Page 90 of The Heart Trials

“When Dorian and Mae share their first kiss as citizens at the Ascension Ceremony, shards will appear. They’ll form near the heart first—tiny, glowing crystals. But the more real the love, the more the shards multiply.” He goes on to explain how the Benevolent’s Mercyenforcers will use special gloves with a siphoning vial to collect them as they grow and fall like a flower speeding through its life cycle.

“The shards are more delicate than petals. The gentlest graze of a hand will cause them to fall to the ground. I’m planning a distraction. We’ll need to gather them quickly and run.”

“Alright, then.” I settle in deeper beside him, feeling more nervous. We still have to survive the trials to even get to the Ascension Ceremony. “And after that, if we succeed, then what?”

“You leave on a ship.” He swallows.

“Right.” A beat passes between us. “I’m scared, Caelus.”

Something inside me cracks open, hot and vulnerable. I tell him about the hallucinations from my trial, about Serafina, about the heart-rending fear of seeing her here, of not knowing how sick she is, whether she has enough medicine, if she’s even alive. And then, how she snorts when she laughs, how excited she was the first time she lost a tooth, thinking it was some kind of magic that made it regrow. I tell him how Miss Omon would let us make bread sometimes when we saved up the ingredients and how Serafina’s favorite thing is kneading it. When I mention the first time she tasted the flour, thinking it would taste like a roll, I chuckle.

He listens without saying much, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted slightly. By the time I’m done talking, I’m smiling and breathless, reminiscing. The doom and gloom of the last trial fades into something lighter for a moment in the tent and I steal it, grabbing it tight.

When I’m done, Caelus studies me. “The way you talk about Dockers Row, the Saltblood, Miss Omon…it sounds like the best place.”

“It is.”

He looks past me with longing, and I would trade gold to mine his thoughts.

“The first time I saw you in that hallway, I knew who you were,” he says. “I was embarrassed to be scrubbing floors in front of a notorious thief. I’d figured Lucent brought you inside for some reason to find me, but then you didn’t know who I was.”

“Why were you scrubbing the floors? And why is your bedroom so empty? Why do you live like you do?” I asked him once before, but it feels like we’ve crossed some invisible bridge between us, so maybe I’ll get an answer this time.

“My father is grooming me to take over after he dies,” he says, “but he is constantly finding that I am ‘not fit to lead.’ So he has taken away the privileges of being Skyborn, one by one, to, as he says, teach me an appreciation for my position. He says I could benefit from living as a lowborn for some time. Turns out I’m very bad at learning some lessons.”

Silence stretches between us. There is comfort in sitting with the truth and not saying anything and letting it fill the air. Like we are holding the space for it together. My thoughts move to Rhythe, to Dorian, who is still a target, I bet, to the unending problems that await us outside the fold of this tent.

Caelus flexes his hand between us, palm up, asking for mine.

I set my fingers on top of his, unsure what to expect, now that he’s not holding it to lead me anywhere. But when our skin meets, a breath catches somewhere in my chest. His warmth sweeps behind me like a tide I am not ready for. He locks his fingers in mine, trapping them between his, and it scrambles my thoughts. Then his arms open wide, reaching for me.

I scoot closer to him and lay my head on his chest. His arms close around me, and the world goes quiet. I can feel the steady thrum of his heart, hear the slow inhale he takes against my hair. His scent is cold and clean, like wind after a snow.

My hands hover uselessly, unsure of where to settle. After a determined breath, I let them lie naturally, curved around his back. His chin rests on my head and a warmth blooms in my chest. I don’t think of the danger ahead, the many complications of making Rhythe an enemy, or what happens after Caelus and I succeed. I only focus on the steadiness of my breath, in and out, its calm, slow cadence.

He doesn’t let go, holding on to me like I am something he wants to keep.

I’m not sure what this is. But it feels different than I expected. Different than Kade’s kiss. More sure than the promise of a ship. Something like what Serafina and Miss Omon and I have, but not quite.

My mind screams—let go.

This is dangerous.

This will cost you.

But I hold on to him tighter, and he holds on to me, fingers tracing down my back. Every place his fingertips brush sends a thrill all over my body, in places I’ve never felt. Whatever this is, I’d like to hide it away to keep it somehow. Because the moment I show it to the world, like everything that’s ever mattered to me—it’ll be gone.

Hours later, when I consider unwinding myself from Caelus, his breath is slow and featherlight against my shoulder. He is fast asleep. The tent is warm and heavy with the musk of faint traces of the ocean. I inhale once more, taking all of him in, still a bit unsure how we ended up this close. It was just an embrace. And now it feels like an anchor is attached to something inside me.

“Axira,” he murmurs in his sleep, reaching out.

I shift just enough to see his face. The silvery white of his hair is light in the shadows, catching on the curve of his collarbone, the edge of his jaw. His lashes rest like fresh frost on his cheeks. The weight of the crown, the tournament, the magic his father is planning to harvest—none of it is here now. Just him. The soft rise and fall of his breath tugs at something inside me I don’t have a name for. I reach for his face, sliding my touch gently down the slopes of his cheek, over his eyelids, letting his lashes tickle my finger.

He murmurs my name again, and my fingers find his lips. They’re soft and so perfect. I love their shape, the way they move when they say my name. I’m closer to him somehow, my face hovering over his, wondering, imagining how different it would feel from Kade.

I get closer.

And the scent of him drowns me, ocean and something sharp—steel.