The Immortal Crown

CHAPTER 6

No Living With Them

Justin left Mae to her donuts and mulled over their conversation as he headed down the hall to Cornelia’s office.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she wanted to go to Arcadia, he mused.

Worried she wants to spend time with Lucian? asked Horatio.

Justin considered this a moment, analyzing both Mae’s reaction and his own insecurities. No. I don’t think so. There’s something else.

Maybe she needs more danger and excitement, suggested Horatio. Justin was skeptical. We were attacked by a horde of beetles and witnessed a woman being possessed by supernatural forces. How could Mae possibly need more danger and excitement?

She’s a Valkyrie, countered Magnus. She’ll always need more danger and excitement.

Well, she’ll have to find it somewhere else, Justin told them.

Because we aren’t going to Arcadia.

“Justin.” Cornelia Kimora, head of SCI, opened the door to her office just as he was about to knock on it. “Excellent timing. Let’s talk about you going to Arcadia.”

Justin froze, momentarily disoriented at the lack of transition between internal and external conversations. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Cornelia stepped to the side and gestured him in. “Senator Darling’s office has been in touch with us this morning about the trip. I initially declined, but they were very insistent. And once Director Kyle heard you were on board—”

“I’m not,” exclaimed Justin. “I told Lucian no!”

“Did you?” Cornelia arched an eyebrow. “I admit, I thought it odd that you were so supportive, but then one never can presume what you’ll—”

“I’m not supportive! I’m not going.”

She pursed her lips in thought, damnably calm, considering the outrageous nature of what they were discussing. “Well, there may be a problem, then, because arrangements have already been made for you and Praetorian Koskinen to accompany the delegation. There’s actually a briefing scheduled later today, and they’ll be announcing it all to the press this week.”

Justin was unmoved. “Well, none of that’s happened yet, so there’s still time to fix this.”

Cornelia fell into thought and absentmindedly tucked her orangey- red hair behind her ears. “Are you so sure this isn’t something you should do? We don’t know if . . . what’s happening here is happening in Arcadia as well. This might be our only chance to find out.” Even though she was the head of the department and oversaw Justin’s project, she still had difficulty giving voice to anything that lent credence to the supernatural.

“I can respect that,” he said, through gritted teeth. Calm was key. This was Lucian’s fault, not Cornelia’s. “But I’d rather not do it when every single move is being scrutinized as part of some bigger political game I never asked to be a part of. How do you really expect me to get any efficient work done?”

That, an appeal to Cornelia’s work ethic and pragmatism, got through. “Well, then, you’d best talk to Director Kyle immediately. He’s probably the only one who can stop this.”

Justin was already moving toward the door. “Thanks. I’ll go upstairs now.”

“He’s not there today,” she called after him. “He’s in his other office, in the Citizens building.”

Justin stopped by his own office first, where he found Mae checking messages on her ego, with no donuts left. “I’m going across the square to find Francis Kyle. You won’t believe what’s fucking happened.”

He gave her a brief recap. She listened to it all calmly, not appearing nearly as outraged as she should—but then, she allegedly wanted danger and excitement. In fact, when he moved to leave, she sprang up after him.

“Justin, wait.” She came to stand by him at the door. “Think about this. It’s already in motion. There won’t be another chance to find out if the game has spread to Arcadia.”

“We don’t know that it’s our only chance,” he said. “Maybe Lucian will wow them with his wit and charm so much that we’ll open all borders, and then you and I can go investigate with a lot less pressure riding on us.”

“Is that what bothers you?” Mae asked, peering up into his eyes. “That Lucian got the better of you here?”

“Lucian’s never gotten the better of me in his life. But yes, if you must know, I don’t like that he manipulated me and went behind my back. So now I’m going to undo it. Francis Kyle loves me. He’ll do whatever I want.”

“Wait—” She caught Justin’s hand, and he halted more from surprise than any force of hers. “Justin—I . . .” Her remarkable blue- green eyes looked away for several moments and then met his with resolve. “I want to do this. I can’t explain it, but I want to. I need to. Please, let this go through. If not for our country—then, I don’t know. Do it as . . . as a personal favor to me.”

Justin was dumbstruck. In their time together, many things had happened, but he couldn’t ever recall her asking for something for herself. As it was, she sometimes grew uncomfortable when he bought her coffee.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why is this so important to you?”

“It just is,” she said lamely. “I told you, I can’t explain it. Please.

Please. Do this for me, and I’ll try to tell you one day.”

