Eva walked beside Perry in silence—through the wheat fields, back onto the Narrow Way, past meadows and orchards. The bleating of sheep faded behind them. They crossed a small bridge over a stream running down from the western mountains.
At last they came to a stretch of the Way bordered by an old stone wall—tall and solid. The path rose gently ahead, as if inviting her upward. Lilies grew wild along the slope.
At the top of the hill stood an old, rugged Cross. It was not beautiful. The wood was rough, splintered in places and stained with blood—almost black now, sunk deep into the grain. Some of the lilies, white and gold, leaned toward the Cross as if listening.
Eva stopped halfway up the hill. Everything she had been carrying—every mask, every wound, every story—suddenly felt small. She had thought she had ruined herself. But someone had carried that ruin long before she arrived.
Perry walked ahead of her and knelt before the Cross. There was no show in it. He simply knelt.
Eva walked the rest of the way up the hill slowly. This is where my old life ends. Then she knelt beside Perry. Neither of them spoke. A tear welled in her eye. No—two tears.
The Prince loves the lilies. Her hand rose to the silver lily at her throat. Then she reached behind her neck, unclasped the chain, and laid the necklace at the foot of the Cross. It seemed the right place for it.
–
Eva rose and made her way down into a garden of ancient olive trees, their trunks twisted with age. The air changed as she descended. It felt… sheltered. A Tomb had been carved into the rock face of the hill. The great stone had been rolled away, no longer sealing the entrance. The Tomb was empty. Quiet.
Just beyond the Tomb, a rift split the rock where the earth had been torn in two. Eva could not see the bottom. She could barely make out the sides before the light faded.
Perry’s eyes met hers. In his hand was the oilskin she had given him. Don’t give it back to me. She knew what must be done. She nodded once, then took it from him.
She sat on the stone, her feet dangling above the darkness, the pouch resting on her lap. It felt so heavy. Then she opened it.
Perry stood behind Eva—close enough that she could feel he was there, but not close enough to look over her shoulder. When she glanced up at him, he pretended to study the olive trees.
The letters lay on top, bound with a blue thread, faintly smelling of smoke from the night she had tried to burn them. She had burned only half.
She opened the top letter—the one she had once thought most important. Her thumb rubbed across the ink. She didn’t need to read it. She knew every word by heart.
When I return, everything will begin.
She folded it and let it slip from her fingers. It vanished into the rift. For a moment the ground trembled—so faint she might have imagined it. Then she dropped the bundle of letters without looking at them.
“They all say the same thing,” she muttered.
Her hand reached deeper into the pouch. She drew out a ring—wide and gold, with a ruby set deep into the band. She turned it slowly in her fingers. The ruby held a small crack. Funny she had never noticed it before.
He had slipped it from his hand and said it would look better on hers. Had he meant it as a joke?
She flicked it into the rift. It caught the light once before it disappeared.
Perry came and sat beside her, swinging his legs over the edge. Eva looked at him. His eyes remained fixed on the far side of the garden.
“Take your time, Eva.” That was all he said.
Next was a deed to a small house in Carnal Policy. It wasn’t large, but it was respectable. He had never signed the deed. She smiled wryly when she saw her own signature. She had wanted to see how her name looked beside the address. She didn’t even watch it disappear.
She reached in again and drew out a pale blue ribbon—the one she had stolen from her sister. It was old and frayed. She rubbed the cloth between her fingers and looked at it a long time.
“No,” she said softly. “This one I keep.” The ribbon disappeared up her sleeve.
She reached in, but her hand came out empty. She turned the pouch inside out. She started slightly as a small silver button fell free—plain and worn, from his coat. It must have pulled loose that last time they argued. She considered it for a moment, then flicked it into the rift.
Then she tossed the pouch in. She sat there a while longer, listening. Nothing. No echo. No sound.
Perry stood first. Then he offered her his hand. She took it. Together they walked back toward the Tomb.
“Do you still have your daggers?” he asked.
She glanced sideways at him, amused, a quiet laugh escaping her.
“Yes.”
