Later that day at dinner, Clay was picking at his food in a foul mood when Anne and Xavien arrived, with Natalie trailing behind them. “Well, if it isn’t Sir Clay! How has the Academy been treating you?”
He grimaced. “Like a [Guard] treats a practice dummy.” Xavien snorted, and he glanced at the man. “Hey, I didn’t see you volunteering much in the lecture today.”
Xavien shook his head. “I didn’t need to dodge all that much. Our dear professor seemed mildly distracted.”
“Probably because she just finished telling me I was stuck here until I managed to find a way to make peer. Which might be difficult since I’ll have to fight my way through cadet and journeyman, and then persuade some batch of idiots to go fight a Lair with me.” Clay saw the stunned expressions on their faces, and he waved a fork at them. “Easy enough if you can level up without fighting monsters, but if you can’t…”
“It makes things a lot harder.” Anne’s soft agreement seemed completely out of character for her, but Clay just took it as a rare expression of sympathy from the woman.
“That’s an understatement.” He stabbed another chunk of carrot. “I’ll make it happen, one way or another. I just… need to plan, is all.”
Anne reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.” She glanced at the others, who exchanged looks with her that Clay couldn’t read. Natalie was the next to break the silence as she stirred her soup.
“Did she give your notes back?”
Clay shook his head, feeling a grim certainty that those [Chants] were going to be gone for the time being. He also had a suspicion that Taylor was worried about him running off; she’d been anxious to leave after the lecture, and she’d been glancing at him as she retreated in the direction of Katherine’s office. Would they be watching his room for escape attempts now? Should he try to leave, anyway?
He snorted to himself. If he ran, with no food and his weapons still in Orn’s Forge, what good was he going to do? For now, he would try for the cadet’s trial in another couple of days. Then he’d see what he could do to regain his freedom.
The others had started to talk amongst themselves; Xavien and Anne were having some kind of disagreement, while Natalie was poking at her own food in some glum mood. Clay looked around at them and sighed. He caught sight of Lawrence and Jack standing with plates in their hand, and waved them over.
They’d made it halfway there when he heard someone snicker. Someone spoke up a moment later, in a whisper meant to be clearly heard across the dining room. “Looks like another member for the Rogue’s Gallery. How nice.”
Clay blinked as the other members of the table went stiff. He looked up and saw Jack clenching his fists around his plate in rage, while Lawrence looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.
He didn’t know what the name meant. Honestly, he didn’t particularly need to. Clay turned in his seat and found exactly what he was looking for.
It was a group of adventurers sitting at the next table, all of whom were hiding laughter or openly grinning at him and his friends. Clay felt his eyes narrow immediately. Enessa had warned him about the occasional pompous fool in the Academy. He was surprised that it had taken so long to find them.
Clay pitched his own voice about the same as the other man had. “Sorry, I don’t think I heard that. What did you say?”
One of the adventurers, a proud-looking man with a fine tunic and richly embroidered cape, smiled. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Good.” Clay smiled back and turned back to the table. He found the others all looking at him in surprise. “Anyone else want to eat where the air smells a little… cleaner?”
They were all staring at him in something approaching amazement. He winked at them and gathered up his plate. “Come on. Something over here stinks like one of my father’s goats after a really bad night. That table over there looks better.”
Anne popped up immediately, and Xavien and Natalie followed soon after. Jack seemed to have gotten a hold of himself, though Lawrence still seemed to want to vanish.
As he started for the new table, he heard the chair slide back behind him. Clay paused and turned back. He met the adventurer’s eyes, seeing his tight, red-flushed face. “Did you have something to say to me this time, Sir?”
The question cut across the dining room like a knife; conversations were starting to die as others took notice of the situation. It stopped the adventurer dead, as if he suddenly realized that Clay wasn’t going to cower or retreat. So instead of escalating things, he smiled insincerely. “Take care, Sir Clay. Your new… friends might be the sort to steal the bread from your plate—or put knives in your back.”
Clay raised an eyebrow and snorted. “Ask Sir Leonard how I deal with warnings like that one. Enjoy your meal.”
Then he turned and led the way to the new table.
Clay waited as the others settled in around him. He gave them time to start into their food, something they seemed reluctant to do. If they needed an example, he gave them one; he tore off a chunk of bread and started eating. Once they’d finally started chewing as well, he asked the question he needed to, around half a mouthful of bread. “So. What was that about?”
