High Master Elduin, author of ‘Meditations on the Aether,’ was not an especially imposing magician. He was thin without being gaunt, wore yellow robes that were ordinary but for the fact he disdained an outer mantle, and his hair was clasped back without ostentation, unstyled save for a narrow braid that fell beside his cheek. He sat in relaxation – ankle propped on his knee, fingers interwoven – and his brown eyes were fair where they held Saphienne’s gaze.

  His only distinguishing feature was the orange that tinged the sleeves and hem of his robes, but it wasn’t pronounced, almost like discolouration — which Saphienne belatedly realised it might have been. Much like the worn satchel on the couch beside him, his clothes were clean and properly maintained, yet on closer examination they exuded age, as though donned daily for a very long time.

  He kept silent while reappraised, his lips holding the trace of a smile.

  He was testing Saphienne’s nerve.

  “I’d offer a quip to break the tension,” she managed, projecting calm she didn’t feel and that he surely saw through, “but you’re curious how long I’ll endure it.”

  “You have a fun sense of humour.” He sounded sincere. “I suppose Master Vestaele has taught you how to handle the petty jostling for dominance in conversation, so you’re conceding while indicating that you know what you’re conceding, and so maintaining your dignity.”

  “Am I?”

  “I don’t play those games… High Master Lenitha finds them useful to keep people off balance.” He let his smile show. “You’ve nothing to prove about your spellcraft, I’ve nothing to prove about–”

  “Hiding your identity wasn’t playing a game?” Despite her worry, she was withering.

  “Not of that kind. People behave differently when a High Master is present.”

  Saphienne reflected on the magicians who’d led her interview, on how the man in indigo had spoken stiltedly, and how the woman in scarlet had kept pushing in. “Those two you hid behind… they felt judged.”

  “I told them, repeatedly, to treat me like their contemporary, and that I was only interested in you.” His smile grew faintly exasperated. “They tried their best. Even when I’m informal with people, every word I say is said in the shadow of my authority. You’re responding to it now.”

  Saphienne had the impulse to fold her arms; she resisted. “I’m within your power.”

  “Yes. Awful, isn’t it?”

  How ought she to reply to that?

  Elduin chuckled. “I find it awful. Awareness of power disparity estranges the powerless from us, prohibiting normal interaction — and the effect only worsens the more power we accrue. Even when we tell people to relax…” He inclined his head to her. “…How can they trust us? We may be testing them, and even if we aren’t, should we take offense, we might inflict tremendous harm on them.”

  “Is that view common among the High Masters?”

  “I was referring to you and me,” he deflected, yet not dishonestly. “You must have experienced the same by now, to a lesser degree. Pun intended.”

  She’d no way to tell whether he was toying with her, feeling like a small rodent stalked by Peluda. “I find fear easier than adoration.”

  His smile widened. “That’s revealing. Should I have the report say you’re a fraud, then, and replace your glory with infamy?”

  Elduin was toying with her. “Do as you must,” she answered, crossing her arms. “I’m not going to let you make sport of me. I may be in your power, Elduin, but if I can choose nothing else, I at least choose my dignity.”

  He laughed, without mockery. “Admit you’re scared of me?”

  She was. “No.”

  “No?”

  “Must be rare to hear.”

  “I appreciate you didn’t deny it. That takes a certain clarity.” He slid his foot to the floor. “You’ll be wondering why I just pressed you; trying to decide whether I was entertaining myself, asserting my power, testing your resolve, or examining some other aspect of your character.” Elduin’s smile dimmed. “You can’t trust I’m telling the truth right now, but for the record, it wasn’t wholly one reason, and it wasn’t to assert my power.”

  Saphienne was desperately trying to fathom how much trouble she was in. The High Master had declared she’d attempted to evade the investigation, so she presumed she was in peril; deceiving the Luminary Vale was grounds to rescind her invitation to join, or even to forbid her pursuit of the Great Art, and the consequences for her mother if she fell from grace were terrible. That he implied he was still assessing her suggested the outcome wasn’t determined, but how much could she mitigate–

  “Ask me.”

