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10.
It was a careless comment, in hindsight. Qifrey had been helping Agott put on her new robes, newly made and washed to inaugurate her official status as the first student at his atelier. She’d looked so proud, and so hopeful in that distant, cautious way that she regarded all of her emotions with.
You look like your mother, he’d said with a smile.
That smile had fallen fast at the way she’d immediately blanched. She’d turned on her heel and marched up to her room, storming past Olruggio as she went to their Watchful Eye’s surprise and then concern at whatever look was on her face.
Two hours had passed since then. Olruggio had offered to go and try to soften her defenses, which was kind of him, but it was Qifrey’s blunder to fix.
He stepped up to Agott’s door and knocked gently. There was no lock preventing his entry, but a girl should always have her privacy, he thought.
When no response came, he knocked again. “Agott?” he called, worried now, thinking of all the terrible things that could happen behind a closed door. “I’m coming inside, alright?”
There was a strangled noise as he pushed inside— “no, don’t—” but by then, it was too late. He’d already seen enough. The untidy heaps of hair on the floor. The glint of scissors in her hand. The wild, uneven cut matching the wild, desperate look in her eyes.
She was so tense. Frozen in place as she stared at him, shoulders shaking. Qifrey pushed all of what he felt to the back of his mind and knelt next to her, doing his utmost to emulate that he was calm, and that he cared.
“Would you set down the scissors?” he asked, holding out his hands to placate when she drew back. “You’re not in trouble, sweet girl. Far from it.”
Moving slowly, she set the scissors down on her desk. The muscles of her jaw were clenched very tightly.
“What do you want?”
His smile came easily, despite everything. “I’d come to beg for your forgiveness, actually.”
She balked at him, still looking cornered, so he continued. “I said something callous to you this morning. I didn’t know it was callous when I said it, but it hurt you all the same. I apologize.” When she still did not respond, he soldiered on. “Olly is making pie downstairs. He hoped it might win you over.”
Finally, something sparked in her expression. Her mouth twisted not in forgiveness, but in outrage.
“What are you playing at?!” she snapped. “I am not some… wounded animal for you to fix!”
“I know.” Qifrey reached out to place his hand on her shoulder. “I know. But we think you have been robbed of simple kindnesses for a very long time, and I do not know how else to apologize to you for what I said.”
Agott’s gaze slanted away. “You didn’t know.” There was something there in her voice. Something raw and untended. The bitter ache of admitting a known truth. “You couldn’t have.”
“But it happened anyways,” Qifrey reminded her gently. “And for that, I am sorry.”
Agott’s shoulders sank in defeat. “What do you want from me?” she asked, the question so quiet it was barely there at all.
“A chance.” He moved to hold her hand between both of his. She was so small. How young had he been, when everything went wrong? “A chance to earn your forgiveness. To make things right.”
“How?” she bit out. “You can’t change what happened.”
Oh, but if only he could. If only he’d been there when her world slipped between her hands. He would have had some choice words for Adina Arklaum. “No,” he amended, “I can’t, but I can do a great many other things. As my apprentice, I am responsible for your happiness. I won’t rest until I can win a smile from you, you see. So, tell me. What is the one thing you want most in the world at this very moment?”
She chewed on that thought, mouth pulled into a thin line. “Would… will you help me cut my hair?” She ran a hand through the thick curls at the nape of her neck, looking at once frightened and overwhelmed and terribly, horribly young. “I can't— I—”
He reached out to take her wrist, lest she pull any hair loose in her anxious tugging. She stared at him, lost, as he uncurled her fingers, relaxing her white-knuckled grip.
“It would be an honor,” he said. He chanced a small smile down at her. “Although, I have a terrible eye for it. I'll bet we could convince Olly to lend a hand, don’t you think?”
And there, flickering at the corner of her mouth, he saw it. The first, fleeting smile of Agott Arklaum.
12.
