Chapter 9, part 1: Eldenbridge

“Human cities hold a fundamental contradiction: they attempt to tame chaos by erecting walls and performing rituals, but the moment these attempts cease, formless chaos consumes all once more.”

The two weeks that followed were marked by a tightening of the regime at the Academy. The new rector, Terren Montague, at the behest of Prince Frederik Valtheim, had instituted a system of passes for anyone wishing to leave the grounds. All three exits were now patrolled by royal soldiers who let no one pass without a permit signed by the rector himself.

Despite the logical, from Frederik’s perspective, actions to change the order in one of the few women's educational institutions in the country, there were oddities. The guards at the northern gate, leading to Lake Gremlak where the Twin Queens had legendarily sacrificed themselves, were armed to the teeth and likely represented not a simple military unit, but the prince’s personal guard.

Before the lockdown, Catherine had invited me several times to walk to the lake after classes, but I had refused each time, as we would have had to sacrifice her training. Perhaps that was my miscalculation; perhaps there was something significant at the lake that the prince required. In any case, that alone could explain the presence of men who answered directly to Frederik.

Our attempts to get a pass from the rector for a trip to Eldenbridge ended in nothing but standing in enormous queues of students. Even Olivia Briggs, who urgently needed to visit her parents, did not receive her pass. All these events could not go unnoticed by influential families, and the constant pressure on Terren bore fruit: after a Veytra, the military regime was completely lifted, but Frederik’s true plans were never revealed.

Perhaps Frederik’s plans concerned some artifacts of the Twin Queens, or he was personally connected to the Gods of Dreams. All this raised questions that I tried to ask Evelina several times. Despite my courteous and respectful tone, she always diverted the conversation, and I was met with absurd and vague phrases about “patriarchal influence.” However, her body language told a different story—she knew exactly what Frederik wanted.

And although the prince’s business did not concern me directly, I could not sit idly by and engage in meaningless studies at the academy, as his will had temporarily severed the relationship between Nova and Ren. I needed to occupy my free resources with something, and that something became risk analysis and training with Catherine.

Time passed slowly, and the training, due to the lack of the swords we needed, became less and less effective. And so, on the first weekend after the regime was lifted, I kept my promise to Catherine, and we set off for Eldenbridge.

***

The journey to the city was not short, but I was not bored. Catherine peppered me with questions that, while constituting an irritating auditory distraction, clearly served as a mask for more significant lines of enquiry.

Eldenbridge was a typical city of the kingdom of Valtheim, spread across both banks of the wide Luren River. Its slow, murky waters had for centuries eroded the stone supports of a massive granite bridge—a key strategic point for the kingdom. The bridge connected two contrasting parts of the city. On the eastern bank huddled low houses with tiled roofs, artisan shops, and a noisy port district where cargo from barges was transferred to carts. The western bank, rising in a steep slope, was occupied by fortified mansions, the merchant guild building, and an old chapel with a pointed spire.

Narrow, cobblestone streets wound between ivy-covered stone walls. In the squares, merchants thronged, shouting prices for spices, fabrics, and utensils, and from the open windows of taverns wafted the smell of roasted meat and leavened bread.

Catherine and I were dropped off in the very center, next to the mansion of the local mayor—a man, it seemed, more concerned with personal enrichment than with the well-being of the city.

Catherine was the first to jump out of the carriage. “Well, Arta, you won’t get rid of me now!” Her eyes lit with joy. “I suggest we leave buying the swords for the evening.”

“No,” I shook my head. “The swords are the priority. It is efficient to integrate the weight and balance of the new equipment into our movements as soon as possible.”

With those words, we headed to a weapon shop on the eastern bank. Despite the bustling crowd and the token presence of the city guard, security here was merely an illusion. Suspicious individuals at every turn confirmed a simple conclusion: with the onset of darkness, this place would become a hunting ground—a standard dynamic for human cities.

The armory looked modest, its inventory hardly deserving a more polite definition than “junk.” The owner—a short, untidy man with darting eyes—visibly tensed at the sight of our academic uniforms but quickly replaced his wariness with a greedy glint in his eyes, obviously deciding he had easy prey before him.

