Before Laelansa arrived, Saphienne made changes to the house, foremost among them repurposing what had been Taerelle’s bedroom. Although the room was larger than her own, switching felt wrong; she put all the furnishings into storage apart from the wide, full-length mirror that had rested opposite the bed, having long admired the clarity of reflection it afforded. Then she stocked the space with fabric and thread, as well as the tools necessary to distract herself while she awaited her girlfriend.

  Twelve days later, on the morning Laelansa was to arrive, Saphienne was scrutinising her appearance in the mirror when the window rattled, stirred by a breeze flowing through its gaps and into the potted white hyacinths on the sill. She paid no attention to the arriving bloomkith, fretting over the robes she’d picked out, fussing with how they hung on her – so she thought – ill-proportioned frame.

  “As lovely now as ever you have been,” the blossoms rustled with Hyacinth’s singsong. “An elf more beautiful, I’ve never seen.”

  Saphienne blinked, staring at the reflected blooms. “…Did you just use a contraction?”

  Their petals blushed pink. “Perhaps I did; how did I do?”

  “Correctly.” She returned to adjusting the sky-blue mantle she wore over practical inner robes in a mossy green. “I’m just not used to hearing you speak in a less formal register.”

  “For sure. This summertime, replete with new allure, I seek to be less unapproachable, that she I love may yet prove poachable.”

  She rolled her eyes. “…So the spirit claims, but yet her rhyme maintains…”

  Creaking, the blossoms wilted. “Speaking with contractions and without verse feels uncomfortable; I’m discomfited, talking like this.”

  “Then forget the contractions.” Saphienne slipped off the mantle, hanging it on the edge of the mirror to keep its colour in view as she donned the next candidate — an airy, translucent, hoodless outer robe in verdigris. “…I didn’t say I’d walk with you at the festival…”

  “Yet you promised to walk beside Laelansa,” the bloomkith countered, “and who else might you go with?”

  Anxious, she covered it with teasing. “Perhaps Ruddles…”

  Hyacinth was not fooled, rattling with laughter. “You would never! Unless you wished to avoid all intimacy — Laelansa would not embrace her teacher.”

  That reminder of what overshadowed Saphienne’s relationship with Laelansa made her still.

  “…You are afraid.”

  “No,” Saphienne lied, well enough to convince anyone else. She fussed with her braid, unused to piling her hair high. “I’m just unsure about our first time being with spirits.”

  “…Afraid, you are.”

  “So what if I am?” Saphienne spun to the flowers. “Aren’t I allowed to be? Laelansa has wanted to sleep with me for years, and I’ve kept her waiting. I owe her the love she deserves. Aren’t I allowed to be scared? What if I’m not all she imagines me to be?”

  The blossoms were silent.

  She slipped off the verdigris, tossing it to the floor as she tried again the sky blue. “Laelansa loves me more than anyone — more than any other elf,” she corrected herself, aware of Hyacinth’s devotion. “I want to make her happy.”

  Gently, Hyacinth voiced what scared Saphienne most. “Do you love her?”

  “…You shouldn’t just ask me that.”

  Stretching, the hyacinths grew taller. “Do you love me?”

  Saphienne stopped fussing, looking down at her booted feet. “…I love both of you very much. I just don’t know if I love like I should.”

  “…Admit me?”

  Pushing through what enshrouded her, Saphienne crossed to the blossoms, making possession easier as she touched a stem. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

  A pulse in her fingertip. Yellow appeared in Saphienne’s eyes as Hyacinth joined her, neither talking as they sat together on the inner library’s steps, simply holding hands.

  Hyacinth brought her back to the mirror, regarding her body with a critical gaze informed by what other spirits had bequeathed. “If you wish to appeal to her,” the bloomkith said aloud, through Saphienne, “outer robes of darker blue to contrast with this green, then wear your hair long. She loves your locks.”

  A pause, then Saphienne replied in the same way. “I’m wearing my hair down for the festival…” She glanced to where two sheet-covered mannequins were set against the wall. “…And wearing my everyday braid looks boring.”

  “To you; not so, to her.”

  There was truth in that. Saphienne took her enchanted bangle and finger rings from the dresser beside the mirror, slipping them on her limp hand; she cast the spell to control them, moving through her manual exercises meditatively.

  Inside, Hyacinth leaned on her shoulder. “May I make a remark that is self-serving, yet not only so?”

  “You’re going to tell me,” Saphienne answered, keeping her stare on the mental field of hyacinths that bloomed rosy red, “that if we walked together, all that distresses me would recede, and I’d feel for Laelansa without the impediment of myself. That I might lust for her, with you, without getting in my own way.”

  Hyacinth squeezed her hand. “Beloved of the bees… beloved of mine… what is it that you keep from me, with this distance? Ever since you spoke with the High Master, you have held yourself apart.”

  Saphienne faltered. “…Of course you knew. We were sitting in a circle, surrounded by flowers, including hyacinths. You and your sisters must have gossiped.”

  “Your spiritual detractors do, but her confidence in you quietens them.” Hyacinth squeezed again. “I trust your judgement, so I have not pressed; but now I feel this hurts you as much as myself.”

