Sweep of the Heart (Innkeeper Chronicles #5)(72)

“Nothing you can prove,” Sean said.

“No,” Dagorkun said. “What we can prove is increased emigration. Northern veterans who have bled and earned their land are cashing out and getting off planet. And now Surkar and the gang are here. Every delegation gets main and minor asks. I need to know what their asks are.”

Marais looked like he was falling asleep.

“Hector, go home,” I murmured.

He shook his head. “I just need a minute.”

Next time we hired him to do anything, I would write his work hours and mandatory downtime into a contract and make him sign it.

Karat walked out onto the porch wearing practice armor, strode to the practice rack on the grass, chose a sword, and tossed it six feet up. It spun, and she snatched it out of the air.

Dagorkun blinked.

“If Surkar is chosen as the spouse, and they ask for a military alliance between Harra and the Dominion, would the Horde go to war?” I asked.

“Yes,” Dagorkun and Sean said at the same time.

A war between the Horde and the Dominion would be catastrophic. The Office of Arbitration would want to prevent it at any cost, as much as they would want to protect the stability of the Dominion itself.

I could almost see a translucent specter of George looming over us. He must’ve wanted so much to be here, nudging things on the right track with a gentle hand, but he couldn’t.

Bestata and Gaston emerged from the kitchen. Bestata ignored the existence of our table, making sure that all of us registered that we were beneath her notice. It bordered on insulting.

Gaston invited Bestata to the grass with a flourish. The tall blonde knight strode to the practice rack.

“How old is this thing?” Karat asked, examining the sword in her hand. “They don’t make guards like this anymore.”

“Old,” I told her. “It was gifted to the innkeepers by a descendant of the Holy Anocracy’s great hero many years ago.”

Originally, I thought these weapons were a couple of centuries old, but then Maud asked me about them after she sparred with Arland. She thought the weapon set was a lot older, so when things calmed down, I dug through the Gertrude Hunt archives until I finally found a mention of it. The set was brought to Gertrude Hunt by one of my predecessors, who inherited it from a much older, now destroyed inn.

Once I figured out where the weapons came from, I immediately took the set of practice daggers from the rack and put them into a special box for my niece. Helen would flip.

Bestata condescended to look at me. “Which hero?”

I’d dealt with many vampires over my life, but none of them had sneered at me as much as Bestata had. I wasn’t sure if it was just her default expression, but there was a limit to my patience.

“Press the black dagger-shaped switch on the side,” I told her.

She examined the weapon rack. Her fingers found the switch.

A hologram of a giant dark-skinned vampire woman tore out of the rack. She wore ancient armor with ornate metal pauldrons and a cuirass sitting over the syn-armor, a style that came from a time when vampires didn’t fully trust the new technology and stubbornly held on to their metal for a century too long. A scar crossed her face, ripping through her lip. Her eyes blazed.

The vampire raised a huge axe to the sky and roared, displaying frightening fangs. Bestata and Karat shied back on pure instinct. Marais jerked awake and jumped to his feet.

“I, Sileta of House Korsa, Daughter of Lorsan and Delendine, Granddaughter of Olasard the Ripper of Souls, gift these weapons to this inn,” the vampire declared. “May the descendants of our great nation use them to better themselves during their travels. Let their weapons strike true, and let their will never falter. Let them bring death to all Mukama across stars and time!”

I sipped my coffee.

The recording vanished.

Sean looked at me.

That’s right. You thought you knew all my secrets. You haven’t even scratched the surface, buddy.

I smiled and gave him a little salute with my coffee cup.

“This is a holy relic,” Bestata hissed.

“No, it’s just a practice weapon rack with a long history,” I said. “Does Lady Emindra feel unequal to the challenge?”

Bestata glared at me. “My skills are beyond contestation.”

Karat chuckled.

“Splendid,” I said. “All of us look forward to witnessing you honor your ancestors. The spirit of Olasard’s granddaughter is watching. No pressure.”





Kosandion decided to hold the elimination in the arena.

Outside of the inn, a bright sunny day was in full swing. Inside, a late evening painted the sky above the arena with blues and purples, and in the west, a splash of brilliant pink diluted with gold gently smoldered into night. I had recorded a spectacular Texas sunset and was now projecting it on the ceiling. The air was pleasantly warm. A simulated evening breeze fanned the delegates in their seating sections.

At the south side of the arena, an enormous stone doorway opened to a short passage leading to the portal glowing with pale green light. I stood just inside of it, out of view. Gaston waited next to me. He’d chosen another space musketeer outfit, this one a deep hunter green, and he topped it off with a brimmed hat with a ridiculously fluffy black feather.

At the north end, directly opposite the doorway, a stone crag thrust from the bottom of the arena. It had two small seating sections on each side and a stone staircase that led all the way to the top, crowned with a stone throne. Behind the throne, eleven enormous banners, each representing the remaining delegations, hung from seemingly empty air, stirring gently in the breeze. There was a spot for the twelfth banner, between the second and third banners from the right, but it was obviously missing.