“Ah, students from the Academy!” he exclaimed with feigned delight. “Do you need new épées for training?” He was already hurrying to a display case.

“No, we need unsharpened combat swords,” I replied calmly. The merchant froze, realizing his customers were not as simple as they seemed.

“Have they started teaching swordsmanship at the Academy of Duality?” he asked, surprised, clearly anticipating a profitable deal.

“It’s for personal use,” I cut in shortly, watching him rummage in the display case.

“How serious! But rest assured, I have the finest blades, delivered directly from the capital!” He made an inviting gesture.

His cheap performance failed to impress me, though Catherine, charmed by the prospect of acquiring her first proper sword, began to examine the blades with predictable curiosity. Noticing her interest, the merchant immediately took a worn, mediocre-quality blade from the display.

“This sword, young lady, was forged by the famous master Karzus of Karzadir!” he declared. “Excellent work for a reasonable price.”

His audacity knew no bounds. The blade’s balance was terrible, and the mark on the hilt clearly indicated mass production in some cheap forge.

“Excuse me,” I stepped forward, “but this is a cheap fake. Real works by Karzus have a special pattern on the blade and silver inlay on the hilt. This has neither.”

The merchant paled but quickly composed himself. “Oh, what an observant young lady! But allow me to show you something truly special…”

He reached under the counter and pulled out a rather decent-looking longsword. However, a scratch on the blade betrayed its recent use, and signs of polishing clearly masked defects.

“This blade…” he began, but I interrupted him.

“And how much do you want for this ‘new’ blade?” I stepped closer and pointed to the obvious marks on the hilt. “The signs of multiple polishings are visible even to the naked eye. Admit it, are you reselling decommissioned blades from the local guard?”

The merchant began to sweat, but then Catherine joined the conversation: “I suppose I can test the quality of this sword right here? We do have the right to inspect the goods before buying, don’t we?”

The merchant reluctantly led us into a small courtyard. Catherine took the “praised” blade and began to demonstrate her skill. Every strike on the training dummy revealed hidden problems: it was clearly a decommissioned specimen that had somehow ended up with the merchant.

“Don’t you think that selling such blades dishonors not only your armory but you personally?” I asked ironically.

“Alright,” the merchant gave in, “perhaps I exaggerated their quality a little. But I do have better blades… Only the price will be higher.”

I shook my head, knowing that greed would remain his defining trait. “Given your cheap fakes and questionable dealings with defective weapons, your ‘high price’ will be simply exorbitant,” I said, watching his reaction carefully. “Perhaps it would be easier for us to report your machinations to the local guard.”

The merchant paled even further and hurriedly pulled two excellent training swords from a locked cabinet. The price for them turned out to be more than fair—one hundred silver coins each.

As we were leaving, Catherine couldn’t hide her delight. “Arta, that was magnificent! You saw right through him!”

“Of course. He just didn’t know who he was dealing with,” I smiled to myself, and with our new swords, we headed through the narrow streets toward the cafe where Catherine had so wanted to go.

***

After some time, we reached the “Count and Countess” cafe—an old stone building adjoining the city park. Inside, we settled at a free table with a view of the very park we were yet to visit. I sat down first and carefully leaned my new sword against the wall.

The establishment could not be classified as exceptional; every component, from the silverware to the décor, adhered to a baseline of uninspired adequacy. The silverware was not polished enough, the tables looked too ordinary, and the lace tablecloths evoked nothing but melancholy. In the center of each stood a vase of lavender, which I hastened to move away.

“They serve the best hot chocolate in Eldenbridge here,” Catherine said, not looking at the menu, as if she already knew what she would order.

“I suppose I should try it?” I sighed wistfully, surveying the rest of the establishment, which also did not appeal to me.

Paintings of city views, crystal display cases with pastries, waitresses in dresses with corsets. Everything here breathed an old-fashioned luxury, and what occupied me most was the question: how did I ever agree to Catherine’s persuasion to visit such a place?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Arta, don’t be a bore. Haven’t you ever wanted to enjoy something?” she asked cheerfully, studying the menu in its velvet binding.

