Since Feyla had spent most of her life striving to stay out of trouble, figuring out how to get herself into it was proving a challenge.

Where would he go? she thought, turning the letter over and rereading it for the tenth time.

If Sedgewick wasn't, well, Sedgewick then her first instinct would have been to search where his home village was. But other than vague references to him coming from somewhere in the north (after insisting that it was most certainly NOT the Northlands) she really didn't know much about it. What little he had said was always layered with a tone of bitter disdain. Would he really go back to the place he always avoided discussing? And if not there then where would he go? Sedgewick's letter had given her no hint that he would even stay in the country.

Feyla bit her cheek in frustration. If she was still an active member of the Battle Healer's Guild, she would have connections, resources, something to start a search with. But since she was a suspect in black magic charges, it wasn't likely any of her former comrades would be willing to help her.

"How do you find a mage in hiding?" she muttered to herself.

Then it hit her. She wasn't looked for a mage; she was looking for a suspected wizard. And there was one place that trained you in exactly how to go about finding those. And one man who wanted to find Sedgewick almost as much as she did.

Feyla dropped her bag behind an abandoned crate in the alleyway. She couldn't bring it in with her but needed to be ready to bolt as soon as she finished. The sun was setting over the city, casting dark shadows on the ground. Feyla pulled her white hood up to cover her face before casually walking down the street to the back of Tyrinn's house. Like many of the city's nicer buildings, it was made of a white stone bleached even brighter by the sun. And like the palace, the foundation raised the house a few feet off the ground to help combat flooding.

Street lamp lighters would be out soon, but Tyrinn should be tirelessly working to find Sedgewick so he shouldn't be following them anytime soon. With any luck, she could finish up here and catch the last boat out of the city. Feyla skipped up the steps to Tyrinn's back door. She glanced over her shoulder. The street was mostly empty and if she worked quickly, no one should notice her entrance.

Stay calm, Feyla, she reminded herself as she inserted her tools and began picking the lock. It opened with a click and she slid inside quickly, sighing with relief. Step one: complete. Hopefully, the others would be as easy.

Even Tyrinn's house spoke of his desire for control. The wooden floor was polished to a gleam without so much as a scuff to mar its mirror-like shine. Not a speck of dust rested on any of the light wood cabinets or the kitchen table and the few cooking items out were placed with a military straightness. Even the black metal stove looked scrubbed so hard that it was a wonder there was any metal left. He had no pets.

Feyla swallowed hard before lightly stepping across the polished floor. This was the house of a man who desperately needed to be in control of his surroundings. Hopefully, she didn't leave footprints. Outside the kitchen, a sitting area was at the front of the house and a staircase spiraled up to her left. She climbed the stairs, not even daring to touch the railing.

Sedgewick had once jokingly told her that a true mage never destroyed his research notes, no matter how dangerous or illegal they might be. He just lied to the Archmage that he had and then shoved them under a floorboard. Feyla almost smiled. Funny how desperately she was hoping that a Mageatic stereotype would hold true. Usually, she would be praying it didn't. Especially the ones that related to mages preferring magic to marriage. At the top of the stairs, Tyrinn had his sleeping chambers and another closed door. Feyla jiggled the perfectly polished handle and found it locked. Her tense shoulders went slack. A locked door was a good sign, right?

Feyla pulled her kit back out and started working the lock. She bit her lip with frustration when it refused to yield to her touch. Why was this one so much harder than the back door?

Because this one has something worth hiding, she thought with renewed determination.

She fiddled with the lock for almost half an hour before finally jamming her tool into the lock. It snapped open with a crack, sending her tumbling into the room. Feyla blinked and snatched up her dropped tools before glancing around. It appeared to be a cross between a library and a research room with bookcases splitting the room into thirds. Walking past two rows of shelves, she reached the back of the room. The back wall lacked a window and the bookshelves block the view of the ones that did. Perfect for working without being seen. A large table rested against the wall with numerous books and paper lined up like neat, perfect rows in a garden. A small spell-weaver stood beside the table and a mirror and chair sat against the adjoining wall. Feyla's hand floated over the papers, hesitant to let her visit be known by messing them up. Could any of this help her find Sedgewick or even prove his innocence?

