Once Almon had accepted the essays of his unproven apprentices, the remainder of the morning was spent finishing their incomplete lesson in Invocation. Saphienne and Iolas summarised what Celaena had shared with them during their subsequent study sessions, and then all three students took notes while the wizard recounted the history of the discipline and its key contributors.

So elated was Saphienne by success – the faint ringing from upstairs telling her that the discussion over her submission still raged on – that her attention wandered during the lesson. In retrospect, she was thankful for all the time she had spent scrivening: hours of monotonous transcription now enabled her to thoughtlessly record whatever the wizard said while she applied herself to more interesting concerns. Not that she presently had any…

Then again, what she was doing was interesting in itself. Filaurel had noticed Saphienne could listen and write while thinking in detail; she found it quite remarkable. Was that a consequence of Saphienne’s oddly structured mind? Hyacinth had described rooms within themselves, doors that opened into the same hallways from opposite sides, and recurring spaces that endlessly repeated. The spirit had said that everything was within reach of everything else — and that fit with how Saphienne brought together whatever she learned.

…Including what she would rather avoid.

While Almon droned on, Saphienne idly reflected on her last meeting with Hyacinth.

* * *

Three days prior, on the stormy afternoon that Taerelle had confronted her with the letter from the Luminary Vale, Saphienne was almost at the village teahouse when Hyacinth slipped loose from the binding spell.

The clearing and its garden were in view when the wind picked up. Saphienne didn’t notice anything unusual at first, given that the day was wild and the forest still glistened with drying rain. Yet as she arrived at the clearing she felt a breeze violently racing back and forth around her, buffeting her outer robes one way and then the other, as though her shoulder were being shook by someone who wanted–

Saphienne blinked — and smiled. “Hyacinth?”

A tender zephyr wafted across her face.

She looked around herself: barely anyone was outside. Up ahead, the windows of the tea house were steamed over, and she could just make out the shapes of people moving about in the warmth. “Hyacinth… do you want to talk to me?”

The air that was the spirit’s flesh stirred anxiously around her.

Saphienne sighed, remembering that Hyacinth knew very little Elfish. Her eyes drifted to the gardens as she considered how best to proceed. Surely the bloomkith knew some Elfish words? “Bloom?” She gestured toward the clearing. “Hyacinth flower?”

A her hair fluttered, and then her formless friend was gone.

“…Hyacinth?”

Saphienne clasped her hands together, aware that her time was not her own.

Moments later the woodland spirit returned, and this time Hyacinth gusted from behind her toward the garden, whipping around to repeat the motion, urging her onward — presumably toward the bloomkith’s namesake. Saphienne let herself be guided, drifting to the bushes that lay at the opposite end of the glade from the teahouse.

Where, quite unfortunately, she stumbled onto two adult elves taking tea together atop a blanket, though they were presently engaged with drinking deeply from each other’s lips.

Saphienne flushed scarlet, and would have hurried by… were it not for the small patch of yellow hyacinths right beside their blanket. She retreated a step; stared up at the sky; forced herself to adopt a maturity she did not yet feel.

Then, she loudly cleared her throat.

The two were without shame, and took a moment to separate. Saphienne saw they were a man and a woman, their clothing beneath their thick coats less androgynous than their hairstyles. The man flushed as he realised who their audience had been, but the woman only laughed at him as she pulled her legs up toward her chest. She lifted her tea before she called out her response. “Is something the matter?”

Tactfully, Saphienne tried to show remorse. “I’m very sorry to disturb you both. I’m an apprentice of Master Almon–”

“You don’t say?” The man indicated her robes with his cup, and the two gently chuckled together.

“…I suppose that’s obvious.” Saphienne shifted her hands behind her back, squeezing her fingers tight. “I’m abroad in the world on wizard’s business, and I need one of those flowers.”

Neither of them appeared to be taking her especially seriously, but they weren’t hostile to her interruption. The two contemplated the hyacinths she bowed toward and shared a shrug before the woman waved Saphienne closer. “Well, if it’s important business for wizards, we shouldn’t get in your way. What do you need them for?”

