Sweep of the Heart

27

When we last left our intrepid heroes, Lady Wexyn turned out to be the Priestess of Revenge and revealed her history with Kosandion. But he will never marry her, because she is entirely too dangerous to have around. Oy, what a twist. Now the selection might be cancelled.

Will he get married, won’t he get married? This is ruining our emotions! Enough with the suspense already! Get on with it!

“…Conduct unbecoming an innkeeper,” Frank Copeland droned on. “That shitshow should’ve never happened.”

I resisted the urge to take a page out of Sean’s playbook and growl at the screen. The Innkeeper Assembly was perturbed by how Game Day had ended, so they’d decided to call me first thing in the morning, over Zoom of all things, and take me to task. To be fair, most of the condemnation was coming from Frank Copeland and Dawn Phillips. The two of them ran large-venue inns, Frank in California and Dawn in Alberta.

At least I wasn’t dealing with the entire Assembly, only with the seven members of the North American branch council.

“You approved this shitshow beforehand,” I pointed out. “Quote: ‘Make all reasonable efforts to accommodate the Sovereign’s wishes.’”

“Reasonable!” Dawn said. “How are two dead guests reasonable?”

“For the last time,” Brian Rodriguez recited, “Nobody died. Everyone is alive. Nobody sustained permanent injuries.”

“And we’re just supposed to believe that?” Frank demanded.

“Yes.” I sank some steel into my voice. “I am an innkeeper. My word is sufficient.”

“That remains to be seen,” Frank said.

“How about my word?”

I felt cold magic bloom behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tony’s red ad-hal robe ripple as if touched by wind.

Frank clamped his mouth shut. That just annoyed me even more. I’d been an innkeeper for years now and apparently the only way my word counted was if I had an ad-hal to back me up.

“Help,” Sean whispered in my ear. He was down in the oombole enclosure.

“Urgent?”

“Somewhat.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“What I want to know is—” Dawn started.

“Enough. This is my inn. I determine what is reasonable here. I don’t need you to hold my hand. I don’t need you to tell me how you would have handled it. Mind your own business.”

There was a moment of shocked silence.

Aiyo Iwata clapped. “Finally.”

Manuel Ordóñez clapped as well and muttered something in Spanish under his breath. It sounded a lot like “estúpido.”

“Finally, what?” Frank demanded.

“Finally, someone shut you two up,” Aiyo said. “It is her inn. You are not her supervisor.”

“We all know why we’re having this meeting,” Brian Rodriguez said. “The two of you were contacted by the Dominion with an offer to host this selection and you passed.”

“What are you implying?” Dawn asked.

Brian leaned into his screen. “I am not implying, I’m saying it. This is sour grapes.”

“You were offered a chance to do it, you declined, she did it, and she did it well.” Magdalene Braswell crossed her arms on her chest. “You don’t get to complain about it. She went a week with twenty Dushegubs in her inn and they all left alive.”

“Oh, they can complain about it,” Aiyo said, “but it doesn’t mean the rest of us have to waste any more time listening to it.”

“I have a legitimate point!” Frank pounded his fist onto his desk.

Magdalene snorted. “Bless your heart.”

“Remind me, Frank,” Tyrone Brightwell said. “Who made you king? I didn’t vote for you.”

“Ahahaha!” Aiyo cracked up. “I see what you did there!”

I looked at Tony, who had shifted back into his regular clothes. He nodded. We quietly switched places, and I hurried through the inn to the oomboles. I’d had it up to my ears with the Innkeeper Assembly and its branches.

We had modeled the oombole section after massive observation aquariums. The walls of their connected tanks were transparent, and the tanks themselves stretched fifty feet high. Walking between them was like strolling on the bottom of the sea.

The entire oombole delegation swam in a school inside the largest tank, the size of an Olympic swimming pool. I found Sean on the side by one of the smaller tanks connected to the larger one by a narrow channel. He was watching Oond. The spousal candidate was making tight counterclockwise circles.

Uh-oh.

I approached the transparent wall. Oond ignored me.

“How long has he been like this?” I murmured.

“Forty-five minutes,” Sean answered. “He keeps circling, secreting stress pheromones, and urinating.”

Everything about this was bad. The oomboles were not solitary. They didn’t go off by themselves, and they didn’t swim in small circles. They were foragers, which was why we had to make a giant tank for them. Oond was in acute distress. A guest in our inn was having a nervous breakdown. My parents would be aghast. I had shamed the family.

“Why is he swimming in his own piss?” Sean asked.

The oomboles were extremely fussy about their bathroom habits. We had had to redo their latrine area three times just to make sure it was aesthetically pleasing and private enough.

“It makes him feel safer. It’s his equivalent of curling into a fetal ball. Have you gotten him to respond at all?”

“No.”

I sealed off the small pool. “Let’s try a lower temperature and soothing light.”

