Chapter 19
We are taken from the shore straight to the arena.
The once-empty space with only a stage has been transformed into an outdoor garden. Above, the night sky is nearly black, speckled with stars. But only our footsteps can be heard. No one speaks.
Dim lights illuminate the center arena floor, cloaking the area outside the spotlight in shadow.
On the edge of the darkened perimeter are tents for sleeping.
I squint into the darkness to the audience seats where Skyborns watched the opening address, but I can’t make out anyone in the darkness.
I find it hard to believe we are really here alone, free of Mercyenforcers.
I search for a tent to claim, winding through the arena floor, which is sectioned by tall hedges, brimming with robust flowers, creating alcoves and private hideaways.
Carved stone benches are scattered in and around greenery.
At the center of everything is a pool of hot water, sunken into the earth, rimmed with giant smooth boulders.
The surface of the water gently laps against the rocks.
Mist rises from it in soft clouds, wrapping the area in a pink haze.
The air smells faintly of flowers, with the earthy scent of damp stone.
It’s all supposed to be enticing, I guess, but every dainty detail reeks of the cost to stay here.
Ronan is dead. And so many others I never met.
This doesn’t end here. More will die. Somehow knowing it and seeing it aren’t the same thing.
If people were hungry to win before, now they will be desperate.
When we step inside fully, the gate is locked behind us.
A firepit crackling with warmth is swarmed with people.
Several of the others dig through their things for the extra Heartfiller the Benevolent gave us at the opening address, shoving it into their chests with moaning exhales, coping with the nightmare of the last several hours.
But I want to feel the chaos inside me. I want to hold on to what’s real.
I’m heading in the direction of the tents to get away from everyone when I notice the eating area full of food—bright fruits, steaming dishes, and delicate pastries.
Candles flicker softly, casting shadows that dance across the tables, too surreal to be real.
My body is so tired, but when I spot water, I go straight to it.
Talia is there nursing a gash larger than the bruise on her face.
Lira is rebraiding her tightly coiled ponytail. I fill a cup.
“Get that cut taken care of,” Lira says to Talia, trying to make a selection of cured meats. “Seaweed is what we use in my district.”
“Alright, I will.” Talia rolls her shoulders back. “The other advice you gave me helped. Thanks. Did Rhythe say anything yet about the next one?”
My ears perk up. Lira glances at me, then Talia, her eyes flaring in warning. The alliance. Lira’s Saltblood. She’s in on it, I assume. But Talia is Stonebound. Rhythe must not want her sharing advice he’s told her. What kind of advice could he have?
“The next trial?” I ask.
Lira goes stiff. Talia swallows, hurriedly putting food on her plate.
They wander off together. I look for Rhythe.
I haven’t confirmed with him that I want to be part of his alliance.
He didn’t seem exactly helpful on the beach.
But if he knows anything that could give me an edge on the next trials, I’ll take it.
Caelus marches over to the table and grabs a plate. “Eat,” he says under his breath. “You’ll need your strength.” I turn my back to make sure no one sees him talking to me and grab a few small bites.
I see Ronan in my head. Then, Finn. Then, Serafina.
“I didn’t expect it to be like this,” I say quietly. “I didn’t…”
“You didn’t expect what?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Axira, you’re not okay.” The way he says my name strikes me like a hot iron, slicing my resolve in two.
“I need you to be okay,” he says. “I want—”
I press my back against his, desperate to feel something sturdy, something within this chaos that I trust, and he doesn’t move away.
His heart drums in his chest. My pulse slows.
I trust him. Not because he’s told me everything.
I still don’t understand how we’re going to steal the magic.
But I know he’s scheming with me. And that means something.
“You swim like a fish,” he says against my ear, and I can hear the smile between his words.
“I almost drowned,” I say.
“I never doubted for a second.” He hasn’t moved, still firm against me, and for a moment…a blink of a second…I let myself imagine what it would be like in this tournament with someone, like Mae and Dorian.
I recall Lucent telling me Caelus likes to fish. How together they’d visit Dockers Row. “How’d you learn to swim so well?”
“My mother and I used to swim a lot. I stopped after she…” He stiffens. “After she drowned. I took up fishing after that. Missed the ocean.”
“That’s terrible. I—” I don’t know what to say. I knew that the Benevolent’s late wife died. But I didn’t realize it was by drowning. It feels especially morbid to then force contestants off a cliff, drowning dozens of them. My anger is kindled again.
