Across the week that followed Saphienne gave very little thought to the practicalities of magic, throwing herself into what she had learned from Faylar by seeking other activities that would clear and sharpen her mind. Apart from a conversation with Gaeleath – to be recounted another time – she merely spent half an afternoon compiling her notes and then putting them away, though where she could safely leave them gave her pause. She didn’t trust her mother with her belongings.

She asked Filaurel where would be best. The librarian smiled. “I think a library is the appropriate place to keep writing, wouldn’t you agree?”

To Saphienne’s amazement, Filaurel presented her with a key to the front desk, cut days before, and emptied books she had not yet added to the library from one of the deep drawers to make room. Together with the key to the door Saphienne had already received, she would be free to lock away and retrieve whatever she wanted, whenever she needed.

“But,” Saphienne asked her, hesitating, “do you have a spare key?”

“The same key unlocks all the drawers. The same two keys, now.”

“…You’re trusting me with everything inside?”

Filaurel smiled and stepped away from her desk. “So long as you grant me one small amusement — and rummage through it right now, in front of me.”

At first, she hesitated; Saphienne wondered whether Filaurel was teaching her a lesson in privacy. Her mentor would be able to see whatever she kept, and so the librarian’s belongings deserved as much respect as her own–

“Well? Go on.”

Then she realised what was actually being shared, and grinned as she started unlocking the beautifully inlaid drawers to rifle through their contents. The vast majority contained nothing surprising, or particularly interesting, though she lifted out the tome Filaurel used for communicating with other libraries and – with no objection from her mentor – made a show of flicking through its pages.

“…Filaurel…”

“Saphienne?”

“…Do librarians just bicker and flirt?”

“Most people do, yes.”

The only shock came when Saphienne unlocked the drawer in the upper-right side, finding it held something that struck her as impertinent, even contrary to Filaurel’s chosen art: a jar of crystallised, sugary sweets.

Which Filaurel opened as Saphienne stared, sucking on one of the golden ovals as she offered her another.

When Saphienne recovered her voice, she was scandalised.“…Filaurel.”

“Saphienne?”

“You told us we weren’t allowed to bring–”

“Young children aren’t allowed food or drinks in the library,” Filaurel interrupted, quietening Saphienne by popping the butterscotch into her open mouth, “or they leave sticky fingerprints and spills everywhere. I’m very particular about which older children and adults are granted the privilege — such as when I let you and your friends take dinner by the windows.”

Pushing the sweet into her cheek, Saphienne put her hands on her hips. “You told us we still weren’t allowed snacks!”

“You’re not. You’re not allowed to throw books, either.” She gave the apprentice her most dazzling smile. “But she who enforces the rules need not be bound by them. Who shushes the librarian?”

Being hidden from the public made Filaurel’s hypocrisy taste all the sweeter.

* * *

Faylar and Saphienne kept up their study of the common trade tongue, switching their practice to early mornings. Saphienne spent the remaining time before noon working on sculpture – finally trying her hand against wood, with dismal results – and then did whatever caught her fancy for the rest of the day. Often she would end up back in the library, engaged in further stilted conversation with Faylar, who spent as much time correcting her pronunciation as he did responding to what she had tried to say.

Most afternoons, they met Laewyn when she was done in the bakery, then together joined Celaena for conversation at the teahouse; both apprentices to the wizard still wore their robes when out and about. Saphienne had hoped to see Iolas there at first, but Thessa explained he was very hard at work writing his essay for Almon, intending to get it out of the way so that he could relax.

“What about you?” the artist asked, her gaze on her sketching of the couch where Laewyn and Celaena were sat together.

Saphienne swallowed her tea, in the mood to playfight. Her deliberately pompous reply emulated her master. “I’m preparing. A wizard must not be buffeted about by the demands of the world. Great art needs patience to emerge — how much more so, when it concerns the Great Art?”

She had hoped Thessa would mock her for being pretentious, but the older girl took her entirely sincerely. “I know what you mean. I spend a lot of my time sitting, feeling through what I see in front of me. Most of my paintings are what I choose to leave out. I guess writing is much the same — it’s the lines you don’t write down, that matter most.”

