Chapter 5
FEO
As it turned out, fighting petty urges even after Feo swore they would stand above it all was… quite difficult.
Feo was rarely the least interesting person at a party, but that’s what happened in the span of a few minutes.
They were integrating just fine until Wylan and the new Lord Dren arrived—and then curiosity got the better of the crowds.
Interest in Feo and the alchemy school waned in favor of discussing how the newly established Pine Island would affect Tawney and its citizens.
Feo was left standing beside a bonfire fueled by elemental magic, essentially twiddling their thumbs while people chatted about how exciting it was, and do you think we can visit? And I’ve always wanted to live in a new town. Maybe I’ll move there and help.
And all the while, stupid Lord Dren was gracious and humble and kind.
“It is exciting, isn’t it? I’ll need some help building up my winter apparel—I’m afraid Mercon is quite temperate,” he told one woman.
“Visiting is absolutely encouraged!” He laughed with another.
“Lord Wylan and myself are dedicated to maintaining trade routes between our towns. We’re neighbors, after all.
I’m already discussing logistics of a new road to the coast, and the potential of a daily ferry like they have on the Nacean River! ”
And to a third, “We’d be delighted, I’m certain. So far, I believe our population is eighty-eight people, with fifteen more confirmed. I’d have to retrieve my abacus to be certain, but to my memory, 17% of them are children! Yours will fit right in.”
Lord Dren was irritatingly good at this.
Feo wrinkled their nose and stepped to the serving table for more ale.
Kianthe didn’t drink, because elemental magic was temperamental and oftentimes responded to the emotions of the mage, but alchemy was nothing like that.
If an alchemist got drunk, their magic became sloppy and ineffective, because drawing proper circles required patience and knowledge.
And by the dragons, the Stones, and whatever else, Feo could do with some numbing.
Matild was behind the table, handing out booze. Considering Hansen had just been there, he must be off replenishing their supply. The midwife crossed her arms, her lips quirking. “Well, well. If it isn’t the errant alchemist, back among the common folk.”
“I lived here too,” Feo said, snider than they intended.
Luckily, Matild had a sense of humor drier than anyone they’d met.
She rolled her eyes and filled a tankard high to the brim.
“Oh, you’re right. I’d completely forgotten.
” Her deadpan expression slipped, and she chuckled.
“It’s nice to see you around again.” Matild’s Queendom accent was as prim as Reyna’s, accented with the sharp vowels of the Capital—but years in Tawney had softened it into something rougher, more local.
It was familiar enough to ease Feo’s defenses.
They rubbed one arm and accepted the tankard. “Thanks.” The bonfire cut the chill, but their hands were still cold. They slid one hand into their cloak’s folds.
Matild leaned over the counter, doing an excellent job of mirroring a curious bartender.
Then again, her life’s work was focused on people, even if her bedside manner was questionable at times.
“I’d ask if this means you’ll be around more often, but I suspect there’s a reason for today’s visit. ” She inclined her head at Lord Dren.
Wylan had joined the chaos, and together, the lords were answering questions as fast as the townsfolk could ask. Some festivities were still ongoing, but the growing crowd indicated most folk didn’t want to miss the chance for more information.
Once upon a time, Feo had been at Wylan’s side, answering similar curiosities. Planning the town’s future, brainstorming ways to make folks’ lives better, collaborating with other local leaders…
Feo hadn’t realized they missed it.
They took a swig of the ale. It was bitter, flavored with spruce needles that made the aftertaste closer to chewing tree bark than anything edible. They must have made a face, because Matild laughed.
“Hansen imported ale from Winterhaven for today. I told him it was a bad idea, but he insisted.”
“It’s… good.” Feo was making a habit of lying now, apparently.
Matild snorted. “Some folks like it. I’m not one of them.” Her eyes flicked to Wylan. “Kianthe thinks you’re here to win him back.”
“Kianthe gossips more than Sigmund and Nurt,” Feo snapped. “I’m here to say hello. That’s all.”
“Mmm.” Matild tilted her head. “You know, Feo. A broken heart needs healing, just like everything else. Take it from a doctor. Ignoring the pain usually makes it worse.”
Feo opened their mouth to deny it, to push back, but Marlow interrupted them, flagging Matild for another ale.
The florist had a bright smile on their face, and looked Feo up and down.
Normally, Marlow was easygoing and quiet, but today they were clearly enjoying themselves.
Their eyes were bright with alcohol, and they clapped Feo’s back.
