Chương 96: CHAPTER 91 – Ways Ancient and Magical

My Dearest Saphienne, Sat under the maple tree in the upper terrace of the garden, Saphienne smiled through her blush as she read the salutation in the letter from Laelansa. The afternoon was balmy due to the stirring breeze, soothing with the rustle of leaves and the sway of tall grass, clear beneath the rolling clouds that threatened no rain. I'm sorry I didn't write back sooner! I wrote you a letter during the journey home, but someone spilled their drink over my pack when we were nearly there.

Then your first letter arrived before I could compose another one, and I didn't know how to reply. You have lovely handwriting. Her smile grew wider as she pictured the awkward girl fretting over her words. Ruddles says I should be honest with you. I was annoyed with you at first. You let me be friendly with those awful girls: I didn't like that. To learn they were the ones who hurt you makes me furious, because I thought they were nice, and I feel guilty for enjoying our time with them in the teahouse. But…

I would have felt worse if I'd had to pretend. And your plan was good. I don't understand all of the reasons why you didn't tell everyone right away, though I know you must have had good ones. Her cheer faltered as Saphienne reflected on what she hadn't been able to put in her two letters to Laelansa. The reality was that her reasons had seemed compelling… but she knew now that there had been other, better ways to approach the problem.

She'd given it serious thought, and what she should have done was tell Hyacinth and Celaena her broad plan after that first confrontation in the teahouse: from that point on, all she needed them to do was nothing. An improvement would have been to secure the help of Sundamar and then reach out to Taerelle, or perhaps Nelathiel, and ask to be heard in strictest confidence, trusting that either woman would respect her intentions enough to let her try. Trust: that was her problem.

She'd visited Taerelle on three more occasions over the past five days, and thanks to pointed conversations she'd come to see that the reason she was so deceptive was because – just as Taerelle had said upon becoming her tutor – she needed to have control. And why did she need control? Saphienne struggled to trust the people who cared about her. Who could blame her? Her mother wasn't dependable, and everyone else she had grown close to… their favour was conditional.

There was never anything she could do that would make her mother stop loving her, but her mother was insufficient for motherhood; everyone else only cared to the degree she fitted with who they were. There were sequences of words she could say and actions she could perform that would shatter their care. Which Taerelle had – despite great inner turmoil – admitted was a warped view.

One she happened to share with the junior apprentice, but intellectually the senior recognised that believing friendships and close bonds were too perishable to abide in was self-defeating. She tried to behave as though the world were otherwise. Hearing that, Saphienne had realised what she'd defied when she'd sought reconciliation with Filaurel. She had rejected what she had been taught by life — what she had observed to be true. What that implied for how she understood truth, she hadn't yet figured out… …

But until she did, she willed herself to act as though she trusted. Taerelle was doing the same for her. Although she didn't yet fully believe, she suspected that she would have been assisted by her tutor if she'd presented her plan in motion.

"Of course she would've helped," Saphienne murmured.

"Taerelle is helping me." She was trying to correct herself whenever she noticed her errors. Thus far, progress was vexingly slow. I knew what had happened before your second letter arrived; the wardens came to speak with me. Don't worry! They just asked what we'd been doing together for the week, and whether I'd seen anything that suggested who'd attacked Tirisa and the others. I was honest with them: I hadn't. I can't imagine what sort of person would do that.

She must be someone who loves you a great deal, and she must be very angry. I can understand that much… but actually planning and doing those things is frightening. Or maybe I'm just scared because I don't want to consider whether I'm capable of that. Whoever it was, I hope she stops there. Given that their correspondence was certainly being read by the Wardens of the Wilds, was her girlfriend trying to tell her something? Did Laelansa suspect Saphienne knew who was responsible — or was somehow involved?

Laelansa could be oblivious, but she wasn't without capacity for subterfuge… Anyway. I'm glad the girls who hurt you won't hurt anyone else, and that they can't keep pretending they're good. I did have a bad feeling about Lensa… but I'm not the best at reading people, so I told myself I was being unkind. Maybe I should trust myself when I get bad feelings in future. I still feel good about you. I miss you. Saphienne had to put the letter down, for the paper was blurry.

