Page 151 of On Wings of Blood

And at that moment, my heart had quickened. My useless, traitorous heart.

The words had felt true.

But theyweren’ttrue.

They couldn’t be. I wouldn’t let them be.

I forced myself to think of something else.

Professor Rodriguez’s book still lay on my bedside table. I couldn’t risk keeping it much longer. Florence had promised to help me get it back into his office the next day. She’d distract him while I slipped inside and shoved it back on the shelf.

I’d placed Coregon’s dagger high on a shelf. I’d managed to shove it back into my boot before Blake had noticed me carrying it. I’d have to find a sheath for it. Then perhaps I could carry it around, without having Orcades exposed to everything I saw or did.

Part of me was glad she was still here. But I knew this wasn’t what she’d hoped for.

Tomorrow was the start of Wintermark term. In a few weeks there would be festivities, a school break, even a ball. I knew Florence and Naveen were excited about the first real schoolholidays. It turned out Naveen played the flute and planned to audition to join the school band.

The last autumn leaves had fallen days ago. The air had turned crisp and cold.

I fell asleep and dreamed of snow and dragons.

BOOK 4

CHAPTER 34 - MEDRA

Wintermark

The once vibrant colors of autumn had faded away in the last few weeks. Leaves had fallen, swirling in gusts of color around our feet as we walked through open courtyards to class, and then vanished like embers extinguished in the night, swept up by the omnipresent but always subtle school staff. The trees were all bare now, their branches skeletal.

Mornings at Bloodwing were met with a thin veil of frost, painting the windows and cobblestones in the courtyards and open halls silver for a few brief hours. I dressed in a cloak or heavy sweater and scarf every morning before leaving my room.

As if to make up for the absence of the leaves, house colors were more evident with the changing of the seasons. We First Years wore wool cloaks of midnight blue or silvery gray, embroidered as ever with the school crest, our pointed hoods pulled up to block out the biting winds that had begun to swirl through the corridors. Classrooms were heated. Hallways were not and many had windows open to overlook the sea, the shutters of which were only closed at night.

House Drakharrow students marched through Bloodwing’s halls in clothing of rich black and deep crimson, wool scarves shot through with red, knotted around their necks. House Avari students strutted by wearing black cloaks with silver-trimmed hoods, polished leather boots with silver laces snaking up their calves.

House Mortis students moved through the halls in white wool scarves and red cloaks. While students from House Orphosstood out like peacocks in their dark gold scarves and purple cloaks lined with silk.

The air had sharpened, turning our breath into clouds of mist each morning. By mid-day, the frost would melt and we’d sling our cloaks over our arms or race back to our dormitory to stow them back in our rooms. But soon, Florence said, the sunlight would wane earlier and earlier, the wind would become a howl, and snow would blanket the school.

It wasn’t all bad though. We were only a few weeks away from our first real break from classes. For fourteen blissful days we’d be free from the bondage of books and parchment. There was even a special midwinter festival, Frostfire, which would be celebrated over the break.

Some students went home over the Wintermark break. But most tended to stay. The festivities for Frostfire were supposed to be worth it. Some years, visiting delegations from other schools in Sangratha would even attend–and Bloodwing would send their own delegations in exchange. But this year it would just be Bloodwing students. I wasn’t sure exactly why.

Frost was still stubbornly clinging to the stone pathways as I made my way to the refectory one evening.

The vast hall was warmed by the glow of torches and the fires burning along the walls in two huge hearths. Supper was in an hour and students were slowly beginning to trickle in. I smelled hot cider and apples and cinnamon buns.

The normally austere space was gradually being transformed in preparation for the approaching Frostfire Festival. Dark green garlands of evergreen hung along the walls, dotted with bright red berries. Arrangements of pine and ivy had been artfullyset as centerpieces on each long table. Scattered amongst all the greenery were little carved wooden ornaments of red birds, orange foxes, and other winter animals, their vivid colors standing out as bright splashes among the darker shades.

The effect was cozy, festive, and inviting.

On the far side of the refectory, a normally empty space had been set up with a stage. The Bloodwing Ensemble, the school orchestra and choir, were in the middle of a rehearsal for the upcoming festival.

I slid onto a bench at an empty table as music curled through the hall. In the first row of the orchestra, Naveen stood holding a flute. As I watched he lifted the instrument to his lips and began playing a delicate solo that made me think of a bird flying on a winter wind. Despite his modest size, Naveen had a quiet confidence. His posture was straight and his fingers nimble as they danced across the flute’s keys. His melody faded just as the rest of the orchestra swept in, harmonizing with him to carry the song forward.

I pulled off my cloak and folded it up beside me, glancing around the hall. One of the House Drakharrow tables was nearly full. I saw Blake, Regan, Quinn, Theo, and Visha. They were laughing and talking. Well, all of them except Blake. He was staring down at the table moodily, his hands steepled in front of him. If he’d noticed me come in he gave no indication of it. Visha looked up, narrowed her eyes at me, then turned and said something to Regan.

I quickly looked away. Blake and I had been ignoring each other since that night we’d returned from Veilmar. And that was how I preferred it.

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