Maybe that should tell you something, said Magnus. Maybe you keep coming back together for a reason.
Maybe, Justin agreed reluctantly. But we aren’t going to come together like this—not in this place and not for these reasons.
Mae looked momentarily confused at the interruption, and then before his very eyes, he saw her walls starting to go up. When he’d stopping their escalations before, he’d usually done so in the most obnoxious and insulting ways possible, even going so far as to tell her she held no interest for him in bed a second time. It had been a lie then, and it would’ve been a lie now. Maybe making her angry would’ve been a smart tactic to prevent these moments, but he found himself smoothing things over instead as he held her hands in his and kept his distance.
“You can’t play me like those undersexed savages,” he said lightly.
“I need to know what happened. What trouble did you get into? And don’t try to get out of it by distracting me with your feminine wiles.”
Especially because he wasn’t sure how good his resistance would be if the barely-there sheet disappeared again. But, his approach worked, both the joking and the attempt at appealing to her reason. And really, that last one wasn’t even entirely faked. He did need to know what had happened tonight. His muddled relationship with her might be a charming mess, but their dealings with the Arcadians was no game. If there was more trouble to come, they had to start preparing, and he could tell from her chagrined face that she knew this.
Before she could speak, however, a knock sounded at the door. It was the Gemman knock, no doubt one of their countrymen coming to see what had happened. “Just a minute,” Mae called, springing up.
Justin was treated to a few moments of that glorious body before she quickly pulled on one of the Arcadian dresses and moved for the door.
Lucian stood there, with a crowd of others behind him.
“What in the world was that all about?” asked Lucian.
“Sounds like Carl’s sons got drunk and saw—or thought they saw—some intruder on the property.” Justin shook his head in disgust.
“One of them swore up and down it was Mae—the one’s that’s obsessed with her and everything else female—and had some crazy ass story about how she attacked him with a gun.”
The other Gemmans had trickled into the room, and Atticus groaned. “Great, just what we need. Anything I’m going to have to deal with in the morning? No fallout? No injuries?”
“Not to us,” said Mae coolly, arms crossed as she struck up a defensive position along the wall. “But whoever that kid did get in a fight with gave him a pretty nasty blow.”
“You don’t think this intruder has anything to do with us, do you?” asked George. “Some spy?”
Justin nearly considered nixing that theory but thought better of it.
Not only would it throw them off the scent of what Mae had really been doing, it would also be a good way to put Carl on the defense by suggesting he wasn’t adequately protecting them. “I don’t know,” Justin said simply. “Like I said, those guys were trashed. It’s hard to say who was out there.”
“I’ll talk to Carl about it first thing,” said Atticus. “We’ve operated on the theory that the Arcadian officials don’t wish us harm, but we haven’t given much thought to rogue factions who might want to make a statement against our government.”
He and George began talking strategy as they and the other Gemmans began trickling from the room. Not everyone was buying the story, Justin noted. Lucian, though looking as agreeably pleasant as always, had a thoughtful glint in his eyes as he walked out. Val, the last to leave, also looked uncertain, possibly because she knew Mae best of all. “You sure you’re okay, Finn-girl? Your hair’s a mess.”
It was actually—a sexy, tousled mess that Justin kind of wanted to run his hands through again. Only half of it was his doing. The rest was when Mae had hastily yanked off her hat and hairpins before getting into bed. She laughed easily now and brushed it away from her face.
“I let it down for the night, not knowing we were going to get invaded. You should’ve seen their scandalized faces, Val.” Mae’s words were glib and natural, as good as anything Justin might do. Val still didn’t look entirely convinced, but she smiled and gave Mae a hug and Justin a nod before exiting the room.
Mae shut the door, and the light expression she’d put on for Val vanished. “Okay,” Justin said. “Start talking before anyone else bursts in.”
Indecision played over her features, and he found himself holding his breath in fear that she might not actually tell him what had happened. What stung the most wasn’t simply the lack of knowledge— though Justin hated that too—but more the idea that she didn’t trust him. After a few more moments, though, she took a deep breath and said, “I found my niece.”
She then proceeded to tell him an incredible story about how she’d sneaked out through an underground tunnel, walked down the road to a salon, subdued a man, stolen a gun, verified her niece was there, and then managed to get back inside mostly without detection.
“I know it sounds crazy,” said Mae. “But I know it was her. The resemblance to Claudia is all over her. If we could manage a genetic test, I’d prove it. And almost all of those others are kidnapped Gemmans too.”
“It does sound crazy,” admitted Justin. “But that’s not the craziest part here.” He was actually a big believer in gut instinct, and if Mae believed this girl was her vanished niece, he could almost buy it. The problem was—and it took him a moment to put his finger on it—Mae’s story was missing a few critical components. “What I want to know is how we came to be staying within walking distance of where she was being held and how you knew it?”
The look on Mae’s face was almost comical, like she was fully aware of that logic gap and had hoped he wouldn’t noticed—but knew that he probably would. She walked over to the pile of clothes she’d discarded earlier and returned with her amber knife.
“This,” she said simply. “This is how I knew. I . . . I had a vision.”
