CHAPTER 47 - MEDRA

I walked into Professor Rodriguez's office, ready for our thrallguard lesson.

As soon as I entered, I knew something was off.

Rodriguez sat behind his desk, his dark brows drawn into a deep frown, his lips set in a thin, unforgiving line.

I froze in the doorway as I spotted the book that lay in front of him. The Dark Art of Eternal Bonds . The one I had "borrowed" weeks ago.

"Sit down, Miss Pendragon," Rodriguez said, his voice terse. There was no trace of the warmth I'd grown used to in our recent lessons.

I did as he said, my palms growing clammy.

My mind was racing with excuses and possible explanations, but none of them seemed good enough.

The problem with Professor Rodriguez, I decided crankily, was that he was decidedly not an idiot. He was the kind of teacher who always knew when a student had been bullshitting him. If anything, it was a miracle it had taken him this long to catch me out.

"So," he said, fixing me with a piercing gaze. "How did you enjoy the book?"

I swallowed and tried to keep my voice even. There was no point in denying anything. "How did you know I took it? Why didn't you ask me before?"

His eyes narrowed. "Are those really the questions you want to be asking me right now, Miss Pendragon?"

I squirmed in the hard wooden chair. There must have been some sort of an enchantment placed upon the book. Something that told him who had last read it. Why hadn't I thought of that before? It was too late now to do anything about it, in any case.

"Why did you need the book?" Rodriguez's voice was deceptively soft.

"I... I had a problem and I thought it might help me solve it."

"Did it?" he asked sharply.

I shook my head. "Not in the way that I'd hoped." That was basically the truth.

Rodriguez's mouth twitched in a faint grimace. "Interesting."

I glanced down at his desk and for the first time noticed something else was there laying beside the book. My essay on dragons. I had finally turned it in last week.

"Tell me," Rodriguez continued, his voice frosty. "What did the book teach you about dragons?"

My heart sped up. "Dragons? It... It didn't. I mean, there wasn't anything about dragons in there." I thought for a moment. "Or if there was, I didn't notice."

For a second I could have sworn he looked disappointed. Then his eyes narrowed, his expression darkening. He flicked my paper towards me across the desk. "This paper is an embarrassment, Miss Pendragon. A child could have written it."

My face flushed hot. "I've had so much going on in my other classes..."

"I gave you extension after extension, Miss Pendragon," he shot back. "More fool I. When a student usually asks for an extension I am always inclined to deny it. Yet I had high hopes you might actually make good use of yours."

Knowing I had disappointed him, that he thought the paper unworthy of his time–that actually meant something to me. I felt hot with humiliation.

"Look, I'm sorry, all right? I'll do better. I can rewrite it. I'll read everything you told me to read. I can stay at lunch to work on it. Or after class," I said desperately.

I was praying he wouldn't do the one thing I was most afraid of and cancel our thrallguard sessions. I didn't know when exactly but I knew the Consort Games were coming up soon and I felt as if I was finally getting somewhere. Once or twice in the halls, I'd felt the prickling of a highblood student, trying to pry into my mind. I'd successfully managed to shut them out each time. But these were just students. As Blake had said, older highbloods would be much more of a challenge. I still had a long way to go if I wanted to be able to protect myself.

Rodriguez scowled and leaned forward. "It's too late for that, Pendragon. I would have thought that you of all people would have been most eager to learn everything you could about dragons. But instead you act as if you actually care about your other classes. As if you're taking all of this bullshit seriously. I thought you didn't even want to be here."

"I didn't... I mean, I don't," I said lamely.

But he was right and we both knew it. Something had changed. I'd changed.

Had I bought into the highblood propaganda without even realizing it or just fallen into an easy routine? Either way, I'd grown complacent.

Part of me had started wanting to be here. Bloodwing, for all of its horrors and cruelties, had begun to feel like home.

"And now," Rodriguez continued, ignoring me. "You give me this half-assed excuse for an essay. Do you even care? You have no idea what's at stake here, do you?"

My temper rose. "How the hell would I when you haven't told me anything? You keep things from me and yet you expect me to somehow learn? To care. Why should I care? All the dragons are dead and gone." I leaned forward. "Speaking of half-assed bullshit, what about you, Professor? Why were you meeting Blake Drakharrow in the middle of the night in Veilmar?"

His eyes flashed. "Don't. Don't even go there, Pendragon. I'm warning you." He leaned back and took a deep breath, as if trying to calm down. "I thought you wanted to survive. That you'd use the knowledge you found to help you get through the Consort Games, to help you... prepare."

I blinked at him, utterly confused. "I don't understand. What knowledge? What do dragons have to do with anything?"

"It doesn't matter now, does it?" he snapped. "You're obviously not as clever as I'd hoped. And now we have a bigger problem."

I bristled at the insult, but knew his frustration was at least somewhat understandable. I hadn't held up my end of the bargain. But at the same time, it felt like he was talking in riddles.

He leaned forward, his dark eyes holding me in place. "Do you know what a legacy is, Pendragon?"

I narrowed my eyes and swallowed a witty retort about the breadth of my vocabulary. "Yes, I believe so."

"There's a legacy I've held onto," he said, his voice lowering slightly. "It's been passed down through my family for generations. A legacy of dragons and their riders."

My heart skipped a beat. "What kind of a legacy exactly?"

"The subject we're talking about," he said slowly. "Is the most dangerous one in existence."

I swallowed, taking in the gravity of his words.

"Some say there was a time when dragons and their riders ruled these lands. Not highbloods."

My mind raced at the possibilities. "How do you know this? Are you saying this is real history or just a legend?"

Rodriguez smiled thinly. "The only way you're ever going to have a chance in hell of finding that out now is if you survive the Consort Games."

