Chương 94: CHAPTER 89 – Assumptions of Responsibility

"You're the one who shattered the tree…" Having lived in anticipation of a reckoning with Almon for months, Saphienne listened from beneath a tide of overwhelming despair.

"…And Saphienne covered for you, didn't she?" Surprise made her eyes flutter open — stunned that he blamed Celaena. Yet the older girl had arrived prepared for confrontation, and she slipped past Saphienne to interpose herself against their master.

"Which tree are you referring to? The one that Saphienne told us about?"

"Let us not waste time." The wizard folded his arms.

"My conjecture is that Saphienne stole the Ring of Misperception, intending that you would use it were you forced to flee the woodlands; the wards on your home stymied our attempts to divine its location. I presume your father left you a Rod of Repulsion?" Refusing to be intimidated, Celaena crossed her arms as well.

"If you're going to accuse us of crimes–""Don't be simple." He waved the notion aside as he settled back against the counter.

"Half the sylvan spirits have condemned Saphienne for freeing their apostate sister; the other half are equally convinced the gods have intervened through her — and all but beatify her for the act." His commentary was devoid of feeling.

"Were the truth to come out? Should they learn that Saphienne is innocent, and that the culprit is daughter to a senior member of the Luminary Vale? I cannot begin to fathom the consequences." Aware that he could be engaged in a ruse to draw out their confessions, Saphienne pretended scepticism.

"You seem very sure about–""Her father told me." Celaena flinched. Saphienne became very still as she studied Almon. When she had imagined him uncovering her actions, she had always supposed he would be angry, and that he would express his contempt with fiery wrath or cold disdain. Yet the man before her today was calmer than she had ever witnessed; he was not the same wizard she usually read.

Her every instinct told her that the outcome of their conversation had been decided long in advance of his calling them into his kitchen. She believed him.

"Her father wrote to you?"

"He would never be so foolish — he didn't even say it directly." A gasp escaped Celaena.

"Father was here?"

"Three days ago." Almon checked the teapot steeping beside him as he recounted the fateful visit.

"I had an intimation of your culpability before he knocked on my door; his presence brought it into focus. Why else would a wizard of the Fourth Degree – let alone one with his responsibilities – be stopping in to visit someone of my meagre attainment?" The apprentices said nothing, watching as their master poured tea for himself.

"He began by asking after Saphienne, stressing how sorrowful he felt for what had happened to her during the festival. When we naturally progressed to talking about the investigation, he was laudatory of my efforts to uncover the responsible parties…" He lifted his brimming cup, sipped, then set it down.

"…And he was unaccountably unconcerned that I had been entirely unsuccessful. He remarked that he had heard from several of my peers on the matter — all of whom considered the outcome proportional to the offence." The wizard shook his head.

"Earlier, I had received letters from them. Quite why they had all been moved to console me had been unclear, but as I listened to Celaena's father I came to understand: it was so I would take seriously what he shared." His gaze fixed on Saphienne.

"Apparently, High Master Lenitha opined to him that, now the affair is resolved, it would be best for everyone if we put it behind us." As she returned his stare, Saphienne saw that Almon had recontextualised the letter of invitation she'd received. For all that he was mistaken about the particulars, he now knew that she'd betrayed his trust; that the High Master had sanctioned her betrayal; and that the Luminary Vale had deliberately kept him ignorant about what his apprentices had done.

"Were there any doubt as to the injunction he was delivering, our subsequent discussion made the point unambiguous." He regarded Celaena dispassionately, taking hold of the lapels of his robe as he paced forward.

"Your father complimented me on my teaching, and asked after several of my students by name." Although her left hand remained useless, Saphienne had a vice-like grip upon her sudden dread.

"Which students?"

"All those who have expressed ambitions of applying to the Luminary Vale." His lips pursed as he paused before her.

"He emphasised how promising they seemed to him, and suggested that they were very fortunate to have studied under me. Without the example of my wisdom and discretion, he doubted they would have any chance of…" Woodenly, the wizard turned away. Observing him as he sought composure in his cooling tea, Saphienne realised she pitied Almon.

He had attained only the minimum mastery required to be acknowledged as a wizard, and his behaviour in meetings of the local consensus demonstrated that he scarce had the temperament for politics. Almon was an able teacher, but teaching was the limit of his competence — why else had he been appointed to the periphery of the woodlands? Nevertheless, he was proud, and so had reassured himself that he was held in higher esteem than his circumstance suggested…

but the way in which he'd been reined in had dispensed with that fiction.

"…I don't resent your father for coming to your defence, Celaena; I wish my own father had been as supportive of me." He drained his cup.

