TWENTY-SEVEN
WALKING INTO THE COURTROOM
was one of the most surreal experiences of my life—and not just
because I was the one being accused here. It just kept reminding me
of Victor’s trial, and the idea that I was now in his place was
almost too weird to comprehend.
Entering a room with a troop of guardians makes
people stare—and believe me, there were a lot of people packed in
there—so naturally, I didn’t skulk or look ashamed. I walked with
confidence, my head held high. Again, I had that eerie flashback to
Victor. He too had walked in defiantly, and I’d been appalled that
someone who had committed his crimes could behave that way. Were
these people thinking the same thing about me?
On the dais at the front of the room sat a woman I
didn’t recognize. Among the Moroi, a judge was usually a lawyer who
had been appointed to the position for the purposes of the hearing
or whatever. The trial itself—at least a big one like Victor’s—had
been presided over by the queen. She had been the one to ultimately
decide the final verdict. Here, the Council members would be the
ones to decide if I even reached that stage. The trial makes it official. That’s where they pass the
verdict and dole out the punishment.
My escort took me to the front seating of the
room, past the bar that separated the key players from the
audience, and motioned me toward a spot next to a middle-aged Moroi
in a very formal and very designer black suit. The suit screamed,
I’m sorry the queen is dead, and I’m going to
look fashionable while showing my grief. His hair was a pale
blond, lightly laced with the first signs of silver. Somehow, he
made it look good. I presumed this was Damon Tarus, my lawyer, but
he didn’t say a word to me.
Mikhail sat beside me as well, and I was glad
they’d chosen him to be the one who literally didn’t leave my side.
Glancing back, I saw Daniella and Nathan Ivashkov sitting with
other high-ranking royals and their families. Adrian had chosen not
to join them. He sat farther back, with Lissa, Christian, and
Eddie. All of their faces were filled with worry.
The judge—an elderly, gray-haired Moroi who looked
like she could still kick ass—called the room to attention, and I
twisted around to face forward again. The Council was entering, and
she announced them one by one. Two sets of benches had been
arranged for them, two rows of six with a thirteenth in back
raised. Of course, only eleven of the spots were filled, and I
tried not to scowl. Lissa should have been sitting there.
When the Council was settled, the judge turned to
face the rest of us and spoke in a voice that rang through the
room. “This hearing is now in order, in which we will determine
whether there is enough evidence to—”
A commotion at the door cut her off, and the
audience craned their necks to see what was going on.
“What’s this disturbance about?” the judge
demanded.
One of the guardians had the door partially open
and was leaning out, apparently speaking to whoever was in the
hall. He ducked back into the room. “The accused’s lawyer is here,
Your Honor.”
The judge glanced at Damon and me and then
delivered a frown to the guardian. “She already has a
lawyer.”
The guardian shrugged and appeared comically
helpless. If there had been a Strigoi out there, he would have
known what to do. This bizarre interruption of protocol was beyond
his skill set. The judge sighed.
“Fine. Send whoever it is up here and let’s get
this settled.”
Abe walked in.
“Oh dear lord,” I said out loud.
I didn’t have to scold myself for speaking out of
turn because a hum of conversation immediately filled the room. My
guess was that half were in awe because they knew Abe and his
reputation. The other half were probably just stunned by his
appearance.
He wore a gray cashmere suit, considerably lighter
than Damon’s grim black. Underneath it was a dress shirt that was
so bright a white, it seemed to glow—particularly next to the
brilliant crimson silk tie he wore. Other spots of red were
scattered about his outfit—a handkerchief in the pocket, ruby cuff
links. Naturally, it was all as perfectly tailored and expensive as
Damon’s outfit. But Abe didn’t look like he was in mourning. He
didn’t even look like he was coming to a trial. It was more like
he’d been interrupted on his way to a party. And of course, he
sported his usual gold hoop earrings and trimmed black beard.
The judge silenced the room with a hand motion as
he strutted up to her.
