Crying out attracted the attention of the patrons in the teahouse, and Alinar was quick to hurry over to Saphienne with a towel at the ready, utterly perplexed as he slowed to a halt beside the couches. Thessa had jumped across the table and was hugging her with a high-pitched squeal of joy, while Saphienne was laughing hoarsely through the pain as she cradled her spasming hand against her chest.

"…Are you two alright?"

Thessa leapt to her feet and threw her arms around Alinar too, startling him as she hung from his shoulders and spun him around. "Yes! Yes, we're excellent!"

Although confused, Alinar was familiar enough with Thessa to grin as he disentangled himself and pushed her away. "Calm down! What's happened?"

"My hand…" Saphienne hissed, unable to make the muscles relax. "…I can feel it again! Gods, can I feel it…"

His grin widened. Onlookers had wandered over to see what the fuss was, and Alinar turned to them with a pointed wave. "All's well! Happy news. Give them privacy, thank you."

Meanwhile, Thessa had run behind the counter, and she rifled through the enchanted, chilled cupboards where confectionaries were kept. "I'm requesting a cake!"

"A small one!" he called back. "We're low on supplies until the day after tomorrow — the festival cleared everyone out."

Saphienne closed her eyes and focused, trying to feel through the stabbing burn in her palm and wrist, willing her hand to obey. Her joints ached from the strain of her grip, her nails digging into her skin. "Do you–" She inhaled. "Do you have a rolling pin, Alinar?"

"Why do you want–"

"To hold."

She sensed his hesitancy, but it was short-lived. Alinar raced past the counter and through to the kitchen, returning at the same time as Thessa brought over whatever cake she'd chosen. "Would this–"

Saphienne grabbed the thick, wooden stirring spoon from him and jammed the thin end into her seized fist, worked it in circles as she levered loose her fingers. She sighed in relief as her fingertips were pried free, a little blood arisen where her nails left grooves in her skin. "…This definitely hurts…"

Concerned, Alinar appealed to Thessa. "Can you take her to Gaelyn?"

"No," Saphienne cut in. "This isn't too bad — I just need to hold this until my hand relaxes… it can't spasm forever…"

The three of them examined where she clenched the spoon, knuckles white.

"Looks like you're keeping that," Alinar groaned. "You've bled on it: shouldn't use it for soup now." He tossed her the clean tea towel. "Might as well have this too. I have some bandages and ointments in the kitchen–"

"Do you have willow tea?"

"…That, I think I do." He left to search.

Thessa set a glazed, lemon-coloured cake down on the table as she sat beside Saphienne. "Are you sure you don't want Gaelyn, or a priest? It looks sore."

"It is sore," Saphienne snorted, "but I don't care. The exercises are working — they have worked! If I can feel my hand, if I can move it, then I can relearn how to use it." Her cheeks ached from smiling. "Hyacinth will be so happy…"

"Everyone will be," Thessa giggled, and hugged Saphienne again. "Iolas is going to be ecstatic! He's been troubled."

Saphienne stared. "…Has he?"

"Not around you." Thessa slumped back against the couch, relief showing in her abrupt flush. "He's been trying to act normally; he didn't want to make you feel worse. He's really been angry and sad and not himself… but he'll be fine now." She laughed. "As soon as you tell him, you'll see what he's been hiding."

The thought of Iolas concealing his feelings was upsetting, but Saphienne's elation helped her swallow her unexpected tears. Quite why she was so emotional was a mystery to her — and then she felt silly, the suppressed anxieties about her disability recognisable now that she was going to be… she was going to be…

"Saphienne? Oh, trees keep you…"

She choked on her sobs as she let herself be hugged.

That was how the wardens found her, when they stormed through the door.

* * *

What were they arguing about? Saphienne had been too overwhelmed to follow.

"Yes!" Alinar was emphatic. "Since this morning! They've been sat right there all–"

"Did anyone else see them?" The Warden of the Wilds was unknown to Saphienne, her manner cold. "Show me your register of requests."

