Wind slapped Sedgewick's face almost as hard as Feyla's nails dug into his arm.

They hit the canopy of a merchant's stand. It cushioned their fall before collapsing inward, send them tumbling to the ground.

Sedgewick groaned as his breath fled his lungs. Pain laced its way up his back, refusing to allow adrenaline to push aside the flare-up anymore.

Feyla coughed beside him, kicking off the torn tarp. "Are— Are you okay?"

Sedgewick finally sucked in a breath. "I'm breathing again so I won't bother complaining," he choked out, wheezing. Basic breathing restored, the rumble of frightened passersby and the shouting of a very angry merchant were free to bang against his ears.

"I'll have your corpses thrown in the canals for this!" the merchant shouted.

Feyla began smothering him with apologies as someone else offered her a hand. Sedgewick staggered to his feet, bracing himself against the broken wooden pole. A crash sounded from the building above them while a less benevolent person suggested calling the city guards. Sedgewick snatched up half of a broken pole as a makeshift staff and tugged Feyla away from the frothing merchant.

"You stay right there, you crippled—"

"FIRE!" another observer shouted.

Sedgewick turned back to the building just in time to spot the flames from the inside finally flick their way out. Smoke began snaking out as another blast boomed from the building. Gaiven and Crayden both appeared at the office window, the anger in their eyes just as hot as the growing flames. People screamed and Sedgewick snatched his chance to drag the two of them away before they were spotted among the crowd.

They weaved down the streets, Sedgewick half hobbling as they pushed past people and ducked into alleyways. Finally, once he felt they'd reached a safe distance, they collapsed onto the cobblestone ground behind a crate in an alley.

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" he asked, leaning back against a stone building.

"I've got some ugly bruises that are making me regret jumping, but other than that, I'm fine," Feyla said as she caught her breath and gently lowered herself beside him. "How's your back?"

Sedgewick hissed as he adjusted himself. "When compared to the agony of black magic slowly sinking into my veins at the slightest spell, my flare-ups seem rather mild."

Feyla leaned her head tiredly against his shoulder. "Optimism. Good for you," she said, her chipper voice a bit duller than usual.

"Sarcasm, my dear."

"Oh, hush," she said, shoving him slightly. "I jumped off a building; just give me this one."

The late morning sun glinted off the nearby canal while they sat in the shadows of the building and caught their breath, temporarily cut off from the murmur of the bustling streets nearby. While not uncomfortable, the silence stretching between them only grew thicker as neither asked the obvious question hanging in the air.

Finally, Sedgewick sighed and turned to Feyla. "We can't sit here much longer."

"Then where do we go? Another inn?" Feyla nibbled her lip, her ears taut with worry. "What happens now?" she asked softly, finally giving voice to the question hanging between them.

Sedgewick ground his teeth together as he asked himself that same question. He'd lost his magic. Acceptance of that or not didn't change the fact that they were fugitives. "Every moment we stay in the city is another chance for us to be caught by Tyrinn, Crayden, or Gaiven."

"Did he owe you a favor too?" Feyla asked, raising her eyebrow.

"Not... quite. He was formerly a wizard. I played a small part in him giving up that life." Sedgewick shrugged. "But Gaiven never quite lost his vicious streak."

"The death threats kinda hinted at that." Feyla curled her knees up and place her head on them. "It's too bad. Someone from the Ivory Tower might have been able to help us. But if we can't stay in the city then what next?"

Sedgewick mulled possible options over. None of them were the slightest bit appealing.

"My grandparents own an orchard in their village. It's way out on the border of the Wildwood and so small that even the tax officials have trouble remembering it. We could go there."

Sedgewick shook his head. "They'd track us to your family eventually, no matter the location."

"Well, what about your home village then? Do you have any family who might—"

"No," he cut in brusquely.

Feyla's ears quirked down and she placed a hand on his arm. In the past, he might have been angry at her show of pity but Sedgewick had come to realize that Feyla wasn't being patronizing. She just cared.

Memories of how he'd felt after Beryn had told him Feyla never wanted to see him again shuffled to the forefront of his thoughts. Sedgewick took her hand. Pushing away her care and concern for the sake of his pride wasn't worth it.

