Page 61 of On Wings of Blood

I shook my head. “Why bother? I highly doubt she’d get in trouble for it. She’s a highblood, right? Do they even punish them?”

Now he really looked amused. “You’ve caught on pretty fast considering it’s only your second day.” He pursed his lips. “So Miss Pansera told you to ask me about dragons and healers, huh?”

“Shit,” I said again. “Please don’t say anything to anyone. Clearly you were already well aware she was a huge bitch. Look, I just want to move past this. If I have to do the essay and clean your storeroom, fine. I get it.”

“You have to do the essay because it’ll teach you things you ought to know. As for the storeroom...” Rodriguez ran his hands through his hair. “You might not have time for that now,” he conceded. “We’ll see. It already looks better than it did before, in any case.”

“Do you really tutor other highbloods in how to guard against thrallweave?” I asked, curious.

“I do,” he replied. “But not many know it’s something I offer. So, few know to ask. And that’s how I’d like to keep it. I’d prefer you not share the information.”

“I understand.” I hesitated, then added, “I really appreciate you offering to teach me. When she was in my head... It was horrible.”

“It’s a grotesque violation, that’s what it is. It’s something that should never be used. Especially by one student on another. But Bloodwing permits it. They look the other way when it’s merely a blightborn student being humiliated.” Rodriguez shook his headangrily. “Usually the highbloods keep themselves somewhat in check. But every year...” He paused as we passed a group of chattering First Years.

“Every year?” I prompted, once they were gone.

His face hardened. “Every year someone dies.”

CHAPTER 12 - MEDRA

It wasn’t a total shock to me that highbloods sometimes killed blightborn students. Honestly, I was just kind of relieved to hear it wasn’t on a daily basis.

But it did put into perspective how much worse it might have been the day before, when I’d jumped from the stone dragon. If I had died, it would have been a minor inconvenience. Not completely unexpected.

Professor Rodriguez left me at the entrance to the refectory. Quite a few students still remained, sitting at long tables, eating and chatting. I didn’t see any of Blake and Regan’s crew, which was good news for me.

I grabbed a mug of steaming kava, added three teaspoons of sugar and some cream, and then sat at the end of one of the tables, plucking food from the mostly-full platters of breakfast items.

There was no sign of Florence and Naveen. They were probably already heading to class.

This time, when the Bloodwing bells chimed, I was ready. Florence had told me there was a five minute warning bell before the start of each class. This time I was out in the hall and heading towards my History of Sangratha class before it even rang.

I’d memorized my new timetable but had it tucked into a pocket just in case. Today would be a little different in more ways than one. Headmaster Kim had left the Restoration and Alchemy class on my schedule for now, after Professor Rodriguez had toldhim it would be a good idea for me to learn the basics, though he doubted I’d show an aptitude for healing.

I thought he might be wrong, however. Alchemy, for instance, seemed more about mixing and brewing potions in the right quantities than about a natural talent or arcane ability.

True, I’d never baked a cake or mixed a recipe before in my life, but what child doesn’t like pretending to make “potions” in the bathtub or out in the gardens with some mud? Alchemy seemed interesting and potentially fun. It was also linked to Herbalism, which was offered to more advanced students. I knew Florence wanted to take that class and I planned to stick with her as much as possible, so I was hoping I might be able to add it, too.

First Years only had four classes a day, but some courses alternated. After lunch today, I had Advanced Weaponry followed by my new class, Basic Combat for Blightborns. But some days I seemed to have Basic Combat or Advanced Weaponry without the other one. Instead I had a spare period that I was supposed to be using for research and study.

The first half of the day went by quickly. This time, I kept my head down in History of Sangratha. Quite literally. I focused on copying notes off the board as quickly as I could. Then, Florence and Naveen and I hurried to Restoration and Alchemy where Professor Rodriguez acted as if he hadn’t bitten my head off the day before. Instead of making me stay for lunch to work on the storeroom, we made plans for my first thrallguard training session the next day.

Then, to my shock and relief, he let me leave to get something to eat–but only after reminding me that he expected to use all of my upcoming study periods and spare time to work on my dragon essay. That would have been well and good if I hadn’tneeded to use them for the even more pressing issue of getting my mother out of my head. Of course, I didn’t mention that to him.

By the time I strode into Advanced Weaponry after lunch, I was feeling pretty good about how the day was going. I’d made it to the halfway point without anyone trying to murder me or lick blood off me and I hadn’t seen Regan, Blake, or any of their ilk once.

That changed as I walked into Professor Sankara’s class. The sky was overcast today. Just like the day before, the air in the courtyard was filled with the scent of sweat and metal.

Several students had arrived early. Some were sparring together in pairs, while others were practicing on wooden dummies or running drills with weapons in hand.

There was a loud grunt from the corner of the courtyard and my eyes flew to where Blake Drakharrow stood, steadily attacking a punching bag suspended from a thick iron chain.

He was shirtless. His lean, muscular frame was coated in a faint sheen of sweat as he worked. The bag swung with each savage blow he delivered, its surface denting from the force of his strikes. His pale gold hair clung to his forehead, giving him a wild, untamed appearance.

I swallowed hard. It was the first time I’d seen him shirtless. The first time I’d seen the black ink that marred his otherwise flawless pale skin. He’d been wearing high-collared shirts previous days, plus cloaks overtop those.

Now I saw that intricate tattoos covered his back, arms, and even snaked partway up his neck. Some of the markings werein Classical Sangrathan. Words I couldn’t make out from this distance. But most were dragons. Their scales spread across his chest. Their claws raked down his arms as if ready to tear flesh.

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