novelraw CHAPTER 130 – The Mysterium
CHAPTER 130 – The Mysterium
Against all expectation, Almon was too proud that Celaena had attained the First Degree to revisit his prior suspicions toward her tutor. That she had done so in seven years was promising — most apprentices took a decade to don the black, necessitating she receive additional lessons before she could be taught alongside her fellow senior apprentices.
“Since you’re so keen to be of use,” her master told Saphienne, “I will write a summary of what she must learn. Do not be mistaken: you will simply be preparing Celaena, prior to her proper instruction by me.”
This was the closest he would ever come to admitting Saphienne had shown herself a capable instructor.
“I don’t understand him,” Saphienne later admitted to Laelansa and Lynnariel as she sat with them before the fireplace in her mother’s house. “He spent an hour interrogating me about Iolas’ sudden progress with mnemonics, only to immediately accept that Celaena had worked out the secret of the First Degree on her own.”
Lynnariel was trying her hand at knitting – to little success – and was eager for an excuse to put down her needles. “I can’t make sense of wizardry, but… did you persuade him the first time?”
“I considered that. I also considered that he chose to believe I hadn’t given her improper assistance, so he could let himself take pride in her accomplishment. Yet why then give me the responsibility of actually educating her? Previously, he was opposed to me teaching new material.”
Laelansa smiled where she curled into her side. “Is it possible he never believed you might have broken his rules? From what I know about you two, he’d sooner die than admit he’s fond of you.”
“Almon isn’t…” Saphienne paused. “…He isn’t fond of me, but you might be onto something. While I was visiting him, he shared information that I wasn’t strictly entitled to know. He wouldn’t have done that if he distrusted me.”
“Does he know how to show affection?” The novice’s question was tinged with sadness. “Nothing you’ve ever said about him suggests he does…”
“He’s congratulated me on my achievements, many times.”
“That’s not the same.”
Lynnariel had been listening while picking at the knot she’d make. “I struggled with showing Saphienne I loved her. I learned things to do and say, but it wasn’t…” She tossed the wool aside. “I didn’t have experience of being loved by a mother. I only felt loved by one of the other girls.”
Saphienne and her mother were much alike. “I don’t think Almon is capable of loving anyone other than himself.”
Laelansa frowned. “That’s unkind. Only people born broken are incapable of love; the stories say even dragons can love.”
Saphienne narrowed her eyes. “So they do — but Almon isn’t a dragon.”
“He isn’t like Lensa, either. Why do you think he can’t love?”
Answering her fully was forbidden. “His magical praxis excludes the possibility. ‘I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw or heard or came not but from myself,’ as he says. He thinks anything beyond his experience of himself is unknowable.”
The woman Saphienne held against her gave a tender smile. “Didn’t you recently tell me that you have to love yourself to love someone else?”
“Yes,” she blushed, “but you also have to embrace the other person. They can’t just be an extension of yourself… you have to respect them as an equal. Self-love is incomplete without love from someone else.”
“You’re awfully sure about him. He’s a master of Hallucination, isn’t he?”
Saphienne rolled her eyes. “So am I, Laelansa; I’m better at it than he is.”
“I’m just wondering… is it possible he misled you about his praxis? I don’t think someone can really live as a solipsist. Why teach, if you’re only teaching yourself?”
How could she explain without disclosing what ought to be kept hidden? All the evidence indicated Almon was as self-absorbed as he professed, particularly what Saphienne now realised about why he hadn’t discerned the secret of the Third Degree:
We are in a reciprocal relationship with magic.
To cast spells of sophistication required more than control over one’s thoughts, feelings, and perceptions — the magician had to engage with her sigils in trust, both speaking and listening, giving and taking. External contingency required autonomy. How could her magic fulfil her designs if she insisted on absolute command?
