Chapter 33: The Snake Approaches from the Darkness (2)

After the welcome ball dispersed, Anne did not change her clothes.

She sat on the windowsill of her own room, both legs dangling in midair, the heels of her jet-black high heels occasionally knocking against the outer wall.

The red formal dress lost its luster in the night and became a dull wine color.

A few strands of her rose-pink curly hair had come loose and were blown by the wind to stick against the side of her face.

She did not brush them away.

Students downstairs walked past in twos and threes.

Some were strolling; some were kissing in the shadows of the streetlamps.

Autumn in Paris was always like this—wet romance everywhere.

Anne set the champagne glass on the windowsill.

A last drop of liquid remained at the bottom of the glass.

The light of the streetlamp fell into it like a drowned gold coin.

She was thinking of Flora’s gaze.

Five years.

In five years of association Anne could, with her eyes closed, trace the arc of Flora’s smile—the corners of the mouth rising fifteen degrees, the eyes slightly curving, precisely exposing the middle value between gentleness and distance.

That was a trained smile.

Standard, proper, flawless.

Like a painting hanging in a museum that anyone could stop to admire, yet no one could take down.

But tonight was different.

Tonight on the dance floor, when Flora held that black-haired exchange student’s hand and spun, Anne saw those blue eyes light up.

Anne had never seen Flora look like that.

She stood in the crowd holding a wine glass and watched Flora’s skirt draw arc after arc under the lights, and suddenly felt a little cold inside.

That kind of unspeakable desolation was like a finger sliding across a piano string—without pressing hard, yet still producing a sound.

Then Flora released that person’s hand, said “meet at the old place,” and walked out through the front door.

Leaving the people in the reception hall to guess blindly.

Anne also wanted to guess.

But she did not like guessing.

She liked answers.

Footsteps came from the corridor.

The steps were very light, yet in the dormitory in the early hours of the morning even the lightest footsteps were like pebbles thrown into an empty stretch of water.

Anne did not move; she only tilted her head slightly.

She was very familiar with the sound of Flora’s walking.

The steps were small, the rhythm uneven.

After walking a few steps she would stop, look back to see whether she had dropped something, and only continue after confirming.

Her entire life had been walked in this manner—cautiously, frequently looking back.

Tonight’s footsteps were not quite the same.

The rhythm was steady, the stride large, without pauses.

Anne jumped down from the windowsill and smoothed her skirt.

Knock, knock, knock.

The knocking sounded.

Anne opened the door, and Flora stood in the doorway.

She had changed back into the uniform.

Golden long hair rested on her shoulders, tied into a loose lock with a vermilion silk ribbon, the same as usual.

She saw Anne and smiled once.

“Come in,” Anne stepped aside.

Flora walked into the room and stood still beside the desk.

Anne closed the door, leaned against the door panel, and folded her arms across her chest.

“You were very happy tonight,” she said.

“Mm.” Flora nodded.

“Some good things happened.”

“I could tell.” Anne said lightly.

“You danced so happily with that exchange student.”

“…Yes.”

“Then tell me. Coming to find me this late, what is it about?” Anne narrowed her eyes.

This was Anne’s habit.

She did not like preambles, did not like small talk, did not like beating around the bush in conversation.

If there was something to say, say it; if not, leave.

After daybreak everyone still had to attend class anyway.

Flora seemed somewhat embarrassed and stretched out a hand to scratch her head.

“I thought of a plan,” she said.

“I need your help.”

“What plan?”

“Uh, I want to participate in the imperial election.”

Anne’s fingers tapped once on her knee.

The sentence itself was not strange.

Flora was indeed one of the candidates for emperor.

What was strange was the tone.

Every previous time the Conference of Electors was mentioned, there had always been a subtle resistance in Flora’s voice.

But tonight, when this sentence came out, it was plain.

No resistance, no hesitation, no underlying color of “I am not worthy.”

“Ha? Are you serious?”

“Mm. I have never been this serious.”

Anne looked at her for a good while.

The light struck from the side, dividing her face into light and dark halves.

Anne looked at that familiar face and suddenly felt that something was not quite right.

“You are not her,” Anne said softly.

It was not a question.

The room was quiet for an instant.

