CHAPTER 83 – Other Songs to be Sung

There was much to do before Saphienne began. Were she to succeed in what she intended, she first had to ready her arsenal — including her mind.

Querying how busy the teahouse would presently be solicited suggestions that they wait until afternoon. That allowed her to ask Celaena when she usually went along, and that invited Laewyn – who attended more frequently, with other friends – to recommend the exact hour Saphienne wanted.

Agreeing to delay until then, Saphienne proposed she retire, both to rest more and – in order to ensure she would be undisturbed – to meditate. Laelansa was a little disappointed to not be spending the time with her, but soon brightened when Iolas offered to finish the story he’d been reading the night before.

And so, while the others spent the morning with the fascinator in Celaena’s sitting room, Saphienne retreated into the desert and closed the door.

What she needed to know hadn’t been covered in depth when Almon had gone over the principles of justice upheld by the consensus, but she was confident the books Taerelle had sent held the answer. She sat beneath the window and paged through them in the morning light, wishing that the index was more useful as she passively absorbed what she might. Eventually she located the relevant minor section, ‘Evidentiary Concerns,’ and read through until she found the subheading ‘Considerations on the Admission of Evidence,’ the text beneath which was neither long nor complicated.

Her master hadn’t lied, but nor had he shared the whole truth. Justice in the woodlands depended upon testimony to establish probable guilt, but testimony could take many different forms — including in support of physical evidence. Once a wizard, sorcerer, or priest established a witness wasn’t actively fascinated, said witness could speak to the veracity of whatever was presented to them.

Knowing this would have been useless to Saphienne until only a short time ago: evidence was essentially superfluous, at least when compared to the credibility of whoever vouched in its favour. Even if she had been beaten with a club, and the weapon had been found covered in her blood, in Lensa’s possession? Believable narratives carried the day, and Lensa had greater numbers on her side.

Except…

Saphienne retrieved Syndelle’s letter from the pile.

…Not all of Lensa’s followers could be depended upon. Saphienne had an eye for weakness, and she knew from the beginning that Syndelle was slow, credulous, and therefore easily manipulated. Overnight, with the fascinator, Saphienne had studied Syndelle closely–

 

“…We’ve told her she’s been bad.”

 

–and how she’d been played–

 

“Imagine how you’d feel if she’d said all those nasty things to your mother.”

“But, she didn’t… did she?”

“What if I told you she did?”

 

–and had satisfied herself that the person who had inflicted the most physical damage had been the least responsible for it. What Syndelle’s apology revealed was that she was, despite everything, obedient to her simple understanding of right and wrong, and less committed to her friends than to trying to be a good person.

Putting the books down, Saphienne drew the curtains, pondering the stars that shone on the ceiling.

“…When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me…”

Conceal the identities of her attackers and lose her apprenticeship? Surrender them to Almon, thereby to see them escape conventional justice — and yet still receive punishment? Neither path appealed to her.

So Saphienne found a third way.

 

* * *

 

Once her will was honed, she opened the curtains and fetched out the gift given to her by the master calligrapher, examining the paper of Syndelle’s letter very carefully and comparing it to the supply she had available in her satchel. Apart from the tear stains, nothing about it was remarkable, and she selected a sheet of equivalent thickness and gloss to set beneath, using the sharp nib of her everyday pen to delicately scour the original’s dimensions; Filaurel had taught her the art of tearing paper while keeping a level edge.

Then, for a quarter of an hour, Saphienne deconstructed the two scrawled words in exacting detail, extrapolating from them – along with with her recollection of the girl’s speech – how the rest of Syndelle’s handwriting might appear. While she knew she couldn’t perfectly reproduce Syndelle’s hand, the words were so messily written that it would be near-impossible to notice a fabrication.

And, regardless? She didn’t need it to be perfect. She just needed it to be convincing.

The strawberry was harder to copy, and she practiced drawing it on the discarded cuts of paper until she was confident she had a good rendition. These necessary studies accomplished, she chose one of the new pens, left the protective wax in place to inhibit the flow of ink, tested the colour to be sure it was alike, then set about creating an excellent, expanded forgery:

 

im sory we hit u

 

For the blotches she used droplets from a glass of water she had brought from breakfast. The misaligned creases were the easiest step, once the letter had dried.

