CHAPTER 117 – Moved From Afar

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would Lenitha do that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Celaena, then Vestaele…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saphienne frowned as she backed away from the daylight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saphienne saw an elf.

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

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

No, her problem was far worse.

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

“…Foolish child…”

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

This was the heart of Saphienne’s apostasy:

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

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

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

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

There, Saphienne wondered whether–

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

“I’ll come down!”

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

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

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

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

“Saphienne? Your oats are getting cold!”

Enough chasing her undulating tail. Further ruminations could wait.

Besides, she knew whom to ask for advice.

 

* * *

 

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

Peluda was sitting on her lap.

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

Despite withholding affection, Saphienne received endless purrs.

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

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

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

“…She noticed us before the veil lifted…”

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

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

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

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

Laelansa quietly pouted. “…They are magical…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

* * *

 

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

“…How are you, Saphienne?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Filaurel liked the woman she’d become.

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

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

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

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

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

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

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

“So I heard you say.”

“She never had a mother.”

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

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

Filaurel was silent.

“You know, when I was little, not long after–” Her voice caught. “…Excuse me. Not long after you walked me back to her house, Lynnariel said something that I didn’t fully understand. ‘When you’re grown, you’ll see why it had to be this way. It would have been much worse if she’d stayed. You’d have ended up resenting her, and then you’d have felt guilty for resenting her, and then she’d have died, and that would be the end for her, but you’d still be carrying her memory everywhere you went.’” Saphienne snorted as she finished her imitation. “I hated her for that… but it wasn’t her who was speaking, was it? I think she was repeating what someone said to her when she was brought here, about a friend she’d left behind. I think she only changed one word.”

The librarian busied herself filling the pot.

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

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

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

Her mentor was stricken.

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

Eyes wide, the older woman neither moved nor spoke.

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

Filaurel stared down at the tiles on which she stood.

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

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

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

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

How Saphienne’s heart sang!

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

And how it fell.

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

The librarian returned to steeping the tea.

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

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