Whereas Hyacinth had previously infused Saphienne with false calm, now the possessing spirit imparted rising panic — the snow that glittered above her field growing thicker on the stirring breeze. “The wizard must not determine that a spirit staged the scene!” Her tone grew worried. “Saphienne: you must be the one to act.”

  Stepping back from the encroaching cold, Saphienne forced herself to sit down on the library steps and pulled her robes tighter around herself. She knew that the scene was not real, but she also understood that the chill was a representation of Hyacinth’s fears bleeding into her; she hoped that warming herself would keep her thoughts clear. “Explain to me what’s at stake for the spirits of the woodlands.”

  “Right now? Nothing.” Hyacinth worried at the flowers on her skin, picking at her arms as she answered. “Your master will find exactly what was relayed to your elders. But if I or any other spirit were to alter the scene,” she insisted, “the wizard would notice, and he would report our deception. That breach of trust would contradict the ancient ways… with terrible consequences, for all of us.”

  “Are you sure he would find out?”

  Hyacinth threw up her arms, scattering plucked petals. “Yes! One of my elder sisters might be able to deceive him, but none of them will take the risk — no one but I may do anything for your sake, Saphienne. And I am not skilled enough to fool a trained wizard.”

  “If I demand that you do it anyway–”

  “Do not be foolish.” Hyacinth’s arms dropped, and she knelt before the steps. “The ancient ways demand I keep my word to you, but they permit me to break my promise where honouring it would threaten them; and even were I inclined to do as you ask, I would be prevented by my sisters.” She smiled, though her face was drawn. “Do you you think your master barring us from his sanctum went unnoticed? His comings and goings are of interest to my sisters: they know what he is doing. Not to mention, one of them is watching us…”

  Unnerved, Saphienne turned around–

  “Physically.” The bloomkith managed a small giggle. “Or perhaps, spiritually? They cannot observe us here — only that I am within you.”

  The cold was causing ferns of frost to form along the lip of the steps. Saphienne shivered, aware that her heart was beating faster. “Then I’m done. There’s no way I can cover up all that blood… and whatever else we left there…”

  “Only the blood is of concern.” Hyacinth hesitated. “…I do not know how much you understand, and I am prohibited from teaching you magic without permission. What traces of yourself and your friends do you believe were left in the clearing?”

  She thought over all that had happened, her intellect staving off the cold. “My blood. Perhaps some of my skin, my flesh, and my hair. Threads from my robes. Possibly, hair belonging to the others.” She recalled wind and rain pushing her down into thin mud. “Possibly, prints of our hands, maybe even footprints in the mud… and we may have left a trail that could be followed.”

  Nodding, the bloomkith folded her hands on her lap. “Do not ask why, but shreds of your skin and flesh are of no concern. So too, any hairs shed naturally… and I doubt any pulled free will remain significant so many hours later. Are you wearing the same robes as yesterday? Were they repaired?”

  “Yes; I only have one set.”

  “Then errant threads will not matter for magical purposes. As for physical signs?” Hyacinth looked upward, studying the hazy sun through her ice storm. “…Your coming and going I can obscure by mundane means — outside the clearing. But I doubt the wizard will have the skills to follow your tracks, nor will he ask the Wardens of the Wilds for assistance.”

  “Then, I command you to–”

  “Saphienne.” Hyacinth shook her head with a sad smile. “Do you really believe you need to compel me to help you? Save the task I owe for a purpose I resent.”

  That the spirit was willing to help her put Saphienne on edge; she chose to believe that Hyacinth was assisting out of shared interests. “Then… what do we do about the blood?”

  “I don’t yet know…” The bloomkith rose. “…But you must do it with me. And if I am to advise you, we must band closer together.” She offered her hand. “Saphienne: I cannot propose a way forward without knowledge that you possess, and there is no time for questions. Let me enter deeper into you.”

  The prospect daunted her. She stood as well, not daring to accept. “After everything that’s happened, I don’t trust you that far. There are things that–”

  “Must I give you another service in exchange?” Hyacinth withdrew, her voice petulant. “Saphienne, I am trying to help! Whatever grievances you hold against me are meaningless, compared to our common purpose.”

  “How do I know,” Saphienne asked, eyes narrowing, “that this isn’t another scheme at work? That you haven’t set this in motion, somehow, to make me lower my guard?”

