Up ahead, the path dipped into a valley, flanked on either side by majestic mountains. Perry noticed the change in Eva—her steps seemed lighter, her fingers barely resting in his, a quiet smile playing at her lips.
Wheat fields stretched out on either side of the path. On the right, ripe grain swayed gently behind sturdy fences. But the left side had long been abandoned. Thistles tangled through scattered wheat, the fences lay broken, and a wooden shed slumped inward, warped with rot and decay.
On the far side of the wheat field, a wooded ravine traced the base of the mountains. In the distance, waterfalls crashed into hidden pools below—their steady roar barely audible. The water spilled into a stream that wound southward through the trees until it vanished into the forest. The breeze carried its scent—fresh and clean, laced with damp earth, moss, and the faintest hint of fruit trees.
Beside the ravine stood a palace—its roofs gleaming in the midday sun, towers rising above the treetops.
“It’s not what I was expecting,” Eva said, nodding toward the Interpreter’s House.
Perry nodded. He hadn’t been sure what to expect either.
“I imagined something more like a comfortable cottage,” she said. “The Wicket Gate was so small, and…” She traced a shape in the air with her finger, searching for the word. At last, “Plain.” Her tone held no contempt. “And the Prince was so humble.”
“Yet you recognized Him at once,” said Perry.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Nothing in His dress suggested royalty—not like the men I knew in the City of Destruction. Or in Carnal Policy. But His eyes…” Her voice softened. “There was something I’d never seen before. Confidence.” She paused. “No. Not confidence. Authority. I don’t doubt the wind and rain would obey his voice.”
Perry felt the truth of it. He’d looked more like a gardener than a gatekeeper—yet there was something unmistakable about Him.
“And yet there was kindness in Him,” she said. “Men rarely rise to such power without turning cruel. I’ve seen it—again and again.”
“No, not cruel—sorrowful,” Perry said. “As if he carried the weight of the whole Valley of Destruction. Grieving every soul lost in the Slough… or who turned away before reaching the Gate.”
At last they reached the Interpreter’s House. A narrow path cut through the wheat fields, leading to the entrance. Its white walls, perhaps limestone, seemed to glow in the sunlight. Windows of many colors lined the façade in careful rows, beneath steeply sloped roofs. Two square towers blended into the ravine’s cliff face, one crowned with parapets. A third, taller tower rose from the far side, topped with a small room—its pointed roof and windows on every side catching the light.
Stairs led up to the entrance—a solid wooden door beneath a narrow balcony, supported on either side by statues of Shining Ones.
On the left side of the House lay a garden filled with lovely trees and a wide variety of flowers—carnations, lilies and tulips—with benches nestled among rose bushes in full bloom.
They climbed the stairs to the entryway and knocked—first Eva, then Perry. He hadn’t meant to follow her knock, but he did. As if it mattered that his hand touched the door too.
A young woman in a gray wool dress and apron opened the door. Sunlight caught in her silver hair, and when she lifted her gaze, her eyes were a startling, impossible blue. She looked at them—not past them. At them.
“Pray, what name may I give, that I may tell the Lord within?”
“I am Eva.” She hesitated. “I was known as Wanton.” She swallowed. “This is my companion, Perry. The Prince bid us knock and inquire within.”
The girl turned at once and hurried into the House, her voice carrying down the hall. “Can you imagine who stands at the door?” she called, leaving it ajar.
Eva’s face flushed, and she drew a sharp breath. She smoothed her dress yet remained still. Perry reached for the door—but she shook her head. She inhaled once more, then lifted her chin.
Then the door swung open, and the Interpreter stood before them. His robes were plain, but on Him they seemed finer than any garment Perry had ever seen. His eyes held the wisdom of ages, tempered by a gentleness unlike anything Perry had known.
He extended both hands to Eva. “Come in, dear heart,” He said, his face alight with joy. “We were just speaking of you.”