  Was he reading her mind? She empathised with Thessa.

  “You might as well ask.” He propped his other ankle on his opposite knee. “You ask, I answer, then we can move on.”

  Sitting where Taerelle had often sat, Saphienne recalled the most important lesson her former tutor had taught her, and stopped reacting to what she perceived. She wasn’t a child; she could control herself — choose not to proceed from fear. If Elduin was reading her mind she was fucked, but if he wasn’t and she acted as though she were in trouble, she’d only fuck herself over. “…What’s going to happen now?”

  “We talk until I know what I should do,” he informed her, “and then I write the report. The masters I arrived with will put their names to it, and I will justify my decision to my peers.”

  He had total authority.

  “That isn’t what you really want to know.” His smirk wasn’t superior, rather acknowledging what was obvious. “I’ll ask a question, then. What did you make of my note?”

  He’d written to her inside the cover of the book she’d requested, ‘Heart of the Woodlands, or the Eye That Sees Itself,’ explaining how he’d argued she should be permitted to read it. “…I find it hard to reconcile your written voice with your appearance today.”

  “Almost everyone does.” He glanced to the pile of pages beside him. “I write to think, and my thoughts are better expressed on the page. I was also being formal, adopting the tone expected of a High Master communicating with a junior magician.” He returned his attention to her. “Not what I was asking, however.”

  “I appreciated the courtesy…” That wasn’t wholly honest. “…Until I read the book, and understood what it meant. Part of me wished I hadn’t learned.”

  “Insight is a blessing and a curse.” Elduin wasn’t being glib.

  “I am glad to know,” she granted. “I was very upset, but I’d rather know the truth than proceed in ignorance.”

  “I felt similarly.”

  Was he reminding her of the favour? Was he prompting her to open up — and was that manipulation?

  “How have you been, since then?”

  Losing her friendship with Hyacinth had wounded her. “Life goes on.”

  Elduin studied her intently. “…So it would appear.”

  Saphienne exhaled as she slumped in her chair. “Do you intend to censure me?”

  His smile for her was pleased. “Now we’ve made progress. No, Saphienne, you’re not going to be censured.”

  Hope stirred, and she sat forward to meet it. “I sense a qualification: what is going to happen to me?”

  “I don’t yet know.” He lifted and languidly stretched his arms, one palm closed over, then settled his hands back into place. “You’re a problem — which is a terrifying thing to hear from a High Master, so I’ll add that you’re not a problem to be pacified.”

  Her perspective shifted. “…In what way am I problematic?”

  “Every way.” He grinned tiredly. “You’re far too young for your faculty with the Great Art; your arcana marks you out for greatness; you have achieved political prominence that isn’t going to fade away; you’re considered an exemplar by the religious; together with your past deeds, your status has troubling implications for stability…”

  Saphienne tried not to show her dread.

  “…And you’re principled, wilful, uncomfortable with the existing order, extremely competent, probably harbour apostate views, definitely harbour a profound scepticism, and, looking at the circumstances you’ve grown up in?” He was dispassionate with his summary. “You’ve had a difficult life.”

  Saphienne blinked.

  “All of this gives us pause. The two precedents to your arcana show that you could either be a tremendous asset to the woodlands, or you could cause terrific damage to everything we’ve built. Add the fate that befell Kythalaen, and if Lenitha hadn’t kept you hidden away? I don’t know what would’ve been done.”

  She paled. “…High Master Lenitha concealed me?”

  “Hid your connection to Kythalaen.” He sighed. “She’s adamant that history doesn’t repeat in the same way, and she was trying to give you a chance to belong before she shared your full circumstances with us. This dragon incident was unanticipated.”

  And there, the surface of churning waters stilled, and Saphienne saw what swam below. “…You’re not here to investigate what happened.”

  “Not primarily.”

