Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles Book 2) (4 page)

In retrospect it was probably foolish, but I didn’t regret it. Together, Sean, Arland from House Krahr, and I saved our small town from an interstellar assassin. Arland got to avenge a murder as an added bonus, and Sean learned the truth: he wasn’t an Earth-born mutation but a product of genetic breeding from another planet. All werewolves were soldiers designed to repel a planet-wide invasion by an overwhelming force, but Sean was an alpha-strain variant. Bigger, faster, stronger, a special forces kind of warrior. The genetic programming must’ve bred true, because he became a soldier here on Earth, but he could never quite find the right place for himself.

We met and I thought we had something.

No, that would be wishful thinking. We had the beginning of something, but once he glimpsed the Universe beyond this planet, it was all over. The werewolves had destroyed their own planet rather than surrender it to their enemy, and he could never go “home” but the stars called him. Because of me he ended up owing an old werewolf a favor and once the danger here had been dealt with, Sean left to repay his debt. I knew the pull of the stars. I’d answered it myself for a while. When he walked through a portal to the sun drenched street of Baha-char, some part of me knew he wouldn’t be coming back any time soon, but still I hoped he might be back in a month or two. It’s been almost half a year now. Sean was gone.

I’d decided to put him out of my mind, and for the most part I completely succeeded, but sometimes he just popped into my head. I’d glance at the back patio, remember him jumping three feet in the air when I moved it, and smile. Or I’d recall his voice. Or how it felt to be kissed by him.

“I can’t help it,” I told Beast. “It will get better. It just needs time.”

If Beast had an opinion about my occasional involuntary mooning, she kept it to herself.

I opened the front door and strode down the grass to the dark figure waiting to me by the oak. He stood swaddled in a cloak. He seemed tall when I looked at him from above, but on the same level he seemed almost towering, six five at least. I had to tilt my head. Beast growled low.

The dark figure raised his left hand, fingers up. “Winter sun.” His voice was rough but his diction was flawless. Whatever translator he was using worked perfectly.

An otrokar. “Winter sun to you as well.” Winter sun was the kinder, gentler sun. “Welcome.”

We walked back to the front door and I let him in.

He shrugged off the cloak. I’d seen an otrokar before. They frequented my parents’ inn. But having him here, in my small front room was an entirely different experience.

He stood tall, his shoulders broad, his stance light despite his size. A dark-brown armor of braided leather strips clasped his body. It was reinforced on the forearms, thighs, and shins by hard plates, dark brown dappled with sprays of black and red in an organic pattern only a living creature could produce. The same plates shielded his chest, streaked through with golden metal that announced presence of high-tech electronics. A belt with pockets set on his waist, and small metal, bone, and wooden talismans hung from it. Otrokar were excellent spacers, and his was the kind of armor designed to protect while still letting one bend and flex while fighting within the confines of a space craft. He carried no weapons except for a short sword or a long knife that rested in a sheath on his right thigh.

His skin was a deep bronze with a gold undertone. His hair, too coarse for a human, was cut short and seemed black at first glance, but when he turned and hair caught the light, it shone with dark red. Not the human orange-tinted red, but the deep, violent color of a ruby. His eyes, under inhumanly thick eyebrows, were a startling light green. From the back he could almost pass for a really tall native, but his face made it clear – this was the same primary human seed that had given rise to us and vampires, but it had clearly grown on a different planet. The planes of his face were sharper, as if it had been hacked with a knife from a piece of clay, the texture of his skin rougher, the proportions of the face skewed slightly. His jaw was triangular, his nose narrow, and when he spoke, his lips showed a narrow flash of sharp predatory teeth. Otrokar had evolved on a world with scorching sun and endless plains. They hunted in pack and ran their prey to ground.

We looked at each other. The Beast growled low by my feet. She clearly didn’t like his smell. The otrokar glanced at her, his eyes evaluating. He looked like a man who expects to be jumped at any moment and he wanted there to be no doubt that he’d pull hid knife out and slice his attacker to narrow ribbons.

“What can I do for you?” Stop sizing up my dog, please.

“My name is Dagorkun.” The otrokar raised his hand. A golden medallion studded with jewels hung from a leather cord clasped in his fingers. A stylized sun with stabbing rays, the symbol of the Khan, the leader of the Horde.

I inclined my head. “I’m honored.”

“I’m here on behalf of my people to inspect the rooms.”

“Very well. Would you like some tea as we walk?”

He blinked. “Yes.”

“It will only take a moment.” I stepped into the kitchen. Some things were constant in the Universe. Two and two didn’t always equal four, but every water-based species at some point had heated water and threw some plants into it.

Dagorkun followed me into the kitchen. I took two mugs from the cupboard, one with strawberries on it and the other with a small black cat, filled them with hot water from the Keurg and put two bag of chai in to soak. Dagorkun watched me like a hawk. Clearly he expected to be poisoned.

“Is this your first time on Earth?”

He waited for a long moment, clearly thinking over if it was wise to answer. “Yes.”

“You are now a guest of my inn. Your safety is my utmost priority.” I fished the tea bags out, put them into a small dish, got a canister of sugar that was made of thick blue glass and put a spoonful of it into my chai. “Neither my dog, nor my inn will hurt you, unless you attempt to harm another guest.”

“The vampires recommend you,” Dagorkun said.

I put a spoon of sugar into his cup. One, two… “Yes, but it doesn’t mean I’ll treat them any differently than your people. I’m a neutral party.”

Three… Four ought to do it. He looked like a northerner to me. The southern Otrokar had a greener undertone to their skin. I offered him the cup. He picked it up carefully.

“What if you stopped being neutral?”

“The rating of my inn would be downgraded. It would be known that this was an unsafe place to stay. No guests would visit, and without guests, the inn would wither, fall into hibernation, and die.”

