Despite the story of what had once been her favourite book, and despite the events that had soured her love for it, Saphienne had never actually seen the sea. When the spirit took her hand – grasping her fingers with cool petals – she lacked the experience of what Celaena had described, and so the sensation of the spirit entering her body and mind was different. Where Celaena had envisioned rolling waves against a shore, Saphienne felt only the steady beat of wings…

Then the spirit surrounded Saphienne from within, and the world spun.

Except her vertigo receded as quickly as it had begun, and Saphienne found herself in a very different position than she expected. She was not drowning, nor did she feel smothered, and the field of purple and white hyacinths that stretched out before her – within her mind – glittered and softly swayed beneath the faintest flurry of melting snowflakes. Solid stone grounded her underfoot, as though she stood within in the hushed eye of a storm; and when she studied her surroundings she realised she was standing on very familiar steps, turning to see the edifice of the village library towering over the flowers.

None of what she saw was physically real. Nor did Saphienne and the spirit use words to communicate — their conversation conveyed in the pure meaning of direct experience. Yet had they done so, what they shared would have unfolded like so:

“The library is too large,” Saphienne murmured.

A tendril of rising blossoms crept onto the steps, and when Saphienne looked back she saw herself standing just beyond the stone, naked but for the flowers that grew across her skin, the gold in her eyes shining joyfully — and in confusion.

“How strange it feels, to brush against your mind… you are quite unalike most elvenkind.” Shrugging, the bloomkith bowed. “I must request a boon: to share your tongue.”

Saphienne’s attention flicked back to the flowers on the steps. “You’re asking for forgiveness, not permission.”

“Know you a better way? Let it be sung.” She smiled, more freely than Saphienne ever could. “Sing too your terms, that I must sure abide. Sing, maple-blooded: what did you decide?”

Saphienne crossed her arms. “Five rules.”

This surprised the bloomkith. “Only but five? I beg of you the first.”

“First, you will not use my body or mind without my explicit permission, freely given, sought in advance and with care for my approval.” She inclined her head. “I accept your use of my Elfish, but forbid any other such transgressions.”

“A fair demand. You shall not be coerced.”

“Second, you will not change my body or mind without my explicit, precisely defined instruction, freely given, sought–”

“I beg you, hold.” The spirit raised her hand, her smile fading. “This thing I cannot do. Know this: the ancient ways bind me to you. No oath I give may contradict their rule… but phrase your want another way–”

That was very interesting to Saphienne, who interrupted. “Then we will revisit the second.” She crossed her arms. “Third rule: you will speak plainly, without poetry.”

The spirit winced. “…If you insist. It is discomforting.”

Saphienne found she had the strength to grin. “My mind, my body — my rules.”

“Do you forbid respectful speech as well?”

The question gave Saphienne pause. “…You were using ‘you’ in the archaic form.”

“Yes.”

“I will not compel your respect.”

The spirit’s lips twisted in amusement. “Nor must you, most beloved of the bees.”

Saphienne felt intensely uncomfortable. “…No terms of endearment, please. That’s not one of the five–”

“Yes,” the spirit rolled her eyes, “I understand. What of the fourth?”

“You will answer all my questions.”

She laughed. “Where I may, in accordance with the ancient ways, I will — and would have done.” She canted her head to the side. “And your last?”

Their conversation was not proceeding how Saphienne had expected, and she thought for a moment, then steeled herself. “You must give me leal service on a task of my choosing… for a year and a day.”

She had expected the spirit to stop smiling; instead, the spirit’s smile softened, and the glow in her eyes glittered. “Are you sure that is all? I would serve you for a thousand years, and think it meagre recompense for what you have done. And…” Her smile faltered. “…Whether in your service or my own, I will be watching over you for the next eighty-six years, regardless.”

“We’ll see about that.” Saphienne contemplated her, uneasy. “You caused a great deal of harm, but… you also saved my life, and perhaps the lives of others. I’ve not forgiven you for all that you’ve done, and yet…”

“…You would not enslave me.” The spirit understood. “Nor could you, Saphienne: the willing cannot be enslaved.”

“Enough.” Saphienne glared through her inexplicable blush. “A year and a day, on a task of my choosing.”

“Name it — or do you reserve the favour?”

