It was a clear summer’s day and Rosalind was on their way to tutor the boy their mother had nearly killed.

They should have visited Leland sooner, but Rosalind didn’t need to be told that; they already felt terrible about it. Two weeks after Frigga left they received her first note from Bluehaven, and Rosalind decided they’d bring it to their visit with her younger brother. They hadn’t been putting this off on purpose, and the boy had other teachers around, but they’d promised to oversee Leland’s education. 

For that to happen, Rosalind needed to spend some quality time with him but they had no idea how to do this. What are eight-year-olds like? How does one talk to them? Did Leland even care about magic or would he rather get messy in the dirt like his sister? From what they’d heard from their fiancé, the boy was smart and creative which instilled Rosalind with some small amount of hope that they’d be able to connect. They saw Leland one evening last week; Theodore had invited Rosalind to dinner, but the evening had been formal as it was their first meal as the future spouse of the Magnus-Monroe family’s Heir. Besides, Leland had still been out-of-sorts from having his life uprooted so Rosalind hadn’t wanted to stress him out further by interacting with him too much.

They’d go into this meeting with no expectations. If he wasn’t interested, Rosalind would spend the time getting to know him.

They dabbed at their brow. It was sweltering, not a single cloud to be seen, and Rosalind felt like they were going to melt at any moment. They’d been forced to forgo their usual dark attire for more dark attire but marginally shorter and with less sleeve. Their binder clung to their skin like a sheet of flypaper, and their loose shirt stuck to it. Their left arm was still in the awful cast that itched and sweated like ants were crawling up the inside. Gods, they hated summer.

The Magnus-Monroe estate exploded with colour and life, the gardens bordering the main drive were gloriously full. Roses, lilies, cosmos, and petunias filled the sprawling flower beds, and the potent perfumes of lavender and rosemary washed over them. Rosalind’s heart twinged; their mother would have loved all of it. But their chest tightened with the memory of why she wasn’t here in the first place, of what she’d done and what she’d left them to deal with, and they got over it.

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the stairs that led up to the mansion and Rosalind conscientiously stepped out of the coach, mindful of their healing arm and ribs. The winced in the brightness that reflected off the building’s bright white stone, and ducked inside as quickly as possible. At least it was cooler indoors. The rumour in town had it the family employed local witches to keep the temperature down in the summer. It wasn’t true, the home was cool due to the clever use of insulation, marble flooring, and a logical system of windows being open or closed at certain times of day. Either way, a single degree was a massive relief.

They barely had a second to register their relief before they were caught up in their fiancé’s arms. It had only been two days since they’d seen Marcus, but to Rosalind it had felt like two weeks. By the way he greeted them with a passionate kiss and a gentle hand cradling their cheek, it was safe to assume Marcus felt the same. Some might say the man was over-affectionate and naïve, but Rosalind loved those things about him and his absence the last few days had been sharp. Happily, he was coming home with them and staying for a full week after the visit today. They would make up for lost time then.

“Leland’s really excited!” Marcus said, grinning ear to ear as he guided his fiancé to the studio, one hand gentle at their waist the other running through his long blond hair. “He wants you to show him how to make his colours stop exploding.”

Rosalind bit their lip. “I’m unsure about that, but we’ll see,” they winced with a twang of pain in their ribcage and placed their un-casted hand gently over the broken bone. “I’ll be happy if I make it through talking about basics today.”

“He’s pretty quick, already knows more than me,” Marcus held the door open for them like the gentleman he was. Rosalind smothered some less-than-chaste thoughts about the man lest they put themself in an uncomfortable state with no resolution. They were already cranky from lack of release, but if they even got winded their ribs punished them so anything more physically demanding than a brisk walk was off the table. “I tried to teach him a bit, but I think I just confused him.”

The pair walked down the east wing towards the room Rosalind and Theodore had selected as the magical studio at the very end of the hall. “You tried to teach Leland magic?” they asked incredulously. “I thought you found magical theory uninteresting?”

The man shrugged. “I try, but it just doesn’t stay in my head.”

Was that self-consciousness in his voice? Rosalind frowned and placed their hand on his shoulder, attempting to reassure him. “It’s not for everyone, and it can be tedious. Besides, you need your brilliant mind free for wedding planning.”

