Percy could not say why he unfolded himself out of the comfort of his bedroll; would not say it if he knew why. Not even if he was pressed paper-thin by Mr Henning's inquisitorial enthusiasm whenever he decided to examine Percy on his lessons. But the doing of something did not depend on it being understood by the one doing it, and so he stood up and touched his feet to the humid, dense grass.

He followed Evans' trail, barely trying to be quiet or go by unperceived. He almost longed to be caught, to be forced to think about why he was moving towards the copse of elms and the stream beyond it.

But he was not caught. Evans ignored the water gurgling nearby, and stopped instead in a stream of moonlight. Percy stood behind a tree and watched as Evans pulled his tunic over his head with a feverish hurry. The white light sifted through the leaves scattered over his bare shoulders and chest. He raised his hands, palms up, as though washing them in the moonlight, before running them over his torso, back, neck, with the methodical, detached attentiveness of beach-combing, picking mushrooms, threshing wheat. But these Percy found pleasant and restful; what he saw now in Evans' gestures had the sickly taint of obsessiveness, and it disturbed him. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was staring at a man staring at his demons, picking at them like Percy's housemaid would sometimes pick out the lice in his hair, back when he was smaller than he was now.

Evans kept running his hands over his body in a calm frenzy, checking inches of his skin before returning to them a minute later to check again, and again. Percy squinted in the moon-tinged darkness. He could see nothing in Evans' hands, nothing he might be applying or using. His fingers, which earlier had looked so handsome by the firelight, now seemed disfigured by a compulsion. Their repetitive motions imprisoned him in a moment that could last for as long as torture lasted.

Percy suddenly became aware of how uneasy he felt to be witnessing it, and he pressed his back against the tree hiding him. He drew a breath and quietly walked back to their camp, ignoring the urge clawing at him to turn around and keep watching. He remembered Evans' face, closed off and expressionless in resigned misery. A part of Percy knew he was leaving Evans behind to putrefy in a suffering he didn't understand. He was glad he didn't; it made it easier to walk away, and the night was getting cold.

The words that roused him the following morning made him groan before he was fully awake.

"Chamomile or lemon verbena?"

He sat up. He presented a glorious head of dark and dishevelled hair, and an even more dishevelled mind to match it, creased and crumpled by a cold night spent on the ground.

"Is there nothing else?" he asked Valeria with what he hoped was clear scorn.

"You must be mad if you think you've earned the privilege of being offered peppermint. I've only known you for two days."

Somehow, Valeria looked even fresher and crisper than the morning air, standing in her impeccable blue tabard with her short blond hair gathered in a braid. Evans, however, looked a little mussed up by a restless night, which gave Percy immense satisfaction. He chose to ignore the fact that Evans still looked horribly handsome.

Breakfast was a quick, cold affair. They readied their departure so swiftly that Percy still felt limp from sleep when they mounted their horses. He hadn't even named his yet, or asked if it had a name already. And to think he had cared enough to name trees, once.

"Are we going to do much riding today?" he asked.

"Are you going to ask that every day, son?" Valeria countered, taking her reins.

"If we're going to ride every day, yes."

"We're only two days away from the castle" Evans replied, a grin tugging at his lips.

Percy hadn't expected Evans to be amused by the sight of his two travel companions bickering. If he truly was the chosen one, he should be irked by any comments that even grazed the words "are we there yet". Percy certainly would be. But Evans merely spurred his horse onwards with a good-natured smile.

The roads they followed that morning were nothing like the wide, easy roads of the previous day: they became ribbon-like, narrow and winding along mountains, between canyons, through forests. They shared no conversation. Percy trotted behind the other two, still yearning to ask the questions he could not ask. Sometimes, he would glance at Evans and at the exposed skin on the nape of his neck. What he had witnessed the previous night, whatever it was, took up most of his thoughts.

Around midday, Evans raised his hand and halted his horse. They were riding through an oak forest with a dense canopy that gave the sunlight a greenish tint. He seemed to study something in front of him for a moment. Percy craned his neck, perched on his mare, and saw an overturned cart blocking the road ahead of them. It was conspicuously lonely, with no scattered crates or crops or people that might have tumbled from it.

"Well, that's a classic" he muttered.

There could be no clearer sign of an ambush set up by robbers. Now at last he would get to witness the "real" chosen one in action, and see for himself what exactly Evans had that he, apparently, did not. At any other time, Percy would be wading in fear; but though he would never admit it, there was something slightly reassuring about no longer being the hero of the story, and to be allowed to sit back and enjoy the sight of someone else proving themselves.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

He widened his eyes as, to his horror, Evans dismounted from his horse.

"What are you doing? It's clearly bandits" Percy interjected.

Valeria said nothing. Evans kept walking towards the cart, not even deigning to rest a ready hand on the hilt of his sword.

"There may be someone in need of help nearby" Evans said, before raising his voice. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Oh come on, it's bandits!" Percy repeated, his voice cracking in exasperation.

Fear was catching up with him fast, now that he saw neither of his companions seemed in the least alert or ready to counter an attack. He reached for the sword hanging from his belt, with a trepidation that crackled and coursed over his limbs.

Evans, meanwhile, stood defenceless by the cart, looking around him. There was a rustling in the bushes to their left, and a tall, burly man emerged, with shoddy clothes, a dagger at his belt, and the most unpleasant face Percy had ever seen. He lumbered out of the bushes with a waddling gait slightly reminiscent of a duck.

