He couldn't leave without saying goodbye to her.
Sedgewick shrugged his satchel up onto his shoulder and let his feet lead him through the graveyard to a spot he was deeply familiar with. Moonlight lit his way and a gentle summer breeze ruffled his messy hair. Finally, he stopped in front of an ornate tomb, its white stone gleaming in the fading moonlight. A woman's face was carved into the tomb's sealed door. A crown sat effortlessly on her head and her mouth was firm and determined. Sedgewick reached forward to trace the outline of his first love. He stopped himself and slowly withdrew his hand.
It had seemed...right, somehow, to come here before leaving. Even if waiting was a risk. Alena was there before the ministry. If not for her faith in him, he never would have become the man he was today. Or at least, the man he had been yesterday...
Sedgewick did trace the carving this time, his fingers moving down the outline of her face as he desperately revived the fading memory of its soft lines before she had been carved into hard, unmoving stone. The morning light began poking through the darkness, illuminating the carving better. Had she loved him? He was never certain. Probably as much as someone such as she could love someone like himself. Sedgewick tried to recall the way she'd smiled at him in amusement. Or the way her deep, brown eyes had seemed to pierce into him and discern his every thought. But it was like trying to catch a butterfly with your hands. The moment you touched it, you crushed it.
Other memories arose from where he'd failed at burying them. Similar memories. Except for one major difference. While the loss of Alena had lessened to a blunt ache, this pain was newer, fresher, making him feel as if he'd been struck with the curse all over again. Visions of Feyla's blue-green eyes alight with life, memories of all the times she'd been there beside him even when he'd refused to admit that he wanted her to be.
He'd heard this pain described as stabbing. Having been stabbed, Sedgewick concluded that they were wrong. It felt worse. His hands shook as he leaned against the tomb and closed his stinging eyes. Why must he feel this? He was so tired of feeling nothing but an endless cycle of pain, pain, pain—
Sedgewick slid to the ground and leaned his head against the still-cool stone that had yet to be heated by the rising sun. I wouldn't feel like this if I didn't— If I didn't...
He swallowed the dryness in his throat.
Love her, he finished, finally. And with that, he finally fell over the precipice. It was...safe...now to admit it. She wasn't waiting for him anymore. Sedgewick closed his eyes and leaned his head against the stone. He let the words sink in and for a moment—but just a moment—allowed his feelings to flow through him just as his magic once had, unhindered by the lies he'd spent years telling himself. He loved Feyla. It was as obvious as the rising sun. It had been for years.
But admitting that didn't change anything.
It didn't change the fact that someone like him would only succeed in making her miserable. It didn't change the fact that the thought of opening up to another person sent him into a panic. It didn't change the fact that he wasn't worth anything, and certainly not worthy of someone like Feyla. Without his magic, without his position, he was nothing. No more than the weak, useless child he'd spent a lifetime trying to escape. So really, admitting he loved her did nothing. But perhaps admitting it was for the best. Sedgewick had dragged her through the pain of rejection after he'd been too selfish to truly drive her away. The least he could do was carry along the regret of another unmet love, another crushed, unrealistic dream.
Yet having admitted that could he truly just...leave her? Sedgewick shook his head. He would have to. Feyla needed to move on with her life and he needed to get out of the city—preferably out of the country. Before he was killed in the crossfire between the Magic Ministry and every black magic user from here to the Northlands. Yet after everything he'd put her through, Feyla deserved the truth. And an apology, such as it was.
He took out a piece of paper.
Zedeya stared at her feet as the rulers of her country sat before her. It wasn't so much out of respect as it was a desire to avoid those eyes. She'd heard rumors about the queen. Stories of how she could supposedly harness Pure Magic itself, the very antithesis of black magic. How her eyes seemed to drill into your very essence. How her presence made you quake with an almost instinctual fear. But upon seeing her mountain of a husband, a man who looked like he could snap her neck single-handedly, she'd felt better. Surely no one could be more intimidating than that.
Zedeya had been very wrong.
"I want him brought in alive. Is that clear?" Queen Eleyna said with utter authority.
Tyrinn lowered his head in respect. His hands were folded behind his back but Zedeya could see them shaking as every second brought him closer to his long-awaited goal. "I'll do my best, your Majesty, but you have to understand. A man as powerful and desperate as Master Alverdyne won't come quietly. We'll try—"
"Did you not understand my meaning?"
Zedeya nearly shuddered as the sound of the queen's voice made her feel as if spiders were crawling through her essence.
"Of course, my queen. And I will do everything in my power to try—"
"I do not want you to 'try'," the queen cut in, a dangerous iciness to her voice.
The King Consort reached across his chair to her own and placed a hand on her arm. She slowly turned toward him, and Zedeya loosened with relief. Tyrinn stared at them expectantly, his nostrils flaring as if he was a wolf smelling for a meal he'd long craved. The king met his queen's eyes and silent words seemed to pass between them. Finally, the queen nodded once, curtly. She turned away and moved her hand as if gesturing for him to proceed with something they had decided.
King Fenroy stood from his chair, his towering form now even more obvious. With the queen looking away, Zedeya found it easy to forget the eerie aura of the woman in the presence of the more physical intimidation of her husband. She swallowed as he took one long step closer to Tyrinn.
"I'm sure as a loyal citizen, you'll do everything you can to abide by your queen's wishes and contain Master Alverdyne." He reached back toward the chairs and the nearby table. The queen flicked her wrist and a sealed document floated to her husband's outstretched hand. "Here's the arrest warrant and everything else you'll need. We want this done quickly and quietly. You understand?"
"Completely, Your Majesties." Tyrinn took the document, all signs of his excited shaking now carefully controlled.
King Fenroy nodded for them to leave. Zedeya inwardly jumped with relief as they began to depart.
"Wait," said Eleyna. And Zedeya remembered why the queen was terrifying. She stood from her chair, her light blue dress sweeping behind her. She stepped in front of them both and stared Zedeya squarely in the face. Her eyes were like molten pits of pure amber, searching for something to consume as they flickered from Tyrinn to herself. "Master Alverdyne has been an ally to my family longer than either of you have existed. If I ever discover that you are lying to me about him, I will kill you in the most painful way imaginable. Dismissed."
Tyrinn grabbed her arm and led her out the room. It was the only thing that would have stopped her from bolting.