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A tattered letterbird touches down on the windowsill. Qifrey kneads his dough a few more times before he wipes his hands on his skirts and picks it up, looking at it curiously. It is addressed to Olruggio, but his work commissions all fly to him directly – this looks to be personal correspondence.

"Tetia?" Qifrey asks. "Would you mind taking this letter to Olruggio, please? It might be important."

Tetia turns from her sugar sculptures, taking the letter. "Of course, master Qifrey!"

"Thank you!" he calls after her, and laughs when he hears the faint echo of, "thank you!"

Qifrey thinks no more of it, busy with the bread he is making and the constant demand of keeping four wilful girls entertained. He only remembers the letter at the end of dinner, when Olruggio sighs and says, "I might have to go away for a few weeks."

Over a chorus of "no!"s from the girls, Qifrey asks, "Is everything alright?"

Olruggio nods. "It's a happy occasion – my cousin's getting married. The letter earlier was from her. So I need to go back to Ghodrey, and there's no direct windowway, so it'll take several days just getting back and forth."

"What's Ghodrey like?" Coco asks. She pronounces it like Olruggio does, the gh soft in her mouth. Qifrey remembers how many times he heard Olruggio correcting people in the Great Hall, trying and failing to get other apprentices to listen to him.

"They eat snow!" Tetia says.

"They do not," Agott says, but she casts a furtive glance towards Olruggio, who laughs.

"No, we don't, at least not without being dared to. Actually…" He gives Qifrey a thoughtful look, and Qifrey immediately knows he is in for trouble. "How about an atelier excursion, master Qifrey? It might be a good lesson, seeing another witch community. I bet I can rustle up some teachings from the old 'uns, and you'll get to learn about the kinds of maintenance magic that's needed in the north. It can be pretty different from here."

Qifrey's eyebrows raise. Olruggio knows exactly what he is doing, asking Qifrey this in front of the girls, and Olruggio's slightly sheepish grin confirms it.

As one, the four girls hold their breath.

"An excursion sounds like an excellent idea," Qifrey says finally. He can break one or two hearts for the sake of his lesson plans, but not all five. "What say you four? Shall we keep our dear Olly company?"

"Yes!"

After the girls have gone to bed, Coco and Tetia tittering with excitement while Richeh talks to the brushbuddy and Agott tries her hardest not to look eager, Qifrey and Olruggio sit on the rug by the fireplace. Summer has set in now, and the shadows are long and light on the walls, the floral scent of blooming sweet peas curling in from the garden-side windows. Olruggio has poured cooled wine for them both, lying on his side with his bristly cheek cupped in his hand. His shirt is untied, the neck of it gaping open and revealing planes of skin kept pale by staying cooped up in his study. "I hope you don't mind," he says, ice cubes clinking in his vessel. "I thought it might be nice… See Ghodrey with you all, I mean. I haven't been back in a long time. Sorry if I messed up your lesson plans."

"Don't apologise," Qifrey says lightly. "The girls are very excited."

"But I probably should've ran it past you first…"

"Olruggio," Qifrey says, voice firmer. "It is a delightful idea. We will have a grand old time. I've never seen Ghodrey, either."

"I know," Olruggio says, and his gaze is too soft to bear.

Qifrey has to take a page out of Olruggio's book that night, burning the midnight oil to re-assess his plans. The trip does throw a wrench into his trajectory for getting the girls ready for the third test, but so be it. They are excited, and so is Olruggio. There is no question that Qifrey must be, as well.

"And you've packed night clothes? And spare shoes, just in case?"

"Yes, master Qifrey," Richeh says.

"And your books?"

"I won't have time to read," she says. "Master Olruggio says it will be 'hands-on learning'."

Qifrey frowns. "Pack your books, just in case. You never know. I'll carry them for you, if that's what you're worried about." He makes a note on his list and watches as Richeh, sighing, brings her bag back up the stairs. "Next!"

Agott steps forward. "I have packed five dresses, five pairs of underwear, night clothes, spare shoes, sun protection, a book on sigils, my magical tools, a spare notebook, a spare pen, a spare bottle of ink, a spare book–"

"Agott, Agott!" Qifrey waves his hands, laughing. "How much does your bag weigh?"

She frowns. "I'll use a floating seal to help me carry it."

"It sounds like you're bringing too much. We're gone for a week, not three months!"

"It's what I want to bring," she says stubbornly. "What if Coco loses her notebook, or she insists on reading my book? Or she breaks her shoe?"

"Ah," Qifrey replies, smiling. "Well, if you insist."

"You bringing the whole atelier with you, are you, love?" Olruggio comments as he shuffles past Agott's bag, his arms full of contraptions. Pot, meet kettle, Qifrey thinks dryly.

"We've decided we are better safe than sorry," Qifrey tells him. "Thank you, Agott. Will you help Tetia finish her packing, please?"

Agott nods, leaving her bag and climbing back up the stairs.

"I didn't realise getting them all out of the atelier would be such a palaver," Olruggio says, watching her go. "I bet you've already got a headache."

"We'll have fun!" Qifrey says. "Just think about everything you want to show us, and then it'll all feel worth it. Now, are you really bringing all of that…?"

"They're wedding gifts," Olruggio says. "Good ones too, if I may say so myself!"

"I'm sure they are. I'm equally sure you need to bring, let's see… Seventeen of them?"

"You never know," Olruggio mumbles. "Mind your own bags, why don't you." He slinks down the hall, embarrassed, and Qifrey coughs a laugh into his palm.

After lunch, Qifrey's list is finally complete, and all the girls have packed their bags to a sufficient standard. The windowway to Kalhn is still active, so that is their first stop.

From there, they'll go by winged carriage to the Forest of Thristas, where another windowway will bring them safely to the other side. From the crossroads town of Linnel, a horse carriage will take them to Ghodrey. It should take three days – if either of them were travelling by themselves, Olruggio or Qifrey could make the trip in two, but Qifrey knows not to push the girls. It'll be a chance for them to see more of the peninsula as well, and he remembers the joys of his first travels as an apprentice. It is a gift so precious, he cannot squander the opportunity to give it to them.

"Are you sure it's okay to leave the atelier for such a long time, master Qifrey?" Coco asks. She is the last through the windowway, the brushbuddy curled into her neck, and her fingers curl uncertainly around the circle rim.

"Don't worry, Coco. Wards will protect the garden from animals, and no one will break in while we're away."

She still hesitates, some wariness in her face. Qifrey keeps his smile light and stretches out a hand, though part of him aches at the wariness in her face. Magic has been in her life so briefly, but she has already been burned, twice shy now at the thought of leaving the atelier.

"Come on, Coco!" Agott calls.

Coco takes his hand, and then they are all in Kalhn.

"I never liked these things," Olruggio says, his arm slung around Qifrey's shoulder. It's a tight fit, the six of them in a winged carriage, though not as tight as Olruggio makes it out to be.

"But they're so amazing!" Coco says.

 "They're all show," Olruggio replies, shaking his head. "The way the wind moves around them is all messed up. If you look at the seals, they're full of inefficiencies. But people love 'em, so they've stuck around."

"If people love them, is that not reason enough to justify an inefficiency?" Qifrey asks him. He cannot turn his head without bumping his chin against Olruggio's head, so he continues to look out the window at the hills and lakes below.

Always so close, this man. For all his kindness, Olruggio has no regard for Qifrey's poor heart.

"You can have show as well as substance," Olruggio says. "That's the beauty of magic."

"How would you change the seal?" Agott asks, devious girl that she is, and Olruggio moves his arm to pull out a pen and paper. Qifrey watches the impromptu lesson with a smile, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

The winged carriage ride takes a night and a day. They touch down briefly in the morning to stretch their legs, on a levelled mountaintop far above the treeline. The peninsula spreads out like a gift in front of them, and Qifrey looks from one girl's sparkling face to the other with pride. Olruggio got out of the winged carriage, stretched until his back cracked, and promptly gone back into the carriage, muttering something about work. While the girls are trying to spot the landmarks of the Marshwoods, Qifrey opens the door of the carriage and leans against it. "Olruggio, I never knew you were allergic to sunlight."

"I just had something I wanted to get down while I remember," Olruggio mutters, brow furrowed in concentration as he sketches. "Go enjoy the air, won't you?"

