CHAPTER 41 – Entwined by Choice

Whereas Hyacinth had previously infused Saphienne with false calm, now the possessing spirit imparted rising panic — the snow that glittered above her field growing thicker on the stirring breeze. “The wizard must not determine that a spirit staged the scene!” Her tone grew worried. “Saphienne: you must be the one to act.”

Stepping back from the encroaching cold, Saphienne forced herself to sit down on the library steps and pulled her robes tighter around herself. She knew that the scene was not real, but she also understood that the chill was a representation of Hyacinth’s fears bleeding into her; she hoped that warming herself would keep her thoughts clear. “Explain to me what’s at stake for the spirits of the woodlands.”

“Right now? Nothing.” Hyacinth worried at the flowers on her skin, picking at her arms as she answered. “Your master will find exactly what was relayed to your elders. But if I or any other spirit were to alter the scene,” she insisted, “the wizard would notice, and he would report our deception. That breach of trust would contradict the ancient ways… with terrible consequences, for all of us.”

“Are you sure he would find out?”

Hyacinth threw up her arms, scattering plucked petals. “Yes! One of my elder sisters might be able to deceive him, but none of them will take the risk — no one but I may do anything for your sake, Saphienne. And I am not skilled enough to fool a trained wizard.”

“If I demand that you do it anyway–”

“Do not be foolish.” Hyacinth’s arms dropped, and she knelt before the steps. “The ancient ways demand I keep my word to you, but they permit me to break my promise where honouring it would threaten them; and even were I inclined to do as you ask, I would be prevented by my sisters.” She smiled, though her face was drawn. “Do you think your master barring us from his sanctum went unnoticed? His comings and goings are of interest to my sisters: they know what he is doing. Not to mention, one of them is watching us…”

Unnerved, Saphienne turned around–

“Physically.” The bloomkith managed a small giggle. “Or perhaps, spiritually? They cannot observe us here — only that I am within you.”

The cold was causing ferns of frost to form along the lip of the steps. Saphienne shivered, aware that her heart was beating faster. “Then I’m done. There’s no way I can cover up all that blood… and whatever else we left there…”

“Only the blood is of concern.” Hyacinth hesitated. “…I do not know how much you understand, and I am prohibited from teaching you magic without permission. What traces of yourself and your friends do you believe were left in the clearing?”

She thought over all that had happened, her intellect staving off the cold. “My blood. Perhaps some of my skin, my flesh, and my hair. Threads from my robes. Possibly, hair belonging to the others.” She recalled wind and rain pushing her down into thin mud. “Possibly, prints of our hands, maybe even footprints in the mud… and we may have left a trail that could be followed.”

Nodding, the bloomkith folded her hands on her lap. “Do not ask why, but shreds of your skin and flesh are of no concern. So too, any hairs shed naturally… and I doubt any pulled free will remain significant so many hours later. Are you wearing the same robes as yesterday? Were they repaired?”

“Yes; I only have one set.”

“Then errant threads will not matter for magical purposes. As for physical signs?” Hyacinth looked upward, studying the hazy sun through her ice storm. “…Your coming and going I can obscure by mundane means — outside the clearing. But I doubt the wizard will have the skills to follow your tracks, nor will he ask the Wardens of the Wilds for assistance.”

“Then, I command you to–”

“Saphienne.” Hyacinth shook her head with a sad smile. “Do you really believe you need to compel me to help you? Save the task I owe for a purpose I resent.”

That the spirit was willing to help her put Saphienne on edge; she chose to believe that Hyacinth was assisting out of shared interests. “Then… what do we do about the blood?”

“I don’t yet know…” The bloomkith rose. “…But you must do it with me. And if I am to advise you, we must band closer together.” She offered her hand. “Saphienne: I cannot propose a way forward without knowledge that you possess, and there is no time for questions. Let me enter deeper into you.”

The prospect daunted her. She stood as well, not daring to accept. “After everything that’s happened, I don’t trust you that far. There are things that–”

“Must I give you another service in exchange?” Hyacinth withdrew, her voice petulant. “Saphienne, I am trying to help! Whatever grievances you hold against me are meaningless, compared to our common purpose.”

“How do I know,” Saphienne asked, eyes narrowing, “that this isn’t another scheme at work? That you haven’t set this in motion, somehow, to make me lower my guard?”

