Page 11 of War Hour

Barely across the threshold, he shuts the door behind me, locking it with subsequent clicks. All without a word.

“Well then,” I mutter to myself as I move further into the room.

Mostly empty, the room has a bed, a window, and a chair in the corner. Just a glorified prison where Drytas can keep the people he hasn’t yet dealt with.

A waiting room for Trialing.

My first instinct is to go to the window, pulling with all my remaining strength to pry it open.

Locked.

Sagging, I abandon the useless endeavor. It would have been too easy if they had left it unlocked. When my eyes land on the chair, I rush to it, then pick it up and raise it above my head.

Opening the window isn’t the only way to get through.

Stampeding forward, I ignore the protest of my knees; they ache and groan with every lurch of movement. Using the momentum, I swing the chair with my weight into the window, waiting for the telltale crash of glass to signal my victory. The wood splinters and breaks apart in my hands.

Irritated, I let out a strangled scream before throwing the remains of it at the wall.

How did I let this happen?

I slump to the floor, back pressed to the wall. Gripping the hem of my pants, I pull the fabric as far as I can up my leg and slide it until it rests on my lower thigh. Examining the damaged skin of my knee, I grimace as I do the same to my other leg.

The first shadows of blue paint my skin from where my knees smashed into the grand hall’s tile floors.

A couple more cuts and bruises adorn my body than when I first entered the grand hall, but even I’m not ignorant enough to think mouthing off to the Lord of the Court of Valor would go unpunished.

Eyes drifting closed, I take a few deep breaths. When the locks on the door click, one after the other, I bolt up as the door opens.

At first, I think it’s time to Trial already. Perhaps I fell asleep, and I can put an end to the anxiety and anticipation. But when Ardis steps in, food in hand, I feel no relief.

Stepping forward, Ardis holds out the plate, and I look at it, not moving to accept it or acknowledging him. Sighing, Ardis places it on the bed before looking at me, where I’m still sitting on the floor.

He scans the mangled chair on the far side of the room and shakes his head. For a moment, I think I catch the beginning of a smile before it’s chased away by a warning look.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Ardis leans against the wall, blocking off the door, arms folded across his chest; he reminds me of his demeanor in the alley from just this morning. Cocky. Confident.

“Are you saying I deserve it?” I snap back, a growl stirring in the back of my throat. “And whose fault is it I’m here?”

I’ve remained out of the Guard’s reach, out of Lord Drytas’s touch, for my entire life, learned their methods and warning signs, but they changed the rules. I would never have predicted someone who stood before me, a young girl with no Trial tattoos, could be the opposite in every way. Ardis is the only reason I’m in this situation, exactly as Drytas hoped.

Shaking his head, Ardis argues, “I told you to keep out of it back in the alleyway.”

Frustration building, I stand, pointing right at him. “If I hadn’t thought you were just a kid about to get beaten, then maybe I might have listened!”

“A kid you’d never seen before—in the small city of Falland. You didn’t think any of it was suspicious?!”

His words penetrate my thoughts and refuse to leave. Why is he telling me this? To rub it in? I think about how the young girl ran down a dead end, and I thought it odd. To live here and not know. But I hadn’t let it phase me. Blaming her mistake on panic and fear.

“It hadn’t mattered.”

The words come out in an exhale, airy and soft.

Ardis stares at me, eyes unmoving from my face. Not reacting to the quiet words except for the release of tension held in his jaw. He pivots, hands grasping the door handle to leave.

“I hope you sleep well tonight”—my sarcasm cuts the tension—“knowing you’ve sentenced an innocent person to die for wanting to help a kid.”

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