Knowing better than to tarry, Saphienne made a beeline for the flowers. “One of the woodland spirits wants to speak with me, and these are her flowers.”

That admission made the man raise his eyebrows. “A spirit? Aren’t you a little young to be communing with spirits?”

His companion cut in. “She’s a wizard’s apprentice. It’s different for them.” She patted the edge of the heavy woollen blanket adjacent to the blooms as Saphienne approached, then watched her kneel upon it.

The man nodded. “There’s a difference between talking and walking, I suppose.”

Was it pride that made her pause? Saphienne looked over her shoulder. “I’ve actually walked with her a little. We have an understanding of each other.”

Now the pair of them were curious about her, and they shifted around so that they sat facing her. The woman leaned against her partner as she observed Saphienne, her tone light but thoughtful. “Isn’t that… a little much for you? I was overwhelmed, my first time.”

“You mean, for my age?” Saphienne could feel Hyacinth wafting through her fingers, but the spirit had settled down, seeming content to wait. “We only walked a short distance. There’s things we’re leaving alone, until I know myself better than I do.”

The man set his cup down. “I think I’ve heard of you — the girl from the library, with the unusual name. You’re Saraphiel?”

Whereas learning her hair was uncommon had been a complete surprise, Saphienne took the new perspective on her name in stride. “I do spend a lot of time at the library. But, no: my name is Saphienne.”

“Well I think that’s a lovely name,” the woman opined, causing the man to redden. “Weren’t you the child who wanted to be a sculptor?”

Being recognised by strangers was disconcerting. “…I’m studying sculpture with Gaeleath, but my apprenticeship is in wizardry. May I ask how you know me?”

She laughed. “Everyone in the village talks — especially about children.”

Having accepted his paramour’s pointed reprimand, the man made an effort to be conciliatory. “Don’t worry yourself: it’s just for want of something to talk about. You’ll do the same when you’re grown. Adults settle into the same old routines, but children make fresh mischief.”

She understood: they weren’t judging her. Hyacinth flitted restlessly across her sleeve, and she inclined her head in acknowledgement to spirit and audience both. “Well, I should see about making some more, then. Please excuse me.”

“Go ahead,” the woman encouraged her.

At first Saphienne intended to ignore them… but the man’s comment about mischief had roused her own, and as she drew a circle in the soil around one of the hyacinths she decided she would impress the couple.

“Hyacinth!” She intoned the words with all the austere drama she had learned from Almon and Nelathiel. “Fair and sylvan, friend and servant — come you now unto this circle, wound in bond of peace, in accordance with the ancient ways.”

The onlookers indulged her with feigned solemnity.

Hoping her bloomkith friend would pick up on her intent, she raised her hands, palms upturned in supplication. “Hyacinth! Heed my cry, heed my need — come you now into this circle, wound as I beseech, in accordance with your ancient ways.”

Cool air stroked her cheek as the spirit retreated… only to return in force, become now a shrieking gale that separated the startled couple as she lunged for the waiting circle.

“Hyacinth! Tread the trod, stride the way — come you forth within this circle, wound that you might reach, in accordance with our ancient ways.”

As the subsiding wind spiralled inward – the bloomkith settling into her flower – there was no immediate sign of her presence; Saphienne had to smother her smile as Hyacinth let the moment stretch.

Recovering from their fright through nervous laughter, the two elves behind her craned forward. The man was more polite when he spoke — his charitable tone betraying his underlying disbelief. “Could you have made a mista–”

On cue, the yellow of the bloom darkened to a vivid crimson that won gasps of amazement from man and woman alike, brightening then to a rosy pink as the plant strained to touch Saphienne.

Who simply extended her fingertips, accepting the invitation as though it were commonplace.

