Last Sacrifice (6) Read online

  Yes, he had indeed, I realized. Abeʹs eyes had always come back to me as we spoke; thereʹd been no question I held his attention. There was nothing in our banter to concern my guards. But every so often, Iʹd see Abeʹs gaze flick around, taking in the hall, my cell, and whatever other details he found interesting. Abe had not earned his reputation as zmey—the serpent—for nothing. He was always calculating, always looking for an advantage. It seemed my tendency toward crazy plots ran in the family.

  ʺI also wanted to help you pass the time.ʺ He smiled and from under his arm, he handed me a couple of magazines and a book through the bars. ʺMaybe this will improve things.ʺ

  I doubted any entertainment was going to make my two-week death countdown more manageable. The magazines were fashion and hair oriented. The book was The Count of Monte Cristo. I held it up, needing to make a joke, needing to do anything to make this less real.

  ʺI saw the movie. Your subtle symbolism isnʹt really all that subtle. Unless youʹve hidden a file inside it.ʺ

  ʺThe bookʹs always better than the movie.ʺ He started to turn away. ʺMaybe weʹll have a literary discussion next time.ʺ

  ʺWait.ʺ I tossed the reading material onto the bed. ʺBefore you go . . . in this whole mess, no oneʹs ever brought up who actually did kill her.ʺ When Abe didnʹt answer right away, I gave him a sharp look. ʺYou do believe I didnʹt do it, right?ʺ For all I knew, he did think I was guilty and was just trying to help anyway. It wouldnʹt have been out of character.

  ʺI believe my sweet daughter is capable of murder,ʺ he said at last. ʺBut not this one.ʺ

  ʺThen who did it?ʺ

  ʺThat,ʺ he said before walking away, ʺis something Iʹm working on.ʺ

  ʺBut you just said weʹre running out of time! Abe!ʺ I didnʹt want him to leave. I didnʹt want to be alone with my fear. ʺThereʹs no way to fix this!ʺ

  ʺJust remember what I said in the courtroom,ʺ he called back.

  He left my sight, and I sat back on the bed, thinking back to that day in court. At the end of the hearing, heʹd told me—quite adamantly—that I wouldnʹt be executed. Or even go to trial. Abe Mazur wasnʹt one to make idle promises, but I was starting to think that even he had limits, especially since our timetable had just been adjusted.

  I again took out the crumpled piece of paper and opened it. It too had come from the courtroom, covertly handed to me by Ambrose—Tatianaʹs servant and boy-toy.

  Rose,

  If youʹre reading this, then something terrible has happened. You probably hate me, and I donʹt blame you. I can only ask that you trust that what I did with the age decree was better for your people than what others had planned. There are some Moroi who want to force all dhampirs into service, whether they want it or not, by using compulsion. The age decree has slowed that faction down.

  However, I write to you with a secret you must put right, and it is a secret you must share with as few as possible. Vasilisa needs her spot on the Council, and it can be done. She is not the last Dragomir. Another lives, the illegitimate child of Eric Dragomir. I know nothing else, but if you can find this son or daughter, you will give Vasilisa the power she deserves. No matter your faults and dangerous temperament, you are the only one I feel can take on this task. Waste no time in fulfilling it.

  —Tatiana Ivashkov

  The words hadnʹt changed since the other hundred times Iʹd read them, nor had the questions they always triggered. Was the note true? Had Tatiana really written it? Had she—in spite of her outwardly hostile attitude—trusted me with this dangerous knowledge? There were twelve royal families who made decisions for the Moroi, but for all intents and purposes, there might as well have only been eleven. Lissa was the last of her line, and without another member of the Dragomir family, Moroi law said she had no power to sit on and vote with the Council that made our decisions. Some pretty bad laws had already been made, and if the note was true, more would come. Lissa could fight those laws—and some people wouldnʹt like that, people who had already demonstrated their willingness to kill.

  Another Dragomir.

  Another Dragomir meant Lissa could vote. One more Council vote could change so much. It could change the Moroi world. It could change my world—say, like, whether I was found guilty or not. And certainly, it could change Lissaʹs world. All this time sheʹd believed she was alone. Yet . . . I uneasily wondered if sheʹd welcome a half-sibling. I accepted that my father was a scoundrel, but Lissa had always held hers up on a pedestal, believing the best of him. This news would come as a shock, and although Iʹd trained my entire life to keep her safe from physical threats, I was starting to think there were other things she needed to be protected from as well.

