I didn’t like having reasonable arguments thrown at me. “Are you saying I’m a hypocrite?”
“I’m just saying maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on her. She’s a very respected dhampir woman. She’s set you on the path to be the same.”
“It wouldn’t kill her to visit more,” I muttered. “But I guess you’re right. A little. It could have been worse, I suppose. I could have been raised with blood whores.”
Dimitri looked up. “I was raised in a dhampir commune. They aren’t as bad as you think.”
“Oh.” I suddenly felt stupid. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right.” He focused his attention back on my hands.
“So, did you, like, have family there? Grow up with them?”
He nodded. “My mother and two sisters. I didn’t see them much after I went to school, but we still keep in touch. Mostly, the communities are about family. There’s a lot of love there, no matter what stories you’ve heard.”
My bitterness returned, and I glanced down to hide my glare. Dimitri had had a happier family life with his disgraced mother and relatives than I’d had with my “respected” guardian mother. He most certainly knew his mother better than I knew mine.
“Yeah, but . . . isn’t it weird? Aren’t there a lot of Moroi men visiting to, you know? . . .”
His hands rubbed circles into mine. “Sometimes.”
There was something dangerous in his tone, something that told me this was an unwelcome topic. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something bad. . . .”
“Actually . . . you probably wouldn’t think it’s bad,” he said after almost a minute had passed. A tight smile formed on his lips. “You don’t know your father, do you?”
I shook my head. “No. All I know he is he must have had wicked cool hair.”
Dimitri glanced up, and his eyes swept me. “Yes. He must have.” Returning to my hands, he said carefully, “I knew mine.”
I froze. “Really? Most Moroi guys don’t stay—I mean, some do, but you know, usually they just—”
“Well, he liked my mother.” He didn’t say “liked” in a nice way. “And he visited her a lot. He’s my sisters’ father too. But when he came . . . well, he didn’t treat my mother very well. He did some horrible things.”
“Like . . .” I hesitated. This was Dimitri’s mother we were talking about. I didn’t know how far I could go. “Blood-whore things?”
“Like beating-her-up kinds of things,” he replied flatly.
He’d finished the bandages but was still holding my hands. I don’t even know if he noticed. I certainly did. His were warm and large, with long and graceful fingers. Fingers that might have played the piano in another life.
“Oh God,” I said. How horrible. I tightened my hands in his. He squeezed back. “That’s horrible. And she . . . she just let it happen?”
“She did.” The corner of his mouth turned up into a sly, sad smile. “But I didn’t.”
Excitement surged through me. “Tell me, tell me you beat the crap out of him.”
His smile grew. “I did.”
“Wow.” I hadn’t thought Dimitri could be any cooler, but I was wrong. “You beat up your dad. I mean, that’s really horrible . . . what happened. But, wow. You really are a god.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Uh, nothing.” Hastily, I tried to change the subject. “How old were you?”
He still seemed to be puzzling out the god comment. “Thirteen.”
Whoa. Definitely a god. “You beat up your dad when you were thirteen?”
“It wasn’t that hard. I was stronger than he was, almost as tall. I couldn’t let him keep doing that. He had to learn that being royal and Moroi doesn’t mean you can do anything you want to other people—even blood whores.”
I stared. I couldn’t believe he’d just said that about his mother. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
Pieces clicked into place for me. “That’s why you got so upset about Jesse, isn’t it? He was another royal, trying to take advantage of a dhampir girl.”
Dimitri averted his eyes. “I got upset over that for a lot of reasons. After all, you were breaking the rules, and . . .”
He didn’t finish, but he looked back into my eyes in a way that made warmth build between us.
Thinking about Jesse soon darkened my mood, unfortunately. I looked down. “I know you heard what people are saying, that I—”
“I know it’s not true,” he interrupted.
His immediate, certain answer surprised me, and I stupidly found myself questioning it. “Yeah, but how do you—”
“Because I know you,” he replied firmly. “I know your character. I know you’re going to be a great guardian.”
His confidence made that warm feeling return. “I’m glad someone does. Everyone else thinks I’m totally irresponsible.”
“With the way you worry more about Lissa than yourself . . .” He shook his head. “No. You understand your responsibilities better than guardians twice your age. You’ll do what you have to do to succeed.”
I thought about that. “I don’t know if I can do everything I have to do.”
He did that cool one-eyebrow thing.
“I don’t want to cut my hair,” I explained.
He looked puzzled. “You don’t have to cut your hair. It’s not required.”
“All the other guardian women do. They show off their tattoos.”
Unexpectedly, he released my hands and leaned forward. Slowly, he reached out and held a lock of my hair, twisting it around one finger thoughtfully. I froze, and for a moment, there was nothing going on in the world except him touching my hair. He let my hair go, looking a little surprised—and embarrassed—at what he’d done.
“Don’t cut it,” he said gruffly.
Somehow, I remembered how to talk again. “But no one’ll see my tattoos if I don’t.”
He moved toward the doorway, a small smile playing over his lips. “Wear it up.”
FOURTEEN
I CONTINUED SPYING ON LISSA over the next couple of days, feeling mildly guilty each time. She’d always hated it when I did by accident, and now I did it on purpose.
