Archive of Our Own

“You’re kidding,” says Utowin, halfway through breakfast.

Easthies stands from the table and buttons his coat. “I assure you I am not.” He adjusts his bag on his shoulder and prepares to leave. “I should be back late this evening. Goodbye.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Behind him, Utowin’s pen scratches, and Easthies finds himself yanked back by a wind spell.

He grits his teeth. “What have I told you about superfluous magic use? There’s no need to waste ink on something so trivial.”

Utowin gives him a look. “If you think keeping you around is trivial to me, think again.”

He sounds so earnest. Easthies sighs. Sometimes he wonders what Utowin sees in him; what could possibly make him try so hard, and keep trying, and keep trying. “Wipe your mouth,” he says, instead of trying to express any of that. “You’ve got marmalade on your face.”

Utowin licks it off like a heathen. “It’s not a crime to like breakfast.” He pauses. There’s still marmalade on his top lip, and if Easthies were closer he’d think about wiping it off. “You will eat, won’t you?”

“I imagine Qifrey’s apprentices do need food to survive.”

Utowin fixes him with a stern glare.

“Stop that,” Easthies says, turning around. “I should never have taught you how to do that. It’s unnerving.”

The frown vanishes instantly, and Utowin smiles his stupid marmalade-sticky smile. “Hah! I was just practicing my impression of you.” He looks up at Easthies, standing by the door. “Just… take care of yourself.”

“Mm,” says Easthies, feeling preemptively guilty. “I’m sure I won’t meet your standards.”

Utowin’s smile grows sad. “Eas,” he starts, but evidently gives up. At last he says, “I wish you’d lie to me, sometimes.”

Easthies doesn’t know what to say to that. When he thinks about lying he gets sick to his stomach. Better, he thinks, to tell the truth and deal with the consequences, than to say something he knows isn’t true just to avoid them.

“Ah, forget it. Just go,” Utowin says. There’s a sweet tinge to his sadness, like even this part of Easthies is a part he likes. “I’ll have dinner ready the minute you get back. Sweet potato pie and arugula salad with lemon.”

“I may be quite late.”

“Then I’ll stay up.”

Easthies busies himself with his coat, although it’s already very securely fastened. “That sounds agreeable.”

Utowin laughs at him. “Dork,” he accuses fondly, like he doesn’t still have marmalade on his stupid mouth. “You could just say something normal.”

“Hm? And what would a normal person say?”

“‘Thank you.’”

Easthies glances back at him, just briefly. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

The door closing drowns out whatever Utowin says, or doesn’t say, in response. Good. Easthies doesn’t think he’s ready to hear it. Better not to know. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss.

Anyway, then Easthies takes the windowway to the middle of nowhere, tightens the fastenings of his coat, and braces himself.

***

“Excuse you,” says the Arklaum kid, when he shows up at the atelier’s doorstep.

Easthies blinks. “Good morning, Miss Arklaum,” he says, very politely. “I am here at the behest of your master, as per the regulations of the—”

Another one appears out of nowhere. Riliphin’s sister, he thinks. “Oh,” she says. “The cops got us.”

“SHHH,” says a third one. The pink-haired one with an attitude. “Don’t tell him anything!”

Easthies doesn’t like it here. He knows, objectively, that Qifrey has four apprentices. He did not process that he would have to see all of them at once. He thought it would be like an assembly line. One apprentice, check. Next apprentice, check. He didn’t consider the possibility that they could team up.

“Remember what Master Olly said,” says Riliphin’s sister. “Deny, deny, deny.”

Easthies frowns deeply. “You’re Qifrey’s apprentices. Who is this other master? Also, what are you denying?”

“Well, for starters we aren’t harboring a fugitive,” says the pink one brightly. “And her name’s not Coco. Oh! And Master Olly is Master Olly.”

The Arklaum girl evidently takes pity on him and explains. “Olruggio of the Torch.”

Easthies blinks. These kids call Olruggio of the Torch that?

“Hey, someone said my name,” says a fourth kid, who must be Coco because she’s definitely not Olruggio of the Torch. “What’s up? Do we have a visitoOOOOH!!!!” She points at Easthies with one finger. “Hey! I know my Fourth Amendment rights! Come back with a warrant, sucker!”

Easthies stares at her. The three other girls also stare at her.

“Do they not have that here? Uh, like, the Constitution. You know, the Fourth Amendment.”

“Coco, respectfully, shut up,” says the Arklaum girl. She puffs up her chest. “Now, since I am the apprentice with the highest seniority, I am in charge of the atelier while our masters are gone. Please state your business.”

