Page 98 of The Heart Trials

“My death, I suppose.” His eyes search mine, but something flickers there beneath the surface—something unguarded. It holds me still.

“Only one trial remains,” the Benevolent says loudly, and it steals my attention. “Which means our third elimination is upon us. To make it extra special, we will do it in front of our special guests.”

My heart stops.

“You’ve started to make connections, you’ve tried out a few people and are closing in on which contestant is your truest-love match, I hope. Those of you with a solid match—well, you’ve already begun to distinguish yourselves. Trust. Devotion. The spark of something real. I want good Skyborn patriots bred out of our winning couple. So we need strong matches.” He pauses, letting the word settle, watching our faces flinch with hope and fear. “But those without a declared match?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Love isn’t a privilege granted lightly. If you haven’t prioritized bonding with someone at your many given opportunities”—his gaze drifts across the room, landing on me—“your time is up. When your name is called, declare officially who you will partner with through the rest of the tournament. They must accept and confess feeling mutual. Then both of you may join us on the dais. If you do not have a match, you will be disqualified.”

Kade and I lock eyes across the room. He smirks nastily. We aren’t saving each other this time.

“Stonebound Talia Granthorn,” the Benevolent calls.

Jace rises at once. His broad shoulders are squared and his face shines with a kind of boyish confidence. Talia confesses he is her match as he bolts up beside her, laughing, their fingers tangling instinctively like they’ve practiced it. They run—not walk—toward the front, hands raised in a burst of giddy defiance. The room erupts in applause.

“Saltblood Rhythe Marek.”

The name cracks through the applause like a slap. He does not move. He sits motionless, a wall of muscle and fury, arms crossed over his chest like he’s daring anyone to call him out.

I look to see who is here at the dinner with him. But there is no one that appears to be with him.

“Ivy,” he says.

“Do you accept?” The Benevolent glares at him—long and cold—not even looking at her.

“Yes.” Ivy says something too inaudible to hear before scampering to Rhythe’s side on the stage. I watch Lira and Talia for a reaction, but they give off none.

“Grainfolk Mae Reaver.”

A gasp and then laughter. Dorian is already on his feet, sweeping Mae into his arms like something out of a story. He nuzzles her neck, murmurs something that makes her blush, and the two of them walk to the stage like they’re already winners.

I glance at Caelus, but he hasn’t moved. His jaw is locked. Watching.

“Grainfolk Kade Duvrou.”

There’s a beat of silence. Kade stirs in his chair before calling Callie’s name. She glances at Caelus, but he won’t look at her. She fidgets when she agrees, joining Kade’s side. I guess they have to pick someone or be disqualified and “help with Heartfiller research,” whatever that means.

“Saltblood Axira Merreri.”

My heart thunders in my chest. Caelus stares at me with a question in his eyes, a question that I don’t have an answer for. I need a match if I am going to make it to the end. The Benevolent’s left me with no other choice—declare I am in this with Caelus publicly or be disqualified. It doesn’t have to mean anything at all. He can’t have my heart. But he can have my hand.

“Prince Caelus Altair,” I say.

Whispers sweep through the contestants. Caelus’s eyes widen, staring at me in disbelief. His mouth parts, gazing from me to his father.

“Son?”

He swallows. “I, uhm, I accept.”

The world feels like it trembles beneath my feet as the crowd watches us, smiling through whispered conversations. The Benevolent watches me with a malice I can feel as I walk to the stage.

32

Not long after the Benevolent announced the rule change, we are shuffled out of the throne room, back to our quarters like a herd of animals. No one speaks. The air is thick with nerves. The cold stone walls, etched with scars of past tournaments, don’t help. Everything is gray and pitiless.

I thought we had until the end to declare a match. There must be a scheme here, a twist, and it has something to do with Caelus being accused of trying to fix the tournament. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly unsteady on the ground under my feet.

This is a game of power.

It’s always been a game.