Chapter 10
When my feet hit the rain-slick streets of the Saltblood district, I freeze. Miss Omon isn’t going to like this. Serafina will be furious. I have to make them understand this is the only way.
“On with it,” urges the Mercyenforcer escorting me. “We need to be back by nightfall.”
Getting the chance to say goodbye isn’t a luxury I expected.
Caelus is Skyborn. He is many things, but perhaps he is not the liar I think he is.
I slip into a narrow passageway between two shacks nearly shoved together, with my escort on my heels.
We follow a string of hollows ripped into the bowels of the Saltblood district, still scorched with the scars of rebellion, still stained with hair and bone and teeth.
The tunnels have never been cleaned. The marks of rebellion stay as a warning.
A reminder of the cost of rebellion. The darkness thickens the deeper we go. Then a rough tug pulls me to a stop.
“Where does this lead?” He eyes the corridor warily.
“It’s the fastest way across the district, I swear.”
He holds a stinger to my back the rest of the way.
When we reach the other side, pink evening sky has rolled in, summoning the drenched streets of the district back to life.
Saltbloods emerge from their holes like squirrelfish from a reef.
Couriers moor their boats along the wharf on the bank of the Dredge as the long day of delivering goods throughout the districts comes to a close.
The streets fill with people wandering with dazed expressions and others eerily happy.
Lines snake around the ration caravan, where pouches stuffed with hard bread and dried meat are being passed out.
I usually pick up supper rations, which are first come, first serve. I veer left.
“What are you—”
“The prince said to make sure things are in order back home. That includes getting the day’s rations.
” Before the Mercyenforcer can protest, I hop in the shortest line, where a Skyborn tosses sacks of food from the back of the caravan to another Citadel official.
He spots me, and the Mercyenforcer with me, and waves us to the front of the line.
The woman I step in front of glares between us.
“How many in your residence?” the Citadel official asks.
“Five.”
He hands me a single tied pouch of food.
“I said, five.”
“You have to be present to collect. New rule.”
I clench my fists. Even before their stupid rule, the ration caravan only came twice a day and never stayed long enough.
Half the line went home empty-handed, and not because they ran out.
The woman behind me pushes me aside before I can argue.
I tuck the food away and dash across the river, launching myself from one boat to the next to get to the other side.
Chastising shouts from couriers push me faster. My Skyborn escort can hardly keep up.
I smell home before I spot Ferdy’s faded Fish for Sale sign.
Ferdy presses his wire frames to his nose before bringing a knife down hard on a fish head.
The hanging rack is empty. He caught very little today.
I side-skirt his service counter, which protrudes right into the street.
It’s a prime location. If the smell doesn’t grab you as you pass, the sharp edges of his countertop will.
“Axira? It’s really you. The Benevolent is so good!
He found you! He brought you home.” Ferdy smiles in his usual gleaming grin, his chest faintly glowing.
When his gaze darts between the Mercyenforcer and me, his glee dims some.
Then, he eyes me up and down, his brow furrowing.
“What is that thing you’re wearing? Where are your clothes? ”
“I can explain,” I say, realizing I’m still in my sentencing clothes, marked as someone on their way to die. But Ferdy’s too busy yanking the bell that rings the upstairs residences above the shops.
“Axira is back,” he yells in a flat, measured tone.
He is careful to not give the Mercyenforcer the wrong idea.
Excitement can be confused with an expression of love.
It too must be restrained. But I know when Ferdy’s excited and relieved.
It feels good to be back in the briny air with the sound of the waves lapping in the distance.
I knot my hands behind me, shifting on my feet.
I wish I had better news to share with them.
The door to the orphanage opens with a creak, and Miss Omon appears at the top of the stairs, staring down at me like I am a ghost.
“Five minutes,” my escort warns as Nichol races down the stairs.
“The Benevolent brought you home!” he says.
“It’s so good to see you, Nichol. Have you been taking care of things while I’ve been away?”
He digs his toe into the ground, shrugging. Ferdy shuts down shop for the evening as more poke their heads out at the commotion.
“Axira? Is that really you?” Dorian, back from his route of delivering pamphlets, appears among them, his head bobbing as he weaves through the growing crowd. “You’re alright. Everybody was—”
“I know. I’m okay.” I didn’t mean to worry everyone.
