The rest of the day was uneventful – the tumult and confusion reigning in Percy's head could hardly be counted as an event. They searched for a place to make camp as nightfall caught up to them, but everywhere seemed too exposed to the elements, or to cut-throat highwaymen, or to homicidal elders, until they came across an abandoned chapel. Valeria dismounted at once with a satisfied sigh, scouting the area with a competent efficiency that was apparently her gift with everything in life.

"It's perfect" she announced on her return.

Evans held himself steady on his horse. He seemed in no hurry to dismount. For once, Percy took the initiative.

"I'm not sure I like the place" Evans said, though it was a hollow objection. The night's enclosing darkness wrapped its heavy arms around him and helped him down from his horse.

Percy stepped through the stone archway that still resisted, with a useless obstinacy, to the ruin slowly adorning the chapel with ivy and moss and root-like cracks along the stones. It was certainly an eerie, spectral place, although its unsettling quality, with the moon draping a gossamer veil over what had once been an altar, was quickly ripped to shreds when Valeria lit a fire and prepared herself some tea. She displayed such ruthless pragmatism she might as well have been in the most unremarkable of kitchens. Percy dropped his bag by the campfire, more exhausted than he cared to admit. He turned to catch sight of Evans, but he had vanished. Valeria, however, didn't seem in the least concerned, and so Percy sat down next to her, as close as he dared to – which was not very close at all.

He was bored. Mostly, he was bored of feeling sorry for himself, and boredom was a powerful motivator. He turned to Valeria and, with no better reason than seeking entertainment, tried to start a conversation.

"Why did he help that strange man on the road, before he even knew it was a sorceress?" he asked.

"He's kind" she said simply, poking at some embers.

"Yes, he's kind" Percy admitted with some reluctance. "But he's not stupid either" he conceded even more reluctantly.

Valeria lost her interest in the smouldering embers she had been prodding at, and turned her attention fully on Percy. He kept his grin to himself. He knew he would only get a handful of thin, weightless words from Valeria, unless he got her where he had her now, eager to speak in order to defend her precious charge.

"As you so rightly pointed out, that wasn't a strange man on the road."

"But Evans didn't know that at first. Did he?"

"He has enough experience to guess."

"Experience of what?"

"Being tested."

As she spoke, a grim expression furrowed her features, and she quickly ironed it back into her usual stoic determination. But Percy had been lying in wait, and caught it at once.

"Tested on what? By whom?"

Valeria looked down at her tea, and kept its silent counsel for a minute or two. Eventually, she seemed to decide that Percy had earned some answers, and she a well-deserved break from his questions.

"By sorceresses and fae, and warriors and kings, by anyone who, for whatever reason, has the power to test another. It's part of it, you understand" she added in the tone of someone who assumed he did not, in fact, understand. "It's expected."

"You mean it's expected for him to be tested as the chosen one."

She nodded. To Percy's surprise, she didn't return to the company of her tea.

"That's how he knew who the strange man in the road was" she said.

"Is that the only reason he helped him?"

"I wouldn't say that" she frowned.

"No. I suppose you wouldn't say it even if it was true. And either way – I think that's foolish. For him to walk around the world like he knows how everything will play out. Like he's certain everyone will follow the rules he was taught. What happens when someone doesn't? When they're not there to test him, but just to hurt him, and he walks up to them and says, oh, excuse me, sir, would you like some help with that lame horse, or – here, of course I'll help you pick up all these sinister ingredients that fell from your cart?"

Percy was bloated with newfound confidence. Now, at last, he knew just what to say. Of course, in Evans' place, he would have acted exactly the same. He, too, had been brought up to believe there were certain rules, that they told certain stories, and that he knew each and every one, freeing him from the weakness of surprise and bewilderment. He, too, would resent being told that those rules were mere fancies, and that the world had not been made to his size. But now that he had been pushed off the stage, he found he rather enjoyed the role of critic. He had not tasted anything so sweet in a long time.

"I mean – does he think every sorcerer out there exists just to test him?" he went on. "That they're all just waiting behind a bush for their moment to spring up in his path and ask him to thread a needle or save a baby goat?"

Valeria said nothing. But the scowl she gave him put him in a mood to finish his supper as quickly as he could, and retreat strategically into his bedroll.

He kept himself awake, despite the weariness that dragged his limbs down. Evans hadn't come back yet.

Once Percy was confident enough Valeria was asleep, feeling the stillness that emanated from her in large heavy waves, he stood up. He went over to what had once been a room on the side of the chapel, now just as ruined as the rest, with rays of moonlight glistening through the ghost of a stained-glass window.

