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"How many times have I made you do this?" Olruggio asks.
"This is the second."
"Hah! Don't lie to me, Qifrey."
"How many times have we done this?"
"I haven't been counting."
"Maybe you should. Hurry now, I see your roots moving."
"How many times have I made you do this?"
"Seven times."
Olruggio whistles. "I wonder if that'll cause any permanent damage."
"It might." Qifrey feels so dull. The silverwood roots are weak and fragile where they sprout. The relief is never worth this – the overwhelming grey ache of misery. It scabs over his bones like bark.
"That's good." Olruggio grins. "That's bound to keep you anxious, right? And if it does do damage, you'll have to stay to take care of—"
Qifrey wakes and cannot get out of bed. Spring has come. On the fields outside his window, crows caw and the liongoats' bells jingle, a lone shepherd guiding them across the pastures. Of the girls, only Tetia will be awake this early, combing her hair for good luck. Breakfast is yet to be prepared, but there are smoked eggs and oil which he could use for sandwiches, topped with the last of the star peppers. Then there is lunch to think of, and dinner. Not to speak of the lessons themselves, which suddenly feel all wrong. He had planned an in-depth lesson on wind sigils, but working with wind is temperamental – too temperamental for the girls' current stage, perhaps.
Qifrey closes his eye. Something warm and soft coils up against the side of his neck, the brushbuddy's little head resting on his collarbone. Without disturbing it, he reaches over to get a small piece of candied fruit out of a bowl on his nightstand. The brushbuddy's own tiny hands grip his fingers as it eats the fruit from his hands, making little pleased huffs against his skin. Qifrey brings a piece of fruit to his own mouth as well, letting the sugar dissolve on his tongue before he chews. He imagines the sugar moving through his body, invigorating all the pieces of him that feel dead and grey, and then he sits up.
This is how he goes on. Tomorrow will be easier.
"You know, I always thought I'd live somewhere with lots of people around," Olruggio tells him. The wine in his vessel is a rich pink colour. Qifrey made them olives and cheese with cabroccoli wrapped in ham for a late-night snack, but the pleasure was in the making, not in the eating. He sips his own vessel, listening. "But it's really nice out here, isn't it? Peaceful. Good for focussing."
"I think you would be even more of a hermit, if you had the choice," Qifrey says. "Lost in your work for weeks on end."
Olruggio looks sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "You're probably right. I never thought I'd be that kind of person, either… weird how much things change, isn't it?"
"And how much they stay the same," Qifrey murmurs.
"Hah - I'll drink to that."
The night ends with tears in a bottle and that accursed sigil.
In the first days afterwards, Qifrey always thinks Olruggio might never find out again. He is so mired in guilt that he thinks he will never be clean of it, and if the silverwood never stirs again, he will have no cause to face that monstrous promise Olruggio swore him to.
But then, like the inescapable light of the universe's brightest star, solace finds him.
"How many times have I made you do this?"
"This time is the thirteenth," Qifrey says. His voice breaks on the number and he looks away, but his eye stays dry. He has cried enough for the ink a dozen times over.
"Oh, Qifrey…" Olruggio pulls him close. His beard scratches Qifrey's cheek. Qifrey presses his face into his hair, hungry for one last painful reminder of the future he should've had. "It's hard, huh?"
Qifrey nods, breath short and tight in his chest like his throat has been replaced by a blade of grass. Olruggio strokes his back. Sometimes, when he has had too much to drink, he pulls Qifrey into hugs like these, but Qifrey never lets them linger.
"You have to do it, though."
"Olruggio," Qifrey starts, and then his voice breaks again. "I don't want to!" He sounds like a child at bedtime, angry and teary-eyed and humiliated. There are no branches left in him now, scraped clean by the jagged rocks of sorrow. "Olly, please, I don't want to…!"
"It's this or lose you, right? That's not your decision. It's mine, and the girls', and the decision of a world that still needs you. Qifrey, listen to me." Olruggio guides his head back so they can look at each other. His fingers, calloused by pens and burns from stray spells, rest on Qifrey's name. The touch of them sear through his shirt. "The brimcaps took so much from you. I won't have you lose your life to them as well."