  Adept at keeping her thoughts and feelings supressed while possessed, Saphienne didn’t contemplate the terror of her wyrd, nor the horror of what she’d learned about woodland spirits; yet she knew she couldn’t lay them upon Hyacinth, for to do so would crush the bloomkith.

  She didn’t want to lose Hyacinth’s friendship — not when she had so few.

  “…You keep secrets from me.” Saphienne spoke without reproach. “You have reasons beyond preserving your name. You’re afraid they’d change how I see you, aren’t you?”

  Hyacinth didn’t say, but her field became remorseful purples and sincere blues.

  “We aren’t unalike.” She unbound her hair as she bound up her heart. “I love you very much, Hyacinth. You and Filaurel are the only people I have left… when Laelansa isn’t visiting. I know I’m an open book to you when we walk, and I know you couldn’t choose to relinquish what High Master Lenitha told me. So no, I can’t walk with you this festival. I don’t know when I’ll be able to again.”

  Her words made the field a yellow-tinged, tender white.

  “And what damns me is that I know this won’t deter you. I know you can’t move on from me, even when I deny you. So now,” she raged at herself, tugging sharply on the roots of her hair as it fell from the plait down to her ankles, “all I’ve done is distress you, to no benefit.”

  “Is it not my choice to be distressed?”

  No, and that was the problem: Saphienne was responsible for the bloomkith, yet the spirit was bad for the magician. “Wisdom tells me not to share where only harm will ensue.” Deciding to accent the tail with a crown, Saphienne bunched her blonde strands.

  Hyacinth kissed her cheek. “Then in your wisdom we must abide. I do not wish to walk with any other, so I shall wait in hope.” She rose. “For now, I leave you to your self-recriminations, that solitude calm you before you meet Laelansa.”

  Compared to when she studied herself, Saphienne found it odd how pretty her petalled mimic appeared as she watched Hyacinth wade out into the field — elegant in her shapeliness, her legs not overlong, her hips not overbroad, her breasts fuller than they reflected in glass. In abstract, she was aware that she was desirable, and that walking with the spirit would permit her to experience herself without dissatisfaction.

  But that was the danger, wasn’t it? To lose hold of herself, for good and for bad. How terrible she would be, were she unfettered; how unendurable, were she magnified; how self-destructive, were she freed from all care.

  * * *

  Above the Eastern Vale, Saphienne seated herself on the fallen tree at the overlook, faced away from the valley that she might watch the constant stream of travellers flowing out from the wilds. She’d taken Hyacinth’s advice, and her plain, dim blue outer robes made the bright moss of her inner garb, the jade of her eyes, and the blonde of her braid – twined nervously through her fingers – all the more vivid. Recollecting Laewyn’s lessons, she’d also outlined her gaze with subtle brown.

  She politely nodded to the arriving revellers, who greeted her happily, many drinking wine, singing in high cheer. Few saw her with the same wariness as her neighbours, unaware that she’d been the girl surrounded by controversy five years ago. Most let her be, unwilling to intrude on a wizard or sorcerer…

  …Especially since she was unguarded as she squinted into the woods, transparently anticipating someone important.

  “Saphienne!”

  So sharp was Laelansa’s eyesight that her cry was far away, and Saphienne stood only to awkwardly peer into the shade, hearing amusement as her girlfriend’s passage elicited laughs–

  And then she beheld the woman she held dear.

  Laelansa skidded to a halt, composing herself, grinning and blushing in self-awareness. Her golden hair remained no longer than her chin, kept back from her face with a headband rather than a bun — away from the green-grey gaze that shone with undiluted joy to see Saphienne. So too, she remained half a head shorter than Saphienne.

  There ended her similarity to the girl she’d once been. Dressed in practical, summery travelling clothes, her forest attire did little to hide muscle grown across the intervening years, her body toned and athletic, her stance sure even as maturity had made her more reserved. Not too much more: she bowed low, projecting in a tone deepened through ritualistic practice. “Well met, Master Saphienne of the Eastern Vale!”

  Charmed enough to giggle girlishly, Saphienne covered her mouth as she dipped in response. “How fareth thee, Devotee Laelansa of the Vale of the White River? Hast thou–”

  Whatever nonsense she would have asked was lost as Laelansa dashed in to sweep her up in an aching hug, all playful pretence abandoned as she was lifted and spun around easily, before being set down on her feet–

  And kissed.

  Laelansa kissed Saphienne with a fervour that was blistering, the press of her lips conveying the heartache in parting, hunger in absence, and relief in reunion wrought by ten months apart; and more, the softening of her mouth as the kiss deepened and widened told of unexpressed sorrows evaporating, unadmitted wounds healing, revealing new and tender vulnerability to be shared.

  Held by her waist as she was tilted back, Saphienne distantly felt her ears flutter, lost in the closeness for which she’d pined. She kissed back with enthusiasm, uncaring for the merry applause of onlookers.

  Then Laelansa straightened with her, hands still upon her hips as she leaned her banded brow against Saphienne. “I’ve missed you.”

  “…I couldn’t tell…”

  A smile — and another, lingering kiss.

