Chapter 7 Lindsay
SEVEN
LINDSAY
By the time the third period rolls around—Runic Arts again—I’m running on too little sleep and way too many stares. Combat this morning had been...tense.
Raiden hadn’t said a word when I walked in, just stood near the edge of the sparring ring, arms folded, gaze fixed on me. Not hostile or friendly. Professor River hadn’t called me out, but there’d been a pause when I entered. A flick of his gaze. The kind that says you’re on notice now.
I’d kept my head down, focused on the drills. Didn’t give anyone an excuse. Not that it mattered. The looks followed me out of the room anyway.
Now I slip into Runic Arts, the pressure of the mark under my sleeve humming in a quiet rhythm with my pulse.
It would be easier to hide, if it wasn’t wrapped around my fingers.
I just want to sneak away and hide somewhere.
The halls this morning have been full of whispers about me.
It’s getting old. I can feel my temper rising.
Tamsin had caught my arm between classes, whispered, “Head up. Don’t let them see you rattled.”
Good advice. Harder to follow. As I step into the classroom, my gaze catches on Nolan—middle row, same seat as before. Bag squared, notebook open, quill already in hand.
He spots me instantly and waves, smile still easy, still genuine. I slip into the seat beside him, breath easing the smallest bit.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod, though we both know that’s a lie. “Fine.”
Nolan frowns, gaze flicking toward my sleeve, then back to my face. “I wasn’t at the duels last night...but I heard.” He leans in slightly. “Everyone’s talking.”
I glance at him. “It’s...complicated.”
He studies me for a beat, then says, “If you want to talk, or...I could help research it. The mark.” He pushes his glasses up, a little flush rising in his cheeks. “I mean, if you want. I could sketch it and then see if I can find something.”
I hesitate. My hand curls slightly in my lap. No one else has seen it fully besides Kael—not up close. Tamsin didn’t even ask. And yet, here’s Nolan, offering to draw it like it’s a homework problem he can help solve.
Something loosens in my chest.
Wordless, I extend my arm and tug the sleeve up.
His breath catches. Not in fear, but quiet awe. “Whoa,” he murmurs.
The lines glow faintly beneath the skin, coiling around my fingers, up over my wrist, and around my elbow. They’ve dimmed since last night, but the pattern is still there, still foreign. Still mine.
Nolan’s eyes track the mark like he’s memorizing every line. “Can I?” he asks, already reaching for his sketchpad.
“Yeah,” I say, voice low. “Go ahead.”
His pencil is in hand instantly, lines already forming. I sit still, letting him work, letting the quiet stretch between us. And ignore the whispers of other students, like I’m an oddity. I could have told them that before I had a magical outburst.
“Thanks,” I say softly.
His smile tugs crooked. “Anytime.”
Before I can say more, Professor Marris sweeps into the room, silver runes trailing faintly from her fingers. The room settles fast. But even as the lecture begins, I can feel the eyes drifting toward me when they think I’m not looking.
This is going to be the longest day of my life. It almost makes me wish I was back in my shitty small town dealing with nosey old ladies and too-friendly truckers.
I drag my notebook out, trying to focus as Marris moves through the first half of the lecture: layered wards, basic protections, rune stability. My head’s not in it. The mark hums steady under my sleeve, warm enough to feel unnatural.
At one point, Marris pauses, gaze drifting over the room. It lands on me for a breath longer than anyone else. She continues without comment, but when we shift to paired practice, she moves through the rows, pausing here and there to adjust a student’s rune.
When she reaches my table, she stops. Nolan straightens beside me, half nervous, half eager. Marris glances at my parchment, then at me. Her tone stays even.
“Your lines are steady. Good control.”
I nod, unsure what to say.
She taps her fingers lightly against the desk. “For your next mark—” she flicks her hand, tracing a quick rune in the air. The lines linger faintly, glowing. “Practice this one. It anchors energy. Helps...stabilize magic. Drawing it alone will give a sort of protection.”
Her gaze meets mine again, steady and unreadable. Not an order or a test. A suggestion.
“Thank you,” I manage.
Marris gives a faint nod and moves on, her robes whispering against the floor.
