Chapter 19
NINETEEN
HEADMASTER VEYNE
The wards crackle faintly as Headmaster Veyne steps through the arched entry of Veilborn Academy, the scent of magic clinging to his cloak. The silence that greets him is wrong. Too empty and brittle.
He was gone less than a day. Twenty hours, to be precise. Long enough to escort his daughter, Nyssa, back from the Fae border for her apprenticeship assignment. Short enough that he’d expected to return before the Council created any issues.
Apparently, he gave them too much credit.
A sharp flick of his fingers seals the main gate behind him, warding against intrusion from outside forces. The halls whisper of damage control—of power surged and stripped too fast. His boots strike the stone in a rhythmic echo as he passes faculty rooms and dorm wings now strangely quiet.
Too quiet for the middle of a school day.
When he reaches the Council’s private wing, he finds chaos thinly veiled beneath formality. The usual guards are gone. The chamber doors—one cracked wide open, one scorched at the frame—speak of something uncontained.
He enters.
Inside, five Councilors sit scattered at the crescent table like chastised children waiting for a lecture. Vemir is pale, eyes shadowed. Rennic won’t meet his gaze. And Welsh stares straight ahead as if he’s trying to unsee what they’ve done.
Good.
He lets the silence press against their lungs before he speaks. “Would anyone like to explain why a full binding ritual was attempted—without me and without all council seats filled?”
Councilor Rennic clears his throat. “It was urgent. We feared a resurgence of uncontrolled Veil magic. The students were getting loud and the girl—”
“She has a name,” Veyne cuts in. “And more control than the lot of you combined, clearly. Where is she now?”
Silence.
“She was taken to the lower chamber,” Councilor Vemir says at last. “But... the ritual failed.”
Veyne lifts a brow. “Failed?”
“It broke,” Rennic admits, sweat glinting at his temple. “And the Veil did, too.”
There it is.
Veyne exhales slowly. “You opened the Veil in your attempt to bind her?”
“No,” Vemir says quickly. “We didn’t do it. She did.”
“You provoked a tethered, unstudied Veilborn until her magic fractured the wards?”
Rennic stands, hands splayed. “She was a risk. You know that.”
Veyne’s voice is low but sharp. “You don’t muzzle fire by throwing it into a powder room.”
The chamber hums with tension. Shadows stir in the corners. Something ancient is awake now—and the Council is to blame. He knew this was a bad idea.
Before he can speak again, the doors creak open behind him. Nyssa steps in, cloak still damp with mist, her long dark braid trailing over one shoulder.
“You didn’t tell me your school was planning a coup while you were gone,” she says lightly, gaze sweeping over the startled Councilors.
“This is Nyssa,” Veyne says coolly. “My daughter. She’ll be observing operations here while the border remains unstable.”
Rennic scoffs. “This is Council business, she shouldn’t be here.”
“And I am Council,” Veyne reminds him. “More than that—I am Headmaster. And what happens in my school is my business and by extension, my family’s.”
Nyssa’s gaze sharpens as it lands on Vemir. “The students are talking about a girl who stood alone in a circle and tore a hole through the veil. It sounds like you made a mess bigger than it needed to be. There are more ways to contain something you fear than to bind it.”
Vemir’s jaw tightens. “We acted in the best interest of the school.”
“No,” Veyne says, stepping closer. “You acted in fear. You saw power you didn’t understand and tried to cage it like it was still the Age of Burning.”
He lets that hang between them.
“And now, you will answer for it.”
They go silent again.
Nyssa smirks faintly and murmurs under her breath, “I should’ve stayed at the border. Less drama.”
Veyne hears it but doesn’t disagree. He moves toward the scrying mirror inset in the table’s center. “Find her, Nyssa. Show me the damage.” He pauses and takes in the council. “And this time… let’s try doing our jobs together.”