CHAPTER 63 – Golden Days

Once Almon had accepted the essays of his unproven apprentices, the remainder of the morning was spent finishing their incomplete lesson in Invocation. Saphienne and Iolas summarised what Celaena had shared with them during their subsequent study sessions, and then all three students took notes while the wizard recounted the history of the discipline and its key contributors.

So elated was Saphienne by success – the faint ringing from upstairs telling her that the discussion over her submission still raged on – that her attention wandered during the lesson. In retrospect, she was thankful for all the time she had spent scrivening: hours of monotonous transcription now enabled her to thoughtlessly record whatever the wizard said while she applied herself to more interesting concerns. Not that she presently had any…

Then again, what she was doing was interesting in itself. Filaurel had noticed Saphienne could listen and write while thinking in detail; she found it quite remarkable. Was that a consequence of Saphienne’s oddly structured mind? Hyacinth had described rooms within themselves, doors that opened into the same hallways from opposite sides, and recurring spaces that endlessly repeated. The spirit had said that everything was within reach of everything else — and that fit with how Saphienne brought together whatever she learned.

…Including what she would rather avoid.

While Almon droned on, Saphienne idly reflected on her last meeting with Hyacinth.

 

* * *

 

Three days prior, on the stormy afternoon that Taerelle had confronted her with the letter from the Luminary Vale, Saphienne was almost at the village teahouse when Hyacinth slipped loose from the binding spell.

The clearing and its garden were in view when the wind picked up. Saphienne didn’t notice anything unusual at first, given that the day was wild and the forest still glistened with drying rain. Yet as she arrived at the clearing she felt a breeze violently racing back and forth around her, buffeting her outer robes one way and then the other, as though her shoulder were being shook by someone who wanted–

Saphienne blinked — and smiled. “Hyacinth?”

A tender zephyr wafted across her face.

She looked around herself: barely anyone was outside. Up ahead, the windows of the tea house were steamed over, and she could just make out the shapes of people moving about in the warmth. “Hyacinth… do you want to talk to me?”

The air that was the spirit’s flesh stirred anxiously around her.

Saphienne sighed, remembering that Hyacinth knew very little Elfish. Her eyes drifted to the gardens as she considered how best to proceed. Surely the bloomkith knew some Elfish words? “Bloom?” She gestured toward the clearing. “Hyacinth flower?”

A her hair fluttered, and then her formless friend was gone.

“…Hyacinth?”

Saphienne clasped her hands together, aware that her time was not her own.

Moments later the woodland spirit returned, and this time Hyacinth gusted from behind her toward the garden, whipping around to repeat the motion, urging her onward — presumably toward the bloomkith’s namesake. Saphienne let herself be guided, drifting to the bushes that lay at the opposite end of the glade from the teahouse.

Where, quite unfortunately, she stumbled onto two adult elves taking tea together atop a blanket, though they were presently engaged with drinking deeply from each other’s lips.

Saphienne flushed scarlet, and would have hurried by… were it not for the small patch of yellow hyacinths right beside their blanket. She retreated a step; stared up at the sky; forced herself to adopt a maturity she did not yet feel.

Then, she loudly cleared her throat.

The two were without shame, and took a moment to separate. Saphienne saw they were a man and a woman, their clothing beneath their thick coats less androgynous than their hairstyles. The man flushed as he realised who their audience had been, but the woman only laughed at him as she pulled her legs up toward her chest. She lifted her tea before she called out her response. “Is something the matter?”

Tactfully, Saphienne tried to show remorse. “I’m very sorry to disturb you both. I’m an apprentice of Master Almon–”

“You don’t say?” The man indicated her robes with his cup, and the two gently chuckled together.

“…I suppose that’s obvious.” Saphienne shifted her hands behind her back, squeezing her fingers tight. “I’m abroad in the world on wizard’s business, and I need one of those flowers.”

Neither of them appeared to be taking her especially seriously, but they weren’t hostile to her interruption. The two contemplated the hyacinths she bowed toward and shared a shrug before the woman waved Saphienne closer. “Well, if it’s important business for wizards, we shouldn’t get in your way. What do you need them for?”

Knowing better than to tarry, Saphienne made a beeline for the flowers. “One of the woodland spirits wants to speak with me, and these are her flowers.”

That admission made the man raise his eyebrows. “A spirit? Aren’t you a little young to be communing with spirits?”

His companion cut in. “She’s a wizard’s apprentice. It’s different for them.” She patted the edge of the heavy woollen blanket adjacent to the blooms as Saphienne approached, then watched her kneel upon it.

The man nodded. “There’s a difference between talking and walking, I suppose.”

Was it pride that made her pause? Saphienne looked over her shoulder. “I’ve actually walked with her a little. We have an understanding of each other.”

Now the pair of them were curious about her, and they shifted around so that they sat facing her. The woman leaned against her partner as she observed Saphienne, her tone light but thoughtful. “Isn’t that… a little much for you? I was overwhelmed, my first time.”