Nolan leans in the moment she’s gone, eyes wide. “She never does that. That...that’s good, right?”
“I think so,” I murmur. But my pulse is still running too fast to be sure of anything.
I pick up my quill, focusing on the new rune. If nothing else...stabilizing magic sounds like a hundred layered voices all talking in harmony just below audible levels.
The rest of class blurs past in fits and starts. I keep my head down, practicing the rune Marris showed me, tracing each line with careful precision.
It’s more complex than the ones from yesterday—denser, layered—but the way the lines settle into the parchment feels steadier. The hum beneath my skin doesn’t vanish, but it eases. Just a little.
Across the room, I can still feel the occasional glance thrown my way, but none of it reaches through the small bubble of focus I’ve built.
Nolan works beside me in companionable silence, only glancing over once to murmur, “That’s looking really good.”
I offer a faint smile. “Thanks.”
When the final bell hums through the room, the usual shuffle of chairs and footsteps starts. The undercurrent of whispers is quieter now, but not gone. I gather my things, sliding my notebook carefully into my bag. The mark hums steady under my sleeve, warm and present, but not flaring like before.
Nolan stands and slings his bag over his shoulder, then hesitates. “You, uh...want company? To lunch?” He pushes his glasses up, cheeks a little pink. “I mean—no pressure. Just...figured you might not want to walk alone today.”
He is so sweet. It makes warmth flare to life in my chest, and I almost want to hug him.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’d like that.”
Nolan's grin turns crooked again. “Cool. Let’s go.”
We fall into step, weaving through the flow of students heading toward the dining hall. I catch a few lingering stares as we move down the corridor, but with Nolan beside me, they’re easier to ignore. His presence is steady in a way I didn’t realize I needed.
We’re almost to the dining hall. The corridor’s crowded, students moving in loose clusters, voices low and watchful. Nolan walks just to my left, a little closer than before.
Movement slices through the flow ahead—intentional. Auron steps straight into our path. His shoulder clips Nolan hard, sending him off balance. Nolan staggers sideways, palm slapping the stone wall to catch himself. Auron doesn’t pause. Just shifts his weight slightly, half-turned now to face us.
The smile that pulls at his mouth is slow and deliberate, eyes cool and bright with amusement. His friends hover at either side, draped in Blood colors, matching smirks already curling their lips.
Auron’s gaze flicks to Nolan, then lands on me, lazy and assessing.
“Watch where you’re walking, Porter,” he drawls. The way he says Nolan’s name is pure mockery.
Nolan straightens, flushing, but doesn’t rise to it. I do.
“Really?” I say, stepping forward. “You have to pick on someone who isn’t even looking for a fight?”
Auron’s gaze slides lazily back to me, and the smile turns vicious.
“Oh, look,” he says. “It speaks.”
His friends snicker, low and mean. Auron takes a slow step closer, eyes gleaming with that cold amusement. “Careful, freak. You’re drawing enough attention without picking the wrong enemies.”
The words hit, but I stand my ground, pulse thudding hard in my ears. “Or maybe you’re just afraid of someone you can’t control.”
That wipes the amusement from his face, only for a second. His friends fall silent.
Auron’s gaze lingers on me, cool and calculating now. “We’ll see how long that mouth of yours holds up.”
With that, he turns, striding off down the corridor, his friends quick to follow. The moment they’re gone, I exhale, my heart racing.
Nolan shifts beside me. “That was brave,” he says softly, eyes wide.
I let out a shaky breath. “Stupid, more like.”
He smiles a little. “Maybe. But thanks.”
I glance at him, a bond forming between us. I reach for his hand and tug him back into the flow of students.
“Come on,” I say. “I still need lunch. And maybe a stiff drink.”
Nolan laughs, his fingers tightening on mine. “I think they serve mystery stew instead. No alcohol.”
By the time we make it to the dining hall, I’m starving. And we’re late. Nolan and I grab trays and slide into line. We move slowly past the first section of food: mystery stew, something that might be bread, a tray of roasted roots.
“Think it’s safe?” Nolan murmurs, eyeing the stew warily.
I huff a quiet laugh. “Define safe.”
