Always quick to think of others, Iolas sprang toward Celaena the moment she collapsed within the gravel circle — though not swiftly enough to break her fall. He took her hand in his own and squeezed as he studied her sweating face. “Celaena? Can you hear me?”

  The wizard loomed over them both in his blue robes, his voice given weight by the yellow spell aglow around his neck. “Do not sit her up. She will need a moment to remember the use of her body.”

  Iolas only scowled, ignoring his master as the girl lay trembling, caring only for the tears streaming out of her eyes as she sucked in choking breaths. “You’re safe,” he told her in a low voice, “she’s gone. Deep breaths… slowly…”

  Yet Saphienne was not watching Celaena, nor had she moved to her friend’s side. She had been watching Almon, and the green of her gaze darkened as she studied the defensive circle from which he had emerged, realising that it had been yet another form of pageantry, tricking her and Iolas into believing they were in greater peril than they actually were. When she stood, it was with growing wrath written in every angle of her body, and her loathing scoured all emotion from her face. “You deceived us.”

  Almon flicked his fingertips, his voice losing its lustre as the magic dispersed from his throat. “In what way were you deceived?” His arms remained folded, as they had been throughout. “You were all warned to take care before proceeding, and given opportunity to ask questions before acting. I told you that the spirit was friendly to elves — and Celaena incorrectly assumed the spirit was harmless. She acted rashly–”

  “You were never in danger.” Saphienne gestured to the small circle in the gravel, still glowing orange to the Second Sight. “You could command the spirit at any moment; you cast a defensive spell, knowing that we would see it and infer–”

  “Yes.” He at last dropped his arms. “But you did not infer, Saphienne: you assumed. You saw the colour of an Abjuration spell, and took for granted that it was an abjuration…” He snapped his fingers, and the circle dissolved into blue stars that twinkled as they dissipated. “…Even after you had been forewarned, twice now, that a wizard of passing skill can change the appearance of his spells.”

  Her fury made her voice quiet. “You deceived us.”

  “You deceived yourselves. You panicked, as you were meant to.”

  Iolas tore his eyes away from Celaena, and his contempt was far more heated than Saphienne’s as he raised his voice to Almon. “Meant to? Meant to? Playing with us — like we’re puppets?”

  With a glance to Celaena, Almon smiled–

  “Don’t you fucking dare!” Iolas half-rose, held back only by Celaena clutching his hand as she sat up beside him. “This isn’t a joke.”

  Seeing Iolas abandon his politeness was enough to make their master reign in whatever tasteless quip he was about to make, and he pursed his lips for a moment. “I remember,” he admitted, “feeling quite similarly to you. The three of you have cause to be irate.”

  Saphienne would have swung at him, were it not for the self-control she found where the coin dug into her palm. “Understatement doesn’t suit you.”

  His smile was wry. “Then let us speak plainly: you wish I was in the ground, and rotting.”

  Such a horrible expression was taboo enough among elves that Celaena finally looked up at the wizard. Iolas paused to swallow a measure of his anger. “…As angry as we are, that would be going too far.”

  “Not too far for her.” Almon gave Saphienne a small bow. “For which you have my respect, believe it or not. I, too, wished to bloodily murder my master, when my introduction to the practicalities of Invocation had concluded.”

  She was not impressed. “You think suffering a wrong entitles you to perpetuate the same on us?”

  “No.” The wizard sighed, and clasped his hands behind his back. “This lesson was not of my choosing. And with the wisdom of hindsight, as distasteful as you may find it now, I do not consider it wrong.”

  Outrage still burned in Iolas’ eyes. “Not wrong? Tormenting children?”

  “Not in context,” Almon answered, keeping his gaze on Saphienne. “With whatever dispassion you can manage, try to contemplate the larger truth: that the lesson was as gentle as possible — to teach what you must learn.”

  Iolas’ lip curled in disgust. “Which is?”

  Beside Iolas, Celaena wiped her face. “Fear.”

  Both of her friends turned to her, but she shook her head, still trying to stop sniffling as tears dripped down her hand.

  “Celaena understands more intimately than either of you.” Almon nodded his acknowledgement to the shuddering girl, his expression conveying a small measure of sympathy. “The spirit was quite genuine when explaining the purpose of the lesson. Do you remember what the spirit said, Iolas? Saphienne?”

