The Turn and The Flame - Richelle Mead (The Story of the Ozera's)
Tasha Ozera didn’t like dresses. Or high heels. Or meaningless conversation. Really, she didn’t like anything to do with fancy parties. She knew, however, that there was a game to play, and she’d learned how to play it long ago.
“Tasha, please stop sulking. It’ll give you wrinkles.”
That, unsurprisingly, came from Tasha’s sister-in-law, Moira. Moira Ozera—formerly Moira Szelsky—had been a celebrated beauty back in her day. She was still beautiful. Tasha could never forget Moira and Lucas’s wedding and how everyone in the ballroom had held a collective breath when the two of them whirled around on the dance floor. Tasha, only seven, had stood with the other awestruck guests and felt certain that no couple could ever be more dazzling than her brother and his bride.
Tasha trudged barefoot through the living room, uncaring that the hem of her sparkling gown dragged along the floor, and flounced onto the sofa. “I’m not sulking. I’m just thinking.”
Moira paused in front of an antique mirror framed in brass vines. She smoothed a wisp of chestnut hair back into place and pursed her lips to check if she should reapply her lipstick. She decided she should.
Observing, Tasha couldn’t help but think that she hadn’t put even half as much care into her appearance as Moira had into hers. And Moira wasn’t even going to a party. She, Lucas, and Christian were simply driving back to their country house tonight.
“Well then, little sister, I hope you’re thinking about how you’ll be the star of the ball tonight.” That was Lucas, striding in with his easy smile. He set a suitcase down on the floor and kissed his wife’s cheek. “I remember when we were at the Summer’s End Ball. You wouldn’t believe how many of us were desperately following Moira around, willing to do anything just for a smile. Or even a second glance.”
Tasha could believe it because she’d heard this story many times, but she smiled anyway. Lucas hadn’t been this upbeat in a while, and she liked the change. “I don’t think that’ll happen to me tonight,” she replied. “But I’ll try not to embarrass the family name.”
Lucas winked. “That’s all we can hope for.”
“No,” said Moira, turning from the mirror. “That is not all we can hope for. We should hope that she’ll get engaged. Or, at the very least, that some young man from a prestigious family might visit once in a while instead of those bohemians who are always stopping by. And why aren’t you wearing your shoes, Tasha?”
The family’s two guardians entered the room just then, carrying the last of the luggage. Tasha didn’t like seeing them relegated to bellhops, but she knew they’d both die before uttering a word of complaint.
“Everything’s ready,” said Nolan. “The car’s out front, and then we’ll meet up with Guardian Locke and his car at the gate. Your feeder’s waiting there as well.”
“I don’t know why we need two cars or a borrowed guardian,” said Moira. “It seems like a waste.”
Lucas frowned as well. “Really, we’ll be fine. Send Locke somewhere else.”
“We’re just looking out for your safety, Lady Moira,” replied Vinh in his quiet, respectful way. “A nighttime drive is dangerous, and Guardian Locke happens to have an assignment nearby. He’ll remain with you at the house until Lady Tasha and I can join you tomorrow.”
“You’re staying here instead of Nolan?” asked Lucas, his tone mild. A very slight furrowing of his brow was the only sign of his displeasure.
Tasha stood up and quickly said, “If you’re so worried about it, Moira, just wait until tomorrow. Then we can all leave together.” As she’d hoped, it deflected the conversation away from Vinh.
“Driving in daylight is always safer,” added Nolan diplomatically. “It wouldn’t be difficult to change our plans.”
“No, no,” said Moira, with more insistence than Tasha thought was needed. “Nothing’s changing. I want to be back home tonight. I’m tired of Court.”
“Tonight it is, then.” Lucas glanced around. “Where’s Christian?”
Moira sighed. “Why is he always skulking away? And why can’t anyone ever keep track of him?”
Vinh’s face remained neutral, but Tasha could see the amusement sparkling in his eyes. “I’ll find him.”
A couple minutes later, Vinh returned with Christian. At nine years old, the boy was a miniature version of his father, sporting the black hair and pale blue eyes shared by so many Ozeras, including Tasha. Normally quiet and introspective, Christian’s face was alight with glee as he clung to the tall guardian’s back in a piggyback ride and then was gently deposited next to his parents. Vinh immediately straightened up and became his proper self once more.
“I don’t want to go out to the house,” said Christian. “It’s boring. I want to go back to school. Or stay here with Aunt Tasha and see the ball. They’re lighting fireworks when it’s done!”
Tasha grinned. “You want to be my date tonight? You’ll probably be the best company there.”
“Tasha, you need to be more serious about all this,” Moira scolded. “Youth and beauty are fleeting. You take them for granted now, but one day you’ll wish you could hold on to them forever.”
Lucas put an arm around her and walked her toward the door. “Leave her alone, dear. It’s not important now. The rest of us need to go—and yes, Christian, that includes you. To the country house. Not the ball.”
Tasha hugged her nephew goodbye, laughing when he complained about the prickly crystals on her dress. Moira was already getting in the car, directing the guardians on where to set the luggage and ascertaining that the feeder would ride with her. Lucas wrapped Tasha in a hug and then regarded her with a look that was equal parts affection and sorrow.
“Can we talk more about St. Croix when I see you tomorrow?” she asked eagerly.
He hesitated. “Ah, sure. For now … try to have fun, little sister. And I hope … I hope when you look back on tonight, you’ll remember how much I love you. How much we all love you.”
“It’s just another party, Luke,” she said, puzzled at his shift in demeanor. But then, Lucas had been behaving strangely for the last few months, his moods often darkening without warning. Two of his old classmates had died unexpectedly, one by Strigoi and one in a skiing accident. The two deaths were completely opposite in cause, but they’d hit her brother hard. She’d often find him looking at old pictures and getting caught up in philosophical discussions about mortality. She worried about him and hoped relaxing in the country would do him some good.
When the car finally left, Tasha reluctantly put on her silver high-heeled shoes and locked the door to her family’s town house. The Summer’s End Ball was being held on the opposite side of Court, and even in her uncomfortable shoes, Tasha didn’t mind the walk on such a warm and breezy night. She and Vinh matched each other’s steps, both quiet but at ease in the other’s company as they strolled along one of the many tree-lined paths that zigzagged among the buildings of the expansive Royal Court. With its venerable architecture and grassy courtyards, it resembled a university more than a sanctuary for living vampires, but that was exactly how the Moroi wanted it. It attracted less outside attention.
“I think it’ll rain later,” said Tasha. There were other Moroi and dhampirs out tonight, and it wouldn’t do for a young royal lady to speak even remotely informally with her guardian.
Vinh glanced up and took note of the scattered clouds drifting across the stars and moon. “I think you’re right, but it may hold off until the ball ends. If it doesn’t, I’ll come back and get an umbrella.”
“You don’t need to trek through the rain for me. No one’s going to hold you accountable if I get a little wet. It’s not going to bother me that much.”
“I’d hold myself accountable if anything bothered you at all.”
A rush of heat swept over her, and she fidgeted with her bracelet so she wouldn’t have to respond. It happened all the time with him. Just a few words or a small look, and she became flustered in the most wonderful way. It used to embarrass her. She used to try to ignore it. After all, a Moroi of her station shouldn’t think of a dhampir that way, especially now that they were out of school and in the real world. Except … every once in a while, she’d see him watching her in a way that made her think she wasn’t the only one who had trouble letting go of their past.
The Summer’s End Ball took place in the palace, a building that matched the Court’s others on the outside but contained all the grandeur and decadence of the Moroi’s glorious history. That was part of what made this such a big event. The queen herself hosted it, and only royals attended. Ostensibly, it was to celebrate the waning of summer and the approach of fall—meaning longer nights and shorter days. Everyone knew, though, it was a chance for young, eligible royals to be paraded around one another. Engagements often followed in subsequent weeks.
Vinh held out his hand to Tasha when they reached the steps to the palace entrance. Tasha accepted it and lifted her skirt with her other hand. That small touch of their fingers was the only contact they ever had now, but it was everything to Tasha.
“Thank you, Vinh,” she said when she let go.
Inside, the ballroom had become a fantasyland of colors and flowers. Real plants and trees filled the space, and glittering, star-shaped lights on the ceiling cast rainbow patterns on the party below. The guests themselves rivaled the lavish decor, with everyone seeming to try to outdo one another. Tasha’s simply cut silver-and-blue dress was one of the tamer ones.
Around the sides of the room, mixed among the tropical splendor, guardians stood at attention, unmoving and identical in black suits and white shirts. They blended in with one another and the room—as was intended. But not Vinh. Tasha knew exactly where he was no matter where she went.
