Adrian made a strange sound, like he was clearing his throat. ʺShe did not.ʺ
Christian shrugged. ʺLots of her advisors said she did. Thatʹs the rumor.ʺ
ʺI have a hard time believing it too,ʺ Tasha told Adrian. Sheʹd never approved of Tatianaʹs policies and had vehemently spoken out against them on more than one occasion. Adrianʹs disbelief wasnʹt political, though. His was simply coming from ideas heʹd always had about his aunt. Sheʹd never given any indication that she wanted to help Dimitri regain his old status.
Adrian made no further comment, but I knew this topic was kindling sparks of jealousy within him. Iʹd told him Dimitri was in the past and that I was ready to move on, but Adrian—like me—must have undoubtedly wondered about the motivations behind Dimitriʹs gallant defense.
Lissa began to speculate on how they might get Dimitri out of house arrest when the saleswoman returned with an armful of dresses she clearly disapproved of. Biting her lip, Lissa fell silent. She filed away Dimitriʹs situation as something to deal with later. Instead, she wearily prepared to try on clothes and play the part of a good little royal girl.
Adrian perked up at the sight of the dresses. ʺAny halters in there?ʺ
I returned to my cell, mulling over the problems that just seemed to keep piling up. I was worried about both Adrian and Dimitri. I was worried about myself. I was also worried about this so-called lost Dragomir. I was starting to believe the story could be real, but there was nothing I could do about it, which frustrated me. I needed to take action when it came to helping Lissa. Tatiana had told me in her letter to be careful whom I spoke to about the matter. Should I pass this mission on to someone else? I wanted to take charge of it, but the bars and suffocating walls around me said I might not be able to take charge of anything for a while, not even my own life.
Two weeks.
Needing further distraction, I gave in and began reading Abeʹs book, which was exactly the tale of wrongful imprisonment Iʹd expected it to be. It was pretty good and taught me that faking my own death apparently wouldnʹt work as an escape method. The book unexpectedly stirred up old memories. A chill went down my spine as I recalled a Tarot reading that a Moroi named Rhonda had given to me. She was Ambroseʹs aunt, and one of the cards sheʹd drawn for me had shown a woman tied to swords. Wrongful imprisonment. Accusations. Slander. Damn. I was really starting to hate those cards. I always insisted they were a scam, yet they had an annoying tendency to come true. The end of her reading had shown a journey, but to where? A real prison? My execution?
Questions with no answers. Welcome to my world. Out of options for now, I figured I might as well try to get some rest. Stretching out on the pallet, I tried to push away those constant worries. Not easy. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw a judge banging a gavel, condemning me to death. I saw my name in the history books, not as a hero, but as a traitor.
Lying there, choking on my own fear, I thought of Dimitri. I pictured his steady gaze and could practically hear him lecturing me. Donʹt worry now about what you canʹt change. Rest when you can so youʹll be ready for tomorrowʹs battles. The imaginary advice calmed me. Sleep came at last, heavy and deep. Iʹd tossed and turned a lot this week, so true rest was welcome.
Then—I woke up.
I sat upright in bed, my heart pounding. Peering around, I looked for danger—any threat that might have startled me out of that sleep. There was nothing. Darkness. Silence. The faint squeak of a chair down the hall told me my guards were still around.
The bond, I realized. The bond had woken me up. Iʹd felt a sharp, intense flare of . . . what? Intensity. Anxiety. A rush of adrenaline. Panic raced through me, and I dove deeper into Lissa, trying to find what had caused that surge of emotion from her.
What I found was . . . nothing.
The bond was gone.
THREE
WELL, NOT GONE EXACTLY.
Muted. Kind of like how it had felt immediately after sheʹd restored Dimitri back to a dhampir. The magic had been so strong then that it had ʺburned outʺ our link. There was no blast of magic now. It was almost as though the blankness was intentional on her part. Like always, I still had a sense of Lissa: she was alive; she was well. So what was keeping me from feeling more of her? She wasnʹt asleep, because I could feel a sense of alert consciousness on the other side of this wall. Spirit was there, hiding her from me . . . and she was making it happen.
