“Master Saphienne. Do you recognise the authority of this seal?”

  Seven days after the festival had ended, when most visitors had left the Eastern Vale, Saphienne had been contacted by the Luminary Vale. She’d sensed a translocation early in the morning, and had come down from where she’d been curled around Laelansa to find an envelope waiting for her on her mother’s kitchen table. Succinct and formal, the message had surprised her by setting the interview at her house; she’d expected to be summoned to the home of her former master, Almon.

  She’d been given three days to make ready.

  Dressed in her ordinary robes of dim blue draped upon forest green, Saphienne bowed to the figures on her doorstep. “I acknowledge the representatives of the High Masters, and place myself and my sanctum at your disposal.” She remained bowed as she opened wide the repainted door – vivid green – and stepped aside.

  There were five investigators, or so she initially thought. Two stepped within immediately, while the remainder set about other business in the grove — one conjuring what Saphienne guessed was salt as he strode around the perimeter of her dwelling.

  “The sitting room will suffice,” declared the man who had addressed her, nodding approvingly at the furnishings as he slipped his credentials into his indigo sleeve. “Come in and be seated, Master Saphienne.”

  She crossed to her chair, which was new, as were the second chair and couch that replaced Taerelle’s furniture. Saphienne had gone through everything with Laelansa and put what they hadn’t wanted into storage, reorganising to make the house her own. Gone too were the shelves and the chalkboard, moved upstairs to clear space. Laelansa had proposed green and yellow would brighten the interior, and Saphienne had agreed, inviting Thessa to sketch pastoral scenes that would eventually decorate the walls.

  Those finishing touches would have to wait. “Before I sit,” Saphienne proposed, “might I offer you refreshments, Masters…?”

  The woman who’d entered with the man smiled politely, maintaining her distance as she went over to the couch and set down the backpack she was carrying. “While we appreciate your hospitality, this isn’t a social call.” She perched on the edge with intentional poise, her scarlet robes clashing with the emerald fabric. “We won’t be introducing ourselves, for we aren’t here as individuals.”

  “Today,” declared the man, “we are the Luminary Vale.”

  As though underscoring their point, powerful magic raised goosebumps on the back of Saphienne’s neck. An Abjuration spell had been cast, doubtlessly to ward the location against surveillance or intrusion…

  The woman in scarlet read her contemplation. “Fifth Degree: we will have privacy.”

  A third magician came into the sitting room and shut the front door. “Apologies; inquisitive spirits.” He was dressed in daytime yellow that tinged orange about the edges of his sleeves and hem, and unlike his peers he was not wearing outer robes, but carried a threadbare satchel over his shoulder that he unslung as he sat on the furthest end of the couch.

  “All three of us have attained the Fifth Degree,” confirmed the man in indigo, brushing his loose hair behind his ear. “We understand you have attained the Second Degree, in wizardry and sorcery both. Is this the full extent of your mastery?”

  Now wasn’t the time for Saphienne to quibble; she seated herself. “Yes.”

  “We also understand,” the woman in scarlet continued, “that you haven’t been interviewed before.” Her hair was styled in a tight, intricate braid that piled upon her crown and fanned behind her neck in a blonde halo, and she interlinked all but her index and middle fingers – which she steepled – as she sat forward, her amber gaze on Saphienne. “You will answer our questions truthfully. You may not cast spells without our explicit consent. All that transpires here falls under Luminary Privilege, and you may not repeat it to others without obtaining dispensation.”

  “However,” the man in indigo added, “you are not accused of wrongdoing. This investigation seeks to understand events objectively, following a standard of scrutiny established long ago. Should you require intermissions for comfort, such will be granted, so long as the timing is reasonable. Do you consent to proceed, and for our discussion to be recorded?”

  Saphienne let herself seem more intimidated than she was. “…Yes.”

