Age of X01 - Gameboard of the Gods

by Richelle Mead

  She didn’t know how much time passed before strong arms pulled her up and away. Her vision was tinged with red, and adrenaline, urged on by the implant, churned furiously within her. And then slowly, agonizingly, the world came into focus again. That grief-driven rage faded, and more important, the dark power that had descended upon her lifted. She saw regular gray-and-maroon-clad soldiers coming into the room, along with military police. None of them touched her, though. Two prætorians restrained her, the only ones who could hold her in full fight-or-flight mode.

  “Easy, Finn. Easy.” Mae realized one of her captors was Dag. “You won. It’s over.”

  That was when Mae finally dared to look down to the ground. Kavi wasn’t dead, though her breathing came raggedly, her eyes mere slits. One of her legs was bent at an unnatural angle, and blood covered her swollen face. It looked as though her nose had been broken. Mae stared in horror, unable to believe what she’d done. Prætorians fought among themselves more often than anyone liked to admit. When you had a group of people who were so physical and so chemically driven, it was hard for altercations not to break out. Usually, opponents were evenly matched. Sure, there would be a victor, but the fights were rarely all-or-nothing.

  But this? It was nothing. Kavi was nothing. She’d never gotten in a hit. As Mae’s implant continued to wind down and metabolize the excess adrenaline, she tried to make sense of what had happened. The prætorians holding her finally deemed her calm enough to release to the MPs hovering nervously nearby. Mae offered no resistance. She allowed them to lead her out, but not before giving Kavi one last, disbelieving look.

  They left Mae in a cell all day, which gave her a lot of time to analyze what had happened. There was no denying it: She’d cracked. She’d been weak and allowed her emotions to get the better of her. Even acknowledging that point to herself was humiliating. A little jabbing from Kavi, and Mae’s armor had crumbled.

  But more than Kavi’s barbs had gotten through. Even now, Mae felt cold and nauseated as she remembered the dark force that had filled her as she fought, a force she was certain had nothing to do with her implant or sorrow. It keeps happening, she thought frantically. Mae’s life was focused on being the master of her body, and the idea of something else taking control shattered everything she fought for. It had to be some trick of her mind…because what else could it be? I should tell someone. I should see a doctor. But that thought was nearly as frightening. Prætorians who saw psychiatrists usually didn’t stay prætorians for long. No one was going to pair mental instability with a performance-enhancing implant.

  One other question burned in Mae’s mind as she waited out the day. Why had Kavi been so slow to react? Or had Mae just been that fast? No, the more she thought about it, the more Mae was certain there had been nothing out of the ordinary about the way she’d fought. Yes, she’d been more emotional than usual, but that shouldn’t have affected anything. Even the rush of that dark power couldn’t create that kind of disparity.

  Why had Kavi been so slow?

  Mae had no answer by the time the MPs came to take her away again. They escorted her to a conference room, where she found General Gan sitting at the end of a long table. He wore the regular military’s uniform now, all gray, save for the jacket’s upper half, which was maroon. It was bedecked with the medals of his rank and a black stripe on the collar that showed he’d once been a prætorian. More silver laced his dark hair than when she’d first met him years ago, but the constant intensity and purpose in his eyes never changed.

  Mae’s stomach sank further. She’d hoped someone else would be there to chastise her, maybe one of his many underlings. It wasn’t his rank she feared so much as the thought of disappointing him. He gave a small nod to the MPs, and they left, shutting the door behind them. Silence fell in the long room.

  “Sit,” said Gan at last. He pointed to a chair about halfway down the table. Mae obeyed.

  “So. I hear there was an incident today.” Gan was a master of understatement.

  Mae stared straight ahead. She had never shirked responsibility and wasn’t about to now. “I was out of line, sir. I will gladly accept any punishment you see fit to give me.” Suspension, she thought bleakly. They’ll suspend me for sure, unless they just kick me out altogether.

  He shrugged. “It was a rough day. It’s understandable that emotions would run high, especially in the wake of losing a friend.”

