“I’ll be the judge of all this,” said Daphne, who was practically salivating. “Where’s the mic? Let me hear this myself.”
Tessa shifted uncomfortably. “Well, that’s the problem. I went to upload it, and I got an error. There’s nothing recorded. It’s like the microphone wasn’t working that night.”
The idea was so ludicrous, it was clear Daphne couldn’t take it seriously enough to panic. “Of course it was working! We’d just tested it. It was on when you left me. Even if you turned it off—you didn’t, did you?—there’d be something there.”
Without another word, Tessa handed over the microphone and watched as Daphne repeated the attempt to pull its data. Her condescension turned to disbelief and then to outrage. “This is impossible! We tested it. I’ll take this back and see if one of the tech guys can do anything. Shit.” Daphne slouched back in the chair, arms crossed in anger. “It figures. We finally get something, and this happens! Tell me again what you heard. Everything.”
Tessa complied, again leaving out the same key parts—like how along with looking up Damaris Chu, she’d found a similar report about Demetrius Devereaux on the stream, one that linked him to unspecified religious investigations that had never been conclusive. Daphne couldn’t know about him. Tessa had realized the reporter was thorough enough to do a similar search and draw the conclusion that he too was tied into some underground religion—and that by Geraki’s words, Justin had some involvement that didn’t sound like normal servitor behavior. Tessa didn’t know if it was innocent. She knew Justin had met with Geraki a number of times over the last few months, but she’d always assumed it was SCI business. It might very well still be—or it might not. Geraki had made a comment about Justin “believing,” and although that was impossible for Tessa to imagine, she couldn’t take the chance of that insinuation falling into the hands of someone like Daphne. Tessa would protect Justin, as he had protected her so many times, by erasing the recording. If there’d been a way to just pull out the parts that incriminated him, Tessa would’ve done that, but some tech person at North Prime might have uncovered that there’d been an alteration.
“I’ll go on record with any of this,” Tessa told Daphne. “Whatever you need me to swear to—I mean, so long as it was something that happened.”
Daphne grimaced. “I’d rather you didn’t. I’d rather we had the recording, but if this doesn’t pan out, then a teenage testimony will have to do. Not nearly as credible.”
“Well, then,” said Tessa, feeling pleased to succeed in her ruse and to see that Daphne was actually pursuing facts instead of speculation,
“I’ll keep going with everything else—the YCC and all that. Maybe it’ll give us leads. And it will look good for citizenship—if I decided to go after it.”
“Of course you will,” said Daphne dismissively. She stood up, microphone clutched in her hand. “I’ll take this to the guys downtown and see what we can salvage.” She glanced around, noting the mostly empty house. “I heard the news today. Call me when your guy gets back. Especially call me if he brings Lucian Darling around so I can finally get an interview. I was annoyed at first when he left the country, but the delay might have been for the best, in light of all this other stuff that’s been uncovered. This internship panned out . . . just not how I expected.”
“Delay . . .” Tessa frowned as she processed Daphne’s words.
“Delay in getting an interview with Lucian? Were you expecting one?”
Daphne had hinted as much before.
Daphne grinned. “Of course. What’s the point of having a well-connected intern if I can’t make use of it?”
Tessa followed her to the door, trying to piece meaning together with the timeline she knew. Something didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it yet. “You didn’t know I was connected— that Justin was connected—to Lucian until the Arcadian trip was announced.” There it was. Tessa put it together. “No, you did. Didn’t you? You knew all about me before you approached me at school. You knew all about my family and Justin being friends with Lucian.”
“So? What if I did? I wouldn’t be much of a reporter if I didn’t research the person I was approaching for a once in a lifetime internship, now would I?”
“But you said . . . what about all that stuff about wanting to see a girl like me rise above my background?” exclaimed Tessa.
“That’s true too,” said Daphne, who was clearly having trouble understanding why Tessa was so upset. “There are lots of pieces to this.”
“But Lucian’s the biggest one, isn’t he? Did you even want an intern? Or were you just looking for a connection to him?”
Daphne turned and leaned against the front door. “Look, I’ve been chasing this lead with Darling, Cassidy, and the whole idea of religious involvement in the CP for months without getting anywhere. Someone like me couldn’t get an interview with either of them—at least not through normal channels. So, I started looking into abnormal ones. Any connection—or one-off connection—that might get me an in to talk to the senator. I went with his friends, his friends’ friends, his friends’ family . . . and then through a stroke of luck, I found his friend’s ward needed a mentor in journalism. It was a long shot, but it was the best opportunity I’d had in a while. So I went with it.” Daphne sighed in frustration when she saw Tessa was still upset. “If it makes you feel better, you actually have been a million times more useful than I ever expected. When I found out Lucian was leaving, I thought my chances of talking to him were leaving too. But this work we’ve done . . . well, it’s been kind of amazing. You’ve got a real knack for this stuff, kid.”
“Not anymore,” said Tessa, surprised to feel herself on the verge of tears. “I’m done with all of it! I’m especially done with you. I’m not going to be a part of any more games.”
“Uncovering religious motivations in one of the country’s political party’s isn’t a game,” insisted Daphne. “And you backing out of that just because your feelings are hurt is childish. What does it matter if my intentions with you changed, when we’ve gotten so close to uncovering the truth?”
“Because the intentions and methods you use matter,” said Tessa calmly. “I got so caught up, I lost sight of that. And now you’re nowhere near uncovering the truth because you’ve got a dead microphone, and I’m not going to go on the record about what I saw.”
Daphne’s smugness vanished. “Tessa! You can’t do that. If they can’t recover this microphone—”
“Then I guess you’re out of luck.” Tessa turned and raised her voice. “Rufus?” The stocky bodyguard appeared within moments.
