Archive of Our Own

It was not uncommon for a foul mood to consume Easthies. He had been a deeply serious child, followed the principles of the Pact to a glorious fault, and saw no grey in transgressions that required judge and jury, not simply executioner. Vinanna knew this well of her student and knew well the sound of his infuriated stride on the floors of the great hall, so it was no surprise when he entered her office without permission or announcement. Vinanna, had she been in a better mood herself, might have sprung an ambush for him as he opened the door just to keep his senses sharp and alert, but then she would have made a mess of the folio he grasped in his hands.

“Why,” he demanded, his fury plainly evident in his clipped words, “Did this get approved?” He dropped the folio on the desk in front of Vinanna with a heavy thud, disturbing her own papers on the desk. 

“Remember your place, Easthies.” Vinanna rose from her seat, resting her hands on the edge of the desk in front of her. “I’ll have you removed.”

Rebuked only by the reminder that there were rules and norms to follow, Easthies dropped to one knee, grasping his hands at his side and lowering his eyes as was appropriate in the presence of one of the Wise. “...Captain. This is a most unusual situation. I seek your guidance.”

Oh? That in and of itself was unusual. Easthies rarely faltered when faced with a moral quandary. Vinanna took up the folio from her desk, opening the folder to see the cover page. It was… paperwork?

APPLICATION FOR REGISTRATION OF INDEPENDENT ATELIER

This had no business in the hands of the Knights Moralis and even less business in the hands of the Wise. Vinanna’s patience unraveled at the edges like a threadbare garment as she lifted her eyes from the document to Easthies. “I expect you have a spectacularly good reason for bringing this to my desk, Easthies.” 

“It was escalated to the Knights Moralis,” Easthies explained. “If you look at the document trail, it already went through the full chain of administrative escalation before going to the Knights for approval.” He finally lifted his eyes, brave enough to let the anger seep back into his words. “They requested official consultation from you, Captain.”

Vinanna looked back at the paperwork. “Ridiculous. This Atelier has been approved—the applicant has completed the five tests and completed all necessary—” Her eyes fell on the applicant’s name. 

Qifrey. 

Perhaps she had been too quick to assume this was purely an administrative matter. It certainly explained Easthies’ reaction—he found Qifrey endlessly vexing ever since the boy came to the Great Hall and had always suspected him of some manner of foul play, even if Qifrey’s master, Beldaruit, had insisted it was the natural curiosity of the young and adventurous that led Qifrey down so many troubling paths. 

But they had also all breathed a silent, collective sigh of relief when Qifrey had left the Great Hall to pursue his own travels. If he had returned, passed his final test, and submitted this application… Interesting. 

She could not tell Easthies she shared his concerns about the young witch, and frankly, if the paperwork was in order and the witch was qualified, there was no reason to deny the request. He was entitled to the atelier and stipend just as any witch who passed the five tests would be. “Qifrey is well-qualified, Easthies. I still fail to see how this is a matter for the Knights Moralis, let alone the Three Wise. I suspect I have taught you better than to waste my time or yours on petty disputes.”

“Indeed. However, the concern is with a rather significant conflict of interest that may create opportunities for future violations of our laws.” Easthies got to his feet, now, taking up a seat at the desk rather than continuing to kneel before his master and the head of the Knights. “The concern is with his proposed Watchful Eye.”

Vinanna continued reading the application, skimming over logistical details of the design of the Atelier, the proposed curriculum, location, etc. Finally, she found the space on the application for the proposed Watchful Eye. The paperwork indicated that this was optional as one would be assigned by the Knights Moralis if the applicant did not identify a well-qualified individual. 

Olruggio of the Torch. 

Ah. There it was. “Olruggio is among the most qualified civilian witches of his age,” Vinanna reasoned, knowing this would land on deaf ears. “And there is no regulation prohibiting the Watchful Eye having a pre-existing relationship with the Atelier’s Master.”

Easthies stared at her, aghast, though it hardly showed on his severe features. “Master, their pre-existing relationship is exactly the issue! The precedent here is alarming. You mean to tell me you truly think that Olruggio would stop Qifrey from whatever madness he is capable of if left to his own devices? The two of them have shown time and again—”

“How long has this been in circulation?” Vinanna flipped through a few pages. The application itself was ten pages, as was standard, but appeared to have another forty or so supplemental pages of interviews, correspondence, and other supporting documentation that was frankly unprecedented. This whole situation was unprecedented. 

“The document was first filed six months and three weeks ago.” Easthies pointed to the filing date on the cover sheet. 

Vinanna flipped to page fourteen. There should not have been page fourteen. “You mean to tell me two seasons have passed since this document was filed?” Even by bureaucratic standards, that was pure insanity. She could only imagine what would come of keeping the chronically restless Qifrey bound up at the bottom of the ocean in paperwork hell for half a year. It was no wonder this had escalated. 

The top of page fourteen included notes from the first reviewer who had approved the foundation of the Atelier and confirmed Qifrey’s qualifications. They had noted that while the Atelier was approved, the approval was conditional on resolving the conflict of interest concerns with the proposed Watchful Eye. Of Olruggio, they wrote:

Candidate meets all professional requirements. However, records indicate applicant and candidate have maintained a close personal friendship since apprenticeship. Official recommendation is to request alternative candidates to avoid potential conflict of interest. If no alternative candidate can be identified, escalate for further review to determine eligibility. 

The following page was written in beautiful scrawl, the penmanship of a clever witch. It was Qifrey’s response to various notes made throughout the application requesting clarification on elements of the Atelier, but his last paragraph addressed the request for additional nominations for Watchful Eye.

I respectfully decline your request to nominate additional candidates for Watchful Eye. Olruggio is my preferred candidate. If requested, I will provide additional details of his qualifications in a separate memorandum. Please advise. 

There was a note attached to this document with a clip—evidently the next conversation had occurred verbally so there was no official paper trail.

Applicant was advised the concern regarding the candidate is related to impartiality and the Great Hall recognizes the qualifications of Olruggio of the Torch. Additional documentation will not be required at this time. Applicant has been advised to identify up to two alternative candidates. 

The next letter from Qifrey was maddeningly brief.

I acknowledge the concern expressed in our previous communication. Respectfully, I do not share the concern. My request to appoint Olruggio to the Watchful Eye position in my Atelier stands. He remains the most qualified and preferred candidate. 

Vinanna looked up from the document at Easthies who was now gripping his temples with his fingers. He growled out, “After that, they documented Qifrey’s refusal to provide alternatives and escalated the request. The next reviewer verified Olruggio’s qualifications and forwarded it to a third reviewer to conduct interviews.” 

“I suppose these interviews will illuminate how this has come to you and subsequently to me?” No question this was an unusual situation, and frankly one that was all too familiar for both Qifrey and his master Beldaruit, but Vinanna still did not see any flagrant violation of the Pact or their laws. 

