Page 33 of The Heart Trials

I exhale. If I never see her again, I wouldn’t complain. I feel the shape of the package before tentatively peeling open the brown wrapping. Inside is a framed certificate of death for Geof Merreri—my father. Cause of death: identified rebel. Guilty on all accounts. On a small card with the frame it says, Sleep well. It’s signed by the Benevolent.

The frame slips from my hands and shatters on the floor.

My father, a rebel?

It’s absurd. They think they can slap that label onto anyone as an excuse to get rid of them. My father might have pushed a rule or two in private, but he performed his courier duties like a model Saltblood. He never had trouble with Mercyenforcers. He watched the rebellion peak and die in his lifetime.

After he died, everyone who knew him would tell me how he was a good fisherman. He spent his time outside of courier hours fishing and giving all he caught to orphanages and mothers’ tenements in the district. When he married my mother, he made sure she was well taken care of in her tenement, giving her his rations if she left work too late or was too tired to get hers. There wasn’t a day I did not see my father. He was always showing up to walk me to school or take me to fish. I saw him more than I saw my mother.

Most of the kids in my tenement rarely saw their fathers, and the mothers were so overworked we spent most of the day before and after lessons without anyone, closed in our rooms, so we couldn’t wander off and drown in the ocean. The youngest ones all stayed together in one room. I recall how you could always tell when a new baby joined the tenement because there was crying all day and all night for someone to come get them. Then, eventually it went quiet. The babies stopped crying. Because no one ever came.

I kick aside the glass, stepping away from it. The Citadel will dispose of anyone who steps out of line.

How do I sleep here, around all this, when Fina and the others have nothing back home? I put the silky sleeping clothes in the waste bin as well. I don’t want any of his gifts.

I’m here for Fina and the others. If I can get through this tournament, things will be better for all of us. I glare at the soft, oversized bed before climbing into it and lying on top of the covers. But even that is so soft. I hate the way every muscle in my body relaxes when I sink into it. I lie down, my head throbbing harder, sleep tugging at me.

Tomorrow, it begins.

I will find someone to betray. Whatever it takes. I try to replay my conversation with Caelus, recalling all he told me about the tournament, but the Heartfiller is too strong. I close my eyes and let the sedative take me. It feels like defeat.

12

The morning comes too soon.

Syra and a Mercyenforcer are outside my door as the sun comes up, explaining it’s time to break my fast. Syra enters without being asked to, her arms full. “You slept alright,” she says.

“I slept fine.”

“It wasn’t a question. You look like you slept fine. The sedative did what it was supposed to.” Another tight smile that reminds me of old leather boots. She hands me a polished mouth chain, a fresh dress—another thin linen like I was put in for sentencing—and gloves into my hands.

“More clothes?” I ask. “These are still clean.”

“Don’t be disgusting.” She grimaces. “Put on the clothes I gave you. And you’ll need to stay in your lowborn attire until the start of the first trial. Don’t get punished for something stupid. If we understand each other, it seems like you’d like to win this?”

Not win.

But make it to the end.

I nod.

“Two minutes.” The guard bangs on the door, waiting to escort me like the criminal I am. I change, carefully, putting on the pieces of my wardrobe with precision, the way I do each day. Making sure everything is right. With my gloves on and my chain in place, the pace of my pulse slows. I can do this.

“This morning is the opening address from the Benevolent,” Syra goes on. “Which kicks off the first elimination.”

“Elimination?” I freeze with one leg into my clean dress. “I didn’t know there would be eliminations.” I thought I’d be judged on my ability to convince someone I am in love with them and survive the trials. Caelus didn’t mention anything about an elimination. My hummingbird pulse is back.

“You’ll find out when you get there,” she says.

“You said first elimination. Are there more than one? What re—”

“Time,” the guard says.

Syra crosses the distance between us as the guard forces the door back open. She tugs up on my gloves, smoothing them in place before pressing the chain at the corner of my mouth to make sure it’s in place. I brace for the sting of rough touch, but she’s surprisingly careful. Almost gentle.

“Your chain and gloves may be removed at the start of the first trial,” she says. “Remain in your proper wardrobe until then.”

My heart pounds as we leave my room. Syra goes a separate way. The Mercyenforcer has me follow him, and I realize I’m being escorted to the chance at freedom the Benevolent’s offered me in death-sentence rags. But when I arrive at the hall filled with endless tables covered in piles of food, everyone is dressed the same way, and it feels like some kind of sick joke.