L. J. Amber
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TEWWBAD Chapter 71
🕑 Added 2025-08-12 12:00:14 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 71 – Spare the Rod
Why had the goblins returned the ring? As she waited for the Warden of the Wilds, Saphienne struggled with that — along with what she should do with it. Anyone who found it would reasonably believe that she’d lied about the goblins carrying it off, and then they’d look more closely at everything else she had lied about.
She palmed the band while polishing the scales, feeling the silvery ferns around its outer edge where they dug into her skin. Claiming that she’d just happened to stumble across it was too farfetched; nor did she dare dispose of it while she might still be under observation; and being caught with it risked her being accused of thievery.
But even were she to find a solution, what if someone realised the trail she’d made was false? What if the goblins came back again? What if–
She took a calming breath.
What she needed was simple: somewhere to conceal the ring, and an excuse if she was caught with it.
The latter was easily contrived. Why, she had forgotten she’d taken it off! During the earlier excitement she’d seen the goblin lunge for something, and when she’d later noticed the band wasn’t on her finger she’d assumed the thieving little monster had snatched it up. Perhaps she’d later discovered it in her pocket — and kept her mouth shut, too embarrassed to confess her mistake in front of strangers. Filaurel would believe such a humiliating lie… and that would let Saphienne give it back…
Except, perhaps she had good reason to keep it. Once the trail had gone cold, and the wardens used magic to locate their missing ring? She could use it to lure them further away.
…So long as nothing else went wrong…
For the time being, her story made the concealed pocket in her cloak the best hiding place: she would claim incompetence were someone to search her. Saphienne surreptitiously slipped the band back where it belonged as she sat beside the ruined offerings she’d gathered before the shrine.
…But why had the goblins returned it? Although she was relieved to know they wouldn’t be tracked, she couldn’t fathom why they’d taken such a risk. They’d already violated the sacred space and absconded with whatever they’d pleased; the wardens wouldn’t be lenient on them for showing remorse. Better to commit wholeheartedly to wrongdoing than to hope for elven mercy. No, elves thought goblins were only–
Her heart skipped a beat.
They hadn’t been apologising to elves. They didn’t feel remorse — not toward elves, who excluded and endlessly hunted them.
They had been apologising to Saphienne…
To Saph.
* * *
Danyn arrived while she was wiping her eyes. He studied her from behind his inscrutable, horned mask, only his voice betraying concern. “Did something happen?”
“I’m just upset about the shrine,” Saphienne lied. “All these hopes and prayers…”
The warden surveyed the pile, reaching down for the waterlogged agricultural report that Athidyn had sent along with her — which fell apart in his hand.
He hissed. “Vermin. They’ll be dealt with. We try not to cull them, but they’ve gone too far to be ignored.”
His response reminded her not to go too far with her performance; Saphienne made herself appear shocked as she stood. “Cull them? You mean kill them? That’s–”
“They don’t learn.” He lifted away his horns as he set down the pack he now carried, securing the mask to its shoulder straps. “They have no cultural memory; not even an oral tradition. Their language is too simple to explain much more than ‘Elf is no-no.’” He snorted. “They don’t even have different words for ‘no’ and ‘bad’ — so even if we get them to understand what they’ve done wrong, how are they going to pass it along?”
“I know a little of their language.” Pretending she didn’t would serve no purpose, and being caught in a small lie would undermine the larger deceit. “Even if they are simple… individually, they can be made to understand. Isn’t it enough that these goblins be made to? And isn’t there some other way to punish them, than with death?”
The warden shook his head as he hefted his pack. “You’re a kind girl, but you’re thinking of them like they’re people. They’re not.” He sighed out his old frustrations. “They’re more like dogs, though far less trainable. They only understand tone and action. They have no concept of right or wrong — only want.”
“If they can’t understand what they’re doing,” she objected, “then how can it be right to punish them at all?”