What the hell? It was an accepted fact that our bond worked only one way. I could sense her; she couldnʹt sense me. Likewise, I could control when I went into her mind. Often, I tried to keep myself out (jail captivity time excluded), in an attempt to protect her privacy. Lissa had no such control, and her vulnerability infuriated her sometimes. Every once in a while, she could use her power to shield herself from me, but it was rare, difficult, and required considerable effort on her part. Today, she was pulling it off, and as the condition persisted, I could feel her strain. Keeping me out wasnʹt easy, but she was managing it. Of course, I didnʹt care about the how of it. I wanted to know the why.
It was probably my worst day of imprisonment. Fear for myself was one thing. But for her? That was agonizing. If it was my life or hers, I would have walked into execution without hesitation. I had to know what was going on. Had she learned something? Had the Council decided to skip right over a trial and execute me? Was Lissa trying to protect me from that news? The more spirit she wielded, the more she endangered her life. This mental wall required a lot of magic. But why? Why was she taking this risk?
It was astonishing in that moment to realize just how much I relied on the bond to keep track of her. True: I didnʹt always welcome someone elseʹs thoughts in my head. Despite the control Iʹd learned, her mind still sometimes poured into mine in moments Iʹd rather not experience. None of that was a concern now—only her safety was. Being blocked off was like having a limb removed.
All day I tried to get inside her head. Every time, I was kept out. It was maddening. No visitors came to me either, and the book and magazines had long since lost their appeal. The caged animal feeling was getting to me again, and I spent a fair amount of time yelling at my guards—with no results. Tatianaʹs funeral was tomorrow, and the clock to my trial was ticking loudly.
Bedtime came, and the wall in the bond dropped at last—because Lissa went to sleep. The link between us was firm, but her mind was closed off in unconsciousness. Iʹd find no answers there. Left with nothing else, I went to bed as well, wondering if Iʹd be cut off again in the morning.
I wasnʹt. She and I were linked again, and I was able to see the world through her eyes once more. Lissa was up and around early, preparing for the funeral. I neither saw nor felt any sign of why Iʹd been blocked the day before. She was letting me back into her mind, just like normal. I almost wondered if Iʹd imagined being cut off from her.
No . . . there it was. Barely. Within her mind, I sensed thoughts she was still hiding from me. They were slippery. Each time I tried to grasp them, they fell out of my hands. I was amazed she could still use enough magic to pull it off, and it was also a clear indication that sheʹd blocked me out intentionally yesterday. What was going on? Why on earth would she need to hide something from me? What could I do about anything, locked in this hellhole? Again, my unease grew. What awful thing didnʹt I know about?
I watched Lissa get ready, seeing no ostensible sign of anything unusual. The dress sheʹd ended up selecting had cap sleeves and went to the knee. Black, of course. It was hardly a clubbing dress, but she knew it would raise some eyebrows. Under different circumstances, this would have delighted me. She chose to wear her hair down and unbound, its pale blond color showing brightly against the dressʹs black when she surveyed herself in a mirror.
Christian met Lissa outside. He cleaned up well, I had to admit, uncharacteristically wearing a dress shirt and tie. Heʹd drawn the line at a jacket, and his expression was an odd mix of nervousness, secrecy, and typical snark. When he saw Lissa, though, his face momen
tarily transformed, turning radiant and awestruck as he gazed at her. He gave her a small smile and took her into his arms for a brief embrace. His touch brought her contentment and comfort, easing her anxiety. Theyʹd gotten back together recently after a breakup, and that time apart had been agonizing for both of them.
ʺItʹs going to be okay,ʺ he murmured, his look of worry returning. ʺThisʹll work. We can do this.ʺ
She said nothing but tightened her hold on him before stepping back. Neither of them spoke as they walked to the beginning of the funeral procession. I decided this was suspicious. She caught hold of his hand and felt strengthened by it.
The funeral procedures for Moroi monarchs had been the same for centuries, no matter if the Court was in Romania or its new home in Pennsylvania. That was the Moroi way. They mixed the traditional with the modern, magic with technology.
The queenʹs coffin would be carried by pallbearers out of the palace and taken with great ceremony all through the Courtʹs grounds, until it reached the Courtʹs imposing cathedral. There, a select group would enter for mass. After the service, Tatiana would be buried in the churchʹs graveyard, taking her place beside other monarchs and important royals.
The coffinʹs route was easy to spot. Poles strung with red and black silk banners marked each side. Rose petals had been strewn on the ground the coffin would pass over. Along the sides, people crammed together, hoping to catch a glimpse of their former queen. Many Moroi had come from far off places, some to see the funeral and some to see the monarch elections that would soon follow over the next couple of weeks.
