L. J. Amber
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TEWWBAD Chapter 72
🕑 Added 2025-08-14 12:00:17 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 72 – Making Space for the Sunshine
Journeying home to the Eastern Vale was uneventful for Saphienne, who furtively put on the ring from time to time, never with any regularity, and never while she was standing more than five feet away from Filaurel and Faylar. She hoped that the Wardens of the Wilds were following them westward — and that the goblins remained far from the shrine. Whether or not her plan was working, after three days hiking in the wilderness, Saphienne was very glad for a hot bath and an early night.
Much demanded her attention upon her return.
* * *
Peacock whistled a brazen fanfare as Saphienne entered the classroom. “All hail the goblin slayer!”
Her heartfelt sigh only made the bird cackle; Celaena and Almon were grinning, while Iolas mercifully slipped past her to hang up his outer robes.
Refusing to dignify Peacock with any further response, she sat down on the floor and looked over at Celaena. “Did Faylar tell you about it?”
“He did.” Amusement made her eyes sparkle. “Does Iolas know?”
“I heard,” Iolas answered, unwilling to join in as he took the space between them. “She told me about it on the way here. I don’t think it’s a laughing matter: dozens of offerings were ruined, and now the poor creatures are going to be put down by the wardens.”
“Perhaps,” their master conceded as he browsed his shelves, “but doesn’t the thought of Saphienne chasing goblins around entertain you?”
Iolas shrugged.
Saphienne felt great warmth toward him, for that. “They were starving and miserable,” she reproached the others. “I feel guilty about what’s going to happen.”
“Because of your fumbling?” Almon refused to be shamed, and directed his next question to Iolas. “Did she tell you that she lost a Ring of Misperception to them? The wardens have been tracking it, apparently to little avail.”
Now her master had her full attention. “The Wardens of the Wild spoke to you?”
“As did Filaurel.” He found the book he was looking for and came around to his chair. “You needn’t concern yourself: she took responsibility for letting you wander, and the wardens had only praise for your conduct.” He tapped his fingers on his armrest, thoughtful. “The goblins were last detected going eastward, but they seem not to understand the ring — they aren’t wearing it consistently enough to be tracked. I’ve agreed to perform some divinations…”
Feeling her eyes widen, Saphienne played off her fear as anger. “So you’re going to help murder them?”
“What the wardens do when they catch them is their business,” he replied. “I’m merely assisting in the retrieval of an enchantment that could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Personally?” Almon was dismissive. “I think killing them is pointless.”
She leant back. “We can agree on that.”
Quiet after her earlier levity, Celaena looked contrite. She broke the uncomfortable silence to change their topic. “Master… aren’t we receiving our first spells today?”
Almon’s face fell. “We are delayed until next week–” he raised his voice against their audible disappointment “–and not by my choice! The conclusion to your lesson in Fascination is dependent upon another schedule.”
Iolas was suspicious. “Whose?”
“You will meet him soon,” Almon assured them. “All will be clear. But we will speak no more on the matter today. Since my intended lesson isn’t possible, let us instead concern ourselves with the magical metals…”
Saphienne listened as Almon introduced orichalcum and mythril and adamantine, absently writing down their properties. Her eyes drifted to Celaena, her mind on the forthcoming divinations — and how she would thwart them.
* * *
On her second visit, Saphienne knocked on the door to Taerelle’s ritual space before entering, finding that the forge was unlit and the senior apprentice was chalking elaborate symbols on the floor.
Taerelle remained crouched. “Give me a moment.”
Saphienne tried to interpret what the markings meant as she crept closer; she could guess they were related to spellcasting. “Are these sigils?”
Her tutor smirked. “You would know if they were… and what did I just tell you?”
She retreated.
When the senior apprentice had completed her mystical scrawl she rose and tossed down the chalk, folding her arms as she reviewed her labour. “You will soon be taught to read magical writing,” she said, “so I don’t think I’m overstepping by saying these could be sigils, if they were magically imbued. I’ve nearly finalised the enchantment for the wands. Seeing the notation laid out before the sigils are vested helps ensure I’m not making any mistakes…”
Knowing what the symbols were did little to decipher them. They were elaborate, with strange symmetries, precise in their geometries yet impossible to reduce to mere curves and tangents. Their outlines reminded Saphienne of inkblots, or perhaps the shapes left behind by staring into sunlight, suggestive of an afterimage rather than–
“Are those for the fittings?”
