Richelle Mead - Gameboard of the Gods

A few people were walking away from Internal Security, carrying signs he couldn’t read. “What’s going on?” he asked Mae.

“There’s a lot of buzz about religious freedom lately,” she explained. “Protesters hang out here every day.”

“You can’t be serious.” There were a few core principles that had never changed since the RUNA’s inception. The danger of religion and belief in the supernatural was one of them.

“Nothing’s going to come of it. They’re just making a lot of noise.”

It was after hours, and the foyer of the Citizens’ Ministry was empty, save for two regular military guards standing watch. They saluted Mae when she identified herself, but she barely spared them a glance as she strode off toward the elevator bank.

Aside from one technician who cringed around Mae, the chipping office was empty. Tessa seemed calmed by the quiet setting and made no more protests about chips. The technician led her to a chair beside a monitor and stainless steel table, and she gave Justin a brave smile as she sat down.

He sat nearby, close enough to reassure Tessa but far enough to let the technician work. Mae took a seat beside him and immediately began jotting out messages on her ego, probably requisitioning more guns and knives or whatever it was prætorians did in their free time to defend the country. Justin kept an eye on Tessa, watching as her profile slowly assembled on the screen.

“Six,” he said in approval once her genetic score appeared. “Good for a provincial.” Mae’s attention was still on the ego, and he added, “Not as good as a nine, like some people have.” He’d memorized every single detail on her screen, back in customs.

This made her look up. “So?”

He nodded toward Tessa. “So, a five or six is exactly what you’d expect from her. But from a cas—patrician? I’d say anywhere from two to four. Maybe, maybe a five in a rare case.” He paused for effect. “Not a nine. That’s a plebeian rating.”

“Apparently not,” Mae said.

“It’s too high. I have a nine.”

“Do you feel threatened by that?”

“Of course not. It’s just weird, that’s all. Doesn’t it seem weird to you?”

“Not really,” she said. “I’ve had it my whole life.”

He tilted his head, studying the flawless skin and hair with new appreciation. “You haven’t had any work done, have you? Not a trace of Cain.”

“Nope.” She looked back down at the ego.

When the Mephistopheles virus had swept the world and taken out half its population during the Decline, it had caused reproductive damage to many of its survivors, passing along a mutation that resulted in poor fertility, asthma, and damaged skin and hair. The mutation had a long, complex scientific name, but zealots who already believed Mephistopheles was some divine punishment called its mutation the Mark of Cain. The name had stuck. Until a vaccine for Mephistopheles had been created, the RUNA and EA’s diverse genetic breeding program had offered resistance to the virus, which tended to attack those of homogeneous backgrounds. Heterogeneous genes had also helped weed out Cain, and it almost never appeared in plebeians anymore. Castals, with their narrower breeding pool, still suffered from it, though there were plenty of cosmetic procedures to cover up the external signs. There wasn’t much to be done for the asthma or infertility. Judging from the way she’d behaved in bed, Mae didn’t seem to have any breathing or stamina issues.

No fertility issues either, said Horatio helpfully. Worried? You didn’t really take any precautions.

No. Civilized women in the military get vaccines and contraceptive implants.

Justin lowered his voice. “Are we going to talk about what happened?”

Mae didn’t look up, but he knew with certainty she was no longer focused on the ego. “A lot of things have happened, Dr. March.”

“I’m talking about the one that happened last night, the one where you and I were in bed and I—”

“—pretended to be an EA diplomat in order to seduce me? Is that what you’re referring to?”

He scowled. “It didn’t take that much seduction. And it wasn’t like I did it as part of some greater scheme. It just kind of…happened by accident.”

Now, at least, he warranted more attention than the ego. “How can you have on a fake diplomatic uniform and give a fake name by accident?”

“Neither of them was faked,” he argued. “Huan’s a real guy.”

“I’m not sure that makes it any better.” Those sea-colored eyes narrowed in thought. “In fact, I’m pretty sure that makes it worse.”

“Hey, you made the mistake of assuming I was something I wasn’t, and I ended up just kind of going with it. Besides…” He still had a trump card here. “I brought a military aide back to my place, not a prætorian.”

She at least had the grace to look embarrassed about that. “ Would you have brought back a prætorian?” Shaking her head, she pushed forward without waiting for an answer. “Yes, of course. Of course you would have.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know all about you. I heard plenty of it from Cornelia on the trip down.”

Fucking wonderful. Cornelia Kimora was being used as his character reference.

Mae’s lovely face was full of scorn as she continued. “I know all about how well you can play people and how fast you go through women—”

“It wasn’t that fast—”

“—and if your goal was to bag a patrician soldier through lying and manipulation, well, then, congratulations. I’ll obey my orders to protect you. No one’ll lay a hand on you. But what happened in Panama is done and gone. It’s never happening again. Not. Ever.”

Justin was rendered speechless for a few reasons. One was that he was usually the person doing the breaking up. The other was that this conversation wasn’t going as expected. He’d wanted to make sure things were cut off, in order to reduce future temptation—but not this way. He wasn’t used to rejection. Hearing her so adamantly refusing him was a blow to his pride and made him want to bring her back to him.

I can’t, he reminded himself. If she is the one, I can’t risk finding out just how binding the bargain is. I’m not going to be able to dodge it again. It was time to deliver the killing blow. If she was pissed off at him, so much the better. He put on what he hoped was a rakish expression.

“Of course it won’t happen again,” he said loftily. “I don’t go out on second dates—although ‘date’ is kind of a generous term for last night. I didn’t have to buy you dinner. Or even ask.”

She didn’t blink. “I don’t go out on first dates with plebeians. You’re so curious about Nordic nines? They don’t give a second thought to fast backwoods flings.”

“It wasn’t that fast,” he repeated. “Unless you count how fast your clothes came off.” Her condescending tone and haughty expression were textbook castal debutante, triggering unexpected anger in him. She acted as though she’d been wronged by his deception, but he, of all people, was the one who’d been tricked. The charm, the grace, the wit…even that poignant sadness he thought he’d seen. It had been an act, a game for this bitchy ice princess to play with a plebeian.

“And,” Mae added, voice prim, “if you try to brag about this, no one’s going to believe you. No one will believe someone like me would sleep with someone like you.”

That was the gut punch. It was also the last word, because he couldn’t muster another response. If he’d wanted to make sure they never even held hands again, then he’d accomplished that mission brilliantly.