Anne smiled, an expression that was obviously wooden and false. “Just a little ribbing between colleagues, Sir Clay! Nothing you need to worry… about…”
He stared at her until she had faltered and fallen silent. Then he turned to Jack, who was still carving away at his steak like the cow had eaten someone he loved. “Jack. What was that about?”
The man looked up in surprise. Then he scowled down at his food again. “Sorry. I guess we should have told you, but we thought…” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. They call us the Rogue’s Gallery. Ever wonder why we are all still initiates, even though we’ve been here as long or longer than your friends from back home?”
Clay grunted. It vaguely occurred to him he probably should have asked, but he had mostly assumed that they had taken the challenge of the cadet’s trial a bit too early. He hadn’t asked because he’d been worried about hurting feelings, but it had obviously been more than that.
Jack continued in a hard voice. “It’s because we are stuck at level one. All of us. For one reason or another, we can’t or won’t gain any levels.”
Lawrence spoke up next, his voice low. “It’s because of our [Classes]. They’re expecting us to leave, or go Rogue. We don’t want to, but we can’t get any better the way we are. So we’re stuck.”
Clay nodded slowly. All of them were still picking at their food, pretending to continue the meal, but most of them were just staring down at the table. The only exception was Jack, who was still staring at Clay. It was as if Jack was waiting for him to get up and leave.
Instead, Clay asked the obvious question. “What are your [Classes]?”
There was a moment of silence. Some of them glanced at each other, as if hoping someone else would go first. Finally, Anne was the one who answered first, her voice more fragile and quiet than he’d ever heard before. “I’m a [Burglar].”
Clay very carefully didn’t react. Normal people didn’t get [Burglar]. It was the kind of [Class] that everyone tended to whisper about, and most people made the assumption that anyone who received it had already been stealing for most of their childhood. There were occasional stories of heroic [Burglars], but they were far outnumbered by the tales of sinister thieves that true heroes needed to track down and bring to justice.
It didn’t help that to level up without fighting monsters, a [Burglar] had to steal things. Things they knew other people valued and wanted to keep safe.
He turned to Xavien, who looked a little defiant. “I’m an [Oracle]. I can supposedly level by making Vows—but I refuse to limit my future that way. I’ve heard too many stories of [Oracles] that have sacrificed nearly their entire lives for simple levels. Not when I can serve in some other way.”
His reasoning made sense, though Clay knew his father might have thought the man selfish. Then again, Sam Evergreen had never been asked to forswear meat or something just to gain the chance to fight, so perhaps the opinion of a [Farmer] didn’t count for as much.
Natalie spoke up next. “I’m an [Alchemist]. I could level up using reagents and experiments and all that, but…” She looked down. “The kind of reagents I would need are expensive. Ridiculously expensive. The only way I could afford them would be to sign contracts with the nobility, but by the time I’d complete one of those I would probably be too old to do any adventuring. My choices are to either stay here, stuck, or sign away the next twenty years of my life.”
Lawrence had shrunk down into his chair, refusing to meet Clay’s eyes. Jack glanced at him and then lifted his chin. “I’m a [Knave].”
Clay blinked despite himself. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Jack shifted on his chair, but still met Clay’s eyes. “I am.”
A [Knave]. Out of all the [Classes], it was quite possibly the one people hated the most. Someone who was a [Knave] could level by killing people, and anyone who got it had probably done the deed already. They were known for being villains, assassins, and worse. Jack’s hostility and defensiveness suddenly made a lot more sense—as did his reluctance to try leveling up without fighting monsters.
Then Clay turned to Lawrence, who, if it was possible, had sunk even lower in his seat. When the last of the group finally spoke, it was in a voice so quiet that Clay could barely hear them. “[Occultist]. I’m an [Occultist].”
Clay felt himself grow completely, absolutely still. Outwardly, he noticed Anne glancing around uneasily; Jack suddenly tensed, his expression abruptly wary. In his mind, however, he was back in that ancient tower in the Tanglewood, surrounded by the corpses of an [Occultist] and their hapless coven. He saw that brilliant, impossible point of light, felt its soul-tearing magic collapsing in on itself. How many had died, for one [Occultist]’s obsession?
