Last Sacrifice (6)

by Richelle Mead

  That actually didnʹt weird me out so much. I mean, donʹt get me wrong. Everything going on here was completely insane. But, reasonably speaking, if I was actually watching my own funeral, it made sense that I would have died protecting her.

  Lissa didnʹt share my feelings. The news was a slap in the face to her. She suddenly became aware of a horrible empty feeling in her chest, like part of her was gone. The bond only worked one way, yet Robert had sworn losing his bondmate had left him in agony. Lissa understood it now, that terrible, lonely ache. She was missing something sheʹd never even known sheʹd had. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

  This is a dream, she told herself. Thatʹs all. But sheʹd never had a spirit dream like this. Her experiences had always been with Adrian, and the dreams had felt like telephone calls.

  When the mourners dispersed from the graveyard, Lissa felt a hand touch her shoulder. Christian. She threw herself gratefully into his arms, trying hard to hold back sobs. He felt real and solid. Safe. ʺHow did this happen?ʺ she asked. ʺHow could it have happened?ʺ

  Christian released her, his crystal-blue eyes more serious and sorrowful than Iʹd ever seen. ʺYou know how. Those Strigoi were trying to kill you. She sacrificed herself to save you.ʺ

  Lissa had no memory of this, but it didnʹt matter. ʺI canʹt . . . I canʹt believe this is happening.ʺ That agonizing emptiness grew within her.

  ʺI have more bad news,ʺ said Christian.

  She stared in astonishment. ʺHow could this get any worse?ʺ

  ʺIʹm leaving.ʺ

  ʺLeaving . . . what? Court?ʺ

  ʺYes. Leaving everything.ʺ The sadness on his face grew. ʺLeaving you.ʺ

  Her jaw nearly dropped. ʺWhat . . . whatʹs wrong? What did I do?ʺ

  ʺNothing.ʺ He squeezed her hand and let it go. ʺI love you. Iʹll always love you. But you are who you are. Youʹre the last Dragomir. Thereʹll always be something taking you away . . . Iʹd just get in your way. You need to rebuild your family. Iʹm not the one you need.ʺ

  ʺOf course you are! You are the only one! The only one I want to build my future with.ʺ

  ʺYou say that now, but just wait. There are better choices. You heard Adrianʹs joke. ‘Little Dragomirsʹ? When youʹre ready for kids in a few years, youʹre going to need a bunch. The Dragomirs need to be solid again. And me? Iʹm not responsible enough to handle that.ʺ

  ʺYouʹd be a great father,ʺ she argued.

  ʺYeah,ʺ he scoffed, ʺand Iʹd be a big asset to you too—the princess married to the guy from the Strigoi family.ʺ

  ʺI donʹt care about any of that, and you know it!ʺ She clutched at his shirt, forcing him to look at her. ʺI love you. I want you to be part of my life. None of this makes sense. Are you scared? Is that it? Are you scared of the weight of my family name?ʺ

  He averted his eyes. ʺLetʹs just say itʹs not an easy name to carry.ʺ

  She shook him. ʺI donʹt believe you! Youʹre not afraid of anything! You never back down.ʺ

  ʺIʹm backing down now.ʺ He gently removed himself from her. ʺI really do love you. Thatʹs why Iʹm doing this. Itʹs for the best.ʺ

  ʺBut you canʹt . . .ʺ Lissa gestured toward my grave, but he was already walking away. ʺYou canʹt! Sheʹs gone. If youʹre gone too, thereʹll be no one . . .ʺ

  But Christian was gone, disappearing into fog that hadnʹt been there minutes ago. Lissa was left with only my tombstone for company. And for the first time in her life, she was really and truly alone. She had felt alone when her family died, but Iʹd been her anchor, always at her back, protecting her. When Christian had come along, he too had kept the loneliness away, filling her heart with love.

  But now . . . now we were both gone. Her family was gone. That hole inside threatened to consume her, and it was more than just the loss of the bond. Being alone is a terrible, terrible thing. Thereʹs no one to run to, no one to confide in, no one who cares what happens to you. Sheʹd been alone in the woods, but that was nothing like this. Nothing like it at all.

  Staring around, she wished she could go sink into my grave and end her torment. No . . . wait. She really could end it. Say ʺstop,ʺ the old woman had said. That was all it took to stop this pain. This was a spirit dream, right? True, it was more realistic and all-consuming than any sheʹd ever faced, but in the end, all dreamers woke up. One word, and this would become a fading nightmare.

