“See, that’s your problem right there,” said Justin, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You can put ‘semi’ in front of it, but ‘hostile’ will still get you killed.”

Lucian looked more confident than he had any right to be. “You visit plenty of hostile places. You’re still alive.”

Justin downed his drink. “I don’t go there as a public official, decked out in fanfare. I go in covertly—well-protected—and don’t always get out so smoothly.”

“Well, I’ll be well-protected too. Even the Arcadians aren’t foolish enough to think our party’d go in without our own soldiers.”

“A dozen Gemman soldiers won’t mean much if you’re surrounded by the entire Arcadian military,” Justin pointed out.

“The Arcadians won’t touch me or the people with me. They don’t trust us, sure, but they don’t want an incident. Some of them really even do want to stabilize relations between us.” Lucian stood up and began to pace. “In this case, the fanfare pays off. They can’t do anything when this is all so public. I’ll be fine. You would be fine.”

Justin had been about to stand and make another drink but now found himself momentarily frozen in place. “Me? I assume you’re speaking hypothetically.”

“It’s only hypothetical if you don’t go.”

The smug grin on Lucian’s face was maddening. Justin was used to reading the truth from people’s expressions, but he couldn’t read Lucian just then. Was this some kind of joke? No . . . the more Justin studied the other man, the more it seemed Lucian was in earnest. The question was, why?

“Give me one good reason I’d want to go with you on a suicidal trip to Arcadia,” said Justin at last.

Lucian chuckled. “Well, as I already told you, it’s not suicidal. As for a reason . . . don’t you study religion? That place is a hotbed of it—getting hotter from what I hear.”

“I study religion to protect my own country. What others do to destroy theirs is up to them.”

But as Justin spoke, a chill ran down his spine. Whereas the RUNA had renounced religion after the Decline, Arcadia had clung to it—so fiercely, in fact, that it had become intertwined with the government. The Arcadian faith was rigid and authoritarian, and the idea of it “getting hotter” was slightly terrifying. And yet, there was no question religion really was heating up in the RUNA and other parts of the world. Was the divine game—or maybe even war, at this point— active in Arcadia as well?

It would certainly be something worth looking into, said Magnus.

And our master would especially be interested in knowing the state of godly affairs there.

I don’t owe him that, Justin reminded the ravens. I only answer to Internal Security, and they haven’t asked this of me. I’m not going to volunteer because Lucian wants company.

“You can bring Mae,” added Lucian unexpectedly. “Most of our security detail will be praetorians, actually.”

Justin suppressed a groan. “Is that what this is about?

Unbelievable. You’d seriously go this far to get some alone time with her?”

Lucian held out his hands in an appeasing gesture. “No. Believe it or not, you’re actually the one I want more on this trip. We’ll have other cultural experts with us to help us ‘learn’ about the country. A religion expert is vital with these people—as are your observations on human nature. I don’t just want election results from this trip, Justin. I want long term results. I want to know how these people breathing down our necks think, and understanding how their superstition affects them is the key to it. There’s no one else I trust more than you to get inside their heads.”

He’s actually complimenting you, observed Horatio.

First time for everything, said Justin.

“I already have a job,” he told Lucian. “IS has assignments for me.

I can’t just drop them for a field trip.”

“I think they’d spare you if I asked.”

Yes, Justin was sure they would. Especially if they sensed a supernatural threat lurking in Arcadia’s borders. But Justin still wanted no part of it. Arcadia was its own unique brand of dangerous, and Justin especially didn’t want to be tied to some much-hyped, very public trip.

“Sorry,” said Justin firmly. “I pass.”

Lucian weighed him heavily for several moments and then gave a nod, his customary smile returning. “Okay. But think on it. And if you change your mind, you’ve got a week to get in on one of the biggest international moves in this country. Now. What did you want to talk about?”

He dropped that awfully fast, thought Justin warily as he began explaining about Darius’s internship. Too fast.

