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Chapter Text

The monotony of these private war councils had become rather disheartening of late.

“The situation within the Alliance remains stable—up to a point,” Hubert said. “Our allies make little progress in engaging diplomatically with the other lords, and – well. Judith of House Daphnel is currently conducting ‘training exercises’ in Lord Gloucester’s lands.” He gave Edelgard a wry smile. “He seems to think making an aggressive move now would be a mistake.”

“So the situation there remains in a stalemate, just as Claude wishes it to.” Edelgard sighed. Four years of this and they were no closer to realising their dream. “If the Professor were here, perhaps things would be different.”

Hubert pulled a face. “The power of the Sword of the Creator would turn the tides.”

“More than that, she has a unique way of looking at the world. I’m sure she would be able to come up with a solution…”

“And so will you in time, Lady Edelgard.”

Hubert always had such faith in her, even now, when the borders of the Kingdom had barely moved at all. What little ground they’d gained had no real strategic value to them or to their enemies. The Alliance quagmire was another reminder of how much she’d failed to achieve – and she felt the press of time more and more. But they could hardly afford to take decisive action against the Alliance and open up a war on two fronts…

Edelgard paused. She’d always assumed that they would have to fight Claude – the only conclusion she could draw from Claude’s constant manoeuvring to keep the Alliance intact and under his command. But Byleth’s faith in her had shown her that unexpected allies could be found if she was willing to extend her hands. It would be an insult to her teacher if she failed to consider all possibilities, even if she thought the chances of them working were low. And whilst it was a longshot, it offered the possibility of avoiding conflict altogether… even if it did not work, they might have the opportunity to learn more about their foe.

“Actually, Hubert, I have a proposal.”

“Oh? Excellent.” Hubert set aside the stack of reports he’d entered with and picked up a blank paper and a quill to take notes. “What is your plan, Lady Edelgard?”

At least he listened to all of her explanation before folding his arms and saying, “Absolutely not.”

Edelgard sighed. It wasn’t like Hubert to reject any suggestion out of hand, but he also found it difficult to trust… something she could understand, but which she was determined not to let hold her back from other possibilities. “You will have to explain your reasoning.”

“Lady Edelgard, it’s—” He seemed to struggle to find the words, and he was fidgety in a way which was rare for him, his flexing fingers almost completely hidden by the folds of his coat. “It’s preposterous that you should have to offer yourself to this man,” he said, eventually, in a calmer tone. “He’s an outsider and we know very little of his motives, except that he’s placed himself in opposition to you.”

“Then the negotiations ought to reveal more of his character,” Edelgard countered. “You’ve always said that knowing a man is key to understanding his actions. If we know Claude even a little better, we’ll be better able to anticipate his moves.”

Hubert frowned. “And this is sufficient reason to offer him your hand in marriage, Lady Edelgard?”

“I have no intention of accepting him as a husband unless I can be sure it would be to our benefit,” she said. She couldn’t help being a little confused – Hubert seemed so resistant, but he was offering so little logic by way of objection. “We have always agreed that a political marriage might be necessary for our plans, and if we can come to some arrangement which integrates the Alliance into the Empire, a political match is a small price to pay for avoiding conflict with them.”

“I understand, but…” Hubert sighed. “Have you not always said that you felt sure the professor would return to us one day?”

Edelgard did believe that. She knew it seemed to illogical on the face of it, and she could not really give a reason why she felt so strongly that Byleth must still live – it was like a part of her was connected to the professor, a phantom pulse that sometimes echoed in Edelgard’s head during quiet moments.

She just knew somehow that their dearest teacher would return to them someday. But she owed it to her people – to the people of all of Fódlan – not to live only for that wish.

“I can’t only wait for Byleth to come back and offer her expertise,” she said quietly. “As much as I wish she were here, if we have a plan which might change the course of this war, we have to act on it.”

“Yes, but…”

Whatever Hubert’s resolve was, it weakened. She watched it die in the hardening of his expression. Hubert had always been quite contrary like that; in order to deceive people, he let his face remain neutral and relaxed when he had some purpose in mind. Edelgard knew, of course, as she knew him better than anyone, however little he liked to tell her personally.

He sighed and bowed. “Very well, Lady Edelgard. I will have an offer drawn up for your approval immediately.”

“Thank you, Hubert. I appreciate your efforts.”

Even if she wished that he would see fit to confide in her more… perhaps he would tell her his real reservation another time.

*

“Huh? This is weird.”

Claude was more than happy to have an excuse to look up from decoding reports from his spies. “What’s up, Hils?”

“Ugh, I told you not to call me that.” She shook her head, but it wasn’t as funny to tease her since she got rid of the stupidly long pigtails. Now dear old Hilda’s hair, kept long but away from her face, was practically… well, practical. “Never mind, that only encourages you. Anyway, we received a diplomatic missive from the Empire.”

“A diplomatic missive… Wonder what it’s about.”

As the Alliance and the Empire were not officially at war, there was in theory nothing wrong with this. House Gloucester received diplomatic missives from the Empire all the time; private ones, as was their right as one of the five major houses in the Alliance. Claude hadn’t even interfered with most of it, as it wasn’t worth pissing off the other houses by violating their rights.

To have the Empire send one to him, though, made him pretty curious.

Hilda’s eyebrow twitched. “Have you considered opening it?”

“In a minute.” He knew he’d left his riding gloves in the drawers of this desk somewhere… “There might be a contact poison soaked into the paper.”

There was a quiet slap of parchment hitting the floor. He glanced up with confusion to find the gloveless Hilda giving him a disgusted look. “You what?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about it,” Claude said. “The contact poison wouldn’t be placed on the envelope – makes the scheme a bit obvious, you know, if everyone who touched it before me dropped dead suddenly.”

“And what if I’d decided to open it by myself?!” She sighed, ignoring that of course she should never open Claude’s correspondence without his leave, since she’d already been doing for the past four years and now would be a bad time to start complaining. “Honestly, Claude, I’m not one to lecture anybody about responsibility, but you really have to warn people about these things.”

The way she maintained this belief that she was a totally irresponsible person with no authority whilst being his right hand in Dedriu was kind of adorable. The fact that everyone else fell for it just made it admirable, too.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. But in seriousness, Hubert’s people haven’t killed anyone that way for several years. Since before the war.” He’d only traced that death to Vestra after the battle of Garreg Mach, of course, or he would’ve been more prepared to meet Edelgard in battle. “Maybe he thinks it undermines the Emperor’s power to use such underhanded tactics now that she’s officially ascended. It’s better safe than sorry in my case, though, don’t you think?”

“Uh, and in mine,” Hilda said, but the venom had gone out of her voice and he knew she was just complaining for the fun of it now. She only proved his point when she picked the letter back up again and dropped it onto his desk. “Just open the thing, I want to know what it says!”

Claude finally found the gloves and made a show of slowly pulling them over his hands, making Hilda sigh. But he was equally curious as to what had prompted the Empire to write to him, so it wasn’t long before he’d torn it from the envelope and begun to read it.

Then he read it again.

And again.

Okay… well played, Edelgard, I have to admit that I didn’t see that coming.

“What does it say?” Hilda demanded.

Claude turned it over to her to see for herself. “It’s not poisoned,” he assured her. Oh no, the Emperor was far more ambitious than that.

“Hey, this is in Edelgard’s handwriting.” Hilda frowned. Of course she would know that sort of thing. “She wrote to you personally…”

Claude watched with amusement as her eyes grew wider and wider until they were nearly ready to pop out of her head. “It’s a very interesting proposal, huh?”

“It’s a very literal proposal, Claude!” She groaned. “Goddess, why would she want to marry you?”

He gave a fake gasp as though wounded. “You could sound a little less surprised.”

“That’s not what I mean!” Hilda said snippily. “Although, yes, I was sure she was head over heels for that Professor Byleth… that’s beside the point! Why would she offer you her hand in marriage when she knows you won’t accept?”

“On the contrary, I absolutely have to accept,” Claude said. “Or at least look like I’m seriously considering it.”

“What.”

“Don’t you see what an opportunity this is?” Hilda normally had an excellent instinct for these things, so he suspected she might have stopped reading after she got to the offer of marriage. “She’d even offered for the negotiations to be conducted in person. She’s practically inviting us to place a spy in her upper echelons. It’s brilliant.”

Hilda groaned. “Not only are you going to accept, but you want to negotiate with her directly?” He watched her eyes flicker as she scanned her paper, and her exasperation changed to a concerned frown. “She wants for your negotiator to come to Enbarr… Claude, this is really dangerous. And who’s going to take care of things here if you go?”

“Well, you would, obviously,” he replied, ignoring her squawk of protest. “But I don’t think it will be as dangerous as all that. Enbarr is the centre of Edelgard’s power, especially as she’s had all these years to remove those opposed to her. Knowing that my death would certainly mean the Alliance going to war with the Empire – even Lord Gloucester wouldn’t stand for that insult – it will be in her best interests to have me protected even more carefully than any representative I might have chosen.”

“Lord Gloucester hates you with a passion.”

“Yeah, but he also wants to be the next leader of the Alliance territories,” Claude said, “and not feel like he could be bumped off whenever it was convenient.”

She groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Why do you have an answer for everything?” she asked, her voice muffled. “I’m going to end up going along with this madness, too…”

Claude grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

Hilda’s posture relaxed suddenly, and she emerged from her hands with a smile that sent shivers down his spine. “Well, it’s not all bad. I have to see you run the idea past Judith first.”

His smile faded. Uh… shit.

“I’m sure I can convince her,” he said out loud. You know… eventually.

“Maybe, but she’ll want to beat the crap out of you to ‘test your will’ first.” Hilda gave him a bright and innocent look. “And I’ll be there to witness the whole thing – as your support, of course!”

*

Judith’s response was predictably negative and loud, but she felt better about it after sparring with Claude and leaving a few bruises. ‘Every one is a lesson,’ she told him, ‘on how to do better next time. And I’ll need to beat even more lessons into your head if you insist on going there alone.’

Yes. Far too much like Mother.

Claude’s first instinct was to go alone to the Empire and he stuck stubbornly to the idea through legions of objections and a slow exchange of letters as the negotiations progressed. He didn’t want to have to worry about keeping any allies abreast of his plans, which could change rapidly, or, well… in an absolute worst case scenario, no need to have more people aboard the sinking ship, right?

Going in person also had advantages. Observations even from trusted confidants couldn’t beat getting your own first-hand impressions. On top of that, Edelgard would be forced to offer a political hostage of roughly equal value – and the only fitting candidate was her second-in-command and spymaster, Hubert von Vestra. Anything else would be a grave insult. Claude, specifically, would be highly insulted and probably cry.

Separating Edelgard from her man in the shadows really opened up possibilities for him, snooping in on places and people he shouldn’t. Maybe he would even get the chance to have some real conversations with the lady herself and trick her into spilling a little more than she intended if he was especially clever. And there was the opportunity to put a certain spin on it…

Claude thought it was a decent plan, all told, and with the new month dawning, the time fast approached for him to put it into action.

*

The trip to Garreg Mach was tense – not as Edelgard would have wished it, since she did not expect to see Hubert or Dorothea for several months.

“I don’t like this,” Hubert muttered.

If he wanted to raise a sincere objection, he would have done so before they were less than a mile from Garreg Mach. The familiar countryside sent a painful stab of nostalgia through Edelgard’s heart. She couldn’t put into words how much she missed those peaceful days—lessons with the professor, spending time with classmates in the dining hall, being able to feel like she had no worries beyond their next assignment…

One day, she would restore Garreg Mach to its former glory. Let students of the future have the happy, uneventful schooling that she and the others had not. Not that I have anyone to blame but myself.

“Lady Edelgard?”

Hubert’s voice roused her from her thoughts. She blinked. “I’m sorry, Hubert, I was… distracted. Did you say something?”

“No. You merely seemed uncomfortable.”

Edelgard turned her gaze out of the window again. Despite the stark trees and the patches of snow blanketing the land, the scenery was still beautiful. It seemed nearly untouched. She could almost believe a battle had never taken place here at all. “I was just thinking about when we were students here. I miss it, I suppose.”

“It wasn’t an unpleasant time,” Hubert admitted. “But what you are doing now is more important, Lady Edelgard. For the future of Fódlan.”

“I know.” She did know, and yet… the harsh necessities were difficult to bear at times.

Hubert seemed to consider the matter closed. After a short pause, he said, “Why would he ask to meet at Garreg Mach? He knows this is Empire territory; it would have made more sense to meet at the Bridge of Myrddin. Not that I am displeased, as it is much safer for you Majesty, but I cannot fathom what he is thinking.”

“Maybe it was simply more convenient,” Edelgard replied. “If you spend so much of your energy analysing every single decision Claude makes, you’ll drive yourself mad.”

“But there must be a reason,” Hubert insisted.

Edelgard raised an eyebrow. “And if you’ll remember, I have an order for you to treat this as a chance to rest. You’ve been working yourself too hard.”

“I do what I must to best serve you, your Majesty.”

She resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. Hubert was an invaluable ally, who had stood by her through everything… and yet sometimes it was like trying to reason with the walls of Garreg Mach. “Well, now you must rest.”

Hubert made a disgruntled noise and did not reply. Edelgard doubted that she’d really gotten through to him, but he wouldn’t be able to get up to anything too strenuous whilst in Dedriu.

…She hoped.

The rest of the journey was spent in quiet contemplation. When the carriage drew to a halt, Edelgard immediately recognised the flag of House Riegan, as well as House Daphnel. Hm. Not House Goneril, though… perhaps Hilda had remained in Dedriu. Their information said that Claude had been relying on her recently, so it wasn’t likely she had been shut out altogether. They seemed to have become quite close…

And his friendship with the Hero of Daphnel was already well known.

“Your Majesty,” Lady Judith said, extending a scarred hand to help Edelgard down the carriage steps.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dorothea from the second carriage waving away some guards who looked like they wanted to intervene. She was always quick to appreciate the symbolic importance of gestures such as this. Maybe the joke she’d made about the Mittelfrank Opera Company preparing her for politics wasn’t so far off.

Edelgard accepted Judith’s hand with a nod of recognition. “Thank you, Lady Judith.”

As her feet hit the ground, Judith let go. “Took a look around while we were waiting for you,” she said curtly. “Your men pass muster, I suppose.”

Edelgard couldn’t exactly blame her for her caution, or the near hostility. “I’m glad to hear everything met with your satisfaction,” she demurred. “My men will be pleased to hear such praise from the Hero of Daphnel.”

“Hmph.” If Judith was mollified by the compliment, she didn’t show it. “I would speak with Duke Riegan before the two of you make the final arrangements. If your Majesty would not mind waiting a few more moments?”

Edelgard inclined her head. As the party making the offer of alliance and marriage in the first place, it behoved her to be accommodating. A small gesture, but the impact of a good impression was not to be undervalued. “Of course. Send a message when the duke is ready to receive us. In the meantime, I will speak with the commander here.”

Judith gave a shallow bow and walked away without further comment.

“She ought to treat you with more respect,” came Hubert’s voice at her shoulder.

Edelgard sighed. “She has no reason to. And plenty of reason to be nervous about meeting here.”

“She should raise that with the duke, then.”

Hubert was right, as much as she wished him not to drive himself mad over it. It was an odd choice to meet here. Even as equals at Garreg Mach, she had never pretended to understand Claude’s character. Maybe she would learn more about him and make sense of his decisions during their ‘discussions’ in Enbarr. At the very least, she was sure he must have some reason behind it. Claude was certainly not stupid.

Rapid footsteps signalled Dorothea’s arrival. She linked her arm through Edelgard’s with an easy smile, ignoring Hubert’s frown. “So that was the Hero of Daphnel, huh? She’s more beautiful than the stories say. I was expecting a soldier through and through, but she has a certain elegance about her as well, doesn’t she?”

“I suppose her reputation is quite intimidating,” Edelgard replied. “Perhaps that causes people to dwell more on her exploits than her person.”

“At least I can look forward to correcting this dreadful oversight.” Dorothea laughed. “And look forward to getting to know the lady herself.”

“You truly know no fear,” Hubert said dryly. “Do remember that we have an actual purpose in being in Dedriu beyond flirting.”

Dorothea waved his objection away. He followed behind them as Edelgard lead the way towards Commander Randolph, whilst Dorothea continued, “I wonder if Claude is still as handsome as he was during our Academy days. If he is, I’ll be quite jealous, Edie.”

Edelgard smiled. “That’s not the point, but…”

Dorothea’s eyes glittered with mirth. “But a nice bonus, right?”

She effortlessly kept up a light conversation until the commander came out to greet them. He saluted smartly. “Your Majesty!” He bowed to Hubert and Dorothea. “My lord, my lady.”

“At ease,” Edelgard said. She quite liked Randolph. Although he had no blood relation to Caspar, he struck her as a similar soul… optimistic. And, of course, he was as talented a soldier and military commander as any of House Bergliez. “Anything to report, Commander? Has there been any disturbances? Signs of intrusion by the Kingdom or the Knights of Seiros?”

“Nothing of the kind, Your Majesty,” Randolph said. “And I have made sure to double the patrols as you suggested.”

It was what their scouts had reported, but hearing it directly still gave Edelgard a sense of relief. “I’m sure you have been extremely vigilant. Even the Hero of Daphnel found it in her to praise your arrangements here.”

Despite his attempt at seriousness, Randolph’s face lit up at the compliment. “She did?!” He cleared his throat. “Er… of course, I will find time to thank her for this kindness before the party from the Leicester Alliance leaves, Your Majesty. And thank you for conveying Lady Judith’s words.”

“Is there anything else?”

“If you have time to spare, Your Majesty, I’m sure the troops would be gladdened to hear from you in person.”

“Of course,” Edelgard said. “It is the least I can do for all their efforts.”

Such ‘meet and greets’, as Dorothea called them, had always been exhausting for Edelgard, but she made herself speak to every soldier with kindness and a smile. It really was the very least she could do. Their enthusiasm was overwhelming, and she couldn’t help wincing internally as they heaped praise on her. It felt quite unearned.

Dorothea’s presence was a blessing. Her warmth – metaphorical and literal – at Edelgard’s shoulder helped her feel more at ease, and she was able to chip in with comments when Edelgard struggled to find something to say.

Still, it was something of a relief when the messenger came from the Alliance party and she was called away. “Thank you for your help,” she made sure to say to Dorothea under her breath.

“Any time, Edie!”

Edelgard’s thanks were sincere, but it still felt hollow when the closeness was partially for show. Not that she didn’t think of Dorothea as a friend, or found shows of closeness unwelcome, but… oh, there was always another layer to it. Despite her many talents and her own fame, Dorothea had little apparent value as a hostage to the Empire’s good will unless she was seen to be a close personal friend of Edelgard’s.

She tried to put those thoughts aside for now. She would need her wits about her for the meeting with Claude and Judith.

The Alliance messenger led them to the old cathedral, which was little used by the troops in the area and the closest thing to a private space Edelgard had been able to provide. She was embarrassed by the poor state of repair. I wonder if we can spare some resources to begin fixing it up? Regardless of how it’s been used by the Church, it’s still a beautiful building, important to the history of Fódlan.

Edelgard was a little too focused on trying to work out if the structural integrity of the building had been compromised, because it didn’t full register that they were in the presence of Duke Riegan until Dorothea whispered, “Ooh, damn.”

Edelgard blinked and found herself looking at Claude Riegan for the first time in five years.

He reacted with a broad smile. “Hello, Edelgard. You’ve certainly grown easy on the eyes.”

Compliments. Flirting. There was a certain amount of artistry to it which Edelgard had never grasped. At least on this occasion she couldn’t go wrong with being honest. Claude wasn’t so different. His hair fell in the same waves of russet-brown, the sun-kissed skin still made a stunning contrast to those bright green eyes… yes, he was as good looking as he’d ever been. “You look very handsome yourself, Claude. You look… mature. It suits you.”

“I miss the braid,” Dorothea whispered.

Edelgard found that she rather preferred him without it. The sideburns—the missing braid—made him him seem less boyish. He looked like somebody one might rely on.

“How delightful to see you after all these years,” Claude said. “We never did spend much time together at the Academy, did we?”

Her heart sank. The pleasantries were over already. And whose fault was that? he must be insinuating. Not entirely hers, she felt. Claude had very carefully kept everyone at arm’s length. Still, standing in the ruins she had made, it was hard to hold this recalcitrance against him. Could he really come to see eye to eye with her? She had vowed to try, but…

“I’d love to catch up,” he continued, “but I think Judith is getting a little antsy… besides, we’ll have time for that in Enbarr, won’t we?”

He said it in the same light and lyrical manner, but still managed to make it sound vaguely threatening.

I hope I don’t regret this…

Chapter Text

Hubert had been against this idea from the start, and meeting Claude in person only strengthened his belief. He practically oozed insincerity.

…He had not done his best for Her Majesty, being unable to convince her to abandon the idea. ‘Claude is untrustworthy’ was not a compelling enough reason, it seemed. Perhaps when she saw how untrustworthy…

Her Majesty laughed at something Claude said. Hubert hadn’t heard it, but he recognised the laugh as a genuine one, not the false chuckle she used whilst tolerating the nobles at court.

“Hubert, you have to relax,” Dorothea hissed. She stood barely an arm’s width away, but she spoke in such an undertone that Hubert had to strain to hear her. “People are going to think you’re about to assassinate Claude if you keep glaring at him like that.”

“I am not planning anything of the sort,” Hubert replied. That would be a terrible thing to do at this juncture. And right in the open! Dorothea ought to know him better. “I am only concerned that Lady Edelgard may be letting her guard down—”

Dorothea frowned. “Claude is funny and personable; she’s just showing her honest reactions. They’re supposed to be getting married. She can’t just give him the stoic Emperor treatment.”

Hubert understood the logic – if Claude made a personal connection to Edelgard, he would be more likely to become their genuine ally, and all the advantages that entailed.

If. Claude, he was confident, would do no such thing. As an outsider with little known of him, Hubert had naturally observed Claude carefully at the Academy. He had learned little concrete information precisely because Clause did not share—did not show true openness—with anyone. Every move he made was guarded, every word he spoke calculated.

Hubert had great faith in Her Majesty, but he found it difficult to believe the possibility of her exposing a chink in Claude’s armour was worth the risk of inviting such a duplicitous individual to the capital.

And… he worried that Lady Edelgard would trap herself in an agreement she would later regret making. If the professor returned…

Dorothea sighed. “At least stop the glaring.”

Well, if she thought it was so offensive…

Hubert folded his arms and made an effort to direct his attention elsewhere. He ought, perhaps, to take more interest in the exchange, as it concerned a potential risk to his own life, but he had already given Her Majesty as much advice as she would heed, and now his only role left was to serve her interests and go where she directed him.

After all this time, Hubert had… not inconsiderable faith in the other Black Eagles. They would do their utmost for Lady Edelgard. But he could not help the niggling fear that sending himself away would be a mistake – that something might befall her and he would not be there to stop it.

“It will be fine, Hubert,” Dorothea said. “Don’t worry so much.”

He couldn’t work out what tell of his emotional state she’d identified and narrowed his eyes at her.

She gave him quite a bright, innocent smile in return.

…Some of the Black Eagles had begun to read him rather well. It was uncanny and, to be frank, disconcerting. Hubert might have learnt to trust them, but he had no desire to be their friend or to be read like an open book.

“So it’s settled, then!” Claude declared, clapping his hands together in quite a theatrical manner. “We’ll arrange another meeting at Garreg Mach three months from now and revisit the arrangement. Until then, I look forward to you showing me the wonders of the Empire, Edelgard.”

“I have confidence they will impress,” Her Majesty replied, rising from her seat. “I trust that Hubert and Dorothea will have an equally enjoyable time in Dedriu. I hope their magical expertise will prove useful to you.”

“I also hear Dorothea is a wonderful singer.” Claude grinned. “Maybe she can teach Judith some tricks? To hear her sing after a night on the town would kill lesser men.”

So would the glare Lady Judith was sending his way. Hubert didn’t doubt that in other circumstances, she would have outright protested, but she seemed to wish to defer to the Duke’s authority in a formal meeting. Her manner was stiff when she said, “If all is concluded, we should make our preparations to leave.”

Claude’s close relationship with the Hero of Daphnel was one of the few things anyone could say about him – after all, she had introduced him to the former Duke, his grandfather. Why she’d taken such a shine to a mysterious prodigal son of House Riegan remained a mystery.

Maybe it was something Hubert would be able to unravel during their time in Dedriu. She must know something of where Claude had come from.

“Ah, of course,” Lady Edelgard said. “It is a long journey for all of us.”

Judith turned to Lady Edelgard with a more in-character flintiness and added, “I am entrusting you with the Duke’s safety. See to it that my trust is not misplaced.”

“I shall guard him with my very life,” Lady Edelgard said, quite serious.

Hubert twitched. Lady Edelgard, please do not endanger your own person for this man.

“In return, I naturally expect that Dorothea and my Minister of the Imperial Household will come to no harm,” Lady Edelgard continued. “Although I’m sure you’ve taken all necessary precautions.”

“And then some,” Claude said. He winked and nudged her, making her blink in surprise and then offer him a tight smile.

Hubert tried to make his hands look less like they were grasping for a weapon.

“Come on, we should say our goodbyes to Edie,” Dorothea said. “Of course I’ll send letters as often as I can, but it’s not the same as being able to see each other in person.”

This time, Edelgard gave a more genuine, amused smile. “I’m sure you’ll survive – it is not as though you are going away forever.”

A lot could happen in three months. Hubert had made the security arrangements in Enbarr as safe as he could, but without being there in person…

Something of his concern must have been noticeable to Lady Edelgard, because she sighed upon seeing him. “I promise all will be well, Hubert,” she said. “Do take this opportunity to rest yourself whilst you can.”

He bowed. “As you say, Your Majesty.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him for you, Edie,” Dorothea added.

“It would ease my mind if you could, of course, but you’re already doing me a great service simply by being here…”

Partly true and partly a show for Judith and the rest of the Alliance personnel. If their ruse held, it would do a lot to ease his concerns.

Hubert was forced to amend this thought when the time came to separate and Her Majesty began to walk away with the duke, their heads already bowed together in conversation, whilst Judith von Daphnel gestured towards the carriages bearing the banner of the Alliance houses. It’s better than nothing, but I cannot help this deep unease… Lady Edelgard… be safe.

This thought occupied him until he and Dorothea were embroiled away in their own carriage and the slow swaying of the vehicle told him they were on the move.

“I didn’t take you for such a worrier.” Dorothea shook her head. “You know you left me to carry an entire conversation with Lady Judith by myself? It’s a good thing no one expected you to be friendly in the first place.”

“I still have my misgivings about the whole endeavour,” Hubert said. Being called ‘a worrier’ implied that he was fretting over nothing. The risks to Lady Edelgard’s life were all too real.

“Well, it’s a bit late to voice them now, isn’t it?” she replied dryly. “Let’s just… concentrate on what we’re supposed to be doing.”

She was right in this respect, of course. If anything did happen to Edelgard, he would be too far away to prevent it… just like the last time. It was like nothing had changed at all.

“You’re supposed to be the expert on this occasion,” Hubert said. “What would be your first point of action when we enter the city?”

*

Edelgard would have dearly loved some time to herself before being thrown into a long journey in an intimate space with Claude von Riegan, but her gentle suggestions that he might have been tired from his own journey and want to be alone for the first leg of the journey had been brushed aside.

So she found herself sitting directly opposite a grinning Claude, their knees virtually touching, trying not to look too much like a cornered animal.

“Edelgard—” Claude paused. Or made a show of pausing? Everything he did seemed quite smooth and natural, but… “You agree there’s no need for the titles and all that formal nonsense in private, right?”

“Oh, of course,” she replied.

Claude smiled. She was reminded of something Byleth had mentioned in the Academy—Claude’s smile never reached his eyes. And Manuela’s only contribution about Claude’s character had been that ‘he trusted no one’.

I wonder what made him that way…

“So. Edelgard. You’ve been a busy bee these past years.”

“As have you,” she replied. She did not really want to begin a discussion about the war in a state of exhaustion. “I’d say you’ve taken to politics very well, considering you were totally unknown to House Riegan… hm, was it six years ago, now, that you were introduced yourself to your grandfather?”

“Seven years, give or take,” Claude corrected. The easygoing, light-hearted manner and smile hadn’t altered a bit, but he changed the direction of the conversation by saying, “But, you know, I’ve had good help. You rely on your old classmates a lot, huh? I notice they all have places in your Empire now… even Dorothea.”

Was ‘even’ Dorothea supposed to mean something? Edelgard found him almost impossible to read—she couldn’t even tell if the reference to his mysterious past had disturbed him or he just felt like talking about something else. He’d been tight lipped about the subject in the past, but did it still bother him?

This was still a place where honesty was the best policy, though. She was trying to win him over to her cause. “Well, they’re all extremely talented individuals. I would be foolish not to welcome their contributions. Especially Dorothea, who hasn’t had the advantages of the others.”

“Not had the advantages, huh.” Claude looked thoughtful. “I suppose that’s why you were impressed by my political talents, then? You don’t think I’ve had the same advantages?”

…Was he implying she was wrong to infer that? Ugh, she really could not read him at all. “I have no way of knowing,” Edelgard replied carefully, “but adapting to a new environment always presents a challenge.”

“How do you think I’ll fare in the Empire, then?”

“It is my aim to make it a place in which anyone can achieve their potential—in which anyone can be welcome,” she said, “so I hope it will not be long before you consider it a second home.”

“A second home?”

Was it her imagination, or did Claude look at her with slightly sharper eyes for a moment?

“You make it sound very inviting,” he said – he laughed suddenly. “But I suppose you would, wouldn’t you? Still, you’ve made me look forward to seeing the place for myself.”

Edelgard couldn’t help the proud smile that broke through her calm mien. “I have several things I’d like to show you!”

Many of the schemes were only trial runs on a small scale, things she hoped to expand further into Adrestia as time and the war allowed, and eventually the whole of Fódlan, if they proved successful. If she could show Claude that joining the Empire would be to the benefit of him and his people… She didn’t know him well, but she couldn’t believe him to be callous and driven only by self-interest. If she…

Claude was smirking at her. “You’ve got things to show me, Edelgard?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Edelgard blinked at him. She felt her cheeks begin to redden as his meaning slowly dawned on her. “I—wha—that is not what I meant!”

He laughed. “I know, I know, but I couldn’t resist teasing you.”

Her whole face felt like it was burning. How humiliating, to be caught in such a… a rudimentary innuendo!

“Although—” Claude leaned further forward into the small space between them, and to her dismay, Edelgard found herself making a small squeak of surprise. “—if you look this cute when you’re flustered, I might have to do it more often!”

His eyes were a startling green up close—like emeralds. It was a fleeting, overly romantic thought, but it didn’t help Edelgard’s blush. She ducked her head, staring at her hands on her knees and willing them not to tense. “I’m glad one of us finds it amusing.”

The carriage seemed unbearably stifling all of a sudden, but she didn’t want to look ridiculous by asking to stop for fresh air.

“Tell me about Dedriu,” she blurted, the first topic that sprang into her mind. Her tongue felt heavy. “I’ve never been there.”

“You haven’t?” Claude asked. His voice was pitched a little lower, almost like a purr, and seemed to reverberate around the small space, making Edelgard squirm with discomfort. “Perhaps I can show you the sights sometime. It’s supposed to bode well for your marriage to honeymoon in Dedriu.”

“Is that so?” Edelgard had never heard of such a thing, but she didn’t want to sound like she was accusing him of lying… or of trying to get under her skin.

Of course there might be a honeymoon if they did get married—brief and perfunctory maybe—but she hadn’t really thought that far ahead. It seemed foolish—it was foolish, no doubt—but the thought of being—intimate with someone, someone she didn’t fully trust—

“What do you think?” Claude pressed—pressed further into the personal space, too. She found herself staring at his throat and didn’t dare raise her head even a little, because if she did, their noses would probably be touching. “If we do get married—wouldn’t that be the perfect time for you to see Derdriu?”

It seemed to Edelgard that keeping her breathing even and steady took up all of her concentration. She couldn’t think of a clever, deflective reply, something befitting of the Emperor of Adrestia (Dorothea would be disappointed), so she said the first thing that came into her head that wasn’t ‘go away’. “That sounds like it would be terribly boring for you.”

Claude let out a bark of laughter, sitting back in his seat. It was like a great weight slid off Edelgard’s shoulders and she breathed a sigh of relief before she managed to regain her composure.

“You aren’t the most romantic person, are you?” An amused grin still played about his face. “Although to tell the truth, you’re right. Once you’ve seen one stunning sunset and sunrise over the Derdriu canals, you’ve seen them all. I mean, it’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, it’s not awful to see it again—but it’s never going to be as good as the first time.”

Now Edelgard was curious. Did he make the honeymoon comment just to get a rise out of her? “There must be something you enjoy about Derdriu other than the scenery.”

“I suppose, but it’s nothing that you can’t find elsewhere, if you’ve a mind.” Claude shrugged. “Good luck or no, it’s not where I’d choose to go on a honeymoon… although it might be worth it to show someone else the sights.” He winked.

Edelgard was not distracted; she was more interested in the little part of himself he’d revealed with his words. It was strange to her to think anyone had so little to say about their home city – she could talk for hours about Enbarr if given the chance. She supposed Claude wasn’t from Derdriu originally, though… maybe there was somewhere else he called home. Maybe he was thinking of that place right now.

Of course, he wouldn’t tell her if she asked, so instead she said, “Where would you like to honeymoon, then? If you could go anywhere?”

“Anywhere?” Claude tilted his head back, humming thoughtfully under his breath. “I guess if I could go to any places… I’d like to go to all of them.”

Edelgard blinked. Not the response she’d been expected. “You’d like to see the world?”

“Wouldn’t you?” He smiled, but it was faint, his eyes distant. “Isn’t there something… interesting about seeing how other people lives? How they think, what they eat, what they believe?”

Small it might have been, but Edelgard thought it could be the first genuine smile she’d seen out of him. There was something boyish about it, a certain light in his eyes—like he was actually seeing, for that moment, the world he was talking about.

Edelgard had been raised strictly in accordance with the teachings of the Church of Seiros, of course, and therefore knew only what information about the outside world was considered ‘appropriate’ for the Emperor to know, mainly a study of Dagda’s military tactics. She’d expanded her knowledge a little since—since afterwards, learning what the Emperors knew of the Church and Seiros, the Immaculate One.

To her frustration, information about other cultures was still hard to come by in Fódlan, and much of it was misinformation more than anything else. It was something she must change if she was going to make peace with their neighbours. Edelgard was sure they had much to learn from them…

“Your silence fills me with great comfort,” Claude said dryly. “I haven’t offended by merely talking of other places, have I? Not you of all people?”

“Oh – no, no,” Edelgard replied, her cheeks flushing for an entirely different reason this time. To get lost in thought around Hubert was one thing, but to do it in front of a guest was quite another. “I’m sorry, I—I was just thinking, I suppose. About how hard it is to learn anything of the world in Fódlan.”

“Ah. Because of the Church.” Claude’s humour had disappeared; he was grave-faced, which made him look more intimidating than a man of his handsome features should be.

And yet again they had made it onto the topic she wished to avoid. To be saying that, he couldn’t have a lot of love for the Church himself. Which made it all the more frustrating that he hadn’t responded to her manifesto those years ago. If he understood the Church was damaging Fódlan, why had he not joined her then? Maybe he couldn’t be moved to ally with her after all?

“Do you get sick from travel?” Claude asked innocently. “You’ve gone quiet all of a sudden. Not for the first time.”

He’d seen directly through her as well. Blast. “I am merely tired from the long journey,” she replied. Hubert would be furious if he was here, but it couldn’t hurt to reveal a little vulnerability to one she might marry… could it? “I’m afraid it’s making me easily distracted. My apologies.”

“Oh, not at all, I understand.” Claude relaxed back in his seat. “Let’s avoid difficult topics like the Church’s canon until tomorrow, hm?”

Edelgard couldn’t help but blink in surprise at this show of magnanimity. “That would probably be for the best,” she said carefully. “I fear I may not be able to properly attend to the complexities such a discussion would naturally entail.”

Claude smiled—a sly, slight thing that she very much wished to know the meaning of.

The conversation for the next few hours seemed more gentle, although some of the comments and questions from Claude were quietly prying—questioned about former classmates; Lysithea’s health; the progress of the war in general terms. None of it was information which Edelgard needed to keep to herself, yet she gave herself a headache with the care she took over her answers, wary of letting herself say more than she intended.

It was with some relief that the slowing of the carriage announced their arrival at Count Bergliez’s manor. They were to break here and continue the journey to Enbarr tomorrow. The count himself would remain at Fort Merceus, and so Edelgard looked forward to the peace she could expect after dinner, and a much needed night’s rest.

Chapter Text

Claude found himself waking from a fitful, restless sleep nonetheless looking forward to the day ahead. The journey in the carriage yesterday, although only a few hours, had proved more fruitful than he expected. Claude had guessed that the icy princess—sorry, Emperor, now—was discomforted by flirting or the idea of intimacy and wouldn’t have much experience in such matters, but it was always nice to be proved right.

I should use it sparingly though. Don’t want to spook her too badly—or for the impact to wear thin.

She’d been happy enough to answer questions about their former classmates as well. Claude was pretty sure she hadn’t realised the value of the information, but maybe she simply expected him to find it all out soon anyway. She worried after Hubert’s health; he’d been kept busy and the internal state of the Empire might not be as stable as Edelgard wanted to pretend. Ferdinand she was on first name terms with, speaking warmly of his ‘work’; likely no in-roads of subversion there, to his disappointment. Bernadetta was coming out of her shell; Claude had read about the devastating effects of the Crest of Indech whilst at Garreg Mach, and it sounded like she might now have the courage to use it proactively, so she was one to watch—

And Lysithea.

Admittedly, it had been a genuine relief to hear she was doing well. Most of their interactions at the Academy had been Claude teasing her about her age and Lysithea, proving how utterly mature she was, stomping away to sulk about it. Despite his teasing, though, it had been hard not to admire her grit and talent, and she had been under his guidance in battle for the bulk of the year, so he’d worried at hearing so little news of her during the war—to say nothing of Hilda, who would’ve been furious to hear that Lysithea had succumbed to her mysterious-but-terminal chronic fatigue issues… so there was a nice piece of news he could deliver, uncensored, in a letter.

That Lysithea and Edelgard were such close personal friends had been more of a surprise – he’d assumed her cooperation with the Empire was because of House Ordelia’s historic ties and current weakness. But there was no mistaking the warmth in Edelgard’s voice for anything but a close and genuine friendship. How adorable! And maybe useful, but it would depend on how pleased Lysithea was to see him after all these years.

Clade could think more on that later. For today, his main concern would be getting to the bottom of what Edelgard was really planning; for all the talk of corrupt nobles in her Manifesto, she still had three of those nobles who'd turned against her father in the Insurrection at her side, so Claude was sure there had to be more to it than that. There wasn’t much else to look forward to in the long journey by carriage. A wyvern could cover the distance in a fraction of the time, but Fódlan still thought of them only as beasts of war, like the Almyrans that rode them.

But there was a train of thought that, for now, would only be a distraction. So Claude put it away and plastered on a smile to meet Edelgard for breakfast.

Something even more interesting came up over breakfast, however. It was a simple, quiet affair of typical Fódlan foods – Edelgard didn’t seem to be much of a talker at mealtimes – until a servant entered the room, bowed, and said, “Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty, but the count is here and he insists on speaking to you at once.”

Edelgard’s eyes went briefly very wide before she blinked and regained her composure. Dropping a crust of bread, she swallowed and took a moment to check her clothes for crumbs. It reminded Claude a bit of when he would have to be tidied up as a young child to be presented to his father, except his caretakers were looking for ways to cover up bruises and scratches from the other children ‘playing rough’.

She let out a long breath, softly, so that Claude was pretty sure only he heard it, and said, “Please, send him in.”

His first full day in the Empire and Claude was already getting to meet the fabled war hero of Fódlan? Things proceeded apace.

When the Count walked in, though, Claude was a little disappointed. Unlike General Holst, who was tall and thickly muscled and very much lived up to the legends of him in Almyra, Bergliez was on the shorter side for a man; although stockily built, the tough image was undermined by a surprisingly boyish, clean-shaven face marred by few wrinkles. Only the greying hair at his temples and the crow’s feet by his eyes suggested Claude was looking at a veteran soldier in his fifties with a reputation that made even Nader wary of him.

“Your Majesty,” Bergliez said without preamble, “Lord Arundel recently came to inspect the troops at Fort Merceus.”

“Your uncle, Edelgard?” Claude asked. “I thought his days as regent were over.”

He thought Count Bergliez might not have noticed him, explaining why he addressed Edelgard then and there, but when the man’s icy blue eyes slid over to Claude, they contained only cold disdain rather than surprise. Now that look was more like what Claude expected from Fódlan’s war hero.

“Of course, the Empire no longer needs a regent, but my uncle still assists in its running due to his experience,” Edelgard explained.

It sounded very reasonable, and she didn’t appear to be lying, but then why the fuss about merely inspecting the troops, hm? Maybe it was just a simple power play between the nobility?

“As Her Majesty says—” Bergliez’s voice was as frosty as the look in his eyes. “—Lord Arundel takes an interest in many aspects of the Empire’s government, although his visit to Fort Merceus is misplaced concern, no doubt. He also came to ask after my opinion on offering hospitality to the leader of the Alliance.”

Claude raised his eyebrows. Is he just seriously saying this in front of me? I’m not sure if I’m more impressed by the boldness or by the lack of care.

“I see…” Edelgard digested this with a neutral expression. Claude couldn’t tell what she took from it. “I assume that your opinion hasn’t changed since the last time we spoke?”

“No, which your lord uncle was surprised to hear.” Bergliez paused. His face was like a rock, unyielding, but Claude thought something significant was conveyed in the look he and Edelgard shared in that moment. “As it is, I hear he is invited to dine with Count Hevring and his wife shortly, so you need not worry about him insulting your guest as soon as he sets foot within the gates of Enbarr.”

Claude blinked. Since he and Lord Arundel had obviously disagreed over the matter, that implied that Count Bergliez was in favour of the marriage Edelgard proposed—or at least was willing to give it a chance—which was not what Claude would have surmised from his demeanour. If this what he’s like when he’s not mad, I think I’m starting to understand that reputation of his…

“That’s something of a relief, at least.” Edelgard turned to Claude and added, “I hope you will not take offence if my uncle is… blunt with you at times. We did have some disagreements over this matter, and—well, he is my uncle, after all, so he does not hesitate to give me his honest opinion.”

“Family, eh?” Claude had no family in Fódlan, but Judith certainly acted enough like an aunt that he understood what she was getting at. And if Claude’s parents were here… he could only imagine how they’d interfere in these ‘marriage negotiations’. “If they didn’t take liberties, they wouldn’t be family.”

Edelgard laughed lightly at this, and Count Bergliez was… he wasn’t at ease, but some sort of tension in him seemed to have relaxed.

To Claude’s surprise, Edelgard rose from her seat and crossed the room to shake Count Bergliez’s hand. “I appreciate your coming – and, of course, for your generous hospitality in allowing us the use of your manse. I’m sure Duke Riegan has been equally appreciative.”

“I’ve wanted for nothing,” Claude put in. Of course, the only thing he had really wanted was a comfortable bed and decent food, but that was the thing he’d found about military types – they knew what luxuries it was most important to spend your money on. Now folks like Count Gloucester, on the other hand…

“Will you not stay to breakfast with us?” Edelgard continued.

“No, I should be returning to Merceus.” Count Bergliez laid his other hand over their clasped ones, an almost grandfatherly gesture… Duke Oswald had only done it once with Claude, when formally acknowledging him as his heir at court. It was only for a brief moment before Bergliez let go, but for those few seconds, the Count’s expression softened slightly and only then did Claude see the striking resemblance between him and his son, Caspar. “Take care, Your Majesty.”

“I will. The same to you as well, Count Bergliez. And you must give my regards to your men at the fort.”

Bergliez bowed to her before giving Claude the briefest nod of acknowledgement. “Duke Riegan. I hope you will enjoy your stay in the Empire.”

“I’ll certainly try my best,” Claude replied.

The count frowned, but left the room and closed the door behind him without further comment.

Edelgard stood there for a second longer, but Claude couldn’t see her expression. When she returned to the table, her face held nothing except the neutral mask that he was already coming to think of as ‘the Emperor face’.

“My apologies for the interruption, Claude,” she said. “I supposed since he was nearby anyway, Count Bergliez thought it would be more efficient to simply tell me of my uncle’s doings than to write me a note. I will have to deliver a reprimand to him – even if my uncle was using it as a pretence to ask the count’s thoughts, to organise an inspection of his post, when he is the Minister for Military Affairs and my uncle is of equal standing with him, is quite insulting.”

Edelgard smiled a little ruefully as she told him this – he hadn’t seen much of that smile, yet, and the effect was quite charming. When he said she’d grown more beautiful over the years, he meant it. Even so, Claude wasn’t fooled by her explanation. It must have some underlying meaning more urgent than Count Bergliez being offended—something that would drive him to visit the Emperor in person with no warning. Something too sensitive to put in a letter? But then, Claude had been in the room for the whole conversation… which was another strange thing to consider.

His only answer to Edelgard was his own smile. He allowed her to change the topic to lighter matters, but he couldn’t stop churning the conversation over in his head.

No question about it – the first thing I need to do when I get to Enbarr is to look into Lord Arundel.

*

The question of Lord Arundel had to be put aside when they got back into the carriage and started the next leg of the journey, however. Claude wanted to find out all that he could before he approached Edelgard about the matter directly. Luckily, Enbarr and the possibility of answers did not lie that far away. The road between the capital of Adrestia and Fort Merceus was scrupulously maintained, and the war had yet to touch this part of the Empire, making travel easy and probably safer than anywhere else in Fódlan.

The scenery was actually quite pleasant, fields of golden wheat lying outside his window. This was the idyllic breadbasket of the Empire, and one of the advantages of carriage travel over wyverns was the opportunity to enjoy the sights. Claude would ordinarily have liked to simply watch the view go by, but he had other curiosities to satisfy now.

“So,” he began, “we left off yesterday on a difficult topic.”

“The Church.” Edelgard smiled thinly. “From what you said yesterday, I think it’s fair for me to surmise you also disagree with some of the Church’s tenets?”

She’d latched onto that very quickly. Maybe she thought it would make them natural allies, help him trust her. But if there was one thing Claude had learned from the succession disputes in Almyra, it was that the enemy of your enemy might be an ally – but never a friend. His half-siblings in Almyra would never support his claim to the throne, no matter what he promised them or how he helped them. That was why he’d been forced to come to Fódlan in the first place. If he was going to realise his dream, he needed the power of his mother’s bloodline.

“You could say that I think the Church has the wrong idea about some things,” he said.

Edelgard leaned forward a little. “Were you raised within the Church of Seiros, Claude?”

He froze for a second. How did she make that leap so immediately? Was she on to him? He’d been surprised, although relieved, that no one in Fódlan had seemed to question his different skin tone, that his Crest seemed to make him ‘from Fódlan’ no matter what he looked like. “Well—” Claude scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t give him away, hoping the strain didn’t show through his smile. “A bit like Teach, I suppose you could say my education about the Church had some gaps.”

It was the truth, too, though not the whole truth of course. Mother still prayed to the goddess and she’d told Claude a little of the teachings of Seiros. He didn’t understand how she could still pray to a god who said that her husband and son were little more than beasts – abandoned by the Goddess, ‘forever barred from the sacred earth of Fódlan, where the Goddess once walked and delivered her blessings to her chosen people’, it said in the holy books.

Mother had never told him about that particular set of teachings. Maybe she thought Claude counted because he had a Crest, proof of the Goddess’s regard. But Father…

The comparison to Professor Byleth seemed to kill Edelgard’s interest. The sharp look in her eyes, to Claude’s relief, faded away. Instead, she looked thoughtful. After a moment, she said, “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Thank you for satisfying my curiosity, in any case. Whatever you believed, if you read my Manifesto, you must know what I discovered about the Church of Seiros.”

“Hm,” Claude said. It was so outlandish. If he hadn’t seen Rhea transform before his own eyes, he would never have believed it. Count Gloucester, he was sure, still only half-believed it despite his own son’s reassurances. Many people in the Alliance territories flat out refused to believe it. “Immortal beings controlling Fódlan for centuries…”

“For a millenia,” Edelgard said, her lips curling in a near snarl.

He watched the way she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, her entire body rising, and the fire in her eyes. Claude had wondered how she’d convinced so many people in the Empire of her claims, well before Rhea revealed himself; now he was seeing it. Her. You could see the conviction in every particle of her. This was her truth, she lived and breathed it.

This, at least in part, was the real Edelgard.

“My people have only amassed more proof since taking Garreg Mach,” she declared. Her voice was quiet but it had the same tone as though she was speaking to an amassed crowd. “Hundreds of books—histories confiscated, inventions and discoveries buried, documents from Church officials condemning innocents as heretics merely for speaking against the Church’s lies—the whole history of Fódlan has not been allowed to run naturally like a river, but diverted and changed over and over and over by the inhuman Rhea to serve her own agenda!”

She was rather like a preacher herself.

When Claude didn’t immediately respond, Edelgard seemed to shrink and fold in on herself a bit. “But of course you must have read that in my manifesto,” she said softly, keeping a straight face but exuding disappointment.

Now he just felt kinda mean. “I didn’t know about all the confiscated materials you’d found,” he said. “That is very intriguing.”

“I had much of it brought to the library at Enbarr to be catalogued,” Edelgard replied. “I hope that some of the discoveries therein might still be able to provide some benefit to the people of Fódlan, though their authors may be long gone. You may have a look at them yourself, if you like, though some of the books are very delicate and only the caretakers are permitted to handle them.”

You’re just handing me all that on a plate? Claude was torn between triumph and simply being too flabbergasted to speak. What if he discovered some kind of… of super weapon and turned it against her? For all her politicking, he was sure the Emperor would never last a minute in the Almyran court. You couldn’t afford to simply hand advantages like that to your rivals. She really was trying to make this alliance the real deal, wasn’t she? It was almost sad.

Certainly, Claude wasn’t going to turn down an offer like that, however exasperating her naivety was. “I would be very interested in seeing that collection, Edelgard, thank you.” He paused. Was now the right time to press ahead with what he really wanted to know? Claude had expected to have to needle and prod until the conversation approached the question from a sideways angle, but she was being so open anyway, perhaps the best thing to do was simply to ask? “Doesn’t it beg the question, though, of what the purpose of it all was?”

Edelgard frowned slightly. “Pardon?”

“I mean, until I saw Rhea transform myself, I thought it must just be a strange lie… and you didn’t exactly provide much in the way of evidence.”

She hands, folded neatly in her lap, flexed. “I told the truth that has been passed down from Emperor to Emperor since the time of Wilhelm the first.”

Sensitive subject, clearly. “Of course. But you have to admit that it is a lot for people to accept on the strength of just your own word.”

The hands on her lap curled into fists, and for a moment Claude thought he had badly misstepped, but she surprised him by saying, “You’re right, I know. But… I was convinced that I had to try to explain myself, even if I doubted anyone would place their faith in me.”

The way she said ‘was convinced’ made him pause. Her own conviction, or had someone convinced her? “And you said nothing of the Relics or Crests. How do they fit into all of this? If Rhea’s version of the Goddess is a tool she used to control Fódlan, what is their origin? Where did the Ten Elites come from?”

“Much of what I have pieced together has been from… second hand sources, trying to read between the lines of the Church’s version of history…” Edelgard admitted. “I know what I believe may have happened, but there is no real way of knowing.” She looked at him imploringly. “But that is part of the point, is it not? The Church of Seiros has lied for so long that the real truth is lost to us.”

“I suppose,” Claude said. “But doesn’t it strike you as strange? If Rhea really is an immortal being possessed of such power, why didn’t she simply conquer Fódlan and rule with an iron fist? Why hide behind this pretence of becoming Archbishop over and over again? Why found the Church at all?”

