novelraw CHAPTER 127 – Love as Blinding
CHAPTER 127 – Love as Blinding
To be a magician was to organise one’s life around the study of magic. While other concerns had taken the foreground since Parthenos had descended upon the lake, Saphienne hadn’t neglected the Great Art, spending at least one hour each day sat in meditation and contemplation.
Her enchanting and spellcasting didn’t count for much. Those were expressions of her established skill, and while refining her existing accomplishment was necessary and valuable, pushing the boundaries of her achievement was paramount. Too many magicians grew contented in their mastery – so Saphienne thought – and satisfied themselves with surveying the slopes they had climbed, rather than reaching for a higher vantage.
She refused that; she refused to succumb to the fallacy that practice was the same as understanding, that the best way to learn was only by doing. Action was crucial, yes, and so she was forever trying herself — but the medium she agitated needed stillness, repose, and examination for progress to crystallise. Art required reflection.
Consequently, Saphienne had taken to sitting each morning in front of the mirror in her library, mind empty as she concentrated on her own gaze. Her appearance as an elf was not permitted to trouble her during this prelude, for the purpose was to look beyond what presented itself and behold whatever lurked behind her countenance. She doubted that Parthenos or other dragons cared how they were perceived; they were certain in themselves, trusting that their scales would show…
Embodying draconic confidence was challenging.
Once she’d found her equilibrium, she would open her spellbook and flick to the very last pages within, where two new spells were again stitched opposite each other.
Sigils of the Third Degree were not penned for students. Elaborate symbolism abounded, syllables and gestures intermixed with thoughts and feelings, situated with precision, arranged poetically rather than to ease their deciphering. Their structure gave no indication as to the mystery upon which their enactment depended — or so she’d intuited after years spent in scrutiny.
The Transmutation spell was for permanently changing flowers into other blooms from the same family; the Hallucination spell produced subjects that dynamically reacted to observers and their environment without active direction by the magician. One was an increase in scope, while the other tantalised her with the prospect of composing contingent spells.
Alas, like Almon, she hadn’t a clue how to loose them. Neither sigil was particularly evasive – their resistance to being memorised was perfunctory – but once within they eyed her expectantly. Attempting to complete them like a spell of the Second Degree showed promise, made them respond warmly… until they inevitably slipped away with a disappointed sigh.
Were they wilfully reacting to her? Or was she imposing personhood on them? Saphienne had long suspected the personalities of sigils were reflections of how she comprehended them.
* * *
She’d raised the question to her former master one night, over chess.
“But of course you did not come only to play,” Almon noted, amused but not offended as he mulled over his opening gambit. “Despite your admirable proficiency, you have no great fondness for the game.”
Saphienne didn’t rise to his bait. “You’ve never much cared for how I feel about pursuits you consider worthwhile. Don’t pretend it matters whether I enjoy playing: make your move.”
Downstairs in the parlour, Peacock cackled loudly. His master responded by folding his arms and refusing to begin, first demanding to know how she felt about chess before they proceeded.
She crossed her arms in turn. “Are you sure?”
“Gifted as it is, your mind will not change my own.”
“Very well.” Saphienne studied the layers of the board as she answered. “There are two elements to chess I dislike. The first is that it’s intellectual busywork, serving only to train one’s ability to recognise patterns — and there are other pursuits that do the same while honing other skills, creating enduring works, or both.”
Almon’s eyebrows had risen. “Isn’t that reductive, Saphienne? Knowing the optimal move in a given situation isn’t the only way to play. Ask Jorildyn…”
“I’m aware; hence my second issue.” She collected one of the pieces from the uppermost tier, all of which were unique, each of which had been alternately selected by her and Almon, this one representing Our Lord of the Stilled Reflection. “Quite aside from recognising what your opponent might be doing, chess is also about knowing your adversary well enough to manipulate them into making blunders. The game itself is built upon manipulation, with gods influencing sorcerers and wizards, who influence elves and spirits, and the conflict plays out bloodily between mortals.” She placed it back and stared down her former teacher. “I’ve read about the ‘grand’ games of masters.”