“I suppose enjoyment hasn’t really been a consideration for me these last few years,” I replied, knowing the phrase would be interpreted as a recent hardship in this body, while for me it encompassed my entire existence.

“Oh, don’t start. Haven’t you ever had moments when you wanted something?” Finishing her question, she shifted her gaze to the waitress.

“You know, desires are not something I think about,” I shifted my gaze to the park.

Meanwhile, a waitress approached us. Catherine ordered hot chocolate for both of us, and for herself, a “royal crest” pastry. She understood that I wouldn’t eat sweets anyway, and even a cup of hot chocolate was an event for me, akin to a feat.

“You know, Catherine, you’ve changed a lot,” I said, looking into her eyes. “You’ve become more confident, more emotional, as if your inner world has been completely remade.”

“Oh, you’ve noticed?” she smiled, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. “I suppose so. I feel free, strong, and confident. I never thought I could be like this before, and to be honest…” she hesitated for a second, then continued as if nothing had happened, “it’s all thanks to you.”

“Don’t mention it. As I’ve said many times, it’s a small thing,” I replied, waving it off.

“Don’t downplay your merits,” she smiled. “After all, what would I do without you now? Wait for my parents to take me to Eldenbridge?”

She shifted her gaze to the lavender bouquet I had moved aside.

“You know, haven’t you ever wanted to just sit like this?” she asked, a note of melancholy in her voice. “Without swords, without pacts… just live?”

“No, if that’s what you mean,” I replied, deciding to tell her a little about my past in the Tarvarian Empire. “You see, I was born the sixth child in my family. I have two older brothers and three sisters. But that’s not the point. I was taught a great deal from childhood to meet certain standards. In Troysk, my life was very different from that of ordinary children, and at the age of six, I was sent to a special school called ‘Chrysolite.’ There was a strong emphasis on magical abilities, and over time, I learned that my mother’s expectations for my magical aptitude were very high.” It was a half-truth; however I felt about secrets, I could not jeopardize my role as high priestess. “Perhaps, for me, entering the Academy of Duality was what you call ‘just living.’”

“Chrysolite…” Catherine repeated thoughtfully, twirling a silver spoon in her hands. “It sounds like a place where they beat magic into students along with manners.” She suddenly froze, as if realizing she had gone too far. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“No need to apologize. It’s all in the past,” I smiled coldly, watching as two cups of hot chocolate were brought to the table.

Catherine took her cup and, blowing on the drink, took a cautious sip. Joy and reverence appeared on her face. I reluctantly pulled my cup closer and looked at it grimly.

“So it was a joint decision by your parents to send you to Chrysolite?” Catherine asked, taking another small sip of hot chocolate.

“You could say that,” I replied, allowing myself a slight smile. “You know, I don’t regret anything. As I said, the past is the past, and I still have to pay for it.”

“Pay for it?” Catherine put down her cup and looked at me anxiously.

“Of course,” I replied, stirring the hot chocolate with a teaspoon. “Don’t forget, Catherine, we are both girls. I have obligations to my family, and you to yours.” I paused. “Or do you think that by not telling your parents about the prosthesis, you’ll get rid of the debt that will soon fall on your shoulders?”

“You talk as if everything has already been decided for us,” Catherine said, her fingers nervously clenching the cup, her voice trembling. “But what if I don’t want this… this chain? What if I’m tired of being a pawn in someone else’s games?”

“Chains?” I raised the spoon, watching a drop of chocolate slowly drip from it. “You’re confusing obligation with slavery. Your family has chosen an alliance that will strengthen their influence. Mine…” I paused, letting a shadow cross my face, “my obligations are deeper than you can understand.” I paused again. “However, there is a way out of your situation, and it’s quite simple: you just need to provide your family with more influence than a potential marriage could. And you are already making some progress in that direction.”

“What do you mean, Arta?” she asked, not understanding.

