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Qifrey was worried.

Olruggio had claimed of a headache before retiring to his quarters last night. Though that wasn’t entirely unusual, what was strange was his absence at breakfast. Perhaps he was simply sleeping in a little–but he usually showed up at the tail end of the meal like clockwork, ready to reheat whatever remained and go about his day. They were almost done, however–Agott was already stacking her dishes. Richeh was finishing her second bowl. Tetia and Coco, who had been talking animatedly between bites, were finally catching up. And Qifrey was staring down into his bowl of half-eaten porridge, as if it might hold the answer to Olruggio’s whereabouts.

It didn’t. It held oats, mountain apple preserve, spicebark, and a pinch of salt, but that was all.

“Master Qifrey, are you well?” said Coco, breaking through his thoughts.

Qifrey looked up and over at the low table where his apprentices had gathered. “Hm? Oh, yes, Coco, I’m well. I’m just distracted. It’s–”

“Master Olruggio is missing,” said Richeh. She pointed her spoon at the seat across from Qifrey. It was empty. “Usually he’s here by now.”

“He was skulking around last night like usual,” said Agott. She reached for Richeh’s cup, adding it to her carefully balanced pile. “I heard him when I awoke and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. It sounded like he was digging around in the pantry. He should have been asleep. He looked awful yesterday.”

“Awful how?” asked Qifrey. Had he missed something? Well, yesterday had been busy–between the girls' lessons, and the tidying, and then preparing dinner from scratch, he had hardly had a moment to stop and check in with Olruggio, who had been locked away in his studio much of the day anyway.

“Sick,” said Agott, as if she expected horrified gasps in response to her observation. Tetia looked at her quizzically. Coco’s face wore an expression of concern. Richeh only sighed.

“He’s sick?” said Tetia. “Oh, no–I thought he just had a headache. You know–from staying up late, or drinking too much!”

“A headache’s never made him terribly sick before,” said Coco thoughtfully. “I’ve seen him handle a bad one with willowwort powder and a glass of wine.”

Oh dear. Qifrey was going to have to talk to Olruggio about his remedies, especially when they were so easily observable by the girls.

“It may be more than a headache,” said Qifrey, standing from the table. “Agott, Coco, please finish clearing the tables. Tetia, Richeh, set up the studio for today’s study. I’ll be back shortly.”

He left the dining area and moved swiftly to Olruggio’s quarters. The hall was dark, as it always was, and Olruggio’s door was shut. Qifrey paused to listen for a moment, heard nothing, and then knocked. And knocked again. And then, when he was about to knock a third time, he heard Olruggio’s voice, professing with much effort, “Come in, Qifrey!”

Qifrey stepped into the room. It, too, was dark, despite the early winter day being rather bright. Qifrey quickly activated the glowlamp near the door and heard a groan as light flooded the room.

“Olly, Agott informs me that you are–” he said, taking the stairs up to Olruggio’s loft two at a time. When he got to the top, he froze.

Olruggio was still curled up in his mess of a daybed, shoulders bare. He was propped up, his head lolling back on a stack of pillows, but he looked as if he had not moved in some time. Strands of hair were slicked to his forehead with sweat, and his face was flushed.

“...Unwell,” finished Qifrey. He crossed the room to the bed and went to his knees beside it, in order to be at Olruggio’s level.

“Yes,” said Olruggio hoarsely. Shouting for Qifrey to come in had clearly done a number on his throat. “Yeah, I am.”

Qifrey reached up and pressed the back of his hand to Olruggio’s forehead, sweeping his hair aside. “You’re burning up,” he said. “Did the fever come on in the night?”

Olruggio nodded, eyes squeezed shut. “Ugh,” he said. “Yes. I got up, made some tea, thinking it would help my head. Turns out it wasn’t just my head that was troublin’ me.”

It had been some time since he or Olruggio had been sick, but winter was high time for the spread of illness, when people were exposed to extreme temperatures and forced to gather in close quarters. He had probably caught an illness during one of his work trips, which almost always involved busy households or travelling through larger towns and cities. Qifrey hoped it wasn’t the flu–that would be rather hard on the man, who hated to be held back from his work for any longer than necessary. And the flu, when it struck, was liable to take him out for a fortnight or more.

“Are you nauseous?” said Qifrey. His hand went down to Olruggio’s bare shoulder. The dark-haired man shivered.

“No,” he said. “Just cold. Hot. My throat–” “You don’t need to explain further. I’ll be right back,” he said, rising. “Don’t fret, Olruggio–I’ll take care of you.”

He returned with all four of the girls in tow.

Of course they wanted to help. They abandoned the tasks assigned to them as soon as Qifrey swept back into the main wing of the atelier, demanding answers from him. And then they followed him into the kitchen, helped their master prepare tea, cast a perpetual cooling spell on a wooden bowl filled with icewater, gathered several washcloths, put together a portion of porridge for Olruggio, and more.