Instead, Qifrey lifts his leg and steps up into the carriage, peering over Olruggio's shoulder. "Are you working on a commission? I thought you'd finished all your work…" He makes out the sigils for water and fire before Olruggio hastily hides the paper, grousing loudly.

"Were you raised in a barn! Give me some privacy, Qifrey."

"But I love seeing your work," Qifrey says. "As do the girls – if it's not a proprietary commission, maybe you could show them–"

"It's a gift," Olruggio interrupts, cheeks red as he glares at him. "I thought of another gift for Riari, so I'm drawing it while I remember. Happy now?"

Qifrey's lips curve. Half of the carriage's storage is taken up by Olruggio's gifts to the bride and groom, but when it comes to his care for others, Olruggio has never known restraint. "Let me see it, then. I'd love to help – perhaps it can be from both of us."

"You've never met her," Olruggio says. "She won't be expecting anything from you or the girls."

"I know she's important to you," Qifrey replies, bending at the waist to inspect the seal Olruggio shows him. It's a spectacular bouquet of elemental flowers, all to be gathered in a show of sparks. "That's enough for me." He gently takes Olruggio's pen from his hand, adding a few flourishes to the signs of shaping.

"Thanks," Olruggio says finally. "You were always better at those bonnie wee things."

"Aye, it'll be pure braw," Qifrey agrees in his Great Hall accent, and Olruggio laughs so hard he chokes and has to stumble out of the carriage for air in the end, anyway.

Another day of flying brings them to the windowway south of the forest.

From afar, the forest's miasma looks like innocent fog, though Qifrey can easily imagine the choke of it in his lungs. "What's that?" Richeh says. "It looks like smoke."

"I always thought it looked like haar over the ocean," Olruggio says. "That's the Forest of Thristas. It's said the Brimhats gather there, deep in the toxic air."

"Luckily, there's a path prepared for us," Qifrey says, urging the girls through the windowway. "Come, now."

Olruggio squeezes his arm when he goes past him, and Qifrey forces his breath calm. He hasn't seen the forest in many years, and the sight of it is still unsettling. The squeeze in his ribs disappoints and annoys him, but he sets it aside, letting it go as easily as Olruggio's hand falls from his elbow.

He is the last through the windowway, coming out into the Grand Hall of Linnel. Though it is evening, it's still light out, and Qifrey takes their group of tired and restless girls on a walk while Olruggio organises tomorrow's transport. Linnel lies on the edge of the Highland Pastures. It is a tiny town, barely more than a village, built around the windowway they just came through, and the most exciting sights are the sheepcows that dot the landscape, sleeping outside under the evening sun.

"I ordered fish soup with bannocks for everyone," Olruggio says when they return, a glass of ale in hand. The inn's pub is rowdy around them, but the girls all squeeze onto benches around a long table, eating eagerly when the food arrives. Qifrey breaks the bannock bread apart into tiny pieces, marvelling at the texture. He prefers to work with yeasted dough, but perhaps Olruggio would like something like this, every once in a while. Perhaps a piece of Ghodrey could come back with them to the atelier.

"Miss Riari is your cousin, right, Master Olly?" Tetia asks, a smear of milk on her chin. Qifrey reaches over with a cloth, and she obediently tilts her face for him to dab at it. "How are you related?"

"Ach, I don't know," Olruggio says. "We don't keep track of that so much in Ghodrey."

"What does that mean?" Agott asks, horrified.

"The seanchaidh – the clan historian, I guess – he knows who's who by birth, but by my generation, everyone else had lost track."

"But what if someone is from a distinguished House, or of an otherwise notable line?"

"Not everyone cares about that stuff, Agott," Richeh says.

"It's not that there's no distinction at all," Olruggio explains, rubbing his chin. Qifrey imagines that he can hear the rasp of his beard, though it surely is lost in the din of the pub. "There are still families, they're just big. Riari and I are in the same family, but that's all I know."

"What's it like," Coco asks, "having a big family?"

"Loud," Olruggio says, looking put-out and grumpy. "Everyone's in your business, and getting any privacy is hard."

Coco asks no more, her expression soft and wistful. "Is the soup good?" Qifrey asks her, and she nods, giving him a small smile.

"What about you, master Qifrey?" Richeh asks. "Did you grow up like master Olruggio?"

"Alas, I didn't know much more than the Great Hall," Qifrey says, his smile as easy as he has trained it it be. "But Ghodrey sounds like it'll be lovely, if Olly's description is anything to go by."

With exasperation, Olruggio says, "Qifrey, don't lie, you hate people being in your business!"

"But you made it sound so homey and wonderful," Qifrey says, smile turning a touch more genuine as he teases him, and Olruggio sighs, drinking heavily of his ale.

The girls get a room for the four of them, and Qifrey watches as they all pile their bags on their respective beds. "Don't stay up all night," he warns them. "Remember, Olly and I are just next door, we'll be able to hear if you stay up late. We still have ground to cover tomorrow, and we don't want to arrive exhausted!"

"Yes, master Qifrey," the girls chorus. "Good night!"

He closes the door after himself and goes into the room he shares with Olruggio, sighing. "Travelling has gone much better than I expected," he says, "but goodness, it's quite tiring… What are you doing? Is that another gift? Olly, you're going to put the rest of the wedding party to shame!"

Olruggio hides the spell behind his back, sweating guiltily where he sits. "This one's for Jarren, the groom," he says. "It's different."

"Of course," Qifrey sighs. The room is small, two single beds against narrow walls, simple pine chairs at each bed's foot. He takes off his cloak and dress, folding them both onto the chair. "I just told the girls not to stay up all night, but I should've saved it for you. Do you need me to hold you down to stop you working all night?"

"Qifrey," Olruggio replies, voice thin. "Have mercy, isn't that what you're always saying? I'll put it away, I promise."

Qifrey gives him a small smile over his shoulder, getting into bed and curling up on his side. Olruggio is sitting cross-legged on the bed, a bit of cloth in his lap. The sun has finally set, and a dim pyreball hovers by his knee to illuminate the work. The light is soft enough that Qifrey can take his glasses off, Olruggio's familiar features blurring into shapes. Through the wall, he can hear the girls' faint whispering and soft laughter. On the other side of the room, Olruggio's breaths are deep through his nose as he thinks. Away from the atelier, it is easier to think of what might be, like they are suspended in a bubble free of consequence. Teasing Olruggio like that, indulging himself in something he cannot have… is that not what this kind of adventure is for? Qifrey watches Olruggio work until his eye is too heavy to keep open, and the scratch of his pen lulls him to sleep.

Olruggio gets his revenge in the morning.

Qifrey is woken by a slow, steady rasping sound. He stirs, eye blinking open owlishly, and stretches out from where he's been curled up. Blindly, he reaches for his glasses – the sun is streaming through thin curtains, painting the room in slants of light, but the lens dulls the brightness enough for him to focus.

"G'morning," Olruggio says. He is sitting on one of the pine chairs, shirtless, a wash basin and mirror on a tray before him. The razor he holds catches the sunlight, as do a few stray droplets running down his chin to loiter in the hollow of his clavicle.

"Olly," Qifrey replies hoarsely. "You're… shaving…? You're up so early, too…"

"Couldn't sleep." Olruggio tilts his head up and drags the razor across his Adam's apple, watching the motion in the mirror. It rasps against his skin, slow and tantalising. Qifrey is unable to do anything but stare, his fists clenched tight in the thin blanket he slept under. "And Riari would have my head if I didn't show up looking my best. I already know I'll get plenty of comments about how I don't take care of myself." He sighs, wiping the blade on a cloth.

"You didn't want to use your mask..?"

"They deserve the real deal, I think." Olruggio shoots him a grin, and Qifrey has to avert his eye at the brightness. "Besides, it's hard to eat in, and I plan to do plenty of that." He angles the razor against his skin again, shaving carefully along the line of his jaw. The skin is smooth in its wake, as pale as the rest of him. Even with the bags under his eyes, he looks younger, more carefree. It is almost disconcerting, this slow unveiling of the boy Qifrey used to know within his old friend's face. Qifrey keeps his eye and his thoughts confined to everything above the neck, because considering Olruggio's bare upper body is a much riskier prospect.