Her next story was almost more unbelievable than the first . . . except that in recent months, Justin had found there was little he didn’t believe anymore. This, however, was testing his limits. Mae was communicating with a god! After being born into a cult she’d had to battle her way out of, she’d willingly sought out union with a new deity to achieve her goals. At least, he hoped it was a new deity.
You’ve said before you don’t know where the knife came from, Justin reminded the ravens. You still sticking to that story?
It’s not sacred to the Morrigan, if that’s what you’re suggesting, said Horatio. Remember that Mae used the blade to defeat her.
Then who? Who’s helping Mae?
Once again, we must remind you we aren’t all-knowing, said Magnus wearily. But thank you for the compliment.
“Tell me everything you know about this . . . being who sends you visions,” Justin told Mae. “What’s he asked you to do in return for this help? They always want something.”
Mae sat cross-legged on the floor, clasping the dagger in her hands. “It’s a she . . . I think. Whenever I hear a voice, it’s a woman’s.
She makes me think of . . . I don’t know. Sunshine. And life. And plants. And . . . desire. But she’s never asked for anything. I mean, except my blood. I have to cut myself to make the visions work.”
“Sounds like a fertility goddess,” he said. “Though a dagger isn’t exactly what I think of as something that’d be sacred to one. Maybe a cup. Or flowers.”
Mae smiled at that. “A knife’s more useful. I suppose a cup could be. But what good are flowers? Just decorations.”
Decorations in the hair, Justin thought with a start. To Mae, he said, “Has she ever mentioned a crown of flowers? And, uh, stars?”
“No, but I—” Mae stopped. “Wait. She—the voice—once talked about the crown looking more fragile than it was. And in one of the visions, I had a wreath on my head made of different flowers that kept changing.”
Justin leaned forward. “What did she say? Exactly what did she say?”
Mae’s brow furrowed in thought. “Just that the crown looked fragile but wasn’t. That it had power and then something about making life being more powerful than taking it. I think.”
“You think or you know?”
“Damn it,” she exclaimed. “I’m not like you! I don’t memorize things word for word. That’s as close as I can remember.”
Justin took a moment to calm himself, breathing deeply. Mae was having visions of some of the things that had haunted him. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all. Whatever great destiny Odin had planned was much easier when it had been one-sided. Justin didn’t need Mae getting actively involved now too.
“I’m sorry,” he told her, hoping he could hide his panic. “I’ve just seen how it is dealing with gods. It’s dangerous, and while there isn’t much I don’t think you’re capable of contending with, this worries me.”
She accepted his apology with a small nod. “What do I do then? What do I do about those girls? About my niece? Should I talk to Lucian?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I wouldn’t. Not yet, if only because you don’t want to explain the supernatural connection. But honestly . . . I don’t know what he could do. Wait for now. And don’t use the knife again. You can’t trust it.”
“It gave me answers.”
“It’s dangerous,” he repeated. “There’s always a cost to these things. Forget the knife. I’ll think of something.”
The smile she gave him was amused, maybe even a little wistful.
“Will you really?”
Sleep was difficult after all the excitement, not to mention the new problems Mae had presented to him. Muddling it all was that somehow, even with the brevity of their fumbling, she’d left the sheets smelling like her. The scent reminded him of what had almost been—and perhaps what might be if he were brave enough to take a gamble—so he finally sought sleep with one of his sedatives. It worked, but taking it so late left him groggy in the morning and no closer to finding solutions to what faced him.
Mae left early to help with the other women’s morning chores, and Atticus went as well to do damage control from the previous night’s shenanigans. He returned to the guesthouse lounge a little while later with Mae, both of them looking frustrated.
“Well, Carl swears they scoured the grounds and that it was just a random prowler, nothing for us to be concerned about.” Atticus flounced into a chair beside Lucian.
“You believe that?” growled George.
“We have to,” said Atticus. “That and it’s in the government’s best interest to keep us safe. I think he’s at least upping his nighttime security, so that’s something.”
Mae remained composed, but Justin saw a flash of dismay in her eyes at that comment. No doubt added security would interfere with future excursions.
“Our newest complication is that Carl thinks it best if Praetorian Koskinen is kept out of Jasper’s sight,” continued Atticus. “They want her to go Cloistered for the rest of our stay.”
“Unacceptable,” said Justin swiftly. He’d seen how miserable one day of those confining clothes had made her.
“I agree,” said Atticus. “I watched how they made that other poor Cloistered girl of his shuffle around doing household work, and I said there was no way we’d subject any of our women to that. I gave them an ultimatum. If they want her to help, she goes about in her normal— well, normal Arcadian—attire. If they can’t handle that, then she can stay confined to this guest house, unless we’re all going out in some planned activity, at which point she’ll put on that costume.”
“Seeing as she’s here,” said Lucian, “I’m guessing they opted for the latter?”
Atticus nodded. “They’re not happy about it, but Carl’s being more accommodating, since he still feels like he might have lost face over the security incident. That, and apparently she’s just too much of a temptation for Jasper. Carl really doesn’t want them crossing paths.”
Carl probably doesn’t want to cross her path either, Justin thought.
He wasn’t unaffected last night. He’s just a little better at keeping control.
George snorted in contempt. “Seems like if all these women keep ‘tempting’ Jasper, they’ll eventually realize maybe it’s him, not them.”
“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 . . .”