“Please keep your voices down, girls,” said Qifrey. He had stopped them outside of Olruggio’s room, his hand on the door handle as he spoke. “Olly’s head is in terrible pain, and he has a fever. Richeh, you have the tranquilleaf powder?”

The girl held up the tiny, pre-portioned vial in one of fists like it was a hard-won prize. It had been, in truth; she had had to crawl nearly to the back of one of the washroom cupboards to find it. Qifrey had sheepishly thanked her and reminded himself to pick up more from the apothecary next time they were in Kahln.

“And I’ve got the willowgrape tea!” said Tetia. She was proud of her tea tray, Qifrey knew; the ceramic teacup on it levitated above a small pyreball, keeping the liquid warm. It was an artful display, one that he hoped Olruggio would be able to appreciate later.

“My mother would always put extra quartz sugar in my oatmeal when I was sick, to cheer me up,” said Coco softly. “I hope it’s alright that I did the same for Master Olruggio”

“That’s also quite practical,” agreed Agott. “He’ll need the energy to get well again.”

“Excellent,” he said. “Follow me inside, but stay at the bottom of the stairs, please. I’ll bring everything up to him.”

The procession was rather solemn, each of the four apprentices carrying their offerings with a look of grim determination. Even Agott, who was usually irked when someone got sick, was looking concerned in her own way. Qifrey had a difficult time holding both notions in his mind: his appreciation for the girls’ concern, and the objective hilarity in the way they were taking this so seriously.

The tea tray, the bowl of cold water and the stack of washcloths, the tranquilleaf powder, and the bowl of porridge–Qifrey brought everything up to Olruggio’s loft, one by one, and then hurried back to the girls. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I shall take it from here. Please continue with yesterday’s exercises in the studio – I’ll join you as soon as possible.”
Richeh, Tetia, and Coco nodded, but Agott’s lips parted as if she wanted to say something.

Qifrey caught her gaze. “Yes, Agott?” he prompted.

“Master, er–” she began, ducking her head. “Please tell Master Olruggio I–we hope he gets well soon.”

Qifrey smiled and nodded. “Of course,” he said. “Now, off with you all.”

They filed out as quietly as they could, but Qifrey could hear them whispering amongst themselves as he ascended the stairs. Agott was the last to leave; her concern might not show on her face, but it was obvious in the way she lingered. Qifrey knew her admiration for Olruggio ran deep. Witnessing her care for him despite her admonishing attitude at breakfast made Qifrey feel strangely sentimental.

He returned to Olruggio’s side once the door shut behind the apprentices. The man’s eyes were closed, his breathing steady as if he was asleep, but he opened his eyes when he heard Qifrey draw near and groaned.

“Qifrey, you don’t have to–” he began, but Qifrey held up a hand.

“Nonsense,” said Qifrey. “I won’t have that. You can barely lift yourself up. Let me help you.”

It didn’t take much more than that for Olruggio to relent. Qifrey attended to him with almost militant efficiency. The last person in the atelier to fall ill had been Richeh, and the girl didn’t like to be doted on. She and Agott had much the same attitude about illness: take care of yourself, get through it, and move on. Tetia, however, languished in the so-called tragedy of it whenever she got sick, and liked it when Qifrey brought her tea and cold compresses and fluffed her down pillows with a generous aeration spell. Coco, he knew now, acted like she was fine when sick but was really gritting her teeth and bearing it so as not to be an inconvenience–which she never was. Still, ever since her fainting spell and their visit to the hospital in Kahln, he had tread carefully when she was sick, neither pushing care upon her or giving her too much space.

And Olruggio, he had long since learned, was the worst of them all.

Well, that was perhaps unfair. No one was the ‘worst’ when they were sick–they were sick, that’s all, and with that came some more… baser human experiences. It reduced one to their simplest needs, and that, for any and all people, complex as they were, was a challenge.

So Qifrey had to be quick. The sweat was wiped away, his hair brushed back, and a cold compress was on Olruggio’s head. He quickly drew a seal that turned water in the air into a fine mist to help cool the room and cracked one of the windows. Then, he moved the tea tray to a chair he pulled up to the bedside, and the bowl of porridge was there with it, ready to be placed in Olruggio’s hands.

“Up with me, now, Olly,” murmured Qifrey, leaning over the man. “You need something to eat, and I can’t hardly siphon oatmeal down your throat.”

Olruggio had only grunted through the application of the compress, but now he opened his eyes again and groaned. “Thanks for that wonderful mental image,” he said hoarsely. “But I can get up myself.”

Qifrey pulled back and watched as, rather pathetically, Olruggio failed to do just that.

The fever and lack of sleep had obviously made him weak. He could brace himself and rise a little, but the stack of pillows Qifrey had set up behind him was quite imposing. No one liked to be comfortable quite as much as Olly, but maybe he had gone a bit too far. No matter. Qifrey leaned in again, hooked his arms under the other man’s, and helped ease him up against the mountain of colourful cushions. Qifrey did not fail to notice he was shirtless, and very carefully pulled the blanket back up to the man’s shoulders, trying not to let the brief skin-to-skin contact get to him.

