Chapter 16, part 2: A Dance of Shadows

***

After which, we continued on our way together—into the last evening of the old world of the Academy of Duality.

Inside the ceremonial building, the air was dense, saturated with the heavy aroma of candle wax, pine, and something elusively metallic—the smell of cold mirrors. The light from hundreds of candles and massive chandeliers was refracted in the polished walls, turning the space into a golden casket filled with the muted hum of voices and the rustle of expensive fabrics. This celebration was a ritual, brought to the point of automatism, where every gesture and every glance was part of a carefully staged performance. In every element of the decor—from the silver garlands to the coats of arms on the tapestries—the same meaning was read: sacrifice and duty. Everything was imbued with this hidden meaning, like poisoned wine, poisoning not the body, but the soul.

With a slight nod of farewell to Catherine, I separated from the general stream of students and headed to my place. In the shadow of one of the columns, to the side of the main movement, stood a polished black piano. Its lacquered surface reflected the lights of the chandeliers, like dark, frozen water. This instrument had become my silent companion over the past weeks—daily rehearsals, imposed by academic protocol.

Nearby, like a guard, stood the music teacher, and behind her—the main ensemble that was to accompany my performance. Among them stood Eloisa in a black, severe evening outfit, with an evening hairstyle and a polished violin of rare red wood.

Approaching the music teacher, I nodded silently, considering a greeting in this case a superfluous ritual, which Madame Grunsier herself did not use. Despite her entire specially assembled outfit with a strict silver dress and a wig that masked her thinning hair, her manner and rhythm had not changed.

She looked at me coldly, then, with the smile of a master who had created a perfect diamond, said, “Miss Nox, I hope you remember that the emphasis is required on the second beat of the measure in the middle part of the composition ‘Duality.’ And to avoid unnecessary slowdowns in the transitions between the compositions ‘Sacrifice’ and ‘Hope.’”

“Yes, Madame Grunsier,” I answered indifferently and obediently sat down at the instrument. Music for me was not an art, but pure mathematics, which translated cosmic laws into the language of sound. Each note was not just a sound, but a mathematical constant in a perfect harmonic formula. Her advice was completely ineffective for me.

Soon Eloisa approached me. There was still time before the ball began, and students were still entering the hall one by one and taking places closer to their acquaintances. However, I did not see the faces that interested me, only a modest Lilian Grace greeted Catherine and quietly went to a far corner of the hall, not wanting to attract unnecessary attention.

“Artalis, you look great!” she exclaimed as cheerfully as ever. “Are you ready to play?”

“Of course,” I answered calmly, looking her in the eye.

“Excellent,” she drew out the word. “I think the other students won’t appreciate our work while we play for them all evening.”

“That was the choice from the beginning, Eloisa. It is foolish to go back on what you have already decided.”

She nodded and smiled.

“You know, you are very logical, Artalis. But sometimes, when you look at them,”—she extended a hand toward the students—“it seems that the decision was wrong.”

I smiled ironically.

“I understand you. But perhaps it is time for us to gather our thoughts before the performance,” I said, directing our conversation to its logical conclusion.

“I suppose you are right,” Eloisa nodded. “Let’s cross our fingers that everything will be fine,” she said and went to the other girls from the music circle.

Rivers of black and white dresses gradually filled the hall, turning it into a breathing organism. Rare students used colored ribbons in their hair to look different from the others—and this was a predictable human reaction. The hum of voices gradually subsided, giving way to a growing sense of ceremony.

I carefully scanned the hall, analyzing the placement of the key figures. Evelina stood by one of the columns, with Nova beside her. The princess’s image was practically perfect, like a marble statue: a pale face, a straight back, perfect posture, and a dress made of black and white material. Nova, however, seemed not to intend to participate in all this at all and had come in her ordinary academic uniform, and on her face were only cold contempt and rare glances at her cousin Frederik.

Frederik stood not far from them and was quietly conversing with Rector Terren, who listened to him and nodded with enviable frequency, as if trying to understand the prince’s true motives. Frederik today was dressed in a golden uniform with galloons—which, without a doubt, indicated that, despite his position, he served in the army.

Frederik and Evelina, sister and brother, two opposing forces frozen in a fragile equilibrium, were like an additional challenge to these walls. And the farther they moved away from each other, the easier it became to manipulate them both.

