“At least some drops for the eyes,” Orata said. “Just for the optics.”

“What’s wrong with my eyes?”

“They’re bloodshot,” I told him.

Kosandion hadn’t slept for almost forty-eight hours. The night before last he dealt with Vercia’s betrayal. We’d gone to sleep close to 2:00 am, and he was still awake. When I had gotten up 2 hours later to deal with the latest Dushegub caper, he hadn’t gone to bed. Last night was the same. Orata had let it slip that the Conservative Alliance was proving to be a thornier issue than anticipated. Other political factions had entered the fray, and things became “a little complicated.”

Kosandion had paced a few times during the night because it helped him think, and Gertrude Hunt woke both Sean and me up every time he moved too much, which was why the two of us decided to join him for the morning briefing.

I read somewhere that lack of sleep was cumulative. After this event was over, and we got Wilmos back, I would sleep for a week. Unlike Kosandion, I couldn’t stay up for 48 hours straight without some chemical help.

Kosandion held out his hand. Orata jumped up, put a small vial into his fingers, and went back to her seat. The Sovereign put two drops into each eye and firmly set the vial on the table.

Resven approached, picked up a dish with one of Orro’s beautiful muffins on it, and held it out to Kosandion as if he were a two year old.

“Please take a bite, Letero.”

Kosandion just looked at him.

“Sleep or food,” Miralitt said. “You must have at least one.”

Kosandion picked up a muffin and took a small bite. “Let’s move on to the ratings.”

Orata looked like she’d bitten into a lemon. “Surkar is leading across all categories with an average of 17 points.”

Kosandion chewed his muffin. “Of course he is.”

“It’s that damn show.” Orata waved her arms.

“What show?” Sean asked.

She glanced at Kosandion. He nodded.

Orata tapped her tablet and tilted the holographic screen toward us. On it a panoramic shot of a battlefield rushed toward the viewer, following a bird of prey that swooped down over the field. Bodies in armor littered the bloody ground. Here and there, individual duels still raged, the fighters tripping over corpses. The view zeroed in on a large warrior in antique Dominion armor. He climbed over a hill of the dead to a rock jutting from the bodies. Atop the rock, another fighter splattered with blood roared, brandishing a spear.

The challenger made it to the rock and ripped off his damaged breastplate, revealing a shockingly muscular chest. Miralitt raised her eyebrows.