Saphienne unfolded the papers she was carrying, both Taerelle’s original design and the three different fittings she had meticulously diagrammed.
Taerelle surveyed them over her shoulder. “…Beautiful style. The daffodils and hyacinths will be gorgeous. But sunflowers? You were supposed to pick flowers that don’t bloom in the summertime.”
Her gaze was defiant as she argued her case. “Sunflowers might first show their petals in summer, but they’re technically an autumnal–”
“You just want to annoy our master, don’t you?”
“…A little.” She hated being so transparent. “…And I like sunflowers.”
“More than hyacinths?” Taerelle grinned. “I used to love daffodils when I was young…”
The older girl – actually a grown woman, Saphienne now knew – moved away to look over her available materials. “I’ll just blame you for your choices. I usually work late, so you can use the forge during the afternoon — but don’t arrive before midday.…” She paused, tapping her stockpiled gold. “…And not tomorrow. Our master has asked me to visit him.”
Saphienne had hoped that would be the case, but contrived to look ashamed. “Then… I should tell you…”
Her tutor’s braid whipped around. “Really, prodigy? What have you done now?”
* * *
Once Taerelle had stopped laughing at her heavily censored account, Saphienne explained its consequences as though apologising for the inconvenience.
“How dare you waste my valuable time,” Taerelle replied, tongue-in-cheek. “I shall have to inform to the Luminary Vale that you’re unfit to be trusted with magic — at least around goblins.”
“Very funny.” Saphienne shook her head. “Why aren’t you upset with me? Haven’t I caused you a problem?”
“Hardly!” Taerelle giggled as she retrieved her chalk. “Scrying for a specific enchantment? Shouldn’t be a challenge. I don’t anticipate sophisticated countermeasures.”
Prompting Taerelle to share what Saphienne wanted depended on how she phrased her next question, and she crossed her arms in false smugness. “Not as difficult as scrying me, then.”
Taerelle scoffed. “You’re not hard to divine.” She hadn’t noticed the nudge, and set to work revising the arcane script on the floor.
“You said keeping track of me was a challenge–”
“While you were visiting Celaena!” Taerelle rolled her eyes. “You weren’t the challenge.”
Saphienne took care to frown. “We once triggered an alarm by climbing her wall–”
“Boundary walls define a space being warded,” her tutor said, making corrections with dextrous flicks. “They anchor the enchantment. Your friend’s home is powerfully warded against Divination spells.”
“Because of her father.” She pretended to be astonished. “He’s an accomplished member of the Luminary Vale — how could you possibly get around his wards?”
“I didn’t.” Taerelle’s pride compelled her answer. “I said I kept track of you: I never actually scried within the grounds. My spells remained outside the walls while I watched you through the windows.” She glanced up. “Want to be a competent diviner? Learn to lipread.”
That gave Saphienne all she needed — and more. “You just told me how to have a conversation without you listening in.”
“Believe it or not, Saphienne? I’m not very interested in eavesdropping on you. All I want is for you to stay out of trouble until you’re a wizard, which you’ve mostly been doing, goblins excepted.”
Uncertainty had been lurking in the back of her mind ever since her journey; both spirits had been confident she was unobserved. “Why didn’t you scry me when I was travelling?”
Taerelle smiled to herself. “I had no need to; you were being watched.”
By Filaurel? Her mentor had told Almon about what’d happened…
“I’m only concerned when you’re unsupervised and unoccupied.” Taerelle gestured to the forge and then to papers Saphienne held. “Just keep yourself busy — or I’ll be forced to find work for idle hands.”
* * *
Reassured by what she had learned, Saphienne went directly to visit Celaena, intent on hiding the ring somewhere deep within her home.