“Why does he make the trials like this?” I ask.
“He has to.”
“What do you mean has to?”
Caelus sighs. “The more people sacrifice to chase the prize he’s promised, the more they will sacrifice to win it.
He puts us in impossible situations, testing not only our love for each other, but our regard for anyone.
As you saw, most do nothing. Nothing at all.
They put their heads down and focus on winning.
The closer they get to winning, the less chance they’ll walk away or stand up for anything decent.
Think about it—if they walk away from the tournament empty-handed after watching people die and doing nothing, how do they live with that? ”
The woman who used to work for Miss Omon comes to mind. She returned to the Saltblood district after losing the last tournament and eventually overdosed on Heartfillers. I’d assumed it was because she lost the tournament.
“It’s the game he plays,” Caelus says.
“Why? If he wants us dead, why give us Heartfillers? Why even send rations?”
“He doesn’t want you dead, he wants you—” Caelus rips us apart suddenly as others join the table, piling food onto their plates. “Desperate,” he whispers before leaving me there.
I don’t move, watching the contestants wandering around, chests glowing. The stress of the last several hours has melted away despite how our numbers have shrunk. There are less than two dozen people here. I counted twenty or so. Down from nearly a hundred.
My fingers graze my chest, and I watch the others dipping in the hot pool and lounging around the fire.
Finn was forced into a transport and brought to the arena.
But he hasn’t moved. He still stands with the locked gate at his back.
The lacerations from the Mercyenforcers dragging him from the shore have left burns all over his skin.
When he peels himself off the gate, heads swivel his way. A few mouths go slack. One girl’s hand stills mid-bite. “So everyone is going to act like this is okay?” he asks loudly.
People quiet.
“No one cares that Ronan’s—” he goes on.
“That’s the test, Finn,” Kade says.
“That wasn’t a test. It was a death mission.” He paces.
“What did you expect? A nice dinner, some kissing?” Kade stabs the meat on his plate and shoves it in his mouth.
Several drugged contestants giggle.
“What happened to Ronan is upsetting, Finn,” Mae says.
“I agree,” I say, and Caelus gives me a warning look to keep what he’s shared private.
Mae turns to the others. “Most of us will be in Ronan’s shoes eventually.”
“Speak for yourself,” Talia says.
“Now I have to win,” Finn says. “Get in my way and I’ll disqualify you myself.” He storms off and disappears into a tent.
“Well, he’s not going to win alone in there,” someone mutters, and several laugh.
The rest have moved on. They’ve forgotten about Ronan.
The Ronan who was here fighting for his brother, which everyone found noble and couldn’t stop whispering about.
I expected the trials to be brutal. But I expected among the lowborn that a life, anyone’s life, would matter more.
I rock back and forth, pacing, trying to settle my mind on why I’m here and what I have to do: Pick someone to betray, steal magic, and make it to the end.
But as I race through options in my head, they’re drowned with memories from my own swim.
Memories of seeing my mother’s body plummet off the edge of that cliff again and again.
“I thought you’d be a faster swimmer,” a low voice behind me says. It’s Rhythe.
“No one asked you what you thought,” I snap.
“You didn’t gather with the other Saltbloods,” he says, only loud enough so that I hear.
“I haven’t made up my mind. Your help wasn’t very inspiring on the beach.” In truth, something about him unsettles me. But an alliance could be smart, especially if he knows things about what’s coming.
“What are you saying?”
I cross my arms. “I’m not sure you offer much.”
His chin lifts in challenge, and with a flicker of mirth. It unsteadies me. “I briefed them on the current the minute I saw it. You’d know that if you gathered with us.”
“It looked like you couldn’t care less if they made it to shore or drowned.” His eyes narrow, but he shifts closer to me. I step back. “I assumed you’d be in,” he says. “Axira Merreri.”
My name. “Do we know each other? Have we met?” Maybe I’ve forgotten.
He shakes his head. “No. Your reputation precedes you.” He knows I’m a smuggler.
“Are you in…trade too?”
He doesn’t respond for a beat. “Are you with us or not?”
He avoided my question. “My trust is not given. It’s earned. Tell me what you know about the remaining trials.”
His cold eyes study mine. But again, there is something simmering underneath. “Second trial will be in Grainfolk district.”
“How do you know that?”