When breakfast came to an end, the ritual of parting was as precise as the table setting: cups collected, cutlery aligned, chairs pushed back not loudly, but uniformly. I stood up, keeping pace with the others. Edward left first, without looking back. Celeste lingered at the table, giving quiet instructions to a servant. Heinrich, throwing his coat over his arm, glanced at me and went out into the hall, probably to get some fresh air.
I was about to go to my room when Catherine, barely touching my arm with her fingers, stopped me. "Wait…" her voice was quieter than necessary for a normal conversation.
I turned. She was not looking at me, but somewhere to the side—as if she were afraid that a direct gaze might spoil what had not yet been said.
"Forgive them," she said quietly. "They are always like this." She hesitated for a second, then added, "I know it's hard when you're being… scrutinized."
I remained silent. Such phrases required no comment.
She exhaled—not heavily, but deeply. "If you want… we could take a walk. For example, down the west gallery. It's quieter there. And… we can talk calmly."
"Of course," I said, nodding slightly.
She relaxed a little. As much as the walls of this house allowed. We went out through the second arch into the corridor. The marble underfoot was polished to a reflection. Stained-glass windows filled the floor with a muted, cold light. Portraits of ancestors hung on the walls: ornate figures in heavy fabrics, with gold chains and eyes painted as if they saw nothing and no one.
Catherine walked slightly ahead. She was not in a hurry and was not leading, just walking forward, allowing me to follow her, as if I needed support from the house itself. Soon she began to speak, "When I was little, I hated these corridors. Every time I heard the tap of my crutches… it seemed to me that they were too loud. That the whole house could hear me walking. And was judging."
I listened to her attentively, allowing her to finish her thought to the end.
"Then…" she smirked lightly, without bitterness. "I dreamed that for once someone would just walk beside me. Without judging and without being ashamed."
She stopped at a window and placed a hand on the marble windowsill. The light from the stained-glass windows cut her face into cold stripes.
"Thank you for being here, Arta," she said, barely audible.
"You emphasize that too often. Do not make a grand event out of it. I promised you I would visit your parents if you passed your exams well. You passed—I also kept my promise," I allowed myself to answer a little warmer than was necessary.
"Arta, I understand what you're saying, but perhaps you don't understand what I'm saying? For me, your presence here is especially important. I have become different, and this house… it has remained the same…" Catherine paused and fell silent for a few more seconds. "You know, my parents… they have always been like this. After that incident…" she clenched her right hand into a fist. "They became even more cautious, began to protect their reputation." She shook her head and unclenched her fist. "Then I became a task for them, not a daughter." She exhaled and relaxed, as if she had said what had been tormenting her for a long time. "I understand them. I really do. But… I cannot be them. And I do not want to."
I just looked at her while she ran her eyes over my silhouette, and then she continued again, "You know…" she said, almost smiling. "There, in the west gallery, the old fencing training ground still stands. It's small, but functional." She narrowed her eyes slightly and asked, "Want to warm up? Or… show me again how to hold a sword correctly?"
I nodded. "Of course. But we did not bring our blades with us."
"That's alright," she smiled, "There are plenty of training weapons there, which my grandfather, Alan, still fenced with."
"Alright, then let's go see your ancestor's blades," I replied with a slight smile.
She laughed—shortly, almost silently. And for the first time all morning, her movement became light. We went back to get the weapons, and then returned here for training.
"Alright, alright, Arta, wait for me. I'll just put on something more practical than this," she ran her hands over her appearance and smiled sweetly.
"Alright then, I will wait for you here."
I just watched as she almost ran to change for a joint training session.
***
Catherine returned quickly, even too quickly, and we went to the training ground. The hall, as she had warned, was a bit cramped, but it was perfect for honing skills. Old and slightly rusted training blades, rapiers, and even spears lay by the wall on a wooden rack.
I looked carefully at a heavy broadsword without a sharp edge, an excellent heavy weapon for her hand, and taking it from the rack, I handed it to her.
"Wow, it's heavy…" Catherine muttered, taking the blade.
"This is an excellent weapon," I took a similar broadsword for myself.
We moved to the center of the hall, and our training began without any additional preliminaries. My goal was unchanged: to teach her to survive even in the jaws of chaos.
The blade of my sword hummed, settling into a fighting stance. Catherine stepped back, gripping the hilt with both hands. Her shoulders were squared, her core engaged, her center of gravity shifted to the balls of her feet—everything as I had taught her.
"Forward," I threw out.
She rushed into the attack. The first strike—a classic lunge to the left shoulder. I deflected the blade, barely moving from my spot. The second strike—a feint to the ribs with a sharp transition to the thigh. I parried with a roll, feeling the vibration of the steel. The third—a diagonal swing with a move off the axis. Her movements were perfectly calibrated; her body did not falter, and her momentum was not lost.
Her blade now sang in unison with her breath. A series of attacks rained down on me: a sliding lunge, a retreat, a defensive strike. I allowed myself to respond—a step forward, a direct thrust to the shoulder. Catherine dodged, fitting the movement into a minimal arc; her defensive line did not waver.
I decided to complicate the task: a thrust-sweep-level change. She stepped back two paces, twisting her body in a screw, as I had shown her back at the academy before the Duality Ball. On the third pass, I broke into her rhythm—a short strike into the gap between her neck and collarbone. Not at full strength, but in a real fight, it would have cost her her life.
