Chapter Text
Two weeks. Two weeks since they'd cut the silverwood out of Qifrey, and still he hadn't opened his eye.
Beldaruit had announced in delight that the extraction was finally possible and Coco's face had brighten in relief. Olruggio stood there in confusion while everyone else understood what was about to happen. He looked at Qifrey's direction, only to find the man was looking anywhere in that room except at him. Really.
How long had he known? How long had he let Olruggio stand there like a fool?
If Sinocia hadn't grabbed his arm, he wasn't sure what he would have done. Shaken him awake, maybe. Made him look and demand him explain why he'd rather rot in silence than telling that to the person who—
He didn't finish that thought. Sinocia was already steering him back, murmuring that Qifrey needed rest; they all did, tonight wasn't the night.
The girls refused to leave. Olruggio didn't have it in him to argue, so he paid for rooms at the inn instead and let the silence eat at him there.
He made sure the girls had eaten by standing in the doorway and watched Tetia push stew around her bowl, Agott tear bread into pieces she barely touched; Richeh eat mechanically, like it was a task to complete, while Coco poked at the stew before she ate. Only when the bowls were all empty did he leave.
He went back alone. Sinocia tried to turn him away at the door, said the patient needs quiet, per usual. But something in his face must have worn her down, because she stepped aside.
Qifrey was asleep. White bandages crossed his face, covering his remaining eye and the hollow socket where the other had been.
"That's where the silverwood seed was rooted," Sinocia whispered. "His eye."
A crushing pressure of dread filling his chest, pushing down into his stomach. He opened his mouth and nothing came out at first. He tried again with difficulties, "Will h- they be alright?" His voice didn't sound like his own. "After— after all this?"
"We'll have to wait and see. No one can be certain."
Olruggio didn't answer. A couple of minutes later, Sinocia left him alone. And then it was just the two of them with the sound of Qifrey breathing. He walked closer to sit on the edge of the bed. He didn't reach for him, since he didn't trust his own hands wouldn't turn into grabbing, shaking, forcing his eye open under those bandages so Olruggio could look him in the face and say why didn't you tell me.
Qifrey slept like none of it touched him. Knowing him, he'd already made his peace with whatever this was, days ago, weeks ago, long before Olruggio had even known there was anything to make peace with.
And Olruggio sat there in that silence and thought: since when? Since when had they become this? Two people in the same house who didn't speak about the things that mattered? There was a time—it felt like another life now—when Qifrey had promised him: They'd build something here, under the sky, their own atelier. Ink on their hands, fire in their hearth, the same roof over their heads as the years passed. Together.
Olruggio had believed him. He had rearranged his entire life around that promise.
Then Coco came. It wasn't her fault; he'd never blame the girl. But Coco had brought something with her that Olruggio couldn't compete with: hope. She was a thread leading back to the Brimmed Caps, to the mystery Qifrey had never been able to let go of. And once Qifrey had that thread in his hand, he'd started pulling; and everything else, the girls, the atelier, the promise, Olruggio, had begun to unravel around him.
Nothing had been normal since.Olruggio rubbed his face with both hands, pressed his palms into his eyes until he saw white, then grabbed a fistful of his own hair and pulled. He sat there for a long time. Until the door creaked faintly and Olruggio looked over. A sliver of hallway light, and behind it, half-hidden by the door frame, Coco. She was still in the clothes she'd been wearing all day, her hat clutched against her chest, her eyes wide and uncertain, fixed on the bed.
He sighed. "Come in."
She stepped inside and carefully; for a moment she just stood there, looking at Qifrey. She crossed to the bed, reached out, took his hand in both of hers, her little fingers barely wrapping around his palm.
She pressed her cheek against his knuckles and smiled. A small, trembling, stubborn thing, that smile. Trying to be brave for someone who can't see them.
Her gaze then drifted up to the bandages.The color drained from her face so fast that Olruggio was on his feet before he realized he'd moved.
"What's wrong?"
"His eye."
Olruggio followed her gaze. "Oh, the seed was rooted there."
"I know." She said with breathy voice. Her grip on Qifrey's hand tightened, and her jaw clenched, fighting with everything she had not to cry. "He won't be able to see again."
"We don't know that yet."
