L. J. Amber
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TEWWBAD Chapter 84
🕑 Added 2025-09-19 12:00:15 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 84 – In Justice
Sitting with Laelansa in the expansive kitchen, still cradling Hyacinth within herself, Saphienne contemplated the next step in her plan, aware that there were several preconditions that would have to be met before she could execute it. Chief among them were solitude and secrecy — she had to be alone, and no one could know what she’d done until she chose.
“What’re you thinking?”
She blinked. Laelansa had given up on her book, and was studying Saphienne with an enamoured gaze. “…About how you climbed up to see me. It’s a good story; I wish we could tell it, but we can’t let Celaena’s father know she was in his sanctum.”
“It was romantic, wasn’t it?” Laelansa shuffled her chair closer, slipping her hand into Saphienne’s. “Couldn’t we embellish it a little?”
Inwardly, Saphienne felt guilty: mildly manipulating Laelansa was harmless, but she didn’t like it. “…Say it was my guest room window you came to? Pretend you never set off any alarms?”
A giggle signalled her approval. “Did I woo you with a song?”
“Let’s not go that far. When we tell it–”
Happenstance saw Faylar arrive in the kitchen, no longer dressed in his festival clothes, his expression furious. “I’m glad someone’s getting told things!” He dropped the basket he held on the table in front of them, folding his arms as he glared reproachfully at Saphienne. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me what happened with the spirits yesterday?”
Her smile was wan. “Good evening. Because it was over, and you were drunk.”
“I was not–”
Laelansa objected. “Yes you were! You left your cloak lying on the floor, and you fell asleep during the story!”
His angry flush took on a tinge of embarrassment. “Well… even if I was a little merry, I shouldn’t have had to find out from my mother!”
Given the opportunity to learn more about what the wardens were doing, Saphienne changed the subject. “How is she? I’m sorry for all the work I’ve given her.”
Even though it wasn’t for him, her contrition mollified Faylar. “Don’t be,” he insisted, moving to fill the kettle. “Protecting people is her chosen art: she’d be annoyed to hear you. And she’s fine… not that we talked for long.”
Given that he’d left early, Saphienne extrapolated that his mother had been kept busy. “She wasn’t home? What was she doing?”
He set the kettle to boil, then shook his head. “You know the funny thing? If I’d just stayed here I’d have probably ran into her.” Faylar gestured to the window. “She was in the grove — even shadowed you all to the teahouse.”
Saphienne blinked. “…I see. How long have they been–”
“Since after the spirits showed up.” He prepared a pot with green tea. “Sundamar said they didn’t think whoever attacked you would be stupid enough to come back, but now that they know spirits are involved, they’re not taking any chances. There’s a group ready if anything happens — including a sorcerer.”
Every word made Saphienne’s heart sink lower. “All in the grove?”
“No, they’re staged nearby. The moment an alarm’s raised, they’ll be here.”
Staring as the kettle gradually steamed, Saphienne beheld her careful deliberations evaporating away. How was she meant to act while under observation? She pondered that as Faylar steeped the tea, finding no comfort where Laelansa leaned against her shoulder.
Distracted, she saw him set out multiple cups, fill one, and head for the door. “Faylar, I wouldn’t bother Celaena right now–”
“This isn’t for her…” He glanced back. “…It’s for Sundamar. He’s taking the overnight watch. What’s upset Celaena?”
Sundamar was outside? Saphienne wanted to groan. “She had an argument with Laewyn. She’s in my guest room — we came down to get away from her.”
“Great,” he winced. “Let me take this out, then I’ll talk her out of her mood.”
After he left, Laelansa wondered, “If the Wardens of the Wilds are trying to catch someone, should he be drawing attention to–”
“No.” Saphienne had been too dismayed to warn him. “No, he shouldn’t.”
* * *
When Faylar came back in – without the teacup, glum from being reprimanded – he made good on his promise and took another up to Celaena, who descended an hour later, subdued but no longer hostile. Saphienne hadn’t made any progress toward a solution, and was tired enough to give up for the day and go to bed early.
