The Elf Who Would Become A Dragon [A Cosy Dark Fantasy]

When Saphienne had been healed of her injuries by Hyacinth the transformation had been dramatic, restoring her to near-perfect health in an instant. She would later understand it was because her wounds had been fresh, the magic of the bloomkith well-suited to mending the injuries she had sustained.

Gaelyn's spell was not so immediate.

She moaned as she resurfaced from her seizure, violently shaking where she lay held down by Celaena and Laelansa on her bedroom floor. Her head hurt as though it'd been split open, her stomach burned like it'd been pierced, and her left arm was a stabbing shard of cold glass beneath the elbow; everything else just throbbed.

"Saphienne!" Celaena was too overcome to do more than slump down, crying.

Grimacing, Saphienne attempted to comfort her–

"She needs water," Gaelyn told Laelansa, who was already on her feet.

The light stung her eyes. "…I'm…"

"Don't try to talk." The healer kept his hand on her forehead, his palm warm yet tense where he pressed. "Don't try to move: you're badly injured."

"…How…"

"I said no talking!" His frustration exposed deep concern. "I don't know how much you can understand: your skull was broken, and you had blood pooling against your brain. The swelling is gone and the break is mended…"

He was worried about damage to her mind. "…Un… der… stand…"

"Stop speaking! And you," he turned to Celaena, "stop weeping! You can cry all you want later — right now, you're distracting me."

His stern command made Celaena recoil, her expression blank as she sniffled.

Hovering above Saphienne, Gaelyn looked her over thoroughly… and the more he saw, the more drawn and grey he became. "She's been beaten." He frowned as his eyes stopped on her groin, consternation behind them as they rose to her aching face. "Saphienne: blink once for yes, twice for no. Can you do that?"

Now she felt patronised, and glared as she blinked twice.

A little colour returned to him. "Blink once for me?" When she had done so, he smiled wryly. "Sarcasm — that's a very good sign. I need to ask you–"

Hurrying back into the room with water from the kitchen and a towel from the linen closet, Laelansa interrupted Gaelyn as she crouched down beside Saphienne and dipped the towel into the jug she'd filled, pressing the wet cloth to her mouth. "Can you suck?"

Saphienne could — and the water soothed her tongue.

The healer was watching Laelansa as she tended to her. "Apprentice to a priest?"

"I'm a novice," she confirmed. "Some of Saphienne's ribs are broken. I don't think her lungs are punctured."

"She'd be dead if they were." Gaelyn's candour implied grim experience. "Don't give her any more water yet — I haven't assessed the internal damage." He waved Laelansa away as his attention reverted to Saphienne. "I need you to answer some questions. Whoever hurt you…" He reconsidered how best to ask, leant down to whisper in her ear; his sudden tact betrayed intense worry. "…Did they do more than beat you? Did they touch you?"

Touch her? Saphienne nearly blinked; but then she understood what he was asking, and her face contorted as a bitter smile parted her lips. She blinked twice, paused, then blinked twice more.

He scrutinised her carefully before he continued. "…You still have internal injuries," he moved on, speaking at normal volume. "I need to examine you, and I need to cast some spells. Would you like me to numb the pain?"

Gods, yes. She blinked hard.

The healer placed his hand on her brow once more, whispering, his closed eyelids fluttering… and then Saphienne relaxed below a waterfall of tranquillity, all agonies washed away as it poured down her body.

Everything was perfect.

But her eyes narrowed, and she jolted as though pushed free from his grasp; the fascination evaporated faster than it had descended.

"Gods damn you — don't do that!" He was taken aback. "Why resist?"

Saphienne hadn't intended to; her suffering was worse now, magnified through contrast with her momentary relief. "…Didn't mean to…" Her throat still felt raw. "…Sorry…"

"Obstinate fool of a girl — stop talking!" Gaelyn huffed. "You'll have to endure: I need to reserve my remaining strength." He turned to Celaena and Laelansa, thinking, then announced "One of you has to go fetch her master, or her priest, and the other has to stay here while I examine her. I know she's apprenticed to Almon — do either of you know who her priest is?"

Saphienne whispered "…Tolduin…"

He abandoned any further attempt to silence her. "Of course he is… you're Lynnariel's daughter…" His eyes rolled in exasperation as he addressed the other girls. "Almon will be at the chess tournament in the village hall — let him get word to Tolduin. Which of you is going?"

Celaena rose. "I am. Laelansa doesn't know the village."

