Page 72 of War Hour

Even if I know I should tell him, I can’t have Visha working against me in the capital right now. If her plan was something more than just harmless flirting, I would, but no one is in danger. But surely, I would be if Visha’s threat holds weight.

I will, however, be storing the revelation of Visha’s power away for later. It’s obvious from her mother’s words and even Visha’s own. She must be an empath of sorts—able to feel other’s emotions to some degree. Suddenly, our first meeting makes a world of sense.

When I arrive at my room, I stutter, heart swooping.

The door is already slightly ajar.

Fumbling in my layers of skirt for the slit, I pull my dagger from its holster, brandishing the weapon before creeping into the room.

I push the door open with one hand, grateful when it doesn’t make a noise. Stepping through the entryway, I hold my breath as I peer in.

“Sar!” I sag in relief when I recognize the figure flitting about my room.

The redheaded girl whirls around, hair whipping over her shoulder. Hand to her chest, she gasps. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“You’re the one who snuck into my room.”

“Yes, but I come bearing gifts,” Sar sings, gesturing to the bed behind her.

The surface is littered with jewelry, ribbons, and shoes. A large white box sits in the middle with a blue bow at its center.

Sar turns to pick something up from the bed and holds out a red dress when she turns to face me. It’s sleek and far more revealing than I would like. I try not to cringe when she shows it to me.

“I brought a dress for you to wear, the only red one that I own, but this was in front of your door when I arrived.” Sar gestures to the white box.

Leaning past her, I caress the silk dress before grabbing the box. Slipping my fingers under the bow, I pull the ribbon loose.

“I thought it might be strategic to dress you in the colors of your court, remind them of your connection to your home to curry some favor. But if you’ve gotten in someone’s good graces enough for them to send you a dress—perhaps that would be the better move.”

I don’t like the idea of wearing a dress a stranger picked out for me. Like I’m a puppet they can control. But the idea of wearing Lord Drytas’s colors sits even worse with me. It makes me hate the color red.

Inside is a breathtaking dress. It’s a pale blue, like the color of waves as they mix with sea foam. Silver crystals are beaded in swirling designs across the entirety of the dress, making it shine like the moon over the ocean. Gripping the dress, I lift it out of the box and hold it to my body to show Sar.

Her eyes sparkle. A smile grows on her face, obviously pleased with the gown.

After convincing me to step into the dress, Sar fusses with my hair before painting my face with small pots of color. She dabs at my cheeks and eyelids, refusing to let me see her work before she’s finished.

With every second ticking away and every minute bringing us closer to the ball, a knot in my stomach clenches tighter and tighter.My chest gets heavy, panic setting in.

“Sar, I’m still not convinced I should go tonight,” I say for what must be the tenth time since arriving in the room. “I’ve been able to stay under the radar of most of the Crowns while here. Maybe it’s better to keep it that way.”

Sar sighs as she smears a thin layer of something across my lips. “We’ve discussed this, Lysta. Right now, all the Crowns see is a young girl making a wild accusation against one of their own. They don’t trust you.”

“Even more reason for me not to go!”

Sar shakes her head, dismissing any hopes I have of convincing her to let me stay behind. “It is the very opposite. Socializing among them, showing them who you are, will humanize you. They need to see you as one of them, not one of us.”

“And making a fool of myself in front of them is worth humanizing me?” I ask, pitch rising.

“Frankly, yes,” Sar says, laughing. “It’s funny. Ardis used to call it the same thing.”

I tilt my head, unsure of what she means.

“Dancing.” All the mirth leaves her eyes, and a frown takes its place. “Back in the Court of Wisdom, my only use to my father was for appearance purposes. So, he’d drag me out for every ball and celebration. I put on the perfect show, except Ardis always saw through it.”

It’s obvious then, even if our struggles were worlds apart—Sar had grown up bathed in as much trauma and struggle as I had, only a different kind.

“You mentioned he helped you escape?” I ask when she seems to lose herself in her thoughts.

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