Chapter 1
FEO
Four years later…
Feo, the Alchemicor, the Alchemist of Eras, landed with a flourish in Lord Wylan’s front courtyard.
Their griffon—previously Albert Chemicor’s griffon, a majestic, golden beast Feo had named Kappenicus—fluffed his feathers and glanced around self-importantly, as he always did whenever they entered Tawney.
Feo had been partnered with the griffon long enough to know why.
“I thought you outlined your territories with Visk,” they remarked.
Kappenicus’s tail swished, the griffon chittering low in his throat as he glanced again at the sky. When it became apparent no other griffons were currently in the vicinity—“other griffons” being Visk, his mate, or Ponder— Kappenicus folded his wings tightly and huffed with his whole body.
Feo rubbed their brow and dismounted, checking the saddle’s leather straps to ensure it remained both comfortable for Kappenicus and stable for their next flight. “Well, you don’t have to look so disappointed. We can do without two griffons posturing for airspace.”
Kappenicus swept his head to the side, pointedly ignoring Feo now.
Feo snorted, fondness swelling in their chest. They glanced at the huge, looming mansion, set their jaw, and told Kappenicus, “Wish me luck. I’m about to embark on a different kind of territory dispute.”
Kappenicus did no such thing, still acting snubbed.
Griffons.
Feo rolled their eyes and approached Wylan’s front door. With every step, they felt like lead weighed their boots. It was ridiculous, and irritation prickled along Feo’s skin. They had every right to meet with the lord of Tawney, every right to be knocking on Wylan’s door.
And yet.
That Day loomed in Feo’s mind. It had been over four years. One thousand, five hundred and sixty-seven days, to be exact, since Feo and Wylan had shared the same space without added company. After such a length of time, this just felt… awkward.
Feo couldn’t think too hard about why.
Enough, they thought, and rapped solidly on the door.
In a short period of time, Wylan’s servant and housekeeper, Ralund, opened the door.
He was an older, no-nonsense man, and he blinked as he identified who was on the threshold.
Any surprise was quickly overwritten by a mask of professionalism—but then again, Queendom culture would accept nothing less.
“Ah, Alchemicor,” he said, smoothing his impeccable uniform. He stepped aside to admit Feo—it was early spring, but that meant it was still frigid in Tawney. “Please, come inside. May I inquire as to the nature of this visit?”
Feo obliged, entering into a circular foyer of heavy stone and high windows.
The hallway leading into the rest of the house loomed, but it was oddly dark for the time of day.
The silence was oppressive. Feo cleared their throat, taking off their cloak.
“I’m here to speak with the lord. He has a tome I've been missing for a while.”
Ralund kept his face neutral, although his tone was perplexed. “Lord Wylan is, regretfully, away on business. However, you are free to leave a letter in the study, and I'm certain he will locate your book on his return. Or, if it interests you, the Arcandor may—”
“Hey, Ralund!” A bellowing female voice inserted, echoing down the stone hallway. “Next time I ask Wylan to get things to plant, tell him I want a little diversity. You know—Leonolan seeds, Sheparan seeds, Roiling Isles seeds. Not plants we see every fucking day.”
As she ranted, Kianthe stomped into the hallway, tracking mud on the perfectly polished floor. Her arms were dusted in dirt, and her shoulder-length hair was wild and littered with sticks and leaves. A few ever-flames hovered around her like fireflies in grass, warming her immediate vicinity.
Ralund lifted his chin, ever-composed. “Lord Wylan was uncertain of the efficacy of seeds from such drastically different climates.”
“I am the Arcandor,” Kianthe said, like that answered it.
Feo snorted.
Kianthe glanced sideways, finally deigning to notice them standing very obviously beside Ralund. Feo would be offended, but frankly, Kianthe was infamous for her terrible observation skills.
If her wife wasn't infamous for the exact opposite, Kianthe would have long-been taken advantage of as Arcandor.
Kianthe raised an eyebrow. She had dark brown eyes that matched the dirt on her arms, and they sparked with amusement as she swept into a bow. “And speaking of magical titles. Well, well. The Alchemicor, the Alchemist of Eradication, has graced us with their presence.”
For the love of—
“It’s the Alchemist of Eras,” Feo said through gritted teeth, “and you know it.”
“Eras is pretty vague. What era are you the alchemist of?” Kianthe was feigning innocence now.
She carried a canvas bag of, presumably, seeds, which she hooked onto her belt.
