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“Good evening, Qifrey the Witch.” A towering, barrel-chested nobleman took Qifrey’s hand and kissed it. “I am Lord Salt of Saltines, and it’s my pleasure to welcome you to the humble Salt manor. I see that you’re a friend of Mister Olruggio.” He smiled at the fire witch, who stood at Qifrey’s shoulder.
“A longtime friend.” Qifrey adjusted his gaze slightly, but no matter where he tipped his head he failed to look Lord Salt in the eye. Instead his gaze ran straight into a group of card players beyond him, so much that he could peer into the hand of a witch who was cheating. Not that he could tell she was shoving a card up her sleeve.
The sights and sounds of raucous partying bustled all around them. Guests decked out in medieval haute couture tried not to step on each other’s trailing gowns. A huge chandelier reflected Qifrey and Olruggio’s faces a thousand times in a thousand crystal gemstones. Not too far off rang the crack of a gunshot, followed by a scream. With a flick of his wrist, Lord Salt sent his butler to the rescue before turning his attention back to Qifrey.
“I welcome any friend of Mister Olruggio’s. I enjoy the everburning fireplace he designed for me!” said Lord Salt. “Though, I hear…” The nobleman stroked his salt-and-pepper beard and peered into Qifrey’s face, into his lone film-covered eye. “…That you are a peculiar sort of witch.”
Olruggio bobbed his own bow to Lord Salt and roped his elbow into Qifrey’s. “Qifrey, there’re a lot of witches to be meeting and a lot of drinks to be drunk.” He coughed. “Beautiful house, milord. Lovely party. Ta-ta!”
Olruggio dragged Qifrey away before Lord Salt could get in another word. He pushed past witches and nobles alike until they were safely ensconced under a sweeping staircase. In a whisper, he said, “Let’s try not to engage with the dangerous or overly complicated ones. It’s war out here.” Fire jumped into his eyes. “ War !”
Qifrey brushed some invisible lint off his ice-blue sleeve. “Every high society party is war. How’s this one any different?” He wore the body-hugging gown that Olruggio had ordered for him years ago, before everything, before the blindness. Despite his lack of sight, he had an uncanny knack for finding Olruggio wherever and whenever. The intensity of his false stare either set off all the butterflies in Olruggio’s stomach or made him warm deep inside.
But right now Olruggio had some business to take care of, and its name was Lord Salt. “Lord Salt thinks he’s the It King, and amazingly he’s halfway there. All the witches in our region are either for Lord Salt or against him, except for YOU !”
“Me?” said Qifrey, radiating cluelessness.
“You haven’t been paying attention because you ran off chasing Brimhats.” Qifrey opened his mouth, but Olruggio barreled onwards: “And since I saved your beaten ass from both them and jail, you will do what I say during this party. If I tell you someone is a ‘fork,’ you will declare them our friend. On the contrary, if I tell you that someone is a ‘spoon,’ you will snub them, insult them, or otherwise smite them with your wit. Got it?” Olruggio had come up with the labels on a whim.
Qifrey frowned like he was, for someone who had committed major witch crimes, morally opposed. “Labels aside, isn’t that sort of harsh?”
“That doesn’t matter here,” said Olruggio. “For here—"
There was a scream as someone fell over a balcony ledge.
Olruggio grimaced. “Here, only the strong survive.”
That hapless person might have sustained serious injury if they had hit the floor, but instead they landed on a group of people who had been socializing in the wrong spot at the wrong time. Olruggio turned up his nose. What a fool. The fire witch had attended about a hundred parties and never once did he topple from a balcony. Or at least he hoped so. Sometimes his memory was a little too blurry at the end of the night.
Qifrey turned his head in the direction of the commotion, the eruption of shouting and swearing hitting his ears. He nodded slowly. “Only the strong,” he murmured. “Only the strong .”
