At the boundary between Saphienne and the spirit, where Saphienne stood on the steps of her mind’s library and the spirit upon a field of flowers beneath flurrying snow, what had began as parlay became a confrontation.

  Saphienne narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying to me.”

  No sooner had she made the accusation than the spirit threw up her arms.

  “Why would I lie to you? And I swore–”

  “To answer my questions,” Saphienne said, shaking her head. “Only to answer them. You didn’t lie when you possessed Celaena, and you came to our defence at risk to yourself — so I didn’t think to insist that your answers be true.” She smiled at her own foolishness. “My mistake.”

  The spirit lowered her arms. “What reason have you, to profane my character so?”

  “The apostate didn’t fascinate me.” Saphienne pursed her lips. “I wasn’t sure; the Fascination spell over the briars was invisible at first, so maybe I hadn’t noticed her doing the same. But the insistence of the other spirits that she couldn’t have touched me through the binding, together with how you suggested what I did was divine intervention…”

  “Then what, Saphienne?” Head tilted, the spirit mirrored her expression. “What do you think actually happened?”

  “You used me.” She clenched her fists. “You used all of us. You’re the one who made the spirit go free. And I think your sylvan sisters know it, but they’re glad you succeeded — and also furious with you. Which is why they’ve forsaken me,” she realised, laughing through her words, “and made you responsible for me! I’m not being punished alone: I’m your punishment.”

  “Your words are baseless.”

  “But they’re not,” Saphienne argued, descending closer to her. “The pieces fit together too well. Iolas’ father entered the clearing years ago — how did he see through the brambles, when even Wardens of the Wilds are fooled? And Celaena said the spirit remembered a moment when she thought someone might free her — only to despair when they withdrew.” Stopping, Saphienne lifted her hands, steepling her fingers as she pressed them together. “The clearing was surrounded by windchimes — alarms. They rang when the spirit fled, and when your sisters arrived…”

  She descended to the precipice of the field. “…But not when Iolas carried you in, hidden in the stiches of his robes. Which prompts two questions: why did you go to the trouble of hiding your flowers there, when you could have watched us without them? Because you knew we would be going through the chimes. And how did you know that being carried in like that wouldn’t raise the alarm?”

  Now the spirit was smiling, and she didn’t answer.

  Saphienne took another, calming breath. “And you were watching us. You told us as much, when you were first invoked by Almon. Were you watching Faylar, too? Laewyn? Or did you just discover them because of us?”

  “The latter.” The spirit shrugged. “And watching you was appropriate: the moment you were accepted for apprenticeship as wizards, our meeting was decided. My proving was to be your lesson, and so I was obliged to study the three of you.” She folded her arms, head cocked. “Your conjecture has no substance. What proof do you have?”

  They stared each other down.

  “…Nothing. I have no proof.”

  Mollified, the spirit relaxed. “Then, give your apology and I will–”

  Saphienne leapt from the steps — and plunged into the flowers.

  *   *   *

  Vanishing snow; the stirring roots of spring; things long thought dead, brought back to life by the thaw.

  Slithering leaves, wet with meltwater, were forced aside — and the blooms closed to deny her entry. Saphienne struggled on. Snow flurried against her face, the scent of flowers dizzying in every breath. She did not relent. A storm of her traumas was loosed to bite at her heels. She outraced it, as she always did.

  Glimpsed beyond the stems, whispers among red petals; a figure falling; a bulb, carefully unearthed and replanted; the shock of a sunflower, beholding a visitor–

  *   *   *

  With all her might, the spirit expelled Saphienne back onto the steps, struggling to hold her at bay as the clouds overhead crackled with shared horror. “You– you are no ordinary elf! Your will burns, like wildfire. How did you do that?”

  Saphienne shuddered, but the steps gave her purchase on herself, and she withstood the sleet of her own dark feelings that poured down around them. “You’re the second spirit to embrace me,” she hissed, “and your predecessor didn’t hold back. She had nothing to hide.”

