Chapter Six
Feyla flopped back into her pillows. Every muscle and vein in her felt deflated and flattened. So much for them getting along, she grumbled inwardly, rubbing her bandaged arm.
It had to be because of the attack. She refused to accept otherwise. With Sedgewick's stubbornness, Delia's bossy streak, and their two very different opinions on magic, things were bound to be rough, but the stress from the fire had heightened everyone's emotions.
It wouldn't have been such a disaster if I'd been there from the beginning, Feyla thought. Delia and Sedgewick both cared about her. If she'd just been able to introduce them slowly, soften Sedgewick's bluntness, mute Delia's harsh opinions, instead of them crashing together like two opposing armies, then things would have been different. Every word from their conversation danced through her mind over and over again while her worry splashed over them like a glaze, sharpening the anger and shining the disdain. If this was how Delia reacted to Sedgewick, how was she eventually going to handle her mother?
Feyla's ears quirked forward. The sound of a door slamming and Delia shouting carried all the way into her room. And he was doing so well, she thought. Feyla sighed. Typically she'd scold Sedgewick for being rude but...
Her arm twinged in pain and Feyla shuddered at the memory of the look that man had given her. He'd meant to kill her, and he might have succeeded if she'd been an ordinary healer. Any irritation Feyla felt over Sedgewick's part in his and Delia's argument was buried under her own relief. She didn't feel like fighting.
What she really wanted was a hug.
Footsteps Feyla would have recognized anywhere hit her wood floor, drawing closer to her room. She knew that look had meant he was coming back! Feyla's heart flittered in her chest like a hummingbird. They'd been courting for a while now but Sedgewick's effect on her hadn't changed from the years she'd spent hopelessly pining after him from across his office.
Feyla sat back up and ran the hand from her good arm through her tousled hair before pulling her dress straight. The door creaked open. "I heard that, you know," she said teasingly. "And slamming doors isn't very..."
Feyla didn't finish before Sedgewick practically flung himself at her bedside and crushed his lips against her own. Thoughts flickered in her brain only to sputter out as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, digging her hands into his red hair like she was sapping comfort from the color.
Sedgewick tucked his own arms around her waist and pressed his mouth against hers as if she might be torn away at any moment. Finally, he broke away, his glasses slipping down his nose and his hair hopelessly ruffled. "Next time—" He sucked in a breath. "I'm coming with you."
Feyla pushed his glasses back into place. Next time, he had said. Why had there even been a first time? "I need to show you something." She pointed at the bundle of the clothes she'd been wearing during the attack. "It's in there. Pocket of my underdress."
Sedgewick reluctantly released her and moved to pick up the clothes. He let her sleeveless pink overdress fall to the ground and stuck his hand in the hidden pocket sewn into her cream-colored underdress. "It's a rune disc." He dropped the other garment to the ground and turned the broken disc over in his hands.
"He dropped it when he attacked me. What spell is on it? Can you tell who made it? Was it that wizard you said was in town?"
"One question at a time, Dearest." Sedgewick grabbed the stool she kept by her mirror and sat down beside her bed. He placed a finger on a line of spell runes carved into the gray, translucent material. "See this line here? That was for the fire. And this one pushed it into the explosion, while this one was probably for distance or direction, but the rest has been broken off. The spells aren't strong enough for the amount of damage so my guess would be either he messed this one up or broke it after he set up others just like it."
"And then ran out with it before the others triggered?"
Sedgewick nodded. "As for who made it, there's not enough left to look for any signature techniques. Perhaps we could find some more pieces during the cleanup to analyze, but that's assuming he got it from a wizard or sorceress well-known enough to have one. Or is one himself." Sedgewick held the disc up to the light, looking at it with an expert eye. "What did he look like?"
Feyla's jaw clenched as she revived the smoky memory. "Dark hair, skin a little bit dark than mine. Average height..."
"Not the most distinctive man in the world, was he?" Sedgewick muttered in frustration.
He was right, too. Most Abreylians had medium-to-dark skin. Dark hair was less common but the capital had more of it due to more frequent visits and intermarriages with the dark-haired Northlanders. Feyla skimmed her finger along her other hand while she mentally prodded at the memory. "There was something else. He had black veins in his hands. And red-colored magic, before he started blasting at me. There was something familiar about him. I can't place it."
