Mae had been unable to tear her gaze from the building, even as the car began moving, but his words suddenly snapped her attention to them. “How many salons are there?”
“In Arcadia?” Justin shrugged. “Countless. I’m sure there’s a dozen in this city and its suburbs.”
For a brief second, as Mae had stared at that ramshackle salon on the corner, it had so vividly reminded her of the dream that she’d been certain her niece might very well be beyond those walls. But if what he said was true . . . a dozen in metropolitan Divinia? Let alone the rest of the country? A wave of nausea swept through her at the thought. The vision had shown her niece in one of these establishments but had given no indication where. Arcadia was a big country. Mae had no assurance that the salon she wanted was in this city . . . or if her niece was even in one of the so-called civilized ones that “protected” girls until they were thirteen.
At Carl’s house, the rest of the Gemman delegation was still out on their city tour. Carl was out as well, though his sons and wives stared as Justin and Mae made their way across the compound to the guesthouse, including Carl’s head wife, Harriet. She was carrying buckets of water from the well, another backwards practice that the Arcadians employed to build character in their women. Their technology was perfectly capable of modern plumbing. In fact, the bathrooms were fully equipped with it. For cooking, however, household women had to lug water across the property and run it through the kitchen’s filtration system, which was in itself pretty sophisticated, only making the whole exercise that much more ridiculous. Mae had yet to engage in the chore, though Val had had plenty to say about her time with it when they were in private.
Harriet stopped in their path now, angling her body from Justin and keeping her eyes turned deferentially away. “Forgive my interruption,” she said. That was for him, though the rest of her message was clearly intended for Mae. “Once you’ve made yourself fit again, we need you to help with dinner preparations. None of the others are back yet, and Hannah isn’t able to pull her share.” Then, not quite accusingly, she added, “It’s a lot of work to feed this many extra mouths.”
“Yes, of course,” said Mae, glad her face was obscured. “I’ll be there as soon as I’m able.”
Harriet’s sour expression said she was used to more groveling responses, but she accepted that one and went on her way, after a curt nod to Justin.
When they reached the relative security of their room, Mae had one of these fleeting moments she sometimes got as a praetorian, where she wished for sleep. She wanted to throw herself on the bed just then and pass eight hours in a slumber where red velvet flags and “character building” labor didn’t exist. But instead, she began the painstaking process of unwrapping her layers of clothing, so anxious to get out of it that she even let Justin help her. Considering it had taken two of Carl’s wives to help her in the first place, she wasn’t all that surprised she needed extra assistance. He shook his head in disbelief when they finally got down to the bottom layer, a calf-length shift in that same muddy color, now soaked with sweat.
“Unbelievable,” he said, settling down on the bed. “I had no idea there were that many layers under there.”
Mae ran a hand through her damp her, wishing she could shower. It seemed pointless if she just had a night of hard labor ahead. “I guess it takes quite a barrier to protect these people from the evil powers of lust.”
His expression darkened. “Well, that still apparently wasn’t enough for ‘His Piousness.’ That guy was one step away from having his hand down his pants. Or robe. Or whatever.”
“And you looked like you were one step away from starting an adolescent fight,” she chastised. “I appreciate the chivalry, but you didn’t really think my virtue was in peril, did you?”
To her surprise, he didn’t smile at her joke. “Mae, that man is part lunatic, part genius, and he runs the network of lunatics that runs this country. I know someone like you has never had to worry about being forced by a guy, but believe me when I tell you, if he’d wanted it, he could’ve gotten a dozen lackeys in there to hold you down and sing hymns to their god while he had his way with you.”
It wasn’t the graphic image that made Mae wince internally. It was the casual remark about her never having to worry about being forced that momentarily drew her up short. Justin was almost right. Throughout her life, she’d maintained complete control in her sexuality and related choices—with almost one exception.
Her ex-boyfriend, Porfirio Aldaya, had once tried to rape her after their ugly breakup. He wouldn’t have called it rape, of course. Mae had fought him off with, unknowingly, the help of the Morrigan, the Celtic goddess who’d tried to control the first part of Mae’s life. Even now, Mae wondered if she would have been able to save herself without divine intervention. Porfirio had been stronger than her, trained with the same praetorian skill. And as memories of the terror and feelings of powerlessness swept her, Mae wondered if she would consciously choose divine help to protect herself again, knowing what she knew now.
This was one of the few secrets that not even Justin knew, however, and she kept her troubled feelings off of her face as she dismissed his concerns. “We’ve been saying this whole time the Arcadians don’t want an international incident. If he’s as much of a genius as you claim, he won’t risk the peace over a woman, no matter how much power he can toss around.”
Justin looked her over and finally relaxed enough to smile. “Well, you’re not just any woman—even in that godawful scrap of fabric. Don’t underestimate these guys’ desperation, even the powerful ones.” His amusement was fleeting and quickly dried up. “And trust me when I say his power’s something else altogether.”
She’d started to rummage through her suitcase for a clean dress and paused at his words. “I think I know what you mean,” she said slowly. “When we were in there . . . I felt . . .”
Justin leaned forward, holding his breath. “Yes?”
“I don’t know how to describe it. It made my skin crawl. Maybe it was nerves . . .”
“You felt it. You felt that he was one of the elect.” He exhaled and sank onto the bed. “I didn’t think you could. I don’t know if that says more about him or you. You still have the charm?”
She reached under the neckline of the shift and held up the wooden charm, still on its string.
“Good,” said Justin. “Don’t ever take it off around here. This is a dangerous place to be noticed by the gods.” Seeing that she was about to change, he politely turned away. She gratefully rid herself of the shift.
“What will you do about his request to bring in missionaries? Or cultural experts?”
“Take it to Lucian and the others, then give my recommendation,” Justin said simply.
“Which is?”
“No fucking way. Nehitimar won’t have the power at home that he has here, but letting servants of a god like that into our country is a bad idea, politically and spiritually. Even if they say they’re only lecturing about Arcadian culture in general, you know religion will be the real focus.”
Mae finished buttoning up the new dress and walked over so that she was in his line of sight again. “Spiritually?”
He nodded. “Things are crazy enough with a bunch of fledgling gods struggling for control. We don’t need one that’s already established.”
Mae left him soon thereafter, stopping by one of the other outlying guest houses in the hopes of finding Harriet and tonight’s instructions.
The house showed the signs of overcrowding, with makeshift beds in the halls and common areas from those who’d been displaced by the Gemmans in Mae’s building. Even the children were gone, however, and Mae was starting to leave the foyer when she thought she heard what sounded like sobbing. She hesitated only a moment about intruding into someone’s personal quarters before making up her mind. The house’s layout was similar to the one she was staying in, and in the third bedroom, she found the source of the sound.