Chương 143: CHAPTER 135 – Those Who Go

Prodigy, what have you done? Earlier today I had an unusual encounter: a new entrant to the vale introduced himself while I was eating lunch alone in the gardens, claiming that he knew about me through his acquaintance with you. He said he'd met you around the summer solstice last year, and that you'd made quite an impression. I was appropriately suspicious; yet he was familiar with your affectations, and could name several people close to you. He'd even met Iolas.

When I inquired as to what he wanted, he professed that he was concerned about 'the recent trouble with the goblins' and its implications for your attendance with us. Why the fuck did I have to hear five days afterward, from a stranger? You have some explaining to do — don't think I'll soon forget. He supposed that you'd kept your plans from me so that I wouldn't be held culpable, and our conversation turned to the political sphere; whoever taught him was very well versed in what happens behind the scenes here.

His conjecture was that your acting without conferring with the Luminary Vale had been taken as you knowing your actions wouldn't have met with approval. Bypassing your fellow magicians with a direct appeal to the public had therefore been received as disdain for your peers, or so he surmised. I replied that you believe in the consensus. He accepted this.

The impression you made on him suggested that naivety was to blame: that's what he thinks someone should have argued on your behalf, for what little difference it would have made. He then shifted to consoling me about my prospects, which was odd, though he was charming enough that I didn't make much of it. He reassured me that my reputation was unlikely to be affected, proposing that this might even work to my advantage, if I could be seen to coax you into behaving more agreeably. I laughed and took my leave.

As we parted, he asked me to give you his regards, along with his hope that you can 'find a more socially acceptable expression' of your principles. This has bothered me all afternoon: the more I've reflected on the meeting, the more unnerved I am by how well he seemed to know both of us. I wanted to confront him, but when I asked whether anyone knew where he could be found? Nobody knows anyone by the name of Inudel — and there haven't been any new arrivals in the past two months.

Who the fuck was I talking to, Saphienne? Why did he want me to pass on this message? I shan't say I'm proud of you. Write back as soon as you can. *"Unfair! Unkind! Un- bearable, this wrong." Sitting amid the downpour that fell upon the library of her mind, Saphienne hadn't the will to answer Hyacinth as the bloomkith stalked back and forth across her frozen field.

"Do they not see? My sisters do: their song was full of joy and praise for our good work, that we had led the goblins from the murk of wretchedness into the light of day." She ripped handfuls of her blossoms from her shoulders.

"Unkind! Un- just! How dare they try to say that this would spread disorder through the vales! Those baleful fools, sadly clinging to tales that have outlived their time upon the wind." She spun to Saphienne.

"To hell, these elves! My lovers have not sinned!" Bitter laughter greeted her decree.

"Why smile? No lie do I here tell." Saphienne lay back, letting the gloom wash over her.

"Rophana warned me that the ancient ways cannot abide the sin of mercy. I didn't understand what she was telling me; I didn't know what sin was; I still didn't understand when she explained…" She closed her eyes.

"…Not until I saw how they treated Kob. Wicked acts that transgress against the gods because of their wickedness? That doesn't come close to the meaning." Hyacinth folded her arms.

"I rhymed; there are no gods but those alive in you."

"Don't say things like that — and since you've broken your rhyme, you can stop rhyming altogether." Saphienne traced her claws across the miserable sky.

"There don't need to be gods for sin to be real. You know what sin is, Hyacinth? Denying our reason; denying our feelings; denying ourselves, and doing what we recognise as evil, despite knowing better. No bird nor beast may sin, for they do not understand themselves. But me?" She sat up with a splash.

"I'm the greatest sinner of them all."

"Do not so jest!" Hyacinth strode up the steps to loom over her.

"Give no purchase to they who have wronged you. This is a travesty, Saphienne." Her draconic teeth flashed a saddened smile.

"I'm not joking. I've done nothing but sin from the moment Kylantha was exiled, for that was when I saw: the woodlands are evil." She hung her head.

