L. J. Amber
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TEWWBAD Chapter 57
🕑 Added 2025-06-24 11:00:11 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 57 – She Who Made the Desert Bloom
No deep conversation followed when the three apprentices arrived at Celaena’s house; they were all too tired and shaken by their lesson on Fascination. Saphienne imagined that the others felt much as she did, that they wanted to be apart yet not alone as the terrible implications sank in. She was grateful to Celaena for somewhere to sleep other than her family home. The last thing she needed was the presence of her mother…
Celaena loaned Saphienne nightwear and showed her to one of the guest bedrooms, though she admitted she had nothing to spare for Iolas as she led him to the next room over.
“I’ll just sleep in my clothes,” he mumbled. “Who gives a damn…”
Lips twisted in wry amusement, Saphienne shut the ornate door to her bedroom for the night, studying the golds and blues that comprised the ostentatious décor she found within. There was no doubt that Celaena’s father wanted to impress whoever stayed there, the wizard having contrived the colour and shape of the furnishings to remind her of rolling sand beneath an open sky. Even the glittering pillows were arranged on the bed like dunes in the desert sketches that had enthralled her when she was little.
And when she dimmed the lamp? The blue ceiling and walls darkened, and hallucinatory stars softly twinkled.
Saphienne kicked off her shoes, discarded her robes and undergarments, then lifted the cotton gown she had been given — before dropping it to the floor. She slipped into the large bed unclothed, feeling the cool, sheer sheets against her skin, and breathed out as she studied the false heavens, reading in their constellations the haunting faces that another wizard had too recently revealed.
She expected she would sleep little.
* * *
In fact, Saphienne slept quite soundly.
A knock upon her door woke her. “Saphienne?”
She discovered she was buried under the pillows, excavating herself to see afternoon sunlight was streaming through the windows. Sitting up – and remembering she was naked – she pulled the covers up to preserve her modesty. “Who is it?”
“Laewyn. Um, I have tea?”
Saphienne didn’t remember Laewyn being present when she arrived; she wondered whether Celaena had invited her over before their lesson. “You can come in…”
Dressed in her clothes from the bakery, Laewyn carried a familiar wicker basket with her when she entered. She slowed halfway into the room – her gaze resting on the discarded nightgown and underclothes on the floor – and her brows rose in amusement as she came over to sit on the edge of the bed and pass the cup she held to Saphienne. “Wild night?”
Keeping the sheet in place, Saphienne sipped the strong tea. “…I’m presuming that’s meant to be a joke about sex.”
“Not literally.” Laewyn rolled her eyes. “It’s just something funny to say. I never thought you would be the type to sleep nude.”
“I usually wouldn’t.” The brew made her ears stand taller, and she yawned as she felt tiredness leave her.
“Couldn’t resist the silk?” The older girl grinned as she opened the basket. “I did the same thing, the first time I stayed over.”
That admission made Saphienne frown. “Didn’t Celaena visit you that–”
“Gods, why do you remember this stuff?” Laewyn had turned bright crimson, and petulantly tossed an apple pastry to Saphienne without care for whether she caught it. “And why point it out?”
Although she could have caught the treat, Saphienne chose to let it land nearby, carefully setting her cup in her lap before she retrieved it. “I just didn’t think the two of you were doing that then.”
“We weren’t doing–” Laewyn narrowed her eyes. “…What do you mean, then?”
Saphienne smiled as she bit into the pastry.
The older girl glared. “…Ass.”
“You sound like Celaena.” She talked as she chewed. “Who sounds like Faylar — or maybe the other way around.” Then her eyes widened as she remembered: Faylar had been expecting her at the library yesterday.
“She definitely learned it from him.” Laewyn wasn’t paying attention to her, still indecisive about which of the other baked sweets to have for herself. “She might joke about Iolas being polite, but you should have seen how formal she was the first time she came into the bakery… oh, and Iolas is still asleep. Celaena went back to bed. You three had wizard stuff last night?”
