Rather than leave immediately – and having sat alone with herself for quite long enough – Saphienne went out to look for Laewyn and Iolas, searching through the labyrinth that was Celaena’s house until she eventually wandered into a grand dining hall. She found them eating toasted bread, fruit, and pastries together, and so joined them for a proper breakfast while she waited on Celaena rising, not wishing to depart without saying farewell.

That Laewyn was with them meant that neither of the apprentice wizards could discuss what they had learned the night before. Saphienne surreptitiously studied Iolas for clues as to how he was feeling: although his robes were mildly crumpled and he had a few hairs out of place, he appeared to have slept well enough, the barest bruising beneath his eyes suggesting that he had lain awake longer than she. He was smiling as he talked, his posture relaxed… which wasn’t an act, judging by the way a quip from Laewyn nearly made him choke on his toast with laughter.

His glances back at Saphienne revealed Iolas was wondering much the same; she gave him a bright smile and a helpless shrug — which made him chuckle. They both lied smoothly to Laewyn about why.

Celaena eventually descended from her bedroom, yawning and holding up her hand to refuse conversation until she had poured and drank half a cup of bitter black tea, whereupon she quietly rejoined the living. The teasing presence of Laewyn gradually banished whatever still haunted her from the night before, until she was giggling along with her girlfriend’s friendly sarcasm.

When at last Saphienne was preparing to leave she tightly hugged Iolas, leaning up to whisper in his ear. “Perhaps not being able to share everything won’t be so bad…”

He nodded back thoughtfully, not yet convinced.

Celaena embraced her after — and then so did Laewyn, offering a flirtatious remark about hugs being enough ‘for now’ that made Saphienne blush, Iolas roll his eyes, and Celaena poke her girlfriend hard in the ribs.

On reflection – as she skipped down through the terraced garden – Saphienne decided she wasn’t quite happy...

…But for the moment, she was contented.

* * *

Lynnariel was busy with the fascinator when Saphienne arrived home, and she remained oblivious as her daughter climbed the stairs and crept down the hall.

Once Saphienne had shut the door to her bedroom, she took the time to put on fresh clothes before she brought out the immature bulb and opened the window. Then she pondered: did the window have to be open, or could Hyacinth still enter if it were closed? The circle of salt that Almon had made around his home would suggest so — and in any case, the window frame wasn’t completely airtight. She was tempted to try the ritual with the panes pulled shut, but that struck her as too inhospitable, for all that it might have been enlightening.

Then she flushed in self-awareness. “…Why not just ask her…”

Still, when she set the bulb on the windowsill she thought for a moment, promptly licking her finger to smear a circle with her saliva.

“Hyacinth!” Saphienne invoked the spirit with melody. “Fair and sylvan, friend and servant — come you now unto this circle, wound in bond of peace, in accordance with the ancient ways. Hyacinth! Heed my cry, heed my need — come you now into this circle, wound as I beseech, in accordance with your ancient ways. Hyacinth! Tread the trod, stride the way — come you forth within this circle, wound that you might reach, in accordance with our ancient ways.”

A breeze was against her cheek before she had finished, the tresses of her hair fanning out behind her as the spirit descended to the circle. Saphienne didn’t wait either, and simply touched the bulb.

* * *

The third time Hyacinth possessed Saphienne, the field of her namesake flowers glittered beneath a rainbow haze, snowflakes melting on the air to form prisms before the radiant sun. She bounded to Saphienne in her mirroring, floral form with an eager grin that suggested she had been waiting — and stumbled to a halt, having to stop herself from immediately taking root upon the steps, obviously raring to share with the elf.

Saphienne’s smile was more tempered as she nodded. She retreated a pace away and sat, watching the twining blooms find purchase on stone, feeling her speech being enveloped by the woodland spirit as she greeted her. “Good afternoon, Hyacinth. The same terms as last time.”

Disappointment showed on the bloomkith’s cheeks as her blossoms wilted. “And I had hoped to hail success with rhyme…”

“…One, then. Better make it a good one.”