"I distracted myself; I let myself be convinced that the good here wasn't overshadowed by the wrong; I soothed myself with my powerlessness; with victimhood; then with my love for Filaurel and Lynnariel, for Laelansa, for Faylar and Celaena and Iolas; and finally I gave into hubris, and selfishness, believing that I could make the woodlands kinder than they are, and that it was sufficient to merely try.

"But it isn't." Saphienne raised her horns.

"I told Almon that a wizard has to live with her conscience… yet now I understand what Rophana meant about guilt, too. Conscience is guilt — they're one and the same. Living for conscience is no different to the way elves live, and that's scarcely living at all."

"How do elves live?"

"For themselves." Thunder rolled in her mind.

"For their own comfort. Conscience is guilt avoided; and guilt is nothing but pained conscience. I've been so very wrong. Poor Kob suffered to show me my error." Worried, Hyacinth unfolded her arms and crouched.

"If not for conscience, then for what else?"

"For the person." Saphienne lashed her tail against the raging, stepped waterfall.

"We must live for each person we behold in the people we meet. Not for an abstract idea, but for the living, loving persons we share our lives with. We must do what's right for them not for conscience's sake – not for ourselves – but for them."

"Living for others–""That isn't what I mean." Rising, she embraced the lightning that laced her sky.

"That isn't what I mean at all! You want to know the heart of this? You should understand the truth of it better than anyone else — for you yearn to live this way, quite literally." Hyacinth rose to join her, peering up from the lower step.

"Tell me."

"I am them; they are me; there are no 'other people.'" Saphienne's fierce sun was also in the storm.

"I am you, and Kylantha, and Filaurel, and my mother, and Laelansa, and Kob, and everyone who surrounds me. What I do for them I do for myself; what is done to them is done to me. I do not exist; you do not exist; but we are alive in each other. Every indifference, every cruelty, every violence done is enacted on us all."

"But then, the wicked–""Are severed from themselves." She hissed in dark mirth.

"Sundamar? Tolduin? These men – and all people like them – have cut themselves away from who they could have been, wounding themselves and injuring others in their pain. I pity them. They are estranged from the living: no one lives in them but themselves, and so emptied, they fill themselves with whatever they believe might prevent them crumpling." Entranced, perhaps ensnared, the bloomkith couldn't look away.

"…I feel your self-loathing…"

"I loathe who I've been, not who I am."

"Then who are you now?" asked the bloomkith.

"Then who will you become?" And Saphienne rid herself of grandeur as the rain cooled and thinned.

"…I'm devastated. I know what's going to happen. I can't live out my days here. Sooner or later, I'm destined to quit the woodlands. I might be destroyed by dragons' fire; I might have already been destroyed, and all else is the conclusion of an ancient tragedy." Hyacinth slipped her arms around Saphienne's sodden robes, holding tight, her golden gaze lidded.

"Whatever the day, whenever the hour: I will go with you. We will walk into dragons' fire together — as one."

"My most beloved of blooms…" Saphienne kissed her forehead.

"…I know. Whatever fate I'm to meet, I'll have your company. Whenever I depart, I'll pass beyond the fields of barley borne by your wind. Loneliness isn't why I hurt." Gold met evening forest, the spirit's face upturned.

"… I, too, know…" They grieved all the other selves they would be forced to leave behind. * … And that's how it went. I was going to write to you once I knew the outcome; I didn't want to tell you a story without an ending, which I suppose I can share now. Nelathiel has been rebuked by several elder priests to Our Lord of the Endless Hunt, warned that the argument she authored verges on heresy, if not apostasy.

There aren't any immediate consequences, but if she circulates the apology – or delivers sermons on it – she believes her fellow faithful will hold her to account. Meanwhile, Laelansa is under indirect threat. Nelathiel is responsible for her, and so if she doesn't fall in line then what I wrote above will come to pass regardless, and another priest will be appointed her guardian. You guess is as good as mine which vale she would end up in, but it would doubtlessly be far from the Eastern Vale.

