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Chapter Text

As evening descended upon the seabed, Coco felt as if she had wandered into a dreamline trance. She gazed out the window, eyes dazzling as the streetlamps dimmed and cast the cobblestones in a deep sapphire glow. Her ears were pricked, searching, yearning for the clear call of birds or the rustle of trees swaying in the wind. However, the only answer was the hum of the sea thrashing overhead. 

Coco gave a wistful sigh as Ermile pulled the heavy curtains shut before their windows. All four apprentices were worn out after spending the entire day trailing behind Lord Beldrauit, trying, trying, and failing to surprise him. Now they were in various states of winding down for the night. Agott had left to find a quiet study corner. Tetia was helping Ermile, chatting amiably. Meanwhile Riché had pulled the covers over her head, experimenting with her crystals under the makeshift canopy.

Coco looked under her own blanket, where she had been scrawling steadily. She figured she should, like Agott, spend her evening studying for their test. But she also reasoned that what good as a witch if she couldn’t spare an hour each day to create a spell for her Master?

Coco scrutinized her spell for the ever flowing icepack. Tonight would be the first actual test. Yesterday in the cafeteria, the idea had worked perfectly on paper. However transforming a drawing into a workable prototype had proved to be an arduous trial. The first prototype failed immediately when the flowing water, now constrained within a cloth bag, washed away the seal. She managed to keep the seal intact for the second prototype. However, now the problem was that the icepack itself kept leaking water. With Sinocia's permission, Coco had spent a whole clock mark searching through the medical spire's supply of old linens. Tetia had kept her company and nodded through Coco's subsequent lecture about the importance of high thread counts. By the time Coco found suitably sturdy fabric, it had been bedtime. 

Tonight when Coco completed the seal and tied the cloth, the icepack wobbled smoothly and obediently on her palm. She squealed with glee. It was finally working! 

Coco poked her head out of the covers, scanning the room. Agott had not yet returned, Tetia had left to follow Ermile, and it was clear Riché wanted some alone time. So solitary with her prized contraption in hand, Coco pulled on her shoes and slipped into the next room. 

Master Qifrey lay upon the bed, chest rising and falling with each slumbering breath. The curtains were still open, casting shimmering azure light onto the sheets. It gave the illusion that Qifrey was floating peacefully among the waves. Seated on the bed beside him was Master Olruggio. He had seldom left Qifrey’s side since they arrived. Even from across the room, Coco could see the hard, weary expression worn into his features. Olruggio pressed the back of his hand to Qifrey's forehead. His frown deepening, he reached to the bedside table for a washcloth and began to stroke it on Qifrey's flushed face. 

This quiet ritual halted Coco's approach. 

Perhaps Olruggio would prefer to be left alone?

She teetered on her feet, indecisive, when Olruggio's eyes suddenly flicked up to meet her gaze.

“Oh! I um…” Coco stammered. “I didn't mean to disturb you.” 

Olruggio gave a gentle smile, though it didn't meet his haggard eyes. 

“You’re not disturbing anyone,” he reassured. “In fact, I’d appreciate some company. Would you care to join me?” 

Coco nodded. She descended the steps and came to a pause beside the bed. Olruggio noticed the contraption wobbling in her grasp. 

“Is that the ever flowing icepack?” 

“Yes,” Coco said. “I would like to try it, if that’s alright?” 

“Please go ahead,” Olruggio said, setting aside the washcloth. “Qifrey’s still a bit feverish.”

Coco took a deep breath, steeled her resolve, and placed the icepack on Qifrey's forehead.

For several long seconds, Qifrey did not react. Then his face pinched and he let out a low groan. 

Coco removed the icepack at once. 

Qifrey took a few deep breaths before going still. 

“May I see?” Olruggio asked. 

Coco handed over the contraption. Olruggio held it in his palm, watching it wobble for a moment, before placing it back on Qifrey’s forehead.

