《The Elf Who Would Become A Dragon [A Cosy Dark Fantasy]》


 PRELUDE AND CHAPTER 1 – The Frog and the Toad

    PRELUDE


    Welcome visitor! What has brought you to this chamber of wonders? For what reason have you crept unto this treasure trove, so early in the dawn?


    No need to answer. I can see by the hunger in your eyes that you are here for the challenge ¡ª that you hope to fill your pockets with this hoard. By all means, feel free to examine the jewels, and the coins, and especially the art, here gathered for your pleasure. See how the rubies gleam. Observe where the colours ripple and glitter in the curve of the opals. And as you pace back and forth in astonishment, notice how the piles of gold and silver shimmer like cresting waves on a restless sea.


    Yes, this wealth is yours for the taking. But there are rules. One rule, in fact.


    You must sit and listen to a story. After an hour has passed, so long as the tale is yet unfinished, you are free to take all that you can carry and go¡­ but if you carry out so much as a single coin from this place, you will never hear its ending.


    There is no trick: the story takes much longer than an hour to tell. It is a tale about what it means to belong; a tale about that which we choose for ourselves, and that which is chosen for us; a tale requiring patience and consideration, for the story is richer and more deeply layered than all the wealth spread before you. The tale I will tell you is about worth in all its forms ¡ª but in the end, you must decide the worth of the people I speak of, and whether each deserved the price they paid for who they were.


    That is the challenge, dear visitor. And fret not, for there is no penalty should you fail to leave before my telling is done. Many before you have left this chamber with their pockets light, though I cannot say the same for their thoughts¡­


    You are disbelieving. Perhaps you are eager to begin? Good. Sit comfortably, and I shall tell you a bittersweet tale of warmth, magic, revenge, and dragons.


    Listen, now, to the story of Saphienne:


    The Elf Who Would Become a Dragon


    or, The Fires of Her Ambition


    CHAPTER 1 ¨C The Frog and the Toad


    Long before Saphienne grew into adulthood, five moments defined the woman she would become. To know these is to know her. I shall tell them to you in the order they happened, but do not mistake the telling of them for their relative importance. All mattered in different ways. All will matter, later, when you wonder why she did the things that I shall recount for you.


    So:


    See Saphienne as she was, the quiet young girl, ten years old. Spring was in the air, and so her hair was the rich brown of the nourishing soil ¡ª for like all elves of her kind, her hair changed colour with the seasons. She was pale, like the bark of a birch tree, and slight in build, too small to yet be gangly, too large to be unawkward. Her eyes were also the colour of spring, pale green, but these did not change with the passage of the year, only growing brighter or darker in accordance with her mood.


    Which was low, then, and so her eyes were the shadowy green of late evening. She was sat on the edge of a small glade, a glade in which the boyish girls and girlish boys from her village typically played. To see how the young elves laughed and cavorted in the afternoon sunlight, aglow in their fine white clothes, you would think all was idyllic, that their joy was infectious. But Saphienne was not sharing in their joy.


    She was, as I said, quiet. Softly spoken, far from outgoing, the adults in her village thought she was sweet but plain, while the other children thought she was boring, too slow to play along. They seldom invited her to join in their games, and when they were obliged to include her she was never given much attention. Not that they were intentionally cruel. To them, she was an afterthought, neither loved nor hated, neither welcomed nor turned away, and never once envied.


    This was why she sat on a fallen log and watched as they played their games, not even the book on her lap able to distract her. In those days, she was a precocious reader, and would sneak books out from the small village library that she thought were not intended for her (and that the librarian pretended not to notice her take). What else was there to do, but lose herself in stories of other times and places? To hear of other people, and so live vicariously through them?


    Yet the book she had taken that day was not very interesting, and while her curiosity demanded she finish it, in that moment she longed more for company than for escape. Not enough to approach the other children, but certainly enough to watch them, and feel things that no child of her age should ever have to feel.


    ¡°Saphienne!¡±


    See now a transformation: at the sound of her name, Saphienne¡¯s eyes lit up even brighter than the daytime, her face unguarded and smiling as she twisted around. The book slid off her lap, and she let it fall. Her attention was on the girl who was bounding through the long grass under the trees.


    Kylantha was two years younger than Saphienne, nearly a full head shorter, and had none of her meekness. She also stood out, but not because of how she behaved: her hair was always bright blonde, even beyond summertime, and her ears were shorter and less pointed than those of other elves. For this reason she, too, was not invited to play, but that never stopped her from pushing her way in¡­ when she wanted, which was not often. She preferred to spend time with her best friend, her only real friend, the only person with the patience to answer her endless, exhaustive questions.


    ¡°Saphienne! Guess what I have?¡± Kylantha had her hand behind her back, and she kept facing Saphienne as she sidestepped around the log, nearly tripping.


    Saphienne¡¯s nose wrinkled, though her smile remained. ¡°Another toad?¡±


    ¡°It was a frog.¡±


    ¡°Frogs have smooth, wet skin, remember?¡±


    ¡°It was wet!¡±


    Laughing, Saphienne reached down and scooped up her book as Kylantha sat. ¡°Because you¡¯d dropped it in the pond before you brought it to me, silly.¡±


    ¡°I wanted to see it swim.¡± She was pouting.


    ¡°I remember. And I remember it had rough skin and shorter back legs, which means it was a toad, not a frog. They¡¯re different creatures. I told you this. Frogs aren¡¯t toads, and toads aren¡¯t frogs.¡±


    Thinking on the difference, Kylantha looked down and went quiet. This usually preceded a question, and sure enough, a moment later she lifted her head. ¡°Do you think there are half-frogs?¡±


    Saphienne opened her mouth, then realised she didn¡¯t know. ¡°Maybe,¡± she guessed. ¡°I don¡¯t know if toads and frogs can make babies together.¡±


    ¡°How do they do it, anyway? They don¡¯t look like they can kiss.¡±


    Saphienne didn¡¯t know the answer to that, either, though she was old enough to know that kissing was only part of the process. ¡°I think there¡¯s more than kissing. Maybe they skip that part.¡±


    ¡°Do frogs think toads are ugly?¡±


    ¡°I mean, they look nearly the same.¡± Saphienne stared up at the boughs overhanging the edge of the clearing, watching them sway back and forth in the breeze. ¡°Toads crawl on land and swim, while frogs mostly swim, and that means frogs aren¡¯t as comfortable as toads out of water. Maybe frogs envy toads. Maybe they think they¡¯re beautiful.¡±


    Kylantha hung on her every word. Then, she smiled to herself. ¡°I think a half-toad would look even prettier to a frog.¡±


    Saphienne looked back down. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because they¡¯d look like a toad, but get along better with the frogs.¡±


    That made her giggle. ¡°I don¡¯t think they spend much time together.¡±


    ¡°Well, they should. They¡¯re the same.¡±


    Prepared to argue, Saphienne knew she wouldn¡¯t win. So she just smiled, and shook her head. ¡°Close enough. But, what do you have, if it isn¡¯t a toad?¡±


    Remembering that she was holding something, the younger girl gasped, and she sat up straighter. ¡°You need to close your eyes and hold out your hands.¡±


    ¡°¡­Last time you said that, you gave me a toa¨C¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a toad!¡±


    ¡°Is it something else with poisonous skin?¡±


    ¡°Neither of us got sick! And it¡¯s not poisonous.¡± She was pouting again, and her brown eyes were wide. ¡°Please, Saphienne?¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    She relented. ¡°All right.¡± Setting the book beside herself on the log, Saphienne closed her eyes, and held out her hands.


    Kylantha kept her waiting, made sure her eyes were closed before she brought her hand around and gave Saphienne what she¡¯d been hiding. It felt light, and soft, like it was made of fabric, but also wooden.


    ¡°You can look now.¡±


    Saphienne looked. She was holding a drawstring pouch, made from fine cloth, onto which chips of bark had been tightly sewn in interlocking layers. Shaking it, she realised it had something inside, and when she opened it she saw a single, shining, copper coin.


    ¡°Do you like it?¡±


    She took the coin out, held it up to the light. She¡¯d never seen one in person before, but she¡¯d read about them. This one was minted with a crude human face on one side, and when she turned it over she saw it had also been struck with a poor depiction of a tree. ¡°Did you make this?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Kylantha beamed. ¡°Mother taught me how to stitch, and I¡¯ve been learning how to make things I¡¯ll need.¡±


    Saphienne looked down at the pouch, recognising that the needlework was poorer than that of the traditional elven clothing they wore. ¡°I meant the coin.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no. Mother gave me that. She said if I was going to have a purse, I should have something to put in it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen one before. Humans use them for trade, don¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°I think so.¡±


    ¡°So¡­¡± She put the coin back in the pouch, tying it shut. ¡°Why do you need a purse? And why does it have bits of bark on the outside?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not for me.¡± She was grinning. ¡°It¡¯s for you.¡±


    Saphienne blinked. ¡°But, why do I need it?¡±


    ¡°So that you have somewhere to keep your coins when we travel.¡±


    Slowly, she smiled. ¡°We¡¯re going to travel?¡±


    ¡°Of course we are! We¡¯re going to see all the things you¡¯ve read about.¡± Kylantha stood up, spread out her arms, began to spin as she spoke. ¡°As soon as we¡¯re grown, we¡¯ll go on a journey. We¡¯ll go over the mountains ¡ª and across the sea. We¡¯ll be adventurers! We¡¯ll see all the things there are to see, even things that no one¡¯s seen before, and you¡¯ll write them down in a book of your own.¡± Leaping up onto the log, she wobbled there, arms outstretched for balance. ¡°That¡¯s why it¡¯s arm¨C armed¨C protected on the outside, so no thief can cut it open.¡±


    Saphienne was grinning now as she looked up at her. ¡°I¡¯m only ten. It¡¯ll be ninety years before I¡¯m an adult, ninety-two for you. That¡¯s forever.¡±


    ¡°Well, we can prepare! I¡¯ll learn to fight, so you won¡¯t need to worry.¡± Standing more firmly, she brought her hand against her chest. ¡°I¡¯ll be a knight! I¡¯ll protect you, with my sword, and my song.¡±


    ¡°And what should I become?¡± Saphienne asked, shifting her legs so that she half-knelt on the log.


    Swaying, nearly losing her balance, Kylantha sat back down with a hollow thump. ¡°You can be whatever you want to be. I won¡¯t mind.¡±


    ¡°Even a thief?¡±


    The younger girl scowled. ¡°As long as you give it back.¡±


    * * *


    Playing with the other children was of no interest to Kylantha ¡ª she wanted to explore instead. ¡°We should go up to the lake!¡±


    Saphienne was intimidated by the prospect. ¡°But it¡¯s really far away, and we¡¯re not grown enough to go on our own,¡± she said. ¡°We might get into trouble¨C¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just water.¡± Kylantha was unfazed. ¡°Lots of water. It¡¯s not dangerous ¡ª where did you think I got the frog from?¡±


    ¡°¡­It was a toad¡­¡±


    ¡°Same thing,¡± she sniffed. ¡°No one will notice we¡¯re gone. And who cares if we get into trouble, anyway? What¡¯s the worst they¡¯ll do?¡±


    Especially back then, Saphienne had a tendency to take things literally. ¡°Our mothers will care¡­ and they could shout at us¡­¡±


    ¡°Mother likes when I explore.¡± Kylantha¡¯s smile was as bright as her hair. ¡°And who cares about shouting? Words don¡¯t matter, not really. Don¡¯t you want to see the lake? The toads might still be spawning.¡±


    Though she was unconvinced, Saphienne had never been taken to see the lake, and she desperately wanted to¡­ but she was, at that time, a rigidly obedient child. ¡°Can¡¯t we do something else?¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± Kylantha shifted closer to her on the log. ¡°Do you have a better idea?¡±


    ¡°We could go to the library¨C¡±


    ¡°Enough books!¡± Kylantha rolled her eyes, snatched the book from Saphienne¡¯s hand, and held it away from her. ¡°Today is for exploring.¡±


    Saphienne could easily have taken the book back, if she had more confidence. Instead, she wilted slightly, then turned her mind to other ideas. ¡°We could play hide and seek?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not exploring.¡±


    ¡°We could go to your house? Or a shrine¨C¡±


    ¡°Boring¡­¡± Kylantha mimed a yawn. ¡°Let¡¯s go somewhere we haven¡¯t been. Somewhere no one expects us to go¡­¡±


    ¡°Where?¡± Saphienne was struggling to understand what Kylantha wanted. ¡°And what will we do, when we get there?¡±


    ¡°I want to see things we haven¡¯t seen before.¡± Her eyes held an insistent plea. ¡°We need to practice for when we travel.¡±


    That made sense to Saphienne. Her uncertainty fell away as she held Kylantha¡¯s gaze, replaced by resolve to please her friend, and the smile that grew on her lips held a measure of the other girl¡¯s bold mischief. ¡°Then,¡± she said, ¡°I know somewhere we could go¡­ somewhere that no one¡¯s told us we can¡¯t go¡­¡±


    Beside her, Kylantha pouted. ¡°But, where¡¯s the fun in¨C¡±


    ¡°We can go to the wizard¡¯s house.¡±


    After her shock wore off, Kylantha reflected Saphienne¡¯s smile.


    * * *


    Neither child understood the degree to which wizardry shaped both their lives, and Saphienne had not even the slightest premonition of how greatly magic would matter to her personally in later years. Though they had grown up surrounded by enchantments and magical wonders, all was commonplace to them, and so they only recognised what was unusually grand, like when the local wizard would celebrate the new year by making fantastic colours stream across the sky.


    ¡°Master Almon,¡± Kylantha whispered to Saphienne, mildly disappointed by what she saw. ¡°That¡¯s him¡­ I think.¡±


    Saphienne peered through the bushes in which they were poorly hiding, oblivious to the fact that her white clothes made her stand out amidst the spring foliage. The adult elf who had just exited the tall, towering tree across the grove seemed an imposing man, dressed in vivid blue robes that were so heavy they looked like they could smother her ¡ª yet offered no impediment to his stride.


    He walked away from the watching children, setting out into the village¡­ only to pause, his back toward them.


    ¡°What¡¯s he doing?¡± Kylantha was cheek-to-cheek with Saphienne.


    With a wave of his hand, the wizard poured sapphire sparkles from his fingertips, flickering sparks that leapt on the air and coalesced into a bolt of lightning that staked the ground before him with a thunderous boom ¡ª there to shimmer and twitch as it hardened and cooled into fine, fire-blackened wood, still yet burning with tawny embers.


    Stunned, the girls froze in place¡­


    Only for the wizard to nonchalantly lift his walking stick, and casually stroll on.


    Kylantha was subdued. ¡°¡­Maybe we should go back.¡±


    Saphienne, however, was still emboldened: she pushed through the bushes, making a beeline for the doorstep. ¡°You said you wanted to go somewhere new¡­¡±


    ¡°We did,¡± Kylantha pleaded, following after the older girl. ¡°And that was¨C I¡¯ve never seen anything like that before! So we¡¯re done¨C¡±


    ¡°No, we¡¯re not.¡± Saphienne quickened her pace. ¡°We haven¡¯t been in his house. We have to see our journey through!¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s not home¨C¡±


    ¡°So?¡± She rounded on Kylantha with a wicked smile, copying her voice. ¡°That means he won¡¯t notice we¡¯re there. And who cares if we get into trouble, anyway? What¡¯s the worst he¡¯ll do?¡±


    Her teasing made the younger girl blush, which in turn made her clench her fists and stand a little taller. Still, she smiled broadly. ¡°Maybe he¡¯ll turn you into a toad.¡±


    ¡°Or you into a frog.¡±


    That cut through Kylantha¡¯s bravado, and her eyes widened in thought. ¡°¡­Do you think he could?¡±


    ¡°Only one way to find out¡­¡±


    Yet, they slowed when they crossed between the flowerbeds that flanked the door.


    Saphienne gently shoved Kylantha forward. ¡°You first!¡±


    ¡°No, you!¡± Kylantha pushed back. ¡°This was your idea!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the one who wanted to go somewhere new!¡±


    ¡°I wanted to go to the lake! ¡­I¡¯m not going in.¡± She folded her arms.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Saphienne folded her arms too. ¡°¡­One of us has to. Or it doesn¡¯t count.¡±


    They stared at each other, at an impasse.


    Then Kylantha suddenly grinned. ¡°I know what we¡¯ll do.¡± She thrust out her hand in demand. ¡°Give me the coin!¡±


    Puzzled, but trusting her friend, Saphienne withdrew the pouch and fished out the copper disc. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Just watch.¡± Kylantha took the coin, balancing it upon her fingers, only to flick it into the air. ¡°Heads!¡±


    The metal glinted where it fell among the flowers ¡ª tree-side up.


    ¡°¡­Oh.¡± Kylantha paled. ¡°I called it wrong. That means I lose.¡±


    ¡°It does?¡± Saphienne bent down, retrieving the coin with a frown.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the younger girl nodded, already steeling herself. ¡°You choose what you want to happen, then call which side the coin will land. If it lands the way you called, you win¡­ or else¡­¡±


    She bounded up to the step, gripped the door handle, and¨C


    ¡­Discovered it was locked.


    Wordlessly, they faced each other.


    And then the two burst into great guffaws of childish laughter, all their fear and tension dispersed like night mists in the dawn. They were still giggling as they ran away ¡ª though Kylantha darted back to the flowerbeds, stooping to carefully uproot a blooming hyacinth from its rightful place in the front garden, before she sprinted after Saphienne.


    The casual vandalism worried the older girl. ¡°Why¡¯d you do that?¡±


    ¡°To show my mother.¡± She grinned, full of play as she caught up. ¡°Don¡¯t worry! It¡¯s just a flower. I¡¯m not a thief¡­¡±


    Appeased, Saphienne offered her hand ¡ª and was dragged along after Kylantha as she raced away. ¡°¡­So long as you put it back!¡±


    * * *


    All of this was happy prelude to the first moment.


    One year and half again later, in the autumn, when Saphienne¡¯s hair was red and she had begun to notice other changes creeping in, she was surprised by shouting. She was lost among the shelves of the library, usually so tranquil, when she heard the sound of the door crashing open, adult voices from outside calling after running feet.


    ¡°Saphienne! Saphienne!¡±


    Kylantha nearly ran into her as Saphienne emerged from the end of the row, and then she did collide with her, throwing her arms around the taller girl with a muffled wail that only became louder as she cried.


    ¡°Kylantha!¡± Saphienne held her, caught between shocked white and an uncertain blush. ¡°Kylantha, what¡¯s wrong? Are you hurt?¡±


    But she only cried and cried, and clung more tightly, her grief too great for words. They stayed like that as the librarian led a man to where they were standing, a man that Saphienne did not recognise, dressed in dull brown leathers and draped with a cloak that was patterned like the forest. He did not interrupt, not at first, waiting until the wailing turned to sobbing, and only then did he crouch down, his voice gentle but firm.


    ¡°Finish your goodbyes, girl.¡±


    As softly as he spoke, suddenly Saphienne felt very cold. ¡°Goodbye?¡± She pulled Kylantha tighter against herself.


    But Kylantha drew back far enough to look up, her face red, nose running. She swallowed, and her usually vibrant voice was hoarse, broken.


    ¡°Saphienne¡­¡± She struggled to speak. ¡°Saphienne¡­ they¡¯re taking me away¡­¡±


    End of Chapter 1

 CHAPTER 2 - The World on Its Edge

    Saphienne had always felt safe in the library.


    The other elven children rarely visited it in the morning, and the way the tall, glass windows lit up in the early light made her feel refreshed and calm. When it rained, she would curl up on a cushion by the window, letting the drumming against the panes slow the rhythm of her breathing; when it snowed, she would watch the flakes drift down from her seat next to the fireplace, enjoying its magical warmth as she shared the cozy silence with the librarian. Nobody ever troubled her in the library. The library was where she felt welcome.


    Standing there on that morning, with Kylantha sobbing in her arms, an oddly distant and impersonal part of Saphienne knew that she would never again feel the same way about the library. The tall elf in autumnal armour had violated that sanctuary.


    Later, she would feel guilt for thinking that. Her first thought had been of her own loss, rather than of the friend whom she was about to lose. But Saphienne was only a child, and what was unfolding was far too much for any child to experience, and much, much later she would understand that some losses are too great to feel when they are fresh, let alone when they are occurring.


    ¡°Taking you away?¡± she whispered.


    Kylantha tried to nod, and fell against her chest again as fresh sobs stole her breath.


    An older Saphienne would have pulled Kylantha behind her, protected her. All she knew how to do then was look up at the crouching stranger and ask him, ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°She is a half-elf.¡± His mossy eyes were sympathetic, but as he spoke she realised his sympathy was chiefly for her. ¡°She is cursed to wither, and she will enter decline before your childhood is done. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    She squeezed her friend all the tighter. ¡°But¡­ why does she have to leave?¡±


    ¡°Because it would be an unkindness for her to live among us.¡±


    Saphienne considered this without emotion, burying all she felt beneath the puzzle. ¡°But she needs kindness. Someone will have to take care of her when she¡¯s sick. Someone will have to help her when she¡¯s frail.¡± She tried to make sense of it. ¡°Is her mother going with her?¡±


    Now Kylantha was shrieking, and Saphienne started in surprise, and felt something hot and wet spill down her own cheeks.


    The man who had come for the half-elf shook his head. ¡°The kindness is for you. And for her mother. It wouldn¡¯t be fair on you, to watch that happen to her. And no parent should watch their child diminish.¡±


    ¡°But she wouldn¡¯t want¨C¡±


    ¡°She knows. She has said goodbye. And so must you.¡±


    And then Saphienne understood why Kylantha was howling, and why she had ran, not to the embrace of her mother, but for the only person who still wanted her.


    In the background, the librarian had been looking away, but as the man spoke she took a breath and walked forward and around him. At first Saphienne thought she was coming to Kylantha¡¯s defence, only to be disappointed when she stepped behind the pair of girls and gently laid her hand on the young elf¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Saphienne¡­¡± Kylantha¡¯s voice was a moan.


    Saphienne¡¯s eyes fell to her friend¡¯s head. ¡°You can¡¯t take her away,¡± she said, and felt the hand on her shoulder squeeze.


    The man stood, and as he stepped forward Kylantha pressed herself into her friend more desperately. ¡°Saphienne!¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t,¡± Saphienne repeated, her voice frail, watching as his gloved hands took Kylantha by the arms and pulled her, delicately at first, then more insistently.


    ¡°Saphienne! Saphienne, help! Saphienne!¡±


    But Saphienne could not help.


    She just watched, eyes streaming, as her only friend was dragged away from her, to be carried out of the world she knew.


    *          *          *


    I said before that Saphienne was a quiet child. Never was she quieter than on the walk back from the library, when the librarian held her hand and led her back to the tree from which her family home was grown. She was not truly present for the journey.


    Her mother was upstairs when they arrived, having lazed the morning away, and she was tying a silvery robe about her waist as she came down to meet them. ¡°Saphienne? Is something the matter?¡±


    The librarian answered for her. ¡°Kylantha left.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Her mother stopped midway down the stairs, fingers touching the smooth wood of the living wall. ¡°I forgot that was today. What unpleasantness. Thank you for bringing her home, Filaurel.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Saphienne looked up, seeing her mother clearly for the first time. ¡°You knew?¡±


    ¡°Oh, my darling Saphienne.¡± The carefree, careless elf finished descending the stairs and bent over to speak to her. ¡°They told me last season. I wanted to make it easier on you. I was going to tell you the night before, but things just¨C¡±


    She never heard the rest. Saphienne pulled free from Filaurel and ran past her mother, up the stairs, along the hall, into her small and undecorated bedroom, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the house from roots to leaves.


    *          *          *


    Eventually her mother called her for lunch. She did not answer.


    Nor did she rise from her bed when her mother knocked on the door to tell her dinner was ready. Even when her mother said they had acorn cake, which was once her favourite, she gave no reply.


    When sunset came and the door to her room opened, she faced the wall listlessly. Her cheek was cool to her mother¡¯s kiss.


    All through the night, and all through the next day, she did nothing but lie upon her bed and breathe. Well, not quite nothing: she also clutched a poorly made pouch of cloth and wood against her aching chest, and silently, furiously cried.


    *          *          *


    On the second day after Kylantha was taken from her, Saphienne was shaken awake by her mother, who had come into her room and stripped back the blanket and now forced her to stand and walk to the bathroom. Despite her wordless resistance she was made to bathe, and then to dress in fresh clothes, and then to eat a tasteless breakfast prepared by her exasperated mother, who all the while spoke thoughtlessly about things she did not wish to understand.


    ¡°When you¡¯re grown, you¡¯ll see why it had to be this way. It would have been much worse if she¡¯d stayed. You¡¯d have ended up resenting her, and then you¡¯d have felt guilty for resenting her, and then she¡¯d have died, and that would be the end for her, but you¡¯d still be carrying her memory everywhere you went. She¡¯d have sucked the joy out of everything. What¡¯s the point in living a joyless life? Oh, but you¡¯ll see, when you¡¯re older.¡±


    And then, when she had eaten, her mother pushed her out of the house. ¡°Go play. If you won¡¯t talk to me, go talk to your friends.¡±


    Once more, Saphienne found herself on the edge of the clearing, watching the other children play. They seemed happier than ever before, judging by the laughter and the teasing, and the longer she watched the blacker the green in her eyes became, until there was scarcely any colour in them at all.


    ¡°Saphienne?¡±


    She spun around on the log so quickly that she raked her ankle, but it wasn¡¯t Kylantha who called.


    Filaurel, the librarian, had approached silently, and stood over her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I startled you. Would you come with me, please?¡±


    Soothing her ankle, trying not to show the pain, Saphienne slowly gathered herself together and followed after. This time, as she walked, she didn¡¯t hold the librarian¡¯s hand; but nor did Filaurel offer it.


    When they arrived at the entrance to the library, Saphienne paused. Her feet refused to carry her any further. Even her breath deserted her.


    Filaurel saw her distress. Rather than go inside, she shut the door, and leant against it to face the younger elf. She studied her with sensitive, sea-green eyes.


    Saphienne found her breath again, inhaling deeply as she turned to leave.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t get any easier.¡±


    That gave her pause. She glanced back, her face expressionless as she met the gaze of the librarian. ¡°Doesn¡¯t it?¡± Deep inside, she felt something shift, roused to wakeful wrath for the first time. ¡°Won¡¯t I get used to it? Won¡¯t I feel better? Won¡¯t there be joy?¡±


    Filaurel took a deliberate, steadying breath.


    Which had the effect of calming Saphienne too, who fell back into her usual meekness, and looked down. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t apologise. You¡¯ve done nothing wrong.¡± Filaurel sounded tired. ¡°She did nothing wrong, either. She didn¡¯t deserve that.¡±


    Saphienne brushed at her eyes. ¡°You let them take her away.¡±


    ¡°Yes. I couldn¡¯t have stopped it.¡± Filaurel¡¯s voice became firm. ¡°And you couldn¡¯t have stopped it, Saphienne. You won¡¯t believe me. Not now. Perhaps you never will. Yet, I am telling you the truth: nothing you could have done would have prevented Kylantha from being taken from our village.¡±


    ¡°Are you finished?¡±


    The librarian smiled, though there was no happiness in her expression. ¡°No. But nothing I can say will make it better for you. So I¡¯m not going to say anything else about her, not unless you ask.¡± She took a deep breath. ¡°Saphienne, you¡¯re nearly twelve, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Not until spring.¡±


    ¡°Close enough, then.¡± She reopened the door to the library. ¡°Children of twelve are meant to begin the search for their art. I don¡¯t know what your art will be, but I know you like the library, and you enjoy reading. I¡¯d like to teach you the art of books.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m too young.¡± Saphienne shuffled her feet. ¡°And,¡± she admitted, ¡°I don¡¯t want to read anymore.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to come into the library. I know. But I want to ask you¡­¡± Filaurel¡¯s tone was piercing. ¡°Are you going to let them take this place from you, too?¡±


    Anger made Saphienne clench her fists.


    Filaurel nodded, satisfied. ¡°Good. There are unhappy memories in here. There are also happy memories. You will remember them all, but whether you make new memories that are happy or unhappy is your decision. It would be a shame if you stopped reading, Saphienne, because I know at least two people who liked to listen to you reading aloud, and one of them is still here.¡± She stepped into the library. ¡°Door¡¯s open for you.¡±


    *          *          *


    Saphienne watched as the librarian left her. She was still for a very long time.


    Then she sagged, and hugged herself. She didn¡¯t know what to do. She didn¡¯t know what Kylantha would want. In that moment, it felt that going in would be a betrayal of her friend¡­ but she had nowhere else to go.


    She wasn¡¯t sure she wanted to go on, at all; not that she understood that choice.


    ¡°Kylantha¡­¡± Her heart ached. ¡°¡­What would you do?¡±


    Saphienne found herself holding the pouch within her pocket. She couldn¡¯t quite see it clearly as she took it out, and in fact struggled to see anything at all as she fished for the copper coin, balancing it unsteadily upon her fingers as she had seen done.


    ¡°Heads,¡± she whispered.


    Turning edge over edge, the coin glittered in the air.


    End of Chapter 2

 CHAPTER 3 - Only a Books Throw Away

    Earlier, I said there were five moments that defined Saphienne. The first was when Kylantha was snatched from her arms; this was by far the saddest moment. Four more yet remain to be told, and it may please you to hear that they are altogether quite different in character. The next is not too much further, though there is one more fact about Saphienne you must first learn. Perhaps you have already guessed? Let us see.


    Studying under Filaurel would prove interesting for Saphienne, but on the first day, when she picked up the coin and squinted at its face and composed herself for her return to the library, it was not excitement that carried her across the threshold. She was very afraid of what she would see when she entered ¡ª or what she would not see. She expected that she would feel Kylantha¡¯s absence and relive the memory. Only, another memory of her friend helped her inside.


    Saphienne was very surprised, then, to see that the shelves of the library had been entirely rearranged since she had last visited. Never before had she seen them moved, and the novelty stopped her by the doorway as she tried to think it through. Even the tall curtains by the windows were different, as were the cushions on the sills below them. For a moment, she felt as though she was in an entirely different library.


    Filaurel, she realised, must have spent the past two days reorganising the collection.


    Perhaps, so that Saphienne would feel more comfortable.


    But that thought seemed foolish to her. Who would put that much effort into making her feel better? Even her own mother wouldn¡¯t inconvenience herself that greatly.


    Filaurel was examining returned books next to her desk. She paid no notice to Saphienne until the young elf walked over, at which point she set the books down and gave her a polite nod. ¡°Follow me, then.¡±


    At the back of the library was a closed door, behind which were stairs that wound upward to the next floor. Saphienne had never been upstairs, and she climbed them with growing curiosity. There were no doors at the top, and she emerged into brighter light to discover¨C


    ¡°There¡¯s another collection?!¡±


    Filaurel was amused. ¡°What did you think was up here, Saphienne?¡±


    The shelves were twice as tall, with ladders on wheels neatly arranged at the end of every other row. Overhead, the roof curved upwards, and large, glass skylights revealed the rest of the tree from which the building grew, along with the branches of the even taller trees, and the bright, cloudy sky beyond. Saphienne stared, bewildered. ¡°I thought¡­ that this was where you lived¡­¡±


    The librarian laughed, a high and playful sound. ¡°No, this is the mature collection.¡±


    ¡°Mature?¡±


    ¡°For adults. That is,¡± she hastened to add, ¡°containing subject matter that is not appropriate for elves under the age of fourteen. Which is not to say that it¡¯s all scandalous. Most is actually quite boring, just not the sort of knowledge that should be available without supervision.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Saphienne objected, turning back to her, ¡°I thought the adult books were toward the back of the¡­ um, lower collection?¡±


    ¡°The area for young children is near my desk so I can watch them. Downstairs is otherwise arranged by the difficulty of reading level. The reading level rises the further back you go, until it then becomes arranged by subject.¡± She gestured to the small, metal plates screwed onto the ends of the shelves. ¡°Up here, everything is arranged by subject. There¡¯s also a reading area, for anyone who wants peace from the children. Present company excepted, of course.¡±


    This was all a little much for Saphienne, who tried to take a seat on the steps of one of the ladders, then jumped upright when it moved slightly. ¡°¡­But I¡¯m too young to be up here.¡±


    ¡°Saphienne the child, though a voracious reader, is far too young to be up here.¡± Filaurel smiled as she walked over and tapped a wheel with her foot, engaging the brake. ¡°Saphienne my assistant, wise beyond her years, is just the right age to be trusted. So long as,¡± she added, ¡°you show me whatever you take from these shelves, and promise to trust me should I ask you to wait a little longer.¡±


    ¡°Why? Why do you trust me, I mean.¡±


    Her smile became fainter. ¡°As of recently, you understand that there are some things which are simply too much for children. You are still a child, but I think you understand. I¡¯m not trying to clip your wings¨C¡±


    ¡°My wings?¡±


    ¡°A human expression. They clip the flight feathers from the wings of birds to stop them flying far from the nest; to keep them imprisoned.¡± She coughed. ¡°As I was saying, I¡¯m not trying to hold you back. If I say something is too much, I¡¯m trying to spare you, until you¡¯re ready. And I know you¡¯re ready for more than downstairs.¡±


    ¡°How can you be so sure?¡±


    ¡°Saphienne, I was younger than you when I started stealing books I wasn¡¯t supposed to read. Who do you think left ¡®The Principles of Elven Anatomy¡¯ among the travel tales for you to find? Did you think I didn¡¯t notice you sneaking it out, stuck between half a dozen larger books?¡±


    Bright red, Saphienne studied the carpet.


    ¡°I know you hear it said a lot, but: you¡¯re part of a very long tradition. Reading what you¡¯re not supposed to is a right of passage for anyone with a decent mind.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ what does your assistant do?¡±


    ¡°That depends,¡± Filaurel grinned, ¡°on the strength of your calligraphy. Do you have nice handwriting?¡±


    *          *          *


    She did, as a matter of fact. Filaurel nevertheless had her practice for two hours every day, and held her to a much higher standard than was usual for a child. Regardless of what she would one day choose as her art, being able to write well and quickly was a skill worth developing, and laid the groundwork for learning to take notes. That came next, the librarian having Saphienne read and summarise increasingly more complicated books, first nonfiction and then whole novels. Filaurel would read her summaries and ask detailed questions, questions that became more thoughtful and required greater reflection the longer the practice went on.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Autumn turned to winter, and then winter to spring. The librarian taught her student how the collection was catalogued, and then how to spot books in need of repair. Two hours practicing calligraphy, one hour working on the summary of the week, one hour touring the shelves assigned to her while checking for misplaced books and worn bindings; this is what Saphienne spent every day doing.


    As well as reading for, oh, about seven to twelve hours a day. Filaurel had to make her go outside ¡ª to eat, to take in the fresh air, and sometimes, to bathe.


    The sheer breadth of knowledge that Saphienne picked up in those six months was quite staggering, and she felt herself growing intellectually as she began, in fits and starts, to grow toward physical womanhood. She was still some time away from the most unnerving changes, but her mentor nevertheless made sure she was prepared for what her mother, who cared little for the library or the comings and goings of Saphienne, would certainly forget to explain.


    When the snows melted, Filaurel surprised Saphienne with her own key to the library. The librarian had to leave for a week ¨C gone away to trade for new books ¨C and she left detailed instructions on how her assistant was to maintain the collections in her absence. The building would be closed, and no one was to be allowed to fetch anything from within, not unless there was a serious emergency. Nevertheless, she suggested Saphienne use the time to catalogue a particular part of the library she¡¯d previously been directed away from, a suggestion Filaurel gave very casually, as though it were an afterthought.


    Saphienne was mystified by the books she found there. Then she was intrigued. And then she discovered several other feelings, and their names, as well as new names for things that she had once read about in ¡®The Principles of Elven Anatomy.¡¯ Eventually she stopped reading, recognising that she simply wasn¡¯t ready to know more, though she had learned what came after kissing. Two years later, she would return to the subject with greater maturity, and keener interest.


    Spring turned to summer, and Saphienne learned to bind and repair books. She enjoyed that work. After that came what Filaurel called ¡®scrivening,¡¯ which sounded more interesting than it actually was: copying books. Though she enjoyed reading and calligraphy and physically assembling books, writing them out by hand was deeply tedious to Saphienne, who never learned to enjoy what Filaurel found quite soothing.


    When the red returned to her hair and she reflected on the past year, Saphienne asked what came after scrivening.


    ¡°Whatever art you want to try next, Saphienne.¡±


    Saphienne paused atop the ladder, holding the books that Filaurel had passed up to her to set back on the shelves. ¡°I thought I¡¯m supposed to be learning the art of keeping a library?¡±


    ¡°You are. And you could continue doing this. But your heart isn¡¯t really in anything but the reading, and I think your talents are wasted studying under me.¡±


    Thoughtlessly, proving her mentor¡¯s point, Saphienne set the books down on the shelf without regard for where they ought to have been, then turned and sat on the ladder. ¡°I haven¡¯t mastered calligraphy yet. Or book binding. And my notes are¨C¡±


    ¡°Your calligraphy would be excellent for an elf twice your age. Your book binding works well enough for everyday purposes¡­ though I wouldn¡¯t have you bind any first editions. And your notes, Saphienne,¡± she said with great sincerity, ¡°betray a keener mind than mine, or the minds of anyone else in this village, I think. I used to believe you were precocious because you read so much, because you¡¯re quiet and don¡¯t get on well with the other children. Actually, it¡¯s the other way around.¡±


    Saphienne hunched over as she stared down. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t get on well with the other children because you¡¯re thoughtful, and pay attention, and you find it difficult to go along with things without first understanding them fully. You¡¯re precocious because you¡¯re much more intelligent than your peers, Saphienne, and that sets you apart, which has made you awkward in turn. You haven¡¯t had the chance to properly socialise with other children, children who experience the world in the same way as you do.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m very intelligent.¡±


    Filaurel sighed through her smile. ¡°Saphienne¡­ if I throw this book at you, and it travels half way, then travels half of the remaining distance, and another half of that half again, won¡¯t there always be another half remaining?¡± The librarian waved the book threateningly, then folded her arms. ¡°How will the book ever hit you?¡±


    ¡°You would never throw a book!¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯d never let anyone else throw books. I may throw them as I please, since I¡¯m the one who repairs them. Will you answer my riddle?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve read about it,¡± Saphienne nodded. ¡°It¡¯s an old paradox.¡±


    ¡°Did you read an answer?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Good. Give me an answer.¡±


    Daunted, but trapped up the ladder, Saphienne closed her eyes and tried to think it through. Five minutes passed; Filaurel was waiting.


    When she began to speak, her eyes were still closed, and she was surprised by the confidence she heard in her own voice. ¡°We know from observation that the book will always land. This means that the paradox is not really a paradox, but suggests a deeper explanation we don¡¯t yet know. I can think of a few possibilities.


    ¡°Perhaps there is a basic unit of length that is so small it cannot be halved, and when the division reaches it, the book reaches the end. That would mean distance itself has a built-in scale of measurement, which would also set a limit on how small anything could become. Nothing could be smaller than the smallest possible distance. And any two objects closer than that distance would be touching.


    ¡°On the other hand, maybe there¡¯s a flaw with the way the question is framed. Perhaps when we talk about halves, we¡¯re using imprecise language. The words make sense to us because the way we organise them follows all the rules of language, but the rules of language aren¡¯t the same as the rules of how the world physically exists. Maybe there¡¯s no such thing as a ¡®half¡¯ in nature, it¡¯s just an idea we use to help us understand the world around us, one that¡¯s useful for dividing cakes but useless when figuring out how objects move through the air. If that were the reason, then many other things we could say with words would also make no real sense¡­ and I can think of some. I remember reading ¡®This statement is false,¡¯ and thinking it seemed simple on the surface, but it seemed like nonsense the more I thought about it.


    ¡°Otherwise¡­ perhaps halves are real, and perhaps there is no minimum measurement of distance. This would mean some other rule explains what happens when endless halves are stacked against each other, reaching toward a point. This would need richer language to explain, as well as more precise language, not because the existing language is wrong, but because it doesn¡¯t contain enough ideas in a clear enough structure to properly express what¡¯s happening. Even the word ¡®endless¡¯ seems vague, like it¡¯s not specific enough. I¡¯d need to read more to¨C why are you looking at me like that?¡±


    Filaurel was staring at Saphienne with awe, which looked to the young elf like amazement, uncertainty, and fear, all warring together. The librarian shook her head. ¡°Saphienne, in only a few minutes you¡¯ve worked out the existence of three entirely different disciplines, covering the philosophy of nature, the philosophy of language, and the philosophy of magic. You¡¯re not yet thirteen. I couldn¡¯t do that. Nobody else in the village could do that.¡±


    Saphienne thought about the smartest person she had heard about. ¡°Not even Master Almon?¡±


    ¡°Almon might be a wizard, Saphienne, and very well-studied, but I know for a fact he couldn¡¯t do that. As you¡¯ll find out, I think, when you go to study under him.¡±


    Saphienne blinked. ¡°You think I should be a wizard?¡±


    ¡°Child, whether or not magic is your art, whatever you choose, whatever you do, it will look like magic to everyone else.¡± Reaching up, she offered her hand to help the young elf down. ¡°But he won¡¯t take you until you¡¯re fourteen. You have a little under a year and a half to wait. What do you want to try next?¡±


    Saphienne took her mentor¡¯s hand and stood, and as she did she saw across the top of the stacks of the library. All of a sudden, the library seemed much smaller, the space beyond so much larger, and all the things she had read about clamoured in her head, jostling for position as she surveyed them one by one.


    As she descended, she chose.


    End of Chapter 3

 CHAPTER 4 - Choosing a Side

    With all the options Saphienne had before her, even Filaurel thought it strange when the young elf chose tailoring as her next art. The girl had an extremely keen mind, and while there was a certain creativity involved in designing clothes, the work was far from intellectually demanding. And as for personal interests, she had never shown particular care in how she dressed herself¡­ nor had she ever commented on what others wore.


    Still, when Saphienne swapped the library for the small studio where Jorildyn made garments for the village, her first mentor concluded that it made a certain sense. The girl enjoyed book binding; perhaps what she really enjoyed was the stitching. Whatever the reason, she would only be there for another year or so, until she was old enough to study magic under the aloof Master Almon.


    Jorildyn took this as a challenge. Although he was content to use the time as well as he could, and so prepared a syllabus that would thoroughly ground her in the skills of his trade, on their first day together he confessed that his ambition was to make her stay. While he accepted magic had ceaseless wonders, there was satisfaction to be found in working by hand and heart and eye, and he set out to goad her into learning it.


    He was disappointed when, in response to his asking what commanded her interest, Saphienne said she wanted to focus on sewing, measurements, and the sartorial principles that went into designing flattering garments. That she wanted to do what he was going to insist that she do¡­ well, that clearly irked him. The tailor had expected that she would be keen to design an outfit immediately, much like every other elf who had come to study with him.


    But Saphienne was not like the other children. She was quite serious about learning, and Filaurel had taught her the most important rule: learn the fundamentals under supervision, so that no bad habits would creep in. Once that was accomplished, everything else could be acquired through independent study and simple trial-and-error, though an excellent student would always seek advice from those more talented than herself.


    Jorildyn did not approve. Where was her whimsy? Where was her naive irreverence for the craft? How could she learn the discipline of tailoring, and thereby understand its special value, if she was already disciplined?


    Saphienne was not there to be moulded in his likeness. She was there to learn how, not why, and her reasons remained her own, as did the way she studied. Whereas once she had devoted two hours to calligraphy each day, she now practised needlework. She spent the remainder of her time taking and retaking measurements of the elves who came to visit, as well as making detailed notes as she listened to Jorildyn explain the different cuts and styles available to them. She would also write down her opinions of the choices each visitor made, and then reexamine her assumptions when the outfits were completed, confronting her misconceptions and learning what worked and what didn¡¯t work for different shapes of body.


    Not that elves varied greatly. They were almost all tall, almost all thin, almost all light in build and deft in movement. The rare exceptions made for particularly interesting subjects, especially when Saphienne noticed what they all had in common.


    ¡°Jorildyn,¡± she eventually asked, after an usually short elf had left, ¡°why did you propose the traditional style of dress to her?¡±


    Pausing in his sketches, the tailor eyed her warily from his place before the window. An indulgent smile pulled at the corners of his lips. ¡°Whyever do you ask?¡±


    ¡°A low waistline contradicts what you told me about a flattering fit. She has shorter legs than most, which means a low waistline is emphasising a feature she lacks, rather than flattering the figure she has.¡± Saphienne flicked back through her journal, looking over her observations. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it have been better to raise the waistline, contrast her skirt against her skin tone, then complement her complexion with the colour of her blouse? Perhaps, place the emphasis on her neckline, or her¡­ bosom?¡±


    Setting his paper down on the cushioned windowsill, Jorildyn¡¯s smile became superior as he crossed his legs. ¡°All of that is true. And well observed ¡ª she does have quite magnificent cleavage. But, my oh-so-studious understudy, for all that you¡¯re correct, you¡¯ve arrived at the wrong answer.¡±


    ¡°Stop teasing me. Why am I wrong?¡±


    ¡°Because,¡± he said with an affected yawn as he stretched his sleek arms overhead, ¡°she would never in a thousand years have agreed to anything other than a traditional cut. Nor would any one of the elves who are short, or broad, or who are cursed to carry a little too much weight, whether in places they like, or places they don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Even though it looks bad on her?¡±


    ¡°Even so. They are all self-conscious about their differences.¡± Dropping his hands into his lap, he leant back against the pane, his silhouette appearing meditative. ¡°Conformity is the most powerful social force. Fashion exists because of it. There are rare people, like yourself, who are absolutely indifferent to the need to conform ¡ª but the rest? The rest desire to belong, and the greater that desire, the less they are willing to stray beyond the borders of acceptable conduct. Or dress.¡±


    ¡°But there¡¯s no rule that says she has to dress traditionally.¡±


    ¡°Still, she lives by it. And isn¡¯t that quite something? You could say it¡¯s a kind of magic, but it¡¯s not a spell you¡¯ll read in any book.¡±


    Used to his antagonism, Saphienne mulled the thought over. ¡°Anything but a traditional dress would have made her too uncomfortable to be at ease,¡± she reasoned, ¡°and anyone who isn¡¯t at ease stands out, and anyone who stands out must either be looked up to or looked down upon, and to be looked down upon requires we either give up our dignity or be slowly pushed out from the fold.¡±


    Jorildyn stared. ¡°¡­Precisely.¡± He seemed at a loss for words, and then annoyed by her, which he tried to cover for by standing and reasserting his authority. ¡°Well, since you¡¯re full of sharp insights, perhaps it¡¯s time I taught you how to use a pair of fabric shears¡­¡±


    *          *          *


    Saphienne stayed with Jorildyn for only four months, during which time she mastered ¨C to his begrudged acknowledgement ¨C the fundamentals required for tailoring. He made a point of telling her that she would make an adequate tailor, if she ever felt so inclined, but that she would never be a truly great tailor.


    He was upset when she simply agreed.


    Still, she learned quite a lot from her time with him, especially about how she was received by others. Saphienne started to consider what her style of dress said about her interests, what story about herself she was telling with how she clothed herself. She was still in the awkward transition between childhood and young adulthood, gangly and perpetually swaying around herself, so she decided to portray herself as more oblivious than she was. She continued to dress as a child would dress, but added a satchel stuffed with books and writing implements, and when out and about she walked with purpose, absorbed in thought. When forced to speak she would bring the conversation around to whichever topic she was exploring, pretending that she was wholly preoccupied by the search for her chosen art.


    In short, she made clear to the village that she didn¡¯t fit in, but that all was well, as she was working hard on finding her place in life. And that earned her a great reprieve from the judgement of others ¡ª especially her mother.


    As for her further studies?


    Next she pursued the art of jewellery, learning how to shape raw gems and crude metal into minor wonders. Eletha was reluctant to take her on at first, being a deeply private person who spoke little and kept her opinions to herself. Rather than press her, Saphienne asked for permission to watch her work, then kept her mouth shut and listened as Eletha sung to the treasures of the earth. After the first few, mystifying days, the jeweller made the unusual choice to make a simple silver band, and then another, approaching each with different techniques so that Saphienne would see and learn. From there she worked increasingly complex pieces, subtly highlighting to her young observer the ways in which the fundamentals could be reinterpreted and repurposed.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    After a month, Eletha broke her silence, and asked Saphienne what she had learned. She had only a few misconceptions that needed correcting, and the taciturn elf made Saphienne learn by doing, only speaking whenever she made a mistake. The two found awkward common ground in their shared art, and the remaining three months blurred together in endless days and nights of murmured words, sung to the delicate beat of bellows and precise hammering.


    When Saphienne announced that she had learned enough, Eletha nodded. ¡°You¡¯ll be a jeweller one day,¡± was all she said.


    Later, long after departing, Saphienne realised that she knew almost nothing about her third tutor.


    Not so her fourth tutor. Ninleyn was extremely talkative, never silent, and Saphienne came to understand that the shoemaker only wanted an audience for her endless chattering. Learning from her was much harder than any of her predecessors, both because of her meandering speech and because, infuriatingly, she gave little thought to how she would teach. By the second day Saphienne gave up trying to write everything down, and by the second week she nearly quit her studies, unable to so much as ask a question. The workshop was crowded out by whatever caught Ninleyn¡¯s attention.


    Nearing despair, she asked Filaurel for advice, who laughed for a solid minute at her predicament and then gave her a commiserating hug. ¡°She¡¯s just starved for attention,¡± the librarian said, ¡°and she won¡¯t stop talking unless you talk over her. So when you see her tomorrow, force yourself to talk, and keep talking, and compliment her on her knowledge and skill with whatever particular thing you want to learn, and tell her how interesting you find her when she talks about it, and ask her to share. Then, brace yourself.¡±


    Alas, that approach worked too well. To her credit, though, Ninleyn gave Saphienne the most thorough introduction to the high art of shoemaking imaginable. Their time together lasted only three months, but felt like it had been a year, and Saphienne knew everything there was to know about Ninleyn by the end of it.