  Noticing her hesitation, the man in yellow paused where he was in the middle of readying his calligraphy kit. “Learned Masters, if I may…?” Once they assented, he spoke to Saphienne. “You haven’t yet been admitted to the Luminary Vale, and so by custom you can request the attendance of a member under whom you studied. Do you wish either of your old friends to join us?”

  She’d wondered whether she would be informed of that right; she showed consideration for the suggestion. “This should be simple, so I don’t think I need an advocate… do I?”

  He accepted without passing comment. “In that case…”

  Weaving his hands, the man in yellow deftly conjured, creating a small writing board of pale wood as he lay his ankle atop his knee. He settled with the surface braced against his bent leg, setting paper upon it as he lifted a pen.

  “…I’m ready to proceed, Masters.”

  The woman in scarlet clasped her hands in her lap. “As am I.”

  Her peer in indigo inclined his head to Saphienne. “And you? Are you prepared?”

  That was an excellent question.

  * * *

  Previously, Saphienne had gone out to the woods west of the village. She knew Vestaele was as habitual as any other elf, and so she was contriving to appear as though she’d been out for a stroll when she heard the happy bark for which she’d been waiting.

  “Calamity!”

  Saphienne grinned and crouched as the drake bolted through the undergrowth to bound over–

  And skid to a halt as he neared, his bulging eyes panicking as he fell over himself.

  Saphienne blinked. “What’s wrong, boy?”

  At the sound of her voice, Calamity sat up and shook himself off, wary as he sniffed her outstretched hand. His frilled ears were pinned back against his head, and while his tail scythed in quick arcs through the grass, the pet was unsure about the magician he was usually excited to see.

  Vestaele was exasperated as she caught sight of Saphienne. “…I should have guessed. He only runs off like that for wolves, foxes, and you — and he’ll listen if he’s chasing canines.”

  Saphienne canted her head. “He seems anxious.”

  Approaching, Vestaele folded her arms. “How odd; he’s been fine until now. You aren’t wearing perfume? He’s sensitive to scents.”

  “No.” Did she smell different? Her diet hadn’t changed, and she hadn’t been intimate with Laelansa since bathing; even then, such things would be strange for an animal to care about.

  Calamity tentatively licked her fingers, his forked tongue flicking. He gave her a confused growl, as though bewildered by himself.

  His owner tutted. “Calamity, heel.”

  He ignored the command, pondering Saphienne.

  “No change there.” Vestaele tapped a finger on her elbow. “Related to the dragon?”

  “I don’t see how I could…” Saphienne faintly flushed as she realised she’d misunderstood. “…You may be right. Can he smell the dragon’s fire?”

  This made Vestaele cease tapping; the sorcerer uncrossed her arms as she sank down to drag her nails over his scales. “He was very interested in me when I came back from investigating the island, and was curious about the samples I brought home. Drakes and wyverns have an instinctual affinity for dragons.”

  Ah.

  “Strange, that he still smells it on you a week later. You’re amused?”

  Saphienne couldn’t have stopped smiling if she’d wanted to. “What a foolish little drake he is…” She switched to the tongue of dragons, guttural in speech as she scratched Calamity behind his ear. “You behold a dragon before you, little wyrmling! You are unsure of my intent. Heed me: we are at peace, and at peace we will remain.”

  Whether or not he understood, he responded well to her tone, and panted as he leaned into her touch, lifting his rear leg to mime scratching himself as she raked imagined claws over his hide.

  Vestaele grinned. “You do speak their tongue with skill. One might imagine even a dragon would be moved…”

  Provided a segue into what she needed, Saphienne didn’t immediately grasp it as she switched back to Elfish. “…Is my encounter with the dragon to become a preoccupation, Master Vestaele?”

  The fascinator rose. “That depends: is my young friend out here because she’s been told the day of her interview, or am I mistaken?”

  Her motives for their meeting looked transparent. She patted Calamity with a sigh. “What do you think, boy? Did your dragon friend fly off with all my subtlety? I think she may well have.”

