War Hour by Lauren Loscig EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author: Lauren Loscig
- Language: English
- Genre: Teen & Young Adult Sword & Sorcery Fantasy eBooks
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I don’t make a habit of gambling with my life, but fifty-fifty odds are too
compelling for even me to pass up.
It could always be a hundred.
The reassurance doesn’t stop the breath from lodging in my throat as the
decider of my fate flips above Thoman and I. No—both of our fates. Every
muscle in my body turns to stone as it plummets.
It’s been over a month since the last Trialing, and with each day that
passes, the threat to Untrialed only grows. There’s no doubt the Guard will
be out in full force because of it, but that changes nothing.
One of us needs to brave the market to replenish our food supply.
Hence flipping a coin.
When the bronze coin ricochets off the rickety floorboards, I flinch as if
each bounce threatens to sentence one of us to a cruel end. Spinning on its
edge in a tight circle, it slows until it clinks to one side.
Crown side up.
I inhale sharply and allow myself a moment of self-pity. But the second
my hands tremble, I clench them, tucking away my emotions for when
Thoman’s gaze isn’t piercing me.
If I show even a hint of hesitation, he’ll insist on being the one to go—
my brother in every way but blood. Thoman’s never been good at just
keeping his head down.
It’s better if I go.
“Trials, Lysta,” Thoman curses under his breath, looking away from me.
He takes a shaky breath, closing his eyes in a pained expression. “You went
last time—just let me go.”
Too predictable.
“And you went twice before that,” I shoot back, already tugging my
boots onto my feet. “It’s my turn.”
Thoman shakes his head, posture crumpling. “This isn’t like other trips,
and you know it.” His voice is barely more than a whisper, making me
pause.
He thinks today will be the day I don’t come back.
Maybe he’s right, but there is no convincing me it isn’t my turn to face
the streets.
“I’ll be back before you know it.” I’m out the door and hurrying down
the street before he can make an argument against it.
The threat of Trialing looms like a blade hung from a fraying rope. It isn’t
a matter of if the remaining threads will break free and send the weapon
plunging, but of when—and the fearful anticipation is a greater torture than
any killing blow the knife could deal.
It’s days like these where uncertainty weighs especially heavy. Tension
laces the fog-filled city of Falland, the feeling palpable as I cross through
the Market Plaza.
Fewer people linger in the street than what is typical of the weekly
affair. On most Sundays, they overcrowd the rows of stalls, packing them so
tightly that weaving through ties your path in knots. Each person on their
own mission of scrabbling together a pitiful amount of food before only the
stale or turned items remain.
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