Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
LINDSAY
The next morning, the glow lingers. But so does the urgency.
I slip out of Dorian’s chambers quietly while they sleep, careful not to wake them. Nolan is half-buried in the silk sheets, glasses abandoned on the nightstand, one arm thrown across the space where I’d been. Dorian is sprawled beside him like a golden cat, hair a mess, breathing slow and deep.
For once, the world feels calm.
Warm.
Hopeful.
I close the door softly behind me before that warmth can convince me to crawl back into bed.
The eastern quad is quiet when I step outside. Frost glitters across the grass, and the stone paths shine pale in the early morning light. The academy towers loom above it all, ancient and watchful.
I’ve barely made it halfway across the lawn when Tamsin appears from behind a statue as though she’s been waiting for me.
Which…she probably has.
Her red curls are piled into a messy knot, and she’s wrapped in three scarves that definitely don’t match.
She looks me up and down slowly. Then her mouth curls.
“You look… satisfied.”
Heat climbs into my cheeks.
I laugh, trying to brush it off, but the sound fades quickly. The weight of everything pressing on us pushes back in.
“I need to talk to Headmaster Veyne.”
Tamsin’s brows lift.
“That’s not the direction I thought this morning was going.”
“I think I should talk to him about what I saw when I did that spell.”
Her teasing expression fades as she focuses on me. I glance toward the towering spires of the administration wing.
“Linds, he works with Councilman Draven. He could have switched to the other team in the thousands of years that have passed.”
I exhale through my nose, breath fogging in the cold morning air.
“I know. But the spell didn’t lie. I saw him—centuries ago—on that cliff, trying to help the Veil creatures before the Dravens ever built the barrier.
He wasn’t the one who turned it into a prison.
He was trying to stop it. If anyone’s going to listen, if anyone has the power to help us actually make this right instead of just holding the tear shut… it’s him.”
Tamsin chews the inside of her cheek, studying me for a long beat.
“You’re sure you want to hand him the playbook? Everything we’ve got—the full knowledge of the prophecy and that we’re going against the most powerful Bloodborn’s there is?”
I nod. “He’s the headmaster. He’s been here longer than any of us. If he’s still the man I saw in that vision, he’ll want to know. And if he’s not…” I trail off, then shrug. “Then we’ll know that, too. Either way, we can stop guessing.”
She exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over her face. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I raise my eyebrow at her.
Tamsin sighs like I’ve just volunteered her for something wildly inconvenient—which, knowing our lives lately, might actually be true.
“Okay,” she repeats, pointing a finger at me. “But if he tries anything shady, I’m setting his office on fire.”
“You can’t just set the headmaster’s office on fire.”
“Watch me.”
Despite everything, I snort.
The tension between us loosens just enough that we start walking again, boots crunching over the frost-dusted stone path as we head toward the administration tower.
Students are beginning to spill into the quad now, voices drifting through the cold air. No one pays us much attention, but the bond in my chest hums faintly, reminding me that somewhere above us Nolan and Dorian are probably just waking up.
And when they realize I slipped out…
I push the thought aside.
One crisis at a time.
The administration wing rises ahead of us, all dark stone and narrow windows. The carved doors are already open, ward lines faintly glowing along the frame.
Tamsin glances at them and mutters, “Always love walking voluntarily into the lion’s den.”
“You’re the one who said you’d set it on fire.”
“Backup plan,” she says brightly.
Inside, the tower is quiet. The halls are lined with portraits of past teachers and ancient magical scholars. Their painted eyes seem to follow us as we climb the spiral staircase toward the upper level.
By the time we reach the landing outside Headmaster Veyne’s private quarters, my pulse is beating faster than I’d like. The heavy oak door is already open. Like he knew we were coming.
Tamsin notices, too.
“Subtle,” she murmurs.
I step forward and knock against the open door anyway.
“Headmaster?”
His voice answers from inside the chamber, deep and calm. “Miss Blake.”
Tamsin and I exchange a quick glance before stepping inside.
Headmaster Veyne stands near the tall window overlooking the quad, long dark coat draped over the back of a chair. His silver hair catches the morning light, making him look even older than usual—ancient in the way the academy itself feels ancient.
His sharp gaze settles on me immediately. Then flicks briefly to Tamsin. Something unreadable moves across his expression.
“I expected you sooner,” he says.
Tamsin’s brows shoot up. “Good morning to you too.”
Veyne ignores the comment entirely. Instead, he studies me with a level of focus that makes the room feel smaller.
“Miss Blake,” he says slowly, “it seems the Veil showed you more than we anticipated.”
A chill slides down my spine.
“You know about the vision.”
“I suspected.”
His gaze moves back to Tamsin.
“And while I appreciate Miss Fairbourne’s loyalty…” His tone shifts—still polite, but unmistakably firm. “This conversation is not for her.”
Tamsin stiffens beside me. “Excuse me?”
Veyne gestures toward the open hallway behind us. “You may wait outside.”
“Absolutely not,” she snaps. “If you think I’m letting her—”
“Tamsin.”
I touch her arm lightly. She turns to glare at me like I’ve personally betrayed her.
I lower my voice. “It’s okay.”
“It’s really not.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She studies my face for a long moment, clearly debating how much trouble she’s willing to cause. Finally, she sighs through her nose.
“Five minutes,” she mutters to Veyne. “If she’s not out in five minutes, I’m kicking that door down.”
For the first time, something that might be amusement flickers in the headmaster’s eyes. “Duly noted.”
