Текст книги "On wings of blood"

Автор книги: Briar Boleyn

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CHAPTER 20 – BLAKE

I’d had a fluffin as a child, but it hadn’t been stuffed. It had been real. A snuffling little thing with a tail bigger than its entire body. Father had brought it back from a trip to a dwarven city. I must have been no more than eight years old.

I’d loved the creature. Taken it everywhere with me.

Not it.

Her.

Thistle. I’d named her Thistle.

She was a sweet little thing. Loyal to a fault.

She slept in my bed every night.

Marcus had laughed at me for that. He’d always been a bastard, even then.

Mother had chided him, but he hadn’t stopped. He’d never stopped. He never would until someone stopped him. Someone he was actually afraid of.

I shifted the basket I carried to my other hand, trying not to jostle the little sleeping creature inside. I’d peered in once when I’d picked it up from the First Year common room. Pendragon hadn’t been around, but her friend, Florence, had thanked me over and over again for helping.

It had been embarrassing, actually. I hadn’t known what to say.

One would think I’d be used to accepting thanks and praise from  blightborn.

Honestly? I’d been disappointed that she hadn’t been there. I thought she’d be waiting, maybe with a look of gratitude on her ordinarily hostile freckled face. Now that would have been a refreshing change. Having her look at me with something besides hate for once.

Though I had to admit, I’d grown accustomed to that stubborn set to her jaw. To seeing her pointy chin lifted towards me, as if she might actually be able to injure me with it. I knew she wanted to.

Even her ridiculous hair had grown on me a little bit. Those red curls that seemed to always be tangled, like they had a mind of their own. Untameable, like she was. Wild and challenging, refusing to listen to anyone around her. Always determined to get the last word.

But when the sun caught it just right, like in the Dragon Court earlier today, it could turn those strands of orangey-red into flame. I’d found myself staring.

And that infuriated me.

Drakharrows didn’t stare. We didn’t gape. We didn’t...

It didn’t matter.

She was insufferable. Completely and utterly maddening.

Then there was the way she carried herself. Like she had something to prove. No, worse, like she had no doubt she belonged here. She didn’t cower, she didn’t grovel. She didn’t suck up to us like so many of the blightborn did. She just... didn’t care. She honestly didn’t give a fuck. And that bothered me. It rubbed me the wrong way.

Every day, she got a little bit more under my skin.

That stubborn, defiant set to her jaw when she argued with me. I'd wanted to wipe that smug look off her face more times than I could count. It drove me crazy.

And yet, there was something about the blaze in her green eyes that made her impossible to ignore.

She stood up to me, which no one else dared to do, and by the Bloodmaiden, it was annoying. But at the same time, it was...impressive. And infuriatingly attractive.

Fine. It was fucking hot.

The fluffin made a whimpering noise and I paused, lifting the basket up so I could look inside. The pup wasn’t in great shape, but he was still breathing. If I could get him to a house healer, he should be okay.

I walked a little faster. If someone saw me with this thing, it would be humiliating.

I set my lips in a hard line and when a First Year came around the corner, I stared down at them until I saw a tear trickle down their cheeks. They ran past me with a sob.

I grinned.

If only I could do that so easily with other highbloods. If I saw Kage Tanaka right now, I’d never live this down. Carrying a puppy through Bloodwing? He’d laugh me off the face of the earth.

And if I came across Regan... Fuck. That would be almost worse. She’d ask if it was for her. And what would I say then? There was no way I was giving the thing to her. The last pet she had she’d forgotten about and it had starved to death. The only person she ever took care of was herself.

I stalked down another corridor. I was nearing the House Drakharrow tower. Glancing around quickly to make sure no one was around, I shucked off my cloak and draped it over the woven cage, praying no one saw me like this.

Turning the next corner, I quickened my pace and headed up the winding stairs to the upper levels of the Drakharrow tower. At least no one from House Avari would see me now. Other houses weren't permitted to visit rival towers.

When I reached the Drakharrow infirmary doors, I paused and listened. It seemed quiet inside. Hopefully they had no patients. Unless Theo had done something stupid and fallen off a table in the refectory again.

I pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.

One of the healers stood by a wooden table, sorting through dried herbs and glass vials. Good. She was the same one who’d helped me when Pendragon was injured a few weeks back. I knew her.

The woman looked up as she heard me enter, her brow furrowing as she saw the cloak dangling over the shape of the basket.

