Page 62 of War Hour

Then, who did he mean?

Neith uses the opportunity to strike at my feet, but I tumble to the side.

“I’m assuming you are aware of the young lord’s controversial rise to power, then?” Neith asks, curiosity evident in his face.

I hold my tongue, debating whether I should reveal what I know.

Information is as much a weapon as any blade, and I don’t want to be caught with a weak hand.

“I know his father was the last to face a judgment.”

Neith hums at the information. “Ah, but do you know why?”

I keep silent.

“Torryn’s father could influence people to the point of control. All he had to do was whisper in their ear, and he could convince them to believe anything. Say anything. DO anything. And he might have gotten away with it, but he became powerhungry, and he tried to take over the other courts. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

It’s what Drytas is trying to do. Take over the other courts to increase his power. If this is something they’ve dealt with before, then why had the Crowns been so unwilling to believe it?

Neith continues, tilting his chin at me. “Almost too familiar. Odd, you would come here claiming practically the same story. Makes you wonder if Torryn got his good ol’ dad’s powers, too.”

My heart stutters at his words, sword faltering mid-flight. Is he suggesting—

“I mean, power hungry has got to be genetic. I mean, how he got that crown on his head so young? Fifteen is the youngest ever to ascend.”

My eyes widen at the information.

Fifteen is far younger than I’d assumed.

“Seeing as how Torryn was the one to bring you as evidence against Lord Drytas, and he was the one to turn in his own father.”

Stunned, I lower my sword. Torryn had turned in his own father?

Using my astonishment, Neith grips the hilt of my blade, yanking it from my loosening grip. Spinning the sword, he stands back with both blades raised.

“You’re leaving yourself open to being blindsided.”

Chapter 24

“I’d like to go outside, please.”

My voice betrays me, cracking pathetically. I clear my throat, actively trying to shove my feelings behind the wall begging to crumble.

The guards blocking my exit of the castle are like mountains, hulking masses that don’t flinch at my desperation.

I’ve been fumbling through the castle for the last hour, searching for a door outside. Panic hurtling through me and seconds away from just climbing out a ground-floor window, I glimpse glass doors at the end of the hall. The bright blue behind them screams my way to freedom.

Tilting my chin upward, I don’t flinch under the gazes of the two guards. Neither move a muscle to open the door. Instead, they exchange a look at each other before staring into the distance behind my head.

Irritation claws its way through me.

With as much politeness as I can muster, I ask again, “Please, I would like to get some fresh air.”

They can’t keep me here. Locked inside until they decide I’m of use to them. That’s what Lord Drytas has done by buildingthat blasted wall that surrounded Falland. He kept Valor isolated and dependent, all the easier to mold to his will.

Rolling his eyes, one guard huffs out, “We’ve been given specific instructions. You aren’t to be leavin’ the premises, miss.”

Nails digging into my palms, I try to take deep breaths, inhaling through my mouth. “Who said that? I’m here voluntarily. I’m not a prisoner.” When my words stir no response, I raise my voice, agitation clear. “I just want to go outside!”

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