Page 21 of The Bond That Burns (Bloodwing Academy #2)

“You must always remember your place,” Professor Hasson said, pacing the front of the room as I sat on a stone bench, obediently scribbling messy notes on the parchment I held precariously on my lap.

The classroom with its open wall to the sea must have originally been used for dragon riders, but it wasn’t particularly conducive to academic lectures. There were no desks to put my things on, for one. Not to mention when the wind picked up, we were both freezing. Not that Hassan would ever show it. She’d probably lecture through a snowstorm.

“Your allegiance belongs to the Tribunal and to the highbloods who have allowed you the privilege of continuing to breathe Sangrathan air. A dragon is a weapon, a tool for power. It is your duty to wield it on behalf of those who govern the realm.” Hassan was nothing if not repetitive. She tapped her cane on the stone floor, the sharp lines of her face set in a look of disapproval. Nothing new.

I studied her. The professor was dressed severely as always, her long hair streaked with silver pulled back into a tight bun, her ink-black gown devoid of embroidery or decorations. How had she gotten this way? Did she have any family of her own? How had she come to teach at Bloodwing? And more importantly, why the hell did she love highbloods so damned much?

The coercion magic may have been wavering but Hassan’s loyalty was unshakable. I doubted anything could change it.

Hassan’s cane slammed down on the stone seat in front of me and I jumped.

“Riders,” she said, when she’d made sure she’d regained my full attention. “Are not partners to dragons. Nor are they equals to the highbloods who command them. Riders are intermediaries.”

I thought it was a little ridiculous that she kept referring to “riders” in the plural, as if I wasn’t the only one. But I wasn’t about to point this out.

“You are a bridge. A necessary tool to channel power from one point to another. That is all. Never forget it.” I felt the weight of her eyes on me. “Highbloods, despite being the rightful rulers of Sangratha, may not speak directly to dragons. That is the role of the rider. The dragon may see you as its rider but never mistake its obedience for loyalty to you .” Her lips thinned as she glared down at me. “The dragon’s true loyalty, if a beast may be said to have any, belongs to the highblood house which commands it.”

I wondered if Kage would disagree. After all, he’d told me Nyxaris had been loyal to his riders and not merely his house.

She leaned down, punctuating every word with a tap of her infernal cane. “You are an instrument. Your purpose is to convey the will of the highbloods and to ensure that your dragon performs its duty. Nothing more.”

I forced myself to stay silent, swallowing all of the arguments that were threatening to burn a hole in my throat. I knew Nyxaris would hate Hassan.

There was a knock at the door and Hassan’s head snapped towards it, annoyance crossing her face. She glanced at me, then moved to the door.

She opened it, spoke to someone, then turned back to me. “Stay here,” she ordered, before stepping out into the corridor.

The moment the door closed behind her, I sprang to my feet. Hassan was never going to give me the answers I needed. I’d be a fool if I thought I’d ever win her over.

I moved quickly to her desk, scanning the array of books and papers that covered it.

Then I saw it. A thin leather dossier with a name emblazoned on the front: Nyxaris, Avari Duskdrake.

My pulse racing, I grabbed it and began flipping through the pages.

The first sections were detailed and clinical. Descriptions of Nyxaris’s physical capabilities: his wingspan, flight endurance, and firepower. I didn’t know where the information had even come from or if it was accurate. Had someone from Avari put the dossier together based on their historical records? Or were these simply educated guesses based on what they’d seen of Nyxaris so far?

I flipped through the dossier and the content changed to something more harrowing.

Historically designated as an enforcer. Nyxaris exhibited unparalleled efficiency in subduing rogue dragons and riders.

My heart flew into my mouth. Rogue dragons? Rogue riders?

Known for instilling terror among noncompliant factions. Deployment successful in 97% of cases.

Someone from House Avari must have written this. That, or the information had been stolen from them somehow.

My stomach churned as I absorbed the details. Why hadn’t Kage shared any of this with me? Nyxaris had been used as an enforcer. When other dragons or riders faltered or rebelled, he’d been sent to remind them of their place. The language was vague and militaristic, but the implications were horrifying. I read the term “punishment” more times than I could count.