Grateful she was eating, Saphienne covered her pause by swallowing. “Our lesson had to be held at night.”
“Reading futures in the stars?” Laewyn had selected a doughy square glazed in frosted, dripping syrup, and didn’t bother to catch the beads as they fell on the bedding. “Do you think you could read mine?”
Tea once more in her hand, Saphienne sighed. “No — and don’t ever ask anyone to divine your future. Trust me.”
“No fun.” She reached out and took Saphienne’s tea from her, sipped from the cup as the younger girl watched in astonishment, then went to hand it back. “Guess I’ll just stick with baking for now.”
Saphienne hesitated, remained dubious about the teacup even while she accepted it. “…Your master seems content to keep you on for now.” She wondered whether anything had transferred to the rim, or even the dark liquid below, then shrugged, and rotated the teacup a quarter turn before she drank deeply.
“She mentioned that you stopped by. Spoke approvingly–”
“Laewyn,” Saphienne cut her off, “why did you make me tea?”
As though the answer were obvious, she shook the basket. “Um, I wanted to eat? And it’s not like I could bother Iolas — what if he’d been naked?”
The slightly distracted look in Laewyn’s eyes made Saphienne smirk. “I think he’d be terrified of you. But, come to think of it, I don’t even know whether–”
“He likes girls.” Laewyn had convinced herself. “He’s just as reserved as Celaena was befo– don’t give me that look!” Noticing Saphienne’s expression flustered her. “…I’m not going to…”
Sitting forward, Saphienne tightly tucked the sheet under her arms so she could hold her cup with both hands while she leant in. “But would you want to? With Iolas?”
Amazement swept across Laewyn’s face — which subsided into a happy, conspiratorial smile. “You’re full of surprises.”
“Are you going to answer? Or are you going to tell me I’m too young to–”
“As if.” She set the basket aside. “You’re only, what, about a year and a half younger than me? There’s only a few months between me and Celaena.”
That was a revelation to Saphienne. “I thought she was sixteen?”
“Barely. Celaena turned sixteen in late winter; I turn sixteen near the end of summer.”
Revelation gave way to astonishment. “You’re younger than her?”
Laewyn laughed. “Is it my height? Or let me guess — all the wine?”
Saphienne diplomatically finished her tea.
“…You don’t have any other friends who are girls, do you?” The older girl – though slightly less older than Saphienne had thought – already knew the answer. “I see. You’re figuring things out, about yourself?”
“No.” Saphienne hadn’t expected the focus of the conversation to turn around on her, and she felt uncomfortably hot. “…Or, well… I don’t know. I don’t feel like I’m interested in boys — or even girls. Faylar said–”
“Um, ignore whatever he said.” Laewyn rolled her head, and fell back on the bed. “Everyone experiences attraction differently. There’s a huge difference between how most boys feel interested, and how most girls do.” Her gaze flicked to Saphienne. “Do you know about the, um, physical side of things?”
Now Saphienne was scarlet. “…I read a little. I think I understand.”
“Then I’ll put it like this: most boys experience attraction through arousal, but most girls experience arousal with attraction.” She squinted into the blue. “Or that’s what I was told. Have you ever felt–”
“Not for a person.” Saphienne slid deeper under the covers.
“That doesn’t mean you won’t. You probably just need to meet someone, get to know them, realise that you like them before you know you want them.” She smiled softly to herself. “That what you desired to know?”
“…Is it different? Liking boys, to girls?”
Laewyn giggled and rolled onto her stomach. “Are you asking about attraction, or are you curious about the physical side?”
Unable to flee, Saphienne covered herself entirely.
“The attraction feels the same for both, to me. I’m maybe a bit like a boy… I know when I find someone interesting.” Saphienne could hear her grin, and heard as it subsided into a gentler smile. “And for the rest… Celaena is my first girlfriend. I’ve never had a boyfriend.”