Qifrey groaned when it made contact. Coco moved to remove it once more, but Olruggio held up a hand. Qifrey's jaw clenched and he turned his head sharply to the side. The icepack dislodged, flopping away from him. Olruggio caught it before it could roll off the bed. 

Coco’s heart fell.

“Maybe the water is too cold or moving too quickly?” she tried. 

Olruggio examined the icepack for a long moment before passing it back. 

“Perhaps,” he said. “What’s pleasant for one person can be uncomfortable for the next. When you make the next prototype, you should factor in that subjectivity." 

Coco furrowed her brow. Would there even be another prototype of the ever flowing icepack? She stared at her Master, laying motionless among the sheets.

“But I hate to disturb him.” 

“Qifrey often has difficulty sleeping,” Olruggio attempted to reassure. “In this state, even a washcloth troubles him.” 

However, Coco only shook her head.

Yesterday morning Sinocia had pulled all four apprentices aside. She took the time to carefully explain that Master Qifrey's wounds had been tended to and he simply needed plenty of rest in order to heal. This news was supposed to be comforting. However, Coco did not miss the way Agott's eyebrows furrowed or how Riché tugged at her hair. Tetia, bold enough to voice her fears aloud, had asked how long it would be until he woke up. With a sad smile, Sinocia said that she didn't know for certain. Hopefully, it would only be a few short days. 

Though it could be longer. 

Coco knew she should believe her. Sinocia, Ermile, and all the healers here were incredibly kind and skilled doctors. These were the type of adults she could trust. 

However, to observe Master Qifrey laying so still—to remember his slumped bloody weight in the cave—a deep panic contorted within her. Master Qifrey had been an anchor in this wondrous dangerous world; a safety net she trusted to catch her whenever she fell. 

And now he wasn't here. 

At least, not in the way that mattered. 

Coco wanted to ask him about Lord Beldaruit, wanted his advice for the second test, wanted him to cook her stew, and tuck her in for bed. She wanted him to be alright. Coco had no way to ensure that he would be. 

Coco thought of her mother, face frozen in stone. When Coco was younger, she had thought adults were powerful, nearly invincible. Death was a far off concept that only existed in fables and fairy tales. 

But now—

“Hey,” Olruggio soothed, placing a hand on her shoulder. Coco quickly swiped away the tears, face growing warm with embarrassment. “Qifrey'll be alright. In fact, when you girls were out, the doctors came by to change his bandages. They said that his wounds are healing well.”

“But he's still not well enough to wake up.” 

“No,” Olruggio sighed. “He’ll need to sleep for another day or so, but afterwards he should awaken.” 

“And what if he doesn't? What if his wound gets infected or the doctors missed something or-”

“Coco,” Olruggio said, reaching for her other shoulder and turning her to face him. “It's true that bad outcomes are possible, but so are good ones. What if he wakes up tomorrow? What if he makes a perfect recovery? What if everything will be okay?” He produced a handkerchief from his pocket, exchanging it for the icepack still whirling in her grasp. “The Great Hall has some of the best doctors in all the Peninsula. Plus, I’ve known Sinocia for many many years. If she says Qifrey's recovery is going well, then it is going well.” 

Coco nodded, dabbing the tears from her face. Olruggio placed the icepack on the bedside table, then stood and brought a chair over. He motioned for her to sit, which she did. She stared at the ever flowing icepack, still teetering back and forth upon the table.

This was her first custom contraption. Its creation was a whole trial in itself. Though for every lesson learned, another remained just out of grasp, tantalizing, taunting her own inadequacy. Maybe, like so many things, this was beyond her.

“There was a spell he cast when I was sick,” she said. “It made all the water in the air cool and swirl overhead.” She cast her eyes down at the floor. “Maybe he has it in his quire?”

Olruggio gave a knowing sigh.  

“Maybe,” he said. “But anyone can copy a drawing. It's far more treasured to craft your own spell for someone else.”

“Is that a witch custom?” 

