The Immortal Crown

by Richelle Mead

  Everyone’s so polite and so happy to be here, Justin noted to himself. Listen to the word choice. Honor. Pleasure. Delighted. You’d never guess our two countries’ soldiers are constantly skirmishing along the border.

  Would you prefer that here? asked Magnus.

  No, said Justin. I’d prefer to be inside.

  Even in early evening, the temperatures were high, the air hanging stagnant and humid around them. The bus had had nominal air conditioning, but there was nothing to protect them now from the heat as they stood in the dusty yard. The comfort of indoors seemed to be a ways off, however, as both sides went through formal introductions of their important officials. A number of the Arcadians were familiar to Justin from his briefings, and he mentally linked up these real-life faces to what he’d read in the bios. As they’d expected, none of the Gemman women were given introductions. Of the twelve Arcadian women, three were introduced as Carl’s wives, with another five being the head wives of other officials. That meant the four who weren’t introduced were Carl’s concubines, something Justin found staggering.

  He’s got seven women. Should I be jealous? he asked the ravens. After an assessment of the women, he decided he wasn’t. Carl’s youngest wife and one of the concubines were somewhat attractive, but the others were heavily marked by Cain.

  Some of the Arcadians are jealous of your women, noted Horatio. Justin had noticed that as well. The older officials had given the

  Gemman women once-overs, some of them clearly quite intrigued. But these men were disciplined enough and focused on the task at hand to do little more than that. The younger men, most of whom were Carl’s sons, were less subtle as they openly stared at Mae and the others. Carl hadn’t introduced any daughters-in-law, which Justin understood was quite common around here. The polygamous practices left a shortage of women, and most men couldn’t afford a wife until their mid-twenties, at least. The country’s religious dictates had strong stances against pre- marital (or pre-concubine) sex, and although Justin wasn’t naïve enough to believe it didn’t happen, it probably didn’t happen nearly as much as it should have.

  If ever there was a group of guys who needed to get laid, it’s that one, Justin thought, watching as the young men shifted restlessly in the heat. This is a system ready to explode. The old men horde all the women for themselves. Some of Carl’s wives and concubines are younger than his sons.

  The leaders of both groups made more speeches and posturing, and at last, Carl declared that everyone should come in for dinner. Grinning broadly, he gestured his guests inside and then barked a sharp command to some of his sons.

  “Their bags are in that second bus. Take them out to the guest houses.”

  None of the sons protested outright, but the expression on their faces suggested this was an unexpected request. Carl flushed at the defiance.

  “All the women are busy with supper,” he hissed. “Takes all of them to feed this many.”

  “Why can’t their women do it?” asked the youngest of the sons, whom Justin guessed to be around fourteen or fifteen. The oldest looked to be about ten years older, and he lightly cuffed the youngster, aware that they had an audience.

  “Come on,” he said, urging the other four on.

  They traipsed off, and Justin breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into high-powered air conditioning. The Arcadians, though they had many technological capabilities, had mixed ideas about when that technology should be used, based on their god Nehitimar’s commands. Justin was grateful climate control met with divine approval.

  The estate’s main house had a dining room large enough to hold a table that seated both countries’ officials and Carl’s sons, as well as a smaller table off to the side where the Gemman women were directed to. The Gemman soldiers, they learned, would eat on the back porch. No mention was made of where the children would go, but presumably they’d get fed too.

  “Interesting,” murmured Atticus, pitching his voice so that only Justin and Lucian could hear. They were waiting to be assigned seats at the main table. “For formal events, women and men don’t eat together. They’ve brought that table in just for us.”

  “Is that a good thing?” asked Lucian.

  “Possibly. It means they’re showing us a courtesy since they know we do eat together.” Atticus chuckled softly. “It’s deeply unsettling for their women, though.”

