CHAPTER 113 – Her Wings Unfurled

Attired in splendour, Saphienne contemplated herself in the mirror, gazing long upon the figment that unveiled her inner being.

Keeping the Hallucination spell active once she left the house would be unwise, but the willing suspension of disbelief that was necessary to sustain it was more important than the mental image now shown in the glass. What mattered was that she beheld herself a dragon becoming — that she was not counted among the elves, and was not at fault for all the wrongs that weighed on her so heavy and heavy.

…And that she liked the way she looked. Her enchanted robes complemented the scales and horns that beautified her.

Parthenos had told her she was a dragon, and for today, she intended to sustain herself with that lie. This was her mood as she paced to the window and spied the crowd outside through the tangle of flowers grown across the pane, concealed as she surveyed their wonder at the floral honours bestowed by the spirits of the woodlands.

Dragons did not ask questions… but there was one on her mind.

If she was to be dragon, what kind of dragon ought she be?

 

* * *

 

Just under three years earlier, during the autumn, Saphienne had spent an evening playing chess with her master in wizardry.

Although she was already proficient with the pronunciation she’d intended to learn, Almon insisted that he use the time to educate her anyway. “That you have a formidable grasp of their tongue will not suffice on its own, apprentice, should you ever be unfortunate enough to meet with one.” He squinted at the board as she made her moves. “Let us begin in summary: what do you know about dragons?”

Saphienne slipped off her shoes and drew her feet up onto the cushioned chair, curling her legs under herself as she lifted the tea he’d made. “Apart from what everyone hears about their ferocity, and what you’ve told me about their language… I know they’re inherently proficient with magic, and I’ve heard that they taught our predecessors its use.”

Almon raised an eyebrow, pausing in his play. “Where did you hear that?”

“Is it true?”

“Inasmuch as I read so at the Luminary Vale…” He gestured for her to continue as he resumed his gambit.

“Taerelle told me that their fire is magical and strange; Filaurel mentioned that dragonflare occurs around dragons, and that creatures born under its influence emerge as drakes and wyverns, but that not even dragons know its cause or what it signifies.”

He hummed, irked by the mention of Filaurel teaching her. “…You haven’t been misinformed.”

“The rest I know comes from our lessons…” She took her turn as she recalled his commentary, written down at the time and recently returned to. “You said that dragons are unrelenting; that they insist upon themselves; that they are all ‘tyrants by nature, forbidding that anything abide without their consent, regarding all that exists as extension to their fearsome and varied appetites.’ You noted that they tend not to grant mercy.”

“Good.” He inclined his head. “Most misremember that last part, mistaking dragons as merciless.”

“Your conclusion was that they are, by nature, incompatible with society.”

“Regrettably so.” The wizard took a sip from his own cup, then withdrew from direct contemplation of the board as he addressed his student. “You have neglected one part of the work I was quoting, but only because you lack the necessary context to understand that the phrase I used had layered meaning. ‘Be they behemoths or leviathans,’ were the key words.”

Intrigued, Saphienne let him lecture.

 

* * *

 

Apprentice, you will have to restrain your boundless curiosity: there are suppressed works that one must be admitted to the Luminary Vale before applying to read, and the treatise on dragons that I favour makes a reference to such. Trusting that – should your studies continue well – you may have occasion to read it yourself, I will talk around it without going into particulars. I expect you not to press me for what I mustn’t share.

When you hear the word ‘leviathan,’ you no doubt think of the description given in most lexicons — that of a serpent arising from the sea. Similarly, ‘behemoth’ denotes something large and powerful, often used when describing particularly impressive beasts.

Both words are apt for dragons, but not because of these definitions.

There are two discourses by a scholar whose name escapes me; one is restricted but not confined to the Luminary Vale, while the other requires supreme trust to read. The first is titled ‘Leviathan,’ and concerns itself with describing a theory of politics and society, laying the foundation for what would later be refined into our social contract.

The second is a recounting of the historical events that were discussed when you were introduced to the existence of witches. ‘Behemoth’ is a study of ‘Leviathan’ via contrast, articulating through harrowing example what happens when a social contract is disregarded by those who should uphold it.

–What did I tell you at the outset? Exercise patience, child!

As I was saying…

The metaphor woven through the treatise from which I quoted articulates an understanding of dragons that is challenging to grasp, but compelling. The reason dragons cannot belong in society is because they cannot submit to being bound by any social contract; every dragon refuses to yield themselves. ‘A dragon is scaled with convictions,’ was the line that drove the point home to me, for it conveys that dragons are constitutionally incapable of compromising what they regard as essential.

Does their language make more sense, now? They do not ask questions, and do not speak in hypotheticals, because the world cannot be other than they concede — and they are merciless in proportion to how greatly one differs to what they have conceded.