I cleared my throat and strode forward, yanking the cloak off the carrier.

“I have an injured fluffin,” I said curtly, holding the basket up so she could see inside.  “I want you to treat it.”

The healer blinked, as if taken aback. “An animal?” Her gaze flicked back and forth between me and the cage.

“A fluffin is an animal, yes,” I barked. “I believe I just said that. Can you heal it? Yes or no?”

I wasn’t about to tell her how the wounds had been inflicted. If she thought I’d done it, fine.

“I...” She cleared her throat and smoothed the front of her apron. “Yes. Of course, my prince.” Only the House Drakharrow servants bothered to call me that within the school. But the fact that the healer was showing deference even though I’d brought an animal into the infirmary was a good sign.

I placed the woven carrier on the table. The fluffin pup stirred, his wide eyes fluttering open for a moment. The poor thing seemed too weak to do much else.

“Healer Ailith, I believe?”

She nodded.

“Ailith, I want you to keep this between us,” I instructed. “No one else hears about it. You’ll take care of the fluffin in your own chambers so no one else sees it. Understood?”

Her eyes widened a little but she nodded quickly.

Good. She wouldn’t dare challenge me. Not a blightborn healer. I was used to being obeyed by the blightborn who served our house. This would be no different.

My jaw tightened. I looked down at the fluffin pup in silence.

Then, without thinking it through, I bent down and whispered through the wicker bars of the cage, “Be strong, all right? I'll be back.”

I straightened up and caught the healer’s raised eyebrow. But she quickly schooled her expression into a neutral one.

My cold demeanor snapped back into place. I nodded at her. “I expect this animal to receive the very best care and to thrive under your watch. Remember–this stays between us.”

The healer gave me a measured look. She wasn’t stupid, this one.

Good. I wanted her to save the animal, after all. I could only imagine what Pendragon would say if I couldn’t manage that much.

“Of course, my lord,” Healer Ailith murmured. “It will be done.”

Without another word, I turned and left, resisting the urge to open the little cage and pick up the fluffin.

I’d check in on him tomorrow, I decided. Just to make sure he was still alive.

Not because I cared one way or the other, of course. But because House Drakharrow had standards to maintain. We needed to be obeyed in all things, no matter how trivial.

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CHAPTER 21 – MEDRA

“And so began the Era of Pretenders.”

Professor Hassan’s sharp voice cut through the air, the tap of her cane punctuating her words as she moved across the lecture platform. She paused to look out on where we sat, huddled in our seats. We’d all learned long ago that she preferred no interruptions during lectures.

“The monarchy, as you know, was abolished after the last king was deposed. Each of the four great highblood houses–House Avari, House Drakharrow, House Mortis, and House Orphos–believed they had the right to rule the kingdom. No single crown could claim authority over the others, however. And so each house set up their own royal courts, with their own princes and princesses of the Blessed Blood.”

I kept my head down, scribbling notes on the parchment. The older woman had no patience for daydreamers or slackers, and she relished in cutting down students she deemed unworthy–as she’d done to me that first day.

“For a century,” Hassan continued. “The kingdom was ruled by a regency–four regents, one from each house, appointed to rule Sangratha. This arrangement lasted a hundred years. The Era of Pretenders was relatively peaceful, and yet a facade. Each house continued to harbor ambitions of true sovereignty.”

Professor Hassan paused, letting the words sink in. I leaned forward a little in my seat. All of this must have been old news to most of the other students, especially the highblood ones. But to me it was all fresh and I found myself actually interested.

“Then it all fell apart. Ten years of civil wars followed. The Dragon Wars. A bloody conflict that decimated the population.” Her voice took on a hard edge. “We will discuss the alliances formed between houses in another class. At the start, the four houses fought each other. Towards the end, House Orphos gave its support to House Drakharrow while House Mortis pledged itself to House Avari. As you all know, it was during this war that the last of the dragons perished. The Dragon Wars were as catastrophic as they were inevitable.”

My hand faltered for a moment and I paused my writing. Professor Hassan’s loyalty to the highbloods had always been obvious. But she seemed in an especially patriotic mood today.

“When the war ended and the last dragon fell, the kingdom was shattered into four territories. Each house claimed control over its own chunk of the realm, no longer united, but merely coexisting.”

