“Then you need a mentor. And training.” He turns back to the table, fingers dragging a scroll aside like this conversation is already over. “Your magic is unstable. I’ll have to tell the Council.”
That pulls me up short again. “Wait.” My voice cracks, raw from everything. “I thought you weren’t going to tell them. You said—down there—you implied I’d be safer if they didn’t know.”
Kael’s posture stiffens slightly, but he doesn’t turn around.
“You made that choice irrelevant,” he says, calm and cold. “You cleared Wraith hounds in front of half the Undercourt. There’s no hiding now. Even if I don’t tell the Council, a Blood will.”
I stare at him.So that’s it? Too much attention, so now he tosses me to the wolves—Council wolves.
I open my mouth again. The questions are there—What do you mean by unstable? Who would even mentor me? What will the Council do?—but the words tangle behind the knot in my throat.
Kael doesn’t wait.
“Not tonight.”
It’s not an answer. It’s a wall he’s throwing up between us. He moves back to the table, sliding the scroll aside with precise care. The finality in the motion says clearly: I’m done with this.Without looking at me, he reaches for his gloves, fingers sliding them back on one at a time.
“You’ll return to your dorm.” His tone is flat, as if I’m another item on his list. “Someone will contact you when the Council decides how to proceed.”
I stand frozen. Every instinct is screaming that I should argue, should demand something—anything—but the space between us is already shut like a slammed door.
He finally glances up. “I’ll escort you.”
That single sentence feels more like an order than protection. Of course he’s not letting me walk alone. Not after all of this.
I nod mutely, and he strides past me, opening the door without waiting. I follow, the mark under my sleeve pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
We walk in silence. Through the twisting halls, past torchlit corridors, past closed doors. Kael doesn’t speak. Doesn’t slow.
When we reach my floor, he finally stops. Just outside the threshold.
“Stay inside your warded rooms. Do not leave without permission until morning.”
I hesitate at the door, hand on the latch, and glance back once. He’s already gone, swallowed by shadow and silence.
I step inside alone.
The faint silver light from the rune sconces hums low, shadows pooling in the hallway. Inside, most of the beds are drawn in with heavy curtains. Soft breathing fills the room, the occasional rustle of blankets.
But Tamsin is awake. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, cloak still on, hair unbraided, eyes sharp in the dim light. The second she sees me, she’s on her feet.
“Linds,” she whispers, crossing the space in two quick steps. “You okay?”
I nod, but it’s shaky at best. My pulse hasn’t fully settled since Kael dismissed me. The mark thrums quietly under my sleeve, constant and wrong. Tamsin grabs my wrist—not the marked one—gently steering me to sit on my bed.
“What the hell happened?” she murmurs, careful not to wake the others.
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. The words feel too big, too tangled, but I manage, “He said my magic’s unstable. That he’s going to tell the Council.”
Tamsin’s mouth tightens. “Of course he is.”
She glances around, making sure no one’s listening, then drops her voice even further.
“And the mark?”
I hesitate, then push up my sleeve enough for her to see the faint glow still coiling up my arm. Tamsin sucks in a breath, fingers hovering like she wants to touch but doesn’t dare.
“Shit,” she whispers again. “Okay. Okay. We’ll figure it out.”
