L. J. Amber
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TEWWBAD Chapter 78
🕑 Added 2025-09-04 12:00:13 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 78 – Flock Call
Before Saphienne could cast her first spell, she would have to fully comprehend what was required. Through having listened diligently and by reasoning through the apparent implications, she drew several inferences about the practice of the Great Art, all of which were right, and none of which were sufficient.
She knew for certain that she had to memorise the sigil, and that once memorised, it would be difficult to retain. Her correct suspicion was that meditating upon the arcane symbol was key to locking it in place, having guessed that the hours she had spent meditating upon spells were intended to acclimatise her to concentrating on manifestations of magic.
She further reasoned – based on what Taerelle had shared – that merely studying the shape to the point she could perfectly reproduce it was nowhere close to committing it wholly to mind. The sigil was undeniably replete with the power of its discipline, entirely unlike the chalk reproductions that Taerelle had made — markings that the senior apprentice had described as mere notation. Her tutor had also referred to sigils being ‘vested,’ commonly meaning ‘held completely and permanently,’ which Saphienne took as related to imbuing the calligraphy with magic.
This made sense of what Gaelyn had revealed. He had expended a sigil to heal her by casting it directly from the page, causing it to vanish; he’d stated that replacing it would require transcription – copying – that would take extensive time and effort to accomplish.
These observations implied that the inked notation was a receptacle for the actual spell, and that the sigil became indelibly bound to its spell: the two were one.
Yet an immediate and inescapable question arose from that conclusion: what fundamentally was a spell?
Saphienne had proposed that spells were not actually magic, but the point where magic intersected the world; she had unknowingly reached the same conclusion as High Master Elduin, whose ‘Meditations on the Aether’ had been written two and a half millennia ago. But what did that actually mean, in terms of the phenomena that occupied the elaborate blue script upon her scroll?
There was also a contradiction in the distinction between a spell and its notation, one that puzzled Saphienne. Almon had once confirmed that spells below the First Degree, such as the one she had received, didn’t require comprehension to cast–
No: that wasn’t quite right. They had been talking about comprehending the natural phenomena spells interacted with, and the wizard had said that some or all of the necessary knowledge of the world could be incorporated into a spell by its creator, perhaps to be supplemented by its caster.
There, Saphienne reached a profound insight.
Making sense of the spell wasn’t the same as making sense of what it affected! Beginner wizardry – below the First Degree – only required she grasp the spell. This suggested that spells transcended knowledge — and her master had stressed that knowledge and truth were not, in fact, the same thing. Both he and Nelathiel had asserted that what was true was ultimately unknowable, built upon belief, with the wizard holding reasoned belief in the Great Art, and the priest keeping faith in her gods. Hadn’t Almon declared that finding self-evident, transcendental truths was the pursuit of every wizard?
Shaping these pieces to fit together, Saphienne’s conjecture was that a spell was a magical truth that transcended the knowable world while existing within it, the raw essence of the Great Art condensed into a form that could be manipulated. She first had to embrace that truth and – somehow – reproduce it within her mind, after which she could then determine how to enact it upon the world.
But… if spells were self-evident truths that transcended the world, shouldn’t it be possible to learn them by studying them in action? And if they could be imbued into calligraphy or fashioned into enchantments, could anything serve as a receptacle for a spell?
For what reason did wizards imbue spells into sigils?
Recent lessons had focused entirely on deciphering the language for magical writing used by elves, which comprised both specific pronunciations and gestures together with representations of thoughts and emotions. These, she understood, were proxies for the comprehension on which spellcasting depended… which wasn’t about the world, but about the spell itself.
“…The notation is an abstraction…” Saphienne murmured. “…It symbolises the meaning of the spell it contains… a sigil is both a map of a spell and the spell that is mapped… each sigil is a perfect map…”
Unrolled upon her lap, the hallucinatory sigil resonated with truth, eager to be real.
* * *
A ringing bell interrupted her.
Having entirely forgotten where she was, Saphienne dragged her eyes from the entrancing ink and glanced to the window of Celaena’s guest room, determining by the golden sky that she had been sitting in deep contemplation for hours. She reached out to roll up the scroll, halting when her hand refused to obey…
…What about the gestures required for spellcasting?
