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The letter arrives two weeks after they come back from the Great Hall, writing itself on the personal autoquill sitting by Olruggio’s window. He wakes up to the scratching noise of pen on paper, blinking blearily as he tries to remember how he got to bed last night.
Right, he had been stuck on his Silver Eve project again. One glance at his desk reveals it’s still covered in stray papers and various materials all over, some of them tossed aside in a fit of frustration. Olruggio had given up shortly after that, hastily tugging on his nightgown and crawling into bed just as pale sunlight started to peek over the horizon.
It must be close to noon now. His side of the atelier faces west, so he can’t see the position of the sun, but the bright light outside tells him as much. Slowly, Olruggio sits up on the hammock and yawns, stretching his arms.
His back groans and protests, demanding a real bed. He ignores it.
Once he’s sufficiently awake, Olruggio pads towards the letter-writing contraption and grabs the paper with another yawn. The mere sight of the large signature snaps him out of it, hand tightening and crinkling the edges of the letter.
Lord Cladd.
What the hell does he want with him now?
To the illustrious Olruggio of the Torch,
You are hereby officially invited to Lady Miia of Cladd and Lord Alyan of Nouihl’s wedding, as appreciation for your recent services. The ceremony will take place at Mistcall Castle, with many distinguished guests in attendance. It is highly encouraged to bring a companion.
Please find enclosed further details about the date, the location and dressing code.
More blabber follows about titles, regards, and other things Olruggio doesn’t care about in the slightest. He reads the first paragraph of the letter once again and huffs out a laugh.
A companion.
There’s only one person that comes to mind. And he would rather throw himself in a lake than attend a stuffy wedding, even if Olruggio asks it of him. Which he isn’t going to do.
He groans and runs a hand through his hair, feeling the tangled strands snag on his fingers — a reminder that he ought to take a bath.
Olruggio leaves the letter back on the autoquill, grabs his clothes and toiletries, and trudges towards their shared baths, shoulders slumped. It’s too early for this nonsense.
When he pads into the kitchen after his bath, Qifrey is nowhere to be seen. Coco and Tetia are sitting at the table, gushing over what looks like a richly illustrated romance novel, and they squeak when Olruggio ruffles their hair as he passes by.
“Master Olly!” Coco exclaims, all but jumping off her seat. “Are you looking for breakfast? You just missed Master Qifrey, he was on his way to take it to you!”
Olruggio barely bites back the reflexive not your Master and instead nods, glancing in the direction of the bridge that connects their ateliers and pondering whether he should make the trek or wait for Qifrey to come back.
“Honestly, breakfast at noon!” Tetia scolds. She tries to look stern with her hands on her hips, but it doesn’t quite stick. “You should wait for lunch like the rest of us, Master Olly! Or wake up earlier!”
Olruggio makes a noncommittal noise. He’s entirely too tired to deal with little girls scolding him first thing in the morning. Or, well, second thing, after Lord Cladd’s letter. A headache is slowly brewing in the space between his eyes, no doubt the byproduct of sleeping less hours than he should.
He turns to the kitchen cabinets and picks a slip of thornbark marktea to brew while Qifrey comes back. Tetia and Coco settle back with their novel, allowing him a moment of peace to look out of the window and try to ease his headache symptoms.
The trees outside are already shedding their orange leaves, preparing themselves for the winter season. Olruggio makes a mental note to organize his calendar soon, so he can keep track of his upcoming service duties after Silver Eve.
“Ah, there you are, Olly!”
Qifrey’s voice brings him out of his reverie. He’s standing on the kitchen threshold with a tray of food in his arms, looking radiant as always. Olruggio carefully tucks the image into a deep corner of his mind for safekeeping, then busies himself with pouring the tea, lest he do something ridiculous while swayed by that bright smile.
“Here.” Qifrey places the tray on the dining table, careful not to disturb his apprentices. “I made you some eggs and a platter of fruit, since I know you haven’t been eating enough of it lately. There’s mountain apples, and willowgrapes, and dewberries, and also some chasenuts and honeytree nectar.”
“Thank you, Qifrey,” Olruggio says, feeling a bit of heat rushing to his cheeks. His hand flies to the back of his neck. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Nonsense,” Qifrey refutes brightly. “Just make sure to eat everything!”
Olruggio takes his steaming cup of thornbark tea and sits at the table in front of the girls, silently admiring the beautifully cobbled-together breakfast tray. There’s even a glass of sparkling mountain apple juice.
“Oh! I almost forgot!” Qifrey produces a folded piece of paper from the pockets of his robes and gives it to him. “This came for you on the autoquill. Thought it might be urgent, since it’s from Lord Cladd.”
Not that letter again!
Olruggio mumbles his thanks and quickly pockets it, uncaring of the paper’s crinkling, while Qifrey turns to start cooking lunch at the stove.
“Lord Cladd? Why does that name sound familiar…?” Coco muses with a small frown.
“Aren’t you going to read it, Master Olly?” Tetia inquires at the same time.
“Already know what it says,” he replies in between bites of the eggs.
“Oh, right! He’s the one you took a commission for when we were in the Great Hall!” Coco exclaims, realization dawning. “Something about his daughter’s wedding, right?”
Ack, she said the word!
“A wedding!” Tetia immediately cries, eyes starry. Her loud voice makes Olruggio wince a little, headache worsening by the minute. “Are you going to a wedding, Master Olly? Without me?!”