  Saphienne slowly exhaled. “‘Show I ye erred; teach I ye fear.’ Then she told us to learn…” Her grip on the coin loosened, her knuckles aching. “…And before you invoked the spirit, Celaena asked why we should study any other discipline, if Invocation could accomplish the effects that fell within their purview.”

  “Indeed.” He inclined his head a second time. “Celaena, what is the answer?”

  Iolas waved him away. “She’s been through enough.”

  “Magic does not wait,” Almon refused. “In this, a wizard’s time is not her own.”

  The young elf would have argued, but Celaena pulled on his arm to stop him. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, holding it until the trembling in her chest subsided. “The discipline of Invocation,” she exhaled, speaking as though quoting from a book she read behind her eyes, “depends upon the ability, and the availability, of another being. A wizard who invokes another being to work the Great Art on her behalf always risks being subordinated to their will.”

  Saphienne and Iolas exchanged troubled glances.

  “Whatever the ultimate purpose of the invocation,” Celaena continued, her eyes full of conflict as they opened, “a wizard must either negotiate service or compel the being… but a wizard of sufficient power as to compel service often exceeds the being she compels in mastery of the Great Art, to say nothing of the morality of the act. And so, when approached unwisely, the wizard who practices the discipline of Invocation risks engaging in slavery, whether as slavedriver…” Her voice caught.

  Almon took pity on her. “…Or as the enslaved.”

  Unnerved, Iolas let go of her hand. “Celaena, how did–”

  “She taught me.” Celaena smiled, hollowly. “The spirit. Her bargain was that she would possess me for a time, and use me to teach you respect for the dangers of treating with spirits, in exchange for which she would grant me knowledge of the discipline of Invocation.” Her smile thinned. “In accordance with the ancient ways.”

  “Knowledge,” the wizard affirmed, “is one of the primary reasons a wise and cautious wizard might barter with a spirit. There are other reasons, and other worthy applications of invocations, but a wise wizard thinks very carefully before calling upon spirits, even where he exceeds them in power.”

  Saphienne remained angry. “All of this was just a warning?”

  “If it was just a warning to you,” Almon snapped, “then the lesson has utterly failed.” He glared at her then, his voice rising — full of passionate conviction. “I told you before: respect the Great Art, for it does not respect you!”

  She blinked.

  Almon pressed on, recovering his composure as he addressed all three apprentices. “Today, you were investigating a spirit who was friendly, under the supervision of your master, dealing with things well understood. A hundred years from now, when you stand on your own, delving into matters beyond your comprehension, perhaps beyond the understanding of any wizard…” He held out his palms. “…Tell me, how will you proceed?”

  None of them answered.

  Head held high, the teacher walked away from his students, his back to them as he surveyed his garden. “You cannot make sound judgements if you do not understand the risks. Where you know nothing, you must assume the risks are great, and take every conceivable precaution before proceeding. To do otherwise,” he said, his voice rueful, “is to do as Celaena has done, and as I once did. Perhaps the outcome will be fortunate… but luck teaches overconfidence, and overconfident wizards are dead wizards — at best.”

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  Still unconvinced, Saphienne folded her arms. “And at worst?”

  “…We will discuss those possibilities in depth, another day.” Clearly dissatisfied with how the lesson had been received, he squared his slumping shoulders as he turned around. Yet his next words showed his dissatisfaction was not directed toward his students. “Iolas, Saphienne, I must acknowledge this: you performed admirably well together. In the history of our magical tradition, very few apprentices have managed to keep their wits about themselves well enough to contest and defeat the tutelary spirit. You are the first of my apprentices to do so.” He bowed to them each in turn — and just as deeply to Saphienne as to Iolas.

  Next the wizard addressed Celaena, and though his manner remained formal, his words were kind. “And Celaena, you should know: no group of apprentices has ever avoided one of their number falling into the possession of the tutelary spirit. This includes the High Masters of the Luminary Vale, all of whom were once as young and incautious as you were, today. You are not weak; this is not failure.”

  His words gave some comfort to Celaena, who managed a fragile smile. She found her voice after a moment, asking, “Master… were you freed? By your peers, I mean.”

  For the briefest moment, a flicker of emotions – nostalgia, resentment, and irritation – danced through his eyes. “No. The other apprentice fainted.”

  Despite herself, Saphienne had to know. “What happened to you?”

  “My master bartered my release,” he recounted, soberly. “I was freed after an hour… in exchange for my leal service to the spirit, for a year and a day.”

  All three apprentices stared — Celaena’s face drawn, Iolas frowning, and Saphienne unsure whether to believe him.

