CHAPTER 87 – Mobbed

Crying out attracted the attention of the patrons in the teahouse, and Alinar was quick to hurry over to Saphienne with a towel at the ready, utterly perplexed as he slowed to a halt beside the couches. Thessa had jumped across the table and was hugging her with a high-pitched squeal of joy, while Saphienne was laughing hoarsely through the pain as she cradled her spasming hand against her chest.

“…Are you two alright?”

Thessa leapt to her feet and threw her arms around Alinar too, startling him as she hung from his shoulders and spun him around. “Yes! Yes, we’re excellent!”

Although confused, Alinar was familiar enough with Thessa to grin as he disentangled himself and pushed her away. “Calm down! What’s happened?”

“My hand…” Saphienne hissed, unable to make the muscles relax. “…I can feel it again! Gods, can I feel it…”

His grin widened. Onlookers had wandered over to see what the fuss was, and Alinar turned to them with a pointed wave. “All’s well! Happy news. Give them privacy, thank you.”

Meanwhile, Thessa had run behind the counter, and she rifled through the enchanted, chilled cupboards where confectionaries were kept. “I’m requesting a cake!”

“A small one!” he called back. “We’re low on supplies until the day after tomorrow — the festival cleared everyone out.”

Saphienne closed her eyes and focused, trying to feel through the stabbing burn in her palm and wrist, willing her hand to obey. Her joints ached from the strain of her grip, her nails digging into her skin. “Do you–” She inhaled. “Do you have a rolling pin, Alinar?”

“Why do you want–”

“To hold.”

She sensed his hesitancy, but it was short-lived. Alinar raced past the counter and through to the kitchen, returning at the same time as Thessa brought over whatever cake she’d chosen. “Would this–”

Saphienne grabbed the thick, wooden stirring spoon from him and jammed the thin end into her seized fist, worked it in circles as she levered loose her fingers. She sighed in relief as her fingertips were pried free, a little blood arisen where her nails left grooves in her skin. “…This definitely hurts…”

Concerned, Alinar appealed to Thessa. “Can you take her to Gaelyn?”

“No,” Saphienne cut in. “This isn’t too bad — I just need to hold this until my hand relaxes… it can’t spasm forever…”

The three of them examined where she clenched the spoon, knuckles white.

“Looks like you’re keeping that,” Alinar groaned. “You’ve bled on it: shouldn’t use it for soup now.” He tossed her the clean tea towel. “Might as well have this too. I have some bandages and ointments in the kitchen–”

“Do you have willow tea?”

“…That, I think I do.” He left to search.

Thessa set a glazed, lemon-coloured cake down on the table as she sat beside Saphienne. “Are you sure you don’t want Gaelyn, or a priest? It looks sore.”

“It is sore,” Saphienne snorted, “but I don’t care. The exercises are working — they have worked! If I can feel my hand, if I can move it, then I can relearn how to use it.” Her cheeks ached from smiling. “Hyacinth will be so happy…”

“Everyone will be,” Thessa giggled, and hugged Saphienne again. “Iolas is going to be ecstatic! He’s been troubled.”

Saphienne stared. “…Has he?”

“Not around you.” Thessa slumped back against the couch, relief showing in her abrupt flush. “He’s been trying to act normally; he didn’t want to make you feel worse. He’s really been angry and sad and not himself… but he’ll be fine now.” She laughed. “As soon as you tell him, you’ll see what he’s been hiding.”

The thought of Iolas concealing his feelings was upsetting, but Saphienne’s elation helped her swallow her unexpected tears. Quite why she was so emotional was a mystery to her — and then she felt silly, the suppressed anxieties about her disability recognisable now that she was going to be… she was going to be…

“Saphienne? Oh, trees keep you…”

She choked on her sobs as she let herself be hugged.

That was how the wardens found her, when they stormed through the door.

 

* * *

 

What were they arguing about? Saphienne had been too overwhelmed to follow.

