“No, they can’t. The Anocracy will excommunicate them and level economic sanctions, but they are willing to risk it. They’ve been eyeing our holdings for years. When we come off the Nexus rotation, our House will be exhausted. It will take us years to recover. House Meer will attack us when we’re at our weakest and the riches they will rip from our corpse will more than offset any economic sanctions. The Anocracy embraces victory and shuns defeat. The Preceptor of Meer may sacrifice his eternal soul on the altar of betrayal, but his descendants will be welcomed into the fold of the Holy Church.”
Yes, they would be too powerful and too rich to remain ostracized. “On Earth we say that history is written by the winners.”
Arland nodded. “I’ve spent the last two months on that cursed planet. I’ve lost men, I’ve lost family, and I don’t intend to lose anyone else. If I have to make peace with the Horde, so be it. It would be infinitely easier if the Khan were coming himself instead of the Khanum. The Khan is a great fighter and a great leader; he understands diplomacy and he is the man the Horde wants to follow into the slaughter. The Khanum is a great general; she plans their wars and their battles, which the Khan then leads. I do not relish dealing with Dagorkun’s mother.”
He stopped. Bright rooms of pale stone spread before us, the lines elegant and powerful. Green vines dropped from the tall ledges, cascading to the floor. The floor was polished stone, the furniture solid dark wood, and the linens crimson and white. Floor to ceiling windows opened onto narrow stone balconies. It was a serene place, elegant and beautiful to behold the way a honed functional blade was beautiful.
Arland turned around, his face puzzled. “This is Zamak, our House’s coastal castle.”
“It’s a duplicate,” I said. “Unfortunately I couldn’t reproduce the sea, but I was told the view of the orchard is soothing. Does it meet with your approval?”
“It’s perfect,” he said.
Yes. Great. Wonderful. Fantastic.
“How will the meal orders be handled?”
My stomach tried to pirouette out of me. Somehow I made my lips move. “Should any of your party have special dietary needs, please list them for me and I will do my best to meet them.”
“Absolutely.”
Ten minutes later I watched Arland step into a bright red glow, turn into a star, and shoot up to the night sky. The inn chimed in my head, informing me of his departure and I sagged against the door frame.
The food. I had forgotten about the food.
What was I going to do?
Chapter 3
Most successful inns had a staff. Some jobs required a dedicated person: usually there was a chef, a bookkeeper, sometimes a kennel master, if the inn catered to guests with animal companions. Typically the innkeeper’s family handled many of these tasks. In my parents’ inn, I worked as a gardener. It was my responsibility to keep the vast flower gardens, service the ponds, and maintain the fruits trees. I loved the gardens. They were full of this small secret places that were just mine. My memory served the delicate scent of apricots in bloom, their dark crooked branches bearing small white flowers, rows of strawberries, the two yellow cherry trees I used to climb… All of it was gone now, disappeared without the proverbial trace, together with the inn and my parents within it.
A familiar pang pierced me, worry mixed with anxiety and a dash of mourning. I missed them so much. So much. It’s been years and still sometimes I woke up and in those drowsy, half-asleep moments I thought I heard mom’s voice calling me down for breakfast.
I was in a different inn now, my own inn. Up until this moment, Gertrude Hunt didn’t need a staff. I cooked for Caldenia and me and whatever rare guest happened to stop by. Cooking for two people and cooking for a party of at least twenty, with at least four different species in attendance was completely different. Not only that, but with otrokars and vampires in the same building, all of my attention would be occupied with keeping them from killing each other. And they would expect a banquet. Of course, they would. We didn’t even have a definite date for the end of the summit. I might end up feeding them for weeks.
I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t feasible. I had to hire a cook, except a cook good enough to prepare a banquet for four different species would cost a fortune, because he wouldn’t be a cook, he would be a chef. I had set funds aside for the food but somehow in all of my preparations it never occurred to me that someone would have to be cooking it. I didn’t budget for a chef. Where could I even find one on a short notice? It took weeks to hire one.
Hi, my name is Dina. I run a small inn on Earth, two and a half stars, and I need you to drop everything and prepare meals for a party of otrokars, vampires, and spoiled merchants. I have a shoe string budget and your pay would be a pittance.
I groaned. Beast barked at me, puzzled.
I looked at the tiny Shih-Tzu. “What am I going to do?”
My dog furiously wagged her tail.
I blew the air out. Panicking never solved anything. I had to go about it in a logical fashion. First hurdle, money. Where could I get some money to hire a chef?
The only money I had, besides the food fund, was in the inn’s six-month budget. Guests came and went, and an innkeeper’s income was usually somewhat erratic. My parents taught me to always budget six months ahead and to never touch that money. If I dipped into that budget, I wouldn’t be able to cover utilities in the upcoming months, and nobody would visit an inn without running water or electricity. We had backup generators, but they were an emergency measure. If I used that money, I’d be breaking one of my parents’ most fundamental rules.