"Of course I know you don't drink. "I'm not that dense," Sedgewick grumbled as they approached House Sunspirits.

"Okay, okay, I was just making sure," Feyla answered. "So, who is Crayden anyway? I read something Tyrinn wrote about him when I snuck into his house."

"Which you shouldn't have done."

"Oh, stop," Feyla said, smacking his arm lightly. "It was worth it and the only thing I'd change would be giving Tyrinn a kick in the face on the way out."

Sedgewick almost smiled at that. But he hardly wanted to encourage her dangerous behavior so he didn't. "Crayden runs one of the largest illegal magical trading rings in the country. He sells staffs, essantium, restricted potion ingredients, forged licenses."

"So why hasn't he been arrested?"

"Because places like this—" He nodded toward the building. "Keep him barely legitimate. The court and lord's mages before the Magic Ministry tried pinning something on his family for generations. They're too clever and well-connected. It would be easier to arrest a dragon. And possibly less dangerous."

"That doesn't seem like something that would stop you from trying."

"Well, not usually. But it's a bit of a long story," Sedgewick finished as the finally reached the building. It was two stories tall with intricate moldings carved into the white stone. They passed under an archway that led into the enclosed stone courtyard at the front of the building. Expensive glow-lights lit the courtyard in a gentle light. Half of it was portioned off for dancing as rich, elegantly dressed couples twirled to the soft music being played. The scent of flowers and the gurgling of cool, clear fountains drifted from the other half of the courtyard while people mingled about, drinking and talking. The greenest of plants hung from pillars dotting the area and vines curled their way across the white stone walls, giving the area an intimate feel.

Feyla gasped softly at his side. "This is run by a crime lord?"

"Rather surprising, isn't it?" he said, admiring the way the soft light shined off her golden hair.

"It's a paradise," Feyla answered, her eyes wide and wondrous as she took it all in.

"You should see the inside," he whispered, leading her to the door of the window-lined front of the building.

They entered the building and Feyla gasped again. Candles floated above their heads, making the tall, bronze-colored mirrors spaced throughout the walls shimmer in an ethereal light. Intricate murals covered the rest of the wall, depicting scenes from various myths and romances. The floor was decorated with colorful, polished stone, cut and fitted into spiraling suns. They found an empty corner and sat down on the plush, silken seats of the low-sitting table.

"Do you really think he'll be able to help us?" asked Feyla as she sunk into the seat.

Sedgewick almost ran a hand through his hair but stopped himself. Feyla looked lovely. The least he could do was stay halfway decent. "He has the resources."

Whether he'll be willing to is another matter entirely, Sedgewick thought privately, his ears drooping slightly.

Feyla must have read the worry on his face because she touched his arm and smiled at him encouragingly. "I'm sure you'll work everything out. You always do."

Her words spread over him like a balm, soothing cracks he didn't know were there. Feyla never doubted him. Even after he'd handed her plenty of reasons to.

She will if you muss this up, a small voice inside reminded him, wiping away the comfort of her words.

Feyla tilted her head, a question growing in her eyes. She would ask him what was wrong, he realized with a panic. No. There wasn't any way he could voice the worries, the fears tumbling inside him. Not after the show of faith she'd just given him. But how to distract her? Sedgewick's eyes fell on her dress.

"You didn't follow my instructions," he stuttered out.

"What instructions?" Feyla asked, puzzled.

"You look far too pretty and I specifically warned you not to look too nice. But perhaps you're incapable of fulfilling that." It sounded smoother in his mind but felt stupid and heavy on his tongue. Still, it was a true statement. He briefly scanned her dress again. A very true statement. The color reminded him of her eyes and it hugged her shapely figure rather nicely.

Feyla's lips parted and her brow furrowed until she fully digested what he said. Then to his surprise, her cheeks turned a rather endearing shade of pink before she smiled and looked down.

A server in a green silk dress approached the table. "Welcome to House Sunspirits. What is it you desire?" the woman questioned.

"Some jasmine tea for the lady and I would like to speak to the master of the house about a custom brew, do you understand?" asked Sedgewick, staring at her hard while he adjusted his glasses.

The woman swallowed, a fake smile plastered on her face. "The master of the house is out on personal business. Would you like me to inform Madam Ciaryn of your request?"

Gates, he thought. Crayden was one thing but that woman was another.

"I would prefer to speak to the man himself," Sedgewick answered, grinding his teeth.

"He is away on personal business," she restated firmly. "You can wait for his return or I can bring you Madam Ciaryn."

"We'll wait." Feyla stared at him in confusion but he couldn't answer her right now. "While we do so, I'd like a glass of wine. Something red, at least a century old. Other than that, surprise me."

"Of course, sir," she answered, before turning on her heels and walking away.

"Why are we waiting?" asked Feyla. "Can't you just talk to whoever she said?"

"Not if we wish to accomplish anything," Sedgewick grumbled. "That woman—Crayden's sister—despises me."

"Why?" Feyla asked, scooting closer.

