The Immortal Crown

by Richelle Mead

  Perhaps most importantly, Tessa found she was treated with civility. The faculty was paid very well for that. Some occasionally eyed her curiously, but most of the teachers were pragmatic about the matter. Being provincial meant less than the money and influence it took to get you into the school in the first place. If you were in, you were in. Her fellow students, though not paid to accept her, nonetheless operated on that same principle that if she was there, she deserved it. Most left her alone. The popular belief was that she was the daughter of some important ambassador from Panama and could eventually be a useful contact.

  “You should get an expert, dear.”

  Tessa looked up. She was curled up on a giant puffed cushion on the floor (Creative Minds didn’t need ordinary desks), scanning headlines on a reader. The speaker was a woman named Clarissa (Creative Minds also could treat their instructors as equals, on a first name basis), one of those who supervised the free project time. “You’re still working on a media analysis?” prompted Clarissa. “Yes.”

  The RUNA’s flood of media had perhaps been the biggest bit of culture shock when Tessa had arrived from Panama. From an infrastructure point of view, there was simply no equivalent to the telecommunications, entertainment, and data that flooded the Gemman airwaves and were accessible to all citizens. It also tied together their daily activities. There was more to it than that, though. Exposing every aspect of life was completely unheard of where she’d come from, especially after having been raised in one of the more cloistered tiers of Panamanian society. Gemmans seemed to want to share every bit of their lives and opinions, as well as delve into those of celebrities and other public figures. At the same time, there was always a vibe to everything that made Tessa wonder just how free this flow of information was. Everything around her always seemed to hum with adoration and fealty for the RUNA and its way of life.

  It was this fascination that had spurred her to examine the country’s preoccupation with itself and how the media defined its image. Tessa had chosen this for her project in social issues, and this wasn’t the first time Clarissa had been on her to find someone in that field to advise her.

  “I know you glean a lot from your research with the stream.” Clarissa’s voice was gentle. “But if you want to truly understand how what’s out there”—Clarissa pointed out the window—“ends up here”— she pointed at the screen—“then you need to talk to someone who plays a role in that.”

  “Like who?”

  Clarissa shrugged. “Any number of people. An editor. A reporter. A director. We fully endorse and support real-world experience. You could shadow a mentor and learn firsthand how the process works.”

  “Would anyone want me?” asked Tessa reluctantly.

  Clarissa looked indignant. “My dear, we are the Institute for Creative Minds and Experiential Thinking. Some of the most important and influential people in this country send their children here. When we offer our students for internships and mentorships, people take notice. The field experience office is downstairs. It’s mostly used by the tertiary students, but certainly exceptional secondaries like you can also receive placement. Why don’t you go, now that the day’s almost done? Start an application and see what happens.”

  Tessa had no good reason to refuse and easily found the office. It was a tiny room adjacent to the much larger administrative office that governed most of the school’s day to day activities. When she arrived, she discovered a line of two others ahead of her. The young man in front of her was tall and lanky, with bright blond hair. When he glanced back at her, his fair skin and blue eyes confirmed him as a castal. That wasn’t surprising since castals—or patricians, as they liked to call themselves—were often among the RUNA’s elite, and this school certainly claimed many. A moment later, she realized with a start that she knew him. His double take told her he’d recognized her as well.

  “Tessa?” he asked.

  She groped for the name. “Darius. What are you doing here?” She’d met Darius a few months ago, during a visit to the Nordic

  caste’s land grant. His family had played a surprising role in one of Justin’s investigations, and Darius had used Tessa’s connection to get help from Internal Security. Darius hadn’t threatened her or anything, but he’d certainly been forceful in soliciting her help, making the whole experience a bit overwhelming. His face brightened as he looked down at her.

  “I go here,” he explained. “I transferred from the Nordic Tertiary Academy after . . .” A little of that enthusiasm dimmed. “. . . well, after things wrapped up in the spring. Dad hardly knows me these days, and everyone else is gone. It was time to move on.”

  Tessa felt a pang of sympathy for this odd and often frenetic young man. He’d lost his mother and older brother to the actions of a demented cult, the aftermath of which had landed his father in a convalescent home. Darius had sought justice for them for a long time, and Tessa supposed that resolving something as big as that might very well spur the need for a fresh start.

  He looked as though he wanted to say more, but the receptionist called him up next. Tessa busied herself checking messages on her ego, the small device that handled both telecommunications and daily activities for Gemmans. She only half-listened as Darius put in a request for an internship in one of the many government agencies based in Vancouver. When it was her turn, he caught her arm.

  “Is it okay—that is—do you mind if I stick around and walk out with you? There’s something I need to ask you.”

  “I’m only going to the subway stop a block away,” she said, having uneasy memories of the last time he’d asked her for help.

  “It won’t take long, I promise.”

  The earnestness in his eyes melted Tessa’s worries. Besides, it seemed unlikely he could be caught up in two death cults. She agreed to talk to him and then stepped up to make her application. Darius had been seeking a full internship, but Tessa didn’t need anything that extensive. She put in a request to interview one of the professions Clarissa had suggested, along with the chance to shadow said person a few days and get a sense of the job’s scope. The process was relatively painless, and once Tessa’s information was in, the receptionist told her they’d submit it to the agencies they worked with and follow up once there were some hits.

