1. The Talisman

**Author's Note:** Well, for once it's not Hellsing. Surprise, surprise. :D

While playing this game, I couldn't help but feel that Darklaw and her subordinate had something going on behind the scenes (after all, throwing him in the dungeon for high treason was _clearly_ a declaration of love).

But then the special episodes sealed my suspicions when Eve turned the Story into a fanfiction and Barnham managed to stand for an hour being socially awkward on her birthday. The fact that she stood with him for that hour only cements their relationship, ha-ha. Take note kids—in Labyrinthia romance has no place on the battlefield, but apparently lumpy pastries do.

**By the way, I don't own it.**

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Zacharias Barnham woke with a curse on his lips and pleasure coursing through his veins. After jerking up and realizing where he was, he lay back against his pillow and breathed a heavy sigh. It was days like this that he wished he had no duties to fulfil, so he could lie in bed another ten minutes and find some relief.

As it was, he heard Patty Eclaire bustling around her shop below his feet and knew it was time to rise for the day. He looked blearily out the small window above his cot and saw that the sun had not yet risen, the gray light of pre-dawn making the rooftops of Labyrinthia looked washed out and dull while a few resilient stars still twinkled in the pale sky.

Rubbing his forehead, he grunted sleepily and threw back the heavy quilt. He thumped across the cold floorboards of his bedroom and knelt down to pull his clothing from the trunk that still held most of his belongings.

He pulled off his sleeping pants, taking care to keep his head ducked so that he wouldn't give himself a headache by colliding with the low beams in the room. Before he moved into Espella and Patty's home, the room had been used for storage. It was little more than an alcove with a door, but it served his purposes well enough. Besides, he couldn't complain—the baker had opened her home to him, and for that he was grateful.

He stood naked in the cold morning air, motionless as the statue in his office as he waited for his body to get under control. It was harder than usual, for he still remembered wisps of the dream that had woken him so violently. It had been deliciously pleasurable, but he couldn't find much joy in it. Knights shouldn't be having such filthy, indecent dreams; especially not him, as he was their leader and alleged role model.

The dream itself wasn't what troubled him, he decided as he finally began to dress. He put on his black hose and the checkered tunic, his mind turning while his hands performed the necessary motions automatically. He'd had such dreams ever since he became a teenager—they were perfectly normal for a man of his age. It was the womanin the dream that was the problem. If it had been some random, fictionalized stranger, that wouldn't have bothered him in the slightest. But he _knew_ the woman in last night's dream.

He walked back to his cot, pulling the quilt neatly over the pillow and unlatching the window to let in the early morning breeze. It was a chilly spring morning, but the air held the promise of a balmy day. He leaned out the window, breathing in the fresh air to help his mind wake up fully. On the street below Lettie Mailer ducked around the parked carts, her bag full to bursting as always. She didn't seem to notice him, muttering under her breath as she headed off towards Eldwitch woods and the town gate.

He looked at the wood beyond the gate, his heart clenching in his chest as his dream came back to him. _Eve_…. He shook his head roughly, ducking back into his room and running a hand through his hair. _I must stop this! _A chipper woof alerted him that Constantine was awake and moments later the white fluff ball pounced on the cot and flipped onto his back, ready for his morning belly-rub.

"Ah, my little friend," he murmured softly as he obediently scratched the wriggling pup's stomach. "If only you could speak; then I could ask you for advice." The dog rolled over and looked him in the eyes, barking again. He laughed and scratched Constantine behind the ears, grabbing the custom armor and gently fitting it over the dog's head and torso. "There you go; now you're ready to do battle like a proper soldier."

He opened the door and the dog bounded down the stairs while he walked across the landing to the privy he shared with the women of the household. He reached for the door, but before he could touch the knob it opened and Patty's young charge stumbled out of the room.

"G'morning, Sir Barnham," Espella mumbled groggily, rubbing one eye. She was always this way before she had her breakfast. Barnham responded in kind and moved aside in the narrow corridor to let her pass. He stepped into the privy, shutting the door and beginning his personal hygiene routine.

He scrubbed his face and neck, brushing his teeth and hair before using the lavatory. After the mystery of Labyrinthia had been revealed, many homes opted for indoor plumbing as tourism increased. The modern-day tourists weren't used to outhouses, and the people of the town adjusted accordingly. Even Barnham, who stuck to his ways even after learning the truth, had to admit that instant hot water from a pipe was a very useful invention.

He finished up quickly and returned to his room to don his armor. He shined it every night, but he knew by the midday it would be covered in flour. He considered it a necessary sacrifice on his part in exchange for food and board, and besides—shining armor was much easier than scrubbing stains and spices out of his clothing.

Patting everything into place, he descended the creaking stairs and walked through the archway into the bakery's main room. Espella was slowly chewing her buttered crescent with a dreamy expression on her face as she stared outside, but Mrs. Eclaire was hurrying around the room gathering baskets and pails.

"Oh, there you are Barnham," she said in her usual brisk manner, slinging a cloak over her dress to protect herself from the chill. "I've got to get to the market before it gets crowded," she explained, gathering up all the baskets she needed in her broad arms. "While I'm gone, I want you to make the dough for some hot buns. Three dozen's worth should be enough to start with." He couldn't help the look of surprise that passed across his face at the sheer amount of dough she wanted made. She laughed at him as she pulled Eve-the-cat out from one of the baskets and sent her off with a pat.

"Have you forgotten the Spring Festival is tomorrow?" she chided playfully, clearly in a good mood this morning. "We have to work hard today if we want to have fun tomorrow." She turned to leave. "Espella, be a dear and help Barnham with the dough. I'll be back to help myself in an hour or so."

"Yes, Aunt Patty," Espella said, stretching her arms above her head and stuffing the last of the roll into her mouth. Barnham picked out a day-old sweet roll for his breakfast and ate quickly while he stoked the fire to life, tossing logs with one hand and stuffing his face with the other. Meanwhile, Espella quickly began gathering ingredients from the cellar and mixing them together, her sleeves rolled up above her elbows as she stirred the thickening mixture.

When the fire was blazing and the bakery began heating up, Barnham took the dough Espella made and began pounding it into submission as she quickly started on another batch. They worked in companionable silence as the sun rose over the rooftops, creating tray after tray of buns and leaving them to rise as they cleaned up.

By the time Mrs. Eclaire returned, Espella was kneading the last of the dough while Barnham turned the buns out of the oven, sweating profusely as he worked over the open flames. She allowed them both a break, taking over the baking while they went together to the cellar to put the groceries away.

"Are you excited for the festival tomorrow, Sir Barnham?" Espella asked as she handed him vegetables out of the baskets. He was standing on top of the wobbly ladder, placing the vegetables on the cool, dry shelves so that they would keep longer.

"A knight has no time for excitement; it clouds judgment on the battlefield," he replied solemnly as he placed the tomatoes in straight rows on the wooden shelves, making sure that they weren't likely to roll off. "However, I am glad for a day off," he admitted after a moment's thought. "For a healthy body, rest is as crucial as exercise." To others the distant tone would have been offensive, but the young woman was used to the knight's aloof nature and didn't think twice.

"Well, _I'm_ excited," she announced cheerfully. "Dad commissioned the tailor to make Eve and me matching dresses. I wanted white and she wanted black, but we settled on gray since that was between the two colors," she rattled on, absently handing him a cucumber instead of the eggplant he needed. "I can't wait to see them; the design was so lovely on paper."

"I-I did not know Lady Dark—Miss Eve would be attending," Barnham responded, his heart fluttering wildly at the thought of the young woman's dark-haired friend. _I __**must **__stop this! _he thought frantically, nearly falling off the ladder in his panic. _Romance has __**no **__place on the battlefield. _"She-she never has attended before," he continued, grateful that his young coworker was oblivious to his struggles. He didn't think he could explain himself, should she catch him losing his cool.

"She's so stubborn!" Espella blurted in exasperation, shaking her head as he finished the last of the vegetables and descended the ladder. "She's always trying to make excuses. It's just because she's so shy; Dad and I were worried we might have to force her hand!" She paused, lost in her thoughts as she waited for him to put the ladder back in its corner before handing him the milk pail.

"If…." He hesitated, unsure if it was his place to condone her actions—and in doing so, the actions of the Storyteller—but he finished it in a rush, his face heating. "If Miss Eve doesn't enjoy festivals, 'tis it not more courteous to respect her wishes and allow her to stay at home?" Espella sighed, frowning.

"That's the problem—she loves festivals. She doesn't do well in crowds, though." Now it was Barnham's turn to frown. He'd seen the High Inquisitor give a flawless performance in front of entire courtrooms filled to the brim. He'd never seen her shy or scared in front of the denizens of Labyrinthia—in fact, he'd always admired her ability to remain stoic and resolved.

"I know what you're thinking," Espella said when she spotted the knight's puzzled expression. "But it's true. Whenever Eve puts on her outfits, she becomes a different person. She gains confidence from her clothing, because when she's dressed up she's no longer just plain Eve; she's the High Inquisitor Darklaw, or the Great Witch."

Barnham understood—he felt the same way, in a sense. Whenever he wore his armor, he felt as if he were suiting up for battle. His metal raiment was a protective structure, and while he was inside any sort of blow would have no effect on his person. It gave him the confidence to do things he wouldn't normally do, like bake bread or (he remembered with a hint of embarrassment) give the object of his affections a substandard pastry as a gift.

"'Tis a sound-enough statement," he conceded, putting the milk away and returning with her to the bakery. After the coolness of the cellar, the heated air of the shop was stifling. Mrs. Eclaire was waiting on them with more work, so they pushed aside their discomfort and got back to the daily chores, with Barnham baking all sorts of breads under Patty's tutelage while Espella helped the customers.

He was so busy that he didn't have time to dwell on his thoughts like usual. As well as the day's normal work, whenever there was a moment of downtime the baker had him working on sweets for the festival. There were buns to ice, cakes to decorate, cookies to press, rolls to spice, and so much more. Barnham had never before considered the vast amount of work put into the food of a festival before, but he had a new admiration for the vendors that harked their wares on the Square every holiday.

At noon, they were allowed to stop for lunch, sitting down and resting their weary limbs while they ate their repast. In a momentary lull after the lunchtime hour, Barnham found himself rolling out dough for cinnamon buns while he listened to the women's conversation. Once again, Espella was chattering about the festival tomorrow, but thankfully her Aunt Patty was a better conversational partner than he was when it came to such girlish notions.

"I hope someone invites Eve to dance tomorrow night," she said wistfully. She was arranging Eldwitch flowers around a platter that would soon hold small jam-filled rolls. It would be one of the many displays at Patty's vendor stall, showing off the treats that the woman had in abundance to sell. "I wouldn't mind it if I didn't dance with anyone other than Dad, but Eve really should get asked at least once." Barnham froze, staring at the pale dough spread out before him.

The Spring Festival was a time to play games and celebrate the coming of warmer weather, enjoying the beautiful day on the cobbled Square while eating and drinking your fill. But at night, the games ceased and torches were lit all around the Square until it was as bright as noontime sunshine. The bands came and the dancing began.

Of course, everyone from the barely-toddling children to the slow, hobbling elderly participated in the dancing. Friends and family danced together, enjoying the night air and lively music. But at a certain point in the night, the music changed; it was the signal to begin a time-honored tradition that had been in place for as long as anyone could remember.

The young men of the town asked the young women of the town to dance with them. It was a rudimentary form of confessing your attraction—for everyone knew that most, if not all courtships began at the springtime dance. It was something nearly sacred for the town, though no one knew when or why it had ever started in the first place.

The thought of her being in the arms of another man sent a course of unwarranted fury through his body, much to his shock. Outwardly, he was collected enough that no one suspected anything, but the poor dough was rolled within an inch of its life as he vented his frustrations on it. He then began brushing the buttery cinnamon spread across the top, his mouth set in a thin line.

He managed to quell the fury bubbling in his gut with some difficulty, and he kept his ears trained on the ladies' conversation. Was Espella speaking of someone in particular?! Did Eve mention that she had her eye on someone? But Mrs. Eclaire only laughed at her young ward's wish.

"That girl, dancing?" she hooted, her shoulders shaking with mirth. She began to laugh so hard that she had to stop icing the small flowers onto her tray of pastries until she got herself under control. "As bashful as she is, I doubt she'd ever accept an offer even if she _did _get one," she remarked, wiping the tears from her eyes with a chuckle. "And what's this "I don't care" business? You're plenty old enough to have a suitor or two yourself, young lady. Why, when my sister was just—"

Barnham's attention drifted as the baker launched into a story about her older sister. He didn't know if she truly had a sister or not; the woman didn't live in Labyrinthia if she did. The last ten years were nothing but a pack of lies, leaving most of the town's denizens wondering if their memories were true or not.

Even he wondered about who he really was. A part of him was adamant that he _was_ Zacharias Barnham, former Inquisitor and protector of Labyrinthia. But the fact that before he came here he'd been someone else also made him think, on nights when he couldn't sleep and had time to ponder such things.

Every so often he had muddled dreams where his name was Zach and he lived in a building with large glass windows, but he never remembered much—if anything—about the dreams once he woke. And he didn't care; he'd given up that life for this one, and he'd never felt compelled to go searching for who he'd been, though the Storyteller had promised to give any citizen a copy of their contract and personal file if they truly wished to know more.

But the fact that he'd filled his mind with false memories of Labyrinthia had also made him wonder. He remembered having parents, didn't he? He _thought_ he did, but was that a figment of his imagination. He also felt as if he'd had a brother, too—was that a lie? It was clear Ms. Primrose couldn't have been his teacher, but he also knew that deep down, he had once had a teacher like that.

Espella seemed entranced as she listened to the baker's story, enthralled with the tale of flirting and intrigue that culminated in a winter's night of passionate romance and a whirlwind marriage. When Patty was finally done, she pulled another tray of unfrosted cakes towards her mechanically, her face schooled into a resigned frown.

"Of course, he died in an accident soon after that and she never was the same," she told Espella sadly. "She died before you were born; Sir Belduke said it was something-or-other, but I know that she pined herself to death from a broken heart."

"How romantic," Espella breathed dreamily, before her cheeks flooded with color and she coughed, covering her embarrassment. "I don't mean that I'm not sorry for your sister, Aunt Patty; but that story really was beautiful." She busied herself with the rest of the flowers. "I want Eve to be as happy as that woman," she said to herself, voice filled with resolve.

Barnham carefully rolled the long sheet of dough and began cutting it into even sections, his mind going back to his problem. He didn't think he could bear seeing Eve with another man; he might end up in the dungeon for public brawling if that happened in front of him. He had to figure out some way to keep any others from encroaching on his woman—_not that she's mine yet_, he corrected himself unhappily.

The answer came to him as he continued to cut, blindsiding him with the sheer simplicity of it. _You'll just have to ask her yourself before anyone else can get to her_. He immediately brushed the solution aside, his heart clenching like someone was squeezing it in an iron fist. He _couldn't_ ask her to dance; that would be disastrous. He was so easily flustered around her; the most well-meant offer could easily turn into a horrible insult with his inarticulate mannerisms.

_After all, look at the birthday incident, _he sighed to himself. He'd meant to craft the best éclair Labyrinthia had ever seen; in his mind's eye, he'd envisioned a pastry as beautiful and appealing as she was. In the end, his skills weren't good enough and he'd been forced to pick out the best from Patty's leftovers. That night, he'd rehearsed what he was going to say, pretending that Constantine was her as he practiced different phrases.

But he was clearly more comfortable with Constantine than he was with her. He'd stood in awkward silence for an entire hour, trying (and failing) to bring up the subject of her birthday so he could present his present. As each minute ticked by, he could feel the sweat dripping down his back and see the impatience growing in her hardened gaze. It only made him more nervous, which didn't help his case in the slightest.

To make matters worse, Espella had arrived and not only blew his cover, but also managed to make his gift look horrible compared to the ones she and the others gave. He'd _really _become anxious then, and ended up blurting out that she reminded him of a lumpy, day-old éclair. He had immediately frozen afterwards, fearing that she'd misinterpret his words and become offended.

Thankfully she'd been kind, realizing that he had tried his best and it was the thought that counted. But to be in one's office presenting sweets was one thing—to be in front of an entire town asking her to dance was another.

But to not ask was to give an invitation to the rest of the town that she was free. Every available man could—and would—want to court her, and that was the last thing that _he_ wanted. Even so, to dance in front of the town; what if he managed to embarrass himself? He'd just now gotten people to stop referring to his previous accident. The last thing he needed was a nickname worse than "Bouncing Barnham".

_No, no; I can't do it._ He'd prove himself to her another way. But there was no other way; the festival was tomorrow, and unless he wanted to track her down and confess his attraction to her tonight, he was forced to dance. Besides, he could hardly hold a normal conversation with her as it was. If it didn't have to do with some project they were working on, he became tongue-tied the minute he looked into her eyes. But _how _was he supposed to walk out there and stand before her and—

"Barnham!" the voice, filled with alarm, jerked him out of his thoughts. He looked up with wide eyes as Patty yanked the knife from his hand. "What are you doing!?" she shrieked, looking at his gauntlet. He realized that he'd been cutting the same place on his hand for five minutes now as if it had been the dough, and if it hadn't been for the metal he would have lost a finger or two. He stumbled over his words, trying to think up a plausible explanation for his inattentive blunder.

"It's alright," she said after a moment. "You didn't break my knife on your armor." He faltered; _that _was what she was worried about?! "The heat of the room's gotten to you," she tutted as he gaped at her blankly. "Go on, take a break."

"No, I can finish these rolls and then—"

"No you won't," she insisted, pushing him towards the door. "I won't have you burning my bread because you were daydreaming. Go outside and take a walk. Clear your head; we can do without you for an hour or so," she said in a gentler, almost motherly tone. It struck a chord in him and he obeyed silently, letting her shut the door behind him as he stood in the street. He looked up and down the path before heading in the direction of the Garrison. Perhaps Mrs. Eclaire was right; he would go and train for a while.

He walked without paying attention to his surroundings, knowing only when he neared the garrison by the sounds of armor and shouts of men within the gate. His mind was so preoccupied by his inner struggle that before he knew it, he had paused before the Audience Room at the far end of the garrison, having walked the entire length without even realizing it. His hand was even poised to knock.

Before, when the Story meant something to the people, you could come to the Audience Room and tell the Storyteller about your problems. He would write a solution in his next chapter, and everything would turn out fine. He'd been about to ask for help out of sheer habit.

But the Story was nothing more than words on a page. They may have meant something at one time, but in reality they were just figments of an old man's imagination. The Storyteller had stopped influencing Labyrinthia with his Story, and Barnham knew that he couldn't rely on something magical to help. He turned to leave, but before he could step down the first stair the door behind him opened.

"Sir Barnham?" he turned around, used to answering the Storyteller's call. He'd been doing it for ten years now. "Did you need something?" The old man tilted his head, his gaze scrutinizing. The mask made his expression as formidable as always, and Barnham found himself at a loss for words.

"I apologize," he finally said, bowing low to the older man. "I had—I had been thinking, and before I knew it I had come here. 'Twas an unintentional gesture on my part," he continued, feeling the need to explain himself. "I was… I mean, I am used to—"

"You came to have a Story written for you, didn't you?" the Storyteller finished for him, smiling knowingly. "Come in, Sir Barnham. Don't be embarrassed; you aren't the first citizen to come back to me, and you won't be the last. Old habits die hard, as they say." He ushered the knight inside and shut the door.

Since the revelation of Labyrinthia's secret, the Storyteller had turned the Audience Room into his office. The place seemed cozier, and instead of kneeling on the floor Barnham was given a plush seat across from the wide desk that now sat at the top of the carpet-covered ledge. The Storyteller sat in his throne, brushing aside the multitude of papers and lacing his fingers as he watched Barnham with shrewd, knowing eyes.

"What's the matter, Zacharias?" he asked softly after a moment of silence. "What's on your mind, that you came all the way from the bakery to ask me for a Story?" Barnham chewed his lip as he thought. On one hand, the Storyteller had always listened to him and all the others in town without judgment. On the other hand, he felt humiliated to admit that his troubles lay with his attraction to the former High Inquisitor.

"The Spring Festival is tomorrow," he finally declared, placing his hands in his lap and looking out the high arched windows. The Storyteller nodded, rubbing his chin.

"Yes, it seems to come more and more quickly every year. What's the matter with the festival?"

"Well…." Barnham paused, gathering his thoughts. "'Tis not the festival that bothers me, but rather the dancing." The Storyteller gazed at him thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" Barnham swallowed hard, frowning.

