Authors: Richelle Mead
“What I need is to get out of here,” muttered Ian once she was gone. I said nothing,
not trusting any response. If I reassured him we were safe, I’d be regarded with suspicion.
Yet if I acted like our lives were in danger, I’d be lying. My views were somewhere
in the middle of those extremes.
Someone handed me a program, and Ian leaned a bit more closely than I would’ve liked
in order to read over my shoulder. The program detailed a list of songs and readings
as well as the members of the wedding party. I could tell from Ian’s face that he
was expecting to see “Unholy Bloodletting” right after the Corinthians reading. His
next words affirmed as much.
“They do a good job making it seem so normal, huh?” he asked, not bothering to hide
the disgust in his voice. I was a bit surprised at how vicious his attitude was. I
didn’t remember him being quite this extreme last summer. “Like it’s a real wedding
or something.”
He also wasn’t regulating his volume, and I glanced around anxiously, making sure
no one overheard. “So you’re saying it’s not a real wedding?” I whispered back.
Ian shrugged but at least took the hint and lowered his voice. “With them? It doesn’t
matter. They don’t have real families or real love. They’re monsters.”
It was ironic that he mentioned “real love” just then because at that moment, Adrian
and his father were ushered to the opposite side of the atrium. Adrian was always
a nice dresser, but I’d never seen him in anything so formal. I hated to admit it,
but the look was great on him: a navy suit and vest that was nearly black paired with
a pale blue shirt and blue-and-white-striped tie. It stood out from the more somber
black and gray suits most men here were wearing, but not in an outlandish or tacky
way. As I was studying him, Adrian glanced up and caught my eye. He smiled and gave
me a small nod. I almost smiled back, but Stanton snapped me back to reality. I allowed
him one last, lingering look, and then I turned away.
“Mr. Jansen,” Stanton said in a stern voice. “Please keep your opinions to yourself.
Regardless of their validity, we are guests here and will behave in a civilized way.”
Ian nodded grudgingly, flushing slightly as he glanced in my direction—as if being
so openly chastised might ruin his chances with me. He didn’t have to worry, seeing
as he didn’t have any chance to begin with.
Colleen sent an usher to check on us, and while he spoke to Stanton, Ian leaned toward
me. “Am I the only one who thinks it’s crazy that we’re here?” He nodded toward Stanton.
“She thinks this is okay, but come on.
They held us captive.
It’s unforgivable. Doesn’t that make you mad?”
I certainly hadn’t liked it at the time, but I’d come to understand why it had happened.
“I hate that they did that,” I lied, hoping it sounded convincing. “I’m angry every
time I think of it.”
Ian actually looked relieved enough to drop the topic.
We sat in blessed silence as the atrium continued to fill up. By the time the ceremony
was about ready to start, there must have been close to two hundred people in the
room. I kept looking for familiar faces, but Adrian and his father were the only ones
I knew. Then, at the last minute, a brightly clad figure came scurrying in. I groaned
at the same time Stanton tsked with disapproval. Abe Mazur had just arrived.
Whereas Adrian had made color work with formal wear in a stylish way, Abe used color
to offend the sensibilities. To be fair, this was one of the more subdued ensembles
I’d ever seen Abe don: a white suit with a bright, kiwi green shirt and paisley ascot.
He wore his usual gold earrings, and the sheen of his black hair made me think he’d
been hitting some hair oil pretty voraciously. Abe was a dubiously moral Moroi and
also the father of my friend—and Adrian’s former dhampir love—Rose Hathaway. Abe made
me nervous because I’d had some secret dealings with him in the past. He made Stanton
nervous because he was a Moroi the Alchemists would never be able to control. Abe
seated himself in the front row, earning a horrified look from Colleen the coordinator,
who was supervising everything from the side of the room. My guess was that wasn’t
part of her seating chart.
I heard a trumpet sound, and those sitting in the back suddenly fell to their knees.
Like a wave, those seated in the rest of the rows began following suit. Stanton, Ian,
and I all exchanged confused looks. Then I understood.
“The queen,” I whispered. “The queen is coming.”
I could see from Stanton’s face that was not something she had considered. She had
a split second to decide on protocol for this situation and how to maintain our “civilized”
guest status.
“We don’t kneel,” she whispered back. “Stay where you are.”
It was a valid call, seeing as we owed no fealty to the Moroi queen. Still, I felt
flustered and conspicuous at being one of the only people in the room not kneeling.
