Chapter 12
The morning comes too soon.
Syra and a Mercyenforcer are outside my door as the sun comes up, explaining it’s time to break my fast. Syra enters without being asked to, her arms full. “You slept alright,” she says.
“I slept fine.”
“It wasn’t a question. You look like you slept fine. The sedative did what it was supposed to.” Another tight smile that reminds me of old leather boots. She hands me a polished mouth chain, a fresh dress—another thin linen like I was put in for sentencing—and gloves into my hands.
“More clothes?” I ask. “These are still clean.”
“Don’t be disgusting.” She grimaces. “Put on the clothes I gave you. And you’ll need to stay in your lowborn attire until the start of the first trial. Don’t get punished for something stupid. If we understand each other, it seems like you’d like to win this?”
Not win.
But make it to the end.
I nod.
“Two minutes.” The guard bangs on the door, waiting to escort me like the criminal I am.
I change, carefully, putting on the pieces of my wardrobe with precision, the way I do each day.
Making sure everything is right. With my gloves on and my chain in place, the pace of my pulse slows. I can do this.
“This morning is the opening address from the Benevolent,” Syra goes on. “Which kicks off the first elimination.”
“Elimination?” I freeze with one leg into my clean dress. “I didn’t know there would be eliminations.” I thought I’d be judged on my ability to convince someone I am in love with them and survive the trials. Caelus didn’t mention anything about an elimination. My hummingbird pulse is back.
“You’ll find out when you get there,” she says.
“You said first elimination. Are there more than one? What re—”
“Time,” the guard says.
Syra crosses the distance between us as the guard forces the door back open. She tugs up on my gloves, smoothing them in place before pressing the chain at the corner of my mouth to make sure it’s in place. I brace for the sting of rough touch, but she’s surprisingly careful. Almost gentle.
“Your chain and gloves may be removed at the start of the first trial,” she says. “Remain in your proper wardrobe until then.”
My heart pounds as we leave my room. Syra goes a separate way.
The Mercyenforcer has me follow him, and I realize I’m being escorted to the chance at freedom the Benevolent’s offered me in death-sentence rags.
But when I arrive at the hall filled with endless tables covered in piles of food, everyone is dressed the same way, and it feels like some kind of sick joke.
The crowd is segmented again by district.
Mercyenforcers line the room, staying hands off as people fill plates and seats, stuffing their faces.
I tug up on my gloves, blow out a sharp breath, and wade through the throng of hungry lowborn.
Many loiter, keeping to themselves as they impatiently wait for their turn.
Others, most Saltblood, carry multiple plates, breads and fruit piled in their arms, food already wedged in their mouths, on their way to seats.
Grainfolk, who harvest food for the entire island, are noticeably less impatient, used to being around piles of food they can’t have.
Stonebound, who herd animals for their skin and meat, watch like tethered dogs.
They’re used to meat, but not without killing it first.
With Mercyenforcers on the perimeter, the mood in the hall is a mix.
Half of the contestants are giddy, full of anticipation, euphoric smiles, and chatter about how nice their rooms are, how good they slept, how generous the Benevolent is, and which of the Scents they tried.
The other half wander, pulling at their chests, pleading with Citadel officials for one more dose.
I wish I could tell them to give it a couple weeks; it’s painful, but the urge for them wears off.
But they’ll see soon enough. There are no Heartfillers used in the tournament.
Two of us will never use Heartfillers again.
Caelus and the Benevolent are not here.
“I want to be in love,” I mutter, grabbing a plate.
I need my strength. I should eat, hungry or not.
“I want to be a Skyborn citizen.” I approach the table where there are breads spilling out of a basket over one another.
Cheeses are piled high with fruit in, around, and between them.
There are cookies and small cakes, fizzing drinks, and thinly sliced meats.
I grab a single muffin and smell it, and it smells fine.
“The blueberry ones are tasty,” the girl beside me says. Curly tendrils of hair streaked with violet frame her honey-skinned face. “It’s my second time through.”
I scoot down the line, about to pass a dozen tall-stemmed drinks when the girl next to me grabs a yellow one.
“We press these fruit wines in Grainfolk.” She offers me a glass and I take it. “Always wanted to taste one.”
