Percy was a good horseman. He had proudly ridden with Evans and Valeria for over a week with barely a complaint on his part. Even though he had never travelled for so long, even though, each night, every hour spent on that mare's back ganged up on his dozing form to kick the shit out of him and leave him bruised for another beating the following day – despite all that, he had managed to not focus too much on how slowly time passed.

But he had never ridden with Myrtle before. And she was not the kind of person to allow time to pass her by unnoticed. She was not, in fact, the kind of person to allow anything to pass her by unnoticed. She had a ruthless curiosity which she exercised tirelessly – tirelessly, that was, on her end. After a day of riding with her questions for company, the horses looked more rested than their riders.

"What's the name of that river?"

"Where does this road lead to?"

"What's that village over there?"

"What are these herbs used for?"

Percy knew that travellers often sang to ease the road, but this was less of a choir and more of a responsory. To his surprise, Evans and Valeria replied to all of Myrtle's questions. Whenever they showed signs of fatigue, she had an astounding way of shifting her inquiries to any other matter that might interest them – swordsmanship, history, tea – and, like poking and prodding at the embers to urge on a fire, she always managed to keep their words going. Torturers had ways of making people talk when they didn't want to; Myrtle had ways of making people want to talk, and Percy thought it ten times more terrifying.

"What's the name of that mountain?"

"Jeremy."

Percy stifled his laughter at Valeria's deadpan answer. She rode on with the same impassable expression she wore so well. The mountain in question loomed over the road, its peak tearing straight into the heavy rainclouds clustered in the evening sky.

"Is that true?" Myrtle squinted.

"Why would I lie? Of course it's true. Named after cartographer Jeremy Omeroll."

Percy turned befuddled on his horse to face Valeria.

"Wait, it's actually called Jeremy?" he babbled.

"Why on earth didn't he name it Mount Omeroll? It would have sounded much better than Mount Jeremy" Myrtle said, outraged at such a miscarriage of naming.

"He was not an easy man, by all accounts."

Evans rode in front. Somehow, Percy could hear his smile all the way from there. He spurred on his mare until he reached Evans, and then slowed to a trot by his side.

"So where are we riding to?"

A few realizations were reaching him little by little, at a pace that, if not very efficient, was at least gentle on him. Myrtle's unparalleled ease in asking questions made Percy think he had perhaps been somewhat stupid to mistake obstinate silence for a show of strength. If a show of strength was to be found anywhere, it was in Myrtle's unabashed exposing of her ignorance and her determination to mend it.

"There's a mansion, not far from here, that's been affected by a curse" Evans replied. "I was considering heading there already. Then the sorceress in the castle spoke of it, and Myrtle mentioned it too, so I thought, that settles it. It sounds like a place we need to go to."

"You're the one who decides where we head to next, then? To break curses? Not those nobles and representatives from the palace?"

"No, they... They just check on me as I go" Evans murmured. His voice had barely grazed the word "check". Percy knew that "to check on him" could mean different things.

"But... if they're not the ones who give you quests, how do they know where to find you on the road to... check on you?"

Evans kept quiet and looked at Percy with a gentle lingering stare, until Percy let out a short huff of understanding. Evans wasn't miserly in his words, or eager to restrain himself in the confines of a verbal silence that was the prerequisite of heroes. He was merely guided by a constant care to not make anyone in his presence feel less: less bright, less insightful, less important. If Percy could find the answer to his question himself, Evans would wait.

"The palace seers know where you go. They've seen you go there. Right?"

Evans nodded. The waning daylight settled on them like dust; they would need to stop and make camp soon.

"Have they... seen any other moments in your life?" Percy asked in a murmur.

"I don't know, actually. I never asked. They're not very fond of questions. They tend to take it as a sign of doubt in their visions. So I don't ask them. But at least it goes both ways; they don't turn to me and ask, 'Evans, why did you apologize to that chair when you bumped into it, Evans, why did you spend half a minute trying to push open a door when you clearly needed to pull it', things like that."

"Wait – are those actual things they ask you?" Percy had an eager grin.

"No, given they don't ask questions" Evans smirked.

They came across an abandoned watermill just as twilight turned to night and their eyes struggled in the thickening darkness.

"We could spend the night in there" Myrtle suggested, pointing at the mill.

"Better not. Places get abandoned for a reason. I trust the judgement of whoever decided to pack their bags and fuck off" Valeria said in her usual stoic wisdom.

"What about the chapel we slept in some nights ago?" Percy asked as he dismounted.

