CHAPTER 74 – The Crown of Summer

You see her other side, now.

Not all of her: much of Saphienne had not yet come to be as she stood amid that crowd in the festival grounds, watching Tolduin depart as Faylar drew near. She had not yet learned to master her impulses, nor gained the wisdom to know what was achievable and what was madness. Her intellect was profound, yes, but although she had learned much about elves and spirits and mortals, she knew very little about the Great Art — and scarcely more about people’s inconstant natures, especially her own.

Yet gaze upon her silhouette against the sun, and you might catch the profile of who she would become. Behold her there: haloed in the daylight, soft of line and full of wondering calm, growing in dignity and elegance as she thought on what she believed to be just, compassionate to cries of need, especially the wants of friends.

And, justified?

So prophesied the wizard: time will tell.

 

* * *

 

Faylar glanced her over as he led the way through the crowd. “Are you alright? You’re quieter than before.”

“I spoke with Tolduin,” Saphienne explained as she followed him. “I’ve learned some things… we’ll have to talk about them later.” She closed her eyes and set aside what she couldn’t yet do anything about. “Nothing has changed; and there’s no reason to make today all about my problems.”

His pace slowed as he nodded. “…If you’re sure?”

“Sod it.” She forced a smile as she grabbed his hand. “Let’s just enjoy ourselves.”

Onlookers had gathered to appreciate Gaeleath’s sculpture, which Saphienne found more bearable to contemplate now that it was clothed, the expressions of ecstasy upon the statue’s faces attributable to the joy of dancing. Children who had not yet been made aware of what awaited them in physical maturity would be oblivious to what the figures were doing, while those who gazed upon their pose with knowing eyes were undeceived.

Thessa was being effusive with praise. “… And the posing! How in the world did you come up with this composition? It’s superbly framed from every angle.”

Gaeleath maintained the same good-natured amusement with which they practised their chosen art, though the faint blush on their cheeks suggested they were unused to receiving acclaim. They noticed Saphienne approaching. “Well! That would be thanks to young Saphienne here: she was the one who read the dance in the stone. The more I thought about her reading, the more I was convinced the piece could be seen from multiple angles, so to say, which led me to emphasise how the work would seem from all sides.”

“The metaphor is wonderful.” Thessa padded around the statue again, viewing it from behind as she shook her head. “My work in the gallery has a single viewpoint… showing your subject from so many directions? I could never be a sculptor.”

“We each have our talents,” Gaeleath assured her. “I myself struggle with the constraint of one perspective — too definitive for my tastes.”

Or their magical praxis, Saphienne felt sure.

Thessa sighed. “This is a masterpiece.”

Yet there were two elves standing nearby, adults – of full social maturity – who Saphienne didn’t know. One sucked the air through her teeth as she heard the painter’s assessment, and she pulled her mantle tighter as she turned to her companion. “…No, this isn’t the work of a master.”

The other was apologetic. “It isn’t. It’s extraordinarily good, and it deserves a permanent place somewhere in the Eastern Vale, but this doesn’t show your full potential, Gaeleath.”

This came as no surprise to the sculptor, who accepted the appraisal with grace, though admitted they had no idea where it might be displayed.

Yet Thessa was astonished. “How can this not be a masterwork? It’s beautiful, it conveys a meaning, and it’s so realistic!”

“Too realistic,” Saphienne muttered to herself — and Gaeleath overheard, causing their eyes to widen as they realised she had stolen a look when the work was unclothed.

But the first critic had also heard Saphienne. “That’s exactly it!” She stepped forward and trailed her finger along the lines of the nearest dancer’s hand. “This is a perfect facsimile of how someone would look during such a dance…” She moved toward the sculptor. “…Your knowledge of anatomy and your skill in reproducing it is flawless.”

Now Gaeleath paid no mind to Saphienne, their focus on the criticism. “…But?”

“But,” said the other, “the purpose of art is not realism. This piece is inhibited by being too much like its superficial subject, detracting from its deeper meaning.”