Laelansa tucked her in after she was changed. “Would you like me to sleep in another room? I don’t want to keep you up again.”
“It’s fine,” Saphienne murmured. “You can join me if you like.”
“Maybe later…” The novice kissed her brow, then paused. “…Are you resting with Hyacinth?”
She was too drowsy to be guarded. “I feel safer when we’re together…”
Laelansa smiled softly. “She must trust you, to share like that.”
Within, Saphienne carried Hyacinth from the steps to the field, then lay down with her upon the blossoms, grateful that their inner sky became starry as the sun faded. “…We trust each other… I know she…”
Whatever else Saphienne knew, it wouldn’t be revealed that night.
* * *
Nightmares were overdue.
Winds tore at her skin, shrieks in her ears, the condemnations of her sisters hurling her to and fro in a place that was without substance or measure. She argued, tried to hold firm, but their acrimony was too bitter, their songs too loud, the truth of her failure too cutting to endure.
Then a curve appeared on the formless horizon, risen like the sun, and she heard her name called by her beloved. “Saphienne, Saphienne, Saphienne!”
“Stop yelling, child. She can’t hear you.”
Kylantha hunched forward against the autumn chill, Sundamar holding the back of her collar as he walked her up the vale. Her voice was hoarse from crying, and her pained eyes showed the little girl had no more tears. “Where– where are we–”
“You’re going to live with your people.” His pace didn’t falter. “You’ll make new friends there. You’ll forget all about us.”
“I don’t want to go.” She sniffled, her voice low. “I don’t want new friends. I want–”
“None of us gets what we want in life. Resign yourself to that now, child. You and her will be better off without each other. This is the way it has to be.”
No child so young should ever look so frightened, so angry, so bereft as she did. Kylantha drew a deep breath. “Saph–”
* * *
Saphienne sat up, the soaked sheets clinging to her drenched nightgown.
When she was calm enough to see the room around her, she recognised she was alone, Laelansa having left the bed to her. Inside her darkened mind, Hyacinth was unmoving where she wintered, not even breathing in her torpor — though Saphienne felt fragrant respiration from the petals.
Were those Hyacinth’s nightmares, or her own? A mixture of both, perhaps, though the bloomkith was peaceful.
The faint glow in the window suggested dawn was near. She rose on shaky legs, moved to the sill, touched the bulb in the plant pot as she mentally roused the spirit who shared her body. “Hyacinth…”
Animating upon the bed of flowers, the spirit opened her eyes to smile contentedly, stretching. “You wish that I should quit your form for now?”
“Please.”
Hyacinth sensed Saphienne’s distress, and sat up to lay a hand upon her cheek. “…You are upset. Might I calm you? Tell how.”
“I just need to be alone,” she insisted. “Just until morning.”
Caressing her with affectionate worry, the bloomkith acquiesced, and released her as she sank into the blooms–
Saphienne felt the bulb stir under her fingertip. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Becoming aware of how uncomfortable she was, she stripped off her damp nightwear, tossing it aside as she went back to the bed — and sighing as she felt the moisture of the bedclothes. Frustrated, she sat on the edge, gazing across the room as she tried to focus on anything but her dreams.
…The painted panels gifted by Tanelia were propped against the far wall, sat there by Laelansa when she had talked excitedly about the depicted deities. Comprehensive in her knowledge of the elven gods, the novice had held forth at length about Our Lord of the Everlasting Hearth, but she’d been far more passionate about his companion.
* * *
“So she’s the goddess of good timing?” Saphienne had asked, examining the hourglass held by the deity.
“No,” Laelansa replied. “Or… not only. Our Lady of the Chosen Moment isn’t solely concerned with when things occur; She is as much about the choice of moment. Her doctrine is that everything has a time — which is whenever we choose.”
“How convenient,” Celaena mused.
Laelansa finished setting up the diptych against the wall, and crossed her arms. “It’s not like that! We choose the moment, and She invites us to decide for ourselves what our choice has made us. When do we choose anger? When do we choose calm? When do we express the different parts of ourselves? They all have a time, and wisdom is in choosing the right moment.”
