Saphienne and Celaena found Iolas waiting for them outside the bakery, still plucking flowers from his robes as he leant next to the wide window. Saphienne settled next to him while Celaena went inside.

  They said nothing for a time; the grove was quiet, still yet hours away from the afternoon rush when most elves socialised and collected their provisions. The only other people on the street were four adults, chatting amiably together outside one of the storehouses.

  Glancing through the window – to where Celaena was stretched across the counter to speak with her unseen friend – made Saphienne remember a question for Iolas. “Why did you go on ahead?”

  He was surprised she didn’t know. “I was forewarning Celaena’s… well, whatever they really are to each other: I was forewarning her friend that our lessons today were difficult, and that Celaena really needed her company. Knowing how Celaena can be, I told her not to ask about what happened.”

  Saphienne saw the sense in it. “You know her well, then? The friend.”

  “…No.” Iolas rubbed his cheek. “I’m ashamed to say it, but I’m not even confident I remember her name. Maewyn? No… Laewyn, maybe?”

  “Then, how could you be sure–”

  “I’ve seen how they are together.” He shrugged. “She cares about Celaena. That should be enough. And anyway — Celaena knew what I was going to do, and she didn’t stop me when she had the chance.” He looked across his shoulder, as-yet unnoticed flowers in his hood bobbing, then smiled at whatever he saw inside. “Her friend appreciated it.”

  Saphienne hugged herself and gazed ahead. Socially, for all that she had cheered up Celaena, she still felt clumsy and awkward in comparison to Iolas.

  Unfortunately, he misread her body language. “Since we have the chance to talk… how are you doing, Saphienne?”

  “Fine.” She answered a little too quickly for it to be true.

  “…If you say so. I’m not.”

  Turning her head, she saw he was being honest, weariness causing his ears to droop. Her first thought was to reassure him. “We got through it, together. You heard what we were told: we did better than–”

  “Not that.” Iolas sighed, dismayed by what he had learned. “You know I want to heal people? Invocation is the discipline best suited to healing… but, clearly, it’s also the most dangerous.”

  “Is it?” Saphienne thought it through. “What about Transmutation?”

  “Transmutation? I can’t see immediate danger in–” He realised what she was asking. “…You mean, is Transmutation better for healing?”

  “Well, I don’t see where else healing would fall in the magical disciplines.” She squinted as she studied him, her mind on the puzzle. “Based on what we’ve learned so far, I don’t think you can conjure health. Hallucination and Fascination are about deception and compulsion, which might help with pain, but has nothing to do with healing. Translocation moves things. Divination might help you diagnose ailments. Abjuration protects…” She thought about Filaurel in her fern-patterned mask. “…But can you abjure a disease?”

  “…Maybe?” His eyes had widened as he listened to her.

  “Well,” she concluded, “Transmutation changes the state of things, so healing seems like it would fall under that discipline.”

  The ambiguous way Iolas smiled as he looked away made Saphienne fret for a moment. “You know,” he said, softly, “I didn’t want an answer to my worries. I was just sharing…” He laughed, once, and tilted his head back. “…But, that helped. And it explains why Invocation gets used for healing so often, doesn’t it? Why priests are more common as healers, than wizards?”

  A little unsure, she shrugged her shoulders shallowly. “I can see your logic. If you need different disciplines to accomplish different effects for healing, focusing on the discipline that can do them all would make sense… as long as the spirits you’re invoking are benevolent.”

  “Spirits of healing usually are.” He frowned again. “You know, day-to-day, priests mostly invoke the spirits of the woodlands for healing… that isn’t the first one I’ve ever seen, but I’ve never seen one behave like that.” He shivered at the memory, then turned to her. “Saphienne… is it possible, that our master was telling the truth? That sometimes you have to be cruel, to be kind?”

  As she studied her own shadow in his uncertain eyes, the emotion that had led Saphienne to become a wizard’s apprentice shifted again, roused from its slumber beneath all that had accumulated in her heart. Her voice was hard. “No. No, Iolas, I do not.”

  He closed his eyes, nodding. “I agree,” he said. “It rings false, like a justification. But, I don’t understand how a spirit of healing could–”

  “Are all spirits of the woodlands healing spirits? Is she a spirit of healing? Do we know that?” Saphienne found it hard to imagine. “And even if she is — was she acting freely when she came to us, or was she compelled to behave that way? How much was the spirit, how much was our master,” she begrudged Almon his title, “and how much was decreed by the Luminary Vale?”

  “…No idea.”

  She stared across the grove, to where the group of elves chatted. She felt herself settle down, stilled by envy at their easy smiles, inexpressibly saddened by her own ambiguous place in life. “Spirits can be compelled. People, too. But whoever is responsible… it was wrong. Cruelty is wrong.”