Saphienne peered out from her cocoon. “But have you–”
“Gods, Saphienne.” Laewyn laughed loudly. “No! Celaena is my first… and it’s only been a few days…”
Her vulnerability drew Saphienne out as well. “…And?”
Planting her face on the covers, Laewyn held her breath; her voice was muffled when she finally spoke. “It’s overwhelming… in a good way… but not worth rushing into.” She managed to look up. “If you’re not feeling like you want to? Don’t chase it.”
Hearing similar advice from someone closer to her own age helped; Saphienne felt her worries subside.
“Is this because of the solstice festival?”
Her memory of Gaeleath’s statue was unwelcome. “It crossed my mind.”
“Saphienne.” Laewyn pushed herself up, and reached out to touch her ankle through the sheet as she sat and composed herself. “I’m not going to lie: we’re not supposed to be getting drunk or fucking before we’re eighteen, but some of us don’t want to wait. My mother told me not to ever do anything because I feel like I have to — only because I want to. And I didn’t want to until I met Celaena, not really… even if I thought about it.”
She envied Laewyn’s upbringing. “I think I understand.”
“I’m excited for the solstice too, but…” Laewyn bit her lip. “Um, whatever happens after sunset, you have to be eighteen to be allowed to attend, which isn’t being forced to attend, and things are still separated by age. That’s what I’ve heard, at least.” She squeezed her leg. “As for us? If there’s anyone our age sneaking off to secret, illicit revels in the dusk… just don’t go along? You don’t have to do what you don’t want. I don’t even know if I want to. Celaena’s thinking about hosting after sunset.”
Confused, Saphienne asked “Hosting what?”
“Um, a children’s night?” Laewyn saw that she didn’t understand. “Under fourteen, everyone attends events arranged by the adults, right? Puppet shows and stuff? Well, between fourteen and eighteen, we’re allowed to entertain ourselves — so long as we can find a chaperone.” Her expression glowed with anticipation. “Celaena wants us to have everyone over here on the main night of the festival. Everyone who matters, anyway. She’s written to her father for permission, and is going to ask Madris if she’ll be our chaperone.”
The prospect of spending an evening relaxing with friends was more appealing to Saphienne than whatever revelries lurked in the woods, and far more so than being at her family home when her father was visiting. “Do you think…”
“What?”
“Do you think I’d be welcome?”
Laewyn’s howls of laughter were loud enough to rouse Iolas. Who was, as a matter of fact, entirely clothed.
* * *
Once Laewyn had gone off with Iolas to make more tea, Saphienne slid out of bed and back into her clothes from the day before, feeling more herself in her robes. She wasn’t sure why she had opened up to Laewyn; perhaps she admired her carefree behaviour, or wanted to be closer to her since they were now both close to Celaena. She also reflected that she had to stay on good terms with her, since the girl had been present for everything that had unfolded in the hidden clearing, and could cause a lot of problems for the apprentices.
That stilled Saphienne, making her perch on the bed after she finished dressing in her inner robes. Was this who she was becoming — a manipulative wizard? Did drawing close to Laewyn count as manipulative, now that she had realised she needed her friendship? The fact that she actually liked her, and that their conversation had been mostly honest, sat incongruously with the open question of Saphienne’s motives.
Yet, she had motives, plural, for wanting to be her friend. So long as she focused on the ones that weren’t self-interested… would those balance out the selfish ones? Perhaps, Saphienne considered, her reasons were less important than how she treated Laewyn; intentions hardly mattered. Her own mother had plenty of good intentions–
“…Fuck.”
Saphienne grabbed a pillow from the bed, held it over her mouth, and screamed.
But screaming didn’t make her feel any better, and she was still left with the unavoidable mess that was her relationship to her mother. Especially having now witnessed the murdered spectres, with mothers and daughters among the dead… how she felt toward Lynnariel was boiling up inside her, threatening to overflow at the slightest provocation. And Saphienne was especially prickly — eager for provocation, any excuse to vent her frustration at what she couldn’t resolve.
