Anticipating that her adversaries wanted to sully her reputation, Saphienne identified three approaches through which she would be assailed. She turned her mind to these as she lay in bed, hearing her mother and Laelansa talking downstairs while they cooked breakfast.

  First was what had happened when the dragon descended. Should the Luminary Vale conclude that Saphienne wasn’t the hero everyone believed, everything that had followed would be overturned. For the sake of the blissful lives she owed her mother and girlfriend, she needed to maintain the legend of how she’d driven off the dragon — but dared not deceive the forthcoming investigation.

  Practically, she knew herself well enough to know lying would further complicate the situation, assuming she could succeed; more generally, treading that path would risk her future studies while making her into the duplicitous magician she didn’t want to become. Yet were the unrestrained truth to be shared, it could and would be used to condemn her.

  “…I need to know what they’ll assume.”

  If she could play into the assumptions of the investigating wizards and sorcerers, she might answer in a way that let them fill in the gaps, avoiding unhelpful scrutiny without actively misleading them. Hers would be a defensive manipulation — much like with Fascination spells, she drew her moral line there. That she was going up against scholars who were trained not to make assumptions posed a challenge…

  …As did the possibility that a High Master might bias the investigation.

  Would Lenitha do that?

  Saphienne sat up, coiling her long braid around her fist.

  Hyacinth had previously suggested that Wormwood and Lenitha might be well-intentioned, and then Lenitha had insisted that her goal was to avoid the tragedy that befell Kythalaen: the ancient elf wanted Saphienne to live, and to live happily. There was a chance that the High Master would balk at her efforts going to waste thanks to woodland politics, especially since the arrival of the dragon was related to–

  Laughing to herself, Saphienne planted her feet on the floor.

  She wasn’t defenceless. Should the High Master decide Saphienne was a necessary sacrifice for the sake of upholding the ancient ways, then the precocious magician could retaliate by redirecting popular anger onto the Luminary Vale. Hadn’t a High Master identified that Saphienne was cursed? Hadn’t she risked calamity by accelerating that curse?

  Hadn’t Lenitha been responsible for the dragon’s appearance?

  Whether or not the other High Masters knew about Saphienne’s wyrd, the magicians below them didn’t, and the regional consensus certainly hadn’t been informed. Who among them could blame her for doing as she’d been instructed, and telling no one?

  She stood and stretched as she reached a partial solution: Lenitha had to be made aware that Saphienne recognised her options. Threatening the High Master would be unwise, however, especially if she really was as compassionate as she portrayed herself…

  Unbidden, an elegant recourse took shape in Saphienne’s mind.

  “…Celaena, then Vestaele…”

  She swayed to the window, drank in the sunshine, hanging back so that she wouldn’t be visible from the grove.

  She could now ward herself against the first of three onslaughts.

  Second was her valorisation by the regional consensus. Even if her heroics stood, what had been bestowed could be rescinded by a subsequent meeting — and the elders had an interest in maintaining the ancient ways on which their privilege depended.

  An attack couldn’t be launched soon, but from now on everything Saphienne did would be examined for pretext to damage her prestige, sway opinion against her, thereby to ultimately strike from record the words hailing her as enacting the will of the gods. Whether or not he actively plotted against her, for his own reasons, Tolduin would demand that her rewards be rescinded.

  She was also sure to be defamed. Murmurs about her wicked character had been circulating in the village for five years, centred around the reprisals on the girls who’d assaulted her. Those murky circumstances were where the slander would start, hence Saphienne was obliged to revisit them.

  Surrendering Celaena to the debatable justice of the consensus was impossible — Saphienne loved her, and too many powerful people had colluded to cover up her vigilantism. Blaming an innocent party would be unconscionable. Therefore, all that remained was the task of contradicting the rumours’ fundamental premise…

  Saphienne frowned as she backed away from the daylight.

  …She could see what needed to happen. Accomplishing it would be unpleasant.