  “Saphienne, be careful what–”

  “Tell me, spirit: did you really need to possess Celaena, to heal me?” She struggled onto her hands and knees. “I watched you tend the welt on her cheek from within, like the spirit healed the boy. Was that the true limit of your ability? Or did you contrive an excuse for her to invite you in, and so gain the chance to ‘heal’ her by removing those memories…” She bared her teeth. “…Memories you could only have received from the spirit after she was imprisoned?”

  Gathering up her composure like sweeping together fallen leaves, the spirit drove back the storm.

  “You needed to remove the evidence.” Saphienne reclaimed her footing, stood on the rapidly drying steps. “Everything else was circumstantial at best, but those memories would have exposed you, one day.”

  “Perhaps of equal depth,” the spirit murmured, glancing at the library.

  “How long did you plan this?”

  “Plan what?” Her smile had deepened.

  “Don’t feign innocence.”

  “I will admit something about Iolas’ father,” the spirit allowed. “When I was first arisen, I used to follow him for joy — delighting in his adventures. Eventually, I was told about the apostate, and my curiosity made me yearn to cross beyond the circle… not that I ever did.” She studied the hyacinths. “Do not think for a moment that I had a hand in Iolas’ seeking the path of wizardry.”

  His father’s accident. “His father was climbing… the wind… and then a priest…”

  “Priests are often instruments of divine providence.”

  “And Celaena?”

  “She, I did not expect to present herself. Nor you. Even less so, you.” Her smile was gentle. “You really were the answer to my prayers, Saphienne. So many pieces came together… no one could have planned for them all. If I had been forced to walk with meek Iolas, or if you had not been all that I hoped, or if I my words had not reached under your skin… none of this would have come to pass. Surely, the gods willed her freedom.”

  The magnificence of the bloomkith’s achievement towered over them both, eclipsing even the library.

  “One thing I don’t understand,” Saphienne wondered, “is how you fascinated me–”

  “I did not.”

  Saphienne blinked. “No, you made me–”

  “I did not.” The spirit’s smile grew dark, yet remained eerily friendly. “In your fevered imagining of my villainy, would that not be the whole point? Had I walked in your flesh, had you been made to do what you did, then the act would have been too blatant to be ignored. No, Saphienne,” the spirit went on, leaning close enough to whisper in her ear, “if you had been compelled, or had carried me, then I would have looked responsible. Which, of course, I was not.”

  “Then… how…”

  “You know how.” She laughed, and the wind stirred the stormfront closer. “Faylar and Iolas pronounced the truth on you. Do you think the boundary between sanity and madness is sharp? That to go mad is to be aware of it? That losing your mind feels so very different from being sane?”

  Intensifying rain veiled the library, stopping short of the steps.

  “No, Saphienne. To slip into madness is to lose control — to be overwhelmed by yourself, the outer world eclipsed by the inner.” Her eyes softened. “For the second time in your life, you saw a friend come to harm because you did not act, and it brought back all the feelings that–”

  “Shut up.” Within her chest, Saphienne felt her heart racing.

  “No.” The spirit’s voice took on a new, urgent intimacy. “No, you will hear this. I did test you, but my test was not the test set by the wizard. I needed to be sure you were the girl I thought you were. I needed to know that you believed in right and wrong, that you were willing to put yourself in danger, that you were intelligent enough – and foolish enough – to interpret the signs and commit to action.”

  “I did what–”

  “‘–Was right, for its own sake.’” She giggled, placing a hand upon Saphienne’s shoulder. “Faylar told you there were other ways to interpret what my sister said, but you ignored them, because you wanted to believe. You lifted the scant threads and wove them into a story to clothe your grievance, and what you learned – along with what you saw happen to Celaena – drove you over the edge.”

