CHAPTER 118 – Step by Step

Celaena didn’t understand the whole of what Saphienne was doing, but she was intelligent enough to discern that she was being asked to pass on concerns to her father without revealing that she’d been prompted. She might have guessed that her friend wanted her father to ensure that the investigation wasn’t hostile, and that the stakes were significant enough to matter to the High Masters, but she lacked the intrigue to go any further.

This suited Saphienne. Were Illimun or Lenitha to take umbrage, Celaena wouldn’t be perceived to have done wrong.

However, she doubted either magician would be offended. By sending her message through the apprentice, Saphienne was establishing several different narratives, all of which were plausible yet unconfirmable.

The first story was superficial. Saphienne – worried about being harshly interrogated, afraid she would disappoint the High Master who’d taken an interest in her – had shared her anxieties with a close friend, one who was passingly familiar with the Luminary Vale but didn’t participate in its politics. Celaena, well-intentioned, had broken their confidence to seek reassurance from her father that Saphienne needn’t fret.

The second story was more involved, and built upon the first. Saphienne had acted deliberately when she confided in Celaena, intending that the apprentice reach out to her father to ensure the review wouldn’t be unfairly arduous, declining to approach him directly so as to avoid the appearance of impropriety.

The third story went deeper still, and was for Illimun. Saphienne was warning him that High Master Lenitha had somehow been involved in the dragon coming to the Eastern Vale, and so the questioning needed to tread lightly to avoid causing embarrassment to the Luminary Vale. By extension, she was giving him the opportunity to gain favour with his superior by bringing Lenitha’s attention to an unforeseen problem.

The fourth story was a threat, and was directed at the High Master. Saphienne knew that she could credibly blame Lenitha if she was found culpable of any wrongdoing, and she was making clear that she was willing to do so if pressed. Perhaps Illimun would identify this subtext, but if he did, his chance to improve his standing would only be increased by that comprehension.

Crucially, the final story softened those that came before. Saphienne could plausibly deny anything after the first interpretation, and Illimun and Lenitha would know that. She was giving them pretext to pretend that she hadn’t threatened anyone with anything — and thereby signalling that she didn’t want to fight, but that she could defend herself. Moreover, implicit in the third story was an overture for peaceful collaboration, recognising that they were on the same side. Didn’t all elven magicians share in the reputation of the institution to which they ultimately belonged?

Had Saphienne not been confident she was favoured by Illimun, held the trust of his daughter, and that his collaboration with the High Master went beyond what was strictly obliged by his role, she would have been taking a risk. Instead, she was satisfied with her gambit as she returned downstairs with Celaena.

Yet she found herself unable to enjoy the remainder of her visit. Her mind was on the next step she was to take, and on determining when to move. The earlier she spoke to Vestaele, the better she could prepare herself for the interview… yet the more time her interviewers would have to consider whatever the sorcerer passed back to them.

Timing was everything. She’d dissuaded Celaena from writing to her father early–

“Saphienne? Are you with us?”

Brought back to the sitting room by gentle laughter, she smiled at Laewyn. “Sorry; I’m easily distracted at the moment.”

Perched atop the back of the couch behind Saphienne, Thessa patted her shoulder. “Don’t let her bother you — she simply doesn’t understand the thoughts that weigh heavy upon the heroic brow.”

Athidyn, Mathileyn, Celaena, and especially Laewyn all groaned; Laelansa giggled where she sat on the other side of the apprentice tailor.

Saphienne tilted her head back against the cushions, staring up at Thessa. She was torn between playing along and mischievously asking how the artist understood such thoughts…

She settled on sincerity. “What’s been distracting you?”

Thessa briefly hesitated, then doubled down. “Why, only the same contemplation of selfless duty that surely–”

“Woe befall me!” Laewyn gave a dramatic moan, slumping against Saphienne. “‘Tis my hand that armed this vexsome foe.”

“She’s right,” Celaena smirked from the floor in front them. “Laewyn spent a day quoting from plays to tease Thessa about being a hero, and now we’re being collectively punished.”

Laelansa clasped her hands to her chest, gleeful as she joined in. “The gods Themselves surely will that you be punished, to have sent such a great hero to enact Their vengeance–”

“Don’t give anyone any more ideas,” Saphienne muttered.

Athidyn snorted into his teacup.

This won a mock bow from Laelansa. “Alack, I have been chastised by Their anointed! Contrite, I confess my error–”

“That does it.” Saphienne stood haughtily and extended her hand to Thessa. “Come, fellow champion of the elves! Let us quit the presence of these irreverent fools, and rove forth in search of company befitting our tremendous stature.”

Laewyn had perked up. “Where are you going?”

