The Immortal Crown

by Richelle Mead

  ”You forget where we are,” said Atticus simply. “Now then. Let’s talk about the day’s itinerary.”

  It was more of the same as yesterday, sightseeing and meeting with important officials about trade and other peaceful negotiations. Justin, still preoccupied with Mae’s dilemma, was tuning out of most of it when he suddenly heard Atticus say, “Oh, and Justin. They want you back at the temple.”

  Justin started. “What, today?”

  “Tomorrow. The Grand Disciple wants to have brunch and get to know you.”

  “And find out if he can send in missionaries,” said Justin darkly. “Would it be so bad?” asked Phil, who usually stayed quiet in these discussions. “I mean, the attempts at religious conversion are, obviously. But if we were able to do it the way he said, as a cultural exchange, some university lecture circuit of Arcadian speakers . . .”

  Justin shook his head. “It’s a bad idea. You brought me here for expertise? Here it is. Don’t let that religion in under any pretense. It’s dangerous. There’s no gray area here. I’ve spent years searching for hidden threats in religious groups, and this one’s not even hiding it.”

  “If we don’t walk out of this with some trade negotiations or peace terms for the border, a reciprocal Arcadian delegation visiting us would still be a win,” said Lucian. “We shouldn’t dismiss it. It’d be a huge step for progress.”

  Justin cut him a look. “I’m not risking our country’s well-being for you to gain some laurels that’ll buy you the election.”

  He expected a rebuke for that, but instead, Lucian turned unexpectedly thoughtful. “Maybe you can find a way to stall him and avoid giving an answer on this trip then. Act enthusiastic, like you’d do it if you could but that other factors are getting in the way back home.”

  A little of Lucian’s earlier levity returned. “It should be easy for you. Pretend he’s a woman you’re trying to avoid a second date with.”

  “I still don’t think it’s a big deal,” Phil argued. “Getting a couple of Arcadian scholars or whatever they call themselves to come talk about their country would be great for all of us.”

  “Not if Justin thinks there’s a risk,” said Lucian, getting to his feet. “Now let’s head out and at least maintain good relations by showing how much we appreciate their breakfasts.” He paused to glance at Mae, who stayed where she was. “When do you get to eat?”

  “She’ll have leftovers here,” said Atticus.

  “I’ll deliver it myself,” Lucian told her solemnly.

  That earned him a smile from her, one that faded once he was gone. Mae caught Justin’s sleeve, holding him back from the others. “Lucian backed down awfully quickly about letting the Arcadians in. Is it possible he knows what you do—about SCI’s secret missions?”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” Justin admitted. “I mean, I’d like to think he just instantly values my opinion when I give it . . . but let’s face it, if he’s positioned to be one of the greatest leaders in the country, the odds are good he knows about SCI’s agenda and the ‘game’ being played—and my role.”

  “Which,” she mused, “means he probably does values your opinion.”

  “Only because he’s been tipped off to just how dangerous the forces at large are—or well, how dangerous the forces he’s been told about are. I doubt he knows as much as I do about this.”

  Hope lit Mae’s features. “Maybe you should talk to him about it. Let him in on what we know. Maybe he could help with my niece after all—”

  “No,” said Justin swiftly. “Even if he knows there really are supernatural powers scrambling in our country, it’s better my involvement—and yours—stays under wraps. Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.”

  As he left to join the others, Justin wished he felt nearly as confident as he’d sounded. He was still blown away that a divine vision about her long lost niece—brought about by a knife, of all things—had been the driving force for this trip. It had been much easier to think she’d wanted to join this expedition for the adventure of it.

  Easier to think, but easier to believe? asked Horatio.