Tetia never meant to startle Agott. Well— sometimes she did. For fun. In the interest of trying to win a rare eyeroll or an even rarer laugh from her. This, though, wasn’t either of those.
Tetia was out with Agott on the hill, working on straight lines together and reveling in the mild weather. Agott had mumbled out a tip to help Tetia with her consistency, and it had worked, and Tetia had cheered and turned and held out her arms for a hug, and Agott hadn’t just startled. She’d flinched, badly. Which put Tetia at a bit of a loss.
She laughed, a little helplessly, trying to find something to work with in this interaction. “Um, Agott? It’s just me.”
Agott’s eyes flicked to her hands, then back, brow still drawn. “What are you doing?”
Tetia blinked. “What?”
“With your hands.”
Tetia lowered her arms a little. “It’s— it’s a hug? You know what a hug is, right?”
She was joking. Mostly. But Agott’s shoulders were starting to hunch up like a drawbridge retracting over a moat; Tetia didn’t want to watch those walls go up all over again when she’d made so much progress. It was hard enough drawing Agott out of her shell.
She changed her question. “Have you… had a hug before?”
Agott opened her mouth, all bright indignation, but then she hesitated. No one should ever, ever hesitate to answer that question, Tetia thought.
Agott never talked much about her life before coming to the atelier. It was hard not to know, though, with her being an Arklaum and all. Tetia had never asked, but sometimes the questions answered themselves. Nobody flinched like that unless they were expecting a firmer hand. Nobody got so good at building walls unless they had their castle broken before.
Tetia didn’t feel like laughing anymore. She just felt sad.
She risked a step closer, and then another when Agott didn’t run. “Well, it’s like this,” she said, and then she wrapped her arms around Agott’s shoulders and pulled her in.
Agott shifted a half-step back, surprised by her commitment to the action. She was stiff as a tree, and Tetia could feel her arms twitching, unsure of what to do or where to put them.
“Relax,” she whispered, not letting her escape just yet. Making up for lost time, maybe. “It's supposed to be nice.”
Agott still did not move, but she swayed into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut. She didn't hug her back, but Tetia thought that was okay. It was probably a lot to ask her to reciprocate for her first hug ever, but with enough determination and practice, maybe there would come a day where Agott would hug her back. Maybe there would be a day when she'd hug Tetia first.
It was like trying to coax a stay owlcat indoors. You had to give it space to cross that bridge of trust on its own. Agott would probably disparage the analogy, but Tetia thought it was pretty apt; how are you supposed to show affection when you don't know what it looks like?
Agott finally shifted, discomfort sharpening the line of her shoulders, and Tetia let her pull away. She pretended not to see her discreet swipe at her eyes as she hurriedly collected herself.
“So?” she said, smiling. “What'd you think?”
Agott cleared her throat. “It was adequate,” she said, staring hard at the grass off to the left. “Not intolerable.”
Tetia folded her hands behind her back, leaning down to try to catch Agott’s eye. Preening, too, at the subtle compliment tucked between those words, hidden if you didn't know what to listen for. It would be easy to tease her about this, but it didn't feel like the right time yet.
“Well, that just means we have to try again, you know? So we can perfect it.”
Agott cleared her throat again, more frantically. “Er, perhaps later. In the distant future. For— research.”
Tetia hummed. “Research.”
Agott scowled, ears going red. “It was your idea!”
Tetia laughed, then, because she couldn't help herself. But when she reached out to hold Agott’s hand on the walk back to the atelier, Agott didn't pull away. She didn't say anything until Tetia began to swing their hands, just to stay predictably obnoxious, and even then, she didn't let go.
13.
Richeh had a secret: she knew about the ink on Agott’s arm.
She’d seen it happen, that terrible day in Romonon. That smoke and shadow, wrapped around Agott like rope as it carved a black line down the skin. Richeh had never been so scared in her life. A fear not for herself, but for her friend.
Agott looked at it, when she thought everyone was gone or sleeping. But she knew that Richeh knew, so sometimes, they looked at it together.
