CHAPTER 133 – Let Thine Own Self Show True
Can you read this?
I can! I’ve been waiting for your message all day. How are you?
Good. We’ve only just stopped for the night; we’ve made excellent time. Filaurel and Faylar are sleeping. I’ll be joining them shortly, once I’ve cast a spell of restfulness. How are Inky and Audacity — have they missed me?
They’re happy. Audacity didn’t leave my side this morning. She’s taken your instruction to do what I say very literally: I had to tell her she could go play with her brother while he was awake. Inky sleeps more than she does, is that normal?
Minina has found a way to purr! She borrowed a piece of paper, folded it up with her webbing, and tapped her legs against it for Inky. He stole it to bat around the floor, but Audacity gave it back.
Celaena came to visit this afternoon… I wish you could have seen her reaction. She especially adores Inky, and he loves curling up in her robes. I actually have her mantle here: Inky was sleeping on it when she left.
I have some news to pass on. Apparently, Celaena and Thessa convinced a painter named Iradyn to take Syndelle as his apprentice? I’m not sure who he is, but Celaena said Almon introduced you to him.
We miss you. How is Hyacinth?
I write with borrowed hand: I am content. To stride the woods this way does not relent from boredom great. I am fair irked to hear–
Me again. She’s annoyed by something she learned about humans from Filaurel: I’ll spare you the rant.
‘Twas not a rant!
‘Twas. She put Filaurel to sleep.
Profaned, I am.
Hyacinth sends her love. We miss you. Goodnight, Laelansa.
Goodnight, my loves.
Are you there? We’re about to meet with Cosme and Felipe. Filaurel is getting changed now. Faylar says hello — Hyacinth would, too, but she’s busy growing a staff.
Good morning! The tome still works. I told you that you needn’t wo––––––––––
Laelansa?
Inky grabbed my pen. I have to go. Love you!
Bad boy! I love you, too.
Sorry about earlier. Inky distracted me while Audacity rummaged through the kitchen, and I had to chase her down to take our cutlery back. He’s as intelligent as she is… I’m beginning to think he might not be an ordinary kitten, either.
Minina has been a very good girl, helping me by webbing the drawers shut; Audacity is sulking in her nest. This is silly, but could you ask Filaurel if she has any coins she can spare? I think hiding some around the house for Audacity to find would keep her out of mischief. Minina might have fun hiding them, too.
Speak the spirit’s name! Minina wants my attention. I hope you’re having a nice time with Cosme and Felipe… and I’ll pray for your visit to the shrine.
I just wanted to tell you that I’m still thinking about you. I know you’re busy: don’t feel guilty for not responding. Inky is sleeping on your chair with Audacity, and Minina is on my shoulder as I’m writing to you. She likes seeing the letters appearing on the page.
Be safe.
Your prayers have been answered.
We’ve made a new friend. Hyacinth is speaking with him now. He’s very scared — but very devout. I’ve tried to explain what you and I discussed, and he’s taken the news extremely well, considering the circumstances.
I’m surprised by how smoothly this is going. If he and Hyacinth get on well… it might be time to involve Ruddles. What do you think?
That’s wonderful! I’m so happy! I knew the gods would be kind!
I trust Ruddles to listen. Tell her I know all about this, and that I approve; mention that I believe great changes begin with small acts of kindness.
I’ll keep praying for you all. Please, may the gods let this work.
Saphienne? It’s been hours. Has everything– is everyone well?
I’m sorry for pestering you earlier… I’m nervous. I’ve realised that you must have silenced the tome. You probably didn’t want to frighten our friend, which is sensible.
I believe in you.
Mother Marigold required more persuasion than we anticipated. She was worried that what we want would undermine the pursuit of other mercies, but I put what you said to her, and then asked her directly whether she believed the gods were immanent and whether their faithful should mistreat each other. Hyacinth saved the day — she shared our friend’s memories, and they were so heartrending that no compassionate person could turn away.
