Archive of Our Own

i could love it better

if i were a better girl

i could love it

better

Goals are important to have. Professor Qifrey’s been saying this as long as Tetia’s known him; it was probably the first real lesson he imparted on her, after she came to the Atelier for the first time to be his apprentice. A goal, even a large, unrefined one, means you have a direction to point yourself in, means you have a vague idea what you’re heading towards, and it means you give yourself as much early warning as you can for bumps in the road, which is essential.

Out of the four of his apprentices, Tetia fears her main goal is the vaguest. Agott plans to succeed her mother as Head Librarian at the Tower of Tomes; Coco wants to undo the spell that trapped her mother (though she’s a little wishy-washy about what comes after); Richeh wants to cultivate her magic without being disturbed. Tetia wants to make people happy.

“How did you decide you wanted to be a teacher, Professor?” she asks Qifrey one night in the lead up to the fourth trial.

He glances quickly at her, and then back at the soup he’s stirring. “Didn’t want Beldaruit to get his hands on any more impressionable minds.”

Tetia rolls her eyes. “Ah, of course. And now the serious answer?”

Qifrey taps excess broth off his spoon and sets it aside before turning to her. “You’re worried.”

“Well, yeah, a little.”

“You’re going to do just fine.”

“I know! It’s just…” Tetia sighs and slumps into the nearest chair. “The others seems so sure of themselves, and I’m not even sure where to start.”

“You still have plenty of time to figure that out,” Qifrey tells her, soundly, turning back to his soup. “Olly and I both have connections to help you get started, as well.”

She hums a reluctant agreement. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Is that a hint of tension in his shoulders? Must be a trick of the light. “That’s because the answer is selfish. You probably wouldn’t like it.”

Tetia crosses her arms over her chest and says, “Okay, different question, then. Does this make you happy? Living here, teaching us, the works.”

He looks over his shoulder at her. “Yes,” Professor Qifrey says softly, a fond look on his face.

“Then I don’t think it particularly matters if it’s selfish. You make us happy, too.”

Richeh is the first to move out. It’s a mere week following their collective success at the fourth trial, all of them fully fledged Witches now, and she makes no sign of her intentions to leave until all her belongings are sitting in bags by the window-way and she’s hugging them all goodbye.

“And you’ve already decided where you’re going?” Qifrey asks as she hugs him. He looks puzzled but not distressed.

“Richeh will tell you when Richeh gets there, but not before.”

Tetia shares a glance with Coco and Agott, and their expressions match hers. Seems they’ve all come to the same conclusion that this involves Euini, then. Unsurprising.

Olruggio helps her carry all her bags through the window-way and then rips a few pages from his palm quire, pressing them into her hand. Richeh frowns at him. “Richeh can draw all of these,” she says, trying to hand them back. From what Tetia can see (which isn’t much, honestly), the one on top looks to be a Pyreball seal.

“I know,” Olruggio says, refusing to take them back. “But these ones are from me. So you don’t have to draw them, for now. Your first few can be from me.”

Her mouth scrunches up and she hugs him before any of them can see her tear up as well.

Dinner is sombre, and Agott’s clearly taken Richeh’s departure like a personal attack, because she’s fidgety and distracted all evening. The next day, she announces she plans to leave within the week as well, which seems to light a fire under Coco (because she’d rather die than be left behind), and before Tetia knows it, she’s the last one of Qifrey’s students still living at the Atelier.

“You needn’t rush,” Qifrey says one morning, as Tetia sits in the kitchen in her dressing gown, deep in contemplation. “We won’t kick you out, so take all the time you need.”

“But don’t you want to take on new apprentices?”

He laughs. “Eventually, yes. I think I ought to take a little break before I do, though, don’t you?”

She can’t argue with that logic.

The news about Coco’s success in rescuing her mother comes while Tetia’s on the other end of the peninsula, three and a half months into her year of service and smack in the middle of a job, so she sends a letter bird that she’ll come by as soon as she’s able, and doubles down on her work. She would truly hate to rush a job, especially so early in her career, but she finds Coco’s letter sparked a selfish fire in her that means she wants to be done quickly, she wants to go already, she needs to.

It still takes over a week to make it up to Coco’s old house, shiny crystal ribbons hanging from the eaves like wind chimes that confirm Richeh’s been here, if only briefly. Tetia’s hair is windswept, her robes are rumpled, and she’s sure she looks deeply tired, but nothing can stop her from enveloping Coco in a massive hug as soon as she opens the door.

Tetia squeezes her fiercely, lifting her off the ground and spinning her, and Coco cackles in delight.

“Oh, Coco, well done!” Tetia squeals into her neck. “I’m so happy for you!”

Coco giggles, her feet lightly battering Tetia’s shins, and into one of her pigtails she murmurs, “I’m so happy, too.”

“Goodness me,” says a new voice, and Tetia sets Coco down so she can see further into the house. A tall, brunette woman in a slightly out-of-fashion gown is peering at them. “A bit late to be making such a racket, don’t you think?”

“Mom, we don’t have neighbours, so who does it bother?”

Coco’s mother rolls her eyes, but Tetia can see the good humour in them, “Bothers me. Now, introduce us, young lady.”

Tetia sweeps into her best curtsy — which isn’t her deepest, but is certainly her neatest — and declares, “Pleasure to meet you! I am Tetia! Coco and I were taught at the same Atelier!”

Coco’s mother chuckles slightly. “I recall your name from quite a few stories. A pleasure to meet you, too. Will you stay for dinner?”

“If it’s no trouble.”

“It’s not,” she says, easily, and exits back towards what must be the kitchen.

Tetia leaves her hat, her cloak, and her bag in the entryway and follows Coco into the old workspace of the tailoring shop. She explains that they’ve yet to open back up, that her mother still needs time to adjust back into life after being petrified for so long.

“I don’t think she’ll ever be the same,” Coco says, “she tires so quickly now, and I won’t be around to help her like I was before. And I’m so out of practice in tailoring, too.”

“There’s no rush,” Tetia says, and Coco nods in agreement.

“Richeh was here two days ago, you just missed her.”

Tetia sighs, “I’m so good at that, nowadays. If I wasn’t sure it was my own bad timing at fault, I’d say she’s avoiding me.”

“Who would ever do such a thing?” Coco teases, and pinches her cheek. “No, she's been secreting herself away, so I felt very lucky to see her. Olly and Professor Qifrey both came by as well, but they didn’t stay very long.”

“Wow, they came up together and everything?” Tetia wiggles her eyebrows.

“Oh, don’t sound so surprised. I think all of us leaving in rapid succession trauma-bonded them.”

“More than they were before?”

“Anyway,” Coco forges on, apparently in no mood to poke fun at their old professor and his Watchful Eye, “they were both so stiff and polite, and Qifrey took my mother aside to talk privately, and now I fear they’re in cahoots.”

“Oh noooooo, adults that love you and want you to be well, whatever shall you doooooo?”

Coco rolls her eyes and swats at Tetia’s thigh with a scrap of fabric. “It’s nice, really. I’m glad they still care. We could’ve just been students to them, but we’re not. I hope their new bunch gets the same treatment.”

“Bunch?” Tetia questions, sitting up straighter. “Last I heard it was only the one.”

Coco shrugs, “Well, you know Qifrey. There’s two of them, now.”

“I think he’s happiest when he’s stressed,” Tetia sighs, and Coco hums her agreement, something in her eyes that speaks to a deeper understanding than Tetia could hope to achieve. For a moment, back when they were children, Tetia had envied the unique bond Coco had with Qifrey, but now she can see whatever it was probably weighed on Coco.

“I’m surprised Agott’s not here, too.”

As intended, Coco’s face goes pink, and in a voice that’s a little pitchy, she says, “And what could you mean by that?”

“Coco.”

“She was here. She was here when I did the spell, and she stayed for over a week. I’m glad she was here. My hands were shaking awfully, I was so worried I’d ruin the seal every time I tried to draw, but she…” Coco trails off, face red by now.

Tetia coos, “I think it’s lovely, the way you back each other up like that.”

“What I mean is that she has been here. She’s just…I don’t know. She’s worried about how it will look, if we’re together so much.”