“…Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Saphienne managed, blushing furiously, “because I don’t have any to write. Not yet.”

* * *

Yet for all that she tried very hard to distract herself, there was still much that demanded her attention.

Halfway through the week, on a tempest of an afternoon when Faylar preferred to stay in the library rather than walk to the teahouse, Saphienne left him downstairs – where Filaurel was chatting with him in the common trade tongue – and went to browse the upper collection. The adult floor was peaceful, few patrons visiting due to the weather. She browsed listlessly through the stacks without seeing anything she felt like rereading, the new holding no appeal. Elves were always reading or writing, their books joining their local libraries before spreading throughout the woodlands… but that wasn’t to say all would spread, or that every book was worth her time.

Especially since the preponderance of what they wrote was–

Saphienne paused beside the row devoted to romance. Not merely romance: many of the most popular books contained very little description of love and bonding, which wasn’t to say there weren’t some tales of elven bondage. Those were the stories that had turned her away, when she had first been indirectly permitted to read adult literature by Filaurel.

Even more common than their ubiquitous pastimes of writing or reading, a frequent refrain among elves to their children – which they took pleasure in repeating – was that they were all part of a very long tradition. In a literal sense, that tradition was the ancient ways, though more generally they referred to the cultural inheritance that the elder generations shared with the newer. Filaurel had taught her one such inheritance, telling her that reading what she wasn’t supposed to was a rite of passage…

“…For anyone with a decent mind.” Saphienne smiled to herself, belatedly understanding the dual pun that Filaurel had been making. To be indecent was to go naked before an inappropriate audience; Saphienne had borrowed ‘The Principles of Elven Anatomy’ in innocent curiosity about nudity; and a decent mind was clothed by what one read, in more ways than one.

She glanced about herself. There was no one nearby, yet she still hesitated before walking between the shelves, keen not to be found by Faylar in the same way she had stumbled upon him. Her eyes trailed over the spines until she located a title that she remembered, and she slipped it from the shelf before hurrying out, descending the stairs, and vanishing into the supply closet.

* * *

Two years can change much about a person. To children, such a short time can be more transformative than even the most potent Transmutation spell.

All Saphienne did in the privacy of that closet was read. Yet what she read no longer overwhelmed her like it once had — and though her eyes were wide, they were more comfortable contemplating what was before her than when she had stolen a lingering look at Gaeleath’s latest sculpture. She found herself far more interested by what she pictured than what was depicted, for she was unconsciously reading subjects behind the lines of text that contours of hard stone could not permit, no matter how softly contrived.

She took longer to finish the book than she usually would, but still read quickly enough that she was shut away for less than two hours. While she was bashful when she pressed her long ear to the door and then peered outside, and while she hurried to climb the stairs two at a time, she was also deeply thoughtful.

Faylar had returned to reading at his table. She made no effort to be stealthy as she went by, walking with purpose and ease, deliberately keeping the book on the other side of herself so that he wouldn’t see. He didn’t even hear her — absorbed by the page.

She returned the book to its place by a circuitous route, sighing with relief when she backtracked out of the far end of the row…

Then she paused.

Saphienne turned to face the matter that, until then, she had felt entirely unprepared to face — and realised as she did that she was not so much of a child as she had once been. The advice of her friends was still foremost in her mind, and she knew she wasn’t ready for all the heartaches she augured to come, not least because she still couldn’t see herself with anyone she knew or saw about the village; she had never felt attracted to another elf.

But…

Saphienne decided she would, from that day forward, quietly borrow books from that section whenever she found opportunity. She took one down there and then, and went out the way she had arrived, passing by a completely oblivious Faylar as she headed downstairs to her shared desk.

She sat the book before Filaurel without a word.

Who nodded absently, set aside her scrivening, and took out the borrowing ledger before she reviewed–

“I see.” Her lips were pressed together as she opened it, skimming the description of the story written within the back cover.

Though utterly scarlet from her toes to the tips of her ears, Saphienne defiantly kept her gaze on her mentor.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Filaurel glanced up, and the librarian couldn’t help but smile as she avoided Saphienne’s green gaze, instead recording the details of the loan. The abbreviated name she wrote was a fig leaf, but Saphienne still felt like the pair of mismatched syllables stood out painfully from the rest.