As I write, Ruddles is speaking with him. She’s agreed to stay and instruct him and his congregation in proper worship. Quite what form that should take is an open question, but for now she’s keeping to the fundamentals that would be taught to children. Her feeling is that separate worship is wisest, perhaps with offering trees exclusively for their use.
I don’t much like that, but I see her reasoning. Another day, another step.
I should warn you that we argued. I had to make it unambiguously clear that I won’t advocate for anything that contradicts the ancient ways — that isn’t my role. She’s understandably upset. Hyacinth thinks she sees my reasoning, and that her anger is from bitter disappointment in my situation rather than in me. I suppose we’ll see.
The easy part is done.
I love you both with all my heart.
We love you too.
I’m not good at reading emotions from text. Are you excited?
Tired! This has been a long day. Our success hasn’t sunk in yet. I’d better bid our farewells and get back to Filaurel, the sun will begin setting soon. I’ll try to write again before bed.
Safe travels! And well done, my loves.
you’re bueatiful__________
Saphienne? It’s the middle of the night.
Filaurel here. Everything’s fine: Saphienne is drunk. Cosme led her and Faylar astray. I’ll have her write back when she’s sober.
I’m so sorry! Thank you for looking after her.
She’s sweet like this. She’s currently lying on the grass with Faylar, trying to tell him that magic can’t be measured. Don’t worry: he’s too far gone to make sense of what she’s saying.
Goodnight, Laelansa.
Goodnight, Filaurel.
In my defence, you really are beautiful: you’re the prettiest elf in all the vales, with a gorgeous figure, enthralling me with those strong arms and delicate ears and a smile that melts the winter snow before its flakes can settle. The sun is outshone by you, and the summer’s heat can’t compare to what I feel when you’re nearby.
Good afternoon! You’ve made me blush. You’re doing well, I see.
Look out those boots. We’ll be home tonight.
Oh my! But you took a whole day to get out there?
Hyacinth and I are eager to see you. We’ll be back tonight — or I’m not half the magician I think I am.
* * *
Having navigated down the vale through twilight under the waning moon, Faylar and Filaurel were exhausted when they reached the village with Saphienne, not to mention astonished at having covered the distance so quickly. Filaurel opined that – transmutation be damned – they would surely be fatigued tomorrow.
Saphienne was in too much of a hurry to do more than wish them a good night’s rest.
Faylar knew exactly why. “Have fun! Give Laelansa my best — and try to get some sleep before sunrise!”
* * *
As intensely as she would have liked to have thrown open the door and fallen upon Laelansa with unrivalled passion, Saphienne was weary enough that she stopped at the end of the grove to sit cross-legged.
Her inner semblance turned to Hyacinth as she rested. “You two obviously have plans for our reunion.”
“Do we?”
Demure though the bloomkith attempted to appear, lust radiated from where Hyacinth sat on her field with her legs folded beneath herself, pollen thick on the air, her fingertips idly stroking the petals sprouted from her thighs. Faint buzzing carried from unseen bees.
Saphienne’s tail flicked. “Do you want to go on ahead? Herald my arrival?”
“If I could ask for but one thing?” She leant forward on her palms. “To walk with you to her would make me sing.”
“…Let me refresh myself.” Saphienne concentrated on her sigils.
“Do not your pretty skin now cleanse, my love.”
Her brow creased. “We ran the whole way back; I’m drenched in sweat.”
“Laelansa loves your scent. Do not so blush!”
Unable to hide her embarrassment, Saphienne rolled her eyes. “On the condition that you dispense with your rhyming. I don’t care that you’re nervous: poetry doesn’t lend itself to the mood.”
“No?”
Hyacinth unfurled, rising to sway across to Saphienne like flowers bending to summer winds, her golden eyes lidded.
“Does verse not whet your appetites? Then which delights this sultry night would stir you where you steam and soak?” She bent over Saphienne, who froze on the steps, unable to look away from her curves. “Some supple limbs? Or do you dream to feel the strength of oak? Upon which would you clamber, writhe, and whine? Tell me truly, beloved mine…” She reached down to stroke her fingertips along a robed leg. “…How would you will me please your nectared camber, lithe of line?”
