Last Sacrifice (6)

by Richelle Mead

  Christianʹs trademark smirk returned. ʺThat,ʺ he said, ʺis something we can all agree on.ʺ

  The elaborate ballroom—yet again made a Council room for size reasons—looked like a rock concert. People were fighting for spots inside. Some, realizing that was futile, had camped outside the building, picnic style. Someone had thankfully had the brilliant idea to hook up a sound system with outdoor speakers so that those who didnʹt make it in could still hear the proceedings. Guardians moved through the crowds, trying to contain the chaos—particularly as the candidates arrived.

  Marie Conta had shown up just before Lissa, and even if she was the least-likely candidate, there were still roars and surges of excitement in the crowd. Guardians hastily—and roughly, if necessary—held the mob back so she could pass. That attention had to be scary, but Marie didnʹt show it. She walked proudly, smiling at supporters and non-supporters alike. Both Lissa and I recalled Christianʹs words: Youʹre a queenly nominee. Act like it. You deserve this. Youʹre the last Dragomir. A daughter of royalty.

  And that was exactly how she behaved. It was more than Christianʹs urging, too. Now that sheʹd passed all three tests, the gravity of the ancient procedure she was entering continued to grow. Lissa walked in, her head held high. I couldnʹt see her whole body, but I recognized the feel of her walk: graceful, stately. The crowd loved it, and it occurred to me that this group was particularly vocal because most werenʹt royal. Those gathered outside were ordinary Moroi, the ones who had come to truly love her. ʺAlexandraʹs heir!ʺ ʺBring back the dragon!ʺ For some, it was simply enough to shout her name, adding on the titles of an old Russian folktale heroine who shared the same name: ʺVasilisa the brave! Vasilisa the beautiful!ʺ

  I knew no one would guess the fear she felt inside. She was that good. Christian and my mother, who had initially flanked her, fell back as one, letting Lissa walk a couple steps ahead. There was no question of Lissaʹs position and authority. She took each step with confidence, remembering that her grandfather had also walked this path. She tried to give the crowd a smile that was both dignified but genuine. It must have worked because they went even wilder. And when she paused to comment on a dragon banner a man had painted in support, the artist nearly passed out that someone like her would notice and compliment him.

  ʺThis is unprecedented,ʺ remarked my mom, once theyʹd safely made it inside. ʺThereʹs never been this sort of turnout. There certainly wasnʹt during the last election.ʺ

  ʺWhy so great this time?ʺ asked Lissa, who was trying to get her breathing under control.

  ʺBecause thereʹs so much sensation, between the murder and you muddling the law. That and . . . well, the way youʹre winning the hearts of every non-royal out there. The dhampirs too. Thereʹs a dragon sign in one of our coffee rooms, you know. I even think some of the royals love you, though maybe itʹs just to spite whatever family theyʹre feuding with. But seriously? If this were up to all of the people and not just the Council—and well, if it was a vote you were eligible for—I think youʹd win.ʺ

  Lissa grimaced but then reluctantly added, ʺHonestly? I think we should have popular votes for our leaders. Every Moroi should cast a vote, not just a handful of elite families.ʺ

  ʺCareful there, princess,ʺ teased Christian, putting his arm through hers. ʺThatʹs the kind of talk thatʹll start another revolution. One at a time, okay?ʺ

  The ballroomʹs crowd wasnʹt as crazy as the outside one had been—but was pretty close. The guardians were ready for the numbers this time and had made sure to keep strict control from the very beginning. They kept a tight count of how many were allowed in the room and stopped royal and non-royal squabbles. It was still intimidating, and Lissa reminded herself over and over that playing this role was helping me. For me, she would endure anything, even the fanfare. This time, fortunately, Lissa was swept up pretty quickly to the roomʹs front, to where three chairs facing the crowd had been set up for the candidates. Rufus and Marie were already seated, speaking in low voices to a few select family members. Guardians stood around them. Lissa sat alone, of course, but nodded to nearby guards when Tasha approached.

  Tasha crouched beside Lissa, speaking low and keeping a wary eye on Rufus as he talked to someone. ʺBad news. Well, depending on how you look at it. Ethan says Daniella was there that night. She and Tatiana met alone. He didnʹt realize it hadnʹt been put on the records. Someone else wrote those up on behalf of all the guards on duty, but he swears he saw Daniella himself.ʺ

  Lissa winced. Secretly, sheʹd been hoping—praying, even—that sheʹd made a mistake, that surely Adrianʹs mother couldnʹt have done this. She gave a swift nod to show she understood.