While a number of memories from their night together still remained with him, one of the most powerful was a rare show of openness in Mae. Even then, when he’d barely known her, he’d gotten the sense that he was seeing something elusive, that this was a woman who kept herself well-guarded and rarely let down those walls to show others what was within. Now, unexpectedly, he was seeing it again, and it unnerved him. Sure, it was very different in feel than what he’d witnessed in the act of passion, but the power of it was still there. What surprised him the most was that it triggered a sense of unworthiness in him. Normally, he thrived on having power over others, on being able to hold knowledge or favors over them. Yet, now all he could wonder about was how a man like him deserved to have a woman like her open up to him.

Why does she have this effect on me? he asked the ravens. Why am

I even hesitating? This isn’t a small thing, like asking me to pick up dinner tonight.

Maybe it’s more like organizing massive security for you and your family, suggested Horatio slyly.

Justin considered. No. That’s big, yes, but getting her friends to pull shifts at my house still isn’t on the same level as being part of a highly public entourage that’s traipsing into a hostile country.

You thrive on attention, argued Horatio. Why is the public spotlight a problem? And you’re probably safer with all that security there than you are here and on your regular assignments.

Why are you so in favor of me going? Justin asked suspiciously. Is it because of your obsession with her? Or is this really that relevant to Odin’s interests?

It was Magnus who answered. You make it sound as though there can only be one reason.

Before Justin could ponder this further, Mae asked softly, “What are they saying?”

He tuned back into her. That earlier anxiety was still written on her face, but there was also a small smile as she regarded him. “Hmm?”

“The ravens,” she said. “I know that look you get when you’re talking to them.”

“They . . . they want to go to Arcadia.”

“Yeah?” She tilted her head, and though the smile broadened a little, her tension remained. “So are you going to be contrary just to spite them?”

Good question, remarked Horatio. “I—”

Justin was interrupted by a knock at the door. He opened it and found Cornelia, looking understandably surprised to find him and Mae both standing right there. “Director Kyle just came back to the building. If you hurry up to his office, you can catch him.”

It was perhaps one of the more considerate things Cornelia had ever done for him, but Justin had no time to expound on her kindness. “I . . .” He glanced back at Mae, and although she’d transformed into tough praetorian mode for Cornelia’s benefit, he still thought he could see a glimpse of that lingering vulnerability. Filled with resolve, hoping he wasn’t being an idiot, he turned back to Cornelia.

“We’re going to go. To Arcadia, that is.”

Cornelia’s only visible sign of surprise was an arching of one orange eyebrow. “Well, then,” she said. “That will certainly save a lot of hassle.”

“Or create some,” he muttered. “What time was that briefing?”

”Six,” she said. “In the senate—if you don’t change your mind again.”

Justin ignored the snide tone and watched her walk away. A light touch on his shoulder made him look back at Mae. There was wonder in her face, wonder and disbelief and a gentleness that was almost as uncharacteristic as the earlier vulnerability—and even more disconcerting.

Life is easier when she’s mad at me, he suddenly realized. “Justin,” she breathed. “Thank you. I—”

He held up a hand and backed away from her. “Forget it. There’d be no living with you or the ravens. That, and I wouldn’t be surprised if SCI did eventually find a need to send us there someday. Better do it now under the comfort of Lucian’s banner.”

Mae looked dumbfounded. “Then where . . . where are you going now?”

“Gotta check on something. I’ll meet you back here in time for the briefing.”

He ignored her protests about her coming with him for safety, assuring her that he wasn’t going far from Hale Square, which was swarming with federal security. It wasn’t his sense of safety that made him urge her to stay behind, however. The truth was, Justin wasn’t sure he could handle the face of her gratitude. He’d meant it: her anger was easier to deal with. He could stay strong against that. But a kinder, gentler Mae . . . one who was looking at him like that . . . well, that was too much. It was too great a reminder of what hung over him, that she was the woman Odin had picked out for him, one who held the key to his undoing.

And Justin was honest enough with himself to know why he’d given into her Arcadia request: because despite all that had fallen out between him, there was still something about her that left him breathless and weak in the knees. He might run away from her regard . . . yet he hypocritically longed for it too. And that longing was strong enough that he’d agreed to the trip without extracting any other promises or badgering her about her reasons.

The ravens’ reasons . . . well, that was something he needed to investigate.

He had his ego out before he even reached the elevators. “Call Demetrius Devereaux.”