"Then go, and shut the door behind you." He busied himself with a heavy leather satchel that Saphienne hadn't noticed him carry in, pulling out what looked like fabric shears.

Lingering, Celaena leaned down to plant a kiss on Saphienne's forehead–

"I said go! Stop getting in the way, child!"

She ignored him. "Please feel better…"

Petrified, Saphienne only started breathing again once Gaelyn started cutting her free from her ruined dress.

* * *

Being stripped and inspected would ordinarily have embarrassed Saphienne, and she knew she ought to be mortified for Laelansa to see her naked and bloodied.

Yet she was unperturbed.

Reason told her that she was distracted by pain, separated from herself by trauma — much like in the aftermath of her near-death in the hidden clearing. She wondered how upset she really was…

Gaelyn was as gentle and respectful as he could be, having Laelansa support her as he delicately maneuvered her limbs, prodded at her torso, diagnosed the harm visited upon her. A divination glimmered in his pupils — reminding Saphienne of Taerelle, and how the senior apprentice had so knowledgably and dispassionately analysed the broken tree and spilled blood left behind. He apologised before his most intimate examination–

Then sat back in distress. "…What age are you?"

"She's fourteen," Laelansa answered.

"This shouldn't be possible…" He cast another spell, a green-red glow around his hands causing dust to fall as he shook his fingers. "…I don't believe the blood is from injury. But you're far too young for your menarche, Saphienne."

That word was unfamiliar to Laelansa. "What's menarche?"

"Reproductive maturity," Saphienne murmured.

The healer was preoccupied as he draped her ruined dress across her lower body. "Saphienne… were you in discomfort before you were attacked? Cramps? Poor temper?"

She nodded — and cursed at herself, her scalp screaming.

"Definitely menarche." A hint of amazement was in his voice. "Ten years too early; awful timing for your first menses." He sprang to his feet and went to the window. "I'll learn more when your spirit-friend comes… and we'll have to talk about that, too, once you're well."

Laelansa couldn't contain herself any longer. "Is she going to be alright?"

"She's in no immediate danger. She needs the blessings of a woodland spirit…" He rolled his neck to alleviate tension, his jaw set. "…But if they're delayed too long, I can transmute her remaining injuries — at least the serious ones."

Saphienne belatedly realised that Laelansa was holding her right hand when the girl squeezed it in relief. However, Laelansa wasn't satisfied. "Why not heal her now?"

"Because I don't have the necessary spells internalised," he replied, "and I've already expended one sigil from my spellbook." He smiled in sympathy as he saw Laelansa didn't understand. "But you're training to become a priest, so you'll have no reference for the limitations of sorcery."

"I'm too young to receive spells."

He kept a inquisitive eye on Saphienne as he explained. "Sorcerers don't receive spells from spirits; nor do wizards. Our spells are contained in the sigils we study. Wizards memorise their sigils each day, copying them into mind, and they expend the copied sigil when casting. I cast my spell directly from the page…"

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"…And the page turned blank." The novice canted her head. "The sigil is gone?"

"Expended: I'll need to transcribe it again." Gaelyn patted the book on his belt. "That takes considerable time and effort… but having a reserve for emergencies is why I carry this. Many sorcerers don't bother with spellbooks."

Saphienne was grateful for the chance to occupy herself. "And sorcerers… what about your sigils?"

"My sigils are part of me." The healer had been testing her wits — and was pleased she'd followed along. He instructed Laelansa with a gesture to the jug. "Sit Saphienne up – carefully – and give her small sips of water. We'll move her once she's rehydrated."

* * *

Even lying on her bed was an ordeal. Gaelyn had retrieved two clean sheets from her cupboard, spreading one atop her blanket and pillow before she reclined and then draping the other over her. Laelansa had helped her hobble across the room, and now offered her as much water as she was able to drink.

"Don't let her sleep," Gaelyn cautioned Laelansa. "We'll need to watch her closely if she falls unconscious. And Saphienne — tell us if you feel dizzy."

Although her headache had eased, rest was impossible, her chest twinging whenever she inhaled or exhaled too far. All Saphienne could do was stare at the ceiling and await Hyacinth, seething at the unknown spirit who had refused to make her whole.

When the novice tried to stroke her head, Saphienne flinched.

* * *

Her master arrived before the bloomkith.

The wizard announced his presence by loudly swearing as he entered the sitting room, his staff thumping on the stairs as he climbed. He was met by Gaelyn in the doorway, who kept him out while they held a muffled conference.

Saphienne closed her eyes. Almon was the last person she wanted to see.