“I don’t know.” Edelgard shook her head. “Does it matter? Regardless of her reasons, Rhea has caused untold generations of suffering and has used her own position to prevent humanity from advancing. Her foul actions stand on their own.”

“That is true,” he agreed, in a more subdued voice than he intended to use.

Somehow, it rankled more that there wasn’t a real Goddess who hated his kind; that it was just something Rhea invented. Without that, perhaps his mother wouldn’t have had to abandon her homeland to marry Father. Maybe she could have stayed in contact with her brother, the uncle Claude only knew through a handful of stories. Maybe she could have attended his funeral. Maybe Duke Oswald would have really looked upon him as a grandson, and not merely a successor, someone to prevent House Gloucester’s ascension.

Maybe Tiana von Riegan would have built the bridge between Fódlan and Almyra by following her heart, and Claude would have somewhere to belong.

Why had Rhea done it?

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Claude asked. “Not knowing the truth?”

Edelgard paused, pursing her lips as though giving his question serious thought. “No,” she said. “Whatever the reasons for the choices made in the past, we must look to the future now. The why doesn’t matter, only the result, and what we can do to make things right.”

He couldn’t say that she was exactly wrong, and yet… Claude burned with curiosity. It seemed like there must be something huge they were all missing, and he hated secrets—at least the ones that he wasn’t in on. Besides… if the origins of Relics and Crests were not holy, but human… it was possible they could be recreated… If Claude could discover that, he wouldn’t need any allies at all. He could make his own Sword of the Creator! (Rest in peace, Teach.) He could accomplish everything he wanted under only his own power.

Edelgard had said her people were cataloguing the Church’s confiscated materials, which meant they weren’t completely finished. Perhaps Claude could get ahead of them somehow and find some hints in the books.

“Rediscovering buried secrets would be one way to start correcting things, that’s for sure,” Claude said, keeping his voice light and conversational. “What have you uncovered so far?”

*

Hilda’s first two days in Dedriu with Hubert and Dorothea had been, to say the least, stressful. First of all, there was this nonsense with Claude leaving her in charge. Thank goodness she had Ignatz to help her balance the books and Judith to glare and yell at people or she had no idea how she would have managed to keep it all together whilst trying to keep Vampire von Vestra’s nose out of places it should not have been.

And Dorothea might have been a wonderfully polite and friendly guest, but wow did she have a way of making a girl feel insecure about herself simply by existing. Who, by the Goddess, gave her permission to go and be so pretty? Half the men at court were already mooning over her instead of doing their damned jobs, and Dorothea was planning a party to celebrate being back in Dedriu in which she was going to sing for all the guests, so security in the capital was about to become a total nightmare as everyone and his dog flocked to see the Mystical Songstress perform once more.

Did Hilda mention that she had to keep Hubert from learning anything he shouldn’t through all of this? Ugh, what a total nightmare. It was lucky she’d overheard Dorothea address him as ‘Hubie’ when the two of them exited their carriage, because otherwise Hilda’s life would be totally devoid of joy. He did twitch so stupidly every single time. He must really hate that nickname.

“So, Hubie,” Hilda said, watching the muscles in his jaw clench as he gritted his teeth. Ah, it was the small things in life. “Tell me, have you been to Derdriu before?”

“No.”

Goddess, getting conversation out of him was like drawing blood from a stone. “Why not? I thought Empire nobles loved to travel and show off.”

Hubert gave her a look like she was something slimy he’d stepped on which, uh, rude. Metaphorically speaking, he should be really pleased to step on Hilda! “It is the duty of House Vestra to serve as bodyguards to the Adrestian Emperor. Not to… engage in frivolous sight-seeing.”

And look how well that worked out for ol’ Inoius IX. But Hilda thought it would probably be a bad idea to say that out loud. “Great! You’ve got a million generations of Vestras to enjoy the sights in honour of, then!”

There was a significant pause. Hubert turned his piercing, hawk-like gaze on her slowly, and for a moment she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, until a little voice at the back of her head went, ‘ha ha, Vampire von Vestra’ and then he was just being dramatic and the spell was broken.

“Excuse me?” he said.

Mm. He did have a dreamy voice, though. Rich and deep… Maybe he would be more tolerable if she could get him talking more, which was the opposite of most guys she spoke to. Novelty! “Well, you know, there are going to be so many people coming and going tomorrow, and you really don’t seem like a people person.” He glowered at her, and she sent him back her most beaming smile, mainly out of spite. “So I thought it would be fun to tour the city, just the two of us!”

Hubert folded his arms across his chest when he realised his glower wasn’t working. “Won’t your guidance be required tomorrow?”

“Me? Pfft.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m so useless at this sort of thing! I’m the one parties get thrown for, you know? I wouldn’t know where to start with organising one!”

Which was a damned lie, because no one ever threw Hilda the correct kind of parties. She’d had to organise her own birthday parties since the age of, like, thirteen. But after organising everything for Dorothea’s welcoming bash – a hastily put together plan to undercut any spies Mr. Vampire might try to sneak in as entertainment if Dorothea got to organise her own thing – all that needed to be done tomorrow was to direct people and make sure things got done. Ignatz could handle that, and that man really needed more practise at yelling at people anyway.

As a bonus, it meant the wave of people coming to hear the Mystical Songstress would have to spend their money elsewhere, maybe take Dorothea out to dinner or shower her with gifts instead. So Hilda was also doing her bit to encourage economic activity. Goddess, she was so good.

She was a little worried when Hubert stared at her for a moment. For all his dramatic vampire looks, she felt like he was seeing right through her all of a sudden. Her smile faded a little under his intense gaze. Was it foolish to think she could outmanoeuvre Hubert von Vestra, the Emperor’s spymaster?

But… Claude had left her in charge. Claude had trusted her, and he simply didn’t do that. Hilda had to pull through for him, no matter what.

“Very well then,” was all Hubert eventually said. “I am in your capable hands.”

Damn, he managed to make that sound like a threat. She needed to learn how to do that!

Chapter Text

Hubert had never been interested in pointless pursuits. All his time was taken up with taking care of Lady Edelgard’s interests. Even as a child, much of his time had been taken up with study and practise for this inevitable future, when he was not serving Lady Edelgard directly, of course. Hubert was unfamiliar with the concept of doing something purely for the enjoyment of it, and so Hilda Goneril’s ‘must see’ tour of Derdriu was like living in a particularly absurd dream. He wasn’t sure if it might not actually be some kind of demented nightmare, or perhaps a peculiar form of torture – was Lady Goneril hoping that if she asked him enough inane questions about unimportant subjects, he would just break and tell her all of Her Majesty’s plans, simply for the sake of being able to talk about something real?

He wondered if it was possible to fake a sudden bout of sea sickness. Derdriu’s network of canals made travel by foot inconvenient, but Hubert felt that a boat, barely big enough for the two of them and its driver, was not a suitable replacement.

“Wow,” Lady Goneril was saying, “I can’t believe you weren’t impressed by our Leaning Tower. That’s one of the most famous sites in the city!”

“I believe I was sufficiently able to appreciate the novelty of an incompetently built structure not falling down,” Hubert replied dryly, “merely from hearing about it.”

Goneril pouted. She really pouted like a child instead of a grown woman. If Hubert were not well acquainted with Dorothea with this point, he would assume that the reports of her being Claude von Riegan’s right hand were exaggerated.

He was not making that mistake, but he did find her character somewhat… baffling.

“I suspected you would be hard to please.” She wagged her finger at him as though he was the child this time. “Don’t worry! I prepared for this. Next, we’re going to see the glassmaking district.”

Hearing this, Hubert was a little more interested despite his reservations. The glassmakers of Derdriu were reputed to be the masters of the art, and it was one of the few goods which Fódlan did export to other nations – although the Church only permitted this to be done in small quantities. His spies already reported that Claude was taking advantage of the Church’s newly limited authority to encourage increased trade between the Alliance and Almyra. Although many Alliance merchants were reluctant to trade with their traditional foes, the glass- and lace-making trades were already experiencing a boom as a result.

If this extra income could be secured for the Empire instead, there would be all the more for Lady Edelgard to make her desired changes for the people. Perhaps if Hubert could persuade some of the glassmakers that their expertise would be better appreciated elsewhere, something good would have come of this whole venture…

“I am looking forward to seeing true masters at work,” he said.

*

The glassmaking district was not the sort of place one would go for a casual visit—the air was thick with smoke, ash, and foul odours, and the temperature increase as they neared was quite palpable. Lady Goneril must have put some thought into what would impress him rather than mindlessly taking him to the most famous sites – although there had been enough of that, as well. Hubert could appreciate the artistry that had gone into the most famous Church in the Leicester Alliance, but only because of the skill of the artist and not the insipid scenes depicted.

Hubert had cause to reconsider Lady Goneril’s thoughtfulness when the ship docked and she immediately made a beeline for a vendor with a selection of beads and necklaces in a variety of colours. By the familiar way she greeted Hilda, she must be a frequent visitor. Maybe she only chose things according to her own interests. Ah, well… this is still an improvement.

At a slower pace, Hubert followed Goneril to the stall, glancing at the other wares along the way. Naturally, glass was the main thing on show – from ornaments to fine plates and bowls, all richly decorated. There were several vendors selling the famous Derdriu clear glass, a technique which had yet to be replicated in the rest of Fódlan.

The vendor and Lady Goneril were already engaged in an animated discussion about the wares. It seemed like she was trying to arrange an order of some of the glass beads the vendor had produced. They did seem, even to his untrained eye, to be of high quality—even colouring and clear, from the smallest to the largest.

“Tiffany here is a real master,” Goneril found time to chirp at him. “The colours she gets out of these are brilliant! She still won’t tell me her secrets, though.”

“Lady Hilda, if I told you my secrets, what would happen to my best customer?” The vendor laughed. “Although the necklace you made for me personally was exquisite. With a few more of those, perhaps you could win me over.”

Goneril smiled. Unlike her warm, slight—dare Hubert say, vapid—smiles of earlier, there was a smug and satisfied air to this which he recognised. It was gone in an instant and replaced with a bright-eyed, cheerful tone for her reply. “Well, did you think any more about the offer I made? You could make a name for yourself in history!”

The vendor laughed again, but a bit more nervously this time. “I don’t know… this doesn’t seem the time… To be honest with you, Lady Hilda…”

“Not this again!” Goneril interrupted.

Hubert wasn’t sure what ‘offer’ Lady Goneril was referring too, but he thought it unlikely to be anything too subversive towards Her Majesty if it involved a glassmaker who chiefly dealt in trinkets. He was tempted to listen further anyway, to discover whatever hidden depths there might be to Hilda Goneril, but he was equally tempted to find some master craftsmen whom me might persuade to take up with Lady Edelgard. Whatever this vendor thought of Lady Goneril’s ‘offer’, she was clearly in a comfortable position with a reliable income from her and a long-established relationship—one that had become friendly, even. He was unlikely to make inroads here.

Instead, whilst Hilda was distracted, he crossed the square. Even considering the conditions, it was a busy place, full of merchants, nobles, and travellers alike. Most of the glassmakers likely did good business here. He wondered how much one would have to pay for a workshop directly overlooking the square. A lot, he surmised. This was not where he was likely to find a dissatisfied master of the craft.

He slipped down a side alley – it was still quite busy, but the traffic was much less. Hubert immediately stood out as a noble with his fine clothes, which was not lost on the vendors hawking their wares, either, as they immediately tried to attract his attention.

All but one. The stall was placed at the very end of the alley and caught Hubert’s eye immediately because there were very few people going that way… mostly children. As he approached, curious, it became readily apparent why many of the buyers were giving the man a wide berth.

The vendor was broad-shouldered and if he stood, no doubt he would be nearly as tall as Hubert himself. His hair was pale, almost silver in colour, and his skin was dark.

He was from Duscur.

The man didn’t notice Hubert immediately, too intent on his work. Hubert watched in fascination as the man breathed a fire spell from his lips, heating the glass rod to the point where it glowed red, then bent and twisted each segment to form some sort of shape… The way the glass moved was entrancing, almost like manipulating water – Hubert could see why the small group of children surrounding the vendor were so enthused.

“What’s this one, Marro?”

“It is a deer?”

“No, stupid, the deer are made different! Anyway, it hasn’t got antlers.”

“You’re the stupid one! You should know Marro always does the antlers last.”

Indeed, there were a number of stags cast in different colours of glass—mainly yellow, orange, and brown—displayed on a thinning red cloth. Hubert supposed the deer must be a popular symbol in Leicester… perhaps this Marro sold them to travellers or children. The antlers did seem like thin and delicate work. He couldn’t help wondering how they could have been produced.

It did not appear the work with the glass rods was all Marro did. There was also a medium sized vase with an intriguing pattern in the glass, black and red. It took Hubert a minute to work out why it was so familiar until he realised that it was reminiscent of the markings of a dark magic spell—mire. Glass is supposed to be too fragile to contain magic itself, but it looks too exact to merely be copied from seeing the spell performed…

For years, agents of the Empire had tried to make magic traps from glass, bombs that could be thrown and prepared in advance. Enchantments could be woven in such a way as to tie them to an object, but no one had yet been able to craft glass strong enough to hold up against the power of magic spells

It was something worth inquiring about, at any rate, and by itself would have made the detour worth it, not withstanding the quality of the other work. The glass ornament was not a deer at all, when it was finished, but a bat—made from ash coloured glass and complete with spread wings. Marro melted some more glass to add finishing touches for its expression, as the children laughed and clapped. None of them seemed to mind that they hadn’t been able to guess the creature.

“Do not touch,” Marro told them, as he laid the bat aside. “It is still warm.”

“Marro, Marro, did you make the fish I asked yesterday?” one of the children asked. “For my papa? He is supposed to be coming home tomorrow!”

Marro nodded and reached for a crate under his stall. He withdrew a small, wrapped parcel from within and opened it to reveal a small blue fish. “It is done. Is it to your satisfaction?”

“Wow!” The child touched it gently and giggled. “It looks so amazing, Marro! Thank you!”

The child reached within her clothes for a small pouch and passed a handful silver coins over to Marro. Hubert raised his eyebrows. Although the fish was small, the delicate work involved should have meant it fetched a much steeper price, at least in his estimation.

“Is this enough?” the child asked.

“It is what we agreed,” Marro said, handing the glass fish over. He looked at Hubert for the first time, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Why have you come?”

“I was curious to see your wares,” Hubert answered readily.

Marro glanced down at his stall and then back to Hubert. “They are here,” he said.

Hubert wasn’t sure if the man was being sarcastic or not. It seemed to be a cultural trait not to waste words, but the almost total lack of expression wasn’t helping. “I have been very impressed by them.”

“Marro’s the best!” one of the children piped up quickly. Hubert didn’t see which one, as they all huddled slightly closer together when he turned his gaze on them.

I do forget how tall I must seem to a young child. Still, they did not have to glare quite so suspiciously. “Marro certainly seems very talented,” Hubert said, which won him some approval with them. “Do you come here often?”

“Oh yes!” said the girl who had brought the fish. “Marro lets us ask for lots of different animals even if we aren’t going to buy them! It’s called inspiration. And he doesn’t chase us away like the others.”

“So long as we’re careful,” said another boy, enunciating his words very carefully. “You have to be careful around glass.”

The children all nodded very solemnly in unison. It was almost comical.

“You should not talk to strangers,” Marro said to them.

“But then how would we have gotten to know you?” another one of them asked.

He frowned slightly. “You should not have done that, either.”

“You’re so silly, Marro,” the child answered breezily.

Hubert watched in amusement as Marro grimaced when the rest of the children joined in with a chorus of agreement and effusive praise. At least he had some loyal supporters. Still, Hubert doubted that a man of Duscur saw as much business as he deserved.

“I have something I would like to discuss with Marro,” Hubert said. “In private.” He saw the frowns gracing each small face, and hastily added, “I will buy you all a trinket as gratitude for doing me this favour.”

The possibility of actually owning one of the ornaments themselves seemed to win them over, and for several minutes Hubert’s life was a blur of high-pitched, ‘May I get this one, sir?’ and ‘Thank you, sir!’ It was charming in its own way, but Hubert was relieved when they had gone.

Marro regarded him with a stony expression, folding his arms. “You did not have to do that. I do not need pity.”

“Excellent, as you should not expect to receive any from me,” Hubert said. “It was entirely for my own convenience. I am not accustomed to managing young children.”

The man let out a grumble but did not challenge this. “What did you want to ask?”

“About this item—” Hubert’s fingers landed on the rim of the vase and he saw Marro tense. “How is it produced?”

“A craftsman cannot give away his tricks,” he replied, even more short than usual.

“I am not, of course, asking you to reveal trade secrets,” Hubert said. Not at this juncture, anyway. “But I recognise these markings. You used dark magic in making it, yes?”

There was a significant pause. “It was a tradition within my family,” Marro said eventually. “I have made many like it.”

Interesting. Hubert did not know much about Duscur, but it stood to reason that they would have had their own craftsmen as well, and it certainly explained why a survivor might come to Derdriu, the glassmaking capital.

“Is that all?” Marro asked.

“Not quite. I have another request.”

Before Hubert could say anything further, however, there was a shout from the alley’s entrance. “There you are!”

Lady Goneril. Hubert sighed. Not at the most opportune time, but no matter. He could hardly have convinced the man to come to the Empire within the space of a day.

Heavy footsteps heralded her arrival at his side. “Hubie! Why on earth did you wander away so far? You could have been attacked by someone for all I knew!”

“Why on earth did you not pay more attention, then?” Hubert drawled. He had complete confidence in his own ability to protect himself and didn’t need to be watched by Lady Goneril. “Besides, I’ve discovered this man’s impressive work.”

She seemed to notice Marro for the first time. Hubert saw her bright expression falter as her lip curled for a brief moment.

She regained herself quickly, of course. Still, she could not—or did not attempt to—disguise an undertone of disdain in her voice when she said, “Oh, I see. Very… interesting.”

Hubert doubted she noticed the same thing he had about the vase, but she ought to have had a professional enough eye to see the quality in Marro’s other work.

“We should probably be moving on soon,” Goneril said, back to cheerful again—although it still seemed strained to Hubert’s ears. “We have to be back before too long or people will start to worry!”

“Very well,” Hubert said – begrudgingly, because he was sure that this sudden urgency to the schedule was less to do with the passage of time and more to do with Marro himself. “I will be just a moment.” He turned back to Marro. “I would like to commission you, if that is possible.”

Marro blinked, slowly, his gaze shifting from Goneril to Hubert. He surely couldn’t have missed her disdain, either. “I accept commissions,” he said carefully. “But I will require some of the fee to be paid up front.”

“I see. That is something that might have to be arranged at a later date, then. But let us see if what I had in mind is feasible.” Hubert breathed deeply, trying to recreate the image in his mind. The colours had been inspired by the bat he’d seen the man make. “Large. About a foot tall. An eagle. Dark colours, black, grey—”

“You are from the Empire,” Marro said, unfolding his arms briefly before folding them again, restless. “Marquis von Vestra.”

Hubert raised an eyebrow. “Indeed I am.”

“I heard of you coming to the city.” Marro paused for a moment. “I will need time to consider the logistics of this project. Come back in a week if you are serious about your request.”

He could not tell if this was a promising sign or not, but he was at least serious about providing Her Majesty with a sample of his work. “Of course,” Hubert said.

He did not get the chance to add anything more except a very brief expression of gratitude as Goneril grabbed his arm and, with surprising strength, began to drag him away. Hubert was so stunned that he didn’t think to attempt to shake her off until they reached the entrance to the alleyway. He was quite painfully aware that he was only able to do so because she allowed him to. He would need to remember that.

“Are you in such a dreadful rush that you forgot your manners, Lady Hilda?” Hubert sneered, refusing to allow himself to betray any of the tension he felt.

“I’m supposed to be looking after you, you know,” she said, revealing real annoyance for the first time. “I can hardly do that if you insist on poking your nose into suspicious characters.”

“Ah, yes, how extremely suspicious of a man to sell glass wares in the glassmakers district,” Hubert retorted dryly. “My mistake.”

She folded her arms, still frowning at him. “You know what I mean. There’s no way of knowing if people like that are safe or not. And you just up and told him that you were Marquis Vestra! What if he has accomplices? Not everyone in the Alliance is happy for you to be here, you know.”

Hardly something that Hubert was surprised by, but for her to admit to the disunity was a small moment of triumph, undermining Claude’s pretense at a united front. He filed it away for later, as she didn’t seem to realise what she had said just then.

“People from Duscur, you mean?” Hubert asked, with a raised eyebrow. “I hardly think a craftsman is going to pose a threat to me.”

Hilda scowled, but some of the tension seemed to have left her. Her voice was closer to the natural, gentle way of speaking she’d been using earlier. “I’m sure your confidence in your abilities isn’t unfounded, but we promised Her Majesty we’d keep you safe, didn’t we? And right now, that job falls to me. I don’t have anything against this guy personally, but it is known that people from Duscur tend to be more violent, so please, let’s not borrow trouble.” Her head drooped a little and she adopted a mournful tone, her arms dropping to her sides. “But you were right when you said this was my fault for being distracted… I should have been with you every step of the way, of course. Jewellery making is a passion of mine, you see. I really hope you can forgive me for getting too wrapped up in the wares.”

If Hubert trusted her as far as he could spit, it would’ve been a convincing performance. He raised an eyebrow, still unimpressed. “Maybe you should leave such duties to someone more capable if you get distracted by the slightest thing.”

She scowled. “Excuse you! I screwed up, but I won’t accept that kind of criticism. This is really important to me, you know!”

He barely held back from rolling his eyes. “I don’t doubt, since you abandoned your duties for it.”

“Not all of us live and breathe duty, you know.” She sighed. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t understand since your whole life revolves around Her Majesty, but I have things I want to achieve outside of helping Claude.”

She said ‘revolves around Her Majesty’ with a distasteful tone, clearly intending it as an insult, but Hubert was far past being insulted by the opinions of dullards who had no understanding of Her Majesty’s ambition and character. “And your ambitions involve collecting an encyclopaedic selection of glass beads, do they?”

“Actually, yes.” Tossing her long hair over her shoulder, Goneril frowned at him. “If you must know, I’m trying to recruit Tiffany for an important project.”

“What kind of ‘project’ demands such skills?”

“An artisan school.” Lady Goneril gestured back towards the boat. “Not that I expect that it’s of much interest to you. We should be moving on. We have appointments to keep!”

“Do we?” Hubert replied smoothly, although his mind was suddenly racing with possibilities.

A school for artisans was actually an incredible idea. The major problem with any expansion of the arts of Fódlan at the current time was the amount of training an apprentice had to undergo to be considered a master of the craft, as certified by the relevant guild, was extraordinary. Her Majesty had already loosened the stranglehold the guilds held over certifications of masters in the crafts—a wartime measure mainly as a countermeasure to the fiercely protective surgeons’ guild, to have more trained for the war, but Hubert was already thinking ahead—but there was still the problem of training up a large number of new experts.

If even a few existing masters could be persuaded to set up in a specialist school, the training of a large number of students could be streamlined and within only a decade, the Empire would possess vastly more craftsmen, and their export potential would be equally increased…

It was such a simple, yet brilliant solution that he had trouble believing he had had to steal it from Hilda Goneril. Then again, in the Leicester Alliance, where the guilds often held more sway than minor noble houses, you would need to have the support of a major noble family like House Goneril to even attempt it. Perhaps it helped that the proposal was coming from General Holst’s beloved younger sister. He was not a man that any in the Alliance wished to cross.

But with this goal of an artisanal school in mind, Marro presented even more of an opportunity. If a Duscuran had been certified by the Alliance’s glassmaking guild, Hubert could not imagine that they as jealously guarded his privileges and protected him as they did their native Alliance masters… perhaps that was why Marro’s price for the child had been well below the item’s real value… Regardless, the Empire under Her Majesty could offer a man like Marro much greater opportunities, and no doubt Lady Edelgard would be equally pleased by the opportunity to begin challenging the Church’s preaching of the distrustfulness of foreigners.

For such an opportunity, Hubert might even be able to persuade the man to trade the secret of his imprinting dark magic spells into the glass. If it could not be used to make a magic trap, it might at least be a step in the right direction.

Lady Goneril was already ushering the conversation past this bout of awkwardness, beginning to talk effusively of the famous Bridge of Rainbows very near to Derdriu’s old harbour, so-called because sometimes the light struck the windows in it just so…!

Hubert paid only a small amount of attention to these ramblings, and luckily Goneril did not seem to expect otherwise from him. At least this ‘sight-seeing’ trip would give him time to consider the idea further without being distracted by the goings-on in the Duke’s Palace… Hubert had feared that, in being so far separated from Lady Edelgard, he would be unable to help her and would be forced to languish uselessly until Claude gave up this pretence of entertaining her offer. But now he was blessed with an opportunity to further Lady Edelgard’s goals—no, to further her grand ambition for a changed Fódlan. Even if the inspiration for such an opportunity came from the enemy, Hubert could not be anything but grateful for it.

Chapter Text

Making conversation with Edelgard was pleasant and could often be quite fruitful, but even Claude had to admit that after nearly a full day stuck with only her company, he was growing bored and many of the silences had become rather awkward. The rosy stone walls of Enbarr came as a welcome relief, even if – as Edelgard informed him – manoeuvring through the crowd would take quite a while.

He was both impressed and amused by the number of people who thronged the streets to gawk at the carriage. All smiles and cheers and the occasional scream of joy, which, quite charmingly, made Edelgard look embarrassed. Still, she waved and smiled at the crowds, which only encouraged the most enthusiastic.

“They’re happy for you to be home, huh?”

“I suppose they must be,” she muttered. She was still blushing at the attention. Her subjects wouldn’t be able to see it in the fading evening light, but Claude wondered if they would still be as impressed with her if they did know.

“Would they be as happy to see me?” he wondered.

Edelgard turned to look at him. “I hope so. I have tried to encourage people to think of it as a chance for greater cooperation between a people not far removed from us, a chance to reach understanding without bloodshed—but of course one cannot dictate opinions to anyone.”

He blinked at her. “You’ve been… talking to commoners about our potential marriage?”

“I have only been able to speak personally a few times, but I have also sent out proclamations with the bellmen amongst other things—news from the war and so on.” She waved again to the crowds out the window. “That has always been my preference, as opposed to the people making up their mind based on wild rumours flying about… though I don’t doubt there are plenty of those too, of course.”

Interesting. Claude had never considered using proclamations as a direct line of communication from the Emperor like that. It was far from traditional, from his understanding, but the whole concept was strange to him to begin with. To the best of his knowledge, no similar thing existed in Almyra. It was a good idea and he planned to introduce it if—when he became King. There was a greater degree of literacy in Almyra, so perhaps it wasn’t strictly necessary, but he had used it as an excellent opportunity to plant agents amongst the crowds in Derdriu and steer public opinion as well as learn, without censorship, the way their minds were leaning.

Anyway, people loved an opportunity to gather and gossip, didn’t they?

Inspired, he too stuck his head out the window. The space wasn’t really meant for two and he could feel the heat from Edelgard’s cheeks against his own. He gave his best smile to the crowd and watched, amused, when the crowd swayed like a snake as people bent their heads together to whisper.

With such a reception, he could hardly be expected to resist giving them something to really talk about.

He turned his head to murmur into Edelgard’s ear, his lips brushing against her skin. He felt her tense at the contact, but the heat from her cheeks signalled a blush even fiercer than before when he whispered, “Oh, how rude of me. I didn’t ask how it felt for you to be at home again, did I?”

“Claude,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “This is hardly… appropriate.”

Smiling, Claude withdrew but left a hand on her shoulder.

She didn’t remove it, but she watched him for a long moment out of the corner of her eye, still partially leaning out of the carriage window.

Claude smiled, a wide, sweeping grin that he was aware wouldn’t meet his eyes. You didn’t think I’d make it easy for you, did you?

She looked as though she were about to say something, but then she hesitated; after another moment, she shook her head, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I had forgotten how difficult you liked to make yourself,” she said. “I’d hoped you would have grown a better sense of humour.” She lifted her chin. “Never mind. As long as you’re serious when I show you what we’ve managed to accomplish in Enbarr, it doesn’t matter.”

The attempt to talk back to him was pretty cute. “Still confident that you can impress me, huh? I’m at your disposal whenever you’re ready to show off.”

“Look forward to it,” Edelgard replied.

Claude had to laugh at her tone of voice—like she was doing him a favour.

They made their way through the crowds eventually, arriving at the palace as the skies began to darken in earnest. The bite of the evening chill was not as severe in Enbarr, being situated on the southern coast of Fódlan. Once upon a time even this would have set Claude to shivering, but after years in Fódlan, it was merely pleasantly cool.

Edelgard herself led the way into the palace, using a fire spell to light their way—even though their escort all had torches. Ha, to think that even the Emperor can’t resist showing off a little…

Claude’s aptitude for magic was low, if not non-existent, so he was a little impressed as was no-doubt the intention. Strength, charisma, a Crest, smarts, an indisputable claim to her throne, and now magic? The Emperor Edelgard really did have it all. Claude, however, was an expert in making do with what was available to him, and he was sure to surprise her.

“We’ll have a simple supper and then ret—I expect you’ll wish to retire for the evening.”

Aw, she was growing wise to the openings! She learned fast!

*

Edelgard wished Claude a good night with a deep sense of relief at being free of him. This did not bode well for their hypothetical marriage. Of course he’s distrustful, she told herself. You earned this response. What did you expect?

Still, the way he needled her had a bite to it that surprised her. She had tried not to look weak in response—not like in the carriage the previous day, which she cringed to think about now—but Edelgard didn’t know if anything she might show him, or do, could break past his walls.

She ought to go to bed now herself. Whilst she’d left everything in the capable hands of Ferdinand, Manuela, and Lysithea during her brief absence, there would still be a lot of work waiting for her in the morning. Instead, as the maid prepared her rooms for the evening, she said, “Excuse me, Gwyn—would you happen to know if Manuela has already retired for the evening?”

Gwyn paused in the middle of unfolding a long-sleeved nightgown. “I think she said she would be occupied writing replies to a few letters, Your Majesty.”

Oh yes, Manuela’s valuable and extensive network of contacts required a not inconsiderable amount of work to upkeep in its own right. It would be especially important now. Edelgard hesitated. Maybe it could wait until morning, but a little peace of mind…

“Would you ask her if she would be willing to speak with me for a short while? And then make sure you see yourself settled into bed, as well. We were already later than intended and I don’t wish to keep you up further. I can do everything else myself.”

Gwyn frowned, brushing grey hair behind her ears. “You just make sure you are not up too late yourself, Your Majesty.”

Edelgard returned her hard look with a faint smile. “I will do my best.”

Having served Edelgard since she was a young girl, and knowing very well her terrible habit of getting sidetracked by work or failing to return to bed after a nightmare, Gwyn sniffed in disapproval, but did not press further.

As Gwyn left, Edelgard occupied herself with letting down her hair and brushing it thoroughly, feeling a little of the tension of the day ease out of her with each stroke. More than anything else, being able to sit and brush her hair signalled that she was home.

Manuela arrived only a few minutes later, wearing a casual black gown which billowed as she strode into the room. “Edelgard! I was hoping you’d be back earlier and I could speak to you both, but—” She exhaled and relaxed into one of the chairs in Edelgard’s anteroom. “How was he?”

“He seems… well, I think. His usual self,” she replied.

“His usual self,” Manuela repeated, thinning her elegantly painted lips. “Hm. Did he do something that bothered you?”

Edelgard winced. “Is my need so obvious?”

“Only because I know you both quite well,” she said. “Or as well as anyone knows that boy, I suppose.”

“He…” Edelgard wasn’t sure how to explain the feeling of unease at being touched, the pretence of intimacy from someone she did not trust—how, even with no threats around whatsoever, it made her feel hunted. She hesitated. “It’s… his flirting—”

She saw Manuela’s lips twitch and she flushed. She knew it was foolish, but…

“He catches you off-guard?” Manuela asked.

“It’s more that I get the feeling he’s doing it on purpose, to—to unnerve me,” Edelgard explained. And it’s working.

Manuela sat back in her chair. “He very well might me. Claude could never resist poking and prodding at things—and people.” She reached over and gently patted Edelgard’s hand and she forced herself not to pull it away. She didn’t normally mind with Manuela, but—today she felt out of sorts, thanks to Claude. “I know you aren’t used to it, being the Imperial Princess and then the Emperor. Claude probably guessed that too.”

Edelgard frowned. “You believe he’s testing me?”

“In a way.”

She found herself examining her hands in her lap, tracing the seams in the fabric of her gloves. Testing her by making her uncomfortable? What could be his purpose? What could he hope to discover? “Wouldn’t it make more sense to… ‘play nice’ with me, even if he doesn’t mean it?”

She had been musing aloud, mainly, but Manuela responded anyway. “Perhaps, but… The thing you must understand about Claude is that he trusts no one.”

“That’s what you said before.”

Manuela waved her hands expansively. “I mean to say that… sometimes I don’t think he trusts even himself. At Garreg Mach, I felt sorry for him, and outsider new to all the noble politics and such… I tried to be approachable.” She sighed. “Sometimes it seemed to work, and I felt like he was starting to warm up to me, but then… he wouldn’t ever become unpleasant, exactly, but he would say things that were meant to shock or cause offence, when I knew he could be – and often was – more circumspect than that.”

Edelgard was more confused than ever. “You believe he was… trying to push you away? Where he might have made an ally or a friend?”

“More than that, I feel like he did it when he felt too relaxed. It’s hard to really say,” Manuela said, “but it’s what I think. I was sure it was the new environment and he’d grow out of it, but if he hasn’t…”

Whatever doubts the woman herself expressed, Edelgard knew Manuela’s intuition and ability to read people was not to be put aside so hastily. And she could readily understand the idea that Claude might sometimes doubt his own judgement, as she was sometimes plagued by her own doubts…

But then wouldn’t it make sense to have someone with he could rely on with him, here in Enbarr? Judith and Hilda seemed to have his trust—why not bring one of them to be a friend, an advisor? Edelgard would have been hard pressed to deny that request even if she wanted to.

He trusts no one, not even himself… but then how does he…

Edelgard shook her head. She’d never unravel the mysteries of his character at this late hour, that was for sure. “Thank you, Manuela, you’ve given me a lot to think about. And how have things been in my absence?”

“Oh no you don’t!” Manuela clucked her tongue. “You mustn’t start on Emperor business now. Leave that for tomorrow. Suffice to say that all has been well. You could afford to leave Ferdie in charge more often, you know.”

Edelgard did know. The temptation sometimes was overwhelming—to just take a day, a week, to laze about and eat sweets and pretend she had not a care in the world. But it seemed to be shirking responsibility. She had started this war, this mess, and all the pressure and challenge and guilt it brought lay at her feet alone. It would be cowardly to pass it off to someone else simply so she could… pretend not to be the Emperor for a while.

Manuela must have known what her response would be without Edelgard even having to say anything, because she shook her head and sighed, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze before standing. “At least make sure you get a good night’s rest, won’t you?”

“I’ll try,” Edelgard said, thinking of making the same promise to Gwyn not long ago. Hopefully, the long journey would have tired her out, and her rest would be uninterrupted by nightmares.

But the itching under her skin, the prickles at the back of her neck, as though being watched, suggested she might not be so lucky.

*

Claude had another fitful sleep and woke to the sound of a servant stoking the fire.

“My lord!” the man said, hastily bowing. “I’m so sorry to have disturbed you.”

“I’m a light sleeper.” Claude yawned, not purely for emphasis. “Maybe we can leave this kind of thing until later in the morning, huh? At least in my rooms. I promise I don’t need the fire.”

“Of course, my lord,” he replied. “I’ll make sure all the staff know…”

After that, Claude struggled to get back to sleep and eventually gave up entirely. Stupid mistake to make. He should have mentioned it, but he’d just forgotten—unforgivable carelessness now that he was officially in enemy territory. Edelgard was not to be underestimated. He’d already made that mistake once and had to throw away all his existing plans.

Claude wondered what he would do with the extra hours of his day – nothing had been specifically arranged with Edelgard – but his thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. He opened it cautiously, but nothing could have prepared him for Professor Manuela to be waiting on the other side of it.

“Claude!” She gave him a beaming smile, bright and beautiful as always. “How wonderful to see you! It’s been such a long time.”

He couldn’t help but blink at her helplessly for a minute. How—what—why didn’t any of his spies tell him—

Gathering his thoughts, Claude managed to conjure a smile despite feeling uneasy. “Professor! You’re not quite the last person I expected to see here, but pretty close.”

Manuela laughed lightly. “Enbarr has always been home to me! I couldn’t resist being here. And someone has to keep an eye on our Emperor’s health.” The cheer dropped as she sighed. “She does work herself so hard…”

“The Emperor’s physician, huh?” Claude had always known his professor could come out on top of any situation, but he hadn’t realised just how close to the top she’d managed to position herself this time. He expected better of his informants, but it seemed like they’d just overlooked her.

People tended to do that in Fódlan, overlook people in positions of subtle power. Claude didn’t understand it. Manuela might be a commoner with no Crest – but she was also quite independently wealthy thanks to her stint in opera and careful management of her funds; had managed to study and qualify as a physician at the same time as being a star songstress of the Mittelfrank Opera Company; was widely recognised by practitioners of faith magic as one of the best; had been in close proximity to the Archbishop, one of if not the highest authorities in Fódlan, for several years; and in her capacity as a professor at Garreg Mach had developed ties to noble houses across the whole continent.

It would make for an almost terrifying list of accomplishments from a member of the nobility, never mind from someone who’d worked for it all under her own power. Anyone who dismissed her because of some bad personal habits and her desperation to find a partner was a fool. And Claude was not a fool.

“Edelgard is going to be busy catching up on some work, so I thought it might be nice if we could take a walk together through the palace grounds,” Manuela said, readying her disarming smile again.

“That sounds great!” Claude replied. “I was just wondering what I’d be doing with my day, and it would be nice to catch up.”

It wasn’t really that nice, which he was worried showed in his gritted teeth. Those devoted to a goddess who called the people outside of Fódlan ‘beasts’ had always made Claude wary, and Manuela was more devout than most—genuine devotion, unlike the lip service Lorenz paid for the sake of appearances.

But it also begged the question of what Manuela was doing at the side of Edelgard, who should be her mortal enemy for her actions against the Church of Seiros. A question Claude wouldn't mind getting an answer to. And if anyone would know the who’s who of the Enbarr elite, it would be Professor Manuela for sure… If he wanted to know about Arundel, who better to ask?

Ah… I always get myself into these situations by following my curiosity.

Manuela smiled and Claude, dutifully, offered her his arm.

The grounds were more extensive than Claude expected, considering it was situated right in the middle of the city—they passed through several open courtyards into an orchard, a meticulously maintained garden full of exotic and homely flowers both, and even a large pond with water lilies and reeds. It was all very picturesque, but Claude wasn’t sure how impressed he was supposed to be. The Alliance had a similar climate, if not slightly warmer, with winds from Almyra, but the landscape for the nobility was vastly different – there were no such grand, sweeping estates in the centre of power, in Derdriu.

Of course, Professor Manuela had an answer for everything. It didn’t take much prompting for her to begin regaling him with the history of the Royal Palace, how it had been built in the earliest days of the Empire and parts of it were some of the oldest buildings in Fódlan—known then and for centuries as the Royal Palace, being the only seat of royalty on the whole continent.

She spoke of it with such pride. In Garreg Mach, it had been easy to forget that she’d been born in the Empire. It always seemed like such a distant thing to him—not even a pride in your own ancestors, although the excessive veneration of those was just as strange—but a pride in the distant ancestor of someone who ruled over you, a pride in… what was the Empire, really? A collection of imagined borders and imagined connections of people so disparate from one another. To value something that was intangible… it seemed foolish to him.

Strange as it was, it gave Claude an opportunity to segue into a question on more useful matters. By the pond, in a wide open space which assured they were alone, might be the best chance he got. “Is that how Edelgard got so many of the nobles on side, reuniting the Empire? I didn’t think many of them would go in for her reforming zeal.”

Manuela laughed and gently smacked his arm. “You didn’t even let me ask about everyone before asking nosy questions, did you? But I suppose there will be another time for that.” The laugh faded slowly, leaving a slump in her shoulders. “I can’t deny that the reunification of Fódlan under the Adrestian Empire is something many of the nobles have desired for a long time. I’m sure that plays some part. Maybe they underestimate Edelgard because she’s still such a young woman. They think they can persuade her to be less radical.”

“A mistake, I take it?” Claude asked dryly.

Manuela’s smile was unlike her usual self—distant and satisfied rather than warm. “Edelgard’s resolve will never crumble,” she replied. “She could never be turned away from her goals from the likes of them.”

What about the likes of me? he thought, quite stupidly as he’d never been able to persuade the likes of anyone, let alone Edelgard. But oh, the thought of having the power of the Adrestian Empire turned towards his own goals…

“Maybe they think that because her uncle’s not been very willing to give up the reins of power,” he said instead, steering the subject to his real interest.

“Claude!” she said, taken aback.

He shrugged. “I’m just saying…” He gave a brief explanation of the meeting with Bergliez. “He’s not giving the best impression of an Emperor ruling over united domains, is he?”

As much as Edelgard had tried to play it off as family taking liberties… Claude thought it must run deeper than that. Even his half-siblings knew not to defy their father quite so brazenly, if only for the sake of plausible deniability. If Lord Arundel was going around and talking down Edelgard’s decisions to the most important nobles of the Empire…

“Arundel is…” Manuela faltered, just for a moment, a sharp downturn at the corners of her mouth revealing a real concern that rarely broke through her poise. “He has his own resources, but he’s a hundred percent behind Her Majesty for this war.”

Claude made a quiet humming sound which she could take as agreement.

Manuela wasn’t fooled. She sighed and said, “Just promise me that you won’t go digging, will you? It’s best not to offend Arundel. He may be the most powerful man in the Empire.”

He liked the way she assumed he would inevitably cause offence if he did dig into it more. Professor Manuela knew him so well! “Hey, I’m just trying to work out where the danger points are. Don’t want to stick my foot in my mouth by accident.”

“There is that…” Despite the serious implications, she smiled as she shook her head. But she didn’t say any more on the topic. “Lysithea was supposed to return this morning. Let’s see if she’s here yet.”

Knowing that Manuela’s wisdom sometimes manifested in strange ways, Claude let her lead him back through the grounds, but instead of going back into the palace, they wandered through the orchard again, until they came to a stout apple tree, shorter than all the others.

Lysithea was sitting in its branches.

“I take it this tree has the sweetest apples, then?” Claude called up to her.

She was startled, shifting on her branch to peer down at them both. To his relief, she smiled. “Claude! You really did come.”

“In the flesh,” he agreed. If she was happy to see him, that was a good sign. “I hear you’ve been away from Enbarr too.”

Lysithea rolled her eyes. “You’d think I’d gone all the way to Morfis with how everyone carries on! I was only visiting Hanneman.”

“He’s taken back up at the family estate, hasn’t he?”

Claude had heard it from his spies, but it wasn’t something the Empire was particularly keeping secret. Having the foremost expert in Crestology, a man who’d abandoned Adrestia with his title, voluntarily return to the fold under Edelgard lent credence to the idea that the Empire were ushering in a new era of scientific advancement. Maybe they would even ‘discover’ how to make proper cannons.

“Only because his old lab is there,” Manuela said. In a more sarcastic voice, she added, “Surely no other lab in the Empire could meet his standards.”

“It’s only a few hours away from Enbarr,” Lysithea explained for Claude’s benefit. “It’s convenient.”

“Are you apprenticed to him then?” Claude asked. He hadn’t heard about it, and he hadn’t thought Lysithea to be very interested in Crests, but…

“Something like that,” she replied with a shrug, beginning to climb back down the tree.

Claude felt Manuela reach forward impulsively before drawing herself back. Lysithea is as open to help as ever, I take it.

“How are you feeling?” Manuela asked instead. “Do you need me to—”

“I am well,” Lysithea said, frowning. “I know my limits.”

Indeed, she’d always been well aware of her limits in the Academy. As Claude remembered, she would begin studying in secret when she utterly ignored them, knowing everyone else would only try to get her to consider such unimportant details as food and rest.

Claude grinned. “I see you haven’t changed a bit.”

That was Lysithea’s cue to turn her frown on him instead. “I see you haven’t either.” But her lips twitched and a moment later a small smile graced them instead. For the moment, nostalgia was on his side. “Seriously, though, how is everyone?”

“Well, Hilda has the whole of Derdriu wrapped around her little finger, as you might expect…” Claude dutifully dredged his memory for any scraps of information he could remember about the rest of the Golden Deer. He may have embellished some of it. He knew Hilda still exchanged the odd letter with Marianne, and Ignatz with Raph, but Claude himself had had little to do with them since graduating.

Manuela’s expression softened as he finished by recounting Leonie’s successes as a mercenary. “Everyone really is doing well, then,” she murmured. “That’s good news.”

Something had happened to the cheerful reunion mood, but Claude couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

Lysithea reached out to pat Manuela’s arm. “I told you—we’re not your responsibility any more. It’s not your fault if anything happens.”

“Yes, but…” She trailed off with a crestfallen expression. “Never mind. It really was good to speak to you, Claude, but I think I had better check in on Her Majesty.”

“You should!” Lysithea scowled and folded her arms. “She always overdoes it if one of us isn’t there to make her take a break.”

Manuela and Claude shared what must surely be identical expressions of suppressed laughter.

Lysithea flushed. “Yes, alright, you needn’t look like that.”

“You’ve gotten much better,” Manuela said graciously. She seemed to have recovered some of her cheer, as she gave both of them a kiss on the cheek by way of goodbye. “Claude, Lysithea will know much more about that topic than I. Just… promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Cross my heart,” Claude said, ignoring the way Lysithea narrowed her eyes at him.

She folded her arms as Manuela walked away. “So what was it?” she asked. “Crests or Arundel?”

“Both,” he said, “but I guess mainly Arundel for the time being.” He told again the odd meeting with Count Bergliez.

Lysithea pursed her lips, frowning. “He shouldn’t have done that. Now you’re just desperate to know more.”

Claude smiled. “If he wasn’t trying to pique my curiosity, he should’ve been more discreet.”

“He was trying to warn you,” she snapped. “Take this seriously.”

The way she and Manuela talked about Arundel—around Arundel more than actually about him—did make him sound dangerous, but he wasn’t sure where Count Bergliez came into it.

The momentary display of anger faded and Lysithea sighed. “Walk with me.”

Half amused and half concerned, Claude followed her on a familiar path through the orchard. Maybe the grounds weren’t such a great place for secret conversations if everybody’s instinct was to come here to be secretive. “Come on, Lysithea, have you ever known me not to be serious?”

Lysithea snorted. “Contrary to the impression you try to give, no,” she replied, which gave Claude pause. He didn’t have time to consider it further before she barrelled on with: “But Arundel isn’t just a scheming noble. He’s dangerous.”

He recovered enough to chime in with, “Please tell me you’ve never thought of me as just a scheming noble.”

He was rewarded when a ghost of a smile crossed her face, although she pretended to be cross. “I’m trying to talk to you here!”

“Sorry, Professor Lysithea.” He bowed his head. “I’m all ears.”

Despite her words, she didn’t say anything for a long time. Claude recognised the knitted brows as a signal of deep thought, if it hadn’t already been obvious from it being, well… Lysithea. He tried to keep a smile on his face, but it was hard under the weight of those slight shoulders as she tried to fold in on herself, seemingly without even realising.

“How much do you know about the Insurrection of the Seven?” she asked, eventually, her voice barely a murmur.

Not a topic for levity, then. “That was… some sort of rebellion in the Empire, right? Of the major nobles? The details are a little fuzzy.” Claude hadn’t even been in Fódlan then and everyone seemed to consider it old news by the time he was getting into Alliance politics. “All I really know about it is that House Ordelia tried to support House Hyrm, and, well…” No need to rub the downfall of her family in her face.

Lysithea nodded, smoothing one of her sleeves. Nervous tic? “Yes. To give the short version, after House Hyrm rebelled against the Empire, rather than giving their lands to another heir of the family or creating a new house, Emperor Ionius placed it directly under the control of Prime Minister Aegir. Concerned that this signalled the Emperor gathering more land under his direct control, the six major noble houses of the Empire launched a political coup. The Emperor was stripped of his power and became little more than a figurehead.”

“Really?” Edelgard wasn’t a figurehead, that was for certain. So she’d wrested real power back from the nobles… even smarter and more determined than he gave her credit for. “So… these Seven would be… the noble families and Arundel, I’m guessing?”

Which would make Arundel pretty ruthless, taking power from someone who was basically his brother-in-law, but not more than—

“No,” Lysithea said. “When the fighting started, Arundel fled to Faerghus with Princess Edelgard.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Arundel only became associated with the Insurrection when he became the public face of it, as the regent for his niece years later.” Lysithea kept going as though she couldn’t hear him. “When there was a position in it for him. When he… could use his family for his advancement.”

Claude frowned. She was staring at him so imploringly. He must be missing something. The pause was significant. He didn’t sound any worse than Aegir or the rest on the face of it, but Lysithea wasn’t going around and warning Claude about the possible machinations of Hevring or any of the rest of them.

She bit her lip, obviously noticing that he didn’t quite follow. “The others…” She trailed off, swallowed, and tried again. “The others were in it for… well, I suppose from their perspective they were trying to safeguard the balance of power in the Empire. Certainly, that’s how Bergliez tells it.”

Now would be the wrong time to laugh at Lysithea’s small nose wrinkling in disdain.

“Arundel… is different. He wanted the position to exploit it.” Lysithea took a deep breath. “When he came to power, his people came to House Ordelia. That’s the real reason for the downfall of our house." She hesitated a moment, studying his expression with enough force to make even Claude uncomfortable. "And for my… condition.”

“Wait, what?” Claude’s mind felt like it had come to a complete standstill. “Your…”

Her condition. Because he’d always assumed it was some kind of illness—congenital weakness, maybe. But if it was caused by people, then that meant—what did it mean?

“Do you know why House Ordelia fell from grace, Claude?” Lysithea demanded. There was something cold in her eyes, something biting and raw. Claude knew it wasn’t directed at him, but it was hard not to look away from it anyway. “It’s not just because we backed the wrong side. It’s because our future died. Now there’s only me, and I'm nearly dead myself.”

“But you…” The Insurrection of the Seven was years ago. As much as Lysithea hated being treated like a child, at the time, she really would have been just a little girl. A girl. And now she was barely an adult and already looking forward to dying. “What did Arundel's people do to you?”

“That’s none of your business,” she said bitingly. “I’ve already said more than I should. But I know what you’re like and you would’ve just—” Lysithea shook her head. “Arundel is different from the others, Claude. Don’t cross him.”

He gritted his teeth to stop his words spilling out without thinking. How dare they, what sort of, tell me who, blah blah. All stuff Lysithea knew anyway and not anything she would want to hear from her old house leader. It would sound false, even if Claude objected because of the utter wrongness of it, and not because of Lysithea.

It took several seconds to get his thoughts in order. “How…”

She held her hands up, bringing him to a sudden stop. “I’m done talking about this. Consider this your warning since we’re old friends. I’m certainly not encouraging you.”

You think we’re friends? Claude thought, bewildered, but dismissed it. ‘Friends’ wasn’t as meaningful in Fódlan as in Almyra, he kept forgetting. His grandfather had always talked about their ‘friends’ in House Gloucester in public, after all. “I don’t mean that! I just—”

“Claude,” she said, exasperated now, “can’t you just stay away from him?”

He opened his mouth but paused at her expression. Exasperated, but… resigned. Resigned to something terrible. One of her arms had developed a tremor. That’s what she’d been trying to hide, he realised, with the way she smoothed out her gaping sleeve. She was trying to suppress it even now. Lysithea hated showing weakness.

What was it she always said? ‘I don’t have time for failure’? Her health had always been delicate, even at the Academy. How much had five years worsened things? Maybe he shouldn’t burden her with more stress.