  But first, I needed the truth. I had to know if this note had really come from Tatiana. I was pretty sure I could find out, but it involved something I hated doing.

  Well, why not? It wasnʹt like I had anything else to do right now.

  Rising from the bed, I turned my back to the bars and stared at the blank wall, using it as a focus point. Bracing myself, remembering that I was strong enough to keep control, I released the mental barriers I always subconsciously kept around my mind. A great pressure lifted from me, like air escaping a balloon.

  And suddenly, I was surrounded by ghosts.

  TWO

  AS ALWAYS, IT WAS DISORIENTING. Faces and skulls, translucent and luminescent, all hovered around me. They were drawn to me, swarming in a cloud as though they all desperately needed to say something. And really, they probably did. The ghosts that lingered in this world were restless, souls who had reasons that kept them from moving on. When Lissa had brought me back from the dead, Iʹd kept a connection to their world. It had taken a lot of work and self-control to learn to block out the phantoms that followed me. The magical wards that protected the Moroi Court actually kept most ghosts away from me, but this time, I wanted them here. Giving them that access, drawing them in . . . well, it was a dangerous thing.

  Something told me that if ever there was a restless spirit, it would be a queen who had been murdered in her own bed. I saw no familiar faces among this group but didnʹt give up hope.

  ʺTatiana,ʺ I murmured, focusing my thoughts on the dead queenʹs face. ʺTatiana, come to me.ʺ

  I had once been able to summon one ghost easily: my friend Mason, whoʹd been killed by Strigoi. While Tatiana and I werenʹt as close as Mason and I had been, we certainly had a connection. For a while, nothing happened. The same blur of faces swirled before me in the cell, and I began to despair. Then, all of a sudden, she was there.

  She stood in the clothes sheʹd been murdered in, a long nightgown and robe covered in blood. Her colors were muted, flickering like a malfunctioning TV screen. Nonetheless, the crown on her head and regal stance gave her the same queenly air I remembered. Once she materialized, she said and did nothing. She simply stared at me, her dark gaze practically piercing my soul. A tangle of emotions tightened in my chest. That gut reaction I always got around Tatiana—anger and resentment—flared up. Then, it was muddled by a surprising wave of sympathy. No oneʹs life should end the way hers had.

  I hesitated, afraid the guards would hear me. Somehow, I had a feeling the volume of my voice didnʹt matter, and none of them could see what I saw. I held up the note.

  ʺDid you write this?ʺ I breathed. ʺIs it true?ʺ

  She continued to stare. Masonʹs ghost had behaved similarly. Summoning the dead was one thing; communicating with them was a whole other matter.

  ʺI have to know. If there is another Dragomir, Iʹll find them.ʺ No point in drawing attention to the fact that I was in no position to find anything or anyone. ʺBut you have to tell me. Did you write this letter? Is it true?ʺ

  Only that maddening gaze answered me. My frustration grew, and the pressure of all those spirits began to give me a headache. Apparently, Tatiana was as annoying in death as she had been in life.

  I was about to bring my walls back and push the ghosts away when Tatiana made the smal
lest of movements. It was a tiny nod, barely noticeable. Her hard eyes then shifted down to the note in my hand, and just like that—she was gone.

  I slammed my barriers back up, using all my will to close myself off from the dead. The headache didnʹt disappear, but those faces did. I sank back on the bed and stared at the note without seeing it. There was my answer. The note was real. Tatiana had written it. Somehow, I doubted her ghost had any reason to lie.

  Stretching out, I rested my head on the pillow and waited for that terrible throbbing to go away. I closed my eyes and used the spirit bond to return and see what Lissa had been doing. Since my arrest, sheʹd been busy pleading and arguing on my behalf, so I expected to find more of the same. Instead she was . . . dress shopping.

  I was almost offended at my best friendʹs frivolity until I realized she was looking for a funeral dress. She was in one of the Courtʹs tucked away stores, one that catered to royal families. To my surprise, Adrian was with her. Seeing his familiar, handsome face eased some of the fear in me. A quick probe of her mind told me why he was here: sheʹd talked him into coming because she didnʹt want him left alone.

