Page 83 of War Hour

My stomach drops.

Why wasn’t Torryn here in the first place? If this meeting is as important as he led me to believe—he should have been here. He should have been the one to come for me.

Coming to stand next to me, Torryn looks just as ragged as I do, as if he had too only just woken up.

Thinking back to the night before, I can’t remember anything past being on the balcony. I’d wanted some fresh air after my interaction with Nennirea. And Torryn had been there, drunk.

My heart rate picks up in speed as my mind races to put together what had happened. Sar had insisted Torryn didn’t drink, yet he had been completely out of it—acting nothing like himself from the way he reacted to me on the balcony.

I specifically didn’t drink any alcohol, yet I can’t remember anything of how the night ended. The only lingering impression of the evening is the split on my lip and the raging headache seeming to wreak havoc inside my skull.

Had someone done something to us? By drug or by power?

Lord Bralas claps mockingly as he stands to walk the room. “Ah, Torryn. I see you managed to tear yourself from your lover long enough to grace us with your presence. I think we can all safely assume why you both arrived equally late and”—Lord Bralas pointedly looks us up and down—“disheveled.”

I pale as blood drains from my face. The people sitting at the table shuffle awkwardly, and Neith chuckles. My expression falls as I realize what is happening.

This hearing relies on reputation and credibility, and someone has set us up to destroy mine.

I look at Torryn, eyes pleading for him to say something. His jaw clenches, muscles tensing as he levels a hard glare in Drytas’s direction. But he says nothing.

I find Evander’s gaze over Torryn’s shoulder and his eyes are blank. Nothing in his expression tells me what to do or what he is thinking. Instead, he walks past Torryn and down the length of the table, then settles in his chair beside Lord Gennady.

What is wrong with him? He himself had found me alone in my room. Why did his walk across the room feel like a shifting of sides?

I stumble through an explanation. “We weren’t—I’m not—” But no one can hear me over their own voices.

Lord Bralas comes to a stop in front of me, hands clasped behind his back. He leans forward, hissing at me. “Oh, save it,girl. You’re only piecing the story together for us all. Lord Drytas has already provided his account of what happened in Falland, and to think we almost believed your scheme.” He peers around the table, a hideous smirk forming. “Just the manipulations of a lord’s whore.”

In the time a chorus of gasps echoes around the room, Torryn pushes past me, grabbing Lord Bralas’s throat in his hand. Shoving the man back until his legs hit the end of the table, Torryn bares his teeth in Bralas’s face.

“Treaty or not, Bralas. Call her that again, and I will bring war upon you myself.”

No one in the room does as much as breathe, all waiting in anticipation of how this will play out. As much as they discredit him, they all fear Torryn. Trialing more than once is not something they take lightly, and it’s the only thing keeping Bralas from starting something right here.

Lord Bralas’s face pales several shades but does not falter under Torryn’s grip. “Sore spot, Lord Torryn?”

Before Torryn can react to Bralas’s jab, Lord Gennady interrupts with a commanding tone. “Lord Torryn.”

Torryn flinches but does not let go. Glaring at Lord Bralas as if his gaze could rip him in half. Torryn leans forward, his knuckles whitening as he squeezes Bralas’s throat. He hisses something in Bralas’s ear before shoving him backward.

Lord Bralas catches himself on the table, coughing as he rubs at his throat. “Well, I would say that confirms what Lord Drytas explained.”

I glance between the Crowns, some who nod at Lord Bralas’s words.

What had Drytas said in our absence? What tale had he spun to make himself out to be the victim and Torryn and I to be the aggressors? Did Torryn’s defense of me just sentence us to the wrong outcome?

Lord Rhen answers with a pensive glare. “Does that mean we end the inquisition here?”

The words bubble out of my chest, erupting into the room before anyone can answer. “You have not heard me speak. After all I have been through so I could warn you—so you could help Falland, and you’ll rule without hearing both sides?”

Lord Drytas scoffs at my words, but Lady Ivianna sends him a withering scowl. Her face pinched the moment Lord Bralas accused me of having been seduced by Lord Torryn. Solutions and compromises echo across the table, but her eyes never leave mine. After a moment of hesitation, she stands, drawing the room’s attention.

“I say we bring in the Truthsayer. What does it hurt to hear the same thing twice if we are confident in Lord Drytas’s words?” Lady Ivianna turns to Lord Gennady. “With your blessing, Lord Gennady, as he is of your court.”

TheTruthsayer?

Several faces in the room pale at her suggestion, sending concerned expressions between Heir and Crown.

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