"I-you see-the problem is that I wish to ask someone to dance. But it's more than that," he added quickly as the Storyteller moved to speak. "Romance has no place on the battlefield! 'Tis nothing but a fool's errand for…a…" he trailed off at the look on the Storyteller's face.

"Ahem," the Storyteller cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I don't see where the problem lies, Sir Barnham. If you don't wish for romance, than clearly you should just not dance with this woman tomorrow night." Barnham shook his head.

"But that is _exactly _where the problem lies!" he insisted, leaning forward in his chair. "I cannot dance with her on the eve of the festival, but I also could not bear it if her hand were given to another," he proclaimed, hands fisting on his knees. "'Tis one of the hardest battles I've ever fought, and though I try to find the answer, all my efforts have ended in vain." The Storyteller remained quiet for a long moment, one finger tapping a rhythm on his chin.

"Who is this woman?" he asked, and Barnham was caught by surprise. How did knowing who he was speaking of make any difference? But the Storyteller caught the bewildered expression and smiled. "I still feel that it's my job to help all citizens of the town I helped build. And I want to help you, too. But I can't do that unless I know more about this young lady you're so concerned with. You don't have to tell me her name, if you don't want to."

"A fairer maiden never was," Barnham replied uncertainly, looking down at his lap. "How can I describe her? Her eyes, her manner, her countenance…I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life; there are no words to capture her essence."

"I see," the Storyteller nodded slowly, listening intently to every word. "Continue."

I-I don't know _when _I began to feel this way towards her, but I was smitten with her before I had time to brace myself against such a thing. I find myself making excuses to be with her, even after working hours. I worry about her walking home alone in the woods." He stopped, and silence reigned once more. Finally, the Storyteller began to laugh.

"If love is a fool's errand, than you're a great fool indeed," he chuckled wryly. Barnham pursed his lips and shifted uncomfortable in his seat, but didn't disagree. He'd found himself thinking the same thing lately. "But if you're too shy to ask Eve to dance, then I believe I there _is _something I can do to help you."

"W-what?!" he gasped, sitting straight in his chair. "H-how did you know it was Miss Eve?!" It didn't occur to him to lie until after the words had left his mouth. The Storyteller arched a brow as he pulled the heavy volume towards him, opening it up to an empty page.

"You want to spend time with her outside of work?" he said drolly, laughing again. "And she has to walk through the woods to get home? You gave yourself away, Zacharias. Now," he continued as he found a pen and began to write. "As you know, my Story no longer holds any sway over the townspeople. But some cultures in the world beyond our borders believe that if you write words in certain ways, it can have an effect not unlike that of a talisman."

"A talisman?" Barnham repeated in confusion. The Storyteller nodded, continuing to write.

"Yes," he said, looking at the page with a nod of satisfaction before carefully tearing it out and handing it to Barnham. "This page—I wrote it in a manner that should bring you confidence and good luck. Carry it on your person tomorrow and I think you'll be fine," he assured him.

"I was once your age," he said, as an afterthought. "I remember asking my wife to dance, one night many years ago. It was a very magical evening, but I was so nervous that I tripped over the cobblestones and became the town laughingstock for a week or two. But I still managed to get my wife to dance with me despite being humiliated." He smiled, a wistful twinkle in his eye. "Good luck, Sir Barnham."

Barnham left, heading back to the bakery with the Storyteller's page clenched in his fist. When he returned, the baking had already been finished for the evening. Patty explained that Eve had helped with the last few batches and had taken Espella to fetch their dresses from the tailor's. He was given leave to go upstairs until supper, and finally read the words on the paper once his door was shut and he was spread out on the cot.

_The bold_  
_knight, talisman in_  
_his keep, awoke with determination_  
_and thoroughly enjoyed the festival with no_  
_concerns for the evening's objective. He felt a sense_  
_of luck and as the day grew to a close, he was able to brush aside_  
_his gnawing nervousness. The dancing began and he_  
_approached the maiden fair, self-confidence in_  
_check. His anxiety dissipated at the sight_  
_of her smile, and by night's end_  
_his objective was then_  
_achieved._

Barnham read through the words three times. He could hardly believe that the way they were written on the paper made the plain parchment into some sort of magical talisman. All the same, each time he read it he felt a little better, as if the Storyteller and the Story he'd written both believed that he did have what it took to ask Eve to dance with him.

He watched the eddies of dust in the sunlight, one arm slung over his head as he placed the talisman on the floor beside his cot. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. It seemed only a moment later that someone was shaking him awake, and he looked up to see Espella standing over him with a candle. The room was darkened, and the breeze from the open window would have chilled his skin if it hadn't been for the armor.

"Sir Barnham?" she asked uncertainly, concern knitting her brow as she bent over him. "Are you feeling ill? It's not like you to go to bed without supper." Barnham sat up, rubbing his face wearily and shook his head to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

"No, I am not unwell," he promised her with a yawn. "Perhaps the day's duties wearied me more than I first thought. But rest assured that the breads of Labyrinthia will not escape my blade; they will be baked by my hand!" He stood, energy from his nap flooding his veins. His stomach rumbled and Espella covered her mouth with her hand while she snickered at his overenthusiastic display. _He's nearly as dramatic as Eve. They're both so… what was it Maya said? Flashy, _she thought in amusement.

Even with the reenergizing catnap, the night's hearty supper soon had a soporific effect on his mind. Espella and Patty both retired to their rooms early, claiming tiredness from the overhaul of baking. Barnham agreed to lock up the store and make sure that Constantine and Eve couldn't get to the treats laid prettily beneath protective cloths.

Then he readied himself for the night. Moving quietly on the landing, he locked himself in the lavatory for a quick bath and returned to his room, taking off his armor and giving it a good shining while he let his hair dry.

He undressed and latched the window, crawling beneath his quilt and reaching down once to make sure that the Storyteller's talisman was still where he'd placed it. Constantine licked his fingers before jumping up and walking down to the foot of the bed to curl up. Barnham let out a breath, willing himself to relax. It didn't take long before he was fast asleep, his fingertips still brushing the folded paper as he snored.

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**Afterword:** Read it. Favorite it. Review it. _(bangs fist on computer and flour flies everywhere)_


	2. The Spring Festival

Having worked so hard the day before, Barnham slept soundly with no dreams to awaken him prematurely. Instead, he was woken by Espella practically pounding down his door. The usually demure girl seemed beside herself with excitement as she called through the wood to him.

"Sir Barnham, are you decent? Aunt Patty said to come and wake you lest you sleep the day away and miss the festival!" He roused himself enough to jump out of bed and pull his pajama pants up until they covered his hips modestly before answering.

"You may enter!" he called back to her, turning to pull his quilt up over the cot. Even on a festival day, to leave one's bunk in anything less than tip-top shape was unacceptable. He tucked the quilt neatly across the pillow as Espella let herself in. He turned back towards her to see that she was wearing her new outfit; the gray color went well with her straw-colored plaits, and her crimson bodice enhanced the delicate stitching of the neckline.

"'Tis a finely tailored dress," he said with a nod of approval as she spun in place to let him see, the hem of the gown flowing around her knees. He moved towards his armor to get dressed himself, but Espella stepped in front of him, hands pushing him back.

"Oh, _no_! You can't wear your armor today; no one wears their work clothes on holidays!" she said firmly. "You have to wear your civilian clothing. If Aunt Patty is getting dressed up for this, than you must, too." He thought about protesting, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the talisman still folded where he'd left it the night before. He swallowed hard, but obediently turned to his trunk and pulled out his more modern attire.

"That's the spirit," Espella said confidently, backing towards the door and beckoning for Constantine. "Come on, Constantine. You and Eve can eat downstairs while your master gets ready for the day." The dog heard "eat" and immediately was at her heels, barking as he scrambled past her for the stairs. Espella smiled and shut the door, and a moment later he heard her descend as well.

He dressed silently, rolling up the sleeves of the beige jacket and looping the tie around his neck. Strapping on his sandals, he frowned slightly at the unfamiliar feeling of air on his feet. He was used to heavy iron boots, not thin straps of leather. He picked the talisman from the floor and slipped it deeply into his pocket, patting it to make sure it wouldn't fall out.

Stepping out onto the landing, he went into the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He tugged self-consciously at his collar, toying with his shirt and the tie until he decided that it looked well enough. He just wasn't used to seeing that much skin at one time, unless he was in the privacy of his own room. He wondered briefly if he looked "cool", as the tourists that came to the town sometimes said. Finally he forced himself to pick up the comb and run it through his hair. He heard Patty and Espella packing up the trays of goodies and quickly brushed his teeth and splashed water onto his face before heading downstairs to join them.

"Well, hello there handsome!" Patty said when she caught sight of him. She laughed afterwards, but the compliment was still honest and he couldn't help flushing slightly. She looked very different as well—her curls were more managed this morning, and instead of her usual floury dress and apron she was wearing a light blue gown with a matching straw hat.

Espella looked at him and immediately bit her lip to stifle her giggling. Patty looked at her strangely and she quickly busied herself with carrying the trays out to the wagon that the baker had borrowed from Mary the Milkmaid. Barnham saw Constantine eating a leftover bun and a sudden thought occurred to him that the dog should be wearing the little neckerchief that matched his own tie. He quickly ran back upstairs and dug through the trunk until he found the scrap of fabric, and then ordered the pup to sit still until it was neatly tied around his neck.

With Barnham's help, the wagon was soon fully loaded. Patty had packed them all lunches, but they took a roll to eat on the way there for their breakfast. Barnham ate his in two bites before picking up the front of the wagon and pulling it in the direction of the Square. Patty led the way with Eve and Constantine, and Espella followed behind to make sure none of the trays were jostled loose on the cobblestone pathway.

The air was still chilly, but the sun was already peeking out from behind the clouds on its upward ascension and the birds were chirping from their nests on the rooftops of Labyrinthia. Despite the lack of people out and about, a sense of cheer hung over the town and it was impossible to be unaffected. Patty began singing an old song from when she was a girl, and Espella joined in as best she could, humming when she didn't know all the words. Barnham felt his heart grow light as they came closer and closer to the Square, the bell tower rising before them like a friendly beacon.

They reached the Square in good time, and found that only one or two other vendors had already set up shop. Patty gave Espella some money to go to the butcher, who had fresh bacon and hams sizzling on the coals in his stall. Barnham helped her unpack and set out the displays of pastries, turning them and fixing petals and decorations at her behest. Espella came back with thick slabs of hot salted ham for everyone and soon the butcher came over and bought a sweet roll for his own breakfast, talking with Mrs. Eclaire a moment before heading back to his stand.

Soon more and more vendors came, and then the Square really started to smell delicious. Mary was selling fresh milk by the glassful, the fishmonger had set up a stall with trout and salmon cooked almost every way possible, Rouge and a few volunteers from her pub had fresh ale as well as other drinks (on order), and that wasn't all. Barnham spied the candy-man and his wife walk by with generous armfuls of confectioneries, the fruit vendor with baskets and baskets of the freshest apples and peaches, and even a few of the village housewives with their own homemade treats for sale. He and Espella both watched with mouths watering, licking their lips as more and more delectable aromas filled the air.

Soon the Square began to fill with more people and the games were being set up. By the time the town clock struck 10:00, everything was ready. Patty took over the stall and shooed them both away with a smile, handing them some money. Barnham tried to refuse, but she only shook her head.

"Don't give me that; you're always such a good help around the bakery. If Espella gets some spending money, there's no reason you shouldn't either," she said in a no-nonsense voice. "Now go and have fun, and be back at noon for lunch." She then turned without another word to help the line of customers growing at the bakery's stall.

Espella took off with a light laugh, money in hand and Eve-the-cat bounding at her side as always. Barnham looked around, but Constantine was nowhere to be found. He shrugged and pocketed the money, heading off to see what he could find to do for a few hours. He passed by a game where children could toss a ball into pins to win prizes, and watched with amusement as Petal won her younger brother a small bear dressed in knight's armor.

Soon he came to the candy-man's stall, which had been turned into a game as well. He laughed when he saw the premise; a large tub of water had been drawn from the town fountain and above it sat Emeer Paunchenbag, drinking heavily as usual. He caught sight of Barnham and brandished his drink menacingly.

"You think you got what it takes to knock me into this water?!" he roared, his red-rimmed eyes hazy and words slurred. "Come on, Inquisitor, pay some coin and try your hand!" The candy-man and his wife agreed to the drunkard's words and before he knew it, Barnham had three balls and was told to aim for the target. He cracked his knuckles, focusing on his target. His training in the garrison had been about precision and accuracy; he would _not _miss the target and embarrass himself.

He noted the crowd gathering around him, looking on with interest. The boy Cecil, clutching his new bear, began to chant his name in a reverent cheer. The crowd followed suit and he couldn't help a smug grin crossing his face before he reared back and threw the first ball. It hit true, and with an almighty _splash _Emeer was thrown into the tub of water, his drink flying out of his hand and clattering on the cobblestones. The chilled water was splashed over Barnham and a few other unlucky bystanders; but no one seemed to care. The cheering erupted into a roar of laughter and applause, and the candy-man's wife presented him with a paper cup of sweetmeats as a reward for a job well done.

Shaking the water from his hair, Barnham couldn't help but start laughing as well. He walked on, eating his marzipan fruits and letting himself dry in the sun. He spent his money on a few games and treats, enjoying the general atmosphere of the Square. By the time he'd made it beneath the bell tower, he heard Espella calling him. Turning, he saw her coming out of the crowds towards him.

"Sir Barnham! Everyone's talking about how you managed to win the candy maker's game!" she yelled out to him as she came closer. "I tried, but I wasn't strong enough to make the balls go all the way to the target," she added unhappily. "Eve wouldn't try, even though I told her she should. Isn't that right, Eve?"

Barnham felt the candy stick in his throat and his heart thumped against his ribcage as Eve followed close behind her young friend, looking shyly at the ground. If Espella looked pretty in her dress, than Eve was the personification of beauty in her matching outfit. Her dark hair looked lovely, hanging in loose curls against the gray of the dress. Her bodice was a lighter purple, but it had the same effect on the neckline's stitched pattern. He couldn't remember seeing so much of her legs uncovered before, but they stood out along with her low heels.

"Espella, you-you talk too much sometimes," she admonished, but her words lacked heat. "Even so—I'm glad to hear that you're having some fun, Zacharias," she added suddenly, looking straight at him. There was something forced in the gesture, as if she had to willingly tear her eyes from the ground just to look at him. What was the matter? Was it his dress? Or had she felt his stare, and it had made her uncomfortable?

"I-I am having fun," he admitted. "Holidays such as this—" he faltered, unsure of what he wanted to say. He didn't want to babble, but saying _nothing_, when they spoke nearly every day on much more important matters than silly festivals, would seem rude. "You, ah… you look nice in that dress. Espella told me that her father had it ordered special."

"Oh." Eve sounded surprised that he'd even brought it up. She looked down and tugged at the hem with her fingers. "Yes, I—he insisted that we should have matching outfits for the festival. For tradition's sake." She seemed as reluctant to speak as he did, though he couldn't imagine why. She never seemed to be so shy around him before. Usually she assumed the authoritative position when they worked on the reconstruction; habit, he supposed, from when she was High Inquisitor and he her subordinate.

"When we were children, our mothers would make us matching dresses for the Spring Festival," Espella explained helpfully, not knowing exactly what was going on between the two of them, but wanting to dispel the awkward silence as best she could. "We haven't worn outfits together in years, so I suppose Dad was just being a little sentimental. But it doesn't hurt to wear them for one day, does it?"

"No! No," Eve blurted, shaking her head. "I'm not complaining in the slightest. I-I love the dress. It's a welcome change from having to dress in a uniform all the time," she continued quickly, brushing her hair behind her ears. "Well…. We won't bother you any longer, Zacharias. We were just headed towards the fountain, _weren't we, Espella_?" She used more force than necessary, but the teen caught on after a moment, her mouth opening in silent comprehension before she turned to the knight, nodding vigorously.

"Yes! We have to go there straightaway!" she agreed. "I'll see you at lunch, Sir Barnham." She waved and tugged Eve in the direction they'd come, disappearing into the crowd once more. He watched them leave, feeling more puzzled than ever. He wasn't sure if he had something to do with Eve's strange behavior or not, considering how he barely managed to get a word in edgewise. Of course, Espella did say that her friend was shy, and didn't do well in crowds. Perhaps the heavy throngs of Labyrinthians had made her nervous already?

He wandered around more, stopping to speak politely with the few townspeople who flagged him down. The Vigilantes, having volunteered to keep peace at the event, were dressed up in their armor and all sweating heavily. Each one congratulated him on his "victory" at the candy maker's game, and Miss Foxy even offered him a complimentary heel stomp (which he graciously refused).

Soon the clock struck noon and he made his way back to Patty's stall, which was thankfully in the shade. He and Espella rested their feet and Patty closed the stand so they could all eat their dinner of cold sandwiches and milk. As a special treat, they each were allowed to pick one of the Spring Festival pastries to eat for dessert. Even after spending his money on all sorts of foods that morning, Barnham still found himself hungry enough to devour every last bit of the cake he'd chosen.

When lunch was over, Barnham and Espella took turns for two hours apiece watching the stand so that Patty could get out and enjoy the festive air as well. The afternoon passed quickly when you had a ceaseless line of hungry customers. The vendors began packing up after 5:00, and as the sun set everyone waited with growing anticipation for the band. The Vigilantes lit the torches around the Square, and the middle of the cobbled walk was being cleared for dancers.

Barnham fingered the talisman in his pocket as he stood off to the side, a flagon of ale in his hand. The band was preparing for the night's songs, and everyone had begun crowding around the Square in a large ring. The families and their friends would dance first, but that wasn't what he was worried about. He touched the paper again, having memorized the words written on it last night before bed.

_He felt a sense of luck and as the day grew to a close, he was able to brush aside his gnawing nervousness._

He had been lucky all day, he presumed. After all, he'd won every game he tried his hand at. That was particularly fortunate. And when he'd manned the bakery stand he _had_ sold many good treats, much more than usual. Had the Storyteller's words really come true, or was it just a great coincidence? _Hmm…. _

But instead of brushing off his nervousness, it seemed to be growing stronger. He frowned, finishing the last of the ale before taking the flagon back to Rouge. He kept his hand on the paper, willing himself to remain calm. After all, it would be well after dark before he would have to ask. And it wasn't like making conversation. It was only five simple words. _Would you dance with me? _He couldn't manage to make a mess of five words, could he?

A loud note from a fiddle arced through the air and a cheer went up from the Square. It was time to dance! To Barnham's surprise, Espella ran up to him and grabbed his arm, asking if he would dance with her first since the Storyteller hadn't arrived yet. The band launched into an old folk tune and he obliged her only because he couldn't think of a way to turn her down.

He led her out amidst the other dancers and twirled her around for a song. Amazingly, once his feet remembered the rhythm of the song he felt his anxiety melting away. After all, if he recalled how to dance there was no way for him to trip up, right? If he practiced out here with the others, then when the time came to dance with Eve he had less of a chance of making a fool of himself.

_The talisman must be working after all_, he thought with a smirk as he led the teen through the finishing notes and then bowed gallantly to her when as the crowd clapped. She tittered and curtseyed before spying her father and roping him for the second dance. Barnham then asked Patty on a whim, who blushed as bright as her hair but agreed, saying afterwards that it was the first time in twenty years that she'd danced with anyone so charming.

The evening flew by on the wings of endless music. The knights clamored over who was going to dance with Foxy and when, Boistrum and Rouge danced a polka remarkably well, the Storyteller and Mrs. Eclaire waltzed around the Square like it was their own private ballroom, and Barnham was fairly sure he saw Ridelle dancing with a book at one point.

Then the band played a tune he had heard in a fairytale play once before, though _which _play he couldn't have been certain. Cecil and Petal were dancing in a childlike way that was strangely endearing, Lettie Mailer and Jean Grayearl two-stepped in time to the beat, and Espella managed to physically drag Eve out to dance among the other young women pairing off with their friends.

He watched as the two girls began to dance, finding their rhythm clumsily before twirling around much more gracefully as they fell in synch with each other. He was fairly certain that witches _did _exist at this point, because he was spellbound. He couldn't take his eyes off of them as they danced, watching Eve and feeling a strange sense of envy for Espella. _She_ never had to worry about what anyone else thought; she was only dancing with her best friend. She could easily touch and talk to and enjoy Eve's company, without having to think about what others saw or any rumors flying about.