  I could understand why. He was completely drunk. It was a wonder he could stand, and in fact, I strongly suspected the wall he leaned against was all that held him up. His brown hair was a mess—and not in the purposeful way he usually styled it. His deep green eyes were bloodshot. Like Lissa, Adrian was a spirit user. He had an ability she didnʹt yet: he could visit peopleʹs dreams. Iʹd expected him to come to me since my imprisonment, and now it made sense why he hadnʹt. Alcohol stunted spirit. In some ways, that was a good thing. Excessive spirit created a darkness that drove its users insane. But spending life perpetually drunk wasnʹt all that healthy either.

  Seeing him through Lissaʹs eyes triggered emotional confusion nearly as intense as what Iʹd experienced with Tatiana. I felt bad for him. He was obviously worried and upset about me, and the startling events this last week had blindsided him as much as the rest of us. Heʹd also lost his aunt whom, despite her brusque attitude, heʹd cared for.

  Yet, in spite of all this, I felt . . . scorn. That was unfair, perhaps, but I couldnʹt help it. I cared about him so much and understood him being upset, but there were better ways of dealing with his loss. His behavior was almost cowardly. He was hiding from his problems in a bottle, something that went against every piece of my nature. Me? I couldnʹt let my problems win without a fight.

  ʺVelvet,ʺ the shopkeeper told Lissa with certainty. The wizened Moroi woman held up a voluminous, long-sleeved gown. ʺVelvet is traditional in the royal escort.ʺ

  Along with the rest of the fanfare, Tatianaʹs funeral would have a ceremonial escort walking alongside the coffin, with a representative from each family there. Apparently, no one minded that Lissa fill that role for her family. But voting? That was another matter.

  Lissa eyed the dress. It looked more like a Halloween costume than a funeral gown. ʺItʹs ninety degrees out,ʺ said Lissa. ʺAnd humid.ʺ

  ʺTradition demands sacrifice,ʺ the woman said melodramatically. ʺAs does tragedy.ʺ

  Adrian opened his mouth, undoubtedly ready with some inappropriate and mocking comment. Lissa gave him a sharp headshake that kept him quiet. ʺArenʹt there any, I donʹt know, sleeveless options?ʺ

  The saleswomanʹs eyes widened. ʺNo one has ever worn straps to a royal funeral. It wouldnʹt be right.ʺ

  ʺWhat about shorts?ʺ asked Adrian. ʺAre they okay if theyʹre with a tie? Because thatʹs what I was gonna go with.ʺ

  The woman looked horrified. Lissa shot Adrian a look of disdain, not so much because of the remark—which she found mildly amusing—but because she too was disgusted by his constant state of intoxication.

  ʺWell, no one treats me like a full-fledged royal,ʺ said Lissa, turning back to the dresses. ʺNo reason to act like one now. Show me your straps and short-sleeves.ʺ

  The saleswoman grimaced but complied. She had no problem advising royals on fashion but wouldnʹt dare order them to do or wear anything. It was part of the class stratification of our world. The woman walked across the store to find the requested dresses, just as Lissaʹs boyfriend and his aunt entered the shop.

  Christian Ozera, I thought, was who Adrian should have been acting like. The fact that I could even think like that was startling. Times had certainly changed from when I held Christian up as a role model. But it was true. Iʹd watched him with Lissa this last week, and Christian had been determined and steadfast, doing whatever he could to help her in the wake of Tatianaʹs death and my arrest. From the look on his face now, it was obvious he had something important to relay.

  His outspoken aunt, Tasha Ozera, was another study in strength and grace under pressure. Sheʹd raised him after his parents had turned Strigoi—and had attacked her, leaving Tasha with scarring on one side of her face. Moroi had always relied on guardians for defense, but after that attack, Tasha had decided to take matters into her own hands. Sheʹd learned to fight, training with all sorts of hand-to-hand methods and weapons. She was really quite a badass and constantly pushed for other Moroi to learn combat too.

  Lissa let go of a dress sheʹd been examining and turned to Christian eagerly. After me, there was no one else she trusted more in the world. Heʹd been her rock throughout all of this.

