The soft blanket and fluffy pillows seemed to persuade me not to wake up, to hold on to that fragile state between sleep and reality. The night had been long and full, leaving behind a strange warmth and fatigue at the same time.
When I realized that I was already awake, I became afraid to open my eyes. Yesterday, under the cover of darkness, I had been decisive and brave, allowing myself things I would never have dared in the light of day.
And now… I did not even know how to look at Blake.
My thoughts, dragging me back into the night, stirred me from the inside, giving me no peace. I did not feel his presence beside me and, after forcing myself to decide, I cracked my eyes open. I was lying alone on an indecently large bed. Blake was neither beside me nor in the room at all.
Muted voices came from the living room. The curtains were still drawn, but through the dense fabric the daylight was already breaking through, almost noon-bright.
I got up, found my clothes left in the bathroom, and headed toward the place from which the conversation was coming. I made out a woman's voice—Blake was speaking with Adel. I did not start eavesdropping and simply walked into the living room… exactly at the moment when the words struck me down to my heels.
"Eiron moved out yesterday to the eastern wall," Adel said, dryly, in a businesslike tone, as if she were reading out an ordinary report.
Blake and Adel noticed me at the same time and fell silent at once. And I froze, trying to comprehend what exactly I had just heard.
"What did you say?" I asked again. My voice sounded rougher than I expected, and more astonished than I wanted.
"I was just reporting the situation," Adel replied indignantly.
She did not seem in the least embarrassed by the fact that I had come out of Blake's bedroom. My tone, however, had clearly offended her.
"Repeat it," I insisted.
I felt my legs giving way, felt a storm rising in my head. It seemed that a little more—and I would be sick.
"She said that Eiron has taken up duty on the eastern wall," Blake said.
His voice was not cold, but there was a strict restraint in it nonetheless.
The world darkened. Shock covered me from head to toe, and my thoughts scattered, rifling through everything I knew, everything I feared.
Blake rose at once and came over to me.
"Are you all right?" He caught me with strong arms and seated me on the sofa not far from Adel. "Do you need more rest? Or did this news upset you?"
There was an unfamiliar concern in his voice, yet I still sensed tense severity behind it.
"No," I finally said, and at that moment it was as though I began gathering myself piece by piece.
Blake sat down beside me, carefully holding my hand. Adel remained in the armchair, as if patiently waiting for my explanations.
She seemed entirely unconcerned by Blake's attitude toward me.
Entirely?
"I spoke with Eiron yesterday," the words came with difficulty, as though each one had to be pushed out of my chest.
In my head, again and again, what he had said replayed itself.
"—There, where the Tower of the Guardians is and the sunset is insanely beautiful.
—Yes. You remember."
Yesterday's dialogue pierced my consciousness, and everything I had not noticed—or had simply not wanted to notice—burst into me all at once, without warning.
"Go on," Blake said softly but insistently, not letting go of my hand.
"He said that he was leaving for a long assignment… to the western gates," I swallowed. My throat became dry, painfully so. "He spoke as if he were saying goodbye to me."
Blake and Adel exchanged glances.
"Maybe he mixed it up?" Adel said thoughtfully. "Or didn't fully understand his assignment and just assumed?"
"No," the word slipped out of me almost soundlessly. My throat dried up completely—just as it had then, in the alley, with Avodanets. "Tell me… what report did he leave about my awakening?"
I looked at Blake. His gaze was disapproving, heavy. From the thoughts and the sudden realization, my head began to spin.
"He reported that he helped you when you ran out to the training grounds," Adel answered calmly and coldly. "And that he carried you to the room Sunny indicated."
"No," my quiet reply cut everything short.
Blake froze. I saw how his silvery eyes seemed to fill with white metal, cold and heavy.
"Continue," he said calmly, but now with pressure.
I felt it: he understood that I had understood something. And that this "something" was bad. Dangerous.
"When I had just woken up and ran out, I met him on the stairs. Right after the guards. He was on my floor," I looked at Blake, and my words seemed to strike him. His cheekbones tightened, his jaw clenched. I felt his hands grow cold beneath mine. "He wasn't supposed to be there. At all. Was he?"
"Yes," Adel's military-cold voice cut through the hanging tension. Her gaze darkened. "Soldiers sometimes run to the kitchen to Ada. But everyone knows: the bedrooms are here. And this space belongs only to Blake. No one. Ever. Had the right to come here."
"Is that all?" Blake asked.
I could see it: both of them had grown more serious. And angrier.
"No," I answered cautiously, already afraid of them both. "There's something else. Something I didn't tell you."
Blake closed his eyes, as if for a moment praying—or pulling himself together.
"That evening, when the potion was slipped to me… when we were drinking tea," I continued, "he spoke about the Tower by the western wall. And yesterday he dropped a word that made it clear: he remembers that conversation."
I fell silent, realizing there was one more detail. The most important one. But I did not know how to say it.
"So it is him after all," Blake said wearily. "We need to find him urgently. Check both walls. Better—all posts and duty teams. If, as you said, Bian, he said goodbye… then he's plotting something."
He stood up.
I immediately grabbed his hand.
"There's something else," I whispered.
He froze but did not pull his hand away. He only sighed heavily.
His caring, anxious gaze dropped to me, and I felt uneasy.
I was not used to seeing Blake so attentive. And that made it even more frightening.
"Let me speak with Eiron," I said. "I want to ask him myself."
This was important to me. I did not want to believe it, but everything pointed to one thing: the impostor all this time had been him.
"That's dangerous. I can't—" Blake began.
"You can be with me. Or Roger," I interrupted, not letting him cut off all options completely. "I want to ask him myself. Find out the truth. He will tell me. I know."