Once he finishes, Olruggio cleans the blade and pats his skin dry with a cloth. "Are you planning to stay in bed all day?" he asks. "We have to leave at some point, you know."

"Maybe you could see to the girls and ensure they're ready for the day," Qifrey says stiffly, still on his side under the blanket. "I'll be out in just a moment."

Olruggio laughs, standing up and pulling his shirt over his head. "Nae bother. I'll go do that, and get them fed too. Just don't take too long."

Qifrey watches him go, and if he is still a bit disheveled when he finally joins Olruggio and the girls for breakfast half a clock mark later, Olruggio has the kindness not to comment on it.

The road to Ghodrey is wide and well-beaten, and the horses trot easily along it. Great pines lining the road provide dappled shade, finches and woodpigeons singing to each other as they dance among the branches. The only interruption to the peace is Olruggio's snoring at the back of the wagon, which occasionally makes the girls giggle.

Qifrey sits at the front, watching the pheasants that peck alongside the road and the silvery sheen of moorfoxes deeper in the woods. "I think we're almost there," he calls as the road begins to lighten, pine trees thinning out. "Would one of you mind waking Olly, please?"

"Master Olruggio," he hears Richeh say flatly, followed by a pained grumble and the reluctant rousing of the man in question.

"Yeah, yeah," Olruggio grumbles, pulling himself up, and then he exclaims, "Oh, we're here!"

The world opens up before them as the forest falls away. Pastures roll into distant mountains, kneeling giants on the horizon. The heart of Ghodrey stands atop a craggy hill, but the city has sprawled out beyond it onto the surrounding flat plain, solid buildings of timber and thatch. To the west, a tranquil loch dazzles, and large sheepcows with woolly fringes graze on green and gold fields.

"Wow," Coco sighs.

"I thought there would be snow," Richeh says. "But it's nice and warm."

"It gets nice and warm in summer, aye," Olruggio says. "In high summer, like now, the sun doesn't go down at all. 'Course, that means there are days during the winter where it doesn't show up at all, either."

Tetia gasps. "No sun? For how long?"

"Just a couple of weeks, down here. But further north, it can be a month or even more."

"That sounds horrible," Tetia says, holding around herself. "Days of no sun at all…"

"It sounds peaceful," Agott says.

"Do you hibernate, like bears?" Coco asks.

Olruggio laughs. "No, no, but people do stay inside by a cozy fire…"

Qifrey smiles to himself as he listens to Olruggio's stories. The road turns from packed dirt to cobbles, and they dismount at a stable by the city's entrance.

"It's just this way," Olruggio says, hitching his bag further up on his shoulder as he leads them up a windy street, the stone walls on either side close and warm from the sun.

"Sin thu!"1[It's yourself!] a woman calls out, her voice brassy and warm. She's appeared from a second-story window, windows open into the street. "An e sin Olruggio beag a tha mi a' faicinn?"2[Is that little Olruggio I see?]

"Feasgar math,"3[Good afternoon,] Olruggio calls back, grinning up at her. "Math ur faicinn, Nannag."4[It is good to see you, Nannag.]

The woman disappears from view, and a few moments later she is opening the door, beaming. "Chan eil e cho beag sin tuilleadh, cha mhòr nach do shaoil mi gu robh Rìgh an Eilein air chèilidh orm!"5[Not so little any more, I almost thought the Island King was visiting me!]

"An aire oirbh fhèin a Nannag, 's e muinntir gallda a th' annta seo,"6[Mind your language, Nannag, these are lowlanders.] Olruggio says, bending to let her fuss over him. "Let me introduce you. This is Qifrey, I'm the Watchful Eye at his atelier. These are his students."

"Is mise Coco,"7[I am Coco,] Coco says, stumbling over the words. Qifrey puts his hand on her shoulder, smiling when the other girls introduce themselves in turn. Olruggio has taught them bits of both Ghodric and Highlander on the way, and Nannag exclaims proudly at hearing it.

"And my name is Qifrey," Qifrey says, gathering his hands at his side but not descending into a full bow. "It's lovely to meet you, Nannag. I have heard only good things."

"Call me auntie, love!" Nannag leads them inside. "Now, you lads will have to take the bedroom, I'll sleep wi' the bairns in the guest room."

"Oh, we can sleep in the ha," Olruggio says quickly, but Nannag shakes her head.

"Nonsense! Since auld Lumikkal's passing, there's nae need for me to be in that big bed all on ma own when we've bodies to fit," she says with a brisk manner that makes Qifrey smile to himself.

"That's very kind of you," he says. "Please, do not inconvenience yourself on our account. The girls and I are quite used to sleeping outdoors, and we'll happily take what suits you."

Nannag laughs, patting him on the back. "How polite! I insist." Qifrey is starkly reminded of a young boy, as insistent as he was clever, and he resigns himself to following this old woman's whims for the duration of their visit.

The constant sunlight is discomfiting. After dinner, which is spent with other members of the wedding party – Qifrey is introduced to more members of Olruggio's extended family than he can remember, and many of them give him smiles he chooses not to read – the light in the courtyard is still stubborn and unrelenting. Qifrey pays his dues to sunlight as any good gardener and baker must, but the dark evening has always been his favourite part of day, even before his eye began to give. He retreats into the shade of a tree, watching from a distance as Olruggio drinks and laughs with his old friends and family. Richeh and Agott sit with him, quietly taking in the evening, while Coco and Tetia make friends with two Ghodric girls.

"Richeh, Agott," Olruggio says, a drunken flush high on his cheeks. "Brannra Mòr's going to tell a story now, if you'd like to listen. He's the seanchaidh, he knows all the good stories."

"That sounds wonderful," Qifrey replies, urging them both up. "Listen closely so that you can tell me about it later, please." He watches them go to where a crowd has gathered with a soft smile, spotting Tetia and Coco among the children as well.

"Y'awright?" Olruggio asks, coming close under the tree and putting his hand on Qifrey's shoulder. He could use the tree trunk to balance himself, but instead he makes them both sway.

"Absolutely." Qifrey tilts his head back, smiling up at him. "The sunlight is a little intense, that's all."

Olruggio makes a querying noise. "Is that a problem?"

Qifrey closes his eye. It is strange, to forget what Olruggio knows and what he doesn't. The bubble of peace that has been enveloping him is punctured in one neat prick of a pen nib. "No," he says finally. "Just not something I'm used to. Shouldn't you be listening to the story?"

"Yeah," Olruggio says. "Come with me."

"I'm a little tired…"

"Come, now. I'm not having you sitting here by yourself under a tree. Shall I throw you over my shoulder and carry you?"

Qifrey laughs, rising slowly to his feet and dusting off his skirts. "I doubt you can carry much at all in your state," he says.

"A challenge!" Olruggio cries, exaggerating his drunkenness as he reaches for Qifrey, and Qifrey laughs again and hurries away, down to where the crowd has gathered.

Brannra Mòr tells the story in both Ghodric and Peninsular Tongue, for the benefit of Olruggio's guests and the groom's wedding party, which stems from even further north. The whole of the Highland Pastures speak Highlander, unknowing and witch both, and it is close enough to the Peninsular Tongue for visitors to get by, but Ghodric is only spoken here. Some say it is the true witch's tongue, from the days before the Pact, though that has been said about most of the old languages dotted around the peninsula. As he listens, Qifrey wonders if he ever knew this tongue or any other as a child, before it was stripped from him like leaves off an erbe. Such thoughts come to him much more often in a place like this, a place of life and light and childhood, so unlike the cold unfeeling walls of the Great Hall. Did he once run down cobbled stones with a piece of candy clutched triumphantly in a chubby fist? Did he climb trees until he was sore and scared and had to be gently fetched by an adult? Every child here knows their past, the living tale around them.

After the story, a cousin, or an uncle, or perhaps someone entirely unrelated, tries to make conversation with Qifrey. "So, you're Olruggio's partner, is that right?" he says. His name could be Ealear, or Cunnak, or Brannra Beag.

"He's the Watchful Eye of my atelier, yes," Qifrey says with his best smile.

"I feel like I've heard your name before," the man says. He bears a passing likeness to the seanchaidh, so Qifrey decides he must be Brannra Beag. "Have we met?"

"I don't believe so."

"Hm." The man looks at him for a long moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"What about yourself?" Qifrey asks, smile wearing thin. "How do you know the bride and groom?"