Then night fell. It felt as though he looked at the sky one minute and it was blue, and the next it was black and twinkling with stars. The full moon hung low and bright, aiding the torches in lighting the Square. A few families with young children departed for home, and the crowds began to thin out. The music changed, though no hand gave a signal. No voice called for a different melody, but all at once the pitch dropped and the rhythm slowed, sending a serene air over the remaining townsfolk.

Then, out of the crowd, a young man led a blushing young lady to the center and began to dance in a slow, easy way. More and more couples paired off and began to dance, and his heart quickened. It was time, wasn't it? His plan _had _to be enacted now. He brushed the paper in his pocket again, gaining strength from the written words. He took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the edges of the crowd for Eve. Finally he spotted her and Espella together. Espella kept glancing at one of the Great Archive's young bookkeepers with a coy, inviting smile, but Eve seemed almost frightened to make eye contact with anyone.

He was halfway over there before he realized it, his feet moving of their own accord. _Five words, that's all. 'Tis only five simple words. _He felt a smile pass across his lips, hoping that he looked bold and certain as he strode along the fringe towards the girls. Espella had finally caught the bookkeeper's eye and he was regarding her curiously, and Eve was watching their silent exchange too closely to even see him coming. By the time he was close enough to touch her, she still hadn't noticed him.

"Miss Eve?" She jumped, spinning around to see him standing there. Her eyes met his and she gaped for a moment before checking herself and taking a wary step closer to Espella. "I apologize if I frightened you," he said uncertainly. Maybe this was the wrong idea; maybe she _didn't _want to dance with anyone, much less him. He should probably just back out now…. He shifted and the talisman rubbed against his leg, almost as if reminding him of his motive and chiding his cowardice.

"No, it's fine. I was just…" she glanced at Espella again before shaking her head. "I was preoccupied. There's no need to apologize." She looked around for a moment before meeting his gaze. "Was there something you needed, Zacharias?" He almost lost his nerve again, but looking closely at her, he felt a rush of determination. Was that the glint of _hope_ in her eyes, or was he just seeing things? A trick of the light? He held out his hand, the gesture stiff.

"Will-you-dance-with-me?" The words came in a rush, barely understandable. But even if he had seemed to have lost the ability to speak English properly, she still caught his meaning. For a long moment, her eyes were locked on his hand and he felt the cold fist gripping his heart again. It could have only been a minute at the most, but it seemed as though he stood in place for hours, waiting for her answer.

Then a wave of relief washed over him as she nodded, letting him take her hand in his. She took a breath as he led her out to the dancers, and when he turned to put his hand on her waist she held the same lofty expression she donned in the midst of a trial. He was taken aback, but he saw her eyes flitting nervously to the crowd and realized that for their sake, she was trying to be brave. She clearly didn't want anyone noticing any apprehension on her part.

He took her in hand and began to dance with her, slowly revolving in time with all the others. He didn't look at her, knowing that if he managed to catch her eyes then he would end up stopping mid-dance—or worse, tripping up and falling into another couple. He instead saw things in pieces as they spun: the bookkeeper and Espella going to the floor, the Storyteller's guarded, edgy expression as he watched the youngster with his daughter, Mrs. Eclaire swaying to the music, Lottalance blushing darkly as he danced with a young woman Barnham had seen hanging around the garrison before.

The song ended and he finally dared a glance down at his partner. Standing still, he felt courageous enough to meet her eyes and felt his body grow warm when she smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. She seemed genuinely happy. He couldn't help grinning back at her, and then there was a movement around them as a few people changed partners. He saw Espella still with her bookkeeper fellow, giggling at some joke the boy was telling her as her father watched on cagily.

"If you have no other plans, I would be honored to dance another with you, Miss Eve." The words were out of his mouth before he could think about what he was saying. He knew in his heart that he'd done the noble thing; if she wanted out of this, it wasn't his place to force her to stay. But the small voice in the back of his mind was shouting at the top of its lungs for him to forget his knightly honor and keep her to himself the rest of the night.

"No, I have no other plans," she responded just as quickly. "I don't want to dance with anyone else." Her face darkened with her admission, but he felt such a rush of pure joy that he didn't mind in the slightest. The world could have ended, the witch trials could have started again, and he wouldn't have cared at all. And with his joy came a confidence that he usually only had on the battlefield.

"Then may I be so bold as to claim you for the rest of the night?" he asked, a suave edge to his tone as he gently pulled her closer. She blinked up at him in surprise before nodding silently and looking down at his tie, a cryptic smile gracing her lips. The band started a faster-paced tune and then they were dancing again in circles, this time moving quickly over the cobblestones.

The dancing carried on into the night, and it was nearing 2:00 am before people finally began to disperse. Espella bid goodnight to her bookkeeper before yawning and heading off to the bakery alone, Patty already having turned in some time before. The younger couples said their goodbyes and left for their own homes as well; the ones that lived on the outskirts were escorted by the Vigilantes for their own safety.

Barnham's feet were aching and Eve yawned, one hand over her mouth. Many of the older couples bid each other farewell. Many more ran off together into the night, no doubt searching for some secret place to continue their fun. The Vigilantes that weren't escorting the teens home began to put out the torches, and after watching them for a moment Barnham turned to his partner for the evening.

"Allow me to escort you to the gate," he offered civilly. After all, it was late and there might be a few delinquents out and about. A man such as himself would never allow a woman to walk home alone with criminals on the prowl. That would be a serious breach of his honor. Eve conceded and they walked through the now-quiet streets of Labyrinthia, the wall looming up before them out of the darkness the closer they got.

They didn't speak until they reached the gate. Eve turned to look at him, smiling with her usual self-assurance. It appeared that her confidence had come back. Perhaps she simply felt more comfortable around him than he did around her? After all, she'd been his boss for many years. It seemed only natural she felt secure when it was just the two of them.

"I had a nice time tonight, Zacharias," she said, breaking the silence. "I had no idea you danced so well."

"Well, a knight refined in battle is refined in all things," he replied assuredly. "What is dancing but elegant battling between two bodies?"

"I've… never heard it explained quite like that," she replied. "But you seem confident enough in your answer." She paused for a moment. "Will you come by the office tomorrow? I have something I want to show you, regarding Main Street."

"As you wish, Miss Eve," he answered. "I'm sure I can be spared from the bakery for a bit. After all, my first duty is towards Labyrinthia, as it always has been."

"You-you don't have to call me "Miss Eve", you know," she said suddenly. "I call you Zacharias, so you can just call me Eve." She nodded to him dismissively. "Until tomorrow then." She turned and he grabbed her wrist, something inside him wanting to leave her with more than a simple goodbye.

"Until tomorrow…." He looked down at her hand, where the scars of flame had darkened the skin. He brushed her knuckles against his lips, feeling a tremor work its way down her arm at the touch. "Eve."

He glanced up to see her eyes were wide and she pulled her arm from his grasp, her jaw hanging open for a moment before she managed to regain her composure.

"Until tomorrow," she repeated, almost breathlessly. She turned and walked past the gate and into the woods, her stance straight as a board. He saw her clenching and unclenching her fist, and wondered briefly if his action had angered her. However, he quickly realized that she'd never hesitated to dress him down for any minor infraction before—if he'd erred, she would have spoken up.

Still, she'd seemed… less than enthused about the kiss. Or perhaps she'd not known how to take it? He watched her until she passed a bend in the road and her dress was concealed by trees and hanging vines, considering what it all meant. Then he turned and headed back to the bakery, making sure no one was in sight before he took off in a fast sprint.

His heart was racing, but not from fear. He had done it! He'd successfully made it through the night, and he'd conquered his fears of dancing with the most beautiful woman in Labyrinthia! His entire body felt light, and he felt as though he could laugh. So the talisman had worked for him after all!

As fast as he ran without the impeding armor, it was no time until the door of the bakery loomed up ahead. He saw a light on in the lower windows and wondered if Patty had waited up on him. His suspicions were confirmed when he slowed to a walk, panting breathlessly from his impromptu run and walking through the front door to see the baker seated at the table, drying the now-empty pastry displays.

"Well, there you are!" she exclaimed when she saw him. "I was about to give up on you and go to bed," she added slyly, with a wink. He colored as the realization crept over him; she must have assumed _another _reason for his breathlessness. He made to protest and explain his tardy return, but she cut him off.

"Now, now, you're a grown man and you can do as you please." She stacked the trays on top of each other and moved around him to lock the door. "You don't have to tell me anything; I was young once, too," she giggled, a faraway look in her eye. "But don't you dare complain tomorrow morning when you have to get up early and work!" she warned, before reaching up on her tiptoes to pat his cheek and then sending him up to bed.

He was quiet on the landing, for he'd seen that the clock downstairs had proclaimed it to be well into the wee hours of morning. Espella would undoubtedly be asleep. But when he passed by her room, the door cracked open and an eager eye stared out at him.

"Well?" Espella whispered, leaning as far out the door as she dared; Patty always knew, somehow, which creaking door sounds belonged to her and which to Barnham. "What did Eve say?"

"Nothing of consequence," he replied in the same hushed tone. "Only that she'd see me tomorrow." He couldn't help a good-natured chuckle at the girl's crestfallen expression. "If you'd like to hear romance, ask your aunt for another story tomorrow. Real life isn't quite as glamourous," he chided teasingly before moving on to his room.

As he settled beneath his quilt for the night, taking care to keep from accidentally kicking the sleeping Constantine, he felt both excited and nervous for what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

**Afterword: **Well, it's been a while. But here's the second chapter, finally!


	3. Town Gossip

Eve was embarrassed. No, that wasn't the word for it; she needed a stronger adjective. She was humiliated—no, that wasn't right either. _Mortified_, that was the word. Eve was mortified. She walked down the cobblestones, head held high and face stoic, but inside she was shaking like a leaf and felt a tear-filled lump sticking in her throat.

And to think, the day had started off so well! She'd gotten only four or so hours of sleep due to staying up so late the night before, but on waking she felt as refreshed as ever. She usually didn't go to festivals, but yesterday's event seemed so important to Espella, and Eve couldn't bring herself to let her friend down. The day had been enjoyable, to be sure, and even though the large crowds had left her a little claustrophobic she had been relatively stress-free by the time nighttime approached.

And, if she was honest with herself, the festival was only _part _of her good mood. The other part of her happiness manifested itself in the form of a red-haired knight with a boisterous attitude. They had danced the night away, and Eve had been happier than she'd felt in months. It was true that she and Barnham had always maintained a steady professional relationship with each other as Inquisitors, but she'd never expected him to single her out on one of the most auspicious nights of the year, when everyone who danced was expected to eventually end up together in a more… _intimate_ fashion.

She had never heard him act so smoothly with anyone, much less her. Usually he acted more like a bundle of nerves whenever he spoke to her about anything other than the reconstruction projects they tackled each day. He'd stammer, or worse, not say anything at all.

The last time he'd done it had been on her birthday, and she'd been determined to see exactly how long he would stand like a statue and be unable to speak to her like a normal person. It had been over an hour, and with each passing minute she'd felt a strange mix of exasperation and pity. He talked down hardened criminals like they were nothing, but he couldn't even manage a simple "hello" to her?

She felt a little feminine pride at being able to reduce him to such a state, but it did get annoying at times. After all, they could have intense intellectual conversations about Labyrinthia, but heaven forbid she ask him if he liked her outfit. Not that she would ever ask him that, but… it was the principle of the matter.

Now that she thought about it, he hadn't said much last night, either. But he'd still emanated an aura of confidence that had truly surprised her. He'd seemed unaware of the burning stares of the older townsfolk, and when she was in his arms she had found herself able to ignore them as well.

But that was last night, and this was this morning. Everyone she passed was smiling wryly at her, or giving her meaningful glances, or whispering with each other in the doorways of their houses before quieting as she passed by. At first she didn't pay them any attention, dismissing it as nothing.

But then she distinctly overheard her name being thrown in the mix as two housewives mingled in the alley between their homes. "He's lucky to snag a girl like that Eve. She'll straighten him out, she will," the first one said quietly as she darned a sock in the bright sunlight. The other nodded sagely and continued to pluck the chicken on her lap.

They shushed as she walked near, watching her from under their eyelashes as they bowed their heads in silent greeting. She'd walked on, feeling a trickle of trepidation. Surely—surely it was an isolated incident. She pressed on, but then she passed by two knights walking together on guard duty.

"I dunno what he sees in her, really," one admitted. The other shrugged as best he could under full armor. "She's so…." he trailed off when he saw Eve, the little bit of face exposed under his helmet flushing in the way it does when one is afraid of having been overheard. They both stood at attention and tapped their hands to their helmets in a habitual sign of respect left over from when she was High Inquisitor.

"Lady Darklaw," they greeted, and she responded in kind before brushing by them, her heart sinking. "Maybe he _likes_ being the submissive one," she heard the other say when they thought she was out of earshot, and she set her shoulders with a grimace.

Even the _children_; as she stepped past a house, a little boy and his teenage sister came barreling through the front door and down the walk.

"Alice and Gregory, sitting in a tree!" the younger sung loudly, holding a plush bear-knight from one of yesterday's games underneath his arm. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" The girl gave an outraged shout and reached for him, but he was too fast for her. He nearly tripped Eve running out in front of her, and his sister managed to grab him back before they both took a fall.

"Sorry, Lady Darklaw," the teen said, holding her brother in a tight grip on his shoulder. He wriggled, but she shook his shoulder and he looked up with large blue eyes.

"Sorry, Lady Darklaw," he said at the older girl's prodding.

"'Tis fine," Eve replied in as gentle a manner as she could, even trying to summon a smile. She didn't care particularly for children, but she tried to be nice nonetheless. The boy blushed and hid in his sister's skirts until Eve passed on. Then she heard him say loudly, in the manner all little boys too young to hold their tongue: "She's lucky 'cause she's marrying a brave knight like Sir Barnham, and you're stuck with ugly old Gregory."

She heard the sister's shriek of anger and embarrassment, which mimicked her own feelings. Was the entire city dead-set on conversing about her private business? And what was with "marriage"?! They hadn't even courted yet, and already the town acted as though the wedding was planned!

This made her both humiliated and irritated as she turned towards the market, her hands balled into fists as she took deep breaths to try and calm down. But even in the marketplace, she was clearly the hot topic of conversation for the morning.

Muffet took one disdainful look at her and seemed ready to dissolve into tears. Cinderellia pouted and turned away, peering at her from between shabbily-gloved fingers. Bardly looked as though he might burst into song, but her expression quickly had him hiding behind his guitar. And then—

"Dearie, dearie me." She barely turned her head to see Miss Primstone pursing her lips, tapping her ever-ready baton on her forehead. "Dearie, _dearie_ me," she repeated ominously.

"Miss Primstone," Eve responded cooly, greeting the old woman with as much forced politeness as she could muster. "Good morrow." The teacher sniffed haughtily and pointed the baton right in Eve's face.

"Pay attention, my dear former High Inquisitor," she said in the annoyingly snide voice she used with her students. "For today's lesson is this! "Dancing leads to nothing but trouble!" It'll be on the test!" For once, Eve felt the eccentric primary school teacher might have been absolutely right.

"Thank you for that advice," she said civilly, and then turned on her heel towards the courthouse, leaving the old lady muttering in her wake. The final straw was when she took a shortcut through a seedy alley that passed by a pub. The men sitting in a row out front weren't entirely plastered yet, and they called out to her as she went through.

"O-ho! Look out men, here comes Barnham's sweetheart!"

"Are you just getting to town, Madame? Tell me, you didn't stay out _too _late last night, did you?"

"So the rumors are true… Barnham does have the best stamina of all the knights! That lucky dog!"

She had never been more embarrassed in all her life. She turned, face red, to confront them. She didn't care if she was no longer the High Inquisitor—no one talked to her like that! She opened her mouth to cut the drunkards down, but before she could say a word someone beat her to the punch.

"Hey! You lot, you complete _morons_!" Rouge rounded the corner of the pub like a madwoman, dagger gleaming in the light. "How dare you talk that way to anyone, much less a lady!" she shouted in a flurry of righteous anger. "You won't be shouting those kinds of things outside of _my _establishment; it's bad for business!" she hissed at them, and they all cowered before her.

"Apologize this instant to the High—er, to Lady Belduke," she ordered. Eve was amazed that she remembered her real name. Most of the town called her "Lady Darklaw", if not "Miss Eve". She had given up correcting them. It was about as good a chance of them calling her Belduke as it was for them to stop saying Eldwitch Woods instead of Nulwitch. It didn't matter what the name actually was—they'd called it one way so long, it had become ingrained in their memories.

"Sorry."

"Beggin' your pardon."

"I 'pologize."

The men mumbled and hid their faces inside their cups. Rouge nodded her head firmly and turned to Eve.

"And _I'm _sorry for allowing these idiots to sit outside. But then again, it's better than allowing them to tear the place apart inside," she said musingly. "And… if I may speak plainly, I think Barnham's a lucky man to be with you."

"We aren't even together," Eve protested, her face feeling as though it were permanently red. Rouge didn't bat an eyelash.

"Aye, but you'll be soon enough, won't you?" Without another word, she disappeared back into the murky darkness of her candlelit pub. The words seemed to echo ominously in Eve's ears and they chilled her to the bone. She turned and ran down the path, emerging into bright sunlight as she flew over the cobblestones towards the courthouse. People looked at her strangely and a few called out "what's the matter?", but she paid them no mind and didn't dare slow down.

Finally she reached the courthouse and bypassed the main rooms, going straight to her shared office and shutting the door. She leaned against it, breathing heavily. Gossiping, rude people! As if her private life was any of their business in the first place! The High Inquisitor Darklaw would have _never _been subjected to such humiliating treatment, but apparently plain-old Eve Belduke had to take it in stride.

How did Barnham manage to face the town after the Parade incident?! They all laughed at him for weeks, nigh on months! She now realized that if it had been _her_ in that situation, she would surely have died of embarrassment. Oh, if only witchcraft were real! Then she could have used Dimere and hid herself from the Labyrinthians, as well as their defacing opinions.

She moved to sit at her neatly organized desk, casting a furtive glance at the messy one across the room. As usual, papers were piled up high, held down with a dumbbell. Most people believed it was just a paperweight, but it had been many a day when Eve sat at "her side" and watched Barnham scribbling furiously with one hand, the other steadily exercising. She assumed it was some sort of stress-relief for him.

As usual, the memo wall was covered in papers with no thought to systemization or order of any kind. One couldn't tell which were new papers and which were older, and mangled among these were snippets of Barnham's personality—an image of him and….

She stared at the caricatured drawing of herself with a frown. She assumed he had gotten rid of that. He'd drawn it with his own hand, after one of their arguments had gotten terribly out of hand and left bad feelings on both sides. He'd used it for dagger practice, which offended her, sparking another fight and his unashamed vow to "never take it down". But now that they were on friendlier terms, he could have gotten rid of it.

She sighed and buried her face in her arms, shoulders sagging. Perhaps she could sleep in the dungeons tonight. Then she wouldn't have to face anyone on her way home. She frowned; if she really thought about it, she could see why they were so keen on talking about it. In most Labyrinthian eyes (save for the would-be witches, naturally) Zacharias Barnham was the celebrity hero. He was savior of Labyrinthia, destroyer of witches, purveyor of justice, gallant rebuilder of life after the trials, etcetera.

She'd seen magazines in the real world about celebrities. Everyone wanted to know each and every detail about their life, and it was the same in Labyrinthia. All the men wanted to be Barnham, and all the women wanted to be _with_ him. It only made sense that when he chose her in front of the whole town, it made for good gossip. He'd broken some hearts, and shown an interest in his old boss. And besides, all the people who danced on the night of the Spring Festival were expected—encouraged—to court. It was tradition, plain and simple.

She was sure that she wasn't the only match being spoken of. Everyone had seen Espella with that boy, and Eve was certain a few of the parents had seen the angry look on the Storyteller's face. That would be talked of. And in countless other households across the city, young women were being teased by their brothers, and young men by their sisters. She'd seen proof of that this morning, hadn't she?

_But still, everyone also seems to be talking about __**me**__. _She sat up and glared sullenly at the polished surface of her desk. As she sat, some commotion went on in one of the main rooms and she looked up in alarm. Were those blasted actors rehearsing a fight scene in there or something? She heard heavy footfalls and someone cry out in alarm. Then someone came running pell-mell down the hall towards… towards her?

Barnham burst through the door, his armor caked in flour and bits of dough. With him came the smell of fresh bread, reminding Eve that she hadn't eaten yet today. He paused for a moment before striding forward breathlessly, only to go back a moment later and shut the door again.

