The tremor finally passed leaving silence in its wake.

When I was sure it was over, I struggled back to my feet, legs wobbling as I held the child close.

Fifteen minutes later, I finally reached the First Year Common Room. I burst through the door, sweat pouring down my face.

Florence rushed towards me.

“Medra!” she cried, as she took in the sight of the wounded girl. “Poppy! You found her. Thank the Bloodmaiden.” Her shoulders sagged in relief.

I cringed at her choice of words, but knew this was not the time.

Professor Rodriguez was crouched by the hearth, stoking the fire. When he saw me, he rose quickly. Crossing the room, he took the girl from my arms and placed her gently upon a couch. He knelt down beside her, unfastening my makeshift tourniquet, and pressing his fingers gently against the wounds at her neck.

“Fetch her mother,” he ordered one of the speechless students standing nearby. The boy ran off immediately. “You.” He pointed to another student, a cowering girl. “Go fetch a healer. Tell them to bring a litter she can be carried in.”

Minutes later, we could hear the poor mother’s panicked sobs from the hallway before she even appeared. The housekeeper was a pretty blightborn woman with long black braided hair. She fell to her knees beside her daughter, cradling Poppy’s face. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Rodriguez continued his ministrations.

“Medra, what happened? Where did you find her? Where’s Blake?” Florence asked softly.

Her eyes scanned my face. I couldn’t find the words to answer her. Nor did I want to. Not truly. I couldn’t tell her what I’d seen.

If the little girl remembered her ordeal in the morning, she could share it with her mother. But I prayed she would forget.

Exhaustion was weighing down upon me. The events of the night were finally crushing me with horror and guilt.

I shook my head. “Tomorrow,” I said, putting her off.

I climbed the stairs to my room, every step heavier than the last. My mind spun, replaying every last painful detail from the moment I’d left the First Year Common Room earlier that night with Kage.

The rite. The things Blake had done. The things I’d let him do.

I’d let him in. Let my guard down. For a moment, I had wanted him.

It had been a mistake.

He had saved the little girl. But he’d also saved her monster.

Aenia’s feral eyes, filled with hunger and madness, flashed before me. And there was Blake. Holding her back.

Protecting Poppy and I. But also protecting the highblood who threatened us both.

I fell onto my bed, too exhausted to even turn down the covers.

The last thing I remembered as I fell asleep was the feeling of his hands on my skin...and the shame that had come from wanting him.

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BOOK 5

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CHAPTER 46 - BLAKE

Springrise

I lay in my bed, staring up at the dark crimson canopy, one hand absentmindedly stroking the soft fur of the fluffin curled up beside me.

I’d given up trying to send Neville back to Pendragon and her friend, Florence. He went where he wanted, when he wanted. Secretly, I found it kind of flattering that more and more he seemed to want to be with me.

There was something comforting about having him around. Not to mention the fact that the little ball of fluff had basically saved my life that day in the arena when he’d warned me about Coregon’s approach.

Neville made a small sound of contentment in his sleep, nestling closer against me.

Usually the animal’s proximity would help to calm my restless mind. But tonight, not even Neville could settle my unease.

I’d returned from feeding in Veilmar earlier to find Pendragon standing smack dab in the middle of the Dragon Court.

For a moment, I’d been frozen in my tracks. Had she been following me again?

For the last few weeks, she’d completely ignored me. Refusing to even look at me when we passed one another in the halls.

Then I realized she wasn’t looking at me. In fact, her back was to me.

She was talking. But there was no one around.

I walked over to her and stopped with a jolt. She was in a night dress. The loose white gown clung to her tall slender frame. Her hair was down, red curls flowing down her back.

I’d stepped up to her cautiously. Her voice echoed through the air, but the words were strange and foreign.

Then it hit me.

She was speaking Classical Sangrathan.

I hadn’t heard anyone ever speak the dead language outside of my father’s lessons. He’d insisted his children learn the Old Tongue. I knew enough to recognize it, to hear it when it was spoken. No one really used it anymore though, except in rituals or in texts so old they required translation by a linguist before they could be read.

Yet here was Pendragon, speaking it fluently.

I moved closer to her. She paid me no mind. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused.

Because she wasn’t truly there at all. She was sleepwalking.

I tried to wake her, calling her name, but there was no response.

I glanced around, half-expecting to see someone else, whoever she’d been talking to, my senses on edge. But whoever it was must have been a figment of her imagination–someone in a dream. There was no one around us except the four stone dragons, lifeless and silent as always.

I stared up at them, shivering slightly.

The Dragon Court held power. Perhaps not even we highbloods understood the nature of that power fully.

I felt the urge to get Pendragon out of there. There was no way I was going to leave her alone in the courtyard in her nightgown in the dead of night.

I gripped her shoulders and shook her gently.

Nothing. Her lips kept moving, her eyes remained unfocused.

Knowing I wasn’t going to get anywhere that way, I gave up. Scooping her up in my arms, I marched out of the Dragon Court.

She didn’t struggle. She didn’t fight back. She just leaned her head against my chest.

I’d held my breath for a moment, expecting her to wake up and punch me in the face for touching her.

Then I started to relax.

I half-expected her to keep talking to herself, but instead she stayed silent. Her eyes remained open, watching me as I walked.

Now that I was back in my room alone, I had to admit it had been fucking creepy.

But also weirdly nice.

She’d been so relaxed as I held her. It’d felt so natural to have her in my arms like that. I’d sniffed her hair, still damp as if freshly washed. She’d smelled of jasmine and vanilla. Her body was warm and soft against mine.

Part of me had longed to bring her back to my room, put her on my bed, and just... sleep beside her.

But I knew what would happen if I did.

So I took her back to the First Year Tower. Woke up her friend, Florence. The dark-haired girl’s face had been shocked when she’d seen Pendragon in my arms. Then her expression had shifted into one of mistrust. Whatever Pendragon had told her about me, Florence certainly didn’t like me now. I wondered if she knew about Aenia.

When I left, Pendragon was still dazed, only just beginning to come out of her stupor.

I figured Florence could tell her what happened. Maybe she’d even leave out the part where I brought her back. That might have been for the best.

Neville rolled over in his sleep and I rubbed his stomach. He let out a little grunt of happiness, then started snoring.

I grinned down at him. If only Pendragon was as simple as a flufifn.

But she wasn’t. She was a puzzle wrapped in a mystery with extra secrets sprinkled on top.

She was the most complicated person I’d ever met. And the most infuriating. Just when I thought I might have come close to cracking her code, she’d slap me in the face and shut me out again.