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“He’s the academy’s blood-magic expert,” Blake said, his voice dangerously low. “And I’ll give you ten to one odds that he opened your dwarven gate with Sharma’s blood.”

“What about Silvio?” I asked quickly.

“Silvio’s gone, too,” Kage confirmed.

“Who’s Silvio?” said Kazmyn.

“He’s about to be fucking dead, that’s all you need to know.” I knew Blake had had it out for Silvio ever since the House Mortis leader had laid hands on me. Now I knew Blake would blame himself for not acting sooner.

“As soon as we catch up to him and his squad,” said Magda.

Catch up. Because we weren’t alone now. There was a second squad. And they were already ahead of us. Already treading the path below the surface. Already on their way to the dragon eggs.

“Fucking shit,” said Visha. And as always, she was right.

Chapter 44

REGAN

It was my second first day as headmistress of Bloodwing Academy. I stepped into the reception area of the headmaster’s office. No one was there yet, as I’d risen early. When I stepped out of my room, I was surprised to see who wasn’t there. No wolf lying on the floor. No tall, dark shadow leaning against the wall. No Kage Tanaka. No Lysander Orphos.

Instead a random Avari student stared back at me with wide, panicked eyes as if the sight of me—upright and dressed—was too much for him to handle this early in the morning. I’d told him I was heading down to my office. He’d blurted that he had to come with me. I’d told him if he tried to follow me I’d rip his throat out, and that had quickly ended that conversation.

I walked through the halls of Bloodwing feeling strangely empty. Somehow I’d gotten used to Kage and Lysander always being there, just outside my door, quiet and relentless. They’d tended to me. Saved me. Sent me healers. Guarded me like I was something precious. And now they were gone. But it wasn’t like they hadn’t done more than enough. I had to get used to being alone again. That was the point, wasn’t it?

As for what Viktor had said about Kage and me being mates, well, he’d obviously been delusional, the fevered fantasy of a monster who wanted to turn Kage and me into tools he could control. Whatever he’d been planning to do to me would have failed because I was alone—and I’d probably always be that way. Kage and I weren’t mates. He’d basically confirmed that. We were nothing to each other. Tonight I’d pack my things and move back to my own room in the Drakhar-row Tower. I’d been an idiot to let myself stay in Avari even this long.

I peered around the vestibule. Everything looked pretty much the same. I glanced into the boardroom. Well, maybe not everything—I noticed someone had whittled a few lurid carvings off some of the chairs. Good for them. My heels clicked as I paused in front of a tall mirror mounted on the wall next to the secretary’s desk. The girl staring back at me was elegant and stylish. Perfectly put-together. Well, almost. Long, gleaming gold hair fell over my shoulders in smooth waves. I’d brushed it that morning until it shone. My outfit was immaculate, a tailored jacket fitted through the waist and shoulders. The lines were flattering but commanding. At least, I thought so. A white silk button-up lay beneath the jacket. On the bottom, a short, pleated skirt showed off my legs. My boots were tall, black, and spiked. Heels hurt, but they made me taller which made me feel more confident. They’d also come in handy on one particular occasion.

I shook my head slightly, thinking of Brocklin and what a moron he’d been.

The jacket was purple to match my eyes. The skirt was a plaid blend of white, gold, and silver. I was wearing the colors of three houses—no red. If anyone had a problem with it, they could take it up with the nearest cliff. After all, I supposedly represented the whole school now, not just Drakharrow. And I looked fucking good in purple.

My gaze dropped to my throat, and I raised a hand to touch the scar. Funny how Viktor had tried to kill me, only to save me. But then, could you really call what he’d done to me saving? I pressed two fingers to the edge, feeling the ridge of puckered skin. I’d purposely chosen not to wear a scarf, even though a scarred highblood was worse than a scarred blightborn. Highbloods weren’t supposed to scar. Because we weren’t supposed to bleed. They were. And if we did? It was a sign of weakness. That’s what I was supposed to be, though, right? The weak, sheltered, noble little daughter running the school. The girl Elaria Avari thought she could wrap around her little finger.

What was I, really? I still had no idea. But I knew the scar was part of it. I was no longer flawless. I was no longer pure. But I’d survived. And I was still standing. If that made someone uncomfortable, that was their problem. They could avert their eyes or, better yet, go fuck themselves. I wasn’t going to soften this part of myself for them. I was done asking the world for permission.

Someone cleared their throat behind me, and I turned to see a curvy dwarven girl with wide doe eyes and bright red lipstick.

“Good morning, Dani.”

“Good morning, Headmistress Pansera,” she squeaked.

I sighed. “At ease, Dani. I’m not going to bite.” I gestured to her desk. “Come in. Sit down.”

A bit of color rose in her cheeks. “Of course not. I mean, thank you.” She glanced at the door behind her. “I wasn’t sure what the arrangement would be, with Headmaster Rodriguez leaving.”

I smiled faintly. “Well, I could still use a secretary.” I gestured to her neatly organized desk. “And it looks like you’ve been doing a good job.”

She blinked with surprise. “Thank you.” Then she paled. “But when you go into the office …”

“Yes?”

She flushed. “Well, I haven’t had time to tidy up after him yet.”

“Ah.” I understood. “He was packing in a hurry.”

She nodded. She moved behind the desk and quickly began lining up quills. It looked like she even had a color-coded system. I hid a smile as I pushed through the door into my old office and stopped. Rodriguez’s things were everywhere. Clothes littered over every surface. Some half-stuffed into backpacks and satchels he’d clearly changed his mind about taking. The desk was covered with papers and books. A half-drunk cup of kava sat on top of a stack of letters beside a half-eaten apple. Behind the desk, the door to the headmaster’s storage room stood open. The room was the size of an average school bedroom, and right now it was crammed floor to ceiling with all sorts of miscellaneous junk—though, I suspected Rodriguez would call them treasures. Books and scrolls, small trinkets, and glassware lined a floor-to-ceiling shelf. Crates were stacked on the floor, some made of wood, others of metal. There were taller shapes shoved into the back of the small room—tall pieces of furniture covered in dust cloths. Something that looked like a wardrobe or maybe a tall standing mirror. What looked like an old lectern.