“Well… alright,” he said, watching how she practically sagged in relief. “I’ll try to avoid him. Thanks for the warning.”

“You finally learnt a bit of sense,” Lysithea replied, wry and light. “Miracles do happen.”

Claude grinned back at her, even though he felt a little bad for the deception, and the inevitable digging into Lysithea’s personal issues that he’d have to do. “I don’t know if I’d go that far…”

Chapter Text

The conversation with Lysithea bothered Claude more than he wanted to admit. It was all well and good to say that she just wanted him to understand what kind of man Arundel was, but it raised more questions than it answered about everything else. What was the purpose of whatever had been done to Lysithea? Why was Arundel still around if he was so evil? Could it be that Edelgard didn’t know? That seemed impossible. That she didn’t care? But her friendship with Lysithea seemed genuine…

Why was Lysithea in the Empire at all?

He didn’t have much time to wonder about it, because not long after Lysithea excuse herself, a servant appeared and asked if Claude would be willing to take tea with her Majesty.

What else am I going to do? Claude thought, amused by the formality. He followed the servant back indoors and to an upper floor where all the windows seemed to be double height and made with stained glass. He didn’t have time to study them, but it at a glance they appeared to depict scenes from the history of the Empire. Yes, yes, the Empire used to rule over all. I can take a hint, Edelgard.

The rooms here had no doors; instead, grand archways opened up onto the central corridor to best show off the stained glass and to allow light to floor in. Not exactly an area for private conversation, but pretty.

Edelgard was in a room near the end of the long corridor, easily identifiable by the armed guards posted outside it. The Emperor rose to greet him with a smile. “Claude! Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure if you would be finished talked with Lysithea.”

I wasn’t, he groused to himself. “She went to her room to rest, I think.”

Her smile faltered. “Was she… very unwell?”

Very, of course, because Lysithea was always a bit unwell. “I’m not really sure,” Claude said. The tremor would have made him extremely concerned at the Academy, but her health must have deteriorated since then. Maybe it was common now.

With the knowledge that something had been done to her to make her like this, the thought raised a terrible cold fury in him. He tried to push it down. It would just be a distraction.

“Would you like me to check on her, Your Majesty?” asked the servant who’d fetched Claude.

Edelgard breathed a sigh of relief. “I’d appreciate it, Miguel. And if you would make Manuela aware…”

The man bowed. “Consider it done, Your Majesty.”

Then he left, leaving the two of them alone. Well, alone for a certain standard of ‘alone’. Perhaps it was Claude’s imagination, but he thought one of the guards glared at him suspiciously as he watched the servant leave.

“Please, sit,” Edelgard said.

The table was laid out with delicate cakes and sandwiches as well as a pot of steaming tea. Very much like the little teatimes at Garreg Mach, in fact. “So soon after breakfast?”

“I…” Was she a little flushed. “In my hurry to catch up with work, I may have… skipped breakfast…”

It was such childish contrition that Claude laughed. “Manuela wasn’t happy to hear that, I take it?”

“She suggested I take a break. Quite… forcefully.”

He shook his head, still grinning. “I see she hasn’t outgrown that habit. You wouldn’t believe the number of times she dragged me out of the library for dinner.”

Edelgard returned his look with a smirk of her own. “I’m sorry to say that that sounds very believable.”

“And here I was thinking I’d made a good impression.”

Edelgard laughed. She hadn’t seemed to do much of that at the Academy. It was a wonder to see her so relaxed now, despite all the responsibilities that came with the mantle of Emperor. What a strange time to find yourself. What a strange woman. But if she wasn’t so strange, this would all be much more boring. I should be grateful.

She reached out and poured him a cup of tea, a soft citrus scent wafting towards Claude alongside the steam. He watched, appalled, as Edelgard added not one but two spoonfuls of sugar to her own cup.

Catching sight of his expression, she said, “I didn’t know what kind of tea you preferred, but I’ll make sure to have it prepared on another occasion.”

“Oh, this is fine,” Claude said, resisting the urge to push the sugar bowl further away from his cup—just in case. “Although I quite enjoy chamomile, myself.”

And he drank with without additions, as nature intended! Ugh.

“Chamomile?” Edelgard tiled her head a little, like an inquisitive bird. “I admit, I expected you to prefer something with a stronger flavour.”

Claude had grown up with the pine tea of Almyra, which had a subtle and fragrant taste. Many of the popular teas of Fódlan felt heavy and cloying by comparison. Not that he could explain that. He smiled instead. “I can be delicate too, you know.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she replied, light and playful.

It was easy to banter with her. Too easy, almost. It felt false, especially after learning more about Arundel. And still, she and Lysithea had managed to become friends… What did Lysithea see in her to overlook all of that? Claude frowned at Edelgard’s violet eyes as though they might reveal what was going on inside her head.

He only realised he’d been staring when Edelgard raised an eyebrow at him. “Is there something on your mind, Claude?”

For a moment, he considered simply asking her about Arundel directly. But she could hardly be expected to give a straight answer and he didn’t want her to think he was digging into him out of more than idle curiosity. He assumed Manuela had already told her about their conversation—unavoidable in this place—but there was no need to sour the mood of their ‘negotiations’ so soon by asking the Emperor awkward questions.

But speaking of why, supposedly, he was here… “I was just wondering if banter could count as negotiating.”

“I seem to remember that you started it yesterday,” Edelgard replied dryly. Well, fair enough. “We can talk about taxes if you like, though.”

Claude grinned. Fódlan seem to regard learning as somehow unmasculine, and most nobles learned their mathematics reluctantly if at all. It had certainly allowed him to run rings about many of the Alliance nobles.(Not Count Gloucester, unfortunately. That man was as smart as he was arrogant.)

Maybe Edelgard thought she could do the same to him. Cute.

“Perhaps we should save such riveting conversation for another time,” he said. “But on the topic, I did want to ask what you hope to get out of this. You are allowed to mention taxes if they’re especially important.”

The last comment brought a fleeting smile to her face, but it was soon overcome by a thoughtful frown. “What I hope for… An ally, I suppose. A partner, perhaps more precisely. Someone who would share my vision—who could help me see further and better.”

High-handed and moralising instead of practical, about what he expected after asking for her ‘hopes’. You could tell a lot about someone from what they dreamed of. And why.

The why was really the trouble, though, wasn’t it?

“Your vision for a society where people can rise and fall on their own merits?” He took a sip of his tea to make the pause more significant, but she merely waited patiently for him to continue. “It sounds… lovely.”

It did. If you could assume ‘people’ to truly mean ‘people’, and not merely ‘the people of Fódlan’. Not, in Claude’s experience, an entirely safe assumption.

He expected her to be disappointed by his scepticism, like the last time, but contrarily she sat up straighter, fixing her pale yes on him with a determined line to her lips. “I’ll show you,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

“Show me what?”

With a satisfied smile, she took a cake from the stand and took a dainty bite from it. “Our school. The model for all of Fódlan.”

*

In truth, Edelgard spoke too soon when she said ‘tomorrow’, a fact she had to falteringly explain to Claude the next day, at another ‘medically advised’ tea break. She held her stoicism infuriatingly, reached out to stroke her cheek with a handsome smile that took her breath away. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Overeager looks adorable on you anyway.”

“Well, as long as I’ve entertained you,” Edelgard had replied, but she’d been aware of blushing ferociously as she spoke. Curse a man who knew how handsome he was.

But at least it was good practise for being less affected in the future. She tried to bear in mind what Manuela said about being ‘tested’ by him, a test she was determined to pass by keeping her cool and not giving in to her childish impulse to poke his cheek to see if she could disturb that perfect smile of his, or the even more childish impulse to get her own back somehow.

Quite without her permission, teatimes with Claude had become a daily occurence—she suspected that Manuela was trying her hand at matchmaker—but at least they were enjoyable when Claude could be persuaded to talk like a real person and not in constant verbals parries and thrusts. For this, Edelgard usually had to resort to safe topics like fashion and Fódlan’s distant past. On those occasions, he was as fine a conversation partner as one could ask for.

A good partner in other things… would remain to be seen.

Before the week was out, the visit to the school was arranged. Ferdinand joined them as he had also contributed a lot to this particular project. They took a carriage through the city, and under her grand cloak Edelgard was unpleasantly warm despite the cool weather. She was glad that Ferdinand was taking the brunt of Claude’s interest on this occasion.

“So, you have a lot of experience with educational policy yourself?” Claude was asking, of course knowing the answer to be no.

He underestimated Ferdinand if he thought such a minor nitpick would be sufficient to unsteady him. “Not myself!” Ferdinand said in his usual bombastic manner. “But I have been lucky enough to be taught by Wilhelm of Rowe, a renowned scholar, who was pleased to consult in this matter—”

He went on for some time on Wilhelm’s qualifications, observations the man had drawn on the best was of teaching his various charges over the years, the grand plans they’d outlined together for a university in the south…

Edelgard could see Ferdinand beginning to get carried away, and gently interrupted with, “But that is a consideration for the future. We’ve been focusing on the teaching of more practical skills right now, haven’t we?”

“Indeed!” Ferdinand beamed, not at all chastised. “The basics can be built upon later for those with the aptitude and interest, but it is important that all citizens of Adrestia get the opportunity to learn!”

Claude winked in her. “And even citizens of the Alliance get the opportunity to get a word in edgeways. Thanks for the save, Your Majesty.”

Edelgard could not formulate any response except to blink at him.

He smiled, knowing him enjoying the thought of having taken her off guard, before turning back to Ferdinand. “So, who did you get to actually teach this stuff? I doubt your scholar is doing it all on his own.”

“The school is currently staffed by volunteers from the priory at Essar—”

“Sisters?” Claude looked at Edelgard askance. “Seems a bit counter-intuitive, given everything.”

“I’ve always said, that my issues lie with the Church, not the faith,” Edelgard replied coolly. “Many of the Sisters of the priory were already engaged in voluntary work in Enbarr, and have experience as teachers. It simply made sense.”

However awkward it had actually been to ask them for such a favour. Once upon a time, the priory at Essar had been a place Edelgard loved visiting. Built by a woman of House Hresvelg who’d married the lord of Essar six hundred years ago, it had been dedicated to Saint Seiros in honour of her sister, who bore the Crest of Seiros and joined the Church against the then-Emperor’s wishes.

Once, Edelgard had considered it a place that allowed her to commune with her ancestors as well as Saint Seiros herself. The Mother Superior remembered Edelgard from all those years ago and had expressed joy at welcoming her back to the priory. It had been an uncomfortable, mortifying visit as she found herself unable to turn aside the Mother Superior’s promises to pray for her good health.

Edelgard spent the rest of the journey in silence, trying to properly recover her composure, but all too soon they were alighting at the school. Edelgard fazed up at the spire of the converted chapel and took a deep breath, steeling herself.

“You feeling alright there, Princess?”

She frowned at Claude.

“Sorry. Your Majesty.” He smiled. “I keep forgetting.”

“That was not—” She sighed. He had surely noticed her discomfort and was needling her for his own entertainment. “Never mind. Let us go inside.”

Despite saying that, when Claude didn’t move, neither did she. He watched her for a minute, still wearing the same easy smile—but his eyes were calculating. “You really don’t like the Church of Seiros, do you. You hate even looking at the thing.”

“My feelings on the subject are… complex,” Edelgard allowed, “but my personal faith is not relevant.”

“Hm. Well, maybe not.” Claude seemed to lose interest in the subject, instead peering at the chapel himself. “Even though it’s old, it’s fairly elaborate, don’t you think? I’m impressed.”

“This chapel dates back four hundred years,” she said, latching onto the topic as a distraction. “There was a movement in Enbarr at the time to celebrate the Goddess by making her cities things of beauty. It used to be painted in bright colours. You can still see areas where the paint remains inside.”

“Really?” Claude peered at it with renewed interest.

If he were a habitual follower of the Church, surely he ought to know about the aestheticism movement? It had been one of the pretexts given for the War of the Eagle and Lion, that the Empire was straying from the true path of the Goddess. By comparison to the Empire and the Alliance, Churches in the Kingdom were still austere.

Of course, dear Byleth had managed to learn almost nothing of the Church despite travelling the whole of Fódlan. Still…

“You really are knowledgable about the history of Enbarr,” Claude said. “At some point, I should let you take me on a tour of the city.”

“How gracious of you to allow me to suffer your presence,” she replied dryly, but without heat. Conversation like this with Claude was familiar enough by now that, in a weird way, it helped to settle her nerves. “I hope you will also allow me to usher you inside. We don’t want to cause more interruption than necessary.”

“Oh, now I’m the hold up?” Claude replied, but he stepped inside even as he said it.

The walls and curved archways did little to alleviate Edelgard’s nerves. To cover the way her muscles tensed as she crossed the threshold, she gestured towards a corner of the ceiling. “There. You can see where it used to be painted like the night sky.”

Claude glanced at it and then, to her surprise, his face split into one of those broad, genuine smiles. “Draconis.”

Edelgard blinked. She had never looked very closely at that particular patch—but yes, now that he’d pointed it out, she could see that it was the Great Wyrm constellation, with half a ‘wing’ missing. “Your astronomy must be excellent to recognise it so quickly.”

“I’ve always enjoyed stargazing,” Claude said. He seemed genuinely absorbed, not turning to look at her at all.

She filed this information as another safe topic for their tea times, but Ferdinand had appeared in the doorway to wave them forward, frowning. Claude was still staring at the ceiling so she grabbed his arm to pull him along—

He twitched violently, not quite pulling himself from her grip, suppressing the reaction nearly instantly. But Edelgard was not so oblivious that she could not recognise her own reactions on someone else. She dropped his arm and retreated a few steps, waving him forward. “Sorry for dragging you away, but really…”

There was a pause before his apologetic chuckle. “Okay, it really was my fault that time, you’re right. Let’s press on!”

He gave no outward signs of being perturbed, but as he fell into step beside her, Edelgard studied him out of the corner of her eye. The smile soon fell away, revealing a tense line to his jaw that matched the square set of his shoulders, as though bracing himself.

She could put the pieces together. Wrapped up in his own thoughts, her touch had startled him, and he’d reacted instinctively—with an instinct he immediately tried to disguise. Perhaps the pause had been him deciding he’d successfully fooled her, or just deciding that if he pretended like nothing happened, she would start to second-guess it herself.

So… at some point, Claude had also learned to fear being touched. And when he pretends to be intimate with me, he knows exactly what he’s doing, because…

The thought that they might be similar in this regard was oddly comforting. It made total sense, now, why he insisted on the silly moments of flirting. How often had she inserted herself into uncomfortable conversations for the sake of it not being able to take her by surprise? Well, two can play at that game.

“…The students are of mixed age groups, as the school has only been running for a few months. Sister Ophelia has kindly allowed us to observe her class, who are the most advanced.”

Oh. Yes. Ferdinand was here. He’d been thoughtful enough to fill in her awkward silence, even if Claude did not seem like he was fully attending at the moment. She must remember to thank him later.

Ferdinand held open the door and gestured Claude inside, giving him a moment to send her a concerned look. She subtly waved his concern away, taking a deep breath and making sure to smile as she entered the classroom, an old antechamber of the chapel. Though she knew the oldest child in the school was thirteen, they all seemed unbearably small. The idea that she had ever been so young was alien.

“Your Majesty, Your Grace, my lord Ferdinand—” Sister Ophelia curtsied The children clumsily copied her example, a few of the youngest boys doing so a bit too exactly as they curtsied themselves. Claude gave a very unsubtle cough to hide his smile. “Thank you for visiting our humble school.”

“Thank you for welcoming us, Sister,” Edelgard said, making sure to cast her smile on all of the students as well. She’d practised this moment over and over in her head, wanting the children to feel that she was genuinely happy to be there. The last thing she wanted was for them to run home and tell their neighbourhoods about the cold, distant, and awkward Emperor. “And thank you to everyone else, as well! I am very excited to hear about some of the work you have been doing!”

She received some shy smiles in return, which made her whole body feel lighter. As Sister Ophelia coached the children through reciting the alphabet, numbers to thirty, before each child introduced themselves by name, spelt it aloud, and then answered some basic arithmetic questions from Sister Ophelia. It shouldn’t have been thrilling, but Edelgard felt as though her heart was in her throat the whole time and she had to carefully control her breathing to keep from crying. This was her real purpose. The war was an ugly necessity, a black mark she would carry throughout history—but this… this was the future.

It was such a small step. There were still only a handful of schools in Enbarr, and they had yet to completely find satisfactory answers to how to ensure every child in Fódlan would be able to attend one. But Edelgard would find a way somehow, even if it took until her dying breath.

This is why I was made.

She was especially interested in Claude’s reaction, so of course he was being excruciatingly careful to hide everything behind that handsome smile of his. “Do you mind if I ask a question of my own?”

Sister Ophelia glanced at her charges and then at Edelgard. She gave the sister a slight nod, hoping she would understand that it was not an order but ‘permission if you think it wise’. She had tried to stress throughout the educational project that she was seeking honest opinions from those with more experience than she, not rigid obedience, but she was not sure how well all of them had taken to it.

“You’re most welcome to, Your Grace,” Sister Ophelia replied. “Although I hope you will understand if the children cannot answer.”

“Oh, of course. You guys have only been in schooling for a few months, right?”

After a pause when it became clear he was addressing them directly, a few of the children gave hesitant nods.

“Did any of you learn any reading or anything before you came here?”

A few children raised their hands. “My Ma taught me some numbers,” a particularly bold boy said—one of the older children.

“I see…” Claude looked thoughtful, but there was a gleam in his eye that Edelgard suspected meant mischief. Her suspicions were proved correct when he reached inside his jacket and withdrew a slim book. “Could you guys read something for me right now?”

Sister Ophelia eyed the book with a frown. “It might be a little advanced—”

“I will!” said the boy from before.

Claude laughed. “That’s what we like to hear! What’s your name?”

“Tobias, my lord,” the boy replied. At an intake of breath from the sister, he corrected it to, “I mean, Your Grace.”

“Ah, don’t worry about that,” Claude said, handing the book over.

Did you really think we might have staged this? Edelgard thought, exasperated. Honestly.

The boy squinted at the title. “A…” He paused. “A trey-at-is…”

A girl standing next to him leaned over his shoulder and promptly said, “Treatise.”

“A treatise on the prop-er-ties—” Tobias continued, sounding out the longer word carefully but recognisably, “of… dyn—dynastic blood in Fódlan.” He scrunched up his face. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That’s noble stuff, ain’t it?” the girl next to him said. She was one of the ones who’d raised her hands, Edelgard recalled. “And blood is… well, you know.” She gave Claude a long look and then opened her palm expectantly. “Let me have a look.”

Tobias rolled his eyes before the passing the book over to her. She opened it and began to read, more confidently than Tobias: “It has been noted that the noble blood in Fódlan is particularly strong, dem—” Her first pause. She scowled and then, with a determined expression: “Demonstrating the strengths of the gifts of the Goddess and why we are her chosen people.”

Edelgard’s brows had been climbing higher and higher up head and she feared they were at risk of leaving her face altogether. Why on earth would he pick such a book? Where had he gotten it from? She recognised it—it was an older book, but popular amongst the nobility, and had gone through a number of editions. It pretended at being scientific, but most of it was merely vague assertions and extremely carefully picked examples. She couldn’t believe Claude saw any value in it, so he must have another reason for bringing it with him.

The look on the girl’s face could only be described as extreme scepticism as she continued reading. “Apart from the obvious blessings of Crests, the nobility of Fódlan possess many advantages over those of other nations, showcasing superior intelligence, learning, strength as well as vastly more talent in the arts…”

“That’s not true, is it, Sister?” a high-pitched voice suddenly piped up, one of the younger children.

“It certainly isn’t!” Sister Ophelia said, flushed. “I don’t think this is appropriate material—”

Claude held up his hands. “Hey, they say know your enemies, right?”

“These are children!” Sister Ophelia hissed.

“It’s alright, Sister, it’s obviously rubbish anyway,” Tobias said blithely. “’Cause the Emperor had been saying how the Church has been lying about lots of things an’ that. And nobles aren’t any better than us just because they got Crests.”

“And my daddy fought in the Dagda war and he says they have cannons and all sorts that we don’t in Fódlan!” said another child. “So we can’t be better than them or we’d have all that stuff too, wouldn’t we?”

Whispered discussions broke out between them as Sister Ophelia tried to restore order. Edelgard was more interested in the girl, who kept reading to herself, mouthing the words with a frown of concentration. Even after Sister Ophelia had managed to quiet the children, she kept reading.

Sister Ophelia noticed when she turned a page. “Elisabetta, I think it’s time to return the book to His Grace.”

Elisabetta looked up in alarm.

“She can keep it if she wants,” Claude said. When Sister Ophelia glowered at him, he hastily added, “It was a bit unfair—I didn’t really expect they’d be able to read it…”

Sister Ophelia turned to Edelgard.

“I won’t forbid her a book…” she said. She’d be no better than Rhea if she did, and she wasn’t sure if the girl would be able to understand all the words anyway, even if she could read them. “But I will say that you should read it carefully. It is not… highly regarded as a serious work of science.”

An understatement in the extreme. The normally calm, if eccentric, Hanneman had practically spat on it when he came across a copy in the Enbarr library and tossed it directly into the fire. Actually, if I remember rightly, it was summer then—he had a fire stoked in his personal rooms just so he could burn it…

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Elisabetta said, holding the book tightly to her chest and bowing her head. “I mean, I—I know. I just wanted to… understand.”

“Let me read it too!” Tobias said.

“You couldn’t even read the title!” she snapped, meekness vanishing like smoke.

The children fell into squabbling. Sister Ophelia’s pinched expression was a sight to behold, but Edelgard waved her over. Under the cover of the children’s chatter and Ferdinand running interference with Claude on the topic of his precious ‘curriculum’, Edelgard quietly said, “I’m sorry that we ended up causing much more of an interruption that we realised.”

Sister Ophelia sighed, giving a faint smile. “Perhaps it will turn out to be for the best. These children are all very bright—sometimes beyond their current abilities in reading and writing. Some… spirited—” She pulled a face. “—discussion might give them an outlet for their frustrations.”

Edelgard nodded. “Please send word if you need any more materials or support. And thank you for all your efforts so far.” She hesitated, suppressing the urge to bite the lip. “I’m sorry to ask something which might be confidential, but, do you know… the girl…”

“Elisabetta.” The sister clasped her hands together, but she did not seem offended by the question. “I don’t know much, but I’ve had my suspicions—she mentions her mother, but it seems there is no father in her life—nor was her mother ever married. She was more advanced in her studies than the other children when she came to us, and from some of the things she says, she seems to know a little of noble manners…”

Edelgard’s heart sank at the familiar story. Just like Dorothea, except there was no Manuela to rescue her. “You think her mother once worked in a noble household. And Elisabetta…”

“…Is most likely an abandoned child, yes,” Sister Ophelia said. She shook her head. “I have no proof, of course.”

It wasn’t uncommon for noble men to try ‘bettering the odds’ of having an heir with a Crest by having affairs with women who weren’t their wives, and most of the time the most available women were the servants of their household whom they could bully and pressure freely. Of course they would never take responsibility for the resulting Crestless bastards. Sometimes the babes were taken away from their mothers entirely and given to an orphanage. Hundreds of children, thrown away as though they were disposable…

I just wanted to… understand. To understand why she was unwanted?

“Thank you for telling me this, Sister,” Edelgard said. “It’s presumptuous of me, but… could you make yourself available to Elisabetta if she has any questions or concerns about the book?”

“I can do better and refer her to Sister Juliette.” Sister Ophelia smirked. “I believe her Response has just been reprinted—a third edition.”

“Ah.” Edelgard had read that one, too. The author had been anonymous then, however. “It’s quite a bold move to put her name to that work. Some of the ideas in it were a little… unorthodox, from what I recall.”

“The Mother Superior was not pleased,” Sister Ophelia allowed, but her own serene smile suggested that she approved, at least. “But these are changing times. I think some unorthodox thinking is required to see us through. Those of us who have dedicated ourselves to the faith must make some bold adjustments if we still wish to be relevant in Fódlan’s future. How can we best communicate the message, the beauty of the Goddess, if so much of Her teachings have been distorted by centuries of lies?”

She gave her charges a fond smile. Whilst Edelgard wasn’t looking, they had managed to surround Ferdinand and Claude and her badgering them with questions. Ferdinand, of course, was in his element, but Claude’s smile had become rather fixed. Serves him right!

Preoccupied with her thoughts about Claude, Edelgard was caught off guard when she turned back to Sister Ophelia again and the woman bowed, deep and slow, a gesture of unmistakable personal respect. Edelgard froze.

“Thank you for this opportunity to make a difference, Your Majesty,” Sister Ophelia said. “I can think of no better way to show the Goddess’s affection for Her subjects.”

Edelgard had no answer to this.

*

The rest of the visit was taken up by more practical matters with the Mother Superior: finances, supplies, the children’s progress, their observations about teaching… Claude’s manner the whole time was light and easy-going, as though the whole thing was a hilarious joke. Edelgard hoped it was just a front, concealing real interest, but…

As they left, Edelgard walked in step with Claude, not fully knowing how to raise the matter, but not wanting it to lie for too long either. Eventually, she settled for saying, “So, did the children pass your personal test?”

She couldn’t keep the disapproval out of her voice, and she was unsurprised when Claude laughed—he liked being contrary. “Oh, they were impressive, alright,” he said, which was not quite an answer, she knew. “I’m sorry for setting the cat amongst the pigeons a bit there.”

“Don’t apologise if you don’t really mean it,” Edelgard said dryly.

His grin this time had a sharper quality to it. “Well, if you insist, then I’m not sorry. I just wanted to know what they would say—and the sister, of course.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why that particular book?”

“I take it you’ve read it, then.”

“It’s egotistical, unscientific drivel,” she said. “I can’t believe that you think it’s anything else, either.”

Claude smiled—a real one, she thought, from the glittering warmth in his eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment, since you obviously feel so strongly about it. But really, I meant what I said—if you’re going to educate these kids like nobles, they should know what they’re up against.”

Edelgard pursed her lips. She could see how, from a pragmatic perspective, it made sense. But she simply couldn’t agree. “I see what you’re saying, but I think it’s… naive, in a sense, to think that these children haven’t encountered such beliefs already. The Church of Seiros preaches—preached that everyone should know their place in the social order, as ordained by the Goddess.” And how fickle the ‘Goddess’s favour’ could be. Edelgard knew, and she suspected that Elisabetta had learned that too. “Instead, I think it’s more important to provide an encouraging voice. Something, instead, to say that you do have worth, that you don’t deserve—”

Don’t deserve to be alone. Too close. Too personal.

“—don’t need to merely accept your supposed role in life. You can find your own path.”

There was a significant pause where only their footsteps echoed in the gloomy hallway. Edelgard wondered if she’d gone too far, but then Claude gave a wry smile. “Naive, huh? Ha… who knows, maybe you’re right.”

She stopped just short of saying ‘wait, really?’, but she couldn’t stop herself from blinking in surprise.

Her reaction seemed to amuse him. “You don’t have to look like I’ve grown a second head! Didn’t you decide that your path was all about convincing me of your righteousness?”

“I wouldn’t say it was all about that,” Edelgard replied, recovering. He was right, of course. A small concession, but it was… a good sign, wasn’t it? “Still, I hope you were impressed by what we’ve managed to achieve here in such a short amount of time.”

“I was the one whose own trick backfired on him, so I’d say it definitely left an impression.” Claude laughed. “I never did manage to pin you guys down on how you plan to upscale this whole business. It’s not because I said ‘no taxes’ talk, is it? You should know when I’m joking about stuff like that by now…”

The entire trip back was filled with Claude’s questions, hitting them one after the other like a rain of arrows. ‘How would you get all the teachers…’ ‘Reaching remote areas…’ ‘The costs…’

Edelgard could only feel proud and satisfied, despite her mouth running dry from talk. He’s interested. We have him.

Chapter Text

Hilda really felt like she could use a pampering right now. Prince Charming did not appear on schedule to whisk her away from the headache that was Derdriu, though, so she was forced to bravely soldier on. After her hastily put together ‘welcoming party’, she had to manage an influx of nobles from all over the Alliance, Empire, and even a few from the Kingdom, all of whom thought they deserved some kind of official recognition from the government in Derdriu. Poor Ignatz had to send out dozens of notes in his best calligraphy and then escort Dorothea to a several soirées where she gave private performances. That part should’ve actually been fun, but she was talking about Ignatz here, who was nervous as anything.

She, meanwhile, was stuck doing important pencil-pushing until late into the evening, matching spy reports to their correct codes to decrypt them, managing the Riegan household accounts, and just generally being excessively useful. Ugh. She was definitely demanding a cushy pension when all of this was over. A cushy pension and a personal grovelling thank you from Claude. Maybe a knighthood whilst she was was at it.

The fact that she was so busy was her excuse, however meagre, for not keeping a closer eye on Hubert. Oh, obviously she had him escorted around at all times ‘for his own safety’. She wasn’t stupid. However, neither was Hubert von Vampire, so she shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he’d been using some of his guards as errand boys to get in touch with that Duscuran glassmaker to arrange a time for another meeting.

The guard folded his arms across his chest defensively. “I checked the messages, of course! It was all above board. And I made sure he wasn’t left alone!”

Hilda rubbed her temples and counted to ten. This was probably not the guard’s fault. Or, well, maybe it was, but in the interests of fairness she should go away and consider that when she’d calmed down. Then she could knock on his helmet and shout ‘YOU ABSOLUTE DUMMY!’ guilt free. “So, you didn’t consider that it could be in code?”

There was a pause. “Ah… no.”

“Or that, Goddess forbid, if Vestra really wanted to get away, he could overpower a lone guard quite easily and slip away?”

“…Could he really?”

Hilda sighed. For all she knew Hubert was half-way to persuading a discontented population of Duscurans from rebelling against the Alliance; he certainly had the power to promise them any number of rewards from the Emperor. And sure, being driven from your homeland after most of your people were murdered would make anyone discontented, but could they not do any of that in Alliance territory, please? Pretty please?

“Look, just… don’t let it happen again. I’ll talk to Marquis Vestra about using the designated messengers.” All of whom were thoroughly trained as ‘intelligence experts’ by Claude, so they’d know what to look out for. And she should have someone check out this Marro guy’s acquaintances, just in case.

Ugh… and Claude talked so carefully about how if they were going for neutral, they had to be really neutral, but what was she supposed to do? The risk was too high. Even having stupid Marquis Vestra here was a risk too high. She wished Claude had just agreed to send her to Edelgard instead. Hilda could sweet-talk anyone in the Empire. Except maybe Hubert von Vestra, who might as well have actually been undead for all the feeling he had in him.

She was going to go grey early from this. She just knew it.

*

She had a talk with Hubert about letting the guards guard and not using them as messenger boys. She felt the need to add that he oughtn’t use Ignatz as a messenger boy either, just because Hubert’s aloof expression made her think he was going to Try Her Patience, an activity which was beginning to deserve capital letters.

The talk seemed to go well. With full Marquis Vestra formality, he apologised most profusely for the inconvenience, repeating his assertion that he did not need to be protected, but condescending to admit that she had to see that an attempt was made at it. Hilda was quite baffled by the excessive politeness, and Hubert’s guards seemed to regard it merely as a very sinister trick.

This turned out not to be far off the mark, as things came to a head when Hilda stumbled across Hubert, accompanied by a flustered Ignatz but no guards, making their way out of the palace.

“Hilda!” Ignatz blurted, shoulders slumping in relief.

She resisted the urge to snap at him about showing weakness in front of the enemy. It sounded too much like Hubert von Vestra, even in her own head. “You were looking for me?” She made her smile a perfect opposite to the downturn of Hubert’s mouth. “With Hubie?”

“W-Well, sort of…” Ignatz fumbled through an explanation of how Hubert had arranged a meeting with the glassmaker Marro and now needed an escort there.

If Hubert had approached Hilda she would smilingly turned it down with an excuse, but now that Ignatz had given his tacit agreement to the idea, it would make him look bad if Hilda said no. Instead, she turned to Hubert with raised eyebrows. “And what happened to your guards?”

“They appear to have misplaced me.” He folded his arms across his chest, keeping his expression neutral. “I thought that someone of Ignatz’s position would make a suitable replacement.”

“How absent-minded of them,” Hilda said dryly. “Well, I’m afraid that I need Ignatz to look over some accounts for me. All those numbers just leave my head in such a spin! But don’t worry; as it’s such a lovely day, I think a little expedition outside would be nice! I can go with you.”

Ignatz’s face was the picture of relief. If he’d been looking in a mirror he probably would’ve immediately tried to paint it. At least there was one person around here who appreciated her!

By contrast, Hubert’s expression soured. He could try pretending he had not been about to pull the wool over Ignatz’s eyes for some kind of scheme. It would give Hilda slightly less of a headache… well, not really, but it would make him look a little less like a villain from a melodramatic opera.

At least, she thought that was why he looked so grumpy, but the first thing he said when Ignatz scurried away was, “I do not know why you take such joy in pretending to be incompetent, but I assure you the performance is wasted on me, and I doubt that Ignatz is fooled after working with you, either.”

Aw, she was hoping she could get him to underestimate her! That’s what came of being a spymaster, she supposed. “Hm? Oh, I just like to be cheerful!” she said, with the most vacant smile she could muster. “Anyway, shouldn’t we get going?”

“Regrettably,” he muttered under his breath. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to have heard.

Hmm… perhaps Tiffany would be there and Hilda could give her another nudge? But it also wouldn’t do to let Hubert out of her sight like last time. Must remain professional, Hilda! Even if your future career is at stake!

To her disappointment, it turned out that Hubert had arranged to meet the Duscur man outside of the glassmaker’s district, not far from Derdriu’s main marketplace, where the choicest goods were shown. Ah, to think of the poor lonely silk merchant who wouldn’t have Hilda visiting him! Last time she had been there, she had seen a beautiful scarf which would have set off Marianne’s eyes just so.

She doubted Hubert would have appreciation for such things. Maybe she could drag him around the marketplace afterwards as a kind of punishment. The fact that he would know she was doing it to purposefully annoy him made the idea all the sweeter!

Buoyed by this thought, she kept her smile even when they slipped down some sidestreets to… well, the area wasn’t quite disreputable, but it was certainly run down. There had been a fire in the area about ten years ago and it had never quite recovered.

Hubert led her in the direction of one of Derdriu’s many bridges, this one ornate but chipped in some places and painted over in others. Hilda sighed to look at it. It could be so beautiful… When all this business is over, maybe I’ll make a clean up of this area the next thing on Claude’s to-do list. It would do him good to work on a civic project instead of negotiating with merchants or Emperors all the time.

The thought occupied her for the few minutes before Marro strode into view. As tall as Hubert and broad-shouldered, with the golden rings in his ears and dark skin contrasting sharply with the long white hair swept behind his ears, he was instantly recognisable.

She’d been able to give a very exact description to Claude’s people and they turned up no suspicious connections – just the suppliers you’d expect a glassmaker to associate with and two other Duscurans who’d made a home in the city, an old woman and her granddaughter who were in no position to incite anything but pity. There was actually nothing suspicious about him at all.

It should’ve been reassuring, but it just made Hilda feel itchy. If he was really just some Duscuran trying to make a living, why on earth would Vampire von Vestra, the Emperor’s spymaster, be interested in him? He wanted to make a gift for the Emperor, he claimed, but there were dozens of reputable glassmakers he could’ve picked for such a task…

“Marquis Vestra,” Marro said. It came out like a statement of fact, but Hubert inclined his head, so she assumed it was actually supposed to be a greeting. “I hope you have not been waiting long.”

“Not at all. We only just arrived.”

This, apparently, was all the small talk Marro was willing to make. He immediately reached into his satchel and drew out something wrapped in cloth, about the size of his hand—which was pretty large. With surprising delicacy for his thick fingers, he revealed a dark glass bird, posed as though proudly surveying its territory. “The proof of concept, as discussed.”

“Ah, excellent,” Hubert said, plucking it from his hands in a short, sharp motion not unlike a bird himself.

Hilda could only assume that he was genuinely pleased, and yet his smile still managed to look like an evil smirk. How? Did he practise for it? She scowled at him, but he was engrossed in examining the glass object and appeared not to notice.

“The basis of these wings is the mountain peregrine of Faerghus, is it not?” He turned it towards the light, squinting at it. “However, the beak shape is clearly modelled on the Lycaon Eagle which is more common in Adrestia and the Alliance territories. It is a fishing bird, I believe. You must have seen many of them in Derdriu?”

Hilda blinked. She hadn’t noticed because of the wing shape, which seemed sharper and almost exaggerated compared to the eagles which fished out of Derdriu’s harbour, but now that Hubert had pointed it out, she could see the resemblance.

“I did not intend to model any particular species of bird,” Marro said. She squinted at him, but couldn’t detect more than a slight tightening around his mouth.

“It was not a criticism,” Hubert replied. The glass bird now sat in the palm of his hand, and he simply stared at it for a moment. “Indeed, you matched the features well together. It could almost be a real creature. The attention to detail is particularly pleasing. One can easily see the difference between the pinions and the plumage in the shape and texture.”

The what now? Hilda thought.

He looked up. “Are you satisfied you could replicate this on a grander scale?”

Marro seemed to relax, just a fraction. “If I were not, I would not accept the commission.”

“Well then…” Hubert reached inside his coat and pulled out a letter. “Present this letter to the Empire’s embassy and you will have access to all the funds you need. I have given them notice to expect you.”

There was a brief pause before Marro took the letter. “Your cooperation is appreciated. Is that all?”

“For now, yes.” Hubert folded his arms. “I may come to see the work in progress at a later date.”

“I cannot promise the work will be interesting to watch, but I will allow it.”

Hilda bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snorting at the momentary frown that crossed Hubert’s face. You had to admire the gall of anyone who ‘allowed’ Marquis Vestra to do anything. Even if that theoretically also included her. She noticed that he hadn’t bothered to ask her permission to go and visit Marro in his workshop. Realistically, Hilda was not about to refuse him and encourage him to find new ways of circumventing his guards, but maybe she should at least pretend…

Marro’s goodbye was as perfunctory as his introduction, and Hilda was soon left alone with Hubert once again. She was about to try making awkward conversation when she realised he was still studying the glass bird. She wondered if he was trying to find fault from the small furrow in his brow, but she found it hard to imagine that he wouldn’t have spoken up already if there was something to criticise. This was supposed to be a present for his precious Emperor, after all.

“What is a pinion, anyway?” Hilda found herself asking instead.

Hubert glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “The feathers on a bird used for flight. They have a different shape than others. Surely this is common knowledge?”

Hilda rolled her eyes. She’d bet Marianne would know, but Marianne knew everything that was worth knowing about animals. “I’m sure you are just especially well read, my lord.”

He scowled at her, clearly aware that she was teasing him but not sure how. Or perhaps why. He recovered himself quickly and added, “Why don’t you study this model, then? You may learn something.”

Without further ceremony, it was shoved into her hands. Hilda may have made an undignified screeching sound as she struggled not to drop it, but if she would deny it vigorously if questioned on it later.

“Besides,” Hubert continued, in a mildly surprised tone of voice that was definitely forced, “wasn’t it your birthday recently? It was terribly remiss of me not to get a gift for our hostess. Take this with my apologies.”

Hilda knew he was just doing it to annoy her, but up close, she had to admit that the craftsmanship was… definitely better than she’d expected from a Duscuran. Didn’t Marro and his people originally come from out in the middle of nowhere? Surely he shouldn’t be anywhere near as good as the masters of Derdriu. And yet, whilst she wouldn’t know a pinion from a pie, she could definitely tell that the feathers of the wings and the chest were different shapes. And the detail…

She frowned at the eagle. She would’ve said it was suspiciously good work if Claude’s spies hadn’t already checked Marro out. He must have made it himself. How did such talent come from a Duscuran? Were they just really good at making stuff? Ugh, that made Faerghus driving them from their land seem so much worse.

When she looked up from her thoughts, Hubert was smirking. The expression quickly vanished and Hilda got the impression she wasn’t supposed to have seen it. What was he being smug about now? What was he trying to hide being smug about, when he was so open about it at other times? Did she miss some kind of coded message after all? Damn it, she should’ve asked to read the letter. Too late now.

Trying to get inside the brain of Hubert von Vestra could easily drive her mad, so she just sighed. “Giving me a free sample as a late birthday present is not very thoughtful, you know. Some might say it would be better not to give out any kind of present at all.”

“Oh, would they?” Hubert said it in the same tone of mild interest that someone might use if told the sun could come out later.

She sighed. Yeah, that guilt trip was never going to work. Time to change tack. “I just think that in that case, the least you can do is help to correct my dreadful ignorance. Tell me about these pining feathers.”

“Pinion,” Hubert corrected through gritted teeth. “I am not a repository of bird facts. The thing you are looking for is called a library.”

“Oh, but reading is so boooring,” Hilda said. Whined, really. She was very proud of that whine. She’d worked real hard to reach just the right level of irritating. “And you seem to know so much about them!”

“Hardly.”

She thought she was really onto something with that tight-lipped expression, though, so she beamed and linked arms with him, clamping down on his elbow to prevent him from drawing away. “Aw, no need to be so modest! After all, didn’t you manage to recognise those wings from that Faerghus peregrine thing? And without ever seeing one! Since you said your family never usually leaves the Empire.”

She doubled down on the winsomeness of her smile as Hubert scowled. Hilda had no idea why he was so mad that she’d pointed out he was knowledgeable in something, but all this stress was making annoying him her new favourite hobby—

Goddess, that’s it!

What use did knowing about birds have to the Emperor’s spymaster? Or to the Emperor herself? None whatsoever. It was, surely, precisely the sort of thing that Marquis Vestra would have dismissed as useless knowledge.

Hubert von Vestra had a hobby and he was embarrassed about it.

Hilda continued peppering him with questions the entire way back to the palace. At first he tried to play her off and ignore her, but then she started to make her own terribly wrong ‘guesses’ at what the answer might be. He might have even known she was doing it on purpose, but after a while it was clear he could no longer hold himself back.

“No, eggshells are not—”

“Birds do not lack bones; the bones are merely—”

“No, not all birds eat fish; what, did you think the sparrows in Garreg Mach would be hauling perch out of the pond in the dead of night—”

Actually, it was kinda nice to listen to him go on. Despite being soaked in condescension, his voice was still easy on the ears, and he was so irritated that he forgot to keep his answers short and to the point, so it was really easy to get lost in the sound of his voice… Ah, now that was nice, Hilda not having to do all the work for a change to keep a conversation going…

“…I do not know why I bother to go on like this when you are not even listening.”

“I am listening!” Hilda protested. “The different beak shapes of the finches of the Brigid archipelago show how they’re suited for different feeding habits! You were telling me about the Brigid Mangrove Finch. Is it cute? The finches around Garreg Mach were so small and fluffy – Marianne showed me!”

Not totally lost, though. Hilda wasn’t stupid.

Hubert narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, but Hilda had half-attended to plenty of lectures before, she was hardly going to get caught out by a man who tried not to talk much at all.

The break seemed to bring Hubert to his senses, anyway. “If you are really so interested, I suppose I can recommend a book on the subject.” It did not take a genius to guess that he was extremely sceptical of her genuine interest.

He was in for a nasty surprise, because Hilda’s interest was genuine, alright. Marquis Vestra had revealed a critical weakness—that he, too, was human. A little bit of studying was all Hilda needed to turn this tidbit of information into something Hubert obviously dreaded: genuine conversation. From there, he’d be totally out of his comfort zone and she’d be able to steer him where she wanted.

Or something like that. The finer details of the plan needed a little work.

Chapter Text

Claude had to admit it—Edelgard’s school had impressed him. Not only had it impressed him, but she knew it, too. So, alright, she’d had an advantage by showing him the most advanced class. Claude had expected that. He hadn’t expected her to be fostering critical thinking – the kid who’d talked about cannons in Dagda. Dagda! Outside of the Alliance, it was Dagda who was Fódlan’s archetypical enemy, the very reason for the founding of the Officer’s Academy. Claude had sat through sermons and lectures with gritted teeth, listening to the venomous looks run around the room at the mere mention of the Dagdan people.

And then the little kid just said, ‘Anyway, they’ve got cannons and we haven’t.’

So stupidly simple when put like that. It shouldn’t be so exciting! It was one random child! It wasn’t like those words had been ordained on high from the Emperor herself (the entire point of the exercise, to see what was said when they went off script). But it was… something. Possibility. With it seeming so tantalisingly close, Claude had to tread very carefully at the tea times with Edelgard so as not to overstep himself and reveal too much.

But he had to put his nervous energy into something, and therefore, sooner than he had meant to, he pressed Edelgard on the matter of the confiscated Church documents.

“Oh, yes, you were interested in those!” Edelgard said, as though she had forgotten about the matter altogether. Claude doubted that very much, but it would’ve been nice if he could get her to believe a little that he had forgotten. “I’m afraid I have an urgent meeting after this, but later in the afternoon I would be glad to show you a little of what we’ve found myself.”

“You needn’t take the time out your schedule if you’re busy.”

He wasn’t just saying it because getting a chance to snoop without Edelgard looking over his shoulder would be nice – although that was, of course, also true – but because he’d noticed the circles under her eyes darkening over the past several days and he was slightly concerned that Manuela’s fussing over the Emperor might not just be protective instincts, but real fear that she would work herself into an early grave.

It would be mighty inconvenient for Claude if she were to suddenly drop dead. He’d be unceremoniously booted out of the Empire, if not out of this mortal coil, and things were just starting to get interesting.

Edelgard waved off his concern as he’d already seen her do often with Manuela. “It’s no trouble. Actually, things are a still a little chaotic in there, so it would be useful for me to find out what further progress has been made.” She took a sip of her tea and smiled into the cup. “Besides which, I don’t want the archivists to come for my head if they discover you’ve been mishandling some of the older and more delicate material.”

Claude had to laugh at that. “Don’t worry. I promise to be especially careful. It’s important for knowledge to be preserved, after all.”

That was at least one thing he was sure he and Edelgard could agree on.

Edelgard’s meeting only lasted for two hours, but it seemed to drag by like weeks as Claude paced in one of the palace’s other libraries. He picked up books whilst barely seeing them and then put them down again, only to pick up another in its place almost immediately.

Claude had never been quite patient enough. It always got him into trouble—but how could he help it? Here he was, on the threshold of such enormous potential for discovery. He hadn’t been this excited since—

Since receiving the book about the Immaculate One from Tomas.

Solon, they’d said his name really was, hadn’t they? No one had really spoken of Remire in anything except hushed whispers, talking of horrors without ever discussing anything horrific. Tomas had revealed himself as some kind of dark mage called Solon, admitted to conducting the experiments at Remire, and vanished. Remire itself was almost totally destroyed.

That’s all that Claude knew. Tomas—Solon—whatever—had been one of his few real allies at the Academy, but Claude hadn’t suspected he was anything more than an old man who’d learnt too much about the Church of Seiros from working for it to really respect the institution any more.

Maybe he should ask Lysithea about Remire. That had been the month she’d transferred to the Black Eagles class, and Manuela had spent a whole week fretting about the dangers of the mission for someone in her condition. Claude remembered how she’d been questioned so pointedly when they returned, something he thought an especially stupid extension of Fódlan’s obsession with family lines. How could Lysithea be in any way responsible for a man whom House Ordelia had recommended to Garreg Mach years before she was born?

Claude still thought there was something suspicious about the whole thing. Tomas, subtle underminer of the Church, revealed to be secretly evil all along and conveniently disposed of by the Archbishop’s darling new Professor? Say it isn’t so!

Professor Byleth had been less than darling to Rhea after siding with Edelgard, though. Ugh! Why did the whole thing have to be so damn… muddled?

There was a knock on the library door and Claude hastily sat down on the nearest chair, opened the book to a random page near the beginning, and tried to act normal. No need to advertise how desperate he was to get his hands on those records.

He remembered to turn the book the right way up before the servant—Miguel, a familiar face by now—entered and asked if he still wished to attend Her Majesty in the Collections Room. Claude assented without shouting like a mad man and managed to put the book back in its place like a normal person before Miguel led the away.

‘Collections’. What an odd euphemism. They had, technically, been collected, so it wasn’t exactly wrong.

Miguel stopped outside a door that seemed particularly nondescript and then gestured. “Please enter, Your Grace. You are expected.”

He hurried away before Claude could even touch the handle. With a shrug, he pushed the door open. He was greeted by a room with tiny windows set high into the ceiling, made even more dark and closed in by the stacks of crates and piles of documents scattered around it like a maze, and—

“Ah, Duke Riegan! Thank you for coming!”

Edelgard closed her mouth with a wry smile as the stranger who had spoken rushed forward to shake Claude’s hand. For one terrifying moment Claude thought the man would kiss his hand in the traditional greeting, but he just bowed and shook Claude’s hand at the same time, which was nearly as awkward.

“So delighted to see more nobles taking and interest in our work here!” he went on. He was a thin, wiry man with dark hair running to grey and delicate glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“Not at all,” Claude said. The man had finally stopped shaking his hand, but he still found himself reeling. He glanced at Edelgard, hoping for some clue.

She must have taken pity on him despite her obvious amusement at him being caught off guard. “This is Lord Johan von Hevring. Please forgive his… enthusiastic greeting.” She gestured behind her, and Claude spotted a figure that he hadn’t noticed at first – a small woman with a pinched expression, although maybe that was just caused by the way she glowered at Lord Johan. “And this is Lady Meredith von Urban. She is assisting Lord Johan as a representative of the Ministry of Religious Affairs.”

Which was currently being run by Count Varley’s wife after Edelgard had place the man himself under house arrest. Claude scoured his memory for some mention of House Urban, but all he remembered of it was that it was a minor noble house with branches in the Empire and the Kingdom.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” Lady Meredith said. Any tone would have looked reserved next to Lord Johan, but she was especially soft-spoken. Claude might have mistaken it for being subservient if he hadn’t seen her subtly tread on Lord Johan’s foot when he retreated to stand next to her.

He was pretty sure Edelgard had caught that small movement too, her face torn between amusement and exasperation. “Lord Johan and Lady Meredith are the main archivists here.”

Claude raised his eyebrows. “Just the two of them?”

Edelgard’s expression grew pinched, but Johan leapt in before she could say anything. “Really, it is no imposition at all! Some of these older works are so delicate that I would trust them in the hands of no one else!”

Meredith gave him a supremely distasteful look. “We have other volunteers from time to time,” she said, showing no hint of distaste in her voice, “but of course the war takes precedence.”

So they were stretched thin wouldn’t be able to perfectly oversee him. This absolutely could not be better. “Well, I’m sure in due time the work will get the attention it deserves. I know Her Majesty is especially keen on seeing what can be uncovered, and so am I.”

Johan puffed out his chest, whilst Meredith seemed barely mollified. “It will be the work of many more years, no doubt, but I know Her Majesty will see to it that it is eventually completed.”

Claude grinned. Such heartwarming cynicism. “Surely you must have made some progress already?”

“Oh, yes!” Johan proclaimed, at the same time as Meredith sighed. “About one tenth of the collection has already been catalogued! And of course we were quick to identify the oldest documents in need of specialised preservation.”

“We were able to keep most of them in no worse a condition than they were found,” Meredith said. It sounded like a concession. “There is still much to be done.”

“But so much we have discovered!” was the cheerful retort. “Why, only this morning we unearthed private correspondence which we believe pertains to the creation of House Galatea as a branch of House Daphnel!”

Not exactly how House Galatea would have you put it, I’m sure, Claude thought ruefully.

Meredith sighed again. “That was several hundred years ago. Hardly relevant to modern Fódlan! My lord,” she hastily tacked on to the end.

“But it shows the Church have been monitoring the personal correspondence of the nobles of Fódlan for centuries!”

A chill went down Claude’s spine.