Gertrude Hunt’s massive temperature-regulating pumps came online, sending cool water into the tank. I dimmed the lights. The water plants inside the tank fluoresced gently.

“Let’s wait,” I said. “Have you had breakfast?”

“No.”

I reached into the pocket of my robe, pulled out a cookie in a plastic bag, which I had stolen from the kitchen earlier, and passed it to him. He wolfed it down.

Oond kept swimming.

Humans carried an instinctual fear of the deep sea. Even if we knew that the body of water was perfectly safe and had no predators, swimming in dark water, where the bottom was too far to reach, awakened a primitive anxiety in most of us. The oomboles had an instinctual fear of terrestrial predators. At a certain point in their development, they were prey to massive reptiles and terrifying birds that dove into the water from great heights. Their tolerance for terrestrial violence was very small. It frightened them beyond all reason.

“Did you get a chance to talk to Miralitt?”

He nodded. “She liked the recording. She’s onboard. I took it to Derryl. She’s thinking about it.”

“Will she go for it?”

“The offer is there if she wants it. She’ll take it or she won’t.”

Oond was slowing down. The cold water was working.

“I’ve read the contract,” Sean said.

Last night before going to bed, I had shown him the recording the inn made of my conversation with Lady Wexyn. She thought the selection would be voided, and I had been too wrapped up in her story to ask why. Sean decided to review our contract with the Dominion as soon as we got some sleep.

“She’s right. They will likely void the selection. “

“Why?”

“The spouse can’t be selected by default. There must be at least two candidates, so the Sovereign can choose one.”

“I bet they put that provision in to keep them from killing each other. If only one of them is left standing, nobody gets to be the spouse.”

Sean nodded. “If she withdraws tonight, that leaves only Oond. The selection is automatically canceled.”

“Ugh.”

“It gets worse.”

I stared at him.

“If they void this selection, we’re on the hook for hosting the next one.”

“Galaxy, no. No. Absolutely not. Never again.”

“We signed it.”

“No.” I realized it wasn’t a rational response, but it was the only one I could come up with.

He hugged me.

We both agreed that in a perfect world Kosandion would marry Lady Wexyn and have many hyper-intelligent, beautiful, and physically enhanced babies. Unfortunately, nothing indicated that such a match would be happening. Last night Orata started polling the Dominion’s population regarding the best date for a new selection if the current one was canceled.

“I’m so tired,” I whispered into his ear.

“I know, love. I know. I’m sorry I got us into this.”

“You didn’t get us into this. We held hands and jumped off this cliff together.”

When we were talking and thinking about doing it a week ago, it hadn’t seemed so…so…so big. So difficult. Galaxy, it had only been a week. How…

“It’s like this bottomless hole and we keep throwing time, magic, and resources into it, and it just keeps getting bigger,” I told him.

“I just want it to be done. I want this shit to be over with. I want everyone to fuck off out of our inn. They all need to go somewhere else, and we need to go get Wilmos.”

I groaned and bumped my forehead against his shoulder. “And we don’t even know what we’ll find on the other side of the Karron portal.”

We stood together for a few minutes. Sean stroked my hair.

“If they void the selection, they won’t have another right away,” I said. “It might take years to set one up again.”

“Maybe he’ll do us all a favor and marry the fish.”

“I can’t,” Oond’s mechanical voice said behind us.

We turned. He had stopped swimming and was hovering near the transparent wall.

“I can’t do it. It’s too dangerous. I’m not brave enough. I cannot go to the Dominion. I cannot stay there. I cannot be the spouse. Someone will kill me. Someone will kill my offspring. It will all end in tragedy and death. So much death.”

“Well, there goes that idea,” Sean said under his breath.

“I am so sorry. I am a failure. I have failed my people. I have come here for the minor ask. The survival of my people depends on it. If I withdraw, we leave with nothing. But I have no courage. I have no strength. I am miserable.”

A slightly opaque cloud of water spread from him.

I hid a sigh. “I will speak to the Sovereign on your behalf.”

Oond’s fins fluttered weakly. “You will?”

“I will. You are our guest. Your wellbeing is important to us. I’m sure some solution can be found. Rest and try not to worry.”

I took Sean’s hand for moral support, before I lost it and peed myself too, and the two of us went back upstairs.

“I don’t understand.” Miralitt frowned at me. “The oombole does not want to be the spouse? Does he think we can’t protect him?”

I sighed. Around me Kosandion’s private balcony was a flurry of activity. Right after the Game Day assassination attempt, Kosandion had requested a private portal. Considering that a civil war in the Dominion was looming, refusing seemed unreasonable. The big portal was shut down most of the time anyway, so we completely closed it off, and opened a smaller one right on the balcony. It could only transport one person at time.

