Feyla was a healer—if only temporary—but there was no treatment she knew that would help the pain in her gut. It sat there like a lead anchor and held her paralyzed in front of Sedgewick's door. Arilla had taken hours before allowing Feyla to leave, wanting to know every sliver of every fact about her encounter with Desden. The arrival of sunset was now long gone and night had fallen into its place like a familiar cloak. Would he still be awake?

Even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. Others might be in bed but not Sedgewick, not yet. Especially after all that had happened.

Her hand rose shakily to the door. She rapped her knuckles against it quieter than she normally would.

The briefest flash of orange wove around the door before it swung inward silently. "I was beginning to doubt you were coming. Busy disentangling your waist from that healer again?"

Sedgewick's glow-lights were dimmed but she could just make out the form of him reclined on the settee they usually sat in together. A volatile, electric scent hovered in the air, the feeling of power tied down and leashed.

Feyla stepped into the room and was hit with another smell. Wine. Musky, sticky wine that's scent tickled her nose.

"Am I not even worth an attempt at a denial anymore?"

Feyla blinked, her eyes now adjusting to the limited light. She could see Sedgewick better now. His jacket and hat were tossed to the ground and he was down to an opened undershirt and his trousers. He hadn't bothered removing his boots and one foot sat propped up on his little table, dribbling dirt onto some papers he hadn't moved. The hair he'd been making an effort recently to keep brush and neat looked freshly tossed. A clear wine glass rested in his hand and the way his pale, fine fingers held it was the only thing elegant about his appearance.

"I told him to stop that," Feyla finally managed to tear her attention away from Sedgewick's appearance long enough to say.

"How considerate." Sedgewick sloshed the last bit of deep, red liquid around his cup before sitting up and downing it in a single sip. He let out a sigh and leaned back, waving his other hand as he did so. Orange magic levitated a bottle above his cup. The first splash missed it but the second filled it smoothly to the rim. "Such loyalty from the woman who's to become my wife."

"You're drunk."

Sedgewick laughed. It came out as a harsh, sharp bark that echoed unpleasantly. "Not yet." He took another long draught, seeking to remedy that fact.

Feyla closed the door and took a few steps closer. "You said— You said that you had words for me."

He took another gulp and let go of the glass. It floated in the air, the clear crystal and red wine gleaming in the low light. Sedgewick stood and prowled over to her. "So I did. But first..." Grabbing her suddenly, he crushed her lips against his own. The kiss started out hard and half-desperate, making Feyla's legs wobble at Sedgewick's burning intensity. She swayed against him and cupped his cheek gently. Sedgewick's lips softened as his arms ceased to grasp and started to cling. They lingered there, foreheads touching, breath hitting each other's lips, both supporting the other and neither wanting to be the one to end the moment.

Sedgewick finally jerked himself away, leaving behind the taste of his wine on her lips. He didn't tear his stare from hers as he wiped the sleeve of his undershirt across his mouth. "I was correct. It really is impossible to tell a difference."

"From what?" Feyla panted, bringing a hand to her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

"From the ones before you started lying to me." Sedgewick turned away. His glass slipped into his hand again and his shoulders hunched under an invisible weight. "You lied to me," he said, disbelief tinting his voice as much as the wine had. Taking another long sip, Sedgewick then released the glass. As it lowered to the table, the spell on it sputtered out and the heavy glass dropped the last two inches with a thunk. Wine splattered.

Sedgewick, usually so exact, so perfect in his casting technique, didn't seem to notice. "All your insistence that we be open with each other, that I could trust you, and you lied to me." He twisted back around and jabbed a finger at her. "You left me, you— you used me! I told you everything and you turned around and handed it over to that healer like I meant nothing."

"That's not true!" Feyla cried out. "I wasn't leaving you, I never want to leave you. You mean more to me than Daydrel ever did." Feyla could see disbelief rising in his eyes. She reached to grasp him and draw him close until he believed she never wanted to let go. Until he forgave her.

Sedgewick snatched her wrist. She could feel the heat of magic beneath his fingertips thrumming frantically under his skin. "Lying is unbecoming, Miss Everbloom."

Feyla bit her lip. Tears swelled in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she gasped. Anything to stop that look he was giving her. "I didn't have a choice! I can explain if you'd just listen, please."

"I'm sick of listening to you," he snarled, releasing her wrist.

Some long-buried fissure of rage in Feyla cracked open at those words. Her hands curled into fists. "No ever wants to listen to me. Well, you're going to hear me anyway. Everything I've done, even the stuff I shouldn't have done, all of it was for us. Don't you say that I don't care!"

"For us? Us? Do you hear the nonsense coming out of your mouth? What possible reason could you have for betraying me?"

"My mother hates you!" Feyla shouted.

"Your point?" Sedgewick replied cooly.

Feyla growled in frustration. "That's my point! You don't care! She hates mages and she despises you. She's threatening to strip me of my family name, Sedgewick! Do you get what that means? My own mother would rather have no daughter at all than one who shames her so much." Tears escaped, but they barely felt noticeable next to the pounding that had started in her chest and spread to her head and the pit of her stomach.

"What the gates does that have to do with us?" Sedgewick asked through clenched teeth.

"If I helped the guild then Mother promised not to disown me. We could be a normal family, our children would have a grandmother and eventually, people would stop—"

"Stop what?"

"Whispering. Judging. Treating us differently. I don't want to be Feyla the trophy wife or Feyla the terrible daughter. I just want to be your Madam Everbloom." Feyla swallowed, clasping her hands together and half-begging him to understand. "And I can't do this anymore. I can't be you. I can't stop letting it bother me, don't you get that?"

Wheels turned behind Sedgewick's hard, coppery eyes. His mouth twitched in pain but he quickly buried that underneath a cold layer of indifference. "You betrayed me to get back in your mother's good graces."