  “No, you–” Saphienne felt cold water lashing her back. “You manipulated–”

  “You accuse me of your own behaviour!” The spirit sprang away, spun around, her arms wide, face turned up to the sunlit sky above the flowers. “The moment you knew something was wrong with Celaena, you did everything in your power to keep Iolas from fetching help.”

  “I wanted her to be safe–”

  “No, you wanted to be the one to save her.” The spirit stopped, placing her hands on her hips. “All was well while you had defeated me — had saved her from me. You had atoned. But when that redemption did not hold? You began to panic, Saphienne. You descended into terror, and the only response you know to feeling powerless is to try to understand–”

  “No…” The rain rolled down her cheeks.

  “Then why did you tell Faylar about me, Saphienne?”

  But Saphienne couldn’t answer.

  Slowly, achingly, she collapsed on the steps, pulling her legs to her chest as the awfulness of the day drenched her.

  Approaching lightly, the spirit floated down, crouching before her. “You were not in control. The moment you solved the last poem, you were ready to catch aflame.”

  “…Who else but I will run through all thy years…”

  “Your grief endures.” The spirit fondly stroked her sodden hair. “And that is what you fear, Saphienne. Not pain, or even death: that what happened before will happen again. That it will always happen — that it is inescapable.”

  Feeling very small, she closed her eyes. “But why? Why did you free her? Who was she to you?

  “She was just a cautionary tale… at least at first.” The flowers over the bloomkith beaded with dew as she spoke. “But surely you know better than I what she is — since you have spoken with her. She is a good person, Saphienne. And her suffering should never have been decreed, nor forgotten.”

  “And the pain caused? The hurt done to Iolas, to Celaena, to Faylar, to Laewyn?”

  “And to you?” The spirit asked the question thoughtfully, lifting Saphienne’s chin. “Does your suffering matter so little, compared to theirs?”

  The memory of the fleeting embrace of sunlight remained. “…I would have chosen to do it, if what you have told me about her is true. Even if you’ve lied… no one deserves that…”

  “Then you know the answer.” The bloomkith released her as she rose. “What is a little suffering, fleeting as winter snow, when compared to the glacier now melted? I will carry my– sorrow, for all that has happened. But not regret. Never regret.”

  Too overcome to feel anger, Saphienne hung her head. “This cost me my only friends.”

  Giggling, then breaking into laughter, the spirit clasped Saphienne’s hands. “Such a foolish thing to say! You think so little of your friends? Why do you think I wish to speak with them, Saphienne?”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  She looked up. “Nothing you say–”

  “On the contrary: you now understand the power of mere words.” The spirit laughed again, and the daytime in their entwined minds brightened and subdued the storm, the light dazzling Saphienne. “So long as you never contradict what I tell them, my lie to them will put all to right.”

  Gazing up at the spirit’s silhouette, Saphienne doubted — and yet, emerging once more into tranquillity, she still hoped. The spirit had boundless confidence, and what she had so deftly achieved left the child shaken to her depths, feeling stripped bare in the daytime, completely outmatched. “Are the other spirits like you?”

  “They ought desire it so — but they are not.”

  Then, Saphienne caught a glimpse of herself as others had seen her, or as she might be becoming — and the horror of her thriving reflection taught her what Almon so intensely disliked. “What is your name, spirit?”

  “Now, Saphienne,” the spirit murmured, playful as she helped her to stand, “I shall not answer that. My newly chosen name is known only to myself, for the names of spirits are the truth of our being. But you may call me by another.” There, she dipped, and uprooted a single, blue bloom. “…Take this, as my namesake. Then, dearest of elves, permit me the use of your body, that I may restore you to the bosom of your friends.”

  Trembling, Saphienne accepted the flower from her hand, which at once took root across her arm, and conveyed the name – and only the name – wordlessly, which was enough to make her laugh through her tears.

  That was how Saphienne was introduced to Hyacinth.

  Much, much later, she would learn that they had a great deal in common.