“Ibrahim Mazur,” she said, with a shake of her
head. There were equal parts amazement and disapproval in her
voice. “This is . . . unexpected.”
Abe swept her a gallant bow. “It’s lovely to see
you again, Paula. You haven’t aged a day.”
“We aren’t at a country club, Mr. Mazur,” she
informed him. “And while here, you will address me by my proper
title.”
“Ah. Right.” He winked. “My apologies, Your
Honor.” Turning, he glanced around until his eyes rested on me.
“There she is. Sorry to have delayed this. Let’s get
started.”
Damon stood up. “What is this? Who are you? I’m her lawyer.”
Abe shook his head. “There must have been some
mistake. It took me a while to get a flight here, so I can see why
you would have appointed a community lawyer to fill in.”
“Community lawyer!” Damon’s face grew red with
indignation. “I’m one of the most renowned lawyers among American
Moroi.”
“Renowned, community.” Abe shrugged and leaned
back on his heals. “I don’t judge. No pun intended.”
“Mr. Mazur,” interrupted the judge, “are you a lawyer?”
“I’m a lot of things, Paula—Your Honor. Besides,
does it matter? She only needs someone to speak for her.”
“And she has someone,” exclaimed Damon.
“Me.”
“Not anymore,” said Abe, his demeanor still very
pleasant. He had never stopped smiling, but I thought I saw that
dangerous glint in his eyes that frightened so many of his enemies.
He was the picture of calm, while Damon looked like he was ready to
have a seizure.
“Your Honor—”
“Enough!” she said in that resounding voice of
hers. “Let the girl choose.” She fixed her brown eyes on me. “Who
do you want to speak for you?”
“I . . .” My mouth dropped open at how abruptly
the attention shifted to me. I’d been watching the drama between
the two men like a tennis match, and now the ball had hit me in the
head.
“Rose.”
Startled, I turned slightly. Daniella Ivashkov had
crept over in the row behind me. “Rose,” she whispered again, “you
have no idea who that Mazur man is.” Oh, didn’t I? “You want
nothing to do with him. Damon’s the best. He’s not easy to
get.”
She moved back to her seat, and I looked between
my two potential lawyers’ faces. I understood Daniella’s meaning.
Adrian had talked her into getting Damon for me, and then she had
talked Damon into actually doing it. Rejecting him would be an
insult to her, and considering she was one of the few royal Moroi
who’d been nice to me about Adrian, I certainly didn’t want to earn
her dislike. Besides, if this was some setup by royals, having one
of them on my side was probably my best chance at getting
off.
And yet . . . there was Abe, looking at me with
that clever smile of his. He was certainly very good at getting his
way, but a lot of that was by force of his presence and reputation.
If there really was some absurd evidence against me, Abe’s attitude
wouldn’t be enough to make it go away. Of course, he was sly, too.
The serpent. He could make the impossible happen; he’d certainly
pulled a lot of strings for me.
That did not, however, change the fact that he
wasn’t a lawyer.
On the other hand, he was my father.
He was my father, and although we still barely
knew each other, he’d gone to great lengths to get here and saunter
in with his gray suit to defend me. Was it fatherly love gone bad?
Was he really all that good a lawyer? And at the end of the day,
was it true that blood ran thicker than water? I didn’t know. I
actually didn’t like that saying. Maybe it worked for humans, but
it made no sense with vampires.
Anyway, Abe was staring at me intently with dark
brown eyes nearly identical to mine. Trust
me, he seemed to say. But could I? Could I trust my family? I
would have trusted my mother if she were here—and I knew she
trusted Abe.
I sighed and gestured toward him. “I’ll take him.”
In an undertone, I added, “Don’t let me down, Zmey.”
Abe’s smile grew broader as shocked exclamations
filled the audience, and Damon protested in outrage. Daniella might
have had to persuade him to take me on in the beginning, but now
this case had become a matter of pride for him. His reputation had
just been sullied by me passing him up.