Long, long ago in the annals of history, huge manor parties had once been distinguished functions full of etiquette and civility. Yet somewhere along the way, they had devolved into hookah lounges and/or drunken karaoke battles. The expectation was to partake or miss out on making connections or even be labeled too high and mighty for a little fun. “If we survive tonight, we will be the winners.” Olruggio led them back into the fray. He was dressed for the front lines, the constellations of the galaxy twinkling on his jacket and skirt. He’d tweezed all the grey from his beard, and his heels gave him the extra inches he needed to avoid craning his head up at taller guests. “You will have a better reputation as someone who gives a shit about more than Brimhats, and I can hopefully get Lord Salt to alter the terms about that one commission.”
“That one commission?”
The moment they stepped out of the shadows and back onto the main floor, a small hoard of witches honed in on them, drawn by the sight of Qifrey. He had always been a curiosity, and now he was flaunting a thigh-high slit to boot. Olruggio drew his friend closer, partly out of protective instinct, partly because he too needed a shield. Yet in the face of the rising onslaught, his social skills evaporated, replaced by fish-out-of-water gasping and radio-static thoughts. The oncoming faces blurred into a colorful smear. His hackles stood on end, especially as the witches circled them like sharks and the gossip rose in volume.
“Oh, hey, it’s Qifrey and Olruggio!”
“I thought they got divorced over Brimhat drama.”
“Actually they were never married in the first place, just egregiously attached.”
Olruggio’s panic shot into full riot mode, swelling over all his senses. “S-Spoon!” he shouted. “Spoon! Spoons all around!”
Qifrey drew himself to his full height, cocked back his head, and announced, “I see that news of our notorious relationship has reached your pathetic ears, but I’ve never heard about any of you before. You must have never done anything crazy enough to climb the gossip ladder."
Olruggio swelled with pride and satisfaction. Their relationship had come so far since Qifrey had uprooted to chase Brimhats. Now the water witch spoke from a place of utter trust and devotion, especially since he didn’t even know who he was talking to. He clearly had taken Olruggio’s instructions to heart.
The crowd, however, didn’t think nearly so well of Qifrey. Most of the guests were baffled by his scathing attack. However, some fiery, bold looks flared to life. It was, after all, a party, and it seemed like some guests were about to rise to Qifrey’s implicit challenge.
Nervousness flurried inside of Olruggio’s gut. Depending on these guests’ imaginations, any manner of dangerous shenanigans could happen, and he and Qifrey were in the firing zone. The fire witch began to drag his friend up the stairway. “Ta-ta, ta-ta, nice meeting you!”
His heart was still hammering in his chest as he deposited Qifrey on an embroidered couch. The water witch seemed to have no clue to the carnage they had narrowly escaped. “How’d I do?” said Qifrey.
“Stunning. Excellent. You knocked ‘em dead.” Olruggio tugged at his high collar, wishing for a breeze.
“Oh goody. I aim to please.” He patted Olruggio on the arm. “I could use a snack, though. Do they have any of those hors d'oeuvres?”
Olruggio glanced around. A waiter was passing by with a tray of deviled eggs—but he was all the way on the other side of the huge floor. It would take at least a few minutes to sprint there and back, a few minutes in which Qifrey would be left unsupervised.
The fire witch stilled. A memory he’d conveniently blocked out was resurfacing. At the last party they’d attended, Olruggio had left Qifrey alone for five minutes. He’d returned and found him in the middle of bodily pinning Easthies to the floor and forcing him to chug a whole bottle of wine. People were hooting Easthies’ name, probably because they wanted to see him down the entire thing. Utowin—who was usually glued to Easthies’ side—was standing back and nursing a beer. He shrugged and said to Olruggio, “Sometimes, you just can’t stop ‘em.”
Olruggio had pulled a muscle in his back separating Easthies and Qifrey. When asked why he’d done such an unbefitting thing, all Qifrey said was “He insulted you!”
Olruggio had forgiven him through and through.
Olruggio just hoped that Easthies had forcibly injested enough alcohol to muddle his memory of the evening. The fiasco had happened several years back as well, so hopefully time had worked a little extra magic.
“Uh. Alright, wait here!” Olruggio pointed at the couch. Not that Qifrey could see, so Olruggio put some real punch into his words. “Don’t move. And when I say ‘don’t move,’ pretend you are a fucking cursed stone statue, like Coco’s mom.”
