CHAPTER 95 – Readers Don’t Steal

Relations were not improved overnight. For the first few lessons after their confrontation with Almon, his three youngest students were wary, Saphienne and Celaena in particular being deeply sceptical that he would amend their record in his ledger. Their caution was reciprocated by the wizard, who retreated into formal politeness so unlike his previous behaviour that everyone – even Iolas – was left on edge.

Fortunately, Iolas accepted that mending this dialogue was his responsibility: he’d been the one to wrestle Almon into agreeing that his teaching was at fault. He therefore made an effort to be friendly, brightening the tone whenever he could, playing on the wizard’s sense of drama, Saphienne’s love of learning, and Celaena’s interest in the lived experience of wizardry.

To say that he faced a challenge would be understatement. Yet, Iolas would later confess to Saphienne that he believed reconciliation was inevitable — for why else had the students and their master let themselves be swayed by what was, undeniably, a figment of their imaginations?

Hour by hour, all parties to the conflict slowly laid down their arms.

Ah — but that is not to say Saphienne and Almon were at truce. Their battle continued apace, albeit in another form. Since Celaena and Iolas were proven, and so not subject to deadline, their master increased the amount of reading and writing required each week, calculating the burden to be just sufficient to try Saphienne while she was preoccupied with casting her first spell.

She knew what he was doing, and that complaining would be admitting that she struggled with the syllabus. In begrudged fairness, though he pushed her beyond her comfort, Saphienne recognised that he didn’t press beyond her ability; their rivalry had reverted to challenge and answer.

 

* * *

 

Left with a dearth of opportunity for secondary pursuits, Saphienne prioritised relaxing over everything else that demanded her attention. She wrote a short letter to Gaeleath, explaining she had fallen behind and absolving the sculptor of their responsibility to continue instructing her; she submitted it to the courier post along with her regular correspondence for Laelansa. The artist’s note of reply was characteristically ambiguous — a written invitation for her to call by whenever she felt free.

Unable to spare time to regularly study with Faylar, she opted for sincerity, and confessed that she would rather visit the library simply to see him and Filaurel than come up with excuses to justify her presence. He obnoxiously joked about it for days, thereby telling her how touched he’d been.

As for the librarian? Filaurel was understanding. “I won’t assume your absence is intended as a message.” She smiled as she squared the books on her desk. “Come see me whenever you please. You needn’t say more: I’ve been in the same place.”

Saphienne hoped – with all her heart – that it wasn’t exactly the same.

 

* * *

 

However, there was one person whom she saw often.

“I’m out of ideas, Taerelle. I’ve gone at it in hundreds of different ways: none work.”

More than two months had elapsed since the renegotiation of her apprenticeship, and not a single week had gone by without Saphienne seeking perspective from her tutor. Not that Taerelle was forthcoming on spellcasting, but she did let her talk, responding with playful scorn that varied in intensity in proportion to available patience.

Which was, on this particular visit, limited. “You’re commendably thorough in your trial and error, prodigy,” Taerelle dryly commented, her gaze on the chalked floor of her ritual space as she disassembled an unsuccessfully enchanted Rod of Cleansing. “Have you perhaps considered trying success, for a change?”

Not in the mood for humour, Saphienne glowered at the woman in black robes from where she leant near the exit to the garden. “I’m not moaning — I’m serious. I’ve exhausted every conceivable approach.”

With a flick that carried her long, autumn-red braid behind her shoulder, Taerelle squeezed the bridge of her nose, then openly massaged her ear; she had grown familiar enough with Saphienne to not care for decorum. “Saphienne… what more can I say? You know I’m not able to give you any help, and I’ve exhausted the ways I can think of to tell you to keep at it.”

The sole unproven apprentice left in the Eastern Vale crossed her arms. “Taerelle… there’s something wrong.”

“You’re thinking too–”

“No, I’m not!” She pushed away from the door and strode across the floor — directly over the diagram that her tutor had been revising. “I’m not overthinking it! I’ve tried not thinking! Whatever I’m supposed to be doing, it can’t be this obscure.”

Watching as Saphienne scuffed her calculations, Taerelle failed to subdue her irritation. “Pay heed to where you’re walking.”

Saphienne halted; her frustration boiled over. Deliberately, she dragged her sole back and forth over the delicate script.

“Oh fuck you!” Taerelle tossed the crystal core of the nonfunctional rod onto her workbench. “You little shit! That’s hours of effort you’re trampling–”

“Stings, doesn’t it?”