“Thank you for continuing as I asked.” Filaurel slid the book across to her. “You may record your own withdrawals and returns in future.”

Murmuring her thanks, Saphienne secreted the volume in her satchel, feeling claustrophobic as she turned toward the door.

“Saphienne?”

She glanced back.

Filaurel was re-banding her hair, which fell sheer and earthy about her before she gathered it back up, but her attention remained on Saphienne. “If anything you read ever confuses or upsets you, please remember: I’ve read every book in this library.” She inclined her head. “Should you have questions — or need context. You can always leave me a note in the desk…”

But Saphienne said nothing, could say nothing, and pressed out into the downpour, Hyacinth’s final riddle repeating behind the glittering sheets.

* * *

Needing to cool off, Saphienne went for a stroll through the woods. As the rain eased she told herself she was seeking some wild hyacinths she could replant — busied herself by planning ahead for when she would next need to speak with her bloomkith friend. Given all the time and effort Almon devoted to maintaining his garden, she didn’t want to keep surreptitiously harvesting his plants whenever she wanted Hyacinth’s company.

Wandering far from the village, she meandered aimlessly among the trees as she reassured herself that the forgotten day she’d spent working in the garden more than made up for what little damage she’d done to her master’s blooms. And even if it didn’t, both instances had directly furthered her understanding of magic, so she could argue that it was–

“Saphienne — right on time.”

Startled, she turned around.

Taerelle was sitting cross-legged among the mossy roots of an oak, her dry black robes gathered around her while her long braid coiled in her lap. She rose with ominous grace, her expression unreadable and gaze sharp as she advanced toward her junior. “We are overdue for a reckoning, are we not?”

“How did you know–” Saphienne felt foolish, and then perplexed. “You divined that I’d be here?”

“Yes.” Her smile was coldly superior.

The unproven apprentice held her ground, aware that there was little she could do if her senior had found cause to use magic of the Second Degree against her; Taerelle was more formidable than their master knew.

“You are not so difficult to predict, now that I know who you really are.”

The diviner pulled up her sleeves as she drew close, flexed her fingers…

Then melted into laughter.

Saphienne slowly exhaled. “That wasn’t funny.”

“You say that…” For all it was cruel, Taerelle’s smile now held more warmth. “…But I’ve caught you lying twice now. You were frightened; didn’t you claim you're unafraid of getting hurt?”

Spreading her arms, Saphienne gestured around herself to the fresh and glimmering forest. “You’ve ambushed me in the middle of nowhere. Unless the Wardens of the Wilds happened by–”

“There’s no one here but us.” The older girl shifted her footing, leaning slightly to one side as she crossed her arms and appraised the younger. “I had to wait until I was sure of a time and place where we wouldn’t be eavesdropped upon, whether by elves or spirits. I’m told that made for a very interesting series of auguries.”

“I wasn’t afraid that you’d hurt me.” Her lips pursed. “…I was afraid that I wouldn’t remember.”

The suggestion wounded Taerelle, who became uneasy. She took a step away from Saphienne without conceding wrongdoing. “I overlooked what you learned in your most recent lesson. Weighing heavily on you?”

“No.” Saphienne studied Taerelle, supposing that the senior apprentice had simply been intimidating her to reassure herself that she was in control of their relationship. She wasn’t as dangerous as she’d pretended. “I’ve not thought much about it. And you lied just now — twice. You’re still not sure about me, are you”

“Surer than before.” She reached into her pocket. “I did as you proposed, and learned the name of our master’s contact at the Luminary Vale by reading his report. His letter was sent via a translocation, but mine had to wait until collected by the wardens.”

A lingering worry left Saphienne. “You received a reply.”

“Quite the reply. And they sent a letter back to you, so I hear, though our master declined to tell me more.” She withdrew her own correspondence from her inner robes, tapping it thoughtfully on her wrist. “Care to share?”

In spite of Almon’s instruction not to do so, Saphienne might have told Taerelle the truth — were it not for the possibility that the older girl hadn’t been invited to apply, and the difficulties that her jealousy could present. “Reading between the lines: I was told to be careful in future, and that they’d be watching me. On the surface? It read like I was being commended.”

