An unspecified favor to Nuan Cee. I would have to be insane to take it. There was no telling what he would ask.

The peace summit had to proceed at all costs. I had no choice. I held out my hand. “Done.”

Nuan Cee laughed, grapsed my fingers, and shook. “Delightful. I do so love this Earth custom. Talk to the Nuan Sama in the stables. She’s an expert in operating it.”

Of course she is.

We thanked Nuan Cee and made our exit.

“I take it, you can’t trust anything they say,” George said.

“It depends. All is fair while they are bargaining, but once they make a deal, they will honor it.” And I had just managed to get myself into a bigger mess.

Five minutes later Hardwir and Nuan Sama walked off toward Nuan’s camouflaged craft in the field. I pulled the dashboard camera out of the car. I’d need to attach it to my car and park it in front of the inn so we could fake the footage.

“What did you tell him?” Arland asked Edalon.

The Battle Chaplain sighed. “I reminded him that engineer’s oath also obligated him to give freely of his skill and knowledge for the public good if so required. I cannot think of a greater public good than ending a war that devours lives but brings neither honor, nor glory, nor land. This misery must end, whatever the cost.”

A soft beep echoed through the stables.

“The Marshall of House Vorga has three minutes left.” I grabbed my dashboard camera and hurried back to the front room. The vampires and George chased me. All this running around would be comical if lives and the Gertrude Hunt weren’t at stake.

I walked into the front room. The timer was down to fifteen seconds. The two vampires stood completely still, watching it.

Here is hoping he was still alive.

The numbers ran down to zero and flashed once. I melted the wall.

The Marshall of House Vorga walked into my front room. He was soaked. Blood dripped from a dozen cuts on his body suit. His right hand gripped his axe. His left carried a three foot long monstrous head. It was pale orange, covered with shimmering scales and looked like something that would be drawn on an antique map with a caption “Here be monsters” underneath.

With a grimace, the Marshall dropped the head and the five foot long stump of the neck in the middle of the floor, stepped over it, and looked at George.

“The Office of Arbitration is satisfied,” George said.

Lord Robart turned toward the hallway. The two vampires picked up his armor and followed him without a word.

“What do you want us to do with the head?” Orro asked behind me.

The Marshall paused. “Do whatever you will.”

They turned into the hallway leading to vampire quarters.

“I think it’s time I retired as well,” Lady Isur said. “Arbiter, Innkeeper, Marshal, Your Grace, please excuse me. I must make myself presentable before the opening ceremony.”

“Of course,” George said.

Arland grimaced. “I suppose it’s best I go as well. By your leave.”

The two Marshalls departed.

Orro stalked out of the kitchen and grabbed the head with his long claws.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to cook that,” I said.

“Of course I’m going to cook it.” He waved the head around for emphasis. “May I remind you that you’re on a limited budget?”

“What if it’s poisonous?” Jack asked.

“Preposterous!” Orro growled. “This is clearly a Morean water drake. They may not be the most tasty flesh the ocean has to offer, but I am not some short order cook.”

He tucked the severed head under his arm and took it to the kitchen.

“I shall have to make some preparations as well,” George said. He and Jack left the room.

My legs gave out and I landed into a chair. Beast leaped into my lap.

Caldenia looked at me across the room. “So much excitement and the peace talks haven’t even started.”

I groaned and put my hands over my face.

George wore soft charcoal trousers. Mid-calf high boots, made of supple dark grey leather with a hint of blue, hugged his feet. His shirt was pale cream and his vest, the blue-grey of a heron wing, was embroidered with a dazzling silver pattern too complicated to untangle at first glance. His long golden blond hair was brushed back from his face and caught at the nape of his neck into a horse tail. His walking stick was in his hand and his limp was back, but as he stood at the back of the grand ballroom, he looked like an ageless prince from some hopelessly romantic fairy tale.

His brother stood on his right, wrapped in layers of brown leather. I could see no weapons, although he must’ve had some stashed somewhere. His auburn hair was slightly disheveled. George emanated an almost fragile elegance, but Jack was completely relaxed, his posture lazy, his face distant as if he had absolutely no interest in what was about to happen and couldn’t be bothered to pay attention.

They looked nothing alike, but I was absolutely sure they were brothers. I never seen two people so skilled at pretending to be the exact opposite of themselves.

Gaston had parked himself on Jack’s right. Of the three, he seemed to be the only one being himself, which meant he stood there like a short but unmovable mountain and scowled. I chose a place to the left of George and off to the side. I wasn’t really part of the ceremonies, but I was the host of this insane gathering, and the members of the delegations would need to know my face. I opted for a simple robe. I also turned my broom into a staff for the occasion. The staff would become a spear on very short notice. Not that I would need it, but you never knew.