Текст книги "On wings of blood"

Автор книги: Briar Boleyn

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 36 страниц)

CHAPTER 6 – MEDRA

Of course, after the hell that History of Sangratha had been, my life wouldn’t have been complete without running into Blake Drakharrow on the way to Restoration.

As we half-walked, half-ran down the halls towards class, I nearly collided with a tall figure emerging around a corner from the shadows.

The breath was knocked out of me. As I gasped and tried to regain my footing, strong hands gripped me by the shoulders and yanked me upright.

I felt a jolt as my eyes connected with a pair of gray, steely ones, then Blake’s hands dropped away swiftly.

“Oh. Pendragon. It’s you.” Blake couldn’t manage to keep the disgust from his voice.

I stared up at him, letting myself get a better look than I had that morning in the refectory. He wore a black, tailored suit that fit him impeccably, accentuating his tall, lean frame, the jacket hugging his broad shoulders and chest, tapering in at the waist to hint at his muscular, subtly defined torso.

“See something you like?” Quinn neared, stepping out from behind Blake as he pushed a lock of sleek pale blond hair off his forehead.

Coregon Phiri had appeared behind the pair, too, along with some other students. He nodded to me briefly.

I rolled my eyes. “Hell no. Just trying to get to class on time.”

Quinn laughed nastily. “I hear you got off on the wrong foot with Professor Hassan.”

“I asked some pointed questions about vampires that I guess she didn’t appreciate,” I said, with a shrug.

“The mortals worship us,” Quinn said, studying her nails. They had been sharpened to points and painted bright red. “And soon you will, too. Good thing you’re about to get schooled.” She said the last part in an annoying, sing-songy voice that set my blood boiling.

“I have to get to my next class,” I snapped, looking at Blake. “I suppose you and your little gang had better get a move on, too.”

Blake smiled lazily. “Good idea. Best not be late again, Pendragon.”

I didn’t reply, just moved around the corner and past him before I could tell him to fuck off in front of his little group of sycophants. I suspected Regan wouldn’t like that and since she’d been decent to me that morning, I decided I’d resist. For now.

We arrived at Restoration class in the nick of time. I slid into a row beside Naveen and Florence, then eyed the short, sturdy young man. “So what’s your specialty, Naveen?”

“Oh, I’m hoping to become a scout,” he said with a grin. “Most dwarves wind up specializing as scouts. And all potential scouts have to take a basic healing course.” He grimaced. “Can’t stand the sight of blood though.”

For some reason this struck me as hilarious considering we were attending a vampire academy. I giggled.

He smiled back. “I know, I know. Ironic, right? I’d make a terrible vampire. Or a thrall.”

The smile fell from my face. “I don’t know why anyone would want to be...”

“Good morning, class!” The classroom door slammed shut as a man in dark emerald robes swept in.

“Since I’m a new face to all of you First Years, here’s a quick introduction. My name is Professor Gabriel Rodriguez and I believe this is the most important class you’ll take at the academy your entire year.”

He dropped a worn leather satchel onto his desk with a soft thud, then shrugged off his robe and tossed it over the nearby chair. Underneath, he was wearing a threadbare brown vest that looked as if it had seen better days. His trousers were patched in more places than I could count. Yet despite his roguish appearance, he had a presence no less imposing than Professor Hassan’s, maybe even more so. Rodriguez had the kind of quiet confidence that made you feel like he could handle anything.

Honestly, he wasn’t bad to look at either. For a teacher, anyhow. His dark hair was all tousled in a way that almost looked intentional, unlike Naveen's. It stood out against his warm, olive-toned skin. And yet his face was lined, a little more than it should have been for someone his age. And he had this exhausted look to him, as if he was fighting off sleep but pretending he was fine.

I frowned. Professor Rodriguez was a walking contradiction.

Still, I sat up a little straighter, wanting to make a good first impression on this second blightborn professor.

Rodriguez leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms. “Now, what can you tell me about the healing arts?”

Beside me, Florence raised her hand slowly.

“Miss Shen?” I was impressed that he knew Florence’s name already. But then, she seemed to have something of an established reputation at Bloodwing.

“The healing arts are key to the sustainability of Sangratha,” Florence announced confidently.

“Very good. I’d quite agree. How so? Elaborate.”