Slowly but surely, a fragile silence settled in the center of the hall.

Major Terren Montague ascended the podium from which Geranira had once addressed the students, explaining the academy’s rules. His figure in a dark burgundy uniform seemed a dull, alien note among the festive hall. His gestures were perfectly measured, honed to military precision. He stopped, surveyed the hall, as if assessing the ranks before a battle.

His voice, when he spoke, was clear, firm, devoid of any embellishment:

“Today, we have gathered here to honor the memory of those who became the foundation of modern Valtheim,” he began. “Aelind and Ildri Valtheim, daughters of the first king, Greyvan. Their sacrifice, their choice more than a thousand years ago, made the existence of our state possible. Thanks to them, the Gods of Dreams are still in confinement. They did everything possible so that we could simply live.”

His speech was stern, devoid of emotion. He did not build bridges to the audience; he asserted a new order of things.

“However, time moves on. And with it, we change,” Terren paused briefly. “The current Duality Ball will be the last in its former form.” He cast a quick glance at Prince Frederik. “This is not being done to cease honoring the twin queens; it is being done to strengthen our country. Girls and boys must be closer to each other, and therefore, starting next year, the Academy will be open to new connections. To new alliances.”

A barely audible whisper rippled through the hall. No one dared to object—but the tension noticeably increased.

“From the next ball, new traditions will include the participation of representatives of our country’s elite formations. Our common future must be built on unity, not on traditions. And we will accept this unity to strengthen what was protected by the sacrifice of our ancestors,”—the rector’s voice was flawless—like cold steel. It had no place for nostalgia. Only for necessity.

The words about “unity” were just an elegant packaging for an annexation. The academy was ceasing to be a temple of sacrifice; it was being turned into a forge of loyal cadres for the new, patriarchal power. It was a quiet seizure of power, in which there was no place for bloodshed.

“And now let us begin the official ceremony and honor the traditions of our ancestors!” Terren bowed his head slightly, as a sign of the end of his speech, and stepped aside, heading toward Frederik.

A deep, almost painful silence settled in the hall. The students looked at each other, and each of them was thinking about something of her own.

I lowered my hands to the keys, preparing to begin playing.

In the deep silence of the hall, Evelina Valtheim walked to the center of the stage. Her dress, probably covered with a solution of illusory silk, shone in the light of the fires, referring the events to the theme of dreams and sleep. She moved smoothly, restrainedly, carrying a small candlestick of white stone in her hands.

The wick, unlike many others, was single in this candlestick, but the flame, when it flared under her hand, instantly split into two tongues of fire, growing from a single source. It was a simple and understandable symbolism: two flames, two sacrifices, two queens who gave their lives.

All those present were silent. Even the breath of the hall changed; it became muffled, as if it were heard through the echo of a snowstorm.

Evelina raised the candle above her head and said loudly, “Let their sacrifice be a reminder to us all of what it means to live for others!”

The hall froze, and I began to perform the composition “Duality.” The melody began quietly, almost imperceptibly, weaving into the general breath of the hall, and then the other members of the impromptu orchestra began to play. The hall was filled with a cold, pure sound, like the whisper of a distant winter, intertwining into an anxious and calming melody—a tribute to the sacrifice of the two twin queens.

I played, and at the same time, I let my gaze slide over the hall. The students stood in a semicircle around the stage, as if gathered in a single vessel. Their faces—bright, serious, ready for a change that they had not yet fully realized. Evelina still stood with the raised candle, and her shadow was long, scattered, like a road without end.

My fingers moved almost mechanically. The order of the melody coincided with the order of the world, but this was only a temporary sign, and I felt perfectly well under this ordered surface the subtle vibrations of instability that had penetrated directly into the spirit of this place.

When the last sounds of the melody died down, for a moment, an absolute silence hung in the hall, and then it exploded with applause.

Without wasting time, I began to perform the next composition, which was called “Life After Sacrifice”—an ironic title for a dance piece that hinted that sacrifice is a model for order.

A calm dance melody filled the hall, and the students, breaking into pairs, as the twin queens had once done, began to actively take their places and spin in dances, and the rustle of their dresses and the tapping of their heels became a new layer of music—chaotic and alien to me.