  Their expressions forced more from Almon. “The service wasn’t constant… nor did it interfere with my studies.” Thoughtfully, he cast his gaze over the flowerbeds that surrounded them. “And, I will say this: for all that I detested every minute of it, by the end of the year, I did learn something.”

  “More knowledge of magic?” asked Celena.

  The wizard shook his head.

  Iolas slowly stood up. “What else?”

  For the very first time, an emotion that could be mistaken for humility entered their master’s voice. “That the act of weeding can be quite meditative,” Almon confessed, his smile unguarded. “So too, that there is some satisfaction to be had, in keeping a well-tended garden.”

  *   *   *

  Although masters of the Luminary Vale were obliged to introduce their apprentices to Invocation in the way that Almon had done, there the prescription ended. The wizard explained this as he declared they were done with discussion for the day — that he would rather complete the lesson after the trio were rested. Instructing that Celaena was to share what she had received, and to do so before the end of the week, he instead had them sit for their meditation, retracing the circle that Iolas had broken as he cast another, golden spell.

  Saphienne found it impossible to empty her mind. Not only was she still seething, but at odd intervals Celaena would sniffle, the older girl still struggling with the memory of being powerless within her own body. Each time, Saphienne felt a fresh pang of concern. From the corner of her eye she saw Iolas was also furiously worried, though as the hour wore on he gradually settled down and found his focus.

  As for the invocation? It took the form of a ripple in the air within the circle, a translucent veil fluttering upon the breeze. Through it, she glimpsed vague silhouettes, outlines of figures that seemed like people and yet were not, reminding her of shadows cast by trees and flowers dancing in the wind. Almon had not needed to explain that these were the spirits of the woodlands, for the way they appeared and disappeared behind the veil was suggestive of subjects who knew they were observed, and who waved back to the apprentices who beheld them… perhaps playfully, perhaps to taunt them.

  When the hour had elapsed, Iolas and Celaena were calmer.

  Saphienne appeared so, too.

  *   *   *

  Celaena was the first one to speak after they had left the garden. “I don’t want to go back home… not right now…”

  On the other side of her, Iolas was plucking fragments of flowers from the stitching of his robes. He was relieved that she had spoken up. “Agreed. Your home is very comfortable, but…” The apprentice stretched his back, staring up at the listless clouds. “…I’ll admit it: today was awful. I’ve had enough of magic, for one day.”

  Reaching out silently, Saphienne took Celaena’s hand and squeezed — just as Filaurel had done for her, when she was upset. This earned a small smile from the older girl, who squeezed back twice as hard, her palm clammy.

  Saphienne didn’t mind the sweat. “Celaena,” she quietly asked, “I’d like something from the bakery. Would you care to come with me?”

  She could feel Celaena tense at the prospect. “…Yes,” her fellow apprentice decided, breathing out slowly, “I think that would be… I think I’d like that.”

  “Iolas?”

  He was watching Saphienne with an expression she took a moment to place: gratefulness, and esteem. “That sounds like an excellent idea. How about I go on ahead? Check that they’re not too busy, to take sudden requests?”

  Celaena nodded, blushing faintly.

  Iolas hurried away, a small bunch of malformed blooms waving where they protruded from the back of his hooded collar.

  The sight made Saphienne snort, and then she laughed as her anger subsided, feeling it break apart as it slid down to join the rest of her ambient antagonism. “…What a fucking prick…”

  Celaena was confused for a moment, then realised Saphienne was thinking about their master. “I’m not sure if he… well, that lesson wasn’t his choice.”

  “He still went along with it.” Saphienne was not quick to forgive. “And even if we come to agree with the lesson — the way he did it? The way he spoke to us after — so superior, making light of us?” She clenched her jaw. “Almon’s a prick.”

  Not quite herself, Celaena couldn’t challenge Saphienne’s disrespect. “…Maybe it won’t feel this way, later.”

  “You think there’s really a lesson, there?” The very idea made Saphienne sneer. “I think he just enjoys putting people down. He likes to feel superior. He does what he likes, and he likes this.”

  Opening her mouth, Celaena hesitated, trying to put into words what she had never before contemplated. “…Doesn’t everyone? Don’t we all like feeling superior?”

  “Iolas doesn’t.” Saphienne considered the people she knew. “Filaurel doesn’t, either. She teases, but it’s not… she likes to remind me that I’m still young. If anything, being senior to me makes her uncomfortable, sometimes.”

  “What about your family?”