“Yes!” Alinar was emphatic. “Since this morning! They’ve been sat right there all–”

“Did anyone else see them?” The Warden of the Wilds was unknown to Saphienne, her manner cold. “Show me your register of requests.”

Thessa was by another couch at the far end of the teahouse, where it appeared like she was talking with thin air, the pair of wardens interviewing her wearing their Rings of Misperception.

“You’re bleeding.”

Saphienne glanced at her hand, then met the dispassionate gaze of the unfamiliar man keeping watch over her. “Not badly. My nails cut my palm.”

Impassive, he accepted this. The fact that he wasn’t interrogating her as well was foreboding.

“…Can I ask what this is about?”

He didn’t respond.

“…Fine.”

Whatever was going on, Saphienne knew better than to speculate aloud; she would wait until she understood more before she said anything. Perhaps Sundamar could explain why his fellow wardens were being adversarial, assuming he wasn’t busy with–

…Had Almon beaten him to Lensa? Surely not…

Saphienne crossed her arms and waited.

 

* * *

 

When their witness inquiries were complete, four of the six wardens who had come to find Saphienne escorted her out of the teahouse and walked her through the village, refusing to allow Thessa to follow. They wouldn’t answer any questions, one of the women keeping her hand on Saphienne’s shoulder as they took her somewhere she’d never visited.

Her destination proved to be close; as she approached it, the raised voice of Almon hinted at what lay ahead.

“… Whoever among you is responsible, you will confess now!” Her master was furious, his thundering threats echoing through the woods. “Speak! Play the part of a wizard — take ownership of your actions, and be judged accordingly!”

Saphienne counted her steps in the lull.

“Continued silence will not avail you! Every second you withhold only worsens the consequences!”

As she was led into the grove, she saw the wizard berating a line of young adults, most of them wearing robes in black and dark grey, all of them cowed by the barely restrained wrath of Almon as he stalked back and forth and waved his ash wood staff. She saw Taerelle and Rydel among their number, and realised that her teacher was pressing his apprentices.

“No one?” He stopped before Taerelle, his fingers in her face. “You! Damn your alibi — you’re fond of the girl! Did she put up to it?”

Taerelle was unnerved. “Master, I didn’t do anything–”

“So it was Rydel!” He swung to the man next to her, leant uncomfortably close. “Taerelle shared what Saphienne had told her, didn’t she? You decided to take matters into your own hands–”

“Master…” Rydel cautioned, his gaze on Saphienne.

“Don’t you dare interrupt me, boy!”

The senior apprentice swallowed. “Master, Saphienne is here.”

Eerie cool settled over Almon, who straightened and smoothed down his cerulean robes without turning.

“…You will all remain here.” His tone was darkly low. “When next we speak, the culprit will confess, or there will be repercussions for you all that extend far beyond my immense disappointment.”

The wardens had stopped some distance from him. Almon faced Saphienne as though looking through them, but nevertheless spoke to them cordially. “Thank you for fetching her. Take her inside — I shall wait until you are done.”

She let them usher her into the nearby building, her mind on the preceding scene, perturbed by the implications of the wizard’s performative anger. His stare had assessed her when he studied her, which meant that he wasn’t entirely convinced that she’d done anything wrong…

…But he had reason to be wary of her; reason enough to pressure Taerelle.

Within the waiting area of the wide, two-storey structure were a number of people, most of whom she didn’t recognise–

“You!”

Two of the wardens restrained the screaming woman as she ran for Saphienne, the others bundling the girl through the room and into the hall beyond — though not fast enough to avoid her noticing the acrimony on the faces she glimpsed.

“You said you forgave her! You said she wouldn’t be punished–”

A door shut between them, muffling the frantic reproach of Syndelle’s mother.

 

* * *

 

Being shown to a long, flat, yet comfortable couch in a windowless, well-lit room with a sink was enough for Saphienne to comprehend where she was.

