novelraw CHAPTER 128 – Such Pitiful Prayers
CHAPTER 128 – Such Pitiful Prayers
What did romantic love mean? Saphienne had asked herself that question for years, never confident that she loved like she ought to love. Joining together with Hyacinth had let her first taste what love could be, but Saphienne hadn’t been sure until she’d known who she was, grasping in retrospect what had been so elusive.
To be loved was to be known and wanted for who one was; to love was to know another and want them for who they were; to be in love was for two halves to form a whole, each loving the other who loved them wholly. Saphienne hadn’t loved herself because she hadn’t known herself, and so she’d doubted.
Yet was it truly possible to know someone else?
Almon’s epistemology said no. Perhaps that was why he struggled to be loved; or perhaps Taerelle was more right about him than she understood.
Saphienne disagreed with her old master. At first she’d chosen to do so for self-serving reasons, deciding that she was better living in hope than dying from fear. Yet in the time before she’d confessed herself to Laelansa a transformation had occurred, unnoticed until the moment they knelt opposite each other atop their bed in the pregnant hush of midnight.
That was when Saphienne realised she wasn’t truly faithless. Although she’d never lived the happy life for which she yearned, she’d committed to try living as though that life were possible, and had placed her faith in Laelansa. She trusted in her lover without restraint, trusted that the woman she adored would prove the merit of what was yet unproven.
What was Saphienne’s faith? That love was greater than fear.
Yet she was still afraid while she stared into searching eyes that widened as Laelansa listened to the bloomkith who yellowed them, seeing there reflected an elven dragon. Spirits and elves communicated very rapidly during possession, which made ominous the prolonged pause while Hyacinth was explaining. How was the novice responding? How were her questions being answered?
Saphienne wished they could talk freely, wished that she could explain herself… but she abided in her faith. Hyacinth, too, held her trust.
“…Gods…”
Was that horror writ on Laelansa’s face? No; she was only overwhelmed. Years were being revisited with knowledge of the wyrd that had secretly shaped them, compelling Laelansa to examine how much of their bonding had been imposed.
“…I had a feeling…”
Was that dejection? Was this to be a rejection?
Laelansa ceased surveying the figment and shook her head, meeting Saphienne’s gaze wordlessly and yet with intense emotion. She was scared; she was unsure; she was trying to read an answer to her future in the woman to whom she’d entrusted herself.
“You weren’t fully honest with me about the horns. I’d guessed there was more going on, and that you would tell me when you were ready.” The novice tried to smile, faltering as she shivered. “I don’t know what to say.”
Neither did Saphienne, who knew only what she wanted to hear.
“…Hyacinth says you have things to show me?”
Scrambling, Saphienne lifted her spellbook from the nightstand to uncover the pendant she’d concealed underneath, passing the red scale to Laelansa.
Her beloved was reverent as she held the keepsake, tracing the contours delicately, whispering the inscription that was translated by Hyacinth. “…Léonore. Very pretty. This is from a dragon?”
She nodded. “I have fragments of drake scales I can show you… and Vestaele has one shed by Parthenos that I could ask–”
“I believe you.”
Saphienne trembled.
Laelansa set down the pendant. “Your injury?”
Shaking as she held out her hand, Saphienne moved her fingers more fluidly than should have been possible without her enchanted support, her hallucinatory claws glinting in the silvery night.
Hesitation; Laelansa tentatively touched her palm, stroking over familiar skin before circling around to the rougher texture on the back of her hand. Spellbound, the novice trailed down to feel the sharpness of the claws, nearly disbelieving as they pricked–
Then Laelansa linked fingers with Saphienne. “Is this who you really are?”
Tears made hazy the woman she loved. “Yes.”
Laelansa squeezed. “Are you happy like this?”
She affirmed that she was. “…But only because of you.”
A sigh; the blur Laelansa had become shuffled closer on the bed. “I love you. I don’t know what this means for us, but I love you, Saphienne. I don’t want to hurt you, yet I need to ask you questions.”