“Like I said: we try not to cull them.” Danyn shrugged as he gestured westward. “But once they start getting bold? It’s exactly the same as when an animal starts harassing everyone in a village. You can move them on, but if they’ve found an easy source of food, they’ll just come back… and they’ll multiply.”
His indifference made Saphienne so furious that she struggled to keep up her façade, and she walked off in the direction he’d indicated without a backward glance. Her voice was tight when she spoke again. “Maybe if they weren’t so desperate, they wouldn’t be such a nuisance.”
“And maybe if they weren’t so lazy and disorganised,” he countered, “they wouldn’t be so desperate all the time. But there’s no point expecting any more of them. It’s their nature to live sad, short lives on the world’s margins. Humans see them the same way, you know.”
She clenched her jaw. “…Well, we’re much more enlightened.”
“We are,” Danyn agreed as he caught up with her. “Which is why we don’t kill them on sight, or try to enslave them.”
Her eyes were the green of midnight groves. “I thought they weren’t trainable?”
“They’re not,” he smirked. “But humans aren’t exactly known for their wisdom.”
They descended the rise in silence.
When her temper had cooled, Saphienne knew she’d been too honest, and that she had to credibly signal her acceptance, asking herself what a believer in Our Lady of the Balanced Scales might say. “…‘Every morn and every night, some are born to sweet delight; some are born to sweet delight, and some are born to endless night’…”
Danyn was politely interested. “What’s that from?”
“An old poem I read. About mortals, and elves.”
“Sounds right to me.” He went ahead to examine the markings she had made on the banks of the stream. “They’re all fumbling around in the dark, unable to see things for what they are. Not their fault. Gods know why they’re made that way…” He glanced at her. “…Since you’re more religious than me: what do you think?”
She thought of Athidyn. “To remind us not to take our lives for granted.”
Danyn smiled. “I like that. Gives goblins a purpose.” The warden hopped across the stream, continuing on the opposite side to her. “You really are kind, aren’t you?”
That the girls in the protectorate had called her the same, when first they’d met, didn’t escape her notice. “So I’ve been told…”
* * *
Having taken far longer than the two hours Filaurel had allowed for, Saphienne expected that her mentor would be concerned. She half-hoped that the librarian would come to find her — that they’d run into each other on the way back to the meeting place, and so rescue her from making small talk with the Warden of the Wilds.
Alas, she wasn’t to be spared, and spent the remainder of the thirty minute journey finding anything other than goblins to talk about. She considered asking how the enchanted rod he’d fetched would find the ring, but showing too much interest, unprompted, risked being memorable. Besides, there would be opportunity to steer conversation toward it later.
Instead she asked about his duties as a Warden of a Wilds, and why the humans in the protectorate called them the Watchers of the Wilds.
“We avoid talking to outsiders as much as possible.” Danyn tapped the mask where it hung against his pack. “We’re not their friends. We’re not there to solve all their problems. We keep order, and them believing that we could be anywhere and everywhere, watching them — that makes humans better behaved.”
She empathised with them. “Do you at least like humans?”
The bluntness of her question made him laugh aloud. “I do, actually! I have a lot of time for the humans in the protectorate. They’re clumsy and superstitious and flawed in just about every way, but they’re humble enough to admit what’s in their own best interests.”
Yet Saphienne wasn’t fooled. “You think they’re children?”
“The better ones… the ones I respect.”
She tried chatting to him about more practical matters, learning that the wardens had encampments hidden throughout the protectorate. Their primary task was to catch anyone trying to sneak into or out of the territory, which by extension meant that they were protecting the woodlands from unwanted visitors; trouble usually fell on the protectorate before it reached the forest.
“Otherwise? We’re mainly watching out for runaways.” His tone grew playfully sardonic. “Or for curious rulebreakers, like you.”
She ignored the jibe. “I thought humans were free to leave?”
