"Actually," said my mom casually. "I'd like to come along. I also have a number of questions—especially about when you two were back at St. Vladimir's."
"Don't you guys have somewhere to be?" I asked hastily. "We're about to start."
That, at least, was true. Nearly everyone was in formation, and the crowd was quieting. "Of course," said Abe. To my astonishment, he brushed a kiss over my forehead before stepping away. "I'm glad you're back." Then, with a wink, he said to Dimitri: "Looking forward to our chat."
"Run," I said when they were gone. "If you slip out now, maybe they won't notice. Go back to Siberia."
"Actually," said Dimitri, "I'm pretty sure Abe would notice. Don't worry, Roza. I'm not afraid. I'll take whatever heat they give me over being with you. It's worth it."
"You really are the bravest man I know," I told him.
He smiled, his eyes falling on a small commotion at the room's entrance. "Looks like she's ready," he murmured.
"I hope I am," I whispered back.
In true grandiose fashion, a herald brought the room to attention. Perfect silence fell. You couldn't even hear breathing.
The herald stepped back from the door. "Princess Vasilisa Sabina Rhea Dragomir."
Lissa entered, and even though I'd seen her less than half an hour ago, I still caught my breath. She was wearing a formal gown but had once again dodged sleeves. No doubt the dress-maker had had a fit. The dress was floor-length, with a skirt of silk and chiffon layers that moved and fluttered around Lissa as she strode forward. The fabric was the same jade as her eyes, as was the dress's top, with a halter collar covered in emeralds that gave the illusion of a necklace. Matching emeralds covered the dress's belt, and bracelets completed the display. Her hair was worn long, brushed out to gleaming, platinum perfection, an aura unto itself.
Christian walked beside her, a sharp contrast with his black hair and dark suit. Customs were being modified significantly today since a family member normally would have escorted Lissa, but . . . well, she was kind of running out. Even I had to admit he looked amazing, and his pride and love for her shone on his face—no matter what troubled feelings stirred within him over Tasha. Lord Ozera, I remembered. I had a feeling that title would become more and more important now. He led Lissa to the base of the throne and then joined the Ozera delegation in the crowd.
Ekaterina made a small gesture to a large satin pillow on the floor in front of the steps. "Kneel."
There was the briefest hesitation on Lissa's part, one I think only I noticed. Even without the bond, I was so attuned to her mood and tiniest actions that I could pick up on these things. Her eyes had gone to Jill. Lissa's expression didn't change, and it was so strange not to know her feelings. I could make some educated guesses. Uncertainty. Confusion.
Again—the pause was only a moment long. Lissa knelt, artfully spreading her skirts around her as she did. Ekaterina had always seemed so frail and wizened in that testing room, but as she stood there with the ancient Moroi coronation book, I could sense a power still within the former queen.
The book was in Romanian, but Ekaterina translated it effortlessly as she read aloud, beginning with a speech about what was expected of a monarch and then going to the vows Lissa had to swear to.
"Will you serve?"
"Will you protect your people?"
"Will you be just?"
There were twelve in all, and Lissa had to answer "I will" three times to each one: in English, in Russian, and in Romanian. Not having the bond to confirm her feelings was still so strange, but I could see on her face that she meant every word she said. When that part finished, Ekaterina cued Jill forward. Since I'd last noticed the girl, someone had given her the crown to hold. It had been custom-made for Lissa, a masterpiece of white and yellow gold intertwined with emeralds and diamonds. It complemented her outfit beautifully, and, I noticed with a start, Jill did too.
Another tradition was that the monarch was crowned by a family member, and this was what Jill had been saved for. I could see her hands tremble as she laid the bejeweled wonder on her sister's head, and their gazes met briefly. A flash of troubled emotions swirled in Lissa's eyes once more, gone quickly as Jill stepped back and the weight of the ceremony took precedence.