Memorising sigils had become even easier since she’d accepted they were truly independent, animated through a mystery of the Great Art. Whether or not their appearance was shaped by her being, they wanted a relationship with her, and the more complex and potent the mark the more it could insist on terms. Least sigils were happy with acknowledgement, but those counted within the degrees required increasingly sophisticated collaboration to bring forth.
Almon’s magical praxis ran counter to this need. He lacked for reciprocity, insisted that he was only moved by himself. Laelansa could tease all she wanted: for all dragons inclined toward solitude, they were entirely situated in the world they understood, not deluded by their own majesty. To be a dragon was to be a tyrant… but tyranny took many forms, and encompassed multitudes. Her former master strained to accommodate anyone other than himself.
“I don’t think he’s lying.” Peacock fluttered through her thoughts. “Not to me. He’s certainly as hypocritical as anyone else, so I suppose he could be deceiving himself about who he really is. But then…” Her lips twisted in a knowing smile. “…Who decides who we really are? If he chooses to make himself his only certainty in the entire world, what’s to say that isn’t who he is?”
Lynnariel lifted her knitting needles, trying again. “Being a wizard seems lonely.”
Hearing that from her mother made Saphienne laugh aloud. “…You don’t know how right you are…”
Laelansa snuggled closer. “Nobody has to be lonely all the time.”
“I hope so; I believe in a better way.” She stared into the dancing tongues as she contemplated that sentiment.
* * *
Faith that the world could be better bound Saphienne and her partner more tightly than ever before. They had made love every day since their journey to the clearing, and though they remained playful, their intimacy was guided by mutual vulnerability that precluded the games of status to which they usually inclined.
That night, after they were finished, Laelansa traced her fingers down Saphienne’s arm as they lay together in the magician’s childhood bed. “I’ve been thinking…”
“That we ought to request a larger bedframe and mattress?”
Laelansa giggled. “Call me odd, but I like not having as much space. No, I’ve been thinking about us…”
Saphienne wasn’t worried as she rolled over to face her lover. “What about us?”
“How we are in the bedroom.” The magician’s beloved pursed her lips. “That figment you would sneak away to cast… you haven’t cast it since you showed it to me.”
Anxiety briefly roused in Saphienne; she calmed herself. “You look at me the way I want to be seen. I don’t need it with you — I’m the same with Hyacinth.”
“…That’s a shame.”
Saphienne’s heart skipped a beat. “…You want to–”
“Not now.” Laelansa yawned as she nuzzled against Saphienne’s neck. “Or, I don’t want to do more tonight. I would like to, though. I’m a little scared, but that isn’t a deterrent… more the opposite…”
Were they not both spent, Saphienne would have obliged immediately. Ever since Laelansa had accepted she was a dragon, she’d been seized by the desire to bite her neck whenever they coupled, restraining herself in fear of overstepping. “You’re sure?”
“…Would you trim your nails?”
Although she habitually kept her fingernails short, her illusory claws were sharp. “I’ll file them down. But, are you really–”
Laelansa kissed her throat. “I want to be with you. I’m not pretending.”
…Saphienne wished Laelansa had raised the subject half an hour ago…
“Would you hold me tonight, Saphienne? Like the night you showed me?”
She slid upright and beckoned the blue sigil glittering in her inner sky, which responded with elegant haste, aligning with her seamlessly, neither gestures nor incantations necessary to swath herself with its silvery haze.
Laelansa sat up to watch, aware of what was invisibly coalescing, focusing her attention to see the woman she adored–
Saphienne grinned at her beloved’s gasp. “That’s impressive; most apprentice wizards can’t will themselves to see a figment they know about, not unless they’ve been introduced while it’s ongoing.” Her pupils were thin, adoring lines. “It takes powerful belief…”
Smiling an unashamedly foolish smile, Laelansa touched the scales that ran across Saphienne’s wrists, sliding her palms up the both arms to feel their texture before she hung her hands from slender, speckled shoulders. “Even when you surprised me, part of me saw how this suited you… and I wondered.”
“…If I wasn’t tired…”
“Tomorrow.” Laelansa promised them both. “Claim me tomorrow.”