“As though my verse is ever less than prime!” Offended, the spirit had folded her arms as she shot back her retort — and now gasped in realisation. “No– wait!”

Saphienne giggled. “I said one. That will have to satisfy you, for today.”

Hyacinth sank down onto the field, seeming dejected. “As elves go, you are a harsh master.”

“Compared to Almon? I think not.” She clasped her hands together, leaning forward as she peered upon the bloomkith and sensed her playfulness. “Don’t pretend you’re actually upset.”

“As elves go, you are no fun.” She stuck her tongue out, briefly reminding Saphienne of Kylantha before she leant back on her palms. “Why did you keep me waiting?”

“I’ve had a busy week…” Her evasion felt obvious. “…And I’m not sure how I feel about talking to you. But we’ll get to that. How did you obscure the tracks from the clearing?”

Her admission drew Hyacinth’s interest, but the spirit let the matter wait, being eager to tell of her accomplishment. “Beneath the hoof and claw of beast — easily done for one such as I, for all that it drew the attention of your wardens. My sisters, too… who were quite annoyed by my interference, but accepted it was in service to a worthy cause.”

Saphienne remembered what Faylar’s mother had mentioned to him about unusual migration patterns, amused. “Interference?”

“These woods are tended well from both sides,” Hyacinth answered, “and the roaming of the animals is of significance to how they grow over time. After I had covered over the trail you and your friends left behind, my sisters had to return the beasts to their proper places. The lay of the land depends upon what grazes, and hunts, where.”

Intrigued, she pursed her lips. “Why do spirits and the wardens make so great an effort? Why maintain the forest to such an exacting standard?”

Laughing, Hyacinth tilted her head back, bathing in her own mind’s sunlight. “…In accordance with the ancient ways. But this knowledge is not forbidden to you, only difficult to explain in full. Saphienne, what benefit do elves receive from our tending to the wilds?”

She knew what she had been told. “Abundance, and peace. We always have enough to eat and drink, and the creatures of the woodlands see us as kin.”

“Save where you go horned.” Her smirk was knowing. “Holly sends her regards. You acquitted yourself well with her.”

“Is she a friend of yours?”

“I have few friends.” She met Saphienne’s gaze. “Holly is gentle and forgiving by nature — but she is not my confidant. She, too, would set horns upon her brow, should a hunt be called.”

The symbolism was unclear to Saphienne. “We didn’t talk much about hunting. What’s the significance of horns?”

“Elves wear horns when they hunt, so that your prey does not associate your hornless heads with danger.”

Which implied that Holly was nominally sympathetic, but would turn on them both if she had reason to believe they were apostates. “…I see.”

“Good.” The bloomkith relaxed again, flowers soaking up the warmth. “You are fed from the bounty of the woodland and excepted from its struggles. We, too, are fed from that same bounty, and excepted from similar struggles. We also…” Hyacinth hesitated. “…How we arise is a consequence of the woodlands, both what grows to form it, and what dwells within it.”

“You’re dependent on the plants and animals?”

“And the elves.” Hyacinth let out a slow sigh. “How the forest unfolds across the centuries, and how that unfolding is identified by all who behold it, both calls us forth and grants us shape. Not merely physical shape.”

A ripple of associations ran across Saphienne’s mind. “Sympathy of identity… acting on resonance…”

“The maple-blooded remains quick, I see.”

Saphienne stood, advancing to the edge of the field. “Sunlight is magical. Woodland spirits favour the east because the sun rises there, and sunlight feeds your magic… which I’m beginning to understand isn’t just your spells, is it?”

Hyacinth’s giggle danced, silver chimes in the wind. “Are we not all magical?”

“Sunlight feeds the forest, and the magic of sunlight bleeds through the forest by sympathetic connection…” She hesitated. “…What resonance does sunlight have?”

“Pure.” Her yellow eyes shone to the word. “The sun is fair. All things thrive beneath the light, and so too, all things are bleached and burned.”

“Then… the resonance flows through space–”

“By touch of root and leaf.”

“Across time–”

“As the turning of the seasons.”

“And by semblance?”

