Daphne crooked her a grin and leaned against the side of the doorway. “Such finality. I really hope you’ll get your paperwork in order and come work with me because you can have the position if you want it. Your benefactor may roll his eyes at North Prime, and that castal praetorian can glare all she wants, but here’s the truth. You aren’t going to get a lot of people answering Creative Minds’ ad for you. They spell out that you’re provincial, and not many people are going to go for that. They won’t even think you can speak English.”
Tessa flinched. She’d gotten so used to the acceptance at Creative Minds that she’d nearly forgotten the prejudice toward provincials that she’d experienced in other schools. She’d run into enough of it in the RUNA, however, to know that Daphne’s words weren’t entirely made up as part of some sales pitch.
“Why don’t you have a problem with provincials then?” Tessa asked. “Do you really want to do a story on me and my great transition?”
“Nope. And I’ll sign what you need to prove it.” Daphne leaned forward. “You want to know why I answered your ad? It’s because I grew up in an annexed region, and even after those places become Gemman, it’s only marginally less difficult to make something of yourself in the ‘real’ RUNA than it is coming from the provinces.” She chucked Tessa’s chin. “That, and I like hard luck cases.”
“You sound like Justin,” muttered Tessa. “How so?”
“Half the reason he brought me here is because he felt like he owed my father. The other half is because Justin said I reminded him of him. He grew up in a bad-off area and got some sort of lucky break.”
Daphne grinned. “See? We’re meant to work together. I’ll be in touch.”
And with that, she headed out the door, off down the suburban sidewalk in those red heels. Tessa watched her go until she was out of sight, taking it on faith that Daphne would go toward the transit station and not double back around and spy on the house, like Mae and Rufus seemed to think. Of course, Mae had also made sure all the peripheral security sensors and cameras were working and updated, so there probably wasn’t any way Daphne could’ve staged espionage—if that truly was her goal.
When Tessa returned to the kitchen, she found Justin and Cynthia wrapping up an argument about his trip that neither seemed satisfied with. In just a few seconds, Tessa picked up that Cynthia had asked him to drop out, and he’d refused. She pressed her hands to the side of her head and groaned.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m so upset, I can’t even cook.” With that unprecedented statement, she stormed off to her room. “Looks like delivery,” said Justin, watching her go. When he noticed Tessa, his expression turned wry. “And you. You brought a reporter under my roof.”
“I didn’t really expect a family argument,” said Tessa. “Besides, it’s not like that Arcadian news was top secret.”
He exchanged a pained look with Mae. “True. I thought they were going to wait a couple of days before releasing it,” he said. “But look, if you really are crazy enough to want to work with a reporter, wait for someone else from a better channel.”
“Daphne doesn’t think there’ll be anyone else,” said Tessa. She told them what Daphne had said about Tessa being provincial, both how Daphne found it endearing and how others wouldn’t. Justin and Mae exchanged looks again, this time of a different nature that Tessa couldn’t interpret.
“She’s not wrong,” said Rufus, from the living room.
Justin was silent for several moments, then he sighed again and began rummaging through the wine cabinet. “Fine. You can work with her if you want, but not before she signs a non-disclosure agreement about your life story. And for God’s sake, don’t bring her back in this house again.”
Tessa nodded and turned around, noticing then that Darius was still there, leaning against the wall. She groaned. “I’m so sorry about all of this. About blowing off coffee and everything else. Come on—I’ll walk you out too, and maybe we can reschedule. Again—I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, as she led him to the door. “One thing I’ll say for sure: it’s never boring when I come over here.”
CHAPTER 8
A Warm Welcome
Mae didn’t retrieve the amber knife until the morning of their flight to Arcadia. She’d gone back and forth on whether she wanted it back at all. In the ensuing week, she’d replayed every detail of the vision she’d had in the living room, trying to make sense of it. She couldn’t write it off as a dream because praetorians didn’t sleep. They could, apparently, be overpowered by divine forces and made to “see” things they didn’t want to. And no matter how much Mae wished that wasn’t true, there was no denying it had happened . . . and that she had let that cryptic vision drive her into coercing Justin into a trip he hadn’t wanted.
His agreeing to it was almost as unbelievable as the vision itself. She’d seen his face and knew him well enough to recognize that he truly hadn’t wanted any part of the diplomatic mission. Whether that was because of Lucian or Arcadia or some other factor, she couldn’t say. All she knew was that he’d agreed—for her—and that made her feel a mix of guilt . . . and unwelcome affection. Whenever she tried to bring up the favor, even to express small thanks, he gruffly made it clear that it wasn’t anything he wanted to discuss further.
And it was that frustration—that she couldn’t properly repay him or even convey her gratitude—that drove Mae to bring the dagger to Arcadia. Part of her wanted to believe she needed no more divine assistance. She had the information she’d received from Emil and the vision . . . would that be enough? Mae couldn’t say for sure, and if it was only herself she was inconveniencing, maybe she’d take the risk. But after forcing Justin to so radically alter his plans, she felt obligated to do everything she could to follow through on the sketchy leads to her niece—even if he knew nothing about it.
“Did you just get that from the basket?”
Mae turned in surprise from where she’d just replaced the knife’s basket back on its shelf. Justin had just entered the living room, coffee cup in hand. It was early, and the rest of the family was still waking up, but the two of them were dressed and ready to rendezvous with Lucian’s party soon.
She slipped the blade back to its usual place in her boot. “I took it out overnight and wanted it somewhere Quentin wouldn’t find it,” she lied. “Do you think they’ll let me bring it into Arcadia?”
“I’d say so. They’re letting the uniformed military bring in guns— with restrictions. Probably figure a sweet, innocent woman like you couldn’t possibly cause any damage with a knife.”
Mae grinned at that and briefly toyed with trying to thank him again for his part in their upcoming trip. After a moment, she decided against it. He was in as good a mood as he was going to get, and there was no point in spoiling that. Besides, as the rest of the family trickled into the kitchen, there was no time for the two of them anymore. After a week of battling her brother, Cynthia had finally resigned herself to his going.
“Make sure you come back this time,” she grumbled, resting her head on his chest when they hugged goodbye. “No more four-year sabbaticals.”
“Stop being melodramatic,” he told her. “Nothing’s going to happen. Besides, I’m sure Lucian can talk us out of any trouble. And if anything does happen, you won’t have to worry about finances.”
Cynthia groaned. “I knew it. I knew you were preparing for the worst.”
Mae, feeling as though she were intruding, turned from them and pretended to be interested in checking security features on the house’s windows. Little did Cynthia know that Justin had made arrangements for her and Quentin a while ago. When he’d first returned from Panama, he hadn’t known if he’d be exiled again and had made sure his assets would be accessible to her in the event of a temporary or permanent disappearance. He’d made further arrangements once he’d accepted the responsibilities of his new job and its frequent provincial travel. Cynthia really had no idea that Arcadia wasn’t the first dangerous place he’d frequented these last few months.