  He looked around the store, not appearing overly thrilled to be surrounded by dresses. ʺYou guys are shopping?ʺ he asked, glancing from Lissa to Adrian. ʺGetting in a little girl time?ʺ

  ʺHey, youʹd benefit from a wardrobe change,ʺ said Adrian. ʺBesides, I bet youʹd look great in a halter top.ʺ

  Lissa ignored the guysʹ banter and focused on the Ozeras. ʺWhat did you find out?ʺ

  ʺTheyʹve decided not to take action,ʺ said Christian. His lips curled in disdain. ʺWell, not any punishment kind of action.ʺ

  Tasha nodded. ʺWeʹre trying to push the idea that he just thought Rose was in danger and jumped in before he realized what was actually happening.ʺ

  My heart stopped. Dimitri. They were talking about Dimitri.

  For a moment, I was no longer with Lissa. I was no longer in my cell. Instead, I was back to the day of my arrest. Iʹd been arguing with Dimitri in a café, scolding him for his continued refusal to talk to me, let alone continue our former relationship. Iʹd decided then that I was done with him, that things were truly over and that I wouldnʹt let him keep tearing my heart apart. That was when the guardians had come for me, and no matter what Dimitri claimed about his Strigoi-time making him unable to love, he had reacted with lightning speed in my defense. Weʹd been hopelessly outnumbered, but he hadnʹt cared. The look on his face—and my own uncanny understanding of him—had told me all I needed to know. I was facing a threat. He had to defend me.

  And defend me he had. Heʹd fought like the god heʹd been back at St. Vladimirʹs Academy, when heʹd taught me how to battle Strigoi. He incapacitated more guardians in that café than one man should have been able to. The only thing that had ended it—and I truly believe he would have fought until his last breath—had been my intervention. I hadnʹt known at the time what was going on or why a legion of guardians would want to arrest me. But I had realized that Dimitri was in serious danger of harming his already fragile status around Court. A Strigoi being restored was unheard of, and many still didnʹt trust him. Iʹd begged Dimitri to stop, more afraid of what would happen to him than me. Little had I known what was in store for me.

  Heʹd come to my hearing—under guard—but neither Lissa nor I had seen him since. Lissa had been working hard to clear him of any wrongdoing, fearing theyʹd lock him up again. And me? Iʹd been trying to tell myself not to over-think what he had done. My arrest and potential execution took precedence. Yet . . . I still wondered. Why had he done it? Why had he risked his life for mine? Was it an instinctive reaction to a threat? Had he done it as a favor to Lissa, whom heʹd sworn to help in return for freeing him? Or had he truly done it because he still had feelings for me?

  I sti
ll didnʹt know the answer, but seeing him like that, like the fierce Dimitri from my past, had stirred up the feelings I was so desperately trying to get over. I kept trying to assure myself that recovering from a relationship took time. Lingering feelings were natural. Unfortunately, it took longer to get over a guy when he threw himself into danger for you.

  Regardless, Christian and Tashaʹs words gave me hope about Dimitriʹs fate. After all, I wasnʹt the only one walking a tenuous line between life and death. Those convinced Dimitri was still Strigoi wanted to see a stake through his heart.

  ʺTheyʹre keeping him confined again,ʺ said Christian. ʺBut not in a cell. Just in his room, with a couple of guards. They donʹt want him out around Court until things settle down.ʺ

  ʺThatʹs better than jail,ʺ admitted Lissa.

  ʺItʹs still absurd,ʺ snapped Tasha, more to herself than the others. She and Dimitri had been close over the years, and sheʹd once wanted to take that relationship to another level. Sheʹd settled for friendship, and her outrage over the injustice done to him was as strong as ours. ʺThey should have let him go as soon as he became a dhampir again. Once the elections are settled, Iʹm going to make sure heʹs free.ʺ

  ʺAnd thatʹs whatʹs weird . . .ʺ Christianʹs pale blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ʺWe heard that Tatiana had told others before she—before she—ʺ Christian hesitated and glanced uneasily at Adrian. The pause was uncharacteristic for Christian, who usually spoke his mind abruptly.

  ʺBefore she was murdered,ʺ said Adrian flatly, not looking at any of them. ʺGo on.ʺ

  Christian swallowed. ʺUm, yeah. I guess—not in public—sheʹd announced that she believed Dimitri really was a dhampir again. Her plan was to help him get more acceptance once the other stuff settled down.ʺ The ʺother stuffʺ was the age law mentioned in Tatianaʹs note, the one saying dhampirs turning sixteen would be forced to graduate and start defending Moroi. It had infuriated me, but like so many other things now . . . well, it was kind of on hold.