“Well, you know, our training, Evelina… all of this opens up a path to a future without foolish obligations,” I looked her in the eye, hoping she would remember this thought forever. “Strength, Catherine. Only with strength can you solve problems that cannot be solved by other means. It is this strength that I teach you almost every evening.”

“I suppose I’m not interested in that kind of strength, Arta,” Catherine took a sip of chocolate. “I train with you not for the sake of, as you put it, strength, but just to be near you. And I will solve the issue of my ‘marriage’ on my own.” Catherine shook her head ironically. “You do realize that you’re my first friend in a very long time, and if you think you can just get rid of me, you’re mistaken.” She smiled. “I just want ordinary, friendly sincerity from you, nothing more.”

“Sincerity?” I asked, deciding to take my first sip of the chocolate, which was too sweet and hot to seriously discuss such topics. “I can sincerely tell you that the chocolate is too sweet. But you’re talking about a different kind of sincerity, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Arta, a different kind,” Catherine pushed her cup aside and looked at me intently. “Every time, I see things left unsaid. You can’t just answer my simple questions without irony, without changing the subject. You’re too perfect and too secretive.”

“I already said, it’s because of my upbringing,” I replied. “My family has completely different expectations of me. Or do you think I’m deliberately hiding something from you? Believe me, I tell you everything I can. Please, don’t force me to cross the line where I start betraying myself.” I looked her in the eye, and our gazes met. Her blue eyes burned with a challenge, but in their depths rippled an anxiety—like water in a well that has been stared into for too long in the hope of seeing the bottom.

“I understand, but really, Arta, can you tell me something truthful? For example, what’s your favorite color?” she asked, looking me in the eye.

“There are three. Gold, black, and violet,” I replied calmly, hinting at the primary colors of Order and Darkness.

“Excellent. Now let’s make the game more difficult,” she said with a smile. “How, as a sixteen-year-old girl, do you know techniques that aren’t taught at the academy?”

I smiled deliberately.

“It’s simple. I was taught from childhood. My mother wields Order magic, and my father is a general of the Ice Guard.” I shrugged. “Or do you think that if some other girl were in my place, she wouldn’t have learned it if she had trained since childhood?”

“I don’t know, Arta.” Catherine lowered her eyes and took a sip of hot chocolate. “Let me ask you in a different way, alright? Just promise you’ll answer honestly and from the heart. Do you promise?”

“I promise,” I nodded.

“Alright. Tell me honestly, are you hiding something from me?” she asked and looked at me defiantly.

“Yes, I am,” I replied calmly.

Catherine’s mouth fell slightly open. She clearly wasn’t surprised, just trying to form a new question.

“And why are you hiding it from me?” she finally asked.

“Why?” I placed my palm on the table. “Not everything I know, I can tell. There are secrets and obligations that I cannot reveal to anyone, you understand? It’s not about you, it’s about security. Family, destiny… everything is too intertwined to tell you everything directly.” It was a permissible half-truth that shouldn’t raise any more questions from her.

“I understand…” Catherine nodded just as I did. “You know, it’s just a little unpleasant when something is hidden from you,” she said, a little upset.

“You know, Catherine, you undoubtedly deserve answers to your questions, and maybe someday I will answer them for you. But now…” I deliberately paused. “Remember that goddess of fertility. I don’t even hide things like that from you.”

“Of course, I remember her.” Catherine pressed her lips together. “But what does she have to do with it? Or are you hinting that she’s one of the reasons you can’t be honest with me?”

“The goddess of fertility…” I stopped. How right she was about the reasons for my excessive caution. “Goddesses never come to ordinary mortals just like that. You do understand that, don’t you?”

“Of course, I understand,” Catherine took a few more sips of chocolate. “But if she’s the reason you can’t speak honestly, then just say so.”

Her persistence was admirable and sincere. I didn’t want to mislead her, but my safety required another lie.

“The goddess is only one of the reasons. I have deep obligations to my family that I cannot voice to you yet.” I turned away and looked out the window to appear more vulnerable. “And yes, Catherine, I have a question for you too,” I said, not taking my eyes off the view outside. “What would you choose: to know the whole truth, the price of which would be the destruction of the world, or to be content with guesses that don’t give you the full picture?” I shifted my gaze to her, waiting for her answer.

