My heart sank. “Why not?”

“Because when that happens, the consorts usually die. Male and male, female and female, male and female. Whatever the configuration.”

“But it’s not fair,” I said, starting to get angry. “I don’t have a choice. Regan won’t work with me, even if I wanted to work with her.”

“Have you tried asking her? Talking to her about it?” Rodriguez picked up a quill and began to twirl it.

“Not exactly,” I grumbled.

“Try that first. You never know.” He tossed the quill up in the air.

“Fine. I will,” I said. “But let’s be realistic here. She won’t agree. Even if I beg, which I’m prepared to do. Is Viktor Drakharrow really going to let us both die in this game just because we can’t work together?”

“Viktor Drakharrow is a very busy, very important man, who probably has no idea that Regan hates you,” Rodriguez said. “And who is going to tell him?” He tilted his head. “You?”

“Maybe I could get a message to him,” I said desperately. “Send him a letter. I don’t know. Something.”

“Or you could stand on your own two feet and figure this out.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” I shot back. “Sitting safely behind your teacher’s desk.”

Rodriguez’s face hardened. “It’s not as safe as you might think. We’re blightborn after all, Miss Pendragon.”

“Speaking of which, is there a precedent for that? For a blightborn consort succeeding in this game, I mean?” I asked, leaning forward in my seat.

“Yes, but the consorts usually worked together in those cases. As far as I can remember.” He gave me a look that was almost sympathetic. “Look, there’s only one real way I’m going to be able to help you get through the games and you already know what it is.”

“Practicing thrallguard.”

He nodded. “Exactly. If Regan really hates you as much as you think, then she’ll try to get to you. If she somehow survives and you don’t...”

“Then she’ll get exactly what she wants,” I said hollowly.

And what I didn’t. Blake Drakharrow.

“She hasn’t tried to thrallweave you again, has she?”

I shook my head. Now that I thought about it, I wondered why she hadn’t.

“Good. Blake probably warned her not to.”

I laughed. “I seriously doubt that.”

Rodriguez shrugged. “You never know. He probably doesn’t want his uncle finding out you’re in conflict with one another. It would reflect badly on him.”

“Now that I can almost believe,” I said with a sigh. “Well, thank you. Can we have another session soon please? Maybe we can even double them up?”

“I’m not sure I’ll have time for that, but...” He must have caught my stricken expression. “Fine. We’ll double them up sometimes. I’ll have more time over the Wintermark break. Are you staying at Bloodwing for the festival? I assume so. You don’t have any family in Sangratha, right?”

I shook my head. I hadn’t thought about it. I supposed the school would be almost empty over the break. But that didn’t bother me. I’d enjoy the quiet.

“I’ll be here at Bloodwing, yes. And that would be great,” I said with relief. “Thank you, Professor.”

Out in the hall, I had only one thing to say.

So, is there something you want to tell me? I asked my mother.

She sighed. I did try to tell you.

No, you didn’t, I argued. I thought back. When?

The other day, she reminded me. In the hall. Just before we were so rudely interrupted.

I tried to remember. You said you made changes. My heart sped up. What kind of changes?

Well, Classical Sangrathan for one. You can read it.

It’s just the Old Tongue, I said immediately. The ancient language of Aercanum.

You were tutored in the Old Tongue, were you? Her tone was sardonic.

Well, no, I admitted. Not that I can recall.

I was. I grew up speaking it. Reading it. Classical Sangrathan is the Old Tongue, with a few slight variations. The text you found in your professor’s office was a very old one. Older than your school mottos.

That’s why it took me a moment to be able to understand it, I replied.

Yes. We were both... processing what you saw.

Will I still be able to read Classical Sangrathan when you’re... gone? I asked.

I have no idea. That’s an excellent question.

What other things have you done to me? I demanded. What changes have you made?

I haven’t done anything intentionally. Consider this more like... spillage, she said.

Spillage?My back went up. I do not like the sounds of that.

I’m seeping into you, she said. Her voice was almost tired. I try not to, but I can feel it happening. A little bit more every day.

I thought for a moment. Does it hurt? Is the same happening to you? Am I seeping into you, I mean?

It doesn’t hurt, no. Thank you for asking. Her voice was tender. I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell. You have far fewer life experiences than I do. Far fewer skills.

Well, thanks, I said sarcastically. No need to remind me.

This could be a good thing, she said. Maybe something of me will be useful to you. Like the Classical Sangrathan.

She was right about that, I had to admit.

I think I’ve found the right ritual, I told her, the excitement I’d felt slowly returning. You saw the text?

I did. Thank you for letting me see it. But I think you’re forgetting it’s on a shelf in your professor’s office. Rather out of reach for the moment.

For the moment, I said. But now that I know where it is, we can get to it. I’ll come up with a plan.

Things were coming along. It wasn’t hopeless. Not anymore. I’d get the book, even if I had to break in during the dead of night and steal it.

But I didn’t think it had to come to that.

Professor Rodriguez had promised to give me extra lessons in thrallguard. Surely during one of those sessions I’d arrive early and the door would be open again.

Next time I’d go straight for the book, grab it, stash it in my satchel, then wait outside. He’d never even have to know. I could return the book as soon as the ritual was complete.

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 23 - MEDRA

Vaughn showed up at class the next day. Not Basic Combat for Blightborn, where he hadn’t been all week. No, this was the History of Sangratha which we all had in the mornings.

He entered the lecture hall quietly, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

But Naveen stood up immediately. “Vaughn,” he shouted, waving his arms. “Over here. Come sit with us.”

The tall, skinny boy was hunched over. He kept his head down as he walked slowly over to us.

As he approached, I could see why. My heart sank.

Vaughn’s appearance was shocking. His left eye was bruised, fading into shades of purple and yellow. His right arm was in a sling. Obviously it had been broken.

“Vaughn,” Florence whispered, her face horrified as he slid into our row next to her. “What happened to you?”

Vaughn stared down at the desk, his normally cheerful face drained. He fiddled with the edge of his sleeve with his left hand. “It’s nothing. I had an accident.”

“An accident?” Naveen's eyes were wide as he took in Vaughn's battered appearance. “An accident?” he repeated, his voice a mix of worry and disbelief. “That doesn't explain the black eye or the broken arm. What kind of an accident exactly?”

My heart was hammering. I thought back to the last night I’d seen Vaughn, on the beach near the bonfire party. Theo had invited him, he’d said. I’d never told Florence about that. There had seemed to be no need to.

Vaughn shifted uncomfortably, still not meeting our eyes. “I fell down. It’s worse than it looks,” he said quietly. “The healers... They were able to fix most of it.” I knew better than most just how much the healers could fix and how rapidly. If this was how Vaughn still looked even after seeing a healer then it must have been ten times worse before.