Sweep of the Heart (Innkeeper Chronicles #5)(113)

She was right but it felt so wrong.

I finished my tea. “So, what now?”

“Tomorrow all of us will meet again. I suppose the selection will be declared void, and a new selection will be announced to be held in the next 3 or so years with a fresh roster of candidates.”

“What will you do? The galaxy now knows your face. Won’t it make things difficult for you?”

She gave an elegant one-shouldered shrug. “I suppose I could change my face and my body. I’m too young to retire. But then again, perhaps I will disappear for a few years. Have an adventure while the wheels of the galaxy revolve slowly, grinding memories to dust. I don’t know yet.”

She must’ve known that this would be the outcome from the start, and yet she had done it anyway. Everything she had done from the moment she stepped into the inn until now was a love letter, written with the chiming of thin bracelets, the spin of a translucent veil, and the thrust of a razor-sharp dagger. It was exquisite. And now the message was complete. Tomorrow, she would sign it with a flourish, and they would go their separate ways. It was a farewell to Kosandion and to the girl who let him chase her across the Capital’s balconies years ago.

I rose. Beast jumped off my lap. I bowed my head to her. She bowed back. I straightened my robe and walked out of her quarters the same way I came.





27





When we last left our intrepid heroes, Lady Wexyn turned out to be the Priestess of Revenge and revealed her history with Kosandion. But he will never marry her, because she is entirely too dangerous to have around. Oy, what a twist. Now the selection might be cancelled.





Will he get married, won’t he get married? This is ruining our emotions! Enough with the suspense already! Get on with it!





“…Conduct unbecoming an innkeeper,” Frank Copeland droned on. “That shitshow should’ve never happened.”

I resisted the urge to take a page out of Sean’s playbook and growl at the screen. The Innkeeper Assembly was perturbed by how Game Day had ended, so they’d decided to call me first thing in the morning, over Zoom of all things, and take me to task. To be fair, most of the condemnation was coming from Frank Copeland and Dawn Phillips. The two of them ran large-venue inns, Frank in California and Dawn in Alberta.

At least I wasn’t dealing with the entire Assembly, only with the seven members of the North American branch council.

“You approved this shitshow beforehand,” I pointed out. “Quote: ‘Make all reasonable efforts to accommodate the Sovereign’s wishes.’”

“Reasonable!” Dawn said. “How are two dead guests reasonable?”

“For the last time,” Brian Rodriguez recited, “Nobody died. Everyone is alive. Nobody sustained permanent injuries.”

“And we’re just supposed to believe that?” Frank demanded.

“Yes.” I sank some steel into my voice. “I am an innkeeper. My word is sufficient.”

“That remains to be seen,” Frank said.

“How about my word?”

I felt cold magic bloom behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tony’s red ad-hal robe ripple as if touched by wind.

Frank clamped his mouth shut. That just annoyed me even more. I’d been an innkeeper for years now and apparently the only way my word counted was if I had an ad-hal to back me up.

“Help,” Sean whispered in my ear. He was down in the oombole enclosure.

“Urgent?”

“Somewhat.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“What I want to know is—” Dawn started.

“Enough. This is my inn. I determine what is reasonable here. I don’t need you to hold my hand. I don’t need you to tell me how you would have handled it. Mind your own business.”

There was a moment of shocked silence.

Aiyo Iwata clapped. “Finally.”

Manuel Ordó?ez clapped as well and muttered something in Spanish under his breath. It sounded a lot like “estúpido.”

“Finally, what?” Frank demanded.

“Finally, someone shut you two up,” Aiyo said. “It is her inn. You are not her supervisor.”

“We all know why we’re having this meeting,” Brian Rodriguez said. “The two of you were contacted by the Dominion with an offer to host this selection and you passed.”

“What are you implying?” Dawn asked.

Brian leaned into his screen. “I am not implying, I’m saying it. This is sour grapes.”

“You were offered a chance to do it, you declined, she did it, and she did it well.” Magdalene Braswell crossed her arms on her chest. “You don’t get to complain about it. She went a week with twenty Dushegubs in her inn and they all left alive.”

“Oh, they can complain about it,” Aiyo said, “but it doesn’t mean the rest of us have to waste any more time listening to it.”

“I have a legitimate point!” Frank pounded his fist onto his desk.

Magdalene snorted. “Bless your heart.”

“Remind me, Frank,” Tyrone Brightwell said. “Who made you king? I didn’t vote for you.”

“Ahahaha!” Aiyo cracked up. “I see what you did there!”