Hiding the original gave her pause. Under the mattress would be too obvious… but the curtains were double-layered, thick, and little light caught them where they reached the floor. She unpicked the seam on the leftmost edge, then reached between the layers to hide the note at the bottom, positioning it so that when the curtain opened and closed it nestled, snug, in the flat of one of the natural folds.

Laelansa would know the new letter was fake, but she wouldn’t see it. And should it unexpectedly come into the possession of the consensus? Even were a master calligrapher or diviner to determine it was a ruse, by then it wouldn’t matter.

 

* * *

 

Next, Saphienne lay in bed and dozed, half-thinking, half-dreaming on the five girls, letting her intuition guide her through the tangle of their friendships, seeking the anchor points from which that web hung.

Lensa’s was the intelligence that dominated the group, but she relied on the tension of its underpinning relationships to support her rule. She’d had ambitions of becoming a wizard — and hadn’t yet abandoned them, judging by the way she dressed. Her authority derived from her being the eldest of the girls, substantiated by her affectations of superior knowledge, exaggerated by her cool aloofness and her undying confidence that she was meant for greater things.

Her weaknesses? Shortsightedness, and overconfidence.

“…One sympathises…”

Syndelle did what Lensa wanted, but wasn’t central to the group, nor was she someone the dynamic between her friends truly depended on. Until now she had merely been of use, primarily kept in line by cajoling from Tirisa…

…Who was the freckled girl Lensa most needed. Without Tirisa, there would be no Syndelle, and without Tirisa and Syndelle the blue-eyed fiend had no one through whom she could command the two remaining girls she held herself above; nor would she retain their confidence.

Yet Tirisa was too tightly bound to Lensa to directly peel away.

What did Saphienne know about Tirisa? That she was self-conscious, her aggressiveness masking low self-esteem — as demonstrated by the way she covered over her freckles. She also shared a love of drama with Laewyn, which implied she was more passionate than rational, and could probably be provoked into rash action. Crucially, she had little patience for Syndelle.

Remaining were the two girls of Saphienne’s age, Alynelle and Elisa, whom Celaena said were always trying to impress Lensa and Tirisa. Both had been friendly toward her prior to the beating, and Elisa had been the most curious about Saphienne, asking whether she could cast spells.

But Alynelle felt vulnerable, to Saphienne. She wasn’t given to reading — had disdained it as a pastime. That meant she was ignorant. Yet the fact she still looked up to Lensa, who pretended at being learned, suggested she was aware of her shortcoming, and sought shelter in the shadow of the girl she idolised as being better than herself.

“…Syndelle, then Alynelle, then Tirisa…”

Each of them would be fearful of the consequences of their crime, huddling about Lensa in hope she could shepherd them to safety. Each of them would have been assured by her that there was no other option, that the only way out was to stay the course. Each of them would be quietly desperate for it all to go away… and Saphienne had personal experience of how easily desperation could be exploited.

“…Then you, Lensa…”

All Saphienne had to do was arrange them in a row, then hurl her apple.

 

* * *

 

Out of an abundance of caution, Saphienne cleaned and packed away the new calligraphy set as though it were unused, and then methodically tore the leftover pieces of paper until she had a pile of illegible scraps she could scatter – one tiny fragment at a time – across the day.

Lastly, she stood anxiously before the window. “…Hyacinth?”

When there was no immediate reply, Saphienne said her name again, then waited, content for her time to belong to the bloomkith.

A green nub rose in the middle of the plant pot’s soil, lifting her heart.

 

* * *

 

They reunited in their usual place, Hyacinth covered in pale purple blossoms that had not yet fully matured when she came to sit on the library steps.

Saphienne hugged her fiercely.

The spirit was chastened. “I must apologise for all I did–”

“Hush.” She caressed her back. “Just promise me that, next time, you’ll run.”

“No oath I make…” Her sigh was long and dewy. “…But yes, as you forbid.”

“How do you feel?” She drew back to study her gaze, which seemed to have rekindled its rich yellow, for all that it had lost some sparkle.

“Restored enough to dwell with you, I think.” Hyacinth suppressed a yawn, her field rippling in sympathy.

