfortably on the couch next to me. Does she realize the impact her father's will has upon my friends' lives?

"I have to say, I am not looking forward to next week's ball at all." She sighs, completely unaware of the anger percolating just below my surface.

I swallow the burning feeling in my chest and force myself to remember my role. "It can't be so bad," I say, with some difficulty. "There will be the usual feasting and shallow conversations, yes, but at least this time we will get to wear our best dresses and dance."

She laughs lightly, one hand absentmindedly playing with the end of her braided hair.

Can her concerns really be so trivial? As much as I have come to enjoy Meg's company, her quick wit and conversation being a welcome respite, at times it is hard to keep at bay my frustration toward her. In these moments, I take a deep breath, reminding myself that her ignorance is not her own fault. What else can I expect from someone who has lived their entire life behind Palace walls?

There is a mystery to this girl, an untold side to her that I do not yet understand. Here is a person who devours books, yet seems reluctant to bring up her own thoughts about City policies. Someone who laments being pushed aside by her father, but seems disinclined to consider ruling in his stead.

I turn this idea over in my mind as I watch her undo and re-plait her hair. It would be dangerous for someone within the Palace to voice an opinion that contradicts the King's, and what reason have I given Meg to trust me? For as much as she seems to prefer my company over her other cronies, we haven't really shared true confidences. I decide to prod, just a little, to see what I can find.

"I've been thinking, lately," I begin.

"Don't hurt yourself," Meg cuts in, nudging my leg with her toe.

I swat her away. "Thanks for your concern, Princess. No, I've been thinking of Pride and Prejudice."

"Oh, Mr. Darcy." She fans herself exaggeratedly. "Your literary crush."

"Do you think a love like that could ever happen?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, a love between classes." I shift on the couch, drawing my leg up and turning to face her.

"Hmm." She tilts her head thoughtfully. "They do say that great love defies all obstacles."

"How about a courtier and a commoner? Could they ever be together, or are they too different?"

Her head suddenly swivels toward me, brown eyes unblinking. She doesn't say anything for a long moment and I begin to regret my tactics.

"A courtier and a commoner," she says, considering. "Yes, I think they could potentially fall in love. Real love."

My heart is thudding heavily in my chest as I press forward. "Could it ever really work, though? Isn't one better than the other?"

"Better? Better how?" She would appear the picture of innocence if it weren't for the sharp look in her eyes.

I chew my lip, thinking. Easy, Kay, these are dangerous waters.

I tread carefully. "Some people think that because we are the descendants of the original survivors, we are more deserving of our advantages."

"Is that what you think?" Her straightforwardness takes no prisoners.

Hedging my bets, I show my cards. "No."

She nods slowly, thoughtfully, her clear gaze remaining trained on me.

"Me neither," she confirms, lifting her lips into a small smile.

I release the breath I didn't realize I was holding, returning her grin.

"It's such a taboo subject, isn't it?" Meg continues. "I mean, no one will even speak about the Commons around my father's table, unless they're discussing the war or taxes. You'd think they'd have more respect for the people who perform the work that fuels their city." She shakes her head.

"That's terrible." I don't have to feign my disgust.

"You're not wrong."

We are silent for a moment while Meg picks at a bit of her fingernail, an unfamiliar gesture. She seems a little anxious for me to continue the discussion.

"What would you do differently?" I ask.

At once she hops off the couch, striding across the room to shut the heavy library doors. She hurries back and leans in closer to me, a high colour in her cheeks.

"Everyone should receive the same education," she says in a low voice. "That is the key. We need to support the people who want to build and refine their skills, not the ones who waste their time loafing about. Imagine how much the City could accomplish if we rewarded great minds and innovation."

I sit silently, staring, completely taken aback at the turn of events.

"That's...beautiful," I manage eventually. "You've given this some thought."

Her smile broadens, "And when I say everyone, I mean everyone. This division of genders and generations is so archaic, it kills me to think of how much brilliance we are wasting by holding on to the past." Meg sits back, her eyes so dark they are almost black. A vibrant energy has settled over the Princess, making her appear at once older and wiser than her years.

I blink, jolted into regarding this girl in a whole new light. Who would have guessed that this silent, stewing princess was harbouring such radical ideas?

