in guests with their respective invitations, regardless of their presence on the guest list.” Outraged,
the man turned on his heels, pestering audibly as he climbed down the front steps, and vaulted into
his convertible. The crowd looked in fearful awe as the vehicle lurched forward, screeching as its
tires crushed the steps of ice leading to the grand entrance. Its driver, blinded by rage, charged into a
pillar, before going in reverse to make a U-turn and disappear into the sandy dunes.
“You!” Bianca cried, pointing accusingly at Tessa, obviously blaming her for the carnage. She
needn’t do more for the six guards by the doorway to grab the horrified girl and escort her away
from the guests’ field of view, never to be seen again. Bianca cast Savannah an accusatory look
before leaving her at the reception, barking orders in her earpiece.
Savannah had had enough. This story of caste, this whole system, was messed up. “Born a
Peasant, forever a Peasant. Born a Bourgeois, forever a Bourgeois. Born an Oligarch, forever an
Oligarch.” Those were the words that resonated silently through society, amplified only by the
looks of horror the population shared under this reign of terror.
“Excuse me,” inquired a young man dispassionately. “I’m the driver of your guest, Laura of
Aragon, and I’d really appreciate it if you did me this one favor: The car’s tank is already three-
quarters-empty; would you happen to have any in reserve in the palace?”
“Let me check that for you,” Savannah said, before dialing an extension on her smart-watch.
“Yes, Bianca? A guest is asking for fuel for his car. Do we have any in reserve?” she paused,
patiently waiting for her boss’ answer. “In the hangar underground?” Can you please send
someone to cover me? Yep, I’ll be there in a sec.” She hung up, taking up that fearful smile all the
apprentices had adopted after hearing of Tessa’s disposal. With a simple nod of the head, Savannah
instructed him to follow her to a masked trapdoor leading to the labyrinth of corridors sprawling
below the ice castle and all its majesty. A reddening glow vacillated between his teeth, and she
wondered how people could still smoke after it had been discovered years ago that tobacco was
permanently damaging. But something else had already sparked in her mind.
She entered a room and flicked on the light switch. “There should be fuel here,” she said,
pointing at a shelf on which rested a dozen of plastic tanks. The man nodded affirmatively and
started unloading, slowly lowering every gallon one by one.
“This should be enough,” he said, as he put down the third one into the metal trolley she
had found in a corner of the room. “What should we do next?” Without warning, as if the sweet
16-year-old girl had suddenly become possessed, Savannah twisted the man’s arm and threw him
into a metal rack, causing its contents of priceless champagne bottles to come crashing down on
him. There was no going back. She felt his pockets for the bronze lighter she had seen him use
four minutes ago, taking the sports-car’s keys as well. Adrenaline-filled, she could only hear the
thumping of her heart and the monotonous sound of the cart’s wheels rolling over the steel floor.
She knew exactly what she had to do.
Savannah liked how the humming engine of Italian sports-cars sounded. She also knew this
was the first, and probably the last, she would ever hear purr. She was ready. She had flung her
smart-watch, and hence the GPS that enabled her bosses to track her, into one of the entrances’ ice
fountains, and had slipped into less conspicuous clothing she had found in an unlocked locker. It
was her duty to avenge Tessa, and it was her duty to put an end to this sovereign rule. She started
the car. Whilst her right hand operated the steering wheel, she poured out the fuel on the sand
with the other, assuring that she formed a long train around the ice palace. She had to be accurate;
a mere slip of hand would deviate her trajectory and possibly encircle her in the ring of fire. At