Saphienne swallowed. “…I’m reconsidering my assumption…”
Giggling, Hyacinth straddled her lap. “Mend your tiredness. Our beloved awaits a floral dragon.”
Casting the Transmutation spell while distracted was challenging, but as the restorative emerald wave spread through Saphienne she felt her vitality return, aware that she was trading temporary vigour for being bedridden the next day.
“Ridden in bed you shall be,” Hyacinth teased. “Ride well, and I may deign to soothe your aches and pains with magic sylvan.”
Growling her frustration, Saphienne shed the robes that clothed her imagined form, pressing scales to petals as she encircled Hyacinth’s neck with her claws. “You might deign? Have you forgotten which of us is the master?”
Hyacinth’s grin was thrilled. “Remind me?”
Flowers washed over the library as Saphienne kissed her.
* * *
Ah, but what happened then is not a tale to be told in the daytime.
* * *
Fragile in the afterglow, Saphienne slept until Hyacinth delivered her promised renewal, then slouched on aching legs into the bathroom to lie back against Laelansa in the tub, drowsy in the soothing hot water.
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The bloomkith joined them. Whenever the pair kissed, which was often, they passed her back and forth, making of Hyacinth the cherished possession she yearned to be.
“…Saphienne?”
She stirred at Laelansa’s address, lifting her head to peer back. “Hm?”
“Do spirits influence who we become? Hyacinth won’t answer.”
Saphienne didn’t react. “Depends on the person. Why?”
“I think she’s made me a little like you two…” Laelansa sighed contentedly, kissing the magician’s head. “…In all the best ways.”
Was that dangerous? No; Laelansa and Hyacinth were not locked together in a spiral. “Does that mean you want to wear horns now?”
“I wouldn’t mind dressing up. I could pretend to be a dragon for you…”
Pondering the possibility led Saphienne to discover she was not as depleted as she initially believed, and would have taken up more of the afternoon… were they not interrupted by Inky waving his paw under the door, having escaped from the guest bedroom with his trilling sister.
* * *
“You are placing me in an intolerable position!”
A week after her return, Almon had once again called Saphienne to answer for herself, his summons delivered by Peacock early in the morning. She’d arrived to discover the wizard pacing back and forth before his unlit fireplace, whirling to her when she entered the parlour.
“Seat yourself.” He indicated his high-backed chair.
Saphienne drew a calming breath as she closed the door. “Good morning Master Almon, my old friend.”
Her reminder of decorum made him reluctantly acknowledge her status. “Good morning to you as well, Master Saphienne. I trust that you slept well, and that you arrive in good health.” He pointed to the chair. “Now: sit.”
Recognising his anxiety, she acquiesced. “Why this agitation?”
“Apprentice Iolas,” he announced, arms folded, “has attained the First Degree.”
Her excitement was irrepressible. “When? Last night? Did he show you this morning?”
“Indeed he did.” Almon was unhappy with the development. “I congratulated him on his success with every enthusiasm, but when I questioned him about what had inspired him…”
Saphienne waited for more. “…Yes?”
Her former teacher glowered. “You gave him the secret.”
Although she laughed, her laughter faded as she understood Almon was serious. “Nonsense. That is patently false — and Iolas wouldn’t lie.”
“You may as well have told him.” Almon loomed over her. “When you discussed his magical praxis, you urged him to trust his feelings and share his thoughts. That sort of prompting–”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Saphienne steepled her ringed fingers. “Mentioning thoughts and feelings – in an entirely different context – isn’t prompting anyone.” She tilted her horned, jewellery-adorned head. “You know me better than this.”
“I do,” Almon conceded, no less irate, “but the Luminary Vale does not. Last night I had to write a long letter justifying Celaena’s rapid progress through the material you’ve been covering with her — she’s already grasped the concept of inducing magical suppression by countering signature resonance!”