  Iolas watched with her as he brooded. “…People justify what happens to them. My father told me that, once. Good or bad, fortune or calamity — people need a reason. They’ll claim their suffering served a greater purpose. That life’s cruelties have a point.” He crossed his arms, rubbing his left shoulder. “I don’t like that. Not about the big things; not about things that really matter. I don’t like convenient fictions, or reassuring lies. A lie will always remain a lie.”

  Saphienne had turned to him as he spoke, all her sad longing melted away. She shifted a little closer. “Do you ever feel… like almost everyone else…”

  “Yes. Often.” He breathed in, steadying himself. “I like people, Saphienne. I want to help them, if I can. But you’re not the only one who finds it hard to relate, sometimes.” He smiled sadly at her. “The good thing about calligraphy? It’s a solitary art. It’s a good excuse, for spending time alone.”

  “I don’t know many people who think like us.” She spoke forlornly, neither conceit nor superiority in her words. “No one seems to care about the way things really are, behind the stories they tell each other. Or they care, but they’re easily satisfied… like they talk themselves into believing whatever makes life simple.”

  “That’s not it.” He spoke just as sadly as she did, with experience she lacked. “Most people know the way things are… that’s not the problem. The problem is–”

  But just then the door to the bakery opened, and Celaena emerged, leading another girl by her hand. “My thanks for waiting.” As she stepped out she gestured to her fellow apprentices. “You remember Iolas? Well, this is Saphienne.”

  The young elf who came with her was a little taller than Celaena, her hair tied up in a netted bun, and the practical grey shirt and trousers she wore were lightly flecked with flour — save for where an undusted space across her chest and thighs told that she had recently worn an apron. Her face was a tender oval, and concealed nothing, her glances lingering on Iolas’ and Saphienne’s robes as she forced a smile that was pleasant if nervous. “Um, hello! Celaena’s told me so much about you… it’s nice to finally meet.”

  Saphienne blinked. “She has? What has she said?”

  The girl blushed crimson, while Celaena and Iolas both chuckled.

  “Saphienne,” Celaena said, still smiling, “this is Laewyn…”

  From the corner of her eye, Saphienne could see Iolas’ smile broaden — proud of himself for remembering her name.

  “…And she was just being polite. It’s a thing people say. I haven’t really said much about you or Iolas.” Celaena turned to her friend. “Saphienne can be very… direct. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  Laewyn recovered enough to bring her other hand from behind her back, revealing a closed wicker basket. “Well, Saphienne… you like strawberries, don’t you?”

  Immediately suspicious, but also intrigued, Saphienne stood away from the wall. “I do… which means you were working here, when Faylar brought me in on the day before my birthday. You overheard the argument about my age?”

  Mouth open, Laewyn bobbed her head. “…Celaena said you were sharp…”

  Both Celaena and Iolas were grinning broadly. The latter patted Saphienne’s shoulder as he joined her. “Saphienne isn’t showing off; she’s just like this. You get used to it.”

  That made Saphienne blush, though she was a little resentful at the way her friends talked about her. “…I do like strawberries. Thank you for remembering.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Reassured by her embarrassment, Laewyn smiled more openly. “Well, um, I have some strawberry tarts? And a few cinnamon rolls — you like those, don’t you, Iolas?” She shook her wrist, flicked the lid of the basket up with familiar ease. “We baked them yesterday, but they’re still good.”

  Iolas tilted his head. “Alright, I’m not as quick as her. How did you know?”

  “Um, your sister has a regular request for you both.” Laewyn nodded toward the back of the bakery. “I skimmed the ledger. Was that… I didn’t think you’d mind…”

  He laughed, and reached in to take one of the tarts, passing it to Saphienne before claiming one of the rolls. “Not at all! It was very thoughtful of you. Especially after… the day we’ve all had.”

  Briefly, Saphienne saw Celaena tense — then smother her feelings, her eyes on Laewyn as she spoke. “We were going to go for a walk, feed the birds.”

  Iolas replied before Saphienne could say anything. “Well, thank you, but Saphienne said she has plans, and I really need to go home and change.”

  The pointed lie was not lost on Saphienne, who gave a small bow. “Thank you for the pastries, Laewyn.”

  “You’re welcome.” Laewyn’s relief was transparent, as was her self-consciousness about her own relief. “We should, um, hang out, some time? I don’t know many of Celaena’s other friends.”

  “Sounds good.” Iolas waved. “Enjoy your walk.”