  Last was her sanctification by the sylvan spirits. Even if Saphienne was a hero, and even if her challenging the dragon had been divine design made manifest? That didn’t mean freeing Tyrnansunna had been other than folly — unless she was endowed with a holiness that elevated her past acts.

  She smiled sadly as she lifted her spellbook, wandering to the bathroom.

  Ironically, she agreed with her detractors. She patently wasn’t belovèd by the gods. Justifying her every action through faith was fine and well for Laelansa, who adored her, and who would believe in her with or without religious encouragement, but from anyone else that unshakable confidence was dangerously reductive.

  Unfortunately, Saphienne couldn’t consent to her consecration being annulled. Too many spirits were convinced her sacredness was necessary to win mercy for their sisters, and their opponents held she was an apostate. Any attempt to align herself with the latter would see her rebuffed, and would be received as a betrayal by the former, leaving her estranged from both sides…

  She glimpsed herself in the mirror above the sink, and paused.

  Saphienne saw an elf.

  Intellectually, for all that she preserved herself with an irrational fantasy that clothed her with scales and crowned her with horns, she knew she was an elf. Beyond the playfulness required to sustain Hallucination spells, this was the only lie which she consciously permitted herself to believe. No matter what else she unwittingly denied, she tried to be true to what she found in the world.

  Saphienne read in her own gaze that she wasn’t avoiding conflict with Holly and Ruddles out of political pragmatism. She wasn’t restrained by her fondness for the bloomkith, either; and she respected Nelathiel and Laelansa enough not to presume that quarrelling with their spirit companions would hurt her relationships with them.

  No, her problem was far worse.

  Saphienne didn’t agree that she was blessed by the gods; but she did agree that no one should be condemned to eternal suffering.

  “…Foolish child…”

  Hyacinth had read her perfectly. If abandoning Kylantha to suffer and die was evil, then how much more so was abandoning anyone to suffer without end?

  This was the heart of Saphienne’s apostasy:

  The ancient ways asserted that elves and spirits mattered more than anyone else because they were ageless, and so their hypothetical suffering became more important than actual suffering. Better to exclude Kylantha, than risk elven and spiritual joy being blemished by mortal empathy; better to remember her innocent and imagine her thriving elsewhere, than see her grow old and wither; better to limit and forget pain, than live in endless grief.

  Meanwhile, Tyrnansunna had supposedly been punished for possessing a child who was too young, thereby altering the course of his life and stealing whatever future might have awaited outside her influence. That she’d done so to ensure Tolduin lived to have a future seemed contrary to this rationale — except she’d really been imprisoned to uphold the rule against proscribed possession.

  Why was that prohibition inviolable? To make stark the abusive possession of elves by spirits, thereby maintaining trust between both groups. But why was the punishment for such possession so harsh? Because an elf might bear the scars forever; the deterrence had to weigh accordingly.

  And so, to abjure the possibility of eternal suffering being inflicted on the blameless, the ancient ways mandated that very occurrence.

  There, Saphienne wondered whether–

  “Saphienne!” Laelansa called up the stairs. “Breakfast is ready!”

  “I’ll come down!”

  As much as she disliked her hallowing, Saphienne couldn’t undermine the clemency Mother Marigold strived to secure. Passive participation in the injustices of the woodlands distressed her enough: to deliberately frustrate what she beheld as right would be intolerable.

  Her reflection smiled, and Saphienne conceived sharp points on her teeth.

  Of course she couldn’t do that — she was a dragon, wasn’t she?

  Her convictions were her scales; she refused to shed them. Better that they be flensed from her, than she abandon herself. But, then–

  “Saphienne? Your oats are getting cold!”

  Enough chasing her undulating tail. Further ruminations could wait.

  Besides, she knew whom to ask for advice.

  *   *   *

  Promised during the festival, delayed no longer, Saphienne lounged beside her girlfriend where they visited her mentor, absently listening to Laelansa and Filaurel chat about the creature with whom she was preoccupied.

  Peluda was sitting on her lap.