Questions are hurled at me from every direction. “Where’d you go? What happened? Is everything alright? Why are you wearing that? Your hair, what have you done with your hair?”
The world sways. Miss Omon has made it to the bottom of the stairs, but she is still speechless.
“Three minutes,” my escort says, and it makes my heart jump in my chest. I ignore the chattering crowd and turn back to Miss Omon. “Where is Serafina?”
Her stare is steel, but I know it’s to avoid the burn of tears in her eyes.
Sometimes, at night, I hear her locked in the basin room crying.
Miss Omon stands farther than the required distance from me, hovering like a shadow on the stairs, like she’d already shut me out as a buried memory in that dark, quiet place where I put my parents.
“I didn’t mean to worry you.” I hand her the rations. “That’s all they would give me.”
She takes them robotically. “You’re really here,” she mutters.
“I’m here and I’m okay. Everything’s going to be fine.”
The tournament is several days long. She can barely function without me.
How is she going to push through when sometimes the worry for us has her so hooked on Heartfillers, she can’t get out of bed?
I need to tell her the plan. That’ll give her hope.
She has to be strong and clearheaded. And I’ll need her to have everyone ready to leave without notice.
She eyes the Mercyenforcer reclined against the building, turning his stinger in his hands. She knows I’m lying.
“Where is Serafina?” I ask again.
“She’s resting. The fever won’t let up. It’s very bad, Axira.”
I start up the stairs but hesitate, glancing at my escort. If Fina is on a Heartfiller and he notices someone below working age using one, this will get ugly fast.
“I think she’s passed it to Sam,” Miss Omon goes on. “I’m keeping them both inside. Nichol and I are sleeping by the stream in the tents.”
A sharp chill threads through my chest. They’re outside? Serafina’s gotten worse than I realized. I press a hand on my heart, as if I can stop the rising panic. The plan. I have a plan. It will work.
“Listen,” I whisper. The crowd is growing restless, impatient for answers of where I was and why a Mercyenforcer is loitering here. “I need you to write down the full names of everyone in the orphanage, including yourself. Put their district and day of birth. Slip it to me with no one seeing.”
Her eyes narrow.
“And no more Heartfillers for a while. Say what you have to, but stop. And—” I glance over my shoulder at the Mercyenforcer.
Dorian barges into my conversation with Miss Omon.
His chestnut-brown hair is pulled back in a bun.
His warm olive skin is more tanned than usual, like a stone courtyard at dusk.
“Miss Omon, hi there.” He turns to me. “It’s good you’re back.
We were worried.” He lowers his voice. “Have you, uh, considered my offer?” He still wants to marry me.
“I have and my answer has not changed.”
“Axira, hear me out.”
I swallow a sigh. Dorian helped me out more than once when my supplies got stuck on a river boulder. That’s the extent of the time we’ve spent together.
“You are smart,” he presses, “and a bit terrifying, if I can be honest. There is no one more Saltblood than you. I admire the way you help us all. You broke the wheels on the food caravan weeks ago!”
“It actually left empty for once,” I say, remembering.
He smiles. The dainty silver chain running across his mouth accentuates the shape of his lips.
As if there is a secret between them the chain tries to hide.
Kissing is a dance of tongues, I’ve heard.
My tongue pokes at the metal in my mouth, imagining how strange it would be.
Caelus comes to mind. Dorian watches me as if he can hear my thoughts, and heat rushes up my neck.
“I am almost of age. They’re going to make me pick someone. Aren’t you nineteen soon too? You’ll be forced to pick someone before you know it.”
“I have an entire year,” I say. By then I’ll be gone.
Dorian gathers himself up. “Well, if I have to go through that humiliating experience, I want it to be with someone I respect. You. I’ve heard the act of making them isn’t all bad.” His cheeks flush.
He’s shorter than Caelus and much more weathered.
I wonder what it would feel like to slip the gloves off and feel the heat of someone else’s skin against my fingertips.
Would it be different than touching my own face?
A part of me burns with the urge to try it just to defy the Benevolent.
I stare at Dorian but see icy-blue eyes and a tangle of white hair.
I blink hard, trying to scrub my brain of thoughts of the prince.