“We can’t– we shouldn’t–”
“Hyacinth can play messenger.” Carefully – mindful of the claws – Laelansa raised Saphienne’s hand to her lips. “I just need to understand you better; I’m not running away from you. You’re still the Saphienne I love.”
Speech was physically impossible, but mercifully unnecessary.
* * *
“Why didn’t you say something before?”
“I didn’t know before. I suspected, but I had to be sure before I told you.”
“Does being an elf make you unhappy?”
“I’m not an elf; I tried being an elf all my life. I’ve elven ancestry, and I might look like you, but I don’t think and feel like an elf in the ways that matter. I’m not myself when I’m pretending.”
“What about your appearance? The way I see you now — is that how you want to be, or do you want to go further?”
“I don’t know. Having horns and claws, scales and a tail, draconic eyes… it’s right in a way that I can’t explain. I also enjoy having hair, and curves, and softness.”
“Maybe you’re not fully a dragon? Dragons have children with draconic features, don’t they? I’m not trying to tell you what you are — I’m just trying to understand.”
“You think I might be a half-elf, but there isn’t any such thing. The children of elves and humans are mortal elves… or maybe elven humans? However they decide, the same principle applies to me. What I’m trying to tell you is that the woodlands have decided elves and dragons are categorically distinct; insofar as the terms have meaning, and I’m forced to choose, I’m far more dragon than elf.”
“What about your mother?”
“I don’t know. We have a lot of the same tendencies… and I know she doesn’t feel like she’s an elf. Maybe she’d be like me if she understood herself better; maybe she was like me, before Tolduin interfered with her mind. She’s more comfortable pretending to be an elf than I am, and she has enough problems that I don’t want to take the risk of suggesting anything that might cause her – and myself – more troubles.”
“…If you are a dragon, then what do you want to do? What comes next?”
* * *
Saphienne had recovered enough to answer aloud, sending Hyacinth back across through their linked hands. “I want to live happily with you, here, in the woodlands. I think being able to be myself with you… maybe along with other people I love… is enough for me to be content. If we’re extremely patient, there’s a chance the future might be kinder.”
Opening her mouth to reply, Laelansa reconsidered, opting to be cryptic as the yellow faded from her gaze and a breeze stirred around her shoulders. “You don’t intend on anything else? You don’t want to… do things… like in the stories?”
Saphienne found herself smiling for the first time — but wilted as she saw Laelansa taken aback by her sharp teeth. “…The stories aren’t right. They’re not the full view. That isn’t me.”
Satisfied, Laelansa looked down at the tail curled beside Saphienne, her frown slight yet signalling enduring consternation.
Nervousness made Saphienne let go of her hand. “Are you… am I still attractive?”
“You’re beautiful.” Laelansa raised her head, able to smirk. “You’ve always had a good eye for fashion… and I really did mean what I said when we went hunting.”
She liked her horns!
“That isn’t what worries me.” Mirth fading, Laelansa bit her lip. “I know I love you, I just don’t know what else I feel right now. That must frighten you, mustn’t it? You must be scared of me.”
She was. “I trust you.”
“I won’t hurt you.” Laelansa reached back out, recapturing Saphienne’s hand, her stare insistent. “I swear by my patron goddess: I won’t decide or do anything without talking to you first. You’ve been honest with me… I owe you the same.”
Saphienne let herself believe, and was moved by the promise, rising to sit beside the woman who hadn’t fully accepted – yet still hadn’t rejected – her revealed self. “Are you afraid of me?”
Smiling bittersweetly, Laelansa laid an arm around her scaled shoulders. “Saphienne, whatever else you are, you’d never willingly harm me. No, I’m not afraid of you. Everything else terrifies me.”
“I’m sorry, Laelansa.” Saphienne leaned against her. “I’m sorry. I never asked to be the way I am, but I’m sorry for being difficult.”
“Please don’t say that.” Reaching for the covers, Laelansa pulled them up, urging Saphienne to lie down beside her in the bed. “Being with you is easier for me than spending time with anyone else. You should never apologise for how the gods made you.”
