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  [ 01st Lumiran 1749 | Eltar | 11:32 | Royal Palace “Two-Faced” ]

  Evelina did not return as quickly as, perhaps, Nova and I would have liked. Her posture was impeccable, but the micro-tension in the muscles of her neck and a barely perceptible shift in the rhythm of her breathing betrayed a deep disappointment with the conversation with her relatives. Perhaps it was Vespera’s influence, or perhaps the reason was something else. Evelina did not want to tell us about it, at least not here and at least not yet.

  We followed her to the exit of the palace, where the same carriage that had brought us to the Palace of the Two-Faced was waiting for us.

  “To the temple quarter, quickly,” Evelina said in a displeased voice and, without the coachman’s help, got into the carriage.

  Nova and I followed her example and sat in the same seats as before. Our journey was silent, and I just analyzed what was happening: Evelina, turned away to the window, was probably replaying the unsuccessful conversation with her relatives in her mind, her left hand’s fingers nervously picking at the fabric of her dress, and everything indicated that the conversation had not been easy. Nova, on the other hand, was watching her, and her own anxiety was manifested in her frequent blinking and uneven breathing. To me, they were both sources of emotional instability, and I would probably have to work on bringing them to a state of stability.

  The temple quarter greeted us with a huge cathedral of white stone. Its architecture was excessive: the walls, overloaded with engravings depicting the “Goddess of Life,” grapevines, and symbols of the elements, screamed of their own importance. The naive attempt to prove that even the sun was a gift of the so-called goddess of life was another shortsightedness of mortals.

  However, I could not help but pay attention to a much more ironic fact: why this district of Sumerenn was called the “temple quarter.” It would seem that the church of life was the only religion allowed in Valtheim, but its influence was dissolved in another, much more significant “religion”—the religion of the sacrifice of the twin queens. It was here, in the temple quarter, that the true temple of the kingdom was located—the Memorial to the Twin Queens. How inefficient that people’s faith was built on such an unreliable foundation as the sacrifice with which every corner of this kingdom was imbued.

  The coachman stopped the carriage not far from the cathedral, as the road ahead was blocked by the royal guard. Everything here indicated that Queen Margaret would soon appear, and that was probably why the high ranks were paying such close attention to the security of this place. The square in front of the cathedral was filled with a multitude of citizens in black mourning attire, but their grief was varied: for some, it was sincere, for others, ritualistic, and for still others, it seemed there was no grief at all. Evelina was right when she said that there would be a completely different contingent here, and it was visible even to the naked eye. Some stood with their heads bowed, while others whispered and looked at Evelina with interested glances, trying to look very unfriendly at the same time. Another royal funeral, of which I had seen many, with every second was turning more and more into a political farce.

  Getting closer and closer to the cathedral, we passed through a multitude of people. Their gazes were different, but predictable, but what worried me more was the presence of threats. And in the distance from the others, leaning against a white stone column of the fence separating the cathedral square, stood a middle-aged man. He was dressed in a black cloak, a rich coat, his head was adorned with a top hat, and in his hands was a simple cane, although from the way he stood, it was clear that he did not suffer from a limp. His right eye tirelessly scanned the crowd, while his left was with a clouded pupil, obviously the result of some mechanical defect. It was obvious that this man possessed magic, but neither his aura nor magical fluctuations betrayed his true abilities. Nevertheless, in him I saw a residual suppressed energy, similar to the effect of a curse that I had already observed in Sumerenn earlier.

  While I did not take my eyes off this man, we managed to reach the massive metal gates of the entrance to the cathedral, which were now closed. A group of guards stood on duty and did not allow any of the nobles to go inside, but my attention, as well as Nova’s, was drawn to two familiar faces. Nova frowned noticeably when she had to observe our old acquaintance, Officer Ardicht, but, noticing a familiar brigadier general next to him, she shook her head and calmed down.

  The brigadier general approached Evelina and, after saluting, said, “Your Highness, the ceremony will not begin for another hour. Do you wish to speak with the Bishop?” The general’s blue eyes were tired, her pupils slightly dilated—the result of a long watch and nervous tension.

  “Yes, Amber, I want to go in. And my companions too,” Evelina replied in a slightly nervous voice, clenching the fingers of her right hand.

  Amber looked at me and Nova and, with a nod, shifted her gaze to Ardicht. “Ardicht, escort Her Highness and her companions.”

