“I’m talking about the land. The buildings. Go to one of the big cities-it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen. Everyone in the U.S. tends to build the same-always in big, chunky blocks. They do what’s fast and easy. But in Russia, there are buildings that are like pieces of art. They are art-even a lot of the ordinary, everyday buildings. And places like the WinterPalace and TroitskyChurch in Saint Petersburg? Those will take your breath away.”

His face had been aglow with the memory of sites he’d seen, that joy making his already handsome features divine. I think he could have named landmarks all day. My heart had burned within me, just from watching him. And then, just like I always did when I worried I might turn sappy or sentimental, I’d made a joke to shift the attention away and hide my emotions. It had switched him back into business mode, and we’d gotten to work.

Now, walking the city streets with Sydney, I wished I could take back that joke and listen to Dimitri talk more about his homeland. I would have given anything to have Dimitri with me here, the way he used to be. He’d been right about the buildings. Sure, most were blocky copies of anything you’d find in the U.S. or anywhere else in the world, but some were exquisite-painted with bright colors, adorned with their strange yet beautiful onion-shaped domes. At times, it really did seem like something from another world. And all the while, I kept thinking that it should have been Dimitri here by my side, pointing things out and explaining them to me. We should have been having a romantic getaway. Dimitri and I could have eaten at exotic restaurants and then gone dancing at night. I could have worn one of the designer dresses I’d had to leave behind in the Saint Petersburg hotel. That’s how it was supposed to be. It wasn’t supposed to be me with a glowering human.

“Unreal, huh? Like something from a story.”

Sydney’s voice startled me, and I realized we’d come to a stop in front of our train station. There were a number of them in Moscow. Her echoing of my conversation with Dimitri sent chills down my spine-largely because she was right. The station didn’t have the onion domes but still looked like something straight out of a storybook, like a cross between Cinderella’s castle and a gingerbread house. It had a big arched roof and towers on either end. Its white walls were interspersed with patches of brown brick and green mosaic, almost making it look striped. In the U.S., some might have called it gaudy. To me, it was beautiful.

I felt tears start to spring to my eyes as I wondered what Dimitri would have said about this building. He probably would have loved it just as he loved everything else here. Realizing that Sydney was waiting for a response, I swallowed back my grief and played flippant teenager. “Maybe something from a story about a train station.”

She arched an eyebrow, surprised at my indifference, but she didn’t question it. Who could say? Maybe if I kept up the sarcasm, she’d eventually get annoyed and ditch me. Somehow, I doubted I’d be that lucky. I was pretty sure her fear of her superiors trumped any other feelings she might have in regard to me.

We had first-class train accommodations, which turned out to be a lot smaller than I expected. There was a combination bed/sitting bench on each side, a window, and a TV high on the wall. I supposed that would help pass the time, but I often had trouble following Russian television-not just because of the language but also because some of the shows were downright bizarre. Still, Sydney and I would each have our own space, even if the room was cozier than we would have liked.

The colors reminded me a lot of the same fanciful patterns I’d seen throughout the cities. Even the hall outside our cabin was brightly colored, with plush carpet in red and yellow designs and a teal and yellow runner going down the middle. Inside our room, the benches were covered in cushions with rich orange velvet, and the curtains matched in shades of gold and peach, made of thick heavy fabric embossed with a silky pattern. Between all that and the ornate table in the middle of the cabin, it was almost like traveling in a mini-palace.

It was dark out by the time the train left the station. For whatever reason, the Trans-Siberian always left Moscow at night. It wasn’t that late yet, but Sydney said she wanted to sleep, and I didn’t want to make her more irate than she already was. So we turned off all the lights, save for a tiny reading lamp by my bed. I’d bought a magazine at the train station, and even if I couldn’t understand the language, the pictures of makeup and clothes transcended all cultural barriers. I flipped through the pages as quietly as I could, admiring summer tops and dresses and wondering when — if ever-I’d be able to start worrying about that kind of thing again.

I wasn’t tired when I lay down, but sleep took me nonetheless. I was dreaming about water-skiing when suddenly, the waves and sun around me dissolved into a room lined with shelves and shelves of books. Tables with state-of-the-art computers lined the rooms, and there was a calmness that permeated the place. I was in the library at St. Vladimir’s Academy.

I groaned. “Oh, come on. Not today.”

“Why not today? Why not every day?”

I turned and found myself looking into the handsome face of Adrian Ivashkov. Adrian was a Moroi, the queen’s great-nephew, and someone I’d left behind in my old life when I took off on this suicide mission. He had beautiful emerald-green eyes that made most girls swoon, particularly since they were paired with stylishly messy brown hair. He was also kind of in love with me and the reason I had so much money on this trip. I’d sweet talked him out of it.

“True,” I admitted. “I suppose I should be grateful you only show up about once a week.”

He grinned and sat down backward in one of the slatted wooden chairs. He was tall, like most Moroi, with a leanly muscled build. Moroi guys never got too bulky. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Rose. Don’t want you to take me for granted.”

“We’re in no danger of that; don’t worry.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where you are?”

“Nope.”

Aside from Lissa, Adrian was the only other known living spirit user, and among his talents was the ability to show up in my dreams-often uninvited-and talk to me. I took it as a blessing that his powers never actually let him know where I was.

“You kill me, Rose,” he said melodramatically. “Every day is agony without you. Empty. Alone. I pine for you, wondering if you’re even still alive.”

He spoke in an exaggerated, silly sort of way that was characteristic of him. Adrian rarely took things seriously and always had a flippant edge.

Spirit also had a tendency to make people unstable, and while he fought it, he wasn’t unaffected. Underneath that melodrama, though, I sensed a kernel of truth. No matter how shallow an appearance he gave off, he really did care about me.

I crossed my arms. “Well, I’m still alive, clearly. So I guess you can let me go back to sleep.”

“How many times have I told you? You are asleep.”

“And yet I inexplicably feel exhausted talking to you.”

This made him laugh. “Oh, I do so miss you.” That smile faded. “She misses you too.”

I stiffened. She. He didn’t even need to say her name. There was no question as to whom he was talking about.

Lissa.

Even saying her name in my mind caused me pain, particularly after seeing her last night. Choosing between Lissa and Dimitri had been the hardest decision of my life, and time passing hadn’t made it any easier. I might have chosen him, but being away from her was like having an arm cut off, particularly because the bond ensured we were never truly apart.

Adrian gave me a canny look, like he could guess my thoughts. “Do you go see her?”