“To the garden?” she proposed.

Thessa faltered – proving that Saphienne had judged her rightly – then slid off the couch and resolutely came around to take her hand. “Lead on.”

They strode out to faux applause from Laelansa and Mathileyn.

 

* * *

 

“How are you, Thessa?”

Peering down into the tranquil pond amid the secluded garden nook, Thessa didn’t immediately respond. Her gaze followed the carp that swam in expectant, demanding circles near the surface, her arms folding protectively around herself.

“I feel like a fraud.”

This was unsurprising to Saphienne, who made no comment as she stood beside Thessa to study the fish. Her silhouette was taller than her friend’s where they were both reflected in the pond.

Thessa exhaled as she stepped back and paced on, head bowed. “I just happened to be there while you were being a hero, and now people are treating me like I’m special.”

Frowning, Saphienne followed. “What you did was–”

“When I was little,” Thessa interrupted, “before I learned to draw, I traced an illustration and showed it to my mother as though it was my own work…” Her laugh at herself was unkind. “…And she believed me! She made such a fuss; and the longer it went on, the more awful I felt for having lied. All I’d done was shown her a poor copy of artwork by someone more talented than me.”

Letting her talk, Saphienne moved ahead, sitting on the rickety bench Athidyn had built as she waited for his daughter to finish with her self-recriminations.

Thessa wasn’t rushing. “I feel like an imitation. Everything I did at the lake… everything I’ve been feeling since then… it’s all just traced from you.”

No resentment was in the statement, only dejection.

Recognising the same hollowness as had – until recently – consumed her desires and stolen the colour from her life, Saphienne crossed her legs, supported her elbow with her knee, and propped her chin upon her hand. “You feel like everyone wants you to be someone other than yourself… did you become a painter to please your mother?”

Her question perplexed Thessa. “Maybe… who can say? I never told her that I’d traced the picture.”

“But you do love painting?”

Downcast, Thessa nevertheless nodded.

Mild sarcasm seeped into Saphienne’s voice. “I feel similarly about magic… so I suppose that’s another way you’re copying me…”

“You can’t cheat at casting spells.”

“You weren’t cheating with your tracing.” Her smile broadened. “How old were you? I’d wager you were far too young to have managed whatever you’d traced, and that Mathileyn knew what you’d done.”

Thessa looked up. “…You think she was encouraging me?”

“Possibly; I can’t say for sure. Depending on your age at the time, I’m unconvinced you knew you were cheating when you traced the picture. Perhaps you only felt bad afterward, when you understood it wasn’t the same as drawing your own, then persuaded yourself that you’d intended to deceive. Filaurel once told me that we convince ourselves we’re more deliberate than we really are, and it seems to me that memory is a story we tell to ourselves to convince ourselves about who we are.”

Absorbing this, Thessa could only shrug.

Saphienne patted the space next to herself as she leant back. “I want to ask you another question, but I’m worried you’ll think I’m terribly conceited…”

Her friend drew closer, but remained standing. “Gaeleath says all successful artists are conceited.”

She grinned. “So we are; then I hope I’m not too self-absorbed.” Her grin nervously faded into a plea for honest rapport. “Thessa… did you save the children for my sake?”

Dumbfounded, the painter stared at the sculptor.

Saphienne was patient.

“…How did you know?”

“I didn’t consider it at the time,” she admitted. “I saw you crawl away from the tree… but you went back for them. I never stopped to wonder what prompted that — not until you called yourself an imitation of me.”

Thessa was thoroughly unnerved. “…You’re reading my mind…”

The suggestion made Saphienne hiss in amusement. “So I was right! You are intimidated by my magic.” She crossed her arms in mock confrontation. “Do you really think I’d dare divine your thoughts, Thessa? Gods alone know the trauma I’d be risking — you’ve slept with Taerelle.”

At last, Thessa chuckled. “You don’t seem upset about that anymore.”

“I’m not.” Saphienne blushed as self-awareness caught up with her. “My problem was never really about the two of you; I was just struggling with my anxieties.”

“Anxieties?” The painter raised an eyebrow. “Not the crush you had on Taerelle?”

Blazing scarlet, the bench beneath her creaking as she turned away, Saphienne buried her face in the crook of her arm. “…I was fourteen…”

Thessa laughed and crouched down at her feet. “Taerelle found it hilarious.”

“I don’t–” Saphienne took a breath, fanning herself as she sought serenity in the clouds gliding across the sky. “I don’t feel that way about her anymore. I was impressionable: she accidentally made an impression. She’d been working at the forge with her robes down, and I’d never seen anyone who looked that way before.”