“Not necessarily.” Meredith’s words were bitten off with the tone of a tired old argument. “The Church may have acquired it after the lady’s death purely by accident. There is as much trash to be found in the Church’s collection as there is treasure. If you will insist on putting the cart before the horse and making such wild conjecture, you should at least have the presence of mind to suggest it merely as hypothesis—”

Lord Johan drew himself up to his full height, which was nearly a foot taller than the lady. She didn’t even blink. “You are just too embarrassed to admit—”

“Oh dear,” Edelgard said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “They’re at it again…”

Claude sidled away from the arguing pair to stand next to her. “You just can’t get the help these days, can you?”

“They are both very good at what they do,” she replied, a feeble protest given the exhaustion in her voice. “Lady Meredith was a junior archivist at the Fhirdiad School of Sorcery, but her talents were clearly under-appreciated – she is fluent in several pre-Imperial languages. And Lord Johan has been the Master of Rolls for the Empire’s repository of laws for many decades…” The last part of this word was swallowed by a very aggressive sigh from Lady Meredith. Edelgard’s expression grew even more pinched. “Though you might not think that to look at them now.”

“They remind me of Hanneman and Manuela, actually,” Claude said. “It’s a little nostalgic.”

“Yes, the occasion when Hanneman and Manuela lent their services to the archivists was certainly an experience,” she said dryly. “One, I hope, that will not be repeated.”

“Oh?”

“Let us just say that never before have I seen such four different, equally passionate arguments over the interpretation of a single line of text.”

“You haven’t? You’ve been missing out!” Claude joked, but even he felt bad about it when her shoulders sank. She really looked very small, frail, and tired.

Back in the academy, she’d always carried herself as though her spine had been replaced by solid steel, and looked at the world like there was a wall around her. Maybe she was so different because she was at home, but it reminded Claude that they were, in theory, former classmates. She’d always been an obstacle to his ambitions, but she wasn’t really an enemy.

“Listen, I don’t want to sound like Manuela, but…” He hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t need rest? It can’t be relaxing to handle such… eccentric personalties.”

“Are you including yourself in that?” Edelgard smiled faintly. “I appreciate the gesture, but really, I am quite well.”

Well, he tried.

Johan and Meredith were still arguing. Edelgard cleared her throat and turned away from him. “I apologise for interrupting your discussion, but…”

“Your Majesty! Your Grace!” Johan exclaimed, blinking in surprise. “My most sincere apologies! One does tend to get carried away with academic discussion…”

Meredith swiftly cut in with a sour expression. “We should show His Grace what we’ve catalogued so far.”

“Quite right! Yes! On this wall here…”

Claude bent over to whisper in Edelgard’s ear as the man went on. “This guy is related to Linhardt, right?”

“His great-uncle,” she replied in a quiet monotone. “Can you tell?”

…There was an in-joke in there somewhere which Claude didn’t know Linhardt well enough to recognise. He shook his head anyway, smiling, and drew back.

“…made a careful note of the contexts of each document so they can be better organised by category at a later date,” Meredith was explaining over Johan’s disgruntled mumbling about… something, “but for now, each item has been given a reference number and a brief description in this book—” She laid her hand on top of an enormous, leather-bound tome. “—so it can be found and referred to later.”

“That’s thoughtful.” Claude eyed the size of the book, the thickness of which was comparable to Nader’s forearms, and the rolls of parchment and books that filled at least half of the shelves, running floor to ceiling. “A tenth of the collection you’ve catalogued already, you said?”

“That is my estimate, yes,” Johan said.

“A generous estimate,” Meredith mumbled.

He considered the crates upon crates piled around them. The scale of the project was just beginning to dawn on him. Combing through the documents for useful information might be more challenging than he thought.

It was also a bit numbing to think the Church had held all of this. Personal correspondence from nobles of the Alliance. His mother said she and his father used to exchange letters in secret, when she was called away from the border… Mother always said she’d destroyed all the ones she kept before leaving Fódlan, but if one had gone astray somewhere and fallen into the Church’s hands—

But they couldn’t, or Claude would’ve been revealed already. He would’ve never been allowed at Garreg Mach!

Or maybe it was like Meredith said and they simply didn’t know what they had. If the archivists discovered a letter for Lady Tiana from the Prince of Almyra, Edelgard wouldn’t need to bother with any farce of a political marriage. She could simply show the letter to the lords of the Alliance and they would flock to her side in an instant, even dear Hils, and Claude would have… nothing.

“Claude?” Edelgard leaned into his line of vision. “Are you alright?”

“I was just thinking I hadn’t realised quite how much paperwork would be involved here,” he said. His voice came out a bit faint, and he forced himself to smile, projecting strength into his voice. Act normal. Act normal. “But it’s oddly inspiring, too. Could the services of an amateur be of any use?”

Edelgard blinked at him, opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

“Can’t leave your two scholars to do all the work!” Claude added.

She was often busy with running the Empire. Even if she wanted to keep track of everything he looked at, she couldn’t possibly and neither could the other two with the amount of documents in here. The most modern things would most likely be of the least interest to them, anyway. If there was anything incriminating, there was a decent chance he could find it and destroy it before anyone else got a look in.

Johan actually gasped. “Am I to understand that His Grace is offering us his services?”

“His Grace is, and he would also appreciate it if you could just call him Claude, so he doesn’t have to talk so much in the third person.”

Meredith frowned. “Your Majesty, is this… does Duke Riegan have your endorsement?”

There was a long pause where Edelgard regarded him carefully, her expression giving nothing away, and Claude genuinely thought she might refuse. Then she gave him a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eye. “I am confident you will find Claude’s abilities up to the task, if you can spare the time to give him a little instruction.”

Johan beamed, but Meredith was tight-lipped. “If he has Your Majesty’s approval, who am I to say otherwise?”

Much as you might wish to. If her scepticism had more authority behind it, he might be disgruntled—but as it was, it was just sort of funny. She seemed the type to be able to sneak a subtle ‘I told you so’ into conversation, and to really enjoy it, so if you thought about it, Claude was actually doing her a favour!

“So we are all in agreement, splendid!” Johan’s voice was as cheery as ever, but he spoke hurriedly, stumbling over his words. “Mere—Meredith! Why don’t you give Her Majesty an update on our progress whilst I show His—that is, Claude how things are done here?”

The ground rules, of course, were obvious – don’t take anything out of the room, don’t touch any of the older materials with his bare hands, don’t write or draw or doodle on the materials—

“Seriously?” Claude asked.

“You would be surprised at the cavalier attitude some take towards objects of historical importance,” Johan said gravely.

The notation system was… complex, a string of numbers and letters that allegedly denoted the date of writing and the origin of the text, but exactly how it all matched up was totally lost on Claude. Johan hastily assured him that he and Meredith would be doing much of that work anyway.

“I believe that is everything you should need to know,” Johan said, “but if anything arises, of course you mustn’t hesitate to apply to myself or—er, to Lady Meredith.”

“You seemed a little hesitant there yourself,” Claude said innocently.

“Well…” He lowered his voice, a feat which Claude had not suspected him capable of. “Not to talk badly of a colleague, but Lady Meredith can be a little—brusque, at times. I hope you will make some allowances for her. She came to the Empire relatively recently at the urging of her cousin, Countess Varley, and I’m sure you know things are quite different in the Kingdom. She can still be… distrustful.”

Are they? Claude wondered, but that was a thought to be put aside for now. “Don’t worry, I won’t be offended by a little directness. Lady Meredith is Countess Varley’s cousin, is she? No wonder Edelgard said she came highly recommended.”

Johan smiled and tutted. “Ah, you mustn’t think she is only here because of family connections! She is a very serious academic.”

“I only mean to say that without her being Countess Varley’s cousin, her talents might not have come to your attention,” he said.

“Oh. Well, on that front, you are correct, I suppose. We ought to consider ourselves lucky!”

“Claude!” Edelgard called. “Would you like to see what we actually came here for?”

She’d sadly interrupted the pertinent point he was going to make about the feasibility of her idea of meritocratic advancement. He tucked it away for later. Might be a nice surprise to liven up those little teatimes.

Johan looked like he was gearing himself up for another enthusiastic lecture until Meredith said, “Why don’t you return to the early Adrestian plays you were compiling?” and he deflated like a hot air balloon.

“Oh, very well! A man knows when he is not wanted—”

His grumbling ceased quite abruptly as he returned to his workstation and he immediately began to scribble notes with a quill. Claude wondered what it must be like to have such absurd hyper-focus like that.

Edelgard glanced at Meredith. “I hope you’re not finding it difficult to work together?”

“He’s not as bad as those sods at the School of Sorcery,” she admitted, in an undertone, “but do not tell him I said as much. He can be rather… overbearing.”

Claude couldn’t help snorting. I’ll say.

Edelgard also seemed amused, but pursed her lips, trying not to show it. “As long as there are no real problems, your secret is safe with us.”

Meredith narrowed her eyes at Claude but sniffed and said, “Shall we continue, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, you were telling me you’d uncovered more of Liesl von Oche’s work?”

This name had no meaning whatsoever to Claude, but Edelgard breamed excitedly when Meredith nodded. “One of a set of journals from her time at Garreg Mach. At Your Majesty’s request, I have set it aside for closer study.”

“I must write to Ingrid!” Edelgard declared. “This could be exactly what she was looking for!”

Ingrid? Now Claude was totally lost. “What’s so special about this Oche’s work?”

“Liesl von Oche was a nun at Garreg Mach about a hundred years ago. She conducted a lot of personal research there, but she was eventually found guilty of blasphemy for a lecture she gave in Enbarr,” Meredith explained. “She was expelled from the Church and her journals were confiscated.”

“She’s quite well known in the Empire,” Edelgard added. “At the time, her aunt was one of the Emperor’s favoured consorts and she was very offended by the Church’s actions.”

Claude groped through his memories for some contextual information. Fódlan has so many tiny disagreements like this to keep track of, but… “That would’ve been around the time the Southern Church was disbanded, right?”

“Correct,” Meredith said – gruff, as though she begrudged him the very knowledge. “Marissa von Oche’s campaigning on behalf of her niece, and the Emperor’s indulgence of it, is part of what raised tensions with the Southern Church in the first place, as they had sided with the Archbishop in the matter.”

“Right,” Claude said. So many noble disputes sounded so petty, yet they had such severe consequences. “So… the relevance to Ingrid is…?”

“It appears that one of the things Oche was working on was the breeding of more productive grains,” Edelgard said. “Ingrid was hoping that if we found something more concrete, she could persuade her father to join the Empire – it could be possible to breed some grains that can thrive, even in the Galatea region.”

“That’s…” He found all the words at his disposable somewhat lacking in impact. “…ambitious. But if you managed it…”

“Isn’t it exciting?” Edelgard’s grin even got a small smile out of Meredith. “Galatea has been plagued by famines for much of its history. This could change so many people’s lives.”

No kidding. Claude’s mind was racing. If you could make something that would grow in Galatea… why not elsewhere? Much of Almyra was arid. A poor rainy season could spell disaster if their food stores were depleted. Grains that could grow in drier conditions would be beyond desirable in Almyra. And if Claude could look like one of the people behind this miraculous discovery… even better.

“Are you going to invite Ingrid to Enbarr, then?” he asked, staying casual.

“That is the plan—I don’t know when she will be able to get here, though…”

That’s my chance. “In that case, why don’t I spend a bit of time working on that?” A casual look at the huge tome of archived works (compiled by Meredith, he assumed, from the fastidiously neat handwriting) showed that only one of this Liesl von Oche’s journals was listed. “There’s got to be more to discover, right? You don’t want to invite Ingrid down here only to have her spend hours trying to dig out specific information.”

Meredith pursed her lips. “We do not have the time to go through each catalogued piece in minute detail.”

Of course she would take that as an insult. “Well, of course! You have much more pressing issues, I’m sure. That’s exactly why this task ought to be left to a lowly assistant like me.”

“Most lowly assistants know more about the subjects they are handling.”

Claude had committed the grave sin of admitting ignorance; a lesson he should have learned a long time ago. “A very lowly assistant, then.”

To his relief, Meredith snorted. “I suppose we must make do with what we have. Liesl von Oche’s work is not so old, so perhaps even an amateur can be of use in analysing it.”

Wow, she doesn’t hold back. How quickly she’d adapted to the idea of having a Duke as her underling. Claude had dealt with worse, so it was more amusing than annoying, and she might provide a bit of a counterbalance to the positively effervescent Johan.

“If I’d known you were going to volunteer for a research position, I would have invited you sooner,” Edelgard said, dry but cheerful. “Actually, this is very convenient. You can keep me appraised of your progress and bring Ingrid up to date when she arrives.”

“Oh, just pile more work on me, why don’t you?” Claude laughed.

“I wasn’t intending to put you to work at all!” she protested. “You brought this entirely on yourself.”

“They do say ‘curiosity killed the cat’.”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” Edelgard replied, light and teasing. “We can only hope your work will come to such a happy conclusion.”

“Well, I’ll be hoping for that, for sure.” Whether that will be as happy for you as it would for me remains to be seen… although, in fairness, things could turn just as much in your favour and as little in mine. “But I think I’ve derailed things again, haven’t I? You were going to talk about some of what you’ve found so far.”

“Indeed,” Edelgard said, her face growing drawn and serious in an instant. That probably meant the lightness from earlier had been false. A shame. “Perhaps the most pertinent item we found was this list of items banned by the Church—disguised as a different book altogether.”

“A secret even amongst the secrets.” Claude let out a low whistle. “This ought to be good…”

*

Edelgard had always found the path ahead to be clear. Ever since she made that vow to honour her siblings, she’d known her destiny. It had taken her further years to come to the conclusion that war with the Church was her only hope – a decision that, if it had not brought her happiness, had come with a sense of… finality. ‘I know the terrible things I must do. It have only to make myself ready for them.’

Even when the war began, she knew. She must stick to her chosen path. She must have faith—faith in the professor, in her friends… in herself.

Claude had a way of upending all of that, leaving uncertainly and frustration as her only answers. Even after so many weeks, Edelgard felt as though there was a great chasm between them. It had been her own suggestion, but the thought of taking him as a husband…

Perhaps it was because, by contrast, Byleth had always been so open. When she’d saved Edelgard’s life the first night their met, her eyes had been clear and bright, shining at Edelgard as she introduced herself afterwards. Byleth did not hope for advancement. She had simply wanted to save Edelgard’s life.

And then she’d done it again, and again, and again—sometimes it felt like Byleth had saved her very soul. With her… with her, Edelgard remembered joys she’d thought long forgotten, tainted by tragedy. Simple things, like sharing a dessert in the dining hall, or cooing over the monastery’s cats.

Perhaps it was not fair to compare Claude to the dear professor. Their countries weren’t officially as war, but her spies had uncovered enough of Claude’s activities that she suspected that that would be a technicality for only a limited time if they parted ways after this. Surely, then, it was all the more imperative that Edelgard convince him to join her. And yet…

Am I… am I doing the right thing?

Her instinct had been to deny Claude his plans to ‘volunteer’ at the archives. She was sure there must be an ulterior motive. Was that fair? Was she judging him too harshly? Their discussions had shown her a keen and curious intellect. Maybe his interest was genuine. Maybe he really wanted to help Ingrid.

Maybe. Maybe not.

He was so hard to know. Any time she seemed to grasp his character, it slipped through her fingers again like smoke. And he, of course, delighted in it.

Compared to Byleth…

Edelgard sighed and tried to return her attention to the letter she’d been reading.

Byleth… what would you do? In my place?

I wish I could ask you.

Chapter Text

Despite Edelgard’s misgivings, the teatimes remained a highlight of her day – although perhaps this was just a sign of how well the rest of her time was spent. When she finished her reports and looked up at the clock to see that it was nearly time to meet Claude, she breathed a sigh of relief.

A pleasant surprise was waiting for her in the hallway—Lysithea, smiling and for once with some health colour in her cheeks. It brought a smile to Edelgard’s own face. “You’re feeling better today, I see?”

“How do you always know these things before I tell you?” Lysithea complained, but good-naturedly; she was still smiling when she shook her head. “You normally meet Claude at this time, don’t you? Do you mind if I join today?”

“No, not at all!” And if Claude had any objections, he could go hang. “Should I ask the kitchens to send up some more pastries?”

“No!” Lysithea replied. “I don’t need sweet treats.” She sighed and pouted, although she would have objected in the strongest terms if Edelgard told her that. “Besides, I shouldn’t eat too much. Hanneman said he would be by later in the afternoon.”

Edelgard couldn’t help that her smile faltered a little. “So soon?”

She raised her chin, defiant. “I was feeling better, so I wrote to him.”

Resignedly, Edelgard let the objections on her tongue fade away. The blood draws and studies and experimental cures took their own toll, but at this point there were no good options. Manuela said she thought Lysithea only had a few years left – maybe four or five, if she was lucky.

If Edelgard had any say in it, she would be luckier than that.

She forced herself to smile again and offered Lysithea her arm. “Come, then, my lady,” she said, deepening her voice. “Shall we take tea together before that anticipated hour?”

As she’d hoped, Lysithea laughed, and they walked together to tea.

Claude looked up as they both entered and gave an exaggerated double take. “Oh no, there’s two of you now?”

“I’m sure you can weather the storm,” Edelgard said breezily. Having Lysithea beside her made her feel like she had to set an example. Show no weakness. Walk tall.

She stood whilst Lysithea took Edelgard’s usual seat at the table. “El—Edelgard tells me you’ve been working in the archives for a while.” Lysithea poured herself some tea and began to add sugar. “Tell me about it.”

Edelgard’s heart sank, even as she tried to keep her cheerful expression. Oh, Lysithea…

When they first recovered the Church documents, Edelgard had had them combed through for information about Crests – anything that might help Hanneman discover a cure. They had found nothing relevant, but since the collection was still in such disarray, it was always possible that something had been missed…

She hadn’t realised quite how desperately Lysithea was still clinging to that hope, years later. Perhaps it was because it was ‘years later’, after so many dead ends. But it simply appeared that, in the Crest-obsessed society of Fódlan, it had never before occurred to anyone to try removing a Crest. Hanneman was trying his best, but it was totally new territory for Crestology.

Claude didn’t answer immediately, instead squinting at Lysithea’s cup. “Do you want some tea with that sugar?”

Lysithea blinked at him.

“Never mind.” He rolled his head, his neck making a crk sound. “It’s been very boring, I’m afraid – nothing much to report at all. I found another of Oche’s journals and have learned more about a dead nun’s love affairs than I ever wished.”

“There was nothing of interest—? Oh, Miguel, thank you,” Edelgard added quickly, seeing the servant appear with another chair.

Claude, of course, took full advantage of the opportunity to pause dramatically, waiting until she was seated before saying: “Well, there was something. Just a clue.”

He did not elaborate, despite Edelgard leaving him a significant pause. He smiled as she frowned at him.

Lysithea broke the silence by snorting and covering her mouth, a poor attempt at hiding her amusement. “Edelgard—your face—”

“What?”

Sipping her tea, Lysithea shook her head before replying. “It’s just nice to see that you have exactly the same reactions to getting to know the real Claude as the rest of us.”

Am I getting to know the real Claude? Edelgard pushed the thought aside. Now was the time to enjoy Lysithea’s company, not worry about… other things.

“Well, I—” She flailed her hands, trying to capture her vexation without words, but gave up and slumped her shoulders when Lysithea let out another snort. She glared at Claude. “Too many dramatic pauses ruins the denouement.”

“But your flustered expressions will remain a treasure,” he replied. “I won’t keep you in suspense. Further in suspense. Oche made a reference to the agricultural experiments you’re so interested in – not in detail, sadly. But it does narrow it down for us. They must have been done before 1054.”

“I see.” Edelgard had been hoping for more than that. A letter to Ingrid sat in her personal quarters, unfinished, waiting for some good news to be appended to the bottom.

“You talked it up too much,” Lysithea told Claude.

“With all these paper cuts I suffered, it felt like a significant discovery to me.” He leaned over to pat Edelgard’s hand, startling her. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I’ll make sure to work on my dramatic timing.”

She lifted her chin and nodded as imperiously as she could. “See to it that you do!”

Lysithea took a long sip of her tea, looking thoughtful. “You said agricultural… This is for Ingrid?”

“It was something I promised to look into for her, yes.”

There was a pause before Lysithea set her cup down with sudden force. “I’d like to help. I might as well make use of the time I have.”

Edelgard knew she must mean ‘before Hanneman arrived’, but she still winced.

“You didn’t have any other plans, Claude, did you?” Lysithea asked, glowering at him for full effect.

“Even if I did, I suspect I’d be experiencing a sudden change of mind about now,” Claude said dryly. “Sure, come along. Can’t hurt to have another pair of eyes. Have you been in there before?”

You couldn’t know how much, Edelgard thought as Lysithea nodded.

She snatched up one of the pastries and took an enormous bite. “I’d better eat up. To fortify myself.”

“Cake is always how I prefer to energise myself for a long afternoon of turning pages.” Claude’s eyes flickered towards Edelgard and he smirked at the site of her suppressed smile. “What a dedicated scholar you are, Lysithea.”

“The honey and orange cakes should be especially fortifying,” Edelgard said, knowing they were a particular favourite of Lysithea’s.

She gasped and pulled the plate towards her.

Edelgard couldn’t hide her smile a smile. The small joys in life were so important. She hoped they would never end for Lysithea.

A few moments later, Edelgard noticed the way Claude was looking at her—sharply, all traces of levity gone. It didn’t seem he was trying to hide it, because he didn’t look away when she caught his eye. Instead, his expression slowly morphed into another smile, lopsided and wry, almost… soft. She frowned at him and mouthed, ‘What?’, but he only shook his head and helped himself to something further from the table, asking Lysithea if she still pulled all-nighters like she used to.

Edelgard often wondered exactly what he was thinking, but then, especially, she would have given a great deal to know.

She was started when the plate of honey and orange cakes suddenly appeared under her nose. “Edelgard, you have to try one!”

“I’m fine,” she replied, blinking. They did smell divine, but they were Lysithea’s favourite… “You should have them.”

Lysithea scowled and shook the plate insistently.

“I think you’d better let her share with you,” Claude said. He sounded almost back to his usual casual, light-hearted tone—almost but not quite. “After all, how often does Lysithea share sweets? This is a momentous occasion!”

“I—I’m always happy to share!” Lysithea protested.

The hesitation did not help her case.

“You won’t mind if I help myself to one, then?” Claude asked.

“Of course not!”

He grinned. “Wonderful. Maybe I’ll have a couple. Or even three. I’m feeling a bit hungry”

Lysithea moved the plate further away from him seemingly without even noticing. “W-Well, there aren’t that many left—” There were six. “—so maybe you should hold off. You have tea with Edelgard every day, after all. It’s only fair to let someone else help themselves to the choicest parts.”

Smiling, Edelgard decided to take Claude’s advice before the offer was rescinded. She wasn’t sure if Lysithea even noticed, as she was preoccupied with his continued teasing. Perhaps Edelgard was overthinking his reaction, and it was only a soft spot for an old, ill classmate. He couldn’t have ulterior motives for everything.

“Anyway,” Lysithea said with an air of finality, shielding the plate of cakes with her arms, “if you and Edelgard might be getting married, you don’t want to get fat. I’m doing you a favour.”

Edelgard choked on her tea.

*

When Edelgard returned to her Emperor duties, Lysithea was still talkative, practically boisterous: chattering away about the other former Black Eagles, Hanneman’s estate, meeting Manuela’s old friends from her days as an opera singer…

It was kind of cute to see her so lively. Was this all Lysithea’s idea of fun, or was she in a good mood because of Edelgard? If Claude had still doubted their friendship being genuine, that tea would have convinced him. Had they been so close at Garreg Mach and he’d simply never noticed, or had it only come about over the past few years? They even looked alike enough to be sisters, with that unusual hair of theirs.

Claude envied them that. A close relationship with any of his half-siblings had always been out of the question. It was hard to begrudge the sickly Lysithea, though.

“You said you’d been to the archives before?” he asked once he was able to get a word in edgeways.

“Oh – a while back, yes.” She waved her hands dismissively. “It’s just like being at the library at Garreg Mach, I know what I’m doing—though Meredith says she’s come up with a more efficient categorisation system—”

And she’s off again…

As Claude had suspected, Lord Johan was delighted to see Lady Lysithea as well as ‘just Claude as my lord requested’. Lysithea raised her eyebrows at Claude as soon as Johan had turned his back.

“He’s trying, I think,” Claude said.

She snorted.

“Lysithea!” Meredith emerged from behind a stack and actually smiled a little. “Are you quite well? I heard—”

“I’m fine,” Lysithea snapped, but Meredith had obviously heard this line as much as the rest of the them and only raised an eyebrow in response. Lysithea relented a little. “I feel well today.”

Meredith nodded. “Good.”

With that, Lysithea seemed ready to jump straight in. “What year are we looking for in Oche’s journals again?”

“Before 1054.”

“Alright. If you see…” Lysithea hesitated. “Never mind. It’s better not to split our focus.”

Claude frowned, wondering what she’d been about to say. “If you say so. But hey, if you find the journal, I’ll owe you one, so I can look for whatever later. When you’re… busy.”

“You’ll owe me one? Not Ingrid?” She shook her head. “Of course you have your own interest. Thank you, though.”

And so their boring quest began.

Claude had already marked a couple of boxes which seemed to be likely material, but it turned out to be full of dead ends – as well as, hilariously, some well-read erotica about Saint Seiros. I guess everyone has to have a hobby, even in a monastery…

He passed those two books off to Meredith and was disappointed not to see her blush, but she kept up a muttered diatribe about ‘blasphemers’ under her breath for a full five minutes, so there was one amusing diversion that came from it.

Amusing, but ultimately not relevant. Claude sighed and stood up, flexing his back to ease some of the tightness in his muscles. He knew Hilda had gone on and on about how the jacket was essential to his dignity, but it was stiflingly warm in the archives and he realised suddenly how parched his mouth was.

“Lysithea?” Meredith’s voice came, tentatively, from behind yet another stack. Claude wandered over to see her offering a tall cup to Lysithea. “It’s rather warm. Perhaps some more water?”

Blinking owlishly, Lysithea stared at the cup for a moment. “I… suppose I should.”

It was another long pause before she actually took it. Her hands shook so much that some water spilled over them.

Claude lurched forward uselessly. Meredith was the one who actually caught it before it slipped from Lysithea’s fingers entirely.

“You need fresh air!” she said, alarmed. “Manuela—she needs to see Manuela—Johan!”

“I’ll find someone to fetch her,” Claude said, starting for the door.

“No! I—” Lysithea shook her head, but the action made her stumble, as though she was dizzy. Meredith caught her and eased her into a chair. Lysithea choked. “I was feeling fine. It was supposed to be a good day—”

Her voice cracked at the end and the rest of her sentence became a whisper that never reached Claude’s ears. He ducked out before it could feel like he was intruding. Lysithea had always hated to show weakness—hated being weak.

Claude frantically scoured the corridor until he found a guard to fetch Manuela, and realising he had nothing better to do, followed him to a room he recognised as Edelgard’s study. To his surprise, the guard knocked but didn’t wait for permission before he opened the door. “Your Majesty, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you said—”

Edelgard bolted to her feet so quickly that papers scattered everywhere. “Lysithea?!”

Manuela was there too, and in an instant she transformed from friendly smiles to grim professionalism. She picked up a bag – her medical bag? – and gave Edelgard a significant look. “Send a note to the gate. If Hanneman isn’t here yet, he’ll want to know about this when he arrives.”

“Of… course…” Edelgard trailed off, staring vacantly into space, before she shook herself. “Thank you for informing us.”

The guard was called upon to escort Manuela to the archives, and with a promise that Her Majesty would be informed when Lysithea was settled and well enough for visitors, the door closed behind them.

Edelgard sank slowly back into her chair with a sigh, resting her head in her hand. “This happens more often than I would like, now. And there is so little I can do for her…”

Claude wasn’t sure if she was talking to him until she raised her head to look at him. They were more or less the same age, but with her white hair and exhausted demeanour, she seemed much older.

He had no idea what he was supposed to say, but he refused to avert his gaze. After a moment of holding her gaze, he hazarded, “Is there any hope?”

“There’s always hope,” Edelgard said. She let out the same tired sigh, and when she rose from her chair again, it seemed to take a heroic effort. “Please excuse me. I must… make some arrangements.” Her eyes briefly glittered with an echo of the amusement they’d shared earlier, at tea. “And I am not about to leave you in my study unattended.”

“Ah, you got me,” Claude said, but it was half-hearted. When she locked the door behind her, they parted in silence and he was left alone in the hallway. He watched her walk away, two guards immediately detaching themselves from the wall to follow her, without really seeing it.

Hanneman. With a moment to breathe, he could finally put a finger on what had unsettled him. Of course the whole thing was unsettling. Poor Lysithea. But that wasn’t what had jumped out at him as suddenly wrong.

Hanneman…

Why would he need to know if Lysithea needed medical attention?

*

Claude had not been forbidden from going to the archives by himself late at night, but he was sure that was only because it hadn’t come up yet. Lysithea was sleeping off her ‘attack’ - Edelgard had sent him a note. The note didn’t mention Hanneman, only Manuela.

Maybe she’d realised she’d made a mistake. Maybe the ‘mistake’ was only a product of Claude’s over-active mind. But even if Hanneman’s interest in Lysithea’s health was only the ‘adoptive uncle’ or ‘master/apprentice’ type, it still seemed strange to mention it in an urgent situation. They didn’t mention Lysithea’s parents, although maybe that was because it would mean sending letters too often—

Well, that was a depressing train of thought.

The only other reason he would think of that Hanneman might be notified was, of course, because of his expertise on Crests. Which was a crazy thought, but… there was a lot about Crests that was still unknown. He’d never heard about Crests complicating a medical issue, but maybe that was because the Riegan Crest was regenerative. It was hardly the sort of thing that would be publicised – by the nobility or the Church – because Crests were such an important symbol of power.

So maybe it wasn’t such a mad thought after all. And if his little hunch was correct, he knew exactly what Edelgard would’ve done once she got her hands on the Church archives… so he was sneaking to the collections room in the dead of night to satisfy his curiosity.

There were guards about but they weren’t very attentive, and Claude snuck past them with little enough trouble.

In the archives, he went straight for the guide book (what he thought of as a guide book, anyway). The pages were filled with Meredith’s neat, cramped handwriting. The earliest pages weren’t that relevant: the oldest records, ones they’d obviously hastily documented so they could be properly preserved. Claude doubted very much that even a direct order from the Emperor could get Meredith and Johan to give up on those.

Claude turned another page and saw the word ‘Crests’.

‘On the heritability of Crests…’

‘The advantages of Crest-bearers compared to a normal human…’

‘Rumours of individuals with more than one Crest…’

‘The strongest Crest?’

‘Comparing Major and Minor Crests…’

‘Is it possible to “improve” a Crest?’

Pages and pages of material, all to do with Crests – no, a handful about Relics instead; those he’d have to look at later. Some of the subjects came up again and again, things the Church had had to suppress several times. The heritability of Crests was a particularly popular topic for obvious reasons.

The entries about Crests petered out after a few pages, eventually filled with a wider variety of subjects – a new, less obvious, bias towards agricultural topics and then – ah! There was the first of Oche’s journals.

The amount of Crest-based material assured Claude that his hunch had been right. Edelgard was looking into Crests. He felt a surge of triumph at having found this piece of the puzzle, even if he didn’t understand how Crests figured into Lysithea’s condition yet, until he realised what the lack of new entries about Crests meant: Edelgard’s people didn’t find anything to help Lysithea. She was still dying.

And it has something to do with her Crest… but how?

Unanswered questions always irritated Claude, but that was probably enough investigation for now. He took a look at the crates and books piled around the place, wistfully considering having some time to go through them without prying eyes—but it was already late and he didn’t want to be stuck here the whole night.

Leaving the archives, Claude padded through the hallways trying to get things straight in his head. Maybe his next move should be to read up on some of the forbidden Crest scholarship. Maybe that would give him a better idea of what could be wrong. And, of course, the Relics! That was the kind of information he’d been desperate for at the Academy. No wonder he’d found so little in Garreg Mach’s library… Tomas, Solon, whoever, must have been giving him books from the Church’s archives…

Sudden voices stopped him dead in his tracks. Guards. Claude could probably explain away him walking around in the middle of the night unaccompanied, but he would prefer to save those excuses for another time.

He slid into an alcove where he knew there was an empty room. The guards shouldn’t come in, and definitely shouldn’t see him if he found a spot at the back of the room to loiter—

“…General Shamir soon…”

Claude paused, lingering in the doorway. He hadn’t been surprised when he learnt Shamir had defected to the Empire – especially when Edelgard immediately made her a General, an advancement which even her home of Dagda probably would never offer her. It was one of the biggest signs that Edelgard really might mean ‘everyone’ when she talked about her goals.

“…don’t understand Her Majesty’s thinking,” one of the guards was saying.

There was the quiet clink of moving armour. “Not for us to know, is it?”

“But a Dagdan?”

Claude put his ear to the doorway to hear better.

“Her Majesty might as well have made the Archbishop one of her court, surely,” the same voice continued.

“Don’t be stupid,” replied her companion. “You know what Dagda is like! They could have attacked us whilst Her Majesty was occupied in Fódlan and we’d stand no chance. It’s obviously just to placate them.”

“How does that work?” The sarcasm was obvious. “They won’t bother sending spies if they already have one who got promoted?”

“Perhaps.”

A pause. “You’ve got a point, actually—a known spy—you can feed them misinformation, can’t you? And Her Majesty put the Dagdan in charge of the cooperative force with Brigid, keeping her away from Imperial troops…”

“You see?” The sound of a hand clamping down on someone’s shoulder echoed in the empty corridor and in Claude’s ears. “If you meet Her Majesty you’ll know she only has the best interests of Fódlan in mind. She won’t settle for leaving our greatest enemy alone for long. If Shamir has to be a General to convince Dagda she’s going to play nice, well, it’s a small price to pay.”

“Oh! You mean…” Claude’s ears strained as her voice lowered. “After Fódlan is united – Dagda is next?”

“Shh! Of course Her Majesty can’t say so, and we’ll need time to rebuild, but I’m sure of it. What better way to convince the Kingdom and Alliance of Her Majesty’s righteousness?”

“Alright, alright—I should know better than to doubt the Emperor around you anyway…”

There was more, but Claude didn’t hear it. His ears were filled with a buzzing and it wasn’t until the sound of their voices totally faded away that he found himself able to move at all.

Perhaps stupid of him, but he’d never thought Edelgard’s ambitions might extend beyond Fódlan. She seemed so obsessed with the evils of the Church that he hadn’t considered—

It was just one guard’s opinion, he told himself, even if the guard seemed to have spoken with Edelgard directly. Claude was at least sure her promotion of Shamir was not a clever ploy against spies, mainly because that was not remotely a clever ploy against spies, and Hubert would never let Edelgard be that stupid.

But just because the Emperor liked and recognised Shamir’s talent didn’t mean much. Shamir had been in the Knights of Seiros before and it had meant nothing. The kid in the school who commented on the cannons… had Edelgard ever commented on that? Believing that it should be able to be said didn’t mean she thought it was right. Even if she did, if there were enough of her people—enough people in Fódlan—who thought otherwise…

She said her new regime would allow anyone to advance who had the talent. Did she really mean anyone? Claude was filled with doubt. He’d listened to her go on about her goals, sometimes barely refraining from rolling his eyes, but how much did he know Edelgard in reality? She was likeable in her own over-serious way, but a few weeks of sitting down to tea together couldn’t tell you all there was to know about someone.

Even if she means everything she says, what does that actually mean for me?

Not a lot, really. The same thing he’d encountered in Fódlan over and over – the pure self-centredness, the fundamental belief that they were the only part of the whole world that mattered. Claude only mattered through a stroke of good luck and if he suffered a stroke of bad luck the reverse would become true overnight – Hilda, Judith, Ignatz—they’d all abandon him. Edelgard too.

The fact that Edelgard had even crossed his mind there was a bad sign. How many times would he make this mistake? A coward’s son, sired by a beast, nowhere just a boy, a man, a friend. He was anathema and he ought to have learnt—

He drew to a sharp stop in front of the door to his room, breathing hard. He had no memory of getting there and could only hope no one had seen him storming away like a mad man. The door handle was right in front of him but it seemed miles away. Claude’s hand hovered over it, then dropped to his side. Sleep? In this state?

He turned away, his feet now leading him in the direction of the floor’s grand balcony, looking out over the palace’s beautiful gardens. The stars had been the closest thing Claude had to friends as a child – he’d learnt all the legends of the heroes immortalised in those stars, peoples from all over the world in the distant past…

As a boy, he’d imagined himself sharing in their journeys, becoming true friends, and then being welcomed amongst the stars with all the others. When he was too old for such childish dreams, he’d vowed instead to do something great enough to count among their number.

C’mon, you know better. Enjoy the company, enjoy the conversations, but don’t forget who you are—who you are to them.

The night was chill and utterly silent. Above his head, the stars twinkled merrily, but could not penetrate the darkness below. Claude felt more distant from them than ever.

*

He coughed, blood spraying across El’s face. She couldn’t see, but she knew it from the smell. Freddy had been the strongest of them, even with no Crest. Able to outfight men twice his age and experience, on the first day he’d broken free and shattered one of Those Men’s heads against the wall before they got him back under control. It had turned El’s stomach then, but now she thought of it with pride.

Freddy’s every breath was laboured. He didn’t have the strength to lift his head from her lap, and she felt the rattling of his bones through her legs as he breathed.

Freddy had been the strongest of them, but now even he was dying.

It was almost okay now. If Freddy couldn’t survive the mage’s torture then soon she would go too – the last one. El would be together with all her siblings and no one would ever hurt them again.

“El—” Freddy said. The rest of his words were swallowed by another hacking cough.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. It wasn’t at all, but she’d become so numb to the pain – in her legs, her arms, her hands, her chest – that all she could feel was a constant, dull ache, and that was better.

It would all be over soon. It would be okay when it was over.

“You’ll be strong,” Freddy rasped.

El wasn’t strong. Freddy had been strong – he’d fought and raged and cried every moment he could. El had curled up at the back of her cell, trying and failing to quieten the vile relief that welled up when she was ignored. When she wasn’t Freddy had always been there to comfort her afterwards.

She didn’t have any comfort left to give him now, only bitter lies. It wasn’t fair.

“You—” Another hoarse breath, like nails ran over a rough surface. There was no point in telling him to save his strength, so El let him talk. “You have to—keep going—”

A lightning bolt of fear made her shudder. The only thing more terrifying than the thought of being taken to Their table again was the thought that it would never end. Alone, no peace, just the pain and the cold and the rats over and over and over.

El was startled when something cold touched her hand – gently, because it still hurt. It was only Freddy and not the rats, this time. “My brave sister,” he said.

I’m not brave. And she didn’t deserve to be his sister, having nothing to offer him in his dying moments. It wasn’t fair. It was never fair.

She brushed her hand over his forehead, which was somehow cold and sweating at once. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She couldn’t have said for what. For everything. The apologies Freddy deserved to hear but would never get.

He didn’t seem to have anything else to say. El listened to his rattling breaths, the echoes of them in the tiny cell, until they stopped.

He’s dead, she thought. There was little pain in it any more, or too much, more than she could bear at once – she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t even angry now, as she’d been the first several times. Of course Freddy didn’t deserve this, no one did, but she was just so… tired.

A snuffling noise jolted her from her thoughts. It was still hours until sunrise and already the rats…

A cold touch of flesh against her had El stifling a shriek and scrambling away, finding the wooden board which served as a bed and curling herself up on it, as small as possible. ‘Brave sister’. She wasn’t even brave enough to keep him whole until morning. She wasn’t brave enough to be brave. She wanted it all to go away. She wanted to be dead with her siblings. She wanted—

I’m sorry Freddy I’m sorry—

*

Edelgard woke, choking on a scream before it could leave her lips. Silent, silent.

The rats made almost no noise. She never knew when they were coming and she held her breath, straining her ears…

She shook her head and forced herself to breathe. She watched her fists tighten around the sheets, feeling like they belonged to someone else. There are no rats. You aren’t there. Breathe. Breathe!

Unbidden, the image of Lysithea turning her face away so Edelgard wouldn’t see her tears flashed before her eyes.

Edelgard threw the covers off herself before she could be tempted to tear them in her frustration. Pacing the room, with her nightgown flowing behind her, she felt rather more like a wraith than a person. Maybe that was the purpose of the nightmare – to remind her that her life was no longer her own. She had vowed never again to let an innocent suffer as her family had.

Her vow meant so little in the face of Lysithea’s condition and how rapidly her body was breaking down under the strain of sustaining two Crests. A useless vow.

And Edelgard was just as useless to Lysithea now as she had been to her dying brothers and sisters. I must do more—I must—

The words felt heavy under the weight of all she was still unable to do. She flexed her hands trying to ease the cramping. Her ugly, scarred hands, which could kill with ease, but had yet to save anyone.

Edelgard had a faint memory of Byleth holding her ungloved hands and smiling. She thought of that night often – she’d woken from such terrible dreams, and yet the moment of it that she felt the strongest was the warmth of Byleth’s skin on hers. She tried to remember that feeling now, but the memory vanished like smoke the harder she tried to grasp it. Her dear teacher, yet another person Edelgard had failed. I should have looked harder for you. I…

Her head was abuzz. The room seemed stuffy and the air dead. There was barely room to breathe around the ghosts.

“I need some air,” she said aloud.

There was nobody to respond but she still felt judged. She remembered the little girl who had thought of fresh air as an enormous privilege, something she prayed for over and over again, above even an end to the pain. El, the girl who died and left only…

The Emperor fled.

She let her feet carry her without thought, pushing through doors and thinking only of keeping her breathing even. The cool night air raised goosebumps on her skin, but it was a welcome relief; she gasped, sucking it in like a dying woman. Everything felt more real out here.

“Edelgard?”

She jumped like a frightened deer. A figure she hadn’t seen in the wan light stood at the edge of the balcony. What on earth was Claude doing out here? Subtly, she reached up to make sure the neckline of her nightgown covered everything it was supposed to, only to freeze as her hand touched the silk.

Her gloves. She wasn’t wearing her gloves.

It was dark, she told herself. Surely he wouldn’t be able to see anything? Even so, she would have retreated then and there if Claude had not seemed totally disinterested in her. He’d already turned away, staring out over the dark gardens. “Just couldn’t keep away from me, huh?”

Something about the tone immediately alarmed her. It wasn’t even the usual biting humour that she’d come to associate with Claude’s mood; instead, his voice was tired… empty.

Her instinct was to retreat with a platitude. Her own nightmares were enough. But… hadn’t she just been thinking of the night Byleth offered her some much needed comfort? When Edelgard had not in the least deserved it? She had been missing Byleth all this time and judging Claude for falling short, but… was that fair? She had not been honest and open with Byleth until the fateful encounter in the Holy Tomb. Perhaps it was time for her to take a chance… like Byleth.

And if it worked… maybe, finally, it would be one person she could reach.

“Did something happen?” She took a step closer, trying to make out his expression in the dim light. “Are you… alright?”

Claude’s face was still obscured by the lack of light but she saw him whirl around to face her – surprised? But when he replied, his voice was calm. “Ah, more or less the same as usual.”

Not an actual answer, and more evasive than his usual fair. Edelgard frowned.

“And what about you, Princess?” he continued in a sharper tone. “You’re out at night for the joy of the bracing weather?”

“It is hardly a freezing midwinter’s night.” Edelgard crossed her arms over her chest, feeling exposed, although she was sure now that Claude couldn’t see her… state of dress. “I came out for some fresh air. Things have been… disturbing lately.”

“Oh… of course. Lysithea.” He turned back towards the gardens. “I’d forgotten.”

It was probably for the best that he didn’t see Edelgard’s appalled expression. She felt a little better when he asked, in a soft voice, “Was it a bad one, or…?”

“All told, no.” Edelgard couldn’t disguise the worry in her voice. “But even these minor attacks are setting her back so far… and lately they strike more often.”

Claude did not reply for some time. Edelgard thought about returning to her room, but the fresh air was pleasant and kept her head clear. She could practically feel the nightmare nagging at the corners of her mind – all the worries and memories it had threatened to drag up…

“Seems unfair, doesn’t it.” His tone made it clear it was a statement, not a question. “But, life isn’t fair.”

“As I’m sure you know,” she replied, remembering that moment he’d flinched in the Church.

Claude turned to give her a sideways glance and made a non-committal noise. Edelgard assumed that would be the end of the conversation, but he said, “Do you stargaze much?”

A quiet thrill ran through her despite the confusing non-sequitur. She’d guessed this was a topic close to his heart – was this a sign of real headway? “Not as much of late, but there was a time…” She hesitated, but ploughed ahead. “There was a time when… they were one of the few comforts I had.”

“Really?” Claude didn’t actually seem doubtful, and even had a hint of cheer return to his voice. “Any favourites?”

“Xanthippe.” On such a clear night, it was even possible to see the constellation – meant to resemble a woman holding a shield.

“Ah, the Mother of Heroes, who died to save her sons.” Claude knew exactly where to find it in the sky; Edelgard knew from the curve of his neck and his jaw when he tilted his head. “Deimos and Aeneas, who slew the giant…”

“…Who shattered the land where he fell and detached Brigid from Fódlan.” Edelgard couldn’t help but smile. Father had told her lots of stories like this – her and all her siblings. The memories were vague, but joyful. A simpler, happier time. “Petra is fond of that one too. Many of the people of Brigid claim descent from Deimos and Aeneas.”

“You don’t say?” There was surely a joke hiding behind that warm grin, but he didn’t share it with her. “Personally, my favourite is Zotikos.”

“The beast tamer?”

Whilst it wasn’t the last constellation she would have picked as Claude’s favourite, it would hardly have been the first, either.

“Oh, so you know that one, too!” Claude said, of course ignoring her implicit question of ‘why?’ In fairness, Edelgard had not said why, either. “I’m impressed. Most of the people at Garreg Mach didn’t know the old tales.”

“The Church disapproves,” she explained. “Much of the mythology pre-dates its founding. It isn’t—wasn’t quite blasphemous, but it was not encouraged either. I suspect that many old tales like them have been lost.”

“It really always does come back to the Church for you, huh,” Claude said wryly.

“I—well—” Edelgard found herself fumbling. Did she really come across as so one-note, even in casual conversation? “You… You mentioned Garreg Mach first!”

Claude chuckled. “True, true. But hey, cheer up. You might find some old stories in your archives. Or even further afield—if Brigid shares its legends with Fódlan, maybe some of their traditional tales used to be told here as well.”

“I suppose I hadn’t thought of that,” Edelgard said. “I don’t know if that’s necessarily true… Although I suppose I don’t really know enough about Brigid to guess.”

“Perhaps you should ask, then.”

There was a strange weight to his words, something she couldn’t quite place, as was so often the case with Claude. “If I have the time, perhaps I will. Or you could ask Petra yourself—she should be here in a few days. For more serious matters, but… well, I’m sure there will be a little time for astronomy.”

She doubted that Petra would really be in the mood for such frivolous conversation, though, from what she had been able to convey in the hasty message Edelgard had received this evening. But that was something that was best saved for tomorrow, when her head was clearer.

“Petra is coming to Enbarr, huh? Another familiar face.”

Edelgard could not tell if he was pleased, and before she could analyse it further, Claude suddenly grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the balcony. Edelgard froze, but his smile was open and easy, and his hand was warm and soothing against the chill night air that had begun to make her joints ache.

“In the meantime,” Claude said, “if you aren’t tired yet, how about I pick your brains on some more constellations?”

“You’re testing me!” she protested.

“Nooo,” he replied, drawing the syllable out with false innocence. “It’s just been a while since I’ve heard these stories told, that’s all. But of course, don’t let me keep you from your bed.”

Edelgard narrowed her eyes, but the opportunity for distraction was compelling. “Oh, very well, but I shouldn’t be out for long – and neither should you.”

“I know she’s your role model, but seriously, no need to play ‘Mother’ quite so exactly.”

She was busy looking up at the night sky, so Edelgard was surprised when a warm, soft weight dropped over her shoulder – Claude’s jacket. She wasn’t expecting him to see her small frown in the dim evening light, but it seemed like he had, because he snorted gently. “I don’t know how you managed it in this weather, but your fingers feel like ice, Princess.”

It was true that Edelgard had always felt the cold so much more since the—since the dungeons, but… “This isn’t one of your weird flirtations, is it?”

“Edelgard, I’m going to give you a piece of advice.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Even if it is—you should take the jacket anyway.”

From a certain pragmatic point of view, he was right. She pulled the jacket tighter around herself. It still didn’t sit right, but it was quite warm. “Thank you, then. I’ll forgive that ‘Princess’… just this once.”

Chapter Text

Edelgard ought to have been focusing all her energies on the upcoming visit from Petra as well as the expedition that would follow – but she could not resist taking some time to pull out her father’s old tome of folktales. A pang of guilt struck her when she saw the layer of dust over it. Claude might have been impressed with her knowledge, but in truth there was much she did not remember of the old tales…

After she survived, Father had read some of them to her, one of the few things they were permitted to do together, if under guard. Still, some of the tales Father had stumbled over and been unable to bring himself to read. Edelgard had not pressed, fearing she would only be confronted with another gap in her memory, a piece of her siblings she had not been able to keep alive.

Now her fingers itched with curiosity. Zotikos, the beast tamer – Claude’s favourite story. There must be something in that, surely.

Her hands lingered over each pages as she leafed through the book. She didn’t quite remember, but… it felt like there were ghosts with her when she touched the pages. Not an oppressive feeling as with her nightmare of the previous night, but something… joyful.

It was only an echo. It might be only wishful thinking, an invention of her own mind, as she knew these stories were one of the few things the Hresvelgs had done together as a large family. But even if it wasn’t completely real, the feeling of being close to her siblings again was something to be treasured. For you. Not only for all your undeserved pain, but for all your stolen joy. For all that was taken from you.

When she finally reached The Story of Zotikos, the Beast Tamer, Edelgard was more relaxed than she had felt in a long time. As she began to read, she heard the words in Father’s voice in her head, warm and comforting.

‘Zotikos was born under a lone star. The people of his village knew that such children were cursed to suffer misfortune, and they shunned him so that none of his misfortune would touch them as well. Yet some curses can also bring blessings: growing up with precious little kindness, Zotikos swore he would never treat another being in the same way, and in so doing he walked the path that would defeat his fate…’

The story continued with Zotikos helping animals in the surrounding lands, from a tiny harvest mouse up to an enormous wyvern matriarch, earning the gratitude and friendship of each. When Zotikos’s village was attacked, all of the animals had a role to play in saving it. The village tried to welcome Zotikos back, but he instead chose to stay with the animals who had always been kind to him.

‘…and so the boy who was once so lonely had loyal friends for the rest of his days. He lived a life of such joy that his animal friends could not bare to be parted from him, and when they died, they arose to the heavens and joined the lone star under which Zotikos had been born, and thus the curse that had befallen the boy was defeated forever.’

Edelgard traced her finger over the last sentence. Even though the whole story was a translation of a translation of a dozen different-yet-similar oral tales, the author had put something powerful into it.

She wasn’t sure precisely what Claude saw in the story. Perhaps the idea of being lonely, but finding trusted friends resonated with him… Manuela had described how he seemed to hold himself back from people on purpose, to poke and prod as a means of pushing away. Edelgard would be a liar if she claimed she had never been afraid of giving her trust to someone, but that was why she knew so well the longing that could underlie such fear.

Gently, she closed the book. In the end, it was just a story. There was not always a deep meaning in such preferences, but if nothing else, it would be another conversation to have with him. Perhaps the version of the tale he knew was slightly different. She ought to ask him. They were due to have another of their teatimes soon—the last she would have the pleasure of for some time. What it would mean for the supposed marriage, she didn’t know, but she couldn’t ignore Petra asking for help.

Edelgard rose to put the book back in its place, but hesitated. There was no joy in a book sat on a shelf, unread, no way for the ghosts to be free and alive under her fingertips.

This is a foolish sentiment, she told herself. The book will still be there when the war is over. It doesn’t bring anyone back to me.

Nevertheless, Edelgard felt more at ease when she had tucked the book under her arm instead.

