“I expect the vampires didn’t like that,” I speculated.

“No,” he agreed. “The mortal who first discovered how to block thrallweave may have been severely punished. But not before they passed on the skill to someone else.”

“And eventually the vampires took credit for it entirely?” I suggested.

He nodded.

I suspected this was heresy. Something Rodriguez wouldn’t dare to say to a highblood’s face. But here he was, daring to say it to me.

“Eventually, vampires made the skill their own. Dragon riders were the only mortals permitted to learn it.”

“Why?” I demanded, leaning forward. "Why them?”

“I should think it would be obvious. Because they held the key to the realm’s most valuable weapon. A weapon that the highbloods themselves were never able to wield, to their perpetual frustration and fury. Dragons. A vampire could never control a dragon.”

“But if a vampire could control a rider, they essentially had a way in,” I guessed.

“Exactly. Now, you might think this would be an excellent thing. A way for a house to control a dragon via their rider. But the houses have long been in bloody competition with one another. So having a rider open to the coercion of other houses was a weakness. Imagine a rider soaring above on an incoming attack, only to be turned away because someone down below was powerful enough to enthrall them. So, long ago, it was agreed that those chosen to ride would be trained to shield their minds, in order to protect their mounts and their Houses.” Rodriguez passed, watching me. “The mind is a delicate thing. Even vampires with all their power and skill can be vulnerable to thrallweave.”

“How vulnerable?” I demanded. “Can it kill them?”

“It can kill a mortal, certainly. It’s rare for a highblood to be able to kill another highblood with thrallweave alone. But there are legends where it happens. Whether there’s any truth to those stories...” He shrugged. “We're not here to practice thrallweave. We're here to protect your will. Thrallguard is a grueling skill to hone. There will be moments when you want to quit, when it feels like your mind is splintering from the strain. But you will endure.”

“I will,” I agreed, gritting my teeth.

Rodriguez looked amused. “You’re eager to learn. That’s understandable. I was as well.”

I suddenly thought of something. “Did you attend Bloodwing, too? When you were young? Who taught you how to use thrallguard?”

He smiled pleasantly. “We aren’t talking about me today. This is about you, Miss Pendragon.”

Still, I wondered if he had, wondered if Rodriguez had been bullied by highbloods just like what was happening to me. That would explain why he’d worked to hone his ability in thrallguard.

“Unlike in a combat class, thrallguard is not about physical strength,” Rodriguez went on. “It’s about mental resilience which is, arguably, even more important. You need to be warned–the process can be...invasive.”

I nodded, feeling a tremor of unease.

“I’m going to test your defenses today. The process isn’t particularly gentle. But I’ll try not to push you too far.” He rose and stood in front of me. “We’ll start now.”

Before I could even formulate a reply, I felt it–a sharp, sudden pressure against my mind, like someone forcing open a door I hadn’t realized I’d left unlocked.

Panic washed over me. Regan. It was happening again.

My thoughts scattered as I instinctively tried to pull away. I gripped the armrests of my chair and leaned as far back as I could get, as if hoping that would be enough to stop the sensation.

But Rodriguez didn’t stop. He pushed again and a wave of focused energy brushed up against my memories from earlier that same day–eating breakfast in the refectory, walking down the hallway towards class.

My heart raced as I suddenly realized what he might find if he looked a little longer. I scrambled, desperately trying to erect barriers, but his presence slipped through the cracks like smoke.

The pressure grew more invasive, more threatening, and I felt panic rise within me.

He was going through my memories. So far he had only sifted through recent ones. I felt him pushing through my days at Bloodwing, felt him peering into my memory of standing atop the black stone dragon, felt him feeling my fear, my terror.

“You’re letting me in too easily,” Rodriguez said. His voice sounded as if it was coming from far away. “You have to push back. Your mind is your own. Guard it with your life.”

“I thought I was pushing back,” I said through clenched teeth.

He sighed and I felt the mental pressure ease, disappearing as suddenly as it had begun. “Blocking someone from entering your mind isn't like swinging a sword or using brute force. It's about control. Subtle, precise control over your own thoughts. Think of it as the gradual building of a fortress. But this fortress can’t be made of rigid stone. It has to be adaptable, flexible. Eventually, it can become impenetrable.”

That was what I wanted. To become a fortress.

I frowned, curling  my fingers in my lap. “But how? How do I even start?”

Rodriguez’s expression softened slightly as if he sensed my fear. “It’s going to take time. We’ll start with a tactic I first learned. It’s called mental partitioning. You’ll learn how to separate your mind into different layers, creating barriers between your surface thoughts–between the ones you’re okay with others seeing....”

I winced. There wasn’t really anything in my head I wanted a stranger to see.

He saw my expression and smiled slightly. “I know. But just think how much worse it could be if I were someone else.” He let the suggestion hang there.

I nodded firmly. “Right. I understand. I don’t want you to go easy on me.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said with a small smile. “Anyhow, mental partitioning. Creating a barrier between your thoughts. The ones you don’t mind revealing and the ones you need to keep hidden.” He shrugged. “We all have those, right? Eventually I might let you see what I had for breakfast, too, Miss Pendragon.”

He grinned and I smiled weakly.

I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, but I hadn’t anticipated it being this difficult. This... invasive. I could still feel the echo of Rodriguez’s presence in my mind, a reminder of how easily he'd been able to slip past my weak defenses.

My non-existent defenses.

My stomach churned. What if this wasn’t training? What if this was real? If it was someone trying to harm me or, worse, trying to force me to harm myself or someone else again? My mind flashed back to Regan, to how helpless and violated I’d felt.

A tremor of resentment flared through me. I knew Professor Rodriguez was doing this for my own good, but the potential he had to tear through my mind, to search for every vulnerable thought, left me feeling raw and exposed. I hated it. I hated how easily my weaknesses could be discovered, no matter how I tried to hide them.

Rodriguez had been waiting. When I nodded that I was ready to continue, he gestured for me to close my eyes.

“Imagine your mind as a space. An open field, let’s say. Now start constructing layers. These will be the partitions. The first layer should hold nothing of importance. Your recent thoughts, trivial memories. These are the decoys. Eventually, I’ll only sense what lays behind them if you want me to.”

I closed my eyes, trying to picture my mind the way he described it. It felt strange, unnatural. But as I focused, I began to form a mental wall. It was thin, like a piece of paper, hardly a wall at all. But it was a start.

“Good,” Rodriguez said. He was trying to be encouraging. “Now, I'm going to attempt to push past that first layer. When you feel me approaching, I want you to reinforce it. Don't just let me through.”

I tensed up. There it was again. Like a soft knock against the edge of my mind. His presence was there, probing, but not forceful. Not yet. It was a gentle push, like someone testing the strength of a door.