CHAPTER 64 – High Demands

True to his word, Almon would spend much of the next two weeks summarising the practical applications of spellcraft within elven society.

He would begin with a brief review of the Luminary Vale’s role in overseeing how magic was taught and practised, and from there he’d expand to cover the provision of education for every elf. To her surprise, Saphienne would soon learn that all libraries were ultimately accountable to the head librarian of the Luminary Vale, which meant that Filaurel was nominally under their supervision.

Of course, when Saphienne would ask why this was the case, Almon would quite naturally suggest that she should discuss the matter with her mentor — an amused gleam in his eye implying the trouble thereby caused for Filaurel.

After examining education, a foray into health would follow, wherein they’d learn how priests like Nelathiel organised with healers to ensure all elves remained hale and well. The local healer to the Eastern Vale would be duly mentioned, and Almon would recommend that any of them who planned to attend upon the sick and injured should ask Gaelyn about his chosen art.

Preventing the spread of sickness required sanitation, making the topic the natural progression to their overview. A significant digression would teach the children the fundamentals of infectious disease — what distinguished illnesses from poisonings and inherited maladies. The wizard would promise to further clarify why managing waste was not just an aesthetic concern… once they had turned their gaze beyond elven lands.

Conjoined to sanitation was the art of reclamation – so they would next hear – whereby whatever had outlived its usefulness was repurposed or removed from the woodlands. From reclamation, the group would then proceed to consider the cultivation and development of resources.

And before too long? They would speak about crafting.

 

* * *

 

While all this unfolded, Saphienne was busy preparing for summer.

“I’m not sure that identical dresses would work,” she told Laewyn, trying her very best to be diplomatic as she sketched her figure. “Celaena has a different body shape from you, and if you want the dresses to be flattering then you should each go with what best complements you.”

“But we need people to know we’re together!” Laewyn almost whined, and she sought support from Celaena as she paced within her girlfriend’s private sitting room. “Celaena wants us to match… don’t you?”

Seated beside Faylar on the couch, Celaena was trapped between agreeing with her partner and deferring to expertise. “I do want us to look like we belong together, but Saphienne knows what she’s talking about–”

“Most of the time.” Iolas was perched on the armchair, putting his increasingly blonde hair up in a new braid. “I don’t see why a traditional style is such a bad idea?”

Faylar groaned. “Yes, father, the traditional ways are always best.”

Laewyn and Celaena giggled; Iolas paused his braiding to pointedly flick two fingers at Faylar, much to the younger boy’s amusement.

And to Saphienne’s confusion. “What was that?”

Her friends all looked to where she was seated on the windowsill, puzzled.

“Oh!” Faylar smiled as he understood her. “He’s telling me to go fuck myself — that’s what the gesture means.”

“I was only being half serious,” Iolas clarified. “Faylar had a point: that was the sort of thing an adult would say.”

“Laudable of you, to recognise you’re boring.”

“Now you can fuck all the way off,” Iolas scoffed at him. “You just like being different for the sake of it. If everyone wore their hair short, you’d be making a point of growing it long.”

The mention of his chin-length locks made Faylar run his fingers through them, brushing those closest to Iolas down across his ear. “I’m not a contrarian… and I won’t hear fashion advice from someone who’s never even left the village. Saphienne is right–”

“I’ll have you know,” Iolas interrupted, “I have left the Eastern Vale.”

Laewyn stopped striding back and forth. “Really? When?”

“Last year.” He finished tying up his braid and folded his arms. “Last summer. Thessa took me with her when she went to visit a couple she fools around with, and I got to spend the summer solstice in the Vale of the White River.”

Laewyn’s eyes widened. “‘Fool around with?’”

“Never mind that,” Faylar said, sitting forward. “You’ve been to another solstice festival? In a different village?”

Iolas let himself be smug. “Still think I’m boring?”

The younger boy grinned as he shook his head. “What was it like?”

Sliding down into the armchair, Iolas rubbed his chin. “The village wasn’t any different from ours. Underneath the festivities? If not for the geography, the age of the buildings, and the local produce, you would think you were still in the Eastern Vale.”

“That sounds about right.” Faylar stood up and walked over to the levitating tray where Celaena had left a teapot and cups. “My aunt lives in the Thorny Vale — it really doesn’t live up to the name. I’d imagined it would be…”

“Dramatic?” Laewyn offered.

“Something like that…” He shrugged as he poured some drinks. “I expected it to be gloomier? More foreboding? Not just another village. I was disappointed.”

Celaena had been listening with a faraway look. “I don’t remember much about the Vale of Stones… or the village closest to my mother’s temple. There wasn’t really anything that stood out to me.”

Saphienne was picturing a younger Faylar, and she stopped her study of Laewyn to sit cross-legged on the sill as she addressed him. “Is that why you took an interest in human culture? You decided elves were too mundane?”

