Vampire Academy: The Complete Collection: 1/6 (15 page)

After several more failed attempts, I stood up and held out my hands in a gesture of truce. “Okay, what am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing.”

I wasn’t as convinced. “If I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I’d have rendered you unconscious by now.”

“Unlikely. Your moves are all correct, but this is the first time you’ve really tried. I’ve done it for years.”

I shook my head and rolled my eyes at his older-and-wiser manner. He’d once told me he was twenty-four. “Whatever you say, Grandpa. Can we try it again?”

“We’re out of time. Don’t you want to get ready?”

I looked at the dusty clock on the wall and perked up. Almost time for the banquet. The thought made me giddy. I felt like Cinderella, but without the clothes.

“Hell, yeah, I do.”

He walked off ahead of me. Studying him carefully, I realized I couldn’t let the opportunity go by. I leapt at his back, positioning myself exactly the way he’d taught me. I had the element of surprise. Everything was perfect, and he wouldn’t even see me coming.

Before I could make contact, he spun around at a ridiculously high speed. In one deft motion, he grabbed me like I weighed nothing and threw me to the ground, pinning me there.

I groaned. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

His eyes looked levelly into mine as he held my wrists, but he didn’t look as serious as he had during the lesson. He seemed to find this funny. “The battle cry sort of gave you away. Try not to yell next time.”

“Would it have really made a difference if I’d been quiet?”

He thought about it. “No. Probably not.”

I sighed loudly, still in too much of a good mood to really let this disappointment get me down. There were some advantages to having such a kick-ass mentor—one who also happened to have a foot of height on me and outweighed me considerably. And that wasn’t even considering his strength. He wasn’t bulky, but his body had a lot of hard, lean muscle. If I could ever beat
him
, I could beat anyone.

All of a sudden, it occurred to me that he was still holding me down. The skin on his fingers was warm as he clutched my wrists. His face hovered inches from my own, and his legs and torso were actually pressing against mine. Some of his long brown hair hung around his face, and he appeared to be noticing me too, almost like he had that night in the lounge. And oh
God
, did he smell good. Breathing became difficult for me, and it had nothing to do with the workout or my lungs being crushed.

I would have given anything to be able to read his mind right then. Ever since that night in the lounge, I’d noticed him watching me with this same, studious expression. He never actually did it during the trainings themselves—those were
business
. But before and after, he would sometimes lighten up just a little, and I’d see him look at me in a way that was almost admiring. And sometimes, if I was really, really lucky, he’d smile at me. A real smile, too—not the dry one that accompanied the sarcasm we tossed around so often. I didn’t want to admit it to anyone—not to Lissa, not even to myself— but some days, I lived for those smiles. They lit up his face. “Gorgeous” no longer adequately describrd him.

Hoping to appear calm, I tried to think of something professional and guardian-related to say. Instead, I said, “So um . . . you got any other moves to show me?”

His lips twitched, and for a moment, I thought I was going to get one of those smiles. My heart leapt. Then, with visible effort, he pushed the smile back and once more became my tough-love mentor. He shifted off me, leaned back on his heels, and rose. “Come on. We should go.”

I scrambled to my own feet and followed him out of the gym. He didn’t look back as he walked, and I mentally kicked myself on the way back to my room.

I was crushing on my mentor. Crushing on my
older
mentor. I had to be out of my mind. He was seven years older than me. Old enough to be my . . . well, okay, nothing. But still older than me. Seven years was a lot. He’d been learning to write when I was born. When I’d been learning to write and throw books at my teachers, he’d probably been kissing girls. Probably lots of girls, considering how he looked.

I
so
did not need this complication in my life right now.

I found a passable sweater back in my room and after a quick shower, I headed off across campus to the reception.

Despite the looming stone walls, fancy statues, and turrets on the outsides of the buildings, the Academy’s insides were quite modern. We had Wi-Fi, fluorescent lights, and just about anything else technological you could imagine. The commons in particular looked pretty much like the cafeterias I’d eaten in while in Portland and Chicago, with simple rectangular tables, soothing taupe walls, and a little room off to the side where our dubiously prepared meals were served. Someone had at least hung framed black-and-white photos along the walls in an effort to decorate it, but I didn’t really consider pictures of vases and leafless trees “art.”

