3. Loop 0, Part 3

Deputy Headmaster Aldrick Bain was followed by two of the faculty from the combat department. Both already had their wands drawn.

Bain’s receding hairline had long ago been hidden behind a wizarding hat, and moon-shaped spectacles were perched on a nose built for looking down at people. His eyes looked over the room, taking in everything he could, though it took him twice as long as it would have taken me with [Wideview]. The smashed furniture, the scorch marks, all the bleeding students, and Tuffet sitting in the center. He had, of course, drawn his conclusions before he’d even crossed the threshold.

“Tuffet.” His voice carried the full weight of his authority. “Combat magic in the commons. Destruction of school property. Assault on fellow students. You are finished at this institution.”

Kalin said nothing. He just stood there, shaking. He knew what was coming. He knew what his anger had brought him: expulsion, his scholarship revoked, sent back to wherever he came from. He’d be leaving with nothing but a disciplinary record and a scorch mark on his chest nobody would ever care about.

I stood up. My body was going to file a formal complaint about how much standing I’d done today.

“Deputy Headmaster, Creed started this. He cast a fire-enhanced strike fist, same as combat magic, just like you’re charging Kali—”

“[Silence].” The spell found me specifically, a targeted cast. My mouth kept moving, but nothing came out.

What a beautiful spell. I could cast it on myself and then pretend I couldn’t talk. That would be a great way to get in some morning laziness. I filed it away for future use. My tangent was cut off as Bain continued.

“Davos will, of course, receive a formal conduct notice.” The words were formal, like a conduct notice for the grandson of the prime minister would do anything. It was a piece of paper that would die in a filing cabinet. “Tuffet, you will—”

But Bain was interrupted.

“Aldrick.” The hall went quiet. Headmaster Corwen Yarrow, my uncle, stood in the entrance of the hall.

My uncle spoke quietly. He didn’t need to raise his voice to reach every person in the room. He never had to raise his voice, everyone just listened.

He was tall and thin, with a jawline sharp enough that every expression looked like it could sentence you to hard labor. He carried himself with the presence of a man who had survived a war and found peacetime more exhausting. His robes were wrinkled, not unusual for him; the shadows under his eyes, though, were deeper than the ones I had noticed last night at dinner.

He looked around at the damage, at the broken tables and burns on the stone and blood on students’ faces. He reached a hand to Bain’s shoulder and said, “I’ll handle this. You’re dismissed.”

Bain’s jaw tightened, but he stepped back. For now.

Corwen crouched next to Finn, knees on the cold stone and one hand resting gently on Finn’s shoulder. He extended the other, examining the gash with care. He frowned, but said nothing about it.

He stood and addressed the hall. “Breakfast is over. Everyone out now.”

It was a wild sight. Nearly two thousand students moving as one, orderly for the exits, because when Corwen Yarrow told you to do something, you did it. I knew that better than anyone. As much as I might not have wanted to, I always listened to my uncle.

The [Silence] charm faded. I opened my mouth to explain to my uncle what happened, but Corwen caught my eye and raised a single finger. Shh.

He said a quiet word to Bain, who still hadn’t left, something I couldn’t catch even with [Wideview] active. I was really kicking myself about the [Subtitle] charm now. When I had a moment, I needed to cast it.

Bain didn’t leave. He didn’t argue openly, either. Instead, he waited. watching the last of the students file out. Biding his time until the hall emptied down to just the faculty and us.Then, once the audience was gone and the political cost of defiance was lower, he made his move.

He stood facing us with a sending stone in his hand and a carefully controlled look on his face. He addressed us, the remaining students: Kalin, me, the dungeon track kid with the lightning fist, and that blonde girl with the useless ward. All of us still standing in the wreckage like a bunch of idiots.

Creed was not among us. Apparently, fire-enhanced strike fists didn’t count as combat magic when your grandfather was a prime minister.

“Combat magic in the commons. Destruction of school property.” His eyes found mine. “Worst of all, talking back to the deputy headmaster.” He tucked the sending stone away. “I’ve already filed through the sending stone, Headmaster. The disciplinary office has the charges on record. I can’t take them back. You know it doesn’t work that way.”

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“Yes, that’s correct. You can charge whomever you’d like, Aldrick.” My uncle’s voice was low, the kind of calm that made me nervous. “But I can decide what happens to them. You know that.”

Something ugly passed through Bain’s eyes. He wanted to argue. But the remaining faculty were watching carefully, and losing twice in the same moment would follow him for months. He left without another word.

As soon as he was gone, Corwen faced us. “You’re all in trouble.” He scratched his head. “Can’t do anything about that, but I can point the trouble somewhere useful. I’ve decided all of you are going to participate in this week’s tournament, starting today.”

He looked at each of us. Then, with what I was fairly certain was the ghost of a smile: “Good luck.”

He left the room.

My jaw dropped. He’d taken Bain’s disciplinary charges, the ones that should have ended with expulsions and conduct notices and weeks of hearings, and turned them into a tournament entry. That fucker. He knew how much I wanted to avoid the damn thing. And now I couldn’t skip it. Not without making my uncle look weak in front of the same students who’d just watched him overrule Bain. God damn it.