"Oh, I know where I've heard your name before!" Brannra Beag exclaims, snapping his fingers. "You're in that story, the boy who was found in the Forest! Isn't that you–"

"Qifrey, come meet Riari!" Olruggio calls. With a murmured apology, Qifrey summarily abandons Brannra Beag and cuts through the bustle of people to where Olruggio is standing with his arm around a small, anxious-looking woman. "Riari, this is Qifrey, he runs the atelier."

"It's lovely to meet you," Qifrey says politely, cupping his hands by his side. He wonders what she knows of him, whether he has been feathered and tarred by the wedding party already. "Thank you for welcoming me and my apprentices to your celebration."

"Of course, of course, yer gey welcome," Riari says absently, her eyes scanning the gathering around them. "Olly, have ye seen Iroggi? He sayd he would be here – I need ta make sure he's got everyhin ready for the morrow…"

"I'm sure he's around," Olruggio soothes her, shooting Qifrey an apologetic look. Qifrey relaxes and smiles at him in return– at least Riari, it is clear, has other things to worry about than one of her guests' dodgy reputation. "And Qifrey, this is Jarren, her husband to be."

"Nice to meet you!" Jarren says. Standing next to Riari, he is tall and gregarious, his curls luminous in the late sunlight. "It's great to meet, well, so much of Riari's family. I don't know about you, but it's a little hard to keep track of them all, isn't it?"

"There's rather a few," Qifrey replies. "Has much of your own family come down for the week?"

"There's not much more to it than my mam and my pap," Jarren says genially, "but they're both here. Are you coming for the blackening on the morrow?"

"The blackening! Och, I need to find Iroggi!" Riari cries, tearing away from Olruggio's side.

Olruggio looks after her, sighing. "That one's stressed, aye."

"I think you'd not be much calmer, three days before your wedding," Qifrey says. To Jarren, he asks, "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Please, just relax and have fun! It's a celebration!" Jarren smiles at them both before disappearing in the same direction as Riari, lost in the throng of laughter and scattered singing.

Qifrey finds the girls again. The disorienting sun hangs over them, but a few merciful clouds bring the illusion of nighttime, and he seizes the chance to put his apprentices to bed. Olruggio makes some half-hearted noises about coming back to Nannag's house with them, but when they leave, he's dancing with a cousin called Lachla, colour high on his cheeks.

Nannag's house is shockingly quiet. The girls sink into their beds without fuss, and Qifrey finds Nannag's bedroom in silence. The room is a museum of a life: a witch's cloak hung carefully behind glass on the wall, a desk with a letter-reception station in the corner, a tartan blanket on the double bed. Everything is wood and cloth, and it feels like a room of gentle mourning. The bed has been neatly made, but one side sags from heavy use. Qifrey undresses to his night dress and climbs in, a book in his lap as he lets the quiet soothe the ringing in his head. To think the story of his life has reached as far as this…

He's put his book away and left only a dim lamp on by the time Olruggio stumbles in. Qifrey keeps his eye closed, smiling softly at the sound of Olruggio trying to undress as silently as possible, the muttered swearword when he bangs his knee against the bed's timber frame. He pretends not to notice when the bedding shifts and Olruggio lets out a sigh of relief, settling in.

This is not the first time they have shared a bed, of course. Growing up, there were times where one of them had forgotten his bedroll on an adventure, or where they'd stayed up late on Qifrey's bed studying and fallen asleep on each other. But it is different, hearing Olruggio's soft breaths in a room so clearly built for marriage, feeling the heat of his body under a blanket that sheltered lovers for decades.

Qifrey grips his own hands tightly, and when he finally falls asleep, his nails have left dark red crescents in his skin.

The blackening, it turns out, is a delightfully filthy tradition. Riari and Jarren are paraded around the clan's fields while friends and family throw muck at them, farm waste and black yarn – Brannra Mòr tells Qifrey that they used to toss ink before the Pact, but now yarn and thread is all they'll allow themselves.

"Master Qifrey, look!" Richeh says, and holds up a handful of sticky dough, which she lobs at Jarren. It hits the side of his head with a smack, and Olruggio whoops when Jarren's pointed hat goes flying.

"Great job, Richeh! Tetia, are you ready?"

"Yes!" Tetia throws a cloud of fine compost, which rains over the two. Riari laughs at the display, continuing to walk down the lane with Jarren. They are both covered in muck and grime, but the anxious woman Qifrey met last night seems slightly more at ease now, her husband-to-be holding his arm protectively around her.

"Now you go, Agott!"

"No," Agott says.

"Fine. Coco, your turn!" Olruggio says. Qifrey leans forward, watching Coco nervously pick up a roll of ribbon and throw it towards the wedding couple. It dances in the air, sinking to the ground a few feet before it hits its target. Jarren and Riari continue down the road, their captors shouting loudly about the fine lad and lass they've caught just a few days afore their wedding, and it doesn't take long before they're out of sight. The road is lined with people, some of whom Qifrey recognises from the night before, and several of them join the train to follow Jarren and Riari. He assumes Olruggio will do the same, but instead he turns to them and claps his hands. "Would anyone like to see something special?"

As one, the girls look to Qifrey, holding their breath. "This feels familiar," Qifrey says with amused exasperation. "You don't want to continue following your cousin, Olly?"

"Are you kidding? I've got a list as long as my arm of things I want to show you all while we're here," Olruggio says.

"Then I suppose we'd better get started."

"Excellent!" Olruggio scoops Agott up, who looks startled. "Follow me, everyone!" He gathers his feet and his sylph shoes lift him off and away.

"Let's go!" Tetia cheers. She clicks her heels in turn to follow, and Qifrey picks up Richeh and Coco, grimacing with regret when Richeh's doughy hands grip at his cloak.

They fly across the wide, dazzling loch. The sun is unrelenting, shining and reflecting itself at all angles. Qifrey tries to keep his eye mostly shut, focusing on the outline of Olruggio and Tetia in front of him.

Half a clock mark later, they touch down on a gentle hill. The immediate brightness of the water is behind them, and Qifrey lets out a relieved breath as he sets the girls down and can rub his eye for a moment. Atop the hill stands seven stones in a circle, each one with strikingly person-like silhouettes – a curved back, a chin, a pointing hand.

"This is the troll circle," Olruggio says. "Come, look. Qifrey, have you seen one of these before?"

"Only in books," Qifrey replies, touching the stone shoulder of a troll gently.

"That's what I thought," Olruggio says with satisfaction.

"What are they?" Coco asks. Agott is tracing the features of one of the other trolls, while Tetia is mimicking the pose of the one that points across the circle. Richeh sits in the middle of it, head turning to watch them all.

"These are called stone trolls. It is said that trolls used to live on this land before the Pact." Olruggio walks to the tallest stone, a boulder of a troll. "They were nocturnal, and they would steal away humans in the night to eat them up. One day, these trolls stole a child from a nearby village. This child was so plump and delicious that they spent all night arguing about whether to roast it, boil it, or eat it raw. While they were still deciding, the sun came up and turned them all to stone, and the child was able to run home."

Tetia immediately stops pointing, looking frightened. "They ate children?"

"It's just a tale!" Olruggio says quickly. "We don't know why these stones look the way they do. There are a lot of circles like this, all over the Highland Pastures, but this one's the only one who looks like this. It's probably just a prank, don't worry."

"Are trolls real?" Richeh asks.

"If they were, I believe they died out long before our time," Qifrey replies, smiling at her. "When it comes to questions about the past, sometimes the questions aren't a neat yes or no. Perhaps trolls existed, but they were a kind of animal, like the scalewolf or the liongoat. Perhaps they were magical, and truly did turn to stone." His gaze flicks to Coco, who looks nauseous.

"Or perhaps they were stories to scare children with, so they'd behave," Olruggio says. "I got threatened with being fed to the trolls if I didn't do my chores on time." He follows Qifrey's gaze and sees Coco's expression, and with some intellect that Qifrey has always admired and occasionally envied, he immediately puts two and two together. "Oh, shoot, Coco, I didn't think. This is all a tall tale, I promise."

"It's okay," Coco sniffles. The other three girls immediately rush to her, curling around her protectively.

