Spirit Bound va-5

by Richelle Mead

  I shrugged and sank down beside Ambrose. "I don't know. I'm only here because Ambrose talked me into it."

  "She didn't think your last reading was very good," he said.

  "Hey!" I shot him a chastising look. "That's not exactly what I said."

  Last time, Lissa and Dimitri had been with me. Rhonda's tarot cards had shown Lissa crowned with power and light–no surprise. Rhonda had said Dimitri would lose what he valued most, and he had: his soul. And me? Rhonda had bluntly told me that I'd kill the undead. I'd scoffed at that, knowing I had a lifetime of Strigoi-killing ahead of me. Now I wondered if "undead" meant the Strigoi part of Dimitri. Even if I hadn't driven the stake, I'd certainly played a major role.

  "Maybe another reading would help the other one make more sense?" she offered.

  My mind was putting together another fraud psychic joke, which was why it was so astonishing when my mouth said, "That's the problem. The other one did make sense. I'm afraid . . . I'm afraid of what else the cards will show."

  "The cards don't make the future," she said gently. "If something's meant to be, it'll be, regardless of whether you see it here. And even then . . . well, the future is always changing. If we had no choices, there'd be no point in living."

  "See now," I said flippantly, "that's the kind of vague gypsy response I was hoping for."

  "Roma," she corrected. "Not gypsy." Despite my snark, she still seemed to be in a good mood. Easygoing attitudes must have run in their family. "Do you want the cards or not?"

  Did I? She was right about one thing–the future would unfold with or without me seeing it in the cards. And even if the cards showed it, I probably wouldn't understand it until afterward.

  "Okay," I said. "Just for fun. I mean, last time was probably a lucky guess."

  Rhonda rolled her eyes but said nothing as she began shuffling her tarot deck. She did it with such precision that the cards seemed to move themselves. When she finally stopped, she handed the deck to me to cut. I did, and she put it back together.

  "We did three cards before," she said. "We've got time to do more if you'd like. Five, perhaps?"

  "The more there are, the more likely it is that anything can get explained."

  "If you don't believe in them, then it shouldn't be an issue."

  "Okay, then. Five."

  She grew serious as she flipped out the cards, her eyes carefully studying them. Two of the cards had come out upside down. I didn't take that as a good sign. Last time, I'd learned that it made seemingly happy cards . . . well, not so happy.

  The first one was one the Two of Cups, showing a man and a woman together in a grassy, flower-filled field while the sun shone above them. Naturally, it was upside down.

  "Cups are tied to emotions," Rhonda explained. "The Two of Cups shows a union, a perfect love and blossoming of joyous emotions. But since it's inverted–"

  "You know what?" I interrupted. "I think I'm getting the hang of this. You can skip that one. I have a good idea what it means." It might as well have been Dimitri and me on that card, the cup empty and full of heartache. . . . I really didn't want to hear Rhonda analyze what was already tearing my heart up.

  So she went on to the next one: the Queen of Swords, also upside down.

  "Cards like this refer to specific people," Rhonda told me. The Queen of Swords looked very imperious, with auburn hair and silver robes. "The Queen of Swords is clever. She thrives on knowledge, can outwit her enemies, and is ambitious."

  I sighed. "But upside down . . ."

  "Upside down," said Rhonda, "all of those traits get twisted. She's still smart, still trying to get her way . . . but she's doing it through insincere ways. There's a lot of hostility and deception here. I'd say you have an enemy."

  "Yeah," I said, eyeing the crown. "I think I can guess who. I just called her a sanctimonious bitch."

  Rhonda didn't comment and moved on to the next one. It was facing the right way, but I kind of wished it wasn't. It had a whole bunch of swords stuck in the ground and a woman tied and blindfolded to one. Eight of Swords.

  "Oh, come on," I exclaimed. "What is it with me and swords? You gave me one this depressing last time." It had shown a woman weeping in front of a wall of swords.

  "That was the Nine of Swords," she agreed. "It could always be worse."

  "I have a hard time believing that."

