Page 39 of War Hour

The guards rush forward while I stand there, still in shock. Torryn turns on his heel, eyes sweeping over me and Sar to check if we are all right, before leaning in to whisper harshly to one guard. The color drains from the guard’s face, a worried expression falling into place.

A voice carries across the room, echoing in the quiet from the top of the stairs. “Lord Torryn. We’ve been waiting for you.”

I search across the figures standing on the next level for the person who’s spoken. My breath hitches in my throat when I stumble over the multiple Crowns among them.

One steps forward, descending the staircase with a repetitive clank, as a cane meets the marble. It’s an older man with tanned skin, white hair, and a matching beard, contrasting against the bright blue of his suit. Atop his head is a silver crown, similar to Drytas’s but with a more understated quality.

As the older lord descends, Torryn gives the man a tilt of his head, bowing it in respect. “It seems you weren’t the only one.” Torryn gestures to the man being dragged from the room, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “Lord Gennady.” When he looks up, he extends his hand. “It’s been quite some time.”

Lord Gennady takes Torryn’s hand, giving it a long shake before patting it with his other. “Yes, since Lord Rhen and you nearly killed each other in the arena, I believe. I hope you have no plans for similar theatrics today, but looks as though the excitement seems to find you.”

I nearly balk at the insinuation before Lord Gennady betrays his harsh words with the mirth dancing in his eyes, a soft chuckle escaping from his wrinkled lips. The crowned figures standing atop of the stairs exchange a look, none of them looking pleased at Torryn’s presence.

Torryn doesn’t even flinch. “I’m afraid we have much more important things to attend to, and I’m sure Lord Rhen would agree,” he says, looking at the top of the stairs where a wall of Crowns has formed. Each look at Torryn with distaste curling their upper lip.

A pair of women on my right whisper, oblivious to my attention to their words. Holding their fingers over their lips, they lean toward each other.

“I can’t believe they even allow him to enter the capital after everything that happened.”

“The Crowns are likely worried about how he’ll retaliate if they didn’t.”

“I know, but it’s like they’re pretending the war never happened.”

I don’t turn to look at the gossiping ladies, but my stomach knots at their words. What had garnered such an apprehension toward Torryn?

At Torryn’s foreboding words, any humor drains from Lord Gennady’s face, his posture suddenly stiffening. He turns on his heel, gesturing for Torryn to follow him up the stairs.

“So, it is true? You’ve testified for judgment against Lord Drytas. I’d thought—well, ‘hoped’ is the better word—that it’d been a mistake. But it has been too long since we’ve seen anyone of the Court of Valor, Drytas included. And we haven’t convened for judgment since...” Lord Gennady pauses before glancing at Torryn, who flinches.

“Yes. Not since my father,” Torryn says, as if a foul taste lingers in his mouth.

My eyes widen at the admission.

Torryn’s father? What had he done to be put under judgment? Sar had said they reserved that for issues going beyond just one court but impacting the nation. Was this what the women’s whispers had been about?

“Yes, well. We’ll need more details of what has happened before Lord Drytas arrives for the judgment hearing.”

My stomach drops and tumbles across the floor.

Drytas is coming here?

A cold sweat covers my skin, leaving me feeling uncomfortable and sticky. I guess it would have been too good to be true to force change in Falland without facing him again. I could only hope the other courts would stop him from executing me on the spot for treason.

Torryn and Lord Gennady have nearly reached the top of the stairs when Torryn freezes, pivoting on the step. His eyes search the crowd standing at the base of the staircase, then stop when they rest on me.

“Lysta with us, please,” Torryn proclaims, no question in his tone.

I freeze, paling, before I react. Around me, the people I’ve blended among look for who the lord calls for. Looking back at Torryn, I see he waves me on, seemingly oblivious to my hesitation. As I step forward, making my way to the foot of the stairs, whispers creep up again.

From behind Torryn and Lord Gennady, another lord steps forward to intercede. With burnt ginger hair and a gold crown of his own, the man speaks with an edge to his voice. “Lord Torryn, I know you’ve only been a lord for a short time, but you should know, only lords”—he pauses before sneering at the only crowned lady, Ivianna, standing beside him—“andladiesof courts may hear our inner speakings.”

The lady rolls her eyes, glaring daggers at the back of the ginger-haired man who speaks.

Lord Gennady nods. “Yes, I’m afraid Lord Bralas is correct, Lord Torryn. The members of your court will have to wait with the rest of ours.”

I stutter in my ascension, but Torryn looks back at me, only halfway up the stairs. Reaching out his hand, Torryn gives me a hard look, daring for me to go against him. His eyes leave no question to continue, as he’d asked. I can’t help but freeze, gripping the railing.

Why couldn’t he just let me be? I obviously am not needed, and now, he’s only making a show of me. My cheeks burn with a fiery heat, and I look between Torryn and Lord Gennady, uncertain.

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