  In reply, the spirit shrugged. “You do not. Trust me, or do not trust me: your decision will stand.”

  At least she was blunt: Saphienne respected that. With all the confidence she could summon, she walked down to the edge of the steps, and extended her hand. “There are things that are precious to me. If you make light of–”

  “Never.” The bloomkith seized her wrist.

  *   *   *

  Saphienne stared at the wilting fragment of the flower on the ground before her, feeling its colour and scent more vividly than she had ever imagined possible.

  *   *   *

  Hyacinth withdrew, though the edifice of the library remained covered in climbing vines — impossibly sprouted with the blooms of her namesake.

  Saphienne shook herself, overwhelmed. “…That was…”

  “…Incredibly strange.” Hyacinth studied her with a frown. “Your mind is nothing like Celaena’s, and nothing like I was taught to expect. I was almost lost…”

  She blinked. “How am I… in what way am I different?”

  “Rooms within themselves.” Hyacinth trembled, her mood unclear. “Doors that open into the same hall from the other side. Spaces that recur, over and over, seemingly without end, their edges comprised of edges that repeat themselves — uncrossable distances. Everything is within reach of everything else.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I.” She laughed, nervously. “I found my path, but my footing felt unsteady. Walking with you is weird, Saphienne. But your body, at least, feels very ordinary.” Her gaze softened as she sensed Saphienne’s sadness. “Do not mistake my inexperience for anything more meaningful. Your feelings, your passions? They are just the same as for other elves. What lies within your labyrinth was of no surprise to me.”

  There was a little comfort, in that. “So…” Saphienne pushed her anxieties aside. “…You know everything about me, now?”

  “No. I confined myself to your past week, and I am only holding the parts that I decided were relevant.” She gestured toward where her blooms embraced the library. “When we are done, I will release them, and remember only my conclusions.”

  “And what are they?”

  Surprising her, Hyacinth joined Saphienne on the steps, sinking down onto the stone to dangle her legs into the bottomless field. “I have the outline of a solution. If you follow it exactly as I tell you, then there is a chance that the wizard will not know what happened…”

  Feeling inquisitive, Saphienne sat beside her, and when her own feet lowered into the red flowers she felt the bloomkith’s emotions more sharply — her fear for them both, her uncertainty in her plan, her resolve to see the challenge through. “I sense a catch.”

  “…But,” Hyacinth admitted, “it involves making him very angry at you. Perhaps angry enough to end your apprenticeship anyway.”

  She laughed, weary. “Is that all? The best case scenario is just as bad as the worst?”

  “No. If you can do what I say, I do not think he will.”

  Saphienne stared up at the sun; it shone more fiercely now, their shared worries melted by its brightness. “All right, Hyacinth. What do I do?”

  “You need to convince your master to let you go with him into the clearing.” The bloomkith wove her hands as she spoke, imagining scenes that Saphienne saw with her. “On the way inside, you need to cut your palm or wrist severely enough that your blood runs — but as though it were an accident, and without being noticed. Keep your bleeding wound concealed. Then,” she concluded, “approach the blood in the clearing. Regard it in all ways as though it is not your own. Be confused when the divinations point to you. Understand nothing about why, and admit nothing about the truth.”

  The plan made very little sense to her. “How will adding more blood help?”

  Hyacinth bowed her head. “I cannot explain the scheme to you, for you do not yet understand the principles of magical sympathy. You must trust me: he will be furious, but you will escape suspicion.”

  “He told me I wasn’t allowed to–”

  “No.” She grinned, and the memory flashed through them both. “He told you that you were ‘not sufficiently qualified’ to come with him. Then he told you that you could leave. He did not prohibit you from joining him — and even if he had,” she laughed, “why would it matter? Refuse to take no for an answer. It will not be the first time…”

  Put like that, the bloomkith had a point.

  “How can I convince him?”

  “You tell me.” Hyacinth held her gaze. “He is your master. The rest is all on you.”

  She swallowed. “Then, I better get moving.”

  “One minor detail.” Hyacinth pushed off the steps, slipping into the field as though submerging herself in a pool. “Dust yourself with salt before you meet him. Not too much: just a sprinkle over your head will suffice. Brush it off when done.”

  “Why do I–”

  The bloomkith moved away, the floral growth across the library withering. “I cannot tell you. And if you are successful, you will not find out why for some time.”