"That's not an option. But the general area is outside Abreyla and quite remote..." Sedgewick let himself slip into a daydream. He pictured a little village or an outpost, remote enough that someone could disappear from society without a trace. There was a small house there with a potion shop or an apothecary in the front. A couple lived and work and loved there. They were a bit odd (mostly because the woman obviously could have done better) but happy. No, they didn't have much, but as long as the man kept the sun-grown woman from freezing to death, they were content.

As for Abreyla? Eleyna was strong; just like her grandmother. She would recover from him leaving eventually.

But would the Magic Ministry?

Sedgewick growled under his breath. "No matter what we do, Tyrinn still ends up running the ministry into the ground. I highly doubt that a man who has no qualms about consorting with black magic and sorceresses, meddling with First Age spells, framing me, and attempting to have me killed has the best interest of Abreyla at heart."

"Isn't there any way we could prove he's the one that did it?" Feyla asked.

"He's been too clever," Sedgewick said, clenching his fists with mounting frustration. "If he'd cast the curse himself, we could have demanded he be examined for black magic use but instead, Tyrinn kept his hands clean and let Bilara and Zedeya do his dirty work."

Feyla bit her lip again and frowned in thought. Until she sucked in a breath and gripped Sedgewick's arm as an idea struck her. "Tyrinn's spell notes! They're his handwriting, his style. When I had them, he'd already turned the ministry against me and the Captain of the Guard refused to let me speak to Eleyna. But if you went back to the Capital and you showed up at the palace, Eleyna would be dragging you in for an audience before the guards even told her you were there! She might not be completely convinced that you're innocent, but she still cares about you, Sedgewick. Eleyna wouldn't be able to help herself from talking to you."

Sedgewick pondered the idea for a moment. He slowly rose from the ground, rubbing his aching back as he did. "It's a gamble but I'd be willing to try it if it would keep Tyrinn from ruining my life's work. But Tyrinn's notes are in the same predicament as mine. Their ashes are now the property of Crayden."

Feyla jumped up beside him. "That's not true! You couldn't find either set of notes, remember? Maybe they weren't being kept anywhere near the fire."

"We don't know that. We wouldn't even know where to look if they weren't." He ran a hand through his hair. "Perhaps we should just leave the country. I don't want to put you at risk again by returning there."

"At risk?" Feyla asked sharply. "Have we been seeing the same things? Sedgewick, I love you but let's be honest, of the two of us, you've been the one almost getting murdered multiple times because you're the one with the giant target on your back saying 'Kill me; it's easier right now'." If we go back there, you'll be the one they're blasting at."

She paused for a moment, stepping closer as her voice became soft and gentle. "If you don't want to do this, that's okay. You've been through a lot. Maybe it would be better if we let someone else deal with Tyrinn. But it must be because you don't want to do it. Not because of me."

Sedgewick's pride stung as her words bit into him. It was true; since losing his magic, he had been escaping death around every turn, each one closer than the one before. Did he really want to risk his and Feyla's lives again?

And yet, he had escaped, hadn't he? In fact, he'd been within days of succeeding despite not having a drop of usable magic left in him.

A steely determination pounded out in him, solid and unbendable. Tyrinn would wreck the Magic Ministry, his ministry, and thousands would suffer for it.

Sedgewick straightened, a hardness in his eyes. "I don't care what that traitor claims; I'm the Minister of Magic and no one is hurting my ministry. We're getting those spell notes back. And after Tyrinn's rotting in prison, I'll pick whoever the gates I want to succeed me."

Feyla broke out into a grin. "Now that sounds like my Sedgewick."

He laughed. "You're not disappointed we won't be running away to the middle of nowhere together?"

Feyla leaned against him. "We can do that after we save the ministry."

"Right then," he said, picking up his stick. "Let's go pay Crayden another visit."

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Author's Note: Whew, that took longer than expected. In other news, I made a character banner for Sedgewick! And why yes, that is a young James Spader as the model. To be honest, he should probably look slightly older (and has the completely wrong accent) but I had a hard enough time finding a picture this close so I'm going to let it go. Also I officially stink at size formatting... Anyways, let me know what you think!