Page 34 of The Heart Trials

The crowd is segmented again by district. Mercyenforcers line the room, staying hands off as people fill plates and seats, stuffing their faces. I tug up on my gloves, blow out a sharp breath, and wade through the throng of hungry lowborn. Many loiter, keeping to themselves as they impatiently wait for their turn. Others, most Saltblood, carry multiple plates, breads and fruit piled in their arms, food already wedged in their mouths, on their way to seats. Grainfolk, who harvest food for the entire island, are noticeably less impatient, used to being around piles of food they can’t have. Stonebound, who herd animals for their skin and meat, watch like tethered dogs. They’re used to meat, but not without killing it first.

With Mercyenforcers on the perimeter, the mood in the hall is a mix. Half of the contestants are giddy, full of anticipation, euphoric smiles, and chatter about how nice their rooms are, how good they slept, how generous the Benevolent is, and which of the Scents they tried. The other half wander, pulling at their chests, pleading with Citadel officials for one more dose. I wish I could tell them to give it a couple weeks; it’s painful, but the urge for them wears off. But they’ll see soon enough. There are no Heartfillers used in the tournament. Two of us will never use Heartfillers again.

Caelus and the Benevolent are not here.

“I want to be in love,” I mutter, grabbing a plate. I need my strength. I should eat, hungry or not. “I want to be a Skyborn citizen.” I approach the table where there are breads spilling out of a basket over one another. Cheeses are piled high with fruit in, around, and between them. There are cookies and small cakes, fizzing drinks, and thinly sliced meats. I grab a single muffin and smell it, and it smells fine.

“The blueberry ones are tasty,” the girl beside me says. Curly tendrils of hair streaked with violet frame her honey-skinned face. “It’s my second time through.”

I scoot down the line, about to pass a dozen tall-stemmed drinks when the girl next to me grabs a yellow one.

“We press these fruit wines in Grainfolk.” She offers me a glass and I take it. “Always wanted to taste one.”

If I lived in Grainfolk, I’d steal a taste of everything they had. I’d steal enough so that the orphanage would never go without enough food again. And I wouldn’t feel bad for it. This girl is nicer than me.

“Uh, thanks,” I say. There’s a mountain of more food options, but I take my plate and try to find a seat. The room is full of curious eyes and conversations. The air buzzes with nerves. I scope the crowd. It feels wrong to pick someone to betray at random.

“I’m Mae.” The girl follows me. “What’s your name?”

“Axira. Saltblood.”

“I heard about you. You’re the girl the Benevolent gave mercy to.”

“Heard where?”

“Last night, Grainfolk got together after curfew to talk about everything.” Her cheeks push up under her gold hazel eyes. Three long tables run the length of the room, and the districts have each claimed one. Mae and I stand awkwardly between the Saltblood and the Grainfolk tables. I sit down at the end of the Saltblood one, and Mae plops down right beside me. I scoot my plate down, scoping out others from my district at the opposite end of the table. I’m not sure how to choose. It feels wrong to betray someone in my own district. Mae scoots her plate down too, staying two steps from me.

“I’ve always wanted to meet a Saltblood,” she says. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I see your couriers all the time during harvest pickup, but I’ve never got to talk to any of you. You know?”

Something tells me she loves to talk. I gaze over her head at the Saltblood once more. I can’t betray one of my own, I decide. That narrows it down at least. But I don’t know the first thing about the other districts besides what I see when couriering.

“I have so many questions,” Mae goes on.

“Like?”

“Do you really eat only fish? I heard that a vegetable has never touched a Saltblood’s tongue.” She leans in, squinting, and it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen. She’s serious. “And you eat them raw. Straight from the sea, bones and all!”

I guffaw.

The room goes silent. I slap a hand over my mouth and glue my gaze to the floor, head bowed, heart thundering, waiting. I’ve gone too far. I’ve shown too much excitement. The entire room seems to wait for my punishment.

But no one comes.

No one steps in to tell me I’ve lost control. To tell me I shouldn’t indulge in feelings of excitement attached to someone. Slowly, chatter rises in the room again, this time sprinkled with laughter, as if my outburst broke some invisible ceiling.

When a Mercyenforcer rings a bell to grab everyone’s attention, I can’t breathe, certain he is about to announce I’m being arrested and flogged for such a flagrant display of emotion before the opening address has even started the tournament. But he announces that there is one hour to eat and begin getting to know each other.

“Use every minute you have to start making connections,” he says. “By the end of the day if you haven’t met fifteen people who you would like to explore a possible connection with, you will be disqualified.”

The crowd is quiet. Stares rove the room as journals are passed out with spaces for us to press the fingerprints of each contestants we meet. Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore. Mae’s eyes are wide as a doe’s. Suddenly she winces mid-breath and curls slightly inward as if something’s hurting her.

When she finally speaks, she says, “Did you know about the eliminations?”

I shake my head. “My maid told me this morning.”

“Mine told me how it’s going to work.” She takes a bite of the fruit on her plate, and I lean in. “There are three trials”—that I knew—“and there is one elimination before each trial.”

Caelus didn’t mention that.