  “This morning, I was informed that the investigation has progressed beyond my direct involvement.” Vestaele offered her hand. “I inferred from your presence that you’ve received word. If you wish to practice guile, I could pretend–”

  “I think not.” Saphienne let herself be helped up. “If you’d show charity to your former apprentice, how should I have approached you?”

  Vestaele let go as she resumed walking. “There wasn’t a better way. Your sole mistake was conceding that you’d been found out — you gave me the upper hand when I hadn’t shown offense.” She beckoned Calamity. “Next time, profess innocence, and see if your audience will play along.”

  “Noted.” Saphienne patted her thigh, inviting the drake to follow. “So, you know what I want today…”

  “Advice on how to present yourself.”

  Partially, that was true. Mostly, Saphienne wanted to test where, specifically, the wizards and sorcerers would probe her narrative — and to sow assumptions among them, when Vestaele inevitably passed on what she said. “I’m unfamiliar with the format, and the wizard in me prefers to be overprepared.”

  “That is hardly a preference unique to wizards.” Vestaele wasn’t irked by Saphienne, rather by prejudices toward sorcerers. “I can tell you about the structure of the interview, what to expect, and your entitlements. Since you haven’t yet been welcomed into the vale, you would ordinarily be able to request my attendance as your former master.”

  Had Vestaele deliberately been brought into the investigation to preclude that?

  “Whatever,” Saphienne wondered aloud, “could repay your sage guidance?”

  “Our promise to share knowledge after the investigation is sufficient.”

  There were many reasons Vestaele supported her young friend, and not all of them were driven by self-interest. “…You would’ve advised me regardless.”

  Vestaele raised her eyebrows in mock indignity. “Why, never!”

  Saphienne appreciated dry humour. “Then I’ll grant my old friend a courtesy: tell me what you’re most curious about, and I’ll repeat whichever parts of my quarrel with the dragon are in the public record and pertinent.”

  Her proposal – that she imply to Vestaele what shouldn’t be shared before the investigation concluded – met thoughtful review. “…Three questions: how did the dragon come to be here, how were you able to drive it off, and – frankly – how are you still alive?”

  She foresaw a winding path ahead. “I see. As Faylar recounted …”

  Calamity trotted between them as she rambled.

  * * *

  Saphienne smiled pleasantly. “I believe so. Ask away.”

  At once the man in yellow started writing — and he would continue throughout what followed. On the opposite end of the couch, the woman in scarlet cast a spell, strands of pale, violet light laced between her fingers as she brought them to her face, where her pupils were transfigured into forbidding white ringed in purple.

  Saphienne coughed as the compulsion to be forthright sputtered out. “Excuse me,” she said to the man in indigo, “but I should make you aware that I’m very resistant to fascinations. If you’re concerned I’m going to be evasive, a more advanced spell than Stern Inquisition will be necessary.”

  Her admission didn’t dissuade the unblinking woman. “The divinatory component remains effective.”

  The man to whom Saphienne had spoken was less dismissive. “Your candour is appreciated, but our use of the spell is obliged by precedent.” He crossed his arms loosely and began to pace back and forth, sedate and unhurried as he began his inquiry. “Let us start by establishing the facts…”

  Saphienne squared her shoulders. “Gladly. I tried to tell the regional consensus that I’m not the hero they–”

  He waved her to silence. “We will come to that. Set the scene for us. Why had you gone to the lake, and what were you doing there?”

  She reclined. “I went there to meet my girlfriend – Laelansa – and our friends. She and I had been invited to visit the lake by Apprentice Iolas, and I’d told them to go without me. When I arrived, Laelansa was communing with the spirit who guides her novitiate – Mother Marigold – and Apprentice Iolas was busy with his sister, Thessa, so I sat to meditate in the shade.”

  “Why did you tell them to go on ahead?”

  “I wanted to see another friend — one of my masters, from before I studied the Great Art. She’s antisocial, so I knew she’d be staying home.”

