Age of X01 - Gameboard of the Gods

by Richelle Mead

  Their mother’s expression could have frozen the room. “Well-bred ladies don’t need contraceptive implants once they’re of age. It’s an insult to keep them…which reminds me, Maj. You can get yours removed now too. You’ll want to once you’re married anyway.”

  “Really?” demanded Claudia. Her eyes shot daggers at Mae. “Even now, you manage to make this about her?”

  Mae was still a few beats behind. “Are you…are you pregnant?”

  “You win the prize,” said Cyrus with a chuckle. “You’re going to be an aunt. She beat Philippa and me to it.”

  “But that’s good news,” said Mae slowly. “I mean, there’ll be talk since you and Marius aren’t married yet, but still…a baby so soon….” Claudia was late getting engaged since she hadn’t had all that many boyfriends after her debut, but pregnancy at the beginning of a marriage was a dream come true for most Nordics.

  “It’s not Marius’s,” said her mother flatly. “It’s not even Nordic.”

  “Oh.” Mae didn’t need to hear any more to understand now why things were so grim. A plebeian had gotten Claudia pregnant. It was pretty much the most scandalous thing that could happen to a young patrician woman. They’d all had the importance of virtue driven into them from youth, with plebeians especially being regarded as the dirtiest of the dirty. Why would anyone risk sullying their genes? “What are you going to do?”

  “Well, we can’t terminate it. It’s impossible to find a safe doctor to perform that off the grid. If we go to a qualified doctor, there’ll be a record of it. Even if it’s confidential, we can’t risk word of this getting out.” Her mother sighed and shook her head. “No, there’s only one choice. We’ll have to send her away and find some reason to delay the wedding. There are places that specialize in this. It doesn’t require much skill to have a baby—or to make one, apparently—and then after that, we’ll have it sent out of the country.”

  Mae hadn’t really thought anything could shock her more than Kris’s proclamation. “Just like that?”

  “It’s easy,” said Cyrus. “I mean, not as easy as Claudia is, but it can be done. It happens more than you think, and I know some people who can help.” Mae didn’t acknowledge that. She’d heard rumors that her brother was getting involved with the Brödern, but it wasn’t a topic she wanted to pursue right now.

  “How can you just send away another person?” Mae turned to Claudia. “How can you send away your own child?”

  Even irreverent Cyrus seemed surprised. “What else do you expect her to do? She’d lose Nordic citizenship.”

  “That baby’s a plebeian.” Their mother practically spat the word out. “Generations of pure genes mixed with who knows what kind of background. What kind of child would that be? Certainly not one we can keep around here. I’m sure it’ll have a nice home wherever it ends up. Now stop looking so appalled. It’s not like this happened to you, thankfully. Go back to your party. And you, go to your room. I don’t want you ruining Maj’s day.” That was to Claudia, who skulked away after leveling glares at everyone in the room.

  “Hold on,” Mae told her mother. “We have to talk about the Erikssons.”

  “Now isn’t the time or place.”

  “It’s the perfect time and place.”

  “Maj.” There it was, the patronizing voice again. “You have two hundred guests to entertain. Go back out there, and we’ll discuss this in the morning. Avoid Kris if it makes you happy, but after you sleep on it, I’m sure you’ll see what an ideal match this is. Like I said, you’re our last, best hope. I know you won’t disappoint us.”

  Refusing to hear anything else, her mother glided out of the room. Cyrus followed, after first slapping Mae on the back. “Congratulations, little sister.”

  Mae remembered very little of the party after that. She resumed her role but didn’t even know what she said half the time. Her thoughts kept flipping between her forced engagement and Claudia’s pregnancy. After a while, Mae began to feel her own identity merged into the baby’s: both of them tossed heedlessly around by people too entrenched in a shallow and antiquated culture. She’d gone through her upbringing with little questioning, not even when her mother had denied Mae the future she wanted. Now it was as though Mae was able to step back and see all the pettiness and empty tradition that had shackled her for her entire life. There was no reason for it that she could see.

  There was no purpose.