A moment later, a ringing voice declared, “Her Royal Majesty, Queen Vasilisa, first
of her name.”
Even Ian caught his breath in admiration as she entered. Vasilisa—or Lissa, as Adrian
and Rose continually insisted I call her—was a picture of ethereal beauty. It was
hard to believe she was the same age as me. She carried herself with a poise and regality
that seemed ageless. Her tall, willowy body was graceful even among Moroi, and her
platinum blond hair fell around her pale face like some otherworldly veil. Although
dressed in a very modern lavender cocktail dress, she managed to wear it as though
it were some grand Victorian ball gown. A black-haired guy with piercing blue eyes
walked at her side. Her boyfriend, Christian Ozera, was always easy to spot, providing
a dark contrast that worked perfectly with her lightness.
Once the royal couple was seated in the front row—seeming very surprised to find Abe
waiting for them there—the throng returned to their seats. An unseen cellist began
to play, and everyone released a collective breath as we fell into the comfortable
ritual of a wedding.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Ian murmured in my ear. “How fragile her throne is. One slip,
and they’d fall into chaos.”
It was true, and it was why Jill’s safety was so important. An old Moroi law said
that a monarch had to possess one living family member in order to hold the throne.
Jill was the only one left in Lissa’s line. Those who opposed Lissa because of her
age and beliefs had realized killing Jill would be easier than going after a queen.
Many opposed the law and were trying to change it. In the meantime, the political
fallout from Jill’s assassination would be monumental. The Alchemists, whose job it
was to keep the Moroi world hidden and protected , needed to prevent their society
from falling into chaos. And on a slightly more personal level, I needed to prevent
Jill’s death because against all odds, I’d grown to care about her in the short time
we’d been together.
I shifted my mind from those grim thoughts and focused on the next stage of the wedding.
Bridesmaids in deep green satin led the procession, and I wondered if Abe had been
attempting to match them with his suit. If so, he’d failed.
And there, I spotted my first friendly face, aside from Adrian. Rose Hathaway. It
was no surprise she’d be a bridesmaid, seeing as she’d been responsible for the happy
couple getting together. She’d inherited her father’s dark hair and eyes and was the
only dhampir among the bridesmaids. I didn’t need to see the surprised looks of some
of the guests to know that was pretty unorthodox. If Rose noticed or cared, she didn’t
show it. She walked proudly on, head held high and face glowing with happiness. With
that humanlike dhampir appearance, she was shorter than her Moroi companions and had
a more athletic build than the slender, small-chested Moroi.
Rose had what was a very normal, very healthy body among humans. Yet when I compared
myself to Moroi, I felt enormous. I knew it was ridiculous—especially since I wore
a smaller size than Rose—but it was a hard feeling to shake. Adrian had recently had
an unwelcome intervention with me, going so far as to claim I was on the verge of
an eating disorder. I’d been outraged and told him to mind his own business . . .
but ever since then, I’d taken a hard look at my behaviors. I now tried to eat more
and had gained exactly one pound, something that had felt torturous and wrong until
my friend Trey had recently commented that I was “looking pretty good these days.”
It had reinforced the idea that a few more pounds wouldn’t kill me and
might
actually be good for me. Not that I’d admit any of that to Adrian.
We all stood when Sonya entered. She was glorious in ivory silk, with tiny white roses
adorning her fiery hair. The queen had been magnificent, but there was a glow about
Sonya that dwarfed even Lissa’s beauty. Maybe it was just something inherent to brides.
There was an air of love around Sonya that made her shine. I was surprised to feel
a pang in my chest.
Ian was probably disappointed when no bloodletting followed, but the ceremony was
sweet and filled with emotion. I couldn’t believe how stone-faced my Alchemist companions
looked—I was on the verge of tears as the couple recited their vows. Even if Sonya
and Mikhail hadn’t been through hell to be together, this was the kind of ceremony
that couldn’t help but pull at the heartstrings. As I listened to them swear they’d
love each other forever, I found my gaze drifting to Adrian. He didn’t see me looking
at him, but I could tell the ceremony was having the same effect on him. He was enraptured.