The royal family escort—most of whom wore saleswoman-approved black velvet—were already heading into the palace building. Lissa stopped outside to part ways with Christian since he certainly had never been in the running to represent his family for such an honored event. She gave him another fierce hug and a light kiss. As they stepped away, there was a knowing glint in his blue eyes—that secret that was hidden from me.
Lissa pushed through the gathering crowds, trying to get to the entrance and find the processionʹs starting point. The building didnʹt look like the palaces or castles of ancient Europe. Its grand stone façade and tall windows matched the Courtʹs other structures, but a few features—its height, wide marble steps—subtly distinguished it from other buildings. A tug at Lissaʹs arm stopped her progress, nearly causing her to run into an ancient Moroi man.
ʺVasilisa?ʺ It was Daniella Ivashkov, Adrianʹs mother. Daniella wasnʹt so bad as royals went, and she was actually okay with Adrian and me dating—or at least, she had been before I became an accused murderer. Most of Daniellaʹs acceptance had come from the fact that she believed Adrian and I would split up anyways once I received my guardian assignment. Daniella had also convinced one of her cousins, Damon Tarus, to be my lawyer—an offer Iʹd rejected when I chose Abe to represent me instead. I still wasnʹt entirely sure if Iʹd made the best decision there, but it probably tarnished Daniellaʹs view of me, which I regretted.
Lissa offered up a nervous smile. She was anxious to join the procession and get all of this over with. ʺHi,ʺ she said.
Daniella was dressed in full black velvet and even had small diamond barrettes shining in her dark hair. Worry and agitation lined her pretty face. ʺHave you seen Adrian? I havenʹt been able to find him anywhere. We checked his room.ʺ
ʺOh.ʺ Lissa averted her eyes.
ʺWhat?ʺ Daniella nearly shook her. ʺWhat do you know?ʺ
Lissa sighed. ʺIʹm not sure where he is, but I saw him last night when he was coming back from some party.ʺ Lissa hesitated, like she was too embarrassed to tell the rest. ʺHe was . . . really drunk. More than Iʹve ever seen him. He was going off with some girls, and I donʹt know. Iʹm sorry, Lady Ivashkov. Heʹs probably . . . well, passed out somewhere.ʺ
Daniella wrung her hands, and I shared her dismay. ʺI hope nobody notices. Maybe we can say . . . he was overcome with grief. Thereʹs so much going on. Surely no one will notice. Youʹll tell them, right? Youʹll say how upset he was?ʺ
I liked Daniella, but this royal obsession with image was really starting to bug me. I knew she loved her son, but her main concern here seemed to be less about Tatianaʹs final rest than it was about what others would think about a breach of protocol. ʺOf course,ʺ said Lissa. ʺI wouldnʹt want anyone to . . . well, Iʹd hate for that to get out.ʺ
ʺThank you. Now go.ʺ Daniella gestured to the doors, still looking anxious. ʺYou need to take your place.ʺ To Lissaʹs surprise, Daniella gave her a gentle pat on the arm. ʺAnd donʹt be nervous. Youʹll do fine. Just keep your head up.ʺ
Guardians stationed at the door recognized Lissa as someone with access and allowed her in. There, in the foyer, was Tatianaʹs coffin. Lissa froze, suddenly overwhelmed, and nearly forgot what she was doing there.
The coffin alone was a work of art. It was made of gleaming black wood, polished to brilliance. Paintings of elaborate garden scenes in shining metallic colors of every hue adorned each side. Gold glittered everywhere, including the poles that the pallbearers would hold. Those poles were draped with strings of mauve roses. It seemed like the thorns and leaves would make it difficult for the pallbearers to get a good grip, but that was their problem to deal with.
Inside, uncovered and lying on a bed of more mauve roses, was Tatiana herself. It was strange. I saw dead bodies all the time. Hell, I created them. But seeing a body that had been preserved, lying peacefully and ornamentally . . . well, it was creepy. It was strange for Lissa, too, particularly since she didnʹt have to deal with death as often as I did.
