Last Sacrifice (6) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  Acknowledgements

  Last Sacrifice

  RAZORBILL

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Young Readers Group

  345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

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  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Copyright © 2010 Richelle Mead

  All rights reserved

  eISBN : 978-1-101-47511-9

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available

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  http://us.penguingroup.com

  VAMPIRE ACADEMY novels by Richelle Mead:

  Vampire Academy

  Frostbite

  Shadow Kiss

  Blood Promise

  Spirit Bound

  Last Sacrifice

  This is dedicated to Rich Bailey and Alan Doty, the teachers who had the greatest influence on my writing, and to all my teacher friends out there helping young writers now. Keep fighting the good fight, all of you.

  ONE

  I DONʹT LIKE CAGES.

  I donʹt even like going to zoos. The first time I went to one, I almost had a claustrophobic attack looking at those poor animals. I couldnʹt imagine any creature living that way. Sometimes I even felt a little bad for criminals, condemned to life in a cell. Iʹd certainly never expected to spend my life in one.

  But lately, life seemed to be throwing me a lot of things Iʹd never expected, because here I was, locked away.

  ʺHey!ʺ I yelled, gripping the steel bars that isolated me from the world. ʺHow long am I going to be here? Whenʹs my trial? You canʹt keep me in this dungeon forever!ʺ

  Okay, it wasnʹt exactly a dungeon, not in the dark, rusty-chain sense. I was inside a small cell with plain walls, a plain floor, and well . . . plain everything. Spotless. Sterile. Cold. It was actually more depressing than any musty dungeon could have managed. The bars in the doorway felt cool against my skin, hard and unyielding. Fluorescent lighting made the metal gleam in a way that felt harsh and irritating to my eyes. I could see the shoulder of a man standing rigidly to the side of the cellʹs entrance and knew there were probably four more guardians in the hallway out of my sight. I also knew none of them were going to answer me back, but that hadnʹt stopped me from constantly demanding answers from them for the last two days.

  When the usual silence came, I sighed and slumped back on the cot in the cellʹs corner. Like everything else in my new home, the cot was colorless and stark. Yeah. I really was starting to wish I had a real dungeon. Rats and cobwebs would have at least given me something to watch. I stared upward and immediately had the disorienting feeling I always did in here: that the ceiling and walls were closing in around me. Like I couldnʹt breathe. Like the sides of the cell would keep coming toward me until no space remained, pushing out all the air . . .

  I sat up abruptly, gasping. Donʹt stare at the walls and ceiling, Rose, I chastised myself. Instead, I looked down at my clasped hands and tried to figure out how Iʹd gotten into this mess.

  The initial answer was obvious: someone had framed me for a crime I didnʹt commit. And it wasnʹt petty crime either. It was murder. Theyʹd had the audacity to accuse me of the highest crime a Moroi or dhampir could commit. Now, that isnʹt to say I havenʹt killed before. I have. Iʹve also done my fair share of rule (and even law) breaking. Cold-blooded murder, however, was not in my repertoire. Especially not the murder of a queen.

  It was true Queen Tatiana hadnʹt been a friend of mine. Sheʹd been the coolly calculating ruler of the Moroi—a race of living, magic-using vampires who didnʹt kill their victims for blood. Tatiana and I had had a rocky relationship for a number of reasons. One was me dating her great-nephew, Adrian. The other was my disapproval of her policies on how to fight off Strigoi—the evil, undead vampires who stalked us all. Tatiana had tricked me a number of times, but Iʹd never wanted her dead. Someone apparently had, however, and theyʹd left a trail of evidence leading right to me, the worst of which were my fingerprints all over the silver stake that had killed Tatiana. Of course, it was my stake, so naturally itʹd have my fingerprints. No one seemed to think that was relevant.

  I sighed again and pulled out a tiny crumpled piece of paper from my pocket. My only reading material. I squeezed it in my hand, having no need to look at the words. Iʹd long since memorized them. The noteʹs contents made me question what Iʹd known about Tatiana. It had made me question a lot of things.

  Frustrated with my own surroundings, I slipped out of them and into someone elseʹs: my best friend Lissaʹs. Lissa was a Moroi, and we shared a psychic link, one that let me go to her mind and see the world through her eyes. All Moroi wielded some type of elemental magic. Lissaʹs was spirit, an element tied to psychic and healing powers. It was rare among Moroi, who usually used more physical elements, and we barely understood its abilities—which were incredible. Sheʹd used spirit to bring me back from the dead a few years ago, and thatʹs what had forged our bond.

  Being in her mind freed me from my cage but offered little help for my problem. Lissa had been working hard to prove my innocence, ever since the hearing that had laid out all the evidence against me. My stake being used in the murder had only been the beginning. My opponents had been quick to remind everyone about my antagonism toward the queen and had also found a witness to testify about my whereabouts during the murder. That testimony had left me without an alibi. The Council had decided
there was enough evidence to send me to a full-fledged trial—where I would receive my verdict.