‘A dragon is most merciless of all to themselves,’ however, demanding that they submit to the reality they discover. Each dragon must live in accordance with their truth, or shed their skin to grow for themselves new scales. How much of this is literal, I don’t know, but that is how dragons approach all that they encounter, fiercely projecting themselves upon the world.

Practically, this means that every dragon is a tyrant. Their singular perspective on life makes them the rulers of all they behold, poised in judgement over everyone and everything, especially themselves, and when they come into contact with society? Then, they show one of two aspects.

Leviathans, Saphienne, are mysterious serpents, in touch with deep currents that run to hidden depths. They are not opposed to the existence of a social contract – and they may even enforce it, when times are interesting – though they themselves cannot submit.

But behemoths are might alone.

Some mistake leviathans for benevolent in their rulership, but behemoths are as a reaping whirlwind, chaos given flesh. Those stories you have heard – about marauding dragons that could not be overcome but with force – were penned about the latter; yet even the former are dangerous, for whatever their appetites, they are unfettered by anyone but themselves.

The danger is that these tendencies are not easily told apart. A behemoth that is satisfied with what they encounter may appear reasonable, even approachable, magnanimous and willing to indulge all supplicants. Nevertheless, they will not be swayed from their course by anything less than a greater dragon demanding their withdrawal or alignment.

…Apprentice, don’t be foolish. Leviathans are just as untameable, only preoccupied with more sophisticated understandings than the right of might alone. To win mercy requires that one convince a dragon that bestowing it does not run contrary to what they insist upon in themselves, and mercy is – by definition – forbearance from just punishment. The sole virtue of a leviathan is that they do, in their all-consuming way, concern themselves with the idea of justice.

This is why dragons are forbidden from our lands. No dragon can live at peace in the woodlands, for they will inevitably insist we conform to their nature.

 

* * *

 

Examining the crowd that awaited, in the present day Saphienne surmised that Parthenos was indeed the leviathan she’d believed her to be. Unyielding, yet disinclined to unconsidered vengeance, the dragon had wished to be left alone to tend her affliction, and had further asserted herself only to attend in turn upon a wounded wyrmling.

And Parthenos hadn’t known Saphienne was her kin at first, not when she’d been shocked and dismayed by her suicidal despair.

Liberty — that was the dragon’s demand. She insisted upon her freedom to be who chose to be, and so she’d urged Saphienne to the same. For why else had the smaller serpent wished to die? What was life, without the freedom to be one’s self?

 

“Do not live as an elf lives, for elves scarcely live at all.”

 

Having decided upon their lustre… of what substance would her scales be made?

“I won’t be selfish.” Power had afforded her dignity, but she would not wield her power to take whatever she desired. “I won’t live for myself alone. My fortune should be measured in the lives of others.” If she was to be unable to belong in the Eastern Vale, then she would comport herself mindfully, treating well all that instead belonged to her.

Narrowing to thin lines in her mind, her reptilian pupils caught sight of three faces of incalculable value amid the horde. Faylar, Celaena, and Iolas had arrived, and they were admiring the blossoms, unaware that she admired them anew.

She would start with her loved ones.

 

* * *

 

Laelansa was plating the toast she’d fried when Saphienne snuck up behind her, and she gasped as her hips were clasped and hot breath teased the nape of her neck. “Gods! I’m not used to you being this… affectionate…”

“Amorous.” Saphienne kissed her skin, feeling the urge to nip with pointed teeth.

Laelansa was momentarily flustered; worry leeched on her heat. “…Are you alright, Saphienne? This is a sharp change. You’re not pretending for me, are you?”

Giving in, Saphienne bit lightly. “I’m feeling much better.”

An irresistible shiver convinced Laelansa, who giggled as she set down the empty pan, leaning back to brush her ears against her lover’s. “…I always had a feeling you could be this way with me… you’re very driven. Forceful.”

“Are those complaints?”

She squirmed around, smiling, warm where she pressed against Saphienne in her devotional attire. “If they were… what would you do about them?”

Saphienne growled as she claimed a kiss.

Laelansa was flushed when she broke away. “…I’m still sore…”

“Me too.” Saphienne reached past her, lifting the plate before backing toward the kitchen table with a grin. “Doesn’t mean I can’t remind you why…”

Unaccustomed to such aggressive flirting, the novice covered her mouth with both hands and folded in on herself, losing all composure as she watched Saphienne sit and begin tearing into the toast.

Eventually, Laelansa fanned her face. “You’re very beautiful in those robes. Should you be wearing them while eating–”

Mouth full, Saphienne gestured to where her spellbook was hung from her belt.

“…I’m still not used to your magic.” Laelansa glanced to the kitchen door. “This is terrible of me to admit, but I wasn’t even thinking about your mending spell when I broke the lock the other night.”

She’d been carrying Saphienne. “I’d hope that you weren’t.”

Laughing, beguiled by her boldness, the novice approached and reached for a slice–

Saphienne playfully slid breakfast out of reach. “Do me a favour?”

“Another kiss?”

