Author's Note: What's this, you say? Wasn't this story finished like ten days ago? Well...yes and no. After publishing the epilogue, I got some feedback from my good friend mahana258 and she said that she felt cheated out of getting to see some of what happened in between the final chapter and the epilogue. I thought about it and you know what, she was right as usual. So for the people who wanted to see what happened with Arilla and Feyla's disownment and who wanted a longer look at Feyla and Sedgewick recovering, here it is.

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Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Feyla clutched them in her lap, fighting to remain composed while the woman who had birthed and raised her drilled passive, poisonous daggers at her heart. The trial had dragged on, with Feyla being cross-examined and questioned and prodded until her head pounded in time with the dull dread of her heart.

For a while, Feyla had feared Arilla would succeed in convincing the magistrate of her innocence but as Feyla and the mages, along with Delia and Jaerick, had told their stories again and again, the tide began to shift. Now it was time to discover if it had shifted enough.

Sedgewick sat near her, his hat placed strategically between them. Since Jaerick had restored the rest of his memories, he'd oscillated between wanting no one near him and half-pleading for her to stay beside him. Today he had chosen the latter. She respected the distance but oh, how she could have used a supportive touch right now.

The magistrate, an elderly fey who looked as if he would rather be at home by his hearth than sitting in judgment, rang a bell and called the room to order. "In light of the evidence presented against one Arilla Everbloom, I am prepared to pass judgment. Before doing so, however, I would ask one final time, is the younger Everbloom determined to sit in condemnation of the one who birthed and nursed her?" He looked down at Feyla from his podium, his gray, cloudy eyes whispering a more private sort of judgment. "Or would she like to withdraw her witness, as is given to her as a right by our great kingdom?"

Feyla dug her nails into her palms hard enough to sting. She knew—she knew that if she turned her head to the left then her mother's eyes would be on her, half-raging, half-pleading. Her eyes remained fixed on the magistrate. "I will let my witness stand."

The sound of Sedgewick's breathing shifted subtly but she didn't have time to ponder its meaning.

"Very well. By the power given to me by this court and our fair queen, I do pronounce guilt upon one Arilla Everbloom under the charges of kidnapping, consorting with black magic, abuse of her position, and the unlawful use of mind manipulation spells." He rang his bell again, the ominous toll echoing across the courtroom. "I sentence the guilty to be stripped of her position. However, while the usual sentence given to such crimes would be higher, given the guilty's past service to our kingdom and the motives for the crimes in question—" He gave Feyla a significant eyebrow raise. "I sentence the guilty to twenty years."

The bell rang. People began filtering out of the room but Feyla stayed in her seat until she no longer felt her mother's eyes on her. Sedgewick's hat left the seat beside her. He placed it in his head and held out a hand to her. She stared at it numbly before finally taking it. His skin felt warm and reassuring against her own.

"I thought you might dismiss your testimony." He said the words like a confession.

She turned to him sharply. "Was this a test? To see if I was happy that I had to send my mother to prison?" Her voice was breathless.

"Not that you were happy. Only that you were willing."

"So it was a test."

"No. Well, maybe." He fiddled with the brim of his hat. "I don't know. Would you blame me if it was?"

"No." Her shoulders curled inward. She kept her attention focused on shuffling her feet forward.

"Feyla." He placed a hand on her arm, stopping her. His touch sent prick pins of longing through her skin. Regaining his remaining memories had been a painful process. They had rolled over him like a massive wave, one covering centuries of life. Sedgewick had locked himself in his quarters, sitting on his bed for hours as the memories washed over him and sent him shaking and shouting in turn. Feyla had sat beside him, letting his head rest on her lap while she stroked his hair softly, his body shaking in time to some painful recollection. At other moments, he had shoved her away, sending her from his room with angry shouts that had nothing and everything to do with her.

Feyla stared down at his hand on her arm. Her heart strayed to escape her chest. Oh, what she wouldn't give to have him hold her right now...

But she wouldn't ask. Not after what she'd done. They were alone now, the only two left in the court chambers. He scuffed his foot against the well-worn brown wood floor as they began making their way toward the exit. "Feyla, I..."

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I hurt you and I acted no better than my mother. But you're doing better now s—so I won't stay and bother you for long. I talked with Delia and she offered to help me get a position as a personal healer somewhere quiet—"

Sedgewick jerked his head up. His nostrils flared, chin tilting out in offense. "So you're leaving me?"

"I won't make you stay with someone you don't want. You weren't yourself at the summer house. It's not fair of me to hold you to the things you said."

His touch lingered and his look left her. "I don't want you to leave..."

Feyla remained frozen, barely trusting the hope flittering across the surface of her skin, chilling in summer. Sedgewick threaded his fingers into her own. He squeezed her cold hand in his warm one. "I...it doesn't make everything better. But I do forgive you, Feyla. Dearest, wild thing. And I would like you to stay." The two reached the tall, double-doors leading outside. They exited together.

The sun hit her face and Feyla blinked in the bright, sudden light. The courthouse sat raised above the city like the palace was. She could look down and see blocks of districts and streets laid out below her. Life thrummed throughout it, no longer trapped under the terror Desden's fires had stoked. After the surprise rainstorm, the city looked scrubbed clean, like every dark secret had been washed away. Reborn. She squeezed Sedgewick's hand lightly.