"Have you told your father any of this?" I ask.

A line appears in her forehead.

"I've tried," she says bitterly. "He stops listening as soon as I start in about my thoughts. He won't hear a word about change. All he cares about is fuelling his precious war."

She sighs, her fingers returning to twirl the ends of her hair. "He thinks the old ways are still the best ways. He'll hang on to every word those ancient Board men spew into his ears. They aren't trying to improve the City and the lives of the people in it; the only thing any of them are interested in is how to make themselves richer. When I say anything that contradicts the status quo, he gets angry and sends me away. It's like talking to a brick wall."

"That doesn't surprise me." I think of the nightly meals in the Hall and the way the Board members clamber over one another in their starched jackets, desperate to gain the attention of the King. I don't envy Meg having to spend an extended period of time with any of them.

"Even when it comes to our methods of punishment, my father refuses to listen to reason," Meg continues. "I mean, chopping off people's hands? Doesn't that seem a tad barbaric?"

I flex my right hand, remembering the gory stump at the end of Gordy's arm. "Sometimes desperate people have to make desperate decisions."

"Exactly. When you create a society where people are born into poverty, what else can you expect but crime? And then that mass arrest, yesterday. The punishment for those poor people is entirely excessive."

My head snaps up from my furled hand. "What happened?"

"You didn't hear? There was a riot in the market—some protest over the cost of the latest water shipment." Meg shakes her head, twisting and worrying the strands at the end of her braid. "The guards arrested nearly thirty commoners and are holding them in the gaol indefinitely."

My palms pinch where my nails dig into them. "What's going to happen to them?"

"I'm not sure." Meg shrugs sadly. "I suspect the men will soon be sent off to the Wastelands, but the gods only know what will become of the women."

My jaw clenches, a red haze overtaking my vision. Nearly thirty people, sitting and waiting for an undeserving fate. I have heard the rumours of the gaol and its putrid conditions. The Commons are awash with whispers about people being forgotten and left to rot beneath the Palace, their only company the screams from the torture chamber. Those fortunate enough to return from the gaol's depths forever carry a haunted look in their eye and a silence bred from experiencing the unspeakable.

As I watch Meg, who sits back in a huff, an idea slowly begins to take seed in my mind.

With a small push in the right direction, Meg could be persuaded to represent the rebellion. Her intentions are honourable; all she lacks is support.

Perhaps we don't need to completely dispel the monarchy. Maybe all we need to do is clear the way for the next in line.

The library door creaks open, startling us both. My handmaid, Sera, pokes her head inside, a regretful look on her small face. She scurries toward us, her quick footsteps tapping against the wooden floor.

"I am so sorry to interrupt you, your Highness, my lady. Vitrola is asking to speak with her Highness."

Meg turns back to me and rolls her eyes, dutifully rising and making her way toward the door as Sera scurries aside and bows her head respectfully.

"Thank you, Sera. Abby, I'll speak with you later."

"Goodbye, your Highness." I speak formally for Sera's benefit as Meg swishes through the door, her long dress disappearing down the hall in a soft cloud.

I sigh and place my book down on the couch, sitting forward and rubbing my temple as though I could massage the typhoon of thoughts into alignment.

"Do you need anything from me, Miss Abby?" Sera's voice breaks in.

"No, I'm—" I straighten, suddenly struck by a thought. "Actually, there is something you could do for me." I pat the spot on the couch next to me, recently vacated by Meg.

Sera comes closer, hovering near the arm of the couch but not sitting.

"What can I help you with?" she asks.

"I was wondering if there were any schematics of the Palace," I inquire. "It's such a fascinating layout—I would be interested to see the design." I keep an easy level of enthusiasm in my voice.

Sera is silent for a moment, her hands twisting over her apron.

"Well," she says slowly, "there are maps we use to train the new servants, but I'm not sure we're supposed to bring them out of the kitchen. I could ask the head housekeeper."

"Oh, I am sure there is no reason to bother her," I say, waving my hand in the air. "I wouldn't want to get you in trouble—I just thought maybe if it was a simple thing, you could procure it for me, but don't go out of your way." Never underestimate the ways in which kindness can be used as a weapon.

