Page 29 of The Heart Trials

“Two minutes,” the Mercyenforcer says.

“Two minutes until what?” she asks.

“Fina, I have to leave.”

“Where are you going?”

“You have to leave?” Miss Omon looks between us, sharp with confusion. I glance toward the stairwell. She catches the signal and nods, retreating upstairs to scribble out the message I asked for.

Outside, Ferdy lingers beside his shuttered market stall, apron still speckled with fish scales. “Axira? What is going on?”

People pause mid-step as their conversations fade, eyes finding me. It feels like hands tightening around my throat.

I force the words out. “I’ve entered the Tournament of Hearts and I’ve been selected to participate.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Miss Omon halts on the stairs, hand on the rail. Ferdy’s hand flies to his mouth. A pair of old men stop loading crates at the stall next door. A young girl clutching her mother’s skirts squints at me like I’ve grown horns.

But it’s little Serafina’s brows knitting angrily that ruins me. “What does that mean?” she snaps.

“It means I’m going away for a while.”

Whispers surge like a tide. The street fills with people I’ve sold to, helped haul sacks from the docks, helped escape from getting caught in touch parlors, repaired roof tiles before a storm with, mapped patrol schedules for. And some I’ve stolen from. They gather with mud-caked boots, sun-wrinkled faces, and tired shoulders, staring at me warily. I don’t know all their names, but I know their lives—the routes they take home, the days they struggle to make it to the ration truck because their work runs too long. They are Saltblood. They are home. And I am leaving them.

“This will be a good thing,” I tell her.

“How is you leaving now going to help us?” Her mind’s a blade—sharp enough to get herself into trouble. Serafina shakes her head, pulling at her dress. I can feel her frustration morphing into sadness. Miss Omon moves beside her. Nichol and Sam crowd in along with a couple of others who’ve been with us the last several months. They all wear worrisome expressions, rigid like soldiers, next to each other, not touching one another, hugging themselves instead.

“Who is going to take care of things?” Nichol asks, stepping forward. His gaze darts to the Mercyenforcer then back to me. Nichol never knew his parents. Miss Omon found him abandoned in a courier boat wrapped in blankets, wailing, when he was still a baby.

“You will, you’re twelve.”

Ferdin removes his hat, pressing it to his chest. “If anyone deserves to win that tournament, it’s you. The good Benevolent will see how worthy our Axira is. Don’t you worry. I’ll keep an eye on things.”

A knot wells in my throat.

“Thank you, Ferdin. Nichol will make sure any spare coins end up in your pocket. Won’t you, Nichol?”

“You’re entering the tournament?” Dorian hasn’t left. He hovers on the outskirts of the onlookers, jaw tight, arms crossed. His eyes pin me with something between disbelief and betrayal. He huffs, a sharp, breathy sound, then turns on his heel and storms off. He isn’t the only one watching with scorn—others glare with contempt, and some scowl in jealousy. As if I’m throwing away the family we have and leaving this place for a chance to make it somewhere “better.”

Miss Omon returns, edging closer to me with a tight fist.

“I should go,” I say.

“Why is everyone acting like you aren’t coming back?” Serafina pulls at my clothes, the angry etch between her brows deepening as she fights down a cough. “You’re coming back. You said!” She wheezes, trying to catch her breath. “You have to teach me how to fish and—”

“Come on upstairs, Fina,” Nichol says. “You need rest and it’s time for supper.”

Miss Omon hands him the small sack of rations I brought.

“It’s time to go,” the Mercyenforcer says, and I’m not sure I could hate him more.

I take the note from Miss Omon, our gloves grazing discreetly. “I will come for you all,” I whisper, hoping she’s close enough to hear.

“We’re leaving, now.” The Mercyenforcer elbows his way through the crowd. Their gazes fall to the ground.

I kneel to meet Serafina at eye level. It’s not a touch or hold like I’ve seen highborn do, but it’s my way of showing her the worry racing through her body right now matters to me. I don’t want her to be afraid. I want her to know that I would do anything to keep her and the others safe. That’s why I’m entering this tournament.

I didn’t have the choice to lose my parents. I won’t lose her. Or any of the others.