A quarter of an hour later, when Faylar’s mother arrived, Saphienne stood. “Alavara: what happened to Syndelle?”

The warden hadn’t donned her leather armour, wasn’t wearing camouflage, but her knife was strapped to her side above her practical trousers, her ferned ring prominent on her hand beneath the short sleeves of her brown shirt. She folded her arms as she leant in the doorway. “Why would you think–”

“Her mother screamed at me as I was brought in — and this must be Gaelyn’s infirmary.” Saphienne was in no mood for games. “Ask whatever you want, but tell me: is she badly injured? Will she recover?”

Scrutinising her, Alvara took Saphienne’s measure. “…Gaelyn has attended to her. She’s sleeping.”

“Who else is here?”

The warden shook her head and entered the room. “We’ll talk first. How’s your hand feeling? Better?”

Aware that more wardens would be listening, Saphienne settled back down. “It hurts, but that’s an improvement. You’re obviously interviewing me, so please dispense with the pleasantries.”

That won her a small nod. “You were at the teahouse all day?”

“Since a little before noon.”

“With Thessa?”

“Yes,” Saphienne replied, keeping her answers concise.

“Why were you with her?”

“She was teaching me to sketch.” Some limited context would save time. “My girlfriend went home to the Vale of the White River a few days ago, and Thessa didn’t want me to mope.”

“Why the teahouse?”

“I was invited. Thessa often sketches there.”

Alavara gave no indication as to whether she was convinced. “What did you do before you went to the teahouse?”

“I slept late, got up, bathed, dressed, had breakfast, wished Celaena a good morning, took a letter for my girlfriend to the courier post, then went to the teahouse to meet Thessa.”

“Why did you sleep late?”

Saphienne canted her head. “You know why: I was up late with Sundamar, Myrinel, and Tirisa. Where’s Sundamar?”

“He’s nearby.”

“Is he hurt?”

“Why would he be hurt?”

Saphienne bit her tongue; the pain in her hand shortened her patience. “…The only reason I can think why you’d treat me like this would be that something terrible has happened, giving you reason to doubt what I was doing with him and Myrinel. That makes me concerned for his wellbeing. Please stop: I don’t know what’s going on, and you can’t trick me into admitting something I don’t know.”

Craning to the door, Alavara called through it. “You believe her?”

“No,” responded Sundamar, armoured when he emerged into view. “Saphienne wouldn’t give a damn if I got hurt.”

“You’re wrong,” Saphienne snapped. “If you were hurt, it would have meant something had gone wrong — and Lensa might have escaped justice.”

He wasn’t amused. “That would be more believable… if you could be trusted.”

She considered his hostility. “You’re unharmed, but think I betrayed you; Syndelle was hurt; the group in the foyer are likely the guardians of Alynelle, Elisa, Tirisa, and Lensa; my master’s roaring at all his proven apprentices; and you want to know what I’ve been doing.”

Alavara stepped closer. “So?”

“The implication is obvious.” Saphienne slowly exhaled. “Someone got to them before you did. They must have used magic. You confronted my master, but he doesn’t know who’s responsible — and suspects his apprentices. Whether or not you believe him, you don’t have any leads, so you’re squeezing me to see if I played you.” She glared. “I didn’t.”

Sundamar wasn’t impressed. “So you claim.”

“Please explain to me,” Saphienne challenged him, “why I would go to all that trouble – approaching you, then coaxing Syndelle, Alynelle, and Elisa to confess in front of you, then enticing Tirisa into outing herself with a crime – if I didn’t want them caught.”

“To avoid suspicion.”

Saphienne blinked. “…You’re a moron.”

Alavara threw out her arm to stop Sundamar. “Saphienne, please explain to us why you think that’s so unreasonable.”