“…They’re not who made me like this…”
The novice’s certainty wavered. “…Who can say? Just hold me. I’ll pray for us.”
She did, wishing all the while that she could curl her tail around the woman she desired so fervently to keep.
* * *
Hyacinth waited until they were settled before returning to Saphienne, creeping up the steps to where her master perched brooding. “She will request some time apart from you; the elf must be alone to think this through.”
“I’ll give her whatever space she needs.” The night sky over the library held the faintest glimmer of stars.
Laying down at Saphienne’s feet, the bloomkith was firm. “Do not deter me from this path I choose: she, I will follow; you, I will not lose.”
Saphienne raised no objection.
* * *
Laelansa was more distant than before. She made an obvious effort not to be – hugging Saphienne whenever an excuse arose, talking light-heartedly about their plans and how she was settling with Nelathiel – but she was uneasy across the days that followed, studying her lover whenever she thought she went unseen.
Saphienne intuited what she was wondering. How could the woman she loved so passionately be anything like the monster she had seen at the lake? Generations of stories warned that dragons were dangerous, their appetites limitless, their cruelties fathomless, and reconciling that cultural inheritance with what she saw would take time.
Yet there were clues all might be well. Hyacinth reported that she said nothing to the priest about what she now knew during their hours apart, and that she’d not invoked Ruddles either. That last sign was particularly relieving to Hyacinth, for there would have been no way to eavesdrop on their conversation.
Letting the bloomkith spy on Laelansa sat poorly with Saphienne, but there wasn’t any alternative: the spirit was going to keep watch irrespective of what her master wanted, and it was better to have one less unknown to fret about.
Far from ordinary, life nevertheless went on as usual.
* * *
“Don’t you find her heavy?”
Saphienne smiled at Celaena as they strolled together through the sunny woods, reaching up to gently stroke Minina’s back where she clung to her shoulder. “Only when she jumps on me — and she’s become much better mannered as she’s grown up. Now she only pounces when she’s very excited.”
Minina clearly understood what was being said, because she shuffled around to wave a foreleg at Celaena.
The apprentice wizard giggled. “What does that mean?”
“She’s telling you that I’m correct about her.” Saphienne lowered her hand to clasp Celaena’s. “She’s also reminding you that she’s right here; you can talk to her directly.”
Humming to herself, Celaena addressed the spider. “…I’m self-conscious. I don’t know how to read you like Saphienne; I wouldn’t want to upset you and not know.”
Minina faced Saphienne, tapped her neck, then shifted around to raise both forelegs toward Celaena.
“What does she–” Celaena paused to correct herself. “What do you want, Minina?”
Saphienne halted. “Such good manners! She wants onto your shoulder, and is asking for our permission.”
Weighing the request, Celaena was perturbed as she contemplated the spider, but then switched focus to Minina’s caretaker; Saphienne observed her deciding that being unnerved was unbecoming of a wizard. “Please don’t jump,” she asked, moving closer.
Her flinch as Minina crawled over entertained Saphienne.
“Don’t laugh! She feels so strange.” Celaena tried to keep her eye on the aberration as they resumed their ramble.
“You were fine having her in your lap this afternoon.”
“That was different…”
Minina understood her discomfort, and settled down to enjoy the scenery.
Saphienne squeezed Celaena’s palm. “You feel vulnerable. She really doesn’t bite; the only time she ever caught me with her fangs was when she was little and fumbled a jump. She tried to hold on, and was very apologetic when I yelped.”
Minina sank a little lower.
“She also doesn’t have venom any more, in case you’re wondering.”
Celaena wouldn’t admit her concerns, but she relaxed a little as she petted the spider. “I suppose you don’t really need it to hunt fruits and vegetables, do you?”
Removing her venom had been a deliberate choice to make her less threatening; Saphienne still wasn’t sure how large the spider would grow. The magician’s theory was that her growth had been demanded to support the expanded intelligence that Rydel had bestowed upon her, and indeed, Minina was no longer rapidly increasing in size now that she’d reached the limits of her cognition.