"I—beg your—pardon—Eve," he panted out, hands on his knees as he stood before her desk. He took a deep breath and stood up straight, filling in his lungs with much-needed air. "I had avowed to arrive as soon as I could, and not keep you waiting," he explained as he finally began to catch his breath. "But Mrs. Eclaire kept me over at the bakery until well into the morning. I ran here without pause in order to save you from needlessly waiting longer."

"You shouldn't have," Eve replied, almost apologetically. For the moment, she tried to push the thoughts of the townspeople to the back of her mind. It wasn't _too _hard, seeing as her mind was preoccupied with a streak of flour on his cheek. She felt the sudden urge to clean him up and tore her eyes away from his face before she allowed herself to get flustered. There would be enough time for fantasies later.

She pretended to be busy with a stack of papers on her desk. "I've only just arrived myself. I haven't been waiting long at all."

"Ah." He stood silently and she refused to look up at him. She was trying to decide whether or not to bring up the town's gossip. Surely he wasn't oblivious to it, was he? He did claim to have run the entire way, so perhaps he didn't pay any attention to the people's talk. "You—last night, I mean—you said you had something to show me."

"Huh?" She did look up at him now in confusion. She wracked her brain; the only thing she'd been thinking about lately was his lips on her hand, and the quiet way he'd said her name when they parted at the gate. "Ah, the fountain! Yes," she said, suddenly remembering what she'd wanted to get his opinion on.

"Espella gave me the idea, really. A fountain at the main entrance to the gate, with a tribute to the witch trials. Sort of a memorial, even though none of them actually died." She fished around in her desk before finding the blueprints and presenting them to him. He rolled the blueprint onto the desk and they both bent over it side-by-side.

"I see. 'Tis a fine sculpture," he said, looking at the outline for the statues that would stand at the fountain's head. "But where would it go? There are shoppes along the wall. I doubt their proprietors would enjoy being moved."

"That's what I wanted your input on. Should we try and move the shoppes, or try and place the statue outside the city gates? I'm not familiar with the permitting allowed with that option, though," she added thoughtfully, scratching her cheek. "Let me get the map."

She moved to the other side of her desk and procured a current map of Labyrinthia, already marked over with both her and Barnham's handwriting. Each time they made a project, they consulted the map. Now it was nearly falling apart with overuse and they needed a new one, but the cartographer assured them that it would be a month at least before the newest issues were ready.

She moved back to his side and spread the map out over the blueprint, letting the end with the Great Archive hang off the opposite end as they looked closely at the front gates. They stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts as they consulted the elegantly drawn map.

"How about here?" he asked, pointing to a place on the wall close to Eve's left hand. He leaned across her and tapped the exact point with his finger. "There are few shoppes here to disturb." He was close enough for her to smell the flour/sugar/flame aroma of the bakery, which overpowered the fainter odor of sweat and soap. It wasn't a distinctly male scent, but it still sent warm shivers down her spine and it was a moment before she was confident in her ability to answer without a shaky voice.

"The tourists wouldn't see it that far from the main path. I was thinking more along the lines of here." She pointed to a spot in the middle of the street just before the gates. Barnham shook his head.

"'Tis not a practical placement. Carts and horses would have a hard time maneuvering around it to get in and out of the city."

"They can get around this way," she argued, tapping the map. "If we just move the armory tent a few meters, then—"

"They won't move that armory tent," Barnham countered obstinately. "They'll fight you for that space. Any farther in and they would lose customers."

"Any farther out and there's no reason to build this fountain at all." They glared at each other, the atmosphere thickening as it always did before a fight. Their arguments were legendary to those who frequented the Courthouse in the before-times when trials were still frequent. When they _really _got into it, anyone in or near the Courthouse could hear them. Of course, fights of that intensity were few and far between. Still, it left a mark on anyone who heard it.

"Then perhaps we should just put the fountain somewhere else," Barnham suggested, his voice striving to remain calm. Eve pursed her lips and shook her head, crossing her arms.

"No. It wouldn't be right to have it anywhere else. It should be a symbol of the town, like the bell."

"Tis a mere _fountain_!" Barnham scoffed. "The city is full of them." Eve puffed up, her eyes narrowing angrily.

"All the same, I won't have it anywhere else," she declared, her voice rising. Barnham set his jaw, eyes beginning to blaze with gray fire.

"You are the most tenacious female to ever have lived, Eve Darklaw," he proclaimed. She humphed and turned away. "If you don't want the fountain anywhere else, then by all means, stick it right in the way. It'll be demolished by the first cart to pass through the gates, you mark my words."

"Marked," she replied sarcastically, making a checkmark sign in the air between them. "Are there any other objections, _Sir Apprentice Baker_?" Being called _that_ was his breaking point, apparently. His face began to resemble his hair in color, his eyes burning as he bit back a snarl. She decided that he looked much like Constantine in that moment.

"None whatsoever," he answered, tone cold and even. It sounded more like her than himself. "Don't call me that again."

"Don't kiss me without my permission." The retort had popped up in her mind and passed her lips before she could even think about holding it back. She blamed the stress of the day on it, immediately drawing back with a sick sense of foreboding. _I didn't mean that_! she thought desperately. She didn't know what she was doing! She had enjoyed his chivalrous parting last night, and the only way it would have been better is if he'd been a little less gallant and kissed her fully instead of just claiming her hand.

Yet he didn't seem to take offense, but instead leaned forward with a challenging gleam in his eye, and she wondered if maybe she _did _know what she was doing after all. She was inciting him on purpose, but to what end? Her brain seemed to know something that she didn't.

"I could kiss you right here and now," he retorted in a smug tone, as if he knew she wouldn't stop him. One ginger eyebrow arched as he waited for her to answer, and it took all she had to keep from taking him up on his offer. Something about the arguing only made her like him more—perhaps it was because when they fought he was at his best, with no awkward pauses or embarrassed silence.

She knew that outside of an argument, there was no way that he'd claim to kiss her without her full consent. He was too "noble" for that. She even half-expected him to come out with some lesson of Miss Primstone's: "Kissing a pretty girl leads to nothing but trouble" or something like that.

"Do it." The two words hung between them and he faltered a moment, eyes widening as if he just now realized what he'd said to her. She sealed her victory by leaning in, pretending that she was in court and he was the Defender who was one step away from losing by her hand. "I challenge you to do it, right now." She met his gaze and didn't dare look away, returning his haughty smile tenfold.

He leaned in slowly, and despite herself she felt her breath quicken along with her heart. Was he really going to—? She was nearly quivering with anticipation. Damn what everyone else said; if they wanted a courtship, she might as well give them one that they'd never forget. Right now, they didn't matter one whit; the only thing in the universe that mattered was whether or not his lips were going to meet hers.

But he moved past her lips to speak into her ear, his voice low and breath tickling her hair.

"I wouldn't want to chance your displeasure." The words hit her like a rock and the breath whooshed from her, shoulders sagging in disappointment. He backed away and looked appraisingly at her, grinning triumphantly. "I've stayed from the bakery too long. They'll miss my presence. I'll be taking my leave now." He took her hand and bowed slightly before releasing it, moving towards the door.

"Z-Zacharias!" he stopped at the threshold and looked at her. She rolled up the map and the blueprint before sitting at her desk. She looked up at him, eyes meeting his. "You've got something on your face, Sir Apprentice Baker." He looked for a moment like he might retaliate, but then vanished through the threshold and clomped down the hall.

She bit her finger, trying to wait until he was out of earshot before laughing. _It was a close call, but I have had the last laugh, Zacharias. _It was strange—they hadn't been fighting, not really. It was more… she thought to herself, tapping her quill lightly on the desk. Was that _flirting_? It was different than the batting eyelashes and coy glances Espella used on her young Archive friend, but their little argument had dissolved into something more resembling playful banter rather than serious insults.

She wished, not for the first time, that she had an older female role model to ask about these sorts of things. If her mother had lived, she could have gone to her for advice. But while Espella had Mrs. Eclaire for that sort of thing, she had no one. She sighed and got down to some real work, trying to push her thoughts aside until the stack of papers on her own desk had been taken care of.

* * *

**Afterword:** Eve-centric chapter. Woop woop!

In other news: I think everyone had a Miss Primstone in their lives. I know I did. 6th grade. Gray hair and glasses and everything. Uncanny resemblance.


	4. Eve and Espella

"Eve! Are you in? I've come to call on you!" Eve looked up as Espella walked through the door to her office. After yesterday's little argument between her and Barnham, she hadn't managed to get even a dent in the paperwork. She'd been distracted by her thoughts, and hadn't done much more than sit and stare into space.

So she'd come in earlier today—she could get her work done, and it was early enough that not many citizens were out roaming about. Her morning commute had gone without a repeat of yesterday's hassle, and she'd managed to get nearly all the papers signed and filed correctly. She had only a little left, and looked upon her friend's visit as an excuse for a well-deserved break.

"Espella, come in," she greeted, motioning for the girl to drag Barnham's empty chair over to her own desk. "Doesn't Mrs. Eclaire have you busy in the mornings?" she asked conversationally, putting aside her work and making sure her favorite quill was safely in its holder.

"Eve, it's already afternoon," Espella chuckled in reply. "You've had your head in your work all day again, haven't you?" Eve colored and nodded. "Well, it's no matter. Sir Barnham messed up this morning and Aunt Patty's been in a huff all day since. I _had _to get out of the bakery for a little while, or else I'd be next." She winced. "I doubt I could eat another entire absolution roll."

"A-absolution roll!?" Eve exclaimed, trying to imagine what something with such a name would look like. Espella nodded grimly.

"Yes. Whenever you mess up in the bakery—I mean _really_ mess up, not just some little something—or if you ever forget to appreciate the bread, then you have to eat an absolution roll."

"What, pray tell, are those?" Eve said faintly. "I don't think that's on her menu."

"They're not," Espella said with a frown. "In order to get her forgiveness, first you have to bake it yourself while she watches. And then, you have to eat the entire roll; it's not really a roll as much as a loaf, but in any case you have to swallow every bite. And it's _huge_!" She spread her arms for emphasis.

"I-I see." Eve shuddered at the thought of being forced to eat copious amounts of bread.

"It's a worthwhile punishment, though," Espella added thoughtfully. "You never repeat your mistake. You'll definitely remember what you did wrong after eating an absolution roll." She tilted her head, hand on her chin. "In any case, I thought that today Sir Barnham might have to make one. I'm not sure what he did, but by the time I got downstairs there was flour everywhere and water all over the floor. Aunt Patty was so angry! I've never seen her that angry before."

"Oh really?" Eve replied, pretending to be interested in the surface of her desk. She didn't want to seem too inquisitive about the knight's problems at the bakery, but at the same time… how could she _not_ be curious? Espella caught the false sense of indifference in her voice and leaned forward, grinning slyly.

"Oh yes. He's not been the same since he came home in a huff yesterday. What did you do to him, Eve?" Eve sat up straight, feeling color flood her cheeks. She looked away, trying to school her face into a puzzled expression.

"What do you mean?" she asked, hoping that she sounded nonchalant and innocent. Espella arched a brow, clearly not buying any of it.

"He always works hard when he's angry at something, and yesterday he was the most focused baker there ever was. He worked until closing time, and probably would have kept on if Aunt Patty had let him. And the entire time he was muttering under his breath about _you_." She giggled. "So? What in the world did you do to the poor man?"

"Nothing!" Eve exclaimed, feeling a little huffy herself. Even her best friend was drawing conclusions based on one night's events! "What-what do you think I would do to him?" Espella looked confused at the suddenly defensive tone.

"Well, I thought that perhaps you teased him or something. He doesn't take teasing very well—which is strange, considering that everyone in the city laughed at him for that whole Wild Ride business. Even Dad remembers that, and you know how dense _he_ can be sometimes."

Espella kicked her feet in the chair, pursing her lips. "I don't know. I just know he was muttering something and every little while he'd go "Argh! That—Eve!"." She scrunched up her face in mimicry of his as she pretended to pound the life out of some imaginary dough. Eve sighed, running a hand through her hair and pulling a few strands out of its usually impeccable braid.

"He's still such a child in some ways," she muttered. "He calls himself a man, but he whines about like a child." Espella's brow furrowed as she considered her friend's words.

"Yes, but… Eve, you whine about too sometimes. Doesn't everyone?"

"I don't know, Espella," Eve responded exasperatedly, resting her face on one hand. "Maybe. I just—we got into an argument yesterday. That's all it was; an argument about where to put that witch trial fountain. And then... I guess I did tease him, a little bit. I called him," she paused, a smile gracing her lips at the memory. "I called him _Sir Apprentice Baker_."

"Eve! How horrible!" Espella chided, but she was laughing so hard the words barely managed to come out. Eve couldn't help but laugh too, and soon the two girls were in hysterics. "I—I can just see his face! Was he as red as his hair?"

"He was!" Eve crowed, and the two dissolved into fits of laughter once more. "Wasn't it awful of me?" she asked breathlessly, once they'd managed to calm down somewhat. "I suppose I shouldn't have goaded him like that, but…." She faltered. "I wasn't going to let him win."

"I really don't think he minded much, coming from you," Espella declared cheerfully. "He really likes you, you know."

"Does he?" Eve couldn't keep the anticipation out of her voice. Espella looked at her strangely.

"Of course he does. He asked you to dance, didn't he? And he's always watching you when you come to the—" she stopped as some sort of realization dawned on her and then she cleared her throat. "But enough about that!" she said with unnecessary enthusiasm. "If you're done with work for the day, you should come with me to visit Dad. He's always saying how he never sees you anymore."

"Well I—yes, of course I'll come by for a visit." Eve stood; even though she and the Storyteller had never been quite the same after her father's death, it was no good to just ignore the old man. She felt that deep down, he was trying to right some of his wrongs, and she shouldn't be the one to stop that from happening. Besides, she had nothing to do after work other than wander the town or go home to an empty house.

"Great! Dad'll be so happy!" Espella leapt from her chair and nearly bounced all the way to the door. "Come on, Eve! I want to watch the sun set from the Audience Room; it's always the most beautiful sight from those arched windows!" Eve finished putting her desk back into order before obediently following Espella out the door.

It was a shorter walk to the Audience Room than it was for Eve to get home, and there were fewer people milling about this time of afternoon. Still, at her request they bypassed the main roads and skirted the town. As they did so, she explained about the people's appalling behavior to her yesterday. Espella wasn't as sympathetic to her plight as she would have thought.

"Oh please, Eve," she scoffed as they stuck to the shadows on their way to the garrison gates. "Everyone becomes talk of the town at least once in their life. You didn't see me refusing to leave my room when they all thought I was Bezella."

"You're bolder than I am," Eve protested as they waited for Mary to pass by with all her goats walking in a single file line behind her. "I can't stand the thought of everyone talking about me. And Zacharias and I aren't even a couple yet."

"But you will be, won't you?" Espella replied absently as she watched the goats with fascination. Her response so mirrored Rouge's that once again, Eve was speechless. However, unlike Rouge Espella was clearly expecting a reply of some sort. "Hmm?" she urged, turning around to see the expression on her friend's face. "Eve Belduke, if you didn't want to date him, why did you accept his hand at the Spring Festival?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

"It's not that I don't want to date him!" Eve defended. "It's just complicated, that's all. You're too young to understand it yet."

"I understand enough," Espella retorted as the last goat went its way and they were finally able to pass across the main road to the next set of alleys. "I danced too, you know. I just think it's really rude to leave him second-guessing himself, even if you are shy."

"Oh, hush," Eve snapped irritably. Espella rolled her eyes, but a moment later she was cheerfully greeting the knights that guarded the gate. They greeted her and saluted Eve, and then the two were in the garrison.

"Hello!" called one of the knights (Eve could hardly keep them apart, even when they weren't in uniform). Espella greeted them and the knight turned to Eve with a questioning look. "Are you here for Barnham? He's training at the moment, so you might have to wait."

"I've come to see the Storyteller," Eve corrected him, perhaps a little more forcibly than she needed to. She was used to being authoritative with the knights, and even when she meant to be nice she came off as coldhearted and aloof. Apparently that also meant they thought of her as a sadist, if the conversation she overheard yesterday was any proof.

"Well, he's not here either," the knight replied in a somewhat offended tone. "And the Audience Room is locked up. You can go and watch the training while you wait, if you want to. Today they're all brushing up on their grappling skills." With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the stables.

"You didn't have to be so mean, Eve," Espella said under her breath as they moved towards the training areas. "He only meant to be nice."

"I didn't mean to sound rude," Eve admitted. "I guess it's just a force of habit." They turned the corner of the stables and the training area was before them, surrounded by a ring of shirtless men. Espella eeped in surprise and Eve's eyes widened as they both took in the sight.

"Grappling?" Espella asked hesitantly, turning to her friend.

"I suppose it _would _be hard to throw your opponent to the ground if you're wearing sheets of metal," Eve answered, taking in the sight with an appreciative eye. All the knights weren't half-bad looking. Of course, it was no surprise that they were all well-built, carrying such heavy armor.

"Yes, I suppose so… oh, look! Sir Barnham's about to win!" She pushed her way forward in the ring of men, looking with interest at the fight going on. Eve stepped forward too, peering over her friend's head. Espella was right—Barnham did have the upper hand. The two men were locked in each other's grips, and it seemed that endurance was the main factor. The first one to lose strength would be the one to fall.

And then, with an almighty shove and a triumphant shout, the smaller man was in the dust and Barnham was left standing. The rowdy catcalls of the men watching the fight rose to a deafening roar of praise for the winner, and Espella cheered just as loud as they did. Eve found herself applauding him, but didn't jump about and shout at the top of her lungs like her younger friend.

Barnham helped his opponent to his feet and dusted off his back. He looked up and saw the girls standing off to the side, surprise flitting across his face. He seemed to hesitate a moment when he saw Eve, a shadow passing over his face, but nonetheless he began to push his way through the men towards them with a call for another man to take his place in the ring.

Eve bit her tongue, not knowing if she should speak or not. After all, he didn't look too happy to see her, and she still was more than a little irritated at him. She supposed that it was only to be expected—when they were Inquisitors, an argument might mean two weeks or more of giving each other the cold shoulder. They could be hotheaded at times, and they both knew it. It was easier to give the other a wide berth until things cooled down. But now that they were on friendlier terms, she imagined that it wouldn't be as easy to ignore each other.

"Good afternoon," he said at last, when he'd reached them. He seemed completely unaware of his undress, and while Espella didn't seem to notice Eve couldn't help but find her eyes drawn to the muscles glistening with sweat in the sun. "I didn't—erm, what brings you out this way?" he asked conversationally, his eyes flitting from one girl to the other.

"We've come to call on Dad," Espella explained cheerfully. "I thought it best to stay away from the bakery today. Aunt Patty isn't in the best mood…."

"Ah, yes…" Barnham looked away sheepishly. "I, too, thought it best to spend the day training here instead of working with the bread." He paused uncertainly, searching for something else to say. He looked at Eve, biting the inside of his cheek before standing ramrod straight. "Eve?"

"Yes?" She found herself locking eyes with him and just like that, whatever determination he had was gone. He opened his mouth, closed it, looked about, and then closed his eyes, hands behind his back. She and Espella shared a glance before waiting for him to finish. A minute ticked by, and then two. And then three. He could have been a statue, he moved so little. Eve frowned, but it was Espella who broke the silence.

"Sir Barnham! Out with it, if you please!" she shouted, and both Eve and the knight nearly jumped out of their boots at her tone.

"Yes; of course!" He stood at attention, looking eerily similar to the guards at the gate. "Eve! I'd like for you to do me the honor of accompanying me tomorrow!" Once it was out, he seemed to deflate in relief.

"Accompany you?" Eve repeated, startled. "Where?"

"I-I must confess, I haven't decided that yet," Barnham mumbled. Eve saw Espella roll her eyes when he turned away for a moment. "But… somewhere private." He caught the look on Eve's face and immediately colored in embarrassment. "Only to talk!" he added hastily. "I mean somewhere where the townspeople can't overhear our conversation!"

"Oh. I see." Eve thought it over for a moment before nodding. "Alright, I accept." His face lightened considerably, and he even managed to smile. She felt a small grin on her own face, and suddenly her shyness crept up on her like a plague. _Why on earth should I feel this way? I've known Zacharias for ages now—I shouldn't feel so bashful around him_, she told herself firmly. But she'd felt the same way at the dance, too.

"If you would, meet me at the bakery tomorrow morning around 10 o'clock," he said, and she nodded again. The air became tense again, but thankfully Espella saved them from another awkward silence.

"Oh, I think I see Dad going to the Audience Room!" she said, grabbing Eve's hand. "We have to go, Sir Barnham! Don't stay here too late, or Aunt Patty will be _really _angry that you made her worry!" she warned over her shoulder as she tugged Eve in the direction of the Audience Room.