Men and women gathered about the Interpreter, their faces bright. The young woman who had opened the door smiled serenely.
The Interpreter turned to Perry. “Welcome, Perry,” He said warmly. He led them into a room and bade them sit and rest. Men and women pressed in about them, smiling. The men took Perry’s hand and clapped him on the back in good cheer.
“Tell me, Eva,” the Interpreter said. “What led you to set out on your journey? We’ve waited for you many years.”
Eva drew the invitation from the hidden pocket of her dress. “I didn’t—couldn’t—believe it was truly for me.” Her voice caught. “But when Perry came to… my party I decided I didn’t care anymore. I couldn’t wait any longer. Not an hour. Not even a single minute.”
“When word reached us of the midnight Pilgrims,” said the Interpreter, “there was great joy. Our cook, Taste-that-which-is-Good has begun preparing a celebration.”
The Interpreter gestured toward the young woman who had opened the door. “Innocent will assist you in your preparations.”
Innocent curtsied. “Please follow me, my Lady.”
***
Perry watched as Innocent led Eva through the doorway and into the hall. Something stirred in his memory—but when he reached for it, it slipped away. The more he pressed, the further it retreated.
He turned back to the Interpreter.
“Follow me,” said the Interpreter.
The Interpreter led him into a parlor that had recently been swept—the broom still resting against the wall. He took his seat in an armchair beside a low table and motioned for Perry to sit opposite him.
A serving man entered bearing a decanter of amber liquor and two tumblers banded in gold. With metal tongs, he lifted pieces of ice from a wooden box and set them into each glass.
Again—that familiar stirring.
“Perry.” The Interpreter took a measured sip, then set his glass upon the table. “Peregrine Graycloak. I have waited for you.”
Perry lifted his glass and took a sip. It was sweet as honey—and it burned as it went down.
“Who are you?” The Interpreter’s gaze did not waver.
Perry exhaled. “I hoped you would tell me.”
The Interpreter’s gaze remained steady. He did not answer.
“I have been a seeker,” said Perry. “I have been a dreamer.” He closed his eyes. “I remember things I ought not remember. I know things I ought not know. But myself…” He opened his eyes again. “That I do not know.”
The Interpreter inclined his head. “What do you want?”
“I want to understand—”
“No.” The word was quiet, but final. “The Author wants to understand. What do you want?”
Perry studied the amber in his glass. Minutes stretched. They drank in silence. The Interpreter did not hurry him.
“I want to be with her.”
“Yes,” said the Interpreter. “That was your choice. Not the Author’s.”
Perry nodded.
“But was it your choice—or hers?” The Interpreter regarded him steadily. “I can tell you what you are, but only you can tell who you are.” He lifted his glass, then set it down again. “You’ve escaped the Law of Accident. Now you live under the Law of Fate. But that is not enough.” A pause. “You must learn Will.”
“How do I do that?” Perry asked. He reached into his satchel and drew out the ring encircled in lapis lazuli. For a moment, he turned it in his fingers. Then he set it upon the table between them.
“Do you know what this is?” The Interpreter lifted the ring and held it to the light. “It is the signet of the King—and the trust of the Author.”
“The Author entrusted me with protecting her.”
“No.” The Interpreter’s voice was calm. “He placed it in your hand because it belongs there.” He turned the ring between his fingers. “You are the dream the Dreamer dreamt—the answer the Seeker sought.” A pause. “She believes you were made to walk beside her.” His gaze lifted to Perry’s. “What she does not yet see… is that she was given to walk with you.”
“And this?” Perry asked touching the ring lightly. “Is this Will?”
“Yes,” said the Interpreter. “No.” He turned the ring between his fingers. “Will is born where Yes and No resist one another.” He looked at Perry. “The Prince is your pattern. He possessed all authority—yet chose to lay it down.”
“I understand,” Perry said quietly.
The Interpreter held his gaze. “Are you willing to lay down everything for her, as the Prince did his Bride?”