"What I find intolerable is that, in order to protect you, the futures of several talented wizards have been predetermined. Should I do as the High Master requests, then Arelyn, Taerelle, and all the rest will be guaranteed to follow me into the Luminary Vale.

"And should I punish you?" He faced the girls.

"Then their dreams will be dashed. Nor dare I share what has been decided, for then my students would be crushed to find out that their merit with the Great Art matters less than your family. Your father has entrapped me quite ruthlessly." All Almon had that truly mattered was his teaching: there had been nothing else worth threatening. Saphienne wondered whether Celaena's father had understood quite how he was humbling his subordinate… Celaena accepted the outcome quietly, only glancing to Saphienne.

"What about her?"

"Saphienne has evidently done nothing worthy of censure…" Irony tinged his answer.

"…And the sympathy your father expressed for her leads me to conclude that she benefits from the same protection as you. I cannot divest either of you of your apprenticeships…" There, Saphienne parted the veil that had draped across the future.

"…For this affair."

"Correct." Now vindictive embers were smouldering in his eyes.

"Celaena's father concluded his visit by expressing his desire that I continue to hold my students to the high standard expected of elven wizards. You two have only been pardoned for your extant transgressions." She exhaled slowly.

"You'll be looking for a reason to fail us."

"Withdraw from your apprenticeships now," Almon demanded, "or never again give me cause to find fault. My opinion is that the two of you are liars and thieves: I trust neither of you to act responsibly in pursuit of the Great Art, and I cannot comprehend why your actions have been excused by a High Master." What Celaena said in reply would linger with Saphienne for a long, long time.

"Saphienne has suffered enough. You shouldn't be so quick to judge her: you don't know the full story."

"Indeed I do not," he conceded, "but you decided that I needn't know. The moment you were fascinated and made to shatter that prison, you should have come straight to your master for aid. Subsequently, you both had many opportunities to explain yourselves, and chose not to avail yourselves of my advice or assistance." Almon was intelligent enough to guess there were compelling reasons — why else would the Luminary Vale have said nothing?

The wizard chose not to entertain them because he correctly anticipated further wounds to his ego. There was no point in arguing; Saphienne moved on.

"What happens now?" Their master addressed Celaena first.

"I will credit your father with incisive judgement, and presume that he has disposed of the ring and the rod." She spoke carefully.

"Father is an accomplished and wise wizard." Next, he questioned Saphienne.

"Has this recent furore with the woodland spirits been adequately addressed?" Saphienne took equal care.

"A bloomkith matriarch assures me that all is well."

"Then I am obliged to bow to the consensus of the Luminary Vale: the past shall remain the past." Yet a dark measure of his theatricality returned as he dropped the empty teacup to shatter on the floor.

"But I refuse to extend any further consideration beyond what you are owed as my apprentices — and I decline to release you to study elsewhere. Prove yourselves deserving of this forbearance by enduring with dignity, or divest yourselves of your ambitions to wizardry." Were the situation not serious, Saphienne would have laughed at the example he set; instead she bowed to her master. Celaena followed her lead. Far from mollified, Almon was dismissive toward Saphienne as he concluded.

"Two minor matters must be addressed. Celaena's father has confirmed he is content with your living arrangement, and Tolduin has accepted my recommendation that you two continue together until you choose otherwise. Separately, Tolduin has informed me that you are to visit with Nelathiel at the shrine to Our Lord of the Endless Hunt, and to do so before the end of the month." Whatever the priests wanted, Saphienne needed to speak to Nelathiel anyway.

"I'll go within the week."

"We are done for today." He pointed to the rear door leading to his garden.

"Say nothing about this to Iolas, and assume the Wardens of the Wilds will be watching: I will not intervene if you are rightfully apprehended. You are dismissed." Together, Saphienne and Celaena bowed once more, then departed. * They didn't immediately tell Iolas what had changed. He obviously sensed that something was wrong as they came out into the garden, but he didn't pry, just as he hadn't asked either of them about what had happened to the girls responsible for beating Saphienne.

He fell in beside them, indicated his satchel.

"Shall I take the book first?"

"Hm?" Celaena needed a moment to remember their assigned reading.

"Oh. Yes, you can drop it off with us when you're done." Awkward silence reigned.

"…Would you like me to give you both space?" Iolas gestured toward the village — toward the direction of his distant home and away from the grand house they habitually studied in.

"We don't have to revise today–" Saphienne impulsively took his arm.