Yet he was kneeling next to her when she reopened them, Celaena gently shaking her shoulder and calling her name.

Gaelyn and Laelansa listened at the foot of her bed; she tried to ignore them, focusing on her master. "…Almon."

He was livid. "Apprentice."

She wilted before his pettiness. "I meant, Master."

But her teacher balked — and then laughed bitterly. "No, no! I'm not angry with you, Saphienne. Your apprenticeship is secure." He patted her right arm through the sheet. "Our hostilities are suspended in light of your incapacity: we are at truce."

Despite her broken bones and pounding head, Saphienne snorted. "Never. There will be no truce…"

Almon turned away. "…Foolish girl." His voice was hoarse, and he coughed before he continued. "Then you have yet again forced a concession from me, albeit through methods that I consider underhanded." He faced her with resentment in his glistening eyes. "For today – and only today – I offer you my conditional surrender. You win — on a technicality. Will that satisfy you?"

His submission was entirely insincere… but his willingness to offer up his pride before an audience meant more to Saphienne than she would ever admit. She forced a bruised smile. "You really don't know me at all, if you think I'd settle for that."

"Such a wretched child you are." His tone could almost be mistaken for affectionate; then Almon grew serious, wrath gathering as he sought answers. "Gaelyn tells me you received a blow to your head. Do you remember what led to it?"

–Lensa loomed over her with glee–

"No." She shook her head — and promptly winced at her hubris. "…Fuck…"

Her master was patient. "Take a moment, Saphienne: a wizard's time is her own."

"The last thing…" She let her dizziness subside. "…The last thing I remember was leaving here, to go to Iolas' house."

Shifting where she stood, Celaena pursed her lips.

"Nothing about the attack?" Almon was persistent. "Do you know where you were?"

He intended to divine the scene… which meant that she hadn't left much of a trail, however she had travelled from the bottom of the grove to her bedroom. Or had something covered it up?

She stubbornly shook her head again, feeling nauseous. "I don't remember anything."

Her master addressed Gaelyn. "And where is her mother? Where is Lynnariel?"

She rested her eyes. "…Probably drunk in bed…"

Saphienne heard a sharp intake of breath… but what followed was far away.

* * *

Muffled shouting carried to her, and when she managed to turn her head she saw that the door was closed; Saphienne had been left alone with Celaena, the older girl sitting on the floor beside her bed with hands clasped.

Her waking was noticed by her attendant, who surged upright. "Saphienne?"

"Is that Almon?" She recognised the sound of his fury. "What's going on?"

"He and Gaelyn are ready to murder your mother– not really!" Celaena restrained her from rising. "They're just very disappointed in Lynnariel — you should have seen Almon kick in the door to her room! I didn't know he could move like that."

"Are they all downstairs?"

"Your father ran off."

Of course he had. "What about Laelansa?"

"She's listening in for us." Celaena reached under the sheet to hold her right hand. "Saphienne… why did you lie to our master?"

Her sigh was tired. "No one else can read me; how do you manage?"

"Something about your eyes when you lie…" Celaena shrugged. "…Stop avoiding my question."

Resolved to tell no one, Saphienne remained silent.

"You remember what happened." Celaena surveyed her blemishes, blue eyes shadowed by what they saw. "You know who did this. Why won't you say?"

Why refrain? Saphienne hadn't been conscious when she made the decision, and sifting through her conflicted feelings was hard. She fought through her discomfort – both mental and physical – to arrive at the truth, putting into words what she had intuited with a groan. "…Because it'll only make the situation worse."

"Saphienne!" Celaena was astounded by her. "Don't be stupid! Whoever did this to you, we won't let them hurt you–"

"Not like that." No: they would never lay a hand on her again. "There weren't any witnesses. I'm the only person who would testify to what really happened — and I'm not going to be taken seriously after yesterday. They'll deny everything."

"But even if it's your word against theirs, your injuries–"

"Celaena, there were five of them." Misery gnawed at her nerves. "The testimony of five against one is enough for reasonable doubt."

"…But, with divinations–"

"Weren't you listening?"

Celaena was pale.

Saphienne regretted snapping; she lay back against the pillow as the buzzing inside her skull diminished. "…Testimony based on magic is not admissible as evidence. Even if a divination works – even if everyone knows that they're guilty – the consensus forbids anything but direct testimony from individuals who are sane and not subject to fascinations."

Her friend swallowed. "There won't be any justice?"