  Upon arriving with Laelansa, Saphienne had initially ignored the cat, disconcerted by the way her tawny, feline eyes tracked them even before she dismissed the gross perceptual veil that had hidden their journey through the village. Reasoning that there must be an explanation for how they’d been observed, the magician had attempted to deduce what the fascination hadn’t obscured, and she’d been absorbed by doing so until she’d settled onto the couch — and Peluda had settled onto her.

  Despite withholding affection, Saphienne received endless purrs.

  “She loves you,” Laelansa noted, holding out her fingertips in the vain hope that Peluda would take an interest.

  “Peluda usually sits next to Saphienne.” Filaurel was amused. “I wonder why she’s being so forward today?”

  Laelansa nudged her girlfriend. “Aren’t you going to pet her?”

  “…She noticed us before the veil lifted…”

  Filaurel giggled where she perched on her armchair. “Moments like these remind me: you’re still very sheltered.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Saphienne glanced to her mentor as she gave in and tentatively stroked a fluffy cheek — or rather, had a fluffy cheek enthusiastically rubbed against her hand. “Care to explain?”

  “Elven wizardry doesn’t teach you about cats.”

  Saphienne rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’ve often lamented that the traditional syllabus is lacking when it comes to articulating the arcana of these most magical of beasts.”

  Laelansa quietly pouted. “…They are magical…”

  “A little,” Filaurel agreed. “Wizards outside the woodlands often keep cats as familiars, in part because they’re easy to care for. Magicians are notoriously inattentive to mundane demands on their time…” She grinned as she teased her protégé. “…But that isn’t the only reason. Cats are unusually sensitive to magic.”

  Saphienne blinked — and was mimicked by Peluda. “…They are?”

  “Like I said: a little. Enough that wizards warn their apprentices to beware them when attempting stealth.” The librarian was having fun. “Elven spells don’t take that into account.”

  Laelansa tried to coax Peluda over to her lap, her murmur thoughtful. “Most of us don’t keep pets.”

  “It’s hard.” Filaurel was pained by her nostalgia. “You never forget your first cat… losing them, I mean. I tried not to let Peluda inside, but she’s a tenacious little girl, and she was on my doorstep when it was getting cold…”

  Satisfied that Saphienne had acknowledged she was welcome, Peluda deigned to be received by Laelansa, where she immediately grabbed her wrist with both paws and began nuzzling her palm.

  The novice was wide-eyed. “…Is it really so bad? I’ve thought about taming one…”

  “If you do, commit to the heartache early on.” Forcing a smile that didn’t conceal her upset, Filaurel rose and went into the kitchen. “Saphienne, would you help me with the tea?”

  Saphienne obliged. Laelansa tried to join, but Peluda pointedly demanded she stay, kneading her robes before curling up to be fussed over.

  *   *   *

  Neither magician nor librarian spoke as the kettle was filled and set down to boil; they instead listened to Laelansa effusively complimenting Peluda in the sitting room, who preened, meowing back as though engaged in conversation.

  “…How are you, Saphienne?”

  Studying her first master, Saphienne was slow to smile. She crossed from the doorway to wordlessly hug Filaurel.

  When they separated, her mentor’s eyes were glistening. “Whatever prompted that?”

  “I could tell you needed it.” Saphienne settled against the counter next to her, leaning on her shoulder as they quietly talked. “You’ve been worrying about me. We never got a chance to talk properly after what happened at the lake, and as happy as you were for me in the meeting hall–”

  “Proud.” Filaurel slipped an arm behind her back, pulling her closer. “When you gave that speech to the elders, I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of you.”

  Rarer and rarer were the times when Saphienne still felt like a child, but in that moment she might as well have been fourteen again. “…Really?”

  “You might not be an adult…” No matter how the woodlands infantilised Saphienne, her fellow apostate’s plausibly deniable sarcasm emphasised she was fully grown. “…But you aren’t the same girl who studied under me. I like the woman you’re becoming.”

  Filaurel liked the woman she’d become.

  Saphienne couldn’t understand why, not then, but she was perplexed. “…Even prouder than when I cast my first spell?”

