CHAPTER 49 - MEDRA

The next day, I walked through the halls of the academy after my classes were finished. The air seemed lighter, humming with the promise of spring. But my heart was heavy and even the glimpse of green buds on the ivy climbing the stone walls or the soft breeze that carried the scent of fresh earth weren't enough to lighten my mood.

My conversation with Blake still rang in my ears.

Aenia wasn't his sister; she was his creation. His mistake.

The revelation had shaken me more than I cared to admit.

In some warped sense, Aenia was more than a sister to Blake. She was his child .

Beneath his cold surface, a weight of guilt lay on Blake's shoulders. He had tried to save an innocent girl from one monster and instead had condemned her to a life just as monstrous.

Now he was living with the consequences.

I passed beneath a stone carved archway and shivered. The air in the halls was still cool, but the bite of winter was disappearing. Outside, the snow was melting and soft green shoots of grass were pushing up in the courtyards. Signs of change, signs of spring.

I moved down a corridor leading to the First Year Common Room.

Blake Drakharrow was reckless. He was arrogant. He was a bully capable of cruelty and brutality.

Yet he had also tried to be a hero.

He'd done something that was decidedly not in his own best interest. He'd broken highblood law to save a blightborn he didn't even know. He'd risked his own life and his future.

Now he was tangled in a dangerous web of deceit. Because the older Aenia grew, the stronger she would get–and the more out of control. From what Blake had suggested, her mind was decaying and it sounded as if there was no way to reverse the process.

My mind turned to Blake's mother. Lady Drakharrow. I didn't even know her first name.

She must love Blake a great deal to risk so much to protect his secret, to shield a blightborn child–one who other highbloods would have left to die–and claim her as her own. The decision could have come with dire consequences for both of them. Yet Blake's mother had taken that risk for him.

And Blake? He clearly felt love for the girl, or some semblance of it. I wasn't sure if highbloods were even capable of love. The emotion seemed beyond them in some ways.

But whatever it was, I couldn't shake the feeling that the loyalty he felt towards Aenia could lead to even more destruction.

After all, if he had felt nothing for her, he would have put her down already. That was something I hadn't been able to say aloud the night before. Instead, the words had floated there in the air between us–unspoken, unacknowledged.

I sighed and lifted my satchel of books and parchments a little higher on my shoulder. The worst part of all of this was having to admit that while Blake wasn't a good person–he had proven that time and again–he might not be entirely evil either. He was capable of guilt, of admitting mistakes–well, not when they came to me–and of carrying a weight of responsibility.

But sooner or later, he would be forced to choose between his guilt and his love and a chance to end the terrible thing that Aenia was becoming.

I paused with my hand on the doorframe of the Common Room, realizing that for the past night and day my thoughts had been consumed with Blake Drakharrow even more than usual. My feelings towards him felt sharper, more intense. Not to mention there was an unsettling awareness that was following around like a nagging shadow. All day I had felt more conscious of his presence somewhere in the school, even when we weren't sharing a class.

My body felt differently, too. There was a restlessness in my limbs, like my muscles were constantly tense and primed for action. I'd had to actually hold myself back in Basic Combat earlier that afternoon, afraid I might accidentally hurt someone. I wondered how the feelings might have manifested if I'd had Advanced Weaponry. Part of me itched to try myself against a highblood.

And lastly, there was an annoying ache in my neck. Almost as if it were bruised. I'd found myself rubbing it throughout the day, as if I'd received an injury there I'd forgotten about. But this was more than pain. There was this... pull . As if I wanted something, needed something that I couldn't quite put my finger on. A pull in my throat tugging me towards him .

I frowned. It was maddening. But I was sure all of these things were symptoms of drinking Blake's blood. Ones he had conveniently failed to mention. Or maybe he had no idea they even existed. Were these side effects because I was blightborn? Either way, they were sure to be temporary. I just had to deal with them for now and get through the Consort Games. Blake had made it sound as if the effects of his blood would wear off soon after that.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the Common Room.

Several First Years were scattered about, talking quietly in armchairs by the large windows or reading quietly in one of the nooks by the bookcases.

My eyes fell upon Naveen. He was slumped on a couch near the fire, staring morosely into the flames.

