“Me either.” It had been weird. Sometimes it was like Oksana had actually been there, fighting right along with Lissa and the rest. Other times, I’d felt as though Oksana had merged with me. I shuddered. Too many minds linked together.

“Next time, you have to be by her side,” Oksana said. “In the real world.”

I looked down at my hands, confused and unsure what to think. The silver ring gleamed up at me. I took it off and handed it to her.

“This ring saved me. Can it heal you even though you made it?”

She held it in her hand for a moment and then gave it back. “No, but like I said, I’ll recover. I heal quickly on my own.”

It was true. I’d seen Lissa heal remarkably fast in the past. It was part of always having spirit in you. I stared at the ring, and something troubling came to mind. It was a thought that had struck me while riding with the old couple to Novosibirsk, when I’d moved in and out of consciousness.

“Oksana… a Strigoi touched this ring. And for a few moments-while he did-it was like… well, he was still Strigoi, no question. But while he held it, he was almost like his old self too.”

Oksana didn’t answer right away. She looked up at Mark, and they held each other’s gazes for a long time. He bit his lip and shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said. “It’s a fairy tale.”

“What?” I exclaimed. I looked back and forth between him. “If you know something about this-about Strigoi-you have to tell me!”

Mark spoke sharply in Russian, a warning in his voice. Oksana looked equally determined. “It’s not our place to withhold information,” she replied.

She turned to me, face grave. “Mark told you about the Moroi we met long ago… the other spirit user?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“He used to tell a lot of stories-most of which I don’t think were true. But one of them… well, he claimed he restored a Strigoi to life.”

Abe, silent thus far, scoffed. “That is a fairy tale.”

“What?” My whole world reeled. “How?”

“I don’t know. He never elaborated much, and the details often changed. His mind was going, and I think half of what he said was imaginary,” she explained.

“He’s crazy,” said Mark. “It wasn’t true. Don’t get caught up in an insane man’s fantasy. Don’t fixate on this. Don’t let it become your next vigilante quest. You need to go back to your bondmate.”

I swallowed, every emotion in the world churning in my stomach. Was it true? Had a spirit user restored a Strigoi to life? Theoretically… well, if spirit users could heal and bring back the dead, why not the undead? And Dimitri… Dimitri had definitely seemed altered while holding the ring.

Had spirit affected him and touched some piece of his old self? At the time, I’d just assumed it was fond memories of his family affecting him…

“I need to talk to this guy,” I murmured.

Not that I knew why. Fairy tale or not, it was too late. I’d done it. I’d killed Dimitri. Nothing would bring him back now, no miracle of spirit. My heart rate increased, and I could hardly breathe. In my mind’s eye, I saw him falling, falling… falling forever with the stake in his chest. Would he have said he loved me? I would ask myself that for the rest of my life.

Agony and grief flooded me, though at the same time, relief was there too. I had freed Dimitri from a state of evil. I had brought him peace, sending him on to happiness. Maybe he and Mason were together in heaven somewhere, practicing some guardian moves. I had done the right thing. There should be no regret here.

Oblivious to my emotions, Oksana addressed my last statement. “Mark wasn’t kidding. This man is crazy-if he’s even still alive. The last time we saw him, he could barely hold up a conversation or even use his magic. He ran off into hiding. No one knows where he is-except maybe his brother.”

“Enough,” warned Mark.

Abe’s attention was piqued, however. He leaned forward, shrewd as ever. “What’s this man’s name?”

“Robert Doru,” said Mark after a few hesitant moments.

It was no one I knew, and I realized how pointless this all was. This guy was a lost cause and had likely imagined the whole idea of saving a Strigoi in a fit of insanity. Dimitri was gone. This part of my life was over. I needed to get back to Lissa.

Then I noticed that Abe had gone very still.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

“No. Do you?”

“No.” I scrutinized Abe’s face. “You sure look like you know something, Zmey.”

“I know of him,” Abe clarified. “He’s an illegitimate royal. His father had an affair, and Robert was the result. His father actually included him as part of the family. Robert and his half-brother grew quite close, though few knew about it.” Of course Abe would know about it, though. “Doru is Robert’s mother’s last name.”

No surprise. Doru wasn’t a royal name. “What’s his father’s last name?”

“Dashkov. Trenton Dashkov.”

“That,” I told him, “is a name I know.”

I had met Trenton Dashkov years ago while accompanying Lissa and her family to a royal holiday party. Trenton had been an old, stooped man then, kind but on the brink of death. Moroi often lived to be over a hundred, but he’d been pushing a hundred and twenty-which was ancient even by their standards. There had been no sign or whisper of him having an illegitimate son, but Trenton’s legitimate son had been there. That son had even danced with me, showing a great courtesy to a lowly dhampir girl.

“Trenton is Victor Dashkov’s father,” I said. “You’re saying Robert Doru is Victor Dashkov’s half-brother.”

Abe nodded, still watching me closely. Abe, as I’d noted, knew everything. He likely knew my history with Victor.

Oksana frowned. “Victor Dashkov is someone important, isn’t he?” Out in their Siberian cottage, she was removed from the turmoil of Moroi politics, unaware that the man who would have been king had been locked away in prison.

I started laughing-but not because I found any humor in the situation. This whole thing was unbelievable, and my hysteria was the only way to let out all the crazy feelings within me. Exasperation. Resignation. Irony.

“What’s so funny?” asked Mark, startled.

“Nothing,” I said, knowing if I didn’t stop laughing, I’d probably start crying. “That’s the thing. It’s not funny at all.”

What a wonderful twist to my life. The only person alive who might know something about saving Strigoi was the half-brother of my greatest living enemy, Victor Dashkov. And the only person who might know where Robert was was Victor himself. Victor had known a lot about spirit, and now I had a good idea where he’d first learned about it.

Not that it mattered. None of this mattered anymore. Victor himself could have been able to convert Strigoi for all the good it would have done me.

Dimitri was dead by my hand. He was gone, saved in the only way I knew how. I’d had to choose between him and Lissa once before, and I’d chosen him. Now there could be no question. I’d chosen her. She was real. She was alive. Dimitri was the past.

I’d been staring absentmindedly at the wall, and now I looked up and met Abe squarely in the eyes. “All right, old man,” I said. “Pack me up and send me home.”