The Wings That Bind

Book 3: Bloodwing Academy

by Briar Boleyn

Genres: Dragons & Mythical Creatures; Action & Adventure Romance; Contemporary Fantasy

Synopsis

The night's chaos left us breathless. Now the real nightmare begins.

A second dragon has awoken–her heart tainted and her power commandeered by two ruthless highbloods whose cruelty knows no bounds.

My dearest friend teetered on the brink of death. A dragon saved her, but now she's tied to him in a way I can scarcely understand. What will this new bond do to the woman I've come to love as a sister?

And then there’s Blake. Once my relentless tormentor—he betrayed me again, nearly condemning Nyxaris to a cursed, stone-cold fate. Now something has shifted in him. His gray eyes hide a secret he’s desperate to keep.

I saved Blake’s life, despite everything. Yet now my every heartbeat questions where we go from here.

With Bloodwing Academy in turmoil and a new headmaster no one saw coming, only one thing is certain: This is going to be one hell of a year.

At Bloodwing Academy, power comes with blood, and betrayal is as common as ambition. This dark fantasy series tackles mature themes. Readers are advised to consult the trigger warnings before embarking on this intense, morally gray/black journey through the realm of Sangratha!

Release date: March 10, 2026

Publisher: MIRA Books

Print pages: 576

Sample

Prologue

Neville

A heavy snow was falling, whirling outside the windows and lashing the panes, blocking out light and making it seem closer to midnight than a mere four o’clock in the afternoon. Along the stone corridor, a small creature padded along, their little frame replete with self-assurance. The air carried the scent of sausages and cinnamon, both flavors they were rather fond of.

The smells of cooking were good ones. They helped to cover over the scent of fear. Fear had been thick in the halls of Bloodwing these past few days. Not merely the sharp, panicked fear of students who had forgotten to study for exams, but a deeper kind. Closer to terror. The kind that tasted like blood and heartbreak.

Neville had known that kind of fear before. He didn’t like it.

Continuing on towards the kitchen, he passed unnoticed—as he always did unless he decided it should be otherwise. Professors glanced past him. Students stepped around him, almost without realizing it.

Leaping onto a polished wooden banister, he scampered down its slope—half sliding, half running—before jumping onto the ancient flagstone floor at the bottom. From there it was a short jaunt into the kitchens. They were busy at this time of night. Preparations were well underway for supper, which would be carried up to the students in the refectory hall. Professors had their own table in the refectory, but many preferred to dine in their chambers. Trays would be carried up to them. Dozens and dozens of servants all working in harmony three times a day to bring food to the denizens of the academy.

Ignoring a pair of undercooks arguing at one of the hearths about whether or not the beef was properly cooked, the fluffin approached the spot where a tall thin woman was stirring a pot with a grim expression. Her eyes were narrowed as she watched the undercooks quarrel. In another moment, Neville knew she would lose her temper and snap at them. He made a low chirping noise, with just the hint of a purr, and the woman turned around instantly, looking down at him, the expression of annoyance falling off her face to be replaced by one of pleasure.

“Ah, the little lord has arrived for his supper.” She was already reaching for a plate behind her. “Well, here you go, milord. I hope it doesn’t disappoint.”

Neville gave another chirp of appreciation before turning his full attention to the plate. Slices of sausage. A butter biscuit. Some greens—which he disliked. Still, he ate them with dignity, knowing they held necessary nutrition.

He held very still as he sensed the woman look around carefully, then drop to her knees as he finished licking the plate. Reaching out a hand, she gently ran it over his head.

She really was a soft-hearted human, despite her tendency to snap at her underlings.

Neville licked her wrist in thanks, looking up at her and meeting her gaze, letting his eyes shine wide with his appreciation. The cook’s lips parted slowly, and a small smile appeared. Thus the exchange was concluded. The cook would have a more peaceful evening. She would be less bothered by the silly mistakes made by those around her. A little more inclined towards grace.

As for all those around her? Neville slipped out of the kitchen. For the rest of them, it was as if he had never been there at all.

deeper areas, below the kitchens. Areas which frightened him and over which he had no purview. Then there were areas riskier to visit, farther afield from the hub of academy life, but which he nevertheless knew fell within the boundaries of his domain. And as with all domains, inspections must be conducted.