Coco didn't answer. Her lips pressed together, trembling, her eyes filled, and still she held it with such fieriness. "No. He told me the silverwood was the reason he could still see. It was healing the host." She looked up at Olruggio. "Master Olly, now it's gone."
Olruggio's heart seemed to drop straight through his chest. He reached out, resting a hand gently atop her head, his palm cradling her hair: "He'll be okay."
He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. Either way, it didn't work. Coco's chin dipped, and a tear hit Qifrey's hand, and she wiped it away quickly, as if she could take it back.She stayed like that for a while. Her small hands smoothing the blanket over Qifrey's chest, straightening a fold that didn't need straightening, tucking the edge beneath his shoulder. Taking care of him the only way she could now. Olruggio watched her. Then, quietly: "How did you know? About his condition."
"Master Qifrey told me."
Olruggio's chest tightened until he forced it down, "Did he."
Coco must have heard something in his voice, because she glanced up, uncertain: "Master Olly?"
"What did he tell you?"
She hesitated. Her fingers tightened around the blanket. "...Do you remember Custas?"
"What are you talking about?"
"He was also a silverwood host. Master Qifrey gave me a clue to save him. But we—" Her voice faltered. "We couldn't. I knew, after that. I knew what it meant for Master Qifrey."
Olruggio's throat tightened, his hands reached to hold on her shoulders. "A clue?"
"A powerful memory-erasure spell."
"Why would that save him?"
Coco let go of Qifrey's hand. "Master Qifrey said the silverwood feeds on safety and comfort. If the host finds a place where they feel safe, the seed begins to grow. And the memory-erasure spell would destroy those feelings. So the seed would have nothing to feed on."
Olruggio stared at her. Then he stared at the wall across from him and tried to absorb what she'd just said. A curse that fed on comfort. On feeling safe. Which meant every gentle thing, every moment of peace, every night Qifrey might have let his guard down, all of it was the thing killing him.
How could fate was so cruel? And worse: how could Olruggio have not known? He'd always thought that was what he gave Qifrey: somewhere safe to land. And if the curse fed on that, then everything he'd done for him had only helped it. How could he have failed Qifrey so badly?
And Qifrey had borne that alone silently. For how long? How many nights had he lain in the atelier, surrounded by the girls, Olruggio and everything he'd built, knowing that every moment of warmth was a moment the thing inside him grew stronger?
Olruggio slumped forward, head dropping into his hands. His fingers dug into his scalp. "So all this time," he said, "he was trying to keep himself alive."
Then, "Why didn't he tell me?"
Coco couldn't answer that. The only person who could answer was lying right there and unreachable. And even if he woke, Olruggio wasn't sure he'd answer even then. He'd probably smile. Then change the subject.
Olruggio stayed until Coco'd fallen asleep with her fingers still curled around Qifrey's hand, and he had to peel them away one by one then carried her back to the inn.
*✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*✩‧₊˚
Four days passed.
Qifrey had not yet woken, and already Olruggio had learned the rhythms of the place. Twice a day, at hours he could have named with his eyes closed, Sinocia's footsteps arrived and departed. Even the bird on the branch outside the window kept its own hours, departed at morning and returned at dusk.
He talked to Qifrey sometimes. Mostly unimportant things. He'd tell him what the girls had eaten for breakfast, or complain about the inn's lumpy mattresses, or describe the weather outside in pointless detail. He didn't know if Qifrey could hear him. Mostly, he sat and watched. Sometimes, he counted breaths.
On the fourth day, Olruggio was staring at the wall when he heard the sound of fabric shifting. He looked down. Qifrey's fingers were moving against the blanket.Olruggio's whole body locked. He should call for Sinocia, all he needed was to stand up, walk to the door, shout down the hall. That was the right thing to do. But his feet wouldn't move. His heart was hammering so loud he was sure Qifrey could hear it, perhaps the whole building could hear it. His hands were shaking at his sides and he clenched them into fists to make them stop.
What if Coco was right?
He watched Qifrey's fingers curl, uncurl, curl again—searching the surface of the blanket—and still, he couldn't move.