“In two ways,” Florence said, picking up steam. “Healers and alchemists may be placed within military squads, supporting those in defensive positions and protecting the realm. Secondly, they serve in key roles within highblood households. Every household needs at least one healer.”

“Very good,” Professor Rodriguez replied. “Now look around the room if you haven’t already done so.”

I looked around and saw my fellow students doing the same thing.

“No vampires,” I blurted out before I could help myself. I covered my mouth in embarrassment.

“Correct. Vampires can self-heal, but they rarely possess the aptitudes required to heal others–with the exception of some thralls. Nor do their magical abilities align with the healing arts or alchemy–again, except in some rare cases.” The professor eyed me with curiosity. “You must be Miss Pendragon. As a consort to Blake Drakharrow, you’ll have a high-ranking position within a triad unit as well as within the Drakharrow House.” He frowned. “I’m actually surprised to find you here, Miss Pendragon.”

“It was on my timetable,” I said, flustered.

The teacher shrugged. “Well, I suppose someone thought you could use the basic training. Though if you don’t have an aptitude for healing this may prove to be a difficult or even futile course for you. And, of course, only the most skilled students here will move into the next level of the class in Wintermark term.”

I wasn’t sure if it was because he made it sound almost like a challenge or if it was because I was determined to redeem myself after my lackluster experience in Professor Hassan’s class, but I found myself blurting something out yet again.

“Perhaps I was put in this course because I have rider blood, sir? I’ve heard the history of healers and dragon riders is fascinating. Can you tell us a little about it?”

The room fell absolutely still. On either side of me, I felt Florence and Naveen stiffen.

All of the blood seemed to have drained from Professor Rodriguez’s face.

“Who told you to ask me that?” the professor demanded, standing up to his full height.

“I... No one,” I stuttered. “It just seemed like an interesting topic.”

Professor Rodriguez eyed me coldly. “From what I’m given to understand, you’re new to Bloodwing and to Sangratha. You know 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 in her 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 them to 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?”

I yanked my schedule out of my bag and showed it to her.

Her face fell as she scanned it. “Oh. You’re in a combat class after lunch. Advanced Weaponry. Strategists and healers don’t usually require combat training. Naveen will, as a scout, but his combat class is a completely different one.” She perked up. “But we’ll see you in the library at two o’clock. I’ll bring you something then.”

I tried not to groan, thinking of how I’d have to trek through the school on my own and get through a combat class on a stomach that was starting to feel very, very empty.

I forced a smile. “That’s really nice of you, Florence. Thank you.”

“Of course! We First Years have to stick together.” She beamed.

I was just grateful she hadn’t decided to shun me after the taboo questions I’d asked in our first two classes. Florence was most definitely the kind of student Quinn Riley had in mind when she said most students worshiped the highbloods.

Despite this, I found myself genuinely liking the studious dark-haired girl. Just because she admired vampires didn’t mean she wasn’t also a good person.

The sound of Professor Rodriguez clearing his throat loudly brought me back to reality.

“Miss Pendragon, if you’d wrap up the chatter, I have some tasks for you.”

Florence and Naveen quickly left the classroom while I remained.

“You’ll be spending your lunch hour here, Miss Pendragon,” Professor Rodriguez said with deceptive pleasantness. “Your entire lunch hour.”

I stared back at him, taking in his features. His richly warm complexion paired well with his large, hazel eyes. His dark hair had a natural wave to it and was slightly ruffled, giving him a rugged appearance. The lines of his face were strong. Well-defined jaw. High cheekbones. There was pride and resilience there. A demeanor that brooked no argument.

If I hadn’t just accidentally made him my enemy, I’d probably have liked Professor Rodriguez.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot, Professor,” I said, trying to keep my tone as respectful as possible. “I wasn’t trying to bring up a painful subject.”

“Unless you’re going to tell me who told you to raise that painful subject, Miss Pendragon, you can keep your apologies to yourself.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I don’t think you need to tell me.”

I looked at him in surprise. “Oh, no?”

He shook his head. “You’re betrothed to arguably the most powerful young man in this school. Not to mention one of the most entitled. It seems Blake Drakharrow’s demeanor has already rubbed off on you.”

