"Good morning," she said, the words coming out with a light, mocking lift at the end that made his ears turn red.
Soren squinted at the window, his eyes watering against the brightness of the glass. "What time is it?"
"Late," she said, her thumb sliding under the edge of the parchment to turn the leaf.
"How late, Eris?"
"Aldric came by," she said casually, not looking up from the old script. "About two hours ago, I think. He had a bundle of leather folders that looked like they had been dragged through a pond, and he was making that sour face he always makes when the stable-boys haven't cleaned his stirrups."
Soren's hand went to his forehead, his fingers rubbing the deep crease between his brows. "You should have woken me. The western mail comes before the third hour, and the tribunal—"
"You have not slept past the dawn since after the long dark came to an end," Eris said, her voice turning flat and firm as she dropped the book onto her lap to look him straight in the eyes.