  And Filaurel laughed and stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss atop Saphienne’s head, then brought out cups while the younger woman composed herself.

  Soon the water simmered; Filaurel retrieved her teapot, resuming conversation as she tested the dried tea from her cupboard for freshness. “You’re quite a good orator. What you said was very moving. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been, to forgive Lynnariel.”

  “…Forgiving her wasn’t hard,” Saphienne managed. “I forgave her the day she and I stopped living together. None of what happened was really her fault.”

  The librarian cooled. “You’re very kind, but I disagree. I know Lynnariel has her problems, but she’s old enough to take responsibility for handling–”

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  “Her age doesn’t mean she knows how to do that.” Saphienne didn’t speak harshly, but in her protectiveness toward her mother she was unyielding. “She was never taught how to be at peace with herself, let alone how to raise a child. Did you know she was an orphan?”

  “So I heard you say.”

  “She never had a mother.”

  Filaurel wavered where she was measuring out tea leaves. “…You said she was fostered… didn’t she have anyone who–”

  “No.” Saphienne folded her arms. “Whoever might have cared, she lost them when she was brought here. Then no one gave her the love or the patience she needed to recover: she was foisted off on the priests devoted to Our Lady of the Basking Serpent, treated as though she was sick, rather than grieving. Tolduin did what I suppose elders try to do, and insisted she forget the life she used to live.”

  Filaurel was silent.

  “You know, when I was little, not long after–” Her voice caught. “…Excuse me. Not long after you walked me back to her house, Lynnariel said something that I didn’t fully 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.’” Saphienne snorted as she finished her imitation. “I hated her for that… but it wasn’t her who was speaking, was it? I think she was repeating what someone said to her when she was brought here, about a friend she’d left behind. I think she only changed one word.”

  The librarian busied herself filling the pot.

  “I think I’d have ended up in the same situation as her, if it wasn’t for you.”

  Filaurel gave up, sullen as she spun around. “I still resent her.”

  Perceived rejection riled Saphienne; she reacted poorly, cold in tone while heat gave colour to her cheeks. “No — it isn’t my mother you resent.”

  Her mentor was stricken.

  Too late, Saphienne realised Filaurel hadn’t really heard what she’d been saying. “…I didn’t mean that.” She paled as she abandoned her prickliness to close the distance between them. “I’m trying to tell you that you didn’t save me from Lynnariel — but you did save me.”

  Eyes wide, the older woman neither moved nor spoke.

  A deep, calming breath gave Saphienne the courage to reach for her hand and admit what she felt. “Filaurel, I love you.”

  Filaurel stared down at the tiles on which she stood.

  “I never told you. I should have told you.”

  What was and wasn’t standing in front of Filaurel was annihilating; yet when she found her own slow smile, it was bittersweet. “…Iolas told me. You delu– you fascinated him, didn’t you? The way he passed on your message terrified me. He stopped me in the middle of the festival, calmly repeated it, then when I asked where you were he mentioned that he’d last seen you up at the lake, about to fight a dragon…”

  Saphienne blushed. “I just wanted you to know–”

  “I knew.” Filaurel wiped her eyes. “I knew. I’ve always known. And I’ve always felt the same way…”

  How Saphienne’s heart sang!

  “…But don’t ask me to say it. I want to, but I can’t. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

  And how it fell.

  Saphienne sniffed as she looked away, swallowing. “That’s fine. Really, it’s fine. This isn’t even what I wanted to talk to you about today.”

  The librarian returned to steeping the tea.

  She cleared her throat as she paced back to where she’d been standing. “I’m sorry as well. I didn’t mean to snap at you — I was being childish. My mind’s on the situation my mother was in, and on preventing her from falling back into it.”

  “You weren’t right,” Filaurel softly said, “but you weren’t wrong. Your mother isn’t to blame — and I was being childish as well. I’m not… comfortable… when it comes to family issues.” Her laugh was a rasp. “Blame my mother for that; she’s responsible for everything going to shit.”