“Coco’s mom. Got it.”
Olruggio inched away from him, and when he didn’t stray from the couch, the fire witch glanced around. No one else had taken notice of them—yet. Now was the time. He shuffled across the floor as fast as his heels would allow, chasing the waiter’s coattails as the man decided to loop his way up another stairway. Once Olruggio finally managed to stop him, he snagged the entire tray and attempted to break some party record running back.
He arrived in time to catch Qifrey in full conversation with a very handsome man. The stranger was leaning over the side of the couch, getting cozy, asking Qifrey all sorts of questions. The water witch was drinking up the attention like a flower in the sun.
Alarms bells shrieked in Olruggio’s head. He and Qifrey had not gotten divorced yet. They hadn’t gotten married yet either. They’d never even officially gotten around to becoming an item and only had once ever mentioned their feelings. That one-time confession had been made in a cold, dark, and stress-laden situation—not exactly the right foot from which to start a romance. But, oh, Olruggio’s feelings . Feelings that said he wanted to spend his life growing rounder on Qifrey’s food. That the best jokes he told were the ones that Qifrey and only Qifrey laughed at. That he wanted to grow grey with Qifrey under the same setting sun.
Olruggio rocketed the rest of the way to home base, heels be damned, the eggs plop-plop-plopping off the tray and spattering on the floor in little yolky explosions. He screeched to a stop by Qifrey, pointed at the newcomer, and shouted, “SPOON!”
Qifrey gasped, a hand splaying across his chest. He’d been halfway through the story about how he and Olruggio had gone skinny dipping in a frozen lake as a dare and had cheated by use of a boiling water spell. He said, “And here I thought I was conversing with a regular person. Yet really I was being taken advantage of by a sly fox. Now I can see straight into your twisted soul. Leaping liongoats, it’s almost as twisted as my own.”
“Wha? Wha?” The man straightened, sweeping his hair back with a shaking hand. “I thought, I mean…What are you talking about?”
“Begone!”
Jaw sliding open, he walked away on autopilot.
Olruggio smirked, a beacon of smug light. “Another first-rate performance, Qifrey.”
“Nonsense, my dear friend. You saved me from socializing with the wrong crowd yet again.” Qifrey reached out and tugged him closer. “Do you have those snacks?”
“Unfortunately I had to cut my foraging short to save you.” He pulled Qifrey standing. “Let’s go somewhere else. Mind you, someone dropped a ton of deviled eggs everywhere so watch your step.”
“Oh, dear. They should be so embarrassed.”
Olruggio navigated them around the eggy minefield and got Qifrey up the next flight of stairs. Another waiter was bound to be hiding somewhere, and this time the fire witch would succeed in procuring food. Unfortunately instead of any waitstaff, he only spotted a table of witches gambling with dice and a tower of finger sandwiches. Olruggio swept by and stole the top tray while the group was arguing over the legitimacy of someone’s roll. He led Qifrey to the balcony where they could overlook the orchestra and eat in peace.
“You mentioned that Lord Salt is a client of yours,” said Qifrey, stacking three sandwiches and eating them all in one go. “That probably means you’re for him?”
“Er,” Olruggio nibbled on a sandwich that contained some sort of pickled fish paste. “I wouldn’t put it that way. I didn’t really know how big a deal he was until recently, and I had a full plate preparing to chase you while you chased Brimhats. I was halfway out the door when I signed a new contract with him and didn’t read it in full.”
“Oh…” Qifrey murmured. “Oh no…”
“Yes.” Olruggio crammed the rest of the sandwich into the mouth. The taste was better than the idea of having to finish the commission. “Basically, Lord Salt—”
Speak of the devil. Down on the dance floor, Lord Salt was tangoing with a petite, round lady in a tulle gown. They seemed to be getting along provided one didn’t understand anything about human facial expressions. Though she was half his size, she looked disgruntled enough to cook him alive. In comparison, Lord Salt was desperately ignoring her, his head tipped so far back he might as well be looking at the ceiling. Otherwise, they strutted in perfect sync.
“That must be Lady Jovannes Salt.” Olruggio described the scene to Qifrey. “The extra salty Salt.”