“…Laelansa? Don’t say things like; not unless you want me, here and now.”
Giggles greeted her yearning. The novice lay down, wide eyes beautiful in the low light as she studied Saphienne. “Am I allowed to explore? Or would that enflame you?”
Even were she to be driven mad, Saphienne could never have refused. “Do whatever you wish,” she whispered as she stretched out beside her. “I want you to be comfortable.”
What followed was a sensual exploration made lethargic only through drowsiness, Laelansa tracing every contour, every sharpness. She particularly admired Saphienne’s horns, examining where they emerged with reverence; she spent especially long stroking the frills that ran along the uppermost part of the prehensile tail that flicked in frustrated contentment. Then she pressed herself to Saphienne and rested, her smile palpable against her beloved when she felt warmth coiling around her leg in a possessive squeeze.
Despite the narrow bed, they both slept well.
* * *
Upholding her word, Saphienne recast the spell the next morning while they were bathing, then sat patiently filing down her claws and talons, blunting them so that her touch wouldn’t draw blood.
Do you find that strange? Recall that Hallucination depends upon the suspension of disbelief — and that both women had convinced themselves the veil was better understood as an unveiling of what the magician was. This was no costume, no mere cosmetic to be altered during its application. They were very serious about her draconic manifestation.
As were they about their cause.
* * *
“Theology?”
Laelansa and Saphienne were seated cross-legged on the furs beside the low fire that crackled below the shrine to Our Lord of the Endless Hunt, Hyacinth keeping watch at the cave’s entrance to ensure their privacy.
Nelathiel sat opposite them in priestly robes and horns. “Why not ask Ruddles?”
“We can’t,” Laelansa replied. “She’s a spirit; there’s no other elf in the woodlands we trust enough to ask.”
Mottled eyes glinting in affectionate suspicion, made more prominent by the green and gold paint streaking her face, Nelathiel inclined her head. “Why do I feel like you’re about to request another favour? You could have asked me at home.”
Saphienne drew confidence from the golden jewellery on her fingers and brow and looping her waist, urgency in her veridian gaze. “We aren’t playing. This isn’t a ruse — we’re not inquiring as a pretext to what we actually want. We’re here to talk to Nelathiel, servant to Our Lord of the Endless Hunt, counting on your kindness and discretion.”
The priest grew serious. “Tell me first: are you in trouble?”
“No,” Laelansa assured her, “but other people are.”
Saphienne squeezed her partner’s hand.
Nelathiel folded her hands together; her horns rose as she straightened. “May Our Lord make firm His doctrine in my heart, and may the gods through Their grace keep leal my speech. What about Our Lords and Ladies do you ask after?”
Laelansa would be praying as well, Saphienne was sure. The magician let those prayers – at least their sincerity – substitute for her shining scales. “Who is entitled to worship the gods?”
Nelathiel’s eyebrows rose. “Only those declared apostates are denied the succour of the gods.”
“Yes, but specifically who? What do the ancient ways say?”
Nelathiel furrowed her brow. “…Our Lords and Ladies are the gods of bone and wind, elf and spirit. All who seek Them at Their shrines are welcome, save for whoever knowingly offends Them. Their worship is the right of all throughout the woodlands.”
Laelansa’s hand was sweating as she leant forward. “…May They mistake not my rhetoric for impiety, for I must ask you: are They the only gods?”
Being asked that by a novice priest startled Nelathiel. “Laelansa!”
“Let Them judge me for what is in my heart; I pray that you trust Their judgement will be kind.”
“…Our gods are the only gods.” Uncomfortable as she was, Nelathiel had no cause to doubt Laelansa’s reason for asking. “The ancient ways declare so. The gods are immanent, and They are not restricted to the woodlands. Elves who go abroad may pray in certainty that they are heard.”
Saphienne steeled herself. “What about the gods that humans, dwarves, and others claim to worship?”