Easthies pulls out the letter from his pocket. He hands it over.

The girls all lean in to read it. Which is a little pointless, since Coco starts reading it aloud, like she thinks she’s the protagonist or something.

“Dear Easthies of the Spear, we have read the fine print of your sponsorship of our atelier, and uncovered a very interesting clause. As such, we are taking a day of leave, and entrusting our atelier to the third in command. Please show up within two days to take care of WHAT?”

“That’s not what it says,” says Riliphin’s sister, pointing at the paper. “It says, to take care of my apprentices in our absence.”

The Arklaum kid takes the scroll away and crunches it in her fist. “This cannot be legal. Don’t you love to do things by the book?”

“This is by the book,” says Easthies, feeling profoundly uncomfortable. He stands up taller, like it’ll make any difference to the little girls. “I am, technically, the Knight sponsor for your master’s atelier. As such, when your master and Watchful Eye are both indisposed, I am the third in line to act as your caretaker.”

The pink one narrows her eyes. “Why’d you sponsor Master Qifrey? Don’t you hate him?”

“…” says Easthies, because he doesn’t lie.

The Arklaum kid sighs and throws the paper aside. “Don’t you know, Tetia? Sponsor is a fancy term for an overseer. He probably took the position so he could get Master Qifrey in more trouble if he did anything wrong.”

“Actually, the Watchful Eye is supposed to be your overseer,” Easthies points out. “But…”

“But Master Olly isn’t a narc,” Coco agrees, which is concerning in itself. Olruggio’s job is contingent on the fact that he would narc on Qifrey if anything went wrong. Given, Easthies already kind of knew he wouldn’t, but it’s the principle of the thing. If even the kids know it…

Easthies stands. He brushes nonexistent dust off his cloak and makes up his mind.

“Children. Neither of us have to like this situation, but we must cooperate with it, as per the letter of the law. Now, are you going to continue to struggle, or are you going to let me in to conduct your lessons?”

The girls look at each other. They appear to engage in a very spirited telepathic debate. At last they all step aside in perfect unison to let him in.

“Sir Easthies,” says Riliphin’s sister, stone cold. They must have picked her as their representative because she’s the bravest of the lot. She looks him right in the eye and scowls deeply. “Welcome to our atelier.”

Easthies, who has fought honest-to-god dragons, gets goosebumps.

***

“So we usually run book lessons in the morning,” Tetia explains, plunking a pile of books onto the living room table. “Coco and I are a little behind Agott, and Richeh likes to do independent study instead.”

“Yes,” says Richeh. She takes one of the books and disappears. Easthies figures this is not his problem. If she’s made good progress with this technique, she probably doesn’t need him. Also, she’s terrifying.

The others, however, are still his responsibility. Easthies peers at the books in front of Coco. They’re more advanced than he expected, especially for a girl who’s only been involved with the magical world for a year or so. That’s good—he can definitely work with this material. “Alright. Show me to the study room, and we will review.”

“The study room?”

“Yes,” says Easthies slowly. “The classroom? The room with chalkboards and desks?”

“Oh! We study here,” Tetia says brightly. She plunks herself down right there at the living room table. “You can just sit with us and help explain the spells as we read. Maybe draw examples?”

Easthies looks at the table. He frowns. It’s a very ordinary living room table. “Don’t you have someplace more suited to education?”

The Arklaum girl, Agott, gives him a withering look. “If any of us find the group environment too overpowering, we can simply retreat to our rooms. Otherwise, this space is perfect to help one another learn and work through challenges side by side.”

Coco looks baffled. “Agott, you never say that! You’re always telling me I’m too noisy and that I work too slowly.”

Easthies snaps to attention. A conflict between Qifrey’s apprentices? He’ll just have to report this, and then say that the apprentices can’t be kept under the same roof, and then…

But Agott crushes all his hopes and dreams when her ears go pink. “I… do not find you intolerable,” she says stiffly.

Coco beams. “Aww, really?!”

Agott huffs and turns away. “I’m going to read in the window,” she announces. “I won’t need any assistance.” And she really does just leave.

Easthies takes the primer from the desk. “Miss Coco,” he says delicately. “You do not get along with Miss Arklaum, I take it?”

Coco laughs so hard she almost chokes.

Easthies frowns, feeling rather put out. So much for that angle.

“They’re actually great friends,” Tetia informs him in an undertone, like it’s some kind of secret. “Did you know Coco drew Agott’s sylph shoes for her? And now they can fly super fast, but only the two of them. Also Agott slams into trees all the time.”