Thessa was by another couch at the far end of the teahouse, where it appeared like she was talking with thin air, the pair of wardens interviewing her wearing their Rings of Misperception.

"You're bleeding."

Saphienne glanced at her hand, then met the dispassionate gaze of the unfamiliar man keeping watch over her. "Not badly. My nails cut my palm."

Impassive, he accepted this. The fact that he wasn't interrogating her as well was foreboding.

"…Can I ask what this is about?"

He didn't respond.

"…Fine."

Whatever was going on, Saphienne knew better than to speculate aloud; she would wait until she understood more before she said anything. Perhaps Sundamar could explain why his fellow wardens were being adversarial, assuming he wasn't busy with–

…Had Almon beaten him to Lensa? Surely not…

Saphienne crossed her arms and waited.

* * *

When their witness inquiries were complete, four of the six wardens who had come to find Saphienne escorted her out of the teahouse and walked her through the village, refusing to allow Thessa to follow. They wouldn't answer any questions, one of the women keeping her hand on Saphienne's shoulder as they took her somewhere she'd never visited.

Her destination proved to be close; as she approached it, the raised voice of Almon hinted at what lay ahead.

"… Whoever among you is responsible, you will confess now!" Her master was furious, his thundering threats echoing through the woods. "Speak! Play the part of a wizard — take ownership of your actions, and be judged accordingly!"

Saphienne counted her steps in the lull.

"Continued silence will not avail you! Every second you withhold only worsens the consequences!"

As she was led into the grove, she saw the wizard berating a line of young adults, most of them wearing robes in black and dark grey, all of them cowed by the barely restrained wrath of Almon as he stalked back and forth and waved his ash wood staff. She saw Taerelle and Rydel among their number, and realised that her teacher was pressing his apprentices.

"No one?" He stopped before Taerelle, his fingers in her face. "You! Damn your alibi — you're fond of the girl! Did she put up to it?"

Taerelle was unnerved. "Master, I didn't do anything–"

"So it was Rydel!" He swung to the man next to her, leant uncomfortably close. "Taerelle shared what Saphienne had told her, didn't she? You decided to take matters into your own hands–"

"Master…" Rydel cautioned, his gaze on Saphienne.

"Don't you dare interrupt me, boy!"

The senior apprentice swallowed. "Master, Saphienne is here."

Eerie cool settled over Almon, who straightened and smoothed down his cerulean robes without turning.

"…You will all remain here." His tone was darkly low. "When next we speak, the culprit will confess, or there will be repercussions for you all that extend far beyond my immense disappointment."

The wardens had stopped some distance from him. Almon faced Saphienne as though looking through them, but nevertheless spoke to them cordially. "Thank you for fetching her. Take her inside — I shall wait until you are done."

She let them usher her into the nearby building, her mind on the preceding scene, perturbed by the implications of the wizard's performative anger. His stare had assessed her when he studied her, which meant that he wasn't entirely convinced that she'd done anything wrong…

…But he had reason to be wary of her; reason enough to pressure Taerelle.

Within the waiting area of the wide, two-storey structure were a number of people, most of whom she didn't recognise–

"You!"

Two of the wardens restrained the screaming woman as she ran for Saphienne, the others bundling the girl through the room and into the hall beyond — though not fast enough to avoid her noticing the acrimony on the faces she glimpsed.

"You said you forgave her! You said she wouldn't be punished–"

A door shut between them, muffling the frantic reproach of Syndelle's mother.

* * *

Being shown to a long, flat, yet comfortable couch in a windowless, well-lit room with a sink was enough for Saphienne to comprehend where she was.

A quarter of an hour later, when Faylar's mother arrived, Saphienne stood. "Alavara: what happened to Syndelle?"