A lot of the royals she’d graduated with at St. Vladimir’s were here, as well as Moroi from other schools or those who’d received their education at Court. They all sized one another up, checking out both prospective mates and possible rivals.
Despite her earlier flippancy with Lucas, Tasha wasn’t immune to the role she played in her family. The Ozeras were one of the twelve royal houses, with a lineage and history honored throughout the Moroi world. No one in her family would force her to do anything she didn’t want, but she knew her friendships and romances could all affect her family’s standing and how they navigated the complex battlefield of Moroi politics. She wanted to do the right thing—truly. She worked her way through the party, speaking to as many important people as she could, dancing with young men who could be advantageous matches. She smiled. She made all the pleasant, demure conversations a royal young lady was expected to.
But it felt hollow. There was no one she really connected with, and her heart wasn’t in her words. It must have shown to others because once, while passing a group of elderly Moroi who’d come to observe the “youngsters,” she overhead a man say, “Have you seen that up-and-coming Ozera girl? David’s daughter, God rest his soul. They haven’t put out a beauty like that in years—and they’re a good-looking bunch. But she’s just so … odd.”
Tasha started to smile and then felt guilty. She needed to try harder. She needed to stop being odd, whatever that meant.
“Tasha? Where have you been?”
Jacob Zeklos, another St. Vladimir’s alum, stepped into her path and handed her a flute of champagne.
“No. All summer. This is supposed to be our time to party and relax before we go on to grown-up life.”
“I’ve been here sometimes. At our estate other times.” She shrugged. “Mostly, I’m just spending time with my family.”
“You can hang out with them anytime. But this? The prime of our lives?” He raised his own glass high, sloshing the contents, and she wondered how much champagne he’d had tonight. “This won’t last. Nobody stays young forever, and we should enjoy it. My family’s going to Bucharest next month. Come with us.”
Tasha’s interest was momentarily piqued. Her last visit to Romania had been as a child, and she was curious to see it through more mature eyes. “Any reason? Or just taking in the galleries and castles?”
“Only one castle—we never have to leave. One of my cousins is getting married and hosting a whole week of festivities. Party after party. Old World luxury. Unspeakable decadence.” He grinned, confirming rumors she’d heard about him getting his canines filed into narrower points. It looked ridiculous. “You won’t believe what they get the feeders to do.”
“Thank you, but I can’t. I’m trying to talk Lucas into letting me go snorkeling in St. Croix next month.”
“St. Croix? Like in the Caribbean?” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “But it’s so sunny there.”
The sun was one of the reasons why Lucas was being obstinate, as was the fact that the group wasn’t royal. They were some of Tasha’s “bohemian” friends whom Moira thought were so unworthy. Tasha didn’t need her brother’s permission exactly, but she did need his money since he held control of their inheritance.
“It’s worth it,” she said. “There are some amazing reefs and sea life there.”
Jacob still looked baffled. “Do you want to be a marine biologist or something?”
“No. I just want to see it.”
“Because it’s there. Because it’s something in the world I haven’t experienced yet.” It was obvious this conversation was going nowhere, and Tasha searched for an escape. “Excuse me—I see my uncle and need to say hello. Good talking to you.”
She hurried away before Jacob could stop her and waved a hand of greeting to Ronald Ozera. He wasn’t actually her uncle, but he was one of the oldest and most respected members of the Ozera clan. It was an informal custom among royals to call all older relatives “aunt” or “uncle,” just as peers often referred to each other as “cousin.”
“Tasha.” Ronald kissed her on the cheek. “You’re a vision. I’ve been hearing your praises sung all night. Did I just see you talking to Jacob Zeklos?”
A knowing glint shone in the older man’s eyes. He was as bad as Moira. “Yes.”
“He’s a fine-looking young fellow, isn’t he? And his father’s building up quite a lot of influence among the Zekloses.”
“You don’t need to do any matchmaking for me. I don’t want to make any hasty decisions.”
It was no secret in the Ozera clan—or probably in any other—that Ronald had his eye on the throne. It wasn’t going to be vacant anytime soon, but he believed in building connections and alliances well in advance of the complicated selection process monarchs endured. She might only be his distant cousin, but she was still an Ozera and therefore of use. Like a tool, she thought.
“Of course, of course,” Ronald said. “In fact, it might be a good idea for you to wait a while for marriage. Maybe … several years.”
Tasha didn’t trust the oh-so-casual tone in his voice. “Uncle, what are you suggesting?”
“Nothing at all. Just trying to help you out. But did you notice Eric Dragomir is here tonight?”
Tasha followed Ronald’s nod to a cluster of people speaking with Queen Tatiana. Eric was easy to pick out. Their family, like the Ozeras, tended to have distinct features—for the Dragomirs, it was platinum hair and green eyes.
“He doesn’t get out very much,” she noted.
“Indeed. He keeps his family close—which is understandable.”
Yes, it was. Eric and his two children were the only Dragomirs left, which was astonishing compared to the tangle of cousins in all the other houses. There were dozens and dozens of Ozeras.
“He’s married,” Tasha pointed out, unsure of where Ronald was going with this.
“Yes, but his son isn’t.”
She turned to him incredulously. “His son is twelve years old!”
“Which is why I said you should wait several years. Once he’s a young man, I’m sure you’d hit it off wonderfully, and who wouldn’t be charmed by your loveliness? Rhea Dragomir is half Ozera, and we’ve got Dragomirs in our tree—they’d love to make a match that can boost their bloodline.”
Tasha shook her head in amazement and groped for a polite response. After all, an elder member of the family deserved respect. “That is … an interesting suggestion.”
“It’s a very reasonable suggestion. Eric’s influence is staggering. He doesn’t have to get the consensus of his house to push his opinions into the council—he is his house. He’s their de facto council member.” He paused at that and frowned. It was another well-known fact that Ronald hoped to be elected as the Ozera council representative. Currently, another family member held that position. “He’d be a powerful ally for anyone hoping to seize the throne—which, of course, we hope Queen Tatiana will remain on for a long, long time.”
“Probably for the rest of our lives. She doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere—ever.”
“Well, I hope she doesn’t. Truly. But she is much older than me, and there’s no point in wasting time while I wait out natural causes. Now, let’s go over there and say hello—just so you’re on Eric’s radar.”
Fury flared in Tasha at Ronald’s presumptuous tone. Just like that, he expected her to jump at his command, to play a role in his convoluted quest for power. He could call her a vision and laud her loveliness all he wanted, but her real value was in what she could offer him. She wanted to call him out on his selfishness and very explicitly let him know how insulting she found his treatment of her, but one didn’t act that way around respected elders. She took a deep breath and swallowed her anger.
“Uncle, you are … always thinking.”
“Indeed. Can’t let any opportunity slip away. Come along.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “You and I might be from far-flung branches of the family tree, but we are all one family. All Ozeras. We need to look out for each other.”
Tasha went with him and consoled herself with the thought that this would be more entertaining than talking to any more of her classmates. She and Ronald waited politely at the edge of Tatiana’s circle—all men his age or older—until the queen’s eyes fell on them. They offered a proper bow and curtsy and were rewarded with a nod of acceptance.
“Your Majesty, this party is magnificent. Even grander than last year,” Ronald said as he straightened up. “You of course remember Natasha, David and Blanche’s daughter.”
“Yes, of course.” Queen Tatiana was an impressive woman, even when she wasn’t decked out in a brocade gown and crown heavy with diamonds and rubies. She carried a presence that dwarfed everyone else’s, and her eyes never missed anything. “I noticed your brother isn’t with us tonight.”
“No, Your Majesty,” said Tasha. “He left with Moira and Christian for our country house tonight. I’ll be joining them tomorrow.”
Tatiana didn’t frown, but her disapproval came through clearly. “It’s strange, missing one of the biggest celebrations of the year. Surely they could have waited until tomorrow as well.”
Tasha had thought so too but now felt obligated to defend Lucas. “Moira was eager to be home. I think she’s been over-tired.”
“Not surprising. I always remember her being a fussy little thing. Quite vain too.”
Again, Tasha secretly agreed but refused to give voice to anything that would slight her family in public. Others in the circle, hoping to win the queen’s favor, were quick to jump in.
“Making a trip like that at this time of night is reckless,” said Nathan Ivashkov. “Especially in light of what just happened.”
“A family in St. Louis was ambushed by Strigoi last week,” Eric Dragomir explained for Tasha and Ronald’s benefit.
“How awful,” said Ronald. “Were their guardians overpowered?”
“No guardians. They weren’t royal,” said Eric.
