Or . . . wait. An odd idea came to me. No, not so odd, actually. Shady or not, Abe had connections—ones extensive enough to slip a message to Victor Dashkov in prison. Abe had been the one to ask for info about Robert Doru, Victor’s spirit-wielding brother, as a favor to me. When Victor had sent back the message saying he had no reason to help Abe with what he needed, I’d promptly written off my father’s assistance and jumped to my prison-break idea. But now—
“Rosemarie Hathaway!”
It was Alberta who called me, her voice ringing loud and clear. It was like a trumpet, a call to battle. All thoughts of Abe and Adrian—and yes, even Dimitri—vanished from my mind. I think my mother wished me good luck, but the exact wording was lost on me as I strode toward Alberta and the field. Adrenaline surged through me. All my attention was now on what lay ahead: the test that would finally make me a guardian.
TWO
MY TRIALS WERE A BLUR.
You’d think, seeing as they were the most important part of my education at St. Vladimir’s, that I’d remember everything in perfect, crystalline detail. Yet my earlier thoughts were kind of realized. How could these measure up to what I’d already faced? How could these mock fights compare to a mob of Strigoi descending on our school? I’d had to stand against overwhelming odds, not knowing if those I loved were alive or dead. And how could I fear a so-called battle with one of the school’s instructors after having fought Dimitri? He’d been lethal as a dhampir and worse as a Strigoi.
Not that I meant to make light of the trials. They were serious. Novices failed them all the time, and I refused to be one of them. I was attacked on all sides, by guardians who’d been fighting and defending Moroi since before I was born. The arena wasn’t flat, which complicated everything. They’d filled it with contraptions and obstacles, beams and steps that tested my balance—including a bridge that painfully reminded me of that last night I’d seen Dimitri. I’d pushed him after plunging a silver stake into his heart—a stake that had fallen out during his plummet to the river below.
The arena’s bridge was a bit different from the solid wooden one upon which Dimitri and I had fought in Siberia. This one was rickety, a badly constructed path of wooden planks with only rope rails for support. Every step made the entire bridge swing and shake, and holes in the boards showed me where former classmates had (unfortunately for them) discovered weak spots. The test they assigned me on the bridge was probably the worst of all. My goal was to get a “Moroi” away from a group of “Strigoi” that were in pursuit. My Moroi was being played by Daniel, a new guardian who had come with others to the school to replace those killed in the attack. I didn’t know him very well, but for this exercise, he was playing completely docile and helpless—even a little afraid, just as any Moroi I was guarding might have been.
He gave me a little resistance about stepping onto the bridge, and I used my calmest, most coaxing voice to finally get him to walk out ahead of me. Apparently they were testing people skills as well as combat skills. Not far behind us on the course, I knew the guardians acting as Strigoi were approaching.
Daniel stepped out, and I shadowed him, still giving him reassurances while all my senses stayed on alert. The bridge swung wildly, telling me with a jolt that our pursuers had joined us. I glanced back and saw three “Strigoi” coming after us. The guardians playing them were doing a remarkable job—moving with as much dexterity and speed as true Strigoi would. They were going to overtake us if we didn’t get a move on.
“You’re doing great,” I told Daniel. It was hard to keep the right tone in my voice. Screaming at Moroi might put them into shock. Too much gentleness would make them think it wasn’t serious. “And I know you can move faster. We need to keep ahead of them—they’re getting closer. I know you can do this. Come on.”
I must have passed that persuasive part of the test because he did indeed pick up his speed—not quite enough to match that of our pursuers, but it was a start. The bridge shifted crazily again. Daniel yelped convincingly and froze, gripping the rope sides tightly. Ahead of him, I saw another guardian-as-Strigoi waiting on the opposite side of the bridge. I believed his name was Randall, another new instructor. I was sandwiched between him and the group at my back. But Randall stayed still, waiting on the first plank of the bridge so that he could shake it and make it harder for us.
“Keep going,” I urged, my mind spinning. “You can do it.”
