Chapter 52 Veils and Verdicts #2
You see in my head all the time. I assumed you knew. I thought this was normal.
Lyra’s getting near your adoption. Focus.
I concentrate on the memories in question. My muscles strain as I try to remain calm. I don’t know what she’s looking for, more importantly, I don’t know if I have anything to hide.
I deepen the immersion in the brief snapshots of strangers before stopping on my adoptive parents.
The pressure increases slightly as she pushes through more details. More memories.
An Easter egg hunt. The first time I went fishing. Sketching on receipts. Basketball. They feel less mundane today. Less benign.
The male behind her isn’t as stealthy. I don’t think he’s trying to be, plowing through my memories like a heat-seeking missile. He doesn’t probe along the edges of my shields like Councilor Seacore, testing and searching for weaknesses and holes. Instead, he hammers through them.
“Tell me about the first time you used your element,” Councilor Seacore prompts.
My heart stutters, but I remain focused, another question we expected.
“I believe I’ve used it for years, though always in very small amounts.
I assumed I was perceptive, something I had to be through much of my childhood.
Now, I realize I likely was using a bit of my element to determine who I could trust.”
Here I’m not a Fire or Air Elemental. I am a Soul Elemental. Only a Soul Elemental.
She slips into a memory of me playing basketball, my dad angry, yelling from the stands after I pass the ball. The memory isn’t fabricated, but I manage to remain calm and keep my breath even.
I shift in the chair, pressing my heels into the charm-lined floor as her presence presses harder against the edges of my shields, as though trying to crack them open like a careless child breaking a toy.
The male moves closer, his nearly translucent fingers hover inches from my temples.
Is he an Elemental? I ask.
I don’t know.
“Your shields are unusually structured,” he murmurs. “Layered. Practiced.”
“The head judiciary’s guidance,” Councilor Seacore replies, referencing Lochlan. “I see he’s been training you.” She pushes deeper. Faster.
I grit my teeth as she skirts toward memories of the wraith. My thumb finds the ring on my middle finger, pressing the metal against my skin.
I bury them under layers, casting echoes to prolong moments that are real: cold autumn air. A lonely field. Faint traces of isolation that weave together to satisfy but are distant enough to be safe.
Good, Witchling. Very good.
I focus on my breaths, and the hard wooden chair beneath me—the first uncomfortable surface I’ve experienced since coming to Bryxton. The faint warmth of the sun streaming through a high window has my shields flexing as I gain a moment of control.
As though sensing my resolve, the assistant presses his fingers into my temples.
Pressure against my mind intensifies, their forces joining.
It feels like managing a dozen conversations simultaneously as I focus on the memories, on my shields, on the echoes as Councilor Seacore pushes through my mind and the assistant combs through emotional touchpoints.
My thinning breath has me recalling Kai’s advice. Flow. Don’t fight.
I grit my teeth and allow my shields to shift marginally, redirecting rather than reinforcing.
When Councilor Seacore pushes toward the memories of the library and the near assault, I guide her toward the fabricated version—how I stumbled upon two kids who started the fire.
“Your emotional response doesn’t match the memory,” the assistant says.
Tell them you were afraid and resentful because you were falsely accused.
The words come out choppy.
Councilor Seacore’s gaze intensifies. “Tell me about your Soul Element manifestations. Have you experienced any premonitions? Emotional transference? Mind-reading?”
“No.”
The pressure shifts again, both of them focusing on a single shield. The charms on the floor pulse.
“You’ve spent considerable time at Mysthaven,” she says. It’s not a question.
“My cousin works there.”
“Yes, I saw that. And there was a recent incident delaying our meeting…”
I stare at her, careful to keep my thoughts blank. I’m not sure whether to reveal that I know she was called away.
“You had an accident,” Councilor Seacore says, catching me off-guard.
I swallow. “I nearly drowned.” My thoughts flash to the lake outside of Mysthaven, imagining the large fish that swim freely, my panic as I fell into the cold abyss. “I’m not a good swimmer.”
“Waters here aren’t usually that clear,” she says.
She’s trying to distract you. You’re doing fine.
Pins and needles pierce my skin. My lungs. My gaze pulses with darkness.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Councilor Seacore tells me, her voice laden with something I’m too distracted to interpret, that I don’t have time to react as she slams the back of my hands against the desk, startling me as my knuckles crack painfully against the hard surface, a gunshot in the quiet space. Pain grips me as the floor trembles.
What’s happening, Witchling?
A foreign pressure builds at the base of my skull—cold and invasive.
I don’t know.
My mind spins, my stomach is upside down. Every nerve ending feels like it’s on fire as my teeth threaten to shatter. I can’t breathe, but I keep my shields in place.
Use the charm, Brielle.
We’re… almost done. I barely manage to get the words sent.
What’s she doing?
I can’t respond, can’t remember my own name.
You’re growing weaker, I can feel it, Lochlan says. Use the charm.
Almost, I grit out.
Now, before I level the godsdamn door.
My vision tunnels, and my bones feel like they’re splintering. I taste copper and ash as the world darkens.
Use the fucking charm! A roar is in my head.
It feels like I’m speaking underwater as I mutter the charm through clenched teeth, forcing the words out.
The pain ebbs.
“I request a Tribunal Review. Article fourteen of the Arbiter Protocols,” I say through dry lips.
The assistant hisses something in a foreign tongue.
Councilor Seacore curses.
The charms flare again.
I repeat the charm, though my head feels too heavy on my shoulders. Too heavy to remain upright.
Everything stops.
For a moment, all I can hear is my own ragged breaths.