“You mean, for my age?” Saphienne could feel Hyacinth wafting through her fingers, but the spirit had settled down, seeming content to wait. “We only walked a short distance. There’s things we’re leaving alone, until I know myself better than I do.”

The man set his cup down. “I think I’ve heard of you — the girl from the library, with the unusual name. You’re Saraphiel?”

Whereas learning her hair was uncommon had been a complete surprise, Saphienne took the new perspective on her name in stride. “I do spend a lot of time at the library. But, no: my name is Saphienne.”

“Well I think that’s a lovely name,” the woman opined, causing the man to redden. “Weren’t you the child who wanted to be a sculptor?”

Being recognised by strangers was disconcerting. “…I’m studying sculpture with Gaeleath, but my apprenticeship is in wizardry. May I ask how you know me?”

She laughed. “Everyone in the village talks — especially about children.”

Having accepted his paramour’s pointed reprimand, the man made an effort to be conciliatory. “Don’t worry yourself: it’s just for want of something to talk about. You’ll do the same when you’re grown. Adults settle into the same old routines, but children make fresh mischief.”

She understood: they weren’t judging her. Hyacinth flitted restlessly across her sleeve, and she inclined her head in acknowledgement to spirit and audience both. “Well, I should see about making some more, then. Please excuse me.”

“Go ahead,” the woman encouraged her.

At first Saphienne intended to ignore them… but the man’s comment about mischief had roused her own, and as she drew a circle in the soil around one of the hyacinths she decided she would impress the couple.

“Hyacinth!” She intoned the words with all the austere drama she had learned from Almon and Nelathiel. “Fair and sylvan, friend and servant — come you now unto this circle, wound in bond of peace, in accordance with the ancient ways.”

The onlookers indulged her with feigned solemnity.

Hoping her bloomkith friend would pick up on her intent, she raised her hands, palms upturned in supplication. “Hyacinth! Heed my cry, heed my need — come you now into this circle, wound as I beseech, in accordance with your ancient ways.”

Cool air stroked her cheek as the spirit retreated… only to return in force, become now a shrieking gale that separated the startled couple as she lunged for the waiting circle.

“Hyacinth! Tread the trod, stride the way — come you forth within this circle, wound that you might reach, in accordance with our ancient ways.”

As the subsiding wind spiralled inward – the bloomkith settling into her flower – there was no immediate sign of her presence; Saphienne had to smother her smile as Hyacinth let the moment stretch.

Recovering from their fright through nervous laughter, the two elves behind her craned forward. The man was more polite when he spoke — his charitable tone betraying his underlying disbelief. “Could you have made a mista–”

On cue, the yellow of the bloom darkened to a vivid crimson that won gasps of amazement from man and woman alike, brightening then to a rosy pink as the plant strained to touch Saphienne.

Who simply extended her fingertips, accepting the invitation as though it were commonplace.

 

* * *

 

Both the child and the spirit guffawed where they blended, Saphienne’s physical countenance remaining calm and composed while mentally she laughed together with a jubilant Hyacinth. Upon the stage where their minds met she gestured to the steps of her library before the bloomkith asked, and when exploring tendrils began to creep up the stone she danced over and crouched beside them, placing her hand in their path so that the vine-like blossoms were forced to grow around and between her fingers.

“The child of elves is filled with whimsy fair,” Hyacinth remarked as she approached, her eyes as bright as the noon that melted the snows in her field. “Does she desire my blossoms for her hair?”

Indulgent, Saphienne leant forward. “Crown me, then.”

Having not expected her teasing to be taken seriously, the bloomkith giggled, and she placed her hand above Saphienne’s hairline, letting her buds spread from her wrist to entwine with the brown roots. “Rich earth, this head. Which terms shall it abide?”

Saphienne pointed to the steps with her free hand. “First, a precedent: so long as it is only for the purpose of speaking with me when we meet this way, you have my consent to use my Elfish without asking.”

This greatly pleased Hyacinth. “Your trust I have! This oath will keep, green-eyed, sweet friend. All else, as when we last did blend?”

Contemplatively, Saphienne drew her hand away from the hyacinths on the steps to touched the circle above her ears. She enjoyed the mental image. “…Yes, but you can rhyme today. Sit with me?”

Now Hyacinth’s smile became tender, and the meltwater on the air glistened where it settled onto her cheeks. She spun and sat on the steps, her voice low. “Then rhyme I shall not do — concession mine. Forwhy are you relenting, Saphienne?”

She sensed that Hyacinth knew the answer to that question as she joined her. “…I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

“Apology is unnecessary.” The bloomkith kicked her heels among the fathomless flowers before them, which rolled as though she splashed in a sea. “I was concerned for you. I flew to you in panic true… but see I do that you are well, beloved-by-bees.”

Saphienne offered her hand.

Hyacinth accepted, interlinking their fingers.