“...Thanks,” said Olruggio, without sounding thankful at all. It was more likely he was annoyed with himself than with Qifrey, however, but Qifrey did not doubt he was the cause of some ire.

“You seem a little more alert now,” said Qifrey. “Could it be that I'm annoying you with my attentiveness? Are you spurned on by the fact I should be anywhere else, tending to the day’s duties, rather than at your side?” He set the tea tray–with its levitating teacup–into Olruggio’s lap. “Drink. But admire Tetia’s hard work before you do.”

Olruggio glared at Qifrey but did as he was told. “This is fine work,” he said. “She balanced the pyreball and the cup’s levitation just right.”

“Say that to her when you don’t sound like you’ve just swallowed a chimney’s worth of smoke,” said Qifrey.

He reached for the bowl of porridge as Olruggio drank the willowgrape tea, glaring at Qifrey again from over the rim of the cup. “Next, eat,” he continued. He added the bowl to the tray and pulled back. “Then you can take this.” He pointed to the vial of powder. “It should help with the fever.”

Olruggio sighed and looked from the bowl, to the vial, to Qifrey. “You’re a right pain, you know that?” he said. “I could’ve just slept it off. Saved you and the girls all this trouble.”

“Not a chance,” said Qifrey. “We’re–I’m–going to help you get well again. Then, once you’re better, you can complain all you like about how difficult it is living with five others who care about you dearly to anyone who will listen–which, I’m sorry to say, will probably be very few people.”

Olruggio barked out a laugh, and then coughed a little. Qifrey leaped forward, but he put up a hand, took a sip of tea, and regained his voice. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t restructure everything on my account. You’ve got four apprentices and an atelier to run, Qifrey.”

“And everything will fall apart if you’re too ill to pay the bills,” said Qifrey, as sweetly as he could manage without laughing. “I’ll be back later with more tea. Please, rest, and be well.”

He left Olruggio with his lips parted in surprise, oatmeal rapidly cooling in his hands.

The day continued much as any other. Lessons were had, laundry was done, and both lunch and dinner were prepared, and between it all, Qifrey brought more tea and more meals to Olruggio, as well as books and some scrap paper–but absolutely no ink. He was strictly forbidden to work while he was this sick, a notion that the girls furiously echoed when Qifrey expressed Olruggio’s desire to review some of his latest compositions while laid up in bed.

“You’re terrible,” muttered Olruggio, after he was denied his pens and ink a third time that day. It was nearly evening, and he had regained some strength. So that meant, of course, he was itching to do something with the little energy he had. He didn’t truly mean what he said, but he was irritated he couldn’t work, and that did a number on his mood, as Qifrey knew well.

“I was thinking you could make some of those puzzle notes we made as children,” said Qifrey. He ignored Olruggio’s gruff tone and glare as he spoke. “It’s been an age since I’ve seen you do anything with paper other than draw on it.”

The glare softened. “You remember those?” said Olruggio.

“Of course I do,” said Qifrey. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I still have a few of them.”

Olruggio stared at him. “You do? Where are they?”

“In my room, in my bedside dresser,” said Qifrey, as if this intimate a place was where everyone kept scraps of paper that were nearly two decades old. “Where else would they be?”

“I thought you would have gotten rid of them a long time ago,” said Olruggio. He looked embarrassed. It was utterly charming as always. “They were just silly, idle things–what did I even write in them?”

Qifrey knew exactly what was written on the squares and corners that made up those elaborately folded pieces of paper, and he suspected Olruggio did, too, but he feigned ignorance. “I can’t recall exactly,” he said. “Shall I fetch one?”

“No!” said Olruggio. His ears were going red. “No, I’ll–you’re right. That’s a good way to pass the time.”

Satisfied, Qifrey swept out of the room again and left Olruggio to it.

By the time the moon rose, Qifrey was exhausted.

The girls had retired to their rooms. The kitchen was spotless, though the clean dishes still needed to be put away. Brushbuddy was curled up in a wayward slipper by the low-burning fire. Qifrey collapsed into the blankets and cushions piled on the settle near the fire and closed his eyes.

Why had he thought of the puzzle notes? Maybe it was the way Olruggio had looked so petulant, as he had when they were younger, on the occasions Qifrey had torn his palm quire and pen out of his hands as a last resort to get him to stop working and take a break. Olruggio would never admit to it, but he was wont to sulk. Distraction from the work he was missing was one of the only ways to get him to take a much-needed break.

But the notes–Olruggio had made rather artful ones over the years, decorating them with a flourish. Some of them, when unfolded, even cast a simple spell. Qifrey remembered the one that, when opened–the casting seal cleverly activated by this motion–folded itself up again into the shape of a bird.