Then he forced himself to. One step, then another, careful, the way you'd approach a wounded animal. He didn't want to startle him. The last thing he wanted was the first thing Qifrey experienced after two weeks of darkness to be someone looming over him. He stopped at the bedside. Qifrey's head turned slightly, tracking the sound of his footsteps. His lips parted but nothing came out, except for the dry rasp from a throat that hadn't been used in weeks. Qifrey swallowed, winced, tried again to speak.
"...Olly?"
Already, Olruggio considered forgive him for the things he had hidden.He stepped closer. "I'm here."
The tension in Qifrey's jaw softened, the tight line of his mouth eased. It ached Olruggio that some part of Qifrey had been braced for the possibility that Olruggio wouldn't be, even unconscious. Then Qifrey released a long-held breath like he'd been holding it for much longer than two weeks. Olruggio couldn't help wondering if he'd been holding it since the day Qifrey learned he carried the silverwood.
Qifrey tried to push himself up. His arms trembled with the effort, no strength left in them. Olruggio's hands moved before he could think about it, hovering just behind Qifrey's shoulders, ready to catch.
Then Qifrey's hand came up and pressed against the bandages over his eyes. Olruggio caught his wrist. Then he realized his grip was firmer than he wanted it to be, so he made himself loosen it. "Don't. They haven't healed yet."
Qifrey didn't resist. His hand went slack in Olruggio's hold, and after a moment Olruggio set it down on the blanket and let go. His fingers tingled where they'd touched Qifrey's skin.
Qifrey nodded, then he asked, "Where are the girls?"
Of course. Olruggio sighed mentally. Of course that was the first thing he asked. Not where am I, not why can't I see, or even am I going to be able to see again. The girls.
"I got them rooms at the inn down the street," Olruggio said. "They didn't want to go home."
At that, Qifrey's mouth curved. The first smile in for more than two weeks. "Is that so?" he said, and now there was warmth in his voice.
"Yeah." Olruggio crossed his arms, didn't know what to do with his hands. "You're their master. So heal fast and come back to them."
"I know," Qifrey said. He nodded again, and the smile stayed, and Olruggio wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and say: You don't know. You don't know what you put me through. Qifrey could have died many times and he didn't tell him once. Then he made him sat here for two weeks for an answer, wondering why Qifrey hadn't trusted him enough to tell him.
He didn't say any of that. He looked around the room instead. "Beldaruit should be here soon. Are you hungry?"
A stupid question. The man hadn't eaten in more than two weeks. But only Qifrey tilted his head with a flicker of amusement, "Oh. You'll cook?"
The audacity of it nearly startled a laugh out of him. Nearly. Olruggio said, and the irritation was real but the anger beneath it wasn't. Or it was, but it had worn down from the relief. "Yes. But only a simple porridge today. Your stomach can't handle anything else."
"That would be wonderful," Qifrey said. And Olruggio had to look away.
"Wait here," he muttered. "I'll be back with the food."
"Sure."
Olruggio stood there a moment longer. Then he turned and walked out.
*✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*✩‧₊˚
The medical tower's kitchen was small and cluttered. Also, the spice shelf was wrongly arranged. But it was empty at this hour so Sinocia let him borrowed it, and that was all Olruggio needed. He pulled a pot from the hook above the stove. Measured the rice, rinsed it twice, set the water to boil with a pyreball seal. He reached for the dried cordfish, Qifrey would need protein. He shredded it fine enough that Qifrey wouldn't have to chew much, soaked it until the salt leached out, and stirred it into the pot.
Then the rocklodger ginger. He sliced it thin, almost translucent, because ginger settled the stomach and Qifrey's would be fragile after two weeks of nothing. That was just common sense. He also mincing dried basjoorooms for broth, and dicing a handful of greens fine and cracking an egg to stir in at the very end so the heat would cook it into silky ribbons.
Only then he hold he bowl with both hands, feeling the heat seep through the ceramic into his palms. He could already hear Qifrey's laugh. The knowing tilt of his head. You said simple, Olly.
"Shut up," Olruggio muttered to no one, and walked back.
Qifrey was sitting up when he returned, propping against the headboard, hands folded on the blanket, head turned slightly toward the door like he'd been listening for footsteps. Olruggio wondered if he'd been listening the whole time. If the dark behind those bandages made every sound louder, sharper, harder to ignore.