But I’d made my choice, and the exasperated judge
would hear no more arguments about it. She shooed Damon away, and
Abe slid into his seat. The judge began with the standard opening
speech, explaining why we were here, etc., etc. As she spoke, I
leaned toward Abe.
“What have you gotten me into?” I hissed to
him.
“Me? What have you gotten
yourself into? Couldn’t I have just picked you up at the police
station for underage drinking, like most fathers?”
I was beginning to understand why people got
irritated when I made jokes in dangerous situations.
“My fucking future’s on the line! They’re going to
send me to trial and convict me!”
Every trace of humor or cheer vanished from his
face. His expression grew hard, deadly serious. A chill ran down my
spine.
“That,” he said in a low, flat voice, “is
something I swear to you is never, ever going to happen.”
The judge turned her attention back to us and the
prosecuting lawyer, a woman called Iris Kane. Not a royal name, but
she still looked pretty hard-core. Maybe that was just a lawyer
thing.
Before the evidence against me was laid out, the
queen’s murder was also described in all its grisly detail. How’d
she’d been found this morning in bed, a silver stake through her
heart and a profound look of horror and shock on her face. Blood
had been everywhere: on her nightgown, the sheets, her skin . . .
The pictures were shown to everyone in the room, triggering a
variety of reactions. Gasps of surprise. More fear and panic. And
some . . . some people wept. Some of those tears were undoubtedly
because of the whole terrible situation, but I think many cried
because they’d loved or liked Tatiana. She’d been cold and stiff at
times, but for the most part, her reign had been a peaceful and
just one.
After the pictures, they called me up. The hearing
didn’t run the way a normal trial did. There was no formal
switching back of lawyers as they questioned witnesses. They each
just sort of stood there and took turns asking questions while the
judge kept order.
“Miss Hathaway,” began Iris, dropping my title.
“What time did you return to your room last night?”
“I don’t know the exact time. . . .” I focused on
her and Abe, not the sea of faces out there. “Somewhere around 5
a.m., I think. Maybe 6.”
“Was anyone with you?”
“No, well—yes. Later.” Oh, God. Here it comes. “Um, Adrian Ivashkov visited
me.”
“What time did he arrive?” asked Abe.
“I’m not sure of that either. A few hours after I
got back, I guess.”
Abe turned his charming smile on Iris, who was
rustling through some papers. “The queen’s murder has been pretty
accurately narrowed down to between seven and eight. Rose wasn’t
alone—of course, we would need Mr. Ivashkov to testify to that
effect.”
My eyes flicked briefly to the audience. Daniella
looked pale. This was her nightmare: Adrian getting involved.
Glancing farther over, I saw that Adrian himself seemed eerily
calm. I really hoped he wasn’t drunk.
Iris held up a sheet of paper triumphantly. “We
have a signed statement from a janitor who says Mr. Ivashkov
arrived at the defendant’s building at approximately nine
twenty.”
“That’s pretty specific,” said Abe. He sounded
amused, like she’d said something cute. “Do you have any desk staff
to confirm that?”
“No,” Iris said icily. “But this is enough. The
janitor remembers because he was about to take his break. Miss
Hathaway was alone when the murder took place. She has no
alibi.”
“Well,” said Abe, “at least according to some
questionable ‘facts.’”
But no more was said about the time. The evidence
was admitted into the official records, and I took a deep breath. I
hadn’t liked that line of questioning, but it had been expected,
based on the earlier conversations I’d heard via Lissa. The
no-alibi thing wasn’t good, but I kind of shared Abe’s vibe. What
they had so far still didn’t seem strong enough to send me to
trial. Plus, they hadn’t asked anything else about Adrian, which
left him out of this.
“Next exhibit,” said Iris. There was smug triumph
all over her face. She knew the time thing was sketchy, but
whatever was coming up, she thought it was gold.
But actually, it was silver. A silver stake.