"Why are you crying?" Richeh asks quietly. Coco murmurs something to her, and Agott squeezes her hand while Tetia and Richeh hug her tightly.

Qifrey walks a few paces to give them peace, gazing out over the landscape. He feels Olruggio's presence as he walks up on his blind side.

"I feel like a right numpty," Olruggio says. "I didn't even think…"

"I wouldn't have thought of it, either," Qifrey replies, turning his head to see him. Olruggio's face is twisted in a grimace of embarrassment – without his beard, he looks just like the boy who accidentally hit Qifrey with an ink bottle by tossing it to him on his right side. Old memories superimpose over the two of them, standing with nothing but sky and fields around them. This, Qifrey thinks, is the essence of who he is: a scarecrow with aspirations beyond his station, who somehow earned the right to stand within earshot of the people he loves.

"This is why I could never be a teacher."

"If teachers have to be infallible, I'm afraid we are all in dire straits," Qifrey replies lightly.

"They've chosen you." Olruggio looks out at the fields of heather and gorse, streaks of purple and yellow. "I know that's not a burden you bear lightly."

"They've chosen you, too," Qifrey says. Olruggio's grimace changes timbre, becomes something more solemn. "What's that look for?"

Olruggio sighs. "Ach, I dinnae ken." Like a songbird returning to its nest, his speech is peppered with Highlander now. One of many things he gives up, Qifrey supposes, when he comes down beyond the Forest. "Let's talk about it later, I think the girls are calling." He holds out his hand, blue eyes shy and curious, and Qifrey takes it after a moment, letting him pull them both back towards the stone circle.

Nannag hosts dinner that evening, and her homely house is filled with friends and loved ones. There's scarcely space to move, every inch of it occupied by a body, a discarded pointed hat, or the various other accoutrements of the Ghodric people. Qifrey guards the seat he's taken in the corner with his life, reluctantly sipping the ale Olruggio pressed into his hand. Cousin Lachla tries to speak to him, and Qifrey forces a smile on his face to answer her, but she soon latches onto brighter conversation elsewhere and leaves him alone. All the better. Qifrey's patience for company has melted away, and the sounds and heat of the bodies in the room settle like a weight against his skull, pressing into his empty eye socket. He watches Olruggio talk to Nannag in Ghodric, laughing at something she says. The girls are gathered by the table of sweets, exploring tablet and shortbread and krumkaker, delighted by the sugar. The responsible thing would be to stand up and advise them of moderation, but Qifrey refuses to move and risk being stuck in some conversation he only half understands, with implications about his and Olruggio's relationship that he refuses to entertain.

He was meant to be in a lonely field with the stars for company, not in the middle of a get-together like this. He is too bitter and broken for this, and his jaw hurts from maintaining even the simplest smile. Olruggio can sing and dance and mingle with the best of them, and the four girls have wasted no time in making friends, picking up Ghodric and Highlander and amusing themselves and each other. Is this what Qifrey is robbing them of, by forcing them all to live in the middle of nowhere? He finds peace in the Downs, but it's not unreasonable to think he's shackled five of the peninsula's brightest stars to a lonely plain with no future. At least the girls can graduate and find their own way, but Olruggio is like a barnacle, impossible to pry away. Not that he could, even if he wanted to…

Olruggio was selfish to ask Qifrey for his promise, but Qifrey is selfish for keeping him to himself.

He goes to bed while the party still bustles, the girls high on sugar as one of the elders teach them a hastily amended drinking song. He puts Olruggio's pillow over his face and breathes in the scent of him until he feels not so much like being here is breaking him apart.

In the morning, there is pain. Olruggio gets up first and opens the curtains, and Qifrey cannot help the cry that spills from his lips as he recoils, curling up tightly and pulling his pillow over his face.

"Qifrey?" Olruggio asks, voice rough with sleep. "Are you okay?"

Qifrey takes a deep breath, but holding it makes the pain worse, so he releases it with a slow wince. The darkness over his eye is the most superficial of balms, like a single raindrop whetting a parched throat. "My head," he says finally. Words are slow and syrupy on his tongue, sticky in all the wrong ways. "Can you look after the girls today, please?"

"Of course," Olruggio says, worried. "Can I do anything for you? I can ask Nannag–"

"No!" Qifrey curls tighter in on himself. "No, don't… don't tell anyone. I'll be alright in a couple of clockmarks."

"Alright, if you're sure."

There is a moment of silence, and then a soft touch at the crown of his head, where the pillow doesn't cover him. Olruggio's fingers card through his hair, so light that it almost feels like the wind.

"I'll draw the curtains again," Olruggio murmurs. "Get some more rest, and don't worry about anything. Okay?"

"Okay," Qifrey croaks, and pretends the wetness running across his nose is only from the pain.

He manages, without much knowing when, to go to Nannag's kitchen – covering his eye and shambling inelegantly, knocking over several unknown objects on the way – and eat some flatbread and a raw parsnip before he crawls back into bed. He has never had an attack so persistent before; pain radiates out from his missing eye at the simplest movement, and even the illusion of light is enough to make him flinch. It must be this midnight sun, which he was inadequately prepared for and has not respected, that has caused this. Without much else to do, Qifrey spends several hours thinking of the most spiteful spells he could draw, casting the city in weeks of shadow or bringing a decade of rain.

Slowly, his sanity returns enough that he is able to sit up and keep his eye open in the room's dim light. He has a book over his lap when he hears sounds from the other room, as well as the murmur of voices.

"–go check on him." Olruggio's rap on the door is a familiar burst of noise, though it's thoughtfully gentled now. "Qifrey…?"

"You may come in," Qifrey says. Olruggio opens the door, four worried-looking girls peeking out from behind his robes. Qifrey smiles to see their faces. "Hello, everyone. My apologies – I was feeling a bit under the weather now. What time is it?"

"It's about eight." Olruggio urges the girls forward. "We had dinner already."

"Salmon," Tetia says. "It was lovely. Oh, master Qifrey, you still look so pale!" She rushes forward to take his wrist, big eyes like sunset. "What happened? How can we help?"

"We went to an erbe-seller," Agott says. Her mouth is pinched with badly hidden concern, and she is clutching a book to her chest, though Qifrey can't make out the title.

"Oh! Yes, here!" Coco thrusts out a paper bag at him, gently fragrant and full of herbal sachets. "Marktea and erbes for headaches. Master Olly said it was your head that was bothering you, so we thought it might help."

Qifrey takes the bag with care. "That's very kind of you," he says around the ache in his throat. "Will you tell me about your day in the living room? I'll be right out."

The girls leave, Agott carefully closing the door behind them, but Olruggio stays. "Have you eaten?"

"A bit," Qifrey replies. Holding audience in his bed makes him feel like Beldaruit, so he slides out and pulls on his overclothes, the weight of Olruggio's gaze following him. "Don't worry about me, old friend."

He goes to the living room, giving his apologies to auntie Nannag on the way, who only says she hopes he isn't too poorly for the celebration tomorrow. The girls are all piled on the woven carpet, and Qifrey takes a seat among them, listening to their stories of the day. Olruggio brings him a plate of steak pie and mashed carapace yam, and Qifrey lets himself touch his wrist in silent thanks.

Once the girls have gone to bed, exhausted by retelling Brannra Mòr's tales of when the clans worked together to beat back the fae of Thristas and describing the ruins by the loch that Olruggio showed them, Olruggio finds Qifrey in the deep of an armchair.

"How's your head? It's the light yesterday that did it, isn't it?"

Qifrey dips his head in agreement.

"Sorry about that," Olruggio says, his gaze as soft as a touch. "Do you think you could stand it for a little bit? I'd like to show you something."

"I'd rather not," Qifrey replies gently.

"Tomorrow's the wedding, and I'll be too busy greeting and dancing to show you," Olruggio says, "and then we're leaving. I promise you won't have to look at the sun for long, you can close your eye and let me lead you if you'd like. Come on – an adventure for old time's sake?"

It is rare for Olruggio to push like this. They have both encased the raw pulp of their adolescence in shells, and Olruggio's relentlessness has been relegated to the domain of his work. To be the subject of it once more after so long of getting his way is nostalgic and oddly warming, so even though he is mildly annoyed at the prospect of moving from this deliciously plush armchair, Qifrey eventually says, "Fine. But if I have to miss the wedding tomorrow, it's your fault."

