If she had any sense, Justin informed the raven, she wouldn’t leave me.
And with those words, Justin had enough self-awareness to realize that was a huge part of the problem here: she was leaving him. Oh, there was no question he was upset about the rest. He was upset that she was leaving without properly letting herself recover, that she was leaving without any further effort at finding her assailant. And, yes, he was absolutely upset at her willingly walking into another life- threatening situation. Waiting for her while she’d escaped Arcadia had been hard enough. He couldn’t imagine another stretch of endless days, not knowing if she was dead or alive.
But it was that personal sting, that after a life of women who’d meant nothing, he’d found one who meant everything—and she was leaving him. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t leaving him personally, exactly. This was the result of forces beyond their control, but the result was the same. She would be gone, and he would be back to being surrounded by others who made him feel alone. It hurt in a way he wasn’t prepared for, and he knew lashing out at her was a selfish reaction to that pain. He knew also that Magnus and even Cynthia were right: if Mae was leaving, then he needed to part on the best terms possible.
But that pain and the inability to deal with it were too great, and he found himself blurting out, “This is a mistake. You’re making a mistake.”
Her face started to fall, but she quickly recovered and took on her ice princess persona. Too late, it occurred to him that maybe she was hurting too and that she was waiting for him to say all those things he should’ve said.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said coldly. “Here. I’ve got a couple of parting gifts for you.” She produced the amber knife from her boot and handed it to him. “Give this to Geraki.”
Justin took it more from surprise than anything else. “Geraki?”
”He’s the one who sent it. Tell him I have no use for gods who can’t promise what they deliver.” From her belt, she produced a golden neck torc with dragons on the ends. “This is for you . . . or whatever you want to do with it.”
Justin took it in confusion. “What is it?”
“The eagle staff,” she said. “Or it was. When I touched it, it transformed into this.”
He was still upset, still heartbroken . . . but those words made his jaw drop. “When did you get this?”
“I made a side trip after rescuing the girls. The staff changed shape when I touched it.” She spoke casually, like robbing a country’s religious leader really had been just a side trip.
“You . . . you touched it?” Justin remembered the ravens saying only the strongest of faith could do so. “And . . . it changed shape?”
“That’s what I just said,” she snapped. A hired car slowed down in front of the house, and Mae turned toward it. “That’s for me. I’ll see you around.”
“Mae . . .”
Justin wanted to say more but found the words stuck on his tongue. Lucian had claimed Justin could talk anyone into anything, but he was at a loss here. He didn’t even know if he had the power to get her to forgive him. She disappeared into the car, and he stood there forlornly on the wet lawn, knife in one hand and torc in the other, watching until she vanished down the street. When he could finally muster the initiative to move, it was to look down and examine the knife.
Before you ask, said Horatio. No, we didn’t know Geraki gave it to her.
Is it Freya’s? asked Justin, thinking back to the revelation that had begun to emerge in Arcadia.
Magnus answered. Most likely. Geraki wouldn’t have given it if it wasn’t on the behest of an ally, and the fact that the torc didn’t change shape when you touched it means it’s sacred to the same pantheon you serve. Freya best fits the description of the goddess Mae has been working with.
Was working with, corrected Justin. She’s done with that now.
Mae’s words replayed through his mind as he slowly walked back into the house: I refuse to give in to them, and you should too. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll resign from your job and . . . I don’t know. Go back to teaching. Go back to anything, anything that’s not this.
Maybe she was right. A surge of anger welled up in him, anger for the hurt he was feeling and at the role the gods were playing in messing up their lives. But was it entirely the gods’ fault? Really, when Justin looked at it, things had fallen apart because of one person, the man who’d worn his face to take advantage of Mae. Thinking about that, it became easier and easier for Justin to channel the pain of Mae’s loss into hatred and revenge for the mysterious assailant.
He ignored Cynthia’s attempts at conversation and stormed to his room, slamming the door behind him. Okay, he told the ravens. Get your master on the line. If he wants me, he can have me. Mae’s pulled herself out as a bargaining chip, but it doesn’t matter. I want to find who did this to her. If Odin can help me do that, I’ll swear my undying loyalty to him and act as his priest.
The declaration lifted a huge weight from Justin’s shoulders, and he expected any number of reactions from the ravens. Joy. Disbelief. Smugness. What he got instead was almost a sense of . . . discomfort.
Ah. That won’t be necessary, said Magnus.
We’ve, um, been meaning to talk to you about this, but things got so hectic last night that we figured we should wait to tell you, added Horatio.
Justin sat down on the bed, wishing this form of communication gave him the ability to look his advisors straight in the eye because he definitely needed some context.
Tell me what?
There were a few moments of silence, as though each raven were daring the other to speak.
It’s done, said Magnus at last. You are bound to our god. You fulfilled the terms of the deal already.
What are you on? demanded Justin. I did no such thing! I know that deal word for word. I have to take Mae to my bed and claim her before swearing to Odin, and in case you haven’t been paying attention to my screwed-up love life, I’ve gone out of my way to avoid that scenario.