“But just how salty?” said Qifrey. “And why?”
“Lord Salt married into the house—but not willingly. I hear that his parents—de Markuses and rivals to the Salts—got drunk and lost him in a poker game as a baby to their enemies. The Salts were going to make him into a pet, but then he grew into a real powerhouse. Most of them love him now, so long as he continues to bring in the money. Lady Jovannes, however, is said to be constantly at odds with him. She was supposed to be the house star and is constantly jealous.”
“Egads!” said Qifrey. “The lives of nobles.”
The song ended. Lord Salt attempted to drift away, but Lady Jovannes reeled him in for another dance. She leaned in to say something to him, and he waltzed as stiffly as a corpse.
“Anyways,” Olruggio continued, “When Lord Salt came to me for his latest commission, I was so frazzled I nodded yes to everything he asked for. When I got down to really looking at the details, I realized he wanted a ring that would make the wearer complacent no matter the situation. The dimensions fit the fingers of someone exceptionally small.” He peered over the balcony at the dancing couple, at Lady Salt’s irate expression. “I suspect the ring is for his wife.”
Qifrey put down his sandwich. “Tell him that you misread a few details and that such a thing is impossible.”
Olruggio never liked the idea of going back on his word, and that retracted promise was bound to hit harder with an important client. “Yeah, well…Running out on him was worth it.” A moment flashed in Olruggio’s mind: Qifrey in the belly of a mountain as he stood over an ungodly mess of forbidden magic. Whatever he’d called forth had long since been dispelled, but the memory of it was written all over Qifrey’s face. In his eye, in the blankness of his stare. So many words had danced on Olruggio’s tongue, but the only ones that made it out were, “ I still love you.”
“For a best friend, I cause you a lot of trouble. I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” Qifrey said just loud enough to hear above the fluttering notes of the orchestra. His unseeing gaze was too soft.
A hot flush crawled up Olruggio’s neck, sprang into his cheeks. It probably clashed with his jacket. And his need to appear aloof and confident. Though Qifrey was blind, Olruggio still had the instinct to hide, palming his face in a cool hand. “H-how you gonna do that?”
“Well…” Qifrey drummed his fingers on the balcony, cocking his head. “I have an idea.”
“An idea.” Right now Olruggio’s brain was hatching all sorts of ideas about how good Qifrey looked in the gown, the light anointing his hair with a golden-white halo. How good it might be to follow the lead of the orchestra, which was crooning its way through a dulcet melody, and slide into Qifrey’s personal space. To loop his arms around his neck and whisper, “That idea better be a kiss!”
He inched forward, pulse leaping. Qifrey’s hand was warm underneath his. Forget making friends. Forget making enemies. Tonight was for getting the man he’d wanted all his life.
Or at least that was the plan, until he was stopped by a very stoic and familiar voice:
“Well, if it isn’t the two law-breaking buddies from the middle of nowhere…”
Olruggio froze.
And turned.
Easthies and Utowin were in their evening best, also holding flutes of champagne and tiny delicacies. Utowin wore a long overcoat and matching pants; Easthies had donned a robe with a decorated, white sash that looped over the shoulder and curled around his waist. The squad captain shot them a death glare to end all death glares. Lightning was practically shooting out of his eyes.
OH, HE REMEMBERED !
Easthies sniffed and turned up his nose. “We don’t talk much about work outside of the office, but I’ll let you both know that Qifrey’s list of suspected delinquencies is longer than Galga is tall. How he doesn’t spend all his time in an interrogation room is beyond me.”
Olruggio looped an arm around Qifrey’s shoulder. “Do I see a wine fountain on the bottom floor? Ta-ta, ta-ta!”
Qifrey whirled out of his grasp. “Olruggio, you’ve got to stand up to the S-P-O-O-Ns!” The water witch pointed at Utowin, whom he likely mistook as Easthies. “You attacked my student!”
“And I meant it!” Easthies also dumped his food into Utowin’s hands and stood in front of him so he could take credit for the deed. “That green-haired child is growing up to be an insurgent—just like you!”
Qifrey snorted. “In my atelier, insurgency goes under another name—optimism!”
