Page 37 of War Hour

“Crown?”

My mind whirls with the onslaught of new information.

Ardis whips around, having had one ear leaned toward the conversation. Walking backward, his arms swinging at his side, he perks up. “The lords and ladies of each court”—he points a thumb at Torryn, mockingly whispering—“like Torryn over here.”

Torryn rolls his eyes but doesn’t engage, which only seems to encourage Ardis’s antics.

He holds his hands a foot apart before lifting them above his head as if placing an imaginary crown atop. “They all have their own Crowns, and it’s easier to just say ‘Crowns’ than ‘the lords and ladies.’ Such a mouthful.” Ardis grins widely.

I’m taken aback at the expression, having never seen Torryn smile so free and unrestricted when pretending to be Ardis.

Sar argues back in an admonishing tone, “It’s respectful—”

“It’s utterly ridic—” Ardis barks mid-laugh.

“And where’s his crown?” I gesture to Torryn.

No crown sits upon his dark hair despite being a lord.

Sar and Ardis’s laugh settle, and they both look to Torryn.

Torryn answers stiffly, “I do wear one. When it issocially required.”

His dry response stirs another round of chuckles from Sar and Ardis.

As I look between the three, a part of my heart winces at their obvious ease. The teasing and familiarity reminded me of Thoman.

“When we are in the capital, just don’t address theCrowns,” she taunts at Ardis, “as that to their face. They should all be referred to as ‘lord’ or ‘lady.’” She tilts her head in thought. “You also will need to curtsy or bow if they address you, but I don’t think it will be likely.”

I sag in relief.

If they are anything like Drytas, then I‘ll avoid even being in the same room as them.

“And what are the courts again?” I ask, as if I’ve merely forgotten them, but from the pitying look in Sar’s eyes, she knows it’s because I don’t know.

“There are seven courts in Aloria. You already know Valor, Lord Drytas’s court, and Torryn’s is the Court of Self. There’s also the Court of Will, ruled by Lord Rhen, and the Court of Virtue, ruled by Lord Nicaise.” Sar pauses, jaw clenching. “Then there’s Lord Bralas’s Court of Wisdom, and Lady Ivianna and the Court of Change, and Lord Gennady and the Court of Truth.”

My eyes flicker back to Torryn. “The Court of Change? So, she let you Trial in her court. That’s how you can shapeshift.”

Realization coats my tone.

Torryn glowers at me over his shoulder before speaking in a low tone. “I cannot shapeshift. It’s an entirely different ability.”

Semantics.

I huff in irritation. “Then, what would you call it, mylord?”

Sarcasm drips off the title as I say it, but it doesn’t create my desired reaction. Instead, Torryn’s eyes darken, staring deeply at me, until Sar breaks the trance.

We both look away from each other.

“Torryn, can mirror-shift. He can transform into an identical replica of someone he has seen but only as they were when he last saw them. A mirror image. He can’t make up a person or change specific features.”

Frowning, I ponder the new information. “Why would any of the Crowns let another ruler Trial in their court? Don’t they fear one becoming more powerful than the others?”

Ardis snickers. “Found someone who enjoys being lectured to, did ya, Sar? Our resident bookworm.”

Even Torryn bites back a grin as Sar’s face reddens.

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