Her icy eyes flashed a warning.

Saphienne was unintimidated.

“…Very clever.” Despite herself, the senior apprentice managed a tired smirk. “Do that again, and I’ll make you transcribe the longest, most cloying, most poorly written romance I can find. I have the authority — don’t think I won’t.”

Saphienne regretted sharing her taste in literature. “Are you going to listen?”

Relenting, Taerelle took the girl by her shoulder, marching her into and through the unkempt garden. “Only listen. And you make the tea.”

 

* * *

 

Laying out the myriad methods Saphienne had employed to snare her sigil took two hours, during which she went into as much detail as she could, describing her mental and emotional states at length. She concluded with her theory on memorising spells.

“My conjecture is that the key to copying the sigil into my mind lies in creating a bridge between what the hallucination exists to achieve and how I conceive of the world in relation to it. It’s not enough to trust that a Hallucination spell can be cast; I have to believe that it already exists, that it has always been present, waiting to reveal itself. How I choose to believe in it matters less than my comprehension of its totality and my certainty that it’s there, ready, alive in the world and yet beyond it.

“Then,” she continued, “it should be possible to memorise it, by grasping it through whichever perspective reconciles its transcendental being with what it transcends. I see it in whole, see the world accommodate it, and know myself with an understanding that encompasses both. Concentrating isn’t to keep it in focus, but to maintain awareness of its reality.”

Sat on her armchair, Taerelle said nothing, fixated on Saphienne’s explanation.

“Except…” Saphienne fell back against the couch cushions. “…It doesn’t work. I can copy the sigil – I sense the scroll becoming a mirror to what I hold – but it never stays. And I don’t lose concentration, or let go of the sustaining perspective and belief. The spell just… disperses.” She snapped her fingers. “Ceases to be! Falls away — like it’s sinking into nothingness. That shouldn’t happen… should it?”

Taerelle bowed her head, steepling her fingers.

Perhaps a minute passed.

The senior apprentice began to drum her fingertips together, as like rippling waves, the tempo of her tapping rising with her agitation, until at last she clapped them together and stood, pacing back and forth, arms folded, hunched over.

“…You are sure,” she abruptly demanded, “that the account you’ve given is without oversight?”

“Yes!” Saphienne loosed her full exasperation. “I comprehend the process intimately! I’ve done it so many times that I stopped counting.”

Taerelle went back to pacing.

Being heard heartened Saphienne… less so, what being heard had elicited. “If I’m missing a step, I don’t want to be told–”

“Shush.”

She shut her mouth.

At last, with a pained expression, Taerelle threw herself onto the couch. “…Tell our master. Exactly as you’ve told me.”

Dread spilled out from those black robes, smothering Saphienne. “So something is–”

“Not one more word.” She was agonised. “I’ve already said too much.”

Her severity made Saphienne concerned for her, but inquiring further would only worsen her plight. “You think he’ll listen, then.”

A heavy silence, and then Taerelle’s breath rushed out. “No. He won’t. He’ll do exactly what I’ve been doing, and assume…”

Groaning at the inescapable conclusion, Taerelle stood.

“…Come on, prodigy.”

Saphienne didn’t immediately join her, but she did straighten. “Taerelle, if you take me to see him, won’t that be admitting–”

“Saphienne.” Taerelle’s eyes were lidded. “Will you please shut the fuck up? I’m about to be very noble and self-sacrificing on your behalf, so the very least you can do is not fight me over it. I won’t be dissuaded.”

Put that way? There was little else to do but rise — and wordlessly hug her.

“…Foolish girl.”

 

* * *

 

“What did you just say?”

Almon had been at work in his garden, preparing the flowerbeds for winter, knelt down on one knee as he spread chips of bark over the soil to preserve the buried bulbs against frost and forthcoming snow. Saphienne wasn’t surprised that he disdained magic to do what he had once described as being meditative, but she was faintly amused by the large, extensively patched, floppy hat – with poorly sequined stars – that he wore for the task.

She would have found it funnier, were the situation not serious.

Taerelle was composed, her head held high. “Master, I said that I listened to Saphienne’s detailed explanation of what she has been doing to cast her proving spell, and you should take the time to hear–”

“Taerelle.” He brushed the dirt off his hands as he stood. “Apprentice. To say I’m astonished is insufficient to express my incredulity. Assisting unproven apprentices with their first spell is a gross violation of the principles of the Luminary Vale, as you should well know.”