It was magic just to delight, which meant it was the purest kind of magic. Of course Olruggio had crafted something of the sort. But the notes that were not also spells contained messages of encouragement, pride, and admiration. The types of earnest sentiments that could only be written down and shoved at the receiver when the writer of said notes was a sixteen-year-old boy still coming into his own.

Qifrey rubbed his temples and sighed. Fifteen years later and Olruggio was still as embarrassed about them as he was then. Though, perhaps, that embarrassment wasn’t quite the same. What they had now was different. They were long past blushing at the thought of one another. They knew how they felt about each other–or, in Olruggio’s case, he knew as much as he could, anyway.

Qifrey’s stomach flipped, and nausea rose within him. No, no, not now. Qifrey thought instead of the last time he had had Olruggio asleep in his arms a few weeks ago, after he had had the man’s face down on a pillow to keep quiet for much of the night. They couldn’t risk waking anyone, and sure, a soundproofing spell would have done the trick, but Olruggio liked it when Qifrey held his head down, and–

Qifrey shot up from his lounging position. In response to the sudden movement, brushbuddy jumped up, too, with a frightened squeak.

“That won’t do now either,” muttered Qifrey.

Brushbuddy tilted his head, looking at the man quizzically.

Qifrey smiled softly at the creature. “Not you, dear friend,” he said. “I’m sorry for disturbing your rest.” He then bent over, lowering a hand to the floor.

Brushbuddy wound his way forward. He crawled up the length of Qifrey’s arm to his shoulder, where he curled up against the witch’s neck, under a short curtain of white-grey hair, satisfied.

Once the creature was settled, Qifrey rose and went to the kitchen, intent on making himself, and Olruggio, a cup of tea. But when he walked through the doorway, he realized he was not alone.

Agott was at the counter. She was clearly in the middle of making tea herself, the various components around her on the wooden countertopr, a kettle in her hand. When Qifrey entered the room, she froze as if she had been caught in the middle of something illicit.

“Agott?” he said. “I thought you were getting ready for bed.”

“I was,” she said. “I am. That is, I thought–well–I saw you. In front of the fire, just a few moments ago, from the stairs. You’ve been so busy, running between Master Olruggio and the rest of us, and you looked tired, so I thought…”

She shrugged and set the kettle on the counter. Water sloshed with the motion. It wasn’t steaming yet; she must have just finished filling it. “I thought I could make you some tea. As thanks,” she concluded.

Qifrey didn’t know what to say. It was not as if Agott was inconsiderate; she was blunt, yes, and prone to making snap judgements that she would often stubbornly refuse to change, but she was also kind, thoughtful, and caring in her own way. Taking the time to make a tea tray for someone else, however, especially this late at night when she could be otherwise studying or sleeping, was testament to just how much she had grown these past few months. A child taking notice of an adult’s struggles, the toll it took on them, and wanting to help them in some small way–that was growth, to be sure. Qifrey’s heart swelled.

But he was not going to let her feel as if it was her responsibility entirely. He was still her guardian, and she deserved to be a child a while longer, regardless of how desperately she wanted to grow.

“That’s very kind of you,” said Qifrey gently. “But I was just about to make tea for Olruggio. How about you and I prepare it together, hm? Enough for him and I to share?”

Agott nodded, her lips drawn in a thin line. “Sure,” she said. “But I don’t want to bring it up to him. I won’t risk getting sick. I’ve too much to practice this winter.”

Qifrey laughed. “Of course,” he said. “And, actually, if you want some more practice, I’d like for you to devise a series of spells that will get the air flowing in this place without chilling us all to the bone. I’d rather none of us catch anything, and you’re very well-versed in crafting seals with complicated movements.”

Agott visibly brightened. “You want me to do it? Entirely?” she asked.

“If you feel you can manage it alongside your usual studies, then yes,” said Qifrey. He drew a pyreball seal as he spoke, setting a cast iron stand over it, followed by the kettle atop that. “But don’t overexert yourself.”

“I won’t,” said Agott. “That sounds like something I can create rather easily–it will just need a series of spells, probably placed at key points around the rooms…”

She trailed off, that serious look of hers returning, until Qifrey asked her to retrieve the willowgrape tea and some spicebark as well. Brushbuddy wormed his way down from Qifrey’s neck and took great interest in the tin of biscuits Agott had procured from the pantry. She tried to gently shoo him away, to no avail. Then, they were in the thick of putting the tea together, gathering cups and sugar and adding a few biscuits to the tray as well. While it didn’t have the same charm as Tetia’s levitating tea cup from that morning, it was still a very satisfactory tea tray for two, and they had only lost a couple of biscuits to brushbuddy.

“Thank you,” said Qifrey. He picked up the tray in both hands and smiled. “I must remind you not to start on those air flow spells until tomorrow,” he added. “Proper sleep, as we all know, is very important.”