Blowing on the too-hot tea, Faylar eyed her warmly. “You’re probably right. I learned about humans for the first time on a later visit to see my aunt — I didn’t cut my hair right away, but I started studying the common trade tongue once we arrived back home.” He placed both cups down to cool and inclined his head to Iolas. “But, anyway: I was really asking you about the festival. I only remember the last one held here.”

Now Iolas held the room’s anticipation, and he flushed. “Maybe I am a little boring… I made some new friends – they were around my age – and we just enjoyed the games and the spectacle of it all. By the end of the first night I’d eaten twice my weight in sweets, and on the second night I just listened in while people shared their stories.”

Laewyn asked, “Didn’t you meet anyone?”

The way she said it made Iolas roll his eyes and blush harder. “I got some offers, but I wasn’t really there for that. And the festival wasn’t…” He tried to find the words. “…I didn’t feel like everyone was particularly eager to find intimate companionship. Not that there weren’t people doing that — Thessa made fun of me afterward for missing out.”

Faylar looked just as reassured to hear that as Saphienne was; his inflection implied he was more curious about the revelry than keen to indulge. “What about drinking?”

“She joked about that, too.”

Saphienne could almost hear her teasing — and giggled, joined by Laewyn.

“Honestly?” Iolas directed his conclusion to Celaena. “Everyone was just happy, relaxed, and welcoming. That’s what left the biggest impression on me.”

The wizard’s daughter mulled over his point. “I hadn’t considered about inviting people from outside our village. I didn’t expect we’d be meeting any — there were only a couple of children I didn’t know at the last festival.”

“We were younger,” Faylar reminded her. “Most adults don’t travel to the summer festival when they have small children… or at least, they don’t usually bring them along.”

Celaena nodded. “It’ll be different for us this year.” A thought occurred to her, and she looked at Iolas as though seeing him anew. “And much more different for you! You’ll be eighteen by the festival, won’t you?”

Her reminder made him squirm. “…Yes,” he acknowledged, and quickly tried to move on. “What about you two? Celaena, when do you turn sixteen? And when is Laewyn turning seventeen?”

Laewyn shared a conspiratorial grin with Saphienne. “Oh, any day now…”

Celaena was less entertained. “Laewyn turns sixteen at the end of summer — and I’m already sixteen. Not that you remembered…”

Faylar burst out laughing. “Oh shit! He missed your birthday?!”

Indeed, Iolas had: Saphienne recognised guilt in the way he tried to sink deeper into the cushions. His voice was choked with embarrassment. “…I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean– I didn’t realise that–”

“Laewyn just looks older,” Saphienne tried to console him, earning an indignant look from Celaena — and cackles of laughter from Laewyn and Faylar.

Iolas swallowed . “When was your birthday?”

“Late winter.” A little of the season had crept into Celaena’s voice. “I had a lovely day birdwatching in the woods; I recall you were busy doing something with your sister.”

“I remembered,” Faylar was sure to tell her. “We weren’t speaking to each other, or I’d have gone with you.”

Mortified, Iolas covered his face with his hands. “Fuck. Why didn’t you say–”

“The only moment it came up wasn’t a good time.” Celaena left her resentment behind her as she got up. “But, none of this matters. We’re fine now.”

Iolas sprang to his feet to meet her. “It does matter — I’m really sorry, Celaena. Can I make it up to you? Is there anything that would?”

Laewyn had a suggestion. “How about wine? For the festival?”

Scowling at her girlfriend, Celaena sniffed. “We’re not drinking wine — Filaurel won’t allow it.”

“How about we drink before she–”

Celaena snatched up a cushion from the couch and tossed it at her.

 

* * *

 

Once everyone had stopped laughing, Faylar brought the tea over to Saphienne and stood next to her while he sipped his own cup. “Iolas,” he asked, “what are your plans for the festival? Are you allowed to spend the evening with us?”

“My mother says so.” Iolas abruptly sagged. “You’re all going to make fun of me for this… but she told me I’m allowed to help Filaurel chaperone–”

He had resigned himself to the ensuing jeers, but his grateful gaze told Saphienne he was glad she didn’t join in.

She held her tea above her sketchbook as she studied him in turn. “Won’t you be busy on the night of the solstice? Or are you putting your ceremony off?”

He moved to the opposite wall and leant back against it. “I don’t know. My father asked which shrine I’d like us to celebrate at… unless I choose another one, it’ll be the shrine to Our Lord of the Endless Hunt.”

Saphienne grinned. “Nelathiel’s your priest! I should have guessed that…”

“We haven’t spoken much.” He seemed ill at ease.

Remembering what Nelathiel had told her about the children for whom she was responsible – and what she hadn’t disclosed about how she knew Iolas – made Saphienne’s grin even brighter. “She’s not like you might imagine. She’s very grounded, and caring.”

