Sweep of the Heart (Innkeeper Chronicles #5)(106)

An older male vampire stepped forward. “We were promised a boon. You must grant it. Those were the conditions.”

Resven stood. “Incorrect. You were promised an ask. The conditions of the contract which you have signed clearly state that the Dominion will consider all reasonable requests. Your request is not reasonable. Such a pact would be immediately void. Furthermore, it would bring the Holy Anocracy and the Dominion into conflict.”

“That is irrelevant!” Bestata crossed her arms.

“Petulant child,” Caldenia hissed.

“Grant our request!”

Karat rose and bellowed, her voice carrying through the stands. “Enough! You dishonor us all!”

Bestata spun toward her. “If House Krahr has a grievance, let them come down here and seek redress!”

Karat’s hand went to her sword.

Sean chuckled in my ear. “Let them fight.”

Sometimes I wondered if he actually understood this whole innkeeper thing.

The portal activated. Here they are.

“Lady Karat,” I said in what she called my scary-innkeeper voice. “Take your seat.”

She glared at me.

“Another party has a prior claim.”

Nine vampires marched across the bridge to the stage, the leader in front and the rest in pairs behind her. Vampire knights grew larger and more grizzled with age, but these knights were on another level, huge, broad-shouldered in their black armor, their swirling red cloaks making them seem even larger.

Karat’s expression went slack, and she dropped into her seat. Shock slapped Bestata’s face.

The newcomers stopped as one. Their leader, an imposing middle-aged knight with dark gray skin and piercing blue eyes, stared at House Meer and raised her arm, holding a scroll in her fist.

“An order from the Warlord,” she thundered.

House Meer took a knee.

The Warlord’s herald pressed the side of the scroll with her thumb. It snapped open, unfurling, the parchment dotted with the black glyphs of the Holy Anocracy’s script signed in red by the Warlord and marked with his sigil. I tossed the video message I had received five minutes ago onto the screens. The scroll was for House Meer, the proof of an official order. The video message was for everyone.

A massive older vampire in ornate armor stared at House Meer. Menace and authority radiated from him in equal parts. This was just a recording, but there was so much power and dominance in his eyes, I felt an urge to bow my head just so I wouldn’t have to hold that gaze.

“House Meer,” the Warlord intoned. It sounded like an accusation.

House Meer collectively flinched.

“Hasten to the High Castle, so you may witness the executions of your preceptor and your marshal while I ponder the fate of your house.”

The screens went dark.

The vampires didn’t blush and typically didn’t pale. But Bestata’s face turned an odd ashen shade, as if she had instantly become deathly ill.

“She’s doomed her uncle and her aunt,” Karat whispered in awe.

“Surely she bears no responsibility?” Dagorkun said. “Her house sent her here. She was ordered to do this.”

“You don’t understand.” Karat’s face turned sad and mournful. “House Meer refused to fight on Nexus. Cowardice is a sin, therefore they were judged by the Hierophant for that transgression. She is merciful, so she excommunicated them and hoped they would heed her warning. Instead, House Meer sent Bestata here with that ridiculous demand. That is treason, and traitors are judged by the Warlord. One does not look to the Warlord for mercy. He is not a forgiving man. He watched them, and as soon as Bestata and her knights entered the inn and had their communications stopped, the Warlord must’ve seized the marshal and the preceptor of their house. Nobody could warn her. If only she knew what had happened, she could have asked for something else, and her aunt and uncle might have lived. When she uttered those inane words demanding a pact, she swung the sword that will behead them.”

The herald retracted the scroll. “Join us in our journey to High Castle.”

It didn’t sound like a request.

“Can she request sanctuary?” Dagorkun asked.

Karat shook her head. “She won’t. The fate of their marshal and preceptor is sealed, but there is still a slim chance that her house might endure. She will go to High Castle to beg for the lives of her people on her knees.”

The herald’s knights parted, forming two lines.

Bestata turned toward Sean and Kosandion. Her lips were bloodless. “Thank you for your hospitality, innkeeper.”

Sean nodded.

Bestata swallowed and strode between the two columns of the herald’s knights. Her people followed in a silent, grim line.

“The Warlord thanks Gertrude Hunt for safekeeping House Meer, so they may be in good health for their judgement,” the herald announced. “We bid you farewell.”

She turned and followed the rest of the knights across the bridge. I tracked them to the portal until they were gone.

“We will take yet another short break,” Gaston said.





26





Game Day, Game Day! Clap with us! Oond the oombole is our fish, if he can’t do it, you can only wish! Wooo! ::shakes the pompoms::





Doesn’t make sense, but it rhymes!