Healers were already picking their way through the battlefield. Their clean, white cloaks reminded Sedgewick of white mountain flowers struggling against a dark, muddy cliffside. A fair-haired woman knelt beside an injured man with brown-red hair the same color as the blood leaving him. Sedgewick doubted her cloak would be so white by nightfall.

The cut in his arm pulsed in pain, refusing to be ignored now that the rush of adrenaline had faded. He'd need to tend to it eventually but for now, it wasn't worth pulling one of those white cloaks away from their search of dying men.

He picked his way through the tents, heading for the largest one closer to the center. Two soldiers at the entrance of the teal tent reached for their spears at first glance before relaxing back at the sight of his face and his signature pointed, orange mage's hat. "You're in time, Master Alverdyne," the taller one said, giving him a grim smile. "They're still waiting on Prince Rodren to arrive."

"Might want to get that arm looked at," the shorter one added after a glance at his wound. "I had a cousin once whose wound got infected and the healer had to take a saw— "

"I'll handle it later," Sedgewick said, brushing the gruesome story aside. Was everyone going to mother him today? He stepped into the large war tent, ducking his hat underneath the flap.

Grim faces greeted him. Most of Abreyla's lords, along with a few generals and advisors, flanked King Eldain on both sides of a long wooden table.

Lord Aldurin of Kingsford, an aged fey whose white hair was braided back from his brown skin, greeted him first. "My congratulations, young Master Alverdyne. Your spell today was as effective as it was terrifying."

"I'm honored to be of use to the crown and kingdom," he answered blandly. While in the past, Abreyla's mages had answered to their respective lords, now they answered to Sedgewick and his Ministry of Magic. Who, of course, answered directly to King Eldain. Just as he'd answered to Queen Alena when she'd lived.

Eldain gave him a subtle nod as Sedgewick took his place slightly behind him. He approved of anything that reminded the lords of how the new system worked. "My brother?" Eldain asked the shorter soldier who'd just stepped into the tent.

"Prince Rodren has been delayed and asks that you proceed without him."

Eldain's jaw tightened imperceptibly and Sedgewick had to force his own not to follow suit. Had Rodren been injured? Or had his health, not strong on the best of days, been strained too much by the battle?

Lord Aldurin, the father of Rodren's betrothed, let out a snort of disdain.

Eldain's ear gave a twitch and Sedgewick leveled the lord with the glare that the king couldn't. "We will wait," Eldain replied in a tone that brokered no disagreement.

One of the lords called for wine and wait they did. Half an hour later, Prince Rodren stepped into the war tent. He looked remarkably similar to Eldain. Same brown hair and coppery skin, same height, same straightness of the shoulders. But where Eldain's expressions were as hard as marble, Rodren's shifted like a tide, in some ways, making him even harder to read. His mother's training had only taken so much. Rodren went through at least three expressions when he entered the room and Sedgewick didn't miss the brief flash of disdain when he saw him.

The prince held very still like he was keeping himself from wobbling. "My apologies, brother."

Eldain nodded as Rodren took his place on the opposite side of his brother. "You may begin, Lord Endingwood."

Faren of Endingwood's family had only held the title for two generations. Before that, they had a long history as warriors and generals. Faren's father had been Queen Alena's Minister of War and head general before Sedgewick had emigrated to Abreyla. His son had inherited his father's skill with his new title. Or supposedly. Sedgewick found him a brainless brunt too stupid to see what his magic and his ministry could do for Abreyla.

Lord Faren spread his hands out on the map lining the table in front of them and began explaining their current position and next move. Onryx's attack at the war's beginning had been swift and devastating. Just out of mourning for their former queen, Abreyla hadn't been ready. The Northlandic kingdom had swept a path down from the mountains, claiming formerly neutral territories and snatching multiple important rivers and passes that had been given to Abreyla during another war a few generations before, back when Onryx had been known as the Northlandic Empire. The mighty empire that had sought to unite all fey kingdoms under one banner again.

Abreyla had stopped them and Onryx had fractured during the wake of a civil war. But what remained was still twice Abreyla's size and its people had not forgotten the sting of that defeat. And they were hungry to regain some of the land and prestige they had lost.