“It will illuminate why this should have been denied months ago!” Easthies slammed a hand on the desk between them, his red eyes darkening with fury. “He is practically requesting there be no oversight of his Atelier. Of all people him—Qifrey—the last man we want acting totally beyond our oversight!” 

“That was not my question, Easthies. Sit.” 

The muscle of Easthies’ jaw tightened, straining against skin. He sat, keeping his mouth blessedly shut so Vinanna could keep reading. She returned her attention to the folio and the first interview which had been conducted with Qifrey. The questions were routine enough, though she could almost read the exhaustion in the interviewer’s questions as they seemed to dig deeper and deeper looking for any sort of satisfactory information.

Applicant was asked to explain why he felt the candidate would be best suited to exercising independent oversight of the Atelier.

Qifrey’s response had been transcribed verbatim.

“Simple, really. Olruggio has never hesitated to express his disapproval.”

Vinanna’s mouth twitched. She continued.

Applicant was asked to provide specific examples of instances when the candidate had demonstrated willingness to challenge his judgment. 

“Olruggio has known me since our apprenticeship and is intimately familiar with my casting. He can identify when I am overextending myself. He knows my temperament and when I am withholding information or attempting to manage a challenge without assistance. He has intervened on numerous occasions when he considered my actions unsafe and demonstrated no reluctance to challenge me regardless of if I agree with his assessment.” 

Vinanna read the answer again, then met eyes with Easthies. He stared back at her, his eyes saying all the words that he could not since she silenced him. “He baked the conflict of interest into his argument against the conflict of interest and told the interviewer he was prone to lying and doing dangerous things.” She could almost hear these words coming from a younger Beldaruit’s mouth and it did not make her any less trepidacious to imagine it. 

Applicant was reminded the concern is not whether the candidate is capable of recognizing dangerous behavior, but whether personal loyalty to the applicant might compromise independent judgment. 

“No.”

Applicant was asked whether his personal relationship with the candidate might create circumstances in which the candidate might prioritize the applicant’s welfare over the responsibilities of his appointment. 

“I would expect my Watchful Eye would consider my welfare and the welfare of the Atelier a responsibility of his appointment.” 

Vinanna closed her eyes. “He didn’t answer the questions. Clever. Slippery and clever.”

“Yes,” Easthies agreed solemnly. 

There was an addendum at the end of the interview.

Following the interview, the applicant stated that he trusted the candidate and that he refused to further speculate on hypothetical misconduct. A follow-up interview with the candidate is recommended. Additional consideration by the Knights Moralis may be warranted. Applicant states for the record, “There is no witch whose judgment I trust more.”

Ah, there it was—how it came to Easthies and ultimately now Vinanna. Her subordinate’s position was clear—Qifrey had dodged questions, cast suspicion on himself, and leveraged his personal relationship with Olruggio in the weirdest attempt at clearing suspicion around that very relationship. 

Vinanna knew Qifrey reasonably well, though certainly not as well as Beldaruit. The boy had been pleasant, curious, and perfectly willing to learn from other witches, but trust was another matter entirely. He came to them with nothing—no memories, no family, no history beyond the terrible circumstances by which he had been discovered. He was sullen, blank, and listless until the Star of Ghodrey—a young Olruggio—came to the Great Hall as a student in exchange for additional witches to assist in Ghodrey. 

Then, he ran away. Disappeared beyond the bounds of the Great Hall. Pushed mercilessly to pass his tests so his ventures beyond the Great Hall would not land him in trouble with his master and the Knights. But not long after he completed his third test, something changed.

He no longer tried to escape. He no longer was sullen. He was all warmth and smiles, but even as a child, Vinanna knew it was surface-deep. Something dark lurked inside the boy, still, that perhaps he could never escape. Perhaps that was why he had still chosen to leave the Great Hall and now sought to establish a permanent home beyond the seafloor. 

Vinanna turned the page. “Olruggio was interviewed separately?”

“Twice,” Easthies confirmed. He seemed to have settled from his outburst, perhaps calmed that Vinanna was looking at the file as critically as he felt she could. “Despite his reputation, I suspect you will find that Olruggio’s responses were equally troubling.” 

The file began innocuously enough. 

Candidate confirms longstanding friendship with applicant began during their respective apprenticeships at the Great Hall. Candidate and applicant trained under separate masters, but maintained frequent personal contact and have continued to associate both personally and professionally since completing their training.

Candidate was asked whether this relationship would compromise his ability to challenge the Atelier Master when necessary.

“No.”

Candidate was asked to elaborate.

“I’m questioning Qifrey all the time.”

Vinanna’s lips pursed. Olruggio’s charm seeped through the page. She could almost hear him speak the words drolly, casting his eyes aside in annoyance. No one had suffered Qifrey as much as his friends, she suspected.

Candidate was asked whether he had previously intervened when the applicant engaged in conduct he considered dangerous, irresponsible, or unethical.

“Yes.”

Candidate was asked to elaborate on the frequency of such interventions.

“Frequently.”

Candidate was asked to provide examples.

“No.”

Vinanna’s amusement fled her. This was considerably more interesting and concerning. “Interesting that he refused to answer.” She could only assume that Olruggio was protecting Qifrey’s past—it was an open secret in the Great Hall that Qifrey was a handful and had gotten into plenty of trouble over the years. But he had already received his credentials to become a teacher and the Atelier was already approved when this interview was conducted, so what was there to hide?

“More importantly, why did the interviewer allow it? It concerns me that the interviewer did not further interrogate this matter.” 

“It’s an interview, not an interrogation.” The lower levels of the Knights Moralis did not exist to enforce laws, but rather to occasionally adjudicate questions of ethics. “No wrongdoing is being alleged.” 

“Perhaps it ought to be,” Easthies muttered, not nearly as quietly as he must have thought. “It concerns me that Olruggio is already demonstrating a willingness to withhold truth to protect Qifrey. If he is doing this now, when the stakes are low, what will stop him when the matter involves the possible loss of Qifrey’s memory for violating the Pact?”

“Your point is well-taken,” Vinanna agreed. It was, unfortunately, a very well-made argument. “But I suspect, knowing the quality of Olruggio’s character, this is not as foreboding as you are imagining. He is protecting Qifrey’s privacy.”

“From the Great Hall,” Easthies argued. “The very institution Qifrey is requesting to represent.”

Another excellent point.

Vinanna looked back to the packet. She may have been too quick to judge if this was a matter for the Knights… or the Wise.

Candidate was asked whether he would formally report the applicant if the applicant committed a major violation.

“Obviously.”

Candidate was asked whether he would do so if reporting the violation resulted in severe personal or professional consequences for the applicant.

“I’d stop him before it got to that.”

“Now that isn’t an answer either.” Vinanna looked up to the ceiling, watching the shadows of sea creatures drift across the stone, backlit by light filtering down from the surface. “Though it does answer a different question.”