* * *

Both the child and the spirit guffawed where they blended, Saphienne’s physical countenance remaining calm and composed while mentally she laughed together with a jubilant Hyacinth. Upon the stage where their minds met she gestured to the steps of her library before the bloomkith asked, and when exploring tendrils began to creep up the stone she danced over and crouched beside them, placing her hand in their path so that the vine-like blossoms were forced to grow around and between her fingers.

“The child of elves is filled with whimsy fair,” Hyacinth remarked as she approached, her eyes as bright as the noon that melted the snows in her field. “Does she desire my blossoms for her hair?”

Indulgent, Saphienne leant forward. “Crown me, then.”

Having not expected her teasing to be taken seriously, the bloomkith giggled, and she placed her hand above Saphienne’s hairline, letting her buds spread from her wrist to entwine with the brown roots. “Rich earth, this head. Which terms shall it abide?”

Saphienne pointed to the steps with her free hand. “First, a precedent: so long as it is only for the purpose of speaking with me when we meet this way, you have my consent to use my Elfish without asking.”

This greatly pleased Hyacinth. “Your trust I have! This oath will keep, green-eyed, sweet friend. All else, as when we last did blend?”

Contemplatively, Saphienne drew her hand away from the hyacinths on the steps to touched the circle above her ears. She enjoyed the mental image. “…Yes, but you can rhyme today. Sit with me?”

Now Hyacinth’s smile became tender, and the meltwater on the air glistened where it settled onto her cheeks. She spun and sat on the steps, her voice low. “Then rhyme I shall not do — concession mine. Forwhy are you relenting, Saphienne?”

She sensed that Hyacinth knew the answer to that question as she joined her. “…I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

“Apology is unnecessary.” The bloomkith kicked her heels among the fathomless flowers before them, which rolled as though she splashed in a sea. “I was concerned for you. I flew to you in panic true… but see I do that you are well, beloved-by-bees.”

Saphienne offered her hand.

Hyacinth accepted, interlinking their fingers.

“Taerelle and I spoke–”

“So I now know.”

Hearing that made Saphienne wince. She hadn’t told Hyacinth about being caught by Taerelle — hadn’t warned her about the consequences she had risked for them both. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure why–”

The bloomkith squeezed her hand. “Apology is unnecessary! All ended well. ‘Tis good enough for me.” Her gaze was half-lidded as she studied Saphienne. “You did not wish to worry me… or pride had made you mute — gave cause to pause your tongue.”

Pride, and misplaced distrust. “I should have warned you.”

“Admit I must: I was afraid at first.” Wintry clouds dimmed the sky above them. “Imagined I the binding I endured, when I was taught what made for ancient peace. But I was not alone: Wormwood was there.”

Saphienne tilted her flower-crowned head. “You know her?”

Hyacinth laughed once, errant spears of sunshine betraying her uncertainty. “…I cannot tell. Among my sisters, few can claim so old a span — as much as years are meaningless to count our age, Wormwood is ancient growth. The bitterest among my kith, her age has made her like woodkin. She does as she wills, her reasons her own.”

“…But, seeing her reassured you?”

“She once taught me.” Hyacinth shrugged. “From her example I learned how to weave a planted body fair. Among my sisters, few have had that joy.”

“I see.” Why was an ancient spirit helping Taerelle? “What did they tell you?”

Wilting petals accompanied the spirit’s scowl. “Only that I was bound for ancient ways — for sake of teachings wise. No more was shared. From what the wizard-child then asked, I learned her sights were set on you. I shared nothing.”

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Her guilt deepened. “I know. Taerelle said you were loyal.”

“She knows what you did; does she know my part?”

Facing her, Saphienne took a steeling breath. “I’ll tell you everything.”

* * *

Nearby, the lovers were whispering to each other, their stares fixed on the gold in her eyes where she studied the pink flower. They regarded her with newfound respect.

* * *

Hyacinth was very quiet by the time the tale was told.

“I really should have warned you.” Saphienne withdrew her hand in shame. “You had a right to know.”