It was a rare and sweet look for him, reminding me of the tortured artist that lived
beneath the sarcasm. I liked that about Adrian—not the tortured part, but the way
he could feel so deeply and then transform those emotions into art. I had feelings,
just like anyone else, but that ability to express them into something creative was
an area I would never, ever have expertise in. It wasn’t in my nature. I sometimes
gave him a hard time about his art, especially his more abstract pieces. Secretly,
I regarded his skills with awe and loved the many facets of his personality.
Meanwhile, I had to fight to keep my face blank, to look as though I was a normal
Alchemist with no concern for unholy vampire events. Neither of my companions questioned
me, so apparently I pulled it off. Maybe I had a future in poker.
Sonya and Mikhail kissed, and the crowd erupted into cheers. They only got louder
when he brazenly kissed her a second time—and then a third. The next stage of the
festivities, the reception, was being held in the hotel where Adrian and most of the
other Moroi were staying. Sonya and Mikhail left first, followed by the queen and
other high-ranking royals. Stanton, Ian, and I waited patiently for our row to be
dismissed so that we could line up for the limos that were ferrying guests the half
mile to the hotel. It normally wouldn’t have been that bad of a walk, even in heels,
if not for the freezing temperature.
Our turn came, and the three of us got into the back of a limo. “Now we just have
to get through the reception,” said Ian as the driver shut our door. “At least we’ve
got our own car.”
Suddenly, the door opened, and Abe slid in beside me. “Room for one more?” He beamed
at Stanton and me. “So nice to see you lovely ladies again. And you must be Ian. A
pleasure.” Abe extended his hand. At first, it looked as though Ian wouldn’t shake
it, but a sharp look from Stanton dictated otherwise. Afterward, Ian kept looking
at his hand as though he expected it to start smoking.
The drive only took about five minutes, but I could tell from the other Alchemists’
faces that it felt like five hours for them.
“I think it’s wonderful that you three were invited,” said Abe, perfectly at ease.
“Considering how much we work together, we should have more of these pleasant interactions,
don’t you think? Perhaps you’ll invite us to one of your weddings someday.” He winked
at me. “I’m sure you have young men lining up for you.”
Even Stanton couldn’t keep a straight face. The look of horror in her expression said
there were few things more profane than a vampire coming to a human wedding. She looked
visibly relieved when we reached the hotel, but we weren’t free of Abe yet. Some thoughtful
person—probably Colleen—had put us at his table, probably thinking it would be nice
to be seated with a Moroi we knew. Abe seemed to take great delight in the awkwardness
his presence provided, but I had to admit, it was kind of refreshing to have someone
who openly acknowledged the strained relations between us rather than pretending everything
was okay.
“There’s no blood in that,” Abe told us when dinner was served. The three of us were
hesitating over cutting into our chicken marsala, even me. “The only blood is in the
drinks, and you have to actually ask for those at the bar. No one’s going to sneak
you something, and the feeders are being kept in another room.”
Ian and Stanton still looked unconvinced. I decided I would be the brave one and began
eating without any more hesitation. Maybe vampires were unnatural creatures, but they
certainly had excellent taste in caterers. A moment later, the other Alchemists joined
me, and even they had to admit the food was pretty good.
When the plates were cleared, Ian bravely left for the bathroom, giving Stanton a
brief opportunity to lean toward me for a hushed status report. “Everything was okay
when you left?” Strained relationship or not, our mission to keep the Moroi stable
hadn’t changed.
“Fine,” I said. “It’s all quiet back there. No sign of trouble.” She didn’t need to
know about my own interpersonal drama. Keeping my tone casual, I asked, “Any news
about the Warriors? Or Marcus Finch?”
Stanton shook her head. “None. But I’ll certainly let you know if we uncover anything.”
I answered with a polite smile, seriously doubting her words. I hadn’t always liked
my Alchemist missions, but I’d spent most of my life following orders without question
because I believed my superiors knew what was best and were acting for the greater
good. Recent events now made me wonder about that. In thwarting some crazed vampire
hunters who called themselves the Warriors of Light, Stanton had withheld information
from me, citing that we were on a need-to-know basis. She had brushed it off, praising
me for being a good Alchemist who understood such policy, but the incident had made
me seethe with anger. I didn’t want to be anyone’s pawn. I could accept that fighting
for a greater cause meant tough decisions, but I refused to be used or endangered
because of “important” lies. I’d given my life over to the Alchemists, always believing
what they did and told me was right. I’d thought I was important, that they would
always look out for me. Now I didn’t know.