“It’s not—”
“That must be what the letter is!” Coco’s eyes are similarly shining. They have been reading too many romance novels lately, Olruggio thinks with dismay. “A wedding invitation!”
“Girls, I’m not—”
“Who is going to a wedding?” Richeh asks from the top of the stairs, having just caught the tail end of their conversation. The brushbuddy is sitting on her shoulder, playing with a strand of her hair.
“Master Olly!” Tetia exclaims, pointing an accusatory finger. “Without us!”
“Richeh doesn’t like weddings.”
“Can we go too, Master Olly?”
“Master Olly, I need to go to that wedding or I’ll die!”
“No one’s goin’ to the damn wedding!” Olruggio finally shouts, the words coming out louder than intended.
Silence settles in the room, all the girls looking at him with wide eyes. Qifrey has also turned to him, alarmed by the sudden outburst. Olruggio drops his face on the table with a heavy sigh, head pounding.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout,” he mumbles against the wood.
“Or to curse,” Qifrey chides softly.
“Or to curse.”
“But… why wouldn’t you go to a wedding you’ve been invited to?” Coco asks after a moment of silence, sounding genuinely confused.
Olruggio lifts his head off the table and stares into his thornbark tea instead.
“It’s too much of a hassle,” he admits. “It might look excitin’ from the outside, but believe me girls when I tell you these events are more borin’ than fun. Lots of people to shake hands with, or dodge favors from, or hide from. Just… it’s better if I stay here.”
When Olruggio looks at the girls again after silence follows his words, he finds himself accosted by Tetia and Coco’s big, watery eyes. Even Richeh looks silently judgmental as she sits at the table with them. He doesn’t dare look at Qifrey.
“B-But a wedding is so romantic!” Tetia’s voice is wobbling, dangerously close to tears.
“And they invited you! They might be sad if you turn them down!” Coco adds, similarly distraught. They are steadily leaning closer to him, eyes impossibly wide.
Olruggio has half a mind to click his sylph shoes together and fly out the window, breakfast be damned. But then he glances in Qifrey’s direction and sees him trying not to laugh, and his resolve wavers.
“Please, please, please, Master Olly, you have to go!”
Tetia’s a tenacious girl, he’ll give her that. Olruggio sighs, massages his temples, and takes a long sip of thornbark tea before answering.
“I’m sorry girls,” he says. “But I’m too busy right now. Can’t take a night off this close to Silver Eve.”
“Or perhaps that is exactly what you need to clear your head, dear friend,” Qifrey cuts in, voice deceptively soft. He must have seen the proof of Olruggio’s frustration on his desk and is using it against him now, the bastard.
“Right!” Coco latches onto it immediately. “You might get inspired at the wedding and look at your projects with fresh eyes later!”
“Richeh thinks it could be good for your mental block.”
“Exactly!” Tetia agrees readily.
Olruggio glares at his dear friend, who merely smiles innocently.
“… They said I had to bring a plus one,” he tries lamely, as a last resort. “And I don’t have one. It’d be in bad form to show up alone.”
Three little heads immediately turn in Qifrey’s direction at once. Uh, oh.
“Master Qifrey can go with you!” Tetia claps her hands excitedly. Her eyes are starry again, none of the crocodile tears left in them.
“I cannot leave you girls alone,” Qifrey says, smile pinched at the corners. Ha, Olruggio thinks pettily, suffer. “It would be too dangerous, after recent events.”
“We could stay with Lord Beldaruit…” Coco suggests timidly, twiddling her thumbs. Richeh nods at once.
“Richeh wants to see Rili,” she says.
“Well, on such short notice—”
“Please, Master Qifrey!” Tetia begs with her hands close together. The big adorable eyes are turned on him now, and Olruggio idly picks at his platter of fruit as he watches the scene unfold.
“You always say not to pass up on learning opportunities, Master,” Agott throws in from where she’s standing by the stairs, making everyone jump.
“Agott! How long have you been there?” Coco exclaims.
“Long enough.” Agott crosses her arms and levels Qifrey with a stern look that has no business looking so serious on such a small face. “Lord Beldaruit offered me to take a look at his library next time. I want to go.”
It’s the final nail in the coffin. All four girls are staring Qifrey down, and Olruggio is hit with the startling realization that, if Qifrey goes down, he goes down too. And that’s exactly what he has been trying to avoid!
“Wait, girls—” He tries, but Qifrey is already speaking and dooming the both of them.
“Very well,” he gives in, accepting defeat. “We will see if an overnight stay at the Great Hall can be arranged. For now, would you mind helping me with lunch?”
The four apprentices explode into cheers, a deafening sound that only worsens Olruggio’s headache. Still, despite the pounding in his head, he can’t help a rush of warmth at seeing them so happy.
“Oh, and Olly?” Qifrey says. His smile is perfectly pleasant when Olruggio looks up at him, but with a sharp edge right under the surface. “Do remember to eat all of your fruit.”
Olruggio huffs and looks away. It’s Qifrey’s way of showing he’s not happy with the situation. As if it was his fault! Qifrey shouldn’t have been snooping through Olruggio’s mail in the first place.
But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he glares down at the little pieces of mountain apple left and stabs them with his fork, imagining it’s Lord Cladd’s head instead.
“Richeh made matching accessories for you.”
Olruggio almost chokes on his wine when, the next day, Richeh approaches them several clockmarks after dinner.
“I thought you girls were already asleep,” Qifrey chides lightly. He’s sitting on the couch with a book on his lap, loop chalice in hand, while Olruggio lounges on the rug cross-legged, taking a rare break from work.