* * *
Did everything have a moment? What about wrongdoing?
Saphienne tutted, her mind on her nightmare of Sundamar. “…There’s no time for doing evil…”
Then again — what made an action evil? Taken out of context, his journey from the Eastern Vale with Kylantha needn’t have been a terrible wrong. Accompanying a child to her destination wasn’t inherently evil… choosing to do it for that purpose was the issue. So too, Saphienne knew he had principles, and that it was his choice of how he applied them–
Our Lady Who Waits in Patience said nothing, a question in her painted eyes.
“…Fine,” Saphienne conceded. “But only because I don’t see another way.”
* * *
Risen early to tend to her ovens, Tanelia had been surprised when Saphienne arrived with the paintings, though not offended that they were being returned. After nearly eight hundred years, the baker believed that care was more important than the gestures used to symbolise it — and anyway, she’d long been used to them hanging on her wall, and missed them.
When Saphienne had asked for help expressing her own care, it hadn’t taken much convincing to persuade Tanelia to tell her where she wanted to go. She’d even received some of the pastries leftover from the festival.
That was how – a little after dawn – Saphienne came to stand on a doorstep to a home that was almost identical to the house she’d formerly lived in. She supposed they must have been grown at the same time. Heedless of the hour, she knocked firmly, and waited.
The tall woman who answered was bleary-eyed, yawning as she peered around the door. “…Who are you?”
“Sorry to disturb you so early.” Saphienne was respectful, but firm. “I need to talk to Syndelle — the matter’s urgent.”
Scowling, the woman who Saphienne presumed was Syndelle’s guardian started to close the door. “She’s confined to home. Come back in a week–”
She stuck her foot in the crack. “My name is Saphienne. I don’t want much of her time, but I’m not leaving until I get to talk to her. Either you let me in, or I sit in your front garden until she comes out.”
Her name was familiar. “…Saphienne?” The door eased back. “You were hurt?”
She withdrew her foot. “Yes. Please tell her I got her note, and that I’m sorry, too.”
Confused, but sensing her determination wasn’t a façade, the woman relented. “…I’ll fetch her down. Wait outside.”
Saphienne moved away from the door and sat, opening the small basket Tanelia had provided and folding her hands together. As she watched the door she contemplated the reaction of the woman, refining what she intended.
A third of an hour passed before Syndelle appeared, wide awake, pale and frightened, shivering despite the warmth of the summer night. Her knuckles were badly bruised, their skin having split and scabbed, and tooth marks were visible on her leg beneath her crumpled dress. She stood on the doorstep, the woman behind her looking on.
“Hello Syndelle.” Saphienne pushed the basket forward. “I brought pastries.”
Reluctantly, nudged onward, Syndelle descended and walked over, arms held protectively around herself, failing to meet her gaze.
Nodding to her guardian, Saphienne pointedly thanked the woman, who closed over – but did not shut – the front door.
Syndelle was very quiet. “…I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Saphienne regarded her with pity. “I forgive you.”
Astounded, Syndelle raised her head; then tears were in her eyes, and she keened like a toddler as she slumped down, soon blubbering and rocking back and forth.
When she recovered her power of speech, the older girl huffed her breath through her sniffles. “I didn’t– I didn’t mean to–”
“I know you didn’t.” Saphienne reached into the basket and withdrew a strawberry tart, offering it to Syndelle as an overture. “You just wanted to tell me I’d been bad.”
Lost and wary, the girl who had nearly ended her life accepted the treat, clutching it like a talisman. “I th– thought you said–”
“Things about your mother.” Saphienne gestured to the door. “Was that her?”
“Y-yes.”
“She seems nice. You must love her very much.”
“She’s– she’s the only– only one–”
Saphienne didn’t need her to finish that sentence. “I know. It must have upset you very much, when you thought I’d been awful to her.”
Syndelle swallowed her tears. “I’m not smart. I get things wrong.”
Inhaling, Saphienne steadied her nerves. “No, Syndelle. That wasn’t your fault. You were lied to: Tirisa and Lensa lied to you.”
