Fortunately, thanks to the time she had spent listening to liturgies at the shrines, Laewyn was familiar with the spirits of the woodlands. Unfortunately, as Celaena contorted in her sleep and muttered fevered words in the tongue of sylvan creatures, Laewyn had no other experience of them, and so breathed out in relief as Iolas finished explaining what was happening.

  “You had me worried,” she laughed, still nervous. Her gaze turned back to where Celaena lay in the grand bed, disconcerted by the palpable fear written on the girl’s unconscious face. “So, she’s… spirit-ridden?”

  Saphienne slowly let go of Laewyn’s wrist. “…She shouldn’t be.”

  “Why not? Servants of the gods only go where invited.” Laewyn didn’t truly understand possession, not in the fearful way they did; her worry resurfaced as she looked between them, noticing Saphienne’s sudden paleness. “Did something happen with a spirit? Is that what happened yesterday?”

  Iolas shook his head. “We’re not allowed to talk about it — really, we’re not. We might lose our apprenticeships if we tell you.”

  “I can keep a secret.”

  Saphienne glanced her way, voice low. “From a wizard? Are you sure about that?”

  Laewyn’s breath caught. “…Maybe not,” she conceded. “But, the way you look, and how upset she was… it must have been something bad, right?”

  Sighing, Iolas rubbed his temples. “We’re not allowed to–”

  “Fine.” She crossed her arms, stuck between expressing her resentment toward them and hugging herself as she stared at Celaena. “Is it safe to wake her? Will that offend the spirit? She’s having a nightmare.”

  Uncertain, Saphienne and Iolas turned to each other; the two played out a conversation through expression alone — Iolas asking Saphienne what she thought with raised eyebrows, Saphienne hesitating before faintly shaking her head, Iolas glancing away meaningfully before tilting his head in question, Saphienne taking a moment to read him before pursing her lips and shaking her head more vigorously.

  “…Not yet,” Saphienne told him.

  Laewyn misunderstood, and fretted. “So, what? We just wait for her to wake up, screaming?”

  Thinking quickly, Iolas laid his hand on Laewyn’s shoulder. “We should… write down what she’s saying? So we can ask her about it, once she’s awake. Would you mind fetching my calligraphy kit? Please?”

  She watched Celaena, torn. Screwing shut her eyes, she shrugged his hand away as she turned and pushed past him, heading back to the study. “Fine.”

  The moment Laewyn was gone, Iolas faced Saphienne, continuing their conversation vocally. “Are you sure? I think we should tell him. Almon will know what to do — this is beyond us.”

  Her chest felt tight. “What if this is part of the test?” Saphienne slipped her hand into her pocket, seeking the reassurance of her coin pouch.

  “If this is part of the test,” Iolas countered, “then surely it’s testing that we’ve learned to respect our limits? She looks possessed.”

  “…I’m not sure that she is.” Saphienne studied Celaena, listening intently to the sibilant words and their flowing inflections, their rising and falling tones. The tightness eased. “She might be, but this might be something else.”

  “Such as?”

  The way Iolas asked, with clear respect for her opinion, momentarily made her doubt herself, afraid that she was overreaching. Yet if the lessons they were receiving meant anything at all, then assuming they knew what was happening – and that there was nothing to be done about it – was contrary to what was expected from them. She could do something… she had to.

  Saphienne clutched the bark-scaled pouch as she clothed herself in confidence that she didn’t feel. “This is conjecture, but the spirit taught her about Invocation… could she have taught her some of the sylvan language, too? Maybe Celaena’s just having a nightmare about the spirit, and it’s all mixed together.”

  “Then, what do we do?”

  “You had a good idea: we try to write down what she’s saying. Then, we can try to–”

  Laewyn’s return made Saphienne shut up — which the older girl noticed, clearly unhappy to be excluded.

  Still, Iolas quietly thanked Laewyn for his writing kit and paper, crouching down to ready a pen and set out ink before using the closed box as a makeshift writing surface against the wall. “Saphienne?”

