Sweep of the Blade (Innkeeper Chronicles 4)

Helen looked down and dragged her stick across the stone, her jaw set.

“Each of us is more than just a human or just a vampire. There is only one you. Some people realize that, and others refuse to see it.”

“Why?”

Maud sighed. “Because some people have rigid minds. They like everything to be clearly labeled. They have a box for everyone they meet. A box for vampires, a box for lees, a box for humans. When someone doesn’t fit into their boxes, they panic.”

“But why?”

“I don’t exactly know, my flower. I think it’s because they lack confidence. They think they figured out the rules of their world and when something falls outside those rules, it scares them.”

“So, I’m scary?”

“To those people? Yes. If the rules they made up don’t apply anymore, they don’t know how to act, and it makes them feel like their survival is in doubt. Instead of adapting to a new situation and coming up with a new set of rules, some of them will fight to the death trying to keep the world the way it was. Do you remember when we lived in Fort Kur? What was written above the door?”

“Adapt or die,” Helen said.

“It’s impossible to stop change,” Maud said. “It’s the nature of life. Those who refuse to adapt will eventually die out. But before they do, they will get nasty. They might even hate you.”

Helen looked up. Her eyes flashed. “I’ll hate them back!”

“Hate is a very powerful tool. Don’t waste it. People who don’t like you because of what you are may change their minds when they get to know you. But some people will hate you because of who you are. If they were honest with themselves, they would admit that they don’t like you because something about you makes them feel inferior. They might think you’re a better fighter, or you’re smarter, or prettier, or you’re taking up attention they think should be going to them. Those people are truly dangerous. If they get a chance, they will hurt you and those you love. Save your hate for those people. Never hurt them first, but if they hurt you or your friends, you must hurt them back harder. Do you understand?”

Helen nodded.

“Do you want to go back to Aunt Dina’s inn?”

Helen’s shoulders sagged. “Sometimes.”

Maud stepped close to her daughter and hugged her. “We can go anytime. We don’t have to stay here.”

“But sometimes I like it here,” Helen said into her shoulder. “I like Ymanie. Aunt Dina’s inn doesn’t have Ymanie.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

If they went back to Dina’s inn, Helen would have to be homeschooled. Even if Maud could alter her daughter’s outlook on life, there was no way to disguise the fangs, or her strength, or the way her eyes caught the light at night. Growing up at the inn was interesting and fun, but it had its lonely moments. All three of them, Klaus, Maud, and Dina, had dealt with it in their own ways. Klaus left the inn every chance he got. He and Michael, his best friend and another innkeeper’s son, went on excursions, to Baha-char, to Kio-kio, and every place they could possibly reach from either of the inns. Maud had burrowed into books and spent way too much time practicing martial arts with their father and then various tutors. And Dina went through phases when she tried to pretend to be just human and attempt to go to public school to find friends. Friendships built on lies never lasted.

Maud hugged Helen tighter. There were no perfect options.

She wanted to fix it. If she could wave a magic wand and streamline the galaxy for the sake of her daughter, she would do it in a heartbeat.

“It doesn’t have to be here or the inn,” she said. “We can try living somewhere else. We can open a shop at Baha-char. We can get a ship and travel the galaxy.”

Helen’s harbinger chirped. She poked at it with her finger. “Ymanie says there are baby birds on Tower 12.”

Maud sighed. In the end, Helen was just five years old. “Would you like to go and see baby birds?”

“Yes!” Helen jumped off the wall onto the balcony.

“Go ahead. No heroics, Helen. No touching the birds, no climbing up dangerous high places, and no—”

“Yes, Mommy!”

Maud closed her mouth and watched her daughter sprint inside and to the door.

Right now, baby birds fixed all of Helen’s problems. But she wouldn’t be five forever.

What do I do? What’s the right thing here?

In this moment, Maud would’ve given ten years of her life to be able to call her mother.

She went inside. Her harbinger glowed. Great. A high priority message, ten minutes ago. At least it didn’t sit there for too long.