  *   *   *

  Around her, the woodland returned to normal, all colours and sounds and scents and tactile sensations diminishing to their usual reality as the spirit left.

  Saphienne sat for a moment, thinking through the challenge. What Hyacinth had told her to do seemed like insanity — yet she believed in the bloomkith, convinced beyond reason that the spirit was helping.

  She knew there was a possibility that she was being used again. She had no doubt that Hyacinth would use her, if the spirit felt the cause was just. What convinced her that the bloomkith’s motives were pure was that, ultimately, saving Saphienne was an extension of what they had done to free the sunflower spirit. Their shared work was incomplete.

  Saphienne’s trust was tenuous. Yet, Hyacinth had it.

  And so the apprentice closed her eyes and thought about her master, and what he wanted, and what she had learned on the night they met, and the fresh insights she had gained that very morning. Three minutes passed as she planned out her next steps — a desperate plan, one that had too many uncertainties she couldn’t account for.

  In the end, all she could do was try.

  Saphienne stood, tossing the dead trimming of the hyacinth away, the sole of her shoe blotting out the circle she had drawn in the dirt.

  *   *   *

  A little time later, she hammered on the grand doors to Celaena’s home as she crouched down on the doorstep. Saphienne laid out her calligraphy kit and prepared to write as she waited; when no answer was forthcoming, she thumped the door a second time–

  And made Celaena jump back as it opened. “…Saphienne?” She stared down in bewilderment, dressed in a moon-patterned night gown and slippers under a warm, woollen robe. “What are you–”

  “Call Laewyn down. I don’t have time to explain.” Her pen flew across the page, recording observations as though she were only just thinking them.

  Celaena’s tone was defensive. “…She doesn’t live here, you know.”

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  Saphienne didn’t stop. “There’s no way she left you alone last night — not after what we went through. I need to ask her a question, and it’s urgent.”

  Obviously irked, Celaena was nevertheless still worried about Saphienne from the day before, and she turned to call through the grand entranceway, her voice echoing from the dark tiles and high ceiling. “Laewyn! Saphienne needs to talk to you!”

  “Thank you.” She studied what she had written, and frowned. “Do you remember the formula for the ratio between an angle in a triangle and the length of the opposing side?”

  “What are you–” Celaena craned her head to read her writing.

  “No time.” Saphienne quickly sketched as she spoke. “I need to work out the length of all three sides of this triangle, starting with two of the angles and the length of the longest side.”

  “A right-angled triangle? That’s easy.” She stepped outside, bending down to point at the shape. “Your vertical side divided by your longest side will equal the height coordinate where a ray cast along that smaller angle intersects the unit circle, right? So multiply the longest side by that height coordinate to get the vertical side’s length. Then, just square the longest side, and subtract the square of the vertical side, and the square root of the remainder is the length of the horizontal side.”

  Saphienne paused as she half-remembered the lessons, suddenly very glad she hadn’t challenged Celaena on the night they met. “…Those coordinate values are recorded in tables, aren’t they? Do you have a copy of them?”

  Celaena studied the triangle. “If you can tell me any one length–”

  Laewyn arrived at the door, buttoning her trousers. “What are you both–”

  “Laewyn,” Saphienne cut her off, “the shrine to Our Lord of the Endless Hunt — do you know where it is?”

  “Yes–”

  “Roughly how far away is it from the village?”

  She folded her arms. “Um, it’s a little over three miles away? Just under three and a quarter. It’s to the–”

  “South southeast,” Saphienne said, marking the length of the longest side of the triangle and filling in the corresponding angle. “Celaena?”

  Celaena studied the page, then shut her eyes. Her lips moved as she called the memorised tables to mind. “Vertical side… one point two four. Horizontal side… three.” She looked at Saphienne. “Three miles? East of the village? That’s– you already know that’s where–”

  But Sapheinne was standing. “Do you know how long your reception hall is?”

  “Sixty-six feet, but why–”

  She took off jogging past Laewyn, counting each resounding step under her breath, checking her count on her return journey. Kneeling back down, she did her final calculations. “Twenty-two strides… three feet a stride… three miles to go, so they cancel out… five thousand, two hundred and eighty feet in a mile means that’s also the number of strides.” She underlined the number, then started putting away her writing kit.

  “Saphienne.” Celaena folded her arms. “What the fuck are you up to?”