“But there’s a Strigoi there! We’re trapped,” Daniel exclaimed.
“Don’t worry. I’ll deal with him. Just move.”
My voice was fierce this time, and Daniel crept forward, pushed on by my command. The next few moments required perfect timing on my part. I had to watch the “Strigoi” on both sides of us and keep Daniel in motion, all the while monitoring where we were on the bridge. When we were almost three quarters of the way across, I hissed, “Drop down on all fours right now! Hurry!”
He obeyed, coming to a halt. I immediately knelt, still speaking in an undertone: “I’m about to shout at you. Ignore it.” In a louder voice, for the benefit of those coming after us, I exclaimed, “What are you doing? We can’t stop!”
Daniel didn’t budge, and I again spoke softly. “Good. See where the ropes connect the base to the rails? Grab them. Grab them as tightly as you can, and do not let go, no matter what happens. Wrap them around your hands if you have to. Do it now!”
He obeyed. The clock was ticking, and I didn’t waste another moment. In one motion, while still crouched, I turned around and hacked at the ropes with a knife I’d been given along with my stake. The blade was sharp, thank God. The guardians running the trial weren’t messing around. It didn’t instantly slice the ropes, but I cut through them so quickly that the “Strigoi” on either side of us didn’t have time to react.
The ropes snapped just as I again reminded Daniel to hold on. The two halves of the bridge swung toward the sides of wooden scaffolding, carried by the weight of the people on them. Well, ours did at least. Daniel and I had been prepared. The three pursuers behind us hadn’t been. Two fell. One just barely managed to catch hold of a plank, slipping a bit before securing his grip. The actual drop was six feet, but I’d been told to regard it as fifty—a distance that would kill me and Daniel if we fell.
Against all odds, he was still clutching the rope. I was hanging on as well, and once the rope and wood were lying flat against the scaffolding’s sides, I began scrambling up it like a ladder. It wasn’t easy climbing over Daniel, but I did it, giving me one more chance to tell him to hang on. Randall, who’d been waiting ahead of us, hadn’t fallen off. He’d had his feet on the bridge when I cut it, though, and had been surprised enough to lose his balance. Quick to recover, he was now shimmying up the ropes, trying to climb up to the solid surface above. He was much closer to it than me, but I just managed to grab his leg and stop him. I jerked him toward me. He maintained his grip on the bridge, and we struggled. I knew I probably couldn’t pull him off, but I was able to keep getting closer. At last, I let go of the knife I’d been holding and managed to get the stake from my belt—something that tested my balance. Randall’s ungainly position gave me a shot at his heart, and I took it.
For the trials, we had blunt-ended stakes, ones that wouldn’t pierce skin but which could be used with enough force to convince our opponents that we knew what we were doing. My alignment was perfect, and Randall, conceding it would have been a killing blow, relinquished his hold and dropped off the bridge.
That left me the painful task of coaxing Daniel to climb up. It took a long time, but again, his behavior wasn’t out of character with how a scared Moroi might behave. I was just grateful he hadn’t decided a real Moroi would have lost his grip and fallen.
After that challenge came many more, but I fought on, never slowing down or letting exhaustion affect me. I slipped into battle mode, my senses focused on basic instincts: fight, dodge, kill.
And while staying tuned to those, I still had to be innovative and
not fall into a lull. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to react to a surprise like the bridge. I managed it all, battling on with no other thoughts beyond accomplishing the tasks before me. I tried not to think of my instructors as people I knew. I treated them like Strigoi. I pulled no punches.
When it finally ended, I almost didn’t realize it. I was simply standing there in the middle of the field with no more attackers coming at me. I was alone. Slowly, I became more aware of the world’s details. Crowds in the stands cheering. A few instructors nodding to each other as they joined in. The pounding of my own heart.
It wasn’t until a grinning Alberta tugged at my arm that I realized it was over. The test I’d waited for my entire life, finished in what felt like a blink of an eye.
“Come on,” she said, wrapping her arm around my shoulder and guiding me toward the exit. “You need to get some water and sit down.”
