I Should Have Known It Was You

It takes time to arrange anything, especially a manhunt. While the Central Guard Station would have drawn eyes everywhere, and there would be a princess baying for Cerise’s blood, it didn’t change the fact it would likely take hours for the other Guard Stations to converge on their stricken sibling, get an accurate assessment, help the injured, and general establish some nominal order before they could listen to Lucy and charge after her wayward Sant-Lumiere – longer still to disseminate news to the populace that there was one at all.

And with Arnis still enjoying its bout of rain, Cerise expected that she had the remainder of the night to enjoy her anonymity as just another face in the crowd as they rushed from one rain spewing awning to the next as they headed for home or whatever other shelter.

No one was going to notice her as she walked aimlessly down these old slick streets, perhaps for the last time. She really didn’t know.

All that Cerise knew was that an era had ended for her.

Alleys were a little cliche, but they remained a perfect place to allow the witch duck out of the throng and catch her breath, even as she ignored the way the water blattered and spilled off the brim of her hat in heavy trails, or how her clothes uncomfortably stuck to her mottled, injured skin. She hadn’t the energy to fix it yet – she barely had the energy to stand and think at the same time.

But the horror stories kept coming up in her head, and perhaps those anxious thoughts kept her going. Once the news was out, she wouldn’t even have a hole-in-the-wall practice. There wouldn’t be neighbours to greet her good morning and good evening. Andrew and Damon would likely turn on her, as would Ruben, who had until now put up with all her snide side commentary.

She shouldn’t have taken him for granted. But she had spent too long assuming she would be stuck with him to understand what it would feel like to have him and the others painfully peeled away.

Now what?

Cerise turned and looked out to the streets, wondering about her destination. She had talked big about “finishing” what she had started, but as the frenzy drained out of her, all sorts of contingencies started suggesting themselves to her, with one in particular standing out from the rest:

Why not just leave? Arnis couldn’t hold her if she left now.

Her love for working here could only exist if she were loved in turn. Now that her sorry lineage would come out in the open, the sane thing would be to head back to her clinic, grab her travel pack and return to the road, following in the ways her mistress did. Old Candlethumb had warned her that this would eventually happen, right?

Let the spectre of Sant-Lumiere fade away. Let Cerise Candlethumb reemerge, fresh as a daisy as some new hermit in some new far-off city. Hadn’t she saved the princess’s life? Wasn’t the whole plot to install her on the throne without her permission? Without her being here at all, wouldn’t it all just fall apart?

Whoever knew of a Sant-Lumiere… that is, who knew of her…

The clues started piling up in Cerise’s mind, and her exhaustion ebbed now that there was something to distract her.

Because, at the end of the day, her ancestry had been one of the best guarded secrets. Her own mistress barely mentioned it out of a few passing references in Cerise’s childhood, when she had to make things clear.

The only other person Cerise could think of…

It was another cliche to be filled with anger all of a sudden from that flash of introspection. Her entire ill-planned expedition had been pushed from one upswell of rage to the next – at being backtalked, at being attacked, at being waylaid.

How many more times would she feel this sudden red-hot acid run up the veins of her neck and energize her brain, enough to ignore the cold water pouring on her?

It should have been obvious, but Cerise knew why she hesitated in pointing the finger. It didn’t make sense at first glance; she was grateful; she didn’t want to have Ruben get on her case. So she just hoped that she could just chase the other problems about the poison and head things before they got too bad, and that she could handle the situation later.

Well, look where that got her.

Cerise walked back into the streets. The crowds had thinned out a little, and everyone was so preoccupied with not being wet that they didn’t spare the soaked woman a second glance as she looked up at Arnis Heart’s great landmark, the clocktower.

The walk back to the University was a ponderous trek, mostly done on autopilot – she was too busy going over formulas and imagined conversations in her head, and it felt like she had been trapped in her head for all of five minutes before she looked up and saw that familiar archway, and blinked at the sight of a familiar face.

Ruben was slowed only by the umbrella he held over his head as rushed over to the witch, panic and fear clear in his wide eyes.

“What the hell, Cerise! You disappear for nearly a day after telling us to run off, and Lucretia wouldn’t tell us anything–” The prince babbled, before he took in all of Cerise’s battered appearance and welted, still healing face, and stared.

“Hey,” Cerise said, almost nearly grinning, even if her lips curled correctly and her teeth showed for a moment. “You were waiting for me?”

“...You’re not well,” Ruben declared, something princely taking hold again, as he grabbed her by the shoulder. “We need to get you inside and somewhere dry, you’re probably already sick.”

“Not yet,” Cerise staunchly refused, and Ruben could see something steely in her own gaze, still focused after everything. “Where’s Damon and Andrew?”

“Holding down the fort at their dorms,” He reported dutifully, despite a hint of unease at her continued intensity.

“Any Guards dropped by?”

“No,” Ruben answered again, before frowning. “Is something going on?”

For a moment Cerise was silent, and Ruben saw her turning the question over in her mind. Whatever was about to leave her mouth had weight – it wouldn’t be easy to say.

“Cerise, you can trust me,” He promised.

For an instant, the two locked eyes. Ruben wondered how often people were even able to look at one another like that, so two humans could register each other as peers.

And it was because Ruben became her peer that Cerise finally, slowly, asked: “Do you know where the headmistress is?”

It seemed like such an unexpected, irrelevant query. But the sternness of Cerise’s expression as it lay on her battered face said it all.

It was enough to set off settling implications, and Ruben found himself unable to speak for a second.

The headmistress. The headmistress. But… how… why…

Ruben stuttered. “Y-Yes…”

“C’mon, let’s talk to the old lady.”

Cerise gestured for Ruben to lead the way, and the two shared an umbrella as they walked forward into the rain, towards the Administration Building. It seemed Robin Sanarsmark enjoyed burning the midnight oil, but then again, someone of her position would likely work all hours, regardless of her age.

They finally reached the double doors of the elderly woman’s office. Ruben made to knock, but Cerise surged forward, water spilling about her as she slammed her palms into the wood and blew the doors open so they loudly slammed against the wood finishings of the interior.

There Robin was, standing by her desk as she quietly shuffled documents into a suitcase, while a bulging travelling bag sat on the sofa.

She turned to look at them and moved a hand to her heart in surprise.

Cerise glanced at the suitcase and noticed how much of its contents included stacks of money, neatly tied up and ready for transport.

Robin looked at the pair of young students, moving her head to and fro a few times, before settling on Cerise's unamused gaze.

The old woman gave a watery, unfulfilled, but friendly smile. “Cerise, Ruben, it’s… poor timing right now.”

“I know,” The witch answered. “That’s why it can’t wait.”