The wizards Athidyn works with are shunning him. The predictions he helps produce are organised under the authority of the Luminary Vale, and whoever coordinates the divinations has made it clear: his contributions aren't to be given priority. He's consequently only being allocated minor forecasts. Nevertheless he's taken it well, going for longer walks and practising his woodworking again. According to Iolas, he expects to be back in good graces in a year or two. Speaking of Iolas, he escaped unscathed.

All he did was spread rumours that we would be debating something controversial — and anyway, he was misled by his tutor. Filaurel was ejected from her position as librarian… for half a day. She keeps dodging my questions, but I suspect her mother had something to do with having her reinstated. Eletha is secretly very old, which leads me to think she's owed favours going back many centuries; as Rydel once said, the woodlands become smaller the longer we live… I don't know what to do about Faylar.

Almon hasn't told him yet. When we met for my censure our old friend voluntarily conceded that Faylar has greatly improved since first assessment, and may well make a capable wizard someday. He clearly resents the decision being made for him, and he's putting off delivering the bad news while he thinks up an excuse. While Almon didn't admit how he feels about Faylar's apprenticeship being refused in order to punish me, the fact that he wants to hide the reason betrays his opinion.

Ruddles and Hyacinth obviously aren't accountable to elves. From what I hear, their sisters are extremely upset that an 'unambiguous mystery from the gods' has been callously dismissed. That said, there was pushback against welcoming goblins, and Mother Marigold anticipates the traditionalists will portray this resolution as a sign that my sanctification was premature. They won't get far: I'm assured that Mother Oak intends to downplay their discord and focus on common refrains. … All's well that ends well?

I think not. My sole consolation is that you will continue to have portals to visit Thessa for another ten years. I can hardly say your pride in me means the world. * The moment Saphienne entered her family home she blushed scarlet from her toes to the tips of her ears, hearing the cries of enthusiastic sex from upstairs. A younger Saphienne would have awkwardly left the house while muttering.

She opted instead to fetch a wine bottle from under the stairs and fill herself a tall glass in the kitchen, sipping as she stared out the window into the rear garden. Who had been tending to the flower bed? Certainly not her mother. Was one of her spiritual supporters showing appreciation by taming the growth? Perhaps they revered the place of her birth as sacred ground. An exultant shout signalled that the bout was concluding.

Smirking to herself, Saphienne leant on the counter as she faced the doorway to the sitting room. A few minutes later, Lynnariel descended in a silvery robe, radiant as she skipped over to the wine rack and selected a celebratory vintage. She turned toward the kitchen– And startled so intensely that she fumbled the bottle.

"Gods! Saphienne!" Revenge tasted sweeter with wine.

"Good afternoon, mother. I didn't realise you were entertaining today. Should I come back later?" Lynnariel was flustered as she stooped to collect the wine, which disappointingly hadn't smashed on the floor.

"I wasn't expecting– we weren't planning on– " Saphienne chuckled as she fetched out another two glasses.

"You can finish the bottle I've opened. I presume that's Phelorna upstairs?" Her mother cringed in the doorway.

"She stopped by to see me…"

"And got a good look, I hear."

"Saphienne!" Lynnariel's scandal dissolved into nervous giggling.

"Are you my daughter? The same Saphienne who used to complain whenever her father visited?" She reflected on the notion seriously as she poured.

"Hard to answer. I'm more myself today than I've ever been before. Truth be told, I recently spent a day divining my childhood, and what I saw has changed my perspective. You weren't always the awful mother that you feel like you were to me," she admitted.

"If Phelorna hadn't been stigmatised for her daughter? She wouldn't have stopped visiting, you wouldn't have drank as much…" Saphienne sighed as she carried the full glasses to Lynnariel.

"…And I wouldn't have been as neglected. If Kylantha hadn't been excluded, then you and I would have led a very different life together." Her mother stared.

"…You never say her name…"

"Every time I do, I feel her near me. Knowing she isn't really there is painful." She grinned a humourless and fragile grin.

"I've never told anyone that."

