Page 52 of War Hour

My heart thumps heavily in my chest as I watch, paralyzed at the thought of seeing this boy’s body land broken in the sand.

I realize I’m the one who screamed.

The group surrounding Evander stares at me in startled confusion.

How could they not see gravity pulling the young boy to an early death?

Raising my hands, I plan to bring out a shield beneath him, hoping the impact will do less damage from a shorter distance, but freeze just before.

A portal opens beneath the boy in midair, closing as he falls through before disappearing in a quiet blip. Searching frantically, I pivot on my heel, breaths rushing from my lips.

Where had he gone?

Another portal opens above the furthest archer’s stand, depositing the boy, who somersaults into a standing position. He looks around in confusion, zeroing in on my gobsmacked expression.

“Who’s the newbie?” he asks, a childish grin plastering his face.

Chuckles ring out from the group, and my face heats. I debate whether to turn on my heel and leave, but Evander waves me over.

Walking toward them, I suck up the urge to run away. Leaving now would only make me look more weak than I already do.

Someone coughs out another laugh, but Evander sends them a silencing glare, and they quickly clear their throat.

The man who pushed the boy off the riser swoops down, his bird-like wings expanding as wind rushes past them, bristling through the white feathers. When he lands, they shrink, disappearing behind him as he strides in our direction. His skin is deeply tanned, hair blonder than the sun, as if he frequently flies as close to the rays as he can. His form is heavily muscled, arms flexing, as he leans into me, offering me his hand in greeting.

“Sebastian, but these idiots call me Bash,” he says, flashing a look at the group. “I apologize if we gave you a fright. We were just training. Nothing we haven’t done a hundred times.”

This is their everyday type of training?

“Lysta.” Shaking his hand, I force out a pathetic excuse of a fake laugh. “It’s my fault. I should have expected—well, anything, I guess.”

Bash chuckles, giving me a lopsided grin. “Not a bad philosophy when it comes to the capital.”

Evander nudges between us, clapping a hand on Bash’s shoulder. “Bash here is Lady Ivianna’s son from the Court of Change. Hence the shapeshifting.”

I don’t let my expression slip at Evander’s explanation, but my mind races.

Why were the Heirs being so obvious about their powers? Torryn had warned me the importance of keeping tight-lipped, yet the same reservation is not held by the Heirs. I’ve only been here for a couple minutes, and I already could identify two of the Heirs’ powers.

I’m dragged from my thoughts as the man who has been training with Visha steps up to me, sticking out his own hand. He smirks at me, eyes flashing with menace as he parrots back, “Lysta, is it?”

Evander makes introductions, ignorant of my growing unease. “Lysta, this is Neith, Lord Bralas’s Heir.”

I hesitate before taking his hand. “Court of Wisdom, right?” I ask, even though I know perfectly well.

Lord Bralas had not exactly been my biggest supporter.

“That would be the one,” he says, chest puffing at the mention of his court. Neith looks every bit like his father, high horse and all. “No need for me to ask your court. I was there in the meeting when you first arrived.”

I flinch at his reference, and he sees it, eyes glinting at my reaction. Half the people standing here had been present, I realize, now their faces aren’t blending among the crowds.

Neith keeps pushing, latching onto my slip in composure. “Yes, we’d love to hear more about thissupposed‘broken Trial,’ Lysta.”

My body freezes at his mocking words, and I tuck my chin in.

The way he says “supposed” tells me everything I need to know about how my presence and purpose here in the capital has been received.

Bash clears his throat, breaking the building tension. He sends Neith a cool warning glare. “Knock it off. You know we can’t talk about it.” Turning to me, he rests one hand on the hilt of his sword. “Please ignore his rudeness.”

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