Gameboard of the Gods aox-1

by Richelle Mead

  She’d be happy to get you a drink back at your place, said Magnus helpfully.

  Justin placed another bet, noticing that his stack of money was growing smaller and smaller. “It’s a little more complicated than that. Do you know the Gemman charter?” No, of course she didn’t. “‘Belief in fictitious entities is a threat to the fabric of society and must be assessed and regulated for the well-being of all citizens.’” He could recite it in his sleep.

  I almost believe you, Horatio said.

  “I’d love to hear more,” Ana cooed. She moved even closer. “Perhaps we could go somewhere quieter to talk.”

  Not on your life, Justin thought. Huan came to the rescue.

  “Justin doesn’t like to talk about his past,” he said, looking award-winningly grave. “Too many painful memories. Justin, you should tell her the story of why you left.”

  A few players standing nearby perked up. Cristobal’s pet Gemman was a topic of great interest around here, as was his shadowy exile.

  Justin averted his eyes and put on the tortured look he’d perfected for this story. “I don’t know. It’s hard for me to discuss…besides, I don’t want to burden you with my personal drama.”

  “I’m sure Señora Santiago wouldn’t mind. She seems like a great listener.” Huan was playing a good supporting role. Maybe Justin could work him into the act more often.

  “I am,” she said, nodding eagerly.

  “I can tell.” Justin gave her a small smile. “It’s in your eyes, you know. That kind of understanding and kindness…it shines out from the soul.” Huan cleared his throat and had to look away.

  “People say that all the time,” Ana replied, moving even closer. “Now, please. Tell me what happened.”

  Justin took a deep breath. “Not much to tell. You see…there was this girl….”

  “I thought so.” Ana squeezed his hand with hers. It was sweaty. “As soon as I saw you, I thought, ‘He’s a hopeless romantic.’”

  “People say that all the time,” he said, echoing her.

  I’m impressed you said that with a straight face, Horatio remarked.

  Shut up, Justin told him.

  “Anyway, when I met her, it was love at first sight. I’m sure it was the same way for you and your husband.”

  Ana’s face suggested otherwise. “What was her name?”

  “Phoebe,” he said promptly.

  “I thought it was Pamela,” Huan interrupted.

  Justin shot him a warning look. “Phoebe. I’ve never felt so connected to another person. It was like we were made for each other, perfectly matched in every way. Every moment with her was like living in a dream. I knew we had to be together forever, so I finally proposed to her on a beach at sunset. There were doves flying in the sky. I can still see the way her face glowed in the light when she said yes.”

  “What happened next?” Ana asked breathlessly.

  He sighed and looked down again, fully aware that half the table was listening now. “Oh, the usual. We began making plans for the wedding. It was going to be in this amazing arbor. The greenest place you’ve ever seen, filled with flowers and butterflies. We were going to have a cellist and a choir of children to sing wedding songs.”

  “Don’t forget the horse,” said Huan. “Pamela was going to ride in on a horse.”

  “Phoebe was going to ride in on a horse,” Justin corrected.

  “A white one?” asked Ana.

  “Yes, of course.” He never mentioned the horse’s color when he told this story, but women always guessed white. “Everything was perfect. Then, a few days before the ceremony, we had our compatibility test. You know what that is?”

  “They force you to do it to get married,” she said promptly.

  That wasn’t exactly true, not anymore, but he’d found it was a common belief in the provinces. It carried more mystique and romantic intrigue. They loved that out here.

  “Well, we weren’t a match—not by their standards, at least.”

  Ana gasped. “So you weren’t allowed to get married.”

  “Oh, we could, but there were…penalties.” He left it at that. Her imagination would do far more than his storytelling skills could do. “We didn’t care, of course. We still went forward with the wedding and planned to leave the country afterward, before they could come after us. Only when the day came…she didn’t show up.”

  “They…they got to her first?”

  He shook his head. “Worse. She backed out. She was too afraid of what would happen. She wasn’t brave enough to be with me. And so, after that…well, how could I stay in the country that had torn us apart? It was too painful. I had to leave.”

