The Immortal Crown

by Richelle Mead

  After going over a few more points, Atticus wrapped up the meeting, just as an Arcadian soldier came to fetch them for breakfast. Justin had the impression they weren’t a normal fixture in Carl’s household, but during this Gemman visit, they were serving as regular go-betweens. The soldier took them out to the same dining room, which only had one table for the men this time. The women, Justin was told, would eat on their own later and would work now to feed and serve the men. It was something of a relief to him that only Carl’s household women did the actual serving. He wasn’t sure he could’ve handled the awkwardness of Mae or Val being subservient, faked or not.

  Their host was in good spirits, delighted to hear that everyone had slept well and found the accommodations satisfactory. Lunch with the president wasn’t a normal occurrence for him, so he was equally puffed with pride to be playing a role in that and help out the undersecretary who’d come to school the Gemmans in any additional pieces of etiquette. Atticus had done a pretty thorough job, and by the time the meal was finished, Justin found himself surprisingly calm about going off to meet the secular leader of one of his country’s greatest enemies. That would mostly be Lucian’s show anyway.

  The Gemman women were allowed to see them off as the rest of the household women began trickling into the dining room to quietly clear dishes. None of the praetorians looked worse for the wear, and Justin reminded himself that there was some truth to Atticus’s earlier words: a little domestic work was nothing compared to the type of warfare they normally engaged in, even if they preferred the latter.

  “Did you make the pancakes?” Justin asked Mae softly when she came up to him.

  “I was in charge of putting jam into those little individual serving dishes everyone had,” she returned. “Did you notice those?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said, as Lucian strolled over to them. “We were just having a big discussion about how artful they were, weren’t we?”

  Lucian favored her with a grin. “Absolutely. Never seen anything like it. Is it selfish of me to hope you’ll be out touring with us, even though it’s probably better you go with Justin to the temple?”

  Mae’s amusement faded. “Do we know anything more about that?”

  “No,” said Justin. “Atticus is still looking into it and will let you know after we—”

  A cracking sound jolted the three of them out of conversation, and they turned to stare as Carl’s second oldest son, Jasper, stood over one of the household women. Running through yesterday’s introductions (or lack thereof), Justin was pretty sure she was one of the concubines, the youngest of the lot. She sprawled back on the floor, and an angry red mark on her face indicated she’d just been hit. Carl stormed over.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  Jasper pointed an accusing finger. “That whore was brandishing her legs for them!”

  Carl’s face turned even redder than hers, and she cowered under his scowl. “The strap on my shoe got caught in my skirt, and I had to push it up to fix it so that I wouldn’t trip,” she said meekly.

  “Next time, you trip and break your ankle,” growled Carl. Then, to Justin’s complete and utter horror, Carl struck the girl too.

  Beside Justin, Mae jerked, and he held her hand, pulling her back. Anger filled her teal eyes as she fixed her gaze on him.

  “It’s not our fight,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Let it go.”

  ”It’s savage,” she hissed back. “Someone should do something.”

  He tightened his hold, knowing if she truly wanted to get away, she could. “Not us. Not this time.”

  Mae looked as though she might still act and then finally gave a reluctant nod. Justin nearly relaxed, and then, suddenly, Jasper lunged for the girl without warning. He was fast—but not nearly as fast as Val, who put herself between him and his victim, catching hold of his wrist as it came down for another blow. Jasper’s eyes widened, his jaw dropping as he struggled to form words.

  “What,” he gasped, “do you think you’re doing?”

  In the few seconds that passed, Justin could read the story unfolding. He was about to turn his fury on Val, and if he did, there’d be no stopping her from tearing him to pieces. Gone was the normally lighthearted woman Justin saw. There was a predator in her place, one who didn’t take well to seeing innocents abused.

  “Val!” boomed Lucian. “Step away immediately!” He managed to sound as outraged as any good Arcadian man would in such a situation, but Justin suspected fear was actually the senator’s dominant emotion at the moment.

  It was Mae who resolved things, however, by abruptly pulling Val away. From the look in Val’s eyes, she was probably the only one who could have.

  Atticus hurried forward and immediately began uttering apologies. Carl didn’t look too happy about the turn of events, but he was too sensitive to the political balance at stake. His son, however, had no such qualms.

  “Father,” he exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at where Mae still held Val. “Are you going to let her get away with that?”

  “They will deal with that,” Carl said. He turned toward one of the older women. “And we will deal with her. Make sure this doesn’t happen again.” The older woman gave a curt nod and dragged the girl on the floor from the room. When they were gone, he turned a stiff smile on his guests. “Embarrassing. It’s what I get for saving money and going to one of the country salons. Don’t worry—Harriet’ll take care of things. Let’s go.”

  “Father—” Jasper tried again. “Enough,” warned Carl.

  Lucian wisely sent the praetorian women away as well. They went without protest, but Justin could see the anger in their eyes as they left.

  This is what sets them off, he thought. Not painstakingly filling little cups with jam. They’re trained to be the strongest and the best, to fight their enemies and defend those weaker themselves. We’re asking them to stand aside.

  Will following orders trump their instincts? asked Horatio.

