“That’s an understatement,” said Tessa wearily, opening the door.
“But thank you for your time.”
Daphne crooked her a grin and leaned against the side of the doorway. “Such finality. I really hope you’ll get your paperwork in order and come work with me because you can have the position if you want it. Your benefactor may roll his eyes at North Prime, and that castal praetorian can glare all she wants, but here’s the truth. You aren’t going to get a lot of people answering Creative Minds’ ad for you. They spell out that you’re provincial, and not many people are going to go for that. They won’t even think you can speak English.”
Tessa flinched. She’d gotten so used to the acceptance at Creative Minds that she’d nearly forgotten the prejudice toward provincials that she’d experienced in other schools. She’d run into enough of it in the RUNA, however, to know that Daphne’s words weren’t entirely made up as part of some sales pitch.
“Why don’t you have a problem with provincials then?” Tessa asked. “Do you really want to do a story on me and my great transition?”
“Nope. And I’ll sign what you need to prove it.” Daphne leaned forward. “You want to know why I answered your ad? It’s because I grew up in an annexed region, and even after those places become Gemman, it’s only marginally less difficult to make something of yourself in the ‘real’ RUNA than it is coming from the provinces.” She chucked Tessa’s chin. “That, and I like hard luck cases.”
“You sound like Justin,” muttered Tessa.
“How so?”
“Half the reason he brought me here is because he felt like he owed my father. The other half is because Justin said I reminded him of him. He grew up in a bad-off area and got some sort of lucky break.”
Daphne grinned. “See? We’re meant to work together. I’ll be in touch.”
And with that, she headed out the door, off down the suburban sidewalk in those red heels. Tessa watched her go until she was out of sight, taking it on faith that Daphne would go toward the transit station and not double back around and spy on the house, like Mae and Rufus seemed to think. Of course, Mae had also made sure all the peripheral security sensors and cameras were working and updated, so there probably wasn’t any way Daphne could’ve staged espionage—if that truly was her goal.
When Tessa returned to the kitchen, she found Justin and Cynthia wrapping up an argument about his trip that neither seemed satisfied with. In just a few seconds, Tessa picked up that Cynthia had asked him to drop out, and he’d refused. She pressed her hands to the side of her head and groaned.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m so upset, I can’t even cook.” With that unprecedented statement, she stormed off to her room.
“Looks like delivery,” said Justin, watching her go. When he noticed Tessa, his expression turned wry. “And you. You brought a reporter under my roof.”
“I didn’t really expect a family argument,” said Tessa. “Besides, it’s not like that Arcadian news was top secret.”
He exchanged a pained look with Mae. “True. I thought they were going to wait a couple of days before releasing it,” he said. “But look, if you really are crazy enough to want to work with a reporter, wait for someone else from a better channel.”
“Daphne doesn’t think there’ll be anyone else,” said Tessa. She told them what Daphne had said about Tessa being provincial, both how Daphne found it endearing and how others wouldn’t. Justin and Mae exchanged looks again, this time of a different nature that Tessa couldn’t interpret.
“She’s not wrong,” said Rufus, from the living room.
Justin was silent for several moments, then he sighed again and began rummaging through the wine cabinet. “Fine. You can work with her if you want, but not before she signs a non-disclosure agreement about your life story. And for God’s sake, don’t bring her back in this house again.”
Tessa nodded and turned around, noticing then that Darius was still there, leaning against the wall. She groaned. “I’m so sorry about all of this. About blowing off coffee and everything else. Come on—I’ll walk you out too, and maybe we can reschedule. Again—I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, as she led him to the door. “One thing I’ll say for sure: it’s never boring when I come over here.”
CHAPTER 8
A Warm Welcome
Mae didn’t retrieve the amber knife until the morning of their flight to Arcadia. She’d gone back and forth on whether she wanted it back at all. In the ensuing week, she’d replayed every detail of the vision she’d had in the living room, trying to make sense of it. She couldn’t write it off as a dream because praetorians didn’t sleep. They could, apparently, be overpowered by divine forces and made to “see” things they didn’t want to. And no matter how much Mae wished that wasn’t true, there was no denying it had happened . . . and that she had let that cryptic vision drive her into coercing Justin into a trip he hadn’t wanted.
His agreeing to it was almost as unbelievable as the vision itself.
She’d seen his face and knew him well enough to recognize that he truly hadn’t wanted any part of the diplomatic mission. Whether that was because of Lucian or Arcadia or some other factor, she couldn’t say. All she knew was that he’d agreed—for her—and that made her feel a mix of guilt . . . and unwelcome affection. Whenever she tried to bring up the favor, even to express small thanks, he gruffly made it clear that it wasn’t anything he wanted to discuss further.
And it was that frustration—that she couldn’t properly repay him or even convey her gratitude—that drove Mae to bring the dagger to Arcadia. Part of her wanted to believe she needed no more divine assistance. She had the information she’d received from Emil and the vision . . . would that be enough? Mae couldn’t say for sure, and if it was only herself she was inconveniencing, maybe she’d take the risk.
But after forcing Justin to so radically alter his plans, she felt obligated to do everything she could to follow through on the sketchy leads to her niece—even if he knew nothing about it.
“Did you just get that from the basket?”
Mae turned in surprise from where she’d just replaced the knife’s basket back on its shelf. Justin had just entered the living room, coffee cup in hand. It was early, and the rest of the family was still waking up, but the two of them were dressed and ready to rendezvous with
Lucian’s party soon.
She slipped the blade back to its usual place in her boot. “I took it out overnight and wanted it somewhere Quentin wouldn’t find it,” she lied. “Do you think they’ll let me bring it into Arcadia?”
“I’d say so. They’re letting the uniformed military bring in guns—with restrictions. Probably figure a sweet, innocent woman like you couldn’t possibly cause any damage with a knife.”