Ekaterina held out her hand to Lissa. "Rise," she said. "You will never kneel to anyone again." Holding Lissa's hand, Ekaterina turned so that they both faced the rest of us in the room. With a voice startling for her small body, Ekaterina declared, "Queen Vasilisa Sabina Rhea Dragomir, first of her name."
Everyone in the room—except Ekaterina—dropped to their knees, heads bowed. Only a few seconds passed before Lissa said, "Rise." I'd been told this was at the monarch's discretion. Some new kings and queens enjoyed making others kneel for a long time.
Paperwork followed, which we all watched dutifully as well. Basically, it was Lissa signing to say she'd been made queen while Ekaterina and a couple witnesses signed that they'd seen Lissa made queen. Three copies were on the ornate paper Moroi royalty so loved. One was plain white letterhead, which would go to the Alchemists.
When the signing was done, Lissa took her place on the throne, and seeing her ascend those stairs was breathtaking, an image that would stay with me for the rest of my life. The room broke out into cheers and clapping as she settled into the ornate chair. Even the guardians, who normally stayed so deadly serious, joined in the applause and celebration. Lissa smiled at everyone, hiding whatever anxiety she felt.
She scanned the room, and her grin broadened when she saw Christian. She then sought me out. Her smile for him had been affectionate; mine was a bit humorous. I smiled back, wondering what she would say to me if she could.
"What's so funny?" asked Dimitri, looking down at me with amusement.
"I'm just thinking about what Lissa would say if we still had the bond."
In a very bad breach of guardian protocol, he caught a hold of my hand and pulled me toward him. "And?" he asked, wrapping me in an embrace.
"I think she'd ask, ‘What have we gotten ourselves into?'"
"What's the answer?" His warmth was all around me, as was his love, and again, I felt that completeness. I had that missing piece of my world back. The soul that complemented mine. My match. My equal. Not only that, I had my life back—my own life. I would protect Lissa, I would serve, but I was finally my own person.
"I don't know," I said, leaning against his chest. "But I think it's going to be good."
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, thank you to all of the loyal and enthusiastic readers around the world who have accompanied Rose and me throughout the series. I couldn't have made this journey without you and hope you'll continue to enjoy the many Moroi and dhampir adventures to come.
Thank you also to all of the friends and family who have supported me—especially my husband, who continually amazes me with his patience, love, and ability to live with the ups and downs of a "creative type." A special shout-out also goes to Jesse McGatha for creating the forest riddle, something I could never have come up with, let alone solve.
And as always, I'm grateful to the publishing folks who work behind the scenes to make these books happen: Jim McCarthy—my agent, occasional therapist, and non-stop advocate; Lauren Abramo, who keeps finding more countries I've never heard of to send Rose to; Jessica Rothenberg and Ben Schrank, editors extraordinaire whom I'm pretty sure forego food and sleep to perfect these books; and publicist Casey McIntyre, who organizes my tours and interviews, with great care to arrange them around my hair appointments.
A final thanks to all the others who work on this series at Penguin Books, Dystel & Goderich Literary Management, and my international publishers. There are far too many of you to list, but all of you are essential in telling Rose's story. Thank you.
KEEP READING FOR A SNEAK PEEK at Bloodlines, the first book in the Richelle Mead series set in the Vampire Academy world . . .
Visit www.BloodlinesSeries.com for exclusive series
extras!
CHAPTER 1
I COULDN’T BREATHE.
There was a hand covering my mouth and another shaking my shoulder, startling me out of a heavy sleep. A thousand frantic thoughts dashed through my mind in the space of a single heartbeat. It was happening. My worst nightmare was coming true.
They’re here! They’ve come for me!
My eyes blinked, staring wildly around the dark room until my father’s face came into focus. I stilled my thrashing, thoroughly confused. He let go and stepped back to regard me coldly. I sat up in the bed, my heart still pounding.
“Dad?”
“Sydney. You wouldn’t wake up.”
Naturally, that was his only apology for scaring me to death.
“You need to get dressed and make yourself presentable,” he continued. “Quickly and quietly. Meet me downstairs in the study.”