Frowning, Syndelle refused to believe. “Friends don’t lie, not to friends. They’re my friends–”
“They’re not your friends.” Saphienne climbed to her feet. “Friends don’t treat you like you’re stupid. Friends don’t hit you when you speak. Friends don’t confuse you, and make you hurt people.”
“But I am–”
“Syndelle, they wanted you to hurt me. They used you.”
She trembled. “No, they–”
“Have they ever made you feel loved?”
Syndelle was still.
Saphienne didn’t soften the truth. “Friends love each other. You know they don’t love you. Only your mother loves you: that’s what you said, before.”
As tall and strong as she was, Syndelle became so very small. “…But they’re my only friends…”
“They were never your friends…” Saphienne exhaled. “…And I’m sorry. You deserve better than them.”
For a time, the girl wept.
* * *
Once there were no more tears, Syndelle shuddered. “Lensa said… she said I’ve been very bad… that I need to be quiet for a long time, or everyone will hate me.”
Kneeling beside her, Saphienne was sombre. “I’ve thought hard about this. I’m not going to let that happen to you. I’ve not told anyone what I remember… but I can’t keep it a secret. The wardens are going to find out.”
Syndelle rubbed her face. “Will they shout at me? Lensa said–”
“Worse than that, if we aren’t careful.”
Forlornly, the girl hung her head. “…What do I do?”
“You’re going to do what your mother tells you to.” Saphienne was certain her words were overheard. “I’m going to talk to her, and we’re going to make this right. Some people will be mad at you, but I’ll make sure you’re forgiven. You didn’t mean it, Syndelle.”
Proving Saphienne right, the door opened. “Syndelle, come inside.”
Before she left, Saphienne gave her the basket. “Take these. They need eating.”
Unsteadily, Syndelle did as she was told; she traded places with her mother, who shut the door firmly, remaining on the steps.
Saphienne rose with purpose, keeping her voice level. “You didn’t know, did you?”
Syndelle’s mother had wrapped herself in a warm coat, but her pallor told of the cold in her veins. “…She told me she’d been fighting with some boys.”
“You understand what happened to me?” Saphienne raised her left hand, showing her impairment. “She nearly killed me. The damage may be permanent.”
Utterly terrified, the tall elf could barely stand.
“What’s your name?”
“Nimerna.”
Gesturing to her robes, Saphienne said, “I’m apprentice to Master Almon. He has teams of diviners working to identify who hurt me, along with the wardens, and gods know how many woodland spirits.” She moved closer. “Understand me: they’re going to find out. When they do, the other girls will pin all the blame on your daughter.”
“…She did it, though.”
“She hit me the hardest–” Saphienne was deadened to the memory “–but they all beat me — and they used her as a weapon. Lensa led them, and Tirisa pressed Syndelle to go through with it. They’re poison, and they should face justice.”
Still in shock, Nimerna sat on the steps.
“In her head, Syndelle is just a little girl.”
“…I was sick during pregnancy. Gaelyn says that’s why.”
“I meant what I said: I’ve forgiven her.” Saphienne let the words sink in. “I believe there’s a way to help her, but only if you help me.”
Shaking herself, Syndelle’s mother scrutinised Saphienne. “…How old are you?”
“Fourteen,” Saphienne sighed, “though I feel a lot older. And I’m much, much more intelligent than people senior to me — including my master, so it’s been said. You can treat me like a child, but Syndelle will suffer for it.”
Nimerna steadied herself. “Why are you being kind to her?”
“You must have sent her note?” She waited until her conjecture was confirmed. “You thought it was just sympathy for a friend, but it was an apology… and she meant it. Despite being warned to keep her mouth shut, she still did what she believed right.” Lowering her voice, Saphienne leant closer. “She’s hopeless. Respectfully, your daughter is too stupid for punishment to serve any good.”
Anger flared in the mother’s eyes… then dimmed. “She tries.”
“I know.”
Gathering herself together, Nimerna stood. “What do you want me to do?”