The warden hadn't donned her leather armour, wasn't wearing camouflage, but her knife was strapped to her side above her practical trousers, her ferned ring prominent on her hand beneath the short sleeves of her brown shirt. She folded her arms as she leant in the doorway. "Why would you think–"

"Her mother screamed at me as I was brought in — and this must be Gaelyn's infirmary." Saphienne was in no mood for games. "Ask whatever you want, but tell me: is she badly injured? Will she recover?"

Scrutinising her, Alvara took Saphienne's measure. "…Gaelyn has attended to her. She's sleeping."

"Who else is here?"

The warden shook her head and entered the room. "We'll talk first. How's your hand feeling? Better?"

Aware that more wardens would be listening, Saphienne settled back down. "It hurts, but that's an improvement. You're obviously interviewing me, so please dispense with the pleasantries."

That won her a small nod. "You were at the teahouse all day?"

"Since a little before noon."

"With Thessa?"

"Yes," Saphienne replied, keeping her answers concise.

"Why were you with her?"

"She was teaching me to sketch." Some limited context would save time. "My girlfriend went home to the Vale of the White River a few days ago, and Thessa didn't want me to mope."

"Why the teahouse?"

"I was invited. Thessa often sketches there."

Alavara gave no indication as to whether she was convinced. "What did you do before you went to the teahouse?"

"I slept late, got up, bathed, dressed, had breakfast, wished Celaena a good morning, took a letter for my girlfriend to the courier post, then went to the teahouse to meet Thessa."

"Why did you sleep late?"

Saphienne canted her head. "You know why: I was up late with Sundamar, Myrinel, and Tirisa. Where's Sundamar?"

"He's nearby."

"Is he hurt?"

"Why would he be hurt?"

Saphienne bit her tongue; the pain in her hand shortened her patience. "…The only reason I can think why you'd treat me like this would be that something terrible has happened, giving you reason to doubt what I was doing with him and Myrinel. That makes me concerned for his wellbeing. Please stop: I don't know what's going on, and you can't trick me into admitting something I don't know."

Craning to the door, Alavara called through it. "You believe her?"

"No," responded Sundamar, armoured when he emerged into view. "Saphienne wouldn't give a damn if I got hurt."

"You're wrong," Saphienne snapped. "If you were hurt, it would have meant something had gone wrong — and Lensa might have escaped justice."

He wasn't amused. "That would be more believable… if you could be trusted."

She considered his hostility. "You're unharmed, but think I betrayed you; Syndelle was hurt; the group in the foyer are likely the guardians of Alynelle, Elisa, Tirisa, and Lensa; my master's roaring at all his proven apprentices; and you want to know what I've been doing."

Alavara stepped closer. "So?"

"The implication is obvious." Saphienne slowly exhaled. "Someone got to them before you did. They must have used magic. You confronted my master, but he doesn't know who's responsible — and suspects his apprentices. Whether or not you believe him, you don't have any leads, so you're squeezing me to see if I played you." She glared. "I didn't."

Sundamar wasn't impressed. "So you claim."

"Please explain to me," Saphienne challenged him, "why I would go to all that trouble – approaching you, then coaxing Syndelle, Alynelle, and Elisa to confess in front of you, then enticing Tirisa into outing herself with a crime – if I didn't want them caught."

"To avoid suspicion."

Saphienne blinked. "…You're a moron."

Alavara threw out her arm to stop Sundamar. "Saphienne, please explain to us why you think that's so unreasonable."

"Because it obviously wouldn't work!" She gestured to Sundamar. "We don't like each other — of course he assumes the worst! If I were ingratiating myself to the wardens, he's the last person I'd choose!"

Indignation made Saphienne rise. "–And what point would telling you who attacked me possibly serve? You had no idea! If Lensa and the others suffered reprisals, they wouldn't dare admit why — they wouldn't confess!"

He lost his temper. "But they have confessed!"

Alvara spun to him. "Sundamar!"

"This was your plan all along, wasn't it?" He ignored his partner as he worked himself into a frenzy. "They're so frightened of you that they confessed — you have your revenge–"

"Sundamar!"

