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"Enlighten us then, Natasha," he said. "Tell us what you think we should do, seeing as you have<br />
so much experience with Strigoi."<br />
A thin smile played on Tasha's lips, but she didn't rise to the insult. "What do I think?" She<br />
strode closer to the stage's front, gazing at us as she answered his question. "I think we should<br />
stop coming up with plans that involve us relying on someone or something to protect us. You<br />
think there are too few guardians? That's not the problem. The problem is there are too many<br />
Strigoi. And we've let them multiply and become more powerful because we do nothing about<br />
them except have stupid arguments like this. We run and hide behind the dhampirs and let the<br />
Strigoi go unchecked. It's our fault. We are the reason those Drozdovs died. You want an army?<br />
Well, here we are. Dhampirs aren't the only ones who can learn to fight. The question, Monica,<br />
isn't where the dhampir women are in this fight. The question is: Where are we?"<br />
Tasha was shouting by now, and the exertion turned her cheeks pink. Her eyes shone with her<br />
impassioned feelings, and when combined with the rest of her pretty features—and even with<br />
the scar—she made a striking figure. Most people couldn't take their eyes off her. Lissa<br />
watched Tasha with wonder, inspired by her words. Mason looked hypnotized. Dimitri looked<br />
impressed. And farther past him …<br />
Farther past him was Mia. Mia no longer hunched in her chair. She was sitting up straight,<br />
straight as a stick, her eyes as wide as they could go. She stared at Tasha as though she alone<br />
held all the answers to life.<br />
Monica Szelsky looked less awed, and she fixed her gaze on Tasha. "Surely you aren't<br />
suggesting the Moroi fight alongside the guardians when the Strigoi come?"<br />
Tasha regarded her levelly. "No. I'm suggesting the Moroi and the guardians go fight the Strigoi<br />
before they come."<br />
A guy in his twenties who looked like a Ralph Lauren spokesmodel shot up. I would have<br />
wagered money he was royal. No one else could have afforded blond highlights that perfect. He<br />
untied an expensive sweater from around his waist and draped it over the back of his chair.<br />
"Oh," he said in a mocking voice, speaking out of turn. "So, you're going to just give us clubs<br />
and stakes and send us off to do battle?"
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