So help me, she had a silver stake in a clear
plastic container. It gleamed in the incandescent lighting—except
for its tip. That was dark. With blood.
“This is the stake used to kill the queen,”
declared Iris. “Miss Hathaway’s stake.”
Abe actually laughed. “Oh, come on. Guardians are
issued stakes all the time. They have an enormous, identical
supply.”
Iris ignored him and looked at me. “Where is your
stake right now?”
I frowned. “In my room.”
She turned and glanced out over the crowd.
“Guardian Stone?”
A tall dhampir with a bushy black mustache rose
from the crowd. “Yes?”
“You conducted the search of Miss Hathaway’s room
and belongings, correct?”
I gaped in outrage. “You searched my—”
A sharp look from Abe silenced me.
“Correct,” said the guardian.
“And did you find any silver stakes?” asked
Iris.
“No.”
She turned back to us, still smug, but Abe seemed
to find this new information even more ridiculous than the last
batch. “That proves nothing. She could have lost the stake without
realizing it.”
“Lost it in the queen’s heart?”
“Miss Kane,” warned the judge.
“My apologies, Your Honor,” said Iris smoothly.
She turned to me. “Miss Hathaway, is there anything special about
your stake? Anything that would distinguish it from others?”
“Y-yes.”
“Can you describe that?”
I swallowed. I had a bad feeling about this. “It
has a pattern etched near the top. A kind of geometric design.”
Guardians had engraving done sometimes. I’d found this stake in
Siberia and kept it. Well, actually, Dimitri had sent it to me
after it had come loose from his chest.
Iris walked over to the Council and held out the
container so that each of them could examine it. Returning to me,
she gave me my turn. “Is this your pattern? Your stake?”
I stared. It was indeed. My mouth opened, ready to
say yes, but then I caught Abe’s eye.
Clearly, he couldn’t talk directly to me, but he sent a lot of
messages in that gaze. The biggest one was to be careful, be sly.
What would a slippery person like Abe do?
“It . . . it looks similar
to the design on mine,” I said at last. “But I can’t say for sure
if it’s the exact same one.” Abe’s smile told me I’d answered
correctly.
“Of course you can’t,” Iris said, as though she’d
expected no better. She handed off the container to one of the
court clerks. “But now that the Council has seen that the design
matches her description and is almost like
her stake, I would like to point out that testing has revealed”—she
held up more papers, victory all over her face—“that her
fingerprints are on it.”
There, it was. The big score. The “hard
evidence.”
“Any other fingerprints?” asked the judge.
“No, Your Honor. Just hers.”
“That means nothing,” said Abe with a shrug. I had
a feeling that if I stood and suddenly confessed to the murder, he
would still claim it was dubious evidence. “Someone steals her
stake and wears gloves. Her fingerprints would be on it because
it’s hers.”
“That’s getting kind of convoluted, don’t you
think?” asked Iris.
“The evidence is still full of holes,” he
protested. “That’s what’s convoluted. How could she have gotten
into the queen’s bedroom? How could she have gotten through the
guards?”
“Well,” mused Iris, “those would be questions best
explored in trial, but considering Miss Hathaway’s extensive record
of breaking into and out of places, as well as the countless other
disciplinary marks she has, I don’t doubt she could have found any
number of ways to get inside.”
“You have no proof,” said Abe. “No theory.”
“We don’t need it,” said Iris. “Not at this point.
We have more than enough to go to trial, don’t we? I mean, we
haven’t even gotten to the part where countless witnesses heard
Miss Hathaway tell the queen she’d regret establishing the recent
guardian law. I can find the transcript if you like—not to mention
reports of other ‘expressive’ commentary Miss Hathaway made in
public.”
A memory came back to me, of standing outside with
Daniella while I ranted—with others watching—about how the queen
couldn’t buy me off with an assignment. Not a good decision on my
part. Neither was busting in on the Death Watch or complaining
about the queen being worth protecting when Lissa had been
captured. I’d given Iris a lot of material.
