Daydrel swung her into the dance before she could even give an answer. Irritation scratched at Feyla's chest like an old scab. If that wasn't a summary of their whole relationship, she didn't know what was. "Daydrel—"

"So the Magic Ministry. That must have been an interesting opportunity."

Opportunity. She'd forgotten how much that word could dig at her. "It...surprised me." Or Sedgewick had at least.

Daydrel spun her around and stepped them back into the dance perfectly. "I told you I remembered my lessons," he whispered while pulling her closer.

Feyla tensed in his grip, the memories of past dances flooding back. Daydrel had been terrible before she'd teased him into letting her tutor him. At the time, it'd mostly been an excuse to be alone with the handsome young healer. Daydrel had caught on quick. Turns out he liked things that let him lead. "What are you in the capital for?" she asked quickly. Daydrel might be leading the dance, but she wasn't going to let him lead the conversation.

"I presented at the opening council today," Daydrel said. A hint of pride caught her ears as they remembered his cadence and vocal quirks.

"Congratulations," Feyla said, giving him the same smile she gave to the stranger she bumped into at the market. Strangers. All those days spent at their favorite picnic spot talking for hours about their future together and now they were strangers. How many more of their plans had Daydrel managed to accomplish by himself? "You finally got everything you worked for." Her throat betrayed her, making her voice crack as she finished speaking.

Daydrel stared down at her, and Feyla almost fell back into the green flecks in his eyes. How long had it been? Over a century?

"Almost everything," Daydrel murmured. He took one jerky step out of sync, causing Feyla to bump against him as he righted them.

Reality surge back to Feyla, nearly knocking her over more than Daydrel's misstep had. This wasn't some guild party from back when she was an apprentice. This was the opening gala of Lord's Season. Feyla's eyes flashed across the room. Had anyone been looking when Daydrel had plastered her against his chest? Surely no one would think she was here with... Oh, no. Their clothes. Feyla had originally planned to wear a new green-and-pink dress, but after the guild attack, she'd opted for something with sleeves that would cover her injured arm. The dress she'd selected was pink underneath white. With Daydrel dressed in traditional healer white, accented with red to reflect his rank, the two of them could have been mistaken for a matching couple.

"This actually works out perfectly," Daydrel said. His thumb on her waist began rubbing against her to the time of the music just the way he used to.

Feyla's chest pressed against her like it was trying to burst from her skin. She couldn't break away. Causing a scene would make everything worse. "What does?" she asked while trying to school her features into appropriate disinterest.

"I need your help with something," Daydrel said, dropping his voice an octave. He dipped his head lower, letting the carrot-colored hair of his neat ponytail slip off his shoulder. When had he started wearing it longer?

Feyla stared at his chest instead of his face. Daydrel's eyes used to be dangerous. She wasn't going to test whether that was still true.

"Fey-la," he whispered, savoring her name. "I need you."

Feyla took a breath. A cold sliver of metal pressed against her rising chest. Her necklace. Sedgewick's necklace. "I should go." Her grip on his shoulder slacked as she began pulling away.

Daydrel spun her again, forcing Feyla to hang on if she didn't want to be flung to the ground. "Hear me out. It's about my presentation, I'm trying to get the Lord's Council to back an expansion of the battle healers."

Feyla's ear quirked forward in spite of herself. Battle healer training was an old guild tradition. It was originally created to help healers in wars protect their patients from both themselves and others without causing further damage. During peace times, such healers would often be assigned to more dangerous positions, such as accompanying guardsmen or acting as escorts. With their ability to temporarily block someone's magic, the guild had pushed to allow battle healers to handle wizards, sorceresses, and witches. Feyla and Daydrel had been on the front lines of that push.

Feyla swallowed, still feeling Sedgewick's necklace against her throat. That wasn't her life now. "I'm not a healer anymore, Daydrel. I can't help you with anything."

Daydrel chuckled. "Hanging up your cloak doesn't change who you are. You'll always be a healer, Feyla. Fixing things is a part of you. And I need your help fixing something."

"Well, maybe I've changed. Maybe—"

"It's about Dormaeus."

Feyla's gaze dashed across the room, an instinct born of a long-kept secret. Daydrel had led them away to the edge of the ballroom where there were fewer couples. "What about Dormaeus?" Feyla snapped, dropping her voice to a whisper.

"Someone stole his file during the fire at Delia's new healing house," Daydrel answered as he lowered his voice in turn. "The mage's are after whoever did it."

Sedgewick definitely is, she thought. His reaction to her injury was proof of that.