“It was a matter of the utmost importance,” Richeh says very seriously.
Olruggio understands the deadline crunch intimately. They are leaving for the wedding tomorrow at noon, hoping to reach Mistcall Castle with time to spare, so she probably rushed to make it in time.
Richeh hands them each their accessories and Olruggio can’t help but immediately admire the fine craftsmanship. In his hands are a set of ear cuffs with tiny crystals embedded on them and a very small tassel hanging from one of them. They sparkle beautifully in the firelight, and the golden metal covering of the cuff has a similar motif to the one in his hat.
“Richeh, these are marvelous!” Qifrey gasps, and Olruggio strains his neck to look.
For him, Richeh has made a pair of clip-on earrings with a glittering crystal and a long, thin tassel each. There are also two other miniature crystals that end in a tiny teardrop shape, but Olruggio doesn’t know where those are supposed to go.
“They are for your glasses,” the girl explains, probably sensing their confusion. “Richeh used a magnet spell so you can clip them at the bottom of the frames.”
Qifrey sits very still as Richeh demonstrates, placing each crystal so that they dangle prettily from his glasses. It’s not something Olruggio has ever considered, adorning one of Qifrey’s wardrobe staples like that, but he suddenly finds himself unable to look away from it.
The resulting effect is… breathtaking.
Qifrey smiles softly as the crystals dangle over his cheeks, catching the light from the fire and shining in a myriad of colors. Richeh looks proud of her work, and for good reason.
“This is very well-made,” Qifrey tells her, sounding appropriately awed. “Thank you, Richeh.”
“Brilliant metalwork,” Olruggio praises as well. “If you ever want to work on somethin’ bigger, tell me and I’ll lend you the workshop. Under supervision, of course.”
Richeh nods, pleased. Her crystals really are something else, Olruggio thinks — one day, she will surely be renowned for them.
“Now you can match,” she says. “Adults always wear matching accessories to parties.”
Where she got that idea from, Olruggio hasn’t the faintest. But he’s not about to crush the hopes of a child, so he just nods like he understands.
He tries on the ear cuffs and finds that they fit perfectly. The tiny tassel matches Qifrey’s earrings, and they are very comfortable to wear. An outstanding job, overall.
“We will be sure to wear them tomorrow,” Qifrey smiles gently at her, then stands up and puts his book away. “Now, time for bed. Do you want me to tell you a good night story?”
Richeh nods again and the two of them leave to her room, her hand in his as they discuss which story to tell. Olruggio stares after them for a moment, then takes a long sip of wine, the sight of Qifrey draped in beautiful jewelry burned in his retinas.
His chalice of wine is almost empty by the time Qifrey comes back to the living room, tragically bare of accessories.
“I put them in my room for safekeeping,” he tells Olruggio, who had already almost forgotten he was wearing his.
“Smart.” Olruggio tips the loop chalice in his direction and drains the rest of the wine, throwing his head back against the edge of the couch once he’s done.
“Arrangements were made with Beldaruit for tomorrow night,” Qifrey says, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “We’ll leave the girls with him at the Great Hall before taking the windowway to Cladd Territory.”
Olruggio sighs.
“You’re really hating this, aren’t you?”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly on my to-do list for the week.”
“It’s just one night,” Olruggio says, having already accepted his fate. “If we get too bored, we can always sneak out.”
Qifrey lets out a short laugh at that — a breathy, fleeting sound that has Olruggio craving more.
“Just like when we were teenagers,” he says, a wistful note in his voice.
“Exactly.” Olruggio nods. “We’ll go in, get the food and leave. You won’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to.”
“Ah, if only it were that easy…”
It won’t be, of course. Olruggio has enough experience with these kinds of events to know that they will be swarmed by nobles the moment they step foot inside that castle. But it’s nice to pretend, even if only for a moment, that they’re teenagers again.
He stands up and stretches out his arms and back, groaning lightly at the faint popping sounds. Qifrey watches him over the edge of his book.
“I should be gettin’ back to my work now,” Olruggio says. He leaves the loop chalice in the kitchen and pads towards his side of the atelier, waving a lazy hand. “Good night, Qifrey. Don’t stay up too late.”
“Likewise, old friend.”
Qifrey’s eye follows him all the way to his rooms. Olruggio pretends not to notice.
The day of the wedding dawns bright with empty blue skies, uncommon during harvest season but perfect for such an event. Qifrey herds the girls to the windowway at the arranged time, each with a little overnight bag.
“You have to tell us everything later!” Tetia demands. “I’m sure it will all be so pretty and romantic… Master Olly, are you sure I can’t go with you too?”
“Not your Master,” he says automatically, ruffling her hair. “I’ll take note of everythin’ and it’ll be as if you were there.”
“Bring Richeh cake or else.”
“We will bring cake for everyone,” Qifrey appeases with a smile. “Are you all ready? Anything you might be leaving behind?”
“Coco forgot her primer,” Agott says.
Coco squeaks and runs upstairs, Qifrey calling after her to be careful on the steps.
“Your robes are so pretty, Master Qifrey!” Tetia gushes as they wait, tugging at his cloak.
Olruggio privately agrees. Qifrey’s formal outfit is not that different from his usual one, only more elaborate and embroidered with beautiful patterns. Beldaruit had gifted it to him on his graduation as an apprentice: in his own words, he would be using those robes a lot for formal events from then on. Olruggio has only seen him wear them once or twice since that day.
