Spirit Bound (49 page)

I was beginning to understand why people got irritated when I made jokes in dangerous situations.

"My fucking future's on the line! They're going to send me to trial and convict me!"

Every trace of humor or cheer vanished from his face. His expression grew hard, deadly serious. A chill ran down my spine.

"That," he said in a low, flat voice, "is something I swear to you is never, ever going to happen."

The judge turned her attention back to us and the prosecuting lawyer, a woman called Iris Kane. Not a royal name, but she still looked pretty hard-core. Maybe that was just a lawyer thing.

Before the evidence against me was laid out, the queen's murder was also described in all its grisly detail. How'd she'd been found this morning in bed, a silver stake through her heart and a profound look of horror and shock on her face. Blood had been everywhere: on her nightgown, the sheets, her skin . . . The pictures were shown to everyone in the room, triggering a variety of reactions. Gasps of surprise. More fear and panic. And some . . . some people wept. Some of those tears were undoubtedly because of the whole terrible situation, but I think many cried because they'd loved or liked Tatiana. She'd been cold and stiff at times, but for the most part, her reign had been a peaceful and just one.

After the pictures, they called me up. The hearing didn't run the way a normal trial did. There was no formal switching back of lawyers as they questioned witnesses. They each just sort of stood there and took turns asking questions while the judge kept order.

"Miss Hathaway," began Iris, dropping my title. "What time did you return to your room last night?"

"I don't know the exact time. . . ." I focused on her and Abe, not the sea of faces out there. "Somewhere around 5 a.m., I think. Maybe 6."

"Was anyone with you?"

"No, well–yes. Later." Oh, God.
Here it comes
. "Um, Adrian Ivashkov visited me."

"What time did he arrive?" asked Abe.

"I'm not sure of that either. A few hours after I got back, I guess."

Abe turned his charming smile on Iris, who was rustling through some papers. "The queen's murder has been pretty accurately narrowed down to between seven and eight. Rose wasn't alone–of course, we would need Mr. Ivashkov to testify to that effect."

My eyes flicked briefly to the audience. Daniella looked pale. This was her nightmare: Adrian getting involved. Glancing farther over, I saw that Adrian himself seemed eerily calm. I really hoped he wasn't drunk.

Iris held up a sheet of paper triumphantly. "We have a signed statement from a janitor who says Mr. Ivashkov arrived at the defendant's building at approximately nine twenty."

"That's pretty specific," said Abe. He sounded amused, like she'd said something cute. "Do you have any desk staff to confirm that?"

"No," Iris said icily. "But this is enough. The janitor remembers because he was about to take his break. Miss Hathaway was alone when the murder took place. She has no alibi."

"Well," said Abe, "at least according to some questionable 'facts.'"

But no more was said about the time. The evidence was admitted into the official records, and I took a deep breath. I hadn't liked that line of questioning, but it had been expected, based on the earlier conversations I'd heard via Lissa. The no-alibi thing wasn't good, but I kind of shared Abe's vibe. What they had so far still didn't seem strong enough to send me to trial. Plus, they hadn't asked anything else about Adrian, which left him out of this.

"Next exhibit," said Iris. There was smug triumph all over her face. She knew the time thing was sketchy, but whatever was coming up, she thought it was gold.

But actually, it was silver. A silver stake.

So help me, she had a silver stake in a clear plastic container. It gleamed in the incandescent lighting–except for its tip. That was dark. With blood.

"This is the stake used to kill the queen," declared Iris. "Miss Hathaway's stake."

Abe actually laughed. "Oh, come on. Guardians are issued stakes all the time. They have an enormous, identical supply."

Iris ignored him and looked at me. "Where is your stake right now?"

I frowned. "In my room."

She turned and glanced out over the crowd. "Guardian Stone?"

A tall dhampir with a bushy black mustache rose from the crowd. "Yes?"

"You conducted the search of Miss Hathaway's room and belongings, correct?"

I gaped in outrage. "You searched my–"

A sharp look from Abe silenced me.

"Correct," said the guardian.

"And did you find any silver stakes?" asked Iris.

"No."

She turned back to us, still smug, but Abe seemed to find this new information even more ridiculous than the last batch. "That proves nothing. She could have lost the stake without realizing it."

"Lost it in the queen's heart?"

"Miss Kane," warned the judge.

"My apologies, Your Honor," said Iris smoothly. She turned to me. "Miss Hathaway, is there anything special about your stake? Anything that would distinguish it from others?"

"Y-yes."

"Can you describe that?"

I swallowed. I had a bad feeling about this. "It has a pattern etched near the top. A kind of geometric design." Guardians had engraving done sometimes. I'd found this stake in Siberia and kept it. Well, actually, Dimitri had sent it to me after it had come loose from his chest.

Iris walked over to the Council and held out the container so that each of them could examine it. Returning to me, she gave me my turn. "Is this your pattern? Your stake?"

I stared. It was indeed. My mouth opened, ready to say
yes
, but then I caught Abe's eye. Clearly, he couldn't talk directly to me, but he sent a lot of messages in that gaze. The biggest one was to be careful, be sly. What would a slippery person like Abe do?

"It . . . it looks
similar
to the design on mine," I said at last. "But I can't say for sure if it's the exact same one." Abe's smile told me I'd answered correctly.

"Of course you can't," Iris said, as though she'd expected no better. She handed off the container to one of the court clerks. "But now that the Council has seen that the design matches her description and is
almost
like her stake, I would like to point out that testing has revealed"–she held up more papers, victory all over her face–"that her fingerprints are on it."

There, it was. The big score. The "hard evidence."

"Any other fingerprints?" asked the judge.

"No, Your Honor. Just hers."

