The Immortal Crown

by Richelle Mead

  “No,” said Mae stiffly. “He’s told me a lot of things tonight—but not that. Come on, I’ll walk you out. He needs to finish getting ready anyway.”

  Justin thought she’d leave without another glance, but she paused in the doorway and looked back, her heart in her eyes. One word, Justin thought. One word, and she’ll come back to me.

  But he didn’t say it, and Mae gave a nod of farewell. “Have fun tonight.”

  And then she was gone.

  CHAPTER 26

  Lights Off

  Mae held it together as she thanked Rufus for his service and urged him to get back in touch, should his circumstances change. She even held it together when the March family told her goodbye, resulting in hugs from Cynthia, Tessa, and Quentin and stories of how they’d worried for her as much as Justin on the trip. It wasn’t until she was on the train, headed back downtown, that Mae started to lose it.

  Unacceptable, she told herself, forcing back tears. I am a soldier. I’ve fought for my country and risked my life countless times. I won’t break down now like some adolescent just because a boy told me “no.”

  Except, Justin hadn’t exactly told her no. That was what had hurt the most. How did someone do that? How could he say that she was the one, that he’d never had that kind of connection with another woman . . . and then turn away? Mae had had men shower her in gushing words for her entire life, praising her beauty and going overboard with all the grandiose things they’d do for her to prove their love. No one had ever put it so simply: There’s no one else for me but you. And those simple words had struck her with more power than any other elaborate declaration could have—which is why it had hurt so much. She almost wished he’d lied to her again. Almost.

  “Praetorian Koskinen?”

  A voice called to her in the crowded station as she stepped off the purple line, and it took her a moment to orient herself and find the speaker. When she did, it was no one she’d expected—or really wanted—to see.

  “Mr. Devereaux,” she said formally, as Geraki approached her. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “You don’t look like you mean that,” he said. “Forgive me, but you don’t look like you’re happy to see anyone just now.”

  “It’s been a complicated night,” she said bitterly, nearly laughing at her own understatement.

  “Is there any way I may be of assistance?” he asked, in a genteel way that contrasted with the religious zealot persona she associated with him.

  “I don’t think anyone can help, but thanks. I need to get home.”

  He caught her arm, and she almost welcomed the rush of endorphins brought on by a potential threat. The look in his eyes, however, suggested no fight, just more unsolicited advice.

  “That’s not true,” he told her. “The part about no one being able to help you, that is. Sometimes it may seem that way on earth, in human affairs, but there are higher powers able to strengthen and sustain us.”

  This time, she did laugh, surprised she’d find amusement in something so absurd. “Are you trying to convert me in the middle of a subway station?”

  “No need,” he said gravely. “From what I hear, you’ve already taken up quite nicely with a goddess.”

  “How do you—” A startling, impossible thought hit her. “You . . . you sent me the amber knife.”

  He sketched her a bow. “I’d say ‘guilty as charged,’ but I have nothing to feel guilty about. The Lady wanted to connect to you, and I simply helped make it possible.”

  Mae was stunned. She’d meant what she’d told Justin, that her experience in the wilderness had been life-changing. The goddess had held true to her word, delivering and protecting Mae, and that sense of communion and life had been glorious. Mae wasn’t entirely certain how to feel about that now. She’d just been thinking that there might truly be something to serving a goddess like that . . . but now, that image was tainted knowing Geraki was involved.

  “You serve her too?” Mae asked.

  “No, no,” Geraki chuckled. “I serve a different god, but they are allies, and I have great esteem for her. That was how I came to be the messenger.”

  “I didn’t know that,” said Mae, feeling slightly relieved. “That they were allies. But I mean, I don’t really know much about her yet . . . or anything about your god.”

  “No?” He generally seemed surprised at that. “Our mutual servitor friend has never mentioned my god?”

  “Justin? No, why would he?”

  Geraki’s expression was a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “No reason at all, I suppose. Never mind him. If the Lady has brought you any sort of fulfillment at all, then I’m glad.”

  “She has,” said Mae softly. “Though I still don’t know what to make of it. Or what I want.”

  “Then I’ll give you some quick advice because I see the blue line pulling up. Find out what you do want from her, and you may find that whatever else is bringing you down doesn’t matter so much. My master tells me she’s led you true so far. If you let her continue to do so, you may find petty and human affairs are exactly that: petty and human. Good luck.”

  He started to turn for his train, but this time, she held him back. “Wait—what is her name?”

  Geraki hesitated. “Generally the elect must earn their gods’ names. Only those engaged in simple worship get them easily.” Something in her face must have touched him because he finally said, “Freya.”

  “Freya,” repeated Mae, the word tasting of power.

  “Look to her.” Geraki’s expression softened a little. “Not to whoever’s broken your heart.”

  He disappeared into the crowd, and Mae stood there a moment before continuing on her way, heading up to street level. She said the goddess’s name over and over in her head as she walked home, wondering if Geraki—madman that he was—was right. When the pressures of her home life had reached a breaking point, Mae had found purpose in answering the higher call of the military. Was it possible now, in the midst of romantic turmoil, that there might be something for her she’d never dreamed of in the service of this goddess? It was a startling revelation, especially considering Mae’s rocky start with the Morrigan.