“Kind of,” Olruggio said. “But in a broader sense the Unknowings do it too. For instance, a dressmaker can always copy a fashionable design. However, it holds more meaning, more care, to craft a custom design specifically to fit a person's unique style. So keep working on the icepack, Coco. I’m certain Qifrey will be touched that you devoted so much time and energy in the creation of such a gift.”

Coco took a deep breath. 

“Okay,” she said. “I'll keep trying.”

Olruggio smiled, turning back to gaze at Qifrey. 

“Do you think he can hear us?” Coco asked. 

“I hope so,” Olruggio said, sitting back down upon the bed. 

They fell into a comfortable silence. 

For their test, Olruggio had instructed them to observe Lord Beldaruit. So as practice, Coco considered what she had observed from Master Olly so far. 

He was a proficient craftsman. Which also meant he was forever laboring over some sort of commission, squirreled away in his own atelier. During her brief visit to his workshop, she had spied a crooked calendar posted to the wall. Every inch of paper had been covered in tight scrawls, overflowing notes, and arrows pointing to even more notes. Here in the Great Hall, his fame and prestige was even more evident. Whenever they walked alongside him, Olruggio was stopped so consistently by passerbys that it took them twice as long to reach their destination.

And yet, he had brought his overflowing and bustling life to a screeching halt, just so he could sit at Qifrey's bedside and act as a mentor to his four young apprentices. As she gazed at Olruggio, brushing the hair across Qifrey’s forehead. Coco got the impression that this man would trade the entirety of his fame and riches just for the simple privilege of being in this moment.

Coco began to form a question in her mind, but some consciousness within her cautioned against speaking it aloud. She was starting to understand that the bond between her two Masters ran far deeper than she first realized. This was a promise that transcended one sole individual. A connection of selfless devotion and care; a pledge of affection that was simultaneously ferocious as a roaring blaze and gentle as a meandering brook. 

Later, a word would emerge to describe this concept. 

And that word was love.

Chapter Text

Unlike all the other apprentices, Riché had immediately assumed that Master Qifrey and Master Olruggio were married. For her, it was a far greater shock to learn that they were not. 

The transfer from her former atelier to an apprenticeship under Master Qifrey had been an eventful and hasty affair. In the bureaucratic flurry of paperwork, many frivolous details had been overlooked. Riché was never told how the primers were organized (she observed Agott first, then copied her), where the tea cabinet was (she found it on her third try), explained how chores were assigned (she read the schedule herself), and nobody ever specified the relationship between Qifrey and Olruggio. This, Riché assumed, was one of the many mysteries she would have to deduce herself. 

But what was there to figure out? 

The nature of their relationship was clear in the way Qifrey wordlessly left Olruggio’s favorite snacks by his door whenever he had a deadline. In the way that on rainy days, Olruggio left his link rings waiting in the entrance way for Qifrey, even when it meant Olruggio himself would be soaking when he got home. The way Qifrey always glanced wistfully at the door whenever Olruggio was away. The way that the first thing Olruggio always asked when he returned was “where’s Qifrey?” and once he had sought him out, “so how was your day?” 

It was these moments and many many more, accumulating one after another during Riché’s first days at the atelier. These little acts of love that made her arrive at the surefire conclusion: Master Qifrey and Master Olly are married. 

It was several months later when she learned otherwise. 

As evening descended upon the atelier, all three girls were relaxing before the hearth. Agott was laying on the floor, primer and paper sprawled in front of her. Tetia was curled up on the couch, enthralled in a novel. Meanwhile Riché had squeezed herself into the corner between the couch and the wall, doodling absentmindedly. 

Master Qifrey had just come from the kitchen and set down a snack before them when Tetia looked up. 

“Master Qifrey,” she said. “Maybe I ask a personal question?” 

“Go ahead,” Qifrey responded. 

“Have you ever been on a date before?” 

“Well yes,” Qifrey answered. “But not in a long time.”

