Work Text:
In the morning it is quiet. It is quiet in a way that I am familiar with. Before the valleys rise and the weather warms, before the rooster at the neighboring farm begins its call. It is quiet.
After finishing my fire sigil the stone stove bursts to life. The kettle above it rattles at the pressure. I slip his favorite tea into the mix. A sweeping spell works diligently in the background, moving dust from the wood floors and past the door. There is a soft creak in the windows as the panels sway in the wind, the curtains flutter before them. The sun is warm and sweet as it peaks beyond the frames and into the atelier. The sun catchers reflect on the weathered walls.
It is quiet in a way that I like but I do not wish to remain within. This house is usually lively, it is bright and today was a particularly important—
“Good morning, Mama!” Ah, there it is. A smile stretches across my face as I place a skillet on the stove. Several eggs, a handful of sausages and a bunch of chopped potatoes sizzle instantly. A sigil on the bottom of the pan ensures they will all finish at the same time. The tea kettle is close to boiling, the scent of the leaves seeping from the spout. Small pale hands grip my skirts and I sway.
“Careful, Tetia!” I lift the pan away from her, not wanting to accidentally snap her with hot oil. Nonetheless I place my hand atop her head, and she leans into the touch. She smells of almonds and sage. “You are up far earlier than I expected.”
“No, I’m not.” She says, her cheeks stuffed full with guilty air. “I’m up at this time everyday.” No, she isn’t. I watch as she reaches for the basket of pastries, but a quick tap on the hand with the spoon from my apron stops her. “Ah, no. You must wait.”
She pouts and feigns innocence as she trots to her seat. It’s quiet for a few moments but I hear her shoes scuff the floor as she continuously glances at the door.
“They aren’t up yet, sweetheart.”
“Can I go wake them up?”
“No, you may not.”
I keep my back to her, but I can hear the defeated whine that she releases. I hold back a chuckle. Tetia is a sweet girl, but the most impatient of the bunch. She speaks before she thinks and has always been poor at hiding her emotions. I never discouraged her from sharing them, but there was always a time and place for things.
Eventually, she calms. Her shuffling slows and she resorts to sketching lines and circles on a spare notepad that is kept at the table.
10 minutes pass and I am skirting from counter to counter. Moving bread and fruits to plates, and pulling the hot kettle from the stove. “Tetia, a warming spell please.” I ask. She hums in acknowledgment, and I hear her quill swiftly move across the parchment.
I turn and she slides the page to the center of the table, before swinging over the seat and skipping towards the tea cabinet. She pulls two cups and their accompanying saucers, before balancing four regular glasses in her arms. I don’t pester her, but my heart jumps as she tries to secure them to her chest.
“Thank you,” I say as she places them in their respective spots. One tea cup on each side, two glasses beside them. I place the kettle on the warmer, and the sigil glows to life, steam steadily rises from the spout. Tetia slides cream and sugar beside it. I smile and pat her cheek, “aren’t you just darling today.” She truly wanted to get going. Happy helping hands uncharacteristically focused. She often forgets to clean up after herself and heaven forbid she remember the proper order of her chores. But it was never in rebellion, she just had a lot going on in that little head of hers. Tetia beams at the praise before looking at the door again.
“Sit.” I said, “they will be down soon I’m sure. It will be a long day, let them rest.” It was also a long night. Qifrey, as mischievous as he was serious, let the girls stay a bit later than usual. Studying the stars is exciting work.
The door creaks open just as I place the hot skillet on the table. The food sizzles deliciously. Tetia pops up, and the table rattles when her knee catches it.
“Tetia!”
“Sorry!”
I sigh, and look towards the stairs. Richeh and Agott stand there, dressed in their robes and accessorizing with the sleep in their eyes. “Late night?” I tease.
Agott mumbles something and lumbers towards the table, bonelessly falling into her seat next to Tetia. She never did well without a full 8 hours of sleep. Richeh rounds the room, picks up the basket of pastries and places them beside my pan as she slides into her station. “The stars were very pretty.” She says. I mutter a thank you to her as I pat down the stray hairs rebelling from the crown of her head.
That was 3 of the 5. I hummed as I found myself also checking the door. Maybe I should—
The door opens again and Tetia beams in delight as the last two stragglers stroll into the room. Coco’s hair is all sorts of wild, as if she had just rolled out of bed. Qifrey is only half put together.
Coco waddles past me with a quiet, “good morning,” and I grab the back of her collar as she brushes my hip. I pull at the fabric to straighten it and unwrinkle the back of her uniform, pulling the skirt out of the waist of her shorts. I nudge her forward when she is mildly more presentable. She’s too tired to acknowledge any of it.