  Darius was waiting outside for her, as promised, leaning against the side of the institute’s brick wall. The school was on the east side of downtown Vancouver, far from the larger businesses and government buildings, but still abuzz with commerce and activity. It was July, high summer, and what passed as the city’s hottest time of year still felt mild compared to the heat and humidity Tessa had grown up with. She didn’t mind the difference, though. There weren’t as many mosquitos, and she didn’t sweat as much, even in the full force of today’s sun.

  “I’m not just here for a change for myself,” Darius told her as they walked toward the subway. “I’m here for real change. Change for everyone.”

  The rush of the light rail roared overhead, and Tessa waited for it to pass before speaking. “What do you mean?”

  “I want to serve our country,” he explained. His long legs moved him farther than hers, and he forcibly paused and slowed. “After I saw what your friends in Internal Security did—the way they took down that group—I realized I have to be a part of it. I have to fight the good fight too.”

  “You want to work for Internal Security?” she asked, startled. “Maybe. If not them, someone like them. I’m not sure what area

  I’ll specifically get into. Law. Politics. I just know I have to start by getting my foot in the door. That’s why I was at the internship office— I’m trying to get a position somewhere, anywhere. It’s not easy, though. Those spots are in demand.”

  “According to Clarissa—one of my instructors—businesses want students from Creative Minds.”

  Darius grinned. “Us and every other tertiary student from the elite schools in the area. The competition’s stiff.”

  They reached the subw
ay stop, just as the purple train pulled up. “That’s mine,” she said.

  His smile faded. Apparently his question hadn’t been as quick as he’d expected. After a moment’s thought, he shrugged and gestured her forward. “I’ll ride with you.”

  “I’m going to the suburbs,” she warned. She had to assume he lived in some block of student housing in the city.

  “It’s okay. I’ll just catch it back.” Early commuters were beginning to go home, and she and Darius had to jockey for a spot against a window. “So,” he continued. “Here’s where I was wondering if you could help me. You’ve got connections to Internal Security. Maybe you could help me get an internship.”

  That was his question? She shook her head. “I wouldn’t say I have connections.’ The guy I live with just works for them.” Defining her relationship with Justin was always a little weird. It was hard to explain to people how he’d obtained a student visa for her as part of payback to her father for help during Justin’s exile in Panama—the reasons for which even she still didn’t know.

  “Yeah, but he must know people, right?” Darius had that eager gleam in his eye as he leaned toward her. “One good word is all I need. It can be in IS. It can be anywhere. Anywhere I can make a difference. Haven’t you wanted to do that? Help your country—er, province?”

  Not so much. Panama’s ever-shifting government didn’t exactly inspire confidence and devotion. Sure, like many, Tessa had wished for stabilization and enjoyment of privileges like the RUNA and EA possessed. It had never occurred to her while living there that a young woman like herself might have any role in something like that. Even here, she was still content to be an observer of the world around her, rather than an active participant.

  But yet again, something endearing in Darius broke through to Tessa. Maybe it was because he actually made her feel like he wanted to improve his country for the sake of doing good, rather than out of the unquestioning devotion she so often saw in others.

  “I can ask,” she said at last. “But I can’t promise anything.”

  He gave her that big grin again, and she found herself smiling back.

  His favor in place, Darius shifted the attention from himself and engaged Tessa in conversation. To her surprise, he asked her very little about Panama. Most people who made attempts to get to know her started with differences between the region, and she couldn’t blame them. It was an easy opening. Darius seemed to care less about where she was from than who she was and where she was going. He was especially interested in why she’d been in the field experience office and grew absolutely delighted when she explained her media project.

  They grew so engrossed that he even went so far as to ask if he could walk her home when they got off the train in Cherrywood. Tessa had a weird moment of anxiety, the kind that often came when she was faced with something so different from her upbringing that she couldn’t quite adapt. Although she’d accepted that gender relations were more liberal here, the exclusive attention of a guy always gave her pause. Not that it happened all that much to her. But in these moments, a horrified image of her mother promptly came to mind.

  It then occurred to Tessa that Darius, zealous and ambitious, was probably making the offer in the hopes of running into Justin at her house. She relaxed a little at that, both because that kind of pragmatism was something she could handle and because Justin was still traveling for work.

  Darius walked her right up to the front door, but, to her surprise, made no attempts to invite himself in.

  “Thanks again,” he said. “Seriously—anything you can do means a lot. And this was actually really fun.” He spread his hands out and looked around. “It’d be weird doing this back home. Hanging out a lot with a plebeian. Even if it’s business, people still don’t always—”

  His rambling was interrupted when a large, hulking body slammed into Tessa, pushing her up against the side of the house. Her impulse was to scream, but the abrupt impact had knocked the wind out of her and momentarily cost her her voice. A hand clamped over her mouth, and she felt the point of something against the side of her neck.

  “Don’t move,” growled an unfamiliar voice. “Don’t fucking move. You either, boy. One twitch or squeak, and this goes through her neck.”