Sedgewick's throat hummed along with his thoughts. "Perhaps you've seen his sketch in one of my files, but it wouldn't be Carrow if that was the case. He's not even a confirmed wizard."
"So it couldn't have been him?"
Sedgewick shook his head. "Just because we don't have a record of him practicing black magic doesn't mean he's not following in his brother's footsteps. Every wizard starts somewhere. Carrow's brother did have magic that color, but I've never seen his." He tugged a handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped the disc up in it. "If the veins were that present then he must be new to black magic. A more experienced user would have hidden them better."
"That's a good thing, right? If he's less experienced?"
"Yes, and no," he wavered. "More experienced typically means more powerful, but those new to black magic are feeling its effects for the first time. It would be like thrusting my centuries of power on a child. They feel heady. Drunk on the power, if you will." Sedgewick tucked the rune disc away. "Fearless and untouchable. And a man who thinks he can't be touched is a dangerous thing."
Feyla hugged herself, but the chill that had descended on the room remained. "None of this makes any sense. Even if it was Carrow, why would he, or anyone, want to burn a healing house?"
As soon as the words left Feyla's lips, the answer dawned on her. She grabbed and Sedgewick's arm and tugged at him. "He had a bag! He was slipping out a window near the records room with a bag. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner, we don't let patients in that part of the healing house. He shouldn't have been anywhere near there when the fire started."
"Which means..." Sedgewick froze as the same idea hit him.
"It was a cover!" She tugged on his sleeve excitedly. "He must have stolen something from the records room and used the fire as a distraction!"
Sedgewick nodded along, but as always, still prodded at any possible flaws. "What the gates would a wizard want from a healer's records and research?" He absent-mindedly took her hand. "I need a list of what all was held in those rooms."
"I don't think you could get it. Healers don't let anyone outside the guild mess with their records."
"Of course they don't," Sedgewick muttered in irritation. "Do you think that friend of yours would tell you?"
Feyla tensed and bit her lip. "Delia's been trying to pull me back into the guild for years. I don't really want to give her another way to pin me down." Feyla's eyes fell, landing on the bandage on her arm. The memory of the burning building and the burning anger in that man's eyes flickered through her mind and sparked her own anger in turn. That house was going to help people and he'd burnt it to the ground and risked the lives of everyone in it. Had people died? Delia hadn't said.
And he didn't even care, she realized. He hadn't cared at all. A father could be telling his children that they didn't have a mother, parents could be mourning their only child, and he. Hadn't. Cared. What was worth risking life and loss for? A few old papers. Feyla's nails dug into her yellow cover. "But I'll do whatever I can to help."
Sedgewick's gaze softened as he sat back down on the stool. "Thank you, Dearest. I know dealing with healers tends to bring back bad memories for you. For now, I'll see if I can't have Sandrina ask the guild first. I'd prefer to avoid involving you if possible. And I'll start tracking down Carrow. Perhaps you'll be able to identify him."
Feyla nodded silently, the stormy thoughts in her brain keeping her from saying more.
"I'll find him, Feyla." His eyes weren't soft copper anymore. They were cold and hard like pounded metal forged into resolve. She knew that look. It was a Master Alverdyne look. "He won't do this again," the mage finished.
"Sedgewick, please..."
"What?"
"Killing him won't fix anything."
"Killing him would be a fair restitution," Sedgewick muttered, his hardened gaze falling to her arm. Feyla tensed and the gaze softened, melting away the mage and leaving behind her Sedgewick. "But I'll not make myself the executioner if it can be avoided."
Sedgewick scooted close enough for her to rest her head on his shoulder. They sat together in a silence so comfortable that Feyla didn't feel her usual need to fill it. Eventually, however, Sedgewick did. "If you're feeling up to it tomorrow, I'd like to take you somewhere for mid-meal."
"Where?" she whispered as her eyes started to slip closed.
"A picnic spot. One I'm hoping we'll use regularly." Sedgewick pulled away and let her head rest on her pillow.
"Sounds nice," Feyla murmured. She heard him leaving the room even as she slipped into slumber.
If it had been any other day, her dreams would have been made of happy imaginings. Instead, they were filled with smoke and fire and a burning hand trying to drag her with it.
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