Chapter 2 #3
Kianthe handed him a healthy pour, and Dren downed it in one gulp.
Wylan laughed, and the party eased back into normal conversation.
The five piece orchestra, visiting from the Capital, filled the courtyard with lively, upbeat music.
A few people swarmed Lord Dren, shaking his hand and offering introductions.
Someone cleared their throat behind Wylan. Without thinking, he turned—
—and came face to face with Feo, the Alchemicor, the Alchemist of Eras.
All the blood seemed to drain from Wylan’s body, and he felt both icy cold and very, very warm.
The entire party faded, like a dramatic scene in one of Kianthe’s romance tomes.
Wylan thought that only happened in fiction, but nothing else mattered beyond Feo’s piercing gaze and their sudden nearness.
“Alchemicor,” Wylan said, forcing his voice to remain measured.
Why was his heart pounding?
He didn’t seem to be the only one. When Feo replied, “Lord Wylan,” their voice sounded almost choked. For a moment, a breath, a hope and prayer, Wylan thought Feo would apologize, admit their mistakes, and ask for another chance. Maybe four years was enough time to clean the slate and start fresh.
Panic immediately swirled in his mind. But what would Wylan even do if Feo wanted to start fresh? What would that look like? How could they begin again, after everything?
He needn’t have worried. Feo broke their gaze, glancing past Wylan at Lord Dren. “Then that’s the new lord you couldn’t deign to tell me about. He seems charming.”
Feo’s voice was mild, but there was an odd, mocking undertone that had fury surging in Wylan’s chest. Who mocked someone they’d never even met? And what the hell did Feo mean, ‘deign’ to tell them?
Typical. Always making it about themselves.
Wylan narrowed his eyes. “Kianthe told you about Dren, clearly, since you’re here tonight. I don’t recall sending you an invitation.”
“Too busy with your new friend to remember, I’m sure.”
Wylan clenched his fists and snapped quietly, “Enough, Feo.” Their name, spat in that tone, made Feo flinch. It was barely noticeable, but it was so fucking satisfying. “After so many years, you don’t get to be this way. Not to me, and certainly not to Dren. Pay your respects, or leave.”
Feo pressed their lips together. Anger made their eyes narrow, their jaw clench, but Wylan held his ground, and there were plenty of people around who’d take notice if they started something here. Wylan knew for a fact that Reyna was watching; Reyna was always watching.
Wylan was prepared to start something.
Feo clearly wasn’t.
They were wearing that ridiculous purple cloak with the gold trim, and they dusted it off casually.
Wylan braced for a fight, but Feo simply stepped to Lord Dren and offered their hand to shake.
Kianthe and Reyna had moved on, offering space for Dren to meet the other guests, and Feo seamlessly filled it.
Wylan watched like a hawk as they said, “My lord. Welcome to the northern region of the Queendom. I am the Alchemicor, the Alchemist of Eras, headmaster of the Academy of Alchemical Arts. If you need anything, or if any of your citizens develop a talent for alchemy, please don’t hesitate to reach out. ”
It was all so blindingly polite.
Too busy with your new friend.
Wylan hated Feo. Hated how they could just show up like this, intervene on a party, and then still somehow hold their composure when Wylan felt like he was breaking into tiny pieces.
Dren had no clue about their history. His eyes widened at the mention of Alchemicor, and he swallowed.
“By the Gods—I can’t believe you’re here.
My sister wanted to be an alchemist once she heard what you’d done…
how you’d created a new stone to eliminate the blood magic. You’re absolutely incredible.”
Whatever Feo was expecting, it clearly wasn’t that. They faltered, and for a breath, Wylan saw the Feo of Old, the arrogance flickering to reveal a person desperate to be seen.
“Oh. Thank you. If—” Feo cast a glance at Wylan, then drew a breath. “If your sister desires admission, there is no age limit on Realm alchemists. I would be delighted to personally review her application.”
Lord Dren beamed. “Incredible. I’ll send her a letter!”
Feo nodded. Then, the strangest thing happened.
They left the party.
No fanfare. No announcement. No fighting. They simply waved at Dren, cast an unreadable look at Wylan, and… left.
Wylan stared after them, disconcertingly off-kilter.
Around him, the party continued, but Wylan couldn’t tear his eyes off the door where Feo had exited.
He imagined them walking confidently through the halls of a manor they knew by heart, whistling for a griffon they’d always longed to have, and flying back to the school that had stolen everything.
And Wylan stayed here, with a lord who made his heart flutter and friends who never quite felt like enough, not after the gaping hole of Feo’s absence.
Ralund approached and murmured, “My lord. A drink?”
“More than one,” Wylan rasped.
And the night went on.