Chapter 3
darkness.
The garden stood behind an arched gate of lattice and marble, carved with blooming roses and etched with old words: “Light is the thorn to falsehood’s bloom.” Gavin pushed open the gate and stepped within.
Crimson and ivory roses climbed trellises in spirals, and fountains murmured their secrets between hedges. Stone benches lined the winding path, and the air was thick with perfume—not just of flowers, but of thought, memory, and ancient purpose.
Under a pergola heavy with trailing vines, two figures rose as he approached.
Barak, tall and calm as a river before rain, wore a robe of midnight blue. His gaze was warm but sharp, like fire concealed in velvet. Beside him stood Michelle, resolute and radiant, the weight of truth in her presence. Her robe was leaf-green, gold trim with a golden quill —a symbol of wisdom and judgment.
“Gavin,” Barak said, his voice smooth as polished stone. “You’ve arrived with the setting sun.”
Michelle nodded. “And just in time. The lies have grown… noisier.”
Gavin bowed his head with respect. “I am ready to learn. Speak plainly.”
Barak gestured toward the stone bench. “Sit. We will begin with her voice.”
Michelle opened a scroll and held it between them. “Her name is Karoline Leaveitout. The villagers call her the Lie Dispenser—though to hear her speak, you'd think she bore scrolls of truth wrapped in sarcasm.”
Barak chuckled softly. “She doesn’t raise her voice. She lowers yours.”
Gavin frowned. “She uses contempt?”
Michelle’s eyes narrowed. “Aye. Not the searing kind, like the Doom-Spreader. Karoline smothers debate with the smugness of certainty. She will answer a question not with a rebuttal—but with a scoff. A look. A tone that tells the listener: You are stupid for even asking.”
Barak added, “It is dismissiveness sharpened into a weapon. No need for logic when disdain can break the spine.”
Gavin looked down at the rose petals scattered by the wind. “And this is what the people believe now?”
“They believe,” Michelle said, “because they are tired. Tired of arguing. Tired of being told truth requires effort. Karoline offers relief—an answer without the burden of explanation. That is her spell.”
Barak leaned forward, voice low. “Do not try to shout her down. Do not meet her mockery with anger. That is what she wants. You must remain still. Hold up the mirror. Let her dismiss herself.”
They rose and began walking the garden path together, slow and silent for a time.
Then Barak spoke again. “When you meet her, do not only carry truth as your sword. Carry it as your shield. The lie she spreads is not just falsehood, but the idea that truth no longer matters. That no one cares.”
Michelle nodded. “Truth is not just what is said. It is what is defended. With calm. With resolve. You don’t have to be louder. You have to be clearer.”
Sir Gavin exhaled, the burden of these words heavier than any armor. “I will listen. I will not let her smirk erode the wall.”
“Good,” Barak said, placing a firm hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “Because she will be watching for your reaction. That is where her blade strikes deepest.”
As the final light faded and the garden sank into twilight blue, a wind rose over the city. The fountains stilled, the vines swayed, and from somewhere overhead, Talon let out a piercing cry.
Michelle glanced skyward. “Talon senses something.”
Gavin’s brow furrowed. “He does not cry for sport.”
Barak turned, suddenly alert. “Then go. Rest no longer. You ride at dawn—but tonight, the whispers may stir.”
Michelle handed Gavin a rolled parchment. “This contains Karoline’s favored turns of phrase. Read it. Know them. When she speaks in riddles, these are the patterns she follows.”
Gavin accepted the scroll, bowing deeply. “I will not fail the realm.”
Michelle offered a final smile. “Do not aim for her throat. Aim for her shadow.”
Sir Gavin left the garden as night fell across Eureka. Somewhere in the dark, Karoline’s voice already slithered from ear to ear, coiling in the hearts of those too weary to resist.
But she had not yet met the Maga-Lie Destroyer.
The sixth bell tolled across Eureka. Its low chime rolled through towers and alleyways, over domes and gardens, settling like a breath over the city. Sir Gavin, now cloaked in his traveling tunic, stepped from his quarters and made his way to the Rose Garden.
He passed fewer attendants now. Those he did see moved quickly and spoke little, as if the approaching night carried a weight beyond
The Counsel of the Garden