A crowd had begun to gather. They could smell the ozone in the air, the gathering thunder. “Omigod, the long-awaited sequel!” someone shrieked.
“Someone fetch a wine bottle!” shouted another.
Easthies sneered. “If only you could be more closely supervised. Any child you teach becomes a wolf.”
Everyone stilled, even the hungry crowd.
Olruggio tugged on Qifrey again. “Qifrey, this isn’t worth it. Let’s go.”
“Olly!” Qifrey said, shocked. “Don’t say traitorous shit like that! What would Coco say if she were here?”
Olruggio opened his mouth to respond, but a terrible part of his brain shouted in Coco’s tiny voice, “’I would break this loser by toeing the law over and over again while getting everyone to adore me because of my good intentions!’”
Easthies, of course, heard none of this. “Hmph. This is a party. I came prepared.” He untied his sash, which ran very long now that its loop had come undone. He flapped it, and Olruggio realized it was in fact a pennant—the type that the Knights Moralis used to restrain miscreants and other lawbreakers.
For a second time that night, Olruggio went cold. There was a heart-palpitatingly high chance that Qifrey would be marched out the door in that fashion accessory.
Qifrey looked back and forth between the pennant and Easthies. He said in a cool voice, “I can’t let such an insult slide.”
Easthies smirked, his face flushing with delight. The pennant seemed to flutter with a life of its own.
“But of course.” Qifrey reached inside one of his long sleeves. From an inner pocket, he pulled out his pen and a spare square of paper. “I brought something to the party too.”
Qifrey drew quickly, his hand deft. The long sleeve of his gown blocked the spell from view.
Olruggio blinked. Or he tried. It should have been quick, natural, but his eyelids drooped with slothlike speed. His thoughts dragged, breaking apart in the syrup of lost time, taking so long to finish that by their end he couldn’t remember how they’d begun. Even the light around him seemed to drift and bend.
When he could open his eyes fully again—could breathe in stuttering, sharp gasps—Qifrey had disappeared, and Easthies stood in the center of the crowd, trapped in his own pennant. The Knight was also blinking as he regained his bearings, his gaze darting around for the missing witch. Discovering himself locked in, he roared, “Find him! Find him and arrest him!”
Witches and nobles fled the scene in an explosion of noise and motion—not to find Qifrey, but to spread gossip of the party’s wildest mishap yet.
As Utowin tried to get Easthies to hold still so he could untie him, Olruggio began galloping down the stairs. “Ta-ta! Ta-ta!”
**
Lord Salt stumbled into his private office, locking the door behind him and leaning against it. He’d finally managed to extract himself from the party and, in particular, his wife. If only he didn’t have to throw these festivities all the time to rub elbows, climb the ever-escalating ladder, and continually prove his salt.
The room was dark save for the glow emanating from the everburning fireplace. The magical hearth threw light across his favorite armchair. The chair’s back faced him, but its cushions, which had been soaking in the fire’s heat all evening long, were sure to be a luxurious retreat. Lord Salt dragged himself towards it, hoping for some peace.
But when he reached it, he found it occupied.
“Good evening, milord.”
Lord Salt jumped, heart flying into his throat. “Gods!”
Qifrey swept to his feet and bowed his head. “Do forgive the intrusion.”
“Q-Qifrey the Witch,” Lord Salt said, recognizing Olruggio’s blind friend. “How did you find your way here?”
“I was looking for you and merely went to the one place we were sure to cross paths. Your manor is quite large, and there are so many guests.”
Lord Salt swallowed. The door had been locked, and only he and Jovannes had the keys. He doubted she would have let Qifrey inside. Their office, full of important documents, was more vital and sacred to the nobles than their bedroom. “What do you want? The party is on the lower floors.”
“Milord, as a witch, I am only your servant.” Qifrey smiled. “I have come on behalf of Olruggio.” His head twitched in the direction of the fireplace; maybe he could recognize his friend’s work by its heat alone.
“Mister Olruggio!” If Lord Salt could get that mood ring on Jovannes, things could be bearable. “He promised me a new commission. It’s late.”