"No…" Exhaustion caught up with her. "And I won't let them win like that… I won't let them beat me… never again…"

* * *

Winds woke her, howling about her, frantic, hysterical, then surged for the hyacinths that lay discarded on the floor — which creaked, urgently trying to grow–

"Stop!" Celaena snatched up the bulbed plant. "Wait!"

Hyacinth stilled as she was carried to the bed, then strained toward her ward.

Leaning into the blooms, Saphienne heard Celaena calling for Gaelyn as the petals caressed her cheek.

* * *

While they were barely visible beneath the heavy snows that covered the field, she beheld that the hyacinths were intense purple; the bloomkith sprinted toward her–

Only to halt, aghast. "Saph– Saphienne?"

Seated on her steps, steps that now matched their true size in the village, Saphienne followed the stare of the spirit downward, seeing that the stone was crimson where it adjoined the flowers. She touched the discoloration, finding it dry, and when she stood she saw that the stain resembled a dried puddle, as though blood had long ago poured onto the steps and spilled into the field. Dark clouds crackled where they encircled the library.

While its significance was unknown to her, the scene felt familiar… and she wasn't disquieted by the sight.

"I don't know what this means." She walked down onto the snow, absently noting that she wasn't wearing her pallid grey robes — clothed instead by the gown she had sewn. "Will you please heal me?"

Hyacinth shivered, and surged for Saphienne with all her blossoms.

* * *

Rather than cry out, Saphienne clenched her teeth. Her skull and jaw had already been repaired by Gaelyn, but her ribs pinched as they sprang back into place, and the horrendous clicking and crackling from her wrist was accompanied by lances of fire that pierced her arm and continued to smoulder after the spirit moved on.

Her bruises were last, and ached abominably as they faded.

There were many to remove.

* * *

"I must apologise–"

Saphienne embraced Hyacinth in the field, leaning all her weight on her; she squeezed the spirit to bid her quiet. "I wasn't hurt by you."

"But I should not have left you all alone!" Snowflakes clung to them both, hot and wet where they fell as tears. "My vile neglect has risked–"

"You're not the one who neglected me."

"…Risked your demise." Hyacinth pulled her ward tighter into her petalled skin as she quailed. "Oh, Saphienne! I plead: let me atone."

Being hugged by the bloomkith, even in mind, settled Saphienne and drove back the gathering storm clouds. "You have nothing to atone for — you couldn't have prevented what they did. They knew you were busy with Iolas."

Upon the air, the flakes hung in place — stilled in their falling.

"…They?" Hyacinth drew back, clutching Saphienne's cheeks as she studied her. "Who? Who did this, Saphienne? Tell me."

"Swear secrecy." Saphienne's gaze was unflinching. "Forget the ancient ways: swear upon whatever you hold dearest, and whatever I mean to you, that you will not share this with anyone else."

The bloomkith trembled. "…I do so swear."

Saphienne read too much in Hyacinth, peering beyond her own reflection – beyond the scattered snow and blossoms and tawny eyes – to gaze deep into the weird elf who was no elf, the girl who was no girl. From that moment onward, Saphienne was certain that the bloomkith was bound to her in ways that went beyond magical sympathy, the devotion through which the spirit regarded her unassailable, pure, and profound. She knew in her bones that Hyacinth would kill for her — would die for her.

"Walk with me," she said. "You may learn whatever you wish from me, and keep a cutting of whatever you choose for yourself."

No snow could endure the warmth of the sun, the carpet of hyacinths flushed redder than any rose.

Still Hyacinth hesitated. "…Is this truly your wish?"

Had she gone mad? She couldn't be sure. Saphienne buried her face in Hyacinth's shoulder, willing that vines encircle her weary heart. "Just share your secrets with me, when you're ready."

* * *

Perhaps you worry this was an error?

Grief made Saphienne open herself to the spirit when she otherwise would have held herself apart. The decision she made was not rational, not cautious, and deeply unwise — how else could it end, but in tragedy?

Yet she had the very best reason for her choice; and Hyacinth would later prove her entirely and unequivocably correct.

What had won her absolute trust? What had she seen? Simply this:

Saphienne had watched Hyacinth pledge her oath upon a singular sacrality, one which fulfilled both requirements.

* * *

Having waited until the healing was done, Gaelyn – once more yellow in gaze, reconciled with his companion spirit – crouched beside the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Saphienne-Hyacinth sat up, heedless of her nakedness as the sheet fell. She frowned as she raised her left arm, stared at her hand as though it was unfamiliar — her palm hanging limp and lifeless upon her wrist.

"…Our hand is numb. We cannot move it."

End of Chapter 76