"You'd love to miss the wedding," Olruggio snorts. "But I'm making you dance at the ceilidh, come hell or high water."

"Dancing has always been your forte, not mine." Qifrey stands up, patting the armchair fondly as he passes, and then Olruggio takes him outside.

The day's heat has driven mist up from the loch, and the air is pleasantly cool despite the sun still lingering just beyond the horizon. Qifrey avoids the direction of it like the face of a vengeful lover, instead keeping his gaze on Olruggio.

"Where to?"

"Follow me," Olruggio says with a grin, and clicks his heels together.

The sylph shoes carry them out of Ghodrey city and towards the great loch, and Olruggio touches down amidst a series of circular ruins. "They say this broch was destroyed by fae from the Forest, before the Pact," Olruggio says, leading the way through the mounds to the heart of the structure: an ancient, roofless circular house, half buried in the turf. "Every clan lays claim to it, but they've given up trying to decide who it actually belongs to. No one wants to take care of it for fear it'll be revealed it belongs to some other clan, so it's been left like this."

Qifrey touches his hand to a warmed stone. He stands with his back to the loch, which is dimmed by glorious mist. It must be nearly midnight, but spending the day in bed and feeling the sun in his hair makes his body uncertain, trepidatious before any judgment. "This is where you took the girls today?"

"That's right. Come inside." Olruggio walks through a door formed by the absence of stones into the inner circle of the ruin. The ceiling collapsed centuries ago, but what remains of the walls is thick and solid. These stones are older than brickwork – whoever laid them paid loving attention to the slope and size of each one, layering them carefully one on top of the other, few marred with the ragged intervention of a human tool. That is magic, all without the spilling of a single drop of ink. "Alright, now close your eye, and don't look!"

Qifrey closes his eye obediently, and covers it with his hand for good measure.

Ever since Olruggio forced him out of bed on an adventure and cast his mind back to their youth, there is a momentary childishness in him. For all that he loves their home, it is marred by all that has happened there. The Naakiwan Downs are a place of weight and consequences, but he may never visit Ghodrey again, and there is a lightness in that which buoys him despite the tendrils of pain wrapped around his skull.

He hears Olruggio laugh, and then the scritch of a pen and the flutter of fabric. "Alright, Qifrey, you can open your eyes now!"

Qifrey opens his eye carefully, wary of being blinded by light, but instead he finds that a great shadow has fallen over the broch. He looks up and sees a big stretch of midnight cloth blocking out the sky, tiny holes in it like stars to let light through. Olruggio has summoned a slice of nighttime, and only the gentle embrace of sunlight at the edges of his vision break the illusion. Qifrey lets out a long, slow breath, shoulders dropping instinctively as he sits down on the mist-damp grass to look up at the stars. As he watches, they twinkle in the darkness.

"What kind of spell…?" Qifrey asks, voice hushed.

"Nothing fancy," Olruggio says, taking a seat beside him. "Och, the ground's wet! You didnae warn me!"

Qifrey hides a smile in his sleeve, head still tilted back. "It's fabric, isn't it? But it looks so realistic… It's gorgeous."

"Aye, auntie Nannag let me borrow one a' her brotcloths," Olruggio admits. "Told you it wasnae anyhin fancy."

"Wasnae anyhin fancy," Qifrey repeats teasingly, knocking his knee against Olruggio's. "Your accent's getting thicker, you know."

Olruggio groans. "That's the last thing I need," he says. "After everything I've done to be rid of it."

"It's lovely." Qifrey brings his knee to his chest, resting his chin on it and gazing at Olruggio through his fringe. "It shows you belong somewhere, isn't that wonderful?"

"I don't belong here anymore, though," Olruggio says. In this moment of artificial night, his face is lit only by the stars, his stubble casting shadows over his jaw. His eyes are dark and endlessly blue, and he holds Qifrey's gaze with a patience he does not deserve. "I prefer our home."

Qifrey grips his shin through his skirts, exhaling. "It's been nice, being here," he says weakly.

"Oh, please," Olruggio laughs. "I think you've been fairly miserable, love."

"Through no fault of anyone but my own," Qifrey counters, chest squeezed tight at the endearment. "Surely I'm not the only reason you don't belong?"

Olruggio shrugs. "I didn't realise how much I was asking of you, getting you to come up here. You belong down south, I think."

"That's not a good reason!" Qifrey lifts his head. "You've got your family here – your community adores you. If you wanted to stay, we could."

"We?" Olruggio asks.

Qifrey swallows. There is always a night sky above them, there is always the pulse of his heart in the tips of his fingers. There is always Olruggio's eyes, dark and so, so lovely.

Olruggio smiles and drops his gaze. "I've grown used to the quiet life, I think. I'm excited for the wedding tomorrow, but it'll be nice to be back in the Naakiwan Downs."

"Don't you think the girls would flourish," Qifrey asks quietly, "somewhere like here?"

"I told you already. The girls chose you. You don't want to live here, right? Then neither do they."

"But you all look so happy," Qifrey says.

Olruggio takes one of Qifrey's hands where it is wrapped around his leg, slowly easing the deathly grip of each finger until he can hold it in his own. His hands are warm shadows in the dim light. "It's a week of celebration," Olruggio says gently. "That's all."

"I'm not so self-absorbed as to have missed the fact that you're disappointed with me," Qifrey replies, looking down at their hands. "I've been a bit misanthropic."

Olruggio's teeth glint with his grin. "As long as you dance tomorrow, I'll be happy."

Qifrey lets out an outraged noise, squeezing Olruggio's hand. "Manipulation of the highest order."

"You make it look so easy," Olruggio says with a grin and a shrug, "I thought I'd try it."

Qifrey's laugh is as soft as the grass underneath him, and only slightly more dry. How wonderfully painful, to have someone who knows him so thoroughly and incisively, and who can winnow out such cause for self-hatred and soothe it in one fell stroke. He lets the quiet sink in. A soft breeze has picked up, and though the walls hide most of the loch from view, he can hear the gentle lapping of the waves and the whistle of air through the ancient stones.

"In a perfect world," Olruggio says finally, "I'd probably live closer to them all. Riari's thinking about having kids, you know. It'd be nice to see them more than one a decade." He sighs, letting go of Qifrey's hand to lean forward where he's sitting with his legs crossed, cupping his own knees. "But, see, I say that, and then I wonder… am I just using you and the girls as an excuse?"

Qifrey watches him. He has always admired Olruggio's honesty with himself, even as it scares him. To know one's own self so thoroughly must be both a blessing and a curse. "I would come back," he says. "Perhaps not in midsummer, if that's alright, but I would. We could come visit your niece or nephew, or Riari and her family can come visit the atelier - we'll find the room to host them."

"That'd be nice," Olruggio says thoughtfully. "How long have you been so sensitive to sunlight?"

Qifrey smiles a little and looks up again, admiring the trick of the stars and the blackened sky. He does not have that strain of honesty within himself; he rejects it wholeheartedly, in fact. "Olruggio, why did you make this spell for me?"

"Och," Olruggio says, voice soft and weary. "You know why. No need to waste the breath on it."

It is love, Qifrey wants to say. Love is worth wasting a million breaths on, is it not? Instead, he says, "I can't feel the same." He pauses. "Not at home."

"What about while we're here, then?" Olruggio asks. He is pushing his luck, and Qifrey is letting him. He shouldn't, but that's the selfishness within them both, the taking and giving of each other.

"That's not fair to you."

Olruggio laughs, a breathless sound. He has moved closer. The night is not so cool, yet Qifrey presses back against him in return. "I think that's my decision to make." His hand is like a moon as he reaches it up, emerging from the shadows into the glittery starlight, and the touch of it against Qifrey's cheek is so stark and real that it makes him flinch. Olruggio pauses. "Do you want this?"

Qifrey's eye closes. The darkness is not a comfort, no matter how much he tells himself otherwise. His own hand is tangled in Olruggio's robe, grip white-knuckled and aching. "Yes," he whispers.

Olruggio kisses him.