  “…You smell fantastic,” Laelansa murmured as she broke away.

  Did she? Saphienne didn’t wear perfume, and had no concept of her own scent. She hugged Laelansa before she replied, inhaling the dryness of the forest, the green citrus musk of marigolds, and the lighter, welcome earthiness of her girlfriend’s clean sweat. “You still smell a little like Ruddles… and travelling…”

  “I’ll bathe–”

  “I like it.” Saphienne stepped back, slipping her good hand into Laelansa’s palm. “You smell like you’re real — like you’re really here.”

  Her paramour flushed. “I am,” she promised, squeezing her hand. “And I don’t need to go anywhere for a while; I can stay the month.”

  A whole month? Daunted, Saphienne hid her conflict as she tugged Laelansa to the path down from the overlook. “Come on: I have a surprise for you.”

  “What kind of surprise? And, are those new boots? I like them — they accentuate your legs wonderfully. Are you wearing eyeliner? Was that for me? Gods, you look so pretty in those robes. You haven’t gotten taller again, have you? …”

  She leaned against Laelansa, contented by the questions washing over her.

  * * *

  On their way past the lake Laelansa pointed to the small island where they sat when she visited, surprised to see ornate stepping stones between it and the shore, mildly concerned by a large tent occupying one side. “What’s going on?”

  Saphienne touched her arm in reassurance. “Gaeleath and Thessa’s great mystery! I think I’ve guessed part of it. Gaeleath won’t tell me what’s there before it’s unveiled, but they asked my opinion on the site. I had them move it away from the swans — and I insisted they replace the bridge with stones.”

  Stopping, Laelansa examined the stonework. “…These are beautiful engravings. Are those frogspawn?”

  “And toads,” Saphienne confirmed. “Tadpoles by the beach, growing up as they go further out. I cheated with them — I didn’t have time to engrave them, so I just conjured them like that.”

  Laelansa was amazed. “You made them?”

  “I had to,” Saphienne shrugged. “Gaeleath had gone to all the trouble of requesting the materials for the bridge and a group to build it. Either I conjured them up from below, or I’d be letting the construction disturb the spawning grounds.” She drew her girlfriend after her. “Only took me a few mornings — I spent more time on the designs than the spellcraft…”

  * * *

  Depositing Laelansa’s backpack and coat in the bedroom, Saphienne set a bath running then brought her to the studio, hovering outside the closed door. “…You’ll tell me if you don’t like it?”

  The novice grinned. “Whatever it is, I’ll be awfully upset at you. You better be prepared to make it better…”

  Saphienne ignored the twinge in her left hand as she prodded her girlfriend’s stomach, pleased by the firmness there as Laelansa tensed. “If you want more kisses, you can always just take them–”

  The resultant embrace pressed her against the door, which fell open, startling Saphienne even as Laelansa slipped strong hands behind her shoulders to keep her upright; giggles passed from mouth to mouth.

  Laelansa took a steadying breath as she pulled away. “Now I really need that bath…”

  “This won’t take long,” Saphienne promised. The physical interaction elicited a similar reaction from her… but, as ever since they became a couple, what she felt wasn’t grounded in the woman whose company prompted it. Ignoring her worries, she went over to the covered mannequins.

  “…Saphienne…” Laelansa’s eyes glimmered, full of surmise for the artistry she imagined. “…Tell me you didn’t…”

  Triumphantly, Saphienne unveiled her work. “But maple-blooded, that would mean lying…”

  The garment she’d tailored for Laelansa was woven from sheer, white spider silk harvested from Rydel’s colonies, yellowed by strands offered by Minina, supplemented by breathable cotton. Sandals with high laces complemented the shin-length, comfortable leggings underneath the skirt’s hem, which was split into four sections for ease of movement, the longest hanging to match the leggings at the back, the shortest – at the front – falling just over the knee. The upper part of the dress had a level neckline just below the throat, but it was sleeveless, exposing the arms so that the elbows might be covered by bindings of golden cloth matched to a headband. In essence, Saphienne had contoured the outfit to emphasise Laelansa’s physique above the waist while flowing below, this division embroidered with a ghostly texture of hyacinths that would be covered over by living marigolds.

  Lastly, the master of Hallucination had also enchanted the threads, shafts of daylight glittering along the hem and chest, contriving to appear like sunshine captured late on a summer day.

  For her own outfit? Saphienne had restored, expanded, and reworked the gown she’d worn when she was fourteen, removing the ruined red embroidery, subtly stitching the outline of marigolds beneath where the dress would be tied together by rosy gold jewellery; the enchantment she’d added made it faintly glimmer with motes of many colours, not to outshine the greater effort she’d made for her girlfriend.

  Laelansa had glided over, almost touching the fabric before she stared at her travel-grimed hand and reconsidered. Her tone was reverent. “…These are gorgeous… nobody has ever…”

  Saphienne enfolded her from behind, kissing her scalp. “I’ve had a lot of free time, since Taerelle left. I cheated a little with these, too, but the materials weren’t–”

  The novice twisted around to cling to Saphienne, too overcome to do more than bury her face in her beloved’s shoulder.

