One Reign, and then the Next

Lucretia opened up the file, and skimmed the sheets within. With a decisive hum, and a slight clicked tongue of disappointment, she looked up at Cerise, as she leaned against the wall of the acquired office and looked out the window – a poorly planned retrofit that merely put glass over an old arrow slit without any care for the results. Nonetheless, it gave her a chance to see Arnis Heart in the rain, with river fog giving away to heavy downpours that left the streets a reflective, rippling canvas that caught the lamps that fought away the gloom and the dark.

It served as a decent distraction from the drab, gray, stifling room the two were in after Lucretia browbeat her into this workstation, right after the witch had convinced Richard and the other concerned citizens of her neighbourhood that she wasn’t being hung by her thumbs

“We’ve received a partial confession from Teague, captain of the Grand Wolf,” The princess declared. “He does admit to being party to efforts to cultivate a weapon for assassination, but he refuses to name accomplices or targets.”

“He probably thinks that he’ll get a shiny medal and a nice tale of martyrdom after the transition of power,” Cerise scoffed while refixing her hat, something she would continue doing for several more minutes, same as every other time she went bereft of it for even a short while. “If your brother took over, he’d just bury the guy.”

“So goes the fates of beguiled puppets…” Lucretia cooly responded, as she shut the folder to turn her attention to her half-asset, half-detainee. “Teague only half-confirms your story. Enough to hold water, but it still puts me on the defensive, and just waiting for an assassination to happen instead of finding a culprit. I can’t go find an enemy while I’m shying from every shadow and mean look.”

The princess bristled slightly at the quirked eyebrow and droll comment sent her way. “I doubt you’re going to find anyone by stringing along the Guard and kicking down every door. I’m sure the locals are going to be happy to answer your questions after you went crazy in Wet Market Street. Whoever we’re after has gone to ground, and no amount of scorched earth is going to dig them up.”

“Compared to the Sant-Lumieres, that was the heart of discretion,” Lucretia retorted. “Actionable information leading to directed operations against known criminals. Of course, someone who crawls around in the mud with their ilk would probably ask me to call off the hunt and hide in a hole.”

“Yeah, well, considering right now you’re liable to literally puke up your guts from drinking a glass of water, I’d say you should thank me for trying to keep you alive and this nation in one piece,” Cerise hissed. “So listen to sense and stay in this damn Guard Station. It’s probably safer than being at the palace or University. Don’t eat private meals; go to the canteen with everyone else during the busy hours. The only way someone can get you here is if they somehow time their poisoning so everyone in the room starts choking at the same time.”

The witch patted her pockets, which had their confiscated contents returned to her, liquids jiggling within.

The princess made a sort of strangled noise of assent, and half turned in her seat grumpily and waved her hand to convey her “so be it”.

Cerise sighed herself and moved to a chair opposite of the blonde woman, and sagged into it heavily enough that the old wood seat squeaked at the joints for a second.

“Thank the spirits, though honestly you are being pretty restrained. With the way your brother goes on, it sounds like you’ve been chomping at the bit to go after Turmen since day one.”

Lucretia’s stare was stern and unpleasant. “Yes, because the Grand Wolf, of Turmen origin, crewed by Turmenese, hosting Turmenese agents, and hoovering up all manner of toxins, isn’t grounds for restitution.”

Cerise groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. This place wasn’t a fortress, it was a kennel to keep the princess inside. “Look, there’s tons of people in Turmen who’d be up to pulling this crap, just like I’m sure people in Arnis do in kind. What, it’s not beyond a merchant, banker, or enough angry students in one place to come here after your head? Hell, all we need is just one retired–”

Cerise mentally swerved before she finished saying “doctor”, as that example was far too much rope to offer little Lucy to strangle her with.

“--baker… with a chip on their shoulder. Heck, we know the Turmenese aren’t alone in this.”

“Yes, some sort of Sant-Lumiere holdout is collaborating with them,” Lucretia muttered disdainfully. “Unbelievable, the thought that there are survivors… certainly, if there’s anyone who’d be happy at my death…”

Cerise wasn’t really able to dignify that with an answer, and the conversation trailed off for a while, with only the distant thrum of falling rain to fill the air as they sat rudderless, and only able to protect themselves.

The witch could only hope that Ruben was being productive while she was gone, but then again, it was his sister’s life on the line.

Instead, Cerise found herself asking another question. “You seem to take the Sant-Lumiere issue a bit personally.”

The princess looked at her, and Cerise knew there was a spark of incredulity in the woman that she tried to fight down.

“They’re the enemy of Arnis, plain and simple,” Lucretia said. “You know their history. They set up our predating kingdom and used our people to build monsters, just to conquer more. Was it even a kingdom? It was more like a depraved family keeping a region in thrall.”

“Yeah, but they were before our time, right?” Cerise asked. “You didn’t grow up fighting the Sant-Lumieres yourself.”

“King Albrecht has.”

It verged on non-sequitor, and Cerise needed an extra second to parse the claim. “Huh?”

Lucretia’s blizzard-like frigidity, for a moment, ceased, features softening as she recalled the past. “My father fought them face to face in his youth, alongside his father. Even when the peace was won, he still spent decades finding and destroying their leftover creations. The Sant-Lumieres are sore losers.”

For a moment, Cerise could see the princess recalling another time, before she sharply turned her head and stared right back, eyes boring into the witch’s face.

“Good men and women returned to the barracks, covered in blood and what was left of each other. I remember it. My father needing doctors to peel off his armor that barely saved his life. Have you ever seen a wolf fashioned out of men? A boulder built out of people? I’ve seen arms carved into swords and whips made of spine and sinew.”

“I don’t know why the Great Spirits granted that bloodline the ability to mold flesh. No one good or sane willingly crafts warbeasts out of families. And yet someone wants them back on the throne.”

Cerise swallowed, and tried to fight off that burning uncertainty squirming around in her guts. She wondered if Lucretia noticed anything about her – because she could envision how to craft such monstrosities herself. It was easier than it looked.

At most, the princess scoffed loudly to herself.

“Why am I even mentioning this? You’re a nobody.”

“Well, jeez, thanks,” Cerise huffed, eyes rolling. “I’ve been told I have a calming presence. Like a pillow.”

Miraculously, a corner of Lucretia’s stern mouth lifted. Before shit bit back, though, Lucretia frowned and turned to the side.

“Do you hear that?”

There was a buzzing at the window. Something like the anxiety-inducing sound of a hornet or wasp tapping that thrummed and intermittently tapped at the glass window.

Cerise’s own concern matched the princesses. That was not a noise a rainy night should have had.

“What the…”

The buzzing grew.