Drawn in, Saphienne was reminded of what Jorildyn had said. “Depiction versus representation?”

Both nodded, and the woman still beside Saphienne clarified. “The tendency to depict what is holds back many artists. Mastery includes only what little realism is essential to the work, which requires knowing exactly what the work must be.”

Now Gaeleath objected. “You both say that realism should be minimised–”

“You misunderstand,” answered the woman near him. “The work should contain precisely the amount of realism that is necessary to achieve its effect, which may be great or small. But never should the work be weighed down by realism, when that realism does not serve the desired effect.”

“Great art,” her friend added, “is not bound by the laws of nature. What is credible and plausible and real is not as important as what moves us. Realism for realism’s sake goes against what makes art good, and so cannot be good art.”

Considering this, Saphienne asked herself whether Almon’s hallucinations were perhaps improved by their errors; was Peacock more believable because he was so garishly unreal?

Thessa had listened politely. “I don’t think that’s right…”

“No?” The cloaked woman placed her hands on her hips. “Then do propose your alternative, girl. What makes a work masterful?”

Saphienne couldn’t help herself. “The imperfections.”

Both critics scoffed.

Balling her fists–

Faylar grimaced and yanked her away from the conversation; a few feet hence he pulled free his swelling hand. “Gods, Saphienne, you’re prickly today! Let’s go find the others.”

She blushed as she exhaled her anger. “…Sorry. But they shouldn’t have been so dismissive — I was being honest.”

He nudged her. “That’s half your problem, you know.”

 

* * *

 

Following a trail of hallucinated sunflowers until it converged with illusory daffodils, Saphienne and Faylar caught up with their friends in the clearing where games were played, finding Iolas, Celaena, and Laewyn cheering on a pair of children – young adults – who were taking turns stacking stones. The pile had grown so high that two precarious towers of boxes served as the contestant’s footing.

Iolas couldn’t look away. “First one to knock it over loses…”

Silence descended as the next stone was readied — followed by cheers when it held.

Disinterested, Saphienne scanned the observers, locking gazes with familiar, sapphire eyes on the other side of the game. Even more imperious than when she’d stormed out of Jorildyn’s studio, Lensa was dressed in a gorgeous gown with flowing sleeves and fully exposed shoulders, upon which she’d draped a hooded cream scarf, her hair pinned above to fall sheer and flat to her thighs.

She smiled with sweetness that Saphienne didn’t believe, then tilted her head to whisper to the girl standing next to her. Tirisa had painted her entire face with dramatic makeup, disguising her freckles, and when she first spotted Saphienne her eyes narrowed. She, too, flashed an insincere smile — and then the giant girl stood behind the pair noticed where they were looking, and Syndelle waved happily.

A cry of dismay erupted from the crowd as the tower collapsed, followed by raucous applause for both participants. New players were queuing for their turn, and there was no prospect that Saphienne and her friends would be doing more than watching.

Celaena finally noticed her friends had arrived, and she rushed ahead of Laewyn to clasp Saphienne’s hands. “Saphienne! You won’t believe this, but–”

Faylar was still massaging his fingers. “…Mind her grip…”

“–My mother is here!” Celaena was beaming. “She wants to spend time with me!”

Despite Saphienne’s conflicted feelings about family, she found herself reflecting her excitement. “That’s wonderful!”

“I’m bringing Laewyn to meet her!”

“Yes…” Her girlfriend was anxious. “…Wonderful…”

Faylar’s lips twisted in sympathy, and he stopped rubbing his palm. “How about we go try our hands at something?”

His suggestion brightened Laewyn. “That sounds like fun. Iolas?” She spoke to where he had been standing. “Where did he…?”

Iolas was commiserating with the loser of the last match, whom he knew well enough to hug firmly. He shook his head when Saphienne and the others waved him over. “Go on without me — I’ll catch up!”

“Come on, then.” Laewyn grabbed Faylar’s arm “You can win me a prize!”

He rolled his eyes as he went along. “Win one yourself!”

