Chapter 10, part 1: Shadows of Sumerenn

“The capital of the Valtheim Empire is a place steeped in antiquity and sacrifice, yet behind its grand facade, nothing remains but a void in the hearts of those who cling to ancient legends.”

Several more monotonous, routine days passed after our trip to Eldenbridge before Evelina Valtheim, just as I had expected, sent me a note. It was a short, imperious line demanding my immediate presence in her chambers. This outcome was predictable; the blood pact obligated me to be the princess’s shadow, and I had to play the part of the so-called “mage-guardian.” A vulnerability, yet another vulnerability that I must masterfully manage, turning it into a weapon.

Informing Catherine that Evelina required my presence, I excused myself from magical theory class for “urgent and pressing matters.” Then, with measured slowness, I ambled toward the dormitories where my royal mistress awaited me.

When I crossed the threshold of her chambers, I found her already prepared. She was not in her academy uniform but in a severe, noble gown tailored from midnight-blue velvet and covered in fine silver embroidery of intertwined briar roses. At a glance, I understood: she was preparing to participate in the political theater, and I was now a mandatory participant in the performance.

Evelina swept a possessive gaze over me, the kind one uses to appraise property: a new blade, a thoroughbred stallion, or, perhaps in her case, another dress in her immense wardrobe.

“Today, we depart for Sumerenn,” she announced, wasting no time on greetings, and summoned her personal maid. The maid brought in the mage-guardian’s mantle—black, with chains embroidered in silver thread along the edges. It was the very embodiment of dependence, a symbol clear even to those who wished to ignore it. “Change. In the capital, appearances are everything. Any trivial detail can damage both my image and yours,” she commanded, and the maidservant led me toward the wardrobe, which was located behind a door leading to the bedroom.

The room, which I had not been in before, was divided into a spacious wardrobe and a passage to the bedroom itself. The wardrobe was enormous, with countless rows of dresses and even less noble attire for every conceivable occasion, a collection that hardly corresponded to the Academy’s declared “ascetic way of life.” Wardrobes of dark, almost black wood, racks for various footwear, and a massive full-length mirror created the feeling of being in the fitting room of an expensive boutique. The air was filled with the subtle scent of exquisite perfume and new leather, while the light from magical lamps kept the space from sinking into shadow.

The young maid, her expression weary but polite, helped me into the new attire. The fabric of the mantle, which fell just below my knees, was light yet dense, as if woven from Darkness itself. It came with a heavy breastplate of black metal, which I had to hold in place while the maid fastened the straps on my back, and high leather boots with a low, sturdy heel, perfectly suited for a guard. But the main feature of the vestment was the runes, carved with a skill accessible only to those who could weave magic into the symbol itself. Excellent work, though the enchantments were utterly ineffective. The runes on the mantle shimmered in time with my breathing—a sure sign that a strand of my hair had been acquired during one of my previous visits. Evelina's methods were calculating, yet laughably predictable. She had invested vast resources in these enchantments, yet their function was a paradox of futility: against any truly significant threat, they would offer no meaningful resistance, and against a trivial one, they were entirely superfluous.

When I returned to Evelina in full regalia, she turned from the window with a satisfied smile. A faint smirk touched her lips. “This style definitely suits you.” She paused. “And yes, Artalis, the capital is rife with intrigue. Your task is to stay with me and protect me from any threat.” Her gaze grew more serious. “And if you think I am joking, be prepared to sleep in my chambers and accompany me even to the lavatory.”

“If it is required, I am prepared for that as well,” I answered coldly, understanding that the pact left me no room for open defiance.

“Intrigue is like a curse,” Evelina sighed as we left the dormitory, “like cracks on glass that have already led to ruin, but it’s impossible to know when everything will shatter into tiny shards.” She touched my shoulder, her fingers leaving a cold impression. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

I said nothing, merely casting a sidelong glance at her, understanding that this journey would not be simple. It was vital to maintain the image of both the perfect student and the loyal mage-guardian.

***

A carriage, drawn by a team of six black horses, awaited us at the eastern exit of the academy. But before we climbed inside, Evelina said quietly, “We will be gone for at least ten days. I have already arranged for all key personnel at the academy to be notified, and I haven’t forgotten about Catherine.” She smiled.

“Ten days?” I clarified, trying to adopt the persona of a student not quite prepared for such journeys.

“Yes, Arta,” she smirked, “ten days. Perhaps less, but don’t count on it. There are a number of matters I must attend to before we can leave.”

“I understand,” I replied calmly, helping her into the carriage.

Once we were seated opposite each other and had relaxed slightly, she began to speak. “The journey to Sumerenn takes two days,” she said in a calm voice. “I hope that during this time, we can learn to trust each other a bit more. And yes, if we need to stop… let me know. I will go with you.” She said it as if she would be escorting me to the lavatory, and not the other way around.

