CHAPTER 86 – In Visibility

Once Laelansa had set off for the Vale of the White River, Saphienne used the remainder of the day to study her sigil and attempt to deconstruct its meaning. She had thought about it idly during the week, and was pleased to discover that her time away had deepened her capacity to contemplate the puzzle, finding new associations between the shapes that she recognised.

As best she could discern, casting the spell required no words — which had initially struck her as very odd, to the extent that she had wondered whether she had mistranslated what little she could read. Now she was certain that this was no mistake, for the gestures she’d struggled to decipher were in fact much simpler than she’d assumed, consisting only of rhythmic flurries of the fingers on one hand. Her key insight was that the movement of the fingertips corresponded to changing pitch, implying that sound played a role in the ensuing hallucination.

That made one of the confusing central details – markings she had wrongly associated with the wind – take on an entirely different aspect: breath. The conceptual embodiment of the spell used breath and gesture, in turn signifying that the script she’d first intuited as referring to an inanimate object was actually–

Saphienne groaned. “Fuck you, Almon.”

She put the sigil away and went down the hall to Celaena’s sitting room, knocking on the closed door. “Celaena, are you busy?”

“You can come in.”

Celaena had been standing over papers laid out on the floor — maps of the village and the surrounding Eastern Vale. As Saphienne entered, the fellow apprentice moved to the windowsill where the pot of hyacinths was sat, and her fingers brushed the blooms, the eponymous spirit departing from her into the flowers.

Saphienne squinted at the scene. “…Dare I ask?”

“Something Hyacinth told me made me curious,” Celaena explained, crouching to gather up her research material. “Did you ever wonder how spirits move around? Or where they are when they’re not invoked?”

“They have another state of existence,” Saphienne hedged as she considered. “I’ve not given it much thought, but my conjecture is that it’s related to their emergence from the magical sympathy of identity. Woodland spirits share features in common, which comes from them sharing certain sympathies of identity, and that makes me suppose they exist in some kind of shared, conceptual space whenever they’re not invoked.”

“Gods…” Celaena shook her head in dismay. “…You scare me. I’ve been trying to make sense of what Hyacinth described for ages, and you just put it into words like it was completely obvious. How?”

Faintly embarrassed, Saphienne shrugged. “It just fits? As for how they move around,” she went on, “I’m guessing you mean when they’re not invoked… but that makes me wonder how a conceptual space based on identity relates to the physical space from which it arose…”

Giving up on trying to contribute, Celaena sat down on the couch and listened.

“…If spirits dwell in a conceptual space that’s formed from how we understand them and the woodlands, then it stands to reason that they’re more easily invoked in places that are strongly associated with them: shrines to the gods and spirit glades. But this would extend to include the trees and flowers that are associated with individual spirits, which would be why it’s easier to summon a spirit like Hyacinth when there are hyacinths present…”

“She told me that when she’s not in the world she’s more able to see things around her flowers, but only if she’s intentionally looking in a particular place, or if something grabs her attention.”

Saphienne paced to the window to admire the blue petals. “I have a suspicion that spirits of the woodlands can’t be invoked outside the woodlands — not unless there’s something from the woodlands there, to make a path for them. That’s the conceptual boundary. As for moving around…” She tilted her head. “…Did Hyacinth describe travelling through this… let’s pretend it’s a place. Did she describe travelling there?”

“She did,” Celaena answered, “but she said there’s no physical distance. Is it something to do with magical sympathy, you think?”

Saphienne smiled as she caught the thread. “You’re right: it’s not physical distance, it’s the degree of magical sympathy. Hyacinth told me that spirits can shape themselves, and take care with how they construct their identity. To move through a conceptual space – let’s say from the idea of a specific sacred glade to the idea of a specific shrine – I’d suppose that a spirit changes how she conceives of herself to associate more strongly with the place.”

“…Now you’ve lost me.”

