Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles 2)

Being invited to share a tea was an honor and a privilege. Still, if it was up to me, I would’ve stayed on my nice comfortable couch.

“Please inform Khanum that I’m honored and will see her in ten minutes.”

Dagorkun’s image vanished.

“I will come as well,” Caldenia said.

“If you wish, Your Grace.”

“Oh I do not wish. They’re barbarians. A woefully unrefined culture.” Caldenia rose. “However, I do not trust that brute of a woman to not poison you.”

I dismissed the screen and it retracted itself into a wall. “Poison wouldn’t be in the otrokar character. They favor direct violence.”

“And that’s precisely why I am coming. In matters of diplomacy and love one must strive for spontaneity. Doing the unexpected often gets you what you want. It wouldn’t be typical for the Horde to resort to poison, so we must assume they will.”

We walked to the staircase, the doors opening as we approached the walls. “What possible reasons would they have to poison me?”

“I can think of several. The most obvious one would be to gain access to the rest of the inn. With you out of the way, they could ambush and slaughter the vampires.”

“That would bar them from Earth forever.” Not to mention that the inn would murder them.

Caldenia smiled. “And the hope for the peace between the Horde and the Holy Anocracy would perish with them. Of all the types of beings one finds herself dealing with, the true believers are the worst. A typical sentient’s psyche is a spiderweb. Pull on the right thread and you will get the desired result. Praise them, and they will like you. Ridicule them and they’ll hate you. Greedy can be bought, timid can be frightened, smart can be persuaded but the zealots are immune to money, fear, or reason. A zealot’s psyche is a tight rope. They have severed everything else in favor of their goal. They will pay any price for their victory, and that makes them infinitely more dangerous.”

Caldenia’s mind wasn’t just a spider web, it was a whole constellation of spider nests. “So is there no way to subvert a true believer?”

“I didn’t say that.” Caldenia permitted herself a small smile. “At the core, they’re often beings ruled by passion. Given time and proper enticement, one passion can be replaced with another. But it takes a long while and requires careful emotional management.”

Dagorkun met us at the door. He nodded at me, pointedly ignored Caldenia’s presence, and led us to the back, where the Khanum sat on a wide covered balcony. A fire pit occupied the center, the stone of the balcony circling it in a broken ring, forming a round bench lined with orange, green, and yellow pillows. A thick blanket of grey clouds smothered the sky, promising rain but failing to deliver. The Khanum sprawled on the pillows. Her spacer armor was gone. Instead she wore a light voluminous robe the color of blood, embroidered with turquoise birds, alien, their plumage studded with dots of pure white, frolicking among sharp dark branches. Her face looked tired. Up close it was hard to ignore how huge she was. I looked like a child by comparison.

The Khanum regarded me from under half closed eyelids. “Greetings, Innkeeper.”

“Greetings, Khanum.”

“Sit with me.”

I took a seat across from her. Caldenia sat to my right.

The Khanum rolled her head and looked at her, her gaze heavy. “Witch.”

“Savage.” Caldenia smiled back, showing her sharp inhuman teeth.

“We know of you,” the Khanum said. “You’ve murdered a great many people. You’ve eaten some of them. You are a kadul.”

A cannibal.

“An abomination,” the Khanum said.

“You know what they say about abominations,” Caldenia said. “We make the worst enemies.”

“Was that a threat?”” Dagorkun’s eyes narrowed.

“A warning.” Caldenia folded her hands on her lap. “There is only one time to make threats: when you intend to negotiate. I do not.”

A male otrokar came in, bringing a tray bearing a tea pot and four cups. Dagorkun reached for it, but the Khanum took hold of the tea kettle first.

“Khanum…” Dagorkun began.

“Hush,” she told him. “It’s been years since I last poured you tea. Pretend you are five for your mother’s sake.”

Dagorkun sat down to my left and watched as the Khanum poured everyone a cup. Caldenia picked up her cup, turned her left hand so the large amethyst ring on her middle finger faced the surface, and dipped it into ruby-colored liquid.

The Khanum raised her eyebrows.

“It’s an insult to question the Khanum’s hospitality,” Dagorkun said.

“Alas, I do not care.” Caldenia glanced at her ring. A light blue symbol flashed on the surface of the beautiful stone. Caldenia picked up the cup and sipped it. I followed her lead. The tea, flavorful, spicy, and slightly bitter, washed over my tongue. I held it in my mouth, waiting for the familiar nip, and let it roll down my throat.

“You’ve had the red tea before,” the Khanum observed.

“Yes, but not this variety.” Most of the red tea I had seen was lighter in color, sometimes almost orange.

“This is wassa,” the Khanum said. “Poor people’s tea. You probably met the wealthier of our kind. They tend toward the paler teas. I like the tea my mother made. It’s the one Horde drinks after a hard march.”