Tonight, however, someone had managed to transform the normally boring commons into a bona fide dining room. Vases spilling over with crimson roses and delicate white lilies. Glowing candles. Tablecloths made of—wait for it—bloodred linen. The effect was gorgeous. It was hard to believe this was the same place I usually ate chicken patty sandwiches in. It looked fit for, well, a queen.

The tables had been arranged in straight lines, creating an aisle down the middle of the room. We had assigned seating, and naturally, I couldn’t sit anywhere near Lissa. She sat in the front with the other Moroi; I was in the back with the novices. But she did catch my eye when I entered and flashed me a smile. She’d borrowed a dress from Natalie—blue, silky, and strapless—that looked amazing with her pale features. Who’d known Natalie owned anything so good? It made my sweater lose a few cool points.

They always conducted these formal banquets in the same way. A head table sat on a dais at the front of the room, where we could all ooh and ahh and watch Queen Tatiana and other royals eat dinner. Guardians lined the walls, as stiff and formal as statues. Dimitri stood among them, and a weird feeling twisted my stomach as I recalled what had happened in the gym. His eyes stared straight ahead, as if focusing on nothing and everything in the room at once.

When the time came for the royals’ entrance, we all stood up respectfully and watched as they walked down the aisle. I recognized a few, mostly those who had children attending the Academy. Victor Dashkov was among them, walking slowly and with a cane. While I was happy to see him, I cringed to watch each agonizing step he took toward the front of the room.

Once that group had passed, four solemn guardians with red-and-black-pin-striped jackets entered the commons. Everyone but the guardians along the walls sank to our knees in a silly show of loyalty.

What a lot of ceremony and posturing, I thought wearily. Moroi monarchs were chosen by the previous monarch from within the royal families. The king or queen couldn’t choose one of his or her own direct descendents, and a council from the noble and royal families could dispute the choice with enough cause. That almost never happened, though.

Queen Tatiana followed her guards, wearing a red silk dress and matching jacket. She was in her early sixties and had dark gray hair bobbed to her chin and crowned with a Miss America-type tiara. She moved into the room slowly, like she was taking a stroll, four more guardians at her back.

She moved through the novices’ section fairly quickly, though she did nod and smile here and there. Dhampirs might just be the half-human, illegitimate children of the Moroi, but we trained and dedicated our lives to serving and protecting them. The likelihood was strong that many of us gathered here would die young, and the queen had to show her respect for that.

When she got to the Moroi section, she paused longer and actually spoke to a few students. It was a big deal to be acknowledged, mostly a sign that someone’s parents had gotten in good with her. Naturally, the royals got the most attention. She didn’t really say much to them that was all that interesting, mostly just a lot of fancy words.

“Vasilisa Dragomir.”

My head shot up. Alarm coursed through the bond at the sound of her name. Breaking protocol, I pushed out of my position and wiggled over to get a better view, knowing no one would notice me when the queen herself had personally singled out the last of the Dragomirs. Everyone was eager to see what the monarch had to say to Lissa the runaway princess.

“We heard you had returned. We are glad to have the Dragomirs back, even though only one remains. We deeply regret the loss of your parents and your brother; they were among the finest of the Moroi, their deaths a true tragedy.”

I’d never really understood the royal “we” thing, but otherwise, everything sounded okay.

“You have an interesting name,” she continued. “Many heroines in Russian fairy tales are named Vasilisa. Vasilisa the Brave, Vasilisa the Beautiful. They are different young women, all having the same name and the same excellent qualities: strength, intelligence, discipline, and virtue. All accomplish great things, triumphing over their adversaries.

“Likewise, the Dragomir name commands its own respect. Dragomir kings and queens have ruled wisely and justly in our history. They have used their powers for miraculous ends. They have slain Strigoi, fighting right alongside their guardians. They are
royal
for a reason.”