* Thankfully, the remainder that Laelansa recounted was light and easy, and Saphienne found herself giggling at an extensive description of an encounter with a small and persistently friendly forest cat. By the time she was done reading, Saphienne's chest unexpectedly ached, and she sat for several minutes picturing that first morning she had woken to find her girlfriend cuddling close. She tried to remember the scent of her hair, frowned when it eluded her. There would be other days together, she promised herself.

In what she intended to become a regular habit, Saphienne went up to Celaena's study and sat at the large table to immediately draft her reply. She considered what she could share that wouldn't cause future problems — and then hesitated at that impulse. So long as she wasn't telling the wardens what they didn't already know, why hold anything back? Laelansa was so naïve that she had never been anything other than accepting of who Saphienne was. … Was her girlfriend actually naïve?

Or did Saphienne tell herself that because she didn't respect her for–"What are you writing?" Celaena hovered in the doorway, holding the scroll that contained her proving spell.

"Laelansa wrote to me," Saphienne answered.

"I'm trying to respond." Conflicted, the older girl settled on a sad smile.

"How is she?"

"Good. The wardens questioned her about what she'd seen while she was here." She almost handed the letter to Celaena, but decided that, for all its contents were innocuous, they were personal.

"She misses me. She asked after everyone." Celaena moved to her desk and spread out her scroll, studying idly as she spoke.

"I'm glad the two of you are happy. It's a shame she lives in another vale. Do you think she might move here, when she's older?" Contemplating her future with Laelansa made Saphienne nervous.

"…I don't know. I'd like to spend more time together. She did say that she doesn't have many friends in the Vale of the White River, but…"

"You're worried about lasting? As a couple?" Acutely aware that Celaena and Laewyn were having difficulties, Saphienne nodded.

"I think you will." She dragged her gaze from the sigil on her desk.

"Apart from her being religious, the two of you have a lot in common. You're both better together." Did Saphienne dare ask? She put her pen down and reached into her pocket, brushing her fingers across the bark that clad her coin purse.

"Do you want to talk about Laewyn?" Celaena opened her mouth to refuse; her brow furrowed.

"…I don't know. Which I suppose means I do, doesn't it? Otherwise I'd have said no."

"You miss her?" Pain and regret enveloped Celaena as she looked away and nodded.

"Have you spoken since–""No." She sighed.

"I don't know what to say. I was doing what I thought was the right thing… and it was the right thing to do. Even if I was wrong in the end." An insight came to Saphienne that gave her pause, not because she found it difficult to acknowledge, but rather because she hadn't any idea what to do with it. Her better judgement told her she had best say nothing — for Celaena had been extremely upset when Saphienne first shared the realisation it rested upon.

After, the older girl had been so distraught that she pretended the incident hadn't occurred; Saphienne had let the matter lie.

"Saphienne… that look." Celaena settled back against her desk.

"You know something, and you're wondering whether to tell me." Celaena was too good at reading her– No. That view began in her lack of trust.

"…I don't want to upset you again. Not after last time." Understanding made Celaena bow her head, and she held herself as she endured the emotions that roiled in her.

"Just say it. I'll get over myself." Being invited to tell her in spite of the pain it would cause touched Saphienne, who stood and crossed the floor to settle beside Celaena.

"…I'm sorry for before. Are you sure?" She took a centring breath.

"What is it about father that matters here?" Fearfully, Saphienne clasped her hands behind herself, squeezing her fingers.

"I don't think you wanted to treat Laewyn the way you did. I think you were copying him — and that it wasn't intentional. I think you put her in that situation because you didn't know any other way to ask–" Overwhelmed, Celaena stormed away from the desk… … Only to stop halfway to the door. She moved from there with great labour, going over to the windowsill and sitting with her face turned to the treetops. The daughter to the master of Fascination stared into the distance.

Even as she quailed inside, Saphienne waited.

"…You were right about his chosen discipline." As much as she sat nearby, Celaena addressed her confidante from very far away.