The priest became severe. “This is not a topic often raised.”
“But it has been raised, hasn’t it? The existence of the protectorates implies as much.”
Calculating as she surveyed the two younger women, Nelathiel remained wary despite consenting to continue. “…You’re right. The mortals who live in the protectorates are permitted their false worship, so long as their beliefs do not offend Our Lords and Ladies. We prohibit blood sacrifice and ritual mutilation, and refuse any whose doctrines run counter to our own.”
“Then,” Laelansa demanded, “what about other gods? What are they? Superstition?”
“Much theological debate has taken place about that.” Disquieted, the priest rose and paced around the fire. “The central issue is this: the gods are immanent in the whole world, and They may act through everything and everyone. We accept that even mortals may enact Their will — such as when They have rescued our lost children. This then poses a difficult question…” She faced them over the flames. “…Are They present in the places and objects that mortals venerate? They must be — so does that mean that the mortals are unknowingly worshiping Them?”
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Saphienne didn’t interrupt.
“This is what you’re asking about, isn’t it? Can our gods be worshipped by anyone — even mortals?” Nelathiel was daunted by the question. “The majority opinion – which is not settled doctrine – holds that mortals whose lives do not offend the gods are looked upon kindly by Them, and They graciously accept what is offered up in ignorance. This is believed to best fit with existing doctrine that affirms mistreatment of children, plants, and animals is abhorrent to the gods. If we’re to be kind to what is in our care, and accepting of natural limitations, so too the gods must treat mortals with due compassion.”
This irked Saphienne, though she was careful not to show her contempt. “Pardon my ignorance… but doesn’t that imply we owe more kindness than we’re presently giving?”
“We give due compassion to the mortals in our care. Established doctrine is firm — the whole world isn’t our responsibility.” The priest folded her arms. “You know how that was established; and when.”
Laelansa refocused their inquiry. “Have mortals ever worshipped our gods in the proper way? Have they been shown how?”
Nelathiel was puzzled for a long moment. “You’re not taking this in the direction I thought you were,” she conceded, dropping her arms to her sides as she came back to kneel down. “This question isn’t easily answered — there’s never been significant need, and everyone would rather avoid trying. One school of thought says that to properly worship the gods requires one be an elf or spirit of the woodlands, for the rituals we practice are descended from the ancient ways that entirely exclude mortals. Another notes that the ancient ways don’t prohibit mortals from worshipping our gods, and so there’s no reason they couldn’t do so, provided their doing so doesn’t violate the ancient ways.”
Courage was required, and Saphienne took to her knees as well, mirroring Nelathiel. “Which perspective is most prevalent?”
“Neither; they’re incredibly esoteric arguments. I only learned about them because Athidyn took an interest in the topic. He worships Our Lady of the Balanced Scales…” Her smile was slight. “…Which rumour says you do, too. But then, rumour also says you’re devoted to Our Lord of the Endless Hunt, and I know better.”
Laelansa matched their posture. “Has a mortal ever worshipped Them like we do?”
“Yes.” Nelathiel’s ear flicked. “This encroaches on the taboo. While the ancient ways condemn the offspring of elves and mortals? Conspicuously, the ancient ways don’t condemn their parent, and don’t condemn the act that can produce such children. Sex with mortals is obviously not a good thing, and doctrine forbids it, but the gods in their mercy accept that we can be very unwise in our passions.
“There have been elves who have broken from the consensus, left the woodlands, and slept with mortals — without having children. When found, a few were still worshipping our gods, and did so with their… companions.” She looked away. “That’s why nobody wants to think about whether mortals can worship our gods.”
Saphienne stood. “Nelathiel, can animals worship our gods?”
“All the world embodies their will, and animals obeying their nature–”
“Formally. The way we do.”
“…No.” Nelathiel returned to her feet. “Worship requires an act of will.”
“The mortals who worshipped our gods — what happened to them?”
