Sunny pulled me gently yet insistently by the hand, as if trying not only to lead me out of the water. Her palm trembled like the wing of a frightened bird. I obediently stepped across the damp grass, feeling my soaked shoes squelch and leave marks on the stone floor of the training yard.
"Miss Biana," she murmured, almost in a whisper, "I told you… it's better not to leave the building. Better to follow instructions."
I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head slightly.
"Has he always been such… an ass?" I said with lazy irritation.
Sunny flinched at once, as though my words had hurt her. She clamped her fingers over her mouth and her eyes flew wide.
"Please… don't say that. He might hear you…" she hissed, glancing nervously toward the gates where the silhouette of that flawless tyrant had vanished.
"Oh, come on. What is this, a dictatorship? Can't even say a word against him?"
"No… it's not like that at all." Sunny hesitated, then gave a small nod, as though shaking off an invisible fear. "Let's go quickly. You need to dry your feet. You might catch cold…"
Her voice carried maternal care, but beneath it I could feel the taut spring of anxiety, wound to the limit. We walked on. The wind still danced in my hair, but now it seemed cooler.
Sunny led me across the silent training field, step by step, as if through a dream. And then, as though deciding on something, she spoke quietly, almost whispering, eyes on the ground:
"Mister Blake is a great mage and warrior. You shouldn't speak ill of him. He has done much… for the kingdom, and for the whole continent."
There was no admiration in her voice, only a measured precision, like a learned lesson. I could not see her face, but her tone carried neither offence nor pride. Only restraint.
"He refused the throne," she went on, "to lead the army and defend our borders. Even the structure and hierarchy are his design, built on respect and assistance. Perhaps his actions may seem strange… but he is worthy. Of strength. And respect."
We had already reached the spiral staircase when I allowed myself some scepticism:
"And does your great mage grope everyone without asking?"
Sunny froze. Turned. Frowned in surprise:
"Grope?.."
I shrugged, looking somewhere upward:
"Well… he lifted my chin. Either inspecting me, or checking how I'd react. Or wanted me to look him straight in the eye…"
Sunny stepped closer. Her voice dropped to an almost conspiratorial murmur:
"They say he can see lies. If you look him straight in the eye, he sees everything. I think he was simply reading you."
She took my hand again, gently, yet firmly, and led me on.
"Besides… he is the only one who…"
The sentence trailed off. As if the wind had torn it from her lips.
"Enough talk. You can ask him your questions yourself."
I narrowed my eyes at her in surprise. Her shoulders had tensed, she was clearly holding something back.
"I wonder when I'm supposed to ask them?" I muttered. "If I spend all my time sitting alone inside four walls?"
Sunny stopped at the door. Smiled a little, for the first time all morning:
"He'll visit you. I'm sure of it."
And without waiting for my reply, she slipped through the wooden door, leaving me alone with myself.
"My favourite room," I murmured, looking at the familiar grey silence.
Over the past two days, small things had appeared here: a chest of drawers beneath the window, inside it, snow-white chemises, almost weightless, a servant's robes, and undergarments. All identical, as though I were not a person, but just another silhouette in the system.
I glanced briefly at the bed. No. Its smooth linen, as before, sent a flash of pain through the back of my head. I would sleep again on the carpet, leaning against the wall. The silence here was my only ally.
Kicking off my wet shoes, I slowly sat on the edge of the chest and gazed out the window. Beyond it, a world where the river still glittered in the sunlight, flowers swayed in the wind, and near the left wing flitted figures, children or adolescents.
Today was unusually quiet. I allowed myself to freeze in that stillness. Just to remember: the touch of water, the light wind… and that fleeting feeling that I was still alive.
The whole day drifted in silence. Only the occasional footsteps of soldiers broke the sleepy weave of the stone corridors: they came, they went, dissolving into the evening dusk. Later, outside the windows, lights flared, bright, as for a celebration.
And again that feeling. Strange, as if alien, yet firmly rooted within me.
I knew what a celebration was. I knew how wine and bread looked. How laughter sounded. I knew how to drink, how to walk, how to laugh, but I did not know who I was. No name. No past. Not even an image of myself, beyond these grey walls.
This knowledge, like a rough splinter in the mind, brought no relief. I remembered nothing. I only felt more and more foreign to myself. And, as always, that feeling burned a hole inside, not painfully, but emptily.
I dozed off on the floor, leaning against the chest, barely noticing when night fell over the city.
When I awoke, I scanned the room. In the tall window, rare lanterns burned, meaning it was well past midnight. My body ached from the awkward position, and I stretched, shaking the stiffness from my limbs.