Back through the kitchen door. Down another corridor. A turn, then another. The walk became monotonous. The passages were unlit. Few came this way. Another turn and he was in an area of the castle few knew even existed. A shortcut. There was a prickle behind his ears. He didn’t wish to go this way, to visit this part of his kingdom. Bad things lay this way. But it was his responsibility. Sometimes not even the darkest shadows could be turned away from. The light must go everywhere.

Another prickle. His fur twitched. A slight pressure. A nudge.

Nyxaris. The dragon’s presence poked—like a cool nose touching his. An almost teasing gesture. The dragon was bored. Lonely. Morose. Not for the first time, nor probably the last.

The little fluffin gave his fur a shake. There was a dilemma there, a puzzle to be solved. But first, the shadows called, and he would answer.

A mouse scrambled by, and the fluffin gave a playful pounce. The mouse ran on, shaking, but intact as it reached a crack in the wall and skittered inside. Neville snuffled, twitching his nose. On a different occasion, the mouse might have been a tasty snack, but he had been well-fed too recently. He felt a kindness towards the humble little creature and let it go on its way.

The air chilled. A shift. There were places on the border of his realm where the stones felt colder than the rest. Where there was a wrongness. The Black Keep was one of these.

He walked for a while, then entered a space behind a cracked column and vanished into a narrow, dark place no map remembered and no blightborn or highblood had walked. Eventually, there was light, a shard of warmth peeking out from behind a tapestry. Neville nudged his nose against the hanging, moving forward for a better look.

There, sitting on the edge of the bed. The girl was there again. The one with the broken heart. Her hair gleamed dully in the firelight, unwashed and uncombed. Her eyes were listless, but she did not weep.

Neville hesitated. The urge to enter and go to her was very strong. There was something there. Something that had been, something that would be. He felt it very powerfully. Then a voice, coming from just outside the room. Harsh, guttural, yet still smooth as poisoned honey. Everything about it was wrong.

Neville growled, a faint sound low in his throat. He knew it was only a small indulgence. He would not engage the wrongness. He could not. He knew the extent of his own abilities too well for that. He had done enough to ease his own mind, simply by confirming it was still indeed there. Existing where it had no right to. But there were many things wrong that still endured. This was a time when fluffins were needed in abundance. Yet as far as he knew, he was the only one.

The nudge came again. Nyxaris. The dragon had no idea where Neville was, yet he sensed . . . something. Enough to send a warning. Neville backed up, the tapestry swinging back into place, the girl disappearing.

His fur bristled. He turned. Not from fear, no. He really feared very little. He had been afraid once, very afraid. Then the red girl had come. She had found him on the beach. She had brought him home.

Still, some ancient instinct—a kind of animal wisdom—told him this was neither the place nor the time for fluffins. Neville vanished into the dark, paws silent on the stone, the taste of sausage still sweet on his sandpaper pink tongue, and the feeling of the girl’s sorrow still lingering behind him.

---

Regan

There was no point in wailing, gnashing teeth, or whining. Though one or all of those things might have been the recourse of other girls. I was not like them. I never had been. I was special. Perfect. Hadn’t my father always said so? Besides, if I shone here, now, he’d let Persis come home. He’d promised my

father that. So I sat stiff and rigid, my back straight, waiting. The trick was to remember to breathe. To breathe slowly. In and out, in and out. Chin up. Shoulders square.

My bloodline was pure. I was practically a goddess. Not far off from the Bloodmaiden herself, bless her blood. I was a legend in the halls of Bloodwing. Everyone looked up to me. I could do anything, get away with anything. So I could do this.

Still, legend or not, I’d trade every whispered compliment for one letter from my father telling me that my little brother was safe and home again.

The room was quiet, save for the ticking of a rectangular metal clock on the mantle. It was ugly and repulsive, the front glass over the face cracked as if someone had dropped it yet decided throwing it away would be too merciful. It wasn’t to my taste, but no one cared about my taste. Not today. Certainly not in this room.

I forced myself to look towards the door when it opened, a small smile I hoped would look coy already forming on my face. I already knew who it was. A chill seemed to always enter with him, like death chasing at his heels. Was it waiting for him? Or for me?

He began speaking as if resuming a conversation we’d been having all along. “The reopening schedule has been finalized. Students have been arriving all day. Staff have been informed of what to say.” He looked at me as if I didn’t know all of this already, and I nodded dutifully. He resumed. “The Dragon Court is a mess. As of today, it’s officially off-limits to students. Notices are being posted. No one needs to know the details of why.”