“Surely it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Coco shakes her head, a little rueful. “You haven’t met her mother. Well, you’ve met the Head Librarian at the Tower of Tomes, but you haven’t met Adina Arklaum.”

She wonders what the requirements are for meeting Adina Arklaum as opposed to the Head Librarian, and decides the requirements are probably family dinner.

Eugh.

“I worry about her,” Tetia confesses. “After all this time, she’s still trying to achieve an impossible standard. I wish she could just let herself be happy.”

“Yes, me too.”

Tetia yawns. “Anyway, could you do me a favour, dearest?”

“What do you need, darling?”

“My sylph shoes. They’re wearing down I think. Could I convince you to redo the seal for me, pretty please?”

Coco cackles again. “Oh, I knew it! I knew you were jealous of Agott’s sylph shoes!”

“I was not!” (She totally was, has been, and still is.) “Oh, come on, Coco! Yours are so much faster! It looks like such fun. Please, please, please, I’ll owe you a favour!”

It’s usually nice running into other Witches she knows out on the road, especially when they’re around the same age as her. Tetia finds it bolstering, like being back at the Atelier, sort of, for just a moment, an air of camaraderie lingering the longer they interact. It’s just a shame Jujy had to find her as she’s fumbling through turning a guy down.

“Oh, don’t be so embarrassed,” Jujy laughs, steering Tetia away from the bar and her would-be-admirer, towards a table near the fireplace. “I’m sure you get it all the time.”

Tetia collapses into her chair, kicking dejectedly at the floor. She’s not wrong, exactly; the issue is that a lot of the time Tetia doesn’t pick up on their intentions properly until it’s far, far too late. Like right now. “I really thought he was just being friendly.”

“He bought you a drink,” Jujy points out.

“I helped fix a bridge today!” Tetia tells her, gesturing towards the nearest window, though she’s unsure if the aforementioned bridge could even be seen from here. “I thought he was just, I don’t know, celebratory? Grateful? Friendly?”

“Tetia,” Jujy says, frank and a little regretful, “you’re gorgeous. Of course he was flirting.”

Tetia grimaces. “You’re gorgeous, too. Why didn’t he try flirting with you?”

“Because I didn’t give him a chance to, you charmer.” She takes a sip of her drink and smacks her lips a little. “Now stop deflecting.”

A little cowed, she admits, “I’m not very good at recognising it when people flirt.”

“What a curse,” Jujy simpers, sarcastic, but she’s clearly still amused and not resentful, the way some other Witches her age at the Great Hall had been when Tetia was a kid and got noticed for her magic or her manners or her hair. They always thought she was lying or rubbing it in their faces when she told them she wasn’t trying to attract attention. It was a relief to live in the relative seclusion of the Naakiwan Downs Atelier after that, where no one built her up in their heads as something better than she was, and no one thought badly of her for simply being nice. She misses that peace, in times like these.

“I just don’t get it,” she complains. “Did I seem like I’d like to be flirted with?”

Jujy shrugs, “I don’t think that’s how it works. I think mostly people flirt because they want to, not because they think people want to be flirted with. Works out well for them sometimes, but you can’t win them all, right? I mean, why do you do it?”

Tetia looks down at her drink without really seeing it. “I don’t, really.”

“You don’t.” Jujy sounds sceptical. “What about when you’re crushing on someone?”

She shifts uncomfortably, and quietly admits, “I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that way about anyone.”

“What?” Jujy says, incredulous. “Really? No one?”

Tetia averts her gaze. “I’m not sure,” she says again.

“But you’re so…” Jujy makes a wide, vague gesture in Tetia’s direction.

“I’m so what?”

A small grimace, and then Jujy sighs, resting her cheek on one hand, “Dunno how to describe it, actually. Just, the way you act, I guess? Like everyone’s your friend. I thought it’d be easy for you. Thought you’d be falling in and out of love every week.”

Is that really what it looks like to everyone? Tetia knows she’s something of a social butterfly, and it's true that she has a lot of love in her heart to give, but it's never been something greater than her usual pursuit of connection, not like the fairytales and some married couples swear up and down she'll feel someday. Falling in and out of love every week? Is that how most people feel? Tetia’s not sure she does that. She makes easy friendships, sure; she charms and she jokes and she does her magic, gets her thanks and thanks them back, but…

The next day, she accompanies Jujy to help fix a fisherman’s boat, and he insists on sending them off with a fish each as thanks. Jujy moves on afterwards, but Tetia sets up camp by the bay and watches the waves until the sun fades and she can’t see them anymore, the sound of them crashing to shore the only proof they exist.

She wishes she’d asked Jujy to stay — or maybe she wishes she'd asked to accompany her to the next town — or maybe she just wishes she could force back the clock by four or so years, back to a time when, sure, things weren’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but she was never for want of company; a time when looking out on the ocean like this would prompt her and the others to race each other over the waves in their sylph shoes.

Tetia's not a stranger to loneliness, but for a time there, she didn’t have to look it in the face like this — she had other faces to look at.

No, Tetia thinks, quiet even in her mind, like she’s scared someone will overhear. I don’t think I’ve been in love before. I don’t think that’s the same as what I feel.

Richeh sends the occasional letter bird, all written out in that same matter-of-fact, essential-information-only manner that she’d always spoken in, and clearly it’s the same letter she’s sending out to the other members of her Atelier, just with the names at the top changed. Tetia admires the practicality of it. Richeh talks about becoming acquainted with a jeweller who’s agreed to help her experiment with her crystals; she talks about a cottage by a river she’s learning to think of as home, and learning to gut fish for suppers. Neither Euini’s name nor the topic of scalewolves ever come up, but it’s like Tetia can see the shape of both in the omission alone, the shape of their cohabitation becoming visible through the gaps in Richeh’s stories.

Coco writes for both herself and Agott as well, as inconspicuous as their teachers have always been, stories of flitting between incidents on country roads and her mother’s tailoring shop, tales of more heroic feats that are clearly Agott’s continued attempts to win her mother’s attention. These letters always contain little anecdotes that amuse Tetia in specific ways, and anyway Coco’s too sentimental to write one letter and copy it out three times, so it’s clear those letters are just for Tetia, and everyone else is getting slightly different ones.

Professor Qifrey doesn’t write, but word of the Atelier reaches Tetia through gossip she overhears every time she’s even briefly at the Great Hall, the other’s letters, and of course the occasional run-in with Olruggio while out on a job. It’s only happened around three times, but each has felt like a weight off her back, like she’s a child again, and he’s brought the whole Atelier along because Qifrey has a migraine and they shouldn’t be left without supervision.

Each time, he asks doggedly after her health, gives her narrow-eyed looks when she answers (as if checking her over for things she might be purposefully leaving out; a habit that’s likely Qifrey’s fault), and when the job is done, he gives her shoulder a squeeze and tells her she’s missed. Tetia thinks he’s worried about the kind of attention she’ll get if the Unknowing are aware she grew up around him, that she could technically claim to have been his apprentice, and that’s why he doesn’t act more familiar with her on those occasions.

Tetia flounders over what to write in return, knowing she ought to. It plagues her, sits at the back of her mind and clouds her nights with guilt, when she doesn’t do it. It’s not that she’s not having fun, and it’s not that she thinks the work she’s doing isn’t important — but when she looks at their letters and looks at her own life, she feels a little odd. Like she’s missing something.

She doesn’t want them to figure it out before she does, so she puts off writing back.

It’s been over six months since she left the Atelier, she’s made something of a name for herself, she’s helped countless people. She almost feels settled into her new life, even if she feels she’s missing something the others clearly aren’t.

And then Prince of Ezrest sends for her personally, a letter bird addressed to her, direct from his hand, and how can she refuse a direct request? So, Tetia goes to Ezrest, and finds it’s not simply a commission he wants done, but a series of them, enough that it would make more sense for her to stay in the city as she works than to leave in between each. And anyway, where would she even go?

It’s not entirely unexpected; they’ve kept up a loose correspondence in the time since their initial meeting all those years ago, and, well, it’s a nice excuse to take a bit of a break, right? So she allows them to put her up in some fancy accommodation, not far from the castle itself, attends all the lavish dinners and soirees held by courtiers she’s invited to, and laughs off every probing question about the nature of her acquaintanceship with the Prince.