“I DO NOT,” says Agott from the windowsill.

Coco’s laughter finally dies down, and she brushes her hair back from her eyes. “It’s alright,” she says softly. “I know Agott really cares. We had a rough start, but…”

Easthies is eager to drop the topic. He knows more than enough about getting a rough start with someone; it’s only that usually, for him, it stays rough forever, and never manages to change. “Which chapter are you on?”

“Eight,” says Coco.

Eight? They’re second-year apprentices, aren’t they? They should be well beyond that. The standard curriculum encompasses about ten chapters per year; one chapter per month, allowing for two months of vacation or additional non-magical schooling. But if Qifrey has been neglecting the standard curriculum, and perhaps teaching them other things…

Tetia sighs heavily and slumps down on the table. “I had trouble with eight, so we skipped it last year. I can’t believe we have to come back to it!”

“C’mon, Tetia! Foundational light magic is important.”

“Hold on,” Easthies interrupts, still reeling. “You skipped a chapter?”

“It made me frustrated,” Tetia says, still draped across the table. “So Master Qifrey said I could do more interesting things for a little while as long as I came back to it afterwards. But what’s the point! Light magic isn’t even very helpful!”

“Actually,” says Easthies, ready to deliver his whole speech about how light magic is a fundamental part of the curriculum of any witch and can’t be skipped.

But Coco beats him to it. She leans across the table and takes Tetia’s hands. “You know, light magic was the first kind I fell in love with.”

Tetia looks up. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm. Master Olly’s glowstones. They had them in the city to light everyone’s way and keep them safe.” Coco smiles and sits next to Tetia. She opens the book to the eighth chapter. “How are you gonna become a great traveling sorceress if you can’t make your path bright?”

Tetia sits up at last, with a small smile on her face. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Thank you, Coco.”

Coco beams. “Thank you for your thanks!”

Tetia bursts out laughing.

Easthies feels strange watching them. It must be some kind of in-joke, he supposes. Funny; no one had in-jokes with him in his apprentice days. He hadn’t liked light spells, either. He always thought some things were best left in the dark.

“So,” says Coco, sitting up straight. “Chapter eight?”

Easthies snaps out of it. “Yes. Light spells, to illuminate the path of all.”

Coco smiles like she knows something he doesn’t. She and Tetia read side by side, like friends.

***

Qifrey’s atelier has no bell to toll the hours, but the girls seem to know when lunch time is anyway. Richeh, who has been entirely absent doing god-knows-what, emerges spectacularly early for the meal. She ladles herself a bowl of soup, drinks the whole thing standing up, and then ladles herself another immediately.

“You don’t need anything else?” Easthies asks, just for courtesy’s sake. He can barely manage to eat most days, let alone cook.

Richeh takes a large bite of sausage from her soup. She shakes her head.

“Master Qifrey likes to prepare our lunch in advance,” Coco explains. Weirdly, she’s the most friendly toward him, even though she’s surely got the most reason to shut him out. “If he ever runs out of soup, he gets really stressed out. Like, super duper stressed out.”

“Stress soup tastes better,” says Richeh.

Agott makes a strange expression. “That makes sense. Master Qifrey is one of those people who thrives under pressure.”

Unable to help himself, Easthies scoffs.

Agott looks up at him with steely eyes. “What?” she snaps, slamming her soup spoon down. Broth splashes onto the table, but she doesn’t appear to notice. “You think thriving under pressure is impossible? You think everyone should be given a—a cushy little life where if they’re not good enough, they’re just expected to do nothing? You think hard work is pointless if someone doesn’t have enough natural talent, or the right background, or—”

“Agott,” says Tetia gently.

Agott visibly unclenches her jaw. “Right,” she says, sounding faint. She blinks. “Oh. I spilled my soup.”

Tetia is already wiping up the broth with a napkin. “There’s plenty more! Don’t worry.”

Coco giggles. “Not if Richeh has anything to say about it.”

Richeh nods, deathly serious. “I am a growing girl. I must eat.”

“…Forgive me, Miss Arklaum,” Easthies says, a little awkwardly. He didn’t know there was a nerve to strike there. Agott is from a great family; what would she know about not having the right background to succeed? “I did not mean to imply anything. It’s only that I have never heard someone describe your master that way.”

Agott scoffs. “What, as a ball of stress? Surely you would know. You give him enough of it.”

Easthies falters. It’s one thing to know objectively that he’s causing someone stress with his surveillance; it’s another thing entirely to hear that even his apprentices have noticed it. “I… don’t mean to.”