  ʺIʹm sorry,ʺ said Tasha. ʺI know you liked her.ʺ

  ʺI think Iʹm more worried about Adrian. I donʹt know how heʹll take it.ʺ

  ʺHard,ʺ said Tasha bluntly. After what sheʹd faced with Christianʹs parents, she knew better than anyone else what it was like to have family betray you. ʺBut heʹll make it through. And as soon as we can put all this evidence forward, weʹll have Dimitri and Rose back.ʺ

  Those words filled Lissa with hope, strengthening her. ʺI miss her so much,ʺ she said. ʺI wish she was here already.ʺ

  Tasha gave her a sympathetic smile and patted her shoulder. ʺSoon. Theyʹll be back soon. Just get through this for now. You can do this. You can change everything.ʺ

  Lissa wasnʹt so sure about that, but Tasha hurried off to join her ʺactivist friendsʺ and was replaced by—Daniella.

  Sheʹd come to talk to Rufus, offering support and family love. Lissa couldnʹt bear to look at the older woman and felt even worse when Daniella spoke to her.

  ʺIʹm not sure how you got involved with this, dear, but good luck.ʺ Daniellaʹs smile seemed sincere, but there was no question which candidate she supported. Her kindly expression turned to concern. ʺHave you seen Adrian? I thought for sure heʹd be here. I know the guardians would let him in.ʺ

  Excellent question. Lissa hadnʹt seen him in the last day or so. ʺI havenʹt. Maybe heʹs just running late. Doing his hair or something.ʺ Hopefully not passed out somewhere.

  Daniella sighed. ʺI hope so.ʺ

  She left, taking a seat in the audience. Once again, Adrianʹs father was running the session, and after several false starts, the room quieted.

  ʺIn the last week,ʺ Nathan began, speaking into a microphone, ʺmany worthy candidates have taken the tests required to rule our people. Before us sit the final three: Rufus Tarus, Marie Conta, and Vasilisa Dragomir.ʺ Nathanʹs tone sounded displeased over that last one, but thus far, the law would let her give her speech. After that, the lawʹs inconsistency kicked in, and all hell would break loose.

  ʺThese three have shown they have the ability to rule, and as their last act, before we vote, each will speak about their plans for our people.ʺ

  Rufus was up first, delivering exactly the kind of speech Iʹd expected. He played on Moroi fears, promising extreme forms of protection—most of which involved dhampirs but didnʹt get into much detail.

  ʺOur safety must be our top priority,ʺ he proclaimed. ʺAt all costs. Will it be difficult? Yes. Will there be sacrifices? Yes. But arenʹt our children worth it? Donʹt we care about them?ʺ Bringing children into it was just low, I decided. At least heʹd left puppies out.

  He also used dirty politician tricks, slandering his rivals. Marie was mostly slammed for her familyʹs lack of activity. Lissa, however, was a great target. He pushed her age, the danger of spirit, and the fact that her being there in the first place was a violation of the law.

  Marieʹs speech was much more thoughtful and detailed. She laid out very explicit plans on all sorts of issues, most of which were reasonable. I didnʹt agree with all she said, but she was clearly competent and didnʹt lower herself to mocking her competition. Unfortunately, she wasnʹt nearly as charismatic as Rufus, and it was a sad truth that that could make a big difference. Her monotone closing summed up not only her speech but also her personality.

>   ʺThose are the reasons why I should be queen. I hope you enjoyed this talk and will vote for me when the time comes. Thank you.ʺ She abruptly sat down.

  Lissaʹs turn came at last. Standing before her microphone, she suddenly saw the chaliceʹs dream, where sheʹd faltered in front of the Council. But no, this was reality. She wouldnʹt fail. She would go forward.

  ʺWeʹre a people at war,ʺ she began, voice loud and clear. ʺWeʹre constantly attacked—but not just by Strigoi. By one another. Weʹre divided. We fight with one another. Family against family. Royal against non-royal. Moroi against dhampir. Of course the Strigoi are picking us off. Theyʹre at least united behind a goal: killing.ʺ

  If I had been sitting there in that audience, I would have been leaning forward, mouth open. As it was, there were plenty of people there to do it for me. Her words were volatile. Shocking. And utterly captivating.

