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As Lissa worked the crowd, we drifted over to a small group of Moroi whose voices were growing louder. One of them I recognized. He was the guy from the fight that I'd helped break up, only this time he wore a striking black tuxedo instead of a swimsuit. He glanced up at our approach, blatantly checked us out, but apparently didn't remember me. Ignoring us, he continued on with his argument. Not surprisingly, Moroi protection was the topic. He was the one who'd been in favor of Moroi going on the offensive against the Strigoi.
"What part of 'suicide' don't you understand?" asked one of the men standing nearby. He had silvery hair and a bushy mustache. He wore a tux too, but the younger guy looked better in one. "Moroi training as soldiers will be the end of our race."
"It's not suicide," exclaimed the young guy. "It's the right thing to do. We have to start looking out for ourselves. Learning to fight and use our magic is our greatest asset, other than the guardians."
"Yes, but with the guardians, we don't need other assets," said Silver Hair. "You've been listening to non-royals. They don't have any guardians of their own, so of course they're scared. But that's no reason to drag us down and put our lives at risk."
"Then don't," said Lissa suddenly. Her voice was soft, but everyone in the little group stopped and looked at her. "When you talk about Moroi learning how to fight, you make it sound like an all-or-nothing matter. It's not. If you don't want to fight, then you shouldn't have to. I completely understand." The man looked slightly mollified. "But, that's because you can rely on your guardians. A lot of Moroi can't. And if they want to learn self-defense, there's no reason why they shouldn't do it on their own."
The younger guy grinned triumphantly at his adversary. "There, you see?"
"It's not that easy," countered Silver Hair. "If it was just a matter of you crazy people wanting to get yourselves killed, then fine. Go do it. But where are you going to learn all these so-called fighting skills?"
"We'll figure the magic out on our own. Guardians will teach us actual physical fighting."
"Yes, see? I knew that was where this was going. Even if the rest of us don't take part in your suicide mission, you still want to strip us of our guardians to train up your pretend army."
The young guy scowled at the word pretend, and I wondered if more fists would fly. "You owe it to us."
"No, they don't," said Lissa.
Intrigued gazes turned her way again. This time, it was Silver Hair who regarded her triumphantly. The younger guy's features flushed with anger.
"Guardians are the best battle resources we have."
"They are," she agreed, "but that doesn't give you the right to take them away from their duty." Silver Hair practically glowed.
"Then how are we supposed to learn?" demanded the other guy.
"The same way guardians do," Lissa informed him. "If you want to learn to fight, go to the academies. Form classes and start at the beginning, the same way the novices do. That way, you won't be taking guardians away from active protection. It's a safe environment, and the guardians there specialize in teaching students anyway." She paused thoughtfully. "You could even start making defense part of the standard curriculum for Moroi students already there."
Astonished stares fell on her, mine included. It was such an elegant solution, and everyone else around us realized it. It gave no party 100 percent of its demands, but it met most in a way that didn't really harm the other side. Pure genius. The other Moroi studied her with wonder and fascination.
Suddenly, everyone started talking at once, excited about the idea. They drew Lissa in, and soon there was a passionate conversation going on about her plan. I got shuffled to the edges and decided that was just fine. Then I retreated altogether and sought out a corner near a door.
Along the way, I passed a server with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Still hungry, I eyed them suspiciously but saw nothing that looked like the foie gras from the other day. I gestured to one that looked like some sort of braised, rare meat.
"Is that goose liver?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Sweetbread."
That didn't sound bad. I reached for it.
"It's pancreas," said a voice behind me. I jerked back.
"What?" I squeaked. The waitress took my shock for rejection and moved on.
Adrian Ivashkov moved into my line of sight, looking immensely pleased with himself.
"Are you messing with me?" I asked. "'Sweetbread' is pancreas?" I don't know why that shocked me so much. Moroi consumed blood. Why not internal organs? Still, I repressed a shudder.
Adrian shrugged. "It's really good."
I shook my head in disgust. "Oh, man. Rich people suck."
His amusement continued. "What are you doing here, little dhampir? Are you following me around?"
"Of course not," I scoffed. He was dressed to perfection, as always. "Especially not after all the trouble you've gotten us into."
He flashed one of his tantalizing smiles, and despite how much he annoyed me, I again felt that overwhelming urge to be near him. What was up with that?
"I don't know," he teased. He looked perfectly sane now, exhibiting no trace of the weird behavior I'd witnessed in his room. And yeah, he looked a lot better in a tuxedo than any guy I'd seen in there so far. "As many times as we keep seeing each other? This is, what, the fifth time? It's starting to look suspicious. Don't worry, though. I won't tell your boyfriend. Either of them."
I opened my mouth to protest, then remembered he'd seen me with Dimitri earlier. I refused to blush. "I only have one boyfriend. Sort of. Maybe not anymore. And anyway, there's nothing to tell. I don't even like you."
"No?" asked Adrian, still smiling. He leaned toward me, like he had a secret to share. "Then why are you wearing my perfume?"
This time, I did blush. I took a step back. "I'm not."
He laughed. "Of course you are. I counted the boxes after you left. Besides, I can smell it on you. It's nice. Sharp...but still sweet- just like I'm sure you are deep down inside. And you got it right, you know. Just enough to add an edge...but not enough to drown your own scent." The way he said "scent" made it sound like a dirty word.
Royal Moroi might make me uncomfortable, but smartass guys hitting on me didn't. I dealt with them on a regular basis. I shook off my shyness and remembered who I was.
"Hey," I said, tossing my hair back. "I had every right to take one. You offered them. Your mistake is in assuming me taking one means anything. It doesn't. Except that maybe you should be more careful with where you dump all that money of yours."