“You told me to teach her that. And the sooner she can join your lessons–”
“She should have taken months.”
“Almon.” Saphienne stood. “We aren’t competing — I’m supporting their studies to the best of my ability, within the limits you’ve set.”
Shaking his head, the wizard moved away to the window. “You’re not hearing me. Your conduct as their tutor is being scrutinised very carefully; all the more so since you attained the Third Degree. Masters Illimun and Lylae, and by extension the High Masters, want proof that you can be depended upon to be conventional where it matters.”
“Iolas and Celaena are progressing on schedule for the talented wizards they are.”
“That isn’t the point!” His exasperation made him raise his voice as he faced her. “From the outside, it appears that their progress has accelerated since you began tutoring them! You have a reputation for refusing to follow the acceptable timeline!”
Saphienne blinked.
He massaged his forehead, restraining his temper. “You have broken not one, but three records for advancement in mastery of the Great Art. The last, you broke despite being politely encouraged to defer your progress to enjoy your childhood. Now your close friends are racing on — apparently at your urging. Do you see your predicament now, Saphienne?”
The child in her wanted to complain that she’d done nothing wrong; the woman she’d become knew better. “They’re worried I’m going to upend things…”
“By now, surely you’ve realised what we’re never to discuss?”
That the Great Art could be learned much more quickly than was taught under the supervision of the Luminary Vale, the delay ensuring that wizards were fully invested in the current social order before they obtained significant power. “I have. I understand why. I have no intentions of–”
“Intent is irrelevant.” Almon sighed as he backed against the windowsill. “You can be trusted to see what is unwise to challenge. Even when you were my apprentice, as maddeningly contrary as you were? You sought to fit into the circumstances in which you found yourself. Outside of one glaring, compelled incident, you didn’t demand the world change to accommodate your beliefs.”
She swallowed. “…Go on…”
“The problem is what you evidence. Not what you do, but what your doing might inspire others to explore.” His blue eyes begged for her to see. “Your talent is extraordinary, yes… but that can be written off as your unique gift. Celaena and Iolas coming up too quickly risks your being seen to blaze a path. That, Saphienne, will not be welcomed.”
“…How much trouble am I in?” She asked herself as much as him.
Almon sighed. “Now? There are only murmurs to address. Celaena being Illimun’s daughter – and therefore gifted in his art – is helpful to explain her advancement. Iolas quickly following after her is coincidence.” His stare was pointed. “We must ensure that they do not sprint through their apprenticeships too far, too soon. Any further leaps may see permission for your tutoring withdrawn — and will impact on your attendance at the vale.”
“I see.”
“You’d better.” He strode to the stairs, dismissing her with a wave. “…And stop wearing that ridiculous outfit! Wizards aren’t supposed to be figures of fun.”
* * *
Warned by Almon, Saphienne glimpsed the outline of her error — too late to reconsider the course she’d embarked on.
Unlike Ruddle’s wish to free her imprisoned sisters, encouraging the acceptance of goblins by elves didn’t directly contravene the tenets of the ancient ways. Saphienne wouldn’t cross that boundary; her intention was that gradual reform would unfold at the pace the woodlands was prepared to accept.
But what about the elves who surrounded her?
In her hubris, she’d assumed her perspective was among the most extreme within the woodlands, and that she was uniquely capable of action. She’d thereby let herself believe that what she did was all that would count against her name — despite being shown how her actions could be construed to signify more.
What did her restraint matter, if she nevertheless encouraged dissent?
She was trapped. Laelansa’s love, together with her own principles, demanded that she plead for mercy to be shown to the goblins… but doing so would embolden dissent, antagonising the establishment. Even if she was successful, and no one pushed further? She was set to lose the trust of the Luminary Vale.
There was every possibility she’d already lost it, when she’d written to Elduin.
Vestaele had never explained this. Of course she hadn’t! Anyone who needed it explained couldn’t be depended upon, lacking either sound judgement or inherent compliance.