  *   *   *

  “–And I hope you go into the ground and rot!”

  Returning her awareness to the world around her, Saphienne was surprised to find that she wasn’t crying, and had in fact been standing politely and attentively throughout Celaena’s abusive tirade toward Hyacinth. Now Celaena was deeply flushed, breathing quickly and deeply as her rage subsided, Laewyn anxiously hovering behind her in wariness of the spirit whose golden light was in Saphienne’s eyes.

  Politely, Hyacinth conveyed that she could keep Saphienne composed, should she wish so — and also requested her consent to speak. Accepting her offer, Saphienne bid her wait as she quietly asked, “Are you all right, Celaena?”

  Glaring, Celaena drew a halting breath. “Is that you, Saphienne?”

  “Yes. She sat through it all; she got the message.”

  “Then yes. Yes, I feel better.” She stepped away, and Laewyn took her hand.

  With a small bow, Saphienne addressed her friends, turning so that she faced Faylar and Iolas as well. “The spirit wants to talk with you. She has… there are many things I didn’t understand. She’s not our enemy.”

  Iolas bristled. “I’m not going to take your word for that, Saphienne.”

  Relenting, Saphienne let Hyacinth speak in her place. “You are too harsh on Saphienne: though it may seem so to you, she is not responsible for all that you have been through. Her judgement was impaired by powers beyond all reason. If you must blame someone, child, then blame me — do not hold her accountable, when the fault is mine.”

  The other children shared glances. Iolas was sceptical.

  Faylar, however, was prepared to hear Hyacinth out. “What happened to Saphienne?”

  “She was induced into temporary madness.” Inwardly, Saphienne felt Hyacinth’s apology toward her as a gentle touch. “Speaking for my sisters, we do not know how this came to be; yet the signs within Saphienne are very clear to me. She was not wholly conscious of her actions throughout most of today… even before she freed the apostate.”

  Unconvinced, Iolas folded his arms. “How? We heard what the other spirits thought. The ward should have prevented that kind of influence. Or do you mean the gods drove her mad?”

  “I cannot say.” Moving Saphienne, the spirit clasped her hands together. “If we discount divine intervention, I will admit that some of what I have learned from Saphienne’s memories is disquieting. To know that someone else crossed into this place without supervision is troubling…”

  Her words made Iolas go very still.

  “…And even more so is what Celaena recounted to you.”

  Mentioned, Celaena frowned. “You put those memories there.”

  “No,” the spirit lied through Saphienne. “I gave you the story as it was shared with me — for it happened before I arose. The subjective impression was not imparted by me. Your mind embellished it… but I do not believe you imagined the details.”

  Celaena’s eyes had slowly widened as Hyacinth spoke. “You– but it happened when you possessed me–”

  “I cannot explain how.” Hyacinth nodded through Saphienne toward the shattered tree. “One possibility is that the apostate reached you, and Saphienne, indirectly. Another intermediary may have carried the seeds of her influence from here, perhaps unknowingly.”

  So too Iolas was stricken, his memories of visiting with his father racing through his mind. “What kind of intermediary?”

  “Not an elf — not directly. But if even a fragment of a flower touched the binding, perhaps the apostate could have seized on the opportunity to send out a suggestion. It would take a powerful mastery of our ways to achieve such an indirect escape, but she had plenty of time to plan and ready herself.” She held Iola’s gaze.

  “So wait,” Faylar asked, “you’re saying the apostate got ahold of Celaena, and then Saphienne?”

  “Celaena may not have been the first. It troubles me to consider why I chose that particular story to share with her…” The spirit shook Saphienne’s head. “…I find myself unsure if my reasons were my own.”

  Anger rekindled, Celaena approached. “And why did you, spirit?”

  “You three were to be rewarded for your success.” Saphienne could feel Hyacinth was not wholly lying, which made her deception swift and easy. “Are you familiar with the concept of a religious mystery? Not mystery as a puzzle or unknown answer, but mystery as a withheld secret, to be revealed to the worthy?”