That squeeze turned into a cling when her mother's voice hit her ears.

"Come here, child."

Arilla sat on a white stone bench. Her gaze restlessly searched the city below. Two guards flanked her but stood a respectful couple of feet back. One might have thought she was a noblewoman being protected. A scribe from the courtroom stood beside Arilla, her face hard and without bias or sympathy.

Feyla wobbled on her feet. The city below blurred. She felt Sedgewick grip her arms to keep her from toppling. "I can go with you," he whispered by her ear.

Feyla shook her head. She sucked in several lungfuls of hot summer air, but the humidity choked instead of soothed. The steps toward her mother felt like hours.

Arilla did not look at her. Only the smallest furrow of her serious brow indicated she knew her daughter was there. "You are stubborn, ungrateful, and a disgrace to me and my legacy." Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. "You have broken my heart far more than your father ever did."

"Mother, I—"

"Do not call me that again. You rejected the term already." She rose slowly, dispassionately, and with more authority than the magistrate. Arilla waved a hand at Sedgewick. "I leave you to the hell you've chosen. If it brings a fraction of the pain I predict, then I will be vindicated. Now, let my record stand as yours did."

The scribe picked up her pen and held it over the smoothed wooden slab that had her paper.

"I, Arilla Everbloom, before these witnesses do so strip you Nameless. So that I may remain untarnished, may you diminish. May the shame you have caused me die with you. May your daughters be remembered through their father. May your deeds be forgotten by both the Creator and the created. May all who hear your broken name know you are unwanted. From this day forward, you are an Everbloom no longer." Her voice rose with every proclamation, filling the air around them both with an ominous echo, a warning portending doom. Then it dropped to just above a whisper, her voice caressing the syllables of the name she had just denied her daughter.

Arilla's gaze washed over her face one final time, taking in their oh-so-similar features. Like she was hunting for what flaw had led her miniature astray. "Let the record stand."

The scribe finished writing on her wooden tablet. She presented the tablet to Arilla along with her pen. Arilla wrote down the names of several cities where she and Feyla had once lived, ones where notices would be published and posted announcing the disownment. Then Arilla set the pen down gently. She did not look at Feyla again. "Lead the way, gentlemen. I will not struggle. Nothing you take me to will be worse than what I have already felt."

And Arilla Everbloom walked away from her only daughter.

Feyla blinked back the pressure stinging her eyes. Her whole body was shaking now, and she feared she might burst into nonexistence. That the humid breeze might blow her away like dust from a long-forgotten relic. It was so hot. So warm, yet her hands were freezing. The city swam below her, no longer seemed her home but rather a teeming sea ready to swallow and drown her. Like an unwanted babe cast into the abyss, forgotten as soon as she left her mother's arms.

Too cold, too hot. Black spots blinked at the corners of her eyes, ready to drag her under.

Sedgewick caught her as she fell. Her stomach heaved but nothing came up. He held her until her ears stopped ringing and the clamminess covering her hands receded. "Can you stand?"

She shook her head yes.

"Let's go somewhere else, love," he said, a tremor in his voice at the end.

"I don't want to be at my house right now," she managed to whisper.

"Then we won't."

When she stopped wobbling, he led her down the long steps and into a city that didn't drown her. They weaved through the streets until Sedgewick found one of the cities many food carts. She didn't see what he bought until he pressed the wooden cup of tea into her hands. She sipped it slowly, letting the sweet, floral aroma clear her head. Jasmine tea.

Eventually, they were standing in front of the house.

Feyla balked. She gripped her cup in her hand, and a tiny splash of tea dripped down her hand.

"It was closer than the palace," he explained. She took his hand again and let him lead her in. The inside was full of dark, warm wood, and bright windows. The rooms they passed were bare, but Sedgewick led her to a cushioned window seat that had been cleaned and cleared of dust. She curled up on it and brought her knees to her chest. They sat quietly for a while.

"Part of me hoped that she would change her mind." A tear dropped into her empty cup. "But I knew she wouldn't."

Sedgewick rested on the edge of the window seat. He scowled, brow wrinkling in distaste. "Twenty years. The doddering fool should have just slapped her wrist with a sentence like that."

Feyla laughed a breathy laugh. "The blow to her reputation will hurt her worse. She's lost her guild leader position." Then the cup flew across the room, clattering against a bare wall. Her chest heaved. A low cry escaped her throat with angry tears. "I don't regret it. She wanted to trap me with my own mind and give me to that— that—"

"Perverted, incompetent bastard," Sedgewick offered.

A weak smile forced its way out. "You always have the perfect insult."

Sedgewick cracked a shaky smile of his own. "One of the benefits of my bridge-burning."

Oh, if she could undo the fight those last two words referenced. But then again, someone trying to erase his mistake is what led to this mess to begin with. "My head hurts."

"Rest here for a few hours. Or if you would like to throw something else, I believe I have a pen somewhere." He patted his coat.

Feyla laid her head down on the pillow of the window seat. "Why did you bring me here? Really."

Sedgewick hesitated. Then he very lightly rested his hand on her now-short hair. "She said you were unwanted. This is a place where that isn't true."

Tears came to her gently this time. She buried her face in the pillow and fell asleep to the feeling of Sedgewick's warm hand stroking her hair.