“You don’t mean to?” says Agott, more incredulous than angry. “When Master Qifrey first accepted me, he was bogged down with paperwork and official visits for months! He got death threats for accepting me!”

“He did?” says Easthies sharply. “From whom?”

Agott waves her hand vaguely. She’s still holding the soup spoon, but it’s thankfully empty this time. “Eh. It was just one, and it was actually from my aunt. We dealt with her.”

Easthies does not want to know what ‘dealt with’ means, and he especially doesn’t want to know who ‘we’ might consist of. Plausible deniability, and all that. Instead he clears his throat. “I was only surprised that he would… thrive, as you said, under such conditions. In our school days I remember him as quite the troublemaker.”

Four pairs of eyes stare at him blankly. Even Richeh drops her spoon back into her soup.

Easthies suddenly feels odd. “What?”

“You studied together?” says Tetia.

“Not together, exactly. We studied in the Great Hall during the same time period. Qifrey was… infamous.”

Coco leans forward. “For what? Was he that smart?!”

“Hardly! Olruggio was always the golden boy,” Easthies says, a little distastefully. “He was a sort of genius, until Qifrey came along and dragged him off. Shame; he could have been such a great architect. He could have rebuilt half the Great Hall if he wanted. But apparently what he wanted was to build an atelier in the middle of nowhere with Qifrey.”

The girls look absolutely rapt. Briefly it occurs to Easthies that if Qifrey hasn’t told them this, there’s probably a reason. Maybe he’s spilled something he wasn’t supposed to.

He clears his throat and attempts to do damage control. “Not to say that Olruggio of the Torch is insignificant now. He’s made many great contributions to—”

“What do you mean, dragged him off?” Tetia demands, eyes wide. “Describe it! Did they run away together, or was it more of a princess-in-a-tower rescue mission situation?”

Easthies blinks. “What? No. They just…” But he can’t find the words.

It’s hazy in his mind. He remembers everyone talking about it: saying that those two were inseparable, that they were each other’s for life. In truth, he mostly remembers the first time he saw his own name at the top of the exam scoreboard, above Olruggio’s. Easthies had received a hundred percent, and he stood alone. Below him, Olruggio and Qifrey had matching ninety-sevens.

Easthies had stood there feeling hollow. He should have been satisfied, but instead he was struck with the certainty that he was missing something, missing something he should have found a long time ago. But it was too late now. It was gone. Olruggio had broken free, had discovered it; and Easthies had lost again.

“They just what?” says Tetia eagerly.

Easthies swallows twenty years of jealousy and tries to say something. Nothing happens. He stares at the wood grain of the table—Qifrey’s table. Olruggio probably built it. His stomach churns.

“Never mind,” says Coco, the sweetest of the bunch. “Do you want any soup? Master Qifrey made enough for everyone.”

“No.” He stands from the table, too fast. “Excuse me.”

The girls don’t protest. As he leaves, he thinks he hears Richeh eating more soup, and Agott saying something in a harsh tone. When she’s done talking, the other girls all laugh.

Easthies wonders if they hate him.

***

The afternoon is reserved for independent practice. Coco and Tetia go outside to work on shooting light beams into the sky, where they won’t blind everyone with their attempts. Easthies watches them from the window and tries to melt into the wall so the others won’t notice him.

It doesn’t work, of course. The moment he thinks he’s safe, Richeh comes into the living room and stares at him. Just stares at him. Nothing else.

“Hello, Miss Richeh.” He tries to keep his voice even. Maybe she can smell his fear. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” she says, with her steely eyes. “I want to practice my spellwork here.”

“Alright.”

“I won’t need any assistance.”

Easthies just nods. “I’m sure you are a highly capable young witch.”

Somehow this doesn’t improve her mood at all. She scowls at her drawing paper. “I don’t need your approval.”

Outside, Coco yelps. Easthies whirls back around to look out the window, expecting trouble. But she’s just dancing. Her skirt whips around her in the wind, and her cloak glows with golden light as she spins.

“Oh,” says a new voice. Agott. “She must have gotten the hang of it. Finally. It only took her two hundred years.”

“Light spells have too many curves for Coco,” Richeh says.

Agott huffs. “Just because she’s best at straight lines doesn’t mean she should let herself be terrible at everything else.” She sits down across from Richeh and pulls out a practice sheet. “It just takes dedication and hard work.”

Richeh says nothing. Her pen scratches an uneven line, and she quietly starts over.

Easthies takes the opportunity to glance at her work. He’s expecting a spell from chapter seventeen or eighteen of the primer. Instead what he sees is something entirely new. “What is this? If you’re attempting to make a water spell, I’m afraid it’s gone terribly wrong.”