His lips curled at one corner. “I anticipated you would have. You no doubt find them a distasteful spectacle.”
Her own sneered. “Teaching humans the lowest board, and then inviting them to games where they’re blind to moves made on higher boards, only the consequences for their pieces? I think it’s arrogant in the extreme. All the more so, in a game played as gods.”
“With,” Almon objected, “theatrics aside, we play the game with the gods.”
“Theological justification aside, I doubt humans appreciate being made into pawns.”
“To participate in a grand tournament, they must have grasped there is another game beyond the board they’re playing.”
He lifted his teacup and sipped; Saphienne glowered.
“The best,” he went on as he set down his brew, “do as you have done, learning through deduction. The challenge for master chess players isn’t simply to manipulate the humans, but for each player to have silently educated their proxy to complement their playstyle.”
She let her own cup cool. “Trained them; tamed them. Was that your inspiration, when you taught me to play?”
“Not in the way you imagine.” He inclined his head. “I’ll admit that the opportunity was too good to pass up, but my motive was to be educational for both of us. I wanted to see whether learning via that method would yield better results for you.”
Saphienne exhaled as she sank back into the cushions. “…Pedagogical adversity. Why is it that you’re so committed to an approach that you found miserable when you were an apprentice? Since we’re being candid, Almon, tell me this: is it just to give the suffering you went through meaning?”
“…I’m unsure.” He steepled his fingers as he, too, sat back. “I pride myself on accepting when I’m in error, but my experiences with you, Celaena, and Iolas have shown me that the desire to recognise my follies is insufficient. So much of how we are raised leaves indelible marks upon us, doesn’t it? Perhaps nostalgia blinds us to the cruelties… or else, perhaps our need to have been loved necessitates that we blind ourselves.”
That was more self-aware than she’d expected. “Perhaps.”
“To answer your earlier question,” Almon moved on, “I experience sigils as mirrors to myself, reflecting parts of my own experience that I’m challenged to contextualise. Other wizards have shared different perspectives with me, but the common thread running through all is that the markings are animate, independent, and must be comprehended then mastered before they will be of use. Whether this is consequence of our sharing the elven tradition, I do not know, but I once read that human traditions think spells are alive, and that dwarven traditions conceive of them as puzzle locks.” He leant forward, nudging his pieces. “Make of this what you will: your move.”
* * *
Nothing pertinent to the Third Degree had yet resulted from that discussion. Whether or not the characters of the sigils came from Saphienne, she lacked insight into what they required from her. “…What do you want…”
To make a difference; to be realised.
She rolled her eyes as she turned back to simpler pages, more convinced than ever that she was talking to herself as she readied her daily spells.
* * *
Faylar was behind the desk at the library when Saphienne arrived, as was Laewyn, who leapt up from a chair she’d dragged over from the fireplace and excitedly leant across the polished surface. “Saphienne! Filaurel isn’t here — you won’t believe why!”
Glancing to Faylar, whose smile suggested she probably would, Saphienne shut the door and indulgently mirrored her posture. “She’s decided to go wildling through the woods? No; she’s clearly decided books aren’t for her, and has entered a novitiate! Or has she been wooed, and ran off with a handsome man to another vale?”
Laewyn enjoyed playing along. “Nowhere close. Keep guessing?”
Faylar shook his head where he busied himself with the returns ledger. “Don’t encourage her… she’ll just start quoting plays at us…”
Canting her head to Laewyn, Saphienne answered in monotone. “You heard the librarian: no fun allowed. What’s the gossip? It can’t be anything grim, ‘for the nature of bad news infects the teller.’”
The dramatist grinned conspiratorially. “I really hope it doesn’t, because Filaurel is detained by her cat. ‘O, ‘tis pregnant, pregnant!’”
Saphienne blinked.
Faylar groaned at their antics. “Peluda is going to have kittens; Filaurel told me she was taking the day off to make preparations.”