She had expected to have to compel the spirit, and the ease with which her terms were granted made Saphienne suspicious. “I’ll reserve it… so long as you do nothing to avoid my invocation–”

“Saphienne,” the spirit giggled, “I pledge my leal service to you, for a year and a day, whenever and however you decide — and to wait attentively for your word without subterfuge and reservation, to the fullest of my ability.” She ran her fingers through her own, dark brown, flower-speckled hair, and pushed it back behind her pointed ears. “If you doubt me, then bind me with whatever additional rules you choose. Or even ask the wizard to–”

“All right,” Saphienne shook her head. “I accept you at your word. Now tell me: why do the ancient ways prohibit my second rule?”

The spirit hesitated–

* * *

“Saphienne…?”

Iolas was standing close, resentment and worry warring in his voice as he lightly shook her by the shoulder. “…Can you hear me?”

Immediately, Saphienne felt her mind stir, words ready to be thought and spoken; so too her body felt poised to move on its own. The spirit was eager to reply. Yet true to her promise, she held back, awaiting consent from Saphienne to proceed.

Curiosity won out, and Saphienne granted her permission.

“She can,” the spirit said, opening Saphienne’s eyes. “She sees you now, too.”

Saphienne watched with detached amusement as Iolas recoiled.

Laughter escaped from Saphienne’s lips, and she felt herself bowing, moving as though in reflex. Celaena had described being puppeted as like breathing, and that description rang true to Saphienne, especially because she felt like she could–

Faylar bit his lip. “We’d be a lot more reassured if Saphienne answered.”

Saphienne smiled, nudging the spirit’s control aside. “Funny you should say that, Faylar…”

He looked to Iolas, who was studying her eyes. The older boy nodded. “Your eyes are still yellow… but I see more green in them. Are you in control?”

Saphienne looked down at her blood-soaked, torn robes, and her smile took on a fragile edge of self-awareness as she shivered. “That’s not an easy question to answer… but the spirit is doing what I tell her to. At least for now.” She met his gaze again. “We were talking — or not talking, but… communicating. I need a minute.”

Faylar threw up his hands. “Saphienne, we don’t have time! My mother could be–”

The spirit wanted to cut in, and did so with Saphienne’s consent. “Fear not, child of elves: your Wardens of the Wilds will not find this place. The breach made in the thorns has already healed, and the fascination remains — and will remain, until my kith and kin decide otherwise.” She shrugged. “If you wish to avoid their attention, to wait here is better than to flee.”

Faylar relaxed, if only a little. “…Well, if you’re telling the truth…”

Saphienne spoke up. “I feel like she is — I can get more answers, if you wait.”

Iolas, meanwhile had been listening closely. “She’s not speaking in meter, or rhyme. Was that only for the test?”

Within, the spirit pouted…

…And without, Saphienne’s lips twitched. “I’m making her talk normally. She blindly accepted my terms.”

Having been holding back, Celaena drew away from Laewyn and approached, caught between happiness at Saphienne’s recovery and wariness toward the spirit. “Saphienne, the spirit can hear me? Can understand me?”

She – Saphienne and spirit both – nodded.

Celaena stopped a few steps away. Smoothing down her outer robes, she studied the ground for a moment, centring herself. Then her eyes locked on Saphienne’s, and her expression was furious. “Then, with apologies to Saphienne: go fuck yourself, you horrible, twisted little–”

* * *

“Now would be a good time to converse,” said the spirit, rolling her eyes as the snows around her intensified. “She has a lot of anger to express. I will pretend we are listening.”

Saphienne tried not to show her smile, but the spirit read her easily, forcing her to reluctantly acknowledge their shared amusement. “…She deserves to express it.”

“But she does not warrant our full attention,” the spirit agreed. She gestured to the layered flowers on which she stood. “Might we sit?”

Saphienne nodded, considered joining–

“You should remain on the steps,” the spirit warned her, sinking down to sit cross-legged among the hyacinths. “Better to remain on the shore than plunge into the ocean.”

Steps made for comfortable seating, at least. “Your mind runs deeper than mine?”

The bloomkith examined the edifice of the library. “…I cannot say. This representation reflects your feelings about your experiences. You said it is too large — I expect this was how the library looked when you first saw it.” Her eyes drifted down to Saphienne. “But I have not entered within. Nor is your consciousness within me: we touch only lightly. I was taught that elves flounder when out of their element, and Celaena confirmed my schooling.”

“On the subject of learning,” Saphienne insisted, “why do the ancient ways prohibit my second rule? You avoided answering.”

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“No avoiding,” denied the spirit, “only… uncertainty, in how to answer. Ask me about the ancient ways.”