Hyacinth sat up, stroking her fingers across the flowers on her shoulder, and also trailing them through the stems upon the field. “As bloom to its kith, and wood to its kin.”

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Yet Hyacinth had said the spirits were shaped by animals and elves. “…And identity? What form does identity take?”

The bloomkith beamed with pride. “Me, and my sisters.”

* * *

Hyacinth hadn’t been lying: Saphienne struggled to fully comprehend what the spirit did her utmost to explain.

After what felt like endless revolutions of questions and answers, Saphienne massaged her temples. “Then… how animals and elves experience the forest determines which spirits will arise, and the type of person they will be?”

“More that you shape how we understand ourselves.” Hyacinth was being patient, but did nothing to conceal her mild boredom as she idly played with her blossoms. “We are the land in which we dwell. What you might conceive as death for us is more like falling back asleep… unconsciousness, not oblivion. When we arise from the land, we arise from where what you call resonance has pooled.”

Saphienne nodded. “Physically, where it’s accumulated in space and across time… with your form determined by the strongest sympathetic connection of semblance. So if the resonance happens to collect in a patch of hyacinths–”

There, Hyacinth laughed. “Not by mere happenstance, not for I. We cultivate the forest, and so my elder sisters are one half of my parentage.”

The profound implications of the ancient ways on spirits began to take shape. “And elves are the other?”

“Arguably the greater, through what you call sympathy of identity.” She grinned. “I would have you know: when I asked ‘Upon what spirit has thy heart been fed?’ I was making a very funny joke.”

Reeling, Saphienne began to pace back and forth. “So you’re… does that mean…” Her stride lengthened, and she skipped over the line of flowers growing in front of her each time she approached them, spinning on the ball of her foot whenever she reached either end of the steps. “…Hyacinth, does how I understand you change you?”

Nervousness showing, Hyacinth stood. “It could.”

She stopped in her tracks.

“When we are newly arisen,” the bloomkith shared, “we are entirely shaped by the identity prepared for us. As we grow into ourselves, we take on what surrounds us, including what is shared with us by other spirits of our kith, and more distantly our kin. When elves are introduced to us–”

“At nine.” Saphienne recalled the rite. “That’s when we’re properly made aware of you… which I suppose is held back until we’re old enough not to be afraid, which makes a lot of sense now.”

“Yes. But we are not helpless to resist.” She plucked at her petals, anxiety showing all the same. “How you know us – not merely in mind, but in your heart – imprints upon us, as like the way elves imprint upon each other. As we mature, we can choose between what has been presented to us, and in doing so, we construct for ourselves a self.”

There, Saphienne sat on the edge of the steps and let her legs dangle in the field. “You chose a secret name for yourself — an identity. You called it the truth of your being.” She was struck by vertigo as she grasped the significance. “If someone knows your secret name, they know the identity you cling to in yourself, that keeps you who you wish to be. And with that intimate knowledge… with such a strong sympathetic connection, how they understand you would imprint much harder, wouldn’t it?”

“Is it not so, for all children and their parents?”

Saphienne shivered.

Hyacinth regretted the words, and came to crouch before her. “I spoke without thinking. I am sorry, Saphienne.”

She shook her head, pushing away her feelings along with the offered sympathy. “I don’t know what you’re apologising for.” Saphienne distracted herself with thoughts about the woodland spirits. “I suppose this is why Iolas’ father doesn’t know you used to follow him around: you kept yourself hidden, to avoid being known.”

“I learned from him still.” Tentatively, she gestured to the steps, then joined Saphienne upon them when she received permission, sitting close by her side. “How he knows the woodlands left its mark upon me.”

So much of the bloomkith’s principles now made sense. “…And there were others?”

Hyacinth smiled, and said nothing.

Slowly, feeling it through, Saphienne read part of what she didn’t say. The revelation shook her – tears welling up in her physical eyes where she stood before the window – and she heard the crack of thunder far behind the library as she blinked.

“…You followed me.” Saphienne turned to kneel on the steps, facing her. “You followed all of us before the trial, so you said, but you followed me the closest.”

