After the apprentices had finished their lesson – ending by meditating on a pointedly realistic hallucination of a lavender shrub, Almon sitting with them to maintain it against their disbelief – they went back to Celaena’s home. Since the key insights of the day were light on magical theory, Saphienne suggested they take the opportunity to review all they had learned so far, and to hypothesise what they might be taught over the years to come. Whether their conjecture was accurate, the exercise of developing and questioning inferences would be good practice.

Iolas and Celaena couldn’t match the sudden leaps that Saphienne made, and yet they weren’t dissuaded from participating, having accepted that there was more to be gained from earnest collaboration than ego-driven competition. On her part, Saphienne liked having friends to talk to about her interests, and walking them through her thinking was the only way they could keep up. She resolved to never let herself be impatient when they couldn’t immediately see what she did. At the time, she thought she hid her frustration quite well.

Though less frequently than the young prodigy, the older children did offer insightful contributions. Iolas had given substantial thought to the implications of Invocation, relating the material that Celaena shared to sacred rites he had once observed, deconstructing the religious pageantry with a wizardly, rational detachment. Meanwhile, Celaena had plenty to say about Translocation, connecting it to every facet of their lives with an enthusiasm that sometimes took flight from reason into wishful thinking.

And that, sometimes, was painfully grounded.

“There’s a tension at the heart of this,” Celaena observed, sitting by the open window to listen for familiar birdsong, “between what we’re doing now and what we’ll have to do later on.”

Iolas raised an eyebrow, having been idly practicing his calligraphy during their discussion. “Group versus solitary study? I don’t think they’re opposed.”

“Not that.” She closed the window over with a sigh. “Between sharing what we know, and holding back our secrets… letting people know us, versus keeping them away.”

Inspired by Iolas – and by Thessa – Saphienne was crudely sketching Celaena’s profile with a borrowed charcoal pencil. She frowned as she put it down. “To impede their divinations of us… their auguries and scrying. You expect we’ll have secrets to hide from each other?”

“Everyone has secrets,” Celaena said, but she shook her head. “I don’t mean that, though: I just imagine it’ll be hard. We’ll have to be reserved with the people we meet… even our own families… and especially wizards and sorcerers. That habit–”

“Celaena,” Iolas asked, resting his pen against inkwell, “is this about your father?”

Her eyes widened — then narrowed as she blushed. “Isn’t it rude to pry into people’s family lives, Iolas?”

“I’m not trying to pry.” He paid no mind to her defensiveness, patient. “I was thinking that, if I were you, I would be wondering whether my father keeping his distance from me was related to what we learned.”

She folded her arms, pivoting toward him with subdued anger. “Father isn’t distant. We write to each other. He’s keenly interested in my education — he wants me to join him, when I’m ready.”

Iolas raised his hand in a calming gesture. “I’m saying, maybe he loves you enough that he’s trying to raise you to be reserved by nature? So you’ll be better at protecting yourself? Isn’t that what you’re wondering?”

Her anger thinned, deeper emotions stirred beneath it. A little too stiffly, she turned back to the window. “…I was wondering…” She spoke more loosely, her enunciation fraying. “…I was wondering whether he finds it hard. Father loves me, I’m sure, but he’s always very…”

Uncomfortable, Saphienne took a deep breath. “He’s raising you like himself.”

“Of course.” Celaena and her faint reflection flashed their superior smiles. “He’s an accomplished wizard of the Luminary Vale: who wouldn’t want to be like him?”

Saphienne’s gaze fell to the sketch of the girl before her, smoky and smudged, yet with a sentiment of angular loneliness Saphienne found all too familiar. “What I meant was: he’s raising you like he thinks would have been best for him. That’s what a good parent would do.”

“Odd bird.” Celaena’s smile softened with affection. “You may be right. Father does talk about me like he speaks about himself… and he does give plenty of advice about how I should go about things.”

Saphienne shut her eyes. “Well, at least your father cares about you, in his own way. I only see mine every few years… and there’s nothing about him worth emulating.”

Mildly disturbed by their exchange, Iolas glanced between both girls before he returned to his calligraphy. “Perhaps it’s not any one reason.” His tone was carefully conciliatory. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ll understand him better when you’re older — I’ve only just begun to get to know my parents.”

“You’re right.” Celaena stretched, and stood. “Once I’m in the Luminary Vale, we’ll feel much closer. And we’ll always have magical sympathy, won’t we?”