"I'm tired. I'm so tired…" Roots always find a away. He feels his hands stiffen and flexes them against Olruggio's back, turning his face away. Leaves from his eye shed into the space between them.
"I know," Olruggio says. He sounds so very gentle. Qifrey cannot give him up after all. With trembling, blooming hands, he lifts the cap to Olruggio's head.
The yarn in his hands is frayed and uncooperative. Qifrey sits by the window to unravel Tetia's latest abandoned project, looking out at the girls in the fields. Agott and Coco are drawing seals in the garden, occasionally stopping to run around a young leafberry tree. Richeh and Tetia are doting on the brushbuddy, making tiny flowercrowns for its head.
"A nice, peaceful day, hm?" Olruggio takes a seat next to him, his thigh touching Qifrey's. Qifrey tips his head so he can see him. Olruggio is still sleep-rumpled and warm, only in his undershirt and trousers.
"For now," Qifrey allows. "Good morning. There's food for you in the pot, pasta with mussels. If it's too heavy for breakfast, I can make you something else, we had it for lunch…"
Olruggio stifles a yawn. "Thanks," he says. "Always takin' care of me. Let me sit with you for a little bit, though. Did your lessons finish early today?"
Qifrey shakes his head. His fingers have found a knot in the yarn, and he takes a moment to untangle it before replying. "Just a break. They were losing focus, and the weather is lovely."
"Oh, to be young again," Olruggio says with a wistful sigh. "Is that Tetia's yarn there?"
Qifrey holds it up. "Yes. She decided the scarf was not up to par."
"It looks a lot sadder now," Olruggio comments, holding the ball of tattered yarn that Qifrey is winding. "There's only so many times she can remake it."
"Then that will be the lesson," Qifrey says. "Everything has a consequence."
"Does that tire you? Always looking for the lesson in things, I mean."
"It's habit." Qifrey pulls at the last of the scarf. Olruggio, still holding the ball, winds what he unravels, and they work in silence for a moment, the girls' laughter floating through the open window.
"Habits can be tiring," Olruggio says finally. "I think you've got a fair few."
Qifrey concedes the point with a wet smile, watching his hands. "In that, we are alike."
I won't tell him becomes I can't tell him becomes I shouldn't tell him. I won't tell him becomes I must tell him, or he'll leave. I won't tell him becomes I must tell him, or I will die.
Spring passes like a long exhale. Olruggio has questions about Silver Eve, and once more, he forces Qifrey to keep that foul promise.
There is a lesson in this, but it is one that Qifrey refuses to learn.
"Master Qifrey!" On a warm summer's eve, Coco runs up beside him, her smile as bright as the sun where it touches the horizon.
"Coco," Qifrey says, putting his book down. He's sitting on the crags several minutes' walk away from the atelier, and the apprentices rarely bother him here. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine! I just, um, I wanted to give you this." She holds out an embroidered patch of fabric which is neatly wrapped around a wooden circle. A leather cord runs from the circle, turning it into a medallion. "I tested it a lot with Agott, she really helped me, and I soaked the embroidery thread in ink, Tartah gave me advice on the best mixtures… I didn't tell anyone what it was for, so please don't worry, but I think it'll work! It's like the one we gave Euini!"
Qifrey reaches for the medallion. With the neat stitches of a tailor's daughter, Coco has drawn and embroidered an inverted spell to limit tree growth. It is a feat of engineering, the keystones and sigils specifying the terms of the growth and how to still it safely. In the middle is the decorative keystone for the silverwood. He stares at the seal for a long time, recognising Agott's deft hand in the layering of the main keystones, Richeh's innovation in the way smaller sigils come together. "This is very cleverly designed," he says finally, because he has no other words left.
Could it really be this simple?
Coco shifts her weight where she stands, anxious. Her fingers are sooty with ink. "I don't know if it'll help forever, but I thought it would be good for now, so that you don't have to worry about it!"
"Coco," Qifrey says helplessly, looking up at her. He remembers the frightened girl he brought to the atelier, not one year ago. How she has grown since then, the strength in her all the more terrifying for how quickly she wields it. "Have you been worried about me?"
