Page 125 of The Heart Trials

Another ledge.

Another breath.

The summit’s just ahead—close enough to taste.

I lunge.

Grip.

Pull.

Up.

Up.

Up.

The sky opens above me.

An audience awaits us: the Benevolent, a few Mercyenforcers. Kade and Talia. Rhythe is pulling himself up on the other side of the ledge with Ivy beside him. Half a dozen strangers are lined up in front of the Mercyenforcers. I recognize some of them from the dinner in the palace. They stare with heavy-lidded eyes, woozy and a bit listless. Then my heart stops, recognizing one of them.

Serafina, with her chest glowing.

42

Serafina!

I start toward her, but a Mercyenforcer grips me hard, yanking me back. I search her small face for any marks but can’t see any. I glare at the Benevolent, my anger boiling. What has he done to her?

“True strength is tested when facing sacrifice.” The Benevolent steps forward, and his purple robes drag across the frost-hardened stone. Behind him, the Mercyenforcers remain still, silent—watchers of this ritual cruelty. He holds a velvet-lined tray bearing eight glass vials. The antidotes gleam like molten amber, catching the thin rays of sunlight that pierce through the mountain mist.

Antidotes—enough for each couple.

The cold bites through my clothes. The wind whips against my cheek. Everything is too bright, too loud, yet I can’t blink. Kade grabs Talia’s hand. She glares daggers at Rhythe. Does she still not realize that Kade is the one who killed Jace for Rhythe? The Benevolent moves methodically, handing two antidotes to Ivy and Rhythe, then two to Mae and Dorian. When he reaches Kade, he stops.

“She didn’t make it,” Kade says about Callie, I realize, before cutting a glance to Talia, who has wormed her way beside him, signaling that they are a love match now. She ropes an arm through Kade’s and reaches for the antidote.

“Very well.” The Benevolent sets two vials in her hand before sliding down to Caelus and me. He hands the antidotes to me, despite the fact that Caelus is the only one who was given a Heartfiller.

“One of you will need your faculties to climb back down this mountain while helping the other make it down as well,” the Benevolent says. “Choose wisely. And—” He turns, gesturing with a sweep of his hand to the strangers in the staggered line behind the Mercyenforcers. “Each of these people,” the Benevolent says slowly, “is important to one of you. I might say the most important person to each of you.”

My throat goes dry. Serafina’s terrified eyes haunt me.

“They’ve all been given the same slow-release sedative you’ve received,” the Benevolent continues, “except they received it a day before you. In a matter of hours, they’ll be unconscious.”

He pauses to let the horror settle in. “You have two vials per couple. But you and your friends here all need to make it to the base of the mountain. These temperatures, at these heights, without lots of provisions…No one will last long. You’ll need to be strong, decisive, and quick.” Chatter erupts, but quiets when he raises a hand. “The first couple to the ground is our tournament winner. As always, you may seize any advantage you see.” He smiles like a wolf. “Fight for love. It’s a beautiful privilege.”

The wind rips at us again. Behind me, people intake sharp breaths; some start cursing. The others look past the Benevolent, their eyes locked on the people waiting for them. Kade’s glare burns with fury, aimed at an older woman with brittle skin and eyes too much like his. It’s his mother. There is no mistaking the resemblance. Talia scowls at the same woman that came to the tournament dinner.

Rhythe stares at a boy just older than Nichol with his jaw taut, as if he’s more angry than sad. The boy glances at Ivy and waves. She knows him too. I try to picture her as a rebel, but looking at her now it’s still hard to comprehend. Is she timid and passive or calculating and patient? Maybe I’ve read her wrong this entire time.

Rhythe speaks under his breath, and Ivy folds her arms, shifting her entire body away from him. There’s something different between them. Is she second-guessing their plan to assassinate the Benevolent? Does it matter anymore?

I look back to Serafina. She’s a small, shivering bundle of limbs in a Mercyenforcer’s grip. Her arms flail weakly, and when she tries to wriggle free, his grip tightens on her tiny wrist. She lets out a sound—not quite a cry, not quite a word, and something in me snaps.

The world bleeds red.

Forbidden bloody red.