  She smiled manically as she shouldered her satchel. “Theoretical underpinnings!”

  Confounded, the girls watched her race away through the terraced gardens.

  *   *   *

  On her way through the village she stopped at a storehouse, requesting the ingredients to bake a loaf of bread. The sedate woman in charge kept her waiting for five, nerve-wracking minutes, but was kind enough to loan her a leather pack to carry the goods, on the promise that she return it within the week.

  Saphienne stashed the pack in a bush on the outskirts of the village; but before she did, she sprinkled herself with a pinch of the salt.

  *   *   *

  Assuming that Almon, Rydel, and Taerelle were going to the shrine to Our Lord of the Endless Hunt and then following the ley line north, Saphienne was confident she would make it to the clearing before them — so long as they weren’t using magic to travel. The open question was whether she would have enough time to prepare for their arrival, or whether they would stumble upon her first.

  She counted her paces as she ran over grass and stony moss, aware that the margin of error depended on how much her stride varied, how much distance was lost and gained from the land rising and falling, and also the accuracy of Laewyn’s estimate. She trusted Celaena’s calculations absolutely. In the end, the final step left her just short of the rise that they had stood on the day before – where Iolas had realised he knew their location – and she smiled to herself as she caught her breath and backtracked by fifty feet.

  Everything that followed had to be done the hard way. She could take no shortcuts: if her planned method didn’t work, she would have to come up with another, and time was against her. She took out her writing kit, wishing that she had Rydel’s charcoal pencil as she fumbled with pen and ink and fresh paper, and then began to walk forward slowly, noting down every obstacle she encountered as she climbed the rise, descended it, and continued on beyond.

  As she approached the enchanted thicket she forced herself to notice it, then hesitated, and wrote it down in a loose scrawl. She was aware, passing around it, that her sense of time would be completely lost when she arrived on the other side of the concealed hill, but she couldn’t show that she knew, and she definitely couldn’t rush.

  What felt like two thousand feet away from her starting point, she stopped, sat, and skimmed down the list multiple times, scoring out entries as she went, paying less and less attention with each pass. Then she got back up, and calmly retraced her steps.

  Finally, on the rise, she put down her writing kit, took out her pouch and the precious coin, and willed herself to be right. Then, she read through the list – carefully – one last time…

  Saphienne silently raised her fist in triumph.

  *   *   *

  Almon kept her waiting another hour.

  She sat on the rise before the hidden glade in a meditative pose, the two sheets of her proof tucked into her sleeve, the coin clutched in her hand. Saphienne stared straight ahead through the trees, trying with all her might to see the hill that she knew was there among the verdant trees, applying every iota of concentration to the task — and failing. The magic of the Fascination spell was simply too potent.

  Nevertheless, the effort was good practice. Perhaps if she were to try for long enough–

  “Saphienne.”

  She blinked, then glanced down the slope and to the right. Almon was standing there, staff in hand and Peacock on shoulder, a bemused Taerelle and Rydel a little distance behind him. He looked quite annoyed.

  “Come down here right now.”

  Rising smoothly, she took the time to brush off her robe and stretch before she carefully descended toward him, allowing herself a smug expression – mostly genuine – to mask her fear. Her master didn’t scare her… but failure did.

  “I have several questions.” He brought his hands together where he held the staff, his gaze piercing. “We’ll start with the quotidian: what are you doing here?”

  Stopping a little distance up the incline, she folded her arms. “Proving you wrong.”

  His smile was bitter as he turned to Taerelle. “Do you see now?”

  The senior apprentice was scrutinising Saphienne closely, brow furrowed. “I do. But how did she get here?”

  “What an excellent question!” Almon pivoted back to Saphienne. “How did you get here, Saphienne?”

  She smiled irreverently. “I walked.”

  Almon refused to rise to her bait, and nodded as though surprised. “Why, you walked! Very interesting. Let us build upon your answer: why did you walk here?”

  “To arrive at the clearing before you.”

  Rydel rolled his eyes. “Stop being difficult. You know what you’re being asked: how did you know the clearing would be here?”

  At that, Saphienne descended the remaining distance, and slipped the first sheet of paper from her sleeve. “You showed me everything I needed to know.” As the apprentices joined her before their master, she unfolded her notes and displayed her working. “You said the ley line ran north from the shine, and that the clearing was some miles east of the village. Since the clearing was on the ley line, that meant the direct path to the clearing intersected the ley line at the clearing, so all I needed to do was find the distance and direction of the shrine from the village.” She smiled as she pointed to the triangle. “Actually, just the distance — you said it was east southeast.”

