Richelle Mead - The Immortal Crown

And yet, said Magnus, you enacted it last night.

Justin was indignant. Really? Did you see something I missed? Only if you missed the part where Mae was in your bed, and you

poured your heart out to her, claiming her as the only one in the world for you, explained Horatio.

That wasn’t sex! protested Justin.

Who said it had to be? asked Horatio. You’ve been going on about how “claiming” someone in bed is such an archaic way to talk about sex, but really, you’re the only one who’s been hung up on that term. There are many ways to interpret those words, and you fulfilled them in a very literal way last night by claiming her as your soul mate.

I know I never used that term, Justin said, still unable to believe what was happening.

No, but that’s not what matters. What matters is that you can claim someone in a number of ways, and really, declaring that they’re the one, that there’s no other for you . . . well, said Horatio, call me a romantic, but that’s a much more profound way to claim someone as your own than through sex.

Odin never clarified the meaning! Justin protested. It’s a trick. A trick based on one word.

You never asked for clarification, said Magnus. And you played a similar trick on Odin when you dodged the deal the first time you made love to her.

First and apparently only time now, said Justin. This isn’t fair.

Fair? Magnus had no sympathy. He let you out of the deal fairly because you had the power of words on your side. This time, the words and meanings played you. Accept it gracefully. This is binding. You’ve fallen into the deal and must now serve him.

I get nothing! I don’t get Mae. I don’t get the power to find her assailant.

Nothing? asked Horatio. You get to serve our god! You have the honor of being his first and greatest priest in your country, and this torc Mae gave to you in anger will only aid your quest. I’d hardly say that’s nothing. And Odin may still help you find her attacker.

But no guarantees, said Justin morosely. He set the torc on his bedside table and felt nothing as he stared at it. A great and powerful artifact meant nothing without Mae.

No, agreed Magnus. The time for bargains is over. You’ve led him a merry chase with your ability to wheel and deal and make the most of twisting words. It’s a trait our god possesses in abundance and is what he admires in you. Now is the time to serve and fulfill your promise.

The truth of the ravens’ words settled in Justin’s gut, just as it had when another word trap had landed him into learning Odin’s runes and lore. Justin had recognized his inability to bargain then, just as he’d known he had the power to escape after sleeping with Mae before. But now? Now, he could feel Odin’s chains settling upon him. Intentional or not, Justin had claimed Mae with his heart, if not body, and now he was bound to the god as a result.

I wish you wouldn’t look at it as a punishment, fretted Horatio, sounding legitimately upset. Odin truly is a great and generous god who cares about you. You will find joy and meaning in his service.

The only thing that brought me joy and meaning is on her way to a war zone, Justin retorted. But rest easy, I’ll stand by my word and serve. In fact, I think I’ll start celebrating my new vocation right now.

Eight hours later, he was still drinking.

It hadn’t been continuous, of course. That was largely because he’d passed out in the afternoon after overdoing it in the first part of the day. As evening rolled around, he found himself in a far better position to pace himself, simply keeping a steady supply of drinks coming that maintained his buzzed state but protected him from being sick or (hopefully) getting alcohol poisoning. He’d made his way to an upscale bar downtown, finding the atmosphere much more welcome than the one at home, after Cynthia had thrown him out for “turning to self- destructive behavior as a way to make yourself feel better about screwing up.”

She was wrong, though, because none of this self-destructive behavior was making him feel better about anything.

“Is this seat taken?”

The voice surprised him, largely because Justin had gone out of his way to avoid any female interactions so far this evening. It wasn’t that he couldn’t—after all, there were no commitments between Mae and him—but the thought of wooing female company for the night seemed like a lot of work for not very much reward. Besides, he knew enough to know when he was charming drunk and just drunk-drunk. He was definitely the latter, and while that still didn’t rule out his chances with women, it didn’t necessarily help them either.

When he saw the speaker, though, he silently cursed his inebriated state. Daphne Lang sat down beside him.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he said, wondering how quickly he could sober up. No time was ever a good time to be cornered by a reporter, but being trapped by one when you weren’t in full possession of your wits was probably the worst time. “And you should be ashamed of yourself for following me.”

“Relax,” she said, waving over the bartender. “This is a happy coincidence. I live around the corner and come here all the time. I admit, however, I was planning on speaking to you at some point.”

“The usual?” asked the bartender, earning a smile and a nod from her.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Justin when they were alone again. “Word has it Tessa’s done with you, and I’m not selling her out to give you some crap human interest story. Go scavenge somewhere else.”

“Do you really think I’d do that to her?” asked Daphne sweetly.

“I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that you just happened to be looking for an intern and then conveniently stumbled on my sweet provincial girl.” His hands itched to pick up his glass again, but he again remembered he needed restraint around her.

“It’s not a coincidence,” Daphne agreed. The bartender brought her drink, and she swiped her ego to pay. “I was already doing a lot of research when that intern posting so happily popped up. But she wasn’t the one I was looking into.”

Justin’s bourbon-addled brain made the connection a few beats later than he would have under normal circumstances. “Shit.”

Daphne looked momentarily surprised at his reaction. “Oh,” she said after a moment. “You think I’m talking about you?”

“Well, you’re talking to me,” he said, hoping he didn’t show how relieved he felt. Admittedly, he was puzzled as to who she meant. “Figured maybe you were after a story about how a servitor expenses high bar bills.”

She smiled and paused to drink. Whatever expensive lipstick she used left no mark behind on her glass. “Maybe that can be my backup story. Don’t take it personally, but I’m afraid my real target was your friend and illustrious senator, Lucian Darling.”

Justin’s wariness immediately returned, but he laughed to cover it up. “You and every other reporter looking for dirt on him. Hang on . . . are you telling me you got involved with Tessa because of her very tenuous connection to him through me?”

Daphne shrugged. “I had to take what I could get. Someone like me doesn’t get in to see someone like him that easily.”

“So you used a poor provincial girl trying to better herself. And now that she’s not working out, you’re hoping I’ll get you that interview.” It was a comfort to know Lucian was the target, not Justin, but anyone who’d track down a one-off connection like Tessa and then try to use her still wasn’t to be trusted.

“Well, that would be nice, but no, I’ve actually come to you with a business arrangement . . . one that might further both of our careers.” Daphne leaned closer, and Justin recognized the look of someone who thought she was going in for the kill. “What would you say if I told you that your friend and his political party were knee-deep in a secret religion—a religion that sees him as the divinely chosen leader for this country.”