"Darling, you don't need to talk about–""I want to." Saphienne traded the rosy bulbs for the unshattered bottle.

"Too much of my life has been spent drowning in guilt, and I haven't grieved. I still haven't accepted everything that was to done to us — I couldn't bring myself to review the day she was taken." Lynnariel contemplated her daughter in wonder.

"How can you… how can you think about what you lost, without…"

"Mother." Saphienne tossed the sturdy bottle to land in the sink.

"You mustn't let Tolduin shame you for your sorrows. There is no shame in grieving for ourselves and those we have loved, so long as we don't only grieve… and we don't grieve alone." She leaned in to kiss her forehead.

"That's what I've been telling myself, lately. I asked myself what would be the opposite of what an elf is supposed to do; acting accordingly has been enlightening." Childlike in her vulnerability, Lynnariel blinked repeatedly. She then gulped from one of the glasses, though not as deeply as was her habit.

"…We can talk about her again, another day. This doesn't have to be only time." Saphienne's grin returned, firmer as her eyes brightened.

"This already isn't! I spoke about her when we got drunk. You don't remember?" Her mother was abashed.

"Please don't blush — I couldn't recall most of what we'd said, either. Not at first."

"Being able to cast a spell and see your past…" Lynnariel was both afraid and allured.

"That wasn't how it came back to me." Saphienne glided back to her unfinished drink.

"I used a different spell: I was trying to fix my hand. Many forgotten things were unearthed by its casting." She swirled the pink around in her glass, reminded of the sheen to Parthenos' scales.

"For example? You told me what you are." Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Fear heightened into panic.

"Whatever I said, I was drunk–""I won't tell." She smiled a daughter's loving smile.

"I believe you. At heart, you aren't elven — and you don't have to pretend otherwise for me. Can you act like you are to everyone else?" Calming, Lynnariel nodded slowly.

"…I can." Saphienne's voice softened.

"Do you want to?" Her mother blinked.

"…I suppose I do. Yes; I do. I only… I only ever cared how Saph saw me. She told me I was– that I was like her. That my ears and hair aren't what decide who I am." Saphienne knew then that she loved the human woman after whom she'd been named.

"And I do like it here… when I'm not lonely." Lynnariel snorted at herself.

"Life is easier here than in Aiglant. And I can't go back there, can I? Even in my dreams, I can't find a path that leads to the past. I can't be who I used to be." Phelorna called from the bedroom. Saphienne shook herself.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to unburden myself. I'll let you get back to–""She knows." The magician was stunned.

"…What?"

"Phelorna knows about me." Lynnariel's smile was sly as she confided in her daughter.

"We talk about humans… she spent years listening to their stories. She understands. She doesn't see– doesn't see them like other elves do. She doesn't think that– she told me that being from Aiglant wasn't awful." Phelorna didn't think Lynnariel was mad for considering herself human.

"She's a good friend, my darling. She told me what you–""Lynnariel?" Phelorna had emerged onto the landing.

"Are you talking to someone?" Saphienne drained her glass.

"I love you, mother. Go have fun."

"I love you too." Lynnariel giggled as she pirouetted away.

"We certainly will!" Relieved that she had been spared from perpetuating her lie about Kylantha, Saphienne watched her mother dance to the foot of the stairs. Part of her was cheered by what she'd learned; part of her was inconsolably upset to see Lynnariel at peace with the woodlands; most of her was furious, recriminating with herself for her selfishness, and for having once perpetuated upon her fellow victims the cruelty she so despised.

Then, as she made ready to leave, she discovered that the wine bottle had cracked open in the sink – crimson spilled straight down the drain – and she had to squeeze her sides to stop herself from unaccountably howling with laughter.

* Nelathiel kept what might have been the most disorganised home in the vale, every available surface occupied by sketches, swatches of fabric, lengths of salvaged wood, toys requiring repair, religious correspondence, hunting trophies, unfinished embroidery, manuals on wrestling technique, incomplete scripts for puppet shows, or misplaced belongings. Even the walls were hung with puppets, ranging from ritual implements to those fashioned for the entertainment of children.