  Carefully, Saphienne crept across to Celaena’s bed, picking her way through the apprentice’s robes discarded on the floor, consciously averting her gaze from a set of bunched underclothes as she lightly sat on the mattress’ edge. She closed her eyes, listening intently, focusing her meditative attention on the words…

  A few minutes later, she rose and returned to where Iolas was waiting, seeing that he had been transcribing what he could hear from across the room. As she read over his shoulder she saw that he had also made an attempt at marking tone, using rising and falling lines to indicate how the words were said, but his rendition of the syllables looked wrong.

  “Let me,” she said, and took the pen from him, wetting it again before she made annotations, trying to match what she had heard against his record. There were a few repeated words, or perhaps the same words used in different forms, which were just enough to spot and amend what he had misheard. She didn’t take long to finish her corrections.

  “…You sure?” He glanced over her phonetic notation. “It looks right, but…”

  She was sure of herself — or at least, her writing. “I’m confident that’s the best I can do,” she confirmed. Her eyes scanned the page, then roamed back to the bed. “I think we heard enough…”

  Just then, Celaena fell silent.

  “Celaena…?” Laewyn had been sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, and she leapt up in the ominous calm.

  Yet Celaena was breathing slowly and deeply, her expression made serene by the depths of untroubled sleep.

  *   *   *

  The sudden change was eerie, and the three of them waited for five minutes before they accepted she was resting peacefully — her mouth hanging open, ears slowly rising and falling with each breath.

  They retreated to the adjacent sitting room and closed over the door; Laewyn peered through at her as she spoke. “Is she going to be alright, now?”

  Saphienne was still puzzling over the sylvan words, completely unable to make sense of them, and she answered without thinking. “I hope so. It’s too early to say.”

  “Can you at least tell me if it was a spirit?”

  Iolas shrugged. “Here, now? It’s hard to tell.”

  Frustrated, Laewyn scowled back at them. “I thought you were meant to be studying wizardry? Can’t you–” She stopped herself. “…Sorry. Look, I’m happy she’s getting some rest, but shouldn’t we go and ask someone for help? Maybe send for a priest? Or Gaelyn?”

  “A priest or a healer wouldn’t be the worst idea,” Iolas answered, though he glanced at Saphienne. “Maybe we should get some help?”

  Saphienne folded the paper and slipped it into her pocket. “I think you’re right, Iolas. We’re not going to learn any more on our own…” She put on a smile, her eyes glinting with forced humour. “…And I know just who to ask.”

  Puzzled at first, realisation slowly dawned on Iolas, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

  *   *   *

  Laewyn stayed to watch over Celaena while Saphienne and Iolas went outside, stopping halfway down the terraced gardens as the front doors closed behind them.

  “Better hope Laewyn can open that for us,” Iolas said.

  Saphienne gazed up the grand tree that held Celaena’s room. “Well, the windows open normally, and it looks climbable.”

  Iolas paled. “…You’re joking.”

  She blinked. “Why would that be a joke? Everyone can climb a tree.”

  “Yes, but three stories…”

  Iolas’ anxious mood was understandable, but wasn’t helpful. Saphienne tried to distract him, canting her head to the side and trying on a superior grin. “Are you afraid of heights, Iolas?”

  He wilted. His embarrassment was faint but undisguised as he started toward the gate. “…What’s the old joke? I’m not afraid of heights, but I have a healthy respect for the ground?”

  “Poor you, then,” Saphienne said as she caught up, gesturing around them to the expansive gardens, “since there’s plenty of grounds here… Don’t groan like that, your jokes are just as bad.”

  “Should we really be joking, now?”

  Saphienne committed to her bravado. “Oh, come on.” She kept smiling as she slipped out into the grove. “Aren’t you having even a little bit of fun? We’re solving our first mystery as apprentice wizards.”

  Iolas looked askance at her. “…Celaena wasn’t having fun.”

  “She’s sleeping well now.” His disapproval slowed her step slightly, and she pulled ahead of it as she sped up and gestured ahead. “Which is a mystery in itself, isn’t it? Anyway — the sooner we get this translated, the sooner we can decide what to do.”

  “I suppose.” Iolas grimaced. “This is a little fun. And I feel bad about that.”