"It's not that simple."

"It's exactly that simple. Do you think you're the only one who hears whispers? Who's lost face because of us?" Sedgewick's hat flew to his hand and he shook it in uncharacteristic roughness. "I'm a master mage. A council member. I'm not supposed to be holding hands and playing house with a woman, much less actually marrying her. Do you have any idea how many more people have challenged me recently? Have implied that I'm losing my touch? I've lost independent research funding, lecturing requests, respect in general. Being with you was literally the worse choice I could have made after Tyrinn's mess and I didn't care."

"Of course you wouldn't care. You like burning bridges with everyone you meet, you probably enjoy it when everyone's snickering and judging us behind our backs."

"I didn't care because I learned long ago not to let other people's idiocy get in the way of what I want."

"Just because you're okay with being hated doesn't mean I am!"

The words left her mouth too fast, too sharp to take them back. Sedgewick recoiled as if slapped. His hat slipped from his hand and his arms jerked to his side. The solid copper of his eyes weakened and he curled into himself like she'd become a snake striking from previously safe grass.

"No," she whispered. "Sedgewick, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it, I—"

"You're right. People hate me. I know they do. I'm particular and difficult. Broken and not good for much outside of magic. Weak. I don't always like that fact but I was accepting of it. It didn't matter what they thought because I had you and before that..." Sedgewick paused and the last of the hardness in his eyes melted.

"Before that, I was fine by myself!" He shouted at last but his voice cracked at the final word and wavered into a broken whisper. "By myself, you understand? It wasn't perfect but it was comfortable. I didn't want to go through this again, to feel this way again. I couldn't take it, I can't take it and you—you came in, you cruel woman, you made me want and need and break for you. You shattered every barrier that I'd ever built and then you made me like it. And I'm sick of people saying I bespelled you because it's just the opposite. You lured me in with your sea-eyes and your coffee and your kisses and then once I'd given you everything I'd protected, you used me to hurt my entire life's work!"

"You tossed me aside like some broken bauble and it hurts, it hurts. I can't—" Sedgewick collapsed onto his settee. His shoulders shook and hunched inward before a sob wrenched free of his throat and consumed him.

Feyla stood there dumbstruck, but only for a moment. Then everything in her reached for him, aching at his pain. She fell beside him and put her arms around him. Her hands wobbled as Sedgewick slumped against her chest and allowed her to stroke his hair gently. The sobs hadn't stopped and each gasp of hurt cut into her like a fresh wound. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I love you, Sedgewick, and I— I didn't mean for this."

What did you think would happen?

Feyla's words froze in her throat. She turned over every combination of words she could think of to find a way to fix this but none came. What could she do to comfort when she was the source of the pain?

Feyla settled for whispering "sorry" over and over again as inadequate as it was. She rocked him while he cried until his sobs faded to whimpers and then finally stopped entirely. Sedgewick didn't move. Didn't speak. She thought he might reach for her like he had earlier but he didn't do that either. She stared down at him still leaning against her. His eyes were puffy and red from crying and the normally bright copper-color looked dull, muted and old. At last, he lifted his head and his hand came up to the necklace hanging around her neck. Feyla's breath hitched. The pit of her stomach dropped but she said nothing.

Sedgewick grazed his thumb across the orange stone, lingering on the red, flower-shaped veins inside it. His voice cracked but grew firmer as he spoke. "My mother told me to only give this to someone I trusted more than anything. The first time I gave it to a woman, she stabbed me in the back and thought she could keep it."

Feyla's skin grew colder than the chain around her neck. No. No, no, he couldn't.

"I was...cruel when I corrected that notion. Part of me enjoyed it." He played with the chain around his pointer finger and tightened his grip on the stone.

"Sedgewick, please," Feyla whispered. She couldn't move, could barely even breath. She wanted to rage and scream and beg but her body felt numb and immobile.

Sedgewick's eyes met hers again. A bit of the color had come back into them. Now they were molten and hot. Normally she would have denied that he could ever be cruel but she believed him then. He dropped the necklace. The weight of the stone became an anchor drowning and trapping her. Tear collected in her eyes.

The steps he took to the door wobbled under the influence of the wine. "I can't be cruel with you," he said softly. Sedgewick gripped the knob and turned back to her. His voice changed to a low rumble and every movement from the tilt of his chin to the stiffening of his shoulders was sheer, raw Master Alverdyne. "Take the blasted thing and get out. I've no need of it again."

Feyla let out a cry and ran to him. She clung to his shirt, her fingers shaking as they gripped the light brown material. A hole caught her eye. It rested on the left side of his chest, right by one of the small hooks holding the shirt closed. She'd been meaning to fix it for him. "Don't make me leave. Please." Her fingers slid down and grazed over the tiny hole. "I can fix this, I can— I can be good enough. Just let me stay."

The door swung open. Feyla didn't turn away.

"Go back to your guild, Miss Everbloom."

He yanked the shirt free of her fingers. Feyla's head shot up. Their eyes met one final time before Sedgewick slammed the door between them, leaving her alone in the palace hallway. She knocked on the door for a long time, calling out anguished apologies and begging entrance.

It never opened.

******************

Author's Note: So I might have cried while writing this chapter. I usually am a bit dissatisfied with a chapter when I post it but I really liked how this one turned out and I hope you all did too (and that you're not too mad at me).

I've been saving this song, You Don't Know My Heart by Rachel Platten, since I first started planning this story. It fits Feyla's desperate desire to have Sedgewick understand her so well. I highly suggest a listen.

Did you think Feyla and Sedgewick were going to react differently? What will Feyla do now that Sedgewick's rejected her? What are the odds that Sedgewick pulls himself together (Hint: not likely)?