Why hadn’t Nyxaris told me this himself? Did he even remember the details of his brutal past?

The next page contained a dire summary of his capabilities, alongside cryptic notes about “strategic utility” and “emergency measures.” It was clear that the Tribunal considered Nyxaris a weapon above all else, but that was no surprise.

I flipped a few pages and saw a heading that made my blood run cold.

Assessment of Rider Compatibility. My name was scrawled across the top and below it was a list of traits and observations, clearly made by Hassan.

Temperament: Stubborn. Questionable loyalty to highbloods. Willful and lacking in discipline. Challenges authority at every turn.

Connection to Nyxaris: Unknown. Rider is disrespectful and evasive.

Psychological Resilience: Moderate. Displays reckless tendencies.

Potential for Soul Binding: Cannot be determined. More sessions needed.

I read the last line twice, my blood turning to ice.

Potential for Soul Binding .

We learned about the ritual of soul binding last year when I’d attended one of Florence’s Magical Foundations classes with Professor Wispwood. She’d told us about the practice in which highbloods would perform the ritual on blightborn. The blightborn was supposed to willingly accept the vampire’s soul, allowing them to live on through them. But it hadn’t always been done willingly. And sometimes the blightborn had been riders. By binding their soul to a rider, the highblood could control a dragon directly. That is, if the ritual even worked. If it didn’t, the highblood could die.

I wracked my mind, trying to remember what else Professor Wispwood had said about the ritual. But I couldn’t remember everything.

Still, the price was obviously steep. Who would want to risk their own death?

And yet, the potential pay-out must have been worth it for some. A highblood could keep all of their vampire abilities–plus gain something incredibly elusive: the ability to control a dragon through their bond with their rider.

Meanwhile, the rider lost everything. Their soul was either destroyed or overridden by the highblood. I wasn’t sure what would be worse. Their body was invaded, taken from them.

My head was spinning. The checklist wasn’t just about evaluating my performance in the class. It was about determining whether I could be sacrificed.

My eyes darted to the bottom of the page, searching for a name, for any clue as to who had ordered this. This couldn’t be the Tribunal’s doing. Someone specific must have arranged for this class. Someone who wanted Nyxaris all to themselves. Someone willing to risk dying for the chance to fly a dragon.

Viktor Drakharrow was the obvious suspect. But I couldn’t be sure. Hassan didn’t belong to any house, did she? She was supposed to be neutral as an instructor. But some instructors clearly did have house affinities. I thought of Professor Allenvale who taught at a House Orphos school and wore their colors with pride. She was a highblood though. Maybe that made a difference.

Who did Hassan really answer to? I had to find out.

The door creaked open. I slammed the dossier shut and darted out from behind the desk as quickly as I could, my heart pounding as Hassan stepped back into the room and her gaze swept over me.

“What are you doing?” she demanded suspiciously.

I forced myself to meet her eyes. “Waiting. You told me to stay, but I was bored and cold. So I was walking back and forth, getting some exercise.” I faked a yawn. “Is that all right with you?”

“No, it’s not,” she snapped. “You should be contemplating what you’ve learned here today. Not wasting your time walking about like an empty-headed ninny.”

“I was contemplating as I walked,” I replied flippantly.

Her eyes narrowed. “Disrespect will not be tolerated.”

“Would you like me to leave and come back another day?” I asked innocently. Now that I knew she was evaluating me for my death, I suddenly didn’t give a shit if I failed her little course. What was the worst that could happen? They’d execute me sooner rather than try to steal my body later? “You seem a little distracted today. Is everything all right?”

Her face flushed with anger. “I am the instructor. You are the pupil. You will wait as long as is needed when I am required elsewhere. Is that understood?”

“Absolutely,” I said, with false politeness. “Are we finished for today?”

She studied me in silence. “You may go.”

It wasn’t an answer. But I could tell she wanted me to get out.

Fine by me. Right now, I never wanted to see the detestable woman again. I’d known she disliked me. I hadn’t thought she’d be willing to actively plot my death. I’d been naive not to expect it though.

I knew I’d have to go back. I had to find out who was pulling her puppet strings. And how much time I had before they decided on my fate.