Page 75 of The Heart Trials

So I shove my hand in his and count the movement of his steps like the hidden corridors of a crypt, memorizing each one.

Left foot, right.

Right foot, left.

It takes a moment, but as the beat swells again, I move my body to the pulse of the music drumming through this place like the floor, the walls, have their own heartbeat. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but a tightness inside me unravels as Caelus swings me out and in, against his chest, then tosses me to a complete stranger who locks hands with me for a few beats. Then I turn, and the room seems like it’s swaying. I’m back across from Caelus again, twisting my body like I never have.

His eyes don’t leave mine; the bow of his mouth eggs me on. I dance harder, shoving away any thoughts of everyone and everything, letting my feet tap, tap, tap.

Badda, bum, badda, bum bum bum.

When the music stops, I collapse in Caelus’s arms, both of us sticky with sweat. We stumble into a long low seat, falling clumsily against each other. After the dance, it doesn’t feel odd. I let myself lie there a moment, against his drenched shirt, listening to the life in him. Thinking about how it makes me feel more alive just hearing it beating.

“I knew the dare would work.”

“I’m competitive, what can I say?”

He tosses his head back, laughing.

“What is this place?” I ask. “Does your father know it’s here?”

He shakes his head. “There’s a lot my father doesn’t know.” He shifts beneath me, and I realize we are still stuck together. I peel myself away, putting a friendly distance between us. After all, the dance is over.

“My mother used to bring me here.”

“The Beloved? No!” A strangled laugh escapes me, and I’m not sure why. “Dancing isn’t illegal. So why are they down here like they’re hiding?”

“The dancing is only part of it,” he says. “There aren’t any Mercyenforcers down here. No permits needed for grief or emotion. Down here, people do what they want, when they want.”

My nose must crinkle, because he smiles and continues. “What I mean is, up there, affections are controlled, directed. Not like in the districts, but you’ve probably noticed, my father still keeps a tight leash on the Skyborn. He monitors everyone. Every expression is measured, performed, judged by my father and his advisors. Love, joy, even sadness. People pretend to feel and think whatever the state says is acceptable. They walk through Skyhaven like actors, showing disciplined explorations of every fleeting whim of love, pretending to celebrate their ‘freedom.’ But those whims?” He scoffs. “They’re manufactured. Scent-triggered.”

I knew it.

He gestures to the walls of the Hollow, low-lit and humming with life. “Down here? There’s none of that. No Scentclouds. No behavior surveillance. No expectations. Down here, no one tells you how much to feel. No one rewards you for pretending. There’s only one rule in the Hollow—treat each other as if we’re all the same. Like we came into this world meaning something. And…people actually do.” He smiles, and there is something raw and unfiltered in it.

I stare at him, trying to find the lie in his eyes. There has to be one. Because this can’t be real. Not here. Not in Skyhaven.

He looks out at the dancers, smiling. “I like it because it’s the one place out of my father’s reach. The one place where he has no control. Love might be power up there, but here, he is powerless.”

Something deep in my bones aches. I swallow, arms folding over my chest. “People just disregard him and all his rules?” The words feel foreign in my mouth. Reckless. Silly. Like a dark fairy tale.

I glance around the Hollow, at the strangers laughing without being watched, lovers holding hands without being prompted. And something inside me stirs.

Not just longing.

Hunger.

Caelus stands, helping me up. “There’s iced custard and all kinds of candies at Nibble Nook on the far end of the Hollow. There’s also trinkets, a gallery, oh, and the Veilshop, which has Scent neutralizers. We should definitely get you some of those. I also like Patchkin’s. He has the best used clothes. It’s a swap store. I donate stuff there all the time. We could get some new shoes for you and Serafina. It will be frigid out at sea.”

“Why are you helping me like this?” I ask, fingers tightening on my sleeve.

“You’re helping me with something no one else can.”

“But Serafina,” I press, searching his face. “She’s nothing to you.”

“She’s Ethyrian like I am,” he says, eyes holding mine without a flicker of retreat.

“Lowborn. We don’t matter to people like you.”