Dazed, I let her lead me off the field, around which people were still cheering and crying my name. Behind us, I heard some people saying they had to take a break and fix the bridge. She led me back to the waiting area and gently pushed me onto a bench. Someone else sat beside me and handed me a bottle of water. I looked over and saw my mother. She had an expression on her face that I had never seen before: pure, radiant pride.
“That was it?” I asked at last.
She surprised me again with genuinely amused laughter. “That was it?” she repeated. “Rose, you were out there for almost an hour. You blew through that test with flying colors—probably one of the best trials this school’s ever seen.”
“Really? It just seemed . . .” Easy wasn’t quite the right word. “It was a haze, that’s all.”
My mom squeezed my hand. “You were amazing. I’m so, so proud of you.”
The realization of it all truly, truly hit me then, and I felt a smile of my own spreading over my lips. “Now what happens?” I asked.
“Now you become a guardian.”
I’d been tattooed many times, but none of those events came close to the ceremony and fanfare that occurred while getting my promise mark. Before, I’d received molnija marks for kills I’d made in unexpected, tragic circumstances: fighting Strigoi in Spokane, the school attack and rescue—events that were cause for mourning, not celebration. After all those kills, we’d kind of lost count, and while guardian tattoo artists still tried to log every individual kill, they’d finally given me a star-shaped mark that was a fancy way of saying we’d lost count.
Tattooing isn’t a fast process, even if you’re getting a small one, and my entire graduating class had to get them. The ceremony took place in what was usually the Academy’s dining room, a room they were able to remarkably transform into something as grand and elaborate as we’d find at the Royal Court. Spectators—friends, family, guardians—packed the room as Alberta called our names one at a time and read our scores as we approached the tattoo artist. The scores were important. They would be made public and, along with our overall school grades, influence our assignments. Moroi could request certain grads for their guardians. Lissa had requested me, of course, but even the best scores in the world might not compensate for all the black behavioral marks on my record.
There were no Moroi at this ceremony, though, aside from the handful who had been invited as guests by the new graduates. Everyone else gathered was a dhampir: either one of the established guardians or about-to-become-guardians like me. The guests sat in the back, and the senior guardians sat near the front. My classmates and I stood the whole time, maybe as some sort of last test of endurance.
I didn’t mind. I’d changed out of my torn and dirty clothes into simple slacks and a sweater, an outfit that seemed dressy while still retaining a solemn feel. It was a good call because the air in the room was thick with tension, all faces a mix of joy at our success but also anxiety about our new and deadly role in the world. I watched with shining eyes as my friends were called up, surprised and impressed at many of the scores.
Eddie Castile, a close friend, got a particularly high score in one-on-one Moroi protection. I couldn’t help a smile as I watched the tattooist give Eddie his mark. “I wonder how he got his Moroi over the bridge,” I murmured in an undertone. Eddie was pretty resourceful.
Beside me, another friend of mine, Meredith, gave me a puzzled look. “What are you talking about?” Her voice was equally soft.
“When we were chased onto the bridge with a Moroi. Mine was Daniel.” She still looked confused, and I elaborated. “And they put Strigoi on each side?”
“I crossed the bridge,” she whispered, “but it was just me being chased. I took my Moroi through a maze.”
A glare from a nearby classmate shut us up, and I hid my frown. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who’d gone through the trial in a daze. Meredith had her facts screwed up.
When my name was called, I heard a few gasps as Alberta read my scores. I had the highest in the class by far. I was kind of glad she didn’t read my academic grades. They would have totally taken away some of the glory of the rest of my performance. I’d always done well in my combat classes, but math and history . . . well, those were a bit lacking, particularly since I always seemed to be dropping in and out of school.
My hair was pulled tightly into a bun, with every stray wisp held with hairpins so that the artist would have nothing to interfere with his work. I leaned forward to give him a good view and heard him grunt in surprise. With the back of my neck covered in marks, he’d have to be tricky. Usually a new guardian provided a blank canvas. This guy was good, though, and managed to delicately place the promise mark in the center of the nape of my neck after all. The promise mark looked like a long, stretched-out S, with curly ends. He fit it in between the molnija marks, letting it wrap around them like an embrace. The process hurt, but I kept my face blank, refusing to flinch. I was shown the final results in a mirror before he covered it up with a bandage so it would heal cleanly.