Tetia entertains each of Prince Eoleo’s flights of fancy, crafting him silly little contraptions, one after the other, knowing they’re all trivial things and trying not to care too much, because, look, see? She’s making someone happy!

She entertains the court, seated in the garden outside of the castle, for her magic would not work inside its walls, and she ignores the interested looks of the King and Queen as politely as she can, because she knows how this looks, but she’s already made her bed, and even if she doesn’t want to lie in it she doesn’t have much of a choice. She catches glimpses of other Witches in the city, gets an odd look from Lord Lagrah on one occasion, with him leaving the castle just as she’s arriving, and one notable time she ends up in a ten minute conversation with Hiehart at the door of the inn she’s been staying at. Tetia stays far longer than she ought to, but the Prince asks her to, and how can she refuse?

She stays and she charms, she skips meals because her nerves are all over the place and it’s making her nauseous, she laughs at his jokes, she glances away whenever she meets the gaze of his father, the King, and she still doesn’t write anyone back, because she still doesn’t know what to tell them that wouldn’t tell them far too much.

And just when Tetia’s starting to get truly restless, starting to think of making her excuses (firmly this time), and returning to the road, to her year of service (to the people and not just the nobility) — it happens, the thing in the back of her mind she’s been worried would happen.

Tetia only recognises the sick feeling that’s been plaguing her as dread after the fact. Unfortunately, it wasn’t clear to her until she felt it all over her body and felt like the smile would crack from her face at any moment. The Prince’s words ring in her ears, deafening her to all else, and she feels awash with dread and nought else. Tetia can only be silently thankful that she keeps her composure and her tact, that she gets away without promising anything, that she’s been granted time to work out what to do.

She stops in a forest once she’s soundly outside of the city and screams into her hands for a little while, just because her heart feels like it’s going to beat out of her chest in panic and she’s been holding it back since she realised what the Prince was going to ask her. Once Tetia’s done screaming, she takes a lot of deep breaths and tries to figure out what to do next.

Of course, she must go to the Wise In Friendships. It’s utterly paramount that Lord Lagrah be told. This is not simply a problem for her alone; what the Prince has put forward could become an issue for continued relations between Witches and the rest of the Peninsula. But…

Tetia squeezes her eyes shut and tries to center herself. No, she’ll make a stop first. She cannot see the Wise In Friendships in this state, not if she wants to make any sense, not if she wants to be taken seriously.

It’s easy, returning to the Atelier in Naakiwan Downs, an instinct she cannot train out of herself. It was home for all the time it really mattered where home was, and Tetia finds it like it’s true north. She regrets it a little bit when the door swings open and two children peek over the couch at her, over Qifrey’s shoulder. She’d forgotten there would be an audience; she’d forgotten she didn’t have the authority to demand his attention as a student anymore.

Qifrey takes one look at her face, and calmly informs his new students that their lessons are done for the day and they may spend their time in their rooms or outside (within sight of the Atelier), whichever they prefer. Tetia feels slightly bad to be cutting into their valuable learning time, but she really cannot think where she would have gone otherwise.

Qifrey seats her at the kitchen table and makes her some tea, and he levels his steady blue eye on her. “What’s happened?” he asks, as open and understanding as always.

“I don’t know what to do, Professor,” she worries, wringing the fabric of her cloak in her hands. “I've been in Ezrest, working on commissions for The Prince, Eoleo of Ezrest, that is…”

Briefly, he looks bewildered, and then he says, “Oh, that’s right, I’d forgotten you knew him. It was that Silver Eve with the…the leech, right?”

“Yes,” she agrees. Of course that would be his point of reference. When would he have learned about the occasional letter bird the Prince sent her? How would he know of the Prince’s recent increase in interest? He couldn’t. She hadn’t given him a chance. “And he's– that is to say, he’s…he’s proposed.”

Qifrey’s eye widens slightly. “Dear me,” he murmurs, and he does genuinely seem shocked. “I had no idea your acquaintanceship was so developed.”

“It’s not!” Tetia yelps, panicked. “It’s really not! Oh, I’ve really done it now.”

“Tetia.”

She sniffs, shakes her head, “That’s not all.”

“Okay,” Qifrey says patiently, when she thinks he should really be saying something like how can there be more?

“He said, well,” nervously, Tetia tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, “he said it very eloquently at the time, but I fear I can’t recall it all properly, now–” as soon as he’d been down on one knee, her pulse started pounding in her ears so loudly that she could only make out every second or third word he said “–so the gist was that he’d very much like to marry me, but failing that, he could settle for my permanent fixture in his court once he’s crowned.”

“Oh dear,” Qifrey says, looking suitably taken aback. It’s as vindicating as it is frightening that he’s treating this as seriously as she wants to, that it’s not a silly thing to be panicking about.

“I don’t know what to do,” she moans, leaning forward to put her face in her hands. “Oh, and it’s all my fault, too.”

“Tetia, dearest,” and now he sounds fretting. Tetia feels guilt floating up through her other feelings that she can induce this in him, long after she’s graduated, when she’s no longer someone he should have to worry about.

His hand lands softly on her knee and Tetia looks through her tears to find him crouching beside her chair. “How can this be your fault? He’s put you in a hard position, and it almost sounds like that’s how he intended it.”

“I never stopped him,” she says. “Whenever he talked about it before, the old stories of court magicians, I never told him he was being silly, because who am I to tell a prince he’s being silly? But I know that just encouraged him. I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” he refutes calmly, “and it isn’t your fault. He knew about his power over you, and he’s misused it.”

“Professor.”

“Tetia.” He pauses, clearly thinking over his words, and stands back up properly. Then, with a smile that isn’t quite convincing, he offers, “I know it’s sudden, and personally I don’t think you should marry a man what will do this kind of thing, but if it makes you feel any better, I think you would make a lovely princess.”

He’s so very clearly trying to cheer her up, and obviously he can’t really mean to encourage it. Nevertheless, terror squeezes the breath from her lungs, and she gasps, “I don’t want to marry him.”

Qifrey makes a sympathetic noise as she bursts into tears again.

“I know I should feel lucky,” Tetia hiccups. “Anyone else would feel so lucky, anyone else would jump at the chance. But I– I– oh, no, I can’t!”

He doesn’t flinch as she throws her arms around his waist and weeps into his stomach, he just stands there, smoothing her hair flat and saying, It’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll fix this.

She cries until she has an awful headache, and by then the sky has darkened with oncoming rain clouds. The front door to the Atelier swings open and shut, and she hears, vaguely, the two new students whispering to each other as they gallivant up the hallway. One of them stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and Qifrey says, “What is it, Melly?”

“Is Miss Tetia okay?” asks a little girl’s voice.

Tetia, standing by the window and cleaning her face up with a vapor bubble, glances over to find a dark eyed, green haired little girl in a white uniform dress peering at her. She offers a small, probably unconvincing smile. “I have a problem,” she tells the girl, voice a little wobbly and hoarse. “Professor Qifrey is very good with those, so I came for help.”

The girl — Melly, apparently — nods seriously, like this is something she’d long suspected to be true, and is glad to have confirmation. She takes a step inside the kitchen, and the hand Tetia hadn’t noticed she was hiding behind her back emerges to reveal a small ice sculpture of a flower. It’s a milkwort, Tetia thinks so anyway. She usually identifies them by their colour, the dark purple all close to the stem, but even as ice the shape of it is familiar, definitely something Melly found out in the meadows around the Atelier, and used as an active reference for crafting her replica.

She holds it out to Tetia, expectant. “Is…is that for me?” She can’t help but be surprised.

Melly nods. “You looked upset when you arrived. Gill tried to help too, but he’s not as good with ice as I am.”

Tetia carefully takes the ice sculpture into her hands. It’s chilly and starting to melt already, and it makes tears well up in her eyes again. “Oh, it’s lovely. Thank you.”

Melly nods again, looking a little pleased with herself but obviously trying to hide it.

“Very fine work, Melly,” Qifrey praises.

