Apprentice magician Edwin has several problems. The Lantern of Illumination has gone missing. Unexpected snow is threatening his garden. And he’s always been anxious and awkward about talking to people, even fellow apprentices. Especially the gorgeous and self-confident Khiy.
Khiy enjoys helping people and making friends; his magical gifts involve communication, and he’s good at it. But he’s found a challenge in Edwin, who’s avoiding him. On top of that, he’s facing a first assignment he’s not sure he’s ready for, even though everyone expects him to succeed.
But if they can work together, Edwin and Khiy just might solve all their problems and bring their own feelings to light.
The morning shivered with frost, and the paths crunched underfoot. But no rain or snow was presently happening; Edwin sat down in the dirt, put fingers into soil, inquired wordlessly. His plants answered: happy, secure, protected. They felt right; they felt strong and safe.
He lost himself in earth, in solidity, in resonance, for a while. Being home.
He resurfaced with a fuzzy sense that it’d been some time. It had indeed; he winced at the glimpse of his watch, wondered whether Khiy would still be in the library, ran that direction, paused to brush ineffectually at dirt on his trousers and his coat-sleeves, gave up. Dirt did not matter, since he wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Obviously not.
He made his way up the stairs and to the library reading room, and eased open a tall wooden arched door, and stopped.
The scene was so lovely, so domestic, so comfortable. Tall leatherbound lines of book-spines. The low gold of the fire. The pale grey light from the arched windows, shutters open, cool wind and damp drizzle kept at bay. The scents of spiced chocolate and old paper, soft, vanilla-dry. And Khiy uncurling from a chair, getting up in a ripple of crimson robes and unobtrusive style and sock-clad feet because he’d kicked off the simple indoor shoes, smiling, face a portrait of welcome.
Edwin, flushed from exertion and the weight of his large coat, aware of dirt-smudges and sweat-prickles, could have fled. Apologized. Not interrupted.
He hovered, irresolute.
“I’ve got chocolate,” Khiy said, “and also cheese rolls, I thought you might be hungry, and I think I’ve found a couple of the histories you wanted?” His gesture encompassed the table, the hopeful tray, the other large chair.
It was a gesture. It seemed to mean that, for whatever reason, Khiy wanted him here; Khiy had tried to do something nice and helpful. Edwin did not entirely believe it -- why would someone so impressive go out of his way for the most uninteresting and awkward of the apprentices? -- but he supposed that it was simply Khiy being nice, because Khiy was nice to everyone. That made sense. Logical.
He was too warm. He was being looked at. He should do or say something.
He tugged at a coat-sleeve, clumsily. Eventually the heap of it slid off, shedding dampness. Edwin clutched it, helpless.
“Here,” Khiy said, coming over, “there’s a stand near the fire, if you want to dry that…if you’re warm, I can go and ask Cat for lemonade, or more food if you’d like.” His fingers touched Edwin’s, taking the coat. A shooting star, a stray bit of lightning. Invisible. Under Edwin’s skin. So casual, so unremarked, lingering just long enough that perhaps it hadn’t been accidental.
