Page 101 of War Hour

But even if his words during the battle were meant to ignite me into a fiery audition for the Crowns, why do they sit so heavily in my chest?

Leaning on the railing, I still when Lord Gennady approaches the three. They talk for a moment, Lord Gennady nodding while sparing me a glance over his shoulder. My breath hitches at having been caught, but he moves on, shaking Torryn’s hand before walking off.

Sar turns to Ardis and Torryn, grabbing each of their hands before turning toward me. When we lock eyes, she quirks herhead and ascends the stairs and finding her way next to me. She says nothing. Daring me to be the one to break the silence.

“You’re leaving,” I state.

Is that it? Torryn didn’t get what he wanted throughout all this, so he’s leaving. And War Hour was what? His spectacular exit?

“Torryn is,” Sar admits, her eyes trained on the two men hovering in the doorway. Despite her collected composure, I can still sense a waver in her tone when she adds, “and Ardis. Back to the Court of Self.”

I nod stiffly, unsure of an appropriate response. Storming down the stairs and demanding answers from Torryn wouldn’t impress anyone. I settle on the least telling question.

“You’re not going with them?”

Sar looks at me then, her lip sticking out as she offers me a pitying shrug. “They have nothing left to do here—no other ways to help you from here. In fact, their presence will only make things harder for us.” She nudges me with her shoulder for emphasis. “They’ll work on stopping Drytas from the Court of Self. We will figure it out here. Together.”

My heart nearly bursts. I offer her a quivering smile before nodding. It isn’t hard to shove away any lingering suspicions of Sar. Even if everything they’d said about Torryn was true, Sar could only be accountable for so much. I’m too tired to keep pushing out allies when my enemies only seem to surge. Like the assassin that might still linger in the capital waiting for a second chance.

Turning to Torryn, I watch his exchange with Ardis with furrowed brows and a chewed lip. I’m not sure if I’ll find out the answer to every question I have about Torryn. Perhaps he spent so much time being victim to the manipulations of court politics that he doesn’t know how to help in any other way.

Torryn turns to meet my gaze as if able to sense it.

Whether he meant for it to happen or not, Torryn pushed me toward a realization during War Hour. I might have already been halfway there after talking to Lord Gennady, but Torryn’s goading words cemented my choice.

I will not settle for peace at the cost of others’ suffering.

Got some fight left after all?

Torryn asks in my mind. His head tilts as if asking from across the entry hall.

Blurring the lines between ally and enemy, Torryn can’t be trusted with my life or the Untrialed’s. But I can trust one thing—he wants to stop Drytas just as much as I do.

Enough to spare, I think back, hoping he’ll hear the words.

At his smirk, I know he has.

Sar and Evanderdo not get along. An unexpected, unfortunate obstacle when trying to work together to make a plan. But after a few hours, they go a whole five minutes without yelling at each other.

The feud is obviously not just between Torryn and Evander but something deeper they wouldn’t mention.

Every idea that Sar has is shot down by Evander. Too risky. Won’t work. Will either end up getting us all killed or starting the next Trialed War for violating some protection in the treaty.

Evander’s ideas are from the opposite side of the spectrum. Too safe. Not enough to truly fix anything. Sar has no problem telling him as much with a smirk on her face, which only fuels the next round of shouting. You can tell his hope is to come up with a plan that will try to resolve things without putting anyone in direct harm. But Drytas is already threatening war. Negotiating with him won’t stop that now.

It all ends for the day when Sar throws her hands up in frustration. “You need to talk to him, Lysta. He’s being utterly impossible. Does he want to actually help, or just sit there ruling out any of the ideas that might actually work?” Sar stomps off without an answer, leaving Evander and I tucked in the book stacks of the capital’s library.

Evander leans against a bookshelf, staring me down when I whip around to look at him. Arms crossed, he smirks. I can feel the satisfaction rolling off him in waves. Hands on my hips, I give him a scolding glare, pursing my lips.

This is important. He needs to be taking this seriously. Regardless of any feud between him and Sar, he can’t be picking a fight when our clock is winding down. With the judgment hearing out of the way, Lord Drytas has nothing standing in his way and then there will be nothing for us to do.

“Don’t be mad at me,” Evander says, trying his hardest to look repentant. He pushes off the bookcase, creeping forward. “I’m doing my best, but her ideas had a nine-out-of-ten chance of getting you killed.” Evander backs me up until my shoulders press into the bookcase behind me.

I give him a warning look. Now is not the time for this. But as soon as his hands grip my hips, holding me to him, I can’t help but fold into him. Dropping my forehead against his chest, I groan, “We talked about this.”

Evander wraps his arms around me, leaning his chin to rest on the top of my head. “I thought we talked about this too—had it all figured out. You would be safe in Truth. You would be with me. I don’t know what happened during War Hour, but you stopped treating that like an option.”

I pull away from Evander, shoulders sagging, but he doesn’t let go.

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