"Espella, wait!" Eve finally managed to exclaim, her legs nearly failing her. Her friend had a much faster gait than she did, and the uneven ground of the garrison was much different than the cobblestones in the town. Her young friend obediently slowed when they reached the parked carriage, and they both stopped in its shadow to catch their breath. Finally, Espella began to giggle.

"All those men… they were pretty cute!" she admitted. "But really, I like them a little skinnier," she added wistfully, clearly thinking of her crush at the Archives. "And you," she continued, a note of playfulness in her voice, "couldn't keep your eyes off of Sir Apprentice Baker the Second!"

"Shh!" Eve ordered, glancing over her shoulder at the men. "They'll hear you!" Espella snickered, but didn't say any more. "Besides," she added when the men resumed their loud cheering for the wrestling, "it's hard not to look, especially when you've hardly ever seen the person without armor on, much less a shirt."

"Yes, I guess you're right," Espella conceded. "I guess I'm just used to it."

"What?"

"What?" she parroted, looking strangely at Eve. "I see Sir Barnham without a shirt all the time. He doesn't sleep in one." She laughed at her friend's incredulous expression. "He wanders around the top floor of the bakery without one, when the shop is closed. Aunt Patty was going to complain, but she said as long as he kept his pants up she couldn't really make a fuss about being shirtless."

"Ke-keep his _pants_ up?!" Eve could hardly believe what she was hearing. It was even worse that she felt a pang of pure jealousy strike her right in the heart. Espella didn't even know how to appreciate such a sight. Then again, Espella did claim that she liked her men thin; perhaps if Barnham was as bony as her little Archive scholar, than she might have been drooling over the knight as well.

"His sleeping pants are too big for him, see, so they always fall down on his hips. He's got to pull them back up when he gets up in the mornings, or else they'd probably fall off when he tried to walk!" Espella giggled again, presumably at the mental image. Eve was too busy trying _not_ to get a mental image. Otherwise, she would be redder than the younger girl's cloak.

"_Ahem_," she cleared her throat, standing up quickly. "Let's go, Espella. I don't want to stand about all day in the hot sun."

* * *

Eve allowed Espella to do most of the talking when it came to conversation with the Storyteller. She sat quietly on one end of a plush divan, Espella on the other, and focused more on her cup of tea than she did on what they were saying. When she finally resurfaced from her thoughts, the topic was, of all things, Patty Eclaire.

"But, I mean, everyone I know calls her "Mrs. Eclaire". So that automatically means that at one point, there _had _to be a Mr. Eclaire, right?" Espella asked, her brow knitted in perplexed concentration. The Storyteller sighed, putting aside his cup and lacing his fingers as he thought.

"Perhaps, Espella, perhaps. But…" he looked out the window. "I can't tell you much of anything. It's called a "confidentiality clause" for a reason. I swore to uphold their privacy if they would submit to the experiment."

"So you mean that she _did have _a husband before becoming Patty Eclaire," Eve piped up. She had wondered sometimes, on slow days when there wasn't much more to do than people-watch, who the citizens of Labyrinthia really were. After all, she knew that they wouldn't have been there in the first place if they hadn't been unhappy with their lives in the real world outside of the city's borders. What had made them so despondent that they willingly gave up family and friends to become an everyday citizen of a medieval-esque town?

"Like I said, there's not much I can say openly," the Storyteller repeated. "But…" he paused, looking at them shrewdly, "since Eve figured it out, I suppose it wouldn't be breaking the clause to tell you…." Espella leaned forward eagerly, a motion that didn't go unnoticed by her father. His expression became sterner than usual. "Espella, whatever I tell you today must not leave this room. And I expressly forbid you from saying anything about it to Mrs. Eclaire, do you understand? If she wants to remember her past, she'll come to me."

"Alright, Dad," Espella said, one hand over her heart. "I swear my honor upon it," she said, in an almost perfect mimicry of the knights. The Storyteller watched her for a long moment, and then turned to Eve.

"That goes for you as well, but I know you too well to worry about secrets leaking out."

"Sir," Eve nodded, unable to quell her own curiosity. Perhaps… perhaps she might learn something about Zacharias, if she asked the proper questions.

"Well then." He took another drink of tea and wiped his mouth neatly with a napkin. "When candidates submitted the application for the Labyrinthia Project, they had to list explanations for why they wanted to undergo the experiment. We picked out the ones who were most unhappy in their present state, for whatever reasons. One of Mrs. Eclaire's reasons was that her husband of twelve years had, at that time, recently died of a degenerating illness."

"Was there no cure?" Espella asked softly, clutching her pendant absently as she watched her father, riveted on the information he was giving her. The Storyteller shook his head.

"No. As a matter of fact, there _still _is no cure for that disease. Top scientists are unable to figure out what causes it, and it's a slow way to die." He cleared his throat. "In any case, when it came time to interview her—I always did the interviews personally, to see if the person was someone I felt could fit into the society of my town—she explained it to me. At that time her name was Patricia, and she specifically requested that if she was going to be given a new start, she wanted people to call her "Patty" instead." He smiled. "She's one of a bare handful that ended up picking their own name."

"Was she a baker, in that time too?" Espella asked eagerly, but the Storyteller shook his head.

"No more questions about Mrs. Eclaire," he said firmly. "You heard about her husband, and that's all you need to hear." He saw Espella's disappointment and his face softened. "Remember, my child: that's not your story to know. You have a personal tale; let her keep hers."

"Alright…."

"Mr. Cantabella," Eve spoke up, having been listening silently to the man's tale. "Are you saying that you came up with unique names for every single applicant? I find that a little hard to believe. I mean, I can understand "Eclaire" for a baker, and "Smith" for the ironsmith, but… some of the names are a little strange, to be sure."

"I did come up with many of the names, but for my own sake I sometimes kept them close to the applicant's original name. As for last names… I must say, perhaps I got a little creative," he added with a wry smile. "You speak of someone in particular, I assume?"

"N-no," Eve denied, looking out the high-arched window. The garrison lay spread below them like a landscape, the knights looking more like children in armor as they went about their evening duties. "But—say, Zacharias Barnham, for instance." At this, the Storyteller burst into laughter.

"Oh, yes! Barnham…." He tapped a finger on his chin. "Well, I suppose if I tell you the origin of his name, that won't be harmful. But I do expect you both to keep it a secret all the same." Both girls nodded solemnly. "Zacharias, in the time before he came to Labyrinthia, was known simply as Zach. I only added a little more flourish to the name."

"And "Barnham"?" Espella asked curiously.

"Well, when he came in for his interview, he told me he was on his lunch break. He was eating a ham sandwich from a corner store—that is, a small shop that doesn't specialize in any certain product," he added when Espella looked confused. "From that point on, whenever I looked at his file I associated it, and him, with a ham sandwich. So he became Barnham from that point on, even before I had decided on Zacharias." He laughed again. "One of my more interesting interviews, to say the least. And he's every bit as noble now as he seemed back then."

"You mean, even before he was a knight, he still acted like one?" Espella responded, eyes wide. The Storyteller nodded.

"Of course. My hypnotism only took away their memories, not their personalities. After all, didn't Mr. Wright still remember how to be a Defender, even if he had his memory wiped? Didn't he still fight for justice, even though up to that point, he'd only remembered being a lowly baker?"

"You're right," Espella nodded.

"Just because you take away a person's memories, that doesn't mean you take away who they are deep inside. If I had the power to erase a person's soul, I would be a very rich man. But the inner light in all of us will find a way to shine through, even if we don't have an inkling about who we are."

"That's lovely," Espella sighed when he ceased. "Don't you think, Eve?"

"Yes," Eve agreed, but inwardly she was still curious. Before she had a chance to say more, the Storyteller cut her off.

"That's enough about people and their pasts. Knowing you young ladies…. you'd manage to wheedle something out of me that you shouldn't hear."


	5. An Outing, Inside

**Author's Note:** Switching back to Zacharias now. I plan to do two chapters per character in order, for clarity's sake.

* * *

Luck truly was against him. He'd finally managed to come up with a plan to get his relationship with Eve to move forward, but the fates had other ideas. He propped his elbows on the windowsill and looked out at the rain pouring across the city. It was a torrential downpour, rattling loudly on the shingles of the rooftops and plinking on the cobblestones. The wind beat against the open shutters, bending the trees of the wood and sending the gray clouds rolling across the horizon.

He peered out the window as far as the overhang would allow, looking at the street below. It was washed out, the gulley on either side of the narrow street already resembling a creek. He watched as a potted plant, detached from its mooring somewhere up the street, went bobbing along before catching on an overturned barrel at the bend of the road. There was no one on the streets today—only those who had official business would brave the weather and go outside. The other citizens would stay indoors, cozying up to their hearths and plying the needle or woodworking.

As he watched, a lone figure turned the bend, nearly falling in the waterlogged ditch before righting itself. By the large bulge beneath the heavy cloak, he took the figure to be Lettie Mailer. She'd not let a little storm stop her from her appointed rounds. She was headed towards the Wood again, and he found himself leaning a little more out the window to call down to her.

It _was _Lettie, for when he finally shouted her name loud enough to be heard over the wind, she turned her face up to him and he saw a flash of green hat and blonde hair before the wind drew the cloak's hood across her face. She waved to him and he motioned for her to step beneath the overhang that served as part of the bakery's roof. She did so; pulling back her hood once she was beneath the shelter and blinking up at him with a wearied, yet somehow still cheerful expression.

"Sir?!" she shouted, as if he weren't just a single story above her. He winced at the loud tone, his ears ringing, but didn't scold her for it as he usually did. Most of the time he wanted to cite her for disrupting the peace, but Espella had commented on more than one occasion that technically Ms. Mailer was using an "outdoor voice" while she _was_ out of doors, so he couldn't say anything.

"Where are you headed in the Wood?" he asked, fighting back the notion that he was being nosy about matters beyond his personal business. Everyone else in the city did it; why not him? "Tis a rough day to be treading the path through the trees," he added, hoping she thought he was more concerned with her wellbeing rather than whether or not she was stopping at a certain person's home.

"Aye," she agreed, with a calculating look at the sky. "And it won't be stopping anytime today, I'm sure. But the mail's got to be delivered!" she declared, pointing a finger vehemently towards the heavens. "And as Labyrinthia's only mailperson, I have no choice but to do it myself. As for where I'm heading," she continued, "There's a few letters for the people that still live in the old Shade village, and there's a large parcel due for Miss Darklaw from the Courthouse. Official business, I assume." She seemed to have forgotten that the Courthouse didn't deal directly with Eve anymore, other than her office being located there.

"If you're headed to Miss Eve's house, would you be so kind as to tell her that we'll simply have to reschedule our… meeting?" he asked, perfectly aware that whatever he said would be spread throughout the city by the day's end, and taking care to keep his words as neutral as possible. He knew that Eve would understand what he meant, but Lettie and all her gossiping companions would just have to muddle it out for themselves. The young woman's eyes lit up at the message, and she smiled knowingly at him.

"Oh, of course!" she exclaimed with a giggle. "I'll tell her to take a rain check on your "meeting"… heehee!" She pulled the hood back over her face before he could say another word and ran out into the rain, heading pell-mell for the wall. He watched her, shaking his head before pulling back through the window, his armor nearly getting stuck on the sill.

He pulled the shutters and latched it tightly, lest the wind change direction and pour water all over his cot. Constantine was curled at the foot of the bed, watching him with one eye before burrowing his nose in his paws and letting out a huff. Zacharias patted his head and got up, knowing that it was far past time to go downstairs. It would be a slow business day, with the rain. Perhaps Patty would let him work on a special cake to make the day pass by more quickly.

He creaked down the stairs and into the shop. It was deserted, but he heard muffled voices coming from the cellar and knew that Patty and Espella were down there. The fire blazed merrily in the oven and the front door stood open, the overhang keeping water out while letting fresh rain-soaked air in. He quickly picked out a roll for his breakfast and ate it while he waited for the women to come back. He went to stand at the door, watching the gulley across the street continue to rise. _If this rain keeps up, we'll be flooded by the morn. _

"—don't care _how _you look!" He jumped in alarm as the door flew open and Patty stomped in, a basket of vegetables under her beefy arm. "You'll be working; whose going to see you anyway in this downpour?!" she all but shouted. She caught sight of him and her gaze softened a little. "Oh, good morning, Zacharias," she greeted him in a tired way.

"Can't they just wait until tomorrow?" This shriller voice was Espella, who was dragging a full two steps behind her guardian this morning. "Look at that mess out there; no one's going to miss it today!" This was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Mrs. Eclaire rounded on her ward with an icy glare.

"_We do not deliver stale bread_," she hissed, making the hair on the back of Barnham's neck rise. He kept quiet, not wanting to gather any more attention than possible. It was very rare that Espella and Patty argued—he'd only seen it one other time in his entire history of living upstairs. But they were both obstinate when they wanted to be, and sometimes there was just no way to avoid butting horns. Right now, it looked like Espella was on the fast track to spending her day crafting an extra-large absolution roll.

"Like it or not, this bread's going to be delivered today; rain or shine, we have an obligation to give customers their paid-for products! Now get your cloak on and hop to it: end of discussion!" Patty yanked an eggplant out of the basket and took the knife to it as though it had dealt her a personal injury. Espella stood in the center of the shop, looking on the verge of tears, her eyes flitting from the baker to the rain outside as she tried to think of a plausible argument. Barnham wondered what in the world the matter was; she had never seemed against getting a little wet before. As he watched her, he began to feel sorry for the little blonde, and suddenly he realized that the answer to his boring day was right before him.

"I'll do the deliveries," he volunteered. It would be a good workout, fighting the wind and rain. And as an honorable apprentice to a Labyrinthian baker, it was his job to learn _every _aspect of the work, including deliveries. If he learned the job in the rain, it would be all the easier to do it when the sun shone. Not to mention that if he hung around the bakery, he'd only get in trouble thinking about Eve and not paying attention. Patty was already in a punishing mood; the last thing he needed was being force-fed bread.

Espella looked at him as though he were an angel come to earth, but Patty's eyes held a hint of doubt.

"Are you sure, Zacharias?" she asked hesitantly. "You don't know the addresses as well as Espella, and the baskets are a handful sometimes. Perhaps you should wait until a more… pleasant occasion," she finally opted, looking out at the rain. Espella deflated again, but he wasn't giving up so easily.

"I can find the addresses just fine," he assured her. "I know the map of Labyrinthia like the back of my hand; tis no issue. As for the baskets—if a man of knightly honor is struck down by a few straw vessels, than what good is he?" he asked, not thinking as he pulled his sword. It hit the ceiling rafter and dust came raining down on him, as well as a nearby display of custards.

"_Zacharias Barnham_!" Patty swore under her breath, looking away from the ruined pastries. "Maybe it _would _be better for you to get out of the house for a bit. "Keeping you in here in bad weather is like trying to hold a bull in the basement—there's going to be a mess." She chuckled when she saw his crestfallen look. "Oh, don't look so glum; I'm only teasing you. But we'll be slow all day, and there's no rush, so maybe this _is _a good time for you to learn delivery."

Before he knew it, she'd procured a large cloak from the back and had tossed it over him while Espella gathered the large container that held the customer's baskets. She covered it with cheesecloth and tucked the edges around the container's rim, making sure that the rain wouldn't be directly on the pastries. Each one was adorned with a small ribbon, on which a number was written. As he settled the cloak over his armor, Espella handed him a large sheet of parchment, which also held numbers as well as names and addresses.

"Do be careful out there," Patty said as she fussed over him, making sure his hair and face was adequately covered by the cloak. "Don't get wet and catch your death of cold."

"Thank you, Sir Barnham," Espella whispered to him, squeezing his arm through the cloak. "I'll pay you back for this favor someday, I promise." She looked thoroughly relieved.

"Tis nothing; there's no debt to be repaid," he answered awkwardly, shifting the container before nodding to them both. "I'll be back before supper," he promised, and then walked into the storm.

It wasn't easy work in the slightest. He had to keep stopping beneath overhangs and under the side of carts to read the paper for the addresses, and a few times he was turned around entirely and had to backtrack in order to make the delivery. But he felt that it was worth it when he finally got to the houses. He was greeted with a gust of fire-warmed air, and when he handed over the basket he was graced with a happy, grateful smile from the hungry citizens.

Their happiness at receiving the bread put a smile on his own face, and he politely turned down invitations to come in and dry off, going about his duties with a cheerful whistle. The work kept him busy and preoccupied; he enjoyed working like this, being able to get a little exercise as well as make the Labyrinthians' lives a little easier.

He did stop at Rouge's pub, stepping inside long enough to say hello and ask for a spare quill to mark off his completed orders. It was given to him along with a complementary drink, and he sat at the bar, dripping water everywhere. Rouge didn't seem to mind—she didn't even make him clean it up himself. The rain made business slow, and her mind seemed to be miles away. She absently took a cloth and began mopping up the water, a distant expression on her face.

"Is something the matter?" he asked her, once he'd finished marking the name of the last person that lived in the marketside part of town. She looked up at him, brushing her hair out of her eyes and shaking her head.

"Hmm? Oh, no… I was just thinking about something." She looked away briefly as Cutter came clumping down the stairs, leaving a trail of dust in his wake from his newest sculpture. "Hey, you lug head! Clean that up before I put another scar on your face!" she shouted, her demeanor doing a complete 180 before she lapsed back into silence and continued scrubbing at the puddles on the floor.

"Something, or someo_ne_?" Barnham teased as he stood and placed the quill neatly on the bar next to the inkpot. Lately, he had the feeling that the ginger woman harbored affection for a certain captain Vigilante, but he couldn't be for sure and he didn't feel close enough to the bartender to ask her. She chuckled, but her cheeks flushed and she suddenly began to scrub the floor with more vigor.

"Heh… yeah, right." She flicked the damp towel at him. "You're one to talk, lover boy. I wasn't the one dancing after hours with darling _Eve_." If the bar had been full, he might have become angry at her blatant goading. But it was only the two of them in the room, and so he settled with giving her a sharp look and throwing the hood of the cloak over his head to hide his own blush.

"I can dance with whomever I please," he finally said as he gathered his things. "Are you jealous, perhaps?" This made Rouge laugh hard enough that her hands slipped in the water and she nearly fell flat on her face.

"_You_?" she crowed. "Nay! I know how stubborn you can be, Barnham. She can have you—I'd be putting a few more scars on you every time we fought, if you were mine." He laughed as well and bid her a good afternoon as he stepped out into the rain once more, turning the parchment over to see the last few names on his list.

It seemed he'd have to go into the Woods after all—a few of the villagers living in the Shade houses had ordered bread as well. He sighed and shrugged before picking his way towards the wall, taking care to keep the container of orders out of the way of gutter overflows and having to sidestep large puddles that spread across the alleyways. Soon enough, the gnarled trees and thick vines of the wood stood before him, and he set off on the waterlogged dirt path that wound through them.

His boots kept sinking in the mud, the wet vines slapped his face and caught on the container, and every time he passed a tree the hood of his cloak fell back, their spiny leaves tugging on the material. He finally gave up and decided to go against Patty's orders, letting the rain soak his hair and face as he wound his way through the slough. Every time he thought of turning back, his training in the garrison came to mind. He was a knight and former Inquisitor of Labyrinthia; he would not be felled by a mere forest (though it seemed now to be more of a bog).

Soon he felt chilled despite the armor and the thick material of the cloak. His hair was plastered to his head, the cold raindrops working their way around his armor and down the back of his neck. His teeth began to chatter, but he marched on and eventually he found the village. The few people that ordered bread were thankfully on the "ground floor" of the village, and he managed to get them their baskets with no difficulty.

Turning back, he knelt beneath a tree with thick branches and pulled out the parchment, making sure it was as guarded as possible from the rain beneath the dense spread of leaves. There was only one more basket in his container, and he ran a finger down the list of unmarked names, straining to see in the dim light. There, at the very bottom: _Eve Belduke: Eldwitch Field, Basket #116. _

His breath caught in his throat, the name filling him with equal measures of delight and unease. He would be able to see her after all, even if the reason was nothing more than a mere delivery. A part of him was deliriously overjoyed at the thought of laying eyes on her, but the other half held a more warning stance. He hadn't spoken to her since their little "argument" in the office a few days prior, other than his impromptu request yesterday. What if she was still annoyed with him for not seeing things her way? It wasn't _his_ fault that she wanted to put a new fountain in such an inopportune position!

