Magic's Memories

Chapter Thirty-one

The first thing Feyla became aware of was the biting pain in her leg. The second was Sedgewick screaming.

"You cowardly son of a witch! COME BACK HERE SO I CAN—"

Feyla's eyes fluttered open. Her head pounded to the time of Sedgewick's barrage of curses.

"—Until it's shoved so far up that it pops out your bloody nose!"

She blinked blearily in the dim twilight. A full moon provided the roof with enough light for her to see Daydrel coming to as well. Sedgewick needed no moon. The angry orange sphere hovering around him burned like a vengeful star. He swerved around and jabbed a finger at her and Daydrel. "Tell me, please tell me, that he missed one of you and you know which direction he ran off too."

"What makes you think I'd tell you if I did?" snapped Daydrel.

Sedgewick's ears sunk back dangerously. "Because the ground is quite a ways off and you don't have the magic to cushion your fall."

Feyla tried to stand but ended up doubled over and covering the roof in a fresh coat of half-digested lunch. That can't be good for the tiles, she thought, feeling strangely divorce from her surroundings.

Sedgewick didn't let her stay that way for long. He flicked a handkerchief from his pocket and coolly held it out to her.

Feyla wiped her mouth on it. "Thank you," she choked out. If she hadn't just been sick, the coldness of his actions would have made her that way.

"Do you remember where he went?" Sedgewick asked the same way he would have asked anyone.

Another question, the question, hung unasked and unanswered between them. Given Daydrel's presence and Desden's absence, Sedgewick had apparently decided to leave it that way.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," she snapped. Tears built in the backs of her eyes. Feyla forced them down. No time for that. She had too much left to fix still.

Sedgewick let out a sound that cruelly imitated a laugh. "No. Gates no. None of that. You don't get to...to..."

"You're bleeding," Daydrel blurted out. He moved to help Feyla up and away from her vomit but Sedgewick lurched in front of him and gave the healer a glare that cut deeper than Feyla's wound. His arms, still warm from using magic, wrapped around her with all the warmth that he'd avoided previously. Feyla almost smiled. She leaned against him and felt the rod-straight form of his back stiffen with all the coldness that he'd shown earlier. The light from his magic offset the sharp outline of his nose and glinted off the matching color of his eyes. Eyes that avoided hers even as he helped her. Not forgiven then.

Do you blame him?

"Can you stand?" he asked. His voice began cool and reserved but collapsed into a worried waver when she finally caught his eyes.

Feyla nodded yes and Sedgewick released her like a burning potion beaker. "Where's Delia?" she asked. Focus on the problem. She and Sedgewick could talk later.

"And my mages," Sedgewick mumbled. He left her side and went to the edge of the roof. Sedgewick's voice resounded crisp and harsh, summoning Sandrina and Mydel with several creative profanities interspersed between their names.

With Sedgewick no longer hissing at him, Daydrel approached and helped her sit down again. He knelt beside her and began tending to her cut. "Delia was going to follow along at ground level. She's probably making her way up now." After cleaning her cut, Daydrel applied a basic healing spell. Feyla watched her skin knit back into place while the brown-red of his magic slid across the thankfully shallow cut. The new skin was shiny and thin but still covered the wound.