“No doubt they were careless too.” Nathan glanced at Tasha and Ronald, reminding everyone of Lucas Ozera’s behavior. “It’s unfortunate that there aren’t enough guardians to go around, but that just means one has to stay extra diligent.”
“It seems like there should be some extra guardians available for non-royals, though,” interjected Tasha. She gestured around the room. “My family’s are split tonight, but I’m sure most royals here have their full allotment just hanging around. Why hoard them? Court’s already well guarded. Any royal who knows they’ll be here for an extended period of time should let their guardians take on temporary assignments elsewhere. There still wouldn’t be enough for every Moroi, of course, but it could help any non-royals who happened to be in potentially dangerous situations.”
Everyone stared at her. Ronald looked as though he very much regretted putting her on anyone’s radar.
The queen smiled, but there was no warmth to it. “Natasha, might I have a word alone with you?”
It was the kind of statement that normally preceded the speaker stepping away. Instead, everyone else in the circle immediately moved back to give Tatiana and Tasha space.
Tasha tried not to gulp. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“I like you,” Tatiana said in a tone that expressed exactly the opposite. “And I liked your parents very much. I’d like to see you do well here tonight. I’d like to see you do well in general. As queen, my love extends to all the royal families, not just the Ivashkovs. When my people are happy, I’m happy. Therefore, I’m going to give you some advice that will make both of us happier.”
Tasha, petrified, gave a jerky nod.
Tatiana leaned closer. “You’re only here to look pretty, dear. Not to give your opinions. See that you remember that.”
There were a million possible responses to that, but there was only one that Tasha was allowed to make: “Th-thank you, Your Majesty.”
No one had heard what Tatiana had said, but the others in the earlier conversation knew she’d been chastised. Tasha was more than happy to slink back into the crowd and disappear, though Ronald caught up with her later.
“What were you thinking?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry, Uncle. I was just speaking my mind.”
“Sharing our guardians among non-royals is something that’s on your mind?”
“Well …” He wasn’t angry, exactly, but his disapproval unsettled her. Still, she found her courage. “Yes, actually. There are plenty of ways guardians could be better distributed without compromising protection and—”
Ronald groaned. “Tasha, stop. Not tonight. Not in polite company. You know this is a controversial topic. No royal wants to hear about spreading our guardians thin. If you want to gain favor, start coming up with ideas on how to increase protection for royals.”
Tasha nearly suggested one then and there. She’d long thought Moroi would benefit from learning to protect themselves, but Ronald’s face told her now wasn’t the time. In fact, it would probably never be the time. No one wanted to hear about change. The world was marching on, but the Moroi were locked in the past. And young ladies attending the Summer’s End Ball, ones who wanted to make a good impression, did not challenge the status quo.
“I’m sorry, Uncle. I hope I didn’t cause you any trouble.” The words left a bad taste in her mouth, but her contrite tone appeared to soften him.
“Probably not. They’ve all been into so much champagne no one will even remember.”
It was a relief when the party wrapped up and the guests spilled out of the ballroom and into the palace’s massive courtyard to watch the fireworks. Tasha kept away from the others and found a wrought-iron bench tucked away in a corner of the old stone walls, surrounded by honeysuckles that filled the humid air with their perfume. She soon felt a familiar presence stand behind her.
“No rain yet,” she said without turning around.
“No, Lady Tasha,” came Vinh’s quiet reply. Once he’d graduated and been assigned to her family, he’d started using her title. Even here, alone in the shadows, he never broke protocol. She was Lady Ozera in public and Lady Tasha in private. Never anything more familiar. The only concession he’d made was using Tasha instead of Natasha.
She stared off at the clusters of other partygoers, laughing and drinking as they gazed skyward for the show to start. She felt like she was a million miles away from them. “I don’t think I did very well tonight, Vinh.”
“What was it you were trying to—”
She heard him move behind her, and then there was a rustle of leaves and a yelp. Tasha spun around just in time to see Vinh lift a squirming Christian out of a hydrangea bush. Tasha jumped to her feet.
“Christian! What are you doing? Are your parents here?” She glanced around, half expecting Lucas and Moira to emerge from the bush too.
Christian shook his head as Vinh set him on his feet. “N-no. They’re probably at the house by now.”
“And you aren’t with them because …?”
He obviously knew he was in trouble but still met her eyes boldly. “Mom and Dad wanted the feeder to ride with them and Nolan. I think Mom was hungry because she kept going on and on about it. Anyway, it was crowded, so I told them I’d ride in the other car, with Guardian Locke, that borrowed guardian from the Badicas. Except I told him I was riding in the other car with Mom and Dad. So no one knew I was gone. And here I am.”
“To watch the fireworks,” Tasha guessed. “You shouldn’t look so pleased with yourself. Your mother’s going to have a panic attack. If she hasn’t already.”
Before Christian could answer back, a burst of red and gold stars exploded in the dark sky overhead and rained down in a brilliant shower of sparks. Christian’s eyes went wide, and Tasha gave up on scolding him. She leaned toward Vinh. “Get word to Nolan, will you? Maybe we can at least minimize Moira’s outrage.”
Vinh gave a curt nod and disappeared into the darkness. Tasha sat back down and beckoned Christian to join her. He leaned his head against her, and Tasha felt happier than she had all night as she put her arm around him.
“This is all fire magic?” he asked.
“This show, yes. Sometimes they’ll mix it. Use conventional fireworks and then have fire users enhance it.”
Enormous blue flowers glittered above them, changed to silver, and then faded into sparkles.
“No,” she said. “But then I’ve never tried. Maybe we could work on it together one day.”
He turned and looked up at her hopefully. “Do you think I’ll be a fire user too?”
“I do. It’s your best element, and the fact that it’s showing so early means you’ll probably be very powerful.”
He settled back against her. “Maybe I can use that power to make fireworks.”
“I should hope you could use it for something more,” she said, but he was too transfixed to hear her.
Vinh’s wordless return told her he’d reported the unexpected itinerary change. Later, as the three walked back home, he explained, “Nolan didn’t pick up, but I left a message about what happened. I said we’d bring Lord Christian when we drive down tomorrow.”
Christian yawned, his steps growing slow. The eastern sky was purpling. “Aunt Tasha, do you think we could practice making fireworks back at the house?”
She laughed and ruffled his hair. “Haven’t you put your mother through enough tonight?”
A raindrop landed on Tasha’s cheek. Then another, and another. Suddenly, the foreseen shower was on them in full force. “No time for umbrellas,” she called to Vinh as she took off her shoes. “Grab him, and run for it!”
Vinh hoisted Christian onto his back, and they raced through the deluge. Vinh matched her stride, even though Tasha knew he could have easily outrun her. They reached the town house, soaked but laughing. Tasha found towels for all of them and tried to pat her silk dress dry. It stuck to her like a second skin, and mud covered the hem. A few crystals had come loose.
“We’re all going to be in trouble. Hopefully, I can get a cleaner to salvage this tomorrow.”
“Change,” Vinh told her. “I’ll take care of him.”
Tasha gratefully went to her room but soon found the tiny hooks on the back of her sodden dress were impossible to grasp while wet. She peered into the hall and saw Vinh emerging from Christian’s room. He put a finger to his lips and then raised an eyebrow in surprise when she beckoned him to her.
“Help me?” she asked, turning around.
Silence. Stillness. Then, carefully, his fingers brushed the back of her neck and began to work their way down her spine as he effortlessly undid the clasps. She held her breath and couldn’t help but wryly recall that he’d never had trouble taking her clothes off. In the old days, he wouldn’t have stopped when the clasps ended below her shoulders. He certainly wouldn’t have stepped away so quickly. Tasha pressed a hand to her chest to keep the dress from falling off, not that it seemed to be going anywhere in its sticky state. As she turned back, she just barely caught sight of his eyes traveling the length of her body before politely glancing away.
“Do you need anything else, Lady Tasha?”
All sorts of things, she thought. She wondered what he’d do if she asked him to help peel the rest of the gown away. What would he do if she took it off herself and ordered him to watch?
She let out the breath she’d been holding. “No, Vinh. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Out of respect for him, she put on the most modest pajamas she owned. When she softly crept down the stairs later, she saw that he’d switched on the small credenza lamp, providing just enough light for Moroi and dhampir eyes to see by. He looked over her wardrobe choice, and Tasha couldn’t tell if he felt relieved or disappointed.
“Lord Christian fell asleep before I’d even finished buttoning up his pajamas.” A rare, easy smile spread over Vinh’s face. “I hope it’s all right that I just put him straight to bed. I didn’t bother drying his hair or anything.” Vinh’s black hair, always cut short, was already starting to dry.