Qifrey’s arm grazes mine as he passes. He isn’t as warm as he was last night, buried beside me beneath cotton sheets, smelling of terracotta tiles and ink. I stop the urge to brush away the single curl that always sticks up from his center of his head.
I nod at Coco and Richeh has to pull her close to give me space on the bench. I start to serve them, piling on extra of their favorites and allowing them to pick an additional pastry to take with them on the road. Richeh reaches for the tea before I notice, but Qifrey’s smooth voice stops her.
“I have it, dear.” His hand gently hovers over Richeh’s, a pitcher of juice in the other. I must have left it by the cooler. She settles back into her seat, holds up her glass to him. He pours each of the girls a drink before placing the pitcher on the table. And, despite making the tea for him, he serves me first, pouring it into my cup gracefully. He doesn’t pour his own before putting it down, but his hand cradles where my shoulder meets my neck and I smile up at him. He squeezes, “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” I say.
Breakfast is unrefined and casual. But, despite their tiredness, the girls eat their fill and their plates are empty within moments. They pick at bread and giggle with one another as the grogginess melts.
“Are you ready for today?” I ask. The girls act as if they have been called to attention and they all pipe in with excitement.
“Silver Eve, Silver Eve, Silver Eve!” Tetia is chanting and swinging her feet. A croissant held tightly in her hand. Qifrey tapes the side of his tea cup twice and she stops. But I can still see her practically vibrating from merriment.
Every year Silver Eve returned and the girls’ anticipation never wavered. It took them some time to grow comfortable again after the incident, but I was happy to see that fear never deterred them.
“And, are we ready to show our inventions?” I ask. Qifrey smiles at me over his tea cup. He’d been helping each of them with new spells. An ambitious lot this year, but nothing if not impressive.
They all spoke at once. I heard something about new self-cleaning stables for horses, carts that drove themselves, glowing ribbons that changed with the weather, so many things that made my head spin.
“They are all very eager to show what they have created.” He says.
I chuckle, the girls now talking to one another and not me. I hear them give words of encouragement and promises of shared success. It’s warming. “I see.”
We watch them. They draw patterns on their hands, remind each other of their accomplishments, praise themselves for their hard work. Years ago we had to pry positivity from them, it was hard to get them to understand that while you weren’t necessarily good at your practice to start it did not mean you were useless. Their growth meant the world to me.
“Are you ready to go, my love?” Qifrey stacks his plates, and reaches for mine. I hand it to him instinctively. I glance at my bags piled at the door. I have no inventions to offer, so my bags are light.
“Yes, I am.” It’ll be my first Silver Eve in a while. Too distracted by the care of the atelier for the past few years to attend.
“Master Qifrey, can we go get our things now?” Agott asks. I am happy to see her involved. She’s come a long way.
“After you help clean.” The children all scramble at once, pulling themselves up from their seats and in a mix of limbs and cutlery they stack plates and rush towards the sink. Woah, if only they were so eager on normal days. Qifrey gives me a knowing smile. They mess up the cleaning spell twice, impatient hands make unsteady lines. It takes Richeh, always the patient one, to cast it successfully.
When the dishes are clean and the table is clear they line up in front of us, hands held politely in front of them and rocking on their heels.
Qifrey chuckles, “you may go.”
They trip over one another to scramble to their rooms. “Do not forget your cloaks!” I call after them.
“Yes, ma’am!” Their voices are like a choir.
When the door swings shut I can’t help but laugh but turns into a surprised yelp when hands smooth across the back of my waist.
“Qifrey!” I swat his touch away but he persists.
“Do you anticipate wearing a grease covered apron to the festivities?”
I look down at the worn fabric that covered my clothes. “I suppose not,” I say. He helps me remove it, lithe fingers untying the strings before lifting it over my head. His touch is more sensual than it needs to be but I don’t find it unwelcoming. He soothes the knuckle of one finger down the length of my back and I shiver as he presses his lips against my neck. His lips are soft and I feel him mutter something against my skin before placing another kiss and pulling away. “Tease,” I mutter. He responds with a squeeze to my hip.
He moves to place the apron on a hook before returning to me. I place my hand on his chest and smooth it across his shoulders. “Are you ready to go?” I muse.
“I am always ready when you need me to be.”
“Well, aren't you a charmer?” He smiles and I brush his bangs from his forehead and lean in. We are close and I anticipate the next few seconds but a loud crash and a chorus of giggles stops us.
“We’re ready!” The door bursts open and the girls are holding bags that seem too heavy for their small frames.
“Wow,” I pull away from Qifrey but feel his touch linger. “Are we taking the whole atelier with us?” I ask. “We might not have enough room.”
Qifrey chuckles, “We may have to stay behind, my love.”