But yesterday she hadn't seemed angry at all. Espella had been a little cross, but he really ought to have thanked her for it; without her reproach, he might have spent another hour frozen in place, unable to speak. No, Eve hadn't been angry with him. Actually, she had seemed almost embarrassed and shy. Still, she'd accepted his offer and even smiled at him.

And it wasn't as if he had no reason to go to her home; she'd ordered bread, and he had a duty to deliver it to her just as he had the rest of the citizens. All he had to do was deliver it to her, say something trifling about meeting again when the sun shone, and then go about his business.

It would be simple, much simpler than asking her to dance, though lately it seemed that he couldn't even speak two words to her without going blank and freezing up. Either that, or he said things that sounded smoother and more confident than he felt, and ended up surprising everyone, including himself. He still couldn't believe some of the things he'd said that day in the office about kissing her without her permission! What sort of honorable man would dare to do such a thing?

He swallowed hard and tucked the paper back into his cloak, picking up the container with its one remaining basket. He knew where her home was, having snuck there once during the witch trials to confirm his suspicions that _she _was the Great Witch.

He thought at the time that he'd been doing something grand, but now that months had passed he realized just how blind and prejudiced they had been. Eve had been one of the few people bending over backwards to help the town, and all of the witches had been innocent and frightened to death over their "powers". And he'd killed them in the name of justice. Even though none of them had actually died, he still felt a horrible guilt that he'd been so caught up in the pursuit of law that he'd thrown a blind eye to poor citizens in need of help and unable to get it anywhere.

If Sir Top Hat and Sir Wright had not come and he'd still found out, would he have thrown Eve to the fire despite his feelings for her? He had to admit, even when they worked together he'd felt _something_, though he would have never dared act on those feelings if things hadn't turned out the way that they did. Would he have grieved silently, but outwardly been calm and grave as he watched her burn for her magical crime? He shuddered to think of what might have happened, if the truth hadn't have been revealed.

He came onto the Eldwitch Fields and saw her house over the ridge, the windows illuminated with a cheery glow. Without the trees to block the rain, it poured openly on him. He didn't even bother pulling the hood of the cloak back up, as his head was already wet. He simply walked through the sodden fields of flowers and knocked loudly on her door, as he'd done to 115 other doors that day already. He heard her call something within and then footsteps came in his direction.

He put on his "official Labyrinthian business" face and stood at attention, ready to rattle off some formal spiel about bread, deliveries and honorable duty when the door opened. She was dressed in plainclothes and not her usual armored uniform. Her hair wasn't tied up either, instead floating around her face and hanging off one shoulder. She looked up at him in surprise, opening the door wider in invitation as she looked at the container in puzzlement.

"Zacharias!" she exclaimed, her voice betraying her confusion. Just the sound of his name made every practiced word in his mind disappear in a puff of smoke and he gaped at her for a moment, unsure of what to say. "W-what a pleasant surprise," she continued, when he offered no explanation. "Ms. Mailer relayed your message to me, so I wasn't expecting—"

"Yes," he interrupted with a nervous laugh. "I've been doing deliveries, and you were last on my list, so I just—here," he finished abruptly, pulling the basket out of the container and forcing it on her. She took it hesitantly, glancing up at him with a bewildered expression before lifting the cover of the cloth to see her purchase.

"Thank you, I—" she faltered, setting the basket aside on a table just out of sight. "Why, you're soaked to the bone!" she suddenly exclaimed, opening the door wider and studying him in the light shining from within. "Come in and dry off before you die of chill." He made to turn down her offer, but somehow found himself dripping in her foyer as she peeled the sodden cloak from his shoulders and held it at arm's length with a small frown.

"This cloak isn't made for being out in the rain all day," she declared. "I'll bet every inch of that armor's wet too, isn't it? Go ahead and get out of it. I'll go put this over the fire to start drying," she said in her usual no-nonsense tone, moving out of sight and leaving him alone with his unspoken protests. Unsure of what to do, he defaulted to obeying her commands and began to pull off the armor, placing it neatly off to the side so that the wet metal wouldn't leave any more puddles than necessary.

"Here." She was back now, and handed him a towel. "Come with me." He meekly followed, not really sure where all this was heading. He still was coming up with polite ways to dismiss himself, but that would entail putting his armor back on and making her go and get his cloak. It would be easier to just obey her and stay as long as was socially acceptable before taking his leave. He hadn't imagined that she'd even invite him in at all, but who was he to complain?

She led him into a drawing room he'd not seen before when he'd snuck into her house the first time. A fire was burning brightly in the hearth and the room was furnished comfortably, if not extravagantly. She directed him to sit on one end of the loveseat in front of the fireplace and he did so, sinking into the soft cushions and looking around the room at the Boiserie paneling on the walls.

"Dry your hair with that," she pointed to the towel. "I'll go make some tea."

"But—" He wasn't quite sure what he was protesting, and finally came out with "Don't go to the trouble just for—"

"Nonsense, Zacharias," she cut in. "What sort of hostess would I be if I didn't have tea for my guest?" He opened his mouth, but she continued as if she hadn't noticed. "You said yesterday that you wanted to speak with me privately. Well, there's no place more private than my home. I'll be back shortly." She turned and left through a side door without another word.

He looked after her, digesting her words and realizing that she was right before sighing and looking down at the towel. He rubbed the cloth halfheartedly over his hair before combing the damp strands out of his eyes. He folded the towel back and put it aside on an end table, making sure the drier side was facing the table's surface. He got up and stoked the fire, looking around the room as he did so.

It was a very nice drawing room. The paneling was high-quality; much better than most of the townhouses had. There was an alcove in the far corner that held a man's bust, which he recognized as the late Sir Belduke. A curio cabinet close to the window held knickknacks and various odds and ends, next to which a sturdy grandfather clock ticked away the hour. A beautiful painting above the fireplace portrayed the city at sundown, and the detail was quite impeccable.

He sat back down, listening to the popping of logs on the fire and the soft pattering of rain against the windowpane. He felt naked, being in a strange place without his armor. He crossed his arms and settled back against the cushions, taking a deep breath and trying to keep a cool composure as he stared into the dancing flames.

The comfortable surroundings and warmth of the fire soon got to him and he was nearly dozing by the time Eve returned, bearing a tray with tea and an extra candle. She sat the tray on the coffee table and took a seat next to him. She was technically on the opposite end of the loveseat, but she felt dangerously close in his opinion. She didn't seem to perceive the short distance between them, busying herself with the teapot as she poured two cups and prepared them with cream and sugar.

"So," she began once she'd handed him his cup and offered a plate of sliced bread with jam, "What did you want to talk about?" He took a drink, trying to muster enough gumption to look her in the eyes. _Come off it, _he scolded himself angrily, _it's only __**Eve**__. You've known her for years now, and you've never had a problem talking to her! She already has to question whether you're a man or not—show her who you are! Be a man! _He looked up from his cup, meeting her gaze and trying not to focus on how lovely her eyes looked, illuminated by firelight and framed with dark lashes.

"First of all," he answered, managing an even stare without making his eyes bug out of his head, "I wanted to apologize for my… _unchivalrous _behavior towards you a few days ago at the Courthouse." She said nothing, but her eyebrows rose at his words. "It wasn't right for a man of knightly honor to suggest that I would… force myself," he explained slowly, watching her expression move from perplexed to incredulous.

"There's no reason to apologize," she chuckled when he stopped speaking. "I didn't—" To his surprise, she blushed and looked away, taking a hurried sip of tea. "You wouldn't have been forcing yourself," she mumbled under her breath, but he still managed to make out the words. She took a deep breath and looked back at him. "Why did you ask me to dance?" she asked forcibly, as though he was some criminal she happened to be interrogating. "On the night of the Festival."

"I thought the answer would be obvious," he blurted without thinking, wincing internally afterwards. She sighed and closed her eyes, her lips in a thin line. He frowned; was his intentions not clear enough? He thought everyone understood what dancing on the night of the Festival meant. But to be true, he hadn't asked her on an official date yet, and… oh, if it were only as easy as that! If only he had Rouge's boldness, or Espella's easygoing nature! Even the Storyteller's frankness would be of help to him; but instead he was simply Zacharias Barnham, the knight who was reduced to a bumbling schoolboy whenever he even tried to speak to the object of his affections.

"I apologize," he said again, and she opened her eyes and gave him a wearied look. "I—I find it hard to be forthright with you like I am with everyone else," he admitted. "I know you probably think 'tis because you were my superior for so long that it's ingrained in me, but that's not the case at all." He looked up at the ceiling and taking a deep breath to steady his nerves.

"Then what is it?" she asked, thoroughly puzzled. "You've been acting so strangely these past few days—you single me out at the festival, and then you act as though it's too hard to look me in the eyes, and _then _you want me to speak with you, but now that you're here you can't bring yourself to say anything other than apologizing." She shook her head. "Honestly, Zacharias, I don't understand you." _Oh, great. You've screwed it up again, Barnham. _

"I know! I can't help it—every time I look at you, I forget what I plan on saying," he blurted, hiding his face in one hand.

"Why?" Oh, such a question! She said it so innocently, but the answer—the answer was his entire struggle!

"Because I –you—what I'm trying to say is that you—you're very—you're very _pretty_, Eve."

"Pretty." He looked through his fingers to see her gazing incredulously at him, a wry smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. "You think I'm _pretty_."

"More or less…" he mumbled, feeling a wash of shame. Of all the adjectives in his vocabulary, he had to choose the one that made him sound like a schoolchild on the playground, didn't he? "What I mean to say was that you're the comeliest woman in the entire town, and—to answer your question—I wanted you to dance with me because… because I'm _selfish_ and didn't want anyone else to even think about courting you," he finished in a rush. He snuck another glance to see the smile wiped off her face, replaced by something more akin to shock.

"What gave you the idea that someone else wanted me?" she finally asked, her voice nearly a whisper. "Did—did you hear a rumor or something?" He stared down at his cup, but the story was nearly pushing its way out of his mouth and he had no choice but to tell it.

"No, I just thought that with you being available that young men would be all over you. And I couldn't stand the thought of you choosing someone else, even though I had no claim to you myself. I just had to get to you before someone else did," he insisted, knowing that he probably sounded half-insane. "The entirety of Labyrinthia—"

"—fears me," she finished his sentence cooly. "Think about it, Zacharias," she sighed when he looked at her strangely. "No one calls me by my real name—it's always 'Lady Darklaw this' or 'Inquisitor Darklaw that'. Only those who consider me a friend call me 'Eve'. I threw their sisters and daughters to the flames… you had much more of a problem than I did, if what you're saying is true."

"What are you talking about?" Now it was his turn to be confused. She put down her cup, turning to face him fully with a sad anger in her eyes.

"How do you not know? Half the town's women were… _are _in love with you! They didn't go to the Parade to see the Storyteller—they went to see _you_, riding down the street on that horse in all your finery! You're handsome and gallant—you could have asked any of those women to dance, and they would have been tripping over themselves to oblige you."

"But I didn't want any of those other women to dance with me," he replied, still unsure as to why she was telling him this. "I only wanted you." Her eyes widened as his revelation and she blushed darkly, drawing in on herself and his mind suddenly grasped how shy she really was. He put his cup down next to hers and sat back, letting the silence between them grow. Finally she glanced back up at him, swallowing hard.

"That cake… on my birthday. Even that long ago, were you trying to—?" She didn't seem to know how to finish her question, but he understood anyway and nodded sheepishly.

"My objective was to bake a pastry that properly displayed the qualities that you possess—but I wasn't good enough. So I spend a long time picking out one that could be a good replacement, but then Mrs. Eclaire said if I didn't stop breathing on the bread than I had to eat it all. So I grabbed one, not noticing the…lumps."

"Well, I was flattered… even if it was misshapen. And I thought of you when I ate it, which I assume was also one of your objectives, even if you don't want to say it aloud." He hadn't thought deeply on the subject, but in a way she was right. They sat quietly once more, sorting through their thoughts, and then she cleared her throat. "Well. What do you suppose we do now?" she asked him, as if they were speaking not of their relationship, but of some meagre project for the town.

"Erm… You told me that I couldn't kiss you without permission, but I don't—"

"If that's what you're worried about," she laughed quietly, the sound traveling through him and sending a shiver up his spine, "then you have my permission." She met his eyes with a somewhat bashful smile, moving closer. Before he could reply, her lips met his and he closed his eyes unthinkingly. He shifted and she moaned softly, lips parting as she wound her arms around his neck.

When they were eventually forced to break for air, he'd managed to drag her onto his lap, one arm wrapped around her while the other rested lightly on her outer thigh. She was breathing heavily and red-faced, her clothing disheveled. He was sure he looked about the same; his heart was thumping wildly against his ribcage, and he felt a fire beneath his skin that had nothing to do with the one still burning in the hearth. Just as he was about to kiss her again, the clock began to chime the hour and he twisted around, his eyes widening as he read its face.

"Six o' clock? It can't be!" he exclaimed, even as the deep chiming proved him wrong. "I meant to be at the bakery over an hour ago!" He looked regretfully at her. "I—I really should be starting back towards the gate," he sighed, even as he pulled her flush to him.

"The bakery's closed by now; surely you can stay just a little while longer?" she whispered in his ear, her voice insistent as she kissed his cheek before moving to his neck. He gulped as she nipped the skin above his pulse, wanting nothing more than to remain right where he was and allow her free reign over him. But in the back of his mind, he knew that Patty and Espella were most likely worrying over the thought of him being lost in the Woods now that he was late. Still, he let her have her way for a moment before gently untangling himself.

"I swore that I'd be home by supper. You know how Mrs. Eclaire and Espella are; if I stay too long they'll have the Storyteller send out a search party." She seemed to be just as disappointed as he was, but he could tell by the look in her eyes that she understood his dilemma. "I'll try to take the day off tomorrow and come back," he promised. "That is, if you want me to."

"I do," she agreed, reluctantly climbing off of him and straightening her clothes. "If the day is sunny, I know a secluded place that we can go." He stood too, nodding his assent to her idea. Hopefully the rain would be gone by then. "I'll fetch your cloak. Your armor should be dry as well."

It was, and he stood in the foyer and put it on as he waited for her to come with Patty's cloak. The storm was beginning to let up, the heavy downpour lessening to a smooth, steady rainfall. He'd just finished with his last boot when she came up to him, holding the now-empty carrying-container and his dry, fire-warmed cloak. He put it on and then leaned down, intending on kissing her goodbye. It was rather awkward with the bulky sheets of metal, but he managed to press his lips briefly to her forehead and then took the container from her.

"Until tomorrow then," he said with a smile, feeling a strange sort of buoyant happiness deep inside him. Part of him considered that she _must _be a witch, because the nervousness he'd felt earlier was gone, as if by magic. She returned his smiled with one of her own as she held the door for him.

"Until tomorrow," she replied, watching him as he began his trek out across the rainy fields once more. He didn't hear the door close until he was nearing the tree line. He walked back through the trees, having to get off the path entirely at points due to the heavy flooding. He even fell in water up to his waist when crossing a rather sharp drop in the road, but the smile remained on his face the entire time. The hazards were nothing to him anymore, strangely enough.

He felt as if the entire day had been nothing more than a dream. Surely it was impossible to be so utterly happy in real life. As he continued out of the Woods and through the gate into the city, his mind kept turning circles. She truly liked him, she had willingly kissed him, she wanted him to stay, she wanted him to come back tomorrow… it was as if his wildest fantasies had come true. He'd never been so—so _gleeful_ before.

As if trying to ground him, Ms. Primstone's voice wheedled its way into his mind: _Kissing young ladies leads to nothing but trouble! _ _One mindless moment with a sweet lass will ultimately end up in beaten brows, forced marriage, and an unhappy mid-life crisis! This will be on the test, gentlemen! _

He pushed it out of his mind as quickly as it had come. Even if she was right, Ms. Primstone had it twisted. If kissing Eve would ultimately lead into marriage, he'd gladly do it time and time again. As for being browbeaten and unhappy… that didn't sound like any marriage that he knew of. Sometimes he wondered if poor Ms. Primstone had been jaded in the past.

"There you are, child! I was beginning to worry myself into anemia!" He jumped with a start, thrown out of his reverie as Patty called to him from the doorway of the bakery. "Get in here and dry off, before—" She paused. "But you're not even that wet! Where on earth have you been?" She stood him in the middle of the warm shop and stripped the cloak from him nearly as fast as Eve had earlier.

"I apologize for being late," he said to her with all the genteelness he could muster, knowing that it would do well for him to be on her good side. "But Eve invited me in for tea and the time slipped away from me. It was nigh on six before I even realized how late it had become," he explained, telling the abridged version of the truth. At the sound of the former High Inquisitor's name, the baker relaxed.

"Well, of course it did," she chuckled. She glanced up at his hair, a sly smile creeping at the corner of her mouth as she put the cloak near the oven's fire to dry off again. He ran a hand through it uncertainly, wondering what she might have seen, or presumed. He had the strangest feeling that the woman had some sort of sixth sense that allowed her to discern exactly what went on behind her back. Well, she _was _a guardian to Espella, and she seemed to harbor some motherly affection for him as well….

There was a loud thundering on the stairs and Espella's head popped around the threshold. When she saw him, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, Sir Barnham!" she yelled, jumping off the second step and through the doorway (a childish habit of hers when she was in a hurry). She ran to him and threw her arms around him, squeezing tightly despite the armor surely digging into her skin. "I was so worried about you when you didn't come home; I thought you'd taken a fall and gotten hurt, or you were lost in the Woods. I'd decided that if you hadn't come back by the time it was completely dark, I'd have Dad and some men start looking for you, because it would have been my fault that you went out in the first place," she babbled, still holding him.

"What sort of man do you take me for?" he half-teased, trying to break free of her hold. She was clearly more comfortable with him than she'd been before he started living there; he couldn't' imagine her doing something like this when he was still an Inquisitor. "If I had of gotten lost, I could have easily found my way back again. Knights are trained for that sort of thing, you know."

"I know," she said, finally getting his hint and letting go. He noticed a pink flower behind her ear, but didn't comment on it. Perhaps she'd gotten some sort of notion to wear it while he'd been gone.

"Get on with you, girl. Let him rest a bit," Patty chided, sending Espella back upstairs with a flick of her apron. He looked at her, pointing to his ear, and she laughed spiritedly. "The flower?" she guessed. "Espella got a call from the little beanpole she's taken a fancy to, and he brought her a flower. Now I see why she pitched such a fuss to stay indoors today," she beamed, looking up the stairs.

"The child's growing up," she added softly, with a hint of sadness. "The Storyteller better enjoy it while it lasts; before he knows it she'll be a proper young lady. I'm glad she's got Eve to be a role model for her," she admitted. "I can only teach her so much. The rest she's got to pick up from her own experience. But she's a resourceful, resilient sort of girl. I know she'll do well."

"She's a good kid," Zacharias agreed as he chose a loaf of bread with marmalade from a stack for his dinner. Patty moved to cut him some meat from the leftovers of their meal and set it before him on a plate along with some water. She then sat across the table from him and began to patch up some clothing, working as deftly with a needle as she did with dough.

"If that boy breaks her heart… the Storyteller would be furious, but he won't be able to lay a hand on him, because I'll get to him first. I'll make him eat so much bread that he bursts!" she muttered fiercely, her hands working the needle almost violently through the cloth of Espella's red cloak, which had somehow been torn at the hem. Zacharias laughed at her face, which was screwed up in both concentration and anger. The lad didn't know what trouble he would be in.

"Well, let's hope that it never comes to that… or that she breaks his heart first," he answered before taking polishing off the rest of his meal in two bites. Patty looked up from her sewing with a pursed frown.

"She would _not_. She's too sweet a girl."

"Of course," he placated, downing the water in one heavy gulp. "Would you mind too terribly if I took the day off tomorrow?" he asked suddenly, figuring now was as good a time as any. "I have some personal business I'd like to take care of." Patty stared steadily at him, meeting his gaze with a scrutinizing air. The sly grin came back and she went back to her sewing.

"Of course you can, dear. I was once young too… oh, to be in love again…" she murmured, and to his surprise and shock her eyes began to mist.

"Whatever's the matter?" he asked her quickly, leaning across the table and pushing his empty plate to the side. "If you need me here, just say it and I'll stay," he assured her.

"No, no, it's not that," she said, wiping her eyes on the collar of her blouse, only to have them water again. "It's just that sometimes, I feel as though—when I think of my old life, I can't help but wonder if I was in love too. I feel it so keenly in my dreams," she whispered, looking at the fire still smoldering beneath the oven's main chamber. "But whenever I think of going to the Storyteller and asking for my memories, I-I become so frightened, as if I know that what I'll find will only give me more heartbreak than the not-knowing."