* * *

When Laewyn arrived they called it a day, Saphienne heading off on her errands and then to the library to study the common trade tongue with Faylar. In anticipation of their journey with Filaurel, they had agreed to focus solely on Saphienne’s learning, and he was dedicating their first week to giving her a grounding in basic vocabulary and pronunciation — much to her dismay, as she struggled to learn without understanding the grammar. Her complaints only made Faylar laugh, and he promised she would soon regret ever wanting anything to do with the grammar of the common trade tongue.

By the time she arrived home her mother was sleeping. Fresh bottles of wine were stacked under the stairs, and upon inspection Saphienne found that the pantry was restocked with food for the week ahead… along with two large jars of butter and syrup. The cupboards in the kitchen revealed four more bags of flour, and additional salt and yeast.

Of course her mother hadn’t listened. When did she ever?

Saphienne muttered darkly to herself as she ate a late snack.

Yet when she entered her bedroom, she found a tall stack of fresh paper waiting on her bed, along with fresh reservoirs of ink in different colours, and three empty binders for her notes.

Saphienne retraced her steps to the hall, staring at the door to her mother’s room with a blank countenance that belied the passions fluttering within her chest. Saphienne was even angrier than when she had seen the baking supplies… but that was not all she felt, and her disappointment wrestled with an unwanted twinge of happiness.

Most of all, she felt ashamed. But she pictured Iolas’ and Celaena’s families, and went back to her bedtime routine with a scowl, blaming her feelings on the deficiencies of her mother.

Who didn’t really care about her, of course. That was the truth.

* * *

“Let us begin this investigation by establishing what you know.” Almon paced the gravel circle with one hand in the breast pocket of his everyday robes, the other gesturing to the apprentices as he spoke. “Iolas: what are conventionally deemed the common metals?”

“Gold and silver,” he replied, tilting his head back as he remembered the others, “then iron, lead, tin, mercury, and copper.”

“Celaena: are these the only metals? What about brass?”

She clasped her hands behind her back as she answered, and Saphienne saw her squeezing her fingers. “Brass is an alloy of… copper, and another substance. I’ve heard it called false silver, but I know it has another name. Then there are the magical metals.”

The wizard waved his hand upward. “Ah, and you hit upon three pertinent issues. What has been described as ‘false silver’ is another metal — rarely encountered in its pure form, which superficially resembles silver. Brass is indeed an amalgamation of copper and this subtle metal — but does brass then count as another metal again?” He paused to study their faces as they contemplated the question. “We will touch upon the magical metals later. Saphienne: is brass a true metal, distinct from its constituent metals?”

She squinted at him. “…That depends on how a metal is defined, and on what the substance of the metal is.”

“Surely what a substance is must inform upon its definition?”

“Yes,” she accepted, “but only physically. Our language is not confined to our perceptions, and so how we think about things isn’t constrained to physical observations. Which can be wrong, as you like to stress.”

The wizard lowered his arm. “Give me an example of a thing that is more than the sum of its constituent parts, and cannot be reduced to them.”

“All of life.” She smiled to herself. “Any living thing can be reduced to whatever composes it, but so reduced, it is no longer a living thing.”

“Surely that implies structure plays a role?” He raised an eyebrow. “That life is merely constituent parts, and how they are arranged?”

“Perhaps, depending on how we define life. If you confine your definition to physical observations, that would appear so…” She crossed her arms. “…Except we don’t, do we? Life is equally composed of subjective experiences. Things like beauty, love, truth…”

“Indeed.” He smiled, sincerely. “Nowhere in nature will you find a single iota of truth, nor love, nor beauty, and yet these things abound. Are they less real than metals?”

Iolas interjected. “To the one who experiences them, they’re more real.”

“Then, Iolas,” Almon said, spinning to him, “perhaps we should cast a Fascination spell upon you, to stir up feelings of love! If it feels real then it must be real, mustn’t it?”

“Subjectively.” Iolas was far from fazed. “Saphienne all but said life is where the subjective meets the objective, and depends upon both. In the larger context, the feelings inspired by a fascination would be real feelings, but their significance would be very different from naturally emerging love.” He nodded to her. “That’s why the definition of a metal matters. What the substance of a thing is only gives us facts, without meaning.”