“Today, take her to Gaelyn to be healed, and ask him to document all of her injuries — especially the bite mark. When he asks why, tell him the wardens will come to ask about the fight, and he’s to share everything when they do. Don’t tell him anything else.” Saphienne spoke with dispassion. “Eight days from now, have Syndelle go to the Wardens of the Wild and tell them everything. Until then,” she concluded, “keep Syndelle home. If Lensa comes to visit, act normally but turn her away. Should any of the rest come without her…” Her voice grew insistent. “…Let them see how angry and scared you are. But no one talks to Syndelle.”
“How will this–”
“I won’t explain.” She stepped back. “Trust me, or don’t. If I intended Syndelle harm, I’d have already gone to the wardens.”
“…I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
Shrugging at Nimerna, Saphienne turned to leave. “Not if you care about her.”
Thirty paces from the doorstep, she heard the door open and close; she kept walking until she counted one hundred.
There, Saphienne folded her arms. “Did you get all of that, Sundamar?”
The dawn forest gave no response.
“Don’t pretend you weren’t listening.”
Emerging from the concealment of his Ring of Misperception, the warden was dressed for conflict, clad in summery green leathers, his face similarly painted, cloak mottled with grass. His eyes were narrow were he appraised Saphienne. “I heard.”
“Good. We need to talk.”
* * *
Together, Saphienne and Sundamar went out into the woods, the warden choosing a sheltered spot between two fallen trees where he was confident they would have sufficient privacy. Talking to him civilly was painful, but she managed. He listened as she meticulously recounted everything that had led up to the attack, and he didn’t flinch as she related the beating, though his jaw clenched as she described the specifics, the fury in his mossy eyes no longer centred on her.
When he asked why she’d never told anyone, she laid out all she understood about testimony, why her word would have been insufficient, and then went on to tell about the justice meted out under cover of night. That her master had a temper was not unknown to him; nor was the prospect of wizards acting outside the law.
He shifted, uneasy. “…There are rumours of vigilantes. Unaccounted-for episodes, from before I became a warden — going back to before Almon was the local wizard; accusations that were always unprovable.”
“No one examined them very closely, I expect. Does that sit right with you?”
“It wouldn’t,” he conceded. “If it were true, then no, it wouldn’t.”
“I’m telling you it’s true. A senior apprentice tried to reassure me.”
Unhappy to hear that, he massaged the back of his neck. “You think you have a way to avoid all of this? Lay it out.”
“My original plan was to turn them against each other,” she explained, “and make their testimony contradict. If none of them could agree on anything – other than that they themselves weren’t to blame – the odds would have been in my favour. I was going to use Syndelle’s letter to trip them up when it came time for their testimony.”
“Sounds like a stretch.”
“Not for me.” None of them were half as competent as Taerelle. “But now, there’s a better way — as long as I have your help, and one other warden to support you.”
He followed. “You’re going to make them confess in front of us?”
“That’s why you usually patrol in pairs, isn’t it?” Ironically, the lack of a good index in Taerelle’s books had been useful. “The testimony of two wardens is sufficient to establish events, including to attest to an admission of guilt. That’s why you practice shadowing people — so you can stay close to suspects, in the hope they trip up.”
“What if they don’t take the bait?”
“Lensa will have prepared them not to say anything incriminating to anyone else, but they’re teenage girls, and they’re scared.” She ignored his amused look when she mentioned their ages. “Alynelle might let something slip, but I’m not counting on that. I can scare her badly enough that she’ll go straight to Tirisa for reassurance.”
He was dubious. “Even if we get confessions from Syndelle, Alynelle, and Tirisa, we’ll still have to convince the elders at trial. Lensa could talk her way out of it.”
“Tirisa will give you Lensa.” Saphienne squared her shoulders. “When Alynelle repeats what I said, Tirisa won’t dare go to Lensa right away: she’ll take it upon herself to do something incredibly reckless, and predictable. You’ll catch her in the act, and put the blame entirely on her, saying she directed Syndelle. She’ll crack.”
“What can you possibly tell Alynelle to make Tirisa do that?”