    Sculpture was to be her final subject before she petitioned Master Almon, and when she asked around the village for who might teach her, the looks of surprise and then realisation were all alike. Why, now her studies made perfect sense: the bookish elf simply had to understand things before she could do them, and so of course she would spend a year studying clothes, jewellery, and footwear before she tried her hand at statuary. When word got back to her mother, even she was delighted, proposing that she one day sit as a subject for Saphienne to study in stone.


    At last, everyone had made sense of the odd young girl.


    Except for Filaurel, who knew better than to assume.


    Regardless of Saphienne¡¯s reasons, no one in the village had practiced sculpture to the extent that they could teach her, and so word was sent out to the other settlements, inviting anyone with the talent to come and visit. Within two weeks a suitably qualified artist arrived, smiling lightly as they knocked on the door to her family home. In this way, Saphienne met her penultimate tutor and ¨C after a short conversation, to be recounted another time ¨C she was accepted as Gaeleath¡¯s student.


    They agreed she would study until the following spring.


    *          *          *


    In the deepest winter, when her hair was stark white and the chisel had become icy in her hand, Saphienne put down her tools and emerged from the tent pavilion that comprised her shared workspace. Gaeleath remained behind, singing another piece into rough shape, though not without wishing her a good night.


    The sun had set an hour before. Her arms and shoulders ached, unused to the physicality of working with stone, and all that was on her mind was a hot meal, a hotter bath, and a good book.


    ¡°Saphienne!¡±


    She still hated when people called her by name, but she smiled when she saw Filaurel coming across the snow toward her. Yet her smile thinned with worry when she saw the librarian was flushed. ¡°Is something wrong?¡±


    Filaurel was slightly out of breath, which meant she had ran the entire length of the village to deliver her news. ¡°Master Almon is recruiting students.¡±


    Saphienne blinked, twice. ¡°You said he wouldn¡¯t take me until I was fourteen.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting him to accept anyone until spring.¡± Her soft panting steamed in the air, and she waved Saphienne back to where she had ran from. ¡°You need to go to his home, now. I spoke to him about you last year, he¡¯ll remember the good word.¡±


    Momentarily conflicted, the student of sculpture glanced back at the pavilion, her mind on her unfinished work.


    ¡°Saphienne, if you don¡¯t go now, it will be six years before you get another chance to learn from him. It¡¯s your choice, so think carefully¨C¡±


    But Saphienne had already set off across the village, walking at a brisk pace. She didn¡¯t dare run. If she was late, so be it, for it was very important that she not rush. The young elf knew she had to arrive composed and in full command of her faculties, if she were to impress a wizard.


    *          *          *


    Master Almon¡¯s home still lay just outside the village, the tall, tower-like tree just as she remembered. The front door stood ajar, spilling inviting light onto bare ground, all the snow within thirty feet of the residence having melted away, the flowerbeds bare in winter. Saphienne paused before the threshold, composed herself, shook traces of snow from her thick shoes, and then knocked, stepping quickly inside.


    ¡°What is it? I¡¯m busy.¡±


    The small parlour beyond had only one chair, high-backed and cushioned, with no other furniture on which one might sit, only bookcases that overflowed to cover the floor with growing piles of literature. Because of this, the three young elves who had arrived before her were forced to stand, one having stepped forward from the others to make her case to the seated wizard¡­ whose immediate irritation with Saphienne was palpable.


    ¡°Please excuse my late arrival, Master Almon,¡± Saphienne said. ¡°I¡¯m here to present myself for consideration.¡±


    ¡°Consideration?¡± Round-faced, and with an unusually plump physique, Almon was far less impressive up close than he had seemed from a distance. He was reclined in the chair, practically horizontal as he spoke. ¡°Surely you don¡¯t mean, for becoming my apprentice?¡±


    The way he laughed made Saphienne tense inside, but she kept herself outwardly calm, and forced a friendly smile. ¡°Filaurel said she had spoken to you about me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes, Filaurel.¡± He waved his hand as though swatting away a fly. ¡°She did mention a girl. Of some intelligence, she assured me, for what little that¡¯s worth.¡± He sat up suddenly, more nimble than his appearance would suggest, and pointed to the others. ¡°But look here, child: what do these three have, that you lack?¡±


    Saphienne examined the other children properly, and her heart sank with the realisation: they were noticeably older than her. The eldest looked as though he might be close to eighteen, and the youngest, she was at least two years her senior.


    ¡°So, you see. Perhaps you are intelligent. Alas, another time, girl.¡± Almon dismissed her bluntly, turning his attention back to the elf who had been speaking. ¡°Continue, Celaena. What is it about you that makes you worthy of the Great Art?¡±


    Red-faced, humiliated, Saphienne slunk from the room, and she shut the door behind herself as she went. Then she just stood outside, and she shook where she stood, but was not shivering from the cold.


    The path of magic, it would seem, was not open to her. And the longer she trembled there, in the snow-lit dark, the less sure she became about herself, what it was that she wanted. Perhaps Filaurel was wrong. Perhaps she should be a sculptor. Perhaps this rejection was for the best. She certainly didn¡¯t want to spend years learning from such a horrible elf as Almon.


    No, she didn¡¯t.


    ¡­Didn¡¯t she?


    Slowly, she drew the coin purse from her inner pocket, where it always nestled, close to her heart. The copper coin glinted when she took it out, well-polished by her touch, and she turned it over in her trembling hand, staring at the face and the tree stamped upon the warm metal.


    ¡°If magic,¡± she whispered, ¡°then heads.¡±


    She tossed the coin.


    ¡­Something like relief washed over her when she saw the tree shining up at her.


    And so Saphienne accepted she was not meant for magic, and sighed, and bent down to collect the coin from the flowerbed.


    Yet, as her fingers brushed the metal, she hesitated, another emotion stirring in her chest as she saw the faint shadow of her reflection. What it was, she didn¡¯t know.


    Here, at last, is the second moment.


    Saphienne swallowed, and with a hand that was no longer unsteady, she lifted the coin, turned it over, and placed it back down.


    How long she crouched there, silently, not even breathing, she couldn¡¯t say. Long enough that her lungs burned within her chest. Long enough that the nameless feeling settled deep inside.


    Then she snatched the coin up as she stood, held it tight in her palm, and knocked upon the door so hard that it crashed open.


    End of Chapter 4

 CHAPTER 5 - A Bloody Contest

    ¡°What in the world? Another interruption?¡±


    The wizard had remained seated in his chair when the door flew open under Saphienne¡¯s knock, though the three elves that stood before him had jumped, surprise written on their faces.


    Almon maintained his cool, sitting back. ¡°I told you, girl, another time. You are far too young to begin¨C¡±


    Saphienne strode into the room, not caring that the door hung open. ¡°You asked me the wrong question.¡±


    If before she had irritated him, now she annoyed him. Yet the wizard would not cede his dignity by admitting anger to a child. ¡°Which question was that, girl?¡±


    ¡°You asked what these three have, that I lack.¡± She swept her hand across the three would-be students, all older than her, all incredulous as they watched her antics. ¡°You should have asked, ¡®What do you have that these three lack?¡¯¡±


    The younger of the two boys murmured, ¡°Audacity?¡±


    The others laughed quietly.


    Yet Almon wasn¡¯t smiling. His fingers had come to dig into the armrests of his high-backed chair, and he leant forward to stare her down frostily. ¡°And what is it that you possess, that you say these three fine young elves lack?¡±


    Saphienne ignored the indignant looks they gave her. ¡°Nothing.¡±


    This confused the other children, but intrigued Almon, who spoke more lightly than before. ¡°Nothing?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure they¡¯re disciplined, they¡¯re motivated, and they¡¯ve made something of their necessary intelligence. They surely have many virtues. They lack for nothing.¡± She paused, and breathed in. ¡°But I¡¯m their equal, and I¡¯ve attained it quicker than them. I¡¯m probably better.¡±


    The girl, Celaena, couldn¡¯t restrain herself. ¡°Cheeky bitch!¡±


    She flushed as Almon snapped his fingers at her, immediately muttering an apology to Saphienne that she didn¡¯t mean. The wizard hadn¡¯t even looked at Celaena as he admonished her, and he was still staring down Saphienne, smiling. ¡°Is that so? Perhaps it might be. You arrived after everyone had finished giving their credentials.¡± His fingers drummed against his chair as he contemplated how to proceed, and then he made his mind up, whispering a word and waving his raised hand.


    Behind Saphienne, the door slammed shut. She tried not to flinch; she didn¡¯t know whether or not he noticed.


    ¡°A wizard,¡± he began, ¡°must be prepared for the unexpected. And a wizard must be prepared to inform the ignorant wherever he goes, for wherever he goes, he sails his ship in a sea of ignorance.¡± Finally, he looked away, to the students. ¡°Let us see if she is right. Faylar, please restate your credentials.¡±


    The youth he addressed was the one who had first spoke, and as Saphienne studied his appearance she was surprised to realise he wore his white hair short, which was very unconventional among elves. He responded confidently, and with a slightly strange accent, reminding her a little of the way Filaurel sometimes sounded late at night. ¡°Certainly, Master Almon. I have spent the past four years preparing for the Great Art by studying languages, that I might fluidly pronounce the invocations you may teach me, and better memorise whatever texts you deem it appropriate I read from. I speak four languages, and write in five.¡±


    ¡°Which are?¡±


    ¡°Elfish, Dwarfish, the elder tongue of dragons, the tongue of the sylvan creatures, and the common trade language of humans.¡± He bowed his head. ¡°I cannot speak the dragon tongue, for want of a teacher who is conversant. I understand you are.¡±


    ¡°Most wizards are,¡± Almon answered, but he had already turned to the girl. ¡°And you, Celaena?¡±


    ¡°Only three years of study,¡± she began, ¡°but I¡¯ve spent them grounding myself in the philosophy of nature and the beginnings of the philosophy of magic. I¡¯m capable with numbers, Master Almon, and have a very strong grasp of ciphers and geometry. While I haven¡¯t yet studied any sigils, I¡¯m confident I will take to them quickly.¡±


    Almon was nodding as she finished speaking. ¡°Which only leaves us with Iolas. What about yours, boy?¡±


    Iolas was the eldest, yet he seemed self-conscious compared to the others, and squared his shoulders as he spoke. ¡°Five years with Master Folwin, studying calligraphy.¡±


    Celaena was smirking, thinking little of his efforts.


    Catching this, Iolas forced himself to say more. ¡°Calligraphy has taught me a steady hand and a keen eye, diligent patience, as well as how to not let myself be bored when working. I¡¯m told that wizardry takes many hours of numbing, repetitive work, along with unfaltering focus. After five years, I know I have it in me to accomplish both.¡±


    The wizard hummed thoughtfully. ¡°Well said. Calligraphy itself is also vitally important to magical study, as you may well go on to learn.¡± Then he shifted, and the fleeting warmth in his tone dropped away as he faced Saphienne. ¡°And you, girl? What of your credentials?¡±


    Used to confrontation from her time with Jorildyn, she forced herself to project confidence she found difficult to feel. ¡°One year learning the maintenance of books with Filaurel. Four months studying tailoring with Jorildyn. Another four months studying jewellery with Eletha.¡± Celaena and Faylar had begun to quietly laugh, but she pretended not to hear. ¡°Three months with Ninleyn learning shoe making. Then a little under three months studying sculpture with Gaeleath, until today.¡±


    Faylar was grinning broadly by the time she was done. ¡°Quite the dilettante, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I learned what I needed to.¡± She glared at him. ¡°Did you?¡±


    That caught him off-guard, and he opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it as Almon coughed.


    ¡°Your lack of devotion to a single subject of study,¡± the wizard said, ¡°does not inspire confidence in your ability to see the work through. In comparison¨C¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t studying to become a librarian, or a tailor, or a jeweller, or a shoe maker, or a sculptor. I didn¡¯t grow bored of them; I was very deliberate. And none of this matters, because the point stands ¡ª I can do as well or better than at least one of these three.¡±


    Celaena almost sneered. ¡°Really? Which? Which one of us can you best?¡±


    Almon raised an eyebrow, then nodded, and he folded his hands together as he waited for Saphienne to meet the challenge.


    Who, thoughtfully, looked her competition over. She simply lacked the study of languages to contest Faylar. While she might rival Celaena in knowledge of her chosen subjects, the older girl would have more practice in performing calculations, which would doubtlessly be their battleground. Which left only the eldest of the trio. ¡°Iolas,¡± she asked him, ¡°did you start studying calligraphy when you were twelve?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    If Filaurel was right, when Saphienne was twelve her calligraphy had been excellent for an elf of twenty-four¡­ though she was sure she had improved since then. Assuming he was similarly talented, his ability would be excellent for someone of seventeen, and possibly excellent for an elf of thirty-four. She couldn¡¯t be sure she could best him.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    But the coin she held in her palm wouldn¡¯t let her back down. ¡°I¡¯m a better calligrapher than you.¡±


    He stood a little straighter. ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll prove it.¡±


    *          *          *


    Almon stayed in his chair, directed Faylar to find a writing board behind a pile of books near the window, and gave Celaena the task of retrieving his writing set from up the stairs that wound up against the far wall. The girl seemed delighted at being trusted with entrance into his sanctum ¡ª a little too obviously, and so wilted when he sternly told her to touch nothing else and to be quick.


    While they fetched the necessary components, the wizard decreed the terms of the forthcoming duel. ¡°I will provide each of you with passages to transcribe, and you will reproduce them in fine style.¡±


    To Saphienne¡¯s surprise, Iolas shook his head. ¡°No, Master Almon. That wouldn¡¯t be fair.¡±


    ¡°No? Whyever not?¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s to be a fair comparison, we should work with the same words. Anything else would make the judging subjective.¡±


    Almon narrowed his eyes. ¡°Yet, I will be judging. What¡¯s to say I won¡¯t just favour you over the girl? Or perhaps her, over you?¡±


    Iolas held firm. ¡°Our skills will speak for themselves, if it¡¯s a like-for-like comparison. You¡¯re the judge of who would make the best student, but this is between me and her.¡±


    Almon laughed, and he glanced up at the back of his chair, speaking as though addressing someone standing over his shoulder. ¡°Ah, the boy has pride. What do you think? Does he have the right of it?¡± He paused, then nodded as he looked back. ¡°Very well, Iolas. I will choose a passage, you will transcribe it, and then she will try to improve upon your work.¡±


    Slightly unnerved by the way he had spoken to empty space, Saphienne pushed down her rising anxiety and inclined her head. ¡°That sounds fair to me.¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± Iolas answered her. ¡°It would be kinder on you to do it the other way around.¡±


    ¡°She has accepted.¡± The wizard overruled him. ¡°Now, show her why she was wrong.¡±


    Celaena had descended with the writing kit, and Faylar held out the board. Dropping to the floor, Iolas sat cross-legged, accepting the board to lay it across his lap, then took the kit and set it down beside himself with obvious reverence, opening the lacquered box and examining the pens and nubs and bottles of ink. He chose a very fine point, elected to write in a deep blue, then ran his finger across the rolled up sheafs of paper, nodding as he selected one to lay out.


    Then, seeing he was prepared, Almon whispered again, and his ritual gestures were slightly slower than before. Celaena recoiled as a slim book slid from the shelf near her, and Faylar gasped aloud as it hung on the air and slowly floated over to where Iolas was waiting, opening as it glided toward him, coming to rest on the floor with a certain page exposed.


    The wizard was pleased by their reactions. ¡°This poem, ¡®When I Heard the Learn¡¯d Magician.¡¯ Quite beautiful.¡± He sat forward. ¡°Make it more so.¡±


    Swallowing, Iolas lifted the book, read the words, closed his eyes. Then he lay it back down, and lifted his pen. Celaena and Faylar stepped closer, to watch.


    Saphienne scowled. ¡°It¡¯s rude to watch over someone¡¯s shoulder while they work.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind,¡± Iolas answered, absently, his eyes now on the page as he wrote.


    Almon chuckled. ¡°Uncomfortable with performing before others, girl? What did you say your name was?¡±


    Her scowl stayed in place as she faced the wizard. ¡°I didn¡¯t say. You never asked. And I think you remember that you never asked. Either you didn¡¯t care to know, or you already know my name. Whichever it is: I¡¯m as comfortable with performing as you are with rudeness.¡±


    ¡°Quite the mouth on you.¡± He was unfazed. ¡°You¡¯ve certainly learned a lot from Filaurel, haven¡¯t you? Still, point taken. Give him space, children.¡±


    They shuffled back, but both looked at each other, and then at Saphienne, as though they were sharing a joke at her expense.


    A quarter of an hour passed in uneasy silence, Saphienne¡¯s anxiety growing, her grip on the coin in her hand tightening.


    At last, Iolas sat down his pen, and there was contentment in his blue eyes as he held up the page for the others to scrutinise. ¡°I could do better with longer, but this will stand.¡±


    Saphienne knelt down to study his work closely. Behind her, she heard Faylar giggle, but her eyes stayed on the page, taking in every grand majuscule, how each stroke ascended and descended above and below the writing line, the elegant flourishes that comprised each serif. Almost every letter was well proportioned, every hairline confident, and the embellishments he had placed inside many of the counters were small, tasteful renditions of the stars with which the poem was concerned.


    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± Celaena whispered over her shoulder, and her voice sounded childlike in her sincerity.


    Saphienne nodded. ¡°It¡¯s good. You¡¯re a talented calligrapher.¡±


    Then she shifted to sit, crossing her legs as she took the page from his hand and laid it on the ground before her. ¡°I like what you did with the stars.¡± In her mind, she was deconstructing his strokes, working out how he had danced the pen across the page. ¡°You have a very light hand.¡±


    Iolas took the compliments well, and his voice was low. ¡°Still think you can do better?¡±


    She could feel Celaena¡¯s mocking smile beside her cheek.


    Wordlessly, she held her hand out for the board, then waited as he returned the pen and nib and ink to the writing kit before sliding it across to her. When her turn came, she lifted the nib he had used and the cloth he had wiped it on, carefully polishing it to make certain there were no remaining traces of blue ink. She needn¡¯t have bothered; he knew what he was doing. Then she lifted the same pen, and similar paper, though in selecting the ink she held several bottles up to the light, finally settling on one that ran red when she swirled its contents around.


    Readying her materials, she returned her eyes to the page. ¡°Keep the time for me?¡±


    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Iolas nod. Saphienne slipped the coin into her other palm, and set to work.


    The room around her faded away as bloody ink curled across the page.


    There was still time left when she set the pen down, and she didn¡¯t hold the page up, simply sat back as Celaena and Faylar leapt to her sides and bent to read. Both of them started laughing, quite loudly, and Celaena crossed her arms as she straightened up and addressed Almon. ¡°She¡¯s just copied him!¡±


    Faylar looked equally unimpressed as he stood. ¡°It¡¯s the same. All she¡¯s done is change the stars.¡±


    But Iolas knelt down before her and reached out to the page, gently turning it around so he could read. His expression froze as he saw what was written there, and then his lips parted, his mouth slowly falling open. Sliding to the floor, he sat heavily, his demeanour compelling silence from the two still standing.


    Eventually, he found his words. ¡°Those stars, are they one stroke?¡±


    Saphienne nodded. ¡°I wanted to capture their halo, like they have on a misty night.¡±


    ¡°¡­And they become sharper at the end of the poem.¡± He finally met her gaze. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ beautiful.¡±


    Faylar moved behind Iolas, looked down at her art. ¡°Still, she¡¯s just reproduced your work with a slight change. You did most of it.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Iolas said, sadly. ¡°No, she¡¯s much better than me.¡± He lifted his own work, and laid it out beside what Saphienne had done. ¡°Look again.¡±


    ¡°Well, like I said, she¡¯s copied you.¡±


    Now Iolas was smiling at Saphienne, as though sharing a wry joke with her. ¡°She hasn¡¯t just copied,¡± he admitted. ¡°She¡¯s reproduced my hand. Perfectly. Even the mistakes. Apart from the stars, which she did better than I could.¡±


    Stunned silence filled the parlour.


    He rubbed behind his long ear. ¡°How old are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fourteen in the spring.¡±


    ¡°Who taught you calligraphy?¡±


    ¡°I learned the basics the same as everyone else,¡± she said. ¡°Then Filaurel taught me how to practice. The rest I learned from scrivening ¡ª from copying.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re self-taught.¡± He laughed as he spoke. ¡°Astonishing.¡±


    Before she could argue, Iolas leapt to his feet and stretched, all the tension flowing out of him. ¡°If magic doesn¡¯t work out for you,¡± he declared, ¡°Master Folwin will want to teach you. But I think you¡¯ll do just fine with Master Almon.¡± He bowed to the wizard. ¡°I concede. She¡¯s the better student. I¡¯ll go.¡±


    Yet, as he turned away, Almon spoke up. ¡°No.¡±


    Indignant, Saphienne slid the board from her lap and climbed to her feet. ¡°He admits I¡¯m better.¡±


    ¡°At calligraphy,¡± Almon announced. ¡°Yet, he also admitted this: I¡¯m the judge of who would make the best student.¡± Smoothly, the wizard stood. ¡°All you¡¯ve done is earn yourself a place in the running, young Saphienne¡­¡± He grinned as he acknowledged her by name. ¡°¡­For what little that¡¯s worth.¡±


    Iolas slowly returned to stand beside her, shame on his face, hope writ in his eyes. Sensing what was expected, the others fell into line as well.


    Almon walked behind his chair, and he leant his elbows on the back, shifting his arm as though he brushed against something the four children couldn¡¯t see. ¡°I have heard from the other three, Saphienne. So, now, you will answer.¡±


    All hint of humour fled from his face. ¡°Tell me: what is it about you, that makes you worthy of the Great Art?¡±


    End of Chapter 5

 CHAPTER 6 – The Great Art

    Months before Saphienne stood in the parlour and answered the wizard, she had been examined for apprenticeship by another accomplished artist.


    Gaeleath had arrived at her family home early in the morning, to be met by her mother, who brought the sculptor inside and called up the stairs for Saphienne. Descending toward them, Saphienne heard a causal offer of wine despite the early hour, along with the surprise behind the polite refusal that swiftly followed. She tried not to show any irritation toward her mother as she entered the living room and sat opposite Gaeleath, choosing to pretend that her parent wasn¡¯t there. The only one she cared to speak to was her potential tutor.


    Who was something of a mystery, smiling amiably, dressed in a weathered travelling cloak that had seen better days. Gaeleath¡¯s hair was drawn up in a simple, masculine braid, framing lips that were painted in delicate, feminine style. The artist wore an elaborate earring that drew the eye, scandalously held in place by a piercing, yet the clothes worn beneath the fraying cloak were austere and utilitarian in style. There were no clear tells as to whether Gaeleath was an effeminate man or a masculine woman, for the sculptor contrived an appearance that was coyly androgynous.


    ¡°So,¡± Gaeleath asked, ¡°what is it you want to sculpt?¡±


    Before she could answer, her mother interjected. ¡°Her heart¡¯s been set on sculpture for over a year! She¡¯s very passionate.¡±


    Gaeleath didn¡¯t so much as glance away, only kept smiling, waiting for Saphienne to speak for herself.


    The question gave her pause. ¡°What I want to sculpt? Not why?¡±


    The sculptor nodded.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Accepting this, Gaeleath stood to leave. Her mother choked, turning red.


    ¡°I won¡¯t know until I see the wood, or the stone.¡±


    That changed things; the artist slowly sat back down. ¡°Why do you say that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve made books, clothes, jewellery, and shoes. What can be accomplished depends on what you start with.¡± She offered a small shrug. ¡°Attempting to force raw materials to be what they aren¡¯t¡­ that doesn¡¯t make for good work, and I imagine it¡¯s the same for sculpture.¡±


    ¡°More so, I¡¯d say. Why do you want to sculpt?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m meant to be studying magic next year. I want¡­ I want to understand myself better, before I do.¡±


    That pleasant smile deepened, amusement showing. ¡°I hear you¡¯re thirteen.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Waiting a few years will teach you plenty about yourself.¡±


    ¡°Not in the ways that matter,¡± she replied. ¡°There are people much older than me who don¡¯t know the things I want to know. They know more about themselves, but they don¡¯t understand themselves. Art is important for understanding.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. ¡®To understand art is to understand oneself; to understand art is to make art.¡¯ Do you know the quote?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°Are you well read, then?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m told so. Very well, in fact.¡±


    This satisfied Gaeleath. ¡°What is it you want to sculpt, Saphienne?¡±


    She studied her new tutor¡¯s expression quite carefully; then, she slowly smiled. ¡°What do you suggest I start with?¡±


    *          *          *


    ¡°What is it about you, that makes you worthy of the Great Art?¡±


    In the parlour, Almon posed the question with all the formality and drama the wizard could muster, his tone severe yet pointedly emotionless.


    Saphienne reflected back on her experiences with Filaurel, Gaeleath, and the rest of the elves who had tutored her in their arts. Each had done so for their own reasons, each maintaining a different style of student-teacher relationship as they educated her in the fundamentals of their discipline. Ninleyn had wanted company, Eletha to share her work, Gaeleath to help Saphienne discover herself, Jorildyn to prove his own worth by challenging her, and Filaurel¡­ well, Filaurel had just been kind.


    Although Almon seemed a little like Jorildyn in the way he antagonised her, Saphienne knew that the wizard must have another reason for taking students. Which didn¡¯t matter, because his behaviour made her certain that he didn¡¯t like her ¡ª and that meant she had to do more than win his approval. She had to make him take her on, against his better judgement. That would be difficult, given his pride.


    Almon, she realised, didn¡¯t want her to prove herself. He wanted to fight her off.


    Which meant she had to fight back.


    ¡°That,¡± she said, ¡°is a nonsense question.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense?¡± He kept up his impassive fa?ade, but anger glinted in his eyes. ¡°You think the question of worthiness is nonsense?¡±


    ¡°I think no art is a ¡®great¡¯ art. Magic is worthless.¡± She heard a gasp from the other children standing beside her, but plunged on. ¡°Worthless, because all art is worthless. Art has no inherent value at all. The worthiness of art derives entirely from the artist and their audience.¡±


    Stooping down, she lifted the page of calligraphy with which she had secured her right to be judged. ¡°Show me the inherent value in this. Show me where it is worth anything, but for what it provokes when it is written, or read.¡± Taking it in both hands, she tore the page in two, and could feel the other calligrapher, Iolas, wince as she did. ¡°Grind it into dust, and show me a single shred of value, a single speck of worth.¡±


    She let the pieces fall from her hands. ¡°So, don¡¯t ask why I¡¯m worthy of magic. You can ask why I¡¯m a worthwhile person¡­ but then, isn¡¯t that the point? You¡¯re deciding what I¡¯m worth. Whether I¡¯m deserving of your time, your effort. It¡¯s not about magic at all. Magic is only as meaningful as the wizard who works it. I know my own worth, and so I know what magic¡¯s worth to me. What¡¯s it worth to you, Master Almon?¡±


    Then, to emphasise her defiance, she folded her arms.


    The moment stretched as they all stared at her.


    Slamming the back of the chair with his hands, Almon stood taller. ¡°Annoyingly well put,¡± he conceded. ¡°Arrogantly, insolently, but brilliantly well put. It makes me no more inclined to teach you, girl, but I can¡¯t deny ¡ª you have the sense of self required to work magic.¡±


    Lifting his arm, he gestured as though inviting the empty air to take him by the hand, and then his arm shifted downward, as it would have done had something alighted upon the back of his wrist. ¡°Come.¡± He turned and stalked toward the door, which opened ahead of him to reveal the snowy night beyond. ¡°All of you, come! Follow me.¡±


    *          *          *


    The four young elves walked together some distance behind Almon, the eldest hanging back a few paces further as he mulled over his defeat. It was clear from the way he carried himself that Iolas didn¡¯t believe he should be there, and yet he still wanted to be, so he held himself apart and kept quiet.


    Faylar, meanwhile, could hardly contain his whispered questions. ¡°Where do you think we¡¯re going? And why¡¯s he holding his wrist up like that?¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Celaena seemed unsure, but answered anyway. ¡°He might have a familiar ¡ª a magical creature, to help with his spells? It could be invisible to us, but he was speaking to someone earlier, and it may be roosting on his arm now. As for where we¡¯re going¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Saphienne spoke up. ¡°There¡¯s a glade a little further on. I think we¡¯re going there.¡±


    That made Faylar smile. ¡°I remember it. We used to play in it, when we were little. But why is he taking us there?¡±


    ¡°He must need the space,¡± Saphienne guessed.


    Celaena nodded. ¡°Saphienne is right. He must have a magical trial planned.¡±


    The younger girl looked at the elder, recognising that she was now being taken seriously by her. Saphienne thought about being prickly, responding with sarcasm, but the night was cold and dark and the suggestion of further trials made her nervous. Instead, she returned her acknowledgement. ¡°You know more about magic than we do. What sort of trial?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± The moonlight through the trees slid across Celaena¡¯s face, and her anxiousness was momentarily clear. ¡°I know a few things about wizards and sorcerers, but nothing about actual magic.¡±


    ¡°Weren¡¯t you studying the philosophy of magic?¡±


    The girl flushed. ¡°I might have exaggerated a little. Didn¡¯t you?¡± She looked Saphienne over from the corner of her eye. ¡°Well, maybe you didn¡¯t.¡±


    They continued the rest of the way in silent anticipation, brushing soundlessly across the surface of the snow. Saphienne had wondered whether Almon would be heavy enough to leave impressions there, but the glittering drifts were undisturbed by his footfalls. Idly, distracting herself from her worries of what lay ahead, she wondered how much heavier than elves humans would have to be, that they would leave their footprints.


    When they reached the clearing they paused, finding that the snow lay untouched where it had fallen late in the evening, unblemished and now set aglow by the light of the full moon. The wizard proceeded on to the very centre of the glade, where he turned and waited for them to attend him.


    Faylar squared his shoulders. ¡°Let¡¯s find out who¡¯s got it, then.¡±


    They arrived together, as a group.


    *          *          *


    Almon watched them inscrutably, perhaps testing their patience, perhaps examining some other quality. Saphienne took the opportunity to examine him in turn, realising that he looked thinner when he was standing, the layers of his silvery robes hanging to form a series of vertical lines that balanced out his weight. The style he favoured was unconventional, his clothing far from traditional, and her keen, elven eyes saw that his innermost layers showed contrasting shades of blue where they reflected the pale light.


    ¡°What,¡± he finally asked them, ¡°do you see around you?¡±


    When no one immediately replied, Celaena took a deep breath. ¡°Boundless potential.¡±


    The wizard gave her a withering look. ¡°Potential for what?¡±


    ¡°¡­Magic?¡±


    He sighed, and she looked as though she wanted the snow to fall again, to cover her.


    Sparing her from more awkwardness, Iolas reclaimed his voice. ¡°We¡¯re in a field, Master Almon.¡±


    ¡°Good. And what do you see in this field, Iolas?¡±


    ¡°The snow. And us. The season of winter?¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡± He gestured around them. ¡°Winter is upon the forest. There is nothing to be seen here but water, turned to ice, arranged as snow. But is that all that is here?¡± He pointed to Celaena. ¡°You girl, try again.¡±


    She swallowed, and Saphienne saw her clasp her hands together behind her back, squeezing her fingers quite hard. ¡°Though we can¡¯t see it, there is also magic here, Master Almon.¡±


    ¡°And so?¡±


    Her voice was very quiet. ¡°¡­And so there is also¡­ potential?¡±


    ¡°For?¡±


    ¡°¡­Whatever you¡¯re about to show us?¡±


    Pitying her, he smiled. ¡°Close enough. If any of you should prove suited to magical study, learn from Celaena¡¯s mistake. You must first begin with what is in front of you, before you consider what might yet be. Saphienne¡­¡± He fixed his gaze on her as he spoke her name. ¡°¡­Why is this so?¡±


    She hesitated. ¡°Minimum effort.¡±


    ¡°Interesting. Continue.¡±


    ¡°If magic involves change, then knowing what is being changed saves time and effort. Working with the world, rather than against it, makes for easier art.¡±


    Almon glanced at whatever spectre hung over his wrist, and he smiled unguardedly as he did so. ¡°You would think so, wouldn¡¯t you? And you would be correct. But you would also be quite wrong.¡±


    ¡°Is this a riddle?¡±


    ¡°Magic is indeed a riddle. Faylar! What is the definition of magic?¡±


    Anticipating being called upon, the youth was ready. ¡°I think magic is defined as that which accomplishes the extraordinary through extraordinary means, Master Almon.¡±


    ¡°Say it another way.¡±


    The request caught him by surprise, and he reflexively ran a hand through his short locks as he stuttered. ¡°Um, well, I think, the gist of it is¡­ magic does things¡­ that are extraordinary¡­¡±


    Celaena spoke up, more confident beside his fumbling. ¡°Magic breaks the laws of natural philosophy, and it does so using principles that lie beyond the scope of natural philosophy. Magic cannot be measured, and isn¡¯t subject to logic. By definition, it is extra-ordinary, super-natural, beyond and above the world we know.¡±


    The wizard nodded. ¡°Someone else, give me an example.¡±


    Saphienne wouldn¡¯t be outshone. ¡°The law of cause and effect. Magic can make things happen that shouldn¡¯t happen, cause things to appear from nothing and disappear into nothingness.¡±


    ¡°And yet,¡± Almon tested her, ¡°even though you know this, you find it puzzling that magic can be contradictory?¡±


    ¡°If I wasn¡¯t puzzled,¡± Saphienne answered, ¡°then I wouldn¡¯t need to be taught.¡±


    Almon laughed. ¡°You tire of my theatrics.¡±


    ¡°Only your needling. I presume the theatrics serve a purpose.¡±


    He bared his teeth as he smiled, his expression both angry and pleased. ¡°Indeed they do. And Iolas will tell us what that purpose is.¡±


    The calligrapher had been frowning throughout. ¡°You¡¯re testing us. The theatrics are part of the test. My guess is¡­¡± The realisation dawned across his face as he spoke. ¡°¡­You¡¯re keeping us off-balance. The better to read us.¡±


    ¡°One of the reasons, yes. You all might have been told what to say. Saphienne might have been forewarned about wizards by Filaurel, and have come with her answers prepared.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Filaurel would never do that.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t she?¡± His smile took on a superior edge that told Saphienne he knew her mentor better than she did, or that at least he thought he did. ¡°Mm, apparently not. Your clever answers are obnoxiously unrehearsed.¡±


    ¡°What are the other reasons?¡±


    ¡°There is only one other reason,¡± he answered, and stepped back from them all. ¡°The simplest of reasons, and by far the most profound.¡±


    Exasperated, Saphienne shook her head. ¡°And that is?¡±


    He grinned at them all. ¡°I like it. It feels right, to be theatrical. What is the point of being so quotidian, so everyday and ordinary, when I can do this?¡±


    And the wizard gestured delicately with his fingers and spoke a single word, though the word was not in a language any of them knew, and his fingers moved in ways that their eyes were too slow to follow. Yet they saw the sapphire sparkles that glittered before his fingertips, and Saphienne¡¯s eyes widened as the glimmering lights expanded, watched them become a field of stars that spread out across the snow, stars that warmed and thrilled her where they ran by and through her to blanket the clearing. Then those stars exploded, blinding her¨C


    Someone whispered a profanity.


    Saphienne opened her eyes to find she was standing in a summery field, overgrown in every direction with impossible, riotous colours. Flowers had sprung up around her ankles in every imaginable hue, were springing up still as she watched. The moon remained overhead, but new stars shone all around them in the air, lighting the greenery revealed by the still-melting, sizzling snow.


    ¡°This is amazing,¡± Celaena was saying, turning around and around, joy beaming from her eyes as she quite forgot herself.


    Faylar was grinning nervously. ¡°Beautiful work, Master Almon.¡±


    Iolas had knelt down, and was running his fingers through the stems, leaning close to inhale from a bloom.


    Saphienne crouched also, feeling the coolness of the still-growing plants, watching them twine through her fingers as they struggled toward the sky.


    Almon watched them all with a smug expression, making no effort to hide his sense of accomplishment. ¡°Magic,¡± he told them, ¡°is the Great Art, because it most perfectly expresses what is within us. The awe you feel now never wholly goes away, not even for the greatest wizards. What can possibly compare to power such as this? Who among you doesn¡¯t remember every single time they witnessed magic, great or small?¡±


    He pointed to Celaena. ¡°What did you witness, that you remember most clearly?¡±


    ¡°Watching an abacus keep its own count.¡± She was grinning. ¡°I was only little, but I knew it shouldn¡¯t move like that. I stared for so long¡­¡±


    ¡°And you,¡± he indicated Faylar. ¡°What do you remember most?¡±


    Faylar shrugged. ¡°Your own work, Master Almon. You conjured coloured stars to celebrate the new year. I¡¯ve never forgotten them.¡±


    ¡°And you, Iolas?¡±


    ¡°My father was hurt.¡± He looked up, and the memory both pained and enlivened him. ¡°There was an accident, and he was bleeding badly. I remember he was very pale. Then a golden light washed over him, and he was healthy and hale. I remember how he laughed, as he picked me up.¡±


    ¡°The work of a priest,¡± Almon murmured. ¡°Yet, magic all the same. You are not religious?¡±


    ¡°No more or less than most. I don¡¯t have the faith for that kind of magic. I kept wondering¡­ if the gods cared, why would they have let him be hurt? To prove they could fix him? Seemed wrong.¡±


    ¡°Well reasoned.¡±


    At last, as though an afterthought, Almon turned to Saphienne. ¡°What about you, girl? Which act of magic do you recall most clearly?¡±


    Saphienne remembered, and the memory froze her in place.


    Though no one else saw, as she dwelled on that memory the green in her eyes became far, far darker than the glade before them.


    End of Chapter 6

 CHAPTER 7 – Seeing and Believing

    On the day of Saphienne¡¯s twelfth birthday she had risen with the dawn, bathing herself while her mother still slept. As the first light of day shone through the windows of her family home she brushed out and tied back her then brown hair, put on freshly cleaned clothes, and made herself a simple breakfast of wholegrain breads and mulberries. She thought about eating the strawberries that belonged to her mother, but they were not in abundance so early in the year, and so left them in the pantry.


    ¡­Only to come back a moment later and take just one, which she ate with relish. It was her birthday, after all.


    Before she went out she climbed the stairs and checked on her mother, finding she was awake and sat up in bed. Saphienne backed away, hoping to slip out unnoticed.


    ¡°Saphienne?¡±


    Halfway down the hall, she rolled her eyes, and turned back around. ¡°I¡¯m going out to the library. I won¡¯t be back for dinner.¡± Then she hastened to the stairs, not wanting to spend any more time with her mother than she had to.


    ¡°Wait, Saphienne.¡± She heard her mother standing up, the bells and other shiny baubles that hung from the frame of her bed jingling. ¡°It¡¯s your birthday!¡±


    This made Saphienne pause halfway down the stairs, surprised that her mother had remembered. She hesitated. ¡°I¡¯ll still be twelve tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°But I have a gift for you!¡±


    No child can resist the allure of their own curiosity. Knowing that she was going to be disappointed, but needing to experience it all the same, the young elf retraced her steps and entered her mother¡¯s room, finding that she had slipped into one of her silken robes and was curled on the bottom of her grand bed ¡ª and had smoothed out the covers and pillows, for once. Her mother was smiling, looking both mischievous and pleased with herself, which set Saphienne on edge.


    ¡°¡­What did you get me?¡± Saphienne asked, her question reluctant.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be so nervous,¡± her mother teased her, and reached for the chest by the foot of the bed. ¡°I put a lot of thought into this.¡±


    Saphienne doubted it. And yet, her mother produced what was obviously a book, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a ribbon in the same ocean green as her mother¡¯s now smiling eyes. Dubiously, Saphienne accepted the gift, carefully loosening the wrapping so as not to tear the paper.


    ¡°Happy birthday, Saphienne.¡±


    The book was one she had read before ¡ª many times. ¡°¡®The Girl and the Gulls,¡¯¡± Saphienne repeated aloud, and found herself smiling despite knowing better.


    ¡°Open it.¡±


    Inside the cover, before the title page, her mother had left a message. Saphienne read it aloud with amazement. ¡°¡®Saphienne, may this always remind you of how much I love you. Happy birthday.¡¯¡± She ran her fingertip over the untidy calligraphy, and paused against the signature beneath the inscription.


    For once, her mother said nothing, only watched with pleasure.


    Eventually, Saphienne met her gaze. ¡°This is my favourite book. How did you know?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I asked Filaurel,¡± she answered. ¡°I wanted to get you something to mark the occasion, now that you¡¯re no longer a baby. Does this earn me a hug?¡±


    Dutifully, Saphienne let herself be embraced, feeling very conflicted to be in her mother¡¯s arms.


    Who held her there, and whispered. ¡°I know you¡¯ve had a difficult year. You¡¯ve been very preoccupied ever since¡­ you started at the library. I want us to be closer than we are. You¡¯re a good girl, Saphienne.¡±


    Saphienne pulled away, looking at her feet. ¡°Thank you. You¡¯re¡­¡± She trailed off into silence, unsure how to return the compliment.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to say anything.¡±


    Nodding, the girl turned away from her mother. ¡°I should get to the library.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but what about the second part of your gift?¡±


    This time, when she looked back, her excitement was less tempered. ¡°There¡¯s more?¡±


    This time, her mother slid along the bed and reached under her pillow, withdrawing a polished, dark gemstone that reflected the light in flecks of violet and blue. It was set within an elaborately wrought circle of silver, large enough to be held with both hands, within which the gemstone could be spun about its axis. ¡°You¡¯ve seen this before, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    Saphienne had, almost every day. It was her mother¡¯s most prized possession; she spent hours of her life gazing into it. ¡°It¡¯s your toy.¡±


    ¡°Be honest: have you ever used it? When I wasn¡¯t home?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°You don¡¯t go out much. And you said it wasn¡¯t for children.¡±


    ¡°I suppose I don''t. And it isn¡¯t.¡± Her long fingers traced the ring. ¡°¡­Well, not without an adult to watch. But I think you¡¯re old enough to use it once in a while, and you¡¯ve been working so hard with Filaurel, and it¡¯s been a difficult year for you.¡± She lifted it in both hands, and held it up so Saphienne could see. ¡°Would you like to try?¡±


    Saphienne was just old enough to have a terrible sense of foreboding. Alas, no child can resist the allure of her own curiosity. She nodded, and let her mother move her to sit back on the bed, propped up against the pillows.


    The book was placed on her lap. ¡°You¡¯ll want to read this while you use it.¡±


    Saphienne was mystified. ¡°What does it do?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s called a fascinator.¡±


    ¡°¡­A kind of hat?¡±


    ¡°What? No.¡± Her mother rolled her eyes. ¡°Where in the world did you read that? No, a fascinator isn¡¯t a hat. A fascinator is made with magic.¡± As she spoke, she turned the crystal so that it flipped over within the ring, where it began to glow with an ethereal, seductive light, tinting the room in shades of rippling pink. ¡°I can¡¯t really explain. Just look at it, and relax. Let your mind rest.¡±


    Saphienne felt scared, but despite all that had happened she still trusted her mother not to let her be hurt, at least not physically, and so took reassurance from her smile. As the fascinator was set beside her on the bed, she looked deeply into it, feeling its light penetrating beneath her skin, into her bones, curling around her thoughts until it settled in her like a fine mist, then a thickening fog.


    ¡°Read your book, Saphienne.¡±


    The fascinator had not made her suggestible, but she listened all the same, and ran her eyes across the first line of the story¡­


    Then gasped.


    What had been her mother¡¯s bedroom became the shore from the tale, the gentle crashing of the waves against a pebbled beach, the roaring of the small stones as the water withdrew and left only vanishing foam. Gulls circled overhead, calling, and the scent of salt was in the air, the bright sun warming her skin. Yet the bedroom was still there, only transfigured, the shining baubles around the bed made luminous by the haze within her mind, their reflections amplifying the vividness of the pure, miraculous light.


    ¡°How does this work?¡± she asked.


    Her mother was beside her, glamorous, wreathed in fey-like charisma. ¡°You picture whatever you want to, and the fascinator makes it feel real. You can daydream with it, or you can use stories. Go on: read more. I¡¯ll watch you.¡±


    And so Saphienne did, reading the stories within the book as though for the very first time. They were about a young elf who lived with her mother beside the sea, and about the adventures they went on together, as well as the short lives of the gulls who lived around them. The stories were meant for children younger than her, but she had always been comforted by them.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    This time, they did more than comfort her. When Saphienne read about the girl, she felt as though she were the girl, and could feel every single emotion described within the book, from the simple joy as she learned to swim to the sadness as she found the bones of a gull high on the cliffs. Every triumph, every heartache, every fragile moment was magnified beyond what she felt in daily life, became realer to Saphienne than her own feelings.


    And most beautiful of all: she felt the girl¡¯s love for her mother, and the love of that mother for her daughter in turn. And saddest of all: that was the first time Saphienne had ever really felt such feelings reciprocated, for she had never truly known her mother¡¯s unconditional love.


    Throughout, her mother remained near. Her presence ran through the story, and without her mother really intending or realising, Saphienne projected onto her what she felt from the fascinator, nourishing their relationship by what she took from the book.


    Saphienne was a very fast reader, usually, but that day she slowed to a crawl. Hours passed, though it felt as though time were racing.


    When she closed the book her mother was by the window, and came over to flip the fascinator, dimming its light. Saphienne returned to herself slowly, grinning from ear to ear, her eyes sparkling with emotions she couldn¡¯t even try to name. ¡°That was¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s really quite fun, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°I love you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Saphienne.¡± Her mother leant down and kissed her cheek, slightly surprised when Saphienne slid her arms around her and held her tight. ¡°I love you too. I knew we¡¯d find something in common.¡±


    When they parted, her mother returned to the window, collecting the glass of rosy wine she had been drinking from. An open bottle was beside it, and another, emptied, sat on the floor. She brought the rest of the wine with the glass as she returned to the bed, sitting up beside Saphienne. ¡°You¡¯ve had enough for today. Maybe you can try it again, in a few days. When you¡¯re grown, we can see about getting you one of your own.¡±


    Contented, Saphienne snuggled against her. ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡±


    ¡°Good girl. Now, you should go play.¡± She reached for the fascinator. ¡°Your friends will be wondering where you¡¯ve been all day.¡±


    Tempted to look at the gemstone as it began to glow again, Saphienne instead glanced to the window, surprised to see the sun was setting. The red light shone was met by a renewed pink glow, which she dutifully turned away from, moving to the door.


    There, she hovered. ¡°I love you, mother.¡±


    Her mother did not reply, a small smile on her lips as she gazed upon the enchanting gemstone.


    ¡°¡­Mother? I said I love you.¡±


    ¡°Hm? Oh, I love you too. Run along now.¡±


    ¡°Can I stay with you a little longer? I won¡¯t look at it.¡±


    There was no answer.


    Hugging the book to her chest, which suddenly ached, Saphienne left the room, and exited her family home.


    *          *          *


    Her twelfth birthday did not end there. Saphienne set out for the library, moving through the village as though dazed, the world around her seeming lifeless and dull compared to the dream she had just lived. And the further she walked, the greyer everything became, and the more the pain in her chest grew, becoming sharp as she surmounted the steps and pushed open the door to see Filaurel.


    ¡°Happy birthday Saphienne,¡± Filaurel grinned. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you were coming today. You should practice your calligraphy.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Saphienne answered, walking past Filaurel¡¯s desk and toward the windowsill where she usually wrote.


    ¡°Have you had a good birthday?¡±


    ¡°¡­Yes.¡±


    As usual, Filaurel had laid out what she needed to practice. Unexpectedly, the calligraphy set that Saphienne normally used had been replaced with a fine, white oak box, laid open to reveal a greater array of pens and nibs and inks than she usually had access to. Saphienne could only stare.


    Filaurel was by her side. ¡°A gift for you. You¡¯ve worked so diligently, I thought you should have a set of your own, so you can¨C¡±


    Saphienne was shaking, tears silently spilling down her cheeks.


    ¡°Saphienne?¡± Filaurel turned her, held her, felt the resistance in her to being held. ¡°Saphienne, what¡¯s the matter? Did something happen?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She meant it, yet as soon as she said it, she knew she was lying.


    ¡°Do you need to sit down? Or do you want to go home?¡±


    ¡°Home?¡± Saphienne looked up sharply.


    And then, overwhelmed by her own question, she broke down into sobs, her tears spilling onto Filaurel, who lifted her to sit on her lap by the window, cradling her there and waving off latecomers to the library ¡ª the books would wait.


    *          *          *


    Saphienne never told Filaurel the whole of it. She couldn¡¯t have explained it, even if she had wanted to. Many years would pass before she knew enough of herself to realise what it was that had happened, why the fascinator brought only misery.


    For Filaurel, it was enough to know that Saphienne had been traumatised by the magical device. It was one of the only times Saphienne ever saw her truly angry, and part of her was afraid that the librarian might hurt her mother. She begged her not to, and Filaurel said that she wouldn¡¯t, nor would she say anything.


    ¡°Your mother was irresponsible.¡± Filaurel hesitated. ¡°¡­Your mother is irresponsible, Saphienne.¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t love me.¡±


    Filaurel squeezed her hand so tightly it slightly hurt, and Saphienne was glad for the touch. ¡°Your mother loves you as best she can. She clearly just doesn¡¯t know how to love someone, what love actually means.¡±


    Inwardly, Saphienne felt a pang of grief, and swallowed fresh tears as she thought about Kylantha ¡ª how she had been surrendered by her own mother. Then she felt guilt, for her own mother was not so bad in comparison.


    ¡­But, would she have been, had Saphienne been a half-elf?