As soon as the portal was opened, Miralitt’s guards came through and positioned themselves all around the balcony, ready to respond to any threats. Normally I might have taken that as an insult, but if I balked, Miralitt would’ve had an aneurism, and we needed a favor from her. This whole affair was a lesson in learning to compromise.

With the opening of the portal, the balcony transformed into the Sovereign’s remote office. On one side, Orata sat surrounded by translucent screens, scanning their contents and issuing brisk commands to a small pack of her staffers. On the other side, His Holiness was in an identical position, with the screens and a throng of aides. He was pointing to the screens and delivering instructions in short confident bursts like a general in the middle of a battle. Kosandion sat at his table, closest to the rail and the water, reading and signing things, while Resven hovered nearby with a small army of staffers. Periodically he would single one out, and then the staffer would take off at top speed and vanish into the portal.

Tension vibrated in the air. The balcony sparked with it, as if the molecules that made it had somehow acquired a charge.

“A spouse hasn’t been murdered for the last 70 years,” Miralitt said. “It won’t happen on my watch. I guarantee it with my life.”

“It’s not personal. It has to do with their evolutionary origin,” I said. “Sapience evolves in many ways across a myriad of life forms, but the fastest and the most common category of sapient beings are either predatory omnivores or omnivorous predators that come from the middle of the food chain. For intelligence and problem-solving skills to develop, it helps if you are both a hunter and the hunted. Earth’s humans are predatory omnivores. The vampires of the Holy Anocracy are omnivorous predators. The omnivorous quality is important because organized hunting, animal husbandry, and crop cultivation are essential progress milestones.”

“The oomboles are also predatory omnivores,” Miralitt said.

“Technically,” Sean said.

“Their diet consists of plants and several species of crustaceans, all of which have evolved to be sedentary,” I explained. “Their protective shells are attached to the ocean floor. They don’t move.”

“Why is that important?” Miralitt asked.

“Because they don’t hunt,” Sean said. “They are grazers. They don’t chase and eat other fish, so they do not understand the predatory mindset. They only fear it.”

I nodded. “They are closer to the bottom of the food chain than the middle, and they have a pathological fear of being eaten.”

“What are you trying to say?” Miralitt asked.

“They are cowards,” Sean said. “It’s an evolutionary adaptation, and it will be almost impossible to overcome. Right now, Oond sees everything that isn’t an oombole as a predator.”

“This is consistent with their ask,” Resven said.

I hadn’t realized he was listening. “What are they asking?”

“Their planet is a single shallow ocean with occasional deep trenches,” Resven said. “They’ve killed off the predators in the shallows. In the absence of predators, their population and that of other prey fish has exploded to unsustainable levels. Killing other fish who are not a direct threat to them is against their philosophical doctrines, so they are asking the Dominion to save them from themselves.”

“How?” Miralitt asked.

“Targeted commercial fishing or the reintroduction of the predators,” Resven said. “It is still being discussed.”

“Oond is spiraling down,” I said. “If you attempt to select him as a spouse, he will withdraw.”

“What are the numbers from the pool about the new selection?” Kosandion asked without looking up.

“No change from two hours ago,” Orata reported.

Kosandion gave a small gesture to Resven.

“May I have a few moments of your time?” Resven asked.

“Of course.”

The three of us left the balcony for the privacy of a long hallway leading from it to the throne room.

“The Dominion is in crisis,” Resven said, keeping his voice casual. “Our citizens are distressed by the progress of the selection process. They are dissatisfied and anxious, and they are rallying behind their Sovereign against Behoun. Over the past twenty-four hours, the number of premature labors has quadrupled. It is the best indicator of the population’s overall stress level. Such a rise indicates that the Dominion has reached a boiling point.”

“Are you going to void the selection?” I asked.

“I do not presume to speak for the Sovereign. Only he can make that decision.”

Argh.

“I will say this, however,” Resven said. “When the selection is declared void, all candidates who are still present receive their minor asks. Please do everything in your power to convince Oond to be present for the selection. If he withdraws now, his people will get nothing, and the Dominion will feel even more aggrieved.”

“Can you guarantee that he won’t become the spouse?” Sean asked.

“No. I also cannot guarantee that the First Sun won’t explode in the next ten seconds. However, it would be equally unlikely.” Resven smiled. “No matter what happens during the final ceremony, Gertrude Hunt has exceeded the Sovereign’s expectations. You have the gratitude of the Dominion. All of us will be delighted to return. And of course, the Dominion will grant you all the benefits agreed upon in our contract.”

They would cancel the current selection, make a new one, and they were counting on us to host it. Sean’s face told me he thought the same thing.

Poor Lady Wexyn.

“It is imperative that Oond attend the final ceremony,” Resven repeated.

“Very well,” I said. “We will speak to Oond.”

We had three hours until the final ceremony. Hopefully, it would be enough.

