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Olruggio crumpled into Qifrey’s arms in a cloud of garments.
“I’m sorry,” said Qifrey. He’d waited too long this time, taken away too much, and the spell taking hold had been slow and painful, agonizing additional seconds of struggling. He needed to remember not to hesitate. Strike quickly, and it would be kindest.
“I forgive you.”
“You always say that.” Qifrey hefted Olruggio further into his arms and began carrying him up the stairs. The child followed, with soft footsteps. “I waited too long. It’s not fair to him.”
“I still forgive you.”
“Stop it.”
They’d reached the top of the stairs.
“Shan’t,” said the child, and stuck out his tongue, and laughed.
Qifrey looked at him and then turned away. He carried Olruggio over to the bed and laid him down, arranging his limbs to be safe and comfortable. Olruggio's face in sleep was still etched with the remnants of distress.
“You told me to go easy on you,” said Qifrey, and tucked back some of Olruggio’s abominably messy bangs. “I did a terrible job of it, this time. You have the right to be a little angry with me.”
“Hmm, well, that did look painful,” said the child, sitting on the bed and looking down at Olruggio’s sleeping form. “But now you know for next time, right? What’s done is done. It’s not like he’ll remember it.”
Quietly Qifrey said, “You can be so cruel to him.”
The child lifted his head. “I am,” he said candidly. “I did something really horrible to him. I trapped him in this prison with you as the torturer.” Qifrey flinched. “I knew what I was doing. I take responsibility. But it wasn’t me who had to bear the consequences, after all. That’s the benefit of sacrificing yourself—it’s over so fast.”
Qifrey stood with his head bowed. The child got up and put his arms around Qifrey’s torso, a diminutive hug.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I’ve been so cruel to you both. Blame me as much as you want.” He propped his chin on Qifrey’s ribs and smiled up at him; that dazzling, joyful smile, a perfect memory of the last day their world was seamless and whole. “But you’re here! You’re alive! It worked!” The child gave a mischievous and delighted giggle that scrunched up his nose and eyes in pure joy. “Blame me all you want, but you’re here, and it worked. I’ll never be mad at you for that. You can’t make me. Haha!”
Years of having apprentices brought Qifrey’s hand up to pat the child’s head, even in his misery and daze. “I do blame you sometimes,” he admitted. “I do. I’ve resented and cursed you so many times.” The child’s hair was silky and messy under his hand, his body warm. He’d always been so warm. “But I’m grateful. I’ll never stop being grateful.”
“I know,” said the child more quietly, and gave him a squeeze, burying his face in his robes. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.”
The child let go of him and turned to examine Olruggio again. He was stirring faintly. It was almost time.
“It’s really him I should apologize to,” said the child. “I sacrificed him for your sake, after all. And he doesn’t even know I exist. I’m only real in your memories.”
“I know,” said Qifrey, heavy with it.
“Sometimes in the last moments when you do it, I think he sees me,” said the child, and pushed back some of Olruggio’s sweaty hair, the way Qifrey had done a moment before. “I can feel him looking at me. I can’t read his expression.”
Qifrey said nothing.
“I wish I could talk to him,” said the child, and then bent and gently kissed Olruggio’s sleeping temple. Olruggio moved his head in his sleep, and made an indistinct noise.
“He’s waking up,” said the child. “See you next time around.” He stood on tiptoe, pulled Qifrey’s shoulder down, and kissed Qifrey’s cheek; a damp soft kiss like Tetia had given him once, half-asleep when he was carrying her to bed, and had cringed in embarrassment all the next day. Past and present blurred and warped. He was going to have another migraine.
“I’m so proud of you,” said the child quietly, eyes shining. “You’ve lived this long and you’ve grown up more amazingly than I could ever have imagined. Never forget that. This is what it’s all for, all right? I’ll be seeing you.”
He left. On the bed, Olruggio’s eyes opened. The swish of a hat tassel disappeared down the stairs.
“Who was that,” said Olruggio groggily, and then, “huh, what happened?”
“You collapsed,” said Qifrey, taking his hand. The familiarity of the lie burned his tongue. “I’m worried about you. Have you been eating and sleeping enough?”
“Bare minimum,” grumbled Olruggio, and started to push himself upright. “Ugh. I have a deadline soon, I can’t be lazing around like this.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Qifrey helped him to his feet nonetheless. On a fatalistic whim, he said, “What did you mean, ‘who was that’?”
Olruggio squinted and ran his tongue over his teeth. “Don’t know,” he said at last. “I guess I had a weird dream.”
“I really worry for your health,” said Qifrey. The familiar, sick guilt scratched and clouded safely at his heart. This was what it was all for. “Come on, let’s get some food in you.”