  Saphienne chose not to pry.

  “I’m really not the person to ask about how to help Lynnariel.”

  “Not like that.” She sighed. “I’m caught in the middle of religious politics, and without going into the details, there are spirits who’ve decided that they need to dismantle my prominence in order to uphold the ancient ways.”

  Filaurel didn’t respond immediately, careful with her words as she placed the teapot and cups onto a tray. “…Would this be related to the new shrine for offerings by the lake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you being pushed into representing a cause you don’t agree with?”

  How could she answer that tactfully? “I think the spirits who speak highly of me have good intentions for the woodlands, and I wish them every success in their efforts. I don’t want to stand in their way.”

  “And the other side?”

  “Suffice it to say, they would be extremely unlikely to entertain my redemption.”

  Filaurel swore under her breath. “You’re in trouble.”

  “I am,” Saphienne conceded. “Bowing out gracefully isn’t possible, which means I’ve no choice but to defend myself from attack while avoiding being drawn further in. I’m not politically na?ve, but I don’t know enough about how our consensus aligns with the spirits–”

  “So you’re here to talk to the village secretary.” She lifted the tray. “I see. And I see why you’re worried about Lynnariel, given how hard you had to fight to get her away from Tolduin…” Her smile for Saphienne was weary. “You really fucked him over. His reputation among his fellow elders has suffered badly.”

  “I didn’t see another way.”

  Filaurel shook her head. “Saphienne, I only left you alone for five years, and look at the mess you’ve made…”

  They shared a wry smile.

  Resigned to give Saphienne all that she could, Filaurel led the way. “Come on: Laelansa can only pretend she isn’t affording us privacy for so long. Let’s sit together, and I’ll tell you what I understand.”

  *   *   *

  Laelansa turned out to already know some of what Filaurel shared with them, having gleaned it through her novitiate.

  Key to the cultural relations between elves and spirits was that they shared no consensus — no elf had standing in the dialogues between spirits, and neither bloomkith nor woodkin could participate in elven meetings. As extraordinary as this initially seemed to Saphienne, the more she contemplated the arrangement, the better she comprehended that the porous boundaries of personhood presented by elves walking with spirits posed intractable problems that necessitated their parallel, yet overlapping, structures.

  Filaurel joked that trying to count votes was hard enough without deciphering how many people Saphienne, Laelansa, and Hyacinth comprised in combination, never mind how to handle up to five divergent opinions.

  Matrons of the woodlands occupied a role akin to elders, except their authority was not bound up in rules and procedure. Whereas elves balanced the letter of the law against the spirit in which it was intended, the governance of bloomkith and woodkin was – as Filaurel delighted to pun – entirely spiritual, precedent literally propagated through buds and grafts. Prose alone could not convey the poesy that ruled their debates, wherein meaning and sentiment were symbolised through the language of dream.

  “That’s why their speech is song,” Laelansa added. “Singing expresses feeling, lyrics poetic meaning, and words are ordered with reason; song gives material form to their ephemeral discourse.”

  Saphienne reflected on how she communicated with Hyacinth and Ruddles when possessed. While she could translate her exchanges with them into dialogue, what passed between elf and spirit preceded speech; that this was an extension of an even deeper intertwining made intuitive sense. “Spirits talk about their roots the way we talk about our hearts… and I’ve heard them talk about sharing roots…”

  “As with all things spiritual, metaphor is truth to them.”

  That gave context to the debate she had witnessed, when Hyacinth had intervened against Ansuz to save her. Faylar had translated well that day, but he had omitted what was lost on him, unable to discern the full import implied by the opposing songs that had coalesced between diverging choirs.

  Filaurel clarified that she didn’t understand the ebbs and flows that caused different matriarchs to rescind or rise in prominence, only that the implication of their status was more fluid than that held by elders. What mattered was that the matrons arbitrated for their sisters, and were the primary point of contact between the consensus of the elves and the harmony of spirits. Where formal coordination was required, elders and matriarchs communed through rite to relay developments — and the more important the matter, the more senior the figures involved in that communion.

