I had woken up with a slight fever and my head felt heavy, as if someone had poured lead into my skull without me knowing. Sean promptly freaked out and dragged me to a med unit, which diagnosed me with the beginning of a common cold, calibrated the right cocktail of antivirals, and injected me with it. Within a couple of hours, my head cleared up, my fever vanished, but Sean insisted on me “taking it easy,” which amounted to chasing me off to sit in a comfortable chair and eat snacks while Tony took my spot by the bridge.
I didn’t fight Sean on it. As much as I hated to admit it, I was running on fumes. The sheer amount of magic that flowed through me every day as I moved things and beings around without any regard for the laws of physics was enough to tire out any seasoned innkeeper. Combined with lack of sleep and the constant low-level sense of anxiety that hung over me, the strain wore me out. I could either rest today and jump back in tomorrow, or I could heroically insist on working and risk collapsing. Kosandion was perfectly safe with Sean by his side, and Tony was more than capable of handling any problems that popped up on his end.
I leaned back in my ridiculously comfortable chair. Caldenia sat on my left, and Karat on my right. We had gotten through Kosandion and his people making their entrance, and once the Sovereign assumed his throne, Gaston delivered his introduction. He was dressed in rust and white for the occasion with a brilliant red feather in his hat, and the giant screens above each section were giving him all the close ups. Orata must’ve decided that he was “an asset.”
“It’s my unfortunate duty to announce that the first delegation leaving us today are the Higgra,” Gaston solemnly proclaimed, exuding regret with every fiber of his being.
“He’s a born showman,” Her Grace said next to me.
“He does enjoy it,” I said.
The images of Cyanide rolled on the giant screens, as the Higgra delegation made a circle around the stage with Cyanide in the lead and stopped directly in front of the throne.
“Noble Higgra,” Kosandion said. “We are fortunate to have experienced the wonders of your civilization, and your memory will be cherished for years to come. What do you ask of the Dominion?”
“We desire to trade our neural nets with the Dominion and only the Dominion, unhindered by any other parties,” Cyanide answered.
“Granted,” the Sovereign said. “The Trade Bureau shall draft the agreement immediately. Please allow me to extend the Dominion’s hospitality to you and your people while you await the necessary documents.”
“We accept and we are honored,” Cyanide said.
“We look forward to centuries of prosperity together.”
The Higgra crossed the bridge and disappeared from view. I felt them enter the portal and then their presence was gone from the inn. Their banner disappeared.
Well, that was easy.
Gaston made some regretful remarks and moved on. “…The second delegation leaving us are…the valiant otrokar.”
The otrokar delegation entered the stage. They wore their battle leathers and they jogged, keeping a steady, relentless pace that ate up miles, which the Horde warbands used when they had to cover long distances on foot. They had formed up like a warband too, with Surkar in the lead, the heavier fighters on the flanks, shielding the auxiliaries and ranged units in the middle.
I tensed. On the right, in the seat next to Karat, Dagorkun leaned forward like a wolf sighting his prey. Caldenia seemed perfectly indifferent. A small smile curved Karat’s lips.
Uh-oh.
I leaned toward her. “What did you do?”
“What makes you think I did anything?”
“The last time you smiled like that, Gaston turned himself inside out reciting French poetry.”
Her smile widened slightly. “Lady Dina, you give me too much credit. I assure you, Surkar will not be serenading me with sonnets.”
Vampire humor, ha ha. I gave her a side-eye.
The warband halted in front of the raised throne, gathering around Surkar, as if expecting an assault at any moment.
“Surkar, son of Grast and Ulde, champion of your tribe,” the Sovereign said, each word landing like the blow of a hammer. “Do you wish to withdraw?”
“I do.”
“Do you understand that your withdrawal prohibits the Dominion from granting your minor ask?”
“I do.”
“The Dominion regrets this decision, but it is yours to make. We wish you a safe return to your homeworld.”
“I wish to ask a favor,” Surkar said.
“Speak.”
“I would like to remain at the inn to witness the next delegation’s departure.”
If Dagorkun focused any harder, Surkar would develop laser burns on his face.
“Are you trying to set him on fire with your mind, Under-Khan?” Karat asked, her voice mild. “Is this some secret talent of the otrokar?”
Dagorkun ignored her.
“I have no objections, but it is not up to me.” Kosandion turned to Sean.
“You may stay,” Sean said in his scary innkeeper voice.
Karat shivered. “I hate when you do that.”
“That’s the point,” I told her.
The majority of the otrokar jogged down the bridge to the portal chamber. Only Surkar and the shaman remained on the platform.
What were they up to?
“A surprising turn of events!” Gaston boomed.
The remaining delegates made various noises, ranging from faint outrage to approval, confirming that yes, the turn of events was surprising and they were conflicted about it.
“That brings us to the final candidate departure of the day.”
The center of the stage sank and came back up, carrying the Dushegubs and Unessa. Tony had returned the lawn ornaments to the Pit last night. He’d also mentioned that the Dushegubs had had difficulty accepting their elimination. He tried to explain it to them three times, and they just hissed back.
“I find it hilarious that he didn’t even try to pronounce their proper name,” Caldenia said. “You have to admire a man who knows his limits.”
Kosandion stared down at the trees, his face glacial. “The Dominion thanks you for your participation in the spousal selection. We are saddened by your departure. What do you ask of the Dominion?”
The Dushegubs didn’t respond. Seconds ticked by.
Gaston stepped forward. “You lost. State your ask and leave.”
Sometimes simplicity was the best policy.
The Dushegubs flailed their branches. The largest tree stretched its limbs toward Gaston like a nightmarish, menacing octopus, then pivoted toward the throne.
“Statement: Our candidate is the best. Proposition: chose our candidate and send others away, or we destroy the Dominion. Do you wish to discuss?”
As controlled as Kosandion was in his Sovereign persona, he failed to hide the flicker of irritation that crossed his face.
“The Dominion fears no enemy. Our military, technology, and resources are superior to those of your civilization. Attacking the Dominion means the extinction of your species. Leave peacefully, and I will grant your minor ask. Declare war, and you will die now, and your planet will die tomorrow. Make your choice.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Kosandion meant every word, and it mattered very little to him which way they chose.