Page 95 of War Hour

When I step into the shadows of the arena dug out, I find one of the healers that I’d seen during War Hour. She looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to be the one to break the silence.

The healer is younger than most of the staff I’ve seen here at the capital—not much older than me. Her midnight-colored hair is tied in a braid, hanging over her shoulder and landing by her knees. Bright pinks and oranges of her dress stand out against her amber skin. She doesn’t wear a capital uniform, nor a color of any court.

“My name is Lysta.” I pull the sleeve of my dress, flashing the scab on my arm before pulling up my skirts to flash my bruised ankle. “I was told that you could help me.”

After a few slow blinks, she nods, “I’m Surya. Take a seat.” The corner of her mouth tightens as I sit, and I try not to flinch when she reaches out to touch me.

“Oh,” she murmurs when she examines my arm.

I’d imagine a healer who frequented War Hour would have seen more gruesome things than I could fathom. Which makes it even odder she would have a reaction at all to the slice on my arm. Until I realize it isn’t the gash across my arm that stuns her but the shiny white scars of the Kadara bite.

It hits me. She’s the first person to ever see the marks. I always wear long sleeves, both here and back in Falland. Not wanting to leave room for discussion where they had come from. But now the healer had...

“I can heal both for you. If you’d like?” she offers, not moving her eyes from the marred skin.

I look between the marks and her with wide eyes. “Both—Both? This one’s already healed.”

She runs the tips of her fingers over the Kadara’s bite, sending goose bumps up my arms and a chill racing along my spine. “I can still heal the damaged skin. The scars I mean.” Her eyes rise to meet mine, and it’s like she can see straight through me.

I blink at her before shaking my head slowly. “No. It stays with me.”

Nodding, she pays no mind to the decision. It obviously isn’t an odd request, considering the scars I’ve seen in this place. She presses a cool hand to the scabbed over cut, and I get to see close up as the skin mends back together. When she pulls away, it’s as if the assassin had never touched me at all.

She moves to work on my ankle, and I hold my breath in anticipation. It’s as if the purples and blues of the bruise drain through her fingers as my skin returns to its normal color.

The healer stands from her kneeling position, moving back before looking at me expectantly.Hurrying to my feet, I hesitate before putting any weight on the injured foot. No pain comes, though. I shift easily between my feet, twisting my ankle underneath me.

I send her a reserved smile. “I know you did not have to help me, but thank you for doing it anyway.”

At the sound of echoed shouting, I rush out of the dugout. Running past Jona and Eiko, who stand to the side and watch the fight unraveling in the center.

Evander has Neith’s shirt in one fist, yanking him until they are nose-to-nose. If looks could kill, Lord Bralas would be naming his new Heir. Evander growls in Neith’s face, spitting out harsh, inaudible words. Bash locks his arms around Evander’s, trying to yank him away from the ginger Heir.

Neith only smirks, leaning back from Evander, and when his eyes lock on to me, it only stretches. He says something to Evander while looking at me that makes my cool, collected Heir launch into a frenzy. Evander shoves Neith back, knocking him to the ground, tearing his shirt.

Rushing forward, sand kicking up from my feet, I slam into Evander, pushing him off of Neith. Evander tenses, rearing for a fight until he sees me, then all at once, he relaxes. He curls a hand around my waist, leaning his forehead up against mine as he let out a shuddering breath.

“Hey. Hey.” I repeat over and over, trying to get Evander to look at me. “What was that, Evander? What happened to Mr. Protect the treaty?” When he doesn’t answer, I grab his chin, turning his head toward my own. “What’s going on?”

When gray meets blue, his jaw relaxes, and he lets out a deep breath. “Nothing.” Evander reaches for my hand, pulling me away from where Bash and Visha help Neith up from the ground. “Can we please just go?”

Seeing the ache and worry in his eyes, I nod, letting him pull me away. But I can’t help but glance back at the Heirs watching us leave.

Neith pulls his shirt together, made difficult by the rip extending from his neck down his sleeve. I get a flash of his Trial tattoo, eyes widening. Seeing my gaze, Neith covers his arm.

Evander’s hand tightens around my own, and I trip, stumbling after him. He doesn’t answer as he leads me from the arena. But what had only taken a few moments lingers in my mind.

Neith’s Trial tattoos extended beyond where my single one did, creeping past his wrist and moving up his forearm. Meaning he has secured two Trials. Why hadn’t I known that? It hadn’t seemed like something he wanted known from the way he quickly hid the inked skin away.

Neith and Lord Bralas have been against me since I first got here. Shutting down my stories of what had happened and standing firm in support. During the judgment meeting, Lord Bralas seemed to argue Drytas’s side at every opportunity. And then Neith, who is believed to have only been Trialed once by everyone, is revealed to have two?

Not to mention, the assassin had the power of a Valor Trialed. Yet, the only person from the court here in the capital has been me and Lord Drytas. The figure hadn’t looked like him, though.

A new realization strikes me, and my stomach ties in knots.

If Drytas has allies in other courts... and let them Trial in Valor prior to its collapse. Then maybe the assassin could be any of the people here. I couldn’t accuse Neith based solely off hishatred of me and having a second Trial tattoo. But the fear in his eyes when I’d seen it meant something—I’m sure of it.

Chapter 37

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