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Viktor’s white hair had been raked from his scalp and hung in stringy clumps. One side of his face was practically melted, as if someone had taken a candlestick and held it against the flesh. The skin had sagged and puddled. He wore a long red cloak that hid most of his frame and black leather gloves over his hands, so I couldn’t tell just how bad the damage really was. But if his face was any indication, the battle had been brutal. I wondered what exactly Blake had done to make Viktor Drakharrow look like a walking corpse.

Still, I warned myself, he was a walking corpse that could smile like a man who still held the world by its throat.

I looked back at Regan, and my stomach turned. Her face was a perfect expression of serene defiance. With her chin high, it was as if she wanted that decaying monster’s hand on her waist. As if being possessed by a disgusting predator like Viktor was something to be proud of.

Beside me, a soft growl came from Blake’s throat, so low I was pretty sure I was the only one who’d heard. I knew—knew—that if he could, he’d drag me out of that courtyard right then and there.

But neither of us moved. Because something about that moment was telling him the same thing it was telling me: This was just the beginning.

Viktor lifted a gloved hand, and the low hum in the courtyard died down. “Students of Bloodwing Academy.” His voice was raspy, as if he’d breathed in too much smoke.

I glanced at Blake, my mind filled with a million questions. What exactly had happened between the two men? I tried to turn my attention back to what Viktor was saying.

“The events of a few nights ago—” what a very subtle way of describing the night all hell broke loose, Viktor’s nephew woke the deranged House Orphos dragon, and stole one of Bloodwing’s noble highblood daughters “—have reminded us of a painful truth. Within Sangratha, there is an order. Every little child knows the words.” He paused, and a blightborn woman came forward. She was dressed like a servant in a plain black dress with a crimson apron. She was neither old nor young, perhaps fifty, with curly brown hair tinged with gray. I vaguely recognized her, thought I’d seen her in the Avari tower. Yes, she was one of the housekeepers who cleaned the school after classes ended for the day.

Stepping to the edge of the balcony, she recited, “We serve the blood, we serve the line. The highbloods lead, by right divine. In blood we trust, in grace we stand. The highbloods guide us, hand in hand.”

I thought back to the night I’d followed Blake into the city of Veilmar and listened to a different blightborn woman repeat those very same words as I watched small children beg.

“The Creeds of Faith,” Viktor announced. “We all know them. Yet how often do we think upon the truth of the words? Their sanctity? Highbloods lead. Blightborn follow. Why? To ensure the safety and happiness of all.” His face stretched in what I assumed was supposed to be a smile. He gestured to the stake in the center of the courtyard. “Our last headmaster sadly failed to uphold that cherished order. But we will not linger in the past.”

A foreboding feeling filled me. I looked at Regan’s face just as Viktor lifted his hand and gestured to his consort.

“Today, a new era begins for Sangratha—and for you, our Thralldom’s most precious young people. Today, I am proud to present to you all the new headmistress of Bloodwing Academy.”

Regan stepped up and laid her hands along the balustrade. “Thank you, Lord Drakharrow,” she began. “As the new head-mistress of Bloodwing, I shall implement urgently needed changes. This academy has been a highblood sanctuary for centuries. The most pure of the highblood houses send their children to reside within these walls. They must be kept safe. This is a place of power. A place of legacy.” She paused, and the entire courtyard held its breath. “In recent years, that legacy has been besmirched by deviance, disrespect, and disobedience.” Her lips curved slightly as she gazed down at me. “That ends now. Here. Today.”

I held very still, refusing to flinch.

Our new headmistress continued. “As we resume the Wintermark term, improved security measures will be enacted to ensure the safety of our highblood students. A new task force will regularly patrol the halls. Lockdowns will be enforced whenever they are deemed required. No one who harms highbloods will walk the halls of our beloved academy unchallenged again.”

My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms. Around me a few of the blightborn students were exchanging nervous, skeptical looks. Some highbloods were smirking.

The idea of highbloods needing protection from blightborn students was absolutely ludicrous: I’d seen all the proof I needed on the way to this absurd assembly. I glanced around, searching the crowd for Dani. When I didn’t spot her, I wondered if she’d skipped the assembly altogether. I wouldn’t have blamed her.

“Before classes resume today,” Regan went on smoothly, “you’ll all be treated to a demonstration. A lesson in accountability, which we would all do well to learn from.” Turning, she gestured to the woman beside Viktor. The one dressed as a servant. “This blight-born woman,” Regan pronounced, “was found stealing from the private quarters of a highblood professor.” She glanced at Professor Hassan whose smile had deepened as if she was happy to be in the limelight. “What a heinous act. What a betrayal.”

“Please, milady,” the blightborn woman interrupted, sinking to her knees, tears streaming down her face as she looked down at us all from between the rungs of the railing, like a prisoner staring out of a cell window. “My son. He’s sick. I needed the coin to send to the healer back in our vill—”

“Silence!” Regan slammed her hands down on the balustrade so hard it must have hurt. Her face was pale. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said she was nervous. She certainly didn’t seem to be enjoying herself as much as Hassan was. “Rise and be silent.”

Trembling, the woman gripped the edge of the balcony rail and pulled herself back up.

“As I was saying,” Regan went on, beginning to play with the fastenings on her black cloak, “this woman betrayed the trust we place in the lowblood servants who dwell amongst us.”

Lowblood? That was a new one. But it made sense. If we were supposed to be the opposite of pure, the opposite of high, then of course we were low. Low and blighted.

“Crimes against highbloods will no longer be tolerated.”

Silence.

I looked around in confusion, then back up at the balcony, waiting for something to happen. Too late, I realized it already had. I started to open my mouth in horror just as the thrallguard Regan was using made the woman’s eyes go blank. A gurgling sound came from her throat. Then in one swift, unnatural movement, she reached both hands up to her own neck and tore.

Her scream lasted less than half a second, yet somehow it rang out and echoed through the courtyard as blood sprayed and her body slumped over the edge of the balustrade, hovering there for a moment before toppling down into the courtyard. Students below the balcony screamed and stepped back. There was a wet sound as the woman’s body landed in a shallow grave of snow, reminding me of the splat the blood apple had made when it had hit Dani. I felt sick.

“Thank you all for coming. This assembly is dismissed,” Regan announced brightly. “Please find your way to class. Blessed Blood to you all!”

From around the courtyard, hundreds of highblood voices echoed back “Blessed Blood.”