CHAPTER 21 – All the Ease of Summertime

There had been a puppet show for the children. Saphienne would remember that, nearly five years later.

She had been nine years old, golden haired now summer had arrived, wearing her usual sundress — while all the other children wore clothes reserved for special occasions. In her unfolding memory she was sat at the back of the audience in the tented pavilion, beside Kylantha, who was always golden haired, nestled up against her as they laughed and gasped at the shadows cast by the puppets against the screen.

Saphienne had arrived late, which was also the reason she was underdressed. Her father was visiting her mother, and they had both promised her they would walk her to the festival grounds before evening came. She had waited on them all through the afternoon, waited while they played adult games with each other in her mother’s locked bedroom, looking up hopefully whenever one or the other would pass her room to fetch more wine from under the stairs. Then the sun had turned yellow in descent, and she couldn’t wait any longer, and had washed herself, and fed herself a meagre dinner, and put on yesterday’s clothes, and walked by herself to the festival grounds, where the young children had all been dropped off by their guardians, hours before.

Because she was late, she had missed making paper flowers. But she held one anyway as she leaned against Kylantha, a single daffodil that her friend had given her for safekeeping. The yellow leaves and green stem were thick, and the bloom was slightly askew from the excessive, tacky glue and string that held its parts together, but it still looked pretty, made with care and attention and the earnest love of a child for her mother. Saphienne clutched it like a talisman, but held it lightly, and it shook with her laughter every time the nimble puppets fell over.

Understand: this was a happy day. There were no dark thoughts, back then. All the world was on the stage before them, where forest wardens shooed goblins and fought dragons to save maidens, and magic glimmered in the shadows to make the sounds that accompanied the actors’ exaggerated voices. Kylantha and Saphienne both joined in when the puppets asked the children whether the dragon should eat the maiden — “No!” And they cheered when the dragon was driven off, and laughed when the goblins crept back in once the elves were gone, bickering over the scales and broken arrows left behind.

Eventually, the tale was done, and the tent was full of cheers. The lamps were lit, and gentle music played as the harpist returned to her chair, and one of the forever energetic caretakers stood before the puppet stage and shouted an invitation that was not voluntary, “Who wants to play a game!”

But Saphienne and Kylantha didn’t join in with the cheering that time. Instead, they looked at each other, Saphienne anxious and Kylantha wrinkling her nose.

“Come on,” Kylantha said. “Let’s explore.”

Saphienne bit her lip. “We’re meant to stay here. We’re not grown enough for the festival.”

Nothing else Saphienne could have said would have made Kylantha spring to her feet more quickly, and the half-elf planted her hands on her hips. “Says who? And we won’t do anything wrong. We’ll just…” Her brown eyes focused on the paper flower. “…We’ll take my flower to mother! Then we’ll come back.”

Saphienne knew Kylantha had no intention of doing just anything, but the younger girl’s boldness always brought out her own, and so Saphienne smiled in the slightly adoring way that young children do when they’re in awe of children who surely know better. She climbed to her feet, and took Kylantha’s hand, and the pair turned around toward the doorway, where another caretaker was minding the exit.

“She won’t let us leave,” Saphienne whispered.

Kylantha let go of her hand. “Go drink some juice. Then tell her you can’t find me. Tell her you’ve looked everywhere.”

“But you’re here?” She blinked. “You want me to… lie?”

“No. You won’t find me.” Kylantha smiled an impish smile. “If you want to try to find me, you can try…”

Saphienne liked playing hide and seek with Kylantha, and she giggled. Kylantha almost always won, but every time was different. Nodding, she left her best and only friend and went over to the low table at the far side of the room, where wooden cups filled with blackcurrant juice had been laid out for the children. She sipped one, then screwed shut her eyes, unsure if she liked the tart and faintly bitter flavour until she drank a second, third, and then fourth time.

That had to have been long enough. She set down the half-full cup and looked around the room, to where the other children were dividing themselves into teams. Not wanting to wait around and be forced to be included, she hurriedly glanced under the table and behind the stage and up at the lanterns, then walked over to the caretaker by the door.