"But I don't know why I'm telling you this," she laughed, though the sound was dryer and more hollow. "You can't make that decision for me. Don't worry about me, dear," she added when he opened his mouth to speak. "You're young yet. Go out and love." She went back to her sewing, a small sniff escaping before she was composed once more. "You best get upstairs and go to bed early if you plan on making the most of your day off," she advised him quietly, a subtle signal for him to leave her alone for a while.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Eclaire," he said politely, putting one hand on her shoulder comfortingly before heading for the stairs.

"Goodnight, Zacharias."


	6. Picnic in the Secluded Glade

"W-what?!" Zacharias looked down at the wicker basket in awe. It was overflowing with goodies of all shapes and sizes: freshly made sandwiches on soft buns, thin slices of warm bread with a jar of marmalade, meat pastries, cinnamon buns, raspberry tarts, and—naturally—éclairs. "All of this is for us?" He repeated Mrs. Eclaire's words, dumbfounded. "How did you even have time to make all this?" he asked. Had she not slept at all last night?

"Oh, don't sound so puzzled, dear," the doughy woman tittered, her cheeks tinged pink as she waved her mittened hand at him. "I just whipped up a little something-something for you to share with Miss Eve, is all. You can't go a-courting empty-handed, you know," she added, injecting a frightening amount of seriousness in her tone. "That's not how a gentleman behaves."

He _hadn't_ known that, as a matter of fact, but he wouldn't ever forget now; not with the mental image of her absolution-roll expression behind the words. Somehow, he felt that Patty could have made a far better teacher than Miss Primstone. One stern glare from her and no one would ever forget to study before an exam! He gulped and nodded as if the very idea was maddening, taking the basket from her without another word. He moved some of the contents around, seeing more containers of condiments and some sausages beneath the startling amount of carbohydrates.

"Well, let me get a good look at you before you go off," she continued, holding him at arm's length. She looked him over appraisingly, taking in the freshly-shaved face and crisply ironed clothing (neither she nor Espella would even _hear_ of him wearing armor today). She nodded in satisfaction, a smile of motherly affection playing across her face as she patted his arm. "You're a fine, handsome man," she declared, causing him to turn as red as the fire burning away in the oven. "Get on with you, before it gets too late." She sent him out the door with a light smack, waving to him from the threshold as he made off in the direction of the forest.

He was just nearing the gate when he heard Espella calling him. She'd been out early that morning; he'd heard her sneaking around before the sun rose, running outside and down the street just as the first caller of the day came around with his bell to announce the morn. He knew that Patty had also heard the girl trying—and failing—to be quiet as she got ready, but to his surprise the woman hadn't commented on it other than a mumble or two about 'young'uns in love'.

He turned to see her running out of a side alley towards him, something bundled in her cloak and Eve-the-cat on her heels. He paused to let her catch up to him, raising an eyebrow as he began to ask her where she'd gone off to so early. She cut him off before he could speak, thrusting the contents of her cloak into his hand with a breathless explanation.

"Eve likes these ones the best, so I ran out early to get you some," she panted, tossing handful after handful of water lilies into his outstretched arms. "Those romance stories she lets me borrow say that you can't show up to a girl's house without flowers on the first date," she clarified, catching his confounded look. He smiled; it was sweet that Espella was going out of her way to help him, yet he couldn't help but wonder if the fact that the lilies grew down by the Archive had something to do with it.

"Thank you, Espella," he said, not ungrateful for her work, "but…I don't think I need quite so many." They were beginning to spill out of his arms and into the basket, as well as on the stones between them. She stopped, looking reflectively at the large bouquet already in his grasp before sighing in agreement.

"Maybe I _did_ go a little overboard," she conceded, bending down to scoop up the fallen blossoms back into her cloak, "but I just wanted to make sure you had enough. Really though, Eve wouldn't care if you brought flowers or not—she already likes you. It's just the thought that counts." _Even when I wasn't the one to think of it? _he wondered silently, but didn't argue. She smiled at him, looking almost nervous. "Good luck," she chirped anxiously, and he realized that she really did want this almost as much as he did. It made sense; Eve was her friend, and Espella wanted her to be happy.

"Thank you very much," he said again, meaning it in more than one way. "You're a good sort of girl," he added, an echo of Patty's words. Espella beamed and looked as though she were about to jump on him and embrace him, but thought better of it at the last minute. To his surprise, she blushed deeply and turned on her heel, running towards the bakery's smoking flue with her tinier bundle of leftover lilies in hand. Maybe she was growing up, just like Patty had said.

He turned back and headed out the gate and into the woods. The rain had stopped sometime late last night, and the woods had been transformed into a magical world. The sun shone through the thick branches, water droplets shimmering on the leaves and sometimes falling to the drenched ground as a breeze rustled the limbs. There were lakes and puddles everywhere, and he remembered grimly the little dip he'd taken the night before.

He traversed the road more carefully than the night before, all too aware that this time he didn't have his armor to keep a good bit of the water off. He had to find creative ways around the puddles that littered the path; he couldn't help but remember Sir Top Hat. If that man had been here, he would have made puzzles out of the puddles to entertain himself. If Zacharias had more time, he might have done so as well. But he was anxious to get to the large house across the field and see the beauty that lived there once again.

It seemed too long a time before he reached the battered signpost that stood at the fork. Someone had recently come by with fresh paint; even though the wood was all but rotted, the words "Eldwitch Village" and "Eldwitch Fields" were visible. Beneath this, some graffiti artist had scribbled "Nulwitch" as well as some very bad caricatures of Knights, but the paint on it was nearly faded. Looking closer, he recognized the handwriting of that ne'er-do-well Muggs. He huffed in annoyance; it was times like these that he wished he were still in a seat of power. Then he'd track down that annoying delinquent and make him scrub the signpost until the rotting wood shone like new.

Turning down the path towards the fields, he sidestepped standing water and looked up ahead to where the light was shining brightly through the trees, marking the exit. He hurried towards it, stopping at the tree line and holding a hand over his eyes as he looked out across the fields. The lake was raised from the rain, but it hadn't gone far over its banks. The wall loomed in the distance, the wet stones a darker gray than usual. The field glimmered with raindrops, dancing in the breeze and moving in waves as the wind picked up. And then there was the house, chimney smoking and looking picturesque in all its quaint elegance.

He moved through the fields, the water staining his pants like drops of dew and sticking to his bare feet through the sandals. He reached the front door, adjusting the flowers and basket long enough to knock loudly before waiting. He was just about to knock again when he heard footsteps on the hall and a voice calling him to hang on. The door opened and he was surprised to see Jean Grayearl standing on the other side, blinking politely at him with her wide, honest eyes.

"Hello, Inquisitor Barnham," she said genteelly, seemingly forgetting that he wasn't any such thing anymore. She looked pointedly at the flowers, then the basket, before opening the door wider. "Are you here for Miss Darklaw?" she asked, curiosity curling the edges of her words. She must have heard from Lettie that he had been asking after her. Of course he knew that the courier wouldn't keep a secret from the girl she considered to be her best friend. He wondered how it wasn't awkward between the two of them, seeing as poor Miss Mailer had thought Jean to be a boy before.

"I am," he answered unsurely, shifting his bundles again. He wanted to ask what the ex-butler was doing here, but didn't want to sound nosy. After all, Jean was working as a doctor/alchemist now, and perhaps Eve had privately requested some sort of poultice or medicine. It wasn't his business, but maybe the madness of the town had gotten to him as well. After all, everyone in Labyrinthia seemed to know everyone else's business; why not him?

"She's upstairs; she'll be down in a minute," Jean said, looking pensively at the items again. "If she's expecting you, I don't see any reason I can't invite you in on her behalf, if for nothing more than to sit your things down," she offered, opening the door even wider and ushering him in with a practiced wave of the hand and a bow. Zacharias stepped inside, placing the basket on the foyer table and holding the bouquet by his side.

"I had only stopped by to give her a few of her father's things that had been bequeathed to her…" she faltered, looking away as if embarrassed to be sharing the information. "I'll just see myself out. I have patients to attend to, and I'm sure Mr. Emeer is already at my door wanting something to combat a hangover again."

She ducked her head down and was out the door in another moment, heading across the field with quick strides. He looked after her, trying to figure out what he'd done to scare her off and finally deciding that it must have just been coincidence. He hadn't said but two words to her, and she clearly had other things on her mind. He wondered if she'd tell Lettie that she'd seen him at Eve's house with flowers and a basket of food. After his heart lurched quickly, he told himself that he shouldn't care. So what if everyone knew that he and Eve had something going on? It was only natural—after all, they'd danced at the Spring festival, hadn't they?

"Jean?" a voice called from the top of the stairs. He cleared his throat to answer, but Eve was already halfway down the stairs and saw him. She paused, hand on the railing; he knew he was staring, but he couldn't help it. She was wearing her new dress, the one that matched Espella's, but again he found himself thinking that the dress made her twice as beautiful.

After all, the make was for a woman with curves, something Espella hadn't grown into yet, and the dove-gray color really did look so nice against the dark curls of her hair…. And thank his lucky stars, she'd kept it down and flowing instead of its usual style; it framed her face so well, and he knew from last night that it was soft and silky enough to run through his fingers without a problem.

"J-Jean's gone," he managed to say, finding his voice. He licked his lips, his mouth uncomfortably dry. "She said that there were other patients." He wanted to say something like 'You're so pretty', but he remembered using the word last night and her consequent amusement. He couldn't come up with anything else right of the bat, so instead he held the flowers up towards her, even though the stairs were a good few feet away.

"These are for you!" he nearly shouted, his voice booming in the hall. Her eyes widened in shock and he gulped, wondering why his mind couldn't pick moments like these to bring out that magically suave side; he couldn't seem to find control over it, and despised the fact that nine times out of ten he was a bumbling nervous wreck instead. There was a moment of tense silence, where his hand stayed suspended in the air with the bouquet, and she stayed frozen on the staircase with a puzzled, concerned expression on her face.

"Thank you?" she finally answered, coming down the rest of the way and taking the bouquet from him before he melted into a puddle of humiliation. She sniffed them appreciatively, and when she didn't resurface he realized that she was hiding her face in them to keep from laughing. "They're my favorite, she admitted after she got herself under control.

"I know," he replied, his face heating up. He was surprised that she didn't throw him out for being a fool; he was also surprised he hadn't turned around and headed home the minute that amused grin crossed her half-hidden face. "Espella told me." They stood together in the foyer silently, and he wondered what he was supposed to say next. "Er—I also brought a picnic," he said, pointing to the basket. She immediately lightened up at this.

"Oh, good!" she exclaimed, this time smiling from excitement. "We can take it to that spot I told you about. It's a little crowded, but I think we'll have enough room to eat. I'll get a quilt so we don't have to sit on the wet ground," she announced, turning to run back upstairs. "I'll only be a minute," she called back down to him.

He waited, willing his cheeks to stop glowing. He understood now that she was just as nervous as he was, and she wasn't sure how to proceed with the relationship either. It was foreign ground for the both of them—well, for her, anyway. maybe he'd had a girl before, but even if he did he didn't remember now, and he'd been so busy with work that he'd never looked twice at one before Eve. He silently thanked Mrs. Eclaire in his head; without her picnic, they might have been standing in the foyer all day.

"Zacharias," Eve called, her head peering over the banister again. She looked embarrassed and frustrated. "Do you mind coming here a minute? The quit I want is too high in the cupboard for me to reach without getting a chair from the kitchen." He understood what she meant—he always had to fetch things on the top shelves of the bakery for customers, as well as for Espella and Patty. Being tall had its benefits, he assumed. He moved to go up the stairs and followed her into an open doorway, stopping in the threshold as his heart froze along with his limbs.

Her bedroom. Of course she'd keep bedclothes in the bedroom, but _still_…. His heart thundered with an aching sort of slowness while he took in the sight, knowing from now on that the setting would forever be blazed into his subconscious and brought out during his dreams to torment him further.

Her bed was large, the bedding tightened and wrinkleless with a military precision that astonished him as much as he appreciated it. Pillows were piled against the carved oaken headboard, above which sat a painting of the Courtyard in winter, complete with the bell tower. There was a matching oaken bureau shoved in a corner, and a mirror on the wall that stretched to the floor. A dressmaker's dummy held her Inquisitor armor, brushed and ready to be donned whenever the need arose.

There was a cedar chest at the foot of the bed, and a small end table near the headboard that held a candlestick, an electric lamp, two books and a small clock. A thickly woven rug covered most of the ground, and a tapestry portraying the Labyrinthian coat of arms hung over a far window, keeping out the cold while still letting in a filtered amount of light. A small bookshelf beneath the window held tomes, but the top shelf was full of thin, flimsy-looking books with brightly colored spines. He read a few at random as he walked past, the names confusing him: _Savage Dreams, Master of Desire, Rogue, Texas Belle… what's a Texas? _He wondered briefly.

"In here," she called him, pointing up to a small cupboard where the highest shelf was just out of her reach. He reached up easily, putting his hand on the quilt and pulling it down when she nodded. "Thank you, I have no idea why it was on the top shelf to begin with," she sighed; he remembered the sound as of one pure irritation, having heard it many times when she filled out reports from the townspeople. "I hardly ever put things up there, since it takes me so long to get them back down."

"I'm glad that I could be of assistance," he mumbled, handing her the quilt and backing out of the enclosed cupboard. He cast his gaze around the room again, eyes landing on the books on her nightstand. The topmost one's cover was visible, and he gawked for a moment at the half-naked man, who was holding up a tanned woman with a tattered dress, kissing her neck. The woman's head was thrown back—in pleasure, he presumed—and her long curls tumbled down over his thick hands.

His heart immediately picked up speed, looking up quickly and wishing that he hadn't seen it. His gaze flitted back to the bookshelf; were _all _those colorful books the same as this one? What on earth did they say within the bright covers? He could only imagine; were they like the pamphlets passed around by schoolboys and giggled at in alleyways? He couldn't imagine that a girl would want to read that sort of smut, but… perhaps they did, and just didn't boast about it?

Suddenly the image came into his mind of Eve lying on top of the bed, clothed in a silken nightgown that rode up her legs and rested just below her thighs. She'd be reading by the brightness of the electric lamp, saving the candle for something less eye-straining. Just the thought of her lying in the bed and knowing that she was reading about sex was somehow incredibly arousing; he kept picturing her hair fanned out across the pillows, the quiet smile on her face as the dashing hero had a tender moment, or her eyes darkening with lust as she read over a climactic love scene… he knew at once that he wasn't going to have a restful night, no matter what happened during the picnic.

_No, stop thinking like that! _he commanded his brain with a wince. The last thing he needed was to make this entire thing even more embarrassing than it already was; he needed to have a nice picnic with her, not sit there and imagine her reading books in bed the entire time! He walked quickly past the offending books, standing at the other end of the room as if waiting impatiently for her.

"Shall we be going, then?" he asked in a tone of overhyped pleasantry, a big grin on his face that he hoped didn't look too forced. She paused in the doorway to the cupboard and then nodded.

"Yes. I'll just get my shoes and we'll be on our way." He waited for her to fish her shoes out from beneath the bed and then stood back to let her lead the way, pausing only to grab the basket from the foyer table before heading out the door. She led him out into the bright sunshine and began to guide him around back, skirting the lake's edge. They picked their way through marshy spots and around sunken irrigation lines, not speaking while they focused on keeping from falling into the lake. She led him over a small creek, leaping across the banks with ease and then reaching her hand out for the basket, but he was tall enough to inch his way over without jumping and she only needed to steady his arm during a particularly tricky moment when his center of gravity was off.

"This way," she directed with her usual authority, crashing through some low hanging branches that sat near the creek's edge and holding them back so that he could bend his head and come through as well. Once inside, he saw that he had to squat in order to keep his head out of the spiny brambles growing up the sides of the trees. It seemed to be a deer path winding its way through the woods, or perhaps it was an old trail that had been allowed to grow over.

"Just a little farther," she called over her shoulder as she began to carefully move aside the thornier branches and shoulder her way down the path. He followed her example, moving the basket behind him so that the branches wouldn't catch and tear the wicker. She was faster than he was, and it was all he could do to keep the edges of her dress in sight through the dense foliage. When he finally caught up, he found himself in a small clearing; she was already spreading the quilt out on a flat slab of damp, moss-covered stone.

He moved to join her and saw that the creek bent here, falling over a small waterfall into a natural pool that looked to be about waist deep. The years of erosion had worn away the bottom of the stone slab, which jutted out over the pool and was flecked with speckles of waterfall residue. Thin trails of moss wound its way all over the damp stone behind the waterfall and around the edges of the pool, which was clear enough that he could see minnows and frogs swimming around inside. The pool emptied back into the bend of the creek, which he assumed ran close to the wall without actually passing into the town. Maybe it fed back into the river at some point?

Looking around, he noticed that the trees here were young, tiny stalks that grew very close together. Here and there were little tufts of flowers; most likely the birds and animals had brought the seeds here, where they'd taken root and grown. He glanced at the ground, which was very sparse and neat for a wild wood growth. Eve must have caught his expression, and she graced him with one of her wrier smiles and patted the quilt next to her for him to sit.

"Not even Espella knows about this place," she explained as he sat down, feeling self-conscious about how close they were. He tried to remind himself that last night she had been on his lap, far closer than she was now, but then he just remembered exactly what they'd been doing and it only made him that much more nervous. So he attempted to ignore the distance and focus on her words.

"I found it while exploring around a few years ago, and I cleaned it up. Isn't it peaceful?" It was peaceful, with the babbling of the brook and the soft roar of the small waterfall, the chirrups of birds and the chattering of squirrels and chipmunks. She took the basket from him and began to unpack it, raising her eyebrows at the surplus within. "I doubt we can eat _all _this," she chuckled, handing him one of the sandwiches and digging around until she found a canteen of water at the bottom. "But I suppose we can try."

"Mrs. Eclaire—you know how she is. She… I don't know…." He couldn't find the words to express what he felt about the woman.

"She shows her love through food," she finished for him. "She's a very caring woman; she feels as though it's her job to make sure that everyone is well fed and healthy, I think. And she's enthusiastic about her bakery," she added thoughtfully.

"It's always good to be happy with what you do," He noted, feeling as though someone told him the same thing, long ago. Perhaps it was Miss Primstone? It sounded like one of her 'lessons', but at the same time it held that lonely, faraway feeling of loss that accompanied his half-remembered dreams and thoughts about his past life.

"That's—" she hesitated, looking at him out of the corner of her eye and biting her lip. For once she looked as shy as everyone else claimed her to be. "I don't know if I should be telling you this," she began again, a warning behind her words; whatever she was about to say, it was in complete confidence. He nodded to show that he understood and she continued.

"That's one of the main things we strove for when The Storyteller and my father created Labyrinthia. We wanted it to be that everyone was happy with their jobs in the town, so that it would be a perfect place for Espella." There was an old bitterness behind her words, one that he could understand. _It was perfect for Espella, but not for everyone else. _And even in the end, it hadn't been perfect for Espella anyway. The people they'd so carefully chosen for the town turned against her and wanted to see her burn for imagined crimes as a witch.

"Then as the people in charge of reconstruction, it's our job to uphold that creed and make our town as perfect as possible," he proclaimed. She paused mid-bite and stared at him incredulously. "I didn't mean that we should cast a spell on others," he added quickly, waving his hands. "But we should try our best to make sure that everyone in the town is as happy as they can be; 'tis what I meant."

"Oh, of course," she replied, back to her usual unruffled demeanor as she began eating again, reaching in and grabbing a sausage as well. "This is delicious. You'll have to tell Mrs. Eclaire that I'm grateful for it."

"I'll let her know," he answered dutifully, finishing off his first sandwich. They spoke only of small things after that, news about the town and general observations about the scenery as they managed to eat all of the sandwiches, half the sausages, and then two tarts apiece. They left the bread and marmalade alone, and he remembered to be a gentleman and offer to let her keep them at her home as a gift, since they had more than enough at the bakery.

The sun shone down on them, and with a full stomach he quickly found himself getting sleepy. She seemed to be feeling the same way, her eyes drifting closed as she sat and watched the glittering pool; the tadpoles resting in the bottom and the minnows darting by in flashes of silver seemed nearly hypnotic. He began to doze, trying to shake himself awake and failing. Who fell asleep on the first date!? But no, he was lying against the slab, and she was curling up next to him, muttering something about napping that he didn't quite catch before blacking out entirely.

* * *

**Afterword:** Sorry for taking so long to get this chapter out! Hopefully you enjoy it, and it won't be quite as long before the next new chapter is out.


