Chapter 4
Serafina
I have to move. I know I do. But I can’t.
Char kissed me. He loves me. Char, my best friend, kissed me.
I touch my lips with my fingers.
I won’t lie and say I’ve never thought about kissing Char before. He’s attractive, in a very obvious, in-your-face kind of way, and for the last thirteen years he’s been my constant through every storm, every trial life has thrown at us.
He’s the one who held me when my sisters died. The one who kept me alive during the first trial when we were just fifteen years old. He’s the one I’d sneak out to meet in the middle of the night so he could teach me how to use my knife, a knife that he gave to me, stole for me.
I prefer his company over all others.
But still, thinking about kissing him and actually kissing him are two very different things. And for whatever reason, I didn’t think kissing him would feel like that.
I shake my head. He kissed me. He loves me. Char will protect me.
I need to get home. I need to pack like he said. I need to…suddenly my heart aches because if I leave, if I go, then I can never come back. I’ll never see my parents again. I’ll live the rest of my life on the run.
My throat goes dry, and I can’t breathe. I’m the only child they have left.
How can I leave them?
How?
I inhale a deep, slow breath and force myself to put one foot in front of the other.
I need to get home. I need to say goodbye. I need to tell them what’s happened. They’ll understand.
Won’t they?
The place Char left me is only one street away from the front door of my apartment.
I should’ve expected as much.
He always takes care of me, and with the rest of our age group probably well aware of my status as an Essentari, they’ll be hunting me soon.
If they haven’t started already.
I need to be quick. Quick and unseen.
Chances are, they don’t know where I live, so I have a little time. An hour, maybe two.
I’m a nobody. A nothing. No one’s ever paid much attention to me.
No one except Char.
Easing the door to my home open, I slip inside. It’s dark in our apartment; it always is. There used to be something called electricity, but that’s been gone for a long time. We use candlelight to see, and right now, not many of the candles are lit. We must be low on matches again.
The hallway is narrow. Lined with green wallpaper that’s peeling at the corners.
I enter the first room on the left.
My room.
The one I used to share with Telfi. Pain stabs at my chest at the mere thought of her, but I force it away.
Moving toward the dresser that rests unevenly in the corner, I strip Char’s shirt from my body and toss it to the ground. I pull on a clean pair of pants and a fresh blouse.
My fingers glide over the leaves of the many plants that inhabit my space.
They sit on nearly every shelf, some stretching to the ceiling with vines that snake across the walls.
Thick and green and full of so much life.
A shocking amount of life, considering the amount of water they receive, which isn’t much.
Truthfully, they should be dead, but somehow a sprinkle here and there seems to do the trick. Telfi used to joke that I was the one keeping them alive by sheer force of will, a comment that would always make me laugh.
Whatever the case, I’m grateful for it. Plants help me feel calm, and as someone who struggles with that feeling, I’ve surrounded myself with as many as possible.
My heart lurches at the sound of scratching at my window. It’s a sound I’m all too familiar with, but it never fails to startle me just the same.
I push open the glass pane, and the stray cat that Telfi started feeding nearly a decade ago waltzes into the room.
“Hi there, little buddy,” I murmur, crouching down to stroke his matted fur. He arches into my touch, purring loudly, and a small smile tugs at my lips. “Hungry, are we?”
He meows in response, a high-pitched sound that makes my smile grow.
He always climbs the fire escape around this time, as if he still expects Telfi to be here. She always saved him a piece of her dinner, no matter how little we had.
She adored this scrappy little thing, and when she died, I made sure to continue caring for him. It’s what she would have wanted.
I open the drawer by my bed and pull out a small container of bread crusts left over from my rations this morning. My stomach grumbles as I set the food down, and the cat eagerly begins licking the tray.
Our rations have been thinner than usual this week, every family receiving just enough to survive. The crops are doing worse than ever, but even so…I sigh, stroking the cat’s back…he deserves to eat, too.
With one hand still tangled in his fur, I reach for the books stacked on the closest shelf. I pull down the one on top, a guide full of different herbs and their medicinal properties. Setting it down, I grab the next one.
It’s nearly fallen apart due to how many times I’ve read it—a detailed study of swordsmanship and battle strategy, which I’ve always found fascinating. I envy those who are capable of protecting themselves.