Agott looked consternated. “I wouldn’t!” she said. “I… I won’t. Thank you, master. And, um, you’re welcome.”

She left, then, quick as a retreating shadow. Qifrey did not doubt she would lose some sleep jotting down a few ideas, but he hoped she took his words to heart.

And he hoped a certain someone else had taken his advice to heart, too.

Qifrey moved quietly to Olruggio’s part of the atelier, easing the door open gently. If the man was asleep, he didn’t want to wake him. But he need not have worried.

Olruggio was sitting up, surrounded by folded paper. Some scraps of it had even fallen to the floor. Had Qifrey really left him with that much, or had he gotten up and grabbed more? Qifrey was about to be annoyed with both himself and Olruggio, but then he caught sight of the man.

It was a scene that stopped Qifrey mid-step. Olruggio was framed by his colourful pillows, the blanket that had previously covered him for much of the day slipped to his waist. He was still shirtless, his hair hanging down over his face, and he was a little flushed from both fever and focus. In his hands was one of those puzzle notes, perhaps halfway through being refolded–the lines looked rather worn, and the paper had taken on that softness that only came from being handled over and over again. And in fingers, pinched between two of them, was a stick of charcoal. He had definitely got up at some point and went to his worktable.

“Olly,” Qifrey said, finally. “I’ve brought tea. For us both. Make room, please.”

Olruggio jumped at the man’s voice. A pillow toppled to the floor. “Hey!” he said. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Lost in your work, I see?”

Olruggio grumbled something incomprehensible and cleared a space for Qifrey on the daybed, blankets and discarded puzzle notes dropping to the floor. Qifrey sat and placed the tray between them.

“You’ve been busy,” he observed.

Olruggio sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I couldn’t get out of my head,” he said. “I hate being stuck in bed like this. You know that. So–”

Qifrey bent over and picked up one of the puzzle notes that had landed on the floor. It was in a beautiful pinwheel shape. Olruggio had drawn the outline of insects on it in charcoal–butterflies, moths, a flowermantis. He moved to open it up, but Olruggio shot out a hand and gently grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t,” he said. “Please.”

Qifrey lowered the note into his lap. There was a strange sort of gravity to Olruggio’s voice that gave him pause. “Is everything well, Olly?” he asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Fine. Other than being ill, you know. It’s just–I was thinking. About what you said earlier. The notes I made you before.”

“Yes?”

“And I’m trying to make another one for you now.”

“It wasn’t a request, Olly,” said Qifrey, guilt nagging at him now. “I’m sorry–I didn’t mean to get it stuck in your head like that. It was only a suggestion–”

“I know, I know, don’t worry,” said Olruggio. “It’s on me that it got to me like it would if ‘twere a commission, or something. But I couldn’t stop thinking–you really kept them?”

Ah. “Yes,” Qifrey said. “I’ve kept so many of the things you’ve made me over the years. Not just the elaborate or important ones. The small ones, too. And I wouldn’t say these are small–the gesture was grand.”

Olruggio rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well,” he said. “I was trying to impress you. Back then. Especially with that one that folded itself back up into a bird.”

“That did impress me! I spent ages studying the seal. It was an example of fine-tuned work.”

Olruggio was looking sheepish. “That wasn’t exactly how I wanted it to impress you,” he said. “You know, from a scholarly perspective. It was–I wanted to make you smile.”

Qifrey blinked. “I did,” he said. “Didn’t I?”

He tried to remember. It had been spring. Qifrey had been waiting ages for the winter to pass, for the return of many of the country’s birds from the mainland across the sea, for the icy cold to stop gnawing at his bones. He loved the beauty of winter, but the chill and the loneliness of it was oftentimes unbearable. He recalled it was snowy, the sky grey, and Olruggio had presented him with the note and stood patiently to the side as Qifrey unfolded it there in the morning light and watched it flutter from his hands after shifting into the shape of a four-winged bird. He remembered the shock, and the awe of it, and then he tried to gently catch it as it flapped down to the ground. He remembered the hard stone floor under his knees as he knelt on the ground near the paper bird, following it with his eye until its wings folded back and it stopped moving, the spell complete, the moment over. He had looked up Olruggio, eye wide, and then–

“You did smile,” said Olruggio, “one of the biggest I ever saw from you.”

The note of sadness in Olruggio’s voice was impossible to miss. Qifrey reached out and covered his closest hand with his own. “If I recall,” he said, “there were plenty of those when we were younger. After a point, it was like I couldn’t stop smiling around you.”

Yes. Of course. And many of them had been genuine, and still were. Those moments he cherished. But Qifrey knew many of his smiles concealed pain and guilt, a mask he put on, a lie he told without an utterance.

“Come,” said Qifrey. He swept his thoughts away by changing course, moving into the task he had set out to do. “Have tea with me. Agott helped me prepare this tray, and I doubt she’d appreciate it going to waste.”