“I was very surprised, when the path of wizardry was opened before you.” Hyacinth lay a hand upon her cheek. “Moreso when I began to understand the reasons why; and then to recognise myself in you.”

Her voice fell to a whisper. “…Did I make you do it?”

“All I do, I choose for myself.” Hyacinth studied her closely. “Were you to know my secret name, then you would be accountable for who I become. What part you have played in my being so far — only the gods can say for certain.”

Saphienne knew that Hyacinth had led Iolas’ father to the clearing before she formed a plan to free the sunflower spirit; when she had put that plan into motion was unclear. Now she wondered just how long ago the spirit had begun to follow her, and so to what extent feeding upon Saphienne’s heart may have, indirectly, instigated that plan. “I had it all wrong. I was worried–”

“Iolas is right.” Hyacinth chuckled. “But only half-right.”

Saphienne frowned–

And then exploded with laughter, laughs that became shrieks, laughs that played out before the windowsill as Hyacinth joined in, laughs that became breathless as she leaned against the bloomkith and buried her face in the soft petals that grew from her eerie other self.

When she found her voice, she murmured the truth. “…We’re bad for each other…”

Hyacinth grinned as she pulled away, stood, and offered Saphienne her hand. “Walk with me?”

Staring up at the bloomkith, Saphienne felt intense trepidation, like never before. “…We’re going to travel? Where to?”

“Walk with me,” she insisted. “It matters not where — so long as we go together.”

Nelathiel had said walking with a spirit so soon after Saphienne’s first lesson was unusual, betraying her mild concern. Saphienne was four years younger than elves usually were when they walked with spirits for the first time… and she knew that the younger elves were, the greater the impression left by the experience.

And, as both the elf and the spirit knew: they were bad for each other.

But in that moment? She didn’t care.

Within, Saphienne accepted Hyacinth’s hand. Without, she flicked the bulb out of her window.

* * *

Now she understood the magic of the sun.

Not intellectually. Not in any way she could put into words. Not in any way that would benefit her study of wizardry, or that could give philosophical context to the world she was painfully growing into, one day at a time.

As Saphienne-Hyacinth walked out of the village and into the woodland – golden eyes half-closed, lips parted, fingers wide to trail through the breeze – she beheld the afternoon sunlight through the rustling leaves and saw that it was good. Every fibre of her being exulted in her life: in the raw, tactile sensation of living, each breath nourishing her flesh, every birdcall stimulating the inner chambers of her long ears, all she witnessed imparting majesty into her heart by the coronal luminance that the glorious sky bequeathed.

The world was transcendentally beautiful. She was beautiful, in love – and all that frightened her about it – with herself. Yet she did not feel like Saphienne had when she drank the holy brew — her perceptions were not distorted, only magnified, the grandeur of living made clearer without the agony of herself to occult it. Nor was she blinded to herself by her oneness with the forest as Hyacinth, able now to walk independently and in full, and so see herself within herself reflecting herself in infinite mirth.

She let herself be

.

Until, stopping in a copse of solid trunks and swaying limbs not far from the lake, she glanced down at her vibrant body, exhaled, and let herself draw apart.

* * *

“You are yet too young,” Hyacinth complained, wistfully, as she separated herself from Saphienne and sank down on the library steps.

“I’m not.” Saphienne collapsed beside her, aching at the emptiness. Her brow creased as she felt uncertainty fluttering in her belly. “…Or at least, I wasn’t just then…”

“Which is why you are yet too young.” Hyacinth stretched. “You have not yet completed the work of preparing your self; and I must not take you further into the tree than you have learned to climb.”

Saphienne sat up. “This was your first time walking with someone, wasn’t it?”

“In that way.” Her lips twisted. “We briefly touched when you last let me deep into your mind, but that hardly counts, and what I did to Celaena was not the same.” Her expression darkened as she remembered. “Recalling that now makes me feel… unclean.”

Many questions boiled in her mouth; she swallowed them. “She’ll forgive you. Give her time.”

Hyacinth shut her eyes. “From your lips, to the ears of the gods.”