Again the bell rang, and she heard Celaena stomping down the hall in ill temper.
Saphienne shook her head. Suppose that her disability would be an impediment: the fact that the elven tradition of magic was one of many suggested that there were other notations, and so there were likely other ways to perform the same truth. She would have to translate the symbolism of left-handed gesticulations into some other form, though how she could accomplish that was presently beyond her.
For now, she had to hope her first spell didn’t require her left hand. She very much doubted Almon would–
“Saphienne?”
She scowled at the door as she finished putting the sigil away. Why couldn’t Celaena just leave her in peace? “I’m fine.”
“…Iolas and Thessa are outside. They’re very worried.”
So what if they were worried? They weren’t the one who–
Saphienne felt Faylar nudging her; she swallowed.
“…I don’t know whether I should see anyone…”
The handle turned. “Can I come in?”
“Weren’t you lis–” Saphienne clenched her teeth. “…Celaena, I’m not in the best of moods right now.”
But the older girl opened the door and entered anyway, coming to stand over Saphienne where she sat cross-legged on the floor next to the large bed. “You can be angry with me all you want,” Celaena said, “but I don’t think being alone will make you feel better. Would you like a hug?”
Saphienne didn’t raise her head. “It’ll take more than a hug to–”
Above her, Celaena just waited.
The urge to snap at her friend was difficult to restrain. “…I don’t want to lash out at everyone.”
Sitting down beside Saphienne, Celaena slid her arm behind Saphienne’s stiff back and leaned in. “I’d rather you lash out at me than sit by yourself. Iolas probably feels the same way — and Thessa doesn’t seem easily offended.”
“I don’t want pity.”
Her fellow apprentice held to her. “Me neither. I don’t pity you.”
“Liar.”
“I don’t.” Celaena rested her weight on Saphienne. “I’m sad for you – I’m furious for you – but I don’t pity you. You’re not yourself right now, but you’re not someone I’d ever feel pity for. I can’t look down on you.”
No longer resisting the hug, Saphienne finally met her gaze. “…I wish everyone in the village saw me like you do. I’ve always been pitiful to them.”
Celaena kissed her forehead. “Fuck them: we’re going to be wizards. No one will pity us when we’re wizards.” What blue had been in her eyes was indistinguishable from grey in the dying day. “No one will look down on us, and no one will ignore us, and no one will dare disrespect us when we’re wizards.”
Then her friend did something Saphienne didn’t expect, reaching down to squeeze her lifeless hand. “Whoever did this? They wouldn’t fucking dare try it against a wizard. No one treats a wizard like that. And the fact that you lived has to scare them.”
“Why?”
“Because even if justice doesn’t come soon,” Celaena promised, eyes blazing, “you’re going to have power over them — and so am I. We’re going to make their lives fucking miserable, Saphienne. However we can, we’re going to make them suffer for what they did.”
Part of Saphienne came alive as she heard Celaena’s prediction, filling her mind with fantasies of vengeance, righteous and cruel.
But Saphienne closed her eyes. “That doesn’t seem wise… I don’t think we’ll be allowed to be wizards, if we think that way.”
“Why not?” Celaena retorted, sardonic. “They allowed Almon.”
She laughed, then, darkly and with glee. “…He’s not very forgiving. Do you think he’ll get to them before we do?”
“They better hope he does.”
Yet even though Iolas was stood on the doorstep to the grand house, Saphienne felt him sitting on her opposite side from Celaena, equally wrathful, but more tempered. She knew what Athidyn had taught him. “…It has to be just.”
“They fucking deserve what’s coming to them, Saphienne.”
“No, it has to balance.” Saphienne clutched her arm. “No worse than what they did. They weren’t all the same. Syndelle wasn’t–”
Saphienne saw the shock in Celaena’s face, and flushed.
“…Syndelle.” Daughter to a wizard, quick with calculations, Celaena was reconstructing events as Saphienne helplessly watched. “Tirisa put her up to it, and Lensa was the one who wanted it to happen.” Horror twisted into hatred, her ire gathering around her like black feathers. “Who were the other two?”