“Then,” Almon moved back to Saphienne, “is brass another metal, or better described as the mixture of two metals?”

She foresaw his trap. “In what context?”

The wizard chuckled, waving off her question. “Very good. To an artisan smelting copper and then heating it with the appropriate ore, brass is very much the amalgamation of two metals. To another artisan working with brass to produce some useful tool, brass is an entirely distinct metal.”

Having listened carefully, Celaena asked “What about a magical context?”

“Therein,” their teacher declared, “we come to the heart of the issue. Months ago, Saphienne suggested that knowing what is before us might make the performance of magic easier…”

He had her full attention. “You said I was correct to think that, and also wrong.”

“Indeed.” He strode to his lectern, where he took his time to survey the woods around his garden before he continued. “You would doubtless hazard that the answer lies in the differences between the disciplines.”

Addressed, she considered the proposal carefully. “…Superficially, Hallucination requires less understanding of a subject to reproduce that subject than Conjuration… but the deeper one understands, the more believable the hallucination will be. At least, to others.”

Her master was surprised. “Expand upon that last part?”

“The more familiar you are with a subject, surely the harder it is to believe in a Hallucination spell that mimics it?” She searched his face for an answer. “Is that why Transmutation is your weakest discipline — does it require deep understanding of a subject, to transmute it?”

Perhaps for the first time in all their lessons, Almon regarded her with undiluted admiration. “Extraordinary. The answer to both questions is yes. But if you are asking whether the disciplines of Transmutation and Hallucination are necessarily opposed…” He bowed. “…The answer is yes, and also no.”

Frustrated, but sensing there was more to follow, Saphienne inclined her head. “Then the answer isn’t that different disciplines approach the world in different ways; is it that different wizards do?”

“Oh!” Celaena had a realisation. “Is that what a magical praxis is?”

Almon sighed, his enthusiasm draining away. “Of course you have heard the term, child. And it seems Saphienne’s penchant for spoiling revelations is infectious.”

She flushed, but this time she didn’t wilt under his disapproval. “Father never explained what it meant, but he talked about the necessity of developing a magical praxis over time.”

“Then,” Saphienne pressed on, “the reason you have more difficulty with Transmutation and Translocation is because how you think and feel about magic doesn’t lend itself as well to casting those spells, isn’t it? But it lends itself very well to Hallucination…” A spark took hold in her mind. “…Certainty. Your magical praxis struggles with being certain, doesn’t it?”

Rubbing his jaw, Iolas spoke up. “Wait. Wouldn’t that impede Conjuration as well, since conjuring requires certainty about the properties of whatever’s being conjured?”

“Conjured from nothing.” Saphienne grinned, watching as Almon stared off into the woodland in bleak resignation. “A conjurer causes something to come into being where it previously didn’t exist, and that undermines certainty. In fact, if a conjurer were absolutely certain that something didn’t exist, how could they conjure it?”

Celaena hummed. “What about Translocation?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied, “but it’s probably not to do with magical sympathy, since sympathy applies to other disciplines. Our master used sympathy when casting his Hallucination spells yesterday. My guess is–”

“Enough.” The wizard leant on the podium. “Saphienne is quite enough, without the rest of you joining in to encourage her.” Yet he tapped his fingers contemplatively on the wood, quickly reaching a decision as he straightened and resumed his pacing. “Your proposed definition of magical praxis is grossly incomplete — but it will suffice for the purpose of today’s lesson. How a wizard relates to magic, and relates magic to the world, advantages and disadvantages their magical ability with different disciplines.”

Iolas was troubled by the implications. “…This is why Invocation can be employed by priests, isn’t it? They don’t understand magic in the way a wizard does, but their religious faith makes a good basis for a magical praxis that facilitates Invocation. It’s got nothing to do with the existence of the gods.”

“Well reasoned.” Almon gave him a wry smile. “Learn from the errors of your predecessors, however, and never propose that to a priest… if you value your time.”

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Thinking of Nelathiel, Saphienne snorted.

“Let us return to the question of brass.” With a flourish, he revealed a short rod of warm, golden metal he had secreted up his sleeve. “Is this a metal of its own, or the combination of two others? Saphienne–” he tossed her the rod “–tell us your answer.”

She caught the brass easily, weighing it. “I think it’s both. Knowing how you like to teach, I think Transmutation requires brass to be both at the same time, in order to change it into something else.”