	7. Picking Back Up

When she woke up, to her embarrassment he was already awake. He had moved to the pool and was staring with interest down into the clear waters, most likely watching the fish and frogs darting around. She quickly wiped her mouth, making sure that she hadn't drooled in her sleep before sitting up and combing her fingers through her hair. He turned, a bright smile lighting up his face in a way that made her heart flutter.

"Did you sleep well?" His earlier bashfulness seemed to be gone, and she was thankful for it. It was doubly hard when both of them were too shy to say anything to each other. She knew deep down that she shouldn't feel so timid, having been his superior for years, but whenever he was near her she couldn't stop the feeling from welling up in her chest.

It was a little comforting that he was as clueless as she was as to the proper protocol. When she'd come down to see him standing there in her foyer, holding out the flowers to her with an expression on his face akin to panic, she had been as relieved as she had been entertained at his actions. Probably Espella had given him the idea for flowers, and Mrs. Eclaire had given him the food; she was thankful to them both. She had been able to work off the gifts and keep the conversation going.

"I did, thank you." She crawled across the flat rock to stare into the pool as well, mesmerized by the silver scales flashing in the sun. They sat silently for a while, and she found herself enjoying the quiet reflection. It was nice to sit with someone without feeling the need to speak every few minutes. Even so, her eyes were drawn time and again from the water to his face, to his arm resting only a few inches from her own, and to his broad muscles. He didn't seem to be as concerned with it, even if he might have sensed her eyes on him. He continued to smile down at the pool, as if seeing something in the rippling waters that amused him.

She looked away, unsure of how to engage him in conversation again. It had been going so well before they went to sleep! They'd finally fell back into their groove during the picnic, but now it was lost. She wasn't sure what to say to him. The elephant in the room—or forest clearing—was last night's actions, but he hadn't brought it up, and she wasn't sure that she wanted to be the first to say anything either. She didn't want to come across as… forward.

Then the breeze picked up again, bringing with it a crisp feel and the undeniable scent of rain. She looked up to see the sky barely dotted with clouds, brow furrowing. It seemed that another rain shower was on the way, though hopefully it wouldn't bring a downpour. More water on top of yesterday's monsoon would be sure to flood the river, which would wash into the town moats and cause problems on the roadways.

"It's going to rain soon," he sighed, before she could say anything. She looked to see that he was staring up at the sky too, the breeze ruffling his hair as his bit the inside of his cheek. He looked down at her with a smile. "I suppose that we should probably start home." He seemed disappointed, and she felt the same way. Still, he was right. The last thing she needed was to get caught out in the rain and ruin her new dress.

"Alright. Let's start gathering up these things." They reluctantly turned from the waterfall pool; he folded up the quilt while she packed the leftovers back into the basket. Then, after checking to make sure they had everything, she began to pick their way back across the hidden path out of the woods.

When they emerged into the field, she could see the clouds beginning to build over the town. It was going to rain, but by the heaviness of the clouds, it probably wouldn't last more than two hours. It was times like this that she wished they had television, if only for the weather reports. She remembered watching a few during the times she had to go to the mainland, and marveling at the ease with which they could predict the day's events without looking out at the sky or watching the seasons.

They walked back towards her house, standing like a sentinel amidst the flowers and the lake. When they reached the path he faltered, holding the basket loosely as he looked hesitantly at her, then at the path into the woods.

"Do come in," she said at last, the offer coming out more as an order. She wasn't sure if that was what he was waiting for, and cringed inwardly at the thought of being turned down. She wasn't even sure if this was supposed to be how it happened between couples, either. In most of her books, and invitation inside the heroine's home was also an invitation to—do more _illicit_ things then picnics and small talk. But surely as innocently as he acted towards her, he wouldn't read into her words and jump to conclusions, would he? After all, she wasn't throwing herself on him, but at the same time… if it came to _that_ she was sure she wouldn't say no.

"Well…" he looked at the house like it was an ominous thing, and then at her, shuffling on his feet. "I suppose that the honorable thing to do would be to come in and help you put away the leftovers." With that (completely illogical) reasoning, he smiled and motioned for her to lead the way into the house.

She showed him into her kitchen, mentally cursing her lack of foresight as she tried to steer him past the dirty plates stacked and waiting to be washed. As much as she preached to him about cleanliness in their joined office, she hated for him to see even a small amount of laziness on her part. If he noticed, he never said a word and instead began to put the breads and jars of leftover condiments in her pantry, letting her tell him where she wanted everything until the basket was empty.

"Now that I think about it," she said when they were done, trying to sound disinterested in the whole matter, "I think that I would like my quilt back where it was in the bedroom closet, since the pantry's filled up with Mrs. Eclaire's baking now. Do you mind coming up and putting it away for me quickly?"

"O-of course not. It's my duty to aid every Labyrinthian in the—" she tuned him out as he babbled on in his usual spiel about helping others and his honorable job as a knight of the garrison, letting him trail behind her as she climbed the stairs. Inside, her mind was screaming at her to step back and see how foolish she was. _You just invited him into your bedroom a second time! Do you realize that you're setting yourself up for things to __**happen**__? What will everyone say if they know that you've slept with your former subordinate on the first day of actual courtship?! _

She reached her bedroom and opened the door, stepping back to allow him through. Her eyes caught sight of her most recent books on the bedside table and she froze, hand still on the knob. _Were those there the first time he came? They had to have been! Did he see? Oh no, what if he saw? What would he think? _She nearly called out to stop him, trying to find some way to pause time, run and hide her romance novels back on the shelf, but he was already past her and into the room. He walked straight into the cupboard, but she caught the stiffness in his stance. Was he uncomfortable to be in her room? The thought was laughable, yet….

"Just put it back where you got it from," she advised, wishing that she could sweep the books onto the carpet and beneath the bed without them making noise. She ended up leaving them where they were, one hand fisted in her skirt to restrain herself from doing something she would regret. Maybe if she didn't call attention to them, he wouldn't notice. Surely he wasn't categorizing every detail of her room like she imagined, was he?

As she waited, she wondered what was taking him so long. Had he forgotten which shelf he'd found it on? She stepped into the cupboard behind him, her eyes adjusting to the dim light that trickled in from the main bedroom. He was standing still, one hand still on the quilt where it was up on the shelf, his eyes focused on the wood as though seeing something she couldn't embedded in the surface. His jaw was set, looking both thoughtful and anxious.

"Is everything alright?" To her surprise he jumped, turning around and backing into the shelf. "Zacharias?" Her brows knitted in concern as she took another step closer. "What is it?" He looked away, muttering something under his breath; even in the darkness of the cupboard, she could still make out the red blush staining his cheeks as he refused to look at her, instead staring intently at the pattern of a small blanket on a shelf nearer to his head. She let go of her skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles from her tightened hands, and his eyes flitted quickly to them. She nearly laughed at the awkward, boyish alarm in his demeanor.

"W-well… anything else you need me to help you with?" he asked, his voice rushed and panicky. She wilted a little at the realization that he was completely _unnerved_ around her; what had she done to make him so jumpy? A little bit of intimidation when she was the High Inquisitor, perhaps, but what was that in the end? They were on equal terms now, or they were supposed to be, in any case.

She nearly backed away and let him leave without another word, but then her eyes caught him glancing quickly at her chest before trying to fold himself further into the shelf and understanding crashed over her. Was—was he trying to restrain himself?! Yes, that was it; he was trying to keep himself as far away from her body as possible, but his eyes kept betraying him.

_Oh, __**honestly**__, _she sighed. As if she hadn't made it perfectly clear last night that she—but she stopped her thoughts there before they could make her irritated. Clearly, he was as hesitant as her only because he didn't want to seem too forward. He was more than eager yesterday, but to jump on her today after a single outing would be too much for a self-proclaimed master of gallantry.

"No, but…" she thought a moment, trying to come up with a plausible excuse to keep him around. "It's clearly about to storm, and I'd hate to hear that you had gotten sick by being caught in the rain twice in a week's time." She swallowed and managed to sidle even closer in the cramped space of the cupboard, trying to imitate the way Espella stood next to her little bookkeeper friend. "Maybe you should stay here until after it passes."

"I should?" he repeated, blinking at her with an empty expression. He seemed oblivious to what she was trying to say. She gritted her teeth, wondering how the women in her books were able to seamlessly pull off such well-worded innuendoes. "You truly don't mind?"

"Of course not." She smiled, unable to resist a bit of teasing. "After all, if you sneezed in the bread, Mrs. Eclaire would set you in the dungeon and _then _you'd fall behind in your work. I'm not filing your reports for you, Sir Apprentice Baker." Her tone held the edge of her old Darklaw sneer, something she'd never quite been able to lose after holding the same voice for years on end.

"You enjoy calling me that… are you trying to put me on that mediocre blue defender's level?" he grumbled, eyes darkening with irritation. Her grin widened.

"Well, if I recall correctly, neither of you ever knew much about acting like real men instead of boys," she clarified. "Of course, that young woman with him wasn't the most mature girl in the world herself. Perhaps it's a modern world issue."

"You keep asking me that. Are you a man? Do you call yourself a man?" His cheeks darkened further and he stepped out of the shelf's shadows to face her at his full height. She was forced to look up at him to see his eyes, her heart quickening as he put on his 'Inquisitor' scowl, as Espella liked to call it. It was the face that many a witch saw before they were sent to the flames; a face of challenge. "What must I do to get you to admit that I _am_ a man?"

"Prove it. Act like one." She met his gaze steadily, biting the inside of her lip as he stared at her with an undefinable expression. "I'll only take it back if you can do that." His mouth twisted to the side, whether in confusion or frustration she didn't know. She turned, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her grin. "Come on. Let's go somewhere more comfortable than a closet to talk."

She considered teasing him further and allowing him to sit on the bed, but there was an invisible line she wasn't quite ready to cross yet. It was one thing for him to walk through her bedroom with the intent of putting away something on a high shelf; it was another to let him stay there and mingle. Instead, they went back to the drawing room and sat on the loveseat again, close enough that their knees were almost touching.

He sat demurely, hands in his lap as he alternated between looking around at the décor in the daylight and sneaking peeks at her. She pretended not to notice, angling herself towards him but keeping her eyes focused just over his shoulder at the curio cabinet. They sat in silence, the only noise being the tick-tock of the clock and his clothing as he shifted self-consciously on his side of the cushions.

_Maybe I __**should **__have called his attention to those books, _she grumbled inwardly after ten minutes of awkward silence passed between them. _He's supposed to be charming me and sweeping me off my feet, not sitting there like a knot on a log. _She glared at him with pursed lips, causing him to stare back at her with big doe eyes; he seemed to understand that there was something she wanted him to be doing, but she could see he had no idea what that something_ was_.

_Do I have to spell it out for you, Sir Barnham?! _Her mind raged as the seconds ticked by. There was a soft pattering on the windowpanes as light rain began to drizzle outside, growing until it was steady enough to be considered a proper cloudburst. She couldn't figure out why it was taking him so long to do anything; was he really that clueless, or was he only pretending? The clock hit the quarter mark and chimed a low tone.

"Well?" she finally asked. She didn't want to sound impatient, but she wanted his arms around her again: shyness be damned. He started and looked at her full in the face before his mouth twisted into a guilty sort of half-smile.

"Yes?" he asked shakily, clearing his throat. "I mean—well, what would you like to talk about?"

"I think our first topic of conversation should be whether or not you're going to kiss me again, or if you'd rather just hold my hand like a blushing schoolboy." He gaped at her in shock, but she continued to eye him steadily, waiting for an answer. She refused to be the one doing all the wooing; he was the one that had asked her to dance, after all. She was tired of making all the moves. He already had her, it was more of him just gathering the courage to take the plunge and actually _do _something already.

"I-I see," he gulped, looking down at her hands. "Well, what if I wanted to do both?" Before she could answer, he reached out and grabbed one of her hands, bringing it up and kissing it the same way he'd done when they'd parted the night of the festival. A sense of déjà vu washed over her as she tried to remember how to breathe, her heart thudding against her ribcage. How was it that he could be so childish and silly at one moment, and then turn around and do something so—so—like _that_?!

"I—is that all you want to do?" she asked, voice audibly quivering. His hand tightened on hers as he looked up, eyes flashing in a way that made her limbs go weak.

"No." His voice barely rose above a whisper. "You know it's not." Now it was her turn to blush, her mouth suddenly dry. If he only acted this way more often… well, she'd never get any work done. If he'd been this way all the time, it might have been _her _trying to impress him with éclairs instead of the other way around. Even now he still held a faint air of doubt, as if he weren't sure how she'd take his bolder stance; however, that disappeared completely when he saw the pink tinge of her cheeks, a smug grin taking the place of his cautious frown.

"Oh." She licked her lips. "Zacharias, I—" He leaned forward, lips brushing against hers tentatively as he cut her off. He seemed to be testing the waters, much like the night before. Then he pressed harder against her without warning, making a sound in the back of his throat that sent a wave of heat throughout her body. Her eyes fluttered closed as she gave into the warm sensation of his mouth on hers, feeling his hands reach out and tug her towards him until there was hardly an inch's worth of space between them.

His kisses were relatively chaste, moving repeatedly from her mouth to her cheeks, then her forehead. They were soft, gentle, experimental; every time his lips brushed over her skin a fine tremor worked its way down her spine. How did he have such power over her when he was using nothing but his mouth? It was nothing like the late-night fantasies she'd indulged in, where he would more often than not replace whatever lover she'd conjured up for herself, causing her embarrassment as she reveled in his imagined attentions. No, this was better—a thousand times better, and yet more innocent than anything she could have dreamed of.

He moved down to her neck, his hand coming up just long enough to brush her hair off her shoulder before turning his attentions to every inch of exposed skin there. She trembled and moaned softly, arching her neck for him and holding onto his shoulders as if they were the only things left anchoring her to this waking dream. He murmured her name against her skin and then bit down gently, his teeth scraping over her shoulder before following it with his tongue.

"Eve, is this…" Whatever he was thinking, he never finished asking as he ran his hand beneath her jaw and kissed her again. She ran her tongue across his lower lip like the women in her stories did; it must have had some truth to it, as he groaned and yanked her closer. She felt him shiver and then in one swift movement she was in his lap. He was all muscle and warm skin, this time without the chill that accompanied being drenched in rain. She took her time, running her hands down his chest and over his arms, trying to commit his body to memory. It was hard, seeing as her brain quit functioning properly every time he kissed a new spot.

The intensity of it nearly frightened her. She was enjoying it immensely, but there was a startling lack of control that quailed her momentarily. She realized he could hold her down—in fact, she might not be adverse to the idea, if he did it the right way. But as he perched her on top of him, his mouth moving steadily down her neck to the front stays of her dress, she understood the women in her books' hesitation for the first time. The feeling doubled when she felt a growing hardness against her thigh, but as he shifted again and rubbed against her core she melted against him with a soft exhale.

Her breath quickened as his hands traveled slowly upwards from her hips to her breasts; never before had she needed someone to touch her so badly before. He was looking up at her, eyes dilated and stormy. He was breathing just as hard as she was, meeting her gaze; his fingers roamed over her ribs as if trying to count each one. She smiled coyly, but his eyes slid from her over to the far wall. She heard a steady tapping on the windowpane that wasn't rain and froze, eyes widening. _W-who—what—_ His face grew pale, and then his shoulders sagged in relief almost immediately as he saw something she couldn't. She twisted around to catch the unmistakable sight of two round eyes staring at them out of a drenched ball of fluff._. _Her lips tightened into a thin line as his hands fell from her body automatically.

"_Constantine_…" he grumbled; for the first time, he greeted his pet with sheer annoyance. "How did you even know I was out here?" He looked at her pleadingly. "Do you mind if he comes in? He's soaked to the bone…." _After it singlehandedly killed the mood? _She thought about saying it, but the look on his face was so much like a puppy's as well that she couldn't find it in her heart to let him down.

"I'd rather not have the mutt watching us," she managed to argue as she crawled off him and smoothed out her skirt again. He bit his lip and looked again at the sopping dog still patting his paws against the window, claws clicking rhythmically against the glass as he sought entrance.

"He'd watch anyway from the window," he pointed out. "He's a smart puppy. He must have heard me say I was coming here." She didn't have it in her to counter his arguments; he thought the world of that dog, for whatever reason. He even brought it to work with him, not to mention the custom armor it got. "Door, Constantine. Go to the door," he called through the window. There was an ear-splitting chorus of yips and barks and then the tapping stopped.

She walked into the foyer, opening the door and standing back as the drenched animal bounded in. She sucked in a breath between her teeth at the muddy paw prints littering her clean tile and then closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm. She'd have to deal with it anyway if they ever—she didn't even want to think that far ahead, though. Not when so many things were still left to chance. Even so, why couldn't he have been a cat lover instead?

She dallied long enough to find a spare cloth and wipe up the muddy prints before walking back to the drawing room with it. To her relief the mutt wasn't up on her cushions, but instead sitting on the floor in front of the empty grate, tail thumping the ground. She handed Barnham the cloth.

"Clean him up. He's got muddy feet and he's covering my floor with drippings," she ordered. He smiled sheepishly and got into the floor, capturing the dog in the cloth and rubbing a good amount of water and dirt from the puppy's white fur. When he was done the dog licked its paws before twisting to bite its flanks, setting the fur to rights. He then got up and put some logs into the grate, lighting the fire for her before sitting back down. He looked at her expectantly, but when she didn't do anything he was forced to pat his leg.

"Come sit with me again," he pleaded. "Eve," he groaned when she didn't move. "I'd much rather not beg."

"I said I didn't want it watching us," she replied curtly, nodding to the dog. He didn't reply, but a moment later her world lurched and she found herself back on his thighs, being held close. "Zacharias!" She was more surprised than angry, but a small part of her was taken aback by how brazen he could be when he set his mind to it.

"We don't have to _do_ anything," he muttered into her ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin just below her temple. "Just stay here. I enjoy—" he trailed off, the last of his bravado having been used up in disobeying her. The puppy looked up, and seeing her tangled up with him let out an astonishingly intimidating growl. "Constantine!" he rebuked the pup sharply. "You leave Eve alone!" The dog stopped growling his displeasure, but the beady little eyes still watched them both warily.

"He's just used to us being at odds," He assured her, as if she cared about whether or not his dog liked her one bit. "He'll come around to it eventually." _He's not a human child, _she thought to herself, becoming distracted by his fingers tracing patterns on her thigh beneath the dress. She huffed and leaned her head against his shoulder, inhaling the lingering scent of the bakery on his clothing and trying to let her vexation at the animal's interruption go. She wasn't sure if they would have went all the way, but it would have been nice to stop it herself instead of having to accommodate for his… dog-child.

She sat still, enjoying the silence now that it had ceased to be uncomfortable. She lay against him, letting his fingers run up and down her legs, wishing that he'd stray a little farther up and then feeling her cheeks burn every time he did. His heart thumped steadily beneath her ear, speeding up every time her breath 'accidentally' wafted across his exposed collarbone.

"I suppose I do have to start heading back. Tis nearly sundown." She opened her eyes, frowning at the thought of losing his warmth. She'd nearly been dozing. How long had they sat in this comfortable stupor? She raised her head to look at him, not even bothering to try and keep the disappointment out of her expression.

"You don't want to stay the night here?" she half-teased with a sad smile. She found herself wishing for the first time that she had a house in town, so he could stay later and not have to go back home. A second thought rose in her mind that if he had his own house, she could just stay there instead. But staying the night was a catalyst to other things, wasn't it? She still understood that the town would talk about trysts in the Inquisitor's Court if they were to get together in _that _way after so short a time. But at the same time, she wanted them to go farther than just touching and kissing.

"W-what?!" His voice broke in his astonishment and he choked up. She leaned away from him as he ended up in a coughing fit, wondering if she ought to pound his back or something. "I mean," he tried to speak and choke at the same time, managing a sort of breathless stutter, "not that I'm against it; but…_cough_… the Storyteller would throw me in the dungeon if he knew that after just one date—"

"Why would he care?" she interrupted, standing and deciding to just pat his back gently until he could get himself under control. He calmed after a minute, clearing his throat and thumping his chest with one fist as he wiped tears from his eyes.

"He thinks of you as a daughter sometimes. I can tell." She didn't know how to reply to that, feeling a strange mixture of flattery and humiliation.

"Well, even if he didn't, Miss Primstone would. I don't think anything gets past her long nose."

* * *

**Afterword:** Another short-ish chapter. But the next one is going to be a bigger one, so chill. _(snaps fingers like West Side gang)_ Chill.


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