He laughed and Rosalind smiled at it. “Speaking of tedious, I’m definitely hiring someone. I had no idea that some of these things had to be thought of.”

“Such as?”

“Table runner thread counts.”

Rosalind winced at the banality. “My condolences.”

“Beverage menus.”

“What?”

“Cocktail napkins.”

Rosalind took a pause, disgusted by the pointlessness of such things. “How do those differ from other sorts of napkins?”   

He waved his arms around wildly and threw his head back, loudly complaining, “I have no fucking clue, but apparently they’re different enough that, if I choose wrong, the whole affair is doomed!” He let his arms fall and covered his distressed expression.

Rosalind laughed at their fiancé’s adorable response to the frivolous obstacles, peeled his hand away from his face, and placed a calming kiss on his cheek. “I appreciate your efforts,” they said, “but I agree that hiring someone is a wise decision.”

The double doors to the studio were open, and Rosalind saw Leland on the floor with his art supplies as Theodore stood next to him. The large, round room’s many windows and doors were all flung open to the north-facing gardens, and the ceiling windows’ shades shielded the space from the sun; it was still uncomfortably warm but the breeze and shade helped. Rosalind knew they were meant to take things easy, their doctor had told them to keep magic to a minimum, but they’d indulge themself a bit. They’d suffered this heat enough, and if they couldn’t manage a simple temperature spell for an hour, what use was their family’s renown anyway?

As they passed by the pillars that encircled the main space, they cast a cooling sheet over the space within the columns to bring the climate to a reasonable state. The air sparkled with magic and the soft glittering drew the young boy’s notice before he spotted his tutor. He gasped in amazement, and Rosalind couldn’t help the fondness stirring in their gut. They tuned in and found the boy’s energy was pleasant, very reminiscent of his sister’s, and they were relieved to sense his mood much lighter than last week.

“Cool!” Leland yelled as he got up from where he was sitting on the floor. He was in loose linen pants and an oversized button down shirt that was stained from all sorts of artistic tools. His mop of curly red hair was frizzy in the summer heat. He was missing a tooth, and his fair freckled skin was red with sunburn and turquoise with finger paint. He spun to look for the source of magic and found Rosalind and Marcus. He ran up to them, waving furiously. “Marcus! Look what I drew!”

He grabbed Marcus’ hand and roughly dragged him over despite the man’s willingness. Rosalind caught the boy’s eye and noticed it skirt away instantly. Was he shy? Did he already dislike them? Or was he merely wrapped up in his drawing and excited to show his, essentially, new big brother? Rosalind would try not to worry about it and they followed the two over. 

The young witch had drawn Thorneheart Manor. It was quite good for an eight-year-old. He was pointing out all the different servants he’d drawn to Marcus who squatted next to him as Theodore jovially watched over them. When Rosalind caught up and stood a diplomatic distance next to him (which was much closer than they might usually), the benefactor gave them a polite nod and smile, his bushy greying moustache wriggling slightly. “Good afternoon, Rosalind, glad you made it.”

They nodded back but kept their eyes on the boy’s exhibition. “I’m sorry it was later than anticipated.”

“Ah,” Theodore waved off the apology. “Nobody could have foreseen that issue with attaining the coven’s chronicles. Given, em, last Friday’s events, I’m surprised you felt up to coming today.”

Rosalind bit the inside of their cheek and they buried a twinge in their gut; their mother’s trial had been an absolute shit show, and the circus wasn’t even done. Sapphire’s trial was tomorrow. “It’s best to try and move on,” they quietly replied. Theodore agreed.

They watched Leland’s presentation and Rosalind chuckled along with Theodore when Marcus attempted to provide feedback and was roundly talked down to. The man was a poet, not an artist, after all. Leland was a confident boy, and Marcus was right, his mind was sharp and innovative. Considering his sister and aunt, Rosalind wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Not only that, but he seemed a quick learner. Theodore had introduced these paints to him a mere week ago and he’d already mastered them.

When the presentation was done, Theodore stole Marcus away and left Leland with Rosalind. When they were gone, Rosalind stepped over to the small boy who’s shy glance held another emotion that was harder to parse. Resentment? Anger perhaps? Whatever it was, it was brief and he picked up a nearby crayon and started doodling on a messy sheet of paper. “It is good,” they said, “You’re very obviously artistic, Leland.”