Mae grinned at that and briefly toyed with trying to thank him again for his part in their upcoming trip. After a moment, she decided against it. He was in as good a mood as he was going to get, and there was no point in spoiling that. Besides, as the rest of the family trickled into the kitchen, there was no time for the two of them anymore. After a week of battling her brother, Cynthia had finally resigned herself to his going.
“Make sure you come back this time,” she grumbled, resting her head on his chest when they hugged goodbye. “No more four-year sabbaticals.”
“Stop being melodramatic,” he told her. “Nothing’s going to happen. Besides, I’m sure Lucian can talk us out of any trouble. And if anything does happen, you won’t have to worry about finances.”
Cynthia groaned. “I knew it. I knew you were preparing for the worst.”
Mae, feeling as though she were intruding, turned from them and pretended to be interested in checking security features on the house’s windows. Little did Cynthia know that Justin had made arrangements for her and Quentin a while ago. When he’d first returned from
Panama, he hadn’t known if he’d be exiled again and had made sure his assets would be accessible to her in the event of a temporary or permanent disappearance. He’d made further arrangements once he’d accepted the responsibilities of his new job and its frequent provincial travel. Cynthia really had no idea that Arcadia wasn’t the first dangerous place he’d frequented these last few months.
Hearing Tessa’s voice, Mae dared a glance back and saw the girl hugging Justin for her own goodbye. How is he like that? Mae wondered, watching him wrap up Tessa in his arms. So selfish and pleasure-driven most of the time, yet completely devoted to them.
Because no matter how much he tried to hide it, she knew he was feeling emotional at the goodbyes as well. And although Mae didn’t know the exact details, she was willing to bet anything that Justin had set aside some pretty generous resources for Tessa too, in the event something happened to him.
“Everyone’s so grim for an event that’s supposed to usher in an era of peace between us and Arcadia,” Mae heard Rufus say.
She smiled as she found him standing behind her. He had an uncanny, stealthy way of moving that rivaled a praetorian. In the past week as the family’s regular bodyguard, she’d grown to like him more and more and was pleased with her decision.
“Hopefully it will,” she told Rufus. “I’m not sure I’d give the average Gemman good odds wandering around alone in Arcadia, but our group? No one on any side wants this to go badly. So long as we survive their customs, nothing’s going to happen to us. And I’m hoping that if it’s widely known that Justin’s out of the country, no one will come after these guys while we’re gone. No point in punishing the servitor if he’s not around to see it.”
Rufus nodded. “True, but I don’t plan on changing anything. I’ll keep up with the usual procedures and coordinate with your praetorian friend and his people.”
Something in the way he said “praetorian friend” amused her.
“You aren’t a fan of Dag?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s a fine soldier. I just don’t really bond with that showy, alpha male type. As long as he does his job and keeps us supplied with backup, I’ve got no problem with him.”
Mae laughed. “I don’t know, Rufus. There’s something about you that makes me think you might have been one of those showy alpha male types back in the day. Maybe you’re feeling competition from your youth.”
“Hmphf,” said Rufus, hiding a smile of his own. “That guy’s no competition at all. And who says I’m out of my youth?”
Despite his joking, he was right about one thing: the mood was certainly somber when the hired car came to pick up Justin and Mae.
Both Cynthia and Tessa had tears in their eyes, and Mae couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for her role in the emotional farewell. It’s no more dangerous than anything else we do, she reminded herself. Probably less so. It’s just that none of them know what we do regularly. They’d probably cry every time if they knew we were facing supernatural hordes of beetles and other monstrosities.
The car took her and Justin to the senate, where they were led in through a back entrance. Here, they went separate ways. Because the Arcadian government could access the RUNA’s media on occasion, the female praetorians weren’t being publicized on the trip, lest the Gemman press pull up the military’s bios and report on their true identities.
“Good luck,” Mae told Justin. He and the other men were due at another press conference before going to the airport.
“Nothing to it,” he said. “I’m sure Lucian’ll do all the talking anyway.”
One aide led him away to a press room, while another took Mae to a private suite used by senators for breaks between sessions. There, she found the other praetorian women from their initial meeting, plus an assistant from Arcadian expert Atticus Marley’s office. The woman introduced herself as Olivia and led Mae to a curtained-off area with a hanging dress.
“You’re not expected to wear Arcadian fashion, thankfully,” Olivia explained. “But you will need to conform to all of their rules. We got you the least horrendous clothes we could find.”
But she didn’t really sound that convinced, and Mae could understand why. The dress, though cut to Mae’s measurements, didn’t offer much in the way of shape. It was made of a light, tan material that touched her feet. The neckline went as high as the top of her collarbone, and the sleeves were elbow length.
Olivia offered her a jacket and hat in the same color. “You don’t have to put these on until you leave the plane. And then make sure you aren’t ever seen in public without them. Short sleeves and uncovered hair are big taboos.”
“It’s mid-summer,” said Mae, holding up the jacket. It had long sleeves and looked like it would land just past her hip.
“We got the lightest, most ‘modest’ material we could,” said Olivia sympathetically. “If it helps, you probably won’t be outside very often.
But you should leave the hat on even when you’re inside, and always keep your hair pulled up.”
“Right,” said Mae, remembering Atticus’s warnings. “My problematic blond hair. I don’t get it. Arcadia’s more advanced than other provinces, and all of them have hair dye. They should be able to fake recessive genes just like our plebeians do.”
“It’s not about the ability. It’s about custom.” Olivia settled the hat—a bell-shaped cloche that actually would’ve been pretty stylish in autumn—on Mae’s head to test the fit. “No hair dye. No makeup. There are even color restrictions. Something to do with that god of theirs and his rules on vanity. Your friend Dr. March could probably explain it better.”