As he stayed frozen, Lawrence had kept speaking, his eyes still glued to the table in front of him. “I know that [Occultists] are supposed to be some kind of swindlers or cult leaders, but I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to help people, to help everyone be kind. I’m not going to try to brainwash anyone, but if I never build a coven of followers…”
He sighed and shook his head. Clay stared at him for another moment, his heart pounding. Then he slowly forced himself to breathe again, locking away those memories. Lawrence wasn’t the power-mad fool that had killed so many out of pride and arrogance. If anything, the man was just a little too humble; Clay would have been unsurprised to find him giving away everything he owned just to make up for the [Class] he’d been given.
Natalie spoke up again, apparently unaware of Clay’s rigidity. “Jack told us about how you gained your levels. We could try that as well, just going out and killing monsters to gain levels, but the Guild won’t let initiates go out without supervision… and no journeyman in his right mind is going to take the Rogue’s Gallery to fight a Lair.”
Jack snorted. “No, they won’t. It doesn’t matter how much we train; we’re going to be trapped here forever.”
“Unless we take Greg up on his offer.” Anne rolled her eyes when Jack glared at her. “Oh, loosen up. I’m obviously joking.”
“Greg?” Clay thought he managed that question without letting too much of his roiling emotions through. The others all looked at each other, with even Natalie seeming to realize that all was not well.
Xavien was the one who answered, the [Oracle]’s voice dismissive. “He’s a [Knave] that never bothered to attend the Academy. He leads a gang in Crownsguard, with a few other [Knaves] and [Burglars].”
“There’s at least one [Occultist], too. At least that’s what he told me.” Lawrence shivered.
Jack nodded, his face slipping back into its customary scowl. “He wants us to join. I’ve told him no, but he’s persistent.” He folded his arms. “I’d fight him, but… he’s at level four. A lot of his guys are at level three, too. And I don’t think they’ve been fighting monsters.”
Clay narrowed his eyes. His heart was starting to slow down as he started to get a grip on the situation. He had a problem he thought he could solve. Facing the fact that his newly met friends were all considered potential Rogues could wait for another time. “The Academy is aware of them?”
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Xavien shrugged. “Maybe. I doubt it. As long as the criminals stay in Crownsguard where the Guild doesn’t have to worry about them, I don’t know if they care. They seem to want to leave enforcing the King’s law up to the [Guards]. Not that the [Guards] have much of a chance against adventurers of that level.”
Likely, the Guild wouldn’t involve themselves unless they heard about the gang attempting to find the kind of magic that would let them create monsters. Perhaps it was some kind of deal that the Guild had worked out with the King, that they would stay out of conflicts in Crownsguard in return for his patronage. If that was the case, they might think that their hands were tied.
Theirs might have been. Clay’s were not.
He drew in a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. When he looked up, the others were all watching him, as if waiting for his reaction. Clay smiled.
“All right, we’re in a bad place, but we aren’t dead yet.” The others relaxed suddenly, as if relieved he hadn’t just gotten up from the table and abandoned them. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
“The Council of the Crownsguard Charter of the Adventurer’s Guild will now come to order.”
Clay was in a faintly familiar situation, but he felt far calmer this time. The members of the Council seemed to display a mix of amusement and irritation at repeating the circumstances of their first meeting. If he felt any less smug about what he’d been doing the past few days, he might have had a flicker of worry about their expressions, but honestly, he was too happy to care.
Guildmaster Evan studied Clay’s expression for a moment and sighed. “The accused will step forward.”
When Clay had complied with the order, the Guildmaster continued in an unhappy tone. “Initiate Evergreen, can you stand accused of causing disruptions within the city of Crownsguard, of ignoring your responsibilities as an initiate of the Guild, and of besmirching the good name of the Guild of Adventurers. Do you have any defense?”
Clay smiled, something that seemed to irritate the man. “I do not believe the charges are accurate, Sir Evan. Nothing I have done should harm the city, the Guild, or should lie outside my responsibilities as a member of the Guild.”
Sir Evan grunted. Several of the other Councilors rolled their eyes or sighed. Probably not the best start, but he doubted he was at risk of being actually punished. He hoped.
The Guildmaster leaned forward, massaging his temples for a moment. “Sir Clay, if you truly believe that your actions are beyond reproach, can you explain your activities yesterday?”
He paused. “Yesterday was the free day granted to all initiates. We’re permitted to leave the Academy and visit the rest of Crownsguard.”