Finally, Hyacinth shook her head and stood. Her back was to the hushed, snowy field as she searched the façade of the library for answers. “We are alike. I will not silence fault, for I am silent too, when words fail me. I am… unnerved, to find you have quick learned the guile that slowly grew for me; Taerelle was handled well.”

“What do you make of it all?”

“I know the girl.” Saphienne felt the discomfort in Hyacinth’s admission, visceral, as though the words brushed upon an open wound. “Enough to say that she is not inclined to ill. Her anger honed, its edge is turned against the challenge she attempts to best.” She smiled thinly at Saphienne. “Is she a friend? May you dare hope to trust the elf?”

“Yes…” She hesitated. “…But not fully. She has ambitions, and I feel she can only be trusted as far as I align with them. But while we are aligned, I think she can help.”

“You are fast bound to her.” Hyacinth squatted down, heels flat on the steps as she mulled over the future. “The faster bound, the safer you shall be. Why not resign yourself to her command? Set down your pride — allow the elf to take the role implied.”

Saphienne nudged her. “I thought there wouldn’t be rhyming?”

Hyacinth blushed as pink as the plant Saphienne was touching, and she stuck out her tongue in mute reply.

As the lull in their conversation lengthened, Saphienne climbed to her feet. “Have I damaged our friendship?”

“No.” The spirit abandoned the cadence that had underwritten her speech as she rose to match her friend. “You have accomplished the opposite. My esteem for you has grown, Saphienne — and I foresee our future together.”

Overcome by Hyacinth’s sincerity, Saphienne retreated to sardonic humour. “I don’t recall consenting to your auguries…”

“No divination necessary.” The sylvan spirit giggled, happy once more. “We are to remain fast friends beyond your first century. I will become not just your flower maiden, but your handmaiden — for you will one day earn my secret name.”

The thought made Saphienne uneasy. “I don’t want that power over you.”

“We will revisit my prediction once you have grown.” She brushed back her hair – petals dancing – and resumed her spoken rhythm with a grin matched by the returning sunlight. “I talk as though I am so far ahead… I have thought hard about the festival to come. My sisters will surely tease me if I do not walk with an elf at night.”

That Hyacinth was concerned about mockery surprised Saphienne. “Why care?”

“For want of quiet life?” Her playful gaze said Saphienne was being foolish.

She laughed through her embarrassment. “Of course: you want to be seen to conform.”

“So too, should you.” The spirit moved to stand upon her hyacinths, rolling her shoulders as she envisioned the summer solstice — her thawing field growing wetly warm and dark. “I do not think it wise to wait to walk, but I am loath to walk with one I do not trust. You are too young to go abroad at night, but you alone do I hold dear…” She sighed and tossed herself down, lying on her back to stare up through flecks of snow at the starry sky. “…And so I am quite lost. Might you suggest a name?”

One immediately came to mind. “Filaurel: you can trust her.”

Laughter answered her suggestion. “Alas, she does not walk. Her mind is hers alone, her distance kept from all.”

Saphienne frowned. “…You’re not the first to say she’s aloof.”

“Those who would judge would call her aloof, but…” Hyacinth’s sky dawned, delicate reds and purples behind wispy clouds. “…I feel her heart is tender. Sorrowful.”

Worry made a storm brew behind the library.

“Less so, now you and she are close.” The bloomkith sat up, and rested her chin on her hands. “But now I gossip true, and this does not improve my situation.” Her glance was curious. “So! What waits for you?”

Though Hyacinth’s reassurance dissipated the stormfront, Saphienne still felt a fine mist of anxiety creep down the steps behind her. “…I don’t know. Learning to be a wizard, and otherwise? The same as you: avoiding unwanted attention.”

“The summer solstice, I had meant to ask.”

What was her plan? “I might be visiting with Celaena on the actual night of the solstice… but I haven’t given it much thought yet. I’m too busy.”

“With wizardry?” Hyacinth chuckled. “Make space for other goals.”