“But it’s an access point,” I noted. “And many windows overlook it . . .”

He waved his hand. “They’ll take the long way around or walk outside. What do we care? You may cross it if you wish. Though, you’re liable to break your neck if you try. Stones are strewn everywhere. It will take weeks to clean up.”

I nodded again. It didn’t really matter. I knew why he wanted to keep people away.

He moved closer. The scarlet velvet robe he wore dragged along the floor. He wore it long. I think he believed it made him look taller. Bigger. More imposing. Men were such fools.

Besides, Viktor didn’t need a robe to look imposing. He was fucking terrifying with or without it.

“They’ll fall in line,” he said.

e were a pair now. No more triads. No more sharing. So why wasn’t I filled with joy?

“So efficient,” he murmured appreciatively, eyeing the scanty gown I wore. “We’ll use the outer courtyard tomorrow for the assembly. You’ll make a wonderful first impression.”

I looked down at my lap, smiling slightly, trying to appear modest. “I’ll try. There must be unity. Especially now.”

“I value our unity greatly,” he said. I didn’t have to raise my head to know he was making an effort to smile. I held back a shudder. “You must be eager to step into your new role,” he added.

“You’ve honored me. Elevated me. I won’t fail you,” I responded.

“Of course you won’t. You wouldn’t dare.” The words were light. But my stomach churned.

“House Mortis has been beheaded. What could Catherine have been thinking to disappear like that? Pure political suicide.” He chuckled. Many things about the events of the last few days had made him furious, but not this—this was a delight. A rare opportunity.

“Catherine’s absence leaves Mortis vulnerable,” I agreed. I knew he would not wish to discuss where Catherine had gone. Or who had gone with her.

“She trained her house well. You’ll find them an advantage waiting to be taken.”

I’d already determined that for myself. Catherine had always cultivated sly cruelty amongst her most favored. With her gone, they’d be a lost flock of mean little sheep—looking for someone to follow, someone to lead.

Someone like me.

He moved again. Closer to the bed. I could see him now in my periphery, just the edge of his silhouette. “I permitted Blake to complete the Rite of Dissolution,” he said. “I might have opposed it.”

My breath hitched. I tried not to let it show. In and out. In and out.

Blake. He’d chosen that blightborn girl over the betrothal our parents had spent years arranging.

“I was ecstatic,” Viktor murmured. “Could you tell?”

I licked my lips slowly. “No, Lord Drakharrow.”

“Please. Dispense with the formalities.”

I forced my head up, made myself look at him—really look. “I had no idea, Viktor. Or I would have been much happier in that moment,” I lied.

He stretched what was left of his lips into a smile. I held my gaze very still. “I gave Blake an opportunity. He was a fool to discard you. Yet now I can claim what I admit I’ve always seen as mine.” He moved closer. Much closer. A hand reached out. He gripped my chin.

I lifted it eagerly with a sigh, as if the touch was everything I’d always wanted—and more.

“You’re exquisite. Perfect,” he murmured. “I’ve watched you since birth. Always on the sidelines. Always admiring. Waiting, watching. It was a mistake to give away something as perfect as you are. I should have claimed you myself, right from the start.”

It took everything I had not to shudder. “It was. How grateful I am to be free of him now.” Inside of me, another girl was weeping with rage and fear. Still trying hard to convince herself that this all could be undone, that Blake’s rejection might not be forever, that Father wouldn’t sign a contract selling his daughter in the hopes of regaining his son.

She was a stupid, silly girl. I told her to shut the fuck up.

Viktor’s fingers were trailing lower. Down my throat, skirting the tip of my collarbone. Then his hands were gone.

I breathed. In and out. In and out.

His hands were on his belt. Loosening his robe. My smile froze.

“I’m going to take my time with you, Regan. When one gets to be as old as I am, pleasures tend to fade.” He laughed softly, and for a moment I let myself wonder just how old he truly was. “But having to wait for you all these years? I expect the pleasure will be . . . Well, perhaps nearly as exquisite as you are.”

As he slid the robe off his shoulders I made myself look—but not directly. I let my gaze land just to the right, past him to the door behind.