His own robes are also fancier than usual: Olruggio has swapped his white shirt for a high-collar, tasseled black top that accidentally matches Qifrey’s, and his cloak, less heavy than the velvet one, is decorated with a string of golden motifs.
“Like Richeh said, adults match. Richeh’s parents always matched at parties.”
Qifrey and Olruggio share a quizzical look, but nothing else gets said as Coco makes her hasty arrival.
“I got the book! We can leave now!”
Once they are all finally ready, Olruggio operates the knobs of the windowway until their destination appears. They leave the girls at Beldaruit’s atelier, indulging the man in a brief cup of tea before continuing on their way to Mistcall Castle.
As they take the windowway to Cladd territory, Qifrey pulls out a small pouch from his robes and lets Richeh’s accessories fall on the open palm of his hand, a soft smile on his face.
Olruggio doesn’t think twice before speaking. “Need a hand?”
Qifrey looks at him, fleetingly startled, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. He nods.
“Yes. Let’s find a more… secluded spot.”
They move off to the side of the busy town square, squeezing under an overhang that protects them from the sun. Olruggio carefully picks each of the glasses’ accessories and clips them in place, reminding himself to breathe every time his fingers brush against Qifrey’s smooth skin.
There is a lovely tinge of pink in Qifrey’s cheeks once he’s done, probably due to the heat, and Olruggio takes a step back to admire his handiwork.
“Beautiful,” he says, like the blundering oaf he is. “Er, the crystals. They look beautiful.”
Qifrey smiles and delicately touches one of them, letting it dangle over his cheek.
“Richeh truly outdid herself, I’m very proud of her.”
“Does it feel odd, the added weight?” Olruggio asks, curious about every aspect of this new addition.
“It’s a little bit distracting,” Qifrey admits, fixing his own earrings in place. “But I suppose I will get used to it. I like your ear cuffs.”
His fingers brush against the shell of Olruggio’s ear softly and an electrifying thrill runs down his spine. He suddenly feels hot all over, every one of his senses zeroing in on that point of contact.
It’s gone as fast as it started. Qifrey’s fingers withdraw and he gives Olruggio one last small smile before turning to continue on their way to the castle.
“According to the letter, the carriage pickup point should be around here,” Olruggio says looking around the town square.
There are many market stalls around, people milling among them perusing their wares, but no horses or carriages that he can see.
“Maybe they are down one of these streets, away from the bustle of the market,” Qifrey suggests, also squinting into the distance.
“Maybe…”
“Predis Olruggio!”
His heart sinks. Oh, no. Not him.
It stands to reason, however, that if Olruggio was invited to the wedding for his services… the people who helped him perform said services would also be invited.
Qifrey makes a face, something between mild distaste and polite confusion, and Olruggio sighs.
“Hello to you too, Hiehart,” he wearily addresses the approaching figure.
Hiehart, much like them, has also changed into fancier robes with even more tassels than his usual ones and dark orange embroidery on the hems of his sweeping cape. Next to him is Jujy, running to catch up in a lovely little dress equally as embroidered.
“What a pleasant surprise to see you here, predis Olruggio!” Hiehart exclaims, stopping just short of barrelling into him. “We weren’t sure you would come!”
“Hello,” Jujy waves at Qifrey, who seems to have automatically taken half a step back and is regarding them curiously. “I’m Jujy! This is my master Hiehart. I would say he’s not usually this excitable, but, well… he is.”
“Oh, you must be Qifrey!” Hiehart is all over him in a second, smiling brightly. “The master whose atelier Olruggio is a Watchful Eye for! It’s an honor!”
“The carriages are over there,” Jujy points to a street to their right as Qifrey and Hiehart finish their introductions. Olruggio looks where she’s pointing at, a little nervous at leaving those two alone. “There’s a bit of a queue, so we can share one if you don’t mind!”
Olruggil briefly considers the logistics of flying all the way to the castle with their sylph shoes. They would probably make a rather bad impression, after Lord Cladd had gone through the trouble of arranging carriages. He just hopes Hiehart’s excitement dwindles a little on the way.
“Lead the way,” he concedes.
They make it to the castle about a clockmark later, after a carriage trip filled with Hiehart’s almost-incessant chatter. Apparently, he and Jujy chose not to invite anyone else (we’re each other’s plus ones! Hiehart says with a bright smile. I wanted to ask you, predis Olruggio, but I also couldn’t leave my dear apprentice alone!).
Qifrey seems tired when they finally dismount, something pinched in his expression. Olruggio hopes he can enjoy the wedding anyway, that whatever headache he has is temporary.
The castle is bustling with activity as they step foot on the bridge. Its stone walls are decorated with beautiful flowers in the colors of the couple: blue for the Marquisate of Cladd, and red for the groom’s lands. There are also banners hanging with presumably the coats of arms of both families, and the ambiance is positively festive.
“It looks so much prettier than when we last were here!” Jujy appraises, taking it in with wonder in her eyes.
“They have really outdone themselves with the decorations,” Qifrey agrees. “Where does the groom hail from, I wonder?”
“Nouihl, if I recall correctly. The red-blue colors were a whole issue for our commission,” Olruggio tells him.
“Will I get to see your work?” Qifrey asks, curious. Olruggio nods.
“Pay close attention during the first dance.”
They get approached by a member of the staff not long after, who checks their names on the guest list and lets them in after the appropriate pleasantries. The ceremony will be held in a separate chamber, and then they will all move to the banquet hall for dinner and the first dance, he tells them.