"I'm back," Olruggio said unnecessarily.
"I can tell." Qifrey's nose lifted. "Took you long enough."
"Do you want to eat or do you want to complain?"
The smile came back, crooked and aimed at nothing because he couldn't see where Olruggio was standing. "Eat, please."
Olruggio sat on the edge of the bed and set the bowl on the blanket in front of Qifrey.Qifrey's hand drifted toward it tentatively to search, then his knuckles brushed the ceramic and he flinched back.
"Careful. It's hot," Olruggio said, too late to be useful, which made him feel useless, and uselessness made his voice come out sharper. He picked up the spoon and pressed it into Qifrey's hand, curling his fingers around it. "Here."
"Thank you."
Qifrey hold the spoon stiffly, he dipped it into the bowl, but the angle was wrong; the spoon scraped the rim and tilted sideways, and the porridge slid off before it reached halfway to his mouth.
Qifrey adjusted his grip and tried again. Olruggio watched. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached. The way Qifrey kept going itched him. How could he doing that with a calm expression like this was just how things were now? Never once did he ask for help, like he'd already accepted it.
"You didn't tell me about the silverwood," Olruggio said suddenly.
Qifrey's hand stopped. His face turned toward Olruggio's voice. He didn't answer. Olruggio hadn't expected him to. This was how it had always been. Qifrey kept things to himself until he physically couldn't hide them anymore, and by then it was always too late for anyone else to do anything about it.
Olruggio hated it. He'd always hated it. But he'd made a kind of peace with it. This was what it looked like, being beside Qifrey. Following his pace and waiting outside whatever door he'd shut and hoping he'd open it.
He never did. But then he'd told Coco. That was the part Olruggio kept circling back to. A child he'd known for a fraction of the time. She'd gotten the truth, and Olruggio—who had been there nearly every day since they first met—hadn't.
He didn't know what he'd done wrong. He'd tried to think about it. But the days were all the same: wake up, work, eat badly, sleep worse, do it again. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he'd made himself so ordinary and peaceful that he'd stopped being someone to lean on, and become someone Qifrey felt he had to shield.
"You couldn't have done anything," Qifrey said after a moment, "I did not wish to lay the weight of knowing upon you. Ignorance… was the only kindness I could still offer."
"We're partners. Sharing burdens is what partners do."
"You've already done enough, Olly."
There it was again. And underneath it, the thing that Olruggio could never quite name, it was the sense that Qifrey were standing one step ahead of him, seeing a path that Olruggio couldn't yet see.
"I didn't do anything," his voice rose. "I knew nothing. You had this thing growing in you, everyday, right beside me, and I didn't—"
Qifrey's hand rose, unhurried, cutting the sentence off mid-air, "I want to eat in peace, please. We'll have this conversation later."
Olruggio stood up. The wooden bed frame creaked with the sudden absence of his weight. "Fine," he said. "Eat your meal." He turned on his heel, made it two steps toward the door, and stopped. "I'll leave you to yourself. Seeing as that's how you prefer it, alone."
"Olly—"
He pulled the door shut behind him and didn't look back. He stood in the hall for a moment, breathing. His hands were shaking. He pressed them flat against his thighs and held them there until they stopped, then walked away.
The girls were at the table when he got back to the inn. Four faces, same question. "He's awake," he said to them.
Agott made a long relief exhaled as her shoulders dropping, Coco and Tetia stood up so fast that their chair scraped the floor, Richeh stayed seated, but her hands unclasped in her lap, and that was as much relief as Richeh ever showed.
"Sit down," Olruggio tutted at them. "He's awake, but he needs rest. You can see him tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Tetia's voice pitched upward.
"Tomorrow." He moved toward the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves. "Have you eaten?"
They hadn't. He stood in front of the inn's narrow cutting board and thought about what to make, and before he'd decided his hands were already reaching for the chrysanth-onion. He peeled it, halved it, cut it into thin strips as he saw Qifrey used to do it. Then the bacon, sliced into thin slices.
He drew the pyre-ball seal and the flame caught. Butter in the pan, he waited until it stopped foaming, then laid the onion strips in and let them go translucent before adding the flour, stirring it through until the raw smell cooked off. The bacon went in next, then a splash of broth from the kettle kept on the back burner. it wasn't as good as proper stock, but it would do. He let it thicken, added salt, cracked pepper, tasted it, added more salt.
