Page 51 of The Bond That Burns

I couldn’t let what had happened to Naveen happen again. Not to Florence. No matter what it took, no matter how much groveling I had to do, I couldn’t let my friend pay the price for my rebellious tongue.

But how could I prove control over Nyxaris when he’d barely speak to me?

I turned towards the open sea, watching the sun on the horizon.

If I wanted to keep Florence safe, I needed to do what the Tribunal wanted.

And if I wanted Nyxaris to cooperate, I’d need leverage. Something that would show him I was trying to find the answers he needed. Something I could use to gain his trust.

I needed it before the Tribunal’s patience ran out.

CHAPTER 11 - MEDRA

My head was pounding from the disaster that had been my history class with Professor Hassan. All I wanted was a steaming mug of kava to wake me up. The thought of the strong, black liquid—maybe with a hefty teaspoon of sugar or two—sent a pang of longing through me. I had to start researching dragon history in the library that very night and kava might be the only thing that would keep me going.

I’d just rounded a corner on my way to the refectory, already picturing the way the mug would feel in my hands, when a group of students suddenly blocked my path.

I blinked slowly. They were all blightborn. Their stiff postures and narrowed eyes struck me as unusual. Something was wrong.

“What’s happened?” I said immediately. “What’s wrong?”

When none of them answered, I shrugged and moved to step around them.

But one of the students moved to block me. A tall burly boy with dark brown hair that curled over his ears and a small scar that stood out against his pale cheek. His broad shoulders and clenched fists gave me pause. He looked as if he were ready for a fight.

“Excuse me,” I said cautiously. “Is something wrong? Are you all right?”

“All right? You’ve got some bloody nerve asking that,” he said, his voice low.

I looked at the other students, unsure what to make of this boy’s hostility or theirs.

“What are you talking about?” I asked as gently as I could, genuinely confused.

One of the other students standing behind him, a pretty girl with tightly braided black hair, stepped forward, her lips twisting in a sneer. “You really don’t know?”

I was starting to get annoyed. “No. But perhaps you could enlighten me. Either that, or please get out of my way.”

The tall boy took a step closer. Too close for comfort. “What about the fact that you woke a dragon? A damned dragon. For them!”

I froze. “For them?”

“The highbloods,” he snapped. He looked around nervously as if making sure none were around. He lowered his voice a little but kept going. “The same ones who used dragons to crush anyone who dared to stand up against them. The same ones who kept our people in chains. Now you’ve gone and brought their ultimate weapon back.” He shook his head as he looked down at me in disgust. “You’re a traitor.”

The other students nodded in agreement, clearly just as resentful towards me as the boy was.

What was going on here? After what I’d learned last year, I hadn’t thought such rebellious talk was even possible. After that night in the sanctum, after I’d witnessed the ritual, I’d made Blake confess that the blightborn were being manipulated. Kept compliant by an insidious form of highblood magic, similar to thrallweave.

Part of me was kind of impressed. These blightborn students had spirit and I admired that. But they were also going to get themselves killed if they weren’t careful.

“Look,” I said, keeping my voice low and trying to be patient. “You have to be careful with what you say or you’re going to get yourselves into trouble.”

“Is that so?” the boy sneered.

“Yes, look at where you are,” I hissed. “Besides, I can assure you, Nyxaris doesn’t belong to the highbloods.”

“Doesn’t he?” the girl with braids scoffed. “They’ll make sure he does soon. And then how many of us will he kill with you on his back? You’ll have blightborn blood on your hands in no time. Unless someone stops you before it's too late.”

I stared at her, reeling at the implications of what she’d just said. Did I really have to fear my own people now? I was half-fae, but I’d always felt aligned with the blightborn. There were no fae in this world and I was half-mortal after all.

---