Riché furrowed her eyebrows. Three days ago, Qifrey and Olruggio had risen at first light to watch the sun’s slumbering ascent over the lazy hills. From her bedroom window, she had watched them return, swaddled in each other’s blankets. 

Had that not been a date?

Riché knew that some adults were strict regarding certain private matters. These were topics to never be discussed or even inquired upon. That was a lesson her former Master made certain she learned. 

However, she had thought Master Qifrey was different. He was always open to any discussion, no matter how silly or weird it was. Just yesterday the girls had spent a whole clock mark discussing whether it was possible to draw sigils with one’s mouth. Upon learning of their curiosity, Qifrey had immediately placed a wand between his teeth to experiment. What followed were several failed spells, leading to all three girls sprawled out on the floor, their stomachs aching from laughter. 

But maybe this matter was different. 

Maybe Master Qifrey and Olruggio wanted to preserve their privacy. And evidently, wanted this deeply enough, that Qifrey was willing to lie to his own apprentices. (Even though it didn’t make sense for him to lie. Even though no matter what Riché did, she could not rid herself of the unsettling feeling of being lied to.) 

So Riché said nothing. 

The following month progressed with no further incidents. In fact, it was unusually quiet in the atelier. The reason was because Master Olruggio had been stressed to bits about his latest commission. The adults had not said anything about it, but girls could tell anyway because Olruggio spent a solid two weeks locked away in his workshop. When Qifrey finally managed to coax him out with the promise of a thornbark cake, Olruggio had remarked that his client was being “crankier than a donkey’s—” before Qifrey shushed him.

Riché started keeping an eye on Master Olruggio. When she accepted this apprenticeship, Master Qifrey had promised that his atelier was safe and that she would be protected. However, those were just words. Riché knew firsthand how irritable adults could be and had no intention to be on the receiving end of anyone's frustrations. It was only time, she supposed with dread in her stomach, until she learned the truth or fallacy of Qifrey's words. 

With all honesty, Riché did not sleep well some nights. In those darkened hours after frigid fright jolted her awake, she would wander through the still atelier, skipping on the stairs or laying her head on the dining room table. On one particular night, she had been so preoccupied in her own thoughts, that she did not see Olruggio until he called out to her. 

“What’re you still doing up?” he asked from before the hearth. 

Riché let her eyes fall to the floor. 

“Just thirsty,” she lied. 

Olruggio hummed in response. 

Riché was about to dart back upstairs when her eye caught on the contraption laying before Olruggio. It was a gilded chandelier, adorned with a shimmering array of colorful crystals. She gasped, heart thumping with wonder. 

What was that? 

Olruggio followed her gaze. 

“Well you arrived just in time,” he said with an easy smile. “I could use an audience for this next part. Would you like to join me?” 

Riché, curious about the contraption and welcoming the chance to stay up longer, descended the stairs to the hearth.

Olruggio reached beside him for the teapot. 

While he began to make some tea, Riché eyed the contraption. The centerpiece of the chandelier was a single unlit candle. The metalwork was intricate and ornate, spells carefully engraved into each curve of silver. Riché studied them, noting the sigil for light supported by the keystones for focus, concentration, and direction. It seemed that the candle’s light was to be redirected to each of the crystals. Riché leaned even closer, in fact the crystals themselves were mounted to large wheels, which themselves bore spells for controlled movement. Did this mean the crystals were meant to turn around the candle itself? 

“Figured out how it works yet?” Olruggio asked, setting the brewing teapot aside.  

“Think so,” Riché said.

“Well then,” Olruggio said, “how about a quick demonstration? And then you can see if you’re correct?” 

Riché nodded, clasping her hands with excitement. 

Olruggio extinguished the fire in the hearth, plunging them into darkness, then he lit the candle at the center of the contraption.

The flame flickered to life, rising tall in the center. Riché held her breath and for a moment everything stood quiet and still. 

Then the wheels began to spin around the candle. 