“They were separated from their lovers…” Her voice dropped. “…Where possible. Saphienne, what’s this about? Please tell me someone hasn’t–”
“You’re going to want to sit down again.”
As Nelathiel did, Laelansa bowed her head in prayer.
* * *
“…I don’t know what to say.” The priest had taken off her horns, better to massage the headache she was developing.
Laelansa gave no comment where she added more wood to the fire.
Nelathiel lifted her head to her sanctified visitor, utterly unguarded, grappling with the profound implications in what she’d heard. “…I don’t know what to think, either.”
Saphienne nodded. “About what part?”
“You.” She abruptly gave a throaty laugh. “I don’t disbelieve you! Neither you nor Laelansa would ever lie about this. But if you’re not mistaken… if a goblin is trying to worship Our Lady of the Balanced Scales… if it was inspired by you…”
The novice stoked the embers. “More than one. I think he’s the priest to their shrine.”
“Fuck.” Nelathiel offered an apology to her god for her profanity before proceeding. “…That’s elaborate imitation. Where did they learn that?”
Moving to sit next to her, Saphienne gently interlinked fingers with the priest. “Nelathiel, you know I don’t believe… but if you’re right about the gods, and if they believe in me, then hear me: the goblins aren’t imitating anyone. My encounter with them has inspired them to worship Our Lady of the Balanced Scales. They’re living in ignorance and desperation — but goblins are not animals.”
Painfully to Saphienne, Nelathiel couldn’t help but stare at her with awe.
She would use that. “The wardens are planning to hunt them down and drive them out come winter. When we move on them, I’ve no doubt that some will resist and be killed; most of the others will starve under the snowfall. If Our Lord of the Endless Hunt approves of this, then he isn’t the god you’ve told me about.”
“…I…” The priest hung her head. “…If they are as you say, then no. Whatever else their flaws, to worship the gods… animals can’t do that.”
Laelansa stood herself before the servant of the divine. “I believe Saphienne is holy; I believe the gods love her as much as I do; I believe they made her who she is so that we would see we’re mistaken. There’s no doubt in my mind that they inspired the goblins through her, intending that we recognise our treatment of them as wrong. My patron goddess called me to Her service so that I would support Saphienne in proving the merit of goblins. They are small and strange, and they are mortal, but they are people.”
Saphienne shut her eyes. Inwardly, she was wincing…
“What,” Nelathiel asked, drawing a shuddering breath, “do you intend to do?”
…But there were lives at stake. “My mother told us about a goblin she saw when she was a child, who was labouring in the service of a merchant. This tells me that they can live peaceful lives. They’re fearful and distrustful of us, probably traumatised from living in awful circumstances, and I expect they bear a lot of resentment toward us: I think this is why attempts to ‘teach’ them have failed. They need our patience and forbearance.”
“How will–”
“Goblins should be welcome in the protectorates.” Saphienne opened her eyes, felt them searing with an intensity that burned hot as dragon’s fire in her chest. “We should set aside some land for this group, and use their worship of Our Lady of the Balanced Scales to reach an accord with them. They don’t live long; in a few generations, with our support and understanding, I suspect they’d be very different from the goblins we know today. All we need do is make peace and help them to recover — they will do the rest.”
“And then what?”
She’d gone over the next part carefully. “You’re right: we can’t be responsible for the whole world. That doesn’t mean our actions won’t make it better. If word spreads that the illustrious elves of the woodlands have recognised the dignity of goblins, they may be better treated elsewhere, which should mean less will be forced to try to make a home in our forests.”
Nelathiel gazed at the horns she held in her hand, then to the golden likeness crowning Saphienne’s head. “…You’re not wearing those for the reason I thought, are you?”
“People see what they want to see.” Saphienne raised her claw-ringed fingertips. “They see horns and claws and scales: some will think I’m reminding them I’m a hero. Yet Parthenos was injured when she landed, and defended herself against the wardens without hurting anyone. I should never have quarrelled with her — if I’d only stopped to ask her intentions, if I’d only looked beyond the superficial to the person, there needn’t have been conflict.” Her smile was bittersweet. “I’m no better than the dragon I contested. I’m inviting everyone to examine what lies behind the symbols we make of things, such as dragons, and goblins… and me.”