  He was right. The women’s table was pushed to the far side of the room, with more chairs at it than it could comfortably hold. The women of Carl’s household were too busy to sit yet, but the other Arcadian wives were sitting with the Gemman women and kept casting uncomfortable looks around, both at their tablemates and the men across the room. Justin wondered if it was strange for them to be eating in front of men who weren’t family or if they were more disturbed at being seated with foreigners. Or maybe, judging from how busily Carl’s women were scurrying to get beverages and food to the tables, the other Arcadian women just expected to help.

  Justin had no time to ponder the women’s fate, not with plenty to occupy him at his own table. He knew what was expected in situations like these and was as adept socially as Lucian and Atticus. George and Phil were more subdued but always responded appropriately when engaged. The Arcadians had a similar mix of personalities, and between them all, they were able to prevent awkward silences and keep to friendly cross-cultural topics as the women painstakingly brought out dish after dish.

  The local cuisine looked fine to Justin, and he was surprised to find how hungry he was after the long day of travel. Mae’s expression was neutral, but she and the other praetorians had to be famished. When Carl’s women finally went and stood behind the chairs at their table, Justin’s fingers itched to reach for his silverware, but he kept a close eye on the other Arcadians first. Their hands stayed in their laps, and conversation went silent as their eyes fell on the one empty seat at Justin’s table. Moments later, a man dressed entirely in gray entered the dining room. He looked to be in his forties, and all hair had been shaved from his head and face. The rest of the Arcadians stood at his entrance, and the Gemmans quickly followed suit.

  “This is our local priest, the Venerable Jeremiah. He’s come here especially to meet you and perform our dinner prayers,” explained Carl.

  “We’re honored,” said Atticus gravely.

  Justin had witnessed many religious services in his time, but this was the first in which he’d ever technically been a willing participant, if one looked at it that way. Even so, he still found himself studying the priest with a servitor’s eye, analyzing every gesture and intonation as the Venerable Jeremiah began a long litany of prayers and thanksgiving.

  If he’s one of the elect, I don’t sense anything, Justin told the ravens. Maybe he’s hiding it.

  Hard to say, said Horatio. Not all who serve the gods truly have a connection to the divine or some special ability. That’s as true here as in your own country. Plenty are simply ordinary people fulfilling mundane functions.

  Still, Justin scrutinized Jeremiah for some indication that he might be a player in the game. But after fifteen minutes of prayers, Justin lost interest in guessing the other man’s motivations and began to wonder simply when they were going to eat. The food was going cold.

  “Amen,” Jeremiah said at last. The other Arcadians echoed him.

  That right there is reason not to be involved with a god, thought Justin.

  Odin would let you eat whenever you want, said Horatio helpfully.

  In the old days, the Vikings would have happily dived in before everyone was seated. Feasting and drinking is very important to him.

  Cold or not, the food was excellent, and Justin had to bite his tongue from complimenting any of the women on it when they came to check for refills and additional helpings. Here, compliments went to the man of the house. Justin tried to imagine Cynthia’s reaction if he was the one praised for her hard work. He couldn’t say for sure what would happen, but it seemed likely that thrown crockery would
be involved.

  “You work in religion, Dr. March?” asked Jeremiah. It was an unexpected question, seeing as the priest had mostly been silent since his long prayers.

  “Yes, in a manner of speaking.” Religion was not a friendly, cross- cultural topic, and Justin was cautious in his response.

  Carl’s oldest son, Walter, looked up at that. “Are you a priest too?”

  ”No,” Justin told him. “I only study religion in an . . . academic way. I don’t practice it.”

  Walter’s face was blank. “I don’t understand.”

  “I do it for the sake of knowledge, not faith,” said Justin, knowing he probably wasn’t clearing things up. “And to help me with the rest of my job.”

  “It wouldn’t be a bad thing if our young people studied our god’s laws more, regardless if they were entering the priesthood,” rebuked Jeremiah gently. “Dr. March is more like an Examiner.”

  “Ah,” said Walter in understanding. “You hunt down heretics.” Justin drew on his knowledge of Arcadian religion. Examiners

  were empowered with finding and even using lethal force on those who committed offense to Nehitimar. “Not exactly. I find those whose religious practices are a danger to our country. I do it for the government—not for any god.”

