Evan stood in front of his father's massive oak study doors, adjusting the cuffs of his doublet. Sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows of the hallway painted multicolored patterns on the floor. He held his breath, listening to the voices coming from the other side of the door.
— ...He must not be allowed to disgrace our House in this duel," Lord Artorius' deep voice rang out.
"But if he loses, the Shady Ones will demand concessions,— replied another voice, which Evan recognized as belonging to the House counselor, old Walter.
Evan waited a moment longer, then knocked firmly. The conversation inside came to an abrupt end.
"Come in."
Lord d'arclent's study was a spacious room with tall bookcases, a huge oak table, and a fireplace in which coals smoldered even in summer. Lord Artorius himself was sitting at the table, a tall man with graying temples and cold blue eyes that looked so much like his son's. Walter, his faithful adviser, stood next to him, his face lined with wrinkles.
"You've kept me waiting,— Lord Artorius remarked.
Evan made a small bow.
"I'm sorry, Father. I was busy preparing for the duel.
Old Walter chuckled.
This is the first time I've heard you prepare for anything other than nighttime carousing.
Evan did not respond to the provocation. Instead, he carefully examined the office, noting the details that could be useful to him. His gaze lingered on the portrait above the fireplace—a picture of a young woman with sad eyes, his late mother. And then — on a strange pattern on the floor near one of the bookcases. Faint scratches on the parquet formed a semicircle, as if someone had often moved a heavy cabinet.
Lord Artorius folded his hands on the table. "Do you realize that the duel with the Duke of Shadow is not just a personal duel?"
"It's a political event," Evan replied calmly. — And I am aware of all the consequences.
— Do you realize? My father stood up abruptly. "You, who still couldn't hold a sword properly?" You, who everyone thinks is a useless younger son?
Evan felt the familiar warmth of flame magic flare up in his chest, but he immediately pulled himself together. He noticed that Walter was watching his reaction closely.
"People often make mistakes in their assessments," Evan said, pretending to examine his nails. — Maybe it's time to dissuade them.
Lord Artorius froze, studying his son with a new look. There was a tense silence in the study, broken only by the crackling of the coals in the fireplace.
"You have three days,— my father finally said. — If you do not show significant progress towards the duel, I will announce that you are ill and send you to the family estate.
Evan bowed,
"As you wish, Father."
As he was leaving the office, his gaze once again swept over the suspicious scratches on the floor. The memories of the old Evan said nothing about the secret passages in this room. But he already knew where he was going tonight.
In the evening, when the castle had fallen asleep, Evan carefully made his way through the dark corridors. He took the longest route to his father's office, avoiding the guards' patrols. In his hands, he carried a small frosted-glass lantern that provided just enough light to avoid tripping.
The office was empty. Moonlight filtered through the tall windows, shrouding the room in a ghostly glow. Evan approached the suspicious bookcase and began to examine it carefully.
After several minutes of searching, his fingers found a barely noticeable dent in the side panel. Tapping — and there was a soft click. The cabinet moved easily, revealing a narrow passage in the wall.
—Of course,— Evan whispered. — Of course there is no secret passage.
The passage led down a spiral staircase. The air here was stale and smelled of mold. Evan carefully descended, pressing himself against the wall. The staircase ended in a small stone room, clearly part of the old castle catacombs.
There was a table in the center of the room, and on it was a strange object covered with cloth. Evan came closer and pulled off the bedspread. Beneath it was a silver—framed mirror, but not a simple one -its surface was opaque, as if covered with a haze.
Evan carefully ran his finger over the surface. The mirror remained cloudy, but something moved in its depths. He leaned closer, trying to see...
And suddenly the mirror flashed with blinding light. Evan instinctively recoiled, but it was too late —the light enveloped him, penetrated into his eyes, into his mouth, into every pore. For a moment, he saw a face in front of him—his own, but not his own. The face of the old Evan, who smiled at him with a kind of strange knowledge.
Then the vision disappeared, and he woke up, kneeling in front of the mirror. His head was buzzing, and glowing spots danced in front of his eyes. But the strangest thing was that he remembered now.
I remembered how the old Evan found this mirror. He remembered secret meetings with a mysterious stranger who called himself the Guardian. I remembered the words: "Mirrors are doors, and doors can lead both ways."
Evan was breathing heavily, trying to process the new memories. They were bright and clear, but they lacked key details—as if someone had deliberately cut them out of his mind.
He staggered to his feet. The mirror became opaque and lifeless again. But now Evan knew it wasn't just an artifact. It was something much more important.
And somewhere in the castle there was a man who knew more about it than he did. The person who left the note with the initial "V".
Evan covered the mirror with a cloth and hurried to the exit. He had the feeling that he had just begun to unravel the tangle that the old Evan had so carefully tied.
Evan woke up the next morning with a heavy head. New memories were still pulsing in his mind like fresh wounds. He went to the window, opened the curtains and saw that there was an unusual commotion in the courtyard of the castle.
"What's going on?" "What is it?" he asked the maid who brought breakfast.
"The ambassador from the House of Ice has arrived, my Lord,— the girl replied. — With important news, as they say.
Evan froze with the cup in his hand. The House of Ice. Serafina d'laurin. Her face came back to me in new memories—not just familiar, but dear. The old Evan knew her much better than anyone would have guessed.
He quickly finished his wine and started to get dressed. Things seemed to be moving faster than he had expected. And now he had to figure out what role the ambassador of the House of Ice had to play in this game.