She had first concluded that the sanctum of a highly respected wizard was an inconceivable place to find the missing band — which could cause even potent Divination spells to fail. Now that Taerelle had confirmed the home was warded, Saphienne was confident her solution would be perfect.
There was, however, something she’d missed.
Saphienne was kept waiting on the doorstep, long enough that she suspected her friend wasn’t home. Hanging around until Celaena arrived would only provoke awkward questions, but every hour that Saphienne held on to the ring risked being exposed by an exploratory divination. Perhaps she could bury it in–
The pealing bell in the foyer startled her as the door flew open.
“Saphienne! Get inside, now!” Celaena held ready the Rod of Repulsion. “Someone’s prowling through the gardens!”
Saphienne closed her eyes. Of course the ring had triggered an alarm — any sensible wizard would want to know when a veiling enchantment approached their sanctum, whether or not that enchantment was presently in use.
“Saphienne!”
She somehow found the will to live. “…Celaena,” she managed, “I’ve made a terrible mistake…”
* * *
“Why not just admit you forgot?”
Saphienne was sat on the staircase with Celaena, the ring between them.
“Because I’ve wasted everyone’s time,” she insisted. “I accidentally put it on when we were travelling home — and the Wardens of the Wilds followed us.”
Celaena tilted her head. “Why did you put it on?”
She saw no choice but to deceive her. “I didn’t intend to; I was rummaging through my satchel when I felt something, and I lifted it out on my fingertip.”
The echoes of the lie died away as Celaena studied her.
“…I don’t believe you.”
Saphienne blinked.
Celaena carefully lifted the ring as she spoke. “I know what’s actually going on here, Saphienne.” She brushed the ferns as though tracing the truth. “You found it in your pocket on the way back, and you decided you’d be really clever, and that you’d lead the wardens away from those goblins.”
Saphienne blinked again. “How did you–”
“You felt sorry for them.” The older girl pursed her lips as their eyes met. “And you’re not the sort of person to hold back when you see a way to help. I don’t believe you’d feel this and not recognise it. You’re too quick for that.”
Overlooking the black tiles as though peering upon the night, Saphienne was forced to recognise that Celaena knew her better than she’d imagined…
Her friend exhaled. “I’m just glad you came to me. Faylar would have gone straight to his mother; Laewyn would want to lose it somewhere in the forest; and Iolas would talk you into giving it back.”
…And that she’d underestimated Celaena. “You don’t think I should?”
“No!” Celaena clenched her fist around the ring. “If I figured out what you’re up to? Our master will know right away — and you’ll lose your apprenticeship.” Her stare sought out a solution on the high ceiling. “And we can’t just drop it for him to find… he’ll augur how it ended up there…”
Upset with herself, for many different reasons, Saphienne hunched forward. “…I’m sorry for lying to you.”
“You were just keeping me out of it.” Celaena shifted closer to her. “The less I knew about what you were up to, the better.”
Saphienne’s chest ached. “You’re not angry with me?”
“I’m angry you risked everything on some goblins.” Celaena clasped her wrist. “But I’m not angry that you came to me for help; you’re my friend. At least you brought me into things, this ti– Saphienne? Oh, stop. You’ll make me cry, too…”
* * *
When Celaena had finished fussing over Saphienne, the older girl pocketed the ring. “I know where to hide this — not even father will find it.”
“Where will you–”
“In the sealed branch; in his old sanctum.” Celaena blushed. “He left one of the windows unlatched. Father only locked the door because he wants to surprise me — he’s prepared it all for me to use, once I’ve proven I can cast spells. There’s a set of dark grey robes laid out for me…”
Saphienne felt weightless. “Are you sure? Couldn’t we bury it in the garden?”
“What if our master asks the Luminary Vale for help? What if they breach the wards? They’ll ask why the alarm never rang.” Celaena shook her head. “Better to lock it in the storage cupboard, on top of the disused wardrobe, and pretend it doesn’t exist. We can get rid of it once everyone’s forgotten.”
Her solution was close to what Saphienne had intended. “What will you say if someone does breach the wards?”
Celaena pondered for a moment, then giggled. “I’ll claim one of the crows found it! I’ll say I thought no one would ever believe how I got it… so I decided to hide it, until I could show it to father and ask him for help.”
