Page 7 of War Hour

I wish I could smack the expression from his face for even looking at my city, the one he is helping rip apart by aiding Lord Drytas.

The guards bordering me watch him, spines rigid, eyes narrowing. Following, I can feel them tensing at his every movement, and one thing becomes obvious. Despite their friendly greeting of the foreigner, they fear him, far more than they do me, as they have yet to spare me a glance.

Ironic, considering I’m the one in shackles.

When the member of the Guard had arrived at the opening of the alley, I had hoped they’d stumbled upon us by accident. Perhaps they would chain the outsider who had deceived me, but as the guard had greeted him with a faint air of recognition, my stomach had dropped. It was all part of some ruse. Using the image of a hurt girl to entrap an Untrialed into breaking the law.

How desperate they have gotten. How stupid I had been.

Guards mumble behind me, a sharp laugh drawing my attention.

“She’s just a waste of a Trial. You think she’ll actually pass it?”

The other guard chuckles in response. “She’ll be ripped to shreds. I’m counting on one thing happening, getting one more Untrialed off the street—and that’s it.”

I can’t help but stiffen. Even the guards know Drytas’s plan to Trial everyone is pointless.

Eyes follow our path through Falland as they parade me along. Whispers burn through the streets as more people arrive to gawk at me and the foreign figure leading the way. They know where I am being taken, most likely feeling a rush of relief.

I don’t blame them. I would be, too, if the roles were reversed.

If they Trial someone, pressure would die down for a time.

Panic seizes my heart and without hesitating I focus on anything but the guards who lead me forward. My chest heaves as my eyes dart around, settling on Gellmore Street. Barely more than an alley, the concrete walls are smothered in graffiti criticizing Lord Drytas, the court, and the Trial. Mostly abandoned shops, with broken windows and boarded doors.

My staggering breaths slow.

Peddler Street is the complete opposite despite being a block over, filled to the brim with people trading clothes and supplies. A hot spot for pickpockets but a lifesaver for many. There’s even an underground tattoo shop where Untrialed can get fake Trial marks, for those hoping to sneak their way into the upper city. It would take years to save up enough for Thoman and I.

I can no longer hear the pound of my heart in my ears, instead focusing on the voices pouring from the street.

For every problem the Untrialed faced because of Lord Drytas’s reign, there were ten solutions cleverly crafted to push back against it. But if Drytas is recruiting outside of our own court, I’m not sure if there is a way to solve that.

Composure regained, I look to the sky and thank the Trials that I didn’t lose it here—in front of the shifter and guards and onlookers. I may not be choosing to Trial, but I’ll walk into the grand hall head high like I did.

Grounded, I peer at the shifter who marches forward.

“You’re from the Court of Change.”

Ardis glances my way, giving me a glimpse at his profile. Jaw clenching, he twists his lips into a grimace and doesn’t respond.

“How did you—are you a—”

I’m unable to settle on what I truly wish to know, unsure of his reaction should I ask the wrong thing. Everything about this man is uncharted territory.

“How is it you are here? Why work for the Guard?” I ask.

Ardis stops, and I nearly fall backward to avoid smacking into his stationary frame. Turning on his heel, the man leans over me, smirking, clear blue eyes piercing into mine. “What makes you think I work for them?”

A hint of amusement dances in his eyes, reminding me of a cat cornering its meal.

I guess it would make me the street rat.

“Am I wrong?”

Ardis considers me, eyes tracing down to the iron bracelets framing my wrists. His playful mirth falls to a blank stare, and he admits solemnly, “I suppose not.”

Returning to his trek up the inclining street, he sweeps his gaze to his feet, no longer enraptured in the city unfolding around him. He shakes his head as if arguing with himself yet says nothing.

---