Celaena was perplexed. “But, if our master’s praxis has issues with certainty, how does that–”

Iolas interrupted. “Both. Not either. Saphienne’s saying we have to be sure it’s both, at the same time. This is the paradox, isn’t it?” He beheld the wizard with begrudged esteem. “The reason you brought up what Saphienne guessed on the first night. She was right, in that knowing exactly what brass is helps transmute it, but she was wrong, because the act of transmuting it requires you see it another way.”

Almon clasped his hands together. “One paradox of many, apprentice. Sustaining a hallucination depends on believing it is true while remembering it is a lie; while performing a transmutation requires that a wizard know multiple truths about the subject of their spell. And to benefit your interest, Celaena,” he added, “Translocation requires certainty about exactly where an object is, while also knowing its precise movement.”

Beside Saphienne, Celaena furrowed her brow as she thought about what she’d been told, and the wizard let her concentrate until she understood. “…The speed of an object is measured by dividing the distance it travels by the time it takes to travel it. A moving object has no singular position, while an unmoving object has a fixed position but no measurable speed. If you want to be certain about an object’s position, you have to measure it in an instant, but that means you can’t measure over time, so you know nothing about where it’s going…”

Saphienne studied Almon. “Does every discipline contain a paradox?”

“All of magic is a paradox,” he answered as he approached her. “All of magic is a contravention of the laws of natural philosophy. To be a wizard requires a mind that is analytical, and a heart that can embrace the mystical, uniting together reason and passion.” Holding out his palm, he waited for her to pass back the rod, then gripped it in both palms as he took a step back. “Each wizard strives to understand magic objectively, but through their magical praxis, each wizard performs magic subjectively. Where a wizard constructs their praxis to accommodate all that they may discern, their reach is far, but their touch shallow. Where a wizard allows their praxis to develop in accordance with their nature? Then, they can truly grasp what they behold.”

“If your praxis struggles with certainty,” Saphienne asked, “how can you perform acts of Transmutation?”

He smiled. “With great difficulty.”

Almon whispered, and green light wreathed his fingers like fire, rippling as it caught upon the rod and burned — yet did not consume the metal. With tremendous effort, of will as well as flesh, the wizard pulled the rod apart from either end, causing the rod to shrink as it stretched, the brassy warmth fading from one end and concentrating in the other, until at last – with a snap – the metal broke in half…

Leaving him holding not one rod, but two: copper, and false silver.

He had broken out in a sweat, and tossed the rods to the gravel before his students as he went back to his lectern, composing himself while Celaena poked the result of the transmutation with her shoes. Their master caught his breath as he watched Iolas pick up the rods, which were imperfect twins, the copper twice as long, and both cool to the touch.

Her eyes wide, Saphienne tore her gaze away from the result of the Transmutation spell. “…You had to see it as its own metal to affect it with the spell, and as the combination of two separate metals for the spell to then be able to separate them, didn’t you? You had to know it was brass, but also know it was two entirely different things.”

“A wizard’s understanding,” Almon clarified, dabbing at his forehead with a cold blue handkerchief, “is supplemented by that of the creator of the spell. Yet understanding cannot substitute for experience. I do not understand brass, copper, and ‘false silver’ as well as the maker of the spell, but I had to conceive of them to be able to cast it, and also perceive them as simultaneously true and distinct.”

Iolas clinked the lengths together thoughtfully. “…And that’s just for a mixture of two metals.” His expression showed his eagerness, and also how daunted he was. “How much harder is it to heal a wound?”

“Now that,” Almon chuckled, “is an excellent question. Shall we answer it?”

* * *

From beneath the podium, Almon brought out a small, lacquered box, which he opened to reveal an interior of plush velvet — and an elaborately wrought choker. The necklace was fashioned from intertwining silver and gold, the coiling strands flexing against each other as he briefly lifted it from the box, the paler metal more angular than the smooth and tawny curls.

At once, Saphienne knew the jewellery was enchanted. Doubtless, the metal held a Transmutation spell, given that casting transmutations was quite challenging for Almon. Yet thanks to her time with Eletha, she found herself admiring the craftsmanship, which was both exquisite and familiar, known to her in a way she couldn’t place.

“Iolas.” Almon became quite serious. “You are the eldest, and nearly physically grown. Would you like to be the subject for this demonstration?”

