Or alternatively, In Which the Only Thing Stronger than Mydel's Crush is Sedgewick's Denial

Oh, young mages' spells. Was there anything more satisfying than eviscerating them before their eyes?

"In summary, you should scrap this whole section and start over. It's using far too much magic to be of any use, not when there are already other, more effective spells that accomplish similar."

Mydel swallowed, staring down at the spell notes he'd brought Sedgewick like his child had been cut to pieces before his eyes. "Th—thank you, Master Alverdyne," he choked out. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Sedgewick almost softened but stopped himself. If the boy was going to ask his opinion on his field of expertise then Mydel best learn to take it without blubbering. Whatever he cobbled together would never earn him a mastership otherwise. "Well, I suggest you start then."

Mydel began picking up his notes, his eyes still dead when Sedgewick's office door swung open and Feyla entered the room.

About time, Sedgewick grumbled inwardly. He held his hand out for his coffee only to have a report slipped into it instead.

"Four cups is enough, Master Alverdyne. It's almost evening." Feyla narrowed her aqua eyes as if daring him to challenge her. "That's from Tyrinn about the witches' guild you sent him after. Oh, hello, Mydel."

Mydel blinked like he was coming out of a daze. Sedgewick rolled his eyes as the younger mage's ears quirked up like an eager puppy. "Hey, Feyla..." he said, smiling lopsidedly.

Feyla smiled at Mydel and turned back to Sedgewick just in time for him to spot Mydel's gaze dropping down to Feyla's chest.

Sedgewick's ears tried to slick back but he restrained them. Indecent boy. Just because Feyla had very...womanly figure didn't mean he ought to be gawking. "Thank you, Feyla. One more cup and you can go home. I'm working late tonight."

"You wouldn't need all this coffee if you tried sleep for a change," she muttered.

Mydel laughed at the joke a little too loud. "Sleep, funny."

Sedgewick ignored him. "Why would I want to sleep when you're still here?" He paused. "To bring me more coffee. Obviously." Sedgewick added, his voice fading off in the end.

Their eyes met and Sedgewick's throat contracted at the sight of Feyla biting her lip.  "I'll go get that for you," she said.

Sedgewick stared at the closed door after Feyla left the room. He shook himself out of a haze. Gates, he must be more tired than he thought...

"Master Alverdyne?"

Sedgewick folded his hands under his chin. Was the boy still here? "Yes?"

Mydel fiddled with his hat brim. "Could I ask you a question?"

"Go on." She really ought to stop gnawing on her lip. Then he wouldn't be distracted with thoughts of how bad the habit was for her.

"Are—are you and Miss Everbloom..."

"Yes?"

"You are?!" Mydel exclaimed, his voice rising to a squeak as his hat nearly popped off his head.

"Are what?" What could the boy be blathering about?

"You know..." Mydel paused, his face fluctuating between red and green. "Involved?"

If Feyla has brought him that coffee, he would have just splattered it all over the younger mage. For a brief moment, Sedgewick wanted to feint ignorance. Involved? What kind of involved? What did he mean by involved?

Instead, he stared the boy in the face and sharpened his voice to a decisive point. "No." Then his voice became more frustrated than firm. "What gave you that idea?"

Mydel's shoulders slacked with relief as word still poured out from his mouth. "Well, I noticed that she's around you a lot—"

"That's her job." Why else would she stick around him?

"And you don't let other people talk to you the way she does—"

"It's a different profession relationship!" Sedgewick exclaimed. From the other mages. Feyla probably treated everyone the same as him. Probably.

"But I heard the other guys talking about how she comes over to your quarters for breakfast sometimes and Tyrinn told Sandrina that he saw you both going into the theatre together—"

"Feyla's idea, we're friends—" Sedgewick's chest started tightening into something suspiciously close to panic. Why was he panicking? There was no reason to panic, Feyla and he were ordinary, fine! In fact, there wasn't a Feyla and him.

Mydel paused. He scuffed his foot across the ground and avoided Sedgewick's gaze. "Yeah, I know it sounds silly. Sometimes she just...looks at you funny? I don't know, I'm kinda new to things like this."