“…A mystery…”
“Let them make of me whatever they will, but let them show mercy.”
* * *
Committed to pursuing her faith wherever it ran, Nelathiel agreed to work with Laelansa to develop the theological argument that would substantiate their plea. She further offered to bring the matter before the consensus — but recommended that Saphienne find an amenable elder, who would be taken more seriously. Failing that, someone older than her would be wisest; she proposed Iolas and Thessa’s father, Athidyn, who was widely regarded as prudent and grounded.
She swore herself to total secrecy, even to the exclusion of Holly.
Profusely thanking the priest, Saphienne and Laelansa took their leave, meeting up with Celaena before their next appointment. They didn’t need the senior apprentice, but Saphienne insisted she attend.
* * *
Celaena set a tray of drinks down on the table between the couches, pale and halting in her newly black robes. “…I don’t want to be here.”
“That’s why you should be.” Saphienne matched her whisper as she held her gaze, directing Celaena to sit across from where she lounged by herself. “We both owe this much.”
She had specifically elected to meet at the teahouse before noon — sufficiently early as to not be too noisy, sufficiently late that there would be plenty of witnesses. A dozen people were conspicuously not staring at the trio, including Alinar, who was shamefaced where he skulked behind his counter.
Laelansa held Celaena’s arm reassuringly. “This is atonement.”
The apprentice wizard winced as she reclined. “I don’t believe in that.”
The magician who had exceeded her was mellow. “Years later, and you’re still holding yourself apart? I thought you’d outgrown childish solitude.”
“Forgiveness has nothing to do with–”
“Don’t be stupid.” Saphienne was blunt. “Forgive yourself – or don’t – as you please; you will atone. I shan’t have you avoiding what you find difficult, apprentice.”
There was no smile from Celaena, but she did show acknowledgement. “You sound like Taerelle when you talk like that.”
“Imitating my better…” Saphienne watched the door opening, then finished her thought as she rose. “…As should you. Syndelle! Over here!”
What struck Saphienne first was how little had changed despite the many differences she beheld in the woman who loitered on the threshold. Syndelle was no longer taller than Saphienne, had grown into proportions that were strong yet wiry, and in stillness she held herself much like other elves. Yet she remained dressed in white despite her age, her hair simply banded away from her face, and in motion she revealed the childlike lack of elegance with which she had always carried herself, together with a newfound absence of confidence, her carefree attitude extinguished by the intervening years.
A truly beautiful choker crept around her neck in silver vines, absent any clasp through which it could be removed; so too she wore a matched bracelet tight against her left wrist. Saphienne didn’t need to cast the Second Sense to know they were enchanted with redundant Fascinations, suppressing any possibility of the rage that had driven Syndelle to crack her skull.
The poor girl – for she remained so in her own mind – halted sheepishly beside the couches with her gaze lowered to her shoes. “…I’m sorry.”
“No need for that.” Saphienne’s chest tightened as she stepped closer and offered Syndelle a hug, feeling fraudulent as she made sure she spoke loudly enough to be overheard. “You don’t need to apologise; you weren’t responsible. You and I were both victims of circumstance.”
Syndelle didn’t immediately accept. “I was bad. I hurt you.”
“You never meant to.” She didn’t compel the embrace. “Lensa and Tirisa made you. And you tried to tell them not to hurt me, before they tricked you.”
“…I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
“No one said I’m not allowed to talk to you.” Saphienne forced an inviting smile. “Tell anyone who gives you trouble that I’m responsible; you shouldn’t be blamed for what others made you do.”
Throughout, Syndelle’s voice had been monotone, remaining so as she raised her head in wonderment. “Why are you being nice to me?”
