Page 97 of War Hour

I nod. It makes sense. They have a treaty for a reason. It’s not like I could expect Lord Gennady to stop Lord Drytas on his own. He would end up an outsider among the Crowns instead. “Of course, my lord. I wouldn’t expect—”

“That is not all, Lysta,” Lord Gennady says, firm. “If you were a citizen of my court, they would see any actions you were totake as following the wishes of your lord. For the same reason I cannot take action against him, you could no longer pursue Lord Drytas. You would not be able to continue in your fight for your people.”

My head draws back as if Lord Gennady has backhanded me. I can’t help but look away from his piercing gaze that sees as the revelation hits me. I press a hand to my mouth before rubbing my face.

Trials. A roll of anger goes through me. That he is asking me to let Drytas win. That he is making me choose between my safety and that of those I’d left behind. But the frustration fades like the tide.

Lord Gennady is giving me a choice, which no one has afforded me thus far. Always adjusting to the consequence of others’ decisions and the aftermath. Never giving me the opportunity to dictate my path.

No one can expect to move mountains without sacrificing something first.

Lord Gennady continues. “Perhaps, I do convince the other courts of my suspicions of what Drytas has done. I want nothing more than for him to pay for the injustices he has committed. But if it is impossible, you would need to stand down. Indefinitely.”

Pinned by the weight of the decision placed in my hands, I don’t respond right away, but Lord Gennady offers a sympathetic gaze. “We do not leave the capital for a few days. Decide before then, and I shall honor your wishes, no matter the answer.”

I manage a small “Thank you, Lord Gennady.”

Lost in thought,I distance myself from the bloody battles taking place on the field below. Fingers picking at the skin of my lip my teeth had torn to pieces, the roars of the arena dull in the background. Each well-aimed hit stirring equal cheers and boos. When an opponent rises above the other, the crowd stomps, sending vibrations all the way to my seat in Truth’s viewing box.

Despite the resounding activity enfolding, my focus lingers on Lord Gennady’s words. Every few minutes, I glance around to see if Evander has arrived. I suddenly have a choice to make.

Silence cracks through my focus, making me stiffen. Spine straightening, I sit up to peer around the arena that has gone still. The crowd shuffles in silence, eyes wide, staring at the middle of the arena where a new challenger steps forward.

Torryn.

Looking back and forth between him and Lord Gennady, my mouth gapes. Today isn’t a Crown’s War Hour. Even if it were, Torryn doesn’t usually participate in the battles—Lord Gennady informed me the last War Hour.

“What is he doing?” I breathe.

Torryn’s eyes search the crowd as if he is looking for someone. With every moment, the crowd squirms under his gaze, praying they will not be the sacrifice given to the feared lord to battle.

I lean away from the window after Torryn’s gaze locks onto me. His expression is cold, brusque, lacking the sliver of warmth he’d shown me an eternity ago. Raising an eyebrow at me, Torryn dares me to look elsewhere. When I refuse, he sends me a devilish grin. The persona he puts on for the capital and the Crowns.

“I challenge Lysta, of the Court of Valor.”

My heartbeat pounds in my ears as the arena roars. I shake my head at him, mentally begging Torryn to take his words back.

Why is he doing this? Hasn’t he interfered in my life enough?

Lord Gennady grips my shoulder, leaning in to speak, but his words dull as the crowd cheers. “You do not have to fight him, Lysta. You can choose to abstain.”

Looking up at the older man, I see his eyes shine with worry.

If I accept Lord Gennady’s offer of citizenship, I could never stand against Lord Drytas. But at this moment, I’m being offered the chance to contend with someone who holds culpability in how it all fell apart. Not nearly to the level that Drytas is responsible, but reason has no place in my mind as adrenaline spikes in me.

I clench my fists in my lap before standing, tension thrumming in my spine. If Torryn is offering himself up for a fight, I’ll take it. Win or lose.

Chapter 38

It doesn’t matter I arrived at War Hour with no intention of fighting. The crowd will not be denied once they are offered the battle of a lifetime. The young lord with more Trials under his belt than any other, against the court, who has been isolated from the capital along with any of Valor’s powers. If it weren’t for the healers—it would be a slaughter.

I’m given fifteen minutes before I need to be out on the sand, armed, and ready to fight, or else it will be considered abstaining. Which, according to Gennady, there is no shame in, even though it never happens.

I trade my dress for spare training clothes that are shoved into my hands when a War Hour staff member spots me, headed toward the pitch in a dress. Leather pants that hug my skin, tall boots, and a sleeveless top to go under a leather vest. Easily something I would have worn in Falland on the streets, although much nicer quality. Except now I’ll be displayed in front of the entire capital, Trial tattoo and Kadara bite scars out for anyone to see.

Torryn makes his way into the waiting area of the arena. Sar chases at his heels, arguing with him as Ardis follows behind. Sar’s expression darkens several shades until the redcolor rivals her hair. Pushing at Torryn, he snaps at her, making her halt. The anger on her face seeps away, replaced with utter disappointment.

It’s been almost a week since I last spoke to either of them. Since that night, where I limped into the capital. Nothing could quell my anger at Torryn, but Sar—it hurt to ignore her and a part of me wants to reach out. To break the silence I forced between us. But I can’t push aside she had played some role in it all.

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