CHAPTER 122 – A Sanguine Inheritance

For a week after her meeting with High Master Elduin, Saphienne distracted herself by spending quality time with her mother and girlfriend, reasoning that pursuing other plans would be pointless until she knew for certain that the investigation had vindicated her. This was – she knew – really an excuse to pause and breathe after the rush since the summer solstice festival, letting events settle within while they were slowed without.

Taerelle had recommended the same. “I won’t tell you to pace yourself, prodigy: we both know you’re not going to. Why not let your momentum carry you forward while you decide on your direction? You won’t be so lonely, if you allow time for everyone to catch up with you.”

The diviner was a hypocrite, of course. Saphienne now understood her far better than when she’d been a child, and she knew that Taerelle was equally anxious and driven under her sharp exterior. She theorised that was why the wizard in black had such a high libido, seeking moments of catharsis in which her critical self was lost in thoughtless connection to another… and so wondered about Thessa. What explained the artist’s desire to be treated the way Taerelle liked treating her?

“Maybe,” Laelansa quietly wondered as they waited for Lynnariel, “she just likes the sensation of being restrained? Or the pageantry? Or just Taerelle? Not everything someone does has to be deep.”

“I used to think she was like Iolas, only more outgoing…” Saphienne watched the door to her mother’s bedroom overhead. “…But the two of them are different on the inside in fundamental ways. When I talked to her during our visit, I got a sense that she’s far less confident than I realised, she’s just found a way to live that she’s comfortable with.”

Laelansa took Saphienne’s thoughts seriously, if literally. “Do you know she’s different from Iolas? You said he holds himself back. Maybe he’s into the same–”

“Please, no.” Saphienne smiled in exasperation. “I don’t care about that; I just want to understand the people I love better than I do.”

“That’s relatable.” Laelansa slipped under Saphienne’s arm and leaned into her shoulder. “I feel like we’re the same… you just have to ask less questions out loud, because you’re better at thinking people through.”

Kissing Laelansa’s scalp, Saphienne lifted her chin to study her face. “That’s why you used to ask strangers so many questions? Trying to figure people out?”

Her ears drooped. “I used to struggle to tell how people were really feeling, and to guess what they were really thinking. Or, I thought I did. Then I’d go too far in the other direction, and make decisions about them that weren’t measured…”

“Like with me?”

Laelansa blushed. “…Climbing up to give you flowers was romantic, but only because you were receptive. I’d decided that you were… I had a crush on you. I didn’t have any restraint.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Otherwise, Saphienne would be dead. “I wasn’t really much better… and I’m still not. I can read people well as individuals, and I’m somewhat capable at predicting behaviours, but I’ve no social intuition.”

“You’re good at politics, though?”

“Strategy and performance. I can charm a room, but I can’t make them like me for who I am.”

Laelansa pressed closer. “I like you for who you are.”

If only that were entirely true…

“Why don’t you just ask Thessa? She’s not shy. She’d tell you.”

Saphienne winced. “Intimacy with you is… well, intimate. I don’t want to talk about my own experiences, and I can’t really ask people to share and not reciprocate. Thessa may be open, but–”

“Saphienne, my darling…” Laelansa mimicked Saphienne, who just then realised she sounded like her mother. “Just tell her you’re uncomfortable! She won’t mind. Laewyn is the only friend we have who’s pushy.”

“She’s not pushy,” Saphienne deflected, “she’s just…”

“Nosy?”

Long-delayed insight reached Saphienne. “…You know what? I finally understand why she and Thessa are so alike, in some ways. She’s always done the same: found a script she’s comfortable with, even if it wasn’t very good for her, and done her best to perform herself that way.”

Laelansa hummed. “Is that why she used to sabotage herself? In her apprenticeships, and like she tried to do with Celaena?”

“And why she likes plays, which is why she likes drama.” Saphienne marvelled. “They’re a way to express herself that feels safe. She once played at being a failure… and later, when she started sleeping with Faylar, she ended up acting the role of a hopeless romantic, because that was a script she could follow.”

“Her being pushy — is that an act?”

“I think she’s doing exactly what I’ve been doing: trying to figure people out by getting inside their head.” Saphienne quietly laughed. “An actor, anxiously searching for motivations. Desires are the greatest motivators…”

Caressing Saphienne’s side through her robes, Laelansa lowered her voice. “I feel bad now… when we first met, I thought she drank wine and misbehaved because she wanted people to like her. Same with being so sexual. There are girls and boys who play into that, to make people like them.”

