CHAPTER 84 – In Justice

Sitting with Laelansa in the expansive kitchen, still cradling Hyacinth within herself, Saphienne contemplated the next step in her plan, aware that there were several preconditions that would have to be met before she could execute it. Chief among them were solitude and secrecy — she had to be alone, and no one could know what she’d done until she chose.

“What’re you thinking?”

She blinked. Laelansa had given up on her book, and was studying Saphienne with an enamoured gaze. “…About how you climbed up to see me. It’s a good story; I wish we could tell it, but we can’t let Celaena’s father know she was in his sanctum.”

“It was romantic, wasn’t it?” Laelansa shuffled her chair closer, slipping her hand into Saphienne’s. “Couldn’t we embellish it a little?”

Inwardly, Saphienne felt guilty: mildly manipulating Laelansa was harmless, but she didn’t like it. “…Say it was my guest room window you came to? Pretend you never set off any alarms?”

A giggle signalled her approval. “Did I woo you with a song?”

“Let’s not go that far. When we tell it–”

Happenstance saw Faylar arrive in the kitchen, no longer dressed in his festival clothes, his expression furious. “I’m glad someone’s getting told things!” He dropped the basket he held on the table in front of them, folding his arms as he glared reproachfully at Saphienne. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me what happened with the spirits yesterday?”

Her smile was wan. “Good evening. Because it was over, and you were drunk.”

“I was not–”

Laelansa objected. “Yes you were! You left your cloak lying on the floor, and you fell asleep during the story!”

His angry flush took on a tinge of embarrassment. “Well… even if I was a little merry, I shouldn’t have had to find out from my mother!”

Given the opportunity to learn more about what the wardens were doing, Saphienne changed the subject. “How is she? I’m sorry for all the work I’ve given her.”

Even though it wasn’t for him, her contrition mollified Faylar. “Don’t be,” he insisted, moving to fill the kettle. “Protecting people is her chosen art: she’d be annoyed to hear you. And she’s fine… not that we talked for long.”

Given that he’d left early, Saphienne extrapolated that his mother had been kept busy. “She wasn’t home? What was she doing?”

He set the kettle to boil, then shook his head. “You know the funny thing? If I’d just stayed here I’d have probably ran into her.” Faylar gestured to the window. “She was in the grove — even shadowed you all to the teahouse.”

Saphienne blinked. “…I see. How long have they been–”

“Since after the spirits showed up.” He prepared a pot with green tea. “Sundamar said they didn’t think whoever attacked you would be stupid enough to come back, but now that they know spirits are involved, they’re not taking any chances. There’s a group ready if anything happens — including a sorcerer.”

Every word made Saphienne’s heart sink lower. “All in the grove?”

“No, they’re staged nearby. The moment an alarm’s raised, they’ll be here.”

Staring as the kettle gradually steamed, Saphienne beheld her careful deliberations evaporating away. How was she meant to act while under observation? She pondered that as Faylar steeped the tea, finding no comfort where Laelansa leaned against her shoulder.

Distracted, she saw him set out multiple cups, fill one, and head for the door. “Faylar, I wouldn’t bother Celaena right now–”

“This isn’t for her…” He glanced back. “…It’s for Sundamar. He’s taking the overnight watch. What’s upset Celaena?”

Sundamar was outside? Saphienne wanted to groan. “She had an argument with Laewyn. She’s in my guest room — we came down to get away from her.”

“Great,” he winced. “Let me take this out, then I’ll talk her out of her mood.”

After he left, Laelansa wondered, “If the Wardens of the Wilds are trying to catch someone, should he be drawing attention to–”

“No.” Saphienne had been too dismayed to warn him. “No, he shouldn’t.”

 

* * *

 

When Faylar came back in – without the teacup, glum from being reprimanded – he made good on his promise and took another up to Celaena, who descended an hour later, subdued but no longer hostile. Saphienne hadn’t made any progress toward a solution, and was tired enough to give up for the day and go to bed early.

Laelansa tucked her in after she was changed. “Would you like me to sleep in another room? I don’t want to keep you up again.”

“It’s fine,” Saphienne murmured. “You can join me if you like.”

“Maybe later…” The novice kissed her brow, then paused. “…Are you resting with Hyacinth?”

She was too drowsy to be guarded. “I feel safer when we’re together…”

Laelansa smiled softly. “She must trust you, to share like that.”

Within, Saphienne carried Hyacinth from the steps to the field, then lay down with her upon the blossoms, grateful that their inner sky became starry as the sun faded. “…We trust each other… I know she…”

Whatever else Saphienne knew, it wouldn’t be revealed that night.

 

* * *

 

Nightmares were overdue.