Three areas were exceptions to this chaos: the closet which held her hunting weapons and priestly garb, the corner of the sitting room which held her personal icon to Our Lord of the Endless Hunt, and the bedroom claimed by Laelansa. This last the novice decorated with evidence of her victories, ranging from ribbons received as a child to several belts won throughout her novitiate. Pride of place was given to her own private altar, from which Our Lady of the Proven Merit beamed triumphally with fist upraised.

Tellingly, Laelansa had placed a wooden statue below the goddess' painting, gladly donated by the referee who oversaw the throwing game at the solstice festival. Saphienne gazed on that offering while she trailed her hands along Laelansa's bare shoulders and strong back, distracted from the naked beauty she straddled.

"…I wonder what she thinks…" Facedown on the bed, Laelansa didn't need to ask to whom she referred.

"I can cover Her icon if you feel judged."

"That's not what I mean." She stopped the gentle strokes with which she'd been admiring her partner.

"I wonder what she thinks about events. How does your goddess respond to failure?"

"We didn't fail." Laelansa twisted around beneath Saphienne, frustrated as she gripped the hips holding her down.

"We were failed. I thought you didn't want to talk about this anymore?"

"Sorry." Saphienne tossed back her long hair, having unbraided her strands after she slipped into her nightwear.

"Every time I try to put it out of my mind…" Laelansa grabbed her forearm, pulling Saphienne down into an aggressive kiss that briefly drove back her dismay. Yet the novice didn't move on when their lips separated.

"Don't apologise to me; I'm feeling just as angry." Tracing the golden locks that shrouded their embrace, she was too troubled to admire them.

"I'm upset with our neighbours. Most have already forgotten about the goblins, and the ones who remember don't care enough to make any fuss."

"They're used to refusal from elders."

"This is different." Laelansa glowered, though not at Saphienne.

"I don't care that the magicians who voted were also priests — the Luminary Vale shouldn't interfere in religious matters." Saphienne rested her head on her beloved's brow.

"Did you read the posted notice? Since shrines contribute to the arising of new spirits, apparently goblins worshipping there risked 'spoiling' the sacred glades."

"Ruddles told me; she had sharp words for that nonsense." Saphienne slumped to the side, coiling against her partner.

"…Almon didn't have a strong opinion. I'm convinced Vestaele was livid that I hadn't consulted with her. When she reported back to the vale she must have framed our motion in the worst way possible."

"Spiteful bitch." Laelansa poured uncharacteristic venom into the curse.

"Would the outcome have been different if we'd approached her?"

"Not meaningfully." Saphienne had explored every alternative, searching for any overlooked chance by which they might have prevailed.

"Even were Vestaele to have been sympathetic, she would have insisted that we gather consent from influential wizards and sorcerers before proceeding. Convincing them would have taken years… too long to save Kob and his people."

"With everything I've heard about her, I think she would have stopped the motion from being proposed."

"Probably." Saphienne exhaled.

"Forget about her… if we'd gone to Vestaele, the only thing different would have been my punishment."

"What do you mean?"

"Vestaele couldn't resist delivering the message herself." Regretting nothing, Saphienne nevertheless was rueful.

"When I saw her waiting outside for me, I knew she'd been the one to recommend I be sanctioned harshly.

""Just because she felt betrayed?"

"Worse than that: because she didn't see me coming." Laelansa sat up, aghast as she peered down on the magician.

"Saphienne… are you telling me Vestaele encouraged them to end your tutoring, delay your entrance, and have Faylar refused wizardry, all because she felt embarrassed?"

"Humiliated." Saphienne managed a sadistic smile.

"Her former student – whom she was specifically tasked with keeping an eye on – sought extensive advice from her about shaping the consensus. Then I circulated an entire book around the village, prior to the emergence of mysterious rumours that there would be drama at the upcoming meeting. Had she been paying the slightest attention to anyone who wasn't a magician, Vestaele would have figured out what I was up to — but she missed it."

