Page 64 of The Heart Trials

Caelus sits back in his seat. His blue eyes meet mine. Today they are deep and weathered like an old sea, holding on to storms long past and those on the horizon. I’m not sure if it’s the Scents infecting the air screwing with my senses, but the longer he looks at me the more I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something else, but he’s right there this time, daring me to jump, promising to catch me.

“You believe me, don’t you?” I ask.

He doesn’t respond.

“Caelus, say something.” I pull at the threads on my dress.

“Okay.”

“Just okay?”

“I believe you. I—I trust you, Axira.”

A silence sits between us. A pregnant pause that holds the words we can’t say, the truth neither of us will admit aloud: how nice it feels to trust someone. He starts to exhale, but it draws his brows taut.

“His interest in you doesn’t matter,” Caelus says. “Stay focused. I’d be shocked if he makes it much longer anyway.”

“Why?” I ask.

He glances around, then leans a little closer. “Rhythe’s mother blew the whistle on the rebellion,” he says. “She told the Mercyenforcers where the rebels were meeting in exchange for Rhythe’s life. My father spared their entire family. I doubt he will make friends easily among lowborn.”

I remember the children digging their parents’ graves in the picture frames—a fate Rhythe narrowly escaped. He might hate the Benevolent—or be completely loyal. I tuck my hands under my thighs, feeling exposed and dirty all of a sudden for even speaking to him. Either way, Rhythe is trouble; Caelus is right.

“Two minutes,” a guard shouts.

I lean forward. “Rhythe’s alliance is after something. He says they’re planning to rob your father.”

Caelus rubs the bridge of his nose. “Slow down. Start from the beginning.”

I explain everything—how Rhythe approached me before the trials started. I tell him about the meeting and who all was there and how Dorian is now their target, which required explaining Dorian’s proposal to me and the awkwardness after. The light from the candles catches on the edge of Caelus’s cheekbones and light the curve of his temples. Tension pulses at his jaw, as if his mind has sunk into a dark calculus.

“Did he hint at what they plan to steal?” he asks.

“No. Do you think it’s what we’re after?”

“No.” He leans back in his seat. His broad shoulders are wider or stronger than I remember. His white hair is silvery today, his long braid roped over his shoulder, dangling to his waist. Rogue flyaways soften the harsh angles of his face.

“Can you tell me more about the magic?” I ask.

He shifts. “I’ll tell you more when the time comes. Just trust me on that.”

Why not now? I want to say, but our time is winding down and I have so many other questions.

“Okay, well, whatever it is, how can you be so sure that’s not what Rhythe is after?” I ask.

A Mercyenforcer passes closely, and Caelus says, “Go on, it’s your turn.” I look at the card I’d almost forgotten I was holding.

Share a brutally honest confession

that you’ve never told anyone.

My heart knocks into my ribs.

“You first.” I push the card back his way.

When the Mercyenforcer is out of earshot, he says, “I am sure it is not the same thing we are after. No one knows it exists except my father and I. It’s somewhat of a family secret. Rhythe probably wants the treasure on display at the ceremony reception, gold, jewels, that sort of thing. That’s enough to make anyone rich beyond their wildest dreams.”

My heart ticks.