  Ardicht touched his metal gauntlet to his beard before, after saluting, approaching us. “Your Highness, please come this way.” He cast a sidelong glance at Nova—a mixture of old resentment and new slight envy filled him, but he decided not to tempt fate and obediently complied with the order of his superior.

  Ardicht opened a smaller door carved into the massive gates of the cathedral and let us in. We slowly walked into the cathedral building, which smelled of incense, cloves, wax, and the sweet notes of fermented fruit.

  The space of the cathedral was designed to suppress the will: the high ceiling pressed down on the consciousness, and the light from the stained-glass windows, depicting the goddess’s condescension to people, fell on the floor in such a way as to instinctively make a person raise their head and feel insignificant. The runes on the columns had no functional meaning but were executed with the persistence inherent to the most desperate fanatics. But the main “masterpiece” of this abode was a huge statue of the goddess of life, which was too similar to the guises that Chaotic Light so loved.

  We walked forward on the white marble, stopping not far from the altar, on which lay a metal coffin with golden patterns, in which Conrad Cross lay. His body had been lightly embalmed, his eyes were closed, and his face with its well-groomed gray beard no longer reflected his former personality.

  Next to the coffin stood the Bishop, behind whom a wine fountain was working. In the bishop’s hands, decorated with rings with the same meaningless runes as in the temple, was a golden chalice, decorated with images of the “goddess of life.” The bishop, dipping his fingers in the wine from the chalice, ran his fingers over Conrad’s forehead and whispered, “May the great goddess protect your name, may she give you the joy of the afterlife, may she help you find eternal love and, when the time comes, meet your current love.”

  Ardicht, seeing that we had safely reached the Bishop, gave a slight bow and headed back. Judging by the barely perceptible smirk on his face, he was very pleased that no additional actions were required of him.

  Before speaking to us, the Bishop whispered another prayer: “May the light guide you after death, may love be your eternal guide, may the goddess of life help you find the true meaning in the divine garden.”

  “My children, I greet you!” the Bishop said politely, looking up at us. “I am now performing the ritual of purification of sins, I need another fifteen minutes, and we can talk.”

  Evelina nodded silently to the Bishop and gestured for us to step aside with her so as not to interfere with this meaningless performance.

  While we stood silently nearby, the bishop recited another dozen prayers and sprinkled Conrad’s body with wine. For me, these were strange and irrational rituals that had no meaning, as Conrad’s soul had long since left his body, but behind them I saw traces of the one who needed these meaningless emotions, and for her it was a huge work, considering her nature.

  Finishing the ritual, the Bishop gave us a sign so that we could approach him closer. “My children, the farewell ritual will begin very soon. The body of Conrad Cross will be placed in the Valtheim family crypt under the temple square, where all members of the royal family rest, with the exception of a few unique cases.” The bishop’s face was thoughtful, and his voice was calm, as if he were in a trance.

  Evelina took a few steps toward the bishop. “Can we say goodbye to my father in advance?” Evelina’s voice held a note of uncharacteristic vulnerability.

  “Are you planning to go somewhere, child?” the bishop asked politely, adjusting his snow-white robe with two red vertical stripes, on which runes were embroidered in silver.

  “No, Your Eminence Benedict Sawyer Alrane,” Evelina replied politely, “I do not want to give in to my emotions too much during the official part of the mourning,” she added in a vulnerable voice.

  “I understand, child.” Benedict nodded. “I will personally see to it that no one disturbs you.” With those words, he stepped aside and left us alone so that we could say goodbye to Conrad Cross.

  Nova and Evelina approached the coffin and, bowing their heads, placed their hands on his cold and dead hands. Nova began to cry first; she lowered her head, and tears one after another flowed from her eyes, but Evelina looked at her father for a long time, trying to avert her eyes, holding back her tears, but could not hold them back.

  I stood nearby. Obviously, I was a stranger here. I felt nothing for this mourning; for me, the process of death was a sacred cycle of souls, a river that flows into timelessness and from there returns. I did not see the tragedy of loss; I only understood that Conrad was facing another turn in his life. Understanding that I had to say something, I took half a step forward and in a quiet voice with a note of vulnerability said, “Don’t worry… Conrad Cross is already in a better world, he is facing a journey no worse than his current life…”

  It seems my words did not calm them at all, and they began to sob even more. Unfortunately, I was powerless to change anything. Sometimes, rationality in some events is completely absent.

