“What is the meaning of this intrusion?”
I waved my arm. The dome above us opened like a flower bud blooming. The view of the night sky spread above us, the moon bright like a silver coin. A small red spark ignited in the wall to the left, projecting a translucent red circle with a complex border upward, centering it on the light of a very distant star. An equally complex array of light painted the floor with twenty-one spaces arranged in three concentric circles. One in the center, three in the ring around it, and the rest along the outer rim.
The Gaheas stared at me, unsure. I raised my hand, indicating Gaston’s trunk. The female guard who’d greeted me at the door gently lifted the fabric out of the chest. It unfurled into a shimmering metallic sash, and the light of the array reflected on it and fractured into a rainbow of colors.
Everyone went still. It was a royal stole.
The moon of Gahea dominated its night sky. Several times larger than Earth’s satellite, Gahea’s moon rotated very slowly on its axis, and as it turned, it changed colors, flowing from one phase to another. The phases dictated every aspect of the Gaheas’ calendar. Their passage of time, their holy days and rituals, even the selection of the most auspicious day for marriage, birth, battle, and the signing of contracts — everything depended on the moon.
Today marked the end of the 4th Phase, the conclusion of the Gaheas’ winter. It was a holy day. Failing to carry out the correct rituals meant bringing ill fortune for the next six Gahean months, until the 10th Phase, the middle of summer, the date of equal spiritual potency when the effect of neglecting the 4th Phase rites could be negated.
The phase rituals were complex. It was vitally important that proper formalities were observed, especially the correct attire. However, the Gaheas hadn’t brought a royal garment for Nycati. It would have been an obvious tell of his identity, which they were desperately trying to hide. Now the lot of them didn’t know if they should kill me or thank me.
Nycati murmured something, too quiet for me to hear.
Naeoma Thaste stepped aside. Nycati strode forward, stopped before us, and raised his arms. Carefully, with great reverence, the guard carried the stole to him and knelt, offering it in her outstretched hands. The duke approached, picked up the stole, and draped it over Nycati’s shoulders.
“How did you know?” the hidden prince asked.
“I am an innkeeper. It is my sacred duty to see to the security and comfort of everyone within the inn.”
I put a bit of emphasis on that “everyone.”
“Understood,” Nycati said.
I bowed my head, and Gaston and I retreated, leaving the chest on the floor. The doors shut behind us, and we walked down the long hallway back to the throne room.
“What the hell was that all about?” Gaston said. “That was a very near thing. One wrong word, one wrong gesture, and we would have had to make a very undignified exit.”
“Nycati is secret royalty.”
“The best kind. I take it, they’re hiding his pedigree?”
“Yes. Except their society is hung up on etiquette, and the duke slipped up a couple of times and treated their candidate with too much deference. The gap in rank was obvious.”
“And you wanted them to know that you know. Any particular reason?”
“Nycati has a date with Kosandion tomorrow, after the 2nd Trial. If he tries anything, I won’t just restrain him, I will expose him, and I wanted them to understand that.”
“And you brought me along to demonstrate that not only you know but other people are aware of his lineage as well. Killing you would be pointless and killing me would be difficult.”
“Yes.”
Gaston let out a rumbling chuckle. “Have you ever considered a career in skullduggery, Dina?”
“Everyone is offering me a job lately.”
“You’re doing so well. That’s how it works. Do you find any of the offers tempting?”
“None at all. I don’t need a new job, I just want people to stop making the one I have more difficult.”
Gaston laughed.
I waved goodbye to him and headed straight for my bedroom. Tomorrow would be another busy day and I needed all the rest I could get.
22
Ah, it is that time again. The wonderful FrInnDay, when we come together to learn of the latest happenings in Gertrude Hunt and pass judgement on the silly beings within. Welcome, honored guests! During our last happy meeting, we learned more about Derryl of Is, the lone female werewolf with a 2×4 chip on her shoulder, and watched Dina remind Nycati that innkeepers are a power unlike any other. Today we bring you the Trial of Talent.
Warning: the following chapter contains a brief description of animal cruelty. The Universe is vast and not everyone abides by the same standards.
The light of early morning illuminated Kosandion’s private balcony and the bags under his eyes. He took a sip from his coffee mug and looked at it.
“Why is this so sweet?”
“Because you didn’t sleep last night,” Sean said. “You need the sugar.”
Kosandion frowned at him and took a big gulp.
Orata fidgeted in her seat. “Perhaps, a booster…”
“No,” Kosandion said firmly.
Orata looked at Resven. The Chancellor spread his arms.
“At least some drops for the eyes,” Orata said. “Just for the optics.”
“What’s wrong with my eyes?”
“They’re bloodshot,” I told him.
Kosandion hadn’t slept for almost forty-eight hours. The night before last he dealt with Vercia’s betrayal. We’d gone to sleep close to 2:00 am, and he was still awake. When I had gotten up 2 hours later to deal with the latest Dushegub caper, he hadn’t gone to bed. Last night was the same. Orata had let it slip that the Conservative Alliance was proving to be a thornier issue than anticipated. Other political factions had entered the fray, and things became “a little complicated.”
Kosandion had paced a few times during the night because it helped him think, and Gertrude Hunt woke both Sean and me up every time he moved too much, which was why the two of us decided to join him for the morning briefing.
I read somewhere that lack of sleep was cumulative. After this event was over, and we got Wilmos back, I would sleep for a week. Unlike Kosandion, I couldn’t stay up for 48 hours straight without some chemical help.
Kosandion held out his hand. Orata jumped up, put a small vial into his fingers, and went back to her seat. The Sovereign put two drops into each eye and firmly set the vial on the table.
Resven approached, picked up a dish with one of Orro’s beautiful muffins on it, and held it out to Kosandion as if he were a two year old.
“Please take a bite, Letero.”
Kosandion just looked at him.
“Sleep or food,” Miralitt said. “You must have at least one.”
Kosandion picked up a muffin and took a small bite. “Let’s move on to the ratings.”
Orata looked like she’d bitten into a lemon. “Surkar is leading across all categories with an average of 17 points.”
Kosandion chewed his muffin. “Of course he is.”
“It’s that damn show.” Orata waved her arms.
“What show?” Sean asked.
She glanced at Kosandion. He nodded.
Orata tapped her tablet and tilted the holographic screen toward us. On it a panoramic shot of a battlefield rushed toward the viewer, following a bird of prey that swooped down over the field. Bodies in armor littered the bloody ground. Here and there, individual duels still raged, the fighters tripping over corpses. The view zeroed in on a large warrior in antique Dominion armor. He climbed over a hill of the dead to a rock jutting from the bodies. Atop the rock, another fighter splattered with blood roared, brandishing a spear.