"If we wish to retake the Wyrd River, then we must take out Creststone, their fortress at this pass." Lord Faren tapped a finger against a spot on the map. "Otherwise they will regather their forces there and claim it again."

"And once we do?" asked Prince Rodren.

"They won't be able to use the river to deliver supplies. When winter comes, they will be forced to either retreat to Onryx or starve."

Lord Aldurin shook his white head. "I have seen that fortress before. It will not fall easily."

"Fall it will have to," Eldain said. His eyes remained fixed on the map, like the coming battle was already in front of him.

Sedgewick eyed the spot on the map Eldain's gaze was fixed to. He could guess what his friend was thinking. The reason Aldurin remembered Creststone was because Abreyla had failed to seize it in the last war the elder fey had ridden in. The fact that it remained was partially why Onryx had been able to strike so quickly and decisively. The other lords whispered among themselves, doubts and questions flying through the tent like arrows had during the battle.

"My memories of it are old," Aldurin said, silencing the whispers. "We cannot hope to succeed without more knowledge."

"Then we will send out spies. Gather more information." Eldain's gaze lifted from the map. He met the eyes of those around the table one by one. "But for now, we will rest. See to our men. Reconvene in the morning." He waved his hand in dismissal.

The lords filtered out of the tent, but Sedgewick lingered. He half looked up toward Rodren and the sight of his former friend made a knot of guilt tie his gut tight. "I— it's good to see you still whole," he managed to get out.

"Don't talk to me." Rodren pecked something—blood? —from his nails and didn't spare Sedgewick a glance.

Eldain let out a long sigh that sounded like he'd been holding it in. "Don't get into it, Rodren. I don't have the patience for it tonight."

"I didn't say anything."

Sedgewick's shoulders curled inward while Eldain rubbed his temple. "How are our losses?" the king asked.

"Not as bad as they might have been. Someone's magic actually came through for once." Finally, Rodren looked at him but all Sedgewick could manage was a bitter glare. "But taking Creststone... No Abreylian has gotten close in centuries. Aldurin was right for once. We don't have enough information."

"You're supposed to be handling the spies," Sedgewick snapped, letting irritation slip through.

Rodren's ears slipped back. "Passing unseen in the Northlands isn't as easy as blasting it with fire." He turned back to his brother. "I've spent most of my contacts and the ones left are either in poor positions or no longer trustworthy."

A fair point, Sedgewick was forced to admit. Most feys in the Northlands—and particularly in Onryx—were dark-haired and pale-skinned. Abreylians further south tended toward lighter hair and a darker complexion. Neither kingdom was uniform, of course, but in a time of war, people weren't likely to care. An Abreylian-looking fey sneaking around Onryx was a death sentence.

"Could you observe from a distance now that we've cleared the pass?" Eldain asked.

Rodren hesitated. "Difficult but possible. The trick would be getting the information in and out."

"Try to figure something out. But get some rest first."

"I would ask if you're my mother but ours never told us to do such a thing." Rodren gave Eldain a ghost of a smile before exiting the tent. "Give Glemdring my love."

Sedgewick moved to leave as well. If Eldain hadn't already done so, he would probably like a moment alone to speak with his queen using the scrying mirror. And with Rodren's incessant rejection still stinging, throwing himself back into his work and ignoring the world for a while sounded brilliant.

"I didn't say that you could leave yet," Eldain's voice boomed behind him.

Sedgewick paused. He turned back around and raised his eyebrow questioningly. "My liege?"

"Sedgewick."

Not a formal chat then. "Eldain."

"We need to talk about what happened today."

"My spell worked perfectly. You're welcome." He crosses his arms but swiftly stopped when the movement sent a drop of blood dribbling onto the carpet rolled out over the ground.

"It's not just about the spell." Eldain wandered over to his scrying mirror and flicked a cloth off of it. The surface rippled and a woman's face appeared inside. Her long, fair hair had been piled elegantly up onto her head in an elaborate twist. Two spiraling strands brushed against the tawny-brown skin of her face. Lines of black kohl framed light blue eyes that were already filled with enough judgment and misplaced concern to make his gut clenched. Glemdring, Queen of Abreyla. Eldain must be telling him something very unpleasant if he'd called her in to meditate.

