Eva had taken no more than a dozen steps up the path before her breath came heavy. They had stopped at the spring at the base of the mountain and drank deeply before beginning the climb. Her body was fit and strong—but this was something altogether different, far steeper than anything she had ever known.
Worse than the climb were her thoughts—spinning without rest. What was she doing? She glanced at Perry. He seemed untouched by the climb—and untroubled by what had just passed. What did she really know of him?
Her lungs screamed. She wanted to stop—to lean against one of the ragged trees lining the path. But she kept pace with him. If he didn’t rest, neither would she.
Ahead, a large rock rose in the path—nearly to her chest. She would have to pull herself up. She bent over, hands braced on her knees, willing her heart to slow. She drew a deep breath through her nose, then let it out slowly through her mouth. Sweat dripped onto the stones below.
Perry pulled himself up with ease, set his staff behind him, and turned, offering her his hand. She straightened and glared at it. When she looked up, his gaze was so tender it nearly undid her. Eva reached out and placed her hand in his. He pulled her firmly up beside him.
“Let’s rest a moment, dearest,” he said gently, swinging his legs over the edge of the rock.
She stood there, looking at him for a long moment, then finally sat down beside him—farther away than she’d intended.
“What was that all about?” He had to know what that meant.
He did. “I was…” He paused, searching for the word. Then: “warning her.”
“Why—whatever were you warning her about, dearest?” The words tasted bitter on her tongue.
“She almost killed the Author.”
Eva let out a short laugh. “Her?”
Perry nodded slowly. “Yes. She isn’t what she seems.”
There was no deceit in his voice or expression. It made sense now. Eva remembered the look on the woman’s face—Perry had startled her. No doubt of it.
She rose slowly to her feet and held out her hand—and this time she didn’t let go. Together they continued. The top was just ahead. But when they reached it, another rose beyond it. And then another. At least seven times—she’d counted. Yet her breath had steadied, and a strange euphoria began to rise within her. She felt as though she could climb forever.
To their left, a pleasant Arbor came into view. Perry glanced at her, a question in his eyes. She shook her head. They continued their climb.
“Tell me more about the Author,” she said. “Is he…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word.
“No,” Perry said without hesitation. “He is a person like us. But he is the Seeker of Truth—the Dreamer of the Dream.”
Eva’s mind drifted back to that strange feeling she’d had when she first met “Lord Peregrine Graycloak.” She had remembered him. She stopped. “Wait,” she said. “Are you…”
Perry laughed. It was… delightful. She couldn’t remember ever hearing him laugh before. “No—no more than you are. We are in his Dream.”
“No,” Eva said. “I am not a character in a book—or in a dream. I am a real person. With real memories. Real pain. Real desires.”
“Yes,” Perry said. “You are. And so am I. I think the Author first realized that when I danced with Miss Inconsiderate.” There was a quiet note of admiration in his eyes. “But even more so… you.”
“But why you? Why not himself?” she asked. A grin spread across her face as she began walking again. “Fame mentioned Beautiful. I have a feeling she’s the jealous type.”
“No,” Perry said. Then, more quickly, “Yes—but no. The Author cannot enter the Dream himself. So, he asked me… and I agreed.”
“But you called him the Dreamer.”
“Yes, he is the Dreamer—but not the Dreamer of this Dream. Seeker is his Dream… and we are the Dream of the Seeker. He is the Author of this Dream.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” she said sharply.
“Imagine a picture of a print gallery. A young man stands with his hands behind his back, studying a painting. In the corner of that painting, the same man appears—larger now—looking into a harbor scene. And in that harbor city… is the gallery itself. The young man is the Author, the Seeker, and the Dreamer.”
Eva nodded. “I’ve never seen it… but I remember it.”
“Not only is the Author the young man in the picture—he is also the man holding the book, looking at it. We are the two figures in the street within the picture. He cannot be us. In fact… we come before him. He hasn’t even been born yet. Not for another three hundred years.”
Eva shook her head. “My head hurts,” she said. “What does the Author want?”
“To learn to write. He began reading a book, and the hostess—Anna—reminded him of you. So, he asked me to go to your party. To speak with the people there. He told me I could say—or do—whatever I wished. That when I returned, no one would remember. But you… You weren’t supposed to remember.”
“I didn’t,” Eva said. “Not at first. Not until I saw you. All that day, I had this nagging feeling—I’d done this before. And then you walked in… and I remembered.”
“Yes, you did.” His face colored slightly.
“The next day, I remembered everything—from the day before, and the day before that—but no one else did. Everything was exactly the same… until you walked through the door again. How did you do that?”
Perry shrugged. “I don’t know. But when I kept watch while you slept, the Author told me we could do the same—if we both agreed. And we would remember.” He hesitated. “If the pain becomes too much… we can choose to forget. But only once.”
“No,” Eva said. “I don’t want to forget. Ever. I don’t want to forget running away from home at sixteen. I don’t want to forget the beatings in Carnal Policy—when I wouldn’t give them what they wanted. Or…” She hadn’t spoken his name in a very long time. “Mr. Brisk. And his promises. And the lies he spread when I left Carnal Policy.”
They continued their climb in silence. At last, she spoke again. “I don’t want to forget the Prince… or the Cross.” She stopped and took his other hand in hers. “But most of all, I don’t want to forget you. Not a single moment.”
Perry squeezed her hands gently. “No. Let’s never forget.”
–
When they reached the next summit, they were finally at the top. In the distance rose a palace of red brick, with gleaming white trim and pillars. Her foot sank into an indent in the soft ground—a footprint. Her own, but tiny in comparison. And between them and the palace, two lions paced back and forth.