The wind outside the window lifted one corner of the curtain and then let it fall again.

The other party’s expression almost did not change.

Then she sighed.

“From when did you begin to notice?”

The voice had not changed, yet the intonation had completely changed.

It was like the same piano being played by a different person.

Anne sat down on the chair opposite, leaned back against the chair, and crossed her legs.

“The footsteps,” she said.

“You walk like a person who has a clear destination. Flora is not like that.”

The corner of the other party’s mouth moved slightly.

It was a self-mocking smile, very faint, like ink dropped into water that disappeared before it could spread.

Then she stretched out a hand behind her head, untied that vermilion silk ribbon, and the long hair fell loose.

She placed the ribbon on the table, then stretched out a hand and removed that golden wig from the top of her head.

Beneath the wig was black short hair, slightly curled.

It was a face almost identical to Flora’s.

The positions of the features were roughly the same, and the outlines of the bones were also extremely similar, yet the black short hair thoroughly changed this person’s bearing.

If Flora was like a lake under moonlight, then the person before her eyes was a stream flowing out from between rocks—clear and sharp.

“Then who exactly are you?” Anne asked.

“As you know, my name is Claire.” Claire sighed.

“I apologize for meeting you in this manner.”

“Where is Flora?”

“She is elsewhere, handling other matters. She asked me to come find you.”

Anne did not pursue what Flora was doing.

She could see that Claire did not intend to answer that question.

“I have to say, your acting is very poor.”

Anne raised the water glass and took a sip.

When she set it back on the table the bottom of the glass produced a light knock.

Claire was silent for an instant.

“…Flora said you are the smartest person among those she knows.”

“She overpraises me,” Anne said.

“I only have good powers of observation.”

“She also said,” Claire raised her head and looked straight at Anne, “do not attempt to deceive you.”

Anne slightly raised one eyebrow.

“So?”

“So I also do not intend to deceive you.” Claire took a deep breath, and her tone became formal, as if a soldier straightening her back before making a report.

“I have come on behalf of Flora to discuss a serious matter.”

“Speak.”

“You know that Flora is not the only candidate for the imperial throne. According to the current situation she is the least favored one. In the eyes of the Southern Continent nobles she is only a vase princess.”

“I know this.”

Anne of course knew.

Flora’s situation was not a secret at Cité University.

It was like wallpaper in the corridor that everyone could see, only no one felt it necessary to peel it open.

“But the United Kingdom does not see it that way.” Claire continued.

“The Northern Continent has already decided to support Flora—not merely verbal support.”

Anne’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“What do you intend to do?” she asked.

“The United Kingdom will provide Flora with resources, intelligence, and diplomatic cooperation.” Claire’s speaking speed was neither fast nor slow.

“And now we need at Flora’s side a person who can influence Caroling’s stance.”

Anne slowly leaned back against the chair.

“You are saying that I should go influence my father’s stance.”

“Caroling is currently trying to please both sides. Your father understands better than anyone that this situation cannot last long. Rather than continuing to walk the tightrope between the Empire and the United Kingdom, it would be better to simply choose one side.”

Choose one side.

She said it lightly, yet placed upon the scales of history its weight was enough to completely overturn the balance that several generations had managed.

Anne did not hurry to answer.

She looked into Claire’s eyes.

Blue.

The same blue as Flora’s.

Yet Flora’s blue was the blue of the sky—distant no matter how one looked, always beautiful.

This person’s blue was the blue of the deep sea—quiet, yet with undercurrents beneath.

“Does Flora know you came to tell me these things?” Anne asked.

“I just said it was she who asked me to come.”

“What did she say?”

Claire paused for a moment.

“She said, ‘Anne will make her own judgment.’”

The sound of rain outside the window was very light, like someone tapping a very large drum with fingertips in a casual manner.

The streetlamp downstairs cast a blurred spot of light upon the glass, and the edge of the light spot trembled slightly in the rainwater.

Anne turned many thoughts over in her mind.

This was not a small favor.

This was a political transaction.

If she agreed, it meant Caroling’s stance would shift from ambiguous to clear.

It meant she would begin to use the name Anne of Normandy to pry open some things that a student ought not to touch.