  Recognising her cue, Saphienne turned away with him–

  “Um,” Laewyn hesitated. “Iolas… um, why do you have flowers in your hood?”

  The three apprentices froze.

  Beside him, Saphienne was able to see Iolas’ expression – his surprise, his dismay, his worry for Celaena – before he took a deep breath and forced a small, superior smile.

  Looking back, he gestured at his hood with the pastry, doing his very best impression of their master’s grandiose, dismissive manner. “Oh, this is wizard’s business. Believe me when I tell you: you wouldn’t want to know.”

  Mystified, Laewyn nodded as though she understood — and was surprised when Celaena and Saphienne burst out laughing.

  * * *

  Iolas snatched the flowers out of his hood once they were out of sight, and he tossed them to the ground as he tore into the cinnamon roll. They ate together as they walked, the sweetness of the strawberries both comforting Saphienne and making her realise she was quite hungry.

  Her suggestion that they get lunch together was politely declined. “Sorry, Saphienne, but I really do want to get out of these robes. And I need to get them cleaned up before tomorrow.” Then he gave her a bright smile. “I don’t have as much of an appetite now, anyway. I might finally be past three meals a day.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You’ve finished growing? Already?”

  “Maybe.” He rubbed his chin. “I look tall enough, don’t I? I might have another growth spurt in me. My father told me he kept getting them until he was twenty-one.”

  “I can’t imagine only eating twice a day.”

  “Some elves eat even less. Depends how active you are. I heard the Wardens of the Wilds still have three meals, with all the running around they do.” He smirked. “Our master probably eats three meals a day. Maybe four.”

  Saphienne hadn’t given much thought to Almon’s weight. “Some people are just heavier than others. Jorildyn once said that even elves who eat a lot by habit don’t normally change shape… that once we’re fully grown, our measurements stay the same forevermore.”

  “I know… I’m being unkind.” Iolas shrugged. “He just seems like the kind of man who would request more than he needed. Our master likes exercising his privileges.”

  Nor had Saphienne ever thought much about how requests were fulfilled. “Do wizards have a greater share than the rest of us?”

  Her question made Iolas pause. “…No, in theory. In practice…” He glanced around them as he spoke. “…Everyone lives by the tolerance of their neighbours, right? Everyone over the age of thirteen is expected to be reasonable, to take what they really need — and ask for more only in proportion to what is available. We’re all taught to avoid waste, and to treat what we have as a gift from our neighbours.”

  “Filaurel taught me as much.”

  “Well,” he went on, “did she tell you what happens if someone is asking for more than their fair share?”

  Saphienne nodded. “They’re warned, then there’s an intervention. If a solution can’t be found, eventually their rights to the store houses are withdrawn, and they have to start over in another village.”

  “All true. Rarely happens.” He paused, then changed the direction they were walking in, bringing them both to stand in the shade of a tree where one grove met another. “But have you ever asked how everyone decides what’s fair?”

  With a frown, she shook her head. “We all get the same, don’t we?”

  “In theory, yes. In practice, no.” He glanced at the buildings around them, mostly the residences of crafters so near to the centre of the village. “We all have the same need, and so we’re all entitled to take the same without asking. But requests? In theory, they’re equally divided, too, but people seldom want exactly the same things at the same time. The stores are managed.”

  “…Which means,” Saphienne realised, “requests are weighed and fulfilled, not just against what’s available, but against what the requester has previously received?”

  “And against what they’ve given.”

  Gaeleath’s concerns about justifying their presence in the village made more sense. “…And wizards can give more. Their contributions are greater.”

  “They can be. But the cynic in me wonders: whether or not they give back, who is going to tell a wizard they’ve asked for too much?” He studied Saphienne. “They have talents the village might need, yes. Yet they also have power. Personal power.” The emotion in his eyes confused her. “Saphienne, I don’t think anyone else in the village would have dared stand their ground against Almon, not like you did. Never mind if he really lost his temper; just his dislike could be infectious, spreading to people who want to remain on his good side.”

  Admiration: she had nearly forgotten how it felt, to be admired. Uncomfortable, memories of Kylantha hovering just out of view, she faced away, treating the statement as a challenge to be questioned. “Filaurel would. If she had to, and she thought she could win, she would.”

  “Then she’s courageous.”

  Saphienne agreed… but couldn’t say the same for herself. “I just… wasn’t afraid. I’m not afraid of getting hurt. I don’t feel that kind of fear. And, I suppose, I was oblivious about the rest.” She glanced back his way. “You know, that explains Celaena’s home.”

  “Her father’s a wizard, more powerful than Almon…” He shrugged. “…Everyone was probably quite friendly about it. Growing up, you always hear about how much wizards do for everyone. All our plenty, everything we enjoy — even fruit, grown out of season? It all comes back to magic.”