  But Freya felt different, and that bore some serious consideration before Mae could make any hard and fast decisions. Besides, when she got home later, Mae couldn’t deny that no matter how petty Geraki might think human affairs were, the power Justin still held over Mae’s heart was a formidable thing. Freya’s power in the wilderness had filled Mae with exhilaration . . . but then, so did thinking of Justin now. That was a hard thing to get over.

  It was made harder still when he showed up that night.

  She almost could’ve believed her eyes were playing tricks on her when her bedroom screen displayed his image down at her building’s front door. He should’ve been at Lucian’s dinner, but there he was, looking up at the camera as he waited for entrance. With his chip, he actually could’ve come straight to her door because he was a handful of people she’d authorized in the building’s security system. She wondered if he was afraid of his reception, as though she might not have welcomed him to her door after the way they’d left things.

  He needn’t have worried. Mae authorized his entry, her heart pounding furiously as she counted the seconds until he made it to her door. Whatever thoughts of higher callings over human affairs that Geraki might have inspired vanished. That earlier sense of feeling like a school girl came over her as she took a hasty look in the mirror and tried to smooth her unruly hair. She was nothing special tonight, but it didn’t matter. Not anymore. Not if he was coming to her.

  She flung open the door when he arrived, and both of them stood there, momentarily frozen. There was a hunger and tension radiating off of him that left her breathless, and Mae suddenly found herself caught in an uncharacteristic state of rambling. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Lucian? I thought you said you couldn’t—”

  “I was wrong.”

  His voice wa
s low and husky as he slammed the door behind him and pulled her to him. That first kiss was crushing and all-consuming, as though he might lose this chance if he didn’t take advantage of it. The tenderness she’d felt back in his room was gone, replaced by an almost primal intensity that spoke to her baser instincts. She let herself get pulled into that animal passion, knowing there’d be time—all the time in the world—later for tenderness.

  He swept her into his arms and carried her effortlessly into her bedroom, pausing to shoulder the light switch off before setting her on the bed. The streetlights outside painted them in shadows as they shed their clothing. The foreplay Mae remembered from Panama was gone, abandoned in the urgency of the moment. He went at her almost as desperately and furiously as an implant-driven praetorian might, and although it was a surprise, it wasn’t necessarily unpleasant. Mae’s own body was so supercharged and flooded with hormones and endorphins that the instant gratification was welcome in some ways, even as his tight grip on her wrists bordered the line of pleasure and pain. All that mattered was that they were finally together, as they should’ve been long ago.

  Along with that fury and intensity came brevity, and when it was over, he rolled off of her with a great, content sigh, releasing his hold on her. Some of Mae’s initial desire had been met, but she was a long ways from being sated. All night, she reminded herself. We have all night to make love and talk and then make love some more . . .

  She turned to her side, wanting to simply hold him now. His breathing was heavy, his skin damp with perspiration, but she could see little else of him in the patchy darkness. She called to the room’s sensors to turn on the lights and then smiled as she met his eyes.

  “I’m glad you didn’t go tonight,” she said, cradling his face in her hands. “I’m glad . . . for a lot of things.”

  “Me too,” he said, trailing a finger down her neck. She shivered at his touch, hoping it would lead to more. The odds seemed good as he traced the line of her cleavage, pausing to examine the charm he’d given her, which she still wore on its plain cord. It had stayed on when the rest of their clothing had been heedlessly flung away. The content look on his face shifted to a frown as he touched the symbol etched on the charm. He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it and stayed quiet.

  A surreal moment struck Mae because she’d been almost certain he was about to ask her what the charm was—which made no sense since he’d given it to her. “Surprised I’ve still got it?” she asked.

  He gave no answer and simply drew her hands to his lips, kissing the tops of each of them. That strange sense of something being off spread through her, even though she tried to ignore it and focus on the way his lips felt against her skin, the way the light shone on his dark hair and—

  “Why did you turn off the lights?” she asked suddenly.

  It was an old joke between them. Mae, never comfortable with even her lovers seeing her vulnerability, tended to have sex in the dark. That was how it had been in Panama, and afterward, he’d warned her that next time, he’d keep the lights on so that he could watch every emotion play across her face in the throes of passion. It had been a threat that had started off terrifying but had become tantalizing the more time had passed, and she’d found herself longing to give all of her to him, not just her body. In fact, she realized, he’d even alluded it to it back in his room earlier tonight: You’re the one. There’s no one else I feel this connected to. And if I could do all those things, stay with you, make love—with the lights on—tell you everything that weighs on me, I would. Believe me, Mae, I would.

  “I thought you’d like it better that way,” he said now.

  Mae felt her breath catch and couldn’t make her voice work for several moments as a coldness filled her. “Because I asked for it earlier,” she suggested.

  “Yes,” he said. He started to relax, but she must have given something away in her face, given away that she’d caught him in the lie. He jerked away at the same moment she reached for him.

  “Who are you—” She started to say, her words painfully cut off as he backhanded her with a force she wouldn’t have thought Justin capable. He sprang from the bed and tore out of the room naked. The hit threw her off for a few seconds, giving him a slight lead, but then she recovered and took off after him, ripping a robe off the wall as she passed by it.