The prospect of two days in an enclosed space with her stirred nothing in me but a barely perceptible disappointment. I placed my hands on my knees, as was expected of an obedient girl, shifted my gaze to the window, and silently watched as the carriage lurched forward, creating the illusion of the world outside trembling.

“Artalis,” Evelina began, seeing that I showed no interest in conversation. “It is important to remember that we will not receive a warm welcome in the capital, despite my station.” She looked where I was looking. “Things in the capital are not as they once were.”

“What is the source of this internal strife in the capital?” I asked, my tone perfectly level as I returned my gaze to her.

To me, any human society was distinguished by one simple feature: it changed as quickly as it developed. For mortals, ten or twenty years is a lifetime. This was not merely a fact; it was a law governed only by the rise and fall of civilizations. What a pity that such ordinary individuals as Evelina Valtheim believed they knew everything about the structure of states. If I were to tell her of my worlds, where a single system of rule has existed for millions of years, she would simply lose her mind.

“Everything has changed recently,” she replied sadly. “Frederik has become the leader of the nobles dissatisfied with female rule, and he has acquired a personal mage-advisor who makes my skin crawl.” Evelina’s face was distorted by a barely noticeable grimace of disgust.

“And you believe that once you ascend the throne, all problems will be automatically resolved?” I inquired of Evelina, whose face had grown intensely serious and tense.

“No, unfortunately, that is impossible. The movements that have begun require radical changes,” Evelina answered sharply. “However, my coronation will be the first step toward pacifying society.”

“By the way, I heard from other students that Frederik has also taken the kingdom’s other women’s academy under his wing, the one for less noble girls…”

Evelina cut me off before I could finish. “Artalis, that is not something you need to concern yourself with. I am handling the matter,” she replied coldly.

Her response was predictable. The Academy of the Seven Saints, founded on citizens’ donations and the support of the Valtheim crown, served as another ideological propaganda center. It was always convenient to track the progress of girls not of noble blood and grant them a ticket to a prosperous life, just as the Academy of Duality did, at the crown’s expense. It was no surprise that such girls were subsequently completely loyal. And that was precisely why Frederik’s actions had a perfect structure: to win a war, one does not need to wave a sword; one need only break the enemy’s ideology.

Evelina, disappointed by my question, looked up at the velvet-lined ceiling of the carriage. She hesitated for some time before speaking again, and then, with a slight sigh, she addressed me once more, “You know, Artalis, my mother has become too mired in the soft governance of the country. The nation needs change; some traditions are severely outdated.” She paused. “Take, for example, the situation with the day of Greyvan—the first king and father of the twin queens. Why does everyone believe that the queen’s presence contradicts centuries-old traditions?” Evelina frowned. “I believe there is nothing wrong with honoring one’s ancestor, his deeds, even if they are less romantic than the sacrifice of the twin queens. It was he who founded Valtheim.”

“I suppose honoring one’s ancestors is a duty that all must fulfill,” I nodded, feigning a slight interest in the conversation.

“Artalis, you simply cannot imagine how many strange customs exist in royal families.” Evelina, not hiding her irritation, turned away. “Take the story of the twin queens’ husband. Even I don’t know what his name was! He was simply erased from history! There’s not a single mention of his name, even in the archives! There are only rumors, which I do not share.” Evelina shook her head in disappointment.

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“Is that so? And what of this husband of the twin queens?” I asked a logical question that directly followed from her story. “I suppose he did something terrible, for them to fear him so much as to erase him from history?”

“Perhaps, but there are no mentions, absolutely none,” Evelina shook her head slightly. “Except for a cult of madmen who praise him, saying that it was only through his sacrifice that the souls of the twin queens found peace.”

“You think it’s a fairy tale?” I asked, looking into Evelina’s thoughtful, honey-colored eyes.

“I think so,” Evelina answered sharply. “However, I am more interested in who is spreading these rumors in the first place.”

“I suppose not all rumors require someone’s vested interest,” I replied with an intentional smile. “Sometimes, it is enough for the people to invent an idea themselves and believe in it.”

“Yes, Artalis, you are absolutely right.” With those words, Evelina leaned back and once again shifted her gaze to the landscape outside the window.

The carriage swayed rhythmically, its wheels thudding dully on the uneven road as endless pine forests, shrouded in the pre-evening haze, flashed by. Evelina, tearing her gaze from the landscape, slowly turned to me. Her fingers played with the fringe of a silk cushion, a gesture that betrayed her hidden tension.

“Artalis,” she began again, drawing out the name as if tasting it. “You are so stubbornly silent about the future. Do you think I haven’t noticed? At the academy, you play the role of the perfect student, but behind that mask… what is hiding?”

