Chapter Eighteen #3
“The council head.” Lyrian nodded to a group of four people talking.
“Justice Malor. She’s also the overseer of the legal court.
” The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint anyone in particular.
At that point he was sure most every council name would be familiar to him but their faces unrecognizable.
Ethyr didn’t have any faith that his actions would be noticed, let alone followed, but he stepped up to a podium regardless and was pleasantly surprised to find the councilors quickly filed to the others.
There were eighteen in total, not including his, though one of the podiums was empty.
All eyes were on him. It was like he was back in the palace, seeing in their gazes anger, pity, worry, or something akin to being impressed.
“If I may, Your Divinity,” a woman spoke up.
Her dark hair was coiffed up in a flawless, elaborate bun—or seemed to be, from what Ethyr could tell from some distance away.
The way the room was structured, her voice carried easily across the circle of emptiness between them and Ethyr could hear her as clearly as if she were standing right in front of him.
“With your permission, I’d like to conduct this meeting. ”
It must have been Malor. Ethyr opened his mouth to agree, but found no words could get past the stage fright stopping up his throat. He nodded instead.
“As we’re all aware,” Malor got right to it, “this council has been called in the wake of High Priest Yorith’s death.
The matters to be discussed are as follows.
” She unraveled a scroll on her podium and read firmly.
“The matter of electing a new High Priest. The matter of electing a new advisor to the king. The matter of stewardship for the palace guards. The matter of city administration oversight. The matter of treasury replenishment and allocation.”
It was all so cold and methodical. But of course, everyone but him knew exactly what to expect. He felt entirely out of place.
“Your Divinity.”
He snapped his attention from wandering around the room back to Malor.
“Head Priest Klara has indicated that you have named her as High Priest. Is that correct?”
She chose herself, really, Ethyr thought, but there was no point saying it. It wasn’t like he knew anyone else for the role. He cleared his throat and managed to get a word out this time. “Yes.”
“Very well. Head Priest Klara will be instated as High Priest and present at our next council. Now then, on to the matter of advisor. Each councilor is allotted one endorsement and up to five minutes to argue the merits of their choice. We shall begin with Councilor Jamus.”
Most people simply stated a name without giving any argument.
A good chunk named Malor as their choice, a few argued for themselves as advisor, and Ethyr was surprised at the number who named Lyrian.
Klara had made him sound like a pariah, but he had almost as many backers as Malor. Lyrian smiled and nominated himself.
It went around the circle until Malor was left. She looked down at her podium, adjusted the paper on it, then glanced up and around until her gaze landed on Lyrian.
“I nominate Guard Master Lyrian.”
The silence was solid disbelief. Ethyr didn’t need to know the councilors or how these events usually went to sense that Malor had disrupted social order and expectation.
Then she looked at him and the dazed stares of the others followed.
“Who is your choice of advisor, Your Divinity?”
He could not bring himself to meet anyone’s eyes but Lyrian’s. The man watched him with calm ambivalence.
“I name Lyrian as my advisor,” he said, with the loudest confidence he could muster. The murmur that flitted around the room did not sound particularly shocked, but disappointed.
Lyrian gave a gracious dip of his head. “I am honored, Your Divinity. I hope I can serve you well.”
“Lyrian, are you prepared to take over advisor duties and begin moving into the palace upon conclusion of this council?” Malor asked.
He straightened his shoulders. “I am.”
“Very well. Let us continue to the matter of the palace guard steward.”
“If I may,” Lyrian interrupted. “As the previous advisor was given stewardship of palace guards, and I have led the city guards for over a decade now, it seems a matter of course that I will take over the palace guards.”
“The palace guards have always had separate management from city guards,” a councilor said.
“But not a separate faction,” another spoke up. “Before Yorith’s tenure as advisor, all guards were from a single coalition.”
A shape moving past him drew Ethyr’s attention and he watched Poyut step through the podiums into the empty space of the middle circle.
The councilor was still speaking. “–most logical and seamless to transition stewardship to the Master Guard.”
“The king has already appointed me as palace guard steward,” Poyut said, loud and clear.
The simmering debate fizzled as the council stared at her like an insult. She glanced over her shoulder at Ethyr, expectant, yet a little desperate.
“Preposterous,” Lyrian scoffed. “She has no ranking or experience to justify such an office.”
“I have been managing the palace guards for a week now,” Poyut said firmly. “I have done so without incident in one of the most chaotic periods in recent history. I would argue that gives me the experience and justification to accept the position.”
“How can you manage palace guards when you are the king’s guard?” Lyrian demanded. “Your responsibilities take you out of the palace for hours on end and disrupt your schedule. You have not yet dealt with that instability.”
“Yorith left the palace often, sometimes for days at a time.” Poyut faced the stares and skepticism with far more courage and presence of mind than Ethyr would have.
“There is no reason my duties as King’s Guard predict negligence of additional responsibility.
” She spoke carefully, stiffly, as though reciting a memorized script.
“Your Divinity,” Malor cut off Lyrian’s next response. “Are you officially naming your personal guard as the steward of the palace guards?”
Ethyr looked between them all. Lyrian, for the first time, appeared a little miffed. Poyut was still beseeching him silently and Malor waited for an answer with calm coolness.
“I am,” he said, with a kind of confidence that didn’t betray it was an impulsive decision made then and there.
“Then it is decided. We can move on to the next matter.”
Most of what came next was gibberish to Ethyr. Poyut returned to her space standing behind him. Lyrian remained quiet for the rest of the discussions, eying Malor like he was sizing up an opponent in a fight.
Ethyr caught bits of information that were comprehensible to him. It sounded like there was an ongoing administration problem that they were trying to fix, and he also understood that Yorith’s funerary processions had cost a considerable amount that would take a while to replace.
“Does anyone have anything else to say regarding the treasury?” Malor ended the last discussion, looking around. No one did. “Good. That resolves the last matter on the docket.”
“I would like to enter a new one,” Lyrian spoke up for the first time. Malor raised her eyebrows at him. He gestured to Ethyr. “Our king deserves a full coronation, a right that was taken from him by Yorith.”
“A full coronation would cost a considerable amount,” Malor said, a hint of irritation in her voice. “As we’ve just discussed, our funds are low as is. We cannot afford it.”
“We can,” Lyrian rebuked. “A festival will not only raise spirits after such a harrowing week, but it will bring in many outside merchants, who we can tax double, not to mention sales will triple throughout the city with the crowds it will bring. It will more than make up the costs. And there is no need for the inauguration feast, as one was already held.”
“There is no guarantee a coronation will draw a large crowd,” another councilor said. “Perhaps if he was still a new king, but he is no longer a novelty.”
“I disagree. Many people are newly intrigued by a king who murdered his advisor.”
Ethyr whipped towards Lyrian. The words so unexpected yet said so casually were like a hammer to his chest, setting his heart racing and hands sweating. By the offended reactions of some others, it was not just Ethyr who thought such a tactless statement was out of line.
Yet Lyrian continued without concern. “As for anyone else, all we need to do is circulate rumors of his beauty and people will flock to see him for themselves.”
The room was looking at him again. Ethyr gripped the sides of the podium for balance and composure, but he couldn’t think past the blood rushing in his ears.
“My king is a true king,” Lyrian said firmly. “And he will have the introduction and celebration of one.”