“Celaena–”
“Never mind.” She had often played with all the girls when she was younger. “Alynelle and Elisa: they’re always trying to impress Lensa and Tirisa.” She pulled away from Saphienne, clasping her hands in her lap. “Saphienne? You better tell me if I’m wrong.”
…Had she wanted Celaena to know?
She must have done. Part of her must have wanted that. She hadn’t consciously chosen, unlike when she manipulated Iolas, but part of her had wanted Celaena to share her outrage, had needed solace through affirmation.
And were she to deny it, Celaena would see through her lie.
“…Only Hyacinth knows.” She levered herself up against the bed. “She will never tell anyone else. And you’re not going to tell anyone, either.”
Celaena stood. “I can keep a secret.”
“They can’t know I’ve told you.” Saphienne trembled. “They mustn’t–”
“I don’t want them to.” Celaena folded her arms, her gauzy festival raiment dim in the lengthening shadows. “I won’t tell Almon, because you’ve asked me not to.” She smiled sweetly, malevolently, and yet not at all as evilly as Lensa had done. “And I won’t let them know… because I don’t want them to see me coming.”
“Don’t do anything–”
“I won’t — not any time soon; I’m not stupid.” She snorted. “Aren’t wizards meant to be patient?”
The bell in the hallway rang once more.
Celaena and Saphienne looked from the hallway to each other, and then both laughed through their blushes, their mood punctured by remembering Iolas and Thessa had been waiting the whole while.
“…They can come in,” Saphienne allowed. “But warn them — tell them I said I’m a prickly bitch tonight. And give me time to get changed before you bring them up.”
* * *
Changing into her robes made Saphienne feel less adrift, especially when she realised that the long sleeves of their outer layer allowed her to hide the dysfunction of her left hand from onlookers. While intellectually aware that she was really hiding it from herself, and that there would come a moment when she had to contend with what had happened, what had been done to her, she willed herself to defer that battle.
She was adept at sealing away her pain.
Yet, as she finished dressing and dimmed the lamp, she found herself stopping by the door to admire the hallucination overhead, wondering whether the enchantment was true to the constellations. Would someone surveying the heavens behold the same? Wherever Kylantha was, would her dearest friend see what she saw?
Assuming Kylantha was alive. No, she had to be alive.
Detached from her immediate problems, Saphienne was struck by the conviction that she had been wrong about life in one subtle but important way: she hadn’t appreciated the full diversity of evil. She had called Sundamar evil – and he was – in full confidence that the wrong that he did represented the greatest of what was contemptible. She had believed that evil was his callousness, or was ignorance, or was really an unwise expression of the bone-deep pain that she knew too intimately.
In her naivety, she had been blind to the monstrous viciousness of people like Lensa.
While someone driven by unrepentant sadism would kill a child, Sundamar was not that particular embodiment of evil: he had a conscience to bury. The way he had responded to Saphienne told her that, no matter how great her fears, Kylantha hadn’t been left in a situation with no credible chance of survival. There was a chance that she still lived.
Irrational though her choice was, Saphienne needed hope. Kylantha had to be alive out there, somewhere, gazing up at the real sky. Whether or not she was prospering in a human society that abhorred parentless children, she couldn’t be dead. Wasn’t she always setting out on her own path? If any little girl could have persevered, Kylantha would have.
Wryly, Saphienne asked herself what Kylantha would think of her hand…
And then her heart sank.
Saphienne didn’t know. How could she? What had happened to her was unimaginable only a few days ago, all the more so when she had been younger. The Kylantha she had last known was a child of nine, too young to have perspective on adult suffering, for all that such suffering had been visited upon her. Across the years to come, the older Saphienne became? Even if Kylantha lived… Saphienne would lose touch with…
“…Keep going.”
That was her sole conviction — the one untarnishable, unbreakable truth that had been passed to her by the mortal girl whom she loved more than anyone.
“…Don’t let anything stop you.”
Against all the world’s evil, Kylantha was alive — and so was Saphienne.