When he didn’t elaborate further, Sir Evan tilted his head. “I am assuming you did so.”
“You’re correct, Sir Evan.” Clay nodded. “I asked some of my fellow initiates to recommend places I could visit. I had never come to the capital before, so it was an interesting experience.”
Sir Mark abruptly burst out laughing, and Syr Marissa broke into a grin. Syr Alia sighed and put a hand over her eyes, and Sir Bartholomew shook his head. Sir Richard simply tilted his head, as if trying to study Clay in a slightly different light.
The Guildmaster, for his part, restrained himself to a quirk of the lips and a brief glance around at the rest of the Council. As his fellow adventurers settled back into their chairs and their dignity, Sir Evan continued. “I see. It must have been very interesting indeed.”
Clay raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”
Sir Evan looked down at a scrap of parchment as if consulting something he’d written there. “You were apparently seen leaving the Academy after breakfast, carrying a practice spear you claimed to need as a ‘walking stick’. You did not return to the Academy until just before dinner, having spent the entirety of the intervening hours in the neighborhoods of Crownsguard.”
He nodded. “That’s correct, Sir Evan.”
“During that same time, the city watch of Crownsguard reported that there were at least twelve different assaults by an unnamed adventurer. In the aftermath, they took four [Knaves], three [Burglars], an [Occultist], and various [Commoners] associated with a criminal gang into custody. All of them were injured to a severe degree, several with broken limbs that will require weeks to heal.”
Clay didn’t respond when the Guildmaster paused. Sir Evan consulted his parchment again. “Witnesses to the assaults claimed that magic was utilized. Almost all of them agree the criminals were struck from ambush.”
This time, Clay nodded again. “It seemed wise to end the fights quickly. There were too many bystanders in the area to drag things out.”
Sir Mark snorted again, though when Clay glanced at him the adventurer appeared to be trying to hide his laughter. Syr Marissa seemed far less pleased this time, though. Not the best sign of how things were going.
The Guildmaster set aside his parchment. “So you admit to attacking these people? In broad daylight, right in the middle of Crownsguard?”
He heard the accusation in the Guildmaster’s tone, and was suddenly finished with attempting to remain humble. “I admit to cleaning up a mess that you should have handled a long while ago, Guildmaster. If you cannot even pretend to regret the fact that you allowed a band of murderous, criminal adventurers to run loose in Crownsguard for this long, then I don’t know why I should stand here and listen to this nonsense any longer.”
Sir Evan leaned back in his seat, his eyes wide with surprise. Before he could respond, Syr Alia spoke up with anger in her voice. “An initiate has no right to address the Council in such a manner.”
“And the [Commoners] of Crownsguard have no right to expect any help from this Guild, is that correct?” Clay met her gaze, glare for glare. “How many people would you have allowed this ‘Greg’ to kill before it would become your problem? He was at level four, and most of the others were at level three. Would you have ignored it until things grew so dire you had to step in? For all your worries about Rogues, you practically had eight of them on your doorstep and did nothing.”
“The King often asks us to allow his soldiers to handle such problems in Crownsguard.” Sir Richard’s voice was cool and even. “Stepping in without his permission can erode his authority among the people. Such actions are contrary to our Oath as adventurers.”
Clay raised an eyebrow at him. “Did my stone in the Oathvault stop glowing, Sir Richard?” The following silence answered the question for him, and he continued in his own even voice. “Then my Oath remains unbroken. And if my action might have undermined some perception of the King’s authority, then he is free to claim responsibility for what I did. As it was, your inaction has eroded the trust the people have in you. Why should they believe you stand to protect them if you never actually do it?”
Syr Marissa was glaring at him openly now. “Our numbers are few, Sir Clay. We must send our strength only where it is most needed.”
“Which was the reason the Tanglewood was allowed to fester. The Dungeon in Sarlsboro too.” Clay folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. “What I did yesterday took me a handful of hours. What did you do with that time?”
The woman growled at him, half-rising from her seat, but Sir Richard spoke up again, his voice still even. “Guildmaster, have we received any complaint from the King?”
Sir Evan glanced at the other Councilor. After a small hesitation, he answered. “No, Sir Richard.”
“Were any of the people of Crownsguard injured? Aside from the criminals themselves, of course.”
The Guildmaster sat back in his seat, tapping on the parchment in front of him. “No. There were no other injuries, though there was some property damaged.”