"Ouch." Laelansa's gaze sparkled with vindictive glee.

"Vestaele never let slip much about herself… but her treatise was published just under a century ago." The magician rolled onto her back and stretched.

"She's young, very talented, and extremely ambitious."

"And you're younger, more talented, and a much better person." Her cheer collapsed.

"Perhaps; I'm not sure virtue matters much…" This perturbed her partner.

"Of course it does! What's come over you?" Saphienne's mood dipped low.

"…Magicians like Vestaele rule the woodlands; everyone who lacks magic and status lives in their protectorate. They hold each other in check to prevent abuse, but only because they belong to the same society as everyone else, which lasts only so long as they're the ones in control." Laelansa frowned, sceptical.

"You think so? Wizards don't always get their way."

"Individually? Yes. But the Luminary Vale does."

"…Go on…" Saphienne shut her eyes.

"Dragons consider the woodlands claimed territory, and regard the Luminary Vale as equal to an ancient wyrm: I should have understood what that implied long before now. Dragons may enforce a social contract, but they cannot submit to one; nor can a dragon abide but where their convictions are recognised."

"What are you saying?"

"We're ruled by magicians like Vestaele… and collectively…" Behind her eyelids Saphienne saw then a colossal dragon, wings spread over the woodlands, enshrouding the forest, watching with gaze fearsome the comings and goings of elves and spirits beneath talons poised to strike, eternally vigilant against every challenger, possessed of irresistible fire that could burn all to ash, defined by an insatiable hunger for supremacy, armoured beneath most learned scales that glistered with all the colours of magic.

"…The Luminary Vale is a leviathan." The novice digested before replying.

"You told me not all dragons are monsters."

"But every dragon is a tyrant — it's only a question of stature." Saphienne opened her eyes as she asked a self-conscious question.

"Over whom does a dragon assert herself? To which flight will she beat her wings? Parthenos fled rather than bow to a tyranny she couldn't abide; the Luminary Vale will never surrender the woodlands." Smouldering strife fragranced the bedroom, embers yet hot after six thousand years.

"I don't think you're right." Laelansa pursed her lips.

"You told me elders receive authority from the rest of us; the Luminary Vale's authority depends on respect earned through good deeds. Nobody would accept the woodlands being how you describe."

"Laelansa, you yourself said that our neighbours don't care enough to make a fuss."

"About goblins — they'd care about their own freedom." Saphienne hauled herself upright to sit cross-legged beside her beloved.

"That's what's so tragic about this! We exclude the aging peoples of the world so that our own lives seem free by comparison. For aren't we 'free' from want? Aren't we 'free' from their suffering? Isn't that what freedom is — freedom from pains that others endure?"

"…You can't be right." Laelansa was shaken.

"People wouldn't give up their freedom in exchange for feeling superior."

"Superiority is the means; being comforted is what they receive. And comfort comes in many forms…" The novice leapt from the bed and began to pace; her lover let her deliberate. After several minutes, Laelansa came back to kneel and plead.

"Exposing the truth could change things… couldn't it?" Saphienne shook her head.

"We showed everyone who goblins are. What changed?"

"Then what's to be done, Saphienne?" Laelansa grew heated.

"If everything is as terrible as you tell me, what are we supposed to do? What will make a difference? How do we reform the woodlands?" A moonless night chilled the primeval embers. Saphienne shivered.

"…I don't think we can."

"Then what?" Laelansa was tearful.

"If reform is impossible, what do we do?" Therein lay the horror of Lonareath; Saphienne banished the unrequited spectre as she bowed her head.

"Nothing." The magician was defeated.

"Nothing but unconscionable violence and bloodshed. Anything else is a fable — a story to comfort ourselves."

"…Is there no alternative?" Laelansa pleaded with Saphienne for mercy.

"Can't there be another way? Some way that doesn't condemn people like Kob? Won't the gods save us from ourselves?"