    Filaurel stroked her hair. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t go hom¨C back to that house, tonight.¡±


    ¡°Can I stay with you? In your home?¡±


    There, the librarian looked uneasy. ¡°¡­We¡¯ll stay together. Here, in the library. I¡¯ll fetch you a cake.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not supposed to eat in here.¡±


    ¡°Saphienne, sod the rules for once.¡±


    The casual contempt for the rules with which she spoke made the girl gasp, and then laugh nervously. ¡°What does that mean? To ¡®sod¡¯ something?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ well.¡± Filaurel¡¯s cheeks had turned red. ¡°It¡¯s a human expression. One you shouldn¡¯t use. And I shouldn¡¯t explain to you, until you¡¯re older.¡±


    ¡°Is it related to grass?¡±


    ¡°Right now, I really wish it was. But no. And don¡¯t ask. I promise you, I¡¯ll explain it when you¡¯re old enough to learn.¡±


    ¡°¡­Is it a human profanity?¡±


    ¡°If I say yes, will that encourage you to use it?¡±


    Saphienne thought it over. ¡°I won¡¯t use it. Not until I understand it.¡±


    Her mentor tilted her head, lips twisting. ¡°That, I do believe. So yes, and thank you for your promise. You¡¯re a good girl. Now, let¡¯s¨C oh, Saphienne, don¡¯t cry! Come here. All is well. All will be well.¡±


    *          *          *


    What felt like a lifetime later, when Saphienne crouched in the magical glade conjured by the wizard Almon, those were the memories behind her eyes when she was asked what magic she most vividly remembered.


    The day with the fascinator was, of course, not the only act of magic Saphienne had witnessed. Not all of her exposure to magic had been so meaningful, so beautifully horrendous. In the aftermath, Filaurel had done much to ensure Saphienne would have a balanced view of things, especially when the librarian began to suspect that she had the disposition and necessary intelligence for wizardry.


    But that was what Saphienne knew magic to be, then. She wasn¡¯t afraid of it, but nor was she overawed by its wonders.


    And she knew better than to share such a delicate and personal memory. Not to people she hardly knew. Certainly not to Almon.


    ¡°I remember when I watched Eletha sing to metal for the first time,¡± she said instead. ¡°The way it flowed under her touch, how it answered her voice. She shaped it into jewellery so skilfully, and she made it look so simple, which was beautiful.¡±


    Celaena raised her eyebrows. ¡°Craft magic? That barely counts as magic.¡±


    Almon interjected. ¡°Yet it is magic, and magic used well. That almost all elves can employ it without understanding the Great Art does not lessen what it fundamentally is, and whatever awe it provokes should be acknowledged as fair.¡±


    Saphienne hadn¡¯t expected that from the wizard. She supposed that some things were sacred to him, worthy of respect, even if he showed little respect for her. She kept her eyes on the vibrant flowers that his magic had grown. ¡°I learned the songs, but I¡¯ve not used them much. I found them difficult.¡±


    ¡°Continuing in the spirit of fairness,¡± Almon added, ¡°I will admit that I have no talent for them either. Though they are magical, they are as different from wizardry as the invocations of the faithful.¡±


    Iolas stood up. ¡°So they¡¯re not transferrable skills?¡±


    ¡°Not to my understanding.¡± The wizard gestured around them, to the faintly blue, glowing stars that hung above the conjured blossoms. ¡°Wonders such as these require an entirely different grasp on reality.¡±


    A thought had been lurking in Saphienne¡¯s head; his words drew it into focus. Reaching down, she uprooted one of the flowers, hearing Celaena tut in disapproval at the casual act of destruction. Superficially, it looked like lavender, except it wasn¡¯t growing from a shrub, and the leaves on the stem were rounded, rather than pointed. It was also, she realised, slightly the wrong hue.


    She climbed to her feet slowly, casting a critical gaze over the other plants. ¡°None of this is real.¡±


    Almon turned away from Iolas, a little too quickly. ¡°What did you say?¡±


    Staring at the flower in her hand, Saphienne repeated herself, to herself. ¡°None of this is real.¡±


    In full sight of the others, she waved her hand through the flower.


    With a flicker of blue light, the grand illusion wavered, became transparent, and then collapsed entirely, leaving the elves stood once more upon a field of snow.


    End of Chapter 7

 CHAPTER 8 – A Frozen Summit

    There was no reaction from the other elves when the illusory glade of flowers and floating stars dissolved away, not immediately, their silence made starker by the wintery clearing to which they had returned.


    Almon found his voice first. ¡°Must you dispute everything, child?¡±


    The wizard was livid; his face had flushed dark red, and he threw up his suspended arm in irritation, casting whatever invisible thing had perched on his wrist into the night. He strode across to Saphienne with growing wrath. ¡°Could you not concede me this pageantry? Would it have been so trying for you to hold back, content in the knowledge that you had seen through the spell?¡± He stopped before her, kicking at the snow. ¡°Or did it not occur to you that I had planned the reveal? Why did you have to ruin things, Saphienne?¡±


    Faylar was still looking around himself in shock. ¡°It was a¡­ dream?¡±


    ¡°A hallucination, you imbecile,¡± Almon snapped over his shoulder.


    Looking at each other, Celaena and Iolas backed away. Everyone knew it was a dangerous thing, to anger a wizard, let alone to interfere with his magic.


    Yet, for reasons she couldn¡¯t explain, Saphienne was unafraid. ¡°You¡¯re angry at me, not him.¡±


    ¡°I know that!¡± His voice had risen to a roar. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare further condescend to me, you wretched child! Not one more remark! I won¡¯t have it.¡±


    Realising that she had provoked him too far, she kept silent, though she didn¡¯t look away from him as he glowered and seethed.


    Almon sensed she wasn¡¯t intimidated, and his fiery anger slowly subsided, becoming instead the embers of dull rage. Without turning, he addressed the other children. ¡°Iolas, Celaena, go back to your homes. Faylar, visit me on the morrow.¡±


    Celaena turned pale. ¡°I failed?¡±


    Then Almon pivoted to her, and whatever was in his eyes made the girl start in fright. She recovered herself well enough to bow, and then she all but ran away, followed after by Iolas, whose eyes briefly met Saphienne¡¯s ¡ª with clear concern for her wellbeing.


    Faylar pressed his luck. ¡°Thank you, Master Almon. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow.¡± Then he, too, departed.


    Alone now, Saphienne and the wizard faced each other.


    His voice was low. ¡°How did you see through the spell?¡±


    She folded her hands together. ¡°You got the flowers wrong. They smelled right, they felt right, and they looked convincing. But lavender has different leaves, and grows from a shrub, not as a single flower.¡±


    His brow was furrowed. ¡°That was all?¡±


    Saphienne shook her head. ¡°I also¡­ recognised the colour. The blue. Like the blue you¡¯re wearing.¡±


    The wizard took a deep, steadying breath. ¡°You know the colours of magic?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She shrugged lightly. ¡°I¡¯ve seen a fascinator before. Knowing what it does, recognising blue among its colours, seeing the flowers¡­ I didn¡¯t know, but I felt something was wrong. Then you mentioned reality, and it all clicked into place.¡±


    Almon walked away from her, his breath visible in the cold air. His hand went to the bridge of his nose, and then he flinched with his whole body, glaring up at his shoulder and muttering something in a language she didn¡¯t speak. He paced back and forth for the better part of a minute, grumbling all the while.


    When he returned, his fury had subsided into familiar annoyance. ¡°Had I reason to suspect you were so observant,¡± he sighed, ¡°I would have disguised the spell. Red would have been the appropriate colour.¡±


    ¡°Red is the colour of¡­ another type of magic?¡±


    ¡°Another discipline.¡± His lips were drawn, downturned. ¡°Conjuration. Blue is the colour of Hallucination. But any half-decent wizard can alter the gross appearance of their magic, should he have need to.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do it to spite you.¡±


    He studied her face. ¡°Why did you?¡±


    ¡°I needed to know what was real.¡±


    Unexpectedly, he smiled. ¡°Had you not taken me by surprise, your hand would have brushed across the flower. My force of belief is usually much stronger, but I hadn¡¯t even considered the possibility that one of you would have cause to doubt my work.¡±


    ¡°Your belief in the hallucination?¡±


    ¡°The discipline of Hallucination hinges on belief. A wizard must know the illusion to be false, and yet believe anyway, in order to sustain the magic.¡± He looked up at the revealed night sky, contemplating the truer, more distant stars. ¡°So too a wizard must not lose their knowledge that it is false, or the magic will unravel. The art of Hallucination lies in sustaining a waking dream, which requires a fertile imagination, and suspension, but not annihilation, of disbelief.¡±


    Saphienne looked away. ¡°I apologise, for ruining your theatrics.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you regret it, Saphienne, but I accept your apology all the same.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Almon folded his arms. ¡°You¡¯re clearly, irrefutably proud. Offering up your pride when you don¡¯t believe you were wrong, that means more than contrition.¡±


    Too late to make a difference, Saphienne grasped what drove Almon to teach, and thereby what it was he looked for in prospective students. Yet the knowledge only puzzled her. ¡°Why did you choose Faylar?¡±


    ¡°Faylar?¡± His expression was dismissive. ¡°I simply owe the boy an apology. He is hardly intelligent, but he¡¯s hardly an imbecile. My misdirected anger makes the fact that I¡¯m refusing him all the more awkward.¡±


    Saphienne felt as though the ground beneath her was beginning to shift. ¡°Then, why wasn¡¯t he suitable?¡±


    ¡°You tell me, since you¡¯re so observant.¡±


    She closed her eyes as she reflected on the night. ¡°He kept complimenting you. While he did notice the differently drawn stars in my calligraphy, he dismissed their significance, and went on to argue with Iolas when he said my work was better. He stressed how well prepared he was, but when you asked him to rephrase an answer to your question, he floundered.¡±


    ¡°And so?¡±


    Saphienne met his gaze again. ¡°He was prepared ¡ª by someone else. He¡¯s got a good memory for turns of phrase, so he knew the things to say, but they weren¡¯t things he understood, because he struggles to learn, since he¡¯s unobservant, and doesn¡¯t know when to defer to more learned people.¡±


    ¡°You might be accused of that last failing.¡±


    Smiling very brightly, she answered with levity she didn¡¯t feel. ¡°Well, whoever thought that would be wrong, and not worth deferring to ¡ª wouldn¡¯t they?¡±


    Almon didn¡¯t return her smile, now keeping his emotions at a distance, but there was a hint of¡­ not quite respect, though a sentiment similar to it showed in his eyes. ¡°What of the others, then?¡±


    Saphienne didn¡¯t know what to make of events. ¡°You sent them home, which suggests you¡¯re done with them, but I had the wrong impression about your intentions toward Faylar. I can¡¯t tell what you plan for them.¡±


    ¡°To examine them further.¡± He shifted his weight, his expression remaining even. ¡°Both of them show promise for different reasons. Iolas interests me in particular. He clearly doesn¡¯t want to be a wizard, not really, but he feels obliged to become one¡­ and will try, even though he prefers calligraphy.¡±


    The memory of Iolas¡¯ willingness to concede his loss, together with his story about his father, supported what the wizard said. ¡°Is he doing it for someone else?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t yet know.¡± A hint of thoughtfulness crept into Almon¡¯s voice. ¡°The boy has will enough to stand up for himself, so perhaps he seeks my instruction for the sake of many other people, not to please one in particular. He would be happier with his inks and papers, but happiness and power seldom intertwine.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°And Celaena?¡±


    ¡°A by-the-numbers candidate for wizardry.¡± He permitted himself to smile at his own joke, then discarded his good humour. ¡°I will, in all likelihood, teach her. She seems a little impulsive, and keen to make more of herself than she is¡­ but I can hardly fault her for those tendencies. She might well learn more impressive behaviours from them.¡±


    ¡°Leaving only me.¡±


    ¡°Ah, the girl speaks as though she doesn¡¯t secretly hope.¡± His tone was mocking despite his flat expression, and he loomed over her. ¡°You still think I¡¯m going to teach you, after all that has happened?¡±


    Saphienne felt more unnerved by that question than she did by the prior threat of his anger. She swallowed. ¡°Haven¡¯t you been teaching me just now?¡±


    ¡°Or am I just throwing salt on the wound?¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t made your mind up.¡± She felt the coin, still in her hand throughout all that had happened. ¡°But you don¡¯t want to, and you haven¡¯t wanted to since before we met.¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡± His voice became colder than the field. ¡°I dislike you, girl. At first I was being entirely unfair in my dislike, but now I can say for certain you have all the worst qualities that I despise in grown elves. I don¡¯t believe you will grow out of them.¡±


    Still, he was undecided, which Saphienne thought over quickly. ¡°Which implies I have qualities that recommend me despite your dislike.¡±


    ¡°Regrettably so. You have several, rare traits of character held by only the finest wizards. Do you expect me to name them for you? Do you hope for compliments? I will not.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯ll enumerate my failings as it pleases you,¡± Saphienne retorted.


    ¡°Well, now I won¡¯t. At least, not tonight.¡± He stepped away, turning his back to her as he gazed up at the stars again. ¡°Perhaps not ever, if we have no further reason to associate. But I must make up my mind, which means I must ask you what I will ask the other two. I will give you this courtesy: consider your answer very carefully, for I will base my decision entirely on what you tell me.¡±


    ¡°I would like to ask a question, first.¡±


    He turned back toward her, a little further than should have been necessary to see over his shoulder. ¡°Ask it. I may answer.¡±


    ¡°You speak as though you might teach all three of us.¡± She took a deep breath. ¡°How many students do you teach at once?¡±


    ¡°No more than five in any group, though I teach several groups throughout the year, differing by age and degree of practice.¡± He watched as the realisation lit her face. ¡°Ah, you thought you were all competing for limited places? But you were the one who made it a competition, Saphienne, when you wouldn¡¯t accept my refusal.¡±


    Saphienne blinked. ¡°But you let us compete.¡±


    ¡°As it happens, it made for a very good way to learn more about you all. Ordinarily, I wouldn¡¯t have set you in competition with each other, but you did that yourself, and why disabuse you of your error? Whether or not I will instruct you all in the Great Art, teaching moments must be seized upon when they present themselves.¡±


    Looking at the portly wizard as he studied the night sky, Saphienne felt both shame for her conduct and rising ire toward Almon. Had he not been set against her, she wouldn¡¯t have been so combative, wouldn¡¯t have had to force her way back into the fold. That he exploited the situation under the excuse of teaching made it worse, for really, she felt certain he did it for his own amusement.


    Pride: that was what drove him, and what he respected, and why he loved his theatrics, which were his way of keeping himself apart, and so superior. What he wanted was to feel proud of himself, but he accomplished that not through raising others up, but by climbing above them, even forcing them down¡­ where he could justify doing so.


    Of course he hated Filaurel. She wouldn¡¯t think well of him at all. And unlike him, she could find her happiness in others. That was how she was with¨C


    ¡°Are you prepared?¡±


    Eyes burning, Saphienne nodded, then spoke aloud. ¡°Ask your question.¡±


    Almon faced her as he asked it. ¡°Saphienne, why do you want to learn the art of magic?¡±


    *          *          *


    Before Gaeleath had arrived to teach Saphienne sculpture, there was a period after finishing shoe making with Ninleyn where she returned to the library, falling into the old routine of practicing her calligraphy and helping with the books. Working alongside Filaurel was pleasant, and even though they had still seen each other most days, Saphienne realised how much she had missed her prolonged company during her other studies.


    ¡°Saphienne,¡± Filaurel asked one evening, when no one else was visiting, ¡°why sculpture? Is it related to your other choices?¡±


    Saphienne had been reading quietly by the fireplace, and she frowned, memorising the page number before closing her book. ¡°No one else has asked.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re thorough, but you¡¯re not obsessive. I don¡¯t believe your studies are just stepping stones to you.¡±


    Looking up at the librarian, she felt fully visible for the first time since Kylantha had left¡­ the memory of which she pushed down. She looked away, into the fire, very much a moody teenager. ¡°Aren¡¯t they?¡±


    Filaurel sat next to her. ¡°Not if I know you. Do I know you?¡±


    She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. ¡°Better than the rest. I¡¯m sorry.¡± With a shake of her head she met her gaze. ¡°I¡­ you¡¯re going to think I¡¯m pretentious.¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s important to you, it¡¯s not pretentious.¡±


    Saphienne considered this. ¡°¡­All right, then. I¡¯m preoccupied by questions of form. What makes an elf an elf? How do you look at someone and decide whether they¡¯re an elf?¡±


    ¡°That explains the sculpture. I don¡¯t follow how it relates to the rest.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s the point,¡± Saphienne insisted, leaning forward. ¡°What distinguishes the form of a thing from how it appears? How someone dresses, the things they wear ¡ª aren¡¯t they just as much a part of how we perceive them? Doesn¡¯t that change their appearance, and doesn¡¯t that change their form?¡±


    ¡°Well, some philosophers would say someone¡¯s true form is what is fixed within them. Elves are born elves, and thereby remain elves.¡±


    ¡°Yet, elves change.¡± She gestured to her own hair. ¡°Brown, blonde, red, white; elves differ across the seasons, and that change is part of us. Our form changes.¡±


    ¡°In fixed ways. Hair changes with the season, but it¡¯s predictable. Our ears stay the same throughout.¡±


    ¡°If I were to have an accident, and lose my ears, would I be less of an elf?¡±


    Filaurel flinched, and her ears twitched, as though Saphienne had struck them. Her lips moved, but no words followed. Then she swallowed, shaking her head. ¡°¡­That¡¯s a hard question. Usually, if you asked anyone that, they¡¯d tell you no.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lie, though, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    The librarian breathed out slowly. ¡°Ears are important to us. Losing them would be tragic. It would¡­ I suppose, honestly, it would diminish you. That¡¯s how we¡¯d see it. Like you had lost an important part of being an elf. Not that anyone would tell you so.¡±


    Saphienne was slightly surprised that she admitted it. ¡°Then you must accept that what makes someone an elf is not fixed. If it can be diminished, can it also be added to? Does how it¡¯s presented change what it is? Where is the line drawn?¡±


    Now Filaurel was watching Saphienne intently, and her eyes held a glimmer of memory. Whatever she remembered, she did not say, but there was sadness in the way she inclined her head. ¡°I don¡¯t have a good answer. But I would be careful who else you put these questions to. Most around here won¡¯t like to think about them.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Saphienne replied, returning to her book. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t bother asking anyone else. Especially since you¡¯re all wrong.¡±


    ¡°Wrong, how?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d still be just as much of an elf if I lost my ears.¡± She spoke with absolute conviction that made her seem younger, and yet also older, than she was. ¡°It¡¯s not ears that make elves what they are. It¡¯s not any individual thing. Or all the many things together.¡±


    Filaurel furrowed her brow. ¡°Then what does?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Not yet. But I¡¯ll find out.¡±


    *          *          *


    Almon¡¯s question was simple, spoken quietly, but Saphienne could swear she heard it echoing from the trees around the clearing.


    She took her time composing her answer.


    ¡°I told you before,¡± Saphienne said, ¡°that I broke your hallucination because I needed to know what was real. You never pressed me on why that was so important. I think you know why it is; and I think you detest many things you read in me that you also detest in yourself, though you would never admit that. Nor do I want you to.¡±


    The wizard didn¡¯t interrupt, but she felt his attention sharpen.


    ¡°What makes something real?¡± She spoke as though sincerely asking him, even giving him chance to reply, an opportunity he didn¡¯t take. She went on. ¡°The world is governed by the laws of nature, but Celaena was right when she said that magic lies beyond and above all the laws of nature. Does that make magic more real than those laws? Is magic the absolute truth, the ruling against which there¡¯s no further petition?


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about these things. About what¡¯s real, and what¡¯s not. About what makes things true or false. I know someone who uses a fascinator every day. It makes her happy, to spend her life hallucinating, and she spends so much of her time that way ¡ª is that more real to her than the rest of her life? Did the wizard, or sorcerer, or whoever it was who made the fascinator ¡ª did they make her world for her?


    ¡°Even in this world,¡± Saphienne went on, ¡°in this ¡®real¡¯ world, how much of it can we know for certain? What if all of life is a hallucination? And who are we, if there¡¯s the chance that might be true? What makes us who we are? We say we¡¯re elves, but what does that even mean, when a wizard can change their form through magic?


    ¡°I have so many questions. And I know that studying magic will just provoke more. But I can¡¯t let these things go.¡± Her jaw tightened. ¡°I won¡¯t. How can I accept the world, accept what¡¯s true or false, what¡¯s right or wrong, when I don¡¯t even understand what the world is? When it seems like¡­ no one does.¡±


    She sighed, feeling tired. ¡°If you refuse me, I¡¯ll find another way. You¡¯ll make it much harder. And I won¡¯t pretend I like you, either, even if you do teach me.¡± In spite of her tiredness, she held herself tall. ¡°But I will learn until you can¡¯t teach me any more. And you¡¯ll know that I learned because of you, that I learned from you. Or that you proved me unworthy of the Great Art, which perhaps I am. Maybe magic is the only thing that¡¯s real, and the only thing that has any real worth. One way or another, I need to know.¡±


    She lapsed into silence.


    Almon gave no indication as to whether he was swayed, only asking, ¡°Are you done?¡±


    Saphienne nodded.


    ¡°You do like to hear yourself talk.¡± He shook his head, started out toward the treeline behind her, but paused as he drew alongside. ¡°Visit me again when you¡¯ve turned fourteen.¡±


    Saphienne stood still as she watched him go.


    Then, suddenly able to move again, she called after him. ¡°Does that mean I¡¯m your apprentice?¡±


    ¡°Ask Filaurel what¡¯s next.¡± He didn¡¯t bother looking back. ¡°She¡¯ll know what to do with you. And give her my regards when you see her.¡±


    And as he passed out of sight, only Saphienne was left in the glade, there to contemplate the stars overhead that ¨C so the poem had said ¨C needed no further explanation.


    End of Chapter 8

 CHAPTER 9 - Emerging Shapes

    On the night of her first confrontation with the wizard Almon, Saphienne was physically tired, having spent the day working with stone. And yet, as she walked back through the outskirts of the village, she felt wide awake, her thoughts thrumming in her mind like a stringed instrument that had been plucked for the first time. All the snowy world around her was hushed in anticipation, ready for her music, as though she were the conductor of a symphony, that the slightest wave of her hands might cause explosions of sound.


    Had she been successful? Was she to be Almon¡¯s apprentice? She couldn¡¯t be sure, but the fact he had instructed her to return to him on her fourteenth birthday suggested she hadn¡¯t failed outright. Whether or not there were to be further examinations, he hadn¡¯t refused her entirely ¡ª and that was cause enough to feel victorious, especially given how fraught their first meeting had been.


    So she flicked her fingers as she went looking for Filaurel, feeling the notes between them that no one else could hear.


    As she neared the library and saw that the lamp by the door had not yet been dimmed, she smiled, dancing up the steps to suddenly teeter at the top, caught by her fatigue. Saphienne paused to compose herself, and as she did the river of worry than she had skipped along rose up in a flood. What if she had failed? What if the wizard had told her to seek out Filaurel so that the librarian would be forced to deliver the blow? What if he had seen through Saphienne¡¯s answer to his final question?


    If, if, if: so many questions swirled around her as she steadied herself. The only way to answer them was to ask Filaurel.


    Who was leaning against her desk as Saphienne entered, having heard her approach. ¡°Well?¡± she asked, hugging herself to quiet her anticipation.


    Saphienne took a deep breath. ¡°I don¡¯t know. He didn¡¯t give me a direct answer.¡±


    ¡°What did he say?¡±


    ¡°He told me to give you his regards, and that you would know what to do with me.¡±


    The librarian threw up her hands. ¡°That¡¯s not even an answer!¡±


    ¡°I told you so.¡± Saphienne sagged, and closed the door with a yawn.


    Sizing her up, Filaurel lowered her hands and shook her head. ¡°I¡¯ll stoke the fire. Come and sit, and tell me everything. What did you think of Almon?¡±


    As she followed her mentor and sat by the fireplace, Saphienne shook her head. ¡°We don¡¯t like each other. I think he¡¯s very rude, conceited, and cruel.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s certainly full of himself,¡± Filaurel agreed as she lifted the poker, using it to stab at the charred logs. ¡°I¡¯ve never known him to be rude. Nor cruel, though I can imagine him cruel¡­ more from intuition than experience.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s very different from you. Is that why he dislikes you?¡±


    This surprised the librarian, who then half-smiled as she reflected on their past encounters. ¡°Of course he does, doesn¡¯t he? I hadn¡¯t quite noticed. I suppose it makes sense, now that I think about it.¡±


    ¡°How could you not know?¡±


    ¡°I presumed he was just preoccupied. It¡¯s never a simple thing, to know for sure what someone thinks, or how they feel.¡± Filaurel set the poker down, warming her hands by the fire. ¡°Now that you say it though, yes, I should have noticed before.¡±


    Saphienne stared at her, then looked to the low, glowing fire. ¡°He¡¯s awful.¡±


    ¡°Almon,¡± Filaurel sighed, ¡°has a tremendous ego. Tremendously fragile, it would seem, because I can only think of one way I might have caused him offense. And if I¡¯m right,¡± she said, shaking her head, ¡°then he¡¯s incredibly petty.¡±


    ¡°What did you do?¡±


    Filaurel laughed, once, quietly. ¡°Talked with him. When we first met¡­ I was trying to be friendly. I was trying to make a good impression. So I talked to him,¡± she sighed again, ¡°at length and with enthusiasm, about a topic we had in common.¡±


    ¡°Which was?¡±


    ¡°Magic, Saphienne. We talked about magic. We talked about wizards, and how they go about their business.¡±


    Several questions tried to force their way through Saphienne¡¯s mouth at the same time, and her lips moved soundlessly. Finally, she chose one to voice, holding the others back. ¡°You¡¯re a wizard?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Filaurel shot her a laughing smile. ¡°Me? No. Never. I don¡¯t have the talent, not even slightly. I can¡¯t even work craft magic. Believe me, I¡¯ve tried ¡ª I tried for years, before I gave up and accepted I¡¯d be scrivening the slow way.¡±


    Saphienne sat forward, leaning on her knuckles, the curiosity in her eyes burning brighter than the reflected fire. ¡°But, how do you know about magic?¡±


    ¡°I spent a very long time around wizards,¡± the librarian admitted, her gaze becoming distant. ¡°A very long time. I got to know their ways quite well. And I learned a considerable amount about magic, but it was all useless knowledge¡­ to me, at least.¡± She shook the memories away, giving Saphienne a forced smile. ¡°So, when I met Almon, I talked about what I knew, in what I thought was a friendly way. He grew more terse the longer we talked, to the point I believed I was boring him. Now, I see it was otherwise.¡±


    The reason for Almon¡¯s dislike became clear. ¡°He felt threatened.¡±


    Filaurel nodded, then laughed, more loudly, and felt the heat in her own cheeks. ¡°What a fool. Him or me: I¡¯m not sure which. Almon is entirely full of himself, and the only established wizard in some miles. And there I was, talking casually to him about the great mysteries he prides himself on knowing. Me, a mere librarian, without a drop of magical talent¡­¡±


    Saphienne could picture it, could see Master Almon beginning indulgently, happy for the chance to show off his learning, growing cooler and stiffer the more knowledge Filaurel showed in turn, quietly aggrieved by the hand of friendship she offered him. How could she dare diminish his mastery? Who was this woman, this simple book minder, so thoughtlessly undermining his status? Didn¡¯t she know how important he was?


    The librarian caught Saphienne¡¯s gaze. ¡°He was very formal when I spoke to him about you. I thought he was avoiding favouritism. He made it hard for you, then?¡±


    Nodding, Saphienne lay back against her chair¡¯s cushions. ¡°He tried to refuse me outright, said I was too young. I nearly gave up.¡±


    Taking the seat next to her, Filaurel reached over and held her hand, quite tightly. ¡°Share the story. What happened tonight?¡±


    And so Saphienne told her what had happened, recounting from the moment she first entered his parlour until he left her in the field, sharing every word the wizard had said. Her recollection was vivid, the experience having been so recent and so intense that she summarised accurately and with growing anger as she relived the injustice.


    She was squeezing Filaurel¡¯s hand back by the time she was done. ¡°¡­Telling me ¡®Ask Filaurel what¡¯s next. She¡¯ll know what do do with you. And give her my regards when you see her.¡¯ Then he left the clearing, and I came straight here to see you.¡±


    Filaurel didn¡¯t look angry, but she did look sad. ¡°What a pri¨C ah, what a rude man.¡±


    ¡°You can call him precious,¡± Saphienne replied, having misunderstood. ¡°He¡¯s incredibly precious about his magic.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Filaurel grinned, but didn¡¯t explain what had changed her mood. ¡°Well, yes. But one thing you glossed over: what was it you said to him? About your reason, for wanting to study magic?¡±


    Saphienne lowered her gaze.


    *          *          *


    When Saphienne had first begun studying under Gaeleath, she had been amused to find herself practicing calligraphy again, using chalk to carefully write out passages of text that the sculptor would then inscribe. The purpose, she was told, was to familiarise her with the precise yet powerful touch required for sculpture ¡ª beginning in an area where she could fairly judge her own work.


    ¡°Why stone?¡± she asked. ¡°Why not wood?¡±


    Gaeleath only smiled more enigmatically. ¡°You¡¯re not the sort to work with wood. We¡¯ll begin with your best medium, and then we¡¯ll explore wood once you¡¯ve found your feet.¡±


    As a teaching method, it was effective. When Saphienne took over the chisels and tried to match what she had been shown, she immediately found it difficult, but the obviousness of her mistakes meant she could see where she was going wrong. She needed the sculptor¡¯s input less and less with each passing day, and was able to build up her strength gradually; less delicate work would have exhausted her more quickly. This in turn allowed Gaeleath to pursue other projects while she practiced, which led to the two working side by side, the tent filled only with the sounds of their tools striking stone.


    On the afternoon of the seventh day, forearms aching, Saphienne lay her implements down and turned to watch Gaeleath, scrutinizing the block of sandstone that occupied the artist¡¯s current efforts. Every day, Gaeleath picked out a new piece of stone to work, half-shaping it with tools, roughing out the impressions of hands, of legs, of heads, creating the implication of posed figures, though never progressing to distinct features. The back of the tent was already crowded with unfinished pieces.


    Gaeleath sensed her watching. ¡°I can feel your question coming on.¡±


    ¡°Will you finish this one?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll finish them all,¡± the sculptor answered, ¡°in the fullness of time.¡±


    ¡°Are you holding back for my sake? So I can see the basics?¡±


    There, Gaeleath looked at her. ¡°You think all that I do is for your benefit?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not an answer, and no, I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll answer in kind: no. I work as takes my fancy. The sandstone,¡± the sculptor explained, ¡°is because I have you working in the same material, but the pace of my work is set by my heart alone. Clever girl that you are, you¡¯ll understand soon.¡± Gaeleath returned to the piece, smiling serenely with each tap.


    That called to mind another question, one that Saphienne had been putting off asking. ¡°Master Gaeleath¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a master,¡± the artist corrected her. ¡°My work may be good enough, but I haven¡¯t yet made a masterpiece, and quality aside, I¡¯m too young for the accolade. Of the two hundred and fifty years required, I scarcely have one hundred and forty one.¡± Downing tools, the artist swivelled back to her. ¡°Now comes the real question. Ask away.¡±


    Saphienne studied the elf: shadowed eyes, a single earring, an effeminate style of dress. The day before, Gaeleath¡¯s hair had been worn in a masculine style, matched to traditionally male garb, and the artist had forgone makeup entirely. Try as she might, she struggled to resolve the androgyny the sculptor presented. ¡°Gaeleath, are you a woman or a man?¡±


    Now the sculptor grinned. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Because I don¡¯t know the answer.¡±


    ¡°And why does that matter?¡±


    ¡°In case someone asks about you,¡± she said, covering for her curiosity. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to guess since we met.¡±


    Laughing, a high and rich sound, Gaeleath walked over and clapped her shoulders, delighted. ¡°Everyone wonders,¡± the androgynous artist agreed, ¡°but very few people ever think to ask. They¡¯re afraid of giving offence, I think.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not offended, though. So, which is it?¡±


    There Gaeleath stepped back, blushing. ¡°Ah, but you¡¯d catch me in a lie.¡±


    She blinked. ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°The answer is neither. Or both. Or one, and then again the other.¡± The sculptor gestured to the unfinished work. ¡°I am whatever the work requires, however my changing mood finds me. Which means I¡¯m quite undecided. And quite an inconvenience, I suppose, being as elves are sensitive to differences.¡±


    ¡°People like to conform.¡±


    He? She? Whichever they were that day, Gaeleath lit up. ¡°So people do, Saphienne! Elves especially. Our limitless lives require we learn our lines, and then perform our role, in keeping with the drama.¡±


    Finding herself playing along, Saphienne grinned. ¡°But you¡¯re more of an improviser?¡±


    ¡°By necessity. I haven¡¯t yet found my cue.¡± They gestured to their appearance. ¡°Accepting for now that I can¡¯t play my part, I do what I can to let people see whatever it is they wish to. I present myself as a mystery, evoke drama, play to assumptions, and when I¡¯m compelled to be forthright, I put myself forward in whatever way best suits my audience.¡±


    ¡°¡­You lie to suit them?¡±


    ¡°Ah, but how can I tell a lie, when I don¡¯t know the truth? What¡¯s true, and what¡¯s false? What¡¯s real, and what¡¯s not? Which court should I petition, that will issue a decisive ruling?¡± They laughed again, eyes dancing. ¡°No, I tell no lies, only present who I am in the way that will be best received in the moment.¡±


    ¡°You mislead them.¡±


    ¡°Yet, at heart I¡¯m sincere. And if you would mislead others, you had best remember: every deception rests on a truth, just as everything that¡¯s true depends upon a lie.¡±


    She laughed, waving them away. ¡°You¡¯re presenting yourself as a riddle for me to puzzle through, but by your own admission, I can¡¯t trust a word you say about yourself.¡±


    ¡°Then,¡± Gaeleath proposed, ¡°ask no questions. Just take me as I am, and let the rest work itself out.¡±


    Saphienne glanced at the statues in progress, and grinned. ¡°In the fullness of time?¡±


    The pair of them laughed together.


    *          *          *


    ¡°I lied to him.¡±


    Sitting with Filaurel in the library, Saphienne stared at her feet as she answered. ¡°He asked me why I wanted to study magic¡­ but I don¡¯t really know. I went along with it because you recommended me, at least at first, but when he turned me away¡­¡±


    She could feel the librarian studying her face, and she burned with shame. ¡°I was so angry at his refusal, at how unfair it all was, that why I wanted to learn didn¡¯t really matter. I just wanted to prove he was wrong. I wanted to stand up for myself. To choose for myself, rather than accept a choice someone else made for me.¡± Saphienne took a deep breath. ¡°So I made up an answer, a lie that I thought would appeal to him.¡±


    Filaurel let go of the hand she held. ¡°And he didn¡¯t see through it?¡±


    ¡°No. I don¡¯t think so.¡± In her other hand, Saphienne rubbed at the copper coin with her thumb. ¡°I based my answer on what I told you, about my questions on form and what it means to be an elf, but I rephrased them to suit his interest in illusions. Then I dressed up my answer with other things I¡¯ve heard.¡± She closed her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Filaurel giggled.


    Saphienne turned to her in surprise. ¡°What¡¯s funny?¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on.¡± She was smiling broadly. ¡°A girl of thirteen challenges the mighty wizard, and not only wins against the odds, but does it by taking his measure ¡ª and then lying to his face?¡±


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d be disappointed.¡±


    ¡°Saphienne, consider who you¡¯re lying to before you lose sleep over it.¡± She thought for a moment, then nodded to herself. ¡°He¡¯s a prick.¡±


    Astonished now, Saphienne¡¯s reply was involuntary. ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to swear!¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re nearly fourteen. One word a week won¡¯t harm you. And if ever someone deserved it, Almon earned it tonight.¡±


    She thought this over. Nervously, as though expecting reprimand, she watched Filaurel as she spoke. ¡°He¡­ really was¡­ a¡­ prick?¡±


    Filaurel burst out laughing, louder than Saphienne had heard before, and it took the librarian a long moment to calm herself down. When she did, she hugged her. ¡°I can¡¯t compliment your delivery,¡± she told her, ¡°but the sentiment is there. I¡¯m sure practice will make perfect.¡±


    Saphienne smiled into her embrace, feeling devious. ¡°Am I old enough to know what ¡®sod¡¯ means, now?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t push your luck.¡± Filaurel was still smiling when she sat back. ¡°I said one word a week. And that¡¯s at most. You can ask again when you¡¯re fourteen.¡±


    The reminder made Saphienne sit up, anxious again. ¡°So, what did he mean? Why am I to see him? Am I¨C¡±


    Filaurel shushed her with a gesture. ¡°Yes, Saphienne. I think so. Whatever lie you told him, it must have been a good one. He clearly intends to teach you when you¡¯re fourteen, though I wouldn¡¯t expect him to be any nicer about it.¡±


    Saphienne was boiling over inside, but she kept a lid on herself. ¡°What happens next, then?¡±


    ¡°Next,¡± Filaurel answered, yawning, ¡°you go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow, go tell Gaeleath you¡¯ll have less time than you thought, then come see me, and I¡¯ll teach you what you have to practice before you start your lessons.¡± She finished yawning, and scowled. ¡°Almon¡¯s way of emphasising my limits: making me teach you a little, before he takes over.¡±


    ¡°Prick!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± Filaurel nodded, then poked Saphienne in the side. ¡°But that¡¯s enough out of you for this week. Go home, Saphienne.¡±


    ¡°But, couldn¡¯t you tell me a little¨C¡±


    Filaurel stood. ¡°Home. Bed. Wizards must have patience, young apprentice.¡±


    Despite her eagerness, Saphienne was smothering yawns of her own. She supposed the magic could wait one more night.


    ¡­But only one.


    End of Chapter 9

 CHAPTER 10 – Around the Issue

    By now you have a faint inkling of the woman Saphienne would become, and the people who shaped her as she grew. Two of the five moments that defined her have been described, and we crossed out of her early childhood some time ago.


    So too the hour that you were to listen has elapsed. Tell me: does the hoard still command your attention? Would you care to fill your pockets now? Or would you prefer to linger until I finish describing her emergence, and what transpired to set her village aflame?


    Ah, but I get ahead of myself. Though not too much further ahead.


    Shall I continue? Very well.


    The morning after Saphienne won her apprenticeship, she was sluggish and cold, having slept very poorly in her excitement. Nevertheless she moved with growing momentum, eating and bathing and dressing all warmly, her eyes unfocused yet her mind keenly fixed on the day before her. There was much she had to do, and she was eager for her first taste of what she had argued so hard to receive. That Filaurel would be the one to begin her instruction made it all the sweeter.


    But before she would call upon Filaurel for her new lessons, she owed an explanation to her present tutor, Gaeleath. The androgynous artist had expected to teach her until springtime, and she felt guilty for having inadvertently mislead them. Saphienne¡¯s only regret in the cold, morning light was that she wouldn¡¯t have more time to study the art of sculpture, and that she would thereby be disappointing someone who had done nothing but help her learn.


    In this spirit of sad resolve, Saphienne arrived at the tent pavilion where the two had formerly worked together, the quiet within making her believe that Gaeleath was absent. Yet as she lifted the flap she saw the sculptor sat cross-legged before the plinth around which they usually worked, the space upon it empty, yesterday¡¯s piece having been removed, likely placed with the dozens of others that now littered the snow behind the tent.


    ¡°Good morning, Saphienne.¡± They were facing away from her, contemplating the air above the plinth.


    ¡°Good morning, Gaeleath.¡± She lingered by the entrance, finding her courage.


    ¡°You¡¯re early today,¡± the sculptor commented. ¡°Might I suppose, together with your hesitation to resume your study, that your visit with Master Almon last night was eventful?¡±


    Saphienne blinked. ¡°You knew I went to him?¡±


    ¡°Filaurel forewarned me after your exit.¡± Rising nimbly, they turned to face her, still smiling their eternal, easy smile. ¡°And I see now from the look of mournful excitement in your eyes that you were successful, and will soon be commencing the study of magic.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Saphienne answered, giving the sculptor a small bow. ¡°I really didn¡¯t mean to waste your time. I thought that I had¨C¡±


    ¡°In what way,¡± they spoke over her, puzzled, ¡°have you wasted my time?¡±


    ¡°I thought I had until spring. We¡¯ve had less than three months.¡±


    ¡°Not a single day of which has been wasted,¡± Gaeleath countered, gesturing to the several pieces of inscribed and partly sculpted stone scattered around Saphienne¡¯s half of the tent. ¡°You¡¯ve learned quite quickly, and for all you need more heft in those arms, you¡¯re well on your way to being capable in the fashioning of likenesses.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps, but I won¡¯t be able to continue.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t you?¡± Their smile dipped slightly, but didn¡¯t dim, as though they were anticipating an answer that pleased them.


    ¡°I¡¯m meant to start preparations with Filaurel today, and then study under Almon from my next birthday.¡±


    ¡°Which gives us a little over three months more, and perhaps some time after.¡±


    Saphienne frowned. ¡°But, I¡¯ll be busy¡­¡±


    ¡°Likely not busier than I was, when I learned, which leaves plenty of time to work on your other art.¡±


    Now Saphienne stepped fully into the tent, the flap falling closed behind her, quite forgetting to shake the snow off her shoes as she moved toward Gaeleath. ¡°You¡¯re a wizard? Or, have you studied wizardry?¡±


    Grinning widely, the sculptor backed away from Saphienne, and then hopped up to sit on their plinth. ¡°I studied wizardry. I have the talent, and learned to cast spells of the First Degree.¡±


    ¡°Then,¡± Saphienne asked, her voice full of wonder, ¡°why aren¡¯t you¨C¡±


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t I chanting away, secluded in my sanctum, accompanied by my familiar in my pursuit of the Great Art?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°I stopped.¡± Gaeleath shrugged. ¡°I couldn¡¯t choose a discipline.¡±


    Dumbfounded, she just stared.


    ¡°Every wizard has to choose a discipline in which to focus their studies,¡± the sculptor explained, ¡°and I simply haven¡¯t decided yet. I¡¯d been playing with sculpture during my studies, and making great progress there ¡ª so I thought, why not take a break, think it over? Take my time to get my hands around the issue, so to say.¡±


    Saphienne shook herself out of her shock. ¡°How long?¡±


    ¡°How long since then?¡± They shrugged again. ¡°Oh, perhaps ninety years. I¡¯ve not been keeping track. I hadn¡¯t planned on such a long delay, but this work suits me, and part of me wants to see what I can really do with it before I go back to the incantations. It¡¯s not like there¡¯s any great rush.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve spent nearly a hundred years,¡± Saphienne managed, ¡°on an artistic diversion?¡±


    ¡°You say it like it¡¯s odd.¡± They tilted their head. ¡°Oh, the impatience of youth!¡±


    For the first time in her life, the reality of elven timelessness struck Saphienne, and she sat down on the floor rather than fall over, landing heavily and curling her legs under herself as she stared up in wonderment at the laughing artist on the plinth. She had been so focused on all that she wanted to explore, that the scale over which she would live and make those explorations had never really sunk in.


    Gaeleath saw her distress, and the recognition in their eyes tempered their laughter. ¡°Ah, Saphienne,¡± they said, ¡°we¡¯re all free to learn at our leisure. You needn¡¯t think you¡¯ll take so long as I will. Most can learn spells of the First Degree in ten years, five if they¡¯re unusually gifted, and I¡¯m told spells of the Second Degree take no more than another twenty-five to a diligent student. After thirty or so years, you¡¯ll surely be a wizard in your own right, perhaps bringing on students, or receiving further instruction at¨C¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have that long,¡± Saphienne whispered.


    For the first time since they had met, Gaeleath¡¯s smile fell away completely, replaced by concern. ¡°But, Saphienne,¡± they said, sliding off the plinth, ¡°whyever would you think that? You have as long as you want.¡±


    They crouched down before her, and Saphienne took their hand, standing slowly. She didn¡¯t know why the prospect upset her so much, why it felt like she had such little time, but the thought of thirty years learning magic filled her with unspeakable dread. And yet, Gaeleath was telling the truth ¡ª she did have forever.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± Gaeleath was saying, ¡°your preparations won¡¯t take up most of your day, and even after you¡¯re deep in study, you can¡¯t spend every waking hour on the same thing. We¡¯ll talk more once you¡¯ve found where you stand. For now, I¡¯m inclined to stay.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she mumbled, aware of how little she had slept.


    ¡°Not at all! Now,¡± they smiled again, patting her on the arm, ¡°why don¡¯t you run along to Filaurel? I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll all make more sense after seeing her.¡±


    *          *          *


    When Saphienne met Filaurel, however, her first concern wasn¡¯t magic, or what to do with her unending days, but whatever had happened to upset the librarian. Filaurel was wrapped in a blanket by the fire, eyes red, and as Saphienne hurried over she saw her mentor delicately blow her nose into a lace handkerchief.


    ¡°Filaurel?¡± Saphienne said her name loudly, fear gripping her. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? What¡¯s happened?¡±


    But Filaurel was waving her away. ¡°Wait,¡± she sniffed.


    Saphienne did as she was told, and watched as Filaurel lifted a swatch of green cloth, stitched with ferns, which she secured over her mouth and nose by means of two straps that she gently looped around her ears. Masked, she nodded for Saphienne to come closer.


    Confused now, Saphienne approached warily. ¡°Why are you wearing a mask? And why have you been crying?¡±


    ¡°Crying?¡± Her voice sounded strange to Saphienne ¡ª not just muffled, but constrained. ¡°Saphienne, I''ve not been¨C oh! You¡¯ve never been sick before, have you?¡±


    ¡°Sick?¡± Her worry grew. ¡°No, I¡¯ve never been¡­ You¡¯re suffering from an illness?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Filaurel read the younger elf¡¯s expression, and her eyes crinkled in a smile. ¡°Just a mild sickness, don¡¯t worry. Humans would call it a ¡®cold,¡¯ though I don¡¯t know why, since it¡¯s nothing to do with temperature.¡±


    Keeping a little distance, Saphienne sat on the furthest chair. ¡°How did this happen?¡±


    ¡°Oh, one of the children was sneezing a few days ago. I thought it was the smell of the glue I was using,¡± she sighed, sniffling, ¡°but here we are. I¡¯m probably as much to blame, breaking my routine last night, and then getting late to bed.¡±


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you still be in bed?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that bad,¡± Filaurel soothed her, lifting a cup from beside the fire, ¡°more irritating than anything else. And I¡¯m drinking willow tea, so I¡¯ll be more comfortable before long. This really isn¡¯t the worst I¡¯ve ever had.¡±


    The thought of Filaurel being sick was distressing, and the thought of her being sicker made Saphienne pull her knees up against her chest, holding them with both arms. She studied her face, disquieted by the mask. ¡°Will you recover soon?¡±


    ¡°Probably by tomorrow. Which isn¡¯t so bad at all: humans take much longer, and they sicken more easily.¡±


    Saphienne breathed deeply, somewhat reassured. ¡°And the mask?¡±


    ¡°So I don¡¯t pass it to you,¡± Filaurel explained. ¡°Or anyone else. There¡¯s no point in making anyone else suffer. Or, do you mean, how does the mask work? It blocks transmission. Illness spreads by shared breath, by shared taste, by shared touch, or through exposure to things that have been in proximity to the same.¡±


    ¡°Shared taste?¡±


    Filaurel went still for a moment, and Saphienne could see a blush creep up to her ears. ¡°An expression. It means the exchange of bodily fluids, which can be as simple as sweat, or through kissing. I know you read some of those books I told you to organise, that time I was away, so you can fill in the rest.¡±


    Burying her face in her knees, it was Saphienne¡¯s turn to blush, and she felt her cheeks and ears burning brightly.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± Filaurel went on, then paused to sneeze. ¡°Ugh. What I was going to say was, I couldn¡¯t stay home today, not after what you went through last night.¡±


    Raising her head, Saphienne smiled weakly. ¡°I can wait another day.¡±


    ¡°No, it really won¡¯t take that long. Do you want to start now?¡±


    Saphienne nodded, and brought her legs down, smoothing out the hem of her skirt.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s begin with the basics.¡± Filaurel shrugged off the blanket, and leant forward, stoking the fire with her free hand. ¡°You will learn the fundamentals of magic in three stages, which I¡¯ll explain in reverse. In the last stage, you¡¯ll be educated in matters of arcane theory, as well as tutored in the words and gestures needed to marshal yourself and cast spells of the First Degree. Don¡¯t worry about the different degrees of magic right now: that will all be in the middle stage. During the middle stage, you will be taught the conventions and history of magic, exposed to certain spells as may assist your learning, and given opportunity to practice spells that fall beneath the First Degree.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Saphienne interjected, ¡°if there are spells below the First Degree, shouldn¡¯t they be called the first?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Filaurel shook her head, lifting up her mask to sip from her cup before drawing it back into place. ¡°No, the degrees are separated by specific criteria they each require, and spells that fall short don¡¯t qualify. You¡¯ll learn about them later. Just accept for now that real magic starts at the First Degree.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± Saphienne repeated, ¡°the last stage has First Degree spells, the middle stage has spells short of that, and the first stage has¡­?¡±


    ¡°Practicing meditation, to hone your concentration.¡±


    Saphienne nodded, a little disappointed. ¡°¡­I suppose that makes sense.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s very mature,¡± Filaurel approved. ¡°Almost everyone asks if that¡¯s all there is to it. Most can¡¯t accept it¡¯s so simple. But even the complicated things start with simple practices.¡±


    ¡°How do I meditate, then?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll warn you: it¡¯s harder to do than to explain. And you need to do it every day, starting with half an hour at a time, working your way up to two full hours. You¡¯ll need two weeks of continuous effort before you¡¯ll start to make progress.¡±


    ¡°Tell me what to do,¡± Saphienne promised, ¡°and I¡¯ll do it. Every day.¡±


    ¡°I know you will.¡± Filaurel smiled again, her eyes watery, perhaps from her illness, and she gestured to the fireplace. ¡°Do it first thing in the day, after you¡¯re fully awake, long before you¡¯re tired. We¡¯ll start today by having you look at the fire.¡±


    Dutifully, Saphienne squared her shoulders and gazed into the flames.


    ¡°Relax your body, sit comfortably. Better.¡± The librarian gave her a moment to settle. ¡°Now: the task is to watch the flames. Pay close attention to them. Pick one tongue, and study it, and keep studying it.¡± Filaurel spoke slowly, as though she had taught others before, or perhaps was repeating what she had once been taught. ¡°Don¡¯t look away. Breathe, blink, but don¡¯t think. Do not let yourself be distracted by your environment, or by your thoughts. Whenever you notice your attention drift away, return it to the fire.¡±


    Saphienne concentrated. The fire appeared brighter. The longer she studied it, the more it seemed replete with hidden mysteries, portending the magic that she would surely soon¨C


    Shaking her head, Saphienne glanced to Filaurel. ¡°This is really hard.¡±


    Filaurel was simply staring at her, expectantly. The mask made her expression severe.