“…Explain to me the ancient ways?”

The spirit offered an apologetic smile. “The ancient ways prohibit me from answering. Ask me the obvious question.”

Frustrated, but determined to follow the thread, Saphienne sighed. “Why do the ancient ways prohibit you from–”

“Because,” she answered, “elves alone may introduce their children to the ancient ways — and I cannot assist without the consent of the elf who is responsible for your teaching.”

Saphienne was beginning to discern a pattern to their exchange. “Do you know who is responsible–”

“Not with certainty.” The spirit flicked her fingertip back and forth as she iterated the possibilities. “Perhaps Almon, perhaps a priest, perhaps a member of your family, or someone else entirely. Elves decide what is appropriate, and the ancient ways uphold their decision.”

“…Can you answer questions on what the ancient ways don’t require?”

Her guile made the spirit snort. “To a very limited extent. The ancient ways–”

“–Prohibit you letting me game them, I see.” If nothing else, Saphienne respected their thoroughness. “…When I make a request, you can tell me whether it contradicts the ancient ways. How about my beliefs? Can you tell me if something I believe opposes the ancient ways?”

“Saphienne, I cannot teach you–”

“You’re not teaching me: if what I believe doesn’t oppose them, you’re not changing my perspective. And if it does oppose, you’re still not teaching me what I should think — what the ancient ways actually demand.” Saphienne leant forward. “How about it? Show ye I err?”

The spirit pondered. “…Well reasoned. I am convinced: this does not break my vows, truly, and so I may proceed in good faith.”

Pleased with herself, Saphienne clapped her hands. “I believe that elves and spirits should have a formalised relationship. Would that oppose the ancient ways?”

“No.”

“I believe such a formalised relationship should be equally binding on elves and spirits. Would that oppose the ancient ways?”

Uncomfortable, the spirit plucked at her own petals. “…No…”

“Let me restate my belief. Accounting for differences in perspective between elves and spirits, I believe such a formalised–”

With a giggle, she shook her head. “No, that does not oppose the ancient ways.”

“Then,” Saphienne asked, “would it oppose the ancient ways to believe–”

“We may dispense with the rote formality.” The spirit waved her on. “State your beliefs.”

“I believe some provisions of the ancient ways should only apply to elves, and some only to spirits.”

“Such a belief does not oppose the ancient ways.”

They were getting somewhere. Saphienne pondered the steps. “…A simple question: are you able to tell me about the parts of the ancient ways that do not directly concern elves?”

“No…” Yet the spirit slowly smiled. “…Unless you have identified them already, in which case, I am not forbidden from confirming them to you, unlike the portion which are reserved for elves to teach. And this applies to some of what we must discuss.”

Saphienne thought very carefully. “My second demand directly concerned elves. I forbade you from changing my body or mind without my explicit permission.” Her brow furrowed. “…Were I to drop the provision against changing my mind, would you be able to agree?”

Her eyes glowed a more vivid yellow. “No.”

“And if I dropped the provision against changing my body?”

“Yes.”

Saphienne clicked her tongue as she made the connection. “Spirit, are elves physically changed when possessed by spirits of the woodlands?”

The spirit was silent.

Taking a deep breath, Saphienne stood. “I will ask an elf. Second term, then: you will never change my mind without my explicit, precisely defined instruction, freely given, sought in advance and with care for my approval.”

Rising also, the spirit bowed. “I will agree… but, before I do…” She took a step closer, and her voice softened. “…Know that I could remove much that causes you distress, things that lie beyond your ability to admit or explain. Are you sure that you–”

Saphienne retreated up a step. “I am certain.”

“…Then, I am glad.” She regarded Saphienne thoughtfully. “There are few of us who would rather hold on to what pains us than cede who we are. I suspected this was true for you. Now, I know.”

The puzzle of the spirit only deepened the longer they spoke. Sitting again, Saphienne propped her chin on the heel of her palm. “What happened today? Explain what unfolded.”

Her request made the spirit tilt back her head and study the sky.

* * *

“–And your flowers are ugly, your poetry is dreadful, your songs are off-key–”

* * *

“As I told the woodkin: either the apostate freed herself through you, or the gods intervened to set her free.” The spirit kept her eyes heavenward after she spoke.

Aware of her change in demeanour, but not sure of the cause, Saphienne scrutinised the spirit as she considered her answer. “Laewyn believes the spirits of the woodlands are the servants of the gods. Is this true?”

