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They'd finally arrived back home from the Great Hall after the mess of the second test, and the scabbed line on Agott’s arm still hadn't faded.
Of course it hadn't. It hadn't happened that long ago, even though it felt like an eternity had passed. And it was rather deep. And there was a singular drop of ink that had caught in the wound. And she wouldn't let it heal. She'd developed an unfortunate habit–she'd rub at the raised scab absent-mindedly, and then pick at it when she was tense. She scratched at the splotch of ink in particular, as though she could dredge it from her skin. It was what had led her to the kitchen now, climbing up onto a stool to reach the upper shelf where the first-aid supplies sat.
That night, Agott had been practicing as usual. Nothing was going right. The dip of her pen, the dark velvet ink, the scratch of her nib across paper–everything dragged her thoughts back to the caverns of Romonon. Her arm itched unbearably, and her spells shook under her hand. There was blood under her nails before she even realised what she was doing.
She couldn't draw in such a state. She'd crept downstairs in the dead-quiet darkness to seek out a solution.
Now, Agott clenched her teeth and strained her arm until her fingers brushed the woven basket. She pushed herself up on her tip-toes as far as they'd go. Finally, she got a hold on the edge, snatching it up as she hopped awkwardly off the rickety stool.
She could've just used her sylph shoes to launch herself up a step and been done with it in less than a second. But ever since they'd hung fruit up by the ceiling to dry and Tetia had cried after bonking her head flying up to gather the slices, Master Qifrey hadn't been a big fan of activating sylph shoes in the house. On any other day, she would've ignored his flimsy rule without a second thought. It was barely two metres up; she wasn't like Tetia, she was sensible and wouldn't go hitting her head. But today was one of those days where she was convinced there were eyes watching her every move. Even though she knew that it was objectively ridiculous, she was still somehow convinced Master Qifrey or Master Olruggio would know what she'd done, and they'd get mad, or they'd come down to check on her and trip and fall on the stairs, and it'd all be her fault.
Agott pushed the stool back into its spot. It scraped loudly against the floor, making her cringe and freeze in silence for a moment. If anyone walked in on her now…
But no footsteps started scuffling upstairs, nor did she hear anyone coming down the stairwell, so she released the breath she was holding and began to rifle as quietly as she could through the basket of various jars and medicines from Sinocia. Really, if she thought about it, her actions now were hardly different to when she and Tetia would sneak downstairs at night to steal bites of the sweet treats Master Qifrey would prepare just after their bedtimes. Everything was fine. Her fingers found a familiar bottle, and under the glow of her lamp Agott squinted at the label and confirmed it to be the salve she was looking for. The little glass vials clinked together as she took it out. She had little experience with the ointment, but it was what she always saw Master Qifrey using when Tetia fell over and scraped her knee or when Richeh went berry-picking and got scratched by the bushes. It made the injuries heal faster, he said.
Agott took a deep breath in. Now to use it.
This was fine. This was manageable. She would have to look at the line on her arm for a moment, but that was fine. As long as nobody else saw it, she was fine. It was the idea of others knowing that struck sickness into her stomach. She couldn't let that happen. If she kept what happened a secret to herself alone, she could bear the guilt and avoid crumbling under the shame of it all. Richeh and Euini knew, but that was alright too. That was controllable. Neither of them would go spilling her business to adults. Probably.
Agott gritted her teeth. If that was all true, why couldn't she undo the buttons to her sleeve? Her hands had gone clammy the moment she tried, and it was taking an eternity. They were too small. They kept slipping out of her grip. She glared at them as though that alone could get them under control, but that naturally didn't work, and so she yanked the sleeve up to her elbow and let the final few buttons pop open by themselves, and then her eyes fell upon her arm.
The line was perfectly straight. Admirably so. She was jealous. But it was still a scab, aside from the parts she'd scratched away, and it had beaded up at points where the cut was deeper, like when she'd press too hard with her pen and the ink would pool. Agott swallowed. Blood behaved rather like ink, didn't it? Her eyes were watering, and she didn't know why. The kitchen felt suddenly very cold, and very quiet, and very lonely. Her fingernails dug into her wrist. It was rather hard to look away, for some reason. The low light from the lamp she'd set on the counter splayed across her skin, and beyond that the rest of the room swallowed up into pure darkness, just like the form of that Brimmed Cap.