“I can’t do it.” Oond trembled in his fishbowl. “What if they kill me on the way?”

We’d been over it a hundred times. I’d tried everything: the soothing lights, the temperature setting, the right mix of plants, even a weak version of oombole-safe sedative. We’d gotten as far as the fishbowl, and that’s where things stopped.

The ceremony was due to start in three minutes.

“What if I die…? Would they eat me? Would they cook my body?”

Sean stepped forward and pulled off his robe. “Look at me.”

Oond obediently stared at him.

Sean’s body blurred. An enormous alpha werewolf spilled out, seven feet tall and shaggy with dark fur. Golden eyes caught Oond in an unblinking predator stare. The oombole froze.

Please don’t faint again. Please don’t faint.

“Look at my teeth,” Sean said, his voice a deep snarl. He bared his fangs.

Oond stared at him, unable to look away.

“Someone trying to hurt you will have to get through me. I will kill anyone who tries to harm you. Anyone.”

Oond’s fins shivered a tiny bit, then finally moved. “You will stay with me? You will guard me the whole time?”

“The whole time,” Sean promised.

“I will go,” Oond said. “Let’s go fast.”

I opened the door and the entrance to the throne room rushed at me. I didn’t want to take any chances.

The throne room gleamed, awash in bright light. A swarm of Orata’s cameras spun and twisted through the air, capturing the scene from all angles. The final ceremony was broadcast live, and the video feed was already going out. The huge screens that ran along the perimeter of the high ceiling showed the city centers on the various planets of the Dominion. Crowds choked the streets. Beings of all the Dominion’s species stood, looking up, their faces tense.

Through the massive doorway, I could see the remaining delegates assembled in a semicircle, with a wide gap between the two center delegations leaving a direct path to the throne open. The Kai were on the far right, then Behoun, both delegations sectioned off by force fields. On the other side to the far left, the oomboles waited in a cluster of fishbowls. The Temple was still MIA, but they were moving toward the throne room at top speed.

Both Prysen Ol and Amphie were in front of their respective delegations, restrained in the high-tech medical-assist frames, held upright but unable to move.

The observers had already taken their place in the gallery, on their feet this time, with Caldenia in the center like a crown jewel in a midnight-blue gown that shimmered with tiny lights, as if she had bottled a nebula and poured it over her dress. The gown’s stiff high collar accentuated her neck, and large star sapphires of the deepest ultramarine shade decorated her carefully styled hair.

Kosandion was already on his throne, with Resven on one side and His Holiness on the other. Miralitt guarded the stairs as usual and Orata stood on the other side of the steps. All hands on deck.

Resven wore his usual robe. The Holy Ecclesiarch wore his white robes, but his overdress was gold. His cape was gold too, embroidered with silver accents. He stood firm, his shoulders straight, his gaze commanding. He held a long scepter in his hand, and he’d planted it into the floor at his feet as if it were a spear. The feinted frailty he had so carefully cultivated before was forgotten. The Dominion had started as a warrior civilization, and today the Ecclesiarch looked every inch a battle priest. But even with all his metallic finery, he couldn’t outshine Kosandion.

The Sovereign wore black. His outfit fit him like a glove, its lines severe, more a military uniform than civilian attire. His cape, a carefully draped long expanse of black, edged with a silver geometric motif, was the only concession to the typical Dominion’s garb he was willing to make. Kosandion was sending a message. He was ready to go to war.

Nothing about his clothes said groom. My last hope for the resolution died a sad death.

I entered the throne room. My long dark robe swept the floor as I walked. Behind me Oond’s fishbowl slid along the polished floor. The delegates turned to look. Gasps whispered through the room. They had seen Sean.

We crossed the throne room. Oond’s fishbowl slid to his designated place in front of his people. Sean stood next to him. I ascended the dais and took my place to the left of the Sovereign and slightly behind, between him and the Holy Ecclesiarch.

A soft melody floated into the room, led by a flute, a sad, archaic sound that reached into you and grabbed your soul. A female voice joined the flute, singing a wordless long note.

The air smelled of strange spice.

The melody turned vicious, no longer a beautiful song but a harsh, pained cry, filled with fury. A primal wail coming deep from an anguished heart. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

The Temple attendants entered the throne room. Burgundy dresses the color of old blood clasped their bodies, formed with lengths of diaphanous fabric, gathered and held in place by braided cords that crisscrossed over exposed midriffs and left muscular shoulders and arms bare. Their hair streamed down their backs, unbrushed. Some had painted bright red veins on their faces. Some had dark stripes across their eyes, others wore scaled veils covering only one side of their faces. They stalked into the room, a pack of insane wolves, flashing their teeth and ready to rip their target apart.