* * *
Settled in the private sitting room adjacent to Celaena’s bedroom, which had become the place Celaena’s friends usually congregated when visiting, Saphienne arranged herself on the end of the couch furthest from the door. She seldom favoured that spot, preferring to leave it to Celaena or Faylar or Laewyn, but she wanted to appear dignified when her visitors arrived, and perching on the windowsill wouldn’t make the right impression.
Iolas and Thessa had to see she was composed.
…Except, as the minutes stretched, there was no sign of Celaena or her guests.
When a quarter of an hour had gone by Saphienne dramatically tossed her head back against the cushions – which felt nice to sink into – and rose, leaving the room at a slow yet stately pace.
She heard the argument echoing in the foyer as she came closer.
“… You’re not going to change my mind. You can visit Saphienne, but she’s not coming in with you.”
“Celaena–”
“No, Faylar: you’re not playing peacemaker. This is between me and her.”
Were Saphienne less fed up, she might have done what she saw Iolas and Thessa doing in the middle of the dark tiles as she peered over the railing — pretended that she couldn’t hear. Instead she sighed as she stared at where Celaena was blocking the entrance in dispute with Faylar, and she steeled herself.
“Celaena?” Saphienne called down from the third floor, putting as much gentleness into her request as she could manage. “I know you’re not talking to Laewyn, but I’m still her friend, and she cares about me: would you please let her visit? Just this once?”
Faylar craned through the doorway, and his relief in seeing her was matched by his exasperated gratefulness. “Saphienne! Thank you!”
Celaena had spun around, her arms folded, and her silent glower told Saphienne that she was hotly resentful of being pressed, but that she knew she was being immature, and so resigned to concede. She didn’t look back as she walked toward the stairs. “…Iolas, Thessa, let’s go upstairs. Other people can follow us.”
Endeared by Celaena’s pettiness, Saphienne hurried back to her seat with a smile.
However, her attempt to maintain composure proved futile when Iolas surged through the door to the sitting room and skidded onto his knees in front of her, desperate to embrace her, mindful of her frailty, overcome with emotion. So loquacious in his essay-writing, he struggled for words. “Are you…”
She teared up. “…I’m a fucking mess, Iolas.”
* * *
To her surprise, Faylar was the only one who didn’t cry — though he pressed up against her when he sat on the couch, and he gripped her good hand so hard that she almost wanted to make a tasteless joke.
There were endless hugs with Iolas and Thessa, often both at once, and when Laewyn slunk into the room she started sobbing at the sight, breaking down so completely that Saphienne saw Celaena’s pang of guilt and heartache. Their host made an excuse about fetching tea as Saphienne held Laewyn, but Thessa stopped her leaving, handing her one of two large wicker baskets she and her brother had brought along.
Before long, Saphienne was sitting in the middle of the couch, Laewyn to her left, Faylar to her right, with Iolas sat on the floor before her, Thessa fussing at her hair in thoughtless imitation of Mathileyn.
“You don’t remember anything?” Iolas couldn’t let it go. “Nothing at all?”
Lying was safer for them. “Fuck-all. Whoever they were, they broke my skull. I don’t even remember how I got to my bedroom…”
Faylar shivered, saying nothing.
Thessa stopped stroking her hair. “Iolas said you’d bled all over… you’re healed now, though?”
“Mostly.” Feeling sorry for herself, and dreading what was about to unfold, Saphienne leaned back into her touch, closing her eyes. “Everything that could be put back together has been.”
She’d hoped that at least Iolas had been informed, but the tension surrounding her told Saphienne that none of them knew.
“…What do you mean?” Faylar sounded sick.
Prising her right hand from him, she lifted the sleeve that hid her left, then raised her arm so that they would see the consequences; she didn’t look. “I can’t move it. I can’t even feel it. Gaelyn thinks my brain–”
Further explanation was drowned out by Laewyn wailing.
* * *
“I’ll kill them.”
No one disagreed with Faylar, not even Iolas.
“Whoever did this to you… I’ll hunt them down and–”
“Faylar…” Saphienne rolled her eyes where she lay on Laewyn’s lap. “…Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re only sixteen. There’s probably a lot of adults ahead of you — including your mother.”
He’d been pacing angrily, and he stopped beside the empty armchair. Laewyn flinched as he abruptly punched its back. “…I haven’t seen her. Sundamar was the one who told me you were hurt.”