“I’ve never attended an outsider wedding before,” Hiehart says excitedly, having the sense to keep his voice low. They are all wearing their pointed hats, marking them as witches, but it’s still in bad form to refer to non-witches as outsiders, especially when among them.
“Me neither,” Olruggio admits. He has been invited to many parties, most of them during Silver Eve festivities, but never a wedding.
Now that he thinks of it… it is a bit strange that Lord Cladd has invited them to his daughter’s wedding, given how dismissive he had been of the witches initially. Olruggio can’t help but suspect there might be something more to it.
Before he can dwell on those thoughts any further, however, they are shown to their seats, and Olruggio gets distracted by the way sunlight filters through the high windows and hits Qifrey just so, making his crystal accessories glimmer prettily.
The ceremony drags on a little. Lady Miia looks beautiful clad in the colors of her Marquisate, and so does Lord Alyan in his sunset red robes. There are several long-winded speeches singing the praises of both houses, during which Olruggio spots Lord Cladd puffing up his chest on the front row, and a complicated ceremony involving colored ribbons from Nouihl and the bride’s veil. From where they sit, they can’t see it in much detail, which doesn’t help their boredom.
But then comes the fun part. Guests are all directed to the banquet hall, where tables laden with all sorts of food and drink line the walls, and in the middle, Lady Miia readies herself for her first dance.
“Watch now,” Olruggio tells Qifrey with a self-satisfied smile.
Blue light appears wherever she sets her feet as she elegantly dances at the front of the room. Guests clap in awe, and the colors of her Marquisate look beautiful, just like they had hoped. Qifrey watches with a smile on his face, and when he turns it towards Olruggio, he swears the whole night is worth it just for this moment alone.
“You have outdone yourself, my friend,” Qifrey says softly, words meant for his ears only. Olruggio quickly looks away, very focused on the groom, who is already stepping onto the dance floor as well.
“It was just some quick thinkin’ to get Lord Cladd off my back. Hiehart and Jujy helped loads. Got lucky it paid off, really.”
Qifrey’s hand is warm on his shoulder, even when the man runs perpetually cold. He leans in, and Olruggio feels a dangerous flush running up his neck.
“You did a beautiful job, Olly,” he mutters. “Accept the compliment for once.”
The room is too hot; Olruggio feels like he’s suffocating in it. Qifrey’s face is impossibly close, the crystals on his glasses glinting under the chandelier lights. He’s truly handsome in his fancy robes — and Olruggio needs to end that train of thought right there, before he does something they’ll both regret.
“I’m goin’ to see if I can get us a drink,” he says, clearing his throat to hide the emotion in his voice. “Any preferences?”
Qifrey withdraws. There’s a fleeting regretful flash to his eye, but he covers it well with a warm smile.
“I trust your judgment.”
It takes a great deal of willpower for Olruggio not to physically run away from the scene. He reaches the drinks table short of breath, but manages to string together two orders of silvernectar wine when the waiter in charge of them asks.
“One silvernectar wine and one mountain apple juice for me, thank you!” Hiehart’s voice says next to him.
Olruggio manages not to jump. He’s strung up, thrown off-kilter by Qifrey’s… everything. Almost as if he heard his thoughts, Hiehart gives him a concerned look.
“What was that, predis Olruggio?” He asks.
“What was what?”
“You and Qifrey. I saw you run away from him just now!”
Ack. He wasn’t as smooth as he hoped. Olruggio takes a sip of his wine to stall for time, and risks a glance around the crowd. Qifrey seems engrossed in conversation with Jujy, who keeps gesturing towards the tiles Lady Miia danced on, most likely recounting the process of making them.
“Nothin’ happened. Wanted to get a drink before the queue got too big,” he denies.
“If you say so!” Hiehart, mercifully, chooses to drop the subject. “Looks like our work held up beautifully! Just what I expected of predis Olruggio’s brilliant idea!”
They return to Qifrey and Jujy and hand them their drinks, earning grateful chirps from them both. The dance is now in full swing, many guests joining in with practiced moves as the band plays jaunty tunes. Some of the songs are vaguely familiar to Olruggio from other parties he’s attended in the past, and he feels a strange, brief compulsion to join in.
The only dances he knows are witches’ dances and those from Ghodrey, though, so he remains content to stand by and watch, lest he makes a fool of himself. A couple clockmarks go by, between bites of the food provided and watching guests mingle. Some of the nobles approach Olruggio with joyous greetings and small talk, but they all leave after a while.
Qifrey next to him hums along to the music for a few songs, sipping his glass of wine with a small, relaxed smile. But his shoulders are tense, and his eye keeps darting around the room. Olruggio feels guilty for basically forcing him to come.
“If it isn’t Olruggio of the Torch!”
With a muttered apology, Olruggio leaves Qifrey’s side again and makes his way over to exchange the usual pleasantries. He recognizes a few of the nobles in this group from past commissions, while others are complete strangers.
“This witch right here is one of the brightest you could find nowadays!” The noble who spotted him in the first place, Lord Aillum, claps him heartily in the back, almost making him spit his drink.
“Indeed,” Another one, Lady Iannis, loudly agrees. “His contraptions are renowned all around Zozah! Why, that heating contraption you made for my bath chambers works like a dream!”
“You flatter me, my lady—”
“I could say the same for the indoor garden you built at my northern castle!” A third man says. Lord… Ceolen, if Olruggio recalls correctly.
