Ripple
Beneath a flash of light bright enough to blind.
Cane in hand, the barefoot girl stepped into the square that had been emptied so completely. The moment the crowd understood who she was, unrest broke through them.
"The Saintess...!"
People dropped to their knees in a rush behind her as Marta came on toward the platform, attended by a guard of light that not even the rain could breach. The sight alone became an enormous ripple and swept over the crowd in an instant.
"The Saintess..."
"My God..."
"L-Lisleia— Lady Lisleia is here too."
What filled their eyes was Lisleia of the Six Great Mages, and Saintess Marta. At the appearance of two figures who could rightly be called imperial in rank, the crowd, robbed now even of words, began to fill the square while taking the downpour full on their faces.
Up on the platform, Lisleia had been watching Marta draw nearer. She narrowed her eyes and turned to Mlnébeur.
"The Saintess?"
"She is the Saintess of this generation."
"Isabella's successor?"
"Yes."
By the time Mlnébeur had given her that answer, Marta had approached them with care and bowed her head in a humble greeting.
"I am honored to meet you, Archmage."
"And the Saintess has come all this way herself?"
"I was told a friend of mine had fallen into danger, so I came."
"A friend...?"
In place of an answer, Marta offered a gentle smile and let her attention travel over the platform until it stopped in one place. Blow stood there, his composure already recovered, and he turned toward her and bowed.
"I am honored to see you, Saintess."
"Young Master Blow. It has been some time."
"I did hear you were coming, but..."
"I had meant to arrive a little ahead of the people from the Magic Bureau. I was later than I expected. And because of that, a commotion that need never have happened..."
Gethier Ropert—the very man from the Magic Bureau in question—was still sweeping the pouring rain from his face with one hand as he looked at Marta. She stepped toward him and spoke softly.
"Once I have offered a prayer for those gathered here, might I be permitted a word?"
"We would be grateful if you would."
"Since Lady Lisleia has arrived, may I tell them the matter is finished?"
"The warrant has not yet been read aloud, so... p-procedurally, there is no problem."
"That's fortunate, isn't it?"
"Yes."
With that, Gethier, every bit of strength gone out of him, held the warrant out to the attendant at his side. Marta drew a deep breath, stepped to the front of the platform, planted her cane with one hand, and extended the other out at a slant. The crowd sank to their knees in succession, like drops falling one after another onto a still lake. As if she could see them, Marta left them a little room, and only when every one of them had knelt toward her did she open her mouth.
"I will pray for all of you gathered here. O Lady Lunaria, who looks down upon all of this—"
There was not a single magic circle, and yet her clear voice rang across the whole of the square. At a scene gone quiet in a way it had not been before, Lisleia was inwardly startled, and she whispered to Mlnébeur beside her, just loud enough to be heard.
"Shall I give my junior a hand?"
"Please do."
At those words an azure magic circle unfurled above Lisleia. The rain that had been lashing down ceased, and at last a clear sky showed itself. Before an audience marveling at the sight, Marta carried the prayer on for some ten minutes more.
And so, by her appearance, the square before city hall took on the air of a solemn rite. When the prayer was finished, Marta took one step closer to the crowd, brought her hands together, and spoke as if pleading with them.
"Archmage Lisleia of the Empire has arrived, and I myself mean to remain in this city for the time being and lend what strength I can, however lacking. Citizens, you may go home with your minds at ease."
"Then— then you mean you'll be staying at the Caipol cathedral for a while?"
An excited shout from someone in the crowd. Everyone else was glaring daggers at him, but Marta answered even that voice gently, as if to gather him in as well.
"Yes. For the time being, that is what I intend."
At those words the crowd, having already forgotten what had brought them here, spilled out of the square in the thrill of having seen the Saintess and an Archmage. Gethier approached with care the Lisleia who had been taking in the scene before her as if it interested her, and offered a bow.
"I greet you once more. Gethier, of the Imperial Palace Magic Bureau. I— I am honored to meet you, Archmage."