“Not in secret — but I wasn’t talking about them.” Her ignorance amused him. “I meant people trying to sneak out from the woodlands. There’s always one or two every century, and preventing them from getting themselves killed is–”
She blinked. “No one’s allowed to leave?”
“Children aren’t.” He tilted his head. “Not that you’d want to. And adults, they have to receive approval — demonstrate they know what they’re getting into. There’s always a few naïve idiots who want to go off on grand adventures…”
She nodded, as though they were foolish. “Most come back, then?”
“Quickly! The ones who don’t, they prove just how tough they really were.” His smirk was wan. “Whenever we lose someone out there, our rangers are sent to find them — now they’re tough! I couldn’t do what they do. I’ve heard they often end up rescuing people from vile circumstances… or retrieving the remains. A hard art to build your life on.”
There was no need for Saphienne to feign her shiver.
* * *
When they neared the camp she was spotted by Faylar, who shut the book he’d been reading and leapt up from the grass. “Saphienne! About time. How badly lost were y–”
All teasing ended when he saw the warden – masked once more – appear amid the foliage beside her.
“…Oh shit…” Faylar was caught between growing pale and blushing. He awkwardly covered for himself by turning toward the fire, where Filaurel and Cosme were sat drinking, Felipe listening from where the boy perched on the wagon. “Filaurel!”
She looked over and saw only Saphienne, the light flush on her cheeks suggesting that the wine was quite good. “¡Mira quién ha vuelto! What took you so long? Cosme’s been making me–”
Her sea green eyes widened as the warden touched his ring finger, and she set down her cup as she rose from the campfire and strode to him.
“Filaurel,” Saphienne said quietly, “this is–”
The Warden of the Wilds interrupted as he watched the humans. “Not here.”
Staring at her protégé with rising dread, Filaurel was far more sober than she had been mere moments before. She bid Faylar wait for them as she followed Danyn and Saphienne away from the clearing — leaving him to be approached by a concerned Felipe.
* * *
“…Goblins?”
Though intoxicated, Filaurel impressed Saphienne by how well she covered her relief with incredulous outrage.
“…At a shrine? The nerve of them…”
And equally impressive was the ease with which she portrayed herself as eminently responsible, while also pretending to be disappointed.
“…The protectorate? Saphienne! You promised me you wouldn’t…”
Unfortunately for Saphienne, not everything Filaurel expressed was an act.
“…You lost your ring?”
Meeting her gaze was harder than Saphienne expected. “Well, I–”
Yet Filaurel had been so convincing throughout that Danyn intervened. “Wasn’t her fault: goblins are terrible thieves. She did well enough running them off and fetching us — and losing the ring might even have done us a favour.”
The librarian kept glowering at Saphienne. “In what way?”
There the warden reached over his shoulder and pulled from his pack the much-anticipated enchanted rod, which was fashioned from dull grey metal encircled with bands of stylised digits, a colourless crystal set into its end. “We can track them when they’re in use. Mind showing me yours?”
The way Filaurel stared at Saphienne presaged a very long lecture to follow. She held out her hand to display the band of blackened ferns she’d put on once away from the glade. “Do you need me to take it off?”
“No.” Danyn was reading the order in its pattern. “They’re all given out in sets… and yours is first in sequence, which means your girl here was number two or three.” He twisted a set of digits, and then another, clicking through each until he had set them correctly. “I’ll find out which it was when I check the record. For now…”
The crystal immediately sparkled with a white glow, its light brightening as he pointed it toward Filaurel.
“…This’ll do. I can track any in the set that are in use.”
Planning ahead, Saphienne was curious about the enchantment. “How does it work?”
His shrug was disinterested. “No idea. Why’s it even matter?”
“Saphienne,” answered Filaurel as she crossed her arms, “is currently apprenticed to a wizard — she’s always trying to learn about magic.”
His masked head canted to the side. “That explains a lot. Aren’t you a little young?”