  * * *

  Once her eyes dried, Laelansa remembered the bath was filling, and she hurried ahead of a sedate Saphienne to where the water trickled into the overflow drain; there was no danger of flooding.

  The magician turned to leave. “I’ll let you refresh yourself.”

  “Wait.”

  Saphienne lingered in the doorway, glancing back. “Did I forget something?”

  Laelansa crouched beside the raised tub, unlacing her boots. “…Stay with me? Keep me company?”

  Fear set Saphienne’s heart pounding.

  Yet Laelansa was on the floor as she tugged her footwear loose, and the neediness with which she stared up at Saphienne was delicate.

  “…I can stay.” Saphienne shut the door, leant back with her palms flat on the wood. “I should wait over here, in case you splash–”

  “Saphienne.” Laelansa was affectionate. “You don’t have to pretend. Stay there if you like… I just want you nearby.”

  Her panic diminished; her eyes felt hot as she swallowed. “…Sorry.”

  Laelansa stood to disrobe, and her girlfriend averted her gaze.

  There was no splash. Laelansa sat on the edge of the tub, thoughtful. “I want… I want to ask something, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “…You can ask me anything…”

  A very gentle laugh, and Laelansa hummed. “You always look away from me. Is it because you’re scared, or because you don’t want to see?”

  Saphienne shut her eyes, meditated on the still-running water. “…The former.”

  “Do you know why you’re afraid? Where the fear comes from?”

  Over and over, she’d tried to answer those questions. “…It’s irrational. I think my mind was damaged when Syndelle kicked me. I’ve tried to fascinate myself, but I can’t ignore it. I know… I know I’m not how I should be.”

  “Don’t say that!” How sad she was. “You’re exactly the person the gods intend you to be, Saphienne. I wouldn’t change you — not in a thousand years.”

  “…That’s kind of you…”

  “I’m not being kind.” Not sad: sympathetic, and sincere. “If it wasn’t for the history with your mother and Tolduin, Our Lady of the Basking Serpent could help…” Her jaw clenched. “…Or so I’ve been taught. But I won’t trust that man with you. I wish he wasn’t your priest.”

  Saphienne smiled, bittersweet. “He tries his best.”

  “His best isn’t good enough. Not for your mother. Not for you.”

  If only Laelansa had been clothed, Saphienne would have kissed her.

  “…Nothing bad will happen if you look. I’m not going to touch you.”

  Shivering, Saphienne inclined her head. “Trying to acclimatise me?”

  “No; tell me to get in the bath, and I’ll stop.”

  “Get–”

  Saphienne restrained herself.

  Glacially, she fumbled for her coin; clutched it in her palm; cradled her hand against her chest; called on every reserve to overpower herself.

  Ready to bolt, Saphienne raised her head, opened her eyes…

  …To see Laelansa smiling sweetly where she waited beside the tub, unashamed and unconcealed, nude and lovely as she swung her legs and slipped into the water, sinking until the surface covered her cleavage. “How was that?”

  Terrifying. “…Terrifying.”

  Laelansa erupted into laughter; she was still giggling as Saphienne inched across the floor to sit by the bath. While she washed, they chatted about anything else, and everything else, and nothing much at all.

  * * *

  They lazed for the day, and when night arrived they curled up in bed and kissed until they were both breathless, Laelansa falling asleep in Saphienne’s arms; their dreaming was made restless by mutual arousal. Neither admitted the effect they’d had on each other, but after breakfast Saphienne pinned Laelansa against the counter and kissed her with tremendous, reciprocated frustration, only to leave the novice to another bath while she went out to memorise her spells.

  If only she felt lust for Laelansa; perhaps, then, it might have outweighed her trauma.

  The eve of the festival was bustling with activity, yet had very little for either of them to do. Laelansa was permitted to officiate on the night of the solstice – she could gather a group of elves together and lead them into the woods to invoke the spirits – but she wasn’t otherwise involved like she’d been in the Vale of the White River. Meanwhile, Saphienne would be called upon in case of an emergency that necessitated magic, but she was last in the list of available wizards and sorcerers due to her unique flexibility with spells.

  Nor could they visit with old friends. Apart from Saphienne’s estrangement from them, they were all occupied with preparations: Thessa on her project with Gaeleath, Iolas and Celaena running errands for the senior apprentice wizards, and Faylar helping Laewyn stage a play in the village hall.

  Laelansa was sorrowful, hearing how the apprentice librarian had drifted out of touch. Faylar had been inexorably pulled from Saphienne by the renewed triad between him, Laewyn, and Celaena. “Then… will any of the three of them come to meet us on the night of the solstice?”

  “They promised, but I haven’t asked. I suppose we’ll see.”

  Filaurel, too, was frantically busy. She was aiding the planning committee for the festival — of which she was now chair. The librarian assured them there would be tea and time with Peluda once all the madness had passed. “They desperately need me,” she apologised as she rushed off, “nobody else with any competence stepped forward.”

  Hence the girlfriends wandered, whiling away the day.

  * * *

  But Saphienne did have one errand to run — and knew better than to bring Laelansa.