It was as if time had folded in on itself and spat out some ancient cult. The true face of the acolytes of Vengeance, mirrors of the souls consumed by their revenge, single-minded, half insane, bound yet unchained, and dreaming of blood and retribution.

The song howled, reaching a crescendo.

The acolytes parted, and Lady Wexyn appeared between them. She wore the same style gown, more elaborate but still ethereal. Snow white at her exposed shoulders, it turned a bright arterial red at the hem, as if she had walked through slaughter. A long, pleated cape rode on her shoulders, dragging five feet behind her on the floor. Bright red eyeliner bled across her eyelids. Her lips were black. A metal headdress crowned her hair, rising in an arc over her head, made with a multitude of long, razor sharp needles. When the supplicants came to the Temple and laid their hearts bare asking for retribution, this is who they saw if their request was accepted.

The Priestess of Revenge walked toward the throne.

Miralitt gripped her ceremonial sword. Oond shuddered in his fishbowl and Sean put his clawed hand onto the glass to steady him. The oomboles shrank from her as she came closer. The people of Behoun couldn’t, because the force field restrained them, but they tried.

Kosandion watched her approach. He must’ve seen her before like this when he’d visited the Temple asking her to join the selection.

On the screens, the crowds of the Dominion roiled like a living sea.

Lady Wexyn took her place. Her acolytes formed up behind her, their eyes wild.

“Let us begin,” Kosandion said.

The throne room went silent.

“People of Behoun,” the Sovereign said. “I judge your candidate guilty of treason. She has acted with your consent. How will you atone for her crime?”

Amphie stared straight ahead as if she hadn’t heard a word.

The leader of the delegation, an older woman, licked her lips. “We no longer recognize the authority of the Dominion.”

The screens blasted outraged roars of the crowds. I muted them.

“So your Senate has already informed me.”

“Even if you bring the entirety of the Dominion’s military, we will stand firm against your tyrannical regime,” the leader announced. “We will defend our liberty to the death!”

Kosandion remained unmoved. “I do not plan to invade Behoun. You have been sequestered, so I will let the Chancellor explain it to you.”

Resven spoke, hammering each word in.

“As of twelve hours ago, all current and future import-export agreements between Behoun companies and the Dominion have been made void. All Dominion aid, including categorical and block grants, revenue sharing, and programs supplementing health care, public education, community development, job training, and environmental conservation, have been canceled. The planetary defenses installed by the Dominion have been mothballed. The in-system defense fleet is on its way to the Behoun jump gate, and upon reaching it, they will return to the Dominion. All Dominion citizens currently residing on Behoun are urged to return home. All Behoun citizens currently residing within the Dominion are to be expelled and must depart for Behoun within the next twelve hours, after which Behoun’s access to all Dominion-controled planetary gates will be revoked.”

Resven took a small pause to let it sink in and continued. “I believe that last item will be of particular interest to you, Senator Kolorea. You will be relieved to know that your youngest daughter’s scholarship has been canceled, and she has been successfully deported to Behoun.”

Kolorea gaped at him. “You can’t do that! The Teplaym Robotics Institute…”

“Is a Dominion educational institution funded by the Dominion federal revenue,” Resven said.

“What about the sports teams?” one of the delegates on Kolorea’s right asked.

Another delegate spun to him. “Sports teams? What about the uranium imports?”

“I am giving Behoun exactly what it requested—no, what in its arrogance, it demanded,” the Sovereign said. “Now, we will return to the matter at hand. How will you atone for your crime?”

“We have an urgent communication from Behoun, Letero,” Orata announced.

The Sovereign nodded. The closest screen blinked, showing the interior of a large chamber with many rows of seats. The chamber was in chaos. Some seats were ripped, some stained and burned. A couple were still smoking. About fifty grim-faced beings, some sislaf, others from a variety of other species, sat in the section directly facing the camera, resolutely ignoring the damage.

A woman in a soot-stained formal robe appeared in front of the camera. “My name is Nelonia Eder. I am the new Speaker of the Behoun Senate.”

“Where is the previous Speaker?” the Sovereign asked.

“He is indisposed and no longer able to perform his duties,” Nelonia said.

Behind her, two sislafs in formal robes dragged a body across the floor, realized they were on camera, reversed course, and dragged it out of view.

“A rebel faction had temporarily taken control of the Behoun Senate and announced Behoun’s secession from the Dominion,” Nelonia said.

Kolorea choked on empty air.

“We regret this unfortunate occurrence. The insurrectionists have been suppressed, and we, as the lawfully elected government, condemn their actions. Behoun has never left the Dominion’s loving embrace and has no desire to do so.” She pounded her fist into her chest. “We pledge our loyalty to the Sovereign!”

The remaining senators rose as one and punched themselves. “Loyalty!”

Amphie’s face was bloodless.

“The Dominion will take your actions into consideration,” Kosandion said.

“Thank you, my Sovereign. May I address citizen Asturra?”