I felt my eyes widen but didn’t hesitate with a response. There was only one acceptable answer. “Yes, sir. Of course.”
“I’ll go wake your sister.” He turned for the door, and I leapt out of bed.
“Zoe?” I exclaimed. “What do you need her for?”
“Shh,” he chastised. “Hurry up and get ready. And remember—be quiet. Don’t wake your mother.”
He shut the door without another word, leaving me staring. The panic that had only just subsided began to surge within me again. What did he need Zoe for? A late-night wake-up meant Alchemist business, and she had nothing to do with that. Technically, neither did I anymore, not since I’d been put on indefinite suspension for bad behavior this summer. What if that’s what this was about? What if I was finally being taken to a re-education center and Zoe was replacing me?
For a moment, the world swam around me, and I caught hold of my bed to steady myself. Re-education centers. They were the stuff of nightmares for young Alchemists like me, mysterious places where those who grew too close to vampires were dragged off to learn the errors of their ways. What exactly went on there was a secret, one I never wanted to find out. I was pretty sure “re-education” was a nice way of saying “brainwashing.” I’d only ever seen one person who had come back, and honestly, he’d seemed like half a person after that. There’d been an almost zombielike quality to him, and I didn’t even want to think about what they might have done to make him that way.
My father’s urging to hurry up echoed back through my mind, and I tried to shake off my fears. Remembering his other warning, I also made sure I moved silently. My mother was a light sleeper. Normally, it wouldn’t matter if she caught us going off on Alchemist errands, but lately, she hadn’t been feeling so kindly toward her husband’s (and daughter’s) employers. Ever since angry Alchemists had deposited me on my parents’ doorstep last month, this household had held all the warmth of a prison camp. Terrible arguments had gone down between my parents, and my sister Zoe and I often found ourselves tiptoeing around.
Zoe.
Why does he need Zoe?
The question burned through me as I scurried to get ready. I knew what “presentable” meant. Throwing on jeans and a T-shirt was out of the question. Instead, I tugged on gray slacks and a crisp, white button-down shirt. A darker, charcoal gray cardigan went over it, which I cinched neatly at my waist with a black belt. A small gold cross—the one I always wore around my neck—was the only ornamentation I ever bothered with.
My hair was a slightly bigger problem. Even after only two hours of sleep, it was already going in every direction. I smoothed it down as best I could and then coated it with a thick layer of hair spray in the hopes that it would get me through whatever was to come. A light dusting of powder was the only makeup I put on. I had no time for anything more.
The entire process took me all of six minutes, which might have been a new record for me. I sprinted down the stairs in perfect silence, careful, again, to avoid waking my mother. The living room was dark, but light spilled out past the not-quite-shut door of my father’s study. Taking that as an invitation, I pushed the door open and slipped inside. A hushed conversation stopped at my entrance. My father eyed me from head to toe and showed his approval at my appearance in the way he knew best: by simply withholding criticism.
“Sydney,” he said brusquely. “I believe you know Donna Stanton.”
The formidable Alchemist stood near the window, arms crossed, looking as tough and lean as I remembered. I’d spent a lot of time with Stanton recently, though I would hardly say we were friends—especially since certain actions of mine had ended up putting the two of us under a sort of “vampire house arrest.” If she harbored any resentment toward me, she didn’t show it, though. She nodded to me in polite greeting, her face all business.
Three other Alchemists were there as well, all men. They were introduced to me as Barnes, Michaelson, and Horowitz. Barnes and Michaelson were my father and Stanton’s age. Horowitz was younger, mid-twenties, and was setting up a tattooist’s tools. All of them were dressed like me, wearing business casual clothing in nondescript colors. Our goal was always to look nice but not attract notice. The Alchemists had been playing Men in Black for centuries, long before humans dreamed of life on other worlds. When the light hit their faces the right way, each Alchemist displayed a lily tattoo identical to mine.