“Then came the Peacebringer.” Professor Hassan’s tone softened slightly. “A highblood prince from House Drakharrow, the Peacebringer had grand ambitions of re-unification. He was not just a skilled diplomat, but bore the marks of the finest of leaders. He reunited the four houses and reestablished the regency, restoring order to the kingdom and bringing Sangratha back to a place of strength and power.”

Professor Hassan leaned on her cane. “His death... came too soon and was the ultimate tragedy.”

I wondered who this man had been. Someone from House Drakharrow... Did that mean he was related to Blake?

“When the Peacebringer died,” Hassan continued. “His brother took his place as regent for House Drakharrow, and thus the kingdom has resumed a regency by four.”

My heart was hammering. His brother? She had to mean Viktor Drakharrow.

I thought back to what I’d seen that first day at the Black Keep. Had there been four regents on that dais? A woman from House Avari and a nobleman from House Mortis had each spoken. I couldn’t recall seeing anyone from House Orphos, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t been present.

Regardless, only one man had seemed to hold real power in that vast hall. Viktor Drakharrow.

If there was a regency by four, it seemed an unequal one. House Drakharrow clearly held the most power.

The bells rang, signaling the end of class.

Professor Hassan straightened up, her voice becoming brisk. “We'll continue this next week. Read the next chapter in your Chronicles of Sangratha: An Official History textbook. Be prepared to discuss the Peacebringer’s reforms and how they continue to shape the kingdom.”

Around me, Florence and Naveen rose and started to gather their things. I stayed seated, my mind churning. I’d thought of something else. This Peacebringer... Had he been Blake's father?

I packed my things slowly and followed Florence and Naveen out of the lecture hall.

They were already chattering as I caught up to them.

“Who was the Peacebringer?” I interrupted abruptly, my mind still on the lecture. “Was he Blake’s father?”

Florence nodded.

I gave a sardonic laugh.

“What is it?” Naveen asked.

“It just seems kind of ridiculous that someone like Blake would have a father who was literally called the ‘Peacebringer.’” I frowned. “Also, I had no idea Sangratha was ruled over by four regents. That first day, in the Black Keep, it seemed like only one person was in charge–Viktor Drakharrow.”

Florence exchanged a look with Naveen. “You’re not the first to think that.”

“There’s something going on,” Naveen agreed. “I’ve heard the other houses are restless. Viktor took his brother’s seat at the table but he has an oversized presence. I’ve heard the other houses don’t like him.”

“He acted more like a king than a regent the last time I saw him,” I said. “But the other houses allow it, so maybe it’s a delicate balance?”

Naveen shrugged. “I sure hope so. No one wants another Dragon War.”

Florence punched him. “There are no dragons, you ninny. So they’d have to call it something else.”

“The Dragonless War,” Naveen deadpanned. We laughed.

I thought of a civil war between the four houses. What would happen to the three of us if something like that happened? “How did Blake’s father die? What was his name?”

“Alexander Drakharrow,” Florence said. “And that’s the funny thing. No one really knows. At least, none of us blightborn.”

“How can no one know how this Peacebringer guy died?” I asked in disbelief. “Wasn’t he the most famous lord of the land? Wouldn’t his death have been investigated?”

“You’d think so,” she said thoughtfully. “But it happened when he was at home with his family. I’ve always thought it was some sort of an illness. Or something kind of embarrassing that they didn’t want publicized. Like a freak accident.” She looked up at the clock on the wall. “You have a spare now, right? Are you still coming to my Magical Foundations class?”

I nodded.

It was still strange to me how differently magic worked in this world. Back in Aercanum, my fae abilities had come almost effortlessly. There had been no real work involved in their conjuring. I was born fae and thus I was born with certain skills. It was hardly even magic at all. Just a part of who I was.

But here in Sangratha, magic worked very differently. Mortals could potentially wield it, for one. But few had the innate talent or discipline. Magic in Sangratha required discipline and precision. The finest spellcasters, alchemists, and arcanists were good not just because of intrinsic talent but because they’d put in the work. Spells were complex, requiring perfect timing and specific incantations. Mistakes could lead to embarrassing failures or catastrophic outcomes. Performing magic was physically exhausting and mentally draining. Which was why so few students at Bloodwing wound up as actual arcanists, even though they were highly valued. Especially ones who could perform elemental magic.

Of course, Florence had an interest in many disciplines. I’d lost track of all of the classes she was taking and the potential career options she had ahead of her. But it was clear that if she wanted to become an arcanist, the path was available to her.