"–While looking innocent! And just because you could, you've humiliated me–"

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"Enough!" Alavara shoved him toward the door.

Yet he resisted, shouting at Saphienne as his fellow wardens rushed in to restrain him. "You called me evil? You're evil, Saphienne!" His eyes were wild as he was dragged toward the door. "You're going to answer for what you've done! You hear me? You're not fooling anyone!"

Stunned, Saphienne had no reply.

She only watched as Sundamar shrugged off the hands that gripped him, his contempt for her searing and visceral as he bitterly stalked away.

* * *

Myrinel replaced Sundamar. For two hours, Alavara probed Saphienne on every pertinent event that had transpired since she'd first encountered Lensa, Tirisa, and Syndelle at the studio, establishing the timeline leading up to the assault, and her actions in its aftermath.

Several times, Myrinel interjected with a simple question that misstated what she had told them; she was deliberate with her corrections. When made to repeat herself, she kept to precisely the same phrasing. When invited to elaborate, she clarified exactly what they wanted to know, and confined herself to what would satisfy them.

She lied sparingly, and well.

* * *

Eventually, Almon was invited in.

He was direct. "Who did it?"

Her eyelids were heavy as she met his gaze, her tiredness undisguised, her expression as witheringly defiant as when he needled her during lessons. "I've not yet been fully informed about what was done to whom, and I don't know who was responsible."

"Did you tell Taerelle that the girls attacked you?"

"No."

He regarded her dispassionately, searching for the slightest deceit.

She endured.

"…I must know." The wizard leant on his staff. "Why didn't you tell me?"

No lie would serve when the truth was needed. "At first, because I believed they would escape punishment if I accused them. They had greater numbers — and my head had been injured, so they would say I was deluded."

"And then?"

"Taerelle assured me that whoever was responsible would be identified," she said, "and that even if there were insufficient testimony against them, no assault against a wizard would go unanswered. When I learned they would be punished with or without the consensus' approval, I couldn't let that happen."

Almon weighed her admission. "…Taerelle was consoling you with a fantasy," he lied in front of the wardens, and convincingly. "Yet, accepting that you sincerely believed it: why not come to me and explain your concerns? Why not ask for restraint, and for assistance proving their guilt?"

Wearily, and without apology, she smiled. "You would have done what you believed to be in my interests; that doesn't mean you would have cared what I wanted. And, more than anything?" She inclined her head. "You care about your apprentices, and you have a fearsome temper. I was afraid of what you would do to them."

Alavara observed Almon from the corner of her eye.

Saphienne had expected Almon to be angry, or dismissive…

…He was neither. He didn't react at all — not at first. After a pause, her master merely rubbed his face, rocking back on his heels with a subdued chuckle.

"You are," he murmured, "quite brilliantly idiotic, Saphienne. I haven't the remaining fortitude to pretend otherwise, so I shall concede: as tremendously foolish as you are, I understand how and why you reached this sorry position. I can't even be angry."

His acceptance infuriated her more than his condescension. "In what way am I–"

"Apprentice," he interrupted, straightening, "repeat for me: in his use of magic, who is a wizard ultimately accountable to?"

"Himself."

"And what holds him in check?"

"The Luminary Vale."

He smiled ruefully. "And in the absence of the Luminary Vale?"

Saphienne hesitated. "…His peers."

"Saphienne, putting aside all your misguided imaginings of vigilante justice," the wizard said, "can you now tell me why so many of my peers came to my aid – surrounded me – in the aftermath of the attempt upon your life?"

Too late, she saw. "So you wouldn't have…"

"…Opportunity to forget myself and do something rash, yes." He was unashamed by the admission. "You are unaccustomed to relying on the support of others, let alone the strength of a community. Even in this fairytale retribution, whether or not it would have been just? My notorious temper would not have been left unchecked — for my sake."

