Seeker paused at his favored place on his way back from his labor. The grass lay thick and soft beneath him, wildflowers bending gently with the breeze. Here the stream slowed, gathering into a clear pool that mirrored sky and meadow alike, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
He struck a flame and drew deep on his pipe, eyelids heavy as the smoke curled upward. Nothing had been as he expected since leaving Uncertain—nothing. His new work had driven a quiet wedge between him and Bright. In truth, the difference between them was slight. Bright filled his days with a notepad and song, the strays pressing close around him. Seeker worked across the valley, shearing wool. It didn’t harm the sheep, and the money was needed.
His Book had never spoken of tread-wheels, or of chopping wood, pruning orchards, or shearing sheep. He had turned it over in his mind again and again, but no other path appeared.
And Beautiful—things had not been the same since Deceit, since Wrath, since Bright’s illness. Giant Wrath had not returned, yet some wounds would not mend. How he longed for Companion. Surely Companion would know what to say, what to do.
He drew in a deep breath. A sweetness touched the air, threading through grass and tobacco smoke. His eyes snapped open. She was there—seated close, legs folded neatly to one side.
“You crease your brow when you think too hard, Seeker,” Charm murmured.
“Charm?” His throat caught. “What are you doing here?”
“Good to see you, too,” she said, her green eyes bright with mischief. “I came with Comfort—though she wasn’t thrilled about it. I thought I might linger a few days before moving on.”
He breathed her in—clove with a trace of orange—and for an instant the years fell away. “It’s… really good to see you, Charm,” he murmured.
Her head tilted, lips curved in a soft smile.
He lurched to his feet. “You know we can’t—” The words broke in his throat. He turned sharply and strode away before he could betray himself further.
–
Seeker sat in the great chair, reading. He’d turned a page and a half before he realized he couldn’t recall a single word. All he saw was her—seated by the stream, green eyes alive with mischief. The fall of raven hair over her shoulder. That soft knowing smile. The way her dress clung close. Flashed of harvest days. The look in her eyes—hurt, when they had left Delight.
He shut his eyes hard and shook his head. No. That was then. This—this was his life now.
–
The next morning his feet carried him toward the green before he’d even thought about it. He told himself it was nothing—just habit. She wouldn’t be there anyway. He’d walked away. That should be the end of it.
–
“Seeker!” Her voice rang warm as she rose from the shade of a tree.
“Charm?” His breath caught. “You’re… here.”
“I missed you,” she murmured, eyes dropping to the ground. A shadow crossed her face. “I keep thinking about the wheat fields… I just wanted to see you again. To talk.” She lifted her gaze with a small, brave smile. “There’s nothing wrong with talking.”
“No,” Seeker said slowly. “There’s nothing wrong with talking, Charm. I have work to do, but afterward… I’ll come back. We can talk then.”
Her face brightened, eyes alight. “I’ll be here—waiting.”
–
Seeker finished his work early and hurried back to the green. She was waiting, just as he promised. He sank down beside her, and she drew close—so close he could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin.
“How have you been?” she asked, her finger hovering just shy of his bruise, her eyes soft with concern.
Seeker’s chest tightened, his heartbeat loud in his ears. Words rose, then caught. He said nothing.
“How is Beautiful?” she asked softly, her voice almost tender—and yet the question pressed closer than any touch.
“Beautiful’s… well, she’s still Beautiful.” His gaze dropped to the pipe in his hands. His next words came low, almost swallowed. “She still cries.”
“You never said goodbye,” Charm whispered. “She just took you away. I think… I just needed a goodbye.”
No,” he said softly. “I can’t say goodbye.”
He pushed to his feet, and as he turned, his hand grazed her waist. Her eyes flew wide, her whole body shivering at the touch.
“Go,” she whispered, head bowed. “I’ll be here tomorrow.”
–
Seeker lingered in the kitchen doorway, watching Beautiful and Wonderful bent over the table, their hands dusted white with flour as they shaped a pie. His chest tightened. He wanted Charm with a hunger that shamed him. He couldn’t betray them—not these two, not here. Tomorrow, he told himself, he would say goodbye.
–
The next morning, he went straight to work. He told himself he couldn’t be with her—but neither could he let her go. All day long the words churned, circling endlessly, refusing to settle. She deserves this much, he reasoned. He would say the words, and it would be finished. Yet his steps grew heavy, each one slower than the last. He dreaded the moment. Leaving without a word had almost been easier—when it had been forced, when he’d had no choice.
–
She was there, waiting—elegant as a queen, still as if the whole meadow bowed to her. His gaze locked with hers, green eyes catching the light, unreadable. His throat tightened. “Charm, I…”
Her finger touched his lips, light as a whisper, silencing him before the words could form. Then her hands closed around his, warm and sure, pulling him nearer. She leaned in, and her mouth claimed his—deep, unhurried, complete.
Her fragrance swallowed him whole. Her lips seared his, and breath became impossible—unnecessary. The world tilted, spinning. Her fingers pressed hard into his back as if to draw him closer still, her body trembling against his.
When they broke apart, breathless, he fumbled for words.
“Shut up,” she whispered, pulling him back to her.
Everything else dissolved. There was only her.
She slipped her fingers through his, her touch light but sure.