Leland nodded timidly, avoiding their eyes. “Thanks Mister Bloodswell.”

Rosalind sighed. They wouldn’t correct the incorrect title right now, but they wouldn’t have him be so formal. “Just Rosalind is fine.”

He finally looked up with a small, doubtful frown. “Miss Thatcher says it’s rude to call her Cecelia, and she’s younger than you.”

Rosalind kneeled down where their fiancé had sat next to Leland’s drawing, and offered him what they hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m not Miss Thatcher. Is she your teacher?”

Leland considered this and put down his crayon, giving them his attention. “Uh huh. She usually teaches maths and science, but she showed me a little bit about magic yesterday.”

“Show me?”

He became reluctant. “No, she just kinda told me about, um, how magic moves and stuff. I didn’t really get it.”

Rosalind hummed. They really did need Leland to show off his magic so they could get a proper view of what was happening, but demanding it outright wasn’t the correct approach here. “What else do you know?”

“Magic is confusing,” he replied bluntly, “and my stuff keeps blowing up. I don’t like it.”

“It is frustrating if you don’t understand immediately,” Rosalind agreed. “Perhaps you haven’t been taught in a way that suits you?”

Leland’s face twisted with confusion. “What?”

“Do you remember maths after someone merely tells you how or after you do a few equations?”

“After I do it.”

“But you aren’t correct on the first try every time, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need concepts explained in different ways? I always do.”

His confusion sunk into doubt. “But Frigga and Marcus say you’re so good at it.” He looked around at the sparkling lights falling over the room, keeping the temperature comfortable and gestured to it. “Like that!”

Rosalind looked up at the spell, remembering how they’d learned all those years ago. “It took me over a month to master,” they admitted. “I work with energy, but temperature was tricky.” They looked at Leland and saw him wrestling with that. “I’ll explain the cycle of energy’s movement for you, and we’ll see where you’re having the trouble.”

The boy sighed glumly. “Yeah,” he drawled, doubt colouring the word.

“A river,” they began while picking up a nearby crayon and a fresh sheet of paper and drawing two parallel squiggly lines in the centre of it. “In a river, water flows down, right?” Leland nodded. Rosalind then drew a poor representation what they thought a reservoir must look like above the river and connected it. “The water comes from dams and mountains and lakes, large reserves, and it eventually arrives at the ocean.” At the other end of the squiggly lines, they drew wave-like lines, representing the ocean. Above that they sketched some clouds and arrows from the ocean to the clouds. “Eventually, water in the ocean evaporates and becomes the clouds which,” they drew rain droplets over the reservoir, “ultimately returns to the top. Does that make sense?”

Leland nodded. “Miss Thatcher taught me about rain and stuff last year.”

“Right,” Rosalind then drew little arrows in a circle, connecting all the parts to each other. “At any point, did the water stop being water? It was solid, liquid, and gas, but it was always water.” Time for the theatrics. They put the paper down and held out their right hand, lighting it up with a red ball of light that softly and slowly rotated. Leland gasped softly. “Magic is like water, always flowing in one direction,” they sent the ball into a clockwise orbit around both of them, floating in the air as if suspended by a wire from the ceiling. “Everyone’s magic looks different, but it is always essentially the same. It is our energy, the same energy that powers our hearts and our brains powers our magic. In a real sense we are comprised of magic, of energy, and so everything we do, witch or not, could be seen as magical.” They recalled their glowing orb to their hand and let it fade.

“That’s what I don’t get,” Leland said, crossing his arms. “What do you mean “made of magic”? That doesn’t make sense, I’m made of people, not magic.”

“Yes,” they agreed, “energy isn’t the same thing as matter.”

“Matter?”

Rosalind paused, looking upwards to arrange in their mind the definition of something so familiar and entirely abstract. “What the universe is physically comprised of. Rocks, people, dogs, houses, all of that is matter. Anything you can feel with your physical senses.”

His eyes narrowed again and he touched his hands to his torso as one might if checking his pockets for keys. “So we’re matter?”

“Yes, but we are also energy. Electricity powers our brains; it makes our hearts beat. Our bodies produce heat and sound. Your consciousness is a sort of spiritual energy, and all that energy is inside your body. Magic is in your body too, it is magical energy.”