Sir Richard nodded slightly. “And the reactions of the people of Crownsguard? What have they been saying in the streets?”
Another, deeper silence followed. The Councilors looked around at each other for a moment as Sir Evan appeared to be searching for a response. Then Sir Richard answered the question himself, his voice still in that same cool tone. “For my part, I’ve heard a few people were concerned about the use of magic in the city, but they seemed far more worried about the presence of so many high-level criminals. Any who were concerned were far outnumbered by those who were talking about the ‘Commoner Hero’. I believe I heard a few bards already composing songs, and more than one of my acquaintances asked me about his origins.”
Clay winced. He hadn’t wanted that kind of result. His idea had been to get rid of the bad adventurers, help the Rogue’s Gallery out, and actually get out and do something for once, rather than stay stuck inside the Academy. When he looked over at Sir Richard, he thought he saw a flicker of amusement in the man’s dark eyes. It was confusing; hadn’t Richard wanted him to be punished the last time?
Syr Alia sighed. “I suppose if that is their reaction, we can hardly hold him guilty of ruining the Guild’s reputation. I move for that charge to be set aside.”
For a moment, the Guildmaster seemed ready to argue. Then he grunted. “Fine. All in favor?”
Richard, Alia, Bartholomew, and eventually Sir Mark raised their hands. Clay felt himself relax slightly. One down, two to go.
The Archivist spoke up next, his voice hesitant. “For the second charge, I’m afraid I must also ask for its dismissal.”
Syr Marissa stared at him in shock. “Sir Bartholomew, are you saying that his actions are appropriate for an initiate of the Guild?”
“No, Syr Marissa. I am only acknowledging that he was not shirking any of his actual responsibilities as an initiate.” Bartholomew smoothed the robes on his lap with both hands. “Our own decisions granted him the day off, and from what I can tell, he has been one of the most diligent students in the Academy. Despite the extremely heavy workloads, I have had no reports from Syr Taylor or Syr Katherine about him skipping lessons or falling behind in his studies. Sir Mark?”
The other Councilor shook his head. “No. The boy has been attending every training session with Orn, and the Armsman has plenty of compliments about his behavior. In fact, the man came to talk with me just this morning, demanding to speak on his behalf. I second the motion to set the charge aside.”
There was more grumbling from Marissa, but when the Guildmaster called for a vote, Richard, Mark, Bartholomew, and Evan himself all raised their hands. Marissa sat back in her seat with clear anger on her face. “Well, can we at least agree that the city was disrupted? He was firing off [Chants] in the middle of markets in the Downs!”
Clay nearly protested that accusation. He’d been careful about ambushing his targets in alleyways or isolated buildings; his main worry had been avoiding getting anyone hurt, but it had contained most of the fights. Not that they had lasted long anyway—his bonuses from [Ambusher], [Unseen], and [Paragon], combined with the sheer advantage the element of surprise had given him, most of the ‘fights’ had been over in heartbeats.
“Property was damaged. Citizens were concerned.” Richard shrugged. “I see no reason to set that charge aside.”
Sir Mark grumbled something under his breath. “As if the [Knaves] weren’t already disrupting things.”
Marissa gave the man a glare. “Weren’t you complaining about his actions before, Sir Mark?”
“Likely because he envied him, Syr Marissa.” The humor in Sir Richard’s voice was as unexpected as it was effective; both Mark and Evan chuckled, and some of the tension leaked from the room. “Are there any objections?”
None of the adventurers raised their hand, and Clay felt a small sinking feeling undermine his righteous outrage. He’d gotten out of two charges, but what would the consequences be for the third?
“All in favor of sustaining the charge?” Evan’s eyes flickered with satisfaction as every hand was raised. “Good. Master Archivist, what is the punishment?”
Sir Bartholomew thought for a moment and nodded. “Restriction from the city for no less than six weeks. Additional duties as determined by their instructors during that time.”
Alia spoke up. “I propose we extend it to eight weeks. To encourage… a more respectful tone.”
There were nods all around the Council, and Clay tried to console himself with the fact that it could have been far, far worse. He didn’t exactly think he was going to miss going into the city anyway—the place was just too crowded and smelly for him to be comfortable—but he had a bad idea about what kind of additional duties would be waiting for him after the meeting.