Minina could count to one hundred, could perform very simple addition and subtraction, and her comprehension of qualities – like colour, and temperature – went beyond what even wolves could learn. She understood about a thousand words of Elfish, could follow most sentences, and while her capacity for abstract thought was limited, she was able to reason through very obvious implications. Alas, despite the vision of her larger eyes being excellent, and despite very patiently trying to learn, the aberration couldn’t recognise written symbols well enough to read, much to her endearing and enduring disappointment.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Saphienne hadn’t mentioned it to Celaena, but that was what Minina had been attempting to do, earlier, when she’d settled on the apprentice’s lap during their tutoring session.
* * *
“‘…Therefore, though diligent practice will result in the most trivial sigils being reproduced in mind upon the moment of their casting, this method cannot be applied to sigils belonging to the First Degree or higher. Whether there exist techniques capable of accomplishing the same for more complex reifications of the Great Art is a question only the High Masters might answer.’” Celaena had set the book between herself and Iolas on the couch, paying no attention to Minina when she crawled over to keep staring. “You don’t use this technique, do you?”
Having been pacing with her hands behind her back, Saphienne inclined her embellished head toward her students. “Correct, Apprentice Celaena, I do not. While I memorise sigils the same as you, I do not cast them like a wizard does, and so they are not expended.”
Iolas set down his enchanted pen. “Master Saphienne, if it wouldn’t be impertinent to ask… since you don’t employ this method yourself, how can you realistically help us?”
“A fair question!” She turned to them, gesturing with one hand, her clawed finger rings gleaming. “Conventional wisdom is that sorcerers cannot teach wizards, and wizards cannot teach sorcerers. Understanding how this wisdom came about, I believe it is wrong, and the reason why lies in what spellcraft actually is.”
When she didn’t proceed to explain, Iolas’ lips twisted. “You want us to define it?”
“If you can. You haven’t been given a formal definition, have you?”
Celaena shook her head. “I’ve noticed the word is used in different contexts…”
“Enumerate them, please — together.”
Keen to try, Iolas sat forward. “For one, there’s the actual contemplation and memorisation of sigils.”
Encouraging them, Saphienne held up a finger to count.
“Then,” Celaena added, “there’s the casting of spells.”
“Making spells,” Iolas went on. “The crafting of sigils is literal spellcraft, isn’t it?”
Three digits raised, Saphienne waited.
Celaena squinted at her tutor. “…Does our comprehension of the disciplines and how they can be applied count as spellcraft?”
Grinning, Saphienne half-raised a finger.
That made her smile as she stroked Minina’s leg. “Not the theoretical knowledge: our faculty with applying that knowledge counts as spellcraft, doesn’t it?”
“Good.” Saphienne raised the finger fully. “Anything else?”
Glancing down at the pen he’d been gifted, Iolas was inspired. “Enchanting! The act of enchanting counts as spellcraft, doesn’t it?”
“Very well done, both of you.” Saphienne held up her palm. “Sigils, spellcasting, composition, arcana, and enchanting are commonly counted under the term. I wouldn’t read too deeply into the numerology: there may be other, obscure practices that count as spellcraft.”
“Arcana?”
“Arcana, Apprentice Iolas, are secrets of magical relevance.” Pacing to her chair, Saphienne descended regally, flicking her tail-like belt to the side with a subtle swing of her hips before she sat. “This is far beyond what you need to grasp, but I’m not forbidden to tell you: what you can accomplish with your magic isn’t simply dependent on what your understanding of the world allows you to affect.”
She had their attention, Celaena ushering Minina onto the book. “How so?”
“Take fire as an example: your understanding of fire shapes how your spells interact with flames, but fire itself holds secrets of magical significance.” She clicked her claws together as she weighed how much she dared share. “Dragons use their arcana to achieve what no elven wizard can. Similarly, I know of a spell combining Divination and Fascination that depends on an arcanum derived from the practices of Invocation.”
“What about the secrets of the degrees?”