    Blushing again, Saphienne mumbled, ¡°Sorry. I see.¡± She turned back to the fire, forced herself to pay attention.


    Filaurel waited a few minutes before speaking again. ¡°The fire isn¡¯t the important thing,¡± she explained. ¡°Some practice by paying attention to their breathing. Some to the sound of the rain. The subject is not important: what matters is your focus, and your control over your own attention. Which, again, will take two weeks to start to develop.¡±


    ¡°¡­Can I ask a question?¡±


    ¡°So long as it¡¯s deliberate, and you stop meditating to do it, and resume after.¡±


    Nodding, Saphienne turned to her. ¡°If I do this in the mornings, would it hurt to continue with sculpture in the afternoon?¡±


    Filaurel smothered another sneeze, and gathered her blanket back up. ¡°You¡¯re allowed a life beyond magic, Saphienne. Just make sure you do thirty minutes, every day. Starting now ¡ª no more interruptions.¡±


    *          *          *


    Whether it was through tiredness or inexperience, Saphienne struggled through her first session, with every single sound, every little itch magnified beyond measure. What she thought was her greatest advantage in life, her keen mind, had turned traitor on her, constantly seducing her away from her task with errant thoughts. Those were then followed with thoughts about her errant thoughts, then thoughts about how poorly she was doing, then thoughts about how good it was for her to notice that those thoughts about her progress were also interruptions, and then¨C


    She clearly had a long way to go.


    Saphienne was exhausted by the time she was done, and she left Filaurel dozing by the fire as she made her way out of the library, planning to rest and consider how best to pass the remaining months until her birthday. There would be plenty of time for sculpture at first, but once she reached two hours of meditation a day, should she stop there? Would she find it advantageous to try for four? Assuming, of course, that she could.


    Mulling it over, she strolled along the path to her family home ¡ª pausing when she saw a horse tethered outside, where the animal stamped at the snow, breath steaming on the air. A blanket had been placed across the horse¡¯s back, keeping him or her warm despite the icy wind.


    Someone was visiting. But no one ever visited. Could it be her father?


    Her eyes darkened. Surely not. Anyone but him.


    Saphienne steeled herself, and crept the remaining distance to the front door, leaning against it to listen to the voices inside.


    End of Chapter 10

 CHAPTER 11 – Misapprehensions

    In her countless hours in the village library, Saphienne had read that elves possessed much better eyesight and hearing than many other creatures, and that most of the shorter-lived peoples considered their senses miraculous. She found the thought that someone would be so easily impressed quite amusing, though imagining how much duller the world must seem to them made her sad.


    However, as she crouched on the frozen doorstep to her family home and pressed her ear against the painted wood, she found herself wishing that her hearing really was supernatural: the faint pinging of the settled snow was annoying. She covered her other ear, closed her eyes, and focused on what was being said.


    ¡°How have you been sleeping?¡±


    Saphienne tensed. Though it was hard to tell for sure, she thought the speaker was a man, his inflection low. Was it her father?


    ¡°Better than before,¡± she heard her mother answer. Her mother sounded different; her voice was smaller than when she spoke to Saphienne.


    There was a moment of quiet before he asked another question. ¡°And the nightmares?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had less of them.¡± She could hear her mother shifting by the creak of her chair, and Saphienne realised the pair were seated at the kitchen table. ¡°They¡¯re much better.¡±


    ¡°How frequently?¡±


    ¡°Only two¡­ this week.¡±


    Saphienne blinked. Her mother had nightmares? About what?


    Yet this was no surprise to the questioner. ¡°Any change in their contents?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± her mother answered, then hesitated. ¡°Well¡­ sometimes Saphienne is in them. But they¡¯re mostly the same. I always end up lost.¡±


    ¡°Is her presence good or bad?¡±


    ¡°Bad,¡± her mother sighed. ¡°No different from anyone else.¡±


    Was it the cold that made Saphienne shiver on the doorstep? The cold was all she could feel, in the moment.


    ¡°And outside of your nightmares,¡± the man went on, ¡°how has she been?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s doing well.¡± Her tone brightened. ¡°We don¡¯t talk much now, but she¡¯s keeping herself busy. I rarely see her at home¡­ I like that.¡±


    The cold, and then her anger.


    Yet the man was only curious. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I like that she has friends. I like that she¡¯s fitting in. I should want that, shouldn¡¯t I?¡±


    And then she felt only her anger. Her mother didn¡¯t care to know her, not at all.


    ¡°Could it be,¡± the man challenged her, ¡°that you don¡¯t want her around the house?¡±


    Her mother said nothing.


    Casually, as though changing the subject, the man went on. ¡°I¡¯m told you¡¯re still drinking a lot of wine.¡±


    ¡°Less than before.¡± Her mother was defensive. ¡°And not around Saphienne. Well¡­ not often. But it helps me sleep, if I drink a glass at night.¡±


    ¡°Only a glass?¡±


    Once more, her mother was silent.


    There was gentleness in his voice when he next spoke. ¡°Less is better. Keep trying for less. Have you been using your fascinator?¡±


    ¡°Every day. The new exercises are helping.¡±


    ¡°And recreationally? How often?¡±


    Her mother sighed. ¡°¡­Every day. But I do the exercises first, always.¡±


    This seemed to satisfy him. ¡°Good girl. How often do you leave the house?¡±


    ¡°Not much, now.¡± A hint of reproach crept into her voice. ¡°You know I don¡¯t like winter. I was going for walks before. When spring comes¡­¡±


    ¡°Try to find reasons to leave the house. Speaking of which,¡± he said, shifting in his chair, ¡°what about your friend?¡±


    ¡°¡­What about him?¡± Whether her mother was wary or evasive, Saphienne couldn¡¯t hear, though she could tell she felt judged.


    ¡°Are you still writing to each other? Might he come to visit? It would be good for your daughter, to see him more.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re still exchanging letters. He wants to visit, it¡¯s just that¡­ he¡¯s nervous.¡±


    Now Saphienne could hear judgement from the man. ¡°He needs to get over his nervousness and visit. He ought to visit you. And he ought to visit his daughter.¡±


    Then Saphienne knew for certain that the man speaking wasn¡¯t her father. The way he spoke hadn¡¯t resembled her father, but the way her mother was speaking didn¡¯t resemble her, either, and it wasn¡¯t as though there was much talking when her father visited. Saphienne still remembered his last visit, more than three years ago, and her confusion at why he would come all that way to see her, only for her mother to shoo her from the house.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ask him again,¡± her mother was promising, ¡°but I don¡¯t know if he¡¯ll visit. I would like to see him more. Maybe when Saphienne¡¯s older¡­¡±


    ¡°Consider the possibility of visiting him as well. Not now, of course. Some day, when you feel more¡­ secure.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t imagine¨C¡±


    Then a voice boomed in Saphienne¡¯s other ear, and she started, slipped, and fell over on the doorstep.


    *          *          *


    ¡°Saphienne!¡± the voice repeated, worried now. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    Gathering her wits, Saphienne was surprised to see Faylar coming toward her, offering his hand to help her up while blushing furiously. She shared his blush, but didn¡¯t accept his help, standing carefully and then somewhat unsteadily ¡ª at least until she stepped away from the door.


    Faylar dropped his hand, looking mortified. ¡°Sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to surprise you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re forgiven,¡± Saphienne told him, brushing herself down. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have slipped. My mother doesn¡¯t like to shovel, so she pours hot water on the snow.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°But wouldn¡¯t the melted snow just freeze into¨C¡±


    ¡°Ice.¡± Saphienne flashed him a frosty smile. ¡°Correct.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°That seems¨C¡±


    ¡°Immensely stupid. Yes. But she cares about appearances.¡±


    Faylar shifted, uneasy. ¡°I was going to say ¡®counterproductive.¡¯¡±


    Saphienne shrugged and folded her arms. ¡°The whole thing is pointless, anyway. Snow isn¡¯t exactly an impediment to travel, and only gets on your shoes if you¡¯re in a hurry. I¡¯ve never understood why it¡¯s so important to keep doorsteps clear.¡±


    ¡°To appear welcoming,¡± he said, and then smiled. ¡°I guess you¡¯re not very familiar with that.¡±


    Glaring at him, Saphienne realised he was trying to make a joke. ¡°I suppose not,¡± she conceded with a sigh. ¡°Though, that still doesn¡¯t explain why my mother bothers. Nobody calls on us, or not very often.¡±


    ¡°Could that be why she doesn¡¯t shovel?¡±


    ¡°I doubt it.¡± Saphienne glanced at the ice, hip throbbing. ¡°And even if you¡¯re right, it only makes it more likely that anyone who does visit won¡¯t come again.¡±


    He nodded, having nothing else to say.


    ¡°Anyway.¡± Saphienne looked up at him. ¡°Why are you visiting her?¡±


    ¡°Your mother?¡± Faylar was amused. ¡°I wasn¡¯t coming to visit her.¡±


    ¡°Then why are you here? Do you have a message from Almon?¡±


    The mention of the wizard made Faylar¡¯s smile drop away. ¡°I was coming to speak to you,¡± he said, and as he did Saphienne noticed that his eyes were pink, as though the cold had made them run. ¡°I spoke to Master Almon. He¡­ well, he apologised. And then he told me he wouldn¡¯t teach me.¡±


    Saphienne slowly relaxed her arms, dropping them to her sides. ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°I asked about the others,¡± Faylar explained. ¡°He says they¡¯re still under consideration. So I thought,¡± he went on, forcing a fragile smile, ¡°that it might be good to commiserate with someone else. I asked around, heard you lived up here. I was going to knock on doors, but then¡­¡±


    Feeling sad for him, Saphienne nodded. Then she studied him, sensing something more was expected of her. ¡°Almon¡¯s a prick.¡±


    Faylar¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That¡¯s harsh. And aren¡¯t you too young to¨C¡± He stopped himself and shook his head, self-depreciation in his voice. ¡°Now I¡¯m being a prick. Sorry. I wouldn¡¯t call him that, but he was an ass to us both last night, wasn¡¯t he?¡±


    Saphienne smiled, though her smile was tempered by a worrying thought. She pushed it aside for the moment. ¡°He was an¡­ ass, yes,¡± she said, testing the new use of the word, ¡°and you don¡¯t know half the story. Although, I shouldn¡¯t speak about it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on,¡± Faylar grinned. ¡°Share the gossip.¡±


    His interest weakened her resolve. ¡°All I¡¯ll say,¡± she admitted, ¡°is that I¡¯m not the only one who thinks Almon is a prick. He¡¯s not very fair in the way he treats people.¡±


    ¡°Right?¡± Faylar laughed gently. ¡°He was really rude to you.¡±


    ¡°You think so?¡± She smiled sharply. ¡°You don¡¯t think I was too audacious?¡±


    Remembering the first thing he had ever said to her, Faylar blushed and looked down. ¡°I deserved that,¡± he muttered, still smiling, then met her eyes. ¡°I was trying to be funny. And to make a good impression.¡±


    ¡°I guess,¡± she teased him, ¡°you¡¯re not very familiar with that. Being funny.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ maybe not.¡± He frowned, then realised she had quoted him, and he laughed with more sincerity as he got the joke. ¡°You¡¯re a prickly person, Saphienne. Or is it just last night¡¯s bad news?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a prickly¨C¡± She stopped herself. ¡°¡­I may be a little prickly.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re not a prick.¡± He grinned.


    ¡°Depending on who you ask,¡± she conceded. ¡°I¡¯m not really used to¡­ chatting.¡±


    The older child nodded. ¡°You always kept to yourself. I remember you, sitting and reading all the time.¡± He saw her uncertain expression, and smiled. ¡°You don¡¯t remember me, I know. We never had occasion to talk. You were, what, two or three years younger than me? I mean,¡± he corrected himself, ¡°you still are, but I¡¯m talking about when we were little, and everyone used to play together.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t welcome.¡±


    He frowned, then reluctantly nodded. ¡°Maybe. I heard it said that you were odd. And an elder told us to be kind to you, and to make sure none of the other children your own age picked on you.¡±


    Saphienne blinked. ¡°Who said that?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t remember. Really, I can¡¯t! I didn¡¯t pay you much mind.¡± He was blushing again, and awkwardly looked away. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have told you that. Sorry, I¡¯m just¡­ today¡¯s been emotional.¡±


    Guilt made Saphienne purse her lips, the thought she pushed aside returning. ¡°Faylar,¡± she said, ¡°it was nice of you to come to see me.¡±


    He gave her a self-aware smile. ¡°Is that my cue to go?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said, firmly. ¡°I just need to tell you: Almon didn¡¯t reject me last night. I¡¯m sorry that he didn¡¯t take you as his student, but that¡¯s not what happened after all of you left.¡±


    Faylar had become less animated as she spoke, and now stood very still, all his life and colour bleeding out. ¡°Oh.¡± His shoulders drooped. ¡°So, you¡¯re still being considered.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Wanting to fidget in her awkwardness, she clasped her hands behind herself. ¡°I¡¯m not still being considered. I¡¯m preparing to study with him, when I turn fourteen.¡±


    She watched as the boy ran his fingers through his short hair. Absently, he scratched behind his ear. ¡°Well,¡± he finally said. ¡°Well, fuck.¡± He turned away, pacing a little, kicking at the snow, aimless. Then he stopped and just stared into the woodland ¡ª the clouds of his breath coming slower as he stared.


    Saphienne didn¡¯t know what to say, so said nothing.


    ¡°He told me,¡± Faylar recalled as he faced her, ¡°that I wasn¡¯t suited to studying magic. That I wasn¡¯t stupid, wasn¡¯t an imbecile,¡± he grinned, bitterly, ¡°but that I didn¡¯t have the qualities I¡¯d need to be a wizard. And he pressed me for who¡¯d prepared me, as though getting advice from my aunt was a crime.¡±


    ¡°Your aunt is a wizard?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said, ¡°and a pretty good one. Better than Almon, even. But the rules don¡¯t allow her to teach family members. Almon is the teacher for our village, so I had to try with him. And now,¡± he went on, smiling sadly, ¡°even if I move somewhere else, they¡¯ll write back to him and ask for his opinion, which will make it harder to gain an apprenticeship. I¡¯ll probably have to wait a very long time for another chance, maybe fifty years. Which isn¡¯t all that long, I know.¡± He sighed. ¡°But it feels like it is.¡±


    ¡°Fifty years is a long time,¡± Saphienne said quietly.


    ¡°Unless he reconsiders,¡± Faylar added, ¡°but he won¡¯t, will he?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Not unless you¡¯re able to show he¡¯s wrong in a way he can¡¯t deny, and even if you do, you¡¯ll end up where I am. He¡¯ll teach you, but he¡¯ll be a prick about it.¡±


    ¡°Prick or not, at least he¡¯ll teach you.¡± He took a deep breath, and wiped his eyes. ¡°Sorry, that¡¯s not¡­ I don¡¯t mean to be¡­¡±


    He stopped fumbling his words, forced a much weaker smile, and gave her a bow. ¡°My thanks for your time. I¡¯ll see you later.¡±


    He walked away; Saphienne watched.


    Then, before he left the shade of her family home, she darted after him, reaching for his shoulder. ¡°Faylar, wait.¡±


    He halted, composing himself before he addressed her. ¡°Thank you, but I don¡¯t want your sympathy.¡±


    She took her hand from his shoulder. ¡°Fine. But you can¡¯t give up. You can¡¯t let yourself be dismissed like that.¡±


    Wrestling with his emotions, he settled on resentment. ¡°Yes, I can. I have to. That¡¯s life. I can¡¯t force him to teach me, not like you. We can¡¯t all be as talented as you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re talented,¡± she insisted. ¡°I only speak Elfish. You speak four languages, and write in five. You have talents that I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Not the ones that¡¯ll make me a wizard.¡±


    ¡°So learn them.¡± She clenched her fists. ¡°If I can learn languages, you can learn what you need to.¡±


    ¡°No, I can¡¯t.¡± Angry, he tried to leave¨C


    And Saphienne grabbed his wrist. ¡°This is why Almon turned you away.¡±


    Faylar looked back at her. His voice was subdued. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Last night,¡± she told him, ¡°you didn¡¯t pay close attention to the calligraphy, and when Iolas pointed out what you¡¯d missed, when he told you my work was better, you argued with him. Are you a better calligrapher than Iolas?¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you listen to him? And why aren¡¯t you listening to me, when I was accepted instead of you?¡± She tightened her grip, tugged on his arm. ¡°You¡¯re not stupider than Iolas and Celaena, and your studies were good enough for Almon to hear you out.¡±


    ¡°So, what?¡± He pulled his arm from her grasp. ¡°You¡¯re telling me that what I studied wasn¡¯t what decided things, so why study more? You¡¯re saying it¡¯s something about me that wasn¡¯t good enough, about who I am.¡± He spoke on the verge of tears. ¡°But I am who I am; and you are who you are.¡±


    ¡°No, we¡¯re not.¡± Saphienne stepped up to him. ¡°We can change. I might be intelligent, but intelligence doesn¡¯t mean much if you don¡¯t learn how to use it. You believe I¡¯m just naturally right for wizardry?¡± She glared. ¡°I was taught. I was encouraged to learn, and taught how to learn. I was encouraged to think, and taught how to think! And you don¡¯t know how, or you¡¯d know when to listen.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t listen¨C¡±


    ¡°Because I knew he was wrong. I knew there was more to me than he¡¯d cared to see, and I knew Filaurel wouldn¡¯t have told me to try if I wasn¡¯t ready. I did listen, just not to the people in that room.¡± She took a breath. ¡°If you want to grow, then listen to the right people.¡±


    ¡°Like you?¡± He said it sullenly.


    Saphienne hesitated; she backed away. ¡°You need to decide that. I don¡¯t know you, not really, so maybe I¡¯m wrong about you. Maybe you¡¯re more stupid than I think, and maybe you¡¯re just good with words. But I know Almon better than I know you, and I know he was wrong to turn me away. If he was wrong once,¡± she concluded, ¡°he can be wrong again.¡±


    Faylar brooded on her words.


    She waited.


    And then, just as he was about to speak, the door to her family home opened.


    End of Chapter 11

 CHAPTER 12 – Taking Care of Her

    The man who emerged from Saphienne¡¯s family home was dressed against the cold, wearing a long, padded coat that was split at the front and back, the woollen scarf around his neck wound very tightly. He carried a saddle over his shoulder as he ducked through the doorway, and the braided tail of his long, white hair whipped back as he straightened up ¡ª to see Saphienne standing with Faylar, only a little distance away.


    A pause, as he considered how to proceed. Then he smiled a practised smile. ¡°Why, hello to you,¡± he said, his voice more melodious than when she last heard him through the door. ¡°You must be Lynnariel¡¯s daughter. I haven¡¯t seen you in a long time, Saphienne.¡±


    The way his smile stopped short of his eyes made Saphienne wary. ¡°Please excuse me,¡± she greeted him, ¡°but I don¡¯t remember us meeting.¡±


    ¡°You were barely walking when I last saw you.¡± He stepped from the house and pulled the door shut behind himself, adjusting his hold on the saddle. ¡°And please excuse me, child, but seeing how quickly you¡¯ve grown gave me quite the bittersweet moment. You must be nearly fourteen, now?¡±


    ¡°Come spring,¡± she admitted.


    Nodding, he walked across to them. ¡°But the youth with you is a little older.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sixteen,¡± Faylar answered, and promptly bowed. ¡°Faylar. Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name?¡±


    Now the smile arrived at the grown elf¡¯s eyes, which were an unusual, light brown. ¡°Such a well mannered boy. My name is Tolduin. You two are friends?¡±


    ¡°Um¨C¡± Faylar began.


    ¡°We¡¯re friends,¡± Saphienne answered, feeling Faylar¡¯s surprise.


    Tolduin studied their expressions. ¡°Just friends?¡±


    Saphienne was confused, and Faylar hurried to speak. ¡°Just friends!¡± he insisted. ¡°We only met last night.¡±


    The tone of his voice made her look at him, and she wondered why he was blushing. ¡°Why would that matter?¡±


    Her question caused Tolduin to grin, and he leaned over to pat Faylar¡¯s shoulder fondly. ¡°You¡¯re quite fine. I was jesting. You¡¯re patently not about leading young Saphienne into mischief; and so long as you¡¯re patient, I¡¯m sure the two of you will get along quite well.¡±


    Faylar was blushing even harder. ¡°Please excuse me, Tolduin, but you have misread.¡±


    ¡°The tree bequeaths its roots to its saplings, child.¡± Tolduin grinned.


    Saphienne had no concept of what was going on, but she recognised the expression he used. ¡°Are you an elder?¡±


    ¡°That I am,¡± Tolduin answered as he let go of Faylar¡¯s shoulder. ¡°But only by a hair¡¯s breadth. I entered my second millennium a few years after your mother birthed you.¡±


    Faylar¡¯s eyes had gone wide. ¡°Please forgive our manners, Elder Tolduin. I would never have addressed you so casually if I had known¨C¡±


    ¡°Oh, be at peace, child.¡± Tolduin waved Faylar¡¯s worries away. ¡°I am also a Master, and would have announced myself in the appropriate way if I cared for such honorifics. Practices of pomp and pageantry have their hour, but that time is not now.¡± He looked to Saphienne. ¡°What made you guess, child?¡±


    ¡°That expression is very old. ¡®The tree bequeaths its roots to its saplings, for the seed does not fall far from the tree.¡¯ Since you used it, I wanted to know whether you were an elder.¡±


    ¡°Or,¡± Tolduin chuckled, ¡°whether I was merely pretentious?¡±


    Saphienne casually nodded, and Faylar covered his mouth, aghast ¡ª only for his expression to make the elder elf laugh loudly.


    ¡°Child,¡± the elder addressed Faylar, ¡°I withdraw my implications, even though they were largely in good humour. I see now that you are a very good boy. You may have my apology, for not taking you at your word.¡±


    The boy lowered his hand. ¡°No apology required, Elder Tolduin.¡±


    ¡°Tolduin,¡± he corrected him. ¡°Just call me Tolduin for now.¡± He eyed the pair of them with obvious mirth. Then, he grinned to himself as he reached a decision. ¡°Would either of you like to meet my horse?¡±


    Saphienne and Faylar looked at each other, and then both nodded.


    ¡°Marvellous. Come, let me introduce you to her.¡±


    The horse had a dark grey coat, and the blanket draped over her back had been matched to her mane, which was blacker than midnight. She trotted over to Tolduin as the trio approached, straining at her tether to brush her long nose against his hand as he affectionately rubbed behind her ears.


    ¡°Children, say hello to my horse. Horse, meet Saphienne and Faylar.¡±


    Faylar greeted her, while Saphienne watched quietly. She wondered how best to speak to her. ¡°Does she have a name?¡±


    Tolduin smiled at Saphienne, quite genuinely this time, and there was wistfulness in his eyes. ¡°Animals should not be named,¡± he said. ¡°Watching them age is hard enough on the spirit, without imparting personhood upon them before they depart.¡±


    Beside her, Faylar reached out, looked to Tolduin for permission, then very gently stroked the horse¡¯s neck. ¡°She¡¯s beautiful. If you¡¯ll forgive my asking, Eld¨C um, Tolduin¡­ what is your chosen art?¡±


    ¡°I have had a few,¡± Tolduin replied, mildly, and he brought the saddle down, gesturing for Faylar to take it from him. ¡°Be precise with your question.¡±


    Faylar struggled under the weight of the saddle. ¡°I meant, which art are you currently practising?¡±


    Tolduin untied the blanket and lifted it away, fluidly shaking it out and folding it as he answered. ¡°In the present moment, I am practicing the art of attending to horses. But I think what you mean to ask about, young Faylar, are the arts which I use to serve the woodland.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°In matters temporal, I am called upon to advise the towns and villages on appropriate stewardship. But rarely are my words required. Most days,¡± he clarified, handing the blanket to Saphienne and once again hefting the saddle, ¡°I render aid to whoever requires it, in my capacity as servant to Our Lady of the Basking Serpent.¡± He braced the saddle against himself, reaching into one of the bags that hung from it, and drew out another, smaller, grey blanket. ¡°Do either of you know of Her?¡±


    Saphienne nodded. ¡°She¡¯s a goddess, isn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°That She is.¡± As the horse stood patiently, he unfurled the smaller blanket across the midsection of her back, smoothing it with one hand before raising the saddle and settling it atop the blanket. ¡°Doubtless, you have learned from your mother?¡±


    ¡°From the library,¡± Saphienne corrected him. ¡°My mother¡¯s not very religious.¡±


    Faylar nudged her with his elbow, then spoke up. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of Our Lady. Have I heard right, that She is a goddess of healing?¡±


    Tolduin knelt to buckle the saddle into place. ¡°You have. That is not all which Our Lady concerns herself with,¡± he explained, ¡°but I am not here to proselytise on behalf of Her faith, only to act in accordance with Her doctrine.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Faylar bit his lip. ¡°Proselytise?¡±


    Saphienne nudged him back. ¡°To proselytise is to convert someone to religious belief,¡± she clarified, and studied Tolduin. ¡°Though, that word is usually used disapprovingly. Wouldn¡¯t it have been better to say it another way?¡±


    Tolduin paused to look over his shoulder, his amusement evident. ¡°Perhaps. Unless I was making a jest of my proclivity for preaching inappropriately, much to the chagrin of the young, who usually greatly prefer to meet my horse.¡±


    Rubbing his side where Saphienne had nudged him, Faylar frowned. ¡°I consider myself quite well spoken, Tolduin, but some of your words are¡­¡±


    ¡°Archaic,¡± Saphienne agreed. Then, lowering her voice to pretend she was whispering, she added, ¡°That means ¡®old,¡¯ Faylar.¡±


    Tolduin chuckled again, and set about slowly and gently tightening the straps. ¡°Would you credit the notion, that I¡¯m trying to be more easily understood? The rhythms and patterns of speech twine like brambles through the ages, and we who are elders must make haste to weed the garden of our diction, lest we become ensnared within a rusted aegis wrought from our nostalgia, and hence our meaning be obscured by the suffocation of overgrown foliage.¡±


    Saphienne snorted. ¡°Now you¡¯re doing it intentionally.¡±


    ¡°So I am. How far could you follow?¡±


    She thought for a moment. ¡°With each passing year, the way people speak grows like thorny weeds, and elders have to hurry to weed out the old phrases from the way they talk, to avoid being trapped within an¡­ whatever an ¡®aegis¡¯ is, but it must be metal and heavy¡­ made from their fondness for how they spoke when they were young, and so become incomprehensible to new generations.¡±


    ¡°Near enough. Very good.¡± He stood, and tested the saddle, finding it secure.


    Feeling quite inadequate, Faylar changed the subject. ¡°So, you travel through the towns and villages on behalf of your temple, offering healing to whoever needs it?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but with one qualification. Each acolyte serves Our Lady by specialising in particular remedies. When local healers find their skills inadequate, they write to our temple to request our assistance.¡± Taking the folded blanket from Saphienne, he crammed it into the saddlebag. ¡°Were someone in immediate peril, I would help, but my skills are best employed where they are most needed.¡±


    Thoughtfully, Faylar glanced at the door to Saphienne¡¯s family home. ¡°Would you mind me asking which illnesses you treat?¡±


    Tolduin flicked his eyes to Saphienne, then swung up onto his horse. He looked down on Faylar with another practised smile. ¡°I mind you asking.¡±


    Saphienne said nothing; it took an effort of will not to glance at the door herself.


    ¡°We were well met,¡± Tolduin announced, ¡°but the hour gallops toward noon, and I have far to travel. Further snows have been divined.¡± He squeezed with his heels, urging his horse into a walk.


    They hurried to keep pace beside him. Faylar asked, ¡°How far are you travelling?¡±


    ¡°The next village is three days away. I go North, following the river until I leave your valley, and then to the West.¡±


    Saphienne frowned. ¡°Won¡¯t you be caught in the open, if the divinations are right, and there¡¯s snow?¡±


    The elder was unconcerned. ¡°The Wardens of the Wilds have encampments along the way ¡ª I am promised to dine at one this evening. Should the snows strike early, I will be quickly found. They are always vigilant, and never far away, for all that they are largely unseen.¡±


    The horse was outdistancing them. Faylar waved. ¡°Travel safe, Elder Tolduin. Thank you for speaking with us.¡±


    ¡°And fare you well, young Faylar, young Saphienne.¡± He smiled playfully to Saphienne. ¡°And though I hope you will never require protection, may you have learned the purpose and metaphor of an ¡®aegis¡¯ when we next meet.¡±


    That was enough for her to work it out. ¡°Armour. Or a shield? A means of defence.¡±


    ¡°Aha! Marvellous. Very well done indeed, child.¡±


    He shifted, and the horse began to canter, leaving the children behind. Saphienne waved twice, once to the elder, and once to his nameless horse.


    *          *          *


    Faylar was quiet as they travelled the short distance back toward Saphienne¡¯s family home, looking thoughtful. This suited her fine, as she had far too many thoughts of her own to turn over, finding yet more questions under every one.


    Was her mother sick? No sicker than ever; Tolduin had previously met Saphienne, and had directly implied he knew her from the year of her birth. Why had she never seen him before? Perhaps because he had visited when she was away from the house. She rarely stayed in her family home these days, nor did she usually come back so early in the day. That would also explain why he paused when he saw her, unsure of how to greet her without prompting awkward questions.


    Yet, the elder had spoken about his art. And he had extended their conversation, also, when he might have excused himself. This suggested to Saphienne that a significant amount of thought had gone into how he spoke to them, implying in turn that he either planned to one day meet her, or that he had thought things through very quickly while stood in the doorway.


    Filaurel¡¯s words from the night before ¨C that knowing for sure what someone thought or felt wasn¡¯t simple ¨C came to mind. Perhaps he hadn¡¯t planned at all. There was every possibility that the elder was caught off guard, had muddled his way through an awkward conversation as best he could. A thousand years was a long time to practice his composure.


    If it wasn¡¯t for the way he had first smiled¨C


    ¡°Saphienne¡­¡± Faylar interrupted. ¡°Do you really believe I can learn what I need, to be a wizard? Well enough to make Master Almon reconsider?¡±


    Glancing at him, she shrugged. ¡°I believe you can learn. Whether we can convince Almon is another question.¡±


    He stopped walking. ¡°We?¡±


    She paused as well. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I help? I don¡¯t like Almon. Proving him wrong again appeals to me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be his apprentice. Fighting with him¨C¡±


    ¡°Is a certainty. He doesn¡¯t want me as a student. But he¡¯ll teach me anyway, because he believes I have potential for wizardry. He¡¯s going to push me, to prove me wrong.¡± She smiled. ¡°Why not push him back?¡±


    Faylar just shook his head. ¡°You really are odd, Saphienne. I wish I had your confidence¡­ and your audacity.¡±


    Now she grinned. ¡°Well, I want to learn other languages.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°Want to trade?¡±


    Saphienne took him seriously. ¡°I can¡¯t teach you confidence,¡± she said, ¡°but maybe I can teach you some others things. Like meditation: I¡¯m supposed to meditate every day now, to improve my focus.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t actually mean¨C¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± She brought her hands together, clasping them as though around her forming plan. ¡°Why not teach me another language or two? And I could teach you what I know, prepare you for next time. Do you have a better idea?¡±


    He shifted his weight, eyeing her dubiously. ¡°I¡¯m not convinced.¡±


    ¡°Well, be convinced.¡± She resumed walking. ¡°Or just keep doing what you already know. That¡¯s working out well for you.¡±


    Saphienne felt his eyes on her back as she went.


    ¡°Fuck me,¡± Faylar said, and hurried after her.


    *          *          *


    They met in the library the next evening, and together they planned out the months until her apprenticeship was to begin.


    Early each morning, Faylar joined Saphienne in the tent pavilion where she worked with Gaeleath, and there they would practice meditation together ¡ª Saphienne correctly presuming that the sculptor wouldn¡¯t mind. Then Faylar would go to the library and work his way through a reading list that Saphienne had drawn up for him, writing down his thoughts on each book when he was done.


    After she was finished with her artistic instruction, usually around dinner time, she would meet him at the library and they would go out to eat together. At first, this was at Saphienne¡¯s family home, with Faylar under strict instructions to ignore her mother¡­ which he refused for the sake of politeness, leading Saphienne to instead collect food and then eat with him on the library steps. He knew better than to offer that they visit his home.


    On a windy day, Filaurel eventually took pity on the pair, and let them have dinner in the library ¡ª upstairs and by the far windows, never near any of the books, not under any circumstances, or she would have words with Faylar¡¯s family¡­ and take back Saphienne¡¯s key to the library. That last warning made Saphienne pale with fear, and, after the first month, Faylar had to beg Filaurel to stop Saphienne from watching him so closely while he ate.


    When dinner was finished, Saphienne would go over his notes, asking him questions about what he had read and written, much in the way Filaurel had once done for her. She found he was quite a good writer, but his observations were very shallow, and she brutally stripped away his pretty prose to expose that he wasn¡¯t really thinking through what he read. Eventually, to escape her scorn, he started to hazard some thoughts of his own, which she did her best to tease out further. Faylar¡¯s progress was slow, but it was progress all the same.


    For the rest of the night, until well after the library closed, Saphienne would learn whatever she could from Faylar about languages. Oddly, Filaurel always stayed until they were done, and Saphienne noticed she was making up reasons to excuse her presence. Eventually Saphienne gave up wondering about it. Perhaps the librarian just liked hearing her talking with another friend. She had once admitted as much, a long time ago.


    Winter melted away, one day at a time. Spring turned Saphienne¡¯s hair brown, and her fourteenth birthday approached.


    Then, on the day before, Faylar was waiting outside when she left her family home.


    End of Chapter 12

 CHAPTER 13 – Small Things That Matter

    Upon noticing Faylar waiting in the grove, Saphienne shut the door to her family home slowly, curious about why he was just standing there. He had obviously seen her come outside from where he was waiting, but he had said nothing, pretending instead that he was preoccupied by the morning clouds drifting overhead. A gust of wind ruffled his short hair, the breeze sending ripples along his thigh-length coat. He was dressed differently than usual, less casually, and his hair looked freshly cut.


    ¡°Faylar?¡± She called out to him, and walked closer.


    Then he had no choice but to turn and wave, his other hand tucked into a broad pocket. Yet he still didn¡¯t say anything, nor did he approach.


    Saphienne sighed and went toward him. ¡°Did you cut your hair? Why are you wearing your winter coat?¡± She lowered her voice as she came within easy speaking distance. ¡°And those shoes ¡ª are you going for a long walk?¡±


    ¡°Good morning Saphienne,¡± he said, shaking his head. He had a small smile on his lips, which usually meant she had said or done something that he found odd. ¡°Happy birthday.¡±


    His birthday wishes made her smile back with knowing glee, in the childish way she did whenever he missed something she had pointed out to him. ¡°My birthday¡¯s not until tomorrow, Faylar.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± he said, shifting nervously, ¡°I know that. But tomorrow, you¡¯ll be going to see Master Almon right away, won¡¯t you?¡±


    She stopped before him, placing her hands on her hips. ¡°What does that matter?¡±


    ¡°I was thinking,¡± he explained, ¡°that we should celebrate your birthday today. Since you¡¯ll be too busy.¡±


    Saphienne blinked. ¡°But it isn¡¯t my birthday today.¡±


    ¡°What does that matter?¡± He grinned.


    Saphienne hadn¡¯t celebrated a birthday since the day she turned twelve. Faylar couldn¡¯t have known that, and she wasn¡¯t inclined to tell him, or explain why. Only Filaurel knew what had happened, and had understood ¨C without further explanation ¨C why Saphienne treated her thirteenth birthday just like any other day. Saphienne had been equally thankful that her mother, predictably, had forgotten until weeks later ¡ª and had felt too ashamed to do anything more than belatedly leave an acorn cake inside Saphienne¡¯s bedroom.


    The cake had remained on her windowsill, untouched, until it grew stale.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± Saphienne hoped he would take the hint.


    Faylar was undeterred. ¡°Well, I got you a present.¡±


    She tried not to show how deeply her heart sank when he drew a small book from his pocket, and made herself take it from him quickly, maintaining eye contact. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to see what it is?¡±


    Steeling herself, she looked down. The book was newly bound, with no markings on the green leather of the cover.


    ¡°Go on, read it.¡±


    Her hands were cold as stone, felt heavier than gold, but at least they remained steady as she turned to the first page.


    * * *


    ¡°I suppose it¡¯s my turn. Which language do you most want to speak?¡±


    After they had first agreed to learn from each other, Saphienne and Faylar had went to the library every evening to study. In the beginning, Faylar was unsure he would be able to teach her, and he hadn¡¯t prepared any lesson plan for the first session¡­ which would have frustrated Saphienne, but he¡¯d done as she¡¯d told him without question or complaint, spending most of the day burrowing into her recommended books.


    Saphienne shifted back in her chair, looking up at the frozen skylight windows. Her fingers drummed absently on the table as she considered the question. ¡°My choices are Dwarfish, the language of dragons, the language of woodland spirits, and the human language?¡±


    ¡°Those are the languages I know, though I can¡¯t speak the dragon tongue. But,¡± he corrected her, ¡°humans actually speak several different languages, spread across different parts of the world. The common trade language is what they use to talk to us, and dwarves, and I suppose anyone else they want to buy and sell from.¡±


    ¡°Buy and sell?¡±


    Faylar shrugged. ¡°I won¡¯t pretend I understand them well enough to explain it, but humans don¡¯t trade in the way we trade. They¡¯re similar to dwarves, using physical markers to represent their trading relationships, and they place a lot of value in rare metals.¡±


    ¡°They use coins.¡± She reached into her pocket and drew out her coin purse, and soon set the copper disk on the table. ¡°I have one.¡±


    That made Faylar lean across, and he almost picked it up before he saw Saphienne¡¯s expression. ¡°Um, sorry. Do you mind if I look?¡±


    ¡°As long as you give it back.¡± Beneath the table she clenched her hands.


    He lifted the coin, turning it over. ¡°I¡¯ve not seen one like this before. Not surprising ¡ª every different human tribe makes their own, with different markings. I think the tree means it comes from somewhere near the woodland¡­¡± Very gently, he set the coin back down. ¡°¡­But, I¡¯m really guessing.¡±


    The way he returned the coin where she¡¯d placed it made Saphienne relax, and she slipped it back into her pouch with a faint smile. ¡°So, how do the coins relate to their trading relationships?¡±


    Faylar looked uncertain. ¡°Well, the way my aunt described it, they don¡¯t build relationships for trade. Or, they do, but the relationships depend upon exchanging coins, and not having coins means they won¡¯t trade. Not even among themselves.¡±


    ¡°Your aunt, the wizard? She¡¯s met humans?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s traded with them often. When I told her I was learning the common trade tongue, she took an interest, and she showed me her coins. There weren¡¯t any made from copper ¡ª yours is copper, right? Well,¡± he went on, ¡°hers were all made from silver and gold. She tried to explain their worth, in the appropriate language, but I wasn¡¯t a very proficient speaker, and she ended up teaching me proper pronunciation instead.¡±


    Saphienne had wondered about his accent. ¡°Is that why your voice sounds strange?¡±


    He glanced at her, offended, and then he realised she was just being descriptive, and he laughed to himself. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s why I speak like this. I spent half a year with her, and all we talked in was the common trade tongue, for hours every day. Even when she was¡­ well, when she was trying to prepare me for wizardry.¡±


    ¡°Does she want you to follow in her footsteps?¡±


    ¡°Obviously! Of course she wants me to be a wizard. Why else would she teach¨C¡± Faylar caught up with her thinking, and his eyes widened. ¡°¡­You know, I never put it together, but you¡¯re right. She was always repeating what an advantage her trading was, and how eager humans are for trade with skilled wizards. I just thought she was boasting.¡±


    ¡°And the odd way you wear your hair ¡ª that too?¡±


    Reflexively, he ran his fingers through his locks. ¡°I saw some paintings of how humans cut their hair, and I thought it looked good. Different, you know?¡±


    Saphienne nodded. ¡°I think I like it. You definitely stand out. Almost everyone here looks and dresses alike.¡± Her eyes dropped to the table, and her voice became quiet. ¡°I like differences.¡±


    ¡°Everyone speaks the same, too. Well, mostly. My aunt says it¡¯s a good thing to stand out a little, as long as it doesn¡¯t go too far.¡± He was watching her, recalling things previously shared. ¡°You know, the other day, when I said an elder told us to make sure none of the other children picked on you? I didn¡¯t mention, but it¡¯s because you weren¡¯t fitting in.¡±


    Knowing that there were adults, even elders, who secretly intervened on her behalf made Saphienne uncomfortable. She changed the subject. ¡°Why don¡¯t we start with the common trade tongue?¡±


    ¡°Bad choice,¡± Faylar insisted. ¡°It¡¯s one of the hardest. Humans cobbled it together from all their own languages, along with Dwarfish, Elfish, and who knows what else. The grammar is a mess, the nouns and pronouns pointlessly gendered, and the spelling is¨C¡± He rolled his eyes and shook his head. ¡°There¡¯s absolutely no relation between how words are written, and how they¡¯re said. For the first month, my aunt was constantly correcting me.¡±


    Saphienne could feel his exasperation. ¡°Too messy?¡±


    ¡°Patched together. But beautiful, in its variety.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    ¡°How about,¡± she considered, ¡°the language of dragons? Filaurel once told me that many wizards study dragons.¡±


    Faylar squirmed in his chair. ¡°I¡¯m not very good at it. And it¡¯s another hard one. Wizards study dragon¡¯s speech because magic was first taught to elves by the dragons, or at least, that¡¯s what my aunt said she¡¯d been told when she studied at¨C¡±


    ¡°Dwarfish?¡±


    ¡°Very boring. Lots of compound words. And, speaking personally,¡± he sniffed, looking away, ¡°I think it¡¯s quite ugly.¡±


    ¡°That leaves the language of woodland spirits.¡±


    ¡°The tongue of the sylvan creatures ¡ª are you a good singer? It¡¯s all about tone.¡±


    Saphienne sank back in her chair. ¡°Faylar,¡± she asked, sounding tired, ¡°are you trying to discourage me? Do you not want to teach me?¡±


    Guiltily, he looked down. ¡°I¡¯m nervous,¡± he admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t really know where to start. But I¡¯ll try.¡±


    That he was less than three years older than her ¨C still a child, for all he was taller than her ¨C meant that it was unfair of Saphienne to expect him to know what he was doing, and she knew he was making an effort. Not just to teach her, but to put up with her¡­ prickliness.


    So she clapped her hands as she sat forward. ¡°Where did you start? Let¡¯s begin there.¡±


    A frown creased his brow as he looked back up, and then his eyes were bright, and his voice full of mirth. ¡°I didn¡¯t start with a language.¡±


    ¡°¡­You didn¡¯t start learning languages by¡­ learning a language?¡±


    ¡°Not a real one.¡± He laughed, and then laughed a second time, tickled by the memory. ¡°My mother¡¯s a Warden of the Wilds, and she used to tell me stories about her patrols. Every night she was home, when she put me to bed, she¡¯d tell me a tale of adventure. She did impressions.¡±


    Envious, with a deep ache in her chest, Saphienne was instantly spellbound, and leant her elbows on the polished table, craning forward to listen.


    Faylar was too caught up in fondness for his past to notice how she hung on his words. ¡°My very favourite stories,¡± he said, ¡°were her encounters with goblins. The Wardens of the Wilds have to shoo them out of the woodland every fifty years, give or take. To hear my mother tell it, though, they were always memorable encounters. You know about goblins, right?¡±


    Saphienne knew a little, but she didn¡¯t want to interrupt, and so shook her head.


    ¡°They¡¯re pitiful creatures.¡± He was smiling still. ¡°They¡¯re short, ugly, brown like mud ¨C or green like pond scum ¨C and they¡¯re almost feral. They¡¯ve got no culture, no ability to understand culture, and they don¡¯t feel any emotions but anger, fear, simple happiness, or childish wonder. They¡¯re also quick with violence, but only really dangerous in groups. And they have very short memories, so they can¡¯t even remember simple lessons ¡ª like staying out of the woodland.¡± He tapped the table. ¡°But, they¡¯re so hopeless that they¡¯re funny. They¡¯re so outrageous, and outrageously stupid, that the Wardens of the Wilds gave up trying to teach them to stay away. Every time they show up, people like my mother track them down, see what sort of creative trouble they¡¯re causing, and then drive them out.¡±


    For her part, Saphienne was smiling as well, though in confusion. ¡°What does this have to do with languages?¡±


    ¡°My mother speaks the goblin tongue.¡± Faylar smirked. ¡°If you can call it that. She repeated some of their words when she was acting things out, then answered my questions, and eventually taught me it. We¡¯d laugh over how silly it was.¡±


    Saphienne stood up. ¡°Sounds easy enough. I¡¯ll find a book on the goblins¡¯ language, and you can¨C¡±


    ¡°Oh, but ¡ª there aren¡¯t any.¡± He saw her surprise. ¡°I told you, it¡¯s not much of a language. They have a few hundred words, and all of their sentences are exactly three words long. Their grammar is so simple, even a small child can understand: no past tense, no future tense, no adjectives, not even pronouns.¡± Faylar waved his hand, as though calling forth the words. ¡°Goblins have very simple thoughts¡­ let¡¯s say I was trying to tell you, ¡®There are no books on goblin speech, sit down.¡¯ Using our words instead of theirs, a goblin would say something like¡­ ¡®Elf want book. Book is goblin. Elf look book. Elf get no. Book is no. Elf sit yes.¡¯ Except, they don¡¯t actually have a word for ¡®book,¡¯ because they can¡¯t read.¡±


    ¡°Surely,¡± Saphienne replied, ¡°someone has to have written about their language?¡±


    Faylar shrugged. ¡°Quite a few books about the study of language describe it, but only in bits and pieces. It¡¯s so primitive that it¡¯s not really worth learning; it¡¯s more useful for illustrating concepts that are found in proper languages. If you were to call it a language, its only virtue as a language would be as an introduction.¡±


    Saphienne doubted him. ¡°I¡¯ll ask Filaurel. At least one library in the woodland must have a book on it.¡±


    * * *


    Except, when she had asked Filaurel, the librarian had never heard of any such book. Nor was there a category under languages reserved for goblins in the standard she used to organise the library. Filaurel was so intrigued that she unlocked the lowermost drawer of her desk and took out a tome that Saphienne had only seen her write in once or twice before ¡ª a magical tome, which contained within its pages messages written by other librarians, messages that were added to by means of matching tomes in other libraries.


    Saphienne had wanted to try writing the question, but Filaurel flatly brushed off her excitement. As she lifted the pen, the librarian explained that her peers all knew each other¡¯s handwriting, so if they wanted a good answer, the question had best come from the known librarian for their village.


    Later, after a week had passed, Filaurel would declare definitively that no librarian across the entire woodland had ever heard of any such book, and that no less than forty pages in the tome had been filled with arguments over the subject. In the end, there was a list of seventeen books that mentioned the goblin language in lesser or greater detail, but only nine covered the grammar, and only two of those featured word lists. Knowing Saphienne as well as she did, Filaurel had requested a loan of them all.


    Meanwhile, Faylar had already found a few of the nine in the village library, and Saphienne copied the relevant sections out before combining and rewriting the information in her own style. To this she added a detailed list of all the words Faylar could remember, which she subsequently updated whenever a new word was found in the slow trickle of texts from the other libraries. Faylar also checked with his mother, who had direct experience, and received a handful of corrections to the material Saphienne had researched.


    Although they had already moved on to Dwarfish by the time Saphienne¡¯s notes on the goblin language were finished, Faylar asked to borrow them anyway ¡ª in case reading them would remind his mother of anything else.


    * * *


    Standing in the grove outside her family home, Saphienne should have been annoyed that Faylar had lied, but she couldn¡¯t smother the grin that bloomed across her face as she read aloud. ¡°¡®An Exhaustive Compendium of the Tongue of Goblins, penned by Saphienne of the Eastern Vale, compiled by Faylar of the Eastern Vale, with thanks to the Wardens of the Wilds.¡¯¡± She looked up at him, manic. ¡°Tell me you included the sources.¡±


    ¡°At the back!¡± He moved beside her, took the book from her, and flipped it to the bibliography. ¡°Exactly as you wrote it, with added page references.¡±


    For once, she had no idea what to say.


    ¡°Do you like it?¡± he asked, closing the book and clutching it in both hands.


    Saphienne nodded. ¡°Is it really all my work?¡±


    ¡°Every word, supplemented by some direct quotes from my mother and her fellows ¡ª in support of the corrections.¡± He blushed. ¡°¡­And maybe to slightly pad the word length, since you were a few pages short of a full book.¡±


    Taking it from him, she held it against her chest. ¡°This must have taken weeks. Why did you¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, um.¡± He looked at his feet as the wind stirred again. ¡°To thank you. I¡¯d have given up. And, truthfully? I couldn¡¯t think of anything else.¡± He was even more flushed when he met her gaze. ¡°I know what you¡¯re like as a person, but I don¡¯t really know much about you. All we ever talk about is, well, studying. I have no idea what you do for fun.¡±


    ¡°I read.¡±


    ¡°Besides that.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Saphienne felt self-conscious, which was a rare feeling. ¡°¡­I work on my sculpture?¡±


    ¡°I thought so.¡± He crossed his arms. ¡°You don¡¯t know how to have fun.¡±


    ¡°Well, you don¡¯t know half of¨C¡±


    ¡°Prickly.¡±


    Saphienne stopped herself, taking a deep breath.


    Faylar waited.


    ¡°¡­You¡¯re right.¡± She slowly breathed out as she accepted it. ¡°I like reading, I like sculpture, but I don¡¯t do them because they¡¯re fun. I don¡¯t do anything because it¡¯s fun, and never just because it¡¯s fun.¡±


    Faylar accepted this without judgement. ¡°Would you like to change that?¡±


    ¡°In what way?¡±


    ¡°Starting today, one day a week, we figure out what you find fun.¡±


    The thought made her anxious. ¡°I have to meditate every day, and tomorrow I¡¯m going to Almon to¨C¡±


    ¡°You can meditate, and we¡¯ll fit it around your studies.¡± He sounded confident.