Richeh tears through the paper with her pen.

“Miss Richeh?”

“It hasn’t gone wrong,” she snaps. “This is my spell. And Master Olly says if it goes wrong, I just have to figure out why, and fix it. Because mistakes are the gateway to creation.”

Easthies blinks. “Olruggio said that?”

Richeh grips her pen tight. “He’s a teacher too,” she says, icy cold. “Don’t dismiss him just because he’s not our official master.”

Easthies doesn’t know how to respond. Mostly he’s just surprised that Olruggio would say something like that. In their school days he had seemed so perfect, so untouchable. He never imagined Olruggio might make enough mistakes that he’d even encourage them in his students. Well—Qifrey’s students, but what’s the difference, really?

“He knows a lot,” Richeh says defensively. There’s a strange fire behind her eyes, like she’s fighting for Olruggio’s honor with her life. “But he doesn’t force me to be like him. He just…” But she never finds the words. Her grip on the pen goes slack, and her eyes shine silver.

“What does your spell do?” Easthies asks quietly.

Richeh lifts her misty eyes and glares at him powerfully. “If you’re going to report it, or tell me to change it, you can fuck right off.”

Easthies stares at her. “Excuse me?”

Richeh doesn’t bother repeating herself. She just looks at him. It’s very effective.

When she hands him the spell paper, he examines it carefully. It’s simple, but not related to anything in the primer. It’s more like a traditional ribbon-dance festival spell, a holiday left over from before the pact. He turns it over in his hands, perplexed. “Has your master been teaching you ancient decorative magic?”

“No.” Richeh lifts her chin. “This is my own spell. I made it.”

Easthies looks up from the spell paper. Richeh looks proud, determined. She looks, in all honesty, like a great witch in the making.

Richeh takes the spell back. “If you’re just going to stare, you can leave.”

“It’s impressive work, particularly given that you crafted it on your own.”

Richeh shuffles the spell paper back into her binder. “Not entirely on my own. Master Qifrey helps me find spells that I want to learn, and then lets me modify them.”

“And before you go reporting him,” Agott adds from across the room, “Master Qifrey reviews every one of our proposed spells before we connect any rings. He doesn’t allow us to do anything even remotely dangerous, so get those ideas out of your head.”

Easthies sighs. Why must she always villainize him? “I am not unreasonable, Miss Arklaum. I am just—”

But she interrupts him fiercely: “My name is Agott.”

Easthies cuts himself off. The atelier rings with silence.

“My name is Agott,” she repeats, softer but no less impactful. “Stop calling me by my family name, like I’m better than everyone else. I’m just the same as the rest of them. Respect has to be earned.”

She’s not entirely wrong. Although her legal name is Agott Arklaum, the witching society usually refers to people by their given names unless their family name is especially impressive. Still, the Arklaum family is certainly high-profile. “I am only following protocol.”

“You don’t call anyone else by a family name.”

“Because they don’t have them,” Easthies says, feeling like he’s explaining something obvious. Well—technically Olruggio also has a family name, but his Torch title carries more weight than his name anyway, so that’s the politer way to refer to him. “It’s a sign of respect.”

“I don’t deserve to be called that name,” Agott says, quieter than ever. “Not until…”

But whatever revelation she’s about to have is interrupted by the clicking of the typewriter receiving a letter.

Easthies sighs in relief. He has no idea how to navigate this conversation; he never quite learned how to talk to kids. He’s always too brash, too sharp-edged, too much of a stickler for the rules. “I’ll get it,” he says, already heading for the typewriter as it clicks.

Agott stands up. “I’ll get it. If it’s a private correspondence for Master Qifrey, I should receive it. Not you.”

Maybe another day Easthies would have argued. Would have pressed the edge, because he has more seniority, more status. But she makes a fine point. He sits back down.

The typewriter finishes clicking, and Agott takes the paper from the magical device. She scans it. As she reads, her eyes widen. When she finally reaches the end, they’re so comically wide that she looks a bit bug-eyed. She stares at the paper like it’s a revelation all in itself.

Just as she finishes, the atelier door bursts open.

“Agott!” Coco yells, twirling around. “Look! We got the light spell to attach to my dress, but only at the bottom hem, so it glows when I—” She spins in a circle and crashes spectacularly into the couch.

Tetia giggles and flops onto the couch with her. “Isn’t it pretty?”

Agott ignores them both. “Look at this,” she says, throwing the letter into their faces. “I mean, just look at it!”