Doing so was more easily said than done. For all that she had been trying to relax, and so allow whatever she needed to complete her essay to emerge, Saphienne was still fixated on a singular goal. Although she couldn’t say exactly where the boundaries lay between discovering herself, understanding the woodlands around her, and achieving mastery of the Great Art, she could tell they were one and the same task.

And what a task it was — gargantuan, the work of a lifetime. How could she make space for anything else? How could anyone expect more from her?

Hyacinth saw her through the mist, and beckoned her.

Emerging out onto the field, Saphienne went to sit beside Hyacinth, growing more acutely aware of the supportive affection that underlay the flowers beneath her with every step she took. “Such as? Isn’t finding acceptance as a wizard enough?”

“For happiness?” The spirit spoke as though pondering. “We will find out. But what of all the joys beyond your art?”

“I don’t like that word: joy.” Old disappointments flickered through her, their memory shared willingly with Hyacinth. “I don’t trust it. It never lasts.”

Yet Hyacinth persisted, reaching out to caress her arm. “So be it sweeter still. What of your friends? Might you partake in joy through their delights?”

Enjoy herself vicariously? She supposed she could — or did already. That would explain why she felt better whenever she spent time with them…

“Put on the gown of summertime,” Hyacinth urged her. “Flourish. Be what the elves expect of happiness, and see if it might not reach you in turn.”

The suggestion made her feel conflicted; she couldn’t admit why to herself, not then. “…I’ll think about it. And I’ll think about your problem, too.”

Satisfied, the bloomkith fell back upon her floral bed. “Enough, then. All is well, when ended well.”

* * *

When Hyacinth relinquished Saphienne and went winding through the garden, the flower she left behind remained distinct from the others. Saphienne liked that discord — and were the flower not deliberately planted, or were she unobserved, she might have uprooted it from its proper place.

Instead she stood and smoothed down her robes, bowing to the pair of adult elves. “My thanks for your patience.”

The woman’s response was now tempered by respect that previously had been absent. “You’re welcome. You didn’t take very long… is everything alright, with the spirit?”

“She’s fine.” Saphienne relished the esteem earned by her pageantry. “She asked me for advice — I’m going to see what I can do to help her.”

Their stunned expressions lingered with her after she left, her repressed grin showing as she went into the teahouse.

* * *

Saphienne’s reminiscence concluded along with her notetaking, which was then followed by the customary hour spent meditating upon a spell while benefiting from the Second Sight. Her master used white chalk as part of his invocation, drawing a glistering circle on the floor around the three apprentices, his spell bathing the span within in a golden radiance.

In the stillness, she sat not with the magic, but with her feelings.

When the morning concluded and the apprentices had gathered up their belongings, Iolas paused behind Saphienne as they were leaving the classroom. “Master? Will we be finishing the lesson in Fascination tomorrow?”

Almon broke the circle’s magic with his sole before he answered. “The rest of that subject will be covered some days hence — tomorrow we begin our survey of the many ways in which a wizard might serve the woodlands.” He rolled up his sleeves, readying for a spell to erase the chalk. “I advise you to bring plenty of ink and paper from this point forward; the monotony of your studies begins in earnest, now.”

Iolas shook the now-empty pack that had held his voluminous essay. “When you say plenty…”

Saphienne rolled her eyes as she left him to argue with Almon, catching up to where Celaena was feeding finches — and catching her elbow. “Celaena… can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can,” the older girl answered, though her eyes remained on the grass at her feet, where the birds were hopping about with excited tweets.

She pushed through her nervousness. “I don’t have any plans for the summer solstice. I was wondering if I could spend it with you and Laewyn? I don’t mean to be a bother–”

But Celaena was glum as she interrupted Saphienne. “Did Laewyn tell you about my plans?”

Wary – anticipating rejection – Saphienne nodded.

“You’ll be very welcome…” She looked down at her shoes. “…If it actually happens. Father gave me his blessing to invite everyone over, but when I asked Madris if she’d be our chaperone, she told me she has a prior commitment.” Her dejection intensified. “And even if we do find someone? We’ve left everything too late. Laewyn checked: every dressmaker is fully booked for the festival, so it’s not going to be much of a debut.”

