Seeker knelt at Beautiful’s bedside, pressing a damp cloth to her brow. For three days she had lain there, groaning, trembling. Without a doubt—she’d driven herself past the limit with all the wedding preparations. When her eyes fluttered open, she gave him the faintest smile.
“My Odysseus,” she whispered, trying to push herself upright.
Seeker set a hand gently on her shoulder. “Take it easy, Beautiful.”
“I need to…” she whispered, but the words trailed off.
“You don’t ‘need to’ anything, Beautiful,” he said. “You’ve already done it all—and made yourself sick.”
“I did what had to be done,” she said firmly, “Who else was going to do it?”
“That’s not true, Beautiful. You took on too much. I warned you—but you wouldn’t listen.”
“Warned me? About what, Seeker?” she shot back.
“My parents. We didn’t need to drag them to the waterfalls. It ruined everything.”
Her face fell. “You hated our wedding.”
“No, Beautiful, I didn’t hate it. It was the most beautiful wedding I’ve ever seen.”
“But…” she began, her eyes searching his.
“But you yawned.” The image still burned in his mind.
“I was so tired, Seeker,” she whispered, “That doesn’t mean…”
“It means you should’ve listened.”
“I’m hungry,” she said quietly.
“There’s fish stew waiting for you,” Seeker said, “Though, for the life of me, I have no idea where Miss Cheerful found fish around her.”
Her eyes lit up, bright enough to make the whole room feel lighter.
“Are you ready to go home—our home?”
She didn’t answer. She only drew him close, kissed him deeply, then pulled him onto the bed.
***
They stepped onto the Narrow Way together. Beautiful clung to his arm, leaning on him for strength, while he carried everything she owned in the world in the bag slung across his shoulder.
They walked slowly—no rush, no hurry. Time belonged to them now. At a narrow stream, Seeker knelt, filled his canteen, and passed it to her. She drank deeply before handing it back. Then she slipped off her boots and stepped into the water, wading across.
“The bridge, baby!” he exclaimed, pointing ahead. She only giggled.
“It’s not deep, honey,” she called back, splashing onto the far bank.
He shrugged, tugged off his boots, and rolled up his pants. “Don’t blame me if I drop your things in the water.” A quick grin. “Accidentally of course.”
His footsteps splashed through the stream, steady beneath her. She didn’t glance back. He wouldn’t drop her bag. Ahead, a gentle hill rose, scattered with lilies. At the crest she sank into the grass, folding her legs beneath her. He set the bag down and eased himself beside her.
A perplexed look flickered across his face. Something about this place unsettled him—she was sure of it. He always carried such high expectations, and the disappointments when life fell short. Did he feel that way about her too?
She dug into her bag and brought out a wooden bowl with a spoon tucked inside. Popping off the tight lid, she scooped up a hearty chunk of fish.
“Hungry again already, Beautiful?” he teased, a smile tugging at his mouth.
Silly man. You didn’t have to be hungry for fish stew. She turned her head with a soft giggle. “Want some?”
He wrinkled his nose. “I wouldn’t dare take away any of your… delicious stew.”
She took a few bites, then secured the lid tight. Plucking a lily, she tucked it behind his ear. If he wouldn’t eat the stew, he’d taste it another way. She leaned in and kissed him.
He pointed toward a village tucked into the mountains across the ravine. A shadow crept over her heart. It felt—lonely. No other word fit. Lovely, yes… but still lonely.
They set off again down the path, and Beautiful laughed softly—Seeker walked on completely unaware of the lily still tucked in his hair. But her smile faded when they reached the bottom of the hill where a stone monument stood, weathered and solemn, with bones fastened to it. She slowed, reading the inscription.
“Gruesome,” she muttered. She knew the story of Simple, Sloth, and Presumption, but this felt like too much. She glanced at Seeker—he almost looked comforted. Strange. Bothered by lilies, yet soothed by bones?
Ahead, the Hill of Difficulty loomed, steep and bare, its rocky path vanishing into the clouds. Fear clutched at her chest. Yet at the same time, something within her tugged—this was the way forward. Seeker stood waiting at the crossroads. When she turned back toward him, it felt as if something tore inside her, a part of her refusing to follow, left behind at the foot of the hill.
As they passed the granaries and carts, her heart grew heavy. On one side of the path to Delight stood an ancient building, its timbers darkened with age and its copper roof gone dull. A low hum filled the air, broken by the groaning and creaking of old wood.
“It feels haunted,” she whispered.
“I work there,” said Seeker flatly.
Her heart ached for him—the days, the years he had worked there for her. And the days, the years still ahead. The thought was unbearable.
***
Seeker felt irritation rising inside him. Beautiful had gone quiet, and he knew her well enough to recognize it wasn’t good. Her face had fallen when he’d pointed out Delight, and since then her mood had only sunk lower with each step.
She’d lingered on the bridge, staring wistfully at the waterfalls in the ravine. Seeker muttered under his breath as they passed the land that should have been his. The house perched above the ravine was finer than anything he could have afforded. She must be disappointed in him. What else could it be?
They wound through the streets until they came to their home. Seeker’s chest swelled with pride. No, it wasn’t by the ravine—but he’d built it right beside Diligent and his wife, Dedicated. Maybe Dedicated would be a friend for Beautiful.
He bent to scoop her up and carry her over the threshold, but she only scoffed, pushed the door open herself, and stepped inside.
The ceiling was low and timbered. Their steps echoed across wide planks, still raw with the scent of sawdust and resin. A rough-hewn stone fireplace jutted from one wall, an iron hook waiting for the kettle.
He led her into the kitchen. The smell of new plaster and lime was still faint in the air. The counters were of bare wood, and there was a deep clay basin for washing.
The bedroom was a narrow room with a single small window, its shutters creaking faintly in the breeze. The walls were bare and whitewashed, with only a lone wooden peg for hanging clothes.
Seeker’s books were piled against one wall of the main room in uneven stacks. Across from them sat the only piece of furniture in the house—a settee. A long wooden bench with padded cushions, tan with lines of red and purple dots running across them. Grinning, Seeker pulled it forward to show how it folded out into a bed frame.
“What do you think, Beautiful?” he asked, watching her face with eager anticipation.
She didn’t answer. She just dropped to her knees and began to cry.