“You may,” the Sovereign said.

“Amphie Asturra,” Nelonia intoned. “You are hereby exiled from Behoun. Should you return, your head will be removed from your body and preserved in the Stronghold of Justice to be used as an example for future generations.”

Nelonia bowed her head and stepped back.

The delegate who was worried about the uranium imports punched his chest. “I pledge my loyalty to the Sovereign!”

Kolorea jerked, as if shocked by a live wire.

“I pledge my loyalty!”

“…Loyalty…”

“…To the Sovereign!”

About half of the delegation pledged their loyalty. The rest remained silent.

“Very well,” the Sovereign said. “The Behoun delegation will be detained and interviewed to ascertain their role in the assassination attempt. Their minor ask will not be granted. Citizen Amphie Asturra, for the crime of attempted murder of the Sovereign I sentence you to exile. You will be remanded to the custody of the Capital Guard, pending your recovery.”

Miralitt’s guards entered the throne room. It took about three minutes to corral the Behoun delegation and get them out of the inn.

“Candidate Prysen Ol,” the Sovereign said. “I judge you guilty of attempted murder of the Sovereign. In light of your full cooperation, I sentence you to seven years of labor, so you can atone for your crimes, to be served under the authority of the Holy Ecclesiarch of the Dominion.”

In the Observer Gallery, the First Scholar preened.

“I accept my punishment,” Prysen Ol said.

“The People of Kai, you have failed in your due diligence and have brought an assassin as your candidate. Your minor ask cannot be granted; however, the Dominion acknowledges your efforts and is ready to continue our diplomatic relations.”

The Kai leader spoke. “We regret this unfortunate happening. We shall continue our efforts. May the Sovereign be healthy. May his mother be healthy. May his grandfather on his mother’s side be healthy. May his grandmother…”

It took them a few minutes to run through all of Kosandion’s extended relatives. Even Caldenia got a wish of health. Finally, they wished good health to his future spouse and children and departed.

“Now we must resolve the matter of the spouse,” Kosandion said.

Oond shivered his fins weakly.

Lady Wexyn nodded slowly.

“There are those in the Dominion who call for this selection to be voided, so a new selection can occur,” the Sovereign said. “They desire a new search so the perfect candidate to be my spouse can be found. Do the candidates wish to state their opinions on this matter?”

Oond’s fins flashed. “No.”

“No, Letero,” Lady Wexyn said.

The acolytes bared their teeth and hissed.

“Very well.” Kosandion rose, stone-faced. “I, Letero Kolivion, Dystim Arbiento, Sovereign of the Seven Star Dominion, He Who Is Immune to Fate, the Light of the Morning Sun, declare this selection to be over.”

On the screens, the Dominion citizens stared, some horrified, some outraged. The sound was off, so only their images came through. The Dominion was in chaos. The throne room was silent and still like a tomb.

In this stillness, Lady Wexyn turned and walked back toward the door.

“Because the perfect candidate has been found,” Kosandion said. “She is trying to walk away from me right now.”

Lady Wexyn stopped.

Kosandion walked down the steps, off the dais, and crossed the floor to her. She turned, her face almost comically puzzled, completely at odds with her crown and the dress soaked in metaphorical blood.

Kosandion took her hand. His eyes were warm, and a smile stretched his lips.

“Have I finally managed to surprise you, my lady?”

She looked at his fingers holding her hand and then back at him.

“Think carefully, Letero,” she told him. “Once it is done, it may be too late to regret it.”

“No matter what the future will bring, this will be the one thing I will never regret. Will you marry me?” he asked.

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

He dipped his head to look at her face.

“Yes,” Lady Wexyn said.

On the screens, the crowds of the Dominion exploded in cheers. I turned the sound back on and the happy roar flooded the room. Oond sagged in relief in his fishbowl. Caldenia beamed.

Kosandion hugged Lady Wexyn to him, his face glowing. She smiled back at him. They stood together, a perfect pair, completely focused on each other.

Orata was waving at me.

Oh. The finale! Almost forgot.

I tapped my broom. The floor, the walls and the ceiling of the throne room vanished into the darkness of the cosmos. A galaxy ignited in the black depths and blossomed into a myriad of stars. Radiant nebulae shone with brilliant color. The first planet of the Dominion, a jeweled orb in green and blue, rotated slowly in the distance, followed by other planets, the symbols of the interstellar nation's glory. In the middle of it all, Kosandion and Lady Wexyn stood, holding each other.

The First Sun of the Dominion rose across one of the hidden walls. Its light caught the couple, washing over them, setting them aglow.

Glittering stars and flower petals rained from the ceiling, swirling in a phantom wind.

Kosandion said something. His words were lost in the noise, but I was an innkeeper and I heard them anyway.

“I finally caught you.”

