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A noise pulled Oz's attention from his novel.
Not violence, this time - Mithra had already been scolded by the twins and Rutile for attempting to slaughter the other two Northern men just after breakfast, and they had all been sulking or bickering elsewhere since then. Even the Westerners had been rather quiet, with Shylock and Murr excusing themselves to watch some sort of play that evening. So Oz had returned to his quarters, sliding open the window and allowing himself to appreciate the lively birdsong and late summer breeze. The peace was welcome, and after he had spent some time straightening out his books where Riquet had asked to look through the collection, he came across one that he had forgotten about. A relatively dense tome of research into the lineage of contentious wizards with disputed heritage - Oz could already imagine how Cain would nod insincerely and barely resist rolling his eyes at the dry selection. But Cain was not here. Oz wasn't entirely sure why he thought about him in the first place.
He still hadn't addressed the noise. It had been a knock. Oz could sense the presence of someone lingering outside his door, and they didn't seem to be leaving. He also could sense the weak thrum of magic, so it wasn't the Sage. But Arthur was taking meetings at the Central capital for the day, and nearly everyone else who would call on him would have knocked a second time by now, or called his name, or blown open his door with a sloppy blast of Northern magic. Which only left a handful of options for who was making a polite noise outside his door in the middle of the afternoon.
"Come in."
The door swept open, and Rustica bowed elegantly, his pale-brown hair falling in fine locks that shone nearly golden in the afternoon sunlight. Straightening up, he stepped inside the room, but Oz hesitated to close his book; there was a chance he could simply answer a question for him, and he could return to his reading in peace.
"Sir Oz, I have a bird that I would love for you to meet, if you can spare the time."
Oz closed his book. There would be no further reading.
"A bird."
"Yes. My bride, in fact." Rustica beamed. The breeze from the open window tousled his already-disorderly hair.
"...Alright."
With a flourish and a brief flash of feathers, Rustica's gilded birdcage was summoned into his waiting hands. Inside, a sparrow fluttered nervously. Rustica carefully unlatched the door, and coaxed the brownish bird nearer until it hopped up and perched on his finger. He held it out towards Oz.
"Go ahead and introduce yourself, my love," Rustica smiled. The sparrow chirped, then took off into the air, circling frantically around the room for a brief moment before flying directly out Oz's bedroom window.
"...Ah."
Rustica pursed his lips, and closed the door to his birdcage. Oz wasn't sure if he should offer condolences. He eyed his book on the desk again, wondering if he would be able return to it within the next couple minutes. Luckily, Rustica didn't seem to burst into hysterics, or whatever it was that one would do after losing their bride for the second time. If it was anything like when Arthur's favorite rabbit got spooked and sprinted into the woods while they were playing, then perhaps Oz should offer to make vegetable stew for dinner. Before he could, though, Rustica spoke again.
"To be quite honest, I was beginning to doubt that was my bride anyway," Rustica sighed. He snapped his fingers, and his birdcage vanished. "The poor thing didn't seem quite as enthusiastic to see me as my true bride would be, after all."
"...Okay." Oz had a slight craving for vegetable stew, now. Perhaps he could ask Nero to prepare some for dinner, and surprise Arthur with it when he returned from the capital.
"Oh!" Rustica exclaimed, his gloved hands clapping together with a soft pap. Oz blinked at him. "Sir Oz, since you appear to be free, how about we have a harpsichord lesson? It has been a few days, and you are certain to perform well if you're in a good mood."
"I'm in a good mood?" Oz hadn't really thought about it. He supposed he was; he wasn't in a bad mood, and he wasn't even all that irritated at being interrupted during his reading. It was even sunny out.
"You must be. If you weren't, you could have simply asked me to leave."
Oz didn't think he could have. Denying Rustica was always strangely difficult; it left him feeling unpleasantly restless, like he wanted to call Rustica back and remind him that he could be convinced to compromise.
"...Very well."
Oz stood from his desk, straightening his coat and retrieving his staff; Mithra may have recovered from his reprimanding in the morning and be looking for a new fight, and it would be less of a hassle to fend him off if he had his magical focus. Satisfied, Rustica breezed towards the door, and Oz followed behind, his book abandoned in the sunny room for another stretch of time.