Maud touched the screen. Lady Ilemina’s face appeared.

“Lady Maud,” Arland’s mother said. “Do join me for lunch.”

11

Lady Ilemina had decided to take her lunch in the Small Garden. Small, Maud decided, as she walked down the stone path, was a relative term.

The Small Garden occupied roughly four acres atop a tiny mesa that thrust out of the living rock of the mountain. There were many such mesas on the grounds and the castle simply grew around them, incorporating them into its structure. Some supported towers, others provided space for utility areas or other parks. Her harbinger informed her that there was a larger garden, imaginatively titled the Large Garden, almost twice the size of the small one; also the High Garden, the Low Garden, the Silver Garden, the River Garden…she stopped reading after that.

Vampires loved nature, but where on Earth a garden meant a carefully cultivated space, organized, planned, and often offering a variety of plants from all over the planet, a vampire garden was basically a chunk of preserved wilderness. It was a carefully tended wilderness, pruned, managed, and well loved, but every plant in it was native to the area. The vampire gardeners planted extra flowers and encouraged picturesque shrubs and native herbs, but it would never occur to them to transplant flowers from one continent to another. If they saw a Chinese butterfly bush in a British garden among the native bluebells, they would’ve pulled it out as a weed.

The exception was the vala tree. The Holy Anocracy brought them to every planet it colonized.

The garden around Maud showcased the best this biozone had to offer. Tall trees with narrow turquoise leaves and pale bark rose on both sides of the path. Their roots lay partially exposed and knotted together as if someone had taken cypress trees and decided to try their hand at macramé. Under the roots delicate lavender and blue flowers bloomed in clusters, with five petals each and a spray of long stamens. The flowers glowed slightly, their leaves shimmering with a nacre sheen. A frilly emerald shrub, its leaves tinged with brighter green, crowded around the roots. Between the trees, where more sun penetrated through the canopy, other flowers bloomed. Tall stems supported narrow blossoms shaped like rose-colored champagne flutes stuffed to the brim with a wealth of white stamens. Translucent flowers, as big as her head, spread their tissue-thin petals, each petal a faint blue marked with a bright red vein running through its middle and meeting in the flower’s glowing golden center. Long spikes, shivering with yellow tendrils, dripped glittering pollen on to their neighbors’ leaves. The air smelled of spice and sweet perfumes.

Dina would have a field day here.

The path ended in a large circle. A stream ran in a ring, sectioning off the center of the path into a round island. A single vala tree grew in the circle, not one of the massive thousand-year-old giants, but a more recent planting, its trunk barely four feet wide. It spread its dark branches bearing blood-red leaves over the water of the stream and the small stone table with two chairs, one empty and the other occupied by Lady Ilemina in full armor.

Here we go. Maud walked across the stone bridge. The older woman looked at her.

“So, you’ve made it after all. Excellent.”

Maud bowed and took her seat. A plate was already set in front of her. A large platter held an assortment of fried foods, meats, and fruit on small skewers. Finger foods. A tall glass pitcher offered green wine.

Ilemina leaned back in her chair, sitting sideways, one long leg over the other, her left arm resting on the table. Up close, the resemblance between her and Arland was unmistakable. Same hair, same determined look in the blue eyes, same stubborn angle of the jaw. A lunch with a krahr.

“Your face was thoughtful as you walked the path,” Ilemina said.

How much to say? “I was thinking about my sister.”

“Oh?”

“When the three of us, my brother, my sister, and I, were growing up in our parents’ inn, each of us was responsible for a specific area of the inn in addition to our general chores. Dina’s was gardens. She would love it here.”

“What was yours?”

“Stables.”

“I would’ve never guessed. You have no mount or pet.”

“There weren’t many opportunities for pets on Karhari.”

“And before that?” Ilemina asked.

She had to set some boundaries. “That’s in the past.”

“My brother told me of your findings.” Ilemina picked up the pitcher and filled their glasses.

Maud lifted the glass to her lips and took a small sip of wine. The older woman was watching her carefully.