"I'd been avoiding thinking about it. I remember the shapes of the sigils in his spellbook, when he left it out for me, and the lessons we've had lately… they tell me what most of them were." She ran her fingers up her neck as though coaxing out her voice.

"Father loves me… he makes that clear… and he makes clear what he expects." The outline of a girl in the window covered her eyes.

"Am I fascinated, Saphienne? Is that why I…" Were it only that simple.

"No. You can't be. We would have seen it with the Second Sight, and even if it were obscured, Hyacinth would have noticed. There's also direct evidence to the contrary."

"What evidence?" Saphienne gingerly approached the window.

"…Your father wants you to be a wizard, but you were willing to give up your place for me when Almon fascinated you. Logically, Almon's fascination wouldn't be as powerful as your father's, so…" Celaena exhaled.

"He was trying to get me to break free from the spell. He was demanding what he thought I'd never do." Hopelessly lost, she entreated Saphienne with a bereft plea.

"Why didn't I? Please tell me."

"I don't know." Not for sure.

"But you did the opposite of what your father wanted, so whatever you're afraid of isn't explained by magic." The blue in her eyes glittered.

"I don't know why I'm so scared. He's given me so much; he hasn't said anything about his intervention. He really does want me to succeed…" If she were Laelansa, Saphienne would have prayed.

"…At being like him."

"Of course, who wouldn't want–""Do you?" And Celaena was speechless. Saphienne backed away, gave her room to feel. Eventually, the child of the wizard wiped her eyes and peered over the drop that lay outside her window.

"That's what scares me. I'm not afraid of being like father… my father…" She shivered despite the summer heat.

"I've just never really believed that's a question I can ask. I'm scared to answer it. What if I…" Thinking about Filaurel, and the ambiguity in how she and the librarian related to each other, Saphienne swallowed.

"It's not all or nothing."

"…I don't know how to begin to try…"

"Do you like how you treated Laewyn?" Her flush was instant, her tears silent.

"…No."

"Then there's one way you're not like your father." Saphienne gave her what she hoped was a smile of encouragement and levity.

"Which is good, because given what I know about your mother? He's not the best with relationships." Not even Celaena could tell whether her choked gasps were crying or laughter. * My Maple-blooded Laelansa, This is my third attempt to write back to you. I've burned the first two drafts, since they didn't say any of the things I want to say to you. I'm very bad at being honest about myself with people — especially when they're people whose opinion I care about. As best I can, I'm trying to overcome that tendency.

I was excited and relieved to read your letter. I hadn't realised that I was worried about how you would feel. I'm sorry for not telling you what was going on… I'm even worse at trusting people than I am at being honest. I wish I'd trusted you to help me. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. My trust would not have been misplaced.

Although we've only known each other a short time, I can tell that you're very genuine, that you worry about being a good person, and that you inexplicably hold me in high regard. Except that I know it's not inexplicable: I say things like that to myself because respecting how you feel about me means acknowledging that I am worth Liking. Let's say liking, for now. Until now, I've been telling myself you're naïve for wanting me.

I've justified that to myself by saying your feelings are the same as your faith, which was dismissive of me, and wrong. I may not be as religious as you are, but I can see what you make of your belief in the gods, and I think it is superior to how many people, including people like myself, choose to live their lives. I don't like the word 'kind.' Too often, I've heard it used to excuse things that should never be excused.

But there is a real meaning behind that word, and you try to live it in a way that I don't think I'll ever be able to equal. You are gentle, and patient, and you try to see the best in people who probably don't deserve it. Not that you would care what people deserve… You are not naïve. I am prickly, and you? You are lovely. You are also fun to be with. I miss your company. I miss you. You will remember Taerelle. We've become closer recently.

I've been talking to her about the things that I find hard, like honesty, and trust. She and I are similar, but she has the advantage of experience. I'm trying to make myself hope that there are better ways for me to be, and she is helping me believe that I can find them. I think one of those ways is how I could be with you. And so this letter, which I pray you will receive the way I mean it. Reading about the kitten made me laugh. There is a cat in the Eastern Vale named Peluda who I think you would like.