She takes a deep breath, staring down at her blackened hands, and her voice shakes. "Of course I have, master Qifrey." Tears spill over her cheeks and she hurriedly tries to brush them away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry…" Qifrey puts down the medallion and opens his arms, and she runs into them gratefully, clinging to him. "When it happened to Custas, there was nothing I could do," she sobs, her tears wetting the shoulder of his cloak. "I don't know if I'll be able to get my mum back – I don't know what to do if I lose you too…!"
"Oh, Coco," Qifrey murmurs, stroking her shaking shoulders. "It's quite alright. I'm not going anywhere. This was a very thoughtful gift, but I'm sorry you had to carry this burden by yourself. Is this what you've spent all season on…?"
Coco nods, standing back to wipe her face.
"Thank you very much, then." He picks up the medallion again, stroking his fingers over the enchanted embroidery thread. "I think it might very well work."
"Really?" Coco smiles, her tears already forgotten. "Oh, I really hope so!"
"Sit with me," Qifrey says. The last rays of the sun are dazzling on the surface of the rolling hills and the lake beyond. He makes space on the rock beside him, spreading out his cape to make a soft surface. "Shall I tell you a story?"
Coco folds her skirts and sits down next to him. There is no one in the world who knows him as well as this girl does, and yet she looks at him with nothing but trust in her gaze. It is unfathomable.
Qifrey tells her a story of a boy and his best friend. At the end of it, he feels lightheaded and weak, but no roots stir inside him and no branches break his skin. Coco is half-asleep against him, the stars beginning to gleam in the sky overhead. He picks her up gently, one arm hooked under her knees and one around her shoulders, and carries her home while she fights to stay awake in his arms. What courage she has, what kindness! What fortune Qifrey has come into, to be the guardian of four of the five finest witches he has ever known.
He says goodnight to her on the stairs, watching until she closes the door behind her, and then his gaze locks on the hall that leads to the adjoining house. The fifth witch works on the other side, undoubtedly planning to burn the midnight oil as he toils on his latest commission.
Qifrey knocks, voice soft. "Olruggio?"
From the other side, he hears a tired, "Yeah?"
"May I come in? I know it's late, so if you are in bed…"
"Come in," Olruggio says. Qifrey opens the door and steps inside.
He has never told Olruggio like this: unprompted, of his own volition. His body is tense as if anticipating a punch. The air feels heavy as he climbs up the stairs, perching on the rug where Olruggio is spread out, his magic tools strewn around him. "How is your work coming along?"
Olruggio sighs. "It's a faff," he says. "As usual. How can I help?"
Qifrey smiles. He looks at his face for a moment, the softly expectant lines of his expression. What courage he has, what kindness. Coco has learned much from him, but Olruggio teaches the girls compassion in a way Qifrey never could. He bends his head, embarrassed. "It's not something you can help with, as such."
"Yeah…?"
Qifrey brushes his hands through his skirts, neatening them. "I have something to tell you, but I'm…nervous."
Olruggio sits up and reaches out, his warm hand cupping the back of Qifrey's head. He gently brings him closer, and Qifrey's forehead rests against the curve of his shoulder. Olruggio's shirt smells like summer smoke. "If it helps," Olruggio says, "I think I already know."
Qifrey chuckles, eye closing. Olruggio's fingers play with the short strands of hair at his nape. Restless hands. Inventor's hands. "You don't," Qifrey replies. "But…if you were right, what would you think about that?"
"I'd think it's probably about time," Olruggio says. Qifrey can hear the smile in his voice.
"It's taken me a long while, hm."
"Yeah." Olruggio's voice is low and warm. "I don't mind. It's not like I've been suffering, waiting."
Qifrey winces at the choice of words. Olruggio feels it, and the touch at his nape softens in question. Qifrey disentangles himself reluctantly, meeting Olruggio's questioning gaze. "Do you remember," he says, "when I went to the Tower of Tomes?"
Olruggio's gaze is too warm, too expectant to hold. Instead, Qifrey watches his own hands as he speaks, waiting for the sight of skin parting for branches, roots writhing under the surface, but even as he feels himself falling into the terrifying chasm of relief, nothing moves beyond his own hands' trembling.