I could feel my frustration rising. "So that's it? I'm supposed to risk my life in these Games and you're going to just sit there judging me?"

Rodriguez raised an eyebrow.

My temper flared. "It sounds to me as if you need me to survive more than you're willing to admit. Why don't you help me instead of just dancing around everything?"

Rodriguez tilted his head. "There's already someone out there who's willing to help you. The question is, will you let them?"

I knew immediately who he must mean. I scowled. "Blake Drakharrow?"

Rodriguez nodded. "I didn't say it would be easy."

He pushed back his chair. "This meeting is at an end. We'll reschedule our thrallguard session. Be here tomorrow at the same time." He smiled at me coldly, then pointed to the door.

Shaking my head, I marched out of the room, unsure if I should be feeling apologetic, ashamed, or furious. Maybe all three.

When I got back to my room the next evening after dinner in the refectory, a note had been slipped under my door. My heart sped up.

I picked it up, unfolded it, and read.

The handwriting was neat and slanted, written in black ink, and decidedly masculine.

"Midnight. The Dragon Court. Come alone if you want a weapon to wield against me."

I stared at the words. There was no doubt in my mind the note was from Blake.

What the hell was this? Some kind of a trap?

Blake was dangerous. He was a killer. He was a highblood. I had no idea what kind of evil shit he was really involved in. The Adoration Rite had just been a taste of the corruption that ran through the veins of this dark and twisted kingdom–and through his own.

But Florence had told me how he'd brought me back the other night when I'd been sleepwalking.

I'd had restless nights of late and when I woke, I couldn't even remember what I'd been dreaming about. I never used to sleepwalk. I supposed I should have been grateful it had been Blake who'd found me and not someone else.

Regan would probably have just shoved me over a cliff.

The promise of learning something about Blake that could tilt the balance of power between us in my favor was too tempting to ignore. And then there was the advice Professor Rodriguez had given me.

When midnight came around, I slipped out of the Common Room and navigated the winding corridors until I reached the open expanse of the Dragon Court.

The night was cool and crisp. A light snow was falling, coating the statues with white.

Blake stood in the middle of the court, his back to me. His tall frame was draped in his customary black coat, the fabric hugging his lean, muscular shoulders. He turned his head slightly and my heart caught in my throat, taking in his knifelike cheekbones, his angular nose. He was imperial, imposing, perfect in his imperfections.

He might have been mine. If I'd really wanted to claim him.

My heart skipped a beat as he noticed me and turned fully around, his gray eyes glimmering with a hint of latent danger.

In his own terrifying way, I knew Blake wanted me. In his own terrifying way, he might even believe he cared about me.

But I knew the truth. He wanted to own me, possess me, use me up.

What he felt was the same thing I did–desire merged with loathing.

If I let those dark impulses consume me, I knew it would be my undoing.

"So," he said, his voice low. "You came."

I crossed my arms over my chest as if I could protect myself from his presence. "I'm here. What do you want?"

He looked amused. "No, ‘thank you?'" He shrugged. "I suppose I should stop expecting to ever get one."

"You're right," I snapped. "You should. Stop getting your hopes up."

His lips curled. Then he gestured to a stone bench that lay over in the grove of trees behind the dragons. "You might want to sit down for this."

"I prefer to stand," I said coldly.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He walked over to the grove of trees. Reluctantly, I followed.

He sat down on the bench, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "I want you to do something for me."

I tensed up. "Of course you do. Of course there are strings attached. I should have known." I turned to leave.

"I'm a highblood, Pendragon," he called. "There are always strings attached."

When I kept moving, he shot in front of me. "It's about Aenia."

There was a strange undercurrent to his voice.

"What about her?" I asked cautiously.

"If you want to know something that could hurt me, then you have to promise me something in return first," Blake said.

I narrowed my eyes. "What exactly am I agreeing to?"

"I've learned the Consort Games will begin in less than two days," he said, watching my stunned reaction. "Let me protect you so that you survive the Games."

"Protect me?" I said scornfully. "You won't even be there. I'll be going in alone." I pulled my cloak more tightly around me. "Besides, most of the consorts survive."

After my alarming meeting with Rodriguez, I'd begged Florence to come to the library with me and together we'd read up on the murky history of the Consort Games. There wasn't a lot to go on but ultimately, it was clear that the Games weren't supposed to eliminate all of the consorts. They were supposed to be a test. Yes, consorts died sometimes but that wasn't the point of the Games. These were noble highblood youths, after all. The kingdom needed to preserve them.

"Yes, but those are consorts who work together," Blake pointed out, to my annoyance. "They aren't alone."

"Regan will be alone, too," I said, tossing my head.

"No," he said. "She won't be. You'll see. You really think you have a chance as a blightborn? If you think you can go in with no preparation and no advantages, you're stupider than I thought, Pendragon."

This was much too close to what Rodriguez had said for my liking.

"Fuck you, Blake," I said. "I took on Visha Vaidya on my very first day, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember her winning and shoving your face into the dirt. And she'll be there, you know. She's a potential consort, too."

That wasn't the best news.

"She won because she cheated," I snapped. "I won the first round, fair and square."

"And what? You don't think they'll cheat in the Games?" He ran his hands over his face, as if he was actually worried about me.

"Are you making a similar offer to Regan?" I demanded.

He laughed but I sensed tension there. "Regan doesn't need it."

"I have rider blood," I pointed out. "I might not be a highblood, but I'm not exactly a regular blightborn either."

I also had one secret weapon I wasn't about to tell him about.

"Yes, but what if it's not enough?"

I shook my head. "This is just... bizarre. Stop pretending you care, Blake."