"It's no trouble!" she says quickly. "I'm sure it's fine if I borrow one for you. If they show the maps to the staff, then you are certainly well within your rights to see them. I'll bring a copy to your room in just a few minutes."

I cringe a little at her self-deprecating comments but thank her, placing a grateful hand on her shoulder before she scurries away. I walk back to my room slowly, my stomach churning as the new information continually swirls through my mind. I rub my forehead again, seeking to alleviate the pressure of the headache forming between my eyes.

No sooner have I arrived in my room and carelessly tossed my earrings onto the desk than Sera returns, slightly breathless and clutching a rolled-up piece of parchment.

"Here you are, miss," she says, her face flushed.

"Thank you, Sera. You are too sweet." I withdraw a coin from my pocket, pressing it into her hand as she murmurs her appreciation.

"Will there be anything else, Miss Abby?"

"No, thank you. I think I'll just go to bed early tonight." I am itching to comb through the map but wish to do so in private.

Sera nods and begins to take her leave. She pauses at the door and looks back at me, colouring slightly. "Miss, if you could refrain from telling..."

I nod and wave her through the door. "Of course. If anyone sees this map, I'll tell them I got it myself. Don't worry about it."

She gives me a small smile and leaves, closing the door softly behind her.

Finally alone, I clear the desk with a hurried sweep of my arm. Carefully, I unfurl the map and stretch it over the surface of the desk, rotating it until I have the proper orientation.

I locate my room and the ladies' parlour almost immediately and begin tracing a path down to the main floor toward the Great Hall. Finding it, I continue pulling my finger to the very bottom of the map and East of the Palace, then tap my finger on the building I was searching for.

The gaol.

From the schematics, I gather that the prison houses three main chambers. The main area is made up of two cells of general population, likely separated into male and female. Past that are the isolation cells; the far chamber is, ominously enough, not labelled. I wonder if this is the rumoured torture chamber, and a chill runs down my spine

As I pore over the map, I feel the blood coursing through my veins and a familiar thrill run down my spine. This is it. Finally, I have found a way to use my newfound position within the Palace to help my people and at the same time extract some much-deserved retribution against the crown. A voice that sounds suspiciously like Will's warns me to forget this scheme, but a second, stronger voice—fuelled by the plight of Edmun and the rest of my friends—urges me onward.

The schematics show only one route to enter or leave the prison. The main entrance is directly beside the guards' barracks, to the east of the courtyard.

As far as I can tell, moving several people out of their cells and transporting them back into the City without being detected presents a few minor problems.

First, how to get in and out of the guardhouse without the guards raising alarm? I would have to count the number of men stationed around the gaol at any given time and take stock of their shifts. If I can accomplish that, I should be able to find a window of time when someone wouldn't be immediately missed if they were to become indisposed.

Second, I would have to procure the keys for the door to the gaol and the door to the general-population chamber.

Finally, the trickiest element would be transporting people away from the Palace and back to the Commons. How to sneak several people past the countless guards and nobles milling about the Palace grounds? Could I hide them, somehow?

I chew on my lip, thinking. Scanning the room absently, I find myself fixated on the open doors of the closet. Of course: I am already an expert at obscuring a commoner among a sea of courtiers. I don't need a hiding place, just enough costumes.

Hide them in plain sight.

The goddess of luck must be pleased, since she's seen fit to provide me with the ideal opportunity that will see the Palace teeming with extra people. A few more snuck into their midst would scarcely be noticed.

The ball.

That's it. I can take advantage of the party being held at the Palace in one week's time. If I could organize a way to get down to the gaol and extract the prisoners, then I could sneak them out of the Palace under the guise of guests returning home. The Palace and courtyard will be full of people: the perfect disguise.

The throbbing in my head begins to ease as I locate some paper and a pen from the scattered pile on the floor. I painstakingly copy out the schematic by hand as accurately as I can so that Sera can return the original map to the servant's quarters immediately.

The clarity that comes with tracing the map onto my sheet of paper helps me focus my thoughts and gradually piece together the logistics of my riskiest scheme yet. I am going to pull off a jailbreak right under the noses of the City's richest and most powerful.