Saphienne, Celaena, and Iolas were all very excited for their first practical lesson in magic, and when their master stood to begin, the three apprentices straightened up where they sat cross-legged on the floor before him. Yet all of them were teenagers, and all felt it very important not to show too much enthusiasm before Almon — lest they appear childish.

Each attempted to hide their interest in different ways. Iolas took off his satchel and unpacked his writing kit; Celaena rolled her shoulders back and sat attentively, hands clasped; and Saphienne canted her head to the side and eyed the wizard with feigned suspicion, as though she were sceptical about what was to come.

Almon was not fooled. “Or,” he said, his tone playful, “since you appear disinterested, perhaps you would prefer that we talk about–”

Saphienne jerked forward. “Stop teasing us!”

Iolas glanced at Saphienne, looked back up at Almon. “…Please?”

Celaena said nothing, only pleaded with her eyes.

“Very well.” Enjoying their full attention, he took his time rolling up the long sleeves of his robes. “I am going to cast a spell on you — the most important spell of all, one learned by every competent wizard. This spell comes in many forms and is known by many different names, but all accomplish the same goal, and all rely upon the eldest discipline of magic: the discipline of Divination.”

Enthralled, they watched as he walked to one of the bookshelves and retrieved a slim book, which he opened and began to read from. “‘Ask any common person about the preoccupation of wizards and sorcerers, and they will say that magic is their preoccupation. This is not so. Those who would become masters of the Great Art are first and foremost pursuers of the unseen, cataloguers of the unknown, and historians of the forgotten.’” He closed the book. “That phrase – ‘pursuers of the unseen’ – contains within it the whole of our practice, to my mind. The most potent magic is not that which conjures, or beguiles, or deceives, but that which unveils.”

Setting the book on his chair, he stepped next to Iolas. “The spell I will cast falls below the First Degree, and yet it is perhaps the most powerful spell in the world. All other magic depends upon its use. It will be the second spell you learn–”

Saphienne couldn’t help herself. “Shouldn’t it be the first?”

Almon glared. “Saphienne, what did I say about trust, only a few minutes ago?”

She bit her lip. “…Sorry.”

“As I was about to say,” he continued, testily, “it will be the second spell you learn, however, because you must first learn to sense intuitively what it reveals explicitly.” He settled himself, flexing his fingers. “And, as I said before, this spell is called by many names. This particular formulation is called the Second Sight — there are others which affect other senses, and more sophisticated incantations can affect all the senses at once, or supersede them entirely.”

The wizard paused; he regarded all three apprentices sternly. “This spell will allow you to see magic…” He raised a hand in caution. “…But heed my warning! Once the spell is cast upon you, magic will be revealed in this room — magic that has remained invisible to you until now. You are free to contemplate what you see with all due wonder, but you must not, under any circumstances, attempt to disbelieve its existence.”

Iolas and Celaena slowly turned to look at Saphienne.

She managed a weak smile. “You’ve used Hallucination to hide something?”

Almon shook his head. “Not in the way you think. But there is a spell from the discipline of Hallucination alive in this room, and once you are able to perceive it, you must continue to be able to perceive it after your Second Sight has ended. If you disbelieve, it will cease to exist — but only for you.”

Saphienne frowned. “But, the other spell failed for everyone when–”

Celaena turned to her, hands clasped together. “Saphienne… let him teach us?”

Whatever she needed to understand, Saphienne decided she could wait. “All right.”

Their master was smiling. “For what little it’s worth,” he said as his hands began to weave through the air, “that is an astute observation. Let us see how many more you will have…”

Focusing on the spell, his concentration caused a pale, white light to appear between his palms, and then the light grew brighter as the wizard whispered a few syllables that echoed weirdly around the room. For all that the spell was meant to be simple, Almon was totally absorbed in bringing it into being, and he repeated the same motions and breathed the same word two more times, perspiration on his skin by the time he was done. The eerie light of the Divination spell settled over and obscured his left hand; the spell’s glow was even and steady, but half-glimpsed, geometric shapes flickered within its depths.

Solemnly, Almon reached out and touched Iolas on his brow, causing the light to diminish by a third — and white motes to momentarily appear in the boy’s eyes. The apprentice sat there, stunned, as Almon moved on to Celaena, who gasped when the magic settled into her, looking around the room in growing astonishment.

Then it was Saphienne’s turn, and she closed her eyes.

She heard Almon chuckle, and then flinched in surprise as the wizard flippantly tapped her forehead.

* * *

What was it she saw, as the Second Sight took hold?

At first, Saphienne saw nothing at all — only the impressions of shapes throughout the room, fading now that her eyes had closed. Bright light briefly flashed across her vision when the wizard touched her head, as though someone had waved a lit candle in her face; the flash left a coloured streak behind, like a sunspot.

