Page 40 of War Hour

Torryn lets out a huff but doesn’t move his eyes from mine. “I would agree, except she is notofmy court.”

Lord Bralas, the ginger lord who’d spoken out, shakes his head, shooting a look at the others standing beside him. “Then, who’s court is she from?”

A chuckle echoes from the group.

Torryn walks down the steps between us, grabbing my hand from where it grips the railing. I fight his hold, trying to pull out of his grasp, but then he announces, “She’s of the Court of Valor.”

The whispers and rumbles of conversation dull once again. Gasps echo in the silence. The back of my neck prickles from the gaze of those watching me in renewed interest.

I am no longer someone so easily dismissed.

Torryn pulls me up to his step, giving me a warning glance, before leading me up to where the Crowns watch us from above. Trying to avoid eye contact, I stare at Torryn’s grip on my hand and follow a thorn-like scar across his knuckles.

Standing before the Crowns, I bow as Torryn introduces me.

“Lysta here will be witness and evidence against Lord Drytas.”

Chapter 17

Eyed with the level of distrust one would bestow upon thieves, regarded as if we have the reputation of murderers, Torryn and I are kept at a distance as we proceed to the meeting room.

Guards are staggered between the Crowns, with a few extra lingering near us in the rear of the procession. They stand stiffly in their uniforms—not unlike the guards in Falland—save for those carrying swords. In the middle of their chest, a seven-pointed star is embroidered with silver-and-gold thread.

Their gazes feel like shackles around my wrists, as if I’m the one with crimes facing punishment.

As we approach our destination, the Crowns are joined by others, most of which are about my age. They file into the room, their armed escorts remaining outside.

Torryn and I approach the doorway, ready to follow, when we are stopped. Without explanation, Torryn and I are pulled apart, and he is searched, their hands moving up his legs, torso, and arms.

“Torryn—”

“Everything’s fine, Lysta. They are just checking me for weapons.”

Despite how calm he sounds, his jaw clenches as he waits for them to finish.

Why was he the only one needing to be searched? The rest of the Crowns seemed just as dangerous if not more than Torryn.

Seemingly satisfied, they release him, and he brushes himself off as if dirtied. The guard who patted him down moves to me, and my eyes go wide, a protest on the tip of my tongue.

But Torryn grabs the guard’s arm and locks it behind his back. “I allow you to search me out of my own generosity. She does not extend you the same courtesy.” With fear obvious in the man’s eyes, he nods tightly, and Torryn releases him. “We’ll be heading in now.”

Releasing a deep breath, Torryn gestures for me to enter the meeting room.

Blinking rapidly, I nod, unable to form words of gratitude. Without touching me, Torryn’s hand hovers over the small of my back, leading me in.

A long oval table is centered in the room. Its surface is a sleek black, except for where the same star from the guards’ uniforms is carved into the top. Fourteen high-back chairs are spaced around the table, and as everyone sits, I realize there are two for each court—one for its Crown and then a second.

Torryn is the last to move for his seat, and I follow reluctantly.

When I plop without a morsel of grace into the chair next to him, Torryn stills, his hand freezing its incessant tapping on the surface.

The mumbling of the room dissipates, with only a few coughs filling the silence.

Looking around, I realize I have captured their attention. Some eye me with anger-filled eyes, while others look away and shift awkwardly.

Torryn nudges me, whispering in a strained voice, “Stand up.”

I hesitate, leaning closer to question what he’d said, but Torryn repeats himself, his tone pitched. “Stand up. Now.”

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