Immediately, the room was splashed with an array of color. Riché gasped as coral pink, scarlet red, vibrant green, and regal blue began to waver and dance along the walls. Riché watched, eyes dazzling with amazement. It was as if they had stepped inside a kaleidoscope. She gazed as the reds and blues merged into deep violet, only to split once more into soft lavender and dark plum. Around and around the colors collided and swayed, until the contraption began to slow and once more, darkness consumed the room.

For once, Riché was not terrified by the shadows.

Olruggio shuffled, relighting the fire in the hearth. 

“So what did you think?”

Riché opened and closed her mouth, so awestruck she could barely speak. 

“It's beautiful," she managed to whisper. 

“Why thank you,” Olruggio chuckled, pouring her a cup of tea. He handed it to her. Riché breathed deeply, the gentle scent of woollypuff tickling her nose. 

“How did you get everything to work together?” she asked. The contraption contained many different concepts integrating together seamlessly. If Riché were a lesser witch, she would even assume effortlessly. 

“Through many weeks of trial and error,” Olruggio explained. “Light is one of my specialties, so I knew it would not be difficult to manipulate, refocus, and concentrate the beams.”

“But wasn't it difficult to design the main sigil?” Riché said. “Because it's activated by a live flame.”

Olruggio raised his eyebrow. 

“You have a keen eye,” he said with a grin. “What did you observe?”

Riché tilted her head. 

Normal spells were activated when a witch completed the outer ring. However, contraptions were often used by Unknowings. To sell a spell with the outer ring already completed required stability. For instance, a pegasus carriage spell required no maintenance. The spell was always ready to lift the carriage into the air at any moment. 

However, some spells required a condition to be activated. For example, an everlasting spring would only purify if there were no humans or animals in the water. The volatility made these spells particularly difficult to craft.

“The live flame acts as the contraption's activation condition,” Riché explained. “All the other sigils, such as the wheel movement and light redirection, are dependent on the main sigil being active. This means the contraption will only work when the central candle is lit.”

“You are correct,” Olruggio said. “Though the complexity now is that when I scale up this prototype, there will be multiple candles on the chandelier. So I need to ensure the spell's activation is not influenced by them. 

Riché blinked. “You're going to make it bigger?” 

“Why yes,” Olruggio chuckled. “The final chandelier will be about the size of this hearth. I only made this prototype to ensure the metalwork and crystals were operating as they should, as those are not my expertise." 

“Do you work with crystals often?” Riché asked, taking a sip of her tea. She could not recall seeing him work with them before. Then again, she did see each and every one of his commissions. 

“Not frequently,” Olruggio said, “but every now and then a commission requires a certain glamor. That's when I call on my old contacts for advice.” 

“You consult other witches?”

“When it's necessary,” Olruggio said. “There's a large network of freelance crafts-witches in the Great Hall. We often go to one another if we want an expert to consult on a specific commission."

“But aren't commissions competitive?” Riché asked. “Why would you help one another?” 

“Because it makes us collectively better off,” Olruggio said. “Even the most ambitious witch would not agree to rebuild an entire castle alone. Of course, this is a network based on reputation and trust. We are careful to avoid those who are greedy or sabotage others for their own gain. However, most witches have good motives and will let you know if a patron is seeking a contraption that fits your expertise." 

Behind her teacup, Riché frowned. 

“Sounds exhausting though,” she said. “I rather just stay by myself and draw.” 

“You can if you wish,” Olruggio said. “However, it is through the exploration of other skills that I am able to find new outlets for my true passions. If it wasn't for the metalwork and crystals, I would not be able to manipulate the light so easily or elegantly.”

Riché took a sip of tea, eyes downcast at the floor.  

“Who commissioned it anyway?” she asked, changing the subject. 

“A reputable nobleman with an equally respectable wallet,” Olruggio sighed. “He wants it custom made to adorn the hall at his granddaughter's wedding.” 

“Will you be at the wedding?” 

