Gameboard of the Gods (Age of X #1)(32)
Author: Richelle Mead

Prætorians were hard to hurt, but for most injuries, they healed like ordinary people. There were always whispers of stem cell treatments or other biological breakthroughs to facilitate prætorian recovery, but the RUNA’s policies against biological and genetic manipulation were still too harsh, even for its prize soldiers. Medical research was one thing, but no one wanted to risk abuse that could lead to another virus-caused Decline.

Val stood up and hugged her. “It’s not your fault.”

“I broke her leg,” Mae pointed out. “If it’s not my fault, whose is it?”

“She was asking for it,” said Dag loyally. He rose too and gave Mae a crushing hug of his own.

“She was just upset about Porfirio.” Saying his name brought about that familiar pain in Mae’s chest. “We all were.”

“Holy shit,” said Val. “Did you hear that, Dag? I think she acknowledged having some human emotions.”

Mae wished she had the courage to ask them the burning question that still lingered in her mind: Why was Kavi so slow? But she knew they’d have no answers. They’d reiterate what Gan had said about her simply being better than Kavi, except they’d use more profanity.

“Let’s head out too,” Val told Dag. She finished her drink in a gulp. “That Amber party should be starting.”

That was one thing you could count on with prætorians in the city: There was always a party going on somewhere. Val and Dag invited her to join them, but Mae declined. Her ambiguous status had left her glum. She wasn’t active in combat, nor was she really part of the ceremonial prætorians. It felt weird to go out with them, and she didn’t want to be reminded that she’d missed a chance to be assigned with other Scarlets.

Val and Dag’s party was on the way to the subway station, and the three of them set off into the crowded streets. In the short time since Mae had been out earlier, the partiers and pleasure seekers had nearly doubled. Some were only starting their adventures, while others had just left the theaters and restaurants and were calling it a night. The three eventually parted ways, and Mae had the good fortune of having her train pull up right when she reached the platform.

When she reached the stop a few blocks from her home, she emerged and found a much quieter scene than the theater district. Although it was still very urban, there were no flashing screens in this residential neighborhood. Live oaks had been strategically planted to complement the neat brick town houses lining the street, interspersed with ornate streetlamps that cast dim light and created new shadows. When she was nearly to her door, she sensed a presence near a tree and spun around, gun in hand.

“Damn, you really are fast.” A man stepped out of the shadows, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Easy.”

Mae didn’t lower the gun as she took him in. He was no one she’d seen before. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, he appeared close to her age and to also belong to some northwestern-European caste. He might very well have been Nordic, but it was difficult to make out too many regional specifics in the dim lighting. Despite his ostensibly nonthreatening attitude, there was something about him that set her on edge.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and smiled, perfectly at ease. “You can call me Emil, prætorian.”

Mae didn’t blink or ask how he knew who she was. “And? What do you want?”

“You,” he said bluntly. “You had to have known we’d send someone eventually.”

“Oh, yeah? Are you some kind of bounty hunter sent by my mother to drag me home?”

“Somehow, I don’t think that would be too easy a task.” He chuckled. “But it’s funny you mention your family, because I do have something that might be of interest to you—something that’s a sign of our goodwill and desire to welcome you.”

Adrenaline flooded her. She kept her face perfectly still, refusing to let on that she was completely clueless about the context of this visit, seeing as he seemed to think she should know it. Revealing her ignorance would be a weakness.

Emil reached toward his pocket, and Mae’s finger tensed on the trigger. “See if this looks familiar.” He produced an ego and casually scrolled through until he found a picture. Holding it up, he showed it to Mae.

Again, she made sure her expression gave away nothing, though this time, keeping that control was much harder. “I’ve never seen her before.”

The girl in the picture was about eight years old, wearing a bizarre, homespun dress made of a drab brown fabric. A white kerchief covered her head, but wisps of sunny blond hair escaped it. She stood outside in a grassy area that had no other identifying features. She looks exactly like Claudia, Mae thought. Well, a prettier version, which would make sense.

“Would you like to?” he asked, slipping the ego back into his pocket. “We have the resources to help you.”

And that’s when Mae knew. Her breath caught. The Brödern, at long last. She’d tried getting information from them for years, but the Swedish mafia wasn’t all that eager to help someone in the military. She never thought they’d finally come through. “Tell me where she is.”

Emil shook his head, still wearing that condescending expression. “I can’t give it away so easily.”

Of course he couldn’t, but Mae was prepared for that. She’d had to be, with the kind of sordid contacts she’d made in this quest. “How much will it cost? I have Eastern currency.”

“Money, bah. We have plenty. What we don’t have is the influence and access of an enterprising young woman in one of the military’s most elite units.”

The insinuation was ludicrous. “I’m not going to use my position to help your group with whatever plots you’ve got going.”

“You should’ve joined us a long time ago,” he said ominously. “It’s your birthright.”

She wasn’t surprised by that attitude. Organizations like the Brödern tended to have separatist inclinations even more extreme than those of regular patricians. Pointing out that she had more Finnish than Swedish blood, by Nordic ranking, probably wouldn’t make a difference.

“Sorry. I’m not interested in joining up.”

He tapped the pocket that his ego had disappeared into. “But you’re interested in this.”

“It could be a fake. It could be anyone.”