  Staring around at the empty Court, she almost said the word. But . . . did she want to end things? Sheʹd vowed to fight through these trials. Would she give up over a dream? A dream about being alone? It seemed like such a minor thing, but that cold truth hit her again: Iʹve never been alone. She didnʹt know if she could carry on by herself, but then, she realized that if this wasnʹt a dream—and dear God, did it feel real—there was no magic ʺstopʺ in real life. If she couldnʹt deal with loneliness in a dream, she never would be able to while waking. And as much as it scared her, she decided she would not back down from this. Something urged her toward the fog, and she walked toward it—alone.

  The fog should have led her into the churchʹs garden. Instead, the world rematerialized and she found herself in a Council session. It was an open one, with a Moroi audience watching. Unlike usual, Lissa didnʹt sit with the audience. She was at the Councilʹs table, with its thirteen chairs. She sat in the Dragomir seat. The middle chair, the monarchʹs chair, was occupied by Ariana Szelsky. Definitely a dream, some wry part of her thought. She had a Council spot and Ariana was queen. Too good to be true.

  Like always, the Council was in a heated debate, and the topic was familiar: the age decree. Some Council members argued that it was immoral. Others argued that the Strigoi threat was too great. Desperate times called for desperate actions, those people said.

  Ariana peered down the table at Lissa. ʺWhat does the Dragomir family think?ʺ Ariana was neither as kind as sheʹd been in the van nor as hostile as Tatiana had been. Ariana was neutral, a queen running a Council and gathering the information she needed. Every set of eyes in the room turned toward Lissa.

  For some reason, every coherent idea had fled out of her head. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. What did she think? What was her opinion of the age decree? She desperately tried to dredge up an answer.

  ʺI . . . I think itʹs bad.ʺ

  Lee Szelsky, who must have taken the family spot when Ariana became queen, snorted in disgust. ʺCan you elaborate, princess?ʺ

  Lissa swallowed. ʺLowering the guardian age isnʹt the way to protect us. We need . . . we need to learn to protect ourselves too.ʺ

  Her words were met with more contempt and shock. ʺAnd pray tell,ʺ said Howard Zeklos, ʺhow do you plan to do that? Whatʹs your proposal? Mandatory training for all ages? Start a program in the schools?ʺ

  Again Lissa groped for words. What was the plan? She and Tasha had discussed it lots of times, strategizing this very issue of how to implement training. Tasha had practically pounded those details into her head in the hopes Lissa could make her voice heard. Here she was now, representing her family on the Council, with the chance to change things and improve Moroi life. All she had to do was explain herself. So many were counting on her, so many waiting to hear the words she felt so passionately about. But what were they? Why couldnʹt Lissa remember? She must have taken too long to answer because Howard threw his hands up in disgust.

  ʺI knew it. We were idiots to let a little girl on this Council. She has nothing useful to offer. The Dragomirs are gone. Theyʹve died with her, and we need to accept that.ʺ

  Theyʹve died with her. The pressure of being the last of her line had weighed on Lissa since the moment a doctor had told her that her parents and brother had died. The last of a line that had empowered the Moroi and produced some of the greatest kings and queens. Sheʹd vowed to herself over and over that she wouldnʹt disappoint that lineage, that she would see her familyʹs pride restored. And now it was all falling apart.

  Even Ariana, whom Lissa had considered a supporter, looked disappointed. The audie
nce began to jeer, echoing the call of removing this tongue-tied child from the Council. They yelled for her to leave. Then, worse still: ʺThe dragon is dead! The dragon is dead!ʺ

  Lissa almost tried again to make her speech, but then something made her look behind her. There, the twelve family seals hung on the wall. A man had appeared out of nowhere and was taking down the Dragomirʹs crest, with its dragon and Romanian inscription. Lissaʹs heart sank as the shouts in the room became louder and her humiliation grew. She rose, wanting to run out of there and hide from the disgrace. Instead, her feet took her to the wall with its seals. With more strength than she thought herself capable of possessing, she jerked the dragon seal away from the man.

  ʺNo!ʺ she yelled. She turned her gaze to the audience and held up the seal, challenging any of them to come take it from her or deny her her rightful place on the Council. ʺThis. Is. Mine. Do you hear me? This is mine!ʺ

  She would never know if they heard because they disappeared, just like the graveyard. Silence fell. She now sat in one of the medical examining rooms back at St. Vladimirʹs. The familiar details were oddly comforting: the sink with its orange hand soap, the neatly labeled cupboards and drawers, and even the informative health posters on the walls. STUDENTS: PRACTICE SAFE SEX!