Coco and Tetia and everyone had left earlier to run errands. Agott and Richeh both preferred the momentary respite of a quiet atelier, and had opted to stay behind, but they weren't practicing spells. They were sitting together next to the hearth, Agott’s sleeve undone, looking at the dark, ugly scar there.
Richeh ran her finger along the faint indentation. Touch was still her first language. It's how she first learned to navigate the world. She traced the straight edge of the line, then the ink stains between Agott’s fingers. Agott curled her hand around hers.
“I’m okay, Richeh,” Agott whispered. Richeh believed her, but she had to make sure.
She tucked herself under Agott’s chin to where her heart beat beneath her sleep shirt. A strong, steady beat. It had been faster, before, when she was scared. She wasn’t scared anymore.
“Does it hurt?” Richeh asked quietly.
“Only a little,” Agott said, just as soft. “Only when I’m thinking about it. Like a memory.”
“I’m sorry.” Richeh turned to hide her face in Agott’s robe. “You were really brave.”
“I didn’t feel brave. I was just… trying to be useful.”
“You don't have to be useful. You just have to be Agott.”
Agott looked at her incredulously. She probably didn't think just Agott was enough when it had already proven untrue before.
Richeh didn't like most adults, but she hated Agott’s mom most of all.
Laughter sounded from outside. Agott hurried to button up her sleeve again, hiding the ink from view. Richeh didn't know why she was so determined to hide it. She probably didn't want them to worry— as if they didn't already worry about her, reasons or not.
“Agott’s being silly,” Richeh said, matter of fact.
“Shut up,” Agott snapped reflexively, but she didn't fluster red like she usually did. She just looked tired. Always, always tired, these days.
Richeh didn't know how to fix that.
14.
Olruggio found her sitting outside on the roof, watching the snow fall. It was late, and quiet out, and all the others were inside with Qifrey, laughing distantly from the cracked window. All of them, he thought, except one.
“It’s cold out,” he said conversationally, closing the window behind him.
Agott scrubbed another hand over her face. She was surrounded by mussed snow and small sigils torn from her quire and thrown aside:
“I made tea, if you want to come inside,” he said next. Of the girls, she'd always been the most like him, so he thought he had a pretty good read on her most of the time. Right now, everything in her posture screamed leave me alone, and he knew better than to try to pry something from her before she was ready to share. Message delivered, he moved to head back inside where it was warm.
“Um.”
He paused and turned.
She hadn't physically reached out, but she had lifted her head. Her eyes were raw and there was a pensive, tentative look about her. “You can stay out here. If you want.”
“Alright,” he said. He eased himself down on the roof tiles next to her, tired bones creaking in discomfort. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“I don’t want to,” Agott said quickly, which he’d expected, and took in stride with a nod. “It’s— it’s silly. And childish.”
She spat that last word with so much vitriol. Recounting a moment where that word was a dagger in her back. He opened his mouth to get a word in edgewise, but she was already barreling on.
“I don’t miss home. I don’t.” She hiccuped on a breath, and wiped at her eyes again. “...But I miss my mother.”
He closed his mouth, swallowing down what he'd readied to say. He wasn't half the wordsmith Qifrey was, and this was a wound he'd been watching for years, wondering when it would finally catch up to her. Maybe he hadn't paid enough attention, if it’d been hurting her this bad the whole time.
“She had a lot of responsibilities. She was always going to take over the Tower of Tomes someday,” Agott said, distant with mourning. Grieving something that should have been hers. A future, or a mother's love, and that she couldn't have both, “People listened to her. Respected her. Loved her. They all loved her. And I was just… there. I was small, and slow, and could not do much, so nobody really paid me mind. All that mattered is that I was an Arklaum. And what a burden it was, just being that. But it still wasn't enough.”
