Page 13 of War Hour

Ardis, who has remained quiet, speaks up.

“The consent fail-safe. It won’t open without her willingly taking part.”

Confusion and relief swirl at his words. I wouldn’t have to Trial? What did he mean, and why step in now?

I crane my neck around, narrowing my eyes at Ardis, whose face remains blank. “I don’t—I don’t consent. I don’t want to do this.”

The words tumble from my mouth as if they suddenly matter. As if it all has been a misunderstanding. Like in some mistaken order of events, it had been an accident I’ve ended up here at all.

But they knew I didn’t want this.

A sharp edge presses against my neck, warm blood dripping down the center of my chest. I freeze, tensing every muscle, while I wait for someone to speak.

Lord Drytas steps forward out of the corner of my eye. “Ah, you have so much to learn here, Ardis.”

Blinking my gaze to Ardis’s, I can see confusion plastered across his face, with his eyebrows knitted in concentration.

He knew my sentence would be Trialing. He doesn’t get to feign ignorance when faced with the consequences of his actions. If he hadn’t deceived me in the first place, I wouldn’t be here.

He could go to Trial for all I care.

Drytas waves about in a grandiose fashion. “Do you take on the honor of being Trialed here in the Court of Valor, or do you beckon death?”

It’s quiet for a moment, and I realize they are waiting for an answer.

“What kind of question is that?” I huff, trying to hide my panic. My eyes flick between them all, watching for their faces to betray what they aren’t telling me. “I just told you—”

Drytas drops his arms in irritation, his voice callous. “Let me rephrase for you. You can Trial, or you can die here and now, by Belthan’s hand.”

At this, Ardis inhales sharply and steps forward, but one deadly look from Drytas, and he stops in his tracks.

Drytas spits out, “Grow a backbone, Ardis. We both know you’ve killed for others. No need to take the moral high ground in my court now.”

The knife at my throat stings in warning. Belthan’s grip unfaltering on my arm. Hot breath spreads out across my cheek, curling around my ear, as he speaks.

“Give me a reason . . .”

My senses, already dialed to ten, are frantic. I have no advantage, no allies, and no clue what is truly waiting for me behind the door.

“I’ll Trial.”

It’s nowhere near fifty-fifty odds, but a slight chance of surviving is better than none.

The second the thought crosses my mind, the white etchings in the glass door light up. With a soft click, the door cracks open.

Chapter 7

Ivomit minutes after being thrown into the tunnel, anxiety and fear swirling in my stomach. Still dry heaving, I inch my fingers around the sealed opening, scrambling to pry it open. I pull at the door with my entire weight, but nothing. Taking deep breaths, I steady myself, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

Confronted with the reality that Trialing is no longer avoidable, I freeze, willing myself to do something other than stand here.

I don’t know enough to beat this. Surviving in Falland is all about being smart. Knowing the who, what, where, and when for any eventuality. Running through scenarios of different problems I could stumble into is what prepared me every day on the streets.

But, for this, I know nothing.

Inhaling deeply, I toe my way forward into the dark abyss. Stomach settling, the only reminder of my moment of sheer panic is the vile taste still lingering in my mouth.

Time is immeasurable as I wander deeper toward a slowly growing light, but 742 steps and counting gives me some gauge. Having spent the first half of the tunnel fumbling along the sidewalls, ears attuned to every reverberating sound, I’m grateful for the small beacon guiding me forward. Even now, I can still barely see the shape of my own hands.

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