None of what Laelansa said felt wrong. “Multiple things can be true. Lensa was a bad influence on her. She made her feel small, and encouraged her worst tendencies.”

“She wasn’t following a script; that girl was evil.”

Was she? “…I’m not so sure. About the script part, I mean.” Her mind drifted to Sundamar, then on to Tolduin, each of whom found certainty in their roles, each of whom was thereby led to evil acts despite good intentions. “This may be wrong, but when I think about her, I feel like she had something broken inside her. Lensa just didn’t have… compassion. I don’t know whether that was — what was it you said? Natural inclination, or cultivated through nurture?

“But whichever it was,” Saphienne went on, “I think about how she expressed it. She tried to be a wizard’s apprentice, then dressed like one when she couldn’t be. She hated me because I was allowed to study magic, and she felt like I’d been given all the opportunities she wanted for herself. And unlike Celaena, she couldn’t see why I’d been given them… and so she loathed me all the more. My conjecture,” Saphienne offered, “is that Lensa knew she didn’t have compassion, felt the absence, and believed that being a wizard would still let her be accepted.”

“You’re too kind.” Laelansa hugged her more tightly. “Everything I’ve learned about what happened makes me think she just wanted to be in control, so she could act with impunity. She was like a dragon.”

Saphienne’s heart fell.

“…What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “I just… dragons aren’t all like that.”

Laelansa stepped away to hold her hand. “Ruddles said they’re uncompromising. They want the world to resemble what they decide is right.”

Was that what she wanted?

“…I understand some do.” Saphienne returned her gaze above. “I’m not sure how much of what I’ve been taught isn’t to be repeated, but please take my word for it: dragons aren’t all selfish and controlling. Some understand mercy.”

“Mercy requires having power over someone — and power is control, isn’t it?”

“When it’s exercised…” High Master Elduin’s explanation of his status repeated in her ears. “…But the problem isn’t having power, or showing mercy: it’s fear of the powerful. A dragon could be entirely peaceful, not wanting to control anyone, but the fact that she could would make everyone afraid of her.”

Laelansa softened. “You’re talking about the dragon, aren’t you? I don’t remember her name.”

“Parthenos.” She supposed she was. “Laelansa, I really mean this: all of what happened there was my fault. She had no intentions of causing anyone harm, she was just trying to fly to freedom.”

“She could have told you that at the start.”

“And I could have asked her.” Talking about the dragon was making Saphienne uncomfortable. “My point is, Parthenos wasn’t like Lensa. She had compassion… and she wasn’t following a script…”

Laelansa scrutinised Saphienne. “…You’re hiding something.”

Saphienne didn’t blink. Although pained within, she lowered her head to smile easily at Laelansa. “The Luminary Vale is writing a report — maybe we’ll be allowed to read it?”

“No…” Laelansa took her other hand as well. “…Something about yourself. Are you following a script, Saphienne? Is this why you’re thinking about this?”

Now, Saphienne couldn’t help but blink. “…I…”

“Are you scared about being sanctified?” Laelansa’s concern was only for the woman she loved. “Is it about finding a way to be seen that everyone will accept?”

Saphienne didn’t know what to lie about.

Laelansa let go of her hands, and slid her arms around the magician, laying her cheek on her girlfriend’s bosom. “If you have to pretend to be someone you’re not so that people like you… I know how that feels. But you don’t have to pretend with me. I love you for who you are.”

Fortunately, Lynnariel coming out from her room saved her daughter from tears.

 

* * *

 

“Lynnariel, look! Is that a squirrel?”

Daily walks had coaxed Lynnariel further from the door, to the extent that Saphienne, her mother, and her girlfriend were presently strolling arm-in-arm together in the woods to the northeast of the village. They were not far from their starting point, but ironically they were further away from their destination; Saphienne’s house lay on the opposite end of the village, and walking through the groves was simply too much for her mother, so they were attempting to circle around.

“Is it red all over? I can’t quite tell.”

If Saphienne hadn’t loved Laelansa, the magician would have fallen hard for the initiate thanks to the gentle and persistent affection she showed to her mother. She was the reason they had made such great progress in so little time. Lynnariel had wanted to stay close to the door until she acclimatised, but Laelansa had patiently explained – before they set out – that this was the wrong way to overcome her fear.

“What bird is singing? Do you recognise it?”

No, according to the novice priest there was a moment for everything — including distraction from ourselves. Dwelling on the threshold, agonising over being outside? That wouldn’t help.

“Are the leaves starting to turn? Are they more yellow than yesterday?”

So it was that Laelansa did what she did well: constantly asked questions. By focusing on what was actually there rather than what she feared to see, Lynnariel could hold her terror at bay, gradually finding that it wasn’t as undefeatable as it presented.