"Entirely different. Those were ruins. Ruins get visited. They're no longer abandoned, they're places of interest. That rocky outcrop over there will do perfectly."

Few had it in them to oppose Valeria's serene confidence when night fell, and the heaviness of the day fell with it. They followed her without protest to the outcrop she had pointed out, thankful for being lead. Myrtle prepared a stew so delicious and comforting that Percy, between spoonfuls, mourned for the day in which he would part ways with that woman's cooking. He had a peculiar way of enjoying life's pleasures: he did not so much savour them, as he gleefully suffered in the anticipation of losing them.

Now that he had finally allowed himself to ask Evans questions, he found it hard to stop. He liked questions; and he decided he did not like the royal seers.

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"Those attendants from the palace, with the tents" he went on as they shared their meal around the fire, "what is it they do exactly? Do they just follow you around?"

Evans exchanged a guarded glance with Valeria. Her posture barely shifted as she sat, cross-legged and straight-backed, allowing the conversation to drift past her.

"I wouldn't say they only do that, but yes, mostly that" Evans said.

"To check on you. To make sure you're doing alright."

"To make sure I'm doing an alright job" Evans corrected, a slight edge in his voice.

"But I don't get it. You're either the chosen one or you're not. Why would they need to check anything at all if they believe you are? Don't the palace seers disapprove of all that... doubting?"

Percy was caught in a heady sensation: each question, even if it bore no answer, had become its own reward. He had felt something similar once, when he had picked and pulled at a strand of fabric of the very expensive curtains in the drawing room, and had kept pulling to unmake them, just for the pleasure of seeing how they were made.

And Evans looked much like those curtains right now, a little unmade, a little unravelling, as he shifted under Percy's gaze.

"I suppose it's mostly protocol – the reason they follow me around. Pageantry and protocol."

"Are they well paid to follow you around?"

They turned to Myrtle. Percy glared at her for having barged in with her own line of questioning, but Evans looked relieved, if a little lost.

"Most of them are nobles, so their wealth doesn't quite come from salaries."

"Oh, right. And Percy, how much do they pay you?" she went on, looking from one to the other with a matter of factly irreverence which would normally have irked Percy, had his belly not been lovingly coddled by her cooking.

Her question threw him off course entirely.

"Paid? I don't get... paid for being here."

"Really? Then why do you do it?" she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"I... You do know there are other things in life beyond work and money, Myrtle."

He judged his answer as lofty and condescending, but with a little effort, he regretted nothing.

"Not if you're poor, there aren't. But you don't act like you're poor. You come from money, don't you?"

He glared at her in a steadfast silence.

"Well, there it is, then. In your case I suppose you're right: there is more to life than work and money. You can afford to ride for free. Not a judgement, mind you; I've seen wealthy sods spend their time in far worse ways."

She deployed now a curious trick she used often. As she spoke, she busied herself with whatever was in reach of her restless hands, pots, pans, the fire, saddlebags, water-skins, cleaning and clearing until everything was back in its place, so that when she was done speaking, she could turn her back on a conversation she wished to end, yet seem nothing more than a maid removing herself after completing all her tasks. She had a disorienting talent for leaving behind her a wreckage of tidied spaces and untidied minds.

Percy and Evans stared at the fidgeting fire, sharing a prolonged silence. When they found their voices again, they spoke at the same time.

"I really don't want you to think – "

"Would you like to be paid, Percy?"

Percy gawked at him with an expression of horror which, for some reason, he felt was necessary. Yet Evans kept speaking.

"It was wrong of us not to think of it. You're not merely travelling with us: you're helping us, and fighting with us, and risking yourself in doing so. We shouldn't take that for granted."

"But... it's not a matter of employment, or payment, or any such thing, it's a matter of dest..."

"Of destiny? Perhaps, but it's a matter of my destiny, not yours."

Percy knew Evans had meant it kindly, as he meant everything; had meant it to be freeing. But Percy always took considerable enjoyment in feeling wronged and hurt, and he did so now unreservedly.

"If you don't want me to ride with you, you should just say so" he mumbled.

"Percy, that is not what I meant. If I don't want you to ride with us, I will tell you" Evans said.

It was not quite what Percy wanted to hear, and he sulked deeper, letting his dark brows weigh heavy on his eyes. Evans' voice did not sound in the least harsh: it had a soothing honesty that Percy knew he should find reassuring. And yet, he felt his willingness to open up to Evans retreat into himself, burrowing deep in an inaccessible nest he kept tucked somewhere within him.