“He’s arrogant,” Easthies argued.

“Perhaps,” Vinanna agreed. “Or perhaps he knows something we do not.”

Candidate was reminded that the Watchful Eye must remain capable of independent judgment and that a personal affection for the Atelier Master cannot supersede obligations under the Pact.

“I understand what this position requires of me. I’ve known Qifrey most of my life; that’s exactly why I agreed to this. I know when he’s decided something is his problem and no one else’s and tries to hide. I know when he’s trying to distract everyone with a smile and a smoke and mirrors routine. If you’re asking if I care about him, I obviously do. If you’re asking whether that means I’ll stand there and let him do something dangerous just because we’re friends, then I think you don’t know much about either of us.”

There was the crux of it. Unlike Qifrey, Olruggio seemed to at least understand what a conflict of interest was. Just like Qifrey, his response was to explain just how deeply their relationship ran to demonstrate how he was best qualified to be the one to stop Qifrey. Worse, he invoked the way their relationship was well-known as though that did not further the issue Easthies had brought up—the precedent and the appearance of approving this application. 

But in the face of this, it seemed the interviewer chose to dispense with subtlety entirely. 

Candidate was asked whether he believes there are circumstances in which his personal loyalty to the applicant might conflict with his obligations as the Watchful Eye.

“Probably.”

Candidate was asked to elaborate.

“I’ve known him since we were kids. I’m not going to lie to you and pretend like I don’t care what happens to him.”

Candidate was asked whether this should disqualify him.

“No.”

Candidate was asked to elaborate.

“Because caring about Qifrey is the only reason to take this job.”

Vinanna sat back letting the folio drop to the desk. That was exactly the wrong answer. The logic was completely backwards, the two men were basically tying their own noose, but their argument was… persuasive. She thought again about Qifrey leaving the Great Hall—wandering, long absences, the way he craved the open air and sought freedom desperately. But now, he had returned to seek something different—a home beneath that same open sky and apprentices.

After six months of administrative obstruction, he obstinately argued that no one but Olruggio was qualified to be part of that new home. 

Vinanna flipped back through the pages of the document to the cover page. “Did he propose Olruggio as his Watchful Eye before or after selecting the location?”

Easthies looked puzzled by the line of questioning. “Does it matter?”

“Indulge your old master.”

“The original application includes both.”

Vinanna looked back to the name on the application—Olruggio of the Torch. Qifrey had imagined this Atelier with Olruggio fundamentally woven into the fabric of its creation. It couldn’t be helped, there really was only one person qualified to decide if this objectively terrible idea was worth the risk it presented.

She picked up a piece of parchment to add her own addendum to the file. “You are correct, Easthies—this is not a matter for the Knights Moralis.” She began writing as she spoke. 

Easthies leaned forward to watch her write. When he saw the name, he stood abruptly, causing the chair to screech across the stone floor. “You cannot be serious!”

“Completely.” 

“You are sending this to Beldaruit?” Easthies threw his hands in the air. “That is absurd! This has no business in the hands of the Knights, and now you are involving a second member of the Three Wise? And the one who almost certainly has his own conflict of interest in the matter?”

“For the last time, sit down, shut your mouth, and mind your place, Easthies.” Vinanna dropped the folio, complete with her annotation, on the desk. “Qifrey was an anomaly when he arrived; Beldaruit defied us all and took responsibility for that anomaly by taking him as an apprentice.” Easthies opened his mouth, but was silenced with a swipe of Vinanna’s hand. “He took a half-dead, memoryless child with mysterious circumstances and grew him into one of the most capable witches of our age. He has spent years assuring all of us that Qifrey’s alarming tendencies are evidence of a curious and adventurous disposition with no dark motive beneath.” 

Easthies’ mouth tightened. 

“I am not involving myself in some routine administrative procedure that could not be resolved at the appropriate level because of Beldaruit’s optimism.” 

For the first time since entering the room, Easthies’ intensity was disturbed by what might pass for a bit of humor. “So… you intend to make Qifrey his master’s problem?”

“Qifrey has always been his problem.” Vinanna shoved the folio into Easthies’ arms. “Just as you have always been mine.” 

Despite himself, Easthies smiled. 

“Deliver this to Beldaruit. Let’s not delay this further.” 

“Of course.” Easthies bowed his head and left the room without further complaint. His arguments had been sound, his concerns valid, but at least for now, he remained willing to bow to the wisdom of his master.

There is no witch whose judgment I trust more. 

A dangerous thing, trust. 

Beldaruit,

Your informal consultation is requested regarding the suitability of Olruggio of the Torch to serve as Watchful Eye to the proposed Atelier of your former apprentice, Qifrey.

The Atelier itself has passed merit and has been approved. Olruggio meets and exceeds all professional requirements for the appointment. Furthermore, you will find extensive character references attached in the supporting documentation. The application has nevertheless remained unresolved for six months due to concerns regarding the longstanding personal relationship between Qifrey and Olruggio and its possible effect upon Olruggio’s ability to exercise independent judgment.

As you will see, both parties have been interviewed and neither interview sufficiently resolved the concern. However, with no evidence of wrongdoing or precedent for denying such a request due to an existing relationship, the Knights Moralis did not feel they were able to deny the application on this basis.

As Qifrey’s former master, you are uniquely situated to advise whether this relationship presents an unacceptable conflict of interest or provides the candidate with the knowledge of the applicant that may materially strengthen his ability to perform his duties of Watchful Eye.

I would appreciate your recommendation.

• Vinanna

P.S. You brought this on yourself.

Beldaruit read the note twice. 

The first time fighting through the surprise that Vinanna had come to him for counsel at all. The second time, his eyes settled on six months and he could not help but imagine his former apprentice already scheming away at night in his one-room accommodations in the Great Hall preparing to mount an insurrection if this application did not get approved. 

He had, indeed, brought this on himself.

The folio Easthies had delivered earlier sat on Beldaruit’s lap, substantial enough that it placed uncomfortable pressure on his legs beneath the blanket—they were not fit for load-bearing. Easthies had deposited the folio with the solemnity of evidence in a murder trial and departed before Beldaruit could convince him to stay for tea. 

The first ten pages of the document were ordinary—disappointingly so if Beldaruit was looking for any little nuggets of Qifrey’s personality, which he always was. Qifrey had completed all five tests, his proposed curriculum was sound, the plans for the Atelier were modest and practical; nothing in the application suggested that the administration had any reason to delay its approval. 

Beldaruit paused over the name of the proposed location—not far from Kalhn. Away from the Great Hall. Open land, clear sky… of course. Qifrey had never liked the ocean above his head. Even as a boy, he sought every excuse to escape the Great Hall and find his way to the surface, often in ways that put Qifrey in incredible danger. Beldaruit had long ago stopped pretending that he did not know that his former apprentice breathed easier under an unobstructed sky.