I stepped toward a small door, where the bath lay hidden. The basin, carved directly into the stone, resembled a deep cup. Stone levers controlled the water: they were enchanted, depending on the angle, the water ran hot or cold.
I filled the bath, adding some soap left by Sunny. The water embraced me. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift.
When I stepped out, now in a thin nightdress, the night seemed denser.
Hunger growled inside me.
My stomach reminded me I had eaten little, neither at midday, nor in the evening.
Perhaps, if I went downstairs, there would be something in the kitchen… to still this strange, living hunger.
I hesitated for a long time whether to go to the kitchen dressed like this.
But I was almost certain: Ada would have left something for me under a cloth. As always, if I missed supper.
The downstairs was silent.
The city breathed with celebration, but within these stone walls the stillness felt strange.
I peeked through the door, no guard in sight.
Perhaps there hadn't been one yesterday, either. As if I had been forgotten.
Or… no longer counted as important.
I folded my hands before me, hiding the thin fabric of my nightdress, and slowly began to descend.
The light of lanterns outside fell through the stained-glass windows, casting shadows on the floor.
If I didn't come too close, it was hardly visible how sheer the fabric was, I reassured myself.
The steps, stone, cool beneath my bare feet.
I reached the kitchen. Inside, a lone lamp burned.
And, as I had guessed, in the corner, on the table, beneath a cloth, a plate awaited me.
"I knew it," I whispered with gratitude, as if Ada could hear me.
I reached for the spoon and in the dimness, something moved.
I turned at the faint creak, a soldier stood in the doorway.
In the gloom he seemed taller, heavier. His shadow lay across the walls, and the sword at his belt caught the lamp's faint light.
An arrogant half-smile played on his lips. Each step he took echoed unease inside me.
"Could it be that Blessed One is free tonight?" he said almost in a whisper, but his voice rang far too confidently.
I pressed myself into the corner, clutching the warm plate under the cloth tighter, as though it could shield me.
"I… I am not Blessed," I managed to say. But my voice betrayed me with a tremor.
He came closer.
His gaze slid over me with lazy appraisal.
A hand rested on the hilt of his sword, not in threat, but… playfully.
"Really? You look like one of them. Maybe I just didn't catch your fancy," he sneered. "Truth be told, a lot of soldiers have come in. And not every one of them got… healing. Or love."
His words made my chest tighten. A knot of fear clamped my throat.
"I… serve here," I whispered. But he was already almost upon me.
"I think you're lying. Just scared. And I could use a little… healing," he hissed, reaching out and touching my still-damp hair.
My body seemed frozen. I could neither recoil nor cry out.
Only my heart pounded, like an alarm sounding through the castle.
Fear, not just a foreboding, but something living, real. It began to devour me alive, filling my chest, tightening my throat, merging with the shadow of this soldier, with his hand in my hair.
And then, the creak of a door.
The soldier turned. I looked over his shoulder, my heart thudding harder. In the doorway stood Ada, sleepy, yawning, as though everything were normal.
"What's going on here?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.
"You weren't supposed to be here," he hissed.
Those words. That "supposed to" — like a blow of realisation. And before I could even think, he drew his sword.
The world froze.
"Are you insane?!" Ada screamed, backing away.
Fear drove me mad. It paralysed my body, locked my breath. But to see that sword, sharp, merciless, aimed at her was unbearable.
No — the word rang in my head. No. No. No.
And I struck. Instantly, desperately, foolishly. Smashed the dinner plate against his head.
The crash. Shards scattered like frightened thoughts. Food smeared into his thick hair. He growled, but did not fall.
Of course. He was a warrior. A plate was no weapon.
Then Ada, without a moment's pause, snatched the lamp from the table, ripped the flame free and flung it. A bright flash. Fire licked his cloak, and the soldier howled, trying to beat it down.
"Run!" Ada seized my hand.
We rushed for the exit.
But I hadn't taken even a step when something soft yet unyielding struck my forehead. I recoiled and looked up.
Before me, as if from another reality, stood him.
The Archmage. In white armour as though forged from light. But his face… his face was dark as a moonless night. He did not move, but his very being screamed with fury. The air in the kitchen had dimmed, as if shadow had entered with him.
I turned to look, where was the soldier?
But he was gone. In place of his body, only a quivering shadow, darting toward the window like a flying knot of night.
"What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" the Archmage's voice struck at my temples. Harsh. Menacing.
Ada lurched forward, still breathing hard:
"Mister Blake… there was a soldier… he… he tried to attack."
She turned, gesturing, but where she pointed, there was no one now.