“As true for us as for you. Our gods are the same, though understood differently.”

“Are the gods real?”

There, the spirit looked down with a tender smile, and knelt. “I hope so. I have never felt their presence, not as others claim, but I believe in their miracles, and pray that their grace exceeds what is taught in the liturgies — both yours and ours.”

“Have you ever seen a miracle?”

“Truly, I behold one now,” the spirit whispered. “You gave answer to my prayers.”

Troubled, Saphienne made no attempt to hide her disquiet. “Or, you say the spirit used me to free herself…”

She bowed her head. “As I said to the woodkin: believe whichever you choose.”

That the spirit had freed herself was more plausible to Saphienne…

“What did she do?” Saphienne asked. “You referred to her as a betrayer.”

“Your Faylar mistranslated.” The spirit folded her hands upon her lap. “‘One who commits betrayal’ was the active meaning, but the word had deeper and more significant connotations. The correct translation would have been ‘apostate,’ meaning one who has forsaken the ancient ways.”

Saphienne saw again the matron of the woodlands, raising her limb–

“Be at peace.” The spirit caught her attention — and not just in metaphor. “You are not an apostate, and you will not be harmed further. You are safe here, with me.”

Her distress withdrew toward the horizon, where she felt it rumbling, thunder far behind the library. “This calm that I feel… you’re causing it?”

“In a sense. I am not working a change upon your mind.” She hesitated. “It is more that my presence leaves no room for all which awaits you. I could move aside, make a space for your full feelings–”

Vague dread filled Saphienne at the prospect, and she waved the suggestion away. “I’m not complaining. Although, I still feel things, as we’re speaking–”

“Not what would consume you.” The spirit spoke lightly, yet there was gravitas in her certainty. “You are too preoccupied by my presence to be overwhelmed by yourself.”

The small mercy was welcome. “Then,” Saphienne said, returning to her question, “what was the nature of the spirit’s apostasy? How did she violate the ancient ways?”

“If you can guess, I may confirm. She broke two cardinal rules which bind us. As much as they concern elves, they fall within our portion of the ancient ways.”

There was no avoiding her fear, for all that she doubted her own question. “Did she kill a child?”

“No!” Before Saphienne, the spirit’s blossoms all closed in dismay, and all the hyacinths in the field withered as the snow began to settle. A moment later, the sunlight returned. “No, she would never

do such a thing.”

The relief that rushed through her was almost painful. “…I didn’t think so.”

“She was kind.” Again, the spirit’s tawny eyes were glittering, and Saphienne recognised the glitter as the semblance of tears. “Too kind for her own good.”

“Did she… we heard Celaena say sylvan words, and Faylar translated them as ‘I did what was right for its own sake.’ Was he correct?”

No sooner had she asked the question than the flowers creeping onto the steps crept further still, growing thicker. Saphienne had the uncanny sensation that she was being examined closely — felt herself momentarily pregnant with words, made more loquacious in her sudden eagerness to speak. She realised the spirit was thinking very hard about how to explain the meaning in words she could understand.

“He was not wrong,” the spirit finally admitted, “but nor was he wholly correct. Alternative readings would include ‘I did what was right for the sake of who I am,’ and ‘I did what was obliged by my own nature.’ The word he translated as ‘right’ goes beyond good or evil, beyond moral imperative… the word refers to affirmation of all that exists. It refers to the upholding of the order that makes the world unfold. A poetic translation would be, ‘I acted to uphold the world.’”

Saphienne blinked. “That’s a lot to claim.”

“The word is very old,” the spirit agreed, “and it is seldom used. Yet, she spoke it earnestly.”

“…Was she correct to do so?”

“I believe so.” The spirit smiled wryly.

Saphienne suspected she knew the answer to her next question, but she had to ask. “Did the spirit hurt the child?”

“…That is a difficult question.” Sighing, the bloomkith studied her hands. “Physically, she did the opposite of harm — she healed the child, preventing his death. The rest is a matter of judgement. Others have argued that she did tremendous harm to him–”

“Worse than death?”

“I do not believe so.” The spirit met her gaze, and for the first time Saphienne caught the barest hint of real anger from her. “Many others did not believe so. In our roots, I think all of us believe that the harm alleged is outweighed by the harm avoided. That did not stop the others from condemning her, however.”

The question of what the spirit did lingered. “Did she possess him?”

“Yes.”

“And so healed him?”

“Yes.”

“And this is what violated the ancient ways?”