She still wouldn't have gone to him, but the revelation cut deep. "…Will I suffer any sanction, for not telling you?"

"Were it not for the fact you told the wardens, you would have." His candour was entirely without threat. "Yet your decision was wise; and from what I understand of your design, it was very nearly successful. A pity, that someone else was quicker."

* * *

Last to be allowed to see her was Gaelyn, who was clearly unsettled. He banished Alavara and the other wardens, then had his companion spirit confirm that he and Saphienne had privacy after shutting the door.

"We need to talk." He knelt down in front of her, his hands raised in reassurance. "The infirmary is warded against divinations — whatever you share with me and Spire remains private."

She inspected his gaze, made yellow by the presence of the spirit. "The wardens–"

"Can uncover crimes themselves." He clasped his hands together. "Spire and I took an oath to each other. Not to the gods, not upon the ancient ways. Our oath is for the wellbeing of whoever we attend — for their own sake."

She wasn't about to trust him, but she was curious what he wanted. "…Fine."

"Whoever did this for you — will we see more violence from them?" His stare pleaded for peace. "Will there be others, or can we consider it done?"

Saphienne relaxed. "Gaelyn, I honestly don't know. I didn't have a hand in this, and I don't know who did. I still haven't been told what–"

"Alynelle had broken ribs and a broken wrist." He climbed to his feet. "Elisa, a broken wrist and a twisted ankle. Syndelle's hand was completely shattered, her shoulder was broken, and she had a concussion. Tirisa got off the lightest — a fractured wrist, and a dislocated shoulder."

She digested the news. "…I won't pretend I'm sorry for any of them but Syndelle. She didn't deserve that. So Lensa wasn't hurt?"

His lips tightened. "…She was. Quite seriously."

The thrill she felt was unbecoming of a good person, Saphienne knew, so she kept her pleasure buried deep. "What happened to her?"

"Broken knee," Gaelyn began, "dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs, shattered left hand, contusions on her thighs, hips, and all over her back, along with a broken jaw, and a concussion that knocked her unconscious. She lay for an hour before she was found."

Part of her was horrified, hearing that.

Part of her desired worse. "Are any of her injuries permanent?"

"Physically? No." He remained matter-of-fact. "Mentally? The others were all attacked quickly — they never had opportunity to understand what was done to them until it was over. With Lensa, whoever did it took her time."

Saphienne frowned. "Her?"

He nodded. "Alynelle, Elisa, and Syndelle saw nothing. Lensa saw nothing, either, but her assailant broke her knee, threatened her, dragged her into the bushes, gagged her, then finished the assault." His disquiet grew as he went on. "She thinks she heard a woman's whisper. She was threatened, in graphic detail, with what would happen next time — if she didn't surrender to the wardens."

Whoever had avenged Saphienne wasn't set on vengeance for its own sake; she found that quite odd.

Gaelyn's impartiality cracked. "She was tortured, Saphienne. If you do know–"

"I don't." Even if she had known…

"…At least Tirisa was being followed by the wardens when she was attacked," he relented, grateful for that small mercy. "They didn't see was happening at first. Myrinel shouted — the assailant heard him and fled. When Sundamar got close enough to pierce the veil, he saw dark grey robes. She escaped him."

An itch began in the back of Saphienne's mind. "She was fast?"

"An elk ran between them." The healer mimed being struck on his side. "Knocked Sundamar down, but didn't trample him. By the time he recovered, the attacker was gone, and had left no trail."

Recognition stirred — she ignored it. "A skilled and lucky spellcaster, then."

"I agree with Almon: casting a perceptual veil is beyond a junior apprentice, as were the intensity of the conjurations used to hurt the girls. It was probably one of the senior apprentices, wearing their old robes…" He glanced to the door, lowered his voice. "…And I'm sure this was done without Almon's approval. This doesn't have the character of a wizard's revenge. Too direct; too brash; too reckless."

He waited for her comment.