When I’d arrived here, I’d been reborn as a blank slate. I’d felt the absence of my powers at first as a conspicuous gap. But now I hardly noticed their absence at all.

It was clear if I did ever want to wield any magic again, I’d be starting from scratch. Which was part of why Professor Rodriguez, who had become something of a faculty advisor, had instructed me to attend a class with Florence and have her instructor give me an assessment afterwards. I might have enough of an aptitude that would make taking some spellcasting classes worthwhile; I might not.

I had my own reasons for wanting to attend the class.

When we entered Magical Foundations and took our seats, I got my first look at Professor Elowyn Wispwood. I eyed her curiously as she set some books on her desk. Florence had told me the professor was a halfborn. A rare thing, a hybrid child born to a mortal and a high blood. In this case, Wispwood’s mother was a blightborn. When it came to a mortal woman bearing a half-highblood offspring, usually such children didn't survive birth. When they did, they lacked the suite of vampire powers that highbloods possessed. They didn’t require blood to survive, but neither did they live as long.

Professor Wispwood was tall and willowy with pale blonde hair that she kept in a smooth twist. But her hair was where her similarity to a highblood ended, so far as I could see.

Florence said Wispwood was absolutely obsessed with magic, often drifted off into daydreams during lectures, but was nevertheless whip sharp and incredibly astute when it came to evaluating her students. I could tell she was one of Florence’s favorite professors.

I watched Professor Wispwood write on the board, her handwriting small and neat. How strange it must have been to live between two worlds. To look like a highblood but not be one.

Florence had told me it was unusual for halfborns to attend Bloodwing and even rarer for one to be a teacher. Like sellbloods, they had a tenuous place in Sangrathan society, with highbloods preferring to believe such unions between vampires and mortals never took place at all.

Had Professor Wispwood been accepted and welcomed by her vampire father? Or had he abandoned her and her mother?

The lecture began. Professor Wispwood moved gracefully across the platform as she spoke, a pastel rainbow skirt swirling around her long legs. Her voice was melodic. Soft, but poised. A few minutes into her lecture it was clear to me that she was obviously brilliant. She spoke effortlessly and passionately, without notes, constantly gesturing with her hands.

Florence had told me this class would be on the topic of magical conduits. I’d jumped at the chance to attend–and it wasn’t long before I saw my opening.

“...And, of course, as we’ve discussed, conduits can be found in nature, in objects, or even in living things.” Professor Wispwood traced a diagram she'd sketched on the board and gestured for us to copy it down. “In rare cases, a magical conduit can even be something as intangible as a soul.”

My heart skipped a beat. This was coming closer than I could have hoped.

Professor Wispwood continued, “Souls are, of course, one of the most dangerous conduits to manipulate. Soul-binding magic is incredibly volatile. The risk is not only to the integrity of the soul being moved but also to the spellcaster.”

My chest tightened. I glanced at Florence, who was furiously taking notes. After a pause, I forced my hand up.

Professor Wispwood’s eyes flickered in my direction. “Yes?” Her tone was encouraging at least.

I hesitated for a moment. “What about magic that binds souls together? Where two souls exist in one body? Is that...possible?”

Florence shot me a curious glance, but I ignored it.

Professor Wispwood’s brows furrowed thoughtfully. She leaned back against her desk, crossing her long legs in front of her. “Ah, soul-binding. That’s a very specific and dangerous field of magic.”

She tapped the piece of chalk she held against the desk and looked at us all doubtfully. “This is a rather advanced area to get into, but as Miss Pendragon has asked the question and it’s a fascinating topic, I’ll take a few minutes to answer it.”

My heart sped up. Finally, someone who actually knew something.

“Soul-binding is dangerous because the very act of inviting another soul into your body puts you at great risk,” she went on.

And what if the soul wasn’t invited? I thought.

I can hear you, my mother said sweetly. You forgot to mute me today.

I’d been using my limited ability in thrallguard more regularly to silence our connection. I tried not to do it too often because I empathized with her position–being stuck in my head with nowhere to go and no one else to talk to but me. I’d probably have been a lot surlier and sullen than Orcades was, if our roles were reversed.

Hopefully we’ll learn something useful that can help us both, I murmured internally. Surely you want to be free?

She didn’t reply.

