“This system has worked in 11 colonies so far over eight planetary systems,” Dagorkun said. “And then we have Harra, which is where Surkar is from. Somehow when this little planet was settled, 80% of the settlers came from the South. 48% of those came from the Tribe of the Gar, which happens to be Surkar’s tribe.”

“Someone tampered with the algorithm,” Sean said, emerging from the kitchen.

Marais walked in behind him. He looked haggard.

Sean pulled a chair out for him. Marais sat. Sean poured him some coffee and put a plate in front of him.

“Yes,” Dagorkun said. “We don’t know how they did it, and we didn’t catch it for five years. The few Northerners that ended up on Harra kept having bad luck. Surprise mud slides. Power grid failures. Stray meteorites hitting their vital installations. That sort of thing.”

“Nothing you can prove,” Sean said.

“No,” Dagorkun said. “What we can prove is increased emigration. Northern veterans who have bled and earned their land are cashing out and getting off planet. And now Surkar and the gang are here. Every delegation gets main and minor asks. I need to know what their asks are.”

Marais looked like he was falling asleep.

“Hector, go home,” I murmured.

He shook his head. “I just need a minute.”

Next time we hired him to do anything, I would write his work hours and mandatory downtime into a contract and make him sign it.

Karat walked out onto the porch wearing practice armor, strode to the practice rack on the grass, chose a sword, and tossed it six feet up. It spun, and she snatched it out of the air.

Dagorkun blinked.

“If Surkar is chosen as the spouse, and they ask for a military alliance between Harra and the Dominion, would the Horde go to war?” I asked.

“Yes,” Dagorkun and Sean said at the same time.

A war between the Horde and the Dominion would be catastrophic. The Office of Arbitration would want to prevent it at any cost, as much as they would want to protect the stability of the Dominion itself.

I could almost see a translucent specter of George looming over us. He must’ve wanted so much to be here, nudging things on the right track with a gentle hand, but he couldn’t.

Bestata and Gaston emerged from the kitchen. Bestata ignored the existence of our table, making sure that all of us registered that we were beneath her notice. It bordered on insulting.

Gaston invited Bestata to the grass with a flourish. The tall blonde knight strode to the practice rack.

“How old is this thing?” Karat asked, examining the sword in her hand. “They don’t make guards like this anymore.”

“Old,” I told her. “It was gifted to the innkeepers by a descendant of the Holy Anocracy’s great hero many years ago.”