It was one of the reasons he was not particularly surprised when Qifrey left. His return had been far more interesting. His return with the intention of establishing an Atelier was very interesting indeed.

Beldaruit turned the page. 

Proposed Watchful Eye: Olruggio of the Torch

“Oh,” Beldaruit said aloud to the empty room. But after only a moment’s consideration added, “Well, obviously.” 

He turned the page. And the next. And next. 

By page seventeen of the supplementary materials, Beldaruit understood why Vinanna had sent this monstrous document to him. By page twenty-four, he understood why Easthies looked as though he wanted to set the folio, or possibly himself, on fire. By page thirty, Beldaruit was starting to consider setting himself on fire. 

The problem was remarkably simple. The Knights Moralis had asked why Qifrey wanted Olruggio, and Qifrey had answered, in increasingly elaborate variations, “because I do.”

Beldaruit smiled despite himself. He couldn’t tell from the documents alone if Qifrey genuinely did not understand the objection or simply rejected the premise of the objection entirely and therefore felt it didn’t warrant further discussion or consideration. Knowing Qifrey, either was unfortunately equally possible. 

He skimmed another page.

Applicant states for the record, “There is no witch whose judgment I trust more.”

Beldaruit stopped; he read the statement a second time.

Qifrey was generous with affection. He smiled easily. He delighted in other people’s successes and offered kindness with an ease that might have surprised anyone who had known the silent, suspicious child Beldaruit had first taken as an apprentice. Trust was different—trust had always been different. Beldaruit had taught Qifrey magic. He taught him that questions did not need to be traps and mistakes did not always carry punishment. He tried, with varying degrees of success, to teach him that accepting kindness did not create a debt that would later be repaid. 

There were some things a master could not teach… but perhaps someone else could.

He continued reading, finding just as Vinanna did that the interviews did nothing to resolve the matter. Qifrey’s argument boiled down to Olruggio knew him well, therefore Olruggio was uniquely qualified to recognize when intervention was necessary. It was excellent reasoning and almost precisely the argument against appointing Olruggio as Watchful Eye.

Beldaruit chuckled. “Qifrey,” he said fondly, running his thumb over the page. The boy had a remarkable talent for identifying every component of a problem except the one that involved himself. 

Based on his interviews, Olruggio at least seemed to understand why they were being questioned. He flat-out admitted to the many times he had intervened when Qifrey had misbehaved or done dangerous things in the past, absolutely justifying the need for a Watchful Eye who could provide some proper oversight. But then…

Because caring about Qifrey is the only reason to take this job.

“Oh, Olruggio.” Beldaruit sighed. 

The Knights had spent six months asking these two men whether their attachment to one another presented a conflict of interest, and both apparently responded by describing the attachment in progressively greater detail. It was almost impressively obtuse. 

But… for one who knew them well, it was also impressively persuasive. A stranger would certainly be more impartial than Olruggio could ever muster, but a stranger would also be considerably easier for Qifrey to fool. That could not be dismissed. Qifrey could be slippery when he wanted to be; not maliciously, for the most part, he simply possessed an irritating habit of deciding what other people needed to know and constructing his answers accordingly. 

There was something else bothering him. 

Looking back at the original application it included all the basic details—location, curriculum, master, Watchful Eye… Olruggio’s name had been there since the file was submitted. Qifrey had not designed the Atelier, encountered difficulty finding a Watchful Eye, and then turned to the person he trusted most to fill the role. Whatever Qifrey had imagined when he decided to return to the Great Hall, Olruggio had already been part of it. 

For years, Qifrey had wanted nothing more than freedom. He had fought for every test that allowed him farther from the Great Hall, then eventually left altogether. Beldaruit had let him go. Some witches needed roots—Qifrey, he thought, needed wings. Apparently Qifrey had returned looking for somewhere to land: an Atelier, apprentices, and crucially, Olruggio. 

Beldaruit’s expression softened, though there was still one assumption in that thought he didn’t trust. Why teaching? The question was conspicuously absent from the reviews, interviews, and even Vinanna’s own note, because it had nothing to do with the concern they had uncovered. Qifrey had of course established the right to an Atelier, his qualifications were not in question. But no one had asked why.

The Qifrey he knew loved magic. He loved learning. He was patient when explaining things and took genuine interest in showing others something beautiful, but none of that meant he wanted apprentices of his own. More importantly, he had been fleeing anything that threatened to hold him in one place right up until he returned voluntarily and proposed a life defined by responsibility to others. 

Beldaruit found that hopeful. He also knew better than to mistake hope for understanding. 

He closed the folio. Vinanna had asked him whether Olruggio’s relationship with Qifrey presented an unacceptable conflict of interest or gave him knowledge that materially strengthened his ability to serve as Watchful Eye. After fifty-two pages, Beldaruit’s answer was unequivocally: yes. To both. Which had resolved nothing.

He reached for parchment and his quill at his bedside. There was no point asking the Knights to conduct additional interviews or collect more materials. If six months had accomplished nothing beyond teaching Qifrey increasingly polite ways to refuse a request and exhausting Olruggio to the point that he declared his affection was his principal qualification, another interview was unlikely to help.

No, Beldaruit needed to meet with them together. 

He dipped his pen in ink.

Qifrey and Olruggio,

I have been asked to provide a recommendation regarding your proposed Watchful Eye appointment. Please come see me tomorrow morning so we may discuss the matter.

He considered the message, imagined it in the hands of his former apprentice and how it might read to him.

This is not the sixth test.

Beldaruit smiled. That was enough reassurance that Qifrey wouldn’t spend the night worrying and constructing elaborate contingency plans. Probably. 

He sent the note and returned his attention to the folio. He still had questions and fortunately, knew exactly which two idiots to ask.

Qifrey and Olruggio arrived early, Qifrey holding an ornately wrapped box. Beldaruit had expected as much, nevertheless he had hoped foolishly that by inviting them together for this conversation, Qifrey would not treat this as another test to be passed. The hope lasted approximately as long as it took his former apprentice to enter the room.

“Master Beldaruit,” Olruggio said, falling to one knee and bowing his head in an expression of respect. It was a far cry from the tantrums of a young child who had been thrown in front of Beldaruit for discipline when he and Qifrey snuck out of the Great Hall. Beldaruit sometimes missed the little spitfire. Though, the beard he had grown suited him—it was tradition in Ghodrey for men to grow a beard when they came of age, and it seemed Olruggio felt he qualified. 

“Master,” Qifrey acknowledged, coming to sit in one of the two chairs at Beldaruit’s bedside. He set the wrapped box on the bedside table. 