“Thank you, Professor,” Melly murmurs back, and then takes off back down the hallway.

Immediately, Qifrey turns back to her, and asks, “Do you want to keep talking about it, or do you want to be distracted for a moment?”

Tetia clears her throat, “Gill is your other student, then?”

“Yes,” he agrees, easily going along with her choice. “Gilligan, technically, but Olly says it’s such an ungainly name for a child.”

“He’s one to talk,” Tetia giggles.

“That’s what I said. But yes, Gill arrived when Melly had already been here two and a bit months, and they proved to be fast friends.”

“That’s good,” Tetia hums, feeling a little buoyed by the polite conversation even knowing it won’t last. “Is ‘Melly’ short for anything?”

“Oh, you’ll love this. Melpomene.”

“You’re kidding.”

"She's from one of the old houses."

"Another one? You're going to get a reputation if you keep going like this."

"They come to me! It's not like I'm picking them out!"

"Yes, but you also don't have to accept every kid petitioning you to be their professor."

"But it feels so mean to turn them away, Tetia."

"Well, at least that clears this up," she says gesturing to the ice flower. "I did think ice seals were a bit advanced for how young she looks."

Saying this, she quickly draws up a refreshing seal, scattering ice sigils through it, and sets the ice flower on top of it, satisified that that will keep it from deteriorating any further until she can figure out a more permanent solution.

This is of course when she hears another door in the Atelier creak open and heavier footsteps than could be attributed to a child sound from the landing. A few moments later, Olruggio says, “What’s this? Did I miss a letter bird?”

Tetia accepts the easy hug he wraps her up in and leans into the kiss he presses to the crown of her head. “It wasn’t planned,” she replies, cheek smushed into the shoulder of his cloak. “I kind of barged in unannounced, really.”

Olruggio hums — and it’s his thinking hum, she still remembers what that sounds like, because all his hums are different — and pulls back a little, hands on her shoulders. “So, what’s the matter? And don’t lie and say it’s nothing; I can see it in your face.”

Tetia groans and sags back into his chest (he makes a soft oof! sound as he catches her weight), and Qifrey thankfully decides to say it for her: “The Prince of Ezrest's proposed.”

“To Tetia?” He only sounds a little surprised, which makes her feel sort of worse about it.

“Indeed. Said if she wouldn’t be his wife, then she could instead be his court magician when he becomes King.”

Minutely, Olruggio’s grip tightens on her shoulders, and then he relaxes them again. “Presumptuous cads, the lot of them,” he mutters. Then, slightly louder, “I never liked him, Tet. He’s as conniving as his father.”

“And what do you know of his father?” Qifrey scoffs.

“A few choice words I overheard from Beldaruit.”

“And you put a lot of stock into what that old man complains about?”

“Sorry — the Wise In Teachings?” Olruggio snaps, and Tetia giggles despite herself. She’s missed the way they bicker. It fills her with a warmth she hadn’t quite noticed she’d been lacking. “Keeping an ear on the politics of the Unknowing isn’t foolish, Qifrey, and Beldaruit’s about as close as you can get.”

“Maybe so,” Qifrey concedes.

“Lagrah will have to be told,” Olruggio says after a moment of contemplation, and both Qifrey and Tetia sigh. Olruggio’s always been the pragmatic one of them all, so while they may have been thinking it (and dreading it) he’s bold enough to say it. “Unfortunately, this is bigger than just you, Tet. This is the Prince trying to weasel more out of the Witches than he’s owed, and Lagrah won’t take kindly to it.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble,” she worries, pulling away from Olruggio until her hip presses against the kitchen counter.

“You won’t be,” Qifrey assures her. “The Prince is the one who’s caused this.”

“Oh, but it– relations between us and the Unknowing nobles are already so shaky. This will make them worse, won’t it?”

“Setting boundaries is never peaceful, but it’s important,” Olruggio says, his arms crossed over his chest.

Tetia shakes her head. “I only want to make people happy.”

“Tetia, you can’t go through your life without hurting someone, no matter your intentions. And if you don’t call him on this, you’ll be the one hurt. You don’t want to marry him, you said so yourself.”

“But it’s the simplest solution, isn’t it?” She feels a little like she’s hearing her own words through a thick sheet of glass, or from down a long tunnel, like it’s not really her who’s speaking. “The one that causes the least strife?” Tetia laughs, and it sounds sharp to her own ears, hysterical, unconvincing. “It’s such a silly thing to be upset about, really, I don’t know what I was thinking!"

Qifrey catches her hands and she cuts herself off. “Tetia, please don’t talk yourself into doing something you don’t want to,” he says, an intensity she doesn't see often settling into his expression. “I support you, of course, I know you only want to make people happy, but I cannot condone it if the price is your own happiness.”

She shakes her head — she doesn’t want to cry any more today, but she can feel the ache in the back of her throat again — and she says, “I think something’s wrong with me.”

The words are out before she can stop them. She didn’t mean to say that. She never meant to tell anyone that. She wanted to go to her grave without ever speaking it out loud.

She supposes they aren’t the worst people to have heard.

“Tetia,” Qifrey says, and he sounds like she’s slapped him, like she’s hurt him all of a sudden and he can’t understand why.

She pulls her hands from his grip and decides it’s too late to take it back; it might as well all come out. “No, really, I’ve been thinking it for ages, but never so strongly as now.” Pacing is easy, and it means she doesn’t have to look them in the face as she speaks. Perhaps that’s cowardly, but so’s crying because someone proposed to you. Probably. “The Prince is mistaken; he thinks we were childhood sweethearts because I allowed him to think it. I didn’t feel that for him, but it was easier to pretend than to tell him the truth. I’ve misled him and I can’t take it back.”

“That’s a misunderstanding, not a crime,” Qifrey cuts in.

“No, no, it’s a lie, and that’s only half the problem!” Tetia cries, working herself up without any plan for what happens when she topples over the edge of her panic. “The bit that’s actually eating away at me is that I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way, not about anyone. I don’t know if I ever even will. I don’t know how you two do it,” they share a wide-eyed glance, like she’s pointed out something each of them was hoping the other wouldn’t notice, “I don’t know how Coco and Agott do it, because you all seem to know exactly what you’re feeling and I just don’t. Maybe I was born without it built in. Maybe I’m broken.”

“You’re not broken,” Olruggio breaks in, gruffly, still looking a little stunned by the not-quite-accusation she’s made about them.

“Then why can’t I love him?” she demands. “He wants me to; I should be able to!”

“You should only do what you actually feel, not what other people want you to do. Oh, Tetia, don’t cry, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“What if I was cursed?” Tetia blubbers. “What if it got taken away?”

“Tetia,” Qifrey says, in that same tone he’d always used back when she was a child, when a situation turned dangerous and he needed her to follow what he said to the letter, “look at me.”

She does. He’s blurry through the tears and the headache makes her a little dizzy, but he’s there, firm and steady as always.

“Even if you are cursed, even if something did get taken away, that doesn’t make you less than. If you don’t feel that way about people, then that’s their problem. They should be honoured to even know you. Because it is an honour.” She sobs, and he strokes some hair from her eyes. “You are so good and sweet and brilliant, and your heart is so big. So what if you don't love people like that? It’s good enough for us, it’s good enough for Richeh and Coco and Agott and all the rest. You are not broken; you are Tetia, and that is all that matters.”

Qifrey excuses himself after a little while, murmuring something about checking on his students.

“I feel so stupid,” Tetia murmurs, pressed up to Olruggio’s side on one of the couches, cupping her reheated tea in both her hands.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “being an adult is like that.”

“Hey.”

“Sorry, Qifrey just left if you were after comfort. I’m the one who grunts and agrees when you say the world is cruel and merciless.”

“You’ve comforted me plenty in the past,” she harrumphs.

“Extenuating circumstances,” he grumbles. And then, “What’s this about Coco and Agott, by the way?”

“Oh, please don’t tell them I said anything. If you don’t know already then they aren’t ready for you to know yet. Me and my big mouth…”

He chuckles for a moment, clearly amused about this little mess she’s made in the midst of her much larger, more personal mess, and then something shifts in his face, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders, tugging her close. “Ah, relationships are difficult, Tet. You gotta want it badly, and you gotta be ready to work for it. If someone’s trying to force you into one, then it’s doomed from the start.”