“Debut?” Saphienne let go of her in confusion. “Everyone knows you already.”

“That’s not the point–”

But mild offense made Saphienne fold her arms. “Why didn’t you ask for my help? You know I can make dresses.”

Celaena looked up sharply; her growing blush was tinged with rising hope. “…You spent four months studying tailoring…”

“I told you: I learned enough. Didn’t you believe me?”

“…I didn’t remember.” Celaena bit her lip. “I see you as a wizard.”

Saphienne could feel Faylar poking her; she was being prickly. “Well,” she offered as she calmed down and reached for her friend’s hand, “there has to be someone else we can ask.”

“…I’m not close to anyone else.” Yet the older girl was smiling as she linked fingers with Saphienne. “Laewyn already asked all her relatives, and she said we’re not allowed to ask Faylar in case his mother volunteers. Do you know anyone who’d be willing?”

Who would be willing?

The answer made her close her eyes. “I might know someone who’s available…”

* * *

Having agreed with Iolas there was no need to study the history of Invocation that very afternoon, Saphienne brought her fellow apprentices with her to the village library, asking them to wait outside while she went in.

Celaena misread her intentions. “We’re not asking Faylar!”

Saphienne stopped on the doorstep. “You’re right,” she teased, “we’re not.”

Iolas had caught on, and he winked at Saphienne as he addressed Celaena. “Don’t worry: your father will be pleased. Having a Warden of the Wilds as chaperone doesn’t mean we can’t have any fu–”

Saphienne giggled as she hurried into the library.

Filaurel was nowhere to be found on the lower floor, and when Saphienne checked the upper collection she found Faylar eating lunch by the windows; muffled by a mouthful of salad, he said he hadn’t seen the librarian upstairs.

The sight of green leaves stuck between his teeth made Saphienne lean away. “Thank you for that, Faylar.”

He reddened and swallowed. “You know me: always sharing too much.”

Snorting at him, more in pity than amusement, Saphienne returned to the stairs. She was halfway down their curve when she heard a door open — and could see from her vantagepoint that it wasn’t the way back through to the lower collection.

“Filaurel? Were you in the supply closet?”

The door slammed as she moved to peer over the railing, and she looked down to see Filaurel stumbling against the closet. Her mentor greeted her with a forced smile. “Saphienne! Were you looking for me?”

“…I was,” she admitted, suspicious as she finished descending.

The librarian crossed to the bottom of the steps with casual grace that seemed a little too effected for Saphienne to believe. “I should have put a note on the desk. Why do you need me?”

Whatever she had been up to, prying into her business when Saphienne needed a favour from her seemed unwise. Stepping down onto the floor and putting on her friendliest smile, Saphienne–

“No.” Filaurel folded her arms and shook her head. “Don’t do that — I know that look. Whatever you want me to do for you? Just ask me, Saphienne.”

Hot to the tips of her ears, Saphienne gave her a more genuine, awkward, and self-aware smile. “…Am I really that transparent?”

“Endearingly. And only when you’re excited.” Her fondness carried through her eyes as she pretended to glower. “Out with it, child.”

Being made to feel childish by her didn’t irritate Saphienne like she expected. “I heard from a little bird that you don’t participate in the revels after sunset on the–”

“Who told you that?”

Saphienne had never before seen Filaurel be defensive; she swallowed her sudden queasiness as she beheld her mentor’s alarm. “…I’m sorry. I was talking with a friend of mine — a spirit. She was nervous about walking during the festival, and asked if I trusted anyone–”

Filaurel’s gaze had softened as she listened, and she swept Saphienne up in a hug, pulling her tight against her chest. “It’s alright. You did nothing wrong.”