Qifrey pulls him closer and opens his mouth, and as he lies back, he tries not to think of the sword hanging overhead. They kiss again, and it is as wonderful as Qifrey always suspected, natural as breathing the way they fit together. Olruggio's stubble scratches his cheeks and the wet grass tickles the nap of his neck. All of it is hidden in this ephemeral, dim world. Qifrey rolls them over so that Olruggio is on his back, lacing their fingers together and pinning his hand over his head. Olruggio lets out noises, small groans and exhalations, and the press of his groin against Qifrey's hip leaves little to the imagination, even through the folds of clothing.

"You need to shave again," Qifrey murmurs, breathless and warm. "You're scratching me."

"I know," Olruggio rumbles, rubbing his jaw against Qifrey's chin and leaving a streak of heat in his wake. It'll be there tomorrow, Qifrey thinks, light-headed. Everyone will look at him and know. They'll know he held the most precious flame in all of the Zozah Peninsula in his arms and was burned to the core for it.

There are worse ways to go, Qifrey knows, and so he kisses Olruggio again.

It is late when they return to Nannag's house, and that room of familiar, dusty love is briefly awash with something new.

"Time to get your gladrags on, girls!" Olruggio announces. Nannag has gone to help get the hall ready for the day, so it is just the atelier's six, the girls looking bleary and excited to varying degrees over their breakfast.

"Gladrags?" Richeh asks, rubbing sleep out of her eye.

"It means your finery," Qifrey says, taking Agott and Tetia's empty bowls of porridge to wash. "Remember the outfits we picked out when we packed?"

"Oh!" Tetia looks starry-eyed. "Finally!"

"I've got something for each of you, as well." Olruggio brings out four brooches. Qifrey remembers seeing them in the big pile of presents he'd packed, but he did not inspect them properly - leaning over, he sees that they have a section that can be slid into place to form a small spell, each of them subtly different. Olruggio hands them out. "Try clicking the last bit into place and then waving it around."

Coco is the first to do so, holding up the brooch and waving it through the air. In its trail, a sparkle of green and yellow colours the air, subtle and beautiful. "Wow," she breathes, the love for what she's seeing vibrant in her face.

"This should make dancing more fun," Olruggio says, smiling as he watches the four of them wave the brooches around, leaving sparks of purple, pink and blue in the air.

"Thank you," Richeh says, tucking the brooch close to her chest protectively.

"Magic is for making people happy," Agott mutters to herself like a mantra, her smile soft and secret.

Qifrey laughs. "What a beautiful gift. Now, you'd all better go get dressed and brush your hair, or we'll be late." He watches them hurry to their room, picking up the last of the dishes to wash them.

"I thought you wouldn't want more attention drawn to yourself," Olruggio says behind him, his gaze heavy on Qifrey's back as he draws his spells for washing up. "But there's one for you, too." Qifrey hears the gentle clack of metal being placed on the kitchen table.

"You spoil us," Qifrey says lightly around the stone in his throat. "What colour is mine?"

"Blue," Olruggio says. "Dark blue. It's harder to see."

The dishes, dry and clean, stack neatly in Nannag's cupboards. Qifrey turns and takes the brooch, curling his fingers over it. "Let's go get our gladrags on, shall we?"

Olruggio smiles.

The hall where the wedding is being held is a great timber structure with a thatched roof and a high ceiling. Rows of tables are set out, and the room has the atmosphere of a held breath as the bride and groom hold the quaich, the love cup, by its two handles and drink from it in turn. Then there is cheering and the drone of pipes, and hats are thrown, and Jarren and Riari are married.

"They look so happy!" Tetia yells her sincere congratulations, arms raised high. "I love it!"

"I've never seen a cup like that before," Richeh says. "It looks useful…"

"I'm sure we could make one," Coco tells her. "It'd be like a little bed for the brushbuddy!"

Agott is quiet, staring at the bride. When Qifrey gives her a curious look she snaps her gaze away, colour bright in her cheeks, and Qifrey looks back at Riari. She does look beautiful, wearing the tartans of her clan while Jarren is in his starched bunad beside her, an embroidered woollen ensemble that looks painfully warm in the joyful heat of the room.

Some of the men are rearranging the room for dancing while the piper plays, pushing aside tables and piling gifts to the side. Qifrey hangs back to watch, Olruggio at his side. When the floor is cleared, the piper fades to a stop and Riari steps forward.

"Ye've all come fae near and far," she says, her smile as blinding as the midnight sun. Her anxiety, which seemed so all-encompassing that first day Qifrey met her, has fallen away to reveal the convivial woman underneath, and Qifrey finds himself unusually touched at the sight. "Jarren and I couldnae be mair grateful. Before we start dancin, my dear cousin Olruggio says he's prepared us a show – should we like tae watch?"

"Aye!" shouts the crowd.

Riari grins. "Olly, come on up, it's yer time to shine!"

Next to Qifrey, Olruggio lets out a sigh before he steps forward. In his black shirt and dark kilt, he looks a marvel, striding across the floor to join Riari. "It's just a little something," he grumbles, "but you all like a bit of drama, don't you? This one's from me and Qifrey, to the happy couple." His eyes find Qifrey's, holding his gaze for a moment before he pulls out a sheet of paper and completes the spell circle, tossing it elegantly in front of him.

For a moment, nothing happens, and then four spheres of matter begin to coagulate in the air. One of them is a whorl of dust, swirling around itself as the dust accumulates and compresses itself further and further until from the dust cloud emerges a diamond primrose, refracting the light to make it dance on the wooden floor. The next sphere is air itself, which gathers into an ethereal bluebell, the dome of its petals see-through and misty. Then comes water: the air's moisture swirls into a maelstrom, which slowly thins itself until a perfect blue rose remains, suspended in the air. Last is fire, a spark dancing among its fellows until it brightens and grows, spiky leaves casting themselves outward, and a fiery thistle completes the bouquet, all four flowers dancing around the bride until they explode into harmless fireworks, showering her with colour.

Someone starts to clap, and then there is more cheering and clapping and shouts of praise and amazement. Riari hugs Olruggio tightly, laughing. "Iontach, iontach!"8[Amazing, amazing!] she says loudly. "That's our Olruggio! Now, is it time to dance?"

"Aye!" shouts the crowd again, and a melodeon starts playing at the head of the hall.

Olruggio gathers up Qifrey and the girls as other groups of six form around the room. "We'll be moving around in groups of three," Olruggio says, holding Agott's hand on one side and Tetia's on the other. Qifrey is holding Coco and Richeh's hands, watching with bemusement. "Just try to follow what everyone else is doing, alright?"

The girls' questions get lost as a fiddle joins the melodeon and the room hurries into dance. The six of them move one way in the circle and then the other before they split up into threes. Qifrey is out of breath before he knows it, passing Coco and then Richeh, their dresses fluttering in the air. Then their hands come together again and they step up to Agott, Olruggio, and Tetia – Qifrey notices with some amusement that Olruggio's struggling for breath even harder than he is, although his grin is wide and silly – and stomp and clap, before they make arches with their arms for the others to go under, and then they are facing a new group of three.

They move around the room like this, stomping and spinning to the beat of the melodeon. By the time they reunite with Olruggio, Agott and Tetia, Qifrey's fringe is sticking to his cheek and his glasses have misted up, and Olruggio's face is bright red with exertion. The instruments ring out even louder for the last repetition, and when the final note of the fiddle rings out, the whole room cheers and several of the people around them bend over to catch their breath.

"That was so fun!" Coco gushes. She and the girls are barely breathing heavily at all, and Qifrey fears that he and Olruggio are truly showing their age. "Are we going to do it again? I think I know the steps now!"

"There's a new one now," Olruggio says, brushing damp hair out of his eyes.

"One with less jumping, I should hope," Qifrey says, speaking slowly to belie his heavy breathing.

Olruggio laughs. "For this one, we'll be in pairs. Agott, would you like to–" He turns to Agott, but she has already found Coco, their palms touching in front of them. On their other side, Richeh has paired up with Tetia. Olruggio looks between them, sighing out, and then he holds his hand out to Qifrey. "Shall I lead?"

"Given you know the steps, it makes sense," Qifrey replies, taking his hand. Olruggio moves to stand slightly behind him, an arm across his shoulders to hold Qifrey's hand while he keeps the other one fast. Their height difference means that Olruggio's chin brushes Qifrey's shoulder when he speaks.

"You're wearing the brooch."