Again, my unease grew. Was this some kind of interrogation? An assessment to see if my decision to help a renegade half-vampire girl meant my loyalties had changed? I crossed my arms over my chest and schooled my face to neutrality, hoping I looked cool and confident. If I still had a chance to plead my case, I intended to present a solid one.
Before anyone could utter another word, Zoe entered. She shut the door behind her and peered around in terror, her eyes wide. Our father’s study was huge—he’d built an addition on to our house for it—and it easily held all the occupants. But as I watched my sister take in the scene, I knew she felt stifled and trapped. I met her eyes and tried to send a silent message of sympathy. It must have worked because she scurried to my side, looking only fractionally less afraid.
“Zoe,” said my father. He let her name hang in the air in this way he had, making it clear to both of us that he was disappointed. I could immediately guess why. She wore jeans and an old sweatshirt and had her brown hair in two cute but sloppy braids. By any other person’s standards, she would have been “presentable”—but not by his. I felt her cower against me, and I tried to make myself taller and more protective. After making sure his condemnation was felt, our father introduced Zoe to the others. Stanton gave her the same polite nod she’d given me and then turned toward my father.
“I don’t understand, Jared,” said Stanton. “Which one of them are you going to use?”
“Well, that’s the problem,” my father said. “Zoe was requested . . . but I’m not sure she’s ready. In fact, I know she isn’t. She’s only had the most basic of training. But in light of Sydney’s recent . . . experiences . . .”
My mind immediately began to pull the pieces together. First, and most importantly, it seemed I wasn’t going to be sent to a re-education center. Not yet, at least. This was about something else. My earlier suspicion was correct. There was some mission or task afoot, and someone wanted to sub in Zoe because she, unlike certain other members of her family, had no history of betraying the Alchemists. My father was right that she’d only received basic instruction. Our jobs were hereditary, and I had been chosen years ago as the next Alchemist in the Sage family. My older sister, Carly, had been passed over and was now away at college and too old. He’d taught Zoe as backup instead, in the event something happened to me, like a car accident or vampire mauling.
I stepped forward, not knowing what I was going to say until I spoke. The only thing I knew for sure was that I could not let Zoe get sucked into the Alchemists’ schemes. I feared for her safety more than I did going to a re-education center—and I was pretty afraid of that. “I spoke to a committee about my actions after they happened,” I said. “I was under the impression that they unders
tood why I did the things I did. I’m fully qualified to serve in whatever way you need—much more so than my sister. I have real-world experience. I know this job inside and out.”
“A little too much real-world experience, if memory serves,” said Stanton dryly.
“I for one would like to hear these ‘reasons’ again,” said Barnes, using his fingers to make air quotes. “I’m not thrilled about tossing a half-trained girl out there, but I also find it hard to believe someone who aided a vampire criminal is ‘fully qualified to serve.’” More pretentious air quotes.
I smiled back pleasantly, masking my anger. If I showed my true emotions, it wouldn’t help my case. “I understand, sir. But Rose Hathaway was eventually proven innocent of the crime she’d been accused of. So, I wasn’t technically aiding a criminal. My actions eventually helped find the real murderer.”
“Be that as it may, we—and you—didn’t know she was ‘innocent’ at the time,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “But I believed she was.”
Barnes snorted. “And there’s the problem. You should’ve believed what the Alchemists told you, not run off with your own far-fetched theories. At the very least, you should’ve taken what evidence you’d gathered to your superiors.”
Evidence? How could I explain that it wasn’t evidence that had driven me to help Rose so much as a feeling in my gut that she was telling the truth? But that was something I knew they’d never understand. All of us were trained to believe the worst of her kind. Telling them that I had seen truth and honesty in her wouldn’t help my cause here. Telling them that I’d been blackmailed into helping her by another vampire was an even worse explanation. There was only one argument that the Alchemists might possibly be able to comprehend.
“I . . . I didn’t tell anyone because I wanted to get all the credit for it. I was hoping that if I uncovered it, I could get a promotion and a better assignment.”
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