Sweep of the Heart

19

When we last left our fearsome innkeeper duo, Sean had taken down the pirate vessel that attacked the inn’s branch reaching out to the planet of Kolinda. But mysteries remain: how did they know that Gertrude Hunt had a door leading to the planet and where it was? What was their motive? Who is the pirate prince masquerading as one of the candidates? Stay tuned to find out. Maybe.

I opened my eyes. The slanted ceiling above me was shrouded in gloom except for a narrow rectangle of moonlight coming through the top of the window. The clock on the wall told me it was just past one. We’d gone to bed thirty minutes ago, after locking everyone in.

“What is it?” Sean asked.

“Caldenia.”

There was a tiny pause as he checked where she was. “How the hell…?”

“Gaston or Tony.”

My money was on Gaston. I had given both of them temporary privileges to open doors to guest quarters, because we needed all of the manpower we could get, and they ended up escorting various groups of guests back and forth. As the first, the longest, and the most special guest of the inn, Caldenia had access to all common areas and could roam freely, but it would have taken either Gaston or Tony to unlock the doors to the otrokar delegation’s quarters and let her in there.

I got up. “She’s been in there for twenty minutes. I’m going to get her.”

“I’ll go.”

“I’ve got it.” I leaned over and kissed him. “Rest. You’ve done plenty. I need to talk to her anyway.”

“We should lock her in,” he grumbled.

“She would be mortally offended.”

I got up, took my robe off the hook, and slipped it on. Nobody needed to know that I was wearing only underwear and a tank top underneath. Finding my sandals seemed too hard, so I stuck my feet into a pair of flowery Crocs Sean kept making fun of, took my broom, and headed to the otrokar section.

I had made the otrokar quarters for the peace summit that freed Sean from being Turan Adin. At the time, it housed the Khanum, who was Dagorkun’s mother, and her delegation. All otrokar tribes had similar requirements: private bedrooms for the leaders and the shaman, communal bedrooms for the warriors, a large common area with a sunken fire pit, and a secondary meeting area with another fire pit, where the leaders could hold private meetings. Tailoring the rooms to the current otrokar delegation took ten minutes. I had adjusted the colors to reflect the Southern sensibilities, added another bedroom, and called it a day.

At this time of night most of the otrokars would be in the common area, probably playing dice or telling stories before going to sleep. The Hope Crushing Horde had robust oral traditions, born at the time when their nomadic tribes traversed their homeworld following the seasonal rains. They would ride their vicious savok mounts all day and then camp, cook their food by the fire, and recount stories of heroes from long-gone ages.

The modern Horde warriors rarely grilled their meals over an open flame, although they tried to do it every chance they got, and the skies above them usually shone with unfamiliar stars, but some traditions remained sacred. The same stories that had once echoed over the plains of the ancestral planet were now told in the hulls of massive spaceships on the way to their next interstellar conquest.

I swept the quarters with my senses. As expected, most of the group was in the common area, but two beings chose a more private setting, on the balcony overlooking the orchard. One of them was Caldenia. The other was…Surkar, the otrokar’s spousal candidate.

I approached from the orchard side. I had put a barrier in place, so the otrokars could view the orchard, but they couldn’t jump down into it. I had no such limitations. The barrier slid over me like it wasn’t even there, and I paused in the shadows, directly under the stone balcony. I had gotten poisoned on this balcony and almost died, and then Sean had sold himself into eternal servitude to the Merchants to save me. Fun times.

A fire burned in the pit above me. The inn had a strained relationship with fire, and it was acutely aware of the small knot of heat and flames. The night breeze brought a faint scent of red tea. The Khanum preferred wanla, a stronger, coarser version she’d called “poor people’s tea,” but this smelled like a more refined, expensive variety.

Caldenia was talking in a low voice. The last time she had used that tone, a Draziri warrior betrayed his commander and tried to murder him in the middle of the battle.

Gertrude Hunt offered me a branch. I stepped on it and the inn lifted me up, dissolving the seemingly solid stone above my head. I rose out of the balcony like a wraith.

The balcony had no lamps. The illumination came from the fire pit and the soft light of the common room behind it. Her Grace sat half in shadow, flames dancing over her face, and sipped her tea from an ornate clay cup. She had abandoned the elaborate evening gowns in favor of her Earth clothes: a pair of gray jeans, white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket, which was entirely too warm considering the lingering heat.