    ¡°I really ought to prepare today, it¡¯s my last chance to¨C¡±


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯re overprepared?¡±


    Saphienne snorted. ¡°No such thing!¡±


    ¡°Well, maybe you need to finish getting ready by relaxing.¡± He gestured out into the forest. ¡°I was thinking, maybe we go for a walk today, up to the lake? We can meditate there, and then see what takes your fancy.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been to the lake¡­¡± Saphienne answered quietly, a memory half-stirring, and she glanced down at her feet. ¡°¡­I¡¯d need to change my shoes.¡±


    ¡°And wear a warm jacket, too, in case it rains.¡±


    ¡°Is it all right to go that far? On our own, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Children of fourteen years or older can wander from the village, as long as they tell someone where they¡¯re going, and they¡¯re back before sunset.¡± Faylar could see an objection in her eyes, and sighed. ¡°Nobody will care if you¡¯re a day early, Saphienne, especially if you¡¯re not alone, and definitely when you¡¯re walking the direct route in daylight. We can tell Gaeleath, or Filaurel, or both.¡±


    There was no good reason to refuse, not that she could think of¡­


    Nor did she want to. ¡°¡­Wait here, then.¡±


    A few minutes later, she emerged properly dressed, still holding the book. In due course they told Gaeleath, and then Filaurel, and then made their way into the local woodland.


    As they hiked, Saphienne wondered aloud whether there would be any frogs or toads spawning at the lake. Faylar thought it unlikely, so far into spring, but supposed there might be, and promised they would look.


    * * *


    The next day, on the day of her fourteenth birthday, Saphienne awoke from a deep and pleasant sleep, taking her time to bathe and dress. She breakfasted on the leftover pastries that she had enjoyed the day before, remembering how Faylar pleaded with the baker to bend the rules and let her request food for herself just a little before she was old enough. After all, it had been nearly her birthday, and wasn¡¯t that close enough?


    The leftover strawberry tarts were still delicious.


    She felt no fear as she put on the pale grey, well fitted robes that Filaurel had commissioned for the occasion ¡ª and that Jorildyn had expressed unexpected pleasure in tailoring. Her former tutor had even complimented Saphienne on her choices, sincerely, bizarrely reconciled to her pursuit of wizardry by the simple act of making her first robes.


    Filaurel hadn¡¯t been able to explain why. ¡°People contradict themselves,¡± was all she said.


    Fully prepared, and more relaxed than she imagined possible, Saphienne departed. Her mother was still asleep when she left.


    And Almon was waiting when she arrived.


    End of Chapter 13

 Temporary Note — Chapters Revised With New Content!

    Don''t worry ¡ª new chapters are still releasing on schedule! Chapter 14 releases on Thursday the 13th of February 2025.


    Hello everyone,


    Have you ever finished doing something, only to figure out how to do it better, just a little too late? That was me, a week after I launched TEWWBAD: I suddenly realised a simple and profound improvement I could make to my writing.


    In fairness, I wouldn''t have realised it without you. All of you kept reading through, and ¨C according to the Royal Road stats ¨C you''ve been enjoying the story.


    But, according to those same stats, there were a significant number of people who were bouncing off the first chapter. Why? What gave? Was it just not to their tastes?


    A little testing later, and it seemed like the answer was no, the story as a whole worked for quite a lot of people, there was just a considerable number of people who weren''t being grabbed by the first chapter. I actually managed to get ahold of a reader who''d bounced off the story on another platform, and asked them to do me a solid and read through to the end of chapter five, then tell me if they still didn''t like it and why. They reluctantly agreed.


    Intriguingly, they then did a complete turnaround, and told me they loved it. Genuinely! They''re caught up, and hungry for more.


    Then I got my first written review on here</a> (thanks StarryRazi), and the pieces clicked into place...


    I''m a pretty good author, but until now I''ve sucked at selling my stories to people. I don''t mean selling commercially ¡ª I''ve just sucked at convincing people to invest their time into my stories.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    You know what a first chapter needs to do? It needs to tell and show people exactly what they should expect from the rest of the story, setting their expectations appropriately. It also needs to, by the by, give an indication of what makes the protagonist interesting, usually by having them proactively do something, however minor. Finally, it can''t be too much of a downer when you''re just getting started.


    TEWWBAD''s first chapter didn''t do this. In fact it didn''t really get going until the end of Chapter 4, when Saphienne''s character started to burn through. The old first chapter didn''t tell people what the story was really about, what was going to feature in it, and didn''t show them the sort of things to expect. I was holding back too much.


    So, I''ve rewritten the first chapter. And I''ve redrafted all the other chapters in light of it, adding a few details here and there, and giving it all a general polish.


    If you can''t be bothered rereading the whole thing, don''t worry ¡ª only the Prelude and Chapter One are greatly changed, and only in that I''ve reworked the introduction to be more explicit about the subject and added two new scenes to Saphienne''s childhood with Kylantha. All the other changes are really minor, and proceed from the extra scenes added there (for example, a short flashback at the end of Chapter Two was removed, and the surrounding action rewritten). Still, I think the new revision is a sharper read, and some of the key emotional scenes land a lot harder because of it.


    Spookily? A lot of content in the later chapters didn''t need changing, in that it made more sense with the first chapter''s new contents than it did without. Maybe this version was somewhere in my mind all along, lurking under the surface...


    So, that''s it, really. I''m just letting you know that it''s there, and suggesting it''s worth a reread.


    If I ever compile this work as a novel, I''ll probably sit down and completely rewrite the first eight chapters to interweave Saphienne''s confrontation with Almon (end of chapter 4 through to chapter 8) with the content of the first four chapters as flashbacks, threading the mystery of why Saphienne is so angry and traumatised and what happened to Kylantha throughout. I don''t have time to do that right now, alas.


    I hope you like the changes, and please leave me your comments, ratings, and reviews to let me know how you''re getting on with the story. It makes a huge difference to my day, believe me.


    Thanks for reading!


    Best,


    - LJ


    P.S. This is a temporary message ¡ª I''ll be deleting it in a week or so.

 CHAPTER 14 – An Immovable Rock

    See Saphienne as she was becoming, the forthright young girl, fourteen years old. Her hair was once more brown as the earth, and she was still pale ¡ª though even these features had begun to lose their resemblance to those of the quiet child she once was, her hair thicker, gloss beginning on her skin. Her eyes were still green, but their childlike openness and passivity had been replaced by sharp observation and implicit judgement, qualities which shone brightly even when she said little. She was tall, though not yet as tall as fully grown elves, and she was not so slight in build as before, though her figure was still reaching out toward her forthcoming womanhood.


    Yet the most striking change was in her face, which no longer had the proportions of a child. Saphienne now regarded the world through an expression of confidence, worn to mask her incipient resentment toward anyone and everyone who held authority over her life. She was not in rebellion, not then, but even the way she wore her light grey, apprentice¡¯s robes evidenced her irreverence where others would bow down. She carried the satchel slung against her hip like it was a sheath for a weapon, one hand upon the shoulder strap ¡ª and the sharp pens readied within kept a keen edge.


    This was how she appeared when she approached the home of the wizard Almon for the second time, no longer a supplicant, now set to be his apprentice. He had fought to refuse her ¡ª and she had won her admission.


    Yet she knew he would never accept her. He had requested she visit him when she turned fourteen, and Saphienne understood that her failure to arrive on the morning of her fourteenth birthday would give him pretext to withdraw his teaching. He would demand more from her than the other students, with less support, and she would either thrive in his shade or wither into dust: that was to be their relationship. All this, she knew.


    Saphienne also knew the door to his tower-like home would be open, and as she stepped through and closed it she clutched her treasured coin in her hand tightly, steeling herself as she looked over the small parlour beyond. Almon was not present. The high-backed chair in which he had lounged was still placed beside the fire, but it no longer faced the room, and the piles of books that crowded the floor by the shelves showed signs of being recently organised.


    ¡°So, the girl arrives.¡±


    Almon smoothly descended the curving stairs at the far side of the room, dressed in vibrant, blue robes, ostentatiously formal. He paused with his hand on the banister, surveying her as he drew his outermost layer across his chest. ¡°I had expected you would be here with the dawn.¡±


    ¡°That would have been discourteous, Master Almon,¡± she answered, and she gave him a small bow. Nothing in her demeanour disguised how she felt toward him.


    And yet, her false respect was enough to make him smile. ¡°So we are to care about courtesy now? Very well. We shall pretend, for the sake of the other students, who are not yet such ready combatants as you and I.¡±


    The wizard alighted on the wooden floorboards, forgoing his chair as he walked to the middle of the room. ¡°Let us see what Filaurel has made of you. Come: sit.¡±


    Saphienne crossed to where he waited, and then lowered herself nimbly, sitting cross-legged, her robes fanned out around her.


    Almon walked to the mantlepiece and collected an hourglass, and as he did he spoke without his usual drama. ¡°This is a simple test,¡± he told her, ¡°and one that all apprentices must complete to formally receive the title. Failing it would ordinarily entail another attempt in a later year, but not so for you.¡±


    He crouched down, his plump arm extending from his sleeve as he held the hourglass horizontal before her, shaking it back and forth so that the sand stirred in the upper bulb. ¡°You must succeed.¡± He didn¡¯t need to further explain his threat. ¡°And to succeed, you must sit in meditation for one hour, ignoring all distractions until the sand has finished pouring. Should your attention wander, should you lose focus for even an instant, I will know.¡±


    Inwardly, Saphienne smiled: Filaurel had made her sit for two.


    The wizard¡¯s gaze was severe. ¡°If you require preparation, say so now.¡±


    She shook her head.


    ¡°Are you ready?¡±


    There was no need for words; she closed her eyes.


    ¡°One hour hence,¡± he warned her, ¡°and not a moment before.¡±


    Saphienne heard the soft trickle of sand as he placed the hourglass down, and she focused on that sound to the exclusion of all others, deepening her breathing as she stilled her mind and emptied herself of any thought. She was aware of all that was happening, but her awareness was controlled.


    The world around her faded. Time fell, one grain at a time.


    Almon moved to the nearest shelf. He quietly lifted a book, thumbing through its pages, then placed it back. Another was soon reviewed. Then another, accompanied by a restrained cough.


    There was a loud thump as he dropped the book on the floor.


    Saphienne was undisturbed.


    A minute later, the wizard retrieved the volume and walked past Saphienne, the hem of his robe brushing her elbow.


    An obnoxious grinding filled the air as the wizard slowly pulled his chair around, dragging it forward inch by inch until it was before where she sat. He threw himself into the cushions heavily, and sighed as he settled down to read, his robes rustling and shoes clicking as he stretched out his legs.


    Distantly, birdsong whistled through the open window.


    ¡°You seem to have settled into it,¡± he casually observed.


    Somewhere in the woodland children were at play, screaming and laughing.


    Almon continued to flick through his book for a while, drumming his fingers on his armrest in a faltering tempo.


    Eventually, he slammed shut the book. ¡°Time¡¯s up.¡±


    Still the sand was hissing; still Saphienne listened.


    Standing again, the wizard muttered an insult as he stared down at her. He returned the book to its shelf, strode to the parlour¡¯s entrance, collected a thick cloak, threw it over his shoulders ¡ª then yanked open the door, slamming it angrily.


    There were no further attempts to interrupt her meditation.


    ¡­Not until he slipped the cloak back off his shoulders and rehung it beside the door, having waited just inside for several minutes, watching her the whole time. He loomed behind her, glowering down. ¡°If you insist on making this difficult¡­¡±


    Whispering incantations, the wizard invoked a spell right above her head, magic lighting up the room. Then warmth joined the light, and Almon reached down to drop the bright heat onto her shoulder, where it took hold, hissing and crackling as it blossomed into tongues of flame.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Saphienne faltered; her thoughts returned. Almon had lit her on fire, and her robe was burning, growing hotter as the fire spread ¡ª and singed her hair. Pain bit into her neck as the scent of scorching skin filled the parlour¨C


    No.


    Either he had set her on fire, or it was an illusion. Would he risk his home? Would he physically harm her?


    None of that mattered. Whether the fire was real or not, she would endure.


    The flames spread across her body as she returned her attention to the hourglass, enveloping her in intensifying agony ¡ª which all at once vanished, the hallucination departing, sweet relief rushing in to fill the sudden absence.


    Ignoring the cessation of pain was harder than ignoring the pain itself.


    Almon moved back to his chair. He sat, and did nothing more to disturb her as the sand in the upper bulb dwindled.


    Finally, as the hissing grew fainter, he breathed deeply. ¡°Very well. You¡¯ve proven yourself.¡±


    Saphienne waited for the sand to settle.


    ¡°I said, you¡¯ve succeeded.¡±


    A few motes drifted down from the pinch in the glass.


    Almon sighed and lifted the hourglass, and only then did Saphienne return to herself, looking up at him calmly.


    Seated, he was studying her expression thoughtfully. ¡°Answer me honestly,¡± he instructed. ¡°Did your attention wander?¡±


    Her reply was quiet. ¡°I thought you could tell?¡±


    The wizard couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°Very good.¡± He suppressed the feeling quickly, and stood. ¡°Filaurel may have no magical competence, but I will confess: she prepared you more thoroughly than I expected. Convey to her my satisfaction with your readiness.¡±


    ¡°I shall.¡±


    He gestured to her. ¡°Arise, apprentice.¡±


    Saphienne stretched, and then gracefully climbed to her feet with all the dignity she could summon.


    Almon laid his hands upon her shoulders, and bent forward to look deeply into her eyes. ¡°There will be no truce between us,¡± he cautioned her. ¡°I will teach you, but the only respect and acknowledgement you will receive from me will be for the sake of the Great Art. The only fairness I promise you is this: I will recognise your accomplishments, without praise, yet without belittlement. To this promise, I will add that I will give you every instruction offered to the other students.¡±


    Saphienne nodded.


    ¡°But,¡± he said, ¡°I will make no allowance for your youth. You are the youngest I have ever taught, younger than I believe wise, and I expect commensurate excellence from you. Should you ever fall behind the others ¨C should you ever be less than an average student ¨C your apprenticeship will end.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d demand I outperform the others?¡±


    ¡°At least one of them.¡± He let go of her, folding his arms. ¡°I care not who is slowest to learn, so long as it is not you.¡±


    Saphienne mirrored him, crossing her arms in turn. ¡°That won¡¯t be a problem, Master Almon.¡±


    ¡°See that it isn¡¯t,¡± he nodded. ¡°And from now on, until you fail out of apprenticeship, you will address me as your master ¡ª you will not use my name unless compelled to by circumstance.¡±


    That irked her; she clenched her teeth. ¡°As you wish, Master.¡± She bowed.


    His tone was dismissive. ¡°We are done.¡± The wizard retreated to the stairs, speaking as he went. ¡°The others have been told to attend tomorrow morning for first lessons. Lessons will be four hours, daily, for the first month. After that, you will receive instruction one morning each week, and be expected to use the remaining time to complete such reading, writing, and magical work as I assign to you.¡±


    ¡°When, in the morning?¡±


    ¡°Lessons begin when everyone has arrived.¡± He paused halfway up. ¡°You¡¯ll be careful not to be last in attendance¡­ won¡¯t you, my diligent apprentice?¡±


    Saphienne left, and could hear him laughing at her even after she shut the door.


    * * *


    Filaurel was pacing back and forth at the front of the library; Faylar was leaning against the counter, practically sitting on his hands to keep still. Saphienne saw their silhouettes through the window as she passed by.


    Both turned expectedly to Saphienne when she mounted the steps and entered.


    ¡°Well?¡± Filaurel demanded.


    Faylar held his breath.


    Inside, Saphienne felt mischief stir. She kept her face very still, looked down, shook her head.


    Faylar groaned and slumped back against the counter. The librarian frowned, not so quickly taken in ¡ª though not disbelieving.


    Toying with them any further would be cruel. ¡°I¡¯m stuck with him,¡± Saphienne admitted.


    Faylar¡¯s head whipped toward her, shock on his face. ¡°Wait, do you mean¨C¡±


    But Filaurel gave a happy yell and threw her arms around Saphienne, and lifted her, and spun her around as she hugged her warmly, laughing as she set her down and beamed with happiness. Catching up to them, Faylar laughed as well, clapping Saphienne¡¯s shoulder while calling her an ass.


    ¡°We start tomorrow.¡± Saphienne felt her eyes watering, perhaps from exiting the cold. ¡°And Al¨C and my master told me to convey his satisfaction with my readiness to you, Filaurel.¡±


    ¡°Prick,¡± Filaurel laughed. ¡°How difficult did he make your test?¡±


    Given pause by the memory, and to prevent them spilling, Saphienne closed her eyes. ¡°Does using his magic to fake setting me on fire count as difficult?¡±


    Filaurel drew in a sharp breath. ¡°That fucking ass¨C¡±


    She let go of Saphienne and composed herself, flushed with hot contempt.


    Faylar ignored her, his attention on the new apprentice. ¡°You sat through that?¡±


    ¡°Barely. And I wouldn¡¯t have managed it¡­¡± She reopened her eyes to give him a thankful smile. ¡°¡­If I hadn¡¯t put up with your interruptions every morning.¡±


    He blushed and shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m sure Gaeleath¡¯s chiselling helped too.¡±


    Filaurel was less quick to move on. ¡°That shouldn¡¯t be allowed,¡± she sniffed. ¡°Using magic to distract is part of the test, even making you feel endangered, but to have you believe you were on fire¨C¡±


    ¡°You could have warned me,¡± Saphienne said. ¡°If I¡¯d know about the test, I¡¯d have expected something like that from him.¡±


    The librarian pursed her lips, conflicted. ¡°I couldn¡¯t. And anticipating the interruptions would have made it harder; or at least, that¡¯s what I found.¡±


    Faylar glanced at Filaurel. ¡°You underwent the same?¡±


    ¡°I did.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Twice, actually. I failed the first time. Water was conjured over my head and¨C Saphienne! Don¡¯t laugh! I was worried about my books!¡±


    But Saphienne guffawed loudly, all the tension and worry evaporating from her chest as she pictured her mentor, drenched, scrambling to save her books from damage, likely swearing at whoever had dared imperil them, circumstances be damned.


    Faylar laughed as well. With a put-upon sigh, Filaurel rolled her eyes and hugged Saphienne a second time, smothering her laughter against her shoulder. The librarian¡¯s words were quiet in her ear. ¡°Well done.¡±


    * * *


    Later, as they sat on the sunny grass outside the library, Saphienne shared everything that had happened, including the high standard to which her master would hold her. Faylar complained that it was unfair to expect her to never arrive last, not even once, especially since no such rule was being applied to the other students.


    Filaurel was more practical about it. ¡°Befriend the others,¡± she advised, ¡°and ask them not to enter until you¡¯ve already gone inside.¡±


    The thought of depending on their sympathy made Saphienne uneasy.


    Faylar nudged her. ¡°Prickly.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± she accepted. ¡°Celaena maybe. Or Iolas ¡ª he cared about fairness.¡±


    ¡°Do you think,¡± Filaurel wondered, ¡°either of them would be willing to hold back, if you need more time with your studies?¡±


    Faylar giggled. ¡°Come on! If anything, Saphienne will have to go a little easy on them.¡±


    Filaurel hesitated, and then nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be fine, Saphienne. Just promise me you¡¯ll ask them for help if you find yourself struggling, and that you¡¯ll offer them whatever help they need. You¡¯ll learn quickly on your own, but you¡¯ll learn better if you study with others.¡±


    Pondering this, Saphienne glanced at Faylar. ¡°¡­That might be true. I will.¡±


    He gave her a smile of encouragement.


    Rather than let herself worry about how she would win her peers over, Saphienne looked up at the sky, and fell back on the ground. ¡°Anyway,¡± she concluded, ¡°the hard part¡¯s done. I¡¯m an apprentice to a wizard now. Just how difficult can it be ¡ª learning magic?¡±


    Filaurel answered after a pause, her voice distant. ¡°That¡­ depends on the person.¡±


    A cloud drifted across the sun, dimming the day. Saphienne let her eyes close, and touched her pouch where it nestled in her robe. ¡°I¡¯ll learn quickly. I¡¯m certain. Don¡¯t I always?¡±


    End of Chapter 14

 CHAPTER 15 – Intangible Lessons

    To ensure she wouldn¡¯t arrive last, on her first day of lessons Saphienne set out for the wizard¡¯s abode even earlier, still yawning as she made her way through the outskirts of the village. Her lingering tiredness vanished the instant she came within sight of the towering tree ¡ª seeing another girl in apprentice¡¯s robes, reaching for the door.


    ¡°Celaena!¡±


    Celaena stopped on the doorstep, surprised by the shout so early in the day, and she gasped in astonished delight as she beheld Saphienne sprinting toward her. Her fingertips withdrew from the handle as she turned around, her grin growing as she stepped a few paces forward and opened her arms. ¡°Saphienne! You made it!¡±


    Saphienne had not intended to hug Celaena¡­ but her panic at being too late through the door had made her cry out, and the other girl had mistaken alarm for excitement, so what else was there to do? She closed the distance and embraced her fellow apprentice, delicately. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ good to see you again!¡±


    Celaena let go and looked her up and down. ¡°And you! I had no idea my¨C our master accepted you. He only mentioned Iolas.¡± She was shaking her head. ¡°You¡¯ve gotten taller, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    Embarrassed by her growth spurt, Saphienne looked away. ¡°It¡¯s just the robes. Jorildyn tailored them to make me look more¡­ adult.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Celaena disagreed, ¡°you¡¯re definitely taller. And that¡¯s a good thing.¡± She was still smiling. ¡°How did you talk him into it?¡±


    Saphienne blinked. ¡°Well, you¡¯ll remember I studied with Jorildyn for a short time¨C¡±


    ¡°Not him.¡± Celaena giggled. ¡°Our master. How did you talk him into it? He looked ready to murder you.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Still faintly blushing, Saphienne tried to pretend it hadn¡¯t been a struggle, and brushed her fingers through her hair. ¡°What can I say? He knows talent when he sees it.¡±


    That made Celaena grin even more broadly, mistaking her conceit for an indirect compliment. ¡°He does, doesn¡¯t he? Though ¡ª poor Faylar. Speaking of which,¡± she changed topics, ¡°I¡¯ve not seen much of him since that night. I heard he¡¯s been spending a lot of time with you, and I assumed that meant¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­That I failed.¡± Saphienne shrugged. ¡°Faylar made the same assumption, the day he was rejected. He came looking for me, wanting to commiserate. Instead, we ended up¡­ well, we¡¯ve been studying together. He¡¯s going to try again, one day.¡±


    Celaena was quick to catch why they hadn¡¯t commiserated, along with its significance to herself. ¡°Wait.¡± She leaned back. ¡°You mean, our master accepted you first, on the same night you made him lose his temper?¡±


    ¡°Well, yes.¡±


    ¡°¡­Oh.¡± She wilted under the confirmation.


    Saphienne realised that Celaena was more invested in Almon¡¯s opinion than anyone ought to be, and she opened her mouth to say so, but then wondered whether speaking poorly of the wizard on his doorstep was wise, and pursed her lips. ¡°I don¡¯t think he selected us by talent,¡± she said, ¡°but by urgency? I was more of an immediate problem.¡±


    Without quite understanding why they did, Saphienne saw her words made the other girl smile again. ¡°I¡¯ve heard you called a problematic child,¡± Celaena teased, ¡°so I suppose that fits.¡±


    Saphienne blinked again. ¡°Problematic?¡±


    Celaena shook her head. ¡°Not you, yourself, more that¡­¡± She trailed off as she studied Saphienne¡¯s expression. ¡°¡­That other people can be judgemental.¡±


    ¡°Well.¡± Saphienne folded her arms. ¡°They can judge all they like. Who cares what they have to say? Wizards should be above such stupidity.¡±


    The other apprentice laughed, loudly, and glanced toward the door. ¡°That we should! Or should be, one day.¡± She offered her arm. ¡°Shall we go in?¡±


    Not quite sure what the older girl expected, Saphienne held her own arm out in the same way. ¡°Let¡¯s.¡±


    Celaena smiled and slipped her arm around Saphienne¡¯s, and the pair walked together into the foyer ¡ª into their classroom.


    *          *          *


    Saphienne needn¡¯t have worried: Iolas hadn¡¯t arrived.


    Almon was waiting for them, however, and they found him in the process of laying out a third writing board in a semi-circle around his high-backed chair. ¡°About as early as I expected,¡± he noted as they separated and bowed to him. ¡°In future, you may wait a further hour before attending.¡±


    Saphienne was not impressed, and answered him with anger that she sweetened with polite irony. ¡°We only wished to be diligent and punctual students, Master.¡±


    Almon¡¯s lips twitched. ¡°As you say.¡± He gestured to the places next to the writing boards. ¡°Since you¡¯re both here before Iolas,¡± he continued, ¡°you may sit and meditate while we await him.¡±


    Celaena sat directly opposite his chair, smoothing out her robes as she lowered herself down. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be simpler to set a time, Master?¡±


    Taking the space to her left, furthest from where the wizard stood, Saphienne answered for Almon. ¡°Where would be the fun in that?¡±


    Surprising her, the wizard nodded. ¡°Saphienne is flippant, but she is not wrong ¡ª though, nor is she wholly correct.¡± He drew himself up to his full height, and his voice took on performative depth. ¡°A wizard must not be buffeted about by the demands of the world. Magic must be respected, and so a wizard must command respect. Where it is not forthcoming, it must be insisted upon; no one but another practitioner of the Great Art may require the attendance of a wizard before he chooses.¡±


    Encouraged by Saphienne, Celaena spoke up as well. ¡°But Master, you are such a practitioner. Shouldn¡¯t you demand the attention of your apprentices?¡±


    Almon gave her a disappointed look. ¡°Saphienne, explain it to her.¡±


    Saphienne didn¡¯t like being made to talk down to Celaena, and she forced an apologetic smile. ¡°He¡¯s teaching us to be wizards, so he¡¯s treating us in the way we should expect to be treated as wizards.¡± Hidden beneath her sleeve, her fingers clenched. ¡°Mostly.¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡± Their master smiled, throwing a little warmth upon Celaena. ¡°Child¡­ though you are but an apprentice, there is every possibility that you will one day stand where I stand. How are you to hold yourself with confidence, if you are made to dance to the beat of my drum, with no consideration given to your business? Your time is your own. And your respect is your own to give. My magic, and what I will teach you, should be sufficient motivation to receive your respect ¡ª and your prompt attendance.¡±


    Celaena shifted uneasily. ¡°What of the time wasted, waiting?¡±


    Almon¡¯s expression became severe, and he walked to stand right before them both as he spoke. ¡°No time,¡± he said, heavily, as though laying down the law, ¡°can ever be wasted without your consent. Are you bored? Then that is your doing. You have learned the essentials of focused meditation ¡ª and time spent honing your concentration is never wasted, will never be wasted, not even a thousand years from now.


    ¡°But more than this,¡± he went on, ¡°a wizard should be prepared for whatever might await him. Do you anticipate that you might be kept waiting? Then come forearmed with a book, or a subject on which you would write, or any other fruitful purpose that may benefit from incremental progress. Even time spent on frivolous amusements is not wasted time, if it nourishes your capacity to withstand later challenges.¡±Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    He surveyed them both. ¡°You are children. More than eighty years await before you will claim a place as an adult elf in good standing. Most your age are free to dally and play, to feel boredom, to ¡®waste their time.¡¯ But if you would be a wizard, you must take ownership of yourself, and act deliberately.¡±


    None of this was what Saphienne had expected; she found herself grinning. ¡°You will teach us, but we are responsible for learning.¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡± He crouched down, level with Celaena. ¡°And, I will say this, Celaena: there is no shame in not knowing, only in not thinking. But,¡± he added, his voice softer, ¡°if you still do not know after thinking? Ask. I am also teaching you how you might present yourself as a wizard, and how to thrive under stress. If you are quick to feel embarrassment, if you let yourself be cowed by my sharp words¡­ how will you fare against magic?¡±


    There was a pause as she studied his gaze. Nervously, with the hint of a smile on her lips, she nodded.


    In turn, he faintly inclined his head, and sprang back up. ¡°For now: meditation. You must practice daily, until forgoing the act feels unseemly, unclean, and disquieting.¡±


    Nothing further was said; both girls did as instructed, sitting in peace.


    *          *          *


    Saphienne meditated for an hour, then waited quietly, listening to Almon. The wizard had gone upstairs at first, later descending back into the parlour with a cup of tea, which he sipped from while incessantly pacing back and forth along the shelves, around his books. From time to time she heard him faintly speaking to himself, and now that she was intentionally observing him she noticed his dark blue robes swishing to and fro, in time with his muttering.


    Careful not to be seen, she cracked open her eyes. Almon was gesturing, rehearsing whatever speeches were forthcoming. This struck her as strange, at odds with the image he projected. Why was he so casual about his rehearsal, when standing before his audience?


    His earlier explanations held the key. Almon knew that they might be watching, and wanted them to see his preparations, that his apprentices might learn to prepare.


    ¡­Was his antagonism toward her real? Or another illusion?


    ¡°Saphienne, occupy yourself otherwise.¡± He had noticed her watching him.


    She shut her eyes. No, he didn¡¯t like her. Not everything he did was for show.


    Iolas knocked on the parlour door an hour and thirty minutes after his fellow apprentices had arrived, and Celaena and Saphienne both looked toward the sound, then expectantly at their master, who quietly moved behind his chair and held his hands above its back.


    Almon did not answer.


    Iolas knocked again, more firmly.


    Celaena would have called to him, but Almon silenced her, his finger before his lips, a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes.


    At last, Iolas opened the door, and peered in hesitantly. ¡°Hello¨C¡±


    ¡°Good!¡± Almon slammed his hands against the chair for emphasis. ¡°The boy finally works up the courage to enter! Do you need further invitation, Iolas, or are you ready to take your place?¡±


    Iolas flushed, but he said nothing, only shut the door. He paused briefly when he saw Saphienne, and he gave her a small bow before took his place on the other side of Celaena.


    ¡°Learn from Saphienne¡¯s example,¡± Almon told them. ¡°When you are expected, do not proceed with uncertainty: announce your arrival with words. When you are unexpected, knock, wait, then knock again ¡ª and enter. And when you are unwelcome, but you must be present, knock and enter without hesitation.¡±


    ¡°I was being polite,¡± Iolas said, clearly annoyed.


    ¡°No, you were nervous, and hiding behind politeness.¡±


    Iolas thought for a moment, and then inclined his head, reluctantly accepting the point.


    ¡°Celaena and Saphienne may have more insights to share with you, having been here for longer. Suffice it to say: you are not late, nor is there a set time for us to begin.¡±


    Saphienne was dissatisfied. ¡°Whether or not he was nervous,¡± she said, leaning back on her palms, ¡°doesn¡¯t entering without warning risk catching people¡­ unprepared?¡±


    ¡°Child,¡± Almon sighed, ¡°surely you can see? That is hardly disadvantageous.¡±


    Celaena shook her head. ¡°She means catching them in an awkward situation, and souring their opinion of you.¡±


    The wizard looked up at his ceiling. ¡°Hm. Very well; you take me too literally, so further clarification is appropriate.¡± He looked back down at them, and then at Saphienne in particular. ¡°For the sake of all that is to come: consider that every lesson I teach you, I expect you to apply using your own judgement. Were you stood outside someone¡¯s bedroom, or even their home, and were you unexpected, then you might choose to forebear from such directness. Unless you had good reason to proceed regardless ¡ª there are times when it is advantageous to transgress against politeness, if it serves a purpose.¡±


    Iolas shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think rudeness is excused by getting what you want.¡±


    ¡°What were my exact words, Iolas?¡±


    The boy furrowed his brow. ¡°¡­¡®Unless you had good reason.¡¯¡±


    Almon came around beside his chair, and he rested one hand upon it as he spoke, his voice low. ¡°Learn to observe, not to assume. How things present themselves are not always how they actually are. You are too used to reading people¡¯s emotions, how they speak and behave, before you consider what it is that they say.¡±


    Celaena was thoughtful. ¡°You¡¯re saying, we should pay more attention to words than attitude?¡±


    ¡°Close,¡± the wizard nodded, ¡°but you must avoid giving either precedence. Both what is said and how it is said must be taken into consideration, and carefully, in context with all that surrounds the speech, to understand what is before you. You would seek to pierce the greatest mysteries in the world¡­ and so you must never content yourself with the superficial, or with unconsidered assumptions. You, Iolas,¡± he smiled, folding his arms, ¡°think I am rude, and that my rudeness is why I recommend and justify rudeness to you. Yet, have I told you to behave rudely? Did I fault you for being polite?¡±


    Iolas shook his head. ¡°You faulted me for my nervousness, and for my excuse.¡±


    Breathing in sharply, Celaena understood. ¡°You¡¯re forcing us out of familiar lands¡­ to try to stop us relying on unconsidered habits?¡±


    The wizard spread his hands. ¡°Well done. To be initiated into magic is, among other things, to pay close attention ¡ª to your surroundings, to others, and to yourself, and to strive to see all things clearly. Iolas is correct to think I have been rude; but am I rude to everyone? Or am I only rude to you? And to what end?¡±


    Sitting in his chair, he lay his hands on his lap, palms facing upward. ¡°¡®Why?¡¯ is the central question with which you must concern yourselves. But before you arrive at ¡®Why?¡¯ you must consider ¡®Who? What? Where? When?¡¯ and ¡®How?¡¯ To understand why something is ¡ª that requires thought, and thought requires sharp observation. Not all of the things you need observe to answer your questions will be available to you, either, which requires that you also infer what you cannot directly observe.¡±


    Saphienne remained reclining, propped up on her hands. ¡°You¡¯re speaking as though everything about your behaviour is for the sake of our education.¡±


    He raised his eyebrows at her.


    The unspoken challenge drew Saphienne forward, and she closed her eyes to think it through. ¡°¡­I withdraw that. That was an assumption.¡±


    ¡°What would the correct statement have been, child?¡±


    She thought hard. ¡°¡­That you¡¯re speaking as though everything about your behaviour might be¡­ educational.¡±


    ¡°And what is the difference, Saphienne?¡±


    She looked up at him. ¡°Our education is what you¡¯re trying to teach us directly, whereas what is educational is what we might learn from watching you and applying your lessons to reach our own answers.¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡± He folded his hands together. ¡°I don¡¯t pretend that all I do has a carefully thought-out reason. Some of what I do is quite deliberate, however. As we begin, you must first trust that I have reason for the lessons I teach you, and the way I behave, and the attitudes I encourage. Later, when you grow into your studies, you will doubtless begin to discern what had a point, and what was mere foible.¡±


    Saphienne was reminded of her early lessons with Filaurel. ¡°Like reading a story.¡±


    Iolas turned to her. ¡°How so?¡±


    But Celaena was the one who answered, speaking to herself. ¡°You don¡¯t know what matters and what doesn¡¯t when you first hear a story. Sometimes, the storyteller misdirects you. And sometimes a story starts very differently from how it ends. You have to finish the story to know what¡¯s deliberate.¡±


    Saphienne nodded. ¡°It¡¯s too early to know whether our master is a bad teacher.¡±


    Almon laughed, hard. ¡°Ah! Saphienne could have phrased that the other way, and much can be deduced from why she emphasised the negative. But, context leads me to intuit that you didn¡¯t deliberately wish to slight me, girl ¡ª and now, the growing redness in your cheeks confirms it.¡±


    ¡°¡­Point made.¡± Saphienne glowered.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Almon smiled. ¡°And, having introduced you to a broader perspective, I must instruct you all: put your critical faculties aside. For now, take my words at face value, and assume that where I do not elaborate further, or where I refuse to answer your questions, elaboration and answers will eventually follow. Some things will remain unknown to you until the proper time. Like or dislike me, as you each wish, but recognise: I am your master in magic, you are my apprentices, and your education in the Great Art ¨C and in wizardry moreover ¨C is what matters most of all.¡±


    He surveyed the three solemnly. ¡°Now.¡± He stood. ¡°Let me show you the essence of magic, as you have never glimpsed it before.¡±


    End of Chapter 15

 CHAPTER 16 – Of Magic Made Tangible

    Saphienne, Celaena, and Iolas were all very excited for their first practical lesson in magic, and when their master stood to begin, the three apprentices straightened up where they sat cross-legged on the floor before him. Yet all of them were teenagers, and all felt it very important not to show too much enthusiasm before Almon ¡ª lest they appear childish.


    Each attempted to hide their interest in different ways. Iolas took off his satchel and unpacked his writing kit; Celaena rolled her shoulders back and sat attentively, hands clasped; and Saphienne canted her head to the side and eyed the wizard with feigned suspicion, as though she were sceptical about what was to come.


    Almon was not fooled. ¡°Or,¡± he said, his tone playful, ¡°since you appear disinterested, perhaps you would prefer that we talk about¨C¡±


    Saphienne jerked forward. ¡°Stop teasing us!¡±


    Iolas glanced at Saphienne, looked back up at Almon. ¡°¡­Please?¡±


    Celaena said nothing, only pleaded with her eyes.


    ¡°Very well.¡± Enjoying their full attention, he took his time rolling up the long sleeves of his robes. ¡°I am going to cast a spell on you ¡ª the most important spell of all, one learned by every competent wizard. This spell comes in many forms and is known by many different names, but all accomplish the same goal, and all rely upon the eldest discipline of magic: the discipline of Divination.¡±


    Enthralled, they watched as he walked to one of the bookshelves and retrieved a slim book, which he opened and began to read from. ¡°¡®Ask any common person about the preoccupation of wizards and sorcerers, and they will say that magic is their preoccupation. This is not so. Those who would become masters of the Great Art are first and foremost pursuers of the unseen, cataloguers of the unknown, and historians of the forgotten.¡¯¡± He closed the book. ¡°That phrase ¨C ¡®pursuers of the unseen¡¯ ¨C contains within it the whole of our practice, to my mind. The most potent magic is not that which conjures, or beguiles, or deceives, but that which unveils.¡±


    Setting the book on his chair, he stepped next to Iolas. ¡°The spell I will cast falls below the First Degree, and yet it is perhaps the most powerful spell in the world. All other magic depends upon its use. It will be the second spell you learn¨C¡±


    Saphienne couldn¡¯t help herself. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t it be the first?¡±


    Almon glared. ¡°Saphienne, what did I say about trust, only a few minutes ago?¡±


    She bit her lip. ¡°¡­Sorry.¡±


    ¡°As I was about to say,¡± he continued, testily, ¡°it will be the second spell you learn, however, because you must first learn to sense intuitively what it reveals explicitly.¡± He settled himself, flexing his fingers. ¡°And, as I said before, this spell is called by many names. This particular formulation is called the Second Sight ¡ª there are others which affect other senses, and more sophisticated incantations can affect all the senses at once, or supersede them entirely.¡±


    The wizard paused; he regarded all three apprentices sternly. ¡°This spell will allow you to see magic¡­¡± He raised a hand in caution. ¡°¡­But heed my warning! Once the spell is cast upon you, magic will be revealed in this room ¡ª magic that has remained invisible to you until now. You are free to contemplate what you see with all due wonder, but you must not, under any circumstances, attempt to disbelieve its existence.¡±


    Iolas and Celaena slowly turned to look at Saphienne.


    She managed a weak smile. ¡°You¡¯ve used Hallucination to hide something?¡±


    Almon shook his head. ¡°Not in the way you think. But there is a spell from the discipline of Hallucination alive in this room, and once you are able to perceive it, you must continue to be able to perceive it after your Second Sight has ended. If you disbelieve, it will cease to exist ¡ª but only for you.¡±


    Saphienne frowned. ¡°But, the other spell failed for everyone when¨C¡±


    Celaena turned to her, hands clasped together. ¡°Saphienne¡­ let him teach us?¡±


    Whatever she needed to understand, Saphienne decided she could wait. ¡°All right.¡±


    Their master was smiling. ¡°For what little it¡¯s worth,¡± he said as his hands began to weave through the air, ¡°that is an astute observation. Let us see how many more you will have¡­¡±


    Focusing on the spell, his concentration caused a pale, white light to appear between his palms, and then the light grew brighter as the wizard whispered a few syllables that echoed weirdly around the room. For all that the spell was meant to be simple, Almon was totally absorbed in bringing it into being, and he repeated the same motions and breathed the same word two more times, perspiration on his skin by the time he was done. The eerie light of the Divination spell settled over and obscured his left hand; the spell¡¯s glow was even and steady, but half-glimpsed, geometric shapes flickered within its depths.


    Solemnly, Almon reached out and touched Iolas on his brow, causing the light to diminish by a third ¡ª and white motes to momentarily appear in the boy¡¯s eyes. The apprentice sat there, stunned, as Almon moved on to Celaena, who gasped when the magic settled into her, looking around the room in growing astonishment.


    Then it was Saphienne¡¯s turn, and she closed her eyes.


    She heard Almon chuckle, and then flinched in surprise as the wizard flippantly tapped her forehead.


    *          *          *


    What was it she saw, as the Second Sight took hold?


    At first, Saphienne saw nothing at all ¡ª only the impressions of shapes throughout the room, fading now that her eyes had closed. Bright light briefly flashed across her vision when the wizard touched her head, as though someone had waved a lit candle in her face; the flash left a coloured streak behind, like a sunspot.


    Then ¨C as she watched ¨C the streak bled across her vision until it covered her entire field of view, becoming luminous and colourful, white and blue and violet hues swaying and shimmering before her eyes. More vibrant than any rainbow, they moved as though she were watching them reflected in the surface of a pond ¡ª distorted by ripples. Yet the more the ripples spread and collided across the surface, the less the reflection was warped by any single one, until at last the warring waves found their harmony and the full, coloured reflection slid into focus.


    Saphienne inhaled sharply.


    Seen through her closed eyes, fading white sparkles outlined the wizard as he returned to his chair, his silhouette glimmering faintly against an overwhelming background of sapphire ¡ª which emanated from near the window, and carried upon it purple specks like snowflakes on a steady breeze.


    And the source of that blue?


    Saphienne turned, and her mouth opened ¡ª along with her eyes.


    Roosting on the windowsill was the strangest bird she had ever seen.


    Perhaps a foot in length from its taloned feet to its crested brow, the bird had the beak and intelligent eyes of a parrot, the wings of a falcon, and long tail plumage that curled beneath the windowsill like a male peacock¡¯s. The bird¡¯s largest feathers were bright, literally glaring yellow and green, though its breast and neck were iridescent blue; so too its eyes glowed blue, but dimly, like they were reflecting a clear sky in the afternoon.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    And although the animal was striking, far more striking still was the star of blue and violet that the Second Sight showed shining within its heart. That spectacle alone dispersed any doubts Saphienne might have had: the bird was no bird at all, but a spell.


    A spell, which sounded cheerful. ¡°Hello!¡±


    Saphienne glanced back at Celaena and Iolas, and saw the same astonishment she felt.


    Not only astonishment. Celaena suddenly grinned. ¡°I knew he had a familiar!¡±


    ¡°He does,¡± the bird answered. ¡°A pleasure to meet you, Celaena. You¡¯re very astute. Do you like my feathers?¡± The bird unfurled its wings, and preened.


    Saphienne looked to Almon, who was watching her with guarded amusement. ¡°Did you make this?¡±


    The wizard shrugged. ¡°Ask him. His name¡¯s Peacock.¡±


    ¡°Oh, how rude of me.¡± The bird buried his beak under a wing, pantomiming shyness, then perked back up. ¡°I¡¯m pleased to meet you too, Saphienne. My name¡¯s Peacock. You gave me quite a fright, that first night in the clearing. I hope you¡¯ll be kind enough to accept me¡­ unlike the flowers.¡±


    Saphienne continued to address Almon. ¡°Is he a spell? Are you making him do this?¡±


    ¡°My master is most certainly not,¡± Peacock answered her, sounding wounded. ¡°He¡¯s never been able to make me do anything. In fact, it¡¯s a matter of debate whether he made me at all.¡±


    Iolas recovered. ¡°What are you?¡±


    ¡°And a pleasure to meet you, too, Iolas.¡± Peacock bobbed on the windowsill. ¡°Your calligraphic interpretation of the poem was quite wonderful, I must say.¡±


    ¡°You were there?¡±


    ¡°In a manner of speaking. I could only see you faintly ¡ª we hadn¡¯t been introduced.¡± Shimmying along, the bird leapt and flapped its wings, landing on the edge of one of the bookshelves. ¡°To answer your question: I¡¯m a familiar. I¡¯m also a figment. A fig-miliar? A fam-ent? A familiar figment, let¡¯s say.¡±


    Saphienne stared at the wizard. ¡°What¡¯s a figment?¡±


    Almon gestured to his bird. ¡°Tell her. Explain yourself, Peacock.¡±


    With a flurry of feathers that made Saphienne jump, Peacock flew down to sit on the writing board in front of her, pushing up on the points of his claws to stare insistently into her face. ¡°A figment,¡± he told her, ¡°is a form of spell cast from the discipline of Hallucination. Figments are independent hallucinations that are sustained by the belief of more than one person ¡ª a figment not just of your imagination, but the imaginations of many people.¡±


    Saphienne blinked. ¡°What happens if someone stops believing?¡±


    ¡°I cease to exist,¡± Peacock answered, hanging his head. Then he cackled, and puffed up his chest. ¡°¡­For them! And they cease to exist for me. But so long as others believe in me, the spell that gives me life continues, fuelled by my connection to Almon.¡±


    ¡°Master Almon,¡± Celaena interjected, ¡°of what use is¡­ an illusionary familiar?¡±


    Peacock hopped onto her writing board, and his voice was a perfect imitation of the girl¡¯s as he threw her own insult back at her. ¡°Cheeky bitch!¡±


    Almon clapped his hands. ¡°Behave, Peacock.¡±


    The familiar imitated his master flawlessly, though his tone was pompous. ¡°¡®Behave, Peacock!¡¯ Such a powerful wizard you are, ordering around your poor, enslaved figment.¡±


    The wizard responded with a sigh. ¡°He¡¯s not enslaved. He just thinks he¡¯s funny.¡±


    ¡°Thinks? How dare you! I am. And at least one of us is!¡±


    Saphienne rubbed her eyes. ¡°What about her question?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m useful for many things,¡± Peacock replied, hopping back onto her board. ¡°I sing, I dance, I tell sophisticated jokes for appreciation by only the finest¨C¡±


    Almon spoke over his bird. ¡°He assists in the casting and maintenance of my spells, particularly my hallucinations. The night I surrounded you with flowers, it was Peacock who maintained the spell after I had finished its casting.¡±


    ¡°Powered by his belief,¡± Peacock added, turning his head to stare pointedly at Saphienne with one eye. ¡°When you collapsed the belief, it wasn¡¯t my fuck up.¡±


    Utterly nonplussed by the cavorting, magical bird, Saphienne shook her head. ¡°Why are you¡­ like this?¡±


    ¡°Talented? Beautiful?¡± The bird swayed from side to side, unfurling his wings. ¡°Dare I joke, debonair, if you¡¯re as well-read as you say?¡±


    Saphienne just stared.


    ¡°No fun,¡± the bird sighed. Turning away, he glared across his shoulder, then fluttered up and landed on the back of Almon¡¯s tall chair, shifting around to sweep his tail feathers behind his wings. ¡°The great Master Almon holds court over his many supplicants and apprentices, but tell me: what is a court without a fool?¡± He lifted and fanned out his tail, the yellow and blue swirls mesmerising.


    Almon rolled his eyes. ¡°Ignore him. The answer is¨C¡±


    ¡°And since the position of fool is already occupied,¡± Peacock pressed on, dropping his tail, ¡°and the fool presently seated upon his throne ¡ª it falls to me, the comparatively humble Peacock, to furnish wise and judicious counsel.¡±


    Celaena coughed. ¡°Master¡­ is there a purpose to this behaviour?¡±


    The wizard¡¯s expression was mildly pained. ¡°Less a purpose than a consequence. Familiars are invested with sentience by their masters, which is to say that their minds are the seeming of their master¡¯s dreaming.¡± He steepled his fingers. ¡°As a disciple of Hallucination, my imagination is full of all sorts of glamour and senseless frivolity, from which Peacock unconsciously took shape, assembled from discarded, half-formed concepts.¡±


    Peacock gave a loud click. ¡°Or, one might say: from cuts of the finest material, as often remain on the drafting board.¡±


    ¡°Quiet, bird.¡±


    ¡°Shan¡¯t.¡±


    Almon ignored him. ¡°His quarrelsome disposition has one virtue: irritation helps sustain the belief necessary to maintain him as a figment.¡±


    ¡°He means he¡¯s fond of me, really.¡±


    ¡°You can see,¡± Almon addressed them, ¡°why I do not introduce him to others. But such is unavoidable when the magic that comprises his being is laid bare.¡± The wizard almost looked apologetic. ¡°Now you¡¯re stuck with him, too.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not that bad.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Almon admitted, ¡°there are some small benefits to his acquaintance. For one thing, he knows much about magic, and can answer minor questions when I am otherwise occupied. For another, he can record and repeat messages without error.¡±


    Peacock promptly demonstrated. ¡°¡®No, there are some small benefits to his acquaintance. For one thing¨C¡¯¡±


    ¡°Enough.¡± Almon¡¯s patience had run out, and for once his familiar quietened.


    Saphienne had been thinking throughout the exchange. ¡°You said it was important not to disbelieve him,¡± she said. ¡°If disbelieving him wouldn¡¯t damage the spell, why does it matter?¡±


    For the first time since they met, Almon looked deeply embarrassed.


    Peacock bent down to look him in the eye. ¡°Tell her. Explain yourself, Almon.¡±


    As though it were agonising to speak, Almon looked up at the ceiling, searching for the words. ¡°Because,¡± he admitted, voiced strained, ¡°if you¡¯d snubbed him like that¡­¡±


    His familiar continued to stare.


    ¡°¡­He wouldn¡¯t have shut up about it.¡± He sounded so very tired. ¡°Not for weeks.¡±


    The bird swivelled toward them, opening his beak in the imitation of a grin.