  Despite the late hour, there was no doubt that the woman Saphienne was calling on would be awake, and so she knocked on the door to her workshop politely.

  Less than a minute later, the door swung open. “Saphienne.”

  Saphienne was taken aback to see Eletha dressed in traditional, festival white, a veil lifted from her face to shroud her unbraided hair. “…Hello Eletha. I assumed you’d be working.”

  Certain Saphienne would follow, the jeweller drifted inside. “We have an appointment; you always do as obliged.”

  “I try.” She joined her former teacher, finding the workshop tidier than she’d ever seen as an apprentice. Even the unlit wood fire was stacked neatly, hammers and tongs cleaned and hung on the wall so that a teapot and two cups could occupy the anvil.

  Eletha poured; her brew was rich, dark, and cold. “My hospitality surprises you?”

  Saphienne flushed. “Not wholly. I owe you a favour, and I’m assuming that you’re about to ask–”

  “No.”

  Now Saphienne was intrigued. “No?”

  “I’ll call you when I need it.” Eletha nudged one of the cups toward Saphienne. “I don’t need it today. You have the promissory note?”

  Locating the folded paper had necessitated a spell, but Saphienne didn’t admit that as she slid it from her pocket and presented it to the master jeweller.

  Forever meticulous about her craft, Eletha skimmed her own handwriting before tossing it atop the unlit kindling. “Wait here.”

  The artisan departed up the stairs to her residence, giving her former student opportunity to reexamine where she’d studied. At first Saphienne felt wistful as she sipped the tea… then increasingly sombre, more so the longer she contemplated the lamplit, austere room where Eletha spent her eternity.

  Once, Saphienne had believed anything other than jewellery was an afterthought to the elf, a distraction from pursuing her craft. Now, as Saphienne remembered how upset Eletha had been when she’d called upon Filaurel at the library, adult perspective allowed the magician to recognise what fuelled her single-minded labour.

  Was it Eletha, from whom Filaurel had learned the self-distraction she’d bequeathed to Saphienne? Was the master of her chosen art in retreat from sorrow?

  “…You’ll be a jeweller one day…”

  Was this loneliness what awaited Saphienne?

  “You’ll improve upon these,” Eletha predicted, returning with a lacquered box, “and I won’t be disappointed when you stop wearing them.”

  Jolted from her ruminations, Saphienne downed her tea, replaced her cup on the anvil, and bowed. “I doubt– I hope I won’t.”

  Eletha said nothing, opening the box so that Saphienne could admire its contents. The leafy brooch, floral coronet, and minute links woven into the semblance of a rope all shone in the rosy gold to which Saphienne had matched her bangle and finger rings, polished yet unreflective by lamplight.

  “…Exquisite.” Saphienne lifted the flexible cord, unable to tell how the superficially soft braid was comprised of hard metal. “I couldn’t match this. I don’t have your patience, Master Eletha.”

  “Just Eletha.” She was still uncomfortable with the titles imposed on her. “You’re more patient than you realise. When children want to learn from me, I test patience before observation: your ability to abide exceeded all others.”

  Saphienne smirked. “Taerelle was restless?”

  “She wasn’t best taught that way.”

  Setting the cord back, she accepted the set, bracing the weight on her hip as she bowed again. “I’ll wear them tomorrow. Do you have a stall this year?”

  “No; not this time.” Eletha reclaimed her teacup, holding it calmly, both hands before her waist. “I dislike being seen when I don’t have to be.”

  A memory – of a priest hailing the master jeweller in Old Elfish – made Saphienne incline her head. “I remember. Speaking of which, may I ask you a question?” When Eletha didn’t object, she continued, “I’ve wondered for years: what did you say to Tolduin, that flustered him so badly?”

  “I returned his greeting. ‘Hello,’ was all I said.”

  She frowned. “So ‘alā’ just means ‘hello’ in Old Elfish?”

  “No. I didn’t speak to him in Old Elfish…” There was no hint of a smile as Eletha drank. “…He spoke to me in the Elfish of his youth; I replied in the Elfish of mine. He found that humbling.”

  Saphienne blinked, and then again. “…I see. The suffix of your name — you’re much older than I realised. How long ago were you–”

  “Eight thousand years or so.” Admitting it pained her. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share that: most here don’t know. You, Filaurel, and Tolduin are the only people in the Eastern Vale who are aware.”

  “…You came here to pass unrecognised?”

  “We all seek escape from ourselves, Saphienne; but wherever we go,” she exhaled, “there ever we are.”

  * * *

  Saphienne pondered Eletha as she donned her festival dress — resplendent with brooch on her shoulder, cord around her waist, and coronet upon her head.

  She could guess what the master jeweller wanted, what she would be asked when the time was right. A favour that Saphienne would be able and willing to do? There was only one act that made sense. Eletha wished Saphienne to intervene on her behalf with her daughter, Filaurel.

  Of course the two were divided! Filaurel, not even two centuries old, growing up in the shadow of her ancient mother… how much worse that must have felt, than being regarded as “Lynnariel’s daughter.” No wonder she’d left the woodlands; no wonder she was immediately trusted upon repenting; and no wonder she still resented Eletha.