Olruggio groaned. “I feel bad enough as it is, that you're helping me so much,” he said. “Knowing the girls are in on it too–”

“They care about you dearly, Olly,” said Qifrey. He poured the tea into the two cups on the tray and passed one to the man. The guilt was still drawing lines on Olruggio’s face.

“I know they do, and that’s the problem,” he said. “I don’t want them wasting their energy worryin’ about an old man.”

“Old man?” repeated Qifrey, unable to hold back a rueful smile. “Olly, you’re thirty-one.”

“With the bones of someone twenty years older than that, feels like,” said Olruggio with a sigh. He took a sip of tea, swallowed, and visibly relaxed. “That’s good stuff. Thank Agott for me.”

“You can thank her yourself soon enough,” said Qifrey. “She’d appreciate hearing it from you. She looks up to you greatly.”

“You’re laying it on rather thick, Qifrey,” said Olruggio. “What point are you trying to make here?”

Qifrey lowered his teacup and put up both hands in mock surrender, caught out as he was. “Only that you’re a valued member of this household, and the next time you lock yourself away and attempt to fend off illness on your lonesome, I won’t be so merciful.”

“Fussin’ over me and refusing me my pens and ink is merciful?” countered Olruggio, but his lips were curving into a smile, his tired eyes brightening.

“You’ve no idea how terrible I can be,” said Qifrey.

Olruggio barked out a laugh. “Hah! I think I do,” he said. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten last year’s display during the solstice.”

Olruggio worked hard in the winter to support the local villages, and after a solid week’s worth of exhausting work, Qifrey had surprised him with a feast on the darkest night of the year. Following that, he’d let Olruggio discover he’d pulled out every pillow, quilt, cushion and blanket they owned, fluffed them with up with an aeration spell, and covered every inch of his room with them. A few even artfully floated up from the floor, should he wish to drift off as if in a hammock. The idea was he could collapse and relax anywhere he wished.

“I seem to recall you sleeping a solid twelve clock marks that night,” said Qifrey, frowning. “But if you disliked such a display, as you say–”

“No, that’s–I did appreciate it, don’t think I–” said Olruggio, flustered. But then Qifrey laughed.

“I know you appreciated the gesture, Olly,” he said. “You don’t need to reassure me.”

“Ugh,” said Olruggio, leaning back into his cushions again. “You know I can’t stand it when you look so sad.”

Qifrey’s heart stuttered. “Sorry,” he said. “Here, let’s not let the tea grow any colder.”

They drank in silence. Qifrey took careful bites of one of the biscuits. As Olruggio relaxed, he began to look more drained–he was still ill, after all, and it was only growing later.

“I should leave you to your rest,” said Qifrey, once his cup was empty. “I’ll be back with breakfast in the morning. Any requests?”

Olruggio eyed him. “Yes,” he said. “Stay here tonight.”

Qifrey’s heart skipped a beat again. “As in, sleep here? In your room?”

“What else could I mean, Qifrey?”

“Previous invitations to spend the night in your quarters have often ended in certain entanglements of–”

Olruggio groaned. “Stop,” he said. “You sound like a textbook.”

Qifrey smiled, shrugging, his heart pounding in his throat.

“Not that,” said Olruggio, gentleness returning to his voice. “Not tonight. I just want your company. And I want to ensure you don’t stay up half the night toiling over one thing or another.”

“I can assure you–”

“No, Qifrey,” said Olruggio. He looked suddenly even more tired than before. “You can’t.”

No, don’t, please, thought Qifrey. Don’t go down this path. Not now.

He knew Olruggio was aware of his various late nights spent working to learn more about the Brimmed Caps, the research he did, the spells he experimented with, and the dark days he simply couldn’t sleep due to the stress of it all. But the man didn’t know what, exactly, was going on–because Qifrey kept it that way. As they had promised each other, all those years ago.

“I’ll stay,” said Qifrey, relenting. “Let me gather my things. I’ll be back shortly.”

It was a risk to have Olruggio in his arms, but he took it anyway.

A candle burned low on the little bedside table. After returning to Olruggio’s room ready for bed, they sat and spoke for a while longer while Olruggio finished folding another puzzle note. He’d completed five carefully crafted notes, and Qifrey had no doubts as to who they were for.

And then Qifrey was moving closer, lying beside him, and Olruggio’s head was on his shoulder, his eyes closed as he dozed. Qifrey slid an arm around him and kept it there. He listened to his shallow breaths. The man was a little congested. Qifrey turned his head slowly, letting the barest brush of his lips reach Olruggio’s forehead. He was still warmer than normal, though the tranquilleaf seemed to have lessened the fever somewhat.

“Qifrey?” murmured Olruggio then.

Qifrey nearly jerked his head back, but held still.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For being here. For staying.”

Qifrey swallowed, unable to find his voice for a moment. “Of course,” he said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Olruggio shifted at that, sinking deeper into his doze, body pressing into Qifrey’s all the closer.

