Sweep of the Heart (Innkeeper Chronicles #5)(45)

“Dramatic,” Kosandion murmured.

“Vampires often are. One time they visited this inn in secret, but they still had to introduce themselves, so they forcefully whispered their house creed at me.”

Kosandion smiled.

Bestata reached the orbs and planted her hand on one of them without hesitation. It burst, and the glittering swarm veered to the Dushegubs and settled on Unessa’s hair like a crown.

“Nice touch,” Kosandion approved.

“Thank you.”

Unessa sashayed her way to the arena floor. She wore a brilliant green gown that moved with every step, giving hints of the pale skin underneath.

“I pose the following question for your consideration,” the First Scholar announced. “What is the purpose of your existence and why is your purpose superior to your opponent’s? You have one hundred moments to consider your an—”

“Procreation!” Unessa said. She turned to look at Kosandion and smiled.

Bestata stared at her for a stunned second and looked at the First Scholar. “I am supposed to debate that?”

“Do your best,” the First Scholar told her.

“There are other things besides procreation. Devotion, the pursuit of personal excellence, learning, gaining expertise, passing it on to next generation.”

Knowing the First Scholar, that answer earned Bestata all the brownie points. She was talking about martial prowess, and he was thinking in terms of academic wisdom, but knowledge was knowledge.

“Honor,” Bestata continued. “Pride in accomplishments. The glory of your house. A death that would be remembered. All of these are more important than simple copulation and reproduction.”

Unessa smiled. She was likely going for sweet, but there was a rotten edge to it. She looked slightly reptilian, like a lizard about to snatch a grub.

“And if your people stopped breeding, who would do all those things?”

“My people haven’t stopped breeding for thousands of years. It is an instinct. I do realize you’ve been brought up by logs but do try to think less like a stump.”

Ouch.

A long shoot slithered out from the large Dushegub in the front row of their section.

Bestata kept going. “It is unfortunate that you have been raised for the sole purpose of trapping a male with your looks, but you don’t have to be just pretty fruit on the vine.”

She was killing it with puns.

The shoot coiled on itself in a tight spiral.

“At least I’m pretty,” Unessa said.

“Thank the gods for that,” Bestata snarled. “Nature had to give you something to compensate for your boiled egg brain.”

The shoot snapped out, launching a projectile into the air. Sean and I moved at the same time.

A pit appeared in the middle of the arena floor, sucking the projectile into itself. Long flexible tentacles erupted from inside the pit, grabbed the Dushegub, wrapped him up like a mummy, and pulled him into the hole.

The arena went silent.

A single breath passed, and then the stands erupted.

The Donkamins made a weird ululating noise. The otrokar stomped their feet. House Meer stood up and clapped, roaring. The oombole section turned into a 4th of July fireworks show with colors and fins flashing in a dizzying display.

The Dushegubs hissed and creaked in unison. Unessa wrinkled her nose and hissed at Bestata. The vampire knight sneered and bared her spectacular fangs.

Sean slid the pit toward the killer trees, the tentacles hovering straight up, waiting to snatch the next troublemaker.

I rolled my voice through the arena. I didn’t scream, I didn’t raise it, but it sounded loud, and it was everywhere.

“No interference with the trials will be tolerated.”

The Dushegubs fell silent.

The First Scholar spread his wings, calling for silence. When the arena complied, he leaned forward and spoke to Unessa. “Do you have a rebuttal?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t told I had to bring one with me.”

Bestata spread her arms and looked around at the audience.

“Very well,” the First Scholar said. “This debate is concluded.”

Unessa raised her chin and shot a triumphant look at the Dushegubs.

“You didn’t win, idiot!” someone yelled from the otrokar section.

Kosandion covered his face with his hand, hiding his expression.

Unessa turned toward the First Scholar.

“While crudely voiced, the assessment is undeniably accurate,” he told her. “Neither of you will be the winner of this debate.”

She spun on her heel and marched back to her section, her hands clenched into fists.

Neither Unessa nor Bestata seemed likely to assassinate Kosandion. Subtlety wasn’t their strong suit. If either of those two targeted the Sovereign, it would be a direct assault. The way he spoke about it suggested a cunning hidden enemy.

“Instead of attacking the question, the knight attacked her opponent,” Resven said.

“She holds her in contempt,” Miralitt said.

Resven raised his eyebrows, but Miralitt didn’t elaborate.

Kosandion glanced at me. He was Caldenia’s nephew, so he knew perfectly well why Bestata reacted the way she did, but he wanted a public explanation. Perhaps it was for the viewers at home.

“The Holy Anocracy prizes personal excellence,” I told them. “They strive for a life of individual achievement. Bestata had to train and fight since she could walk. She knows she can kill Unessa in individual combat without even raising her heart rate. Now she also knows that Unessa’s thinking is underdeveloped. From her point of view, the Dushegub candidate is a useless, pretty thing unworthy of her sincere effort. She refused to dignify her with an actual debate.”