Coco and Tetia crowd around. Richeh leans over the back of the couch to read it, too. Together, they look at the paper. Coco begins reading aloud again.

“Dearest Easthies,” she reads, and then pauses. All three of them turn to look at him. They appear to have an intense silent conversation again.

“Hold on,” Easthies says. “If the letter is for me, why should you all get to read it?”

Coco proceeds as if nothing happened. “Making dinner as we speak—or as we write, haha. I didn’t add that, by the way, the letter says ‘haha.’ Um… I’ll have everything ready when you get home. Please remember to eat lunch. Picture my sad, sad face telling you to eat. That should do the trick. Your friend, Utowin.”

Coco stops reading. All four girls look right at him. With them all sitting on the couch, it looks like he’s being tried for a crime, and they’re the jury, ready to find him guilty. Easthies starts sweating.

Tetia squints at him skeptically. “Woah,” she says emphatically. “You have friends?”

“Wh—no,” Easthies says. Then, because he doesn’t lie, “I don’t know.”

“Of course not,” Agott says, turning up her nose. “This person isn’t your friend at all. You’re obviously romantically involved.”

Richeh nods solemnly.

Easthies blinks several times. “Excuse me?”

“This is just like what Master Qifrey does for Master Olly!” Coco stands up from the couch with such vigor that the letter goes flying. “When he’s working on a commission, Master Qifrey always stays up cooking something for him! See?”

“Yes,” says Easthies slowly. “This is perfectly standard behavior for friends.”

Tetia looks at him sadly. “But Master Qifrey and Master Olly are in love.”

Easthies freezes. “They are?”

“Well, aren't they?” says Agott. She waves her hand like everything is obvious and makes perfect sense. “They live together, cook meals together, tell each other everything. Master Qifrey stays up past midnight waiting to make sure Master Olly eats something healthy! I mean, who does that?”

“Well,” says Easthies, slightly uncomfortable. That’s basically exactly what Utowin does for him every day. “Caring for someone doesn’t have to indicate romantic inclination.”

Tetia crosses her arms. “It does for them!”

Coco frowns lopsidedly. “Wait, aren’t they married? Master Olly made him rings and everything. And built his house.”

“And the pizza oven,” says Richeh, like this is very important.

“No,” says Easthies, baffled. “I would—I would know if they were married. There are legal practices for this sort of thing. And I would know if Utowin was—” He cuts himself off. If Utowin was… Yes. If he was.

“They probably eloped,” Coco says. “That’s common where I’m from! People run off together and then come back with four kids or something. And look at us!” She gestures emphatically at herself. “Four kids right here! And you would never know if they eloped. There’s no documentation for that. It just sort of happens.”

“Hm,” says Easthies, feeling a little sick. It just sort of happens. “But how is anything real without the legal paper to prove it? Without the records; the acknowledgement? How is anything meaningful without someone there to witness it?”

All four apprentices look at him in silence. The jury reaches their verdict.

“This isn’t about Master Qifrey at all,” says Agott, wide-eyed. “This is about the law or something, isn’t it? About crime and witnesses? And—and criminal records?”

Tetia bonks her on the shoulder. “Agott! It’s obviously about him and his own husband! Get with the program!”

“My what,” says Easthies weakly.

“Your husband,” says Richeh.

“Yeah. Keep up,” says Tetia, frowning at him. “Oh! Oh! We have to write back to him! We have to tell him that you’re fine and you’re going to eat lots and lots of dinner.”

“But not too much!” Coco adds. “He has to be able to eat when he gets home, right?”

Tetia nods. “I like the way you think! Okay. Hmm. Hello my beautiful wonderful husband— he is beautiful and wonderful, right? I bet he is. Anyway— I miss you so much!! When I get home I’ll eat all the food you cooked and tell you it’s delicious. And then we will kiss and go to bed. Um… Oh! Yes! Your happy face is much more good looking than your sad face. So please be happy! Love, The Big Scary Weirdo Knights Guy.”

“I have a name,” says Easthies, a little faint. This is the easiest part to process, so he’ll tackle it first.

Tetia ignores him. “No one cares. Anyway, send!” She hits the enter key.

“You don’t know Utowin’s letter address,” he says, mostly to convince himself. “You can’t have actually sent that nonsense.”

“Oh! Master Olly made our typewriter specially,” says Coco. “See? There’s an option to send to the last known receiver. So we do have his address, actually. And… yep! There’s the received icon!”

Easthies sits down. He stares at the wall.

This is his life. This is happening to him.

Richeh stands from the couch. “Dinner time. I want bacon.”