Fifteen minutes later, Justin was in a café two blocks away, finishing a cup of coffee when his contact arrived. Demetrius Devereaux might be his legal name, but he called himself Geraki, a name that meant “Hawk,” and asked that others did as well. Justin had known him for years because the servitor’s office had been trying to implicate him as the leader of an illicit religious group. It was only in the last few months that Justin had finally gotten proof of Geraki’s allegiance and the god he served. The problem was that Justin could hardly tell the authorities, seeing as Justin occasionally served the same god now and obtained guidance—often in the form of cryptic messages—from Geraki.

“Justin,” said Geraki cheerfully. “So glad you’re back. I always worry when you’re away, not that I should when you travel in such excellent company.” He pulled a bottle of water out of his backpack, some elitist brand with a label declaring it “all-natural,” not that water could be much else. Geraki maintained what he said was a pure state of living in order to hear the voice of Odin, abstaining from caffeine, alcohol, women, and pretty much anything else fun. “I knew you’d be back this time, though. I have a message for you. From our master.”

Justin sighed and slouched into his chair. “I had a feeling you might. That’s why I called you.”

Geraki tsked. “If you would just fully commit to our god, he would speak to you himself. You wouldn’t have to wait for me or your feathered intermediaries.”

Justin glanced around the crowded coffee shop uneasily. “Don’t say that word.”

“Feathered?”

“You know which word. And I don’t want him talking to me directly. I have no desire to go through the rigors you do.”

Geraki straightened up in his chair. “I’m a prophet. I not only hear his voice, I may call upon it—a privilege which is not given lightly. You, as a priest, don’t have such easy access, but he would speak to you in dreams if you’d only be more cooperative. Or, you could be gifted with some relic to facilitate communication.”

“Well, we can have that discussion for the hundredth time some other day. Tell me what the message about Arcadia is.”

Geraki raised his eyebrows. “Arcadia? Ah, that makes sense. The vision that came to me last night was that you’d be going into a hostile land and that you would not be going alone.”

“I know that,” snapped Justin, irritated as always at the asinine nature of prophecies. “What I want to know is what he finds so interesting there. The ravens support the trip, so I assume he has an ulterior motive.”

“It’s Thought and Memory that have driven you to me, hmm? Well, they do know our master’s mind.”

Flattering, said Magnus. But no one can truly know it. We are simply more privileged with insight than you two.

Justin didn’t bother correcting Geraki. “Was there anything else? Basically what you described could be any of my other jobs. What’s so special about this one, aside from the magnitude?”

Geraki shook his head. “That’s not for me to know—or even deal with. Our master has left it to you. He says there is a force there that threatens his plans and that you must eliminate it.”

“Eliminate it?” Justin nearly dropped his cup. “I accept that I might be able to sneak in some investigations to check out the religious scene there, but I’m certainly not there to make some decisive strike.”

Geraki met his gaze levelly. “He says it affects our country as well. If you feel no loyalty to him yet, surely that will persuade you.”

“Those types of threats are for people like Mae and the other military to deal with. I’m there to observe—nothing more. Unless, by chance, you have any specific details about this threat?”

Geraki shook his head, which didn’t surprise Justin in the least, and then said almost hesitantly, “In my vision, I saw a golden eagle.”

Justin waited expectantly, but nothing else came. “That’s not particularly helpful.”

I don’t suppose that means anything to you guys? he asked the ravens.

No, admitted Horatio. Except that eagles are arrogant.

And, added Magnus, that if Odin sent his prophet a vision about it, it is a dire matter, one you should be taking seriously.

Give me more details, and we’ll talk.

But the ravens had none to give, and Justin could only write it all off as another part of the frustration of working with gods.

“At least go in prepared,” Geraki told him. “Have your weapons ready.”

“I don’t use weapons either,” said Justin.

“You know what I mean,” Geraki told him. “You’ve learned many of Odin’s secrets from me, from the ravens.”

It was true to a certain extent. In the last couple of months, Justin had unwillingly received a crash course in Odin’s lore and the Nordic runes: the mystical symbols his followers used both for guidance and spellcasting. It was part of the oath Justin had taken to learn such things, and his quick mind couldn’t help but take it in. But he’d gone out of his way not to put what he’d learned into any sort of practical application, aside from the charm that had hidden him as one of the elect in Nassau.

“Learning isn’t the same as practicing,” said Justin. “And I’m doing just fine with the former.”