"Laelansa, you know I don't believe–""Won't you?" * Speaking truth about power behind closed doors wouldn't concern anyone scrying on Saphienne; she was welcome to believe whatever she wished. What mattered was how she responded to her circumstances, and disheartened despair was unthreatening. Not so, the discussion she needed to have.

"My childhood?" Filaurel was reluctant to recount her past.

"Why do you ask?"

"You found peace." Saphienne had heard how the apostate had returned home, committing to the librarianship secured by her mother.

"You've always encouraged me to do the same. I'm trying to relate to you; I only know the Filaurel who observed the hardship for herself and came back." Saphienne's mentor read her carefully.

"…I think I understand. You want to know why I was unhappy?"

"I would like to see the woodlands the way you see them."

"We're very different." Filaurel poured the tea that had been brewing on her kitchen table, filling Saphienne's cup before her own.

"I didn't run away out of principle… I was convinced I could be a wizard if I was given another chance. That, and I wouldn't be the obedient daughter my mother wanted."

"Who were you?"

"…Arrogant." She sipped from her teacup.

"I was convinced I knew better than everyone else. I was told that I didn't have magical talent, but I wouldn't hear it — the Great Art was going to be mine. I also had a temper: the day my apprenticeship ended, I was so enraged that I got myself into serious trouble. Laewyn and Thessa? They're tame compared to how I used to be."

"How old were you? What did you do?"

"Sixteen, and something so bad that I had to be saved by a spirit. Even worse: my mother shielded me from the consequences." She winced.

"Suffice it to say, I lashed out at the unfairness of the world. I'm still unwelcome in sacred glades." Imagining Filaurel behaving so poorly was difficult for Saphienne.

"…No wonder you don't like walking with spirits…" The librarian declined to acknowledge her quip.

"Were you otherwise contented with the woodlands?"

"…I was misguided." Filaurel was careful in framing her past.

"I mistakenly believed the woodlands were unjust. I thought wizards controlled everything; that the consensus was a lulling fiction gilding an ugly reality. I felt my life was a choice between safe irrelevance and proving I was my own person."

"And you were wrong." Saphienne played along.

"You saw what the rest of the world is like and realised the woodlands aren't wicked." Filaurel neither refuted nor affirmed her conclusion, adding, "Living among humans became too painful for me." They sat in hushed sympathy, the magician conveying with her gaze that what she would ask next was not really about her mentor.

"If you could walk widdershins through time, and tell yourself not to leave… would you?" Unconsciously, Filaurel raised her hand to touch the abjuring enchantment that lay under her blouse. Her sea-green eyes misted over.

"…I can't change who I was. I needed to leave to master myself. What happened out there wasn't all heartache — it made me who I am. Yet," she went on, "to live without end while my loved ones died would have been torture, and even if I had gotten what I wanted, their loss would have been my companion, growing as I diminished." Saphienne paid heed to the fervent warning.

"It wasn't worth it?"

"…I can't tell you." Her eyelids fluttered to fight back dual griefs.

"I hope you can be content without knowing." That was enough; Saphienne had inflicted enough. She sipped her cooling tea.

"Did you warn anyone you were coming back?" Filaurel snorted, relieved to move on.

"My mother knew."

"And then you found joy in caring for the people who use the library." Saphienne relaxed into irrelevant performance.

"Tell me: how did you persuade yourself …" *"…I stand in awe…"

"This is the best I can do. Tell me I shouldn't, Hyacinth. Tell me there's better."

"…I cannot. You know we will be chased across the world?"

"Filaurel outran them; they'll stop eventually. We'll find somewhere that accepts us, and we'll build the home Kylantha should have had."

"They will not approve."

"Of course not… but they won't disapprove too loudly. Who cares what becomes of the unwanted? What does it matter to the Luminary Vale, if an apostate spends her eternity raising their abandoned children?"

"They will profane you."

"To hell with them."

"…Will Laelansa want this? Her faith in you is strong, but she loves the woods that are her home."

"…I don't know. When I'm finished planning, we'll see." * The wizard couldn't delay forever. Saphienne recognised what had happened the instant she answered her door, visited again by the boy who'd approached listlessly, hands in his pockets, hunched against a cold that lingered from that desolate winter.