He was inches away now. I could smell him: blood and the medicine he’d been prescribed. And something else. I stole a glance. 

or rose, grunting like a pig as he reached for his robe and pulled it around him.

I glanced over despite myself. The luxurious velvet fell unevenly across his ruined frame, like a curtain trying to mask a nightmare. I looked away. I’d already looked enough for a lifetime. But then, this was my life now. I had to get used to it. There was no room for the weak in the Black Keep.

He moved to the door and wrenched it open. “Davies,” he barked to the guard standing in the hall. The one who’d probably been listening to us this entire time. “It’s time. Fetch my nephew. Drag him here if you must. Tell him Headmaster Kim wishes to see him and sends his regards.”

There was a murmuring answer, then the sound of retreating footsteps. Viktor turned back to me. His eyes lingered over my hands as they worked to fasten the dress. For a horrible moment, I wondered if he was going to tell me to lie back down.

Then he smiled almost wistfully—or as wistfully as a vampire who’d lived longer than any highblood had any right to could. “All good things must come to an end,” he said, his voice like graveyard dust. “Even my time with you, my precious gem.” He turned to the door. “It’s time to give my dear nephew a delightful surprise.”

Then he was gone, not even bothering to close the door behind him. Another guard had taken up position outside. The man peeked in for a moment before my glare warned him away.

I stalked over and slammed the door, then smoothed down the front of my dress. My hands were trembling. I forced them to stillness. I’d bathe and wash the scent of my new husband away down the drain, along with every memory of his touch.

Then I’d do it again and again.

I could do this. I could play their tyrant queen. Let them all watch and see. 

 

Book 1
Wintermark

 

Chapter 1

Medra

I was flying.

Well, not quite. I was bouncing. Held in some sort of a sling contraption, I swayed with every heavy step my caregiver took. I flailed my arms—pudgy, uncoordinated, utterly enthusiastic, while my legs kicked just as eagerly at the open air. I heard squealing. Loud. Joyful.

It took me a moment to realize the sound was coming from me.

“Easy now, little cub.” The voice was a warm rumble, familiar and comforting. “You don’t have to get quite so excited each time you see me.”

“I don’t think she’s gotten quite as used to talking bears as Morgan and I have.” The voice was rich and deep and came from somewhere behind me. A man’s voice. The man holding me. A strong hand came up, checking the straps of the contraption. Some sort of a baby carrier. I grasped for the hand, squeaking and squirming. Everything shook as the man holding me laughed. He let me raise his fingers to my face. They smelled warm and earthy. Like pine and sandalwood. Safe.

I couldn’t turn to see him. But warmth radiated from him like sunlight. I knew who held me. I could feel him, sense him. He was love. My uncle. My protector. Draven.

“Wrigglier than a fox in a henhouse,” the great booming voice intoned again.

I looked up in delight as a huge brown bear peered down at me, then leaned in to nuzzle their cool, wet nose against mine as I gurgled and gasped in delight. A warm summer wind crossed the glade, and I closed my eyes. When I opened them, something silver caught my eye. Hair like shimmering moonlight flowed down her back. My aunt, Morgan.

She was dressed like royalty, in a rich scarlet gown trimmed with gold. She stood tall, head bent in conversation with a young knight. The half-fae woman could have been no more than twenty-five, and yet her expression was thoughtful, her smile warm and wise.

There was something sharp about the young knight, something edged like a blade. Unlike my aunt, she was mortal. She wore her steel armor as if it were a second skin. Her blond hair was cropped short, with just a slight curl over her ears. She was intimidating. Fierce. Violence obviously became her. But when she looked across the glade at me, there was nothing hard in her expression. I saw only warmth and fondness.

The two women slowly approached me, their faces soft in different ways—both ways I loved. Then Morgan bent forward. I closed my eyes as she kissed my forehead with lips so soft.

“Our little Medra,” she murmured. “Oh, how precious . . .”

And then it was all gone.

My heart lurched. I woke up, coated in sweat, my heart hammering. The dream was scattered like ash in the wind. My sheets were damp. My breath fogged the air. I sat up, the ache in my heart still sharp and all too real. The room was quiet. I turned towards the other bed, Florence’s name on the tip of my tongue, everything in me calling for comfort and consolation.

The bed was empty. Another pain stabbed through my chest. I’d forgotten.

Florence was gone, too.