However, she surprised me, reacting not with trained muscle memory, but with a deeper, intuitive reflex.The air thickened into a translucent shield of dark energy woven from golden plates that appeared before my blade. The blade clanged, and the sound of an energy crack was heard. The shield cracked, and Catherine, taking advantage of the moment, stepped aside and avoided my lunge.
"Excellent reaction, Catherine," I said, stepping back and assessing the shards of magical energy. The formula for magical stabilization was almost flawless. Catherine froze, lowering her sword. Her breath was ragged, but her gaze remained icy. "You are acting intuitively. In a real fight, you would have avoided a fatal blow. In a real skirmish, this is an amazing skill."
She nodded, expressing neither pride nor doubt. Just a statement of fact. I stepped back two paces. Catherine regained her breath. The trace of magic and the smell of ozone still remained in the air, but we needed to continue.
"Round two," I said.
She nodded, her movement precise. I raised my sword, and she did the same. We took a step toward each other. The first combination came from her side: a side strike—a transition to a lunge—a turn through the axis. I dodged without any losses. Her every movement was stable, not drawn out, not premature. Before, she made such strikes with an excessive compensation on her heel. Now—no. The progress was obvious even to those who understood nothing about fencing.
I increased the pace; my lunge went diagonally, imitating a real combat maneuver with a cut. She parried—and did not step back, remaining in the line, which testified to her excellent skills.
I felt the sound of footsteps behind me. At first—dull, then—clear, measured. It was not a maidservant and not Edward.
"Do not stop," I said to Catherine.
She nodded and did not turn around.
I delivered a series of four strikes—sharp, hard. She blocked three. The fourth she took on her body—correctly, with the line of attack diverted beyond the plane of her body. This time there was no shield of darkness. But her body worked as part of a structure that understands why it is needed. I took a step to the side.
"Stop," I cut in sharply.
She remained in place, only lowering her blade, and her uneven breathing was just evidence that the training was not in vain.
From the twilight of the corridor, Heinrich suddenly emerged. He was in a coat, as if he had already planned to go about his business, but at the last moment decided to watch us. He looked first at me—briefly. Then—at Catherine, a little longer, and then remained silent for some time, as if pretending he was invisible.
"Catherine, I did not think you fenced so masterfully," he finally said. "Even our grandfather would have been envious."
"Oh, come on, Heinrich. Our grandfather fenced excellently, much better than I do," Catherine waved it off.
Heinrich smiled slightly and shook his head.
"You are mistaken. Your techniques are of a completely different level. It is visible from the side." Heinrich shifted his gaze to me. "Arta, you are training her well. Keep it up."
He did not wait for my answer, only lingered for a moment at the door to assess my reaction.
I just nodded, noting the fact of his observability. Heinrich was the same as his sister—smart, observant, and looking at the problem from the side.
And only after he had left could we continue our training.
***
Dinner at the Holu estate passed calmly. I listened to formal remarks, occasionally smiled, creating a controlled politeness. There were no arguments, no attempts to resume the morning's interrogation.
Finishing the meal, I thanked the hosts and went up to my room, where it was quiet, and silence for me was more than familiar. I pulled a chair to the window and sat by it to contemplate the surrounding world, stabilizing the state of my own body. Outside, it was snowing again, and the tops of the ancient fir trees swayed from the force of the wind.
My peace did not last long—a soft knock was heard at the door. I stood up, quickly approached, and, sliding the bolt, said, "It's open, you may enter."
The door, creaking slightly, opened a crack, and on the threshold, I saw Catherine in a light night robe, with disheveled hair and a slightly embarrassed expression on her face. She had come for the second night in a row.
"I…" she hesitated, and a light blush of embarrassment appeared on her cheeks. "I'm sorry, maybe this is foolish… I've just gotten so used to talking to you before bed that I'm not sure I can fall asleep quickly if I don't talk for at least a couple of minutes."
I stepped aside, clearing a path for her. Catherine entered the room. She was in no hurry; her steps were clear and measured, and she clearly did not intend to leave right away. She went to the window and took the chair on which I had been sitting earlier.
I went to the window and stood next to her. For some time, we just looked at each other and were silent, but then she turned to me with a smile, "By the way… Heinrich is going to the city tomorrow. To visit someone in the hospital, and at the same time to buy some necessary things." I thought… she shrugged. "If you want, we could go together?" A spark of hope shone in her eyes.
I nodded, understanding that in my state, it was better to agree.
"Why not. We can't just sit within these four walls all the time."
She visibly relaxed, hearing my agreement. A few more moments passed before she continued, "Do you also drink green tea before bed in Tarvar? Or is everything there only on a schedule, like in an army camp?" she asked, teasing slightly, hinting that I had not drunk tea at dinner.
I allowed myself a faint smile, understanding that this was an ordinary joke to continue our conversation.
"In Tarvar, they know how to drink tea. And to make schedules too. One does not interfere with the other."
Catherine snorted quietly, her expression pleased.
"So it's not as scary as I thought." On that, she stood up and headed for the door. "I suppose I can sleep peacefully now."
On her way out, she lingered for a moment to take in the room in which I was temporarily living.
"Good night, Catherine," I said quietly.
"And to you, Arta."
She left, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible, and all that was left for me was to bolt the door and immerse myself in my own thoughts.