*

She had no clear idea what she was going to do with the book when she carried it out of her father’s study, but an answer soon presented itself in the form of a somewhat sheepish Claude striding to meet her… holding a plate of Lysithea’s favourite orange honey cakes?

“I know it’s a bit early,” he said, “but I bumped into Manuela and she said she’d put Lysithea on bedrest today – so I thought…”

Suddenly, Edelgard knew exactly who she wanted to share the book with. Still, she couldn’t help but shake her head at Claude. “You couldn’t have thought of this before the servants prepared the tea things, could you? What a waste.”

“Listen, I’m sure they can figure out something to do with all those delicious snacks if they really put their minds to it.” He gave a wry smile. “Besides, if Lysithea is anything like she used to be, we might still need them. I doubt we’ll get a share in these.”

He had a point, although Edelgard could hardly begrudge Lysithea some extra sweet treats when she was having a bad day.

“Anyway, Your Majesty,” Claude continued, “what… light reading have you been up to?”

“It’s… just an old book from my father’s study.” She resisted the urge to hide it behind her back. “Because of our conversation last night, in fact.”

She caught the moment his interest made him sharper and more focused; the whole angle of his body changed. Was Claude even aware he did this? “Hm, really?”

“A collection of the stories we were talking about – the constellations.”

His eyes crinkled in a smile. “Ha, no wonder you were so good at it. Obviously an older book. Must’ve been in the family for some time. No wonder you were mad at the Church, if your family was like that.”

Edelgard frowned. Like… what?

Claude seemed satisfied and did not elaborate. “Anyway, we should probably go see Lysithea before she has time to formulate an escape plan. She never knows how to take a break, does she?”

This was safer territory. “She drives me mad with worry, sometimes.” Edelgard tried to get her to slow down, but she couldn’t pretend that she didn’t understand the unique kind of pressure which came from knowing how limited your time was to make a difference to the world. “Yes, let’s go.”

She had given Lysithea—not her siblings’ old rooms, it felt too… presumptive—a replacement, tempting fate—but some of the best rooms on the top floor which had once been used by the Prime Minister’s retinue. On a clear day, even from the bed, one could see all the way out to sea.

Lysithea was propped up by a small army of pillows. She stared out towards the glittering sea with her hands balled into fists and her jaw clenched.

“Hey, Sisi!” Claude said cheerily.

Her head snapped around with a dangerous frown. “What did you say?”

“Oh, you seem in your usual spirits.” Claude held the plate of cakes up to his eyeline and pretended to examine it critically. “And I brought these upstairs to cheer you up—”

“Goddess, why are you like this?!” But Lysithea couldn’t keep the frown up and her lips twitched. “Fine, I’ll forgive you just this once, since you brought treats. But never call me that again." To Edelgard, she smiled. "Come sit down!"

Edelgard took the chair by the bedside, leaving Claude to perch at the end of the bed. The place of cakes was deposited in Lysithea's lap and she bit into the first one with relish.

Only then did she spot the thick book on Edelgard's lap. "What's that?"

"It's a collection of stories Father used to read it to all—to all of us.” And Claude, damn him, made a familiar sharp, curious look at the stumble. There was always the chance he would ask about that later and she would have to be prepared to defend herself from prying. She tried to focus on Lysithea in the moment instead. “I thought you might like to look it over while I’m away.”

Lysithea reached out an eager hand then pulled it back quickly. “Oh—I should finish the cakes first.”

“Wait—” Claude sat up straighter. “You’re going away? Where?”

“I was going to tell you when we had tea.” Edelgard sighed. She wished this precious time with Lysithea didn’t have to be interrupted by Empire business, but it was not to be. “In truth, Petra’s visit is not a social one—Church forces have taken over Brigid’s main island with the intention of turning them against us.”

Claude’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a bold move, considering the Church’s power at sea is extremely limited.”

“They probably want to get Dagda involved,” Lysithea mumbled through a mouthful of cake. “Maybe they were going to try handing over Brigid to their control.”

“Heh. I don’t know if Dagda is eager to try after the last time.” Claude smiled wryly. “And there’s the problem, of course, that they’d be very unwelcome in all of Fódlan, which they’re well aware of.”

“Yes…” Edelgard had learnt a little of Dagda’s internal politics from Shamir, and she gathered that the last war had been an ambitious move from an upstart faction of nobles which had then backfired—but ambition was not always so easily ended. “In any case, we cannot allow our ally, Brigid, to suffer under Church control. I will be leading an expedition to free their king – with Petra, of course.”

Claude frowned. “That will take weeks… a month? More?”

“Something like that, but it can’t be helped.” Edelgard had gone back and forth on this with Ferdinand, but in the end, she couldn’t abandon the true friend who’d stood beside her against all odds, who’d chosen to trust her after everything, the friend she’d promised to help restore her country’s pride. “I trust you to keep Lysithea company whilst I’m gone.”

She’d thought it a light-hearted enough response, but his frown only deepened. No matter how she and Lysithea cajoled him, he remained distant from their conversation—whatever handsome smiles and husky laughs he hid behind, they could both see his heart wasn’t in it. Perhaps Edelgard was getting better at reading him after all. He couldn’t be thinking that he would miss her, would he? Even with the friendlier conversation last night, surely not…?

Edelgard would have happily stayed with Lysithea for the rest of the day, regardless of Claude’s behaviour, but other duties called. She had to be sure that everything was exactly as Petra’s station deserved. Exactly as it hadn’t been when she was in Enbarr as a hostage.

Lysithea coughed as Edelgard was on the threshold, though, and she immediately turned back, her heart skipping a beat—

But Lysithea seemed perfectly well—as well as she had been—when she beckoned Edelgard closer. “I just wanted to wait until Claude was gone.” Lysithea gave Edelgard a hard stare. “You should take him with you.”

Edelgard balked. “Lysithea—the consequences if—I can’t possibly—”

“Not nearly as great as the consequences of you dying,” she replied, low and bitter, startling Edelgard into silence. “It didn’t change your mind.”

She turned her face away, hands fisting in the blankets. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“If I can’t go with you to protect you,” Lysithea said at last, “will you at least listen to my request?”

“I…” Edelgard hesitated. “I will have to… consider…”

“To consider what? The risks? You already know those.”

“I—” She couldn’t explain herself, not even really within the confines of her own head. All she knew what that she’d grown used to fighting alongside the Black Eagles, but Claude—it just left a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know how he would act, sometimes it felt like she could never know— “I don’t even know if he would want to come.”

It was a weak objection, but better than admitting how irrational she was being. The nightmare of last night still felt fresh and pressing—

Lysithea gave a slight smile. “Have you met Claude? He’s never been to Brigid—I assume—so you know he’d love to go.”

Of course, as soon as it was said aloud, it seemed obvious.

Edelgard winced as Lysithea sighed and turned to her with a downcast expression. “I thought you really wanted this to work.”

“I did—I do!” Edelgard protested. “I am… trying.”

“I know Claude can be hard to get along with,” Lysithea said. She pulled a face, startling a chuckle from Edelgard. “Do I ever know. But if you keep trying—if you manage to connect with him—”

She was interrupted by a series of hacking coughs, but she slapped Edelgard’s hands away when she tried to help.

“I should go—you’re overexerting yourself—do you need Manuela?”

“You won’t go until I’ve said my piece!” Lysithea snapped, her voice still raspy. “I’m… fine. I’ll rest when you’re gone… I swear.”

“If you say so.”

“Claude…” Lysithea sighed again. “He’s always so careful with everything, but—he’s really smart. And driven. I don’t know what it is that drives him, but the way he is sometimes, he reminds me of you.”

Edelgard blinked. “He does?”

“That’s why I think it must be something important… whatever his goal is.” Lysithea smiled. “No, I know it must be. I think if you were to work together, you would only make each other stronger.” She bowed her head. “And… if war can be diverted from my parents’ lands… from the people of the Alliance…”

Edelgard took Lysithea’s hand and squeezed it gently. That had been the whole point of the exercise in the first place, had it not? This wasn’t a war fought for glory, but for the people. She has a greater duty to them than to her own—misgivings. “I will try… harder. And I will ask Claude if he wishes to come. Alright?”

Lysithea beamed. “Thank you, El. Now you can go, I’m sure you’re late for something.”

She certainly was, but— “You know that if you need me, I will come.”

“I know, I know,” Lysithea said. She softened. “You always will. So I know you’ll come home, as well.”

Chapter Text

Edelgard’s Court was usually informal if it existed at all, but for the arrival of Petra, full pomp and circumstance had been imposed on them all. Lysithea had even sounded grateful when Manuela said she was not well enough to attend, which should’ve forewarned Claude of the headache he was in for. He’d been introduced with a few titles he’d forgotten he had.

“I would’ve thought you’d be the most used to this of anyone,” a familiar voice said from behind him, “except the Emperor herself, of course.”

Claude made a point not to flinch, turning to face them with a smile. He was only a little relieved when he saw who it was. “Shamir! I didn’t take you for a wallflower.”

“The bowing and scraping is not my thing.” She pushed herself off the wall she’d been leaning against and came to stand next to him. “At least this much formality is not the usual procedure.”

Shamir made no pretence of respect by addressing Claude as ‘Your Grace’, which he appreciated. “That sound nearly approving, Shamir. Being a General of the Empire suits you then?”

“I’m good at what I do and I’m getting paid for it.”

It was a remarkably non-committal answer considering they were literal standing in the seat of the Emperor’s power, and her drawling tone suggested boredom to boot. But, with the urgency with which she scanned the elaborately dressed crowd, Claude thought she was more invested in the proceedings than she pretended.

“Hey, it’s good to know your worth,” Claude said. “Do you get much trouble? I know the Empire isn’t fond of Dagda.”

Shamir smirked without taking her eyes off the crowd. “No one gives me trouble twice, if that’s what you mean. Except Bergliez, but he’s all bark and no bite.”

Ah, yes, Claude thought, the Shamir with nerves of steel we all know and flee in terror from. Except for Count Bergliez, apparently.

He hadn’t been paying much attention to the various nobles being announced to the Court, but Shamir suddenly stiffened and Claude let his eyes be drawn to the great double doors.

“Her Highness, Ard Tiarna na Seóla, Princess Petra mac Naradhaigh!”

Claude was so taken aback that he nearly missed Shamir’s wince. “What? What?”

“The pronunciation is still off,” she muttered. “Damn it. I told them a thousand times…”

He was distracted when Edelgard rose to greet Petra, wearing her formal ‘Emperor’ face but grasping Petra’s hand warmly. “Flaith,” she said. “Welcome back.”

“Your Majesty,” Petra replied, every bit as regal and proud in her own… it must be Brigid regalia, because it was unlike anything he’d seen in Fódlan before, loose and elaborately woven textiles in bright purples, greens and white. “Déithe duit.”

They did not bow to each other. They inclined their heads, a meeting of equals. Now he understood why Edelgard insisted on the formal court.

“How was Her Majesty’s pronunciation?” he asked, wondering if his voice sounded as distant from himself as he felt.

“Good.” Shamir’s tone was as begrudging as all her compliments; he might have laughed if he’d been capable. “She only had to learn one word of Brìghde, though.”

He wondered if she might learn to say Khalid correctly, but pushed the thought aside. It wasn’t safe to be Khalid. Don’t get excited. Petra is Edelgard’s friend, and this doesn’t actually cost her anything. The Church in Brigid is a threat to the Empire. Of course she’s going. Don’t overthink it.

Petra retreated from the raised dais of the throne and the Imperial nobility took their cues from Edelgard, treating her with the same respect they treated Claude—as a high-ranking foreign dignitary—at least on the face of it. He didn’t know, of course, how Petra had been treated when she came to the Empire as a hostage, but he’d be willing to bet it hadn’t been pleasant, nor that she’d been given the respect of proper titles since Garreg Mach hadn’t considered her to be nobility at all.

But it was just pretty words, cheap support under pressure from the Emperor. It didn’t mean anything.

Edelgard heard some simple petitions from the nobles, a few merchants and other commoners, mainly soldiers in the Imperial army and a guard Claude thought he may have seen around the Palace itself. Most of the requests were granted without much deliberation, which made Claude think they had been hand-picked beforehand. It made sense, of course—why leave anything up to chance in this important political staging ground? Right. It’s all pre-arranged. Anyone who didn’t like bowing to Petra with respect wouldn’t be permitted to be here in the first place.

It was a simple, and even the expected, conclusion but it still left a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The petitions died down, and the silence in the room dragged on just long enough for people to start to shift and grow uncomfortable, before a tall, lean man with a neatly trimmed beard stood up. Everyone became still again.

“Duke Gerth,” Edelgard said, as though surprised. Claude doubted that was true, as Duke Gerth was one of her main political allies. “Did you have a proposal?”

“It is more of a personal request, Your Majesty,” Duke Gerth replied. “As you will know, Her Highness Princess Petra was under my guardianship during her stay in the Empire. During that time, I have come to care for her as though she were my own child—”

Claude pulled a face. So dramatic! Shamir elbowed him.

“—and I was recently saddened to learn that the Church has encroached on Clan Naradhaigh’s territory and even now refuses to leave their lands!”

In an instant, Claude understood the point of the exercise. To have Petra ask for assistance from the Empire even after Edelgard had made a point to recognise her as an equal would make Brigid look weak, and probably more relevantly, make Edelgard look stupid. But for the Emperor to graciously perform a favour for one of her close political allies and provide only additional forces, well… that spoke of her generosity to her friends. Even if the excuse seemed paper-thin to him, it might not look so to others, and that was always the point.

Gerth went on to say, “Whilst I know Her Highness has grown into a fine warrior, it would ease my worry greatly to know that the Empire stands with Brigid in this matter. After all, their formidable wyvern squads, led by the princess herself, have provided invaluable assistance to the Empire as scouts and fighters. Please, would Her Majesty consider lending some of the Empire’s strength to this cause?”

“I can understand a father-figure’s worry, Duke Gerth,” Edelgard said sombrely, “and I must admit, I, too, was appalled by the Church’s arrogance towards Brigid. You therefore have my word that I will contribute some of the Empire’s best to seeing them removed from Brigid’s lands.” She smirked. “In fact, to ensure a swift and decisive resolution, I will go myself… if, of course, the princess will accept our aid.”

Petra gave her assent as gasps met Edelgard’s pronouncement, followed by scattered applause. It was all very well staged, but Claude was bored. Mother would probably have challenged someone to a spar by now to liven things up.

The formal ‘hearing’ set up of the Court broke up, the people separating into scattered groups. Edelgard stepped down from the throne as Ferdinand came up to whisper something in her ear. An armoured woman—hilariously tall next to Edelgard—followed a step behind them. Edelgard nodded along to whatever Ferdinand was saying until she came to a group of nobles at the foot of the dais and put on another false smile. The woman took up a place at her shoulder whilst Ferdinand separated from them.

Claude turned to Shamir to ask who the tall woman was, only to find the mercenary had already melted into the shadows and disappeared. A smart move, no doubt, but Claude wouldn’t help but be annoyed by it. As Duke Riegan, he would look cowardly for ducking out so soon, although neither was he looking forward to having to make small talk whilst pretending not to see the barely veiled disdain and disinterest in their eyes. Ugh… at least it will be a good time to gather information about plans for the war, for the future. Not all of Edelgard’s allies can be as guarded as she is.

“Greetings, Claude,” Petra’s friendly voice broke in. “I hope it is alright to be having no formality with you.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. At least the mingling would be off to a good start. “It’s fine. I don’t think it would be fair to demand respect from someone who’s seen me bested by a tree.”

Her shoulders shook with laughter, the movement making her clothing ripple like a wave. Up close, Claude could see that it was made of elaborate layers in diamond patterns, with threads of gold running throughout, so that at different parts of it caught the light with each movement. He’d never seen her wearing anything like it in the Academy.

Claude felt homesick, suddenly, in a way he hadn’t in years. “Is this formal wear from Brigid?”

“That is right! I wanted to be showing everyone something beautiful of my homeland.” Her proud smile was bright and honest. She’d never fitted in with the Fódlan nobility in that way. “It is made by the finest craftsmen of Seóla, our largest island, where my clan is having their origin.”

“Well, they certainly outdid themselves. It looks beautiful.” He paused. “Sorry, that might be my last honest compliment of the night. I have to savour it.”

Petra shook her head with another musical laugh. “You should have more… positivity. Not all of the nobles in Fódlan are being so awful.” She gave him a pointed look. “I have met some kind nobles in Fódlan. Whom I would call friend.”

Yeah… You picked the wrong man for that. I’m not the kind of person anyone wants to put their trust in. “Oh? Who? They sound impressive. Probably never lost to a tree.”

She sighed.

“Who lost to a tree?”

Claude chuckled. “Of course you would walk into the conversation at that moment, Princess—sorry, I mean, Your Majesty.”

Edelgard narrowed her eyes in an eerie mirror of the armoured woman still standing at her shoulder. “Claude, have you met Ladislava?”

“Tall, blonde, and frowny? No I haven’t.”

Edelgard’s expression wavered in that amusing way she had, of being caught between a smile and a scowl. Ladislava merely bowed her head. “Your Grace. An honour to meet you. I have the privilege of leading Her Majesty’s personal guard.”

She said ‘an honour’ in the same tone one might use to say ‘a trial’ whilst keeping a totally straight face. Claude liked her already! “If that’s the case, I suppose you will be accompanying Her Majesty to Brigid.”

“Correct.”

Edelgard close her mouth as though she had been about to say something. With Ladislava a full head taller than her, it made her look like a grumpy younger sibling, even in full Emperor regalia.

“The full arrangements have not yet been made,” she said, after a long pause.

Ladislava briefly raised her eyebrows.

Edelgard continued, “But I did have something I wanted to—”

She was interrupted by the sound of the great double doors being opened. The conversations slowly petered out into mutterings and then silence. “Lord Volkard von Arundel,” was announced to the room at large.

Edelgard tensed and Ladislava shifted slightly closer to her. There was a pause, only a moment but it felt longer, before Edelgard pushed gently past Claude to greet Lord Arundel. Ladislava stayed barely a half-step behind her.

“Uncle. This is… a pleasant surprise,” she exclaimed. “I thought you had decided to sojourn in Count Hevring’s territory for some time longer.”

“Indeed, that was my plan,” Arundel replied, showing a slow, sharp smile. “However, I heard rumours of an expedition to Brigid and thought it was more important to come and support my niece and her little friends. Besides, I believe Hevring and I have reached a sufficient understanding.”

By now, the room had returned to conversation, and Claude had to fight his way closer in order to hear the rest.

“Of course you are welcome,” Edelgard said, “but I do wish you had thought to write ahead. I’m afraid your rooms are still shut up—”

“A trifle, dear niece. Do not fret so.” Arundel turned his gaze on Claude. “Ah, how could I have forgotten our dear guest? Please, Your Grace, I beg your forgiveness for not introducing myself as soon as I arrived. I was simply eager to see my niece again. I’m sure you also understand the value of… family.”

The hairs on the back of Claude’s neck stood on end. Was he trying to insinuate something…? Surely he couldn’t know anything for sure; Claude had been extremely careful. “There’s no need to explain yourself to me,” he settled on saying, although he was aware his voice didn’t sound as strong as he would like. “Pleased to meet you, Lord Arundel.”

Arundel smiled. There was something unsettling about it. Perhaps it was only because of hearing Lysithea say he was the one responsible for her condition, or because of how greatly he’d affected the mood of the room as a ‘mere’ Lord, or the tension and rigidity in Ladislava and Edelgard, but he exuded a feeling of… wrongness. Claude’s mouth was dry.

“Wonderful, wonderful,” Arundel said, as placid as a frozen lake. “I have always been interested to learn more of you. Your Grace cannot know of the curiosity and excitement in the Empire at the time of your… sudden appearance. A miracle for Fódlan and House Riegan, the unexpected heir! Why, with the terrible plague that tragically claimed so many of the Hresvelg princes and princesses, for a time that year it was feared we would soon see the end of two great houses.”

He placed a delicate hand on Edelgard’s shoulder. If she clenched her jaw any harder her teeth might shatter.

“But my niece proved to be stronger than her illness,” Arundel continued. “Stronger than anyone… She represents the true strength of the Empire.”

Claude had always wondered about the Hresvelg children who mysteriously and conveniently died of illness, leaving only one remaining heir. Edelgard hardly ever spoke of her siblings, the slip she’d made the other day whilst talking to Lysithea the first time he remembered her volunteering information about them in his presence. Even more than her recalcitrance was the lack of their presence anywhere in the palace. No paintings, no grieving relatives. It seemed like they’d been wiped from existence altogether.

“Oh, please.” Edelgard turned to face her uncle, freeing herself from his grasp without giving the appearance of being bothered by it. Claude suspected otherwise. The shake of her head felt even more staged than the excruciatingly specific addresses to Petra. “There is no need to heap such praise upon me. It is quite embarrassing!”

“What is embarrassing about an uncle’s pride in his niece?”

He kept calling her his niece over and over, but not her name. Was that strange, or did it only sound strange to his ears because he was so unsettled? Very useful for Arundel, wasn’t it, for his niece to be the only one of the princes and princesses to be strong enough to survive their illness. Arundel was a minor house before Edelgard was born, and now, even when Edelgard ruled in her own right, Arundel commanded such a powerful presence in the room.

‘Illness’ could be a cover for a lot of things…

“In any case, I hope His Grace will forgive me for monopolising the conversation. I do tend to get carried away.” He sighed. “A bad habit of mine. You will have to forgive me for it a few more times, I expect, with my niece going to assist in Brigid.”

Claude didn’t like that hard stare of his or the way Edelgard’s eyes flickered between the two of them. “What?”

“Come now!” Arundel probably intended to sound jovial, but the silky tones of his voice instead came out sharp, cutting. “I must, of course, make a closer acquaintance with anyone who might marry my niece—”

Edelgard quickly interrupted him. “I only meant that His Grace will be accompanying me to Brigid.”

Arundel paused, still as a statue. He turned to Edelgard, and whilst his vaguely pleasant expression hadn’t changed one bit, his voice dropped. “Oh? I hadn’t heard of these plans?”

“That’s not surprising, as we decided it only minutes ago,” Edelgard replied, her gestures stiff like a marionette and her chuckle rehearsed. “You cannot expect your friends in the Empire to always know everything, however much they gossip with you.”

‘Friends’. Some of them must be close to Edelgard’s inner circle, if he’d learnt of her going to Brigid in advance of it happening. He must have travelled at speed to get to Enbarr… in time to nicely warn her that he would be making moves whilst she was away? A show of power, a taunt?

And it involved Claude… somehow.

“It appears not.” Arundel released a deep breath. “You are full of surprises… niece. Very well, then, I suppose His Grace and I will have to become better acquainted some other time.”

Claude considered whether he should point out no such agreement had occurred, but Ladislava gave him a very slight shake of her head. Given Arundel’s apparent and suspicious amount of interest in him, Claude was inclined to agree with her.

He decided on saying, “Hey, you know I technically didn’t agree yet.”

Whilst Arundel did not… inspire confidence, to say the least, and Claude wouldn’t really contemplate making an ally of him unless he was even more desperate than he was now, it didn’t hurt to prod at that weakness a bit. A fracture in the Empire’s united front could be very useful.

“You made such a show of saying you’d wished to explore more of the world, I assumed that was your answer,” Edelgard said tartly.

“An unusual perspective for a Fódlan lord,” Arundel mused. “Although welcome, of course.” His airy tone made Claude feel uneasy rather than reassured, but he did not press it then. “This has been a delightful meeting, but my journey has been long. I hope you will understand when I say I must retire for the evening.”

“Of course.” She bowed her head. “I bid you good night.”

Claude waited until Arundel had left and the great doors had closed. “Thanks for volunteering me, by the way. I’m thrilled to be a part of this.”

“You will like Brigid,” Petra said.

Claude jumped—she’d been silent through the whole conversation and he’d forgotten she was there… Arundel had never acknowledged her, either. “I’m sure I will, but being asked would’ve been nice.”

“I was going to, but—” Edelgard broke of with a sigh. “No matter now.”

Sure you were, Princess. You definitely didn’t just want me out of the way of your scheming uncle.

“Ladislava,” she continued, “do you know where Shamir… ah.”

Shamir was already making her way through the crowd. “Sensed I was needed. What is it?”

“Escort Duke Riegan back to his rooms, please. And make sure…”

“I understand.”

Shamir jerked her head, indicating that Claude should follow her.

He frowned. Looks like there won’t be the opportunity for snooping after all. “I can make my own way back, you know.”

“Don’t make this troublesome,” Shamir said. “I’m just doing my job.”

Claude knew not to expect anything else from her—Shamir knew how to follow the money—but the whole thing was irritating. This was the problem with his mother’s homeland, he reflected as he and Shamir wandered through the palace. The splintered Alliance could never muster the same financial power as the Empire. He’d had so many plans, or the seeds of plans, as to how to fix that, how to strengthen the Alliance as his base of operation. But he’d been too late in starting; Edelgard’s plans had come to fruition first.

Shamir led him to his rooms without saying anything, but when they finally got there, she paused at the doorway. “Look on the bright side. At least you got out of useless politicking for the evening.”

“Aren’t you just saying that because it’s a bright side for you?”

She smirked. “Perhaps.”

Claude shook his head. Missing out on dull conversations, even if some of them might’ve been informative, wasn’t that bad. He did resent being led away like a child who was no longer allowed to talk with the adults.

“Anyway, get some rest,” Shamir said, “We’ll be leaving before too long, so you’ll need it.” Good, practical advice, just what I expect from Shamir the merc. “And be careful about poking your nose into things you don’t understand.”

“I’m always careful,” he replied. “Good night, General.”

The fact that he didn’t understand was exactly why he had to go ‘poking his nose into things’. Arundel coming back unexpectedly was bound to ruffle a few feathers and spread gossip. Edelgard would be busy making arrangements and so would her closest allies, so they wouldn’t be around to steer him away from useful information. In the morning, Claude could get some answers—

*

In the morning, Claude woke and discovered that two guards had been posted outside his door, with orders to escort him everywhere.

It would’ve been satisfying to fume at Edelgard, but Claude was told by one of the guards that ‘Her Majesty would be indisposed’ for the next few days. Expected, but still sad.

He didn’t bother to try searching for the most shameless gossipers as he’d planned, as he was sure the guards had already been warned against letting him get away with that. Instead, he took a walk in the fresh air of the palace gardens to clear his head.

This was where Lysithea told me about Arundel… It was only a few weeks ago but felt longer. At least Edelgard didn’t like him; the previous night had made that obvious. Claude would’ve been disappointed if she didn’t. Lysithea must have matured over the last few years if she could tolerate being in the same building as him for the sake of Edelgard’s lofty goals.

It wasn’t just Arundel, though. The whole night… Ugh. One thing the nobility of Fódlan and Almyra shared was the stilted lies required at any political event. Whether it was people calling him ‘Honoured Prince’ to his face when they’d happily spit on him, or Lord Arundel saying ‘His Grace’ like he was eager to become friends, it was all the same.

The deference to Petra was a better show than Claude got in Almyra, of course, but he doubted it was any more genuine. Maybe Edelgard really thought she was helping her friend, maybe, but it didn’t change the fact that Petra was the future ruler of a nation that the Empire could easily crush when necessary. The Empire could afford to be nice to her.

Claude would normally go flying to calm himself after a formal event like that, but he hadn’t been able to fly since the Academy—Garreg Mach had decided to keep a herd of wyverns after Almyra had shown how devastating they could be in battle, and being a House Leader gave him the privilege of being able to fly with them outside of official teaching hours.

He missed Setareh now more than any other time. Hopefully, she was doing alright with Father—she liked him almost as much as Claude, so he liked to think so. Two outcasts who bonded… if I hadn’t had to bribe her with a lot of fresh meat, it would be just like a story. Setareh was an albino wyvern, so her mother hadn’t been feeding her properly and her siblings shunned her. He must have grown on her despite having to buy her affections, because she’d wailed like nothing he’d heard before when he’d left her behind.

He hoped she remembered him.

Claude sighed. There would be no flight today, so he might as well turn this anxious energy into something productive. He abruptly turned to the two guards. “Hey, you guys want to pick up a pack of cards or something? I’m going to spend a while in the Archives. Might be boring just standing around… guarding.”

They both stared at him with furrowed brows, like he’d said something odd.

*

Lord Johan was predictably excited to see him, but managed to contain himself to a, ‘His Gr—Claude! How wonderful for you to join us once again!’ so he was learning.

Meredith did not give her usual grunt of acknowledgement. Without looking up from the book she was studying, she said, “I heard that you met Lord Arundel last night.”

“Uh, yes,” Claude replied. “Have you had the pleasure?”

“Thank goodness, no,” she muttered. “And if the Goddess is good I will never have to lay eyes on that blasphemer.”

“My lady!” Johan grimaced while Claude raised his eyebrows. “You should not say that about the Emperor’s uncle—”

“It’s true.” Meredith sniffed. She fixed Claude with a dignified look.

After a pause, he realised she expected him to contribute something. “Well, having met him, I don’t know if I would rank ‘blasphemy’ as his greatest flaw.”

“No doubt Her Majesty agrees with you.” Her hand tapped restlessly at the pages of her book. “More damningly, I supposed it is possible that you are both right.”

Johan made a weak noise of protest. “Many are reconsidering their relationship with the Goddess in these changing times, perhaps including Lord—”

“I have reconsidered nothing,” Meredith snapped. “The Church may have been deeply corrupted, but no one is at war with the Goddess. Arundel ought to be reminded of that fact, and not allowed to go around spitting on Her name—”

“I’ll pass your kind regards onto him when I’m back from Brigid,” Claude said, mainly to prevent it escalating into an argument. He was conscious of the guards outside the door who might come to interrupt before anything too interesting could be said.

“You would do better to tell Her Majesty,” Meredith retorted in a quieter voice. “If she is serious about her respect for the faith, if not the Church, that is. She said that she would speak with Lord Arundel, but Her Majesty does not seem very serious about checking his behaviour.”

Claude thought of Lysithea’s warning and Arundel’s not-so-subtle power play. Did Meredith know anything about the Empire’s internal politics? If the faithful could truly be persuaded Edelgard didn’t have their best interests at heart…

Johan looked uncomfortable, so Claude suspected that he, at least, knew Lord Arundel was not exactly Edelgard’s most trusted ally. “My lady, I have told you. I’m sure Her Majesty sympathises, but it is no easy matter to—”

“She is the Emperor of the line blessed by Saint Seiros,” Meredith said stubbornly. “Her word is law.”

“Things are not so simple in the Empire as they are in Faerghus…” He looked at Claude with a pleading expression.

“Yes, it’s just like the Alliance,” Claude added. “I say, ‘Jump’, and everyone else asks, ‘What’s in it for me?’”

Except for Hilda, but she wouldn’t jump herself, she’d get someone to do it on her behalf… but perhaps that was stretching the metaphor to breaking point.

Johan beamed at him and turned to Meredith. “You see? Lord Arundel is important in the Empire. Her Majesty will be seen as overstepping her bounds if she begins telling him what he can and cannot say.”

She scowled. “I am only saying that if she keeps on letting Lord Arundel say these things, the faithful will take notice.”

“You must not doubt her so! Has Her Majesty not been kind to you?”

“My skills are useful,” Meredith replied. She paused. “I’m not saying I am not grateful. The Emperor recognises talent freely, and she would not—” Her voice grew thick, and she turned back to her book, hiding her face. “More freedoms will be permitted for people like me in the Empire than would be in Faerghus. I believe all of this.”

‘People like me’? Somehow, Claude didn’t think she meant scholars. People without Crests? He couldn’t remember if she had one or not.

“But her personal kindness cannot reach everyone,” she continued. “They must judge her by her actions and the company she keeps.”

“I know you do not like Lord Arundel, but you can hardly judge Her Majesty’s circle on him alone!” Johan said. “Why, Manuela, Hanneman, dear Ferdinand, my own great-nephew Linhardt—they are amongst the finest people I have ever met! And you often say yourself what a charming and intelligent young woman Lady Lysithea is, and she and Her Majesty are such good friends.”

“The care the Emperor takes over Lysithea’s health does her credit,” she admitted. “But…”

They continued the argument, a strange echo to Claude’s own thoughts. He left them to it, drifting away silently amongst the boxes to pore through more books, working at a slow pace which would’ve had Meredith’s critical eye trained on him in a heartbeat.

Because she was right about the problem, wasn’t she? The opportunities for commoners and her schools, her respect for Petra and Brigid, her friendship with Lysithea… Edelgard was beautiful and intelligent and took things too seriously, which was what made her so fun to tease and good in conversation…

It would be so easy to like her if he took her at her word. It wasn’t even the slimy Arundel that was the problem—Claude would work with unscrupulous characters to achieve his dream—or even that she’d ruined all his own plans by starting her war, although he couldn’t deny that still stung. If he’d had his chance to reshape Fódlan, it would’ve made it impossible to deny him the Almyran throne. Fódlan might be thought of as a land of cowards, but at court, the most well-known of its people were his mother the Queen and Holst Goneril, hardly warriors unworthy of besting. He would’ve been perfectly poised to achieve his dream.

If he were to marry Edelgard… perhaps it could still be done. If she had sufficient strength in battle, ‘losing’ to her would not count too much against even him, the cowardly child. And if he could trust her, a marriage would be the surest path. The Alliance couldn’t stack up against the Empire in a long-term war, and being the lesser ally to Rhea’s Church was out of the question.

No, Claude needed to fell the Empire in one swift stroke, and the stroke of a pen for a political marriage would certainly be easier on everyone than a battle. If he could trust her.

Ha. Trust her. How many people had told Claude honeyed words, asking for favours in return for a friendship that they always withheld? How often had people promised him things only to never deliver? How often had there been a handshake and grovelling apology hiding a knife, waiting to strike?

It was always the same. Claude was never to be trusted or loved, no matter where he went. In this world, he could only trust Father, Mother, Setareh and himself. Mostly. Sometimes his own weakness was the most treacherous thing of all.

Don’t falter. Don’t give in. Don’t be too cowardly to risk losing.

Edelgard, arguably, said all the right things, and that was exactly why Claude couldn’t trust her. She was just too good to be true. Better to take the later, slimmer chance of victory than to have no chance of victory at all.

Chapter Text

There was an itch at Edelgard’s back that wouldn’t go away. Why did Thales have to come back now?

Of course she knew why. Because they still hadn’t found every agent of Those Who Slither and he’d caught wind of her plans, because he’d seen an opportunity in her absence… Ugh, the way he had looked at Claude! The possibility of sinking his claws into the leader of the Alliance must’ve been too tempting to resist—Hubert suspected they did not have a limitless capacity to replace humans with their own people, but if there was anyone they might make an effort to secure—

Claude had been noticeably colder the few times they’d run into each other since then. No doubt she’d offended him by stepping in like that and having him shadowed by guards, but in the moment it was all she’d been able to think of. Perhaps she would have time to apologise on the… trip.

Her stomach turned over at the mere thought. A week on a small ship, separated from the black depths of the ocean by only the strength of a few timbers…

The clamminess of her hands was hidden by her gloves, but she couldn’t disguise every bit of her anxiety. She didn’t even realise she was standing on tiptoes, searching desperately for Sylvain’s shock of red hair, until Claude asked, “Would Her Majesty like a box to stand on?”

Edelgard’s heels made a clicking sound as they unceremoniously slammed into the cobbles. She glowered at him.

“Just asking!”

She did not buy that innocent smile one bit.

Thankfully, she was saved from having to come up with a suitable reply by Ladislava saying, “Your Majesty, Lord Sylvain approaches.”

“Ah, finally.”

The guards around her and Claude parted to allow Sylvain to come within… winking distance. Edelgard sighed. Of course…

Sylvain flashed a brilliant smile. “Hey, Your Majesty! You’re looking as beautiful as ever, I see.”

“I’d feel complimented if you didn’t say that to every woman you met.”

“You should give yourself more credit, Your Majesty,” he replied. “I’m sure you’d be immune to my compliments under any circumstance.”

She must not look amused. It would only encourage him. Unfortunately, from the way his grin grew wider, she thought he had seen her mouth twitch. “Let us not waste any more time with pleasantries. Lead the way to the ship!”

Sylvain nodded. “True, I’m sure there will be plenty of time to rue my company on the journey to Brigid. It’s not far…”

Edelgard followed, the guards behind, and Claude kept pace beside her. “Lord Sylvain…” he mused. “I’d forgotten he’d been officially disowned as well.”

She winced.

“That’s right!” Sylvain turned to give him a sloppy salute, but his smile was no longer so pleasant. “I consider it a compliment, really. So would you if you’d met my old man.”

Even Claude seemed embarrassed to have been caught out with that one. “Uh… right. I didn’t mean…”

“Sylvain has a talent for knowing when he’s being talked about,” Edelgard said, and then wondered why she was trying to make Claude feel better—especially when he only rolled his eyes at her.

“I’d say I want to know the reputation I’m supposed to live down to,” Sylvain said, “only Her Majesty insists I have to set my sights higher than rock bottom.”

She resisted the urge to sigh. I see he’s in one of his dark moods again…

Not that she was in the right frame of mind to be a cheering presence for anyone. As they approached the gangplank leading to the ship, Edelgard swallowed a lump in her throat and kept her head held high, taking care not to look down into the murky waters of the harbour, nor to wince at the sound of the waves hungrily slapping against the ship’s side—

Sylvain looped his arm around hers and carried her past her hesitation at the foot of the gangplank. “So, Your Majesty, how are you looking forward to your first trip outside of Fódlan?”

Do not vomit do not vomit— “I have often heard Petra describe the beauty of her homeland, and I eagerly anticipate being able to see a small piece of it.”

“The land of green giants, the captain calls it—he’s sailed the waters of Brigid plenty of times, you know—anyway, he claims there are trees there as tall as the mountains of Faerghus.” Sylvain hummed thoughtfully. “I’m not sure if he’s pulling my leg or if he just hasn’t seen the right Faerghus mountains. Care to bet on it?”

“I don’t think this is the time to be engaged in careless gambling.”

“Ah, but if I tell you the odds, it becomes careful and considered gambling!”

Edelgard snorted before she could stop herself.

“Ha!” Sylvain grinned. “Knew I’d get you eventually. And you look like you might have the making of some fine sea legs.”

“Must you add such uncouth comments—” Edelgard stopped herself with a blink. Their short exchange had carried them onto the ship proper and she no longer felt so nauseous.

He laughed. “Uncouth is quite a compliment compared to some things I’ve been called; I’ll treasure that, Your Majesty.”

She opened her mouth to thank him for the distraction instead, but he was already striding towards a dark-skinned man with long, plaited hair, forcing Edelgard to walk quickly to keep up—which was probably his intention. She had no idea why he insisted on pretending that all his acts of kindness were pure happenstance, but he seemed determined to maintain the facade.

The man with the plaited hair—the captain, she presumed—greeted Sylvain with a Sreng word, which Sylvain returned after only a slight pause. He unhooked his arm from Edelgard’s and gestured. “Your Majesty, may I introduce Captain Murchad.”

“So, you’re the Emperor I’ve heard so much about.” The captain’s eyes flickered, giving her a critical once-over.

“Indeed I am,” Edelgard replied, inclining her head. “Thank you for allowing us passage aboard your ship, Captain Murchad.”

He shrugged. “You’re the one paying for it. Just tell your people to stay out of the way and let the crew do their jobs and we’ll get along just fine, Your Majesty.”

Edelgard thought of Claude’s habit of poking his nose into everything he found interesting and was very careful not to wince. “If you do have any trouble, please don’t hesitate to bring it to my attention, Captain.”

The captain shrugged and gestured to Sylvain, who separated from her with another wink. Their conversation was in Sreng, haltingly on Sylvain’s part, but he seemed able to keep up with the captain’s speech. Edelgard was pleased to see his language skills were progressing, although she feared Petra would be exasperated by how easily he’d taken to a second language compared with her own efforts at learning the language of Fódlan…

Dear Petra. Edelgard knew she missed her homeland terribly. If only it did not have to be quite so—far away.

“Deep in thought, Your Majesty?”

Edelgard shook herself to clear her head and offered Claude a small smile. He’d rarely initiated conversation over the last few days, so it behooved her to try her best to be friendly despite still feeling a bit queasy. “Just… considering the journey. I have never travelled by ship before, so it will take some getting used to, I think.” At least I will have ready access to fresh air…

“I haven’t travelled much by ship before, either,” Claude returned. “The captain—isn’t he from Sreng?”

“Ah, yes. I believe he’s the… brother of a mercenary serving with Sylvain’s battalion?” Edelgard frowned, but she could not remember the woman’s name. “You’ll have to ask Sylvain for the details.”

“Or the captain himself.”

She shook her head, remembering the captain’s request, but she didn’t want to offend Claude by insinuating he was rude, either. Even if it’s true. “I doubt the captain would be willing, but… I suppose a… polite inquiry couldn’t hurt.”

There was an odd gleam in Claude’s eye. This did not seem to bode well for her.

But she could not dwell on it; soon it was to the business of getting settled aboard the ship as their belongings and equipment were brought on and stowed away. The cabins were cramped, but seemed as comfortable as the motion of the boat… the ship… would allow. Space was at a premium and only Edelgard and Claude had the luxury of having a cabin to themselves. Petra and Ladislava had insisted they weren’t bothered by sharing, whilst Shamir had seemed offended by Edelgard even asking if she would not be too uncomfortable

At least no one was able to see her make a fool of herself, tossing and turning as she attempted to get to sleep that night… Sea travel turned out to be even more awful than Edelgard had imagined. When she’d been shown the cabin, equipped with a small porthole window, she thought that being able to see the outside world might help her forget she was stuck in a small, dark room, not dissimilar from the dungeons below Enbarr.

Not only had she been wrong, but when she did glance out the window, all she saw was water and the thought of being swallowed by it forced her to hide under the covers for the whole night like a frightened little girl.

The only reprieve from the oppressive space was the deck of the ship—and what a reprieve it was, with Edelgard clinging to the side for dear life and watching the smudged shores of Fódlan vanishing from the horizon.

Captain Murchad had said the journey should take about a week if the weather stayed fair, maybe a little less. Edelgard was desperately hoping for less. It had been little more than a day and her nerves were beginning to fray to uselessness. She could not stay out on the deck all day. Ladislava already spent half her time hovering at Edelgard’s shoulders, fretting, and she didn’t want to cause anyone undue worry over what was ultimately an irrational fear… but neither could she spend more time below.

As morning turned into late afternoon, the cool sea air began to penetrate her scars, leaving her arms and hands aching and twitching. She was exhausted, but returning to the cabin would hardly be restful…

Edelgard blinked as Claude crept from below decks. He scanned the deck, frowning. His eyes narrowed when they fell on her and he turned away, heading towards the helm of the ship. She winced, remembering the evening on the balcony when he’d invited her to stay and talk. I never did tell him about the story in that book, did I? I gave it to… Lysithea, I’m sorry. I may have ruined things already.

But how to go about offering apology for her offences, she had no idea.

*

Claude hadn’t sailed by ship since he was a child and he was relieved to find that he seemed to have grown out of being seasick. Choosing to completely dodge the question of how she should approach Edelgard now by simply walking past her, he managed to make his stroll across the deck reasonably competent despite having no sea legs to speak of and, as he’d hoped, found Sylvain speaking to the captain in halting Sreng.

The captain gave Claude a bored look as he approached. “You’re the Duke, aren’t you? How am I supposed to address you, then?”

“Eh, don’t worry about the formal stuff,” Claude replied. “Actually, I’m just here to ask a few questions. Satisfy my curiosity.”

The captain rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for nosy nobles.”

“Great!” Claude chirped. “If you’re busy, then you won’t mind if I borrow your man Gautier here!”

Sylvain blinked. “Uh, what?”

Captain Murchad let out a bark of laughter. “You got me there, lordling. Fine.” He nodded to Sylvain, as though giving permission. “We can finish our conversation later.”

“Oh, sure, just throw me to the wolves, why don’t you?”

“Am I a wolf in this scenario?” Always a beast in Fódlan. Claude shook his head. “I promise I don’t bite. I was just curious to know when you picked up Sreng.”

“He hasn’t picked up anything!” the captain called.

“I thought you were busy, you—” Sylvain finished with a word Claude didn’t understand, but it only made Captain Murchad laugh.

“Good!” he said. “Say it like you mean it! But don’t forget your ah needs to be longer.”

“One day I’ll get him,” Sylvain muttered.

Claude could only watch the banter with confusion. He supposed that if they were that casual together, they probably got along alright? “My question still stands. What made you decide to try learning Sreng? No offence, but I didn’t expect any Sreng would give a man of House Gautier the time of day.”

“Well, as you so delicately pointed out yesterday, I am no longer of House Gautier,” Sylvain replied sharply.

He winced. “Okay, so it wasn’t the most diplomatic way of saying it, I admit… but you understand why I’m curious, right?”

Sylvain groaned. “Is… this about the marriage thing somehow? Because if it is, you’re better off directing all questions at Her Majesty.”

“Why would this have to do with the marriage?” Claude asked. Not that he really wanted to talk to Her Very Solitary Majesty right now anyway, but he wasn’t telling Sylvain that. “I’m asking an honest question!”

“As an expert on honest questions, I really don’t think you are.” He sighed. “But Edelgard told me to play nice, so I’ll bite. You’ll be disappointed though—I just don’t think there’s much of a future in crossing your fingers and hoping to get a kid with the right Crest, so I decided to try diplomacy. And if you want to talk to someone as an equal, you should try speaking to them in their own language… learning about their culture… the basic stuff.”

In their own language… At his parents’ insistence, Claude had grown up speaking both of their native languages equally, but he still wasn’t sure if he spoke the same ‘language’ as the rest of Fódlan. He wasn’t sure if he was more surprised by Gautier trying to treat with Sreng like they were actual people, or that it hadn’t occurred to anyone to try before. Assuming Sylvain was earnest, of course.

“Did Her Majesty approve this endeavour—assuming it was your idea in the first place?”

“I find it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.” Sylvain grimaced. “I mean, she’s not against it or anything, I’ve mentioned it in letters… ugh, there’s a reason I’m nobody’s first pick for diplomacy, alright? Can’t you find someone else to bother?”

What a helpful answer. If Edelgard had told him to play nice she must’ve also told him to play dumb. “Relax. I’m just asking. So, you’ve been doing your reading on Sreng? Where did you get the books? I doubt they have anything like that in Enbarr’s library.”

“Nah. I had to take them from the library at Garreg Mach.”

Behind Sylvain, the captain made a rude gesture. “As if anyone from your faith could see past their own noses enough to write a book about my country!”

“It’s not exactly my faith,” Sylvain retorted, but there was more exhaustion in it than anything. To Claude, he shrugged. “Yeah, they’re not exactly unbiased, but you work with what you have.”

Given what Claude had found written about Almyra in Garreg Mach’s library, he wasn’t very optimistic about the quality of those books. Still… “You wouldn’t happen to have any of them with you?”

Sylvain narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

The delicate balance of power in the Alliance put Claude at a disadvantage compared to the Kingdom and Empire. The Empire had internal disputes, but the Kingdom’s chivalric culture and the strength of the Seiros faith made them united behind the King and Archbishop. It would be difficult to take them on with the Alliance’s fractured power if the Empire couldn’t weaken them significantly first.

Unless Claude could create a second front… It wasn’t like he needed the northern Faerghus territory, formerly part of Sreng. If he offered it back to them in exchange for an alliance, well…

It was just the beginnings of a plan; he didn’t know enough to seriously consider it yet. But taking the first steps in researching didn’t hurt. More immediately…

“To be honest,” Claude said, “I’m really bored.”

Sylvain blinked at him and then laughed. “I wish you’d opened with that! Fine, then, I have something you can borrow. I need it back later, though.”

“Sure, sure.” Better read fast in case ‘forgetting’ to return it didn’t work. I can’t believe I’m borrowing dear old Hilda’s tricks…

Sylvain led the way back below decks after saying something else to the captain. The captain responded with something that drew snickering from the crew around him.

“How do you say ‘hello’ in Sreng, anyway?” Claude asked. “I assume the exchanging of insults isn’t how it usually goes.”

“Ha ha. You say bannaghtyn,” Sylvain replied. “It’s… kinda formal, though. A mark of respect. It means ‘blessings’.”

Claude recognised it as a greeting Sylvain had used for the captain the previous day, so if that was true, it implied Sylvain had more respect for the man than their casual banter let on. How serious was he about making peace with Sreng, anyway? It was hard to imagine one of House Gautier giving up land their family had fought over for centuries. Then again, Claude would’ve said it was hard to imagine one of them learning Sreng. Or any noble of Fódlan learning the languages of their neighbours, for that matter. But the proof was right before him.

Edelgard made her people learn Brìghde for Petra’s show at court…

Yes, and Her Imperial Majesty herself had only learned one single word. What a touching display of friendship. Even if it was more than anyone had seemingly learned before she came to the throne—

Claude shook himself to clear the traitorous doubts from his head, ducking into the cabin after Sylvain. There were four bunks crowded into the small room and Sylvain was forced to walk at an odd stoop to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. He went for a chest by one of the bunks, muttering to himself, as Claude’s eye was drawn to a long, thin case, large enough that it was awkwardly wedged at an angle against the side of the ship.

The Lance of Ruin…

Claude hadn’t seen many Relics up close, which had made his attempts to learn more about them… difficult. His grandfather had told him a little about Failnaught, but when Claude tried to press for more information on how it worked, the old man only said that it was not for them to know the methods of the Goddess.

His hands were already on the case’s clasps. He hesitated for just a second, but—he wouldn’t get many chances like this.

The Lance of Ruin sat, nestled in blood red velvet, the Crest Stone of Gautier still and dull. Claude was struck, like he had been by his glimpses of it at the Academy, by the sinister look of it, the decorations near the Crest Stone protruding like grasping claws. Even creepier than Failnaught. The tips of his fingers ghosted across them. He shuddered. Yes, just like Failnaught, smooth yet pockmarked with tiny ridges and rivulets unlike anything he’d seen come out of a blacksmith’s forge—and cold, of course, a deep cold that seemed to leech all the warmth from his hand.

The edge of the spear’s tip, to his surprise, wasn’t particularly sharp. It came to a point, but the edges were smooth and slightly rounded, a little like the odd spikes on Failnaught—but Failnaught was a bow. Spears were, in theory, supposed to stab people. What a weird way to make a spear…

“Ugh, of course it was at the bottom of the chest. You have to read between the lines a bit but—don’t touch that.”

The lid was slammed shut, trapping the tip of one of Claude’s fingers before he could yank his hands away. He suppressed the urge to use a few Almyran swear words. “Ow. What the hell was that?”

“Don’t touch it, you idiot,” Sylvain snarled.

Frowning, Claude looked up from his hand—and stared. Sylvain was deathly pale, his eyes wide and terrified. Claude’s anger died away into confusion. What kind of overreaction… “You okay there? You look pretty freaked out.”

Sylvain blinked, long and slow like he’d come out of a deep sleep, and drew back. “You would be too,” he muttered. Before Claude could try to make sense of that, he sighed and added, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to mess with other people’s things?”

If he was just angry, Claude wouldn’t feel so bad about it. The fact that he’d panicked so much made him feel pretty sheepish. “I heard it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission?”

Sylvain choked on a laugh. He seemed more relaxed, but one of his hands was trembling. “Using my own lines on me, huh? Okay. Just… don’t do it again, alright? It’s dangerous to touch a Relic without the right Crest.”

“Dangerous?”

“I…” Sylvain groaned. “Should’ve left this one to Her Majesty… You remember the time there were demonic beasts in that chapel, right?”

When Teach’s dad died. The professor had seemed more like a doll than a person until then. Claude couldn’t imagine the pain of his own father dying, let alone what it would be like when they were the only person you had. “Yeah. I remember. It turned out the beasts were transformed students, right? It was pretty awful.”

“How do you think they turned?”

Claude frowned. There had been declarations about ‘unnatural experiments’ like in Remire, but…

Sylvain leaned forward. “Crest Stones.”