The room seemed very still.
“Yes.”
He did not look away.
The Interpreter drained the last of his drink and rose. “Come,” he said. “Your new garments are ready.”
***
Eva followed Innocent up a narrow spiral staircase that wound through one of the towers. The steps curved tightly beneath her feet until at last they reached the third floor, where a small hallway stretched ahead, lined with several doors.
Innocent led her to the last one and pushed it open.
The room beyond was spacious, the ceilings higher than she expected. Fine rugs softened the wooden floor. A couch and a single chair sat near the window. An oak-framed bed stood against the far wall, covered with a simple wool blanket. On a small side table rested a hairbrush, and across from it a looking glass hung quietly on the wall.
“Your room, Lady Evadne,” Innocent said softly.
Before Eva could answer, a matron appeared in the doorway, hands folded neatly before her.
“Have the girls fetch hot water,” Innocent said. The matron curtsied and disappeared down the hall.
The faintest flicker caught Eva’s eye. In the corner a cobweb shimmered in the light, a spider poised at its center. She smiled and lifted her hand, stopping just short of the delicate threads. “I am in good company.”
Innocent nodded. “Yes. She takes hold with her hands and is in kings’ palaces.”
–
At the back of the room, a narrow door opened onto the top of the tower she had glimpsed as they approached the house. Eva stepped out onto the parapet. The ravine spread beneath her in breathtaking sweep. Across the stream, in a broad clearing cut from the trees, stood a stately palace. A great crowd had gathered before its gates.
“What are they doing?” Movement rippled through the crowd below. Steel flashed. A skirmish had broken out.
“The Interpreter spares no expense,” Innocent said. “Orchards. Wheat fields. Flowers and sheep. Actors and musicians. Rooms.” A small smile touched her lips. “And my favorite of them all.” She pointed at the Stately Palace. “He built it just to teach one lesson. That you must fight for what you hold dear.”
“Tell me, Lady Evadne—did you encounter any opposition on your way here?”
“No.” Eva shook her head slowly. The lie lay heavy on her tongue.
–
When Eva stepped back into the room, she froze. In the looking glass, Madame Wanton stared back at her. The mask lowered. Eyelashes fluttered. Lips parted in a practiced pout. A coy glance slipped sideways—an invitation.
The mirror splintered. Vee looked back at her. Young. Uncertain. Practicing the expression she ought to have. Eva squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, the glass was whole. Only her own reflection remained.
When Eva turned, she noticed steam drifting from a doorway on the other side of the room. A serving girl stood there, kettle in hand. “The bath is ready,” she told Innocent. She curtsied and slipped away.
A white dress lay across the bed, its silver embroidery catching the light.
Innocent held out a crock in one hand and a bar of soap in the other. “Choose.”
Eva lifted the bar first and brought it to her nose. Roses. Sweet and familiar. She closed her eyes for a moment. She liked it. Then she set it aside and took the crock. She lifted the lid. Rosemary. Clean. Sharp. Enduring. Much better for the road. “This one,” she said.
“Let me help you out of your clothes,” Innocent said.
Eva stepped back instead. She reached into the hidden pocket of her dress and withdrew the King’s invitation. Then the silver lily. She laid them carefully on the bed beside the white gown.
One by one she drew her dagger from her body—two from her sleeves, one from her boot, the smallest from her bodice. Steel against linen. She placed each beside the others.
She folded her scarf with deliberate care. Untied her sash. Then she turned her back to Innocent. The buttons loosened. The dress slipped from her shoulders and fell at her feet—patched cloth, stiff with dried mud from the Slough. She did not look down at it.
Innocent waited, eyes lowered, as Eva crossed the adjoining room. The warmth of rugs gave way to cool slate beneath her bare feet. Steam drifted upward from a waiting wooden tub. She shed the last of her garments and stepped into the water.