He wore a new accessory on his face—spectacles, though unlike any Beldaruit had seen before, with one dark lens that presumably had been spelled to obscure the scarring of his missing right eye. His good eye gleamed a beautiful silvery blue beneath the clear lens. Beldaruit couldn’t help the questions his mind chased. Who made the glasses? When did Qifrey start wearing them? What seal was drawn on them to obscure his eye? Did he obscure his scars for others’ comfort or his own?

He set aside his curiosity about the eye in favor of another curiosity. “Qifrey, you brought me a gift.” He picked up the box and turned it over—it wasn’t terribly heavy, but felt like it had been packed tightly with paper. Perhaps it was something breakable?

Qifrey smiled. “I did. Something for your tea.”

“You know this wasn’t a sixth test, right?” Beldaruit gave Qifrey a sly smile. He knew Qifrey better than to think this was a bribe, that was beneath him, but he knew that there was always some sort of mischief behind that smile.

“Your note was quite explicit,” Qifrey agreed, his smile growing warm.

Olruggio, who had risen from his kneel to take up a seat in the other chair, made a noise in the back of his throat. “I told him what it would look like to bring you a gift.”

Beldaruit motioned with the package toward Olruggio. “See? He understands my concern.”

“It looks like a bribe,” Olruggio continued, fixing Qifrey with a sidelong glance. It was then that Beldaruit noticed that despite how well put-together his robes were, Olruggio’s face looked remarkably lean for a man of his age and there were bags under his eyes. 

“To be precise, you told me it looked like a beautifully wrapped bribe,” Qifrey joked. 

“...And that wasn’t a compliment,” Olruggio grumbled, leaning a little closer from his chair toward Qifrey.

“I chose to take it as one,” Qifrey replied dismissively. 

Oh, well, this was all quite delightfully familiar. Beldaruit was glad to know that no number of years and no span of distance could fundamentally change these two. Perhaps Vinanna had been exactly right to send them to him.

“Well, now I must open it.” Beldaruit’s fingers worked at the ribbon around the small box. The paper had been folded with far more care than necessary, and he took the same care in unraveling it. As a child, Qifrey had given Beldaruit a number of small gifts—herbs and flowers he picked, unusual shells he collected, strange curiosities that might be artifacts—all found on one of his unauthorized excursions that prematurely aged Beldaruit and several members of the Knights Moralis. 

Inside the box was an intricately painted teacup and saucer with a beautiful dragon motif. Beldaruit would have to examine it more closely when there were not more important matters to attend to, but he could see the delightful little seals integrated into the design of the cup and could only imagine what sort of novelty this cup might hold. “Thank you, Qifrey, this is delightful.”

“Of course. I thought of you immediately when I saw it.” The pleasure on Qifrey’s face had become unguarded. Finally, with that, perhaps they could have a meaningful conversation about this application of his. 

Beldaruit set the gift carefully aside and pulled the folio back onto his lap that had occupied most of the previous evening. He saw the moment Qifrey’s guard was back up, his eye glancing sharply at the folio before going back to Beldaruit’s face.

Pleasantly enough, he said, “I see you’ve become acquainted with our application?” 

“Intimately,” Beldaruit agreed. He heard Olruggio sigh heavily as the man slumped into his chair. The slouch aged him more than the beard and the eye bags combined. “All fifty-two pages.”

“Fifty—” Qifrey closed his eye, touching his hand to his temple. “That is ridiculous.”

“I’ve been asked to provide a recommendation,” Beldaruit continued. “And I could simply write one. I know both of you well enough that I hardly require an additional interview to determine whether Olruggio is capable of serving as Watchful Eye or if you are qualified to be Master of your own Atelier.”

Qifrey folded his hands over his lap, lacing his fingers together. Cautiously, he asked, “So, then what remains unresolved?”

There it was. Not impatience, exactly. Qifrey was capable of extraordinary patience when he believed it served a purpose. What he possessed almost no tolerance for was being obstructed when he had set his mind on what he wanted. He also had exceptionally minimal impulse control. 

“Well, in their remarkably thorough interrogation into one question, the Knights seemed to forget a rather important matter that was not addressed by your application.” Beldaruit tilted his head, studying Qifrey’s face. “Why do you want an Atelier, Qifrey?”

Qifrey blinked, clearly taken aback by the question. “I… don’t understand. I’ve passed the required tests, identified an appropriate location and Watchful Eye, completed the required documentation…”

“Ah, but that is not what I’m asking, Qifrey.” Beldaruit tapped the folio with his fingers. “Nowhere in this document does it tell me why you wish to teach.”

Olruggio also looked at Qifrey curiously. Odd. Beldaruit would have assumed that if Qifrey had discussed this with anyone, it would be Olruggio. But maybe that was further evidence for his suspicion that Qifrey himself had not thought this through. 

Qifrey was silent for a long time. Beldaruit resisted the urge to fill that silence. Qifrey had been a child who could sit without speaking until everyone around him became uncomfortable enough to speak for him; Olruggio was not immune to the impulse. Beldaruit, however, had learned quickly enough that his silence was not an indication that he needed rescuing. 

Finally, Qifrey looked beyond Beldaruit toward the window, watching a school of colorful fish whip past. “I thought I might like to teach,” he said simply. “And I thought…” He hesitated, looking down to his hands in his lap. “I might like somewhere to return to.”

Olruggio’s posture changed, shifting slightly toward Qifrey like a flower seeking the sun. His hand moved a fraction as though he was going to reach out to Qifrey, but it remained on the arm of the chair. 

“A home?” Beldaruit extrapolated.

Qifrey’s voice was smaller, now. “Yes.”

Beldaruit recognized the truth when he heard it. Finally. “And Olruggio?”

Qifrey looked at the man beside him. “What about him?”

Beldaruit continued, “How does he fit in?”

It seemed a simple enough question, but Qifrey looked genuinely baffled. “Because he’s Olruggio.”

Olruggio closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the chair with a sigh. Beldaruit stared at his former apprentice. Qifrey looked blankly back.

Six months of this. This explained everything. “I’m beginning to sympathize with the Knights Moralis,” Beldaruit said, dropping his face into his hand.

“I told you,” Olruggio said, turning his head to look at Qifrey. “You can’t just keep giving the same answer to these questions and expect this to go anywhere.”

“I don’t understand the objection,” Qifrey shot back. He turned in his chair bodily to face Olruggio, gesturing broadly with one hand. “When I am being asked the same question repeatedly and my answer isn’t changing, does that not mean that they should change their line of questioning? They obviously are looking for something. It would have saved us a great deal of time if they came out and said what it was they were looking for.”

“Which they can’t do if you didn’t understand the objection to begin with.” Olruggio ran his hand down his face and over his beard like an exhausted father of a toddler barely holding on to his sanity. “They think that there’s a conflict of interest—which there is—and that the conflict of interest means I’m not suited to being your Watchful Eye.”