  The raven had a good point. Mae might thrive on action, but it had been foolish of him to think she’d go to the trouble of coercing him to come, simply for her own selfish gratifications. That wasn’t how she operated. She was a good soldier. She put the greater good of her country and commanders over her personal wants—except for this. Trekking out on her own last night had been a considerable risk. Mae could’ve caused irreparable diplomatic damage if she’d been caught— not to mention personal damage. The status of a concubine might be fragile, but it still meant one had the protection of a man. Justin knew— if Mae didn’t—that being captured out on her own might’ve been read as a forfeiture of male protection in Arcadian law, meaning she’d be anyone’s for the taking. He doubted Carl would’ve pushed for that, though his crackpot son might have.

  As it was, Jasper was all scowls this morning as he sat in sullen silence at breakfast. His face was bruised and swollen, both from Mae’s attack and from what Justin guessed was some further “parental authority” on Carl’s part. Justin was glad Mae was going to be out of the Arcadian’s sight for the rest of the trip and not just because it would spare her the humiliation of shuffling around and serving men in those ridiculous clothes, like poor Hannah. Everyone else might believe that Jasper had been drunkenly mistaken—Jasper might have even admitted to it—but his dark expression said he still knew who he’d seen.

  Mae and her niece had to be put on hold as Justin’s attention shifted to his other problem: the Grand Disciple and his missionary- scholars. Carl kept bringing up how great it was that Justin had been invited back the next day, as did other officials that the Gemmans met with later in the afternoon. Justin’s feeling of dread increased, as he realized how much Arcadian expectation was building on this, even if Lucian had technically given him approval to stall.

  I wish I was like Mae, Justin thought. Able to break out and daringly conduct my own reconnaissance. I’d love to know just what the Grand Disciple is really planning for us and if his god is part of the game being conducted.

  So get out there and look, said Horatio.

  How? demanded Justin. Shall I come up with some brilliant distraction at brunch tomorrow to lure him away while I rummage through papers in his suite?

  The raven sighed in irritation. You need your information before you see him.

  Yes, well, if you have suggestions on how I can get to the temple and gather that, I’m all ears. I’ll take Mae’s tunnel and scale the walls. How does that sound?

  Magnus joined the conversation: Or you could fly.

  Justin was almost ready with a snippy retort, but something in Magnus’s tone held him back. Magnus was usually more serious than his counterpart.

  Explain, ordered Justin.

  I wouldn’t have to if you’d been more diligent about studying Odin’s path, said Magnus. He might be more serious, but he could also be more difficult.

  I’ve learned the runes. I’ve learned all their basic uses.

  You’ve scratched the surface. You think it’s just memorizing runes? Anyone could be a priest if that were the case, chastised Magnus. You were called because you have the potential for other powers. You think you know Odin, but you don’t truly know him.

  What does this have to do with me “flying” to the temple? asked Justin, thinking he was getting just another variation on the lecture so often given by Greaki.

  I’ll show you tonight, Magnus told him. Skip dinner. Don’t eat anything. Tell them you don’t feel well, then have Mae guard your room from anyone else entering.

  The ravens offered no further elaboration, and as more diplomatic dealings and small talks called for Justin’s attention, he had no chance to question his feathered companions. But when the day wrapped up, and they returned to Carl’s estate, he followed the birds’ bidding and stayed behind while the rest of the Gemmans (except ostracized Mae) went of
f for dinner. Lucian shot him a look almost as skeptical as the one he’d given the previous night, but if he had doubts or suspected an ulterior motive, he kept that to himself, saving Justin from lies or explanation.

  Mae was another story.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded, once the two of them were alone in his room.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “Maybe nothing. Magnus supposedly has a way for me to gather intelligence about the Grand Disciple.”

  “Didn’t you lecture me last night on the dangers of supernatural involvement?” she asked. Pointedly.

  “Yes, because you’re dealing with an unknown variable. I know mine.”

  “You said there’s always a cost.”

  “One I pay daily,” he shot back. “I’m sparing you from a similar fate. Are you in or not?”

  She sighed. “You know I am. What do you need?”

  Per the ravens’ instructions, Justin stripped down to his boxers and sat cross-legged on the bed. “Mostly they say just to stop anyone from interrupting me. Don’t let anyone come through that door. Oh, and open the window.”