"Sedgewick, darling, I'm so glad you're—Eldain is he bleeding all over the tent?" Glemdring curled her lips, jerking her attention between them both.

"It's just a scratch." Sedgewick waved the woman's concern away.

"Why didn't you send him to a healer?" Glemdring scolded her husband. "You know he'll wither away if we don't watch after him. And it's a sign of weakness to have our mage bleeding like that."

"I couldn't send him out when the meeting had started."

"Why am I still here?" Sedgewick asked, rubbing his temple.

At that, Eldain and Glemdring both went silent. The couple exchanged a glance, like they were passing notes in secret or speaking a language only the other could hear. A whisp of jealousy flickered in Sedgewick's breast. He quenched it like an errant spell and focused his attention on the whorls in the carpet instead.

"Sedgewick...it's obvious that you're still not coping well," Glemdring said the words the way one might whisper to an injured bird.

"And by 'well' she means not at all," Eldain cut in. He jabbed a long finger at a chair in front of the scrying mirror. Sedgewick reluctantly claimed it.

"I cut back on the drinking. What else do you expect me to do?"

"Sedgewick," Glemdring stared at him intently before shaking her head. "You couldn't have changed what happened."

"Rodren seems to think differently." He tilted his head to the side, his red hair falling over part of his face. "I'm inclined to agree."

"Rodren will...come around. In time." But Eldain didn't sound convincing.

"We've had this chat before. And I am bleeding onto your rug so if it's all the same, I'd prefer to not hear it again." He rose to go.

"I have not dismissed you, mage. And you will not condescend to any queen of Abreyla." Eldain rose to his full height. He wasn't as tall as, say, Lord Faren but it wasn't hard for people to tower over Sedgewick. "Now sit."

Sedgewick shot Eldain his most venomous glare but obeyed.

"It's more than just the spell," the young king said. "This is about how you acted during the battle today."

"How I acted during a battle?!" Sedgewick's voice rose. He clenched the arms of the chair but stayed seated. "Would you have preferred that I invite the soldiers for a cup of coffee?"

"It's not only your actions. It's how you were feeling. What emotions you conveyed," Glemdring said.

"I wasn't feeling anything."

Glemdring scoffed and Eldain shook his head. "You see why I called you?" he asked.

"It's one thing to fight in a battle. It's another to...to..." Glemdring waved her hand, making her reflection in the mirror ripple as she searched for the word.

"Start smiling and blasting like a mage gone mad," Eldain stated bluntly.

"Yes, exactly. The Magic Ministry is still so new, Sedgewick. We can't let people think its founder is a blood-hungry beast. Eldain told me about your spell today. It sounds brilliant but it's made some of the men nervous. They need reassurance that..."

"That what?" Sedgewick cut in.

"That you're not going to snap and turn that brilliance on them." Glemdring's stormy expression smoothed as she composed herself. "What we need is a way to reassure them you're stable. Loyal. No one doubted that loyalty with Queen Alena, but she is gone. And more than just what we need... Eldain and I think you need to be somewhere other than the front lines. You're not yourself."

Sedgewick seethed. His nails dug into the chair's arms and his pointed ears slicked all the way back against his head. Anger boiled in his gut again, building into a wave that wanted to crash out and drown his hard-won reserve. "So, you're sending me off like some useless— "

"No!" Eldain exclaimed before pinching his temple again. "Not useless. Glemdring and I weren't sure where to send you earlier but after talking with Rodren, I think I know."

Sedgewick's eyes narrowed. He rose from his chair slowly. A drop of blood stained the rug again. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"I think— " And Eldain spoke more to his queen than to Sedgewick. "He's the one we should send to spy on Onryx."

*********************

Author's Note: And the second chapter's up! For those of you who have read my other works, how did you like getting a look at Eleyna and Beryn's parents? What's everyone thinking of Young!Sedgewick's reaction so far? I have to say, I enjoyed writing his and Eldain's friendship more than I expected. Also, for my Magic's Memories readers, did anyone catch the cameo of a certain overbearing mother?

Current total word count: 4,322