Giggling, Celaena and Saphienne hurried after them.

 

* * *

 

Juggling, at which Faylar excelled; tongue-twisting challenges, which Saphienne found trivial; enchanted swings, on which Celaena and Laewyn cuddled and screamed. The four children enjoyed taking in each spectacle as much as taking part themselves — especially when they stopped before a wrestling ring, where two shirtless, older boys were trying to toss each other to the padded ground.

Laewyn made no secret of ogling the sweating pair. “Now they look fun…”

Beside her, Faylar was transfixed. “They– he’s very– I’ve never–”

She squinted at him. “Faylar?” She started to laugh. “Are you learning something?!”

He blushed so hard that Celaena poked Laewyn in the ribs.

Meanwhile, Saphienne was more interested in a nearby fire-eater — only to be disappointed when she realised the flame was just a hallucination.

 

* * *

 

Near the far edge of the clearing, Celaena ran to someone she immediately recognised. “Tordynar!”

But when Saphienne saw the game Celaena raced toward, she stopped, drowning in memories from the last festival.

“Hello Celaena! I wondered how you were getting on. Madris told me you’re an apprentice wizard now?”

Saphienne recognised the man too — along with his treacle-covered apples on sticks, ready to give to anyone who successfully knocked down one of the wooden statues on a table by the trees. She turned back, but Laewyn and Faylar were lagging behind to talk privately, the boy very thoughtful as he listened.

“Saphienne!” Celaena called. “Come meet Tordynar! He used to teach me.”

Feeling very apprehensive, Saphienne approached the nearer table–

But Tordynar spoke first. “I know Saphienne already; I was wondering if I’d see you this year.” He leant forward on his elbows, his eyes sad and ears drooping. “I’m sorry your friend isn’t here. I’ve been thinking about her all day.”

Saphienne blinked, rapidly.

He straightened. “Forgive me! I’m an over-sharer–”

“No,” Saphienne hurried to correct him, striding to hold the table’s edge, “you’re just the first person to ever say that — that you’re sorry she’s gone.”

Tordynar hadn’t bothered with elaborate braids for his hair, and his dark clothing was loose and somewhat plain, but to Saphienne the bitterness in his voice made him the most wonderfully attired person in all the Eastern Vale. “Many will be thinking it. But I’m a philosopher of numbers: unless it can be stated, it’s unprovable.”

Celaena was misty-eyed, and she took Saphienne’s arm. “I never… you know, I’m sorry Kylantha’s gone, too.”

His smile was bittersweet. “So that was her name… she never mentioned it.” He surveyed the distant targets. “She was very upset I made her pick up after herself; she kept saying she didn’t want to keep Saphienne waiting.”

Feeling for the secret pocket she’d sewn under her sashes, Saphienne held her treasured coin. “…Should you be saying that? That you’re sorry?”

“I’m not often invited to revels,” he shrugged, “but who cares? You’re allowed to think and feel whatever you like — and all I said is I’m sad she’s gone. I make no comment about why she isn’t here.” He shook his head and faced the girls. “But! The past is behind us. Would either of you like to try the game?”

Hearing Celaena decline his offer, Saphienne switched the coin from her dominant hand. “I would.” The feeling she’d never before understood burned in – and warmed – her chest. “She’d want to, if she were here.”

 

* * *

 

Faylar and Laewyn wandered over as Saphienne collected one of the pebbles, and the presence of three spectators attracted idle passersby. She put the assembling crowd out of her mind as she took aim at the distant statues, recalling how Kylantha had thrown, picturing the distance falling away as she flicked her wrist–

And missed badly. Her audience groaned.

Except for a girl she didn’t know. “Come on! You can do better than that.”

Of course she could! She had to — for Kylantha. Saphienne lifted her second of three throws, no longer imitating what she’d seen, trusting in her natural agility to carry the day–

And sent her stone hurtling into the trees.

“You’re trying too hard,” insisted the girl, “it’s not that difficult.”