She waited a moment, letting the weight of her words sink in. I could feel the mood changing in the room, as well as the surprise and shy pleasure creeping out from Lissa. This would shake the social balance. We could probably expect a few wannabes trying to get in good with Lissa tomorrow.

“Yes,” Tatiana continued, “you are doubly named with power. Your names represent the finest qualities people have to offer and hearken back in time to deeds of greatness and valor.” She paused a moment. “But, as you have demonstrated, names do
not
make a person. Nor do they have any bearing on how that person turns out.”

And with that verbal slap in the face, she turned away and continued her procession.

A collective shock filled the room. I briefly contemplated and then dismissed any attempts at jumping into the aisle and tackling the queen. Half a dozen guardians would have me down on the floor before I’d even taken five steps. So I sat impatiently through dinner, all the while feeling Lissa’s absolute mortification.

When the post-dinner reception followed, Lissa made a beeline for the doors leading out to the courtyard. I followed, but got delayed having to weave around and avoid the mingling, socializing people.

She’d wandered outside to an adjacent courtyard, one that matched the Academy’s grand external style. A roof of carved, twisting wood covered the garden, with little holes here and there to let in some light, but not enough to cause damage to Moroi. Trees, leaves now gone for the winter, lined the area and guarded paths leading out to other gardens, courtyards, and the main quadrangle. A pond, also emptied for the winter, lay in a corner, and standing over it was an imposing statue of St. Vladimir himself. Carved of gray rock, he wore long robes and had a beard and mustache.

Rounding a corner, I stopped when I saw Natalie had beaten me to Lissa. I considered interrupting but stepped back before they could see me. Spying might be bad, but I was suddenly very curious to hear what Natalie had to say to Lissa.

“She shouldn’t have said that,” Natalie said. She wore a yellow dress similar in cut to Lissa’s, but somehow lacked the grace and poise to make it look as good. Yellow was also a terrible color on her. It clashed with her black hair, which she’d put up into an off-center bun. “It wasn’t right,” she went on. “Don’t let it bother you.”

“Kind of late for that.” Lissa’s eyes were locked firmly on the stone walkway below.

“She was wrong.”

“She’s
right
,” Lissa exclaimed. “My parents . . . and Andre ... they would have hated me for what I did.”

“No, they wouldn’t have.” Natalie spoke in a gentle voice.

“It was stupid to run away. Irresponsible.”

“So what? You made a mistake. I make mistakes all the time. The other day, I was doing this assignment in science, and it was for chapter ten, and I’d actually read chapter elev—” Natalie stopped herself and, in a remarkable show of restraint, got herself back on track. “People change. We’re always changing, right? You aren’t the same as you were then. I’m not the same as I was then.”

Actually, Natalie seemed
exactly
the same to me, but that didn’t bother me so much anymore. She’d grown on me.

“Besides,” she added, “was running away really a mistake? You must have done it for a reason. You must have gotten something out of it, right? There was a lot of bad stuff going on with you, wasn’t there? With your parents and your brother. I mean, maybe it was the right thing to do.”

Lissa hid a smile. Both of us were pretty sure Natalie was trying to find out why we had left—just like everyone else in the school. She sort of sucked at being sneaky.

“I don’t know if it was, no,” Lissa answered. “I was weak. Andre wouldn’t have run away. He was so good. Good at everything. Good at getting along with people and all that royal crap.”

“You’re good at that too.”

“I guess. But I don’t like it. I mean, I like people . . . but most of what they do is so fake. That’s what I don’t like.”

“Then don’t feel bad about not getting involved,” Natalie said. I don’t hang out with all those people either, and look at
me
. I’m just fine. Daddy says he doesn’t care if I hang out with the royals or not. He just wants me to be happy.”

“And that,” I said, finally making my appearance, “is why
he
should be ruling instead of that bitch of a queen. He got robbed.”

Natalie nearly jumped ten feet. I felt pretty confident her vocabulary of swear words mostly consisted of “golly” and “darn.”