“How kind.” Taerelle handed Saphienne her letter.

On first glance, the letter was substantially longer than the one sent to Saphienne, but as she scanned through it she saw that the contents were predominantly a full and frank explanation of all that had transpired in the clearing on that momentous day. Her brow furrowed in interest as she realised the handwriting didn’t belong to the High Master; she sank down onto the wet grass as she read, taking her time to feel through the sentences for any layered meaning.

There was none. She learned that the spirits had kept their word, telling ‘one of the High Masters’ everything they understood about what had happened — except for their unvoiced suspicion that Hyacinth had been the secret instigator. They had also revealed they were evenly divided between believing that the binding had been circumvented – perhaps due to weakening with age – and believing that the gods had intervened to grant clemency to the sunflower spirit.

And, thankfully, that they had exonerated Saphienne of apostasy.

But not of all wrongdoing.

“So you know about my reprimand,” Saphienne murmured.

“Correction, according to the ancient ways.” Taerelle toyed with her braid as she waited — and closely observed. “Where an elf trespasses upon grounds sacred to the woodland spirits, they have the right to enact punishment. Where that elf is a child, they have the right to administer firm correction. For what you took part in, you got off very lightly.”

Irked, Saphienne looked up. “You think so?”

“…No.” The senior apprentice inclined her head. “But do you know — they have far worse forms of correction? They could have demanded service from you, lasting well into your adulthood. They could have objected to your apprenticeship continuing. That they’ve temporarily withdrawn their collective blessings,” Taerelle mused, “and appointed a guardian spirit, to personally bless you? To me, that seems like they’re going out of their way to pretend this didn’t happen — while also making clear that they won’t accept this happening ever again.”

She returned her attention to the letter. “How kind.”

The remainder congratulated Taerelle on her skilful deduction, her wisdom in taking charge of the situation, and her discretion in handling her findings. Her exemplary conduct had been noted, and should an application from her to join the Luminary Vale be forthcoming, it would count in her favour — were her application to be considered.

She smiled to herself: High Master Lenitha hadn’t been as impressed by Taerelle.

But the final paragraph wiped the smile from Saphienne’s face.

“Should you intend to submit an application to the Luminary Vale,” she read aloud, “you are advised to take a personal interest in the apprenticeship of Saphienne, seeing that her talents are appropriately nurtured, and that she receives wise counsel as she develops her understanding of herself in relation to the ancient ways. It would be prudent to supplement your master’s capable instruction with lessons developed from your deeper appreciation for her character. The other unproven apprentices need not concern you, as they will surely thrive under Master Almon’s teaching alone.”

The letter was not signed by an individual, only affixed with an elaborate, multicoloured, hallucinatory seal — depicting a radiant tree, grown upon the stump of another, beneath a constellation of eight bright stars.

Saphienne folded it shut as she sat back. “…Fuck me.”

Taerelle’s eyes were sharp icicles. “Yes: fuck you. My application now depends on you not fucking up your apprenticeship, you precocious little shit. And if you’d accepted our master’s offer to transfer, neither of us would be in this position.”

No wonder Taerelle was hostile. Saphienne handed back the letter as she contemplated how to proceed, quickly settling on the need to shape how the senior apprentice would approach her new role. The only way to achieve that was to repeat what she had been shown by Hyacinth, and change the context of the implicit command from the Luminary Vale. “May I point something out?”

Although angry, Taerelle had clearly made her peace with the situation, and was intelligent enough not to refuse the girl her future now depended upon. Her tone was flat as she answered “You may.”

Being as tactful as she knew how, Saphienne decided it was prudent to till the soil before she planted her seeds. “Before I say anything more: I’m sorry.” Saphienne realised she was being entirely sincere as she gave her apology. “I didn’t intend to drag you into any of this. I didn’t have any reason to think they’d make me your problem — and I’ll try not to be one for you.”

“We’ll see.” Taerelle nodded. “And?”

“I think you’ve misread the letter.”

The senior apprentice began to sigh heavily — and then caught herself. When she finished exhaling, more softly, her squint told Saphienne that she had learned to take her junior seriously. “Please, explain.”

