The Dushegubs creaked and hissed.
I tapped my broom on the stone floor. A low sound pulsed through the arena, rattling my bones. The Dushegubs were sensitive to vibration and sounds. That was how they identified their prey.
The trees scooted back.
“Submit.”
The Dushegubs moved together into a clump, folding their branches. I opened the floor under them and funneled them down a slippery chute into their pit.
Sean laughed.
“Sadly, this isn’t the end of it. They are single-minded assholes. I surprised them this time, but they will come back with something.”
“What happened to their fellow tree ruler-breaker?”
I turned around. The First Scholar was right behind me, while his two assistants hovered from a respectful distance. He was supposed to have been escorted home by Gaston, who was nowhere in sight.
“Was it harmed?” the First Scholar asked.
“No,” Sean said. “I dropped her back into the Pit.”
Dushegubs were gonochoric, with male and female trees. Telling them apart was pretty much impossible, but only females produced the spore pods.
“Their spore pods aren’t lethal,” I explained. “They cause a temporary stupor. They hurl them at distant prey to knock it out so they can get close and eat it.”
Had the pod landed, Bestata would’ve taken a nap. But then, with vampire metabolism, it might have only slowed her down, and then we would be treated to a stunning impersonation of Paul Bunyan done in knight armor with vampire weapons. A primed blood sword would cut through an adult Dushegub in two or three swings.
“We keep all our guests safe. Even the pesky ones,” Sean said.
“Speaking of guests,” the First Scholar said. “Could the inn accommodate three more? I wish to see how this contest plays out.”
“We would be delighted to have you with us,” I told him. “But what of your lectures?”
The First Scholar sighed. “Steering the development of young minds is an arduous and draining task. One should rest to be most effective, and a few days of self-study and personal contemplation would be beneficial to my students.”
I still had the koo-ko coop in storage, but it would be way too large. I carved a new set of rooms in the observer wing and began shaping them into a small habitat. What was it he liked last time? Millet. That was it. I’d need to let Orro know.
Sean’s cell rang. He took it out of his robe and looked at it. “Marais.”
Officer Marais had been moonlighting as our security guard. He had a ton of leave built up, so he had taken a week off to guard Gertrude Hunt. He also did not share that fact with his wife. I had a feeling there would be hell to pay.
Sean listened for a few moments.
“I’ll be right there.” He hung up and turned to me. “We have protesters.”
“What?”
“Some sort of Dominion religious group is protesting in front of the inn. They have an issue with the spousal selection.”
“In broad daylight?”
I pulled the feed from the street-facing cameras onto the nearest big screen. Three people stood in front of the inn, just outside of the boundary. They must’ve used skin tints because their skin shades looked terrestrial enough. Their high-tech signs, projected from small metal rods and glowing neon, did not.
“I’ve got this,” Sean told me.
He took off toward a wall. The inn made an opening for him.
I waved the screen off.
“Is this urgent?” the First Scholar asked.
“No worries, Sean will handle it.” I finished furnishing the room and opened a passageway to the observer wing. “Let me show you to your rooms.”
We walked down the hallway. This was my chance to pick his brain. We still had a hidden assassin to deal with.
“What is your opinion of Nycati?”
“Intelligent, eloquent, and well educated,” the First Scholar said. “Alas, not a true philosopher.”
“Why?”
“Nycati shares the same shortcomings as Amphie, although hers are more apparent.”
“I thought she did well.”
The First Scholar shook his head. “She had good teachers. They taught her how to find knowledge and how to retain it, but they failed to ignite the spark of original thought. It is true that familiarizing oneself with the thoughts of those who came before us is the foundation of philosophy, but it is only the first step. The next step is to develop one’s own view. A much more terrifying endeavor.”
“Then Amphie lost?”
“Without a doubt. What question did I ask?”
“What is love?”
The First Scholar nodded. “Exactly. I asked them for their definition of love. Amphie simply announced that love was complex, regurgitated what she was taught about it, and walked us back in a circle to her thesis. She never answered the question.”
“And Lady Wexyn?”
The First Scholar’s eyes lit up. “Such a beautifully concise demonstration of Tessidect’s Principle. He was one of the foundational philosophers that came out of the Omega Centauri Cluster about a thousand years ago. Tessidect proposed that love, in essence, is binding. Whether reciprocated or not, it creates a relationship between a being and the object of their desire, forming its own microcosm. A miniature universe of our own making, subverting all aspects of the time-space continuum. When you are in love, your perception, your inner equilibrium, even your sense of time and place is altered.”
Interesting. I never thought of it that way.
The First Scholar continued, waving his stick as he walked. “Since every being is unique and unlike any other, so too their love and the microcosm it creates are unique. It cannot be defined, but only experienced.”
True. I had been in love before I met Sean, but my relationship with him was unlike any of the others. It was… It was different, and I couldn’t quite put it into words.
“In two short sentences, Lady Wexyn distilled the very essence of this concept: her love cannot be explained, only felt; it is unlike any other; and she prefers it to all prior loves she has experienced. I should have expected nothing less from the disciple of the Temple of Desire. After all, their education is exquisite.”
There was a lot more to Lady Wexyn than she showed to the world, although a certain long-suffering chancellor would likely tell the First Scholar that he was giving her way too much credit.
“But Prysen Ol is the true find of the bunch. Did you notice he quoted Sequatist? I know of many scholars who would shrink away from even mentioning that name. A planetphage, a superorganism traveling from planet to planet, devouring all life to support its own, yet aware and tormented by its existence, cursed, reviled, and finally destroyed, and here is this young man who not only had the courage to quote its exploration of one’s purpose, but to expand on it, adding his own observations. I’m almost certain he comes from the Sa Monastery. His arguments have their particular relaxed yet refined approach.”
“Could he be an impostor?”
“Impossible. He must’ve devoted himself to study from early childhood. I have seen scores of young aspirants, and this man has put in the work.”
If Prysen Ol was a true scholar, that made him less likely to be an assassin. Not impossible, but not as likely.
Right now, my money was on Nycati. But then there was also Lady Wexyn, who had a unique grasp of ancient philosophy, “moved well,” and warranted a visit from Caldenia.
And Ellenda, who was now wearing mourning paint possibly because she knew she was about to murder Kosandion and would not survive the aftermath. The candidates were promised to have a one-on-one date with the Sovereign, but it was not a guarantee. A candidate could be eliminated before their turn for the date ever came about. Ellenda was lagging in the rankings, so she put on the mourning paint, knowing Kosandion would recognize it and react. Now she would have her date and the perfect opportunity to target him…