  She picked up the rest of the deck and scanned through it, finally pulling out one card. The Ten of Swords. "You could have drawn this." It showed a dead guy lying on the ground with a bunch of swords driven through him.

  "Point taken," I said. Ambrose chuckled beside me. "What's the nine mean?"

  "The nine is being trapped. Unable to get out of a situation. It can also mean slander or accusation. Summoning courage to escape something." I glanced back at the queen, thinking of the things I'd said in the Council room. Those would definitely count as accusations. And being trapped? Well, there was always the possibility of a lifetime of paperwork . . .

  I sighed. "Okay, what's the next one?" It was the best-looking one in the bunch, the Six of Swords. It had a bunch of people in a boat, rowing off over moonlit water.

  "A journey," she said.

  "I was just on a journey. A few of them." I eyed her suspiciously. "Man, this isn't, like, some kind of a spiritual journey is it?"

  Ambrose laughed again. "Rose, I wish you'd get tarot readings every day."

  Rhonda ignored him. "If it were in cups, maybe. But swords are tangible. Action. A true, out-and-about journey."

  Where on earth would I go? Did it mean I was traveling to the Academy like Tatiana had suggested? Or was it possible that, in spite of all my rule breaking and calling her royal highness names, I might actually get an assignment after all? One away from Court?

  "You could be looking for something. It may be a physical journey combined with a spiritual journey," she said, which sounded like a total way to cover her ass. "This last one . . ." Her eyebrows knitted into a frown at the fifth card. "This is hidden from me."

  I peered at it. "The Page of Cups. Seems pretty obvious. It's a page with, um, cups."

  "Usually I have a clear vision. . . . The cards speak to me in how they connect. This one's not clear."

  "The only thing that's not clear is whether it's a girl or a boy." The person on the card looked young but had hair and an androgynous face that made the gender impossible to determine. The blue tights and tunic didn't help, though the sunny field in the background seemed promising.

  "It can be either," Rhonda said. "It's the lowest in rank of the cards that represent people in each suit: King, Queen, Knight, and then Page. Whoever the page is, it's someone trustworthy and creative. Optimistic. It could mean someone who goes on the journey with you–or maybe the reason for your journey."

  Whatever optimism or truth I'd had in the cards pretty much disappeared with that. Given that she'd just said about a hundred things it could be, I didn't really consider it authoritative. Usually, she noticed my skepticism, but her attention was still on the card as she frowned.

  "But I just can't tell. . . . There's a cloud around it. Why? It doesn't make sense."

  Something about her confusion sent a chill down my spine. I always told myself this was fake, but if she'd been making it all up . . . well, wouldn't she have made something up about the Page of Cups? She wasn't putting on a very convincing act if this last card was making her question herself. The thought that maybe there was some mystical force out there blocking her sobered up my cynical attitude.

  With a sigh, she looked up at last. "Sorry that's all I can tell you. Did the rest help?"

  I scanned the cards. Heartache. An enemy. Accusations. Entrapment. Travel. "Some of it tells me things I already know. The rest leaves me with more questions."

  She smiled knowingly. "That's how it usually is."

  I thanked her for the reading, secretly glad I didn't have to pay for it. Ambrose walked me out, and I tried to shake off the mood Rhonda's fortune had
left me in. I had enough problems in my life without letting a bunch of stupid cards bother me.

  "You going to be okay?" he asked when we finally emerged. The sun was climbing higher. The Royal Court would be going to bed soon, ending what had been a turbulent day. "I . . . I wouldn't have brought you if I'd known how much it would upset you."

  "No, no," I said. "It's not the cards. Not exactly. There's a bunch of other things going on . . . one you should probably know about."

  I hadn't wanted to bring up the decree when we'd first run into each other, but as a dhampir, he had a right to hear about what had happened. His face was perfectly still as I spoke, save for his dark brown eyes, which grew wider while the story progressed.

  "There's some mistake," he said at last. "They wouldn't do that. They wouldn't do that to sixteen-year-olds."

  "Yeah, well, I didn't think so either, but they were apparently serious enough about it to throw me out when I, um, questioned it."