“Say, witch, what are you working on these days?”
“I cannot wait for you to show your work at Silver Eve!”
“Mister Olruggio, was it? I would be very interested in a commission…”
They swarm him like vultures, praising his deeds while simultaneously demanding more of him. More magic, more contraptions, more solutions to their mundane problems. Olruggio weathers it as best as he can, years of practice lending him some valuable social skills for these situations, but then he glances back and sees that Qifrey is missing.
“Apologies, my lords, my ladies, but I fear I must excuse myself,” he says hurriedly, eyes searching around the room. Qifrey is nowhere to be seen.
Olruggio doesn’t wait for a dismissal. He extricates himself from the cluster of disappointed nobles and starts making his way across the banquet hall.
He finds Hiehart and Jujy dancing at the edge of the crowd, the man’s enthusiasm a bit too much for his apprentice, who keeps giggling breathlessly as he spins her round and round and can barely string two steps together afterwards. They haven’t seen hide nor hair of Qifrey in a while, but he had been perusing the food table last Hiehart saw him.
Olruggio thanks them, but his search around said table yields no results. He’s about to slip outside, thinking that Qifrey might have gone for some fresh air, when someone else stops him.
“Sir witch,” Lady Miia addresses him warmly. Her cheeks are rosy, and she can’t seem to stop smiling. “I am greatly pleased that you accepted my invitation. Are you enjoying yourself tonight?”
“Lady Miia, my warmest congratulations.” Olruggio bows his head respectfully. The glittering crystals on her heels wink at him from below. “We are immensely grateful for the invitation; the wedding is spectacular. You looked radiant on the dance floor, my lady.”
Lady Miia laughs lightly behind her hand, almost coquettish. It makes sense that it was her, and not her father, who invited them to the wedding, knowing that Olruggio wouldn’t outright reject such a request from one of his patrons. A clever trick, but one that Olruggio can’t exactly begrudge her for.
“I caught a glimpse of you amid the guests during the ceremony,” she says then, smiling sheepishly. “I must admit, I feel quite ashamed of myself now. Had I known you had a spouse waiting at home, I would have never offered for you to stay by my side here, Sir Olruggio.”
A… spouse?! Olruggio’s brain stalls and buffers on the word, unable to make sense of it for a good few seconds. Who did Lady Miia see him with? He had been almost at the very back with Qifrey, Hiehart and Jujy, there was no one—
Ah. Qifrey.
“Oh, no, my lady, you are mistaken! Qifrey is my good friend, not my spouse,” he hastens to correct, painfully aware that he’s waving his hands around perhaps a bit more than what is considered polite. “He did me the kind favor to accompany me on this occasion, but be assured, I am not married nor I expect to be. I’m merely his Watchful Eye; he has an atelier by the countryside.”
“Qifrey…” Lady Miia savors the name, none of her earlier sheepishness left behind. Instead, there’s a keen spark to her eyes now, almost playful. “What a wondrous name! My most sincere apologies for the confusion, I must have jumped to conclusions upon seeing your beautifully matching accessories.”
“Our— Er, Qifrey’s student made them,” Olruggio can’t help but say proudly. “She is a real prodigy with crystals, works her magic with them like nothing I have ever seen before.”
“Very talented, indeed,” Lady Miia appreciates. Someone calls her name then — a cluster of giggling ladies making their way towards them, most likely her friends. “I must take my leave now. Enjoy the rest of your night, Sir Olruggio. Do send Qifrey, Hiehart and Jujy my warmest regards.”
“I will. Thank you, my lady, and likewise.”
Lady Miia leaves with her friends and Olruggio is left pondering the conversation that has just transpired. Matching accessories… Richeh had been weirdly insistent on that too, and he had brushed it off initially, but now he can’t help but wonder…
He glances around the room, focusing on the couples currently dancing, and realization dawns on him.
They all match, either in their robes or jewelry. And if it’s only the couples, then… him and Qifrey must have been giving mixed signals to everyone all night.
Olruggio leaves the banquet hall as quickly as he can, pretending he doesn’t see the nobles waving him over across the room.
At some point, he must have gone through the wrong door, because instead of surfacing outside, he’s in what looks like a more private area leading further inside the castle. A few people mill in the richly decorated hallway, most simply going to the toilet or taking a breather from dancing, and none of them pay Olruggio any attention as he walks past.
He is considering turning back around and searching for Qifrey outside, when a flash of white catches his attention.
“Qifrey!”
The figure tucked in the alcove jumps a little, startled. Qifrey’s eye finds Olruggio and he relaxes.
“Hello, Olly. I take it your conversation went well?” He asks, tone oddly light. Olruggio barely refrains from rolling his eyes and instead sits next to him, squeezing himself between Qifrey and the stone wall.
“Move over,” he says, then lets his head fall back against the wall with a heavy sigh. “Vultures, the lot of them. Wouldn’t stop askin’ about my work, probably looking for a discount on top of all.”
“They seemed to admire you very much.”
“And then Lady Miia!” Olruggio goes on, ignoring Qifrey’s words. He drags a hand over his face and groans. “She thought you were my spouse, kept pryin’ too — can you believe that?”
Qifrey falls silent. When Olruggio looks at him again, he seems lost in thought, eye fixed on some indeterminate point down the hallway.
A couple walks past them, arm-in-arm, throwing them a curious glance. Qifrey looks like he wants nothing more than to fuse with the wall, so Olruggio stands up and takes his wrist.