“They are among the most fundamental, and potent, of arcana.” Saphienne yearned to reveal more… and she sighed, letting her tutoring persona lapse. “There’s so much I’d love to tell you about that topic, but I can’t. Not until you’ve caught up to me. If it’s any consolation, I recognise the merit in making you try for yourselves.”
Celaena was accepting. “Father says that apprenticeship is preparing us to stand as wizards on our own two feet, so that we will one day have the confidence and independence to engage with our peers.”
Yet Iolas was sceptical, putting his writing board aside. “There are other ways to teach people confidence and independence. Master Folwin didn’t teach me to be a good calligrapher by making me puzzle it all out for myself: he showed me what was involved, then had me practice under guidance.”
“Figuring things out for ourselves is
the practice, isn’t it?”They looked to Saphienne for comment.
“…The answer from the Luminary Vale is that the pursuit of the Great Art is ultimately a solitary endeavour. Wizards and sorcerers may collaborate, but at the end of the day, you will have to wrestle with magic alone — and in deep confusion.”
Iolas folded his arms. “And what says Master Saphienne?”
“I’m more sympathetic to your plight.” She rose and drifted over to peer out the window, addressing them from where she was standing beside the couch. “One of the reasons I progressed so quickly is that they turned me loose to read everything permissible for an apprentice, and that let me infer answers to my questions more easily. Yet I understand why wizards are made to feel through their first casting without direct guidance, and I also think there is sense in making you piece together the secret of the First Degree for yourselves. Painful as it is, doing that helps in the longer term.”
“Apart from those fundamentals,” Iolas pressed her, “should there be more guidance? The fact you’re tutoring us says you think there should be.”
“Why, Apprentice Iolas!” Her grin reflected the afternoon sun. “Might this be a prelude to asking for help with your spellcraft?”
His blush was mild.
She sat on the arm of the couch. “Since we reviewed theory for Apprentice Celaena, let us see whether we cannot improve on your condition. What is your specific issue?”
“Translating theory into practice. I understand what I’m supposed to do with the mnemonics, but fitting my subjective experience of sigils into them is–”
Saphienne clapped her hands, rings clattering. “Assumption!”
His gaze was blank. “…You’ve lost me.”
“Apprentice Celaena,” Saphienne turned to her, “can you explain?”
The woman beside the magician crossed her legs. “No… I can’t spot an assumption in what he said.”
Could she guide them to the answer? There was nothing to prohibit Saphienne from encouraging them to develop their own approaches. “Apprentice Iolas: on the night that we met, when your master set the terms through which we contested each other calligraphically, what was it that you were tasked to do?”
Utterly perplexed, Iolas recalled the facts. “He showed me a poem, and commanded me to make it beautiful.”
“And how did you do this?”
His nod came slowly. “…I interpreted it. I wrote it out, emphasising the most important elements in a way that best demonstrated my style.”
Celaena inhaled in revelation. “We’re being challenged to understand, and then to frame our understanding through our personal spellcraft! That’s– that would imply– the difference in the resonance of spells between spellcasters, is that–”
“Excellent.” Saphienne rose. “Art, Apprentice Iolas; I stressed before that you are both artists. Define spellcraft for me now.”
He laughed as he settled back against the cushions. “Spellcraft is how the magician works with magic; how we approach our spells with our craft. I had it the wrong way around.”
“Apprentice Celaena finds poetry in her numbers; Apprentice Iolas finds poetry in his words. Does your approach to the Great Art reflect what moves you?” Saphienne had gone as far as she could risk. “Were it possible to teach you my spellcraft, then all I would accomplish would be making you into bad facsimilia of me — that is not the objective of your studies. Thus concludes our review for today.”
* * *
Minina was excited to see rabbits for the first time, so much so that Saphienne had to remind her pet not to jump as Celaena coaxed them closer. Skittish, they declined to approach until Saphienne remembered she was still wearing her horned headpiece and pulled up her hood.
“Does she pounce animals?” Celaena whispered while the spider was distracted.