  "I can just imagine your 'questioning.' All this'll do is make more dhampirs drop out of the guardians . . . unless, of course, being that young makes them more open for brainwashing."

  "Kind of a sensitive area for you, huh?" I asked. After all, he too was a guardian drop-out.

  He shook his head. "Staying in this society was nearly impossible for me. If any of those kids do decide to drop out, they won't have the powerful friends I did. They'll be outcasts. That's all this'll do. Either kill off teens or cut them off from their own people."

  I wondered what powerful friends he'd had, but this was hardly the time to learn his life history. "Well, that royal bitch doesn't seem to care."

  The thoughtful, distracted look in his eyes suddenly sharpened. "Don't call her that," he warned with a glare. "This isn't her fault."

  Whoa. Cue surprise. I'd almost never seen sexy, charismatic Ambrose be anything but friendly. "Of course it's her fault! She's the supreme ruler of the Moroi, remember?"

  His scowl deepened. "The Council voted too. Not her alone."

  "Yeah, but she voted in support of this decree. She swayed the vote."

  "There must have been a reason. You don't know her like I do. She wouldn't want this kind of thing."

  I started to ask if he was out of his mind but paused when I remembered his relationship with the queen. Those romantic rumors made me queasy, but if they were true, I supposed he might have legitimate concern for her. I also decided it was probably best that I didn't know her the way he did. The bite marks on his neck certainly indicated some sort of intimate activity.

  "Whatever's going on between you is your business," I told him calmly, "but she's used it to trick you into thinking she's someone she isn't. She did it to me too, and I fell for it. It's all a scam."

  "I don't believe it," he said, still stone-faced. "As queen, she's put into all sorts of tough situations. There must be more to it–she'll change the decree, I'm certain of it."

  "As queen," I said, imitating his tone, "she should have the ability to–"

  My words fell off as a voice spoke in my head. Lissa's.

  Rose, you're going to want to see this. But you have to promise not to cause any trouble. Lissa flashed a location to me, along with a sense of urgency.

  Ambrose's hard look shifted to one of concern. "Are you okay?"

  "I–yeah. Lissa needs me." I sighed. "Look, I don't want us to fight, okay? Obviously we've each got different views of the situation . . . but I think we both agree on the same key point."

  "That kids shouldn't be sent off to die? Yeah, we can agree on that." We smiled tentatively at each other, and the anger between us diffused. "I'll talk to her, Rose. I'll find out the real story and let you know, okay?"

  "Okay." I had a hard time believing anyone could really have a heart-to-heart with Tatiana, but again, there might be more to their relationship than I realized. "Thanks. It was good seeing you."

  "You too. Now go–go to Lissa."

  I needed no further urging. Along with the sense of urgency, Lissa had passed one other message through the bond that sent my feet flying: It's about Dimitri.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I DIDN'T NEED THE BOND to find Lissa. The crowd tipped me off to where she–and Dimitri–were.

  My first thought was that some kind of stoning or medieval mobbing was going on. Then I realized that the people standing around were simply watching something. I pushed through them, heedless of the dirty looks I got, until I stood in the front row of the onlookers. What I found brought me to a halt.

  Lissa and Dimitri sat side by side on a bench while three Moroi and-yikes–Hans sat opposite them. Guardians stood scattered around them, tense and ready to jump in if things went bad, apparently. Before I even heard a word, I knew exactly what was going on. This was an interrogation, an investigation to determine what Dimitri was exactly.

  Under most circumstances, this would be a weird place for a formal investigation. It was, ironically, one of the courtyards Eddie and I had worked on, the one that stood in the shadow of the statue of the young queen. The Court's church stood nearby. This grassy area wasn't exactly holy ground, but it was close enough to the church that people could run to it in an emergency. Crucifixes didn't hurt Strigoi, but they couldn't cross over into a church, mosque, or any other sacred place. Between that and the morning sun, this was probably as safe a location and time as officials could muster up to question Dimitri.

