Page 105 of The Heart Trials

“Yes. I’ve been working on it nonstop for a couple of days.”

I curl my fingers around the glass. It’s smooth and heavy. I’ve never received something made just for me by a stranger with my feelings in mind. Something that knows where I came from. It’s devastating. And worse—it’s almost…comforting. It shouldn’t feel like a kindness. Not from him, the man who starves the districts with barely filled ration trucks. But a part of me wants to hold it close, press it to my chest, and let it swallow the ache that’s been gnawing at me for days. Anything to make the pain go away.

“How would it make me feel?”

He smiles faintly. “Like you’re safe,” he says. “Like the parts of home that you visit in your dreams. The rush of waves over the feet. Sand between the toes. It has the best mixes of a few fillers, including the memory one. I’ve been working with that one a lot lately, trying to get it just right.”

He speaks like a craftsman, not a ruler.

“And a happy surprise is that we can put some of the best feelings you’ve ever had inside this so you can feel them again.” He lifts it from the box and places it into my bare hand. It’s warm now. Or maybe that’s just me. The scent drifts up before I even raise it to my face—salt and rosemary, warm stone, and a sweet undertone like lemon bread with wild blueberries.

“It’s just terrible that you were grieving so. I really do hope this helps.”

A lump catches in my throat. I let myself imagine what it might be like to feel the way he promises. To stop aching. To stop waking in the night with the memory of Orrick’s and Lira’s bodies, the spear going through Finn, Ronan’s last words. Anything to stop seeing my father’s face as he kissed my mother before she was rolled off the cliff into the sea. And Serafina. The worry. The fear. Missing Caelus.

My knees feel weak. And in my hand…it’s not escape.

But relief.

I want to hurl it across the room. I want to curl around it and never let go. I want to breathe it in and let it quiet everything I can’t carry anymore. I return it to the box, my hand shaking, barely able to let go.

“I don’t want it,” I say, but it comes out a whisper.

His face flickers with shadow. Then he smiles, wider this time, and tiny creases form around his eyes. “Grief is patient, Axira. You will take it with you at least. When you’re ready, it will be there.”

I swallow, wanting to refuse. But his expression leaves no room for argument. “Is that all?” I ask.

“It is. You may go. Thanks for coming to visit. It was nice to have some company in here.”

I turn to leave.

“You’re getting close to my son,” he says casually, as if commenting on the weather. I halt, my heart pounding, but I don’t look back. I don’t trust what my face would give away. “He’s charming,” the Benevolent continues. “I understand the appeal. But don’t mistake his warmth for safety, Axira. You are too smart for that.”

The door opens for me, where Dreth is waiting, just as silent as before. I stride through it, back straight, but the weight of the Heartfiller in my hands is louder than anything I’ve ever carried. Heavy, like a question I still haven’t answered.

When I’m locked back in my room, I’m flooded with the weight of the last few days all over again. If that’s the Benevolent everyone sees, I can see why so many crave what he offers.

I set the custom Heartfiller box in the waste bin.

Then I pull it out and put it on the vanity.

Before I fall asleep, I move it to my bedside, disgusted with myself.

35

The soft knock on the door feels like a first breath after being held underwater too long. I’m staring at the Heartfiller from the Benevolent on the table beside my bed, where it has sat since I returned, when the insistent tap rips me out of my covers. Meals don’t come with a knock. They have a key. This is someone else. I stumble to the door on weak legs. It’s quiet for a heartbeat, then the door shifts—just slightly—opening no more than a hand’s width.

“It’s me.” Caelus’s voice hits me like air in starved lungs. “Are you okay?” His voice sifts through the seam in the doorway. “The guards are coming back. I can’t stay.”

“No. I mean—yes, I don’t know. I’m not hurt.”

“I shouldn’t be here. I just…I needed to hear your voice.” I press a palm to the door, imagining it is him. The wood is cold beneath my skin. I close my eyes and lean into it, wishing it would soften, wishing it would vanish.

“No one’s told me anything,” I say. “It’s been three days. What’s happened?”

“No one else has been hurt.” His voice is a low rumble through the door. “My father ruled the deaths were in the spirit of the competition of the tournament. The investigation will end today. The Trial of Strength will start in the morning.”

I suck in a breath. I’ve never felt more weak. I slide down until I’m crouched against the door, slightly ajar, forehead resting near the opening. Caelus nudges the door open a bit wider. Light slices the darkness in my room as the door opening widens a little more, just enough for our whispers to seep through. “Where have you been?”