  “If Dr. March is like most Gemmans,” said Jeremiah. “I’m guessing he has no god.”

  “Correct,” said Justin, uncertain if that was a lie. If so, the ravens let it go.

  This was clearly a radical concept to some of the younger people at the table, but the government officials were prepared for it. “Not a bad system, your servitors,” chuckled one of them, a presidential secretary named Matthias. “Anyone not worshipping Nehitimar is a danger. Now if you only had his teachings in your country, you’d be all set.”

  “Now, now, that’s enough of that,” said Carl. He had his host’s smile on, but a tension in his eyes said he was well aware that they were straying from easy small talk. “Dr. March will hear much wiser words from the Grand Disciple than he will from any of us when they meet tomorrow.”

  “Are we?” asked Justin, startled. The Arcadians’ highest religious authority hadn’t been listed on any itinerary. “I thought we were meeting the president tomorrow.”

  “You are,” said Carl. “And then the rest of these gentlemen are going to tour some of our famous monuments in Divinia while you go to the temple and meet with the Grand Disciple.”

  “It’s a great honor,” said Jeremiah gently. “Few are granted a personal audience with His Piousness. You alone have been asked from your party. No soldiers, I’m afraid. It’s forbidden for outside warriors to set foot in the temple. But you’ll be well-treated.”

  Justin nodded, still a little stunned. “Thank you.”

  “We’ve also made some arrangements for your women,” said another Arcadian. His name was Marlin, and he seemed to be particularly active in managing the Gemman itinerary outside of Carl’s home. “Naturally, they won’t come to the presidential luncheon tomorrow. They can stay here and help out Carl’s family. I’m sure his women will appreciate the extra help. But afterward, we can have them join you for the city tour if you think they’d like to see some of the sights.”

  Sightseeing over household work back here? Yes, Justin was pretty sure they’d like that.

  Atticus leaned forward, face thoughtful. “Will Justin’s concubine be able to go with him to the temple?” It was a surprising question until Justin realized that their diplomat was uncomfortable with Justin separating from the group to meet with the Arcadian head of religion. Atticus’s earlier expression when the visit had been brought up suggested that it wasn’t something he’d known about it either.

  The Arcadian men looked astonished at the suggestion. “Whatever for?” asked Matthias.

  Even clever Atticus hesitated over that. He certainly couldn’t say he wanted extra protection. Justin jumped forward as insight hit. “Sometimes she acts as my secretary. Takes notes when I’m in the field.

  There’s a lot I’d love to learn from the Grand Disciple, and I’d hate to be distracted with menial work.”

  Some of the Arcadian officials exchanged glances, and Justin waited to see if the ploy would work. Arcadian women rarely held professions, but Justin hoped use of the word “menial” would make what she did seem suitable for her gender. He also hoped none of them were savvy enough to the Gemman bios to ask why a so-called musician was fulfilling that function.

  “Perhaps we could supply a secretary,” suggested Matthias.

  “We’re aware of the differences in our customs,” said Marlin delicately. “And we are trying to accommodate some of yours. But you must understand that there are some things even we can’t change. Women naturally go to the temple, but it’s very irregular for a woman—any woman—to actually be in His Piousness’s presence. They are a distraction.”

  “Of course,” said Lucian smoothly. “But I’m sure she could be unobtrusive.”

  Marlin looked uncertain, but it was the Venerable Jeremiah who unexpectedly spoke up. “The Grand Disciple is very eager to speak with you, Dr. March, and he’s a very understanding and compassionate man. We certainly want you to be as comfortable as possible during your audience. Let me contact him tonight and see what arrangements can be made. There might be no problem at all if she goes Cloistered.”

  “Which one is she?” asked Carl’s second oldest son. “Jasper,” snapped Carl. “It’s irrelevant.”

  “I don’t know.” Jasper’s gaze drifted over to the women’s table across the room. “I’d keep them all Cloistered if they were mine.”

