If rooms were supposed to feel welcoming, then Sedgewick's had stopped trying years ago.

Located in a currently unfashionable wing of the palace, his quarters consisted of a sitting room that would have been large enough for at least a visiting diplomat had it not been half converted into a small kitchen. Past the half of the room that still fulfilled its original purpose was a short hallway with two doors that led to a privy and his bedroom.

The minister of war and the minister of trade both owned their own properties outside of the palace complex but Sedgewick had never seen the need. Staying in these rooms had been one of Queen Alena's first gifts to him. The location was a bit inconvenient now since it was closer to the royal family's complex than the Magic Ministry, but he'd turned down offers of different rooms since King Eldain and then Eleyna had taken the throne.

A foolish bit of sentiment.

Sedgewick tapped a rune disc on the wall and gave it a quick burst of magic. The orange glow seeped through the runes, setting the glow-lights ablaze. He exhaled tiredly before hanging up his hat on a nearby hook and glancing around the room.

The furniture was well-made but old and plain with a low table and chairs in the kitchen and a settee that faced a wall full of bookshelves broken up only by a small writing desk and a liquor cabinet. In the cabinet, a wooden box of tea leaves took up valuable wine space. Feyla drank it when she came over for breakfast or the occasional cup when they were both working late.

Sedgewick pushed a stack of envelopes containing requests for research funding he had to review and apprenticeship offers he needed to reject off of the arm of his settee. He flung his coat over the arm and took in the room again. Gates, he should have just stayed in his office and kept working. That new research paper on illusion identification had been trying to seduce him away from his more tedious work for most of the day and Feyla had also been nagging him to reply to several lords demanding he come in person to fix whatever magical problem was plaguing them.

But thankfully, there remained one reason to trade in his homey office for his holding space of a home.

Sedgewick's ears perked up as a distinctive "meow" broke his solitary silence. He immediately reached down to scoop up his cat.

"Hullo, Telemachus," he cooed, scratching the fluffy cat behind the ears. "Did you miss me?"

He remembered when Feyla gave him the cat. She had been taking a leave of absence to help with her cousin's new baby and had stopped by his office one last time...

"Now, I finished writing your appointments down on both your calendar and your schedule, so you shouldn't miss anything," she had said while crouching down to double-check the tickets in her bag on the floor. "Your paperwork is arranged in the order it needs to be completed, and I asked one of the servants to bring you a cup of coffee in the morning."

She looked up at him, a small smile playing at her lips. "Keyword being a cup, Sedgewick."

"You cruel, heartless woman. You abandon me to my devices and then deny me my primary form of sustenance," he said, holding out a hand to help her up.

She rolled her eyes but took his hand while obviously fighting a smile. "You're impossible."

"Not impossible enough to keep you from staying."

Feyla bit her lip and looked away. A slight blush tinged her cheeks—most likely from the summer heat. Her face was closed off, but her eyes shifted his direction as if debating telling him something.

A jolt of panic shot through him. Sedgewick tried to calm it, to tell himself that she'd taken the remark as he'd intended. A joke referencing how his past assistants would have quit by now, and how Feyla's position was originally supposed to be temporary. The anxiety didn't lift. His throat contracted, and he didn't even register that he'd let go of her hand.

She didn't say she was coming back. She was leaving him, and not returning. He'd receive her resignation in the mail weeks later and then he'd never see her again and he'd be all alone in his office because no one else would put up with him and she would practically forget him, and—

"I have something for you."

Her voice jolted him out of his panicked thoughts long enough for him to shove them back where the daylight didn't reach.

Feyla reached into a basket behind her bags and pulled out a kitten. It was tiny, barely weaned. The little thing let out a "mweh" as Sedgewick gingerly took it from Feyla's outstretched hands. He stroked its orange fur softly while it nuzzled itself into his palm.

"It's a boy," she stated.

"I can see that," he said, a rare, soft smile forming as he continued petting the now-purring kitten.

Feyla gave him an uncharacteristically shy grin. "I thought he could keep you company while I'm gone."

Sedgewick opened his mouth and felt like a cotton ball had been promptly shoved inside it. He sealed it shut again and petted his new kitten instead.

They'd been close before that, and Feyla had certainly considered them friends, but it was then Sedgewick finally admitted that she might be...right. Maybe they were friends. Close friends, even.

It had surprised him how little he'd disliked that idea.

He shook his head to clear away the memory and settled into the settee with his now-purring cat. That had been several years ago. What had brought it to mind now?

Probably that tiff from earlier. Sedgewick winced at the recollection of his harsh words. He hadn't acted much like a friend then. Feyla wasn't trying to pick at his scabs, whether it be the physical one on his back or the metaphorical one it represented. She was just being...nice.

Like a friend.

