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I knew how he felt. One small mistake, and everything we’ve built could come crushing down. We couldn’t lose Gertrude Hunt. We just couldn’t.
“This could be made much simpler if we just locked Caldenia up until it’s over,” Sean said.
“Sometimes you say things that make me wonder about you.”
“No need to wonder. I’m a simple man. I love you and I will protect you. And the inn. Even if I have to murder Caldenia and everyone else to do it.”
I stood on my toes and kissed him. “What if we don’t murder anybody?”
The corners of his mouth curved. “No promises.”
“Are we ready?”
“As ready as we’re going to be.”
I touched the wall in front of us with my broom. Glowing dots of light pulsed from the broom, drawing an outline of a huge double door in the wall. The once-solid surface split down the middle, and the two halves of the door swung open, letting a flood of sunshine bathe us.
A large empty arena spread before us, bordered by a raised amphitheater divided into fourteen sections, one for each delegation, one for Kosandion and his retinue, and the last for the observers. Each section was freestanding, raised thirty feet above the arena’s floor, and separated from the adjoining sections by a thirty-foot gap. A short safety wall secured the sections. We had shamelessly stolen the idea from the Old Arena at Baha-char.
Ideally, I would have encircled each section by an impenetrable barrier, the same way I had secured Kosandion’s balcony. Unfortunately, maintaining that many barriers simultaneously was beyond Gertrude Hunt’s capacity. They also caused a distortion in Orata’s cameras, and since the whole thing had to be recorded, I settled for the wide gaps and bringing Gertrude Hunt to high alert. If the delegates as much as twitched toward each other, the inn would pluck them right out of their seats and toss them back into their respective quarters.
In the center of the arena, I had raised a stage. Perfectly round and exactly 25 yards across, it sat about ten feet above the arena floor. When the candidates would need to enter it, I would make a ramp from their section directly to the stage.
“What about the moderator platform?” I asked.
We needed a moderator for the debate, and Sean had volunteered to make a special platform for him.
“I’m working on it,” Sean said.
He raised his head to the brilliant blue sky and squinted at the sunshine. In reality, the arena was deep inside the inn. I had done some serious damage to dimensional physics. The sky above us was real, but if someone flew a drone over the inn, they would find only the worn roof of an ordinary ornate Victorian.
Even a year ago, expending that much energy would have been impossible for me. Each inn had a finite capacity for energy storage. A steady flow of guests was much preferable to the feast or famine scenario Gertrude Hunt had to endure for the last couple of years. Our reputation was spreading, and we’d had more visitors in the past few months than ever, each of them more troublesome than a typical inn guest but very much welcome. These guests allowed our inn a chance to grow, but its energy reserves were still insufficient to contain the massive influx of this event. Gertrude Hunt was overflowing with magic. It was a use-it-or-lose-it situation, so I used it to give the trials a wow factor.
Tony had shaken his head at the arena and told me I was working too hard. According to him, a college auditorium would’ve done the job. But the Dominion was broadcasting the spousal selection across multiple star systems. Their neighbors were tuning in, and the Innkeeper Assembly was watching it and evaluating our performance. Gertrude Hunt’s reputation was on the line. As Caldenia once told me, life gave us few opportunities to put our best foot forward, so when a chance to shine presented itself, it was best to take it. A little bit of showmanship didn’t hurt.
A chime pealed through the arena. It was time.
Sean tapped his spear on the floor. Huge screens descended from the clear sky, offering each section a chance to view the action up close.
I planted my broom on the stone tiles, formed a tunnel between the closest section and House Meer’s quarters, and opened their doors.
“Greetings, my fellow beings!”
Gaston cut a striking figure in the middle of the stage. He’d changed into a stunning white and gray outfit, embroidered with silver-blue thread that complemented his silver eyes. It fit him like a glove while still projecting the air of what he called “gentlemanly menace.” He had looked like a space pirate before. Now he looked like a space pirate prince who had done very well for himself.
His voice matched his new for-TV persona, resonant and smooth, as it blasted from the hidden speakers. It took him exactly four words to get everyone’s attention. Sean, a few yards away at the edge of the stage, might as well have been invisible, despite his robe, his spear, and his tendency to loom.