"Gaelyn, this wasn't what I wanted."

He dropped the subject. "Just remember what I've said. Now, let's take a look at that hand of yours…"

* * *

By the time Gaelyn was prodding at her fist, Saphienne had been gripping the spoon for so long that her hold had weakened. He was able to pry back her fingers and stretch them against his hand; the pain sharpened, then dulled, and then her hand relaxed, falling limp again, though dim sensation remained everywhere apart from her fingertips.

She'd been right — it was a very good sign. Gaelyn was both pleased by her improvement and proud that his diagnosis appeared to be correct. He promised to cancel the impending visits from most of the specialists to which he'd written, and to ask the priest who specialised in brain injuries to come sooner. She was also to be assessed for a supportive enchantment, but the wizard who provided such services was in high demand, and her situation non-urgent.

"Keep doing the exercises; expect more spasms. Find something thick but yielding to hold onto — a soft leather ball would be best. Keep trying to flex your fingers, and diary any progress, even twitches."

In his educated opinion there was a good chance that, with patience and diligent effort, Saphienne might regain a portion of her hand's function by the time she reached her social maturity.

When she asked if it would ever be the same as it was, he was sceptical, though not dismissive. "Perhaps by the time you're my age – if you're fortunate – you might be close."

* * *

Accompanied out the rear door to avoid the crowd in front, Saphienne was chaperoned by Alavara, who stayed with her in the garden behind the infirmary. When she asked the warden whether she was free to leave, she was informed that they were waiting for her master to finish his inquiries.

A small pond occupied the middle of the garden; Saphienne sat on a stone bench facing it, absorbing the forest greenery reflected in the water. "I suppose you'll be watching me, now."

Alavara squinted. "If you've done nothing wrong, then you have nothing to fear."

Saphienne sagged where she sat. "Marvellous: I'm almost beaten to death, I try to do the right thing, someone intervenes without bothering to ask, and now I'm the one being treated like I'm guilty."

The warden moved beside her. "…I know you didn't do this."

She raised her head. "What convinced you?"

"Faylar talks about you." Alavara softened. "His impression agrees with Almon: you're not the sort to depend on others, not when there's risk. Sundamar is right about you being immature and reckless, so I can't picture you sitting around while someone else avenged you."

Were the gods real, Saphienne would have asked them to bless Faylar. "Your son's not wrong."

"Despite how close you two are, you didn't confide in him…" Faylar's mother was thoughtful. "…So I believe you didn't tell anyone other than Sundamar. Do you believe your master — there's no 'fairytale' explanation for this?"

"I do," Saphienne granted. "If my master had arranged this, Sundamar wouldn't have come close."

"…Gaelyn told you." Alavara smirked. "Did he share that's why Sundamar is upset? He broke our code when he and Myrinel agreed to your plan."

"He thought that you would go to Almon." She folded her arms, supporting her tingling hand in the crook of her elbow.

"I would have…" She looked up at the sky. "…And I'd have persuaded him to let us try to catch them first. If we couldn't, whatever happened next would have been on him. I'm more pragmatic than Sundamar."

"…We came very close…"

"If it's any consolation, you succeeded." Alvara stepped to the pond, balancing on one foot as she skimmed the surface with her boot. "All the girls apart from Lensa either incriminated themselves or confessed before this happened, so the testimony of Sundamar and Myrinel will stand. Even without a direct admission from Lensa, she'll be convicted — they all will."

Only when her breath burned in her throat did Saphienne remember to breathe. "But they've already been–"

"No." Alavara pivoted from the pond, shaking droplets from her foot. "They've not been brought to justice: they've been assaulted. We'll try to find whoever did that, but what the girls did hasn't been cancelled out. They still have to be tried."

Her lips worked soundlessly. "…They'll be punished twice."

"Not your fault."

Wasn't it? Saphienne couldn't be sure.

