Karlin Al Jervin stood as straight as his somewhat bent back would allow. Lyrna remembered him as a cheerful, pot-bellied fellow with a shiny bald head, less inclined to obsequiousness than many of his fellow nobles and not one to linger at court longer than his business required. Slavery and hard labour, however, seemed to have robbed him of humour and belly alike. His cheeks were hollowed and his eyes sunken, though he met Lyrna’s gaze with admirable composure. His daughter, however, was less well attuned to royalty and fidgeted as she stood before the throne, an appreciable gap between her and her father. Lady Illian wore a hunter’s garb, buckskin trews, and a light cotton blouse, stained brown and green to hide her in the forest, her hair cropped so it wouldn’t encumber her eyes. A dagger sat in a sheath strapped to her ankle with another at her wrist. Despite her martial accoutrements she still seemed very young as she squirmed under the scrutiny of those present and avoided her father’s glares. Behind her stood Brother Commander Sollis and Davoka, whilst Lord Al Jervin stood alone.
Lyrna had been quick to discard the garish monstrosity Darnel called a throne in favour of a comfortable straight-backed chair retrieved from one of the abandoned merchants’ houses, and found herself grateful for the depth of the cushion beneath the royal posterior. She had been hearing petitions for some four hours now and could only marvel at the lingering pettiness of people fortunate enough to survive such a savage occupation. They came with complaints of theft against vanished neighbours, claims of inheritance for property now naught but ash, appeals for restitution of lordly status, and a plethora of other trivia that shortened her patience by the hour. However, not all claims were petty, or easily resolved.
“Brother Sollis,” Lyrna said. “You must admit, Lord Al Jervin makes several valid points. This is all very unusual.”
“Forgive me, Highness,” the Brother Commander replied in his customary rasp, “but I doubt anything in this Realm could now be termed as ‘usual.’”
“My knowledge of your Order’s history is hardly copious, but I believe there has never been a sister of the Sixth Order. And are not recruits normally inducted at a much younger age? Circumstance may have forced us to forget some custom in the face of necessity, but this is a radical step indeed.”
“There is provision in the Order’s tenets to allow for older recruits, Highness. Master Rensial, for example, came to us as a former captain in the Realm Guard cavalry. As for Lady Illian’s gender, war has provided ample evidence that our custom in this regard may require modification.”
“Are our laws to be cast aside now, Highness?” Al Jervin spoke up, once again glaring at Illian. “The Sixth Order cannot just take a man’s daughter.”
“They aren’t taking me!” Illian responded hotly, then flushed and lowered her gaze as Lyrna turned to her. “Your pardon, Highness.”
“Lady Illian,” Lyrna said, “is it truly your wish to join the Sixth Order?”
The girl drew breath and raised her head, speaking in a clear and certain tone. “It is, Highness.”
“Despite your father’s objections? His well-founded fears for your safety?”
Illian glanced at Al Jervin, her expression sorrowful and her voice low. “I love my father, Highness. I thought him dead for so long, finding him alive when the city fell was wondrous. But I am not the daughter he lost, nor can I be. I am fashioned by war into something else, a role I believe ordained for me by the Departed.”
“
“Lady Davoka has told me much of your daughter, my lord,” Lyrna said. “By all accounts she has served with great distinction in the struggle to free this Realm. She stands before me now the author of many well-deserved ends suffered by our enemies. According to the Sixth Order’s tenets she is vouched for by a subject of good character and Brother Sollis is willing to accept her, setting aside ancient custom and the usual tests in recognition of her evident skill and courage. As a Sister she will no doubt provide even greater service to the Realm and the Faith. Whilst you, my lord, apparently spent the entire war carving fatuous art for the traitor Darnel.”
Al Jervin flinched but managed to control his tone as he responded, “I hear rumour Your Highness was also made a slave by our enemies. If so, I’m sure you know well the shame of performing a hated act in pursuit of survival.”
Iltis bridled, stepping forward and speaking in ominous tones. “Caution your tongue, my lord.”
