The Narrow Way stretched to the horizon as Eva walked, her hand tucked in Perry’s. A warm breeze stirred the air, carrying the earthy scent of ripened grain. A nightingale sang nearby—a rich, fluid tapestry of gurgles, trills, and whistles.
To her surprise, the lands of Beelzebub stretched beyond the Wicket Gate. A stone wall flanked the path, dividing it from an orchard—but whether it was meant to keep pilgrims out, or to protect them, Eva couldn’t tell.
Heavy boughs of small, pale, lustrous fruit spilled over the wall here and there. She recognized it. Nobles in Carnal Policy were fond of it—though she doubted any of them truly knew what it was. The game was to see how much one could eat before falling ill. Some of the stories she’d heard couldn’t possibly be true. That much would surely kill a man.
But she knew. When she needed solitude—to think, to mourn a love that never was—she’d sit on the ferry landing, toes trailing in the River of Confusion, gazing at the ancient tree in the distance. The Tree of Knowledge. Its roots gripped the swirling waters, and it rose far above all others. But the fruit was the same.
She recognized it at once. She’d read about it in one of the books she’d stolen from the chapel in the Dark-Lands. Or was it from a wager she’d won with the vicar’s son? It had been a long time ago.
She reached toward the fruit—but her eyes caught Perry’s. “The misery this fruit has brought into the world,” she murmured.
Perry’s eyes flickered, and his jaw tightened—just slightly. But he said nothing. Made no move to stop her.
She plucked the nearest fruit, her hand trembling slightly. “Such a simple matter,” she murmured, turning it over in her hands. “And yet…”
She lifted her gaze and met Perry’s eyes. Was he the man she believed him to be? She held the fruit out. “If I gave this to you… would you eat it?”
“No,” he said, without glancing at the fruit—his gaze never leaving her. His eyes told her he knew exactly what it was.
“If I ate it?” she asked, raising it to her lips, which parted slightly. “Would you follow me into ruin?”
“No,” he repeated—calmly, but his expression flickered with pain.
“He showed great love,” she said. “Adam,” she clarified. “He knew he was incomplete—and chose to be damned with her rather than left alone.”
Perry nodded slowly.
Eva let the fruit fall from her hand and exhaled. “But you are not Adam,” She paused. “You’re something more.” Bitterness curled in her chest. Why had she tested him?
“And I am not Eve,” she said quietly. “I know what she didn’t—what she couldn’t.” She swallowed hard.
“The pleasure that goes with it—but the guilt afterward. Sweet, innocent Eve couldn’t have known. That wasn’t love.”
Eva forced herself to meet Perry’s gaze. “I know because I’ve eaten the fruit.” What will you do with me now? The question stayed on her tongue, unspoken.
Perry’s gaze was steady, warm. “If the Prince doesn’t condemn you… how could I?”
Then he extended his hand. “Come, my dearest, the Interpreter’s House awaits.”
