a stable hand took Golam to be wiped down, and serving staff awaited with towels and dry slippers. Two women followed him, wiping the trail of water from the polished marble floor as he walked to the residence wing, where he continued to dry off and dress for the day.
The clothes made for him were styled like the loose-fitting tunic and trousers he’d preferred as a warrant knight, though they were adorned with elaborate stitching that seemed to him a waste of thread. His adviser and longtime friend, Edan Dawnpiper, had insisted he dress more like a king than a battler, and so Gavin offered the compromise. The high-collared jacket with narrow cuffs he couldn’t abide for anything but formal occasions, not only because during the late summer it was too hot, but because it was too snugly tailored. Despite having a contingent of ever-present guards, his years as a battler had developed and reinforced certain habits, and dressing in clothing that didn’t hinder his movement was one of the strongest — and one he wasn’t willing to change. This occasion, however, warranted the jacket, and so he let Quint hold it while he shoved his arms into the sleeves.
Dressed in clean, dry clothes and with his hair toweled and combed, he slid his sword into its ceremonial scabbard, the only dry one he had left, and went downstairs to the meeting room where the new councilors gathered, argued, and occasionally agreed on the topic of the day. He apologized for his tardiness and then took his seat at the head of the table.
Halfway down on the left sat Jophet Renaun, formerly Captain of the Guard for the Lordover Tern. Lilalian Whisperblade of the Viragon Sisterhood sat across from him, her hard, blue eyes unwavering beneath a pale-blond brow while she waited for him to begin. Beside Lila was Tennara, an experienced battler with wisdom lines beside her eyes and thin mouth. Edan sat on Gavin’s right, quill in hand and paper and ink before him. He’d taken it upon himself to record meetings until he could interview and hire a suitable scribe. The ever-watchful Daia Saberheart was present as well, sitting in her customary seat to his left. Her eyes were so pale a shade of blue that nearly everyone who found themselves a target of her steady gaze couldn’t help but squirm. The candidates kept their eyes on Gavin, conspicuously not looking at each other, or at Daia.
“We’re here to form the new Council o’the Militia,” Gavin said, “starting with me naming the new Supreme Councilor. Afore we start, does anyone have anything to say?” No one spoke. “Awright. We have three people interested in the job: Jophet Renoun, Lilalian Whisperblade, and Tennara Sikuaral. Let’s start with Jophet.”
He looked at Jophet, a man he’d first met when attempting to free Daia from wrongful imprisonment by her father, the Lordover Tern. Though his brown hair had grayed at the temples, and his blue eyes were framed with wrinkles, he exuded strength and competence.
Jophet cleared his throat and stood. He talked about receiving instruction in swordsmanship from his father, who’d been an armsman for the Lordover Lavene. He’d been a warrant knight in his youth, giving aid to people on the hope of payment by valour-gild. After taking a bride, he pledged service to the Lordover Tern and was promoted through the ranks, eventually earning the title Captain of the Guard thirteen years earlier. “In my eighteen years of loyal service, I’ve trained many armsmen, some of whom were happy to join the royal army, and some who preferred to remain warrant knights. I believe I’m most qualified for the position because of my many years serving in a similar capacity for the lordover.” He nodded and took his seat.
Next, Gavin looked at Lilalian, a stern blonde whose unwavering stare matched the sort of intensity and perseverance he looked for in a leader. She’d inherited command of the Viragon Sisterhood when its previous leader had been murdered by Brodas Ravenkind, but she’d also turned the Sisterhood against Gavin and his allies under Ravenkind’s influence. She’d recently begun cropping her hair very close to her head, probably to eliminate the need to braid it or otherwise keep it out of her way. Though Gavin could understand the practicality of it, he found himself hoping Daia wouldn’t do that to her hair. “Lilalian,” Gavin said, “you’re next. Tell us why you’re the right person for Supreme Councilor o’the Militia.”