“That’s… too implausible to sound like a lie.” She was impressed.
“Father might guess — but he won’t dispute me in public.” Celaena squeezed Saphienne’s hand. “I won’t tell him the truth. I won’t even mention this to Laewyn: this will be our secret.”
Saphienne’s eyes began to water again. “Celaena… why are you helping me?”
With a sigh that carried enduring affection, Celaena pulled her into a hug. “I told you before — birds of a feather flock together. Weren’t you listening?”
* * *
Ironically, Saphienne would soon spend a lot of time listening very carefully.
Taerelle was irritable when next they met, her efforts to locate the missing ring utterly stymied. She was less annoyed the day after — when she revealed that Almon had been forced to admit defeat. Then none of the diviners he brought together had any success, either, and finally word came down from the Luminary Vale that an assembly of specialists had spent all night trying to fathom how the divinations kept failing, to no avail. The matter was considered beneath the attention of the High Masters… which Saphienne took to mean the collective wizards and sorcerers were too embarrassed to bother them.
“As impossible as it seems,” Taerelle concluded, “our master thinks the goblins must have broken it. Gods know how they managed that…”
In contrast to her theorised act of destruction, Saphienne’s progress in creating the fittings and outfits was proceeding apace. She was increasingly confident that all would be well come summertime.
* * *
Yet, despite all her wiles and luck, and as much as she tried to wriggle out of it, there was one punishment Saphienne simply couldn’t avoid.
On the evening when the consensus of the local woodlands was to convene, Saphienne arrived at the meeting hall just before the doors closed. The bored man inside pointed her toward the stairs. “Unaccompanied children sit in the gallery.”
“I’m here to–”
But he had already wandered into the auditorium.
She peered through the curtained doorway after him, seeing that the rows of seats circling the hall were mostly full. Filaurel was already sitting at a table on the central stage in her role as secretary, and Saphienne could tell from the raised hands and idle chatter that the consensus was confirming who would chair the meeting.
Perhaps a better vantagepoint would be useful; she climbed the stairs three at a time, and emerged onto a sloping upper level that was much emptier, seeing two adults sat right in the front row. She walked down the steps toward them with her eyes on the only other person on the mezzanine.
“Celaena.” Saphienne kept her voice low as she slid onto the chair beside her. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Her fellow apprentice started where she was sitting, dropping the paper bag of sweets she’d concealed up her sleeve. She reddened. “I’m here for Laewyn… she’s down there with Lensa.”
Scooping up the unspilled confectionary, Saphienne glanced at the nearby adults, seeing a man and woman whom she didn’t know.
The woman stopped knitting to scowl. “We’re not supposed to bring food in…”
But the man next to her lifted up the book on his lap to reveal a wooden bowl, and both adults grinned conspiratorially at the girls as his partner helped herself to a sugary biscuit.
He winked. “We won’t tell if you won’t…”
Saphienne smothered her laughter as she passed the bag back to Celaena.
An enchantment carried Filaurel’s voice from below, where she spoke into a polished amethyst. “Consensus has been reached: Jorildyn is recognised as chair, and Lyndis is recognised as assistant chair. The meeting will convene.”
Scattered applause accompanied the pair as they joined the secretary. Jorildyn was wearing an unusually resplendent outfit in red that he had tailored to emphasise his slender figure, and he bowed to the audience behind and in front of the stage before he sat. He lifted another Stone of Speaking, gently blowing against it to ensure it was active. “Well now: I call this meeting of our consensus to order. We’ve a lot of business to get through tonight, so let’s try to keep this to four or five hours, shall we?”
The dismay that arose from the audience suggested he wasn’t joking.
“Standard items first…” He glanced to Filaurel. “…The minutes of the last meeting were posted. Would anyone like to ask for clarifications, or shall we proceed to adopt–”
Someone behind the stage raised their hand, and everyone sitting in front groaned aloud as they pointed to draw Jorildyn’s attention.
Celaena leant over to Saphienne. “Have you ever been before?”
Saphienne shook her head. “No; but I know the rules.”