It's no big deal. Why are you acting like this?
But, when she had gained a little courage and reached to push her sleeve back up further, a familiar voice came out of the dark.
“Agott? What are you doing here at this time of night?”
Agott jumped out of her skin.
“Master Qifrey,” she gasped, heart pumping, clutching at her dress. Curse him and his light footsteps, she thought. She hadn't heard him approaching at all.
Qifrey stepped into the lamplight and, realising, Agott rushed with fumbling hands to tug her sleeve down. Qifrey's eye darted to the vial of ointment on the bench, then followed her movements to her arm, and his brow knitted together.
“What is that?” he said.
She tried to hide her arm behind her back, but he grabbed her wrist before she could and held it in the open near the lamp. He pushed the sleeve back up and an odd expression came over his face.
Agott froze. She felt like a million fire ants were crawling over her skin. Her heart was beating so fast that she thought she must be about to faint. All her brain was screaming at her was for her to pull her arm away, but she couldn't, and that only served to make her head spin more.
“What is this, Agott? Did you do this?” Qifrey was dead-focused on the wound.
“N-no,” she bit out, pulling back weakly, but his hand remained.
“Then how–”
She couldn't bear it anymore. His hand had turned to the ice-cold grip of that Brimmed Cap. The more she'd thrashed, the more forceful the hold had become, trapping her like quicksand. And when she'd realised his intention with horror, there was nothing she could do but–
Agott squeezed her eyes shut.
“Ugh, let go!” she shouted.
Qifrey blinked and dropped her arm immediately. Agott clutched her wrist tightly to her chest. She breathed hard.
Her teacher kneeled down to the ground so he was near-level with her. That alone served to calm her down, even if only a little–whenever he did that, kind, soothing words always followed, and she knew he wasn't going to yell or be angry or even lift a hand in a boiling-over rage just to set it back down again once she looked frightened enough. Not that he would ever think of doing such a thing. She knew that in her head, logically, but her body sometimes didn't, or something like that. Whatever Olruggio had told her a long time ago.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I shouldn't have done that. I saw you were hurt and acted without thinking.”
She glared at the floor. “I didn't mean to do that. You weren't meant to see it.”
“I know. But I truly do apologise. I'll take more care from now on. Agott?”
“What?” she snapped.
“You know you can tell me anything.”
She swallowed. Her hand found the raised scab of the wound again and she rubbed at it.
“Agott,” Qifrey repeated, gentler.
Agott realised he was waiting for her to look at him. She raised her head, as little as possible, just enough to glance up at him from behind her lashes. Qifrey gave her a smile. It made her want to sink into the floor.
“What's the matter, my dear?”
“Nothing,” Agott said, jaw clenched. She hadn't prepared enough; her voice shook, and she grimaced at the sound.
“Now, I'm not sure that's really the case.” Qifrey's face sobered as he glanced over at the supplies she’d pulled down from the top shelf. “You know I won't make you talk about anything you don't wish to. But I must make sure you're alright. Did something happen?”
“N-no, I… Um–well–”
Agott bit her lip hard, but even that wouldn't stop the tears that swelled up in her eyes. She took in a deep shuddering breath to try and contain them, but it only served as a loose stone, opening a gap in her armour. She gasped and the tears broke free.
“Oh, dear,” Qifrey said, opening his arms, not touching her. Agott fell clumsily into them. She hid her face in his robes, clinging on, and took short sharp breaths, trying to be as quiet as she could. Suddenly, she felt eight years old again, when she'd finally realised her mother wasn't coming to take her home, and she'd put on the bravest face she could until she broke and cried in Qifrey's arms until sleep took her.
“There, there. It's alright, Agott. You're allowed to cry.”
“I don't want to,” she said, barely able to get the words out.
“But perhaps you need to.”