“I just wish I knew a way to fix this without ruining something,” Tetia whispers.

“He’s backed you into a nasty corner.”

“I let him.”

“You’re not at fault for his incorrect assumptions.”

“But I also never corrected him.” She really should stop trying to defend him, but she can’t help it.

“He’s a Prince. How could you ever feel comfortable doing so? It’s not your fault, Tet.”

Tetia lets out a big sigh, “I honestly think I would prefer a Brimhat attack over this.”

Olruggio barks a laugh at that, shocked, and asks, “Why in the world would you say that.”

“Because I can at least understand where some of them are coming from! Trying to understand myself is a lot harder.”

“Alright, well, don’t let Qifrey hear you say that.”

Qifrey walks past and asks, “Don’t let me hear you say what?”

Olruggio swipes Tetia’s teacup from her limp hands and swallows a mouthful, before wincing, “That the tea is mighty oversteeped today.”

Qifrey marches out of the kitchen to swat him with a tea towel.

The Wise In Friendships is about as agitated by the news as Tetia expected him to be, so she’s glad Olruggio tagged along with her, glad to have his quiet support and someone to squeeze her hand as she relays the Prince’s intentions to Lord Lagrah.

Lord Lagrah calls it an absurd power play, muttering about how of course King Deanreldy’s mischief had to be passed along to his son, because nothing could be easy. Tetia shares a quick glance with Olruggio, and though his expression gives away nothing, she knows him well enough to know he’s clearly a little amused by this tidbit.

Lord Lagrah goes on to thank her for telling him, and says he needs to gather the rest of the Three Wise and have an audience with the nobles of Ezrest to make plain what this sort of behaviour would mean for their dealings in future, at which point Tetia butts in to ask if she might be allowed to give the Prince her refusal herself.

“It’s only fair,” she tells him, and thankfully he relents very quickly, telling her she’ll have little more than three days to do so before the Three Wise would have to act, or risk looking lazy or uncaring.

Tetia sends word to her fellow apprentices asking for their help as soon as they return to the Atelier, and it’s not very much later that Richeh’s response comes in, saying she will host and listing a spot in some densely forested part of the Peninsula Tetia’s never been to before as the place to meet.

Qifrey’s busy with lessons, but he and the new apprentices wave as Tetia heads for the Window-way. Olruggio meets her there, and hands her a small drawstring bag. “Just a little something to keep on you. It’s from all of us.”

Tetia does him the favour of not looking inside until after the Window-way’s closed, knowing how he can be about gifts sometimes. It’s the ice milkwort Melly and Gill had made for her the day before, now encased within a layer of crystal, obviously spelled to keep the ice from melting, and mounted on a pin clasp. She puts it on her cloak almost immediately, and only cries a little bit.

“What if he tries to detain you,” Richeh asks and Agott nearly elbows over a jug in her haste to turn around and hiss Richeh, don’t say that. “What, why not? Isn’t his castle magic-proof?”

“Because, Tetia’s scared enough as it is!” Agott replies. “She doesn’t need to be worried he’ll hold her by force if she refuses, too!”

“Well, now I’m worried,” Tetia says, hand raised.

Agott throws her hands up.

“It’s a valid concern,” Coco pipes up, putting a hand on Agott’s arm like it will soothe her. Mostly it just looks like Agott deflates into her seat, covering her eyes with her palms.

“I’ll just have to keep my distance, then,” Tetia says, running her fingers nervously through brushbuddy’s fur as it happily rubs its cheek into a spot on her dress she dropped ink on weeks ago. “Or convince him to talk outside? I don’t know how viable that is, though.”

Richeh scribbles some variant of this sentiment down on the list she’s making of risks to take into account for Tetia’s refusal of Prince Eoleo’s hand. They’re going to pin it up on the wall once they’re satisfied they’ve covered all the bases they can, and then have her practice what she’s going to say.

“Definitely worth trying,” Coco assures her, having pried one of Agott’s hands from her face and holding it firmly while patting the back of it with her free hand.

“Agott, it’s really not that big a deal,” Tetia says, only to end up on the receiving end of a glare.

“’Not that big a deal’?” she repeats. “Tetia, he thinks he can make you do whatever he wants! Is that just what he thinks of you, or all Witches? In either case, how dare he?”

“Agott…”

“I’m not angry at you, I’m just–”

The door swings open and they all turn to watch a scalewolf trudge in, the strange wear-marks on the doorway suddenly making a lot more sense as it squeezes past, a large fish in its mouth. It stops dead in the entryway when it sees them all gathered at the table, but Richeh’s on her feet in a moment, fetching a seal from her pocket and quickly looping it around the scalewolf’s neck. Seconds later, Euini stands where the scalewolf was, holding that same fish.

“Uh, hi?” Euini says, sounding confused. Tetia blinks rapidly; Euini’s hair is longer (much longer), some of it hanging loose due to how fine it is, and the rest of it gathered up in a braid that hangs almost to the waist, and Euini’s wearing a dress of sage green linen, pockets arranged on the sides like an apron, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The frown lines Tetia remembers vividly from their sole meeting at the Serpentback cave are gone. Richeh takes the fish easily from Euini’s hands and carries it into the kitchen with her without saying a word.

“Euini!” Coco cries and runs across the room for a hug. Euini’s hands are free, thanks to Richeh, but she still flails about a bit before hugging Coco back.

“Coco,” Euini greets in reply. “You’ve gotten taller.”

“So have you!” she says, bouncing. “And your hair! It’s so much longer now!”

“Yes, I like it better this way.”

“Oh, and I’m so glad you got the dress! Richeh wouldn’t say it was for you, but I told Mom there’s no way Richeh had grown that much taller since we saw her last! Oh, that colour really suits you!”

“I don’t think I got enough fish,” Euini comments, sounding meek, obviously trying to divert the conversation as herr face turns steadily darker with blush. “Richeh, why didn’t you say the others were coming around?”

“You’d already left when Richeh offered to host,” she replies as she reenters the room. “Take off your boots. Richeh isn’t cleaning the floor if you muddy it.”

Agott gets up and tugs Tetia with her towards where everyone’s gathered by the door. "Hi Euini," she says as they…walk past? "The dress looks better on you than it did on the mannequin."

And then she tugs Tetia outside and shuts the door behind them.

"I need you to hug me."

Tetia almost starts cooing, but decides against it. Agott's emotional vulnerability has always been strange. Coco's influence (and continued presence) worked wonders, of course, but that doesn't mean Agott never pulls away, never closes herself off, never lashes out at Coco for trying to make her talk it out when she's upset. For her to seek Tetia out like this, even if she has to physically remove them from the room, speaks of growth.

Tetia wordlessly wraps her arms around Agott, and feels arms slide around her ribs in return, squeezing in an almost painful manner.

"I lied," Agott whispers after a long silent moment, punctuated by the faint sound of the others talking inside.

"What about?" Tetia hums, stroking some of Agott’s hair idly.

"I am angry at you."

"What?!" Tetia squawks, and tries to pull away. Agott’s grip only tightens.

"Not for getting proposed to, obviously, how could that be your fault?” She sounds as exasperated as she had been as kids whenever Tetia accidentally got a spell right once and then couldn’t figure out how to replicate it. She pulls back a little then, her eyes glinting darkly, mouth a flat line instead of her customary frown. “No, I'm angry you didn't write.”

“Oh,” Tetia says, and Agott releases her.

“Yeah, oh,” she replies, and now Tetia can see the anger in her face, the way it’s hidden in the tension of her jaw, the slight scrunch of her nose, her eyebrows as furrowed as they’ve ever been. “I get letters from Richeh, I get letters from Coco when she's not with me, I get letters from Qifrey's new students, but nothing from you. You!”

Tetia points wordlessly at herself like this will help communicate what Agott means. Agott doesn’t see it, or if she does, she’s too caught up in her rant to address it.

“I couldn't get you to shut up when we were kids — so do you have any idea what its like to go six months without hearing anything from you?”

She shakes her head; Agott’s nostrils flare.