“Of course you do…” The older girl smirked. “The meeting won’t get really going for another quarter of an hour — everyone has to get fed up before they start taking it seriously.”
“Are they usually this well attended?”
“Gods no. This is just because the agenda for the summer festival is being finalised. They’re all here to complain about what’s been left out, or what shouldn’t have been included…”
“Poor Filaurel,” Saphienne said. “She’s going to be talking all night.”
“Poor you,” Celaena countered. “You’re doing most of the writing…”
Meanwhile, a meandering question had been asked, and Filaurel had exercised great diplomacy in clarifying that the questioner was actually referring to events that had happened at the meeting before last. Jorildyn confirmed there were no more questions, then proceeded to call a vote to accept the minutes, asking for those in favour – which prompted most of the audience to raise their hands – and then for those against.
Celaena giggled at the lonely dissenter. “There’s always one who has to be contrary.”
Jorildyn visibly steeled himself. “We now move to the agenda– wait a moment, please. I appreciate that everyone is raring to begin, but if you could all sit back down? Thank you. This is not the agenda for the festival, but the agenda for this meeting, which has been circulated in advance.” He took a deep breath. “Before I ask for the agenda to be proposed, are there any validly constituted amendments to be raised?”
A richly enunciated cough rolled through the hall.
The tailor had been expecting this. “The chair recognises Master Almon.”
Saphienne and Celaena craned forward, seeing that their master had stood from his place adjacent to the main aisle. His voice was attenuated by a spell that glimmered across his ostentatious sapphire robes in motes of gold and indigo. “If it pleases our consensus: I would like to propose an amendment to the proposed agenda of this meeting to add a new amendment to the agenda for the festival, and to reorder the agenda of this meeting so that the new amendment to the agenda for the festival is discussed first.”
Already, Saphienne could tell she would have a headache before the night was done.
Yet Jorildyn put on a pleasant smile. “You certainly may, Master Almon. But before I proceed to ask for a seconder to your proposal, can I confirm: under which provision of the Rules of Order for Reaching Consensus you are raising this proposal?”
The wizard folded his arms. “Under the provisions for general business.”
“So to be clear,” Jorildyn lightly asked, “you’re not raising this under the emergency provisions, nor under authority of the Luminary Vale, nor does it benefit from elder prerogative?”
The woman sitting near Saphienne and Celaena snorted.
“…No, Jorildyn.” Almon was irked. “Just–”
“I would remind you to address me as Chair.” Jorildyn’s smile remained politely fixed in place.
“…As you wish, Chair. I’m raising it under the provisions for general business. The chair knows fine well what–”
“Then unfortunately,” Jorildyn smoothly announced, very much enjoying himself, “I must rule your proposal out of order, as it was not received in advance of the commencement of the meeting.”
“You–” Almon bristled. “The chair knew full well that I was bringing this amendment to the agenda for the festival: I discussed it with him at considerable length just last night. The chair even told me he thought it was a good idea–”
“I must remind speakers not to prejudice our consensus.”
The wizard threw up his arms. “How is this possibly out of order?”
“You informed me about the amendment to the agenda for the festival,” Jorildyn said, “and it’s been accounted for in the proposal for the agenda of the meeting. You never said anything about changing the order of this meeting’s agenda.”
“I was unaware that I’d have pressing business–”
“On behalf of the Luminary Vale?”
Almon seethed. “No.”
“Then your proposal is ruled out of order.” Jorildyn turned to the rest of the room. “Are there any more amendments to the agenda of this meeting?”
In the lull, Saphienne watched her master gesture to a woman sitting nearby, and his displeasure grew as he flicked through the bound sheaf of papers she handed him.
Meanwhile, Filaurel had passed a note across to Jorildyn, which he read with raised eyebrows. “I am informed that elder prerogative has been invoked–”
Almon looked up at the gallery gratefully, his shoulders relaxing.
“–To propose another amendment to the agenda for this meeting, adding a different amendment to the agenda for the festival, which is also put forward under elder prerogative.”
As one, the rest of the audience followed his gaze.