“You silly fool,” she whispered back.

Kosandion and I leaned on the rail of his balcony. In front of us, Kolinda’s ocean shimmered with the light of early evening. A ghostly moon was slowly rising, a scrap of gossamer against the sky. Below us on the beach I had made, Caldenia and Lady Wexyn watched the water and spoke in hushed tones, too low to make out.

Both women had abandoned their elaborate dresses for more practical clothes. Caldenia wore a modest gown in her favorite sage, while Lady Wexyn left the crown of needles behind and switched to simple blue and white robes.

“Are you curious what they’re talking about?” I asked Kosandion.

“If I said yes, would you allow me to spy on them?”

“No.”

He smiled.

“Is this really what you want?” I asked.

“It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time.”

“You realize that you might have been manipulated?”

“I know I have. But the question is, to what end?” He looked at Lady Wexyn. “She doesn’t want power. She doesn’t want wealth or prestige. She just wants me. Nobody has ever gone to that much trouble just for me.”

“What about the Dominion?”

Kosandion turned around and leaned his back against the rail. “You’ve asked me if public opinion could be swayed before. Since the beginning of the selection, before we even entered your inn, I had committed every resource at my disposal to doing just that. I wanted her to win. I knew that she would take advantage of every opportunity, and she has done it brilliantly. At first, they were amused by her. Some of them ridiculed her. Then they grudgingly acknowledged her skills. They began to like her, and with every appearance, she seduced them a little more until she had them in the palm of her hand. She had endeared herself to them and by the end they wanted her to win as much as I did. Last night I nearly brought my nation to the breaking point by implying the selection would be canceled. The public outcry in her favor drowned out the remaining critics. The Dominion loves her.”

“You never meant to marry Nycati, then? But you told him he was your first choice.”

“He was about to take his life into his hands. He was doubting everything, from his birthright to his own abilities. I merely steadied him on his feet.”

“And Vercia?”

“I ended that relationship as soon as Wexyn agreed to enter the selection.”

“So it was about her from the very beginning?”

He nodded.

“Why her?”

“I don’t know. There is something about her. I can’t describe it, but I feel it. My life is very regimented, and it always has been. My time is rationed like water in the desert. So much of it isn’t mine. And she, she is chaos. She loves me for me, and I’m a deeply selfish man. I want all of that love. She is the one person who is just mine, outside of the rules and regulations. Nobody picked her for me, nobody picked me for her.”

“You picked each other.”

“Precisely. It is indescribably rare in my world. An outrageous luxury.”

He looked at her over his shoulder.

“I have worked beyond all limits to crush most of my pressing problems during this selection. I’ve steadied the borders. The Hope Crushing Horde will busy itself with Surkar and his faction. The Holy Anocracy must sort out House Meer. The largest Gaheas kingdom is about to have a civil war, and the rest of their kingdoms will sit tight to watch it. The Murder Beaks, who were itching to invade, will target the Muterzen Fleet. I’ve dismantled the leadership of the Conservative Alliance and forced Behoun to make their choice. The domestic opposition to my rule is reeling and will take some time to formulate a new strategy. I’ve done all this to buy us a little respite. Some quiet time for me and her. It won’t last, but we will enjoy every moment to the fullest before the Dominion births yet another catastrophe and hurls it into my lap.”

“Life is stumbling from one catastrophe to another.”

“Yes, and you have waited, for my sake, to resolve yours. Access to the portal is yours. You may use it as many times as you need. It is the least I can do.”

“You’re always welcome at our inn, Letero. Anytime you and Lady Wexyn need another small respite or wish to relax by an ocean filled with monsters, our doors are always open.”

He glanced at his aunt. “Monsters indeed.”

Caldenia turned around and gave him a sharp look.

“She couldn’t have heard us, could she?” he muttered under his breath.

“Your aunt is a remarkable woman. She has been my guest for years, and I’m still not sure of her limits. Sadly, there are still contracts on her life.”

The selection had reminded the galaxy that Caldenia existed. Some of the contracts had expired but now they were back.

“She will be our guest for a while longer.”

“I think she enjoys it,” Kosandion said. “It is a welcome rest after decades of pressure.”

Lady Wexyn turned to Kosandion and waved.

“I am summoned,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure, Dina.”

“I’m glad Gertrude Hunt could meet your needs.”

He took off down the stairs.

Resven approached. Below, Kosandion put his arm around Lady Wexyn’s shoulders, and she slid her arm around his waist.

“They make such a lovely couple,” Resven smiled. “He couldn’t do better.”

I almost did a double take. “You were in on it?”

He nodded.

“Since the very beginning?”

He nodded again.

“Resven, you are an excellent actor.”

“Innkeeper, I am whatever my Letero requires me to be. I wish you luck in your search for your friend. Take care, Karron is a brutal place. I can’t imagine what sort of creature would make its lair there.”