Catherine froze, her fingers clenching the cup, white with tension. Her gaze, fixed on the window, slid across the park where the wind was rustling the maple leaves, as if trying to tear them from the branches before their time. When she spoke, her voice was quieter, as if each word were being weighed on invisible scales:

“If the truth threatened to destroy the world, I would… not seek it.” She shifted her gaze to me, and something like pain flickered in her eyes.

I pushed the chocolate aside, not touching it again. The sweet smoke rising from the cup reminded me of Chaotic Light, who was playing her game somewhere in the infinite expanse of the universe.

“I would have chosen the same,” I replied, approving of her choice. “And yes, Catherine, please don’t think I don’t value you. I value you very much. I’m just… like this—cold, raised by rules that have now become a part of me.” I smiled deliberately, once again telling a half-truth.

Catherine smiled silently.

“I appreciate your sincerity, Arta, but you know, sometimes I get the feeling that you think I want to make you weak.” Catherine shook her head slightly. “Know that’s not the case. My questions are not meant to put you in a vulnerable position. I just want to understand the person I trust.” Her face relaxed. “You teach me to fight, you save me from Evelina’s intrigues, but at the same time…” she leaned forward, and a tremor ran through her voice, “sometimes I feel as if you’re from another, unknown world.”

Somewhere in the back of the room, dishes clattered. The waitress in the corset froze at a nearby table, not daring to approach. I just shifted my gaze to note the event.

“Tarvar is indeed another world, Catherine. Maybe someday we’ll go there together, and I’ll show you a different picture.” I tilted my head slightly to the side, looking directly into her eyes.

“You know I’m from Liranis. If you think you can surprise me with the cold of Tarvar, you won’t.”

“I will, because in Troysk, the summer temperature is from minus two to plus two, and it even snows in the summer.”

Catherine frowned.

“I hadn’t thought of that. Now I understand why your skin is so pale,” Catherine smiled. “But don’t worry, you’ll quickly get a healthy color in Valtheim.”

I sighed ironically.

“How will I manage without my usual war paint,” I replied, trying to joke.

Catherine laughed.

The waitress reappeared at our table and gracefully placed the pastry she had ordered in front of Catherine. The sweet aroma of cinnamon mixed with the smell of lavender and something metallic, barely perceptible.

Catherine took a spoon and tried a piece.

“Mmm…” She seemed to be enjoying the taste. “Maybe you’ll try some too? Just a piece?” she asked defiantly.

I shrugged and, taking my spoon, reached for the dessert—not to eat something sweet, but to distract her at least a little from the heavy conversation. Whatever you say, Catherine was truly a person whose condition I was not indifferent to.

The pastry was much sweeter to me than the hot chocolate I had recently tried, but if I loosened my iron grip, I could find what Catherine liked in its taste: a delicate biscuit, spicy cinnamon, excellent chocolate—all of this created a harmony, not the kind I was used to, but still simple and understandable for a human.

“I suppose it’s delicious,” I tried to smile sincerely.

Catherine fell silent, then smiled back at me.

“Am I really seeing a sincere smile from you! What a rarity! I thought I’d die before that happened!” she laughed, then added, “Lately, I’ve started to feel like your duty smiles will be haunting my dreams at night!”

“As you can see, you didn’t die,” I said with a deliberate smirk. “You’re very resilient, in every sense of the word, to just die.”

“Arta, you’re insufferable!” Catherine rolled her eyes ironically during this phrase.

“And you remind me more of a raging river trying to erode the walls of my fortress,” I replied to her irony.

“Oh! Listen to us talk!” Catherine looked at me with a smirk. “I suppose I should be pleased with this role.”

“No. Don’t forget that even the most turbulent rivers are destined to freeze where the eternal cold reigns.” I got up, laid a few silver coins on the table, took my sword, and headed for the exit. “Come. We will proceed with the itinerary you proposed: the park, and then the pastry shop.” Our conversation was over, at least for now.

Catherine grinned, picked up her sword, and followed me out of the cafe.