  “You’re not going to like this,” she warned Saphienne. “The elder most often approached by matrons in our region is–”

  “Fuck.” Saphienne massaged her temples. “Tolduin. It’s Tolduin. Of course it would be fucking Tolduin.”

  Laelansa draped an arm across her back in sympathy. “He is a priest, and well liked by the spirits.”

  Far more commonly than meetings of elders with matriarchs, priests met with spirits of every branch and bud. This was because they shared the same faith, and together they pursued the mysteries that joined bone to wind: politics played no part in the associations of most priests and spirits. However, those among them who were gregarious naturally inclined toward supporting their communities, and this inevitably led to the well regarded among the devout serving as the primary conduits through which elves and spirits reached out to one another.

  Once Laelansa had finished, Filaurel wet her lips. “You’ll find this hard to entertain, Saphienne, but one of the reasons Tolduin has been so well respected is that he doesn’t much involve himself in politics. I don’t mean he avoids participating — only that he’s largely neutral. He passes on messages, abstains from controversial votes whenever he can, and offers his understanding of the spirits when called upon.”

  “…I can imagine that,” Saphienne allowed. “You’re saying he was trusted because he always acted with diplomacy?”

  “He only ever takes a direct position on religious matters, and only when there’s no one else advocating the view he believes in.”

  Laelansa nodded. “…Lynnariel’s care is a religious matter to him… he’s misguided, but his intentions are as good as yours…”

  Difficult as envisioning his goodness was, Saphienne grasped that Tolduin was doing the best he could in the world. “Taerelle once said that Master Almon and I were at odds because we’re too alike, and detest our own flaws too much to forgive them in each other… as much as Tolduin has his discretion, at heart, I suspect he’s just as uncompromising about how he sees things as–”

  She stilled. Inferences fell into place behind her unfocused stare.

  Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.

  Filaurel squinted at her. “You look like you’re being devious.”

  “I’m inspired.” She leant back against the couch, inviting Peluda to return to her lap from Laelansa’s. “Would the matron who regularly delivers messages to our consensus happen to be called Ansuz? Mother Oak?”

  Her mentor was intrigued. “…Yes. They talk frequently. What are you scheming?”

  She stroked Peluda contentedly. “Absolutely nothing.”

  And that was true: Saphienne didn’t have any plans in mind. She’d realised that the spirits who wanted to see her honours revoked by the regional consensus couldn’t enlist Tolduin to make it happen, not under any circumstances. There was too great a risk that he would ask why the spirits were so desperate to see Saphienne profaned — for his conscience must be grappling with the possibility that she was holy.

  After all, hadn’t she delivered the words of Tyrnansunna to him? Didn’t he erroneously believe that the sunflower spirit had been his goddess, and that her subsequent blessing for Saphienne had really been intended for him?

  Taking into account his personal history, Saphienne could see why Tolduin was so successful as a priest. Not only had he experienced a revelation that had profoundly altered his trajectory toward religiosity, but he’d thereby earned the sorrowful sympathy of the spirits, who would have placed themselves at his disposal from the moment he was a novice.

  Yet Tolduin didn’t know why they favoured him. Clearly, he was simply belovèd by Our Lady of the Basking Serpent!

  Saphienne and Tolduin really were similar. Much like he had decided Saphienne should have a normal childhood, and hidden the fact that her mother hadn’t reached social maturity, the matrons of the woodlands had decided that Tolduin shouldn’t come to know what had been done to him. They let him believe that he’d been saved by his goddess, and kept the breach of the ancient ways from all but the most senior elders.

  Accordingly, what Saphienne had done in the hidden clearing couldn’t be shared with Tolduin, not even in vague terms, because he would take it seriously, digging into what had transpired, driven by his steadfast faith to pursue the truth as relentlessly as she did… and the inevitable result would be his total collapse. Nor could her indiscretion be shared with any elves younger than the elder, for fear they would arouse his interest.

