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Qifrey’s first apprentice was a curious child in that she so rarely acted like a child.
Agott had been so stiff at first, and perhaps she still was, roaming around the house with her spine ramrod-straight and her head tilted up like she needed to be the biggest person in the world.
Having met her mother, Qifrey could understand why she felt the need.
Agott was 9 years old when she arrived at the atelier. Qifrey had taken her inside with all the cheerfulness he could muster and offered her her pick of rooms- there were two, each with two beds for any future apprentices he may have- and she chose the one furthest away from everything, and the bed that was most tucked into the corner. Like she needed a place to hide.
Qifrey hadn’t argued. After all, it was Agott’s prerogative to hide away if she liked. He understood that her first attempt at the king’s consent had gone rather disastrously. That her family were a bunch of nasty, close-minded fools who had cast her out.
When Qifrey had gone to the Great Hall’s junior academy on match day, a special event held a few times a year for witches who had passed the fifth test to meet some of the young children of the Great Hall looking for a master of their own, Agott had been a dark cloud the entire time. It was like she expected nobody to come over and speak with her. The table she sat at remained empty, the seat across from her vacant, and she’d glared at it like the space had personally offended her.
Until Qifrey wandered over and settled into the space, and she’d looked up at him with a mixture of distrust and, layered deep underneath, hope. And Qifrey had known right then that Agott Arklaum would be his first apprentice.
“Hello,” he’d said softly. She hadn’t replied. “Agott, right? I hear great things about you.” She’d raised an eyebrow at him, which was so adorable coming from a 9 year old that he nearly laughed. “I failed my first trial,” she snapped. “Oh,” Qifrey said, waving a hand dismissively. “That’s trivial. I failed my second trial twice.” That was true. He’d struggled casting spells without looking- the effect of having one eye, he supposed. But he’d adjusted. And so would this girl.
“You did?” She asked, and he saw the crack in her armor. “Yes. The trials are certainly something to be proud of completing, but they do not make you any better a witch. I had heard that you are quite clever with your pen,” he said warmly. “Care to show me? Perhaps a light glyph?”
She hesitated, glancing at her quire and pen, then reached for both. As Qifrey observed, he saw her precision, the methodical way she circled her quire to create the circle and the symbols inside. It shimmered into a ball of light that Agott cupped in her hands.
“May I?” He asked, and she held it out. Qifrey’s hands grazed hers as he cupped it in his own hands. He smiled at it, such a simple spell. Perhaps the most important of all, because with no light, there would be no Great Hall. No school. No Agott sitting across from him, wondering why he hadn’t moved on yet.
“Agott,” he said. “How would you like to become my apprentice?” She’d looked purely shocked. “I thought…” she hesitated. “Momma said nobody would take me. Not after…”
Qifrey frowned. “Adina is wrong,” he insisted, and Agott flinched at the sound of her name. “I would be proud to have you as an apprentice. I have my own atelier, out in the country. Would you like to become my first apprentice there?”
“First?” She asked. “Yes. I plan on having more than one, but for now, it would just be you, and me, and my Watchful Eye.” Agott considered him. “Will I still get to be a librarian?”
He couldn’t keep the proud grin off his face. “You can be whatever you like,” he promised. “Because you are a brilliant little witch, and you will be everything.” Agott had not smiled back, but she softened with hope.
Qifrey took Agott to his atelier two weeks later.
They fell into a routine relatively quickly. Agott woke at the same time every day, so Qifrey began waking earlier to prepare breakfast. She would eat, and they would work on primers, then eat lunch. Then he’d deem the afternoon “whatever you want” time, and Agott would go back to her primers despite Qifrey’s hope she might actually play like a child for once.
It took a few weeks to notice, but Qifrey eventually realized that Agott had no idea how to take care of herself.
She bathed daily and managed to dress herself every day. Qifrey did the laundry, so there were no clues there. But he noticed her struggling with the knives in the atelier to cut up any larger piece of food. He noticed how messy her room got after only a few days, and how she realized it after he did and her attempts to tidy up involved her shoving a lot of her things under her desk, as if she truly had no idea how to organize without getting overwhelmed.
And he noticed her hair.
It was really quite pretty, the massive pile of dark curls that went all the way down her back. But Agott had no idea how to comb through it, and she wouldn’t let Qifrey or Olruggio try, so by one month in her hair had formed mats on the underside of her neck and was painfully snarled everywhere else.
Agott insisted it was fine. Qifrey wasn’t so sure, but it was her hair.