Steadily, I watched as she reintegrated herself into the royal power players one by one. She couldn’t do group compulsion, but catching one person alone was just as effective, if slower. And really, a lot didn’t need to be compelled to start hanging out with her again. Many weren’t as shallow as they seemed; they remembered Lissa and liked her for who she was. They flocked to her, and now, a month and a half after our return to the Academy, it was like she’d never left at all. And during this rise to fame, she advocated for me and rallied against Mia and Jesse.
One morning, I tuned into her while she was getting ready for breakfast. She’d spent the last twenty minutes blow-drying and straightening her hair, something she hadn’t done in a while. Natalie, sitting on the bed in their room, watched the process with curiosity. When Lissa moved on to makeup, Natalie finally spoke.
“Hey, we’re going to watch a movie in Erin’s room after school. You going to come?” I’d always made jokes about Natalie being boring, but her friend Erin had the personality of dry wall.
“Can’t. I’m going to help Camille bleach Carly’s hair.”
“You sure spend a lot of time with them now.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Lissa dabbed mascara across her lashes, instantly making her eyes look bigger.
“I thought you didn’t like them anymore.”
“I changed my mind.”
“They sure seem to like you a lot now. I mean, not that anyone wouldn’t like you, but once you came back and didn’t talk to them, they seemed okay ignoring you too. I heard them talking about you a lot. I guess that’s not surprising, because they’re Mia’s friends too, but isn’t it weird how much they like you now? Like, I hear them always waiting to see what you want to do before they make plans and stuff. And a bunch of them a
re defending Rose now, which is really crazy. Not that I believe any of that stuff about her, but I never would have thought it was possible—”
Underneath Natalie’s rambling was the seed of suspicion, and Lissa picked up on it. Natalie probably never would have dreamed of compulsion, but Lissa couldn’t risk innocent questions turning into something more. “You know what?” she interrupted. “Maybe I will swing by Erin’s after all. I bet Carly’s hair won’t take that long.”
The offer derailed Natalie’s train of thought. “Really? Oh wow, that would be great. She was telling me how sad she was that you’re not around as much anymore, and I told her . . .”
On it went. Lissa continued her compulsion and return to popularity. I watched it all quietly, always worrying, even though her efforts were starting to reduce the stares and gossip about me.
“This is going to backfire,” I whispered to her in church one day. “Someone’s going to start wondering and asking questions.”
“Stop being so melodramatic. Power shifts all the time around here.”
“Not like this.”
“You don’t think my winning personality could do this on its own?”
“Of course I do, but if Christian spotted it right away, then someone else will—”
My words were interrupted when two guys farther down the pew suddenly exploded into snickers. Glancing up, I saw them looking right at me, not even bothering to hide their smirks.
Looking away, I tried to ignore them, suddenly hoping the priest would start up soon. But Lissa returned their looks, and a sudden fierceness flashed across her face. She didn’t say a word, but their smiles grew smaller under her heavy gaze.
“Tell her you’re sorry,” she told them. “And make sure she believes it.”
A moment later, they practically fell all over themselves apologizing to me and begging for forgiveness. I couldn’t believe it. She’d used compulsion in public—in church, of all places. And on two people at the same time.
They finally exhausted their supply of apologies, but Lissa wasn’t finished.
“That’s the best you can do?” she snapped.
Their eyes widened in alarm, both terrified that they’d angered her.
“Liss,” I said quickly, touching her arm. “It’s okay. I, uh, accept their apologies.”
Her face still radiated disapproval, but she finally nodded. The guys slumped in relief.
Yikes. I’d never felt so relieved to have a service start. Through the bond, I felt a sort of dark satisfaction coming from Lissa. It was uncharacteristic for her, and I didn’t like it.
Needing to distract myself from her troubling behavior, I studied other people as I so often did. Nearby, Christian openly watched Lissa, a troubled look on his face. When he saw me, he scowled and turned away.
Dimitri sat in the back as usual, for once not scanning every corner for danger. His attention was turned inward, his expression almost pained. I still didn’t know why he came to church. He always seemed to be wrestling with something.
In the front, the priest was talking about St. Vladimir again.
“His spirit was strong, and he was truly gifted by God. When he touched them, the crippled walked, and the blind could see. Where he walked, flowers bloomed.”
Man, the Moroi needed to get more saints—
Healing cripples and blind people?
I’d forgotten all about St. Vladimir. Mason had mentioned Vladimir bringing people back from the dead, and it had reminded me of Lissa at the time. Then other things had distracted me. I hadn’t thought about the saint or his “shadow-kissed” guardian—and their bond—in a while. How could I have overlooked this? Ms. Karp, I realized, wasn’t the only other Moroi who could heal like Lissa. Vladimir could too.
“And all the while, the masses gathered to him, loving him, eager to follow his teachings and hear him preach the word of God. . . .”
Turning, I stared at Lissa. She gave me a puzzled look. “What?”
I didn’t get a chance to elaborate—I don’t even know if I could have formed the words—because I was whisked back to my prison almost as soon as I stood up at the end of the service.