  “No,” she said as she grinned broadly at Laelansa, thinking of Ruddles’ abiding warmth for the novice, “I really don’t have to do anything.”

  She had pieced together the puzzle. When almost all the spirits were sympathetic to the plight of Tyrnansunna, why had Mother Oak been so furious with Saphienne for setting her free? Not just to defend the ancient ways; that didn’t explain the motherly rage with which Ansuz had impulsively declared Saphienne an apostate.

  Ansuz had taken a personal interest in Tolduin.

  The spirit cared for him! That was why she had been the first matriarch in the clearing when the alarm was raised, why she had interposed herself in the thick of the drama. Then and there, for his sake, she had decreed that what Saphienne had done was to be suppressed. So, too, it explained why Mother Oak had later backed down to Mother Marigold, chastising the bloomkith who’d hurt Hyacinth and threatened Saphienne, seeking to keep the saga of Tyrnansunna out of the light.

  Her traditionalist sisters expected her to uphold the ancient ways by leading the effort to cut down Saphienne, but she couldn’t risk that. Ansuz would subvert any campaign to shatter the halo forged by Ruddles.

  Tolduin wasn’t going to be a political problem for Saphienne.

  He was leverage.

  *   *   *

  Concluding their time together by answering lighter questions about what everyday care for a cat entailed, Filaurel then announced that Faylar had been left to tend the library alone for too long. Laelansa didn’t realise she was being figurative, and apologised for their detaining Filaurel until Saphienne interjected.

  “Don’t feel awkward,” the librarian consoled Laelansa. “You remind me of how Saphienne used to be, back when she was my apprentice… her earnestness was very sweet. The two of you make a good couple.”

  At least Saphienne blushed too.

  Yet as Laelansa was rinsing out the pot and cups in the sink, she surprised Saphienne by asking a question the magician never would have. “Do you have anyone, Filaurel?”

  The librarian laughed. “You mean a partner?”

  “Or just someone you–”

  Saphienne nudged her girlfriend.

  That only made Filaurel laugh even louder, and she scooped up Peluda as she meandered to the back door. “Don’t mind Saphienne. She’s always been reserved about romantic intimacy.”

  “You don’t need to tell–”

  Saphienne escalated to poking Laelansa. “You don’t need to tell Filaurel that.”

  “I’m pleased to know Saphienne has a love life,” Filaurel granted. “But no, I don’t have your kind of relationship with anyone — for one thing, I’ve never been interested in women.”

  That made Saphienne curious. “You like men?”

  Filaurel set down Peluda, opening the door a crack to let her through. “Not since I was much younger. I left all that behind me a long time ago.”

  Drying her hands, Laelansa was sad. “Aren’t you lonely?”

  Filaurel pressed her palm below her neckline as though in meditation. “…No. Not lonely. And there isn’t anyone around here I’d be interested in.” She shut the cat outside, then made herself smile. “I’d offer to walk you both to wherever you’re going, but I’ve already had plenty of questions about Saphienne from patrons at the library.”

  Saphienne took the hint. “You should go check it’s still standing.”

  “I’ll tell Faylar you said that!”

  Embracing Filaurel, Saphienne was firm. “Please, feel free.”

  *   *   *

  Although Saphienne hadn’t stopped by in what felt like an age, nothing about the home atop the hill hung with paper wheels and wind chimes had changed. She led Laelansa into the overgrown garden before dispensing with their obscuring veil, smiling as she peered into the sunroom at the familiar figure hard at work behind his desk.

  Athidyn was shirtless in the summer heat under his floral shawl, and he startled as he heard her tapping on the frame of the open entrance — then grinned. “…As if having one hero around wasn’t enough…”

  Saphienne laughed as she bowed, going ahead of her girlfriend to hug him. “Has Thessa been enjoying herself, then?”

