Page 3 of The Tarot Trials

We were good at a lot of things, but softness was never one of them. I swallow past my suddenly thick throat. “Mara—”

She cuts in. “You’ll want to say goodbye to the littles.”

My stomach twists. I stop in front of the door, but make no move to open it. This home contains my entire world. Mouse, Pika, Quoll, the littles. For twenty-two years, I’ve fought and trained and done everything I could to ensure the people I call family don’t starve. The last Trials barely lasted a week. Mouse hasn’t found any evidence that the ones before lasted much longer. They can survive the week with the food and resources I’ve hidden away. I’m sure of it. I’m mostly sure of it.

But in this moment of hesitation, I can’t quite stop myself from whispering my fear to the one person I know will understand. “I’m worried about them. Mouse is old, and Pika is only eighteen.” I felt ancient at eighteen, but I look at Pika and I can only see the little girl who followed me around for years. It doesn’t matter—it can’t matter. No one stays a child in the Dregs for long. “If something happens to me in the Trials…”

“Kestrel.” Mara catches my arm. “I’ll watch out for them while you’re gone. No matter how long you’re gone.”

The twisting in my stomach gets worse. “You don’t have to do that.”

“You know me. I never do anything I don’t want to do.” She smiles, though the expression doesn’t quite mask the fear in her eyes. “You’ll have enough to worry about while you’re in the Trials without being distracted by what’s happening here. I have some extra food stashed, and I’m an even better thief than you. They won’t go hungry, and they won’t have cause to be desperate enough to catch the attention of the Wands. I promise.”

There’s nothing to do but hug her. “Thank you.” I never would have asked for this, no matter how genuine the care remains between us. Not only because Mouse taught me to be fiercely independent, but because there’s never enough of anything to spare in the Dregs. It feels so good to hold her close, so natural. Gods, I miss her. I bury my face in her neck and whisper, “I’m going to change things. I just have to get through the Trials to become one of the new Cinque and it will be better for all of us. You’ll see.” I’m going to find out what really happened to my mother. I’m going to kill Death to avenge her.

Mara shifts back, but only enough to catch my mouth with hers. She kisses me fiercely, passionately, the stroke of her tongue feeling a whole lot like goodbye. She breaks away before I do. “Stay alive, Kestrel.”

I’m a little breathless, a little heartsore, as I take a step back. “That’s the plan.”

Her eyes shine. “I have no doubt you’ll try. I couldn’t bear it if you died for an agenda you inherited.” Before I can come up with a reply, she darts away, stepping off the edge of the roof of the apartment below us and landing easily on the ledge a short drop down.

I take a breath and then another, letting my exhales carry away the conflicting feelings that always accompany Mara’s presence. Love and frustration and comfort and sorrow. It’s all a tangled mess in my chest. As I reach for the door, I try to tell myself it’s better this way.

At least if I die in the Trials, Mara will be mourning a friend, rather than a lover she hoped to share her future with.

The Moon is one of the most egregious of the old gods. While, on the surface, They appear to be as reliable as the Sun in Their constant dance across our skies, once one digs deeper, they find an insidious underbelly. Fear, lies, and the belief in the unseen … all these traits threaten Caelria on a fundamental level if left unchecked in the population.

—EXCERPT FROM THE MAJOR ARCANA: A TREATISE ON THE HISTORY OF THE OLD GODS

CHAPTER TWO

I STAND IN THE doorway of our tiny apartment and just take in the normalcy greeting me. Pika is herding the two littles—Fawn and Colt—out of bed while bickering with Quoll about whose turn it is to make breakfast. Everyone is here and as healthy as can be expected. In a week or two, everything will change for the better. I have to believe that. No matter how morose Mara makes me feel sometimes, the truth is that I have no intention of dying in the Trials. Or before, for that matter.

Pika is lean the way everyone in the Dregs is lean, her light brown skin too pale from lack of sun. She’s still wearing the bonnet that protects her braids, and it makes her appear even younger. My chest pangs, but I manage a smile just as she catches sight of me. Pika lights up. “We thought you might have snuck away to avoid saying goodbye.”

“You know damn well that saying goodbye is bad luck.”

She shrugs. “Still, we all wanted a chance to see you before … well, everything.”

“I wouldn’t sneak out in the night like that.” I wouldn’t do that to them—or to Mouse. He hasn’t come out of his room yet—the only private space in this place—so I do my best to let the stress of what’s coming roll off my shoulders. “I have some time. I’ll help with breakfast.”

It’s comforting in its familiarity. Colt doesn’t want fish with his breakfast, but he never does. I hope he’ll grow out of the aversion, because fish is the one thing not in short supply this close to the Peridot District. The dried stuff is even affordable most seasons. I didn’t want fish when I was seven, either, but food is food. Fawn eats obediently, not saying a word. We found her a few years ago, wandering the streets. She didn’t speak at all the first few months, and even now that she’s more comfortable, she is still quiet to the point where I worry sometimes. At six, she’s small enough to be mistaken for younger. And Quoll is my problem child at fifteen, only in that he’s a bundle of hormones and still thinks he’s immortal. He’s had more run-ins with the Wands than me and Pika combined, and I’m terrified that one day he won’t be fast enough to get away.

Not for the first time, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing by entering the Trials. Or trying to enter the Trials; there’s no guarantee I’ll even make it as far as the dais to become the Moon’s champion. The Culling is called that for a reason—its bloodshed is legendary. More people die in the few hours it takes to determine the champions than in the Trials themselves.

Mouse has been training me for years, but surely others with better resources and information have done the same. Doubt threatens to creep in, lured closer by worry about what will happen to the family I’m responsible for while I’m gone. Mara says she’ll look after them, but there are no guarantees. Something could happen to Mara.

As if sensing my thoughts, Mouse chooses that moment to enter the room. He looks especially run-down this morning, his pale skin almost yellow, the lines bracketing his mouth and eyes deeper than normal. His hair was already going gray when I was old enough to notice such things, and it’s nearly white now.

He takes us in with a single look and nods. “Kestrel, it’s time.”

The mood plummets. Pika wilts. Quoll puffs out his chest, but his eyes are a little too red to fully pull off the bravado. The littles don’t quite understand what’s happening, but they pick up the tension all the same.

I don’t want to go.

I shove the thought down deep. That’s my fear talking. I’ve never once let fear rule me, and I’m not about to start now. “I’m ready.” I pull Pika into a hug and whisper in her ear, “If you run into any trouble, go to Mara. She’ll help.”

“I will.” She hugs me back fiercely and steps away after only a beat.