  “Laewyn will wake her if she has more nightmares,” Saphienne reassured herself, leading the way deeper into the village. “There’s nothing to worry about. We’re being cautious, aren’t we? We’re not rushing headfirst into anything.”

  “Well, if we don’t learn anything at the library, then I think the responsible thing to do is to take her back to our master.” Iolas rolled his shoulders, uneasy. “We probably ought to be doing that right now.”

  “After we’ve got this translated, if you insist,” Saphienne agreed, unsure whether she was lying. “But let’s see what we can learn on our own, first.”

  *   *   *

  Most elves browsed the library’s collection in the afternoon, and so it was busy when Saphienne and Iolas arrived. There was no sign of Faylar on the upper floor – not by the reading tables or over at any of the windows – and at Iolas’ insistence they split up, better to search among the shelves without disturbing the peace.

  A few moments later, Saphienne caught sight of Faylar’s short hair out of the corner of her eye, and she doubled back to approach him where he stood reading in one of the rows. “Faylar — there you are.”

  He jumped, and turned to face her with a tremendous blush on his face, slamming shut the book in his hands and hiding it behind his back. “S-Saphienne! You’re here very early!”

  Frowning, curious about the book he had been reading, Saphienne stepped back and looked at the row they were in–

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Oh.” She felt the heat shoot up from her stomach as she matched his scarlet. “You’re…” She inhaled sharply as she blinked. “I didn’t…”

  “I was just doing some research into–”

  “I’ll be over at the window!” she called out, too loudly, as she spun on her heel.

  As she hurried away from the section dedicated to adult literature, someone in the next row gave her a loud and insistent shush.

  By the time she was seated on a windowsill and staring out into the woodland, Iolas had abandoned searching his half of the collection and spotted her; she could feel him studying her flushed profile as he joined her. “Saphienne? I take it you found him?”

  She matched his lowered voice. “He’ll be with us soon.”

  “…Everything fine? With Faylar, I mean.”

  Mortified, she nodded.

  Iolas let the matter lie. “…Well, good.” He leant beside her, folding his arms as he stared up through the skylights to the branches beyond. “You know, this place is larger than it looks on the outside. I never really realised.”

  “It’s the shelves.” She exhaled. “They make it feel bigger than it really is.”

  Faylar approached, bookless, stopping as he saw Iolas. With a nervous smile, he came close enough to greet them both. “Iolas? I’m surprised to see you here.” His eyes darted over their apprentice’s robes, concealing what Saphienne knew was deep longing.

  “Happy to come along,” Iolas answered, giving him a small bow. “Saphienne was wondering if you could help us with some translation.”

  That knocked Faylar out of his awkwardness, and he grinned. “Really?”

  She managed to meet his gaze, and drew the folded sheet of paper from her pocket and held it out to him. “We tried to write what we heard, but neither of us speak the tongue of sylvan creatures…”

  More at ease now, he took the paper from her with a flourish, his voice teasing. “Well, this won’t take long — especially if you don’t know how to write the intonations.”

  Iolas politely chuckled, hiding his worry. “You won’t be able to make sense of it?”

  “Probably not,” Faylar admitted, unfolding their transcription. “The sylvan tongue is a very complicated… language… to interpret…”

  His brow furrowed as he studied the page.

  “…You know,” he admitted, “this is actually workable. For the elongated ‘e’ sounds, did you write them in the standard way? Or is this meant to be an elongated ‘a-y’ sound?”

  Saphienne sat forward, smoothing down her robes. “Written in the standard way, as in ‘aegis.’”

  He glanced up at her with a smile. “What’s that word mean, again?”

  “Just translate it, or you’ll need one.”

  Faylar laughed, and when he returned his gaze to their writing his lips moved, voicelessly sounding out the words as he stepped to the windowsill and sat beside her, one leg hanging loose while he drew the other up. He hummed a few lines, experimentally. “I think I can translate some of this. If I sing a note…” He quietly sang, high and sharp, and pointed to a specific word. “…Can you tell me if it matches here?”

