Chapter 12 Lindsay
TWELVE
LINDSAY
The east stairwell descends in a tight spiral of cold stone and iron railings that have long since lost their black paint.
Each step echoes softly, swallowed almost immediately by the thick darkness that clings to me like a second skin.
Kael moves ahead, silent as always, his shadows flowing around him in restless ribbons.
Mine answer, brushing against his, like curious fingers.
We don’t speak.
We don’t need to.
The air grows colder the deeper we go—thicker, older, tasting of dust and iron and something faintly metallic, like old blood long dried.
The wards here are heavier; I feel them press against my skin like invisible palms, testing, probing.
They recognize Kael—parting for him with a faint sigh of reluctant obedience—but they hesitate at me.
The shadows at my feet flare once, and the wards shudder, then yield. Kael stops walking and glances back, eyes dark with something unreadable.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low and carefully neutral.
I nod once.
Only then does he glance over his shoulder. His gaze lingers for half a second longer than necessary, assessing, cataloging. Whatever he sees there doesn’t reassure him—but it doesn’t stop him either.
We reach the bottom. A short corridor ends in a single arched door of black iron. No handle. No keyhole. Just a smooth surface etched with runes that pulse faintly red, like dying coals.
Kael stops.
He lifts his hand—palm open—and presses it to the center of the door.
The runes flare white. A low groan echoes through the stone, and the door swings inward.
The chamber beyond is small—smaller than I expected. Circular, domed ceiling lost in shadow, walls lined with empty shelves that once held books long since removed. In the center, on a low pedestal of dark marble veined with silver, sits the book.
It’s unassuming at first glance—thick, leather-bound, edges worn, title long faded. But the moment I cross the threshold, it reacts.
The air shivers.
The temperature drops ten degrees.
The shadows in the room—mine, Kael’s, the chamber’s own—surge toward the pedestal like water rushing to a drain.
And then I hear it. A voice. Not spoken aloud.
Inside my blood. Inside my bones. Inside the place where the Veil first whispered my name.
Child.
The word is a caress and a command.
The book trembles on the pedestal—once, twice—then the cover flips open of its own accord, pages riffling as though caught in a sudden wind. They settle on a random spread near the middle.
A single spell.
Handwritten in faded ink that still shimmers faintly, as though the words are alive. A sigil dominates the left page—complex, spiraling, edged with thorns and eyes. Beneath it, a single line of text in a language I shouldn’t know but do:
To pierce the veil of lies and see what was hidden.
The voice speaks again—closer now, intimate, like breath against the back of my neck.
You will need this, daughter. To find the truth they buried. To see what they fear you will become.
My pulse thuds loud in my ears.
Kael steps up beside me—close enough that his arm brushes mine. His shadows tighten, forming a loose perimeter around us both.
“Lindsay…” His voice is low. “What is it?”
I don’t answer immediately. I reach out instead and lay my palm flat on the open page. The sigil flares violet.
Heat races up my arm. The shadows in the room surge upward, spiraling around us in a slow, deliberate vortex. Bright lightning cracks through the black, illuminating Kael’s face in sharp flashes—wide eyes, parted lips, the raw want and fear warring across his features.
The voice speaks one last time—soft and almost tender.
Learn it. Use it. Become what you were always meant to be.
The book snaps shut, and the chamber falls silent. I lift my hand, flexing my fingers around the new mark. It shimmers in the same way the ink had, only it’s violet, and already fading into my skin. Kael’s gaze drops to it before he lifts his eyes to my face.
“What did it give you?”
“A spell,” I say quietly. “To see through the lies and find out what they hid.”
His throat works. “And you’re going to use it?”
It isn’t a question, not really, just words spoken out loud to confirm what he already knows. I meet his eyes.
“Yes.”
The word barely leaves my mouth before I feel it.
Kael.
Something tightens in him—subtle but unmistakable. His shoulders square, jaw locking as though he’s bracing for impact. His shadows pull in closer, darker, sharper at the edges.
There it is.
I let out a quiet, humorless huff. “You’re bristling.”
His gaze snaps back to me. “I’m not.”
“You are,” I say flatly. “Your shadows just went into defensive mode.”
“They respond to threat.”
“Funny,” I reply, tilting my head. “Because the only thing that changed is me saying I’m going to use the spell.”
Silence stretches. He doesn’t deny it and that tells me everything.
“So what is it?” I ask. “The spell scares you, or the part where I didn’t ask your permission?”
His eyes darken—not with anger, but with restraint pulled too tight. “This isn’t about permission.”
“Isn’t it?” I step back half a pace, giving myself space to breathe. “Because it feels a lot like the same conversation we keep having. You deciding what I’m ready for. What I should know. What I shouldn’t touch.”
“That’s not fair,” he says immediately.
I bark a short laugh. “Neither was you keeping an artifact that could track me, Kael, but here we are.”
His jaw flexes.
“I didn’t keep it to control you.”
“No,” I agree coolly. “You kept it because you didn’t trust me.”
His shadows surge, then snap back under control.
“I trusted you with my life,” he says quietly.
“And still didn’t trust me with the truth.”
My words sting. I can see it in the way his breath catches, the way his eyes flick away for just a second before locking back onto mine.
“This spell,” he says carefully, “isn’t just knowledge. It’s exposure. Once you see what’s been hidden, there’s no putting it back.”
“Good,” I say without hesitation. “I’m done not seeing.”
“You don’t know what it could cost you.”
“And you don’t get to decide that for me,” I fire back.
The air between us tightens, charged and volatile. His shadows coil like they’re ready to lunge—and his hands curl at his sides as if he’s fighting the urge to reach for me or restrain me. I’m not sure which scares him more.
“I’m not asking you to agree,” I continue. “I’m telling you what I’m going to do. If you’re here because you think you can stop me—”
“I’m here,” he cuts in, voice low and dangerous, “because if you do this, you won’t be doing it alone.”
I blink.
“That doesn’t mean I like it,” he adds. “Or that I won’t fight you on it every step of the way.”
Something twists in my chest—annoying and traitorous.
“Then we’re clear,” I say. “You don’t control me. And I don’t owe you reassurance.”
His gaze drops to the mark on my hand, then lifts again, intense and unresolved.
“You never did, sunshine,” he says softly. “You never did.”
The words hang between us—quiet, heavy, almost tender. I hold his stare for another beat. Then I turn back to the pedestal.
I flip open the book again, finding the prophecy that’s printed inside.
It’s still the same, no change to it from the last time I read it, and still leaving out the parts I learned in the Veil.
That knowledge thrums under my skin, threatening to split me open.
Frustration builds behind my eyes. This book can’t help me any more than it already has, I can feel it when I touch it.
It gave me what it wanted me to have, and now it’s useless.
“Let’s go,” I say, turning to Kael. He looks from me to the book, a confused crease appearing in the middle of his forehead.
“You’re leaving it here?”
I swipe my tongue over my lips and glance back at the book. “Yeah. It’s safer here where only two people can access it.”
His frown deepens. “You just said you needed it.”
“I needed something from it,” I correct. “And it gave me what it wanted me to have. The spell. The rest…” I shrug. “The rest I already know. The Veil showed me the unredacted version. This book is just… an echo.”
Kael stares at me for a long moment—searching my face, searching the shadows still curling around my ankles like loyal hounds.
“You’re sure?” he asks finally.
“I’m sure.”