“Do you even realize what the trials cause?” I lean forward. “How they impact those of us living in the villages? They breed disunity. Distrust. People form alliances, target those they think have the best chance of surviving. They kill before the trials even start, just to make sure their odds are better.”
His lips press into a firm line. “Killing between the trials is illegal. The Enforcers—”
I bark out a bitter laugh. One full of so much hatred, so muchanger, and uncontrollable rage. “You think they care? More often than not, the Enforcers encourage it. Why wouldn’t they? Fewer people to monitor, fewer people to keep in line. If they don’t see it, if they don’t hear about it, then it doesn’t matter. It didn’t happen. This world is broken, Jax,” I whisper. “It may be dying, but it doesn’t need to be this way. Can’t you see that?”
For a long moment, he says nothing. His gaze doesn’t waver, golden and steady.
“I’m starting to.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t respond.
The silence stretches between us, charged with so much hostility, but I think that’s only coming from my end.
“Talk to me about something good. Something that makes you happy,” he finally says, and I’m sure it’s only because he can sense my rage, and for some inexplicable reason, he wants to help rid me of it.
But unfortunately for us both, not too many happy memories pop into my mind.
“Tell me about your sister. The one you mentioned when we were in the gardens.” He lays his head back down, staring at the ceiling instead of me. “Not about how she died, but about how she lived.”
I shift in the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. My legs cross, uncross, then cross again.
Without a word, he shifts on the bed, moving closer to the wall. The action is so casual, so smooth and effortless, but his eyes are still pinned on the ceiling.
I hesitate. But then my neck aches, no longer wishing to hold up my head, so I settle on the mattress beside him, making sure not to touch him as I do.
“She’s brilliant,” I say softly, finally answering his question. “Wasbrilliant.” The words scrape against my throat like broken glass because I hate talking about Telfi this way. Like she’s dead, like she doesn’t exist anymore, but she doesn’t, and she is.
I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back the flood of emotions threatening to consume me. He said to talk about how shelived. And I owe it to her to do that. To remember her as she was.
“She loved to read. She’d read anything and everything she could get her hands on. The history of our world, the foundations of our kingdom. She even read books about your family, your ancestors who created the trials, and the ones who continued them.” I stop to clear my throat, needing to remove the small lump that’s forming. “But most of all, she loved reading about science. Before her second trial, she was learning about soil purification, hoping there was a way to cleanse the earth, allowing more food to grow. She was so smart, I bet she would have figured it out if she was given the time to do so.” My voice fades, but only for a moment. “Telfi would have created a better world.”
Jax stills beside me. His breathing paused, but his eyes open.
“Telfi?” He doesn’t look at me.
“That was her name,” I say, knowing it’s an unusual one. “You probably would’ve liked her. She had better manners.” I meant it as a joke, but somehow it doesn’t come off that way. “I just mean, she was a lot like my mother. They’re both graceful, beautiful, and enchanting.”
“I’m sure they’d both be proud of you. Of what you’ve been able to accomplish these last few weeks.” His words settle over me, and I force myself to absorb them, to really try tofeelthem. And I think he’s right, I think they would be proud.
“I just…I don’t want my parents to have to go through losing another child. It’s why I haven’t written to them yet. Giving them hope when there might not be any…I couldn’t think of anything more cruel.”
Once again, the silence finds us, but it’s more comfortable this time. It almost feels like understanding, a shared connection, even though he couldn’t possibly relate. But then I remember the scars on his back, and what that might mean, and maybe, somehow, in a different way, he can.
“But I should write to them. Even if I don’t make it in the third trial, I should still write to them. At the very least, they deserve a goodbye.” A tear forms, dripping from the corner of my eye and gliding down my right cheek.
A goodbye is something I never had with Telfi. Somethingwenever had. Although maybe that’s not entirely true. Before her second trial, before she left our apartment to take the exam Iknewshe would pass, she acted as though she wouldn’t. Which, at the time, made no sense to me. Even now, it makes no sense.
She tucked my hair behind my ear, and she told me to be strong. She told me to take care of our parents, to remember all she hadtaught me. She was crying, and I didn’t understand why because she was so prepared. More prepared than anyone.
So I brushed it off, I brushedheroff, and instead of hugging her goodbye, I told her I’d see her in four hours. That’s how long the test is supposed to take.
Four hours.
But then four hours passed…and she didn’t come home.
Tefli failed the trial. She failed the test.
And now she’s dead.
