Page 4 of The Heart Trials

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Imaneuver my way through the lines, rushing over. I know what comes next. I know the punishment for stealing. The risk I’ve taken every day to save up a way for us to leave this place.

It’s death.

By hanging in the square, specifically.

“I can pay!” I hold out a gold coin to the Mercyenforcer with my head tilted to the ground. Serafina looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. I shake my head subtly and straighten, hoping she gets my drift. She cannot cry. That would only make matters worse.

“She’s hungry, that’s all,” I tell him. “The ration truck had a bad wheel yesterday and never came. Please.”

The Mercyenforcer is silent. The crowds have quieted too. On my periphery, Miss Omon shuffles. I look up, just so, and catch her hollow stare crack—her eyes widening. She’s worried, for me. She’s showing what could seem like affection, and it could get her killed too.

“She sorts the linen each evening,” I lie to the Mercyenforcer, motioning to Serafina. “She needs her strength.” The truth. How else will she ever get well? “Again, I can pay.”

I watch his hand, hoping it doesn’t move toward his heart. That would be a sign that punishment is coming.

He snatches the gold from my hand, turning it in his, weighing whether it’s enough. They don’t need gold. Mercyenforcers work for the Benevolent; they’re Skyborn. They live in big houses in Skyhaven. I see them glistening from the mountaintops while I’m smuggling. I sell my illicit goods at some of their doorsteps.

“Did you steal this?” the Mercyenforcer asks, now turning a small black box—a stinger—in his hands. The box’s edge is razored with biting shards of light that can make every muscle in the body go still for a time.

He waits for my answer. Some say Skyborn can tell when you’re lying just by looking in your eyes. I don’t know if that’s true. But I don’t steal the gold. I steal the Heartfillers. The gold, I earn. I swallow a dry breath, trying to still the drum beating harder in my chest.

“No, no, of course, not. I’m a courier in Dockers Row. I get one piece of gold every thirty days, fair and square, like everyone else.”

If he checks my pockets, he’ll know that I’m not even old enough to have the amount of gold weighing my dress down. I don’t move. I can’t. Maybe it was fortuitous that I didn’t pay for a ship this morning. If I had, Serafina would be hanged by sunset.

For being hungry.

We may not be allowed to show love, but aren’t we still human?

The Mercyenforcer releases Serafina. She stands stiffly, chest heaving. He snatches the apple from her hand and takes a bite. Then he tosses it at her feet. When he walks away, I can breathe again as I join Miss Omon and the others in line. Nichol stands nearly as tall as me with red cheeks and wet pants. He peed himself. He does that when he’s scared.

“It’s alright. We’ll be out of here soon,” I tell him. “Move forward in the line. Go on.”

I pick up the bitten apple, dust it off, and hand it to Serafina. Her usual scent is warm and nutty, as if the days Miss Omon makes porridge live in her sun-kissed brown curls forever. But today she’s all salt, sweat, and fear, still frozen with clenched fists. Several of her schoolmates are in the census line pacing ahead of us, watching, like well-trained Saltblood children too young for Heartfillers. Their palms lie flat against their chests, unmoved, allegiant—a Mercyenforcer gesture they must mimic to remind themselves that emotion is dangerous. Order is mercy. Curiosity hides behind their cold stares. I stand in Serafina’s line of sight, blocking her view of them. Her tiny fists are still balled, and her cheeks are pink with embarrassment.

“Control, Fina,” I tell her under my breath. Soon we will be out of here. Soon we will have a ship. I want to turn her back on them and urge her forward. When we’ve moved a few steps, I say, “Stealing, Fina, really? You can’t take chances—”

“It’s what you do, isn’t it?” she whispers, but it feels like a shout. “When you come home very late?”

“Who told you that?”

“Nobody had to tell me.” She hacks up a nasty cough. One that’s lingered since she came to live with us. “My mother was Stonebound. Our tenement was in the hardest-to-reach mountains in that district. We’re good at watching things.”

I found Serafina on the shore months ago, so frail and sick I assumed she was younger than she is. She clung to her mother’s corpse. The woman’s body was at least a day old. Her swollen mouth, the scratches on her chest, and her ripped blouse, exposing the scar over her heart, made it look like a Heartfiller overdose. But it was murder. By a Skyborn, I bet. Serafina would have been beaten if anyone else found her like that, weeping over a person, showing love. No one knew who the dead woman was, so I brought Serafina to Miss Omon.

For safety.

Now she’s taking risks.

This is my fault. I’m the oldest in the orphanage. They look to me. I have to be more discreet.

“Close your mouth, right now, both of you,” Miss Omon mutters, passing me to join us properly in line. Her expression is still dazed, and I can feel her frustration with me.

I start to respond, but my dead mother’s words haunt me: Swim with the current or drown.

We’re sent to the end of the line for causing commotion. I shuffle that way, silently, wishing the square was clear so I could get to the smuggling request that’s been left under the loose stone at the statue.