  Curious, the man in indigo hummed. “Was this a prior appointment? No? Then why visit her then?”

  “She made the jewellery I was wearing–” Saphienne remembered the finger rings and bangle on her left hand. “Excuse me. She made most of the jewellery I was wearing: I fashioned this enchantment to help with my impairment, and I don’t regard it as jewellery. I’d been thinking about what a joyful occasion it was, and it made me want to speak to her.”

  The man in yellow raised his head. “Learned Master, is this relevant?”

  “Perhaps it might have been,” admitted the pacing man. “For the sake of completeness, why didn’t you approach Apprentice Iolas and Thessa?”

  Her eyes flitted to the written record. “May I ask a question?”

  He stopped. “…Interesting. Yes.”

  “Are my answers likely to be made available for general consumption?”

  His lips curled up at their corners. “You have concerns?”

  “About hurting someone’s feelings.”

  All three investigators chuckled.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The man in indigo returned to his measured stride. “Anything extraneous will not be included in the report, and only a High Master will have access to the notes.”

  That suggested Lenitha. “They were standing next to the statue on the island,” she confessed, “and I dislike it. My master in the art of sculpture – well, former master, but I’m still studying with them – made it, and I try to avoid occasion to comment.”

  The woman in scarlet spoke up. “‘Them’?”

  “In the singular. Gaeleath hasn’t settled on their gender.”

  The man in yellow interjected. “Gaeleath was formerly an apprentice wizard. They’ve been interviewed, and are uninvolved.”

  Saphienne let her consternation show. “You’ve been speaking to my associates?”

  “Several of them, yesterday.” He continued writing.

  She’d only anticipated witnesses being queried. “Forgive my naivety; I should have expected thoroughness.”

  Refocusing, the man in indigo summarised the scene. “So you had gone up to the lake to meet your lover and friends, and seeing they were occupied, you chose to meditate on the edge of the beach.”

  “I was on the grass.”

  “We are led to understand you were seated there when a dragon flew down from the sky and landed in the lake.” He exercised notable, mild scepticism, not assuming the narrative was factual yet not discounting its possibility. “Is this accurate?”

  “As far as I know. I’m reasonably confident my memory hasn’t been tampered with, and my experience suggests the dragon wasn’t a hallucination.”

  “And you and Apprentice Iolas were the only magicians present?”

  “I don’t know for certain, but that’s my understanding. A tournament of spellcraft was underway to the south of the village–”

  The woman in scarlet cut her off. “Why weren’t you participating?”

  Saphienne faced her questioner with calm conviction. “I would have won. That would have been unfair on the magicians in my division.”

  The man in yellow laughed to himself, then murmured an apology.

  His amusement wasn’t shared by the woman beside him. “You seem convinced.”

  “My arcana is well suited to counterspelling. I shouldn’t compete where I have an advantage that exceeds the assumptions of the game — I’ve got nothing to prove.”

  “Commendable,” the man in indigo observed. “Do you know why Apprentice Iolas was not in attendance?”

  “No… but my guess is that it’s because he’s having difficulties with his studies, and wanted to take his mind off them.”

  His next question was quick. “When did you first become aware of the dragon?”

  “Later than everyone else, I think.” She leant forward. “I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, and I didn’t catch that there was a disturbance until she was overhead–”

  The man in yellow glanced up. “She?”

  “I asked her name before she departed, and she gave it in gendered form: Parthenos. Were the suffix ‘-or’ I would have inferred she was male–”

  “We all speak the tongue of dragons.” The woman in scarlet rose. “That’s very unusual: dragons don’t typically use the gendered forms of their names unless they’re seeking a mate. They care little for gender outside of reproduction…”

  Her peer in yellow lifted his pen. “Learned Master, forgive me: wouldn’t it be more correct to say that they only associate gender with reproductive role?”

  She bowed to him. “Yes; I was preoccupied by the novelty.” Her attention shifted back to Saphienne as he resumed writing. “Why did the dragon announce herself so? Did you make an assertion she was refuting?”

