Perry stopped before the small gate. A wooden plaque hung above it, carved with the words: Knock, and it shall be opened unto you. Eva stepped forward and knocked—once, soft but sure. The same knock she’d used on his door the night before.
She stood silently before the gate, waiting—but didn’t knock again. Not even a flicker of impatience touched her face.
At last, the gatekeeper opened the door. He wore the plain garb of a gardener. His expression was grave, but not unkind. “Who is it?” he asked. “Where do you come from? Why have you come?”
Eva’s eyes burned with an intensity Perry had never seen. “I am Evadne,” she said. Then, more softly, her gaze met the gatekeeper’s. “Eva.”
“I come from the City of Destruction. There, I was known as Madame Wanton. But I was not made for that place.”
She withdrew her invitation from her dress and placed it in the gatekeeper’s hands. “I’ve kept it for years—wondering.” Her voice trembled slightly. “The seal was broken. The writing, smudged. But I intend to place it in His hands myself—and ask if it was truly meant for me.”
The gatekeeper turned the invitation over in his hands, then returned it to her. “There was never any doubt.” He extended his hand. “Welcome, Eva.” She placed her hand in his.
“You’ve brought someone with you,” he said, turning to Perry. His eyes were bright.
“Yes,” she said. “This is Peregrine Graycloak. He walks with me.” A flicker of pain crossed her face. “I don’t want to walk alone.”
The gatekeeper led them through and shut the door behind them. Ahead, a narrow path stretched straight to the horizon—neither veering left nor right. “Not far now, and you’ll come to the Interpreter’s House,” he said. “Inquire there, and He will instruct you.”
“But first, Peregrine,” he said, “you are hungry. Come and eat.” He led them into a summer parlor, where cushions were laid out beside a low table, and the scent of fresh-baked bread filled the air.
Perry glanced down at the mud caked on his cloak and trousers.
“You’ve passed through the Slough,” the gatekeeper said, then waved them toward the cushions. “Tell me—did you not see the stepping-stones?”
“We did,” Perry said. “But the stones were sunk in the mire, and mud trembled around them. But she counted it but a small hazard.” He glanced at Eva and smiled. “She took off her shoes and stepped in.”
“I’ve rarely seen such faith!” the gatekeeper exclaimed.
He took the bread, gave thanks, broke it, and handed it to Perry. Perry’s heart burned in him. He blinked—then stared. The hands. Scarred. The Prince. And he hadn’t recognized Him. But Eva had. He remembered the look in her eyes.
“Allow me, my lady,” said the Prince, turning to Eva. He took a pitcher of water, a basin, and a towel—and knelt at her feet.
“My Lord,” Eva whispered, “I am not worthy.” Still, she removed her shoes and extended one foot into the basin. The Prince poured water from the pitcher, washing away the mire of the Slough. He dried it gently with the towel, then took her other foot in His hands.
He looked up at Perry, gaze steady. “Let this be an example,” He said. “Love your bride, as I have loved the church.”
Eva started. Her eyes glistened, and her foot trembled in His hands. When He finished, He met her eyes. “You are clean, my daughter,” He said.
After they had eaten together, the Prince blessed them and sent them on their way.
Eva took Perry’s hand in hers and exhaled softly. “I am clean.”