Until one night. He hadn’t quite gone to sleep yet, reading a book by candlelight, when he suddenly was hit with the urge to check on Agott. It was ridiculous- she was probably asleep, he told himself- but he couldn’t ignore it.
So he went to where her room was and cracked the door open. Just enough to peek inside.
Agott was sitting up in her bed, a brush in her hand, and she was crying. Massive, heaving sobs that shattered something in Qifrey’s chest.
He pushed the door open all the way and she looked up, terrified, before relaxing upon seeing his face. “What’s wrong?” He asked, and her little face crinkled up before another sob broke free from her chest.
“My hair!” She wailed. “What’s wrong with it?” Qifrey asked gently. She sniffled, snot running down her face, and gestured to it. “I c-can’t get the brush through. It h-hurts.” He softened, taking the brush from her hand. “Your hair is really tangled,” he murmured. “It must feel so heavy.”
She shuddered, and he resisted the urge to hug her. Agott was not one for unwanted physical contact. “Agott, would you like me to try and untangle it?” He asked. She bit her lip and didn’t reply. “Would you like me to cut it off?” His voice was lower this time.
Agott gasped. “Cut it off? B-but momma said I have to be pretty!” He smiled bitterly. “Your mother isn’t here,” he pointed out gently. “And if you want your hair shorter, you can. Anything you want to do with it.”
She tried to run her little fingers through it, but they caught and she winced. A determined look flashed over her face. “Cut it off,” she repeated. “Please.”
Qifrey took the shears to her hair, and soon she had short-cropped hair that just brushed at her shoulders. He didn’t stop there, using some water and a cream to untangle her hair and run a brush through it. “Does that feel better?” He asked, hands resting on Agott’s shoulders.
“I feel… light,” she said, fingers toying with the ends of her hair. “Thank you, Master Qifrey.” He had smiled and ushered her to bed.
When she was definitely asleep, he’d found Olly still in his workshop and sat down beside him. Olruggio had grunted in greeting, not looking up from his work, and Qifrey had said nothing.
Olly stopped work immediately when he glanced over and saw tears streaming down Qifrey’s face.
“Qifrey,” he said softly, pulling him into a side hug, tools forgotten. “What’s the matter?” Qifrey swallowed hard, voice cracking as he said, “She’s just like me.”
Olly squeezed his shoulder. “Her hair… she’s just a child, Olly. What am I meant to do for her? I can’t replace that sorry excuse for a mother she has,” Qifrey whispered.
Olruggio’s face twisted and he shifted on the bench so Qifrey could lean against him and bury his face in his shoulder. “She’s strong,” he replied in a low voice. “Agott will be alright. She’s going to be fine, because she has you. Who could be better to help her learn about the world?”
He was right, Qifrey knew. If anyone could understand how little Agott felt, needing to be someone who stood proudly at the top of witch society but having no idea how to do it, it was him. Someone who understood that learning to be human was no easy task.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, of course. You’re right as always, Olly.” Olruggio laughed, the vibration sending a tremor through Qifrey’s body as well as his own. “Was there any doubt?” He teased.
Qifrey drew away, letting Olruggio return to his seal. “If I took on a second apprentice…” he said quietly. “Do you think that would be a good idea? She hasn’t spent much time around children her age. She has no social skills,” he said wryly.
“Oh, right, because our atelier is known for our social skills,” Olruggio snorted. “‘S not a bad idea, actually. Though match day isn’t for months.”
Qifrey fidgeting with his thumbs. “I had heard,” he said, “A rumor. That some high-ranking witch with two apprentices will be losing custody of them soon. Or is being investigated regarding his treatment of them. Something like that. You could probably guess who’s taking the older child,” he said with a hint of a smile in his words. “Ah. Beldy does have a savior complex,” Olly said without any shame.
“But the younger girl… I want to see what she is like. Maybe she could be a good companion to Agott. Or at least a good addition to our atelier.”
Olruggio paused, glancing sideways at Qifrey, who was clearly already planning to himself. “You know the girl’s name?” His friend smiled ruefully- Olly knew him too well. “Richehlette.” Olly grunted. “Sounds to me as though you’ve already decided,” he grumbled.
“And if I have? She’ll be good for Agott, right? It isn’t a mistake?” Qifrey asked, clutching at Olruggio’s sleeve suddenly. “Argh, leave me be,” Olly grumbled, but he was smiling. “Aye. It isn’t a bad idea.”
Qifrey was smiling too, and then they were laughing as they leaned against each other’s shoulders, Qifrey chatting animatedly about life with a second apprentice and Olruggio gazing at him, knowing two would never be enough.