She caught sight of her face in a polished silver vase and met that reflection unflinchingly. After treatments and surgeries, she’d been allowed to stop wearing bandages a week ago, though one doctor had tactfully said he’d understand if she wanted to keep her cheek covered. She didn’t. Angry red welts still showed in the side of her face, some from the original bite and some from reconstructive surgery. The skin covering it all was irregular—too tight or too wrinkled—and that also was a byproduct of reconstruction. It would be an ongoing process. Future surgeries could fix a lot of it, but all the doctors had reiterated that her face would never be as it was. She’d always have some sort of scar.
An effortless beauty, Tasha thought.
“Lady Natasha Ozera.”
Tasha entered at the sound of her name. Queen Tatiana was receiving visitors in the throne room today, which was a rarity. The Court, no matter where it was in the world, always maintained a throne room for the acting monarch, and in older days, that room would’ve been the chief location for all royal receptions. In modern times, the queen often listened to callers in less luxurious—but still very dignified—sitting rooms.
Tasha had been warned this morning about the venue change, the subtle message being that she should dress appropriately. But Tasha wore the same clothes she planned on wearing to the airport in two hours: jeans, T-shirt, suede jacket. A ponytail held her long hair back from her face. Courtiers whispered as she passed through the ostentatious red-and-gold room, and she realized she couldn’t even tell what particular kind of gossip she stirred up anymore.
Queen Tatiana sat atop the elaborately carved throne that had honored generations of monarchs before her. At least it was situated only slightly above ground level today. For truly formal occasions, the throne would sit high on a platform that required stairs. Even so, the queen had still very clearly dressed to impress, wearing a velvet gown in shades of red and rust that Tasha thought was better suited for something like the Summer’s End Ball, rather than business meetings with one’s subjects. The queen kept her expression serene, but Tasha could sense the other woman’s condemnation.
Tasha bowed, unable to curtsy in jeans.
“Natasha. We are pleased to see you in the palace. You haven’t been out recently. Are you feeling better?” Tatiana, wielding the royal we, spoke as though Tasha were getting over a cold.
“Yes, thank you, Your Majesty. I’ve come to officially request your leave. I’m surrendering my family’s residence and moving.” The request was a formality these days; Tatiana couldn’t stop her.
“Understandable. Where are you moving to?”
“Minneapolis.”
Surprise crept into Tatiana’s face. “There aren’t any Moroi strongholds there. Just a handful of feeders.”
“Correct, Your Majesty.”
Moroi tended to survive by clustering together with groups of their guardians or seeking isolation (while also well guarded), as Ronald had tried with his now half-burned estate. Minneapolis met none of those criteria. That was part of the reason why Tasha had chosen it as a new home. If she’d only had to worry about herself, she actually would’ve run as far and as fast as she could to the other side of the world. But she had to keep close to Christian, now back at school in Montana, and to Court as well. She wasn’t going to let the other royals forget her or think that they’d made her run away. She was leaving by choice.
“You’ll probably want a guardian to accompany you, then.”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
Tasha laughed, shocking everyone in the room. “Your Majesty, my own brother turned Strigoi and killed someone I cared about right in front of me. And then he tried to kill me.” She turned and pointed, making sure the queen got a good look at her cheek. “After that, I had to decide whether to burn to death with my nephew or just kill us both outright with a suicidal jump.”
When Tasha said no more, Tatiana waved an expectant hand. “Your point?”
“My point, Your Majesty, is that I have little left to be afraid of. Not anymore. Other Moroi? They’re afraid and endanger themselves further by choosing helplessness and depending on guardians for defense. If I’d known conventional fighting methods, if I’d had better control of my magic …” Tasha’s resolve faltered for just a moment. Could she have helped Vinh take down Lucas and Moira if she’d known more? Would it have been enough? “Well, Your Majesty, things would’ve turned out differently. I won’t make the mistake of ignorance again, and I’m not going to take a guardian from someone who needs one more than me. I will not rely on another for my safety. I’ll take charge of my own safety. You told me once that I just needed to look pretty and keep my opinions to myself, but since it turns out neither is possible now, I’ll give you my opinion on what I think should be done. I think other Moroi should start taking a stand for themselves and demand tools and training to fight Strigoi. And I think the council and the crown should be facilitating that as well.”
Until that moment, Tasha had never thought much about how silence had a sound. But it did. It was heavy and loud, and it filled the room. Tatiana studied her unblinkingly, and Tasha met that steely gaze with none of the fear she’d felt at the ball. As she’d said, she had little to be afraid of anymore.
“Your opinion is noted,” the queen said. “And your leave is granted. The Court will, of course, maintain a place for your nephew to return to on school holidays.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he will need to go somewhere. He’s a minor. No doubt your other family will look after—”
“I am his family,” Tasha stated, eliciting gasps at the impudence of interrupting the queen. “And I will look after him. He’ll either come to me in Minneapolis on breaks, or I’ll go to him and stay at St. Vladimir’s.”