“It’s not the facts, but how they’re shared.” She had no doubt she could get under Tirisa’s skin. “That’s partly why we need to wait: they need to think they’ve gotten away with it, let themselves relax. I need them so panicked that they’re reacting, rather than thinking.”
The warden paced as he considered, the tension in him mounting.
Finally, he loomed over Saphienne in undisguised hostility. “Everything I’ve seen tells me you’re oblivious, immature, and reckless. Why should I have any faith you can make this work?”
“Because if it doesn’t,” Saphienne said, serene, “you lose nothing. You’ll still know who the culprits are, you’ll still have Syndelle’s confession, and there’s no reason you can’t keep a close eye on the four of them — they won’t know I’ve been speaking with the wardens. I’m not going to scare them with the prospect of you coming for them.”
He wavered. “Why approach me? You hate me. You could have taken this to Faylar, gone with him to Alavara.”
As much as it hurt, she had to be truthful. “I loathe you, Sundamar; but if there’s one thing my master has taught me, it’s that how I feel about a person shouldn’t get in the way of trying to see them for who they are. I think you’re evil, but you’re not the same evil as Lensa. She doesn’t have a conscience, but you justify your evil — and you do it by upholding the ancient ways, and all that’s built on top of them. You believe in the consensus.”
The faintest hint of a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “And, after going to all this trouble, you don’t? Not at all?”
“I believe in justice, and punishment has to be proportional to the crime. If I leave this alone, either they walk free, or there’s every chance my master and his peers make an example out of them.” She thought of what Celaena had said – more than once – and pictured whom she had learned it from. “Nobody is supposed to treat a wizard this way — that’s what they want shown. I think nobody should treat anyone that way.”
Begrudgingly, he accepted her reasons. “…You know Syndelle isn’t going to be let go? You promised her mother–”
“I lied. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have.”
He didn’t. “We’re allowed to deceive people, to get to the truth. Still, given all your lofty principles, doesn’t it bother you, to use them like that?”
Saphienne’s eyes were bright and clear. “No, but it’s not about revenge. I meant it when I said I forgave her.”
“Then how do you justify it?”
She let her sadness unfurl. “She didn’t mean to, but she nearly killed me. She’s not competent to be on her own — someone could be badly hurt. Syndelle is a danger to others, and her mother isn’t fit to take care of her. I pity her, but something must be done.”
Hearing her, Sundamar felt her sincerity, then slowly nodded.
His reply was equally honest — and all the more damning for it. “You’d make a good warden.”
* * *
They finalised what was to happen, Saphienne sharing what she would do, and when, and what the consequences would be. He admitted that her timeline made sense, though wasn’t confident Tirisa could be made to take the bait.
“I don’t see why she won’t just go to Lensa.”
“You’re thinking of them like they’re friends — that’s not it. Lensa is her master, whether or not she knows. Doesn’t every apprentice fear disappointing their master? Tirisa will want to reassure herself that she’s deserving of Lensa’s time.”
Sundamar later confirmed he had another warden in mind to help. “Not Alavara: she’d want to take this to Almon. Not anyone from our vale, either. I know someone who’ll risk his ears for this.”
“So long as you trust him.”
“He’s inexperienced, but he’s keen, and he does what he’s told.”
All that remained was a matter of logistics; the warden was amused at the prospect of having to leave his ring behind for the last of it.
She couldn’t resist needling him. “You remember how to hide without it?”
“I know how to climb a damn tree, Saphienne.”
* * *
The hour was still early when Saphienne returned to Celaena’s home, and she slipped back in through the window she’d left open in the dining room, closing and latching it before she summited the stairs.
Yet, when she returned to her bedroom, there was no sign of the pot in which Hyacinth was wintering. Unnerved, full of worry about having left an entrance for spirits, she practiced what Tarelle had taught her, and first checked Celaena’s sitting room–
Where she found her friend sat on the couch, her gaze yellow, the pot on the floor in front of her. “Saphienne? Where were you?”
“Downstairs…” She waved it off. “…I’m fine. I’m surprised you’re talking to Hyacinth.”
