The Immortal Crown

by Richelle Mead

  “That’s why we make it easy on them,” said Hansen, his features smoothing again. He nodded toward the vendors. “They may purchase the flowers here. In fact, the temples are the only places that sell them in the country, appropriately blessed and ready for offering.”

  Justin nodded in agreement. “Very convenient.”

  Very convenient for the temple, he thought. I’ll bet the other requisite offerings for the holy host are only available for sale here too. Nice way to turn a profit, that and the fee for even entering. You got in free of charge, said Horatio. What are you complaining about?

  Thinking Justin was satisfied with the answer, Hansen led them through the rest of the foyer, to a door marked: CLERGY AND TEMPLE PERSONNEL ONLY. It was smaller than the larger, grander doors that indicated entrance to the public sanctuary and was labeled: NO WOMEN BEYOND THIS POINT.

  Hansen led them through a winding series of hallways used exclusively by those who served the temple in some capacity. They passed a few people who seemed startled by Mae, but Hansen was apparently a well-known enough figure that no one questioned anything. These corridors were as richly decorated as everything in the public areas, but Justin didn’t find himself awed by it so much as the infrastructure that it was connected to.

  All of this is public, authorized, and accepted, he thought, with a chill. No worship in the shadows. We have nothing like this in the RUNA. The Morrigan had a fraction of this, and her servants had incredible abilities. What kind of power does this god have, when he has such a foothold in the mortal world?

  Wait and see, responded Magnus grimly.

  Their journey ended before another set of heavily embellished doors, ones that were also guarded by openly armed temple soldiers. They nodded when they saw Hansen and stepped aside, allowing him to push open the doors. Justin followed him inside and had a surreal moment, feeling as though he’d left the temple and stepped into someone’s luxury penthouse back in the RUNA. They stood in another entryway, this one just as opulent as the temple’s main entrance, if smaller. Only, whereas that had attempted to create a sense of ancient awe and majesty, this was all done with modern sensibilities.

  Secular art from a famous EA artist Justin recognized hung around them, and the works appeared to be originals. They were juxtaposed with a modern flat screen hanging near the doorway, apparently to entertain guests who had to wait for further instructions. Arcadian news scrolled across it, none of it mentioning the Gemman delegation. A voice called for them to enter, and Hansen beckoned Justin and Mae forward through a doorway.

  They entered a living room with more expensive art and leather furniture, including a narrow wooden bench near the back where Hansen made a sharp gesture for Mae to sit. The room’s focus was a breathtaking picture window that looked out over the city, taking up almost all of one wall. A man stood gazing out it with his back to them, and here, old and new worlds clashed again. Because where the apartment was modern, this priest—or Grand Disciple, to be more accurate—was straight out of the pages of some mythology textbook. He wore floor length, purple brocaded robes embellished with more of the gold and jewels this place loved to buy with its offering profits. When he turned, Justin got a full view of a two-foot high golden crown. The man’s hands were clasped together, hidden within voluminous sleeves, and the ornamentation even went so far as to extend into his salt-and-pepper beard, which had tiny jewels woven into its ends. He carried no golden staff, nor was there one on display that Justin could see.

  But none of that bejeweled splendor was what took Justin’s breath away. It was the wave of invisible power that rolled off the man when he faced Justin. Justin had never encountered it, power with such a tangible force that he felt like he was trying to keep his balance in a boat on choppy seas.

  He’s one of the elect, Justin thought to the ravens. Or is he something more? I’ve never felt anything like this.

  Because the scattered cults in your own country are but candle flames to this bonfire, said Magnus.

  He’s not making any attempt to hide what he is, said Justin.

  Why should he? countered Magnus. He has no rivals here.

  A panicked thought hit Justin. Can he sense me? Will the charm hold?

  It’ll hold, said Horatio, who didn’t sound nearly as convincing as Justin would’ve liked.

  “Your Piousness.” Hansen fell to his knees before the Grand Disciple and kissed the proffered ring. “I’ve brought you Justin March, from the Lost Lands.”