  Elduin opened his hands, revealing again the vial of dried dragon’s blood he’d been holding throughout.

  “I’m here to put right Lenitha’s mistakes, and work out what we do with you — to keep you from causing trouble, and to keep you out of it.”

  * * *

  How much did Elduin know? He might know everything; yet Lenitha hadn’t been omniscient, and Saphienne wouldn’t let the fearsome reputation of the High Masters sway her into error.

  She needed more context. “Is High Master Lenitha facing rebuke for–”

  “Never.” Elduin uncrossed his legs and stood, stretching as he paced. “Several of us, myself excluded, are unhappy with her for the outcome, but we can all see her reasoning, and recrimination solves nothing. She was also seemingly vindicated by you.”

  Seemingly? That implied divided opinion. “My facing the dragon?”

  “And surviving.” He nodded as he wandered into the kitchen, then paused, backtracking. “…Apologies; I’m out of practice with my manners. Do you mind if I make some tea?”

  Inside, Saphienne howled with laughter at the absurdity. “I placed my sanctum at the disposal of–”

  “–The representatives of the High Masters.” He delighted in the irony. “I’m trying to be polite, Saphienne.”

  She rose — and Elduin took her approach as signal to proceed, whereupon she followed him into the kitchen and watched. “I imagined powerful magicians would just conjure tea…”

  “Most do.” He squinted at the kettle as he tipped down the enchanted pitcher. “I happen to be very particular about tea, and my conjurations don’t meet my own standards; I prefer natural preparation.” Placing the kettle to boil, he faced her as he gestured to it. “These dents — deliberately unrepaired?”

  Taerelle had made them. “Sentimental value.”

  He accepted this, folding his arms as he leant against the counter. “Lenitha agreed to step back. I was deemed best suited to assess your situation, and the fact I’d previously advocated for you made it hard to refuse.”

  She mirrored him as she leant in the doorway. “Did you want to?”

  “I was tempted.”

  Were she less on edge, she might have laughed. “Why did you take my side?”

  Elduin glowed with mirth. “No assumptions, I see! You’re the only other living person with arcana resembling my own, and until you came along, I’d been the youngest magician in the history of the woodlands. So, kinship.”

  “Not curiosity?”

  “Insofar as I expected to meet you in a hundred years?” He dismissed the notion. “I’m in no rush to compare. You need time to mature as a magician, and interventions by us are supposed to be exceedingly rare. Most wizards and sorcerers below the Fourth Degree never know they’ve met a High Master, if they encountered one of us at all. For you to have been introduced to Lenitha and myself is extraordinary.”

  Almon and Vestaele would be extremely jealous… and yet… “When you said my arcana marks me out for greatness…”

  “Don’t even whisper it.” He’d become serious. “That the possibility is anticipated does not mean it will come to pass; you are not being groomed to join us. The necessary attainment is beyond almost all magicians, within and without the woodlands, and mere mastery of magic is insufficient. Abandon any ambition to become a High Master; devote yourself to the Great Art; seek wisdom; and let the rest will out.”

  Relief made her straighten and bow.

  Elduin read her carefully. “…I misjudged you there, didn’t I? You weren’t asking because you wished it.”

  Saphienne was caught off guard, and she was slow to rise. “Master Vestaele and I differ in how we approach power. The Great Art is an art to me, and the might conveyed by its mastery isn’t desirable, nor the status.”

  “You seem to have made comfortable use of your newfound prominence.”

  She was reminded he’d been interviewing people close to her. “Burdened with it, I decided I might as well achieve some limited good.”

  As the kettle approached boiling, he stopped it, rummaging through her cupboards for her stock of tea. “Your requests for approval by the Luminary Vale were passed to us, and are part of what I want to understand. This spider — assume she’s assessed harmless. Why do you care?”

  “I’m fond of her.”

  “Yes, but why?”