Saphienne gently smiled. “Good. I have a penance to demand from you, in recompense for how badly you frightened me.”

Knowing she wasn’t being serious, and yet still contrite, the bloomkith played along, leaning heavily against her. “An awful elf… with whom my fate I link. Demand you what, that I must now obey?”

“Two things.” Saphienne breathed in the green scent of her flowers. “First, you’re staying with me for now — or with someone I trust. But if you’re with someone else, I want them physically close by.”

Hyacinth managed a dry laugh. “Confine me, then. What else from me, this day?”

Pulling the spirit down to lay her on lap, Saphienne traced the line of her nose. “Can you winter here? Will you rest, and trust me to wake you if danger comes?”

The purple petals grew rosy. In answer, Hyacinth curled up on the steps as like a closing flower, and let her eyes fall shut.

 

* * *

 

Just as Saphienne suspected, when she saw herself in the mirror she beheld that the yellow in her stare was much fainter than usual, though not so dim as when Hyacinth had possessed Laelansa. She practiced soothing the spirit within herself as she put the forgery in her satchel and readied to go out.

Assuming the bloomkith kept to her word, then–

Three sharp knocks preceded the door opening. “Prodigy! Good, you’re up.”

Saphienne had been expecting her tutor. “…Good morning to you too, Taerelle.”

Dressed once more in her black robes, her hair again braided in a long tail that fell across her shoulder, Taerelle grinned at Saphienne as she leant in the doorway, her pale blue gaze conveying her delight at the lack of objection to her rudeness. Her good cheer dimmed slightly as she scrutinised Saphienne’s dwindled sign of possession. “Your guardian spirit? I heard about the commotion yesterday. Is she unwell?”

“Resting,” Saphienne promised. “You’re here about that?”

“Not only…” Taerelle flicked her head back, whipping her braid away. “…And unless you have more to add to his version, Iolas filled me in when I passed him on the doorstep. Come, join me.”

Celaena nearly walked into them in the hallway, freshly dressed in her own, pale grey robes. “Taerelle? Who let you–”

“A wizard must maintain her mystery, young apprentice.”

Rolling her eyes, Saphienne took her friend by the arm. “Iolas did. Where is everyone?”

Grateful, Celaena fell in beside them. “Faylar went home to see his mother, Iolas went out to find out what revel Thessa went off to last night–”

Taerelle laughed witheringly. “He should have said! I could have told him which she got herself thrown out of…”

Saphienne blinked. “Why did Thessa get thrown out–”

“Underaged.” Taerelle turned the corner toward the sanctum. “The revel was for children aged thirty-six to fifty. She might have gotten away with being there, if I hadn’t recognised her.”

“You turned her in?”

“She outed herself while trying to slink away.” In exceptionally good cheer, Taerelle spun on the ball of her foot and walked backwards as she addressed the girls. “Should you ever be in a place where you’re not supposed to be? Remember to act like you belong. Confidence, apprentices!”

Celaena was unamused. “You’re an apprentice, too.”

“Not for much longer.” Taerelle wheeled about, humming to herself. “I feel it in my bones: the Second Degree isn’t much further away.”

“…Right.” Celaena was dubious. “Anyway: Laelansa is in the bath, and Laewyn is applying her makeup. And that leads me to ask what we’re–”

She gasped as the open doors to the sanctum came into view — along with the mended dark grey robes that hung upon the repaired mannequin, a crinkled but whole envelope pinned in place.

“My robes!” Celaena let go of Saphienne to hurry forward. “Who–”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Saphienne wished he was there. “Faylar: he did it yesterday morning with– without any help from us. He wanted to show he appreciated you.”

Celaena’s lips quivered.

Taerelle crossed her arms. “Perhaps I was too quick to dismiss him; he’s saved me significant time.”

Saphienne blinked. “You came here to fix–”

“I did cause the damage.” The senior apprentice strode forward into the sanctum’s foyer, lifting the dining chair as she scanned the walls, windows, and floor. “The last thing I need is for Celaena’s father to have a reason to dislike me. Speaking of which,” she beckoned the girl as she walked back to Saphienne, “come out from there. I’m going to seal the door, and you’re going to pretend to your father than it’s a wonderful surprise.”