"Come with us. We need to talk." * When they had arrived and the doors were shut, Saphienne called on Hyacinth to have her search throughout the residence, making sure the apprentices were completely alone before she drew the curtains in Celaena's study.

"Could someone listen against the window?" Iolas was perturbed by her paranoia.

"The Wardens of the Wilds? No. You've never noticed the panes are soundproof?" She shrugged as she sat at the table, feeling Hyacinth inquisitively floating around her before the spirit receded. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Celaena brightened the lamps and sat next to her, leaving Iolas to take a place across from them.

"He's right," she commented.

"They don't even vibrate — the enchantment resists anything and everything that could disturb the glass."

"…Then we're probably safe to talk." Saphienne sighed as she folded her arms on the table and leant on her chin.

"I don't think we can risk this discussion anywhere else, and we should only speak here in future when Hyacinth has checked no one has snuck inside." Uneasy, Iolas raised his hands.

"Can I say something? If this is about what happened to Lensa and the rest of them, I don't want to know."

"We figured that out days ago," Celaena noted.

"You've been conspicuously disinterested." Peering into his conflicted gaze, Saphienne tried to determine whether he was afraid of what he would learn.

"…You already think you know what happened. This isn't about your opinion of us?" His amusement was sickly.

"What I don't know can't be used to hurt you. But whatever our master said to you today means we're going to have to talk about this, doesn't it?" Relief made Saphienne close her eyes.

"…I didn't realise how worried I was."

"About how I saw you?" The smile in his voice wavered.

"Did you think I was keeping my distance because I was done with you?" When she forced a smile of her own, it felt fragile.

"…You kept quiet about how upset my hand made you."

"That was different." His chair creaked, the familiar sound of him folding his legs and leaning back.

"I didn't want to add to your troubles. This is a matter of principle…" Celaena snorted.

"Fine, Iolas: be the judge. What do you think happened?" Nervously, Saphienne raised her head to watch him. He was looking up at the ceiling, on edge as he massaged behind his ear and tried to find the words–"Celaena did it." He looked at her with grim resolve.

"You used Thessa to give Saphienne an alibi for the day. She figured it out first, you know: she came straight to me when the wardens were finished with her. Word had gotten around about the attacks." The girl he accused didn't deny it.

"And?"

"She begged me not to tell anyone what I knew." He laughed in self-recrimination, too much emotion in his throat.

"Thessa thought I'd tell our father, or go straight to the wardens. She thinks I'm a better person than I am." Saphienne had been frowning.

"…You are a good person. Why haven't you told?" Iolas twisted in his chair, holding in a breath as he grappled with the answer.

"…You know," he admitted at last, "I've been saying to myself that I only have suspicions, and that even if I am right, I don't know the full picture, and that whatever has been going on is too complicated to reduce to black and white. I've gone back and forth in my head a hundred times; I reread my essay on wisdom, trying to reconcile what I'd written with what I've– well, what I've not been doing. Aren't I obliged to uphold the consensus?" She waited.

"But I think…" He studied their dim reflections in the gloss of the table.

"…I think there's a point where my principles press up against the principles of others, and there it becomes a question of trust. Are you a well-meaning, ethical person? Do I believe you did the best you could in the place where you found yourself? And is there a compelling reason for me to ignore that, and condemn you anyway?" Celaena's lip quivered.

"I don't think you would have done this if you saw another choice." Iolas pierced her with his stare.

"You have a temper, but it's not a cold temper. What you did took planning and consideration, or you'd have been caught. In your essay, you wrote about pursuing the greatest good for the greatest number of people — and I don't know if that's how you always live your life, but I do believe it's how you try to. So I trust that this looked like the least worst option to you… and…" He let his eyelids and ears droop.

"…I don't think you'd have done this in ordinary circumstances. I don't believe there's any danger you'll do this to someone else — and even if you had cause to, and found yourself tempted, you're smart enough to realise that you can't get away with this more than once.

"Above all, they were guilty, and even though this wasn't justice… would the punishment you face be just?" He let the question stretch.

"That's the part I can't answer. Not because I'm afraid to, but because I don't think anyone but you really can. Celaena: what do you think you deserve?" Overcome, Celaena shook her head.

"…That's what I needed to see." Iolas sat forward.

"You don't think it was right. You're not fine with what you did. You being the way you are, you probably don't regret it, but you know you shouldn't have done it." Her whisper was hoarse.

"Shouldn't I be remorseful?"

"There's a difference between remorse and repentance, to me: remorse is what we feel, but repentance is what we do." He inclined his head.

"If you want to repent, then don't ever do anything like this again." But there was a lie in what he'd said, and Saphienne wrestled with herself as she tried to ignore it, until she was too uncomfortable to restrain herself.