"That means nothing," said Abe with a shrug. I had a feeling that if I stood and suddenly confessed to the murder, he would still claim it was dubious evidence. "Someone steals her stake and wears gloves. Her fingerprints would be on it because it's
hers
."

"That's getting kind of convoluted, don't you think?" asked Iris.

"The evidence is still full of holes," he protested. "That's what's convoluted. How could she have gotten into the queen's bedroom? How could she have gotten through the guards?"

"Well," mused Iris, "those would be questions best explored in trial, but considering Miss Hathaway's extensive record of breaking into and out of places, as well as the countless other disciplinary marks she has, I don't doubt she could have found any number of ways to get inside."

"You have no proof," said Abe. "No theory."

"We don't need it," said Iris. "Not at this point. We have more than enough to go to trial, don't we? I mean, we haven't even gotten to the part where countless witnesses heard Miss Hathaway tell the queen she'd regret establishing the recent guardian law. I can find the transcript if you like–not to mention reports of other 'expressive' commentary Miss Hathaway made in public."

A memory came back to me, of standing outside with Daniella while I ranted–with others watching–about how the queen couldn't buy me off with an assignment. Not a good decision on my part. Neither was busting in on the Death Watch or complaining about the queen being worth protecting when Lissa had been captured. I'd given Iris a lot of material.

"Oh yes," Iris continued. "We also have accounts of the queen declaring her extreme disapproval of Miss Hathaway's involvement with Adrian Ivashkov, particularly when the two ran off to elope." I opened my mouth at that, but Abe silenced me. "There are countless other records of Her Majesty and Miss Hathaway sparring in public. Would you like me to find those papers too, or are we able to vote on a trial now?"

This was directed at the judge. I had no legal background, but the evidence was pretty damning. I would have said that there was definitely reason to consider me a murder suspect, except . . .

"Your Honor?" I asked. I think she'd been about to give her declaration. "Can I say something?"

The judge thought about it, then shrugged. "I see no reason not to. We're collecting all the evidence there is."

Oh, me freelancing was
not
in Abe's plan at all. He strode to the stand, hoping to stop me with his wise counsel, but he wasn't fast enough.

"Okay," I said, hoping I sounded reasonable and wasn't going to lose my temper. "You've put up a lot of suspicious stuff here. I can see that." Abe looked pained. It was not an expression I'd seen on him before. He didn't lose control of situations very often. "But that's the thing. It's
too
suspicious. If I were going to murder someone, I wouldn't be that stupid. Do you think I'd leave my stake stuck in her chest? Do you think I wouldn't wear gloves? Come on. That's insulting. If I'm as crafty as you claim my record says I am, then why would I do it this way? I mean, seriously? If I did it, it'd be a lot better. You'd never even peg me as a suspect. This is all really kind of an insult to my intelligence."

"Rose–" began Abe, a dangerous note in his tone. I kept going.

"All this evidence you've got is so painfully obvious. Hell, whoever set this up might as well have painted an arrow straight to me–and someone
did
set me up, but you guys are too stupid to even consider that." The volume of my voice was rising, and I consciously brought it back to normal levels. "You want an easy answer. A quick answer. And you especially want someone with no connections, no powerful family to protect them . . ." I hesitated there, unsure how to classify Abe. "Because that's how it always is. That's how it was with that age law. No one was able to stand up for the dhampirs either because this goddamned system won't allow it."

It occurred to me then that I had strayed pretty far off the subject–and was making myself look more guilty by slamming the age law. I reined myself back in.

"Um, anyway, Your Honor . . . what I'm trying to say is that this evidence shouldn't be enough to accuse me or send me to trial. I wouldn't plan a murder this badly."

"Thank you, Miss Hathaway," said the judge. "That was very . . . informative. You may take your seat now while the Council votes."

Abe and I returned to our bench. "What in the world were you thinking?" he whispered.

"I was telling it like it is. I was defending myself."

"I wouldn't go that far. You're no lawyer."

I gave him a sidelong look. "Neither are you, old man."

The judge asked the Council to vote on whether they believed there was enough evidence to make me a viable suspect and send me to trial. They did. Eleven hands went up. Just like that, it was over.

Through the bond, I felt Lissa's alarm. As Abe and I rose to leave, I looked out in the audience, which was starting to disband and buzzing with talk over what would happen now. Her light green eyes were wide, her face unusually pale. Beside her, Adrian too looked distressed, but as he stared at me, I could see love and determination radiating. And in the back, behind both of them . . .

Dimitri.

I hadn't even known he was here. His eyes were on me too, dark and endless. Only I couldn't read what he was feeling. His face betrayed nothing, but there was something in his eyes . . . something intense and intimidating. The image of him ready to take down that group of guardians flashed through my mind, and something told me that if I asked, he would do it again. He would fight his way to me through this courtroom and do everything in his power to rescue me from it.

A brushing of my hand distracted me from him. Abe and I had started to exit, but the aisle ahead of us was packed with people, bringing us to a halt. The touch against my hand was a small piece of paper shoved between my fingers. Glancing over, I saw Ambrose was sitting near the aisle, staring straight ahead. I wanted to ask what was going on, but some instinct kept me silent. Seeing as the line still wasn't moving, I hastily opened the paper, keeping it out of Abe's sight.

The paper was tiny, its elegant cursive almost impossible to read.

If you're reading this, then something terrible has happened. You probably hate me, and I don't blame you. I can only ask that you trust that what I did with the age decree was better for your people than what others had planned. There are some Moroi who want to force
all
dhampirs into service, whether they want it or not, by using compulsion. The age decree has slowed that faction down.

–
Tatiana Ivashkov

I stared at the piece of paper, its writing swirling before me, but its message burning into my mind.
She is not the last Dragomir. Another lives.