“Do me two favours,” Saphienne amended. “Iolas, Celaena, and Faylar are in the crowd outside. Dare I ask you to brave public scrutiny, and invite them in?”

Undaunted by the task, Laelansa bent down to kiss Saphienne — and snatched a piece of toast as she retreated. “Crowds don’t scare me! My goddess is ever with me.”

“Except when she’s eating breakfast.”

Laelansa paused her nibbling to stick her tongue out. “…Blasphemer…”

“Does that mean you repent for what you said when I–”

“Don’t be silly.” She brushed her hands off as she ate the last morsel, then covered her lips as she continued while chewing. “Words said under duress don’t count; my goddess is kind, and She knows the devotion in my heart.”

Saphienne leant back from the table, gaze softening. “I do; and I hope my goddess knows mine.”

Laelansa grinned as she headed out. “…I imagine she does. I suspect she likes how well it balances out.”

 

* * *

 

There had been a babble of raised voices when the front door opened, tinging with disappointment when the gathering realised Saphienne remained inside. Minutes later, when Laelansa came back, Saphienne heard people calling in the hope she would hear — begging her to come out and meet them.

She stayed seated in the kitchen, sipping water she’d poured for herself.

“…Feels so strange being back here…” Celaena’s nostalgia echoed from the entrance.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“You’ve visited before?” Iolas was surprised.

“Taerelle used to tutor me. Don’t give me that look: the Luminary Vale insisted. Our master didn’t like it — I only came to see her when I was really stuck with something.”

Iolas was wistful. “Must have been nice…”

Laelansa leant through the doorway from the sitting room, announcing them with light-hearted formality. “Master Saphienne, your guests have arrived!”

Having been listening with interest, Saphienne stood and quickly checked herself over, seeing that no crumbs littered her garment as she absently cast a minor spell to cleanse her hands and teeth. Posing for Laelansa’s approval – who nodded appreciatively – Saphienne unbuttoned her long sleeves to fall forward across her fingers, then sashayed into the sitting room, in view of the windows.

A quiet roar carried through the glass as she was spotted.

Faylar was stopped by the stairs with his arms folded, and he grinned in recognition of her outfit. “I thought you might be wearing that again. Seems like a good occasion for it.”

Iolas and Celaena were both admiring her, enamoured by the colours that were more vibrant than their own robes of dark grey. Neither said anything in their awkwardness — but Celaena’s faint blush, better controlled than when she’d been stunned by a feminine Iolas, confirmed that Saphienne appeared particularly striking.

“Come out to the back garden?” Saphienne proposed. “I expect we’ll have a little more privacy there…”

Faylar feigned being at ease, but the way he brushed his hair back behind his ear gave away that he was self-conscious as he strolled over. “Not going to offer us tea?”

Laelansa leapt at the chance to be helpful. “I’ll make some!”

“Let him make his own,” Saphienne retorted, smirking at him, “if he actually wants some.”

Celaena laughed, breaking the unacknowledged tension as she bowed. “Lovely to see you again, Master Saphienne. Don’t mind Faylar: he just doesn’t want to show that he’s intimidated.”

He glared back at her. “No I’m not!”

Iolas chuckled. “Yes, Faylar: very convincing.” He stepped forward and smoothly bowed as well. “Good morning to you, Master Saphienne.”

Saphienne’s cheeks ached from how hard she was smiling. “…None of that. I tolerated my title at the revel, but I won’t have you be so formal in private.”

Iolas and Celaena exchanged a look; Celaena spoke up. “…Are you sure? When you were confirmed, our master was very insistent that we’re to treat you with the proper respect–”

“My old friend Almon,” Saphienne sighed, “cares more for my status than I do, since it reflects well on his own. When we have an audience, use my title if you think it appropriate: I trust your judgement.”

Iolas took off his outer robes, folding them over his arm. “Won’t it undercut your accomplishment, Master Saphienne, if people see us being overly familiar with you?”

She rolled her eyes as she swung away. “Wrong way around, Apprentice Iolas. Whyever would I be embarrassed to be seen with my friends? Their reputation is greatly improved by our association.”

“Gods,” Faylar moaned as he followed, “you two better not encourage her. She’s already unbelievably egotistical.”

“Hardly.”

Saphienne heard Iolas laugh, together with his outer robes being tossed on the couch. “See, Faylar? That’s how you deny the truth: casually.”

Shared laughter trailed her into the garden.

 

* * *

 

She let the four soak in the grandeur of the flowers, vicariously experiencing their wonder without her earlier dread.

Celaena had bent low to sniff a buttercup. “…This must have taken them hours…”

“They’re still tending the arrangement,” Saphienne answered, aware of the faint breezes that were flitting nervously on the periphery. “Many of these plants can’t grow together in harmony. We’re witnessed here by the spirits of the woodlands.”

Iolas raised his eyebrows. “…When you said we’d have a little more privacy…”

“I don’t mind them being with us, for the moment.”