“I have merely listened to her.” Taerelle was superficially hiding how scared she was, but Saphienne had seen her afraid before. “She has moaned and complained often–”

“–Not that often–”

“–and I have never expressed any opinion,” Taerelle ignored her junior, “and never done more than encourage her to continue with her efforts.”

Their master was flushing redder the more she said. “And yet you are here, in front of her, choosing to intervene in an affair that is not your responsibility!”

No one had shared with him the letters from the Luminary Vale appointing Taerelle to observe and mentor Saphienne — nor would they, for his sake. “I understand that I may have erred.” She clasped her hands together. “I submit myself to the judgement of my master and his peers in the Luminary Vale, and will abide by whatever decision they reach regarding my fitness to continue. But please,” the senior apprentice asked, “I entreat you to seriously review the substance of what I bring before you.”

Her resolution didn’t undo his anger, but it did end his reproach. His gaze lingered on his favoured student as he surmised her future.

“…If it is determined you had good reason,” he allowed, “your apprenticeship may be permitted to continue. That won’t be my decision. You understand that I must censure you either way?”

“Yes.”

He took off the incongruous hat and flattened it under his arm. “My punishment for you is this: you will write a detailed defence of your actions. The foreword will be comprised of an exacting summary of the principle in question, its precedent in history, and your understanding of why it matters.”

Listening, Saphienne had to fight the urge to smile.

“Then, Taerelle, you will lay out – with extreme rigor – your justification for why you felt the harm that may have proceeded from abiding by the rule was greater than that which will proceed from your actions. I shall examine your work with every hostility, and once I find it satisfactory, you must submit it for consideration when you inform the Luminary Vale of what you have done.”

Taerelle bowed low.

“And you,” he rounded on Saphienne. “If I determine that what you have told her is in any way responsible for her reaching a false conclusion? Your apprenticeship will be over. You bear responsibility for putting your problems onto the shoulders of others.”

Objecting would be pointless. “As you say.”

The wizard strode toward his home. “Go up to my sitting room; I will be with you both presently.”

 

* * *

 

When the second recounting of her failures was done, their master stood staring out the window into the forest, giving no comment as he thought over what he had been told.

“…Taerelle.” He didn’t turn around. “Advice for the future: you would have done better to say nothing to Saphienne, then to speak with Arelyn in the hypothetical. He would have been able to explain — and you would have avoided the appearance of impropriety in your actions.”

Saphienne remained quick. “Appearance?”

“I do not believe she has acted unwisely in this instance, for all that she has not acted as wisely as possible.”

Taerelle’s relief was minor compared to her anxiety. “And Saphienne?”

Almon was dissatisfied as he finally made himself look at his adversary. “Child, you have the unyielding characteristic of defying my expectations in ways that make neither of us happy. This is not the way I wished to be proven right, for it is entirely not your fault.”

His pronouncement desiccated Saphienne; her eyes fell closed as she hollowed.

“You correctly outlined, in impressive abstraction, how a spell may be memorised, and your description of how you went about it is convincing. Sincerely, I find no pleasure in telling you that you are – by cruelty of nature – entirely lacking in magical potential.”

 

* * *

 

She was numb. A girl spoke softly, but Saphienne did not know her.

Some elves lacked for connection to magic, and so they could not sustain a sigil. To hear Almon, the Hallucination spell fell away because it had no foundation upon which it could rest, and there was no way to establish one. Either one had the gift or did not — and Saphienne clearly did not.

Taerelle was very upset; she stalked down into the kitchen, rather than let her distress be seen. Both the wizard and the girl pretended not to hear her.

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“You may return the scroll at your convenience.”

Saphienne blinked. “…Return it?”

“A sigil is useless to you, and may only be possessed by a wizard, a sorcerer, or their recognised apprentice.”

She hadn’t realised she’d taken out the coin until her fist was iron around it. “…My apprenticeship isn’t over.”

Annoyed, Almon nevertheless forced himself to be gentle with her disappointment as he sat on the armchair opposite her. “Saphienne, no amount of will–”

“I could be wrong.” The copper swelled, molten beneath her fingers. “You could be wrong. Neither of us can know that my subjective experience was what it seems, or that your interpretation is right. To end my apprenticeship would be premature.”

Damn him — he actually smiled. “Is your pride worth the tears?”

“I have time left.” A collapsing star, dense where it ate through her palm. “I remain unproven, not disproven. Refuse me the opportunity, and you will never know what could have been.”