Naveen'd been distant towards Florence and I ever since the Frostfire Festival. I'd assumed it had to do with disappointment. After all, he hadn't worked up the courage to tell Florence how he felt that night at the dance. I'd put it down to his regret, but had expected him to get over it. There would be other chances.

But now, looking at him, I wondered if that was all there was to it.

I walked over to the couch. "Hey, you."

He grunted slightly but otherwise didn't respond.

I grimaced. He clearly didn't want company but sometimes it wasn't about what you wanted but what you needed. I decided the time was past for leaving him alone with his dark thoughts, whatever they were.

I sank down on the couch beside him, dropping my bag onto the floor.

"You all right?" I asked softly. "You've seemed kind of... off lately. You want to talk about it?"

Naveen ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. As usual, he wound up looking like a cranky hedgehog. I hid a smile.

He shrugged, still staring into the fire instead of looking at me.

"Is this about Florence?" I ventured. "Look, I know you didn't talk to her like you wanted at the ball. There will be other chances though, Naveen. You see each other all the time. Do you want to practice on me... maybe?" It might have been a terrible idea, but I wasn't sure what to suggest exactly.

He shook his head. "It's not about Florence. Well," he corrected. "Not just about Florence." He glanced at me. "It's just everything," he admitted. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

Now I was really alarmed. "What do you mean? What else is going on?"

He slunk lower on the couch. "I failed one of my classes."

I tried to hide my shock. Our last exams had been at the end of the Wintermark term. Naveen hadn't confessed this then. He'd let months go by without telling someone. And he'd still been permitted to attend the ball.

"Well," I said carefully. "Just one class isn't too bad. Maybe you can make it up? Retake the class? Have you talked to the professor about it?"

Naveen scowled. "I failed a class... and I got a ‘W' in two others."

I blinked. I knew "W" stood for Weak. So that was three classes he wasn't doing well in. I wondered which ones they were. I knew for a fact that he'd passed Basic Combat. He and Professor Stonefist got on well and she'd even commended him in front of the class a few times.

"A ‘Weak' is basically the same as a fail," Naveen said miserably. "That's three classes I'm flunking."

"We have Springrise exams coming up at the end of term," I said slowly. "Maybe you'll do well on those. Now that we know, Florence and I can help you study. We can quiz you, make sure you're more prepared."

"Maybe." He didn't look convinced. "But more likely, by the end of the year, I'll be out of here."

There was something in his expression I didn't understand.

"Well, even if that does happen, there's more to life than Bloodwing, right?" I reminded him, trying to cheer him up. "There must have been other things you wanted to be, besides a scout for the highblood houses. Your family lives in a dwarven city. There must be other paths you could take. What do your parents do? You have siblings, right?"

"You don't understand," Naveen said, almost angrily, cutting me off. "I knew you wouldn't. When you attend Bloodwing, you're committed, Medra. It doesn't just end if you fail."

I furrowed my brow. "I get that." But I wasn't sure I did. Florence had never fully explained.

"Best case scenario," Naveen continued. "Is that they make my family pay for everything. All the tuition fees are waived for successful students. They assume we'll pass so your family isn't responsible for anything up front. But this is the most expensive school in Sangratha. If you fail and you're actually sent home, your family has to pay for your failure. It's a massive amount, Medra. My family could probably manage it. We're not poor. But the shame, the humiliation. My father would be furious."

"If that's the best case scenario?" I asked tentatively. "What's the worst?"

Naveen hesitated, glancing around the room nervously. "Most students who fail never go home again. They're sent elsewhere. I think it's mostly assumed they're sent to a highblood house to work as indentured servants." He put his head in his hands. "I guess after Springrise, I'll be continuing my friendship with you and Florence by letter."

"What?" I exclaimed. That sounded little better than slavery. I lowered my voice. "How can they do that? You really can't go home? Ever"

Naveen shrugged. "I don't know. I guess it's the same thing as making your family pay off your debt. But that's just a guess. And I'm not even sure that is the worst case scenario. Other students I've talked to think they might..."

