CHAPTER 11 – Misapprehensions

In her countless hours in the village library, Saphienne had read that elves possessed much better eyesight and hearing than many other creatures, and that most of the shorter-lived peoples considered their senses miraculous. She found the thought that someone would be so easily impressed quite amusing, though imagining how much duller the world must seem to them made her sad. However, as she crouched on the frozen doorstep to her family home and pressed her ear against the painted wood, she found herself wishing that her hearing really supernatural: the faint pinging of the settled snow was annoying. She covered her other ear, closed her eyes, and focused on what was being said. “How have you been sleeping?” Saphienne tensed. Though it was hard to tell for sure, she thought the speaker was a man, his inflection low. Was it her father? “Better than before,” she heard her mother answer. Her mother sounded different; her voice was smaller than when she spoke to Saphienne. There was a moment of quiet before he asked another question. “And the nightmares?” “I’ve had less of them.” She could hear her mother shifting by the creak of her chair, and Saphienne realised the pair were seated at the kitchen table. “They’re much better.” “How frequently?” “Only two… this week.” Saphienne blinked. Her mother had nightmares? About what? Yet this was no surprise to the questioner. “Any change in their contents?” “No,” her mother answered, then hesitated. “Well… sometimes Saphienne is in them. But they’re mostly the same. I always end up lost.” “Is her presence good or bad?” “Bad,” her mother sighed. “No different from anyone else.” Was it the cold that made Saphienne shiver on the doorstep? The cold was all she could feel, in the moment. “And outside of your nightmares,” the man went on, “how has she been?” “She’s doing well.” Her tone brightened. “We don’t talk much now, but she’s keeping herself busy. I rarely see her at home… I like that.” The cold, and then her anger. Yet the man was only curious. “Why?” “I like that she has friends. I like that she’s fitting in. I should want that, shouldn’t I?” And then she felt only her anger. Her mother didn’t care to know her, not at all. “Could it be,” the man challenged her, “that you don’t want her around the house?” Her mother said nothing. Casually, as though changing the subject, the man went on. “I’m told you’re still drinking a lot of wine.” “Less than before.” Her mother was defensive. “And not around Saphienne. Well… not often. But it helps me sleep, if I drink a glass at night.” “Only a glass?” Once more, her mother was silent. There was gentleness in his voice when he next spoke. “Less is better. Keep trying for less. Have you been using your fascinator?” “Every day. The new exercises are helping.” “And recreationally? How often?” Her mother sighed. “…Every day. But I do the exercises first, always.” This seemed to satisfy him. “Good girl. How often do you leave the house?” “Not much, now.” A hint of reproach crept into her voice. “You I don’t like winter. I was going for walks before. When spring comes…” “Try to find reasons to leave the house. Speaking of which,” he said, shifting in his chair, “what about your friend?” “…What about him?” Whether her mother was wary or evasive, Saphienne couldn’t hear, though she could tell she felt judged. “Are you still writing to each other? Might he come to visit? It would be good for your daughter, to see him more.” “We’re still exchanging letters. He wants to visit, it’s just that… he’s nervous.” Now Saphienne could hear judgement from the man. “He needs to get over his nervousness and visit. He ought to visit you. And he ought to visit his daughter.” Then Saphienne knew for certain that the man speaking wasn’t her father. The way he spoke hadn’t resembled her father, but the way her mother was speaking didn’t resemble her, either, and it wasn’t as though there was much talking when her father visited. Saphienne still remembered his last visit, more than three years ago, and her confusion at why he would come all that way to see her, only for her mother to shoo her from the house. “I’ll ask him again,” her mother was promising, “but I don’t know if he’ll visit. I would like to see him more. Maybe when Saphienne’s older…” “Consider the possibility of visiting him as well. Not now, of course. Some day, when you feel more… secure.” “I can’t imagine–” Then a voice boomed in Saphienne’s other ear, and she started, slipped, and fell over on the doorstep. * * * “Saphienne!” the voice repeated, worried now. “Are you alright?” Gathering her wits, Saphienne was surprised to see Faylar coming toward her, offering his hand to help her up while blushing furiously. She shared his blush, but didn’t accept his help, standing carefully and then somewhat unsteadily — at least until she stepped away from the door. Faylar dropped his hand, looking mortified. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.” “You’re forgiven,” Saphienne told him, brushing herself down. “I shouldn’t have slipped. My mother doesn’t like to shovel, so she pours hot water on the snow.” He frowned. “But wouldn’t the melted snow just freeze into–” “Ice.” Saphienne flashed him a frosty smile. “Correct.” Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. “That seems–” “Immensely stupid. Yes. But she cares about appearances.” Faylar shifted, uneasy. “I was going to say ‘counterproductive.’” Saphienne shrugged and folded her arms. “The whole thing is pointless, anyway. Snow isn’t exactly an impediment to travel, and only gets on your shoes if you’re in a hurry. I’ve never understood why it’s so important to keep doorsteps clear.” “To appear welcoming,” he said, and then smiled. “I guess you’re not very familiar with that.” Glaring at him, Saphienne realised he was trying to make a joke. “I suppose not,” she conceded with a sigh. “Though, that still doesn’t explain why my mother bothers. Nobody calls on us, or not very often.” “Could that be why she doesn’t shovel?” “I doubt it.” Saphienne glanced at the ice, hip throbbing. “And even if you’re right, it only makes it more likely that anyone who visit won’t come again.” He nodded, having nothing else to say. “Anyway.” Saphienne looked up at him. “Why are you visiting her?” “Your mother?” Faylar was amused. “I wasn’t coming to visit her.” “Then why are you here? Do you have a message from Almon?” The mention of the wizard made Faylar’s smile drop away. “I was coming to speak to you,” he said, and as he did Saphienne noticed that his eyes were pink, as though the cold had made them run. “I spoke to Master Almon. He… well, he apologised. And then he told me he wouldn’t teach me.” Saphienne slowly relaxed her arms, dropping them to her sides. “I see.” “I asked about the others,” Faylar explained. “He says they’re still under consideration. So I thought,” he went on, forcing a fragile smile, “that it might be good to commiserate with someone else. I asked around, heard you lived up here. I was going to knock on doors, but then…” Feeling sad for him, Saphienne nodded. Then she studied him, sensing something more was expected of her. “Almon’s a prick.” Faylar’s eyes widened. “That’s harsh. And aren’t you too young to–” He stopped himself and shook his head, self-deprecation in his voice. “Now being a prick. Sorry. I wouldn’t call him that, but he was an ass to us both last night, wasn’t he?” Saphienne smiled, though her smile was tempered by a worrying thought. She pushed it aside for the moment. “He was an… ass, yes,” she said, testing the new use of the word, “and you don’t know half the story. Although, I shouldn’t speak about it.” “Oh, come on,” Faylar grinned. “Share the gossip.” His interest weakened her resolve. “All I’ll say,” she admitted, “is that I’m not the only one who thinks Almon is a prick. He’s not very fair in the way he treats people.” “Right?” Faylar laughed gently. “He was really rude to you.” “You think so?” She smiled sharply. “You don’t think I was too ” Remembering the first thing he had ever said to her, Faylar blushed and looked down. “I deserved that,” he muttered, still smiling, then met her eyes. “I was trying to be funny. And to make a good impression.” “I guess,” she teased him, “. Being funny.” “Well… maybe not.” He frowned, then realised she had quoted him, and he laughed with more sincerity as he got the joke. “You’re a prickly person, Saphienne. Or is it just last night’s bad news?” “I’m not a prickly–” She stopped herself. “…I may be a little prickly.” “But you’re not a prick.” He grinned. “Depending on who you ask,” she conceded. “I’m not really used to… chatting.” The older child nodded. “You always kept to yourself. I remember you, sitting and reading all the time.” He saw her uncertain expression, and smiled. “You don’t remember me, I know. We never had occasion to talk. You were, what, two or three years younger than me? I mean,” he corrected himself, “you still are, but I’m talking about when we were little, and everyone used to play together.” “I wasn’t welcome.” He frowned, then reluctantly nodded. “Maybe. I heard it said that you were odd. And an elder told us to be kind to you, and to make sure none of the other children your own age picked on you.” Saphienne blinked. “Who said that?” “I can’t remember. Really, I can’t! I didn’t pay you much mind.” He was blushing again, and awkwardly looked away. “I shouldn’t have told you that. Sorry, I’m just… today’s been emotional.” Guilt made Saphienne purse her lips, the thought she pushed aside returning. “Faylar,” she said, “it was nice of you to come to see me.” He gave her a self-aware smile. “Is that my cue to go?” “No,” she said, firmly. “I just need to tell you: Almon didn’t reject me last night. I’m sorry that he didn’t take you as his student, but that’s not what happened after all of you left.” Faylar had become less animated as she spoke, and now stood very still, all his life