Iolas stirred where he sprawled, listless, on the floor. “Almon–” He remembered his manners. “Our master sent word to the Wardens of the Wilds — they were all over your grove when I showed up. I nearly ran into someone.”
Saphienne hadn’t seen or heard them. “They have enchanted rings…”
“One of them came in to talk to him.” Iolas recounted events flatly. “She wanted to ask you questions, but he refused. He said you’d been through too much, and that he’d already established that you didn’t remember the attack.” He met her gaze. “Honestly? I hoped you’d been lying to him.”
Thessa murmured, “Iolas doesn’t mean that like it sounds…”
“I know,” Saphienne reassured her. “Celaena wanted to know who did it, too. I’m sorry I can’t tell you.”
Faylar came around the armchair, and he threw himself into it. “Why would anyone want to kill you? Because that’s what this is, right? Attempted murder?”
“That’s what Gaelyn said…”
“Not just that,” Iolas corrected her, propping himself up on his elbows. “Whoever tried to harm you is a idiot. You’re an apprentice wizard: no one is going to let this go, and every single wizard who knows our master is going to help catch them.”
Laewyn ran her fingers through Saphienne’s roots. “It has to be someone visiting… someone from outside the vale… right?”
“I think so,” Faylar agreed, leaning forward with his arms crossed. “This feels like a crime of opportunity. Someone saw Saphienne getting hauled away from the festival grounds, and followed her to her home. They must have figured it was quiet, and lay in wait.”
Laewyn froze; she shared a mortified look with Thessa.
“No,” Saphienne told them. “No, I wasn’t. Gaelyn checked.”
“…Wasn’t what?” Faylar had no idea what dreadful worry had given them pause.
Iolas knew, and he stood up, clapping Faylar on the shoulder as he headed for the door. “Let’s take a walk.”
The pair stepped aside as Celaena came back into the room, tray floating behind her, and she was confused as she watched them leave. “…Do I want to know?”
Thessa went to help her with the tea. “My brother is explaining something horrible and sensitive to Faylar. He’s a bit of an innocent, isn’t he?”
“He really is,” Saphienne smiled. “You know I told you that we met a human boy, Felipe? And how the humans tell these tall tales about us? Faylar shared a little with Felipe… and he really doesn’t know much.”
The mental image made Laewyn smirk. “Don’t worry: I’ve recommended some new books to him.”
Saphienne laughed. “Gods… I bet I know the shelves they’re on…”
“Who doesn’t?” Thessa quipped, bringing Saphienne a cup.
Celaena coughed. “They can be instructional… I assume…”
Laewyn would have joked — but remembered their spat with a frown.
Saphienne sat up and thanked Thessa for the drink, though reconsidered her thanks after sipping: she had filled her cup with more oat water than tea.
Yet the young woman didn’t notice her reproachful grimace, busy grinning at Celaena as she took to the couch beside Saphienne. “You’re too shy; I think I’d read the good ones at least a dozen times when I was your age. They might call it ‘adult literature,’ but if you’re old enough to be curious, the stuff on the upper floor is tame.”
Recent head trauma hadn’t dulled Saphienne’s wits. “On the upper floor? But the lower floor is for children under fourteen…”
Thessa raised her eyebrows, and said nothing.
“She means there are books outside the library,” Laewyn blithely clarified. “My mother has about a hundred of them… she lets me read them, but she won’t loan me her fascinator.”
Saphienne nearly choked on her tea-ish oat water.
Meanwhile, Thessa laughed at Laewyn. “Ever learn something about a person, and realise you knew it all along? You can borrow–”
Faylar swore loudly in the hallway.
“…Maybe now isn’t the time.” Thessa hooked her foot under the handles of the basket she’d brought in, dragging it over to the couch with difficulty. “We brought food? We have pastries, and sweets, and I managed to talk one of the visiting confectioners into giving me the new dessert they were showing at the festival.”
Celaena wandered closer. “New dessert?”
“It’s very good.” Thessa lifted a thin, glossy, brown oval, offering it to Saphienne. “The seeds it’s made from come from a new tree–”
Laewyn leant away in disgust. “It’s made from seeds? Not nuts?”