Qifrey pulled her closer with one arm, steadying her shaking. With his other hand he gently cupped the back of her head. Agott thought that no one would be able to lay a finger on her like this. Even though she'd gotten bigger, grown up past the clueless child she'd arrived to the atelier as, her master had never stopped being there for her just the same. He'd never belittled her, not once. His cloak was her shield from the world whenever she wanted it, even though she'd never admit it aloud. With those thoughts in mind, her heart began to soothe as the minutes passed, and her tears soon followed. She was still a mess, though. Her face was wet and her eyes stung dry. She pulled back slightly from Qifrey and wiped her face with her sleeve, but it was hardly enough.
“Oh, don't worry about that,” Qifrey told her. He patted her shoulder before he hopped up, not going too far, just grabbing a tea towel from the drawer and dipping it into the vapour bubble. He wrung it out before sitting down beside Agott once more, where he dabbed at her face, feather-light. Agott startled at the cold, but she realised with some surprise that it was rather soothing. It took her back out of her head. Underneath her skin, a disgust crawled, more alive now she'd put herself back together a tad. She despised crying. Especially in front of people.
Agott sniffed and rubbed harshly at her face, releasing a breath she'd been holding for too long.
“Master, I…”
Qifrey set the cloth down and looked upon her with his gentle eye and the utmost care and patience.
“Yes, Agott?”
“I… Ugh.”
Just focusing on it again was making tears return to pool in her eyes. She blinked them away furiously, but she couldn't stop the fear that'd gripped around her heart. With trembling fingers, she took the edge of her sleeve and pushed it up, the underside of her arm facing her teacher, and she bore her gaze into the grain of the wooden walls. Well, if this was his last straw, if this was what it took for him to finally cast her aside, at least she'd no longer have to agonise constantly over when that day was coming.
It was impossible to miss the hitch in Qifrey's breath, but he caught himself before he could say anything.
“In Romonon,” Agott said, keeping her voice even, neutral, unwavering as an Arklaum should speak, “the Brimmed Cap without a body–”
Qifrey inhaled.
“–He, um. Euini’s seal–he tried to draw it on me, first, but Richeh and Euini saved me.”
The line of pink skin scratched raw, perfectly straight along her arm, spoke for itself. She carefully left out the parts that made her ghostly-ill to think about: how he held her down, how she could barely breathe, how she struggled.
“That splotch of black is ink?”
“...Yes.”
Qifrey was silent. He stared at her arm without any more than a flicker of something Agott could read. Nerves twinged in her chest.
“Are you–” Agott swallowed. It was hard to ask something when you were scared of the answer. Her voice went down to a whisper. “Upset with me?”
Qifrey's reply came far too loud for the night’s quiet. Its suddenness made her jump. “Am I upset with you? For this?”
“It's–yes! It was almost an ink tattoo!” Agott replied, her own voice raising. “There's nothing worse than that! Nobody cares whether you wanted it or not!”
She released a shuddering exhale, brow pulled into a glower. Qifrey's earlier gentleness was gone. The late night cut his face into harsh shadows.
“This wasn't your fault,” he said lowly. “Just because witches don't care to distinguish a seal forced upon someone from a seal on a willing participant doesn't mean they're right in doing so. It doesn't matter what witches might believe. They're wrong. Nothing that happened was your fault at all. Tell me you understand that.”
“But I should've–I don't know, just…” she protested.
“It wasn't your fault,” Qifrey repeated. “How could I ever be upset at you for such a thing, Agott?”
The words cut through some fragile part of her. She couldn't help the second wave of tears that broke through. They were different from the first ones–she couldn't silence them or tamper them down. She didn't even realise they were there until they were bubbling over.
“I'm sorry,” Qifrey murmured. He pulled her close again, tighter than before, like he was trying to hold liquid in his palms. “You must've been so scared.”
She had been.
“Nothing even happened,” Agott sobbed, low and wobbly with her trying to hold her voice steady again and failing.
“A seal didn't happen,” Qifrey said, “but what happened wasn't nothing in the slightest.”