Yes, agreed Horatio. He certainly did. Be careful.

CHAPTER 5

The Red Velvet Cloak

“You’ve been with Lucian the whole time?”

Justin seemed startled by Mae’s voice as he trudged past the living room at three in the morning. He came to a halt and squinted at where she was curled up on the couch with a reader she hadn’t really been paying attention to, save to occasionally check the house’s exterior security settings. Her mind was too full of the latest developments, both domestic and abroad, to focus on books or movies.

“Yup,” said Justin. “Don’t worry, just us boys. No side trips.”

“I’m more worried about you staggering home drunk in the middle of the night when there are people out there who want you dead. You’re going to a lot of pains for everyone else but not taking much care with yourself. I thought this was going to be a quick trip.”

Justin rubbed his eyes before answering. “Me too. But Lucian kind of dropped a bombshell on me.” Mae was too self-controlled to ask, but he read the interest off her face. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Wouldn’t I?” she asked archly.

He reconsidered. “Yes, you probably would. I’ll tell you tomorrow. I need sleep now.”

“Did you at least get what you initially went there for?” she called, as he started to turn.

“I did actually. Young Master Sandberg is going to be serving our fine country as a senatorial intern. We’ll see how long he enjoys his ‘reward.’ ”

Mae felt a smile spread over her face. “That’s what you went to Lucian for?”

“It’s what the kid wanted.” Justin suddenly seemed uncomfortable at having been caught doing a good deed. “What’s wrong with that? He defended my home.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” she said, trying to look serious. “I just think it’s sweet you went out of your way for him, especially when you could’ve just called Lucian.”

“Did you just say—” He shook his head and stifled a yawn.

“Never mind. I pay my debts, that’s all. See you in the morning.”

Mae watched him go, biting back any further remarks she might make about him disregarding his own safety. He deserved chastisement, of course. He had no business being out there, alone and intoxicated, especially after what they’d seen in Nassau. An image of a bloodied Mama Orane flared in Mae’s mind, reminding her of the severity of the forces they were dealing with. Justin had been insistent, however, that his family get Mae’s protection tonight, not him. His safety was also apparently secondary to him repaying an imagined debt to a boy he barely knew.

Mae sighed and leaned back, frustrated—as she often was—at these surprising streaks of nobility in Justin that popped up in what was otherwise a sea of selfishness. Apparently not even a mob of rampaging, deadly insects capable of regeneration was enough to deter him when he decided he had to do the right thing. Remembering the beetles made her sit up again and reach for her boot, where the amber knife was safely sheathed once more. She took it out and studied it in the light of a small table lamp.

Even in the dimness, golden fire played in the dagger’s handle, providing an almost fanciful contrast to the efficient, no-nonsense blade. A blade that had been capable of killing supernatural creatures when nothing else could. I should get rid of it, she thought. She’d meant what she told Justin: she didn’t want anything to do with the powers surrounding them. Investigating them as part of her job might be inevitable, but personal involvement was not—and this knife was personal. It had been sent to her anonymously in the spring, and that alone should’ve been reason for mistrust. Her initial thought had been that it was an unwelcome gift from Callista Xie, a religious leader and former lover of Justin’s. When asked, Callista had insisted she had nothing to do with it, increasing the knife’s mystery.

Mae still wasn’t sure if Callista was lying—or why she would.

Regardless, the knife was Mae’s now unless she did something about it.

It wouldn’t be hard. There were plenty of other daggers she could afford of comparable quality, if not style. Gingerly, she reached out and touched the blade, admiring the precision and workmanship. The gleaming edge was lethally sharp, showing no wear from the beetle attacks or the time she had killed the servant of a death goddess intent on—

“Damn!”