  Her colleague in indigo frowned, and his gaze swung from her to the man who’d sought clarification. “…I believe we are jumping ahead.”

  The man in yellow didn’t blush. “You’re quite right. Master Saphienne was telling us how the dragon arrived?”

  “She was,” concurred the woman in scarlet, folding her arms about herself. “Master Saphienne noticed the dragon when she was overhead — how close was she?”

  Having been mulling over Parthenos’ motives, Saphienne set them aside. “Close enough that the treetops broke against her scales. She was gliding down to the lake, and she roared a warning to everyone.”

  “You interpret it that way?”

  “She confirmed it.” Saphienne fanned the childish impatience that flickered inside herself, evoking its emotion as she crossed her arms. “Masters, why delay? You know there was a dragon, and have heard that I commanded her to leave; you’re understandably disbelieving that I’m still here to talk about it. I’ve tried to relate what actually transpired, and thus far no one has been willing to listen.

  “We can go over it all second by second, and repeatedly, but you won’t find meaningful inconsistencies in my story — for there aren’t any to be found.” She appealed to the two nearest investigators. “Do you want to hear it? May we dispense with this preamble?”

  Cloth rustled as the man in indigo took to the vacated seat. “As you see fit…”

  He wasn’t talking to Saphienne. The woman in scarlet examined her, fingers once more interlinked and steepling as she loomed over her. “Permitting you to define the narrative we’re to interrogate would be unwise — so no.”

  Exhibiting resignation, Saphienne slumped in her chair. “Please continue, Master.”

  Her gambit worked. “To expedite,” the woman in scarlet decided, “I’ll treat you under the assumption that you’re hostile to questioning. I’ll be incisive, and if you’re anything less than direct–”

  “Understood.” She squared her shoulders.

  “Master Saphienne.” Piercing white pupils bore into her. “How did the dragon reach the Eastern Vale?”

  * * *

  Two days prior, Saphienne had gone back to the tent pavilion where she regularly practiced her sculpture with Gaeleath.

  Pleased to see her again, they made no mention of her heroics, though they abandoned their own work to hover close by and offer advice on her technique as she eased herself back into her routine with engravings on discarded stone. She was relieved, then felt foolish, for Gaeleath had never been one to pry into her affairs.

  Halfway through, Saphienne paused to massage her hand. “…You know, for five years now, I’ve wondered about the advice you gave me.”

  Gaeleath was holding up a fragment she’d worked on, better to examine its minute details in the daylight streaming through the entrance. “I imagine I was being frivolous, speaking without thinking, and you’ve read more than I ever intended…” They lowered the granite with a grin. “Ah, but mutterings of that sort can be telling. What caught you by your ears, Saphienne?”

  “You advised me about portraiture? Before the winter solstice?”

  Their expression grew faintly reserved. Casually, or so they would have it seem, Gaeleath flipped closed the way in as they meandered back to her plinth. “…Fair to say that your art has greatly improved, since those early days.”

  They were willing to talk about the Great Art, so long as the two of them were circumspect. “You advised me to try myself against a more difficult subject — so I switched from partial sketches to full figures. It worked–”

  Gaeleath was staring at her, stunned.

  “…I think this answers my question. I misunderstood?”

  The sculptor had chosen a masculine style that morning — save for their lips, which were painted pale blue; they distractedly smeared the colour as they rubbed their chin. “Saphienne, it would be fair to say that you understood what you needed to hear, which was more than I’d thought to tell you.” They smiled wryly. “My guess at the time was that the subject you were working on seemed best fitted to your artistic temperament, but the lack of challenge was holding you back. What I suggested was that you change subjects…”

  Saphienne blinked. Gaeleath had only been suggesting she try a different spell, from a different discipline.

  “…Difficulty and complexity aren’t the same. I never would have thought to say you should try more intricate renderings.” They narrowed their eyes. “Especially since you were working on such small pages. Did someone supply a bigger canvass?”