“Stop it,” she said. “I already know this is pathetic. You don't need to lie to me.”
“What are you talking about? I'm telling you the truth. You went through something frightening, and it's alright to be upset by it. I don't want to hear you calling yourself pathetic.”
“I am.”
She plainly couldn't stand Qifrey's kindness towards her. Out of everyone in the world, she deserved it the least. It upset her even more how badly she wanted it. How her heart reached out for it.
When she thought about how Euini was the one to bear the seal, not her, she was horrified and upset and then relieved. It made her stomach turn. She was truly reprehensible for letting such gentle care be wrought upon her.
Especially because she was too scared to admit to her teacher that relief she felt. That selfish part of her didn't want to invite his admonishments. She would keep her mouth shut so he would stay with her, so she could keep his comfort, as much as she was disgusted by herself for it.
“You still look upon yourself so unkindly, Agott.”
She didn't know what to say to that. Qifrey sighed and pulled back to look her in the eye. Or to see her face, at least, as she wouldn't look back at him. The tears kept falling silently down her red cheeks. She wouldn't acknowledge them.
“I need you to know this,” he said. “Something like this, something that was forced on you–no responsibility do you bear for that.”
She sniffed and glared at the ground. “But I–”
“There are no buts,” Qifrey said.
“But–”
“Let me ask you. If it were, say, Tetia that this happened to, not you, would you blame Tetia for it?”
Agott glared harder. “That's not fair.”
“Why not?”
“Because–I'm not–I'm just–…”
Qifrey went to speak, but a pensive look crossed his face and he shook his head. He glanced over at the components on the counter top.
“Were you going to bandage it?” he asked instead of whatever he'd first planned.
She reddened. “Yes. I guess so.”
“Might I do it instead? I'd rather you not do that by yourself.”
Agott shrugged. She swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. Of course she didn't want him to. The shame was already too much to bear. She could handle this herself. But he already knew about it all now, so what was she to do about it? Refusing adults made her stomach hurt.
“I don't care.”
Qifrey didn't look particularly happy at that response either, but he still took the basket of supplies from the counter and a new damp cloth. He set it down beside Agott. She didn't have to move. That was nice, she supposed. And then he just sat in front of her and waited with his irritatingly placid face.
“What?” she snapped.
“Could I look at your arm?” he said patiently.
“Oh.” She had tucked it to her chest again. Agott flushed and pried it from her own grip. Then she shoved it in Qifrey's direction.
She watched as he took the cloth and carefully dabbed at her arm. The stains faded away, where the wound had opened up again and the blood had dried. It stung, making her flinch, and the air smelled like sharp alcohol. She bit the inside of her cheek.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked.
“No.”
Qifrey hmmed. She turned her head away with a huff.
“If it does, or if it starts to,” he said, “we'll go and see the doctor.”
“What? That's not possible,” she countered. Qifrey had taken her wrist in a feather-light grasp so he could cover the wound with the ointment. Agott suppressed a shudder, but she couldn't stop the goosebumps that rose on her skin. “How would you explain an injury like this? It'd breach the Pact.”
“There's no need for you to worry. If it comes to that, I'll work it out.”
Agott frowned, opened her mouth, closed it again, then glanced towards Qifrey. But he didn't look up. She could, however, see the curve of his lips upturned in an unreadable barely-there smile.
“Good thing it doesn't hurt, then,” she muttered instead, suddenly wanting the topic to just go away.
“I'm glad to hear that.”
After the ointment dried, there was silence as Qifrey wrapped the gauze around her arm and Agott half-watched it happening. It looked like rain was starting a gentle pour outside, one that couldn't yet be heard. She could see beads of water against the windows. Beyond that it was too dark to tell. When she awakes in the morning, which probably won't be a time too far away now, there'll be dew on the plants and the clouds will be chased away into cold clear skies. That was how the autumn days seemed to go out here. Qifrey told her that he wouldn't be much longer now; he was just waiting for the glueflower to dry and secure the bandage to skin, and it made Agott roll her eyes. She was fine, she didn't need him to hurry, and she curtly told him as much.