Her hands fisted in her cloak, shaking with emotion. “They called me a liar. People I knew my whole life, and they didn’t trust me. I didn’t do anything wrong! I didn’t— I told the truth, and nobody believed me! I just wanted to make her proud! I wanted—” She choked off, looking away, but not before he caught the shine of tears on her cheeks. “I was angry. I was so angry, and hurt, and afraid. I wanted to hurt people, just like they hurt me, or maybe more than that, because if I was strong enough, no one could ever hurt me again. But I’m not.”
She lifted one of her discarded sigils. Wet and smudged now by the snowfall, but still mostly legible. Enough to see what she'd been working on. “Look at these,” she said tonelessly. “Years of my work, and these sigils are just… complete. Nothing special. But complete. That’s what they’ll say, back home. ‘Agott Arklaum. Utterly unexceptional.’”
Unexceptional. As if that word described anything Olruggio saw at the Silver Eve festival. The lengths she’d gone and hours she'd poured into designing toys and trinkets for small children. The joy it brought both her and everyone around her. Unexceptional. Hah.
“You know you don’t have to be a Librarian, right?” he said, watching her. He wondered if anyone had ever told her that. If anyone had ever let her know she was allowed to want a future she could call her own. “You could be a Watchful Eye. You could start your own atelier. You could just become a specialist for your own magic, if that’s what you want. You have a knack for animals and their sigils. You’re great with kids. And who knows what else you’ll discover about yourself, in time.” For all her talk of being self-serving, Olruggio had never met anyone that gave so much of themself to others, or to their work, and the brightest stars always burned fastest. He couldn't let that happen to her. He wouldn't, if he had any say in the matter. He closed his eyes, forced himself to breathe, then spoke again once he’d calmed. “Point is, you don’t have to have all the answers right now. You don't have to be so hard on yourself when you know, and I know, your mother’s opinion isn’t the most important one to you.”
Moving slowly so she had time to decide if she wanted it, he reached an arm around her to draw her into his side and under the warm fabric of his cloak. “You have time to figure out who Agott Arklaum is. Whatever you want to do, I will do everything in my power to help you get there. You have my word.” He squeezed her shoulder, just a little. “I’m not qualified to take on an apprentice, but I still have a thing or two I could teach you.”
Agott stared at him for one moment, and then another, just long enough that he began to worry he’d said the wrong thing after all. Then, very quietly, she took her palm quire, flipped it open, and offered it to him.
“Do you think—” she started, voice wobbling before she cleared her throat and tried again. “Do you think she would like this one?”
Olruggio took the quire to inspect the sigil. It was lovingly complex, each line effortless and clear. He didn’t know how anyone could look at Agott and think less of her. Her brilliance and love shone in everything she drew. It was utterly baffling that anyone, much less Adina Arklaum, would let her go.
He closed the quire and offered it back to her, the corner of his lip tugging at a smile. “If it makes you happy?” he said. “Coco will love it.”
She nodded, then nodded again, reaffixing her quire to her belt. “The tea’s probably cold.”
“It’ll heat up fast,” he said with a shrug. “You ready to head inside?”
“Yes,” she said. And then, quieter, “...thank you.”
He pushed down on her head to muss her hair a little, then let his hand fall back to her shoulder to guide her inside. Happy, he thought, and relieved, that he'd gotten this one right.
16.
Agott was still miles from the atelier when the foul weather hit. It was an instantaneous change— clouds and a setting sun one moment, and a monsoon the next. The wind and cold pelt of rain forced her to ground early, and she walked the last four miles home miserably drowned.
The only reason Brushbuddy was here, too, was because of Coco. It was a simple trip, in theory. A quick spell in the next town over to provide comfort to a sick child. There and back again. That was what Agott had said when Qifrey let her go. Coco had said the same when she had asked Brushbuddy to tag along. Brushbuddy was starting to regret the enthusiasm with which it had agreed.
Another torrent of rain washed down on them. Brushbuddy burrowed further into Agott’s robes, squeaking unhappily.