To apologise; make amends for what had been done; to ease the guilt of offering false hope; to right an injustice; to set an example, that mercy may be granted to others. “Because I think of you as a lost friend. You’re still a good person, Syndelle.”
Where were her tears? Saphienne could see the passion in her wide pupils, reading how moved she was as she bowed her head and shuffled closer to accept the offered hug… but there was an eerie emptiness where once her vitality had been expressed.
“I would like to be friends again,” Syndelle said, labouring under enforced calm. “You were my only friend.”
Celaena couldn’t take any more, and wept on behalf of both of them.
* * *
What had been done to Syndelle was evil.
That was what Saphienne concluded by the end of their meeting. What Celaena had done in the name of justice had been misjudged and wrong, but it was trivial in comparison to the horror then visited upon Syndelle afterward. She wasn’t herself — constrained to feel shallowly, hollowed of the happiness that once coloured her life.
To then be pushed to the margins was an insult. She passed her days sorting the refuse collected for reclamation, spent her evenings drawing in her bedroom. That she was denied despair didn’t detract from the aching sadness that shrouded her like rainclouds, making all the more pitiful the meagre sunshine that broke through them as she chatted with Saphienne, Laelansa, and Celaena.
Was Syndelle’s temper truly dangerous? Even if it was, there had to be a better way.
* * *
Alinar had personally refilled their cups, his expression conveying deep self-recrimination to Saphienne. He called to her as they were leaving, and she sent Laelansa and Celaena on ahead before she approached the counter.
He clasped his hands as he bowed to her. “Sorry.”
She had already decided to forgive him for trying to exclude her, but she couldn’t be as gracious as she wanted. “I take it you no longer believe I’m wicked? That I wasn’t behind the reprisal on Syndelle and the others?”
“Sundamar admitted he was wrong.” Shame made the teamaker flush. “What else can I say? I shouldn’t have let myself believe the worst. Gossip is my vice — that’s why I chose this art in the first place.”
Saphienne found black humour in his candour. “…Being aloof is mine. No, aloof isn’t quite the right word: not letting myself belong.” She leant on the counter with her palms. “I find it easier to fight than to make peace.”
“You’re good at both; what you did today was very kind.” He would make sure the entire village heard. “She was found innocent, wasn’t she?”
“Not competent. For what little that’s worth to people…”
“It’ll be worth a lot more, now.”
The magician hoped so. “We’re good, Alinar. Life’s too long for petty grudges.”
“That’s good to hear…” He stopped her as she was leaving. “…But that’s not why I called you over. I heard the message you sent to Phelorna, before you– before your fight with the dragon. She hasn’t told anyone else.”
Saphienne froze, her back to him.
“She wants to talk to you, but she’s afraid. Saphienne, was it true? Is her daughter really happy with the humans?”
She closed her eyes; if the humans were right about hell, then she deserved to go there for the lie she’d told. “Kylantha is deeply loved. I couldn’t take her away from where she is now. She would have been happier here, but Phelorna can rest easy knowing that she’s left us all behind. I’m sure Kylantha doesn’t think about us at all.”
* * *
Celaena hugged Saphienne with all her strength when her tutor caught up with her and Laelansa, and she was emotionally exhausted yet relieved as they walked arm-in-arm back to her foster home. Although she wouldn’t confess, Saphienne knew that Celaena was glad to have played a part in sparing Syndelle from further opprobrium.
They spent the afternoon lazily packing Celaena’s belongings. Having attained the First Degree in wizardry, she couldn’t stay under the same roof as Iolas for as long as he remained but a junior apprentice. She had mixed feelings about leaving him, and Thessa, and Athidyn, and especially Mathileyn, all of whom had become her family, both pleased to have developed beyond the need for their care and saddened to be deprived their company.
Still, she’d always be welcome; and she wasn’t moving far…
* * *
“I don’t know why she couldn’t move in with you! Didn’t you live with Taerelle when she was your tutor?”