Intensely suspicious, the boy folded his arms. “Is this going to wound me?”

“No.” The wizard laid the necklace back in the box. “This demonstrates the principles of healing transmutations by other means. However, I will warn you that the experience may be overwhelming, or otherwise simply uncomfortable. My estimation is that you will not be distressed…” He nodded to his student. “…And I will confess that I have consulted with your mother and your father in service to my estimate, prior to this lesson.”

Alarmed, Iolas nevertheless lowered his guard. “Did you tell them what you had planned? Did you discuss this with them?”

“Not directly. I ascertained the facts necessary to confirm my suspicions.” The wizard stepped back. “I will not demand that you participate, but I have no reason to be confident that Celaena or Saphienne would handle the experience as well as you.”

Slighted, Saphienne put her hands on her hips. “Because he’s older?”

“In a sense.” The wizard kept his gaze on Iolas. “If you decline, we will try another, less educational method to illustrate. Make your decision.”

The moment stretched as Iolas contemplated the challenge. “…Master, if I find you have lied to me about speaking to my parents, or misrepresented this situation in any way, then my apprenticeship under you will be through.”

“No tricks, this time.” Almon afforded him a respectful bow. “If you must know what it does before you proceed, I will tell you. It will be more memorable to proceed in trust, however.”

Celaena eased closer, examining the choker warily. “…This is going to turn Iolas into a toad, isn’t it?”

Almon smothered a smile.

“Fine.” Iolas approached the box with a nervous hitch in his stride. “…I think I know what you’re up to. At least, I hope I do.” He ignored the quizzical looks from Saphienne and Celaena as he lifted the choker, pulling at it to open it wide enough to push onto his neck — and hesitating. With a deep breath, he slipped it into place…

* * *

The effects were dramatic.

Green light shone from the spaces between the metal, and Iolas’ skin physically rippled as a wave ran from the choker across his body — accompanied by the most grotesque clicking of bone and cartilage Saphienne had ever heard. The boy convulsed where he stood, hunching over, and his body spasmed, a painful-sounding crunch accompanying the sudden loss of his balance, knocking him down to sit on the ground as the magic ran through his veins. Whatever changes were happening within, outwardly, his jaw became softer and rounder, his skin smoother beneath a verdant sheen, and his robes strained to accommodate his transformation. He hiccupped as the line of his neck altered–

“Gods!” Celaena gasped. “You’re–”

Saphienne burst out laughing.

Frowning, Iolas looked up, his face pronouncedly more feminine– and showing his surprise as he moved. He glanced down, to where breasts had grown on his chest, and instinctively went to touch himself, pausing in self-consciousness with a deep blush. He tried and failed to climb to his feet, astonished to feel the change in his hips, along with a troubling absence.

Though he remained on the ground, his voice had risen noticeably. “…Well, I was right. What’s so funny?”

Grinning, Saphienne offered her hand. “You look like Thessa.”

“Ouch.” He winced as she helped him up, and staggered, needing to lean on her shoulder as he found his footing. He stood with poor balance, as though a visitor in his own skin. “I’m not sure how I feel about that. Or about you giggling. Is my voice really that funny? It sounds like… someone else.” Seeking a second opinion, he pivoted to Celaena, the sight of whom concerned him. “Celaena? What’s the matter?”

Celaena had her hands over her mouth, and was frozen in place. She shook herself as his words sunk in, and immediately clasped her hands behind her back, flustered. “It’s just a lot to take in. I’ve never imagined you as a girl.”

“I’m not,” he said, flatly.

“Well, I know, you just look…” She blinked rapidly, turning away. “…Sorry, I need a moment.”

Behind Iolas, Saphienne bit her tongue.

Their master coughed. “Iolas, are you comfortable enough for the lesson to proceed?”

“I think so.” He surveyed himself, both charmed and uneasy. “This feels wrong in a way I don’t know how to explain. Or not wrong, exactly, just… not how it should be. I don’t feel like myself.” His eyes flicked up to Almon. “That’s what you were checking with my parents, I suppose. You wanted to make sure this wouldn’t be… a discovery.”

“They were reasonably confident you were content in your existing form.” By way of contrast to Saphienne, Almon was entirely without humour, though his scrutiny held a faint gleam of satisfaction. “It may interest you to know that there are two versions of this particular enchantment, one of which incorporates the discipline of Fascination.”