The weight lifts from my mind, sudden and jarring.
Councilor Seacore’s face is a mask of polite confusion, barely concealing her fury. “Who taught you the Arbiter Protocols?”
“I like to read,” I rasp, my throat dry.
Relief trickles into my consciousness, not my own. Then I feel the soft caress of Lochlan’s element against my aching mind.
Councilor Seacore clears her throat and pushes her chair back. “Nevin, please wait outside,” she says without looking away from me.
He looks like he might protest, but then nods and stiffly exits through the same concealed door.
“The Council has questions,” she says.
“I’d be happy to answer them, but I won’t be able to if you crack my brain in half.”
She lifts her chin defiantly. “You will be classified as a Soul Elemental. Level five. You’re required to attend quarterly monitoring for the next two years.
If your seer ability manifests or any other gifts, you’re required by law to inform us.
I assume I don’t have to go over those with you since you’re so acquainted with our laws, right, Miss Breslin? ”
I swallow.
“Here’s your classification certificate. Be sure not to lose it, as The Veil Initiative has been reopened per High Council.” She stands. “We’re finished.”
I stare at the doors, debating whether to crawl before I take my first step, focused on maintaining momentum.
When the doors open, Lochlan is standing between four guards, his eyes tight, shoulders tighter. Anger pulses off him in waves as I feel his shields fortify my own.
“All finished?” His voice is calm and falsely bright.
I lift the certificate in answer. “I’m officially registered.”
His brow dips with concern, but he swallows and steps away from the line of guards, in what looks like a test.
I brace myself, uncertain if I could fight or even run.
Thankfully, the tense mood doesn’t escalate. Instead, the same two guards escort us back through the building, where the air feels as good and welcoming as it had on my first day here.
Lochlan ushers me to the awaiting glider, my body sways as I consider crawling again.
A few more steps.
I sink into the glider, my head connecting with the seat.
Lochlan curses, closing the door before moving close to me. He mutters a stream of charms.
His crystal link blares in the small space, but he ignores it, shoving a nullite ring on his finger before brushing my hair out of my face.
It’s the first time he’s touched me, and I’m too out of it to take it in. “You did well today, Witchling. So damn well.”
“I don’t think I can move.”
He combs his fingers through my hair again, and with one hand still on me, he enters directions into the screen, sending the glider into motion.
“I don’t think I did the charm correctly.”
“You did,” he confirms. “I was pushed out for several minutes. It’s part of why you feel so tired. Preservation charms are used to keep your cindrel alive. This is a side effect of the charm. Your body’s sending all your strength and energy there now.”
He doesn’t move from my side as we make our way back to Mysthaven, the long-shadowed driveway a welcoming reprieve.
We’ve barely stopped when the doors are torn open.
Daire looks murderous. “You blocked me and didn’t answer your fucking crystal link.”
Lochlan holds up his hand, flashing the ring as his only response before scooping me into his arms.
“I can walk,” I argue.
Lochlan ignores me, carrying me out of the glider.
Daire mutters something, but the words die on his lips as his gaze connects with me. His panic consumes me, filling me like a balloon.
“What happened? What’s wrong?”
“She needs to get to the baths,” Lochlan says. “The charm is draining her.”
“Did they—?” Daire begins.
The question is cut off as the third glider stops, and Kai, Holden, and Griffin pile out.
“She needs to soak. Minerals from Portelina and also Sylaria,” Lochlan barks, ignoring the questions that fly at us.
“Already prepared,” Lief says, stepping out onto the porch with Scarlet and Gwen close behind.
“I’m fine,” I assure them.
“Clearly you’re not. Lochlan’s carrying you,” Scarlet’s voice is practically a shriek.
“We both know he likes the theatrics.” I smirk, but he doesn’t react, killing my buzz. “It’s over. Done. I’m official.”
Scarlet beams, despite her furrowed brow. “I knew you could do it.”
“We’re on lockdown until further notice,” Lochlan interrupts. “No one leaves or sets foot inside the gates.” Without further instruction, he stalks inside, carrying me down the wide hall leading to the basement.
“Why are we on lockdown?” I ask. “I swear, she didn’t see anything. Neither of them did.”
He passes through the gym, straight into the baths. “I know.”
“Then why all the tension and rage?”
He walks straight to the edge.
“I need to change.”
“No one cares if the clothes are destroyed.”
“I like these shoes!” I object, reaching for them. “And my crystal link.”
Reluctantly, impatiently, he stops, but doesn’t set me down. I slide the pretty heels off, and he kicks off his own, setting my crystal link on the table along with his, and then he carries me straight into the steaming water, still wearing his suit.
The others follow, losing shirts and items as they go. My dress pants and blouse stick to me, but are forgotten as the warmth soaks into me. Lochlan sits on one of the benches. His chest rises and falls in an easy rhythm, despite his exertion.
Griffin’s the first to reach us, but rather than passing me over, Lochlan’s grip tightens.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“You’re going to be weak for a few days,” Lochlan says.
“I thought we were past keeping secrets?” I accuse.
His silver eyes flash to mine, a dozen emotions present, but the clearest is undeniable: panic. He licks his lips. “I think your documents have been altered from the beginning. Likely dozens of times in an attempt to hide you.”
“Hide her?” Kai asks.
Lochlan nods. “Lyra searched me—an illegal finding charm. She was looking for the imprint. She expected it. She knew.”
The bathwater suddenly feels too hot. Too close.
Griffin’s voice is lethal. “How?”
“I don’t know.” Lochlan’s jaw tightens. “But we’re going to find out.”