From the way Celaena was studying Taerelle as she joined them, Saphienne could see she was reconsidering her opinion of the woman in black. “That’s kind. Won’t he know that the seal was broken?”

Taerelle had set the chair down, and she shut the doors as she answered. “I told you before — it was a simple spell. Trivial to open, and trivial to reapply. So simple that even a mere junior apprentice could cast it, with sufficient practice. The difficulty lies in conceptualising your father’s seal, which serves as both lock and key…”

True to how she characterised it, Taerelle cast the sealing spell quickly, three short syllables accompanying a fluid dance of her fingers as she touched the handles of the door and caused hallucinated lines to shimmer into place. An audible click signalled the lock engaging.

“…Like so.”

Intrigued, Saphienne strolled over to inspect it. “When you say his seal is also the key… when you opened it the other night…”

“I intersected the seal with a hallucination matching its appearance.” Her tutor moved away from the door. “Be offended if you choose, but this spell isn’t meant to stop anyone with any manifest talent for wizardry: we casually refer to it as a child’s lock.”

That made Saphienne snort. “…I don’t know why I find that funny. So all it takes is a spell that shows–”

“Or enchantment,” Taerelle clarified, sitting on the dining chair. “The spell functions based on sympathy of semblance — any magical resonance that leaks into it through semblance causes the spell to collapse. Since semblance is relatively weak–”

“–The effects have to be touching through sympathy of space before the resonance can overflow into the seal,” Saphienne deduced.

“Living up to your title, prodigy.” Taerelle crossed one leg over the other, sobering. “What happened with the spirits? Our master is now convinced one tried to kill you…” She didn’t say more, nor did she glance at Celaena.

Pursing her lips, Saphienne lowered her voice. “…Celaena knows it wasn’t a spirit.”

Her answer elicited no surprise, and Saphienne belatedly realised that her tutor had guessed whom she had confided in. “And you know who it was, don’t you, Celaena?”

Warily, Celaena folded her arms. “Threaten me all you–”

“Trees keep you!” Taerelle’s condescending giggle was light. “Celaena: if I wanted you to tell me, I would already know.” Her smile sharpened. “I’m just making clear who’s to blame, should someone get hurt.”

Annoyed on her behalf, Saphienne glowered. “That won’t work.”

Ceasing her intimidation, the senior apprentice sagged backwards into the chair. “Then unless you’ve changed your mind, Saphienne, we’re in trouble. I kept my original conjecture to myself, but now everyone in the investigation has arrived at it via a different route. They might be as wrong as I was — but that matters little.” She steepled her fingers. “The wizards and sorcerers gathered in the Eastern Vale suspect a woodland spirit assaulted a child, and the spirits won’t talk. Your silence is taking us awfully close to imperilling the ancient ways.”

Among her many troubles, Saphienne was grimly mirthful to realise how low that problem ranked. “There was nearly a fight yesterday. I called Hyacinth, and she was being tormented by some of her sisters, all of whom consider her – and me – to be apostates. A spirit of the opposite opinion came to our defence.”

Now Taerelle didn’t hide her anxiety, sitting up. “A religious conflict?”

She nodded.

The woman in black stood. “Wormwood warned me. Saphienne, listen: this is more than a matter of justice. You must let our master know who assaulted you. Say you had a nightmare, and now you remember — or even have Celaena bring word to him, after hearing you in your sleep.”

Feeling Celaena’s scrutiny, Saphienne shook her head. “We have a little more time before things get that bad.”

“…Maybe.” Taerelle was far from certain. “I presume you received my gift?”

“I did, and I’ll keep reading.”

In her stare, Saphienne saw that Taerelle wanted to push her harder… but refrained, not wanting to alienate her. “Understand: if this goes much further, then for the sake of everyone involved? You’ll force me to betray your trust. Don’t put me in that position, prodigy…” Her tone softened. “…Not now.”

Receiving no reply, the senior apprentice bowed and took her leave.

Celaena watched her go as she approached Saphienne. “She’s right. You know she’s right, Saphienne: we have to reveal who’s to blame.”

The air felt thick in Saphienne’s lungs. “…Leave it with me.”

 

* * *