“There we are,” he said softly. “All done.”
Agott took her arm back and observed it. The line was hidden from view under the bandage, and it seemed the ointment had relieved the itching. She exhaled and began to redo the buttons on her sleeve, but although the clamminess from earlier had eased somewhat, she still couldn't coordinate enough to get them through.
“Would you like me to do it for you?” Qifrey asked, head tilted. His hands were folded in his lap.
“I–” Agott hesitated, and then her shoulders dropped. “Yes, okay. Please.”
She just barely twitched when Qifrey carefully, slowly took over the task. When he was halfway through, something in her chest relaxed oddly. It felt like she could breathe freely again. It was just her master helping her do up some buttons, just like he'd brush Richeh’s hair, or tie up the bow on Tetia’s winter cloak. The same hands that summoned a beast of a spelled dragon back in that white-walled labyrinth were now treating her with feather-light care.
“There we are,” he said. “That's better.”
Agott swallowed. “Um, Master Qifrey…”
She'd been considering what he said. Of course she wouldn't blame Tetia. She didn't blame Euini. Practically, logically, to do such a thing would be ridiculous, and Agott did not like ridiculous things.
Qifrey looked expectantly back at her.
“Just… thanks,” she found herself mumbling, the tips of her ears going red as she ducked her gaze away.
“There's no need,” he smiled. “Rather, I'm thankful you let me help, Agott.”
She grimaced. That was too much.
“Now,” Qifrey continued, “I hate to mention it, but it's terribly late, and a good night's rest is rather important to feeling better, don't you think?”
His bringing it up made Agott realise how terribly exhausted she was. Any kind of crying always wore her out, and she hadn't slept well the previous night, either. She rubbed her eyes and nodded soundlessly. Qifrey pulled himself to his feet and then helped Agott up with his uninjured arm.
“The things on the counter,” Agott realised.
“Hmm? Oh, leave them. I'll clean up later.”
She was too tired to protest, and she didn't exactly want to clean up either, so she simply accepted his words. She walked in a trance, and they had already reached her bedroom door by the time she realised Qifrey had gone out of his way to walk her the whole way there, holding the lamp up for her like she was a child. Agott didn't have the energy to feel embarrassed.
Qifrey crouched down before her. “Now, Agott. We can talk more in the morning. But will you be alright for the night?”
“Yes.” She certainly did not want to talk more in the morning.
“You know you can come and get me whenever, if you need?”
“Yes,” she grumbled.
“And what do you want for breakfast when you wake up?”
“What?” she said, thrown off.
He smiled. “Pick whatever you'd like.”
Agott scrunched up her face. It was an obvious ploy, but one she couldn't resist. “...Fine. Just… porridge. With quartz sugar and berries.”
Qifrey laughed. “Well, alright, then. Is that really all?”
“That's what I said, isn't it?” she replied, frowning.
“Very well. You're truly alright to go to bed now?”
“Yes. You're fussing.”
“Only because I worry. But, well, I suppose I am. Good night, Agott. Sweet dreams. And don't sleep in your day clothes, please.”
“I know,” she groaned. “Good night.”
“Oh, and, Agott?”
She raised her eyebrows.
"I'll be there next time,” Qifrey said. “Nothing like that will ever happen again. I promise.”
Agott swallowed. She let him leave without saying anything. Qifrey's light footsteps faded away, and Agott opened her door and shut herself inside, sighing into the privacy of her room. She felt strangely light. Certainly miles better than a mere clock mark earlier.
Agott climbed up onto her bed. She picked up an owlcat plushie off the duvet, stared at its big button-eyes, and squeezed it in a tight hug with her eyes shut. Qifrey's words rang in her head. She trusted him on several matters. On study, knowledge, and answering her questions correctly. And other things, less important, like him really meaning it about not minding when she took seconds at dinner, and being right about Tetia not really being irreparably angry with her after they fought, and not lying when he said it was fine to spend her allowance on whatever she liked.
Her eyes fell upon her bandaged arm.
Perhaps she could trust her teacher on this matter too, she thought, and her mind settled, at least for a moment.