“But you are suited. You’re the only one who is suited. There is no more qualified witch in the Great Hall!” Qifrey’s frustration was clearly mounting, matching Olruggio’s. Beldaruit watched the exchange with mounting amusement—he suspected that this argument had been going on for approximately six months, three weeks, and, if the application was to be believed, five days. It was reassuring to learn that Olruggio, at least, understood immediately what the Knights Moralis had spent months trying to make Qifrey acknowledge.

“Perhaps,” Beldaruit interjected, rescuing Olruggio from an unwinnable argument. “You could humor me with a more complete answer?”

It was Qifrey’s turn to look objectively exhausted, resting back into the chair in a way that caused his cloak to slip from his shoulder, exposing one narrow shoulder covered in fitted black cloth. Olruggio’s eyes followed the motion of the cloak as it slipped before abruptly fixing back on Beldaruit. “He knows my magic. He knows when I’ve overlooked something, when I’ve overextended myself, when I’m being stubborn, when I’m overly ambitious, when I’m…”

“Lying,” Olruggio supplied, filling the void after Qifrey stopped speaking.

“Yes, that.” Qifrey became so still Beldaruit wondered if he had stopped breathing. He turned his head ever so slightly from Olruggio, as if to obscure his good eye. “I trust his judgment. He understands the responsibilities of the position and he has never had any difficulty telling me if he thinks I am in the wrong. And…” Qifrey gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders. “I want him there.”

Olruggio looked back at Qifrey. His brows furrowed together and his mouth was set in a grim line, but his eyes betrayed him—his eyes were kind. 

“Want him there?” Beldaruit parroted.

“Yes.”

“As your Watchful Eye?”

Qifrey looked back at him. “Yes. As I requested in the application.”

Beldaruit looked between them. Olruggio was looking back at him, appearing emotionally and possibly physically exhausted enough to fall asleep where he sat, but his frown had also deepened. Was there something about this line of questioning that personally offended him?

Beldaruit sat back, resting both of his hands on the folio in his lap and looking up to the fabric canopy draped above his bed. They had answered one of his questions conclusively—Qifrey had always imagined Olruggio in this new home he was building. What was less clear to him was what role Olruggio had taken in dreaming up this future.

“Olruggio, if I may.” He leaned forward again, a few loose strands of long hair draping over his shoulder as he did. “You are a renowned craftsman, exceed all community service expectations of a witch, have more private contracts than I imagine you can manage, and could without question teach yourself, were you to complete the fifth test. Your options are hardly limited. Why this?”

“I’ll have a workshop there,” Olruggio said. “I’ll be close enough to Kalhn to help out—I’ll still get in all my expected acts of service. Plenty of small hovels around there, too.” He looked thoughtful, glancing at Qifrey before continuing. “Besides, I’m going to have to keep an eye on this guy. Who knows what he’ll get up to when we let him loose in the wild?” Qifrey scoffed at that. “We made a promise,” he added, these last words spoken softly and clearly for Qifrey’s benefit alone.

A promise? Beldaruit pretended he had not heard that part. “You do know that it is forbidden for the Watchful Eye to reside within the Atelier—it compromises their ability to—”

“Exercise independent judgment,” Olruggio interjected, as if quoting from a text. “Yes, so we’ve heard.”

“The workshop will be constructed beside the Atelier,” Qifrey explained, reanimating and reaching for the folio. “If you review the supplemental attachments, I believe we included the architectural diagrams for the workshop and the bridge that will connect the Atelier tower to the—”

“I saw the diagram,” Beldaruit assured him. “So, you will be living separately?” 

Qifrey blinked. “...Yes.”

“And this was discussed in advance?” Beldaruit looked between them. 

Qifrey looked at Olruggio. “Yes?” This sounded remarkably like a question. 

“Forgive me, but a bit of clarification.” Beldaruit asked, “Were the plans for the workshop designed before or after you requested that Olruggio serve as your Watchful Eye?”

Both men fell quiet, regarding one another. Something unspoken passed between them—Beldaruit could see it in the way tension slipped away from Qifrey’s shoulders and how Olruggio’s mouth finally relaxed out of a deep frown. “Before,” Qifrey said finally.

“Long before,” Olruggio agreed with a little smile.

“And this arrangement…” Beldaruit chose his words carefully, well aware that he was standing precariously in the center of a frozen lake. “It’s intended to be permanent?”

“Yes,” said Qifrey quietly.

“Presumably,” Olruggio agreed.

“Wait—presumably?” Qifrey looked like he had tasted something sour.

“I don’t know what the rest of my life is going to hold, Qifrey,” Olruggio grumbled, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. 

Qifrey smiled. It was a perfectly pleasant smile, but Beldaruit knew it well. The ice was cracking and Qifrey was desperately smiling to hide the cracks. Apparently, Olruggio saw it, too.

“Hey, don’t.” Olruggio reached across the small gap between their chairs. Qifrey went still when Olruggio’s hand settled over the crook of his elbow. “Yes, I intend to stay. As long as you’ll have me.”

Watching Qifrey’s face was like watching a drowning man take his first breath of air. Color returned to his cheeks, his posture straightened, and a genuine smile met his lips with just a hint of sadness in his eye. “That could be a very long time, Olly,” he replied softly. 

Beldaruit sat back to look down at the folio. 

The longstanding personal relationship between Qifrey and Olruggio.

When Beldaruit looked back up, Qifrey and Olruggio were smiling at each other. He could see reflected in Olruggio the young man he had once been—bright-eyed, passionate, and unwaveringly devoted. The young Qifrey was there, too—tentative to accept an extended hand, but willing to face the unknown if Olruggio followed. 

Perhaps the Knights Moralis had been using extraordinarily diplomatic language. Perhaps Vinanna hadn’t been more explicit because she assumed Beldaruit, who had raised Qifrey, already knew. 

“Well. That does provide useful context,” Beldaruit said finally. “I believe I have a better understanding of the nature of your arrangement. I am prepared to make my recommendation to the Knights Moralis. Of course, no matter what I write, this is ultimately in their jurisdiction. Vinanna could override my decision.” 

Qifrey brightened. “So it’s approved, then?”

“That is my recommendation.” Beldaruit took a spare bit of parchment from the drawer of his nightstand and picked up his quill. “It may take several days for them to make a final judgment, but I will request it be expedited given the lengthy process you have already endured.”

“Thank you,” Olruggio said with clear relief in his tone. His hand still rested on Qifrey’s elbow, giving it a little, reassuring squeeze. 

“However,” Beldaruit held up the quill and motioned to each of them in turn. “Given the intimate nature of your relationship, I am recommending that there be some additional independent oversight of your Atelier. In addition to your routine reports, Olruggio, you may be subject to additional inspection without notice.” 

“Fine, of course,” Qifrey said quickly—he might have agreed to any stipulation at that moment.

“...Intimate?” Olruggio asked quietly, not enough to be heard by Qifrey.