Hiding their illicit biscuits, the two elders exchanged glances, and then the woman hurriedly swallowed before she shouted down their answer. “We know nothing about it — is the name recognised?”
Filaurel sounded weary. “Yes…”
Both elders immediately caught on, and though surprised, they nodded.
“In any case,” Jorildyn moved the meeting on, “the amendment to the agenda is duly ratified under elder prerogative. Unless there are any other–”
Almon tossed aside the papers and thrust his arm upward. “Point of order!”
“The chair recognises Master Almon.”
“The chair,” growled the wizard, “said the amendment to the agenda for the festival had been added — but it isn’t listed as an item.”
Anticipating what was about to happen, Jorildyn stood to lean on the table. “Your amendment is included under ‘Miscellaneous Amendments,’ having been appended to the list of minor matters that are non-urgent.”
Everyone nearby slid their chairs away as the wizard lost his temper. “This is outrageous! This is naked prejudice from the chair, who is clearly opposed to the amendment and is manipulating–”
Jorildyn held the amethyst closer to his mouth. “Master Almon,” his voice boomed, “you yourself suggested the chair is in favour of the amendment. Unless you wish to call for a vote of confidence in the chair, please sit down.”
The moment stretched.
With his dignity in tatters, Almon reclaimed his seat.
* * *
In due course the agenda was proposed, seconded, and adopted, and the actual business of the meeting began. Filaurel immediately raised a point of order to recuse herself from taking the minutes, and Saphienne took her cue to race up the mezzanine and down the stairs, emerging into the hall as her name was called.
She was aware how everyone stared as she walked down the aisle and up onto the stage, her hand aching on the strap to her satchel as she took the place vacated by Filaurel. Her mentor had left what she hoped was an excessive supply of blank pages.
When she was ready, Saphienne nodded to Jorildyn.
* * *
“…We will now hear an amendment proposed by Ninleyn–”
“Point of order!”
“The chair recognises Alinar.”
“I move that speeches in favour of amendments be limited to two minutes.”
“The chair accepts the motion. Do we have a seconder? Yes, you can all sit down. All those in favour– well, that’s overwhelmingly carried. We will now hear an amendment proposed by Ninleyn and seconded by Mathileyn; the chair invites Ninleyn to speak, reminding her to please constrain her remarks to the topic of the amendment…”
* * *
“…This isn’t really a speech for or against the amendment, more of a question–”
Boos filled the hall; they were well into hour three.
* * *
Near the end of the fourth hour, Saphienne was delighted when a woman stood and then invited Laewyn to speak on her behalf. She made an effort to minute every single word her friend said in her short speech, delighted to learn that she had found a troupe of actors from the Vale of the White River who would be happy to stage a play during the festival.
“And so,” Laewyn concluded, “if it pleases our consensus, I– my mother would like their performance to be added to the agenda for the festival, to occur outside the library on the morning of the day of the solstice.”
Enthusiastic applause carried from the upper level.
Jorildyn was flagging as he glanced to where Filaurel stood. “Does the planning committee for the festival have any comment?”
“Yes,” the librarian sighed. “I am obliged to reiterate that the agenda is extremely full, and attendance early in the day is likely to be sparse.” She was exhausted from repeating herself. “However, since no materials or other support have been requested to perform the play, there are no strong objections from the planning committee.”
This satisfied the chair. “Does anyone wish to speak on the amendment?” He ignored the tall girl in white who raised her hand beside Laewyn. “No adults? Then we shall move to a vote. All those in favour?”
Hands went up around the room.
“And those against?”
A near equal number of hands rose, prompting several curses.
Jorildyn massaged his forehead. “We move to a count. Those against, please keep your arms raised.”
For the ninth time that night, Saphienne set down her pen and joined the assistant chair in counting the votes against the motion. Once done they compared their totals, confirmed that the number matched, then signalled Jorildyn to return to the vote in favour.
Yet Saphienne realised Laewyn was nine votes short. She frowned to herself as she walked back to the table.
“Sixty-four,” Lyndis whispered.
All that Celaena and Laewyn had done for Saphienne loomed over her. “…I counted seventy-four?”