He ladled it over bread and set the plates down. The girls began to eat. Within three bites, Tetia frowned: "It tastes different," she said.
"Different how?"
"I don't know. It's missing something."
Richel nodded, chewing slowly. "The onion's right, but there's something else. Master Qifrey's had more—" She waved her hand vaguely. "More."
Olruggio squinted at them. Four girls spoiled by Qifrey's cooking, critiquing his perfectly adequate version of the same dish. He almost argue, but then he tasted it again himself.
They were right. It lacked something. When did he do wrong? He had followed every steps. He chewed and tried to figure out what was missing and couldn't. Olruggio sighed, giving up. Maybe some things just tasted different when someone else made them. Or maybe Qifrey had left something out of the recipe on purpose.
They finished their plates anyway. Olruggio collected the dishes without comment. When the others went upstairs, Coco stayed. She stood by the table, one finger tracing the wood grain back and forth. "Can he see?" she asked carefully.
Olruggio shook his head. "Not yet."
Coco's finger stopped. She nodded, forced a smile and turned to go.
"Coco."
She stopped. He tried to said something reassuring: It's early, these things take time. But the words rang hollow and flat before they even reached his mouth as he didn't believe them himself. He thought of the things Qifrey would say and found he couldn't do it.
"Get some sleep," he said instead.
*✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*✩‧₊˚
They visited the next morning. Olruggio opened the door first to check and found Qifrey already halfway out of bed, one hand on the headboard, bare feet on the floor, trying to stand. He must have heard them coming down the hall. The girls were far from quiet.
Olruggio opened his mouth to say 'sit down' or 'you idiot', but he was too slow. Qifrey's knee buckled on the second step and he pitched forward, catching himself badly against the side of the bed. And before Olruggio could cross the room, Coco and Tetia had already shoved past him through the doorway.
They hit Qifrey at full speed. Coco grabbed his waist, Tetia threw both arms around his neck, and the force of it staggered him backward onto the mattress. He sat down hard, hands frozen in the air, face blank with the shock of sudden contact he hadn't been able to see coming.
Olruggio winced. He'd forgotten to tell them how to behave around Qifrey. He should have said it last night, and remind them again in the hallway.
Qifrey was motionless for a moment before his arms raised, palms open. Then, slowly, his hands came down, they hovered above the two heads pressed against his chest, not quite touching, and Olruggio understood: he didn't know who was who.
His fingers found hair. He touched it carefully, reading the texture of Tetia's curls first, then the straight weight of Coco's. His brow creased.
"Tetia?" he said. Then, turning his head slightly: "Coco?"
"Master Qifrey!" they said together, and Tetia's voice broke halfway through his name and dissolved into crying. She was loud, clearly been saving up for days. Coco held on tighter but didn't make a sound. She pressed her face into his blanket and her shoulders trembled silently.
Qifrey's arms closed around them. "Well," he said after a moment, attempting a smile. "I suppose I should be flattered. I didn't realize I'd been missed quite this much."
Tetia only cried harder. Qifrey's mouth twitched, but the attempt died there. "Right." He sighed. "Sorry." He lowered his chin onto Tetia's head and held them tighter. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to." Coco argued, her little palm fisted on his robe.
"I do. I'm your master. I shouldn't have let it come to this where you worrying over me. That's on me."
It was such a simple thing to say. Olruggio looked away.
A small movement near the door. Richeh had stepped into the room but stopped a few paces back from the three of them, hovering at the edge of it all. She watched them and didn't move. Qifrey's head lifted. He must feel a shift in the air. His face turned in Richeh's direction, searching, but couldn't figure out right away.
"It's Richeh, Master Qifrey," she said. Matter-of-fact, as if she were simply correcting an oversight.
Qifrey smiled, "Ah. Silly me." He tilted his head. "Did I earn one Angricheh point?"
Richeh's mouth twitched. The pout that followed was genuine, though it was already losing its fight against a smile. "I'll forgive you this time."
"Thank you, Richeh."