“Yes.” The spirit folded her arms. “Twice over.”

Saphienne ran through what she knew. “Laewyn said the spirits of the woodlands only go where invited… did she do it without his invitation? Is that one of your prohibitions? A cardinal rule?”

“Correct. None of us may possess an elf uninvited.” She spread her hands, letting them fall palm-up among the hyacinths. “This is the foundation of the ancient ways. Unless actively invited by word or clear deed, or implicitly invited by participation in rite, we must not walk within you. And where we walk, we must always abide the terms that are agreed.”

Memories of how Celaena described being possessed – and then how Faylar translated the spirit herself as she had recounted the same event – prompted a revelation that made Saphienne go still. “…Celaena was the first person you’ve ever possessed. It was a rite, and you resented having to participate. You were going through a rite of passage with us, weren’t you?”

“What you would consider entering adulthood, yes.” The bloomkith laughed, bitterly. “We are required to understand our power. So, just once, and only in the circumstances of that specific rite, we are made to puppet an elf — to play the role of tormentor. I could have seized her the moment she stepped within the circle.”

Instead, the spirit had offered her hand. “Teaching us fear, and you–”

“To fear what I could become.” The spirit grew sombre. “We can be fought off, resisted, but once we have taken root… wearing your kind is easy. And it feels wonderful, to play with you in that way.” She wrestled with the sensations. “Flowers cannot compare. Even now, to share your beating heart is–”

The expression of the bloomkith, together with what stirred within their shared skin, made Saphienne blush again. “Please, no more.”

“I only answer honestly,” she apologised. “To revel in your life is a gift.”

“But,” Saphienne moved on, “it can also be violating. So she took possession of that child to heal him…” She thought about harm, and what the spirit had said in Saphienne’s defence against the accusation of apostacy. “…Which, given you said it was an offense in two ways, I suppose that implies age is a consideration, isn’t it? But you took Celaena, and now me, which suggests there’s an exception–”

“For apprentices to wizards and priests,” the spirit confirmed. “And only after you have participated in the relevant rite, and only for the purpose of education. Which, technically, this is.”

Saphienne clasped her hands. “Fourteen. You’re not allowed to possess an elf under the age of fourteen, are you?”

“Under no circumstances.” The spirit inclined her head. “Eighteen years ordinarily, but fourteen for those who are tutored in Invocation. You who would study magic must understand more, sooner, for the safety of all involved.”

Almon had said he thought it unwise to teach her so young… and now she understood some of the reason why. Yet not all. “Why no younger? Than fourteen”

The spirit gestured to the storm of emotions that their conversation kept distant. “Young minds are too supple for the weight of our presence. The younger you are, the more indelible the mark our presence leaves. This is considered a great harm.”

“Was the boy harmed?”

Studying Saphienne, the spirit was slow to reply, and her answer was cryptic. “You would know better than I. That is all I am permitted to say.”

Did that imply Saphienne knew him? Or was the spirit saying that elves more keenly felt the consequences of possession than spirits? Saphienne couldn’t tell.

“So you see,” the spirit said, rising, “our sister transgressed against the ancient ways, and felt she had no choice but to do so. Rather than flee the woodlands, she submitted to judgement. For the sake of upholding the ancient ways, and the trust that undergirds them, she was declared an apostate, and punished as demanded by her crimes.”

Saphienne stood as well. “Everyone wished that she had simply fled.”

“Yes. She was urged to fly.”

“Why didn’t she?”

There, the spirit’s ears drooped, and her blossoms grew frail. “She was under the illusion that what was truly good would prevail over principle. She believed in the idea of the ancient ways, and of the society they have built. She could not conceive that her sisters would not find the pretext to show mercy. In this, she sweetly erred.”

Saphienne descended a step. “And you agree: what was done to her was wrong.”

“I do.”

“Why didn’t you free her?”

“Consider the price you have paid for your participation,” the spirit said. “Consider that you nearly died, and that your price is yet still mild compared to what would have been wrought upon me — had I lent a hand in the granting of her freedom.”

And there, Saphienne caught the faint, silvery thread that glittered in the tangle of her thoughts and feelings: her own dissatisfaction with what she had been told. Breathing deeply to steel herself, she descended another step, and she scrutinised the spirit closely. “So you say. But we have a problem…”

“We do?” The spirit was wary. “You have survived, she is free; the will of the gods is done. What problems do you foresee?”

“Only one.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying to me.”

End of Chapter 36

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