  Having been responsible for the tone marks, Iolas squinted as Faylar sang again. “…That sounds right. You’re a good singer.”

  “Have to be, for this.” He pondered the translation. “This is pretty morbid. Am I allowed to ask where you heard it?”

  Visibly concerned now, the apprentice wizards shook their heads.

  “…Well, was worth a try.” He sighed, and nodded. “Alright. Filling in some of blanks, I think I have it.”

  “And?” Saphienne had slipped forward, perched on the very edge of the broad sill as she awaited his answer.

  “Well, it’s not going to be a perfect translation…” He coughed. “…But I think it goes something like this: ‘Please, do not, I implore’ – or maybe beseech – ‘for your mercy, I acted not in disregard, please, do not do this, there was no other way, please, I had no’ – either liberty or choice – ‘in what I did…’” He shook his head. “…This next part is unreadable, but it continues: ‘Help, help, too long in the pain’ – or woe – ‘of this dead being will drive me mad, I implore’ – or beseech, again – ‘you, show mercy, some of you, any one of you, do not abandon me, for the sake of a child’s life, let me go, I did what was–”

  “Gods,” Iolas whispered, broken out in a cold sweat.

  Faylar saw his reaction, and turned to Saphienne, where he saw no emotion at all, and so knew at once that something was very wrong. “…Saphienne, where did you hear this? Was it a reading from something? A play?” His voice held a pleading edge. “Some wizard’s test, surely?”

  “…We don’t know.” She took a steadying breath. “What was the last part?

  Reluctantly, Faylar returned his attention to the translation. His lips moved once more. “This is very hard to translate. The word here is…” He mildly smirked to himself. “Archaic? An obscure word. Not commonly used, either way, especially since it’s ambiguous. Reading the last line, it goes something like: ‘I did what was owed’ — or needed, or urged, or obliged… but the sentiment is nuanced, and means something like ‘right’, except it specifically doesn’t mean ‘right’ or ‘wrong,’ but both, and neither. Anyway, ‘I did what was owed for the sake of’ — and the final word can be read as both ‘myself’ and as a reflexive pronoun for the subject of the sentence.”

  Following, Saphienne immediately guessed, “‘I did what was right for its own sake?’”

  “Well, maybe, but from what I understand the language doesn’t–”

  Ashen-faced, Iolas rounded on Saphienne. “Celaena. Whatever this is, we need to get help, now.”

  “Celaena?” All the colour drained from Faylar’s face. “What’s wrong with Celaena?”

  Saphienne hesitated–

  And Faylar grabbed her by the shoulders, the paper discarded to the floor as he leant forward. “Saphienne, what about Celaena?”

  “Faylar,” Iolas tried to explain, “we’re not allowed to–”

  “Fuck off.” Faylar didn’t look away from Saphienne. “Is something wrong with Celaena?” He sought an answer in her panicked eyes, his own wide and full of fear. “Did she say this? Saphienne? Are these her words? Talk to me. You have to talk to me, Saphienne. Did Celaena say these words?”

  No good could come of answering, she knew. Faylar would only complicate things.

  And that meant…

  “Yes,” said Saphienne, very softly. “There was a spirit of the woodlands, it possessed her–”

  But Faylar had heard enough, and he flew from the windowsill toward the stairs, only stopping and whirling around when he realised he didn’t know where to find her. “Where is she?” he called out, heads turning throughout the stacks, another shush directed his way — and ignored.

  As Saphienne stood, Iolas whispered in her ear. “You shouldn’t have told him…”

  But she had no time for his admonishment, not in that state, and she collected the dropped transcription before striding to Faylar, catching the young linguist by his elbow and walking him to the stairwell as Iolas trailed after them. “Don’t make a scene. We’ll go to her now.”

  Behind them, Iolas’ voice was insistent. “We should get help.”

  “Not until we’ve spoken to her,” Saphienne said, her gaze pointedly on Faylar. He didn’t smile back, but he did incline his head, misunderstanding why she said it — and whispering his thanks.

  “…I don’t like this.” Yet Iolas’ eyes flicked between Saphienne and Faylar, and he held his tongue. He was aware that her apprenticeship was now at risk — and also that he risked his own, through complicity.