“You’re joking.” Claude stared at him as he gazed back, unflinching. “You’re not joking. How? What?”

If Crest Stones could truly transform someone in to a demonic beast… How could the Church have kept such a thing quiet? The Relics had been in the hands of their families for centuries, but not everyone in them would’ve had a Crest, or the right kind of Crest… Hell, Claude’s grandfather in his later years had had an attendant whose job it was to carry Failnaught around, when he was obliged to make public appearances—if everyone who touched it had been as risk all this time then—

“How could that be the case?” he demanded.

Sylvain hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t really know the how or the why. The Archbishop said it was the Goddess judging the unworthy, but, well…” He laughed, but the hysterical edge to it made Claude wince. “If you believe her you’ll believe the Goddess judged me to be worthy.”

“But…” Claude was at a loss. This was something he’d never heard about with Relics and Crests. Why? “I mean, are you sure that was it? Couldn’t it have been caused by something else?”

“Oh, I’m sure alright.” Sylvain’s smile was utterly joyless. “If you want to know more, why don’t you ask Princess what happened to my brother.”

‘Princess’ is my nickname for her. Claude ignored the silly, irrelevant little voice at the back of his head. “Can’t you—”

“Here’s the book you wanted, by the way.” Sylvain continued in a monotone like he hadn’t heard what Claude said. He shoved it into Claude’s hands so fast it nearly tumbled to the floor, but didn’t seem to notice. “I need some fresh air.”

He could do little more than call a weak, “Thanks!” to Sylvain’s retreating back.

Claude glared at the book. It had better be worth it after all this. Hopefully he would never need to try calling on Sylvain for a favour, because he’d probably burnt that bridge and scattered the ashes to the four winds for good measure.

Demonic beasts are created by Crest Stones… He automatically rebelled at the thought, but it would make a certain kind of sense, then, why demonic beasts seemed to only be found in Fódlan. But it would also mean that they’d all been people, once upon a time…

The implications came crashing down on Claude all at once and he could’ve slapped himself. Sylvain said to ask about his brother… his brother who’d stolen a Relic. No wonder he’d stormed out for ‘fresh air’.

Claude closed the cabin door behind him as he left. The sunlight from above decks flashed in his eyes and he pulled a face. He didn’t particularly want to talk to ‘Princess’…

Princess. Princess, as if there was only one. A wave of relief washed over him. He could just ask Petra what had happened. It had been the Black Eagles’ mission, mainly—Sylvain only accompanied them because, well, his brother; he didn’t join the class until afterwards—so of course she would’ve been there as well. He could rely on her to give an honest account of what had happened.

You can’t avoid Edelgard forever, said a voice in his head. For some reason, it sounded a lot like Lysithea.

With Lysithea it was different, though. She tried so hard to be self-sufficient, driving herself to exhaustion, you couldn’t help but put that safety net underneath her. Anyone would do it. Probably especially Edelgard, since they practically looked like sisters already. It wasn’t evidence of anything… or anything that could happen… for anyone else.

Ugh. Before he talked to anyone, he needed to clear his head. Might as well make an attempt at the book too, since he’d nearly given Sylvain a heart attack in acquiring it.

Chapter Text

Claude spent a day avoiding everyone, remaining in his cabin for the most part and only venturing out for fresh air. It was a shame, because the atmosphere aboard the ship was pleasant; the languages of Fódlan, Sreng, and Brigid filled the air as the crew and Imperial party mixed above deck, coexisting peacefully side by side…

It was just a sailing trip, but he would’ve liked to enjoy it more if only he felt—ready. Or perhaps it was that he was too ready for it, too comfortable, assuring him of things that were far from certain. I still have some of that book to read—

“Claude!” A hand fell on his shoulder, making him jump. He turned to find Petra smiling at him. “We are sharing this tiny ship and I have not been seeing very much of you! This is a shame.”

“Well…”

She didn’t wait for an answer, grabbing his arm and dragging him towards the ship’s bow. “Come! As it is a clear day, we may catch sight of Brigid!”

Claude squinted, but he couldn’t see anything on the horizon but more sea as he dutifully followed Petra. “You’re excited to be going home, huh?”

“Oh, very much so.” Petra’s expression turned soft as she gazed across the ocean. “I have been able to go back for visiting, but the war demands much of my time to be in Fódlan… even though it is for fighting, I am happy for a chance to return. And I am having the opportunity to show Brigid to my friends!”

She seemed so happy at the prospect. Claude tried to imagine showing anyone anyone his home of Almyra, but even when he was trying to only think of the stark beauty of the mountains and stargazing in the deserts, it was hard to find joy in the idea. It would be a long and complicated road before he could take anyone home and hope that it wouldn’t backfire.

Petra’s eyes flickered back to him. “That is including you as well, you know.”

“Ah—of course.” What perfect time to give offence! Maybe he’d be able to do the same to the whole crew before the trip was out. “I am looking forward to seeing it. I’ve just been… distracted, the past few days.”

“Hm. Sylvain said you were nosing into things you should not be.”

She shook her head, but didn’t give any signs of being truly angry with him. It was the perfect segue to ask about Miklan as he’d intended, but Claude couldn’t bring himself to voice the question when Petra was just trying to be earnestly friendly. Instead, he asked, “Are you… happy? Working with the Empire?”

Petra gave him a shrewd look. “You are having doubts about Edelgard, I see.”

His eye twitched. “You—”

“I am not blaming you.” Petra sighed, her eyes drawn towards her homeland once again, gazing after something that could not be seen. “Edelgard has her ambition which she prizes above all things, including herself. Sometimes, it can be hard for her to be a person. A… friend. Long ago, she committed herself to this path, and she will not move from it.”

His heart sank. It sounded exactly as he feared. Maybe, maybe, Edelgard was as genuine as she seemed… on the parts that concerned her, but there was no flexibility, no possibility of being able to include Claude and his own ambitions—

“But,” Petra said heavily, “the person she most wishes to be is kind.”

Claude raised an eyebrow. “Starting a war is… kind?”

“I did not say she is kind. I said the person she most wishes to be is kind.” She wound a section of her hair through her fingers over and over, humming thoughtfully before she spoke again. “For all the time we knew each other, she was knowing that I might… no, expecting that I would choose to take Brigid against her Empire, her plans. Yet, all of this time she treated me with respect, as a fellow future sovereign. She was giving me good, honest advice, and wishing me only the best.”

Claude drummed his fingers against the side of the ship. “So you sided with the Empire because…”

“Because I believe in her,” Petra replied. “Because she was kind to me when I had no one else… because even though she is starting this war, her instincts are not of a predator. She is having the instinct to heal.” Her eyes turned downwards. “I… am knowing what it is to make one’s self into something for the sake of their people. For that, she is having my respect. But because what she has the most value for is kindness, I trust that she will not be forgetting herself and thinking only of her Empire, and Brigid is having its best chance with her future.”

“So… what? You think she’s going to be kinder to Brigid because you’re her friend?”

Petra shook her head. “No. Because I am her friend—because she has many friends—I think she will not lose her instinct to have kindness to Brigid, and to everyone.” She paused and sighed. “But sometimes, she forgets how to be a friend as well as Emperor, and loses her way. That is why I have hope you will be good for her.”

Claude blinked. “Me?”

Her laugh was musical and lifted the gloomy atmosphere in an instant. “Of course you! You are also one of the reasons I believed Fódlan and Brigid could be having a future together, you know.”

“What?” He frowned, but he was sure he didn’t remember anything like that coming up in their conversations at the Academy. “Were my tree-climbing skills truly so impressive?”

“You are being foolish on purpose. This will not do.” Petra clicked her tongue. “You were being one of the few people in Fódlan who accepted and understood me from the very beginning… when I first met Edelgard, she was showing me great kindness. But when I first met you… you were giving me the treatment of—hmm…”

She paused, frowning to herself. Claude waited for her to find the right words.

“You treated me as… normal,” she eventually said. “Not as an outsider with strange beliefs, or as a frightened foreign princess. With you, I was having the feeling of just being Petra.” Her grin then was blinding. Claude found that his eyes were strangely damp. “I am thinking you could be helping Edelgard to be Edelgard as well. And together you would show the example of kindness and acceptance! It will be good for Fódlan and Brigid. I am sure of this.”

The lump in his throat prevented him from speaking, so he watched the sunlight sparkle on the water instead. This short stretch of sea was all that separated Brigid and Fódlan, yet their countries had never had a friendly relationship. Did Petra really think that could change? That… he could change it?

Change it with Edelgard, she says…

When he thought he would sound normal enough, he said, “I’m not sure if I’ve been good at ‘helping Edelgard to be Edelgard’ so far, but you sell the idea really well, I’ll give you that.” He paused, swallowing. “Is it really that easy, though?”

“To show an example? I suppose it is probably not easy, but I think it is worth the try.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean…” Claude wasn’t even sure if he could explain it. “How do you know? How do you know you could work with someone for both of your benefit? How did you know Edelgard would help you?”

Edelgard had been kind to her, Petra said. And yet who had been kind to Claude? His parents loved him, but they couldn’t give him success, couldn’t realise his dream. Judith, maybe, but it was kindness predicated on the assumption Claude was not who he really was. If she knew… it would be different, he was sure of that.

Petra tilted her head, pursing her lips in thought. “Know? You cannot know anything. Some things you are not having control over. No matter how you plan, there will still always be a surprise given to you. I did not expect Edelgard’s war,” she said ruefully, “and I did not know what would become of it. But I decided to place my trust in Edelgard and our professor. What is your expression… I took… a leap with my faith. And I am happy with where I landed.”

Claude frowned.

She gave him a playful shove and laughed when he had to wave his arms to regain his balance. “I am not saying you have to be leaping now! You do not know Edelgard as well as I am knowing her. But I think if you do know her, you will be pleased.”

“Right.” Claude tried not to sound as sceptical as he felt. “And you think she’d be ‘pleased’ by me as well?”

“Of course!” Petra said. “You are my friend, and I am very pleased by you. Why not Edelgard also?”

Claude was startled when Sylvain’s voice suddenly swooped in to say, “Uh oh. Do I need to tell Her Majesty that her marriage plans are in jeopardy?”

Petra whirled around to glare at him. “That is not what I am saying!” she protested, but then she brightened. “But I am very impressed by your sneaking and catching me with surprise! This is a skill worth learning at the best.”

Sylvain chuckled. He must have come up to the bow while they were engrossed in conversation. Next to him was the captain.

“I was also surprised to see the lad keep his mouth shut for twenty seconds,” he grumbled.

“We’ve come to crash the party!” Sylvain said.

“We have not.” Captain Murchad punched Sylvain in the shoulder. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, but I came to ask the princess something. If the weather stays fair like this, we may hit Seola a few days early. Will your people still be ready?”

Petra nodded. “Of course! My people are only awaiting our arrival. Edelgard was having Bernie leave from the western tip of the Empire, so she has been having much time to scout.”

“She’s probably not had much time to work on her book then, huh…” Sylvain sighed.

“Now is not the time to be worrying of such things!” Petra scolded. “Although I hope she has not been distracted by the carnivorous plants… I mentioned that we had many Brigid and it gave her much excitement…”

Captain Murchad’s confused, if not suspicious, expression mirrored Claude’s exactly, but Sylvain only seemed to find this amusing. “Ha! Yeah, she’ll enjoy that. It’ll be nice to see her again. She’s been posted at the Western border for a while.”

“It is a shame. I am much missing Bernie’s rabbit twitching…”

“You’re not going to do the hunter thing and freak her out again, are you?”

“I was only making observations!”

“Why are you all being so loud up here?” came Shamir’s sharp tones. Her scowl popped into view a moment later as she climbed the steps to the bow.

“I’m just taunting the expert hunter!” “We were saying how we are all missing Bernie!” “I only came to tell the princess we might arrive early…”

Shamir blinked, but despite being bombarded with three different answers at once, she still managed to single one out and reply: “Early? Ugh, my Brìghde is still so rusty…”

“You have set your expectations too high!” Petra said. “You speak my language very well. It gives me great happiness.”

She made a disgruntled noise.

To Claude’s surprise, Sylvain nudged her with a cheeky grin. “C’mon, Miss Perfectionist, leave a some self-deprecation for the rest of us, huh? How many languages do you speak anyway, like eighteen?”

Shamir tolerated Sylvain’s forwardness with only a roll of her eyes. “You know it’s only five.”

“Oh, only five, my mistake.” He slung an arm around her shoulders and it was not immediately removed from them, or from his body. “Come learn Sreng with me, the captain would love to have a better example to compare me to.”

“It’s true,” Murchad added.

Shamir responded with something in Sreng that made the captain roar with glee and a moment later, Sylvain followed, choking and doubled over from laughter.

“That and ‘one ale please’ are all I’ve ever needed,” Shamir said loftily, but her twitching lips gave away her amusement.

Captain Murchad snickered. “I don’t doubt it.”

Claude wondered if he’d stepped into some kind of opposite land to see Shamir joking with people so freely.

“What?” Petra demanded. “What did she say? Wait, the word, is it like—” And she said something in Brìghde.

Shamir smirked and nodded.

Petra threw her head back laughing. “Shamir!” she exclaimed. “You have much cheek! I am liking it. I will tell you a line you can use in Brìghde—”

Sylvain gasped. “You will?”

“Not you.” She scowled. “Flirting is your bad habit to break.”

He drooped in a comical, exaggerated way, practically falling into Shamir, who stumbled under the sudden weight but still shook her head and smiled when she shoved him upright. Smiled.

They actually… get along really well, huh?

Claude wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that, or—as the conversation turned to other former members of the Black Eagles House—for Shamir to inquire after her ‘her favourite idiot would-be student’, which turned out to be Caspar; between the three of them, they all seemed to know a story to tell about the others, even when they sighed over the fact that it had been so long since they’d all gotten together…

It had been even longer for the Golden Deer.

“Thanks for the talk, Petra,” he mumbled as he slipped away.

He hadn’t imagined that Shamir might have actually enjoyed spending time with Edelgard’s Black Eagles. Or maybe they were Professor Byleth’s Black Eagles, still, despite the years that had passed. After the battle at Garreg Mach, the Deer had all gone their separate ways, save for Hilda trailing after Claude to Derdriu—and Ignatz had turned up a few months later because of… something. His family? Hilda had taken care of it and found him something useful to do.

Of course, the Golden Deer wouldn’t have stuck with Claude once they realised the extent of his ambitions; parting sooner rather than later only served to lessen the inevitable pain of separation. He knew that, but right then, the nostalgia for those innocent times at Garreg Mach was nearly over-whelming… Ignatz’s self-deprecation in contrast to his ability to hit anything with a bow, Raphael’s good natured cheer, Marianne’s special way with animals, matching wits with Lorenz, the refreshing and frank honesty of Leonie, Lysithea’s sometimes petulant smarts… and Hilda, of course, who really didn’t do any work back then, as opposed to just pretending not to now.

They wouldn’t have stuck with the real Claude… with Khalid. But sometimes he missed the boy he’d been when he spent time with them more than he missed anything. It had been harder to let it go than he thought.

I took… a leap with my faith. And I am happy with where I landed.

Easy for Petra to say. Except it couldn’t have been easy, Claude knew, to side with the leader of a people who snubbed her and had been responsible for the oppression of her people. So why could she say it like that? Like it was easy?

Claude wanted to go straight back to his cabin to stop his head aching, but he paused on the deck. Edelgard was out there—again—but this time he noticed her hunched shoulders, her red cloak drawn tightly around herself.

I should just sleep, he thought, but he hesitated. He didn’t ask Petra about the whatever thing with Sylvain’s brother, did he? He could just ask another time, but…

“Feeling seasick, Princess?”

Edelgard startled, blinking owlishly at him. Her skin was even paler than usual, making the dark circles under her eyes seem more pronounced. “Claude.” She gave him a weak smile. “Not… as such, but I think I’ve found that ocean travel is… not for me.”

“Ah.” There wasn’t much to say to that when she so clearly looked out of sorts. “Well, good news! The captain says we might arrive a few days early.”

“Really?!” Her face lit up with a smile and an excited gasp, before she coughed and tried to regain a measure of her composure. “That is good news. Thank you for telling me, Claude.”

“You would’ve found out soon enough anyway.” He paused, rolling the potential words around his mouth.

“Oh, what is it now?” She gave him a tired smile when he froze. “You have that look on your face.”

“Look?”

“Your look.” She waved her hands expansively, as though this explained anything. “What do you want to know?”

“Well… I was talking to Sylvain earlier and…”

When he’d explained the whole thing, she groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “No wonder he reacted like that. I suppose I’ve no choice but to tell you what happened.”

“Why didn’t you just tell everyone anyway, in your manifesto?” Claude frowned. “Surely this is good for your campaign against the Church.”

“You’re probably right, but…” She sighed, her hands curving around the ship’s rail. “I was afraid of how the knowledge might be used. When they’re desperate, people can resort to evil things.”

And I suppose that’s why you’re so reluctant to tell me? “So you’re trying to restrict the knowledge to those you trust?”

“If only I could.” Edelgard closed her eyes and bowed her head, mumbling to herself—Claude wasn’t sure if he was supposed to have heard at all. “I only hope the other Black Eagles will help me…”

Claude waited, but she didn’t say anything else. “So what did happen on that mission?”

Edelgard blinked. “Oh… yes. Sorry. With what Sylvain told you, you probably can guess what happened anyway, but—”

She outlined the whole thing: the battle through Conand Tower, the surprising fight put up by the thieves, being pressed towards the central room by an ambush from behind—Sylvain had confronted Miklan, who was holding the inert Relic, but not long after they exchanged the first blows…

Claude listened in horror to Edelgard’s description of the black, creeping ichor that had emerged from the Crest Stone and swallowed Miklan whole, transforming him into a terrible, mindless beast.

“Are you serious?” He backtracked upon seeing the frown on Edelgard’s face. “I don’t mean that you’re lying, it’s just—the Church hid this for all this time? Despite the danger?”

She seemed mollified by this and sighed. “By—Professor Byleth said that, after the mission concluded, Rhea told her she didn’t want to undermine confidence in the nobility. She blamed the transformation on wicked and unworthy. I suppose for Rhea, the relationship with the nobility was more important. Symbiotic. She lent the nobility legitimacy and sometimes military support, and in turn, they continue to promote her teachings and believers provide the Church with ample funds…” She shook her head, her face dark with anger. “I know Miklan had done terrible things, but I would hesitate to say anyone deserves a death such as that.”

“What? Not even Rhea?”

“No.” Edelgard gripped the railing tightly with a free hand. Claude swore he heard the timbers creak. “I know you aren’t serious, but you wouldn’t make that joke if you’d seen it in the flesh.”

He winced, suitably chastised. “Alright, sorry. But really, even after all Rhea has done? I thought you hated her?”

“Would you hate me, now, if we parted ways and became enemies?” she countered.

You been considering that possibility a lot, Edelgard? He shook his head. “That’s different. We were classmates. According to you, Rhea has been controlling humanity’s progress behind the scenes for centuries. She leads the institution you hate.”

Edelgard pulled a face. “I… I suppose I seem like that, don’t I? And I admit I… personally find it hard to overlook the Church’s corruption. But I know that it has done good, as well. If Rhea surrendered today, despite the system she’s propagated, I would happily end all conflict between us.” She turned her face away from him as though she were afraid of what he might see in it. “Suffice it to say that my personal enmity is reserved for people worse than Rhea… and certainly vastly worse than you.”

“Good to know I haven’t angered you that much, I suppose.”

There was something nagging at him but he wasn’t sure how to express it. Do you really think of me as an enemy, even now? Do you mean what you say about Rhea? Do you really know as little of all this Crest nonsense as you’re letting on?

Is Petra right about you?

“About what happened to Miklan,” he said, slowly, “you’re sure it came from the Crest Stone specifically?”

“Yes, of course.” If Edelgard was confused by the change of topic, she didn’t show it. “Why? Is that significant?”

“Well, maybe not, but…” He frowned. “It just seems weird to me. He wasn’t touching the Crest Stone itself, was he, just the spear—the Relic? And why would something like this happen to someone without a Crest? I mean, I assume you don’t think it was a punishment from the Goddess.”

“Of course not,” she scoffed. But then her brows furrowed as well. “To tell the truth, I’m not sure why… I suppose I’ve just never thought much of it.”

“Well you are singularly un-curious, aren’t you?” Claude groaned. “I can’t believe you’ve had all this time to think about this and you’ve come up with nothing!”

“Sorry that I’ve been a little busy with other things,” Edelgard said dryly. “All I know is what was passed down through the Imperial line. The Relics were not gifts from any goddess, but something made by man.”

“…Manmade, huh.” If it was true, it was something beyond any technology he knew. “I wonder how it was done…”

“I think it’s best not to think of such things,” she replied. “Let the Relics become just that… remnants of a lost time. Let no man or woman hold such extraordinary power over another. Then everyone could succeed on their own merits.”

She didn’t look at him as she said it. Could she possibly know something about his old interest in the Sword of the Creator? Surely not. Claude was dying to ask further questions, but he wasn’t sure if she even had the answers… although maybe she wouldn’t tell him anyway.

He thanked her for the talk, anyway, and then retreated to his cabin as he’d originally intended.

Petra must be wrong, he decided. Or if not wrong, she overestimated Edelgard’s capacity to trust new people. Maybe she, too, had been fooled enough by the relaxed atmosphere of the Officer’s Academy to let her guard down and accept friendships that had happened to coincide with her own plans later. Claude was… an outsider, still. She could never learn to trust him in the same way. There was no point in trying…

Despite telling himself that, his mind couldn’t help reminding him that Edelgard had casually shared secret knowledge from the Imperial royal line, revealed secrets from the Black Eagles’ mission to Conand Tower that she had not been able to trust to her precious manifesto. And the thought of what he could do with the Empire behind him…

He shook himself. It was probably not that meaningful. Just things she had been unable to keep secret because of the panic Claude had set off in Sylvain.

Probably.

He couldn’t help but keep dwelling on it anyway.

Chapter Text

The waters around Brigid were as crystal clear and beautiful as Petra had described, so Edelgard felt awful for secretly wishing for the sun to dry up all the seas. Let humans walk everywhere as nature intended. Edelgard would carry the whole crew back to Fódlan if necessary.

The soil of Brigid, she was much happier to see. It was like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders when she stepped off the ship. The only sour note was the fact that she would have to get back on it to return home.

“Relieved to be back on dry land, Princess?” Claude asked, appearing at her shoulder seemingly from nowhere.

He’d been doing that a lot lately—suddenly turning up and asking her a random question, and then disappearing again. Edelgard had welcomed the distraction on the sea trip, but she couldn’t help but wonder at his motives.

For some reason, he’d taken to calling her ‘Princess’ more often, too. She wasn’t sure if the nickname was meant to be friendly or mocking. “I’m sure you’ve seen enough of me over the last few days to know the answer to that.”

There was a pause when Claude did not follow up with some kind of witty comment. Edelgard glanced at him to find a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Something on your mind?” she asked.

“Hm?” Claude blinked and then gave her a thin smile. “I’ve just been wondering—”

“Edel—Your Majesty, Claude.” Shamir approached them with a Brigid man following just behind her. “The Church isn’t aware of our presence yet and it would be nice to keep it that way. Let’s move to a more secure location. The princess’s men have set up a camp further inland.”

Further away from the sea? Edelgard was truly blessed today. She tried not to sound too eager when she said, “Excellent. Are we expecting Bernadetta to rendezvous with us there?”

Shamir had a brief exchange with the Brigid man, of which Edelgard only caught the word ‘Varley’, before she replied, “She’s going to be delayed a few hours because we arrived earlier than expected, but after that, we’ll be ready to make plans.”

“Good. Let’s go then. I trust Sylvain, Ladislava and the captain can take care of our cargo.” The other soldiers were not in uniform and so hopefully they wouldn’t attract the Church’s interest until it was too late for them to come up with an effective response.

Claude made a sudden noise of recognition. “That answers the question of why you charted a Sreng captain’s ship. You didn’t want to be seen in a known imperial vessel that might be recognised.”

“That was the plan,” she said. “But what were you going to say before we were interrupted?”

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. Let’s just get moving before Shamir’s scowl gets any worse.”

Edelgard turned back to Shamir just in time to see her smooth the scowl away. “If Her Majesty needs some time to rest—”

Knowing Shamir’s lack of patience for fussy nobles, she swiftly interrupted. “No, no; that won’t be necessary. Coming, Claude?”

“I dunno. Do you think I could get a trip home from here?” He cast his eyes back at the docks, thoughtful.

Edelgard sighed.

Her disgruntled expression only made him chuckle. “You know I’m joking, Princess.”

The harbour town of the coastline soon gave way to densely packed forests, swelteringly hot. No wonder Petra says that the people of Brigid prefer flying mounts—a horse would never get through these forests. Sylvain usually preferred to work as a cavalry unit, but that would obviously be out of the question here. Would he be alright in the coming battle? Perhaps she could persuade him to fall back for this one and use some of the magic Byleth had taught him? Brigid did not have offensive magic like that of Fódlan, at least not as widely practised, so she had a ready excuse…

Edelgard tried to wipe the sweat from her brow without being obvious. The weight of her cloak would normally have felt like nothing, but in the oppressively humid atmosphere, her lungs felt constricted and each breath brought little relief. It reminded her of the nightmares she’d been having, trapped in that tiny, dark cabin…

“Edelgard.” Shamir’s soft voice interrupted her thoughts. At some point, she’d dropped down beside her in the company. “I will suggest a period of rest and observance before we launch our attack on the Church. You will support it and override objections.”

She blinked. “I… will?”

Shamir looked at her askance. “You need rest. It will undermine confidence if you look a wreck. You barely slept the whole journey, didn’t you?”

Edelgard winced. “I…”

“I’m not here to pry.” Shamir’s eyes swept the forest. “I’m only giving advice. For your allies’ sake as well as your own, even you need some time to recover.”

“But to leave Perta’s people in—”

“You’re not here to save them. You’re here to impress,” Shamir said. “Not all of Petra’s people are pleased with her choice to ally with the Empire, even if the Ard Rí followed her advice. Show them what the might of the Empire can do for them as a real friend. Which you can’t do, in your current state.”

Did she really look so feeble? Edelgard had no mirror to check, yet she couldn’t deny that she didn’t feel at her best. If that reflected in her appearance, that was on her for not presenting a better front, and Shamir probably had a point.

Still, she shook her head. “If we’re presented with the perfect opportunity to help Petra’s people, I will not have that delayed simply because I am feeling… under the weather.”

Shamir sighed. “I knew you’d say that, but it was worth a try. At least tell me you can spare five minutes for me to make you look more presentable.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Edelgard replied. “I didn’t expect you to care overly much about appearances.”

“I don’t,” she corrected. “But other people do. One of those things you pick up as a merc. Doesn’t matter how far you trekked to get to the meeting point, if you show up to a noble dirty and sweaty, they’re going to think the rough look means you’re desperate and will take less pay. I just learnt a few little tricks to seem… less well-travelled.”

“I see…” Edelgard wondered if Byleth would’ve ever had to do such a thing as well. Hopefully, she would still have the chance to ask one day. “Thank you for your consideration, Shamir.”

Her lips thinned. “No need to thank me. It’s part of my job. I’m going to scout ahead, since trying to talk more sense into you is a waste of time.”

When Byleth had made friends with the stoic Dagdan, Edelgard had been curious as to what drew her kind teacher towards such a flinty and hard-faced mercenary, someone who seemed so unlike Byleth. Was it their shared profession? The fact that they were both so highly skilled at a relatively young age?

Having benefited from Shamir’s guidance on some of the Black Eagles’ missions, and for all these years as a general of the Empire, Edelgard thought she now understood. Shamir might look uncaring on the outside, but she was always watching her allies carefully. Her concerns were sometimes expressed in blunt and strange ways, but in that, she was also much like Byleth.

My teacher… I feel like any path I walked with you would be brighter…

But every time Edelgard thought of Byleth, she thought of those clear and guileless blue eyes, forgetting that their colour had been changed. Maybe that was why she wasn’t here. Fate said that she was not meant to walk this path with someone like Edelgard. Not that Edelgard could blame fate for setting her and her teacher apart. She chose to walk this bloody path, to accept the people’s hated and blame… She was lucky that her friends had chosen to come with her.

Still, Edelgard sometimes found herself feeling alone, despite their company. She dearly missed the feeling she’d had when she was with Byleth, of being… of just being a girl.

“Hey, Princess. The heat getting to you, huh?”

“Claude.” Edelgard’s eye twitched as she tried to conceal her irritation at having her thoughts interrupted. Could she not have a moment’s peace now that she was off that dreadful boat? “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

“Really?” He scratched his chin, but she could see the smile playing around his mouth. To her chagrin, he didn’t seem nearly as bothered by the heat as she did. “I must have forgotten. Don’t worry, Princess, I’ll definitely remember for next time.”

“You really do just enjoy being infuriating! Honestly, it’s a wonder that…”

*

She found herself bickering with Claude until she was surprised by them suddenly coming upon the Brigid camp. It was set up out of an old, crumbling fort. The dark stone reminded Edelgard a little of Conand Tower, although it had been reclaimed by the wildlife of Brigid in a rather more appealing way. Beautiful flowers grew out of the cracks in the stonework under their feet, birds tweeted above their heads as they flew to nests in the creaking rafters, and a tree, clearly decades younger than its towering neighbours, was taking advantage of the space that had been cleared for the fort by spreading its roots through the cobbles and growing in a large patch of sunlight.

Under the pretence of ‘waiting until the area was secure’, Shamir dragged Edelgard away as promised to tidy up her appearance. She was grateful for Shamir’s help, but she wasn’t sure it had made that significant a difference, especially when Claude gave her an odd stare as the pair of them returned.

With Petra and Shamir engaged in talking to the Brigid troops, there was little to do until Bernadetta’s arrival, so when Claude approached, she internally groaned and realised she had no excuse to avoid talking to him. Edelgard had resolved to think of a silly nickname for him in return for his continued use of ‘Princess’, but the best she’d been able to come up with in such a short time was ‘Golden Boy’, which didn’t really have the patronising ring to it that she had hoped. Maybe there was something to be done with the word ‘deer’…

“Congratulations for looking a little less like death warmed over, Princess,” he said.

Not the most promising start to a conversation she’d ever heard. “I don’t need commentary from you… Golden Buck.”

He stared at her blankly. “Huh?”

“N-Nevermind.” Edelgard’s face grew even warmer, but she hoped he wouldn’t notice in the excessive heat. “What did you want?”

“Hey, maybe I just came over here to shower you in compliments.” He clicked his tongue. “Not everyone has ulterior motives all the time, you know.”

“If that was your idea of a compliment, then—I hate to say this—perhaps you could benefit from some of Sylvain’s advice on the matter.”

Claude grabbed his chest with an exaggerated gasp. “Ow. Alright, point taken, don’t insult the fair lady… I confess, I did have something I wanted to ask. You’ve made a big deal of treating your friends in Brigid well, the lovely show at court and all, but I was wondering… what do you get out of it?”

“What do I get? Is it not enough that I get to see my friend’s homeland safe?”

“So this is all just because Petra is your friend?” Claude chuckled, but there was an edge to it that she couldn’t place. “Your friends are very lucky then, Princess.”

Again with the ‘Princess’… when Edelgard was back in Enbarr, she would dive into the library to research deer. There must be something she could use in there to give him an equally embarrassing nickname. “It isn’t simply that. Whilst the Church has said that those outside of the Goddess’s lands are to be distrusted, in reality, the people of other cultures are not so different to us. I know I and the other Black Eagles have learnt much from Petra, and I’m understand there are things she has learnt from her time in Fódlan and intends to use to benefit Brigid, as well.”

“That’s all very nice, but it doesn’t explain why you’re doing this—” Claude spread his arms. “Your personal imperial presence. Several of your trusted generals. Bit overkill if you just want to have a little cultural exchange.”

“We can hardly expect an equal and fair exchange with… to be honest, with a country which the Empire has treated poorly in the past.” Edelgard sighed. “A more significant gesture of friendship was required, something that could not be dismissed as lip service. If you want to be pragmatic about it, you could say it’s wise not to leave feelings of bitterness to stew in a country which is so close to us and has been used to launch an invasion of the Empire before.”

“Hm.” Claude studied her. She found herself flushing again under his intense gaze. “And you’re not being pragmatic?”

“Not in a way most would view as pragmatism.” His eyes really were rather striking, a beautiful clear emerald. Her own eyes had lost much of their pigment after the experiments, leaving them unnaturally pale. She swallowed and found herself looking slightly past his left ear instead. “I… want the people of Brigid to take the change in the Empire seriously too. To know that it isn’t just Petra we extend our friendship to, but all of Brigid. That if they wanted to come, there would be a place for them in Fódlan. As the emperor, I have to set an example and fight for the people of Brigid just as I’d fight for my own people, if I want them to take me seriously.”

“Do you really believe that there’d be a place for them in Fódlan?” Claude asked. “Just because you said so?”

“I’d… like there to be.” It wasn’t as simple as that, she knew, yet what else could she do? “My hope is that people will start to realise that the Church’s tenets were based on preserving their own self-interest and question received wisdom.”

“Question received wisdom, huh…” Claude gave her another one of those smiles that didn’t reach his eyes. “Have you ever heard the expression, ‘you can take a wyvern to water but you can’t make it drink?’”

“Not quite like that, but yes.” She could see this conversation going round in circles. “Yet what would you have me do? I can’t make people think what I like. I can only give them the truth, set an example, and then let them make up their own minds.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Claude said. “Let’s leave that discussion for now then. What do you see coming from our alliance?”

Edelgard froze.

“If it were to go ahead, of course. I’m not agreeing to a marriage on the spot.” He folded his arms across his chest, fixing her with a steely expression that belied the easy smile. “I was just thinking, we’ve spent a lot of time talking without saying anything specific, don’t you think? It’s all well and good to show off your wonderful little school, but what do you want? What are you willing to give to me?”

“I…”

How stupid. She should have expected this question. She had expected this question; she’d had speeches prepared. Somehow, over the weeks of conversation and tentative sharing, learning small bits and pieces of him, it had all slipped from her mind, and now all the carefully pondered turns of phrase dried up in her mouth.

This marriage would be to the benefit of Fódlan. She had a duty to do whatever she could to secure the best future, even if it meant giving herself in marriage. Even if she’d… daydreamed of whiling days away with Byleth, imagined them walking side by side for years… that was a childish wish. Not something that should give an Emperor pause when it came to what was best for her people.

Yet when she tried to imagine a future with Claude as her husband, she drew a complete blank.

As the silence grew longer and more awkward, Claude raised his eyebrows. She didn’t only look stupid, she looked dishonest. Edelgard cleared her throat. “That… depends.” She forced herself to speak, to say something, even though each new word was a surprise to her. “We’ve… discussed many things, but I…”

“Varley!”

The shout broke through Edelgard’s thoughts with a jolt. She shook her head to clear it as mutterings and shouts spread through the whole camp like wildfire; she only understood one word of it, but that was all she needed.

Bernadetta is here!

And she could not have come at a better time. Edelgard tried to conceal as much of her relief as she could, but she was sure Claude saw some of it too. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid we might have to table this discussion for now.”

“For now,” he agreed, obviously unimpressed by the interruption—

—But she did not have time to dwell on it, because then Bernadetta stumbled into camp, flanked by a small group of Brigid warriors. Edelgard’s heart was lifted by the excited smile on Bernie’s face and the healthy tan of her skin. She’d worried that her timid friend would struggle in a new country in the company of strangers who mostly didn’t speak her language, but it looked like she was thriving.

“Edelgard!” Bernie dashed towards her and grasped her hands. She was still smiling despite breathing heavily. “I came as quickly as I could! I’m sorry I was late.”

“You weren’t late; we arrived early! Don’t apologise!” She couldn’t keep her tone too chastising, however, seeing Bernadetta so delighted, and she squeezed her hands once before letting got and allowing the smile she’d tried to suppress shine through. “We will have to be to business soon, I don’t doubt, but in the meantime, I would love to know how you’ve been getting on.”

“Oh, Edelgard, it’s been wonderful! I’ve seen so many great plants, look, I made some sketches, and I was thinking maybe I could talk to Petra—” This all tumbled out of her mouth very fast as she revealed a sketchbook and began to flick through the pages. “—and maybe write a book about the plants of Brigid! Do you think Petra would let me take home some samples? They might survive quite well in a greenhouse in Enbarr—” She stopped very abruptly, her excitement fading away. “I—I’m sorry, I promise I did scouting as well, I was only—”

“Of course you did, Bernie,” Edelgard said, deciding to nip this train of thought in the bud before it could derail Bernie’s whole mood. “That’s why I asked you to go! Because I know how reliable you are. It’s just nice to know you’ve managed to find some time for yourself whilst you’re here as well.”

Bernadetta peered at Edelgard’s face, but when she couldn’t find any traces of disapproval in it, the smile made a tentative return. “Right… Right! Um… I was just making sure you knew.”

Edelgard doubted that, but Bernadetta had come such a long way in the past few years, and what she needed was encouragement, not censure. Besides, they were in front of strangers. It wouldn’t be fair to expect her to be as open around them.

Placing a guiding hand at Bernadetta’s elbow, she tried to find an area of calm to steer her towards, even as the camp was bursting with activity over the expected council to occur as soon as Petra arrived, and the battle not long after that. As Edelgard had hoped, there was a little oasis of calm around Shamir. Bernadetta was still quite intimidated by the stoic mercenary, but Shamir’s utterly unflappable attitude and clear disinterest in playing games with anyone also meant she was one of the few people whom Bernadetta found it… well, at least less challenging to take at face value.

Edelgard suggested that Bernie check in on Shamir in case her weapons were in need of maintenance, and even though she had not needed help with weapon maintenance since their time at the Academy, Bernie happily seized on this pretext to retreat from the main activity of the camp.

She found herself smiling as she watched Bernadetta walk towards Shamir. If there was nothing else good accomplished by Edelgard von Hresvelg’s existence, at least she had kept her friend from the grasp of her loathsome cockroach of a father.

The smile faded when she realised Claude had been watching her the whole time. Even his false cheer failed to make an appearance. This time, there was something in his expression which spoke of… dismay? Regret? He tried to clear it from his face as soon as he realised she’d seen him, but there was still something heavy in the air around him.

“Claude?” she asked, unsure if she was prepared to hear the answer.

He shook his head. “It’s… nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

She should have been relieved that he dodged the question and walked away. Any time to think about her answer to the previous… difficult… topic should’ve been welcome. Yet she found herself warring with the statesman, who welcomed the distance, and the part of herself which had grown more curious about Claude’s character over the past weeks and, in some ways… even fond of him.

“Claude, wait,” she found herself saying. “Bernadetta has been in Brigid for a little while now. Why not listen to what she has to say about the islands? You said you were curious about other places in the world. Is this not a chance to see a bit more of it?”

He paused and glanced at her over his shoulder.

Edelgard shifted. She knew that many of his smiles were fake, but equally, when he didn’t smile, there was an uncomfortable honesty in his eyes. “Besides, I think we will only be in the way for the time being, so we may as well… find some diversion.”

She could not fully explain her relief when he smiled faintly and agreed, but it was there nonetheless.

*

Claude tried to set his course very steady, but he found he was more puzzled than ever about Edelgard. He tried to just put the issue aside, but it was hard not to think of Petra’s ‘making a leap of faith’ when in company with the Emperor. He watched her listen with enthusiasm to Bernadetta babble on about the plants of Brigid, flipping through a sketchbook with Edelgard smiling like a proud sister. (Claude had seen proud sisters, just never ones who were proud of him.)

Then Ladislava arrived with Petra and Sylvain and other stragglers from the ships and a new round of greetings and exclamations went up. Edelgard had something personal to say to everyone from the Imperial party, even the soldiers whose names Claude hadn’t managed to learn.

The former Black Eagles seemed like such genuine friends, but he wasn’t sure if they noticed, the way he did, how Edelgard stepped in at little moments. Distracting Bernadetta when her comments began to trail off into anxious mumbling, including Shamir more by deliberately asking her opinion, cutting off Sylvain when he tried to add a particularly obnoxious flirtatious comment and making him elaborate on his intelligent contributions instead, and… Actually, Petra just surveyed the whole proceedings and winked when Claude caught her eye, so perhaps he wasn’t the only one who noticed Edelgard’s moderation.

Trying to look out for people in even tiny ways… some people might have called it interfering, but Claude didn’t have any stones to throw in that glass house. Could she really…

Ugh! She’d talked the good talk about Brigid, but when it came to Claude, she stuttered and hesitated and was conveniently interrupted before she had to commit to anything. Did that mean all she said about Brigid was a lie? Surely Petra knew her better than that, and Petra didn’t think it was a lie. Was he right, then? Was it just him?

“Ah,” Petra said suddenly, hearing a shout from one of her people. “They are having the map open to us now! We can begin to make our detailed plans, if you can be telling us where the enemy is lurking, Bernie.”

“Of—of course!” Bernadetta replied.

She fiddled with the strap of her quiver as they were led to a large, makeshift table, which had a map of the island spread across it. The detailing was impressive, down to individual homes and paths through the woods, and although the places were labelled in the language of Brigid, he was able to identify the capital at the northern tip of the island. It was surrounded by open fields dotted with other, smaller buildings, before giving way to the dense forests which covered most of the rest of the island.

Bernadetta cleared her throat and gestured to a small dock further down the coastline from the capital itself. “We first arrived in the North-Easterly part of the island about a week ago and the Church has shown no signs of recognising our presence. Their strength is concentrated around the Seola Keep, including occupying two of these forts, here and here…”

She pointed to some places in the centre of the map, amidst the forests, which made Petra frown. “These places have not been used in Brigid for many years. Their condition would be bad.”

“Yes, I don't think the Church realised how dilapidated they were,” Bernadetta said. “They haven't been able to patrol around the forts as would be their usual tactics due to the thick forest growth, so their knowledge of the local area is limited. They've been relying on their valuable hostages to keep their hold on the island so far, but it's tenuous as you would expect.”

“If we take these forts, they’ll pull back towards the capital.” Edelgard traced the most obvious lines of retreat, marked roads through the open fields. Once leaving the forest, the Church would find it much easier going. She was probably thinking—just as Claude did—that it wouldn’t be difficult for them to outpace the Imperial-Brigid forces there. “It would be unwise to increase the danger around the Ard Ri.”

Shamir’s brows furrowed as her eyes flickered across the map. “We don’t have the manpower to split our forces three ways—the two forts and the capital as well.”

“So don’t split them into three,” Sylvain said. Claude watched the others turn their gazes on him. “What do we care about the forts? Let’s follow the coast and take the capital first.”

Interesting… Especially since it was what Claude would have suggested. Ignore the forts to go for the real prize.

“This could be a working… ah, a workable plan,” Petra said. “My grandfather and his men will surely be fighting inside the keep when they realise we have come to free them.” She studied the map and tapped another small square in the grasslands between the capital and the forest. Claude squinted at it, but he couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be. “My people have told me there are some of our warriors held captive here, in this old temple…”

“That’s right,” said Bernadetta. “It’s not that heavily guarded, but, um…” She visibly hesitated and the whole table, save Shamir, give her an encouraging smile. Even Shamir nodded. Bernadetta continued in a stronger voice, “I… I think it would be a mistake to ignore it. If we attacked the capital. It’s open there so they’d have a direct line of sight to Seola Keep, and it wouldn’t take long for a runner to get reinforcements from the forts in the forest…”

“Thank you for your insight, Bernadetta.” Edelgard smiled. “I think you’re right, this is not something we want to ignore.”

“My warriors held prisoner will be a welcome addition to our forces too, of course,” Petra added. “So, is our suggestion to have a two pronged approach? Someone will be launching their attack from the coast, and we will also have people to free the warriors in the temple and attack from the land side?”

“Launch a surprise attack, retake the capital, deal with the Church soldiers in the forts later at our leisure.” Shamir recited this, not quite cheerfully, but with an air of satisfaction. “Seems like the way to go.”

“Whoever’s on the land approach is going to have a tough time of it if those forts respond quicker than you think,” Claude said.

The Black Eagles turned to stare at him.

“Oh, sorry,” he said wryly, “was I supposed to wait for one of you guys to point that out?”

Edelgard replied, “No…” but didn’t sound confident about it.

The awkward pause that followed was broken by Sylvain. “Well, whatever; he’s right. The Church forces might be minimal, but it’s still a risky plan. The land forces could end up being trapped between the Keep and reinforcements to the rear if Petra’s people are slow to open up for us.” His face split in a dark grin. “So obviously we’re taking that spot, right?”

Petra tossed her hair over her shoulder, her chin held high. “Of course. It is my duty as a princess of Brigid to be putting my life on the line for my people. I cannot be allowing them to take risks I am not also willing to take.”

“You put your best people in the toughest spot,” Shamir added. “That’s why we’re here.”

Edelgard looked at the determined faces of her people and nodded. “I see we are all resolved, so I will not dwell on it. Let us examine things in more detail to see if any alternative plans present themselves, however.”

Then they fell into the complicated business of discussing troop movements, estimating enemy numbers against the size of their own forces, the defences of the keep (which they hoped to subvert and turn against the Church, but which might be used against them as well)… It seemed a very backwards way of doing things to Claude. Perhaps it was a hold over from Teach’s leadership—mercenaries were often considered fairly disposable and sometimes did not get along with professional soldiers, so they were often in the field with limited information. In such situations, you had to take a gamble with whatever plans you could come up with.

Despite the discussion, the group eventually settled on the plan of a swift, two-pronged attack, and Petra drifted away to hash out the details with her own forces. High-risk but high-reward, the plan wasn’t the safest one they’d come up with, but it was the one that had the biggest chance of immediately delivering the desired prize: Brigid’s freedom.

It was, Claude had to admit, a style of attack that was right up his alley. And none of them hesitated to put themselves in the line of fire, including the Emperor. Taking such big risks for people who weren’t even hers…

He frowned to himself, but the thought wouldn’t be chased away. It was… different, he supposed, to see her commit to it than to simply say it. Even if she was good at sounding like—even if she always sounded like she meant it.

“Claude!”

Petra beckoned him over, adding something in Brigidhe to the people around her. When he approached, they all bowed and muttered something in their native language which he didn’t understand, but was clearly meant to be a respectful address. He bowed back, of course.

“I am introducing you as my friend,” Petra said, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “and forgetting to say you are the Duke Riegan. They like you better this way.”

“Thanks for putting in a good word for me,” he said. “But that wasn’t the only thing, right?”

“No, it was only the most fun.” She sighed. “We are still having some discussions about where is the safest place to be putting you, but it will likely be to the south of here… one of my clan has also their territory here, and they will be looking out for you very well. If the worst should have… should happen, then they will be returning you to Captain Murchad so you can be going back to Fódlan. But that will not happen.”

Claude frowned. “You seem awfully confident.”

Petra laughed. “When I am with the Black Eagles, we always get the victory! But we also make the… oh, I forget your word…”

“Contingency plans?”

“Yes! Thank you. Contingency plans, to be safest.”

He frowned, not feeling particularly reassured. Whilst he understood the expectation for royalty to lead from the front, he couldn’t help but feel the amount of risk that Petra was taking onto herself… no more than the Emperor and the rest of the contingent, true, but…

“Relax yourself,” Petra said. “Brigid is needing me still, so I will not die. You can have my word.”

…but, in all honesty, Claude would miss her more than the others. “What about a contingency plan for you?”

“For me?”

“If things go badly… do you have a way out?”

Petra shook her head, scowling. “I could not be leaving my friends or my people on the battlefield. I do not retreat like a coward.”

“That’s exactly the kind of noble thing I was afraid you’d say…”

And Claude should look to his own self-preservation, but it was frustrating to see these straight-laced warrior types charge headlong into danger without even a single backup plan—and Petra was… important to realising his dream of an open world. If any ruler would accept greater friendships with other nations, it was her.

That was what pressed him to say: “Look, forget about the going south thing. If you’re insisting on this big risk, you should really leave a lookout behind to at least give you advance warning.”

Petra blinked. “Claude, you are…?”

“I know, I know, you’re going to say you don’t have the men to spare.” His mouth was strangely dry, but he forced a light-hearted smile. It was a risk, but it wasn’t a very great risk, at least not compared to what Petra was doing. You wouldn’t think that from the way she was staring at him, though. “But there is one man you didn’t count on having to begin with, so you can certainly spare him.”

Petra continued staring and did not answer.

His smile faded. He’d done the stupid thing and overreached again. People didn’t just accept anyone as a comrade on the battlefield. “Of course, if you’d rather not—”

He didn’t finish his sentence because Petra let out a sound that could only be described as a squeal and threw her arms around him for an embrace. He staggered under the weight and she helped him to regain his balance, laughing. “Claude, I am very sorry! It is only giving me great happiness for you to be helping me and Brigid. I have a very special honour from you.” Her expression darkened. “But are you sure you will be quite safe? I would not be wanting you to put yourself at risk.”

“I’m not the boy who lost a fight with a tree any more, you know,” he grumbled, deciding not to point out how much risk she was putting herself in. “I can keep myself perfectly safe. More to the point, I don’t really intend to be seen.”

“That is all to the good! In Brigid we are favouring greatly sneakiness as a tactic.” He hummed thoughtfully. “I must be speaking to my friends about some way for you to signal us… Edelgard and Sylvain are very clever about these things. Perhaps magic? Oh! And Bernie will be knowing the best places to hide when one is being the prey. We will all plan this together!”

She was back to smiling again. Claude shook his head, but her eagerness was infectious, and he found himself chuckling. “I’m not sure if a simple offer of help requires such an enthusiastic response, but I’m happy to see you cheerful.”

“No, I know you are offering something very important,” Petra insisted, “and you did not have to. Brigid and I have gratitude for you.”

“Ha, you should wait until after the battle to tell me that.” Claude shook his head. “After all… you never know what might happen.”

Chapter Text

There was no point in dragging their feet, especially once Bernadetta had found a window of opportunity in the patrols of the forts where they were most likely to escape detection until it was too late. Despite Shamir’s continued protests, Edelgard rose bright and early with the rest of the troops at dawn. The air was muggy again and pressed in on her like a thick blanket, but she had slept considerably better than she had for several nights.

Any battle should be approached with due care, but Edelgard found herself perversely calm before most battles. War, after all, was what she had been made for—it was grafted into her very bones. She was less nervous for herself than she was for her friends and allies, but they had worked together so often before that even then, there was a certain amount of reassuring routine to it.

There was one part, however, that was not routine, and it confused her immensely.

“Good morning, Princess,” Claude said. “You really are confident, aren’t you? You don’t seem nervous at all.”

“Some scholars of the Empire are convinced war can be boiled down to mathematical principles, and if one did enough investigation, one could write a formula that would guarantee success.” Edelgard breathed out slowly through her nose. “For my part, I think war is closer to an art than a science, but either way, I am well practised in it.”

“Feeling philosophical this morning, are we?” He chuckled, low and quiet to match the muted activity of the camp around them. “I can understand that. There’s a certain… clarity that comes with an imminent battle. I’m inclined to think that when lives are at stake is when we can best look at things in perspective.”

She noticed that he didn’t say ‘when my life is at stake’, but perhaps that was unfair. He had no stake in this and his idea to act as a lookout and signal if the reinforcements were to come was both clever, and more personal effort than she had expected him to put forward. She’d expressed her gratitude yesterday and hoped that would suffice.

If battle gave Claude clarity, it gave her focus. It was one of the few times she found herself unable to be carried away with doubts or recriminations or tangents or excitement… If she tried to give him better conversation, she doubted it would work.

“We never did finish our conversation from yesterday.”

Edelgard knew exactly which conversation he meant and shook her head. “Nor will we now.”

He actually laughed at that. “Said with such finality! Very well, Princess, I’ll leave you be. Just answer me one question, though.”

“Hm?”

“Why did you hesitate?”

She sighed. Claude’s idea of letting well enough alone left a lot to be desired. “Because you surprised me.”

“You can’t have been shocked that the question came up,” he pressed. “That’s the whole point of the exercise, to answer that question.”

