Page 109 of War Hour

He storms across the room until his reddening face is inches from my own. “Get over it and get it together. You’re the only reason we are here in the first place.”

“Back off, Neith,” Sar warns, stepping toward us.

Narrowing my eyes, I push a hand into Neith’s chest. “When you have to revisit where you were Trialed and tortured against your will, then—and only then—can you tell me to get over it.” Shoving past him, I add, “Plus, I’m keeping it together. It’s not my fault she can’t handle what’s in my head—”

“Shouldn’t we get going?” Jona asks, voice monotone. “I’d like to get in and out of here as quickly as possible.”

Standing next to the door, I listen for the sound of the Guard patrol but hear nothing. Taking a glance at the decorative clock tower that sits in the corner. Thirteen minutes after midnight. Keeping my ear tuned to the hall, I speak low.

“We just need to lie low here, so we can get a gauge of the guard’s patrol.”

Chapter 43

As the clock edges past quarter till one, my suspicions are confirmed.

I’d spent more than my fair share of days and nights memorizing the Guard’s movement and patrol patterns. Every fifteen minutes, they pass the throne room—to the minute.

But crouched next to the door, ear pressed to the cool surface, I haven’t heard a single rustle or whisper, yet we’ve been here closer to a half an hour.

The realization rings alarm bells in my head. I’d considered that Lord Drytas would likely change his security protocols following mine and Torryn’s sudden departure from the Court of Valor. But my predictions had been along the lines of increased measures—not decreased.

Standing from my crouch position, I curse under my breath. When six heads whip around to look at me, the risk I’ve taken—that the Heirs have taken, nearly steals my composure.

Evander moves to me, breaking the silence. “What’s wrong?”

Staying here is a dangerous waiting game, but roaming the grand hall with no knowledge of the guards’ movement is begging for trouble.

“The guard should have moved through this hall by now.” Biting my lip, I debate what options we have. “We’ll have to make our way blind.”

There isn’t the chorus of arguments that I expect. Looking between the Heirs, including Sar, I see no sign of protest on their faces. Visha’s lips are pinched in a line, but she still gives me a tight nod—willing me forward with the plan.

Stepping into the hall, we file out in a line, flattening against the stone wall amongst the shadows. Every turn we come across, I tremble as I peer around the corner, praying no one will be waiting in the adjoining hall. All it takes is one guard to sound the alarm and then they would be on us before we knew what was happening.

Pressing forward, I follow my memory, pushing us closer to where the Trial’s entrance had once stood.

Evander presses behind me, mouth near my ear as he whispers, “Are we getting close?”

“It’s just around this next corner.” Turning to look at everyone huddled against the wall, I ask, “Everyone still with us?”

Neith huffs impatiently, shoving past me. “I swear, we could have been in and out by now if—” He passes the corner, raising his sword, and Neith jumps, pulling at the weapon with his weight. “What the—something has my sword. You didn’t say they could turn invisible.”

“They can’t!” I shout, my eyes wide as Neith struggles against the force fighting for his sword. I take a moment to realize that it’s telekinesis he fights against.

“They’re here.” I jump into action. “The guard must be protecting the Trial.”

Neith loses his grip on his sword, and it soars down the hall, leaving him without a weapon. I summon a shield, using it toblock the hallway leading to the Trial as a rainstorm of arrows and swords pelt the space in front of Neith.

I slide to him on my knees, pulling my sword from its holster at my hip. I shove the blade into Neith’s hand, struggling to do so while also maintaining the shield. When he tries to push it away, I snap, “You’re better with a sword, and I can’t hold my shield and fight with it anyway.”

He nods, taking the weapon.

A dozen or so guards stand at attention at the entrance to the Trial hall. Each holds their hands in front of them, likely wielding the sword that hover slam against my shield. Two of them kneel, aiming arrows in our direction. When none of their attacks make it through the shield, they falter, summoning their weapons back to their persons.

“Why are they attacking?” Visha shouts from behind the wall.

I send her a withering glare. “Why do you thin—”

“Not the time for this!” Bash crouches, eyes leveling with my own. “Lower your shield, Lysta. We are more than capable of taking them on.”

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