  Justin almost smiled. He knew that was what Arcadians called the RUNA behind closed doors, though everyone on this trip had been very careful not to use the term around him and the other Gemmans. Many Arcadians found “Republic of United North America” offensive, seeing as they clearly weren’t included in the united part.

  “Thank you, Timothy. You may leave us.” Hansen nearly trembled at the use of his given name, and Justin wondered if the deacon’s faith was just that strong. It would have to be, to work in a place like this.

  That, added Magnus, and a powerful elect has that effect on one of the uninitiated.

  Hansen left with no introduction for Mae, who seemed content to remain a veiled shadow in the back of the room. Justin approached the Grand Disciple, uneasily wondering if he was expected to kiss the ring too. When the Grand Disciple extended his hand, however, it was for a handshake between equals, not a sign of obeisance.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. March,” the Grand Disciple said. Justin had researched as much as he could on Arcadian religion before the trip and knew the man’s real name, but it seemed it wouldn’t be used today. Those who served Nehitimar believed his Grand Disciple gave up all personal identity . . . if not personal luxury.

  “You honor me,” said Justin, getting acclimated to that elect aura. The man’s presence was still intimidating, but a lot of it now was psychological. Justin had just spent the first part of the day with the country’s secular leaders, yet combined, they didn’t wield the power of this one man alone.

  “I’m sorry to receive you in such humble accommodations,” the Grand Disciple said.

  Justin glanced at the lush surroundings in surprise. “Begging your pardon, but we must have different cultural interpretations of ‘humble.’ These apartments are lovely.”

  “Indeed, but this is my home in the temple. I have a much more hospitable residence on Holy Lake that I prefer to receive guests in, when time and duty permits.”

  “I’m more than honored to be received here,” Justin assured him. The Grand Disciple smiled, revealing a tightness in his skin that suggested Cain treatments, something the Arcadians claimed was a sign of vanity. He gestured Justin to sit down on one of the leather armchairs. The priest himself settled into the center of a loveseat, spreading out his robes so that they took over in a magnificent and sparkling display. A remote control rested on the loveseat’s arm, and he pushed a few buttons. The soft classical music vanished, and the entire panel of the giant window slid down, opening up the top section to the outdoors.

  “We have air conditioning, of course, but I love fresh air, especially in the evening. All the technology in the world can’t make up for what our creator’s already given us sometimes.” The Grand Disciple smiled again and nodded to a decanter of wine on the low glass table between them. “Please, help yourself. It’s imported from Argentina. You’re probably pretty familiar with their wines after your stay in Panama.”

  Justin returned the smile, albeit stiffly. So. He wasn’t the only one who’d done research. “I am indeed. Sometimes it was the only drinkable stuff I could get a hold of.”

  The Grand Disciple poured himself a glass when Justin had filled his own. “I’d like to visit the provinces, but I don’t know if my vocation will ever allow it. There’s much to do here.”

  “Running this temple alone must be like managing a city,” said Justin. “I can’t imagine how much work you have to do for the rest of the country.”

  “Nehitimar has called me, so I
must do the best I can. And he’s very generous in the many other servants he’s provided to assist me.”

  Justin thought about all the temple staff and priests he’d witnessed walking in today. “Very generous,” he agreed.

  “Does this bother you?” the Grand Disciple asked. “Talking so openly about a god? Talking about a god as though he’s real? I know you Gemmans don’t believe in such things.”

  “Our country maintains an open policy toward religious belief.” The words were automatic. A servitor’s mantra.

  “Some of your scattered citizens do, perhaps, but not people in your profession. And don’t get me wrong.” The Grand Disciple paused to sip his wine. “I respect what you do. We have our own branch of the priesthood dedicated to weeding out heretics in our midst. It’s important to keep the faith pure.”

  “I don’t think I have very much in common with your Examiners.”

  ”Even so, you have a good eye for what’s important to your country, as do I.” The Grand Disciple set down his wine and leaned forward, ringed hands clasped together over his knees. “Do you know why I asked you here, Dr. March? Because believe me, Enoch didn’t initially approve of this meeting.”