It also meant that Caroling’s years-long strategy of balance would be broken in her hands.

Yet Anne did not hesitate for too long.

“Before discussing everything, I want to know—can you protect her well?”

This sentence slipped out of her mouth.

Anne herself was startled for a moment.

What she had originally wanted to ask was “How certain is your plan?” or “What if it is exposed?”—these were the questions Anne of Normandy ought to ask.

Yet when those words reached the edge of her lips they became this one sentence.

Claire looked at her, and those blue eyes likewise held no hesitation.

“I will.”

Three words.

Not the tone of a promise, but the tone of a statement.

She did not say “I will do my best,” did not say “I guarantee to you.”

She was simply stating a fact that had already been determined.

Anne stared at her for a few seconds.

“All right. I understand,” she said.

“But tonight I still cannot give you an answer. I need time to think carefully.”

Claire nodded.

She stood up and walked to the doorway.

When her hand rested on the door handle she paused for a moment.

“Anne.”

“Mm?”

“Flora said you are her only friend. Not the political kind.”

Anne’s expression did not change.

Yet the hand resting on her knee clenched tightly.

Her fingernails sank into her palm, leaving several small crescent-shaped marks.

“Enough. You should leave quickly,” she waved her hand, her voice lazy.

“Tell Flora that next time something like this happens she should come say it herself. My place is not a reception room.”

Claire opened the door and walked out.

The footsteps gradually faded in the corridor.

One step, two steps, three steps—the rhythm even, without looking back.

After the door closed the room returned to silence.

Anne leaned against the chair back and closed her eyes.

The imperial throne, the United Kingdom, diplomatic stance, father, the Conference of Electors.

In the end all the thoughts retreated like a tide, leaving only that final sentence.

You are her only friend.

Anne opened her eyes and walked to the window.

The rain was still falling.

Autumn in Paris was forever moist.

She pressed her forehead against the glass, and the coolness seeped in little by little through the skin.

So that was it.

Why Flora’s smile was always faint.

Because when she smiled, her heart held another person.

That person was not present, so that smile was forever a little short—the missing bit was called sincerity.

Why Flora always seemed to be waiting for something.

Because she was indeed waiting.

Waiting for a person who could take her away from this long drama.

Waiting for twelve years.

Anne of Normandy, the head universally acknowledged as the smartest at Cité University, had spent five years before she understood this matter.

No, that was not right.

Perhaps she had long since understood it and only did not dare to admit it.

She had thought that “not asking” was respect.

Not pursuing Flora’s silence, not exposing the emptiness in her smile, not touching those places she clearly did not want touched.

Yet perhaps “not asking” had never been respect.

Perhaps it was only fear—fear that after knowing the answer she would no longer be able to stand by Flora’s side as a matter of course the way she had before.

Now the answer had come.

The answer, wearing a familiar face, had walked into her room, sat on her chair, and told her with blue eyes identical to Flora’s: your best friend has performed a twelve-year play, and the person who can make her remove the mask is not you.

And Flora had not dared to come say it herself.

Anne lowered her head and looked at her own feet.

Bare feet stepped on the ice-cold floor, the toes slightly curling from the coolness.

“Idiot,” she said in a small voice.

“I’m not angry at all.”

The distant great clock struck three times.

It was three in the morning.

Anne retreated from the window and walked barefoot to the mirror.

In the mirror stood a girl whose makeup was already half ruined.

The infamous “wicked girl” Anne of Normandy now looked like nothing more than a somewhat disheveled female student.

“There are still classes tomorrow,” she said to her reflection.

The reflection did not answer.

The person in the mirror looked a little more tired than she did, and also a little more honest.

Then she went to wash her face.

When the cold water rushed over her skin the eyeliner and lipstick mixed together and dripped along her chin into the washbasin like diluted paint.

She removed her makeup, changed into nightclothes, and turned off the light.

Lying on the bed, she stared at the ceiling.

There was nothing on the ceiling.

No answers, no stars, no Flora’s face.

No matter who that person was, at least at Flora’s side there was someone willing to protect her.

That was enough.

As for why that person was not herself—

Anne turned over and buried her face in the pillow.

She would not think about it.

There were still classes tomorrow.