Then – as she watched – the streak bled across her vision until it covered her entire field of view, becoming luminous and colourful, white and blue and violet hues swaying and shimmering before her eyes. More vibrant than any rainbow, they moved as though she were watching them reflected in the surface of a pond — distorted by ripples. Yet the more the ripples spread and collided across the surface, the less the reflection was warped by any single one, until at last the warring waves found their harmony and the full, coloured reflection slid into focus.

Saphienne inhaled sharply.

Seen through her closed eyes, fading white sparkles outlined the wizard as he returned to his chair, his silhouette glimmering faintly against an overwhelming background of sapphire — which emanated from near the window, and carried upon it purple specks like snowflakes on a steady breeze.

And the source of that blue?

Saphienne turned, and her mouth opened — along with her eyes.

Roosting on the windowsill was the strangest bird she had ever seen.

Perhaps a foot in length from its taloned feet to its crested brow, the bird had the beak and intelligent eyes of a parrot, the wings of a falcon, and long tail plumage that curled beneath the windowsill like a male peacock’s. The bird’s largest feathers were bright, literally glaring yellow and green, though its breast and neck were iridescent blue; so too its eyes glowed blue, but dimly, like they were reflecting a clear sky in the afternoon.

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And although the animal was striking, far more striking still was the star of blue and violet that the Second Sight showed shining within its heart. That spectacle alone dispersed any doubts Saphienne might have had: the bird was no bird at all, but a spell.

A spell, which sounded cheerful. “Hello!”

Saphienne glanced back at Celaena and Iolas, and saw the same astonishment she felt.

Not only astonishment. Celaena suddenly grinned. “I knew he had a familiar!”

“He does,” the bird answered. “A pleasure to meet you, Celaena. You’re very astute. Do you like my feathers?” The bird unfurled its wings, and preened.

Saphienne looked to Almon, who was watching her with guarded amusement. “Did you make this?”

The wizard shrugged. “Ask him. His name’s Peacock.”

“Oh, how rude of me.” The bird buried his beak under a wing, pantomiming shyness, then perked back up. “I’m pleased to meet you too, Saphienne. My name’s Peacock. You gave me quite a fright, that first night in the clearing. I hope you’ll be kind enough to accept me… unlike the flowers.”

Saphienne continued to address Almon. “Is he a spell? Are you making him do this?”

“My master is most certainly not,” Peacock answered her, sounding wounded. “He’s never been able to make me do anything. In fact, it’s a matter of debate whether he made me at all.”

Iolas recovered. “What are you?”

“And a pleasure to meet you, too, Iolas.” Peacock bobbed on the windowsill. “Your calligraphic interpretation of the poem was quite wonderful, I must say.”

“You were there?”

“In a manner of speaking. I could only see you faintly — we hadn’t been introduced.” Shimmying along, the bird leapt and flapped its wings, landing on the edge of one of the bookshelves. “To answer your question: I’m a familiar. I’m also a figment. A fig-miliar? A fam-ent? A familiar figment, let’s say.”

Saphienne stared at the wizard. “What’s a figment?”

Almon gestured to his bird. “Tell her. Explain yourself, Peacock.”

With a flurry of feathers that made Saphienne jump, Peacock flew down to sit on the writing board in front of her, pushing up on the points of his claws to stare insistently into her face. “A figment,” he told her, “is a form of spell cast from the discipline of Hallucination. Figments are independent hallucinations that are sustained by the belief of more than one person — a figment not just of your imagination, but the imaginations of many people.”

Saphienne blinked. “What happens if someone stops believing?”

“I cease to exist,” Peacock answered, hanging his head. Then he cackled, and puffed up his chest. “…For them! And they cease to exist for me. But so long as others believe in me, the spell that gives me life continues, fuelled by my connection to Almon.”

“Master Almon,” Celaena interjected, “of what use is… an illusionary familiar?”

Peacock hopped onto her writing board, and his voice was a perfect imitation of the girl’s as he threw her own insult back at her. “Cheeky bitch!”

Almon clapped his hands. “Behave, Peacock.”

The familiar imitated his master flawlessly, though his tone was pompous. “‘Behave, Peacock!’ Such a powerful wizard you are, ordering around your poor, enslaved figment.”

The wizard responded with a sigh. “He’s not enslaved. He just thinks he’s funny.”

“Thinks? How dare you! I am. And at least one of us is!”

Saphienne rubbed her eyes. “What about her question?”