“Is magic is like electricity?”

Rosalind slyly smiled and lit their hand up with a soft glow. “You might say that,” they abruptly shifted that soft glow into electric currents running over their palms.

The young boy was mesmerized by the sight of his mentor’s hand alight with shocks and his jaw fell slack. “Cool! I think I get it better now. So why does my stuff keep not working?”

They dismissed their magic. “There are several potential explanations, but I can’t diagnose you unless I see you conjure. Can you show me?”

The boy hesitated and lowered his head to look at his feet. “I guess,” he said, and Rosalind saw his nerves were eating at him. They said nothing to reassure their pupil; Leland would need to find that confidence on his own. The young witch stood to his feet and took a wavering breath. He held his hands in front of him, palms up, and he focussed on a specific point above them with the intensity of an old man trying to read very fine print without his spectacles. At first, nothing happened, but Rosalind sensed the energy within Leland stirring. It was raw and jerky, as if were an unwilling animal being dragged out from its carrier to see the veterinarian, but it slowly rallied to his command and a small puff of cerulean, smoke-like powder began to manifest in Leland’s palms. The ball slowly grew in size and it swirled this way and that, like winds from every direction were trying to blow the magic out of the witch’s control.

He held the spell for ten seconds and then it flashed and erupted like a popped balloon. Blue powder flew out from his hands and through the air, Leland’s face and torso catching the majority of it, but a not insignificant amount settled onto Rosalind’s sleeves and pants as well. Which was great. They already knew this stuff was impossible to get out, one couldn’t even re-dye clothes that had touched it. A very fine dust coated their trouser’s left knee and part of their left-hand sleeve. 

As the dust settled or evaporated into the air, Leland groaned. “I can’t get it to stay any longer than that, no matter what I do. Why can’t I do it? Everyone else makes it look so easy! Even Celeste.”

Rosalind slowly rose, wincing at a prickle in their chest, and rubbed at their shirt sleeve with a small frown. No more sitting on the floor for them today. “Celeste has had the benefit of over a year’s worth of formal training, and the others many more years than that.”

He sulked, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. “I bet none of them ever had their own magic blow up in their face,” he grumbled.

“Not true. Come see.” Rosalind turned their head and drew Leland’s attention to a small bare patch behind their ear usually covered with a longer section of hair. It was smaller than a pinky’s nail but the bare patch of fair skin was unmistakable against their jet hair. Leland squinted as he stared at it. “I was eleven,” Rosalind explained, “I was studying a fire-based spell, and my magic blew up in my face.” They smoothed their hair back over to re-hide it and faced their pupil again. "That is the only remaining scar, but every witch has a story to tell of their magic “blowing up.” Don’t be so harsh with yourself, you’ll get it.” Leland’s pout eased and he nodded. Satisfied, Rosalind turned their attention to the work ahead, “When you’re conjuring, what do you physically feel in your body?”

He thought for a second, his lips thin in thought. “Um, like, tingly? Like when my hand falls asleep but not as much or as painful.”

“Can you pinpoint where the feeling starts?”

He shook his head no. “It feels like all over.”

“Is there anywhere you don’t feel it when focussing on your hands?”

Leland closed his eyes as he wriggled his fingers. “I think it’s everywhere, but mostly in my hands and arms, a little bit in my chest and down my back, but I feel it everywhere.”

“Good,” Rosalind could work with that. Things were about to get very messy. They would already need to get rid of these clothes; they stepped to the nearest column a few metres away, took off their shoes, socks, and jewelry. For good measure they hid their accessories behind a pillar for extra protection before returning to the giggling boy. “You’re going to do that again, but this time, see if you can sense where the magic is moving to or from.”

“Alright,” he did the same thing as before and Rosalind took an extra step back. This time the dust stayed around a bit longer, closer to twenty seconds, but the explosion was twice as large. Leland shrieked with laughter as he was covered from head to toe in the stuff. “I felt it!”

His triumphant attitude and childhood wonder inspired Rosalind. They understood what it felt like to reach a milestone after striving to get there, and their student’s excitement made them keen to see how far he could go. It almost made up for their being coated entirely in cerulean for the rest of the day and they silently said a prayer of gratitude they hadn’t worn their jacket today. “Excellent, Leland. Tell me.”