Then, finally, my hand settles on the one with a thick leather binding. The book that explains the different traits that belong to each type of Essentari.
Flipping it open, my eyes skim the page about the light wielders. It describes how those who can harness that particular element are beacons of hope themselves. Honest, insightful, possessing a natural warmth that draws people in. But also intense, focused, and unwavering in their beliefs.
I turn to the section on air wielders next. They’re free-spirited, curious, and quick-witted, but with those strengths comes restlessness and a tendency to lose focus.
Finally, I find what I’m looking for.
Fire wielders.
The Pyroflame.
And everything on the page confirms what I already know, confirms exactly what I am, how I am. And I won’t lie, feeling as though your entire personality can not only be summarized by a complete stranger, but also perfectly align with an element that is undeniably destructive…it’s a bit unsettling.
I snap the book shut, pinching my nose as I take a deep breath.
Having finished his food, the cat sits down between my feet, his head rubbing against my calf.
“Take care of yourself, little buddy.” I stroke his fur one last time. “Mama knows you like to visit, so I’m sure she’ll keep feeding you, but I’ll need you to do something for me.” He weaves between my ankles, purring all the while. “I need you to take care of them, too.”
I leave the room.
“Mama? Papa?” I call out, making my way farther down the hall.
“In here, darling,” my mother’s lyrical voice replies.
Oh, how I’ll miss that beautiful voice. The voice that’s always soothed me. Always reassured me that I would be okay. That unlike my sisters who came before me, I would survive.
A tear threatens to surface, but I rub my eye with my palm to keep it at bay.
“Come join us for dinner,” she calls out.
I grab my left wrist with my right hand because it’s shaking. Inhaling through my nose, I enter the dining room. A table nearly fills the space with just three wooden chairs circled around it, making it look odd.
Too much table, not enough chairs.
There used to be more, but we sold one when we learned Drea, my eldest sister, would never be coming home. Then, another when the same thing happened with Lucia. Then, four years ago we sold the chair that Telfi always sat in.
We needed the money, and my sisters wouldn’t be using them anymore.
My mother is sitting, legs crossed, humming to herself while my father pushes his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose before turning the page of his book.
They look so peaceful, so utterly content. Not like a couple who’s lost three of their children while living a life of forced poverty.
The moment she sees me, my mother’s fork falls from her hand, making a clickety-clack sound on the porcelain plate below.
My eyes drop to the carpet, but I know she’s already moving. The floorboards creak before the back of her hand gently strokes my cheek.
“Sera, what is it? What’s wrong?” She places her fingers beneath my chin, forcing me to look at her, and when I do, the tear I had forced away comes back with a vengeance.
She’s just so beautiful. So beautiful, so loving, so kind. There aren’t many similarities between the two of us. I have her darker skin tone, small frame, and brown hair, but that’s where the likeness ends.
The rest of me comes from my father. Strong nose, high cheekbones, thin lips, and dark eyes that nearly match my pupils in color.
My mother looks just like Telfi. Telfi who I still miss so much. And now I’ll miss my mother just the same.
My father’s gaze locks on me as well. His brow furrows. I must look how I feel.
A mess.
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, a violent sob erupts from somewhere deep inside me.
I don’t want to leave them.
I don’t want to.
My body feels heavy, and my mother clings to me as I drop to the ground. Both of my parents are at my side now, exchanging looks of concern.
I should show them. Show them what I am. Show them the danger that now exists for me in Village 28.
Holding out my hand, I try to replicate the emotions I felt earlier.
The heat and the rage.
Which isn’t very hard considering rage comes easy for me.
I focus all of my anger, all of my hatred of this dying world, of the royals and the Elites who never have to enter the trials, of the lack of food, lack of water, of the pain I see in my parents’ eyes when they think I’m not watching.
I focus all of it into my fingertips, and then they’re on fire.
Orange and red flames flicker out of my palm, crackling as they start to grow. I clench my hand into a fist, and they disappear. Gone in an instant, as if they were never even there to begin with. And if it wasn’t for the vicious ache in my arm, I’d think that maybe they weren’t.
I lift my gaze from my hand to my mother’s eyes. Then, my father’s.
But it’s not fear I see in them.