  Mae left the gallery without another word and went back to the kitchen, where servants had returned now that the family drama was over. None of them paid much attention to her as she cut through the room, straight to the back door that led out to the house’s side. All was quiet and dark here. Guests who had wandered to the expansive patio had done so at the other end of the house. Packing or changing didn’t even cross her mind. She had what was left of her dignity, as well as a clutch purse containing her ego. Those were all she needed.

  She walked off into the night, which was heavy with summer’s humidity and abuzz with the songs of insects. She found the dirt road that wound away from the estate and followed it to where it joined up with the main highway leading into New Stockholm. Two hours into the trip, she took off her high-heeled shoes and continued barefoot. Three hours into the trip, a storm rolled in and unleashed a torrential downpour. Six hours into the trip, she reached the edge of downtown.

  Everyone knew where the Gustav was. It was one of the largest buildings on the west side and was the only hotel plebeians were allowed to stay at in the land grant. Through some serendipitous twist of fate, Mae walked up to it just as General Gan emerged and turned toward a waiting car. When he saw her, he came to a total standstill. Mae had the impression that the general had seen many, many things, but a bedraggled girl with bleeding feet and a soaked debutante’s dress probably wasn’t a sight he’d run into before.

  “Hello, General,” she told him. “I’ve decided I’d like to have a purpose after all.”

  When Mae finished her story, she thought Justin, who was stretched out on the couch, had fallen asleep. Silence fell, and he opened his eyes.

  “If it makes you feel better, you win the dubious honor of completely surprising me. I never would have guessed any of that. My prevailing theory was that you ran off after some infatuation with a soldier.”

  She smiled at that, pleasantly astonished at how good it really had felt to get this off her chest. She’d never told it to anyone. “Infatuation with my country, I guess.”

  “Spoken like a true soldier.” He stifled a yawn. “That’s why you turned Porfirio down—too many scars from the thought of engagement.”

  She supposed he was close to the mark, though Mae should’ve been used to that by now. “That, and he was pretty heavy-handed about it. I think he thought asking was kind of a formality. He couldn’t imagine I’d say no.” Startlingly close to the way Kris had behaved, she realized. “And I think being his wife…I don’t know. He didn’t have a lot of the sexist views patricians have, but there was still an overconfidence about him. He would’ve assumed I’d always go along with him. Kind of like the proposal—he couldn’t imagine I’d refuse.” She swallowed as she recalled their last meeting.

  “You were afraid he would’ve tried to control you,” Justin said, summing it up. “Like the others.”

  “It’s what people do—they’re always trying to get power over each other. The fact that it all went down when Claudia was pregnant just made it worse. More callous control of other lives.”

  “What ever happened to the baby?” asked Justin.

  “I don’t know. Sent away.” He was too tired to pick up the lie in her voice, or she was just that good. She’d given him a lot, but Emil’s mysterious leads and her own obsessive inquiries over the years about Claudia’s daughter were staying inside Mae’s heart. “I was long gone by then.”

  Justin’s eyelids were drooping again, and she got to her feet. The ree had long since worn off and rarely left a hangover. “Get some sleep. We can do
psychoanalysis of my dysfunctional life another time.”

  “Everyone’s dysfunctional. There’s no such thing as normal.” When she returned with the blanket, his eyes were closed again, but he asked, “Is it boring, not sleeping? Do you mind it?”

  “No, it’s actually useful.”

  “Because you can fight at a moment’s notice?”

  “Well, yes…but I’ve been a bad sleeper my whole life.” The next admission wasn’t one she made often. “I used to have nightmares. But not anymore.”

  “No nightmares. No dreams,” he murmured. His breathing grew regular, and she knew he was asleep. She studied him for long moments, admiring not just the lines of his face but also this rare moment of peace, when the churning of his mind wasn’t tormenting him.

  She passed the night in her bedroom, spending equal parts of it ruminating over the last few days, reading, and watching documentaries. Occasionally her eyes would lift to the window as she pondered what had happened to Emil. Who was he? And what was she supposed to do about him?

  When morning came, she’d reached a decision. She showered and dressed and was in the middle of making breakfast when Justin finally woke up. He seemed startled that she was cooking.