Entranced by what they had shared, Saphienne reached out to trace the flower-strewn hair of the bloomkith where she lay upon the steps, and despite the weirdness of Hyacinth’s form being an imitation of her own, her gesture was affectionate, full of warmth. “Whatever happens at the summer solstice–”

“Saphienne.” Hyacinth’s glare teased her. “You cannot tell me you do not know what occurs, not now.”

She blushed. “…I imagined it was sex. Nelathiel didn’t deny that. But it’s not just any one thing, is it? Elves and spirits walk together…”

“There are no prescriptions.” Hyacinth watched the sky beyond Saphienne. “Those who participate spend the night walking, and the boundary between self and other is set aside. What happens depends upon the natures of those who are unified. Not all is light and carefree. For some there are tears, and screams… but you know,” she giggled, “that these experiences are flowers with many petals.”

That Saphienne had figured it out for herself meant that Hyacinth hadn’t violated the ancient ways; or perhaps she didn’t care, their walk together having made her more willing to share. “…Hyacinth, there are questions I want to ask you–”

“No.”

She stared, lifting her hand away as she felt the pang of rejection.

“Not yet.” Hyacinth rose to sit with her. “Yesterday, and in the lesson where you met me, you learned of the dangers around you. You do not have the means to protect yourself. Were Almon or my sisters to seek your knowledge, you would be defenceless.”

Saphienne glowered. “Not completely.”

“Can you say for certain that you could resist?”

Reluctantly, she shook her head.

“Then whatever personal questions you wish to ask me,” the sylvan spirit said, affecting a lightness of tone that belied her seriousness, “they will have to wait until you have progressed further along your path.”

What Saphienne wanted to know wasn’t personal in the way her words implied. She yearned to share with Hyacinth like she had with Filaurel, one apostate to another, and to go further, to learn what the view of the woodlands was like from the other side. And Hyacinth knew this — and was telling her, more directly than when she had first refused to admit to apostasy, that it wasn’t safe to speak freely with each other.

Not yet.

Resigned, she changed the subject. “…Will you be walking at the summer solstice?”

Hyacinth hesitated. “I… do not know. We are alike in how we trust, you and I. Perhaps I will go a short distance with someone, so long as I know them, and feel comfortable.” She lowered her head. “I may wait another five years.”

“Wait for wha–”

Saphienne blushed as intensely as Hyacinth, the scarlet on her skin a complement to the red petals of the flowers.

“…We really are alike, aren’t we?”

“More than you yet know.” Hyacinth stood without meeting her gaze, and stepped out onto the flowers. “I will not walk with you again, not until you are more accomplished in your arts — especially the art of yourself. To do otherwise would be unhealthy.”

Iolas’ conversation with Saphienne, when they had sat together on the island, returned to mind. “Maintaining appropriate boundaries?”

“…I hope so.” Hyacinth raised her tawny eyes, which were full of uncertainty as she searched Saphienne’s face, far from the confident spirit as whom she had previously performed. “None of my sisters, and no one among the elves, will think what we have shared today was inappropriate. You were judged mature enough; you could easily have suffered at my hands as Celaena suffered. But there are boundaries set for us, and boundaries we must set for ourselves, and I fear whatever harm I may do to you unwittingly. If we are to become friends–”

Saphienne stepped onto the flowers after her, heedless of their depths, and took hold of her hands. “We are friends.”

Smiling softly, Hyacinth led her back onto the steps. “Then if we are to remain friends, what inequity exists between us must disappear. Attend to your studies with Almon, and attain the strength to defend yourself, and the power to bind me. Then, we will walk again.”

Saphienne laughed. “That’s all? You’ll be waiting for years–”

“No, Saphienne.” Hyacinth canted her head to the side. “No, I do not think I will. I cannot explain why – I do not know why – but you will surpass the wizard’s expectations, and much sooner than anyone expects.”

She blinked. “…I hope you’re right. I want that.”

Hyacinth receded into the thickening snows with an ambiguous, delicate laugh. “And I hope it is right, to want that for you.”

End of Chapter 58