  The mix of shock and discomfort on the Arcadians’ faces made Justin think they were dancing along a dangerous topic, but he had to ask the obvious question. “What does Cloistered mean?”

  “If a woman continues to be a source of temptation and strife for men, Nehitimar decrees that she must be punished by going Cloistered. It refers to a head-to-foot veil that wraps around her, obscuring her body and features,” explained Matthias.

  “And it’s a punishment?” asked Justin, seeking clarification. He chose his next words very carefully. “Is it brought on by willful actions on her part to cause, uh, temptation and strife? Or is she punished just for . . .” He nearly said “being attractive” but thought better of it. “. . . her presence?”

  “Both,” said Jasper.

  “Don’t think of it as a punishment in the case of the temple,” said Jeremiah. “Merely a precaution. Those who serve Nehitimar need to keep their minds on holy things, not the baser temptations of women.”

  Incredible, Justin thought. They punish their women for what sounds like male weakness to me. But he couldn’t let us mind linger on that for too long, not when there was an opening at hand.

  He put on what he hoped was an easygoing smile. “Do I need to dress up or wear anything special? I’ve seen pictures of the Grand Disciple, and he’s a pretty imposing figure, with the robes and that staff of his. There’s some kind of bird on it, right? An eagle?” Lucian looked up sharply, surprise lighting his features.

  Jeremiah nodded gravely. “The eagle of Nehitimar. It’s one of the Grand Disciple’s most holy objects. He only brings out that staff on high feast days and holidays, when he addresses great crowds. The robes of state . . . well, it’s hard to say if he’ll be in full regalia or not. If so, you needn’t feel intimidated. What you’re wearing now is perfectly acceptable. The Grand Disciple is used to overshadowing us ordinary men.”

  Silence fell at that, but Lucian was too good to let it last. “Well, I’m thrilled that Justin’s going to get to meet someone so exalted—it’s an honor for all of us, really—but I confess, I’m just as excited for myself to finally get to see some of the wonders of your country. What’s on the sightseeing schedule?”

  Tourism was a safer topic than women or religion, and everyone gratefully transitioned. Justin listened with half an ear while his mind wandered. When Geraki had mentioned the golden eagle b
eing a threat, Justin had assumed it was some sort of symbol. The picture he’d seen on Mae’s ego, with the Grand Disciple holding the staff, had furthered that idea. It made Justin think the golden eagle was symbolic of the Arcadian religion, which was so deeply tied to the Arcadian government and a threat in and of itself.

  But now, Jeremiah’s words made Justin wonder if something more literal was happening. Is that eagle staff itself dangerous? he asked the ravens. Could that be what Odin was warning Geraki about?

  Possibly, said Horatio. It could be some sort of divine artifact, which would be a rare and lucky find for the Grand Disciple—and give him and his god an edge in the battle going on.

  Not that rare, argued Justin. I’ve seen other believers possess objects from their gods. That guy Mae fought in the death temple had a knife from the Morrigan.

  Those are objects blessed by a certain god, which only have power and meaning for the user who believes in that god, Magnus told him. If the Grand Disciple possesses one of the great artifacts—which would capture Odin’s interest—that would be something different altogether. There are objects in this world of great power, far more powerful than a simple blessed object, and that power transfers to whatever god controls it. They have their own intrinsic abilities that they impart to that god’s servant. Said objects can be critical in the fight for divine control and can only be touched by those of the strongest faith.

  How do we find out if this staff is one of the great artifacts or not? asked Justin.

  If it is, it will have some very noticeable effect when in use, explained Magnus. Find someone who’s witnessed it.

  When dinner finally wrapped up, the men adjourned to a separate sitting room for cigars and scotch. That at least was something Justin could get on board with, and he took some pleasure out of watching his fellow countrymen’s shock at smoking real tobacco. It was rare in the RUNA, where smoking was itself a rare habit and only done with safer substances. They were told that the women would “tend to matters” back in the kitchen, and Justin had a feeling it was one of those things best not questioned.