"So long as you didn't arrange this, whoever blames you–"

The door to the infirmary opened, and Saphienne was grateful for the interruption as her stomach churned. To reach the end and see that there was no justice…

A sharp cry made her twist around.

Standing frozen in the doorway, her wrists bound and her posture suggestive of concealed arraignment, Lensa stood in a plain white, ill-fitting sundress, her skin as blemishless as Saphienne recalled… but the sapphires of her eyes were darkened, her face stricken, her knees buckling as she shook in mortal terror.

She was terrified by the sight of Saphienne.

Who remained sitting as Alavara swore and shouted for the veiled wardens to take the girl back inside. All she did was gaze confidently across her shoulder, her green eyes bright, her blonde hair tumbling down from her long ears, her head tilted and lips level, her countenance as ambiguous as waking into twilight.

That was the last time Lensa saw Saphienne.

* * *

Celaena and Laewyn were led to her, both of them flushed and sweating, the faint, acrid scent of red wine on their skin. Despite the festival having concluded, Celaena wore a dress.

They returned to Celaena's home quickly. On the way, Laewyn vomited against a tree, the wine she'd drunk spattering onto her shoes.

Apparently, the Wardens of the Wilds had interrogated them about their day, followed by Almon giving Celaena the same treatment. Celaena admitted to Saphienne that they'd been indisposed together when the alarm and door bells had begun to ring; Laewyn was too shamefaced and miserable to comment.

They entered the great foyer and firmly shut the doors. Laewyn muttered that she didn't feel well, and retreated to the bathroom.

The potted hyacinths were back in place near the window in Saphienne's claimed bedroom, and she was very glad to see them, exhausted as she leant upon the sill and touched the blossoms. "Hyacinth?"

Yet the bloomkith wasn't in the flowers.

A breeze flowed through the doorway to stir the curtains, and it swirled tenderly across her cheek before descending into the petals. Curious where Hyacinth had been, Saphienne reached out again…

To be met with no response.

"Saphienne."

Celaena carried herself taller as she came into the room, having changed back into her pale grey robes.

Saphienne nudged the pot. "Why won't she answer? What were you–"

"She's letting me talk to you first." Crossing to the bed, the older girl perched on its edge with her hand closed above her lap, her grey-blue eyes steady.

"…Celaena…"

Saphienne was apprehensive as she joined her.

And then? There was no need for Celaena to speak.

She revealed what she held in her palm, then set it on the silken sheets between them, where its polished copper shone.

* * *

Can you guess what Saphienne felt, as she understood what had happened? She couldn't. Or at least, she couldn't decide, unable to choose between the two faces that willed themselves be shown.

The elven tree was aghast, enraged, ready to strangle the tranquil girl who awaited recrimination.

And yet, the human head? That part of her swelled with pride, and wanted to snatch up the coin and kiss Celaena — for that was the only gesture strong enough to convey the absolute affirmation that blazed in her, yearning with all her passion to be imparted upon her ever-loyal friend.

She did neither. Saphienne listened, and Celaena talked.

From the perspective of the older girl, Saphienne had seemed paralysed with indecision — unable to pick between her principles and continuing her apprenticeship. Concern for her had made Celaena consult with Hyacinth, who conveyed a detailed account of the beating. Then, that day in the teahouse, Celaena had beheld the malevolence within Lensa and had been justifiably outraged, incandescent on Saphienne's behalf.

What sort of friend would she have been, if she had sat by and let Saphienne falter?

So she'd done what Saphienne had done. Celaena had kept her plans to herself, ensuring she would be the only one to suffer should she fail. Using what she'd observed during her companionship with Laewyn, Celaena had worked out the movements of the girls, plotting their schedules throughout each week. She'd furthermore swallowed her pride and made peace with Hyacinth, at first only to seek advice, though soon finding that the spirit was just as eager for retribution.