She almost never wore anything like that. In fact, I was sure these were the only jeans she owned, because I bought them for her years ago when she came to the inn, and I had never seen them since. Even when she visited with her friends from the subdivision across the street, she usually chose a dress. She must’ve felt the rugged nature of the jeans would make the right statement to Surkar.

To her left, Surkar wore a kilt, soft boots, and nothing else, letting the light of the fire highlight what he believed to be the galaxy’s best chest. Sean’s was better.

Caldenia’s tone was sardonic and slightly bitter. “…His father was the same. Let’s just say that their deductive powers leave much to be desired. Some people simply must be confronted with the obvious.”

Surkar nodded, his face thoughtful. The two of them were completely at ease, two conspirators murmuring over the fire.

Lingering here any longer would be eavesdropping.

“Your Grace,” I said.

Surkar jerked. That’s right, fear my stealthy ways.

“Alas, my babysitter has arrived.” Caldenia set her cup down. “I suppose you’ve come to fetch me to my rooms?”

“You’re free to access all common areas of the inn at any time, Your Grace. However, that privilege doesn’t extend to the private rooms of other guests.”

“She was invited,” Surkar said, his voice hard.

“Be that as it may, visiting hours are over for everyone’s safety.”

“She is welcome to stay as long as she wishes,” the otrokar said.

“Don’t fuss, dear. I will go.” Caldenia rose. “Rules are rules, after all. I’ll leave you with this parting thought: strength begets strength. If you desire something, make it known. Reach out and seize it.”

Surkar nodded as if he heard something profound. Caldenia, the Tony Robbins of the galaxy.

Her Grace fixed me with a look and sighed. “Lead the way.”

I pushed with my magic. A staircase sprouted from the balcony leading into the orchard. Caldenia took it. I followed her, dissolving the stairs behind us.

We walked down the flagstone path through the orchard gardens. The moon had hidden behind a cloud, and the darkness leeched colors from the plants, painting the flower beds in a dozen shades of black, charcoal, and hunter green. I sent a pulse down the path. Cream-colored globes ignited next to it, illuminating the stone just enough to see.

“Is my nephew awake?” Caldenia asked.

I checked. “Yes.”

She sighed. “I may have to speak to our lovely chef. Kosandion will sleep very little for the next few weeks. He will need enhanced nutrition.”

“Why?”

“Because of Odikas, of course.”

“I thought it was settled.” Kosandion already won.

She gave me a short laugh. “Oh no, my dear. Removing Odikas was only the opening salvo. Now the real fight begins.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Power abhors a vacuum. With Odikas gone, the members of his Conservative Alliance will scramble to climb onto his now-empty throne, shoving and kicking each other out of the way. This is a gambit years in the making. The boy planned it beautifully and executed it well, but now he must maneuver pieces on the game board to push the right candidate to the top without anyone realizing they have been manipulated.”

Oh.

“My money is on Senator Dulvia of Tar. She is aggressive and power-hungry. Of all of them, she wants it the most, yet she’s shrewd enough to realize that she is the least qualified for it. That sense of hidden inferiority is priceless. If she ascends, she’ll spend years stomping out any opposing factions in the conservative block. She will go after anyone brighter than her to destroy the competition before it has a chance to blossom into a threat. By the time she consolidates her power base, Kosandion will have everything in place to steer her in the direction of his choosing, and the Conservative Alliance overall will be weaker, less creative, and easier to handle. Dina, you have a strange expression on your face.”

“I’m relieved that I am who I am.”

“And not my niece?” Caldenia smiled.

“Yes.”

“You are a child of innkeepers. You were born into this life, and your every experience contributed to your education. By the time you reached adulthood, you were an expert innkeeper. Kosandion and I were born to be fit to rule well. I do not mean this in a pompous way of entitlement. I mean it as a statement of fact. We were genetically enhanced with a careful selection of traits that made us capable administrators and nuanced leaders. We were educated in the way of governance from the moment we opened our eyes. We are highly specialized, skilled workers, bred for the purpose of leading interstellar nations, and we have an added incentive of painful death in case of failure that drives us to excel.”

“The responsibility must be crushing.”

Caldenia sighed. “It is, at times. But then this is what we do. And let’s face it, tearing down your enemies is a great deal of fun. You are a picture of restraint, but a part of you enjoys flexing your power when the occasion requires. Kosandion is much the same. An embodiment of self-discipline and decorum until it’s time to stab and rip the still-beating heart out of the chest of his enemy. It’s just that his stabs take a great deal of work and much preparation.”