"…That isn't your reason. You're justifying yourself." Iolas flushed.

"…You really can't compromise, can you?" Another laugh – strained, more breath than cry – broke from his lips as he slumped.

"That's the reason that should be true; that's the reason I'm giving." Coughing, Celaena looked to him with melancholic acknowledgement.

"You're not all summertime and goodness on the inside, are you?"

"No one is." He took solace in that truth.

"So what do we do with ourselves, and how do we try to live with each other? It's more than any one person can decide… but in the end, everyone must." Saphienne recognised his limit. She was satisfied: Iolas had indirectly revealed his motive, and his urging Celaena to repent with her future conduct was as much directed at himself in his hypocrisy. He simply didn't have the heart to give his close friend to the wardens, not for doing what – in his worst self – he had found catharsis in contemplating.

She let him abide, and invited his scrutiny in turn.

"What about me?" Iolas glanced to Saphienne.

"…Thessa thinks you didn't know. The rumour about how they were convicted suggests that you didn't, and that this happened in parallel." From time to time, she was reminded that Iolas was much more astute than his politely reserved manner implied.

"I didn't. I told Hyacinth and Celaena who was responsible, then I sat on it until I worked out how to bring them to justice. I never told Celaena about my plan…" She avoided looking at her.

"…Which was the stupidest mistake I've ever made." Celaena sniffed as she rubbed her face.

"…Odd bird. If it makes you feel better, I was an idiot to think you wouldn't have one."

"So…" Iolas craned forward, planting both feet on the floor.

"…Why did you do it?" Saphienne and Celaena shared a pained look. * By the time they had finished unpacking the tangle of miscommunication and festering fear, Iolas was dismayed to the point that he slouched on the table in exhausted mirror of Saphienne. His verdict was bleak.

"I don't know what I hate most about all of this."

"Yes you do," Saphienne retorted.

"The part about wizards meting out their own form of justice." He softly swore under his breath.

"…You're right." Celaena and Saphienne had never explicitly talked the events through before, and during their explanation to Iolas the older girl had learned something which troubled her.

"…If I'd known that Almon would be restrained by the other wizards…" Saphienne sat up with a nod.

"You'd have told him. You did it because you thought it was the only way to stop him looking into what happened with the spirits, and because we were concerned his temper would get the better of him."

"…I was wrong." Celaena stood and walked to the far shelves. Iolas covered his eyes.

"Would he have figured it out, without Taerelle and your father intervening?" The same preoccupation had been needling Saphienne ever since they left the parlour, and she massaged her lifeless, tingling hand as she gave voice to her opinion.

"I think he would have. Taerelle was sure he was putting the pieces together, and even without knowing that Celaena had access to her darker robes and a Rod of Repulsion, the facts he did possess pointed to me — and I'm living with Celaena."

"Then…" Iolas breathed in as he stood.

"…This wasn't right, but was probably for the best. That 'probably' is carrying a lot of weight, but I stand by it." Celaena murmured, "How?"

"Because if our master was going to figure out Saphienne's involvement in the clearing while identifying Lensa," he proposed, "then even if her plan had succeeded, I think he would have still put it together later. His attention had been drawn — he's a wizard, and the oddness would have made him curious." Squinting, Saphienne surveyed the possibilities.

"…You may be right. He knew Celaena was possessed by Hyacinth, that she had been unwell, and that she was willing to give up her apprenticeship for me. He'd have probably examined my circumstances, assumed I broke the tree, tried to figure out how, come up with no answer, then factored in Celaena and landed right where he has." Celaena faced them.

"Without my father protecting you." Her stomach dropped.

"…You're right. We talked it over before, didn't we? Your father would have intervened to save your apprenticeship, but there's no reason he'd have protected me." Iolas walked behind his chair, drumming his fingers on the back.

"…Why did he? Just because you threw your lot in with her, Celaena?" She hesitated to answer. Yet Saphienne intuited what she couldn't.

"…It was Taerelle. Her admission to the Luminary Vale is tied up with me, and she took a huge risk on behalf of his daughter. Taerelle must have put it to him that the cleanest solution was to bundle everything together and tidy it all away." Her rationale met with Celaena's agreement.

"That seems most probable. Father would care that you and I are close, but that wouldn't be enough to sway him on its own." Hearing that, Iolas canted his head.

"One other question — and this puzzles me. Why didn't your father just ask our master to look the other way? Why not approach him like a fellow wizard? Knowing Almon, he'd have probably agreed just from the flattery of having someone so influential treat him with respect."