“Is something wrong, Saphienne? Do you need me to take you to the bathroom?” The caretaker knew her, but Saphienne didn’t know the adult elf’s name, though she had a warm smile and kind eyes as she bent over to address her.

“I can’t find Kylantha.” Technically, she was telling the truth. “I went to have juice, but I can’t see her anywhere.”

Exasperated, the caretaker sighed as she straightened up. “Oh, wherever has that child gone off to now… let’s see.”

Saphienne followed her gaze as she glanced throughout the tent, then watched as her expression shifted from frayed indulgence to growing concern, and then irritation. “Not again… can’t take your eyes off her for five minutes…” She made herself smile as she looked down at Saphienne. “If you wait here, I’ll go look for her.”

“Please.” She felt a little guilty, wasting the woman’s time.

The elf patted her affectionately on the head, then strode through the tent toward the other caretakers.

In an instant, Kylantha appeared beside her. “Let’s go!”

Saphienne jumped, but her hand had been taken and they were walking through the flap, and then they were running behind the pavilion while Kylantha giggled with glee, and the golden day made the younger girl’s braided hair gleam like a crown of triumph.

“Where were you?” Saphienne asked once they left the clearing. “I looked for you, but I didn’t see you anywhere.”

“In the crowd.” Kylantha spoke matter-of-factly. “I told Celaena I’d do whatever she told me. Then I stood on my tiptoes and hid behind her team. I had my back to the door, and I pulled my hair over my ears.”

Saphienne was amazed. “But you never do what they want!”

“And I always stand out.” She smiled. “But only when I want to.”

“Won’t they be mad?”

“She wanted me on her team. The others didn’t. And only because…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. This is far enough — come on!”

They had been circling around the clearing just beyond the treeline, and Saphienne bounded along to keep up with the smaller, yet quicker girl as they went back into the clearing and passed between other tents, nearly tripping against her when they came to a halt.

Before them, a forest of long legs swayed back and forth, the crowd of adult elves laughing and talking loudly as they moved between tents and stalls, requesting food, trying their hands at games, contemplating the art on display — and discussing what should be done with it. Wine was flowing freely, song carried on the air from near and far, and warring music hovered above the throng from different directions, harmonious despite the differences.

Kylantha was looking at Saphienne. “Your hair isn’t braided.”

Saphienne touched her temples. “…I couldn’t do it myself.”

“Sit down.” Kylantha dropped down behind her. “I’ll do it. You’ve got to look right.”

“Do I really?” Saphienne sat regardless, fidgeting with the flower.

“Today you do.” Kylantha began to braid Saphienne’s hair in the same high circle she wore, though the older girl would have a longer tail, since her hair hung lower and more smoothly. “Mother said everyone should look their best.”

Enjoying the feeling of her hair being stroked through and lifted, Saphienne nodded, then blushed when Kylantha scolded her for moving, and sat unnaturally still for a few minutes more. No one paid them any mind — or at least, the ones who noticed them only smiled and cooed and waved, happy to see the picturesque scene of two girls at play.

“Where did all these people come from?” Saphienne asked.

“They’re from other villages.” Kylantha stuck her tongue back into the corner of her lips as she worked, then spoke again as she tried to remember the next steps. “Mother says a festival like this is held in a different village every year. Everyone sees who has the best festival. They compete.”

“What about their children?”

“They stay home. When they’re fourteen, they can travel with the adults. If they have permission.” She snorted.

Saphienne sighed. “That’s so long away.”

“Not that long. And I won’t go without you.” She finished, and leant forward to hug her. “There!”

Saphienne enjoyed the hug, and let Kylantha half-lift her as she stood, giggling. “How do I look?”

“Like sunshine!” Kylantha twirled her around. “Like a sunflower, growing up! All thin and tall, and yellow at the top.”

They both laughed together, and then Kylantha took her hand again and they went out where they weren’t supposed to be, seeking adventure.

* * *

“I could do that!”