A familiar chime distracted her master, who glanced to the stairs leading up from his sitting room. “…What a wizard you might have become, were it not for your misfortune — and your plentiful failings of character.” He nodded to her. “Very well, apprentice. Rage on.”

 

* * *

 

You who have seen further than Almon should not be more confident.

That is, unless you are certain about the lie I have told.

Are you?

Then let us proceed. However long until its landing, the coin must show a face.

 

* * *

 

Despair was unconscionable. If there were the slightest possibility that Almon was mistaken – that he could be wrong about people, and so wrong about her – then Saphienne could never live with herself if she threw away the opportunity.

She had one reason to hope, frail though it was: unlike Filaurel, she could sing the craft songs and feel the sigil as more than ink. She and her mentor were not the same… and Saphienne had to have faith that the difference would count.

But what was she to do? No one could advise her. Taerelle’s studies focused on areas other than teaching, and their master had written Saphienne off after he’d confirmed that her method was sound — that she ought to have been successful.

A chill mist of rain descended as she walked into the village.

Logically, and acting under the necessary assumption of misdiagnosis, there had to be another problem which presented in the same way. That implied there was a broader perspective which would illuminate it. If she could but acquire the context to ascertain her true impediment, then she could overcome the obstacle.

Yet the magical theory she needed to assess her disadvantage was beyond her reach, restricted to proven apprentices — when their master judged them ready for his books, which Iolas and Celaena were far from being. Taerelle had risked enough.

What would Laelansa encourage her to do? She missed her girlfriend terribly.

Saphienne stopped and wiped the rain from her cheeks. There was no point in pining for help that wasn’t available. No, she was on her own…

…Wasn’t she?

 

* * *

 

Faylar nearly fell off the wheeled ladder when Saphienne grabbed his sleeve.

“Fuck! Saphienne, you can’t just–”

An admonishment to lower his voice carried from the next aisle, and the apprentice librarian blushed as he descended; whichever patron had been disturbed didn’t respond to his quieter apology.

“I need your help.” Her whisper was calm yet urgent. “Come with me.”

Familiar enough with Saphienne to discern she wasn’t herself, Faylar acquiesced, leaving what he had been doing to follow her downstairs and into the supply closet, where she shut the door and pushed him deeper in.

“Saph–”

“No one must overhear.” Her lips were against his ear, her words barely audible. “I’m being followed by the wardens, and they wouldn’t approve.”

Bright red, the boy took a shivering breath and sat down with her against the shelves, turning to reply in the same compelled, uncomfortable intimacy. “What’s going on?”

“I’m going to fail my apprenticeship…” Was her phrasing manipulative? She decided she was being honest. “…Unless I can solve a problem. I can’t tell you the specifics, but the gist is that I’ve figured out the initial step to cast a spell, and Almon has said I’m completely right — but it won’t work for me.”

His frown was severe “…I thought you weren’t meant to be helped?”

“I laid out what I’ve been doing for Taerelle, and she brought me to Almon.” Saphienne quelled her quickening heartbeat before she continued. “He thinks I’m like Filaurel: that I’ve no capacity for magic. He says that’s why it hasn’t been working.”

Faylar stilled.

No flippancy could conceal his shock, nor the glistening in his eyes. “…You’re not going to be a wizard?”

“I am a wizard.” Let it be writ in adamantine. “Whatever I must do: that’s what I am and will be. He was wrong to turn us away, and he’s wrong about whatever is happening. I’m going to prove it.”

Although his doubts were gargantuan, Faylar wanted to believe. “…How?”

“By identifying an alternative hypothesis, and solving it.”

“That easy?” A little humour masked his fear. “What are you–”

“I need access to the restricted collection.”

“…Fuck.” His head thumped back against the strut behind him. “Filaurel had me swear on my mother’s life that I’d never tell you. How did you find out?”

Saphienne was grateful for her girlfriend. “Laelansa mentioned her library had one. Am I the only one who didn’t know?”

“Filaurel says only people who need to know are told about it — when they’re old enough, and express interest in a subject it contains.” He rubbed his cheek. “I only know because I found a misfiled return; it should’ve been handed to Filaurel. She said she never told you because you would’ve driven her mad, if you knew.”

Prickly as she was, Saphienne had the self-awareness to smile. “…She’s right. I wouldn’t have stopped pestering her. But the collection houses magical theory, doesn’t it?”

Faylar squirmed. “I don’t know.”