Saphienne blinked back unexpected tears. “I said she might want to ask you, and she told me that you don’t–”

Filaurel set her down, and led her by the hand to the nearby kitchen. “You don’t need to explain. I wasn’t reacting to you.” Now the librarian was the one to blush, full of self-recrimination as she pressed Saphienne toward the chair and leant her back against the doorframe. “Skip a few walks, and no one cares. But I’ve not walked since I was very young… and people consider it strange.”

Rather than sit, Saphienne propped herself against the far wall. “I’ve heard someone call you aloof. I don’t think you are.”

“I’m not…” She glanced out the doorway. “…Not with you. You know some of why I like to keep my privacy.”

Curiosity – together with a need to know she was still wanted – made Saphienne test her boundaries. “Can I ask… how old are you, Filaurel?”

“I wondered when you would.” Her grin held a sentiment Saphienne couldn’t quite comprehend. “I’m over a hundred and sixty. If you want an exact age, I’d need to check my calendars. After the first hundred years? Only the decades really matter.”

This was unexpected to her protégé. “You seem older.”

Her tone was light. “Being aloof will do that.” She reached up to adjust the band that held back her hair as she went on. “You should be careful around spirits–”

“I know.” Saphienne wished she could share all she knew. “Her name is Hyacinth, and she’s someone I know I can trust.”

Her confidence only worried Filaurel. “Why are you so sure?”

“We’ve walked together.” The half-truth didn’t sit right with her. “And, I know her better than I can describe. She went out of her way to save me from trouble — she’s now my guardian spirit.”

Disquiet showed in the way her mentor inclined. “…I see. You’ve been keeping some secrets from me.”

“For good reason.” She pleaded with her eyes — begging for Filaurel’s trust.

Resigned to give it, the librarian managed a weak laugh. “I’ve known spirits who see things the way we do. You’re very lucky to have found one… assuming it was luck.” She spoke as if she had good reason to doubt. “To answer the question you’re too scared to ask: the reason I don’t walk with spirits isn’t only because of trust. I don’t want anyone getting too far under my skin.”

Despite being more open with her bloomkith friend than she had imagined possible, Saphienne still related to the sentiment. “Well, Hyacinth won’t bother you. The favour I need has nothing to with spirits.”

Filaurel was puzzled. “I can’t guess what it is. Go ahead.”

Pushing away from the wall, Saphienne tried to ask as formally as she knew how. “Filaurel, would you please do me and Celaena the honour of being our chaperone on the night of the solstice? Celaeana’s father has given us permission to–”

“Do you expect me to be accommodating?” She crossed her arms again, this time adopting the disciplinarian tone she used when scolding miscreants as village librarian. “If you’re planning on drinking wine–”

“We won’t!”

Sighing, Filaurel broke character. “Now I’m disappointed. You’re meant to be begging and pleading and bribing me to turn a blind eye to just a little misbehaviour. You’re supposed to offer me just about anything I ask for, so long as I’ll be forgiving.”

Saphienne belatedly realised what she was getting into. “…Is this meant to be a supervised revel?”

“Officially, no. But if you’re having any real fun…” Filaurel giggled to herself, lost in her past. “Teenage children want to transgress against their limits; not even the threat of a hangover can deter them.”

“What’s a hangover?”

“Not a problem for elves.”

Picturing her as a young reveller felt utterly surreal. “What can we offer you?”

Saphienne’s mentor uncrossed her arms. “Let’s forgo a protracted performance. I’ll agree to chaperone — for no more than twenty children, arriving no later than sunset, and only so long as no one tries to sneak any wine by me.”

Laewyn would probably be disappointed, but Saphienne felt relieved as she bowed. “Thank you, Filaurel.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Filaurel held up her hand in caution. “My price for this is going to be very demanding — definitely boring, and quite possibly maddening.”

Intrigued despite her trepidation, Saphienne canted her head as she straightened up. “What do you want us to do?”

“Just you.” Her grin became ominous as she strolled forward. “You have very good handwriting. Tell me, Saphienne…”

The librarian put her hands on her hips.

“…Have you ever taken down minutes?”

End of Chapter 63