  Lissa had been trying desperately to get peopleʹs attention and convince them Iʹd been framed. She was having trouble finding anyone who would listen, however, because the entire Moroi Royal Court was consumed with preparations for Tatianaʹs elaborate funeral. A monarchʹs death was a big deal. Moroi and dhampirs—half-vampires like me—were coming from all over the world to see the spectacle. Food, flowers, decorations, even musicians . . . The full deal. If Tatiana had gotten married, I doubted the event would have been this elaborate. With so much activity and buzz, no one cared about me now. As far as most people were concerned, I was safely stashed away and unable to kill again. Tatianaʹs murderer had been found. Justice was served. Case closed.

  Before I could get a clear picture of Lissaʹs surroundings, a commotion at the jail jerked me back into my own head. Someone had entered the area and was speaking to the guards, asking to see me. It was my first visitor in days. My heart pounded, and I leapt up to the bars, hoping it was someone who would tell me this had all been a horrible mistake.

  My visitor wasnʹt quite who Iʹd expected.

  ʺOld man,ʺ I said wearily. ʺWhat are you doing here?ʺ

  Abe Mazur stood before me. As always, he was a sight to behold. It was the middle of summer—hot and humid, seeing as we were right in the middle of rural Pennsylvania—but that didnʹt stop him from wearing a full suit. It was a flashy one, perfectly tailored and adorned with a brilliant purple silk tie and matching scarf that just seemed like overkill. Gold jewelry flashed against the dusky hue of his skin, and he looked like heʹd recently trimmed his short black beard. Abe was a Moroi, and although he wasnʹt royal, he wielded enough influence to be.

  He also happened to be my father.

  ʺIʹm your lawyer,ʺ he said cheerfully. ʺHere to give you legal counsel, of course.ʺ

  ʺYou arenʹt a lawyer,ʺ I reminded him. ʺAnd your last bit of advice didnʹt work out so well.ʺ That was mean of me. Abe—despite having no legal training whatsoever—had defended me at my hearing. Obviously, since I was locked up and headed for trial, the outcome of that hadnʹt been so great. But, in all my solitude, Iʹd come to realize that heʹd been right about something. No lawyer, no matter how good, could have saved me at the hearing. I had to give him credit for stepping up to a lost cause, though considering our sketchy relationship, I still wasnʹt sure why he had. My biggest theories were that he didnʹt trust royals and that he felt paternal obligation. In that order.

  ʺMy performance was perfect,ʺ he argued. ʺWhereas your compelling speech in which you said ‘if I was the murdererʹ didnʹt do us any favors. Putting that image in the judgeʹs head wasnʹt the smartest thing you could have done.ʺ

  I ignored the barb and crossed my arms. ʺSo what are you doing here? I know itʹs not just a fatherly visit. You never do anything without a reason.ʺ

  ʺOf course not. Why do anything without a reason?ʺ

  ʺDonʹt start up with your circular logic.ʺ

  He winked. ʺNo need to be jealous. If you work hard and put your mind to it, you might just inherit my brilliant logic skills someday.ʺ

  ʺAbe,ʺ I warned. ʺGet on with it.ʺ

  ʺFine, fine,ʺ he said. ʺIʹve come to tell you that your trial might be moved up.ʺ

  ʺW-what? Thatʹs great news!ʺ At least, I thought it was. His expression said otherwise. Last Iʹd heard, my trial might be months away. The mere thought of that—of being in this cell so long—made me feel claustrophobic again.

  ʺRose, you do realize that your trial will be nearly identical to your hearing. Same evidence and a guilty verdict.ʺ

  ʺYeah, but there must be something we can do before that, right? Find proof to clear me?ʺ Suddenly, I had a good idea of what the problem was. ʺWhen you say ‘moved up,ʹ how soon are we talking?ʺ

  ʺIdeally, theyʹd like to do it after a new king or queen is crowned. You know, part of the post-coronation festivities.ʺ

  His tone was flippant, but as I held his dark gaze, I caught the full meaning. Numbers rattled in my head. ʺThe funeralʹs this week, and the elections are right after . . . Youʹre saying I could go to trial and be convicted in, what, practically two weeks?ʺ

  Abe nodded.

  I flew toward the bars again, my heart pounding in my chest. ʺTwo weeks? Are you serious?ʺ

  When heʹd said the trial had been moved up, Iʹd figured maybe it was a month away. Enough time to find new evidence. How would I have pulled that off? Unclear. Now, time was rushing away from me. Two weeks wasnʹt enough, especially with so much activity at Court. Moments ago, Iʹd resented the long stretch of time I might face. Now, I had too little of it, and the answer to my next question could make things worse.

  ʺHow long?ʺ I asked, trying to control the trembling in my voice. ʺHow long after the verdict until they . . . carry out the sentence?ʺ

  I still didnʹt entirely know what all Iʹd inherited from Abe, but we seemed to clearly share one trait: an unflinching ability to deliver bad news.

