From Sedgewick's experience, in any house of great means, there was bound to be that one room which defied all reasonable expectations of taste. The sitting room they were currently in was one such room. It was fairly small and might have been comfortably cozy if not for the "décor" which was an ostentatious display of blue silks and satins that succeeded in making even the most elegant of people uncomfortable. Personally, he suspected Beryn had unleashed his mother upon this room in order to spare the lives of the others. Poor thing.

"Let me get this straight," said Sedgewick as he stared critically at Lord Beryn. "You suspect that the sea fey— "

"Meridian is the proper term," corrected Beryn.

Sedgewick raised an eyebrow in annoyance and then continued. "The Meridian ambassador is breaking your exclusive trade agreement and selling to another lordship."

"Exactly."

"And this concerns me because?"

"Because I'm telling you it concerns you, Alverdyne."

Sedgewick tensed but Feyla placed her hand on his arm and kept him from taking his irritation further. He shot her a look of gratitude and she returned it with a small smile. Forcing himself to relax back into his chair, he took a deep breath before continuing. "What, exactly, would you have me do? I'm hardly a politician."

"No, you're certainly not that," Beryn said rather smugly, basking in the glow that was having the upper hand on Sedgewick Alverdyne. "What I want you to do is create a tracking spell."

Simple enough, he thought.

"One that will be indiscernible to both her and my rivals."

He weighed his current magical strength and, yes, he should still be able to manage something that complex. "That shouldn't— "

Beryn raised a hand. "One last requirement.

"Yes," he said, grinding his teeth.

"I want it to be physically on her. Not on her ship or some sort of talisman."

Gates.

Putting a spell on an object was fairly simple. Yes, the spell might be complex, but the actual process of attaching it to something was rather straightforward. Putting the same spell on a living thing—any living thing—was another matter entirely. He would have to work around a being's natural magic essence in order to attach it. Curses buried into magic essence by design, but making a new one would take at least a few days and would require him to have samples of the magic essence in question... Gates! He didn't have time for that! But the energy required to just attach it... He clenched his hands as blood began pounding in his ears, pumping to the time of a word he had heard often in his youth, a word he had spent a lifetime trying to erase.

"Is that a problem, Master Alverdyne? I'd assumed someone with your 'skill and power' would be able to handle this with ease," said Beryn, apparently sensing his growing state of panic.

Useless. Useless. Useless.

Shut up.

He rose from the chair, barely conscious of the fact that he'd pulled Feyla up with him. "Gates, no. Provided you can give me the opportunity to apply it."

Beryn stood and folded his hands behind his back. "I'm hosting a party tomorrow evening. Ambassador Inia will be in attendance. The best time would most likely be while dancing, but I doubt that you--"

"That should be fine."

The lord raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Very well then." He turned to go, pausing right before opening the door. "This is important to me, Alverdyne. Mess it up and it won't go well with you."

The door closed and Sedgewick Alverdyne swallowed.

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"Sedgewick? Hello? Sedgewick!"

A snap sounded near his ear, breaking him out of the endless circles inside his mind. He turned and was met with a worried-looking Feyla. "Yes?"

"Are you all right?" she asked, her brow crinkled with concern.

"Of course I am. What made you think otherwise?"

"Well, you're still holding my hand, and you've been squeezing it pretty hard."

He was?

Sedgewick cocked his head down and saw that, gates, he was holding her hand in practically a vice grip.

Unclenching his taunt fingers, he hastily shoved his hand in his coat pocket. "I'm fine," he muttered, scuffing his foot against the gaudy rug pattern.

Feyla's frustrated sigh flooded his ears. Perhaps now she would leave him alone. He needed time to think.

A soft hand curled under his chin and raised his head back up. Feyla stepped closer and he was struck once again by what a lovely blue-green her eyes were. Her gaze flickered over his face, and if searching for a sign of...something. He wasn't quite sure what she expected to find. Sarcasm would be the easiest.

She licked her lips and finally met his gaze. "You don't have to do that, you know."

He huffed and would have shaken his head if not for the fact that her hand had yet to leave his face.

"And what, exactly, am I doing?"

Her thumb lightly caressed his cheek, sending uncomfortable—and unwanted—tingles down his spine.

"Locking it all up. Pretending that nothing affects you. It's not healthy, and I, I want to hear it," she answered, her voice dropping off at the end.

His ears cocked in confusion as he attempted to find a response to such a nonsensical statement. Her words just didn't make sense. Yes, they were friends, he supposed, but that still didn't explain her seemingly endless fascination with trying to pry inside him and poke at all the bits he'd rather ignore. Why couldn't she just let him carry on by himself like practically everyone else did? That, he knew how to deal with.

His brain kept spinning round and round as he tried to unravel how he should respond to such a statement.

As if sensing his temporary mental immobility, Feyla's words rushed forward in a torrent. "Sedgewick, I, I've been think. We've known each other for quite a while now, and I really value your friendship, but to be honest, I'm, or at least I think I am, that is to say, Sedgewick, I, I'm in— "

Panic flooded his veins at the sound of her words, snapping his mind back into focus. "Look at the time! I need to go prepare that spell," he said, pulling out of her touch and fumbling for the doorknob as he backed up.

Her lips parted, the hand that caressed his cheek still lingering in the air. Emotions flickered across her face, but he was unable to identify them. Disappointment? Anger? Relief, perhaps?

She withdrew her hand to her chest and turned away. "Do you need any help?"

"N-no. I can manage," he answered back, his throat feeling as lifeless as his voice sounded.

"All right," she practically whispered as she sat back down. She was silent for a moment, flicking idly at the ridiculous beading on one of the decorative pillows. "I think I might go into town tomorrow. See if I can find something appropriate for us to wear. We didn't really pack anything for a party."

"Right. Good thinking. Well, I best be going." He opened the door but hesitated a moment before exiting. "...Good night, Feyla. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Sedgewick," she said as he closed the door.

He trudged down the window-lined hall, the moonlight lighting his way. After making that deal with Beryn and escaping his awkward encounter with Feyla, he had expected to feel relieved.

He was met with disappointment.

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Chapter 12 Excerpt: "I'll look ridiculous," he grumbled.