Joined in purpose, she and Hyacinth had mapped a route to take her through the village while concealed, avoiding attention from elves and spirits, employing the Ring of Misperception to approach each target by surprise. Both the ring and her new robes had been retrieved from inside the sanctum, Celaena applying the magical seal her father had left her – the purpose for which Taerelle had inadvertently revealed – to open the doors.

When she'd struck, she'd used the Rod of Repulsion, Hyacinth having instructed her where to place her blows to inflict the damage warranted for each target. Were it not for the last girl being trailed by the wardens, Tirisa would have suffered far worse than she got.

And Celaena was unapologetic.

Yet, there were two steps for which she felt guilt.

Last night, Celaena had sat Laewyn down and betrayed Saphienne to her. She had explained, fully, what had been going on — and the inevitable result if the wrongdoing wasn't brought to light. She had told her, in brutal candour, that the girls Laewyn thought were her friends, who had laughed with her at the play on the second morning of the festival while Saphienne lay in mortal agony, were not who they pretended.

Then, she had demanded her help.

If Laewyn loved Celaena, she would be her alibi. Or she could go to the Wardens of the Wilds, and their romance would be through.

* * *

"…You know how it went." Celaena was contented. "I hurt them in proportion to how badly they hurt you, and to their culpability. I would have done more to Syndelle, but most of what she did to you was really on Lensa and Tirisa."

Saphienne could scarcely speak. "…You tortured Lensa."

"She tortured you."

There was no answer Saphienne could give.

"Hyacinth covered my tracks — and saved me from the wardens. Everything's back where it belongs now; no one will know what I did but you and Laewyn, and she's my accomplice."

"…They'll be convicted. Punished again."

"Better than not at all."

If only Saphienne had warned her…

Celaena grew tearful. "Saphienne… I love you, too. I meant it, when I said you're like my sister. If you think I shouldn't have done this? You're wrong… but I'll still love you, even if you report me. Just promise that you'll say Laewyn was forced, and that you'll go on to become a wizard without me."

How perfectly wretched it was, to know Celaena meant every word.

"Are you angry?"

Saphienne laughed, grim and mirthless. "…I don't know whether I love you, or hate you. I'm unsure how much of this was even you…"

"What do you mean?"

Saphienne peered at the hyacinths. "…She can be persuasive. Not just like you first experienced."

"I knew what I was doing."

She shut her eyes. "So did I, at the time. And like you, I don't regret it."

"We acted together. I'm the one who asked for her help."

Unconsciously, yet in trepidation, Saphienne reached for the coin, feeling it cool and reaffirming where it rested in the centre of her palm.

What would Kylantha think?

No, what would Kylantha feel?

The sentiment unfurled slowly, like a mending wing.

"…From now on, we act together, or not at all. We're both very–"

In the hall, the alarm bell pealed. Then the door bell rang, and again — continuing without cease.

Celaena breathed out in recognition, long and sorrowful. "…That sounds like the wardens. I must have fucked up."

Saphienne quailed.

Warmly, Celaena turned to embrace her. "I'm sorry. Don't try to save me. Blame everything on me, and don't ever look back."

"Celaena, I–"

The older girl couldn't bear to hear; she stood and strode toward her reckoning.

Saphienne followed her down. "Celaena, there has to be–"

"Let me have my dignity."

How very much the foyer resembled the library, now that the wardens knocked.

Celaena composed herself before the doors. She was adept at hiding her anxieties, and so needed only a short span before she reached for the handle. "You can–"

There was no one on the doorstep.

Saphienne and Celaena faced each other in astonishment as the ringing of the bells diminished, oblivious to the outside world.

Celaena's eyebrows were raised. "What could–"

Then the door slammed behind Celaena, and the gross perceptual veil that was diverting their attention ripped asunder, revealing a figure in black robes with a long, blonde braid who scowled as she seized the older girl by her collar, seething with resentment.

Saphienne stepped back. "…Taerelle?"

"Thou art mistaken child." Her eyes were yellow, tinged with an invidious, absinthe green. "Wormwood hath come."

End of Chapter 87

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