She is friends with someone whom I want to introduce you to when you next visit, which I hope is sooner than either of us anticipates. Everyone is largely the same as usual, and I will pass on that you asked after them. Celaena wishes you well, and I'm certain the others do, too. I have more to say, but this has been challenging, and I have things I'm supposed to be doing today.

Celaena and Laewyn have been a little distant from each other recently, and Celaena has asked me to walk her down to the bakery before Laewyn finishes. I don't know what she's going to say, but I hope Laewyn hears her. Then I'm going to the shrine to Our Lord of the Endless Hunt to meet Nelathiel — which is going to be an interesting conversation, because I don't quite know what she wants with me. I will write again, soon. Kind Regards? Best Wishes? Be Well?

Yours, Saphienne * She left Laewyn and Celaena to their parley in a quiet corner of the garden surrounding the tea house. Amusingly, Celaena had surveyed the flowerbeds before she accepted the spot — as if bloomkith would be interested in the drama between two teenage lovers. Then again, perhaps they would be? Zealots aside, as Saphienne trekked into the woods she found herself wondering how the irreligious spirits saw the elves who gave them shape. Did they take an interest in the ebb and flow of elven drama?

Would a bloomkith of roses be particularly invested in matters of romance? Every spirit she'd encountered so far had been of some religious hue… perhaps with the exception of Spire. Gaelyn was no priest, and the healer had stressed that the pair of them hadn't sworn their oath of merciful attendance before the gods.

Yet finding out how the bloomkith felt about faith was beyond Saphienne, for the climate in which elves and spirits lived presumed some measure of belief, tolerating its absence only insofar as one was mild, polite, and above all else, quiet. From how Hyacinth had spoken, Saphienne suspected that the spirits were less tolerant of nonbelievers than the elves. How foolish it all was!

Most elves were purely social in their engagement with priests and shrines, participating not because the gods really mattered to them, but only to join in the shared belonging that they found in their shade. Laewyn was a perfect example: Saphienne was absolutely sure she didn't have a sincere commitment to the divine. She may have talked condescendingly to Iolas, but that felt more like received behaviour than a conviction of the revelling girl.

No, Laewyn was fond of the pageantry and enjoyed sharing it with others. Were she to have embodied the same devotion as Laelansa, she would have been well-suited to being a novice… yet whether she would have grown into the wisdom required of priests was doubtful. Not all priests, in fairness. Nelathiel was insightful and prudential; Tolduin was not.

"I'm being too harsh…" She heard the hollowness in her own voice. His failure had caused Saphienne great suffering, and for what? Lynnariel had still lost her daughter. Wouldn't it have been better to have parted them earlier — to have given Saphienne a chance at being more like Laelansa? Tolduin put the lie to the wisdom of elder prerogative. Yet, he had accepted his mistake.

That was why he had left the decision of her living arrangements with Almon, and she expected it was why she was presently going to visit Nelathiel. Knowing what she did about the traumatic event that set him on the path to becoming a priest, Saphienne couldn't help but wonder how much responsibility for his poor decision really rested with him. However much of Tyrnansunna had imprinted into him when he was too young to comprehend her, the sunflower spirit had been similarly free – and unwise – with her compassion.

Around and around her thoughts whirled as she examined the world from too many perspectives, spiralling in toward their uncertain and discomforting intersection. Stopping when she came in sight of the offering trees around the woodland shrine, Saphienne folded her arms and leant against a broad trunk. There was a barb her mind had caught on: she couldn't see a resolution to the conflict that had arisen in her since the day she'd reached out for Filaurel.

Every exchange with Taerelle had scoured away another layer of obscuring self-recrimination, and the counsel she had given Celaena had polished what once had been hidden, so that now the unignorable gleam of the cutting contradiction unsettled Saphienne. If Celaena had only been repeating her father, and Laewyn their culture, and Tolduin spiritual influence; if people were who they were because of what was poured into them; and yet, if Saphienne wasn't condemned to be who she didn't want to be…

How was accountability to be decided? To whom was blame apportionable? Whenceforth arose her tentative agency, against this dark background? * Worship was in progress when she climbed the well-worn steps to the shrine of Our Lord of the Endless Hunt, but Nelathiel was not leading the small congregation. The horned priest was nowhere to be seen as another venerated the shrine, repeating from memory the parable that formed the heart of the liturgy.