Or, as in Saphienne’s case? Both.
* * *
Depressed by the revelation, Saphienne didn’t burden Laelansa or Hyacinth with what weighed her down, nor include her woes in the messages she now wrote daily to Taerelle. For two weeks she performed her life with a fixed smile, pretending self-assurance she no longer felt as she choreographed bringing her cause before the consensus with Filaurel, Ruddles, Nelathiel, and Laelansa.
Filaurel disagreed with Nelathiel: they shouldn’t ask an elder to propose their motion, for that would see the issue first debated by elders. Tactically, a preliminary debate by the younger majority would guard against elder prerogative quietly smothering the dispute, freeing any sympathetic elders to be honest about what they believed.
This led Saphienne to involve Iolas, laying out what was happening over tea one sunny afternoon.
“…Goblins.” He wasn’t amused, nor dismissive. “Worshipping our gods.”
“Our Lady of the Balanced Scales… for now.”
He set down his cup as he fell back on her couch’s cushions. “…Everyone will assume you’ve taught them to perform tricks. That’s how lowly everyone regards goblins.”
“They aren’t animals. Their language may be simple, but they think and feel–”
“I know.” He smiled wryly. “You don’t need to persuade me. You know, I read your book about them.”
“…You did?”
“Soon after we became acquainted. I’d be a poor friend if I hadn’t.” He stretched, pondering the problem. “If you want my advice, I recommend writing a revised edition with a sympathetic foreword, then circulating it around the village in the weeks before you do whatever you’re planning. You are planning something, aren’t you?”
His suggestion was good; Saphienne nodded. “We’re going to push for the wardens to spare them, and for them to be given a place in the protectorates.”
Iolas whistled. “That’s… I’ll be interested in how that goes. How can I help? Need me to spread more rumours?”
“Actually,” she smiled, touched by his immediate commitment, “what we really need is your help persuading someone…”
Athidyn – compassionate, principled, and religious – could likely have been convinced without his son. In honour of his patron goddess, he would be their champion.
* * *
Transformation is subtle. That is what I came to comprehend, observing firsthand who Saphienne was when she lived in the Eastern Vale. Even where change appears suddenly, and with great drama, portents exist for those with the patience to look.
Writing the revised edition of ‘An Exhaustive Compendium of the Tongue of Goblins’ gradually transformed Saphienne, who started the task dispirited. Adding the words she’d learned through her latest spell was trivial, as was drafting a foreword that characterised the goblins as closer to human than to beast.
…But when she finished, she found herself challenged by a question, asked by the silence in the stillness of the night.
Was that the best she could do?
What had been planned as a day’s labour became the work of a week, then two, the accounts of the wardens replaced by what Hyacinth and Ruddles had gleaned from possessing Kob, the simple grammar and wordlists broken into chapters contextualised by accounts of life as seen through the eyes of goblins. Early chapters were superficial, playing into elven prejudices, but the further into the book one read the deeper the personhood of goblins became, until what had once seemed comedic became direst tragedy.
The final chapter, Saphienne devoted to a confession of what had truly occurred when first she visited the shrine to Our Lady of the Balanced Scales. She elided what had become of the ring after its return, only stating that she’d concealed it because no one would have believed her. The last page she filled with a sketch of the goblin mother and children, depicting them emaciated and fearful, huddled for safety in the shadow of the icon.
‘Goblins: My Confession’ was painfully sincere, and sincerely persuasive, most of all to Saphienne. Her mood lifted, the magician granted solace through her acceptance — that whatever misfortune awaited her was inconsequential, beside the travails endured by the people for whom she wrote.
Laelansa thought it beautiful. All that remained was to see how it would be received by a stranger.
* * *
“Before I answer, I have to ask… why choose me?”
Saphienne settled against a tree before she replied. “I barely know you,” she admitted, her candour disarming, “but you said you agreed with the apology Laelansa showed you, which suggested that you might be reachable. If you can’t be persuaded by what I’ve written, I doubt anyone else will.”
