Magic's Memories

Chapter Fourteen

An invitation to the first gala of Lord's Season was how you knew you'd made it in the world, and Daydrel Elyssgrow intended to take full advantage of that fact.

He took a deep breath and savored the scent of heavily seasoned food, women's perfume, and wine mixing in his nose. Finally. All that time spent working toward today had paid off. Now he just had to prove he could do the job.

Sedgewick Alverdyne. An infamous name if there ever was one. Daydrel scanned the ballroom for his opponent, but the mage wasn't in sight. He was supposedly one of the most gifted mages among their ilk. Undefeatable, except maybe by the archmage. The rumor Daydrel had heard showed differently. Supposedly, his second-in-command had nearly succeeded in ending his regime. The man wasn't invincible. And I've got the advantage, he thought.

Nerves still bit into his stomach. The guild leaders were in favor of the plan. What healer wouldn't want an excuse to keep that many fewer mages from abusing magic? However, they'd made it clear that the guild could only spend so many resources on a push for expansion. If he could just get this off the ground, work a little longer, a little harder, he'd be up for a guild leader position within the decade.

Then he'd finally have time to focus on more personal things.

"You made a bold move today."

Daydrel turned to the sound of the voice. A woman—one of the ruling ladies from the council meeting—stood beside him. A few lines graced her eyes; the faint signs of aging. Most women of her standing would have used an illusion spell to lessen them. "If you want to build on something, sometimes bold moves are necessary."

The lady gave him a cold smile. "I remember you now. You're the man who ensured my family's murderer will never see justice."

The oppressing heat of the ballroom evaporated in frigid air. "Lady Calinya."

"Healer."

Daydrel inhaled the humid air. It still made his lungs shiver. "I'm sorry for what happened to—"

"Don't apologize to me." Her cold smile melted into wrath. "Your words mean nothing. You regret nothing."

"I regret that it happened."

"Which fixes nothing. I could not even bury my husband, my daughter..." Her voice cracked at the end. "Your guild ensured that I could never even bury their killer in their stead."

"Death doesn't justify death," Daydrel said, repeating an old healer maxim. "Dormaeus—"

"Is a wretch and a monster." Her voice dropped low, so low Daydrel had to lean his ears forward to catch her words. The rage in them froze to a point, stabbing at the armor of his composure. "No matter how many new names you give him or spells you put on him." The woman rose to her full height. "I...will enjoy watching Master Alverdyne beat you. He's is not always pleasant, but he holds to a higher standard of justice. Unlike you."

Daydrel's ears turned red as his anger finally simmered past Lady Calinya's cold. "I wouldn't place your bets yet."

The woman tilted her head up in triumph. "Master Alverdyne rarely fails to get what he wants, and unlike you, he knows where to start looking." Lady Calinya left in a blur of silk and fury.

Daydrel exhaled slowly. Complications. Even the best plans have complications. Not everyone would hold the issue as personally as Lady Calinya so he could work with the others. But did Alverdyne really know something he didn't? Had his mages poked around enough to realize the fire hadn't been a random act of violence?

He shook his head. No, Alverdyne couldn't know that, but could he know something else? The back of Daydrel's throat shook as he growled in irritation. Just keep working with what's in front of you, he reminded himself. Despite his dark thoughts, the party still glimmered like a gem-filled cave before him. The most powerful people in Abreyla were here tonight. He needed to focus on the opportunities they offered. No more distractions.

Daydrel began weaving through the crowd, ears peaked for any openings that could further his goals. A merchant discussing tariffs, Lord Beryn describing Kingsford to a group of ladies, the queen and king dancing—

That was when he saw her.

Daydrel hadn't drunk a drop that night, but an alcohol-driven hallucination was the only reason he could think of for her to be standing there. Feyla. Feyla Everbloom. The lights of the room grew hazy, shifting and coalescing around the woman he'd lost. The woman who was now just a few short steps away.

Daydrel was halfway there before he realized he was moving. He could work with this. Opportunities were his for the taking tonight.

With each step closer, Daydrel struggled to fight off the numbing haze of shock that tried to steal into his head. He needed to think clearly if he wanted a chance at getting anywhere. As he closed in behind her, Feyla's perfume caught his nose, different then he remembered. Feyla's eyes gazed off toward the dance floor, beautiful and broken all at once. The same look she'd worn when she'd left him. The same look he'd ignored too many times for her to stay.

"You're even more beautiful than I remember you being."

Feyla's chest rose as she inhaled. She turned to him and his heart broke all over again at the sight. "Daydrel?"

A smile crept to the edge of his lips. Not too eager, he reminded himself. "It's been a long time," Daydrel said, his voice softer than he'd intended.

Emotions flashed across Feyla's face like flickers of a poorly-hidden candle. She folded her hands in from of her and tilted her head up toward him. "I hadn't noticed."

Daydrel did smile at that. "I did," he said unperturbed. Oh, Creator help him.

Feyla bit her bottom lip and Daydrel fought back memories of how that used to be his job. No distractions. "Why—" He cleared his suddenly dry throat. "Why are you in the capital?"

"I work here." Feyla's eyes stared past him like arrows seeking a target. "At the palace." One of the flowers in her hair started slipping out. A petal grazed her ear right where he used to...

No distracting thoughts. "I didn't know you'd rejoined the guild."

"I haven't," Feyla snapped uncharacteristically. She raised her chin, defiance in her voice as her sea-shade eyes darkened beautifully. "I'm an assistant now for the Magic Ministry."

Most healers would have been aghast at one of their own stooping to the mages' level. They were looking too far in the distance to see the chance slapping them in the face.

Feyla folded her arms, waiting for a reaction he bet she'd see before. Daydrel held out a hand instead. "There's a change I'd like to hear the story behind. Dance with me."

Feyla leaned back and he could see the rejection rising to her lips. Daydrel took her arm and spun her into his. "You can see if I still remember my lessons."

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

Author's Note: Sheesh, Daydrel, you can't just go spinning people. People who follow my random book might remember this chapter's song from the sequel announcement. Now you finally know which character it reminded me of!

Chapter 15: "Don't think of it as spying," Daydrel answered quickly. "It's not about spying, it's about helping the guild."