Magic's Memories

Chapter Fifteen

Daydrel swung her into the dance before she could even give an answer. Irritation scratched at Feyla's chest like an old scab. If that wasn't a summary of their whole relationship, she didn't know what was. "Daydrel—"

"So the Magic Ministry. That must have been an interesting opportunity."

Opportunity. She'd forgotten how much that word could dig at her. "It...surprised me." Or Sedgewick had at least.

Daydrel spun her around and stepped them back into the dance perfectly. "I told you I remembered my lessons," he whispered while pulling her closer.

Feyla tensed in his grip, the memories of past dances flooding back. Daydrel had been terrible before she'd teased him into letting her tutor him. At the time, it'd mostly been an excuse to be alone with the handsome young healer. Daydrel had caught on quick. Turns out he liked things that let him lead. "What are you in the capital for?" she asked quickly. Daydrel might be leading the dance, but she wasn't going to let him lead the conversation.

"I presented at the opening council today," Daydrel said. A hint of pride caught her ears as they remembered his cadence and vocal quirks.

"Congratulations," Feyla said, giving him the same smile she gave to the stranger she bumped into at the market. Strangers. All those days spent at their favorite picnic spot talking for hours about their future together and now they were strangers. How many more of their plans had Daydrel managed to accomplish by himself? "You finally got everything you worked for." Her throat betrayed her, making her voice crack as she finished speaking.

Daydrel stared down at her, and Feyla almost fell back into the green flecks in his eyes. How long had it been? Over a century?

"Almost everything," Daydrel murmured. He took one jerky step out of sync, causing Feyla to bump against him as he righted them.

Reality surge back to Feyla, nearly knocking her over more than Daydrel's misstep had. This wasn't some guild party from back when she was an apprentice. This was the opening gala of Lord's Season. Feyla's eyes flashed across the room. Had anyone been looking when Daydrel had plastered her against his chest? Surely no one would think she was here with... Oh, no. Their clothes. Feyla had originally planned to wear a new green-and-pink dress, but after the guild attack, she'd opted for something with sleeves that would cover her injured arm. The dress she'd selected was pink underneath white. With Daydrel dressed in traditional healer white, accented with red to reflect his rank, the two of them could have been mistaken for a matching couple.

"This actually works out perfectly," Daydrel said. His thumb on her waist began rubbing against her to the time of the music just the way he used to.

Feyla's chest pressed against her like it was trying to burst from her skin. She couldn't break away. Causing a scene would make everything worse. "What does?" she asked while trying to school her features into appropriate disinterest.

"I need your help with something," Daydrel said, dropping his voice an octave. He dipped his head lower, letting the carrot-colored hair of his neat ponytail slip off his shoulder. When had he started wearing it longer?

Feyla stared at his chest instead of his face. Daydrel's eyes used to be dangerous. She wasn't going to test whether that was still true.

"Fey-la," he whispered, savoring her name. "I need you."

Feyla took a breath. A cold sliver of metal pressed against her rising chest. Her necklace. Sedgewick's necklace. "I should go." Her grip on his shoulder slacked as she began pulling away.

Daydrel spun her again, forcing Feyla to hang on if she didn't want to be flung to the ground. "Hear me out. It's about my presentation, I'm trying to get the Lord's Council to back an expansion of the battle healers."