Chapter Twenty-TwoA rough hand jostled Sevrin's sleeping form. “Father! Father, wake up!”
Sevrin's eyes, creased with fatigue and age, fluttered open to behold his son scowling down at him. “I'm awake, Sacco,” he grumbled, rising to a sitting position. “How late is it?”
Sacco's countenance softened. “Close to high dark. Sorry to disturb you, but there are still matters that require your attention.”
Sevrin swung his legs off his bed, yawning. He'd been so exhausted from the day's events, he hadn't even bothered to remove his boots. He swept his unkempt mane of long, silver hair away from his face, meeting his son's gaze. “Has the King arrived?”
“Not yet.” Sacco scratched at his short beard. “But the flow of people fleeing Ghaldyn seems to have slowed.”
Sevrin glanced at his desk, upon
