Forged in Frost

For Lockmire

"Thanks, that was good," Evelyn says, rubbing her stomach.

"Better than porridge?"

"Loads better."

They turn a corner, and the Gallery appears out of the lines of similar houses. It stands apart, with wide walkways all around, its marble porch, pillars, and two dozen steps very similar to those at the Shrine of the Seven.

"That's it, I suppose," Evelyn observes.

"That's it. Hope we have some luck today."

Caius leads her up the steps and through the wide arching doorway. Guards line both walls, glittering in silver armour, swords at the ready. The columns up and down the sides of the massive hall are etched with various symbols: a set of scales, a feather quill, a sword and shield. But nothing else in the hall can speak to frivolity or unnecessary ornament. The floors are of marble polished to a near mirror shine, laid with dark rugs to mark the walking paths. Fire burns in a pair of hearths set into the far wall, covered in silver grates. Chancellor Meeves' seating area is set with heavy, straight-backed chairs, his own, a few steps up, a slab of marble carved into a throne with hard edges, with only a thin layer of crimson cloth down the centre to provide any comfort.

Chancellor Meeves is seated there, speaking with a number of finely dressed men nearby. Caius and Evelyn wait behind them.

"Business?" a guard in especially elaborate armour asks of them. Evelyn assumes he must be Meeves' personal guard.

"We need to speak to the chancellor about Lockmire," Caius tells him.

The guard looks from him to Evelyn without moving his head. "Concerning?"

"Concerning Esterden's attack," Caius says, as if this should be obvious.

"And the capture of the count and countess," Evelyn adds.

The guard furrows his brow. "Who are you?"

"Commander Caius Pevrel and soldier Evelyn of Lockmire," Caius says.

The guard studies them for one more moment before nodding once, then stepping back to Chancellor Meeves' side.

Evelyn takes this as a prompt to wait. She and Caius listen to a half-hour of incomprehensible conversation about grain tariffs and import prices from Tempesco, and how the banners in the marketplace are a touch faded and should be replaced at once.

She can't see him well through the crowd, but she can hear his voice—a thick, low sound, like he's speaking through cheeks too fat or throat full with food.

"Our standards must be maintained," he's saying now. "Those faded things look cheap. And I noticed Macy's sign had chipped paint. Now, I don't walk down every street, but if that's just on my way in, what more atrocities could the inner city hold?"

"I swear, my lord, we check each business thoroughly to make sure they're abiding by city standards."

"Every month? These things need to be checked daily!" he shouts.

"Yes, of course, my lord. And who will we assign to perform these daily checks on every business in town?"

The advisor's tone is clearly sarcastic, but the chancellor brushes him off.

"I don't care who sees to it, but I want it seen to. I don't want my city looking like hold trash."

Caius sniffs a derisive laugh under his breath, covering it with a cough.

Evelyn taps her foot impatiently as the conversation goes on. Is this really what he's focused on when there are so many more pressing matters?

At long, long last, the group disperses, some trailing into corridors along the side of the hall, and some heading out the front door.