Speaking of which, he thought as a knock sounded on his door. Eleyna had no reason to summon him today and his staff knew better than to disturb him in his quarters. Feyla had no such qualms.

Sedgewick scooted Telemachus beside him and rose from his seat. He braced himself for whatever scolding Feyla intended to give him and opened the door. "Hullo, Feyla."

"Master Alverdyne," she replied, her voice empty of its usual cheer. Her fingers curled tightly around the papers she held.

"Can I help you?" he asked hesitantly. Sedgewick didn't fear much but a furious Feyla could drive a man twice his size to his knees.

She shoved the stack against his chest. "Tyrinn asked me to give you these. He said your scouts found what they were looking for."

If Feyla wanted to give him a deserved verbal thrashing, she seemed to have decided to hold it off for now. Sedgewick sighed, relieved, before glancing over the first couple of pages. So the witches were still in the city then. How nice of them to make this so convenient. This whole matter could be wrapped up quicker than he thought. He waved Feyla in, his mind already shifting toward work alone. Walking over to his shelf, Sedgewick grabbed a paper and quill. "I need you to take this to Tyrinn," he said, scribbling a few instructions down.

"I'm off duty." Feyla's voice resembled a chipped cup made of fine porcelain. Fragile yet undeniably sharp.

Sedgewick paused, the tip of the quill dropping a blot of ink on the paper it hovered above. Feyla usually didn't mind running an extra errand for him, especially considering she would be passing by his second-in-command's office on her way out anyway. He lifted his head and stared at her, his amber eyes taking in everything. Her arms were crossed and her sea-colored eyes could drown a man even without the water slowly collating in them. The subtle shifting of her weight, however, revealed her inner discomfort. He turned his attention back to the paper and jotted down the last few sentences, sprinkling the sheet with a bit of drying powder when he was done. "I suppose I should apologize for my actions earlier. They were...uncalled for."

"Wow! You think?" Feyla gasped in fake surprise.

Sedgewick's shoulders tensed up. He stood sharply, pushing down guilt alongside another spike of back pain. "I said I was sorry!"

Her cheeks flushed and she stepped closer, meeting him eye to eye. "Are you? Or do you just want me to go back to being your happy little delivery girl?" She turned away and shut her eyes, but not before he caught a glimpse of tears threatening to fall. "You can't call me your friend only when it's convenient for you, Master Alverdyne."

It was his name, his title, but it sounded unnatural and almost derogatory on Feyla's lips. Yet what he felt was probably a fraction of what she had earlier. Sedgewick hesitated a moment before awkwardly touching her arm and turning her to face him. At the sight of Feyla's red eyes, and tear-stained cheeks, he was half tempted to pull her into an embrace, but...no. That felt excessive and silly. They weren't that kind of friends. His voice softened, holding all the tenderness he'd held back with his touch. "I'm sorry, Feyla."

She hesitated, staring at him and gauging his sincerity before sighing and uncrossing her arms. "I forgive you." Feyla reached up and took hold of the hand still touching her arm. "I'm sorry if I was being pushy. I know you don't like talking about—" She caught herself and squeezed his hand instead of saying more.

Sedgewick cleared his throat and released her hand. "You meant well. And in light of my previous actions, I'd like to make it up to you," he said, stepping away and becoming suddenly fascinated with the spines on his bookshelf. "The theatre's opening a new show the day after tomorrow. I could take you again. As a friend—" He knitted his brow and waved his hand awkwardly. "—thing."

"The day after tomorrow?"

"That is what I said."

She rolled her eyes. "I heard you fine. It's just..."

"What?" Sedgewick asked. Feyla usually jumped at the chance to attend the theatre. She liked the shows almost as much as he did.

"Actually...I have a date then."

He blinked and shifted his attention back to folding the paper in his hand. "...Right then. Some other time perhaps," he said, holding out the folded note before realizing what he was doing. "Oh, gates, my mistake." He moved to put it in his pocket. "You're off duty."

Feyla took it out of his hand. "I'll drop it off on my way out." She hesitated a moment before adding, "I know you can take care of yourself, but be careful with that guild, all right? You never know what might happen."

Sedgewick huffed as the door closed behind her. Not that he wasn't relieved Feyla hadn't finally snapped and left him, but "Be careful"? Please. In matters of magic, not even the fledgling sorceress who led the witches, still flushed with her first burst of dark powers, could match his years of spellcasting.

Telemachus padded over to him and meowed at the door Feyla had left through. The cat tilted his head almost accusatory. Sedgewick scowled. "Oh, don't give me that look. She doesn't belong here so you best get used to her leaving."

The calm before the storm is so invigorating, thought Zedeya, tossing the last of her ingredients into her cauldron. Especially when you're the one causing it.