Saphienne wanted to hate her mother.
But she didn’t, and she didn’t know why.
Everything about their relationship told her that her mother was a bad person, and neglectful to the point of harm. She had done nothing to prepare Saphienne for the challenges life was throwing at her — all Saphienne knew came from independent study and observation, in which Filaurel had well-schooled her. The only things she’d observed from Lynnariel were how to get drunk before noon and lose herself in fantasy. Her mother’s expressions of care toward her were entirely performative–
“…Fuck.”
That was what rankled her, what festered inside. Her mother did care about her, and even Filaurel had said as much: that Lynnariel showed how she felt ‘as best’ she could, even though she didn’t know how to love someone, or what love actually meant. Saphienne could feel what she needed from her mother by its absence, aware of the hole in her heart since Kylantha was taken away. Superficial affection wasn’t what she wanted. Nor was the fantasy of a mother who had time and interest in her.
And yet, and yet… her mother had tried to connect. She had tried to share. She had even shown consideration for her interests, and had tried to make her feel better when she thought Saphienne was disappointed in herself.
She wanted to be Saphienne’s mother. She intended to be a good mother.
But it just wasn’t enough.
…And Saphienne still loved her, and hated that she did.
Most of all, Saphienne resented those fleeting glimpses of herself in her mother that she was beginning to catch, for she dared not contemplate what they actually meant — dared not contemplate the truth of who between them had bequeathed her nature to the other, whether through the sympathies of time and space or through semblance alone. All she could admit, as she sat in the desert of that guest room, was that she wanted to hate her mother, resented being her daughter, and rejected any sympathy of identity between them.
She didn’t want to be Lynnariel’s daughter.
It was just very unfortunate, that Lynnariel was her mother.
That injustice found expression through her lips. “I shouldn’t have to ask Laewyn…”
Saphienne let the pillow fall to the floor.
* * *
There were no answers for her that day, not about her mother. Saphienne soon resolved to continue with Lynnariel as before; her twelfth birthday had taught her that only pain could follow from daring to hope for anything more.
Yet there were answers to other questions. As Saphienne adjusted her belt and bent to lift her outer robes, something tumbled onto the floor.
She blinked. A small plant bulb wobbled in front of her as it settled, encrusted with dry soil. She had no idea where it came from.
Reflexively checking the pockets of her outer robes, Saphienne found no indication that she had been carrying it; yet it had very clearly fallen from her clothes. Small though it was, there was no way that the bulb could have been caught up in them by accident, which meant that someone had placed it–
There was dirt in the bottom of her hood.
Intrigued, Saphienne lifted the plant from the floor and thought very carefully.
Her smile slowly sprouted, like a well-prepared flowerbed.
She had placed it in her own hood. Yesterday — when Almon had her working in his garden, alongside his other apprentices. That was what they had spent the time doing… while her past self had been reasoning how to circumvent the Fascination spell.
The wizard would surely have cleaned their clothes with magic afterward, casting a spell much like the enchantment upon the emerald Rod of Cleansing owned by Celaena. Were he suspicious, he would also have searched them for any notes they had written to themselves, which meant he almost certainly checked over Saphienne with a divination… and she would have anticipated all of this, she now concluded. Past Saphienne would likely have written a note and secreted it upon herself in a clever place, knowing it would be found, intending that the wizard’s magic find it, and so convince him she had been thwarted.
But unless his Divination spell were to have been especially well constructed, there would have been a chance that Almon might miss the bulb; it was not a message in and of itself. What Saphienne now read in its presence was all assembled from context and focused insight, and she was more gifted with insight than Almon, which meant there had to have been a possibility that he could not have imagined her approach. She had been right, and his divination had failed.