"… Came then Our Lord behorned, with smoke in hand, to drive the idle hunters from His grounds: for they had fed upon the meat of fawn and doe.

'Inglorious!' cried He.

'Unworthy, you who glut with ease! Go now among the trees, that I may chase so you may learn your measure!' And broke then Him the flutes of tender bone with piping so abominable, saying, 'No sacred sound may sweetly sing from these false works! My way I gave you, my prey I make you; see now my bow is strung, my arrow notched!' In panic they did choke and cough–" Mesmerised by the man's performance, Saphienne quietly gasped when her elbow was touched, blushing as she stared up into Nelathiel's painted smile.

The priest beside her whispered, "Do you want to stay and listen?" Self-conscious, Saphienne shook her head.

"Come on, then. We'll go below." They descended to the cave, Saphienne's passage much easier when sober. She followed at Nelathiel's heel, her voice echoed back by the stone.

"Were you down here when I arrived? Did you know I was coming today?"

"You didn't show in my divinations," Nelathiel answered.

"Holly was keeping an eye out for you while she listened, and came to tell me when you approached the shrine." That the spirit enjoyed the liturgy was in keeping with her faith.

"…This may be a misconceived question, but do spirits have priests of their own?"

"Not exactly." Nelathiel ushered Saphienne through the open parchment screen, closing it over behind them as she gestured for the girl to take to the furs around the lit fire.

"Old bloomkith and woodkin who are respected by their sisters become matrons of the woodlands, and they are the closest to being religious authorities. The way spirits share their roots, their memories…" Nelathiel canted her horned head as she knelt down.

"…They aren't as cleanly divided from each other as we are. Two bloomkith of the same flowers have similar qualities when they're born. Or, well, not born–""I follow." The implications were intriguing.

"I hadn't really considered that different spirits would arise from the same plants. Does that mean there are multiple spirits of hollies? Of hyacinths?"

"There's only one Hyacinth," Nelathiel grinned.

"She's become infamous — for reasons both fair and foolish, in my opinion. But yes, there's more than one spirit called Holly, for several of them use that name casually." She linked her fingers together as she appraised the girl she was teaching.

"Tell me, apprentice wizard: how does that work?" Rolling her eyes, Saphienne sat beside her.

"Sympathy of identity. The name is a symbol to which meaning attaches, and when we talk about Holly, we call to her through the meaning we associate with it. Your Holly is not– the name doesn't sound the same to spirits, when used to refer to another bloomkith."

"You're very quick." Nelathiel seemed unsure whether that was good.

"Spirits start as… I think calling them propagations would make sense, if you're familiar with cuttings?" An intuition struck Saphienne.

"…The title 'Mother'…"

"Yes." The priest loosened her robe – which was finer spun than the first she had worn – as the fire warmed her.

"Matriarchs are the woodland spirits who are entrusted with responsibility for future generations. Sometimes, they bud a spirit from themselves, but usually they give selections of their memories and experiences to the neophyte spirits that arise in the sacred glades."

"They're very deliberate about reproducing?"

"As are we." Nelathiel forced a smile.

"I'll be honest, Saphienne: I'm very worried I'm going to fuck this up." Saphienne blinked.

"…Fuck what up?"

"What Tolduin has asked me to do." She gazed into the fire, finding strength in the yellow tongues.

"You aren't just unusual because of your intelligence. For whatever reason, the gods saw fit to have you experience your menarche far too early." The flush Saphienne endured only made the heat of the fire less tolerable.

"…I see. Gaelyn said I was ten years ahead."

"Tolduin tells me that Lynnariel was the same." Nelathiel's lips pursed.

"The assumption was that it was caused by… unusual circumstances, which I'm not going to talk about with you." She faced Saphienne.