Soon my gaze rested on a girl with a complex, multi-layered red hairstyle. It was Ren. She was weaving between the dancing pairs until she saw Catherine, who was looking for someone to dance with.

And at that moment, behind Ren, appeared Isolde with her faithful friends. Today, they were dressed in identical black silk dresses. Probably, Catherine’s words had greatly offended Isolde, and she had decided to buy her friends a gift—demonstrating an active gesture of power and loyalty. They moved as a single group, cutting through the crowd. Their gazes were cold and appraising, and when they drew level with Ren, Brina, as if on an invisible signal, made a sharp movement and “accidentally” pushed Ren with her shoulder.

The push was rough, calculated. Ren staggered and nearly fell, catching herself on Catherine’s arm, which she had extended to avoid chaos. Ren quickly released Catherine’s arm, and then chaotic energy sparks swirled around her. Her strength was hardly enough to resist Isolde, but the main conversation took place with Catherine, who, obviously out of her simple-heartedness, stood up for the person whom I could not trust even 1%.

The conversation was not long, and soon Isolde retreated, and Catherine began to talk about something with Ren. All this was watched helplessly by Nova, who stood motionless, as if what was happening did not concern her. Her face was pale as marble, but inside, judging by her eyes, which darted around the hall and returned to Frederik, a rage was brewing. Her hands clenched into fists, and her jaw tensed as if she were ready to attack. Her inaction was explained by a simple gesture—she was trapped. Any intervention on her part would be regarded as a violation of his “conditions” and would lead to her subsequent expulsion.

Catherine talked with Ren for a little longer, and soon they were swirling in a light, almost disorderly dance to the music, actively talking about something. Nova, seeing this picture, sighed with nervous relief and went to Evelina.

The ball continued, and we continued to play, accompanying the celebration with our musical labor, and only half an hour later did Rector Terren give a sign, and Madame Grunsier signaled for us to stop performing the next piece. I made an accentual stop on the note “A,” after which the hall fell silent.

Frederik, with his characteristic predatory grace, ascended the podium, and his voice, amplified by a light etheric magic, sounded so that every student in the academy could hear it.

“Ladies,” he began with a disarming smile. “Although you are all resting now, I see anxiety in your eyes. But allow me to convince you that change is not always a bad thing.” His speech flowed like honey; he had clearly thought for a long time about what speech to give today. “Perhaps you are afraid, and that is right; the new always causes a spiritual aversion. But I am here, first of all, to provide you with something more—freedom.” He paused, surveying the hall. “Freedom from the dogmas that have bound you for centuries. Freedom to choose your own path, not to follow a predetermined one. Only a truly free woman is capable of making the right choice, and I believe that each of you will make it consciously and correctly, and together we will make Valtheim truly great.”

The hall was silent; his words were absorbed into their minds like poison wrapped in silk. He was proposing a new order, but he was silent about the price at which it would be achieved if his ideas were rejected.

“Believe me, every woman of Valtheim is a unique pearl, and I dare to remind you that Ildri and Aelind sacrificed themselves not because they were bound by traditions; they sacrificed themselves because they truly loved our country. We are here thanks to their actions, and it was their actions that made Valtheim what it is now. And it is such women as they that you should become, and believe me, no one will interfere with you in this goal.”

The hall was still silent, but then one student applauded, then another supported her, and soon the entire ceremonial building was submerged in applause. Frederik smiled broadly.

“Thank you, dear ladies, and now let us continue our celebration!” he said and gave a polite bow of his head. His thought had been heard, and heard better than he had expected.

Soon we continued to play the composition, and for the next hour, the hall was submerged in the already stable festive rhythm.

Perhaps I would have participated in it longer, if Nova Kross had not approached Madame Grunsier.

“Evelina Valtheim asks to release Artalis Nox from further performance of the composition.”

Nova was understood at once, and in the next moment, the music teacher approached me.

“Artalis, that is all for today. I will continue to play for you. The princess is waiting for you.”

I nodded and stood up from the instrument, and to the sounds of the already changed musical composition, I followed Nova. As we passed the dancers, Nova’s gaze once again caught on Ren and Catherine. Something unusual flashed in her cold gray eyes. Perhaps it was resentment or, perhaps, jealousy; she was clearly displeased that someone else was dancing with her beloved, and perhaps if not for the prince’s restrictions, she would have tried to intervene.