My jaw fell open. “I only got to Sangratha yesterday. I only met Blake yesterday. And believe me, I don’t want to be his betrothed. I hate him as much as you seem to.”

“I don’t hate any of my students, Miss Pendragon,” Rodriguez corrected me. “And of course, I respect the Drakharrows. They’re an ancient and respected house.” But there was a blaze in his eyes that told me otherwise. “But pardon me if I fail to see how being intimately connected to such a powerful house is somehow to your detriment.”

“Because I don’t even want to be here,” I sputtered. “You think I want to be here? At this school? In your class? Mixing with blood-sucking vampires?”

Professor Rodriguez stared at me. “I don’t know what you and your chum Viktor Drakharrow are up to, Miss Pendragon. But there’s clearly something at play. Some dark scheme. You arrived only yesterday, or so you say, and yet you’ve been given a position most girls at this school would murder for. You seem determined to pretend you’re just another student. But you’re not. If the signs are being read right, and looking at your physique, I think they are–” He ran his eyes up and down my body and I felt my cheeks redden. Would I ever get used to that kind of scrutiny? “Then you certainly do have rider blood. A great deal of it. If Viktor Drakharrow found you and put you in Bloodwing...”

“I had the vast misfortune to be found by Blake Drakharrow not his uncle, thank you very much,” I spat.

“Viktor has always refused to believe the dragons were really gone. That the highbloods had truly lost so much power. Now it seems he has an ace up his sleeve. You.” Rodriguez’s green eyes stared at me intensely.

“But there are no dragons,” I protested. “That’s what you and everyone else has already said.”

“How do I know that’s the truth? How do any of us know?” Rodriguez’s voice was soft, but he shocked me to the core. “I just believe what I’m told. Like all of the other blightborn sheep.”

I stared at him. “You think Viktor Drakharrow has a dragon?”

“I didn’t say that, did I? But I do know he has a rider. That’s half of a very powerful, very deadly equation. You’re playing with fire, Miss Pendragon. And I think you’re likely to get burned. If you don’t wind up burning up this entire school and all of us with you.”

He slammed a stack of books down on the desk. “That’s what I aim to prevent.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, still feeling stunned.

“After you’ve spent the first half of the lunch hour cleaning up the storage room, you can spend the second half reading up on the history of dragons. At the end of this term, you’ll be turning in a fifty-page essay on the subject.” He smirked. “Oh, and I expect the subject of healing dragons and their riders to comprise a significant portion.”

“You can’t do this,” I protested. “I need to eat before afternoon classes.”

“I can do whatever I want, Miss Pendragon,” he growled back. “If you have any complaints, take them up with Blake Drakharrow. Either he’s your ally or your enemy. I suppose we’ll see which it is. Regardless, I’m well within my rights as your professor to keep you here every lunch hour for the entire rest of the school year if I choose to. So you’d best buckle up.”

I clenched my jaw but said nothing.

He started striding towards the door.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

Professor Rodriguez paused, then looked back and smiled. “I’m going to eat lunch. And when I get back at one o’clock, you’d better have made significant progress on that storage room and on that stack of books.”

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 7 – MEDRA

I was sticky and sweaty by the time one o’clock rolled around. I didn’t want to risk leaving the Restoration classroom too early and invoking Rodriguez’s wrath but I also didn’t plan on being late for my first Advanced Weaponry class.

I’d lost not only my chance to eat lunch but also a chance to track down Regan Pansera and put a few questions to her. Despite her claims to want me to have the best first day possible, it was turning out to be a disaster.

I’d been late for my first class, made a spectacle of myself in my second, and now had at least one teacher as an enemy.

Rodriguez’s suspicion of Viktor Drakharrow and his apparent dislike for Blake seemed a little strange for Sangratha and for a professor. I would have thought he’d be currying the Drakharrows’ favor just like everyone else at the school. But instead, Rodriguez seemed to have almost as many qualms about highbloods as I did.

I supposed there was a fine line between being critical of parts of highblood history–like the sacrifice of healers for a pointless cause–and actual treason. Still, considering how intense Viktor Drakharrow had seemed, I wouldn’t have thought Rodriguez would want to be so public about airing his grievances.