Needing more information than she had, Saphienne tried being helpful. “I was just wondering whether knowing the number of Faylar’s ring would help you find mine. If only three of them are in use, then–”
“Good idea!” He cheerfully clapped her on the shoulder. “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re more practical than most wizards — the ones we run into always have their heads in the clouds.”
She bowed and pulled away. “…I’ll fetch his ring.”
While walking to the clearing she heard Danyn address her mentor. “Your Saphiel is a good girl… bit of a bleeding heart, though…”
“Saphienne,” Filaurel corrected him. “And don’t let her sharp tongue fool you: she’s more talk than deed.”
Even though she knew Filaurel was protecting her, the words still stung.
* * *
Before she surrendered Faylar’s ring, Saphienne slipped it on as she approached, and when she was close enough to see the veiled elves she found that the light also increased with proximity. She removed the band to hand it over, confirming that the crystal immediately dimmed once the ring was no longer worn.
That was excellent; her revised plan was plausible.
* * *
Filaurel sent her back to Faylar, to whom Saphienne had explained nothing. He parted from Felipe to approach her — then stopped as she bade him remain. “Saphienne… what in the world is going on?”
She passed him his ring. “I lost mine.”
Felipe anxiously rubbed his wrist as the two elves joined him, distracted by Saphienne’s flower crown before he met her gaze. “Have we done something wrong? The other elf has horns…”
Remembering the nonsense they’d told him made Saphienne and Faylar share guilty smiles, and she shook her head. “This had nothing to do with you. I was visiting…” She hesitated as she remembered the warden could be approaching, unseen, but then plunged on regardless, unwilling to be a coward. “…I was visiting one of our shrines in the woodlands. There were goblins there, desecrating it, when I arrived.”
The gasp Faylar gave was excited. “Goblins! You got a good look at them? Were they the same as in the–”
“They were wretched.” She kept her expression neutral. “Starving and piteous. I shooed them from the shrine right away, but they ran off with something that belonged to me–”
“Your magic ring.” Felipe had inherited his father’s insight.
She pointedly ignored his remark. “…As I was saying: they ran off, and I had to go into the protectorate to find–”
“You went into the protectorate?” Faylar was stricken with envy.
Making him jealous was childish — which is why Saphienne enjoyed doing it. “Not too far; I met a group of human girls outside their village, and I sent one to have their ‘head man’ call for help. They told me about their lives while we waited.” She gave him a superior smile. “Their ancestors were all from the same place — the kingdom of Aiglant.”
Yet before Faylar recovered himself, Felipe chuckled. “They must have been more familiar to you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why? Because they were girls?”
He flushed in newfound self-awareness. “No! Because they descend from Aiglant.”
Nonplussed, both Saphienne and Faylar stared at him.
“…That look,” Felipe sighed. “Again, I have said something strange?”
“Why,” Saphienne asked, “would that make them more familiar?”
Now the boy stroked his chin. “…I assumed, because of your name? Are you not named in Aiglantois?”
Saphienne started laughing–
But Faylar didn’t join in. “Saphienne does have a very strange name… what makes you think it hails from Aiglant?”
“The ending?” Felipe’s voice cracked — nervous from the way Saphienne had frozen in place, blinking rapidly at both boys. “I do not know the proper way to say this in Elfish, but the ending ‘ien’ can be added to words in Aiglantois. The new word describes a related thing, or means ‘coming from’ or ‘belonging to’ the original word. The female ending is ‘ienne,’ like in your name.”
Faylar was thoughtful as he pondered her. “…Very few elven names begin with an ‘s.’ My mother said that elders think names with an ‘s’ in them are unlucky — that’s how my aunt convinced her to name me in an older style.”
Saphienne needed a moment to find her voice. “What,” she asked, “does ‘Saph’ mean in Aiglantois?”
“I do not know.” He’d grown uneasy. “Perhaps it is the name of a place? I could be mistaken. Unless someone in your family knows Aiglantois–”
Yet Filaurel emerged from the forest, no longer wearing her Ring of Misperception, and Felipe stopped talking with a bow.