We turned behind one of the columns, heading toward the side halls. Nova stopped, letting me know that Evelina was waiting a little further on—in a small guest room for negotiations.

We stepped inside.

The guest room was decorated without any extra embellishments: heavy curtains muted the light, lamps hung silently in the corners. On a small table stood two decanters—one with wine and one with water—and three glasses.

Evelina sat in a high-backed chair by the window, like the shadow of a future crown, not yet visible, but already oppressive with its weight. When I entered, she gestured to the empty seat opposite.

“Artalis,” she began, and her voice was cold. “You played excellently today. I cannot help but praise you for your talent,” she said, although her voice was full of hidden irritation, probably because of Frederik’s speech.

I nodded silently and sat down, maintaining a flawless posture. Nova stood a little to the side, an unseen guard standing on the border of this conversation.

Evelina briefly looked away toward the window, where, behind the thin fabric of the curtains, snow was slowly settling on the wooden frames.

“The world is changing,” she said calmly. “But not in the way I would like. Perhaps if we had more time, things could have been different…”

“Perhaps, but we must work with what we have, not speculate about what has not come,” I replied calmly.

“Perhaps you are right,” Evelina ran her fingers along the armrest of the chair. “As long as I am not queen,” she continued, “my words mean less than I would like, and my brother Frederik is taking advantage of this.”

She paused briefly.

“As for Rector Terren, his speech was too predictable. In fact, Frederik spoke twice today.” For a moment, a spark of something like rage flashed in her eyes, but it was restrained, carefully concealed. “Unfortunately, the academy cannot be saved. We can only wait and watch as the world we are used to changes. And only after I ascend the throne can we reopen it and make it even better,” she said slowly, as if the matter of the academy were more personal to her than to others, although it was clear to me that this was just an ordinary game.

I did not answer, only nodded, so as not to get involved in unnecessary conversations and not have to be explained manipulations presented as truths again.

Evelina looked at me a little more intently, as if assessing how far she could go in this conversation. Then her face became impeccably polite.

“But today is a holiday,” she said, “and let it remain a holiday, even if a funeral of the seizure of power is hidden beneath it.”

She leaned toward the table, took the decanter of wine, and filled three glasses. One she handed to me. The other—to Nova.

“Let us drink,” she said. “To not forgetting why we are here.”

I accepted the glass without any extra movements and, just in case, habitually checked it with order magic. The poison was not just a substance. It was an error in symmetry, an alien code that violated the ideal chemical composition of the wine.

“The wine is poisoned. Do not drink it,” I said in a quiet but calm voice.

Evelina’s expression did not change. Only her fingers tightened slightly on the stem of the glass. Nova, standing nearby, froze so that even her breathing was not visible externally.

I placed the glass on the table—without any sharp movements, as if I had simply changed my mind about drinking. Evelina, without a word, repeated my gesture. Precisely and without delay. Nova carefully placed her glass next to mine. Everything was done so naturally that any observer, accidentally looking into the room, would not have noticed anything strange.

A short but deafening silence settled between us.

Evelina turned back to the window. Her voice, when she spoke, was even, “Thank you. I did not think there were rats in the academy.”

I did not answer; it was a trifle, for which gratitude was not required. Nova, standing nearby, lowered her eyes for a moment, probably thinking about who was behind this. Nevertheless, I was sure of one thing: for Frederik, this would have been too foolish and a slightly insane act. Evelina could have been eliminated in much simpler ways, which meant someone else was acting, perhaps it was CD or another invisible puppeteer.

Evelina took a breath—a long one, as if regaining control.

“So they have started to play dirty. Well, I will draw the appropriate conclusions,” she whispered quietly. Evelina sharply pulled the tablecloth from the table, allowing the pitchers and glasses to fall to the floor. The ringing clang of broken glass and ceramics filled the room.

An adult woman ran in at the noise and, shaking her head several times, quickly went away somewhere.

“Someone will come and clean everything up soon. I will warn who is necessary,” Evelina sat back in the chair and, as if nothing had happened, adjusted the fold of her dress on her knee. “You may go. Not a word to anyone about what happened.”

Nova and I left the room, and a silent silence settled between us.

Nova looked at me and finally asked in a whisper, “Do you think it was Frederik?”

I shook my head.