  Equally welcome was the schoolʹs resident physician: Dr. Olendzki. The doctor wasnʹt alone. Standing around Lissa—who sat on top of an examination bed—were a therapist named Deirdre and . . . me. Seeing myself there was pretty wacky, but after the funeral, I was just starting to roll with all of this.

  A surprising mix of feelings raced through Lissa, feelings out of her control. Happiness to see us. Despair at life. Confusion. Suspicion. She couldnʹt seem to get a hold of one emotion or thought. It was a very different feeling from the Council, when she just hadnʹt been able to explain herself. Her mind had been orderly—sheʹd just lost track of her point. Here, there was nothing to keep track of. She was a mental mess.

  ʺDo you understand?ʺ asked Dr. Olendzki. Lissa suspected the doctor had already asked this question. ʺItʹs beyond what we can control. Medication no longer works.ʺ

  ʺBelieve me, we donʹt want you hurting yourself. But now that others are at risk . . . well, you understand why we have to take action.ʺ This was Deirdre. Iʹd always thought of her as smug, particularly since her therapeutic method involved answering questions with questions. There was no sly humor now. Deirdre was deadly earnest.

  None of their words made sense to Lissa, but the hurting yourself part triggered something in her. She looked down at her arms. They were bare . . . and marred with cuts. The cuts she used to make when the pressure of spirit grew too great. Theyʹd been her only outlet, a horrible type of release. Studying them now, Lissa saw the cuts were bigger and deeper than before. The kinds of cuts that danced with suicide. She looked back up.

  ʺWho . . . who did I hurt?ʺ

  ʺYou donʹt remember?ʺ asked Dr. Olendzki.

  Lissa shook her head, looking desperately from face to face, seeking answers. Her gaze fell on me, and my face was as dark and somber as Deirdreʹs. ʺItʹs okay, Liss,ʺ I said. ʺItʹs all going to be okay.ʺ

  I wasnʹt surprised at that. Naturally, it was what I would say. I would always reassure Lissa. I would always take care of her.

  ʺItʹs not important,ʺ said Deirdre, voice soft and soothing. ʺWhatʹs important is no one else ever gets hurt. You donʹt want to hurt anyone, do you?ʺ

  Of course Lissa didnʹt, but her troubled mind shifted elsewhere. ʺDonʹt talk to me like a child!ʺ The loudness of her voice filled the room.

  ʺI didnʹt mean to,ʺ said Deirdre, the paragon of patience. ʺWe just want to help you. We want you to be safe.ʺ

  Paranoia rose to the forefront of Lissaʹs emotions. Nowhere was safe. She was certain about that . . . but nothing else. Except maybe something about a dream. A dream, a dream . . .

  ʺTheyʹll be able to take care of you in Tarasov,ʺ explained Dr. Olendzki. ʺTheyʹll make sure youʹre comfortable.ʺ

  ʺTarasov?ʺ Lissa and I spoke in unison. This other Rose clenched her fists and glared. Again, a typical reaction for me.

  ʺShe is not going to that place,ʺ growled Rose.

  ʺDo you think we want to do this?ʺ asked Deirdre. It was the first time Iʹd really seen her cool façade crumble. ʺWe donʹt. But the spirit . . . what itʹs doing . . . we have no choice . . .ʺ

  Images of our trip to Tarasov flashed through Lissaʹs mind. The cold, cold corridors. The moans. The tiny cells. She remembered seeing the psychiatric ward, the section other spirit users were locked up in. Locked up indefinitely.

  ʺNo!ʺ she cried, jumping up from the table. ʺDonʹt send me to Tarasov!ʺ She looked around for escape. The women stood between her and the door. Lissa couldnʹt run. What magic could she use? Surely there was something. Her mind touched spirit, as she rifled for a spell.

  Other-Rose grabbed a hold of her hand, likely because sheʹd felt the stirrings of spirit and wanted to stop Lissa. ʺThereʹs another way,ʺ my alter ego told Deirdre and Dr. Olendzki. ʺI can pull it from her. I can pull it all from her, like Anna did for St. Vladimir. I can take away the darkness and instability. Lissa will be sane again.ʺ

  Everyone stared at me. Well, the other me.