“My…” “Boyfriend” no longer seemed adequate, and we hadn’t talked about getting married. “Lover” seemed too cheesy. “Sean will come with me.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Your partner is impressive.”

“Partner.” Yes, that was good. “He is.”

I walked away from Resven, passed through Kosandion’s quarters into the hallway, and entered the throne room. It seemed cavernous now, empty and abandoned. Guests gave the inn life. They came from faraway places, bringing their magic and vitality with them, and they breathed it into the spaces they occupied. But eventually they left. The guests always did.

I passed the Ocean Dining Hall. Orro and his kitchen helpers were drinking whatever liquids got their various species intoxicated. They had done their job well, and now it was time for the kitchen staff to party. I slipped by the doorway, dampening the noise of my footsteps. I had seen kitchen staff parties before, and I needed to steer way clear of this one.

At the far end of the throne room, two people were talking. Miralitt and Derryl. The werewolf woman wore the uniform of a Capital Guard. So, she must have decided to take Miralitt’s offer.

The Capital Guard didn’t hire werewolves. The people of Auul made great mercenaries, but they resisted assimilation into other cultures. They were loyal to each other beyond all others, and that loyalty made them immune to the Dominion’s collective empathy. Sooner or later, they abandoned their duty and returned to their werewolf settlements.

Derryl was different. She wanted to leave the memories of Auul behind, and she desperately needed a place to belong and a cause that had nothing to do with growing fur and being compared to other werewolves. The people of Auul had fought the war for their planet for decades, and their martial arts were unparalleled. Derryl had all the proper training, and she had excelled in it, because she had pushed herself harder than anyone to gain that expertise. Technically, Miralitt agreed to hire her as a favor for Sean, but all four of us knew that it was a huge win for Miralitt. Hopefully, it would be a big win for Derryl as well.

I walked by them. Derryl bowed her head to me. Miralitt nodded.

It was almost as good of a solution as what happened to Prysen Ol. The First Scholar had been so pleased with himself, he’d actually squawked while explaining it to me. Prysen Ol was brilliant and conflicted, ripe for some guidance and conversion to a higher purpose. The Holy Ecclesiarch knew exactly how to mold him, and by the time he was done, the Dominion would gain a rare talent. Apparently, the First Scholar hadn’t gotten very far with his pleas to Kosandion, so he had gone to his favorite debate companion and announced that he had found his successor. I had my doubts, but stranger things had happened.

They even let Prysen Ol keep Tomato with him. The assassin and the green bear had a blood brother pact. There was probably an interesting story behind it, but I didn’t have time to listen to it.

I passed through the last hallway and walked into the arrival chamber. Sean and Tony stood in front of the portal. Sean wore an enviro-hazard combat suit. Dark gray, it covered him head to toe, leaving only his face bare. His favorite green knife was in a sheath on his waist. He’d strapped a gun to his back, and another to his right thigh.

“… Got this. Don’t worry, nothing will happen to the inn,” Tony was saying.

The two of them turned toward me.

“Are you sure about this?” Sean asked me.

“Very sure.” I took off my robe.

I wore the same suit. My energy whip rested in its holder on my thigh. Sean had insisted that I bring a backup weapon. I held out my hand. My broom landed in it, flashed with blue, and turned into a spear.

The suits came with respirators and full-face plates which could be extended on a moment’s notice, turning the suits fully airtight. Light and flexible, this gear was designed for planetary combat in hazardous environments.

“I would rather you stay,” Sean said.

We had been over this. If whatever took Wilmos had targeted Sean, it could have sent his corrupted ad-hals after him any time he had left the inn. Of the two of us, he spent more time away from Gertrude Hunt. It didn’t want him. It wanted me, and I had to figure out why.

Tony agreed to stay behind to see our guests off. Most of them had left anyway. The oomboles had taken off before the final ceremony was even over, relieved after Resven assured them that their minor ask would be granted.

Cookie departed right after the oomboles. He’d been giddy about winning the Dominion from Clan Sai. Unfortunately, Clan Sai would retaliate, and soon, so Cookie and his entourage were needed back at the Merchant house to prepare their defense.

Dagorkun had left too, after thanking Sean and me for our hospitality. He had a lot of things to discuss with his parents. Gaston and Karat were still at the inn. Gaston had the stamina of a camel, but his body finally gave out and he went to bed and likely wouldn’t get up until tomorrow. Orro’s kitchen helpers would leave after the party, the First Scholar and his assistants were already gone, and Kosandion, Lady Wexyn, and Resven would depart in the next hour or so. Tony would handle that.

We had to rescue Wilmos. I looked at the portal. No reason to delay any further.

“Ready?” Sean asked.

I held out my hand. “Hold my hand?”

Sean reached out and took my hand in his. We walked into the portal together.