Page 24 of On Wings of Blood

My eyes were closing. It was time to acknowledge how exhausted I really was.

In Aercanum, I’d spent every ounce of power I’d had before imploding like a star.

Then I’d woken up here, drained and tired. I’d been forced to march for miles before standing in a hall of judgment only to be led on a school tour.

It was time to rest.

I pulled myself out of the marble tub before I could fall asleep and accidentally drown, wrapped myself in one of the huge fluffy towels that were stacked on a small table, and shuffled back into the bedroom.

Dressing myself in a soft blue cotton nightset, I climbed up onto the bed.

The ceiling had been painted a rich dark blue and an overlay of little silver stars had been added to it. It was lovely, really. And totally unexpected in this place.

I stared up at it for a while, thinking about my next move and yawning repeatedly.

I was hungry. But the thought of braving the common room or making my way all the way back to the refectory was not appealing. I decided I could make it until morning. More motivation to get up on time. Speaking of which...

I fumbled around the bedside table until I found a timepiece and set it for six. That should be early enough.

Then I lay back on the bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers, and let my eyes fall closed for the last time that day.

CHAPTER 4 - MEDRA

The timepiece let out a shrill piercing scream and I lurched out of bed cursing and flailing.

As my eyes slowly opened, I groaned. Running my fingers through my hair, I grimaced, then yanked my hands free. I’d forgotten to brush my hair out before falling asleep after my bath and now it was in knots.

Walking over to a mirror on the wall, I peered at my reflection. Excellent. My hair was as unkempt as a bird’s nest. Not the look I was going for.

Grabbing a brush, I tried to tame the curls but it was no use. I’d have to wash my hair again that night and detangle it with one of the bottles of oil I’d seen in the bathroom. If I wasn’t too tired again, that was.

In the meantime, I had two choices. I could go around today looking as if a crow might land on my head to nest anytime. Or I could put my hair back and show off my pointed ears.

Either way, I’d probably be getting a lot of stares.

I went with twisting my hair into a loose knot. That way it was off my face and hopefully the curls looked as if I’d intended them to be wild, rather than them being so completely by accident. Plus, this way my ears were covered if I tucked some hair over just so.

Next up was clothes. I yanked open the wardrobe and quickly selected a gray wool pullover sweater and fitted black trousers that had a little give to them. I had no idea what sorts of classesI’d been enrolled in, but I figured it made the most sense to wear clothes I could move around in easily. Just in case.

A pair of high brown leather boots came next. I laced them up quickly, just as my stomach started to rumble.

“I know, I know,” I muttered. “Soon. I promise.”

There was a tapping at the door and I jerked up. “Who is it?”

When there was no answer, I marched to the door and pulled it open.

Regan Pansera stood outside. She’d been tapping her foot impatiently but stopped as soon as she saw me.

For a brief moment, her face was a mask of emotions I couldn’t quite read. Then her eyes met mine and she smiled warmly.

“Medra,” she crooned. “So good to see you again. I’m glad your warden told you to be ready. I’ll take you down to the refectory for breakfast.”

I swallowed. Regan Pansera was the epitome of elegance. She may have been the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

Her silver-blonde hair had been styled to flow in soft waves and shimmered with a metallic sheen, as if there were truly metal in it. The early morning light brought out the warm, honeyed undertones of her rich complexion, a radiant caramel with a subtle glow. She wore a dark fitted dress of deep red that cut off just above the knee. Black polished boots with a high heel finished her ensemble.

There were words embroidered in black thread on the collar of her dress.

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