Page 11 of The Bound Blood
“She didn’t tear the Veil,” Selene snaps before she can help it. “Shesealedit—while unconscious, bleeding, and untrained. Without her, we’d have a breach the size of the East Tower andno survivors. This wasn’t done by her.”
Veyne clears his throat.
The Headmaster’s tone is calm, diplomatic even. “We don’t disagree on her value, Professor Marris. But the truth is…her magic isn’t contained. Not fully. The Veil responds to her in a way that no one here predicted. That alone is enough to raise concern.”
“Concern isn’t justification,” Selene says, standing straighter. “She’s not a threat. She’s astudent. One we failed to protect,and now we want to punish her for surviving? For saving the school?”
“You’re not seeing clearly,” Veyne replies, voice quieter now. “You care about her. I do too. That’s why I believe we need tolimitthe damage before she becomes the target of something worse.”
Councilor Vemir raises a brow. “If she isn’t already.”
A murmur passes around the table.
Selene’s hands curl into fists.
They don’tseeLindsay. They see a problem. A variable they can’t control.
Veyne sighs and turns to the panel of cloaked councilors. “Motion to bind her powers temporarily. Until we can determine the depth and origin of her connection to the Veil.”
Selene opens her mouth to speak—but the vote is already being called.
One by one, hands raise.
Five. Six. Seven.
The motion passes.
Selene lowers her gaze, fury simmering under her skin. “You’re making a mistake. This vote should wait for the full council to be in attendance.”
“She’s a girl who nearly broke a realm,” Rennic says flatly. “Mistakes have already been made.”
SIX
KAEL
The pathto Azrael isn’t marked.
It never has been. It’s part of why my father didn’t kill him, just banished him. Too dangerous to keep close. Too slippery to truly destroy.
The deeper into the Courts I go, the more the world strips itself bare. Gone are the elegant facades and polished obsidian towers. Down here, the stone walls bleed with the pain of those trapped here. The air tastes of copper and acid. And the shadows don’t follow you, they cling to the walls like their pain is coming next.
I step through a crack in the old prayer wall—a wall more mockery than mercy, more curse than hope—and descend, boots silent on worn steps carved long before my birth. It’s colder here, but not in a way you can measure. The cold clings to thoughts. To memories. To the part of me I usually keep locked away from even myself. As if it’s trying to freeze me in place and trap me here.
It cools even more. Maybe a warning from my surroundings not to ask my question. To leave it buried. I already suspect I won’t like the answer.
Azrael waits in the hollow beneath the mountain. His back to me. His long coat stirs in the stale wind, lined with sigils stitched in thread older than most names. His old wings hang limp—ragged and broken, the edges frayed like burnt silk. He doesn’t turn when I arrive.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says softly.
“Yet here I am,” I reply. “I don’t need permission, old man.”
His shoulders shift, just slightly. “Then I assume you’ve finally come for truth. Or whatever’s left of it.”
I stop a few paces behind him. “The girl.”
At that, he goes still.
“Lindsay. She’s Veilburned and has a spell-scar,” I clarify. “There’s a prophecy about someone like her. You told me prophecy lies. You trained me for it. What do you know about it?”