"You still betting on bandits?" Valeria murmured, though she didn't move an inch to face him.

"I didn't say they were competent bandits" he muttered.

"Need a hand?" Evans asked the man.

"If you wouldn't mind, kind sir" the stranger replied, nearing the cart. "I was ridin' home and it went and overturned just like that."

Percy dismounted from his horse, keeping a keen eye on his surroundings, fully expecting to see a bunch of armed men jump at them from the bushes. It could still be bandits. Not everyone had the gift of strategy. And Valeria, who merely sat tall on her horse, neither helping Evans nor readying herself for a fight, irked Percy to no end.

He made his way to the cart cautiously, exchanging a glare with the man. Evans grunted a little as he tried to shift the cart. His eyes eventually reached Percy.

"I could use some help here" he called out from behind the cart, with only the slightest hint of a protest twinging at his voice.

"I am helping" Percy objected with breakneck speed, as he always did to any reproach. He heard them often, even when none were spoken, and always reacted like he had been scalded. "I'm looking out for any danger."

He sent another embittered glance at Valeria, who remained detached and perched on her horse, spectating in glorious inaction. She was probably putting him to the test, Percy thought, gauging how fit he was for his new destiny as personal attendant. Although such a role, he supposed, ought to be called duties, not destiny.

"I'm sure this poor man poses no danger to us at all, and is just eager to get home" Evans said with poised, almost immutable calm.

Percy heard the change in his voice. It sounded rehearsed. So practiced had he been all his life in detecting sarcasm and distaste in those who spoke to him – prospecting for it, even – that he had become quite talented in detecting other things, too: little threads and stitches that unravelled from the fabric of a voice.

With exquisite reluctance in his every gesture, he moved towards the cart, posted himself next to Evans, and helped him push. The man stayed perfectly still, to Percy's frustration, but at least there was no sign of an imminent ambush.

At last, they pushed the cart back on its wheels. Evans turned to the man with the same rehearsed voice.

"Here you are, sir. I hope your return journey is neither long nor arduous, as I see you have no horse to pull your cart. Would you like to take one of ours?"

"Now hang on – " Percy objected at once.

A flash next to him shook him from head to toe with a blinding, rocking light. Where the man with the unpleasant face had once stood, there was now just a luminous haze. It was not unlike the trail left by the festival fireworks back in Percy's hometown.

Where the man had once stood was a beautiful young woman. She wore flowing silver robes, bejewelled with a head of golden hair and sapphire eyes in a flawless face. She was stunning, and had the most boring beauty Percy had ever seen.

"Well done, brave knight" she spoke in a limpid stream of pearls. "You helped your fellow man with humility and dedication. You passed my test."

Percy stared and stared at her, trapped in his astonishment, and he did not have the instinct to go down on one knee on the dusty road like Evans did now. But it didn't matter: she wasn't looking at him. A mocking corner of his mind recalled how, just a few minutes ago, he was convinced he was being put to the test, and how it had vexed him. There had indeed been a test, but it wasn't meant for him at all – and that vexed him more.

"Thank you, kind and noble fae" Evans said, or rather, recited. "May we have your blessing to travel through your lands?"

She nodded, joining her hands solemnly in front of her. With the same light-shattering flash of her earlier transformation, she was gone. And, two seconds later, was back again in the same spot, with a third flash that nearly sent Percy tumbling to the floor, had his dignity not been so very resistant to gravity.

"One last thing" she announced, dusting off her robes with a slightly aggravated expression at having herself sabotaged what could have been a remarkable exit.

She slid over to Evans, who stood up, and whispered in his ear with a conspiratorial grin that stripped some of her glacial nobility off her face, and made her more appealing for it. When she finished, Evans nodded, returning her smile, and she glided back to the same spot before vanishing for good.

Evans went to his horse and mounted it wordlessly. Percy followed his lead with the same muteness. They spurred on their mounts and made their way along the forest road.

It was only after half an hour of silence that Percy spoke, thinking it had just been five minutes.

"Alright, but hear me out. It could have been bandits."

Evans grinned, but Percy only saw it because he craned his neck; Evans was hiding his expression, tilting his head down and leaning his chin on the fabric of his tabard.

"So who was that?" Percy asked.

"What did she tell you?" Valeria asked as well, making it quite clear that she knew the answer to the first question but wouldn't bother to share it with Percy.

"She told me to be careful, because the one ahead of us is in a foul mood today, and might want to spice things up a notch."

"I see."

"The one ahead of us? The one what?" Percy insisted.

Valeria turned on her horse to face Percy.

"Right, son, pay attention. In two hours or so, we'll be crossing a village. The first old lady, any old lady, who asks you for the time of day, you skewer her with that sword of yours you're itching to use."

"I – what?"

"Valeria" Evans sighed.

"Fine, not every old lady, but any that look particularly harmless and ask you for anything at all."

"Right, I don't care who you think I am or what my role is in all of this, but there's no way in hell I'm doing any of that without a very good explanation."

"We'll just avoid the village" Evans intervened.

"Doesn't mean we won't come across old ladies" Valeria shrugged. "They still know how to use roads and wander away from villages in their dotage. What do you think I'll be doing when I'm old?"

But they did avoid the village, and any possible encounters with secretly savage dowagers. It spared Percy the torture of having to decide whether he was to prove himself by action or inaction. But proving anything at all, it seemed, was not up to him now.