"Well…" Celaena wrung her hands.

"…Father isn't the sort to ask."

"Why?" Saphienne rose as well.

"Because," she confessed, aware that she was speaking for herself as much as she was the wizard of the Fourth Degree, "if he had asked, then there was the chance that Almon would have refused." Iolas raised his eyebrows.

"Couldn't he have threatened him then?"

"Not as effectively." A disturbing revelation crept up behind her.

"The surest way to make our master do what he wanted was to structure the situation to seem inescapable. Almon's fellow wizards and sorcerers were in agreement with Celaena's father; a High Master of the Luminary Vale endorsed what was to happen. He left no one to petition, then gave Almon the illusion of choice. He made it seem like…"

"…Saphienne?" She turned to Celaena.

"I never asked you what your father chose as his discipline. I think I know." Celaena had instantly become brittle where she now hunched, pleading with every fibre of her being, the grey in her glittering eyes made black by the low light.

"…Don't."

"But–""I said don't!" As her friend fled from the study, Saphienne could only stare. Having started at the outburst, Iolas collected himself, coming around the table to join Saphienne where she held herself.

"…What was that? And do you really have to push everyone?" Ashamed of herself, and yet worried in ways she couldn't fully articulate, Saphienne stepped closer to Iolas and leaned against him.

"I thought it hadn't occurred to her… I shouldn't have said anything."

"Why does his discipline even matter?" However could Saphienne begin to answer that question?

"… I'm not sure. It's complicated. And you're right: it's Celaena's business, and I ought to have left it alone." Wary, but conscious he was a guest in their house, Iolas acquiesced. * Why did Saphienne press Celaena? You may have guessed; and Saphienne did know why, just as she knew that explaining what had happened to Iolas would necessarily require she explain herself. Doing so was beyond her ability at that time.

So she withdrew, not out of respect for Celaena's boundaries, but because she was yet unready to fully define her own. What had so unnerved both of them? They were each undone by different causes. For Celaena, it had been by horror for what she beheld in her past — and its terrifying implications for the life that she believed she wanted, but which had been chosen for her. For Saphienne, it had been by terror at what she beheld in a future she knew she did not want, but which she felt pulled toward.

So, then: what was the terrible insight? That Celaena's father was a master of Fascination. * Saphienne and Iolas left Celaena, walking into the village to afford her solitude. Likely trailed by the wardens, they talked about nothing in particular.

Iolas shared in passing that Thessa had been visited by Gaeleath; the sculptor had been asked to find a suitable place within the Eastern Vale to permanently host the statute they had sculpted for the summer festival, and they wanted her opinion about the site they had in mind.

"Lovely." Saphienne tried to hide her discomfort, for she hadn't been back to Gaeleath's pavilion since her wrist had been shattered.

"I'm sure wherever they choose will be beautiful." Iolas saw through her façade.

"Would trying sculpture again help you recover? Do familiar activities hold any benefit for your hand?" She was scared to find out.

"Perhaps. But sculpting isn't really a one-handed activity."

"…If anyone could find a way to do it one-handed…" Saphienne rolled her eyes.

"Your confidence in me is too great — and good thing Faylar isn't here, or he'd make a joke about what you said." Iolas snorted.

"He doesn't need to — you just did." She hadn't seen Faylar recently, either. She'd been avoiding the village…

"I'm not complaining, but are you walking me all the way home?" Saphienne blinked and stopped in his grove.

"…No. But do say hello to Athidyn and Mathileyn for me."

"No love for Thessa?" He grinned.

"I'll let everyone know. Be safe." * After they exchanged farewells Saphienne went on to wander, aware of where she was yet thoroughly lost, her thoughts heavy, her mind snared upon the winding, precarious path that narrowed as it stretched on to her adulthood. Now, with anguish, she was sure: she didn't like the person she was becoming. Whereas she had began with the presumed freedom to become whomever she wished, every passing day now constricted her choices and estranged her from her fellow elves.

She felt as though – no matter how she tried to sculpt herself – who she was already awaited her in the stone of her being. Whether the fault was found in her faltering song or her base matter, her problems, she knew, lay entirely with her. If she were better at being with people… If she were more trusting of them… If she were more loveable… … Then, whoever would she be? As they always did when she was preoccupied while roaming, Saphienne's feet had carried her to the library; it was at once both small and looming.

And replete with recollections.

"…There are unhappy memories in there. There are also happy memories. I will remember them all…" Was it really her decision, what memories she made? There was only one way to tell. Saphienne climbed the steps. End of Chapter 89