After that, I rejoined my classmates and watched as the rest of them received their tattoos. It meant standing for another two hours, but I didn’t mind. My brain was still reeling with everything that had happened today. I was a guardian. A real, honest-to-goodness guardian. And with that thought came questions. What would happen now? Would my scores be good enough to erase my record of bad behavior? Would I be Lissa’s guardian? And what about Victor? What about Dimitri?
I shifted uneasily as the full impact of the guardian ceremony hit me. This wasn’t just about Dimitri and Victor. This was about me—about the rest of my life. School was over. I would no longer have teachers tracking my every move or correcting me when I made mistakes. All decisions would be on me when I was out protecting someone. Moroi and younger dhampirs would look to me as the authority. And I would no longer have the luxury of practicing combat one minute and lounging in my room the next. There were no clear-cut classes anymore. I would be on duty all the time. The thought was daunting, the pressure almost too great. I’d always equated graduation with freedom. Now I wasn’t so sure. What new shape was my life going to take? Who would decide? And how could I reach Victor if I was assigned to guard anyone besides Lissa?
Across the room, I met Lissa’s eyes among the audience. They burned with a pride that matched my mother’s, and she grinned when our gazes met.
Get that look off your face, she chastised through the bond. You shouldn’t look that anxious, not today. You need to celebrate.
I knew she was right. I could handle what was to come. My worries, which were many, could wait one more day—particularly since the exuberant mood of my friends and family ensured that I would celebrate. Abe, with that influence he always seemed to wield, had secured a small banquet room and thrown a party for me that seemed more suited to a royal debutante, not some lowly, reckless dhampir.
Before the event, I changed yet again. Prettier party clothes now seemed more appropriate than the formal molnija ceremony outfit. I put on a short-sleeved, emerald green wrap dress and hung my nazar around my neck, ev
en though it didn’t match. The nazar was a small pendant that looked like an eye, with different shades of blue circling it. In Turkey, where Abe came from, it was believed to offer protection. He’d given it to my mother years ago, and she’d in turn given it to me.
By the time I’d put on makeup and brushed out my tangled hair into long, dark waves (because my tattoo bandages didn’t go with the dress at all), I hardly looked like someone capable of fighting monsters or even throwing a punch. No—that wasn’t quite true, I realized a moment later. Staring into the mirror, I was surprised to see a haunted look in my brown eyes. There was pain there, pain and loss that even the nicest dress and makeup couldn’t hide.
I ignored it and set off for the party, promptly running into Adrian as soon as I stepped outside my dorm. Without a word, he swept me into his arms and smothered me with a kiss. I was totally caught off guard. It figured. Undead creatures didn’t surprise me, but one flippant royal Moroi could.
And it was quite the kiss, one that I almost felt guilty about sinking into. I’d had concerns when first dating Adrian, but many of them had disappeared over time. After watching him flirt shamelessly and take nothing seriously for so long, I’d never expected to see such devotion from him in our relationship. I also hadn’t expected to find my feelings for him growing—which seemed so contradictory considering I still loved Dimitri and was concocting impossible ways to save him.
I laughed when Adrian set me down. Nearby, a few younger Moroi had stopped to watch us. Moroi dating dhampirs wasn’t super uncommon at our age, but a notorious dhampir dating the Moroi queen’s great-nephew? That was kind of out there—especially since it was widely known how much Queen Tatiana hated me. There had been few witnesses to my last meeting with her, when she’d screamed at me to stay away from Adrian, but word of that kind of thing always gets around.
“Like the show?” I asked our voyeurs. Realizing they’d been busted, the Moroi kids hastily continued on their way. I turned back to Adrian and smiled. “What was that? It was kind of a big kiss to throw on me in public.”
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