"Unless you already know your mother's background, it's a conversation you should have with her or Tolduin." While Saphienne was curious, there was one subject about which she and her friend Celaena were alike.

"I don't need to know more."

"Well, everyone was wrong." The priest chuckled, her humour awkward but well-intentioned.

"In several ways. Tolduin tells me you figured out that you were an accident — which isn't to say you were unwelcome, or that you're unwanted." Deliberately, she reached for Saphienne's hand, her mottled eyes insistent.

"You do know that, don't you?"

"Yes," Saphienne lied.

"Good." She squeezed, then withdrew her touch.

"Your mother wouldn't have become pregnant with you if weren't for the fact that she'd been judged incompetent to experience certain rites of passage. Tolduin wasn't wrong in that, but he fucked up by not making other, alternative arrangements in anticipation of her doing what adults do."

"You mean, doing Delred."

"Gods!" Nelathiel blushed." Thanks, Saphienne." Grinning with mischief that masked her intense disquiet, Saphienne uncurled her legs and leant on her good hand.

"If you're meant to be explaining how pregnancy happens–""No…" The priest reclaimed a modicum of her seriousness.

"…Which is to say, I'll be summarising some physical facts that I'm fairly confident you already understand, but that's not the real reason you're here." The tension was too much.

"Nelathiel, what are you supposed to teach me?"

"What I think you're too young to be told about, but circumstance requires I explain." Comprehension made Saphienne freeze, and then sit up with dreadful purpose.

"You're going to tell me about the ancient ways."

"…Part of them." Nelathiel's green-gold face paint couldn't hide her unease.

"And the problem is that I think you'll deduce much of the rest from what I have to tell you, which risks you reaching the wrong conclusions due to lack of context. So I have to thread the needle between telling you what you have to know, and not telling you too much or too little too early." Yet Saphienne's unconscious mind had swallowed what the priest had shared, and from the depths came a sickened regurgitation.

Hyacinth had declined to swear to never change Saphienne's body without her consent — and couldn't explain why because of the ancient ways. Now Saphienne was, in principle, capable of becoming pregnant, and suddenly those ancient ways were undeferrably pertinent to her.

"…You're right," Saphienne replied, in monotone.

"This is going to be a challenge. Nelathiel: how are spirits involved in our reproduction? And why is that central to the ancient ways?" Wilting, the priest softly swore. * Before, I told you there were no great secrets to be learned in the ancient ways. I said that the remainder was implied by what Saphienne had understood — that the ancient ways decreed wood elves and woodland spirits were the only lives that counted. Everything else, I assured you, proceeded from what mattered to them.

You have listened attentively for quite some time. I ask you to reflect on this: what mattered to the elves and spirits? * For three hours, Saphienne was subdued as she absorbed all that Nelathiel risked imparting to her. She interrupted only to clarify, or to ask blisteringly insightful questions that the priest hastened to delicately rephrase and recontextualise. She tried not to think deeply, and smothered her anger whenever it flared.

Much like everything invisible to her, Saphienne had overlooked the subtle fracture between physical maturity and reproductive maturity because it had always been part of her life. That elves reached physical maturity at eighteen years, more or less, and then were permitted to have children only when they reached social maturity, at their century? That deferment of full adulthood had been strange enough to divert her.

Why did reproductive maturity come at twenty-four, well before a hundred years — yet significantly after their physical maturity? If they weren't yet physically capable of reproducing, how could they be physically mature? The answer would have filled her with horror, had her rage left any room. * Iolas was sitting on the bench his father had made when Saphienne found him in the wild garden behind his family home, his attention on the scroll unfurled upon his lap.

He smiled to see her as he looked up — and then his cheer fell away as he recognised the distress in her placid countenance.

"Saphienne? What's happened–""I know the ancient ways." He inhaled; held his breath; hissed through his teeth.

"Fuck. Who told you?" She took up a place beside him on the creaking wood, willing that it would collapse under their combined weight; yet it held.

"I'm supposed to know. Nelathiel had to tell me; I've had my menses. She didn't intend to tell me as much as she did, but I only needed a little more to work it all out, and she had to say more to convince me that it wasn't how it appeared." Distractedly, he rolled up his scroll and slipped it into his pocket.