Geraki sighed and crossed his muscled arms over his equally bulky chest. “Then you’re a fool. If a god told me I was walking into danger, I’d take every precaution necessary.”

“I don’t need him to tell me. And I’ve got more faith in our military than him, I’m afraid.”

“You’re a fool,” Geraki repeated.

The words had little effect on Justin, seeing as he heard them pretty regularly during their meetings. Geraki always spoke them with a kind of grudging fondness, though, like Justin were simply an unruly child. After a few more ominous words from Geraki, Justin was able to ascertain that the other man truly knew nothing more about Arcadia. The ravens didn’t either, save that Odin had a task in mind. Satisfied he’d get nothing else, Justin took another cup of coffee to go and then headed back to his office to meet up with Mae for the briefing.

Fortunately, she was back in business mode and made no mention of her earlier pleadings or subsequent gratitude. Over in the senate, they were led to a conference room filled with a dozen men and women in suits and several black-uniformed praetorians. Mae didn’t let down her guard as she and Justin took seats near the end of a long table, but he saw her flash a smile to many of the praetorians, who smiled in return. Conversation buzzed around them in small clusters, with no one really taking charge of the meeting. It wasn’t until ten minutes after the start time that Lucian burst in with aides and security trailing in his wake.

He beamed at the room with his trademark smile.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Got waylaid by some lobbyists who just couldn’t seem to understand that our country’s security was more important than setting up a golf date.”

There were polite chuckles around the room, and from the shining eyes in some of them, Justin found it hard to believe Lucian had anything to worry about in the polls. These people were eating out of his hand.

A man named Atticus Marley soon took charge—after making sure Lucian was comfortable, of course—and Justin learned he was the closest the RUNA had to an ambassador in Arcadia. He’d been instrumental in many negotiations and was an expert in their culture and social systems. Lucian might be the mascot in their party, but Atticus was the unofficial leader and guide. Most of the suits in the room were advisers staying in the RUNA, and he introduced them to the other key personnel who’d actually be traveling to Arcadia. One was a man named Phil Ramirez, who would be working on some technology and trade issues as a sign of good will toward the Arcadians. The other man, named George Yi, was posing as a professor of comparative cultural arts but was, in reality, a military analyst hoping to spy out any illicit doings on the Arcadian side. He seemed pleasantly surprised that Justin was, in fact, a real religion expert.

“Here,” said Atticus, turning on a screen at the front of the room, “is where we’ll be staying. Although there are inns and hotels in Arcadia, it’s considered bad form to put high profile guests there.” A satellite image appeared, showing a top-down view of a cluster of buildings around some land covered in yellowing grass. He chuckled as he glanced back at the group. “So you can take pride at being shown this regard.”

Phil Ramirez looked dubious. “I’d rather have a high-rise with room service.”

Justin silently concurred. The compound looked like a glorified farm to him, and he listened as Atticus explained how their host was a high-ranking government official who’d go to the trouble of displacing his wives and children in order to accommodate them.

“Wives?” asked George Yi. “And here I thought that was just something out of the movies.”

“Not among the more powerful members of Arcadian society,” said Atticus. “They can afford multiple wives and concubines. Some among the lower classes have the brute force to kidnap them.”

One of the praetorians crossed her arms. “What’s the difference between a wife and a concubine?”

“Alimony?” suggested Phil.

“Not far off,” said Attitcus. “A wife is forever in Arcadia—barring rare examples of divorce. A man has certain obligations to provide for her and her children, though you’ll find some fulfill those responsibilities questionably. Wives are also afforded certain status and protection. Concubines are more transient. Sex and other labor only. A man can share or sell his concubine. He can sell her children. And although an Arcadian wife has few rights, as we view them, a concubine has even less.” His eyes fell on Mae and the other three praetorian women in turn. “And you, I’m afraid, are going to be fulfilling the roles of concubines.”

“I beg your pardon?” demanded another praetorian woman.

Atticus actually flushed. “I should be clearer. You’ll be, uh, playacting. Not actually performing any duties. The gender disparity you’re seeing here isn’t an accident.” He nodded to Lucian, Phil,

George, and Justin. “They—and myself—are the principle players on this trip. This is what the Arcadians will expect. It wouldn’t even occur to them that important, powerful diplomats would be anything but men. And, although their military will certainly outnumber ours, they also would expect us to show up with our own protection—which is what you gentlemen and a number of regulars will be doing.” That was to a group of praetorian men.