The Ancient Masters: An Understanding of First Age Texts by Master Alverdyne, A Study in Efficiency: First Age Casting Techniques by Master Maris, An Academic Understanding of Black Magic: Volume Five. And those were just the titles she could read. Everything else was written in what she jokingly annoyed Sedgewick by calling "the mages' favorite dead language".

Every one of them was marked with the symbol of the Ivory Tower and noted as restricted access. Feyla snatched up the one on black magic and thumbed through it. But the runes and phrases made her head spin so she quickly put it down. Tyrinn was a master mage. No one would arrest him over a few books that he had legal access to. Feyla huffed with frustration. If the Ivory Tower just acted like the Battle Healer's Guild then half of these dangerous texts would have been destroyed and Sedgewick wouldn't have been under the curse in the first place. Stupid mages.

She was just about to abandon the table when a map of Abreyla caught her eye. Short notes were scrawled over it and different locations had either thick dots or X's over them. Feyla snatched it up and held it closer. One of the dots, which marked the city of Vacia, also had a circle around it and the phrase "check Crayden" scribbled beside it. What was Crayden? A place? A man? Feyla didn't know but if Vacia was a good enough starting place for Tyrinn then it was good enough for her. Especially since it was one of the places Sedgewick used to travel to on business.

But finding Sedgewick wouldn't matter if she didn't have anything to help him.

Feyla growled under her breath and took in the rest of the room. Think, Feyla. If you were a jealous, power-hungry mage, where would you hide your secret plotting...stuff. Her eyes swept the room one more time. Maybe she should just move on to the bookshelves. She pulled her hood off and ran a hand through her hair. Goodness, she was a mess. The stress must be getting to her; just look at that reflection in the mirror—

Wait.

The mirror! Everything else in the room was razor-straight but the Mirror. Was. Crooked!

Feyla jerked the mirror off the wall before she'd even registered that she was in front of it. She lowered it into the nearby chair and... Yes! A cabinet! The mirror couldn't cover it completely without being tilted slightly. And there wasn't even a lock on it! She yanked the cabinet open, her hands snatching the papers inside without hesitation as a giddy euphoria made her dizzy with joy. These would fix everything. She could have her Sedgewick back.

A door slammed open downstairs.

Feyla's dizziness double but now for an entirely different reason. Her eyes flashed around the room as footsteps thumped on the stairs. The rafters. The ceiling's rafters. She tucked the papers into her bag and scrambled onto the chair, using it and the nearby bookshelf to lift herself up into the ceiling's rafters. Feyla pressed herself up against the shadows, willing her heart to press itself against her chest and stop pounding so loudly. Why, oh, why couldn't healers wear darker colored uniforms?

A familiar green hat peeked through the obviously lock picked door. Green magic glowed around the staff in his hand as Tyrinn slowly entered the room. "If you're trying to rob me, I keep all the family heirlooms downstairs. Take as many of those as you want." He took several more steps into the room, each one making Feyla's throat clench a little tighter. "But something tells me you're not here for shiny trinkets. Now, who could be smart enough to realize there are books in this room worth more than the house yet dumb enough to trigger the rune disc in the door?"

Feyla dared a glance at the door and saw a broken, transparent green stone in the door lock. Idiot! she scolded. I knew that crack had been too loud.

He strolled past the bookshelves, the crystals at the top of his staff glowing dangerously. "Or maybe you're not here for the books either." He slammed the cabinet door closed with his staff and Feyla spotted another rune disc there too. "Maybe you're here hoping to find something that will save the undeserving target of your obsession." Tyrinn looked up and stared her squarely in the face. He smiled. "Hello, Everbloom."