Before he could say more, the Common Room door opened and Florence walked in beside Vaughn Sabino. They were both talking and laughing. When they spotted us, they headed straight for the couch.

Naveen's eyes widened in panic. "Promise me you won't tell them," he whispered urgently.

I nodded quickly. "Of course not," I said, just as Florence and Vaughn reached us.

The dark-skinned, lanky boy plopped down beside me with a grin and stretched out his long legs comfortably with a sigh of relief. Florence sat down more primly in an armchair by Naveen, tucking her skirt around her legs.

"So, how about that Basic Combat class?" Sabino asked, still smiling. "It was a rough one, right?"

I couldn't help grinning back at him. Over the last few weeks, Vaughn had seemed to be returning to his usual self. The bruises had faded. His arm had healed amazingly well. So well that he'd been permitted to stay in Professor Stonefist's class. She'd made sure we'd all taken it easy on him for the first while. But lately she seemed to have no qualms about pushing him just as hard as the rest of us.

I had never spotted Theo with Vaughn again since the night of the bonfire. I wondered if Vaughn blamed Theo for what had happened to him. If so, I didn't really blame him.

Each time I saw Theo Drakharrow around the hall, he did little more than nod to me. He hadn't been beaten like Vaughn had– or if he had, he'd hidden it well–and yet his former air of carelessness and theatricality seemed to have diminished. Secretly, I thought it was a little sad.

But still, I reminded myself, Theo was a Drakharrow. He was a part of a dark and twisted family. And as a highblood, he needed blood to survive and keep his powers up. Just because I didn't see him drinking from his house thralls in public like Catherine Mortis didn't mean it wasn't part of his regular routine.

I tried to focus on what Vaughn was saying.

"I think Stonefist is going to finally start throwing some stealth lessons our way."

I nodded, thinking back to the class. "She said we're finally getting closer to where she wants us to be in terms of hand-to-hand. It would be nice to have a change of pace."

Florence had been listening. "I still can't imagine what it is you do in those classes," she said, wrinkling up her nose slightly in distaste.

I laughed. "We pummel each other for hours," I said jokingly. "But I promise, it's fun. Really, we've been practicing disarming and grappling for weeks now. But Stonefist says none of that would be enough for those who wind up as scouts if they don't also have skill in stealth."

"And she's not wrong," Vaughn said, leaning back against the couch. "Of course, it's not as if we don't have time to acquire the skills. It's only our first year, after all. I've heard some First Year cohorts don't even get into stealth training at all by the end of Springrise. Professor Stonefist can be kind of a stickler if she thinks you're not ready."

"Better that than letting us get too far ahead of ourselves, I guess," Naveen chimed in.

I was happy to see him taking part in the conversation. We continued to chat about the class, talking about who seemed to be struggling the most with the newest grappling technique we'd been taught, and speculating on when Stonefist might let us finally switch to something more interesting.

When the conversation finally lulled, Florence jumped up. "Come on, let's head down to the refectory. I'm starving."

The great hall was buzzing with the usual crowd of students unwinding after the day's classes. The scent of freshly cooked food hit my nostrils and made me realize just how hungry I was.

My eyes drifted over to the House Drakharrow table. Blake sat there, beside Theo and Regan. But he had his back to me.

My hand absently reached up to my neck, brushing against one of the sensitive places Blake's mouth had been that night in the Sanctum. With a little huff of annoyance, I yanked it back down as I realized what I was doing.

I sat down at a table with my friends, filling my plate, and forcing myself not to look at Blake's back.

Had he lied to me? Today had been just another ordinary day. Yet he'd promised that the Consort Games would be held soon. Maybe I'd been wrong to trust him, to drink that vial–even with all he'd confessed about Aenia.

After finishing up dinner in the refectory, I said goodnight to Florence and the others and then made my way to my room, suddenly exhausted. Clearly that vial of Blake's blood I'd drunk wasn't about to give me insomnia, even if it did heighten my strength and senses.

The conversation I'd had with Naveen lingered in my mind.

Part of me felt guilty knowing I now had to keep what he'd told me from Florence. I suspected she'd have had a much better idea of what to do to help him.