  But they were friends. Without ever really having thought about it, Saphienne knew that loyalty to friends mattered to Iolas — Faylar’s to Celaena, and his own to Saphienne. Despite his reservations, he would wait for Faylar to calm down before he insisted on finding help. That gave her just a little more time to solve the mystery herself.

  What she tried not to dwell on, as they hurried back to Celaena’s home, was why he was willing to wait, despite all Faylar had told them. Iolas had shown her something about himself that sat strangely with Saphienne:

  He trusted her judgement more than his own.

  That ought to have thrilled her. But in that moment, it only scared her more.

  *   *   *

  The enchanted doors proved to be no impediment — Faylar laid his hand against them and said his name, before which they opened as though Celaena herself was there to let her friends inside. He wasted no time in hurrying through the foyer, and the apprentices crossed after him.

  Intrigued, Iolas asked “How did you–”

  “My name’s on the guest list.” Faylar took the stairs two at a time, looking to Saphienne to show him the way when they reached the top.

  She led them back to Celaena’s private chambers, knocking the door before she stepped inside. Beyond the sitting room, the door to the bedroom was open — Laewyn delicately rising from the bed covers, a finger to her lips. She emerged and once more closed the door over, keeping it cracked ajar so she could watch over the sleeping girl.

  Faylar had gone quiet at the sight of the girls. Iolas glanced at him, then spoke the question that mattered most. “How is she?”

  “She’s been sleeping deeply,” Laewyn answered, her voice mild but her eyes still showing her anxiety. “She stirred a little when I lay down with her, but she’s been resting… and she hasn’t said anything else since you left.”

  Composing himself, Faylar gave a small bow. “You’re Laewyn, aren’t you?”

  Having been too focused on Celaena to really notice him, Laewyn smiled awkwardly and bowed back. “I am — and you’re Faylar, aren’t you? Celaena’s best friend?”

  Faylar hadn’t known that Celaena thought about him that way, and he grinned very broadly, his voice bashful. “I… yes, yes I am.” He ran his hand through his hair, vainly trying to hold onto what little poise he’d recovered. “Celaena had just started talking to you when we– when she became busy with her apprenticeship. We spoke the other day, and she mentioned you were becoming good friends.”

  “Um, yes.” She blushed deeply. “We’re not– I was just–”

  Saphienne sighed loudly. “They’re not sleeping together. Or even dating, not officially. She just stayed over because Celaena wasn’t feeling well, and didn’t want to be alone.”

  Iolas and Faylar both winced.

  Cringing, Laewyn looked away. “…She’s not wrong…”

  “And now that we’re all on the same page,” Saphienne continued, “I think we need to wake her up. I have questions that–”

  “You can’t wake her up!” Laewyn’s voice had risen, and she lowered it as her flush deepened. “Um, I mean — can’t we let her rest? She barely slept last night. What if we wake her up, then the nightmares return?”

  Clicking his tongue, Faylar nodded. “So it’s nightmares? She’s been speaking like a sylvan spirit, in her sleep?”

  “When she’s been sleeping.” Laewyn hugged herself. “She kept waking herself up.”

  That was enough for Faylar to turn to the two apprentices. “Then, given what she’s been saying, I think Saphienne’s right: we really ought to talk to her.”

  Iolas gestured to the hallway. “I’m with Laewyn. I think we let her sleep, and go find someone who knows what to do — our master, or perhaps a priest.”

  Saphienne inhaled sharply.

  “Wait,” Laewyn interjected, brow furrowed. “You know what she’s been saying?”

  “I translated,” said Faylar. “The gist of it is–”

  “You can’t tell her,” Iolas hurriedly said. “We really shouldn’t have got you involved, and Saphienne shouldn’t have told you–”

  “You told him?” Laewyn rounded on Saphienne, fists clenched as she dropped them. “You said it was secret wizard stuff! He’s not an apprentice!”

  “Um, rude?” Faylar bristled. “I’m going to be an apprentice, thank-you-very-much.”

