Page 168 of On Wings of Blood

I looked over at the grand doors of the Sanctum. An image of the Bloodmaiden had been carved into the white stone lintel. Her expression was serene, her hands cupped, as though she held her own lifeblood in them. I shivered.

As we made our way closer, lanterns lit the path, illuminating the towering white walls ahead of us.

The House Leaders and the faculty moved among us, talking quietly amongst themselves. They had all done this before. Tonight was nothing new for any of them, even the blightborn Professor Rodriguez or the halfborn Professor Wispwood.

Blake walked among the rows of students. His black cloak caught the breeze and it billowed out around him, as he swaggered about as if he owned the place.

We had been instructed to remain silent once we reached the Sanctum and already a hush had fallen over the students.

Two doorways marked the entrance as we approached. One for blightborn, the other for highbloods. It was pretty clear which was which.

Around the blightborn archway were carved symbols of cupped hands dripping blood.

By contrast, the highblood door was more ornate, with shining brass inlays in which reliefs had been etched of vampires standing tall and proud, their hands raised as they reached up to cup the Bloodmaid’s chalice.

We filed through the archways in two lines. Most of the blightborn students around me were silent and walked with their heads down, as if in reverence. I was not about to imitate them. I wasn’t going to bow my head in this place.

The highblood students were less disciplined. They whispered in hushed tones, their voices carrying through the quiet.

A few professors made their way through the crowd, shushing them. I watched as Professor Rodriguez marched up to where Regan stood whispering and laughing with Quinn and Gretchen.

“Shut up.” Rodriguez’s cold voice cut through the night air.

Regan looked so shocked that I had to stop myself from laughing.

“Don't make me have to tell you girls to be quiet a second time or you'll all have detentions with me, winter break or not.”

Regan scowled but fell silent as Rodriguez stomped away.

We had neared the archway. Florence and Naveen walked through the blightborn doorway first. I followed.

Inside, the interior of the temple atrium was vast and lit only with flickering candles. Beyond the atrium I could see the nave and part of the inner sanctuary, where the blood offering would take place. Rows of white stone benches were divided by two broad aisles. On the far end stood an altar, a solid white slab of marble over which towered a statue of the Bloodmaiden, her hands in the cupped position.

I watched as, one by one, blightborn students approached the altar. Each was handed a small ceremonial dagger by a temple votary. With a quick slice across the palm, they let a few drops of their blood fall into a silver basin at the altar’s base.

Afterwards they knelt in prayer, as if paying homage to the Bloodmaiden’s sacrifice. Ironic, as I didn’t see how any of them had actually benefited from it.

The highblood students did not offer blood. Instead, they approached the altar from a different aisle, moving towards it with a practiced formality. They bowed their heads in silent prayer as they neared the altar, kneeling down and murmuring words of devotion before taking a small red tablet from a silver tray offered by one of the votaries, each of whom wore flowing white robes cinched at the waist with red braid. Florence had already told me the tablets were each stained with a single drop of blightborn blood and represented the Bloodmaiden’s sacrifice.

I watched in revulsion as each highblood placed a tablet in their mouth, then swallowed it.

As I stood in line, waiting my turn, I felt like even more of an outsider than usual, here in this ancient place of vampire rites and mysteries. I pulled my cloak a little tighter around me. Did I really have to go through with this barbaric ceremony andoffer up blood to a goddess I had absolutely no intention of ever worshiping?

After my experiences in Aercanum, I’d had enough of so-called gods and goddesses for one lifetime.

As I stepped forward in the line, my hood slipped from my head. I shook my curls out, letting my hair free now that we were out of the blustering wind. As I did, my gaze was pulled to Blake. He had approached one of the votaries. All of them were women. I wondered if male highbloods were permitted to serve in the Sanctum.

Blake was pointing to me. I felt a prickle of unease as the votary's expression changed instantly, her eyes widening as she took in my hair. She clutched her robes in her hands and then hurriedly crossed over to where Professor Sankara was standing on the other side of the foyer. The highblood teacher had been looking bored. Now he snapped to attention as the votary whispered something urgently into his ear. His silver brows knitted together as his dark eyes slid towards me.

Blake had moved to join Sankara and the votary. Now the three of them conferred in hushed voices, with unmistakable glances in my direction.

I scowled. What now? Would I have to give more than the usual amount of blood? I had a bad feeling it would be something like that.

My pulse quickened as Blake broke away from the group and came towards me.

“Pendragon,” he barked, breaking the silence. Every student around me snapped their heads in our direction. “Get out of the line.”

I blinked. “Why?”

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