The dreamy longing in Thessa’s gaze was nostalgic. “Swinging her hammer with those strong arms of hers, hot and sweaty–”

“Thessa!”

“You’re right…” She ascended to sit with Saphienne. “…I am frightened by magic. I was scared of Taerelle when we started talking; I’m a little scared of her even now, but in a fun way.”

Saphienne’s ears were still burning years later. “I’m well aware.”

They lapsed into amicable silence amid the balmy afternoon.

Thessa broke the peaceful pause as she reached for Saphienne’s hand. “…I thought you were going to die.”

Endeared, Saphienne enjoyed the irony as she squeezed back. “Me too.”

“I didn’t want your death to– to be–”

Saphienne shifted her hold to the back of Thessa’s neck, massaging there to soothe the artist as she fought for composure.

Which was too effective — Thessa went rigid, then caught her wrist and lifted her hand away. “Thank you, Saphienne, but you don’t want to do that.”

Saphienne blinked. “…I learned it from Taerelle…”

“Different associations.” Thessa failed to smother a nervous giggle. “She used to do that when we were lying in bed; and it doesn’t help that you look a little like her when you wear your hair in a long braid, or that you copy her mannerisms when you’re being imposing.”

Resigned to embarrassment, Saphienne managed a weak laugh. “See? We’re all just copies of each other, all the way down.”

“I’m still not a hero.”

“How appropriate: neither am I.”

Thessa squinted at her. “You’re the only one who thinks that — and don’t you tell me it’s the same way for me.”

Saphienne shook her head. “You were at the meeting: I tried to tell the consensus that the dragon didn’t come here to kill anyone. I don’t think she would have killed someone, not unless she’d been forced to.”

“Did you know that when you challenged– um, her?”

She rolled her eyes. “Laelansa asked the same thing. But that isn’t the point…”

Sceptical, Thessa puzzled over Saphienne. “Then, what is?”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

She could no more admit she’d been suicidal to Thessa than to Laelansa, and so betrayed nothing else.

Eventually, the painter relented. “…You just don’t want to be a hero. You’re uncomfortable with being treated like everyone is treating you.”

“Said one branch of the tree to another.”

“I just want to paint!” Thessa cried out, pleading. “I just want to paint, and drink wine, and sleep with people I shouldn’t, and annoy Iolas and Celaena in the way a big sister should. I don’t want people looking at me like I’m–”

“Holy?”

Thessa heard the derision. “Are you sure you aren’t? Not even a little?”

Saphienne’s sigh was long and low. “What I am is a mess. I feel like I’m running across thin ice in spring — like if I stop to catch my bearings I’ll fall into the river and drown. I’m scared for the people I love, that I can’t save them, that I’ll fail them like–”

She shut her eyes.

Thessa gripped her arm. “Saphienne?”

Gritting her teeth, she willed her tears not to spill out.

“You don’t need to save anyone.”

Didn’t she? Deep down, hadn’t that been what she’d really wanted to do?

Hadn’t she been too cowardly to scry, let alone try?

Hadn’t Kylantha always been screaming for her help?

“The dragon’s gone,” Thessa promised. “You said she’s not coming back.”

Saphienne whispered without opening her eyes. “I wish she’d come sooner… I wish I’d known before…”

“Known what?”

And calm streamed over her like falling rain.

“…I’m not sure.” Saphienne was lying to herself; she ignored that she lied, her gaze steadying where she faced Thessa. “But whatever it is, I’m certain the gods have nothing to do with it. They had nothing to do with what I did, either — I had my own reasons, and what drove me wasn’t heroic.”

Indulging her, Thessa shifted closer. “Then what are we supposed to do? I’m no hero, yet everyone sees me that way. I can’t be myself. You have it worse, and you’re smarter than me, so tell me: what should we do?”

Therein lay a question Saphienne couldn’t answer, not for the pair of them.

But she could see a way out for Thessa, and she absently folded her legs beside herself and leant on her arm as she began outlining the path forward. “Well, if one of us has to be–”

With an abrupt crack – and their shared cry of alarm – the worn bench Saphienne and Thessa sat on finally gave way, snapped in half under too much weight, sent them sprawling to the ground together.

Dazed from their collision, Saphienne and Thessa were slow to assess the aftermath… yet they both reacted in the same way.

“Fuck.”

Then they laughed until they were breathless, and helped each other up.

 

* * *

 

Athidyn was dismayed that he hadn’t been present to see his woodwork fail — and Mathileyn scolded him for allowing its disrepair to harm his daughter, Thessa sporting a bruise upon her forehead. Fortunately, Laelansa invoked Ruddles, who was entertained by the story as she healed the injury.

After, Saphienne quietly offered to mend the bench with magic.