Ahead of us, another group shifts into view, half a dozen shifters clustered near the next section of the line.
Raiden is with them. Just the sight of him makes my stomach flip over with nerves.
I’m not sure what to make of him. He stands loose, hands shoved in his pockets, head tilted slightly as he listens to whatever one of the others is saying.
But as Nolan and I move closer, his gaze flicks toward us.
Landing on me like I have a flashing light on my chest that says, ‘Look at me!’.
His strange eyes seem to glow as they drop to my feet and slowly move back up my body, snagging at my hand that is marked.
I curl in my fingers, hiding it from view inside my cloak. He says nothing. Just watches.
I drag my attention back to the tray in front of me. Focus. Just get through lunch. But before we reach the next section, the crowd parts.
Headmaster Dorian Veyne. He strides in with the Combat professor—River—matching him step for step. The din of the hall dims a notch as students shift aside. As far as I’m aware, the professors don’t eat with us.
They walk straight toward me.
“Miss Blake. Come with us,” Headmaster Veyne orders.
Professor River glances toward the shifters, gaze landing briefly on Raiden.
“You as well.”
Raiden pushes off the counter with lazy ease, but there’s nothing casual in the way his gaze narrows. Around us, conversation halts.
Nolan stiffens beside me. “Do you—”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, though my throat is dry. “I’ll catch up. Don’t eat the mystery stew.”
His protest dies before it reaches his lips, but the worry in his eyes lingers. I set my tray down, heart racing, and step out of line. Raiden falls into step a pace behind me as we follow the headmaster and Professor River out of the dining hall, every stare in the room drilling into my back.
The walk to the headmaster’s office is silent.
Stone corridors stretch ahead, each turn tighter than the last. The heavy wooden doors of the main hall loom large by the time we reach them. Headmaster Veyne presses a hand to the runes etched into the frame. They flare softly, and the doors sweep open.
His office is nothing like I expected. High arched windows. Shelves packed with ancient books. A long dark wood desk polished to a mirror shine.
But it’s the air that catches me off guard.
It feels...heavier in here. Not just quiet, but pressurized—like walking into a storm just before the first crack of thunder. My skin prickles. The hair on my arms rises. It’s not sound exactly, but something beneath sound. A hum I feel more than hear, like the room is somehow watching.
The Headmaster gestures us in, without looking back.
I step inside, heart still racing. Raiden moves past me with unhurried steps, stopping near the far wall, arms folding across his chest. Professor River closes the door behind us with a solid click.
Headmaster Veyne moves to the desk, fingers steepling lightly.
His gaze lands on me first, unreadable. Then shifts to Raiden.
“There’s no point in dragging this out.” The words are smooth but final. “Miss Blake’s magic is unstable. Dangerous. The Council has reviewed the report.”
I press my lips together; Kael told him what happened.
“You will need a trainer,” he continues. “Someone capable of stabilizing your power before it does further damage.”
I glance at Raiden before I can stop myself.
He’s still and unreadable. But as Headmaster Veyne’s next words fall, that changes.
“For this reason, you will be bound to a combat partner. A trainer.” His gaze flicks to Raiden. “Tsukino, that will be you.”
The air shifts. Raiden pushes off the wall, eyes narrowing, the lazy edge gone in an instant.
“No.” The word is flat. Immediate.
Headmaster Veyne’s expression doesn’t flicker. “It’s not a request.”
Raiden takes a slow breath, jaw tight. “There are others better suited. She should be assigned—”
“She’s not being assigned to anyone else.” Professor River’s voice cuts in now, cool but firm. “You’ve seen her in combat. You felt the pull when the mark activated.”
I blink. Pull?
Headmaster Veyne’s gaze returns to me. “Your magic has already chosen its tether. The bond will stabilize your training. Without it...you will not be safe here.”
I can barely process the words. Bond. Tether.
Raiden’s jaw works, tension in every line of his body. “I don’t agree with this.”
“You don’t need to,” Headmaster Veyne says simply. “But you will follow through. Or you can answer to the Council directly.”
A long silence stretches between them.
Then Raiden exhales, sharp and quiet. “When?”
Headmaster Veyne’s gaze flicks to me again. “Today.”