Sweep of the Blade (Innkeeper Chronicles Book 4)

by Ilona Andrews

  Helen had fallen asleep. Arland’s quarters were only a short hallway away.

  One step. One word. That was all it would’ve taken. A tiny, minute sign, the faintest expression of desire.

  She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. Instead she stood there like a statue, as if she had been frozen. He told her good night and she just nodded.

  He’d left.

  The door slid shut.

  She let him go. She let him slip away and then she had stripped off her armor, pissed off, and climbed into bed. The booster kept her up for another half hour and she lay on the covers, mad at herself, trying to figure out what happened and failing.

  She’d never had problems with intimacy. Melizard wasn’t her first, and whatever problems they had in their marriage, sex wasn’t one of them. Bodies spoke their own language, in love and in war, a language Maud innately understood. A blind woman could’ve read Arland last night, and if Maud told herself she didn’t know what she wanted, she would be lying.

  What’s wrong with me?

  “Am I a mongrel?”

  Helen’s question caught her off guard. Maud blinked, trying to switch mental gears.

  “It’s fine if I am,” Helen said. “I just want to know.”

  “Did someone call you that?”

  Helen didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

  “Did they use that word?”

  “They called me erhissa.”

  Maud’s hands curled on the stone wall. Helen must’ve plugged the word into her harbinger, and the translation software spat out the closest equivalent: mongrel. They called her that, those assholes. In that moment, she could’ve hurt whoever said it and she didn’t particularly care if it was an adult or a child.

  Maud gripped her anger with her will and bent it until she was sure her voice would sound calm and measured. She had to explain. Hiding the truth wouldn’t serve either of them well.

  “Touch this.” She held out the sleeve of her robe. Helen brushed her fingers over the smooth material.

  “The vampires breed a special creature, a type of strange-looking snake. The snakes secrete long threads of silk and spin their nests from them. The vampires collect these nests and make them into fabric. There are two main types, kahissa, which make very thin, light fabric like this one, and ohissa, which make stronger fabric that’s warm and durable. Both are useful. Sometimes kahissa and ohissa breed and they make a third kind of snake, erhissa. Erhissa don’t make nests. They’re poisonous and they bite.”

  Helen flinched.

  “To vampires, erhissa have no purpose,” Maud said. “But the erhissa knows the world doesn’t revolve around vampires. It doesn’t care what vampires think. It just keeps doing its own thing.”

  “So, I’m a mongrel.”

  “On Earth, that’s a word people use when they don’t know what breed a dog is. You know who you are. You are Helen.”

  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 t
he 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.

  “We’ve suspected Kozor and Serak of collaborating with the pirates, but to stoop to piracy themselves is base.”

  “It’s not unheard of,” Maud pointed out and wished she had bitten her tongue.

  “You’re right. But the Houses of the Holy Anocracy never prey on each other without a declaration of war.” Ilemina took a swallow of her wine. “It’s a hefty accusation. I need proof.”

  “I understand,” Maud said.

  They sipped their wine. The pressure was mounting inside Maud with every passing second.

  “You didn’t ask me here to talk about Kozor,” Maud said.

  “You’re not very good with silences,” Ilemina said. “Something to work on.”

  Maud reached out, took a skewer of small yellow berries and slid one into her mouth.

  “What are your intentions toward my son?” Ilemina asked.

  Maud considered the question. What the hell were her intentions? She settled on honesty. “I don’t know.”

  “What’s there to know?” Ilemina fixed her with her stare. “You have feelings for him. You followed him across the Void. He has feelings for you. He brought you here. What’s the holdup?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “But it is. You’re both adults. I see the way you look at him when you forget to guard your face.”

  What?

  “He asked you to marry him. You said no. What are you waiting for? What is it you want? Wealth? Power? Marry him and you’ll have both.”

  She thought Maud was a gold digger. A familiar irritation stabbed at her, like a burr under her foot. “I don’t need Arland to earn a living. I’m the daughter of innkeepers. I speak dozens of languages, I’m trained for combat, and I’m at home at any trade hub. If I wish, I can return to my sister’s inn anytime I want.”

  She could. Given that Dina’s inn had access to Baha-char, the galactic bazaar, if she wanted to take jobs, they would be plentiful, and the pay would be great.

  A small triumphant light sparked in Ilemina’s eyes. “And yet here you are. Subjecting yourself to the humiliation of being a human in a vampire House and bearing a blank crest.”

  Maud almost bit her tongue.

  “Clearly, a strong bond pulled you across space.”

  Maud said nothing.

  “Do you love my son?” Ilemina asked.

  “Yes.” The answer came with surprising ease.

  Ilemina stared at her. “Then do something about it.”

  Maud opened her mouth and clicked it shut.

  “It’s a problem that has a straightforward solution. There is no need to make a hissot out of it.”

  Fantastic. Her might be mother-in-law just compared her feelings to a ball of wriggling venomous snakes.

  “It’s not just me,” Maud said quietly.

  Ilemina leaned forward. “Do you honestly think your child would fare better on Earth? She has killed, Maud. She has fangs. She’s a vampire child if I ever saw one. We can do so much with her. Humans can do nothing. You will have to hide her for the rest of her life. Can you do that to your daughter?”

  “What do you want from me?” Maud growled.

  “I want to get to the bottom of this. Stop pretending to be an idiot and tell me what’s holding you back, because my son is miserable and I’m tired of watching the two of you dance about each other.”

  “I’ve been on the planet for three days!”

  “Three days is plenty. What is it you want, Maud of the Innkeepers?”

  “I want Helen to be happy.”

  Ilemina sighed and drank her wine. “My parents had no use for me when I was growing up. Their House was a war House. There was always a battle they were fighting or preparing to fight. They didn’t notice me until I grew enough to be useful. I exerted myself to my fullest, I excelled, I volunteered for every action, just to get
a crumb of their attention. When I met my future husband, I was the Marshal of their House. I talked to Arland’s father for less than an hour, and I knew I would walk away with him if he asked. For the very first time in my life, someone saw me as I was.”

  The words sank deep. She’d shown Arland exactly who she was and he’d admired her for it.

  Ilemina smiled. “I did walk away with him and then I fought a war against my parents’ House when they tried to punish me for finding happiness. It was the ultimate act of selfishness on their part. So when my daughter was born, I swore that I wouldn’t be my mother. I paid attention to my child. I was involved in every aspect of her life. I nurtured her, supported her, encouraged her. I trained her. So did my husband. Some might say that my husband and I neglected our own union for the sake of our daughter and they wouldn’t be wrong.”

  Ilemina paused, tracing the rim of her glass with her finger. “When my daughter was twenty-two years old, she met a knight and fell in love. He was everything I could ever wish for in a son-in-law. My heart broke anyway, but I didn’t want to stand in her way. She married him. She lives halfway across the galaxy and visits once every year or two. Arland was ten years old when she left. He barely knows her. I have grandchildren I almost never see.”

  Maud had no idea what to say, so she stayed silent.

  “Children leave,” Ilemina told her. “It is the greatest tragedy of motherhood that if you have done everything right, if you have raised them in confidence and independence, they will pick up and leave you. It is as it’s meant to be. One day Helen will leave.”

  Anxiety pierced Maud. She swallowed, trying to keep it under wraps.

  “If you try to hold and restrain her, you’ll be committing an irreparable sin. We shouldn’t hobble our young. We do not cut their teeth. One day it will be just you, Maud.”

  “I understand,” Maud murmured. Thinking about it hurt.

  “Where do you see yourself when that day comes?” Ilemina asked.

  She knew where she wanted to be but getting there was so complicated.