  Was that why Eletha disdained all honours? Would she give them up, to reconcile with her daughter?

  Out on the landing, Laelansa was muffled. “Are you ready yet? Can I see?”

  Saphienne shook her head, willing herself to abandon the sorrows of others. She had enough of her own — and now was the time to try for joy.

  * * *

  Happily, Saphienne did have fun at the festival. She and Laelansa retraced and reversed their steps from the day they met, going to watch the musicians and dancers while breakfasting, and from there to try the games. The initiate of Our Lady of the Proven Merit spent most of the morning competing alongside Saphienne, exulting in wins at games of chance and skill, dedicating every victory to both her goddess and her girlfriend — and not always in that order. She addressed other competitors with boisterous enthusiasm, being slightly overbearing, yet effusive with praise, leaving most entertained.

  They finished with a rematch at the throwing game refereed by Tordynar, this time absent pressure from a crowd. Saphienne discovered that her girlfriend had spent the past five years practising — Laelansa copied what she’d seen her do, knocking down the entire row on the first throw. When Tordynar and Saphienne had recovered from laughing, the magician used Far Hand to reset the toppled pieces; though she lost badly, Laelansa said she was valiant to the last.

  They shared treacle-coated kisses in the sunshine.

  Near noon they sojourned to the stalls reserved by artists, but retreated to the gallery when they spied Tolduin strolling barefoot in the distance. Ruddles unexpectedly swooped down on Laelansa then, the bloomkith matron wryly noting that – if the pair wanted to avoid him across the festival – Tolduin was in the habit of taking in the art during late morning, thereafter enjoying the music and wine.

  And so alike it went, until daylight was spent, and Saphienne and Laelansa huddled together in the simmering closeness of bed.

  “Saphienne…” Laelansa snuggled into the crook of her arm. “…We should talk about tomorrow.”

  She’d been trying to forget. “…I suppose so…”

  “If we walk with spirits together,” the novice proposed, “you might not feel like you usually do. We might end up–”

  “Sleeping together; I know. Hyacinth suggested as much.”

  “I don’t want that to be our first time.”

  Dread stirred. “Before then, you want to–”

  “No!” She hugged her firmly. “I just wondered… would you mind, if I were to officiate, but not walk? I know you and Hyacinth are very close, but I don’t have a spirit friend like her, and I don’t want to love you with a stranger. Not our first time.”

  “…We don’t have to walk…”

  Laelansa didn’t reply.

  Saphienne’s eyelids were heavy. “…But you want me to. You’re hoping that– you’re hoping it helps me.”

  “Is that wrong?”

  “No…” She daren’t explain why she held back from Hyacinth; nor could she continue to refuse Laelansa, whom she owed her life. “…You’re very understanding of me. And I want… that. To have that with you. Sex.”

  “So you don’t mind?”

  Kissing Laelansa’s forehead, Saphienne rolled away from her. “Tomorrow night, let’s try together on our own. For now… would you hold me?”

  Laelansa wrapped herself around Saphienne, her grin of anticipation palpable against her girlfriend’s back. “I love you, Saphienne.”

  “…I love you too, Laelansa.”

  * * *

  Frightened by what was to come, Saphienne smothered herself with displays of affection for Laelansa across the day of the solstice. Her ambition was to gain enough momentum to carry her over the edge — and fall wherever she may.

  And Laelansa enjoyed her attention, smouldering with greater heat as the sun inclined toward sultry rest.

  At the approach of sunset, the novice withdrew to commune with Ruddles. She returned with face painted swirling red, having received the spell that served the rite; she darted here and there to gather firewood as they trekked up to the lake where, in years past, they’d agreed to meet their friends.

  When they arrived on the sandy shore, Laelansa laughed. “We’re not the only ones who like it here…”

  Spread out along the beach, several bands of elves were preparing to walk with the spirits, forgoing the grand ceremony on the edge of the village for a more intimate setting. Not all had officiants among them — Laelansa received petitions for others to join the ritual she would lead, which she granted, for refusal was forbidden.

  Saphienne didn’t want to socialise. She crossed the stepping stones, to where the tent had been taken down. There, a squat pine formed a permanent awning, grown around the sandstone columns and roof designed by Thessa and chiselled across the years by Gaeleath, binding the blocks together; a celestial map was engraved upon the ceiling, corresponding to the position of the stars as they would rise that night.

  And there, within, illuminated by lanterns hung from the tree, Gaeleath’s statue from the prior festival taunted Saphienne — undressed, now that the too young had departed, the couple blissful, simultaneously dancing and having sex.

  “Creatively posed, isn’t it?”

  Startled, Saphienne turned to see Faylar had crept up beside her, hands in the pockets of his loose white trousers, his long shirt unbuttoned.

  “Doesn’t look very practical,” he mused. “But I guess that’s not the point, is it?”

  Her smile for him wouldn’t have been forced at any other moment. “…Hello Faylar. You decided to join us.”

  “Celaena and Laewyn are with Laelansa.” He brushed at his braided hair, as though sweeping errant strands behind his ear. “I wanted a minute to find my nerve… and here you are, too.”