Tasha’s was still lank and dripping, and she pushed it back. “No different from me. You know, someone called me an ‘effortless beauty’ tonight. I wonder what he’d say now. This is pretty effortless.”
Vinh crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watchful but still relaxed. “He wouldn’t say a word. He’d be too enthralled at the real you, stripped of all the makeup and jewelry and glamour. Nothing to distract. Just the pure, steady flame of who you are.” He could control their physical contact, but sometimes, in private, he left his words unguarded.
Tasha gave a brief smile at the warrior-turned-poet, but the heat of his earlier touch had faded now that she reflected on the evening’s events. She stared off at the rain beating against the living room window. “I don’t know what that flame is. Who the real me is. I keep trying to be who Natasha Ozera is supposed to be. I go to all the places I’m supposed to. I say the things I’m supposed to—well, most of the time. I do everything I’m meant to … but it turns out that I’m not actually doing them right. Maybe because I don’t really feel that they’re right.”
“Maybe you need a new definition of what ‘right’ is.”
“It’s hard to do anything new around here. You should have seen their faces tonight—including the queen’s—when I suggested a way to reallocate guardians to serve royal and non-royal Moroi. And that’s just the beginning! I think all Moroi should learn some basic fighting. I nearly said it. But then I backed down. I was too intimidated. The rules, the traditions, the judgment … no one can fight against that.”
“Maybe because no one’s tried.”
She glanced back up and couldn’t help another smile. “You’re acting very rebellious tonight.”
“Not me. My role is defined, and I don’t mind following the rules. It suits me. But you? I think you’re something different. I think your role, whatever it is, has yet to be discovered. You’re more than the ‘effortless beauty’ who says the right things … that aren’t actually right.”
Despite the amusement in his last words, his face stayed completely, intensely serious. She felt pinned by his gaze and had no desire to break free of it. “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she said.
“Start small. Don’t worry about all Moroi learning to defend themselves. You learn it first.”
Tasha laughed outright at that. “If I walked over to the guardians’ office right now, do you think anyone would teach me? Would you?”
He hesitated, caught by his own words. “You don’t need guardians to teach you. Go to any city, and you’ll find endless options. Walk down a street and turn into the first place you find that can teach you any semblance of self-defense. A dojo. A jujitsu studio. A kickboxing class. It doesn’t matter what it is. Start with something, and go from there. Go until you’re unstoppable.”
“You want to send me off to wander alone among humans?”
“I never said alone. I’m your family’s guardian. Right now I’m assigned to you. You don’t need anyone’s permission to leave, and if you order me to come along and protect you, I will, and no rules will be broken.”
“It’s that easy, huh?” She watched the rain again and then gave him a sidelong look. “What if I command you to call me just Tasha, instead of Lady Tasha?”
“That would be breaking a rule. And I can’t do that.” Again, hesitation. “Even if I wanted to.”
We do the right things too but don’t do them right either, she mused. In the course of this brief conversation, they’d already moved closer together without either of them realizing it. It happened all the time in these rare, clandestine talks of theirs when she could finally drop the façade the rest of the world expected of her and say what was really in her heart. Well, not everything in her heart. Otherwise, she’d tell him how standing near him still made her nervous and excited, just as it had when they used to slip away together at St. Vladimir’s. She’d tell him how now, deprived of those stolen kisses, she lived for the brief, casual touches that were all they could share anymore. She’d tell him there was no other person who made her feel so valued. So real. She’d tell him that she loved how he was real too, with none of the show and ego that muddled the rest of the world. And she’d tell him she loved him, too.
Instead, she said, “I wish you weren’t so good at your job.”
For a few fleeting seconds, his stoic guardian face faltered, and she saw a longing that matched her own. “Me too, Lady Tasha.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes for long, not with that look in them. It wasn’t fair that dhampirs were forced to serve Moroi at all costs. It wasn’t fair that their society wouldn’t legitimize relationships between Moroi and dhampirs, no matter the indiscretions that took place on the side. His own birth had come about that way when a royal vacationing in Vietnam had been smitten by Vinh’s dhampir mother. He’d wooed her into a brief affair and then never spoke to her again, not even when she sent word about their son.
Tasha’s eyes strayed to the window again, where the rain had slowed and was falling against the panes in long streaks, tears to match those she refused to shed.
She saw the dark figure moving outside just a heartbeat before the glass shattered. A second window met the same fate, and then three guardians burst through the front door. Tasha screamed as all five of them fanned out around her and Vinh, their hands wielding guns and silver stakes. Tasha stepped back and bumped into the wall.
“Do you know where they are?” demanded one of the guardians.
“Know where who are?” she asked. She held her hands up, even though no one had asked her to. It seemed like the thing to do.
“Did you know what they had planned? Are you going to join them?”
Vinh faced a moment of indecision, stuck between obligation to Tasha and obedience to the guardian order. He chose her. He had no weapon, not on household duty at Court, but he positioned himself fearlessly between her and the five guardians.
“What’s going on?” he exclaimed. “How dare you break into this house and speak to her that way? She’s a scion of House Ozera! She and her brother—”
“She has no brother,” said the lead guardian bluntly. “He’s gone.”
“G-gone?” she stammered. “If you mean tonight, they were just driving to—”
“I mean, Lady Ozera, that he’s no longer among the living.”
The room began to spin around Tasha, and her knees gave out from under her. Vinh was by her side in an instant, his arm around her for support. “Lucas is … dead?” She could hardly hear her own voice.
“Not truly dead,” said another guardian. “Turned. He and his wife are Strigoi.”
“No … no! That’s … no. It’s impossible!” Or was it? They’d been warned of the dangers of traveling at night. Tasha leaned further into Vinh and tried to bring the room back into focus.
“Where were they attacked? On the road? At our house?” Both seemed unlikely. A moving car wasn’t an easy target, and heavy wards ringed the house.
“They weren’t attacked,” said the first guardian. “They chose to turn Strigoi.”
Tasha’s moment of weakness vanished, and she pulled herself upright, suddenly recharged with fury. There was no greater sin in the Moroi world than purposely choosing the dark, undead path of the Strigoi, to give up one’s soul and morals in exchange for power and immortality. Suggesting it of Lucas and Moira insulted Tasha, her family, and the entire Ozera name.
She strode toward the guardians, fists clenched and fear gone. “You’re lying. There’s no way they would do that.”
The guardian who spoke didn’t flinch under her gaze. “The evidence is very clear. There’s no indication of any attack by outside Strigoi. We found one of their cars abandoned on the side of the highway. One of them had drained their feeder. The other snapped Nolan Orr’s neck and drained him.”
Tasha heard a sharp intake of breath from Vinh. He and Nolan had become close friends in the year they’d worked together. Nolan had protected her since she was a child.
“There was another guardian,” she said. “Locke. One who was—”
“He’s dead too, Lady Ozera. We found his body thrown into the brush nearby. The Strigoi took the second car.”
There were no words to describe what Tasha felt in that moment. Nothing she could say. Nothing she could even think. She started to tremble. Seeing that the news had finally sunk in, the lead guardian asked, “Do you have any idea at all of where they’d go? Did they say anything? They’re not at the house—it’s still warded.”
“Please, Lady Ozera,” said another. “I know this must be difficult, but we need to act while we can still track them. New Strigoi are careless.”
We need to act while we can still track them.
Track them to kill them. Because that was the only thing to be done at this point.
“No.” The word barely came out. Tasha swallowed and tried again. “No. I have no idea where they’d be. All they said was that they were going home tonight. I was supposed to join them tomorrow. Today.” It was dawn, after all.
She didn’t know where they were, but she should have known something was up. Not this, of course … but something. They’d been so insistent they leave last night, despite the risk. Darkness, away from the safety of Court, was ideal for Strigoi—and apparently for their creation, too. Neither had wanted the extra guardian. And Moira had wanted the feeder close, an easy victim to drain and initiate the turning.
Try to have fun, little sister. And I hope … I hope when you look back on tonight, you’ll remember how much I love you. How much we all love you.
Tasha didn’t realize she was getting dizzy again until Vinh returned to her side. “Breathe,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”
“I’m sorry, Lady Ozera.” The lead guardian, calmer now, appeared sincere. “I believe that you didn’t know anything. But we’ll still have to interrogate you back in our headquarters, just in case there’s some detail you don’t realize is important.”
Again, she had no words. How could she? Not when—
She whirled around and saw Christian peering around the bannister at the top of the stairs, his young face drawn and uneasy.
“Christian! Go back to bed. Everything …” Tasha could feel herself choking up. “Everything’s going to be okay. …”
But nothing was okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.
