Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 655(@200wpm)___ 524(@250wpm)___ 437(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 655(@200wpm)___ 524(@250wpm)___ 437(@300wpm)
“We should lock her in,” he grumbled.
“She would be mortally offended.”
I got up, took my robe off the hook, and slipped it on. Nobody needed to know that I was wearing only underwear and a tank top underneath. Finding my sandals seemed too hard, so I stuck my feet into a pair of flowery Crocs Sean kept making fun of, took my broom, and headed to the otrokar section.
I had made the otrokar quarters for the peace summit that freed Sean from being Turan Adin. At the time, it housed the Khanum, who was Dagorkun’s mother, and her delegation. All otrokar tribes had similar requirements: private bedrooms for the leaders and the shaman, communal bedrooms for the warriors, a large common area with a sunken fire pit, and a secondary meeting area with another fire pit, where the leaders could hold private meetings. Tailoring the rooms to the current otrokar delegation took ten minutes. I had adjusted the colors to reflect the Southern sensibilities, added another bedroom, and called it a day.
At this time of night most of the otrokars would be in the common area, probably playing dice or telling stories before going to sleep. The Hope Crushing Horde had robust oral traditions, born at the time when their nomadic tribes traversed their homeworld following the seasonal rains. They would ride their vicious savok mounts all day and then camp, cook their food by the fire, and recount stories of heroes from long-gone ages.
The modern Horde warriors rarely grilled their meals over an open flame, although they tried to do it every chance they got, and the skies above them usually shone with unfamiliar stars, but some traditions remained sacred. The same stories that had once echoed over the plains of the ancestral planet were now told in the hulls of massive spaceships on the way to their next interstellar conquest.
I swept the quarters with my senses. As expected, most of the group was in the common area, but two beings chose a more private setting, on the balcony overlooking the orchard. One of them was Caldenia. The other was…Surkar, the otrokar’s spousal candidate.
I approached from the orchard side. I had put a barrier in place, so the otrokars could view the orchard, but they couldn’t jump down into it. I had no such limitations. The barrier slid over me like it wasn’t even there, and I paused in the shadows, directly under the stone balcony. I had gotten poisoned on this balcony and almost died, and then Sean had sold himself into eternal servitude to the Merchants to save me. Fun times.
A fire burned in the pit above me. The inn had a strained relationship with fire, and it was acutely aware of the small knot of heat and flames. The night breeze brought a faint scent of red tea. The Khanum preferred wanla, a stronger, coarser version she’d called “poor people’s tea,” but this smelled like a more refined, expensive variety.
Caldenia was talking in a low voice. The last time she had used that tone, a Draziri warrior betrayed his commander and tried to murder him in the middle of the battle.
Gertrude Hunt offered me a branch. I stepped on it and the inn lifted me up, dissolving the seemingly solid stone above my head. I rose out of the balcony like a wraith.
The balcony had no lamps. The illumination came from the fire pit and the soft light of the common room behind it. Her Grace sat half in shadow, flames dancing over her face, and sipped her tea from an ornate clay cup. She had abandoned the elaborate evening gowns in favor of her Earth clothes: a pair of gray jeans, white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket, which was entirely too warm considering the lingering heat.
She almost never wore anything like that. In fact, I was sure these were the only jeans she owned, because I bought them for her years ago when she came to the inn, and I had never seen them since. Even when she visited with her friends from the subdivision across the street, she usually chose a dress. She must’ve felt the rugged nature of the jeans would make the right statement to Surkar.
To her left, Surkar wore a kilt, soft boots, and nothing else, letting the light of the fire highlight what he believed to be the galaxy’s best chest. Sean’s was better.
Caldenia’s tone was sardonic and slightly bitter. “…His father was the same. Let’s just say that their deductive powers leave much to be desired. Some people simply must be confronted with the obvious.”
Surkar nodded, his face thoughtful. The two of them were completely at ease, two conspirators murmuring over the fire.
Lingering here any longer would be eavesdropping.
“Your Grace,” I said.
Surkar jerked. That’s right, fear my stealthy ways.