Sending Christian back to school had been one of the hardest decisions Tasha had ever had to make. She could have homeschooled him; it wasn’t unheard of for Moroi in isolation. Or she could have stayed at Court and sent him to its schools, where she could keep a more watchful eye on him. Ultimately, he had made the choice.
It’s okay, Aunt Tasha. I’ll go back. I can handle whatever happens.
She believed him but wished it wasn’t a battle he had to face. His eyes—too old for someone so young—had told her that he knew what to expect. It would be like the reaction at Court, except adults had more tact than children. Usually.
“You take a lot of risks,” said Queen Tatiana. “But so be it. There are plenty of other Ozeras. If you want to throw your lives away and traipse around the world, defenseless, I won’t forbid it.”
“Not defenseless,” Tasha replied. “The Ozeras will never be defenseless again—the real Ozeras. My nephew and me. All the others? They just share the same name.”
Tatiana smiled, a thin, tight-lipped smile with all the warmth of a marble bust. “I’m sure Ronald will be very happy to hear that. And I’m sure the guardians’ personnel department will be glad they won’t have to reallocate guardians to you after having wasted five others on your family.”
“Four, Your Majesty. Four were killed.”
“Were there? I lost track. But still, it’s a relief. That’s one less we have to replace.”
“Vinh Duy Khuc. Nolan Orr. Jonas Nowicki. Ira Locke.”
Tatiana frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Those ‘ones’ you need to replace. Those are their names.” Tasha returned the queen’s earlier icy smile with one of her own. “I can write them down for you if it’ll help you keep track.”
“That won’t be necessary. Is there anything else you require before leaving, Natasha?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Then you shouldn’t delay your journey. I’m sure there are many … who will miss you.” Tatiana’s tone made it clear that she was not one of those people.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be back to visit. Like I said, I’m not going to keep my opinions to myself anymore
, and I expect I’ll have a lot to say. I hope that won’t be a problem, Your Majesty.”
“Natasha, dear, you may posture all you like, but there’s very little you could say or do that would truly be a problem for me. Go.” The queen waved in dismissal, possibly even boredom. “Go off on whatever quest you think will make you feel better.”
Tasha left with her head held high, smiling at the scandalized onlookers. When she reached the antechamber, a young man held the door open. She looked over and recognized the visiting Russian novice who’d stayed with Christian.
“Lady Ozera.”
“Mr. Belikov.”
“You remembered my name,” he said in surprise. “Just like you remembered the others.”
“Of course.”
“You … you said some very brave things in there.” He spoke diplomatically, cautiously—well aware of the dangers of openly supporting controversial views—but something in his brown eyes told her he agreed with her. Just like Vinh, she thought. So controlled and so good at his duty. So good at sitting on his feelings.
“I said what needed to be said, Mr. Belikov. How much longer will you be at Court?”
“Another week.”
“Well, have a safe trip back. I hope we cross paths again.”
He bowed his head deferentially. “Me too, Lady Ozera.”
“No need for that. You don’t work for me. Just call me Tasha.”
Surprise flashed over him, and then the edges of his mouth turned up in amusement. “Then call me Dimitri … Tasha.”
Not like Vinh after all. Despite all her insistence on dropping the title, Vinh had obstinately kept with protocol—up until the last words he’d ever spoken to her.
Tasha, get out of here!
Tears stung her eyes, and the wound of his loss—still raw, still bleeding—tore at her. One moment we were in each other’s arms, finally ready to cast aside all those stupid, archaic rules. And then he was gone. Just like that. The ache of his loss followed her everywhere. It was her new companion, one that made her dream of Vinh’s face when the Strigoi had attacked and the screaming had followed. Tasha couldn’t imagine this hole in her heart—no, this hole in her life—would ever heal, but if by some miracle it did, she’d made a vow to herself. I will never endure this sort of pain again. If I’m able to love someone else one day, I will do whatever it takes to hold on to him. No matter the cost.
Realizing Dimitri was staring at her curiously, Tasha blinked a few times and tried to muster a pleasant tone and expression as she returned to the present.
“Goodbye, Dimitri.”
Her flight arrived in Minneapolis far too late at night for her to do much more than go to bed and try to adjust to a human schedule. But she was up with the sun, out and about as the rest of the city opened for business and began its day. She had plans to apartment-hunt later in the afternoon, but first, she had a more important task.
Coffee in hand, Tasha stood at her hotel’s main entrance and scanned both directions of the busy downtown street before her. At random, she chose to go left and walked two blocks before finding what she sought.
You don’t need guardians to teach you. Go to any city, and you’ll find endless options.
“Hello?” she called as she pushed open a glass door. The empty room’s interior was dark and dusty and smelled like old sweat. Punching bags and weights were arranged around the walls, and a makeshift ring took over the center. After a few moments, a middle-aged human man emerged from a back-room.
“Can I help you?” He was shorter than her, but his biceps looked bigger than her waist.
“You teach boxing?”
“That’s what the sign says.”
Walk down a street and turn into the first place you find that can teach you any semblance of self-defense.
“Can you teach me?” she asked.
The man tilted his head to one side and scratched his neck. “I can teach anyone. But you’re a skinny thing. We’d have to spend half our time just getting you stronger. You up for that?”