  She made it to the living room in time to hear her front door slam. Without even the slightest hesitation, she gave chase. Whoever he was—whatever he was—she had the advantage of her implant. Surely, even with his lead, the burst of life and adrenaline powering her would close the distance. But she heard the lobby’s main door close while she was still on the stairs, and when she finally burst outside, he was nowhere in sight. A few pedestrians gave her a curious look as she tightened her robe and peered around, certain he couldn’t have gone far. She checked both directions on the street and sidewalk and even looked in the hedges surrounding the building’s entrance. Nothing. It was as though he’d vanished into thin air.

  No one can do that, she thought. But then, no one should have been able to walk into her home wearing Justin’s face. She returned to her apartment shaking, both from the implant’s letdown and fear over what she couldn’t understand. Her mind nonetheless tried one last attempt at rationalization, refusing to admit that she had just been involved—very involved—with something beyond normal human abilities. Maybe it had been Justin, confused and high on some drug that had made him forget things he had no business forgetting.

  She settled on her couch, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as she told her living room screen to call him. For a moment, it didn’t seem he would answer, and when he finally did, she wished he hadn’t.

  There was no question where he was, from his tuxedo to the well- dressed people milling behind him to Lucian’s voice echoing on a sound system in the background. Justin was at the senate party, where he was supposed to be. He wasn’t running naked down her street. He wasn’t here. He never had been. Bile rose up in Mae’s throat.

  “Sorry it took me a minute,” he said, pitching his voice over the background noise. “I had to sneak away to answer and—what’s wrong?”

  The trembling in her body threatened to become a seizure. She could form no words, only shake her head as he asked her three more times what was wrong. After that fourth time, he told her he was coming over and walked out of the party.

  He came straight to her apartment door, as the real Justin would have earlier. Mae’s state hadn’t improved, but as he sat with her on the couch, she managed to finally speak enough to get out a slightly disorganized but otherwise accurate retelling of what had taken place. Partway through, he started to reach for her and then seemed to realize she didn’t want to be touched. His hands fell back into his lap, and a storm of emotions played over his face, disbelief and horror and anger and compassion. She knew they must make a ludicrous sight, him so polished in his tuxedo and her disheveled in the robe. Nonetheless, she tried to use his face and steady eyes as a centering point to calm herself down. Instead, all she achieved was an internal berating that she could’ve possibly confused anyone else for him.

  “I have to go,” she said abruptly, when she finished the sordid tale. “I—I have to shower. I have to wash him off of me. I can still feel him everywhere. I have to—”

  “No, wait,” said Justin, grabbing her arm. He immediately let go when she recoiled. “No—don’t. Not yet. I know it’s a terrible thing to ask, but if you go to a hospital, check in as a rape victim—”

  “I wasn’t raped!” she exclaimed. But then she faltered. “I mean . . .”

  “Call it whatever you want. They can do a DNA check. They can

  ID whoever this was from the registry. We’ll find out who did it.”

  “And what if the results come back, and they find out it was you?” He winced at that. “I suppose that’s very possible, depending on the extent of this . . . I don’t know, illusion. Look, we’ll say you and I w
ent out tonight, had sex at my place and that you were attacked walking home. That park around the corner’s got a lot of shady spots, and I’m pretty sure there are no cameras. Give some generic plebeian description, say you couldn’t see much in the dark, and then just wait for science to do the rest.”

  “And so I go on record saying I slept with two guys in one night.” She stiffened. “And that I’m a praetorian who let herself get assaulted. If they believe that, then they’ll probably lose all faith in our military.”

  Justin remained calm, despite how difficult she knew she was being. “Mae, I know this is hard on your pride, but please. This is the fastest way to get answers. We’ve talked about the War of the Elect, and now it’s found you—in a way I don’t think either of us could have predicted.”

  “We don’t know that it was an elect,” she said.

  “Who else could it have been? There’s no question someone with considerable power—shapeshifting, illusion, whatever—is responsible, and only the servant of some god could do that. Why this and not an outright attack? I don’t know, but the first and best way to get answers is to get a name. Please do this.” He started to reach for her again out of habit but remembered and stopped. “I’ll go with you. I won’t leave you.”

  Only the servant of some god. Mae felt ill, suddenly remembering the words spoken to her by the goddess—by Freya—when she’d brought the apple tree back to life: This is the kind of power you have in service to me, the power of life and love and fertility. As my priestess, you will bring life where you choose. As my warrior, you will bring death when necessary. You will bring comfort and healing. You will ignite desire. And always, always, I will have my hand upon you, empowering you.

  Was this Freya’s idea of empowerment? To be so desired that someone would use magic or their god’s favor to deceive her and take her unknowingly? Mae, who’d had countless casual lovers without a second thought, suddenly felt dirty and violated. Her body no longer seemed like her own, and she hated herself for it—and hated Freya for it. Where had the goddess’s hand and protection been when that phantom had been in Mae’s bed? Was this what it was truly like to be in the service of a god? Where was Geraki’s higher calling?