Gameboard of the Gods (Age of X #1)(14)
Author: Richelle Mead

Mae sighed and looked up from the ego’s screen. “I have to go. I took too long.” She began hunting around for her dress. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. His words were gallant, but there was a sinking feeling welling up in him, not unlike when Huan had announced his departure. “I’m honored to have even had such a brief moment of a Valkyrie’s time.”

She gave him a wry smile as she tugged the dress up. “You already had me in bed. You don’t have to keep laying on the charm.”

“I don’t know how to stop it.”

That got him a bigger smile. He found a robe and walked her to the door. She opened it and then lingered in the doorway, looking at him in a way that managed to be both bold and shy at the same time. “I hope you find something to make you happy.”

“I already did,” he assured her.

“It really doesn’t stop with you.” She gave him a long kiss good-bye, one even she was reluctant to break. “If I ever get back here, I’ll look you up again.”

He smiled. “I look forward to it.”

Won’t that be a nice surprise for Huan the next time he’s in town, said Horatio.

Justin watched her walk away, feeling both light and weighted down at the same time.

The bargain is complete, said Magnus. You’ve claimed the crowned woman.

That startled Justin out of his melancholy. What? No. Not her.

You saw the crown of stars and flowers, insisted the raven.

Panic suddenly seized Justin as he remembered that moment, in the throes of postorgasmic bliss, when he had indeed had a brief vision of Mae crowned in glory. A conversation from long ago, with a figure in shadows, replayed in his head. Justin knew the words by heart: You’ll know her by a crown of stars and flowers, and then when you take her to your bed and claim her, you will swear your loyalty to me.

After a bit of analysis, he relaxed.

No, he told the ravens. I didn’t claim or take the crowned woman to bed.

Really? Horatio was incredulous. You were most definitely in bed with her. And there was a lot of claiming going on.

No. The deal was that I would know her by the crown and then claim her. Key word: then. The woman I took to bed was a lovely Nordic. I didn’t see the crown until afterward. So, therefore I didn’t claim her when I recognized her.

The ravens were silent for long moments, and Justin held his breath, more terrified than he was willing to admit of the precipice he stood on. It was a tenuous argument, but he had a feeling their master appreciated such subtleties. In fact, he wondered if they were conferring with him now. Finally, Horatio admitted grudgingly, You’re right. You’re a slippery bastard, which is why he likes you.

But you know her now, Magnus warned him. You’ve seen the crown. You know who she is. No more excuses. The next time you make love to her, the deal is done, and you must fulfill your part and swear loyalty. Do you understand?

Yes, Justin told him smugly, amazed he’d gotten away with this. And I also understand I’ll never see her again.

Just then, one of Cristobal’s henchmen rounded the corner and approached. Justin sighed, unhappy at this intrusion on his afterglow. “Are you here to break my knees for pissing off Señora Santiago?”

“Nah.” The guy fished an envelope out of his pocket. “I’m just supposed to deliver this to you.”

Justin took the envelope, nearly dropping it when he saw its seal. The RUNA rarely used paper for correspondence, but when it did, there was a type of sticker used to ensure the envelope’s security. It was a metallic square that showed the country’s seal in glowing blue. As soon as the edges of the sticker were lifted even a little, the seal went dark.

“Where the hell did you get this?” Justin demanded.

“I don’t know. Someone gave it to Cristobal.” The guy waited expectantly, and Justin realized he wanted a tip.

“I’m out of money. Hit me up next week.”

“You spend it on the blonde I just passed?”

“Didn’t need to.”

Justin shut the door without another word and moved toward the couch like a sleepwalker, unable to take his eyes off the seal. He sat down, took a deep breath, and then opened the envelope. It contained a small piece of paper reading: Perhaps there are supernatural forces in the world we can’t rule out after all. —CK. Below that was the address of a hotel across town and a room number. Justin felt his mouth go dry. He closed his eyes. This had to be a trick. There was no way—not after four years—that this could be real.

One way to find out, said Magnus.

Justin opened his eyes and sprang up from the couch. He made the effort to find dry clothes but did little else to improve his disheveled state. Five minutes and two shots of courage bourbon later, he was out the door, on his way to the hotel in the note.

He knew the place. It was owned by one of the older families, one that held a fairly neutral position. That was a nice perk for guests not wanting to be woken by or shot in middle-of-the-night raids. The downstairs lobby and bar still held plenty of vices, prostitutes and dealers available to make visits that much more enjoyable.

The room in question was on the third floor. The part of Justin that was still certain this must be some kind of joke or death trap fell silent when he cleared the stairs and saw uniformed Gemman soldiers in gray and maroon standing at attention outside a cluster of doors. He came to a halt, wondering if perhaps he shouldn’t rule out a death trap after all. But none of them shot at or even assaulted him, though their eyes followed his every move. He reached the door in the note, hesitating in front of the soldier.

“I’m Justin March, here to see…Cornelia Kimora.” Surely there was no other CK the note could’ve been referring to. The soldier gave a curt nod and knocked. Someone called an invitation to enter from within. He disappeared inside for a few seconds and then returned to wave Justin in.

With no more hesitation, Justin plunged forward, ready to face whatever it was that waited for him. He stepped past the soldier and found who he’d both hoped and dreaded to see: Cornelia Kimora, his old boss, complete with boring clothing and a bad dye job. She looked exactly the same as she had the day she’d told him his last report was unacceptable and that she was “sorry things have to end this way.” His military escort had arrived soon thereafter.

They were in the living room of a suite, and she rose from her chair with a smile Justin knew with absolute certainty was faked.