Page 9 of War Hour

Drytas, Lord of the Court of Valor.

Head held high, Ardis drops my arm and strides to Lord Drytas, a liberty I’d imagine few would entertain. He bows his head, gaze pointed to the ground. “My lord.” He moves to stand several feet from his side.

“Ardis, the first day of our agreement, and you have already yielded results.”

Drytas’s voice crackles as he speaks, and a shiver works its way down my spine. His eyes roam over me, a glint passing across his face as he does.

Did he speak with Cenna before her Trialing? I grit my teeth, pushing the thought away.

As I turn toward Ardis, his eyes meet mine when he answers his lord. “An honor to be of service.”

Lord Drytas raises his arms. “Now you see why the Court of Valor has more Trialed than any other court. This is how I keep my court strong under my rule. If I continued with the tradition of only Trialing voluntary challengers, then we wouldn’t be as formidable as we are. And with your abilities, Ardis, we can do so much more.”

Abilities—plural?

Ardis steps back hesitantly. “As I have succeeded thus far in our arrangement, I hoped to inquire about the other part of our deal—”

Lord Drytas flicks a dismissive wave. “Yes, of course. You may face our Trial as promised, with your continuedassistancein this matter,” he says, sneering at me across the room.

Eyebrows furrowing, I look between the two men for any sign of what they aren’t saying. Face our Trialing? Why would Ardis choose to confront the Court of Valor’s Trial? Especially considering he’s already beaten his own.

Doesn’t he know what could happen? How he might end up?

I avoid thinking about the permanent effects of the Trial should I fail—terrified of becoming a ghost of myself. Those who failed but had made it out with their lives would stumble out. Minds fractured and abandoned by their court to wander the streets, permanently stuck in their own delusions and nightmares.

“And Ardis?” Drytas adds. “Remember, our deal still stands regardless of the outcome of your Trial. I’m sure you know your powers are useless when Trialing.”

Ardis nods, swallowing thickly, throat bobbing.

“Bring the girl here,” Drytas bellows across the room, igniting the members of the Guard into action.

They drag me until I’m ten feet from the base of the throne. My shoes squeak, trying to find purchase on the ground to halt my movement.

A shot of anger pierces my cloud of numbness, and I whip my head around to retort, pushed to my breaking point by their manhandling. No Trial tattoo nor shield of the court gives them the right to knock me about like a piece of furniture who keeps getting in the way.

My voice cracks as I try to say, “Keep your hands off—”

My half-hearted retort is silenced as I’m backhanded, the side of my face recoiling to the right from the force of the blow. Pins and needles erupt across my cheek from the impact.

Unable to use the pressure of my hand to relieve the sting, I stare at the member of the Guard who struck me. I lower my jaw, rolling it to ease the discomfort. I blink away the mist cresting my eyes, unwilling to let him see me cry. Stepping back from him, I can’t help but shake my head in disbelief.

“My hands are literally tied.”

Sarcasm drips off my voice to hide how affected I am.

His nose flares, eyes narrowing as he looks at me. In the breath of a second, the member of the Guard vanishes from his spot until he reappears, nearly stepping on my toes. Gripping my throat, he squeezes. “Tell me again—how you think you are on my level.”

He looks like every other guard I’ve seen, same uniform, same Court of Valor tattoo swirling around the wrist of the hand cutting off my air. But this man couldn’t be your average, low-level member of the Guard, his power allowing transportation across spaces, one of the lesser produced by the Trials. I’ve never witnessed it on the streets of Falland.

“Belthan, that’s enough,” Lord Drytas says, leaving no room for question.

The hand encircling my throat tightens for a beat before letting go, the force of which has me stumbling backward, coughing as I suck in air. A smug look crosses his face, making me clench my fists and flex my fingers.

Oh, how I wish my hands were free.

“Possessing a weapon in my court wasn’t enough, but now you’ll disrespect me and my head of the Guard.” Drytas tilts his head to the side, eyeing me. “You are either extremely brave or very foolish.”

Facing the lord who sits high on his throne, I’m unsure of what to say—if he expects me to say anything at all. Is one expected to apologize in this situation?

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