I wondered, belatedly, if she was afraid. Was there a chance she’d simply disappear into the ether if we managed to expel her? Would it be the end, the real end for her?

I quickly turned back to what Professor Wispwood was saying.

“When two souls occupy one body, the boundaries between them can blur, and often, the host risks losing their own sense of self entirely. This magic is therefore rarely practiced and for good reason.”

My heart sank. That didn’t sound optimistic.

Professor Wispwood paused, as if weighing her next words. “Historically, we know of instances when this magic was used long ago. It’s rarely spoken of, but in the past, some highblood vampires would use soul-binding to extend their lives through unconventional means. In their desperation to live beyond the limitations of their bodies, some highbloods would perform a binding ritual with a blightborn. The blightborn would willingly take in the vampire’s soul, allowing the vampire to live on through them. A way of cheating death, so to speak.”

A murmur rippled through the class. I looked around me. Florence’s Magical Foundations section was made up entirely of First Year blightborn students.

My stomach twisted as Professor Wispwood’s words sunk in. I gripped my quill tightly.

“But it wasn’t always willingly,” Professor Wispwood continued. “Sometimes these rituals were performed unwillingly. There are even accounts of this magic being used on dragon riders.”

My heart beat faster. I expected the professor to look right at me, but she was lost in her train of thought. If she’d remembered I had rider blood, she wasn’t showing it. Or she thought it was irrelevant.

Even so, another murmur went through the room.

“Yes, dragon riders,” she confirmed, nodding. “I mean, think of it. By binding their soul to a rider, a highblood hoped to be able to control a dragon directly. There was no other way to do it. The rider’s bloodline, their connection to the dragon, would remain, but the vampire’s soul would be in control. At least, that was the hope.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine. What she was describing was nothing short of murder. Reading between the lines, it seemed obvious the vampire's soul purposely overrode the host’s.

“The process was far from perfect,” Professor Wispwood went on. “If the rider was not fully bonded to their dragon at the time the ritual was performed, and not only fully bonded but the dominant party in a very fragile, very complicated relationship, then the bond would rupture. The rider would die. Sometimes, the dragon would, too. It was a dangerous gamble, one that very few vampires succeeded in pulling off. Still, for some the risk was worth it.”

The risk of being able to control a dragon and still possessing all of the power that came with being a highblood.

My thoughts were racing. I hadn’t learned how to free myself from my mother’s soul, but I had learned something else. Something much more terrifying. The longer Orcades’ soul stayed within me, the more I risked losing control.

Professor Wispwood was trying to get back to the original topic of conduits. But I couldn’t hold myself back.

My hand shot up, my mind unable to keep back the question.

“Was there a way for the dragon rider to fight back? To get the highblood’s soul out of them? You said they were often unwilling after all.”

Immediately a ripple of shocked whispers began to spread.

Florence looked at me in alarm, her eyes wide.

But if the question seemed borderline treasonous to Professor Wispwood, she gave no indication of it. Simply tilted her head thoughtfully, her eyes flashing with curiosity.

She raised her hand to silence the chatter in the room.

“That’s an interesting question,” she said, her tone calm. “If there was a way, it would have involved blood magic. Blood magic is powerful because it can break bonds that other magic cannot. As you're all aware, bloodmancy is the domain of House Drakharrow. But when it comes to blood magic and soul-bonding, I don't believe it’s much practiced these days. I’ve never seen such incantations myself. Of course, that doesn't mean they don’t exist.”

My heart sank. This was what I already knew. It hadn’t been a direct answer. It was the same as no answer at all.

Professor Wispwood walked briskly to the blackboard, clearly deciding to return to safer ground. “Now, let’s return to the subject of magical conduits. Imbuing power into inanimate objects is another application of conduit magic. Weapons, jewelry, even everyday items can serve as vessels for magical energy, provided the spellwork is precise...”

But I barely heard the rest. My thoughts were spiraling, caught in the implications of all that I’d just learned. Blood magic. Soul-binding. Highbloods using mortals for their own twisted immortality. Dragon riders being harvested for their bodies, being used as vessels for someone else's consciousness...

Take deep breaths or you’re going to keel over, Orcades said gently.

For once, I did as she said, forcing myself to breathe in and out.

Florence was giving me strange looks but to her credit she didn’t stoop to whispers.

The class ended in a blur. The other students packed their things and filed out of the room.

I started wandering towards the door.