  I came closer to look at Conrad’s body. After all, he was only 73 years old, which, with a life expectancy of 121 years, could be said that his death came relatively early.

  I walked around the coffin so as not to get in Nova and Evelina's way. When the Bishop turned his back, I touched the body to check for poisons. No ordinary toxins were found. But there was something else, something subtler.

  To confirm my theory, I touched Conrad’s forehead and felt a specific trace of destruction in the decaying brain tissue—a "blood impulse."

  A local healer would have written it off as a massive stroke, but I saw the deeper structure. A natural rupture is chaotic; this, however, felt frighteningly precise. It was an artificial interference. Some rare poison or technique imitating natural death but leaving that specific energetic "impulse." There was no doubt left: this was not accidental. It was hard to say more without an autopsy, but the murder was evident. I pulled my hand away.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  I walked over to the Bishop, who stood near a fresco of the Goddess of Life.

  "Your Eminence, my name is Artalis Nox. May I ask you a few questions, if you do not mind...?” I tried to look as vulnerable and uncertain as possible so that the Bishop would be more disposed toward me.

  “Yes, child, of course, I am listening to you carefully,” he replied in a soft and calm voice.

  “The thing is that I wanted to know under what circumstances the queen’s husband was found?”

  “A strange question, child. Our brother Conrad has left this world and gone to the arms of the goddess of life, the details are no longer important,” the bishop replied, as if reveling in his religion.

  “But…” I deliberately made an uncertain pause. “It’s important. I think that he… he could have been killed…” I whispered, pretending that I myself was not sure of my words.

  “Child, don’t talk nonsense. He was found in the council hall after lunch with a glass of wine. There were no signs of a violent death.”

  “I understand,” I replied politely, “forgive me for my foolishness.” I bowed to the bishop.

  “It’s alright, child, everyone makes mistakes. But since we’re already talking, I heard from my girl Gloria that you fence excellently. Please, do not refuse her request. Her mother, my wife, died when she was very young. Swords are the only pleasure that I taught her and that helped her get through her youth.”

  Another tragic story of a girl left without a mother. However, it is unclear why he is trying so hard to appeal to my pity? After all, I am a complete stranger to him.

  “I…” I paused so that he would see my uncertainty. “Your Eminence, it’s hard for me to make promises, but I will try to help Gloria.” I obediently lowered my head, pretending that his words had touched me to the core.

  “Thank you, child, may the goddess of life light your path,” he said, as if he thought it was a blessing for me.

  I returned to Evelina and Nova, who were still crying, and looked at Conrad again. Now I understood that Vespera could have had a hand in this after all, because it was Conrad who supported the traditions of the twin queens. But I will keep these conclusions to myself, because I have no way of telling anyone that Vespera is CD, or providing any evidence of Conrad’s violent death.

  『 ?? 』━━━???━━━『 ? 』

  [ 01st Lumiran 1749 | Eltar | 12:45 | Temple of Life ]

  Time passed until the beginning of the ceremony, and the cathedral gates were opened, using some old mechanism, causing the doors to creak and the oiled gears to rustle.

  Queen Margaret entered the cathedral first, dressed in a black mourning but noble dress. She was followed by Frederik in a black uniform with Vespera, who was holding his elbow.

  I didn’t have to wait long to catch CD’s gaze on me. She literally hinted to me that I had no business here, but I did not plan to get into verbal discussions with her, and she, not seeing the desired reaction, demonstratively turned away from me and sat in the first row of the right section, carefully adjusting her black mantle.

  Robert Valtheim was nowhere to be seen, and the guards, having taken up perimeters to avoid the chaos of the crowd, began to let nobles into the cathedral. There were many families here, and even the Lenfords entered among the first and sat in the left row, behind Evelina. However, I soon noticed a surprise in Nova’s eyes. Behind her sat a stately but gray-haired man and a graying but still well-preserved woman.

  “Mom, Dad?…” she whispered.

  “Nova, we’ll talk later,” Nova’s father, who must have been called Victorian, replied politely.

  Nova nodded and then, closing her eyes, took an uneven breath. For some reason, she did not expect to see her parents, although Conrad Cross was also part of their family.

