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Blake gave a low laugh full of bitterness. “You want to know why I’m really afraid of Viktor? Because I know exactly how far he’ll go. I used to think I could handle it. I thought I could take whatever he threw at me and it wouldn’t matter. But …” He trailed off.

I didn’t say anything, already pretty sure I knew what he’d been going to say.

Blake cleared his throat. “I tried. I really did. I really fucking tried. But look at me, Pendragon. Take a good fucking look.”

“Blake …” I blinked. Determined not to let the water in the corner of my eyes show.

“He’d love to break you. Just to watch me fall apart. And I can’t—” He broke off, running his hands through his hair. “I can’t let that happen. I know you don’t owe me anything. But please, just …”

There was total silence for a moment.

“Fine,” I said finally. “Let’s go to the assembly.”

He gave a hoarse laugh. “Right. The assembly. Nothing like an outdoor assembly in the middle of winter.”

We started walking fast enough so that we could see Theo and Vaughn in the distance. Not quite fast enough to completely catch up. The space between Blake and me pulsed and throbbed like a beating heart.

“I’ll bring him down, don’t worry,” Blake said quietly as we walked. “There’s nothing I want more.” I felt him sneak a glance at me. “So you feel better now? After punching me in the face?” He tried to put some levity in the words.

“Can’t deny it was satisfying. Would have been better if you’d bled.”

He smirked. “My nose has been broken more than once, as you can probably tell. Guess you just didn’t hit hard enough.”

Scowling, I made a move like I was going to hit him again, and he laughed and dodged.

“Anyhow, we Drakharrows are made of hardy stuff. For better or for worse.” He was quiet for a moment. Then, “But I’m glad. Glad it felt good. I meant what I said. I deserved it.”

Ahead of us, Theo and Vaughn had reached the huge double doors leading to the courtyard outside the school. Light streamed in. I could see a huge crowd of students already gathered. Blake and I stood on the threshold. Something between us had shifted. Some thread, broken and frayed, had been picked up again. I didn’t know if we were starting over. But I did know he didn’t want to be my enemy.

And gods knew, I couldn’t afford to keep pushing people away. Not when I’d lost Nyxaris. Not when I’d already lost Florence.

We walked out into the courtyard, side by side, separate but together. There was still so much unsaid between us. So much that had been damaged. But when I glanced up at Blake—at the scars, the ruined eye, the jagged flesh, at everything that might have repulsed someone else—I didn’t feel repelled. Not even a little. His face was somehow more beautiful, more haunted. Certainly more dangerous. And a lot more … well, real. It made me want to touch him. To remind myself I could. That if I wanted him to be, he was … Well. I wouldn’t say the word. I’d said it to Nyxaris. Gods, I’d practically shouted it in the Dragon Court that night, in front of an audience. But I wouldn’t, couldn’t, say it to myself.

As we stepped out into the pale winter daylight, the first thing I saw was Headmaster Kim’s head on a spike.

I stopped short, my breath catching in my throat. Blake’s hand was on my arm instantly, pulling me forward in a way that was so subtly done most people probably didn’t realize I was being pulled at all. I followed, half a second behind his stride, eyes still fixated on the decaying head.

It was mounted on a tall, black iron stake, right in the center of the snow-covered courtyard. Kim’s skin had turned a grayish blue. His mouth was slack. One eyelid had frozen shut. He looked as if he had been … surprised.

Students gathered all over the courtyard, forming hushed, un-easy clusters. A few were gawking at the head. Most were ignoring it. A couple of students were crying. Kim hadn’t exactly been a warm, beloved figure, but he’d represented something at Bloodwing: continuity. He was a steady, reliable presence. He stood between us students and the rest of the highblood elites, between blightborn and the rest of Sangratha. We’d never been exactly safe within the academy’s walls. Naveen’s death was proof of that. But we’d been lulled into a feeling of semisecurity, of being somewhat valued, thanks in part to Headmaster Kim. Now, in an instant, that had been shattered.

“How very kind of you to join us, Miss Pendragon. Mr. Drak-harrow.”

The voice came from above. Cool, composed. Laced with a familiar sweet malice. Regan.

I lifted my head slowly, turning around. Regan stood on the stone balcony that jutted out from the third floor, just above the entrance to the school. Climbing vines and writhing dragons with fierce, angry expressions were carved into the terrace. On the stone wall behind her was the Bloodwing school insignia, four inter-twined dragons. I stared at it, remembering Edward Ashveil’s earlier words. Sanguis et Flamma Floreant. Let blood and flame flourish. On either side of it, etched into the stone, were the four house names and their respective mottos. A good reminder of who the place really belonged to.

House Drakharrow’s motto was Sanguine Vincti. Bound by blood. I pursed my lips. That one hit a little too close to home. House Mortis’s Mortem Excito meant “I Summon Death.” Well, Catherine had done just that, hadn’t she? I hoped that was the one and only time I’d see such a powerful use of necromancy. But I wasn’t about to bet on it. Avari’s motto was Luna Sanguinea Surgit. Blood moon rises. I assumed that had something to do with Kage’s ability to turn into a wolf. But I had no idea what exactly. Could everyone in his house do what he could? And then there was House Orphos’s motto, Lunaya’s house. Sanguis Somniatorum. Blood of dreamers. It seemed fairly self-explanatory after what we’d seen in the Dragon Court. But still, I wondered.

Up on the balcony, Regan wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by highbloods—and only highbloods as far as I could see. I recognized some of the members of the board as well as some of our teachers: Professor Sankara, Professor Allenvale. And, of course, Professor Hassan was there, looking absolutely filled with pride. That couldn’t be a good sign. Regan herself looked stunning as always, perhaps even more so today. Her long golden hair had been coiled in a sleek bun atop her head. Decked out in a formfitting dress with a bold flower motif of red, white, and silver, with a heavy black fur cape around her shoulders, she seemed to be paying homage to all of the noble houses except Orphos.

But my eyes didn’t stay on Regan, beautiful though she was. No, they were already moving to the man at her side. I smothered a gasp as I saw Blake’s uncle. Viktor Drakharrow’s hand sat on Regan’s waist possessively, gnarled fingers curled like claws into the silk of her gown. The touch was possessive—almost cruel. It must have hurt, but if it did, Regan sure wasn’t showing it.

Still, I pitied her. I really did. If she thought that going from Blake to Viktor was some sort of an upgrade … Well, there was no accounting for taste, I supposed.

But it wasn’t Viktor’s hand on Regan’s waist that had made me nearly gasp, it was everything else about him. Viktor looked worse than I’d ever seen him; I was surprised the entire courtyard around me wasn’t filled with students chattering about it. But then, considering what had happened to Kim, I supposed it was no surprise they were keeping silent.

Since the last time I’d seen Viktor, Blake had tried to kill him. From the look of it, he’d nearly succeeded.