  Taerelle took the page from her, reviewing her calculations. Her eyebrows rose. “Very clever. How did you reckon the distance?”

  “I measured my stride: three feet, at a jog. That told me the number of strides to travel here, and when I finished counting I made allowance for error in the measurements.” She nodded to Rydel. “I also remembered how you excluded locations that couldn’t hide a clearing, and since I’d stopped on a steep slope, I guessed the clearing was more likely to be on the other side of the rise. Then I backed up a little, just in case I was wrong.”

  Almon was trying hard to hide his smile, but the gleam in his eye was no longer wholly in anger. “Yet, you disobeyed me–”

  “No.” Saphienne became serious. “You told me I wasn’t qualified to accompany you, and that I could leave. You never forbade me from travelling here on my own.” She thought back to her first day of formal lessons, quoting him. “‘You are too used to reading people’s emotions, how they speak and behave, before you consider what it is they say.’ Well, I applied what you taught me.”

  “If I recall correctly,” Almon said, voice cold, “I also told you that how something is said matters — that it must be taken into consideration with context. You knew you were not supposed to attend.”

  “No, I knew that you believed I shouldn’t, because you think I don’t know my limits and that I’m not appropriately cautious–”

  “Which you patently don’t, and obviously aren’t, given your presence here.” He pushed the foot of his staff less than an inch into the earth, and yet it remained standing as he folded his arms. “You have placed yourself at risk–”

  “I haven’t. You said it would be safe until the fascination was found.”

  He shook his head as he drew a deep, irate breath. “I will not show you the fascination. Go home.”

  Shrugging lightly, she turned away. “Fine. I don’t need you to, anyway.”

  She made it three steps before he asked, “And what, exactly, do you mean by that?”

  Saphienne halted. Unseen, she smiled to herself.

  When she turned around, she kept her expression resentful. “I already found and examined it. I was trying to keep it in sight while I waited for you.”

  Taerelle broke the ensuing, shocked silence with a laugh of disbelief. “Rubbish. Complete rubbish. Not remotely possible.”

  Rydel shook his head, smirking. “If you’re going to lie, make it believable.”

  Even Peacock snapped his beak and clicked in disapproval.

  Yet Almon wasn’t laughing. He looked from her to the top of the rise, then turned to peer through the woods, turning over the possibility in his mind. “…An incredible claim to make. But I have never known Saphienne to lie.” He rounded on her, and casually reclaimed his staff as he closed the distance, the hem of his dim blue robes rippling across the forest floor like spilled ink that rolled toward her. “Are you prepared to stake your apprenticeship on it? You may be mistaken.”

  “If you want me to wager,” Saphienne countered, “what will you wager in turn?”

  He stopped. His fingers drummed against his staff as he studied her, a smile settling into place the longer he did. Then he laughed, and she saw unconcealed appreciation in his eyes as he realised what she was doing. “I must admit: this was well played. Have you truly found it?”

  Anxious now, she nodded.

  “And did you pass inside?”

  She shook her head.

  “And if,” he asked her, leaning forward on his staff so that their eyes were level, “I were to tell you to go home, and forget this place, and to never venture within?”

  Saphienne swallowed. “I’m not stupid. Whatever is in there could be dangerous — actually dangerous, not part of your lessons. Just because I don’t care much for how you teach… that doesn’t mean I don’t listen.” She drew herself up to full height. “I don’t need to see inside. I’ve made my point.”

  Almon straightened as well. Very softly, he said, “You have. Go home.”

  Everything in her screamed to argue with him…

  …But he’d defeated her. She’d been certain he would want her to prove her claim — Taerelle had said he couldn’t help himself when he thought he was right, but that he had to be right for it to count. All of that was true; so why didn’t he take the wager?

  Saphienne had badly underestimated her master in one crucial way:

  She had never expected him to believe her.

  There was nothing more she could do. She clutched the coin, and through it control of herself, then walked away.

  End of Cha–

  “Hold on!” Taerelle strode over to Almon, placing herself between him and Saphienne and folding her arms. “You can’t send her away. She hasn’t explained how she found the fascination — if she really did find it, which I doubt.”