  There was no danger of Tessa moving. She was paralyzed with fear. From Darius’s dumbstruck expression, he wasn’t going anywhere either.

  “Get out your ego,” her captor said. “Slowly.”

  Tessa obediently did as told, lifting the device from her purse and holding it in the palm of her hand.

  “Unlock the door.”

  She held the ego up to the door’s panel, pushing the combination of keys that let the ego identify her and deactivate the lock. As she did, her fingers faltered. How hard would it be to enter an emergency code?

  The sharp point pressed harder against her neck. “Just unlock it,” he said, guessing her thoughts.

  She obliged, and the man ordered Darius in first before entering with Tessa. The door slammed behind her, and she again wrestled for options. The home’s system had voice commands built in. She could call for the police. But would it do any good if her jugular was pierced immediately afterward? With great effort, she made her racing thoughts slow down. There was a way out of this. There had to be. For all she knew, a neighbor had witnessed the brief altercation outside, and the authorities were already on their way.

  “Where is he?” demanded Tessa’s captor. “Where is that bastard servitor?” He lifted his hand from her mouth, but the pointed weapon—which seemed to be some sort of stiletto—remained pressed to her skin.

  “I-I don’t know,” she stammered. “He’s traveling.”

  “When does he get back?”

  “I don’t know,” she repeated. Her eyes lifted to Darius, who looked as dumbstruck and terrified as she felt.

  “Of course you do! Why wouldn’t he tell you?” The man’s voice was frantic, and he was no one she knew. He also reeked of desperation. Despite the compromised position she was in at the moment, his approach seemed haphazard and unplanned. Whatever his intentions, they couldn’t work out.

  She gulped. “He’s out of the country. We never know how long he’s going to be gone.”

  That seemed to give the man pause. And although he still kept the weapon to her neck, his grip eased a little. “That doesn’t make any sense! Why the hell would a servitor be outside the country?”

  It was an excellent question, one Tessa and Cynthia often speculated about. Justin always rebuffed their attempts at interrogation saying things like, “Remember the part where I work on this country’s security? That’s all you need to know.”

  “We don’t know,” Tessa said. “We just know—”

  Whack.

  Tessa had been so paralyzed by her own fear that she didn’t even realize Darius was moving. Her captor had been preoccupied too because he wasn’t able to make any attempt at defense when Darius slammed a coatrack into the man. The coatrack was a new addition to the foyer, one that had caused a fair amount of contention between the March siblings. It was shaped like a tree, and Cynthia thought it was “quaint.” Justin thought it looked like someone’s bad arts and crafts project and was useless since they already had a coat closet.

  Whatever the coatrack’s true nature, it proved an effective weapon, and Darius had actually managed to strike in a way that made the man lose his grip on the stiletto. Tessa sprang away and shouted for the house’s security system to call the police. Although the attack had knocked her captor back against the wall and clearly caused discomfort, it still wasn’t enough to keep him down. Darius’s second strike, however, did. He swung out as hard as he could when the man advanced, landing what looked like a pretty painful blow to the head.

  The assailant slumped to the ground and didn’t move.

  “Holy shit,” exclaimed Darius, eyes wide. “Did I kill him? I’ve never done anything like that! I’ve never even thrown a punch!”

  Gingerly, Tessa knelt d
own and touched the man’s neck, feeling a pulse that seemed strong and steady. “I think he’s okay. You just knocked him out.”

  Things moved rapidly after that. The police arrived just before Cynthia, who was understandably dumbfounded at what had taken place in her home. A medic confirmed the man would be all right, and a preliminary ID check from the police revealed that he was a member of a cult that had recently been denied a license from SCI. Tessa had a pretty good idea who had done the inspection.

  The man was carted off long before Justin came home early in the evening. The police, having finished up their reports from Tessa and Darius, were about to leave but were more than eager to get a statement from Justin. He identified the man as one he’d met on a recent case and that the man hadn’t taken kindly to having his faith ripped out from underneath him.

  When the household was finally left alone, Justin took a seat at the kitchen table and wore an uncharacteristically stunned expression. He was usually so quick on the uptake, so ready with a plan, that Tessa was more than a little unnerved at seeing him so at a loss. It was Cynthia who finally snapped him out of it.

  “And you said that coatrack was a blight on humanity.” Her tone was snide, but she too radiated tension as she drew her eight-year-old son, Quentin, to her and absentmindedly patted his back.

  Justin shot her a wry look. “It is. I hope it was irrevocably damaged.” He focused on Tessa, growing more serious. “Are you okay?”

  She gave a weak nod. “It was all so fast . . . it doesn’t even seem real. Why did he come here? Was he really that upset at being shut down?”

  “They’re always upset.” Justin leaned back into his chair. “And there was no reason to think he’d retaliate. I mean, they do sometimes. It’s not easy to hunt a servitor down, but of course, some do it. He was just some random guy. Out of all the things that’d actually be a threat, it was something like this . . .” He stared off, his thoughts far away. “It was just a routine case, of all things. Totally unrelated.” That last part was muttered more to himself than the rest of them.