Tamsin points two fingers at me. “Five minutes.”
Then she turns and stalks out into the hall, the door shutting behind her with a solid thud. The silence that follows feels heavier. Headmaster Veyne moves away from the window and gestures toward a side corridor that disappears deeper into his quarters.
“Walk with me, Miss Blake.”
The request sounds casual. But there’s something deliberate in the way he says it. Like he doesn’t want this conversation anywhere near the door.
My stomach tightens. Still, I follow him. We move through a narrow passage lined with shelves of old books and artifacts, deeper into the private chambers of the tower.
Finally, he stops beside a small circular room. Wards shimmer faintly along the stone walls. Privacy spells. Strong ones.
“Tell me what you saw.”
Headmaster Veyne turns to face me fully. The calm expression he wore in front of Tamsin is gone now. In its place is something sharper. Older.
The wards hum softly around us, sealing the room in silence.
I take a slow breath, steadying myself. The memory is still vivid—like the Veil burned it into my mind instead of simply showing it to me.
“I saw a cliff,” I begin. “The Veil was thinner there. Almost transparent, maybe a portal. Creatures were coming through—not attacking or invading. Just…crossing.”
Veyne’s gaze sharpens.
“And?”
“You were there,” I say.
His expression doesn’t change, but something in the air shifts. The magic in the room tightens slightly, as though it’s listening.
“You were trying to help them,” I continue. “You were arguing with a group of Bloodborn. Dravens.”
The name hangs between us like a spark in dry air.
“They wanted the barrier,” I say. “They called the Veil dangerous. Said the creatures beyond it were a threat to the realm. That they were too powerful.”
Veyne’s mouth flattens. “They always did feel that way about anything they couldn’t control.”
I swallow.
“You said the Veil wasn’t a wall. That it was meant to be a bridge. A place where the realms could touch without tearing each other apart.”
His eyes close briefly. For a moment, the ancient headmaster looks…tired. When he opens them again, the emotion is gone, replaced with quiet steel.
“That was a very long time ago.”
“But you remember it.”
It’s not really a question. His gaze holds mine.
“Yes.”
The single word carries the weight of centuries.
“The Dravens twisted everything,” I say quietly. “They sealed the Veil and turned it into a prison. A weapon. And they’ve been feeding off the power ever since.”
I pause.
“And now Lord Draven is trying to access more of it.”
That gets his attention.
“Explain.”
I tell him everything. The curse. The spell Nolan and Dorian found. The way the magic anchors to Lord Draven’s will instead of Auron’s soul. How the bond between me and the others can reflect the curse back to its source.
Headmaster Veyne listens without interrupting, his expression growing darker with every word. When I finish, the room feels heavier. The wards flicker once.
“And you intend to attempt this ritual,” he says slowly.
“Yes.”
“With the demon prince,” he adds.
“Yes.”
“And the Frost Court heir.”
“Yes.”
His gaze sharpens further.
“And the Bloodborn scholar.”
“Nolan. And Raiden.”
“Yes,” he repeats quietly.
He studies me for a long moment. Then his eyes narrow slightly.
“There are more bonds forming around you.”
It isn’t a question. I hesitate, then nod.
“Six of us,” I admit. “Eventually.”
A strange expression crosses his face. Not shock. Recognition.
“Of course,” he murmurs.
“What does that mean?”
Headmaster Veyne walks slowly toward the edge of the ward circle, fingers brushing lightly across one of the glowing sigils.
“The Veil has always chosen balance,” he says. “Light and shadow. Fire and frost. Mind and instinct.” His gaze returns to me. “And a mirror at the center.”
A chill runs down my spine.
“You knew this could happen.”
“I suspected, when I had Kael bring you here.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because prophecy is a dangerous thing to speak aloud,” he says quietly. “Especially when the Dravens have been listening for centuries.”
My pulse jumps.
“You think they know everything about me.”
“I think,” he says calmly, “that Lord Draven has been waiting for you.”
The words settle heavily in my chest.
Waiting.
“For the mirror to appear,” he continues.
“For the bonds to form. For the moment when the Veil could finally be broken open again. His ego has him believing he can control what his ancestors could not. But those creatures are starving beyond the Veil, and he would not be able to contain any of the power he seeks.”
I stare at him. “Then why help us? If him getting what he wants, would destroy him?”
A faint, humorless smile touches his mouth.
“Because,” he says softly, “I have been waiting for you, too.”
The wards flare briefly as the magic in the room reacts to the words.
“And if your ritual works,” he continues, “Lord Draven will not simply lose his curse.” His gaze darkens. “He will lose the power his family has stolen from the Veil for generations.”
I exhale slowly. “Good.”
For the first time, the headmaster actually laughs. A low, surprised sound.
“Yes,” he says. “Good.”
He straightens slightly, decision settling into his posture.
“Very well, Miss Blake.”
The words feel like a door unlocking.
“You will have my help. And after you save us all, I’ll tell you about your father.”
“You knew him?”
“Very well, he is a good man, who had to embrace the dark to survive.”
Calm floods through me because I know he’s telling the truth. But it doesn’t last long. Because the next thing he says makes my stomach drop.
“We must begin immediately.”
My heart skips.
“Why?”
Veyne’s eyes shift toward the distant tower windows. Toward the eastern horizon.
“Because,” he says quietly, “if you were powerful enough for the Veil to show you the truth…”
His gaze returns to mine.
“Then you are powerful enough for Lord Draven to know you could destroy him instead of help him.”