  “Why would you assume I can’t?” she asked, feeling mildly offended. It was only scrambled eggs, but still.

  “I figured you grew up with cooks and then just ate from a mess hall.” He winced at the light. “Got any aspirin?”

  “No. I don’t use it.”

  “Caffeine it is then.”

  He declined the food and contented himself with a giant mug of coffee. She was also pretty sure he must have slipped in some Exerzol, because he was bright-eyed and upbeat within the hour.

  “How are you spending your Sunday?” he asked.

  “I’m going to see Kavi.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Is that a good idea? I mean, I wasn’t there, but by all reports, she might not take a visit well.”

  “I know,” said Mae glumly. “But Whitetree told me she’s still in the hospital. I can’t believe I did that. This is something I have to understand.” The pillow talk had hit her hard. Maybe it was all this rumination on life and death, but Mae had to see for herself what she’d done to Kavi, even if it would end in ranting and hostility.

  “Understood. I’ll leave you to it.” Justin downed the last of his coffee and set the empty mug next to her vase of roses. “Nice flowers. Did your gentleman caller bring them?”

  “No…Lucian sent them.” She braced herself for snark, but none came. “Nothing to say?”

  “You can do what you want.” But he still hesitated. “Will he get a second date?”

  “He hasn’t gotten a first one.”

  That satisfied Justin. He left shortly thereafter, and Mae headed to the base, which she hadn’t been out to since the funeral. The hospital wing’s receptionist directed her to Kavi’s room, which was in a secure hallway guarded by regular military. It increased Mae’s unease, but she reminded herself that a prætorian was no ordinary patient. Of course she’d be in a special section. The room was the farthest one in the hall, again adding to its importance. The door was open, and a monitor outside it read KAVI, DRUSILLA—PRT. Mae readied herself and entered the room. No going back now.

  Kavi sat up in a standard hospital bed, the broken leg wrapped in a bandaged cast. A picked-over food tray showed she’d just had breakfast, and her eyes were on a screen running a story about Lucian Darling, of all people. She turned as Mae took a few more steps forward, and then, the most astonishing thing happened.

  Kavi smiled.

  Mae couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen that happen. Kavi was always prickly, and even when Mae and Porfirio had dated, Kavi had never seemed impressed with her cohort brother’s girlfriend. But there was no mistaking it now. Kavi was smiling, and there was nothing forced or polite about it.

  “Mae,” she said, her face filling with delight. “What a nice surprise.”

  The use of her first name startled Mae almost as much as the smile. “Kavi—er, Drusilla. It’s nice to see you too. You look good.”

  Kavi chuckled and ran a hand through her hair. “Thank you for being so nice. I need a haircut. Or at least a decent blow dryer.”

  Mae tried to smile back, but the completely unexpected nature of this encounter had left her off balance. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good. Everyone here is so nice. I wish I could go home, but they say I need more time. Doctors know best.”

  “I suppose they do.” Mae still couldn’t understand the extended stay. What had she done? How could one broken leg be so debilitating? “Are you in much pain?”

  “No pain at all.” She nodded toward a table by the wall. “Look at those lilies Newton brought me. The Indigos are always coming by with flowers. Isn’t that nice?”

  The dreamy quality of Kavi’s voice, the distracted look in her eyes, and her fourth use of “nice” finally tipped Mae off. Kavi must have been drugged. Nothing sedative, obviously. It was just enough to make her…well, nice. Why was that necessary for a leg injury? Maybe Kavi had annoyed the doctors so much that they’d decided to make their lives a little easier when dealing with her.

  “They’re beautiful,” Mae told her. “I should’ve brought you some too.” She could’ve used Lucian’s roses.

  “It’s okay. I know how busy you are.”

  Mae took a deep breath and plunged forward with her whole reason for visiting. “Look…Drusilla…I just wanted to apologize for what I did at the funeral. It was wrong, and I’m so sorry.”

  Kavi’s smile never dimmed. “You don’t have to apologize. We were all a little worked up.”

