"I thought we were eating mid-meal," said Feyla as she stared up at the city's Healer's Guild house. It wasn't as large as Delia's, but despite being stationed in an older part of the city and squished tight between two other buildings, it stood with an aged dignity and its carefully painted sign gleamed with diligent upkeep.

"We are. There's no need to go elsewhere when we can eat right here." Her mother led her inside the house, and into the main entrance where a growing throng of feys moved about. Some were pressing inward, seeking treatments here due to the attack on the other healing house while others hurried away, clutching potions and bandages while muttering about the dangers of further attacks. Tension hung about the air, replacing the comfort that usually resided in healing houses.

Her mother led her away from the throng and up the stair to the private chambers reserved for guild leaders. Feyla's eyes fell on a table already set with fish, greens, and tea for two. Arilla gestured to one of the chairs and Feyla took her seat.

Her mother tisked her tongue and took Feyla's loose hair in her hands. Calling on years of prior practice, she pricked at the few knots in Feyla's hair and began twisting the rest up. "You have such pretty hair, lovely. I don't know why you don't tie it up properly. It's unseemly for a girl your age."

Feyla ignored the tugging at her skull as her mother twisted her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck and secured it with the extra pins she always kept on her. Arilla hummed contently once she was done. "There's my daughter."

Feyla touched her hair as her mother took the seat across from her. A wisp of hair came loose from Arilla's matching bun before the older woman secured it back into place with her final pin. "Much better. Now, how have you been, lovey? Really?"

Feyla picked up her fork and ignored the cold air that now drifted across her neck. "Good! I've been really happy here, actually."

Arilla's shoulders relaxed. "I was so worried after what happened on your last mission. I know how seriously you took our vows. Which is as it should be." She poured them both some of their shared favorite tea and nodded her head in agreement with herself. "I wasn't sure about this break of yours at first, but I think it's been good for you. And what an excellent time to make you reentrance."

"Mother—" Feyla started, biting back her rising frustration. "We've talked about this. I'm not rejoining the guild."

"Do you know you'll be working with Daydrel again? He's such a nice young man; I've always liked him. I wouldn't be surprised if he made guild leader within the next few decades." Arilla placed a cup of tea in front of Feyla. Steam floated off it like a smoke warning.

"Did you hear me?" Feyla asked, digging her nails into her palm.

"Oh, I did," her mother said, still smiling pleasantly. She took a sip of her tea. "You should stop by the equipment room on your way out. Your gear must be outdated and Jaerick should be around to help you."

Feyla slammed her hands down on the table. Cups and silverware clattered as she stood from her seat. "I'm not part of the guild, I don't want to be part of the guild, and you. Are not. Listening!"

Arilla stared up at her for a long moment. She placed her cup back on the table. It clinked against the wood louder than it should have. "Sit back down, lovey."

"Mother!"

"Sit," she said through clenched teeth.

Feyla swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She lowered herself back down onto her seat and took a sip of her tea.

"Good. Now, I've put up with this stubbornness of yours long enough. Your reaction to breaking your oath was understandable at the time, and I made allowances for your behavior. Perhaps too many. But understand me, daughter, that behavior ends now. I won't have a child of mine abandoning her calling to flounce around the kingdom catering to the whims of a mage of all people. It's beneath you."

"His name is Sedgewick. He's a good man and I like working with him."

"Oh, is that what you're doing?" Arilla asked, raising her pitch just enough to make sure Feyla knew her mother had already decided on an answer to that question.

Feyla stared back down at her tea. The steam drifted away, its warning unheeded. Her previously cold neck went red in color as her mother waited for her to confess a crime.

But it's not a crime, Feyla reminded herself. She wasn't a child slipping out the window or hiding love notes in her pillow. She was a grown woman who was perfectly capable of deciding what kind of man would be best for her.

Despite these reassurances, Feyla's legs ached with the urge to run guiltily from her seat, but she was held fast by a spell on her even Sedgewick would struggle to break; obligation.

"Did you really think Delia or Daydrel wouldn't tell me? Or that the ten minutes I spent with both of you wasn't enough to show me everything I needed to know?"

Tears heated with anger and frustration burned the backs of her eyes as Feyla forced them down with each blink. "Sedgewick wanted to ask your blessing today but you wouldn't let him come."

"Ask for my what?"

Feyla bit her lip to keep it from quivering. She sat up straight in her chair and stared her mother in the eyes. "Sedgewick..." Feyla's throat clamped shut. Sedgewick, she let his name echo through her head, sopping strength from it. "We're engaged and bonding once summer's over."

Arilla's lips pressed together. She stirred her tea, the spoon clinking against the cup like a warning bell. "No, you aren't."

"I'm not a child anymore. This isn't your decision." Feyla forced the words past her dry throat.