In reply, the spirit shrugged. “You do not. Trust me, or do not trust me: your decision will stand.”

At least she was blunt: Saphienne respected that. With all the confidence she could summon, she walked down to the edge of the steps, and extended her hand. “There are things that are precious to me. If you make light of–”

“Never.” The bloomkith seized her wrist.

 

* * *

 

Saphienne stared at the wilting fragment of the flower on the ground before her, feeling its colour and scent more vividly than she had ever imagined possible.

 

* * *

 

Hyacinth withdrew, though the edifice of the library remained covered in climbing vines — impossibly sprouted with the blooms of her namesake.

Saphienne shook herself, overwhelmed. “…That was…”

“…Incredibly strange.” Hyacinth studied her with a frown. “Your mind is nothing like Celaena’s, and nothing like I was taught to expect. I was almost lost…”

She blinked. “How am I… in what way am I different?”

“Rooms within themselves.” Hyacinth trembled, her mood unclear. “Doors that open into the same hall from the other side. Spaces that recur, over and over, seemingly without end, their edges comprised of edges that repeat themselves — uncrossable distances. Everything is within reach of everything else.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.” She laughed, nervously. “I found my path, but my footing felt unsteady. Walking with you is weird, Saphienne. But your body, at least, feels very ordinary.” Her gaze softened as she sensed Saphienne’s sadness. “Do not mistake my inexperience for anything more meaningful. Your feelings, your passions? They are just the same as for other elves. What lies within your labyrinth was of no surprise to me.”

There was a little comfort, in that. “So…” Saphienne pushed her anxieties aside. “…You know everything about me, now?”

“No. I confined myself to your past week, and I am only holding the parts that I decided were relevant.” She gestured toward where her blooms embraced the library. “When we are done, I will release them, and remember only my conclusions.”

“And what are they?”

Surprising her, Hyacinth joined Saphienne on the steps, sinking down onto the stone to dangle her legs into the bottomless field. “I have the outline of a solution. If you follow it exactly as I tell you, then there is a chance that the wizard will not know what happened…”

Feeling inquisitive, Saphienne sat beside her, and when her own feet lowered into the red flowers she felt the bloomkith’s emotions more sharply — her fear for them both, her uncertainty in her plan, her resolve to see the challenge through. “I sense a catch.”

“…But,” Hyacinth admitted, “it involves making him very angry at you. Perhaps angry enough to end your apprenticeship anyway.”

She laughed, weary. “Is that all? The best case scenario is just as bad as the worst?”

“No. If you can do what I say, I do not think he will.”

Saphienne stared up at the sun; it shone more fiercely now, their shared worries melted by its brightness. “All right, Hyacinth. What do I do?”

“You need to convince your master to let you go with him into the clearing.” The bloomkith wove her hands as she spoke, imagining scenes that Saphienne saw with her. “On the way inside, you need to cut your palm or wrist severely enough that your blood runs — but as though it were an accident, and without being noticed. Keep your bleeding wound concealed. Then,” she concluded, “approach the blood in the clearing. Regard it in all ways as though it is not your own. Be confused when the divinations point to you. Understand nothing about why, and admit nothing about the truth.”

The plan made very little sense to her. “How will adding more blood help?”

Hyacinth bowed her head. “I cannot explain the scheme to you, for you do not yet understand the principles of magical sympathy. You must trust me: he will be furious, but you will escape suspicion.”

“He told me I wasn’t allowed to–”

“No.” She grinned, and the memory flashed through them both. “He told you that you were ‘not sufficiently qualified’ to come with him. Then he told you that you could leave. He did not prohibit you from joining him — and even if he had,” she laughed, “why would it matter? Refuse to take no for an answer. It will not be the first time…”

Put like that, the bloomkith had a point.

“How can I convince him?”

“You tell me.” Hyacinth held her gaze. “He is your master. The rest is all on you.”

She swallowed. “Then, I better get moving.”

“One minor detail.” Hyacinth pushed off the steps, slipping into the field as though submerging herself in a pool. “Dust yourself with salt before you meet him. Not too much: just a sprinkle over your head will suffice. Brush it off when done.”

“Why do I–”

The bloomkith moved away, the floral growth across the library withering. “I cannot tell you. And if you are successful, you will not find out why for some time.”

 

* * *

 

Around her, the woodland returned to normal, all colours and sounds and scents and tactile sensations diminishing to their usual reality as the spirit left.