Inexpressibly and irrationally worried that she would fail her lost friend, Saphienne whirled around. “Stop distracting me!”

The green-grey eyes of the girl behind Saphienne were unsympathetic. “You’re distracting yourself…”

She was the same height as Saphienne, and her hair was cut only a little longer than Faylar’s, wound up in a pragmatic bun atop her scowling head. Rainbow bruises were on her folded arms — and also on her bare shins, which showed beneath her short leggings and knee-length white dress. Living marigolds with orange-red petals twined around her waist like a thick belt.

“…And you obviously need the encouragement.”

Tordynar intervened. “Let her throw in peace.”

The girl cocked her head, smirking at Saphienne–

Who seethed as she turned and snatched up the last stone, hurling it in rage.

Wood rattled on wood as her target toppled over; the crowd cheered.

“See?” The girl was smug. “Not that hard.”

Now uncoiled, the restless spite that had needled Saphienne since she awoke refused the apple that Tordynar tried to hand her — Laewyn accepting it on her behalf. She addressed her tormentor with subdued ire. “If it’s not hard, then why don’t you show us how it’s done, Master Thrower?”

But the girl remained relaxed as she stood beside Saphienne, lifting a stone. “Gladly.”

Her pitch was fast, and sent a statue flying.

Muted laughter rippled through the crowd, which had grown through the contest. Saphienne glanced aside, becoming aware that Iolas had just witnessed her humiliation, along with two dozen others — including Lensa and her retinue.

Judging by the gratified gleam in her superior gaze, Lensa was pleased to see Saphienne humbled.

“That’s only the first of three throws,” Saphienne snapped. “You’re not that good; you’ll miss your next two.”

The girl had been about to receive her apple. “…Excuse me?”

“You’re no better than me,” Saphienne insisted as she rounded on her. “You’ll miss.”

Frowning, the girl forwent her prize for another stone. This time she hesitated, then–

Missed by a hair.

Kylantha would’ve given back as good as she got. “Can’t you do better?”

Graceful under pressure, the girl clenched her jaw as she swung her arm and–

Overshot, by several feet.

Celaena and Faylar cheered loudly, followed by Laewyn — after she swallowed treacle.

Yet the other girl kicked off her shoes, losing inches in height as she grabbed up three stones and slammed them on the table near Saphienne.

“I call a duel!” Shame and fury singed her cheeks. “To she who knocks the most down in three throws goes the victory!”

Saphienne blinked… but the onlookers were goading her to accept, her friends shouting encouragement, even the crown of blossoms on her head stirring as Hyacinth nudged her to compete.

She squeezed her coin. “Your loss.”

 

* * *

 

Hurrahs erupted as Saphienne agreed; Tordynar hurried to reset the fallen pieces.

Her opponent glared. “I’m Laelansa. Who are you?”

Saphienne drew herself up to her full height. “Saphienne of the Eastern Vale, apprentice to the Wizard Almon.”

A small smile graced the lips of Laelansa. “Please excuse me; my full title is Laelansa of the Vale of the White River, initiate to the mysteries of Our Lady of the Proven Merit.”

Someone in the crowd laughed. “Eastern Vale versus White River!”

Although aware she might have miscalculated, Saphienne had gone too far to retreat, and she gestured to the statues as Tordynar resumed his position. “Since you’re a visitor, I invite you to make the first throw.”

Laelansa picked out a pebble. “I accept your hospitality…”

She spun around; her stone flew true.

“…And invite you to take your turn.”

More banter carried over the applause — “Score one for White River!”

Celaena couldn’t let that stand. “Get ready to score one for the Eastern Vale!”

Exhaling to steady her screaming nerves, Saphienne centred herself, letting the world around her recede as she focused on her breathing and the shape of her target where it awaited her throw. She swallowed her passions and threw with detachment.

…Disappointing her supporters. “A miss!”

“Girl! What’s the score now?”

Celaena flicked two fingers in reply, eliciting jeers from the attendees, along with an admonishment from her former teacher.

Laelansa gave Saphienne the barest bow. “Care to concede?”