  “I’m not going to be walking.” She trembled. “Laelansa and I… we have other plans.”

  He stared at her; his smile was relieved. “So I’m not the only one who’s terrified? That’s good to know.”

  His candour grounded her. “Why are you scared?”

  “…Saphienne?” He rubbed his cheek, appalled and endeared. “You do remember what happened to Celaena, and to you?”

  She reddened. “…I thought you were over that…”

  “I still have nightmares.” He admitted it mildly, his gaze shifting to the statue. “So does Laewyn, I think, but she never shares them. If I were religious, I’d pray that this puts an end to them.”

  “…You really don’t need to be scared. Walking with spirits is–”

  “Iolas told me.” He blushed. “He says it feels fantastic, and that I’ll feel closer to the people I love when it’s done. Sounds a little like sex.”

  Did he say that for her sake?

  He coughed. “…Walk me over?”

  She accompanied him toward the beach, where Laelansa was tracing a spiral within a broad circle on the sand. “…I miss studying with you.”

  “Me too.” He stopped, balancing on a frog-patterned stone. “I wish everything wasn’t so busy; I wish there weren’t so many demands on us; I wish there was enough of our lives to share with everyone, all the time.”

  “I wish we were all still friends.”

  “We are…” He sighed. “…But I know what you mean.”

  They joined the dozen celebrants surrounding the ring, Laelansa setting a small fire in its centre as the sun set.

  * * *

  Initiated into the mysteries of Our Lady of the Proven Merit, Novice Laelansa sang and danced as the flames crackled. “… Bone cries out in need: whose winds will answer?”

  The gathering were a chorus. “Ancient ways uphold we, that you uphold in turn!”

  Laelansa twirled about the circle, shedding specks of tawny light. “Come now the dark: gone now the longest day!”

  “Ancient ways uphold we,” the chorus repeated, strengthened with new voices upraised, “that you uphold in turn!”

  She travelled the spiral, the wind invoked in her wake. “Come now you faithful, kin of wood and kith of bloom: in this place we elves await you!”

  “Ancient ways uphold we,” shouted the chorus, “that you uphold in turn!”

  “Tread the trod!” She stamped down on the burning. “Stride the way!” She leapt across the embers. “Join your dance to song!”

  One by one, the celebrants ran the spiral, jumping the remains of the fire — and shrieking in the air as they toppled into Laelansa’s waiting arms, there to right themselves with yellowing eyes.

  Laewyn laughed. Celaena cried. Faylar was silent, though he and whichever spirit walked with him searched for Saphienne in the dark, and bounded over to seize her in an overwhelming hug she was too stunned to resist; then he went to chase after Laewyn and Celaena where they ran along the shore, throwing off his shirt.

  Soon no one was left but Saphienne and Laelansa.

  * * *

  Laelansa washed the red swirls away with lake water; then she came to take Saphienne’s hand, who went unresisting and unsteadily with her over the stepping stones. Instead of by the sculpture, they seated themselves where they’d often sat, on the opposite end of the island, that the summer grass might make a bed for them.

  “We can take our time,” Laelansa whispered in her beloved’s ear. “We don’t need to rush into anything before you’re comfortable.”

  Saphienne felt queasy; she began shaking, petrified.

  “The water looks beautiful, doesn’t it?”

  Could she see it? She knew it was out there. She tried to focus, to turn outward.

  “I love you.”

  Her tongue was stiff. “I… I love you…”

  Laelansa lifted an arm, inviting Saphienne to press against her. She gasped when she did. “Saphienne, you’re cold…”

  “…Just the wind…”

  Rubbing her shoulder, Laelansa tried to warm her, to soothe her. She leaned in to plant a kiss–

  The crack of skin on skin split the night.

  On her feet, panting, Saphienne was wide-eyed, clutching her own shoulders, agape as she surveyed the damage she’d unwillingly done — surveyed Laelansa frozen in place, face turned aside by the slap, welts left by her finger rings.

  As she watched, Laelansa traced the marks, dumbfounded.

  “…I’m sorry…”

  “Saphienne…”

  “I’m sorry!” Her vision failed. “I can’t–” Her voice broke. “I’m not who you need– I can’t be–”

  “Saphienne, it’s alright, please–”

  “Find someone else!”

  She ran for the beach, for the woods, for anywhere but there.

  * * *

  Among writhing trees, Saphienne lay on the ground, distraught, inconsolable, crying so hard that she heaved and shuddered, beyond all reason, bereft of thought. Her gown was soaked, torn where it had snagged upon brambles, and she hadn’t noticed. All she beheld was her own incompleteness, her pain, her loathing of herself, and the lovelessness that made of the world a misery; and always did; and always had; and always would.

  However long she lay there, it was counted out in beats of her fist against herself.

  Then…

  “Saphienne.”

  She tried to scramble up, tripped on her hem, fell and rolled to face–

  Laelansa, crouched over her — yellow-eyed, tearful in compassion, the blow’s outlines gone from her face. “Please don’t run from us. We love you.”

  “H-hyacinth…?”

  Laelansa-Hyacinth offered her hand.