Sir Evan sat back in relief, his face showing a mixture of satisfaction and fatigue. “Good. Now, do we have any other business with this initiate?”
“Yes.” The Council looked over at Sir Richard in surprise, and the Councilor smiled. “Syr Marissa asked a question earlier, if Sir Clay’s actions were appropriate for an initiate. I agree they do not fit what we would have expected from a lower ranked member of our Guild. They do, however, fit something we could hope for in our cadets. As such, I propose that we immediately advance Sir Clay to that rank within the Guild.”
A moment of surprise followed. Then Sir Mark snorted. “That might seem like we’re rewarding him for his insolence, Sir Richard.”
“And encouraging others to try to bypass the cadet’s trial this way, as well.” Syr Alia shook her head. “I’d almost recommend that we forbid him from taking that tomorrow, given his attitude.”
“What is the cadet’s trial, Syr Alia?” Sir Richard shrugged. “We pit our initiates against one another, and those who win three times in five progress. Sir Clay fought against eight adventurers yesterday, one at a time, and beat them. I see little difference.”
Marissa shook her head. “He took them from ambush, Sir, in case you forgot.”
“Which showed appropriate wisdom, I’d say.” Sir Bartholomew had raised his eyebrows, looking over at Richard with an impressed expression. “If we did allow him to take the trial tomorrow, is there any doubt he’d pass? Perhaps we can spare our poor initiates the opportunity to be humiliated, and acknowledge his skill in the process.”
Alia frowned, but she nodded. “A good point, Master Archivist. It may also give him enough extra work to… discourage future problems from him.”
“Next you’ll all be talking about granting him advancement to journeyman!” Syr Marissa threw up her hands in frustration. “Does nobody remember what he was saying just moments ago?”
Sir Richard nodded. “I remember, Syr Marissa. I think the more important question is if his words struck us as true.” He turned to look at Sir Evan. “Which I believe I need to think more on. That alone makes me reluctant to hold him back. For now, at least.”
The Guildmaster grimaced. “Very well. All in favor?”
Richard and Bartholomew raised their hands immediately. Alia followed suit a moment later, and after another moment of hesitation, the Guildmaster joined them. “Sir Clay, you are now granted the privileges, rank, and responsibilities as a cadet. Stand ready for whatever need the Guild has of you.”
Still in shock, Clay bowed deeply. “I will, Sir.”
He was still processing the results of the meeting when he got to the dining hall. The Rogue’s Gallery was already waiting for him, all looking fairly anxious. Anne was the first one to speak. “What did they say? How much trouble are you in?”
Clay fell into a chair beside Jack and Xavien and then smiled. “Well, I’ll need you guys to take care of any shopping for me the next eight weeks, and I might have a bit of extra work, but other than that, we’re good.”
The others all let out sudden breaths of relief. Smiles broke out as they looked around at each other. Natalie was the only one that still looked worried. “Are they still going to let you take the cadet’s trial tomorrow? Or have they delayed it?”
“They did us one better, actually. As of today, I’m the Guild’s newest cadet.”
There was a moment of shock, and then half of them burst out laughing. Even Jack clapped Clay on the shoulder and grinned; Lawrence rubbed his hands over his face and blinked, as if trying to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. Clay gave them a few moments to celebrate the event, quietly swiping a bit of bread from Anne’s plate for the sake of irony, and then leaned forward.
“So. It looks like part one of the plan is done. Now we just have to get through parts two and three. We can start on the training for you guys tomorrow. How long do I need to wait for the trial to advance to journeyman?”
Xavien shrugged. “It’ll probably be a few weeks at least, so there’s plenty of time. Luckily, it sounds like you are still on good terms with the Council.”
Clay blinked. “Why do you say that?”
“The trial for journeyman’s a little different than the one for cadet or initiate. You have to win a challenge of some kind, but you also have to receive approval from the Council as a whole.” Natalie had started back in on her food, as had most of the others. It was fortunate; Clay wasn’t completely sure that he’d managed to avoid the look of horror on his face.
Jack laughed a little around a mouthful of chicken. “Yeah, that would have been bad otherwise. Someone who’s on the bad side of the Council is going to spend a long time as a cadet. I heard of one guy that was stuck at that rank for three years until some of the Council members left or died. Good thing you aren’t in that position.”
Clay nodded, thinking back over the Council meeting. “Yeah. Right.”