Seated on the same fallen trunk as Saphienne and Kylantha had once played upon, Rophana gazed out over the vacant clearing in meditation, emptied of children in the late summer evening. The senior apprentice adjusted the daisy she wore over her ear, perhaps seeking comfort from the flower of her bloomkith friend.
She clasped the slim volume to her black-clad chest.
“…I wasn’t persuaded, but for the same reason as Laelansa didn’t persuade me.”
Saphienne was too intrigued to blink. “You see goblins as people?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t nervous, only wary of her reception. “I believe all sapient beings are equally belovèd by the gods. Believing this doesn’t contradict the ancient ways…”
What the apostate left unsaid crowded the glade.
Wishing to sit beside her, Saphienne didn’t dare trust. “I understand that’s an unpopular perspective. I can see why you keep your opinions to yourself.”
“You don’t keep yours to yourself.” Rophana tapped the book. “This will upset many. Why did you write it? Was guilt the reason?”
“Suppose that it was; would it matter?”
“Yes.” Rophana peered up at the pink clouds, immense in their dreamlike contours, imperceptibly carried across a purpling sky. “Guilt, shame… these cannot sustain us. Anything they inspire is fragile. To do what we believe is right isn’t enough; we have to commit ourselves for the right reasons.”
“And I suppose you know what those are?”
“For myself.” She smiled faintly. “I know who I am, and what impels me. I’m curious about what impels you, Saphienne. I don’t think you did this out of guilt.”
Crossing her arms, the magician studied the apprentice. “…I didn’t. I did it out of necessity. You’ve read the apology Laelansa has worked on, and now you know what happened when I first visited the shrine. Can you guess what we’ve discovered?”
“I can. What are you planning to do?”
“The consensus should decide what will happen. I’m giving them the full facts.”
Rophana shifted to regard Saphienne. “You’ll fail. The ancient ways can endure endless division and anger, but they cannot abide the sin of mercy.”
“‘Sin?’ I’ve heard a spirit use that word, but I don’t know the meaning.”
“Few do, now; the word is very old. ‘Sin’ refers to wicked acts that transgress against the gods because of their wickedness. Our sins make the gods weep for us.”
Perplexed, Saphienne pursed her lips. “Mercy is a sin?”
She grinned. “No! Never. Mercy doesn’t sin against the gods; but that which would usurp them makes all virtue sinful.”
Rophana affected insouciance as she rose and handed back the book.
“I was joking; I have a very strange sense of humour. Your writing is good. I wish you every success with this endeavour, and I’ll pray for a miraculous outcome.”
Unable to fathom what impelled Rophana, Saphienne stared after her, lost in surmise at what lay hidden behind her darkling aegis.
* * *
Summer mellowed. Saphienne made three dozen copies of the book, loaning them throughout the village, personally giving one to Alavara so that the Warden of the Wilds would know what she’d done.
Faylar’s mother was dismayed. “What happened to the ring? Do you still have it? I need to know that it isn’t going to be misused.”
Having checked with her old housemate, Saphienne knew they were beyond sanction by the wardens. “I watched Master Taerelle destroy it. If you want to question her, she’s now studying at the Luminary Vale…”
“Very funny, Saphienne. You do know that you’re obliged to replace it? Make a new set: I’ll tell the elders that you’ve provided restitution.”
“Fine; I’ll coordinate with the storehouse. What did you think of the rest?”
“I don’t have an opinion,” answered the warden.
* * *
Redness was threatening to spread among the leaves when the eve of the meeting finally arrived. Athidyn was being visited by Laelansa, Nelathiel, and Filaurel to finalise how the motion would be moved, the village’s secretary having manipulated procedure to keep its entry in the agenda vague; Iolas was busy asking Alinar if he’d heard anything about the urgent, shocking business that was supposedly being presented tomorrow; Ruddles and Hyacinth were readying for the forthcoming harmony with their sisters, wherein Mother Marigold would announce what she’d been doing.
