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Miles reluctantly followed. "I'll find you later, Ashford."
When they were gone, I turned on Mason. " 'Beat up on a girl'?"
"You're welcome," he said drily.
"I didn't need your help."
"Sure. You were doing just fine on your own."
"They caught me off guard, that's all. I could have dealt with them eventually."
"Look, don't take being pissed off at them out on me."
"I just don't like being treated like...a girl."
"You are a girl. And I was just trying to help."
I looked at him and saw the earnestness on his face. He meant well. No point in being a bitch to him when I had so many other people to hate lately.
"Well...thanks. Sorry I snapped at you."
We talked a little bit, and I managed to get him to spill some more school gossip. He had noticed Lissa's rise in status but didn't seem to find it strange. As I talked to him, I noticed the adoring look he always got around me spread across his face. It made me sad to have him feel that way about me. Guilty, even.
How hard would it be, I wondered, to go out with him? He was nice, funny, and reasonably good-looking. We got along. Why did I get caught up in so many messes with other guys when I had a perfectly sweet one here who wanted me? Why couldn't I just return his feelings?
The answer came to me before I'd even finished asking myself the question. I couldn't be Mason's girlfriend because when I imagined someone holding me and whispering dirty things in my ear, he had a Russian accent.
Mason continued watching me admiringly, oblivious to what was going on in my head. And seeing that adoration, I suddenly realized how I could use it to my advantage.
Feeling a little guilty, I shifted my conversation to a more flirty style and watched Mason's glow increase.
I leaned beside him on the wall so our arms just touched and gave him a lazy smile. "You know, I still don't approve of your whole hero thing, but you did scare them. That was almost worth it."
"But you don't approve?"
I trailed fingers up his arm. "No. I mean, it's hot in principle but not in practice."
He laughed. "The hell it isn't." He caught hold of my hand and gave me a knowing look. "Sometimes you need to be saved. I think you like being saved sometimes and just can't admit it."
"And I think you get off on saving people and just can't admit it."
"I don't think you know what gets me off. Saving damsels like you is just the honorable thing to do," he declared loftily.
I repressed the urge to smack him over the use of damsels. "Then prove it. Do me a favor just because it's 'the right thing to do.' "
"Sure," he said immediately. "Name it."
"I need you to get a message to Christian Ozera."
His eagerness faltered. "What the - ? You aren't serious."
"Yes. Completely."
"Rose...I can't talk to him. You know that."
"I thought you said you'd help. I thought you said helping 'damsels' is the honorable thing to do."
"I don't really see how honor's involved here." I gave him the most smoldering look I could manage. He caved. "What do you want me to tell him?"
"Tell him I need St. Vladimir's books. The ones in storage. He needs to sneak them to me soon. Tell him it's for Lissa. And tell him...tell him I lied the night of the reception." I hesitated. "Tell him I'm sorry."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"It doesn't have to. Just do it. Please?" I turned on the beauty queen smile again.
With hasty assurances that he'd see what he could do, he left for lunch, and I went off to practice.
FIFTEEN
MASON DELIVERED.
He found me the next day before school. He was carrying a box of books.
"I got them," he said. "Hurry and take them before you get in trouble for talking to me."
He handed them over, and I grunted. They were heavy. "Christian gave you these?"
"Yeah. Managed to talk to him without anyone noticing. He's got kind of an attitude, did you ever notice that?"
"Yeah, I noticed." I rewarded Mason with a smile that he ate up. "Thanks. This means a lot."
I hauled the loot up to my room, fully aware of how weird it was that someone who hated to study as much as I did was about to get buried in dusty crap from the fourteenth century. When I opened the first book, though, I saw that these must be reprints of reprints of reprints, probably because anything that old would have long since fallen apart.
Sifting through the books, I discovered they fell into three categories: books written by people after St. Vladimir had died, books written by other people when he was still alive, and one diary of sorts written by him. What had Mason said about primary and secondary sources? Those last two groups were the ones I wanted.
Whoever had reprinted these had reworded the books enough so that I didn't have to read Ye Olde English or anything. Or rather, Russian, I supposed. St. Vladimir had lived in the old country.
Today I healed the mother of Sava who has long since suffered from sharp pains within her stomach. Her malady is now gone, but God has not allowed me to do such a thing lightly. I am weak and dizzy, and the madness is trying to leak into my head. I thank God every day for shadow-kissed Anna, for without her, I would surely not be able to endure.
Anna again. And "shadow-kissed." He talked about her a lot, among other things. Most of the time he wrote long sermons, just like what I'd hear in church. Super boring. But other times, the book read just like a diary, recapping what he did each day. And if it really wasn't just a load of crap, he healed all the time. Sick people. Injured people. Even plants. He brought dead crops back to life when people were starving. Sometimes he would make flowers bloom just for the hell of it.
Reading on, I found out that it was a good thing old Vlad had Anna around, because he was pretty messed up. The more he used his powers, the more they started to get to him. He'd get irrationally angry and sad. He blamed it on demons and stupid stuff like that, but it was obvious he suffered from depression. Once, he admitted in his diary, he tried to kill himself. Anna stopped him.
Later, browsing through the book written by the guy who knew Vladimir, I read:
And many think it miraculous too, the power the blessed Vladimir shows over others. Moroi and dhampirs flock to him and listen to his words, happy just to be near him. Some say it is madness that touches him and not spirit, but most adore him and would do anything he asked. Such is the way God marks his favorites, and if such moments are followed by hallucinations and despair, it is a small sacrifice for the amount of good and leadership he can show among the people.