“And the witch?”

“What witch?”

“The old witch who stays with you.”

Most people would’ve taken “witch” as a slur, but for otrokar a witch meant someone of great dark power. He was simply giving Her Grace the respect she had earned.

“Caldenia won’t interfere with the peace talks. This inn and I are the only reason she is still alive. She’ll do nothing to jeopardize that.”

Dagorkun mulled it over, raised the cup to his lips, and sipped. His eyes lit up. “Good.”

“Shall we see to the rooms?”

He nodded. I led him through the front room to a perfectly ordinary hallway. It matched the front of the house perfectly: wooden floor and plain beige walls. And the portrait of my parents in the dead center, in a small alcove just as you walk through the doorway. I’d moved it there just for this occasion. Dagorkun glanced at them. I scrutinized his face. No reaction.

One day someone would walk through this doorway, see my parents, and recognize them. When that happened, I would be ready. I just needed a faint trail, a crumb, some drop of information that told me where to start looking for them. I would not stop until I found them.

We turned right, walked a few feet to another plain doorway, and stepped through it. Dagorkun stopped. A curving stairway of dark wood led up, its rail decorated with carved stylized animals: the long-legged three-horned stag; the kair, a wolf-like predator; the massive armor-plated garuz that looked like a three-horned rhino on steroids… I went right down the list of otrokar heraldry in the traditional order. Light fixtures imitating the traditional torches burned in their sconces on the dark wall streaked with red and gold. Colorful banners of the Hope-Crushing Horde hung between them.

“Does the stairway meet with your approval?” I asked.

“It will suffice,” Dagorkun said carefully.

“Please.” I pointed to the stairs. He started up the steps. Here is hoping the pits were deep enough.

Twenty minutes later we established that the pits were perfectly proportioned, the faux-silk pillows were soft enough and in the correct array of colors, the arched windows were properly ornate, and the view of the orchard which had required enough dimensional finagling to make the entire university of theoretical physicists beg for mercy was stimulating enough. The orchard was seen from every new guest room I had built for the summit, which should’ve been impossible, but I never bothered too much with the laws of physics anyway. If they decided to jump out of their windows, they would end up in my orchard behind the house and out of site of the main road and subdivision. Not that I had any intention of letting anyone exit the inn without my knowledge.

By the end of the tour Dagorkun had relaxed enough to stop continuously checking corners for hidden assassins. We were almost back to my front room when the inn chimed. I glanced out of the window just in time to catch the last glimpse of a familiar red flash. Oh no.

“We have company,” I told Dagorkun. “Excuse me, please.”

I walked to the front door and opened it. A massive figure filled the doorway, broad-shouldered and clad into black armor shot through with blood-red, which made him look enormous. His blond hair spilled onto his back like a long lion’s mane. His face, masculine with a heavy square jaw, was handsome enough to make you pause.

“My lady Dina.” His voice was rich and resonant, the kind of voice that would overpower the roar of the battle, which was fitting since he was the Marshal of House Krahr and had to snarl orders in the middle of the battle quite frequently.

“Lord Arland,” I said. “Please enter.”

Arland stepped through and saw Dagorkun. The two of them froze.

“Hello, Arland,” Dagorkun said. No traditional sun greeting, huh.

“Hello, Dagorkun,” Arland said.

The vampire and otrokar glared at each other. A moment passed. Another. If they kept this up, the floor between would catch on fire.

I sighed. “Would the two of you like some tea?”

The vampire and the otrokar stared at each other over the rims of their cups. Arland was built like a saber-toothed tiger, huge, powerful, and strong. Dagorkun was taller than him by a couple of inches, and while his build was not quite as massive, he was corded with muscle. Neither of them seemed especially worried. They were just sitting here politely, drinking tea and trying to strangle each other with pure will.

“How is your father?” Arland asked, his voice nonchalant, each word precise.

“The Khan is well,” Dagorkun answered. “How is Lady Ilemina?”

“She’s well also.”

“That’s good to hear. Will she be joining us?”

Arland raised his thick eyebrows. “No, she must attend to matters elsewhere. Will the Khan grace us with his presence?”

“Likewise the Khan has many responsibilities,” Dagorkun answered. “He sends the Khanum in his stead.”

So, Arland’s mother wasn’t coming but Dagorkun’s was. The Guide to Major Powers, which I had purchased during summer and which had cost me an arm and a leg, listed Lady Ilemina as the Preceptor of House Krahr together with two pages of her titles and decorations, some of which included words like “Slaughterer of” and “Supreme Predator of.” The Khanum had an equally long list of titles studded with gems like “Spinebreaker” and “Gut Ripper.” All things considered, I was glad only one of them was coming.

Having their sons sitting across from each other, sipping tea and wishing they could drop all pretense and just tear each other’s head off was difficult enough. I finally realized the full extent of the mess I’d gotten into. When there would be six or more individuals from each side, keeping them from violence was going to be almost impossible. This is exactly why Caldenia thought these peace talks were going to be great. My imagination painted a huge brawl in the ballroom and Her Grace quietly sneaking off with a bloody body.

“The Khanum?” Arland coughed. The last sip of tea must’ve gone wrong.

“Are you unwell?” Dagorkun inquired.

“Healthy as a krahr,” Arland said.

“That’s such a relief. I would hate for some illness to interfere and spoil the grand celebration I planned when I send you to your afterlife.”

“Really?” Arland’s eyes narrowed. “I’d think my succumbing to an illness would be a blessing, as it is the only way you could manage such a feat. I dare say, it would have to be a
severe
illness and even then, I fear the chances of your victory would be remote.”

The otrokar clicked his tongue. “Such hubris, Marshall.”

“I detest false modesty.”