* * *
“Must it be another year, before I behold your beauty once more?”
Cosme was disappointed that the elves were leaving, and the two bottles of wine he’d drank with Filaurel had made him slightly unsteady on his false leg, such that he swayed and leant on his son while he beseeched Filaurel.
“A year is little time for the ageless elves, but for Cosme of Tenerosa–”
“I’d prefer to wait two,” Filaurel cut him off, switching their banter to the common trade tongue. “But one year will have to suffice. Will you last that long?”
Cosme grinned his brilliant, crooked grin. “I’ve been told I have another fifteen — at least! Long enough to see this ne’er-do-well of an heir–” he nudged Felipe “–marry, and make me a proud grandfather.”
“God in his heavens forbid that my father take pride before then,” Felipe said under his breath.
“Poor boy,” Cosme said, sliding his arm around his shoulder and hugging him, “suffering with such rare dignity at the side of his father. Perhaps you’d rather save him the grief, Filaurel — and save me the trip? Only tell me that he can take my place, and the fair elf need never see the ugly Cosme again.”
Her outward breath was more exasperated than her sad smile. “No, Cosme. We’re not allowed to be patrons to the same family for longer than a generation. I’ve promised to inquire on his behalf — so ask no more.”
“Not even,” he tempted, “for another bottle?”
“Some things aren’t negotiable.”
“Now the day really is done,” Cosme moaned, “for the elf has begun to lie.”
Faylar stopped laughing long enough to wave to father and son. “Thank you for this meeting,” he told them. “I was pleased to be learning much about humans. Will you be coming here again next year, Felipe?”
“If I’m allowed,” hedged the son of the merchant. “A letter of recommendation to your watchers would be helpful…”
Saphienne had been given Filaurel’s pack and staff to carry, and she shifted under their weight as she waved too. “We will be seeing you if it is being permitted. I am hoping for it being so.”
Filaurel narrowed her eyes. “…If I allow you to come again. We’ll have to talk.”
Now Felipe gave each child a respectful bow. “It was wonderful to meet you both. Should we never meet again, please know: I will cherish my day with the elves Faylar and Saphienne for the rest of my life.”
Suddenly blinking back tears, Faylar turned away. “We should be off.”
“We should,” Filaurel agreed — and started a shallower bow to Cosme, contriving to lose her balance and dip a little lower than was proper before she righted herself. She spoke in Elfish. “May your lives be long and happy, Felipe of Tenerosa, and Cosme of Tenerosa.”
Cosme nudged his son again. “See how she addresses you first? My time is done.”
Filaurel smiled as she led the elves from the campsite. “Las cosas más bellas siempre llegan al final, mi guapo Cosme.”
Whatever she told him, Cosme’s roaring laughter still followed at their heels when they were far away from the wagon.
* * *
Once the trio had retrieved their belongings and changed – Saphienne placing the ring inside the pouch that held her coin – they began their trek back to where they had put up their tent the night before, Filaurel humming to herself.
As much as Saphienne knew she was being immature, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed that Filaurel was slightly drunk. “Did you have to drink a whole bottle?”
“I’m not your mother,” her mentor thoughtlessly replied. “I only drink on special occasions — and wine from the north of Aiglant is some of the best that humans make. Let me enjoy myself for one day a year.”
Stunned by her behaviour, Faylar coughed. “…I see you’re the one who taught Saphienne to be prickly, too.”
Confused, Filaurel glanced back at the children following her — and saw Saphienne brooding. Her rosy flush crept up to her ears. “I didn’t mean that, the way it came out–”
“Of course you didn’t.” Saphienne pursed her lips. “You’re just drunk. And I’m used to it… I live with Lynnariel.”
Filaurel stopped walking.
Saphienne carried on by–
And was enfolded in her mentor’s arms, who only hugged her more tightly when she tried to pull free. “I’m sorry; I’m a prick when I’m drunk.”