The boy planned it beautifully… There wasn’t just admiration in her voice. There was familial pride.

“I have some bad news for Kosandion,” I said.

Caldenia stopped. “How bad?”

I paused. We’d come to an intersection of several paths, where they joined into a round patio.

“Politically difficult.”

“Tell me.”

I did.

Midway through, Caldenia started pacing. It was a violent movement, fueled by rage. She’d picked up a small branch somewhere, about the width of my finger, and she flicked her thumbnail across it as she walked back and forth, slicing perfect little sections off with each slide of her thumb. She was like the proverbial caged tiger, flicking her tail, looking for an opening.

I finally finished.

“You must tell him now.”

“I was planning to tell him in the morning.”

She stopped and glared at me. “No. Now. The sooner he knows, the better. I realize you have no obligation to share this information, and your innkeeper’s duty is to let him rest, but it is a matter of his political survival. Do this for me, please.”

“Okay,” I told her.

“Right now.”

“Right now,” I promised. “Do you want to come?”

“No. It is best that I interact with him as little as possible. But tell him this: Olivio teseres tares. He will know what it means.”

I knocked on the door leading to the Sovereign’s quarters. Next to me Sean looked alert and fresh-faced, as if he’d had a full night of sleep instead of 30 minutes.

“Enter,” Kosandion called.

The door slid open, and we did. The Sovereign looked up from the transparent screen in front of him. Nothing changed in his face or posture, but somehow it became instantly clear that he knew an emergency had occurred and was ready for it.

Sean placed the data cube in front of him. I pulled two chairs out of the floor. We sat. A moment later the floor parted, and a small table grew like a mushroom, holding a carafe of coffee, three mugs, and an assortment of creamers and sugars.

“Coffee?” I asked.

Kosandion didn’t seem to have heard me.

Sean poured two mugs, one for him, one for me. Sometimes coffee was truly a life-saver.

The results of Cookie’s fact-gathering appeared on the screen. Reports, video footage, testimonies… Ten minutes into it, Kosandion stood up, walked over to our table, poured himself a cup of coffee, dumped sugar into it, and went back to the screen. His face showed no emotion, but a storm had to be brewing inside. The Muterzen pirate had barely covered his tracks. Everything in his dossier indicated that long-term planning and attention to detail never made it into his bag of tricks. He was impulsive and careless. His assumed identity might have passed a superficial check, but the top candidates were rigorously vetted. The moment Kosandion’s people started to dig, the warning bells would’ve gone off.

If it was negligence or incompetence, the blow would’ve been bad enough. Kosandion would look like a fool who was unable to hire the right staff and properly supervise them. An inept leader who allowed a notorious criminal accused of monstrous atrocities to come within one step of becoming a parent of the Dominion’s next ruler.

Sadly, it wasn’t just incompetence. It was much worse.

Cookie’s briefing ran its course, and the recording of Sean vs Pirate Cruiser rolled on the screen. Kosandion viewed this grand epic with the same dispassionate expression. His own private view of Kolinda was directed at a different section of the ocean. If he had been out on the balcony during the attack, he might have seen some flashes to his far right, but the void field ensured that he would’ve heard nothing.

On the screen Sean tore into the pirate vessel.

Kosandion’s eyebrows rose a millimeter.

The cruiser broke in half.

“Once Clan Nuan started digging, the pirates realized that their prince’s cover was about to be blown,” Sean said. “Since we cut off all communications between the candidates and the rest of the galaxy, they couldn’t warn him. They chose to attack the inn. Entering our solar system wasn’t an option, so they opted for Kolinda. If the inn functioned like a typical hotel full of VIPs and was equipped with a portal, as soon as the attack began, the guests would have been immediately evacuated. The pirate prince is a scumbag, but he isn’t stupid. The Muterzen crew counted on him putting two and two together and slipping away in the chaos.”

“Whoever fed them the intel about Gertrude Hunt does not understand how the inns operate,” I added.

Kosandion leaned back and studied both of us. “There is more?”

Yes, there was.

Sean put a small dark crystal onto the table in front of Kosandion. “Their log.”

Somehow, in the middle of all that killing, Sean had paused long enough to retrieve the cruiser’s log. It showed the entirety of their communications, every incoming and outgoing message, and all their maneuvering. I’d been thinking about it, and I was pretty sure that getting that log was the reason he’d launched himself at the spaceship in the first place.