  Suddenly, Saphienne understood Iolas’ turmoil. “Priests get their magic from spirits, so the spirits are respected… but wizards don’t need spirits…” Her voice lowered. “…Iolas, is this what worries you? That the reasons people say wizards are worthy of respect are just convenient fictions?”

  He lowered his eyes. “Maybe. Doesn’t it sound like a justification? How we tell each other wizards are so wise, that they give so much, that everything they do is on a scale that’s beyond the rest of us?”

  She exhaled slowly. “Almon really upset you today.”

  “Not just him. I didn’t think our spirits were…” He shook his head. “You know. And maybe it isn’t like this… or at least, not as bad as it could be. Maybe there’s other wizards who would rein Almon in, if he went too far.”

  The mention of reins brought her conversation with Tolduin to mind. “There are elders; they get even more respect than wizards, don’t they?”

  “Hard to say. Problem is… it’s hard to tell the difference, between respect that’s freely given, and respect that’s compelled.” He leant on the tree, then lay his forehead on the back of his hand. “I just don’t know what to make of it all.”

  But Saphienne knew Iolas well enough to read him more deeply than he read himself, and she saw through to the heart of his fear — from which the worries he spoke aloud were only a distraction. She paused, then, hesitant to share.

  Only, were their situation reversed, she would want to know. And weren’t they both the same, when it came to wanting to know?

  “None of this is what really bothers you,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back as she squeezed her fingers.

  Iolas looked her way. “No?”

  “No.” She held his gaze. “You’re studying to be a wizard. You’re afraid of who you’ll be if you have that power. You’re afraid of how you’ll change — if what you say is true, and people treat you with deference. You’re afraid you won’t keep yourself… you’re afraid of becoming like Almon.”

  Tears had welled up in his cyan eyes.

  “I don’t think,” she said, with all the sincerity she could summon, “that Almon has ever once thought about whether or not he’s a good person. I don’t think he ever worried whether he’d change, when he was an apprentice.”

  “I… you don’t know that.”

  “You don’t know the future, either.” She smiled at him, sweetly. “Maybe you end up being a wiser wizard than our master. Maybe you become the kind of wizard who reins others in, when they go too far. You shouldn’t be afraid of finding out who you really are… if you don’t like it, you can always change.”

  He laughed through a cough, and wiped his eyes. “Gods, Saphienne, you’re really sure of yourself when you believe something, aren’t you? What if we can’t change?”

  “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” she grinned, “because you’re not at all like him, not from what I’ve seen.”

  Iolas laughed again, and he sniffed away his tears. “I can’t argue… you win. But,” he asked, looking down at her in wondering reproach, “aren’t you afraid? Doesn’t the thought of who you’ll become worry you, even a little?”

  “No.” She unclasped her hands. “No, that doesn’t make me afraid. I don’t really know who I am — not yet. But, whoever I actually am…”

  Her eyes darkened at the memory of an easy summer’s day, and a mother who doted with such affection on her young, loving daughter.

  “…There are worse people.”

  Iolas was so caught up in his own feelings that he couldn’t hear beyond her answer, and he took what she said at face value. “You’re probably right. Overthinking things — that’s my problem.”

  The absurdity of the notion brought her out of the memory. “No such thing!”

  “Yes, you would say that, wouldn’t you?”

  They laughed, and soon resumed walking, and a little further on they parted ways outside the library, where Saphienne had unconsciously guided them.

  * * *

  Saphienne did not go inside the library, not then. She instead went back to visit Gaeleath, though when she saw the entrance to the pavilion was closed over and buttoned tight she knew they didn’t want to be disturbed, the tap of their chisel on stone quick and precise.

  Aimless, restless, she wandered for a time, stopping in to request tea, more confident in herself than when she first visited with her friends. She drank it as she walked home, where her mother was occupied with the fascinator; Saphienne paused outside her own bedroom to contemplate the pink glow where it shone under her mother’s door, trying to understand how she and her mother could be so different. At least the other elves were satisfied with stories that might be true…

  As she changed out of her robes and brushed them down, she thought about that, and then about Celaena and her wizard father, and then about all that had happened to each of them during the trial with the spirit. She thought, too, about how shaken Celaena had been by the violation… and about how well Iolas had held himself together at first, probably for Celaena’s sake. Even Almon, reluctantly, had shown the impact the lesson once had on him.

  At the time, Saphienne wondered why she, alone, had emerged unscathed.

  But the spirit was not done with her.

  End of Chapter 28

  Chapter 29 on 8th April 2025.

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