And yet, said Magnus, you enacted it last night.
Justin was indignant. Really? Did you see something I missed? Only if you missed the part where Mae was in your bed, and you
poured your heart out to her, claiming her as the only one in the world for you, explained Horatio.
That wasn’t sex! protested Justin.
Who said it had to be? asked Horatio. You’ve been going on about how “claiming” someone in bed is such an archaic way to talk about sex, but really, you’re the only one who’s been hung up on that term. There are many ways to interpret those words, and you fulfilled them in a very literal way last night by claiming her as your soul mate.
I know I never used that term, Justin said, still unable to believe what was happening.
No, but that’s not what matters. What matters is that you can claim someone in a number of ways, and really, declaring that they’re the one, that there’s no other for you . . . well, said Horatio, call me a romantic, but that’s a much more profound way to claim someone as your own than through sex.
Odin never clarified the meaning! Justin protested. It’s a trick. A trick based on one word.
You never asked for clarification, said Magnus. And you played a similar trick on Odin when you dodged the deal the first time you made love to her.
First and apparently only time now, said Justin. This isn’t fair.
Fair? Magnus had no sympathy. He let you out of the deal fairly because you had the power of words on your side. This time, the words and meanings played you. Accept it gracefully. This is binding. You’ve fallen into the deal and must now serve him.
I get nothing! I don’t get Mae. I don’t get the power to find her assailant.
Nothing? asked Horatio. You get to serve our god! You have the honor of being his first and greatest priest in your country, and this torc Mae gave to you in anger will only aid your quest. I’d hardly say that’s nothing. And Odin may still help you find her attack
er.
But no guarantees, said Justin morosely. He set the torc on his bedside table and felt nothing as he stared at it. A great and powerful artifact meant nothing without Mae.
No, agreed Magnus. The time for bargains is over. You’ve led him a merry chase with your ability to wheel and deal and make the most of twisting words. It’s a trait our god possesses in abundance and is what he admires in you. Now is the time to serve and fulfill your promise.
The truth of the ravens’ words settled in Justin’s gut, just as it had when another word trap had landed him into learning Odin’s runes and lore. Justin had recognized his inability to bargain then, just as he’d known he had the power to escape after sleeping with Mae before. But now? Now, he could feel Odin’s chains settling upon him. Intentional or not, Justin had claimed Mae with his heart, if not body, and now he was bound to the god as a result.
I wish you wouldn’t look at it as a punishment, fretted Horatio, sounding legitimately upset. Odin truly is a great and generous god who cares about you. You will find joy and meaning in his service.
The only thing that brought me joy and meaning is on her way to a war zone, Justin retorted. But rest easy, I’ll stand by my word and serve. In fact, I think I’ll start celebrating my new vocation right now.
Eight hours later, he was still drinking.
It hadn’t been continuous, of course. That was largely because he’d passed out in the afternoon after overdoing it in the first part of the day. As evening rolled around, he found himself in a far better position to pace himself, simply keeping a steady supply of drinks coming that maintained his buzzed state but protected him from being sick or (hopefully) getting alcohol poisoning. He’d made his way to an upscale bar downtown, finding the atmosphere much more welcome than the one at home, after Cynthia had thrown him out for “turning to self- destructive behavior as a way to make yourself feel better about screwing up.”
She was wrong, though, because none of this self-destructive behavior was making him feel better about anything.
“Is this seat taken?”
The voice surprised him, largely because Justin had gone out of his way to avoid any female interactions so far this evening. It wasn’t that he couldn’t—after all, there were no commitments between Mae and him—but the thought of wooing female company for the night seemed like a lot of work for not very much reward. Besides, he knew enough to know when he was charming drunk and just drunk-drunk. He was definitely the latter, and while that still didn’t rule out his chances with women, it didn’t necessarily help them either.
When he saw the speaker, though, he silently cursed his inebriated state. Daphne Lang sat down beside him.
“I have nothing to say to you,” he said, wondering how quickly he could sober up. No time was ever a good time to be cornered by a reporter, but being trapped by one when you weren’t in full possession of your wits was probably the worst time. “And you should be ashamed of yourself for following me.”
“Relax,” she said, waving over the bartender. “This is a happy coincidence. I live around the corner and come here all the time. I admit, however, I was planning on speaking to you at some point.”
“The usual?” asked the bartender, earning a smile and a nod from her.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Justin when they were alone again. “Word has it Tessa’s done with you, and I’m not selling her out to give you some crap human interest story. Go scavenge somewhere else.”
“Do you really think I’d do that to her?” asked Daphne sweetly.
“I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that you just happened to be looking for an intern and then conveniently stumbled on my sweet provincial girl.” His hands itched to pick up his glass again, but he again remembered he needed restraint around her.
“It’s not a coincidence,” Daphne agreed. The bartender brought her drink, and she swiped her ego to pay. “I was already doing a lot of research when that intern posting so happily popped up. But she wasn’t the one I was looking into.”
Justin’s bourbon-addled brain made the connection a few beats later than he would have under normal circumstances. “Shit.”