---

The morning dawned cold and gray. It was still snowing. I hadn’t slept well, not after that dream. I was used to intrusive thoughts—hell, Orcades had been nothing but. Still, the dream had been something different entirely. A reminder of my past life. Of who I really was. Of the family I’d lost. The last time they’d seen me, I’d been that baby. Giggling and gurgly. Would they even recognize me now? And what would they think of me if they did? What would they think of who I’d become,

of what I’d done?

My aunt, Morgan le Fay. My uncle, Draven Venator. Hawl, the Bearkin warrior with a heart of gold. And Lancelet, my aunt’s dearest friend and faithful knight of Camelot.

They were legends in my mind, not real people. A world where fae and mortals and other fantastical creatures coexisted? From where I stood, with both feet fixed solidly on Sangratha’s blood-soaked soil, it all sounded like nothing more than fiction. I’d idealized them since I’d arrived in this place. It had been easy to do, considering how long it had been since I’d seen any of them in the flesh. What would they think of me? Maybe that was the wrong question. What would they think of the people I was surrounded by?

The highbloods. The vampires. Blake.

I tried to ignore the throb of questions in my head as I quickly got dressed.

Today was the first real day of classes after Frostfire. The midwinter break had been unexpectedly extended. We’d all been restricted to our respective house towers since the events of a few nights ago. Since I was in House Avari, that meant I hadn’t really had a chance to see, well, anyone but Kage. And we weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment.

I’d mostly stayed in my room, alone. But sometimes, when I came down to snatch a tray of food, I’d hear rumors swirling in the common room. Scattered bits and pieces of what had happened that night, most of them wildly off base.

I’d caught more than a few looks from Avari students. I knew everyone wanted to ask me what had really gone down that night . . . but no one dared. Maybe Kage had warned them off. Or maybe it was just the look on my face that told them it was better not to risk it.

Of course, I wasn’t the only one who had been through a lot.

Trying to tally up the losses from that night was still enough to leave me reeling.

Visha had lost her girlfriend Lace Ironstride, a sweet yet tough dwarven girl I’d just begun to get to know, but who I’d truly liked. She’d been one of Professor Stonefist’s star pupils, too. I wondered if Stonefist had been told Lace was dead.

Blake had lost Aenia, but not until after she’d brutally murdered Lace. The death of a child should have been horrible. We all should have been in mourning. And yet, what I mourned was the loss of Aenia the child. Because the Aenia who’d died had been a monster.

en forced to stab his youngest cousin, while shielding Florence from Aenia’s blood lust.

Poor Theo. In some ways, he’d always been the most innocent of us all. Now he’d lost some of that, lost a piece of his own blooddamned heart. I wondered if he’d even been able to see his boyfriend, Vaughn, yet and talk to him about everything that had gone down.

Meanwhile, Lysander had lost his younger sister, Lunaya. Not to death—but to something even more malevolent. Did the House Orphos leader even know the full story yet? Had anyone bothered to tell him exactly what had happened? Had Blake or Kage?

Lunaya had been blood-bound to Marcus Drakharrow. From what I’d seen, she was basically in servitude to him and Catherine Mortis. She’d gotten onboard that terrifying, corrupt dragon and ridden off into the sunset—taking my mother’s soul along with her.

Right. As if things weren’t fucked-up enough already. Orcades had gone from being dead, to being in my head, to being in a fucking enchanted knife, to now being inside of a godsdamned dragon. Molindra, that was the dragon’s name.

I wasn’t crossing my fingers that my mother had survived the transition. Even if she’d managed to survive, our connection seemed to have been broken when Molindra flew away. I might never see her again. I wondered if there was any way to tell if Orcades was still alive. A spell, a ritual, a bit of light blood magic. Anything. Of course, there was one person who might have had an answer to that. But there was no chance in hell I was setting foot in his bloody office ever again.

Thinking of Professor Rodriguez raised the pace of my heartbeat immediately. I slammed the door of my wardrobe shut with a little more force than I’d meant to, tugged on the hip-length black sweater I’d pulled out, and headed for the door.

Today was going to be such a shit show.

---

Theo leaned over the breakfast table, making sure to keep his voice low. I’d lost track of how many times I’d glanced towards the refectory entrance. Breakfast was more than half-over. We’d be heading to class in a few minutes. Obviously, Visha wasn’t coming. And, apparently, neither was Blake.

