Page 107 of War Hour

“Then if there are no further questions or protests, I see no reason for delay. When do we leave, Lysta?” Lord Gennady asks.

The room’s attention shifts to me once again. I fold my hands in front of me, trying to project confidence when I answer. “Tonight, my lord. It is when the Guard will be the least active.”

It also leaves Drytas’s spies, whether it be Neith or not, without time to get word to Drytas so that he can prepare, but the table in front of me does not need to know that.

Lord Gennady signals the end of the meeting. “Tonight, it is.”

Chapter 42

The emptiness of the arena minutes before midnight is haunting. It lacks the stomping feet and the screaming crowd of War Hour yet ties my stomach in knots all the same. With the sun absent from the open top, the space is cloaked in shadows and darkness, lit with only the torches surrounding the battlefield.

Even with their dim glow, I can see Evander moving across the space between weapon racks, picking up supplies and letting them fall with a heavy clatter. His sword shines where the firelight hits the blade, making reflected spots flicker on the sand at his feet.

Stepping through the metal cage, the door creaks and groans as it swings open, announcing my arrival. He stiffens at the noise before glancing over his shoulder, relaxing at the sight of me. As I tread closer to him, he leans to grab a sword sharpener before bringing the metal chisel against the edges of his blade. “I’ll do yours next if you’d like?” Evander asks without taking his gaze from the sword resting in his hands.

I murmur a word of thanks before making my way to the weapons rack. Scanning the blades and bows, daggers, and axes,I find the silver sword with the ivy hand guard. I bring the blade over to Evander, resting it against the barrel he sharpens his on.

Evander nods toward the dagger strapped to my outer thigh. “Might as well sharpen that one as well.”

For once the blade sits proudly in its holster, not tucked away under clothes like it had in Falland nor dresses from here in the capital. Evander probably had not even realized I carried it with me until my fight with Torryn.

Unstrapping the blade, I twist it in my fingers as he scrapes against his sword with the chisel, the grating metal screeching. Walking up behind Evander, I lean toward him until my temple rests on the hard muscle of his shoulder. The smell of his leather chest plate drifts past me, and I can’t help but breathe in the familiar scent.

Evander’s shoulder moves when he murmurs, “You really want to go back there?”

Sighing, I pull away, knowing the comforting moment has passed.

His sword gleams as he sharpens it against the stone, his foot balanced on its surface as he draws it back and forth. When he examines its edge, he nods in satisfaction before sheathing the weapon at his hip.

“Of course I don’t want to, Evander. If it was about what I wanted, then I would never make myself step foot in Falland again.”

Evander turns to me with pleading eyes. “So, don’t—don’t go back. The Heirs are more than capable of carrying out the mission.”

Evander curls a hand around the curve of my ear, pushing my hair away from my face. I raise my chin so that I stare down the bridge of my nose into his eyes.

“I know I am not a lord or a lady, Evander. I’m not an Heir like you. But that doesn’t change the fact that the people Drytasis weaponizing—they aremypeople, and I don’t need a title or a crown to feel the same sense of duty for them as you do for your people.”

A softness enters Evander’s eyes, and, for a moment, I think he understands. Understands what I’m trying to say—what I feel. But then my hopes are dashed.

“I wish you would reconsider.” He grips my upper arms, shaking me slightly.

Disappointment crashes into me, and I look away from his imploring eyes. Bringing one hand up to his chest, I can feel his heartbeat racing under my fingers. While I want his support—I do not need his permission.

“There’s no chance of this mission being a success without me, Evander. I’m the only one who knows Falland. Without me, you’ll run into a guard within the first thirty-seconds of being there. Not to mention trying to find the Trial.”

I know his reaction is because he cares, which touches me more than I can ever explain to him. Having grown up in Falland, where self-preservation is such an ingrained trait in its people, I know having Evander care so obviously means a great deal. But I can’t just walk away from this, and I can’t have Evander questioning my ability to handle this mission once the other Heirs arrive.

“Hands off and two steps back, Evander.”

Sar’s voice echoes across the arena.

Evander’s hands tighten for a moment, hesitating, before he lets me go. His head hangs between us, and I duck, trying to catch his gaze. When he turns away from me, keeping his back to me, I sigh. He grabs my sword before moving to sharpen it.

Turning to where Sar strides across the sand, I wave her off. “He’s just worried about me, Sar. I’m fine. I promise.”

Sar wrinkles her nose but relaxes as she comes to stand next to me. For someone who is not trained in combat like Evander, Sar has all the fight in her heart.

“Thank you for doing this,” I mutter. “We wouldn’t be able to pull this off without you, Sar.”

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