"Who the hell is this nobody I've never heard of?"
"......"
"Pink hair. A Ropert?"
"Yes. That's correct."
"Then undo it."
No sooner had she finished than Gethier himself released Mlnébeur's restraints. Lisleia added one more word, along with a sigh.
"Tell the Magic Bureau this. As decided at the last meeting, the Spirit of Space matter is mine to control."
"Yes, ma'am!"
"And tell them to prepare. We'll need a meeting this evening. I'm the one calling it."
"I'll relay it at once."
"And for the time being, I'll be the one giving you your work."
"Pardon?"
The moment the words left her, a violet magic circle bloomed in the empty air, and Hervena Westriver space-transferred in together with several people under restraint. Every one of them wore a robe and was bound; they were either muttering in a daze or had fainted outright. Gethier flinched at the sight of them and put his question to her carefully.
"These wouldn't be the ones who were targeting Lady Lisleia, would they?"
"That's right. You lot are going to look into these things that tried to kill me. Think I can trust you with at least that much?"
"W-we will obey."
Gethier, every muscle in his body gone rigid, was giving that answer when Blow's mouth fell open at the sight of Hervena dispersing her magic circle. For an instant he could not help but be stunned.
Redprine Blueos.
Several of her fingers were gone, for reasons he could not begin to guess, and she was looking up at him with a vicious smile.
Turning the clock back.
It was the very day articles about Blow and Lisleia were scattering through Caipol.
"What is it?"
Christina, Mlnébeur's teaching assistant, had come to the laboratory of a Hervena who had barely slept in days—dark circles under her eyes, the corners of them twitching—and was holding out a bottle of potion.
"Professor Mlnébeur says it is a gift for the top student of the course."
"A potion."
"Yes."
"Please tell the professor I'll drink it gratefully."
"Ah, Student Hervena."
"Yes."
"Professor Aurora asked to see you in her laboratory tomorrow, around three."
"Three o'clock."
"Yes."
"Understood."
"A perfect score again. Truly remarkable, Student Hervena. I'll be going, then."
With that, Christina disappeared down the corridor. Hervena shut the door and came back into the room, and into her ears came once more the knock she had grown sick of.
"I already said everything yesterday."
When she muttered it, an eerie voice answered again from the direction of the door.
"Words are the sort of thing that well up no matter how many you spend, aren't they? Just like a well."
"Enough. Every word out of you is useless. Fairy tales."
"And yet you keep talking with me. Doesn't that mean something has begun to stir in a corner of your heart?"
"Shut up."
"Haha. Shall we pick it up again in a little while, then? Today, let us go into some depth on the present order of things."
"I'll say it again. Touch the young master, and I'll kill every last one of you."
"And I will say it once more as well. We have no interest in Young Master Blow."
With those words the presence vanished all at once. Hervena yanked at her own hair, then glared at the door with her nerves scraped raw.
This made four days. That unidentified voice had not stopped speaking to her.
"Come over to our side, and I will even teach you this forbidden magic I am casting now. Isn't it a waste, Hervena, for an ability like yours to stay bound by the school's rules?"
Filth like that came thrown in for free. Swayed—where exactly was she supposed to be swayed, when she had been living happier these days than she had in a long while? Which was why, hours earlier, the moment she saw the article about Redprine, the fury had gone straight to the top of her head and she had been ready to storm out and kill Redprine on the spot. But just as she meant to step through the door, the man's voice came again, and she had no choice but to stop.
"The article is something we spread. Cooperate with us, and we will guarantee Young Master Blow's safety."
"What are you talking about? So Redprine is one of yours? You drop the young master into this mess and now you're going to guarantee his safety?"
"Yes. But it is true. Our interest lies in something other than Young Master Blow."
They would guarantee his safety. Turn the words over, and didn't they mean that if she refused to cooperate, those people might instead do Blow harm? The sliver of unease born of that thought bound her feet tight. If someone had to die, she would rather it be her. Blow in danger was worse to her than dying. She had even started to miss that nuisance Rachel, if only a little—which said all there was to say.
