So, while everyone is concentrating on how Rose will get out, who she'll end up with, etc., I can't help but wonder who the real murderer is...
I waited patiently. I would wait for an eternity if I had to. And suddenly, the door swung open, and Rosemarie exited the room. I clutched my pen in my hand. As soon as she entered the stairwell, I bolted, diving for the door. I shoved the pen into the tiny space between the door and frame before it shut. For extra protection, the Court rooms automatically locked, narrowing my window of time to complete this task.
I stood up, pushed the hair out of my face and looked around. No one had seen me. So I pushed forward, slipping into the room. It was comfortably small and extremely messy, which would make my job a lot more difficult. I tiptoed through the apartment, pulling open drawers and looking in pockets. She was in the court, so I prayed she wouldn't have her stake on her.
My palms itched in the heavy gloves. These were not meant to be worn in summer heat. I searched through the entire apartment, but found nothing. Everything! All for nothing! And then I heard the most horrid sound I had ever heard.
The door unlocking. I panicked and hid in the tiny closet. It was a moronic move, seeing as it would be the first place she went, as it was starting to get light out. I heard her enter. She was sniffling loudly. Through the crack in the closet door, I saw her kick off her shoes and collapse onto her bed. She buried her face into her pillow, and sobs racked her body. I wondered where she had been to upset her so deeply.
But as the night wore on, the extremely long, boring night, her breaths evened and her crying ceased. I knocked gently on the closet door. She didn't even stir. So I slipped from the closet and was about to get the heck out of there, when my compelling sense of determination stopped me.
Rosemarie lay fully clothed on the bed. She looked beautiful; calm. I silently moved beside her and reached gently into her coat pocket. My gloved fingers closed around something small and circular. With a silent cheer of victory, I slid the stake from her jacket and dropped it into the small bag I had concealed in my coat.
I ran from the room, gently closing the heavy door. I leaned against it, breathing deeply for a moment. After several moments, I make my way to the stairs. This late, the halls were deserted, save for a custodian. I opened the door that led to the stairwell, when I heard the repetative clunk of approaching footsteps. I panicked and gently shut the door. My heart raced in my chest. There was no where to run. The corridors were smooth, with no creases or crevices.
In one fluid motion, I dove behind the janitor's cart. The door opened, revealing a tall, dark-haired moroi. Adrian Ivashkov. He waltzed right past the man, much too distracted, and very possibly drunk, from what I've heard, to even notice. Besides, the man had spent his entire life with servants to clean up after him. After awhile, they were invisible.
He disappeared around the corner. I sighed in relief. When I looked up, the janitor was eyeing me with suspicion; his eyebrows raised.
"Ex-boyfriend. I do not want to run into him." I stood up and dusted myself off. "You didn't see me." His eyes glazed over and he nodded. With one quick look down the hallway, I departed the guardians building.
Five guardians stood solemnly at the door. I walked fearlessly up to them.
"You will let me through. I have to see the queen." Their eyes glazed over, as if they had been removed from their own thoughts. I smile wickedly and brush past. I am clothed in black and white to blend with the security personal. I turn again and stare them down.
"You won't remember this conversation. You didn't see me at all." They nod, and I enter the Queen's house. Luckily, the only protection for the Queen was guardians and wards. Security cameras could hardly be wired into the ancient stone walls. Compulsion could easily be used on the guards. But unfortunately, my energy is fading fast. All of this training, all of the fighting, all had nothing on compulsion.
The Court is decorated grandly, but, as always, the Royals save everything for themselves. The walls are blood red; the furniture is dark and glamorous. The entire house screams status. I climb the marble stairs. Guardians line her bedroom door. I compel them to ignore everything they see, everything they hear. They grow just as removed and seemingly distracted. And I slip into the Queen's room, feeling weak and dizzy.
The old woman lays in her enormous bed. A soft snore floats up from behind the mesh canopy. I can see she is completely asleep, her breathing level. I ease the stake from my jacket pocket. It seems to throb in my hands. My pulse is pounding in my chest.
I take a step forward.
My breath hitches.
Another step.
My pulse rises to my ears.
One more step.
I rise over the old woman. She doesn't look like a queen; not now. She looks innocent, serene. Her hair is spread out on the pillow. She looks peaceful. But she was anything but innocent. She must pay.
I take a deep breath.
"This is for the sophomores you'll kill," I whisper, and slam the stake into her ribs. My hand clamps over her mouth as she lets out a gurgled scream. She struggles, and I am forced to push the stake in with one hand. I am weak due to all of the compulsion I have used, and her shifting and fighting doesn't help. She fights and lets out a roar of agony. Blood bubbles between her lips. And with one last cough, she falls limp and silent. I use both hands to pierce her heart.
"And that was for the Ozeras." I take a deep breath and gaze and my work. It was a clean strike. Blood concentrated at the site of the stake. I left it there, knowing Rosemarie would be blamed. I strip off my blood spotted jacket and deposit it into the roaring fireplace. The flames devour it quickly.
As I exited the building, I felt a tiny tang of guilt. Did I feel bad to turn the blame to young Rosemarie for this terrible deed? Of course, but it was neccessary. I regretted it to be her, but she was the most likely suspect. Besides, it was her own fault, screaming and yelling at the queen in front of many council members. I couldn't let the suspicion come to me. I couldn't change our world rotting in jail. Thats where Dashkov had made his mistake. He had got caught.
The Queen had made some terrible choices. She never cared about anyone but the Royals. The ones who truely mattered. The ones whose parents didn't turn strigoi.
I pull off each glove and shove them into a different trash can on the court site. I reenter the building. The guardians line the wall. This time, there is no compulsion needed. I just have to ask. They let me in right away, and I am glowing with satisfaction. I enter the end of the hall, and knock on the door. It swings open. He seems defeated. His whole body appears to collapse with exhaustion. Mental exhaustion. It looks as if his heart has been ripped away from him. His eyes are watery, but, as always, he maintains his composure. His eyes widen as he sees me, and he gives a weak smile. He's trying to hard.
"Tasha?" I smile at him.
"Hello, Dimka."