“Come with me,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “There’s a place where no one will find us. We can have our fill of love. You are mine.”
She swayed as she walked, drawing him forward with an ease that felt both gentle and inexorable. Seeker’s pulse thundered. Every part of him burned with longing. He could have pulled free. He didn’t.
Her hand tugged him onward toward the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and he let himself follow. His chest tightened—the very name of place struck cold in him.
“Don’t be afraid, love.” Her voice was low, coaxing. “You should know by now—nothing is ever what it seems in your Book.”
He let her lead him—after all she was right. Before them opened a canyon vast and breathtaking, its cliffs blazing with orange fire in the setting sun. Beyond, mist-wrapped mountains floated like a dream on the horizon.
To the left spread a bog so strangely lovely it seemed woven from enchantment—trees veiled in silver moss, patches of flowers blazing with impossible color, their perfume drifting on the breeze.
A narrow trail wound inward, soft and inviting. From within came a chorus of voices, low and sweet, their song tugging them forward.
They came at last to a clearing, and in its midst stood a booth prepared. The walls were hung with rich tapestries, and carvings twined along its posts with cunning skill. At the center lay a bed spread with fine linen of Egypt, cool and smooth beneath the touch, its folds inviting. The air was heavy with fragrance—myrrh and aloes, sweet oils, and the sharp bite of clove. Every breath was a lure, each scent twining in his blood.
Charm’s emerald eyes fixed on him, burning with a quiet intensity. “Tonight,” she whispered, “I am yours.” She lifted her arms, the fabric sliding from her shoulders until her dress pooled silently at her feet.
Every part of her seemed impossibly perfect—her feet, her legs, the curve of her hips, the smooth line of her stomach. His gaze lingered upward: the rise of her breasts, tipped and taut in the cool air, the slender grace of her neck, the flush in her cheeks. And in her eyes, green fire blazed, fierce and consuming.
Seeker stood frozen, staring at her for a long, unbroken moment. Then, one by one, he shed what was his—first the tunic from his shoulders, then the trousers from his hips. Last of all, he slipped the King’s ring from his finger. His hand lingered, trembling, as he laid it and the phial upon the table. His chest rose and fell, ragged. Then he crossed the space between them and gathered Charm in his arms, their embrace fierce, desperate, and full.
***
Now I, the Dreamer, beheld as Seeker left Forgetful Green and followed Charm heedlessly into the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
When Seeker took her into his arms and lay with her, I begged him to stop. I pleaded, I wept, I cried out against him. But my words were unheeded—unheard. I tried to turn away, to shut my eyes. I clawed at the edges of the Dream, desperate to wake, desperate to escape.
I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears. The Dream shuddered—and when it opened again, I was standing in the Prince’s country house. The very house where Emanuel himself had been betrayed, that night so long ago.
I saw Beautiful pacing—back and forth, back and forth—as the hours dragged on. I saw her tears, her whispered prayers. Then her prayers turned to curses. Fire blazed in her eyes, and she flung herself to the floor, wailing.
I saw Wonderful’s agony—first as she tried to soothe Beautiful, then as it broke her too. She screamed, tears running down her face, her small fists pounding on the walls.
Grief overwhelmed me. I longed to hold Beautiful, to tell her it would not end this way. But I fell to my face instead, tears streaming hot and unrelenting. “O God—forgive me.”
***
Seeker woke tangled in Charm’s arms, the heady sweetness of the night still flooding his veins. She watched him with a smile that was both tender and knowing, her finger tracing the bruise on his forehead as if it belonged to her. She bent and kissed it softly before rising. Morning light poured across her bare skin, gilding every curve. The dimples in her cheeks deepened with each step of her hips, and desire flared again, sharp and undeniable, as she moved with unhurried grace toward the table.
Her finger hovered near the Phial, then jerked back with a sharp hiss. She reached for Seeker’s ring, lifted it, and turned toward him. The onyx stone caught in the morning light as she studied the carved trees on the band, her gaze lingering as though weighing its meaning.
“Seeker-for-truth,” she said, her voice laced with mockery. “Elect son of the King—yet you sold your birthright for a bowl of porridge. How disappointing.” She laughed softly, almost to herself. “I expected more of a chase. Samson, at least, was amusing.” She tilted her head, almost mock-thoughtful. “Poor, poor, Beautiful.”
The air around Seeker began to shimmer. The sweet song of sirens twisted into shrieks and howls that clawed at his ears. The silver moss, once drifting like veils in a bridal chamber, shriveled in an instant—curling black and falling away to reveal skeletal trunks reaching upward like grasping hands. The fragrant breeze turned acrid, sulfur belching from bubbling pits opening at his feet, searing his throat with every breath.
From the bog burst satyrs and hobgoblins, their shrieks splitting the air as they lunged toward him. Charm’s eyes flashed as she cried out, “The Philistines are upon you!” Her voice twisted into a smirk, arms flung wide in cruel theater. “Save me, Seeker!”
The light around her shuddered and broke. Ragged wings tore from her back, her skin sagged into withered folds, and horns curled from her brow. Yet her eyes—those unmistakable green eyes—burned hotter now, twin flames of Hell. With a laugh sharp as iron, she flung Seeker’s ring into the scalding mire, watching with delight as it vanished beneath the bubbling surface.
Lust-of-the-Eyes