Saphienne wanted to strangle her. “Just throw.”

Startled, Laelansa stepped back — then laughed nervously. She was troubled as she loosed the next pebble.

Faylar whooped. “Another miss!”

Further distractions would only undermine Saphienne, and she flung her second stone thoughtless and free–

“And another miss!”

Hisses made Saphienne twist around, but the elves of the Eastern Vale were looking askance at Tirisa — who had blurted out in excitement.

Clown-like in her heavy cosmetics, she shrank from scrutiny. “…But it’s still best of three…”

“Yes, it is.” Laelansa was inspired; Saphienne watched her rival lower her eyes and whisper in prayer to her patron goddess.

…When she looked back up, her certainty was absolute, her smile winning. “Will you accept a draw, Saphienne of the Eastern Vale?”

Saphienne had several, rare traits of character held by only the finest wizards. She also had qualities that her master despised, for all that he detested them in himself, chief among which was stubborn, furious pride. “Never.”

The initiate from the Vale of the White River kissed the stone she held, twirled on the spot, and thrust her arm forward — her last throw knocking the leftmost statue from its perch.

Howls of delight and anguish exploded from the elves.

“Two to none with one throw left! White River wins!”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Laelansa leapt up onto the table to bow, flourishing under the adulation of the crowd, exulting in her faith rewarded.

Meanwhile, Saphienne opened her hand to stare at the coin, oblivious as Faylar, Celaena, Laewyn, and Iolas drew near. She didn’t hear them speaking to her, didn’t feel the hand on her shoulder, every fibre of her being focused on the only question that mattered:

What would Kylantha do?

Laewyn started as Saphienne plucked the apple from the stick in her hand.

All the cheering died away, leaving the presumptive winner bewildered as Saphienne clambered up beside her. “…What are you doing?”

“Taking my last throw,” Saphienne said, wiping treacle on her arm.

Laelansa snorted in disbelief. “But you’ve lost? You can’t match my– wait, you’re not using a stone?” She was indignant as she appealed to the referee. “Tell her she can’t! Tell her I’m the victor!”

Yet Tordynar was doubled over in laughter; tears were in his eyes as he gasped his ruling. “She has a precedent — from the last festival!”

“Yes,” Saphienne snarled, “she does.”

She threw.

Arcing through the air, the apple spun, momentum growing as it tumbled, descending like a final judgement, refusing all clemency as it fell in condemnation upon the rightmost idol, striking it down from above.

Everyone was quiet as the statue toppled over; the silence deepened as it brought down a second; gasps accompanied the third; then shocked denials as the fourth followed; and then shrieks of exultation carried over outrage as the fifth and last clattered down.

Indifferent to the bedlam that exploded below, Saphienne crossed her sticky arms. All that mattered was that the coin was satisfied.

In triumph, she confronted her adversary.

Laelansa was staring at Saphienne — mouth hanging open.

“Well?” Saphienne loomed over her.

Amazement, uncertainty, and what seemed like fear was in her eyes. “That…”

“Do you concede?”

The girl shook herself.

Saphienne nearly fell off the table as Laelansa tackled her–

But the scream in her ears was happy, the arms around her jubilant, the girl against her ecstatic as she stumbled through praises. “That was amazing! That was fantastic! That was– that was– that was the best win I’ve ever seen!”

Saphienne was too busy blinking to resist the kiss upon her cheek. The hilarity of the scene ended all quarrels, the vales reunited in mirth.

That was how Laelansa first fell in love with Saphienne.

 

* * *

 

Completely bemusing Saphienne, Laelansa insisted on picking up the toppled statues on her behalf. When Saphienne left with the others, the initiate hurried after, carrying her thick-soled shoes in one hand and a treacle-coated apple in the other — only to present the prize amid a halo of questions.

“How old are you? How long have you been a wizard’s apprentice? Can you cast spells yet? Have you always lived in the Eastern Vale? Do you have a patron god? Your name is different: where does it come from?”