  “My selfless daughter has been diligently reminding us we’re lucky to have her,” he insincerely complained as he rose to receive her greeting. His tone grew emotional. “Which I suppose we are…”

  “Gods.” Saphienne exhaled as she let go of him. “Fine: let’s get this out of the way once and for all. You’re very welcome, Athidyn. I’m sure you’re eternally in my debt for protecting your children from the dragon, and I’ll forever be welcome in your home — as though I didn’t already have a standing invitation from Iolas.” She mildly, yet pointedly, glared. “Will there be tears as well? Shall I conjure a handkerchief?”

  He was still smiling, untroubled by her theatrics. “I suppose you’re sick of being fawned over.”

  “However could you tell?” Her gaze softened as it flicked to the painting on the wall behind his desk. “Athidyn, I know you’re religious, so I’m begging you to ignore everything you’ll have heard about me — the spirits are misguided. If you really do want to thank me, don’t treat me any differently.”

  He turned to behold Our Lady of the Balanced Scales with her. “…Iolas and Celaena mentioned you weren’t comfortable. Alright, Saphienne.” He gave her a low bow. “Let’s get this out of the way: I do think the spirits are right about you–”

  Her loud groan made Laelansa burst out laughing.

  “–And I know you’re still who you’ve always been. I’ll continue as before, and if the gods take issue with my impiety, I’d ask that you intercede with Them on my behalf–”

  Saphienne couldn’t help but grin in exasperation. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

  He rose in merriment. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  Then the door to the kitchen opened, and Thessa gave a happy yell that summoned everyone else to hurry through.

  *   *   *

  Iolas wasn’t home, having gone out for supplies, but Laewyn had been learning embroidery from his mother in the sitting room, and Celaena came down from her bedroom, glad for an excuse to take a break from her reading.

  Mathileyn was emotional as she set aside the needlework to hold Saphienne and kiss her brow, and then she became overwhelmed when she recognised that her long, blonde hair was styled the way she had shown her years before. The ensuing tears were too much for Laewyn – whose sentimentality always had been easily won – and that moved Celaena, which was enough to undo Saphienne’s resolve, whereupon Laelansa and Thessa were caught up in the mood.

  Athidyn remarked that, since they were all busy, he’d make the tea.

  When the relieved laughter died down, Saphienne stole Celaena away, proclaiming they had wizardry to discuss before further pleasantries.

  *   *   *

  “…I always expect your room to be pink.”

  Celaena grinned as she seated herself on the patchwork blanket on her bed, the wall behind her covered with framed bird feathers in every conceivable hue. “That was my father’s choice — he showed me a pink bird once, and I told him I thought its feathers were beautiful.”

  “A bullfinch?” Saphienne sat next to her.

  “Stranger — a flamingo.” She was captivated by the memory. “They’re wading birds, not native to the woodlands. Very striking. A flock of them is called a ‘flamboyance’ …”

  Saphienne let her lecture, gradually growing misty-eyed anew.

  “… Saphienne? Are you–”

  “I’m just glad.” She grabbed Celaena’s hand. “Glad to be here, again.”

  Celaena huffed as she batted her eyelids. “Oh, stop! Laewyn is bad enough. Don’t you have something you need?”

  To business, then. “I do. You have a Tome of Correspondence, don’t you?”

  The apprentice wizard winced. “Of course you guessed… odd bird. Father was very clear: I’m not allowed to loan–”

  “I don’t need it. I just wanted to be sure your letters to him are private.”

  “…What do you want to say to him?”

  “Nothing.” Saphienne faced Celaena with a brilliant smile. “I just want to share what’s on my mind with one of my best friends; a friend whom I trust to show appropriate discretion toward my private affairs.”

  Celaena shifted nearer on the bed. “I can lend an ear. But you better whisper: I share a wall with Thessa, and she likes to eavesdrop.”

  They leaned close, and the magician talked about her nervousness over the forthcoming investigation…

  …Along with her fear that, under pressure, she might let slip what she intended to keep to herself, and thereby inconvenience a High Master who’d been nothing but kind…

  End of Chapter 117

  Chapter 118 releases Friday the 27th of February 2026.

  Thanks for reading!