  “What about them?” Saphienne glanced her way. “I know my father less well than you know your mother. And my mother–”

  Unbidden, the memory of losing her temper in front of Iolas played out behind her eyes in a shameful rush.

  “…Let’s not talk about my mother,” she managed, swallowing. “I don’t like to think about her, not at all.”

  “Father likes being a wizard.” Celaena stared at the ground as they walked. “He takes great pride in it. He approves of my choice of art. I can’t imagine him being… I can’t imagine him doing what I did, today.”

  “Why don’t you write to him, and ask?”

  “Oh, I can’t just ask him something like that–”

  “Whyever not?” Saphienne looked at her, quizzical. “Wouldn’t he tell you?”

  Yet the topic made Celaena intensely uncomfortable, and she squeezed shut her eyes and shook her head, ears twitching. “No. I don’t want him to– he can’t know how badly–” She took a deep breath. “…No, Saphienne. Just, no.”

  Saphienne was unsure how to respond. “Almon said no one has ever avoided what happened, so your father must have been caught out like we were. Even if he wouldn’t admit it… he doesn’t need to. We were meant to panic, and even though Iolas and I got through, we were both panicking, in our own ways.”

  “That’s funny.” Celaena looked back up, lips twisting in what wasn’t quite a smile. “The spirit… she didn’t think you were panicking at all. She was really vexed. I could feel her trying to get under your skin, and getting more and frustrated that you kept calm… at least until the end.”

  “I don’t–” Saphienne paused. “…Panic isn’t like that, for me. It’s not on the surface. It’s more…” Unable to explain herself, she lapsed into silence.

  “You don’t have to tell me.” Celaena leant against her. “I know you’re an odd bird, Saphienne.”

  Still prickly at heart, but aware Celaena had been through a lot, she kept her voice mild as she replied, “So are you.”

  That won her a small laugh. “I suppose I am. What’s the old phrase? ‘Birds of a feather flock together?’ I don’t think we have the same feathers, but we’re both birds of the same flock.”

  Eager to cheer her up, Saphienne leapt at the chance for a lighter topic. “What feathers do you have, then?”

  “Easy: I’m a magpie.” She straightened up and grinned as she said it. “Or at least some kind of crow — but I like to think I stand out.”

  “What about Iolas, then?”

  “An owl. Seems composed and above it all, until he’s crashing into something.”

  “And Faylar?”

  Celaena giggled. “He’s a raven. Good with words — not that he understands them.”

  Saphienne grinned too. “I’ll tell him you said that… but,” she tugged on her arm, “what about me? What are my feathers, Our Lady of the Birds?”

  The minor sacrilege made Celaena laugh, deeper than before, and she lapsed into thoughtful silence that brooded as it lengthened. “I’m not sure…” Confounded, though reluctant to admit it, she looked to the trees around them for inspiration. “Maybe… a cuckoo?”

  Her answer made Saphienne’s smile fall away. “Like I don’t belong in the nest?”

  “Oh, no!” Celaena was aghast. “Not all cuckoos lay their eggs in the nests of other birds! I meant– I was remembering they’re solitary, have a wide variety of colours, and you’ll find them thriving almost everywhere…” She lowered her eyes again. “…Sorry. It was a thoughtless guess. I don’t know what kind of bird you are, Saphienne — not really.”

  That mollified her; she made an effort to relax, and squeezed Celaena’s hand again. “But you’re sure I’m a bird?”

  “You’ve got wings.” Celaena spoke with certainty. “And… they’re big wings. Bigger than a cuckoo’s, now I think about it. Maybe a bird of prey? But you’re not a hawk, or an eagle… but something sharp, with talons…”

  “I could be another owl? Though,” she grinned again, self-awareness burning in her ears, “I’m not really above it all, am I?”

  “No,” Celaena agreed with a fond smirk, “no, you’re definitely not.”

  “Fine.” Saphienne nudged Celena. “I’m merely an odd bird, for now. What about Almon? What kind of bird is a prick?”

  Celena snorted, and the look she gave Saphienne was disbelieving. “Come on, Saphienne: you – of all people – shouldn’t need to ask.”

  Meeting her challenge, Saphienne blushed hotter as she realised the obvious answer:

  A peacock.

  They both burst into laughter, and Saphienne nudged Celaena again, surprised by how easy it had been to brighten her mood, and – despite the difficulties of the day – by how easily they had bonded.

  End of Chapter 27

  Chapter 28 on 3rd April 2025.

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