“If she gets carried away. She’s not trying to eat them — she never bites.” Saphienne crouched down with Celaena, affectionately running the back of her fingers along the arachnid’s abdomen. “She caught a squirrel once. Poor thing was frozen in shock, and Minina didn’t know what to do. She was embarrassed afterwards.”
Celaena was amused. “Must be confusing for her, to have hunting instincts she doesn’t need. Couldn’t you change her a little more?”
“Not easily. I’d need samples of spiders close to her semblance that don’t…”
Whatever Saphienne was going to say faded away as she noticed a dark figure watching them both from a distance. Rophana – senior apprentice to Almon – was standing in the open, some thirty feet away.
As Saphienne watched, the woman in black robes raised her hand in greeting. Her smile was reserved yet pleasant.
“…Good afternoon.” Saphienne stood. “I believe you’re Rophana?”
“I am,” the woman answered with a bow, her stride leisurely as she then joined them. “I don’t mean to intrude…”
Cynical about her intentions, Saphienne opted to be candid. “I think not: you’ve been hovering around me for months now.”
As Rophana stopped before the rabbits her smile deepened, her complexion girlish — made more so by the daisies that were rooted in her hairline upon her left temple. “Master Taerelle and I weren’t close, and I’ve been unsure how best to introduce myself.”
“She didn’t say much about you…” Saphienne remembered her indifference. “…Just that you weren’t intending to apply to the Luminary Vale.”
The senior apprentice’s laugh was subdued. “She told me I was boring; Rydel said that was worse than her disliking me.”
Celaena had risen as well, and was wary when she spoke. “Good afternoon, Apprentice Rophana. For what reason have you been stalking Master Saphienne?”
Rophana pursed her lips. “…I suppose I have been.”
Scrutinising her pale brown eyes, Saphienne didn’t perceive embarrassment. “You’re quite religious, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Nor unsteadiness.
Protective of Saphienne, Celaena slid her hand into the deep pocket of her outer robes, much too casually.
That spurred Saphienne forward. “Would you happen to have a patron god?”
“Our Lady of the Chosen Moment…” Her placid countenance cracked, self-awareness leaking through. “…Whose blessing I’m presently lacking. This is why I wouldn’t make a good priest. My apologies; I’ll go.”
Sympathy made Saphienne call after her. “Wait! Were you just wanting to meet me?”
Rophana didn’t turn around immediately — and was guarded when she did. “…For the present. I wanted to get to know you. Much has been said about you, a lot of it contradictory, and I intended to see who you actually were underneath; spirits can be just as mistaken about people as elves are. I’m an empiricist.”
Celaena was derisive. “An empiricist? Yet you’re religious?”
The woman in black robes didn’t wilt. “Yes. Call me mad if you like.”
Before Laelansa had confessed the source of her faith, Saphienne would have been quick to do so. “Did your goddess tell you to wait to talk to me?”
“She’s never told me anything. Life would be much easier if She did.”
That earned a tired smile. “You’d get along well with my girlfriend, I think. Come by in the afternoon next week — I’ll introduce you.”
Recognising the kindness she was being extended, Rophana bowed again, accepting then and offering her well-wishes before she took her leave.
“…She’s odd.” Celaena withdrew her hand from her pocket. “I don’t know what to make of her.”
“Forget Rophana.” Saphienne cast the Second Sense as she rounded on the apprentice, gaze narrow as she felt the red threat throbbing beneath her dim grey robes. “You’re an idiot. What were you thinking? What was your father thinking, giving you another? Don’t ever try to come to my defence again — didn’t you learn your lesson?”
Celaena flushed as she patted her side. “Another? You mean this rod? He gave me this when I turned eighteen — there were witnesses.”
“Don’t try my patience.” Saphienne wanted to shake her. “I can protect myself! Apprentice Celaena, for as long as you remain an apprentice, never try come to the defence of a wizard, you’ll only get–”
Minina interrupted by leaping back onto Saphienne’s shoulder, a golden thread hanging between the magician and the friend she admonished as the spider urgently tapped both forelegs against her cheek. Both women soothed the aberration, who was as reassured as they were to hear they weren’t seriously fighting, and that both still loved each other very much.
