I resisted the urge to take a page out of Sean’s playbook and growl at the screen. The Innkeeper Assembly was perturbed by how Game Day had ended, so they’d decided to call me first thing in the morning, over Zoom of all things, and take me to task. To be fair, most of the condemnation was coming from Frank Copeland and Dawn Phillips. The two of them ran large-venue inns, Frank in California and Dawn in Alberta.

At least I wasn’t dealing with the entire Assembly, only with the seven members of the North American branch council.

“You approved this shitshow beforehand,” I pointed out. “Quote: ‘Make all reasonable efforts to accommodate the Sovereign’s wishes.’”

“Reasonable!” Dawn said. “How are two dead guests reasonable?”

“For the last time,” Brian Rodriguez recited, “Nobody died. Everyone is alive. Nobody sustained permanent injuries.”

“And we’re just supposed to believe that?” Frank demanded.

“Yes.” I sank some steel into my voice. “I am an innkeeper. My word is sufficient.”

“That remains to be seen,” Frank said.

“How about my word?”

I felt cold magic bloom behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tony’s red ad-hal robe ripple as if touched by wind.

Frank clamped his mouth shut. That just annoyed me even more. I’d been an innkeeper for years now and apparently the only way my word counted was if I had an ad-hal to back me up.

“Help,” Sean whispered in my ear. He was down in the oombole enclosure.

“Urgent?”

“Somewhat.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“What I want to know is—” Dawn started.

“Enough. This is my inn. I determine what is reasonable here. I don’t need you to hold my hand. I don’t need you to tell me how you would have handled it. Mind your own business.”

There was a moment of shocked silence.

Aiyo Iwata clapped. “Finally.”

Manuel Ordóñez clapped as well and muttered something in Spanish under his breath. It sounded a lot like “estúpido.”

“Finally, what?” Frank demanded.

“Finally, someone shut you two up,” Aiyo said. “It is her inn. You are not her supervisor.”

“We all know why we’re having this meeting,” Brian Rodriguez said. “The two of you were contacted by the Dominion with an offer to host this selection and you passed.”

“What are you implying?” Dawn asked.

Brian leaned into his screen. “I am not implying, I’m saying it. This is sour grapes.”

“You were offered a chance to do it, you declined, she did it, and she did it well.” Magdalene Braswell crossed her arms on her chest. “You don’t get to complain about it. She went a week with twenty Dushegubs in her inn and they all left alive.”

“Oh, they can complain about it,” Aiyo said, “but it doesn’t mean the rest of us have to waste any more time listening to it.”