“There’s two parts.” Saphienne climbed to her feet. “First, you’ve not actually been told that I have to complete my apprenticeship. They wouldn’t expect that: there’s the slim possibility I don’t have magical talent. The letter only asks you to see that my talents are ‘appropriately’ nurtured,” she explained, steeling herself for the risk she was about to take, “and that could include making sure I fail, if I’m not worthy to be a wizard.”

Frowning, Taerelle unfurled and re-examined the letter. Her lips twitched up at the corners. “…I hadn’t considered that.”

“My conjecture is they’re not sure about me either. In fact,” she went on, almost believing what she was saying, “there’s every possibility that the investigation was intended to test me: having been caught in the middle of a huge mess that wasn’t my fault, how would I handle it?”

Taerelle regarded her in a new light. “You think they want me to watch you.”

“Isn’t that what wizards do? Keep watch for problems?” She managed a self-effacing smile. “You saw through me the first time. If I end up in more trouble, you’re the best placed to be able to spot it again.”

Snorting, the older apprentice flicked her hair behind her shoulder. “Or I’m the least likely to catch you, now that you know I’m onto you. But fine, Saphienne: you have a good point. What’s your second?”

Now came the necessary lie. “That your place in the Luminary Vale is guaranteed.”

Taerelle rocked back. “…Excuse me?”

“Reread the start of the final paragraph.” Saphienne waited until the senior apprentice did so before she continued. “Notice the use of the word ‘should’ there. Then further up — see where else they use it? ‘Should an application to join the Luminary Vale be forthcoming,’ followed by ‘Should you intend to submit an application.’ I’ve heard it said that the Luminary Vale never directly invites anyone to join, but I read those two lines as an implicit invitation — if you’re willing to try keeping me on the path of wisdom.”

Taerelle had gone very pale.

“Respectfully: you got it backwards. I’m going to have a hard time joining,” Saphienne deceived her, “since they’re so unsure about me that they’re asking you to keep a close watch on me. You were described as having ‘exemplary conduct,’ and have been offered a place with them if you’ll watch out for me… perhaps in the hope I come to take after you.”

Taerelle shook her head and stepped further away. “Wishful thinking… I should write back–”

“They’ll never confirm it,” Saphienne countered. “If they were going to come right out and make the offer, they’d have done so in that letter. They’re trusting in your ability to deduce what they’re saying to you — and if you write back for clarification, you’ll be demonstrating you’re not who they believe you are.” She stepped after her. “…And you’re not. You never told them I was the one who said you should keep quiet, who told you to write to them — did you?”

Shocked, Taerelle stared at Saphienne.

“And I won’t tell them…” The way she promised didn’t sound like a threat. “…Because you had the good judgement to listen, when I really needed you to. As far as I’m concerned? That makes you my friend.” She canted her head. “A hundred years from now, you’re going to be a highly accomplished wizard. What if I need another favour?”

The senior apprentice lowered the letter along with her voice. “…Fuck…”

“Or if you prefer to go on without me, we can go to our master. You could show him that letter. You could tell him why I don’t deserve to continue.”

Through the widening pupils in Taerelle’s cool gaze, Saphienne could see that the senior apprentice understood: Almon’s pride would never withstand learning that the Luminary Vale reached past him to his student, let alone the implication that his teaching was insufficient. Taerelle was not in any position to make Saphienne’s life difficult. They both had everything to lose, for both of their light grey and black robes could be stripped away, along with any chance of admission to the Luminary Vale.

But, if they remained friends?

“…Our previous arrangement stands,” Taerelle insisted, her voice less firm than the statement. “You’ll help me with my work once you wear the black. But if and when I join the Luminary Vale, we won’t associate further.” She refused to be beholden to Saphienne after her apprenticeship was concluded.

Saphienne smiled. “And when I join, as well?”

Slowly, Taerelle put on a smile of her own. “What did Rydel say? The longer we live, the smaller the woodlands become. All of this will be ancient history. I think we could forget about how we started out.”

Extending her hand, Saphienne offered her agreement. “Friends, then.”

Saphienne’s new tutor swallowed, then clasped her wrist.

End of Chapter 59