  Almon laughed. “Hasn’t she embarrassed you enough for one day, apprentice?”

  Saphienne stopped to watch them, saw Taerelle whip her head from side to side with enough speed that her long braid rippled behind her. “Can you think of a way she might have found it, Master? Without magic?”

  The wizard looked down at his feet, Peacock inquisitively eyeing him from his shoulder as he thought the challenge through. “…No. It is conceivably possible, but every starting point I can think of depends on knowledge she simply hasn’t been taught. And,” he admitted, looking back up, “I am not confident that any of those would lead to a workable method to pierce the veil.”

  “Then either she’s lying, or what she’s figured out is educational.”

  Rydel coughed. “Or she’s just wrong.”

  Saphienne spoke up. “I’m not wrong, and I’m not lying.”

  Taerelle held a palm up to their master. “Well? Don’t you want to know?”

  Almon endured her gaze for a long moment, then pursed his lips. “…It doesn’t matter whether I do or don’t. A wizard cannot be compelled to share his discoveries. If Saphienne has succeeded, then that counts as a finding of minor, but still noteworthy, significance — and belongs to her by right.” He smiled wryly. “I was hoping she would reveal it voluntarily, unprompted. I will not demand it from her under duress, and gambling with secret truths of the Great Art is unbecoming of a wizard.”

  Turning, Taerelle addressed Saphienne. “No wager. What do you want for it?”

  Before she could answer, Peacock chirped, “She wants to see what’s in the clearing!”

  “No.” Almon flatly refused.

  “What else?” Taerelle persisted.

  Saphienne folded her arms. “If my method is valuable to a wizard, then I want to be taken seriously as an apprentice, and be trusted to enter the clearing.” She studied her seniors, trying to think of a reason to make her price more reasonable, or at least more respectable, to them. “But it’s not just curiosity: I want my name right beside yours, on the report to the Luminary Vale.”

  Rydel laughed at the demand. “You’re ambitious.”

  “Who isn’t?” she asked, her attention on Taerelle.

  The older girl slowly grinned at her.

  “…Master…” Taerelle faced Almon, her tone sweetly rising as she clasped her hands behind her back and playacted the pleading child. “Is it really going to be that dangerous? Is there no way she could be allow to come along — perhaps following after, once you have determined all is safe for us?”

  The wizard’s eyes became heavy with weariness. “Taerelle, she has no ability with wards.”

  “Surely you can ward her?”

  “That isn’t the point,” he brushed aside her rhetoric. “Even were she warded, I would have to closely chaperone her, to the extent that it would detract from my investigations. I’m responsible for her safety.”

  Strolling up beside them, Rydel slipped his hands in the upper pockets of his inner robes. “Master, if I may… what were you planning to do if we did encounter trouble? You’re responsible for our safety, too.”

  Seeing that his senior apprentices were aligning against him, he sighed heavily. “Interpose myself between you and the danger, and have you flee.”

  “Well,” Rydel mused, “if Taerelle and I were to take turns handholding her, and you were to ward her and go some distance ahead, would the danger be that much greater for her than us?”

  Taerelle saw Almon waver, and pressed him. “When you made the decision, you said she couldn’t be trusted to know her limits and to do what you told her. Is a wizard not obliged to reconsider her undertakings in light of new evidence? Or did you misspeak, when you said she made her point?”

  “You two,” their master said, “are testing my patience.”

  Peacock whistled and fluttered from his perch, and Taerelle flinched as he alighted on her shoulder and shuffled around, the bird waving his wing at his master. “That’s an admission — he’s lost the argument!”

  “There is no argument,” Almon objected, haughtily, “only my decision.” He reached up to rub behind his ear, rolling his jaw and shoulders to ease the tension of an emerging headache. “This is unwise. A child of fourteen is too young to bring along on business for the Luminary Vale.”

  “What about a child of thirty-nine?” Rydel asked.

  “Or forty-one?” Taerelle added. “If we’re not responsible enough to hold her in check, how can we be responsible enough to assist the Luminary Vale?”

  Almon thumped his staff. “Enough! The answer is no, and my answer is final.”

  The wizard stalked away, Saphienne’s heart sinking…

  …Until she saw both Peacock and Taerelle smiling, knowingly, up at her.

  End of Chapter 41

  Chapter 42 on 22th May 2025.

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