“I’m useful for many things,” Peacock replied, hopping back onto her board. “I sing, I dance, I tell sophisticated jokes for appreciation by only the finest–”

Almon spoke over his bird. “He assists in the casting and maintenance of my spells, particularly my hallucinations. The night I surrounded you with flowers, it was Peacock who maintained the spell after I had finished its casting.”

“Powered by his belief,” Peacock added, turning his head to stare pointedly at Saphienne with one eye. “When you collapsed the belief, it wasn’t my fuck up.”

Utterly nonplussed by the cavorting, magical bird, Saphienne shook her head. “Why are you… like this?”

“Talented? Beautiful?” The bird swayed from side to side, unfurling his wings. “Dare I joke, debonair, if you’re as well-read as you say?”

Saphienne just stared.

“No fun,” the bird sighed. Turning away, he glared across his shoulder, then fluttered up and landed on the back of Almon’s tall chair, shifting around to sweep his tail feathers behind his wings. “The great Master Almon holds court over his many supplicants and apprentices, but tell me: what is a court without a fool?” He lifted and fanned out his tail, the yellow and blue swirls mesmerising.

Almon rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. The answer is–”

“And since the position of fool is already occupied,” Peacock pressed on, dropping his tail, “and the fool presently seated upon his throne — it falls to me, the comparatively humble Peacock, to furnish wise and judicious counsel.”

Celaena coughed. “Master… is there a purpose to this behaviour?”

The wizard’s expression was mildly pained. “Less a purpose than a consequence. Familiars are invested with sentience by their masters, which is to say that their minds are the seeming of their master’s dreaming.” He steepled his fingers. “As a disciple of Hallucination, my imagination is full of all sorts of glamour and senseless frivolity, from which Peacock unconsciously took shape, assembled from discarded, half-formed concepts.”

Peacock gave a loud click. “Or, one might say: from cuts of the finest material, as often remain on the drafting board.”

“Quiet, bird.”

“Shan’t.”

Almon ignored him. “His quarrelsome disposition has one virtue: irritation helps sustain the belief necessary to maintain him as a figment.”

“He means he’s fond of me, really.”

“You can see,” Almon addressed them, “why I do not introduce him to others. But such is unavoidable when the magic that comprises his being is laid bare.” The wizard almost looked apologetic. “Now you’re stuck with him, too.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“No,” Almon admitted, “there are some small benefits to his acquaintance. For one thing, he knows much about magic, and can answer minor questions when I am otherwise occupied. For another, he can record and repeat messages without error.”

Peacock promptly demonstrated. “‘No, there are some small benefits to his acquaintance. For one thing–’”

“Enough.” Almon’s patience had run out, and for once his familiar quietened.

Saphienne had been thinking throughout the exchange. “You said it was important not to disbelieve him,” she said. “If disbelieving him wouldn’t damage the spell, why does it matter?”

For the first time since they met, Almon looked deeply embarrassed.

Peacock bent down to look him in the eye. “Tell her. Explain yourself, Almon.”

As though it were agonising to speak, Almon looked up at the ceiling, searching for the words. “Because,” he admitted, voiced strained, “if you’d snubbed him like that…”

His familiar continued to stare.

“…He wouldn’t have shut up about it.” He sounded so very tired. “Not for weeks.”

The bird swivelled toward them, opening his beak in the imitation of a grin.

Saphienne’s sides hurt as she supressed her laughter.

* * *

With Peacock hushed and shooed back to the windowsill, Almon reclaimed some of his dignity by standing and circling around the parlour as he spoke. “Returning now to the purpose of this exercise,” he said, “the Second Sight will remain active for perhaps an hour. You are to use this time to examine whatever magic you can see, and to write down your observations, which we will then discuss.”

Apart from the parrot-like familiar, and subtle blue sparkles that trailed behind Almon’s robes, Saphienne could see nothing else to study. She considered each glimmer carefully as she reached into her satchel and fetched out her writing kit, stopping only when she noticed Celaena searching through her own pack with urgency.

Saphienne knew that look. Without a word, she slid her pens and inks and paper halfway between them both, returning her attention to the magic as an idea took form. Celaena froze, then lifted one of the pens with a barely visible nod of thanks.

Almon had stopped by the window. “Take care to note any differences. This is an exercise in discernment, observing the smallest–”

Saphienne stood, interrupting him.

“Saphienne? Is something the matter, child?”

She shook her head. “You said we have up to an hour.” Moving slowly, studying her surroundings, Saphienne walked over to the parlour’s entrance.

Almon raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

Iolas watched her open the door, and called after her. “Where are you going?”

Staring out into the woodland, Saphienne answered across her shoulder. “To look for more magic. One of you two should stay here.”

She didn’t wait to hear his reply. She had less than an hour, and so much to see.

End of Chapter 16