Priest called Mercer into his private chamber on a cold morning in early winter, the kind of meeting that carried weight before a single word was spoken. Mercer found the older man seated near a modest fire, looking smaller somehow than he had during years of commanding council sessions with his gravel voice and unshakable authority.
"Sit," Priest said. "I have something to discuss that requires privacy."
Mercer settled into the offered chair, studying his old adversary and turned ally carefully. "You look tired."
"I am tired. More tired than I've admitted publicly these past months." Priest's hands, Mercer noticed, carried a slight tremor they hadn't held a year earlier. "I'm stepping down from the regent's chair, Mercer. My health isn't what it once was, and this city deserves leaders