“Ooh, yes!” Tetia jumps to join her. “Master Qifrey left us sandwich supplies, so all we have to do is put them together and grill them. Richeh, Coco, can you put them together? Agott and I can do the cooking!”

Easthies stays in the living room staring at the wall some more. This is, in his mind, very justified. He needs a moment. He needs many moments.

Well! Surely Utowin will figure out that the letter wasn’t from him. Surely he won’t say anything ridiculous about it when he gets back.

Some time later, Coco pokes her head through the door. “Hey, Mister Easthies,” she says gently. “You want a sandwich?”

“No,” says Easthies. Then, because he’s polite, “Thank you for offering.”

“You suuuure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Your friend-husband would like it if you ate a sandwich.”

His what? Easthies gives up on understanding any of it. He sighs. “As long as it doesn’t have any meat.”

Coco smiles. “You can come make it yourself, then.” And she waits for him in the doorway.

Easthies hesitates.

“Also I think Tetia is going to get too excited when she grills the sandwiches,” Coco adds quickly. “So you have to be there to make sure she doesn’t burn them.”

He’s sure Agott has it under control. But this is one of those moments where, perhaps, it’s easier to tell one half of the truth than the other half.

“Of course,” Easthies says, and follows her into the kitchen.

Coco beams.

Together, they make five sandwiches. Tetia does indeed burn them a little, but they taste alright. Easthies doesn’t really like to eat, but he manages to get half of it down before he starts feeling sick. The girls seem to understand when he can’t finish it.

After dinner they put themselves to bed neatly and quietly. Easthies doesn’t have to do anything. They’re so self-sufficient that it almost scares him.

Easthies stays up, waiting for their masters to return. As much as he hates to admit it, Qifrey and Olruggio must be good teachers—their apprentices are alright.

***

Qifrey walks back into his atelier just before midnight with a spring in his step and a shit-eating grin all over his face. “Ah! How wonderful to see that you followed through.”

Easthies resists the urge to slam the atelier door behind them. “I would never go against the letter of the law. I am on the side of justice.”

“Agree to disagree,” Qifrey says, smiling so intensely that it’s almost aggressive.

Olruggio clears his throat politely. “I hope the girls didn’t give you any trouble.”

Easthies shakes his head. “None whatsoever. In fact, they’re so competent that I almost think I didn’t need to be here at all.”

“Funny how that works,” says Qifrey, like inconveniencing Easthies greatly amuses him. “You know, I don’t think they needed you either! But I’ll be sure to call you again if anything, and I mean anything, comes up. Unless, of course, you manage to change my sponsor to someone else.”

Easthies sighs through his nose. Blackmail. Of course. Qifrey’s trying to get him to drop the sponsorship through intimidation. Easthies doesn’t particularly want to argue, so he switches tracks. “What kept you both busy, anyway?”

“Date night,” says Olruggio, completely unbothered.

Easthies hesitates. For some reason what he says is, “So you are married?”

Olruggio shrugs. Next to him, Qifrey just waves his hand vaguely.

It wouldn’t make sense, were it anyone else. But those two have always been their own thing. Easthies gets it, at least a little. They don’t have an answer, or at least they don’t have one that fits within Easthies’s black and white categories.

“But isn’t that frustrating?” Easthies says, before he can stop himself. “Isn’t it awful, not knowing where you stand with someone?”

Qifrey wraps his arm around Olruggio’s waist conspicuously. “I know perfectly well where we stand. It’s just none of your business.”

Easthies supposes that’s true, to some extent. He’s not going to get anywhere from this conversation, and they both know it. The more he lets Qifrey talk, the more Qifrey wins. He fastens his cloak and adjusts the windowway. “I wish your apprentices well. Good night.”

“Come back soon!” Qifrey calls, still giving him that stupidly smug grin.

Damn. And right after Easthies was starting to come around on him because of how competent and sweet his apprentices are. Yep—there’s the Qifrey he knows. Little bastard.

Fuck him, Easthies thinks. He walks right out the windowway.

Yes. This is where they belong: separated by the sea. Qifrey can have his world of uncertainty above the water; Easthies likes his life outlined by the law. Predictable, but dependable. Unchanging.

***

“What’s this I hear about us being married?”

Easthies strongly contemplates walking right back out of his own home.

Utowin laughs. “I’m just teasing, Eas. I know you didn’t write that letter. You would never say please be happy; you’re not really the asking type.”

“That’s what tipped you off?” Easthies says drily. “Not the signature from… What was it? The Weirdo Knights Guy?”