“I had answers,” Edelgard said. Grumbled, really, she supposed. “Then we began to get to know each other and they… seemed inadequate.”

“Oh really…”

She glowered at him, but he seemed more thoughtful than doubtful, so she let it be. “Let me ask you a question as well, then.”

He shrugged. “Fair is fair, I suppose. What is it?”

“Why did you ask then?” She could see she’d startled him from the way he almost ground to a halt. “We’ve been talking for weeks about little things, small understandings, I thought. If you wanted a direct answer you could have asked me at any time. Why then?”

“Uh…” He put a hand to his head. “I suppose it just seemed… about time we got somewhere with it.”

If it hadn’t been obvious he wasn’t telling the truth from his hesitant response, the way he swiftly made excuses and exited the conversation would have made it evident. She found herself shaking her head as he left. Sometimes it felt like she was making progress—she remembered her triumph and certainty after they visited the school—and other times she felt like she pushed him further away with her mere existence.

What would her answer be, if he asked her again what their marriage could offer him? In his current state, vacillating between friendly and distrusting for reasons she had no hope of following, she didn’t want to offer him anything at all. The idea of having such a person close to her made her… uneasy. But she could not afford to throw this opportunity because of personal squeamishness…

Why do you have to be so difficult, Claude?

‘You can be difficult too,’ another part of her said. It sounded remarkably like Lysithea, and when voiced by her, it was hard to deny the truth of it. Yet Edelgard did not know how to make herself better suited to him. And she now had the whole Empire, as well as all her friends, depending on her. But then again…

Edelgard sighed. Her thoughts could circle around each other like this forever. Ultimately, she would take her cues from Claude. If he offered more trust, so would she. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t be resolved before the coming battle.

*

The Temple was the biggest obstacle to their plan, as it was located on the open ground between the forests and the capital, but lay close enough to the forts to alert them quickly if the need arose.

They took it quickly with the use of overwhelming force. Edelgard regretted that they hadn’t left it in quite as… pristine a state as it had been in before, but at least there had been no Relics involved. There might not have been a temple left if Sylvain had broken out the Lance of Ruin.

That was to be saved for the assault on the capital.

Edelgard closed her eyes and sighed. She was not tired, per se. In fact, it had all been regrettably easy—such was the hideous power that so many had died for. Her ‘gift’.

As Petra went around to all the men and women who’d been imprisoned in the temple, asking about their condition, Edelgard found her eyes drifting towards the forest, where Claude was waiting and watching. She still couldn’t quite fathom why he’d decided to help, but… if he was more invested than he seemed, that was a good sign.

“Edelgard.” Petra approached with a wide smile. “I am bringing good news! Many of my people have only been here a short time and are still willing to fight. That will be giving us more advantage in the coming battle.”

“That is good news… You’re sure they are feeling well enough?”

“Do not worry.” Her eyes sparkled despite the spatter of blood on her cheek—not hers, Edelgard was sure. “I know my people. The ones who said they were well but are not, I have ordered to be out of danger.”

Edelgard smiled, but it died away after only a moment.

“If you were one of my people, I would also be ordering you out of danger,” Petra said. “Fatigue of the spirit can be as bad as the fatigue of the body.”

“I know, I know.” She leaned on the handle of her axe, loathing how familiar it had become after all these years. “I am focused. I am just… tired of war.”

“Then a marriage to Claude will be helping you extremely, yes?” Edelgard must have looked a fright, because Petra’s expression grew more serious, and she touched a hand to Edelgard’s shoulder. “I know he is not always having… hm… his most personable face. But he asked me about how I was able to trust you. I think if you can show him something to prove faith in you has great worth, he will be our good ally.”

“I’ve been trying,” she replied, aware that she sounded borderline petulant. “I showed him the school, the archives, but…”

Petra shook her head. “I think you know he is not really meaning those things. They are great, but… they are not a great risk for you. He wants to have faith.” She sighed. “I think… he is wanting that more than he knows himself.”

Edelgard winced. Petra’s words had a ring of truth to them, even if she had never really admitted it to herself, but that seemed even more of a losing proposition than hoping to convince Claude with reason and logic. Faith. She found faith again in Professor Byleth, in her beautiful, honest eyes and the way she treated everyone she knew like just another person. After years spent being so uncertain of everyone around her, having only Hubert’s unflinching shadow at her back, to have someone look at her and see only Edelgard had been… so freeing.

How could she do that for Claude? Edelgard was the peerless Emperor, tempered and forged like steel. She was a weapon, and the parts of her that weren’t a weapon were often frightened and timid. What part of that could inspire? The best of Edelgard was what she’d managed to achieve—the schools, the archives, questioning the hegemony of the Church… those were things that couldn’t so simply be put away again. If the war turned against her, if she died on her throne, those ideas would live on. She took great comfort in that, in the idea that even in the worst outcome, she had changed something for the better.

If Claude couldn’t find faith in that… what else was she supposed to do?

She gave Petra a helpless look.

“If you act as yourself,” she said, “he will know. As I did. It will be alright, my friend.”

My friend. “Oh, Petra, I…” Edelgard tried to give her voice the strength and confidence that Petra's words deserved. “If you have such faith in me, I suppose I have to try.”

Petra smiled and seemed about to say something else, when her head suddenly snapped to the side. “Did you hear…?”

Edelgard frowned, but in the silence that followed, she did hear it. A deep, sonorous noise, which rang out again as she listened—a long note, followed by two shorter ones. A signal that she’d heard often during her time at the Officer’s Academy…

She and Petra stared at each other and simultaneously said: “The Church garrison.”

*

A hard forced march took them to the walls surrounding the capital, but Edelgard still winced at the smoke in the air and the thin presence on the walls—indicating all the soldiers who’d been pulled away to fight the other half of their forces.

Smoke trailed into the sky in a thin wisp, but it would soon get worse. Petra was trying to put on a brave face for her people, but Edelgard was close enough to see the tightness in her jaw.

“We have to move quickly with the assault. We can no longer afford a drawn out heavy siege,” Edelgard said. Archers were already lining up to fire at the wall, but it wouldn’t be enough.

The Lance of Ruin glowed dimly as Sylvain rested it over his shoulder. There was a far away look in his eyes that made Edelgard uneasy. “Hey, Petra… you’re not particularly attached to those front doors, are you?”

Petra’s eyes flickered to the great doors at the gate, barred, made of thick solid wood, before she frowned at him. “What is your plan?”

Sylvain let the spear fall from his shoulder, the tip burying itself in the dirt. His manic grin was all the answer they needed.

“That’s a very risky plan—” Edelgard cut her sentence short when her eyes were drawn to a trail of red in the sky. Her heart sank. The Church saw us after all… damn it. Now they were under even more time pressure.

At least, thanks to Claude, they had a warning.

Sylvain laughed. “What’s life without a little risk? C’mon, Petra, if your guys give me covering fire, I can open it up in minutes. Which might be all we have.”

“I don’t think we have better options. Let’s go with it,” Shamir said. “Just make sure you keep your head.”

“Are you insinuating I’m reckless? How rude.”

Flippant as Sylvain always was. Edelgard gritted her teeth, because they really didn’t have time for anything better, and said, “Then I’m coming with you. Someone needs to watch your back.” She shoved Sylvain forward before anyone could object. “Let’s move.”

Sylvain had a shield, but it wasn’t large enough, so she grabbed him another and pushed it into his hands.

“Wow, this is a lot heavier.” He hefted it, frowning. “How does a delicate flower like yourself carry such a weight around?”

Edelgard’s shield weighed on her not at all. She pretended not to have heard him.

“Hey, I was just kidding,” Sylvain said softly. “I know you’re—”

Luckily, Petra gave a signal. The defenders on the walls were still spread thin and wilted under suppressing arrows from Petra’s troops, but at the main gate she and Sylvain would not have the benefit of their protection. Edelgard could already see the movement of people on the walls, diverting to the two towers that protruded beyond the gate.

She, Sylvain, and a small group of Imperial soldiers rushed forward with their shields aloft, the thwip thwip of arrows zinging past her ear becoming the loudest sound in the world. As they approached the gate, the arrows began to be peppered with heavy stones. Edelgard cursed when Sylvain discarded his shield to wield the Lance of Ruin with both hands. The stupid, reckless—

Edelgard dived in front of him, catching several arrows on her shield whilst a large stone bounced off her armour, leaving a dent and her shoulder aching. The other imperials followed her example, forming a shield wall around Sylvain, but were forced to back off as the Lance of Ruin began to glow. The air shimmered as though in a heat mirage. Pressure as heavy as the falling rocks came off the lance in waves and rattled Edelgard’s bones.

She gritted her teeth and stood her ground, but she waved at the other soldiers to give them some space.

“Gonna need you to move, Princess,” Sylvain hissed.

It was strange that in such a short time, ‘Princess’ had come to make her think of Claude’s lopsided smile instead. Edelgard shoved the thought aside and ignored Sylvain, who didn’t seem to have expected her to listen anyway.

They began an elaborate dance around each other. Sylvain twirled the glowing lance until it was little more than an orange blur around him. With the power of her Crests, time for Edelgard slowed to a crawl. As the other imperials fell back, she remained, knocking missiles away with her axe and shield, avoiding the Lance of Ruin the whole time.

The singing of the weapon reached a crescendo. The Crest Stone rolled in its socket like a mad eye. Sylvain grunted and drove the spear into the ground. There was half a heartbeat for Edelgard to cover them as best she could with her shield, and then the world exploded.

A pressure wave cut through the earth, sending chunks of dirt and stone into the air. The energy ballooned out, making cracks like spider’s webs in trenches half as deep as Edelgard was tall. The walls of the keep began to sag even before the pulsing energy reached them and they shattered. Dust, splinters and shards of stone scattered everywhere. Edelgard snarled and bit back a pained yelp when a bit of debris collided with her shoulder.

She was more concerned for Sylvain when he collapsed against her, choking on a breath—one of the giant splinters had struck him in the leg.

Petra’s Brigid forces rushed into the gap left by the rubble. Their job here was done; there was the opening they’d needed. Edelgard hauled Sylvain upright with one arm. Blood seeped around the splinter in his leg at an alarming rate.

“Gh—wait!” Sylvain gasped, his skin as pale and sickly as Edelgard’s hair. “The lance…”

He must’ve lost his grip on it during the explosion. Part of the handle was sticking out of the rubble. Edelgard tried to haul him away anyway, but he was so much taller than her, and with a surge of strength he pushed her away and staggered towards the Relic. The injured leg threatened to buckle under him with each step.

Edelgard snarled in frustration. “Sylvain—”

She was cut off when a horn sounded from the rear. The Church reinforcements were upon them already.

Shouts and curses filled the air as the last desperate defence of the Church garrison met the Brigid and Imperial forces, with Sylvain caught in the middle.

A pillar of fire engulfed a spear and half of the man who’d tried to drive it into Sylvain. He leaned heavily on the Lance of Ruin, barely keeping himself upright, but he was unflinching when he looked Edelgard dead in the eye. “Go—” He coughed. “They’ll need you.”

The bloodstain on his leg grew ever larger. Edelgard hesitated.

*

Claude twirled an arrow around his fingers—a nervous habit he’d copied from his father and never quite been able to break. The arrow, the one enchanted with magic so it would make a big show if it was loosed, was safely stored away in Claude’s quiver where he could draw it in a split-second if needed.

So far he hadn’t needed. Watch duty wasn’t usually glamorous work and this was no exception, but it wasn’t always this much of a trial on his nerves. He had a bad feeling about this plan, which had only been heightened by the familiar call of the Church garrison—sooner than expected.

Claude’s fingers froze when he heard voices. Not speaking Brìghde. It must be the Church.

“We can’t let Brigid’s treachery go unanswered!” said a disconcertingly familiar voice. “We will reinforce the garrison until the main body of our troops from the fort can arrive.”

He couldn’t place the voice until the soldiers walked into view. As the sight of a familiar white coat, the blood drained from his face. Catherine. She turned to further address her troops and he saw the distinctive pronged Thunderbrand as her hips as well.

“We’re still not sure what’s going on,” she said. “That’s why it’s important for us to strike quickly and quietly. From here on out I want a quick pace and no chatter—save your breath for what’s important. Let’s move out!”

They moved away at a quick march. It wasn’t a large squad, a little more than a dozen and maybe that number again if she could link up with more scouts along the way, but with Catherine and her Relic, that could be more than enough to break through the Brigid and Imperial lines.

Claude fired off the signal arrow and then scrambled down from the roof, ducking down the other side of a low wall and following it to another wooden outbuilding. He was still close enough that even with Catherine’s insistence on setting a quick pace, she might want some of her people to double back and check out the suspicious arrow. Sending it up immediately had been a risk, but when it came to Thunder Catherine, Petra and the others needed as much advance warning as they could get.

The ground here was more open than he was used to, with little in the way of landmarks, but he’d gotten very good at not being found when he didn’t want to be, back in Almyra. Catherine? She wouldn’t know subtle if it bit her in the nose.

*

It was obvious when they were approaching the battlefield. Claude had learnt to fight from the best, but he’d never discovered a true love, or even equanimity, for battle. Blood, smoke, screams—just… pure ugliness. All the worst parts of human nature could be experienced on the battlefield, and very few of the best. An Almyran prince was supposed to revel in it, be fearless, but Claude was tired of seeing the ugly parts of humanity.

He watched Catherine survey her opponents’ forces. A grin split her face as she began to remove Thunderbrand’s scabbard. She motioned her squad—which seemed to have acquired a few more faces—to stand around her. “Listen up! They obviously were in nearly as much of a hurry as us. Their rearguard is disorganised. We’ll hit them hard, make them scatter, and either pull back or see if we can break through to the keep. Remember that the Goddess is with you! These heathens may know how to fight, but only we have Her divine protection! Do Lady Rhea proud and LET’S MOVE!”

Her forces greeted her with salutes and determined expressions. It would be hard not to be confident when Catherine was your leader. Claude didn’t dare make a sound, but internally he cursed as they charged, wishing he had a second arrow to send up—the Imperial-Brigid forces still hadn’t had time to prepare, and…

Claude’s advance warning was as much help as he’d offered. Following the Church forces this far had been risky, and he wasn’t completely sure why he’d done it, except that the idea of sitting things out and waiting to hear the news was more than his poor, frayed nerves could handle. Now he definitely ought to find a safe place to watch, to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

An alarm was shouted, rippling through the imperial rearguard as they saw the Church soldiers. When Catherine’s sword began to glow, even more indistinct shouting followed.

As the Church squad ran, their formation frayed and began to spread out. Claude pulled an arrow from his quiver and managed to pick off two of the soldiers bringing up the rear before they were out of his range.

The imperial forces desperately turned to face Catherine and her squad, raising their spears, forming a tight cluster. They must be well trained and well disciplined to form up so quickly.

It wasn’t enough.

In a shower of sparks that made the air taste of storms, Catherine swept her sword and scattered the whole battalion, then she and her small group began to carve through the middle in a deadly, bloody dance.

The Imperial soldiers rallied, trying to form a circle around the Church’s men—one of them was cut down—but there was no stopping Catherine. She was a blur, and whenever it looked like she might be encircled, she cut down another half a dozen men like wheat for harvest.

Claude found he had put an arrow on the string of his bow without meaning to. Useless. There was no way he could get a good shot at Catherine in the chaos of the crumbling lines. Still, he found his fingers gripping tighter and tighter—

“Bua Brìghde!”

With a deafening war cry, a squad of Brigid warriors fell into the fray. Claude had been so stuck in his own head he hadn’t registered their approach, but he recognised that splash of purple hair in an instant. There was a stab of fear in his chest. C’mon, Petra, you’re the future Queen, you don’t need to be the hero as well—

But of course Petra would never have a cowardly thought like that. She went straight for Catherine, drawing her attention with a swipe of her sword that nearly cut through Catherine’s face. As Catherine turned on her, Petra dodged and weaved around Thunderbrand’s strikes, blocking only when she had no other choice, relying on her own warriors and Imperial soldiers to keep the Church knights off her back.

Catherine’s swings grew wilder and heavier as one minute dragged into another and she still hadn’t come close to landing a blow on the evasive Petra—but each swing was more powerful. From someone who was already considered one of the Church’s strongest…

The other Church soldiers were herded into a group around Catherine; she seemed to sense them being pressed around her, because her strikes slowed and steadied.

Thunderbrand glowed.

“Get back!” Claude shouted, stupidly. No one would hear him over the noise of the battle.

When the other soldiers fell back, Petra closed the gap. Claude’s heart leapt into his mouth as she put her sword into one of the branches of Thunderbrand’s blade and twisted. Instead of striking into the heart of the Brigid forces, the blow was turned back on the Church. It seemed to have weakened the blow because the Church men stumbled and scattered instead of dying in droves.

Catherine seemed dismayed, but the trick had shorn Petra’s sword in two, a fact she took advantage of to press the attack. Petra had only the stump of a sword to defend herself with and was no longer as graceful. She moved to dodge a sword strike that didn’t come and Catherine’s gauntleted fist slammed into the side of her face.

Petra staggered back and fell heavily, but as Catherine raised her sword again, another figure interposed themselves between them. With the terror on her face, it took a moment for Claude to recognise Shamir. She held a lance awkwardly in close quarters, point facing Catherine, refusing to move from the Brigid princess.

Catherine paused. Claude saw Shamir’s lips move as they exchanged words, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Thunderbrand’s prongs drooped.

—And then Catherine raised her sword with a fierce cry and struck. Shamir diverted it, or tried, but her lance was broken and she had to jump back to avoid the blow. It wasn’t quite enough and one of Thunderbrand’s prongs dragged through her chest and shoulder. Claude winced, half rising, wondering if he could make a shot after all—

Shamir staggered back; Catherine pressed forward. She kicked out to prevent Shamir regaining her balance. Shamir barely locked together the two parts of her lance in time to catch Thunderbrand at the cross.

But Catherine was stronger, and she pressed down on Shamir with the brute force of will of a bull. Shamir fell back one faltering step at a time, and with one more push Catherine sent her stumbling again. Catherine took Thunderbrand and raised it, ready to land the finishing blow—

A flash of red. It took a moment for Claude’s brain to catch up and realise it wasn’t blood—or at least not all of it. Emperor Edelgard held her great axe calmly in one hand, despite the other arm hanging uselessly with blood steadily dripping from her fingers.

Catherine looked like she’d been awarded a grand prize by the heavens themselves. She launched herself at the injured Edelgard, but Edelgard was ready and dodged the wild swing. She retaliated when Catherine was off balance, taking care, Claude noted, to always place herself between Catherine and Shamir. Injured, bleeding, her hair coming undone from its elaborate style—and Edelgard still made herself an implacable wall to Catherine.

The Emperor had thrown herself in front of a blow from the Thunder Catherine to protect Shamir. Shamir, who was just a foreign mercenary, no one important. Good at her job, yes, but no tides of war turned on her health or her existence.

But Edelgard defended her like they did.

With speed that was disturbing from someone in such heavy armour, Edelgard matched Catherine blow for blow. The Imperial and Brigid forces rallied around her, hemming Catherine and the remaining Church soldiers close together. In between her exchanges with the emperor, Catherine must have glanced around and noticed the way the battle was turning against her. Thunderbrand glowed once more, but in close quarters it would be as devastating to her own men as to the enemy.

The glow faded and she gestured with her fist. A horn sounded from the Church ranks—a familiar, long, low note. The Church had sounded the retreat.

Not that they got away completely cleanly. Emperor Edelgard, injury and all, led the harrying of the retreat herself. Meanwhile, Claude saw Petra—it was impossible to tell how injured she was from this distance—split off with a portion of her own forces, heading back towards the fort.

Claude, slowly, finally, was able to relax. His heart hammered in his chest and he wiped away sweat from his brow, making himself take deep, even breaths. It had nearly been a disaster but the Imperial-Brigid alliance carried the day—thanks to Petra and Shamir rallying their forces and slowing Catherine down.

And Edelgard… when Edelgard settled on such a risky plan, he hadn’t realised how much of the risk she’d been taking on herself. Shamir—Claude had seen real fear on her face for the first time he could recall. She expected Catherine to kill her and only Edelgard’s timely intervention had prevented it.

If Edelgard could risk life and limb for Shamir—a Dagdan—then… maybe…

He didn’t understand Edelgard at all. Shamir was—she was someone Claude wouldn’t want to die. If he’d been able to take a shot that would save her, he would have done it. But… would he have risked getting himself killed to protect her? Claude couldn’t say that he would. He still had things to do to achieve his goals, his dream.

Edelgard did too, though. She’d made clear how grand and sweeping her plans were, plans to lift up the whole of Fódlan—

Yet when Shamir had been in danger, Edelgard stepped in front of a sword for her. Not just any sword, either. Thunderbrand. That sword and Catherine had claimed many lives in the service of the Church… something which, Claude was suddenly reminded, Edelgard would have seen with her own eyes. Lonato’s rebellion, those years ago. Claude had heard even the Knights of Seiros talking with fear of the beautiful but deadly Catherine, wandering through the fog like a ghost, her bright, burning sword cutting down any and all in its path who would dare turn their blades against the Church.

Less than a year later, Edelgard dared do the same.

Claude gritted his teeth and put a hand to his head. It didn’t make any sense, but he’d seen it with his own eyes. Edelgard was a visionary, she ought to have been blinded by it but she—in that moment she hadn’t thought at all—

Maybe it was just a gesture of supreme arrogance instead. An unwillingness to see any way even Catherine could lay a finger on her, Emperor Edelgard of Adrestia. But even as the thought occurred to him, it didn’t sound right. That wasn’t the woman he’d witnessed feeding cakes to Lysithea or getting so excited about the idea of children going to school or reminding him that it was past his bedtime—

Even to think of her as Emperor Edelgard was strange, now.

…I just need some time to rest. And then… to think.

The possibility that maybe Edelgard could—he was scared to even put it into words—accept me—should have been exciting, but the only thing Claude was aware of was the anxiety bubbling deep in the pit of his stomach.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been faced with disappointment.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Lady Goneril seemed to have a talent for, it was for annoying Hubert at the most inconvenient times. He’d been trying to meet with Marro again for an entire week, but Goneril would suddenly appear at his shoulder with some—distraction.

Mentioning birds at all, ever, had obviously been a mistake. She had latched onto it with all the ferocity and charm of a starving feral street cat, and Hubert intended for every bit of that metaphor to apply.

For the past three days Goneril had had him awoken before dawn in order to go bird watching. And must have taken great pains to ‘misplace’ Hubert’s supply of coffee, because he had had to make do with her particularly disgusting floral brew, and he was correspondingly displeased with the world at large.

His most recently assigned guards had fled at one glare from him, which was both amusing and satisfying but didn’t solve the larger issue, especially as Goneril was usually so careful about ensuring he was under watch. Luckily, Hubert should have sufficient time for the discussion he hoped to have.

Of course, he should be both flattered and pleased with Goneril’s preoccupied watching. It meant his reputation had spread far and wide, precisely as anticipated. It was… merely grating to not have anticipated Hilda’s response of attempting to drive Hubert mad. He would have kept a secret stash of coffee if he had foreseen this turn of events. But he had not, and so he was forced to take drastic measures.

Hubert sighed and knocked on the door to Dorothea’s chambers.

“Yes?” A tired and dishevelled Dorothea opened the door a crack, frowning. “Hubie, do you know what time it is?”

“Nearly eleven,” he replied. “I need only a moment of your time.”

“I was out until the early hours—” This excuse was punctuated by a yawn. “So many people to keep track of… how on earth do you do it?”

Hubert folded his arms with a suppressed scowl. Why waste so much time on meaningless chatter? “May I ask you for a favour or not?”

“Oh!” Dorothea, rather perversely in Hubert’s opinion, smiled at this. “A favour? I thought you’d just come to grouse. Anything for Edie’s best man!”

Hubert grimaced.

“Well, come in, don’t dawdle,” she said, stepping away from the door to let him in. “Or your minder will be on to you.”

“Do not remind me.” He sighed. “I am… working on another task that will be to the Empire’s benefit. I need you to occupy Lady Goneril’s time for a while.”

“What?” Dorothea blinked at him. “Come on, you have to give me more than that. Why?”

That was fair, he supposed, if he was asking her to take valuable time away from her own plans. As briefly as possible, he outlined the idea Goneril had given him, and his goal to make Marro a part of the Empire’s own version of such an artisan school.

“Ah, already planning ahead! That’s our Hubie.” Dorothea sat down on the chair by her desk, glancing over some of the letters there. “I never knew Hilda held such ambitions… But this does give me ideas. I have a few people I’d like to win over, so perhaps some gifts of jewellery… and Hilda would be the perfect person to go to for advice, wouldn’t she?”

*

Hubert had yet to see Dorothea ‘at work’, as it were. When she described managing an opera star’s complex network of favours, friends, and admirers as like spywork, Hubert had been sceptical and nearly offended. He had to admit, however, that Dorothea did manage the interference with Hilda in a fashion he’d be proud to see in any of his own people.

For a start, Dorothea was not even at the first meeting.

“Oh, Hilda!” Ignatz’s smile was bright and guileless. “I was looking for you.”

“My company is highly sought after,” Goneril replied. “What’s up?”

Ignatz’s eyes flickered to Hubert, Goneril having once again demanded his company for a useless excursion. Hubert smiled at Ignatz and he looked away. A nervous, insecure man, he lacked faith in his own abilities, and consequently tended to inflate his estimation of those around him beyond what they deserved. Not Hubert’s assessment, but Dorothea’s.

“I accompanied Dorothea to another party last night and she was saying that she wanted to purchase some gifts for her friends,” Ignatz explained. As Dorothea was deemed less ‘problematic’ than Hubert, Ignatz was usually her official escort in Derdriu. “She was asking me to show her the best places in Derdriu’s market, but I’m not… sure I really understand fashion and… well, you always look so nice… could you take her, Hilda?”

In reality, Dorothea had told Hubert, Ignatz’s knowledge and taste as an artist was unsurpassed. If she started handing out gifts hand-picked by him she’d soon be setting trends. ‘Not that he’d ever believe that,’ she’d added, biting her lip. ‘But if I say it, he’ll feel under pressure even for a simple shopping trip. That will make him go to Hilda.’

‘Honesty is an odd choice of weapon for a spy,’ had been Hubert’s only response.

But Dorothea’s assessment of Ignatz was proved right when he continued to make such anxious enquiries of Lady Goneril, accompanied by so many compliments, that she eventually relented. “Oh—fine, fine, just calm down.” She sighed. “But you really to stick with Hubie this time, you understand? We wouldn’t want anything to happen to him.”

Ignatz mouthed ‘Hubie’ to himself with a frown. Hubert concurred.

“Don’t let yourself get brow-beaten into another surprise excursion!” Hilda pressed. “You know that it’s simple impossible to plan adequate security at the last minute.”

This polite fiction for concern of Hubert’s welfare was getting thinner and more ill-mannered by the day, but Hubert let it pass with only a grimace. If nothing else, a few hours with the timid company of Ignatz would be a welcome relief from the false charm of Hilda Goneril. A date and time was agreed with Ignatz, who knew Dorothea’s schedule almost as well as she did, and then next, allegedly crucial stage commenced.

Hubert was not to make trouble.

“What on earth is the point of this exercise if I’m supposed to remain meekly within the palace?” Hubert demanded.

He tried to loom over Dorothea with the full benefit of his height, but she merely rolled her eyes. “The point is not to let Hilda immediately know she’s been played. You said yourself that she’s cannier than she looks.”

Hubert frowned. “If this is the only opportunity—”

“It won’t be.” Dorothea grinned. “Do you really think Hilda is enjoying waking up at the crack of dawn to insist you lecture her about seagull calls?”

“Marbled Warbler,” Hubert muttered. When she raised an eyebrow, he reluctantly had to add, “No.”

“Right! So given the opportunity to indulge in her own hobby—”

“She will leap at the chance if lulled into a false sense of security by my apparent good behaviour.” He sighed. “I understand the principles all too well.”

“So what is your objection?”

Hubert had not been able to come up with one, so he spent an afternoon in the manse’s library, reading. Ignatz was alert at first, but was hardly a trained guard and his attention was soon drawn to the collection of art books Hubert had deliberately sat near to. When Ignatz was distracted, Hubert moved out of his sight but, against all his better instincts, remained within the library.

When Ignatz resurfaced, he would discover Hubert still there, thereby establishing his good behaviour. Dorothea had better be right.

The library, at least, provided sufficient material as to not be completely tiresome—someone had even taken advantage of the Church’s weakness to add a selection of interesting (and thus borderline heretical) travelogues to the library’s collection. Hubert was assured of their quality by cross-referencing the volume about Brigid with what he had learned of their culture from Petra and finding it quite accurate.

It was very gratifying to see the effects of Lady Edelgard’s work in these small ways too. Petra was one of Her Majesty’s staunchest allies. It was unconscionable that blatant untruths about the Brigid people be allowed continued influence in Fódlan. If ill-will against them persisted, it might become politically difficult for Petra to assist Her Majesty.

Hubert remembered the thing that had been said about the Brigid princess when she came to the Empire. ‘Barbarian’ was one of the kindest. To continue to hear such baseless prattle would have upset Petra, and Lady Edelgard had not wished this tolerated; nor did Hubert see any reason why it should be permitted. Knowing his reputation in Enbarr, he had taken care to discourage the loudest of Petra’s detractors by his close attention. Noticing that Hubert was paying particular attention to them was normally enough for such fools to shut up.

He hoped that none of those individuals had taken his absence as a reason to resume. He would be most displeased if any of them thought this ire so easily forgotten.

This concern kept him distracted enough that he was still occupied with the same book when Ignatz came looking for him.

“Oh!” He blinked at Hubert a few times. “There you are, Marquis Vestra.”

Hubert raised his eyebrows rather than deign this with a response.

“Ah…” Ignatz’s eyes flickered about nervously before they alighted on the book. “Were you enjoying it? My father imported it from Almyra.”

This was sufficiently interesting for Hubert to respond with, “Oh?”

Ignatz was pleased to add more on the topic, which was all valuable information to Hubert. That the Victor family could see which way the wind was blowing and were already taking advantage of this tentative new relationship with the outside world… others would certainly follow their lead. Even with the Archbishop still living, she must see her world being taken apart, piece by piece.

How gratifying.

*

Twice more was sufficient for Ignatz to let his guard down, finally giving Hubert a few hours uninterrupted to approach Marro for—hopefully—more productive discussion.

“I see you are without Lady Goneril today. Why are you here?” Marro didn’t look up from his work. He was flattening and layering a thin, red-hot piece of glass into… what appeared to be the scaled leg of an eagle. How remarkable.

“Partially, curiosity,” Hubert replied.

He wasn’t sure if Marro took the hint that he did not mean to rush him, or if he was simply disinclined to bend to Hubert’s whims. But keeping Hubert waiting took some nerve, which he generally found to be an admirable trait.

(Except when taken to the point of stupidity, Caspar.)

The shattering of glass had Hubert wincing in sympathy before he realised nothing was amiss with Marro’s work. He stepped further into the workshop, following the sound of clattering glass, to find a young girl sweeping the remains of some ornament before another furnace.

She did not look up, but she froze. “My lord?”

Long brown hair hung shrouded her face and her clothes were loose on her thin frame. By the colour of her skin, she guessed she was Duscuran like her master, but she barely looked twelve; not old enough to remember the killings. Still, she seemed wary of him. “I merely came to investigate the noise. Pay me no heed.”

The girl paused, her head still bowed, before mumbling, “My lord,” and returning to sweeping.

“My apprentice, Una.”

Hubert hadn’t noticed Marro move. “I apologise if I startled her and caused the accident.”

“I doubt it.” He turned in time to catch Marro’s miniscule shrug. “It is the nature of the material we work with. Why did you come?”

“Your talents are underappreciated in Derdriu. Why stay?”

If Marro found the sudden chance of topic confusing, he didn’t show it. “I have no reason to believe my situation would be improved elsewhere.” He folded his arms. “If my people are not welcome in Derdriu, craftsmen are, even those from Duscur. And access to the materials I need is cheaper and easier here.”

Marro had not fled to Derdriu carelessly, then. It spoke of his good sense, but if he was too accustomed to his current circumstances, he may need more persuading to come to the Empire. “Those things could be changed. Her Majesty is eager to encourage trades and artisans to flourish in the Empire. With the support of the Empire and your own skills, you could easily be foremost amongst their number.”

“Do you believe change is so easy?” Marro shook his head. “Anyone who wars against Faerghus has my blessing, and I understand your Emperor is changing much, but she cannot change the hearts of the people. If Duscur is restored, I will go home. Otherwise, it is better that I stay here, where my craft has a history.”

Hmm… he sounded sure, but it didn’t seem to be wedded to Derdriu specifically; his reasoning was pragmatic, even cynical. Hubert would have to think on what further incentives he could offer—next time, as he should soon be returning to the palace. “If you insist, I will drop the matter for the time being. May I speak to your apprentice before I leave?” If the master cannot be persuaded…

Marro shrugged. “If she wishes to, you may.”

He said this with the appearance of little interest, but he watched Hubert talk to Una with eyes as keen as the eagle he was moulding in glass. Una turned towards Hubert, but with her head still bowed and hidden behind her long hair. “My lord?”

“If I understand correctly, as Marro’s apprentice, you are learning dark magic from him as well, correct?”

The girl’s head snapped towards him and just as quickly turned away again, but not quickly enough for Hubert to fail to catch a glimpse of a scar.

“Is that why you hide your face?” he asked. “There’s no need. It’s far from the worst scar I’ve seen. If anyone should be ashamed of it, it’s the one who delivered the blow.”

Una peeked at him from under the brown waves of hair. She seemed to expect him to flinch or to look away, but when he did not, she raised her chin. “Marro says that too.”

“Perhaps now you will believe it,” Marro murmured. Whatever he had been looking for, he seemed satisfied; he retreated back to the front of the workshop.

“I am learning dark magic,” the girl confirmed. “I’m not very good at it, though. Marro said he was learning from his mother when he was a young boy.”

“Dark magic takes dedication to master. It is a rare and arcane power; you are lucky to be learning.”

“You know it, don’t you?” she asked, adding, “I’ve heard about you. Fighting. I mean—”

Her white-knuckle clenched hands and wide, frightened eyes reminded Hubert of Bernadetta. “I do, yes,” he said softly. “But I began learning when I was older than you.”

She blinked. “You did?”

“I was thirteen.” Hubert tried not to think too much of then. Lady Edelgard had been in such pain—she had yet to devise their plan and sometimes she had spent entire days crushed by comprehension of all the suffering she could not prevent.

Hubert had very desperately needed to be stronger than the weak child who could not follow her to Faerghus. He needed to be useful, and he sensed they did not have the luxury of time.

“Having the opportunity to study it at length will give you greater mastery in the long run,” he told Una.

“What kind of length?” she mumbled. “I’m already fifteen.”

Fifteen? Hubert couldn’t hide his surprise. She seemed much younger. Perhaps her growth had been stunted… “Fifteen is young enough.” He almost said ‘these things can’t be rushed’, but it would be a lie, so instead he decided on: “Rushing leads to weaknesses in your method.”

She frowned at this. “Is… that why you asked about dark magic? I can’t believe your methods are weak.”

He gave her a grim, pleased smile. “Perhaps, but they are incomplete. Your master’s method of imbuing glass with the patterns of dark magic is very… intriguing.”

“It makes nice patterns, I suppose,” Una said, but she wasn’t stupid, and after a pause, she added: “But if you only wanted that, you could buy them.”

He considered for a moment whether he should tell her of his interest, but there was no real reason to hide it from her. Perhaps she would even convince Marro to give up his secrets. “The technique itself has other applications,” he said, explaining the possibility of magical mines and traps.

“Oh, that makes sense.” Una shook her head. “If you promised to use them to help the Empire win against Faerghus, I’d tell you, but Marro hasn’t taught that technique to me yet. Sorry.”

Being fifteen, Hubert realised, and not twelve as he has originally thought, would make Una old enough to have real memories of the slaughter of her people. She might even remember the face of the person who left her with the scar she took such pains to hide.

He felt that there were words that one should offer for this revelation, but he had none, just as he had had none for Lady Edelgard. “You have nothing for which you need to apologise. Her Majesty will prevail against the Kingdom regardless.”

“If you say so…” Una glanced to the front of the workshop, leaning in a little closer to whisper, “Can you give me some tips for dark magic? If I get better, Marro might decide to teach me and I can tell you! And I’ll make more money for me and my grandmother. It’s a good deal!”

It was not a bad trade, and yet Hubert hesitated. “I’m afraid I must be going. Perhaps next time.”

Una was crestfallen.

Hubert handed Marro a small bag of silver as he left. “I’m afraid that I have tarried and taken up more of your apprentice’s time than I should have. I hope this will compensate for the lost work.”

“I will ensure Una’s grandmother receives it.” Marro’s lip quirked. “As compensation.”

*

Huber von Vestra was being cooperative, and Hilda was terrified the whole Alliance would fall down around her ears any day now. He simply had to be up to something.

It was a shame Hilda was so good to Claude. She could be out here with Dorothea looking at nice things and making nice conversation and having a nice time. But no, she just had to like that cagey idiot Duke Riegan and be the only one in the whole world who seemed to care about keeping the Alliance together.

So here Hilda was, leaving poor Dorothea rudely awaiting her presence at the main gate, whilst she went to a side entrance mainly used by servants. No one had ever told Hubert about it, of course, but she was certain that he would know all the same.

She only had to wait ten minutes before he appeared. He stiffened when he noticed her before sighing deeply. “Lady Goneril.”

Hubert seemed to call her that when he was annoyed with her, so she was going to count this as a win. “Marquis Vestra!” she replied. “You know, I was just about to leave with Dorothea when I suddenly thought of you.”

“I am flattered,” he said, in an absolute monotone.

Hilda smiled with commensurate cheerfulness. “Won’t you come along with us this time? There are some times when you really just need a man’s opinion.”

“I struggle to think of women who need a man’s opinion less,” Hubert scoffed, reminding Hilda there were a few reasons to find him a salvageable person.

He also knew when the game was up and he followed her when she started back towards the main gate. No matter how dark his frown, Hilda had totally won this one.

The only question was—what on earth had he been up to this whole time?

Chapter Text

The sun shone on the back of Claude’s neck as he listened to the murmur of the waves against the shore. What a contrary piece of work he was, to have such complex and serious thoughts in such an idyllic spot.

Tomorrow, the group from the Empire sailed home, with the exception of Petra and Sylvain, who were staying to recover and help to settle things in Brigid. Of course the imperial party themselves couldn’t leave until the Emperor had recovered.

Claude had been avoiding her.

He just… didn’t know what to do any more. His dream, always a tantalising vision which he’d been building his whole life towards, looked both closer and further away than ever. Closer, because if Edelgard—she was tearing the existing structure down anyway—

Further, because…

Claude had always had a plan. Several plans. He already had to recalculate after Edelgard declared war on the Church. So he made more plans. And then she surprised him with this diplomatic overture, so he’d made more plans still.

But… he’d never planned for this. For there to be someone who might… join him. Might. He didn’t know. If she would, then everything would fall into place, but if Edelgard rejected him too, then—then it was ruined, it was all ruined, and he would never see the stars.

Claude had gambled on the outcomes of battles and political disputes, but he’d never gambled on a person before. He wasn’t sure he knew how.

One day and he’d be trapped on the ship with Edelgard and avoiding her would become truly impossible. He needed to find… something… to steer himself by before then.

Claude sighed and turned away from the sea, heading a little further inland to the hospice which had been set up for imperial casualties of the battle. Shamir had been one of the few people who could provide tolerable company over the past few days; Claude wanted to know if she was recovered enough to leave or not.

Edelgard saved her. Would she save you?

He shook the thought away.

Claude found Shamir before he even got as far as the hospice. Sylvain’s arm was slung over her shoulder as she helped him limp through the undergrowth with halting steps.

“He’s still hoping he’ll be well enough to make it back onto the boat,” she said, before Claude could say anything.

“Ship,” Sylvain corrected. “I’m fine, anyway.”

Claude raised an eyebrow. “Sure. That’s why your leg is all bandaged up like that. Because of how fine you are.”

He didn’t look great, either—pale and sweating, Sylvain’s face went unnaturally stiff any time he put weight on his injured leg, as obvious a reaction as though he hadn’t suppressed the pain response at all.

Sylvain grinned. “See? He gets it.”

“Do you want me to let go of you?” Shamir asked flatly.

He winced. “…No.”

“That’s what I thought.” She clicked her tongue. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose the leg altogether. Stop being stupid.”

Claude decided not to point out that helping Sylvain get around like this could be said to be enabling said stupid behaviour. “And what about you, Shamir? Have they decided you’re well enough to travel?”

“Senate’s still out on that one,” she replied. It took a moment for Claude to parse this as ‘maybe’. Must be a Dagdan saying. “Have you heard that Catherine managed to escape?”

“After all that?” Considering Catherine’s strength and loyalty to Rhea, no effort had been spared in trying to track her down before she left the islands. His estimation of Catherine as a commander went up a few notches. “That must sting.”

Sylvain hissed before Shamir could reply. He leaned heavily against a tree, leaving Shamir’s support and using it to leverage himself, slowly, to the ground.

Shamir folded her arms. “Are you going to head back and let your leg heal like a sensible person now?”

“Yes, sir,” Sylvain replied weakly. “…In a minute.”

She snorted, but took a seat next to him. Shamir had always taught harsh lessons and hadn’t been afraid to let students get hurt—but she would always help them get back on their feet. The few times Claude had had training sessions with her, it had felt a lot like being back with Nader. If Nader was considerably prettier.

“Sorry to hear about Catherine,” Sylvain said, eventually. “I know you two used to be… close.”

She shrugged, but even for Shamir, there was something stiff about it. “I knew our partnership was finished the moment I joined the Empire.”

“Was it worth it?” Claude blurted before he could stop himself. He couldn’t help but remember the fear on Shamir’s face, how abnormal it had seemed from her. So he didn’t look completely desperate, he added, “Or did you just pick the winning side?”

“If you’re wanting to know what kind of brilliant deal the Emperor promised me to win me over, you’re asking the wrong person,” Shamir said dryly. “Edelgard didn’t recruit me to the Empire. Petra did.”

Claude blinked.

“Wait, I didn’t hear this story,” Sylvain said. “I thought the professor asked for your help…”

Shamir replied, “Byleth asked me to participate in the battle of Garreg Mach. After she disappeared, Petra was the one who persuaded me to remain with the Empire. That’s all I meant.”

“What, and you said yes because you felt bad for us?” Sylvain prodded her shoulder, earning himself an elbow to the ribs in response. He winced but prodded her again. “C’mon, you gotta give us more than that.”

“I’ll admit, I’m curious too,” Claude said.

“If you really insist…” Shamir shrugged. “It’s not going to be as exciting as you imagined, though. Petra said that the influence of the Church, and their teachings about Crests as a symbol of the goddess’s regard, were the reason Fódlan is so hostile to outsiders.

“The best way to secure a lasting peace between our nations was to ‘uproot the poison’—but more than that, there needed to be people from outside Fódlan fighting for it too. So they—we—could show the people of Fódlan our commitment to making this new future with them. That’s all.”

Shamir always did have a talent for understatement. ‘That’s all,’ she said, like half of the speech couldn’t have been directly ripped from Claude’s own thoughts, the Church tenets encouraging distrust of outsiders that turned to hatred with so little prompting, like Petra hadn’t declared to Shamir her own way of changing the relationship between Fódlan and the outside world. Like Shamir hadn’t been so convinced by Petra’s words that she’d thrown away any possibility of reconciling with Catherine; that she’d put herself in the middle of a war that didn’t concern her and nearly been killed by it.

“I thought you didn’t care all that much about Dagda,” Sylvain said. Claude couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t understand enough about what she had left unsaid, or if it was because he’d understood that as well.

“I don’t hate it either. It’s my homeland. I don’t want Dagda to go to war with Fódlan.” She sighed. “Whether my actions will have any effect on that is anybody’s guess, but Petra’s conviction was so strong, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

But it could, Shamir. You nearly died—and you’re not stupid. You knew the risks.

“You took a leap of faith,” Claude murmured.

She gave him an odd look. “I suppose you could say it like that.” Leaning forward, she fixed him with a hard stare. “Don’t get me wrong, though—I don’t think I picked the losing side. Whatever Edelgard is offering you, I’d take it before it’s withdrawn. We can’t afford to show mercy to our enemies.”

Sylvain winced. “Shamir, you can’t just say that—”

“You nobles like to talk around it in circles, but that’s what it comes down to.” She snorted and turned back to Claude. “If you didn’t think you could win, you’d have already accepted. I’m just telling you you’re wrong; you can’t win. Don’t waste this chance by trying to wring extra concessions out of Her Majesty, or whatever trick you’re trying to pull. Take my advice or leave it.”

“I’m sorry about her,” Sylvain said. Shamir rolled her eyes. “But look on the bright side—if she warned you, it’s because she’d rather you weren’t her enemy!”

She raised her eyebrows at Sylvain, but didn’t contradict him.

“Right. Thanks.” Claude was aware his voice sounded faint, even to himself, but there were so many thoughts racing around his head, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Petra had already told him she believed in Edelgard’s vision, spoken so clearly about it, but he hadn’t thought to ask if she had a vision of her own. People in Fódlan always underestimated her, but Claude should know better. But she’d seen exactly the opportunity to change Fódlan that Claude had been looking for. Tear it all down, and there was a chance… a chance to build a new future in its place.

“Uh… are you okay in there?” Sylvain asked.

Claude could have been walking on air, or maybe floating above it—it was hard to tell. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Do either of you know where Petra is right now?”

*

Edelgard’s makeshift ‘study’ or ‘receiving room’ was a lean-to with some chairs and a rickety table, all in view of the sea. Or at least it gave her visitors a pleasant view of the sea, as Edelgard had turned her chair away from it. She would’ve preferred to be indoors, but the people of Brigid claimed the sea air to be restorative and she’d allowed Petra to persuade her to set up outside.

Shamir had seen the way the furniture was arranged, rolled her eyes and tutted, and then told Bernadetta her orders were ‘to keep the Emperor from driving herself mad’.

“But we’re the same rank,” Bernadetta had said, apologetic. “I don’t think I can take orders from you.”

“Call it a personal favour, then.”

Bernie had responded with a bright smile. “Okay!”

Apart from the minor humiliation of Shamir showing how ridiculous she found Edelgard, having Bernadetta around had been beneficial. Her advice was always carefully thought out and therefore valuable, and Ladislava wouldn’t say as much, but Edelgard could tell she enjoyed the previews of Bernadetta’s work. Ladislava always took her duties to protect Edelgard extremely seriously, so it was nice for her to be able to enjoy herself more whilst still being ‘on the job’. At the very least, it was something for her to do other than glower at people. Ladislava and Hubert were rather alike in their default expressions, although Edelgard would never say that to either of them out loud.

If only all her time could be spent watching Ladislava wonder at the novelty of carnivorous plants. A weight bore down on Edelgard’s shoulders as she thought of sailing home tomorrow—already a difficult proposition—and she still did not have an answer for Claude.

Maybe getting to know ‘Claude’ had been the error. Because to Duke Riegan of the Alliance, Emperor Edelgard could make all kinds of promises. Whatever she thought politically necessary that did not compromise her own goals too much.

To Claude—

Claude loved to mess with her and stick his nose into things. He poked and prodded whenever he felt that there was something being concealed from him. He knew how to be frustrating.

He flinched at unexpected touches and treasured stories about boys who were never lonely again. He looked her in the eye when he evaded her questions and smiled, as though saying, ‘Better luck next time’. He volunteered to help in fights that weren’t his and he couldn’t let a risky plan go unremarked upon, just in case.

He wouldn’t make it easy and say, Yes, I’ll help you, or even, I’ll help you if you help me.

There was a gap, there, a step she was missing, and she didn’t know where the answer might lie.

“Edelgard, are you alright?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry, Bernadetta. I promised to listen, didn’t I?”

“You only said you’d try.” Bernie’s eyes flickered as she studied Edelgard. “It’s not just the journey home, is it? There’s something else.” Before Edelgard could admit to anything, Bernie glanced at Ladislava and then back. “It’s Claude, isn’t it?”

Edelgard narrowed her eyes at Ladislava, whose gaze remained fixed straight ahead.

“He seems a bit different than at the academy,” Bernie said, seemingly to herself. “Sometimes I’d find myself at the archery range with him, and I couldn’t stand to be around him for long. Something about him always seemed false, and it made me afraid of what he might do…”

Edelgard was still glaring at Ladislava, so she knew it when they winced simultaneously.

“Now…” Bernie frowned. “I don’t know if it doesn’t frighten me, or if he isn’t hiding as much of himself as he used to.”

If this was the less circumspect Claude, Edelgard truly despaired. “It’s not that he makes me uncomfortable,” she said. “It’s merely hard to know what to say to him. I feel that he wants something from me, but he won’t tell me what it is, and I don’t know how to make an acceptable offering to him.”

“Then don’t,” Ladislava said. “Your Majesty, there’s no need to cause yourself such strain over this man. If he doesn’t see the advantage of allying with you, then he doesn’t deserve your time. Why do you keep trying?”

Bernie watched the exchange without adding anything. Edelgard sighed. She didn’t really know how to express why she kept trying, except— “I think he’d enjoy spending time in the greenhouse.”

Ladislava’s brows furrowed, but Bernadetta sat up straighter, fingers curling around the edges of her book, covering a detailed illustration of a flowering plant with strangely shaped petals.

Ladislava only understood that she’d missed something from the reaction, but Edelgard wasn’t sure if she would have understood anyway. She’d come from a poor family, and fought hard to be recognised for her talents even before drawing Edelgard’s attention; she wouldn’t always volunteer it, but she often had valuable insights to share about the experiences of the common people. Other things, she was lucky enough to be ignorant of.

Edelgard had briefly met her parents, her father with a bad limp that had often kept him out of work, and her mother who was now starting to lose her sight. Her mother still always found Ladislava’s forehead to take her temperature and urgently ask after her health, whilst her father never failed to provide endless stories about their extended family and how they all boasted of Ladislava’s achievements to their neighbours. She shook her head and laughed at them in all the letters she sent along with most of her wages.

The feeling of being afraid of one that you knew should love you was totally anathema to her. Edelgard was always both pleased for, and envious of her.

Bernie tapped her fingers against the pages of the book.

“Ladislava,” Edelgard asked gently, “please could you give us a few minutes alone?”

She looked between Bernadetta and Edelgard with a downturned expression. “Of course, Your Majesty. I will be only a call away should either of you have need of me.”

When a few seconds had passed after Ladislava’s leaving and Bernie hadn’t spoken, Edelgard said, “I always welcome your input.”

Bernie let out a deep breath. “Yes… yes, you do.” Still, she took another moment to steel herself. “Um… you really think he…?”

Edelgard related the brief incident from the chapel.

It wasn’t much to speculate over, but she was glad to see that Bernie’s immediate thoughts were the same as hers. “Oh, poor Claude… I never would’ve thought… but then I never thought of you, either—you always seemed so wonderfully fearless.” Bernie sighed. “It’s… sad to be afraid all the time. I know.”

“You think he’s afraid?”

Bernie shook her head, and then hesitated. “Well, um… I… I don’t know. It was just what I thought, when you said that. If I was him, I’d be afraid of—not of being hit, but—being hurt. So I… I think… maybe the alliance with you and Claude… it’s not really about the politics any more. It’s about you. The both of you. So he needs to see… Edelgard… Edie… not the emperor.”

Edelgard grimaced.

“Th-that was just what I thought!” Bernie added. “It’s probably just what I would think, but—”

“No, this sounds rather like something Petra told me,” Edelgard replied. “Which probably means you’re both right. But I don’t know how…”

“Be truthful.” When she glanced up at her, Bernie smiled, encouraging. It was only over the past few years she’d been able to look Edelgard in the eye without fear. “I know it’s frightening, but I believe in you.”