  The priest was on a first name basis with the president, naturally. “Would that have really stopped it?” Justin asked.

  That brought another smile to the Grand Disciple’s face. “No, but this country runs much more smoothly when Enoch and I are in agreement—or at least when he thinks I’m in agreement with him. You see, no matter what suspicions you might have, Enoch actually would like to establish peaceful relations with your nation. There are things he thinks we need. More efficient fuels. Medical technology. He believes that commerce will be the key to ushering in peace between us, but he’s only half right. It’s not currency of the material world your nation needs, but rather, spiritual coin. And that’s why I brought you here today, to seek your help in a great endeavor that will unite our countries in a harmonious future.”

  Justin had no idea what was coming, save that he probably wasn’t going to like it. “What endeavor is that?”

  “Sending missionaries of Nehitimar into the RUNA.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Temptations

  Mae didn’t need Justin’s deafening silence to know what an outlandish suggestion the Grand Disciple had just made. Her initial offense at being wrapped in these restrictive garments and discarded in the back of the room had long faded once the weird conversation was up and running. This was not her field of expertise, and she was glad to be ignored. Let Justin navigate these diplomatic waters.

  Nonetheless, she dutifully made notes on the exchange that had just taken place, since her ostensible reason for being here was to be Justin’s secretary. Before leaving, Hansen had slipped her a small notebook and a pen, which would’ve almost been comical in any other situation. Everyone in the RUNA typed or used styluses with tablets that would transpose handwriting into neat text. In a situation like this, no one would’ve bothered with notes. A recorder would’ve been used. Apparently, this was another instance the Arcadians wanted to remain low tech, and she supposed she should be glad Hansen hadn’t given her a scroll and quill.

  Justin didn’t stay down for long. Per his way, he quickly recovered from the shock of the topic. “You make a valid point that a cultural exchange may be just as valuable as a monetary one,” he said carefully. “But I’m not sure this is the best place to start. If you wanted to discuss art or literature, possibly some exchange of students—”

  “For us, our religion is our primary means of cultural exchange,” the priest gently interrupted. “It permeates every part of our society. If we are to be understood, to truly connect with your people, it’s important to us that we share our faith. And you just told me yourself that the RUNA is open to different forms of religious worship.”

  Mae could just barely see Justin’s profile and a bitter smile at having his words thrown back at him. “That’s true, but we allow those beliefs with certain conditions. One is that we maintain a distinct line between government and religion. And while crossing that line has worked well for your country, I’m afraid it’s just something ours isn’t ready for.”

  Justin was being more than diplomatic, Mae thought. For starters, the RUNA was never going to be ready for that kind of theocracy. And to say that it had “worked well” for Arcadia was certainly an exaggeration. The atrocities she’d witnessed in Carl’s household were proof of that, let alone the countless reports Gemman intelligence had collected over barbaric justice committed in the name of Nehitimar’s religion. Even today’s drive into the city had highlighted Arcadia’s economic woes, with its wild disparities between rich and poor.

  “We have no interest in your government,” said the Grand Disciple, voice filled with amusement. “We would rather talk to ordinary people, let our missionaries come and simply explain about Nehitimar to those who will listen.”

  “Missionaries and public proselytizing are both illegal in the RUNA,” Justin told him, in an apologetic way that reminded Mae of when he would tell religious leaders their licenses were being revoked. He managed to sound as though he were legitimately sorry.

  The Grand Disciple stayed firm. “I’m not suggesting they convert people on the streets, just that we find a way to let our people communicate with yours about what’s most important to us. Perhaps it could be in the context of a larger cultural exchange as you suggested, a series of university lectures about Arcadia, with our faith featured as part of it. We could simply send a group of diplomats and lecturers.” Something in the way he spoke made Mae think these all-purpose “lecturers” sharing Arcadian culture had been his original goal but that he’d opened with the far more dramatic suggestion of missionaries to soften the blow.