It was not the first ruined chapel he had seen. Gods, of course, still mattered, as they always had: without them, people would have no curses to cry out when they stubbed their toe, or broke a pot; and gods were respected for this. Sometimes, in blissful moments of relief, people would thank them for having the imagination to create sweet water, too, rather than just salted seas. But, at other times, gods were forgotten, and their chapels neglected, just as the best loved friends or most feared relatives might slip out of thought and be left behind, given the right circumstances. It was only human; and no one felt truly guilty when they returned to mend the chapels and mind the altars with a few sheepish offerings to make up for their absence.

But seers, thought Percy, might have altars built to them, one day. They were widely cherished, and it was well known they never lied. It was also well known that they were not fae or sorcerers, for they did not have any magic to change what they saw – and many had tried to coax such magic out of them, with a knife to their throat. Their saint-like gifts of foresight made them dear to peasant and prince alike, though the latter was likelier to obtain their services. They were not expensive, exactly; but they had an all too human proclivity for chasing interesting stories rather than dull ones, and the future of princes held greater promise of entertainment than the fate of a lame goat or of summer crops.

Percy shivered. He did not like these ruins, either.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He caught Evans off guard. Evans stood in the centre of the ruined stone walls, right where the moonlight trapped him in place, examining his chest with the same methodical frenzy that Percy had spied on him the night before. This time, however, Percy lingered under the archway until he was spotted.

Evans froze for barely a moment, and then turned away from Percy as he clothed himself. Nothing in his posture gave Percy the slightest idea of what he was thinking now. He felt a strange burst of anger at the thought that Evans had denied him any expression, be it a frown or a smile, that might have granted Percy some understanding.

"Why do you do this every night?" Percy asked.

"And you know for a fact that I do?" Evans retorted, his back still turned to Percy as he dressed.

"I saw you yesterday too."

"And you confront me just on the second night you see me acting strangely? You could have spied on me for longer, perhaps found something I would never have told you willingly, used it against me somehow." He turned at last, smoothing down his linen shirt. "You either believe you are entitled to have every question you ask answered, or you're too impatient to have a chance of uncovering the answers people won't give you."

Percy suddenly felt how thin and frail he was, and how the cold of the night and the ruins seeped into his bones.

"I thought you might want to tell me" he mumbled.

He truly had believed it. He sometimes liked to make a big show of things that weren't truly a secret, of wandering off and hiding somewhere, just for the pleasure of having someone interested enough in his air of mystery to chase after him. But he should have guessed Evans would not be the type to do that.

"You wouldn't understand, and I wouldn't blame you for it" Evans said.

Percy expected him to walk away, but instead, Evans sat on a large, lost stone and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I don't like this place" Evans said, as though consoling Percy with a confession to make up for the answers he hadn't given him.

"I can tell. But do you know why?"

"You look pretty smug asking me that, so I assume you know" Evans smirked.

"Only because I feel it too. It's the kind of place to make you think that if something that was so valued and sacred once can be abandoned and left to ruin, so can you."

"Is that what you feel? It's fair enough. Personally, I just don't like chapels."

Percy stopped himself from rolling his eyes. It took all the energy he had left, and forced him to sit on a stone next to Evans. The man's lack of a sense of the grandiose was criminal. Here was the chosen one, a halo of moonlight over his copper hair, with his chosen arse sat on a rock that had no doubt been blessed by the presence of great heroes before him, and when presented with the chance to wade into a monologue about life and fate, he merely said he didn't like chapels. He could at least have laced his voice with an ominous tone; but his remark had been so casual that it made it tragically clear he disliked chapels just as he might dislike oatmeal, small dogs and geraniums.

And yet, he had looked majestic enough that afternoon, Percy thought, when speaking to the enchantress they had crossed paths with. He had said everything that should be said, and looked as glorious as he should have looked. But, apparently, he would not put in the effort of playing that part for Percy alone.

"What is it you want me to do here?" Percy asked after a moment of silence, his voice straining with frustration. "Valeria said I could be your personal attendant, but I think she just wanted me to stop bothering her."

He was blushing horrors. Three days ago he would have keeled over in mortification if he'd heard himself asking that.

"I don't know" Evans sighed. "It was the royal seers who saw you were meant to join me. But I don't know any more than that myself. I'm sorry you were dragged along like this. I wish I had something more meaningful to tell you."

Percy shook his head. It dislodged a few words he had not meant to say, and they clattered out of his mouth despite himself.

"It's not your fault."

Evans stared at him with a faint smile.

"If only you believed that, Percy."

"You mentioned the royal seers – did you grow up in the palace?"

He blurted it out as soon as Evans spoke, suddenly desperate for something that would keep them talking.

"I did" Evans smiled, amused at the question that was sprung on him. "But it's nothing to be impressed by. Lots of people grow up in the palace."

"Was it nice there?"