Watching Celaena levitate her luggage up the grand staircase, Laelansa vocally guiding from above, Saphienne smirked at Laewyn where they hung back in the doorway to the echoing foyer. “Her father wants this to be her home… and Master Vestaele wants to give her an education in politics. Why suggest she live with me?”
Laewyn bit her lip. “I just don’t want her to be lonely…”
“She’s not who she used to be. This won’t be the same as before.”
Squinting up at her girlfriend, Laewyn slunk out into the garden, mindful that her low voice not rebound from the tiles. “…I need your advice.”
Curious, Saphienne joined her for a stroll along the terrace. “What about?
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
She did, concerned by how subdued the apprentice tailor seemed.
Laewyn stopped in the maple’s shade. “I’ve been offered an apprenticeship to an acting troupe, making sets and costumes for them — maybe even performing minor roles onstage.”
Saphienne’s laugh died before it reached her lips. “…In the Vale of the White River; the actors you invited here, the past two festivals.”
Celaena’s girlfriend slouched against the tree. “I’ve always dreamed of acting. I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance, but they like me. Jorildyn and Mathileyn have taught me useful skills… but…”
“Celaena, and Faylar.”
“I love them.” She was torn. “If we could have managed the distance, like you and Laelansa…”
So much of her recent behaviour made sense to Saphienne. “Faylar might try; being brutally honest, you know the pair of you aren’t as committed as you pretend. But Celaena would be devastated.”
Laewyn didn’t refute her. “What should I do?”
Saphienne sighed. “You need to decide who you want to be — and decide for yourself. We are who we make of ourselves, and that determines who we can be for the people around us. Who do you want to be more? Their lover, or an actor?”
“…I want both…”
“Then decide which matters more now, and plan your future. But if you can… plan with them?”
Ears drooping under the weight she carried, Laewyn hugged herself. “I won’t tell them yet; Celaena has too much else to handle right now. She needs me. We can discuss it once she’s settled.”
A happy bark interrupted them, Calamity escaped through the open door to barrel excitedly toward his favourite person.
Saphienne intercepted the drake before he could frighten Laewyn, commanding him to sit using the draconic tongue — which he did, whining. “Laewyn, meet Calamity. He’s not as threatening as he seems…”
* * *
That evening, Saphienne snuck away from her friends and lover to find Vestaele, delighted to discover the sorcerer in the garden behind the grand house, drinking honeyed tea as she watched Calamity rolling in the lit firepit she’d dug there.
“I didn’t know he’s fireproof,” Saphienne offered as she approached.
Vestaele smiled across her shoulder. “Not so flameproof as a dragon, I expect. He loves this.” Her humour increased as Saphienne stood near. “Speaking of the draconic… your taste in jewellery has grown eccentric.”
“I have my reasons. Ask Nelathiel — Laelansa’s priest.”
“How curious.” She faced the fire. “You’re to ask me for sigils of the Fourth Degree; I’ve been tasked with breaking the bad news.”
Saphienne’s eyes darkened as they reflected the flames. “…I’m to be refused.”
“For now. You were advised to busy yourself with other pursuits. Most magicians aren’t provisioned sigils to study beyond our present attainment, not unless they’re in attendance at the Luminary Vale. Masters Illimun and Lylae aren’t making an exception for you.”
That wasn’t what she presently needed… and arguing wouldn’t help. “Would you care to console me with aid of a different kind? I find myself in need of political advisement.”
Victory shone in Vestaele’s grin. “At last; I was disappointed in your progress. Tell me, what rouses you to rule?”
Yet before Saphienne could answer, she heard Faylar shouting her name in panic.
* * *
Filaurel was at a loss. “What do we do? She’s nursing her, but…”
Saphienne was astonished, too. She was grateful for Laelansa, who doted on Peluda where the cat lay serene beside her litter of newborn kittens.
Mostly kittens. One was larger than her siblings, hairless, as yet unarmoured.
A drake.
End of Chapter 130