“There’s nothing here,” I said. “Hope you at least enjoyed the show. I’ve been working out.”
Brilliant light suddenly flared before me, and after all that blackness, I cried out and covered my eyes from the shock of it.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” the voice asked. “After living in darkness, it’s hard to return to the light.”
It took a long time for me to adjust. Even when I was able to remove my hands, I still had to squint. I peered ahead of me and saw that the light was coming from a square in the wall. As I’d suspected, there seemed to be several compartments embedded within the wall. This one’s surface was made of glass, allowing me to look inside. It was small but still large enough to hold those blinding lights—
—and Adrian’s cross.
The defiance I’d tried to maintain started to crumble, and I quickly caught myself, knowing I couldn’t show my feelings on my face. Nonetheless, I couldn’t hold back from trailing my fingertips along the glass surface as I stared achingly at the cross. They hadn’t done anything to it. The small wooden cross was exactly the same, painted with delicate blue morning glories, strung onto its fine chain.
“You have no right to wear such a holy symbol,” the voice said. “But we took it as an optimistic sign that you even carry an item like this at all. It tells us that no matter how far you’ve fallen, how corrupted you’ve become, some part of you longs to return to purity and the righteous path.”
“I’m already on that path,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the cross. “I’ve been on it for a long time.”
“No. You’ve strayed from it and debased yourself. You’ve become enmeshed in an unholy, twisted world that runs contrary to all the rules of nature and salvation. When you can admit that, when you can confess your sins, you may have your cross back.”
My hand, still pressed on the glass, twitched with the need to touch the cross, to have some piece of Adrian to cling to. The coldness that still tormented me momentarily lost its hold as thoughts of him flooded my mind and heart. Adrian, with his easy smile and his breathtaking green eyes. Adrian, his arms holding me tight and keeping me close to his heart. Adrian, fighting through the torment within him to do the right thing. Adrian, with his unfailing faith in me.
If I could have the cross, if I could have that connection . . . then surely the obstacles and distance between us would mean nothing. Surely I could endure whatever torturous challenges they threw at me.
This is one of them, I realized. This carrot they’re holding out. They wanted me to take the cross. If I gave in, if I acknowledged their accusations, I wouldn’t be closer to Adrian. No matter how much I wanted the cross, accepting it would mean I was going against him, turning my back on all I’d worked so hard for. Slowly, painfully, I withdrew my hand and clenched it into a fist. I needed no physical object to remind me of his love. I already carried it in my heart, and it would be enough to get through this.
“I have nothing to confess,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You have everything to confess,” said the voice. “But you only need to start small. Take one step on the path to redemption. Say, ‘I have sinned against my own kind and let my soul become corrupted. I am ready to have the darkness purged.’ Say those words, and things will become much easier for you. You can have your cross. You can have a blanket. You can have food. One way or another, we will purge that darkness, but if you are uncooperative, you will find the methods we must sadly resort to will be . . . unpleasant.”
A bubble of fear rose in me, and I staunchly pushed it down. I gave the cross one last, hungry look and tried to focus not on the object itself but the love in Adrian’s eyes when he’d given it to me. I turned away and walked to the other side of the room.
“I have nothing to confess,” I repeated.
“Then you leave us no choice,” said the voice. “That disappoints us and makes us very, very sad.”
The light went out in the box, plunging the cross—and me—into darkness. My head started to feel fuzzy, and I realized they were somehow getting that drug into my system again, dragging me back into a dreamless world. Had it been the water?
One way or another, we will purge that darkness, but if you are uncooperative, you will find the methods we must sadly resort to will be . . . unpleasant.
“All right,” I managed to say, just before I crumpled to the floor. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Fiery Heart is a new venture for me, seeing as it’s the first time we’ve truly followed two characters in the Moroi world. It was an exciting project to work on, and I couldn’t have done it without the support of many, many people. Thank you so much to my family and friends, particularly my wonderful husband and son, for their constant love and cheerleading. Many thanks are also due to the amazing publishing team who makes these books possible: my literary agent extraordinaire, Jim McCarthy of Dystel and Goderich, and my uber-patient Razorbill editor, Jessica Almon. Lastly, thank you to my wonderful readers, who constantly inspire me to write. We’re in the middle of a series, so you know things are going to get rough for the characters, but hang in there! It’ll be worth it.
ONE
I FELT HER FEAR BEFORE I heard her screams.
Her nightmare pulsed into me, shaking me out of my own dream, which had had something to do with a beach and some hot guy rubbing suntan oil on me. Images—hers, not mine—tumbled through my mind: fire and blood, the smell of smoke, the twisted metal of a car. The pictures wrapped around me, suffocating me, until some rational part of my brain reminded me that this wasn’t my dream.
I woke up, strands of long, dark hair sticking to my forehead.
Lissa lay in her bed, thrashing and screaming. I bolted out of mine, quickly crossing the few feet that separated us.
“Liss,” I said, shaking her. “Liss, wake up.”
Her screams dropped off, replaced by soft whimpers. “Andre,” she moaned. “Oh God.”
I helped her sit up. “Liss, you aren’t there anymore. Wake up.”
After a few moments, her eyes fluttered open, and in the dim lighting, I could see a flicker of consciousness start to take over. Her frantic breathing slowed, and she leaned into me, resting her head against my shoulder. I put an arm around her and ran a hand over her hair.
“It’s okay,” I told her gently. “Everything’s okay.”
“I had that dream.”
“Yeah. I know.”
We sat like that for several minutes, not saying anything else. When I felt her emotions calm down, I leaned over to the nightstand between our beds and turned on the lamp. It glowed dimly, but neither of us really needed much to see by. Attracted by the light, our housemate’s cat, Oscar, leapt up onto the sill of the open window.
He gave me a wide berth—animals don’t like dhampirs, for whatever reason—but jumped onto the bed and rubbed his head against Lissa, purring softly. Animals didn’t have a problem with Moroi, and they all loved Lissa in particular. Smiling, she scratched his chin, and I felt her calm further.
“When did we last do a feeding?” I asked, studying her face. Her fair skin was paler than usual. Dark circles hung under her eyes, and there was an air of frailty about her. School had been hectic this week, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d given her blood. “It’s been like . . . more than two days, hasn’t it? Three? Why didn’t you say anything?”