“The Big Scary Weirdo Knights Guy, actually.” Utowin smiles his lopsided smile. “Qifrey’s apprentices wrote it, yeah? You’re not that tall, but I bet you’re big and scary to those little girls.”

“Not to you, I hope.”

“Hah! No. I haven’t been scared of you in years.”

Maybe that’s a bad thing. Knights should be scared of their commander, shouldn’t they? But Easthies is too tired to try figuring all of that out. He sits down with Utowin at the table and eats his sweet potato pie and arugula salad with lemon.

“See?” Utowin says proudly. “Had it ready for you, just like I promised.”

“I know. You’re a man of your word.”

Utowin props his elbows on the table and looks at him crookedly. “So you didn’t tell them anything? Qifrey’s apprentices, I mean. You didn’t say anything about me?”

Easthies sets down his fork. “I suppose I told them a few things,” he admits, feeling a little warm. “But it was nothing you hadn’t already said in your letter.”

“Hm,” says Utowin. He looks at Easthies evenly.

Easthies has another bite of sweet potato. It’s good. It doesn’t distract him from the weird intensity in Utowin’s eyes.

“You know, I was reading just today,” says Utowin, too casually. “I read something that stuck with me.”

“How unusual for you,” Easthies says flatly.

Utowin snorts. “C’mon. I’m trying to say something here.”

“I just can’t imagine you reading anything other than mystery thrillers or baking books. What was it this time? A dulce de leche recipe? I’m sure Luluci will be happy to sample it.”

“I was reading the Knights rulebook, actually,” Utowin says. “The clause about sponsorships.”

Easthies leans in. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Utowin looks at him like he’s already told the joke, and he’s waiting for Easthies to get it. “You said sponsorship responsibilities aren’t transferable. That’s why you had to go, and you couldn't send someone else.”

“Yes.”

“Funny—there’s one exception.”

“Is there?”

“Mm. The spousal support clause. If a Knight is married to another Knight, their spouse can take on those responsibilities for them.”

Easthies raises one eyebrow. “Did you just make that up?”

“Maybe a little,” Utowin says shamelessly. “Well—technically, Luluci made it up for me. I’m pretty shit at wordplay. She came up with spousal support. Doesn’t it sound legit? It’s even got alliteration.”

Easthies looks at him too fondly. “Fool. Don’t try to misquote the Knights rulebook at me. You know that’s a losing game.”

Utowin laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Sue a guy for hoping.”

“Hoping for what?”

“For you to indulge me.”

Easthies exhales sharply, halfway to a laugh. “You know I can’t do that. I don’t indulge anyone, and I don’t make exceptions.”

“Maybe I thought you might give me special treatment, once in a while.”

Easthies hesitates. He thinks of Qifrey and Olruggio, winning again. He thinks of their four apprentices, so willing to chase what they want. He thinks, strangely enough, of Coco making the effort to be kind to him, even when he doesn’t deserve it.

“I suppose,” he says, his heart barreling down its course, “that it wouldn’t be the worst thing, to try and repay your generosity.”

Utowin blinks at him. “I—huh?”

“After all, you’ve indulged me many times,” Easthies says. “It seems only fair that I return the favor.”

“Wait,” says Utowin, baffled. “You’re really saying that? I thought you’d just let me dance around you forever. Do you mean you’d let me—?”

“Let you what?”

Utowin blushes down to the roots of his hair.

Easthies looks at him skeptically. “If this is how you react to even the suggestion of a romantic entanglement with me, I strongly doubt that you’ll be a satisfactory partner.”

“Satisfactory?” Utowin says, like it’s an insult. He stands from the table. “I’ll have you know I’m a fantastic partner. I cook and clean and send you letters! I’m downright wonderful!”

“You’re right,” says Easthies, a little amused. “But I was talking about ‘satisfactory’ in a physical sense. Was that not clear?”

Utowin stares at him. “You, making an innuendo? What’s gotten into you?”

“You’re quite right. I fear I’m acting out of line,” says Easthies. He feigns a retreat, getting up and taking his dishes to the sink. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. If you’re not amenable to these sorts of advances, I’ll have no choice but to never make them again. So if you’ll—”

Utowin catches his wrist.

“So if you’ll excuse me,” Easthies says, a little weakly. He can’t remember where he was going with this. He’s sure he had a plan, at some point, but now Utowin is right there, and he can’t remember much of anything.

“Eas,” says Utowin, “shut up,” and then he leans in and—

***

And nothing changes, not really; but Easthies likes it that way, likes the stability and the predictability of it. Likes that nothing changes. Likes the way it just sort of happens.