Daphne looked momentarily surprised at his reaction. “Oh,” she said after a moment. “You think I’m talking about you?”
“Well, you’re talking to me,” he said, hoping he didn’t show how relieved he felt. Admittedly, he was puzzled as to who she meant. “Figured maybe you were after a story about how a servitor expenses high bar bills.”
She smiled and paused to drink. Whatever expensive lipstick she used left no mark behind on her glass. “Maybe that can be my backup story. Don’t take it personally, but I’m afraid my real target was your friend and illustrious senator, Lucian Darling.”
Justin’s wariness immediately returned, but he laughed to cover it up. “You and every other reporter looking for dirt on him. Hang on . . . are you telling me you got involved with Tessa because of her very tenuous connection to him through me?”
Daphne shrugged. “I had to take what I could get. Someone like me doesn’t get in to see someone like him that easily.”
“So you used a poor provincial girl trying to better herself. And now that she’s not working out, you’re hoping I’ll get you that interview.” It was a comfort to know Lucian was the target, not Justin, but anyone who’d track down a one-off connection like Tessa and then try to use her still wasn’t to be trusted.
“Well, that would be nice, but no, I’ve actually come to you with a business arrangement . . . one that might further both of our careers.” Daphne leaned closer, and Justin recognized the look of someone who thought she was going in for the kill. “What would you say if I told you that your friend and his political party were knee-deep in a secret religion—a religion that sees him as the divinely chosen leader for this country.”
Justin made sure his smile didn’t so much as twitch. “I’d say show me the proof.”
Daphne looked mildly chagrined. “I’m afraid that’s a little easier said than done . . . although I have it on very good authority from a source even you might believe. And one you might actually help me to convince to come forward with her story. Though we’d still need more to go on.”
“Considering you just used ‘might’ twice in the same breath, I’d say you still need more to go on. There’s no ‘we’ here.”
“But there could be.” She crossed her legs, making her skirt ride up. “Imagine what this could do for you. Your whole job is about uncovering dangerous religious undercurrents in our society . . . imagine finding them in the highest tiers of our government! You don’t think there’d be career rewards waiting for you if you revealed that our future consul thinks gods are returning to the world and that he’s a divinely chosen person called an elect?”
Justin’s heart nearly stopped. “A what?”
Daphne turned smug, thinking she’d one-upped him. “See there’s all kinds of things I know. That’s just one of them I’m kindly giving you the courtesy of learning about before I go public with this.”
She knows about the elect, Justin thought frantically. Or thinks she does. How could she know that?
Obviously from whatever sketchy sources she’s drawn from, said Horatio.
She doesn’t have proof, Justin told the ravens. Otherwise, she would’ve already exposed Lucian.
Do you care? Horatio asked.
Justin considered for a moment. Yes. Putting aside the fact that he is my friend, exposing him exposes the elect and the game being played. SCI doesn’t want that. I don’t want that. The time isn’t right.
Will it ever be? asked Magnus curiously.
I don’t know, Justin admitted. But her selling out Lucian could ruin what we’re trying to do for Odin. Worse, it could eventually come back and expose me.
Justin took a deep breath and tried to summon that outgoing, magnetic persona that could allegedly talk people into anything. He leaned toward her. “You’re lying. You’re not going public without m
e. You don’t have the evidence to or else you already would have. What you probably have is enough evidence to make yourself look even more ridiculous than you already do on North Prime and sink your career even further. Sure, sensational stuff like this always leaks out— especially during election season—and it’ll make a little noise. But do you seriously, seriously believe anyone’s going to see you as a legitimate journalist with a story about gods returning to the world? That Lucian Darling is part of it? Fuck. Have you seen his ratings lately after Arcadia? That man is untouchable. There are people who want to take him down, sure, so you’ll get your five minutes . . . and be rolled in with all the other bottom feeders trying to dredge up equally scandalous stories about mistresses and discretionary spending.” Justin settled back in his chair and even felt brazen enough to sip the bourbon. “Unless you’ve got a signed statement from him confessing to all of these theories of yours, you’ve got nothing.”
Daphne stayed silent and wasn’t nearly as good at hiding her feelings as he was. Indecision played over her as she considered her next move. He’d gotten to her, that much was obvious. She might balk at all his slights on her network, but she knew she and North Prime didn’t hold much credibility. What he’d told her hadn’t been entirely fabricated either. A story like this would gather attention on the edges of the news but make little progress beyond that without more proof. People like him had been doing their jobs too long for the population to easily get on board with supernatural powers returning to the RUNA. That being said, he still needed to find out what she actually knew. It was time for his master play, now that he’d made her doubt herself.
“I’ll tell you what, Daphne,” said Justin, deciding to act before she could. “I like you. I want to help you.”
“How very kind,” she said dryly.
“I’m going to give you the chance to tell me whatever crackpot theories you’ve got and if they could really hold water with SCI backing or not. I’m guessing not. But if you play your cards right, maybe I’ll hook you up with a story that actually will make your career.”
The Immortal Crown Page 40