Enjoying the intellectual challenge, Saphienne floated around the couch and sat. “Take the Shrine to Our Lord of the Endless Hunt. There’s a priest of the shrine, Nelathiel, and she has a close spirit friend called Holly. I’d wager that Holly is more easily invoked from that shrine than most places, because she’s associated with that shrine by her friendship with Nelathiel. In a sense, she’s everywhere her plants are, and everywhere in the woodlands, but she’s more present in that shrine.”

Celaena folded her arms. “…So she’ll be more aware of what happens there when she’s not invoked… but if she wants to pay closer attention to somewhere else, she changes how she understands herself to be more in tune with that other place? Whether it’s a specific plant, or a spirit glade?”

“That’s my hypothesis,” confirmed Saphienne.

This was convincing to Celaena, who nodded thoughtfully. “Hyacinth said that spirits are more in the wilds than in the vale, and more in the vale than in the village, save for where their plants are. She also said something about travel along ‘ley lines,’ but I’m not sure what those are.”

Tantalised by the possibilities, Saphienne sat forward. “They’re paths between landmarks of spiritual significance… at least, that’s what I think they are. Magical resonance flows along them, which I think means magic flows along them through sympathy and leaks out as resonance…” Her smile became a grin. “…If spirits constantly shift their sympathy of identity so that they’re more associated with specific locations, wouldn’t doing this repeatedly make a bridge between those locations? Maybe ley lines are the physical manifestation of magical sympathy between places formed by the spirits, caused by spirits shifting back and forth.”

Celaena sat up. “Remember when Hyacinth was first invoked? Almon called on her to ‘Tread the trod, stride the way,’ as part of the invocation. I thought it was poetic, but could it be literal?”

“From our perspective!” Saphienne nearly clapped her hands together, then remembered she couldn’t, awkwardly lowering them again. “…To us, if a spirit is aware of somewhere they seem ‘present’ there. So if a spirit is ‘present’ in one location and then ‘moves’ to be ‘present’ at another, that would seem like travelling along the ley lines. But to the spirit, it’s more like shifting to the next conceptual landmark, which would be arranged not just by their physical proximity, but by other kinds of proximity of association.”

“So to avoid the attention of spirits,” Celaena mused, staring at the ceiling, “staying in the village and avoiding their plants would be the first step… and then refraining from saying or doing anything that draws their attention would be the next.”

“Not saying their name, and especially not near circles,” Saphienne agreed… then reflected on the subject. “Why avoid them? Are you thinking about what happened to me in the garden?”

“…It’s been on my mind.” Celaena stood, stretching with a sigh. “Anyway: what was it you wanted to talk about?”

Saphienne blinked. “…I think I know what my spell does.”

This excited the older girl, who dropped from her stretch to lean over Saphienne. “Something complicated? It has to be something challenging, knowing how much Almon wants you to fail.”

She flushed. “…Not challenging, exactly. I think it makes an aural hallucination.”

“What kind of–”

“Singing.” Saphienne pursed her lips and held Celaena’s gaze. “I think it makes whatever the wizard says sound like it’s a song.”

As the silence stretched, Celaena tried and failed to hide her smile.

“It’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry Saphienne,” Celaena giggled, “but it is funny — and you know it’s your own fault. You’re the one who told him you find the songs for craft magic diffi–”

Saphienne snatched up the cushion next to herself, and smacked Celaena’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Saphienne slept poorly that night.

In part, she missed the presence of Laelansa.

Mostly, her rest was denied by dreams of the day to come.

 

* * *

 

When the moment finally arrived, Saphienne nearly missed her cue.

She was sitting on the upper floor of the teahouse, passing the time by performing the prescribed exercises for her hand. They didn’t take long, and she’d been dutifully undertaking them three times daily, hopeful that frequent repetition might encourage healing, even though her efforts had, as yet, resulted in no change.