“Eyy, you’re alive!”
“I am that,” Feo replied neutrally, but there was a secret pleasure that someone else was happy they’d returned.
Marlow winked. “Good to hear it. Hope that school is going well. Maybe you can whip me up some better greenhouses; Kianthe is giving me a run for my money. I might need magic to compete with the Arcandor.”
Matild slid another wooden tankard over the table, and Marlow scooped it up. Feo clacked their mugs together and said, “Call me in the spring. I’ll design a spell that outlasts even her ever-plants.”
“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it!” Marlow grinned.
“I mean it,” Feo said, and was surprised to realize they really did. Warmth spread through their chest at Marlow’s obvious enthusiasm. They waved at Feo and Matild and strolled off to tell one of their friends about the deal.
Matild gestured after them. “There we go. Healing.”
Feo offered a wry look, but couldn’t deny it.
Across the square, a familiar new song began, and a cheer arose as folks left the lords to start dancing.
Matild was distracted by the arrival of Hansen—and her husband Tarly—both of whom were wheeling in huge barrels of ale.
Clearly, the innkeeper had enlisted their local blacksmith for an extra set of hands, which made sense why Matild was supervising the drinks in the meantime.
While Matild helped them set up the station, more folks gravitated to the new stock. Feo was suddenly in the way, and managed a slight wave to Matild before melding back into the party. The bonfire was warm, so they edged that way, taking a prime spot near the flames.
The music was lively, two string instruments and a horn played by three folks Feo hadn’t met before.
Newcomers, then. Growth in Tawney had slowed compared to a few years back, but it still accommodated a healthy influx.
As Feo glanced around the crowds, they only knew maybe a quarter of the citizens; the rest of the faces were unfamiliar.
Discomfort shifted in their soul. It hadn’t felt that long, tucked in the stone walls of the Academy, but out here, life moved on.
They warmed their gloved fingers near the flames. Healing. Maybe Matild and Reyna were right. Whatever Feo had been doing for the last four years, it hadn’t made them happier.
Maybe this bonfire could mark a change.
And then—a hand slid in front of them. Gloved with fine leather, custom-stitched to a perfect fit, with the initial W stamped into the cuff.
“Care to dance?” Wylan asked.
No. No, Feo did not care to dance. In fact, Feo would rather be literally anywhere else, especially after their short conversation at Lord Dren’s introduction. Wylan had made his point; Feo wasn’t welcome. But Feo wasn’t even talking to Lord Dren this time, so what did he want?
It took several breaths to fabricate a reply. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
That seemed to take Wylan aback, and that made Feo’s heart ache.
Vivid memories of them clumsily dancing in the privacy of Wylan’s study, weaving around plush armchairs and a stack of firewood as Wylan coached Feo through the steps.
He led, they followed, and after a bit of practice and a lot of laughter, it became one of Feo’s favorite activities.
But they didn’t dance in public. Feo had a reputation to uphold—first as an impartial diarn, then as a stalwart councilmember, and now as the noble Alchemicor.
Facing so many newcomers, they had one chance to make an impression, and they’d been content to do so with a magical battle against the Arcandor.
Letting Kianthe win, even though their alchemy could have competed on a grander scale, was their only expected show of humility.
Look at the Alchemicor, the Alchemist of Eras, who eliminated blood magic and stood as a beacon of strength for magical folk everywhere.
Look how dignified they were, even acquiescing elemental magic to the elemental mage.
That dignity would never carry them through clumsy footsteps.
No, they didn’t dance. Not here, anyway.
But Wylan looked hurt—and Feo’s chest tightened with regret, with remorse for everything that once was and everything they would never be again.
Someone had pulled Lord Dren into the clearing folks had made for dancing, and he stumbled over his own feet as he tried to keep up. The woman delightedly took the lead. Dren’s gaze cut to Wylan, a plea for help.
Wylan didn’t notice, but Feo did.
Dren would probably love a lesson or two in dancing. Would Wylan offer that deep-throated chuckle when Dren tripped over the study’s low table? Would his hand tighten around Dren’s waist, teaching through intimacy?
Oh.
This… this wasn’t healing.
This was the opposite of that.
Luckily, Wylan seemed to notice it, too.
His hand dropped, and he rubbed the back of his neck instead.
“You’re right. It probably isn’t wise. But…
I wanted to offer an apology.” Feo quirked an eyebrow, wondering if he was referencing their break-up.
