Page 126 of War Hour

“Did I—Did I pass? It was the truth?” Excitement and unbridled relief floods through me... until she answers in a bitter voice.

“It was a lie,” the Calkli says, and my heart drops to my feet. Her tail gives an aggravated flick. “It just happens that it wasn’tyourlie. None of your lies were. I just neededone real liefrom you, and you would have been mine.” She bares her teeth at me. “But alas, not speaking the truth is not the same as lying.”

I shake my head, raising my shoulders to my ears. Am I supposed to know what that means? The difference between my lie and another’s?

The Calkli groans as she rolls over beneath the water. “You seek and say the truth, but others lie to you. They’ll never lie to you again, and now your Trial is at its end.”

I catalog the words for later, taking away only that I’m free—alive. The Calkli is a mind twisting demon, and it’s obvious she takes pleasure in playing with the minds of her prey. I won’t let her play with me any longer.

She mutters something under her breath that turns into bubbles as she sinks further into the water. It isn’t until I see the flick of her tail at the surface of the water that I realize she’s diving back into the depths away from me.

It is really over. I passed.

A prickling sensation moves up my arm, past my Trial tattoo from the Court of Valor, settling just above it. Beneath the scratches I’d received and Gennady’s blood that lingered on my skin, the dark swirls raise to the surface, extending past my wrist now to include my forearm.

I don’t let even a beat of hesitation pass before dragging myself up the stairs, and struggling to my feet. The bloody holes now scattered across my back side sting with each stretch of my skin as I move, but I won’t risk being caught inside again.

I’m not done in the Court of Truth.

Chapter 50

Ihave no plan as I flee from Truth’s Trial. Adrenaline surges through me, feeling like lightning powers every step, propelling me on. The divots that now pepper my back finally stop bleeding, allowing for my shirt to dry, now clinging to the wounds.

When I step out into the Trial hall, I expect a lot of things. I expect to be surrounded by guards, taken as soon as I move into sight. I expect Lord Drytas to be there, waiting for his chance to execute me if the Trial fails to. Evander would probably be there, too, but in what way I can’t predict. I’ve lost any insight I thought I had into him.

But none of that happens.

The room is empty. Not a single person waits for me. Lord Gennady’s body is gone from the room, the only evidence of having been there at all being the large red stain that stands out against the white tile floor. Severin is nowhere to be seen, and I can only assume he has been taken.

Dead or alive, is the question.

I try to put their fates out of my mind as I pick up my discarded sword and rush from the room.

Explosions echo in the distance, sounding off at random intervals. Each serving as my time counting down. The resounding booms bringing warnings of death like a clock striking twelve.

The sky outside is painted in the morning colors of dawn, and with it brings bloodshed and death. Jogging the halls, I peer out windows, searching for the chaos, but only find smoke and fire. The remains of what was the Court of Truth.

The castle’s leveled ruins are the battleground of the ultimate War Hour, as men and women fight with every ounce of their strength. Fear etched in the faces of both sides as they each push their lines forward. Neither willing to yield.

This is not a feat of power and abilities. There are no hidden advantages, quick escapes, or deeper insights. No one can heal themselves if they are maimed. No one can predict how this will end. Each person feels the same struggle and pain and fear.

Drytas had made this a war of the Untrialed—Valor and Truth alike.

Instead, it is a storm of weapons. Arrows rain, hitting targets without warning. Swords clash against armor and shields.

My throat tightens at the bodies that litter the ground. Members of both sides who were slain. Angry tears leak from my eyes—there were more dead than those left alive.

In the distance, on the crest of a hill, stands Lord Drytas. The blood red color of his cape blowing in the wind like a flag, raised high above his people. His eyes feast on the battle before him, grinning maliciously as his people are forced to kill or be killed, all in the name of their lord’s power-hungry rule.

Anger surges through me, just as blood pumps through my veins. Clenching my fists until my nails gouge into the skin of my palms, I shake my head in disgust.

The guard—the only people with any training or ability in Falland stand in lines around Lord Drytas. Protecting him like a shield of bodies.

Coward.

Bringing the Untrialed had not been about increasing his number, or Trialing them to increase the court’s power.Lord Drytas could not care less about the lives of those who were lost in his fight.

The Untrialed were brought here on a suicide mission.

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