“It’s not so much her that puts me off,” Iolas replied, “as her patron god. I don’t really relate to what He stands for. I’d prefer to have the ceremony at a shrine to Our Lady of the Balanced Scales, but my father says the nearest one is a day and a half away, outside the vale, near human lands.”

Faylar pondered that. “Is She a goddess of trade?”

Saphienne opened her mouth–

“Please don’t,” Iolas begged. “We’ll be here all afternoon if you start.”

–And shut it again, with a sheepish smile.

Celaena had drawn Laewyn to the couch, and the taller girl now lay with her head on her girlfriend’s lap. “Um, Iolas? How are you planning to dress?”

Her question gave him a lengthy pause. “…I haven’t actually decided. I’m guessing we’re not wearing our robes when out and about at the festival?”

“I won’t be,” Celaena confirmed. “Father said even the High Masters of the Luminary Vale relax during the festival, and there’s no expectation that apprentices will do anything other than have fun.”

Laewyn pressed him. “So you’ll be wearing silvery clothes?”

“Maybe.” He touched his hair — the braid was more elaborate than usual. “I’ve been practising more complicated braids. As long as everyone can tell my age, then I could just wear the same old white.”

Saphienne remembered the sea of people around her and Kylantha. “Lots of adults wear white at the festival…”

“We’re all children of the gods,” Laewyn repeated, though she was disappointed by what Iolas planned. “But that’s really dull! You can finally wear something different, and you only want to change your hair?”

Faylar swirled his tea around in his cup. “Leave him alone. My mother requests all my clothes — and it’s not that big a deal. You’re always accessorising your outfits with different colours.”

She sat up halfway in delight. “You noticed?”

He preened in his pallid garb. “Style recognises style.”

Celaena snorted as she pulled Laewyn back down to her lap. “We should coordinate. We’ll make a better impression if we do.” She ran her fingertip along Laewyn’s brow, furrowing her own. “But we can’t style our hair the same way — Faylar’s is too short.”

“You could all cut yours to match me.”

Everyone ignored him.

Laewyn hummed as she came up with ideas. “If Saphienne is making dresses for me and Celaena–”

“And me,” Faylar added.

Iolas silently raised his eyebrows.

Laewyn was perplexed as she sat up.

Celaena turned around on the couch to stare at him in surprise.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Saphienne was preoccupied by the challenge. She set her tea down, lifted her charcoal pencil, and turned to a fresh page as she studied Faylar. “Since you’re not very muscular, and you don’t have any cleavage, I’d recommend you stick to a high neckline–”

“An outfit!” Faylar realised his mistake, cringing beneath the explosive laughter of Celaena, Laewyn, and Iolas. “I just meant an outfit! Something with trousers!”

“You know, with those legs, I think you could make a high hem really work–”

“I’m not a girl!” Faylar insisted — hastily adding “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a girl, or dressing like one, I just don’t–”

“Now who’s boring?” Iolas quipped.

In reply, Faylar used his free hand to tell them all to go fuck themselves.

 

* * *

 

Once Saphienne had finished sketching Faylar, Laewyn sat on the windowsill with her to consider their options. “So that makes four outfits…”

She had miscounted — Saphienne smirked. “You’re wrong: there’s only three. You, Celaena, and Faylar.”

Faylar was still beside Saphienne, admiring himself on the page; he reflexively nudged her. “Prickly. She’s counting you, too.”

Saphienne blinked. “…I’ve never actually worn festival clothes. My mother requested a dress for me when I was little, but she never gave it to me.”

Her friends grew sombre around her.

But Faylar squeezed onto the windowsill as well, and he leaned against her shoulder in support. “Is that why you took the time to study tailoring? And the shoemaking, and how to be a jeweller? Were you learning how to make things you’ll need?”

Although she parted her lips to tell him no, to tell him that she was merely concerned with questions of appearance and form, Saphienne found that she wasn’t quite certain about her motives anymore. Did she have a need for self-sufficiency? Had she wanted to learn how to do for herself what her mother never could?

She pursed her lips. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“I don’t believe that,” Iolas chuckled.

Trying to explain herself to her friends made her feel anxious. “It’s complicated?”

Celaena knelt on the couch, her elbows braced on its back. “I can believe that. But do you have enough time to make four dresses?”

Faylar flicked his fingers at her again.

While she was confident in her skills, Saphienne needed tools and materials. “We’ve a little under two months. So long as I have all the things I need, and I spend less time on my sculpture until after the festival, I could make an outfit for Iolas as well.”

Laewyn sipped from Saphienne’s teacup. “We can request the fabrics… but it could be hard to find space in the crafting hall at short notice…”

Working around other people didn’t appeal to her anyway. “I’ll need to ask Jorildyn if he’ll let me use his studio.”

Laewyn fumbled with the teacup. “Wait — you know Jorildyn?”

“…He taught me?”

But the girl was staring accusingly at her partner. “You knew this?”

Celaena was nonplussed. “Um, I think she told me? Why does it matter?”