Sweep of the Heart (Innkeeper Chronicles #5)(108)

“That girl is her mother’s daughter,” Caldenia murmured.

I looked at her.

“Her mother always planned long-term. She does as well. It is a common belief that one cannot build a foundation for a successful society in Progress without going through at least a brief period of slavery in the early stages of the game. When the civilization is in its infancy, the wars with small settlements provide a steady stream of captives, the level of technology and education is low, and large fortifications and a steady food supply are critical. Slavery is the most efficient answer.”

“Slavery should never be the answer.”

“Wexyn shares your view. She sidestepped it with her tiered citizenship system. It requires a very deep understanding of the game. Only one other high-profile player employed this strategy, and he could only make it work half of the time.”

“Who was he?”

Caldenia pursed her lips. “Kosandion’s father.”

Oh. Her entire strategy was a tribute. As obsessed as the Dominion was with this game, they wouldn’t miss it. Kosandion wouldn’t miss it either.

I glanced at Kosandion. He was studying the screen, seemingly deeply immersed in it.

“Unlike some, she has talent.” Caldenia stared at Amphie as if she were a worm. “A poor showing for the Dominion.”

“And the last of the four is Amphie of Behoun!”

Amphie’ s name appeared in the bottom row. She had the foundation for a successful state, but the war with Bestata had drained every bit of wealth from her coffers and demoralized her population. She had beaten Bestata by 24 points on the strength of her cultural achievements but lost to Oond by 7. She was staring at the screens now with a kind of strange slack expression.

“This is the non-interfering part, I’m guessing,” Sean murmured through the earpiece.

My pulse sped up. “Keep him alive, please.”

“Dina,” Her Grace said, urgency vibrating in her voice. “Whatever is about to happen will either weaken Kosandion’s position or make it uncontestable. If you resolve it for him, you will take away his victory. Promise me.”

“What if he dies?”

“Then he’s not fit to sit on that throne.”

Gertrude Hunt and I were bound. Losing the inn would rip out my heart. But I would still have Sean. I loved him more than anything. Caldenia loved her nephew. For his safety, she had sacrificed everything but her life, and even that was barely kept and had been forever changed. Kosandion knew an assassin was after him. He must have made arrangements, because he had reached out to the Innkeeper Assembly in advance. Caldenia wouldn’t risk his life unless she had confidence in his preparations.

It went against everything I was taught.

But Sean was with Kosandion. The small mountain supporting the throne was basically a triangle set on its side, with the slope facing the stage. The top of the triangle, where the throne was placed, was 20 feet above the stage. The bottom of the triangle, just like the bottom of the stage, was hidden in my fake clouds. Horizontally, 15 feet of clear space separated the stage from the slope. An attacker would have to clear these 15 feet, then run up the 30-foot-long slope, bypassing both Resven and Miralitt, and only then would they be within striking distance. That would give both Sean and Kosandion all the time in the world to prepare.

“Do this for me, and I will never forget it,” Caldenia said. “I’ve spent years planning to secure him on his throne. Please don’t let it fall apart now.”

She said things like that a lot lately. “Fine. I will sit on my hands.”

I hoped I wouldn’t regret it.

Caldenia took my hand, squeezed, and let go.

Wow.

“I lost,” Amphie said, her microphone-amplified voice echoing across the arena. “I lost to a fish.”

That was uncalled for.

Prysen Ol was looking at Amphie. She turned her head slowly. Their stares connected.

The philosopher sprinted across the stage toward the small mountain, his eyes fixed on Kosandion on his throne.

In the observers’ section six seats away from me, Tomato jumped to his feet and vomited a pearlescent orb the size of a basketball. The orb streaked toward the throne.

I clamped the green-bear-alien into a vise of Gertrude Hunt’s roots. They couldn’t blame me for securing him. He was an active danger to the observers.

Prysen Ol leaped. He didn’t jump, he flew as if he had wings, shooting a full thirty feet up toward the Sovereign in a sharp diagonal line. A human being could not do this.

Sean activated a barrier around the Kai section.

Prysen reached the maximum height and streaked through the air toward Kosandion on a collision course with the orb. Was this levitation? What the hell was this? I could just snatch him right out of the air… Argh!

Prysen’s right hand snapped out toward the orb. His fingers touched it, and the orb popped like a soap bubble, releasing a coiled whip. Before it could fall, Prysen snatched it out of the air and swung it. The whip whistled, spinning in a wide arc crackling with red lightning.

A whip-sword. Made not out of leather, rubber, or paracord, but of razor-sharp metallic segments connected by a glowing monofilament. Released, it was a 20-foot whip that could behead a human being in a single snap. Retracted, it became a 4-foot sword, the segments fitted together into a flexible blade.

Time slowed. Prysen was still in mid-air, defying the limits of human bodies and gravity and flying toward Kosandion in a slowly descending trajectory. The whip-sword sliced in a devastating strike. He was aiming at Kosandion’s head.