The scent of the alcohol on Filaurel’s breath, together with the warmth of her insistent embrace, made being held very conflicting for Saphienne. “…Was it really that good?”
Now the librarian grinned, and took her hand as they strolled on. “Most elves don’t care much for human wine. Consider it an acquired taste.”
Intrigued, Faylar matched their pace. “And when did you acquire it? You seem to speak Hareñol fluently.”
“A very long time ago.” Her eyes were wistful. “I spent years in Hareña, Aiglant… all over the kingdoms.”
Saphienne studied her from the corner of her eyes as she calculated a reasoned estimate. “Fifty to sixty years isn’t that long ago — not to most adults.”
“It wasn’t only–” Filaurel shut her mouth.
Now Saphienne stopped walking as she stared up at her mentor. “…Wasn’t only sixty years? But you’re a hundred and sixty.”
“You are? Really?” Faylar followed Saphienne’s logic. “But you would have been…”
Gently disengaging from them, Filaurel tried to move on. “We’ll be putting up the tent in the dark if we dawdle.”
Yet both her companions remained where they stood, Saphienne crossing her arms.
“Filaurel,” she said, “how old were you when you left the woodlands?”
The librarian rubbed her temples.
Now Faylar folded his arms as well. “…You know, something odd came up when we were talking to Felipe. He couldn’t believe we were younger than him. He’d heard that elves take a century to reach adulthood, so surely we must grow much slower than humans. And I’ve been thinking…” His gaze sharpened. “…Everything else in that book of his was complete fantasy. But that detail was exactly correct. Then, when we tried to explain to Felipe? Physical maturity, mental maturity, and social maturity?”
Saphienne finished his thought. “…Felipe asked what more growing there was to do, once we were physically and mentally mature. He’s going to be a man at eighteen…”
Before them, Filaurel stared up at the sky, exactly as though she were still trapped across the folding table from Cosme.
Now Saphienne reflected on what the warden had told her. “Elven children aren’t allowed to leave the woodlands. Even adults have to prove they know what they’re doing — and the Wardens of the Wilds catch anyone trying to leave without approval.”
“Both of you,” Filaurel quietly said, “need to drop this subject.”
“Fuck that!” Faylar snapped. “This whole trip has been very strange. I thought you just agreed to take me along so I’d teach Saphienne, but today you took the time to explain all about worth in coins. That was a big inconvenience to you and Cosme.”
Adjusting the staff in the crook of her arm, Saphienne started, fearful, as she remembered the mugwort. “…Maybe we should let it go, Faylar.”
Yet the spirit on the stave had been listening. “Thou needest not me fear, and silenced be, for I recall be–”
“Stop!” Filaurel glared at the creaking spirit. “Not another word. I’ll tell!”
“Tellest thou, then, she.”
Saphienne’s head swung back and forth between them. “Tell who? Me? What do you want Filaurel to tell–”
But the librarian closed the distance and snatched the stave from her hand, shaking it angrily as she rebuked the old bloomkith. “This isn’t a joke! These are inappropriate matters for children — we’re not going to discuss them!”
“We are,” Faylar insisted, “or I’m going to tell my mother how you left us unsupervised with a human boy — who told us all sorts of interesting things. For instance, that there are other–”
He wheezed as Saphienne elbowed him in his chest.
Filaurel’s mouth had fallen open. “…Faylar. Did you just threaten me?”
He missed his kick at Saphienne’s shin as he fought for breath. “Ma– maybe?”
Planting the staff, Filaurel sniffed, trying to sober herself. “I didn’t think you had it in you… Saphienne, now she’d blackmail me, if she didn’t love me… but you? Aren’t you always trying to please people?”
No longer winded, he stood deliberate poise and rolled back his shoulders. “I get it from her. Saphienne’s a good teacher.”
Who was, right then, both horrified at him, and immensely proud.
