Frostbite

Footsteps and voices eventually sounded, and I lifted my head up. People poured in through the door, lots of them. I couldn't really make out any of them. I didn't need to. They were threats, threats I had to keep Mason safe from. A couple of them approached me, and I leapt up, lifting the sword and holding it protectively over his body.

"Stay back," I warned. "Stay away from him."

They kept coming.

"Stay back!" I yelled. They stopped. Except for one.

"Rose," came a soft voice. "Drop the sword."

My hands shook. I swallowed. "Get away from us."

"Rose."

The voice spoke again, a voice that my soul would have known anywhere. Hesitantly, I let myself finally become aware of my surroundings, let the details sink in. I let my eyes focus on the features of the man standing there. Dimitri's brown eyes, gentle and firm, looked down on me.

"It's okay," he said. "Everything's going to be okay. You can let go of the sword."

My hands shook even harder as I fought to hold on to the hilt. "I can't." The words hurt coming out. "I can't leave him alone. I have to protect him."

"You have," said Dimitri.

The sword fell out of my hands, landing with a loud clatter on the wooden floor. I followed, collapsing on all fours, wanting to cry but still unable to.

Dimitri's arms wrapped around me as he helped me up. Voices swarmed around us, and one by one, I recognized people I knew and trusted. He started to tug me toward the door, but I refused to move just yet. I couldn't. My hands clutched his shirt, crumpling the fabric. Still keeping one arm around me, he smoothed my hair back away from my face. I leaned my head against him, and he continued stroking my hair, murmuring something in Russian. I didn't understand a word of it, but the gentle tone soothed me.

Guardians were spreading throughout the house, examining it inch by inch. A couple of them approached us and knelt by the bodies I refused to look at.

"She did that? Both of them?"

"That sword hasn't been sharpened in years!"

A fu

"Get her out of here, Belikov," I heard a woman say behind him, her voice familiar.

Dimitri squeezed my shoulder again. "Come on, Roza. It's time to go."

This time, I went. He guided me out of the house, holding onto me as I managed each agonizing step. My mind still refused to really process what had happened. I couldn't do much more than follow simple directions from those around me.

I eventually ended up on one of the Academy's jets. Engines roared around us as the plane lifted off. Dimitri murmured something about coming back shortly and left me alone in my seat. I stared straight ahead, studying the details of the seat in front of me.

Someone sat beside me and draped a blanket over my shoulders. I noticed then just how badly I was shivering. I tugged at the edges of the blanket.

"I'm cold," I said. "How am I so cold?"

"You're in shock," Mia answered.

I turned and looked at her, studying her blond curls and big blue eyes. Something about seeing her unleashed my memories. It all tumbled back. I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Oh God," I breathed. I opened my eyes and focused on her again. "You saved me-saved me when you blew up the fish tank. You shouldn't have done it. You shouldn't have come back."

She shrugged. "You shouldn't have gone for the sword."

Fair point. "Thank you," I told her. "What you did … I never would have thought of that. It was brilliant."

"I don't know about that," she mused, smiling ruefully. "Water isn't much of a weapon, remember?"

I choked on a laugh, even though I really didn't find my old words that fu

"Water's a great weapon," I said finally. "When we get back, we'll have to practice ways to use it."

Her face lit up. Fierceness shone out from her eyes. "I'd like that. More than anything."

"I'm sorry … sorry about your mom."

Mia simply nodded. "You're lucky to still have yours. You don't know how lucky."

I turned and stared at the seat again. The next words out of my mouth startled me: "I wish she was here."

"She is," said Mia, sounding surprised. "She was with the group that raided the house. Didn't you see her?"

I shook my head.

We lapsed into silence. Mia stood up and left. A minute later, someone else sat down beside me. I didn't have to see her to know who she was. I just knew.

"Rose," said my mother. For once in my life, she sounded unsure of herself. Scared, maybe. "Mia said you wanted to see me." I didn't answer. I didn't look at her. "What…what do you need?"

I didn't know what I needed. I didn't know what to do. The stinging in my eyes grew unbearable, and before I knew it, I was crying. Big, painful sobs seized my body. The tears I'd held back so long poured down my face. The fear and grief I'd refused to let myself feel finally burst free, burning in my chest. I could scarcely breathe.

My mother put her arms around me, and I buried my face in her chest, sobbing even harder.

"I know," she said softly, tightening her grip on me. "I understand."

CHAPTER 23

The weather warmed up on the day of my molnija ceremony. In fact, it was so warm that a lot of the snow on campus began melting, ru

I had walked away from the Spokane incident with minor bruises and cuts. The burns from the melting flex-cuffs were the worst of my injuries. But I was still having a hard time dealing with the death I'd caused and the death I'd seen. I'd wanted little more than to go curl up in a ball somewhere and not talk to anyone, except maybe Lissa. But on my fourth day back at the Academy, my mother had found me and told me it was time to receive my marks.

It had taken me several moments to grasp what she was talking about. Then it occurred to me that in decapitating two Strigoi, I'd earned two molnija tattoos. My first ones. The realization had stu

The ceremony took place in the guardians' building, in a large room they used for meetings and banquets. It was nothing at all like the great dining room at the resort. It was efficient and practical, like the guardians were. The carpet was a bluish gray shade, low and tightly woven. The bare white walls held framed black-and-white photos of St. Vladimir's through the years. There were no other decorations or fanfare, yet the solemnity and power of the moment were palpable. All the guardians on campus-but no novices-attended. They milled around in the building's main meeting room, hanging out in clusters but not talking. When the ceremony started, they fell into orderly ranks without being told and watched me.

I sat on a stool in the corner of the room, leaning forward with my hair hanging over the front of my face. Behind me, a guardian named Lionel held a tattooist's needle to the back of my neck. I'd known him the whole time I'd been at the Academy, but I'd never realized he was trained to draw molnija marks.

Before he started, he had a murmured conversation with my mother and Alberta.

"She won't have a promise mark," he said. "She hasn't graduated."

"It happens," said Alberta. "She made the kills. Do the molnijas, and she'll get the promise mark later."

Considering the pain I regularly put myself through, I didn't expect the tattoos to hurt as much as they did. But I bit my lip and stayed silent as Lionel made the marks. The process seemed to go on forever. When he finished, he produced a couple of mirrors, and with some maneuvering, I was able to see the back of my neck. Two tiny black marks sat there, side by side, against my reddened and sensitive skin. Molnija meant «lightning» in Russian, and that's what the jagged shape was meant to symbolize. Two marks. One for Isaiah, one for Elena.