* * *
Lynnariel wasn’t at her house when Saphienne arrived with provisions.
Worried, Saphienne checked all the rooms, then fetched a bowl from the kitchen and sat down to study her spellbook. Whether or not the sigil for scrying recognised she was in no mood for delay, it offered no resistance as she substituted it into place, was quick to answer when she readied–
The front door abruptly opened and shut.
Saphienne stared as her mother leant back against it with closed eyes, Lynnariel faintly perspiring, beaming to herself.
“…Mother?”
Startled, having not spotted her daughter in her haste to enter, Lynnariel reddened as she took off her coat and hung it beside the door. “Darling! I didn’t see you there. Did you bring supplies for tonight?”
Absently setting the bowl on the arm of the couch, Saphienne went over to hug her mother more firmly than was typical. “They’re in the kitchen… I haven’t put them away. Where were you?”
“I was out.” Lynnariel was triumphal as she bustled through to the kitchen. “I wrote some letters. I was going to give them to you, but then I thought to myself, ‘It’s not very far to hand them over, why not try dropping them off?’”
Saphienne’s smile was immediate and brilliant. “You went into the village? By yourself?”
“I did!” Filling the kettle, Lynnariel pirouetted before she placed it down to boil. “And the letters are sent! I only had a small panic to myself, on the way back.”
“That’s wonderful!” Saphienne caught her hands and squeezed. “Mother, I’m so proud of you! But who were you writing to?”
Her green gaze shone with happiness. “I wrote to Phelorna, and to your father. I wanted to let them know I’m much better now.”
Cheer diminishing, Saphienne kept her smile fixed in place. “Why?”
“Because they care about me.” Lynnariel pulled away and started picking through the foodstuff brought by her daughter. “I’m hoping they’ll come to visit again… though your father might take convincing…”
“Mother…” Saphienne’s heart was heavy. “…I’m sorry, but Delred doesn’t care about you; he never did.”
Lynnariel laughed.
“The last time he was here, I overheard him boasting about how you wanted him.”
Her mother set down the jar of honey she was holding. “Oh, that’s just how he is.”
Saphienne blinked. “…Pardon?”
“Your father would rather die than be thought too serious.” Lynnariel giggled as she hopped up on the counter to sit beside the jar. “Not that we ever were serious about each other. He tried very hard to pretend at first, but as naïve as I was, I wasn’t foolish.”
Feeling as though a yawning chasm had opened up before her, Saphienne pulled out a chair and sat down. “He tried to seduce you?”
“He’d made a wager.” Reminiscing, Lynnariel idly played with her locks. “He swore to his friends he’d have ‘that beauty in the window’ before the end of the festival, or he’d pierce his ears. He was drunk at the time. Later that day he came back with his lyre and played lovely music for me, then offered me flowers…”
Observing how her mother snorted would have floored Saphienne were she still on her feet. “…You refused him?”
“It drove him wild. Your father was used to girls just throwing themselves at him.”
“…How…”
“Darling,” her mother grinned, “I wanted him. I’d been sat by the window all morning — looking pretty as the crowds strolled by. His was the only shout I responded to. I kept him waiting until the very end of the last day before I let him in.”
Saphienne blinked repeatedly.“You seduced Delred?”
“I wouldn’t call it seduction… there was nothing romantic between us. I was tired of my own company; I wanted to fu–”
“Mother.”
“Saphienne?”
“…But he’s awful!”
Lynnariel smiled sadly. “Delred didn’t want to be a father, but he did what he could to support me. And he’s sweeter than he pretends: we didn’t just fuck when he visited. We liked talking honestly about life. You remind me of him — an artist, so full of emotions, so conflicted about sharing them…”
Saphienne wouldn’t hear it. “He’s entirely selfish.”
“Not entirely. But so what if he’s selfish? What does it matter? We’ve never pretended to love each other. We just had fun together…” She slipped to her feet. “…Isn’t that enough?”
