Of course, that was easier said than done because I didn’t think our feelings for each other were ever really going to go away. We’d both had moments of weakness, moments that led to stolen kisses or saying things we really shouldn’t have. After I’d escaped the Strigoi, Dimitri had told me he loved me and had pretty much admitted he could never be with anyone else because of that. Yet, it had also become clear that we still coudn’t be together either, and we had both slipped back into our old roles of keeping away from each other and pretending that our relationship was strictly professional.
In a not-so-obvious attempt to change the subject, he said, “You can deny it all you want, but I know you’re freezing. Let’s go inside. I’ll take you in through the back.”
I couldn’t help feeling a little surprised. Dimitri was rarely one to avoid uncomfortable subjects. In fact, he was notorious for pushing me into conversations about topics I didn’t want to deal with. But talking about our dysfunctional, star-crossed relationship? That was a place he apparently didn’t want to go today. Yeah. Things were definitely changing.
“I think you’re the one who’s cold,” I teased, as we walked around the side of the dorm where novice guardians lived. “Shouldn’t you be all tough and stuff, since you’re from Siberia?”
“I don’t think Siberia’s exactly what you imagine.”
“I imagine it as an arctic wasteland,” I said truthfully.
“Then it’s definitely not what you imagine.”
“Do you miss it?” I asked, glancing back to where he walked behind me. It was something I’d never considered before. In my mind,
everyone
would want to live in the U.S. Or, well, they at least wouldn’t want to live in Siberia.
“All the time,” he said, his voice a little wistful. “Sometimes I wish—”
“Belikov!”
A voice was carried on the wind from behind us. Dimitri muttered something, and then shoved me further around the corner I’d just rounded. “Stay out of sight.”
I ducked down behind a bank of holly trees that flanked the building. They didn’t have any berries, but the thick clusters of sharp, pointed leaves scratched where my skin was exposed. Considering the freezing temperature and possible discovery of my late-night walk, a few scratches were the least of my problems right now.
“You’re not on watch,” I heard Dimitri say several moments later.
“No, but I needed to talk to you.” I recognized the voice. It belonged to Alberta, captain of the Academy’s guardians. “It’ll just take a minute. We need to shuffle some of the watches while you’re at the trial.”
“I figured,” he said. There was a funny, almost uncomfortable note in his voice. “It’s going to put a strain on everyone else—bad timing.”
“Yes, well, the queen runs on her own schedule.” Alberta sounded frustrated, and I tried to figure out what was going on. “Celeste will take your watches, and she and Emil will divide up your training times.”
Training times? Dimitri wouldn’t be conducting any trainings next week because—Ah. That was it, I realized. The field experience. Tomorrow kicked off six weeks of hands-on practice for us novices. We’d have no classes and would get to protect Moroi night and day while the adults tested us. The “training times” must be when Dimitri would be out participating in that. But what was this trial she’d mentioned? Did they mean like the final trials we had to undergo at the end of the school year?
“They say they don’t mind the extra work,” continued Alberta, “but I was wondering if you could even things out and take some of their shifts before you leave?”
“Absolutely,” he said, words still short and stiff.
“Thanks. I think that’ll help.” She sighed. “I wish I knew how long this trial was going to be. I don’t want to be away that long. You’d think it’d be a done deal with Dashkov, but now I hear the queen’s getting cold feet about imprisoning a major royal.”
I stiffened. The chill running through me now had nothing to do with the winter day.
Dashkov
?
“I’m sure they’ll do the right thing,” said Dimitri. I realized at that moment why he wasn’t saying much. This wasn’t something I was supposed to hear.
“I hope so. And I hope it’ll only take a few days, like they claim. Look, it’s miserable out here. Would you mind coming into the office for a second to look at the schedule?”
“Sure,” he said. “Let me check on something first.”
“All right. See you soon.”
Silence fell, and I had to assume Alberta was walking away. Sure enough, Dimitri rounded the corner and stood in front of the holly. I shot up from my hiding spot. The look on his face told me he already knew what was coming.