“Come on, let’s find somewhere quieter,” he says. Qifrey follows his lead.
They walk past rows of doors until Olruggio tries one at random, and, surprisingly, it opens into what looks like a guestroom. He closes the door behind them as Qifrey sits on the bed, and any guilt Olruggio might be feeling for intruding vanishes the second he sees the tension seeping out of Qifrey’s shoulders.
“Feelin’ better?”
Qifrey looks up at him with a small smile.
“Yes. Thank you, Olly.”
Olruggio sits next to him on the bed, unsure of what to do or say next. If Qifrey needs him to stay silent and keep him company, he will, and if he needs to leave, he has a few polite excuses ready for an easy exit.
“Everyone was all over you tonight,” Qifrey says after a few beats of silence. He isn’t looking at Olruggio, instead his eye is firmly set on his fidgeting hands. “You are very popular with the nobles. And Hiehart.”
“I’m sorry… I know he can be a bit too much at times.” Olruggio rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “As for the nobles, I told you, they’re vultures. They know I’ll have to say yes to their commissions if they dangle enough coins before me.”
“It’s your livelihood. I shouldn’t begrudge you for it.”
“I shouldn’t have neglected you,” Olruggio sighs. “Or forced you to come here. If it’s too overwhelming, we can always leave.”
“There’s no need.” Finally, Qifrey looks up at him. He’s smiling that terrible smile, the one Olruggio should have never taught him. “Please don’t trouble yourself on my behalf. If you need to go back out there, I can stay here.”
“Are you kidding? I want nothin’ more than to hide from them all.”
Qifrey laughs lightly, sounding a tad more genuine. The crystals in his earrings and lenses twinkle with the movement underneath the dim lantern light.
“We should devise a plan to get more of that silvernectar wine undetected,” Qifrey says, a glimmer of mischief in his eye. “The taste was too good for it to go to waste.”
“I couldn’t agree more on that!”
It’s Olruggio who sneaks out to get the wine, in the end. He doesn’t mind fending off more people, not if it means Qifrey can stay in the safety of the guestroom and stop giving him that eerily fabricated smile.
Hiehart intercepts him halfway to the drinks’ table, a pastry in his hand.
“Predis Olruggio! I was looking for you all over!”
“Sorry, Hiehart, I’m kinda busy—”
“Just wanted to tell you Jujy and I are leaving, it’s close to her curfew and we’re dead on our feet anyway,” Hiehart steamrolls over his excuses, grinning. “Also, you must try these sweet pastries!”
Sure enough, Olruggio spots Jujy on the other side of the room, sitting on one of the benches lining the far wall and looking suitably worn out.
“Oh.” Olruggio doesn’t really deserve a friend like Hiehart sometimes. “Thank you, Hiehart, I will. Give Jujy my regards, and have a safe trip home.”
“You got it, predis Olruggio!”
Hiehart beams and walks away, cloak fluttering in his wake. Olruggio gets the drinks and considers the pastry table. If he’s careful, he can hold two glasses on one hand and that would leave his other hand free for the food…
He sees Lady Iannis approaching in the distance and quickly makes a decision, grabbing the pastries and all but running for the door.
“Oh, Olly!” Qifrey looks excited when he presents him with the treats, eye sparkling. “Thank you!”
“Hiehart told me they were good,” Olruggio says, deflecting. He hands him the wine as well and takes a long sip of his own glass. The delicate taste of what’s surely a very expensive silvernectar wine makes the trip worth it instantly.
“Hiehart, huh?”
Qifrey looks at the already half-eaten pastry consideringly, an odd expression on his face that Olruggio doesn’t quite know what to make of.
“Yeah, he and Jujy are leavin’ already.”
When Qifrey looks at him again, Olruggio realizes just how close they are sitting to each other. He can see every one of his eyelashes clear as day, fluttering every time he blinks. That crystalline blue gaze pins him down with its intensity.
Carefully, Qifrey puts the pastry and the wine aside. Then, he leans in a little, caging Olruggio in with his arm on the bed.
“Do you wish to go with him?” He asks, whisper-soft.
Olruggio feels warm all over, just like that morning in town under the awning. The effect on him is electrifying, rendering all of his senses useless because the only thing he can focus on is Qifrey. Qifrey leaning so close to him, Qifrey’s eye pinning him in place, Qifrey’s body, lithe underneath those fancy robes.
Over the years, Olruggio has had his fair share of fantasies involving his friend. He guiltily indulges in them from time to time, mostly when he’s feeling particularly low about himself, and then casts them out of his mind forever. He lies to himself that it will never happen again, feels guilty when it does, and the cycle begins anew.
Qifrey has never given any indications that he reciprocates his feelings. Not until this moment, the two of them alone in the guestroom, with the muted sounds of the party as their only company.
Olruggio exhales softly.
“You know I don’t, Qifrey.”
Qifrey’s smile takes on a rueful hue. Somehow, Olruggio knows he’s said the wrong thing, but it’s hard to feel bad about it when the next thing he knows, soft lips are on his, tasting of silvernectar wine and sweet pastry.
He freezes in place for all of two seconds, overwhelmed at the sheer intensity of Qifrey all over him, then quickly reacts by circling his arms around Qifrey’s neck. Olruggio plays with the white strands of hair at his nape, sinking into the kiss with clumsy movements that he’ll definitely blame on the wine if questioned.