Winds tore at her skin, shrieks in her ears, the condemnations of her sisters hurling her to and fro in a place that was without substance or measure. She argued, tried to hold firm, but their acrimony was too bitter, their songs too loud, the truth of her failure too cutting to endure.

Then a curve appeared on the formless horizon, risen like the sun, and she heard her name called by her beloved. “Saphienne, Saphienne, Saphienne!”

“Stop yelling, child. She can’t hear you.”

Kylantha hunched forward against the autumn chill, Sundamar holding the back of her collar as he walked her up the vale. Her voice was hoarse from crying, and her pained eyes showed the little girl had no more tears. “Where– where are we–”

“You’re going to live with your people.” His pace didn’t falter. “You’ll make new friends there. You’ll forget all about us.”

“I don’t want to go.” She sniffled, her voice low. “I don’t want new friends. I want–”

“None of us gets what we want in life. Resign yourself to that now, child. You and her will be better off without each other. This is the way it has to be.”

No child so young should ever look so frightened, so angry, so bereft as she did. Kylantha drew a deep breath. “Saph–”

 

* * *

 

Saphienne sat up, the soaked sheets clinging to her drenched nightgown.

When she was calm enough to see the room around her, she recognised she was alone, Laelansa having left the bed to her. Inside her darkened mind, Hyacinth was unmoving where she wintered, not even breathing in her torpor — though Saphienne felt fragrant respiration from the petals.

Were those Hyacinth’s nightmares, or her own? A mixture of both, perhaps, though the bloomkith was peaceful.

The faint glow in the window suggested dawn was near. She rose on shaky legs, moved to the sill, touched the bulb in the plant pot as she mentally roused the spirit who shared her body. “Hyacinth…”

Animating upon the bed of flowers, the spirit opened her eyes to smile contentedly, stretching. “You wish that I should quit your form for now?”

“Please.”

Hyacinth sensed Saphienne’s distress, and sat up to lay a hand upon her cheek. “…You are upset. Might I calm you? Tell how.”

“I just need to be alone,” she insisted. “Just until morning.”

Caressing her with affectionate worry, the bloomkith acquiesced, and released her as she sank into the blooms–

Saphienne felt the bulb stir under her fingertip. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Becoming aware of how uncomfortable she was, she stripped off her damp nightwear, tossing it aside as she went back to the bed — and sighing as she felt the moisture of the bedclothes. Frustrated, she sat on the edge, gazing across the room as she tried to focus on anything but her dreams.

…The painted panels gifted by Tanelia were propped against the far wall, sat there by Laelansa when she had talked excitedly about the depicted deities. Comprehensive in her knowledge of the elven gods, the novice had held forth at length about Our Lord of the Everlasting Hearth, but she’d been far more passionate about his companion.

 

* * *

 

“So she’s the goddess of good timing?” Saphienne had asked, examining the hourglass held by the deity.

“No,” Laelansa replied. “Or… not only. Our Lady of the Chosen Moment isn’t solely concerned with when things occur; She is as much about the choice of moment. Her doctrine is that everything has a time — which is whenever we choose.”

“How convenient,” Celaena mused.

Laelansa finished setting up the diptych against the wall, and crossed her arms. “It’s not like that! We choose the moment, and She invites us to decide for ourselves what our choice has made us. When do we choose anger? When do we choose calm? When do we express the different parts of ourselves? They all have a time, and wisdom is in choosing the right moment.”

 

* * *

 

Did everything have a moment? What about wrongdoing?

Saphienne tutted, her mind on her nightmare of Sundamar. “…There’s no time for doing evil…”

Then again — what made an action evil? Taken out of context, his journey from the Eastern Vale with Kylantha needn’t have been a terrible wrong. Accompanying a child to her destination wasn’t inherently evil… choosing to do it for that purpose was the issue. So too, Saphienne knew he had principles, and that it was his choice of how he applied them–

Our Lady Who Waits in Patience said nothing, a question in her painted eyes.

“…Fine,” Saphienne conceded. “But only because I don’t see another way.”

 

* * *

 

Risen early to tend to her ovens, Tanelia had been surprised when Saphienne arrived with the paintings, though not offended that they were being returned. After nearly eight hundred years, the baker believed that care was more important than the gestures used to symbolise it — and anyway, she’d long been used to them hanging on her wall, and missed them.

When Saphienne had asked for help expressing her own care, it hadn’t taken much convincing to persuade Tanelia to tell her where she wanted to go. She’d even received some of the pastries leftover from the festival.

That was how – a little after dawn – Saphienne came to stand on a doorstep to a home that was almost identical to the house she’d formerly lived in. She supposed they must have been grown at the same time. Heedless of the hour, she knocked firmly, and waited.

The tall woman who answered was bleary-eyed, yawning as she peered around the door. “…Who are you?”

“Sorry to disturb you so early.” Saphienne was respectful, but firm. “I need to talk to Syndelle — the matter’s urgent.”