Below her, Tirisa and Laewyn were on a couch by the window, telling Alynelle about a serialised melodrama they had been reading. Lensa and Elisa hadn’t stopped by – Saphienne had noticed they were both absent the week before, presumably because their apprenticeships kept them occupied – and the teahouse was much quieter than during the days around the festival. Light rain was pattering against the windows and drumming on the skylight, lulling; her mind wandered as she held the stretches.

She’d finalised her script over a late breakfast, then left Hyacinth with Celaena, heading outside and down through the garden, stopping by the gate. There she’d crouched to tighten the laces of her shoe.

“…Are you ready, Sundamar?”

From nearby, concealed by his ring, the warden had whispered, “We are. We can’t follow you into the teahouse, but we’ll be waiting outside.”

Not knowing the identity of the second warden vexed Saphienne, but she’d judged it imprudent to inquire about him, lest her curiosity be mistaken for questioning Sundamar’s judgement. She’d previously noticed, while witness to Laelansa’s interactions with her friends, that people often imputed social intentions to questions, treating them as though their asking was a performative act — the goal being to change how the person being questioned was seen by their audience. Increasingly, she was aware that anxieties about social standing coloured most interactions between the people around her.

During her early lessons with her master, Almon had said it was imperative to observe not just what was said, but also how it was said; she was now convinced that who was speaking and presumptions of why they spoke shaped perceptions of the how for the majority of people. Thankfully, her friends made allowances for her… and so too for Laelansa, once they’d decided the novice was merely awkward.

Yet for all their teasing and playful insults to each other, her friends were quite relaxed and secure. By way of contrast, the more hierarchical and competitive the group, the more every action became fraught with the presumption of significance. Take the way Lensa socialised with the girls beneath her: unless they made an effort to show submissive deference, she treated any question or comment directed to her as though it were an implicit challenge to her authority. The lower the status of the questioner, the more this presumption was applied. Tirisa could offer a remark more easily than Alynelle, who–

Wasn’t sitting on the couch.

Saphienne saw the door to the teahouse closing — glimpsed Alynelle’s back just before it shut.

Not being seen to rush was very important. She downed the remainder of her tea then stood, sedately descending the steps and making a beeline for the counter to return her cup, pulling up her hood as she went out into the clearing around the teahouse.

The rain gave Saphienne an excuse to hurry, and she set off in the direction she’d seen Alynelle go previously, hoping to catch up with her on the far side of the gardens, then relieved when she saw her stopped in the shade of a tree to adjust the buttons of her coat. There was no one else around — at least, not visibly.

Holding her ruined hand before herself, Saphienne seamlessly switched her stride to a purposeful stalk, tilting up her head in emulation of the way Lensa regarded the world. “Alynelle,” she called out sharply as she approached, startling the girl.

Alynelle’s eyes had widened, but they relaxed when she saw Saphienne… only to fill with mild concern. “…Saphienne? Do you need something?”

That was as good an opening as any, and she stopped, tilting to the side and canting her head in semblance of Taerelle. “Need? No. I don’t need anything from you; I’d just like to satisfy my curiosity.”

Frowning, Alynelle came toward her from the tree. “About what?”

Despite all she had to accomplish, Saphienne was intent on enjoying herself. She let a cool smile paint her cheeks. “About why you joined in, when Lensa had Tirisa and Syndelle try to kill me.”

Although the rain was summer-mild, Saphienne could swear she heard thunder as she spoke the words — for Alynelle reacted as if struck by lightning. Her onetime assailant recoiled, thrown back, at once pale and shaking, terror shining in the whites of the girl’s eyes. “What– what do you–”

There was no need to be swift; Saphienne moved with a leisurely, gliding step, remembering how the hem of Almon’s robes had seemed to roll across the forest floor when he confronted her near the hidden glade. “You know precisely what I mean: we both remember everything.” She enunciated each syllable dryly, though hinted at aloof amusement with the way she regarded her quarry.