“Of course,” Olruggio said. “How else am I supposed to debut the contraption?”

Olruggio fell quiet, staring at the contraption before him. There was that tension again. With the heaviness Olruggio carried himself, he may as well have been attending a funeral.  

Riché drained her tea, waiting and observing. 

However, whatever calamity her mind had been dreading never manifested. Olruggio only sighed, then turned to smile at her through his weary eyes. 

“Alright kid,” he said. “Qifrey’ll get cranky with me if I keep you up any longer. Time to go to bed.”

Riché began to murmur a protest, but a yawn undermined her words. 

Olruggio took her empty teacup and helped her rise to her feet. Riché rubbed her eyes, leaning upon his steady frame. Suddenly, the trek back to her bed felt like a weary trial. 

“Want me to carry you?” Olruggio asked. 

Riché nodded. 

Olruggio gathered her in his arms, groaning as his muscles strained. Riché leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes. Olruggio carried her all the way to her room and placed her gently down on her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

He took a moment to fiddle with the light spell sitting on her bedside table, which acted as a night light. Once satisfied, he gave her an affectionate pat on the head. 

“Goodnight, Riché,” he said. “Sweet dreams.” 

“Night, Master Olly,” Riché called, as he closed the door behind him. 

Snuggling deeper under the covers, Riché considered the interaction in her mind. Master Olly was always so nice. In fact, she had the growing suspicion that somehow he knew she had woken up from a nightmare. However, she was asleep before she could ponder that thought any longer. 

A week before the wedding, the whole atelier had watched as Olruggio carefully wrapped and placed the contraption into a pegasus carriage. After checking thrice that everything was properly secured, Olruggio wrung his hands and gazed forlorn upon the sky. 

“The wedding has many festivities,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m not back until the day after it is hosted.” A grim expression eclipsed his features. “Unless the contraption fails, in which—” 

“Olly,” Qifrey said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve seldom seen you labor so diligently on a commission. Please have faith in yourself and your abilities.”

Olruggio gave a tight smile and stepped into the carriage. His hand lingered on Qifrey’s until the very last moment. 

On the night of the wedding, Olruggio did not return. Qifrey remarked that it was a good sign. It meant the contraption was successful and Olruggio was celebrating. 

It was just after breakfast the next day when Olruggio returned. 

“Qifrey!” he called, bursting through the door. “Where are you?” 

“Over here,” Qifrey said, rising from the table. 

Olruggio appeared on the steps. 

In a few short strides, he crossed the room, embraced Qifrey tight around the waist, and lifted him into the air with a twirl. 

Olruggio's expression softened into a smile, lazy and lopsided. 

“How’s your morning going?” he asked. 

Qifrey giggled at the sudden display of affection. 

“Good,” he said, mirroring the smile. “But it seems that you are having an even better one. I take it that the chandelier was a success?” 

“More than a success!” Olruggio set Qifrey carefully back down on the ground. He turned and addressed the girls. “And how are you doing this fine morning?” 

“Great, Master Olly!” Tetia greeted. 

“Welcome home,” Agott said. 

“How was the contraption?” Riché asked.  

“Wonderful,” Olruggio beamed. “Absolutely wonderful.” 

Riché could not tell if he was responding to them or still caught up on his own elation. 

“Now everyone, sit down,” Olruggio said, starting to clear the table of their plates. “I have a surprise for you all.” 

“Here Olly, let me help,” Qifrey said, reaching for their cups. 

In a moment, the table was clear and clean. Olruggio pulled out a chair for Qifrey. 

“Now sit,” he said. “And everyone close your eyes.” 

Everyone obliged. Riché felt her heart thrilling with anticipation as she held her hands before her face. She listened to the shuffle of feet as Olruggio darted away once more. The front door groaned as it was opened and closed. Olruggio approached the table and there was the sound of several objects being placed in front of them. 

“Open your eyes,” Olruggio said. 

Riché’s hand fell away and she gasped. 