Celaena was examining the basket’s contents. “…There’s actually not much of a difference between the two. Most edible nuts are really the seed portion of the nuts, rather than the shell, and grains are just seeds that we’re used to eating.”
Saphienne surreptitiously set her tea between her legs before she accepted the treat, though she held off from eating. “Is there a taboo around eating seeds? Why?”
“I don’t know why.” Celaena lifted a matching oval, sniffing it.
Thessa eyed the basket, waiting for one of them to try some before she had more. “My father said spirits are very particular about which plants are eaten from where, and that every time a new edible plant is introduced to the woodlands there’s a long discussion about how it’s to be tended. He told me that it took an age for spirits to be comfortable with agriculture, so it’s probably a holdover from that.”
Would the sunflower spirit disapprove if she tried sunflower seeds? Saphienne resolved to ask Hyacinth, and – noticing that the confectionary was melting between her fingers – took a bite.
* * *
Although her day had been truly awful, it was mildly redeemed by being the day that Saphienne first tasted chocolate.
* * *
What was strangest to Saphienne was how quickly her friends moved on from the tragedy. While events remained hanging over them, and Faylar was more subdued than she had seen him before, the group settled into the familiar, happy kinship she realised she’d been missing — that she’d worried was ruined when she lost her temper at Phelorna.
No one mentioned her outburst, for which Saphienne was glad.
As soon as Faylar learned that chocolate hailed from far-off, human lands he decided it must be excellent; his widening eyes revealed it exceeded his expectations. His badgering eventually broke Laewyn’s resistance, and she held her nose as she took the smallest bite she could, only to reconsider her distrust after she found the aftertaste to her liking.
Celaena, like Saphienne, had to stop herself from finishing what little Iolas and Thessa had bought.
“I really don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Iolas finally admitted. “It’s good, but it’s not that good–”
Faylar and Laewyn both called him boring, and Thessa undermined her defence of her brother by laughing as she delivered it.
Throughout the banter that ensued, Saphienne reflected on the way Thessa blended in despite being much older than everyone but her brother, and how Iolas didn’t behave any differently to when he was seventeen, each more mature than the others but still childish. They reminded Saphienne of what Felipe had said about elves: that her people were without shame, and that they were free. Was the lack of social expectation of adult behaviour what made them carefree? But for the short, harsh lives they lived, could humans be the same?
Her pondering was disrupted as the bell rang in the hall. “Celaena,” she asked as the older girl stood, “how does that enchantment work? Does it ring when someone knocks on the front doors?”
“Yes — there’s a few like it, spread about the house.”
“Can they be silenced?”
“No,” Laewyn casually answered — then blushed deep red, sheepishly smiling at Celaena in apology.
Celaena faltered. “…Would someone make fresh tea, while I see who it is?”
Nearly falling over herself in her haste, Laewyn gathered in the empty cups.
When both had left the room, Thessa stretched. “…I give it two hours.”
Faylar had noticed as well, and he chuckled; Iolas shook his head, amused.
Saphienne blinked. “Two hours until what?”
* * *
Rather than well-wishers, whoever knocked had been coming to the children’s night that Celaena had arranged, having missed that it’d been cancelled. The bell pealed on another six occasions over the next hour and a half, Celaena becoming more irate every time she had to walk down the grand staircase to shoo people away.
After the second, she fetched out her calligraphy kit and wrote a large and unambiguous notice in red ink — attaching it to the main door.
Upon the third, she swore, and was cursing under her breath when she came back up, annoyed that her sign had been read as a joke.
And the fourth time? Upon her return, she was serene. In passing, she mentioned to Saphienne that Lensa, Tirisa, and Syndelle hadn’t known about the cancellation, the jagged glint in her eyes telling Saphienne how much she had detested feigning friendliness with them.
After the fifth time, Celaena ate the last of the chocolate. A little while later, she approached Laewyn, quietly whispered in her ear, and left the room; Laewyn went to the bathroom soon after.
“…There’s the talk,” Thessa beamed. “Right on schedule.”