and colour bleeding out. “Oh.” His shoulders drooped. “So, you’re still being considered.” “No.” Wanting to fidget in her awkwardness, she clasped her hands behind herself. “I’m not still being considered. I’m preparing to study with him, when I turn fourteen.” She watched as the boy ran his fingers through his short hair. Absently, he scratched behind his ear. “Well,” he finally said. “Well, fuck.” He turned away, pacing a little, kicking at the snow, aimless. Then he stopped and just stared into the woodland — the clouds of his breath coming slower as he stared. Saphienne didn’t know what to say, so said nothing. “He told me,” Faylar recalled as he faced her, “that I wasn’t suited to studying magic. That I wasn’t stupid, wasn’t an ,” he grinned, bitterly, “but that I didn’t have the qualities I’d need to be a wizard. And he pressed me for who’d prepared me, as though getting advice from my aunt was a crime.” “Your aunt is a wizard?” “Yes,” he said, “and a pretty good one. Better than Almon, even. But the rules don’t allow her to teach family members. Almon is the teacher for our village, so I had to try with him. And now,” he went on, smiling sadly, “even if I move somewhere else, they’ll write back to him and ask for his opinion, which will make it harder to gain an apprenticeship. I’ll probably have to wait a very long time for another chance, maybe fifty years. Which isn’t all that long, I know.” He sighed. “But it feels like it is.” “Fifty years a long time,” Saphienne said quietly. “Unless he reconsiders,” Faylar added, “but he won’t, will he?” She shook her head. “Not unless you’re able to show he’s wrong in a way he can’t deny, and even if you do, you’ll end up where I am. He’ll teach you, but he’ll be a prick about it.” “Prick or not, at least he’ll teach you.” He took a deep breath, and wiped his eyes. “Sorry, that’s not… I don’t mean to be…” He stopped fumbling his words, forced a much weaker smile, and gave her a bow. “My thanks for your time. I’ll see you later.” He walked away; Saphienne watched. Then, before he left the shade of her family home, she darted after him, reaching for his shoulder. “Faylar, wait.” He halted, composing himself before he addressed her. “Thank you, but I don’t want your sympathy.” She took her hand from his shoulder. “Fine. But you can’t give up. You can’t let yourself be dismissed like that.” Wrestling with his emotions, he settled on resentment. “Yes, I can. I have to. That’s life. I can’t force him to teach me, not like you. We can’t be as talented as you.” “You’re talented,” she insisted. “I only speak Elfish. You speak four languages, and write in five. You have talents that I don’t.” “Not the ones that’ll make me a wizard.” “So learn them.” She clenched her fists. “If I can learn languages, you can learn what you need to.” “No, I can’t.” Angry, he tried to leave– And Saphienne grabbed his wrist. “This is why Almon turned you away.” Faylar looked back at her. His voice was subdued. “What?” “Last night,” she told him, “you didn’t pay close attention to the calligraphy, and when Iolas pointed out what you’d missed, when he told you my work was better, you argued with him. Are you a better calligrapher than Iolas?” He shook his head. “Then why didn’t you listen to him? And why aren’t you listening to me, when I was accepted instead of you?” She tightened her grip, tugged on his arm. “You’re not stupider than Iolas and Celaena, and your studies were good enough for Almon to hear you out.” “So, what?” He pulled his arm from her grasp. “You’re telling me that what I studied wasn’t what decided things, so why study more? You’re saying it’s something about that wasn’t good enough, about who I am.” He spoke on the verge of tears. “But I am who I am; and you are who you are.” “No, we’re not.” Saphienne stepped up to him. “We can change. I might be intelligent, but intelligence doesn’t mean much if you don’t learn how to use it. You believe I’m just naturally right for wizardry?” She glared. “I was taught. I was encouraged to learn, and taught how to learn. I was encouraged to think, and taught how to think! And you don’t know how, or you’d know when to listen.” “You didn’t listen–” “Because I knew he was wrong. I knew there was more to me than he’d cared to see, and I knew Filaurel wouldn’t have told me to try if I wasn’t ready. I did listen, just not to the people in that room.” She took a breath. “If you want to grow, then listen to the right people.” “Like you?” He said it sullenly. Saphienne hesitated; she backed away. “You need to decide that. I don’t know you, not really, so maybe I’m wrong about you. Maybe you’re more stupid than I think, and maybe you’re just good with words. But I know Almon better than I know you, and I know he was wrong to turn me away. If he was wrong once,” she concluded, “he can be wrong again.” Faylar brooded on her words. She waited. And then, just as he was about to speak, the door to her family home opened. End of Chapter 11