I glanced back at Theo. Who was now standing up and making his way around the table to my side. He slid onto the bench beside me. I raised my eyebrows. “Changing seats?”

He shrugged. “I decided this was too important to risk sharing.” He leaned his head as close to mine as he could without us kissing, and I tried not to snicker. He’d been reserved so far this morning. But at least he was there. He was eating. He was talking. He wasn’t rocking back and forth sobbing or hiding in his room. Or, worse, furious with me. That was more than I’d hoped for, honestly. It was more than we’d gotten from Visha so far.

“What?” Theo questioned, seeing my smile.

I shook my head. “Nothing. It’s just . . . really good to see you, Theo.”

“Oh.” He looked taken aback. “It’s good to see you, too, Medra.” He glanced around one more time, then lowered his voice to less than a whisper. “So I’m not hallucinating again, right? Tanaka can turn into a fucking wolf?”

“Again?”

He ran his hands through his hair, looking sheepish. “I mean, yeah, it’s been known to happen. After imbibing . . . certain substances.”

I rolled my eyes. “Right. Of course it has. Well, you’re not hallucinating this time, Theo. It happened.”

“Did you know that? Before, I mean. That he could . . . you know, do that?”

I met his eyes. “I’d actually expected you to tell me it was no surprise.”

Theo’s eyes widened. “What? Me?”

“You’re a highblood,” I pointed out. “Aren’t you all supposed to have special tricks like this up your sleeves? Sanguimancy? Necromancy? A little extra fur?”

Theo snorted. “I mean, magic, yes. But usually just being, you know, a fucking vampire is good enough. We don’t need to turn into wolves, too.” His eyes suddenly lit up, and he rose from the bench.

aughn Sabino was striding between the tables. Clearly he’d already spotted Theo. A huge grin covered the tall dark-skinned young man’s face.

In an instant, the two had collided. I watched in delight as Vaughn folded Theo into his arms, one hand firm at his waist while the other cupped the back of his neck, then drew his lips into a slow, breath-stealing kiss.

There were a few whistles and groans, but to my surprise, no one threw food or shouted anything nasty. I saw a few dark looks from some highbloods at the House Mortis table and a few from Theo’s house, Drakharrow. But none from Vaughn’s, House Orphos.

But then, in a world of cutthroat vampires, Orphos was kind of the exception. I still wasn’t sure what to make of Lysander’s house. There were those who said Orphos was weak. And yet once, they’d been allies of House Drakharrow. Unfortunately, the loss of Lunaya—basically the princess of House Orphos—wasn’t going to put those claims of weakness to rest.

I glanced around again, wondering if anyone knew about Lunaya, then shifted my focus back to where Vaughn and Theo were still embracing. The looks they were getting weren’t necessarily because Theo and Vaughn were both male either, I reminded myself. Theo was a highblood, and Vaughn was blightborn. In Sangratha, a pairing like that was still fairly taboo. My skin prickled. Just like Blake and me.

Except, I told myself, rising as I looked at the clock on the nearby wall, there was no Blake and me, was there?

---

Theo, Vaughn, and I left the refectory with just a few minutes to spare to get to the entrance to Bloodwing Academy. A sort of back-to-school assembly had been called. Usually events like these were held in the Dragon Court. But this one was being held outdoors in a vast courtyard at the entrance of the school. I could still remember coming through those huge front doors the day Blake had escorted me from the Black Keep. He’d told me he’d never mingle his blood with mine. Rather ironic now.

I walked ahead with Theo and Vaughn trailing behind me through the corridors, hand in hand. We were nearly at the entrance when we heard it: voices, sharp and jeering, tinged with the kind of tone that screamed asshole and that seemed to come easily to those with power undeserved.

“J-j-just leave me alone,” a girl’s voice stuttered, and I cringed, knowing the sound of her weakness would only excite whoever was bothering her.

I glanced behind me. Theo was already scowling, his fists clenched by his sides. Vaughn’s entire body had stiffened, his warm and open expression shuttering. I took a deep breath and rounded the next corner at a jog. A handful of students stood clustered beneath an archway. Six of them. All highbloods.