Self-conscious, Celaena reached out and touched the plant, allowing the yellow to drain from her eyes as the bloomkith returned to her flower — which began to sprout. “I’ve spoken to her before… after we brought you here. She told me a lot about Laewyn I hadn’t understood.”
Memories of the the previous night’s argument made Saphienne anxious, and she deflected. “So you don’t hate Hyacinth now?”
Faintly blushing, Celaena shook her head. “She’s not who I thought she was. We’re not friends, exactly, but we have more in common than I knew. I’d prefer it if there was another way to talk privately… but that will have to wait until we’re wizards, won’t it?”
“Or proven apprentices.” Saphienne sat on the couch, fatigued, but relieved to find she was less enervated than after her excursion the day before. “Who knows: Iolas’ first spell might be for talking with spirits. Any idea about yours?”
The change in topic slightly lifted Celaena’s mood. “I’m not sure, but I’m confident it’s Far Hand — the spell Almon’s always using to move things around? Father mentioned the name once. He said it’s weak, but of such convenience that almost everyone has it memorised all the time.” She forced a smile. “What about yours?”
“No clue yet…” Saphienne sank into the cushions. “…I wish it wasn’t a Hallucination spell. I feel like the sigil is taunting me.”
“Which discipline would you have preferred?”
She’d never given it much consideration. “Not Fascination, that’s for sure. Translocation doesn’t inspire me the way it does you.”
“Abjuration? Could put all your knowledge to work.”
“Abjuration is practical,” she agreed, “and I’ll probably be good with it, but I don’t want my magic to be reactive — I want to do things. Divination has the same problem, though I’ll be sure to study it as far as I can.”
Celaena grinned. “Conjuration, then? You could eat real fire.”
The memory of their fun at the festival wasn’t wholly overshadowed by what had followed. “This will sound strange, but… Conjuration feels too familiar? Like it’s the safe choice — as bizarre as that must seem.”
“…You’re right, that is weird.” She nevertheless warmed to her, and leaned against her shoulder. “Odd bird. That only leaves two, and my guess is Invocation, since you spend so much time with Hyacinth.”
Saphienne craned forward, pleased to see the flower blooming purple. “I wouldn’t have minded that. I don’t know what I’d be if I wasn’t going to be a wizard, but I’d like to think it’d involve her.”
“You’d never be a priest.”
Saphienne laughed darkly. “Maybe a witch, then?”
Celaena rolled her eyes at the joke. “‘Saphienne, witch of the light’… not your style.”
“I suppose,” Saphienne concluded, “I’d have liked to try Transmutation first. Maybe because Almon struggles with it, but that’s not the only reason.” She let the sentiment settle. “Not for the sake of change itself, either. There’s something about form, and how it’s mutable, that I’ve found compelling for a long while now.”
“You just want to turn Faylar into a toad.”
She giggled. “You know, the goblins looked a little like toads. Do you think Faylar would be much improved as a goblin?”
“He’d rather be human — or pretends he would.” She dismissed his affectations as childish play. “He just wants to distinguish himself. At heart, he’s a traditional elf–”
“Faylar? Traditional?”
“He’s just getting it all out now.” Celaena smiled, her fondness for him clear. “Mark my words: once he grows up a bit, and finds his confidence? He’s going to fit in so well, he’ll be more boring than Iolas.”
“When will that be, you think?”
Celaena snorted. “Probably when he makes a pass at me.”
Saphienne sat up. “…You know?”
“Laewyn noticed.” Her smile dipped slightly, but she shrugged off her worries and continued, “I didn’t want to believe it at first… but he’s always been doing little things. Like the way he repaired my next set of robes? She’s right: he has it bad for me.”
“But you like girls.” Saphienne felt sorry for him. “Poor Faylar.”
“I do love him,” Celaena confessed, “but not romantically. Laewyn joked that she could get him one of those collars–”
Saphienne’s mischief rekindled in a flash. “It worked for Iolas, didn’t it?”
The older girl elbowed her. “…I told her not to jest. Even if I did feel differently, he’s just not a girl, and it’s not right to make someone be what you want them to, before you care for them that way.”