  Laewyn spoke up. “I am.” She blushed as the others stared at her. “Um, I think I am. The liturgies mention them: mysteries are reserved for those who are ready to contemplate them, and are used to teach truths that can’t be taught with words alone.”

  “Yes.” Hyacinth made Saphienne bow. “You three had earned the opportunity to experience a mystery by triumphing against me in the rite. I did as I had been taught, and set in place the beginning of a mystery, the theme of which was justice.” She contrived to appear pained. “…Except, Celaena was meant to struggle with what I shared until she was forced to seek the counsel of her most trusted friends. Being as the subject was justice, it was meant to appeal to Saphienne and Iolas; you three being apprentices in wizardry was meant to lead you here, one day, as your curiosity matured.”

  “Spirit,” Iolas asked, his voice tight, “what was the lesson meant to be?”

  “A lesson in martyrdom.” Exhaling slowly, Hyacinth moved with Saphienne to the broken stump, and sat gingerly upon its edge. “Saphienne was correct about the nature of the apostate. She did not kill the child. She knowingly, deliberately broke from the ancient ways in pursuit of what she believed to be good, and presented herself for judgement when she was done. Once you had contemplated her fate, I was to appear before you, offer you my hand, and then explain the tragedy. From there, you were to seek a deeper understanding of the ancient ways.”

  “But not today.” Iolas’ eyes were lidded with growing guilt.

  “No. Your initiation into the ancient ways is due soon, Iolas. I expected the three of you would not visit until after, when you would have more context for what you would learn.”

  Faylar raised his eyebrows. “Initiation?”

  Yet Laewyn answered. “Um, I think she means the ceremony? When we reach physical and mental maturity?” She glanced between them. “It’s held at a shrine, and the woodland spirits are involved. Have you never been to one?”

  “I have,” Iolas admitted. “My sister’s. I thought it was just a formality, like the other rites of passage.”

  Saphienne was bursting with questions, and she nudged Hyacinth aside. “What other rights of passage? Sorry — it’s me, Saphienne.”

  Celaena drummed her fingers against each other. “When we’re born, there’s a ceremony at one of the shrines. Then again, when we’re nine years old. No one makes a big deal out of them… my father kept putting mine off. I was nearly ten when he finally took me to visit my mother.”

  Saphienne’s memory of being brought by her own mother to a woodland shrine during summer stirred in her mind — along with the boredom she had felt. “I just remember singing and–”

  “Being told to introduce myself.” Faylar remembered more. “And I’ve been to one of the ceremonies for newborns — they’re given a crown of flowers and a blanket of leaves.”

  Hyacinth pressed forward, and Saphienne made room for her voice. “The first ceremony places you under our protection; we pledge you the shelter of the woodlands, and to share in its bounty. The second ceremony introduces you to us; that we may come to know each other, and trust may bloom.”

  Iolas asked, “And the third?”

  “Upon reaching the age of choosing, you are introduced to the ancient ways, and formally asked to uphold them as they have upheld you. Most elves receive their first experience of what it is for us to walk with you.” Hyacinth focused Saphienne’s eyes on Celaena. “Wizards and priests are shown more, and from an earlier age where they begin young, for you have greater responsibility than most.”

  Celana thrust her arms out, furious. “Why? Why were you so awful?”

  “The first reason was to teach you fear.” Hyacinth stood with Saphienne. “That is part of the lesson — not the whole lesson, and is not the part that upholds the ancient ways. If you would find the patience within yourself, I would ask you to repeat for me the words I left with you upon our first meeting, Celaena.”