  That wasn’t a simple question. “…I suppose the obvious reasons. She’s unusually intelligent, she’s social, but she’s different from other spiders, and doesn’t have a natural habitat in which she can flourish. I’m also aware that aberrations judged dangerous are eventually killed.”

  Finding black tea, he oddly spooned the ground leaves directly into a cup before adding hot water, leaving the mixture to brew. “You see yourself reflected in her?”

  “To an extent.” She needed to be cautious. “I’m accepted in the woodlands, and I think it’s fair to want that for her.”

  “Are you an aberration, Saphienne?”

  Why wasn’t she offended? Why did that make her blink? “…Your politeness does need practice.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “You’re dodging the question.”

  “I’m not an aberration.”

  He gradually rotated the vial he held in his hand. “Do you feel like you are?”

  “No.”

  Elduin slightly narrowed his eyes. “That’s the first time you’ve told a lie. We’ll return to that.” He lifted the cup and carried it past her, going back into the sitting room, where – rather than reseat himself on the couch – he took the chair opposite her own.

  Saphienne had deduced what he was doing. She crossed to her seat, but didn’t immediately lower to the cushions. “You’re either my intellectual equal, or you’re much more intelligent than I am.”

  His smile was wry. “I feel similarly. I doubt either of us will know which it is by the time we’ve concluded here.”

  “This isn’t about what I’ve done.” She stared. “This is about who I am. You want to get my measure.”

  “You’re as direct as I was warned,” he observed, “but that’s not quite the same as being incapable of subterfuge, is it? Master Vestaele told Master Illimun that you’re highly astute, and can read people, as well as read the room, but that you simply don’t like being underhanded. She opined that you’re afraid of that potential…”

  He let the thought stand, undecided about its truth.

  What did he want to gauge? Whether she was aware of her flaws – or what the woodlands would regard as her flaws – and able to manage them, to conform to what was demanded of wizards and sorcerers and all others who held positions of trust.

  She sat, clasping her bad hand in her good. “Whoever between us can outwit the other, if you’re unsure about me by the end of today, then at the very least I’ll be finished as a magician.”

  “Excluded from the Luminary Vale,” he corrected her. “You really haven’t done anything to warrant refusing your pursuit of the Great Art; the question is simply how wise it would be to enable it.”

  He was trying to be just, balancing the interests of the woodlands against the circumstances into which she’d been thrust. “…It’s both ways, isn’t it? You’re equally as unsure whether you can trust what I represent of myself is genuine, and you acknowledged up front that you understand why I have reason to curate my appearance to you.”

  “I can ruin your life.” He placed his cup on the wide arm of his chair, running a fingertip around the rim. “I don’t want to do that, but the fact that I can means you would be very stupid to proceed without extreme caution — and however wise you are, Saphienne, you’re certainly no idiot.”

  “Not that you can.” She took a risk. “That you would, if you thought it necessary.”

  “Only,” Elduin said quietly, “if it was unavoidable.”

  Saphienne’s smile was wan. “I appreciate you didn’t deny it. That takes a certain clarity, or so I’ve been told.”

  He didn’t reciprocate — but there was esteem for the joke, and her, in his gaze.

  She was fortunate: the gambit she thought most advantageous happened to require only what she knew to be correct. “…I need help.”

  “Yes.” He stopped trailing his touch about his cup, casting a minor Translocation spell with the merest flex of his fingers that caused a flash of indigo to fountain upward — Saphienne feeling the same magic from the direction of the kitchen sink. “I can see that. My question is whether you’re prepared to accept help that doesn’t meet with your own best judgement.”

  “I can listen when–”

  “Stop.” He lifted his teacup, sipped. “You can listen to reason. The concern is whether you can trust enough to submit yourself to what is judged to be in your best interest, even when you don’t see it. Everything I’ve observed about you tells me that you can’t.”

  Saphienne stilled. “…That’s not what matters to the Luminary Vale. You know I have discipline, but don’t know if I’ll accept being disciplined if I don’t agree.”

  When Elduin replied, he didn’t change his posture or tone.