“I’ve never seen a baby cat before,” Laewyn announced as she casually sat sideways on Filaurel’s desk. “Are they ugly? Baby birds are hideous when they hatch.”
“No they’re not,” Saphienne objected, pushing her back off, “and no, they’re not. Laelansa told me that she’s seen kittens in the wilds, and she said they’re very cute — and friendly, once they get to know you. I rarely see forest cats in our vale, though.”
Faylar gave up pretending to work, closing over the ledger. “That’s because we don’t have many mice. The protectorates have lots of field mice, so there’s dozens of forest cats roaming about there, along with even more human cats.”
Both women stared at him.
“…Cats domesticated by humans?” Faylar was surprised they didn’t know. “Like the wolves they domesticated, except the changes aren’t so pronounced. My mother says the wardens and the spirits work together to keep their cat population under control, and prevent interbreeding with the forest cats.”
Laewyn was interested as she reclaimed her chair, contorting herself so that she half-leant on the desk in defiance of Saphienne. “Do they keep them as pets?”
“Some. Felipe mentioned that cats are everywhere in his homeland, keeping rodents out of their storehouses and homes–”
“I’ve read about this,” Saphienne interjected, glaring mildly at Laewyn. “They have problems with construction and sanitation that lead to invasions by mice and rats.”
Laewyn paid Saphienne’s reproach no mind, though frowned at the unfamiliar word she used. “Rats? What are rats?”
“Uncommon rodents. The variety that live in the woodlands are smaller than those in human lands, and a combination of wards and the spirits make sure they don’t nest in trees near our homes.”
Faylar was nodding. “Felipe didn’t know the Elfish word for them. He said Tenerosa is much cleaner than other parts of–”
A new arrival through the front door made him drop the subject, knowing better than to discuss the lives of humans within earshot of anyone other than his lover and Saphienne.
Once the patron had gone off into the stacks, Saphienne broke the silence by reaching for her satchel. “I’m glad you’re here, Laewyn: I have something for you. And for you, Faylar–”
Boyfriend and girlfriend immediately grinned at each other, Laewyn springing up again in even greater excitement.
“Celaena showed us your gift,” Faylar admitted. “Iolas too. We wondered whether they were just for your fellow wizards…”
“Fellow magicians,” Saphienne corrected him. “I’m technically a wizard as well as a sorcerer, so you’re not wrong, but you must be exact with your language when you talk to Master Almon. You have to prove to him that you understand what you’re talking about.”
He waved her off. “I get that; but I’m not talking to him right now, am I?”
Meanwhile, Laewyn was almost levitating over the desk toward the satchel. “Did you make something for us?”
“Enchanted,” Saphienne confirmed with a pointed nod. “I’ve been practicing: don’t feel like this is an obligation. I wanted to make things that would be of actual use to people.”
Neither offered any comment, both sweetly replete with childlike anticipation.
Now she understood why Almon had teased her and her fellow apprentices before he bestowed the Second Sight. “…I’ll try to remember this…”
Faylar quirked a brow. “Remember what?”
She smiled. “Doesn’t matter… Laewyn, hold out your hand and close your eyes.”
* * *
Laewyn appreciated the artistry in the small broach Saphienne had made, though she was initially subdued at the sight of the crossed needles behind a spool of thread; the apprentice tailor’s demeanour changed when she pinned the metal in place and was shown how to activate the enchantment, whereupon she saw the stunning effect on her boyfriend and shrieked with delight, launching herself at Saphienne to plant a kiss directly on her startled lips.
Faylar had been distracted by the fascination, and he shook free to scold his girlfriend, more for being overly familiar with Saphienne than for screaming in the library.
Through her blush, Saphienne downplayed her reaction, firmly resolving not to read anything into it other than that she was flustered. Hyacinth could mock her later.
