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The milling and chaos continued for a while until one of the guardians finally declared the room to be at capacity. Those outside

were outraged, but their cries were quickly silenced when the guardians closed the doors, sealing off the ballroom. Shortly thereafter,

the eleven Council members took their seats, and—to my shock—Adrian's father, Nathan Ivashkov, took the twelfth chair. The Court's

herald yelled and called everyone to attention. He was someone who'd been chosen because of his remarkable voice, though I always

wondered why they didn't just use a microphone in these situations. More old-world traditions, I supposed. That, and excellent

acoustics.

Nathan spoke once the room settled down. "In the absence of our beloved queen . . ." He paused looking down mournfully to offer a

moment of respect before continuing.

In anyone else, I might have suspected his feelings were faked, particularly after seeing him grovel so much in front of Tatiana. But,

no. Nathan had loved his prickly aunt as much as Adrian had.

"And in the wake of this terrible tragedy, I will be moderating the upcoming trials and elections."

"What'd I tell you?" muttered Adrian. He had no fuzzy affection for his father. "De-lightful."

Nathan droned on a bit about the importance of what was to come and some other points about Moroi tradition. It was obvious,

though, that like me, everyone in the room really wanted to get down to the main event: the nominations. He seemed to realize that too

and sped up the formalities. Finally, he got to the good stuff.

"Each family, if they choose, may have one nominee for the crown who will take the tests all monarchs have endured since the

beginning of time." I thought that "beginning of time" part was a bold and probably unverified exaggeration, but whatever. "The only

exclusion is the Ivashkovs, since back-to-back monarchs from the same family aren't allowed. For candidacy, three nominations are

required from Moroi of royal blood and proper age." He then added some stuff about what happened in the event more than one

person was nominated from the same family, but even I knew the chances of that happening were non-existent. Each royal house

wanted to get the best advantage here, and that would involve a unified standing behind one candidate.

Satisfied everyone understood, Nathan nodded and gestured grandly to the audience. "Let the nominations begin."

For a moment, nothing happened. It kind of reminded me of when I'd been back in school, when a teacher would say something like,

"Who'd like to present their paper first?" Everyone kind of waited for someone else to get things going, and at last, it happened.

A man I didn't recognize stood up. "I nominate Princess Ariana Szelsky."

Ariana, as princess, sat on the Council and was an expected choice. She gave a gracious nod to the man. A second man,

presumably from their family, also stood and gave the second nomination. The third and final nomination came from another Szelsky

—a very unexpected one. He was Ariana's brother, a world traveler who was almost never at Court, and also the man my mother

guarded. Janine Hathaway was most likely in this room, I realized. I wished Lissa would look around and find her, but Lissa was too

focused on the proceedings. After everything I'd been through, I suddenly had a desperate longing to see my mother.

With three nominations, Nathan declared, "Princess Ariana Szelsky is entered as a candidate." He scrawled something on a piece

of paper in front of him, his motions full of flourish. "Continue."

After that, the nominations came in rapid succession. Many were princes and princesses, but others were respected—and still

high-ranking—members of the families. The Ozera candidate, Ronald, was not the family's Council member, nor was he anyone I

knew. "He's not one of Aunt Tasha's ‘ideal' candidates," Christian murmured to Lissa. "But she admits he's not a moron."

I didn't know much about most of the other candidates either. A couple, like Ariana Szelsky, I had a good impression of. There were

also a couple I'd always found appalling. The tenth candidate was Rufus Tarus, Daniella's cousin. She'd married into the Ivashkovs

from the Tarus family and seemed delighted to see her cousin declared a nominee.

"I don't like him," said Adrian, making a face. "He's always telling me to do something useful with my life."

Nathan wrote down Rufus's name and then rolled up the paper like a scroll. Despite the appearance of antique customs, I

suspected a secretary in the audience was typing up everything being said here on a laptop.

"Well," declared Nathan, "that concludes—"

"I nominate Princess Vasilisa Dragomir."

Lissa's head jerked to the left, and through her eyes, I recognized a familiar figure. Tasha Ozera. She'd stood and spoken the words

loudly and confidently, glancing around with those ice-blue eyes as if daring anyone to disagree.

The room froze. No whispers, no shifting in chairs. Just utter and complete silence. Judging from the faces, the Ozera family's

nominee was the second-most astonished person in the room to hear Tasha speak. The first, of course, was Lissa herself.

It took a moment for Nathan to get his mouth working. "That's not—"

Beside Lissa, Christian suddenly stood up. "I second the nomination."

And before Christian had even sat down, Adrian was on his feet. "I confirm the nomination."

All eyes in the room were on Lissa and her friends, and then, as one, the crowd turned toward Nathan Ivashkov. Again, he seemed

to have trouble finding his voice.

"That," he managed at last, "is not a legal nomination. Due to its current Council standing, the Dragomir line is regrettably not

eligible to present a candidate."

Tasha, never afraid of talking in a crowd or taking on impossible odds, leapt back up. I could tell she was eager to. She was good at

making speeches and challenging the system. "Monarch nominees don't need a Council position or quorum to run for the throne."

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"That makes no sense," said Nathan. There were mutters of agreement.

"Check the law books, Nate—I mean, Lord Ivashkov."

Yes, there he was at last. My tactful father had joined the conversation. Abe had been leaning against a wall near the doorway,

dressed splendidly in a black suit with a shirt and tie that were exactly the same shade of emerald green. My mother stood beside

him, the slightest hint of a smile on her face. For a moment, I was captivated as I studied them side by side. My mother: the perfect

picture of guardian excellence and decorum. My father: always capable of achieving his goals, no matter how twisted the means.

Uneasily, I began to understand how I'd inherited my bizarre personality.