“Sure, I know you're alive because the others say you are, but–” and she seems to stumble over herself there, the anger faltering, guttering like a flame, and when she glances at Tetia, she sees the anger was just a cover for the fear. “If you're talking to the others and not me then that must mean you hate me."

"No!" Tetia cries, aghast.

It’s like Agott doesn’t hear her, back to pacing, back to ranting. "And then! When I do hear from you, you're in trouble and asking for help! I thought you were dying, and then when Coco got me to calm down I thought you must be being dramatic. But, no, it really is that dire and you do need help and– I’m happy to give it, but I wonder if this would have happened if I’d been there to stop it.”

“You’re not responsible for me–” Tetia begins.

“Aren’t I? I love you, that means I’m supposed to look out for you, take care of you, and I wasn’t.”

She shakes her head, “That wasn’t your fault. I didn’t…”

“I miss you,” Agott spits like it’s a curse. “Why didn't you write?"

Tetia reels. Then she droops. "You're all already so busy. Nothing I’m doing..."

"Tetia."

"I was scared!” Tetia throws up her hands. “Okay? You were worried I hated you? I was worried you wouldn't have time for me anymore! None of you! And I thought maybe I deserved it!” She rakes her shaking hands through her hair, erratic, needing to look away, needing to not see the look on Agott’s face as she says all this. It’s one thing for Qifrey and Olruggio to hear it, because they knew that she’d break under pressure eventually and were there to help her recover, but Agott doesn’t have that forewarning. “I almost convinced myself to say yes to the Prince a few times, even though I knew the only way the Three Wise would allow it would be if they wiped all my memories of being a Witch."

She looks on the verge of tears when Tetia looks up, and she hates admitting to that, almost as much as she hates having actually considered it an option. "Tetia."

"I'm sorry,” she says, wiping rogue tears off her cheeks, “I’m really sorry, okay?"

Agott crosses the space between them and tugs Tetia into another hug, this time allowing Tetia to slump against her front, tears blotting on Agott’s shoulder.

"I don’t really need an apology,” Agott grumbles, as if Tetia can’t hear how wildly her heart is still beating. “I just needed you to know we were scared too. I need to hear from you or I worry something horrible has happened. You have to write us, even if its just a note on what you're having for dinner or where you are. Okay?"

Tetia sniffs and nods, "I'll try."

Euini makes dinner while the others drill Tetia on her reasons for refusal. Dinner ends up being grilled fish with wild rice they've been farming in the riverbed, plus some leafy greens none of them recognise (that Euini swears up and down are safe to eat) in a sweet brown sauce. Tetia hasn't felt hungry in weeks — her mounting dread while staying at Castle Ezrest manifested mostly as nausea — but she finds herself practically inhaling the dish.

"Darling, were they starving you?" Coco asks, spooning some of her food onto Tetia's empty plate after a glance. She doesn't seem to notice Agott giving her the same treatment when she looks away.

"No, no," Tetia replies, trying and failing to seem bright and uncaring. They all still look at least a little concerned. "It's my own fault. The worrying makes me feel ill."

Richeh nods sagely, better acquainted with Tetia's testy stomach than the rest of them. "A big breakfast tomorrow, then."

They sleep in a group on the floor by the fire that night, the way they used to at the Atelier on the rare occasion that both Olruggio and Qifrey were absent. They called them sleepovers and piled all their bedding on the living room rug and talked until the wee hours, sleeping in a big heap.

Now, all of them older and bigger, their sleepover has a more orderly shape to it, but Tetia still finds herself smushed between Coco's tangling legs and grabby hands and Richeh's warm back. Agott's using Coco as a pillow and Euini's being Richeh's personal space heater in scalewolf form, which puts Tetia soundly in the middle. It makes her feel loved, the way they block her in like they think the Prince of Ezrest will come barging through the front door to whisk her away at any moment, like they mean to protect her at a moments notice. It makes her feel teary.

Tetia sighs into Coco's hair and tries to memorise the moment, immortalise it, set it in stone in her head so she can find it when she needs strength.

In the morning, after the big breakfast Richeh promised, they all see her off. Euini leaves her with a simple good luck before shifting forms and scampering into the underbrush, which means Tetia can have her more emotional farewells without worrying about making Euini feel awkward in her own home.

Coco cups her cheek and says, "You've got this. I have the utmost faith. Come to Mom's for dinner sometime, she'd love to have you back."

Agott takes her hands and says, "Don't let him talk you back around. Nobles are raised to be crafty and charming." There's a folded up seal in her hand when Agott releases her but she stuffs it into her pocket without looking, knowing it would embarrass Agott for her to look at it in her presence.

Finally, Richeh hugs her and fixes her with a steely eyed look when they part. "If he tries anything, say the word and Richeh will help you kill him and hide the body. They're can find another Prince of Ezrest, but there's only one Tetia."

She laughs, mostly to try and vainly fend off her tears. "You're the best friends in the whole world," she declares. "I couldn't be brave enough to do this without you all."

"Just make sure you write us now and then," Coco says, and Tetia nods.

“Your Highness.” Tetia sweeps into the lowest curtsy she’s capable of, her head bowed. She hopes he cannot see how she is shaking.

“Tetia,” Eoleo greets warmly.

She rises back to her full height and takes him in. He’s dressed well, as always, and he’s beaming like he thinks he already knows her answer. To be fair to him, it’s only been two days since he proposed. It’s a mighty quick turnaround, enough to make anyone confident, especially if you went in already expeccting to get a yes.

“I was thinking, if you might indulge me, that we might take a walk today?” Tetia fears she sounds rather too rehearsed, but if she can’t have this conversation in a place where her magic works, she’ll be too nervous to say no. “The weather is so lovely, and I do love the castle gardens.”

“Of course,” he agrees, enthusiastic, and links their arms. Tetia tries not to shrink from the touch too obviously, but she feels the need to like a broken limb. He’s always been so forward, and while she is usually the same, she’s never felt quite comfortable enough to match his energy.

The garden of Castle Ezrest is sprawling, and though there’s a large stone wall between the garden itself and the beach beyond, there is also a gate, through which Tetia briefly glimpses the waves. As they begin their walk, the Prince makes small talk about the various matters he’s seen to since he last saw her, and Tetia hears the soft clanking of his personal guards a few feet behind them. Not true privacy, not like when they were children wearing each others cloaks in the market, but that would be too much to ask for a man who will be king one day soon, and it’s not as if they had true privacy when he proposed in the first place.

It was so much simpler back when they’d met. How she wishes she could have been honest with him then, and spared them both.

“So,” Eoleo says, releasing her arm in order to seat himself on a stone bench beside the path, “have you thought about my proposal?”

Tetia’s almost relieved she doesn’t have to broach the topic herself, even as her stomach twists in apprehension. “Indeed, Your Highness," she agrees, and stays standing.

“Please, Tetia, you needn’t use titles for me. We’ve known each other too long.”

Setting boundaries is never peaceful, but it’s important, Olruggio says in her head. “You are too kind,” she says, and it’s so stiff she sounds like Agott as a kid, back when Tetia first joined the Atelier, all closed off and formal and a little distrustful, “but I must insist, Your Highness.”

His face falls a little. “Tetia.”

“Would you allow me to speak my mind, Your Highness? I would like to be honest with you.”

“Of course,” Eoleo says, like it’s a given, like she’s never had to hold her tongue around him. He’s truly never known her, has he?

Deep breath. She pictures her friends, their determined faces as they saw her off; she pictures Olruggio and Qifrey, their worry and their anger on her behalf shining in their eyes even as they smiled at her. “Both the proposals you made to me were unfair.”

Eoleo blanches, truly shocked, and says, “Tetia–!”

“Please,” she speaks over him, holding her hands up to keep him at a distance and to quell his protests. She feels so deeply uncomfortable doing this with his guards so close. “I know you meant well, I know I–” Tetia sighs, frustrated with herself for messing up her internal script, but powers on, “You must understand, the appointment of a court magician is an antiquated notion, and the risks it poses are far larger than I think you truly realise. Consider the tensions between your kingdom and the other nobles bound by the pact, should they hear you have a Witch at your command — and that is how they will think of it, no matter what you say. Think of how the Great Hall would see it, or the Three Wise, or any Witch, no matter their position, that enters your city. I know you find the concept exciting and romantic and esoteric or what have you, but no one else would see it that way, and I fear only bad can come from it. I must refuse.”

