Trevalian sat at the head of the war table and all he could think about was his mug of coffee that was growing cold. He'd come in from the chill of the evening and now that same chill was revisiting him here. Instead of comfort, each sip brought a wince and labored swallow, bearing the cold bitterness for the sake of the stimulation it gave him.
In many ways his drink mirrored the room.
"We can't take a fight in our current state," Priya said. She was standing across the table from Trevalian, wearing her usual plate armor with her helmet under her arm. Come to think of it, had he ever seen her out of the armor? Did she sleep in it?
Click through to read more...