    Saphienne¡¯s sides hurt as she supressed her laughter.


    *          *          *


    With Peacock hushed and shooed back to the windowsill, Almon reclaimed some of his dignity by standing and circling around the parlour as he spoke. ¡°Returning now to the purpose of this exercise,¡± he said, ¡°the Second Sight will remain active for perhaps an hour. You are to use this time to examine whatever magic you can see, and to write down your observations, which we will then discuss.¡±


    Apart from the parrot-like familiar, and subtle blue sparkles that trailed behind Almon¡¯s robes, Saphienne could see nothing else to study. She considered each glimmer carefully as she reached into her satchel and fetched out her writing kit, stopping only when she noticed Celaena searching through her own pack with urgency.


    Saphienne knew that look. Without a word, she slid her pens and inks and paper halfway between them both, returning her attention to the magic as an idea took form. Celaena froze, then lifted one of the pens with a barely visible nod of thanks.


    Almon had stopped by the window. ¡°Take care to note any differences. This is an exercise in discernment, observing the smallest¨C¡±


    Saphienne stood, interrupting him.


    ¡°Saphienne? Is something the matter, child?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°You said we have up to an hour.¡± Moving slowly, studying her surroundings, Saphienne walked over to the parlour¡¯s entrance.


    Almon raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.


    Iolas watched her open the door, and called after her. ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    Staring out into the woodland, Saphienne answered across her shoulder. ¡°To look for more magic. One of you two should stay here.¡±


    She didn¡¯t wait to hear his reply. She had less than an hour, and so much to see.


    End of Chapter 16

 CHAPTER 17 – Look, and Look Again

    Walking through the village while under a magic spell was quite unlike anything Saphienne had experienced before. She had never tried wine ¨C despite the many bottles her mother kept under the stairs, she had never once been interested ¨C and didn¡¯t really know how it felt to be drunk; but the accounts of drunkenness she had read came back to her as she made her way toward the library. Writers described wine as being relaxing in small glasses, freeing in large ones, revealing when drank by the bottle, and thereafter deluding and destroying in greater quantities.


    Saphienne didn¡¯t feel relaxed, nor was she freed ¡ª yet she did feel the world around her was revealed more clearly than she had ever seen it before. Was this a form of drunkenness? Almost certainly not¡­ and yet she wasn¡¯t entirely herself as she stood in the middle of a winding grove and stared up at the early morning sunlight shining down through the boughs.


    Sunlight was magical. She hadn¡¯t noticed at first, the signs far less substantial than the bright colours she had seen in the wizard¡¯s parlour, but the further she travelled the more she became aware of glimmers that dusted the ground wherever the sun shone. The trees, too, were magical, or at least the larger trees that had been grown into houses, all of which had green threads of magic barely visible beneath the surface of their bark. Saphienne paused for a time, mentally charting the lines in one such home.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡±


    A bejewelled woman had opened an upstairs window, perplexed by Saphienne.


    ¡°Just admiring your house,¡± Saphienne called up. ¡°I¡¯m learning to be a wizard.¡±


    ¡°¡­Right.¡± The elf was unconvinced. ¡°Would you kindly learn somewhere else?¡±


    Saphienne waved, and walked on.


    Some dozen steps further down the grove she paused, glancing back to where the woman was leaning out the window to watch; the rings on her fingers shone in the bright daylight.


    Oblivious to how she appeared to the woman, Saphienne changed direction and hurried away. There was someone else she should stop in on, before the library.


    * * *


    Although it was early in the day, there was a very good chance that the woman Saphienne was calling on would still be awake from the night before, and so she knocked on the door to her workshop firmly.


    Less than a minute later, the door opened a crack. ¡°¡­Saphienne.¡±


    Saphienne grinned. ¡°Hello Eletha. Are you working right now?¡±


    The jeweller let the door open slightly wider, revealing her dark, coarse apron, thick gloves, heavy shoes, and the elaborate braid that swept her hair up above her pointed ears. Though Saphienne couldn¡¯t see, she knew the woman was otherwise only dressed in her drab underwear. ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°May I watch you work for a few minutes? I¡¯m examining different types of magic.¡±


    Eletha deliberated for a moment, then moved away. ¡°I¡¯ll dress.¡±


    Saphienne walked to the back of the workshop as Eletha went upstairs, not even slightly surprised by her former tutor. Anything other than her jewellery was an afterthought to the elf, a distraction from pursuing her craft. There had been days when Saphienne had been forced to request they stop to eat and drink, and nights when Eletha would have thoughtlessly kept working through ¡ª until the next evening.


    Fortunately, her singlemindedness meant that Eletha soon returned, decently attired, to settle back into place beside the small wood fire over which she worked. ¡°Choker,¡± she explained to Saphienne, lifting a hoop of golden metal with her tongs, showing her progress as she selected a pair of long needles and lightly held them between the fingers of her other hand.


    The detail was exquisite: the surface of the choker looked like woven fabric. Yet there was no magic to be seen, not at first, and Saphienne only nodded.


    Eletha set her feet on the bellows beneath the fire, and began to rock them in rhythm, stoking the flames higher. Into them she thrust the jewellery, holding it so that the yellow tongues could taste and warm the gold.


    Saphienne waited, watching the jeweller find her rhythm.


    When Eletha began to sing, there was no change at first, her low notes sung so softly that Saphienne would have struggled to hear her over the bellows were she stood in the front of the workshop. Yet, as the song unfolded, the metal began to soften, its surface loosening, not quite flowing and not quite solid, able to be worked. Eletha set about doing this with her needles, and Saphienne was struck by the realisation that the surface wasn¡¯t mere detail ¡ª the metal had been spun into strands, woven into a delicate braid, and was now being patterned through precise twists.


    Another time, Saphienne would have been absorbed by the craftsmanship.


    Green glimmers appeared along the metal, revealed by the spell that her master had cast before she left his parlour. Their specific hue was very similar to the living threads she had observed in the trees, a bright emerald, though the Second Sight showed the magic in the choker as less fixed in place, able to shift and sway. Prolonged study gave Saphienne the impression that the glimmers were like light reflecting off the crests of waves, and when Eletha sang different notes the imagined sea mirrored her tone, growing more or less animate in response to the song.


    Perhaps ten minutes passed, Saphienne contemplating the mystery.


    ¡°I think I¡¯ve learned enough,¡± she whispered, not wishing to interrupt Eletha.


    The jeweller nodded, waiting for a lull in the song to speak. ¡°See yourself out.¡±


    But as Saphienne walked away, she heard the bellows stop.


    ¡°Saphienne.¡±


    Reluctantly, she came back to where Eletha was studying the choker, conscious of her remaining time until the Second Sight expired.


    ¡°¡­You were good. I should have told you.¡±


    Saphienne smiled. ¡°You did. You told me I¡¯d be a jeweller.¡±


    Eletha turned, surprise in the dark seas of her eyes. Then she nodded. ¡°Remember the songs. Return to them. Everything else will change, but the songs remain the same.¡± She lapsed into silence.


    For once, Saphienne was glad Eletha was a woman of few words, for neither of them knew what else to say.


    * * *


    Filaurel was upstairs in the library when Saphienne found her, and dropped down from the top of a ladder with ease. ¡°Aren¡¯t you a little early?¡± she asked, clicking off the brakes and rolling the ladder to the end of the aisle.


    ¡°I need a favour.¡± Saphienne squinted at Filaurel as she spoke. ¡°¡­I need to study the tome in your desk.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Filaurel smiled broadly. ¡°You¡¯re under the Magician¡¯s Sight, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Almon called it the Second Sight. He said there were many spells¡­¡±


    The librarian nodded as they walked toward the stairs. ¡°Humans call it the Magician¡¯s Sight ¨C except, well, in their own words. I suppose you¡¯ll want me to write a message or two while you watch?¡±


    Saphienne murmured an agreement. She was distracted, having noticed a steady orange glow under the top of Filaurel¡¯s blouse, centred on the dip between her cleavage. Her mentor was wearing something magical.


    In due course Filaurel brought out the tome, unbinding it and turning to the most recent page. ¡°Please pay no attention to what¡¯s written here,¡± she said, hand hovering over the page of neat script, ¡°much of the discussion is frivolous and not intended for the eyes of children.¡±


    That only made it more appealing. ¡°I¡¯m interested in the magic.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Filaurel lifted her hand away as she readied the pen that paired with the heavy book. ¡°Pass me that ink, would you? There we are.¡±


    Saphienne stole a glimpse of the passages written on the page, all in different hands, catching reference to an upcoming festival ¡ª and questions for what Filaurel had planned for an apparent next meeting.


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    ¡°The pen is not essential,¡± Filaurel explained as she wrote a brief, coy reply, ¡°but it helps speed the magic. I won¡¯t pretend to understand how.¡±


    Watching her write, Saphienne witnessed the magic in the pen at work. Indigo light brightened and dimmed with every mark she made, the intensity precisely varying in relation to the movement of the nib across the page. So too the writing on the page glowed with the same indigo, each completed word flashing briefly, the colour exploding outward before fading away.


    ¡°There.¡± Filaurel set the pen down. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be long. Vaeril is always hovering over their tome. I¡¯m certain they leave it open on their desk. Whenever someone spills ink, eleven times out of a dozen, Vaeril is to blame.¡±


    Saphienne smiled. ¡°It copies the ink stains?¡±


    ¡°Thumb prints, too.¡±


    As anticipated, suddenly the tome began to glitter with a fainter indigo, the sparkles drifting across the page until they stuck in place below the paragraph Filaurel had written, trapped there, accumulating. White luminance ¨C Saphienne supposed it was a Divination spell ¨C flashed across the page, and then green fire snaked through the indigo points, ink racing after it across the paper to fill in the divined message.


    ¡°This looks complicated.¡± Saphienne bit her lip. ¡°I think there¡¯s¡­ three disciplines of magic? Divination, and another two I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Filaurel was familiar with them. ¡°If you can see green, that would be Transfo¨C excuse me, Transmutation. A deep shade of purple would be Translocation.¡± She tapped her bottom lip with the end of the pen. ¡°I can¡¯t recall anything else that would be particularly useful, and I don¡¯t want to cause trouble with Almon by explaining more about the disciplines.¡±


    Saphienne¡¯s eyes flicked to the magic Filaurel wore, then back to the page. ¡°What about an orange colour?¡±


    ¡°Abjuration?¡± Filaurel frowned, and her hand unconsciously clasped against her bosom as she leant over the tome. ¡°Why in the world are you seeing¨C oh.¡±


    Saying nothing, Saphienne kept studying the book as Filaurel stepped away, the librarian now trying and failing to cover the orange glow with the palm of her hand.


    ¡°I should have realised,¡± Filaurel said. She didn¡¯t look embarrassed, but there was an equally hot emotion in her eyes as she studied the wall. ¡°I never really think about it. Yes, I have magical jewellery on me.¡±


    ¡°May I¨C¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Filaurel looked down. ¡°Sorry, but no. Maybe another day.¡±


    Saphienne hadn¡¯t experienced being shut out by Filaurel so bluntly before, and for a moment she felt unspeakably frightened, like she stood on the surface of a frozen lake which had suddenly began to creak and ping as it cracked.


    Then her mentor sighed away all tension, and gave her a soft smile. ¡°Oh, Saphienne, you haven¡¯t upset me.¡± She opened her arms. ¡°Come here.¡±


    They embraced. All throughout, Saphienne was aware of the magic that shone between them, so bright and warm, and yet so elusive.


    * * *


    There wasn¡¯t enough time to visit Gaeleath, or the bakery, or any of the other places where Saphienne knew she would see magic at work. Rather than study the sunlight and the ground and the grass and the trees for a second time, she hurried back toward the parlour where Almon was waiting, thinking over what she had witnessed, considering what it might all mean.


    Iolas arrived back outside the wizard¡¯s home at the same time, coming from the other direction. He had a broad, happy smile on his face, and waved to her as she drew closer. ¡°Saphienne. Did you find anything interesting?¡±


    ¡°I think so.¡± She drew to a halt. ¡°What did you see?¡±


    ¡°I went out to a woodland shrine. One of the attendants called¨C¡± He stopped himself. ¡°I should talk about it the right way. One of the attendants cast a spell from the discipline of Invocation, and summoned forth a spirit of the woodland. We made an offering, and I took the chance to study how it looked.¡±


    ¡°And how did it?¡±


    ¡°Lots of yellow.¡± He blushed slightly. ¡°Golden yellow, too, especially around the shrine. I¡¯m not really sure what to make of it.¡±


    As they were talking Saphienne had been only half-listening, her eyes trailing up and down his body.


    ¡°¡­Saphienne?¡± He was blushing more deeply now. ¡°Is something the matter?¡±


    ¡°The Second Sight.¡± She walked around him slowly. ¡°You have a very faint, white glow.¡± Standing in front of him, she stood on her tiptoes to peer deeply into his eyes, which made Iolas take a step back. ¡°But it¡¯s brighter in your eyes. Can you see the same in mine?¡±


    Hesitating, Iolas moved closer. His flush slowly faded as he examined her pupils; she noticed his eyes were more cyan than blue. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he said. ¡°I think I can see two dots in the centre of the white, too. A deeper white. Brighter, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± She focused ¡ª and saw the same in his. ¡°They seem to move a little.¡±


    The pair stood gazing into each other¡¯s eyes, both now oblivious to appearances.


    ¡°I think,¡± Iolas said, ¡°that¡¯s a reflection. The spell in your eyes is responding to the spell in mine.¡±


    Saphienne squinted, then nodded. ¡°That¡¯s interesting. Can you turn to the side, and keep your eyes trained on me?¡±


    Iolas duly did, and she watched the pinpricks within the glow move, confirming that they were mirroring the spell cast upon her. ¡°I think you¡¯re right.¡± She dropped her heels to the ground and stepped away. ¡°I¡¯m impressed, Iolas. I would never have noticed this.¡±


    ¡°I could say the same. Perhaps we¡¯ll impress our master. ¡± He gestured to the door. ¡°Shall we?¡±


    Another thought had occurred to Saphienne. ¡°¡­Go on ahead. I¡¯ll follow.¡±


    Not expecting her refusal, he politely bowed, and went back into their classroom.


    Saphienne walked away from the flowerbeds outside the wizard¡¯s home, then sat with her back against the nearest tree, stretching her legs out before herself. There she concentrated, studying her arms and feet, trying with all her might to see the same glimmers that she had spied around Iolas. Yet, no matter how she studied herself, the only sparkles were from the sunlight, too insubstantial to be mistaken for the divination.


    Gradually, the sparkles began to waver. Nodding, Saphienne stood up, brushed herself down, and went in to meet the challenge.


    * * *


    ¡°So she returns,¡± Almon noted as she came into the room.


    Peacock perked up. ¡°Hello Saphienne! Did you have a nice walk?¡±


    She ignored them both as she sat before her writing board, took out paper, pen, and ink, and wrote down her thoughts.


    Peacock grumbled.


    Beside her, Celaena had written four pages of observations, and Iolas was approaching the end of his first.


    A moment later, the wizard shook his head. ¡°Time enough. Pens down.¡±


    Iolas and Celaena dutifully complied, while Saphienne kept writing.


    ¡°Saphienne, I told you to put your pen down. That you didn¡¯t take the time to record your observations doesn¡¯t mean¨C¡±


    She didn¡¯t look up. ¡°These aren¡¯t my observations. I can write those down later.¡±


    Intrigued, Almon stood up to hover over her, reading what she was writing. ¡°And what are these, then?¡±


    ¡°My contemplations on the significance of what I saw. I¡¯ll share my observations when you ask.¡±


    Peacock laughed, a rapid and wooden imitation of his master¡¯s laughter. ¡°She¡¯s got you there, Master.¡±


    ¡°Yet,¡± the wizard insisted, ¡°your direct observations matter, and should be written while they are still fresh in your memory. Will they remain so sharp later today?¡±


    Saphienne stopped writing, and set down her pen. ¡°No,¡± she answered as she looked up, ¡°but that won¡¯t be a problem. Peacock is going to remember what I say, word for word, and I¡¯ll check what I transcribe against his record.¡±


    Almon and Peacock looked at each other; the bird held his beak open again, grinning at his master.


    Who accepted her plan with a shrug. ¡°Very well, Saphienne. Let us put your methodology to the test.¡± He wheeled around and addressed Celaena. ¡°Apprentice! You have been sitting here the longest, and I see you have plenty written. Summarise your findings for your peers.¡±


    Nervously, the elf lifted her first page. ¡°About the colours of magic¡­¡±


    * * *


    Much of what Celaena summarised had been clear to Saphienne after the first few minutes spent under the Second Sight, but there were some details that were interesting. The colours emanating from Peacock remained steady throughout, neither brightening nor dimming, though Celaena had noticed that the flecks of violet diminished in number after Saphienne and Iolas left the room. She had also noticed that the magic was more clearly visible the closer Almon was to Peacock, though the difference in visibility was so very small as to be easily overlooked.


    She offered no proposal on what any of it meant.


    Iolas¡¯ summary was shorter, and focused on the differences in the shades of yellow that he had seen at the woodland shrine. Curiously, he had observed that the summoned spirit was not itself comprised of magic in the way Peacock was, but that magic had surrounded it ¡ª a fiery nimbus in brilliant yellow that lingered after the spirit departed. As an aside, he wondered if this explained certain stylised depictions of various servants of the gods, many of whom were commonly painted with halos.


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Almon brushed the matter off. ¡°Is that all?¡±


    He glanced at Saphienne. ¡°¡­For today, Master, yes.¡±


    ¡°That was more than sufficient, Iolas, have no fear.¡± He stretched, and shifted around to Saphienne. ¡°And what about you?¡±


    Saphienne threaded her fingers together, and stared up at the ceiling. ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­¡±


    Recounting everything in as much detail as she could manage, Saphienne told them about her journey from the parlour to the grove, to the workshop, to the library, and then back to meet with Iolas. She held back her analysis of what it might all imply, but even so, she could tell Celaena and Iolas were both fascinated and intimidated by what she had noticed in their short time apart.


    ¡°¡­Which was fruitless. I couldn¡¯t see my own Second Sight using that same Second Sight.¡± She looked back to the others. ¡°That¡¯s all.¡±


    Peacock laughed. ¡°Would you listen to her? ¡®That¡¯s all!¡¯ You could learn something about understatement from this one, Master.¡±


    Almon ignored the jibe. ¡°A full account. Sharply observed.¡± He stood and paced toward one of the shelves, checking the spines as he searched for a book. ¡°And what,¡± he addressed his apprentices, his back toward them, ¡°might we suppose from these combined studies?¡±


    Although she had intended to let the others speak first, Saphienne was surprised to see they were both mouthing encouragement to her ¡ª asking her to speak up.


    ¡°Well? One of you, hazard a thought.¡± At last, he found the book he wanted and came back to his chair.


    She lifted her notes. Nervousness made her clear her throat. ¡°Taking into account everything I described¡­¡± Saphienne took a deep breath. ¡°¡­I think what we saw today wasn¡¯t magic.¡±


    Almon held her gaze. He slowly sat.


    She swallowed.


    ¡°¡­Go on, Saphienne. Explain the basis for that conjecture.¡± Almon leant forward. ¡°Justify yourself to us.¡±


    Peacock chirped. ¡°This ought to be good!¡±


    End of Chapter 17

 CHAPTER 18 – Moving Ahead, Falling Behind

    Spare a thought for Celaena and Iolas as they sat with Saphienne in the parlour of their master. Although both were older than her ¨C Celaena turned sixteen, Iolas still seventeen ¨C and had prepared for longer to secure their start as Almon¡¯s apprentices, even from that very first day of lessons, they knew Saphienne was ahead of them.


    No matter that they were both highly intelligent and thoughtful elves; no matter that the wizard regarded them with greater warmth than he did Saphienne; no matter that she was barely older than fourteen, and that they had more experience in many aspects of life. Listening to her recount what she had seen with the Second Sight, Celaena and Iolas knew without a doubt that she outshone them in apprenticeship¡­ and, also, that she had no idea how inadequate she made them feel.


    You might expect they would be jealous. No, they were not jealous. Nor were they angry. The glances they exchanged as Saphienne talked began as a shared acknowledgement that she was capable, soon growing into mutual disbelief, before finally becoming silent requests for reassurance ¡ª that they were both out of their depth.


    This was why, when their master asked the trio to offer their thoughts on what they had described, Celaena and Iolas urged Saphienne to speak up. Better that she go first, and they could ride along after her. Better that, than have her trample over them when her turn came.


    ¡°Taking into account everything I described¡­¡± Saphienne took a deep breath. ¡°¡­I think what we saw today wasn¡¯t magic.¡±


    She didn¡¯t notice Iolas catch Celaena¡¯s eye, just as she didn¡¯t notice them both studying Almon intently for his reaction. Saphienne was totally absorbed in her ongoing contest with the wizard, and she wouldn¡¯t understand anything about how she affected them until much later, until after she had learned the social awareness that came so readily to others.


    Almon studied Saphienne as he sat, leaning forward. ¡°¡­Go on, Saphienne. Explain the basis for that conjecture. Justify yourself to us.¡±


    Entertained, the illusory familiar chirped beside the window. ¡°This ought to be good!¡±


    ¡°No more commentary, Peacock.¡± The wizard didn¡¯t take his eyes from his apprentice. ¡°Do her the courtesy of allowing her reasoning to stand, or fold, on merit.¡±


    Saphienne wondered whether that meant she was onto something, or whether he was letting her make a fool of herself. She hoped it was the former. ¡°There are a few things we saw that suggest we weren¡¯t seeing everything,¡± she began, ¡°and you made a point of telling us that we would have to learn to infer what we couldn¡¯t directly observe. Then, earlier, you said the Second Sight wouldn¡¯t be the first spell we would learn, despite being fundamental to learning all other magic, because we would have to learn to sense what it revealed.¡±


    Almon nodded. ¡°And yet, you say the spell didn¡¯t reveal magic?¡±


    ¡°That puzzled me, until I considered something else: that you might not be speaking with precision, and instead giving us a simplified explanation. Why else would you instruct us, despite all you said about judging from context and inferring hidden truths, to take your words at face value?¡±


    ¡°An instruction you presently ignore.¡± He wasn¡¯t annoyed. ¡°Continue.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll start with the tome in the library.¡± She thought back to what she had observed, recalling how three different magical disciplines combined to read what was written in the tome, transmit it elsewhere, and reproduce it on an identical page. ¡°I saw indigo flashes whenever a word was written. Yet, the flashes faded away. Then, when someone wrote a reply, specks of the same colour appeared on the page and clustered around the area where the reply was to be written. A white flash followed, and then green lines traced out the message as it was writing itself on the page.¡± Continuing, she matched the colours to their disciplines of magic. ¡°Filaurel told me that indigo is the colour of Translocation spells, and that green is the colour of Transmutation spells. The Divination spell you cast on us was white.¡±


    Almon addressed the others. ¡°All accurate. To facilitate discussion, I will add that the discipline of Invocation appears yellow, while Hallucination is blue, Fascination is violet, Abjuration is orange, and Conjuration is red. The specific shades vary, and can be concealed or misrepresented by a competent wizard, but let us ignore these complications for now.¡± He returned his focus to Saphienne. ¡°What is your point, child?¡±


    She looked questioningly at Almon. ¡°If the Second Sight reveals magic, showing its presence as colour, then I have to wonder: where did the magic appear from? And where did it return to?¡±


    Celaena¡¯s voice was quiet. ¡°I don¡¯t understand¡­¡±


    Saphienne tried to clarify. ¡°The colours were only visible while the tome was in use. Where were the indigo, and the white, and the green, before? What about afterwards?¡±


    Having not meant to interrupt, Celaena was blushing. She sought permission from Almon with a raised hand before she tried to answer. ¡°If indigo is the colour of Translocation¡­ which I think implies movement¡­ could the magic have gone to the other pages, in the matching tomes? Did it send knowledge of the words there, to be copied?¡±


    ¡°I had the same thought,¡± Saphienne answered. ¡°That would also explain why specks of indigo appeared on the page before the reply. But where was it before the writing began? None of the colours were visible at first. I didn¡¯t see any on the pages.¡±


    Almon leant back. ¡°The enchantment lies in the binding of the cover,¡± he explained. ¡°Along with the pen. The pages aren¡¯t magical at all, and can be swapped out once the book is filled. Such an enchantment is harder to discern when it isn¡¯t performing its purpose, and so can be difficult for an untrained eye to notice.¡±


    Saphienne frowned. ¡°I missed that.¡±


    ¡°Knowing this now, does it change your conjecture?¡±


    She thought it over; the fact he asked the question, rather than moving on, suggested there was more. ¡°No. I think Iolas¡¯ observations of an Invocation spell suggests the same thing.¡±


    Iolas perked up. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°You said that the summoned spirit appeared to be surrounded by a yellow glow, but that the spirit itself wasn¡¯t yellow to the Second Sight. Contrast this with Peacock, who we know is a figment, and who glows with blue and violet to the Second Sight.¡±


    The bird chirped, happy to be mentioned.


    Saphienne nodded to Iolas. ¡°You said the spirit departed when the spell ended. What about before it arrived? Was the yellow that surrounded it already present? Was there an enchantment, like the book cover, or some other place in which the yellow was waiting?¡±


    Unsure, Iolas considered what he had seen. ¡°¡­We were at a shrine. And the shrine was enchanted with magic.¡±


    ¡°You said that the shrine appeared different ¡ª a more golden hue.¡±


    ¡°It was.¡± He pursed his lips. ¡°I didn¡¯t see the magic within the shrine interact with the summoning spell, either, but that doesn¡¯t mean it didn¡¯t happen.¡±


    Almon inclined his head. ¡°Good. I will interject again, and tell you that the so-called ¡®consecration¡¯ on the shrine will have made the summoning spell more likely to succeed, but that the enchantment itself was indeed separate. You have both correctly guessed that different spells of the same discipline can have different shades of the discipline¡¯s colour¡­ such as the yellow of butter, or the yellow of gold.¡±


    ¡°Then,¡± Saphienne went on, ¡°if not within the shrine ¡ª where was the yellow of the summoning before the Invocation spell was cast?¡±


    Celaena was nodding her head, following now, but she spoke up for the sake of the argument. ¡°Could the magic have arrived with the spirit?¡±


    ¡°Iolas,¡± Saphienne turned to him, ¡°did you see the yellow appear at the same time as the spirit arrived, or before?¡±


    ¡°Before,¡± he answered, ¡°I¡¯m certain. And it lingered after.¡±


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    ¡°So either it was called from the place where the spirit was, and came ahead, and then departed after the had gone spirit,¡± she concluded, ¡°or it appeared during the spellcasting, opened the way for the spirit, and then the spirit departed before the spell was finished.¡±


    The wizard scoffed. ¡°Feels a little thin. You need more in support of your theory.¡±


    ¡°I have more,¡± Saphienne shot back, invested now. ¡°I had my eyes closed when you cast the Second sight on me. I saw the spell taking shape before it showed me¡­ whatever it actually showed. I¡¯ll return to that.¡± She addressed the others. ¡°Did it look the same to you? Like the colours were swaying, rippling, before they came into focus?¡±


    Iolas shook his head, but Celaena nodded.


    ¡°To me,¡± Saphienne continued, ¡°it looked like the colours were being reflected on another medium. Like the surface of a pond, let¡¯s say.¡±


    Almon tutted. ¡°Looks can be deceiving.¡±


    ¡°They can.¡± She smiled. ¡°For example, the Second Sight you cast on me let me see the identical spell that you cast over Iolas. He could also see my Second Sight spell. But when I tried, I couldn¡¯t see my own Second Sight spell¡­ not while using that same spell.¡±


    She looked to Iolas for confirmation, which he gave, and she went on. ¡°The only glimpse I got of my own spell was when I saw its reflection¡­ in the spell cast on Iolas. Why couldn¡¯t I see it directly?¡± She took a deep breath. ¡°I think the Second Sight showed me the spell you cast on Iolas responding to the spell that was cast on me. I saw his spell, showing him my spell.¡±


    At that, Almon ceased to pretend scepticism, or to say much at all. He watched her, waiting for her to conclude.


    ¡°If the Second Sight reveals magic, and the Second Sight is a spell, and a spell is magic ¡ª why can¡¯t the Second Sight see itself?¡± Saphienne glanced at the other apprentices, but they remained silent. ¡°And, when I watched Eletha sing her craft magic, it seemed that the green appeared in response to the singing, and changed with the singing, but neither Eletha or her voice on the air appeared green.¡±


    Saphienne gestured to Peacock. ¡°He¡¯s made of magic. But Second Sight doesn¡¯t show the magic he¡¯s made of, does it? It only shows the magic at work. The Second Sight doesn¡¯t show magic, does it? The Second Sight shows spells. I think spells aren¡¯t the same thing as the magic they use.¡±


    ¡°And what, Saphienne,¡± her master asked, ¡°is the distinction?¡±


    She glanced at the page of thoughts she had written, but the answer wasn¡¯t there. ¡°¡­It¡¯s to do with the sunlight,¡± she realised, thinking aloud. ¡°The sparkles from the sunlight weren¡¯t spells, but appeared like spells to the Second Sight. Which would suggest¡­¡±


    Peacock bobbed his head, encouraging her.


    ¡°¡­Spells are the intersection between magic, whatever it actually is, and the world around us?¡±


    Saphienne looked at Almon, hopeful.


    Who then sighed, and shook his head.


    ¡°¡­Damn.¡± Iolas sounded disappointed. ¡°I thought you had something, there.¡±


    But the wizard surprised them. ¡°She does.¡±


    Almon stood abruptly, striding to different shelves from those he had previously browsed that morning. ¡°Saphienne has, in fact, crept up to the edge of a foundational magical theory. One of several competing theories, each of which describes magic differently. Where is the¡­¡± He squinted, and then pulled out a thick, slab-like book from a lower shelf. ¡°¡­Here we are. ¡®Meditations on the Aether¡¯ is the title, originally written by High Master Elduin, some two and a half millennia ago. He proposed that spells being cast ¨C and magical phenomena, such as enchantments ¨C are not magic itself, but the point where magic touches the world.¡±


    Saphienne could feel the glow of her own happiness. ¡°Is that what we¡¯ll be studying?¡±


    Her master smiled cruelly, and set the book back on the shelf. ¡°No. Not for quite some time.¡±


    Her eyes lingered on the spine. ¡°But, why ask me to¨C¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t supposed to make such intuitive leaps after your first experience with the Second Sight,¡± he answered, folding his arms. ¡°Were it not for the fact that you¡¯re so transparent about your emotions, I¡¯d think someone had explained Elduin¡¯s theory to you. No, Saphienne: while your conjecture is sound, magical theory comes after you have successfully cast your first spell.¡±


    Even Celaena was frustrated. ¡°But why?¡±


    ¡°Why, indeed.¡± Almon studied Saphienne. ¡°Why did I let you explore this, Saphienne? Why watch you swim into these waters, only to drag you back to shore?¡±


    There was the hint of more than antagonism in the way he spoke¡­ and Saphienne searched his face for an answer, finding no clues. So she shut her eyes, thought about all they had discussed, and groped in the dark for the reason.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you why,¡± Almon said. ¡°It¡¯s because¨C¡±


    ¡°Because thinking about magic isn¡¯t the same as doing it.¡± Saphienne opened her eyes. ¡°Whether or not magic and spells are the same thing, seeing magic isn¡¯t the same as doing magic. So the Second Sight doesn¡¯t help to cast spells, only to examine spells that are being cast ¡ª which magical theories then try to explain. Neither can help us before we¡¯ve learned how to wield magic for ourselves.¡±


    Almon stared.


    Iolas and Celaena held their breath.


    And Peacock, beating his wings, burst into triumphal song.


    For all that his apprentice annoyed him, the wizard sighed again, even more deeply, and gave Saphienne a shallow bow. ¡°Precisely so.¡±


    * * *


    For the remaining hour, Almon explained how their apprenticeship was to proceed.


    Each day of the week ahead, the wizard would be preparing them with an extended casting of the Second Sight, and then demonstrating a spell from one of the other eight disciplines of magic. They were to use the opportunity to observe the differences between each spell ¡ª and were not to try to understand how they were cast. Nor were they to try examining the underlying nature of the magic that the spells brought into the world.


    ¡°You must let yourselves feel wonder,¡± he urged. ¡°Familiarise yourself with the colours of magic, and how they feel to you. Such will be very important, for all that will follow.¡±


    During this time he would also be explaining the differences between the disciplines, as well as the limitations that applied to each. All of this was secondary knowledge to the actual casting of magic, but knowledge a wizard should nevertheless possess.


    After that week was done, the remaining three weeks of the month were to be spent learning about how magic was organised and practiced in elven society, as well as throughout the world beyond. They were to be informed about the degrees of magic, what distinguished the degrees from lesser forms of magic, and how wizards and sorcerers should introduce themselves accordingly. He also intended to clarify what it was that made a sorcerer, and how he and his apprentices ¨C as wizards ¨C differed from sorcerers.


    Throughout the month, Saphienne and the others were to begin to practice a new form of meditation ¡ª or rather, to apply their current practice in a new way. Every day, their master would be concluding their lessons by casting a spell, and they were to meditate while focusing on whatever they could perceive before the spell ran its course. Each spell was to be new to them, chosen from across all eight disciplines of magic.


    ¡°When all this is done,¡± Almon declared, ¡°I will present each of you with a copy of your first spell. Lessons will thereafter be held on only one morning each week, and we will divide our time between teaching you how to read magical writing, and studying all manner of esoterica that a wizard ought to know. Once you have learned to decipher your first spell, you may attempt to cast it: and you should busy yourselves with your attempts whenever you are not occupied with assigned reading or writing.¡±


    Celaena raised her hand yet again, but asked her question at the same time. ¡°Is casting our first spell to be a puzzle?¡±


    Their master grinned ¡ª gleeful. ¡°It is to be a test! Most elves who have the talent of magic can cast a simple spell within six months. If you cannot do so after one year, the likelihood is that you lack the ability.¡± He looked pointedly at Saphienne. ¡°I understand there are ample opportunities to care for books, should such prove to be the case.¡±


    She bit her tongue. She wouldn¡¯t cede her dignity by showing anger to the wizard. Success would be revenge enough.


    * * *


    Peacock bid the new apprentices farewell as they left together, and the trio walked in silence toward the village.


    Saphienne¡¯s thoughts were on the long road ahead, as well as what she would have to do in order to keep her place in Almon¡¯s classroom. She had done well, but if all the wizard had said proved true, her keen ability to think things through wouldn¡¯t be enough to master spellcasting. If she could master it¡­


    ¡­No, when she would.


    Celaena broke the silence. ¡°Thank you for letting me use your pens; I can¡¯t believe I forgot mine.¡±


    Saphienne nodded, still lost in her thoughts. ¡°It¡¯s to be expected.¡±


    Then, inwardly, she felt as though Faylar were nudging her in the ribs, and turned to Celaena with a panicked flush. ¡°What I mean is¨C we all forget things. Helping each other is the expected thing to do.¡±


    Iolas laughed gently at her awkwardness.


    Celaena only smiled, shaking her head. ¡°Saphienne,¡± she said, mirth in her voice, ¡°you really are quite an odd bird.¡±


    ¡°No more about birds.¡± She sighed. ¡°Peacock was¡­ too much.¡±


    Iolas laughed again, harder than before. ¡°Celaena is just poking fun. You¡¯re not very good with people, are you?¡±


    ¡°Faylar thinks I just need practice.¡± She gave them both an uncomfortable smile. ¡°I¡­ haven¡¯t had many friends. Not that I¡¯m sad about it.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Celaena said. ¡°No, you don¡¯t seem like you would be.¡±


    Filaurel¡¯s advice to befriend them came to mind, and Saphienne stopped walking. ¡°Actually,¡± she replied, feeling unsure of herself, ¡°maybe I should¡­ work more on that. Given that we¡¯re all apprentices together.¡± She pointed deeper into the village, toward the public buildings that lay at its heart. ¡°Would you like to have tea with me? I have a favour I need from you both.¡±


    Iolas was curious, and nodded.


    Celaena giggled, and casually took Saphienne¡¯s arm. ¡°Sure, why not? And that¡¯s quite funny, Saphienne¡­ because there¡¯s a favour I want to ask, of you.¡±


    End of Chapter 18

 CHAPTER 19 – Just Friends

    Although Saphienne knew the layout of the village well, she had seldom spent time in public spaces other than the library. Her mother disliked going out unless she had to, and children under the age of fourteen were not able to request provisions, not without a responsible adult to deliver the request on their behalf. Library books were different, owing to the fact that they were borrowed and returned, and Filaurel was especially welcoming to young elves who wanted to read, which had meant Saphienne was forever spending time there ¡ª once she was old enough to come and go from her family home.


    Faylar had encouraged her to explore what the village had to offer, during their visit to the bakery, and had demonstrated the proper way to make requests. He had also mentioned that sharing tea with others was a good excuse for conversation, which is why Saphienne later suggested it to her fellow apprentices after their first lesson concluded.


    Nevertheless, she was somewhat nervous as the trio made their way through the groves and toward one of the small clearings in the middle of the village. Celaena and Iolas were both older than her, and their guardians likely spent more time with them around the village. She had only just turned fourteen; they would be more at ease with taking tea than her, and she didn¡¯t want to come across any more oddly than she already had.


    Iolas grinned. ¡°Want to stop by the bakery?¡±


    Saphienne opened her mouth to answer, then shut it when she realised he was talking to Celaena¨C


    Who was hurriedly looking away from the bakery¡¯s window, and who suddenly felt tense beside Saphienne as they walked arm in arm. ¡°No, thank you.¡± Celaena was blushing as she answered, and glared at him.


    Perhaps she liked pastries? ¡°We could stop by if you want,¡± Saphienne said. ¡°I went there with Faylar a couple of days ago.¡±


    Iolas was laughing now, and Celaena was blushing even more brightly.


    ¡°She¡¯s not sweet on the baked goods,¡± Iolas joked. ¡°She likes one of the bakers¨C¡±


    Celaena squeezed Saphienne¡¯s arm as she spoke over him. ¡°We¡¯re just friends.¡±


    ¡°Really? She doesn¡¯t look at you like you¡¯re just her friend.¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Iolas. Saphienne doesn¡¯t need to hear about this.¡±


    Saphienne found his smile infectious, understanding now, remembering what she had read in the restricted section of the library. ¡°I don¡¯t mind. You¡¯re allowed a¡­ love life?¡±


    Celaena let go of Saphienne¡¯s arm and sprang away, bright red and speechless, while Iolas nearly folded in half with laughter. The older girl clutched her hands to her chest, scandalised.


    Iolas patted Celaena on the shoulder as he found his breath. ¡°She¡¯s not¨C ha! She¡¯s not wrong!¡±


    She shrugged him off. ¡°We¡¯re not even with each other!¡± Celaena¡¯s voice was full of reproach to them both, but her defensiveness made it hollow. ¡°We¡¯re certainly not¡­ we haven¡¯t done that.¡±


    Saphienne blinked. ¡°I didn¡¯t say you were¡­ um, going to bed with her?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the implication of¨C¡± Celaena glowered at Iolas as he started laughing again, and her tempered frayed. ¡°Oh, shut up Iolas! At least I¡¯m talking to someone! No one¡¯s so much as given you the hour of the day.¡±


    He was wiping his eye. ¡°No, I¡¯m not with anyone,¡± he agreed. ¡°I don¡¯t have a¨C ha! I don¡¯t have a love life. But I wouldn¡¯t be so sensitive about it if I did.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯re an insensitive¨C¡±


    Celaena caught herself, and stared at him as she took a deep breath.


    He folded his arms and smiled back.


    ¡°¡­Oh, leave me alone.¡± She hung her head, and turned away to grab Saphienne¡¯s hand and continue on. ¡°Ass.¡±


    Saphienne didn¡¯t know what to make of it all, but Iolas was catching up with them when she glanced back. Celaena still blushed, though made an effort to raise her head and square her shoulders.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Saphienne whispered.


    Celaena gave her a small smile. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect that from you. And we¡¯re fine, just ignore Iolas. He likes to make fun of things that don¡¯t concern him.¡±


    ¡°Celaena,¡± Iolas said as he fell in beside them both, ¡°likes to tease people, but she gets hot around the ears when she¡¯s teased back.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°And Iolas isn¡¯t as polite as he would let you think. An elf of good manners would know, matters of the heart are not¨C¡±


    Iolas laughed. ¡°See? She admits it!¡±


    ¡°¡­I hate you.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s another lie.¡±


    Saphienne studied them both. ¡°You¡¯re friends, right?¡±


    They glanced at each other in confusion.


    ¡°Most of the time,¡± Celaena answered testily, ¡°when he¡¯s not being an ass.¡± Then she read Saphienne¡¯s expression, and her irritation softened. ¡°Yes, we¡¯re friends. I¡¯m not actually angry at him. Not too angry, anyway.¡±


    Iolas agreed. ¡°We became friends a few months ago. We hadn¡¯t spoken much, before that first night at Almon¡¯s. Celaena and Faylar knew each other better.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you and Faylar make fun of each other?¡± Celaena tilted her head toward Saphienne, curious. ¡°He¡¯s even more of a jester than Iolas.¡±


    ¡°He jokes.¡± Saphienne shrugged. ¡°I joke back. But not as¡­ we don¡¯t go so far.¡±


    ¡°Well.¡± Celaena squeezed her hand. ¡°I suppose he makes allowances.¡±


    Coughing, Iolas gave Celaena a meaningful glance. ¡°Sounds like he has tact. Knowing what you should say and how far you can take things, well, you need to know your audience for that. I only tease Celaena because she teases me. And because she¡¯s unusually uptight about her friend.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re one to talk! He¡¯s incredibly proper about things, Saphienne.¡±


    ¡°Being ¡®proper¡¯ and being uptight aren¡¯t the same thing.¡±


    Celaena rolled her eyes. ¡°Whatever.¡±


    Saphienne couldn¡¯t help but giggle. ¡°I didn¡¯t imagine you like this.¡±


    The other girl smirked. ¡°Really? How did you imagine us?¡±


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d be more¡­ serious. More like the adults?¡± She forced herself to open up a little more. ¡°You¡¯re both so much older than me. You¡¯re¡­ a little intimidating.¡±


    Celaena and Iolas looked at each other, and this time they both burst into laughter, and Celaena released Saphienne¡¯s hand and pulled her into a sideways hug, shaking her head as she spoke. ¡°Trees keep you, Saphienne! You really are an odd bird.¡±


    Saphienne blushed, knowing she was being laughed at, not quite sure why, and not minding their laughter, since it came with their acceptance.


    Still, her prickliness stirred as they walked on, and she couldn¡¯t help but mutter under her breath. ¡°¡­I¡¯m not that odd¡­¡±


    *          *          *


    The clearing they were walking toward was not entirely without trees, having two that had been grown together and then built around to form an airy teahouse. Saphienne had never gone in before, but she had wandered the wild garden that grew throughout the clearing, and she often saw elves sipping tea amid the tall grass and rose bushes.


    ¡°Inside or outside?¡± Iolas asked as they reached the clearing.


    Celaena examined the sky. ¡°I don¡¯t see rainclouds. Not too windy, either.¡±


    Saphienne could spy two other elves through the open door of the teahouse, adults, sitting on one of the couches. ¡°I¡¯d prefer outside.¡±


    Iolas nodded. ¡°Outside, then. Shall I make the request?¡±


    She was about to insist she could ask for herself, when Celaena accepted. ¡°Just plain green tea for me,¡± the elder girl said, and turned to Saphienne. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    What was available? Saphienne didn¡¯t know. ¡°I¡¯ll just have the same.¡±


    Iolas sensed her hesitation. ¡°How about you find us a good spot to sit, Celaena, and we¡¯ll fetch the tea?¡±


    That suited Celaena, and she gave them both a small wave as she strolled off into the depths of the garden. Saphienne followed after Iolas into the teahouse, where the scent of roasted nuts and burning wood was carried on warm, steamy air.


    ¡°You¡¯ve never been in here before, have you?¡± Iolas asked her.


    Saphienne glanced up at him. ¡°Am I so obvious?¡±


    ¡°Not really.¡± He stopped before a board on which the teas and soups of the week had been listed in bright paint. ¡°I just had a feeling. See anything you like?¡±


    The teahouse offered far more options than she expected. ¡°I usually just drink black tea,¡± she said, ¡°with oat water. I don¡¯t see it on here.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because Alinar always has it available.¡± Iolas pointed. ¡°See there? He lists the green teas with flowers, but doesn¡¯t list plain green tea. All the common drinks are usually offered, along with lentil soup.¡±


    She studied the more elaborate options. ¡°How do you know what¡¯s always available?¡±


    ¡°You can ask him.¡± Iolas had a small smile. ¡°That¡¯s what I did. Would you like to make the request?¡±


    Saphienne glanced over at the counter. A man was stood behind it, drying cups, chatting idly to a younger elf, perhaps the same age as Iolas, who was sat on the end of the countertop, sketching against her knee.


    Iolas encouraged her. ¡°He doesn¡¯t bite.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t treat me like I¡¯m little,¡± Saphienne shot back, irked.


    Her prickliness made Iolas¡¯ lips twist in a wry smile. For a moment, he looked like he was going to argue, but then he lightly laughed at himself. ¡°Saphienne, I¡¯m not trying to talk down to you. I apologise.¡±


    Meeting his eyes, she gave him a calmer nod. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± he continued, ¡°I¡¯d appreciate it if you¡¯d meet me halfway? You¡¯re younger than me and Celaena, and you yourself said you need practice with people. From my side, you¡¯re better at calligraphy than me, and¡­ well, today was something else again. I don¡¯t want to compete with you, not any more.¡± He offered her his hand. ¡°Accept that you¡¯re not the only one finding this awkward? I¡¯m trying to figure you out.¡±


    Saphienne studied his face, recognising kindness and nervousness, then looked to his hand. Unused to the act, she held her own out ¡ª and copied Iolas when he reached forward and clasped her wrist and shook.


    He smiled warmly as he let go. ¡°I¡¯ll make the request, if you like.¡±


    Saphienne shook her head. ¡°I can do it. And I should do it.¡± She once again felt like Faylar was nudging her. ¡°But if you want to want to tell me things I might not know¡­ I¡¯d appreciate your¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­Help?¡±


    She sighed. ¡°I was going to say, ¡®candour.¡¯ But yes.¡±


    Iolas nodded, taking her seriously. ¡°You¡¯re quite candid, when you talk. Would you prefer I be, too?¡±


    ¡°You mean, I¡¯m blunt.¡± His question made Saphienne hesitate. ¡°¡­Yes, when explaining things. I know there¡¯s another layer to the way people, well, get along with each other. Which I¡¯m not experienced with. But I should be, and I won¡¯t learn if everyone keeps treating me¡­¡±


    Comprehension suddenly appeared in Iolas¡¯ eyes. ¡°I get it. I get you. At least, I think I understand you.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± She doubted him. ¡°Tell me.¡±


    Iolas tensed, having not expected her question, and struggled to think of how to explain without offending her. ¡°You¡¯re not used to being around people ¡ª being included,¡± he suggested, ¡°so you don¡¯t know how to relate to people when they¡¯re in groups, and¡­ I guess that makes it difficult for you to approach people. Or be approached.¡± He sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know, it¡¯s a feeling. You¡¯re obviously not stupid, but you feel like you¡¯re not taken seriously? Like you need to be heard? Is any of this making sense?¡±


    Everything he said made too much sense. She swallowed. ¡°You¡¯re very perceptive.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just older than you.¡± He shrugged, uncomfortable. ¡°I don¡¯t know; I can be an idiot. Shall we get the tea?¡±


    *          *          *


    Alinar ended up being quite friendly, and after Saphienne introduced herself and placed the request for drinks he chatted easily with her and Iolas before he set to work. The girl sitting on the counter waved to Iolas, but otherwise said nothing, focused on her sketching to the exclusion of conversation.


    As they waited in companiable silence, Saphienne thought about Iolas. She could read individual people quite well ¨C she had read Almon very successfully ¨C and only really felt confused when she had to understand people in groups. Iolas struck her as being quietly earnest; he had a sincerity about him that felt deeply reassuring, like he was a tree with roots that were burrowed in deep against the wind. She hadn¡¯t expected him to concede their calligraphy contest so readily, just as she hadn¡¯t expected him to be so frivolous with Celaena, but she felt as though these expressions of his character weren¡¯t just for show. Whatever made him the way he was, she felt he was trustworthy.


    And considerate. ¡°I¡¯ll take Celaena¡¯s cup,¡± he volunteered, after they had thanked Alinar for their drinks.


    Entering the garden, they wandered past the bushes and flowers until Iolas spotted Celaena, and they joined her sitting on the grass. She was watching a ladybug scurry across the back of her hand when Iolas gave her the green tea, and she flicked the beetle away before she took a sip.


    Saphienne was surprised at how good her own tea tasted.


    ¡°I thought you wanted green tea?¡± Celaena had noticed the milky cloud in her cup.


    Shrugging, Saphienne leant back on her other palm. ¡°I didn¡¯t know Alinar made this kind of tea. I was trying to keep things easy.¡±


    ¡°Oh! What are you drinking?¡±


    ¡°Black tea, with oat water.¡± She looked at Iolas. ¡°He told me what they served.¡±


    Iolas nodded, accepting her quiet acknowledgement. ¡°Her first visit.¡± He sipped his own drink, then crossed his legs. ¡°So, Saphienne: what was the favour you wanted from us?¡±


    Thinking about Almon made her grimace and sit forward. ¡°I have a problem,¡± she admitted, ¡°and I don¡¯t think I¡¯d be wise to handle it on my own.¡±


    Celaena was wary. ¡°What kind of problem?¡±


    ¡°The problem is¡­ our master.¡± She shook her head. ¡°He doesn¡¯t like me. I don¡¯t like him. He¡¯s teaching me in spite of the fact he doesn¡¯t want to. Our master wants me to fail my apprenticeship.¡±


    Iolas smirked, and Celaena giggled.