She redirected attention away from herself by giving Faylar his gift, which consisted of a glittering violet gemstone that pivoted within a silver ring, reminiscent of – but smaller than – a fascinator. As he listened to her explain how the enchantment functioned, Faylar became emotional, long having wished he could wake from his nightmares.
Laewyn spared him from sentimentality by leaning against Saphienne and playfully asking whether she was willing to take a request from both of them, having heard from Thessa about an interesting choker…
Although the visit ended shortly thereafter, Saphienne was feigning her rebuke, just as entertained as Laewyn by Faylar’s panicked denials.
* * *
Two days later, Taerelle arrived for her regular visit, sweeping into the house as though she still lived there and wishing Saphienne a good morning as she set about boiling the kettle for tea.
“Are you well, prodigy? No new tragedies to impart?”
Saphienne hadn’t told the diviner about her greatest self-discovery, and had been working up the courage to discuss other matters. “Hello Taerelle; I am; I can’t say there are.” She squinted at the wizard from the sitting room doorway, noting that she wore a fine white scarf around her throat where usually it was bared… and that her brunette hair was glossy in its long tail, her lips painted with dark red cosmetics. “You’ve made an effort with your appearance today. Things going well with Thessa?”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
For once, Taerelle flushed where she was preparing the teapot.
“So they are.”
“A wise wizard does not get ahead of herself.” She crossed her arms as she faced Saphienne, excitement nonetheless shining in her cool blue gaze. “But she made a point of mentioning she’d requested temporary accommodation to the south of the vale, and asked when I’d next be coming…”
Saphienne couldn’t help herself. “Tonight, it sounds like.”
Taerelle actually gasped — and then grinned as she stalked forward. “Master Saphienne! That’s what I get for sharing. I expected better from you; such a crude innuendo hardly befits your shyness.”
Tempted as Saphienne had been to have a glass of wine in advance, her discipline had held firm; she retroactively wished she’d given in to the impulse as she tried to steady her nerves with a deep breath. “…Less shy than before. Taerelle, can we talk?”
The wizard’s smile was paradoxically both sharp and soft. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous like this; always have been.”
“No I’m–”
She spun away. “Tea will calm you. Sit on the couch, prodigy.”
* * *
Eventually Saphienne accepted that Taerelle wasn’t going to make fun of her, relaxing as she conveyed to her confidant all the progress she had made in her relationships with Laelansa and Hyacinth. She felt guilty for having expected less.
“That’s not terribly unusual, you know.” Taerelle had been amused throughout the telling, and her fingers drummed on her cup where she rested on the cushions beside Saphienne. “Don’t take this as criticism, but you really are quite sheltered.”
“Coming from you, I’m not sure how to judge–”
Catching herself being prickly, Saphienne sipped the last of her tea.
“…I’m definitely sheltered. I feel childish when it comes to intimacy.”
“Sex!” Taerelle nudged her. “Lust! Fucking. You can say the words.”
Her ears felt hot. “How strange is it, then? Making lo– being fucked like that.”
“Depends who you’re talking to.” Taerelle propped her arm on the back of the couch and shifted onto her side, head braced on her palm. “Actually getting to know a bloomkith or woodkin well enough to have that kind of relationship typically takes a long time for anyone who isn’t a priest or a magician, but there’s hundreds of priests in the Eastern Vale alone. Even the tamer parties I attended had the occasional pair of yellow eyes.”
“…And the less tame parties?”
“Far more often.” Taerelle smirked. “There are gatherings just for invoking whoever wants to join for the night. That’s how I experienced what bloomkith can do with those flowers… woodkin have a few tricks as well.”
Saphienne felt queasy. “I don’t think I could sleep with a stranger.”
“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to know them; you get to know people quite rapidly when they’re naked. I only watched at first… nobody’s forced to participate in any way they don’t want.” The diviner forwent reminiscing any further. “What do you want, Saphienne? If you’re looking for someone to tell you that you’re allowed to love Laelansa and Hyacinth together – and nobody else – then you are.”
“I know.” She lowered her gaze. “I just… I’m unsure where it all leads.”