“Taerelle and I spoke–”

“So I now know.”

Hearing that made Saphienne wince. She hadn’t told Hyacinth about being caught by Taerelle — hadn’t warned her about the consequences she had risked for them both. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure why–”

The bloomkith squeezed her hand. “Apology is unnecessary! All ended well. ‘Tis good enough for me.” Her gaze was half-lidded as she studied Saphienne. “You did not wish to worry me… or pride had made you mute — gave cause to pause your tongue.”

Pride, and misplaced distrust. “I should have warned you.”

“Admit I must: I was afraid at first.” Wintry clouds dimmed the sky above them. “Imagined I the binding I endured, when I was taught what made for ancient peace. But I was not alone: Wormwood was there.”

Saphienne tilted her flower-crowned head. “You know her?”

Hyacinth laughed once, errant spears of sunshine betraying her uncertainty. “…I cannot tell. Among my sisters, few can claim so old a span — as much as years are meaningless to count our age, Wormwood is ancient growth. The bitterest among my kith, her age has made her like woodkin. She does as she wills, her reasons her own.”

“…But, seeing her reassured you?”

“She once taught me.” Hyacinth shrugged. “From her example I learned how to weave a planted body fair. Among my sisters, few have had that joy.”

“I see.” Why was an ancient spirit helping Taerelle? “What did they tell you?”

Wilting petals accompanied the spirit’s scowl. “Only that I was bound for ancient ways — for sake of teachings wise. No more was shared. From what the wizard-child then asked, I learned her sights were set on you. I shared nothing.”

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Her guilt deepened. “I know. Taerelle said you were loyal.”

“She knows what you did; does she know my part?”

Facing her, Saphienne took a steeling breath. “I’ll tell you everything.”

 

* * *

 

Nearby, the lovers were whispering to each other, their stares fixed on the gold in her eyes where she studied the pink flower. They regarded her with newfound respect.

 

* * *

 

Hyacinth was very quiet by the time the tale was told.

“I really should have warned you.” Saphienne withdrew her hand in shame. “You had a right to know.”

Finally, Hyacinth shook her head and stood. Her back was to the hushed, snowy field as she searched the façade of the library for answers. “We are alike. I will not silence fault, for I am silent too, when words fail me. I am… unnerved, to find you have quick learned the guile that slowly grew for me; Taerelle was handled well.”

“What do you make of it all?”

“I know the girl.” Saphienne felt the discomfort in Hyacinth’s admission, visceral, as though the words brushed upon an open wound. “Enough to say that she is not inclined to ill. Her anger honed, its edge is turned against the challenge she attempts to best.” She smiled thinly at Saphienne. “Is she a friend? May you dare hope to trust the elf?”

“Yes…” She hesitated. “…But not fully. She has ambitions, and I feel she can only be trusted as far as I align with them. But while we are aligned, I think she can help.”

“You are fast bound to her.” Hyacinth squatted down, heels flat on the steps as she mulled over the future. “The faster bound, the safer you shall be. Why not resign yourself to her command? Set down your pride — allow the elf to take the role implied.”

Saphienne nudged her. “I thought there wouldn’t be rhyming?”

Hyacinth blushed as pink as the plant Saphienne was touching, and she stuck out her tongue in mute reply.

As the lull in their conversation lengthened, Saphienne climbed to her feet. “Have I damaged our friendship?”

“No.” The spirit abandoned the cadence that had underwritten her speech as she rose to match her friend. “You have accomplished the opposite. My esteem for you has grown, Saphienne — and I foresee our future together.”

Overcome by Hyacinth’s sincerity, Saphienne retreated to sardonic humour. “I don’t recall consenting to your auguries…”

“No divination necessary.” The sylvan spirit giggled, happy once more. “We are to remain fast friends beyond your first century. I will become not just your flower maiden, but your handmaiden — for you will one day earn my secret name.”

The thought made Saphienne uneasy. “I don’t want that power over you.”

“We will revisit my prediction once you have grown.” She brushed back her hair – petals dancing – and resumed her spoken rhythm with a grin matched by the returning sunlight. “I talk as though I am so far ahead… I have thought hard about the festival to come. My sisters will surely tease me if I do not walk with an elf at night.”

That Hyacinth was concerned about mockery surprised Saphienne. “Why care?”

“For want of quiet life?” Her playful gaze said Saphienne was being foolish.

She laughed through her embarrassment. “Of course: you want to be seen to conform.”

“So too, should you.” The spirit moved to stand upon her hyacinths, rolling her shoulders as she envisioned the summer solstice — her thawing field growing wetly warm and dark. “I do not think it wise to wait to walk, but I am loath to walk with one I do not trust. You are too young to go abroad at night, but you alone do I hold dear…” She sighed and tossed herself down, lying on her back to stare up through flecks of snow at the starry sky. “…And so I am quite lost. Might you suggest a name?”

One immediately came to mind. “Filaurel: you can trust her.”