  A particular focus of my attention was an elderly and portly man in a velvet suit who, despite the event, did not hide a smile on his face. He sat behind Frederik and carefully whispered a couple of phrases to him, from which the prince fell deep in thought about something and frowned.

  Time went on and on, and the cathedral was soon almost completely filled with noble families unfamiliar to me. One of the last to enter the room was Darian Merivald. Next to him was a man with gray sideburns and in a rich suit, probably his father. They sat in the last row, talking about something deeply personal.

  A few more minutes passed, and the last person present entered the cathedral, accompanied by the same man in the top hat whom I had seen on the street earlier. Robert’s face was content, and the man sat in the only free seat in the back row.

  When Robert took his place to the left of Queen Margaret, the cathedral gates were closed, and the Bishop went to the altar and raised his hands.

  As soon as the bishop gave the command, members of a mixed choir began to come out onto the balconies of the cathedral, who began to sing a wordless song. The bishop again took the golden chalice and filled it directly from the fountain. After which, priests of a lower rank with candles that smelled of incense when burning began to enter the room from the side doors of the cathedral.

  The priests stood in pairs opposite each row of pews, thus occupying the central aisle, and turned to face each other, waiting for further orders from the bishop.

  Benedict approached the very first pews and personally sprinkled the foreheads of everyone sitting there, including Vespera, who obviously did not like this meaningless ritual.

  Next, the bishop sprinkled the foreheads of those sitting in the first left row, including me. Then the bishop handed the chalice to ordinary priests, and they, passing the chalice to each other, repeated the same meaningless ritual gesture with the others.

  The bishop raised his hands again, commanding the choir to sing, and began his speech.

  “Brothers and sisters! Today we have come to say goodbye to the husband of Her Majesty Margaret Valtheim.” The bishop paused and, approaching the coffin, continued. “Conrad Cross left us in the prime of his life. He was our brother, husband, father, and now his path lies in the arms of the goddess of life.”

  The bishop looked around and, with a nod, added, “Before we begin the official farewell ceremony, I ask that his closest people, members of his family, say goodbye to him first and, if necessary, share their pain with us! For it is through emotions that we can transfer a part of our soul to others, without losing our very essence!” The bishop politely pointed to Queen Margaret. She stood up and slowly approached the altar. Her figure was thin, and in her posture there was a barely perceptible fragility. She surveyed the surrounding space with her brown eyes and fell silent for a second before beginning a calm but confident speech: “Today, Valtheim says goodbye to a pillar of the throne. Conrad Cross was not just my husband—he was a guardian of tradition, he was a rock, a reminder of the values of constancy. His loyalty to the crown was absolute, his service—silent, but no less significant for it. He upheld the light of Duality, bequeathed to us by the twin queens, and in this light his memory will live forever. May the Goddess of Life accept his soul, and we—preserve his legacy.” Margaret looked first at the nobles, and then at her children, as if seeking confirmation of her words, after which she returned to her place.

  After Margaret, Frederik went to the altar. His steps were confident, and his gaze was cold. Looking at Vespera, he smiled barely perceptibly, after which he began his speech in a voice filled with hidden symbolism: “My father was a warrior, even if his last battle was not with a real enemy, but with time and illness. He faithfully served the crown, as befits a real man—with honor and strength. I still remember his lessons that the stability of the state requires a firm hand and a devoted heart, and the sacrifices of the past are a beautiful symbol that, without actions in the present, will simply die like a beautiful fairy tale. Today, watching his departure, we must ask ourselves: are we strong enough? Valtheim is on the threshold of new challenges. And to meet them, we need not only the memory of traditions, but also a determination like that of the first king, Greyvan, our founder. We need a firm hand. Conrad Cross would be proud to see that we are ready to become this force that will break all our enemies.”

  Frederik looked at the nobles, some of whom, despite the need to sit, stood up from their seats. Frederik, squinting slightly, returned to his place and sat next to Vespera, who was looking at him with admiration, understanding that his speech was acting like an acid, corroding the state.

  The third to approach the altar was Robert. His movements were uncertain, and it was clear that he was doing this through force. He looked somewhere into the distance, lowered his eyes, and began to speak his prepared speech in a measured but reluctant voice: “They say that when a person leaves, he leaves behind a silence. But that is not so. He leaves an echo… in the dreams of those who remained here. My father was a quiet man. His words did not thunder in the halls, but I think… dreams heard him better than we did. Perhaps the most important part of us is the one that we do not remember upon waking. The one that wanders in the twilight of consciousness. He went to where there are no names, but there are all stories. I hope that there, in the arms of the goddess of life, he will be calmer than here, where we are so afraid of our dreams.”