  Mae looked up at the small window at the top of the wall. It was big enough to allow light but would provide difficult egress for an adult, especially without a ladder to get up there in the first place. But she was still able to open it by standing on the bed before moving over and striking a defensive position against the door.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Now your guess is as good as mine.”

  Relax, Magnus said. Expand your senses. Think of me. Think of becoming me.

  You’re going to turn me into a bird? Justin asked him.

  Not exactly. Just try to let go of your own body. Focus on mine, on wings, on flight, on my essence.

  It wasn’t easy, and not just because of the metaphysical nature of the task. Justin had never seen Magnus physically—well, not since a brief glimpse on a smoky night. But Justin did his best to focus on that memory and what he knew of the raven now, of his personality and nature. Magnus talked him through it, guiding Justin’s mind and breathing until time and his surroundings faded away. A strange euphoria began to fill Justin’s body, an indescribable power like nothing he’d ever felt, though it reminded him of the high brought about by some of the sketchier drugs he’d taken in his life.

  Suddenly, Justin had the sense of emergence, like he was breaking through a barrier or bursting from water. The room snapped into focus, clearer and more vivid than before as he looked down on it . . .

  . . . and himself.

  There he was, still on the bed. His body sat in the same cross- legged position, but his blank, staring eyes were like those of someone stoned or comatose. The weirdness of it started to break Justin’s control, but Magnus talked him back.

  That’s only your body, your common physical form, the raven said. You’re sharing mine now. The part of you that matters, your soul and your essence are in this form. You’re safe. You’ll return to your body . . . eventually.

  Justin looked around the room again and became aware that he was circling it, gliding and hovering on large, black wings. By the door, Mae stared up at him with wide eyes, and while she didn’t look scared, per se, she certainly appeared a little disbelieving.

  She can see us, he told Magnus.

  Yes. We’re in my physical form. You don’t have the strength or power to go in my invisible form, unfortunately.

  What is that . . . joy I feel? Justin asked. That bliss? Is it just that awesome being a raven?

  Well, yes, said Horatio.

  Are you in this body too? Justin asked, startled.

  Magnus answered. No, but we are always joined. Thought and memory cannot be separated. As for that bliss, that is what it feels like to open yourself up to Odin. Now come. You won’t be able to stay in this state all night, and we need to go.

  Justin flew toward the open window, leaving a gawking Mae behind, unsure whether he or Magnus was the one fully in control. At times, as they flew through the darkening twilight toward the lights of downtown Divinia, Justin felt as though he were indeed the one powering those strong wings. Other times, it seemed as though he were merely a rider. Regardless of who was in control, that glorious feeling remained, burning within him.

  You’ve spent your whole life seeking the next best high from drugs or the arms of a woman, Magnus told him. When all along, all you had to do was surrender to the god who wants you. Easier, isn’t it?

  That’s questionable, Justin responded. I can control when I take the drug. I can walk away from the woman. Something tells me that once I give into Odin, there’s no going back.

  You won’t want to, Magnus assured him.

  The rest of the journey passed in swift silence. Even if Justin hadn’t had the benefit of the raven’s better vision, one didn’t really need special sight to spot their goal. If you could find the city, you could find the glittering temple. It dominated its dreary landscape, easily visible from above. Less obvious was which of the many windows led to the Grand Disciple’s apartments, but Magnus had apparently retained a good sense of that and skillfully guided them around the numerous angles and towers of the temple’s exterior.

  The question is if he still likes fresh air, said Magnus. Otherwise, this journey—while full of compelling conversation—has been a waste.

  They circled one corner of the temple, and the rush of wind against Justin’s feathers—feathers?—slowed as they prepared for a landing. A large window that he now recognized as the magnificent picture one he’d seen yesterday loomed before them—and it was halfway open again. Magnus’s body deftly swooped in and landed on top of the glass pane, pausing to get their bearings.