The table was full of ornate boxes, each with its own assortment of treasures nestled among vibrant paper. There was a selection of fine desserts, a collection of hors d'oeuvres, an array of rare spices, a package of delicate marktea, little gold plates, tender glass figurines… 

Beside Riché, Tetia had risen to her feet, squealing with excitement. Even Agott’s eyes were wide.

“Olly…” Qifrey gasped, jaw dropping. “They gifted you all this?” 

“This was them being modest,” Olruggio said. “They would have sent me home with a whole carriage if I hadn’t stopped them.” 

“They must have really really liked your contraption,” Tetia said. 

“They really really really liked it,” Olruggio said. 

As they began to sort through the gifts (“only one dessert for now girls, there’ll be plenty of time to enjoy the rest later”), Olruggio began to recount the grand tale of the previous night. It was this nobility’s custom to bestow greater and grander gifts, slowly increasing the emotion and excitement in the hall, before the bride and groom were finally revealed in all their glamor to the waiting guests. So appropriately, Olruggio’s chandelier was the last to debut. 

“So that meant you had to give the most stunning performance of all?” Tetia gasped.  

“More specular than professional dancers and artisan musicians?” Agott said with a raised brow.  

“How did you do it?” Riché asked. 

“Well, I had two advantages,” Olruggio said. “The first was surprise. The chandelier was already in the hall when the guests arrived. By the time it was my turn, the guests had been so dazzled by all the performances, it had faded into the background, unnoticed by nearly everyone in the hall. The second was that every other performance was limited by the size of the dance floor.” Olruggio gave a sly smile. “But not me.”

As the applause of the previous performance began to wane, the lights in the hall slowly dimmed. All at once, the curtains swiftly closed, the swishing sound echoing across the hushed hall. The guests all looked around with anticipation, waiting. 

A dart of light blazed across the room, bringing the center chandelier to full light. A gasp to the left. Then another on the right. A hand raised and pointing. 

The crystals were moving. 

Soft beams cast across the room, tracing gentle patterns along the walls. The light continued to grow brighter and brighter, the patterns becoming more and more detailed and elaborate. Gentle yellow split into vivid amber and cerise, then again into soft lilac and lavender. Until an array of color was cascading over themselves, drowning the room and walls in a sea of pigment. For a moment everyone stood, eyes dazzling and souls wonderstruck.  

All at once the crystals turned and the entire hall erupted with silver. The chandelier churned and twisted, platinum beams illuminating the west entrance. Everyone's eyes are drawn to the blazing light, just as the groom, silver cloak billowing behind him, makes his grand appearance. 

The crystals turned once more, light shifting to a sapphire blue. On the ceiling above the chandelier, the rays gathered together until an azure lion, the very animal on this family's crest, took form on the ceiling above the crowd. Opening its mouth in a ferocious roar, the lion raced across the hall. Everyone turned their heads as the east entrance was illuminated in sapphire, just as the bride descended the stairs. Her dress was waves of cerulean and aquamarine, beset with sapphires twinkling under the light.  

As the bride and groom approached one another, both silver and blue light merged and intertwined.

Olruggio leaned back in his chair.  

“That was the best part of the entire night,” Olruggio said. “After all that fanfare and bravado; when the orchestra stops, all the guests kneel, and suddenly the once rowdy hall is so quiet you can hear your own breath. And the only two people standing in the center of it all, look upon one another and promise to love each other until the end of their days.” He paused, his eyes flickering with remembrance, before his gaze shifted to Qifrey. “If I ever get married,” Olruggio said, his expression a soft tenderness. “I would love to do something like that.” 

Riché froze. 

Olruggio would not lie. Not here, so unguarded in this moment. 

That meant they were not married. It was the only explanation. Master Qifrey and Master Olruggio, epitome of trustworthy and steadfast love, were not married. 

Riché's blood was rushing in her ears. Olruggio opened his mouth to speak, continuing his story. However, Riché could no longer hear him. 