“That would be too foolish a move for him,” I answered in a whisper especially for her.

Nova nodded to me, after which she left, and a hidden tension could be felt in her steps.

The official part ended a few hours later. I spent it standing by the wall in the far part of the hall, from where there was an excellent view of the dancing students. The sounds of music gradually faded, and the tired girls began to leave the ceremonial building, and the space quickly emptied.

Soon Catherine approached me. She was pleased, and a smile did not leave her face. She had probably gotten what she wanted, and all I could do was smile back at her.

“You played excellently, Arta!” she said, closing the distance.

“Did I?” I clarified. “As for me, nothing unusual.”

“I’m telling you, everyone liked it. Even Madame Grunsier didn’t play as perfectly as you,” Catherine said, and there was no undisguised flattery in her words.

“Alright, so be it,” I answered calmly. “Did you enjoy the evening?”

Catherine shook her head.

“Not exactly. I have something to tell you.” Her gaze shifted toward the exit. “Let’s go, we’ll talk in our room.”

We walked side by side, once again wrapped in warm capes. Catherine’s dress swayed slightly with each step, catching the glints of the last lights of the past evening. Passing through the snow-covered courtyards of the Academy, we gradually approached our dormitory building, while the snow stubbornly crunched under our feet.

We passed the dormitory hall, where pleased students were discussing the ball. Among them, I noticed Ren, carefully following my every step. We did not stop and went to the stairs, and only after climbing to our floor and closing the door of the room did Catherine begin to speak.

“Arta, did you notice that Ren danced with me all evening? At first, I thought it was because I helped her with Isolde, but I think it’s something else.”

“She was looking for you in the crowd from the beginning,” I replied calmly.

“Exactly!” she exclaimed.

I looked her directly in the eye; her face was thoughtful, almost wary.

“She…” Catherine hesitated, choosing her words. “She danced only with me all evening and constantly asked about you, Arta, as if she wanted to find out all your secrets. But know, I told her nothing. Your safety is more important to me than anything!”

“Thank you, Catherine, that is very valuable,” I answered honestly, understanding that any extra word from her could lead to my death.

“You are welcome. But I can tell you something else: Ren was constantly casting glances at you, and I cannot say that they were friendly.”

“She is definitely not on the list of my friends,” I answered evenly.

Catherine snorted.

“Of course, I had no doubt about that,” she muttered quietly. “But when did you manage to make enemies?”

“I do not consider her an enemy. It would be more correct to say that we have different views on this life from the beginning.”

Catherine looked at me and shook her head slightly.

“You know, Arta,” she said quietly, almost in a whisper. “Despite everything that happened, I am glad that you were here today.”

“Yes, and Evelina was the most glad of all. Her wine was poisoned,” I whispered, leaning toward her ear.

Catherine froze.

“So…”

“Yes, but let’s not talk about it. I’m just letting you know that I’m not hiding anything extra from you.”

She nodded.

“Thank you. To be honest, it is very pleasant that you trust me so much,” she replied, hesitating slightly.

“You are welcome,” I smiled dryly. “As for the celebration itself, nothing special, but at least I warmed up my fingers.”

“Oh, don’t start again! Just say you wasted your time!” she began to speak in her characteristic manner, instantly calming down.

“The question is not whether I liked it or not; the question is what would have happened if I had not gone there.”

Catherine nodded. She understood what I was talking about and understood that if she had not persuaded me to go to the ball, Evelina and Nova would be dead.

“You know, Arta…” she said quietly, her voice becoming more serious. “Today, when you were playing, I understood one thing. You… you don’t just play the notes. You seem to… create a world. As cold and perfect as you yourself. And I… I wanted to stay in it. At least for a moment.”

I looked at her. Her words were too sincere to be ignored.

“This world is not for the living, Catherine,” I replied, and my voice sounded quieter than usual.

“And maybe I don’t want to be alive, like everyone else?” she took a tiny, almost imperceptible step toward me. “Maybe I want to be… a part of this silence?”

“You do not understand what you are talking about, Catherine.” I shook my head; she was playing a dangerous game.

She bit her lower lip.

“But maybe you will sometimes play just for me?” She took another half-step forward.

“That is possible,” I nodded.

And so ended the day of the sacrifice of the twin queens and the birthday of this unique variable named Catherine Holu.