  That was a question for later, Justin supposed. For now, he had to continue on with the public relations game and their day of touring. Carl led the Gemmans out cheerfully, as though the incident hadn’t happened, but a slight cloud hung over Justin and his colleagues. No one was naïve enough to think domestic violence didn’t happen in the RUNA, but it certainly wasn’t openly accepted—especially over the baring of an ankle.

  Everyone did their best to have their social masks back in place when they reached downtown Divinia, which displayed the same mix of affluence that Justin had observed on the bus ride. Government and religious buildings were well maintained, but more common dwellings and businesses reflected Arcadia’s patchy economy. Justin was happy to see the original capital building still stood and had been restored after the chaos and destruction that had swept Arcadia following the Decline. A number of less elaborate buildings flanked it, modern establishments that had been added on to carry the administrative burden of running an entire country. The original building made a prettier backdrop, though, and that was where they focused a lot of photo ops before going inside. Justin also finally got to see what passed as the Arcadian press. Considering that the government censored its media, he supposed it shouldn’t be a surprise that they got by on a handful of journalists, rather than the RUNA’s horde.

  The Arcadian president, Enoch Campbell, had earned his office through a fixed election and looked pretty much like every other politician Justin had ever met. Apparently that was something universal across cultures. President Campbell and Lucian smiled and simpered at each other as they toured the capital building and made grandiose claims for the futures of their country. Some of those claims were even lightly touched upon at a pre-lunch reception, when the two leaders— with assistance from economic expert Phil—brought up the potential export of Arcadian oil to the RUNA. Considering Arcadia’s oil-rich southwestern borderlands were those the RUNA was constantly encroaching on, Justin supposed trade over invasion could be another promising outcome on thi
s trip.

  No one expected him to participate in that negotiation, however. He worked the room of government officials and made small talk, complimenting the country’s food and beauty. More of the same came when he was seated for lunch later that afternoon. They served cordials with lunch, and his tablemates were particularly fascinated to hear about his trips to various provinces. Tensions between their own countries might be taboo, but the provinces provided a safe third party that Gemmans and Arcadians alike could mock. All the while, Lucian and Campbell stayed thick as thieves, supposedly doing great things to usher in peace.

  He needs more than pictures, Justin told the ravens. He needs those too, but he also needs to walk away from this trip with one concrete souvenir in place, whether it’s a trade agreement or something else.

  And he also needs to survive so that he can actually walk away, added Horatio.

  That’s not even an issue anymore. They’re dancing on eggshells as much as we are. As long as no one does anything too stupid, we’ll all walk out of here just fine. Justin glanced around the banquet room. This really isn’t any more dangerous than the corporate training getaways SCI used to send us on, except with weird accents and no women.

  He’d been told the lunch had been prepared by women, but they were far removed from this space, with all the serving being done by teenage boys from prestigious families. That made Justin’s mind wander to Mae, and it was a relief when the presidential activities disbanded and he and the other Gemmans were sent on to their next stop. They found the praetorian women in the capital’s lobby, waiting to join in on the tour of the city. Mae wasn’t with them.

  “She’s waiting for you in a car outside,” said Val as Justin approached. A grin lit her face. “She’s, uh, something else.”

  “She always is,” said Justin.

  But when he reached the waiting car and slid into the backseat, he immediately discovered what Val had meant. Mae—at least he assumed it was her—was literally covered from head to toe. It looked as though she had on a long Arcadian dress that was thick even by their standards. He couldn’t see many details because a long veil of heavy material hooded her and wrapped around her body, all the way to her feet. It had at least been done in a way that gave her partial use of her arms and hands, which were gloved. A thinner material, but still opaque, hung over her face, and he hoped she could see out of it better than he could see in.

  “I thought it’d be black for some reason,” said Justin. “Maybe that’d be too chic.” The color—if one could call it that—was a muddy mix of gray and brown.

  “They’re going for as unflattering as possible,” came her voice through the veil. “Just in case obscuring all feminine shape and even the ability to walk didn’t do it.”

  The car merged into traffic, and Justin leaned forward to ask the driver how long until they were at the temple—in Mandarin.

  “I beg your pardon?” asked the man, startled.

  Justin switched to English. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking. How long until we get there?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  No matter how often he visited the provinces, actual drivers instead of automated cars were still odd to Justin. It just didn’t seem like a good idea to trust control of a bunch of large machines to humans alone. The RUNA and EA were the only places technologically advanced enough to have automated traffic networks or run their cars without fossil fuels. The smell of gasoline always grated on Justin. Still, he felt smug as he settled back in the seat.

  “Oversight on their part,” he told Mae, switching back to Mandarin. Although it wasn’t used regularly in the RUNA, all children learned it in school, just as EA children learned English. “They should have a Mandarin-speaker out with every Gemman on this trip.”

  “He could be faking,” she said.

  “I saw his expression. He wasn’t, but I’m sure at least one of the soldiers wandering Carl’s halls knows it.”

  “Probably,” she agreed. “Most of them took an extended break once you guys left, by the way. I guess they didn’t see us as much of a threat.”