"What?.." she whispered, rubbing her eyes again. "He was here. I swear it. He had the sword raised right over me…"
I stood silent, as though nailed to the floor.
And only my gaze, trembling, fixed, darted to the window, where the thin black shadow still flickered.
But as soon as I heard Blake's steps, it vanished. As if it had never been.
"There… was a knight," I murmured.
My eyes fell to the shattered plate, the mashed food, and the shred of fear still stirring in my chest.
And then, like a blow, his voice cut through my stupor:
"What the hell are you wearing?" He was almost growling. Angry, predatory, as though he saw an enemy before him.
The light was dim, only the lanterns outside lit the kitchen through the windows.
But it was enough for him. He saw. He saw everything.
At once I wrapped my arms around myself, hiding my chest as though under a hail of fire.
"I… just…"
My voice broke, my tongue tangled. "I came to get dinner… and… and there was a soldier…"
He wasn't listening. His gaze clung to my nightdress , thin, almost weightless, nearly transparent in the half-light.
"What sort of clothing is that?" His voice grew rougher, nearly a shout.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ada flinch.
I opened my mouth, but everything inside me shrank.
"It's… what they gave me to sleep in…"
I curled in on myself even more, wanting to be small, unseen.
At that moment, the whole weight of the world, all his fury, was in a single look , in him, in Blake.
Then Ada, summoning all her courage, spoke for me:
"Forgive her, Mister Blake. She… she only wanted to eat. But the knight… he touched her, then drew his sword at me…"
I heard Ada, and still stood there, trembling, vulnerable.
But it wasn't the clothing that burned most. It was the way he looked at me.
And how something inside began to crack beneath that gaze.
"Why are you walking around like that? What reaction were you expecting from the soldier?" Blake's voice was full of anger.
He looked at me with irritation and contempt, and it seemed his fury was aimed not only at me, but at the situation itself.
"And where is this knight who attacked?" he turned toward the now-empty kitchen.
"Mister Blake, I assure you, he was here!" Ada stepped forward. "He grabbed his sword, threatened…"
"He's a soldier. Not a mage," Blake cut her off. "He cannot disappear."
I saw him glance once more around the kitchen, but his gaze returned to me.
"What is this clothing?" his voice grew louder. "Do you not understand how you look in it?"
He and his words, coarse, wounding, lashed my face like a whip. I shrank even more.
"It's a nightdress… they gave it to me…" I stammered, the words struggling to come out.
"Forgive her, Mister Blake," Ada spoke again, "she only came for food. But the knight truly was here. First he pestered her, then he raised his sword at me…"
She repeated it over and over. He wasn't listening.
He looked only at me, as though I were the chief cause of all that had happened.
Heat flared in me. Burned. I could no longer restrain myself. I would not.
With anger, I dropped my arms and stepped up to him , chest to chest, gaze to steel.
"I could be naked for all I care!" I spat like poison. "Does that give the right to touch me? Is that an excuse? What are you here , beasts, not people?"
I raised my head, staring into his eyes. Unblinking, unwavering.
Let him see: I am not some frightened captive.
He leaned in closer too, looming like a storm. His voice broke into me, sharp, tearing, like a blow:
"You were told to sleep. Just. Lie. And. Sleep. What is so hard about that, for God's sake?!"
The words struck my ears, but I did not flinch.
Only clenched my fists tighter.
"You stubborn bastard!" I shouted into his face. "There was a soldier with a sword here! He almost attacked us! And all you say is — sleep, be silent, obey!"
I nearly screamed.
His indifference, his stubbornness, his… arrogance , it all beat against my nerves, my heart.
"Stubborn ass!" I spat viciously, and turned away, not covering myself, not caring about his gaze.
In fury I strode up the spiral staircase.
"Ahhh, infuriating!" I growled under my breath as I went, slamming my chamber door. "Ahhhhhh."
My heart pounded, my ears rang. The room met me with silence, but I could not stop , I paced the carpet like fire searching for escape.
For a long time I moved around the room, unable to settle, my anger burning from within.
An empty stomach only fuelled the storm , it seemed even the silence seeped irritation.
With every step across the thick carpet the anger ebbed, growing tired, losing force.
And only with the first soft rays of the sun did I allow myself to exhale.
"Enough," I whispered to myself, "enough."
Let all the weight and anxiety of this night dissolve with the dawn.
I curled into the corner of the wall, where the cold stone seemed to quench the heat inside.
Under the canopy of exhaustion, with my heart still pounding and my grievances still lodged in my chest, I closed my eyes.
The silence caressed me, and with it came sleep, thick, heavy.
And in that sleepy emptiness, for a moment, it was easier.