Dim beams of light crept through the decrepit windows of the tall ceiling. The smell of plants and magic—earthy, with an electrifying spice—floated around the room like the smoke from the cauldron before her.

The cauldron sat on a pedestal in the middle of the room with a magic-made fire making it bubble and emanate a thin gray steam. Murmurs of voices drifted through the closed door, but other than that, the boiling cauldron was the only thing breaking the quiet.

A flash of light from the corner broke through the smoky mist, causing the witch-turned-sorceress to glance up from her labors. Spotting a green glow shining from a fist-sized orb, she wiped her hands on her dress and tossed her dark auburn braid over her shoulder before walking over and plucking it up. Her fingers grazed over the decorative symbols carved into the polished sphere. A message formed in its murky depths. She smiled, rushing to the door and flinging it open.

"Oh girls!" she called out, still clutching the orb. "Prep your gear!"

Zedeya flicked her wrist and sent the orb spinning on her fingertip right at eye level. "I'm expecting company."

"Would the person behind me who lit that fireball kindly stop being an idiot?" snapped Sedgewick. "Need I remind you both that this is supposed to be a stealth mission?"

"Sorry, Master Alverdyne," mumbled Mydel, the mage Sedgewick had picked to accompany himself and Tyrinn. At barely 150 years, he was a bit young for his position, but Sedgewick felt he could eventually become an excellent asset to the ministry. Assuming his inexperience didn't get them all killed first, of course.

Darkness clung to the three men as they crouched behind the empty shipping crates and gazed at the abandoned warehouse. It was set on the riverbank just outside the city, only a couple of miles away from the main dock. Crumbling, unpatched stone spoke of its disuse, but the footprints his scouts had found nearby told a different story, and the now-distinct scent of boiling cauldrons confirmed it.

The air smelled of witches.

He had still sent out the other teams to the rest of the possible locations, of course, but the moment he'd been told about this one he knew they were here. Sedgewick closed his eyes and flicked his ears forward, straining for any sound that would show that their enemies had been alerted to their presence. Although his eyesight wasn't what it used to be—his glasses alone were a testament to that—his hearing had always been excellent.

Catching nothing, he waved at Tyrinn and the two began creeping toward the building. Their plan was fairly straightforward. He and Tyrinn would make their way in through doors facing the river while Mydel stayed back in case anyone tried to slip out the door facing the shore.

He would have preferred going in through the roof or a window, but Tyrinn had told him that the nearby trees weren't close enough and the windows were placed far too high to reach without blasting themselves up and alerting everyone to their presence. Sedgewick seldom involved himself in all but the most dangerous of witch hunts, but these witches had begun rubbing at his ministry like a rock in a shoe might rub on the sole of your foot. Harmless at first, but blood and pain would follow if it wasn't removed quickly. His plan banked on a mixture of shock-and-awe and the element of surprise. Since his presence tended to result in, to put it gently, a larger than average casualty rate, with any luck he would scare most of the witches into surrender. And if that didn't work, well, he'd been itching for some action anyways, even if it would be over all too quickly.

They were just outside the doors now. The moon reflected off the surface of the river, shining light onto the tall, double-doored entrance to the warehouse. Sedgewick positioned himself on one side of the doors and Tyrinn mirrored him on the other. He closed his eyes and attuned himself to the magic essence coursing within him. A familiar orange glow enveloped his hand as his magic thrummed to life, aching to be used. Some ancient mage scholars said that the study of magic required the study of one's self. Magic essence, after all, came from within every fey. Feeling his magic hovering over the surface of his skin, Sedgewick thought they might be right. In moments like this, when his magic glimmered before him, the orange light flickering like little flames between his fingers, he felt such certainty, such purpose. This was what he was born to do, what his life's use was supposed to be.

He smiled.

With an ease that only years of training could bring, Sedgewick maneuvered a small portion of it through his veins to the sensitive part of his back, cushioning it against all but the most severe of flare-ups. Then he gripped his staff and sent the magic rushing through the essantium core, igniting it with a dimmer version of the glow from his hand. His eyes darted to Tyrinn, making sure a similar green glow covered the staff in the other man's hand.

The night was silent except for the steady hum of the river and the beating of his adrenaline-filled heart. He grinned. It was moments like this that he lived for. The only thing that could beat the calm before the storm was the storm itself.

This was going to be easy. Incredibly easy.

Almost too easy, Sedgewick thought, a sudden uneasiness gripping his chest. The witches knew they were being hunted. Why was no one keeping watch?

Sedgewick raised his hand to signal Tyrinn to wait, but he was too late. The other mage twisted around, a green blast erupting from his staff, sending the doors crashing into the inside of the building. Growling with frustration, Sedgewick fired off a similar blast of his own before the two of them plunged into the darkness inside.