Saphienne and Kylantha were stood beside a long table, watching as adult elves threw small stones at another table some forty feet away. The objective was to knock over a group of wooden statues, and the prize was nothing more than a treacle-covered apple on a stick. And the bragging rights, Saphienne supposed, but the game interested her less than the prize, having not eaten much before she left her family home.

“I could do better than that!” Kylantha insisted again.

The elf who was throwing glanced around in irritation, but he laughed when he saw the young girl insulting him. “Maybe you could! But wait your turn, little girl.”

Kylantha stuck her tongue out at him, and the adults around them all laughed, and one of them – a woman in a translucent dress that floated on the air – noticed Saphienne staring at the apple she’d won, and grinned as she handed it to her. Saphienne didn’t know what to say, and gave her a bow, like she’d seen others do, and the woman surprised her by bowing back while smiling all the more sweetly.

Meanwhile, the player missed his target again. “This is harder than it looks.”

Kylantha was unimpressed. “It doesn’t look that hard.”

More laughter greeted her words, and the kind woman standing next to the man nudged him. “Save your last stone for her.”

“She can get her own.”

“Afraid she’ll humble you?”

“As if.” He threw, and this time his aim was true, and a small cheer went up.

Kylantha unfolded her arms and nodded. “About time. Good throw!”

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Taking his apple, he gestured for her to step up. “Well? Don’t keep us in suspense, Master Thrower.” He waved to the game’s referee. “Can the girl play?”

“On your say-so!” the other elf called back, busy resetting the statues and collecting the tossed stones. “Make sure she doesn’t hurt herself!”

Laughing, the woman nudged her friend a second time. “Or someone else.”

Kylantha took her opportunity to come closer to the table, and she dragged Saphienne along with her. Saphienne licked her apple and watched as Kylantha stretched up and reached for the small pile of stones, not quite touching them.

“Harder than it looks, isn’t it?” the man chuckled.

“Oh,” the woman next to him sighed, “don’t be petty. Lift her up!”

Offended, Kylantha turned to argue, then shrieked with surprise when he hoisted her by her waist and set her on the table, there to wobble for a moment as she found her balance. A small circle was forming to watch, intrigued.

“Now you’re tall enough.” He stepped back. “You get three throws — wait! Let him come back to the table, girl.”

Kylantha had snatched up her stones in an instant; restraining herself took effort. She looked down at Saphienne, surprised to see she already had an apple. “…I was going to win you one.”

Saphienne waved the apple by the stick poked into its core. “Can you win me another? They’re good.”

Desire flashed in Kylantha’s eyes as she stared at the apple. She grinned. “We’ll share. Don’t take a bite. Not until I’ve won.”

Happy with this, Saphienne returned to licking off the treacle, and watched as Kylantha readied her first throw–

Which flew like an arrow loosed from a bow and struck the middlemost statue squarely in the centre, making it wobble.

Applause broke out, and the man standing next to her blushed. “Well, shi– uh…” The man caught himself. “…Excuse me. Master Thrower, please: teach me your ways!”

“I didn’t knock it down.” Kylantha was pouting.

“Try again,” the woman said, “and throw harder.”

Saphienne stopped chewing the thick sugar. “You can do it!”

Encouraged, Kylantha took aim again–

And struck in an instant, in the same place, harder than before, but still not hard enough to knock the statue down.

“You’ve got good aim,” the referee admitted, “but you’re just not strong enough. Sorry girl. I’ll give you an apple anyway, if you make your last throw.”

Kylantha stared at the stone in her hand. “…Fine! Wait.”

Surprising everyone, she tossed the stone back on the pile and jumped off the table, and she reached out and snatched away Saphienne’s apple, leaning up to kiss her cheek before the older girl could complain. Then she scrambled back onto the table, pulling out the stick with her teeth as she straightened up.

“Wait, you’re supposed to–”

But the referee’s injunction mattered nothing to the short half-elf, who wiped the apple on her bare arm, took hold, and heaved it with all her might.

Everyone watched, spellbound, as it soared more slowly through the air, arcing down toward the distant table with growing momentum–