  So help him, Ana actually had tears in her eyes. She squeezed his hand even tighter. “You poor thing.” He hoped she wouldn’t try to “comfort” him later. It happened sometimes when he told the story. Sometimes that was actually his goal but certainly not this time. “I can’t imagine what you must have gone through.”

  “It certainly seems unreal, doesn’t it?” asked Huan. “It’s impossible to believe anyone could endure a tragedy like that. You’re out.”

  Justin looked down. His pile was gone. “Shit.” He hadn’t been paying attention while talking. There went his stipend for the week.

  Huan shook his head in mock sympathy. “Tragedy just follows you around, doesn’t it?”

  “Aren’t you going home soon?” Justin asked pointedly.

  “Tonight, actually.” Huan waved his hand when the bet came around to him and gathered up his winnings into a large pile. “In fact, I should go right now. The plane’s probably waiting on me.”

  The news hit Justin harder than it should have. Current diplomatic dealings with Panama had put Huan and his delegation in town longer than usual for this trip. Justin had gotten used to having his friend around and suddenly felt as though he was about to be swallowed up into darkness.

  “Hey!”

  Ana’s snarl snapped Justin out of his self-pity. A passing group of men had bumped into a waitress, in turn knocking her into Ana. It was a sign of the girl’s poise that she recovered herself quickly and managed to right her tray without spilling any drinks. Still, the motion had startled Ana, and she fixed a nasty glare on the waitress.

  “Watch where you’re going, you little bitch. Get one drop on me, and I’ll have Cristobal kick you out on the streets like that.” Ana tried to snap her fingers for effect, failed, and succeeded on the second try. “You can crawl back to whatever hole you live in and fuck your landlord for rent.”

  Classy, said Horatio.

  Justin knew the waitress. After four years, he knew every single person who worked for Cristobal. Her name was Sara, and she was half Ana’s age and size. Sara had a good head on her shoulders and a pretty face too, and in a sea of women like Ana Santiago, Sara was someone Justin wouldn’t have minded getting to know better. Sara was too smart to get involved with any of her boss’s party friends, though, and had made it abundantly clear her sole purpose in putting up with drunken gangsters and would-be socialites was to feed the two small children she had at home. Justin respected that. There was something in her that reminded him charmingly—and painfully—of his sister.

  Even now, Sara was too savvy to offer a word of protest. She accepted the rebuke meekly, offering a soft apology as she delivered the table’s drinks. Justin handed her one of Huan’s larger chips as a tip, earning a nod of thanks.

  Ana watched her go in triumph, apparently feeling proud of her ability to demean someone who was already at a much lower station in life. “I get that Cristobal wants easy ass around, but I don’t know how he puts up with the incompetence. She’s lucky she didn’t ruin this dress. It’s a Gemman import, you know.” That was directed toward Justin, as though he should be impressed. “Not that you’d expect trash like her to understand that.”

  “Trash? She’s from the same place you are,” said Justin. He spoke quietly, but everyone at the table heard.

  Ana’s eyes widen
ed. “I live over on the west shore.”

  Huan made a low noise of warning in his throat, but something in Justin snapped. He was so, so tired of this place. Tired of the games, tired of women like Ana, tired of dancing for Cristobal’s entertainment. The ravens often spoke of greatness and divine plans that lay in store for him, but Justin saw no greatness in his future. There would be no end to this place, and it made Justin angry, angrier still that Huan would get to leave it.

  “But you grew up in San Garcia,” Justin told Ana. He rushed forward when she started to shake her head in denial. “It’s in the way you slur your S’s and use expressions like ‘easy ass.’ All the money and power in the world aren’t going to change where you came from, and trying to hide it with piles of fake jewelry isn’t going to work either.”

  Ana flushed. “These are real!”

  “The hell they are. I can see the brass tarnishing from here. And that dress is not Gemman—unless you managed to visit a post-Feriae costume clearance sale. That fabric’s just some flammable castoff from Guatemala. I know, because I saw it in stock at that tailor down on Flores Street, which is the same place I get my shitty knockoffs.” Justin paused to take a drink, then remembered he was out. “You can put on as many airs as you want, but in the end, that dress is the same as you: an old, cheap design dressed up to look like it’s worth more than it is.”