  “But you’re not one now!” She put her hands on her hips. “If he gets to know what happened yesterday, then I get to know.”

  “Well you’re not studying to be a wizard’s apprentice, so–”

  Raising both hands, Iolas urged them to stop. “Calm down, please, both of you. Saphienne didn’t mean to tell Faylar anything–”

  “Well the acorn’s sprouted now,” Laewyn huffed. “And I could be a wizard’s apprentice, if I wanted to be.”

  If they kept arguing…

  Saphienne started to correct Laewyn. “I’m sorry, Laewyn, but–” Iolas’ warning glare made her change what she was saying. “–All I said was that she was possessed by a spi–”

  “Saphienne!” Iolas dropped his arms. “Enough! You know you shouldn’t be saying anything, and relying on Faylar to keep quiet is already a risk–”

  “Excuse me?” Faylar crossed his arms. “I can keep a secret, thank you.”

  “That’s what I said,” Laewyn grumbled.

  “Enough of this.” Faylar started toward the bedroom door. “I’ll wake Celaena, and she can–”

  Laewyn grabbed his shoulder. “No, don’t! Let her sleep!”

  Iolas tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling; he spun around and headed for the hall. “I’m going to get our master.”

  Lunging, Saphienne caught his sleeve and raised her voice. “Iolas, wait! I think we should wake–”

  “For the love of the gods! Could you all please shut the fuck up?”

  The door to the bedroom had been thrown wide open, and Celaena stood there in her long sleeping gown, clutching her forehead.

  “I’m awake.” She leant against the frame. “What’s going on? What else did you break?”

  Stunned silence answered her.

  With calculated slowness, Saphienne let go of Iola’s sleeve; Faylar pulled himself loose from Laewyn. The three of them exchanged deeply embarrassed glances with Saphienne, who imitated them, but no one said anything, all appearing shame-faced before Celaena’s tired wrath.

  “Well?” Celaena yawned. “Saphienne?”

  Straightening up, Saphienne clasped her hands behind her back. “You were having nightmares–”

  “I know that.”

  “…And speaking the tongue of sylvan creatures.”

  Celaena’s eyes widened. Then, as they closed, her ears drooped, and she sagged. “…I see. That makes sense. And explains why you’re here, Faylar.”

  Clearing his throat, he adopted an easy smile. “Hello. Nice outfit, by the way. Leaves everything to the imagination.”

  Too exhausted to quip back, she managed a weak smile.

  Saphienne exhaled when Iolas moved away from the hall, but what he said made her tense again. “Well, something is wrong with you, so we really need to tell our master–”

  Yet it wasn’t Saphienne who interrupted him.

  “No!” Celaena’s eyes were open wide, all sleepiness banished from them. “No, you can’t tell him. You mustn’t. He mustn’t know — nobody is supposed to know, and I need time to think.”

  Unnerved by her urgency, Laewyn crossed to her and gently took her hand. “Celaena… what’s going on? Are you– is there a spirit, um, riding you?”

  Shaking her head, Celaena shut her eyes again. “No. There’s no spirit. It’s just… I just need to…”

  As the moment stretched, Saphienne looked around the room. Celaena was struggling with herself; Laewyn desperately wanted to understand; Faylar studied the two girls, looking unsure; and Iolas’ body language made clear that he still wanted to go and fetch help — and would do so, imminently.

  Feeling for the pouch in her pocket, Saphienne slid out the coin, cooled by its touch. “Well, Celaena,” she said, her voice filled with dispassion she didn’t feel, “either you tell us what’s going on, or we’re going to have to fetch Almon.”

  “No.” Celaena’s eyes were fearful. “You can’t. He mustn’t know.”

  Iolas was bewildered. “But… why?”

  Sliding down the doorframe, Celaena sat heavily on the floor. She took a deep breath, and then another as Laewyn sank down beside her and squeezed her hand for support.

  Finally, she found the words. “Because I know something I shouldn’t.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t know what to do about it… and if our master finds out… if anyone finds out… something terrible will happen.”

  End of Chapter 32

  Chapter 33 on 22nd April 2025.

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