  She hesitated. “Would you believe, I borrowed some paper from an old friend? They forgave me after the fact.”

  Gaeleath was slow to digest her crime. “…And the people you showed your piece to, they thought highly of it?”

  Sharing the whole situation was beyond the limits of indirect speech. “In the end, the art spoke well of the artist.”

  Never before had Saphienne felt envy from Gaeleath, but for a fleeting moment she felt their yearning, and the unworthy resentment that they immediately rejected, reminded that the sculptor before her had been barred from progress in the Great Art for far longer than she’d been alive. Their happiness for her was weak, but sincere. “…When I was younger, I tried unconventional approaches, believing that the critics would ignore the process if they were swayed by the result. Nothing quite so daring as you’ve been up to.”

  They’d ignored restrictions when studying the First Degree. “Were I to guess, you played with many mediums, rather than focusing on one?”

  “A mere dabbler; ever has that been my flaw.”

  Fury on their behalf made Saphienne cease stretching her hand. “Strange you should say that…” She lifted her chisel, began sharpening it. “…I know we’re not allowed to talk about my greatest art, and I would never discuss its particulars with you. What I can say, however, is that I suspect fellow magicians look on my mastery of Transmutation and Hallucination the same way — that I would be more accomplished were I to have devoted myself entirely to one or the other.”

  Gaeleath didn’t dare to breathe.

  “Honestly?” She kept her gaze on the fine edge. “I feel like it’s the other way around. While I was meticulously conventional in choosing my focus as a sorcerer, and then again as a wizard, I tried not to neglect the others. In fact, I suspect I could have easily proven my mastery as an abjurer, or a conjurer, or a diviner, or a fascinator, or an invoker, or a translocator, if I hadn’t been called to be a transmuter and hallucinator.”

  They were silent.

  “I’ve always found inspiration in many different arts.” She repeated her motions on the other side of the tool. “Calligraphy; bookbinding; tailoring; jewellery; shoemaking; sculpture; illustration; wizardry; and sorcery. The mediums vary in the skills required to work them, and the prestige in which they’re held, but underneath? All artforms are the same, and so all art is great. I think what matters most is whatever we’re expressing… for if to understand art is to understand oneself, and to understand art is to make art? Then to make art is to understand oneself… and perhaps to make oneself, in the end.”

  Testing the chisel, she found it honed, and placed it down as she peered back–

  To find Gaeleath in soundless tears.

  * * *

  Saphienne was under no illusions: she was still coping with her troubles by outrunning them, controlling her feelings by intellectualising them. She would forever be sprinting across ice that cracked with every step, she believed, and she would never be allowed to know peace… for that would mean death.

  Yet for all she was irreligious, Saphienne embraced the endless hunt. What did it matter if she ran? What she ran to was more important. Nelathiel may have failed to give Saphienne faith, but the priest had taught her how to keep pace when far from shore.

  She wasn’t blindly running away from consequences any longer; she was running toward a goal. The distinction was meaningful.

  And Gaeleath, too, had instructed Saphienne.

  “…If you would mislead others, you had best remember: every deception rests on a truth, just as everything that’s true depends upon a lie…”

  Every artist who rendered the truth did so with lies. Stone was not flesh; illustration was deception; art was predicated upon false vision. There was no consequentialist justification – the end could never justify the means – and so people insisted otherwise, but life was full of falsehoods, for life and art were interwoven, not in imitation, but in reflection, the world unfolding from their tension. Anything could be art, for life was everything.

  Therefore, lying was an artform.

  And like all art, what counted was what she expressed.

  “I’m not familiar with the defences the Luminary Vale has instituted against dragons,” Saphienne answered the woman in scarlet, “so I offer no conjecture there. I can tell you what Parthenos told me: a great wyrm has awoken from slumber in the east, dragons have been joining their flight, and she was driven out when she declined to go along with them. She was wounded, one of her wings torn off, and had stopped to rest when she was set upon by a dragonslayer, who lanced her before she dispatched them.