  ʺBut then itʹll be in you, right?ʺ asked Dr. Olendzki. ʺIt wonʹt disappear.ʺ

  ʺI donʹt care,ʺ I told them stubbornly. ʺIʹll go to Tarasov. Donʹt send her. I can do it as long as she needs me to.ʺ

  Lissa watched me, scarcely believing what she heard. Her chaotic thoughts turned joyous. Yes! Escape. She wouldnʹt go crazy. She wouldnʹt go to Tarasov. Then, somewhere in the jumble of her memories . . .

  ʺAnna committed suicide,ʺ murmured Lissa. Her grasp on reality was still tenuous, but that sobering thought was enough to momentarily calm her racing mind. ʺShe went crazy from helping St. Vladimir.ʺ

  My other self refused to look at Lissa. ʺItʹs just a story. Iʹll take the darkness. Send me.ʺ

  Lissa didnʹt know what to do or think. She didnʹt want to go to Tarasov. That prison gave her nightmares. And here I was, offering her escape, offering to save her like I always did. Lissa wanted that. She wanted to be saved. She didnʹt want to go insane like all the other spirit users. If she accepted my offer, she would be free.

  Yet . . . on the edge or not, she cared about me too much. I had made too many sacrifices for her. How could she let me do this? What kind of friend would she be, to condemn me to that life? Tarasov scared Lissa. A life in a cage scared Lissa. But me facing that scared her even more.

  There was no good outcome here. She wished it would all just go away. Maybe if she just closed her eyes . . . wait. She remembered again. The dream. She was in a spirit dream. All she had to do was wake up.

  Say ʺstop.ʺ

  It was easier this time. Saying that word was the simple way out, the perfect solution. No Tarasov for either of us, right? Then, she felt a lightening of the pressure on her mind, a stilling of those chaotic feelings. Her eyes widened as she realized I had already started pulling away the darkness. ʺStopʺ was forgotten.

  ʺNo!ʺ Spirit burned through her, and she threw up a wall in the bond, blocking me from her.

  ʺWhat are you doing?ʺ my other self asked.

  ʺSaving you,ʺ said Lissa. ʺSaving myself.ʺ She turned to Dr. Olendzki and Deirdre. ʺI understand what you have to do. Itʹs okay. Take me to Tarasov. Take me where I wonʹt hurt anyone else.ʺ Tarasov. A place where real nightmares walked the halls. She braced herself as the office faded away, ready for the next part of the dream: a cold stone cell, with chains on the walls and people wailing down the halls....

  But when the world put itself back together, there was no Tarasov. There was an empty room with an old woman and a silver chalice. Lissa looked around. Her heart was racing, and her sense of time was off. The things sheʹd seen had lasted an eternity. Yet, simultaneously, it felt like only a couple seconds had passed since she and the old woman had conversed.

 
ʺWhat . . . what was that?ʺ asked Lissa. Her mouth was dry, and the water sounded good now . . . but the chalice was empty.

  ʺYour fear,ʺ said the old woman, eyes twinkling. ʺAll your fears, laid out neatly in a row.ʺ

  Lissa placed the chalice on the table with shaking hands. ʺIt was awful. It was spirit, but it . . . it wasnʹt anything Iʹve seen before. It invaded my mind, rifling through it. It was so real. There were times I believed it was real.ʺ

  ʺBut you didnʹt stop it.ʺ

  Lissa frowned, thinking of how close she had come. ʺNo.ʺ

  The old woman smiled and said nothing.

  ʺAm I . . . am I done?ʺ asked Lissa, confused. ʺCan I go?ʺ

  The old woman nodded. Lissa stood and glanced between the two doors, the one sheʹd entered through and the plain one in the back. Still in shock, Lissa automatically turned toward the door sheʹd come through. She didnʹt really want to see those people lined up in the hall again but swore sheʹd put on a good princess face. Besides, thereʹd only been a fraction here compared to the group whoʹd greeted her after the last test. Her steps were halted when the old woman spoke again and pointed toward the back of the room.

  ʺNo. Thatʹs for those who fail. You go out this door.ʺ

  Lissa turned and approached the plain door. It looked like it led outdoors, which was probably just as well. Peace and quiet. She felt like she should say something to her companion but didnʹt know what. So, she simply turned the knob and stepped outside . . .

  Into a crowd cheering for the dragon.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ʺYOUʹRE AWFULLY HAPPY.ʺ

  I blinked and found Sonya staring at me. The CR-V and smooth stretch of I-75 hummed around us, the outside revealing little except Midwestern plains and trees. Sonya didnʹt seem quite as creepy crazy as she had back at school or even at her house. Mostly, she still just seemed scattered and confused, which was to be expected. I hesitated before answering but finally decided there was no reason to hold back.