  ʺWe are one people,ʺ she continued. ʺMoroi and dhampir alike.ʺ Yeah, that got some gasps too. ʺAnd while itʹs impossible for every single person to get their way, no one will get anything done if we donʹt come together and find ways to meet in the middle—even if it means making hard choices.ʺ

  Then, extraordinarily, she explained how it could be done. True, she didnʹt have the time to give fine details on every single issue in our world, but she hit a lot of the big ones. And she managed to do it in a way that didnʹt offend anyone too badly. After all, she was right in saying not everyone could get their way. Still, she spoke about how the dhampirs were our best warriors—and would be better with a stronger voice. She spoke about how non-royals needed a greater voice too—but not at the cost of losing the exalted royal lines that defined our people. Finally, in addressing the issue of training Moroi to defend themselves, she did emphasize its importance—but not as something mandatory and not as the only method needing to be explored.

  Yes, she gave something to everyone and did it beautifully and charismatically. It was the kind of speech that could make people follow her anywhere. She concluded with, ʺWe have always mixed the old with the new. Weʹve kept magic alongside technology. We conduct these sessions with scrolls and—with these.ʺ She smiled and tapped her microphone. ʺThatʹs how we have survived. We hold onto our pasts and embrace our present. We take the best of it all and grow stronger. Thatʹs how we have survived. Thatʹs how we will survive.ʺ

  Silence met her conclusion—and then the cheers began. I actually heard the roar from outside on the lawn before it started within. People I would have sworn supported others were practically in tears, and I hadnʹt forgotten that most of the people I had visuals on in this room were royal. Lissa herself wanted to burst into tears but instead took her due bravely. When she finely sat down, and the crowd quieted, Nathan resumed his role.

  ʺWell,ʺ he said. ʺThat was a very pretty speech, one we all enjoyed. But now, the time has come for the Council to vote on our next leader, and—by law—only two candidates stand ready for that position: Rufus Tarus and Marie Conta.ʺ Two Moroi, one each from the Tarus and Conta families, came forward to join their respective candidates. Nathanʹs gaze fell on Lissa who had risen like the others but stood alone. ʺAccording to the election laws—laws set down since the beginning of time—each candidate must approach the Council, escorted by someone of their bloodline in order to show family strength and unity. Do you have any such person?ʺ

  Lissa met his eyes unflinchingly. ʺNo, Lord Ivashkov.ʺ

  ʺThen Iʹm afraid your part in this game is over, Princess Dragomir.ʺ He smiled. ʺYou may sit down now.ʺ

  Yup. Thatʹs when all hell broke loose.

  Iʹd always heard the expression, ʺAnd the crowd goes wild!ʺ Now, I saw it in the flesh. Half the time, I couldnʹt even keep track of who was shouting or supporting what. People argued in clusters and one-on-one. A couple of Moroi in jeans challenged every well-dressed person they could find, operating under the irrational assumptions that anyone in nice clothes must be royal and that all royals hated Lissa. Their devotion to her was admirable. Creepy, but admirable. One group from the Tarus family stood face to face with a Conta group, looking prepared for either a gang fight or a dance-off. That was one of the most bizarre pairings of all since those two families were the only ones who should be in complete agreement on anything.

  On and on it went. People fought about whether Lissa should be eligible for the vote. They fought about having a session to change the law books right at that moment. Some fought over things Iʹd never even heard of before. A rush of guardians to the door made me think the outside crowd was trying to break in. My mother was among that defense, and I knew sheʹd been right: thereʹd be no vote today, not with this anarchy. Theyʹd have to close the session and try again tomorrow.

  Lissa stared at the crowd, feeling numb and unable to keep up with all the activity. Her stomach twisted as something dawned on her. All this time, sheʹd sworn that sheʹd respect the dignity of the election tradition. Yet, it was because of her that things were now anything but dignified. It was all her fault. Then, her eyes fell on someone sitting in a back corner, far from the pandemonium. Ekaterina Zeklos. The old former queen caught Lissaʹs eye—and winked.

  I faded out of that room, not needing to see any more of the arguing. I returned to the car ride, a new thought in my head. Lissaʹs words burned in my soul. They had stirred my heart. And even if sheʹd given her speech as a decoy, there had been passion in them—ardent belief. If she had been eligible to be queen, she would have stood behind those words.

  And thatʹs when I knew. She would be queen.

  I decided then and there that I would make it happen. We wouldnʹt bring Jill simply to give Lissa her Council vote. Jill would give Lissa the status that would allow Moroi to vote for her. And Lissa would win.

  Naturally, I kept these thoughts to myself.

  ʺThatʹs a dangerous look,ʺ said Dimitri, giving me a brief glance before returning his eyes to the road.