“Apparently she is…” Filaurel was smiling despite herself. “…Fuck. You better hope nobody is watching.”
There the mugwort shivered, and a powerful wind blew from the staff and circled the area like a gathering storm, blowing high and low as the spirit sought out any sign they were being observed. Before long the flower trembled, and the voice spoke again. “Alone thou art, these wilds far from the path.”
Reluctantly, Filaurel sank down upon the grass, pulling her knees up against her chest. She kept her voice very low. “Sit down.”
And so Saphienne and Faylar did, aware that they were beyond the point of return; and Filaurel whispered throughout all she told them.
* * *
You need to understand: you can’t change this. The consensus of the woodlands is the what it is, and the Wardens of the Wild will enforce it… even against their children. You’re not supposed to know whatever you’ve learned, and I’m not going to say anything out loud.
You’re not going to, either. Never. Keep your thoughts to yourself. You can’t be sure who could be listening in: few spirits are as forgiving as the two with us today.
You’re right; good for you! Humans are adults by the age of eighteen, give or take, and elves grow at the same rate. But the age of social maturity… once upon a time, long ago, that age wasn’t a century.
Not until the consensus raised it.
I don’t know the reasons given. I’m not sure they were written down. I couldn’t tell you whether it happened with unanimous consent, or an overwhelming majority, or by the elders invoking their privilege. What is taught today is that children need take a century to acclimatise themselves to the elven way of life — that’s what makes them full adults.
There’s more to it, but you’ll learn about the rest when you’re eighteen. What matters is that you don’t have to like this arrangement, but you do have to accept it — there’s no other choice. If you try to speak out, or cause any disruption that threatens the consensus? You’ll be on your own.
Saphienne, in the best case? You’d never be allowed anywhere near magic.
And Faylar? Your mother would be the one to come for you — or she’d be suspected.
If you think you’re closer to adulthood than the woodlands say you are, then you need to grow up very quickly.
* * *
Saphienne contemplated her mentor through fresh eyes. “You know a lot of secrets.”
“I do.”
“Because you’re charged with keeping them.” She remembered that Filaurel did during meetings of the local consensus, and realised the true meaning of the word. “That’s why you usually take down the minutes… why you’re the secretary.”
“Few remember that secret-ary once meant ‘keeper of secrets’ in Elfish.” She smiled humourlessly. “Every village librarian oversees the recording of minutes. Anyone can write them for ordinary meetings… but only the secretary attends special meetings.”
Faylar had been paying close attention. “You censor books.”
“Not on my own.” She inclined her head. “I discuss them with my fellow librarians, and every so often–”
“The head librarian of the Luminary Vale,” Saphienne groaned. “That’s why you’re under their supervision…”
“One of several reasons.”
Faylar brushed his hair behind his ears. “I can see why you brought Saphienne along… but why bring me?”
“You were right.” Her smile became warmer. “At least at first; I wanted Saphienne to learn the common trade tongue before I met Cosme again. But I hadn’t planned on this until very recently, so I needed you to teach her quickly — and that required an incentive.”
Faylar frowned. “At first?”
Now Filaurel sat back and let down her hair, shaking her long, sheer strands to fan out about her shoulders. “I want to ask you a question, and I need to you be mature enough to take it seriously, even though it’s painful.” She commanded his gaze. “What will your chosen art be, if you’re not allowed to become a wizard?”
He held his breath as he beheld her design. “…Really?”
“If you’d consider it,” she nodded. “Thanks to your mother’s chosen art, you’d be very well placed to assume my role… eventually. And if you do gain an apprenticeship in wizardry? I’ll have given you the same preparation as I gave Saphienne.”
Saphienne was amazed. “You want Faylar to be your new apprentice?”
“Why not?” She giggled, a little more deeply than usual due to the wine. “He’s always hanging around the library — and Faylar, surely your mother’s pestering you about finding a new apprenticeship?”
“A little.” He was lost in surmise at it all. “But why? Really — why me?”