"Palaces aren't meant to be nice."

"What are they meant to be, then?"

"Palatial."

Percy was ready to roll his eyes again, until he caught Evans' grin.

"Right. I'm not worth a serious conversation" he mumbled.

"I should hope not! You're worth a playful conversation – or do you think those aren't as valuable as serious ones? Well, I suppose you do think that."

They sat side by side for a moment, deep in a silence that was thickened by the ruined walls around them.

"But I had a good childhood there" Evans said eventually in a quiet voice. "I'm told it was not like the childhood others expected me to have. Not as... burdened."

"Why not?"

Evans tilted his head back and spoke to the stars.

"My mother asked the seers not to tell anyone what they knew about me until I was much older. Well, my father's advisers all knew. But that was it."

Percy wished he was incapable of understanding what he had just heard.

"Then... you grew up without anyone else knowing who you were? But that's not – allowed – "

"Maybe not. But my mothers wanted to allow my happiness, most of all. My father, too. One son with the weight of expectations and responsibilities was more than enough. They even kept it from my brother."

Percy looked at Evans. There was a devastating simplicity to him. And Percy looked away, devastated. But Evans, in his simplicity, didn't notice.

"She told me lots of stories, too" he went on with a smile – his smile. "I suppose yours did as well."

Percy shook his head, staring at the ground. Damn stars above them were heavy that night.

"No. I was always the story."

He thought it would be nice and dramatic if he stood up and walked away now without looking back. And he did, somehow, muster enough energy to stand up and walk – mostly, he suspected, because he still wanted to make for a good story.

"Are you walking away to make a point?" he heard Evans' voice behind him. "I don't think you need to – I'd like you to stay."

"I was... I'm going to sleep, I'm tired. Aren't you?"

It was true, or had been until a moment ago. Something in Percy had just sparked awake, though he wasn't quite sure what. Evans went towards him, passed him by with a smile, and kept walking towards the campfire.

"Come on, let's sit there. It's rude to let a fire burn on its own" he said.

" – sorry, what?"

Percy watched Evans as he sat crossed-legged by the smouldering embers, and eventually joined him there. He thought it might be more restful to not question things for once. They kept the fire company for a while still, until it dozed off and dragged them with it in its sleep.

The following day woke to a horrid storm that tore and ripped its way across the sky. Battering wind and rain pushed and pulled at them as they steered their horses along a road that, more often than not, was simply not there anymore. Percy lowered the hood of his cloak and felt its cold heaviness engulf him. One thing was very clear right now: he hated everything, and everything hated him. His soaked clothes clung to him with unrelenting cruelty, and the wind stung at his skin with a malice that seemed to him to be entirely deliberate. The rain was a constant, deafening chatter that maddened his ears.

They had barely spoken a word all day when Valeria shouted, pointing at a cluster of lights glowing not too far from them.

"A village ahead! Hurry, this is only going to get stronger!"

They rode relentlessly until they reached the village. There couldn't make much out of its houses and streets: the rain cloaked them all in a swirling haze. Eventually, a lantern shone over a carved wooden sign that creaked and swung wildly. They shared a sigh of relief.

The interior of the packed tavern looked to Percy like the most beautiful place on earth. A large fire roared in a corner, spreading its glow over the wooden panelling that covered the walls. Every table was busy with patrons chatting and laughing and arguing over mugs of ale and mouth-watering food. Three musicians with a flute, a lute and a drum added to the warm din of the room. In a shadowy corner sat a mysterious hooded figure, as often happened in shadowy corners of taverns. They earned some looks as they entered, and most had the natural smugness of someone who is dry, fed and comfortable upon seeing someone who is drenched, cold and miserable.

Valeria strode over to the counter, where a barkeep looked despairingly at the muddy trail she left behind her.

"You can't imagine how glad we are to be here" she announced with an intense satisfaction that Percy had never heard in her before. "We want three rooms for the night, but two will do if that's all you've got."

"I'm sorry, milad – ma'am" the barkeep wavered as he weighed Valeria's immaculate accent and her tattered, mud-soaked cloak. "They're all taken. It's the, huh..."

He lowered his voice and leaned forwards with a conspiratorial air, but looked a little lost when she didn't mirror him, forcing him to raise himself and his voice back up.

"It's the gathering of knights" he explained, tilting his head in the direction of a large round table where a group of men and women were crowded together.

"The... what?"

"Happens every year. The village's economy depends on it. We've been booked out for weeks. You should have thought of sending word ahead."

Valeria had her back turned to Percy, but he could see, from the expression on the barkeep's face, that whatever look she had given him was making him revaluate his recent life choices. After generously slathering him with profound disapproval, she turned to the table he had pointed to and stomped over to the assembled group.