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... obinson."
Estov winced in sympathy. "Ah. The one with the permanently sweaty forehead."
"He woke me up," Heena said, "to tell me that the Northern Empire is sending an embassy in seven days."
Estov stared. Then slowly covered his mouth, shoulders shaking.
"Don’t," Heena warned.
A muffled snort escaped anyway. "Sorry, sorry. I just—seven days, ’middle of the night’... he really signed his own death contract, huh?"
Heena rubbed the corner of her eye ...
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