“The future is an illusion, Your Highness. Today’s plans crumble tomorrow like sand in one’s fist,” I replied, allowing myself a faint, ironic smile.

“Oh, philosophizing?” Evelina smirked, leaning closer. “But even illusions have a price. Your family in Tarvar… You are the sixth child. That means you expect no inheritance. I suppose a marriage of convenience is the only option for someone like you.”

I listened to her foolish arguments with a face reflecting absolute disinterest, but she continued, “But why return to Troysk, where the role of a pawn in someone else’s game awaits you? Here, by my side, you could become… something more.”

“More?” I raised an eyebrow, so my words would sow doubt in her heart. “Like your shadow?”

“Like an ally.” Evelina ran a hand over the velvet upholstery of the seat, her nail glinting in the faint light of the magical lantern. “In Valtheim, you will gain power you could never achieve in Tarvar. As for marriage…” She fell silent, letting the words hang in the air.

“Do you wish to be my matchmaker, Your Highness? To find me a ‘profitable match’?” My voice became practically glacial. “I am not one who can be bought with a title or lands.”

Evelina did not yield. Her eyes narrowed as if she were calculating every move. “Do not be so quick to refuse. Do you think anything but oblivion awaits you in Troysk? Your father, Fed Nox, is a general and a mage of Darkness. Your mother, Alice Nox, is a mage of Order and the eldest daughter of House Grenveld, one of the wealthiest houses in the Tarvarian Empire. Their union is a political screen, and you… are the sixth crack in their perfect facade. Here, in Valtheim, you can be…” She paused, carefully choosing her next word, “…yourself.”

“‘To be oneself’ is a dangerous privilege at your court.” I leaned back, crossing my arms. “You forget, Your Highness, I do not seek thrones. My strength lies in my freedom from the expectations of others.”

“Freedom?” Evelina laughed, but there was a bitterness in her laugh. “You are bound by a pact. Your ‘freedom’ is limited by my will.”

“A pact is a temporary thread,” I smiled, looking at her intently. “And threads have a tendency to break when their time is up,” I added ironically, not mentioning that a thread can be broken in other ways.

Silence fell, broken only by the clatter of the wheels. Evelina studied me as if trying to decipher a code. A solitary tower flashed by the window—near which workers were crowded, obviously wanting to restore the ancient fort located there.

“Very well,” Evelina finally said, unfolding a fan of black lace. “But remember: even sixth children have to pay their debts. Your Troysk… it will not forgive you for running.”

“Running?” I turned to the window. “I will return not as a fugitive, but as a woman who knows what she wants.”

Evelina froze, the fan still in her hand. For a moment, something akin to irritation and the fear that her new asset would grow legs and walk away flickered in her eyes, but it was only for a moment.

“Sometimes, even the greatest walls are destroyed by time, Artalis,” she whispered. “Remember that when you return. Perhaps no one will be waiting for you there anymore.”

I did not answer this question, understanding that further discussion would be pointless and imprudent. The carriage slowly sank into a silence that lasted for several hours.

***

When Evelina once again decided to break the silence, the view outside the window had changed again, and this time, one could observe plains covered in withered grass.

“You know, Artalis,” she began, as if thinking aloud, “Nova Cross… it’s amazing how even the most ‘unconventional’ connections can become instruments of power.”

I raised an eyebrow, feigning interest in her reasoning.

“Her connection with Ren…” Evelina turned, and the familiar glint of excitement flashed in her eyes. “They violate all canons, but that is precisely what makes them valuable. Imagine: a marriage without obligations, without the chains of inheritance. Simply… freedom. And all of this—thanks to my intervention.”

“Freedom,” I repeated, tilting my head. “Or is it merely a different form of leverage to bind them to your throne?”

Evelina ignored my jab, continuing softly, like a snake coiling around its prey, “Nova could have been the wife of any duke, but she chose Ren. And do you know why? Because I showed her that rules are written by those who have the courage to burn them.” She leaned closer, whispering, “If you wish, I can find… someone special for you too. Even in Tarvar, such opportunities do not exist.”

“You think you can entice me into your service with the possibility of entering a golden cage?” I asked, undisguised irony in my voice.

“Oh, no.” Evelina leaned back in her seat. “I am offering you the power to create your own rules. Take my brother, Robert, for example…” She paused, savoring the moment, before adding, “He, of course, does not like girls. But not men either. His heart belongs to… creativity and music. And yet, if you were to show an interest…”

“An interest in a man who prefers creativity and music to living people?” I replied, allowing myself a slight shake of my head. “I do not think that is of any significance.”