This made sense to Iolas, who was gently feeling his jaw and cheeks. “To make it comfortable? I suppose that’s for people who are playing. But, wouldn’t that be dangerous–”

“Convention,” the wizard explained, “insists that anyone wishing to use the other version first has to wear this one. Some discover the opposite sensation to what you are experiencing, and the rest learn what you now know.”

Thinking of Gaeleath, Saphienne asked “Do some people feel neither?”

“I suppose they must,” Almon mused. “I can’t say it’s my area of expertise.”

One curiosity satisfied, Saphienne directed her attention to Iolas’ shoulders, marvelling at the reduction in muscle. “Did it hurt? The change, I mean.”

“It felt weird,” he answered. “I don’t know how to describe it. Have you ever had a twitch? Everything was twitching. Not unpleasant, exactly, and definitely not painful, but very strange.”

“To clarify,” the wizard said, “the spell deliberately blocks the pain of the transmutation. A spell of a higher degree could accomplish the change without necessitating any pain, but this spell is of the Second Degree, and so takes care to transmute your nerves prior to making further alterations, before then restoring them when the change is done.”

Celaena had recovered enough to address Almon. “This isn’t permanent, right?”

“Correct. The spell is structured to collapse in reverse, and will do so when the choker is removed.” There, he allowed himself a small smile. “Usually, the subject asks that question — immediately.”

Iolas rolled his eyes. “Very funny. I knew it wasn’t going to be permanent.”

“No doubt, you guessed the function–”

“–Because of my sister’s friend.” Iolas studied his arms. “He always wears a bracelet, and my sister told me why. He has to wait another five years.” He interlinked his fingers, holding them together in front of himself as he addressed his master. “Apart from teaching me how discomforting this is… what’s the point of this lesson?”

Almon smirked to himself. “We’ll begin with observations about both transmutations. But before I bestow the Second Sight: Celaena, if you would please study Iolas for a moment…”

* * *

Beyond the mysticism of how Transmutation spells were cast, there were rules that governed the discipline. Throughout the ensuing discussion and examination, Saphienne inferred most of them, and Iolas the remainder; Celaena was clearly struggling to keep focused on the emerald threads and the abstract principles they embodied — distracted by the transmuted subject stood beside her.

First, living things were much harder to transmute than inanimate objects. This was not just a function of complexity, but an intrinsic property of life, and several theories proposed explanations for why it was so. What was not living – including dead flesh – could be transmuted with spells of a lower degree, and could be preserved from decline and decay relatively easily.

But living things could not be saved from aging via ordinary magic. A powerful transmutation might slow their decline, and extremely skilled mortal wizards might thereby prolong their own lives, perhaps indefinitely, but not even the High Masters of the Luminary Vale knew of a method to grant immortality to one born without it. Decay and decline accrued, to be temporarily abated at best.

Second, the extent of the change required determined the degree of magic necessary to achieve that change. Subjects with strong sympathetic semblance to the intended form could be transmuted more easily than subjects which bore no semblance to what the transmuter desired.

Third, the total size of the subject had to be preserved, which made certain transmutations much harder than they otherwise might have been. It was possible to render a subject larger or smaller, so long as the change was accounted for by incorporating another subject, one that would correspondingly shrink or grow. Needless to say, transmuting multiple subjects with the same spell was very challenging; yet even when transmuting just a single subject, the larger the subject, the greater the difficulty of the Transmutation spell became.

Fourth, permanent change was difficult. Much like Conjuration spells, Transmutation spells could maintain forms that were not naturally self-sustaining, including forms that were imperfectly understood by the wizard, but permanent transmutations required all changes to be completely realised. A transmuter had to know the subject and its final form with absolute clarity for the change to endure, and achieving change on that level required more powerful magic than temporary alterations.

Fifth, it was much harder for a transmuter to change his own form than that of another being — and more dangerous to attempt. Such spells required concentration while undergoing transmutation, and had to be approached with extreme caution.

Sixth, and finally for the day, an exasperated Almon conceded that yes, Saphienne, it was possible for a very skilled wizard to transmute spells and enchantments. A transmuter of the Third Degree could in fact use the discipline of Transmutation to pass control of a spell to another wizard capable of casting it, and an even more accomplished wizard of remarkable talent could transmute ongoing spells and enchantments. The principles governing this particular use of Transmutation were presently impossible for her to understand, however, and would remain so until she had cast her first spell — end of discussion.