“Daphne and I are done for the day. Please make sure she gets out okay.”
Rufus looked as though he wanted nothing more in the world to do than just that and swiftly opened the door, giving Daphne a pointed look. “Tessa—” she tried again, but Tessa wasn’t paying attention anymore.
She walked away, leaving it for Rufus to sort out. All the while, Tessa’s heart threatened to beat out of her chest. Had she ended things soon enough? Was it possible Leo was wrong, and the microphone might be salvageable? No, Tessa felt confident in his advice, if nothing else. He wouldn’t have given her a household remedy if it wasn’t foolproof. The question now was if Daphne could do any damage based simply on what Tessa had told her. When Tessa had invited Daphne over, selling out Lucian hadn’t seemed like such a big deal. Tessa liked him well enough, but she had no real personal stake in his career, and the people did have a right to know who they were electing. But now, knowing the full extent of Daphne’s machinations, Tessa realized the reporter likely wouldn’t have stopped there. Tessa could only hope that in refusing to help anymore, she’d protected Justin and his secrets.
Of course, that still meant Tessa herself had to reconcile the idea of Justin—who spoke out against religion both professionally and personally—being involved with it at a very deep and covert level. And yet . . . did it really change anything between them? Tessa herself clung to loose religious ideas, and he’d always said hers were harmless and she shouldn’t feel bad about holding onto them. If Justin wanted his own, she could accept that.
But as the day progressed and she waited for news of his return, one question continued to burn in her mind: if Justin wasn’t sharing his beliefs with her and the rest of the family, did that mean they weren’t so harmless?
CHAPTER 24
Longer Days
Once, on a campaign in an Asian province, Mae and some other praetorians had trekked across country for almost a week. They’d subsisted on barebones army rations, and without the need for sleep, they’d marched practically day and night. It had been one of the most taxing missions of Mae’s life, but as she began her third day of leading eleven girls and one woman through the Arcadian wilds, she was starting to look back on that Asian trip with new fondness and respect.
Mae knew it was wrong to hold the girls responsible for their group’s slow progress. Ordinary soldiers couldn’t have matched her pace, let alone civilian adults. To expect a group of sheltered children to keep up with a praetorian was ludicrous. Mae told herself that constantly, but the experience still proved challenging. And it wasn’t just because the girls were slower and weaker. Mae’s protective nature made her sympathetic to that. She wanted to help them because no one else ever had, and she was glad to do it. Her frustration mostly came from a sense of urgency and pressing danger. Even though the route they were taking bypassed most populated areas, they still always ran the risk of being spotted and reported. The Arcadian authorities could easily send ground troops and helicopters in, and all of Mae’s covert work would be for nothing. Would the authorities go to such extremes for a group of runaway girls? Possibly, especially since there’d been murder tied to their disappearance. Would the authorities go to such extremes for a soldier from an enemy country? Almost certainly.
And that was the question that ate at Mae during those long hours of traipsing across fields, of keeping watch while the girls slept. Today was the day the Gemmans would’ve returned home. Had they? Had Hannah gone undetected these last couple of days, and if so, had Justin gotten her into the RUNA? There was no reason for anyone to suspect Mae was responsible for the salon raid and therefore no reason for anyone to suspect Hannah had assumed her identity. The whole purpose of a Cloistered woman was to keep her out of sight. No one should have any reason to investigate her.
Guilt and worry still plagued Mae. She felt as though she’d abandoned her friends. She felt as though she’d abandoned Justin especially, not to mention sticking him with a lot of problems to patch up. If anyone was clever enough to fix the mess she’d left behind, it was him. She just wished she’d been able to give him more warning, particularly since he had his own mess with the Grand Disciple’s conspiracy.
He’ll take care of it all, she thought firmly. And hopefully afterward, he’ll forgive me.
He was on her mind a lot, and some of her musings about him were deeply personal, far removed from these political snares. She wished she’d been able to express her feelings more clearly to him before they parted and vowed to try when they saw each other again.
That quiet promise drove her even harder, as did the constant knowledge that if she failed in this task, she’d not only end up in potentially lethal trouble herself but also implicate her country in hostile actions against Arcadia.
“Miss Mae?” Monica hurried up to her side as they walked through a barren field that looked like it had once grown corn. “Holly and Maria say they need a bathroom break.”
“Again?” exclaimed Mae. “We just stopped an hour ago.”
Monica shrugged helplessly. “That’s what they say.”
Monica, Cecile, and a couple other girls had taken to Mae relatively quickly, appointing themselves her unofficial assistants.
Interestingly, it was the girls in the middle ages, around ten or so, who were most eager to help her. Monica was the only older girl intrigued by what Mae offered. The others, having been programmed for too many years, were still too put off by Mae’s strangeness. The younger girls, including Ava, were a mix. Some were fascinated, some too cowed to stray from what they’d been taught. They all were used to responding to authority, however, which was what kept them going on this endeavor.
“Well, then,” said Mae. “They’re going to have to—” Her sharp ears picked up the faintest of buzzing sounds, and her implant surged to life. “Airplane! All of you—run to those trees, now!”
Several of the girls immediately complied, heading for the field’s edge at a hard pace. Some of the younger girls tried but couldn’t move that fast. Mae scooped up two of the smallest ones and took them most of the way, depositing them a close distance to the trees before heading back for other stragglers. One person, however, was making no attempt at hurrying her pace. Dawn, Pittsfield’s long suffering servant, strolled along as though she were walking casually through a park. Mae picked up a struggling Ava and then jogged over to Dawn after first ascertaining that the airplane—which was growing louder—wasn’t in sight yet.
“Move!” Mae yelled. “Run!”
Dawn regarded Mae with blank eyes. In the last couple of days,