Page 30 of The Heart Trials

My fingers keep drifting to where the crystal used to sit in my chest, as if checking whether it might still be there—still dulling all of this before it sinks too deep. I’m not sure if the feeling I have for this place, these people, is love or if it’s called something else. But whatever it is has only grown stronger in the last two weeks since going without my Heartfillers. Serafina’s wide brown eyes lock onto mine, full of questions I can’t answer. Her face is puffy with sickness, eyes rimmed in red. I can feel the heat from her fever without even touching her.

“Do you remember what I made you rehearse over and over about handling a fishing spear before I’d take you out with me?” I ask her.

“Always choose what keeps me safe,” she recites.

“And?”

“What’s safe to me is not safe to them.”

“That’s right,” I whisper. “That’s not just for the fish.”

She blinks rapidly, drying the glaze in her eyes. But she nods again, holding still as if she might break. Trust me, I mouth, and I wink. I hurry upstairs and grab the few things I have, my hairbrush, the vase my mother painted for me, and a whale bone necklace my father made me.

When I turn my back on her, the orphanage, and everyone, for the first time since my mother died, I struggle to fight back a rush of tears.

11

The Citadel looms like a prison. The Mercyenforcer guides me inside, but when I turn toward the cells, he directs me to follow him in a different direction.

“Contestants are arriving through the night and in the morning,” he says. “Tomorrow are the pre-tournament festivities.”

My fate is connected to convincing one of them I’m in love with them. My heart thunders as I climb the stairs. He leads me to a long hall full of people: Grainfolk in thin, breathy robes and dark tans from working out in the sun all day, Stonebound shepherds and miners in thick, dusty-brown wool tunics, and several Saltblood. Dozens upon dozens have been chosen for the tournament, it looks like. They clog the hall, with tentative smiles and excited whispers, gluing their gazes to the ground when a Mercyenforcer passes. The hall stretches longer than Dockers Row with what must be nearly a hundred doors. My escort beckons me to follow.

The districts seem to stick together, Grainfolk with Grainfolk, smelling faintly of wheat and sun-warmed soil, their faded gray smocks streaked with stains and sweat-bleached from years in the fields. Stonebound are with Stonebound, moving in crowded lines like quarry caravans—walls of muscle, some long and lean, others thick and broad, draped in the coarse gray lowborn dress with raw wool for warmth.

Saltbloods are all gathered together like tidewater in a gutter, silently watchful. I don’t recognize any of them, but I can tell by their salt-drenched skin, their gloves, and their hard stares that we are from the same district.

One of them watches me as I move through the crowd. He’s ghost pale and tall Saltblood, with raven-black hair falling in a cascade of strands. On one side of his head, his hair is shaved into a clean undercut, and dark inked art curls from his temple to his scalp, depicting a creature with a long tail. A striking earring dangles from one ear, its gemstone gleaming. A jeweled earring? Stolen, it has to be. I watch him curiously, wondering what his trade could be. Heartfillers like me? Or something else? Did love bring him here? His gaze meets mine from across the room as if he can feel me watching him, and they flash with something like recognition. I scan his features, searching for a memory to go with them. But nothing comes. I think I’d remember him if I’d seen him before.

Mercyenforcers wade through the crowd with baskets full of gleaming yellow-faceted crystals. I break gazes with the Saltblood stranger.

“Last guaranteed chance to feel good!” they shout. “Get your final euphoria Heartfiller here! When the tournament begins you won’t have access to them!”

Commotion stirs near them, a demanding line forming around them. One shoves another. Someone shrieks.

“Order. We will have order!”

The chatter rises, and it feels like chaos. I walk faster.

“One Heartfiller per contestant!”

I give the ruckus a wide berth, sticking to my escort’s heels. “Get in line if you like,” he says to me. “I can wait.”

“I’ll go straight to my room,” I say. “I’m fine.”

He scratches his brow but continues to lead the way. Why am I being escorted? No one else is.

“Be ready to break your fast by sunrise.” He stops at a door, and I realize he is holding a pale-blue Heartfiller and a pair of keys, waiting for me to go inside.

“You’re locking me in?” I ask.

“You’ve committed a crime. Orders are to treat you as a criminal.”

I swallow my retort and open the door to my room but freeze immediately at broad windows with a view looking down on Skyhaven, more picturesque than anything I’ve ever seen. The guard clears his throat. He gestures at my chest with the sedative Heartfiller. “This one’s not a choice,” he says.

“I—” I can’t fake being sick. Not this time. I close my eyes and hold my collar aside as the cold glass touches my chest. An icy shudder shoves through me as the drug settles before spreading throughout my body.

The door lock clicks behind me, but I stand rigidly in place, taking in all of the room despite my chest tingling.