His brow furrows as he contemplates her speech, and slowly his expression clears into a reluctant acceptance. Eoleo sighs, “Of course, you’re right. I don’t know why I’m still surprised by it — you’ve always been so clever.” Then, he smiles again, that warm, indulgent smile that’s always made her feel she should step back, because if it’s warm from here it must be scalding any closer. “It was foolish of me to think I could bring such boyish ambitions into my reign, and I would be doubly so if I did not heed you here.”

She almost breathes a sigh of relief at this acceptance. She knows better, however; that was the easy part.

“But what of my other proposal?” Eoleo continues, as if reading her mind. “You said both were unfair.”

“I did,” she agrees. “I can’t marry you, Your Highness. We’re not a good fit.”

“You cannot mean that,” he cries immediately, and actually gets to his feet now. The denial on his face plummets into something akin to panic when she takes a step away from him. “Tetia!”

“I do not love you,” Tetia tells him, feeling her breath coming too quick. It does the trick — he looks wounded, and no longer like he wants to seize her in his arms like character in a romance novel and convince her she’s wrong.

She wishes Richeh were here to speak plainly for her, or Coco, to word it nicer. She wishes she was small again and could hide in Qifrey’s cloak the way she used to, or sit on Olruggio’s shoulder and look down at a world so small in comparison to her that it made her feel strong.

But they’re not here. They can’t be here. She has to do this herself, and she can’t sugarcoat it or he might take it the wrong way.

“I am sorry,” she says, once she feels a little more collected. “I know I allowed you to believe I loved you in return, and I’m ashamed I never said sooner, but I didn’t know how and I didn’t want to hurt you. I want you to be happy, and I know if we were married it wouldn’t be so, because my feelings for you wouldn’t change. Besides which, I would so loathe to live here.”

Eoleo looks around them, and then looks back at her, appalled, as though he really can’t imagine why she would ever say such a thing.

“I am a Witch,” Tetia reminds him, trying to remain gentle and patient, but finding herself frustrated with the Prince’s lack of perspective. “Magic is my trade, and to be your wife would be to give up not only my trade but the daily magics I so treasure, because they simply would not work within the walls of your home. I would be a shell of myself; I would no longer be the woman you loved. It would irk you, and we would resent each other. I want you to marry someone who really loves you the way you want it. I want you to find that happiness. You won’t find it with me. I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I must refuse this proposal as well.”

A long bout of silence follows, as the Prince grapples with how to respond. Eventually, he asks, “There’s nothing I can say to convince you?”

“There’s nothing to convince, Your Highness," Tetia replies. "It is a fact, and one I have thought long and hard on.”

“This is one of the reasons I love you," Eoleo tells her, a wavering smile on his face. "You are so sure of yourself, always have been.”

“I hope you find someone you feel similarly for, because I can’t be her.” More silence. He looks more lost than Tetia has ever seen him. “I’ll understand if you never want to see me again.”

“How could I?” He looks aghast at the notion.

“Well, I am breaking your heart, aren’t I?”

“I will take a broken heart over never seeing you again. Alright, your refusals are heard. I understand. But please, Tetia," and he takes her hand, moving so fast she couldn't possibly dodge in time, "might I still be your friend?”

She does not pull away, but she gives him a cautious look. “If you promise that’s all it will be. I cannot be a harbour for your expectations any longer. I will not heed your last-minute requests and your silly whims in place of other work if you’re just going to be hoping the whole time I’ll change my mind. Because, Your Highness, I won’t.”

He grimaces, clearly sour at being caught out, and Tetia hates him for a moment. She hates the entitlement, the way he thinks he’ll win her over if he just tries a little harder, waits a little longer, wears her down a bit more. She hates that he’s always been like this and she allowed it, because what else could she do?

“I don’t think we should be friends, Your Highness,” she says softly, instead of spitting venom, and he releases her hand when she pulls away. “And I think my continued presence in your life would cause you pain. I don’t want that.”

“Alright,” he concedes quietly. “But please, don’t avoid Silver Eve for my sake. I’ll let you alone. I’ll heed you.”

“Try to heed whoever comes next too, Your Highness.”

Tetia curtsies once more, and then she leaves.

Well, certainly she tries.

A guard by the castle doors has to escort her back through them to the front entrance in order for her to leave. Sure, she could have just left through the back way — the gate to the beach and then used her sylph shoes to fly to the border like she’d done when he proposed — but she thought that would look rather more like running away than the dignified exit Agott had insisted on. Don’t let him think he still frightens you, or he’ll believe he could try again.

So, Tetia’s walking at a much slower pace than usual behind a man in full-plate armour when a voice calls her name from the side. It’s an odd pronunciation, like they’ve replaced the I in her name with a Y.

Tetia immediately sinks into a curtsy when she realises it’s the King, Eoleo’s father, standing halfway down the main staircase. Her guard kneels by her side as well.

“Your Majesty,” she murmurs. Somehow, in the entire time she’d taken up (unofficial) residence in the city, all the hours she'd whiled away inside the castle walls at Eoleo's insistence, she’d managed to never speak to her host. Perhaps that’s what this is about.

Or perhaps he knows. King Deanreldy has always had a look about him that implied he knew more than he let on.

He gestures for her to come with him and turns, ascending the stairs; Tetia and her guard exchange a quick look and hurry to follow.

The room he takes her to, the guard stationed outside the door, is lavishly decorated in drapery and rugs, with a desk that he settles behind. Tetia would usually have the presence of mind to watch him for any signal that she should take the chair on the opposite side, but her attention is (quite reasonably!) caught by the two large Whiskercats lazing on the windowsills behind him. She’s seen them from afar quite a few times while staying in Ezrest, and she never got to see them in the parade that first Silver Eve, since Olruggio overslept, and she’s just been so stressed lately, so, really, who can blame her?

“You may approach them, if you wish to,” King Deanreldy says, following her gaze with some amusement in his expression.

Tetia bites back an incredulous Really?! and carefully walks around the desk towards the cats.

“Let them sniff your hand; you’ll know if you’re allowed to touch them after that.”

She dutifully holds her curled knuckles out to the two cats, sinking into a crouch so she doesn’t stand above them, hoping it will give her an advantage. And indeed, one of them rubs its cheek against her knuckles once it’s done sniffing, and the other bumps her hand quite purposefully with its snout. Tetia can’t quite bite back a giggle, and carefully scratches the first behind its ear.

She gets a little carried away, ending up seated between them on the cushioned windowsill to pat them both, each with one hand, cooing at their big eyes and their soft fur and their marvellous, huge whiskers.

"I find animals to be great judges of character,” the King breaks in after some time, almost making Tetia jump “don’t you?" He’s turned his seat around to face her and the Whiskercats, which puts them quite a bit closer than they would’ve been if she’d just sat at the desk as she was probably meant to.

"I do!" Tetia agrees, enthusiastically, once she recovers herself, cheeks flaming in embarrassment of having forgotten she was quite literally in a private audience with the King because he has cute pets. She only just stops herself from launching into an anecdote about Coco's brushbuddy, nervous and wondering if she ought to be sucking up given what she’s just done to his son, when she reminds herself where she is and who she's talking to. Her diversion is not exactly the most polite or tactful, but she thinks she comes off as more genuinely curious than grasping for a lead in the conversation. "Is that why you take them with you to court? Because they might pick up on something before you do?"

Surprising her, King Deanreldy laughs, seemingly to be genuinely amused by the question. "That plays a part, I suppose," he agrees. "If I’m honest, a lot of it has to do with the intimidation factor, which isn’t the most honourable tactic, but it definitely produces results."

Tetia nods her understanding, stroking the head of the second Whiskercat, which has settled its head quite purposefully in her lap. She’d be so excited about it, if it weren’t for the whole situation that’s put her here.

“But enough about them, I did wish to speak to you about a few things.”