Evelina laughed, but her laugh was dry, like an autumn leaf, “You take everything too literally, Artalis. This is not about Robert. It is about the fact that with me, you have the opportunity to forge even the strangest of alliances. Nova and Ren are living proof.”

The carriage listed as it navigated a pothole, and Evelina grabbed the handrail. Something like fury flashed in her eyes, but her voice remained even, “You could become a symbol. The one who breaks the mold. But for that, you must stop running from your human nature.”

“Perhaps, but for now, there is no point in it,” I smiled coldly.

Silence once again fell in the carriage. The wind howled outside, and the shadows of the trees danced on the carriage walls, as if warning of the approach of Sumerenn—a city where, as other students had said, even the air was thick with intrigue.

“Tell me, Artalis,” she began again after a few moments, as if trying to change the subject, “and Catherine… she is not just your student or friend, is she? You spend so much time together. Is there not… something more between you?”

A tiny spark ignited in my eyes, and my thoughts filled with a sense of contempt for the very question.

“Forbidden love,” I stated, my voice even and cold, “is like a childless marriage. A beautiful shell, and behind it—emptiness. A waste of resources on an illusion that yields neither offspring, nor alliance, nor strength.”

Evelina raised an eyebrow, awaiting my continuation. And I allowed myself to see the thought through to its end. “It is easy to imagine: two people spend years on secret meetings, whispers in the dark, trembling fingers… And in the end? No heirs, no alliances, not even a decent gravestone. Just a rotted memory of something that never was.”

“But is love not worth sacrifices?” Evelina played with the ring on her finger, her smile growing sharper.

“Any sacrifice is a sign of weakness,” I looked her in the eye. “What does such a connection provide? A fleeting warmth? It dies out faster than a candle in the wind. And the tumor that remains after… it corrodes the mind, forcing one to forget their true goals.”

Evelina froze, studying me. Disappointment flickered in her eyes—not at the answer, but at her failure to draw out even a shadow of my weakness. “You speak as if the heart is a ledger.”

“The heart is a muscle,” I replied coldly. It was a lie, of course, or at least an oversimplification. I knew from observing countless cycles that the heart was its own chaotic center of gravity, a force that defied logic. “It pumps blood. The rest is a weakness cultivated by poets and fools.”

“A pity,” she drew out the word. “I thought, at least for Catherine’s sake… But it seems… you are too perfect.”

I did not answer her. My gaze fixed on the flashing landscape outside the window, yet after her questions, my thoughts became occupied with a dilemma that raised questions even for myself.

Catherine… She has become an anomaly in my calculations. Not an error, but an unexpected variable that forces a revision of the entire formula. I gave her the prosthesis, weaving a particle of my essence into the metal, not out of mercy. Mercy is a weakness of mortals. Her body, broken by the chaos of her own brother, was a battlefield, and I did not allow Chaos to prevail. Her pain was a breach in the balance, which I eliminated.

But why do I continue to observe her?

She trains, absorbs the lessons of Order magic, of Darkness magic, like parched earth absorbs rain. Her persistence… Human persistence is usually a sign of foolishness, but in her case, it is different. She does not strive for power, does not yearn for recognition. She wants to understand me. And therein lies the danger. Understanding gives rise to questions, questions to doubts, doubts to cracks. Cracks lead to a fall.

But why, then, not erase her memory and let her go on her own? Perhaps because, if left to the current, she will not realize her potential? But is this game worth such risks? Chaotic Light will sooner or later turn her attention to her as well, and what then? I still cannot find a logical explanation for what is happening. What is all this for? Why do I protect her from Evelina? Am I afraid the princess will break her?

No, Evelina is a child of chaos in velvet gloves; her games are predictable. But Catherine… her soul is a rare phenomenon. Not light, not dark, but stable. Like a blade tempered in contradictions. If Evelina turns her into a pawn, it will be a loss of a rare element of balance. And also… She reflects what I have forgotten. The purity of purpose. I am the Architect, a servant of the Creator, the embodiment of equilibrium. But her devotion is not slavish. She chooses her path herself, not even knowing that her “choice” is part of my calculation.

Or does she?

Love… The love Evelina speaks of is just a meaningless term. I do not experience “love”—only a recognition of significance. Her soul is a rare artifact in a universe where even stars die out, succumbing to entropy. I cannot allow it to disappear. But when she looks at me, awaiting approval, I find myself formulating her smile. Like an equation: the angle of her lips, the depth of her gaze, the frequency of her pulse… And each time, I discover an error. An inexplicable variable. Perhaps it is attachment.

Yes, that is it. Attachment is a rational necessity to preserve an instrument that will still be useful. Her prosthesis is not a gift, but a channel for control. Her training is an investment in stability. Her freedom is an illusion that I watch over, as a master watches over a clockwork mechanism. And it will be my failure if this unique mechanism stops.