Faylar, Celaena, and Laewyn were highly amused by the flustered reaction she provoked from Saphienne; they insisted that she come with the group to get food.

Laelansa demanded to know what Saphienne liked — then sprinted ahead.

The moment the girl had vanished among the celebrants, Saphienne wilted. “Can we please lose her somewhere?”

Faylar grinned. “Not happening.”

Laewyn nudged Saphienne. “She’s cute! Give her a chance.”

Celaena walked hand-in-hand with her girlfriend, her smile enigmatic.

Taking pity on her bewilderment, Iolas translated for Saphienne. “…She likes you.”

“Obviously!” Saphienne rolled her eyes. “You’d think we were friends–”

They all guffawed at her.

Once she had recovered, Celaena raised the hand that Laewyn held. “Saphienne… we mean she likes you.”

Saphienne stumbled to a halt.

Then Laelansa called her name, bounding along with an open box in which strawberries were piled high, and Saphienne flushed their colour to the tips of her ears, her friends only deepening her embarrassment with yet more laughter — which made the initiate blush, too.

 

* * *

 

The group soon encountered Lensa, Tirisa and Syndelle, who collectively invited Laewyn to come dancing when she was done eating — before reluctantly extending the invitation to everyone else.

Iolas demurred. “I’m saving my energy; I’m walking with a spirit tonight.”

Saphienne had been quiet ever since Laelansa’s interest was explained, but his response made her take a sharp breath and hand the leftover strawberries to the girl. “Please excuse me,” she murmured, “but I need to have a conversation…”

The initiate glanced from her to Iolas. “With a woodland spirit?” She gestured to the floral crown with a strawberry. “The flowers on your head?”

Hyacinth stirred.

Iolas had also overheard Laelansa, and he smiled at her. “Yes, actually — I’m walking with Hyacinth. Good guess.”

The blooms on Saphienne’s brow pulled on her hair–

And Iolas read her expression. “Saphienne,” he sighed, “did you remember to ask Hyacinth if she would like to walk with me?”

Saphienne needed a good excuse–

But Laelansa had realised her own mistake, and she covered for Saphienne. “She’s just following an old tradition,” said the would-be priest. “Spirits aren’t meant to be asked to walk before the day — lest that be misconstrued as an immediate invitation. Ruddles could tell you more…”

Lensa and Tirisa were nonplussed where they stood beside Iolas.

“Who,” asked Tirisa, “is Ruddles?”

The initiate gestured to the band of flowers around her waist. “My friend? She’s a bloomkith of marigolds. Except she’s not here right now — and I can’t call her to me, not while she’s walking with someone.”

Lensa nodded thoughtfully. “That’s interesting… being friends with a spirit.”

Grateful for the chance to prepare, Saphienne bowed her head. “…I didn’t know if Hyacinth had decided to walk, either, so I was waiting for a quiet moment…” Unable to fully understand Elfish, Hyacinth was urgently tugging at her scalp. “…Would you mind waiting for me?”

She paced away, offering her fingertip to the flowers.

 

* * *

 

“Iolas?”

“I think you’ll like him more once you know him better.”

“But he decreed that I for thee–”

“I don’t care how upset you’re pretending to be: no archaic Elfish!”

“…Yet still. Iolas?”

“He’s just as nervous about it as you are. And… I trust him. I trust him with you.”

“…Iolas…”

“You’ve said his name three times — is that an invocation?”

“…Perhaps…”

“I know you don’t really dislike him. What’s the problem?”

“…He is a boy.”

“Why would that matter?”

“…”

“Hyacinth…?”

“…Never you mind! Accept, I do.”

“Really?”

“With joy.”

 

* * *

 

After allowing Hyacinth to possess her and awkwardly confer with Iolas, Saphienne ultimately relinquished the spirit to him, anxiously watching his gaze fill with her yellow glow as the two were properly introduced. A moment later, he chuckled.

“This,” the elf decided, “feels very weird.”

Iolas and Hyacinth opted to sit and talk together while the children went dancing.