Lyndis sagged and rubbed her cheeks. “I’m tired — I must be mistaken.”
Jorildyn poured himself a fresh glass of water and sipped before he stood. “I regret to inform the meeting that we have a miscount of the votes in favour–”
Anguish cut him off; someone cursed.
“–And I would ask all those in favour to please, once again, raise your hands.”
More hands went up than the first time, but Laewyn was still missing four votes; Saphienne repeated her original total.
“Saphienne must be right,” Lyndis conceded. “I counted more this time than last.”
The chair shook his head. “You know what the rules say: the tally has to match. One more time…”
By now the room threatened to boil over, and Saphienne accepted that she had done all she could. In a cruel twist of fate, yet more voted in favour, but Laewyn was still one vote short when the totals finally matched.
“The amendment falls,” Jorildyn announced.
Seeing Laewyn’s face fall with it was heartbreaking.
But a voice from the upper floor intervened. “Elder prerogative!”
Neither elder had interjected until now; all eyes lifted to where the man had stood.
“The chair recognises Elder Anaeluin…?”
“Given that nearly half of those who voted were in favour,” Anaeluin called out, “and that the play makes no request other than inclusion in the agenda, then for the sake of maintaining harmony – and fostering kindness – I invoke elder prerogative to ratify the amendment.”
Murmurs rippled around the room.
Jorildyn had sat up straighter; he nodded. “The amendment is duly ratified under elder prerogative.”
A hand went up in the crowd. “Point of order! Chair, what was the substance of the other amendment that was ratified by elder prerogative?”
Filaurel didn’t check her notes — nor wait for Jorildyn to call on her. “An extra stall was added to the outdoor gallery for artists.”
The tailor forestalled further questions. “No more: we’re running short on time. Moving to the next item…”
* * *
In the end, it turned out Almon wanted a chess tournament included in the festival. His amendment was the only one unanimously endorsed during the meeting, which he insisted be noted in the minutes.
Saphienne also minuted that he had insisted.
Laewyn and Celaena were waiting outside when she had surrendered the completed minutes to Filaurel — along with Lensa, who stood apart and smiled sweetly as the other girls hugged.
“How fortunate that an elder intervened,” the tall girl mused aloud. “I suppose they must have been moved by Celaena’s enthusiasm… or was it the miscounting that persuaded them?”
Laewyn laughed it off. “Who cares? We got our play. Why don’t you break the good news to Tirisa?”
“I will! She so loves drama.”
* * *
At last came the day when Saphienne was to receive her first spell, whereupon Almon led the three unproven apprentices to a small and beautifully maintained house on the southwestern edge of the village. The gardens outside were splendid, and the wizard sat on the grass as he waved his students on ahead.
“Go inside,” he told them. “Iradyn is expecting you.”
He declined to answer further questions.
Iolas took the lead, and he did as their master had instructed them, knocking at the door before he entered. Saphienne and Celaena followed close behind.
Within, the sitting room was crowded with glazed pottery, all gloriously painted with astonishingly detailed renditions of forest scenes. Rabbits and deer were frequent subjects, as were night scenes, along with poignant misty mornings that evoked nostalgia for places Saphienne had never been.
“A master painter,” Celaena observed.
Iolas hovered near the entrance. “Hello? Anyone home?”
Footfalls descended the stairs that were open into the sitting room; the man who came to see them paused partway down. His clothes were wrinkled, and his eyes were wide as he stared at them. “…Who are you?”
Saphienne stepped forward and bowed. “We’re students of Master Almon. You would be Iradyn?”
He recoiled up a step. “How do you know my name?”
Worried that they were being impolite, Iolas bowed as well. “Please excuse us, our master told us to come inside to meet you–”
“What proof do you have?”
Iolas stilled. “…Sorry?”
“How do I know you’re with him?” Iradyn crouched to peer at the window. “Who is waiting out there?”
“…Our master,” Celaena said. “Master Almon. He said you’d be expecting us? We could come back another time if–”
“No.” He quickly strode down and then walked away from them, retreating to the far end of the sitting room near the kitchen. He picked at his shirt as he stood behind his couch. “No, you’re children. He must have sent you.”