“I know it’s getting worse,” Agott grumbled over the rain, hands moving beneath her cloak to reach for her belt. “Give me a moment.”
Brushbuddy heard the scratch of ink on paper, and then a small, warm tuft of light budded between her hands.
“Here,” she said, pushing it into Brushbuddy’s paws before tucking it back under her robes. “So you can stay dry. We’re almost there.”
Brushbuddy trilled, but Agott herself was still soaked to the bone. She was so busy trying to keep Brushbuddy away from the bad weather that she’d completely neglected herself in the process. It was a very Agott thing to do.
They finally crested the last hill in the road, and through the gloam the dim glow of the atelier waited in the near distance. Agott picked up her step to a light jog, one arm held over her eyes, the other keeping Brushbuddy safely under the arm of her robes.
By the time they made it inside, the storm had properly boiled over. The wind blew the door shut behind them as Agott ducked inside, dripping water onto the floorboards.
“That’s the last time I trust Tetia’s word on the weather,” Agott muttered, peeling off her hat and setting it aside as she moved toward the fire still stoked in the hearth. Brushbuddy wormed out from under her robes, chirping in disgruntled agreement.
A noise sounded from the stairs. Agott and Brushbuddy turned, equally startled by the sound.
“Agott? Is that you?”
Coco was making her way down, looking sleepy and soft. She had something bundled in her arms, and the little tension gathered in her posture eased when she saw the two of them together.
“You didn't have to wait up,” Agott said, touched by the gesture and trying to play it off.
“Of course I did,” Coco said simply. “You weren't home yet.”
Brushbuddy tittered unhappily, because it was very much here, too. Coco giggled, reaching out to pet the soft top of its head. “Of course I didn't forget you. Looks like Agott took good care of you, huh?”
Brushbuddy did a pleased little circle around Agott’s shoulders, because of course she did. She always took good care of them all.
Coco unfurled what she’d brought downstairs with her. It was a towel, anticipatory of their condition returning in the storm, and she stepped in close to loop it around Agott’s neck and over her wet mop of hair. Her fingers stayed caught in the edges of the fabric, keeping them tied together.
“We should get you dried off before you catch a cold,” she whispered.
Agott didn’t respond, but she stepped closer when Coco tugged her in. Brushbuddy couldn’t see anything else, because they were both under the towel now, but it knew enough to look away.
It looked instead to the stairs, where Tetia and Richeh were peeking around the corner, fighting not to smile. Behind them, in the shadows further up, Qifrey and Olruggio stood a little taller. They’d all waited up to make sure Agott made it home.
Agott stepped away from Coco, tugging the towel back down around her neck. She looked soft and content, despite her obvious exhaustion. “I need to change into dry clothes.”
“Okay,” Coco said. “I’m going to make tea, if you want some. There's also leftover salt bread, if you're hungry.”
“Tea sounds nice.”
“I’ll bring it up once it’s done.”
“Alright.”
Despite the finality of the word, Agott did not pull away for a few seconds yet, eyes lingering on Coco before she finally turned to start heading for the stairs. Richeh, Tetia, Qifrey, and Olruggio all snapped to attention to hurriedly sneak back up before Agott saw them. Brushbuddy chittered with amusement, watching them try to evade her inevitable ire.
It looked back to Coco, who was watching where Agott had disappeared to with a fond sort of relief. She stooped to pick Brushbuddy up and loop it around her neck like a scarf.
“Thanks for keeping her company,” she whispered, lifting a hand for it to nuzzle against. “I didn’t want her out there by herself. She puts on a brave face, but I think she gets lonely, you know?”
Brushbuddy wriggled in agreement. Then, after a moment, it chirped very pointedly. Coco giggled.
“That’s right,” she said, smiling as she walked to the kitchen to put water on for tea. “We will.”
20.
Coco knew what was waiting for her when she entered Agott’s study. This was a familiar ritual.