That mood ring was Lord Salt’s last solution. All other possibilities had dried up when his sister had passed. Now no one was interested in freeing him the old-fashioned bloody way. With him married into the family, the Salts had extinguished their enemies and were the ultimate winner of their rivalry. Even though Jovannes hated his guts, she gloated about the victory frequently. The extended Salts insisted he put up with her. He sometimes prayed at the foot of his bed for the Witch of Light to bring him some solace.
“About that,” said Qifrey. “Olruggio simply cannot deliver. He apologizes profusely.”
Those words, spoken so plainly, hit Lord Salt like a sack of rocks to the head. A dizzy spiral overtook his senses. He could see Jovannes’ thin, white lips turning into a scathing smile. Hear her biting quips. Her family, always demanding more. He could barely stand the thought of waking up and seeing her or any of them tomorrow morning, never mind for the rest of his life.
The little smile graced Qifrey’s lips again. “Olruggio is talented, but he is constrained by certain limitations. Actually, most witches and their magic abide by these rules.”
“B-but—” said Lord Salt, pulling himself back to reality. “I thought witches could do anything.”
“Unfortunately that is not quite the case.” Qifrey’s expression flickered. Was that sadness? Regret? Lord Salt couldn’t tell in the dancing shadows. Yet the dark flood of determination that came next was unmistakable. “But I can still help you. I’m not like most witches.”
Such confidence, such a promise. Despite the lack of any evidence that Qifrey could perform, a thin string of hope gripped Lord Salt, sowing his fraying self back together.
“This office contains your papers?” Qifrey looked around as if he could still see, and for a moment Lord Salt thought he could . He acted so smooth and self-assured. “Lead me to them.”
The nobleman walked numbly to his bookcase, and Qifrey followed him by listening to his footsteps. He really shouldn’t trust this witch, but desperation pushed aside his greater senses. He pulled a file from a neat stack. “The contract for Olruggio’s commission is in here.”
“No,” said Qifrey, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m not interested in that one. I want your marriage papers.”
Lord Salt hesitated. His marriage papers—or betrothal papers, really—were a little unusual. They contained the losing numbers of his late parent’s poker hand, plus the wild terms of the drunken gamble that had sealed his fate as a baby. They were also stained with beer and tears. Only he and the other Salts ever looked at them, and he made sure it stayed that way. His parents had tried bluffing on the worst hand in the game; he would die of embarrassment if anyone else knew.
However, Qifrey was blind. Pulling them out probably wouldn’t hurt. Wordlessly, Lord Salt returned Olruggio’s contract to its place. Producing a key from his desk, he shoved aside some books from the shelf. Behind them was a safe buried into the wall. Lord Salt sunk the key into its slot, the gears grinding. Inside lay the family’s most important paper’s such as the deeds to the surrounding land and documentation of lineage. He shifted through them until he found his “betrothal debt.”
Qifrey raised his chin upon hearing the shuffle of paper. He stuck out a hand. “Hmm, yes. Give them here, please.”
Lord Salt studied Qifrey’s face. That filmy eye was so unfocused. He was staring in the general vicinity of the noble’s shoulder. Though the other eye was a mystery, the gossip said it was nothing to worry about. With a last hesitant glance at his papers, Lord Salt handed them over to the witch.
“Thank you, thank you.”
Qifrey flipped through the papers. He closed his eye as he did so, as if he were divining the contents. In the flicker of the firelight, Lord Salt thought he saw a shimmering, tiny mark on the eyelid. Yet too soon Qifrey opened his eye again, dashing Lord Salt’s chance to examine it further.
Qifrey continued, “As I said before, I’m not like most witches. I can do things no ordinary witch can. But it’s not because I’m that different in skill. It’s because everyone else lacks the guts.”
Then he promptly tore the papers in half.
“You are hereby free. Qifrey the Witch declares it.”
Qifrey pushed the destroyed papers back into Lord Salt’s hands and walked out the door. It shut with a whisper.