  Gan knew perfectly well that Porfirio had been more than a friend, and his sympathy bothered Mae as much as Val and Dag’s. She would’ve preferred to be yelled at and told how completely disgraceful and inappropriate her actions were—because they had been. She decided to remind him of this, because obviously, his fondness was clouding his judgment.

  “What I did was unacceptable, sir. Unforgivable.”

  That brought a small smile to the general’s mouth, thought it didn’t soften the lines of his face. “I’ve seen worse, and half your cohort’s been in to tell me about how wronged you were. Valeria Jardin and Linus Dagsson have made particular nuisances of themselves.” Yes, they most certainly would. “That doesn’t mean we can ignore what happened, of course. The incident will be noted in your record, and you’ll be suspended from regular duty.”

  Suspended from regular duty. She’d expected it, but it was still tough to swallow.

  “Don’t worry. You won’t be locked away or confined to a desk.” He snorted. “I can’t imagine giving one of you a desk job. I can’t even imagine one of you sitting still for very long. Prætorians are too valuable to waste, and I have a task for you.”

  “I’ll do anything you require of me, sir.”

  He drummed his fingers against the table, momentarily lost in thought. “It’s a strange errand, but a necessary one—one that unexpectedly just came up and may be a good opportunity for you to…adjust to recent events. We wouldn’t ask it of you if it wasn’t important, of course.”

  “Of course, sir.” His use of “task” and “errand” didn’t reassure her any, but Mae still hoped she might be sent to some volatile location. It’d be no more than she deserved, and maybe in glorious battle, she’d redeem herself.

  “I need you to go to Panama City. Have you ever been there?”

  It took Mae a few moments to answer. Panama City? There’d be no glorious battle there. The RUNA had no conflict with that region. In fact, she’d heard there were tentative trading negotiations in the works. Panama was still provincial, of course, filled with unchecked religion, a gangster-run government, and old and new aristocracies vying for power. Tame compared to other places.

  “No, sir. I’ve never been there.”

  “Well, you’re going there now. I’ll have the mission details sent to you, and we can meet again once you’ve read them over.”

  “Of course, sir.” She hesitated over her next words. She had no business asking questions in light of what she’d done. Obedience was her only path. Yet, no matter how much she denied it around others, she knew she was one of Gan’s favorites. He’d let her ask. “Sir…how is Prætorian Kavi?”

  “She’s fine—well, considering the circumstances, that is. She’ll be hospitalized for a while and then be off duty as she recovers. You did a neat job of breaking her leg.”

  Mae winced, and an image of Kavi’s bloody face flashed through her mind. Prætorians were difficult to hurt. And even more difficult to kill, but it happened to Porfirio. “I’m sorry, sir. I should visit her and apologize.”

  Gan chuckled. “I wouldn’t recommend that. I don’t think she’ll want to see you any time soon. I’d avoid the Indigo cohort in general, if I were you.” He studied Mae carefully, weighing her with those knowing eyes. “Go ahead. Ask your next question.”

  “Sir…” She had to look away from that gaze. “Kavi was slow. She should’ve reacted more quickly, but she didn’t. Why? Why did she react so badly? What was wrong?”

  Gan’s answer took a long time, and Mae dared a look up. “Maybe there was nothing wrong with her
. Maybe you’re just that good.”

  Mae knew she was good, but she was certain there was more to it than that. It nagged at her, but contradicting the general was unacceptable, so she let the matter go. He dismissed her, and as she neared the door, a final question popped into her head. “Sir, will I have my implant deactivated as part of my punishment?” It had been known to happen, and it scared her almost as much as full suspension or inactivity.

  Gan actually looked surprised, which didn’t happen very often. “What? Of course not. I’d hardly send you to the provinces unprotected. And you’ll hold your rank and title too. Although…”

  Mae froze. She didn’t know what was coming, but there was something in the tone of his voice that contradicted his casual demeanor. That, and all of this had been too easy.