  “Others came after her before she had time to tend to her wounds,” she continued, “and she conjured a temporary wing to fly westward in a hurry. The lance dug deeper as she flew, and when she was somewhere over the woodlands it became too painful to beat her wings — she was forced to glide, and chose the lake as the safest place to land. So yes,” Saphienne emphasised, “she was roaring a warning to get out of her way, lest she crush anyone beneath her.”

  The man in indigo nodded, and reached into the backpack by the couch, bringing out a vial very much like the one Almon had used to preserve her blood. “That would appear to explain why this covered the island.”

  Within, the glittering crimson attracted the gaze of the man in yellow, who continued writing without looking as he beckoned for the vial to be passed to him.

  Their companion in scarlet was unconvinced. “What remains unexplainable, however, is why a dragon concerned enough to warn people would then attack them.”

  Saphienne pretended weariness. “You have it the wrong way around. We attacked her, the moment she pulled herself out of the lake. No one thought to try communicating — the wardens ran in and began shooting arrows.”

  “Her fire was scoured along the beach.”

  “Yes, and it just as easily could have scoured the wardens.” She folded one leg atop the other, resting her elbows on the arms of her chair. “Consider events from her perspective. She was badly injured, probably panicking, having survived being brutalised by her own kind and then nearly assassinated by a human who assumed she was a monster. Her strength gave out, and she aimed for the only safe place to land — and probably didn’t see the elves until she cleared the treeline. She shouted a warning, and then through luck hit the water.

  “Even more mercifully,” Saphienne noted, “she was able to crawl out onto dry land, rather than drown. I suspect she was dazed; I would have been. But what happened? The same thing as sent her fleeing: she was assumed to be a monster, and attacked.” Unexpected anger flared in her chest, to be smothered. “Given the circumstances, we’re very lucky she restrained herself. She drove the wardens back with water, then used fire to draw a line in the sand — warning them to come no further.”

  “Why not tell them to withdraw?”

  “Did she speak Elfish?” Saphienne didn’t think so. “Had she any reason to believe her attackers spoke the tongue of dragons? To reiterate, she was badly injured, and being pelted with arrows.”

  The man in yellow was mild as he interrupted. “You’re sympathetic?”

  “A little.” Saphienne’s blush wasn’t entirely willed. “I’m just as guilty as everyone else of assuming the worst. I didn’t pause to think.”

  The woman in red tilted to the side. “Onlookers say she went for the children.”

  “She was larger than the tree grown over the statue.” Saphienne used her good hand to impede her interrogator’s view of her eyes. “From that vantage, she couldn’t easily see who was hiding in there. I don’t know this for sure, but I think she approached to determine whether there was another threat there, because she couldn’t risk being ambushed while removing the lance. She was pushing the branches aside when I reached her.”

  “So you never fought?”

  Here, the world demanded Saphienne be a great artist. “I didn’t know her intentions. I wrongly believed she was dangerous, and challenged her, declaring that she had intruded, and commanding her to leave the woodlands. I’d never encountered draconic mannerisms, but in retrospect? She laughed me off, and told me to leave her be. Things escalated.”

  Quietly, the man draped in indigo asked, “How did you expect to survive?”

  Saphienne wasn’t acting when she faltered. “…I didn’t.”

  The scrape of pen against paper faltered, too.

  “I didn’t back down. She tried to push me away like the wardens, returned her attention to the statue… my intuition is that she’d decided I wasn’t an immediate threat, since I’d spoken rather than acted. I protected myself with Ward Against Momentum, then insulted her to keep her focused on me. We exchanged remarks, and then she conjured her fire.”

  The woman in scarlet took the bait. “Onlookers describe you being enveloped — and the ground showed signs of vitrification in two wedges, as though deflected around a ward. Ward Against Momentum is useless against a dragon’s fire; did you employ another?”

  “No.”

