The next few short seconds of Feyla's life seemed like the longest.  Which was good because they might be her last.

Tyrinn was still smiling, his thin lips pressed tightly together.  "Now, this should be the part where I say that I expected more of you.  But honestly, I didn't, so let's just skip to the part where you drop down here and tell me where he is."  The green glow around Tyrinn's staff brightened in a silent threat.

Splinter pressed into Feyla's hands as she clutched to the rough wood of the rafters.  Adrenaline kicked in, sending a buzzing into her chest when she gazed at the glowing magic.  "He didn't tell me."

Tyrinn raised an eyebrow as he smiled again; this time a mirthless grin.  "Didn't tell his favorite little kiss-up?  Now that doesn't sound right.  What's that phrase you're always using?  'Lying is unbecoming'?"

Feyla shook her head.  "I'm not a liar."

Tyrinn stared at her for a moment, his thoughts bubbling under his surface like a caldron.  Then his expression shifted and he looked almost...normal.  Like the man she'd thought he was.  He broke their gaze and stared morosely out into blank space.  "Feyla, if he didn't tell you where he was going then did you ever think it might be because he didn't want you with him?"

The words hit her like an arrow, puncturing the dead center of her insecurities.  "He was trying to protect me," she whispered.

"No, Feyla, he's trying to protect himself.  Master Alverdyne knew that if you followed him, he wouldn't be able to keep his black magic hidden from you anymore."

"The only one messing with black magic is you!" Feyla snapped, digging her nails into the wood.

"Is that what he told you?" asked Tyrinn.  He shook his head solemnly.  "He's manipulating you.  Preying on your affection to get you to take the fall for his action."

"Liar," Feyla snarled from her perch.

"He doesn't care about you, Feyla.  You were nothing but a pretty little tool to him."

Feyla snapped.  "YOU SHUT THE GATES UP!  Sedgewick's under a curse.  Your curse."

Tyrinn curled his lips back into a sneer as all semblance of compassion vanished.  "What do you know about curses, you stupid little sycophant?" he snarled.  "Give me the papers.  Now."

"Never."

"You won't be able to decipher them and even if you could, no one here will listen to you.  Give. Me. The. Papers!"

Fear and rage churned within Feyla.  She slowly dug into her bag as if she was going to pull out the papers.  Tyrinn reached forward, his hand shaking with either fear or eagerness.  Her hand closed around a vial of rubbing alcohol.  She flicked the lid open.

"Come on, Feyla.  Just hand me the papers and we can work together to—"

She splashed the vial in his eyes.

Tyrinn howled in pain as Feyla jumped off the rafters onto the top of the nearby bookshelf.  She floundered for balance before launching herself onto the next bookshelf and rolling to the ground.  The light from Tyrinn's staff brightened behind her.  Feyla's heart slammed against her chest just as hard as she slammed herself into the bookshelf, sending both shelves falling like dominos onto Tyrinn.  She dashed out the door as his enraged scream cried out behind her.

"ZEDEYA!  Get her!"

Feyla glanced back at the sound of his voice seconds before a black blast zipped past where her head had been.  It burrowed its way into the wall, leaving a four-inch-deep hole.

"Moving would be a bad idea," the auburn-haired woman, who must be Zedeya, called out from the bottom of the spiral staircase.

A green blast shattered the door, sending Feyla's ears ringing.  "Staying would probably be a worse one."  She flung herself over the railing.  Her feet collided with Zedeya's face, sending the woman's next blast careening into the railing Tyrinn had just reached.  Feyla stumbled to her feet and fled out the back door.

She burst onto the street.  Night had finally stretched across the sky in a breathtaking image of summer stars.  A blast of green magic singed the stone behind her, leaving her little time to admire the evening.  Heat scorched her ear as a red blast blazed past her head from Zedeya's normal magic.  Tyrinn must not want her using her black magic in public.  Ducting down the alleyway she'd entered earlier, Feyla snatched up the bag she'd left hidden.

Her lungs burned as she raced down the stone streets, her pursuers drawing closer with every turn.  A wall to a private corner garden rose up in front of her.  Feyla jumped on top of a nearby crate, ready to launch herself over it.  A green glow encircled the crate.  It jerked it out from beneath her.   She tumbled to the ground, her white cloak flaring out behind her.  The rough stone bit into her cheek and the familiar taste of blood filled her mouth from where she'd bitten her tongue.  A shadow hovered over her.  The crate!  Feyla rolled to the right just as it smashed onto the ground, cracking the wood.

"Hold still you little twit!" Tyrinn shouted behind her.

Feyla growled in answer and stumbled to her feet.  She rounded another corner just as her legs started to burn like dragon fire.  This wasn't working!  They would either finally hit her or catch up enough to tackle her to the ground.  Tears stung her eyes as the night air stung her lungs.  She'd been so close...

Feyla turned one last corner and spotted three Guardsmen in the distance.  No!  There was no way she could escape them and Tyrinn.  Together, they'd have her cornered.  Right as Feyla's hope of escaping began fleeing just as fast as she had, a realization struck her.

She was an attractive, innocent-looking woman out past sunset with a very angry man chasing her.

Tyrinn's plan depends on making an innocent man look guilty. Let's see how he likes it himself, she thought.

Feyla screamed.

The three Guardsmen whipped around just in time for her to crash into the chest of the most intimidating looking one.

"There's a man chasing me!  He won't stop and I can't get away from him, please you have to help me!  I think there's someone else with him too."  An all-to-real fear shone in her eyes as she stared up at the man.  His brow furrowed, drawing her attention to the scar on his left eye.  The man placed his hands on her shoulder and thrust her toward one of his companions.

"Stay with her and find out what happen.  You—" He pointed to the third man.  "Come with me."

Feyla pointed them in the direction of Tyrinn and Zedeya and the two rushed off.

"Are you okay, miss?" asked the final Guardsman.  He led her to a nearby bench and helped her sit down.

"Thank you, yes.  I'm really sorry about this."

"Oh, it's no prob—"

Feyla's hand snaked out and jabbed him in the neck.  His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped against her unconscious.  She staggered under his weight and lower the man onto the bench.  "Really, really sorry about this.  Thanks for your service and all.  So sorry," she murmured, feeling a slight prick of guilt.

Shouting broke through the warm complacency of the night and Feyla heard what she suspected was someone being tackled to the ground.  Her hand slid into her bag, feeling for the stolen papers.  Tyrinn was right about one thing.  He had the Magic Ministry and the Captain of the Guard wrapped around his mage's staff.  There was no way she'd get a chance to show these papers to anyone who would listen. 

But maybe now she could find the man these notes were meant to harm.  Feyla adjusted her bag and vanished into the darkness the street lamps couldn't reach.