"Nominees have no requirements concerning how many people are in their family," continued Abe jovially. "They only need three

royal nominations to be confirmed."

Nathan gestured angrily toward where his own wayward son and Christian sat. "They aren't from her family!"

"They don't need to be," countered Abe. "They just need to be from a royal family. They are. Her candidacy is within the law—so

long as the princess accepts."

All heads swiveled toward Lissa now, as though they were suddenly just noticing her. Lissa hadn't twitched since the startling events

began. She was in too much shock. Her thoughts seemed to move both fast and slow. Part of her couldn't even start to process what

was happening around her. The rest of her mind was spinning with questions.

What was going on? Was this a joke? Or maybe a spirit-induced hallucination? Had she finally gone crazy? Was she dreaming?

Was it a trick? If so, why would her own friends have been the ones to do it? Why would they do this to her? And for the love of God,

would everyone stop staring at her?

She could handle attention. She'd been born and raised for it, and like Tasha, Lissa could address a crowd and make bold

statements—when she supported them and was prepared. Neither of those things applied to this situation. This was pretty much the

last thing in the world she had expected or wanted. And so, she couldn't bring herself to react or even consider a response. She

stayed where she was, silent and shell-shocked.

Then, something snapped her from her trance. Christian's hand. He'd taken Lissa's, wrapping his fingers with hers. He gave her a

gentle squeeze, and the warmth and energy he sent brought her back to life. Slowly, she looked around the room, meeting the eyes of

those all watching her. She saw Tasha's determined gaze, my father's cunning look, and even my mother's expectation. That last one

proved most startling of all. How could Janine Hathaway—who always did what was right and could barely crack a joke—be going

along with this? How could any of Lissa's friends be going along with this? Didn't they love and care about her?

Rose, she thought. I wish you were here to tell me what to do.

Me too. Damned one-way bond.

She trusted me more than anyone else in the world, but she realized then that she trusted all of these friends too—well, except

maybe Abe, but that was understandable. And if they were doing this, then surely—surely—there was a reason, right?

Right?

It made no sense to her, yet Lissa felt her legs move as she rose to her feet. And despite the fear and confusion still running through

her, she found her voice inexplicably clear and confident as it rang out through the room.

"I accept the nomination."

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FIFTEEN FIFTEEN

FIFTEENFIFTEEN

I DIDN'T LIKE TO SEE Victor Dashkov proven right. But, oh, was he ever.

With Lissa's proclamation, the room that had been holding its breath suddenly exploded. I wondered if there had ever been a

peaceful Council session in Moroi history or if I just kept coincidentally tuning into controversial ones. What followed today reminded

me a lot of the day the dhampir age decree had passed. Shouting, arguments, people out of their chairs . . . Guardians who normally

lined the walls and watched were out among the people, looks of concern on their faces as they prepared for any disputes that might

go beyond words.

As quickly as Lissa had been at the center of everything, the room seemed to forget her. She sat back down, and Christian found

her hand again. She squeezed it tightly, so much so I wondered if she was cutting off his circulation. She stared straight ahead, still

reeling. Her mind wasn't focused on all the chaos, but everything her eyes and ears perceived came through to me. Really, the only

attention my friends received was when Daniella came over and scolded Adrian for nominating outside his family. He shrugged it off in

his usual way, and she huffed off, realizing—like many of us—that there was really no point in trying to reason with Adrian.

You'd think that in a room where everyone was scrambling to push their own family's advantage, every single person would therefore

be arguing that Lissa's nomination was invalid. That wasn't the case, however—particularly because not everyone in the room was

royal. Just as I'd noted earlier, Moroi from all over had come to witness the events that would determine their future. And a number of

them were watching this Dragomir girl with interest, this princess from a dying line who could allegedly work miracles. They weren't

ravenously chanting her name, but many were in the thick of the arguments, saying she had every right to step up for her family. Part of

me also suspected that some of her "common" supporters simply liked the idea of thwarting the royal agenda. The young couple that

had been harassed by Lady Badica weren't the only ones there who'd been pushed around by their "betters."

Most surprisingly, there were some royals speaking up for Lissa too. They might be loyal to their own families, but not all of them

were heartless, selfish connivers. Many had a sense of right and wrong—and if Lissa had the law on her side, then she was in the

right. Plus, lots of royals simply liked and respected her. Ariana was one person who advocated for Lissa's nomination, despite the

competition it created. Ariana knew the law well and undoubtedly realized the loophole that allowed Lissa to run would fail when

election time came. Still, Ariana stood her ground, which endeared her to me even more. When the real voting did come, I hoped

Ariana would win the crown. She was intelligent and fair—exactly what the Moroi needed.

Of course, Ariana wasn't the only one who knew the law. Others picked up on the loophole and argued the nomination of a

candidate that no one could vote for was pointless. Normally, I would have agreed. On and on the debate raged while my friends sat

quietly in the hurricane's eye. At long last, the matter was settled the way most decisions should be: through voting. With Lissa still

denied her Council seat, that left eleven members to determine her future. Six of them approved her candidacy, making it official. She

could run. I suspected some of those who voted for her didn't truly want her running, but their respect for the law prevailed.

Many Moroi didn't care what the Council said. They made it clear they considered this matter far from over, proving what Victor had

said: this was going to rage on for a while, getting worse if she actually passed the tests and made it to the voting stages. For now, the

crowd dispersed, seeming relieved—not only because they wanted to escape the yelling but also because they wanted to spread this

sensational news.

Lissa continued saying little as she and our friends left. Walking past the gawkers, she remained a model of regality and calmness,

like she'd already been declared queen. But when she finally escaped it all and was back in her room with the others, all those lockedup,

frozen feelings exploded.