If I lived in Grainfolk, I’d steal a taste of everything they had. I’d steal enough so that the orphanage would never go without enough food again. And I wouldn’t feel bad for it. This girl is nicer than me.
“Uh, thanks,” I say. There’s a mountain of more food options, but I take my plate and try to find a seat. The room is full of curious eyes and conversations. The air buzzes with nerves. I scope the crowd. It feels wrong to pick someone to betray at random.
“I’m Mae.” The girl follows me. “What’s your name?”
“Axira. Saltblood.”
“I heard about you. You’re the girl the Benevolent gave mercy to.”
“Heard where?”
“Last night, Grainfolk got together after curfew to talk about everything.” Her cheeks push up under her gold hazel eyes.
Three long tables run the length of the room, and the districts have each claimed one.
Mae and I stand awkwardly between the Saltblood and the Grainfolk tables.
I sit down at the end of the Saltblood one, and Mae plops down right beside me.
I scoot my plate down, scoping out others from my district at the opposite end of the table.
I’m not sure how to choose. It feels wrong to betray someone in my own district.
Mae scoots her plate down too, staying two steps from me.
“I’ve always wanted to meet a Saltblood,” she says. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I see your couriers all the time during harvest pickup, but I’ve never got to talk to any of you. You know?”
Something tells me she loves to talk. I gaze over her head at the Saltblood once more. I can’t betray one of my own, I decide. That narrows it down at least. But I don’t know the first thing about the other districts besides what I see when couriering.
“I have so many questions,” Mae goes on.
“Like?”
“Do you really eat only fish? I heard that a vegetable has never touched a Saltblood’s tongue.” She leans in, squinting, and it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen. She’s serious. “And you eat them raw. Straight from the sea, bones and all!”
I guffaw.
The room goes silent. I slap a hand over my mouth and glue my gaze to the floor, head bowed, heart thundering, waiting. I’ve gone too far. I’ve shown too much excitement. The entire room seems to wait for my punishment.
But no one comes.
No one steps in to tell me I’ve lost control. To tell me I shouldn’t indulge in feelings of excitement attached to someone. Slowly, chatter rises in the room again, this time sprinkled with laughter, as if my outburst broke some invisible ceiling.
When a Mercyenforcer rings a bell to grab everyone’s attention, I can’t breathe, certain he is about to announce I’m being arrested and flogged for such a flagrant display of emotion before the opening address has even started the tournament.
But he announces that there is one hour to eat and begin getting to know each other.
“Use every minute you have to start making connections,” he says. “By the end of the day if you haven’t met fifteen people who you would like to explore a possible connection with, you will be disqualified.”
The crowd is quiet. Stares rove the room as journals are passed out with spaces for us to press the fingerprints of each contestants we meet. Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore. Mae’s eyes are wide as a doe’s. Suddenly she winces mid-breath and curls slightly inward as if something’s hurting her.
When she finally speaks, she says, “Did you know about the eliminations?”
I shake my head. “My maid told me this morning.”
“Mine told me how it’s going to work.” She takes a bite of the fruit on her plate, and I lean in. “There are three trials”—that I knew—“and there is one elimination before each trial.”
Caelus didn’t mention that.
“The Benevolent didn’t do it like that years before,” she continues. “The idea is to narrow down the group fast to the contestants who really want to be here.”
A chill slips down my spine. He’s already watching me.
I have to be above reproach. The perfect candidate.
I have to get fingerprints. I scan the hall again, and spot the girl who entered the tournament in the Gardens for extra rations.
“Sounds like you know plenty of the Grainfolk here?” I ask Mae.
“Many hands means fewer blisters.” She stretches her gloved fingers. “It doesn’t take much for us to get together.”
“Like who?”
She points at a strong-looking fellow who is sitting alone, hunched over his plate, mechanically shoveling food inside his mouth.
Cropped blond hair falls around his light eyes.
His face is sharp and worn, carved with lines that can’t be explained by just age.
Art is drawn all over his fair skin. Among the markings is a face with the Ethyrian flag painted over it.
“That’s Kade,” Mae says. “You know how Mercyenforcers were not always Skyborn?”
“Yes.”
“He was one of them.”