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, running down the sides of the Academy's stone buildings in slim, silvery streams. Winter was far from being over, so I knew everything would just freeze up again in a few days. For now, though, it felt as though the entire world was weeping.
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 stunned me. All my life, in considering my future career as a guardian, I'd looked forward to the marks. I'd seen them as badges of honor. But now? Mainly they were going to be reminders of something I wanted to forget.
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.
Once I'd seen them, he bandaged them up and gave me some instructions about caring for them while they healed. Most of it I missed, but I figured I could ask again later. I was still kind of shocked by it all.
After that, all the gathered guardians came up to me one by one. They each gave me some sort of sign of affection-a hug, a kiss on the cheek-and kind words.
"Welcome to the ranks," said Alberta, her weathered face gentle as she pulled me into a tight embrace.
Dimitri didn't say anything when his turn came, but as always, his eyes spoke legions. Pride and tenderness filled his expression, and I swallowed back tears. He rested one hand gently on my cheek, nodded, and walked away.
When Stan-the instructor I'd fought with the most since my first day-hugged me and said, "Now you're one of us. I always knew you'd be one of the best," I thought I'd pass out.
And then when my mother came up to me, I couldn't help the tear that ran down my cheek. She wiped it away and then brushed her fingers against the back of my neck. "Don't ever forget," she told me.
Nobody said, "Congratulations," and I was glad. Death wasn't anything to get excited about.
When that was done, drinks and food were served. I walked to the buffet table and made a plate for myself of miniature feta quiches and a slice of mango cheesecake. I ate without really tasting the food and answered questions from others without even knowing what I said half the time. It was like I was a Rose robot, going through the motions of what was expected. On the back of my neck, my skin stung from the tattoos, and in my mind, I kept seeing Mason's blue eyes and Isaiah's red ones.
I felt guilty for not enjoying my big day more, but I was relieved when the group finally started dispersing. My mother walked up to me as others murmured their goodbyes. Aside from her words here at the ceremony, we hadn't talked much since my breakdown on the plane. I still felt a little funny about that-and a little embarrassed as well. She'd never mentioned it, but something very small had shifted in the nature of our relationship. We weren't anywhere near being friends … but we weren't exactly enemies anymore either.
"Lord Szelsky is leaving soon," she told me as we stood near the building's doorway, not far from where I'd yelled for her on that first day we'd talked. "I'll be going with him."
"I know," I said. There was no question she'd leave. That was how it was. Guardians followed Moroi. They came first.
She regarded me for a few moments, her brown eyes thoughtful. For the first time in a long time, I felt like we were actually looking eye to eye, as opposed to her looking down on me. It was about time, too, seeing as I had half a foot of height on her.
"You did well," she said at last. "Considering the circumstances."
It was only half a compliment, but I deserved no more. I understood now the mistakes and lapses of judgment that had led to the events at Isaiah's house. Some had been my fault; some hadn't. I wished I could have changed some of my actions, but I knew she was right. I'd done the best I could in the end with the mess before me.
"Killing Strigoi wasn't as glamorous as I thought it'd be," I told her.
She gave me a sad smile. "No. It never is."
I thought then about all the marks on her neck, all the kills. I shuddered.
"Oh, hey." Eager to change the subject, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the little blue eye pendant she'd given me. "This thing you gave me. It's a n-nazari" I stumbled over the word. She looked surprised.
"Yes. How'd you know?"
I didn't want to explain my dreams with Adrian. "Someone told me. It's a protection thing, right?"
A pensive look crossed her face, and then she exhaled and nodded. "Yes. It comes from an old superstition in the Middle East … Some people believe that those who want to hurt you can curse you or give you 'the evil eye. The nazar is meant to counteract the evil eye … and just bring protection in general to those who wear it."
I ran my fingers over the piece of glass. "Middle East … so, places sort of like, um, Turkey?"
My mother's lips quirked. "Places exactly like Turkey." She hesitated. "It was … a gift. A gift I received a long time ago … " Her gaze turned inward, lost in memory. "I got a lot of … attention from men when I was your age. Attention that seemed flattering at first but wasn't in the end. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes, between what's real affection and what's someone wanting to take advantage of you. But when you feel the real thing … well, you'll know."
I understood then why she was so overprotective about my reputation-she'd endangered her own when she was younger. Maybe more than that had been damaged.
I also knew why she'd given the nazar to me. My father had given it to her. I didn't think she wanted to talk anymore about it, so I didn't ask. It was enough to know that maybe, just maybe, their relationship hadn't been all about business and genes after all.
We said goodbye, and I returned to my classes. Everyone knew where I'd been that morning, and my fellow novices wanted to see my molnija marks. I didn't blame them. If our roles had been reversed, I would have been harassing me too.
"Come on, Rose," begged Shane Reyes. We were walking out of our morning practice, and he kept swatting my ponytail. I made a mental note to wear my hair down tomorrow. Several others followed us and echoed his requests.
"Yeah, come on. Let's see what you got for your swordsmanship!"
Their eyes shone with eagerness and excitement. I was a hero, their classmate who'd dispatched the leaders of the roving band of Strigoi that had so terrorized us over the holidays. But I met the eyes of someone standing at the back of the group, someone who looked neither eager nor excited. Eddie. Meeting my gaze, he gave me a small, sad smile. He understood.
"Sorry, guys," I said, turning back to the others. "They have to stay bandaged. Doctor's orders."
This was met with grumbles that soon turned into questions about how I'd actually killed the Strigoi. Decapitation was one of the hardest and rarest ways to kill a vampire; it wasn't like carrying a sword was convenient. So I did my best to tell my friends what had happened, making sure to stick to the facts and not glorify the killings.