Meanwhile, the magician retreated to her ritual space in the hillock, there to trace a circle around the green acorns she’d freshly plucked.
“Ansuz. Ansuz. Ansuz.”
Just as Saphienne expected, Mother Oak did not keep her waiting.
* * *
Though ancient, the forest before Saphienne was not forbidding, pleasant sunlight shining down through an eternal autumn that painted the winding trees in greys and browns, the ground between them overgrown with bleached grass.
Saphienne didn’t hesitate as she crossed into the shade, confident that the parlay would be cordial. Even were she wrong? Ansuz would not long have purchase on the mind of a hostile dragon.
There, under the boughs, a thin elven woman in priestly robes waited. “Master Saphienne.”
The magician bowed to the spirit she’d invoked. “Mother Oak. Your form is fairer than when last we met.”
Wincing at the shared memory of the violence she’d visited on the elven girl, Ansuz brushed back her lichen-hued hair before she wordlessly offered Saphienne a seat, roots rising from the ground.
“I’d prefer to stand. This won’t take long.”
“As you say.” Ansuz nevertheless seated herself. “I am told you detest rhyming speech; I shall refrain.”
“How kind.” Saphienne didn’t smile. “You know why I called you?”
Mother Oak interlaced her fingers. “…You would fain threaten me. Word has spread: you plot to press for–”
“No.”
The woodkin matron frowned. “Forwhy do we speak?”
Head held high, Saphienne confronted the spirit who had struck her down in the hidden clearing, reliving the memory of her bones shattering before spearing wood. “I’m not here to threaten you; I know I don’t need to. More than anything, you want to avoid Tolduin learning about Tyrnansunna, which means you will avoid any dispute that risks him taking an interest in why some among your sisters consider me an apostate.”
Her grey eyes lowered. “I should not have judged you so.”
“Yes. It’s been very inconvenient for you.”
“…That be not wherefore cometh my regret…” She lifted her face to Saphienne, countenance young despite the sorrows that aged her. “I have beheld your works: Mother Marigold named you true. If I had known you the daughter to the elf Lynnariel, mayhap I might have guessed the gods’ rebuke, but two further times they had to cry before I heard. I beshrew my error.”
Therein lay confirmation of what Saphienne had suspected. “It didn’t escape me that the goblins’ shrine lies under an oak tree. They even drew a circle. There was no possibility you didn’t notice them.”
“They gave no trespass; I let them dwell.”
She exhaled. “I’m proposing they be accepted into the protectorates. They don’t deserve to starve to death in winter.”
“Ay. No quarrel shall I offer.”
“…Explain yourself to me.” Behind Saphienne, the sun above the distant library was hot enough to enshroud the steps in haze. “You’re compassionate; you’re capable of mercy. Why torture Tyrnansunna? The elves didn’t demand it. This is what I’m here to understand: how do you justify such evil?”
“I beheld the woodlands aflame; never again.”
“You’re driven by fear?”
“Love for what has grown. A mother sacrifices herself for her children–”
“No mother sacrifices children.” Saphienne was contemptuous. “You were prepared to kill me — tell me, would you sacrifice Tolduin so readily?”
Ansuz was silent; the trees around them gnarled.
“No. I thought not. Whatever would he think of you, if he knew all you’d done?” She turned to depart. “Fear not, Mother Oak: Tolduin has suffered enough from the love you’ve shared with him. I won’t expose your hypocrisy.”
“And what of thee?” Her cry to Saphienne was pained. “Wouldst thou let thine own self show true? Thou, who art so belovèd? Wouldst thou be better loved, to show thyself? Wouldst thou be loved the best, brightly burning upon a pyre? Thy semblance hath been seen afore! Those belovèd of the gods, They will one day–”
“Everything dies.” Saphienne didn’t falter. “Perhaps the gods love us all. Perhaps their love is the same as yours…”
Her backward gaze across her shoulder was damning.
“…But I doubt that.”
End of Chapter 133