Her perfume drifted to his nose, distracting him far more than he wanted to admit. "It's—"

"Another long story?" she asked incredulously. "You must have done something to make her hate you."

"The woman is far too touchy. I simply acted like myself."

Feyla sighed dramatically. "I guess not everyone finds you as adorable as I do," she said, grinning at him.

Sedgewick raised an eyebrow while his ear gave a twitch of annoyance. "Children are adorable. So are kittens. Grown men are not adorable."

"Some men are adorable," Feyla answered back playfully.

Sedgewick snorted but their drinks arrived before he could protest further.

"I love this tea," Feyla said as she breathed its scent in deeply. She smiled again before slowly turning solemn as she continued to stare at the cup. "Sedgewick, I know we have a lot going on. I realize that and I don't want to force you into anything but... Are we—" She gestured to their drinks and fancy clothing. "Does this mean anything? Really mean anything?"

And there was the difficulty.

When Sedgewick was being honest with himself, he admitted that he...liked where they were at. He liked being able to take the beautiful, charming, loving Miss Everbloom out to expensive (and thus impressive) places. He could picture that. They'd drink and flirt and playfully tease. Then he'd sweep her outside for some dancing, soaking a few last moments in her company before dropping her off at her room. That he could see himself doing. But beyond?

Feyla had never been secretive about her eventual desire to settle down and build a family. Sedgewick could picture that. He could picture her outside in the garden of a house, a child or two playing under the shade of a tree while they waited for their father to come home. She fit there; like the center point of a painting. But as much as he might want to (and part of him wanted to very much) he could never paint himself into that picture. Every time he tried, the image became washed out and smudged. As if he'd ruined it.

No, Sedgewick thought, rejecting the idyllic image once again. There was only one thing he was any good for. He needed to focus on getting back to that. Once he had his magic and his position maybe then he could spare a thought to such a far-flung fantasy. Or maybe not. After all, Feyla might come to her senses by then.

"Sedgewick?" She took his hand.

He stared at it, squeezing softly. "Feyla, I—"

"You need to leave."

Sedgewick's head jerked up but Feyla was just as confused as he was. Finally, he scowled as he saw the serving girl standing over them. "Come again?" he spat out, barely clinging to his last scrap of politeness.

"Madam Ciaryn wishes for you to leave."

Sedgewick chuckled roughly. He stood from the table and brushed past the woman, still holding Feyla's hand as he tugged her with him to the staircase that led to the top floor. "I'm sure she does."

"Sir! You need to leave!"

"Don't mess with me, girl! They don't pay you enough," he shot back. Of course, the effect was somewhat diminished by Feyla's next remark.

"Really, really sorry about all this. Thank you for the tea!"

Sedgewick stomped up the stairs until he reached the first door at the top. He released Feyla's hand and banged on the door. "CIARYN! I know you're in there! Let me speak to Crayden or I'll—"

"Or you'll what? Throw a hissy fit?" asked a woman's voice from behind them.

Sedgewick spun around and Feyla squeaked in surprise. Ciaryn stood before them, her arms crossed over her black dress. Her rod-straight light brown hair framed a pair of judgment-filled eyes as she glared down at Sedgewick. "Get out, Alverdyne. Before I pick you up and throw you off the balcony."

Sedgewick met her glare with one of his own. "Don't interfere, Ciaryn. I'm here for your brother, not to satisfy your violent urges and irrational hatred."

"What he means to say," said Feyla as she stepped in front of Sedgewick. "Is that we would be very grateful if you could please let us see your brother."

"Not happening. Now take your boyfriend and leave," she said, her voice hardening as she pointed to the stairs.

"But we just—"

"No."

"Couldn't we—"

"I said, NO! Hobrin!" she shouted, half turning around. A door further down the hall opened and the half-goblin poked his head out.

"You need somethin'?" he asked.

"Get over here and throw these two out."

Sedgewick glared at him and Hobrin swallowed. "Uh, uh. You told me he didn't have magic last time and look where that got me. It's your turn to throw people out. I threw that drunk warlock out last week."

Ciaryn ground her teeth together as her eyes narrowed into slits. "Hobrin. Throw them out. Now."

For a moment, he wavered as if debating which person could hurt him the most. Finally, Hobrin dropped his head and sighed. "I'll go get my knives. Anything you're wantin' me to aim for?"

Ciaryn smirked. Feyla grabbed Sedgewick's arm just as hard as panic grabbed ahold of his chest.

"Everyone, this really isn't needed," Feyla squeaked, her negotiating tone approaching panic. Sedgewick grabbed her arm in return and started slowly backing them away.

"Maybe we could come back later?" she added when Hobrin emerged wearing a belt of rather sharp-looking throwing knives.

"Not a chance. Get it through your heads; you're not seeing—"

"Crayden?" asked a smooth, masculine voice from behind Ciaryn.

Ciaryn jumped like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "Crayden! My heart can't handle your sneaking around," she snapped.

"Since you're tossing out one of my most valuable associates, maybe it'd better if it didn't." He nodded to Sedgewick. "Figured you'd be by. If you didn't get killed first."