Alynelle stopped, vulnerable as a doe before the hunter’s bow.

“I’ve been studying you carefully.” She kept moving, walking past and around the girl as she recited her lines. “Though I don’t know how she learned her position on the list, I understand exactly what Lensa had to gain. Syndelle obviously gained nothing, since she was manipulated by Tirisa — a blunt instrument. Elisa? Naivety. I expect the allure of magic drew her in, given how curious she was about my apprenticeship. And, of course, Tirisa’s reasons for helping Lensa are obvious.”

Behind Alyenelle, Saphienne leant in, her voice dropping to a close murmur that made the girl jump. “But you? You’re quite dim, but hardly naïve. I can’t for the life of me work out what you stood to gain from what you did. As academic as the question is, the wizard in me just can’t let them take you without knowing.”

Finishing her circuit, she stood waiting, appearing for all the world like she was examining an inscrutable work of art in the gallery. “Would you do me the small courtesy of explaining? I shan’t do anything to spare you, but your honesty would mildly raise my opinion of you. Right now, you seem extraordinarily foolish.”

Bewildered beyond expression, Alynelle was slow to form words. “…I don’t know what you’re talking about–”

“Really?” Saphienne tutted. “If that’s how it’s going to be, fine.” She turned to leave, waving across her shoulder. “Run if it pleases you — the head start won’t make a difference. Goodbye, Alynelle.”

This was the risky part; if Alynelle was intelligent enough to let her leave, then everything she had planned became much harder. Yet, for all that it was clearly the right response, ignorance and youthful curiosity were a potent combination.

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Alynelle was torn. “…Wait!”

Saphienne made a show of hesitating, then came back. “Reconsidered, have we?”

She worried her lip. “…I don’t understand.”

“Shocking.” Saphienne smirked. “Do tell: what’s confused you?”

“What list?”

Perfect. Counting to five, Saphienne scrutinised her. “…I see. That explains a significant amount. You had no idea that Lensa is on the list to be an apprentice wizard, did you?”

Alynelle shook her head.

“She barely missed making it into my cohort,” Saphienne lied. “That means she won’t be eligible until the next intake, five years from now, when she’ll face fresh competition from whoever else comes along. Since apprenticeships are best started younger, she’ll very likely be passed over again…”

Glacially, Alynelle worked through the implications; she refrained from voicing her conclusions.

“…Must I spell it out?” Saphienne rolled her eyes. “We’re early into the syllabus. Iolas is too strong, and Celaena’s father too important. Were I to have died, a position would have been available for Lensa. What did you think she had to gain? And what in the world did she promise you?”

“Lensa didn’t promise me–” She stopped herself.

Now Saphienne grinned disbelievingly, and she laughed, once, coldly. “Nothing? Do you mean to say she talked you into it for– for what? Because I said nasty things to Phelorna? Because you think I’m a bitch?”

Alynelle watched as Saphienne pushed back her hood and tilted her face up to laugh at the sky.

“…You poor fool.” Wiping away a raindrop as though it were a tear, Saphienne kept grinning, letting a little sympathy show. “I never thought you’d be so easily played. I kept asking myself, ‘How did Elisa and Alynelle persuade themselves that Lensa wouldn’t dispose of them?’ It never once occurred to me that you didn’t realise what she was doing.”

Her acting had its intended effect, Alynelle hugging herself. “…Dispose of us?”

“Of course!” There, Saphienne showed hesitation, then stepped closer, the twist to her lips showing condescending kindness. “I was supposed to die. Should I have, then you, Elisa, Syndelle, and Tirisa would have not only been Lensa’s accomplices, but witnesses. Having murdered once to secure her future, do you think she’d have any compunction about doing it again?” She searched the girl’s gaze. “She could hardly leave you alive to threaten her. No, all of you but Tirisa would have had to go.”

Doubt – but not only doubt – was writ upon her countenance. “…You were supposed to die?”