“You may go. Unless you’d care to join me for tea?”

“Ah—no. There is work to be done.” Qifrey was up out of his chair, turned to Olruggio in a flash. “We’ll need to begin packing your workshop. Do you suppose the construction could be completed before the season’s end? I’m eager to get settled so we may begin accepting apprentices.” 

Olruggio also got to his feet, running a hand down the front of his clothes to settle them. “Between the two of us we’d have it done in an afternoon, if you really wanted to. But there’s no rush, we still have to get that official approval.”

“No rush? Don’t you want to get back out under the open sky? The stars?” In his haste, it seemed Qifrey was going to drag Olruggio out the door without even saying goodbye. Beldaruit could hardly take offense—this was the boy he raised, after all.

“Thank you for the gift!” He called after their retreating backs, but he was not even sure they heard before the door shut behind them.

Vinanna,

As per your request, I have reviewed the application to establish a new Atelier submitted by my former student, Qifrey. I met with Qifrey and Olruggio to discuss the details of the application and I am prepared to make my recommendation: approve it.

Your concerns are not unfounded. Olruggio’s relationship with Qifrey does present a conflict of interest, and I do not believe it would be responsible to pretend otherwise simply because no law explicitly prohibits the appointment. Their lives have been intertwined since childhood and it would be unwise to assume this would change when Olruggio is acting in his official capacity as Watchful Eye.

However, after speaking with them, I believe this same attachment uniquely qualifies Olruggio for the position. Qifrey is clever, private, extraordinarily independent, and quite capable of allowing others to see only what he wishes them to see. An impartial observer would undoubtedly have fewer competing loyalties; they would also be considerably easier for Qifrey to fool. Olruggio knows when Qifrey is withholding information.

I am satisfied that Olruggio understands the responsibilities of a Watchful Eye and that his affection for Qifrey will not prevent him from intervening when necessary. That does not eliminate the conflict. I therefore recommend that the appointment be approved with additional independent oversight. Olruggio should submit all routine reports as required, and the Atelier should remain subject to periodic unannounced inspection by the Knights Moralis. This provides an independent safeguard without sacrificing the considerable benefit of appointing the person most capable of recognizing when Qifrey requires intervention.

After reviewing the application and speaking with them personally, I believe this arrangement presents considerably less risk than assigning Qifrey a Watchful Eye he does not trust.

I also recommend that you conclude this matter quickly. Six months and three weeks is quite enough. I fear another month may kill Olruggio outright, and Qifrey has already begun discussing construction schedules.

• Beldaruit

P.S. You might have warned me their “longstanding personal relationship” had become so intimate.

P.P.S. Unless you did not know, in which case, you’re welcome.

Three days later, the door of the workshop slammed open hard enough to rattle jars on a nearby shelf. 

“Olly!”

Olruggio’s hand jerked, drawing a long, dark line directly through the center of the diagram he had been annotating. “Qifrey!” he snapped, turning in his chair. “What have I told you about barging in like that when I’m working?”

Qifrey stood in the doorway, breathing hard. His cloak hung crookedly from one shoulder. A few strands of pale hair had escaped his efforts to contain them this morning. A high flush dusted his cheeks, suggesting he had run across the entire Great Hall to get here. One hand clutched several sheets of paper to his chest. His smile was enormous.

Whatever reprimand remained died on Olruggio’s lips. 

Qifrey crossed the workshop in several quick strides and thrust the papers toward him.

Olruggio took them. He knew what they were before he read a single word; the seal of the Knights Moralis was pressed into the bottom of the page.

“Oh,” Olruggio breathed. “They approved it.”

Qifrey laughed, bright and breathless, and Olruggio looked up from the parchment, which was a grave mistake. There was no defense against Qifrey looking like that. All those months of interviews and amendments and requests for clarification had vanished. The tension Olruggio had watched accumulate in his shoulders was gone. Even the dark lens of his spectacles couldn't make him look guarded when every other part of him was incandescent.

Something caught beneath Olruggio’s ribs. For one strange, suspended moment, neither of them moved. 

Then Olruggio dropped the paperwork onto his worktable before either of them managed to destroy the most important document either of them had ever received and caught Qifrey by the shoulders. Qifrey made a startled sound as Olruggio pulled him tight against his chest.

But after a moment’s pause, his arms settled around Olruggio’s back. 

“We did it,” Olruggio murmured into Qifrey’s shoulder, finally allowing himself to want it. It had been too frightening to want this future while it was up to someone else to decide for him if he could have it. He had known Qifrey most of his life; he had followed him into danger and dragged him back out of it. He had watched him leave, waited for him, and never wondered if he would return. This time, Qifrey was asking him to come along explicitly. 

Qifrey’s fingers tightened on the back of his robe. “We did,” he replied quietly, speaking against Olruggio’s hair. 

Olruggio flexed his arms to give Qifrey a squeeze. “This deserves a celebration,” he suggested impishly.

“You mean drinking!” Qifrey moved back to look at Olruggio, but did not release him.

“One or two,” Olruggio agreed with a boyish smile. 

“Or three or four,” Qifrey countered, knowing his friend far too well to fall for that old lie. 

“You’ll carry me home, won’t you?” Olruggio joked. He could not have anticipated how the words would hit Qifrey, surprised to see the way Qifrey’s eye widened and his lips parted softly.

“Yes, I will,” he said quietly. “Home.” 

A moment later, Olruggio understood. He pulled Qifrey back against him, holding him tighter than before. “Home,” he agreed.

The light in Olruggio’s workshop was still burning. From the window in his room, across the narrow distance between the two towers, Qifrey could see Olruggio bent over his worktable beneath the warm light of a lamp.

Of course he was working. Silver Eve was several days behind them, they had taken the long road home—the journey itself was meant to be an adventure. Qifrey had hardly slept on the road and it seemed the same thoughts that dogged him then were keeping him awake now. And he was not alone in that. Qifrey glanced across the dark room, pondering only for a moment before leaving to cross the small bridge that connected the Atelier to the Watchful Eye’s tower. 

Olruggio glanced up when he entered, but only briefly. He had changed out of his formal robes and rolled the sleeves of his shirt above his elbows. His hair was still slightly damp from washing away the dust and sweat of the day. “You should be sleeping,” he said, continuing to write. 

“I came to tell you the same,” Qifrey said warmly. He approached Olruggio from behind, resting both of his hands on Olruggio’s shoulders to inspect the parchment. 

A broad hand immediately covered the page.

“Oh—is it about me?” Qifrey laughed brightly. “Can I read it?”

“You know you can’t,” Olruggio replied, casting an annoyed glance over his shoulder at Qifrey. “It’s confidential.”

Qifrey rested his chin on top of his head. “And what horrible things are you telling the Knights Moralis about me this time?”