She could no longer breathe. 

Run.

The desperate impulse gripped her soul. At once, she jumped to her feet. One standing she bolted, her legs pounding hard against the wood as she sprinted up the steps to her room. 

Riché had been so certain that they were married. She didn't understand why the knowledge that they weren't was upsetting her so much. 

But it did. 

She threw the door shut behind her, jumping as it slammed hard. Ooops. She hadn’t meant to do that. 

Suddenly very afraid, her eyes darted across her room before resting on her pot. 

With tears streaming down her face, she climbed inside. 

She didn’t go far. Just enough to collapse in on herself, her face pressed to her skirt. 

So close in fact, that she heard the knock on her bedroom door. 

“Riché,” Qifrey called. “I'm letting myself in to make sure you're alright.” This was an old agreement. Whenever something like this happened, Riché was allowed to hide as much as she wished. However, Qifrey had to first make sure she was safe. This was because Riché had the occasional tendency to run away. 

She heard the sound of the door opening and closing, then faint shuffling as Qifrey folded himself into a seating position next to her pot. 

“You don’t have to talk sweetheart, but can you please knock once so that I know you are okay?” 

Riché pulled her legs to her chest. After several moments, she begrudgingly slammed her fist down on the ground. The resounding thud echoed around her. 

“Thank you, Riché,” Qifrey said, relief clear in his voice. Riché closed her eyes and let his words drift down to her. “Would you like some space now?” He paused for a moment. Riché hesitated in the silence. “Or do you want me to stay?” 

She slammed her fist down again. It was comforting to hear his voice. 

“Thank you,” Qifrey said. “Would you like me to talk about what happened?” 

Riché hesitated. 

Thud. 

“Okay,” Qifrey said. “Did we say or do something to upset you?”

Thud. 

“I’m sorry about that. It wasn't our intention at all,” he said. “Were we perhaps too loud or noisy?” 

Silence. 

“Or perhaps it was something we said?” 

Thud. 

“Hmmm,” Qifrey said, “that’s a tough one.” There was a limit to yes or no questions. “Would you like to talk to me about this later? Maybe when you're comfortable speaking again?” 

Riché sat in her pot as tears rolled down her face. She hated getting overwhelmed. She wished she could pretend it never happened. However, Master Qifrey had proven time and time again that he was always open to any discussion, no matter what the topic was. After all, from the very start, he had always told her the truth. 

So though she dreaded having to talk about it, Riché brought her hand down against the ground.  

Thud. 

“Thank you, Riché,” Qifrey said, voice soothing. “I appreciate your trust in me.” 

The tears swelled in Riché’s eyes again. Before she could change her mind, Riché climbed out of the pot and immediately collapsed into Qifrey, wrapping her arms tight around his waist and pressing her face to his shirt. Qifrey tensed against her sudden embrace. However, he quickly relaxed, arms resting on her shoulders as he patted her back.

He held her as she sobbed, waves of emotion wracking through her body.

Her old master would berate her for such a tantrum. That man would make her wash his laundry as punishment. 

However, Master Qifrey would do no such thing.

He simply held her, his presence a comfort in itself. When her tears began to slow, he shifted her in his lap and began to rock her back and forth, humming a gentle lullaby. 

Riché did not understand why he chose to be such a good person. 

There were many things, she supposed, that she did not understand. Her mind could not comprehend how Master Olly could be so kind, Tetia so joyful, or Agott so studious. 

However Riché was certain that they all cared about one another. Everyone in this atelier. Master Qifrey, Master Olly, Tetia, and Agott too. So maybe it didn't matter that Qifrey and Olruggio were not married. Just as it didn't matter that none of them were related by blood. They loved and nurtured one another, and in the end that’s what truly counted. 

“I think I’m ready,” Riché murmured. 

Qifrey shifted. Riché knew he was watching her expression closely. However, she was determined. 

Riché would not run from this. 

“I think I’m ready to talk.”