Sweep of the Heart (Innkeeper Chronicles #5)(68)

“They moved into Kolinda’s orbit three Earth days ago and immediately started scanning the surface, looking for energy anomalies,” Sean said. “We maintain a protective shield over the terrace and the balcony. It gives off a slight energy signature. Since Kolinda isn’t inhabited by a sapient species and has no industry, we stood out like a sore thumb.”

“They knew the inn had a door here, on this planet,” Kosandion said.

“Not only that, but their vessel was ordered to Kolinda nine hours before the first spousal candidate entered the inn,” I said.

Kosandion’s mouth turned into a hard line.

The candidates and their delegations had no idea which inn they were going to until they arrived at Gertrude Hunt. The Dominion had insisted on secrecy.

“When that order was issued, only three people from the Dominion knew that Gertrude Hunt had a Kolinda door,” Sean said.

Kosandion himself, Miralitt, and Resven. Miralitt and Resven had come to tour the inn, and we took them to the Ocean Dining Hall. They saw Kolinda. Miralitt had asked me about it. She wanted to know if it was a weak point in our security. I gave her a detailed explanation.

A wolf stared at Kosandion through Sean’s eyes. “How much do you trust your people?”

The Sovereign’s expression turned dark. The change was so sudden, I had to fight an urge to get out of my chair and back away.

“More than two of my people knew,” he said.

He touched the screen. It pulsed with blood red.

“Who are the others?” I asked.

“Orata,” he said. “Resven gave her a summary of your inn’s capabilities and his impressions of it. One she would have shared with her staff.”

Oh.

Orata’s face appeared on the screen. Her silver-blue hair was tousled, and a wrinkle from a pillow creased her cheek.

Kosandion pulled up the pirate’s face on the screen. “Who vetted this man?”

Orata blinked, and alarm sparked in her eyes. “Vercia Denoma.”

The name landed like a Molotov cocktail, splashing the three of us with its explosive fire.

Neither Sean nor I knew much about the inner workings of the Dominion, but that name was mentioned in just about every broadcast. Vercia Denoma, a scion of a prominent Dominion family, renowned for their political and humanitarian contributions, stunning, educated, elegant. A year ago, she began a relationship with Kosandion, and seven months ago it ended. There was wild speculation that she would enter the spousal selection and equally loud disappointment when she did not. The Dominion media had given her a nickname meant to describe her unique beauty and complex charm. They called her Aalind Voun. That’s how I remembered her name. Aalind Voun translated to “Special Snowflake.”

Kosandion’s voice could have frozen a supernova. “Bring her to me.”





Vercia Denoma was a truly stunning woman. Her skin was a light taupe, and her hair was a deep shade with a touch of cinnamon, unusual for the Dominion. The pale orange gown draping her tall, slender frame complemented both. Her features were sharply cut, forceful rather than delicate, an echo of the aggressive beauty particular to the Dominion’s upper class. This same genetic pool had produced Caldenia all those decades ago, but where Her Grace was a tour de force, Vercia was an ice princess. She held herself like her spine didn’t know it could bend.

She came into the throne room behind Orata, flanked by four Capital Guardsmen in full armor. While Orata had traveled to Vercia’s home and detained her, both Resven and Miralitt caught up on the crisis. They watched her enter, Miralitt cold and unfeeling like a block of marble and Resven staring with burning hostility.

Sean and I stood to the side in our robes with the hoods up. To an outside observer, the two of us looked faceless, silent, and motionless. This drama would need to play out without interference. Strictly speaking, we shouldn’t have been here, but I had gotten paranoid about Kosandion’s safety. Sean had always been paranoid, so it worked out.

Vercia raised her head and hit Kosandion with a punishing stare. Even sitting down, Kosandion was tall, and the raised platform of his throne put him six feet above Vercia’s head. She managed to look down on him all the same.

This wouldn’t go well.

“I see you’ve finally caught on,” she said. Her voice was deep, her delivery confident. She didn’t seem even a slight bit nervous. No, she’d been looking forward to this confrontation, and now she relished it. Everything she had done was deliberate.

Kosandion had turned into a statue. He sat motionless, as if he and his throne had merged into a single entity that was the Sovereign. When he spoke, his voice was even and measured. “Why?”

“Five months, Kosandion. And here I am, in the exact same position I was prior to our liaison.” She glanced at Orata. “I should have her job. That was the least you could have done in the way of compensation.”

Orata bristled.

The Sovereign’s voice turned cold. “I wasn’t aware a relationship with me required compensation.”

“Oh please. A relationship with the Sovereign, the man who will give you an entire five percent of his attention. A man who is never available, who is absorbed in work, who makes it clear on the first encounter that he places limits on feelings. A man who explains that you’re good enough for sex and occasional casual conversations but that he will never commit to more. Whatever crumbs of his attention he doles out will be on his terms and schedule. What was that phrase you used? ‘Managing expectations to avoid misunderstandings’ and ‘incapable of a serious relationship.’ What woman wouldn’t be delighted?”