  “I’ll take it back to my people and see what they think tonight,” said Justin.

  “I appreciate that,” said the Grand Disciple. “Though I’m sure that, ultimately, they’d defer to your opinion on such matters.” He rose to his feet, and Justin immediately followed suit. “Come, I won’t keep you any longer. I know you’ve had a long day and would probably like to rest. If you’d like to speak to me again, simply let your host know, and we’ll make it happen.”

  The two men walked toward the doorway, passing by Mae. The Grand Disciple came to a stop and regarded her with a look that managed to be both fond and condescending. “So this is your secretary? Nehitimar has commanded us that women are best subdued as servants of the home, though Enoch likes to keep telling me that a day may come when we must turn some of ours out to other jobs if we wish to compete globally.” He held out his hand for Mae’s notebook. Having nothing to hide in it, she handed it over wordlessly. He grunted in approval as he skimmed the pages. “Excellent penmanship. I’d been led to believe Gemmans were so dependent on machines that you could barely spell your names.”

  Justin leaned in to look at the notebook. “Well, hers is certainly better than mine. She comes from a culture that values such, uh, art forms.”

  It was true. The castes didn’t cling to antiquated technology like the Arcadians did, but there was an emphasis on cultivating skills viewed as signs of civilization. Handwriting, even in an age where devices could do most of the work for you, was one such skill. Mae had spent many hours drilled in practicing writing letters over and over.

  The Grand Disciple glanced up sharply at Justin’s words. “Is she from one of the patriarchies?”

  Justin looked uneasy at the sudden interest. “Yes. Nordic.”

  The priest fixed his gaze on her with such intensity that she felt as though he could see right through the veil. Then, most astonishingly of all, he reached toward her face, letting his hand hover there as he shot Justin a questioning look.

  “May I?”

  Justin appeared understandably confused, his eyes darting to Mae as though he might get some sign from her, but she was equally puzzled. “Yes,” he said at last.

  Slowly, carefully, the G
rand Disciple lifted the semi-opaque veil that hung over her face, removing the black haze from her vision. With equal care, he pushed back the heavier grayish brown scarf that had wrapped around her head and obscured her hair. His breath caught, and he let his hand return to his side as he scrutinized her. Mae wasn’t easily intimidated, but something in those dark eyes made her skin crawl. That, and there was just something about being near him that made her feel ill at ease. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before, and although she couldn’t pinpoint any specific danger, her implant responded accordingly to her discomfort.

  “Exquisite,” said the Grand Disciple, leaning close. “We have lovely women here, you know. But many of them—and many of us— carry the marks of what you call Cain.”

  “What do you call it?” asked Justin, sounding curious in spite of himself.

  “Nehitimar’s justice. The virus that devastated the world was part of his plan, to remind those who, in their arrogance, had forgotten who was truly ruler of this world. It was a righteous punishment that we bore gladly, and those who’ve inherited the marks wear theirs with pride as well.”

  Not all of them, apparently. This close, Mae could see where the priest had had treatments done and knew Justin must’ve noticed as well.

  “Your country accepted the vaccine when ours invented it,” said Justin lightly.

  “Well,” said the Grand Disciple, shooting Justin a wry look, “I wouldn’t say ‘accepted’ so much as purchased at exorbitant rates—and that was only when your country was willing to sell, which certainly took a while. But believe me, you wouldn’t have ‘invented’ it if it hadn’t been Nehitimar’s will. We had served our penance, and he’d determined our time was up. We did not try to skirt our punishment by whoring out our population in unholy pacts with other nations—no matter how attractive the results.”

  Mae knew that genetic swapping was one of the points of contention that had driven the RUNA and Arcadia apart. The Arcadians had refused to entertain the idea of aggressively mixing their populations with those of Asia, even though early evidence had shown those of heterogeneous backgrounds had greater resistance to Mephistopheles and Cain. She had not, however, known the Arcadians described it in terms of “whoring out” and “unholy pacts.”