Qifrey leaned his head back, staring up at the dark ceiling, knowing that despite Olruggio’s wishes, he would not be sleeping much tonight.

When he awoke, Olruggio was gone.

Qifrey sat up immediately, heart pounding. A blanket fell from him; he gripped its edge tightly. What time was it? Where was Olruggio? Were the girls awake, aware he was gone? What–

“Relax,” came Olruggio’s voice. Not admonishing, but gentle, full of understanding. “I’m here, and hey, it’s barely past dawn. You’ve nothin’ to worry about.”

Qifrey looked around, spotted Olruggio’s blurry form at his work desk, and sighed. His glasses were off–he had fallen asleep with them on. Between their removal and the blanket, he knew this was all Olruggio’s doing–had he gotten too comfortable? Too content? He reached up to his scarred eye socket under the pretense of fixing his hair.

Nothing. He was fine. He had slept a little, with Olruggio by his side, but until he had fallen asleep he had worked himself into a fit of anxiety. Supposedly that had held off the writhing of the silverwood, despite the deep comfort Olruggio had provided.

“Sorry,” he said, offering Olruggio a tired smile. “Strange dreams, I think.”

“Got too warm, probably,” said Olruggio. Qifrey squinted. He looked to be mostly dressed. And… Was he drawing? “I already run hot, and then the fever… But it broke last night. I feel much better.”

“That’s wonderful to hear, Olly,” said Qifrey. “Glasses, please?”

Qifrey watched as Olruggio nearly tripped over himself in his haste to retrieve the glasses from the bedside table. “Ack, sorry–I was going to wake you and have them in hand, but I got carried away over here.”“

He kneeled on the edge of the daybed, then, and carefully placed Qifrey’s glasses on the bridge of his nose. Yesterday’s lakeflower glue was still tacky enough to make them stick. His fingertips brushed against the other man’s skin, and Qifrey closed his eyes, feeling a shiver run down his spine.

It took Olruggio a moment to pull back. When he finally did, it was with obvious reluctance.

“Strange dreams?” he repeated, and reached out to put a hand on Qifrey’s shoulder.

An excuse to remain in contact with him. “Yes,” said Qifrey. “Bourne of worry, I expect.”

It was a complete lie–he hadn’t dreamed at all. He had slept deeply, even if only for a scant few hours, thanks to Olruggio curled up at his side. But he couldn’t tell him the worry was from now, from waking, having fallen asleep where he wanted often to be.

“I would say you worry too much,” said Olruggio, “but sometimes I think you’re right to. But I hope you weren’t up half the night worryin’ about me. As you can see, I’m faring much better ‘n yesterday.”

Qifrey smiled. He reached out and brushed a strand of lank hair from Olruggio’s face. His fingers kept going, toward the man’s temple, and then he was leaning in and their faces were so close and his lips were at the corner of Olruggio’s mouth and that was enough, that had to be enough.

Olruggio’s eyes were wide but his expression closed when Qifrey pulled back. “And that was for…?” he asked.

“You,” said Qifrey, “for being you.”

Olruggio stared. “If my very bones didn’t ache, I’d have you,” he said, “right now.”

That elicited a burst of good-natured laughter from Qifrey. “You would have me?” he said, flashing a smile.

Olruggio rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Don’t be smart.”

“No, please explain exactly what you mean, dear Olly, in explicit language.”

“Explicit language…?”

The conversation devolved rather quickly after that, but Qifrey pulled himself out of Olruggio’s wandering hands long enough to think straight again. He had to get up, prepare for the day, see to it that his apprentices ate and began their studies and ensure that Olruggio continued to rest and so on and on and on.

“Qifrey,” came Olruggio’s voice from somewhere around his waist. The man was practically in his lap. “You’re worryin’ again.”

“Yes,” he murmured softly, extracting himself from Olruggio with no small pang of guilt and longing. “I am. And for good reason. I’m going to be behind on breakfast if we keep this up.”

Olruggio groaned, but when he spoke his tone was level. “I know,” he said, “and I should be resting. But wait a tick–”

He got up and went to his desk. When he returned to Qifrey’s side, five puzzle notes were in his hands. He places them into Qifrey’s awaiting palm.

“One for each of you,” he said. “You, and the girls. Open them at breakfast, yeah?”

Qifrey held the notes carefully. He looked into Olruggio’s bright, tired eyes and nodded. “We will,” he said.

And then, with his voice nearly catching in his throat: “Thank you.”

“From Master Olly?” said Tetia. She picked up the note with her name on it, decorated with a mirrored sketch of roses. “But wasn’t he resting yesterday?”

Qifrey sighed. They had all sat together at the floor table that morning, Qifrey on the far end while the girls faced one another. “Allegedly, yes,” he said. “But he finished these this morning. Right under my nose, too.”