  “I’ve already decided Minina will die.” He was unflinching, certain as he wielded his authority, and Saphienne saw he was undissuadable. “I’m going to tell you to destroy her. Will you?”

  Here is the Saphienne I wish the world to behold:

  Blank in face as like in thought, she slipped her hand into her pocket, taking out the adamantine coin to clutch in her poor hand as she felt – but did not hear – the screams and cries of so many people gathered around her, all of them insisting she bow down. Great her intellect, dire her lived experience, she foresaw that she could not save Minina, and that her refusal to go along would only bring suffering upon herself, to no benefit.

  Yet the elf who would become a dragon insisted upon herself. “No.”

  Elduin drank his bitter brew. “Now, I believe you. A further question: if she posed a threat to someone else, to harmless innocents, would you destroy her then?”

  “Only if it was unavoidable.”

  “How far would you risk the innocent for her sake?”

  “As far as I believed in her innocence.”

  He drained the cup, set it aside. “You once wrote that society is founded upon that which proceeds from us that we each forbear to claim, and that wisdom is knowing what to forbear to claim. You were allowed to proceed because you were very young, and it was enough then to evidence that you cared about wisdom, but it didn’t escape Lenitha that you never defined what you believed should and should not be claimed.”

  “Yes.”

  Elduin rippled the fingers of his other hand, distractedly spinning the vial. “You went to tremendous effort to prevent the girls who attacked you from being punished outside the consensus of the woodlands. When you failed, however, you never tried to submit Apprentice Celaena to that justice. Why not?”

  “She was attempting to make justice to the best of her ability, and though she was wrong, she was wrong for selfless reasons. If I believed the consensus could have taken that into account, and given her a fair trial, I would have asked her to submit to its justice and accept judgement…” Saphienne shook her head. “…Yet that wasn’t possible. Either her father would have intervened to save her, or she would have been punished without regard to the facts of the circumstance, as the Luminary Vale would not allow her to explain why she’d feared disproportionate retribution, and had only acted to take on the burden of judgement so as to mitigate injustice. With all options before me unjust–”

  “You chose the one you judged to result in the least injustice?”

  “No; I chose mercy.”

  “Of course.” And Elduin settled back, contented. “That’s what you forebear to claim.”

  * * *

  A change had come over the High Master. Saphienne couldn’t tell what this portended, or what standard she’d been measured against, only that she’d been appraised and found tolerable.

  “Minina will die when she endangers the woodlands or our people.” Elduin was unashamed that he’d misled Saphienne. “You will destroy her when you judge that she does, because I’m appointing you her caretaker on behalf of the Luminary Vale. I’m satisfied she poses no immediate problem.”

  Saphienne didn’t acknowledge his decree. “What about me?”

  “I’ve deciphered you.” He set the vial of dragon’s blood on the arm of his chair. “Or I believe I have: we’ll see whether I’m right across the years ahead. As for your conduct? You attempted to warn Lenitha that you weren’t willing to mislead the investigation, which was worrying, but then you put your reputation at hazard with the Luminary Vale to withhold the inconvenient facts.”

  He’d misread her motivations, and her scheme — but he wasn’t a fool, which suggested that she’d overlooked a crucial detail. “She made a great effort to spare me from what happened to Kythalaen,” she reluctantly played along, “but deceiving the Luminary Vale would have risked my future entry.”

  “We shouldn’t have doubted: you’re used to unwinnable situations.” His thin smile was sympathetic. “You’re going to be asked about your secret, but I now know that you’ll hold firm, even if you’re threatened.”

  Saphienne didn’t look at the vial.

  “Good choice not to claim the same privilege for the spell you composed. Admitting that you tricked the dragon with a Hallucination will undercut the mystery, and that’ll lead to scepticism about the legend among your peers.”

  Saphienne didn’t blink. “I’m curious how you inferred that, specifically.”