“Oh yes,” Iris continued. “We also have accounts
of the queen declaring her extreme disapproval of Miss Hathaway’s
involvement with Adrian Ivashkov, particularly when the two ran off
to elope.” I opened my mouth at that, but Abe silenced me. “There
are countless other records of Her Majesty and Miss Hathaway
sparring in public. Would you like me to find those papers too, or
are we able to vote on a trial now?”
This was directed at the judge. I had no legal
background, but the evidence was pretty damning. I would have said
that there was definitely reason to consider me a murder suspect,
except . . .
“Your Honor?” I asked. I think she’d been about to
give her declaration. “Can I say something?”
The judge thought about it, then shrugged. “I see
no reason not to. We’re collecting all the evidence there
is.”
Oh, me freelancing was not
in Abe’s plan at all. He strode to the stand, hoping to stop me
with his wise counsel, but he wasn’t fast enough.
“Okay,” I said, hoping I sounded reasonable and
wasn’t going to lose my temper. “You’ve put up a lot of suspicious
stuff here. I can see that.” Abe looked pained. It was not an
expression I’d seen on him before. He didn’t lose control of
situations very often. “But that’s the thing. It’s too suspicious. If I were going to murder someone, I
wouldn’t be that stupid. Do you think I’d leave my stake stuck in
her chest? Do you think I wouldn’t wear gloves? Come on. That’s
insulting. If I’m as crafty as you claim my record says I am, then
why would I do it this way? I mean, seriously? If I did it, it’d be
a lot better. You’d never even peg me as a suspect. This is all
really kind of an insult to my intelligence.”
“Rose—” began Abe, a dangerous note in his tone. I
kept going.
“All this evidence you’ve got is so painfully
obvious. Hell, whoever set this up might as well have painted an
arrow straight to me—and someone did set me
up, but you guys are too stupid to even consider that.” The volume
of my voice was rising, and I consciously brought it back to normal
levels. “You want an easy answer. A quick answer. And you
especially want someone with no connections, no powerful family to
protect them . . .” I hesitated there, unsure how to classify Abe.
“Because that’s how it always is. That’s how it was with that age
law. No one was able to stand up for the dhampirs either because
this goddamned system won’t allow it.”
It occurred to me then that I had strayed pretty
far off the subject—and was making myself look more guilty by
slamming the age law. I reined myself back in.
“Um, anyway, Your Honor . . . what I’m trying to
say is that this evidence shouldn’t be enough to accuse me or send
me to trial. I wouldn’t plan a murder this badly.”
“Thank you, Miss Hathaway,” said the judge. “That
was very . . . informative. You may take your seat now while the
Council votes.”
Abe and I returned to our bench. “What in the
world were you thinking?” he whispered.
“I was telling it like it is. I was defending
myself.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. You’re no lawyer.”
I gave him a sidelong look. “Neither are you, old
man.”
The judge asked the Council to vote on whether
they believed there was enough evidence to make me a viable suspect
and send me to trial. They did. Eleven hands went up. Just like
that, it was over.
Through the bond, I felt Lissa’s alarm. As Abe and
I rose to leave, I looked out in the audience, which was starting
to disband and buzzing with talk over what would happen now. Her
light green eyes were wide, her face unusually pale. Beside her,
Adrian too looked distressed, but as he stared at me, I could see
love and determination radiating. And in the back, behind both of
them . . .
Dimitri.
I hadn’t even known he was here. His eyes were on
me too, dark and endless. Only I couldn’t read what he was feeling.
His face betrayed nothing, but there was something in his eyes . .
. something intense and intimidating. The image of him ready to
take down that group of guardians flashed through my mind, and
something told me that if I asked, he would do it again. He would
fight his way to me through this courtroom and do everything in his
power to rescue me from it.