"Roger," Blake called.
Roger appeared at the wall at once, gave a short nod to everyone, and to me as well.
"Wait," I squeezed Blake's hand, making it clear that he should sit beside me.
He looked at me distrustfully, but sat down nonetheless.
"After I drank the tea… back then, with Eiron, something else happened," I lowered my head, not knowing how to confess what I had hidden. What perhaps could have put everything in its place long ago.
"Speak. Don't doubt," Blake lifted my chin. And for the first time his gaze was as calm and gentle as it had been last night.
"Climbing the stairs, I met Blake," I looked at him, still not fully believing that he was sitting before me and listening attentively.
I immediately understood: he did not know what I meant. Because I truly had met him.
"Lower down. On the stairs. I met Blake. Another one. Warm, caring. He wanted to help me… before you arrived," I swallowed.
Blake's face became cold again, as if carved from ice.
"He vanished as a dark shadow and went down. And then you caught me."
I froze.
Roger froze.
I even stopped feeling Adel's presence.
"There are two of them," Blake's verdict struck the room like a blade.
That hidden detail was my fault. And I was ready to accept the punishment.
"Yes," Adel confirmed. "Even if Eiron is an impostor, he couldn't have changed clothes that fast. There were two of them. Without a doubt."
"It's not even about the clothes," I continued insistently. "I felt that it was really Eiron in the kitchen then, not a fake."
"Did the false Blake touch you?" Blake asked quietly.
"No," I answered, though fear still clenched my chest. "He wanted to. But I immediately understood that he was not real and pulled away."
I saw him exhale in relief.
"Seeing Eiron is dangerous," he went on.
"Give me a chance," I protested.
It was clear how he struggled with himself. My safety meant too much to him.
"We need a council," he finally said, as if giving in. "Roger, call Grot and his team. And also give orders to prepare the horses. Adel, gather your group."
I watched him and his orders in surprise. He said nothing about me. Not yet.
Roger vanished into the shadows at once. Adel left after him.
We were alone.
He looked at me with either torment in his eyes or fatigue—it was hard to tell. I only hoped that it was an inner struggle: with himself, with the desire to let me do what I was asking, even if it was dangerous.
"I know," he finally said. "Sooner or later you will remember everything. And then I won't be able to keep you here."
There was genuine sadness in his voice.
"Come with me."
He stood and pulled me by the hand into the bedroom. I followed obediently.
Approaching the wardrobe, he flung the doors open and, pushing aside his armor, took out fitted white leather armor without diamonds, and the same kind of sturdy leather belt that went down like a skirt cut into several parts. He handed them to me. Light to the touch, yet surprisingly strong.
"Put it on. And remember," he pulled me to himself and held me tightly. "Do not move away from me. Not a single step."
I felt his lips touch my hair. He was truly worried.
"You're completely unlike yourself today," I smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "Just like that impostor… too kind."
I inhaled the scent of his shirt and remembered.
"Your infection. How is it?"
I pulled away, but beneath the clothes I could see nothing. As yesterday, the shirt and trousers hid everything. I hung my protection back in the wardrobe and looked at Blake closely. At first glance, there were no black marks. But before, in clothes, they had not been visible either.
I lifted the edge of his shirt. Then higher.
There was not a single trace on his skin.
"They're gone!" I exclaimed joyfully… and immediately met his gaze.
The silvery eyes glittered, and an impudent smile played on his lips.
"Do you like groping my body that much?" he drawled. "Was last night not enough? Maybe I should take off my trousers too, so you can check there as well?"
I jumped back at once, feeling myself flush. It seemed I had just openly felt him up, and he clearly liked it.
He stepped closer, took my hand, and kissed the tips of my fingers.
"Don't worry. I already told you—I know you entirely. You don't have to be shy."
With that he stepped back and began to change, preparing to put on his bulky white armor.
"Will you hand me the belt?"
I already knew where it lay. Pulling out the drawer, I nevertheless decided to ask what had been troubling me.
"This wasn't our first night, was it?"
I held the belt and watched as he, with his habitual military bearing, first removed his clothes and then put on the special uniform that protected the skin beneath the armor.
"Yes," he answered calmly, fastening his trousers with concentration.
"Did we… love each other?"
He froze.
"It's hard to say, if you don't remember it," he said quietly, as if glancing inward for a moment.
"And did you love me?"
In reply—only a faint smile and silence.
I stepped closer, offering him the belt, making it clear that I was waiting for an answer.
"You will find the answer when you remember everything," he said softly, bending to take the belt.
Taking it and already pulling on the military shirt, he headed for the living room and, almost at the threshold, turned back.
"They will bring you clothes to wear under the armor. Prepare yourself and try them on. I'll speak with Gort—I think within an hour we'll move out. Even to the gates on horseback it's five hours, maybe six if the city delays us. So eat before the road."
I only nodded in response. The words were clear, familiar, almost everyday.
And inside, a quiet bitterness still smoldered. From the fact that I had forgotten him.
"Blake," I called after him before he could leave.
I came closer, rose on my toes, and, pulling him by the collar, kissed him. His lips, soft, slightly cold, responded at once. In every touch, in every movement, there was a resonance of excitement, warm and anxious, somewhere deep inside.
A moment later I pulled away.
"I'm sorry… for forgetting you," that was all I could say. And all I could give.
He ran his thumb over my lower lip—wet, trembling. That gesture already seemed almost ritualistic, something quietly familiar between us.
"It's all right," he said. "Prepare yourself. This will not be an easy journey."
And in those words there was more than just a warning about the road.