  Elduin waved toward his notes on the couch. “Wasn’t challenging. After Lenitha explained the omens of your wyrd, I worked out how you survived the dragon’s fire. I wasn’t certain whether you knew you couldn’t be harmed before you approached the dragon.”

  Saphienne very deliberately didn’t blink.

  “I’m a little impressed that you kept your composure…” Once more, Elduin narrowed his eyes. “…But then again, the dragon would have been just as nonplussed, and terrified that you had such a powerful defence. Not much of a leap to convince her that you could wield dragons’ fire yourself, for all that it was inspired. The only part I’m unclear about is how you were able to get the details right, when dragons’ fire is difficult to apprehend.”

  Her mind raced, deducing his logic in reverse to intuit what she didn’t know — but could attest to as truth. “…Involuntary figments rarely work against dragons, since they’re resistant to Fascination spells.”

  “Curious phrasing.” He inclined toward her. “Master Vestaele is convinced that your truest talent lies with Fascination, and that you chose not to explore your potential because you don’t want to exercise that power. Can you fascinate a dragon, Saphienne?”

  Well, she’d used a figment on herself. “Under very particular circumstances.”

  He grinned. “Such as when she’s wounded, exhausted, and panicking that she can’t touch you with her fire. I can see the method: you intuited exactly how she was feeling, exactly what she was thinking… not enough to wield a compulsive fascination, but enough to set a figment in motion. Exquisitely done.”

  “You give me too much credit.”

  “Faint resonance from a Fascination spell was found on the island, but it was presumed to be remnants of the spell you’d cast on Apprentice Iolas, together with the glamour you’d used to draw the dragon’s attention.” He was amused to have solved the riddle for himself. “The hallucinatory resonance was believed to be that of the hallucination you’d used to hide the children. No one put them both together to guess at a figment.”

  “It’s quite a fantastic story.”

  Elduin was mirthful. “A good story… not as good as the loophole you found in your wyrd, but Lenitha will enjoy that…”

  As she sat across from the High Master, Saphienne felt as though an unspoken omen of her fate was to be cursed with absurdity, for she realised that she hadn’t quite lied when she’d claimed to the investigation that she’d discovered a magical secret. Her wyrd was exactly that — or rather, the contradiction in its final clause was.

  “…Either live out her life in the woodlands, or be destroyed by dragons’ fire…”

  Under a literal interpretation of the omen, dying to dragons’ fire while she was within the woodlands was impossible.

  “Yet,” Elduin added, “we still have a glaring issue to address.”

  Saphienne hurriedly pushed a half-formed inquiry to the side; she’d have time to consider the contradictions of her wyrd later. “Yes. I need help with the spirits. Some of them are very keen to make me–”

  “Not that. Politics can wait.”

  She puzzled at his sombre tone.

  Elduin took to his feet. “The wizards and sorcerers responsible for the defences of the woodlands cannot guess how a dragon was able to enter unimpeded. As far as they can tell, only dragons who are invited by a High Master are able to pass through the boundaries… and Parthenos wasn’t extended an invitation.”

  Saphienne frowned. “I don’t–”

  “My working hypothesis,” Elduin continued, ignoring her denial, “is that the dragon circumvented our spells because she had the indirect invitation of High Master Lenitha, who explicitly wanted your wyrd to come to pass. She arrived to fulfil the final omen.”

  Saphienne swallowed.

  Elduin crouched down on his haunches in front of her. “Saphienne, I’ve spoken to several people about your behaviour that day. You didn’t just evade admitting your wyrd to the investigation. You went somewhere else after you spoke to Eletha, didn’t you?”

  The coin in her hand was ice.

  “My divinations showed that you came from speaking to her about Kythalaen, to here. And before you went to see her, you’d asked the boy Kelas about his struggles with belonging.”

  Staring back was becoming very hard.

  “When I asked you if you felt like an aberration, you lied.” He was not angry with her — and yet unrelenting. “What did you do when you visited your home?”

  She shut her eyes.