Innocent stepped into the steam and dipped a sponge into the rosemary soap. The sharp scent rose with the heat as she began to wash Eva’s back—firm, steady strokes.
Then she took Eva’s hand gently in her own and worked a small brush beneath her fingernails, loosening the last traces of the road.
“I did encounter opposition on the way here.” Eva swallowed. “At the castle outside the Narrow Gate.”
Innocent’s piercing blue eyes lifted to hers. Under that steady gaze, Eva felt suddenly exposed.
“I met Tisiphone, and Alecto.” Vee’s eyes rose in her mind—hungry for approval. And Mama’s back. She could not remember Mama’s face. Only the curve of her shoulders as she stirred the pot. “I relived the day I left,” Eva said softly. “The day I ran away from home.”
Innocent said nothing. She lifted a dipper and poured warm water over Eva’s head. It ran down her face, over her shoulders, carrying the scent of rosemary with it. Gentle fingers worked the lather into her hair.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of water. Then Innocent spoke. “Why did you choose rosemary? Don’t you think Perry would have preferred the rose?”
A sharp pang of regret pierced her. “What does that have to do with—”
“You made a choice,” Innocent said evenly. “It seemed good at the moment.”
“That’s different.”
“Not at all.” Innocent’s hands were steady in her hair. “Every yes is also a no. Sometimes to one thing. Sometimes to a dozen. There is no life without guilt.”
She dipped the ladle again and poured the water slowly, rinsing the lather from Eva’s hair.
“What do you know of guilt?” The words struck harder than she intended. Too hard. Regret flared at once.
“The Prince has accepted you.” Innocent paused. “I accept you. Guilt cannot live in the presence of the King.” She held out a towel. Eva rose from the bath. Cool air brushed her damp skin as Innocent wrapped the towel around her shoulders.
The dress was of the finest cloth—dazzling white, silver thread worked in delicate patterns at the neckline, the cuffs, and along the hem. It settled against her skin as though it had always belonged there. Soft. Light. Perfectly fitted. As if it had been made for her alone.
Her breath caught. Leather holsters had been sewn into the sleeves. A slow smile curved her lips. She slid each dagger into place, feeling their familiar weight return to her arms. Balanced. Secure.
She looked up at Innocent, satisfaction flickering in her eyes.
“How did…”
Innocent did not answer. She took Eva’s hand and led her to the chair by the window. Eva sat. Innocent lifted the brush and drew it slowly through her hair.
“One.” The bristle tugged lightly at the damp strands. “Two.” She counted each stroke.
“After that, Alecto—”
“That is not what is troubling you.” Innocent’s voice was gentle, but firm. “If you had failed Tisiphone or Alecto, you would not be here now.” Her hands never stopped their steady rhythm through Eva’s hair. “Tell me, dear heart—what did Megaera show you?”
Eva looked up sharply. A tear slipped free before she could stop it. “He…” Her throat tightened. “Perry is going to die.” The words felt solid in her mouth. Heavy. “It wasn’t a vision,” she whispered. “It was real.”
Pain flickered in Innocent’s blue eyes. She did not deny it. Did not soften it. She leaned close, her voice barely more than breath. “Love is stronger than death.”
Innocent gathered Eva’s hair and tied it back with a narrow ribbon. Then she picked up the lily pendant and turned it slowly in her fingers. The silver caught the light. She stepped behind Eva and fastened the clasp at her neck. Cool metal settled against her skin.
“The Prince has always loved the lilies.” Innocent stepped back and studied her for a long moment. Then she smiled. “There. Fair as the Moon.”
Innocent slipped her hand into the folds of her dress and drew out a small mirror, its edge bound in worn brass. She placed it gently in Eva’s palm and closed her fingers around it.
“It’s my gift,” she said softly. “To remind you.”
Eva stared into the mirror. For a moment, she did not recognize the woman looking back.
Not Vee. Not Vadna. Not Madame Wanton. Not even Lady Evadne.
Just Eva—the beloved.