  ʺProbably immediately.ʺ

  ʺImmediately.ʺ I backed up, nearly sat on the bed, and then felt a new surge of adrenaline. ʺImmediately? So. Two weeks. In two weeks, I could be . . . dead.ʺ

  Because that was the thing—the thing that had been hanging over my head the moment it became clear someone had planted enough evidence to frame me. People who killed queens didnʹt get sent to prison. They were executed. Few crimes among Moroi and dhampirs got that kind of punishment. We tried to be civilized in our justice, showing we were better than the bloodthirsty Strigoi. But certain crimes, in the eyes of the law, deserved death. Certain people deserved it, too—say, like, treasonous murderers. As the full impact of the future fell upon me, I felt myself shake and tears come dangerously close to spilling out of my eyes.

  ʺThatʹs not right!ʺ I told Abe. ʺThatʹs not right, and you know it!ʺ

  ʺDoesnʹt matter what I think,ʺ he said calmly. ʺIʹm simply delivering the facts.ʺ

  ʺTwo weeks,ʺ I repeated. ʺWhat can we do in two weeks? I mean . . . youʹve got some lead, right? Or . . . or . . . you can find something by then? Thatʹs your specialty.ʺ I was rambling and knew I sounded hysterical and desperate. Of course, that was because I felt hysterical and desperate.

  ʺItʹs going to be difficult to accomplish much,ʺ he explained. ʺThe Courtʹs preoccupied with the funeral and elections. Things are disorderly—which is both good and bad.ʺ

  I knew about all the preparations from watching Lissa. Iʹd seen the chaos already brewing. Finding any sort of evidence in this mess wouldnʹt just be difficult. It could very well be impossible.

  Two weeks. Two weeks, and I could be dead.

  ʺI canʹt,ʺ I told Abe, my voice breaking. ʺIʹm not . . . meant to die that way.ʺ

  ʺOh?ʺ He arched an eyebrow. ʺYou know how youʹre supposed to die?ʺ

  ʺIn battle.ʺ One tear managed to escape, and I hastily wiped it away. Iʹd always lived my life with a tough image. I didnʹt want that shattering, not now when it mattered most of all. ʺIn fighting. Defending those I love. Not . . . not through some planned execution.ʺ

  ʺThis is a fight of sorts,ʺ he mused. ʺJust not a physical one. Two weeks is still two weeks. Is it bad? Yes. But itʹs better than one week. And nothingʹs impossible. Maybe new evidence will turn up. You simply have to wait and see.ʺ

  ʺI hate waiting. This room . . . itʹs so small. I canʹt breathe. Itʹll kill me before any executioner does.ʺ

  ʺI highly doubt it.ʺ Abeʹs expression was still cool, with no sign of sympathy. Tough love. ʺYouʹve fearlessly fought groups of Strigoi, yet you canʹt handle a small room?ʺ

  ʺItʹs more than that! Now I have to wait each day in this hole, knowing thereʹs a clock ticking down to my death and almost no way to stop it.ʺ

  ʺSometimes the greatest tests of our strength are situations that donʹt seem so obviously dangerous. Sometimes surviving is the hardest thing of all.ʺ


  ʺOh. No. No.ʺ I stalked away, pacing in small circles. ʺDo not start with all that noble crap. You sound like Dimitri when he used to give me his deep life lessons.ʺ

  ʺHe survived this very situation. Heʹs surviving other things too.ʺ

  Dimitri.

  I took a deep breath, calming myself before I answered. Until this murder mess, Dimitri had been the biggest complication in my life. A year ago—though it seemed like eternity—heʹd been my instructor in high school, training me to be one of the dhampir guardians who protect Moroi. Heʹd accomplished that—and a lot more. Weʹd fallen in love, something that wasnʹt allowed. Weʹd managed it as best we could, even finally coming up with a way for us to be together. That hope had disappeared when heʹd been bitten and turned Strigoi. It had been a living nightmare for me. Then, through a miracle no one had believed possible, Lissa had used spirit to transform him back to a dhampir. But things unfortunately hadnʹt quite returned to how theyʹd been before the Strigoi attack.

  I glared at Abe. ʺDimitri survived this, but he was horribly depressed about it! He still is. About everything.ʺ

  The full weight of the atrocities heʹd committed as a Strigoi haunted Dimitri. He couldnʹt forgive himself and swore he could never love anyone now. The fact that I had begun dating Adrian didnʹt help matters. After a number of futile efforts, Iʹd accepted that Dimitri and I were through. Iʹd moved on, hoping I could have something real with Adrian now.

  ʺRight,ʺ Abe said dryly. ʺHeʹs depressed, but youʹre the picture of happiness and joy.ʺ

  I sighed. ʺSometimes talking to you is like talking to myself: pretty damned annoying. Is there any other reason youʹre here? Other than to deliver the terrible news? I would have been happier living in ignorance.ʺ

  Iʹm not supposed to die this way. Iʹm not supposed to see it coming. My death is not some appointment penciled in on a calendar.

  He shrugged. ʺI just wanted to see you. And your arrangements.ʺ