Morning did not bring a debate. It brought a deadline.
The faceless man, drier now and less brave, added one line he had been saving. The commissioned twins were not waiting on the moon. They were waiting on a pour. Bronze and glass, tomorrow night, dry-side counting house, after the clerks sent the yard workers home. A Salt Court go-between would stand witness so the Ledger could claim a cut if the things lived.
Seris closed her eyes.
"Then you do not have a week. You have a pour."
Sable looked at the map of the clan coast as if it had personally offended her.
"A second visit to that ground is stupid."
"A third and fourth ear walking off a table is stupider," Elizabeth said.
That was the debate. It lasted long enough to choose a team and not long enough to get comfortable.