  “It’s a small thing. You won’t be allowed to wear a prætorian uniform until further notice. This mission won’t require a uniform at all, really, but if the situation arises for some other reason, you’ll have to wear gray.”

  He was right. It was such a small, small thing, but his words hit Mae with the same force as a prison sentence would have. No black. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how big a role the uniform played in defining who she was. The implant and the title were part of it too, but the black lent a power of its own. It separated her from others who were less worthy. She looked down at what she wore, the dress uniform she’d been so contemptuous of earlier. Now she would have given anything to keep it on. How long until I can wear black again?

  Gan tilted his head and gave her a puzzled look. “I assume there’s no problem with that?”

  “No, sir. Of course not.” She swallowed. No black. “I’m a soldier of the Republic.”

  CHAPTER 2

  A BEGGAR AT THE DOOR

  The ravens saw her before Justin did. For figments of his imagination, they were remarkably observant.

  Hot, said Horatio. He was the blunt one.

  She usually wears black, added Magnus. His commentary tended to be a little more esoteric. He reminded Justin of a guy he’d known in college who’d pretty much been high for four straight years. He’d somehow graduated with top honors.

  Even if the bird was an annoying voice in Justin’s head, Horatio was right. The woman was a knockout, and it was a wonder the whole party didn’t come to a standstill for her. She paused in the doorway, scanning the tightly packed room. She had to be meeting a date, he decided. Or maybe she was just looking for the bar. Justin had already started his third drink and wasn’t sure that was going to be enough tonight. This was the sixth party he’d had to go to in just as many days, and he was tired of smiling.

  The woman took a few steps forward, still searching through the haze of smoke. There was something in the way she moved that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Graceful, but not a dancer. Her stride was too purposeful, and she held her head up in a way that bespoke confidence and possibly some superiority. An athlete maybe? That didn’t feel right either, but he wouldn’t rule it out.

  Her hair is like winter sunlight, said Magnus, almost sounding lovesick as he whispered in Justin’s mind. Still, it wasn’t a bad comparison. Not quite gold, not quite platinum. She wore it in a charmingly old-fashioned way that still managed to be stylish, pulled back and folded into itself at the back of her head. It revealed an elegant neck, which Justin rather liked.

  “Justin!”

  The booming voice was his only warning before a powerful hand slapped him on the back, causing him to stumble into the craps table and spill part of his drink. With one last look at the blonde, he put on the smile he knew was expected and turned his attention back to the game.

  “Are you going to bet or not?” Cristobal Martinez, the party’s host and—more important—Justin’s benefactor, grinned down at him with teeth so white they glowed. Literally. It was a trendy new UV treatment. They tended toward the extreme here in Panama. “You’re not out of money—yet.” His tone implied that he knew how this night was going to end.

  “Sure, sure.” Justin set his money on the line and then glanced back toward the doorway. The blond woman was gone.

  By the bar, said Horatio.

  Sure enough, there she was, accepting a drink from the bar’s automated dispenser. Justin touched Cristobal’s arm and nodded toward her. “Do you know who she is?”

  Cristobal shifted his gaze toward the woman, a small frown appearing on his face. Half of it was covered by a stylized tattoo of flames, the mark of his gang. “Never seen her. One of my prettier party crashers.” He studied her a few moments longer and then promptly lost interest in that fickle way of his. He turned back to the action, whooping when someone rolled a seven.

  “She’s military, whoever she is,” said Huan, standing on Justin’s other side.

  Justin did a double take. “Her? No. No way.”

  “Takes one to know one. It’s in the way she stands.” Huan gave her one more scrutinizing look before returning to the game. “She’s one of us too,” he added. “EA or RUNA.” He was from the EA, somewhere Justin would’ve run to in an instant, if he could’ve. Unfortunately, the Eastern Alliance honored its sister country’s policy toward exiles.

  “How do you know that?”

  “The dress. Next bet.”

  Justin obligingly set down more money and pondered Huan’s words. He had a point. The woman’s dress was a deep plum crepe de chine, with no sleeves and a high neckline.