“You saw something in Saphienne… and she saw something in you.” Her grin was wicked. “And the two of you have clearly been up to no good! I haven’t pried into your personal affairs, but I’m not oblivious.”
Filaurel’s eyes drifted to the flower crown as she laid out what she knew. “Saphienne mysteriously gains a guardian spirit? One who – so I’m told – is just as brilliant and difficult? And this happens not long after you two caused a commotion in the library with Iolas — while translating the sylvan tongue? I saw you three hurrying out.”
Saphienne slowly deflated. “…You guessed that Faylar’s got to be a bit like me…”
“A little.” Shameless, she climbed to her feet. “I wanted to use this journey to get a feel for who you really are, Faylar, and decide whether you were capable of separating what you say and do from what you think. I have — and you are.”
Faylar rose as well. “I’ve a question.”
“Ask it.”
“You don’t agree with the consensus.” He stated it as an assertion, daring her to deny it before he continued. “You’re far more open-minded about humans and other things than the rest of the woodlands… so why enforce it?” He stepped closer, the urgency of his question driving him. “Why are you censoring books, and keeping secrets from everyone, and behaving like it all makes sense? My mother believes in what she does.”
Sorrow filled her as she touched the enchantment concealed on her chest. “Because this is the only place we belong. The people of the woodlands are our people, for better or for worse. We’re wood elves, Faylar: and elves of our kind don’t age. You don’t yet understand the horror of that — and the loneliness that would come, if you tried to live apart.”
Saphienne joined them, full of recrimination and compassion as she hugged herself and thought of Kylantha. “Do you think the woodlands will ever change?”
“I hope so.” She didn’t. “But what else is there?”
Her potential apprentice had one last question for her. “Why do they believe in you? You left the woodlands. You’re the last person I’d trust, to uphold it all.”
That question made Filaurel grin. “You’d think so… but sometimes the best person to keep a secret is someone who already knows. Sometimes the person you can trust to do the right thing is someone who once did the wrong thing, and lived to regret it. And…” She laughed as she uprooted the staff, “What else could they do with me? I came back, on my own, long after I’d persuaded them to let me be. What can you do with a difficult child?”
Yet Saphienne was unconvinced. Behind all Filaurel’s well-rehearsed smiles lurked another reason, more to her story than she was sharing–
Filaurel saw she knew. Her gaze pleaded with Saphienne: let sleeping dragons lie.
For anyone else, she would never have relented… but Filaurel had been right.
Saphienne loved Filaurel.
End of Chapter 71
Comments
Tarmandan
So I was reading something else when I had a thought (I had the first ideas of this thought already at the end of the last chapter, but just now it "clicked" so to speak.) And I already saw that the new chapter just dropped but I don't have the time to read it right now, sigh. Anyways, what just clicked, which I will have to double check but lack the time right now, is that Saphienne never confirmed the goblins taking the ring. I think. She just realised it was missing. And now it is back. The idea that briefly floated around my head was that maybe the gods ARE real. The symolism of how the ring is returned to Saph would fit that outline. And now me remembering that Saph only ever assumed the goblins took it but didn't know for certain, makes this more likely. I look forward to finding out, alongside Saphienne, if the gods really aren't real like she thinks or if she one day finds out (and we alongside her) that she is wrong about them not existing. Sorry for the kind of flow of thought message, that is because of time constraints. And the lack of formatting is because I can't figure out how to do paragraphs in patreon comments when on phone. (Funnily the chapter I was reading was about a dragon, one of the latest Shining Wyrm chapters if you know that story)
Claire Hiria Ahuriri-Dunning
“And don’t let her sharp tongue fool you: she’s more talk than deed.” “I’m not your mother” - DAAAAMN Filaurel! Also omg fascinating about Saphienne's name, I can't wait to unpack that!! typo: His missed his kick at Saphienne’s shin as he fought for breath. “Ma– maybe?”