"You're my child, Feyla Everbloom, so hear me clearly." Her mother stood in a swift, smooth motion. "You will never be old enough to disregard my opinions, and I would throw myself from the Endingwood gorge before I let my daughter tie herself to that mage."

"You don't know him," Feyla said, her voice quivering as she seemed to shrink in size until her mother's small form once again towered over her. "If you just—"

"Feyla!"

Feyla fell silent. Her mother sank back into her seat and took both her hands. "Lovey, listen to me. You don't know this man, not the way you think. He's... I used to hear stories about him during the war. They say that when he was captured, the northlanders locked him away. When he escaped, he killed twenty people on his way out, burnt the building to the ground, and brought a sorceress back with him. This is the man you want to be the father of your children?"

Feyla knew that story. Not every detail, but Sedgewick had shared bits and pieces over their relationship. It had...daunted her at first but she wasn't going to base her relationship on centuries-old war stories that were probably exaggerated. Especially if they involved Sedgewick's treacherous former paramour, Bilara the sorceress.

Her mother took Feyla's silence as her yielding and plowed on with her argument. "He's closer to my age than yours, Daughter. You must realize there's only one reason a man his age would want a girl like you—"

Feyla jerked her hands out of her mother's grip. "You treat me like I'm under two hundred. I've met plenty of men just like you're talking about and Sedgewick isn't one of them. He loves me! You're my mother! You're supposed to be happy for me, but you're acting like all the gossipers around the castle. Why don't you just accuse me of being a gold-digging seductress while you're at it and complete the insult?" Feyla spat out the words, anger hardening the previous shaking of her limbs.

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady!"

"And you're still not listening to me!"

"I'll start listening when you gain enough sense to realize your error in judgment!" Arilla finally shouted.

Another shout rose in her throat but Feyla clamped it shut. Fighting with her mother wouldn't convince her to change her opinion of Sedgewick or mages. Feyla rose from her seat, her limbs loosening back into a quiver. Sedgewick. Her Sedgewick. The man who'd spent weeks learning new dances so he could surprise her. The man who called her "Dearest" and had already prepared a list of possible children's names. The man who couldn't care less what the other mages thought of him breaking tradition and courting her.

No one said such things about Sedgewick. "I think I'm done eating. Maybe later you can meet my fiancé and me for dinner. Goodbye, Mother." Feyla turned to go.

"Feyla!" her mother called out just as Feyla's hand touched the doorknob.

Feyla swallowed again. "Yes?"

"I won't have a daughter bonded to a mage."

"Say what you mean, Mother," Feyla said coolly.

"No child of my name will be bonded to a magic abuser."

She tightened her grip on the doorknob and turned slowly, hesitantly back to Arilla. "You'd disown me?"

"If it came to that."

Feyla insides twisted, clenching in her chest like a knotted muscle. In Abreyla, names were gifts, reminders of your family's history and triumphs. She remembered being disappointed as a little girl when she couldn't trace hers back as far as some of her classmates could. Now her mother was threatening to strip her daughter of her family name altogether.

The knot in Feyla chest spasmed as images of her future without a family name rushed through her head. Friends looking on in pity as her daughters were forced to take her husband's name, leaving Feyla unrecognized. Strangers questioning if it was because Sedgewick was passing on a title, the only acceptable reason to ignore tradition. The looks of confusion fading into silent judgment and the cacophony of whispers rising the moment her back turned. What was so wrong with Feyla'a husband that her own mother would rather end her family line than have it live on through his children? Poor thing. If only she'd heeded her elders. Maybe he really had bespelled her.

Sedgewick Alverdyne might be deaf to whispers, but Feyla Everbloom wasn't. If she bonded without her mother's name, people would never see her and Sedgewick's relationship for what it was. Their children would grow up like she had; reduced to an easy source of never-ending gossip.

Her hand unclenched from the doorknob and dropped to her side. "What do you want?"

Arilla smiled. "Well, I suppose an argument could be made that Master Alverdyne's negative influence on you is minimal, provided you were following your actual calling." She eyed Feyla innocently.

The room shrank, tightening around Feyla like a vice. Oh, but Mother was clever. Why her father thought he'd be able to get away with half the things he'd done, Feyla couldn't understand.

Breaking a vow to the guild had led to her leaving it. Could she really handle breaking a vow to herself and going back in? Feyla's hand drifted up to her necklace. Her thumb brushed against the tiny rune disc Sedgewick had meticulously made to fit into the back. He'd wanted to help protect her and eventually their future family. Now it was her turn to do the same. No one was going to cripple their life together before it even started.

Feyla moved toward her mother, each step weighted down with her decision. She lowered her head the same way she had as a child. "What do you want me to do?"

Arilla patted the tight bun she'd twisted Feyla's hair into and smiled. "There's my daughter. All I need you to do is the same thing that mage does. Go catch me a wizard."