I spotted Quinn Riley first. She leaned lazily against a stone column, her arms crossed over her narrow chest, pretty lips curved in a satisfied smirk. Two other girls were there. Larissa, a Drakharrow girl with mellow golden skin and silver hair that fell in thick waves. And Gretchen, a tall curvy girl with straight chin-length hair and a pretty-enough face, if you liked the weaselly ones. I’d once stuck a knife in that face, so I guess that counted me out.

The other three were males. One boy lounged against the wall close to Quinn. I wondered if this was her betrothed, the infamous Edward Ashveil, who I’d once heard her and Regan discussing. Apparently, Quinn had worked pretty hard to land him. Elegantly dressed in the colors of House Mortis, the highblood young man stood picking at his nails with a dagger, a faint look of boredom on his handsome brown face. I was a little surprised to see the House Mortis colors. I’d assumed Quinn would be matched to someone from Drakharrow.

The last two were the biggest surprises, however: Lucian Aleron and Evander Sylvain. Both were Visha’s consorts. Evander stood slightly apart from the group, looking stiff and uncomfortable. He’d helped me once, but that had been mostly Visha’s doing. I was a little surprised to see him there, but I told myself I shouldn’t have been. Most highbloods were capable of such casual cruelty.

Dwarven, curvy, with mousy-brown hair and threadbare gloves. The blue coat she wore was hanging off her shoulders, far too big for her small frame. Maybe it had been a hand-me-down from an older brother or sister. She was in First Year colors, probably training to be a healer or a scout—if she ever made it that far. I thought of Naveen.

Her eyes were wide with fear. I watched carefully to see who she was looking at. Who was she most afraid of? To my surprise it wasn’t Quinn but Lucian. He was smiling as he tossed something from one hand to another—a shiny crimson apple. I frowned. Not exactly threatening. Not like the knife Edward was still busily cleaning his cuticles with.

“I’m just trying to help,” I heard Lucian say. “You look pale. We thought maybe you could use a little snack. It’s a gift. Go on, take a bite.”

The girl shook her head, smart enough to know something was wrong, even if she couldn’t quite pin down what. “No, thank you. I . . .”

Quinn peeled away from her pillar. “Refusing a gift from a highblood? Do you know how deeply offensive that is, girl?”

“I—I—I’m sorry, my lady,” the girl stammered. “I didn’t . . .”

“Oh, hell no,” I muttered. No one was calling Quinn my lady without an intervention. I started forward without even glancing back at Theo and Vaughn.

“Hey, Lady Quinn,” I called, letting my voice drip with sarcasm. “Why don’t you back the fuck up and let the First Year breathe?”

The entire group turned to face me. I took in their expressions. Quinn was eager. She was obviously delighted to see me. She knew I’d be much more fun to play with than a random blightborn First Year. Lucian was wary. Edward had paused his knife play. He looked curious but not put off. The only one of the six who looked at all intimidated by my arrival so far was Evander. He seemed like he’d scurry off like a rat from a sinking ship, given half a chance. I wondered what Visha would say when she knew what her consorts had been up to this morning.

“You there, First Year. What’s your name?” I called, moving closer and reaching the edge of the group.

“D-dani,” the blightborn girl managed.

“Why don’t I walk you to the assembly now, Dani?” I offered. The girl gave a tremulous nod, but Gretchen and Larissa were suddenly blocking my way. Gretchen looked back over her shoulder and snickered. That was all I’d needed. With a sigh, I grabbed their shoulders and shoved them apart none too gently, then moved into the gap and stepped up to the blightborn girl.

“That’s better,” I began to say—just as Lucian stopped tossing the apple.

They must have had it all planned, for the next instant he’d turned towards Quinn and given her a sly, conspiratorial wink. “Catch.” The apple flew through the air.

Quinn caught it easily, cradling her prize close to her lips as she smiled and showed her fangs. For a second, I thought she meant to bite into it herself.

Then, with no warning, she spun her arm forward and hurled the thing straight at the First Year’s head. It hit with a wet, unnatural splat.

Dani screamed as thick, congealed blood exploded from the apple, matting her hair and running down her cheeks.

I gagged as the rancid scent hit me—sweetly rot-tinged, like pig’s blood gone sour. A few of the drops had sprayed me. I hastily wiped at my face with the back of my hand as the girl’s scream cracked into sobs. “Dani!” I tried to reach for her, but she was too upset to even look at me.

The highbloods surrounding her backed up as she moved, ...