  Justin experienced that same disorienting sense of power that told him a strong elect was nearby. The Grand Disciple sat in the same living room once more, though his body was angled away from them, so he hadn’t seen the raven’s quiet landing. The room was in shadows, lit by candles, and the odds seemed good the priest wouldn’t notice his feathered intruder with the light fading outside as well. Unfortunately, Justin wasn’t sure there was much they could actually observe, save that the Grand Disciple looked much more like an ordinary man when wearing a black silk dressing robe instead of his jewel-laden regalia. Magnus might have provided a clever entrance, but the raven didn’t have the capacity to rummage through any personal possessions, and the priest didn’t seem like he would start talking to himself either.

  Justin was about to express his frustration at their inability to learn anything useful when a soft chime sounded. “Enter,” called the Grand Disciple. Several moments later, the screen leading into the room parted, and a young man in a temple uniform entered with a Cloistered woman.

  The woman was a mystery, but Justin soon recognized the man as Hansen, the deacon who’d let them in earlier. He knelt and kissed the Grand Disciple’s ring while the woman held back, much as Mae had earlier.

  “Your piousness,” Hansen said. “I’ve brought her, as you asked.”

  ”Excellent, Timothy,” intoned the priest. He gestured Hansen to his feet and looked past him to the woman. “Unveil.”

  The woman did as bidden. She was no one Justin recognized, but she was lovely, especially for an Arcadian. Her dark hair, though pulled back, was still clearly thick and luxurious, and neither it nor her skin showed any sign of Cain. She looked to be about eighteen and kept her eyes lowered, as was proper. The Grand Disciple grunted in approval.

  “You may wait for me in the bedroom,” he said. The girl gave an obedient nod, and Justin watched as she slipped out of the room. Glancing back at the priest, he saw a lascivious expression cross the older man’s features. So much for him being above the distractions of women.

  You’re not watching the right person, said Magnus.

  For a moment, Justin was confused, then he focused on Hansen who, after watching the girl leave, glanced back at the priest—with undisguised contempt. The expression was fleeting, and when the priest turne
d back, Hansen’s face was smooth and subservient once more.

  “Your piousness,” said Hansen carefully. “I’ve saved enough money to make Elaina a proper wife now. How much longer will we have to wait?”

  The Grand Disciple gave him a patronizing smile. “Patience, Timothy. It’s not about money so much as Nehitimar’s will, and right now, the god wills that she remain a concubine.”

  “But why?” blurted out Hansen. He immediately looked chagrined for daring to ask.

  “Because if she is your wife, then she must keep her body only unto you. As long as she is a concubine, I am able to continue giving her my blessing. That pleases Nehitimar. Doesn’t it please you as well?”

  “Giving her my blessing”? That’s what he has the audacity to call it? Justin wondered.

  It may please their god, noted Magnus. But it doesn’t please Hansen.

  The raven was right. Even as the young man murmured his agreement, Justin could see the angry glint in his eyes. The Grand Disciple was either too full of himself to notice or—mostly likely— didn’t care. No surprise coming from a man who lived in splendor and excess while much of the country remained impoverished.

  “You know how difficult my work is,” continued the Grand Disciple. “Nehitimar requires many sacrifices of me, and I must take my pleasures where I can to continue his work—even if that requires sacrifices on the part of others. You understand.”

  ”Of course,” said Hansen.

  Hansen would punch him right now if he could, Justin noted. “Don’t worry,” said the elder priest. “If all goes well with your mission into the Lost Lands, Nehitimar will undoubtedly reward you with marriage. And I of course will look after Elaina while you’re away.”

  “Thank you, your piousness.”

  The Grand Disciple strolled around the room, hands clasped behind his back. “Have you found an acceptable group to go on the expedition?”

  “I’m finalizing it,” said Hansen, seeming more at ease discussing business than Elaina. “If the Gemmans will allow us to enter as you plan, I’ll make sure to have some of Nehitimar’s best spokespeople go, along with those you’ve trained to disable the Gemman media stream.”