Their dance slowed to a crawl as Daydrel continued. "If I can find the person who did this before the Magic Ministry, the Lord's Council will support the guild in using battle healers instead of mages. You work in the Magic Ministry. You can help us stay one step ahead, join us while we search and—"

Anger seared through Feyla, burning worse than her injured arm. "If you want your own personal little spy, you'll have to find someone else, Daydrel Elyssgrow."

"Don't think of it as spying," Daydrel answered quickly. "It's not about spying, it's about helping the guild."

"I'm not in the guild anymore," Feyla said through gritted teeth.

"That's not what your mother said."

Feyla hissed air out through her teeth. She stared at the other dancers, still sparkling and gliding gracefully in perfect order. Of course, her mother had told people her leave was just temporary. It would make it that much easier when she tried to suck her back in. Not this time, Feyla vowed once again. "Mother's mistaken." She wasn't going to debate with Daydrel about her mother's methods and motives.

Daydrel slowed to a stop, breaking all pretenses of dancing. His hand lowed, still clutching her own. "I'm sorry to hear that." He'd led them to one of the ballroom's shadowy corners. Feyla spotted a door off to the side, one that she'd seen more than one happy couple slip through for a chance to be alone. Over a century ago, being here with Daydrel would have sent her tingling with excitement. Now, it just made her gut clench.

Daydrel laughed, the sound throaty and deep. "I finally got to petition the Lord's Council and seeing you was still the best part of my day. Feyla...I need your help. I'm not too proud to admit that anymore." He smiled at her but it didn't reach his eyes.

Feyla tugged her hand away. "This is inappropriate."

"There's nothing wrong with two old friends catching up," Daydrel answered, a slight tremor in his voice.

"You always said you didn't want to be friends." And he had. Daydrel wanted more.

"I've missed you." Daydrel's now free hand reached up to touch her cheek. "When your mother mentioned that you were still unspoken for—"

"She was mistaken."

Feyla's ears stood at attention. She tugged herself away from Daydrel in time for Sedgewick to replace his arm around her waist. "My apologies for my tardiness," Sedgewick said to her. His jaw clenched as he eyed Daydrel, and she wondered how he was able to stare someone down so well when he was actually staring up at them.

Feyla's throat was slowly trying to choke her. Of course, Sedgewick finally showed up now. She leaned into his hold and tried to catch his cold, coppery gaze, but it revealed nothing.

Daydrel's hands dropped limply to his side. "Minister."

"Healer."

Daydrel's eyes slipped from Feyla to Sedgewick's hand around her waist and back again. "As much as I'd love to be insulted again, Miss Everbloom and I were in the middle of a dance. It's rude to interrupt."

"I suppose you'll have to forgive me then." Sedgewick took her hand in his own and held it close. Feyla flushed as his voice sank into a smooth murmur while his eyes stayed on her. "Being newly betrothed has made me reluctant to part with her."

Daydrel paled, his whole body freezing. "Betrothed?" he choked out, more at Feyla than Sedgewick as he searched her face. Searching for a denial.

Well, he's not getting one, Feyla thought. She squeezed Sedgewick's hand. Daydrel swallowed like he felt ill. "Just recently," Feyla said before turning back to her fiancé. "Did you two meet at the council?"

"In a way," Sedgewick answered. "Feyla, this is—"

"She knows who I am," Daydrel snapped, venom in his voice.

Feyla could feel the tension rising in the air like a suffocating heatwave. No, she was not going to stand here and watch as Daydrel provoked Sedgewick into arguing with him in front of the entire gala. "We should be going," Feyla said, tugging Sedgewick toward the side door.

Sedgewick released her waist and took her arm. "I hope you enjoy the opening gala, Healer Elyssgrow. It will be the only one you'll get to attend."

The venom from Daydrel's voice reached his eyes as he glared at Sedgewick. It vanished the moment he turned back to Feyla. "I meant what I said, Miss Everbloom. Think about it. Please."

Feyla watched as Daydrel turned on his heels and disappeared back into the party. If Sedgewick's stiff form beside her wasn't proof, she might have thought she'd imagined him. Finally, Feyla tore her eyes away from where she'd last seen Daydrel and led Sedgewick through the small side door. She closed it behind them and tugged Sedgewick down the hall and behind a decorative curtain hiding a small alcove.

Sedgewick dropped her arm the moment she tugged the curtain closed. "You're an intelligent woman, Feyla. So I'm going to assume that you weren't made aware of the fact that the man who was pawing at your waist—"

"We were dancing!" Feyla shouted, her defenses rising by the second.

"Is trying to get the council to strip the Magic Ministry, my Magic Ministry, of its power and its patronage," Sedgewick growled.