“Only where you’re eager to go.”
Therein lay the issue. “I’m trying to see a future for myself; a future with Laelansa and Hyacinth; a future where I’m accepted and happy. Yet there’s a part of me that contemplates all this happiness, all this pleasure, and remembers…”
Taerelle exhaled long and heavily. “You’re thinking about my cousin.”
“Not just her. All the others.” She shut her eyes. “I read this poem once; about how some of us are born to wonderful lives, and others to unending suffering. To live out my life in the woodlands is to partake in the former and ignore the latter.”
“You didn’t make the world what it is.”
“But I am what I make of it.” Saphienne insisted upon herself. “I have a choice in what I make of it. If I’m really not born to live in darkness, then what kind of life am I going to have here? Living for hundreds and thousands of years just to gossip and drink and fuck — that would be wasting what Kylantha, and Cosme, and Felipe, and everyone else who ages yearns to have.”
“Wouldn’t they choose the same for themselves?”
“Judging by everyone around me, most would.” She raised her head. “I’m not like they are. If I’m to have an eternity, I want it to matter to more than myself.”
Taerelle took her at her word. “What of Laelansa? Of Hyacinth? Is mattering to them not enough for you?”
And Saphienne hesitated.
“What about the Great Art? You can do great things for the woodlands.”
“What more need be done for them?”
The wizard scoffed. “There’s always improvements to be made. You’re really saying that you feel guilty; that’s always been your problem, prodigy.” Taerelle’s tone was gentle as she reached out to Saphienne, stroking the back of her neck. “You know that, don’t you? We have the opposite dysfunction from each other. I feel resentment for being discarded, but you feel guilt for being embraced.”
Discontentment at her own survival. “Don’t you? Don’t you blame yourself?”
Taerelle’s lips twisted in suppressed grief as she took back her touch. “What good does that do?”
What good, indeed.
“Saphienne… suffering is part of the world. You’re special, but that doesn’t mean you’re responsible for putting it all right.” Her stare hardened. “Fuck the talk about being holy. You’re not obliged to save anyone from suffering but yourself.”
“It’s not about obligation–”
“Oh, bullshit!” Taerelle rose. “You feel responsible; we’ve been over this before. Yet you and I know fine well that this was all set in motion by other people, including how you feel about yourself. This was done to you, Saphienne — done to all of us! We didn’t have a hand in the world we were born into. Live in spite of that. When you’re made to be this way, forget sadness: be angry!”
“We have been over this,” Saphienne wryly agreed. “And I know; the world is what it makes of me. I may judge the world for who I am; you may as well.”
She stood, opposite – yet not opposing – Taerelle.
“I can’t live for spite. I don’t want to live an angry life. I don’t want sadness, either. Whether or not I have any say in the matter… and I’m choosing to believe I do… I have to make a life I can live with. And I’m scared, Taerelle.” Her friend was blurry. “I’m so scared that I’ll fail, or that I’ll succeed by losing what makes me who I am. I’m scared that I’m not enough. Not for– not for Laelansa, and not for myself…”
Warm darkness enveloped her. “But you are enough; you’re more than enough for us, Saphienne. You’re more than enough for everyone who matters.”
She sniffed. “Not for everyone. I wasn’t for Kylantha.”
“You couldn’t have saved her.”
Saphienne pulled away. “How can you know that?”
Taerelle flinched.
“How can anyone know that?”
Anguish tore at her throat as she broke down, weeping hot and freely.
“I never even tried.”
* * *
Though tears were her companion throughout her years, they could not be constant.
Taerelle walked Saphienne through the dewy woods, taking the long way toward where they planned to meet Thessa at her family’s home. “When I asked if you had new tragedies, that was foolish of me: I should have asked after the old ones, too.”
Saphienne managed a tired smile. “I didn’t realise how upset I’ve been until we were talking… it’s been gnawing at me ever since I learned Laelansa is moving here.”
“No matter. This is why I’m visiting.”