* * *

After transcribing the history of the discipline and meditating upon a transmutation that gilded the two rods, the apprentices left the garden and went to another – by the teahouse – to share their notes. Iolas was relieved to have returned to his usual form… though not as relieved as Celaena was.

What was very funny to Saphienne was how, despite the older girl’s obviousness, Iolas hadn’t noticed Celaena’s reaction. He’d been too distracted by the transmutation alive in his flesh to pick up on how utterly she had been struck by him, and he only asked after her once she had calmed down, curious why she’d been so quiet for much of the lesson, assuming that she’d been bored. She demurred rather than answer, shooting Saphienne a sharp glance when she giggled.

As soon as Iolas went off to fetch drinks, Saphienne couldn’t resist teasing. “So, apart from magic, was there anything else you enjoyed studying tod–”

Red with embarrassment, Celaena shoved Saphienne away, swearing under her breath as her blush deepened. “He was just pretty! Don’t you dare mention a word of this to anyone — not Iolas, not Faylar, and definitely not Laewyn.”

Still laughing, Saphienne settled back amid the grass. “Would she be jealous?”

“No…” She fanned her ears. “…It’s worse than that. She also likes boys, and she knows I don’t. She’d find it hilarious.”

Sitting up, Saphienne reached out and squeezed her hand. “I won’t tell.” Yet as she glanced over to the teahouse where she had first seen Thessa, her sense of mischief stirred. “…He was pretty, though. Tell me: have you ever met his sister?”

* * *

Her family home was noticeably warmer than usual when Saphienne finally opened the front door. She had stayed later with Faylar than she intended, so long that night had fallen and the forest had cooled, and so she stood just inside in the sitting room to adjust to the bright and the heat, puzzled by the scent–

“Is that bread?”

She spoke her wonder aloud, her question directed to her mother, who she spied at work in the kitchen. When she received no answer she drifted toward her, dreamily leaving the satchel on the couch as she took off her outer robes.

Her mother was leaning against the kitchen table, facing the small oven that she seldom used with undivided concentration. She was wearing one of her usual silken robes, which only heightened the incongruity of the scene, coated as it was in a fine dusting of flour from her baking. Her hair was awkwardly tied back – with one of Saphienne’s bands, her daughter absently realised – so as not to get in the way.

Yet far more striking was the scene of chaos around the elf, the table and every available surface taken over by bowls, pans, ingredients — and the product of her extensive labour. Loaves of bread were set everywhere, all different sizes and shapes: some were half-baked, others burnt black, many disintegrated, and all quite flat.

Saphienne blinked. “Mother, what in the world are you doing?”

“I think I know.” She didn’t so much as glance at Saphienne. “I’m sure this one hasn’t worked either, so I think I know.”

“Know what?” Her eyes alighted on the loaf in the middle of the table, which was older, and staler–

“I think the recipe is wrong.” Lynnariel dragged her gaze away, smiling wanly at her daughter. “I doubted you’d made a mistake, and it went wrong for me, too. I tried varying the ingredients… but none of them came out right. I thought it might have been the yeast, but the new batch isn’t any different.” Her attention returned to the final loaf, still in the oven. “I tried other breads from the same book, and none of them have worked, either. If this one is flat as well…”

Blinking rapidly, at a loss for words, Saphienne backed up against the doorway. She needed what felt like an age to compose herself.

“…You’ve…” She swallowed, caught on the waves in her mother’s hair. “…You’ve been experimenting, to find out what I did wrong?” Fear and anger were quiet in her voice. “Why?”

“It just seemed like a shame.” Her arms were half-folded, her chin resting on one palm as she waited. “You went to all that trouble…”

“I didn’t.”

Still facing forward, her mother sadly smiled. “Well, you were very upset when the loaf didn’t rise. I just didn’t want you to get discouraged… or maybe, I just wanted to know for myself?” She shrugged. “I’m just like this, whenever I’m curious about something. I don’t let it go easily.”

“I really didn’t.”

Lynnariel – the elf, Lynnariel, not her mother – faced her with a friendly smile. “If you say so… but the good news is, you didn’t do anything wrong! The recipe is flawed. Aren’t you happy to know that, my darling?”

Saphienne saw herself reflected in her sober, ocean-green eyes…

And she fled to her room.

End of Chapter 54