“Rose—”
“Dashkov?” I exclaimed, trying to keep my voice low so Alberta wouldn’t hear. “As in Victor Dashkov?”
He didn’t bother denying it. “Yes. Victor Dashkov.”
“And you guys were talking about . . . Do you mean . . .” I was so startled, so dumbstruck, that I could barely get my thoughts together. This was unbelievable. “I thought he was locked up! Are you saying he hasn’t been on trial yet?”
Yes. This was definitely unbelievable. Victor Dashkov. The guy who’d stalked Lissa and tortured her mind and body in order to control her powers. Every Moroi could use magic in one of the four elements: earth, air, water, or fire. Lissa, however, worked an almost unheard of fifth element called spirit. She could heal anything—including the dead. It was the reason I was now psychically linked to her—“shadow-kissed,” some called it. She’d brought me back from the car accident that had killed her parents and brother, binding us together in a way that allowed me to feel her thoughts and experiences.
Victor had learned long before any of us that she could heal, and he’d wanted to lock her away and use her as his own personal Fountain of Youth. He also hadn’t hesitated to kill anyone who got in his way—or, in the case of Dimitri and me, use more creative ways to stop his opponents. I’d made a lot of enemies in seventeen years, but I was pretty sure there was no one I hated as much as Victor Dashkov—at least among the living.
Dimitri had a look on his face I knew well. It was the one he got when he thought I might punch someone. “He’s been locked up—but no, no trial yet. Legal proceedings sometimes take a long time.”
“But there’s going to be a trial now? And you’re going?” I spoke through clenched teeth, trying to be calm. I suspected I still had the
I’m going to punch someone
look on my face.
“Next week. They need me and some of the other guardians to testify about what happened to you and Lissa that night.” His expression changed at the mention of what had occurred four months ago, and again, I recognized the look. It was the fierce, protective one he got when those he cared about were in danger.
“Call me crazy for asking this, but, um, are Lissa and I going with you?” I had already guessed the answer, and I didn’t like it.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Look, doesn’t it seem reasonable that if you’re going to talk about what happened to
us
, then you should have
us
there?”
Dimitri, fully in strict-instructor mode now, shook his head. “The queen and some of the other guardians thought it’d be best if you didn’t go. There’s enough evidence between the rest of us, and besides, criminal or not, he is—or was—one of the most powerful royals in the world. Those who know about this trial want to keep it quiet.”
“So, what, you thought if you brought us, we’d tell everyone?” I exclaimed. “Come on, comrade. You really think we’d do that? The only thing we want is to see Victor locked up. Forever. Maybe longer. And if there’s a chance he might walk free, you have to let us go.”
After Victor had been caught, he’d been taken to prison, and I’d thought that was where the story had ended. I’d figured they’d locked him up to rot. It had never occurred to me—though it should have—that he’d need a trial first. At the time, his crimes had seemed so obvious. But, although the Moroi government was secret and separate from the human one, it operated in a lot of the same ways. Due process and all that.
“It’s not my decision to make,” Dimitri said.
“But you have influence. You could speak up for us, especially if . . .” Some of my anger dimmed just a little, replaced by a sudden and startling fear. I almost couldn’t say the next words. “Especially if there really is a chance he might get off. Is there? Is there really a chance the queen could let him go?”
“I don’t know. There’s no telling what she or some of the other high-up royals will do sometimes.” He suddenly looked tired. He reached into his pocket and tossed over a set of keys. “Look, I know you’re upset, but we can’t talk about it now. I have to go meet Alberta, and you need to get inside. The square key will let you in the far side door. You know the one.”
I did. “Yeah. Thanks.”
I was sulking and hated to be that way—especially since he was saving me from getting in trouble—but I couldn’t help it. Victor Dashkov was a criminal—a villain, even. He was power-hungry and greedy and didn’t care who he stepped on to get his way. If he were loose again . . . well, there was no telling what might happen to Lissa or any other Moroi. It enraged me to think that I could do something to help put him away but that no one would let me do it.