Lifting the token of victory, Saphienne weighed it on her hand. Her plan could easily have collapsed, had she raised her hood…
Why hadn’t she? Her past self had obviously wagered that she was unlikely to wear her hood, given that she preferred to feel the rain and wind. But she couldn’t have accounted for the pressure to conform that arose later, during their walk — when Iolas had copied Almon, and then Celaena had copied Iolas, leaving only Saphienne with her hood down. She remembered feeling wary about her surroundings…
…Or had she, on some level, been afraid she was about to be exposed?
Saphienne didn’t know for sure, but she suspected that she’d unconsciously remembered there was a bulb in her hood, and that it was important she not reveal it. Which begged the question of what else she might remember, locked away from her by the Fascination spell, yet not entirely lost…
Then she laughed, overjoyed by her past self, as she realised one last detail:
She was holding an immature hyacinth bulb.
And she had no way of knowing that! She had never seen one before — had only glimpsed a mature bulb caked in fresh dirt, had only scrutinised botanical sketches that focused on the interior. There was no way she could be sure it was a hyacinth bulb, and yet she was certain.
So, too, she was confident that her past self had cut it off from its parent bulb in the conviction that she would later try to identify it. The type of bulb was another layer to the message, another chance for her to realise she had placed it on herself. If she had taken the most logical step, and asked a sylvan spirit about it? Hyacinth would have recognised her namesake, and based on where they had met, would perhaps have identified it as coming from Almon’s garden, whose hyacinths she had worn at least three times before.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” Saphienne murmured.
Fuck the cruel lessons of the Luminary Vale, she had surely thought. Fuck being powerless against magic, and fuck being made to feel violated. Even now, as she marvelled at her own accomplishment, the revelation of the preceding night didn’t change that sentiment, for all that she better understood why her people insisted on it.
Of course Almon, and all the wizards before him, believed cruelty was necessary. So had the cults that once taught the founders of the Luminary Vale. How could they ever divine another way, a way that was truly kind, if degrees of cruelty were all that elves and spirits had known?
And speaking of spirits…
Saphienne slipped the bulb into her pocket. She was due to have a conversation, one that she only now realised she had been putting off.
Iolas thought Hyacinth was bad for her. Perhaps he was right.
But if that was a lesson she had to learn, Saphienne needed to teach herself.
End of Chapter 57
An important note to readers:
I hope you are all aware by now that I've studied child developmental psychology. I'm not an expert, not in the least, but I took the time to do the research to learn the ins and outs of how children grow into adults: how it ought to go, and problems that can arise along the way.
I am painfully aware that there are a lot of writers out there who have less than noble intentions when writing about children. Their repulsive impression has set a precedent that the rest of us have to navigate around.
As this work publishes a chapter at a time, it is very reasonable to have qualms about what future chapters may hold; I have indicated elsewhere that sexual content may eventually feature (and my Patreon is marked for adults only).
To ease any minor anxieties you may have, I'm going to be direct: no explicitly or implicitly sexual activity occurs with Saphienne while she is in her childhood (i.e. before she turns eighteen). And to be crystal clear, adult Saphienne is not the same person as child Saphienne, not psychologically or physically, as you will come to see. The transition between the phases of her life is, I believe, deftly executed, so by the time adult Saphienne is navigating life as an adult, the story feels believably distinct.
The reason the story touches on sexuality, not sexual activity, in Saphienne's transitionary years is because it's an important part of our lives — whether or not we ourselves experience sexual attraction. Sex matters to social bonds. Without spelling out the arc for Saphienne, having people like Laewyn and Celaena and Faylar and Iolas navigating these waters around her informs on who Saphienne is, and her differing experience to them is a core part of her story.
I hope I have earned your trust, and that you know this story proceeds with sensitivity, nuance, and in good taste. Life is a very big and challenging subject to write about, and so I am very mindful of the impact of my writing on the lives of my readers. I tread softly.
Comments
Claire Hiria Ahuriri-Dunning
I was wondering when we'd see Hyacinth next!
