Book 3 - Epilogue
Galan groaned and leaned back in the armchair in his office, stretching out his hand. It had begun to cramp from so much writing, which was preposterous.
“I don’t understand it,” he said. “I’m above the fifth threshold in Dexterity, Vitality, and Strength. My hand shouldn’t cramp up even if I were to write for a week without ceasing.”
His adjunct, Lyssa, slammed down her own pen with a grunt, likely frustrated by the interruption. Of course she would’ve given voice to her vexation; she was always very careful to display the maximum acceptable amount of attitude, but no more. She leaned back in her chair and sighed. “It’s probably psychological.”
“Hm.” Galan immediately stopped stretching his hand. She was probably right, she usually was. He checked her work often, and still had never found a mistake or a contravention of his intentions. In the short time they’d worked together, he’d had no reason to criticize her, except in her sometimes inappropriate attitude.
He could forgive her that much, because eight months ago he’d killed her brother.
Sometimes when she met his eyes, he saw the eyes of Emul Lethonen who he could remember in startling detail, though he’d only ever met him the once.
He had slain Emul in open combat on the field near Aberquay, in a harrying action to split Prinnash’s focus and keep them from war with Frenaria. He had sent the [Knight’s] body and armor home with a note lauding the fallen’s bravery.
Two weeks later his sister Lyssa, a [Secretary], had approached his camp and asked to join his retinue. He’d never asked why.
“You know, I would be more than pleased if you were to leave this all to me,” said Lyssa.