I’d taken a few steps forward when Dimitri called out from behind me. “Rose?” I glanced back. “I’m sorry,” he said. He paused, and his expression of regret turned wary. “And you’d better bring the keys back tomorrow.”
I turned away and kept going. It was probably unfair, but some childish part of me believed Dimitri could do anything. If he’d really wanted to get Lissa and me to the trial, I was certain he could have.
When I was almost to the side door, I caught movement in my peripheral vision. My mood plummeted. Great. Dimitri had given me keys to sneak back in, and now someone else had busted me. That was typical of my luck. Half-expecting a teacher to demand to know what I was doing, I turned and prepared an excuse.
But it wasn’t a teacher.
“No,” I said softly. This had to be a trick. “No.”
For half an instant, I wondered if I’d ever really woken up. Maybe I was actually still in bed, asleep and dreaming.
Because surely,
surely
that was the only explanation for what I was now seeing in front of me on the Academy’s lawn, lurking in the shadow of an ancient, gnarled oak.
It was Mason.
TWO
O
R, WELL, IT LOOKED LIKE MASON.
He—or it or whatever—was hard to see. I had to keep squinting and blinking to get him in focus. His form was insubstantial—almost translucent—and kept fading in and out of my field of vision.
But yes, from what I could see, he definitely looked like Mason. His features were washed out, making his fair skin look whiter than I recalled. His reddish hair now appeared as a faint, watery orange. I could barely even see his freckles. He was wearing exactly what I’d last seen him in: jeans and a yellow fleece jacket. The edge of a green sweater peeped out from underneath the coat’s hem. Those colors, too, were all softened. He looked like a photograph that someone had left out in the sun, causing it to fade. A very, very faint glow seemed to outline his features.
The part that struck me the most—aside from the fact that he was supposed to be dead—was the look on his face. It was sad—so, so sad. Looking into his eyes, I felt my heart break. All the memories of what had taken place just a few weeks ago came rushing back to me. I saw it all again: his body falling, the cruel look on the Strigoi faces. . . . A lump formed in my throat. I stood there frozen, stunned and unable to move.
He studied me too, his expression never changing. Sad. Grim. Serious. He opened his mouth, like he might speak, and then closed it. Several more heavy moments hung between us, and then he lifted his hand and extended it toward me. Something in that motion snapped me out of my daze. No, this could
not
be happening. I wasn’t seeing this. Mason was dead. I’d seen him die. I’d held his body.
His fingers moved slightly, like he was beckoning, and I panicked. Backing up a few steps, I put distance between us and waited to see what would happen. He didn’t follow. He simply stood there, hand still in the air. My heart lurched, and I turned and ran. When I’d almost reached the door, I stopped and glanced back, letting my ragged breathing calm down. The clearing he’d stood in was completely empty.
I made it up to my room and slammed the door behind me, hands shaking. I sank onto my bed and replayed what had just happened.
What the hell? That had
not
been real. No way. Impossible. Mason was dead, and everyone knows the dead don’t come back. Well, yeah, I had come back . . . but that was a different situation.
Clearly, I’d imagined this. That was it. It
had
to be. I was overtired and still reeling from Lissa and Christian, not to mention that Victor Dashkov news. Probably the cold had frozen part of my brain too. Yes, the more I thought about it, the more I decided there had to be a hundred explanations for what had just happened.
Yet, no matter how often I told myself that, I couldn’t fall back asleep. I lay in my bed, covers pulled to my chin as I tried to banish that haunting image from my mind. I couldn’t. All I could see were those sad, sad eyes, those eyes that seemed to say,
Rose, why did you let this happen to me?
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to think about him. Since Mason’s funeral, I’d been working so hard to go on and act like I was strong. But the truth was, I was nowhere near being over his death. I tortured myself day after day with
what if?
questions. What if I’d been faster and stronger during the Strigoi fight? What if I hadn’t told him where the Strigoi were in the first place? And what if I’d simply been able to return his love? Any of those could have kept him alive, but none of them had happened. And it was all my fault.