Wylan hastily clarified, “For the party. I wasn’t acting in a way befitting your title, and I apologize for the callous approach. ”
Befitting their title.
Feo had longed to be acknowledged as a leader for so long. Now that sentiment felt sour, like milk left to spoil in the sun.
“It’s fine,” Feo said, aiming for neutrality. The bonfire felt too hot now, despite the icy air at their back. “I took you by surprise.”
Neither of them spoke for a breath.
Wylan cleared his throat. “I wasn’t expecting you here, either, admittedly. But it’s nice. To see you around town again.”
Feo doubted that. “I won’t be here often. But I am trying to make an effort.”
That seemed to brighten Wylan’s mood. “Oh, good. That’s good!”
“Yes,” Feo replied slowly.
They stared at each other. Anything Feo had rehearsed to say had vanished, a wisp of smoke dissipating into the air.
On the other side of the bonfire, Lord Dren had given up trying to flag Wylan and was focusing on not stepping on his partner’s feet as they towed him around the square.
Laughter erupted behind them, and yet, Wylan didn’t flinch.
He also didn’t break the silence.
Well. This was about as awkward as Feo expected.
Honestly, their job was done, as far as Feo was concerned. They’d shown up, talked to some folks, refamiliarized themselves with Tawney. They could try this healing shit later.
For now, they lifted their chin and said, “I should get back to the school—”
“Can I enlist some alchemical help?” Wylan blurted.
He was so irritatingly hot when he got flustered.
Feo couldn’t stop staring at the color rising up his neck, at the way his eyes darted left in embarrassment.
That alone would have made Feo refuse the request—what the fuck were they doing admiring him like that, again, not healing—but Wylan had immediately pinpointed the one excuse Feo couldn’t refuse.
Alchemy.
“As the Alchemicor, I am duty-bound to aid where my magic can,” Feo replied, tense as a bowstring. “What do you need, Lord Wylan?”
The title was a reminder, hopefully, that this was purely business.
Just business.
Wylan straightened, falling easily into that role. “Well, it’s the old church on the burnt half of town.”
The old Sheparan church was an icon of Tawney—for decades, it had been the sole target of dozens of dragon attacks.
After Kianthe brokered a tentative truce with the dragons, Reyna, Feo, and Wylan had learned the reason: below the church, thieves had hidden three stolen dragon eggs.
The eggs’ residual magic was pulling the dragons to the town, and the church had been a main target for it.
Feo didn’t focus on the church. Instead, they raised an eyebrow. “Surely it’s not still called that.” Most of the burnt half had been rebuilt by now, building by building, as newcomers arrived and claimed homes in Tawney.
Wylan chuckled. “We renamed the roads, but old habits are tough to break.” He shook his head. “The old church was burned one too many times. It’s starting to crumble, and the foundation can’t be fixed without bringing it all down on our heads. I was wondering if maybe an alchemy spell—”
“—could hold up the building long enough that the masons can reinforce it.” Feo couldn’t deny the rush at finishing Wylan’s sentence, at his resulting smile of approval.
But they also couldn’t deny the intrigue of a job like this.
The circle would have to encompass the entire church, and it’d be difficult to draw through the walls of a building.
And what kind of alchemy was best? A spell to hold the stones in place? That’d be Kianthe’s forte, not Feo’s.
But why stop at holding stones while masons worked? Masonry took far too much time. It might be better to shift the material of the foundation all-together. Feo had been puzzling through transmutation, compositional shifts in base material.
Stone into metal, perhaps? Something fire resistant, that wouldn’t fatigue as easily? Or maybe reinforcing wood beams so they were as sturdy as rock.
The possibilities were endless, and Feo’s mind dazzled imagining them.
Wylan hesitated, waving a hand to regain Feo’s attention. “So… can you help?”
“Of course, I can help,” Feo replied automatically. They knew this was a ploy to re-establish contact… and also, there was a historic building at risk, and Wylan chose to approach Feo over Kianthe.
That felt like a win.
“Wonderful,” Wylan said warmly. “Is one week enough time?”
“Plenty.” Feo sniffed, downing the rest of their ale.
The lord winked. “It’s a date.” He said it so quickly he didn’t seem to realize that he’d slipped, fallen back into their old roles.
Before Feo could remark on it, he waved and stepped around the bonfire, back to his guest. Lord Dren was gasping for breath, sitting on a log on the sidelines as his dance partner cheerfully chose another to swing around.
Feo didn’t stay to watch their exchange.
They had to prepare for… whatever this would be, apparently.