"I just need you to know you're under no obligation to ride with us and put yourself at risk, and that if you do, we ought to compensate you somehow" Evans continued. He caught Percy's wince at the word "compensate", and quickly spun his words differently. "Honour your value to us."

Percy glanced back at him, feeling the little nest in him stir tentatively.

"Fine" he murmured. "But not with coin. Myrtle's right, I don't need it. I can afford to ride for free."

Evans nodded, yet stared at him still, with disquiet muddling his features.

"What?"

"Please tell me you're not out here looking for greatness" Evans said.

His genuine look of concern struck Percy. He dusted off his no-longer-white, road-stained tunic with the back of his hand, hoping to brush off the day's dirt and, with it, some of the penchant for grand words that still clung to him. He stood and looked at Evans from behind the heat of the fire.

"Don't worry, I'm not looking for greatness. Anymore. I wouldn't know where to find it."

Self-deprecation took a lot out of Percy. He curled up in his bedroll and waited for sleep.

The next day of travel brought with it a sameness that unnerved him. The roads and forests and fields they rode through were not so familiar that their sight would be a comfort, yet not so unfamiliar that they would prove exciting. They were just roads, and forests, and fields; and they just rode, waiting for the day to pass. Even Myrtle, with her keen sense of her surroundings, subdued her chatter and restrained her questions, out of respect for the boredom that visited them that day.

"How much longer until we reach the city?" she asked at last.

They had just stopped to rest by a lazy little stream that carpeted the rocks with moss and perfumed the air with humid earth. Percy filled his water-skin and made himself comfortable on a cushy seat of ivy and moss. Evans found a spot gently lit by the sun, laying down on it with a look of simple bliss that Percy would never cease to envy.

"Not long now, another day or so and we should reach it" Valeria replied as she fed her horse the remaining oats. "I'll be glad to stock up. Those fools from the palace know fuck all about what's truly needed to travel in good spirits. It was the same with the other nannies in the palace. Always the stick, never the carrot. And these fellows, they think all you need to travel is sustenance. They always forget about the treats."

"For the horses?"

"And the people. You can't do anything on an empty stomach, but you can't do much without encouragement, either."

"Well, right now I'm encouraged by nature's call, and what a treat it will be to answer it" Myrtle announced cheerfully as she wandered off into the bushes that surrounded them.

Valeria sat next to Percy with a heavy lumbering sigh.

"I can't even scold her for saying things like that" she muttered. "She doesn't curse much, and her vocabulary is decent."

"Even if she cursed as much as you do, you would never scold her" Percy had an amused grin. "You adore her, really. How could you not."

"How could I not indeed. I rather resent it when people don't give me much of a choice on whether or not to like them. Even when I adore them."

Myrtle returned soon enough, pulling up her trousers and fastening the wide leather belt over her tunic.

"It's the most extraordinary thing – right when I was crouching down to do my business, this old lady shows up out of nowhere and asks me for the time of day. I have to say I was surprised to even see anyone there, much less an old woman asking for – "

"Shit!" Valeria sprung up at once and bolted towards Myrtle. "What did she do to you?"

"I – other than some minor embarrassment over having mooned her with my rump, no harm done – "

"Where is she?"

Myrtle gestured vaguely with a bewildered expression. Percy and Evans jumped up and rushed after Valeria. Percy did not, in truth, feel any threat or urgency; but the day had been boring, and he trusted Valeria a little more now than when she had first told him to watch out for any old ladies on the trail.

They stumbled after her as she ran in the direction Myrtle had pointed to, swerving the branches that hung low on tired trees and the ivy that tangled treacherously around their feet. Ahead of them, they saw a clearing where stood an old woman dressed in rags, wandering about looking helpless and lost. As they raced to catch up with her, Valeria's haste tripped her over a rock and sent her tumbling on the forest floor, face first on a fern.

"Are you alright?" Evans cried.

"Just – go!" came her voice muffled in moss. She freed one hand from a patch of crabgrass just enough to gesture for them to keep going.

Evans didn't hesitate, and Percy followed suit. They reached the old woman just as they heard Myrtle's voice ringing behind them.

"What on earth is going on?"

"Hard to explain" Evans huffed as he drew his sword.

Percy looked hurriedly from Evans to the old woman, who was staring at them with large doe eyes and a slight tremble on her dried-up lip. He raised his hands in a gesture that he hoped was conciliatory, but which mostly felt deflated.

"Well – look – maybe it is another enchantress testing you, or maybe it isn't – "

As he spoke, the old woman drew a vicious looking dagger from her ragged robe.