"…Are you sure you want to talk about this? The Wardens of the Wilds–""They'll be listening." Her jaw ached from grinding her teeth.

"I'm not allowed to have privacy any more. Even though I've been exonerated of any wrongdoing, and even though I was the one who was attacked, they get to follow me around day and night on the chance I might lead them to whoever decided to fuck up my life worse than it already was. That's fair and proportionate. That's just."

"I don't think it is." He raised his voice.

"They ought to be ashamed!" Her smile was faint, but he'd earned it all the same.

"Let them hear. I'm only going to be speaking facts."

"We could step inside–""Controlled reproduction." Saphienne assayed the sky, violence portended in the clouds.

"Elves reach their physical maturity at eighteen, and we used to reach reproductive maturity at the same age. Yet there's a danger in having children too young — and that danger lies with mortals." Iolas had fallen silent.

"Most mortals don't last a century. One hundred years is long enough to understand how fleeting they are, and to see the folly in treating them the same as ageless elves, or undying spirits." Her blood seethed in her veins.

"Removing the possibility of having children before then reduces the odds that anyone will be stupid enough to try to make a family with mortals. It's kinder, this way. And it's also vitally important, because the ancient ways aren't just a promise between elf and spirit to support one another for mutual benefit…" She closed her eyes.

"…I didn't understand the symbolism: god of bone and god of wind, joined together to become one god. I thought it was metaphorical for unifying elf and spirit in one faith, one culture. I didn't conceive of the possibility…" Unbidden, her good hand stroked through her summery hair.

"…The spirits used to be much wilder than today. They've become more like elves through the ages, shaped by us to reflect our values and embody how we feel about the forest we've tamed. And they've shaped us, too. That's why our hair changes with the seasons; that's why elves who often walk with spirits retain traces of earthy gold in their eyes; and that's why the age of menarche has been slowly rising beyond physical maturity." He moved closer, trying to stabilise her with his presence alone.

"Every summer solstice, the spirits walk with elves. And as part of that, the spirits intervene to delay the onset of fertility of those who are too young." But not her mother: her mother still wasn't ready to walk with a spirit.

"Their influence passes down to our children, most strikingly when children are conceived during walks with spirits, which may result in sorcerers. Little by little, every generation becomes more in tune with the wilds, better suited to accommodate the spirits — as like we remake the spirits in our image.""'One people,'" Iolas repeated."'Eternal,'" she repeated as well.

"'Two perfect halves of an everlasting peace.'" Then she turned to him.

"And that's why mortal elves aren't allowed to stay. We don't tolerate them because they spite the ancient ways, taking us further from our solemn oath. Nor do we allow them in the protectorates, because the protectorates exist as a kindness that nevertheless upholds the ancient ways, separating elves and spirits from the doom of mortality." She grimaced.

"The rest is just formalising the principles and the intent they serve. In the end, all of this came to be because elves enslaved to spirits and spirits enslaved to elves liberated each other — in kindness for one another." And only one another.

"You know what's funny?" Saphienne was mirthless.

"When I spoke to those girls in the protectorate, they mentioned they had lists of men they would be permitted to marry if they chose. Avoiding the peril of consanguinity… or so they explained it to me. Now, I imagine they're being afforded the same kind stewardship through which we guide ourselves." His face became drawn.

"…That's plausible."

"What a haven we have made of the woodlands." She slumped into the despair that became of her collapsing hatred.

"How perfectly conceived its order. How wonderfully we are freed to live in joy. How…" Lacking words to console her, Iolas pulled Saphienne to him, and held as she shook without tears. * There was nothing the girl could do. All that was had been laid in place millennia before she was conceived, and but for proscribed choices driven by thoughtless compassion, Saphienne would not have been born within the woodlands to so revile them, and nor would Kylantha have been born to be excluded.

Now, Saphienne believed she knew why she didn't – perhaps couldn't – belong. She was not wholly wrong. But there was more to her than this, and more to what she would become. End of Chapter 91