  “There is only one reason I can think of, that your wyrd would demand a dragon come all the way to the woodlands. You wanted the dragon to come, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t–”

  “You called her here, didn’t you?”

  “I never–”

  “Stop lying to me.”

  “I’m not–”

  “What happened when you came back here, Saphienne?”

  “…I…”

  “Why did you choose to die?”

  * * *

  “…Kylantha.”

  She saw again the laughing girl who dragged her giggling through the vale.

  “She was my friend.”

  Dancing, shrieking upon the stage.

  “She was… her father was a human.”

  Being excluded, refusing to be ashamed.

  “I missed her. I was lonely. I felt like I was drifting away from everyone.”

  Being pried from her arms in the library.

  “I felt guilty. She never got to live here. What right did I have to be unhappy?”

  She saw again the human cemetery, the graves her divination had shown.

  “…I scried for her.”

  Elduin’s voice was very soft. “You sent apprentice Iolas with a message for her mother. That was another lie — a comforting lie. It was what you wished you’d seen.”

  Her tears spilled hot from her eyes as she opened them to glare, all fury outpouring as she spat, “You knew?”

  “I wasn’t certain.” He was unmoving, though not unmoved. “I lacked for sufficient magical sympathy to scry for her with confidence, and I’d guessed what you’d done. At your lowest, you looked for her — and you divined her death, didn’t you?”

  The rage she felt froze over. “…She shouldn’t be dead. We killed her. The ancient ways killed her.”

  Elduin stood.

  Her fa?ade crumbled all at once, venomous scorn washing away the remnants. “Congratulations: you’ve found me out. You could have let me pretend; you could have let me go on pretending that I’m not an apostate; but you had to be sure, didn’t you?”

  “Saphienne–”

  “You had to act wisely, see things from afar. How high your vantage is! How small and inconsequential everyone must look, so far below you, just pieces on a board to be–”

  “I agree with you.”

  She gawked.

  Elduin crossed his arms as he moved over to the window. “I don’t believe half elves should be excluded from the woodlands. I don’t even think they should be called that. They’re elves cursed with mortality, through no fault of their own, and I think the taboo against them living with us is wrongly conceived and cruelly enforced.” He peered out the window into the grove, which was hazy, obscured by the powerful ward he himself had cast, behind which he could be honest. “You see me as an elder, I’m sure, and assume I must be dogmatic about the order of things…”

  He faced her. “I’m not. You’re not the only iconoclast in the woodlands, Saphienne.”

  “…I don’t know that word.”

  “A term of archaic origin: an iconoclast opposes the veneration of icons, believing that they should be torn down because they imply the gods are not in all things. By extension, an iconoclast is one who opposes orthodoxy and tradition they consider superstitious and erroneous.” He bowed to her. “I disagree with much of the ancient ways. Yet the warning of Lonareath was particularly pertinent to me, as it must be for you — and yes, I weigh the lives of a handful of children in each decade against that wholesale slaughter, and I force myself to abide in patience.”

  “…You’re a High Master.”

  His ears drooped. “You think I’d be one, if I tried to change things? Even Lenitha upholds the ancient ways, Saphienne… and you know how far she’s willing to go to protect someone from harm, when they’re blameless.”

  She could see why Lenitha had turned to him for a counterargument in Saphienne’s favour, when she’d requested the restricted book. “…Then it’s hopeless?”

  “I don’t believe so.” He reached out, unlatched the window. “Little by little, through evidence to the contrary, traditional attitudes are abraded. If you or I had shown our arcana soon after Lonareath, I suspect we’d have been killed — but here we both are.”

  Saphienne watched him whisper; his single braid stirred in a breeze, and then he shut the window and turned back to her.

  “Do you still wish to die?”

  “No.” She wiped her cheeks. “No, the dragon gave me reason to live.”

  “I surmised so.” He crossed to the vial he had left on the chair, and held it up. “When Lenitha relinquished her role, she gave me everything she held that concerned you, among which was a sample of your blood she’d used to scry on you.”