“They were there,” Olruggio said with a sigh, taking a brief pause from writing. “You were there. Eventually. I have no idea what to tell them about where you were before you came flying in on a giant book yelling about dragons.” He shook his head, but only slightly, so as not to dislodge Qifrey. “And you’ll remember I was bleeding a lot; I’m not even sure I saw what I think I saw.” 

“I can tell you more if you need to know for your report,” Qifrey offered. 

He desperately wanted Olruggio to say yes. He desperately wanted the relief that would come from giving Olruggio access to everything: the truth, the secrets, even the groans and creaks inside his body that were the harbingers of his end. He wanted to tell him that being a teacher was no longer enough to keep him moving precisely because it had become so joyful. He had created the exact place he wanted under the open sky surrounded by love, by hope for what magic could be in the hands of the future of witches, and the only thing left standing between him resting peacefully in the calm he had created was Olruggio paying the price of his memories.

It was horribly selfish of him to desire to share this burden with Olruggio. Time and again, Olruggio had forgiven his selfishness, had arrived at the same conclusion that to save Qifrey, he had to give up his own memories. His only stipulation was that Qifrey live. 

“Don’t go incriminating yourself on my account,” Olruggio told him, dipping the tip of his pen back in the ink. “I do enough forgetting things I see and hear for you as it is.” He continued writing, apparently unaware of the precision with which he had struck.

Qifrey looked across the workshop toward the window. The Atelier stood beyond it, a warm light still glowing in one of the windows—either Coco or Agott was still awake. Probably Coco; he imagined that he had forever stolen peaceful sleep from her, having burdened her with truth. 

He had thought that was what he wanted: somewhere to return to. He had not anticipated how dangerous it would be to become happy there.

Qifrey straightened, releasing Olruggio. Olruggio grunted when he moved and grumbled, “Where are you going?”

“Not far.” Qifrey wandered over to the window, aware of Olruggio looking over his shoulder at him.

There had been a time when fear for his students was enough. He needed answers because he needed to protect them. He needed to understand what had been done to him so it could never be done to another child. He needed to keep moving because stopping meant accepting that there were questions he might never answer.

But… Qifrey liked teaching. That was becoming a problem.

He loved watching Coco discover something new about magic and immediately turn it into three more questions. He loved the rare little smile Agott tried desperately to suppress when she knew she had done something well. He loved Tetia’s impossible enthusiasm and Richeh’s stubborn determination to make magic answer to her rather than the other way around.

He loved breakfast around a crowded table. He loved hearing the girls laugh. He loved being interrupted. He loved boiling water for tea at the end of the day and finding Olruggio exactly where he expected him to be.

“I can hear you thinking from over here,” Olruggio said, setting his pen down and leaning back. Qifrey watched his reflection in the window as Olruggio rolled his shoulders and neck. 

“Mind-reading magic? Olly, that is almost certainly forbidden,” Qifrey joked.

“Or perhaps I just know you.” The answer was gentle. So gentle, Qifrey had to divert his eyes. 

Coco knew, Olruggio did not. The knowledge settled heavily in his stomach. 

Olruggio knew him better than anyone alive. He knew when Qifrey was lying. He knew when he was frightened. He knew when he needed to be followed and when he needed to be allowed to go. And when Olruggio learned too much, Qifrey took that knowledge away from him.

“Come here.” Qifrey looked back. Olruggio motioned with his pen to the spot beside himself, then returned to his report. “Season’s changing. You’re going to catch a cold by the window like that.”

Olruggio was right, the air carried a chill that preceded snow and there was no warmer flame than the one that burned in Olruggio’s heart. Qifrey settled on the cushions beside Olruggio, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Olruggio continued to write, but his free hand settled absently on Qifrey’s knee. 

Qifrey looked down at the top of his head.

They had never decided to become this way. There had been no conversation marking the first time Qifrey fell asleep against Olruggio’s shoulder or the first time Olruggio rested a hand at the small of his back and left it there. Qifrey could not remember when leaning against one another became easier than sitting apart, or when meeting late at night did not require a reason.

Perhaps Beldaruit would have found that amusing. Qifrey chuckled.

“What is it now?” Olruggio asked.

“I was thinking about Beldaruit,” Qifrey told him, his eyes drifting down to look at the hand on his knee. Olruggio’s hands were covered in tiny scars and calluses from use, so different than Qifrey’s dainty fingers. They fit together all the same.

“Well, that’s not reassuring,” Olruggio said, looking at Qifrey oddly.

Qifrey laughed. “No, I mean do you remember how strange he was about approving the Atelier?”

Olruggio grimaced. “Of course I do. He called our relationship ‘intimate.’”

“Did he? I forgot about that.” Qifrey rested his head on Olruggio’s shoulder, his eye losing focus, staring absently at the wall. A long, comfortable silence followed as Qifrey warmed himself beside his most treasured fire.

“Well,” Olruggio reasoned, “he wasn’t entirely wrong.”

“No, I suppose he wasn’t,” Qifrey agreed softly.

Qifrey stayed beside him until the lamp burned low. Eventually Olruggio reached the bottom of another page, flexed his cramped fingers, and glanced toward the darkened Atelier. Qifrey’s eye had drifted shut at some point, lulled to rest by the rhythmic movement of the pen on paper and the warmth of Olruggio’s body.

“Hey, you shouldn’t sleep here,” Olruggio said, gently wiggling his shoulder to dislodge Qifrey.

“Hm? Oh, yes.” Qifrey straightened. “I should get back.”

Olruggio’s eyes were fixed on the report on his desk. “You could stay.” The words were quiet—casual, almost. 

Once, Olruggio had watched him leave.

Again and again, Qifrey had gone beyond the Great Hall chasing freedom and answers and whatever waited beyond the next horizon. Olruggio had never asked him not to. He had waited, and Qifrey had always returned.

Then Qifrey had asked Olruggio to come along.

Olruggio had.

Qifrey looked at him now, bent over the report he was required to write because years ago they had convinced half the Great Hall that no one else could possibly know Qifrey well enough to watch him. They had been right.

There were still questions to answer. There was still something inside Qifrey that did not belong there. There was still a truth he had spent years pursuing, and lately he had begun to suspect that he had less time than he once believed. But that was not what frightened him most.

“All right,” Qifrey said finally.

Olruggio’s expression softened. “But you aren’t sleeping right here—you’ll have to move.” 

Qifrey leaned back against his shoulder. “I will when you do.” 

Olruggio sighed. “Fine, but no reading over my shoulder.”

“I would never.”

“Liar.” 

Qifrey smiled and closed his eye; Olruggio's pen began moving again.

Was there a conflict of interest? Almost certainly. Beldaruit had probably understood that better than either of them at the time. But Olruggio had once told the Knights that caring about Qifrey was the only reason to take the job.

Qifrey thought, perhaps, caring about Olruggio was reason enough to live.