A gaping hole yawned in front of the portal. Two thick branches shot out of the ceiling, grasped the wriggling root ball and yanked it out of the swirling light and down into the hole. Tree limbs, trunks, and foliage plunged into the gap and the floor reformed itself. The Dushegubs were safely in their underground pit.

A lone human walked out of the portal. She was statuesque and very pale, with long golden hair that fell in ringlets around her shoulders, and big violet eyes. An elegant gown sheathed her frame, showcasing all the right things.

On the edge of my vision, Gaston raised his eyebrows.

“Greetings, candidate Unessa,” Sean said. “Your delegation is already in their quarters. I will show you to your room.”

She gave him a soft smile, the two of them went off, her high heels clicking softly on the floor.

“Trust is a wonderful thing,” Tony said when they were out of ear shot.

I nodded. “It is. Since she is the Dushegub candidate, she will eventually try something, and he can neutralize her faster than me.”

The portal flashed again. So soon?

Two beings emerged from the churning light. The one on the left was an otrokar, and a familiar one at that. Tall and lean, he held himself with the ease of a predator in a familiar territory. His skin was deep bronze, his hair dark, coarse, and short, and when it caught the light, it shone with vivid red. He surveyed the scene with sharp eyes, startlingly light green against his sun-scorched skin.

The last time I saw him, he had worn the full armor of the Hope Crushing Horde, a combination of braided leather and chitinous bony plates embedded with complex circuitry. Today he’d traded it for a lighter spacer armor woven of ballistic material that looked like leather but shielded like reinforced steel. A belt with pockets hugged his waist, supporting an array of wooden and bone charms dangling from it. A golden medallion, a sharp-rayed sun studded with jewels, hung from a leather cord around his neck, identifying him as the emissary of the Khan.

Now it made sense. These were the observers. Miralitt did say that they would pop through in batches between the formal delegations. One of the delegations was from a Southern otrokar clan. The Khan and Khanum were both Northerners and there were always tensions between North and South within the Horde. They had sent their son to see what happens.

Envoy or not, his knife was still with him, a long slender blade riding in a sheath on his thigh. He was deadly with it. Sean would just love this.