  Who in the world knows what crepe de chine is? asked Horatio.

  I had to learn that stuff a long time ago, Justin said.

  The dress’s slim fit hugged her body and hit just above the knee. To Justin’s eyes, it was suggestive but elegant—and completely boring by local standards. Panamanian fashion favored garish colors and excessive embellishment these days, along with necklines that displayed a lot of skin and very little taste.

  Too refined to be from around here, Magnus said in agreement. At least he appreciated Justin’s fashion analysis. A woman among women. Can’t you see the stars and flowers?

  Stars and flowers. Those were words Justin hadn’t heard in a long time—ones he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear. A nudge from Huan put the rumination on hold. “Your turn to roll.”

  Justin did, earning groans when he turned up a three. He yielded his bet and tried to spot the woman again, but she had disappeared.

  “Why do you play this?” asked Huan. “You always lose. You could make a killing over at the poker tables, you know.”

  Justin did know. Cristobal often asked the same thing, but Justin couldn’t quite explain to either man how addictive the idea of random chance was. Too much of his life was spent reading faces and other social cues. He observed too much, deduced too much. Sometimes he just needed a casual throw of the dice to dictate his future.

  To Huan, he simply said, “Too easy.”

  Huan chuckled and shook his head. He had an easygoing nature that Justin liked. Justin also liked that Huan was from the EA. He had the same sort of mixed heritage that Justin did, though Huan’s features favored Asian ancestry a little more than Caucasian. The RUNA’s slang term for that mix was “plebeian,” and seeing it reminded Justin of home, as did the fact that Huan was probably the only other civilized person in the room. A large part of their friendship was based on discussing how much Panama sucked. The difference between them was that Huan always got to leave when he concluded his embassy’s business here. Justin was stuck.

  “Cristobal, there you are!”

  A woman pushed her way in between Justin and Cristobal. Justin tried not to wince as he watched her smile up at Cristobal. Well, she tried to smile but had a little difficulty with all the wrinkle injections that had numbed her face. Magenta eye shadow reached all the way up to her brows, and the shiny gold dress she wore was at least one size too small for her plump figure.

  “I had to come tell you what an amazing party this is,” she exclaimed, cozying up to the big man.

  “This?” Cristoba
l attempted a modest look but failed miserably. “This is just a little thing I threw together. Barely a gathering.”

  Justin recognized an opening for flattery. “Oh, no. This is definitely your best one yet. I don’t know how you keep doing it. I’ve never seen anything like that band.”

  That was the truth. Cristobal had dredged up some popular local group whose claim to fame was that they handled snakes while performing. It didn’t seem like that difficult of a feat, considering how limp the snakes were. The terrible music had probably killed them long ago. But they were in vogue, so Cristobal had had to have them. They made Justin want to gouge his ears out.

  Cristobal laughed. “Save your charm. It doesn’t work on me.”

  But it did. Cristobal was more than happy to give out cash and lodging, so long as Justin continued to smile and show up at parties. There were enough people still charmed by the idea of a mysterious Gemman exile to ensure Justin’s position was secure, but he had a feeling that someday Cristobal would get bored of him and find some other novelty to show off. So, stroking his patron’s ego seemed like good insurance.

  The woman turned toward Justin, her eyes widening in a way that didn’t help her appearance any. His accent had tipped her off. “Is this your Gemman? I’ve never met one before.”

  “Justin, this lovely creature is Ana Santiago,” Cristobal said. “Her husband is a dear friend and associate of mine.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” Justin told him, shaking her hand. “‘Lovely’ doesn’t even come close to describing her.”

  Another truth, but not in the way Ana interpreted it.

  Cristobal laughed uproariously at the “compliment” and reached around her to slap Justin on the back again. At least this time, he saw it coming.

  “Now, now, she’s married.” Cristobal winked at Ana. “I’ll leave you two to chat. Be careful, though. He’s trouble.” He collected his winnings and wandered off to find his next distraction.