“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.”