Scowling, the woman who Saphienne presumed was Syndelle’s guardian started to close the door. “She’s confined to home. Come back in a week–”

She stuck her foot in the crack. “My name is Saphienne. I don’t want much of her time, but I’m not leaving until I get to talk to her. Either you let me in, or I sit in your front garden until she comes out.”

Her name was familiar. “…Saphienne?” The door eased back. “You were hurt?”

She withdrew her foot. “Yes. Please tell her I got her note, and that I’m sorry, too.”

Confused, but sensing her determination wasn’t a façade, the woman relented. “…I’ll fetch her down. Wait outside.”

Saphienne moved away from the door and sat, opening the small basket Tanelia had provided and folding her hands together. As she watched the door she contemplated the reaction of the woman, refining what she intended.

A third of an hour passed before Syndelle appeared, wide awake, pale and frightened, shivering despite the warmth of the summer night. Her knuckles were badly bruised, their skin having split and scabbed, and tooth marks were visible on her leg beneath her crumpled dress. She stood on the doorstep, the woman behind her looking on.

“Hello Syndelle.” Saphienne pushed the basket forward. “I brought pastries.”

Reluctantly, nudged onward, Syndelle descended and walked over, arms held protectively around herself, failing to meet her gaze.

Nodding to her guardian, Saphienne pointedly thanked the woman, who closed over – but did not shut – the front door.

Syndelle was very quiet. “…I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Saphienne regarded her with pity. “I forgive you.”

Astounded, Syndelle raised her head; then tears were in her eyes, and she keened like a toddler as she slumped down, soon blubbering and rocking back and forth.

When she recovered her power of speech, the older girl huffed her breath through her sniffles. “I didn’t– I didn’t mean to–”

“I know you didn’t.” Saphienne reached into the basket and withdrew a strawberry tart, offering it to Syndelle as an overture. “You just wanted to tell me I’d been bad.”

Lost and wary, the girl who had nearly ended her life accepted the treat, clutching it like a talisman. “I th– thought you said–”

“Things about your mother.” Saphienne gestured to the door. “Was that her?”

“Y-yes.”

“She seems nice. You must love her very much.”

“She’s– she’s the only– only one–”

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Saphienne didn’t need her to finish that sentence. “I know. It must have upset you very much, when you thought I’d been awful to her.”

Syndelle swallowed her tears. “I’m not smart. I get things wrong.”

Inhaling, Saphienne steadied her nerves. “No, Syndelle. That wasn’t your fault. You were lied to: Tirisa and Lensa lied to you.”

Frowning, Syndelle refused to believe. “Friends don’t lie, not to friends. They’re my friends–”

“They’re not your friends.” Saphienne climbed to her feet. “Friends don’t treat you like you’re stupid. Friends don’t hit you when you speak. Friends don’t confuse you, and make you hurt people.”

“But I am–”

“Syndelle, they wanted you to hurt me. They used you.”

She trembled. “No, they–”

“Have they ever made you feel loved?”

Syndelle was still.

Saphienne didn’t soften the truth. “Friends love each other. You know they don’t love you. Only your mother loves you: that’s what you said, before.”

As tall and strong as she was, Syndelle became so very small. “…But they’re my only friends…”

“They were never your friends…” Saphienne exhaled. “…And I’m sorry. You deserve better than them.”

For a time, the girl wept.

 

* * *

 

Once there were no more tears, Syndelle shuddered. “Lensa said… she said I’ve been very bad… that I need to be quiet for a long time, or everyone will hate me.”

Kneeling beside her, Saphienne was sombre. “I’ve thought hard about this. I’m not going to let that happen to you. I’ve not told anyone what I remember… but I can’t keep it a secret. The wardens are going to find out.”

Syndelle rubbed her face. “Will they shout at me? Lensa said–”

“Worse than that, if we aren’t careful.”

Forlornly, the girl hung her head. “…What do I do?”

“You’re going to do what your mother tells you to.” Saphienne was certain her words were overheard. “I’m going to talk to her, and we’re going to make this right. Some people will be mad at you, but I’ll make sure you’re forgiven. You didn’t mean it, Syndelle.”

Proving Saphienne right, the door opened. “Syndelle, come inside.”

Before she left, Saphienne gave her the basket. “Take these. They need eating.”

Unsteadily, Syndelle did as she was told; she traded places with her mother, who shut the door firmly, remaining on the steps.

Saphienne rose with purpose, keeping her voice level. “You didn’t know, did you?”

Syndelle’s mother had wrapped herself in a warm coat, but her pallor told of the cold in her veins. “…She told me she’d been fighting with some boys.”

“You understand what happened to me?” Saphienne raised her left hand, showing her impairment. “She nearly killed me. The damage may be permanent.”