Saphienne was so excited to catch up that she blurted out, “They’re making up?!”
Faylar and Thessa guffawed as Iolas patiently explained that, yes, in all likelihood, they were going to reconcile — and not to comment about it when they did.
“Unless one of them opens up to you, pretend their argument never happened.”
Saphienne felt it through. “…Sparing them any awkwardness?”
“She’s learning,” Thessa teased.
Yet when the bell was rung for the sixth time, it repeated again after a lengthy pause, and then chimed continuously; Saphienne slipped away to find Celaena. She presumed her friend was either in the bathroom or was ignoring the bell while having a heart-to-heart with Laewyn, and Saphienne’s intuition led her to the kitchen–
Where Celaena had Laewyn pinned against the pantry door, kissing her passionately.
Despite her weariness, Saphienne discovered she was able to retreat with astonishing alacrity — though not as quietly as she desired, as she heard Laewyn laughing as she ran back to the foyer.
She was crimson when the two joined her, holding hands, flushed; Laewyn let go of Celaena to lean on the wall nearby, while her girlfriend went over to the door.
“…How long were you watching?”
“Laewyn, shut up.”
Why was it that, every time she nearly died, she ended up wishing that–
“Saphienne?” Celaena tremulously called out to her from the entranceway. “Do you want to receive a visit from–”
“Of course she does,” announced Taerelle, effortlessly sweeping the junior apprentice aside as she clicked across the black floor in a midnight dress, her glittering hair unbound and styled into a long and bending wave that tumbled down to her hip. She was wreathed in unearthly glamour that made the shapely darkness she swathed herself in shine with promise, the fascination she wore both obvious and yet so striking that Saphienne almost didn’t want to resist it–
But she did, shaking herself as Taerelle’s appearance faded from shattering to merely breathtaking.
Laewyn tried to back away, and tripped.
The state of the sweating girl made Taerelle review her own appearance, and she waved her hand across the glittering diamond necklace that hung above her cleavage, dismissing its enchantment. “Get up, Laewyn.”
Still awed, Laewyn stammered. “Wh– who are you?”
Celaena had rushed over, equally flustered. “How do you know Laewyn?”
Saphienne canted her head. “Her name’s Taerelle; she’s a senior apprentice to our master; and she’s a very capable diviner.”
“But,” Laewyn objected as she stood up, “we haven’t met–”
“Like Saphienne said,” Taerelle repeated with an intentionally dazzling smile, “I’m a very capable diviner. I assume Iolas and Faylar are also here?”
Saphienne was wary. “Along with Thessa–”
“–Iolas’ sister,” Taerelle nodded. “That complicates things.” She rounded on Celaena with a commanding affect that would tolerate no dissent. “Unproven apprentice: contrive an excuse to fetch Iolas and Faylar, and give Thessa something to do that will be sure to keep her occupied while we speak.”
Unaccustomed to being ordered around, Celaena bristled. “Excuse me? You’re a guest in my–”
“Hidden clearing.”
Celaena went whiter than snow.
“Good.” Taerelle gestured up the stairs. “Our master said you’re perceptive, so I expect you now comprehend who holds power between us, no matter who your father happens to be. Do not make me repeat myself, and kindly compose yourself: you’re not in any danger from me… so long as you don’t keep me waiting.”
Bowing shallowly, Celaena ascended the stairs.
While mesmerised by the display, Saphienne disapproved. “You didn’t need to treat her like that. Celaena would have done what you wanted, if you’d let me–”
“A competent wizard calibrates the expectations of her subordinates without ambiguity, prodigy.” Taerelle pointed down the hall. “We are not in a situation benefitted by tact. Take Laewyn to the dining room: I’ll join you presently.”
Arguing with her tutor was pointless; Saphienne took Laewyn’s hand.
* * *
Iolas, Celaena, and Faylar were apprehensive as they filed in ahead of Taerelle, who shut the door with a backward kick as she bid them join Saphienne and Laewyn at the table. She promptly performed an incantation that laced strands of pale, violet light between her fingers, and she brought the spell to her face, where it transformed her pupils into austere, white stars that were ringed in flaring purple.
“Saphienne, explain our relationship to your friends.”
