Sweep of the Heart (Innkeeper Chronicles #5)(89)

Kosandion sat very still.

There were hundreds of beings in the arena, and yet none of us existed. It was only the two of them. It was their moment, and I held my breath so I would not disturb them.





23





It’s FrInnDay again, and the Trial of Talent is over. There were smotherings done in poor taste, beautiful dancing, poetry, and harsh lessons in underestimating your opponent. One must never listen to Caldenia unless one is absolutely sure she is on their side. Was Kosandion impressed with the candidates? Did he appreciate his aunt’s schemes? After all, she did murder his father. Who knows the heart of the Sovereign? It is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, beating in a rather muscular chest. Let us see what happens.





As the delegates filed out of the arena, taking the tunnels to their respective quarters, Kosandion leaned toward me and said, “I’ve heard my aunt takes frequent walks.” I confirmed that, indeed, Her Grace enjoyed her daily stroll, to which he said, “I should like to walk as well. It’s good to stretch your legs after so much sitting.” I nodded, stepped away, reached out through the inn, found Caldenia, who was on the way to her quarters, and quietly shared Kosandion’s newfound love of moderate exercise with her.

Now Kosandion pondered the trees by our pond while I waited a few yards away, watching over him, and Caldenia, who had taken an opportunity to change clothes, was moving through the inn toward us.

Sean stepped out of the bushes. He was taking the whole “traverse through walls” thing to a new level. It was honestly easier to just use an established door, but popping out of random places appealed to him for some reason. I held out my hand, and he quietly squeezed it.

“How is Surkar?”

“Healing. I sedated him.”

“Should we worry about him retaliating?”

Sean shook his head. “He knows when he is beaten. We talked before he passed out. He is coming to terms with it.”

“I don’t understand why he opened with such a straightforward attack.”

“Because it worked for him many times before. If you give an average person a gun, and someone of Surkar’s size charges at them with a sword, most people will forget about the gun and try to get out of the way or throw their hands up to protect themselves. It takes training to overcome that instinctual response. Even if Kosandion had a shield and tried to block, the power differential is too high. Surkar would have broken the shield and Kosandion’s arm.”

“Kosandion clearly has training.”

Sean sighed. “As Surkar found out. I asked him if it ever occurred to him that a person of the Sovereign’s status, with genetic modification and unlimited resources, would have access to the best combat trainers available.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Why would he need them? He has an army and bodyguards. He doesn’t look like a fighter.’”

“The species prejudice tripped him up,” I said. “The otrokars are so specialized that you can tell at a glance who is a range fighter and who is a front-line bruiser. Kosandion looks like he’d be a strategist or a tactician at best.”

“Yes,” Sean agreed. “Surkar judges his opponents by size and what they are wearing. Vampire knights are warriors because they are large and wear armor. Kosandion doesn’t look like a warrior, and Surkar discounted him as a physical threat. In his head, he would crush Kosandion like a gnat, and then the Dominion would love him so much for it, they would force the Sovereign to take him as a spouse.”

“So Surkar was planning to beat up a man he thought was a civilian and clearly no match for him? And he thought people would love him for it?”

“Basically.”

“Doesn’t exactly portray him in the best light.”

Sean shrugged. “It was dawning on him when I left. If he’d stopped to think about it, that challenge would’ve never happened, but he hadn’t, because Caldenia filled his head with fog and nonsense. She never suggested that he challenge Kosandion. She just led him to that door, showed him the shiny world on the other side, and he jumped through it on his own.”

A door opened in the distance. Caldenia was incoming.

“Your favorite person is on the way.”

Sean made a low rumbling noise.

I shivered. “So scary.”

“Do you want me to babysit them so you can take a break?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Caldenia is more comfortable with me. I have a feeling this will be a difficult meeting.”

Caldenia rounded the bend of the path. She wore a pale gown with a trumpet silhouette and a bateau neckline that cut in a horizontal slash just under her neck. The narrow sleeves were translucent, made of fabric that resembled tulle, and a small cape fell in graceful folds from her shoulders to her knees. The metallic fabric shimmered slightly as she walked, neither pink, nor beige, nor lavender, but on the crossroads of all three. It was a conservative dress that communicated power and maturity without reading old.

It was also a style she almost never wore anymore. Her national origins echoed in it. She looked like the head of state she used to be.

The inn chimed, and we simultaneously paused. The Dushegubs had decided to pummel the walls of the Pit. Sean squeezed my hand again and marched down the path. Sean had just about enough of their acting out, and the Dushegubs were about to learn the meaning of regret.