  “Then how,” she pressed, “are you not dead?”

  Saphienne visibly steeled herself. “Her fire wasn’t deflected by a spell.”

  “Yet it was deflected?”

  Under the strict definition of the word… “Yes.”

  All three interviewers were keenly focused on her now.

  “And what,” asked the man in indigo, “deflected the dragon’s fire?”

  One, and only one, lie. “Under the law that binds all elven magicians,” Saphienne said as she stood, “I cannot be compelled to share my discovery. My finding is of significance — and belongs to me by right. I respectfully refuse to elaborate further.”

  She smiled serenely.

  “Any other questions?”

  * * *

  Vestaele wrongly believed Saphienne possessed a magical secret that had allowed spells of the Second Degree to contest a dragon.

  That was, of course, ludicrous, and could be falsified by more skilled magicians.

  However, Saphienne had first encountered what she later learned was termed ‘the law of arcana’ when she’d been fourteen, upon devising a method to pierce gross perceptual veils that didn’t rely on spellcasting. Magic or not, any secret that was pertinent to the magical belonged to whoever discovered it — and what were dragons, if not supremely magical?

  This insight was what Saphienne had planned around. If she could seed the investigation with the assumption that she had, once again, arrived at a solution completely outside the bounds of elven magic, then so long as she was careful, no one could disprove her claim. Vestaele reporting back had made that trivial; all Saphienne had done during their walk in the woods was encourage her conjecture.

  Most beautifully? While extraordinary claims necessitated extraordinary proof, she wasn’t manufacturing the evidence. She hadn’t even needed to gather it.

  The investigators had done that for her, and were confident in their work.

  * * *

  Her interviewers in scarlet and indigo were, of course, dissatisfied.

  “What you attest to is unbelievable …”

  “If your claim is valid, then the benefit to elven society would be …”

  “At least tell us whether it can be taught to …”

  “What about the fire?” The man in indigo had grown stern. “Witnesses say you conjured green fire to drive away the dragon — is this true?”

  “I did.” Saphienne returned to her chair. “I was able to scrutinise the dragon’s fire up close for a protracted period, and I used my arcana to replace Evocation of Flame with a new sigil that was inspired by what I saw. That was sufficient to–”

  “Sorry…” The woman in scarlet rubbed her nose. “…You’re claiming you not only developed a new sigil right then and there, and used it against the dragon, but that this sigil incorporated insights from dragons’ fire?”

  Her peer grew dour. “Unusual arcana or no: simply impossible.”

  “I agree. Even if you’re profoundly gifted, draconic magic takes years to apprehend, dragons’ fire is even more maddening, and you’ve had no opportunity for the prerequisite study to even make the attempt. It can’t be done…”

  She turned to the man in yellow.

  “…Can it?”

  Still studying the vial of dried blood, he smirked. “I don’t think I could, but as for Master Saphienne?” He left the thought incomplete as he set down his pen and reviewed his most recent page. “I think I have enough. Thank you both: I’ll take it from here.”

  Dread rising from her depths, Saphienne watched the woman in scarlet and the man in indigo both bow to their senior before they went out the front door.

  He continued reading.

  “…I see.” Saphienne fought down her panic. “Going unnoticed isn’t just the preference of High Master Lenitha.”

  “She taught me the value.” The High Master looked up at Saphienne. “Same as you.”

  “When I heard you’d all attained the Fifth Degree–”

  “I don’t expect you’ll fall for that again.” He was entertained. “I did wonder whether, when you were asked about the ‘full extent’ of your attainment, you would reconsider the wording… but you were too busy preparing your evasion.”

  Saphienne swallowed. “High Master–”

  “Elduin.” He set aside his writing board and interlinked his fingers. “If I may call you Saphienne, then call me Elduin. That would make conversation easier…”

  His pale brown eyes fixed on her.

  “…For we have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

  End of Chapter 119

  Chapter 120 releases Friday the 6th of March 2026.

  Thanks for reading!