She nodded once, satisfied, and moved closer to stand beside the bed. She didn't throw herself at him the way the other two had, but her hand settled on the edge of the mattress near his. Olruggio watched all of this from the doorway and the corner of his mouth pull upward without noticing. Then he glanced down. Agott was still beside him. Staring at the scene in front of her with an expression that was trying very hard to be indifferent.
Olruggio raised an eyebrow. "You're not going over there?"
"They're loud," Agott said, clipped.
Olruggio sighed. From the bed, Qifrey's head turned again. "Agott?"
Agott's arms uncrossed. She walked over, maintaining every shred of composure she had and stopped at Qifrey's side. She didn't hug him. She stood there, straight-backed, chin lifted, and after a moment Qifrey's hand found her shoulder and rested there, and she lowered her head to hide her smile. Olruggio rolled his eyes. Then he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his own arms and watched them.
"Master Qifrey," Tetia said, wiping her face with the back of her hand, "when can you come home?"
All four of them looked at him, or in Coco's case, looked at the side of his face, searching for something in the expression she could see and they couldn't.
Qifrey tilted his head, considering. "The doctor should be coming by soon to check on things. If all goes well, perhaps today."
"Today?" Tetia's voice jumped.
"Really?" Richeh sat forward.
Even Agott's shoulders dropped a fraction. And Olruggio had to come over and raise his hand to keep Tetia from bouncing off the bed.
Qifrey smiled at them with the same warm, reassuring smile he always gave. It didn't quite reach the rest of his face, though the girls didn't notice, too busy being happy. But Olruggio had spent too many years reading this man's face to be fooled by half of it.
He said nothing about it, the same way he always said nothing. He was the one who'd taught Qifrey that trick in the first place: the smile that made people lower their guard. By then, he just hadn't expected to find it turned into one of Qifrey's own cards. Used on him and the girls.
A knock at the door interrupted their reunion. Sinocia stepped in, carrying a tray of fresh bandages and a small leather case. She took in the scene where four girls crowded around the bed, Qifrey sitting up and looking more alive than he had in weeks. Her expression softened. "Well," she said. "This is more color in his cheeks than I've seen since the procedure."
"Doctor Sinocia!" Tetia beamed. "Master Qifrey said he might come home today."
"Did he now?" Sinocia set the tray down and looked at Qifrey while the other man cringe, clearly she'd been managing this stubborn patient long enough to find him amusing.
Then she began to check his pulse, fell the glands along his jaw, ask him to breathe in and out, listen. The girls watched every movement.
"The extraction site has healed cleanly," she said, straightening up. She looked at the girls and smiled. "I think with four dedicated caretakers like you, he'll recover better at home than in this room. He can go today."
Tetia grabbed Coco's arm, Richeh exhaled, while Agott said, "Good," as if she'd expected nothing less.
While the girls was busy cheering over that, Sinocia touched Qifrey's shoulder lightly and said something to him that Olruggio couldn't hear. Then turned and walked toward the door. She caught Olruggio's eye as she passed. A small tilt of her head: outside.
He followed her into the hall. She pulled the door half-shut behind them, leaving a gap just wide enough for the sound of the girls' voices to carry through. Sinocia began, more serious than before, "The wound itself has healed well. Better than I expected, frankly. We'll remove the bandages later today."
Olruggio waited for her next words.
"But whether he'll be able to see—" She stopped, chose her words. "The silverwood was rooted deep. His right eye hosted it for a long time, and the growth had spread to his left as well. We removed all of it. I'm confident in that. But what it did to the tissue while it was there. I can't undo that. No one can."
Olruggio stared at the wall past her shoulder. He could feel her watching him, waiting for his reaction. The worry in her face was real, and he didn't want to make it worse. "No. I understand. It's all right," he said. "I think he's known for a long time."
Sinocia forced a small, professional smile, "It's possible he'll regain some vision. Partial, perhaps."
Olruggio nodded. He didn't trust himself to say anything else. He walked back to the room, and through the gap in the door, he heard Coco's voice, carefully spoke. "Master Qifrey, are you... are you okay?"
Olruggio knew what she was really asking. So did Qifrey.
"I'll be fine, Coco."
Neither of them believed him.
Olruggio rubbed his face with one hand. Then he pushed the door open and went back in. "All right," he said. "Pack up. We're going home."