I’d gotten so involved in cleaning up the storage room–the place really was a mess, with dust covering everything, and it was strangely satisfying to get things orderly–that I’d almost forgotten about my second task. By the time I’d snatched up one of the books in the stack, it was a quarter-to-one and I was nearly out of time.

I flipped open the first few pages and scanned as much as I could.

When five minutes had passed, I bailed. Deciding I could get more reading done later, I scooped up the stack of books and took them with me.

As I stepped out of the Restoration classroom, I realized I had absolutely no idea where to go next.

I stood there, heart sinking and panic setting in, as a rush of students began to flow through the hall around me.

“Medra!”

I looked down the hall and saw a hand frantically waving. Florence.

“Come with me,” she said breathlessly, running up and grabbing my arm with one hand while shoving a muffin towards me with her other. “You have just enough time to get down to the training courtyard.”

I stuffed the muffin in my mouth–some sort of nut and berry combination, not my favorite but better than nothing–as she pulled me along the corridors.

By the time we got down to the entrance to the courtyard, I was panting and so was Florence.

“Florence, you’re going to be late for your own class,” I moaned as I looked up at a clock on the wall.

“I have a prep period. I’m helping my mother get ready for the library session with the First Years.” She chewed her lip as if indecisive.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Medra, I think there must have been a mistake with your timetable.” The words came out in a rush. “Advanced Weaponry is a third or fourth year class. And it can get...dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“It’s normally only for vampires,” Florence said. Her expression was truly worried. “It’ll be full of highbloods. I should have said something when I saw your timetable, but I’ve never heard of a mistake like that being made.”

“Maybe they put me in it because I’m a rider?” I said slowly.

“I don’t know,” Florence said. “But maybe you should...”

Just then the bells sounded.

A group of laughing students pushed past us. Visha Vaidya’s violet eyes honed in on me as she strode by. Trailing behind her were Quinn Riley and Coregon Phiri. Only the dark-skinned young man greeted me as he moved past us. Quinn simply ignored me.

Last but not least, a few steps behind for once, sauntered Blake Drakharrow.

He shot me an odd look but for once kept his mouth shut. I didn’t know whether to be grateful or not. Just this once, his input on my situation might have been useful.

But it was too late. I wasn’t about to beg him for help.

Florence and I watched Blake head towards a rack of weapons lined up on one side of the courtyard. He picked up a hefty-looking halberd and started going through practiced motions.

“Those weapons look brutal, Medra,” Florence said, chewing her lip. “At least in Basic Combat you’re learning hand-to-hand techniques. And the scouts use lighter weapons like daggers and bows. Not greatswords and halberds.”

You’re not exactly a novice when it comes to weapons, my dear. Are you going to let your friend in on your little secret?

I gasped and jumped backwards. The woman’s voice was back in my head.

Get the fuck out, I’m trying to think, I hissed furiously.

Florence was looking at me oddly.

“You know what, Florence,” I said slowly. “I’m going to go in. I think the highbloods might be in for a surprise. You might be, too. I’m not a total novice at this. I’ve had a little bit of training. Back home.” I decided to keep it vague.

Florence nodded. “If you’re sure.” She squeezed my arm. “I bet you’ll be great. I’ll see you in the library later.” She grabbed my armful of books before I could stop her. “I’ll put these in your room.”

I shot her a grateful look. “Right. The library. Thanks, Florence.”

I took a deep breath and stepped into the courtyard.

Blake Drakharrow had slung his vicious-looking halberd over his shoulder–rather a cocky thing to do with such a sharp weapon–and was standing addressing the class.

Oh, gods, I thought, suddenly panicked. Please tell me Blake isn’t the fucking instructor.

I walked up and stood at the back of the group of highbloods cautiously, trying to hide myself behind them.

“Professor Sankara is delayed so I’ll be supervising the class for now,” Blake said, his deep voice carrying across the courtyard. He looked around at the students sternly. “No bullshit. I mean it. It’s the first day. Just get started. Everyone knows what to do.”

We did?

Everyone around me was nodding. The group broke up. Some students already had equipped themselves with their weapons of choice. They started pairing up. Others stood alone, solo drilling.

I walked slowly over to the weapons rack and looked at the options.

“Pick it up, bitch.”

I whirled around.

Visha Vaidya was standing behind me, swinging a steel-tipped spear. “I said pick it up.”