Why the Luminary Vale facilitated her visits. “…I really do want to live in the woodlands. I want to be happy here. I believe it’s possible.”
“If any High Master is listening in right now,” Taerelle dryly said as she peered up to the sky, “then shame on you. Have the decency of character to just be a sexual voyeur, rather than an emotional one.”
Saphienne giggled. “…What if they are? What if they take that personally?”
“Then I’m sorry to say I’ll never be a High Master.” She took Saphienne’s hand. “Nor am I likely to attain a position of prominence within the Luminary Vale. How awful! How in the world will I live with myself?”
Saphienne squeezed back. “…With spite?”
“Warm or cold, prodigy, it keeps the world unfolding.” She lightly shrugged. “Or maybe the quote was about love — I don’t remember.”
That prompted reflection of another kind. “…Do you love Thessa?”
Taerelle’s despairing moan was accompanied by her shoulders slumping. “You can’t just ask me that, Saphienne.”
“You’d rather me ask about your love life, than your love?”
“…What even is love?” Taerelle slowed her pace. “We’re good company; we’re champions in the bedroom; we admire each other; we add to each other’s lives; we’re distracted by thoughts of each other. Does that count as love?” Her sigh was heartfelt. “We stopped fooling around because I was going to move away and there wasn’t any point in getting too invested. Will we do that again, once there’s no more portals? And she’s so much younger than I am–”
Saphienne grinned. “I knew it! That does bother you.”
“Only because I want her to know herself; I wouldn’t want her to suddenly realise she wants to be with a man.”
The magician’s humour was roused by that. “Surely that won’t be an issue, given what you’re wearing under that scarf.”
Taerelle was silent for a time.
“…Prodigy?”
“Master Taerelle?”
“The wilds aren’t that far away. I could have you buried within the hour.”
Saphienne leaned against her. “I love you too. Aren’t wise wizards not meant to get ahead of themselves?”
“…I’m going to feel very silly if I’ve misjudged her intentions,” Taerelle confessed. “I’ll know as soon as she sees the scarf.”
“Do you always wear–”
“Saphienne, my many barbs and jests not withstanding, do you want me to ask you about the things that you do in the bedroom to delight in yourself? No? I thought not.”
Saphienne thought too — very carefully.
“…I wear horns.”
Taerelle nearly tripped.
“I like to fantasise about my partner not being an elf.” She kept her gaze forward, forcing herself to breathe regularly. “Laelansa thinks I shouldn’t be ashamed. I’ve thought about using spells to bring my fantasy to life, but I don’t know whether that would be going too far.”
“…Horns.” Taerelle examined her closely. “…Any particular kind of not-elf?”
Saphienne pretended not to hear.
The diviner pondered. “…I don’t like to think too hard about this, but I have heard that tastes run in families…”
“So?”
Her former tutor let go of her hand. “What happens behind closed doors is nobody else’s concern as long as no one gets hurt… or so long as the hurt isn’t permanent, and they’re consenting…”
Saphienne risked glancing across. “How strange am I?”
Taerelle was smiling with what could only be described as conflicted pride. “Sufficiently strange that I find myself respecting your maturity a little more than I did — which is far more unhealthy than whatever you’re enflamed by. Has this been on your mind as well? That you’re too weird for the woodlands?”
She declined to answer.
“Take joy wherever you can find it.” Taerelle threw an arm around her shoulder. “Whenever you don’t feel that you’re right for the world, or that the world isn’t right for you, I can recommend losing yourself in the arms of an eager lover. Find your equivalent release. Keep ahead of your problems — don’t ruin yourself trying to confront what shouldn’t be confronted, or fighting battles that can’t be won.”
Feeling marginally accepted by Taerelle made doing that more bearable.
“As for this…” She traced the scarf and what it hid with her other hand. “…I don’t wear it all the time. Just when I’m feeling assertive. Which is most times. Non-compelling spells are also fair to use, so long as your partner agrees. Hyacinth obviously would. Does Laelansa?”