It wasn’t uncommon to see elemental mages with seeds, but for Kianthe, it was as iconic as her wife’s sword.
She even had Tarly make a special metal hook for her belts, just to accommodate it.
Tawney was admittedly prettier now that the Realm's most powerful elemental mage lived among its citizens, planting seeds on her whim. But some days, Feo missed the dusty streets and empty planter boxes. They’d moved in two seasons before Kianthe and Reyna staked their claim on that old, abandoned barn—and back then, the community was smaller, and the town quieter.
How things had changed.
Feo pinched the bridge of their nose. “Your title is the Mage of Ages. What age?”
“Don’t ask me. I just in-era-ted that title.” A pause. “Get it? Like inherited, but—”
Ralund cleared his throat. “The seeds, Arcandor?”
“Yeah, I’m just saying,” Kianthe abandoned her heckling in a breath.
Just in time, too—Feo’s cheeks were starting to warm in embarrassment, “I told Wylan I’d plant a proper garden this Spring, and this is what he provides?
If the goal is to impress Dren, plants from Tawney won’t exactly say, ‘magnificent lord who knows what he’s doing. ’”
Dren?
Who was Dren?
Feo frowned. “Are we receiving dignitaries?” They were typically alerted to any folks of importance arriving in Tawney—but then again, with the Queendom’s sovereign serving tea four streets down, it was tough to predict who’d show up, and when.
Kianthe hesitated. Even Ralund was avoiding eye contact.
Suspicion soared.
“Kianthe. If someone is arriving, I should know about it.”
“Well… they’ve maybe technically perhaps already arrived,” Kianthe said.
Feo’s skin prickled, and that familiar feeling of unease slid back in. The even here, you’re still excluded unease. The you’ll never be enough, no matter what you accomplish unease. The you dolt, this is what happens when you’re stuck in your stupid school while life happens around you unease.
Feo scrambled to maintain composure befitting their station. They crossed their arms, narrowed their eyes. “Kianthe. Who has arrived? I’m entitled to know.”
“Oh, so you admit you’re being entitled lately?” Kianthe waved a hand. “Well, I guess we can cancel the intervention. What a shame. I spent so long painting the banner. Reyna was making cookies.”
Feo was going to strangle her someday, they just knew it.
Ralund apparently realized it, too. He cleared his throat again. “Perhaps it is prudent to inform the Alchemicor of recent developments?”
“The Alchemicor is only responsible for alchemists. Not Queendom matters.”
Queendom matters.
Instantly, unease shifted into fear. Wylan wasn't home.
Someone new had arrived in Tawney. Pieces fit together, forming terrible images: intrusive thoughts of Wylan sick or injured, unable to guide Tawney, of a replacement lord arriving to assess the estate, of Wylan relocating to a rocky beach by the Capital as his life slowly faded—
Feo didn’t even realize they’d tensed until Kianthe held up her hands.
“Okay, whatever spiral you just had, it’s nothing that big.”
Of course, Kianthe would be the one to recognize the flare of anxiety. Feo didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed. They pointedly relaxed their body, but their reply was still stiff. “I did not just have a ‘spiral.’”
“Mhmm.” Kianthe rolled her eyes, gesturing for them to follow. “I’ll take it from here, Ralund.”
“As you wish,” Ralund replied, but Feo didn’t miss the gratitude in his voice—or how he vanished through an innocuous door instead of requiring the ridiculous Queendom custom of admiring dozens of paintings before entering the house at large.
Feo had no choice but to follow Kianthe deeper into the mansion.
She walked past Wylan’s dark study, past the book Feo needed, aiming for the courtyard instead.
Feo paused at the study’s open door and peered inside, but everything seemed exactly as it had been before.
An extensive library collection waiting to be read.
Comfortable chairs beside a dormant hearth.
A tea set along the back wall, adjacent to huge, draped windows.
Once, they had spent so many lovely nights here. Longing panged inside Feo’s chest, but they shoved it back down. They had no desire to yearn for Wylan. Not after so long.
They almost went inside and began looking for the book themselves, but potential information on this "Dren" fellow was too enticing to skip.
They caught up with Kianthe.
“So? Care to explain?” Feo asked.
The pair emerged into the sunshine. It was cold today, but the Tawney blizzards were behind them—or at least, the plants in this courtyard grew as if the snow was long-gone.
Ever-flames drifted over several planter boxes, warming the space.
Feo could feel an order from the Arcandor lingering in the air: don’t you dare snow here.
The elements would obey.