"I'm here to collect my daughter."

The words rang through the office door into the lab Feyla was in. They pricked against Feyla's skin and tugged her back to when she was a little girl waiting for her mother to arrive and discover something she'd done wrong.

Feyla took several breaths and released the hair she'd been trying to bind. She rose from the stool and walked slowly to the door. Everything would be fine. Feyla wasn't a naughty little girl waiting for a scolding. She'd done nothing wrong and Mother would see that.

Besides, Feyla comforted herself as she twisted the door handle. Sedgewick isn't shouting, so things must be going okay. She closed the door behind her the proper way; not too soft and not too hard.

"There you are," said her mother. She opened her arms expectantly.

Feyla accepted the embrace and a peck on the cheek. "Hello, Mother." She schooled her features into a pleasant surprise.

"It's been so long, lovey. I was beginning to think you had vanished from the world. You never write anymore."

"I've been busy," she said before fighting back a cringe the moment the words left her. Excuses—

"Excuses don't make exceptions," her mother chastised in a childish singsong that heated Feyla's neck red with embarrassment. The older woman sighed and finally took a step back. She cleared her throat and inclined her head toward Sedgewick.

Feyla's face matched her red neck as she rushed into introductions. "Mother, this is Master Sedgewick Alverdyne." She took a quick breath to soothe her frazzled nerves before taking Sedgewick's hand. "We've worked together for a while now and he's...very special to me."

"Oh, yes. Delia mentioned your new occupation," she said blithely. But Feyla knew different. "Delia mentioned" she had said. The implication stuck out like a swollen splinter. Feyla hadn't mentioned it.

She laughed nervously. How much had Delia squealed? "Sedgewick, this is Arilla Everbloom, my mother."

Sedgewick swiftly held out a hand. "A pleasure, Madam. Your daughter is an exemplary woman. I don't know what I'd do without her."

Arilla took the proffered hand and gripped it lightly, letting go as soon as it was polite to do so. "Oh, I felt the same when Feyla left me for the first time. Thankfully, I knew that my daughter was doing exactly what she was meant to do."

Feyla laughed again, the sound wavering worse than a crying singer. She grit her teeth. "What are you doing in the capital, Mother? Delia told me someone else was doing the final inspections."

"Plans change, lovey. Especially when one has time to...reconsider poor decisions," Arilla said, holding Sedgewick's gaze.

Feyla stepped between the two of them and touched her mother's arm. "So why did you stop by?"

Arilla took her hand and patted it. "Do I need a reason besides wanting to see my daughter? I thought we could have mid-meal like we used to."

Sedgewick's hand slipped onto Feyla's shoulder. "Perhaps I could join you. There is something Feyla and I would like to discuss. Right, Dearest?"

Feyla loved that pet name. She really did. The way Sedgewick's voice softened when he said it, the sound of his peak's accent dancing over the syllables, the contrast between his usual reserved expression of emotion and the word itself, all of it wrapped together and made each use feel like a soothing balm had been rubbed into her skin, leaving her tingling.

At that moment, however, she wanted to stuff the balm down his throat and not pull it back out until her mother was gone.

"If you're hoping the guild will withdraw our petition, Master Alverdyne, you won't get anywhere," Arilla said, still smiling pleasantly.

Feyla could practically feel the veneer of politeness on Sedgewick peeling away like a bad coat of paint. She tried to catch his gaze, but if he saw her imploring look, he didn't acknowledge it. "It's not in my nature to stand down from a challenge, Madam. No matter how ridiculous."

"I wonder at your eagerness. Maybe it explains why your second-in-command nearly managed to kill you." Her voice was soft and even like she was discussing market prices or bandaging techniques.

Feyla held her breath, wishing she could hold Sedgewick's words back with it. Please don't, she thought. Just this once.

Finally, Sedgewick's stare landed on her. The building anger in his eyes extinguished. "I owe the nearly in that statement to your daughter," he murmured, still looking at Feyla.

Her mother raised an eyebrow at Feyla but held back her comments. Or most of them. "My daughter is a dear girl. Always helping others, even when they don't deserve her efforts. You'll have to forgive a mother for wanting some time alone with her child, especially since it's been so long since her last visit."

Guilt pricked at Feyla's chest like a child's nail jabbing into her arm, poking her over and over again. Her mother stared at her expectantly. Feyla nervously twisted a strand of her loose hair. "I guess we could all go together some other day."

"Wonderful." Her mother clasped her hands together. "You collect your things and I'll meet you at the palace gate." She nodded once at Sedgewick, the bare minimum of polite. "Good day, Master Alverdyne."

The moment the door closed behind Arilla, something in Feyla loosened like the laces on a pair of tight boots finally undone.

"Not exactly a paragon of understanding, is she?" Sedgewick said as he squeezed her shoulder.

Feyla stilled. The shaking of her shoulders that she hadn't noticed ceased. "Mother just worries. She means well." Feyla reached up and rubbed his hand. "That actually went okay. We'll get her to like you yet."

"I was hoping I might ask for her blessing," Sedgewick said. "It seems the proper thing to do."

"Let's give her some time to adjust to me even talking to you before we bring up the Minister of Magic being the father of her future grandchildren," she said playfully, even while her throat clenched at the thought of telling her mother. She'd never been good at hiding things from the woman; Arilla could tell Sedgewick was more than Feyla's employer or friend.

But things could have gone worse, she reminded herself. Maybe—hopefully—her mother's strict opinion of mages had loosened since Feyla had been gone.

"Are you certain you don't wish for me to accompany you, Dearest?" Sedgewick asked, worry creeping into his voice.

Feyla went back to treasuring that name. She shook her head. "I'll be fine."

Sedgewick's other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her against him. "Lying is unbecoming," he parroted her words back at her. "I might not know people, but I do know you. And you've not seemed yourself lately."

Feyla rubbed her injured arm. "It's—it's more than just one thing. First the fire, then Delia, and my mother, and I know I heard people at the gala gossiping about us again and—" She bit her lip to stop the words rushing out. "I just wish people would see how good we are together, and then everything would work out okay."

Sedgewick turned her around to face him. His touch was gentle, hovering on the surface of her skin like she was one of his rare, precious books from the Ivory Tower archives. "While I would like for your mother to not utterly hate me, I don't need people telling me what I already know."

Feyla's mouth tilted up into a smile despite everything else. Sedgewick had just proved her point. No other man could make her feel as treasured. There had to be a way to show her mother and everyone else that. "I'll work on her. And as a thank you for not snapping back, I'll stop by Delia's after mid-meal and see if I can get her to share what was in the records room."

Sedgewick pulled away and plucked her purse off his desk. He paused, toying with the drawstrings in his hand. "You know, I wouldn't need you to talk to Delia if you would tell me why Dormaeus is alive."

"Dormaeus isn't alive," she stated firmly as she took her purse. "Not the way you think he is."

Sedgewick raised an eyebrow. "I'm not quite sure I like you speaking in riddles."

"You're Sedgewick Alverdyne. If anyone can find Desden without hints, it's you."

Sedgewick's lips thinned to a line. The edges of his mouth waved like he was struggling to hold something back. "Well, maybe I'd rather solve it with you."

"Which is why I'm going to see Delia," Feyla shot back quickly. She fled the room before they could descend into an argument.

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Author's Note: Onto the new posting schedule! Thanks for being patient, everyone!

Chapter 18:

"Sit," she said through clenched teeth.