“He’s almost as bad as you are, Agott,” observed Richeh. She pointed an accusatory spoon at her fellow apprentice.

Agott carefully lowered her own spoon, still dripping with egg yolk. Qifrey had made them poached eggs over bread topped with an herb cream sauce, which was much easier to eat with a spoon when not using the bread as its own vehicle for consumption. “I don’t see the issue with working when one feels capable of doing so,” she said. “Inspiration can strike at any moment.”

“That’s true,” said Coco, “but it’s good to be aware of when you need to rest, even if you don’t feel you do. Did Master Olruggio sleep well?”

That question was directed at Qifrey. He blinked. She couldn’t possibly know he had spent the night in his rooms, and even if she did, it hardly mattered. But his old habits of keeping secrets died hard, he supposed. “Ah, yes,” he said quickly. “I think he did. He is back in bed now, and I’ll be bringing him breakfast shortly, but he asked us to open these together.”

He gestured to the puzzle notes in the centre of the table.

Coco picked up hers and turned it over in her hands. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I’ve never seen Master Olruggio make something like this before.”

“He folded them often when we were children,” Qifrey said. “As a way to pass the time, to do something with his hands.” He reached for his own note as he spoke. “They’re not magic, per se, but they are magical in their own way. The note is its own envelope, and can be opened or folded back together with very simple motions. But once, he made me one that, when opened, folded itself back together into the shape of a bird and took to the air.”

Coco looked at the folded note with renewed wonder. Agott and Richeh, too, reached for theirs, and Tetia looked at Qifrey expectantly.

“Shall we, then?” he said. He pinched the corner of the note in his hand. Coco, Richeh, and Tetia, watching closing, did the same.

“On three,” said Richeh. “Ready? One… two…”

“Wait!” said Agott fiercely. “No. Not yet.”

“Agott?” said Qifrey, meeting her gaze. “Is something wrong?”

“I just think…” she said, cheeks reddened as all eyes were suddenly on her. “I think we should wait. Until Master Olruggio is here, too.”

Qifrey smiled. “You’re quite right,” he said. “But we don’t have to wait. Let’s go bother–ah. Let’s go surprise him.”

They marched into Olruggio's room yet again, but this time Qifrey led the girls up the stairs to where Olruggio, in much better spirits, was drawing idly on his daybed with another one of the windows open. A cool breeze, smelling of frost, flowed through the room while a low fire burned in the stove in the corner, keeping the room comfortable.

Olruggio looked anything but comfortable, however, as Qifrey explained what they were there to do.

“I said you could open them without me, didn’t I?” he said.

“Yes,” said Qifrey, “but the girls insisted.”

There was chatter and confusion as the four girls arranged themselves so Olruggio could see all of their reactions to the notes at once. As they settled, Qifrey caught his eyesand smiled softly. The man tried to hold onto his annoyance, but it faded quickly; he was, Qifrey knew, delighted deep down.

“Right,” said Richeh, raising a hand. “On three. One… two…”

On three, the five of them opened the puzzle notes, watching the paper spiral apart with its careful folds. At first, nothing happened–but as Qifrey had suspected, the seals in the heart of the notes activated, and then–

They leapt up, out of their hands. The notes curled in on themselves, harmlessly burning up–and what was left was a riot of coloured smoke, forming shapes. Tetia’s note bloomed with pinkish roses, Richeh’s blue flowering vines climbed, Agott’s purple dog violets unfurled, and Coco’s yellow oxeye daisies burst forth, creating a swirling, gently wafting garden.

And Qifrey, standing behind the girls gathered along Olruggio’s daybed, watched as his note spread into an array of flowers–moon lilies, blazing stars, and the small blue flowers he knew well as scorpion grass, but some still called forget-me-nots.

As the smoke disappeared, leaving behind a warm, floral smell, the girls regained their voices and began talking over one another in their excitement.

“That was amazing! I’ve never seen anything so–so–”

“Did you mean for them to all blend together like that? The colours–”

“Two types of roses! Two!”

“It was very, very nice, and–”

“Don’t think anything of it,” said Olruggio, clearly overwhelmed by the praise. “It was just to thank you all for taking such good care of me yesterday. Qifrey told me you all had a hand in it, so I thought… I thought, well, you all are deservin’ of thanks.”

“Yes,” agreed Qifrey. He swept in and knelt down beside the daybed, reaching for Oruggio’s hand. He squeezed it. “It was very thoughtful. And very much not in line with resting, but I digress.”

“Oh, come off it–”

“Yes, Master Qifrey, leave him alone!”

“Can you show me how you got the smoke to hold the colour? When you’re better, of course.”

“And the vines… they looked so real… I want to know–”

The girls continued their questioning, clamouring over one another in their excitement, their faces shining with eagerness. Olruggio did his best to answer their questions, and all the while, he held tight to Qifrey’s hand.

Stay here, he had said.

There was nowhere else, thought Qifrey, that he would rather be.