“Where do we fit in with our ‘playacting’ then?” asked the first praetorian woman.

“Arcadians would consider it perfectly normal for high-powered men to travel with concubines. Not wives—at least not into dangerous territories. But, they figure men have needs, and if a man can bring his concubine along, then why not?” Atticus let his rhetorical questions hang for a few moments. “Posing as concubines will provide an extra level of security behind closed doors when we aren’t out on official business. You can stay in our bedrooms all night, awake, on guard.”

Mae leaned forward. “Two questions. First: they must know we don’t have the same social order as they do with these wives and concubines. Won’t they think it’s suspicious if we show up matching their customs?”

Atticus smiled. “Yes, they know we don’t have that same formal structure, but they also know we have much looser mores when it comes to sex outside of marriage. Honestly, they all think we’re sinners and whores, and if we’re traveling with women for sex, then they’re concubines whether we call them that or not.”

“Fair enough,” said Mae, hiding any distaste she might feel. “But even if the Arcadians don’t have women in their military, they must know we do in ours. Don’t you think it might occur to them that maybe we’re playing them and sending trained soldiers undercover?”

“Some might,” he agreed. “But they won’t take you seriously. No offense.” He narrowed his eyes as he regarded Mae, seeming to truly notice her. “You’re a patrician, praetorian? Some northern European group?”

“Nordic,” she said warily. “Why?”

“The group makes no difference. It’s more your recessive genes I’m noticing—and the Arcadians will as well. They had no pre-vaccine defense against Mephistopheles, and Cain runs rampant among them. A woman with your coloring who’s also so, pardon me, attractive will draw attention.” He glanced at the other praetorian women and frowned. “Honestly, in my opinion, you’re all too attractive for this mission, plebeian or patrician. A healthy brunette might not be as rare as a healthy blonde, but you’re all going to be head and shoulders above many Arcadian women.”

“Worried the Arcadians will steal our women?” asked Justin. Atticus didn’t laugh at the joke. “This group of women? Not

without a fight. But I’d rather you four didn’t attract any unnecessary attention. I don’t suppose we could find any praetorians marked with Cain? No, I don’t suppose such a thing even exists.” He sighed and focused back on Mae. “At the very least, it might be worth swapping you out for a plebeian. We’re waiting to get another woman assigned to us as it is. I could ask for two.”

Justin stiffened in his chair and sensed a similar reaction in Mae as well. This whole ordeal he’d gone through for her would be worthless if she got cut from the mission. “No. Praetorian Koskinen has to go. I need her. That is, she’s not just here for security. She’s also essential to my work specifically.”

Phil frowned. “What exactly is your work? Are you seriously here just to learn about religion?”

“It’s classified,” said Justin. “Internal security stuff.”

It sounds so official when you put it like that, said Horatio.

That pleased Phil, who seemed to read it as a subtle way of saying Justin was some sort of ballistics expert planning strikes against Arcadia. That seemed to be much more reasonable than anyone being truly interested in local culture. Atticus looked unconvinced, but Lucian preempted whatever protests he might make.

“Best not to interfere with Internal Security’s plans,” he said. “And I’ve seen Praetorian Koskinen’s work in the past. I don’t think we need to worry about some ill-behaved man doing something she doesn’t want.”

Justin wondered if that was a subtle reference to Lucian’s own lack of success with Mae. If so, he seemed to be taking it in good humor. Mae had on her usual poker face, and Justin couldn’t help but think that whatever reason Odin had had for having Justin encourage the two to go out, it apparently wasn’t strong enough to have an effect on her.

Maybe she’s not the one who matters, suggested Horatio.

You’re saying Odin just wants Lucian hooked on her? Why?

Might be a handy thing having a politician dancing at your every command, said the raven.

I wouldn’t say it’s gone that far or that Mae’s encouraging it, said

Justin. And she doesn’t serve Odin, so how can he reap the benefit?

The birds had no answer, and Justin focused back on Atticus, who’d given up his protests about Mae and was finishing off his outline of the mission specifics. Since it was supposed to be a friendly, diplomatic mission, the majority of the time would be spent with Justin and the other key men being shown around relevant sites—together or separately—in Arcadia while they tried to gather as much intel as possible. Justin thought that would wrap up the briefing, but then another touch of the screen initiated a presentation entitled ARCADIAN CULTURE AND CUSTOMS.

“The mission details are easy,” Atticus told them grimly. “Now comes the hard part. Sit back, get comfortable, and forget everything you know about civility.”