  The table collectively held its breath, and then Ana, face furious, flung her wineglass at Justin, leaving a bloody stain on his shirt. “Looks like it’s time for another shitty knockoff.” She stormed away, probably straight to Cristobal, Justin thought bleakly.

  Huan caught hold of Justin’s arm and steered him from the table. “Okay. Let’s go get a cigarette, Little Miss Charisma.”

  “You don’t smoke,” Justin said, letting himself be led.

  “It’s not for me. Here.” Huan took off his coat and handed it over. “You don’t want the world thinking you were shot. Unless you want to play dead when her husband comes seeking revenge.”

  Huan must’ve come from some work meeting because he had one of the official coats he wore in his diplomatic dealings. It was navy, double-breasted, with the EA’s flag embroidered on the pocket and a series of colors edging the collar that correlated to his rank and position. Wearing it felt weird to Justin, but not as weird as walking around in a wine-stained shirt.

  “Will this get me out of the country?” Justin asked ruefully.

  Huan gave him a sympathetic smile as an answer and opened a door that led out to a back alley. Even with the heat and humidity, the outdoor air felt light and refreshing compared to the haze and crush of bodies inside. The sound of night insects buzzed around them, and above, clouds chased each other across the sky. In the distance, he thought he heard the low rumble of thunder, and the trees on the other side of the building were beginning to sway. Storms had a tendency to blow up fast and furious around here.

  Justin groaned. “I don’t know why I put up with this.”

  “Because Cristobal lets you live like a king,” said Huan, giving him a comforting pat on the back. “When you aren’t insulting his guests.”

  “I’d rather be a beggar at the RUNA’s door than king of this nightmare,” Justin replied.

  “If it makes you feel better, you did a great job with the story tonight. One of your best performances—even though I’m pretty sure it gets you a little closer to hell each time you tell it.”

  “I don’t believe in hell, so it’s okay.”

  Silence fell around them, and Huan spoke his next words hesitatingly. “I was just in your old stomping grounds, though.” His expression almost became compassionate. He knew these conversations tormented Justin…but he also knew Justin yearned for them. “Had a meeting in Vancouver.”

  Justin jerked his head up. Vancouver! The very word had power. “How…how was it?”

  “The same as always. Beautiful and perfect. The jewel of the world.”

  “The jewel of the world,” Justin repeated. He raised his unlit cigarette in a toast. The same ache welled up in his chest, the longing he felt whenever anyone talked about the RUNA. All the drinking and drugs and other vices in Panama City could never make the pain go away.

  “I’m sorry,” said Huan.

  “It is what it is. It has been for a while.”

  A hint of Huan’s old smile returned. “I don’t suppose you’ll ever tell me the real reason you left?”

  “Nah. I know how much you like the Penelope story. Wouldn’t want to ruin it for you.”

  “I thought it was Phoebe. Or Pamela.”

  Justin waved it off. “Doesn’t matter. She’s a shameless whore.”

  “Right. You’re better off without her.”

  “Exactly.”

  Huan chuckled and held out his hand. “You going to be okay if I go?”

  Justin shook it. “Depends if I can keep the coat.”

  “Sure. I’ve got lots more where that came from.” Huan moved to the door. “Until next time.”

  “Until next time,” Justin repeated, watching the other man go. Party noise flared briefly as the door opened and then faded once more. A dark mood settled on Justin, and he welcomed the solitude as he lit up.

  Smoking outside was a habit from the RUNA. No one cared what or where you smoked here, but there were strict laws back home. He took a deep drag on the cigarette, feeling a pleasant buzz that enhanced the alcohol, which had already made him light-headed. He wouldn’t have been able to smoke cigarettes like these back home either. The RUNA was conscientious of its citizens’ health. Of course, seeing as the RUNA had stopped caring about him, he figured he was welcome to whatever self-destructive behaviors he wanted. Huan’s words replayed in his mind.

  Beautiful and perfect. The jewel of the world.

  “Goddamn it,” Justin muttered.

  Which god? asked Horatio.

  Whichever one sent me here, Justin answered.

