Page 26 of The Heart Trials

I swallow.

“We have to be very careful how we communicate,” he adds. “We shouldn’t even be seen speaking after this.”

“I’ve already forgotten your name,” I say.

He almost laughs, and it breathes life into me. Maybe I will see Serafina again; maybe she will dance in the sunshine on the deck of a ship.

“First thing,” Caelus says, “figure out who you will pair up with. My father expects strong breeding matches out of these pairings. He’s thinking about the patriots you’ll be expected to birth.”

I feel sick.

“Everyone will be hesitant at first,” he continues, “but when the Heartfillers wear off and the withdrawal fades, and there are no gloves and chains, everyone will be starved to find a connection. If you wait until everyone’s taken, you might end up with someone who is not easily duped.”

“Find someone to betray. Got it. Can you tell me more about the trials?”

“I don’t know much more. They’re physical. You’re Saltblood and a smuggler—you’ll do better than most if you stay focused. Convincing a contestant you’re falling in love with them will be your biggest challenge.”

I tug my gloves tighter up my arms.

“Get me the names of everyone who needs new identification,” Caelus says. “The Mercyenforcers I’m sending to get your things are leaving by midday. I’ll send you with them to say your goodbyes and make any last preparations. Be discreet. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Alright.” He extends his hand. “Steal for me and a ship is yours.”

I take his hand, slipping my gloves into his to shake. The mold of our fingers cupped around each other feels strange. Like holding something more fragile than flesh. I don’t pull away from him right away, and neither does he. When his thumb explores the back of mine, I snatch it back, my heart squeezing at the thought of seeing the orphanage again.

“You haven’t told me what I’m smuggling from the ceremony.”

His jaw flexes. “Magic. You’re stealing magic.”

10

When my feet hit the rain-slick streets of the Saltblood district, I freeze. Miss Omon isn’t going to like this. Serafina will be furious. I have to make them understand this is the only way.

“On with it,” urges the Mercyenforcer escorting me. “We need to be back by nightfall.”

Getting the chance to say goodbye isn’t a luxury I expected. Caelus is Skyborn. He is many things, but perhaps he is not the liar I think he is. I slip into a narrow passageway between two shacks nearly shoved together, with my escort on my heels. We follow a string of hollows ripped into the bowels of the Saltblood district, still scorched with the scars of rebellion, still stained with hair and bone and teeth. The tunnels have never been cleaned. The marks of rebellion stay as a warning. A reminder of the cost of rebellion. The darkness thickens the deeper we go. Then a rough tug pulls me to a stop.

“Where does this lead?” He eyes the corridor warily.

“It’s the fastest way across the district, I swear.”

He holds a stinger to my back the rest of the way. When we reach the other side, pink evening sky has rolled in, summoning the drenched streets of the district back to life. Saltbloods emerge from their holes like squirrelfish from a reef. Couriers moor their boats along the wharf on the bank of the Dredge as the long day of delivering goods throughout the districts comes to a close. The streets fill with people wandering with dazed expressions and others eerily happy. Lines snake around the ration caravan, where pouches stuffed with hard bread and dried meat are being passed out.

I usually pick up supper rations, which are first come, first serve. I veer left.

“What are you—”

“The prince said to make sure things are in order back home. That includes getting the day’s rations.” Before the Mercyenforcer can protest, I hop in the shortest line, where a Skyborn tosses sacks of food from the back of the caravan to another Citadel official. He spots me, and the Mercyenforcer with me, and waves us to the front of the line. The woman I step in front of glares between us.

“How many in your residence?” the Citadel official asks.

“Five.”

He hands me a single tied pouch of food.

“I said, five.”