  Mae wasn’t sure “worked up” was exactly adequate. Kavi had called Mae a fucking castal bitch, and Mae had beaten her face into a bloody pulp.

  “I still shouldn’t have done it,” she said lamely.

  “We all miss him.” At last, Kavi lost a little of her happy haze as she stared off into space. “I used to talk to him. Porfirio. Or, well, I thought I did. The doctors said it was part of being sick. They gave me more medicine, and now I don’t see him.” She turned back to Mae. “Do you ever see him?”

  “I—no, of course not. He’s dead. The dead don’t come back.”

  “I suppose not.” Kavi brightened again. “If he did, I know he’d forgive you. He loved you very much.”

  Mae bit her tongue. Porfirio would forgive her? She’d kept the memories of their last time together tucked far, far away in the back of her mind, but Kavi’s words suddenly brought them out. Until that last day, he’d been content to vent his feelings in calls and messages. He’d at least upgraded Mae from a “castal bitch” to a “Nordic bitch,” and as the harassment continued, Mae had found it easier to endure. She had just shut down more and more, refusing to feel anything. After a while, he must’ve realized that, so he’d finally decided an in-person visit might actually have an impact.

  She’d let him inside, hoping the gesture might allow a civilized conversation, though she should’ve known better. His accusations always varied, and that day he’d decided she must have refused his proposal because she was cheating on him.

  “Who are you fucking?” he’d yelled. “Who are you fucking?”

  No protest of hers could’ve gotten through to him, and her silence infuriated him. In fact, his reaction had been similar to Kavi’s at the funeral. Once again, she became a Nordic bitch, a heartless one who was incapable of any real feelings.

  Porfirio, however, had had no shortage of emotions as his rant continued. “What does it take? What does it take for you to feel anything?”

  And that was when the familiar refrain had ended. Mae’s reflexes and instincts had failed because she’d never dreamed that Porfirio, even in the throes of his grief and rage, would attack. He’d thrown her to the floor, pinning her wrists and holding her down with his greater weight. The screaming stopped, and the sudden lowering of his voice was actually more menacing. �
��You will feel something,” he’d told her. “You’re still mine, and I will make you feel.”

  Mae had felt something. Fear. She’d never given rape a second thought in her life until that moment. Her status had kept her too sheltered on the Nordic grant, and a few fights after joining the military had caused both men and women to tread lightly around her. She’d lived confidently with her own skills and strength. But there on the floor, Porfirio’s were superior. Maybe in a canne match, her speed would’ve compensated. Her implant provided extra strength, but his did the same for him. Ultimately, his natural edge in strength had dominated.

  Prætorians joked about ripping each other’s clothes off, but Mae had never had it literally happen. It had occurred to her that there’d probably be no repercussions either. The fast and furious nature of prætorian sex danced on such a dangerous line that it’d be hard to differentiate between that and rape. It was entirely possible that she’d be accused of using makeup sex as some sort of revenge. As he struggled to get his own pants off while still restraining her, she saw none of the amped-up desire that usually characterized prætorian men. Sure, there was lust, but it wasn’t born of affection or even friendly attraction. There was rage in it, a need to punish and possess.

  She’d used every weapon she had to fight what he wanted to do—kicking, clawing, screaming. It shouldn’t have worked. It shouldn’t have. Even now she believed that. But somehow, she’d managed a burst of strength that threw him off enough for her to crawl toward her coffee table. He’d caught hold of her leg, but not before she grabbed her gun.

  Even while churning with chemicals, Porfirio wasn’t so far gone that he would foolishly challenge that. He’d scrambled back as she stood up and screamed at him to leave. He’d tried to stammer out something that sounded more like an excuse than an apology as he fumbled with his pants. Mae wouldn’t listen to any of it and had advanced on him with enough confidence that he’d finally taken off. She’d never seen him again.

  She’d never told anyone what happened, though Val and Dag had noticed the bruises on her wrists. They probably hadn’t believed the story she’d given them, but they had no way to argue against it. If they’d had proof of what he’d tried to do, Porfirio wouldn’t have lived long enough to die in an explosion.