  ʺWhat look?ʺ I asked innocently.

  ʺThe one that says you just got some idea.ʺ

  ʺI didnʹt just get an idea. I got a great idea.ʺ

  Jokes like that used to make Jill laugh, but turning to look at her in the backseat showed me she didnʹt find much funny at all.

  ʺHey, you okay?ʺ I asked.

  Those jade eyes focused on me. ʺIʹm not sure. A lotʹs kind of happened. And I donʹt really get whatʹs going to happen next. I feel like . . . like some kind of object thatʹs going to be used in someoneʹs master plan. Like a pawn.ʺ

  A bit of guilt tugged at me. Victor had always used people as part of a game. Was I any different? No. I cared about Jill. ʺYouʹre not an object or a pawn,ʺ I told her. ʺBut youʹre very, very important, and because of you, a lot of good things are going to happen.ʺ

  ʺIt wonʹt be that simple though, will it?ʺ She sounded wise beyond her years. ʺThings are going to get worse before they get better, arenʹt they?ʺ

  I couldnʹt lie to her. ʺYeah. But then youʹll get to contact your mom . . . and well, like I said, good things will happen. Guardians always say ‘They come firstʹ when weʹre talking about Moroi. Itʹs not exactly the same for you, but in doing this . . . well . . .ʺ

  She gave me a smile that didnʹt seem very happy. ʺYeah, I get it. Itʹs for the greater good, right?ʺ

  Sonya had spent a lot of the ride working on a charm for me, using a silver bracelet weʹd bought at a roadside gift shop. It was tacky-looking but made of real silver, which was what counted. When we were about a half hour from Greenston, she deemed it finished and handed it over. I slipped it on and looked at the others.

  ʺWell?ʺ

  ʺI donʹt see anything,ʺ said Sonya, ʺbut then, I wouldnʹt.ʺ

  Jill squinted. ʺYou seem a little blurry . . . like I just need to blink a few times.ʺ

  ʺSame here,ʺ said Dimitri.

  Sonya was pleased. ʺThatʹs how it should look to people who know sheʹs got a charm on. Hopefully, to the other guardians, sheʹll be wearing a different face.ʺ It was a v
ariation of what Lissa had made when weʹd busted Victor out of prison. Only, this required less magic because Sonya only had to slightly alter my features and didnʹt need to obscure my race. She was also more practiced than Lissa.

  The restaurant Iʹd chosen in Greenston had long since closed when we rolled in at eleven thirty. The parking lot was nearly black, but I could make out a car in the back corner. Hopefully, it was Mikhail having gotten there early—and not a guardian hit squad.

  But when we parked nearby, I saw that it was indeed Mikhail who got out of the car—along with Adrian.

  He grinned when he saw me, pleased at the surprise. Really, I should have seen this coming when Iʹd told him to pass the message on to Mikhail. Adrian would have found a way to come along. My stomach rolled. No, no. Not this. I had no time to deal with my love life. Not now. I didnʹt even know what to say to Adrian. Fortunately, I wasnʹt given the chance to speak.

  Mikhail had come striding toward us with guardian efficiency, ready to find out what task I had in mind. He came to a screeching halt when he saw Sonya get out of our car. So did she. They both stood frozen, eyes wider than seemed physically possible. I knew then that the rest of us had ceased to exist, as had all our intrigue, missions, and . . . well, the world. In that moment, only the two of them existed.

  Sonya gave a strangled cry and then ran forward. This jolted him awake, in time to wrap her in his arms as she threw herself against him. She started crying, and I could see tears on his face too. He brushed her hair back and cupped her cheeks, staring down at her and repeating over and over, ʺItʹs you . . . itʹs you . . . itʹs you . . .ʺ

  Sonya tried to wipe her eyes, but it didnʹt do much good. ʺMikhail—Iʹm sorry—Iʹm so sorry—ʺ

  ʺIt doesnʹt matter.ʺ He kissed her and pulled back only enough to look into her eyes. ʺIt doesnʹt matter. Nothing matters except that weʹre together again.ʺ

  This made her cry harder. She buried her face against his chest, and his arms tightened more fiercely around her. The rest of us stood as frozen as the lovers had been earlier. It felt wrong witnessing this. It was too private; we shouldnʹt have been there. Yet . . . at the same time, I just kept thinking that this was how Iʹd imagined my reunion with Dimitri would be when Lissa had restored him. Love. Forgiveness. Acceptance.