Start with something, and go from there. Go until you’re un-stoppable.
“I’m up for anything,” she said.
From the Journal of Vasilisa Dragomir
January 11
It’s starting to happen more often. Rose tries to hide it from me, but it’s becoming too much, even for her. After school yesterday, I found some old pictures of Andre and me. They broke me. I spent most of the night crying. Hating life. Hating that I’d survived. At breakfast the next day, Rose rushed right over and hugged me. “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “You survived for a reason.” I broke away and demanded to know how she knew what I’d been thinking last night. She claimed she could see it in my face, how sad I was … but I could tell she was lying. She’s in my head somehow. More and more each day. And neither of us likes it.
January 15
One month since the accident. It doesn’t seem real. I keep thinking that as soon as we have our next break at school, they’ll all show up for a visit. It’s like they’re just away somewhere, maybe traveling in Europe. No one talks about them much anymore, and why should they? No one else lost their entire family in an instant. Rose knew today was the anniversary, of course. I don’t have to be in her mind to know how that night haunts her. It’s in her eyes, even though she pretends like she doesn’t care about much of anything. She’s partying more than she used to. I try not to scold her for it. I’m not her keeper, but I’m worried.
Uncle Victor knew what today was too. He sent me a nice card telling me I was in his thoughts.
January 16
Someone said “Princess Dragomir” today, and I looked around, expecting to see Mom. Then I realized they were talking to me. I am the princess now. I am the oldest in the Dragomir family. I am the Dragomir family.
January 17
I’ve been feeling worse and worse. So much so that I actually stopped to talk to a counselor after classes. She said that it was normal to feel sad, especially with the accident’s anniversary this week. I tried to tell her it’s more than sadness. More than depression. It’s like a creature living inside me that’s trying to take control. Rose can feel it too—not as much as I do. I think it’s more of an echo in her. Or maybe she’s able to block it with all the crazy things she keeps doing. Last night she and some other novices had a party in the woods with a stolen bottle of vodka. They all started climbing high trees and daring one another to jump down. Rose made out with someone but can’t remember who.
January 18
It’s bad today.
January 19
I finally lost it yesterday. That awful, hungry despair inside me was just too much. I had to get it out of me, but I didn’t know how. And before I realized it, I was scratching my own arms. Clawing at my own skin. The only thing that came out was blood, but this morning I feel better. And that scares me.
January 21
During all the darkness last week, I completely forgot about a paper that was due for Mr. Nagy. He isn’t very forgiving about that kind of thing, not even to girls recently orphaned. I stayed after class to plead my case and at least try for partial credit … and he didn’t chastise me at all. He smiled and nodded as I stuttered out a lame excuse about having a weeklong headache. He said he completely understood and gave me an extra week to get the paper in for full credit. He added that if I needed more time, that would be no problem. I said one week was fine and hurried out of the room. I should’ve been happy, but the whole incident really weirded me out.
January 27
I haven’t felt much like writing. I feel like I’m going through the motions every day, pretending to live an ordinary life while I’m falling apart inside. Rose knows, but she doesn’t know what to do for me, and it’s driving her crazy. She isn’t used to feeling helpless. She always has some plan—maybe not one that’s thought out very well, but at least it’s something. She watches me. She feels my emotions. She says everything will be okay—but she doesn’t be
lieve it.
January 31
Rose got caught visiting me after hours by the front desk attendant, and I managed to talk her out of trouble with hardly any effort. It was just like with Mr. Nagy and the paper, and I realize now that I compelled them. But I wasn’t even trying to! I’d never do that on purpose. No one should exert their will on another person. I’ve seen other kids do it once in a while for minor things—things very much like getting out of trouble and homework. But none of them has ever been able to pull it off like I can.
February 9
I guess there’s a Valentine’s Day dance coming up. Aaron says we have to go. I asked him why, and he said, “Because.” God, he’s getting annoying.
February 14
I went to the dance tonight. I wore one of the new dresses I bought with Mom just before the accident. It’s long and lavender and has little crystals on the bodice. Everyone kept telling me how pretty I looked. Aaron couldn’t stop staring at my cleavage. And the whole time, I just kept getting madder and madder. I’m still not sure why. It was that thing in me, that building darkness rearing its ugly head again. I thought about Mom picking out the dress. I thought about how tomorrow is another anniversary. When the dance ended and Aaron said we should go to Camille’s after-party, I blew up. I told him I was tired of listening to him talk about what we should do. I told him I was tired of listening to him talk, period. He looked like I’d slapped him. I went back to my room, ready to explode … and that was when I did it again. I let the mental pain out physically. But this time I didn’t use my nails. I used a blade to cut myself. Just enough to hurt. Just enough to distract from what was going on in my head. Rose showed up right away, and she yelled at me. I don’t think that’s ever happened before. She kept going on and on about how I should never do that again and that I needed to come to her for help. She wasn’t angry, though. She was scared. And I don’t think that’s ever happened before either.
Vampire Academy: The Untold Stories Page 5