“…I’m planning to ask her.” Saphienne willed optimism.
“I like her. I hope you two find happiness.” Taerelle let go and stretched. “Just remember that – if it doesn’t work out – it won’t be the end of the world.”
* * *
I tell this story day and night. Those who hear it in the day hear enough to guess at Saphienne and her reasons; those who listen by night are ofttimes astounded by the depths to which the tale descends in her adulthood, bemused that philosophy and sex, art and desire should intertwine.
Many cannot imagine exposing their private selves so completely. Some doubt that this account could be authentic because of that, since Saphienne herself was seldom forthcoming about her passions. A few have even quit this chamber – at least for a time – having been deterred by the so-called salaciousness resplendent in the appetites on display.
I have been asked how my impartation feels. Do I prefer the elisions in the daytime?
No. Whether or not Saphienne’s intent is realised in what she wrote, and whether or not my performance does justice to her writing, I respect what she willed be done.
You who are drawn toward her; you who suppose to find in her an ideal; you who think that it may be all vapour, illusion; you are challenged to see the whole of the woman as she understood herself.
Even now, the world is what it makes of her.
* * *
Cheerful welcome awaited them at the home on the hill, where Athidyn was delighted to see Taerelle, his approval of her evident as he brought them through to the sitting room. No less concealed was his daughter’s approval when she descended the stairs, attired in a fetching sundress that – in Saphienne’s estimation – emphasised her vulnerability, lips faintly glossed with pink and hair styled in two long braids.
Thessa smiled and quickly looked away when she saw the scarf; Saphienne bit her tongue to stifle her giggles.
Before leaving for her final destination of the morning, Saphienne produced from her satchel the gifts she’d made for Thessa and Taerelle, pressing the painter into acceptance before revealing what had been fashioned.
To Thessa she presented a hand mirror that could capture and reproduce the likenesses of whatever it reflected, thereby allowing the artist to scrutinise her subjects from different sides while sat before her easel. Thessa duly trialled the enchantment by pulling her girlfriend against herself, kissing her cheek as made a record of the wizard’s surprise.
Being an enchanter herself made Taerelle both more and less difficult to provide for.
Lifting one of the two discs from the diviner’s outstretched hand, Thessa turned the rosy gold over, admiring the swirls in the metal. “This looks like thick paint… what are these even for?”
Taerelle closed her fingers over the blackened silver she held, inscrutable as she watched her fellow master. “They’re paired emblems, for use with Tomes of Correspondence. Saphienne, tell me: did you have something else prepared?”
Saphienne clasped her hands together. “There was no need. Sorry, Thessa, but I asked Iolas and Celaena how you acted after Taerelle’s visits. Even if they’d been wrong? I’d have still urged you to write — Laelansa and I worked out our feelings that way.”
The wizard’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t think I’ll soon forget this, prodigy.”
“Um, Saphienne?” Thessa bit her lip. “I don’t have one of those books.”
Then the full weight of the act sank in, and Taerelle closed her eyes. “Of course not: she expects me to make you one.”
Bowing, Saphienne was gleeful. “Master Taerelle?”
“…Yes, Master Saphienne…”
“Do your own fucking crafting.”
* * *
“…This is gorgeous, Saphienne. You didn’t have to make this for me.”
Saphienne glowed where she sat with her tea on the couch opposite Filaurel, fussing over Peluda where the cat sprawled – magnificently pregnant – on her lap. “I wanted to prove to myself that I could.”
The librarian held up the elegant, hyacinth-wreathed wand, charmed by the polished floral fittings as they gleamed in the daylight. “Exquisite. This is a wand, isn’t it? Does it recharge in sunlight? Dare I ask what spell you’ve imbued?”
That Filaurel was learned enough about wizardry to identify what she’d made tickled Saphienne, who wondered once again how her mentor had gleaned so much, and from whom, while outside the woodlands. “There isn’t one. I don’t know what you’d actually find useful, but if you tell me then I’ll prepare it accordingly. And if the spell you need doesn’t exist,” she vowed, “then I’ll create the sigil myself.”