  Hesitating, Celaena’s eyes became unfocused, flicked from side to side as she went over what she had received, now with clarity and intent. What she recounted to herself made her inhale, sharply, and her eyes showed her abrupt illumination. “When approached unwisely,” she quoted, “the wizard who practices the discipline of Invocation risks engaging in slavery, whether as slavedriver or the enslaved.” She bit her lip as she studied the spirit. “Because we can enslave you with spells?”

  “Yes.” Hyacinth stretched up Saphienne’s arms, as though reaching for the sun. “Before we are made to puppet you, we experience what it is to be bound by you. That way–”

  “We respect each other.” Iolas sagged so low that he almost doubled over. “It wasn’t just teaching us to fear getting hurt. It was about how we treat each other, with the power we have over each other.”

  “That is the mystery. And this,” Hyacinth concluded as she surveyed what once had been a clearing, “was to be a complementary mystery of justice, on martyrdom, to facilitate the development of your wisdom. That was my intent.” She let Saphienne’s arms fall. “I was with you to prevent all other plants from passing into the clearing. But now, I am unsure how much of this was my will…”

  Faylar still had questions. “Forgive me, spirit, but why did you allow Laewyn and me to become involved?”

  And Hyacinth giggled through Saphienne’s lips. “Laewyn, because she is beloved of Celaena, and though not devoted to the gods, she has listened well to the liturgies, and knows enough to trust in their providence.”

  Laewyn and Celaena both blushed.

  “And you, Faylar,” the spirit smiled, “for two reasons. You speak our tongue, which would have eased my second approach… and because I agree with Saphienne.”

  He was bewildered. “About what?”

  “Almon is half-wrong about you. You were not ready to become an apprentice wizard — but one day, I believe you shall be.”

  So used to hiding behind his jesting, Faylar had no joke ready when he heard the spirit’s faith in him, and his face flushed and his lip trembled, his eyes covered by his hand as he turned away — and wept.

  *   *   *

  Saphienne glared across the flowers at Hyacinth. “Do you really mean that?”

  “I did not believe it before now,” she mildly replied. “But your memories are persuasive, Saphienne, and he acted with wit and courage under great pressure. Your efforts for his sake have not been wasted.”

  “…But you’re still manipulating him.”

  “Saphienne, you already know from Gaeleath that every deception rests upon a truth. Learn this from me as well: the best way to control someone is to give to them what they most desire. Both acts may be wrought for good, or for ill…” Hyacinth Smiled. “…But you will learn that for yourself, in time.”

  *   *   *

  “Saphienne can share the rest,” Hyacinth told the children, and she led Saphienne to stand before Iolas. “Does she still receive your ire?”

  “…For nearly dying.” Iolas’ eyes watered, Faylar’s display having moved him after he was already beyond his endurance. “No, not now. This whole thing is a fucking mess.”

  “Then, if I may make a request of you?”

  He blinked away his tears, and coughed as he hardened his heart. “I’ll hear it.”

  “There is another who you may look differently on, now.” Saphienne’s hands were lifted in supplication. “Consider that he, too, may have been a pawn — whether in machinations to free the apostate, or because the gods willed that she be granted clemency.”

  “I’ll talk to him. Carefully.” He looked away. “But thank you, for that.”

  “And, Celaena,” Hyacinth said as she swayed Saphienne away from Iolas, “if it will provide recompense, then once you have gained the necessary skills with the Great Art, I invite you to bind me as I bound you; so long as you do not hold your grudge against my sisters, I shall not complain.”

  Celaena considered her offer. “We’ll see,” she said, still resentful.

  “Then I have said all I must… except for this.” Hyacinth gestured to the body she commanded. “Saphienne will not be disciplined further by my sisters for what has happened. You four remain the recipients of their pledge. But should word of your involvement be shared with the wrong elves,” she cautioned, “then it will not be as simple as a mystery being ruined. They may yet hold you accountable.”

  Iolas sighed. “So, tell no one. But, earlier, you said the elves would be told–”

  “Elders of your kind, who lived when the punishment was decreed, will hear the full details. They will be wise enough to let the matter rest. Nor will they share your names.”