Mae jerked her hand back as she felt a sting in her finger tip. She looked down in surprise and saw blood beading on her skin. It was only one drop, and she started to wipe it on her jeans—but then paused. In the poor lighting, the blood had looked almost black when she’d first cut herself, but suddenly, it began turning a brighter red. She blinked, certain her eyes were playing tricks on her. But no, there it was. A rich scarlet, like the pip on her uniform’s collar. That didn’t last, though, and moments later, the blood covering her hand brightened into crimson.

Covering her hand?

What had started as a bead was expanding rapidly. Mae stared in mingled fascination and horror as that swathe of red enveloped her hand and then her arm. From there it spread to the rest of her body, wrapping around her like a cloak. No, it was a cloak, made of a heavy velvet that felt oppressive in the sun. There was sun everywhere, golden and glorious as it shone down from a clear blue sky. Mae felt that warmth enter her body, felt it connect her to every green and growing thing on the planet, to all that was alive and thriving. She threw the smothering cloak off and saw that she was na**d underneath. It felt right somehow, that there was nothing between her body and the world around her.

A fragrance so intense it made her dizzy filled her nostrils, and Mae reached up to discover a wreath of flowers on her head. They were apple blossoms, just like the perfume she normally wore. The air around them shimmered, and suddenly, they were small, white stephanotis flowers. Then they were peonies. Then roses. The wreath fell apart in her hands, and a sudden wind picked up, scattering the petals away like shooting stars. They brushed delicately against Mae’s skin as they went, before disappearing altogether.

Do not be deceived by the crown. It may look fragile, but there is power in it. There is power in love and beauty and desire. There is more power in creating life than taking it.

Mae looked around for the speaker but could find no source for the woman’s voice, only the sun above. Or was it truly the sun? As she squinted, trying to make out that brilliance, she couldn’t be sure if it was actually a woman’s face, too dazzling for mortal eyes to behold. A small laugh made Mae look down, to where the red velvet cloak rested at her feet. Something under it stirred, and she flinched as a small face suddenly peered up at her. It was a girl’s face, a familiar face: the face of Mae’s niece, sent away when she was born for not possessing a pure Nordic gene set.

Mae had spent years trying to find her, her closest lead being a servant of the Morrigan named Emil—a servant Mae had killed with the amber dagger. Emil had promised Mae a lead to the girl in Arcadia, as part of his attempts to get Mae to join their cult and fulfill the pact her mother had made at Mae’s conception. Mae had refused and thought she’d lost her chance at finding her niece forever. And yet, here, right in front of her was the girl, looking up with hazel eyes that showed glints of green in the sunlight. She grinned, but when Mae reached for her, the wind stirred again, picking up the red velvet. It was no longer a cloak but a flag, rippling in the air, blocking Mae from her niece. Angrily, she tried to catch hold of the waving fabric, but when she finally did and jerked it aside, the girl was gone.

So was the sun. So was everything.

Mae was sitting in the March living room, dressed, with no blood on her hands. There wasn’t even a cut. Glancing around, she saw the amber dagger lying on the floor but had no memory of dropping it. In fact, as her eyes passed over a clock, she was startled to realize she was apparently missing a few memories. To Mae’s perceptions, barely five minutes had passed, but the time—and other signs—said nearly three hours had gone by. The faint light of sunrise was seeping through the windows, and the coffee maker in the kitchen had turned itself on.

Weirdest of all, she felt exhausted, as though she’d been through some great physical activity—not a sensation she felt often these days.

Chills ran through her, and she fixed her gaze back on the knife. I have to get rid of it. But how? And where? A sound from the other end of the house startled her out of her fear. Someone was stirring, probably Cynthia. Without further thought, only knowing that she had to get the knife away from her and not have to explain how she’d just spaced out on guard duty, Mae grabbed the blade and dropped it inside an ornamental basket on a high shelf near the media screen. Several other artistic oddities were on the shelf, and in all the time she’d spent here, Mae had never seen anyone disturb them. She would come back for the knife later and find a proper way to dispose of it—if such a thing even existed.