Pleased, Filaurel set the replica of an older wand aside. “Anything that can help with book repairs would see a lot of use… but…” Her eyes sparkled brighter than the fittings. “…If you really do mean that, then a spell that conjured milk would make me incredibly happy.”
Confused, Saphienne glanced at Peluda. “…For the kittens? Cat milk?”
Filaurel burst out laughing.
Horror slowly dawned on Saphienne. “Please tell me you don’t mean elven–”
“Cow’s milk!” Filaurel was holding her sides. “I used to take milk in my tea like you do oat water — but we don’t keep cows here.”
Saphienne’s horror morphed into disgust. “Humans drink cow’s milk? You drank it? But you’re a fully grown woman! Why in the world would you– you have to be joking. Aren’t you? You must be; surely you jest. You can’t possibly be serious. Please tell me you’re not serious. Filaurel, stop laughing!”
* * *
They sat together underneath the weeping willow, Filaurel having finished her account of milk and cheese and other revolting practices that stretched Saphienne’s willingness to embrace foreign cultures.
Saphienne felt ill by the end. She couldn’t wait to tell Faylar.
Then they chatted amiably, sliding inexorably toward what the magician needed to discuss with the librarian.
“…Laelansa and I are getting serious.”
Filaurel canted her head as she banded her hair. “You aren’t already?”
Saphienne’s smile for her was boundless. “You’re the first person who isn’t near our age to assume that.”
“Human courtships are much faster.” She sank back against the trunk. “In my opinion, most elves are just distinctly afraid of commitment.”
“That would explain most relationships I’ve seen…” Saphienne returned her attention to her mentor. “Filaurel, how honest should I be about myself with Laelansa?”
Caught off-guard, Filaurel composed herself before replying. “She’s very religious; I’d ask myself what she really needs to know about you, in order to love you. Everyone’s allowed to keep secrets — especially if those secrets are harmless when concealed, but harmful when exposed.”
Despite knowing that Filaurel had assumed she was talking about her apostasy, that sat poorly with Saphienne. “What if her knowing is important to me?”
Those sea-green eyes who cared for her were worried. “Your safety should be most important. Trust can never be rescinded, Saphienne. What she knows can’t be unknown — not without magic that would make you a truly terrible person, the kind you aren’t.”
Hadn’t she already decided on trust? “…I want your approval.”
Filaurel wavered.
Then, her mentor seemed fragile. “…Do you love her so much you’re prepared for her to hurt you? No matter your dreams, your plans, your certainties; are you willing to carry the pain of losing her for the rest of your life? Forevermore?”
What sort of question was that? She couldn’t just ask– “Yes. Yes, I am.”
Filaurel held her hand. “Then I approve. Be right, Saphienne. Please be right.”
* * *
When came Laelansa’s arrival a week hence, the novice sprinted from the trees atop the overlook to sweep up Saphienne just as she’d done during summertime, ruddied yellow leaving her eyes as Ruddles – her only travelling companion – gave them privacy. This time, there were ecstatic tears, shed in relief that they need never be parted again.
She babbled all the way to the house, talking about her few belongings that would soon follow, asking after their friends, complimenting Saphienne on her pale blonde hair.
Secure against the outside world within the magician’s sanctum, they were quick to begin lovemaking — and not quick to finish.
Then they bathed; then they ate; then Laelansa dozed, Saphienne lying wide awake.
At midnight, Saphienne woke her beloved, announcing that she had something important to share — then invoking Hyacinth to join them.
Laelansa was delighted by the bloomkith’s presence, acquiescing to her possession, then intrigued as Saphienne cast the draconic figment that only the magician and the spirit knew to witness.
“What is it, Saphienne? What is the spell for?”
Saphienne took off the finger rings she no longer needed. “Hyacinth, let her see.”
Then she sat in existential terror, beholding the instant that Laelansa saw.
The die was cast.
End of Chapter 127