Page 108 of War Hour

How ironic that despite how much Torryn and Ardis fought to keep Sar safe by keeping her from the action that she is now running into it headfirst.

“I’ll face the music when we get back, but it’s worth it,” Sar says with determination flickering in her eyes.

It isn’t long after Sar’s arrival that the Heirs trickle into the arena, faces drawn with determination.

Tonight will be about proving more than the truth, for the Heirs will prove themselves as well. Dressed in leather and metal, they’re fit for battle, and I only hope our mission will not come to it.

Bash nods to me in greeting as he passes. Wearing a metal chest plate and wraps around his arms, a large amount of Bash’s back is free. Likely left open so that he can summon his wings without obstruction. He approaches Evander, who has just finished sharpening my blade.

Pointing to the sharpener, Bash asks, “Mind if I take a turn with that?”

Jona slinks in behind Bash, covered nearly from head to toe in black. As he walks, he wraps black tape around his knuckles and fists. Two thin swords are crossed in holsters strapped to his back. The only color on his entire person are three strands that dangle from his wrist—braided bracelets like a child would make. One pink, yellow, and blue. He bows his head as he passes me before smiling at Bash and Evander over my shoulder.

Visha enters with her arms crossed, but her typical sneer missing from her face. The throwing daggers I’ve seen her fling with dangerous velocity are strapped to her belt and stowedaway in the holsters of her vest. The silver of her weapons shine in contrast to the dark purple—almost black—garments she wears. A bow is strapped to her back with silver stemmed arrows collected in a leather quiver. Her curly hair is woven into tight braids gathering across one shoulder in a bigger knot.

She hovers near me, as if not sure whether she should acknowledge me or pass me by as the others did.

“I have no doubt you’re telling the truth,” Visha sneers. “I wouldn’t be coming otherwise.” She looks at the boys behind me. “Just don’t get us all killed trying to prove it.”

She stomps past me to join the others, patting Jona’s shoulder, who sits crossed legged in the sand, meditating.

Neith is the last to arrive, a cocky grin plastered across his face. “Has everyone said their tear-filled goodbyes in case Valor over here plans to screw us over?” Neith jests with a poison laced tone.

Evander crosses his arms across the field before growling, “Cut it out, Neith. If you ever take one thing seriously in your life, Trials, let it be this.”

I’mthe first to step through the portal. One foot on sand while the other lands on the tiles of Drytas’s throne room.

The space is cloaked in shadows. Even the sconces hung from the walls are out, not even an ember hinting at recent life. I didn’t think the room could be any more ominous, but at night, when the black-and-white room is painted in further shades of gray, I change my mind.

When the only sound I can hear in the room is my breathing, I wave through the portal, gesturing for the others to follow. One by one, they step in, gazes examining the throne room.

“Why exactly are we entering through the throne room? Shouldn’t we have started where it’s a little less high pressure?” Jona asks.

Sar steps through the portal once all the Heirs have, and it blinks shut once she is clear of the opening. “Because I can only open a portal to where I’ve seen. Torryn was able to show me a glimpse of the throne room during his time here, so this is our only entry point.”

Jona hums at Sar’s answer, nodding in acceptance, but I send her a questioning look.

How had Torryn shown her the throne room?

“This is Valor. Huh,” Neith says, walking further into the room. He comes to stand at the foot of Drytas’s throne before turning to look at us. “It’s nicer than the picture of poverty you painted for us.”

I can’t help but scoff at Neith’s words. “I was choked midair by Drytas using his telekinesis about two paces to your right.”

Neith steps away from the spot I point at in a comical way that makes Jona, Bash, and Visha chuckle. Sar and Evander just give me frowning glances at the morbid joke.

I shrug. “And as soon as you step out of the grand hall, you’ll see the real Falland. Not this pride stroking building that Drytas hides himself away in.” Brushing past Visha, I gesture to the city from the largest window.

Heavy breathing sounds behind me, and I turn to see Visha hunched over, hands braced on her knees.

Neith stands next to her, moving to rest a hand on her back. “Visha? What’s wrong?” His eyes flicker to her.

When she looks up, her gaze meets mine, and there is a purple haze to her eyes. She’s feeling someone’s emotions, but whose?

As she takes in shuddering breaths, Neith moves to kneel in front of her, whispering, “Let go of it, V.” Neith brushes herbraids back over her shoulder before laying his hand on her neck, thumb rubbing circles into her skin. “Feel mine. I’m calm.” When Visha’s breathing slows and the panic leaves her eyes, Neith sags in relief. “See, everything is okay.”

Visha nods tightly, pushing his hand off where it lingers on her arm. A frown passes over Neith’s face before he wipes it away. “Who the hell is that freaked out?” Neith growls as he whips around to examine the rest of the group standing awkwardly to the side.

When no one answers, Neith turns to Visha, expecting an answer. She bites her cheek, staring Neith down before her eyes flick to me, but Neith catches it anyway.

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