  * * *

  She was too weak; she couldn’t fight anymore.

  Upon the steps stained with her self-sacrifice, Saphienne opened her arms, unresisting to the flowers that twined up to find her. “Take me… make it all stop hurting…”

  The bloomkith could never refuse.

  * * *

  Saphienne-Hyacinth didn’t move.

  Laelansa remained kneeling at her side. “…How do you feel?”

  She breathed, tasting the summertime. “We have so many troubles; we are wounded beyond words.”

  Then she sat up, impelled by what she witnessed in the gaze of the novice – the woman she loved, loved – to reach for the cheek that Saphienne had lashed out against in her agony. “But none of our troubles are because of you. We love you, Laelansa. Hyacinth adores you for your devotion to Saphienne; and Saphienne adores you for the love she believes she doesn’t deserve.”

  Wet lines ran down Laelansa’s cheeks. “You deserve to be loved.”

  “We do.” She slid her hand to the back of the novice’s neck. “Saphienne cannot believe it, but the closest she comes is with you. Were it possible for her to be happy, you would be her happiness. Her deepest wish is to be free of all that withholds her, that she might be who she believes you deserve.”

  “All I want you to be is you.”

  Saphienne-Hyacinth smiled. “We know. She knows. She can’t fix how she is. This is the closest she comes; but it pains her, to join with Hyacinth.”

  Reduced to the helpless girl who had cradled Saphienne as she lay dying, Laelansa leaned forward, resting her head against the elf and spirit’s. “What can I do for her?”

  For an instant, Saphienne parted from Hyacinth, tormented in her emergence. “…Lie with me…”

  Then Saphienne-Hyacinth unified, and she pulled Laelansa into a kiss, uninhibited as she dragged the woman to her feet, withholding nothing from her as she loved, and lusted, and burned so very terribly.

  * * *

  Ah, but what happened then is not a tale to be told in the daytime.

  * * *

  Aglow where she lay dozing on the bed, Laelansa was radiant, her lips curled from the touch of her lover stroking her brow.

  Saphienne-Hyacinth waited until she was fully asleep, then slipped from the sheets, pacing naked through the hall and into the studio.

  Dawn was an hour away, but the sky was light enough for the window to illuminate the room to elven eyesight. She stood before the mirror, running her hands across her own curves, through her own hair, sensual and sexual as she admired herself.

  “We could be like this,” she offered. “We could live, like this, I and I. Saphienne could give Hyacinth what she lacks; and Hyacinth could take from Saphienne what she shouldn’t endure. What would it matter, that each is not enough alone? Why should it matter, that we make each other ever-more extreme? Is our shared happiness so unimportant, beside Saphienne’s ambition?

  “Could we not live free with each other?” Her yellow eyes tinged pale green. “Could we not choose to live unwisely — and enjoy what life we might take for ourselves?”

  Alas, the verdant of spring’s promise faded. “Yet, we remember Kylantha: she did not get to choose happiness. Yet, we remember the witch of the moonless night: her choosing meant death for others. Neither of I or I can abide the cost of being us. We must part, the spirit who does not belong to the woodlands, and the elf who has no choice but to.”

  Still, she approached the glass, and pressed her lips against it.

  * * *

  Hyacinth withdrew from Saphienne, wretched, the snows become a glacier. “…Saphienne, my love… what doom is this, that is laid upon you? This wyrd–”

  “I warned you.” Saphienne hung her head. “I’m so sorry, Hyacinth. I didn’t want to fail you like this. But I’m condemned to want the wrong things… to be contrary to myself… to live a grey life in a world I can’t stand, or to hurt everyone around me, and be destroyed. You are a victim, in the end — of my curse.”

  The bloomkith was awed.

  “You should be angry,” Saphienne smiled, bitterly. “You should feel cheated. On learning about my wyrd, and about your own limitations, you can’t help but have your first thought be for my welfare.”

  “…I…”

  “Tell me your secret name.” She stood. “I’ll reshape you to belong in the woodlands, happy in yourself. I’ll remake you, and place you beyond my reach. This is the best I can do.”

  * * *

  The window rattled hard enough to crack the panes, Hyacinth fleeing in the closest fear to mortal terror that she could experience.

  “…Of course. Of course, she’d refuse that kindness.”

  Saphienne’s eyes were bleak where she held her own gaze in the glass.

  “Laelansa? Or Filaurel? Tell me…”

  She slumped to her knees.

  “…Who am I to lose last?”

  End of Chapter 109

  Tomorrow (Wednesday the 28th of January 2026) is the anniversary of The Elf Who Would Become A Dragon being released! To celebrate, I'm releasing Friday's chapter two days early, so check back in tomorrow for chapter 110.

  You may have noticed that this chapter has a scene omitted. I'm not releasing adult content publicly: if you want to read the uncensored chapters then you'll have to .

  While the story can be followed without the full context provided in the uncensored version, I don't regard the censored scenes as superfluous to understanding Saphienne.

  Finally, a reminder: as of next week, updates will be on Wednesdays and Fridays.

  Next chapter releases– er, tomorrow, Wednesday the 28th of January 2026.

  Thanks for reading!