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."