Saphienne sat for a moment, thinking through the challenge. What Hyacinth had told her to do seemed like insanity — yet she believed in the bloomkith, convinced beyond reason that the spirit was helping.

She knew there was a possibility that she was being used again. She had no doubt that Hyacinth would use her, if the spirit felt the cause was just. What convinced her that the bloomkith’s motives were pure was that, ultimately, saving Saphienne was an extension of what they had done to free the sunflower spirit. Their shared work was incomplete.

Saphienne’s trust was tenuous. Yet, Hyacinth had it.

And so the apprentice closed her eyes and thought about her master, and what he wanted, and what she had learned on the night they met, and the fresh insights she had gained that very morning. Three minutes passed as she planned out her next steps — a desperate plan, one that had too many uncertainties she couldn’t account for.

In the end, all she could do was try.

Saphienne stood, tossing the dead trimming of the hyacinth away, the sole of her shoe blotting out the circle she had drawn in the dirt.

 

* * *

 

A little time later, she hammered on the grand doors to Celaena’s home as she crouched down on the doorstep. Saphienne laid out her calligraphy kit and prepared to write as she waited; when no answer was forthcoming, she thumped the door a second time–

And made Celaena jump back as it opened. “…Saphienne?” She stared down in bewilderment, dressed in a moon-patterned night gown and slippers under a warm, woollen robe. “What are you–”

“Call Laewyn down. I don’t have time to explain.” Her pen flew across the page, recording observations as though she were only just thinking them.

Celaena’s tone was defensive. “…She doesn’t live here, you know.”

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

Saphienne didn’t stop. “There’s no way she left you alone last night — not after what we went through. I need to ask her a question, and it’s urgent.”

Obviously irked, Celaena was nevertheless still worried about Saphienne from the day before, and she turned to call through the grand entranceway, her voice echoing from the dark tiles and high ceiling. “Laewyn! Saphienne needs to talk to you!”

“Thank you.” She studied what she had written, and frowned. “Do you remember the formula for the ratio between an angle in a triangle and the length of the opposing side?”

“What are you–” Celaena craned her head to read her writing.

“No time.” Saphienne quickly sketched as she spoke. “I need to work out the length of all three sides of this triangle, starting with two of the angles and the length of the longest side.”

“A right-angled triangle? That’s easy.” She stepped outside, bending down to point at the shape. “Your vertical side divided by your longest side will equal the height coordinate where a ray cast along that smaller angle intersects the unit circle, right? So multiply the longest side by that height coordinate to get the vertical side’s length. Then, just square the longest side, and subtract the square of the vertical side, and the square root of the remainder is the length of the horizontal side.”

Saphienne paused as she half-remembered the lessons, suddenly very glad she hadn’t challenged Celaena on the night they met. “…Those coordinate values are recorded in tables, aren’t they? Do you have a copy of them?”

Celaena studied the triangle. “If you can tell me any one length–”

Laewyn arrived at the door, buttoning her trousers. “What are you both–”

“Laewyn,” Saphienne cut her off, “the shrine to Our Lord of the Endless Hunt — do you know where it is?”

“Yes–”

“Roughly how far away is it from the village?”

She folded her arms. “Um, it’s a little over three miles away? Just under three and a quarter. It’s to the–”

“East-southeast,” Saphienne said, marking the length of the longest side of the triangle and filling in the corresponding angle. “Celaena?”

Celaena studied the page, then shut her eyes. Her lips moved as she called the memorised tables to mind. “Vertical side… one point two four. Horizontal side… three.” She looked at Saphienne. “Three miles? East of the village? That’s– you already know that’s where–”

But Sapheinne was standing. “Do you know how long your reception hall is?”

“Sixty-six feet, but why–”

She took off jogging past Laewyn, counting each resounding step under her breath, checking her count on her return journey. Kneeling back down, she did her final calculations. “Twenty-two strides… three feet a stride… three miles to go, so they cancel out… five thousand, two hundred and eighty feet in a mile means that’s also the number of strides.” She underlined the number, then started putting away her writing kit.

“Saphienne.” Celaena folded her arms. “What the fuck are you up to?”

She smiled manically as she shouldered her satchel. “Theoretical underpinnings!”

Confounded, the girls watched her race away through the terraced gardens.

 

* * *