Magic's Memories

Chapter Thirty-six

Feyla was a healer—if only temporary—but there was no treatment she knew that would help the pain in her gut. It sat there like a lead anchor and held her paralyzed in front of Sedgewick's door. Arilla had taken hours before allowing Feyla to leave, wanting to know every sliver of every fact about her encounter with Desden. The arrival of sunset was now long gone and night had fallen into its place like a familiar cloak. Would he still be awake?

Even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. Others might be in bed but not Sedgewick, not yet. Especially after all that had happened.

Her hand rose shakily to the door. She rapped her knuckles against it quieter than she normally would.

The briefest flash of orange wove around the door before it swung inward silently. "I was beginning to doubt you were coming. Busy disentangling your waist from that healer again?"

Sedgewick's glow-lights were dimmed but she could just make out the form of him reclined on the settee they usually sat in together. A volatile, electric scent hovered in the air, the feeling of power tied down and leashed.

Feyla stepped into the room and was hit with another smell. Wine. Musky, sticky wine that's scent tickled her nose.

"Am I not even worth an attempt at a denial anymore?"

Feyla blinked, her eyes now adjusting to the limited light. She could see Sedgewick better now. His jacket and hat were tossed to the ground and he was down to an opened undershirt and his trousers. He hadn't bothered removing his boots and one foot sat propped up on his little table, dribbling dirt onto some papers he hadn't moved. The hair he'd been making an effort recently to keep brush and neat looked freshly tossed. A clear wine glass rested in his hand and the way his pale, fine fingers held it was the only thing elegant about his appearance.

"I told him to stop that," Feyla finally managed to tear her attention away from Sedgewick's appearance long enough to say.

"How considerate." Sedgewick sloshed the last bit of deep, red liquid around his cup before sitting up and downing it in a single sip. He let out a sigh and leaned back, waving his other hand as he did so. Orange magic levitated a bottle above his cup. The first splash missed it but the second filled it smoothly to the rim. "Such loyalty from the woman who's to become my wife."

"You're drunk."

Sedgewick laughed. It came out as a harsh, sharp bark that echoed unpleasantly. "Not yet." He took another long draught, seeking to remedy that fact.

Feyla closed the door and took a few steps closer. "You said— You said that you had words for me."

He took another gulp and let go of the glass. It floated in the air, the clear crystal and red wine gleaming in the low light. Sedgewick stood and prowled over to her. "So I did. But first..." Grabbing her suddenly, he crushed her lips against his own. The kiss started out hard and half-desperate, making Feyla's legs wobble at Sedgewick's burning intensity. She swayed against him and cupped his cheek gently. Sedgewick's lips softened as his arms ceased to grasp and started to cling. They lingered there, foreheads touching, breath hitting each other's lips, both supporting the other and neither wanting to be the one to end the moment.

Sedgewick finally jerked himself away, leaving behind the taste of his wine on her lips. He didn't tear his stare from hers as he wiped the sleeve of his undershirt across his mouth. "I was correct. It really is impossible to tell a difference."

"From what?" Feyla panted, bringing a hand to her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

"From the ones before you started lying to me." Sedgewick turned away. His glass slipped into his hand again and his shoulders hunched under an invisible weight. "You lied to me," he said, disbelief tinting his voice as much as the wine had. Taking another long sip, Sedgewick then released the glass. As it lowered to the table, the spell on it sputtered out and the heavy glass dropped the last two inches with a thunk. Wine splattered.