The fire crackled. Lord Salt stood in dumbfounded silence. Tearing up official papers didn’t annul anyone’s marriage. Yet as he looked down at the wreckage, he saw his name split on one side, Jovannes’ on the other. And then he saw his parents’ drunken, fumbling signatures now torn asunder. A powerful, unnamed emotion began sweeping through him. The halved sheets fell to the floor.
He raced through the office door. The cacophony of the party was dull in comparison to his pounding heart. He charged to the balcony and loomed over the teeming guests. At the top of his lungs, he screamed, “EVERYONE, PARTY’S OVER!”
**
“Qifrey! Stars! There you are!”
Olruggio tore through a hedge to reach his friend faster, knocking off twigs that snagged onto his clothes. Qifrey stood overlooking a garden pond, the moonlight making his gown shimmer all sorts of blue. His eye was closed as he listened to a small waterfall trickle over a rockbed. His reflection shone back at him from the water’s surface, and he would have been gazing into it if he could see.
Olruggio had spent the last thirty minutes combing through the exodus of guests, growing ever more frustrated and nervous when he couldn’t find Qifrey’s familiar face. The threat that Easthies had actually gotten to him first hadn’t helped. Yet now that he’d found him at last, the heat went out of him. “Don’t disappear on me like that,” said Olruggio. Not for a second time.
Qifrey offered him an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to worry you so much. I was confident we’d find each other as always.”
“What were you thinking back there?” He’d planned on sticking it to Qifrey, but the scene—the pond, the stars, Qifrey—fell together too perfectly.
“It’ll be fine.” Qifrey waved a hand. “It was a party. Alcohol everywhere. One drunk person will spread the word to another drunk person, and then after that. By the end of things the story will be so incredulous that no one will believe anything remotely related to it, even Easthies’ version.”
Olruggio muttered some prayers under his breath, hoping to the gods that Qifrey was right.
“Also,” said Qifrey. “I took care of Lord Salt for you. He doesn’t need the ring anymore, so you’re off the hook.”
Olruggio’s sense of alarm returned tenfold. “W-what does that mean? What exactly did you do—”
Qifrey shushed him with a finger to his lips. “The details are so tiresome. Right now, you and I have more pressing business.”
Beyond the pale trickle of the pond, Olruggio could hear the exhausted grunts and murmurs of other guests climbing into carriages. A long line of stragglers decided to walk home, but they were ambling across the take off lane for the pegasi and were causing a pile up of traffic. The hollering from the drivers was very distracting. Yet when Olruggio tried to turn in their direction, Qifrey cupped his jaw and reeled him back. The water witch inched closer. “Yes, my dear Olly. Very important business.”
A pleasant shiver danced across Olruggio’s skin. Qifrey had every drop of his attention.
Qifrey’s hand slid around to play with the hairs on Olruggio’s nape. “I’d forgotten how savage these parties were. And to think you hit these trenches all the time.”
“Yeah, well.” The heat had returned, and stronger this second time. “After a while I became a seasoned soldier.”
Qifrey's fingers were cool against his skin. “I can’t possibly keep letting you go back in there, or at least not alone .”
Tonight’s party had been all sorts of terrifying and terrible. Yet, at the end of the night, he felt only closer to Qifrey. If he had Qifrey by his side at every party, he could feel stronger, safer, bolder. He could sweep him onto the dance floor and find peace among the chaos. The fire witch fumbled for an eloquent answer. It didn’t matter though, with the crickets kicking up a sonata and a breeze blowing in the scent of night blooms.
“Who else would chase away the spoons?” whispered Qifrey. His smile, at once sly and loving, crooked at the corner.
“Uhhh, I can recommend someone.” Olruggio’s arms glued themselves around Qifrey’s waist.
“Who would carry you home when you’re too drunk to recognize your own handsome reflection?” Qifrey looped his arms around the fire witch’s neck.
“Uhhh, I think I know someone again,” said Olruggio. He tugged them closer.
Qifrey leaned in slowly. His lone eye had locked onto Olruggio. “Who would kiss you at the end of everything?”
Their lips met, softly, sweetly.
And as they kissed, Olruggio thought that the parties and business trouble didn’t matter in the face of their relationship. After all they’d had been through—the Brimhats, the twists and turns—they really had come out the victors.