* * *
Laelansa entered not long thereafter – confused by the bowl abandoned in the sitting room – with fresh venison, kissing Saphienne on the cheek before she set to work helping Lynnariel prepare the meal for their guests.
Faylar and Laewyn brought dessert from the bakery when they arrived, the latter mildly inebriated as she hugged Saphienne and sprawled on the couch.
“She’s not had too much,” Faylar promised. “She’s just nervous. Ironic, given she’s here for moral support…”
His mother followed not long after. “Why is it,” Alavara teased Laewyn as she settled into an armchair, “that I’ve invited you to dinner for years, and you’ve never once agreed… but you accept an invitation from Saphienne immediately?”
Lynnariel spared Laewyn by coming through from the kitchen with wine and glasses. “Saphienne wasn’t the one who invited her! Pleased to meet you, Alavara. Would you care for a drink?”
Faylar murmured to Saphienne where they loitered near the entrance. “We can still run away, you know; I hear the wilds are lovely at this time of year.”
“Tempting…” Saphienne watched their mothers exchanging pleasantries, amazed by how well her own was doing while mostly sober. “…But dinner smells delicious. Let’s see how it tastes before we go.”
* * *
The meal was excellent, and Lynnariel got along well with Alavara, having been warned in advance not to ask about her chosen art. Faylar’s mother had been similarly forewarned not to mention what she did, and was friendly and made amiable conversation, her curiosity at having been invited to dinner satisfied once she realised the younger woman was repaying a measure of the hospitality she’d shown Saphienne.
Best of all, Laelansa reached for Saphienne’s hand under the table.
Eventually Alavara returned to earlier playfulness. “So, Laewyn: does this mean you might stay for dinner one night?”
Blushing beneath the laughter that rippled around the table, Laewyn downed the last of her wine before replying. “If I confess my guilt now, will you go easy on me?”
Lynnariel raised her eyebrows. “Confess?”
Saphienne quickly cov–
“Alavara is a Warden of the Wilds.” Laewyn lifted the bottle to refill her glass, oblivious to the dread she’d prompted.
Lynnariel was quiet for a long, terrible moment.
Mercifully, she only shrugged, holding her glass out. “I should have guessed why Saphienne was fretting. Would you mind pouring me another?”
Alavara exhaled and lifted her own. “Me as well, please, Laewyn. You don’t mind what I do?”
Laewyn frowned as she emptied the bottle. “No? Why would I mind?”
Faylar nudged her. “She wasn’t talking to you.”
Mirthful, Lynnariel sipped before she answered. “…I shouldn’t. You’re not who brought me to the woodlands. Even the person who did wasn’t being cruel, were they? Life is much easier here.” She glanced to Saphienne. “And if that hadn’t happened, where would we all be?”
Relieved grins showed on all faces but Saphienne’s.
Her mother caught her expression. “Being brought here upset me… but dwelling on it won’t make it any better.” She canted her head as she spoke to Alavara. “Anyway, don’t you spend most of your time keeping people safe? That’s what I’m told wardens do.”
“Debatable,” conceded Alavara. “We mostly try to discourage anyone from stupidity. I used to catch Laewyn drinking when she was young — not that it ever did much good.”
Laewyn rolled her eyes. “…She gave goblins less grief…”
The warden tutted. “Wrong time to make that joke. They’ve been causing trouble in the protectorates — and not just the protectorates. We’re soon to drive them out again, for what little peace it’ll bring.”
Foreboding made Saphienne let go of Laelansa. “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
Alavara was unconcerned. “Nothing worse than ever. Stealing crops…” She chuckled to Saphienne. “…You might find this funny, but they’ve been back at that shrine you favour. They keep leaving trinkets scattered around the offering trees. You didn’t notice any when you visited, did you?”
Saphienne had been preoccupied with Hyacinth.
“Well, they won’t be causing trouble for much longer. Danyn is organising our response — and he can’t stand goblins. They won’t have a gentle time with him, the piteous things.”
End of Chapter 128