I decided I'd have to talk to Naveen again alone and try to persuade him to talk to Florence–about his grades, even if nothing else. Maybe Florence's mother, Jia, would know of some options for Naveen. Surely there was a way he'd be able to repeat the class he'd failed, do some make-up assignments, or retake his exams.

If worse came to worse, maybe I could approach Blake and demand he help out somehow.

Which made me remember why he'd told me about Aenia in the first place. He'd claimed he was giving me leverage. Something to use against him.

I yanked off my clothes and tossed them into the hamper, then pulled on a robe and lay down on my bed.

Leverage. What did Blake really expect me to do with knowledge that might get him killed?

I thought of how I might use it. I could go to someone like Headmaster Kim, I supposed, and reveal what Blake had done. If Blake was telling the truth, then he'd be pulled up before some sort of highblood tribunal and would face the full wrath of Sangratha's highblood laws. He could be executed. I assumed Aenia would fare no better.

Not so long ago, the idea of Blake being horribly tortured and killed would have brought a smile of joy to my face. I hated him then. Hated him for how he'd treated me, for his cold superiority, for the betrothal I'd never asked for.

But now things were different. Without meaning to, I'd come to know him better. I couldn't ignore the fact that he'd done what he'd done to try to save Aenia.

When I looked at him, I didn't see the same person he'd been at the start of the year.

I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.

I lay back on my pillow, staring up at the star-covered ceiling.

I could get rid of him once and for all. The question was could I really live with that on my conscience? And would I be better off without him?

There was no way Lord Drakharrow was going to let me go. If Blake was out of the picture, who would they give me to next? Marcus Drakharrow? I shuddered.

Pushing myself up on my elbows, I looked over at the item on my nightstand. Coregon's dagger with Orcades' soul trapped inside. If Aenia was a symbol of Blake's failure, the dagger was equally one of mine.

Most days, I brought the blade with me. Even tucked into my boot, Orcades could take in most of the things around me.

Each night before sleep claimed me, I'd gotten into the routine of reaching for it and speaking with her.

I sat up and pulled it into my hands.

Mother?

At first there was only silence.

Then, Medra? Orcades' voice had changed over the last few weeks and this worried me. Her tone was softer. Each time she sounded a little more distant. As if she were speaking from a place further and further away. There was a dreamy quality to her words. A detachment that hadn't been there before.

Were you asleep? I asked cautiously. Did I...wake you?

You know I don't sleep anymore, she said with a sigh. But I... I was dreaming.

How could one dream without sleeping? But I didn't point out the contradiction.

I was dreaming of the sky. I was flying over the sea.

You're not in the sea or the sky , I reminded her, a little sternly. You're here, with me. Remember?

She gave an almost wistful sigh. The blade. My prison. How could I forget?

I felt a stab of guilt. I'll take you with me tomorrow , I promised. I shouldn't have left you here all day without me.

My heart sped up as I suddenly wondered something. Was my mother on the same track as Aenia? A path leading to madness? Was she losing herself the longer she stayed in the dagger, confined and chained? I couldn't imagine how horrible it must be.

Is being in the dagger worse than being stuck inside of me? I asked.

Worse , came the answer almost immediately. But it's not so bad. I felt a warmth from the blade, as if it were pulsing slightly. I squeezed the hilt in my palm, wishing I was actually clasping the hand of a flesh and blood woman and not a piece of metal. You didn't mean to, Medra. It's not so bad, she said again.

Having her try to excuse my accident was almost worse somehow. It didn't ease the guilt I felt.

I wondered if Professor Rodriguez would help me if I told him the truth. I looked over at the books about dragons he'd given me. I'd been going through them. I still wasn't sure exactly what I was supposed to be looking for.

I slid the dagger under my pillow, my hand still wrapped around the hilt. It was the only comfort I had to offer.

Goodnight, Mother, I whispered.

I closed my eyes, sleep beginning to pull me under.

But my slumber didn't last long.

A rough hand clamped over my mouth, yanking me awake. Filled with panic, my eyes shot open. But before I could scream or take anything in, a soft cloth was pressed against my face. A sweet, sickly smell filled my nostrils. I thrashed about but my limbs were suddenly heavy and sluggish.

Everything went black before I could even begin to fight back.