When he finishes, Olruggio is silent for a long time. Qifrey lifts his head to look at him and is squeezed tight by the sight – naked hurt wars with relief on Olruggio's face, and his lips are twisted in a painful grimace. Slowly, he reaches over, undoing the ties that make up Qifrey's turtleneck. Qifrey lets him, tilting his head to give him access, heart beating a tattoo against his ribs. Olruggio's clever hands find the leather strap and carefully lift up the talisman, making sure he doesn't break the contact with Qifrey's skin.
"This is real," Olruggio says.
"It's real," Qifrey says. "And it is working, at least for now. I can't promise that it always will. I understand if this is too much, I… I only thought you should know–" He's cut off by Olruggio pulling him into a firm hug.
"Qifrey," Olruggio says, voice shaking. "Qifrey, I'm so fucking glad you're still here." He pulls back just enough for them to look at each other, his eyes bright with emotion. Qifrey swallows, but any retort he would make is lost against Olruggio's lips as he kisses him, and Qifrey's eye slides shut.
It is Olruggio. It has always been Olruggio. He kisses him back, hands fisting tight in Olruggio's shirt, and he has to pull away to gasp for breath as it hits him all at once – it's Olruggio, he is holding Olruggio, Olruggio is here, and Qifrey can have him. Qifrey can have him! Olruggio's eyes are watching him, careful and too kind. "I'm okay," Qifrey tells him, "I…I have wanted this for so long. I don't know who I'll become if I finally get to have you."
Olruggio lets out a wet laugh, pulling him close again. His beard scratches against the exposed skin of Qifrey's throat, a new sensation that makes Qifrey squirm and shift his grip on Olruggio's shirt. "You're one to talk," Olruggio says roughly. "What you say I did back then… It was a pretty damn good idea, since you're still here. But I'd like to think I've picked up a few more things in the last decade. Coco's work is a great starting point, but I bet I can improve on it."
Qifrey turns to push his face into Olruggio's hair, breathing him in. He is lost for words. His future has always been a black mess, a void that would only be coloured in when he hunted down the Brimcaps, but there is brightness there now. Olruggio's light, and the glow of the wonderful girls he is looking after, shine like five beacons on the road ahead. They hold each other for a long moment until Olruggio breaks the silence.
"Wait a minute," he says, "is this why you never sit down until you pass out? And why your room looks like that?"
"There's nothing wrong with my room," Qifrey replies after a pause, confused. "I like the decor. It's fun."
"You like it like that?" Olruggio pulls back to look at him. "Qifrey, that's worse."
Qifrey has to laugh, and then Olruggio laughs, and then they collapse on the rug in a heap of laughter and a few hidden tears, pressed as close as bodies can be. They kiss again, slow and soft, and once more Qifrey is overcome by the realisation that he can kiss Olruggio every way he wants to, that he can touch him and hold him and linger.
"Let's send the girls away," he says into Olruggio's mouth. "Just for a few days. I'm very selfish, Olly, did you know? I work very hard to hide it, but I'm terribly selfish, and I want you all to myself."
Olruggio laughs, cupping his cheek and stroking his thumb along Qifrey's cheekbone. "Is that so?" he says. "I guess I'll have to learn you all over again, huh."
Qifrey shakes his head lightly. "It's still me. I promise you, Olruggio, I have not lied to you more than necessary."
"I know that," Olruggio says softly. "So I guess I know you after all."
Qifrey nods. He reaches up to bury his hands in Olruggio's hair, thinking about how many times he set his pointed cap down on that head, like a monstrous coronation. Never again, he vows silently.
Now that he has had this, he would rather break Olruggio's promise than give it up.
"What are you thinking about?" Olruggio asks.
"You," Qifrey says. Warmth suffuses him as Olruggio blushes with embarrassment. "Our life together."
"It's a good one," Olruggio says. "And it'll only get better."
"It will," Qifrey says, and then, for the simple joy of it, he kisses Olruggio again. And again. And again, and again, and again.