A brushing of my hand distracted me from him. Abe
and I had started to exit, but the aisle ahead of us was packed
with people, bringing us to a halt. The touch against my hand was a
small piece of paper shoved between my fingers. Glancing over, I
saw Ambrose was sitting near the aisle, staring straight ahead. I
wanted to ask what was going on, but some instinct kept me silent.
Seeing as the line still wasn’t moving, I hastily opened the paper,
keeping it out of Abe’s sight.
The paper was tiny, its elegant cursive almost
impossible to read.
Rose,
If you’re reading this, then
something terrible has happened. You probably hate me, and I don’t
blame you. I can only ask that you trust that what I did with the
age decree was better for your people than what others had planned.
There are some Moroi who want to force all dhampirs into service, whether they want it or not, by
using compulsion. The age decree has slowed that faction
down.
However, I write to you with a
secret you must put right, and it is a secret you must share with
as few as possible. Vasilisa needs her spot on the Council, and it
can be done. She is not the last Dragomir. Another lives, the
illegitimate child of Eric Dragomir. I know nothing else, but if
you can find this son or daughter, you will give Vasilisa the power
she deserves. No matter your faults and dangerous temperament, you
are the only one I feel can take on this task. Waste no time in
fulfilling it.
—Tatiana Ivashkov
I stared at the piece of paper, its writing
swirling before me, but its message burning into my mind. She is not the last Dragomir. Another lives.
If that was true, if Lissa had a half-brother or
half-sister . . . it would change everything. She would get a vote
on the Council. She would no longer be alone. If it was true. If this was
from Tatiana. Anyone could sign her name to a piece of paper. It
didn’t make it real. Still, I shivered, troubled at the thought of
getting a letter from a dead woman. If I allowed myself to see the
ghosts around us, would Tatiana be there, restless and vengeful? I
couldn’t bring myself to let down my walls and look. Not yet. There
had to be other answers. Ambrose had given me the note. I needed to
ask him . . . except we were moving down the aisle again. A
guardian nudged me along.
“What’s that?” asked Abe, always alert and
suspicious.
I hastily folded the note back up.
“Nothing.”
The look he gave me told me he didn’t believe that
at all. I wondered if I should tell him. It is
a secret you must share with as few as possible. If he was one
of the few, this wasn’t the place. I tried to distract him from it
and shake the dumbstruck look that must have been on my face. This
note was a big problem—but not quite as big as the one immediately
facing me.
“You told me I wouldn’t go to trial,” I said to
Abe. My earlier annoyance returned. “I took a big chance with
you!”
“It wasn’t a big chance. Tarus couldn’t have got
you out of this either.”
Abe’s easy attitude about all this infuriated me
further. “Are you saying you knew this hearing was a lost cause
from the beginning?” It was what Mikhail had said too. How nice to
have such faith from everyone.
“This hearing wasn’t important,” Abe said
evasively. “What happens next is.”
“And what is that exactly?”
He gave me that dark, sly gaze again. “Nothing you
need to worry about yet.”
One of the guardians put his hand on my arm,
telling me I needed to move. I resisted his pull and leaned toward
Abe.
“The hell I don’t! This is my life we’re talking
about,” I exclaimed. I knew what would come next. Imprisonment
until the trial. And then more imprisonment if I was convicted.
“This is serious! I don’t want to go to trial! I don’t want to
spend the rest of my life in a place like Tarasov.”
The guard tugged harder, pushing us forward, and
Abe fixed me with a piercing gaze that made my blood run
cold.
“You will not go to trial.
You will not go to prison,” he hissed, out
of the guards’ hearing. “I won’t allow it. Do you
understand?”
I shook my head, confused over so much and not
knowing what to do about any of it. “Even you have your limits, old
man.”
His smile returned. “You’d be surprised. Besides,
they don’t even send royal traitors to prison, Rose. Everyone knows
that.”
I scoffed. “Are you insane? Of course they do.
What else do you think they do with traitors? Set them free and
tell them not to do it again?”
“No,” said Abe, just before he turned away. “They
execute traitors.”