“What — did you think the way Lensa and Tirisa goaded Syndelle was accidental?” Saphienne chuckled darkly. “Syndelle loves her mother more than anyone, and she fears her getting hurt. They knew what they were doing, provoking her like that.”

Horror was there, too, in the way Alynelle withered. “…But, Elisa, and Tirisa–”

“I expect Elisa was promised a chance to learn a little magic from Lensa,” Saphienne dismissed her, “and as for Tirisa? Yes, she’s usually useless at whatever she tries — worthless without Lensa. Being trusted by Lensa is the only thing that makes her anything at all; being Lensa’s right hand is the best she can hope for. Lensa believes, wrongly, she can depend on Tirisa to do whatever she needs.”

Her credulity won through befuddlement, Alynelle tried resisting with a weak objection. “But… Tirisa wants to be–”

“What Tirisa wants for herself doesn’t matter: she either keeps Lensa’s confidence, or she’s nothing.” Saphienne snorted. “How ironic! Tirisa better hope they come for her first. As soon as Lensa finds out how badly she’s messed up…”

That grabbed Alynelle. “Who’re they? And what’s Tirisa done wrong?”

She pretended to weigh her choices, then shrugged. “You’ve answered my question, so it hardly matters if I share. Lensa is quite intelligent, but she’s very shortsighted. I imagine she reassured you that there’s no way you would ever be found guilty of attacking me, so long as you all kept your stories straight?”

When she received no response, Saphienne continued. “She was correct, but she completely missed the point. Wizards don’t let people mistreat them. They’d never let an offense against wizardry pass uncontested.” She made her eyes gleam with malice. “Lensa surely knows magic can’t be used as evidence. Why, then, have all the visiting wizards been helping my master with divinations to identify you? Because they’re going to punish you all anyway.”

Alynelle’s breath caught.

“No one can stop them,” she insisted. “No one dare defy them. Everyone will know what happened to you, and nobody will say anything.”

“You– you told them?”

“Not yet.” Saphienne crossed her arms. “At first, it was because I needed proof. Then, like I said, it was because I wanted to understand how you were all involved. Tirisa took care of the first part, and now…”

Beneath the rainfall, Alynelle was sweating.

Reaching into her satchel, Saphienne drew out the forged confession. “Lensa trusted Tirisa with one task — controlling Syndelle.” Unfolding the sheet, she held it up. “Look what she let the imbecile do.”

As Alynelle read, panic began to set in. “That’s– that doesn’t say–”

“It didn’t need to.” Saphienne quickly folded it away, conspicuously returning it to her satchel. “With it, I paid a visit to Syndelle earlier this week. We talked, she and I; then I spoke with her mother. For all Syndelle is deeply stupid, she’s a sweet girl. When my master calls on her, she’s going to tell him everything, in exchange for which she’ll be spared.”

Dread quiet overtook Alynelle.

Saphienne seized her moment. “This would be where you consider your options? Then let’s be direct.” She lifted her hood forward again. “No, Alynelle: I won’t forgive you like I forgave her. I don’t need you. Syndelle is enough — and even if you were to talk her out of it, her written confession will be sufficient for my master.” A thin smile danced across her lips. “Ah, but now you’re thinking: I beat Saphienne before, so why not take the letter from her?”

Spreading her arms, Saphienne stepped forward. “Go ahead: try! Last time, I was unprepared. This time, Hyacinth is waiting, and she’s eager for vengeance — and more than willing to call her sisters to help.”

Would Alynelle be impulsive? Then Sundamar would intervene, and they’d have a confession from her quickly.

Sensing Saphienne’s confidence wasn’t for show, the girl backed away.

“…I thought not.” Saphienne lowered her hands. “Tomorrow, I’ll take the news to my master. Do as you please — it makes no difference. If I were you, though, I’d not say anything to Lensa. My master probably won’t kill you, but if she’s desperate…”