That sentiment made Saphienne think about Celaena and Laewyn — and imagine Iolas standing over her shoulder, warning her not to say anything. “…Celaena, when you say that, I have to ask: what about the things you don’t like about Laewyn?”
She flinched, then sat up with a glower. “Our relationship is none of your business–”
“I love you.” Saphienne clasped her arm. “I’m not criticising.”
Hearing that stunned Celaena, all the indignation leeched out of her.
Eventually, the daughter of a wizard recovered enough to blink away the water in her eyes and look at the far wall. “…Odd bird. You’ve not been yourself.”
“If you can love Faylar, I can love you, too.”
“Oh do fuck off.” Her resentment was as untrue to her heart as her threats during her tantrums. “Gods, you’re awful sometimes. And so’s she.”
Saphienne knew she was thinking about Laewyn. “You don’t say that like it’s a bad thing…”
“…I envy her.” Celaena remained rigid as she shared, her voice low. “Hyacinth says she’s afraid to really try… but she’s willing to fail, and she can let herself be laughed at.” Ire crept into her tone. “That’s why she’s friends with them, you know? Tirisa and her used to be quiet, overlooked together. Laewyn would laugh when someone made fun of her… but Tirisa never laughed.” She brooded on her memories. “I think that’s why Lensa never sunk her claws into Laewyn: whatever she said, Laewyn wouldn’t take it seriously. She struggles to be serious.”
Saphienne squeezed her wrist. “And you?”
“I’m the opposite.” Celaena knocked the flower pot with her foot. “Hyacinth read me well when she… did what she was made to. I’m just as unsure as Laewyn is, but I try not to let it…”
“Celaena,” Saphienne asked, trying to comprehend, “if you know all of this, then why do you get upset with Laewyn when she–”
“Come on!” Celaena laughed, mockingly, though her mockery wasn’t directed outward. “You know why. Because knowing about something doesn’t mean you can do anything about it. I know I’m a bitch when I lose my temper, but in the moment…” She pulled away, standing. “…Maybe if I hadn’t lived alone for so long. I don’t know. I’m not good at handling myself, when I can’t be alone.”
Dwelling on this made Saphienne queasy, Nelathiel’s offer hovering over them. “Do you wish you were more alone?”
“I…” Celaena choked.
Saphienne was patient.
“…No.” She struggled with the answer, one hand grabbing the other to squeeze her fingers tight. “No. I’m not meant to be like… this. Father…”
Even were Celaena to have already been the intelligent, mature young woman that she was becoming, some realisations are simply too much.
“…I’m glad you’re here.” Celaena faced Saphienne, kneeling to grasp her good hand. “I know this is selfish, but I’m happy you’re not in that house any more. You and me, we’re the same: we belong. We can look out for each other.”
Although she wasn’t sure what was best for herself, Saphienne appreciated being wanted. “You’re a very good friend.”
Yet Celaena disagreed. “You’re like a sister to me. Not wholly, not yet — but almost. I can see it. I can feel it. We’re going to be inseparable, Saphienne. Whatever kind of birds we really are, we’ll find out together.”
End of Chapter 84
And the Patreon is now ten chapters ahead of the public release! Releases next week as normal.
Comments
Claire Hiria Ahuriri-Dunning
“Did I woo you with a song?” “Let’s not go that far." XD "Staring as the kettle gradually steamed, Saphienne beheld her careful deliberations evaporating away." The imagery on this right here *chef's kiss* Ugh, the nightmares T_T too real There, Saphienne folded her arms. “Did you get all of that, Sundamar?” - ICONIC His reply was equally honest — and all the more damning for it. “You’d make a good warden.” - OHOHOHOHOHO DAMN "Celaena snorted. “Probably when he makes a pass at me.” Saphienne sat up. “…You know?”" - ahahahahahaha classic typo: They need eaten.”
Uwerta
There’s something about someone you hate telling you you’d be good at what they do… Especially in this context, the feelings there are delightfully complex and conflicting.
