“They are koo-ko.”
Sean looked at the ceiling. “Show me a koo-ko.”
A screen slid from the wall. On it, a being about thirty inches tall spread its plumage. Soft cream feathers covered its face, brightening to a shocking pink on the back of its head and back and turning vivid crimson on the wings and bushy tail. A second pair of appendages that resembled the front limbs of a dinosaur or perhaps a monkey if the monkey somehow grew talons, thrust from underneath the wings.
An oversized tail marked the koo-ko as a male. He wore an elaborate pleated harness that fit over his head and sat on his shoulders, then widened into a lavish utility belt stuffed with electronics, quills made from bright feathers, and rolls of something suspiciously resembling toilet paper on a wide bobbin.
The koo-ko looked at us with purple eyes, fluffed up his feathers, and strode back and forth, his plump body rocking with each step.
Sean cracked a smile. “They are chickens.”
“Technically they’re not even avian.”
“Dina, we’re going to host sixty-one space chickens.”
I gave up. “Yes.”
“And they’re going to argue philosophy.”
“Mhm. This means they will want a forum with a podium and a debate circle, and a coop to sleep in, and we have to buy a lot of grain…”
He laughed.
“You’re not taking this very seriously.”
“We’ll have to tell Orro to stop serving poultry.”
“Sean Evans!”
He put his arm around me. I leaned against him.
“A beautiful room,” he said.
It was beautiful. There was something ethereal about the Treaty Stay, something fresh and clean and hopeful, like a bright spring day after a terrible winter.
“You’ve hosted a peace summit between the Holy Anocracy, the Merchants and the Hope-Crushing Horde. And then you took on the Draziri,” Sean said.
“Yes.”
“I’ve never seen you this anxious. What’s the matter?”
I sighed.
“Is it the Assembly?”
“Partially. I don’t like not knowing where we stand with them, but in the end, as you said, they can only downgrade us. They can’t take away Gertrude Hunt unless we commit a truly heinous offense.”
“So, it’s the Drífan.”
“I abandoned my inn.” It just kind of fell out.
Sean frowned. “I don’t follow.”
“When I jumped through the door with the seed of the baby inn, I abandoned Gertrude Hunt. The inn had to survive without me. I traumatized it.”
“You had no choice.”
“I know. But the inn is fragile now. It waits and watches and the connection between us…is more tentative. I don’t know if Gertrude Hunt is afraid of getting hurt or of me being hurt, or maybe it worries it might hurt me somehow. But there is a distance between us. It wasn’t noticeable day-to-day, but redecorating the inn for the Treaty Stay is complicated and requires precision. I feel it, and now that I’m aware of it, it worries me. Adding a Drífan on top of it’s too much…”
The floor in the back of the Grand Ballroom parted. That’s where I had put the massive Christmas tree before. Gertrude Hunt was doing something…
“We’ll take it day by day,” Sean said.
Something rumbled underneath the floor. A massive foxglove tree emerged from the depths of the inn, spreading huge branches through the ballroom. The long tree limbs dripped flower buds, still closed but tipped with faint lavender. I had no idea Gertrude Hunt had that hidden away. The inn didn’t show it to me the last two Treaty Stays. But then we had barely celebrated. Hard to be excited about holidays when you know your inn will be empty.
“Wow,” Sean said.
“That’s why they call it the Empress tree. Wait until it blooms.”
Magic tugged on me. Someone had crossed the boundary of the inn.
“Back camera.”
Gertrude Hunt tossed the video feed from the back camera onto the screen. A tall man strode through the back field toward the inn. A two-tone cloak, dark green on one side and black on the other, wrapped his shoulders, elaborately draped and secured with an ornate metal pin in the shape of a dagger. The metal of the pin shone faintly as he walked. He wore a complex layered robe, charcoal and accented with bright green, and carried a long staff tipped with three claws. The claws clutched a blue jewel the size of a medium apple. Two blades curved around the jewel, turning the staff into a halberd. A deep hood hid his head.
A small creature about three feet tall walked by him, holding on to his cloak with a dark brown raccoon hand. Fuzzy with cream and brown fur, it moved upright on two legs, the fur dense and thick on its body, but slicker and darker below its knees and elbows. A long fluffy tail curled into a squirrel-like S behind it. Its head was round, with a short dark muzzle and an adorable cat nose. Its eyes were round too, and huge, glowing with pale yellow when they caught the fading light. Its ears were layered, frilly and trembling, pointing downward like two floppy flowers on the sides of its head. As it walked, it must’ve heard a noise, because its ears snapped upright and it froze, terrified, standing on one skinny foot, its tail fluffed out so the fur stood on end like spikes.
The person in the cloak kept walking.
The small creature shook, seemingly torn, dashed after him, and clutched at the hem of his cloak again.
The Drífan’s representative had arrived.
2
Sean met the Drífan by the door. It swung open in front of him without me having to ask Gertrude Hunt, which made me ridiculously happy. He gave the guest a one-second look and stepped aside, inviting the Drífan to enter. The cloaked person stepped into the sitting room.
“Welcome to Gertrude Hunt,” I said. I decided that meeting him in the front room was the best strategy. The less time he had to spend in the inn, the better.
The Drífan inclined his head. The small creature by his feet looked ready to faint from stress.
“Please sit.”
A smooth voice issued forth from under the hood. “I shall stand.”
I sat on the couch. Orro loomed in the doorway to the kitchen on my left, while Caldenia perched in a padded chair by the window on the far right, sipping her tea and pretending to not be a part of this.
The guest drew back his hood. The same set of genes that gave rise to humans, vampires, and Otrokars had spread far through the galaxy, but one look at the Drífan, and you knew this wasn’t a sibling, but a distant cousin at best. His otherness slapped you in the face.
His face was all angles, lacking the human softness. His nose was sharply cut, just like his cheekbones, and his nostrils resembled that of a cat rather than a human. Light and dark patterns colored his walnut-brown skin, the kind you would see on a piece of polished red agate. They weren’t tattooed on or drawn; instead they seemed to be a natural pigmentation of his epidermis. His wide amber eyes glowed slightly with an eerie light, and the hand holding his staff had long, amber-colored claws. His hair, straight and loose, fell in a grey curtain around his face. He was beardless, but long grey whiskers hung from his upper lip.
“Greetings, innkeeper,” the Drífan said in a melodious voice.