  “Why?”

  Celaena knew. “Because I was involved.” Her ears flicked. “Because of my father, and because he knows many elders through the Luminary Vale. He’d be dragged into it.”

  Hyacinth gave her a sympathetic smile, shared by Saphienne. “They will understand that the ancient ways have been upheld by us, and will sweep the matter aside to keep things tidy. In the end, enough suffering has descended upon us all; they will not wish to create more.”

  “So that’s it?” Faylar had dried his eyes, and his tears had left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Everyone goes about their business, and the only one hurt by it all is Saphienne?”

  There, Hyacinth relinquished her hold; without asking, she left the question with Saphienne.

  Who shivered, and sniffed back tears of her own — caused by too many reasons to ever wholly know. “I’m alive…” She looked from where her blood caked the earth to the clouds above. “…And I’ll live with it. I’m sorry for–”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Iolas bent down and lifted his outer robe from the ground, brushing dirt and warped hyacinths from the seams. “And it wasn’t the spirit’s, either.” He folded it over his arm, and met her eyes. “It was mine. I’m the oldest: I knew better. I could have gone to Almon at any point. Even after you shared with Faylar — we could have told Almon that Faylar figured it out from the translation he did. That was nearly the truth.”

  Faylar pushed his hands into his pockets. “Really? Who put you in charge? Just because you’re older doesn’t mean–”

  “Fuck off, Faylar.” Iolas said it tiredly, without venom. “We all had poor judgement, but I’m nearly at the point I should know better.”

  Saphienne let Hyacinth speak. “Nearly. And you nearly did, child of elves. Do not shoulder blame that my sisters do not place upon you.”

  He smiled wanly. “You can fuck off, too.”

  Hyacinth laughed — then made Saphienne bow. “Then I shall. There is a basin of water to the north: clean yourselves as best you are able. The Wardens of the Wilds were east and south of here before you entered: proceed northwest, to circle the village, and I will draw them away from your passage. The rest is in your hands.”

  Laewyn bowed, quoting the liturgies. “May you dwell in sunlight, spirit.”

  “And you as well.”

  *   *   *

  Reaching out, Saphienne put her hand on the flowers withdrawing from the steps of her mind, pausing the spirit. “Hyacinth — wait.”

  Ahead of her, the reflection of Saphienne had been descending into the field of blooms, and turned, looking back across her shoulder. “Saphienne?”

  “What was your plan for failure?” She felt cold. “What would you have done, if your actions had caused my death?”

  “Maple-blooded,” the spirit answered, still moving away, “if you had not shattered the tree, I expect more than madness would have seized hold of you, and fled entwined with sunflowers into the east. And if you had died,” Hyacinth whispered, her visage dissolving in the light, “then you, too, would have been a martyr — and your tomb in the west would have been attended with flowers for longer than stone could endure.”

  They separated.

  And yet, despite the unspeakable horror of it all…

  Part of Saphienne was sad, to feel Hyacinth go.

  End of Chapter 37

  A brief note on scheduling:

  My cat remains quite ill, and while she was looking better earlier today, she seems to be slowly getting worse. I think I'm going to have to put her to sleep this week. I'm not really coping well.

  I've lost a lot of work due to her being sick. I will try to do my overdue final redrafts tomorrow. While there are chapters available for public release, I polled the members of the Patreon, and some were of the mind that if I have to miss a Patreon deadline, I should be fair and pause the public updates for the same period of time.

  All of this is to say, I might be late with the next chapter. I'm sorry.

  Hopefully, Chapter 38 on 8th May 2025.

  Usually, two new chapters every week, Tuesdays and Thursdays.

  Want to read more, right away? Subscribe to to read additional chapters today.

  As a new author, I need your ratings and reviews for this story to be successful. And if you've already rated and reviewed, please share this story with anyone you think might like it.

  Thanks for reading!