His voice is low and intimate in its delight. Qifrey turns his head just slightly. If their positions were reversed, his lips would be close to Olruggio's ear, close enough for his breath to brush up against it, a piece of him taken into Olruggio's body to become part of him forever. Perhaps it is the strong wine he has had that leads his mind down these paths, or the unexpected thrill of dancing, or perhaps it is a possessiveness that he has always carried with him, a seed of desire waiting to sprout. "Don't distract me," Qifrey says in response, his fingers tangled with Olruggio's where he holds them up. "I need to pay attention to the steps."

Olruggio laughs, and the fiddle picks up again.

Qifrey was being facetious, but he actually finds very little time to delight in Olruggio's closeness. The steps are complicated, even though the Ghodric dancers around them all make it look easy, and he nearly falls over when he has to walk backwards. He sees Richeh stumble and Tetia hold her up, both of them smiling, while Agott leads Coco stiffly through the movements, her eyes narrowed as she tries to copy the people around her to the best of her ability. Olruggio is comfortable and confident as he leads Qifrey through a dance he has known his whole life, and Qifrey is breathless both with exertion and with the weight of history around him, imagining a tiny Olruggio dancing these very steps in this very hall. The bitterness that usually accompanies such a thought is muted by the firm, calloused grip on his hand, the beard burn he can still feel under his robes, and the sound of his apprentices' breathless laughter. Perhaps Qifrey does not get a childhood, and perhaps he does not get a future, but he gets this moment, and the moments to come. That is all he can ask for.

After what feels like countless repetitions of the steps, Olruggio slows them to a stop, both of them panting lightly. Qifrey laughs at the sight of him, and Olruggio laughs too, and it is all Qifrey can do to find his glass of wine instead of kissing him in front of his whole family. In this window of time where he's allowed to want, he finds that he desires incessantly and with a fervour that leaves him lightheaded. He wants to kiss Olruggio and drinks his wine instead, sitting down to catch his breath while he watches the girls join in for another dance. Eventually the music changes, as Jarren's father brings out a special fiddle with extra strings, and Jarren claps his hands and clears space so he can dance with the frantic energy of a man on the best day of his life. Other drunken men join in, trying in vain to mimic Jarren's kicks and spins, swearing and cheering in Ghodric when they fall over themselves and each other.

The air is hot and close and the wine is strong and thistle-purple on his tongue. Qifrey can feel the heat of Olruggio's body against his, sitting too close for the warmth of the room, and he murmurs something about needing to take the air so he does not kiss him. He stumbles out and is greeted by the infernal sunlight in the courtyard, but at least there is blessed, soft quiet. A few other groups are dotted around, holding their hats in their hands as they wipe sweat off their brows, laughing and clinking glasses against each other. Qifrey finds a secluded spot to watch the gorse hills, so yellow he can feel the pollen on his fingertips. The sunlight touches him and he lets it, closing his eye to let it find him like a friend.

Olruggio comes up behind him, hands wrapping around his middle to pull him back against him. He feels lips against his neck, the smoothness of Olruggio's cheek. He is stinking drunk, but Qifrey does not mind. This is a day of indulgence, and his sandy foundation would be washed away in the tide were he to argue. Qifrey turns in his arms, and Olruggio tries to kiss him but misses, mashing his mouth against Qifrey's cheek instead. Qifrey laughs, his arms around Olruggio in turn.

"I love your laugh," Olruggio says, swaying a little. "Never stop laughing. It's so wonderful."

"You're drunk." Qifrey smiles at him, reaching up to cup his cheek, the odd smoothness of it. Did he ever touch Olruggio like this when they were boys? He must have, but he does not remember – even before he knew why he must, he knew to deny himself.

"As are you," Olruggio counters. "Nannag'll take the girls back. Let's get out of here." His hand strokes over Qifrey's lower back.

"The celebrations are still on-going," Qifrey says half-heartedly, his arm around Olruggio holding him close.

"You've given me a day and a night." A spark of anger in Olruggio's face. "I'd not like to see it go to waste."

Qifrey leans in, resting his forehead against Olruggio. "Neither would I," he murmurs. "I wish–"

Olruggio cuts him off, covering his lips with his own. "Don't," he says when he pulls back, frustration colouring his words. "You can't say things like that when you're the one denying us it."

Qifrey swallows and pulls away, his chest tight. It would be so easy to tell him and get a few moments' respite, but he might lose the whole day in the aftermath. The loss of a beloved's wedding, all for the sake of Qifrey's peace of mind – even he is not that selfish. "Let us go, then," he says, and lets the explanation rot under his tongue. "There's no time to waste."

In the morning, Qifrey wakes with his arm around Olruggio. Olruggio's wine-snores have a hoarse edge to them. The nape of his neck smells like sweat and sex. Qifrey pushes his nose into the space between them and breathes it in.

He lifts his arm to move it, but Olruggio's hand latches around his wrist like a shackle to keep him fast. There is sudden, helpless anger in him, a hot wave that rolls over him. Why is he the one who has to break this apart, again and again? Is it not enough to carry the guilt in his gut, so heavy that it pins him in place beside Olruggio forever?

The grip on his wrist softens, and Olruggio lets him pull away.

Qifrey – selfish, angry Qifrey – rolls him over so Olruggio is on his back and kisses him, deep and fierce. Stale wine mars the taste of Olruggio's tongue, and it is still one of the best kisses Qifrey has ever had. "Stop letting me break your heart," he whispers breathlessly when they break apart.

"No," Olruggio replies, obstinate. "How 'bout you stop breaking it?"

Qifrey's hands ball into useless, trembling fists. He kisses him again, savouring the little grunt Olruggio lets out when he bites his lip, and then he pulls himself up and out of bed.

Once dressed, he casts one long look at Olruggio, still rumpled and sprawled on his back on the bed. "I'll go help the girls pack," he says. "Take your time, we don't have to set off until midday."

Olruggio does not reply. Qifrey turns on his heel and leaves the room.

His apprentices ground him, as they often do. He helps Richeh fold her clothes and makes sure Tetia finishes her breakfast, gives some notes on a flower spell Agott is creating after watching Olruggio's gift yesterday, and listens to Coco practicing her Ghodric. "Have you had a good time here?" he asks her, smiling carefully.

"Gu dearbh!" she says, nodding.

"Are you sad to leave?"

Coco thinks for a moment, gathering her scrawled notes on word order and vocabulary. "I'm a bit tired," she admits finally. "I miss the atelier."

Qifrey's smile softens and he ruffles her hair. "I do as well," he says. "It'll be good to be home."

Olruggio eventually emerges into the living room, gaze flat. His bag hangs over his shoulder. Nannag accompanies him, pressing one final jar of cloudberry jam into his hands. "Dinnae forget us," she says to him, and her expression is so kind and earnest that Qifrey has to look away.

Before they leave, the girls all give her their gratitude, and Qifrey clasps his hands and shows deference in the Great Hall style. Nannag hugs the girls and opens her arms for him, but she drops them almost immediately. "Olruggio said you weren't a big hugger," she says, a twinkle in her eye. "Take care of him for us, Qifrey Bàn."

Qifrey gives her a small smile and bends his head in deference, saying nothing.

They load their bags in the back of a cart and wave goodbye. One of Iroggi's friends were also going south, so he has taken the reins, while Qifrey sits with Olruggio and the apprentices. Olruggio looks quietly miserable, skin taking on a green tinge whenever the wagon jolts. "Here, have some water," Qifrey says, opening a vapour bubble to pour him a cup. "Or is it the sun? I could summon some shade–"

"Stop," Olruggio interrupts, his head pillowed on his bag. "You said we have to stop when we leave, right? So stop."

"You are, and always will be, a dear friend of mine," Qifrey replies quietly, aware of the four pairs of eyes peering at them. "Have some water, Olly. It'll help."

Clouds shaped like cattails move slowly over the blue sky, and one of them passes the sun for a moment, casting them in cooling shade. Qifrey looks up to watch it, and he feels Olruggio's calloused fingers wrap around his to take the cup of water. The cloud is long and pale, and it drifts slowly and inexorably. Qifrey lets go of the cup. He hears Olruggio drink. The man steering the horses hums a tune from the wedding party to himself. There is not much space on the wagon, and Olruggio's thigh shifts to press against his.

The cloud is still in front of the sun, but it will pass.

It will pass.