"Almon said no." She sagged in the morning's pitiless glow.

"Faylar… I'm so sorry." He kicked at the grass.

"Did he tell you why?"

"I've not sufficiently demonstrated I can be trusted with knowledge." He hid behind a smile that a brush of ink would have dissolved.

"He says that if I continue to apprentice diligently to Filaurel, safekeeping the books in the restricted collection, then in fifty years he would be willing to hear me again."

"Fifty years is a long time."

"Almon's a prick." He repeated the words flatly, all fight gone out of him.

"…Do you want to come inside?" He breathed out in a rush.

"Not today. It's a good thing Celaena hates me; I couldn't bear to see her right now."

"Faylar, she doesn't really hate you."

"I'm going to the library." He ignored her as his eyes streamed.

"Might as well, right? Might as well get used to it. Almon won't reconsider. I don't even think he was telling the truth. This is my place in life…" He faced the grove.

"…I'm just never good enough." He walked away; Saphienne watched until he disappeared into the trees. End of Cha– Living for conscience wasn't living. Saphienne strode through the library doors and took Faylar by his wrist, leading him without protest into the small kitchen. She sat her dejected friend on the tall stool, made tea for him, then asked him to meet her gaze. And then? For his sake, Saphienne told Faylar the truth. …She had never seen him angrier.

"Faylar, please believe me: I never expected them to use you to punish me. If I'd known there was a chance–""Shut up." She fell silent, studying him where he perched – red with inconsolable fury – and stared upon the steaming remains of the cup he'd shattered at his feet. He stood as though restraining himself from assault.

"… Come with me. There's a book I want you to read." Saphienne had never imagined she might need to protect herself from a friend. Abjured or not, she didn't fear physical harm as she went with him to the door under the stairs, rather that their bond was injured beyond healing. She waited until she passed through the ward on the door before she cast her own. Yet Faylar bade her stop halfway down.

He crept ahead, listening to confirm that there was no one in the darkened hall on the lower level, then returned to her with hatred in his countenance.

"Faylar–""Whisper." His voice was low, insistent.

"The scrutiniser records activity in the collection, but we shouldn't risk being overheard." Saphienne blinked.

"We can talk here: the wards against divination begin at the door." She gawked.

"…What are you–""I can't stand this!" He bared his teeth.

"I can't stand the hypocrisy; I can't stomach the cruelty. Felipe and Cosme are good men – you're a good woman – yet all we get from the woodlands is bullshit about upholding the ancient ways." She marvelled.

"…Your mother is a warden…"

"I'm not!" Hissing, he struck the wall with his clenched fist.

"Fuck everything, Saphienne! Fuck the woodlands, fuck the Luminary Vale, and fuck the ancient ways! We can't go on like this — buried by traditions and elders that have outlived their time. I won't; I refuse. We deserve better." She was cautious.

"…You're upset. You should rest–""Don't tell me what I need." His resentment was not for her.

"I've felt this way before today. I told myself I could bide my time, study magic, then travel with my aunt. But I won't wait a human lifetime! I want to see the roses in Tenerosa before Felipe goes into the ground. I won't let them take that from me." Calming her racing pulse, Saphienne clasped her hands.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know." He leant on the wall, tired.

"If I can't learn magic… I need to do what Filaurel did. I know it's stupid — tell me I'm a fool for it, but that's what I want."

"…What about your friends?"

"I'll miss you the most. I'll even miss Iolas. Laewyn misses me already…" Regret lowered his gaze.

"…Celaena won't miss me at all." Was she dreaming? Was she mad? Saphienne teetered on the edge of a precipice — and she yearned to spread her wings and leap.

"So what should I do?" He straightened, posing the question with grim resolve.

"Try to convince another wizard to teach me? Or leave for Hareña?" Her coin was cool where it nestled into her palm.

"Faylar…" Saphienne descended to him.

"…Why not both?" End of Chapter 135