Page 6 of War Hour

Eyeing the dagger just out of reach, I focus on getting free. I twist, trying to move our position to my advantage, but his hand shifts. Pinning mine behind my back, he presses our chests together.

Head quirking to the side, he watches me with a dangerous glimmer in his eyes. He doesn’t say a word but waits, as if expecting me to inevitably give up.

I slam my body into his, colliding his head and shoulder with the wall. But his grip doesn’t loosen, nor does his gaze drift.

Craning my neck to see down the alleyway, I pray someone comes looking at the sound of our fight. As a shadow passes in front of the alley, I shout, “Hey! Help me out! Please!”

My distress obvious, I cannot keep the pleading out of my voice.

I don’t expect anyone to come running to my aid. Whoever is passing by wouldn’t double take at a cry for help. But maybeit would scare the shifter into fleeing at the risk of more people discovering his presence.

“Shut it,” the boy hisses into my ear. “Wait, listen to me.”

I ignore him, continuing to shout.

The shadow steps back into my line of sight—a member of the Guard.

It’s hard to squash the ingratiated feeling of fear at the sight of the uniformed men, but they would help. The shifter gripping my wrists is an outsider. An intruder. Even if they have an issue with me, just a lowly Untrialed, they always hold the security of the court and the city as a top priority.

When the shifter curses under his breath, I take it as confirmation.

“Help! Someone has infiltrated the city. He’s of another court!” I blurt out.

As the member of the Guard approaches, a look of recognition floods his face, and I stop breathing.

Heknowsthe shifter.

“Ardis, I see you’ve hit the ground running,” the guard says, nodding to the man in acknowledgment.

The floor all but drops from under my feet. Their words become fuzzy just as my tongue gets dry, feeling like it doesn’t sit right in my mouth. My eyes flicker between them, my brain struggling to catch up to the surprising turn of events.

“Yeah, mind helping me get her to Drytas? She’s a bit of a fighter.”

Drytas. Lord Drytas. Lord of the Court of Valor and presider over the Trial.

Great.

Chapter 3

The walk to the grand hall where I’ll face Trialing resembles my reoccurring nightmares. The ones where, when I finally wake up, I’m drenched in a cold sweat, hyperventilating. Not sure of where I am but begging not to be Trialed.

It’s the same building I fought to follow my sister into, screaming my voice hoarse as they led her inside of her own free will. Choosing to leave me behind as I sobbed into the ground, wishing she would stay. Too young to follow her.

It’s a conscious effort to keep up as I stumble forward. The two members of the Guard pull me along without faltering.

I try blinking away the memories like I would a few stray tears, but they haunt each step I take. Getting caught up in my emotions would only be a detriment to me now. I’d rather show indifference than weakness.

As we near the grand hall of the Court of Valor, anticipation vibrates inside me, with every instinct screaming for me to run in the opposite direction. Shifting, the steel chains containing my wrists bite into skin, metal clanking with each movement, announcing our approach to the street.

You can see the grand hall in practically every corner of the city. Its design resembles a shield, with layers of steel scaling its sides. I’ve gawked at it my whole life, first in curiosity and later contempt, as I felt the repercussions of Lord Drytas’s power-crazed rule.

My accused crime wouldn’t yield an arraignment or sentencing, no opportunity to defend myself. They will hold me strictly to the consequences of possessing a weapon.

It seems Falland will have its Trial after all.

Ardis, the shifter who so easily tricked me, walks ahead, examining the streets as we trek upward. Not a trace was left of the young girl who dashed past me in the market except for his lingering smirk.

The cheekiness is no longer cute now that it’s on him.

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