On that day, in that moment, Saphienne was also glad for the distraction. Her earlier conversation with Laelansa had deeply upset her, and she couldn’t – wouldn’t – tell herself why. So she followed along like her mother, spying beasts and birds, meditatively losing herself in the colours of summer.

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She liked the greens, and the golds. Was that narcissistic?

“Tell me something you see.”

Lynnariel was perspiring heavily, trembling as they went along. “…Green trees, yellow grass, golden clouds…”

“That’s good — keep talking.”

Would the same principle work against her wyrd? Taerelle had proposed that denying it the chance to take effect was the surest way to defeat it… and Saphienne couldn’t help but wonder whether she was right. Kythalaen had been a more accomplished and knowledgeable wizard than Saphienne, had doubtlessly learned about her wyrd, and she’d believed that denying her descendants the possibility of living in the woodlands would frustrate the curse.

But then, she’d ended up dead; and here Saphienne was, able to choose.

…Except, Saphienne had a horrible feeling–

Lynnariel abruptly stopped.

“Hunters!” Laelansa grinned at Lynnariel. “Don’t worry, they can’t see us — Saphienne’s magic is hiding us. They’re just out practicing for autumn.”

Peering at the trio of elves who were up ahead, Saphienne couldn’t tell who they were, nor even their genders, for they were painted in browns and greens and dressed in camouflaging leaves atop their ritual furs, their outlines broken up where they crouched amid the foliage. Two were shorter, children being taught how to move stealthily with spear and bow; that they were unskilled was why they were visible.

Seeing the young hunters reminded Saphienne of how Lenitha had appeared, when the High Master had shared her ancient memories. Yet these children were treated well, nourished, and the horns they wore made them look adorable–

Horns.

Saphienne turned to her mother and leaned in to whisper. “They’re not the ward– the watchers of the wilds.”

Could Lynnariel even hear her? Was she lost in the memory of pitiless, horned elves tearing her away from the home she knew in Aiglant?

Was Saphienne to be powerless to save her mother, like she’d failed her best friend?

An unintended growl rolled from her throat. “…You’re safe with me. If they try to touch you, I’ll kill them.”

Lynnariel blinked.

“I won’t let you be taken away again.”

Slowly returning to the present, Lynnariel squeezed Saphienne’s arm hard, fumbling to thread their fingers together. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the hunters. “…I’m safe. I’m safe. They’re not– they’re not wearing masks.”

Laelansa hadn’t heard what Saphienne had said, but she latched on to what she did hear. “That’s right — they’re just dressed for hunting, so their prey knows to be afraid. We shouldn’t disturb them–”

“I want to go home.”

Saphienne and Laelansa exchanged a glance of agreement behind her back, and wordlessly tried to turn — only to have to stop, forced instead to back away so that Lynnariel could keep the hunters in view.

Strangely? Despite her petrification at the sight of them, by the time Lynnariel neared the house she was laughing at herself where she leaned against Saphienne.

 

* * *

 

Too much churning in the fathoms of her mind, that night Saphienne knocked on the door to Lynnariel’s bedroom. “Mother? May I come in?”

“…Saphienne? You can!”

She found Lynnariel curled up atop her sheets, a glass of wine in her hand — but only one glass, the rest of the bottle in the pantry. To Saphienne’s quiet delight, the pale white had barely been sipped.

“Please close the door.” Lynnariel pulled her silken robe tighter around herself. “I don’t want Laelansa to see me underdressed.”

Saphienne smirked as she did. “She’s already seen you like this.”

“She’s your lover.” Lynnariel flushed. “I don’t want to embarrass you… not more than I already do…”

Anger – but not at her mother – made Saphienne shrug off her dark blue outer robes and kick off her shoes, and she clambered onto the bed. “I’m not embarrassed by you. I’m not ashamed of you.”

Woundingly, Lynnariel stared at her daughter as though she’d received a revelation.

“I’m not.” Self-loathing made Saphienne shift closer. “I never should have been. I didn’t understand you. I was a selfish little bitch.”

“Darling…” Lynnariel tentatively brushed a loose strand of her daughter’s hair back behind her ear. “…Don’t say that about yourself. I wasn’t… I’m not a good mother to you–”

Saphienne hugged her mother.

Lynnariel hugged her daughter back.

When they separated, Saphienne surprised Lynnariel – and herself – by taking the glass from her hand and sniffing the wine. She tasted, found it tolerable, and drank more deeply than she intended, nearly draining the bulb.