Tatiana wore a gleaming silk gown that was a rich shade of purple—the traditional color for royal burial. The dressʹs long sleeves were decorated with an elaborate design of small pearls. Iʹd often seen Tatiana in red—a color associated with the Ivashkov family—and I was glad for the purple burial tradition. A red dress would have been too strong a reminder of the bloody pictures of her that Iʹd seen at my hearing, pictures I kept trying to block out. Strings of gemstones and more pearls hung around her neck, and a gold crown set with diamonds and amethysts rested upon her graying hair. Someone had done a good job with Tatianaʹs makeup, but even they couldnʹt hide the whiteness of her skin. Moroi were naturally pale. In death, they were like chalk—like Strigoi. The image struck Lissa so vividly that she swayed on her feet a little and had to look away. The rosesʹ scent filled the air, but there was a hint of decay mixed in with that sweetness.
The funeral coordinator spotted Lissa and ordered her into position—after first bemoaning Lissaʹs fashion choice. The sharp words snapped Lissa back to reality, and she fell in line with five other royals on the right side of the coffin. She tried not to look too closely at the queenʹs body and directed her gaze elsewhere. The pallbearers soon showed up and lifted their burden, using the rose-draped poles to rest the coffin on their shoulders and slowly carry it out to the waiting crowd. The pallbearers were all dhampirs. They wore formal suits, which confused me at first, but then I realized they were all Court guardians—except one. Ambrose. He looked as gorgeous as always and stared straight ahead as he did his job, face blank and expressionless.
I wondered if Ambrose mourned Tatiana. I was so fixated on my own problems that I kept forgetting a life had been lost here, a life that many had loved. Ambrose had defended Tatiana when Iʹd been angry about the age law. Watching him through Lissaʹs eyes, I wished I was there to speak to him in person. He had to know something more about the letter heʹd slipped me in the courtroom. Surely he wasnʹt just the delivery boy.
The procession moved forward, ending my musings about Ambrose. Before and ahead of the coffin were other ceremonial people. Royals in elaborate clothing, making a glittering display. Uniformed guardians carrying banners. Musicians with flutes walked at the very back, playing a mournful tune. For her part, Lissa was very good at public appearances and managed the slow, stately pace with elegance and grace, her gaze level and confident. I couldnʹt see outside her body, of course
, but it was easy to imagine what the spectators saw. She was beautiful and regal, worthy to inherit the Dragomir legacy, and hopefully more and more would realize that. It would save us a lot of trouble if someone would change the voting law through standard procedures, so we didnʹt have to rely on a quest for a lost sibling.
Walking the funeral route took a long time. Even when the sun started sinking down toward the horizon, the dayʹs heat still hung in the air. Lissa began to sweat but knew her discomfort was nothing compared to the pallbearersʹ. If the watching crowd felt the heat, they didnʹt show it. They craned their necks to get their one glimpse of the spectacle passing before them. Lissa didnʹt process the onlookers so much, but in their faces, I saw that the coffin wasnʹt their only focus. They were also watching Lissa. Word of what sheʹd done for Dimitri had blazed around the Moroi world, and while many were skeptical of her ability to heal, there were just as many who believed. I saw expressions of wonder and awe in the crowd, and for a second, I wondered who theyʹd really come to see: Lissa or Tatiana?
Finally, the cathedral came into view, which was good news for Lissa. The sun didnʹt kill Moroi like it did Strigoi, but the heat and sunlight were still uncomfortable for any vampire. The procession was nearly finished, and she, being one of those allowed into the church service, would soon get to enjoy air conditioning.
As I studied the surroundings, I couldnʹt help but think what a circle of irony my life was. Off to the sides of the churchʹs extensive grounds were two giant statues showing ancient Moroi monarchs of legend, a king and queen who had helped the Moroi prosper. Even though they were a fair distance from the church, the statues loomed ominously, like they were scrutinizing everything. Near the queenʹs statue was a garden that I knew well. Iʹd been forced to landscape it as punishment for running off to Las Vegas. My true purpose on that trip—which no one knew—had been to free Victor Dashkov from prison. Victor had been a longtime enemy of ours, but he and his brother Robert, a spirit user, had held the knowledge we needed to save Dimitri. If any guardians had found out that Iʹd freed Victor—then later lost him—my punishment would have been a lot worse than filing and landscaping. At least Iʹd done a good job with the garden, I thought bitterly. If I was executed, Iʹd leave a lasting mark at Court.
Last Sacrifice (6) Page 3