Christian stepped out of the shadows, fully revealing himself. He looked beyond Tasha, to the group of guardians. Uncertain, he finally settled his gaze on Vinh.
“You have to hunt down my parents, don’t you?”
Vinh didn’t blink, but Tasha knew his heart was breaking, just as hers was. “Yes, Lord Christian.”
“Because you have to kill them.”
Tasha turned away and buried her face in her hands, not wanting to hear the rest. And she knew that Christian was addressing Vinh because Vinh had always treated him like an adult and would always tell him the truth.
Word spread quickly at Court. Gossip usually did, and this was the sort of horror that people often speculated about but never expected to happen. Tasha and Christian were allowed to clean up and change, and by the time the guardians escorted the two of them away for questioning, curious onlookers had gathered outside both the town house and the guardians’ office.
Except most everyone was trying very hard not to appear like an onlooker. They acted as though they were casually out and about, that they’d just happened to be strolling around at noon—when most Moroi were asleep. Some even tried to pretend that they hadn’t noticed Tasha and Christian. Others had no such tact. But Tasha felt the weight of all their eyes. She saw them lean their heads together to speak covertly. She heard the whispers.
“Aunt Tasha, all these people are watching us.”
Tasha tightened her hold on Christian’s hand and quickened her step. “They don’t matter. None of them matters to us.”
It was a relief to reach the guardians’ headquarters, not that interrogation proved much better. A group of guardians questioned Tasha for almost two hours, and she had a hard time answering coherently when she herself was still having trouble coming to terms with what had happened. It seemed dreamlike. Or like it was happening to another person, and she was simply watching from the outside.
They interrogated Christian next, and although they warned her not to say anything, they at least allowed her to stay in the room. As the afternoon progressed, something new occurred to her as she analyzed both the line of questioning and the gawkers’ attitudes. There was more to this than just the shock of Lucas and Moira’s crime.
“They think we might turn too, don’t they?” she asked Vinh once it was over. “Or, at least, that I will.”
He couldn’t lie to her any more than he could lie to Christian. “Most Moroi who turn by choice act alone. They’re mentally disturbed. Or desperate. Or too selfish to have ties to others. When pairs or groups turn … yes, sometimes there’s a larger conspiracy of loved ones doing it together.”
“And some people just think it’s in the blood,” she added. “That there’s something inherently evil in all of us.”
His silence was confirmation enough. As they were about to exit the building, Tasha caught sight of two guardians walking into a conference room. When the doors opened, she saw more guardians inside, gathered in front of a giant screen. Faces were tense. This wasn’t an ordinary patrol meeting.
She came to a halt. “That’s where they’re planning it, isn’t it? How to track Lucas and Moira down?”
Vinh gently touched her arm, but she was too distracted to experience any of the old thrill. “Lady Tasha, you should go home.”
“I want to see.” She pulled away. “I have a right to see, don’t I?”
“Yes,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll go with you. But not him. I’ll get another guardian to take him back home.”
Tasha looked down at Christian and felt the ache inside her intensify. How did someone so young even begin to make sense of this? “No. He’s not going back out there without me—not while those vultures are still circling. He can wait in the hall. …” But she faltered, unsure if she wanted to leave him alone here either.
“Lady Ozera? I can wait with him while you meet with the others. I’ll make sure no one bothers him.”
The speaker was a dhampir a little younger than her, his Russian accent thick. He stood taller even than Vinh, with the kind of face that probably made girls swoon, and every bit of him was composed and respectful. “This is Dimitri Belikov,” said Vinh. “He’s part of a group of novices who are visiting Court. You can trust him.”
There weren’t many Tasha truly believed she could trust anymore, but if Vinh trusted this novice, then she would as well. She knelt down and brushed a kiss over Christian’s forehead. “I’ll be right back. I need to … check on something.”
Christian’s icy-blue eyes—Lucas’s eyes, her eyes—studied her without comment. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what was happening.
The guardians’ meeting was already in session when she and Vinh entered the room. It came to a standstill when the others noticed her, and the guardian taking charge at the podium—a short, fierce woman with red hair—cleared her throat. “Lady Ozera, we’re honored at your presence, but perhaps … this isn’t the best place for you to be right now.”
The more people stared at her today, the easier it became for Tasha to ignore them. “Thank you, but this is exactly where I should be right now, Guardian …”
“Hathaway,” Vinh murmured. “Janine Hathaway.”
“Guardian Hathaway,” Tasha said. “Please continue.”
Janine studied Tasha a beat more and then gave a sharp nod before pointing at the screen. It displayed a map of the area south of the Poconos and Court. “Here’s where the first car was found. Based on the estimated time of turning, we can accurately calculate the farthest they could have gone before sunrise. That’s still a big area, but at least it’s contained. For now. When nighttime comes, the radius gets larger and larger, and then it’s beyond our control. Studying the highways, we can also make some educated guesses on which way they went and start sending search parties. New Strigoi usually steer clear of Moroi areas because they don’t want to run into guardians. They do, however, have less control of their bloodlust than a more experienced Strigoi does. We can count on them to make at least one human kill tonight, and that’ll help us pinpoint the direction they went, if not their location.”
Tasha again had that strange detached feeling as she listened to more of the plan. It was all so logical, all so strategic. The guardians addressed the problem with total indifference, and Tasha could almost—almost—forget that it was Lucas and Moira being hunted and not some other monster.
Lucas. My big brother. Almost like a father because of the age difference, especially after our own passed. He used to spin me around until I was too dizzy to stand. He didn’t tease me when I was eleven and gave myself that terrible haircut. He loved cinnamon rolls. He binge-watched old TV sitcoms and would laugh and laugh at the stupidest jokes. …
But Lucas hadn’t laughed so much in recent days, not after his friends died. Knowing what she knew now, Tasha kicked herself for not having realized that when he grew quiet and stared off, he wasn’t reliving old memories. He was fearing for the future, and the inevitable end of his life. How could immortality not sound appealing? Especially with his vain wife constantly panicking about losing her youth and beauty …
“Let’s go,” she told Vinh when the guardians dispersed.
“I’ll find a more discreet way back.”
“Not to our town house.” She peered around the hall and spied Dimitri speaking with Christian. The boy was smiling, but his smile had a haunted quality. “I want to leave Court, Vinh. I need to get away from here. I don’t want Christian around this anymore—around their judgment. And their condemnation.”
“The guardians won’t want you to go far,” Vinh warned. “And they’ll want you to go somewhere well guarded.”
“To protect me from myself, no doubt.”
But she had nowhere to go. The country house was out of the question. Statistics said Lucas and Moira wouldn’t return to it, but it was still suspect. Out of options, she trekked over to Ronald’s Court home. His eyes went wide when he found her and Christian at his door.
“Uncle, I want to go to your estate in Poughkeepsie.”
“Now, Tasha, let’s not do anything that—”
“There’s no time for your scheming or pandering! People saw me come here. You can’t avoid that. Give us the keys, and let us stay upstate for a while until this blows over.”
Some of Ronald’s shock faded. “Until this blows over? Do you realize what’s been done? Tasha, this is never going to blow over! The stain of this will be with your family forever.”
“Our family,” she snapped. “Remember what you told me last night? About how all the Ozeras look after one another?”
He cringed again. Did he think she was going to turn Strigoi before his very eyes? Or was he just unprepared to have her finally stand up to him? “Tasha, please. Try to understand where I’m coming from. It’s not too late for me. If I can distance myself from this … tragedy, my political career still has a chance.”
Tasha took a step forward and saw Ronald’s guardian tense in her periphery. “Your political career has a better chance if you make the council. And guess what. I am now the voting member of my branch of the Ozeras. And if you want to hold on to any hope of being elected to the Ozera council seat, you will give me those keys now.”
An hour later, she was on the road with Vinh, Christian, and another borrowed guardian, Jonas. Officially, he’d come along so that she and Christian could each have their own protection. In reality, she knew it was to put a double watch on her. Christian was too young to drain anyone and become Strigoi, but she was still suspect. And no feeder had been allowed to come with them.
Ronald hadn’t visited his other home in a while. Dust had gathered, and much of the furniture remained covered. Even still, the estate was bigger and more luxurious than Lucas’s, though it hadn’t been styled with Moira’s eye for detail. Tasha wondered how much of a person’s self vanished with the soul when becoming Strigoi. Even as a bloodthirsty creature of the night, was Moira still consumed by the latest fashions?