The younger witch put his blue-stained hands over his heart and his pale lashes fluttered shut. “It felt like it was coming from here and moving out from there.” He moved his hands away from his heart to outstretched arms as an illustration. “And it was like, once I saw that, I could get more magic to go up into my arms.”

“That’s exactly correct.” Rosalind put an index over Leland’s heart softly. “Our body has a reserve of magic, just like rivers have reserves of water. Your reserve is here.” Lifting their finger away from him and trailing it up, above his right arm, “Magic flows outwards from there to where you focus it.” They withdrew their hand completely and Leland beamed up at them. “But like a river, it takes time to learn its currents and to become familiar. You will just need patience and practice. As I said: you’ll get it, I’m confident.”

The two continued in this vein for another half hour, Leland’s dusty ball becoming bigger and more stable with each attempt until he was able to maintain the spell for a full minute before losing his balance and the powder bursting. But even then, the dust explosions became less and less potent. He even managed to start recalling his dust a little before the end of their time together. Both of them were covered nearly head-to-toe in cerulean by the time Marcus returned.

“Oh my gods!” he yelled from the door in pure shock at the sight of his dark lover in blue.

Leland waved furiously, his excitement peeling off him like heat off a campfire. “It’s working! I can do it more now!”

Marcus crept into the room as if he were expecting something to blow up in his face at any moment. “Great, that sounds great,” he looked to his fiancé who was amused by his careful approach. “More of this is definitely what we needed, absolutely. Yup.”

“It is,” they quietly agreed, not mimicking his sarcasm in the slightest. “The more he does it, the more he will improve. Leland’s control is already decidedly better than previous.”

Leland grinned and Marcus sighed with an air of defeat. “You’re blue, Baby.”

Rosalind looked over themself, ignoring their pupil’s snickering. “Well, yes, but it won’t hurt me.” They turned back to the young witch. “Come down here every day and practice this. Start by meditating on the magical river, as discussed earlier, and we’ll pick this back up next week. Deal?”

Leland rushed Rosalind and squeezed them in a tight hug. They winced as their broken rib protested but said nothing. “Deal! Thank you, Rosalind!” And as abruptly as he’d embraced them, Leland released his tutor and ran to Theodore who had also returned and began incoherently relaying their progress to the man

Rosalind placed a hand over their ribs, breathing through the prickle of pain, and Marcus surprised them with a kiss on their cheek. They flushed. “Sorry about the mess,” they said looking at the paper and toys on the floor now permanently dyed blue.

“It’s alright,” Marcus smiled, eyeing them over. “You look good in blue.”

They looked back up to him, expecting jest but finding none. “I find it overpowering, myself. But,” they looked over to the pillar where their things were hidden, “would you mind?”

Marcus collected their things without hesitation and had Rosalind sit on a bench nearby while he helped them with their socks and shoes. When he completed the second foot with an overly ornate knot, he perched his chin on their knee and looked up at them, adoration in his grey eyes. “You hungry? It’ll be lunch time soon.”

Rosalind noted that Leland and Theodore had left, looked back to their fiancé, and ran their good hand through his long blond tresses. “Thank you.”

But neither rose to leave immediately, opting instead to enjoy a private moment. Marcus leaned into their hands in his hair, his eyes fluttering shut contently, and Rosalind appreciated the man’s warmth on their leg and the silkiness of his tresses. When he got up to help with their jewelry, Marcus said, “I bet Leland’s colours will be super useful one day. If he learned how to make other colours, he could perma-dye anything.”

“Possibly,” they agreed. “You were right, he is incredibly creative. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up in art magic.”

Marcus finished with the last necklace clasp and kissed their shoulder as he snaked his arms around them, mindful of their injuries. “You’re a good teacher, Ros.”

“How could you know that, you weren’t here?”

He nuzzled his face into the crook of their neck, and his sweet cologne captured Rosalind. “I haven’t seen Leland that excited about magic, like, ever. I think that’s the happiest he’s been since he got here, actually.” 

“Good,” they replied and they pressed their lips to his temple.

He released his hold on them and took up Rosalind’s hand instead. “Come on, let’s get you some lunch and some tea.”

Tea sounded great, even if it wasn’t quite the type they were used to. They nodded and the couple walked hand-in-hand to catch up with the others.