"You always did have a little bit of a death wish," Crayden said, crossing his arms over his open-shirted chest.  The man stared at him hard and Sedgewick met his gaze evenly.  Crayden had never respected signs of weakness.  The silence stretched thin.  The only sound came from the murmur of voices drifting up from downstairs.  Sedgewick's face remained stoic even as panic began curling its way through his stomach.  He kept his hand on Feyla's arm, ready to bolt at the slightest hostility.

Crayden stared at him a moment longer, his dark brown eyes shifting between Sedgewick and Feyla.  Sedgewick had just started to fear the worst when Crayden cracked a smile and broke out into a deep laugh.  "It's been too long, old friend," he said, slapping him on the shoulder.  "Come inside my office.  Ciaryn, go get a bottle from the cellar.  Gates, Hobrin, put those this away, you'll frighten my customers."

Hobrin sighed and trudged back to his room and Ciaryn shot Sedgewick a murderous glare before leaving.  Finally, Crayden led the two of them into his office.  The only reason it counted as an office was because it had a desk against the back wall.  On all other points, it resembled a den.  And since it belonged to Crayden, everything was ridiculously expensive.  An ornate woven rug covered the floor and a large plush settee stretched beside it.  The walls were lined with cabinets that alternated between locked wooden ones most likely holding papers and glass ones displaying various types of alcohol, the pattern broken only by a dartboard on one of the walls.

"Are you going to introduce me to this pretty little lady or should I do it myself?" asked Crayden as his eyes swept over Feyla, lingering at bit longer than Sedgewick liked.  Crayden smiled at her, his bright white teeth contrasting with his dark skin.  Sedgewick moved his arm around Feyla's waist and nodded toward her.  "This is Miss Everbloom," he said shortly.  "She's my—"

"What a pleasure," Crayden cut in before Sedgewick could decide what exactly Feyla was.  He took her hand and kissed it.  "I don't usually get to meet a friend of Alverdyne's.  You'd almost think he's embarrassed of me," he finished, winking at her.

Sedgewick's ears twitched in irritation.  He glanced at Feyla only to find her gaze drifting down to Crayden's bare, muscular chest.  It—it was probably a healer's interest in all the scars on it.  Probably.  Not that things like that bothered him.  They might bother men like Fenroy but certainly not him.  Sedgewick reassured himself while still tightened his grip on her waist ever so slightly.

"So, how do you two know each other?" asked Feyla, snapping Sedgewick out of his stewing.

Crayden laughed as he leaned against the settee.  "Now there's a story.  We served in the war together.  Alverdyne here actually saved my life once, if you can believe it."

"Twice," Sedgewick corrected.

Crayden straighten.  "Once."

"Twice."

Crayden gave Sedgewick a deadpan stare.  "That second time doesn't count."

Sedgewick raised an eyebrow while he led Feyla to the settee.  She sat down and smiled up at him, a look of relief on her face.  "That's not what you were saying when I saved your sorry hind," he finished, finally beginning to relax.  Crayden and he had been friends during the war but after it was over, Sedgewick had pulled back to the barest of acquaintances, only interacting when Crayden traded information in exchange for Sedgewick leaving him mostly alone.

"You were the one that got us into that mess."

"Details," Sedgewick said, waving his hand as if brushing the argument aside.  "But speaking of that incident, I need to trade it in for a favor."

The door opened and Hobrin cautiously slipped into the room.  Crayden's jaw tightened as he caught sight of the half-goblin carrying a bottle in his hands.  "I told Ciaryn to get me that."

Hobrin held out the bottle.  "She didn't wanna come in.  Sorry, Cousin."

Hobrin froze as dread washed over his face before he cringed.  Crayden ground his teeth and firmly removed the bottle from Hobrin's shaking hands.  "What did I tell you about calling me that?" he asked, his voice rough and filled with warning.

The much-shorter man swallowed.  "S—sorry, Cou— Crayden."

"Don't call me that.  You're lucky my father didn't throw you back in the forest you came from.  Now get out; you're disturbing my guests."

Feyla stiffened in her seat, her fist clenching around her dress.  It wasn't a big change but Sedgewick knew her well enough to know she was fighting from showing a very negative reaction.

Crayden set the bottle on his desk and took three glasses out of one of his cabinets.  He smoothly popped the cork off the bottle and filled each one.  "I've heard a lot of rumors about you lately.  Some are saying you've lost your magic.  The really interesting ones are saying you've gone black and quit the whole mage business.  Maybe you could shed some light on which ones are trustworthy."

Sedgewick crossed his arms and leaned against the settee behind Feyla.  "I'm sure a man like yourself could understand how important discretion is when dealing with such delicate matters."

Crayden handed Sedgewick a glass.  "Gonna make me guess; aren't you?  All right, I like a good game.  On one hand, your willingness to associate with me at all supports you not being as strict on black magic as you claim.  But on the other hand, if you had your magic, would you have been so tense when I interrupted you and my sister?"  He picked up his glass and took a sip.  Sedgewick's eyes narrowed.  "But at the same time, I saw you in the war."  Crayden picked up the last glass and circled around to the front of the settee.  "I saw how much you seemed to...enjoy it?  The fighting, the blood," he finished, swirling the red liquid around and watching as the light from the glow-lights made it sparkle.  He knelt in front of Feyla.  Sedgewick placed his hand protectively on her shoulder.  Not that he could do much good against Crayden without his magic.

Crayden held out the glass to Feyla and smiled a wide, too-white smile.  "Tell me, little blossom, does he still get that crazed, gleeful look in his eye whenever he's about to—"

"Enough, Crayden.  Leave her out of this," Sedgewick said, his voice low and filled with warning.

Crayden kept his eyes fixed on Feyla as if he were searching for something.  He chuckled softly.  "Don't get angry, Alverdyne.  I think I got my answer."  He offered her the glass again.

"I don't drink," Feyla stated sharply.  She rose from her seat and moved beside Sedgewick.  "And we're here for business.  Not exaggerated war stories."  Feyla took his hand and Sedgewick gave her a half smile.

Crayden straightened and poured Feyla's glass into his own.  He threw the empty one against the wall.  It shattered without him even flinching.  "Business it is then.  But your favor would only buy my silence.  I hope your exile has left you with a way to pay for everything.  I'm not in the mood to hand out charity."

Sedgewick gently pulled his hand away from Feyla.  She clung to it for a moment before finally releasing.  He pulled two papers out of his coat and handed one of them to Crayden.  "That is the list of necessary supplies."  He handed him the second paper.  "And that is the location, combination, and registered name of a small vault in the banking district.  I tucked some funds away and it should be more than enough to cover our expenses."

Crayden checked the paper with the combination first before moving on to the supply list.  "Rune discs, spell-weaver, a staff, few other basic things..."

"Can you get it?" asked Sedgewick.

Crayden laughed.  "I've been getting this stuff since before my quickening.  Could have it in under an hour; once I double check your funds.  I'm guessing you'll be wanting a hideaway?"

Sedgewick nodded.  Many of the abandoned, semi-drained aqueducts under the city were closed off and used as hiding places for all sorts of despicable individuals.  Crayden, of course, laid claim to all the best, most discreet ones.

"Well."  Crayden set the papers down and held out his hand.  Sedgewick shook it.  "It looks like we have a deal, friend."

Sedgewick gave him a forced smile.  But on the inside, he was feeling anything but friendly.