His fingers snag on an unruly strand, and, to his surprise, Qifrey makes a soft little noise against his mouth. Just to test his theory, Olruggio tugs at his hair again, and is rewarded with more pretty noises.
Qifrey’s pushing at his chest suddenly, firmly enough so that Olruggio can’t help but fall on the bed, breathless, his back to the plush mattress. Qifrey is quick to crawl over him, knees on both sides of his torso, and then resumes the kiss. His robes pool all over Olruggio’s lap, fine cloth soft as silk covering the two of them.
“Qifrey,” Olruggio says, breaking off the kiss. He takes in the beautiful sight of Qifrey hovering over him for a moment, dangling crystals almost brushing his cheeks, then continues. “We, ah, should talk about this—”
“We can talk later,” Qifrey says, ever-avoidant. “Please, Olly.”
They aren’t going to talk later, Olruggio knows this with absolute certainty. If he’s going to blame his clumsiness on the wine, then Qifrey will also attribute the whole thing to the alcohol and pretend nothing happened. The question is whether or not Olruggio is alright with that.
It’s a stupid question.
Olruggio will take anything Qifrey gives him.
“Okay,” he breathes out. Immediately, Qifrey’s mouth is on his with searing intensity again, hands rising to cup the sides of his face.
His thumbs brush against Olruggio’s beard, almost reverently stroking the coarse hair there, and Olruggio feels a burst of warmth in his chest at the love Qifrey is pouring into him. It’s the culmination of all his fantasies, and he can’t believe it’s happening in Lord Cladd’s guest bedroom of all places.
The second he had that thought, he should’ve known it was too good to last.
Qifrey has just started doing something positively wicked with his tongue, when Olruggio hears voices echoing on the hallway outside. They freeze in place, staring into each other’s eyes like spooked animals. Olruggio desperately hopes the footsteps go on walking past their door, but, to his horror, they stop right outside.
There’s giggling and fumbling against the door, a voice saying stop, someone’s going to see us! And then another one says let’s go in here then, and the doorknob jiggles.
“Window,” Qifrey says, breathless.
Olruggio follows his lead, the two of them leaping off the bed and fumbling for the large window on the other side of the room. Thankfully, the giggly couple outside seems too drunk to remember how to properly open a door, which gives Qifrey precious seconds to open the window and fly outside with sylph shoes, Olruggio hot on his tail.
They make it out just in time as the door opens, fluttering curtains obscuring their escape, and Olruggio topples down on the ground a good distance away, wheezing.
“That was close…” He groans. Qifrey lands next to him, marginally more elegantly.
Olruggio looks at him and they both burst out laughing at the same time. Sprawled on the grass, they laugh until their chests ache, uncaring of the scene they must be portraying.
“I think we should call it a night,” Olruggio suggests, once they’ve calmed down. He feels lightheaded, dizzy from the wine and intoxicated by Qifrey’s presence.
“I think so too,” Qifrey agrees. Under the lights of the castle, his cheeks are a lovely rosy hue. Olruggio resolutely forces his gaze not to linger on them.
They get to their feet, only stumbling a little, and make their way around the castle walls to find the road that will lead them to the town. Qifrey seems content to walk, and Olruggio doesn’t mind it either. The fresh breeze is rather invigorating.
“I’m glad we decided to come in the end,” Qifrey admits after a while. The wind softly whips at his hair, sending tufts of white flying around his face and tangling them with his earrings. “I had fun.”
“Did you really?” Olruggio asks sceptically. Qifrey laughs lightly.
“Not at first, I’ll admit. But I liked seeing your magic put to work, and the wine was truly exquisite.”
Olruggio can read between the lines, between the rueful notes of his voice. Qifrey enjoyed kissing in the guestroom, but it won’t happen again. He’s setting a boundary, in his own Qifrey way, placing this night inside a picture frame and leaving it there to look back on occasionally; wistfully, perhaps, as a memory and nothing else.
He can be fine with that.
“It really was, yeah. Shame these parties come with the accosting nobles as well,” Olruggio replies. “Could’ve done without them.”
“They were rather intense,” Qifrey agrees with him. “You should charge them more, dear friend.”
“Do you think I haven’t thought of that before? The Great Hall sets the fees, bunch of arse-kissers…”
“Oh, let’s not talk about the Great Hall,” Qifrey sighs. “It’s such a nice night…”
It truly is. They have long left the castle behind them, and, underneath the blanket of stars, the only sounds come from the wild animals in the forests around them and their shoes against the cobblestone.
Olruggio almost doesn’t want to go back to the atelier — he wants to stay suspended in this moment forever, with Qifrey by his side and the road ahead of them. With no pressing deadlines or expectations, just the two of them and the starry sky.
But the atelier is their home, and the girls will be waiting for their return. He remembers their little excited faces and smiles to himself, already arranging in his mind the best version of the wedding to tell them.
“Oh, no!” Qifrey suddenly exclaims. Olruggio turns to him, alarmed. “We forgot the cake for the girls!”
They stare at each other, eyes wide, and Olruggio doesn’t know who cracks first. All he knows is that, between one moment and the next, he and Qifrey are both doubled over and laughing, wiping tears from their eyes for the second time that night.
“It’s okay,” Qifrey says, mirth shining in his eye. “I’ll bake one for them tomorrow morning. They won’t be as angry that way.”
“Make sure to save me a plate,” Olruggio says, earning himself a smile and a happy nod.
Together, they continue walking down the road, on the way home to their girls and to homemade cake.