The apprentices smiled nervously, and Iolas stepped–
“Stay back!” Iradyn snatched up a painted vase, which he held overhead in warning. “Don’t come any closer! You might not be a child after all — you’re very tall.”
“My name is Iolas–”
“So you claim.” He grimaced. “But you claim a lot of things. Those robes: where did you get them?”
Saphienne had a suspicion she knew what was going on. “Excuse me, Master Iradyn: are you well?”
“Who said I was unwell?”
She blinked. “No one–”
Now he paced, back and forth, like an animal trapped in a pit. “He must have told you — that liar outside. He says his name is Almon, but I know his real name…” The artist abruptly stopped, staring at the work in his hand as though it were new. His fingers traced the trees. “…He’s my friend. I’m…” He fumbled to feel his pocket; his gaze was conflicted. “…I’m not myself…”
Iolas wet his lips. “Do you want us to ask Almon to help–”
The pottery smashed against the doorframe beside his head.
“I don’t want anything from you!” Iradyn snarled, terror writ in his creases. “I don’t need anything! Not your help! Not your pity! Get out!”
All three apprentices had frozen–
“Get out!”
They ran through the door.
* * *
Almon was standing a little way along the path, and he raised his hand to stop his students. “We wait for him,” he declared. “In this, our time is not our own.”
Weeping carried to them from within the house.
* * *
When the door opened, Iradyn emerged calmer, massaging his neck as he drank in the soothing daylight. An elaborately wrought bangle now adorned his wrist. “I’m sorry for before. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Iolas was still shaken, but he swallowed his unease. “I’m sorry about your pottery.”
“I’m unwell…” He met their stares with clarity that had been lacking. “I’ve always been this way. I only remove the bracelet for days like this one.”
“Iradyn,” Almon explained, “is a good friend. He suffers from a malady of the mind.”
Saphienne exhaled. “You’re fascinated right now, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Iradyn didn’t flinch from the truth. “And I’m glad for it.”
* * *
Saphienne had been right, that very first night: the Great Art was worthless.
All that mattered was who wielded it, and to what end.
To help or to hinder; to heal or to harm.
The wizard concluded the lesson on Fascination in that garden, and when he was done, he bestowed on each apprentice the scrolls that bore their first sigils.
To Celaena, he gave a spell of Translocation.
To Iolas, he gave a spell of Invocation.
And to Saphienne? He gave a contradiction.
She gazed long upon the resonant shape that yearned to enter her mind, that willed itself be completed, that demanded to be true. Her master had written it out in vivid blue.
Almon commanded Saphienne to cast a Hallucination.
End of Chapter 72
Comments
L. J. Amber
Thanks for catching the typo, fixed!
Claire Hiria Ahuriri-Dunning
I just love the dynamic between Saphienne and Taerelle so much <3 Also aaaaahhhhhh I love that Celaena saw through the (first layer of ) Saphienne's lie. And I love how she said birds of a feather flock together, it's a nice development of their relationship <3 Also Jorildyn vs Almon AHAHAHAHA love it "Saphienne also minuted that he had insisted." XD Daaamn, really interesting to see that level of mental illness enter the picture with Iradyn. Like obviously there's addiction and stuff before this, but this was really interesting to see, and the implications of the treatment being Fascination, very interesting. Can't wait to see what Saphienne copes with her spell!!!! typo > "“Stay back!” Iradyn snatched up a painted vase, which held overhead in warning." < I think it's missing 'he' before held?
L. J. Amber
I knew better than to put the actual discussions in. The procedural stuff was judged to be *just* painful enough to get the point across while remaining entertaining... hopefully.
Tarmandan
This chapter really catches the feeling of a meeting like that. Though it is missing the worst part: the actual discussions. When everything has already been said, but not yet by everyone, that's the worst part. And damn, poor Saph really has to start with the magic she abhorrs and dislikes. Though she will probably work hardest mastering this spell than she would any other, just out of spite towards Almon. It might also long term help her that her first actual spell is something she so despises. It might make it less likely for her to ever lose herself in her power, making her more likely to always remember the harm magic can do.