“Maybe so,” my laughter only grows when Agott flushes and tries to hide her bags behind her.
“Alright,” I say, “everyone line up.” The girls scramble to stand beside the main door as I list off supplies. Clothes, ink, parchment, and any other tools that they might need. Favorite stuffed animals for sleep, shoes for work and shoes for play. Toiletries, of course. They echo me like a call in a cave, and we go through the list a second time with Richeh asks for it again.
Qifrey darts around the room and closes up the atelier. Setting security sigils in his wake. “The carriage is already outfront.” His voice echoes in the shadows.
I move to the front of the line and, unsurprisingly, Tetia is first. I adjust her robe and lift a brow. “What are we missing?”
She pats her chest, and then her pockets. Moving her hands to check every possible location something could be. I didn’t want to know what little tricks she was hiding in that cloak of hers. Her hands finally land on her head and I give her a knowing look. She gasps. “My cap!” She scrambles back to her room. The other girls check their own heads as they watch her scurry away, nearly tripping on her feet as she climbs the stairs.
Agott is next, her collar is slightly askew but there is nothing else amiss. “Alright, off to the carriage with you.” She turns to leave, grunting as drags the suitcase. “Wait,” she turns to look at me. I point at my forehead. She sighs, but I know she is not serious as she leans in. I press my lips to her head, and mutter, “A safety spell for travel.”
“A safety spell for travel.” She repeats back before shuffling out the door.
Coco follows. “Tie your shoes,” I say. She taps her heels and the laces flash. Clever spell for a common problem. She looks up at me expectedly. I kiss her cheek. “A spell for goodluck.”
“A spell for goodluck.” She whispers encouragingly, more to herself than anything, before moving on. She calls to Agott just as the door swings shut.
I don’t question Richeh. That child rarely forgets anything. She offers her other cheek and I laugh. “A spell for courage.” I say.
“Courage,” she whispers and moseys away, mindlessly toying with ribbons on her robe. Tetia rushes past me to catch up to her, one arm hauling her bag and the other holding her hat. I see Richeh waiting in the open field.
“And for me?” I look up at Qifrey and roll my eyes.
“And for you?” I tease. I reach for my robe, which is hanging in the open wardrobe behind him. I bite my tongue as he leans in for a kiss. How crude of him to think I would corner him so quickly (I would actually, and rather enthusiastically but I must stay strong.) I side step and swing the cloak over my shoulders, making sure the tassels brush his face. I’m only a few paces ahead of him before I hear him chuckle and feel his arms around my waist. He’s hauling me backwards before I can stop him.
“Qifrey! We will be late!”
“And what do I get?” he asks again. His tone is almost childlike, “I fear I will not be able to travel without one.”
“I don’t know what you’re asking of me,” I say, making it a point to not look him in the eye. That blue gaze was something lethal.
“Oh, is my wife withholding a valuable spell from me.”
“I will not give away my creation, especially to a witch who is not prepared for such intricate designs.”
“Why I—”
I snap the collar of his turtle neck, “where is your cloak?” He looks down at himself and pauses. “Oh my, it seems I’ve forgotten it.” All the fuss of the morning, and the late night hours have caught up with him. His usual punctuality and preparedness seemed to have gotten lost in it.
He pulls away and goes to grab his cloak. I bend to get my bags and when I am straight again he is in front of me. I regard him like a judge. My eyes rovering over his frame as he places his cap on his head, “well I’d say that will do.” I will never not indulge when he is in uniform.
“Now can I receive my spell?” he asks eagerly. I grin.
“Yes, you may.”
He leans in and presses his lips to mine, the kiss is sweet and slow. A million feelings pass between us. He pulls back with a lazy smile before kissing me again, quicker, shorter but no less eager.
“A spell for love,” he whispers.
“A spell for love,” I say, “something we all deserve.” I reach up and brush down that pesky curl. “There, now you’re ready.”
“For anything.” He adds. He nudges a small protection sigil I have etched into all of the hoods of their cloaks.
He smiles and opens the door, the girls call to us. I tap the sigil at the bottom of the doorframe twice with my heel to activate the others inside. Qifrey locks the door behind me before swiftly catching up with the children. He’s steps ahead, readying the carriage and offering the pegasi a few cubes of sugar he stole from the table.
“Come on, Mama!” Tetia calls from the carriage, her head just barely fitting through the back window. I laugh.
“I’m coming!” I quicken my steps.
It is not quiet as I load into the carriage. I squeeze beside the girls as Qifrey slips in last. I welcome the interruptions, embraced by the breeze across the field and the sound of hooves on the cobblestone. The humming of my husband and the laughter of my children.
It is not quiet, but I don’t want it to be. Not when this is what breaks the silence.