“Because it obviously wouldn’t work!” She gestured to Sundamar. “We don’t like each other — of course he assumes the worst! If I were ingratiating myself to the wardens, he’s the last person I’d choose!”

Indignation made Saphienne rise. “–And what point would telling you who attacked me possibly serve? You had no idea! If Lensa and the others suffered reprisals, they wouldn’t dare admit why — they wouldn’t confess!”

He lost his temper. “But they have confessed!”

Alvara spun to him. “Sundamar!”

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” He ignored his partner as he worked himself into a frenzy. “They’re so frightened of you that they confessed — you have your revenge–”

“Sundamar!”

“–While looking innocent! And just because you could, you’ve humiliated me–”

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“Enough!” Alavara shoved him toward the door.

Yet he resisted, shouting at Saphienne as his fellow wardens rushed in to restrain him. “You called me evil? You’re evil, Saphienne!” His eyes were wild as he was dragged toward the door. “You’re going to answer for what you’ve done! You hear me? You’re not fooling anyone!”

Stunned, Saphienne had no reply.

She only watched as Sundamar shrugged off the hands that gripped him, his contempt for her searing and visceral as he bitterly stalked away.

 

* * *

 

Myrinel replaced Sundamar. For two hours, Alavara probed Saphienne on every pertinent event that had transpired since she’d first encountered Lensa, Tirisa, and Syndelle at the studio, establishing the timeline leading up to the assault, and her actions in its aftermath.

Several times, Myrinel interjected with a simple question that misstated what she had told them; she was deliberate with her corrections. When made to repeat herself, she kept to precisely the same phrasing. When invited to elaborate, she clarified exactly what they wanted to know, and confined herself to what would satisfy them.

She lied sparingly, and well.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, Almon was invited in.

He was direct. “Who did it?”

Her eyelids were heavy as she met his gaze, her tiredness undisguised, her expression as witheringly defiant as when he needled her during lessons. “I’ve not yet been fully informed about what was done to whom, and I don’t know who was responsible.”

“Did you tell Taerelle that the girls attacked you?”

“No.”

He regarded her dispassionately, searching for the slightest deceit.

She endured.

“…I must know.” The wizard leant on his staff. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

No lie would serve when the truth was needed. “At first, because I believed they would escape punishment if I accused them. They had greater numbers — and my head had been injured, so they would say I was deluded.”

“And then?”

“Taerelle assured me that whoever was responsible would be identified,” she said, “and that even if there were insufficient testimony against them, no assault against a wizard would go unanswered. When I learned they would be punished with or without the consensus’ approval, I couldn’t let that happen.”

Almon weighed her admission. “…Taerelle was consoling you with a fantasy,” he lied in front of the wardens, and convincingly. “Yet, accepting that you sincerely believed it: why not come to me and explain your concerns? Why not ask for restraint, and for assistance proving their guilt?”

Wearily, and without apology, she smiled. “You would have done what you believed to be in my interests; that doesn’t mean you would have cared what I wanted. And, more than anything?” She inclined her head. “You care about your apprentices, and you have a fearsome temper. I was afraid of what you would do to them.”

Alavara observed Almon from the corner of her eye.

Saphienne had expected Almon to be angry, or dismissive…

…He was neither. He didn’t react at all — not at first. After a pause, her master merely rubbed his face, rocking back on his heels with a subdued chuckle.

“You are,” he murmured, “quite brilliantly idiotic, Saphienne. I haven’t the remaining fortitude to pretend otherwise, so I shall concede: as tremendously foolish as you are, I understand how and why you reached this sorry position. I can’t even be angry.”

His acceptance infuriated her more than his condescension. “In what way am I–”

“Apprentice,” he interrupted, straightening, “repeat for me: in his use of magic, who is a wizard ultimately accountable to?”

“Himself.”

“And what holds him in check?”

“The Luminary Vale.”

He smiled ruefully. “And in the absence of the Luminary Vale?”

Saphienne hesitated. “…His peers.”