  Robert did not look to see how the nobles would react to his speech, but the man in the top hat was watching him too intently to consider it simple interest.

  The last to approach the altar was Evelina. Her grief, despite the lack of tears, was felt almost physically, but she wanted to show everyone an impeccable determination and will. She looked intently at the guests, as if saying to herself the motto “Who is not with me, is against me,” and began her speech: “Today I am not saying goodbye to a ‘pillar of the throne.’ I am saying goodbye to a father.” She swallowed a lump in her throat, after which she continued as if nothing had happened: “He taught me the main thing: true strength is not in changing the world to suit yourself, but in protecting the order that was paid for at a great price. My brother speaks of a firm hand. But our world was saved not by a hand, but by a heart. The hearts of two twin queens. My father served this idea. He served my mother, Queen Margaret. And he prepared me for this important service to my country and people. Today I accept his legacy. I swear before his body and before all of you: I will preserve Valtheim. I will not allow it to be split by either external threats or internal ambitions. The sacrifice of my ancestors will not be in vain. His life—will not be in vain.”

  Evelina’s speech produced, on the one hand, a contemptuous silence, like a declaration of war, and on the other hand—approving nods from loyal nobles. However, one thing was perfectly clear to me: Frederik wanted to seize the future, Margaret—to hold on to the present, Robert—to remind everyone of the hidden threats, and Evelina—to fight for her right to her destined fate.

  As soon as Evelina sat down in her place, Bishop Benedict continued the farewell ritual, reading another prayer to the “Goddess of Life,” and then invited the funeral procession, which closed the coffin with Conrad and carried it between the rows to a new song from the funeral choir.

  Allowing everyone who wished to look at the body of Conrad Cross, the procession silently stopped at the gates, waiting for them to be opened.

  Benedict waved his hands again, and the choir immediately stopped. “And now I ask you to proceed to the Valtheim family crypt to pay the last respects to our brother,” he said and walked forward after the procession, standing on the left side of the coffin.

  Queen Margaret rose first from her seat and followed the bishop, stopping behind the coffin. Next followed Evelina and I with Nova, then Robert, and then Frederik with Vespera, who silently burned a hole in my back with her gaze, while maintaining a completely innocent face. Then all the other nobles followed them.

  When the coffin was carried out of the cathedral, the crowd outside, from less noble families, froze. They looked at the coffin, and each person’s face expressed a completely different emotion. This was not the silence of grief, but the silence of anticipation, where everyone wanted to show loyalty to their faction. The nobles loyal to Evelina straightened their backs, while the nobles loyal to Frederik, seeing their leader, clenched their fists and pressed them to their hearts.

  To maintain order, the procession was surrounded by guards, and our acquaintances, Amber and Ardicht, seemed to be some of the few who were here not only for the sake of a ringing coin, but also because of some personal inner convictions.

  As the procession moved further into the center of the cathedral square, there were more and more other onlookers from the common people. They whispered and watched this, as if they had not yet emerged from the dream in which they were immersed.

  We walked behind the coffin through the narrow streets of the temple quarter. Nova, who was walking next to Evelina, stumbled on an uneven cobblestone, but I instantly offered her my hand to prevent her from falling. She accepted the help, and I noticed that her fingers were icy cold. She squeezed my palm for a moment, as if seeking invisible support in me, and only after that did she let go, not looking at me.

  Evelina, on the other hand, walked ahead of us. Her gait was impeccable, but her fingers trembled slightly. It was clear that deep down she understood that after this day, nothing would be the same again.

  When we approached the unremarkable mausoleum building, made of gray marble, the procession stopped, and I scanned the space in search of the man in the top hat. He was nowhere to be seen; he had disappeared like a shadow, or perhaps he was watching us from afar, but, turning my gaze to Robert, I understood that the influence of that man had penetrated deep into his heart.

  At the end of the ceremony, the coffin was placed on a pedestal near the mausoleum, where everyone, surrounding it in a semicircle, silently said goodbye to the queen’s late husband, after which, to the quiet sighs of the crowd, his body was taken to the other desiccated bodies of the Valtheim ancestors.