Page 100 of War Hour

Kill the fear, Lysta.

My anger reaches its climax, and like an explosion, my shield bursts outwards, flinging Torryn a few dozen feet. Wind sweeps away from the shield in a whirl-wind, rippling the sand and rattling the metal cage as it blows past the seats.

Breathing heavily, my chest heaves as I look around the arena that has frozen in silence. No one moves, speaks, or even breathes for a few beats.

Then every person roars. Standing, reinvigorated and ready to cheer as the battle takes an unexpected turn. Peering up at the viewing boxes perched around the arena, I can’t help but wonder if they see me now.

Across the sand, Torryn pushes himself up onto one knee. Satisfaction gleams in his eyes as he beholds me. It hits me thatthis is what he wanted. For whatever reason Torryn justifies it, he wanted me to use my power today—in front of the capital and in front of the Crowns. This isn’t about wanting to fight me. He’s had plenty of opportunities to make a quick end of it.

This is about something more.

Our swords lay in the sand where the shield force flung them.

Torryn and I lock onto them at the same time.

When he rushes forward, running to reach our weapons that lay discarded, I make another choice. Summoning my shield, I fling out my hand. With it, Torryn is surrounded by a shield, encircling him like a dome.

Both hands pressed to the shield, Torryn leans forward, watching me. I stride toward him, leaning to grab both of our swords on my way.

Separated by the impenetrable barrier, Torryn, and I stand only a pace apart. Our gazes never waver.

“How dare you spin this as if I didn’t come here for Falland? Like everything I’ve done so far hasn’t been for the Untrialed.” I pause, fury building. “I know it’s a hard concept to grasp for someone who has always had the world at their feet. But until you have lived and struggled as someone from Falland”—I scoff—“don’t you dare mock my efforts or motives. Because your power play will cost people their lives—it nearly cost mine.”

I drop the shield that protects Torryn as much as it does me. Looking at the swords in my hand, Torryn stiffens as if bracing for a hit. And then he flinches... as I throw his sword in the sand at his feet.

“Now let’s finish this farce you call war, because there’s a real one waiting for me to make my move.”

I gesture for him to stand, raising my sword, beckoning for him to fight me again. But his eyes shimmer with achievement, like he has just won the ultimate prize—but he makes no move for the weapon.

“I yield.” His voice rings throughout the arena.

My heart skips as I stare at him in befuddlement. Jaw slack, eyes wide, and Torryn only nods to me in acknowledgment.

“I yield, to Lysta of Valor.”

Chapter 39

War Hour changed the capital in the hours of its aftermath. People have no quarrel skirting the line between fear and respect, both kindred spirits in their own right, both cloaked in manipulative reverence.

Here, I’ve played every part in an eternal stage show, missing all but the cup for them to fling their coins into in appreciation for the entertainment. Apparently, I’m winning them over.

In the short trek from the arena to my room, I have been hailed by many passersby, applauded, patted on the back—even bowed to. Adrenaline pumping through my veins and exhausted from my increased power expenditure, I almost pass out when the first awe-stricken court member stops mid-walk to bow and step out of my way.

Completely thrown from the night-and-day change, I don’t understand until Lady Ivianna catches me for a word. She praises my performance in the arena, making note that it’s a rare few that could stand successfully against Lord Torryn. I’m certain to be missing something amid her apologies that thejudgment hearing hadn’t gone my way, anticipating the other shoe will drop.

Then she offers me citizenship in her court, and it all makes sense.

While before I was fruit of the poisonous tree, now I’m imbibed with opportunity and power. An asset to use as both threat and defense.

My assumption is only reinforced when Lord Nicaise and Lord Rhen extend the same platitudes and offers.

At the top of the staircase, overlooking the entry hall where Torryn, Ardis, and Sar stand ready to leave the capital, I can’t help but wonder if that had been part of Torryn’s plan, too.

I can see no advantage in Torryn’s challenge to me during War Hour, nor in his defeat. And I use the “defeat” lightly, as I can’t fathom the extent at which he must have held himself back. When I dropped that sword at his feet, I felt no more advantaged other than capable of stopping him from stabbing my torso.

Who knows what other powers Torryn possesses that he held back? Whether to keep them unknown or to let me win.

It all makes me think Torryn wanted me to end up victorious. He must have felt burdened by the guilt of the situation, that he just wanted another court to accept me.

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