  Saphienne glowered. “I knew it. From my lessons?”

  He laughed her off. “So paranoid! No, Saphienne: you left your blood all over the clearing. As soon as she was informed about what you’d done, she went there to examine what had transpired, before it’d even dried, and made sure the sympathetic connection of the rest was weakened.”

  She stared in shock. “…You mean, if I hadn’t been standing nearby when Taerelle divined…”

  “Master Almon was sent to make sure she’d succeeded. If he couldn’t trace it back to his own apprentice, no one could — and Master Illimun would have intervened if he somehow did.” Elduin appreciated the irony. “You were never meant to insert yourself into the middle of things, but you gave Lenitha a pretext to introduce herself.”

  Absurd… her life was absurd.

  “Saphienne, you may think the ancient ways are wrong…” He sat down, spinning the vial of dragon’s blood on his flat palm. “…But you’re not trying to overturn them, are you?”

  To her shame, she hung her head.

  “Then I know what I should do.” He counted with his other hand. “First, the report will say that you contested the dragon through a combination of guile and a magical secret that the High Masters recognise. Tell anyone who tries to pry it from you that you’ve been commanded to withhold it, on pain of censure, and that you don’t know why.

  “Second,” he went on, “as I said before, I’m approving your request for the spider. Third, I’ll see you appointed to tutor your friends — including that other boy, Faylar, if Master Almon decides to teach him.”

  Saphienne looked up, confounded. “I never asked–”

  “But you will.” He’d seen through her plot. “You want to live, and so you’re trying to fix what made you miserable. Don’t teach them anything without consent from Master Almon, and don’t give me reason to regret trusting you.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Lastly–” He stopped himself as he glanced at the vial he spun. “I meant to say: I destroyed the sample of your blood… and I didn’t recognise its oddity at the time…”

  Her pulse quickened.

  “…You’re already trusted with secrets.” Elduin stopped the vial. “Here’s another that isn’t to be shared. Lineages giving rise to sorcerers are also prone to madness. We believe it’s because sorcery isn’t the only trait passed down.” He lifted his ankle onto his knee. “Personally? I have a strong affinity for spirits, woodkin in particular… my arcana emerged when I tried to stop myself seeing sigils in trees.”

  “How did you–”

  “Holy brew. Heroic quantities. I desperately wanted to be a wizard…” He was mildly embarrassed. “…I still drink it for inspiration; wrote ‘Meditations’ that way. I’ve never admitted that to anyone, and I’m telling you so that you can trust me when I promise I won’t betray what I’ve figured out.”

  She watched him raise the dragon’s blood to glitter in the light.

  “Lenitha never did establish Kythalaen’s full history. No one knew she’d birthed a child until your mother came to Lenitha’s attention… only that she’d left the woodlands, and had been killed by a dragon.” He lowered the vial to meet her gaze. “But I’ve a solid conjecture as to what she was doing, one that explains her death, and also why your sorcery is uncannily potent.”

  Saphienne couldn’t resist. “What happened?”

  “I think Kythalaen was trying to subvert her wyrd. I think she wanted to make sure that it ended with her. I think,” he said, tossing the vial for Saphienne to catch, “that Kythalaen had a child with a dragon, hoping her descendants could overcome their wyrd if they possessed dragons’ fire of their own.”

  Her chest ached as she studied the glimmering crimson.

  “She failed. Yet here you are, struggling to make sense of yourself — or you were, until you met a dragon, and rejected her dominion over you. Now you see how your wyrd misleads you, as it did her, and you’re fighting to finish what she started, aren’t you? Kythalaen would be proud.”

  Would she?

  “A shame that she died on her way back to the woodlands…”

  Saphienne felt Elduin’s sorrow.

  “…Especially since it was probably her own daughter who killed her.”

  End of Chapter 120

  Can't wait to see where this goes?

  Chapter 121 releases Wednesday the 11th of March 2026.

  Thanks for reading!