  I recognized one of the Moroi questioners, Reece Tarus. He was related to Adrian on his mom's side but had also spoken in favor of the age decree. So I took an instant dislike to him, particularly considering the haughty tone he used toward Dimitri.

  "Do you find the sun blinding?" asked Reece. He had a clipboard in front of him and appeared to be going down a checklist.

  "No," said Dimitri, voice smooth and controlled. His attention was totally on his questioners. He had no clue I was there, and I kind of liked it that way. I wanted to just gaze at him for a moment and admire his features.

  "What if you stare into the sun?"

  Dimitri hesitated, and I'm not sure anyone but me caught the sudden glint in his eyes–or knew what it meant. The question was stupid, and I think Dimitri–maybe, just maybe–wanted to laugh. With his normal skill, he maintained his composure.

  "Anyone would go blind staring into the sun long enough," he replied. "I'd go through what anyone else here would."

  Reece didn't seem to like the answer, but there was no fault in the logic. He pursed his lips together and moved on to the next question. "Does it scald your skin?"

  "Not at the moment."

  Lissa glanced over at the crowd and noticed me. She couldn't feel me the way I could through our bond, but sometimes it seemed she had an uncanny sense of when I was around. I think she sensed my aura if I was close enough, since all spirit users claimed the field of light around shadow-kissed people was very distinct. She gave me a small smile before turning back to the questioning.

  Dimitri, ever vigilant, noticed her tiny movement. He looked over to see what had distracted her, caught sight of me, and faltered a little on Reece's next question, which was, "Have you noticed whether your eyes occasionally turn red?"

  "I . . ." Dimitri stared at me for several moments and then jerked his head back toward Reece. "I haven't been around many mirrors. But I think my guards would have noticed, and none of them have said anything."

  Nearby, one of the guardians made a small noise. He barely managed to keep a straight face, but I think he too had wanted to snicker at the ridiculous line of questioning. I couldn't recall his name, but when I'd been at Court long ago, he and Dimitri had chatted and laughed quite a bit when together. If an old friend was starting to believe Dimitri was a dhampir again, then that had to be a good sign.

  The Moroi next to Reece glared around, trying to figure out where the noise had come from, but discovered nothing. The questioning continued, this time having to do with whether Dimitri would step into the church if they asked him to.

  "
I can go right now," he told them. "I'll go to services tomorrow if you want." Reece made another note, no doubt wondering if he could get the priest to douse Dimitri in holy water.

  "This is all a distraction," a familiar voice said in my ear. "Smoke and mirrors. That's what Aunt Tasha says." Christian now stood beside me.

  "It needs to be done," I murmured back. "They have to see that he isn't Strigoi anymore."

  "Yeah, but they've barely signed the age law. The queen gave the go-ahead for this as soon as the Council's session let out because it's sensational and will make people pay attention to something new. It was how they finally got the hall cleared. 'Hey, go look at the sideshow!'"

  I could almost hear Tasha saying that word for word. Regardless, there was truth to it. I felt conflicted. I wanted Dimitri to be free. I wanted him to be the way he used to be. Yet I didn't appreciate Tatiana doing this for her own political gain and not because she actually cared about what was right. This was possibly the most monumental thing to happen in our history. It needed to be treated as such. Dimitri's fate shouldn't be a convenient "sideshow" to distract everyone from an unfair law.

  Reece was now asking both Lissa and Dimitri to describe exactly what they'd experienced the night of the raid. I had a feeling this was something they'd recounted quite a bit. Although Dimitri had been the picture of nonthreatening composure so far, I still sensed that gray feel to him, the guilt and torment he felt over what he had done as a Strigoi. Yet, when he turned to listen to Lissa tell her version of the story, his face lit up with wonder. Awe. Worship.

  Jealousy flashed through me. His feelings weren't romantic, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that he had rejected me but regarded her as the greatest thing in the world. He'd told me never to talk to him again and sworn he'd do anything for her. Again I felt that petulant sense of being wronged. I refused to believe that he couldn't love me anymore. It wasn't possible, not after all he and I had been through together. Not after everything we'd felt for each other.