“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?”

Resven opened his mouth. Kosandion tapped his armrest with his index finger, and the chancellor’s jaw clicked shut.

“You pursued me,” Kosandion said. “I agreed to meet with you to discuss it. I was honest with you, and you assured me that what I offered was enough. You were not forced. As I recall, you were enthusiastic.”

A muscle jerked in Vercia’s face. Her control slipped. Caldenia would’ve never allowed herself a lapse like that.

“Before we slept together, I was a rising star,” she squeezed out. “After, I became an incompetent fool who had access to the Sovereign for 5 months and failed to garner any political advantage from it. You’ve turned me into a laughingstock. When Parseon and you were over, he became a Third Rank Minister.”

“That promotion was in place before their relationship started,” Resven said. “Minister Parseon petitioned to delay his confirmation, because his duties would preclude him from visiting the Capital for the first two years. You can find the record of it in the governmental archives in Section—”

“Oh, shut up.” Vercia grimaced. “It’s too late to play nursemaid to the orphan, Resven. Your little boy is fully grown. He is capable of speaking for himself.”

“You’re an uncultured woman. You bring shame to your family,” the chancellor spat out.

“Not for much longer. Soon my family and everyone in the Dominion will know that brushing me aside comes with a price.”

I had many partners over the years, male, female, humanoid and not, yet none of them remain by my side. Poor Kosandion.

Vercia tossed her hair back with an impatient jerk of her head. “Let’s cut to the chase. You can do nothing to me. I’ve covered my tracks, and you have no proof. Only the accusation of incompetence might stick, and once this beautiful mess becomes public, everyone will see my actions for exactly what they were: a deep, calculated stab to the heart. My career will soar, while you’ll nurse your wound and try to recover some semblance of respect in the public eye.”

“A pirate,” Kosandion said. “A despicable criminal. You allowed him to enter the selection and then you passed confidential information to his associates, endangering everyone here. Do you even know what he has done?”

She smiled. “Every single bit of it. Mass murder, rape, slavery. He has done everything a man can do when he’s given weapons, fast craft, and money without any strings of moral guidance. He is reviled even by his peers. That’s why I picked him. It had to be sickening, Kosandion, otherwise it wouldn’t have the necessary impact. I’ve dropped enough hints to the right people. Go ahead. Try to hide it. It will explode in your face. Every gory detail of his atrocities will be splashed over the Dominion’s screens. The tower of your pitiful arrogance brought down low in one swift cut. I’ll cherish it.”

Orata took a step forward. “I can fix it.”

Kosandion glanced at her.

“Please, Letero. She is my subordinate. Let me fix it.”

Kosandion considered it. “You have till tomorrow’s elimination.”

Orata nodded, her face sharp, and tapped her earpiece. “Selerian, wake everyone. Yes, everyone.”

Kosandion turned his head slightly. Miralitt nodded to the guards. “Confine Public Servant Denoma.”

“On what grounds?” Vercia demanded.

“Breach of protocol. Failure to greet the Sovereign, failure to call the Sovereign by title, and interfering with a Public Servant with intent to disrupt his duties.”

“What?” Vercia drew back.

“The Office of Chancellor is responsible for maintaining the record of the Sovereign’s life and must provide that record on demand to public,” Miralitt said. “You accused a public official of improper conduct in front of the Sovereign, which constitutes a demand for information. Chancellor Resven is duty-bound to immediately disclose where that information can be found. By telling him to shut up, you prevented him from performing his duty, which constitutes suppression.”

“That’s absurd!”

“Take her out,” Miralitt said.

The guards marched Vercia back to the portal. I watched them vanish into the glow.

“Dismissed,” Kosandion said.

Orata and Miralitt left the room, the PR chief all but running to the portal and the security chief heading to her quarters. It was only Kosandion, Resven, Sean, and me.

Kosandion’s expression cracked. An emotion twisted his face, a mix of resignation, dull ache, and deep intense loneliness. A bitter fatalistic acceptance.

The older man knelt in front of Kosandion and took his hands in his. “I am so sorry, Letero. So sorry.”

Sean took my hand. We withdrew quietly and went upstairs to our bedroom. We took off our robes, and then I crawled into bed next to Sean and hugged him. I didn’t want to feel alone.

Sean wrapped his arm around me. For a little while I lay awake, reassured that we were okay by the warmth of his body, and then I slipped into my dreams.