That she had revealed she knew about the clearing implied anything more than minor deception was unnecessary, and Saphienne was blunt. “Taerelle caught me covering up what happened at the clearing — and she let me explain that the Luminary Vale already knew, then wrote to them to confirm what I’d told her was the truth. The Luminary Vale wrote back with their approval, and they appointed her to discreetly keep an eye on me, to make sure I didn’t get into more trouble–”
“Great job,” Faylar sneered.
Taerelle smiled sadly. “Fair of you, Faylar. I’ve fucked up very badly.”
Her agreement undercut him, and he sank lower in his chair.
“…Anyway,” Saphienne concluded, “she scried on us all to make sure we could be trusted to not do anything too stupid. You can assume she knows you, intimately.”
Iolas was disappointed in Saphienne. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because,” Taerelle lied, “I specifically instructed her – on pain of losing her apprenticeship – not to worry you. She argued vociferously against it, and insisted you were all mature enough to be trusted.”
Celaena crossed her legs. “What happens now?”
“Now?” Taerelle approached them ominously. “Now the five of you tell me what the fuck happened yesterday. Who tried to kill Saphienne — and what did it have to do with the spirit you freed?”
It took all Saphienne’s remaining strength not to laugh.
* * *
Eventually, after interrogating each of them, and with barefaced lies from Celaena that impressed Saphienne, Taerelle accepted that none of them knew what had happened.
“Then we’re in a very bad situation,” the senior apprentice groaned as she dismissed the spell from her vision. “My working theory is that one of the woodland spirits tried to kill Saphienne in retribution for her transgression. They might have used a plant shell, but it seems likely to me that they broke the ancient ways and possessed someone, then wiped their memory when they were done.”
Iolas rocked back. “…Oh, fuck.”
Distantly, the door bell rang.
“Ignore it,” Taerelle told Celaena. “Sit back down. You should know: I can’t take this to our master without fucking you and Saphienne and Iolas. Worse, I have absolutely no idea what’s going to unfold when the Luminary Vale hears what’s happened.”
Again, the door bell rang, but Celaena had turned to Saphienne, who saw that she was having the same thought: in the absence of the full context, Taerelle’s conjecture made perfect sense, and the fallout risked undermining the trust between elves and spirits. Things could very easily get out of hand…
But Celaena kept her mouth shut.
“For now, the best I can do is to keep you all safe.” Taerelle glanced upward. “This is likely the most secure place that you can–”
Sharp, discordant ringing erupted all throughout the house.
Faylar was on his feet. “That’s not the doorbell!”
Taerelle’s hair scythed behind her as she rounded on Celaena. “What is it?”
Having heard it twice before, Saphienne shut her eyes. “…The intruder alarm.”
End of Chapter 78
Comments
Tarmandan
I wonder. It is of course deliberately left unclear if the becoming a dragon is to be taken literally, figuratively or both. But we know that transformation is not easy, for you must get it right. Especially the brain. If the becoming dragon part is literal, this might have well been the deciding incident to set Saphienne on that path. Not for now, but as am elf she has technically all the time in the world. And I doubt she will ever accept losing her hand. Until she has tried every conceivable method she would probably take that as admitting defeat. And that means figuring out how brains work. Which will probably lead her to seeking out every expert on that in the world, which might well include dragons. Either way, fixing her brain would be the stepping stone to her becoming the foremost authority on bodily transformations. Mostly because she probably will have to be counted amongst the best already to even attempt it
L. J. Amber
Yes, Lensa. Microsoft Word's awful, unwanted autocorrect strikes again. Fixed now. I fixed the typo you called out already — where did you read it?
Claire Hiria Ahuriri-Dunning
I love that Saphienne told Celaena, yay <3 Taerelle's entrance was ICONIC JFC that ending <.< missing word: 'Wasn’t she always setting out on own path?' 'And the fourth time? Upon her return, she was serene. In passing, she mentioned to Saphienne that Laelansa, Tirisa, and Syndelle hadn’t known about the cancellation, the jagged glint in her eyes telling Saphienne how much she had detested feigning friendliness with them.' - did you mean Lensa? Also OMFG the GALL!!!