They arrived a couple of hours before sunset, prime time for Moroi, but their schedules were all thrown off from not sleeping the previous day. After a light dinner, Tasha let Christian run off to the house’s massive home theater. Jonas, unsure of the wards’ status, patrolled the house’s periphery. Tasha uncovered a sofa and collapsed onto it, too exhausted to do anything else. She didn’t intend to sleep, but the next thing she knew, she was yawning and blinking at the garden scene painted on Ronald’s vaulted ceiling. Vinh sat across from her on another couch.
She shot upright. “Where’s Christian?”
“Don’t worry, I know where he is. I found him upstairs but pretended I didn’t.” Vinh’s smile was short-lived. “He seemed like he wanted to be alone. I think … he has a lot to process.”
“Him and me both.” Tasha rubbed her eyes and noted the dark windows. “How long did I sleep?”
“Not long enough. Rest more if you want.”
“I can’t.” She yawned again and pushed hair out of her face. “I’m afraid of what I’ll see. I’m afraid that every time I close my eyes, I’ll see Lucas—as one of those monsters.”
“But it won’t actually be him,” Vinh reminded her. “He’s gone.”
“Is he? If he’d died—or even if he’d been forcibly turned—there would’ve been a line of mourners outside our door back there, offering condolences, bringing us flowers. But there was nothing. Not one word of acknowledgment. Even when they were staring at us … it was like we didn’t exist.”
“That’ll change with time.”
Tasha slumped forward, resting her face in her hands. “Will it, Vinh? You heard what Ronald said.”
He crossed the living room and sat beside her, first placing his gun and silver stake on a nearby table. “Ronald Ozera is a petty man who can’t see past his own ambition. This didn’t even happen to his brother and he’s ready to crumble right now. Whereas you? You’ll weather this. It’ll hurt, but you’ll come out stronger for it. You and Lord Christian both.”
“Really?” She uncovered her face and straightened again. “I don’t feel like I have much of anything left in me, let alone strength.”
“I can feel your strength.” He placed his hand over hers. “It shines around you. I feel it every time I’m near you. I have since the moment we met, back in our freshman history class.”
She looked into his eyes and saw that elusive and precious emotion that he usually kept concealed. The heat of his hand flowed into hers, and there was no obligation or utilitarian reason for that touch. When she laced her fingers in his, he didn’t pull away. “Will you still follow me if I run away?”
“Lady Tasha, I …” His other hand grazed her cheek, and she was surprised to feel him shake. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”
Tasha was swimming in the darkness of his eyes, melting at the closeness of his body. Moments later, stark understanding sent a jolt through her, and euphoria gave way to bitterness. “Because you have to. Because they ordered you to.”
He shook his head. “No. I was lucky when I graduated. I had a few families to choose from, and I requested yours.”
“Did you? But I know … I know how hard it’s been for you. I see it. How it tests your discipline. I always thought …” She cast her eyes downward. “I always thought being assigned to us, to me, was agony for you. Why would you choose it?”
“Because … because I can’t stay away from you.”
His fingers curled into her cheek, tilting her face upward as he brought his mouth to hers. She stiffened, almost wondering if she was dreaming, and then surrendered to the kiss. His lips were the same as she remembered, soft and full, but the way they moved against hers had changed. He tasted her. He devoured her. A new intensity had ignited between them, almost a desperation. They were both older now, past the stage of dares and experimentation. This was a connection to another soul.
But, so help her, it was also desire. He always said she had a flame within her, and just then, she believed him. Every caress of his lips, every bold touch of his hands against her body … it all set her ablaze. And suddenly, there was heat and life in a world that she’d thought would forever be filled with coldness and death. The world still felt dangerous and lonely, but if he loved her enough to finally break with the taboos that said their connection was wrong, then maybe—just maybe—there was still hope in the world. Maybe she could change it.
She wrapped herself against him, ready to let go of inhibition and fear and propriety. Her hands slid under his shirt, greedy to possess him like she used to. He’d succumbed as well and started to push the straps of her tank top down.
And then they heard the scream.
They instantly broke apart, and in a heartbeat, the lust within her was obliterated by fear. The sound had come from outside, and despite the distance, there was no mistaking the complete and almost primal terror in it. Vinh shot to his feet, the silver stake and gun back in his hands. When silence fell—almost more sinister than the scream—he scanned the living room intently, his gaze lingering longest on the windows and the doorway that led to a hall connecting to the foyer and kitchen.
He handed over the gun without looking at her. “Take this. Go upstairs.”
Tasha started to tell him she didn’t know how to use a gun, but when she saw her brother appear in the living room’s doorway, the whole world slowed down. Her mouth couldn’t form any words. Her body couldn’t move. She couldn’t draw breath.
Vinh moved in front of her, murmuring as he passed: “That’s not your brother. Go.”
Tasha, still frozen, tried to truly, clearly take Lucas in. That’s not your brother. But he looked like him. His hair was the same—her hair, Christian’s hair. The features of his face were the same, down to a small mole by his left ear. Even his clothes were the same as they’d been the last time she saw him.
But the eyes … those weren’t the Ozera eyes. They weren’t her eyes or Christian’s eyes. The crystalline blue was all but gone, obscured by the bloody ring of red surrounding his pupils. And he no longer had the fair skin of a Moroi. This went beyond fair, beyond pale. It went beyond life. Lucas’s pallor was that of someone already in the grave.
Even if his eye and hair color hadn’t changed, Tasha would’ve known her brother was gone simply by the way he regarded them. That malevolence, that complete detachment from any sort of compassion or empathy … That’s not your brother. She was looking at some other entity wearing Lucas’s skin.
Tasha felt his gaze slide over her, but Vinh, approaching with his stake, remained Lucas’s main focus. “You were the lucky one,” he told Vinh. Again, it was surreal. Lucas’s voice … but not. “You got to live an extra day. An extra day in my little sister’s company.”
Vinh didn’t speak as he strode forward, totally honed in on his foe. He was moving at an angle rather than a straight line, intentionally drawing the action away from Tasha and the stairs that offered her escape. Tension crackled through both men, every part of them poised and waiting for the other to strike. Lucas still had his slim and lean build, but she knew he now possessed a strength that surpassed all of theirs. He snapped Nolan’s neck. Could Vinh stand against that? He’d been trained to, and new Strigoi were supposed to be less lethal than more seasoned ones—but still very, very lethal.
There’s a chance, she thought. Vinh might be able to hold his own against one fresh Strigoi. He could stake him. Stake her brother.
That thing is not my brother.
The window behind them burst apart, and Moira leapt through it, landing in the living room with far more agility than she’d ever displayed in life. She paused to brush glass off her designer jacket, but if that fastidious nature really had carried over to the undead, it was one of the few things that had. Like Lucas, there was no question that this creature that looked so like Moira Ozera contained nothing but evil.
Vinh realized it was over seconds before Tasha did. Both Strigoi sprang toward him at once, and the guardian brought his stake down toward Lucas, yelling, “Tasha, get out of here!” And then she could hardly see him at all because Lucas and Moira had tackled him to the floor. Tasha heard his screams, could make out his legs flailing, and then she finally came back to herself.
Feeling like a traitor and a coward, she turned away from the grisly scene and raced up the stairs, only to realize she didn’t know where Christian had ended up hiding. Don’t worry, I know where he is, Vinh had said. But Vinh couldn’t help her anymore. For a frantic moment, she thought maybe it was better if Christian stayed hidden, but that was foolish. If a guardian had found him, two Strigoi with enhanced senses could. He needed her.
“Christian!” she shouted, staring around at the vast hall and adjacent rooms. “Christian, where are you?”
Below, the screams had stopped, and she couldn’t stand to think about what that meant. From a darkened doorway on the third floor, Christian stuck his head out, his eyes filled with terror. “What’s happening? They’re here, aren’t they?”
Tasha shot up the rest of the stairs. She shoved him back into the room and slammed the heavy wooden door behind them before turning on the light. They were in a rec room filled with vintage arcade games and various tabletop sports. There were no true windows, only a set of French doors that opened to a balcony. Another door, closed, looked like it was probably a storage closet.
“Help me,” she cried, grabbing a billiards table. She intended to buy them some time and block the door, but there was no time. There wasn’t time for anything. She hadn’t even gotten the table to budge when Moira and Lucas kicked through the wooden door. Tasha took hold of Christian’s hand and pulled him along as she backed up toward the balcony.
“Those aren’t your parents,” she said to Christian, just as Vinh had told her.
She’d spoken softly, but Strigoi had superior hearing. “Of course we are,” said Moira. “And we want to be with our son.”
Tasha shouldered open the French doors behind her. They didn’t offer much of an escape, not here on the third floor of a house with oversized stories, but it still meant she could put a few more feet between them and her. “I’ll die before I’ll let you kill him,” she said.