  Judging from Magnus’s reply, the ravens were back in insolent mode: You sent yourself here. The gods merely helped. When they weren’t criticizing his life, the ravens were always talking about gods.

  Quiet, Justin told them. I’m trying to have a moment.

  Watch out, said Horatio.

  Six hulking figures suddenly loomed out of the darkness off to Justin’s right. Moonlight shone off Paolo Jessup’s shaved head, along with the many gaudy earrings he wore. Beside him was his brother Miguel, and Justin soon recognized the other thugs as Jessup-family cronies. He had a sinking feeling that he might be closer to Huan’s hell than he’d realized.

  “Hey, Paolo, how’s it going?” Justin managed a smile and wondered what the odds were that this wasn’t about Blanca.

  “Don’t fucking waste my time. Did you think you could get away with that? You think you could just take advantage of my sister like that?”

  The odds, it would seem, were not good.

  Tell him she wasn’t that unwilling, Horatio suggested. Justin ignored him.

  “There’s some mistake,” he told Paolo. “I’d never do anything to Blanca.”

  “That’s not what she told Dora Ramirez,” growled Miguel.

  Dora? And Ana? How many people had Blanca talked to? Justin at least hoped she’d been complimentary about that night.

  He also wondered where the hell Cristobal’s security was. The outsides of his establishments were usually crawling with henchmen, and Justin speculated on whether the Jessup brothers had bribed them. He couldn’t imagine Cristobal would be happy about the untimely demise of his favorite houseguest…or would he? Cristobal would certainly get a lot of mileage out of the tragic tale. Justin could practically hear the big man already: He was like a brother to me….

  Miguel took a few menacing steps forward, snarling like one of Cristobal’s badly trained dogs. He kind of smelled like one too. “I’m going to rip you apart!” he yelled.

  I don’t think Blanca was worth it, Horatio told him. She wasn’t even that good.

 
Magnus’s comment was more enigmatic: Your Valkyrie.

  Miguel’s advance was put on hold as the door opened and a woman stepped outside. Not just any woman. Her. The blonde from earlier. Everyone froze for the space of a heartbeat, and then, with impossible speed, she suddenly put herself between Justin and the Jessups, her stance protective and dangerous. A fighter’s stance. Huan’s words came back to him: She’s military, whoever she is. She made no other moves, but there was a tension in her that said she was a lioness that could strike at any moment.

  You know, remarked Magnus conversationally, lionesses do all the work while lions sit around.

  “Stay back,” she told Justin, her words verifying that she was indeed Gemman. There were only a few inches between them, and he became acutely aware of the neck and shoulders he’d admired earlier, as well as the way the silk wrapped her body. A few wayward strands of hair blew around her face, and the faintest whiff of what smelled like apple blossoms drifted over him.

  The Jessups recovered themselves, and Paolo smirked. “Nice trade,” he said. “You fucked one of our women, now we’ll get one of yours. If you’re lucky, we’ll leave you conscious to watch.”

  The others laughed, and Paolo, with death in his eyes, took two steps forward. Unfortunately for him, he never got any farther.

  CHAPTER 3

  A FEW LESS PROBLEMS

  Whatever lingering hopes Mae had clung to of finding glory in Panama had been shattered when Gan had explained her assignment in detail. She wasn’t going to thwart an assassination attempt. She wasn’t even going to cause an assassination. Instead, all of her elite training and military technology would be used to accompany a couple of bureaucrats from the Ministry of Internal Security on their trip to retrieve an exiled servitor.

  Neither of them had impressed Mae very much. The woman, with the unfortunate name of Cornelia Kimora, was a supervisor in Internal Security’s SCI division: Sect and Cult Investigation. She was in her fifties, with bobbed hair dyed an orange-ish color that bore a disturbing resemblance to an apricot. Every accessory and article of clothing Cornelia wore was beige, and she had one of the coldest personalities Mae had ever encountered—which was saying something, in light of Mae’s upbringing. At least in the Nordic caste, that kind of cool and supercilious attitude was usually paired with the ability to put on a smiling face and act like you cared. Cornelia possessed no such niceties and made her indifference clear to the world.