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand.¡± She carefully set the cup down on the grass, and leant toward them both. ¡°He¡¯s holding me to a higher standard than normal. He said that if I fall behind both of you ¨C even if I¡¯m making progress ¨C then my apprenticeship is over.¡±


    ¡°Saphienne,¡± Iolas said, his voice gentle, ¡°after today, I really don¡¯t think¨C¡±


    ¡°Including if I¡¯m the last one to arrive for lessons.¡±


    Celaena snorted into her drink. ¡°Sorry?¡±


    ¡°He said if you two arrive before me, I¡¯m done.¡±


    Iolas¡¯ eyes blazed, as brightly as on the night they had competed. His tone was more measured. ¡°You¡¯re sure he was being serious?¡±


    Saphienne nodded. ¡°Really. I got a fright when I saw Celaena outside his door.¡±


    Celaena laughed, nervously. ¡°That¡¯s ridiculous, though. You¡¯re certain?¡± Her smile subsided. ¡°And you sat through his whole speech about not¨C what was it? Not dancing to his drum? That a wizard should choose when they show up?¡± She tutted as she remembered. ¡°What a hypocrite.¡±


    Beside them, Iolas looked puzzled despite his anger. ¡°I must have missed that ¡ª you¡¯ll have to fill me in. Regardless,¡± he said, ¡°never being last is entirely unfair. We should all be given the same opportunities, and held to the same standard.¡±


    ¡°What does Al¨C our master have against you, anyway?¡± Celaena gestured to Saphienne with her cup. ¡°Something to do with the librarian? What was her name¡­ Filaurel? She taught you for a while, didn¡¯t she?¡±


    Surprised that Celaena had remembered, Saphienne nodded. ¡°He doesn¡¯t like her. That¡¯s really all there is to it. And I shouldn¡¯t say any more, other than to say that his reasons appear quite petty.¡±


    Iolas put down his cup. ¡°So all his behaviour toward you stems from a grudge against your old teacher?¡±


    ¡°At first. I think I¡¯ve given him cause of my own, now.¡±


    ¡°Oh, damn that.¡± Iolas turned away, jaw tight. ¡°He¡¯s a grown man taking out his frustrations on a child.¡±


    Celaena studied Saphienne. ¡°¡­Perhaps. Are you sure it¡¯s not part of his teaching? The way he explained it to us this morning? It might be contrivance.¡±


    Saphienne shook her head. ¡°I really don¡¯t think so. And he kept trying to make you both resent me during the lesson ¡ª making me explain things to you on his behalf, and telling you to learn from me.¡±


    Celaena¡¯s eyes widened, and then she grinned in disbelief. ¡°Fuck. That¡¯s what was going on. Clever. I¡¯m surprised you realised.¡±


    Iolas¡¯ bitterness at it all came through as he spoke. ¡°Saphienne¡¯s a little awkward, but she¡¯s sharper than us. Damn him.¡± He shifted back around, breathing deeply. ¡°Is there anyone who can reign him in?¡±


    ¡°Are you joking?¡± Celaena laughed. ¡°He¡¯s a wizard! He¡¯s the wizard of our village. Surely you¡¯ve seen how everyone behaves, when he speaks up at meetings? All the sudden agreement? Everyone might as well bow at his feet when he walks past.¡± She scoffed at the thought. ¡°Only someone from the Luminary Vale could censure him, and so long as he¡¯s not breaching the consensus of the woodlands ¡ª they don¡¯t care.¡±


    Saphienne frowned. ¡°What¡¯s the Luminary Vale?¡±


    Celaena sat up a little taller, became a little more serious, and drained her cup before setting it down. ¡°The Luminary Vale,¡± she answered, ¡°is a hidden vale, somewhere deep within the woodlands. Some say it¡¯s invisible to anyone who isn¡¯t a wizard or sorcerer. The greatest, most important elves gather there, studying magic, and teaching lesser wizards and sorcerers who prove themselves worthy. One must be fully acknowledged as a wizard to even visit the vale, and any elf who wishes to teach magic must first be examined there.¡±


    Iolas showed interest, but his voice was still scathing. ¡°So they let him teach? Knowing the way he is?¡±


    ¡°They must approve of him.¡±


    He sighed heavily. ¡°Well, that¡¯s great.¡± He stretched his arms out, tensing them to release his tension, and then looked between the other apprentices. ¡°We¡¯ll have to handle this ourselves. Why don¡¯t we each take turns to walk Saphienne to our classroom? I can meet you at your home tomorrow, Saphienne, and then Celaena can meet you the next day? An hour after dawn?¡±


    Celaena thought about it. ¡°We can. And I suppose, if Saphienne has other trouble, we¡¯ll take turns pretending we¡¯re having difficulties?¡±


    Iolas smiled faintly. ¡°I don¡¯t think that will be a problem. Yes.¡±


    Watching how quickly they agreed to help her, Saphienne felt feelings she¡¯d never known before, or perhaps had long forgotten, and she closed her eyes for a moment to quell them. ¡°What about you?¡± she finally asked Celaena. ¡°You wanted a favour from me?¡±


    Pausing, Celaena tried to remember. ¡°Oh!¡± She laughed. ¡°I was wondering ¡ª could I copy your notes? Or we can share our notes, if you think mine are worth your time?¡±


    Saphienne blinked. ¡°I¡­ assumed we¡¯d share notes.¡± She looked at them both, and their friendliness made her open up further. ¡°We could study together, if you like? I mean¨C I would like to. If you would.¡±


    ¡°I would.¡± Celaena nodded. ¡°We could study at my house, most afternoons.¡±


    Iolas lifted his cup, nodding for Saphienne to do the same. ¡°We¡¯re agreed.¡± He proposed a toast. ¡°We¡¯ll get through this ¡ª together.¡±


    Although her cup was empty, Celaena grinned and lifted it. ¡°As you say. Together.¡±


    ¡°Together,¡± said Saphienne, and her heart was raised with the cups.


    End of Chapter 19

 CHAPTER 20 – For Reason and Passion

    When the tea was finished, and the wind stirred restlessly through the bushes, the apprentices stood and exchanged farewells. Celaena hugged Iolas and then Saphienne before she took their empty cups, and she departed to the teahouse with a promise to see them next morning.


    Iolas walked with Saphienne toward her house, lengthening his stride to keep up with her as she floated through the groves. ¡°You¡¯re in a good mood.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡± She smiled brightly and twirled toward him, walking backwards. ¡°We¡¯re going to be wizards! Isn¡¯t that a reason to be happy?¡±


    The older child returned her smile. ¡°Watch yourself! Today was only the first day.¡±


    ¡°But it was a good first day, and there¡¯ll be more. A lot more.¡±


    His smile broadened into a grin. ¡°Yes. Today was a good first day, and there probably will be more¨C no, you¡¯re right: there will be more, for sure.¡±


    Saphienne gave him a bow as she faced forward again, repressing the urge to skip ahead through the trees. Her thoughts raced along without her. A few moment later, she fell back in step with him. ¡°Iolas,¡± she said, ¡°can I ask you a question?¡±


    ¡°Just ask.¡±


    ¡°Why do you want to be a wizard?¡±


    He examined her with friendly suspicion. ¡°Why do you want to know?¡±


    ¡°He asked me ¡ª our master. He said he¡¯d make his decision based on my answer. I was wondering what you and Celaena told him.¡±


    Iolas chuckled. ¡°I could tell you what I told him, or I could tell you the real reason.¡±


    Saphienne stopped walking. ¡°You lied to him?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t lie. I just said it in a way he could read into¡­ so he could think whatever he wanted to think about me.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Knowing your audience, right? And if you don¡¯t know your audience¡­ sometimes, you need to keep your doors open for them.¡±


    ¡°What did you tell him?¡±


    ¡°A half-truth.¡± He gestured for her to catch up. ¡°You remember I said my father was hurt? I told Al¨C I told our master that, the day I saw the priest heal my father, I realised I needed to know magic if I wanted to matter. That I knew I could spend all my years enjoying myself, writing beautiful things, but none of it would really make a difference in the end. So, never mind what I¡¯d prefer to do with my time: I have to think about the future.¡±


    Saphienne nodded. ¡°What¡¯s the full truth?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about me mattering¡­ it¡¯s about mattering to other people.¡±


    ¡°How do you mean?¡±


    Iolas stopped walking then, and stared up at the branches. ¡°We might live forever. You know that, right? Actually forever. Not all elves will ¡ª and it¡¯s tragic to think about it, to know that someone could have lived forevermore, had they not gotten sick, or been hurt, and had it all cut short. Felled, senselessly.¡±


    Saphienne waited beside him.


    ¡°I¡¯d just really started to think about this when my father was injured. I¡¯m not ashamed to admit how scared I was. I was afraid to lose him.¡± He had a strange smile on his face, as though he were both disturbed by the memory, but also relieved. ¡°Then, just like that, my father was made whole. He was well again. Everything was suddenly going to be fine.¡±


    He looked down at her. ¡°I can¡¯t really describe what that meant to me. To go from an ordinary day, to panic, to the horror of it all? And then for someone to whisper a prayer, wave their hands, and make everything better?¡± He shook his head. ¡°If it wasn¡¯t for that priest¡­¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t believe, though.¡±


    ¡°No. How can I? Why would the gods promise us immortality with one hand, only to threaten to take it away with the other? Either they¡¯re cruel, or they¡¯re not all-powerful, and either way¡­ mindless worship really would be a lie.¡± He shook his head. ¡°But the magic is real. And you don¡¯t need to believe to use it, if you become a wizard.¡±


    ¡°So you can matter to people?¡±


    ¡°I want to make the same sort of difference to someone else.¡± He blushed, but his flush was very slight. ¡°I want what I do to matter as much as what that priest did. I want to help people like just that, or in a similar way. And I want to help as many people as I can.¡±


    He meant every word. Saphienne felt quite small next to him, and not just because the boy was taller.


    ¡°What about you?¡± Iolas gave her a smile. ¡°Want to learn the secrets of the world?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I want to understand what makes us who we are. Makes anyone anything. I haven¡¯t really figured it all out.¡±


    He raised his eyebrows. ¡°You don¡¯t need magic to understand people.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need magic to matter to people.¡± She shrugged. ¡°It just seems the most promising way, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    Iolas conceded the point, and they resumed walking together.


    *          *          *


    As they arrived at the grove where Saphienne¡¯s family home was found, Iolas gave her a bright smile. ¡°I¡¯ve been here before. We don¡¯t live that far apart.¡±


    ¡°The village is only a few miles across,¡± she answered. ¡°None of us live far apart.¡±


    ¡°Compared to Celaena.¡± He gestured back the way they had walked. ¡°She lives on the western side, among the old growth. Not far from our master, actually, though within the village.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been to her house?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°She just mentioned it in passing. She was surprised I lived out here. Does Faylar live in the same part of the village as she does?¡±


    Saphienne didn¡¯t know. ¡°I¡¯ve never been to his home.¡±


    ¡°She made a comparison in passing.¡± He went quiet as they walked up the slight incline toward the ridge where Saphienne¡¯s family home was rooted. ¡°Though¡­ well, can I ask a personal question?¡±


    ¡°Personal? Ask what you want ¡ª I¡¯ll think about answering.¡±


    Iolas slowed his pace. ¡°Are any of your family wizards? Or sorcerers?¡±


    She hesitated. ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m not close to my father¡¯s family. And I don¡¯t know about anyone from my mother¡¯s side. I don¡¯t think so. Why?¡±


    He paused, and mulled over what to say next. ¡°If I share a thought with you,¡± he asked, ¡°will you keep it between us? Can you keep it to yourself?¡±


    Saphienne squinted at him. ¡°If you like.¡±


    ¡°Celaena¡¯s father is a wizard.¡± He looked around, made sure no one else was walking among the trees. ¡°And she said Faylar has a relative who¡¯s a wizard, too.¡±


    ¡°His aunt,¡± she confirmed. ¡°That¡¯s not a secret. She¡¯s supposedly a better wizard than our master, but wizards aren¡¯t allowed to teach family members.¡±


    ¡°I had wondered ¡ª whether I was the only one who didn¡¯t have family who was already¡­¡±


    ¡°Why would it matter?¡± Saphienne asked. ¡°Either you have the talent, or you don¡¯t.¡±


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    ¡°They stopped talking.¡± He shifted uneasily. ¡°They haven¡¯t talked since Faylar was rejected from apprenticeship. She started spending time with me instead. And the way they were to us on the first night¡­¡± Conflicted, he shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m probably reading into things. I told you, I can be stupid.¡±


    Saphienne didn¡¯t quite understand his concern, but she did think about Faylar. ¡°It¡¯s probably not what you imagine. I can see why she¡¯d want to get to know her fellow apprentice, and she didn¡¯t know about me until today. As for Faylar¡­ he might be keeping his distance. He was friendly, when he thought I¡¯d been rejected, but when he realised he was the only one refused, he almost ran away from me.¡±


    Iolas was visibly relieved to hear it. ¡°My thanks. Celaena has a temper, and can be petty when she¡¯s annoyed, so I didn¡¯t really think she was like that¨C¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Cold-blooded? Selfish? Only caring about wizardry?¡± He seemed morose. ¡°I feel like a bad friend now, for wondering such things.¡±


    ¡°Wondering what?¡± She gave him a devious smile. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear anything.¡±


    Slowly, Iolas smiled back. ¡°Doesn¡¯t change that I thought it. But thank you.¡± He made a show of looking around, and stretched his legs as he did. ¡°So, which house is yours?¡±


    Saphienne let the subject drop, and she turned to point to the top of the ridge. ¡°It¡¯s that one over¨C oh no.¡±


    Dressed in heavy clothes, with a knitted bag slung over her shoulder, Saphienne¡¯s mother had just emerged from the front door.


    ¡°Something wrong?¡± Iolas glanced between Saphienne and her distant mother. ¡°Is that someone you don¡¯t¨C¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s my mother.¡± Saphienne sighed, and then grabbed Iolas by his sleeve. ¡°Come on. We should hide.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± He went along with her as she strode toward thick bushes that grew around her neighbour¡¯s home. ¡°Why are we hiding from your mother?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want her to meet you.¡±


    Iolas pulled his arm away, but he kept following her. He stared at her as they slipped behind the hanging branches into the dimmer, more open space beyond. ¡°Saphienne,¡± he said quietly, ¡°can I give you some advice?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need advice about family.¡±


    ¡°Not that.¡± He crouched down for comfort. ¡°You might want to stop and consider what people will read into your words, when you say something like that. Someone might think, for example, that you¡¯re ashamed or embarrassed to be in their company, if you don¡¯t want to introduce them to your family.¡±


    Saphienne froze. She blinked, and then again, and then a third time.


    Silently, she knelt down next to Iolas. ¡°That¡¯s not it. That¡¯s not it at all.¡±


    He studied her face. ¡°I thought so. But only wizards can read minds. Everyone else looks for clues about how the other person feels, what they think¡­ and everyone reads between the lines. If you want people to feel welcome, you need to be careful what you show them, and what it implies you think about them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not embarrassed about you. Or Faylar.¡±


    ¡°I believe you. And that¡¯s not the point.¡± He relented. ¡°I¡¯m not upset, I¡¯m just trying to be direct, like you said you wanted.¡±


    Saphienne bowed her head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Thank you.¡±


    He peered out of the bush toward her house. ¡°¡­What¡¯s she doing, anyway?¡±


    Moving closer to him, she followed his gaze. Her mother was rocking back and forth on the doorstep, eyes closed, her hands clenched tightly by her sides. As they watched, she finally took a quick, heavy step away from the door, followed by another, like she was fighting against a howling wind to make her way into the grove.


    Saphienne¡¯s mother managed about thirty paces, then turned and ran back to the door, scrambling into the house as though fleeing from a thunderstorm.


    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know.¡± Saphienne looked away from him. ¡°She¡­ doesn¡¯t go out much.¡±


    Iolas inhaled deeply. ¡°I see. That must be hard, for you.¡±


    ¡°Not really, she just sits around all day¨C¡±


    ¡°I meant how she makes you feel. Embarrassed.¡±


    Saphienne turned toward him so sharply that she nearly wrenched her neck. ¡°Embarrassed? By her? I¡¯m not embarrassed by my mother!¡±


    Taken aback, he said nothing as she jumped up and pushed her way through the foliage, and he went after her with his mouth downturned.


    ¡°I¡¯m not embarrassed by her.¡± Saphienne¡¯s voice was no louder than before, but it darkened as she glared up at her family home. ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡±


    ¡°Saphienne, I¨C¡±


    ¡°You want to know how I feel?¡± She spun around, venom in her eyes. ¡°I can¡¯t stand her. She¡¯s the second-worst person in the village. Third worst, when my father¡¯s visiting. Nobody else knows her like I do. Nobody else should have to know her. It¡¯s a good thing that she doesn¡¯t go out much.¡±


    He held up his hands. ¡°Sorry! Please, calm down.¡±


    She looked away, and her hand went inside her robe, to firmly clasp the pouch in her inner pocket.


    Saphienne shut her eyes; her breaths felt tight in her chest.


    Iolas kept quiet, unsure what to say.


    ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry.¡± She willed herself to mean it. ¡°I should have said, ¡®I don¡¯t want you to meet her.¡¯ But that could be read the same way, couldn¡¯t it?¡± She returned to his uncertain gaze, and her eyes were cold emeralds. ¡°And I know I¡¯m acting like a child. I don¡¯t mean to behave like this. She just¡­ brings out the worst in me. Which makes me ashamed.¡±


    ¡°¡­And a little frightening¡­¡± He managed a weak smile. ¡°Sorry, Saphienne. I didn¡¯t mean to prick your skin.¡±


    ¡°You did nothing wrong.¡± She shook her head. ¡°My mother¡¯s just bad for people. I nearly shouted at Faylar when she met him, and¡­ now I¡¯ve shouted at you.¡±


    Iolas looked over her shoulder, to the family home that very clearly wasn¡¯t her home, not in any meaningful sense. He weighed up what to say; he seemed uncomfortable, but then resigned himself to whatever he thought about with a short sigh. ¡°How about you meet me down here, tomorrow? So I don¡¯t risk running into your mother.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to¨C¡±


    ¡°Say yes. Just say yes.¡±


    ¡°¡­Yes. Thank you.¡±


    Recovering his poise, he inclined his head. ¡°Right, then. And don¡¯t worry: you¡¯re not alone in selective deafness. I¡¯ll forget everything you said.¡±


    ¡°You can remember,¡± she managed, slouching as the anger drained away. ¡°Just, please don¡¯t hold it against me.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t. You must have your reasons.¡± He held up his hand. ¡°Which I don¡¯t want to know! Knowing you don¡¯t get along with your mother is enough ¡ª and explains a lot, when I think about it.¡±


    Saphienne wondered what he meant, but then and there was neither the time nor the place to ask. Instead, she gave him a formal bow. ¡°Thank you, Iolas.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡± He bowed in return. ¡°And¡­ let¡¯s not allow this to make things awkward. I¡¯ll be here tomorrow, and we¡¯ll carry on like before. That suit you?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯d like that.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± He took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly, and managed a firmer smile by the time he was done. ¡°You don¡¯t measure out your life by halves, do you, Saphienne?¡±


    The expression made her think. ¡°I don¡¯t know that one. It¡¯s an idiom? I¡¯ve never read it before.¡±


    ¡°It means you throw yourself into things, wholeheartedly.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± She blushed as she thought about it. ¡°I suppose so. For better or worse.¡±


    Iolas grinned. ¡°It gets easier. Trust me on that.¡±


    She glanced up at him, puzzled, but he was already moving away.


    ¡°Good day, Saphienne; we had an interesting time.¡±


    ¡°Good day, Iolas.¡±


    She watched him retreat toward the rest of the village, lonelier than before, but not so lonely as she had once been.


    *          *          *


    Her mother was in the kitchen, opening a bottle of wine. Saphienne watched as she poured herself a large glass, and saw the shaking in her hands.


    ¡°Saphienne!¡± Her mother finally noticed her. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear you come home ¨C aren¡¯t you meant to be having lessons with Gaeleath?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to see him once I change. I had my first lessons in wizardry today.¡± She glowered. ¡°Not that you¡¯d remember.¡±


    ¡°I thought that was¨C¡±


    ¡°Another day. Always another day.¡± She walked away, and started up the stairs.


    ¡°Saphienne?¡± Her mother called after her, worried. ¡°Saphienne, my darling, I¡¯m sorry, I just need you to¨C¡±


    But Saphienne had already shut the door to her bedroom, and she covered her long ears with her robes as she stripped them off, taking her time so she wouldn¡¯t have to listen.


    *          *          *


    By the time Saphienne emerged from her bedroom, her mother had climbed the stairs and gone into her own, and the eerie glow of the fascinator shone around the edge of her shut door. That suited Saphienne just fine, and she left without saying anything, making excellent time as she went through the forest to Gaeleath¡¯s tent pavilion.


    While Gaeleath was there, they weren¡¯t hard at work when she arrived. Much to her surprise, the sculptor was pacing around three blocks of sandstone that they had brought in from outside, half-formed works that had been surrendered to the elements when they moved on to other projects.


    ¡°Saphienne!¡± They were pleased to see her. ¡°Good timing. Your opinion, please.¡±


    Gaeleath had never asked her opinion of their work before. Closing the tent flap, Saphienne walked up beside them, looking over the unfinished pieces. ¡°What about?¡±


    ¡°Which should I complete?¡±


    She glanced between the three. They were all large, broader and taller than an adult elf, and Gaeleath had roughly shaped them with song before cutting away the excess using hammer and chisel. None of the would-be statutes were particularly easy to interpret. ¡°They look alike to me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come now,¡± the artist waved at her, ¡°don¡¯t pretend ignorance. What does your heart say about them?¡±


    Saphienne studied them again. The one closest to her seemed like it might be the beginnings of a tree, and the next suggested a sitting figure. The last was perhaps two figures, arms entwined, caught in motion. ¡°Why are you suddenly finishing one?¡±


    ¡°For the solstice festival.¡± Gaeleath sounded tense. ¡°I really should have something ready by the time everyone visits ¡ª showing my work was one of the reasons I decided to come here.¡±


    ¡°Solstice festival?¡± She frowned, the phrase stirring a memory.


    Gaeleath grinned. ¡°Being held by the village. Perhaps you don¡¯t remember? As celebrated in the eastern woodlands, the festival rotates through five villages, of which your fine village is the easternmost. You would have been¨C what age are you now? Fourteen? So you would have been nine, last time it was held here.¡±


    Saphienne stared at the inscrutable shapes¡­ and the shadow of the past swept over the glittering sandstone.


    End of Chapter 20

 CHAPTER 21 – All the Ease of Summertime

    There had been a puppet show for the children. Saphienne would remember that, nearly five years later.


    She had been nine years old, golden haired now summer had arrived, wearing her usual sundress ¡ª while all the other children wore clothes reserved for special occasions. In her unfolding memory she was sat at the back of the audience in the tented pavilion, beside Kylantha, who was always golden haired, nestled up against her as they laughed and gasped at the shadows cast by the puppets against the screen.


    Saphienne had arrived late, which was also the reason she was underdressed. Her father was visiting her mother, and they had both promised her they would walk her to the festival grounds before evening came. She had waited on them all through the afternoon, waited while they played adult games with each other in her mother¡¯s locked bedroom, looking up hopefully whenever one or the other would pass her room to fetch more wine from under the stairs. Then the sun had turned yellow in descent, and she couldn¡¯t wait any longer, and had washed herself, and fed herself a meagre dinner, and put on yesterday¡¯s clothes, and walked by herself to the festival grounds, where the young children had all been dropped off by their guardians, hours before.


    Because she was late, she had missed making paper flowers. But she held one anyway as she leaned against Kylantha, a single daffodil that her friend had given her for safekeeping. The yellow leaves and green stem were thick, and the bloom was slightly askew from the excessive, tacky glue and string that held its parts together, but it still looked pretty, made with care and attention and the earnest love of a child for her mother. Saphienne clutched it like a talisman, but held it lightly, and it shook with her laughter every time the nimble puppets fell over.


    Understand: this was a happy day. There were no dark thoughts, back then. All the world was on the stage before them, where forest wardens shooed goblins and fought dragons to save maidens, and magic glimmered in the shadows to make the sounds that accompanied the actors¡¯ exaggerated voices. Kylantha and Saphienne both joined in when the puppets asked the children whether the dragon should eat the maiden ¡ª ¡°No!¡± And they cheered when the dragon was driven off, and laughed when the goblins crept back in once the elves were gone, bickering over the scales and broken arrows left behind.


    Eventually, the tale was done, and the tent was full of cheers. The lamps were lit, and gentle music played as the harpist returned to her chair, and one of the forever energetic caretakers stood before the puppet stage and shouted an invitation that was not voluntary, ¡°Who wants to play a game!¡±


    But Saphienne and Kylantha didn¡¯t join in with the cheering that time. Instead, they looked at each other, Saphienne anxious and Kylantha wrinkling her nose.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Kylantha said. ¡°Let¡¯s explore.¡±


    Saphienne bit her lip. ¡°We¡¯re meant to stay here. We¡¯re not grown enough for the festival.¡±


    Nothing else Saphienne could have said would have made Kylantha spring to her feet more quickly, and the half-elf planted her hands on her hips. ¡°Says who? And we won¡¯t do anything wrong. We¡¯ll just¡­¡± Her brown eyes focused on the paper flower. ¡°¡­We¡¯ll take my flower to mother! Then we¡¯ll come back.¡±


    Saphienne knew Kylantha had no intention of doing just anything, but the younger girl¡¯s boldness always brought out her own, and so Saphienne smiled in the slightly adoring way that young children do when they¡¯re in awe of children who surely know better. She climbed to her feet, and took Kylantha¡¯s hand, and the pair turned around toward the doorway, where another caretaker was minding the exit.


    ¡°She won¡¯t let us leave,¡± Saphienne whispered.


    Kylantha let go of her hand. ¡°Go drink some juice. Then tell her you can¡¯t find me. Tell her you¡¯ve looked everywhere.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re here?¡± She blinked. ¡°You want me to¡­ lie?¡±


    ¡°No. You won¡¯t find me.¡± Kylantha smiled an impish smile. ¡°If you want to try to find me, you can try¡­¡±


    Saphienne liked playing hide and seek with Kylantha, and she giggled. Kylantha almost always won, but every time was different. Nodding, she left her best and only friend and went over to the low table at the far side of the room, where wooden cups filled with blackcurrant juice had been laid out for the children. She sipped one, then screwed shut her eyes, unsure if she liked the tart and faintly bitter flavour until she drank a second, third, and then fourth time.


    That had to have been long enough. She set down the half-full cup and looked around the room, to where the other children were dividing themselves into teams. Not wanting to wait around and be forced to be included, she hurriedly glanced under the table and behind the stage and up at the lanterns, then walked over to the caretaker by the door.


    ¡°Is something wrong, Saphienne? Do you need me to take you to the bathroom?¡± The caretaker knew her, but Saphienne didn¡¯t know the adult elf¡¯s name, though she had a warm smile and kind eyes as she bent over to address her.


    ¡°I can¡¯t find Kylantha.¡± Technically, she was telling the truth. ¡°I went to have juice, but I can¡¯t see her anywhere.¡±


    Exasperated, the caretaker sighed as she straightened up. ¡°Oh, wherever has that child gone off to now¡­ let¡¯s see.¡±


    Saphienne followed her gaze as she glanced throughout the tent, then watched as her expression shifted from frayed indulgence to growing concern, and then irritation. ¡°Not again¡­ can¡¯t take your eyes off her for five minutes¡­¡± She made herself smile as she looked down at Saphienne. ¡°If you wait here, I¡¯ll go look for her.¡±


    ¡°Please.¡± She felt a little guilty, wasting the woman¡¯s time.


    The elf patted her affectionately on the head, then strode through the tent toward the other caretakers.


    In an instant, Kylantha appeared beside her. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡±


    Saphienne jumped, but her hand had been taken and they were walking through the flap, and then they were running behind the pavilion while Kylantha giggled with glee, and the golden day made the younger girl¡¯s braided hair gleam like a crown of triumph.


    ¡°Where were you?¡± Saphienne asked once they left the clearing. ¡°I looked for you, but I didn¡¯t see you anywhere.¡±


    ¡°In the crowd.¡± Kylantha spoke matter-of-factly. ¡°I told Cecelia I¡¯d do whatever she told me. Then I stood on my tiptoes and hid behind her team. I had my back to the door, and I pulled my hair over my ears.¡±


    Saphienne was amazed. ¡°But you never do what they want!¡±


    ¡°And I always stand out.¡± She smiled. ¡°But only when I want to.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t they be mad?¡±


    ¡°She wanted me on her team. The others didn¡¯t. And only because¡­¡± She shook her head. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. This is far enough ¡ª come on!¡±


    They had been circling around the clearing just beyond the treeline, and Saphienne bounded along to keep up with the smaller, yet quicker girl as they went back into the clearing and passed between other tents, nearly tripping against her when they came to a halt.


    Before them, a forest of long legs swayed back and forth, the crowd of adult elves laughing and talking loudly as they moved between tents and stalls, requesting food, trying their hands at games, contemplating the art on display ¡ª and discussing what should be done with it. Wine was flowing freely, song carried on the air from near and far, and warring music hovered above the throng from different directions, harmonious despite the differences.


    Kylantha was looking at Saphienne. ¡°Your hair isn¡¯t braided.¡±


    Saphienne touched her temples. ¡°¡­I couldn¡¯t do it myself.¡±


    ¡°Sit down.¡± Kylantha dropped down behind her. ¡°I¡¯ll do it. You¡¯ve got to look right.¡±


    ¡°Do I really?¡± Saphienne sat regardless, fidgeting with the flower.


    ¡°Today you do.¡± Kylantha began to braid Saphienne¡¯s hair in the same high circle she wore, though the older girl would have a longer tail, since her hair hung lower and more smoothly. ¡°Mother said everyone should look their best.¡±


    Enjoying the feeling of her hair being stroked through and lifted, Saphienne nodded, then blushed when Kylantha scolded her for moving, and sat unnaturally still for a few minutes more. No one paid them any mind ¡ª or at least, the ones who noticed them only smiled and cooed and waved, happy to see the picturesque scene of two girls at play.


    ¡°Where did all these people come from?¡± Saphienne asked.


    ¡°They¡¯re from other villages.¡± Kylantha stuck her tongue back into the corner of her lips as she worked, then spoke again as she tried to remember the next steps. ¡°Mother says a festival like this is held in a different village every year. Everyone sees who has the best festival. They compete.¡±


    ¡°What about their children?¡±


    ¡°They stay home. When they¡¯re fourteen, they can travel with the adults. If they have permission.¡± She snorted.


    Saphienne sighed. ¡°That¡¯s so long away.¡±


    ¡°Not that long. And I won¡¯t go without you.¡± She finished, and leant forward to hug her. ¡°There!¡±


    Saphienne enjoyed the hug, and let Kylantha half-lift her as she stood, giggling. ¡°How do I look?¡±


    ¡°Like sunshine!¡± Kylantha twirled her around. ¡°Like a sunflower, growing up! All thin and tall, and yellow at the top.¡±


    They both laughed together, and then Kylantha took her hand again and they went out where they weren¡¯t supposed to be, seeking adventure.


    *          *          *


    ¡°I could do that!¡±


    Saphienne and Kylantha were stood beside a long table, watching as adult elves threw small stones at another table some forty feet away. The objective was to knock over a group of wooden statues, and the prize was nothing more than a treacle-covered apple on a stick. And the bragging rights, Saphienne supposed, but the game interested her less than the prize, having not eaten much before she left her family home.


    ¡°I could do better than that!¡± Kylantha insisted again.


    The elf who was throwing glanced around in irritation, but he laughed when he saw the young girl insulting him. ¡°Maybe you could! But wait your turn, little girl.¡±


    Kylantha stuck her tongue out at him, and the adults around them all laughed, and one of them ¨C a woman in a translucent dress that floated on the air ¨C noticed Saphienne staring at the apple she¡¯d won, and grinned as she handed it to her. Saphienne didn¡¯t know what to say, and gave her a bow, like she¡¯d seen others do, and the woman surprised her by bowing back while smiling all the more sweetly.


    Meanwhile, the player missed his target again. ¡°This is harder than it looks.¡±


    Kylantha was unimpressed. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look that hard.¡±


    More laughter greeted her words, and the kind woman standing next to the man nudged him. ¡°Save your last stone for her.¡±


    ¡°She can get her own.¡±


    ¡°Afraid she¡¯ll humble you?¡±


    ¡°As if.¡± He threw, and this time his aim was true, and a small cheer went up.


    Kylantha unfolded her arms and nodded. ¡°About time. Good throw!¡±


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    Taking his apple, he gestured for her to step up. ¡°Well? Don¡¯t keep us in suspense, Master Thrower.¡± He waved to the game¡¯s referee. ¡°Can the girl play?¡±


    ¡°On your say-so!¡± the other elf called back, busy resetting the statues and collecting the tossed stones. ¡°Make sure she doesn¡¯t hurt herself!¡±


    Laughing, the woman nudged her friend a second time. ¡°Or someone else.¡±


    Kylantha took her opportunity to come closer to the table, and she dragged Saphienne along with her. Saphienne licked her apple and watched as Kylantha stretched up and reached for the small pile of stones, not quite touching them.


    ¡°Harder than it looks, isn¡¯t it?¡± the man chuckled.


    ¡°Oh,¡± the woman next to him sighed, ¡°don¡¯t be petty. Lift her up!¡±


    Offended, Kylantha turned to argue, then shrieked with surprise when he hoisted her by her waist and set her on the table, there to wobble for a moment as she found her balance. A small circle was forming to watch, intrigued.


    ¡°Now you¡¯re tall enough.¡± He stepped back. ¡°You get three throws ¡ª wait! Let him come back to the table, girl.¡±


    Kylantha had snatched up her stones in an instant; restraining herself took effort. She looked down at Saphienne, surprised to see she already had an apple. ¡°¡­I was going to win you one.¡±


    Saphienne waved the apple by the stick poked into its core. ¡°Can you win me another? They¡¯re good.¡±


    Desire flashed in Kylantha¡¯s eyes as she stared at the apple. She grinned. ¡°We¡¯ll share. Don¡¯t take a bite. Not until I¡¯ve won.¡±


    Happy with this, Saphienne returned to licking off the treacle, and watched as Kylantha readied her first throw¨C


    Which flew like an arrow loosed from a bow and struck the middlemost statue squarely in the centre, making it wobble.


    Applause broke out, and the man standing next to her blushed. ¡°Well, shi¨C uh¡­¡± The man caught himself. ¡°¡­Excuse me. Master Thrower, please: teach me your ways!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t knock it down.¡± Kylantha was pouting.


    ¡°Try again,¡± the woman said, ¡°and throw harder.¡±


    Saphienne stopped chewing the thick sugar. ¡°You can do it!¡±


    Encouraged, Kylantha took aim again¨C


    And struck in an instant, in the same place, harder than before, but still not hard enough to knock the statue down.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got good aim,¡± the referee admitted, ¡°but you¡¯re just not strong enough. Sorry girl. I¡¯ll give you an apple anyway, if you make your last throw.¡±


    Kylantha stared at the stone in her hand. ¡°¡­Fine! Wait.¡±


    Surprising everyone, she tossed the stone back on the pile and jumped off the table, and she reached out and snatched away Saphienne¡¯s apple, leaning up to kiss her cheek before the older girl could complain. Then she scrambled back onto the table, pulling out the stick with her teeth as she straightened up.


    ¡°Wait, you¡¯re supposed to¨C¡±


    But the referee¡¯s injunction mattered nothing to the short half-elf, who wiped the apple on her bare arm, took hold, and heaved it with all her might.


    Everyone watched, spellbound, as it soared more slowly through the air, arcing down toward the distant table with growing momentum¨C


    And then thudded into one of the statues, nearly missing it, glancing off its left side and causing it to spin around ¡ª and to tip, and to clatter into the middle statue, which fell over in turn and shouldered the next; four fell in quick succession, leaving three on the far edges swaying, but holding their places.


    As the crowd applauded, Kylantha sucked the sugar from her wrist and smirked at the referee. ¡°Four apples?¡±


    Saphienne glowered, as menacingly as she could. ¡°She earned them!¡±


    *          *          *


    After a long argument between the crowd and the referee, a compromise was reached, and two apples were given to the girls. Saphienne held them as the referee made Kylantha help him pick up the statues, and the younger girl came back with the half-smashed apple she had thrown, biting into it with relish.


    Then someone in the crowd asked them why they weren¡¯t with the other young children, and Saphienne waved the flower and explained, mouth full, that they were looking for Kylantha¡¯s mother and going right back, they promised.


    ¡°Oh, well¡­ as long as it¡¯s something that important, carry on.¡±


    Which they did, and Kylantha said something Saphienne didn¡¯t quite hear about direction and valour as they scampered off into the crowd.


    The apples lasted five minutes, and Saphienne ate the most of two of them, still feeling hungry as they wandered from the games to the area set aside for food. Kylantha noticed her lingering by a stall laden with fruit, and she sidled up to it with exaggerated innocence, casually lifting a pear as though to study its finer properties.


    ¡°You don¡¯t look fourteen.¡±


    The elf in charge of the fruit loomed over them, her smile wicked.


    Saphienne glanced at Kylantha in worry, but her friend was bowing. ¡°I¡¯m just short for my age. Saphienne is hungry.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± The woman looked to Saphienne, who didn¡¯t dare nod.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to request these pears¨C¡±


    ¡°Kylantha,¡± the woman said, not looking away from Saphienne, ¡°we all know who you are. You¡¯re not a day over seven.¡±


    Kylantha blushed, but she was grinning. ¡°I¡¯m twice the elf you think I am.¡±


    ¡°Oho!¡± The woman laughed, but her laugh held an edge. ¡°Look at you, being clever! I¡¯d say you¡¯re half the elf you think you are, child.¡±


    Kylantha stopped grinning.


    Saphienne looked between them, then tried to ease the tension. ¡°We¡¯re looking for her mother. And she¡¯s telling the truth: I¡¯m hungry.¡±


    Glancing to Saphienne, the woman softened a little. ¡°I¡¯m only teasing, girl,¡± she told Kylantha, and fetched a paper bag. ¡°Here. Take some pears. You two shouldn¡¯t go hungry, least of all on the solstice.¡±


    Mollified by this, but still wary, Kylantha took the bag silently, and began stuffing it with pears.


    Still, the woman couldn¡¯t leave her alone. ¡°You know, Kylantha, you shouldn¡¯t steal.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t stealing!¡± She spoke quickly, indignant. ¡°I was waiting to see if you¡¯d let me take the pear.¡±


    ¡°And if I hadn¡¯t noticed you, then you would have put it back? Come now, child. Don¡¯t be a liar as well as a thief. Your human side is showing.¡±


    Kylantha dropped a pear as she balled her fist. ¡°It¡¯s not stealing if I give it back. And you¡¯re being rude!¡±


    Saphienne quickly hugged her from behind, her arms folding protectively around the younger girl.


    Back then, Saphienne didn¡¯t understand what she saw, but the woman behind the stall glanced between her and Kylantha, and then again, and her face slowly darkened with a flush. Shame came over her, though whether it was for insulting Kylantha, or for embarrassing Saphienne¡¯s friend in front of her, Saphienne would never really know for sure.


    Whatever the reason, the spirit of that carefree summer day took hold of the elf. She took a slow breath. ¡°Since you¡¯re looking for your mother,¡± she said, and continued speaking as she ducked under the counter, ¡°why don¡¯t you share these with her?¡±


    Saphienne and Kylantha both smiled in surprise upon her return, and all indignities were forgotten as they took her peace offering: a small box of strawberries.


    *          *          *


    As children often do, they thoughtlessly ate most of the strawberries as they went about their search. So long as they left one for Kylantha¡¯s mother, they were sharing with her. Saphienne was sure about that ¡ª and anyway, they had plenty of pears.


    The competing music grew louder as they left the stalls and approached the centre of the field, where several dance floors had been raised. Different musicians performed beside each, but all bands performed in the same key, and in tempos that were complimentary, for all that they differed in pace. The effect was mesmerising to the two girls, who watched as a dozen paired elves swayed together in close embrace, their timing different from ¨C but in synch with ¨C the next stage, where two lines danced together at quicker pace, who were slower in turn than the elegant whirling of the dancers on the stage beyond.


    Kylantha looked around, and led Saphienne over to a half-occupied bench. Jumping up onto it, once more catching her balance, she tapped the nearest elf on the shoulder. ¡°Excuse me! Could you watch our things?¡±


    Quite drunk, the man struggled to focus on her. ¡°Things? Oh, some fruit? Why, yes, yes¨C and would you like some wine?¡±


    ¡°No thank you,¡± Kylantha said as she leapt down, and she took the paper flower from Saphienne¡¯s hand to thread through her own hair. ¡°We¡¯re dancing.¡±


    Saphienne froze in fear. ¡°We¡¯re dancing? We¡¯re not dancing! I don¡¯t know how¨C¡±


    But Kylantha dragged her by her wrists between the stages, to the edge of the stage where the elves were spinning together, and she took her up the steps and counted the beat and waited for an opening as Saphienne protested. She smiled serenely all the while. As the dancers paused to reverse direction she pulled Saphienne onto the wooden boards and spun her like she had earlier, and Saphienne responded with an instinctual pirouette, her elven grace carrying her as Kylantha clumsily copied what she saw the others doing.


    There was laughter.


    But, the laughter wasn¡¯t cruel, and the smiles weren¡¯t hard, and the dancers shifted and rolled around them to drive them to the centre of the dancefloor, and some whistles from beyond the stage heralded a change in the dance. Saphienne was terrified, trying to keep up with Kylantha, who was laughing madly, and spinning her around and around over crossed wrists, the dancers around them copying their childish moves, struggling through their laughter ¡ª and yet carried by the song.


    The music swelled, and the tempo broke from its elegant lockstep with the other stages, and a little discord swept into the clearing. But no one much minded, not even Saphienne, who began to smile, and then to scream her giggles, exhilarated, eyes shining, and without a care in the world.


    *          *          *


    The pears were gone by the time they took a bow and were ushered off the stage, but the last strawberry wasn¡¯t, and they retrieved the box, guarding its precious treasure as they set out into the sea of benches and tables where the adults were at leisure.


    ¡°Kylantha?¡±


    Kylantha¡¯s mother had seen them on the dance floor, and Kylantha gave a happy yell and ran to her, throwing her arms around her neck as the tall elf bent to sweep up her daughter, both laughing as she cradled her.


    ¡°Mother!¡±


    ¡°I saw you dancing,¡± her mother laughed, and she winked at Saphienne, her moonstone eyes teasing. ¡°Saphienne did well, showing you how.¡±


    ¡°I was showing her!¡± Kylantha pouted as she was set down, and she took her mother¡¯s hand automatically as Saphienne fell in beside them. ¡°But we did good, didn¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°You did.¡± She leant down and kissed her forehead. ¡°So graceful. And, what¡¯s this you¡¯ve put in your hair?¡±


    Kylantha remembered the paper flower, but the glue had stuck it in place, and Saphienne had to carefully unpick it from her braid to pull it free while her mother grinned and tutted. Still, Kylantha¡¯s mother listened as her daughter excitedly told her what they had done ¨C skipping over their escape from the pavilion ¨C and she complimented the girls¡¯ daring as she learned all about their grand adventure. Saphienne watched her relish the remaining strawberry.


    At last they arrived at the table where Kylantha¡¯s mother had been sitting, and the other elves seated there waved and raised their glasses. One spoke up, asking, ¡°Is this your daughter, Phelorna?¡±


    ¡°And her friend,¡± Phelorna said, ¡°Saphienne. She¡¯s Lynnariel¡¯s?¡±


    Her reply was met with tolerant nods and accommodating smiles.


    ¡°Hello,¡± Saphienne said, trying another bow.


    ¡°What about the flower?¡± Phelorna faced her daughter as she sat. ¡°You were going to tell me about it.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Kylantha took it from Saphienne, and held it up. ¡°I made it for you. We were bringing it to you¡­ before you were drunk.¡±


    Laughs rolled around the table, but her mother only blushed slightly. ¡°Wise of you,¡± she answered, and accepted the paper flower, pretending to sniff it as she raised her reclaimed glass. ¡°I¡¯m pretty far gone already. Quest well accomplished, my brave little knight.¡±


    Kylantha beamed.


    ¡°But,¡± Phelorna said, ¡°you do need to go back with the other children.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t we stay? We can be quiet. We¡¯ll sit together.¡±


    ¡°Saphienne can be quiet,¡± Phelorna answered, ¡°but you¡¯re never so. Which is fine and well, when you¡¯re with children.¡±


    Addressed, Saphienne spoke up. ¡°Why can¡¯t we stay?¡±


    ¡°As the sun sets, different parties begin,¡± she answered. ¡°Parties that are not for children to attend. When you¡¯re older, you¡¯ll see.¡±


    Saphienne thought back to her mother and father, and the privacy they needed for their games, and she nodded as though she understood.


    ¡°But,¡± Kylantha complained, ¡°I¡­ I need the bathroom, first.¡±


    ¡°Well, on you go, then.¡± Phelorna pointed some distance away, beyond the sprawl of the tables. ¡°I¡¯ll wait for you here. Saphienne, do you need to go as well?¡±


    Saphienne shook her head.


    Beside her, Kylantha seemed a little disappointed. ¡°Won¡¯t you come with me, mother?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a brave knight.¡± Phelorna stroked her cheek. ¡°You can rove forth alone. We¡¯ll still be here, when you come back.¡±


    Saphienne felt tremendous envy, then, seeing the affection between mother and daughter. Kylantha straightened up, and with a nod to her friend, she turned on her heel and strode¨C


    ¡°Other way, dearest.¡±


    ¡­In a languid curve toward the bathroom, perhaps to get lost on the way.


    Across the table, another woman stood, and when she came around she kissed Phelorna deeply on the lips before sitting beside her, caressing her hair. ¡°It¡¯s good that you¡¯re encouraging her to be independent.¡±


    Phelorna nodded, and for a moment her expression grew still. ¡°¡­It¡¯s too early. She needs more time.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll have it. You both have a little more time.¡±


    Saphienne looked between them. ¡°Time for what?¡±


    At that, Phelorna smiled a strange smile, a smile that Saphienne would not understand until well after she had reached adulthood of her own, a smile that told of happiness and fear and love and grief, and above all an awareness that the things her smile portended were not for Saphienne to know, or so Phelorna hoped. She patted her lap, then held out her arms, inviting Saphienne to sit with her, which she duly did.


    ¡°Time for her to learn about herself,¡± she whispered to Saphienne, and held her more tightly than her own mother did. ¡°She¡¯s got a lot of growing still to do.¡±


    Saphienne accepted this, just as she accepted the embrace. She closed her eyes, and, just for a little while, she pretended that Phelorna was her mother, and that she was as well-loved and wanted as Kylantha. Just for a little while.


    And eventually, far later than she should have, Kylantha returned, and the three walked hand in hand back toward the children¡¯s pavilion, meeting a frantic caretaker coming the other way. Phelorna defended the girls from reprimand, and gave both Kylantha and Saphienne hugs, waving to them as they parted.


    Over her shoulder, Saphienne watched Phelorna turn away, and she admired how the woman strolled so gracefully into the gathering night, moving with all the ease of summertime.


    End of Chapter 21

 CHAPTER 22 – Innocence

    ¡°I suppose the solstice festival feels long ago to you, given your age. You don¡¯t remember, then?¡±


    Brought back to the present as Gaeleath spoke, Saphienne stepped forward, as though she were carefully examining the trio of unfinished sculptures, reaching out to touch the sandstone with one hand while she wiped her eyes with the other ¡ª keeping her back to the sculptor. She tilted her head, pretended she had been brushing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.