Feyla's defenses crumbled. So that was what Daydrel had been presenting. She'd stopped listening the moment he'd tried to get her to join him. "Sedgewick..." Feyla reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck. He'd swapped his mage's robe for a similar looking knee-length jacket. The hair so carefully arranged earlier stuck out from all the rushing around he'd done. She licked her thumb and smoothed a piece back down. "Beryn mentioned something had happened. Are you okay?"

"I'd be better if I hadn't entered the ballroom to see my future wife consorting with the enemy," he grumbled, not looking at her, but not stopping her either. "If you didn't hear about him after the council today then what were you doing together? He obviously knew you."

Feyla bit her lip. "Do we have to talk about this now?"

Sedgewick raised an eyebrow and gave her one of his signature glares.

Feyla sighed. She sat down on the cold floor and motioned for Sedgewick to sit next to her. He settled in beside her and tugged at his collar while eying her nervously.

"Daydrel and I studied together when we were apprentices. After we finished our training, he led the team I was on. The one just before we met."

Sedgewick nodded in understanding. His jaw finally unclenched. "An old colleague then."

"No." Feyla traced the lines running through the stone with her finger. "Not just that. We were engaged."

"Oh." Feyla could feel Sedgewick shifting beside her. "I knew that you mentioned once having..." He coughed and fell quiet.

Feyla finally braved a look at his face, but it showed her nothing besides his usual contemplation. Sedgewick released his collar and pushed his glasses up. "Do you want to...talk about your feelings or something?"

Feyla repressed a giggle. Sedgewick probably wouldn't appreciate it right now. "Do you want to talk about yours?'

"I'm still categorizing mine at the moment."

"Any findings?"

"I don't like him now, I didn't like him before, and you didn't answer my question."

Feyla smiled at that, but it faded quickly.

"You not still in love with him, are you?" Sedgewick asked. His voice was soft and timid, like an animal about to bolt away.

"No!" Feyla shot back quickly. "No, not for a long time."

Sedgewick let out a breath. "What happened then?"

Sedgewick's words scrapped across Feyla's skin, ripping open old pain like a scab. She rose from the ground and began pacing the length of the little alcove. "We had this plan for our future. Sometimes it was all we could talk about. Then we got engaged and it all just...stopped. He kept putting off the bonding. There was always one more goal he wanted to accomplish first. One more opportunity he had to take." Feyla stopped and stared at the curtain in front of them. She could hear Sedgewick rising behind her, but couldn't face him just yet. "If that had been our only problem, I could have dealt with it, but there were a few other issues, and in the end, everything kind of collapsed under us. I told him I was tired of waiting, and I left."

Feyla turned back to Sedgewick and took his hands. "After that, I got put on the mission with you, which eventually made me think that I might want a future with someone else. And at least two children," she added with a wink.

Sedgewick smiled at that and stroked her hand with his thumb. "I am sorry for being late. You look lovely, by the way. It...bothered me that he got to dance with you first."

Feyla stepped closer and straightened another strand of his hair. "This wasn't how I wanted the evening to go."

Sedgewick smirked like she'd just made a fatal error. "Oh, really?" he asked, his voice dropping to a purr. "So you didn't intend to drag me off into a shadowy corner all alone?"

Feyla smirked back in turn and ran her hands up the front of his jacket. "Maybe not this soon."

"You know, I am truly sorry for being late." His hand came up and stroked along the length of her pointed ear, sending a shiver rushing down her. "Perhaps I could make it up to you."

Feyla's breath hitched as Sedgewick closed the rest of the distance between them. "How?"

"I'll think of something," he whispered against her lips before covering them with his own.

Several eloquent apology kisses later, Feyla tugged Sedgewick back into the hall and toward the ballroom door. "Come on, I get enough complaints about being a distraction without keeping you away from the council all evening."

Sedgewick staggered out behind her, blinking like an owl. "Don't you need more apologies?"

Feyla laughed, fixing his hair again. "Consider yourself forgiven, Master Alverdyne."

Sedgewick grinned at her sheepishly, a look Feyla had never seen on him unless they were alone. "If you're certain." As he pushed his glasses back into place, his brow wrinkled. "Dearest, what did that healer want you to consider?"

Feyla opened her mouth to answer but thought better of it. Sedgewick had enough worries without adding a pointless one about her to the list. "It's not important. I'm not doing it." She tugged on his sleeve again. "Come on. You owe me a dance."

**********************

Author's Note: Here's an extra-long one for this week! I thought about splitting it in two but I think it works better as a whole.

Chapter 16: "I wanted to do this slowly, in stages, but there's no time. So you'll just have to be your brilliant self and soak it all in right now."