Lucas moved closer, an animal on the prowl. “We don’t want to kill him. We want him to join us. You can too, but that’s your choice. It makes no difference to us. With or without your consent, we’re leaving with Christian.”
“You want to turn him? Keep him nine forever?” Tasha exclaimed.
“We want to keep him,” clarified Moira. “Keep him until he’s of age. Then awaken him.”
Awaken. The word Strigoi used for turn, making it sound like some sort of holy act. As horrifying as Christian being turned into an eternally nine-year-old Strigoi was, the thought of him being held captive by Strigoi for years until he was “of age” turned Tasha’s stomach just as much.
“There’s nowhere else you can go,” Lucas said. He was right. Another step, and she’d be fully outside on the balcony and completely trapped. He and Moira were so close now she could see their fangs—sharper and larger than a Moroi’s.
Moira knelt down and smiled at Christian. Blood gleamed on her jacket, blood that hadn’t been there when she’d crashed through the window. Vinh’s blood.
“Christian, don’t you want to come with us? Don’t you want us to all go to a new home together? Tell Aunt Tasha to stop being so selfish.”
Tasha didn’t need to remind Christian that these weren’t his parents. He cringed against her, his nails digging into her palm. Tasha raised the gun she’d been holding in her other hand.
“Don’t talk to him. Don’t come any nearer. This might not kill you, but silver bullets hurt.”
Lucas laughed. “Since when can you use a gun? You’re not going to hurt anyone with the safety on.”
Was it on? Tasha wasn’t sure. And she certainly didn’t know how to take the safety off if it was. She threw the gun down and pulled Christian all the way outside with her until their backs hit the balcony’s rail. “I’ll throw us both off!” she cried. “We’ll be dead before you can turn anyone.”
That gave the Strigoi pause, and they stopped advancing. Christian’s death was the only power she held over them because it thwarted what they’d come for. It wasn’t a power she wanted, though. She didn’t want Christian to die. She didn’t want to die. But if it came down to that or letting them—
Before she could complete the thought, Lucas struck, and no matter how many stories she’d heard of Strigoi speed, even after seeing them pounce on Vinh, Tasha still wasn’t prepared for how quickly it happened. Lucas shot out the door and snatched her away from Christian, forcing her to lose her hold on the boy. Without pause, Lucas bent down and sank his teeth into the side of Tasha’s face. Tasha’s scream was lost in blood and the press of his body on hers as he held her down in the doorway. Pain ripped through her, so maddeningly intense that she nearly lost consciousness. Another scream—Christian’s—forced her to keep her grip on the present, no matter her agony. Moira had dragged him into the room.
Desperate for any weapon, Tasha sent a burst of fire magic toward Lucas. It wasn’t much. She rarely practiced and was certainly no creator of fireworks. She could do all the cute parlor tricks most fire-wielding Moroi could, like lighting candles. She’d even flambéed cherries at a party once. What she did now had no real force, and certainly no precision, but it was enough. Flames licked along the edge of Lucas’s sleeve, and he let go of her and staggered back inside as he tried to pull the jacket off.
Pressing a hand to her cheek, Tasha steadied herself against one of the French doors and watched as Moira let go of Christian. She hurried over to help Lucas pull his jacket off, cautious about getting too near the flames. A big enough fire could kill a Strigoi. The two of them blocked Tasha’s way to the room’s main exit, though Christian now had a clear path. Tasha tried to tell him to run, but her mouth and jaw no longer worked properly. Her nephew stared at her with wide eyes as she frantically gestured, and she could only imagine what the boy thought of her ghastly appearance. But then, instead of turning around and running away, he shot forward and clung to her leg.
“I won’t leave you,” he said fiercely.
Lucas’s jacket lay on the ground now, the fire stamped out. Tasha found herself in exactly the same situation as before: stuck between the Strigoi and the balcony. Well, not exactly the same situation. Now half her face was gone. But the smoldering jacket gave her a glimmer of hope. If she could use her magic to create a bigger blaze, she might be able to destroy one of them, or at least give her and Christian one last shot at escape.
Fighting through the pain, the fear, and so much more, Tasha summoned what power she could and directed it toward Moira, striving to create the greatest fire she’d ever made. And it was big. It surpassed Tasha’s last weak attempt, but the magic was sloppy. Tasha missed Moira and ended up setting the room’s large Persian rug on fire. It ignited quickly, the blaze spreading fast and far—and Tasha didn’t have the strength to control it.
She sensed a trickle of fire magic beside her, and the flames on the rug redirected slightly, settling into a barrier between the Strigoi and the balcony. Tasha looked down at Christian in surprise. “I’m sorry,” he said, his face strained with panic and exhaustion. “I can’t control it.”
Tasha patted his shoulder with her free hand and watched Lucas’s and Moira’s frustration as the flames grew higher and smoke filled the room. The Strigoi couldn’t get to the balcony through the fire and were going to have to cut their losses soon if they wanted to escape it themselves.
We can’t get through the fire either, Tasha thought. We’ll have to jump. But at least we’ll die with our souls intact.
Christian coughed and started to cover his mouth with his hand. Suddenly, he stiffened and pointed. It was hard to make out much in the hazy room anymore, but she soon caught sight of what he’d noticed. Other people streamed into the room now. Lots of people. Guardians. Janine Hathaway led them, and they all carried silver stakes.
Lucas and Moira turned their backs to Tasha and Christian and readied for the fight. But as the guardians descended, Tasha knew there was no question of how this was going to end. She took one last look at the monster wearing her brother’s face and then turned Christian away so that he wouldn’t have to see his parents’ second death.
They clung to each other, listening to shouts and cries and the crackling of burning wood. The smoke stung Tasha’s eyes, but she felt certain she would’ve been crying without it. The pain in her face was unbearable, but not as great as the pain in her heart, and she had that earlier urge to close her eyes and lie down forever.
Tasha blinked her eyes open, thinking she’d imagined the voice. Christian pulled her closer to the balcony’s edge, and they saw a guardian waving at them below. Farther, across the estate’s vast grounds, more guardians were running from a garage used by maintenance workers—and they were carrying a massive ladder.
“Hang on,” the guardian below the balcony called. “This’ll all be over soon.”
But it was never going to be over.
Tasha knew that then. She knew it the next day and the next week. She even knew it two months later, on the day she decided to move away from Court. So long as she woke up every morning, replaying the events of that dark night, nothing about it could ever be over.
Her title ensured she would always be welcome at Court and provided with lodging when she visited. But when a royal formally gave up permanent residence at Court, custom dictated that an official farewell be made to the monarch. So, once she’d made sure the last of the town house’s possessions had either been moved or disposed of, Tasha turned the keys over to the royal land manager and trekked across the Court’s vast, beautiful grounds once more.
Autumn had taken hold, and the groundskeepers couldn’t keep up with the red and gold leaves that kept falling across the pathways. Gray clouds loomed overhead, but Tasha hadn’t brought an umbrella. She didn’t plan on going back for one either. There were no lines of spectators today. No one knew her exact plans or that she’d even be outside. But those who recognized her in passing still did a double take, staring without trying to make it look like they were staring.
The others waiting in the anteroom to be received by Tatiana stared as well, their expressions mixtures of curiosity and shock. Tasha wondered how much of their reaction still came from the speculation over whether the rest of Lucas’s relatives would turn.
She caught sight of her face in a polished silver vase and met that reflection unflinchingly. After treatments and surgeries, she’d been allowed to stop wearing bandages a week ago, though one doctor had tactfully said he’d understand if she wanted to keep her cheek covered. She didn’t. Angry red welts still showed in the side of her face, some from the original bite and some from reconstructive surgery. The skin covering it all was irregular—too tight or too wrinkled—and that also was a byproduct of reconstruction. It would be an ongoing process. Future surgeries could fix a lot of it, but all the doctors had reiterated that her face would never be as it was. She’d always have some sort of scar.
An effortless beauty, Tasha thought.
Tasha entered at the sound of her name. Queen Tatiana was receiving visitors in the throne room today, which was a rarity. The Court, no matter where it was in the world, always maintained a throne room for the acting monarch, and in older days, that room would’ve been the chief location for all royal receptions. In modern times, the queen often listened to callers in less luxurious—but still very dignified—sitting rooms.
Tasha had been warned this morning about the venue change, the subtle message being that she should dress appropriately. But Tasha wore the same clothes she planned on wearing to the airport in two hours: jeans, T-shirt, suede jacket. A ponytail held her long hair back from her face. Courtiers whispered as she passed through the ostentatious red-and-gold room, and she realized she couldn’t even tell what particular kind of gossip she stirred up anymore.