Agott had returned from the Tower of Tomes a few hours ago. She only had to make the trip once every few months, but it always carved something out of her, every time she went. No matter how much she tried to brace for the loss, there was an empty-eyed look about her upon every homecoming.
Coco liked to give her time when she got home to have to herself. Agott hated little more than falling apart with an audience, even among those she loved and trusted. Neither of them ever spoke on the matter, but Agott showed her gratitude in a thousand quiet little ways that Coco had come to learn and treasure in their years together.
Agott was perched over her desk, a line of tension drawn harshly down her back as she inspected the sketches of her latest design. Coco doubted that she was actually inspecting anything. Her gaze was too distant, her mouth twisted, still caught on the predictably bad result of an unproductive conversation with her mother.
Coco stepped up behind her and put a hand on the small of her back. A light touch, just to let her know she was there. Agott startled, staring at her uncomprehending before the motion registered and she finally started to let down her guard.
“You’ll get lines like Master Olly if you keep frowning so much,” Coco mused, reaching out to trace the grimacing corner of her mouth. Then, more seriously. “Was it a safe trip?”
She knew better than to ask for good. Safe was usually the best they could ask for. Safe meant that the Arklaums had kept their gnashing teeth and sharp tongues in check. Safe meant Agott could come home and muster a smile within a tenday thereafter.
Agott hummed, turning to face her fully, even as her eyes wandered somewhere past Coco’s head.
“I’m glad to be home,” she said, slow and careful. The absence of anything else said a lot. “Lots of work to do. Wouldn’t do well to get behind.”
There was a certain exhaustion about her, now that Coco was close enough to look carefully. A hunch to her shoulders, like she was swallowing a shiver. Coco frowned and lifted a hand to press the back of it to Agott’s forehead. Fever-warm. It matched the sleepless shadow under her eyes.
“You’re burning up,” Coco said.
Agott sighed, shoulders sagging as she pressed into the cold comfort of Coco’s hand. “I know.”
Coco thought about saying something else— any of the other tirades Agott herself had gone on about maintaining physical and mental wellbeing, but she held her tongue. Agott knew all of that, and the truth was a simpler creature. Nothing ever really made the hurt go away. There were no platitudes that would fix this. None that Agott would listen to, anyway.
She drew Agott into her arms, holding her for a moment. Letting her collect herself in a place where the world couldn’t see her falter, because the world was so unkind to people like her. Everything they’d been through, and everything they’d done, and Agott’s family still had the gall to ask for more. It used to make Coco mad. So mad she’d once threatened to march to the Tower herself to set them straight. She was wiser, now. Agott loved her family, despite everything, and Coco loved Agott, so she let the matter lie.
“Oh,” Agott said, pulling away to reach for something on her desk. “I stopped by your mother’s shop on the way home. She had these for you.”
It was a pair of socks. Newly-knit in Coco’s favorite color. Coco smiled, setting them aside so she could loop her hands around Agott’s neck in another, looser hug.
“You didn't have to do that,” she said, pleased. Her mom and Agott getting along was all she’d ever wanted, though she’d never really doubted it would happen. Agott was easy to love. “I think she adores you more than me. Did she make you a matching pair?”
Agott scoffed. “No.” Yes.
Coco’s smile widened, dimpling into her cheeks, teasing and bright. “She sends me letters about you, you know. She’s always asking if you're eating well, or sleeping enough.”
Agott sighed, pretending to be more put-upon by the idea than she actually was. In reality, Coco would wager a hefty bet that it made her happy to be the subject of such discussions. Not that she’d ever admit it.
“Don’t you and your mother have better things to talk about?”
“Why would we?” Coco asked, drawing her closer still. “It’s you. Of course we talk about you.”
Finally, Agott laughed, hoarse and full of warmth as the last of her tension ebbed away. “You’re ridiculous. Both of you.”
Coco pressed her smile against Agott’s shoulder. “You like it.”
Agott pulled away to brush their noses together. “I think you mean,” she said, whisper-soft against Coco’s lips, “Agotta love it.”