She glanced around, then took a step towards me. “You aren’t even supposed to be here, you know that?” Her eyes were lit up gleefully.

“Regan messed with my timetable,” I guessed. “And all of you were in on it.”

Visha smiled nastily. “You made it this far. But it remains to be seen whether you make it out of this courtyard.”

I looked around, wondering if this was what was supposed to happen.

There were no teachers. Blake was on the far side of the courtyard sparring with Coregon. Their halberds flashed in the afternoon sunlight. They moved so quickly I could hardly keep track of who was who. They paused and Blake glanced over at where I stood. He looked back and forth between Visha and I, then turned his back.

So. No help from that direction then. Not that I’d really expected any.

“Fine,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I’ll spar with you. Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“What I think is that you’ve never sparred with anyone in your life,” Visha said, her pretty face distorted by a nasty sneer. “Or picked up a sword. Look at those pretty, delicate hands.”

I bit my tongue and decided not to tell her how very wrong she was. Let her find out on my terms.

Fae hands healed quickly. Much like vampires, I supposed. A useful trait. My hands might not be covered in blisters but they were more calloused than Visha could tell. What was more, my hands knew their way around a weapon or two.

I picked up one of the sleek, wooden shafts, balancing it between my hands and feeling the cool, smooth wood beneath my fingertips. It was lighter than I’d expected. I gave it a cautious twirl.

It felt right in my hands.

Visha was marching away. I followed her as she led the way to a sparring arena that had been cordoned off with thick, sturdy ropes attached to wooden posts.

A few other students paused what they were doing and glanced over at us curiously. But that was all I had time to notice. Because the moment I stepped into the ring, Visha lunged at me with lightning speed.

I barely had time to react. My spear came up just in time to deflect her strike.

The impact of Visha’s spear clashing into my own jolted my arms. I staggered back against the ropes but managed to keep my footing

Visha gnashed her teeth, stepped back, then reengaged, striking at me again and again, each blow coming faster and harder than the last.

Fuck but she was fast. My eyes could barely follow her but somehow my arms kept up, raising and blocking with my spear again and again.

Still, it was clear I was on the defensive. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep up the relentless pace. Visha’s assault kept shoving me back against the ropes over and over until I was gasping.

I had to admit, part of me had believed I’d be able to take her. Easily. I might not have been a vampire, but I’d been trained by one of the best fae instructors in Aercanum. With a pang of sorrow, my mind slipped back to my mentor, Odessa. She’d not only trained me in combat; she’d been my friend. In some ways, Odessa was the closest thing to a mother I’d ever had.

She’d died protecting me.

But Odessa was gone. I was alone. I was here. And I was no longer the best pupil Odessa had ever seen. Because Visha would have given her a run for her money.

I’d been cocky to even think I could compete in this class. I felt a wave of panic spread over me. I should have listened to Florence and left when I’d had the chance.

Visha’s spear spun through the air and swept low, catching me behind the knees and knocking me off my feet.

I went sprawling back into the dirt, the breath nearly knocked out of me.

I jumped back up just in time to miss her spear as it dove into the ground where my head had just been.

Visha’s eyes gleamed with triumph.

Rightly so.

I was losing and she knew it. It was just a matter of time.

My heart was pounding. If I hadn’t picked myself up out of the dirt, would Visa Vaidya really have speared me through the skull with the entire combat class watching? With Blake Drakharrow standing right across the courtyard?

For all I knew, this was the kind of behavior they allowed at Bloodwing. Hell, they probably encouraged it.

Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?

I flinched as the imperious woman’s voice echoed through my head.

Now is not a great time, I muttered internally as I slapped Visha’s latest blow away with my spear in the nick of time.

Are you really going to let this girl make a fool of you? Vampire or not, you are of royal blood.

Well, I didn’t think I had a lot of choice, I snapped.

Visha moved towards me at a blinding speed and I jumped out of the way just in time, rolling across the dirt.

“Yeah,” the girl crowed. “Get in the dirt where you belong, Pendragon.”

You have the blood of kings and queens in your veins, girl, the woman's voice challenged. You may not be what those creatures are, but you're more.

More? I used to be more. I have nothing now. My powers are gone. Or can't you sense that from wherever the hell in my head you lurk?