Queen Tatiana sat atop the elaborately carved throne that had honored generations of monarchs before her. At least it was situated only slightly above ground level today. For truly formal occasions, the throne would sit high on a platform that required stairs. Even so, the queen had still very clearly dressed to impress, wearing a velvet gown in shades of red and rust that Tasha thought was better suited for something like the Summer’s End Ball, rather than business meetings with one’s subjects. The queen kept her expression serene, but Tasha could sense the other woman’s condemnation.
Tasha bowed, unable to curtsy in jeans.
“Natasha. We are pleased to see you in the palace. You haven’t been out recently. Are you feeling better?” Tatiana, wielding the royal we, spoke as though Tasha were getting over a cold.
“Yes, thank you, Your Majesty. I’ve come to officially request your leave. I’m surrendering my family’s residence and moving.” The request was a formality these days; Tatiana couldn’t stop her.
“Understandable. Where are you moving to?”
Surprise crept into Tatiana’s face. “There aren’t any Moroi strongholds there. Just a handful of feeders.”
Moroi tended to survive by clustering together with groups of their guardians or seeking isolation (while also well guarded), as Ronald had tried with his now half-burned estate. Minneapolis met none of those criteria. That was part of the reason why Tasha had chosen it as a new home. If she’d only had to worry about herself, she actually would’ve run as far and as fast as she could to the other side of the world. But she had to keep close to Christian, now back at school in Montana, and to Court as well. She wasn’t going to let the other royals forget her or think that they’d made her run away. She was leaving by choice.
“You’ll probably want a guardian to accompany you, then.”
Tasha laughed, shocking everyone in the room. “Your Majesty, my own brother turned Strigoi and killed someone I cared about right in front of me. And then he tried to kill me.” She turned and pointed, making sure the queen got a good look at her cheek. “After that, I had to decide whether to burn to death with my nephew or just kill us both outright with a suicidal jump.”
When Tasha said no more, Tatiana waved an expectant hand. “Your point?”
“My point, Your Majesty, is that I have little left to be afraid of. Not anymore. Other Moroi? They’re afraid and endanger themselves further by choosing helplessness and depending on guardians for defense. If I’d known conventional fighting methods, if I’d had better control of my magic …” Tasha’s resolve faltered for just a moment. Could she have helped Vinh take down Lucas and Moira if she’d known more? Would it have been enough? “Well, Your Majesty, things would’ve turned out differently. I won’t make the mistake of ignorance again, and I’m not going to take a guardian from someone who needs one more than me. I will not rely on another for my safety. I’ll take charge of my own safety. You told me once that I just needed to look pretty and keep my opinions to myself, but since it turns out neither is possible now, I’ll give you my opinion on what I think should be done. I think other Moroi should start taking a stand for themselves and demand tools and training to fight Strigoi. And I think the council and the crown should be facilitating that as well.”
Until that moment, Tasha had never thought much about how silence had a sound. But it did. It was heavy and loud, and it filled the room. Tatiana studied her unblinkingly, and Tasha met that steely gaze with none of the fear she’d felt at the ball. As she’d said, she had little to be afraid of anymore.
“Your opinion is noted,” the queen said. “And your leave is granted. The Court will, of course, maintain a place for your nephew to return to on school holidays.”
“Because he will need to go somewhere. He’s a minor. No doubt your other family will look after—”
“I am his family,” Tasha stated, eliciting gasps at the impudence of interrupting the queen. “And I will look after him. He’ll either come to me in Minneapolis on breaks, or I’ll go to him and stay at St. Vladimir’s.”
Sending Christian back to school had been one of the hardest decisions Tasha had ever had to make. She could have homeschooled him; it wasn’t unheard of for Moroi in isolation. Or she could have stayed at Court and sent him to its schools, where she could keep a more watchful eye on him. Ultimately, he had made the choice.
It’s okay, Aunt Tasha. I’ll go back. I can handle whatever happens.
She believed him but wished it wasn’t a battle he had to face. His eyes—too old for someone so young—had told her that he knew what to expect. It would be like the reaction at Court, except adults had more tact than children. Usually.
“You take a lot of risks,” said Queen Tatiana. “But so be it. There are plenty of other Ozeras. If you want to throw your lives away and traipse around the world, defenseless, I won’t forbid it.”
“Not defenseless,” Tasha replied. “The Ozeras will never be defenseless again—the real Ozeras. My nephew and me. All the others? They just share the same name.”
Tatiana smiled, a thin, tight-lipped smile with all the warmth of a marble bust. “I’m sure Ronald will be very happy to hear that. And I’m sure the guardians’ personnel department will be glad they won’t have to reallocate guardians to you after having wasted five others on your family.”
“Four, Your Majesty. Four were killed.”
“Were there? I lost track. But still, it’s a relief. That’s one less we have to replace.”
“Vinh Duy Khuc. Nolan Orr. Jonas Nowicki. Ira Locke.”
Tatiana frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Those ‘ones’ you need to replace. Those are their names.” Tasha returned the queen’s earlier icy smile with one of her own. “I can write them down for you if it’ll help you keep track.”
“That won’t be necessary. Is there anything else you require before leaving, Natasha?”
“Then you shouldn’t delay your journey. I’m sure there are many … who will miss you.” Tatiana’s tone made it clear that she was not one of those people.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be back to visit. Like I said, I’m not going to keep my opinions to myself anymore, and I expect I’ll have a lot to say. I hope that won’t be a problem, Your Majesty.”
“Natasha, dear, you may posture all you like, but there’s very little you could say or do that would truly be a problem for me. Go.” The queen waved in dismissal, possibly even boredom. “Go off on whatever quest you think will make you feel better.”
Tasha left with her head held high, smiling at the scandalized onlookers. When she reached the antechamber, a young man held the door open. She looked over and recognized the visiting Russian novice who’d stayed with Christian.
“You remembered my name,” he said in surprise. “Just like you remembered the others.”
“You … you said some very brave things in there.” He spoke diplomatically, cautiously—well aware of the dangers of openly supporting controversial views—but something in his brown eyes told her he agreed with her. Just like Vinh, she thought. So controlled and so good at his duty. So good at sitting on his feelings.
“I said what needed to be said, Mr. Belikov. How much longer will you be at Court?”
“Well, have a safe trip back. I hope we cross paths again.”
He bowed his head deferentially. “Me too, Lady Ozera.”
“No need for that. You don’t work for me. Just call me Tasha.”
Surprise flashed over him, and then the edges of his mouth turned up in amusement. “Then call me Dimitri … Tasha.”
Not like Vinh after all. Despite all her insistence on dropping the title, Vinh had obstinately kept with protocol—up until the last words he’d ever spoken to her.
Tears stung her eyes, and the wound of his loss—still raw, still bleeding—tore at her. One moment we were in each other’s arms, finally ready to cast aside all those stupid, archaic rules. And then he was gone. Just like that. The ache of his loss followed her everywhere. It was her new companion, one that made her dream of Vinh’s face when the Strigoi had attacked and the screaming had followed. Tasha couldn’t imagine this hole in her heart—no, this hole in her life—would ever heal, but if by some miracle it did, she’d made a vow to herself. I will never endure this sort of pain again. If I’m able to love someone else one day, I will do whatever it takes to hold on to him. No matter the cost.
Realizing Dimitri was staring at her curiously, Tasha blinked a few times and tried to muster a pleasant tone and expression as she returned to the present.
Her flight arrived in Minneapolis far too late at night for her to do much more than go to bed and try to adjust to a human schedule. But she was up with the sun, out and about as the rest of the city opened for business and began its day. She had plans to apartment-hunt later in the afternoon, but first, she had a more important task.
Coffee in hand, Tasha stood at her hotel’s main entrance and scanned both directions of the busy downtown street before her. At random, she chose to go left and walked two blocks before finding what she sought.
You don’t need guardians to teach you. Go to any city, and you’ll find endless options.
“Hello?” she called as she pushed open a glass door. The empty room’s interior was dark and dusty and smelled like old sweat. Punching bags and weights were arranged around the walls, and a makeshift ring took over the center. After a few moments, a middle-aged human man emerged from a back-room.
“Can I help you?” He was shorter than her, but his biceps looked bigger than her waist.
“That’s what the sign says.”
Walk down a street and turn into the first place you find that can teach you any semblance of self-defense.
“Can you teach me?” she asked.
The man tilted his head to one side and scratched his neck. “I can teach anyone. But you’re a skinny thing. We’d have to spend half our time just getting you stronger. You up for that?”
Start with something, and go from there. Go until you’re un-stoppable.
“I’m up for anything,” she said.
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