“Excuse me, Miss Pendragon,” Professor Wispwood’s voice called from the front, sharp but not unkind. “I believe you’re due for an assessment.”

Florence tugged on my sweater and brought me to a halt. She gave me an encouraging nod. “I’ll wait for you in the hall. Good luck,” she whispered, before heading out the door with the rest of the class.

When we were alone, Professor Wispwood beckoned me forward. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

I walked slowly to the front of the room and watched as the professor pulled out a small box from one of her desk drawers. She placed it gently on the desk and flipped it open.

Leaning forward, I peered inside. Within the box were several objects–a polished stone, a small wooden bowl, and what looked like a shard of glass.

“Magic is not about raw talent, as you probably already know. It’s a craft. A skill that requires practice, just like any other. But before we can begin teaching someone, we have to assess where their potential lies, what kind of magic responds to them.”

She picked up the polished stone and handed it to me. “Hold this and focus. Try to channel your intent into it. The stone will react to your affinity for elemental magic, if you have one.”

I did as she instructed, my fingers closing around the cool surface of the stone. I concentrated, trying to block out my racing thoughts, focusing on the weight of the stone in my hand. After a long moment, I felt... nothing.

Professor Wispwood frowned slightly. She took the stone back and placed it in a box. “No elemental affinity, then. Let’s try something else.”

Next came the bowl. Professor Wispwood filled it with water from a flask. “This test will reveal any aptitude for energy manipulation. Place your hands above the water and try to make it ripple. Focus your energy and your intent.”

I hesitated, then placed my hands above the water and tried to focus. But my thoughts kept drifting. My mother’s soul. The dragon riders. The way the professor had said they could be used and discarded. The idea of my soul being controlled...

“Enough.”

I looked down.

The water remained inert.

Professor Wispwood frowned. “Very well. One last test.” She held out the glass shard. “This shard is meant to reflect magical energy. Sometimes it shows colors, other times images or flashes of light. Focus and we’ll see what it reveals.”

I stared into the glass, my own reflection staring back at me, distorted slightly by the shard’s uneven edges.

You’ll never pass if you can't focus, my mother's voice chided. Your professor reminds me of a tutor I once had. I was her prize pupil. It all seems so long ago now.

It probably was long ago, I grumbled. No doubt hundreds of years. And she's not my professor, she’s Florence's. I’m just here for the test.

“This is rather peculiar,” Professor Wispwood murmured, interrupting my side-conversation.

She took the shard back, placing it carefully on her desk. She drummed her fingers lightly on the wood as she looked down at the three items. “You should have had some reaction to at least one of these objects.”

I swallowed hard. “What does that mean?”

The professor picked up the shard and looked at it. “You clearly have some kind of magic running through you. Everyone does. But the usual tests are showing nothing conclusive.” She tilted her head thoughtfully and scanned my face. “You have rider blood.”

“So they tell me.” I forced a weak smile.

“That may be part of the problem,” Professor Wispwood murmured. “It’s possible that’s blocking or interfering with these tests. I can’t say for certain where your abilities lie or if you even have any. You certainly don’t have any clear aptitudes. We’d have to conduct more advanced tests to understand your full potential. For now, I’ll have to put down that your assessment was inconclusive. Perhaps we can try it again next year.”

I felt disappointment well up. I had hoped for some answer, some direction. Instead, this seemed like a step back. How could I even perform a ritual to undo a soul-binding if I had no magic to guide it?

Just as I turned to leave, Professor Wispwood spoke again, her tone more measured. “There is one historical case that comes to mind regarding your earlier question about expelling a soul.”

My heart leaped. “Yes?”

“Centuries ago, a highblood forcibly bound his soul to a mortal mage. The mage, a skilled arcanist, found a way to separate their souls using a forbidden ritual. It worked, but at a heavy cost. The vampire’s soul was destroyed. The mortal survived, but her mind was shattered. She lived the rest of her days in madness.”

Professor Wispwood’s eyes met mine, sharp and knowing yet kindly. “Blood magic is not a path to walk lightly. We’re fortunate to have the four houses to guide us. A consultation with someone in House Drakharrow might be what you're looking for if you have any more questions on this subject. If you’d like a referral, there are some excellent students who might be willing to mentor you." She tapped a finger to her lips. “Of course, you wouldn’t be able to assist in their spellcasting based on what your assessment just showed, but there’s much you could learn from observation and I’m sure they could use an extra scribe.”