  Even with the language protection, Justin found himself lowering his voice. “How is that girl? She’s one of the concubines, right?”

  “Hannah,” said Mae. “And yes, she’s his newest. From what I gathered, she’s been with their family six months, and this isn’t the first time Jasper’s had a problem with her.”

  “You mean not the first time that she’s wickedly lured him with her charms?”

  Mae’s expression was obscured, but Justin guessed she was scowling, judging from the way her gloved hands clenched into fists. “From the way he watches all of us, I’d say anything female lures him. He just stands there while we’re working—kitchen, dining room, whatever. Claims he’s ‘supervising,’ but there’s no question what he’s really thinking about. Sounds like his older brother—Walter—used to have issues too, but he’s mellowed out since getting engaged. I guess the promise of sex’ll do that.”

  “No wonder. These guys are sexually frustrated, and their dad is hoarding all the women.” An alarming thought occurred to Justin. “He hasn’t threatened any of you, has he?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think he’d dare, at least without serious provocation, which we haven’t given him. Hannah’s the easier target. She seems to know it, as do a couple of the other women. They go out of their way to make sure she’s not alone. If something happened, and Jasper raped her, the blame would be put on her shoulders. She could be beaten, sold, or—in extreme cases—put to death. It’s disgusting. This whole place is.”

  Justin said nothing because there was nothing to say. He couldn’t lie and act like things would get better. Reminding her she’d wanted to come here wouldn’t help either. Further conversation was put on hold anyway when they reached the temple, which left both of them speechless for entirely different reasons.

  Although the RUNA technically allowed freedom of religion, most practitioners knew they were expected to be discreet. Those whose facilities actually looked like temples and churches kept them out of urban centers. Those within populated areas usually opted for brisk, modern business suites that didn’t call too much attention. The largest religious facility—if it could be called that—was the Church of Humanity, which was actually a secular institution that held services and sermons emphasizing the country’s social values.

  But even that was dwarfed by the Temple of Nehitimar. It was bigger than the capital building, even with its additions, taking up more city blocks than Justin could see. He and Mae stood at the curb, gawking up at the temple’s spiraling heights and rich embellishment. It was literally decorated with gold and jewels, contrasting oddly with some of the rundown buildings and bedraggled pedestrians nearby, but the heavily armed and cloaked temple soldiers surrounding the grounds must have been enough of a deterrent against any would-be thieves.

  “What is all this space for?” Justin asked the driver in English. “It can’t all be worship.”

  The driver nodded toward an approaching man. “Ask him.”

  “Dr. March?” The young man wore a gray and deep blue uniform, indicative of temple service. “I’m Deacon Hansen, here to take you to see His Piousness.” The man did not appear interested in meeting Mae, and Justin didn’t attempt an introduction. Instead, he repeated his question as Hansen led them up the temple stairs.

  “The temple houses all sorts of uses,” Hansen told them. “Worship space, school, the priests’ homes. Nehitimar’s work requires a lot of space.”

  He paused in his explanation and glanced back, realizing his guests had fallen behind. Mae’s tightly wrapped dress and veil made it impossible for her to take anything but the smallest of steps. Justin, not caring if she felt coddled or not, linked his arm through hers as she made her way along, half afraid she’d topple over. If the Arcadians had wanted to eradicate any sign of alluring female movement, they’d succeeded. They’d all but hobbled one of the most graceful and athletic women Justin kne
w. Hansen looked displeased at the delay, but whether that was simply from a woman going to see the Grand Disciple or Justin helping her, it was hard to say.

  Justin soon saw that Mae wasn’t the only woman there that day— just the only woman going into the inner depths of the temple. When they cleared the grand, main doors, they found themselves standing in a huge open lobby with vaulted ceilings and a fountain nearly two stories high. Icons of various figures from the Arcadian religion decorated the walls, with Nehitimar himself always portrayed as largest and grandest. Worshippers knelt in front of the images, leaving offerings of various types behind—candles, flowers, incense, even bread. In a far corner, vendors in temple uniforms sold the offerings to long lines of petitioners.

  “Offerings left to Nehitimar and his holy host must be sanctified and appropriate in order for blessings to be received,” Hansen explained, seeing Justin stop and take it all in. Hansen nodded toward an icon of a woman in a flowing dress, with a wide-brimmed flowered hat kneeling at the feet of Nehitimar, who was depicted more than twice her size. Several Arcadian women knelt before the image, setting down piles of white orchids. Although modestly dressed, none of them were Cloistered. Justin also noted their attire was rougher and much less well-made than that of Carl’s women. His family was among the Arcadian elite. This was the average citizenry.

  “That image is Nehitimar’s wife, Hiriana the Fruitful,” Hansen continued. “She was rewarded with many children and can put in a good word with Nehitimar to share the blessing of fertility to those who show the proper respect.”

  “With that orchid,” said Justin. “What happens if someone brings a different flower?”

  Hansen looked shocked. “They wouldn’t consider it. It’d be sacrilege. They’d be removed, and Hiriana might very well ask Nehitimar to curse them. No one would take that risk.”

  “Understandable. But that kind of orchid is rare and expensive, even where I come from. It must be difficult for some people to bring them.”