“Of course,” Tetia says, letting the easy smile fade from her face in favour of a more neutral mask, something she cultivated by mimicking Qifrey.

“I find it odd that we’ve yet to be properly introduced, given how frequently you’ve been a guest here.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Yes, she really ought to have presented herself officially to him at court, but Prince Eoleo had put her straight to work on his various commissions and kept her busy in between and she’d never had the time, and she’d also been quite intimidated as it was. So.

“Nonsense; if it had been a true problem I would have made it known. You were apprenticed outside of the Great Hall, were you not?”

Tetia nods, cautious, unsure of what level of detail would amount to a breach in the pact.

“And is it true that you apprenticed under Olruggio of the Torch?”

“Ah, no, it's a common mistake, though." The King inclines his head, clearly looking for explanation, so Tetia continues, "It’s true that he lived and worked at my Atelier, but he was not my Professor. Despite this, myself and the other students of my Atelier were on many occasions under his direct tutelage, and I can say with great confidence that he is a great Witch and teacher, and he has both my admiration and my respect. I learned a lot from him.”

King Deanreldy hums. “I only ask because quite a few elements of your…performances, should we call them? That reminded me of his work.”

“I cannot say he was not influential in my education, Your Majesty, so you have a keen eye.”

“As a healer, I have experience dissecting things, though magic is not usually one of them.”

“All the more impressive.”

The King raises an eyebrow; Tetia winces. Probably laying it on a bit thick then. She’ll take the hint.

"I've been informed of your talents long before you graced my court with your presence; according to my son you are without fault, so I assume you are clever enough to realise I know what he asked of you."

Tetia’s hands falter, as does her breath. The Whiskercat with its head in her lap looks up at her, it’s eyes slitted in contentment, but curious. "Indeed, Your Majesty,” she says, hoping he cannot hear her voice shake — or if he can, that he will look past it. “As King, the matter of your son's hand must be of utmost importance to you. I must admit that the idea he had not told you added to my uneasiness."

King Deanreldy sits back in his chair, surveying her. "You told him no." Not a question.

"I told him no."

"Good." He claps his hands together once, sharply, and both Whiskercats get up and cross the small distance to sit beside him. "I apologise that you had to be involved in this matter, especially to such an extreme degree."

"Your Majesty?" Tetia asks, confused.

He gives her a look that could be mistaken for sympathy, and says, "On many occasions in the past my son expressed his desire to marry you, but it was not until he repeated the sentiment to me recently that I understood he truly meant it.” A sigh, clearly from a long-suffering parent. Tetia cannot imagine what it is to rule a kingdom and raise a child simultaneously, especially knowing the child would inherit the kingdom one day. “Indeed, his feelings for you are true, but those very feelings blind him to the risks such a union would bring, and I could think of no other way to cultivate his understanding but to let him suffer for it.”

Tetia wonders if that’s a teaching method many consider; she’s not sure it ever crossed Qifrey’s mind. Certainly, they’d all learned a lot during high-stakes situations, but he’d never put them there intentionally.

“I told him I would bless the union were you to accept, but I had no such intention.” Tetia meets his gaze with wide eyes. So it was never actually possible. “It gladdens me that you have enough sense to have refused. I assume you have also informed Lord Lagrah of what my son has done?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

A small smile graces the King’s face, "Then he spoke true; you are a very intelligent Witch. Were circumstances different, I would be very glad to welcome you into my family."

"Thank you, your Majesty," she whispers, and for perhaps the first time in her life it doesn't feel like a spell.

"But, indeed, I must apologise for using you as a tool of his education."

Tetia shakes her head, knowing that a King apologising to a commoner, Witch or not, wasn’t proper. "I follow your logic entirely, your Majesty. It is a clever plan."

"That may be so,” he says, and gestures vaguely with one hand, the other supporting his chin, elbow propped up on his armrest, “but evidently this ruse has deeply shaken you, and I find that unfortunate."

"Please,” Tetia says, some strength returning to her voice, showcasing how brittle she sounds, “I am relieved to know it was never possible."

"And no doubt Lord Lagrah will give me an earful for the whole sham." Strangely, she thinks he might look a little excited at the prospect. "I hope that might provide you with some comfort. But know also: should you call on me for a favour, if it is within my power, I will do my best to grant it, Witch Tetia."

"Your Majesty,” she says, bowing her head.

He lets her leave, after that, apparently satisfied that all is settled between them.

It’s late spring when she sits in the grass beside Qifrey and watches Agott and Coco try and coach the new students on using sylph shoes. Richeh, Euini and Olruggio are making dinner, their voices slightly audible through the open window, especially when Olruggio occasionally yells encouragements for the kids.

She’s been living here again, on and off, since returning from Ezrest the second time. She’s been bunking at Richeh and Euini’s and occasionally Coco’s just as often, because when she’d confessed to her anxieties of travelling alone, no one was eager to let it go on. Probably she didn’t have to suffer her loneliness at all if she’d admitted it sooner, but Tetia also thinks it was important for her to go through it, so she knows for sure now that she needs people she loves around.

(She’d seen Jujy a mere fortnight following her refusal of the Prince, and Jujy grabbed Tetia by the arms and shook her. "I heard you got proposed to???"

"Damn," Tetia cursed, eyes squeezed shut so she wouldn’t get dizzy from the shaking. "I was kind of hoping that wouldn't get out."

Jujy stopped shaking her in order to take her one of her hands and swing it between them, beginning to walk down the road again. "You really weren't kidding. Is it like this every day for you?"

A shrug, "Close enough."

"We should put beast wards on your clothes; maybe that would keep them away."

That made Tetia snort, and Jujy beamed, clearly pleased to have brightened her mood somewhat.)

Now, Tetia fiddles with the milkwort broach on her cloak, puddled in her lap from the fading warmth of the day, and casts a sidelong look at her old Professor. “Will you tell me the selfish reason now?”

He turns his head a little, not so much that he can’t keep an eye on the proceedings in front of him, but enough that he’ll have a clear view of her in his periphery. He doesn’t look confused. One of the things she’s always loved about him is his ability to follow her train of thought, even when some of her questions appear to come out of nowhere.

Qifrey blows out a breath, and says, “This will sound strange, but I wanted to make my life difficult. And I thought, you know what’s stressful? Teaching. Especially teaching children. Very complex stuff.”

Tetia blinks owlishly at him, “How is stressing yourself out selfish?”

“It’s what I wanted.”

“You wanted to be stressed out?”

He hums a confirmation.

“You’re so weird,” she sighs. “I don’t know how I’m only just figuring that out.”

“It’s not like I hid it,” Qifrey replies, smiling softly. “Why do you ask?”

“My goal’s pretty selfish.”

“What, making people happy? How is that selfish?”

“Well, it makes me happy to see people happy, especially when I know I was the reason.”

“Tetia,” he sighs, like he’s trying to formulate a lecture on how that doesn’t make her selfish, but she doesn’t let him start.

“I was just thinking…I don’t remember ever being as happy as I was when I lived here. The food, and my friends, having adventures — the look you’d get on your face when I got a spell right for the first time…the way you and Olly always supported us. If I could– if I could be that for some kids, give them that safe, sweet place to grow and learn…and I know it’s not nearly as grand as spreading happiness up and down the Peninsula, but…”

“You never seemed entirely happy with that plan, either," he notes.

“Doesn’t help that it was more of a concept than a plan," Tetia groans. "And, well, I mean, everyone else is kinda staying in one place, aren’t they? It’s nice to travel and see the sights and all, but. It’s also nice to see familiar faces. It’s nice if people know where to find me.”

“And would it make you happy?”

Tetia watches Agott as she catches Gill from a few feet in the air, her face all panic until she realises Coco and the kids are all laughing. “I think so. I think it would probably make me happier than what I’m doing now. Right now I just feel kind of aimless.”

“Then I think it’s a lovely idea.”

Olruggio shouts through the window that they’re plating up dinner; Qifrey pushes himself to his feet.

“Just get ready to be stressed all the time.”

“At least I’m not in it for that effect,” she grouses. “At least my selfish reasons make sense — you’re still a weirdo.”

no, i can’t love it better

i’m no better girl

i can’t love it better