    Saphienne needed a moment to steady her voice. ¡°No, I don¡¯t,¡± she lied. ¡°I have a vague memory of a puppet show, but nothing significant.¡±


    Gaeleath hadn¡¯t noticed her lie, and their voice remained light. ¡°That would be right. The festival lasts for three days, and on the day of the solstice there¡¯s always a special event to entertain children under the age of fourteen. You would have slept there, overnight?¡± They were trying to help her remember, unaware that she wanted to forget. ¡°This year will be quite different for you.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± Saphienne moved their conversation on, ¡°you want to exhibit one of these?¡±


    ¡°That would be my plan.¡± They came up beside her, half folding their arms and resting their cheek against their palm. ¡°But, well. I find choosing difficult. And I really ought to produce something worth showing, to justify my presence here. All was fair while I was teaching you, but now that you¡¯re learning wizardry¡­¡±


    Glad for the change of topic, she kept her expression neutral as she turned to them. ¡°That¡¯s actually what I was coming to see you about. I¡¯m going to be very busy¨C¡±


    ¡°For the next while.¡± Gaeleath hadn¡¯t taken their eyes off the stone. ¡°I remember how it goes. A week or so marvelling at the disciplines, then three weeks where your education begins in earnest. The early curriculum is largely settled. You¡¯ll doubtlessly be busy in the afternoons, after your morning lessons.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to study together. Me, and the other apprentices.¡±


    ¡°Lovely.¡± They nodded, then glanced her way and flashed a smile. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll get on better with them than I did with mine. Camaraderie is important, for those who can manage it.¡±


    Saphienne wasn¡¯t in a state to pry into their history. ¡°After, I was thinking I could come here in the mornings? Two days each week, I¡¯ll be busy, but the rest¡­ I¡¯d still like to learn the art of sculpture.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ll still be happy to teach you.¡± They indicated Saphienne¡¯s half of the work area, where several engraved slabs were neatly stacked, and the rough head of an elf was slowly emerging from sandstone. ¡°You¡¯ve got a sharp eye and a deft hand for etching, and I expect that, when you make the transition to harder, darker materials, you¡¯ll be surprised by how good you are. If you were more confident with the songs, you¡¯d be further along with your statue work, but oh ¡ª these things take time.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m grateful.¡± She bowed. ¡°Will you bring on another student?¡±


    Gaeleath grimaced. ¡°Not if I can avoid it. I¡¯m quite particular. I don¡¯t want to spend my time teaching a child who won¡¯t do something with the lessons.¡±


    Despite how she felt, she managed a small smile. ¡°Aren¡¯t the lessons wasted on me? I¡¯ll be a wizard, not a sculptor.¡±


    ¡°Hardly.¡± They unfolded their arms, facing her. ¡°It¡¯s the art, Saphienne. The art is what I¡¯m teaching you. The sculptures, the medium ¡ª these are expressions of the art, not the art itself. When you¡¯re good, the work of art you make can convey an impression of the art, but they aren¡¯t the same thing.¡±


    She studied their gaze. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°Nor will you, not now.¡± They shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t think I¡¯m patronising ¡ª I don¡¯t mean to condescend. I didn¡¯t understand for a very long time, and I still haven¡¯t quite come into my own. Art is what we do to ourself, within ourself, that we then try to explain to ourself and to others through making artistic works. Magic and sculpture, calligraphy and painting, song ¡ª they¡¯re all different mediums for expressing the same thing.¡±


    Thinking back to their first meeting, she thought about what she had said to Gaeleath, and how they had replied. ¡°When I told you I wanted to understand myself, and you said¨C¡±


    ¡°Yes! ¡®To understand art is to understand oneself; to understand art is to make art.¡¯ People who aren¡¯t artists, they think that old quote refers to the production of the works of art! But, it doesn¡¯t. Art is entirely within us. And,¡± they gestured to the half-formed stone, ¡°if we can make something that stirs the same in others, then the art spreads, and can be shared, and the discussion unfolds and adds to the art.¡±


    For the second time in a few short minutes, Saphienne felt she was standing on a precipice ¡ª had always been standing on a precipice, of which she had been blissfully unaware. Now she knew it was there, but couldn¡¯t see the bottom, and feeling it wait for her¨C


    She retreated. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it.¡±


    Gaeleath glanced her up and down, and their expression softened. ¡°Don¡¯t rush into it. You¡¯ll make sense of it when it¡¯s time.¡± Then they turned back to their works in progress. ¡°Unlike me, no one expects you to justify yourself through your art. Which leads me back to my question: which should I finish, Saphienne?¡±


    Looking back to the three pieces of faintly glittering stone, she tried to think it through. ¡°Do you have a particular audience?¡±


    ¡°Good thought, but no, it¡¯s for general consumption. I already selected these because they will have broad appeal.¡± They shifted, and sighed. ¡°Being specific is necessary for great art, but being too specific runs the risk of people just not¡­ well, if they can¡¯t connect, they won¡¯t see the value.¡±


    ¡°But, if you¡¯ve already thought it through, how am I meant to help?¡±


    Gaeleath laughed. ¡°I asked you what your heart says about them. Which piece, crude though it may be, most resonates with some sentiment? Which makes a connection? Knowing that will help me choose.¡±


    Accepting they wouldn¡¯t let her leave without an answer, Saphienne did her best to calm herself, and to let herself feel whatever they provoked. What she thought was a sitting figure stirred nothing in her; what appeared as a half-shaped tree inexplicably angered her. But the last piece, which looked to her like two figures¡­


    ¡°This one.¡± She lay her hand against the stone. ¡°The dancers.¡±


    Gaeleath raised their eyebrows. ¡°¡­Dancers? Well. I¡­ yes, I suppose.¡±


    Saphienne backed away, fighting down the memories that lay behind the choice. ¡°People like dancing. It¡¯s a festival. It¡¯ll suit the mood.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, though perhaps in ways that¡­ yes.¡± Gaeleath flashed another, slightly forced smile. ¡°I¡¯ll finish it across the next few weeks, while you¡¯re away. Might I ask you not to call unannounced, while I¡¯m working on it?¡±


    The sculptor had never before asked that of her. ¡°You want it to be a surprise?¡±


    ¡°¡­Let¡¯s say yes. I have my reasons. My artistic whim, fickle as I am.¡±


    She inclined her head. ¡°Of course. Thank you.¡± She leant toward the door. ¡°If you¡¯ll excuse me, I need to¡­¡±


    But Gaeleath had already shifted their attention to the work, and from their sudden focus on the figures, Saphienne knew that their choice was made, and that they were reading lines in the stone ¨C or within themself? ¨C that would soon be visible. They waved to her despite their distraction. ¡°By all means. Enjoy your break¡­ and when you return, we¡¯ll finally see how you fare against wood.¡±


    Everything in Saphienne wanted to run from the pavilion in relief, but she waved back, and left as though at ease.


    *          *          *


    Part of Saphienne wanted to go straight to the library, but she was too upset, and the thought of having to pretend all was well to Filaurel and Faylar made her feel even more wretched than she already did. Instead, she went for a walk, picking her way through the woodland while staying within the outskirts of the village, her eyes on the ground and her senses turned inward.


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    Why had she remembered the festival? For over three years, she had kept the memory of that day carefully buried. And not just that memory ¡ª there were others that she avoided dwelling on, whenever they were prompted.


    Unconsciously, she took out the pouch containing her copper coin, and clutched it against her chest as she went on.


    Perhaps losing her temper in front of Iolas had loosened her control. That memory embarrassed her; even accounting for how easily her mother provoked her, acting so childishly to him on their first meaningful day together felt shameful to Saphienne. She had only herself to blame. Still, being off-balance from humiliation¡­ that went some way toward explaining why Gaeleath¡¯s question had cut right through her defences.


    Or was there more? Was being in the tented pavilion ¨C much like the one raised on that day ¨C partly responsible? She thought not: the village used many such structures for temporary accommodation, and she had been working there, beside Gaeleath, for months. Then again, the unfinished sculpture resembled dancers, and the combination of things together could explain¡­


    Saphienne sighed, and her eyes fell shut. She knew why.


    She had friends again. Had just made friends, that very day. She felt welcomed, and perhaps even understood. She hadn¡¯t felt that with Faylar, not entirely¡­ or was it that she hadn¡¯t let herself¡­


    Tears slowly ran down her cheeks as she admitted to herself how deeply, and bitterly, she missed Kylantha.


    She wiped them away; she wiped the thought away. There was too much there. And too much else in the memories, things that she hadn¡¯t understood at the time, things that she now realised she had overlooked ¡ª and now saw with new, terrible unease.


    Older now, Saphienne knew the concept of what had so preoccupied her parents, and was aware of what they must have been doing together ¡ª were always doing together, when they forgot about her. So too, she could dimly contemplate what might have featured in the evening¡¯s events that wasn¡¯t suitable for children. The books she had read in the library, that Filaurel had carefully directed her toward without suggesting they were yet appropriate¡­ from them, she intellectually grasped how parents made children. But ¨C and this gnawed at her ¨C she didn¡¯t actually understand anything.


    What she had read, she hadn¡¯t been prepared to think about. Yet now she felt like she must think about these things, that she must understand them, for the future was beckoning to her, and she wasn¡¯t prepared. How could she hope to meet the challenges ahead, if she was unprepared?


    And what Gaeleath had said about art made it worse ¡ª that making art required she explore within herself, discover things about herself. There was a whole part of adult life she couldn¡¯t comprehend, a whole part of what was presumably herself that she didn¡¯t know¡­ and she was inevitably, terrifyingly growing into an adult.


    Elves said they reached adulthood upon attaining their first century. If this was how she felt at fourteen, how much worse would it be across the decades ahead?


    And everything ¨C all of these thoughts and feelings, whirling within her ¨C were eclipsed by the realisations she reached as she considered the way Kylantha had been treated: by the caretaker, by the woman on the stall, and most of all by Phelorna. How sweetly Kylantha¡¯s mother had treated her! And how cruelly ¡ª how viciously, to let her daughter love her so, knowing that she was to be abandoned.


    ¡°How could she?¡±


    Saphienne hadn¡¯t meant to speak aloud, and she looked around furtively. There was no one nearby, only the trees and wild spring flowers.


    How much better it would have been, if Kylantha had been raised by Saphienne¡¯s mother. To be rejected after being neglected was understandable. And if Saphienne had been raised by Phelorna¨C


    No. Never.


    If Saphienne had been raised by someone like Phelorna, behaving similarly and yet with the sincerity she clearly didn¡¯t possess, then Saphienne¡¯s entire life would have been different. She would have known how to be with people, how to let herself be close to people. She wouldn¡¯t have needed to rely on the patience of Faylar, or the amusement of Celaena, or the understanding of Iolas. She could have just belonged.


    She wouldn¡¯t have had need of those tolerant smiles, or for her life to be explained away with an introduction ¡ª that she was Lynnariel¡¯s child.


    And worst of all was the dawning sense Saphienne had: a sense that something else lay behind those words, something that also lay behind the way Faylar and the others had been told by elders to watch over her, to make allowances for her. That there was something wrong with her, wrong from birth, that meant no one expected she would belong. That she could never belong, and could never understand why. That she was less of an elf, somehow, and had to be handled appropriately.


    She slowed as a thought took shape, and finally stood still.


    ¡­How much worse had it been for Kylanth¨C


    Saphienne buried her face in her hand, and wept.


    *          *          *


    Much later, she would look back on those tears.


    She would be yet older, and know yet more.


    Saphienne would come to realise that part of her died that day.


    Even so, you must realise: this moment was not one of the five moments that shaped Saphienne into who she became. That she understood herself more clearly, and had begun to see how she related to the elves around her, was only a precondition for the remaining three. Her trajectory was not changed by her weeping.


    The tears Saphienne shed were the consequence of what had already happened.


    So too, her growing rage. Which would unfurl, in time.


    *          *          *


    When Saphienne made it to the library, she found Filaurel at her desk, tightening the stitches of several children¡¯s books. They greeted each other pleasantly, and Saphienne ascended the stairs to where Faylar was studying.


    Although, from the way he was slumped in a chair as he read, his heart wasn¡¯t in his studies. He glanced up as soon as she entered the upper collection, and his smile told of both his happiness to see her and his relief at having a reason to quit the book. ¡°Saphienne! You¡¯re early.¡±


    She smiled as she came across to where he was sitting. ¡°We finished early. Lessons are in the morning, and today there¡¯s not much more to do.¡±


    ¡°Filaurel said you were here before,¡± he said, ¡°and that you were using a spell.¡±


    ¡°Using, but I hadn¡¯t cast it. I was learning to see the magic behind the world¡­ or something like that.¡±


    The look of envy on Faylar¡¯s face made her heart ache for him.


    ¡°Faylar,¡± she told him, ¡°please don¡¯t be sad. I know you¡¯ll be a wizard too.¡±


    He sat up. ¡°I¡¯m not sad,¡± he insisted, a little petulantly. ¡°I just wish I was there with the rest of you. Knowing you¡¯re getting to learn magic while I¡¯m stuck here reading: it¡¯s hard to swallow.¡±


    ¡°Is that why you¡¯ve not been speaking to Celaena?¡±


    He immediately blushed, and looked away. ¡°Did she mention me?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Right away. She feels bad for you. I think she doesn¡¯t know what to do.¡±


    From the way Faylar shifted, it was clear he didn¡¯t either.


    Saphienne sat on the table in front of him, which surprised the boy, who had never seen her be so careless toward the library¡¯s furniture. When he looked up, she folded her arms and stared down the bridge of her nose. ¡°You¡¯re being stupid.¡±


    He smiled sadly. ¡°I know. I just¡­ don¡¯t know how we¡¯ll be, together. All we used to talk about was becoming wizards.¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re still going to be a wizard. It¡¯s just going to take you longer.¡±


    He looked down. ¡°Maybe that wouldn¡¯t matter to you, but¨C¡±


    ¡°Faylar!¡± She kicked his knee, though not hard. ¡°You were there. You saw how I had to fight, not to be turned away. Of course it would matter to me.¡±


    Rubbing where she¡¯d kicked, he scowled. ¡°I meant the embarrassment. You don¡¯t care how people look at¨C¡±


    Reflexively, Saphienne kicked him again, harder.


    ¡°Ow! Stop that!¡±


    ¡°Swallow your pride, and accept you were humbled.¡± She glared. ¡°And I do care. I just¡­ don¡¯t always understand, not yet. But I can tell when people judge me. As painful as it feels, you can¡¯t let their judgement get in the way.¡±


    ¡°Easier said than done.¡± He pulled his knee back, fearful of another kick. ¡°But fine! I¡¯ll¡­ find the courage.¡± His gaze softened, became vulnerable. ¡°You think she misses me?¡±


    ¡°I think she¡¯ll make fun of you.¡± Saphienne smiled. ¡°She likes to tease. She¡¯s been teasing Iolas, and I think the way she teases is innocent enough. I don¡¯t think she¡¯d admit to missing you, but she talked about you a few times, like she wanted to know how you were. Like she cared?¡±


    His smile, when he found it, was less fragile. ¡°I do miss her. You¡¯re right, I¡¯m being¨C¡±


    ¡°Prickly.¡±


    Faylar laughed. ¡°Oh, fuck me, you¡¯re right. I am.¡± He looked her up and down. ¡°You seem different. Does learning magic change you so quickly?¡±


    Saphienne rolled her eyes as she slipped off the table. ¡°No, I¡¯ve just had a lot to think about. My mas¨C¡± She stopped, and surveyed the shelves to make sure they were alone. ¡°Almon might insist that learning wizardry is the most important thing in the world, but I¡¯m starting to think there¡¯s other things that matter. And thank you, for that.¡±


    Grinning now, Faylar leant back in his chair. ¡°You are different. Good different. You seem more relaxed.¡±


    ¡°Never.¡± She flashed him a smile. ¡°But, you have work to do, and I think I¡¯ve earned a break. Enjoy yourself.¡±


    He groaned as she walked away, settling back into his book.


    As she passed the shelf of adult literature, Saphienne paused, her composure wavering. Then she shook her head: the future could wait. She had more than enough to contend with already.


    Instead, she went downstairs, and sought out a book she hadn¡¯t seen in years, and curled up on a cushioned windowsill to reread it.


    Filaurel later found her there, fast asleep, and approached to wake her¡­ until she saw the peace on her face, and read the title of the book she held. Though Saphienne would not know for a very long time, the sight of that book brought back memories of Filaurel¡¯s own ¡ª memories of two little girls in the library, one reading aloud, the other swinging her short legs as she listened and questioned and argued about the difference between frogs and toads.


    And Filaurel, too, wiped away her tears. Yet, she smiled as she left Saphienne to her dreams, if only for a little longer.


    End of Chapter 22

 CHAPTER 23 – What Distinguishes

    In retrospect, Saphienne realised she had made an assumption: she had counted on the fact that Peacock would be able to read her notes. She realised her oversight while walking with Iolas to their second day of lessons, but said nothing to him, preferring instead to practice small talk about the weather; she didn¡¯t want to give him any further reason to think less of her.


    As they came within sight of the wizard¡¯s home, Iolas changed topics. ¡°Which discipline do you think he¡¯ll show us first?¡±


    Saphienne opened her mouth to correct him, then stopped herself. ¡°¡­Iolas, am I being too literal if I say he showed us Hallucination first, and then Divination yesterday?¡±


    His sigh ¨C which ended in a laugh ¨C told her she was. He patted her amiably on the shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re a quick learner.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about how I seem to others, which made me think about how I see others, and I wonder if sometimes I¡­¡± She trailed off as she saw the mirth in his eyes. ¡°¡­Am I saying too much?¡±


    ¡°For most people. You can share with me,¡± he promised. ¡°What did you wonder?¡±


    ¡°I wonder if I sometimes discount the possibility that people might be speaking figuratively because I don¡¯t pay enough attention to the person. That I¡¯m the opposite of what our master said; that I pay too much attention to what is being said, rather than how, or by whom.¡±


    Iolas mulled over the thought. ¡°I could see that. You¡¯re too busy, I don¡¯t know ¡ª too busy taking apart the words to notice the person who spoke them?¡±


    Saphienne nodded. ¡°I can read people when I pay attention to them.¡±


    Humming to himself, Iolas stopped walking. ¡°I was thinking about what you said yesterday, how you struggle with groups. About how I can explain it to you. I think¡­¡± The older boy looked up at the trees as Saphienne waited for him. ¡°¡­I think the problem is that you need to be reading people as they speak, and also reading everyone¡¯s reaction, all at the same time. You don¡¯t look around the room much when you¡¯re talking to someone, I noticed. I mean: you don¡¯t look at the other people who¡¯re present.¡±


    She squinted at him. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ true.¡±


    ¡°And the other thing,¡± he went on, ¡°is that you need to compare how someone¡¯s speaking, to how they¡¯re being received, to what it was they said on the surface. That¡¯s how you understand the full message. You understand sarcasm, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± She felt slightly indignant.


    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to offend you. And irony?¡±


    ¡°Ironically, your asking that offends me.¡± But she smiled. ¡°Yes; and I know the difference between verbal irony, situational irony, dramatic irony, and the irony of feigned ignorance.¡±


    Iolas was wide-eyed. ¡°Right, and I only know two of those. Which doesn¡¯t matter right now!¡± He raised his hands to stop her explaining. ¡°The point is, sarcasm requires you to be able to read tone, and irony requires that you compare what¡¯s said to what you know. Both need you to understand that the other person can mean something different from what they literally say. And all the rest of talking in a group is doing that sort of thing,¡± he waved his hands vaguely as he lowered them, ¡°but also comparing what¡¯s said to how people respond.¡±


    Saphienne followed the logic. ¡°I think I can do all of that.¡±


    ¡°Then you can read the room,¡± he said, ¡°which means all that¡¯s left is¡­ can you match your response to the response you read from the room?¡±


    That made her blink. ¡°You mean, hide what I feel? Disguise what I think?¡±


    ¡°More like¡­ moderate it. To fit what people expect.¡± He scratched his head. ¡°Obviously, if someone is saying something that you disagree with on principle, don¡¯t change who you are as a person for convenience. But if it¡¯s not a matter of principle, going along with the mood is what endears you to a group. Everyone¡¯s looking to everyone else, to decide how they feel.¡±


    Realisation made Saphienne¡¯s jaw drop open. ¡°Wait, people decide how they feel about things ¡ª by seeing how everyone else feels?¡±


    Iolas looked both pleased with himself for figuring her out, and surprised. ¡°You really don¡¯t do that, do you?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She felt queasy. ¡°No, not at all.¡±


    ¡°Which is why you¡¯re fine in individual talks like this. You¡¯re not expected to blend in, not unless you¡¯re making an effort to ingratiate yourself to someone.¡± He smiled and glanced at the wizard¡¯s home. ¡°Which you don¡¯t have much experience with, I think it¡¯s fair to say.¡±


    ¡°But how¡­ if you feel one thing, and everyone else feels another¨C¡±


    ¡°Think of it like the tea you ordered. You add oat water on top, and it changes the flavour. You can still taste your tea underneath, the taste is just diluted by¡­ everyone else¡¯s oat water?¡± He grinned sheepishly. ¡°Not a great metaphor. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can do that.¡±


    ¡°Can you read it, and fake it?¡±


    Saphienne considered this. She slowly nodded. ¡°With practice, I think so.¡±


    ¡°Well, here comes a chance to practice.¡±


    Panicked, Saphienne turned ¡ª and saw Celaena waving to them from across the grove as she hurried closer. Her relief made her smile¡­ and then she caught Iolas¡¯ eye, and read his amusement at her, and that he knew she read him. They both laughed: at her undue concern, at her obvious relief, and at the irony of it all, in context with they had just discussed.


    Celaena slowed as she came closer, looking puzzled. ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±


    Iolas beckoned for her to walk with them. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t get it.¡±


    * * *


    Their master wasn¡¯t home when they arrived. Peacock was perched on the back of the wizard¡¯s chair, and chirped as they entered. ¡°Almon is waiting for you. You¡¯ll find him in the back garden.¡±


    As Iolas and Celaena went out the way they had entered, Saphienne reached into her satchel and drew out her observations from the day before. ¡°Peacock,¡± she asked, feigning certainty that he could, ¡°would you mind reading over my words? I¡¯d appreciate any corrections.¡±


    Peacock bobbed his head. ¡°Are they double-sided?¡±


    ¡°¡­Yes?¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll read half of them.¡± He gestured with his talons, which looked wickedly sharp. ¡°Can¡¯t touch anything that doesn¡¯t believe in me.¡±


    Remembering that he was illusory, Saphienne accepted his obvious limitations ¡ª and then felt a weird sense of dislocation, as though she were simultaneously seeing the bird and not seeing him, the dissonance growing the longer¨C


    ¡°Hey!¡± Peacock leapt forward and beat his wings in her face as he bounced off her shoulder, the shock of which drove her back. ¡°Quit it! I know that look!¡±


    She shook her head as both she and the bird settled back down, Peacock reaffirmed in her mind as entirely real. ¡°Yes. Sorry. You can check the other sides later. I¡¯ll write single-sided for you from now on.¡±


    He gave her an appreciative whistle, and opened his beak in a smile.


    * * *


    ¡°Conjuration,¡± Almon said, having finished a lengthier casting of the Second Sight on each apprentice, ¡°is the most impressive discipline to the novice. Saphienne: using everyday language, define for us what it means to conjure.¡±


    Still adjusting to the glimmer of magic swimming before her eyes, Saphienne spoke without opening them. ¡°To conjure something is to cause it to suddenly appear, as though from nowhere; or to call an image to mind; and long ago, it used to mean to implore someone to do something.¡±


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    Celaena was surprised. ¡°I didn¡¯t know that last one.¡±


    Adjusted to her magically enhanced vision, Saphienne glanced beside herself, to where Celaena stood next to her, upon a gravel circle in the centre of the garden. ¡°Some of the writing that¡¯s attributed to elders describes them as conjuring others. I had to ask Filaurel what it meant.¡±


    Having returned to the midpoint of the circle, Almon was stood behind a small lectern, and lifted an empty glass from below. ¡°Saphienne is correct. In ages far past, Conjuration and Invocation were confused as the same discipline, and an ancient wizard or sorcerer would conjure a spirit ¡ª that is, implore the spirit to intervene. Celaena,¡± he gestured to her with the empty glass, ¡°in the same way as Saphienne did, define for us what it means to invoke.¡±


    Celaena¡¯s eyes flicked nervously to Saphienne, but she squared her shoulders. ¡°To invoke is to call upon someone, in the sense of requesting their assistance or presence, or to appeal to an authority in support of something.¡±


    Almon nodded. ¡°Mostly correct. Saphienne, correct her.¡±


    Saphienne gave Celaena what she hoped was an apologetic look before she did. ¡°Everything Celaena said is right, except it specifically means to call upon a higher power. That may be a spiritual power, or just an authority one serves. In normal language, invoking a spirit ¨C like a god or goddess ¨C might take the form of requesting they bare witness, or provide inspiration, or render aid; and invoking an authority is to act under that authority, with the support of that authority. You might invoke a god to witness an oath, or invoke a scholar to support an argument.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Almon leant against the lectern. ¡°When the two disciplines were properly separated, names for the newly fashioned disciplines were drawn from the words used to describe the different types of spell. Invocation, to call upon a ¡®higher¡¯ power.¡± He set the glass on the lectern and stood tall. ¡°And as for Conjuration¡­¡±


    Red light flashed as Almon whispered a syllable and cupped his hands together, and suddenly water poured from above his palms, filling the glass in an instant. Yet under the scrutiny of the Second Sight, Saphienne had watched an explosion of red appear in the same space, pulsing out before collapsing inward, turning into a torrent of sparks that tumbled down into the glass, sparks which quickly diminished until no magical colour remained.


    The wizard gave them a moment to savour the experience. ¡°Iolas,¡± he then said, ¡°will you hazard a guess as to the definition of the discipline of Conjuration?¡±


    Shaking his head, Iolas smiled from where he stood on the other side of Celaena. ¡°To cause something to come into being by magical means?¡±


    ¡°Be more precise.¡±


    Iolas thought carefully. ¡°A spell which causes something to come into being within the natural world, which otherwise would not exist.¡±


    ¡°Excellent!¡± Almon smiled broadly. ¡°A spell of the discipline of Conjuration causes something to come into being within the natural world, which otherwise would not exist ¡ª whether permanently, or for the spell¡¯s duration.¡±


    Saphienne spoke up. ¡°The distinction being, that Invocation spells call forth things which already exist in the world?¡±


    ¡°Well reasoned.¡± His smile for her was thinner, but still sincere. ¡°The two disciplines were confused before this distinction was apparent. But make no mistake: what seems simple to us today once took the labour of great minds to uncover.¡± He gestured the three of them forward. ¡°Come. Examine the water.¡±


    Duly, they did. To all their senses, it appeared entirely mundane. Celaena put her hand in the glass, which the other apprentices copied. Then, thoughtfully, Iolas lifted the glass, sniffed, and took a sip.


    Celaena winced. ¡°Couldn¡¯t you have done that before we stuck our hands in?¡±


    Lips twisted in a smile, he swirled the water around his mouth to tease her, then swallowed. ¡°I trust my fellow apprentices to wash their hands.¡± He set the half-full glass back down. ¡°Tastes bland.¡±


    Almon nodded. ¡°Well noticed. Conjured water is entirely pure, unless care is taken to conjure minerals with it. I did not.¡± He grinned cruelly. ¡°Which, Iolas, will cause you physical harm¡­ if you drink only this water, and consume no minerals from other sources, such as everyday food and drink.¡±


    Iolas had turned pale, and now blushed. ¡°I assumed you¡¯d stop me from doing something dangerous.¡±


    ¡°I will not. Going forward, assume I will only temper the harm.¡± The wizard looked over his apprentices with severity. ¡°Magic must always be treated with caution. Respect the Great Art, for it does not respect you. I will, however, answer any questions before you act.¡±


    Rolling back his sleeves, the wizard conjured again, this time flicking his fingers upward, and the word he whispered was different. Again, the Second Sight showed an explosion of red, but this explosion shot upward and blazed brightly ¡ª as brightly as the tongue of fire that appeared at Almon¡¯s fingertips.


    Celaena and Iolas had stepped back; Saphienne peered closer, though was careful not to lean too close. ¡°This is different,¡± Saphienne said. ¡°The red remains in the fire.¡±


    ¡°That is because the fire is sustained by the magic ¡ª the fire uses magic for its fuel. Now: watch closely.¡± Gathering the flame onto his left hand, he dipped his fingers into the remaining water, and at once the burning tongues disappeared¡­ but to the Second Sight, the red blaze continued, and when Almon withdrew his hand from the water, the fire reignited. ¡°Would anyone care to offer their conjecture?¡±


    Celaena raised her hand and spoke. ¡°The fire cannot be conjured where it would not normally burn.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Almon countered, ¡°but would it normally burn on my fingers?¡±


    Hesitating, she glanced to Saphienne. ¡°Saphienne?¡±


    Thinking it through, Saphienne tilted her head. ¡°It would burn on your fingers if there were fuel, but it wouldn¡¯t burn underwater even if there were fuel. Celaena is correct.¡±


    Almon smiled. ¡°Yes, Celaena, you are. Next time, think carefully, and then either amend your conjecture, retract it, or stand by it. Do not abandon it when pressed.¡±


    Recognising her error, Celaena bowed.


    Almon ducked down at the same time, but it was to retrieve a small bundle of kindling, which he held up to the flames in his other hand, letting the fire catch. Then, while it smouldered, he held the two apart. ¡°Further observations?¡±


    Iolas spoke up. ¡°The fire you summoned is smokeless.¡±


    Almon flicked his blazing fingers, nearly catching Iolas with their fire. ¡°What did we just discuss, at the start of this lesson?¡±


    Having sprang back, Iolas slunk forward. ¡°¡­Excuse me, Master. I meant to say that the fire you conjured is smokeless.¡±


    ¡°And why is it conjured, not summoned?¡±


    Iolas sighed. ¡°The fire you hold is created, not brought from somewhere else. I¡¯ll be careful in future.¡±


    ¡°Be not careless in word or deed, young apprentice. Today, you are embarrassed. Years from now, the outcome could be far more gruesome.¡± Almon flashed him an encouraging smile. ¡°But, yes, the fire of my spell emits no smoke.¡±


    Saphienne could see why. ¡°Under the Second Sight, the fire that¡¯s on the kindling doesn¡¯t show as magical. Based on what you said earlier, you¡¯re not sustaining that fire with the spell ¡ª it¡¯s sustaining itself.¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡± Where the magical fire danced, Almon closed his fist, and the spell collapsed. ¡°Impress me, Saphienne. Explain to me the laws that govern Conjuration spells.¡±


    The challenge made her freeze. ¡°¡­I can¡¯t do that. I haven¡¯t observed enough.¡±


    ¡°Good. Then explain the laws you can infer, from what you have observed today.¡±


    Beside her, Iolas folded his arms. ¡°This is unfair. You can¡¯t hold her to a higher standard than us.¡±


    ¡°Are you prepared to explain in her stead?¡± Irritation showed on the wizard¡¯s face. ¡°Do so, then, or content yourself with¨C¡±


    ¡°Conjuration,¡± Saphienne interrupted, ¡°has limits. You cannot conjure something into the natural world where it could not exist in the natural world. And where the conjured thing would require specific conditions in the natural world to sustain its existence, if those conditions are not present when the spell is complete, the conjured thing once more ceases to exist. Therefore, to conjure something where it cannot sustain itself and keep it there, you must concentrate on maintaining the spell.¡±


    Almon grinned. ¡°See? She was capable. And that was, to your credit, entirely correct, Saphienne.¡±


    Celaena shook her head. ¡°Saphienne, how in the world did you do that?¡±


    Smiling to herself, she turned to her friends. ¡°I remembered the definition he gave us, and then compared it to what he¡¯d shown us. And his left eye twitches when he¡¯s concentrating on spells.¡±


    Iolas and Celaena both stared at Almon, whose mouth hung open.


    ¡°He¡¯s not concentrating on a spell now ¡ª you won¡¯t see.¡±


    ¡°Saphienne,¡± the wizard sighed as her friends chuckled, ¡°that will more than suffice.¡±


    * * *


    After a dry and in-depth explanation of the development of Conjuration spells as a discipline of magic, for which Almon had the apprentices sit on the nearby grass and take notes, they finished the day by meditating on the sight of another spell ¡ª a summoned spear of lightning, which danced where it stuck into the gravel, the stones into which it was plunged hissing and melting over time.


    Saphienne found her eyes ached after staring at it for too long, and so she closed them, focusing instead on the spell as seen through the Second Sight. A fountain of red lines poured out of the ground; and the shape they made twisted and danced, an abstract silhouette, suggestive of other things in the same way as she had once read pictures into the shape of clouds. She lost herself in pondering them, and in the memory of staring up at the sky with Kylantha, and had to make an effort to clear her mind, all the while feeling that she had seen something similar before¡­ that the impression of Conjuration magic was familiar.


    When they were done, she returned to the parlour, surprised to see that Almon had flipped over her pages already, and that Peacock was done reading. ¡°All good,¡± the bird chirped. ¡°What did you say to Almon? He was peevish. More than usual.¡±


    From upstairs, Almon called down. ¡°I can hear you! Blasted bird¡­¡±


    Saphienne tried not to grin, and kept her voice low. ¡°I pointed out how he squints when he concentrates on spells.¡±


    Peacock danced and flapped his wings silently, then twisted his head around to do a very good impression of Almon¡¯s twitching eye.


    Saphienne covered her mouth to smother her laughter as she retrieved her notes, and waved wordlessly to the bird as she went out to meet her friends.


    ¡°There we are,¡± Celaena smiled. ¡°So, shall we go to my house?¡±


    Iolas shrugged. ¡°As long as we won¡¯t be a bother to anyone. Will there be enough room, to not get in anyone¡¯s way?¡±


    Celaena smiled strangely as she started walking. ¡°What an odd thing to worry about.¡±


    Behind her, Saphienne looked questioningly at Iolas ¡ª who shrugged.


    But when Celaena led them to her home, her friends understood her response.


    In fact, they quickly came to understand quite a lot about her.


    End of Chapter 23

 CHAPTER 24 – What Connects

    There are months when nothing makes sense, and moments when everything at last comes together ¡ª when all the puzzling pieces that were scattered along the path suddenly click into place. Saphienne had one such moment when she arrived before Celaena¡¯s house, gazing beyond a gate in a low wall that surrounded a hill which steeply climbed through terraced gardens overgrown with budding flowers up to a grand doorway in a house that was grown from more than¨C


    Iolas spoke with awe. ¡°This is your home?¡±


    Celaena paused, her hand on the gate, and looked back at them. ¡°Yes?¡±


    Saphienne blinked. ¡°How many trees?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never counted.¡± Celaena glanced up through the gardens, considering the grand building which she called home and the great trees that wove together to form its rooms. ¡°Three, I think? One of them is much younger than the others, though. Father expanded the house when he decided he wanted a child.¡±


    Tearing their eyes away from the sight of it, Saphienne and Iolas shared a look.


    Celaena hesitated, and stepped away from the gate. ¡°Is something wrong?¡±


    Shaking his head, Iolas strolled past her. ¡°No. I just never imagined you living in a place like this.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± Celaena blushed, self-conscious. ¡°Is it the gardens? I know they¡¯re a little wild, but I¡¯m not really much of a gardener, and they¡¯re only tended to every other month.¡±


    Realising that Celaena was oblivious, Saphienne smiled, and for once she was the one to reach out to her. ¡°The gardens look beautiful,¡± she promised her as she took her hand. ¡°We just weren¡¯t expecting your home to be so impressive.¡±


    Although reassured, Celaena was still perplexed. ¡°You¡¯re impressed? What¡¯s so impressive about the house?¡±


    Iolas started laughing as he pushed through the gate. ¡°This explains a lot.¡±


    ¡°What does?¡± Celaena let Saphienne lead her into her own gardens. ¡°And what does it explain? Why are you¨C stop laughing!¡±


    But neither of them could help their giggles, not until they climbed the hill ¡ª not until Celaena muttered under her breath and pulled free of Saphienne to sweep haughtily through the pair of doors that led into her reception hall. ¡°You¡¯re being very rude,¡± she sniffed at them, though she was less offended than bemused. ¡°I suppose you had better come inside.¡±


    Which Saphienne and Iolas hesitated to do, both children feeling small as they took in the tiled floor ¨C which was dark as the midnight sky ¨C and the high, white, vaulted ceiling ¨C which lay three stories overhead ¨C and the grand staircase that swept from one toward the other, lightening as it ascended. Saphienne stepped in first, and her footsteps echoed off the polished wooden walls and bounced up to the landings of the upper floors.


    Iolas joined her. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a place like¨C¡±


    The door shut itself behind them, and they both jumped.


    Celaena was on the stairs, and she smirked. ¡°Sorry, the door¡¯s enchanted. It wouldn¡¯t have opened, without me. You¡¯ve never been to a wizard¡¯s home before, have you?¡±


    Unable to help herself, Saphienne began to correct her. ¡°Our master¨C¡±


    ¡°I mean a real wizard.¡± Celaena gestured around the hall. ¡°Someone who really knows what they¡¯re doing.¡±


    Clicking his way across the floor, Iolas stared all around himself ¡ª including down at his feet, disconcerted by his audible footfalls. ¡°Your father: he¡¯s a more powerful wizard than our master?¡±


    ¡°I mean, he must be.¡± Casually sitting on the steps, she shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know which degree of spellcasting he¡¯s obtained, but it¡¯s higher than whatever our master can do, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    That Celaena didn¡¯t know the specifics intrigued Saphienne. ¡°You don¡¯t know? Why not?¡±


    What little confidence Celaena had found quickly faded away, and she was once more unsure of herself. ¡°We don¡¯t talk much about magic. I¡¯ve seen him cast spells, and he was always very clear that I¡¯d learn wizardry once I was old enough, but apart from telling me what to study¡­ he was always careful not to break the rules.¡±


    Looking to Saphienne, Iolas nodded. ¡°Wizards aren¡¯t allowed to teach family members, are they?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Celaena sighed. ¡°We can¡¯t discuss magic. Not until I¡¯m a wizard in my own right. He was much more cautious about it than¨C¡± She stopped herself, clearly reconsidering what she was about to say. ¡°¡­Than others I¡¯ve heard about.¡±


    Realisation made Saphienne speak aloud. ¡°You mean Faylar¡¯s aunt.¡±


    Her words caught Celaena by surprise, and the wizard¡¯s daughter scowled at Saphienne. ¡°I didn¡¯t say any such thing! And Faylar would resent the implication.¡±


    Reaching the staircase, Iolas sat down on it as well, a few steps below Celaena. ¡°I thought our master was the only wizard in our village?¡±


    Turning her attention to him, she nodded. ¡°He is. Well, the only wizard who is recognised by the Luminary Vale. There are others, and they¡¯re entitled to be called masters if they wish, and they have the right to assert their opinions if consensus is sought between practitioners of the Great Art. But they don¡¯t have the authority our master does, since they can¡¯t¡­¡± She grinned at Saphienne. ¡°Since they can¡¯t invoke the Luminary Vale.¡±


    ¡°But what about your father?¡± Iolas pressed her.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t live here.¡± Celaena spoke matter-of-factly. ¡°He hasn¡¯t lived here for¡­ I think a few hundred years.¡±


    Saphienne crossed to the steps, but didn¡¯t sit. ¡°So you live with your mother?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no.¡±


    Realising she had assumed, Saphienne faintly blushed. ¡°Sorry. I mean, with your guardian?¡±


    ¡°What do¨C oh!¡± Celaena laughed. ¡°No, Saphienne. I meant that my mother doesn¡¯t live here ¡ª not that I don¡¯t have a relationship with her. She¡¯s a priest, cloistered, and lives far to the west. She visited me, once.¡±


    Iolas stared up at her. ¡°Who do you live with, then?¡±


    ¡°Well, nobody.¡± Celaena shrugged. ¡°One of the neighbours is technically my guardian now, along with our master.¡±


    Saphienne couldn¡¯t believe it. ¡°You live here alone?¡±


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡± Celaena glanced between them both. ¡°I stayed with father in one of his other houses when I was very little, and then he had someone from the village look after me when I first moved here. Madris, if you¡¯ve met her?¡± She smiled, warmly. ¡°She¡¯s really lovely. Sometimes, she visits for tea.¡±


    Disturbed, Iolas shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t you get lonely?¡±


    Celaena furrowed her brow. ¡°Lonely? A wizard has to be comfortable being alone. Solitude is important to our work. And I have plenty of friends.¡±


    ¡°¡­That¡¯s very sad, Celaena.¡±


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Once more caught by surprise, she held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, and her eyes glimmered as she shook her head. ¡°Don¡¯t be odd.¡± Celaena smoothed her apprentice¡¯s robes as she stood and turned away from her friends. ¡°Anyway, we can talk properly in my study. Come on up.¡±


    Saphienne lingered for a moment at the bottom of the stairs as the others climbed, casting her eyes across the tile floor. It looked cold.


    *          *          *


    After their shock wore off, Saphienne and Iolas adjusted to Celaena¡¯s lodgings quite quickly, and they were delighted to discover that her study ¨C which was as big as the sitting room of Saphienne¡¯s family home ¨C even had its own small library. Saphienne¡¯s enthusiasm dimmed slightly when she realised that she¡¯d already read most of the books, and she was puzzled as she wondered what the point was. Why did Celaena have private copies of so many texts, when the village¡¯s library could provide all she would ever need? Did she reread them so often? Were they all of sentimental value?


    ¡°Sentimental?¡± Celaena laughed at Saphienne¡¯s question. ¡°Not at all. Doesn¡¯t every decent wizard need a library of their own? Don¡¯t you have one? How about you, Iolas?¡±


    He shook his head in reply; Celaena thought they were both quite odd.


    Later in the afternoon, in the middle of their note-sharing session, Celaena abruptly looked up, then jumped to her feet and threw open a window, greeting the magpies that had come to roost outside. She introduced each as she fed them with seeds she kept in her satchel, explaining their family history, along with their rivalry with the local crows ¡ª which she was doing her best to calm, by feeding the two flocks together whenever she could. She beckoned her fellow elves over, introducing them in turn to her avian friends.


    Iolas already knew about the seeds. ¡°She really likes birds,¡± he said to Saphienne, gently petting one of the tamed magpies as it ate from his palm. ¡°I just didn¡¯t know she liked them this much.¡±


    *          *          *


    When evening came, Saphienne lingered outside the imposing doorway after Iolas had left, and she stared thoughtfully at Celaena, until the older girl blushed.


    ¡°What is it, Saphienne?¡±


    Saphienne made up her mind. ¡°Would you like to have dinner with me?¡±


    Her question was not what Celaena was expecting, and caused the girl¡¯s flush to deepen even further, alarm appearing in her eyes. ¡°Saphienne, I¡¯m flattered, but¡­ you know I have a friend¡­ and you¡¯re too young¡­¡±


    ¡°Too young to eat with me?¡± Saphienne tilted her head. ¡°I¡¯m going to meet Faylar at the library. We eat dinner together. I thought you might want to join us, since¡­ you both should be friends again.¡±


    Celaena¡¯s expression had quickly danced through several different emotions as Saphienne was speaking, and now settled on awkward relief. ¡°I see. You shouldn¡¯t have phrased it like that.¡± Endeared by her, she managed a smile. ¡°Odd bird.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re avoiding the question.¡±


    Celaena coughed, and looked over Saphienne¡¯s shoulder, watching Iolas pass through the gate. ¡°¡­I was meant to ask you where you live, wasn¡¯t I? I suppose you could show me¡­ after dinner¡­ but¡­¡± She sighed, and returned her gaze to Saphienne. ¡°Do you think Faylar wants to see me?¡±


    ¡°He does.¡± She leant against the frame of the door. ¡°I spoke to him yesterday. He said he misses you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know what to say to him. ¡®Hello Faylar, nice to see you, sorry you¡¯re not cut out for wizardry?¡¯ His heart was set on joining us.¡± She stared down at her shoes, her brooding reflected in the black tiles. ¡°I don¡¯t know what else we have in common.¡±


    Saphienne lightly stepped on Celaena¡¯s foot, and glared at her when she looked up in surprise. ¡°Find out! And he is cut out for wizardry, he¡¯s just taking longer to get there. Don¡¯t you dare discourage him.¡±


    Studying her face, Celaena seemed unconvinced. ¡°Isn¡¯t it cruel? To give him false hope?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not pretending.¡± Saphienne folded her arms. ¡°He¡¯s learning a lot. And just because he was turned away, that doesn¡¯t mean he won¡¯t be back. Almon turned me away at first, remember.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not meant to say his name, you¡¯re supposed to call him your mas¨C¡±


    ¡°Oh, fuck all that.¡± Saphienne felt her cheeks burning, unused to swearing. ¡°Which matters more? Respect for wizards, or your friends?¡±


    Celaena opened her mouth to answer, but no words came. She looked startled, and then conflicted, and when she finally spoke her voice sounded much smaller. ¡°¡­Both matter.¡±


    ¡°Do you miss Faylar?¡±


    Celaena nodded.


    ¡°Then come have dinner with us. Tease him, like you used to.¡±


    Wavering, Celaena went to step out, then stopped, glancing down at her robes. ¡°Let me get changed, first. I know we¡¯re meant to wear the robes, but¡­¡±


    Saphienne blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to remind him that we¨C¡±


    ¡°I meant about the robes. What do you mean, we¡¯re meant to wear them?¡±


    Celaena took a moment, and then she smiled. ¡°No one told you? Wizards who are welcomed into the Luminary Vale, or who want to be welcomed there, are meant to wear their robes when out in public. Apprentices with such ambitions are supposed to do the same.¡±


    Saphienne still didn¡¯t understand. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Appearances.¡± Celaena gave her an indulgent smile. ¡°Being a wizard has to matter to you, more than anything, and you have to show everyone else that it matters. Also, people treat wizards with deference.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see why that¡­ really, all of the time?¡±


    ¡°Most of the time. Enough that people are surprised when you don¡¯t wear them.¡± Her eyes were bright. ¡°Father told me all about it. He sent me a very long letter. But I don¡¯t think he¡¯d disapprove if I dressed informally this time, since there¡¯s a good reason.¡± Stepping forward, she hugged Saphienne. ¡°Wait here. I¡¯ll be back down.¡±


    The door shut itself as she went back inside, leaving Saphienne to ponder her own robes. Yesterday, she had changed out of them without thinking.


    She hadn¡¯t meant to spare Faylar from heartache. The thought had never even crossed her mind.


    *          *          *


    Since Celaena had left Saphienne stood on her doorstep while she changed, Saphienne felt comfortable doing the same when they stopped by her house. Fortunately, her mother was entranced by the fascinator, lounging in her bedroom, and so didn¡¯t even notice when Saphienne came up the stairs, nor did she do anything other than laugh quietly to herself as Saphienne went back down them.


    Idly, as Saphienne collected food for herself and her friends from the pantry, she wondered what magical daydream could be so amusing to her mother.


    Faylar was sitting by the fire when the girls arrived at the library, reading over his written notes and making annotations in the margins. He didn¡¯t glance up when Saphienne appeared next to him. ¡°Just a moment.¡±


    ¡°¡­Hello Faylar,¡± Celaena said.


    His pen scratched a long line across the page as he looked up, and he inhaled sharply ¡ª caught between happiness to see Celaena, and fear at being seen by her.


    She, too, stood awkwardly, and clasped her hands together behind her back, squeezing her fingers to distract herself from her anxiety.


    Saphienne looked between them both. She didn¡¯t know what to say.


    But it was Celaena who broke the silence, looking pointedly at the page he¡¯d just scored. ¡°I see your calligraphy hasn¡¯t gotten any better.¡±


    Faylar looked down, and then mildly grinned at the paper, his grin remaining in place as he set it aside and made a show of brushing his hair behind his ear, sitting back. ¡°It¡¯s quite good, actually. When I¡¯m not being interrupted. Don¡¯t you have spells you¡¯re meant to be learning?¡±


    She laughed. ¡°Like you¡¯d know anything about that.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± His expression grew sad. ¡°I suppose not.¡±


    Celaena turned pale, and she started to apologise ¡ª only for Faylar to burst out laughing, and he stood up to hug her as she warmed to a rosy red.


    She slapped his back. ¡°Ass.¡±


    ¡°Good to see you, too.¡±


    Saphienne smiled, though her smile was short-lived, as Filaurel coughed meaningfully at the three of them from her desk, glancing from them to a small child who was reading within earshot.


    ¡°We should go upstairs,¡± Saphienne said, lifting the basket that held their dinner.


    Celaena glanced at the librarian, and lowered her voice. ¡°Are we allowed to eat in here?¡±


    ¡°Faylar and I can.¡±


    He agreed. ¡°There are rules. You better follow them, or Saphienne will turn you into a toad. She can do that now, she said.¡±


    Saphienne blinked. ¡°No I didn¡¯t¨C¡±


    But both of them were loudly laughing at her, and she got the joke and laughed along ¡ª until Filaurel loudly shushed them all, her face stern.


    Chastened now, Saphienne, Faylar, and Celaena shuffled away, and they went up the stairs together. Faylar spoke again when they were halfway between the floors. ¡°So, what have you been learning?¡±


    ¡°About the disciplines of magic,¡± Saphienne answered. ¡°We¡¯ve touched on a few. Nothing about casting spells, more the history of how the disciplines were discovered, and the rules they follow.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not supposed to share specifics,¡± Celaena cautioned. ¡°Our master¡¯s the only wizard in the village who can teach magic.¡±


    Faylar sighed. ¡°Well, fuck me for asking, I guess. Still, is it fun?¡±


    Both apprentices paused on the upper landing, looking to each other, neither quite sure how to answer the question.


    Then Celaena grinned. ¡°You know something, Faylar? As of today, I think it¡¯s going to be. We¡¯re going to have a lot of fun. Won¡¯t we, Saphienne?¡±


    Saphienne met her with a hopeful smile. ¡°Let¡¯s find out.¡±


    End of Chapter 24

 Temporary Note — TEWWBAD Progress Update

    Don''t worry ¡ª new chapters are still releasing on schedule! Chapter 25 releases on Tuesday the 25th of March 2025.


    Hello everyone,


    This is just an update to tell you how TEWWBAD is going, so you can get some insight into behind-the-scenes. I value your interest, so I want to keep you in the loop about how we''re doing.


    How are we doing?


    I''ve read that Royal Road hosts somewhere in the region of 50,000 fictions. I don''t know the exact number, but that estimate tracks with my experience: TEWWBAD was ranked somewhere around the 40k mark on the day it was first published.


    Ranking is determined by only three things: star ratings, short reviews, and full reviews.


    Full reviews count way more than short reviews, which count more than star ratings. To my knowledge, readers/views don''t count for ranking.


    So how are we doing? On February 5th, shortly after launch, TEWWBAD was ranked 19,364th. About a month later, on the 3rd of March, we had risen to 9858th.


    On Friday the 21st of March, we reached 4,019th of all fictions on Royal Road.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    This was thanks to the twenty-three wonderful people who have rated the story, a great short review by StarryRazi, and two lovely full reviews by Sirealism and Hiria Dunning (shout out of the moment to Hiria, whose beautiful review pushed us up 638 places and into the top 5k).


    Last I checked, this put us at 25th in Rising Stars for the "Psychological" genre, and 10th in Rising Stars for the "Tragedy" genre. It also means that TEWWBAD is now counted somewhere in the top 10% or so of fictions on Royal Road. It gets harder and harder to hold on to our ranking the higher we climb, but I''m doing everything I can to break us into the top 2.5k ¡ª and into the main Rising Stars listing.


    Given I started here with no previous work, no buzz, and no word of mouth, this is a pretty decent performance for a first story.


    To those of you who have rated or reviewed TEWWBAD: thank you, eternally, from the bottom of my heart. You''re making a huge difference to my life.


    And to show my thanks, when TEWWBAD is done I''m going to write a short story and upload it only on Royal Road ¡ª and I''ll dedicate it, by name, to everyone who posts a fair review before the story is complete. I''d happily include everyone who gives a rating as well, but unfortunately I can''t see your names.


    So, what now?


    I''m thinking of doing updates like these every once in a while. I''d like to talk a little about the challenges of making it as a professional author (i.e. why the ranking on here matters so much ¡ª it''s not ego), as well as future writing plans for TEWWBAD and beyond. I''ve put a poll below on this topic, so please give it a quick vote.


    That''s all for now. My cat is demanding I stop, and that we go have lunch. Who am I to argue?


    Thanks for reading,


    LJ


    P.S. This is a temporary message. It was too long for an author''s note in a chapter, so I''ll delete it next week.