“And yet time allows for understanding, doesn’t it? A boy sees his father as a god, then grows up and realizes he’s flawed, mortal, and foolish. Then he has his own children and discovers his father isn’t foolish at all, but still isn’t a god. Understanding changes the reality of a thing—at least insofar as we perceive it—even if that thing itself doesn’t change.”

Farilane considered this but failed to find a response. He had a point not easily disproved, but one she wasn’t willing to accept without further consideration.

“The sad part is,” Kile went on, “the more we learn, the less magic there is in the world, and the less enchanting life becomes.”

“I don’t see how this is helping.” The carpenter stood with arms folded, a scowl on his face. Despite his river swim and suffering through the rain shower, he’d managed to remain as dirty as when they first met.

“I’ll tell you what magic is,” Farilane declared. “That no matter what, Sheldon manages to stay so filthy. That has to be magic.”

Sheldon huffed and folded his arms. “I’m thirsty. Really thirsty and quite hungry. We need to find a way out of here.”

“Indeed we do.” The scribe faced Sheldon square on, sharing his untroubled, almost carefree smile.

Looking at the two, Farilane was reminded of the theatrical masks of comedy and tragedy used at the Imperial Theater.

“You’re our resident expert on magic, Mister Faust. How would you suggest we solve this riddle?” Kile asked.

The grubby little man swished his lips from side to side, casting his focus to the hazy trees. “It’s all fog, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think that has ever been in dispute,” Farilane said.

“No, not just the mist—all of it. The trees, this path, the lights, and the monster in the night, all of it is a fake curtain hiding the truth.”

“You mean an illusion?” Farilane said. “But how could it possibly be an illusion? We’re all seeing it, hearing it, touching it.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Kile took a step toward the trees, his head tilted up. “We’re still working on the What. We can ponder the How later.”

“I don’t understand,” Farilane admitted.

“Which means we are still ignorant and therefore dealing with magic. So let’s go with that, shall we?” He grinned at her.

The princess threw up her hands. “You’re making no sense. You want to solve a problem, but you insist on starting from an impossible base point. If this is magic, why don’t we just ask the trees to dance out of our way? You’re being absurd.”

“Mister Faust?” Kile said. “How does one break an illusion enchantment?”

“Don’t believe in it,” he replied.

Kile looked at Farilane, stuck out his lower lip and nodded. “Seems reasonable, don’t you think?”