In the damned conversation that started up again after that, she strained to learn whether she could weed out the unidentified bastard, Redprine, and the "we" he kept mentioning, all in a single stroke. But whenever she tried to pry even a little of that out of him, the one beyond the door would turn the talk aside, smooth as anything.
"Come over to our side, and we'll talk. There is a great deal that is truly interesting."
Hearing it, Hervena fought to keep her head clear through the drowsiness crashing down on her, and thought:
...Should I just follow them and tear every one of them apart?
But there was no chance they wouldn't be ready for that. If she went recklessly, walked into a greater threat, and got herself caught—then she would only be piling more worry onto her young master.
And so the wretched hours passed. The next day, two forty in the afternoon. She had not slept a wink again, and she threw a coat roughly over herself and meant to step out, headed first for Aurora's laboratory. Once more that damned voice came from beyond the door.
"Off to the counseling room, I see."
"None of your damn business."
"What am I to do, now that I already know? We'll talk again when you return."
A voice that was nothing but clammy, no matter when she heard it. If the magic its owner was casting reached into the mind, then everything inside the counseling room would be under watch as well. Hervena hid the trembling of her hands as best she could and stepped outside the building. Because of what had come out yesterday, the students passing by were whispering this and that about her. But Hervena, who for days had managed nothing but snatches of sleep, heard the voices closing in from every side as if muffled, the way sound is underwater.
She barely made it to Aurora's laboratory on the third floor of Whittaker Hall.
When I get in there, I should ask for some cookies. Sugar makes my head work.
With that thought she opened the eyes she had gently shut and knocked.
"It's Hervena. May I come in?"
"Yes!! Come in!!"
...What?
There's more than one person in there?
Hervena, grown raw over one thing and another of late, hesitated a moment, and the door opened first from inside. What she saw was Mlnébeur Morgan. The instant she laid eyes on her she knew something was wrong, and her sleep blew clean away. Before she could do a thing about it, Mlnébeur caught her hand and pulled her in.
"Professor?"
"Startled you. Sorry."
What met Hervena's eyes was a laboratory that had been tidied with unmistakable care. In front of the bookcase filling the right-hand wall, Aurora, for some reason, stood with her hands clasped, smiling awkwardly and lifting one hand in a wave. And farther off, at the desk where Aurora ought to have been sitting, a woman with deep blue hair had her legs propped on the desktop, crunching cookies.
"So it's you."
"Who are you?"
"Who do you think."
With those words the woman came toward her as if gliding. In one light she seemed a child; in another, a girl around Hervena's own age; in another still, she looked older than Mlnébeur standing beside her. Hervena swallowed dryly and glanced aside. There stood Mlnébeur, her face tense in a way that did not suit her. Hervena's eyes went wide. She flinched, staring, and murmured.
"Lady Lisleia?"
"Took you long enough."
"What's this about? Me..."
"I'd like to be the one asking. Kid."
"What..."
"That thing you've got fastened at your chest."
No one had ever spoken to her of the bracelet she and Blow had shared. At the mention of it Hervena flinched and took a step back before she knew it. Lisleia let out a short laugh and pressed in close.
"What is that, exactly?"
"What? It's just a—"
"Depending on your answer, you could die."
And then magic circles summoned themselves before Lisleia. Hervena could not follow their formulas with her eyes. She felt crushed beneath an experience she was having for the first time, while Lisleia glared, drew a fingertip along the skin beneath her collarbone, and wore a meaningful smile.
"Look at it any way I like, that belongs to my old friend. Tana."
"Master!"
"Lady Lisleia!!"
No sooner had the words left Lisleia than Aurora and Mlnébeur cried out in shock. Only then did Hervena realize who had written A Memoir for the Understanding of Pain, the book she had seen in the underground archive—and a chill ran the length of her spine as her mouth fell open.