Feyla...looked at him? The tightening in Sedgewick's chest temporary broke apart as fissures of warmth crept through. He tried to imagine how she looked at him. Did her sea-colored eyes light up? Did she linger a bit too long? Was she biting her lip while her eyes whispered him a secret? For a moment, Sedgewick slipped into a half-formed daydream, undefined, but oh-so-soft and warm.

Until his stomach dropped like he'd stepped too close to a cliff.

Sedgewick pulled himself up short and gave Mydel a bitter scowl. "Miss Everbloom is a naturally warm, considerate woman. I would be wary of assuming too much of her smiles. You'll find yourself disappointed." Feyla was nice to everyone. Sedgewick was certainly no different to her than any of her other plethora of friends.

Mydel relaxed a bit. "Yeah, she's great," he said dreamily, oblivious to the implications of Sedgewick's statement. "I didn't want to step on your territory or anything. So I guess you're an old traditionalist mage then?"

Sedgewick's ear twitched. Traditionally, mages were required to be celibate in order to wholly devote themselves to the study of magic. Sedgewick could even name some positions in the Northlands that still demanded it. In recent generations, however, that practice was no longer required, although mages who wished to advance to anywhere near Sedgewick's level were strongly encouraged to put off bonding till much, much later than their peers, if at all.

Mydel wasn't asking if he'd decided to practice the tradition anyway. An "old traditionalist mage" meant one who was old enough to be around when vows of celibacy were still required. "Boy, how old do you think I am?"

Mydel had the good sense to look embarrassed. "Sorry Master Alverdyne. It's just— Have you seen her?"

"Daily," Sedgewick stated flatly.

"I just thought that if you weren't interested it was because you'd promised... So you wouldn't care? Could you give me some advice then?"

"I already did." Sedgewick jabbed his hand towards Mydel's spell notes, his patience unraveling by the second.

"Not the spell," Mydel said, brushing aside his weeks of work with an ease that Sedgewick couldn't fathom. "With Feyla. Does she like anything?"

"Theatre, jasmine tea, pink flowers, talking about her feelings, those shiny hairpins that women used," he muttered instinctively.

Mydel fumbled with his spell notes and hastily scribbled Sedgewick's answer on the back of a page.

Sedgewick pulled himself out of the memory of the last time he and Feyla had gone to the theatre together. It had been a while. He ought to remedy that. "Why are you asking, boy?"

A nervous smile crept onto Mydel's face and a terrible realization finally dawned on Sedgewick. Gates, no. Surely not. "You're not planning to ask her..." He couldn't even finish, it was so ridiculous.

"I know it's too early in my career for anything serious but... I really like her." Mydel straightened his notes and opened the office door. "Thanks for all the advice, Master Alverdyne."

"Get out," Sedgewick said sharply before muttering about a waste of time under his breath.

The door closed and Sedgewick Alverdyne swallowed. He probably had nothing to worry about. Probably. Mydel has set his sights far too high. The only thing more unlikely than Feyla being interested in Mydel would be if she lost her mind and flung herself at him.

Sedgewick shelved the thought as the door to his office clicked open again. "Boy, I have better things to do than— Oh, there you are, Feyla."

Feyla placed his coffee on his desk. "You're not picking on poor Mydel, are you?" she asked, half serious, half teasing.

"Only a little," Sedgewick answered, his mood lifting like the steam in his coffee. "It's not my fault he's asking idiotic questions."

Feyla rolled her eyes and picked up her purse from her desk. "I'll see you tomorrow, Sedgewick. Try to get some sleep tonight, okay?"

"Overrated," he replied, opening Tyrinn's report on the witches' guild and shoving the conversation with Mydel to the back of his mind.

Their eyes met briefly as Feyla lingered at the door. She smiled and Sedgewick was half tempted to forget the report and offer to walk her home. It had been a while since they'd done that as well.

Then Mydel's assumption of their "involvement" floated back up from where he'd shoved it. No. He had work to do.

She shut the door and Sedgewick was left alone.