Page 37 of On Wings of Blood

Professor Rodriguez eyed me coldly. “From what I’m given to understand, you’re new to Bloodwing and to Sangratha. Youknow nothing of our history. Someone told you to ask that question. I want to know who it was.”

I stayed silent. But inside, I was wondering why the hell Regan thought this would be an interesting topic. Surely this would pay off for me somehow.

I hoped.

“Everyone in this room–with the exception of Miss Pendragon–is here because you’ve been selected for your aptitude in the art of restoration and alchemy or because your specialty is one adjacent to this, in which knowledge of basic healing techniques will be essential.” Professor Rodriguez’s eyes swept across Naveen, Florence, and I. “Therefore, most of you, if not all of you, are well aware of the subject matter that Miss Pendragon has inquired about. You also know why it’s a sore subject with me.”

I shrank into myself, cheeks hot with humiliation. “I’m sorry, Professor...”

“It’s too late for that, Miss Pendragon,” he snapped. “You asked a question and I’ll provide you with the answer. Even if you already know it, which I suspect you do.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. But I also knew there was no way to persuade him of that. At least, not right now.

“More than a century ago, when dragons were fading from this world, my great-great-grandmother, Isabella Rodriguez, gained renown as a healer. She was famed for not only her skill and inventiveness, but for her compassion.” Rodriguez had begun to pace back and forth across the front of the lecture hall. “Towards the end of her career, when Isabella should have been safe inher retirement, settling down after a long life of helping others and aiding Sangratha, she was sent on a dangerous mission. One of the last dragons had lost its rider and lay dying. Now, as you all know, dragons were resistant to external healing, especially when their bond with their rider had been severed. They were notorious for refusing help from outsiders. And their response to interference could be... savage. Despite knowing all of this, my great-great-grandmother’s resolve was unwavering. She went to the dragon’s lair, fully aware that the odds were against her.”

He paused, his dark eyes scanning the class. “And she failed. Of course, she failed. It was a suicide mission. The dragon, grief-stricken and distrustful, rejected Isabella's attempt at healing and scorched her to death instead. Healing, like everything, has its limits. And when it comes to dragons and their riders, the limits are more clearly defined. Yet the highbloods have never been willing to accept those limits.”

I glanced at Florence and saw she was biting her lip nervously. Was Professor Rodriguez crossing a line? A treasonous one?

I got the feeling Rodriguez and Hassan must not have been the best of friends despite being on the same faculty.

“Dragons were more valuable to the realm than healers,” the teacher went on. “Healers were expendable. And so countless healers were sent to try to save the dragons. So many that their names have been lost to history. Conveniently so. My great-great-grandmother’s name was remembered because my family honored her legacy and her sacrifice. But many were forgotten. Or if they were remembered, it was only as failures in the eyes of the highbloods. Healers, you see, could not save the dragons. The last dragon died out. And so did the riders. Until now.”

He met my eyes, his own rich, brown ones cool with mistrust.

“Stay behind after class, Miss Pendragon. I’ll have a few tasks for you to be carried out over the lunch hour.”

I took a deep breath and nodded.

He had to punish me. Part of me even understood why. I had forced him to publicly recount a family legacy that must have been incredibly painful. One which clearly still cast a long shadow over Professor Rodriguez’s life’s work.

The professor moved on to the course objectives, briefly explaining how healers fit into the broader context of the vampire military in their support roles. He sketched out the basic anatomy and physiology of vampires versus mortals, highlighting their key differences and similarities. I scribbled notes as fast as I could, trying to keep up with Florence, who was making neat, shorthand notes on her parchment–clearly this was familiar territory to her already–and Naveen who wasn’t taking any notes at all, just listening intently as if he were memorizing everything Professor Rodriguez said.

By the time class finished, Professor Rodriguez was telling us to look forward to brewing our first alchemical potion next time.

“Don’t forget, you’ll need to bring a cauldron, vials, and mixing tools to the next class,” he reminded everyone. “You can store them here in the storeroom after that. Of course, you’ll need to make sure they’re maintained and kept in clean condition.”

For the first time that day, I heard loud bells chiming as the clock on the wall sounded twelve o’clock.

“Wish they’d done that this morning,” I muttered under my breath as I packed up my quill and parchment and passed themto Florence, swearing silently to myself that I’d pack a proper bag full of supplies tomorrow.

“What do you mean?” Florence asked in surprise.

“Do you mean the bells?” Naveen asked, raising his dark brows. “They did ring this morning. They ring between every class and announce mealtimes.”

I stared at them blankly. “I didn’t hear them.”

Florence frowned. “That’s odd.”

I rubbed my eyes, feeling a headache coming on. It had been brewing all morning, I realized, I just had kept pushing the pain away. “Maybe I was too distracted. Regan had just introduced me to all of these students from House Drakharrow...”

Florence nodded and looked relieved. “That’s probably it. You’ll get used to hearing the bells and now that you know what they’re for, you won’t be late again.”

She glanced at Professor Rodriguez. “I guess you’ll be missing lunch.”

“Yes,” I said hollowly. “Who needs food? I’m only mortal after all.”

“I’ll try to grab something for you in the refectory,” she offered. “Which class do you have after lunch?”

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