Back in my room, I went online to research St. Vladimir but turned up nothing useful. Damn it. Mason had skimmed the books in the library and said there was little there. What did that leave me with? I had no way of learning more about that dusty old saint.
Or did I? What had Christian said that first day with Lissa?
Over there, we have an old box full of the writings of the blessed and crazy St. Vladimir.
The storage room above the chapel. It had the writings. Christian had pointed them out. I needed to look at them, but how? I couldn’t ask the priest. How would he react if he found out students were going up there? It’d put an end to Christian’s lair. But maybe . . . maybe Christian himself could help. It was Sunday, though, and I wouldn’t see him until tomorrow afternoon. Even then, I didn’t know if I’d get a chance to talk to him alone.
While heading out to practice later, I stopped in the dorm’s kitchen to grab a granola bar. As I did, I passed a couple of novice guys, Miles and Anthony. Miles whistled when he saw me.
“How’s it been going, Rose? You getting lonely? Want some company?”
Anthony laughed. “I can’t bite you, but I can give you something else you want.”
I had to pass through the doorway they stood in to get outside. Glaring, I pushed past, but Miles caught me around the waist, his hand sliding down to my butt.
“Get your hands off my ass before I break your face,” I told him, jerking away. In doing so, I only bumped into Anthony.
“Come on,” Anthony said, “I thought you didn’t have a problem taking on two guys at the same time.”
A new voice spoke up. “If you guys don’t walk away right now, I’ll take both of you on.” Mason. My hero.
“You’re so full of it, Ashford,” said Miles. He was the bigger of the two and left me to go square off with Mason. Anthony backed off from me, more interested in whether or not there’d be a fight. There was so much testosterone in the air, I felt like I needed a gas mask.
“Are you doing her too?” Miles asked Mason. “You don’t want to share?”
“Say one more word about her, and I’ll rip your head off.”
“Why? She’s just a cheap blood—”
Mason punched him. It didn’t rip Miles’ head off or even cause anything to break or bleed, but it looked like it hurt. His eyes widened, and he lunged toward Mason. The sound of doors opening in the hall caused everyone to freeze. Novices got in a lot of trouble for fighting.
“Probably some guardians coming.” Mason grinned. “You want them to know you were beating up on a girl?”
Miles and Anthony exchanged glances. “Come on,” Anthony said. “Let’s go. We don’t have time for this.”
Miles reluctantly followed. “I’ll find you later, Ashford.”
When they were gone, I turned on Mason. “‘Beat up on a girl’?”
“You’re welcome,” he said drily.
“I didn’t need your help.”
“Sure. You were doing just fine on your own.”
“They caught me off guard, that’s all. I could have dealt with them eventually.”
“Look, don’t take being pissed off at them out on me.”
“I just don’t like being treated like . . . a girl.”
“You are a girl. And I was just trying to help.”
I looked at him and saw the earnestness on his face. He meant well. No point in being a bitch to him when I had so many other people to hate lately.
“Well . . . thanks. Sorry I snapped at you.”
We talked a little bit, and I managed to get him to spill some more school gossip. He had noticed Lissa’s rise in status but didn’t seem to find it strange. As I talked to him, I noticed the adoring look he always got around me spread across his face. It made me sad to have him feel that way about me. Guilty, even.
&
nbsp; How hard would it be, I wondered, to go out with him? He was nice, funny, and reasonably good-looking. We got along. Why did I get caught up in so many messes with other guys when I had a perfectly sweet one here who wanted me? Why couldn’t I just return his feelings?
The answer came to me before I’d even finished asking myself the question. I couldn’t be Mason’s girlfriend because when I imagined someone holding me and whispering dirty things in my ear, he had a Russian accent.
Mason continued watching me admiringly, oblivious to what was going on in my head. And seeing that adoration, I suddenly realized how I could use it to my advantage.
Feeling a little guilty, I shifted my conversation to a more flirty style and watched Mason’s glow increase.
I leaned beside him on the wall so our arms just touched and gave him a lazy smile. “You know, I still don’t approve of your whole hero thing, but you did scare them. That was almost worth it.”
“But you don’t approve?”
I trailed fingers up his arm. “No. I mean, it’s hot in principle but not in practice.”
He laughed. “The hell it isn’t.” He caught hold of my hand and gave me a knowing look. “Sometimes you need to be saved. I think you like being saved sometimes and just can’t admit it.”
“And I think you get off on saving people and just can’t admit it.”
“I don’t think you know what gets me off. Saving damsels like you is just the honorable thing to do,” he declared loftily.
I repressed the urge to smack him over the use of damsels. “Then prove it. Do me a favor just because it’s ‘the right thing to do.’”
“Sure,” he said immediately. “Name it.”
“I need you to get a message to Christian Ozera.”
His eagerness faltered. “What the—? You aren’t serious.”
“Yes. Completely.”
“Rose . . . I can’t talk to him. You know that.”
“I thought you said you’d help. I thought you said helping ‘damsels’ is the honorable thing to do.”
“I don’t really see how honor’s involved here.” I gave him the most smoldering look I could manage. He caved. “What do you want me to tell him?”
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