Frightening? It had a ring of its own truth to it. Edelgard would have staked her life on her cause, on the future she fought for. On herself… In comparison, she seemed a very flawed and tainted thing. And if that was what Claude saw…

“It doesn’t—it doesn’t have to be everything,” Bernie said, shrinking in on herself. “I mean, not all at once, anyway. Just… a little bit. When I was at Garreg Mach, I thought—I thought everyone would hate me like he did but—when I was brave enough to, to mention a hobby and no one minded then it made me feel a little braver—and…”

She was rambling. Edelgard had never given her a proper answer and only suppressed a grimace with the knowledge that Bernie might take it the wrong way. “Bernadetta, it’s alright, I understood. I’m sorry, I was thinking about what you said.”

Bernie blinked and breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh! Oh, right. That makes sense. I—I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I—” At Edelgard’s hard stare, she stopped herself from apologising, and after a moment where her face contorted in discomfort, she instead said, “I… well… I hope I helped a bit.”

“You did, thank you.”

He wants to have faith. I think… he is wanting that more than he knows himself. Edelgard didn’t know how she could give him that, but a little bit of truth. Just a little bit.

That, she could do.

*

The ship set sail back to Fódlan with pleasant sunshine and a strong breeze at its back. Edelgard was hopeful for a trip as smooth as the journey to Brigid but the captain soon had bad news: the strong winds had turned into a gale, heralding an oncoming storm. It would delay them still further and make for an uncomfortable trip.

Edelgard hadn’t realised that when Captain Murchad said ‘uncomfortable’, he’d meant that the passengers might have to be locked below deck for their own safety.

She found herself clinging to the tiny bed in her cabin, curled into a ball with her knees pulled all the way up to her head, like she was a child again. It was pitch dark save for the occasional stabs of lightning through the porthole window, burning against her tightly shut eyes. The ship rolled with each wave, throwing chests, books, and other objects around the cabin with loud crashes and bumps.

Edelgard tried to hold on to those noises, an anchor against the memories pressing in on her like the waves ready to bury her in the depths of the sea. No screams, no soft patter of rats’ feet; she was not in the dungeon, she was not a helpless girl…

But sometimes she was. Edelgard passed in and out of fitful sleep, or something close to sleep; the ship was rocked too violently by the waves for her to relax her grip on the bed. She passed the time in a hazy state, sometimes unable to tell if she was waking from a bad dream or falling into one.

She had no awareness of it beginning or ending, only of being a lonely and frightened girl in the darkness. Noises started to creep in, settling in her soul and shooting through her like a dagger, whilst time stilled and she could no longer tell day from night or hour from minute. Her whole body ached with tension, pain everywhere, so much that she could barely breathe, and over her own stilled breaths she heard that soft, sharp-knife-gentle, press of miniscule feet; the rats were out, and she had not the strength to chase them away if they came for her—

Edelgard woke to someone shaking her, gasping for air like the storm really had drowned her. Her heart thundered in her chest and ears as she sat upright, but outside of her own head there was quiet. The cabin was still in near-total darkness, but the movement of the ship had stilled. She had no memory of the storm ending. She still felt half in the dream—memory—save for the warm hand on her shoulder. She leaned into it, craving something real.

She thought it was Ladislava—they seemed vaguely the right shape in the blackness—but then they said, “Sorry, I… heard you talking in your sleep.”

Edelgard jerked away from the hand on her shoulder in shock. It loosened its grip, and then she missed it, even though—Claude. Claude. Of course it would be him, now, when she was least ready to face him and must seem pathetic and weak.

Still, she could not pretend she would rather have remained trapped in sleep. She swallowed the shame. “Thank you. I am—sorry to have disturbed you.”

What must he have heard. She must sound absurdly stiff and formal in the face of that. She sounded it to herself.

Maybe that was why there was quite a pause before Claude finally said, “Ah, you don’t need to apologise. I just decided to take a stroll to stretch my legs since the storm had subsided and… heard you calling out.”

Edelgard closed her eyes and was glad that he couldn’t see her expression. “Dreams that have plagued me since childhood. Reminders…” She hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Edelgard bit the inside of her cheek, let the pain focus her for a moment. “Pay me no mind.”

“If you say so,” Claude said, but he sounded unsure.

He paused. Then the boards creaked as he moved away. Edelgard breathed easier, feeling less exposed, but at the same time she was aware of the quiet in the cabin. The solitude.

The handle of the cabin door squeaked, and then stopped. Another beat of silence. Claude asked, “Do you… want to join me on deck?”

There was none of his usual light-heartedness in the tone. Edelgard wasn’t sure if it was significant, or if he was just tired. But she remembered Bernie’s suggestion and made herself speak. “Yes, I would like to. I… After that, some company would be welcome. If you’ll just give a moment, I’ll follow you.”

“Then I’ll see you on the deck, Edelgard.” Now there was a lightness in his voice which she hoped suggested a smile. Something positive. “You know I can’t see you anyway though, right?” he added, and then the door shut behind him.

Edelgard’s laugh came out a little ragged and high-pitched. She wasn’t sure if he heard it, or if he’d even intended a joke, but just that small, feeble bit of laughter made her chest loosen and her breathing came easier. But her hands were still unsteady, and even if she’d been able to remember the complicated updos for her hair, she wouldn’t have been able to make them herself.

But at least she could take her hair down and run her hands through it a few times to get the worst of the tangles out. She sighed deeply, finding a strange kind of relaxation in prying apart a few stubborn knots. She would be relieved beyond words when she was finally able to sit down in her rooms and give her hair some real attention. The sea salt seemed to have agreed with it as little as the sea had agreed with her.

Edelgard hobbled her way above deck, using the timber walls to keep herself upright. She hadn’t acquired ‘sea legs’ on her last journey but being thrown around by the storm had made her feel unsteadier than ever.

When the fresh air hit her face, pleasingly cool against the sweat coating her skin, she knew she’d made the right decision. After the storm, the air was clear and still. Although it was still a dark night, with only a single lantern on deck and a handful of stars for light, Edelgard breathed a sigh of relief.

“Over here, Princess,” Claude’s voice called from the—the bow or—something. The left.

She moved to join him. The ocean made only tiny slaps against the side of the ship, so with the poor light it was almost possible to believe they weren’t at sea at all. Almost. “How did you fare with the storm? You didn’t say.”

Claude laughed, a startlingly loud sound in the dead of night. “Me? After you woke from a nightmare?”

“I was only trying to be considerate,” Edelgard muttered.

“Considerate? You really are just…”

She waited for him to finish, but the rest of the sentence didn’t come. In the dim light, she could just make out his figure, learning against the rails of the deck, when he turned away from her and faced out to sea.

His moods were so mercurial, she expected the awkward silence to stretch out longer and was already groping for something to say when he surprised her by sighing. “Sorry. You’re just a frustrating person.

“I’m frustrating?” Edelgard mentally kicked herself. “I mean—”

Claude snorted. “I suppose I deserved that one. Don’t worry, Princess, you’re not special. I’m an irritant to everyone.”

It should have been a joke, but his tone said it wasn’t. She faltered again.

“It’s just that you should be easy to explain,” he continued. “The ambitious emperor. Self-righteous at best, power-hungry liar at worst. Blinded by your goals.” He paused. “But you saved Shamir.”

Edelgard frowned. “And that makes me frustrating?”

“It makes you—”

He cut himself off abruptly. Again with the things he wasn’t saying. They were more important than anything he did say, yet his secrets constantly remained out of reach.

“Why did you do it?” he asked. “No offence to Shamir, but if you thought individual lives were worth more than your goals, you would’ve never started a war. So… why?”

“It’s not so strange, is it?” Edelgard spoke softly, a response to his almost pleading tone. “You must have people you would risk your life for as well.”

“I do, but…” His words were halting and deliberate. “But—aren’t your dreams—goals—more important? Don’t you need to live in order to see them through? Why take the chance that they’d go unfulfilled?”

Edelgard paused. In truth, she’d been confused by it herself for a while. She hadn’t consciously thought of much in the moment except how to best Catherine. But later…

Later, Shamir, Petra, Sylvain and Bernie had come to yell at her for being so reckless (Sylvain was shortly shouted down for hypocrisy). They’d said, ‘We can’t do this without you.’

It was only when she heard it aloud from her friends that she also heard the lie in it.

“I used to think that,” she murmured. “I put everything on the line for my ambitions—my country, my friendships, everything—because someone had to act, and it had to be soon, because—”

A little bit of truth.

“—because I couldn’t bear to watch it go on any more, and if nothing else, I’d go down fighting, showing people there was another way.”

Edelgard had thought—feared—it would end that way for the longest time. That she’d drag Hubert down with her. But the pain of failing would never have been as bad as the pain of turning her face away and having to ignore the suffering of thousands, all just to live in a pleasant and peaceful lie. The goddess protects all that is beautiful in this world.

If your prayers to her go unanswered—

Claude was alert and straight-backed now, giving her his full attention. Her words hung in the air, which now seemed more charged, filled with the expectation of something. “What changed?” he asked.

Guileless, bright eyes. A woman who seemed to embody the icy emperor Edelgard was trying to be. A woman who killed bandits without so much as a twitch, but whose eyes finally softened with satisfaction when she saw Edelgard and said, ‘Good. You’re unhurt.’ A woman who only grew stronger as she learned to smile, to laugh, even to cry, with the Black Eagles house.

Byleth…

“I found friends who had faith in me, with whom I could share my ambitions,” Edelgard finally said. “And who I could have faith in, in turn. If I died, they’d do it without me. Fódlan doesn’t need an Emperor—it needs all of us. If everyone is allowed to reach their full potential, there will be no need for a goddess. Or for me.”

She waited, but Claude didn’t seem to have a response to this. She bit her lip. It was so hard to talk to him, wondering if she was saying the right or wrong thing. But equally, she got nowhere by saying nothing.

“You’re frustrating, too,” she said. “It should be the duke, the lost heir, politicking to keep his heritage and his power intact, waiting to play peacemaker to the one who offers him the most advantageous terms. But you’ve never been like that, have you?”

His silence made her worry she’d said the wrong thing, but after a few moments, he replied, “No, I haven’t. I think you’ve guessed by now, but I have my own ambitions in Fódlan. I don’t want power for its own sake, but much like you, power is what I need to realise my dreams.”

She’d long suspected it, yes, but to have him admit it, to state it directly… Edelgard tried to keep her voice from shaking. It was almost hard to breathe with the potential in the air. She could feel it—I’m close. “You asked me, in Brigid, what I was offering you. I can’t offer you a dynasty. No child of my own blood will ever succeed me. I can’t give you the people’s love, because I doubt a warmonger like me will ultimately be remembered fondly. But—if what you seek is a better world—”

She opened her hand and extended it to him.

“—if you want the power to change Fódlan for the better, I can give it to you. If you want to right wrongs, I can help you. If you want someone who will fight for your dreams, even if you fail yourself, I will lend you all the strength I have. As Edelgard von Hresvelg, I swear it!”

As she spoke, her voice grew clearer and stronger, even to her own ears. Claude was drawn inexorably in by every word until there was only a single step between them. A gap in the clouds revealed enough moonlight to clearly see the white of her gloved hand.

His lips parted as thought he was about to say something, but no sound came out.

Edelgard didn’t dare say anything else, scarcely dared to breathe, for fear of breaking the spell. Claude’s arm was trembling as he raised it. His bare fingers ghosted the fabric of her gloves, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. He hesitated, pulled back a hair’s breadth, and her heart stopped—

Claude, I can’t offer you more than this.

The silence dragged on. Claude studied her hand like it would reveal secrets, then glanced away, his arm dropping. Edelgard’s heart sank with it.

But then he said: “You know, where I grew up, people always thought of me as an outsider… and outsiders couldn’t be trusted. To tell the truth, no matter where I go, I seem to always be that outsider.” His voice was clear, unwavering, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “So I decided on a goal… a dream. Something that might be impossible. To create a world… where the concept of an outsider ceased to exist… where people wouldn’t judge each other based on where they were born. Knowing that—would you still offer me your hand?”

Edelgard’s arm was starting to ache, but refused to buckle. Not now. He was so close she could imagine it, and it was the first time that picture hadn’t made her nervous and afraid. A world where people could be free of the prejudices of where they were born—no, she didn’t know if that was possible. She didn’t know if it was possible to build a world where the circumstances of your birth, your family, didn’t matter either. But it didn’t mean she wouldn’t keep trying.

“Claude… you won’t know if you don’t look at me.”

And he did. Their eyes met, and the only thing in Edelgard’s world was the disarming colour of his green eyes and the chilled fingers of her extended arm.

—Until he reached out and grabbed her hand. Hot lightning shot from her fingers through her whole body, and she automatically tightened her grip, until they were clasping hands like drowning men, like an oath.

“Alright.” Claude took a deep shuddering breath and let out a sigh that was almost a laugh. “Alright. I’m holding you to that. And for what it’s worth… I… I’ll help you make your Fódlan.”

Edelgard was so giddy, she didn’t know if she was in euphoria or in pain. “Our Fódlan.”

“Sure,” he whispered, but he sounded anything but sure. When she smiled, though, he copied her, and his handsome smile was all the more beautiful for the crinkles around his eyes and the honest hesitancy at its edges.

They still hadn’t released each others’ hands.

“Our Fódlan, then,” Claude said.

Chapter Text

They stood like that for a long moment, grasping for each other. A light breeze stirred Edelgard’s hair. The waves murmured against the side of the ship.

Claude let out a short bark of a laugh. “Maybe we should let go now?”

“Oh!” Edelgard’s face flushed and she hoped he couldn’t see it in the wan light. “Er, yes. Of course.”

Her forearm was cold where he’d been holding it. Claude itched at the place where she’d been holding his arm and she wondered if he’d had the same thought.

An awkward silence fell, full of shuffled feet and the rustle of cloth from fidgeting. It felt momentous—too momentous for Edelgard to find the right thing to say. She cleared her throat and Claude looked up at her expectantly, but the words she’d hoped would come under pressure did not appear, and she just said, “Well.”

“Well.” Claude’s lips twitched.

Edelgard huffed. “Well… you think of something to say, then!”

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Another pause followed. “…Touche, Princess.”

“I told you not to call me that,” she said, but it came out more amused than she intended it to.

“Oh, I suppose I promised not to, didn’t I?” It was Claude’s usual light-hearted tone, so usual that Edelgard was instantly suspicious of it, and even more so when he added, “I, well, sorry.”

It was one of the most awkward apologies Edelgard had ever heard, and she had been friends with Bernadetta for several years, so she had plenty of apologies to compare it to. With Claude’s downcast eyes and sheepish expression, it was hard not to appreciate it all the more. Something that was really Claude.

“…I suppose I don’t mind it, though, as long as it’s in private,” she said. The fact that he’d taken her hand meant she could say it for real. But that didn’t mean she’d let it go without reprisal. Edelgard cleared her throat and added significantly, “Lunar Hart.”

Claude squinted at her. “What?”

“…Hart? Like male deer?” He was still frowning and Edelgard sighed, disappointed. Clearly that’s not right either. “Never mind.”

“Wait. Was that—” Claude’s grin was so large he found it difficult to speak around it. “—your attempt at a nickname?”

The gleeful way in which he said ‘attempt’ made Edelgard pout, and then swiftly wipe the expression away, because she was still the Emperor, damn it all. “…No.”

She turned away with her chin held high, looking out over the railing instead. It was pitch black beyond the boat, so there was nothing to see, but it was the principle of the thing.

Claude leaned on the railing and slid along it until he was next to her. “If that was what you were doing, I was going to say: great wordplay. Very complex. I like that you were able to reference both my school house and my family’s symbol! A neat touch. If I was giving feedback, I’d say maybe a little too complex, though. Simplify a little.” He paused. “Of course, since that’s not what you’re doing, I’m sure that’s useless to you. Princess.”

Edelgard was very determined not to laugh. Not even to crack a smile. But a little too much humour stole into her voice when she said, “If I was, I might appreciate your compliments.”

“Alas, my pretty words are lost on one as serious and stoic as you.”

She smiled. It felt like an easy smile, for a change, no catches. A whole massive weight felt like it had come off her shoulders. An ally… a partner, perhaps. You were right, Byleth… as always. It was worth it to try.

There were still things to work out, but under the stars, it was easy to be hopeful. Wait…

“Claude,” Edelgard said, “did I tell you that I found those legends about the constellations in an old book of my father’s? I read the one you were talking about.”

“Really?” He perked up. “You didn’t bring it with you, did you?”

“No. I left it with Lysithea.”

“Predictable, but a shame.” He sighed. “I’ve been struggling through a book about Sreng that Sylvain lent me, but it’s awful, and not even in an interesting way to boot. I don’t understand what he could possibly get out of it.”

“Sylvain is cannier than he looks in many respects…”

*

Edelgard awoke late the next morning feeling rested, despite the late hour that she’d finally retreated to her bed. She and Claude hadn’t talked about anything in particular, made any real plans, but she was still unreasonably excited. She tried to temper her expectations a little—there was still nothing on paper, after all; Claude still might change his mind—but she couldn’t help feeling so hopeful.

When Byleth had turned to face Rhea in the Holy Tomb, had chosen to protect Edelgard, the heretic, the traitor, it had been so unexpected that she’d almost been unable to feel anything. Or she’d felt everything, too much at once, and it had been overwhelming. Her regret was how much of that she’d had to bottle away to focus on the battle ahead—that she hadn’t been able to show Byleth how much it meant to her, to have her there, at her side…

For too short a time. But even the thought of the missing Byleth couldn’t dampen Edelgard’s spirits today. If she could forge a real partnership with Claude, she knew her old professor would be proud of her when—when—she returned.

…When she returned Edelgard might be married.

Edelgard’s own footsteps coming to an abrupt stop on the deck startled her, and she frowned, mentally shaking herself and continuing. Claude might be at the—whatsit—the end of the ship, and she wanted to continue their discussion from the previous night. Maybe they could find time for a more serious talk of how their alliance would work, how to bring the rest of the Leicester nobles onside…

She’d offered her hand in marriage as the symbol of their alliance. She’d always known a political marriage was on the cards for her, and what worthier political marriage was there than this? Sometimes these things were necessary.

It wasn’t like Claude could be overjoyed at the prospect of a political marriage either. She didn’t know his preferences, but she was sure he’d prefer someone of his own choosing, someone he truly loved.

Of course, he could still have that. It was common for the Emperor of Adrestia to take lovers for pleasure as well as spouses and concubines for the purposes of having children with the Crest of Seiros, and whilst Edelgard would not be taking concubines for that purpose, she’d still never be the kind of hypocrite who denied her spouse the same benefits as the Emperor enjoyed… if… if Edelgard… did have someone to love, as well as a political partner. If anyone could agree to being ‘second best’, as her mother had done for her father.

It was pointless to think of this now. Edelgard resolved to put it out of her mind. It would just be a distraction from what must be done.

She finally spotted Claude at the end of the ship, wincing when she saw him sitting atop the railing. If she was startled, he might fall into the sea! And she was most certainly not going to dive in after him. Edelgard made sure her approach was obvious so that he wouldn’t be surprised by her, but she was surprised herself when he heard her coming and turned his face to offer her a warm smile.

There had been a small part of herself which worried the whole thing might have been some kind of wishful fever dream, but she hadn’t quite realised until it was suddenly silenced. She returned the smile.

“Did you sleep well?” Claude asked. “You look a lot better than you did last night.”

Edelgard’s smile turned into a frown. “Do you have to say it like that? I thought you claimed to have a way with words.”

“Only when I’m on my best behaviour.”

“That’s what your best behaviour is like?”

Claude laughed. Edelgard was pretty sure he was joking. “Regrets already, Princess?”

“No.”

He didn’t seem to have expected the honest response. His face contorted for a moment, like he wasn’t sure how he should arrange it. Finally, he settled for cheerful and said, “Glad to hear it. Let’s hope your resolve remains strong!”

False cheer, then. But there was still something about it that was true—or that she thought was true, anyway. ‘I hope you won’t have regrets.’

“Oh, you’re finally up. We didn’t notice you come on deck,” came Shamir’s voice suddenly. “I’ll have to tell Ladislava. She was sure you must be coming down with a fever or something.”

“I didn’t mean to worry her,” Edelgard said, a little guiltily. The first thing she had done each day for most of the trip, apart from curse the very concept of sea travel, was ask Ladislava to prepare her some tea for sea sickness.

Shamir made to say something in reply, but then caught herself a frowned, looking between them. “Am I interrupting something?”

Edelgard had no idea what she’d seen in their body language. “We were just talking.” But she couldn’t resist adding: “Claude agreed to the alliance!”

“What?” She blinked. “When?”

“Last night,” Edelgard said.

“Oh. I suppose that explains it.” Shamir nodded to Claude. “Glad to see you took my advice. Or did Princess Petra get to you as well?”

Edelgard didn’t know the context, but if Petra had had any hand in finally getting Claude to agree, she’d have to write her a letter of profuse thanks as soon as they landed back in Fódlan. Claude, however, was annoyingly vague when he replied, “Something like that.”

Shamir turned to Edelgard. “And how,” she said, “are you going to break the news to your uncle?”

She winced. Hubert had held Shamir in high esteem since their time at the Academy and because of that she’d always known more about Those Who Slither in the Dark than others. With him leaving for the Alliance, Hubert had decided to entrust her with the full details. So when Shamir asked that, she was really asking, ‘Are you prepared for what they will do to show their displeasure?’

“My uncle will just have to grin and bear it until the war is over,” Edelgard replied.

Shamir nodded, slow and steady. Edelgard could practically see the gears already turning in her head. It was true that Those Who Slither didn’t have the manpower to take the Church on alone—however furious they might be at Edelgard further sidelining them, they could not act too strongly against the Empire if they wished to see their old enemy defeated.

But… they would have time to gather their forces for what was to come after the war. And of course, Edelgard couldn’t just stand by and let them prepare without interference. Battles would be fought in the shadows as well as in the fields.

Shamir knew this as well as she did, and she would begin acting accordingly in Hubert’s absence.

Claude watched this exchange with narrowed eyes. “I take it your uncle isn’t pleased at the prospect of an alliance between us?”

“No,” Edelgard admitted. She couldn’t let Claude walk into this blind, but neither was it safe to tell him everything just yet. And to tell him all that Thales was capable of… would be revealing more of herself than she could stomach. “Lord Arundel… has his own forces in the Empire. Forces with spies throughout the continent, and access to powerful knowledge and artefacts.”

Claude nodded. “Lysithea talked about this a little. And let me guess, you needed his power to take on the Church? But if you make an alliance outside the Empire, you won’t need him any more. And he’ll know that just as well as you do.” He grimaced. “And you’d start a war inside your own Empire before you were finished with the Church.”

“My uncle is… just as committed to opposing the Church as I am, in his own way.” Edelgard suppressed a shudder. “For his own reasons.”

Claude frowned. “He’d prioritise the Church over maintaining his power in the Empire?”

She didn’t know why Thales and his people so despised the ‘Children of the Goddess’, despite the many years she’d been trapped with Thales as her only ‘family’. Explaining their reasons to one they considered a tool would be beneath them, and they had always been careful not to openly discuss much in front of her either. But as the day their vengeance would be complete loomed ever closer, they grew more excited, and more careless.

She knew the enmity was an ancient one, maybe even older than the Church’s founding. She knew they considered Sothis a curse. And she knew their bitterest hatred was reserved for Seiros herself. They would not be satisfied until she was dead, but Archbishop Rhea would never fall before her Church did. That was Edelgard’s window of opportunity to act.

“Yes,” Edelgard said firmly. It was the one thing she was sure of when it came to them. “His—and his allies’—hatred of the Church is extreme.” She paused. “But that doesn’t mean they would stand idly by and await the defeat of Archbishop Rhea, either.”

“It would come to blows after the war.” Shamir folded her arms over her chest. “Or at least the war with Arundel would move more into the open then.”

With both of them saying it, Claude seemed to accept it as true. He tilted his head to the side, considering. “And as long as you’re fighting the Church, he has more time to prepare to move against you.”

“Precisely.”

“Well, then—give him less time to prepare.” Claude smiled. “We just don’t tell him.”

Edelgard blinked. “What?”

Shamir made a small noise of understanding. “It’s not a bad idea. Claude isn’t supposed to return to the Alliance for—what, a few months yet?” She tried to calculate on her fingers and then gave up with a shrug. “However long it is, that’s time for us to investigate them further and root out more of their people. You two can work out your terms and your strategy to take the Church down quickly. Then we surprise Arundel with a treaty, and he will have to scramble to respond, while we are prepared for his counter-attacks.”

“And if luck is on our side, we prevent them building up an advantage before they act against us,” Edelgard concluded. She doubted they would be that lucky—Thales was already withdrawn and suspicious since she’d refused to accept any further ‘Crest Beasts’ into her own forces years ago. “And if not, we improve our odds. It’s a good idea, Claude—if you’re comfortable with it.”

Claude snorted. “I suggested it, didn’t I? I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t game.”

“I’ll let Ladislava know,” Shamir said. “But it would be a good idea to keep the secret contained. Less chance of someone saying something that could tip off Arundel—even unintentionally. Who else has to be told?”

“Ferdinand,” Edelgard said. He already gave so much assistance to the running of the Empire and her plans for the future; and if anyone was capable of drawing up a formal agreement for an alliance in secret, it was him. “And… Lysithea.”

“Are you sure?” Shamir frowned.

Claude looked at her as well, but with curiosity more than censure.

“Lysithea needs to know,” Edelgard insisted. Lysithea deserves to know. And I need to be able to talk to someone who truly understands what they’re capable of…

“If you say so. You are the Emperor.” Shamir nodded to herself. “Alright, that makes six, which is already more than ideal. It goes no further.” She glared at Claude. “Not even to any of your people in the Alliance. I’m sure you have your ways of getting news out, but—”

Claude held up his hands in surrender. “I get it, no need to look so scary. Too much risk of a letter being intercepted or a spy being caught, et cetera.”

“Glad we understand each other.” Shamir cracked her neck. “The crew are a risk as well. I know the captain has no love of the Church and even less for the Kingdom, but he holds the Empire in no particular favour, either, even if his sister has a contract with Sylvain. Be sure not to be overheard.” She paused. “Is there a chance you were overheard already? Last night?”

Edelgard had no idea, but Claude shook his head.

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me,” Claude said darkly. “I know when I’m being watched.”

Edelgard and Shamir shared a look. One day, Edelgard would have to ask Claude about what his life was like before he came to Fódlan.

…One day.

Shamir drifted away. Edelgard frowned to herself. She wasn’t sure what to feel. The need for secrecy did put a damper on her instinct to celebrate.

…But maybe we’ll need code words. It could be exciting…

“A secret meeting place…”

“What’s that?”

Edelgard twitched. She’d almost forgotten he was there. “Oh. Well, I was just thinking that we would need a place to meet in secret! So we can have honest discussions without being overheard.”

“Ah, of course!” he said. “And why not code words as well?”

Edelgard brightened. “I did think of those!”

“Code words are a bad idea,” Claude said. She deflated. “Someone could overhear. Code knocks. That’s what we need. Maybe a few different ones.”

“So nobody will suspect a pattern!” She grinned. “The palace in Enbarr has any number of small, forgotten rooms… places made for private meetings centuries ago… I’m sure I can think of a good one…”

“Is this going to be just for us, or are the others invited?”

Belatedly, Edelgard remembered which kinds of private meetings most such hidden rooms in Enbarr had been constructed for and hastily added, “Well, as and when they feel like it, yes.”

“Even Lysithea?” Claude frowned. “Is she going to be able to get there?”

“…Lysithea’s room is another safe place,” Edelgard assured him. “I’ve made sure of it.”

“Hm. Because Arundel is the one who started the issues with her Crest, right?”

Edelgard’s mouth dropped open and her heart skipped a beat. Crest, he said Crest, singular, didn’t he? He doesn’t know about… “Did she tell you that?”

“She told me Arundel and his people were responsible for her condition,” Claude said. “And I worked out the rest.”

Of course he did… when Lysithea had said she tried to warn Claude about Arundel by mentioning her ‘illness’, Edelgard had had reservations… but ultimately, that was Lysithea’s secret to tell. “How? What made you think of her Crest?”

She said one, to see if Claude would contradict her, and she was relieved when he didn’t. “You did.”

She frowned, trying to remember if she’d said anything, done anything…

“When you told someone to fetch Hanneman, that time Lysithea fell sick,” he explained. “I thought it was odd.”

“Lysithea is Hanneman’s apprentice,” she protested—weakly, because that hadn’t at all been her thoughts at the time. “In lieu of her parents, he’s the one responsible for her.”

“Yes, and I would have assumed that was it—” Claude’s emerald eyes sparkled as he continued. He really did love a good puzzle, didn’t he? And Edelgard had unintentionally presented him with a fine one. “—if it wasn’t for the archives.”

“The—what?” She’d thought she was following his train of logic.

“In the Archives, all the earliest things they looked at had to do with Crests.” He smiled, softly. “The first thing you did when you had the Church’s hidden knowledge in your hands was have it combed for something that might help Lysithea. You really do care about her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” Edelgard sighed. If only that meant there was more she could do for her. “I won’t say that you’re wrong, but this is Lysithea’s personal story to tell. I can’t say anything else.”

And if Lysithea decided to tell Claude the whole truth… that was up to her.

*

Claude was at war with several different parts of himself. There was a part of him which wanted to run away altogether, lurking in the itch between his shoulder blades that alerted him to danger. Another part, caught up in Edelgard’s excitement, wanted to throw himself at her and just tell her everything.

He did not listen to either of those parts, but sometimes it was hard-going. Whatever part of the day Edelgard hadn’t spent leaning over the railings, she’d spent talking to him. But because they were trying not to let the crew overhear anything important, there was little of substance they could discuss… so it had all been somewhat random, and frivolous.

At least, he thought, Edelgard’s seasickness would probably excuse her change in behaviour. He thought she looked pale normally, but he’d drastically underestimated how unhealthy her pallor could become. It would’ve been impossible not to feel sorry for her, even if they weren’t… allies.

Allies. The word was still strange to him. But he had to believe in what he’d witnessed, believe in what Petra had said… believe things could be better.

“Claude?”

“What?” Edelgard was looking at him expectantly. “Uh, sorry, I was lost in thought.”

She frowned, studying his face intently. Her furrowed brows and pouted lips looked kind of adorable when she did that, but he was saving that comment for when Edelgard was well enough to appreciate it. “You look a little haggard. Are you tired or unwell?” She held up a hand. “Do not say anything. I feel frightful and I’m sure I look frightful too. I’m asking about you.”

She seemed to be catching onto his slippery ways. “I just…” Claude hesitated, and ended up saying. “I might just go for a walk around the deck for a while. Stretch my legs.”

“I could come with—” Edelgard abruptly buried her face in her hands and leaned over the railing. “No I can’t. I’ll never skip Ladislava’s tea again… I’ll never sail again…”

Claude winced in sympathy as he stepped away. He remembered being seasick on the short sea journey he’d taken as a child—seasickness and not much else, because he’d spent the whole journey being miserable.

He wished he could fly. He felt restless, with an itch beneath his skin that wouldn’t go away. He could try reading, but the Sreng book wasn’t exactly the kind of thing that calmed the nerves…

Claude was distracted enough that he nearly walked into Captain Murchad. “Oh, oops, sorry. Lost in my own head.”

“At least you can admit it, lordling.” Murchad sniffed. “But that reminds me. Sylvain told me you borrowed something of his… that book. I’m supposed to tell you to leave it on board.”

Claude rolled his eyes. “Believe me, he’s welcome to it. I don’t understand how someone could write such nonsense.”

“It was written by a man of Faerghus.” Murchad shrugged. “That should tell you all you need to know… Someone like that will never make the effort to understand my people.”

“Except Sylvain?”

He snorted at that. “Except Sylvain… perhaps. I admit, I was sceptical when my sister told me about him, but he’s exceeded my expectations. We’ll see if he can keep it up.”

“There was something important in the book that intrigued me, if you don’t mind me asking about it,” Claude said. “It mentioned that supposedly the people of Sreng regard Sothis as a devil?”

“Of course they’d say that.” Murchad tutted. “No. We acknowledge the existence of the one you call a goddess—but we don’t worship her or regard her as more holy than other spirits. Or less, mind you; if anything, she’s one of the favoured spirits in Sreng. But we don’t worship her as a lone god, and that alone was enough for your Church to be incensed by our beliefs.”

Claude sighed. That was one of the parts of the Church that he’d thought was the biggest problem in Fódlan—tenets which held belief in the goddess above all else, and encouraged distrust of outsiders if they failed to acknowledge it… which of course they would, because different parts of the world all had their own beliefs. Even within Almyra, there were different spiritual beliefs, even aside from his mother’s continued prayers to the goddess.

If Rhea was really as old as Edelgard thought, if she was behind the Church as Edelgard thought, it seemed all the stranger, like she’d written those tenets specifically to antagonise the outside world.

“I can’t say I’m surprised, though,” Murchad continued. “After all, your church stole King Nemesis to be their fallen hero, but still pretends that we’re beneath them.”

“Wait, what?” Claude stared at his stoic expression, but no ‘just kidding’ was forthcoming. “Nemesis was originally from Sreng?”

“Not ‘originally from’,” Murchad snapped. “He never stopped being Sreng. He was king of our people as well as much of Fódlan when he was corrupted by evil spirits and Sothis’s blessing helped to put him down. That is why we have some regard for your Sothis. The corruption would have driven Nemesis to destroy his own people. He’d already slaughtered his enemies down to the last child.” He paused. “Well, that is what the stories say, anyway. In reality, he probably wasn’t much different to any other king. But he was our king, much as your people try to write us out of his history. As if Faerghus stealing our land wasn’t bad enough…”

Claude had no idea whether Nemesis being King of Sreng was true or not. He’d never heard of it, but he wouldn’t have, would he, if the Church hadn’t included that in the history books? I’ll bet Edelgard would be interested to hear about this… if she doesn’t already know.

Whether it was true or not, it seemed impolitic to grill Murchad on the issue then and there. “That’s very interesting. I had no idea. You mentioned spirits. Is that what—who—your people worship in Sreng?”

Murchad shook his head, then frowned. “Well, a few still do, I suppose. But no, most of us are followers of Zoltan’s teachings. The land used to be full of spirits, but only a few survive now. Some of us still pay our respects to the departed spirits, like Sothis.” He eyed Claude for a moment, maybe to see if he would react to calling Sothis ‘dead’, but when he didn’t, Murchad added, “Zoltan was a soldier with your Saint Seiros, but he came north to Sreng afterwards. In your language, you would probably call it a ‘philosophy’ rather than a religion.”

Claude cast back through lectures at Garreg Mach, but honestly, he hadn’t really being paying attention through most of those. “Zoltan… I haven’t heard that name.”

Murchad laughed, and clapped Claude on the shoulder. “If you don’t even understand your own religion, I don’t know how you think you’re going to understand mine, lordling!” Despite his words, it seemed mostly good-natured, and he was smiling when he shook his head. “Ah, well, you’re still young. There’s time.” He started to walk away, calling to one of the crew in Sreng before adding to Claude, “Don’t forget what I said about that book, alright? I don’t know what the lad sees in it, but I’m not going to give him an excuse to complain to my sister about me. She finds enough to criticise already!”

That was Claude’s first excuse gone. Which was awkward, because he had no desire to keep the book, and if he forgot to leave it on the ship, it would be because he genuinely forgot.

“Thanks for the chat,” he remembered to say. Murchad raised a hand in farewell.

If you don’t even understand your own religion, I don’t know how you think you’re going to understand mine.

It seemed like there was more to the Church and its history with the outside world than Claude had realised. Which he supposed made sense—Almyra had had dealings with the Church of Seiros in centuries past; cults of worship to the foreign goddess, sometimes rebelling against their ‘heathen’ rulers… and Claude wasn’t the first person in Almyra born with a Crest, even if he was the first in the royal family with such a Crest, or with an acknowledged mother from Fódlan. That Sreng saw the land in northern Faerghus as stolen from them he’d known, but that they saw the Church of Seiros of trying to ‘steal’ their own past in a sense as well… It was no wonder the conflict between them and Faerghus had persisted for centuries, and even if the Church fell, that kind of ignorance from Fódlaners about the source of Sreng’s anger wouldn’t go away without some effort.

It was, he thought, a good sign that he should do some more research. What other nuances was he missing?

…But before he dived into the library, perhaps he should try asking Edelgard.

Chapter Text

Hilda was almost at the point of praying daily for Claude to suddenly be thrown back over the bridge of Myrddin in disgust. Yes, yes, important info and potentially averting wars and all of that, but also, Hilda’s poor heart was at the point of giving out and could the world please consider her stress levels for just a few moments?

She’d been having Claude’s spies subtly scope out the city, but they could find no trace of Hubert having haunted anywhere important. Even after she went for considerably less subtlety, going so far as to have the spies ready and waiting in key areas and making herself be ‘called away urgently’, Hubert didn’t show up anywhere; he wasn’t stockpiling black powder under the palace, or stealing from the treasury or assassinating key financial and political figures (although if he took care of Lord Genova she’d be more inclined to thank him than anything else, that man was a pain who thought his dense accounting would stop anyone from realising he was skimming off the top… Ignatz was halfway through decoding Genova’s books and didn’t even realise what Hilda had put him to work on, bless him).

It was as though Hubert von Vestra, spymaster from a family of spymasters, was not doing anything suspicious at all, and it was not good for Hilda’s peace of mind. She was now past the point of fear and well into the hallowed halls of exasperation.

Spending so much time trying to understand Hubert was also clearly having a negative impact on her character. ‘Hallowed halls’—who even said things like that? People who enjoyed having a sinister reputation far too much, if you asked her.

Also, people who enjoyed looming over perfectly innocent, if vertically challenged, young women just trying to admire a piece of jewellery by holding it up to the sun.

Hilda tilted her head back into Hubert’s shadow and glared up at him. “Excuse me? May I have some of that light back, Your Tallness?”

“It seems perfectly sunny to me,” he said, with feigned surprise.

“Hubert, really—” Dorothea cut herself off with a sigh.

Hilda would take allies where she could get them, even if she suspected it was only because Dorothea, as an intuitive lady, could sense how close Hilda was to kicking Hubert in the shin like a child.

Hubert raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Hilda was becoming more and more aware of just how little she was above kicking him in the shins. Children really had the right idea sometimes. Luckily for the annoying Hubert, he stepped out of the way and so his shins were safe. For now.

She shook her head and returned to studying the necklace at Tiffany’s stall. She gushed over it, of course, because she was still trying to get Tiffany to agree to join her artisan academy, but she couldn’t help but feeling that whilst the craftsmanship was beautiful, some of the creative choices were… not as impressive. The glass beads were beautiful, a pale pink and blue which complemented each other perfectly. Only they’d been formed into angular shapes which didn’t suit the pearl drop at the centre.

But the work was really lovely! Tiffany had the right idea and plenty of talent! She just needed a little bit of polish to truly shine. Hilda wasn’t exactly going to win the favour of the guild masters with her plan, so recruiting someone already at the top of their field was out of the question… not that she would really want them, anyway. Stuffy old guys obsessed with ‘tradition’. They’d never make anything exciting and new…

“I’ll take it!” Hilda said firmly, despite the flaws in the design. The colour of the blue beads reminded her of Marianne and it had been a while since she’d written to her. Hilda knew she’d appreciate it as a gift even though it wasn’t perfect. Marianne was really kind like that.

Dorothea suddenly called, “Hubert, what are you doing?”

Well, that was a really pleasant two minutes of my life while it lasted. Hilda sighed and dropped some coins onto Tiffany’s stall. Tiffany didn’t even stutter and try to insistently give Hilda correct change any more. She was definitely winning that girl over!

Hubert was talking to a young girl with dark skin and hair further down the street. This wasn’t the most worrying thing Hubert had done even just this morning, but when Dorothea pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, saying, “People are going to think he’s trying to kidnap her!” Hilda found it hard to disagree.

She traipsed over and put on her most grating sing-song voice. “Huuubert, come on now, when I said to give me some space I didn’t mean for you to go hassling young girls.”

“He’s not hassling anyone!” the girl protested. “He hired my master. I know him.”

“And who—” Hilda started to say, but she glanced at the girl to address her and found herself choking on the words instead.

Someone had cut her with a sword, making an angry line run from her temple and across the girl’s face, into her left cheek, barely missing an eye. It was not a neat slice, either; at the thinnest, it was still the width of Hilda’s thumb, and parts of it had obviously festered, making the scar wider and leaving ugly, black, raised and lumpy scabs. Part of the tip of her nose was missing and there was a sunken area where the scar ended in her cheek.

Hilda had seen scars before on her brother, even bad ones, but she couldn’t help staring in dismay.

The girl ducked her head and looked away. She barely came up to Hilda’s chest, and since meeting Hubert, Hilda had become increasingly aware that she was not tall. She’s just a child. How did she get a scar like that?

Hubert cleared his throat. “This is Marro’s apprentice, Una.”

Oh, that Duscur man Hubert had asked to make something for some reason, possibly purely to irritate Hilda by not choosing one of Derdriu’s native master craftsmen. The girl—Una—was probably from Duscur too, then. But… then…

Then she must’ve gotten the scars in the Punishment of Duscur.

Hilda hadn’t really thought very much about the Punishment of Duscur since it happened—excessive to the point of cruelty, she said to herself then, just like the Almyrans. Her brother would never let a mission get out of hand like that. She’d mostly just forgotten about it until seeing Dedue at the Academy, and then that guy Marro in Derdriu…

She’d never really thought about it. Thought that someone had—would! could!—stand over a child and swing a sword at them… try to kill them. A child. How could anyone…

There was a gentle nudge in her side. Dorothea. Hilda had forgotten she was there. Actually, Hilda had forgotten everything, hadn’t see? She’d just been staring like an idiot, and an idiot with no class at that.

She pasted the prettiest smile on her face that she could manage at the same time as gritting her teeth. “It’s nice to meet you! I was just so surprised to see anyone voluntarily talk to Hubert. I’m Hilda Valentine Goneril.”

“I know that,” Una said, mulish. “Hubert knows dark magic. I like him.”

She was still keeping her head bowed and turned away. Hilda winced. Of course a young girl would feel self-conscious about her nasty scar, wouldn’t she? And Hilda had just gone and reminded her about how awful it all looked. “Marquis Vestra is known for his dark magic,” she replied, remaining equally cheerful.

Una glanced through her hair to glare at Hilda, still suspicious. She was obviously well-practised at it, because it revealed very little of her scar. Hilda’s heart ached for her. How long had she gone through life, hiding her face?

“More properly,” Hubert said carefully, “you should call her Lady Goneril.”

“Lady Goneril,” Una repeated promptly, her voice becoming sweet and light. “Right. I’m sorry.”

Since Hubert hadn’t corrected the girl using his first name, that was probably a thing just for Hilda. Did he really think she was going to get a scarred little girl in trouble because she forgot to use proper titles? Honestly. “Oh, don’t worry about it. You can’t be expected to know all these proper titles and things.” Her eyes cut to Hubert. “Unlike some people.”

“…And I’m Dorothea Arnault!” Dorothea announced, after Hilda’s comment was followed by an awkward pause.

Una gasped. “Like from Mittelfrank?” She turned to Hubert with a betrayed expression. “You didn’t tell me you knew Dorothea from Mittelfrank!”

“You didn’t ask,” Hubert said, bemused.

“You’ve heard me sing?” Dorothea asked. It did seem kind of unlikely.

Una shook her head. “Not me, but my dad had to go to Enbarr once, and he said he snuck in backstage to listen to you. He told me you had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard!” She sighed, wistfully. “He said he’d take me, one day…”

This time, Hilda wasn’t the only one who winced.

Dorothea recovered first. “Well, perhaps I can sing for you soon!”

“I thought you left Mittelfrank?” Una stared at her with wide, eager eyes.

You wouldn’t believe it from the number of soirees and parties she keeps getting called to sing at…

“I stopped being an opera singer,” Dorothea said, and then winked, tapping Una on the nose and making her scowl. “That doesn’t mean I can’t sing for fun… or to make people happy.”

“Wow,” Una whispered. “Would you really?” When Dorothea nodded, she beamed. It twisted her scar in ugly ways and made her sunken cheek even more obvious. “I’ll tell Marro! I bet even a stick in the mud like him would like your singing. And Grandmother, of course.”

She said it quickly, and then looked fearful, as though she expected to be contradicted, but Dorothea only laughed and said, “That sounds like wonderful company.”

“And you’ve sang for much worse men than Marro,” Hubert added darkly.

Dorothea managed to pull a face without dropping her smile. Incredible. Hilda was just truly in awe of her sometimes.

“Maybe you should do that another time, though,” Hilda said, trying her best to be gentle. “It’s not safe for a girl to be out on her own in the city. Why don’t you run home?”

“I’m on an errand,” Una replied, sniffing. She was still doing her best not to show her whole face to Hilda, but her eyes widened and she froze suddenly. “…I am on an errand for Marro. Oh no.”

Hubert clicked his tongue. “Focus, focus. Go on, your master will be waiting for you.”

Hilda thought it was kind of mean of him. She wasn’t his apprentice, so what business was it of Hubert’s? But Una just bobbed her head and dashed away, although he paused to look back and add, “Please can you bring Lady Dorothea next time you visit?”

Hubert didn’t even have a chance to reply before she was off. Hilda knew she was just a Duscur girl in a hurry and she probably didn’t know better, but being snubbed in favour of Dorothea was so rude! She called Dorothea ‘Lady’ whilst forgetting Hilda’s title! Dorothea was about three hundred times more lady than most actual noble ladies, so Hilda could hardly begrudge her, but still… Hilda thought she was pretty nice too. Lots of people liked meeting Hilda, even. She worked very hard to get that outcome!

She sighed and went back to shopping, although her heart wasn’t in it any more. It wasn’t really the girl’s fault, she supposed. And Hilda didn’t make a great first impression with the staring… although she struggled to see how Hubert of all people could have done better. Dorothea didn’t count as a comparison because she was too good, but by the goddess, if Hilda couldn’t be more personable than Hubert von Vestra, then she might as well retire to a convent with a vow of silence.

…She didn’t realise that they’d been hurting Duscur children. Or… or Hilda hadn’t heard of that, anyway. Just that… they killed so many people… most of Duscur.

If she thought about it, that would have to include kids, wouldn’t it? If most of Duscur was dead… killed, more accurately. Murdered. Someone tried to murder Una. A child. How small must she have been, then, if she was still so tiny now? Yet someone still looked at her and…

Despite the warm sunshine, Hilda shuddered.

*

She called the shopping trip off early, all taste even for winding up Hubert gone. Hilda felt bad for it, but she claimed a headache and left Ignatz to deal with Hubert, retreating to her rooms. She sat at her desk, meaning to write that letter to Marianne with which to enclose the necklace, but she stared at a blank sheet for an hour without doing anything. Then she had to admit that she was out of ideas.

Hilda just couldn’t get the thought of that girl out of her head. What was she, like twelve? Thirteen at most? She certainly had the attitude Hilda had had at that age. The massacre in Duscur… how long ago was that now… ten years? Una would practically have been a baby. How could anyone do such a thing?

She’d always thought the Almyrans were cruel and heartless for abandoning their people on the Fódlan side of the border when they called the retreat. It was cowardly to leave your men behind, and some of them, like Cyril, weren’t even men. Her brother would never stand for such a thing. House Goneril taking in those abandoned men and trying to teach them how to live in Fódlan was the best they could do.

But at least the Almyrans just abandoned kids like Cyril. They didn’t slaughter them… even the Almyrans thought that was beneath them. But the knights of Faerghus, who spoke the same language and worshipped the same Goddess as Hilda, the all-loving, merciful Goddess, had taken up their swords against children.

Hilda didn’t care if the Duscurans had killed King Lambert. Children had no part in that. They should be protected.

She buried her face in her hands. It wasn’t like there was anything that she could do about it, so she didn’t know why it bothered her so much. What happened in Duscur hadn’t been her fault, she couldn’t have stopped it, she…

Una was just a little girl.

It felt like excuses. Hilda felt a real headache forming by her right temple. Ugh, all this stress. I’m going to start getting grey hairs and my complexion cannot handle that.

There was a knock at her door and she blinked when Ignatz’s hesitant voice came through. “Uh, Hilda? Are you awake?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry, I know you’re not feeling well, but Hubert…”

Hilda sighed. “He left again?”

“S-Sorry,” Ignatz repeated. She could practically hear his shamed expression through the door. “I always let this happen.”

“It’s fine.” Hilda massaged her head and stood up slowly from her desk. The letter to Marianne would have to wait. “Whatever he’s up to, it’s beyond me at this point. You’re not a spymaster. I’m not a spymaster. We may as well not bother.”

Ignatz didn’t reply, but when she opened the door, he was frowning. He studied her and even put a hand to her forehead as though to check for fever, but he drew it away with a yelp when she blinked at him. “Sorry! I just—” He hesitated but continued with, “Are you sure you’re okay, Hilda? You don’t seem yourself. I can look for Hubert if you need to rest.”

“You should rest yourself. I know you’re supposed to take Dorothea to yet another thing tonight.” Goddess, Hilda considered herself a social butterfly, but Dorothea’s schedule made even her exhausted just to think of it. “Besides,” she said, “I think I might know where he’s gone this time.”

“Oh, um, there was one other thing I should mention…” Ignatz scratched his cheek. “For some reason, it… looks like Hubert took a book from the library with him?”

*

It was late afternoon by the time Hilda found herself standing in front of Marro’s workshop. She hadn’t visited it before, but it wasn’t difficult to find if you knew Derdriu. Of course an outsider wouldn’t be able to get a prime workshop situation; the guilds controlled that, and they’d never let someone from outside Derdriu set up there, but Marro had gotten himself pretty close.

According to the glassmakers’ guild, ten years residence in Derdriu could be enough to consider you a man of the city. (Hilda had taken issue with this wording before, but she was biding her time.) Would they permit Marro entry in a few years, when he’d probably meet that requirement? Maybe not, Hilda reluctantly concluded.

Well, maybe that was right! Marro wasn’t a Fódlaner. Would ten years be enough to understand the customs of their city? Duscur must have been so different, after all…

The thought didn’t ring true, though. Marro had understood enough about the city to pick a decent spot, not close enough to the glassmaking district to incite the guild’s wrath, but close enough to be able to set up a stall in a place where he’d get decent business—and where he could purchase supplies without increasing their price from having to move them through the city’s canal network.

The door to the workshop was open, probably to let in fresh air, but Hilda chose to interpret it as an invitation and walked straight in.

Marro saw her as soon as she entered, but his only reaction was to give her a sceptical look. Ugh, if this was where Una was apprenticed, no wonder her manners were lacking. “I’m sure I’m very welcome,” Hilda said tartly. Then she sighed. It wasn’t really the point, anyway. “Is Marquis Vestra hiding here? We’ve misplaced him. Again.”

That did get Marro to quirk his mouth, but he didn’t reply.

“I’m not hiding,” Hubert’s voice said from directly behind her.

It took all of Hilda’s willpower not to twitch. When she turned around, she caught a glimpse of Hubert smothering a frown and felt a little better. “If you run off without telling anyone where you’re going, that looks a lot like hiding,” she drawled. He didn’t react, and she had to let out a sharp breath to stop herself screaming in frustration suddenly. She needed a leisure day. Or maybe early retirement. “Anyway. Can we have our book back?”

“You stole it?” shrieked the girl—Una.

“Borrowed it,” Hubert corrected. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I told you I would have to take it back with me.”

“Borrowing without permission is just stealing and lying at the same time,” Unda said loftily. She regarded Hilda out of the corner of her eye, her face turned slightly away so her hair fell in front of her face. “You can have it back, anyway,” she added, moving an arm from behind her back and offering a book to Hilda. “It doesn’t have what I wanted in it.”

Hilda took the book gently, trying to avoid looking at Una’s face directly without seeming like she was doing so. She didn’t want to make the poor girl self-conscious, but she wasn’t sure if she could not react to her face. She opened the cover of the book instead.

To her astonishment, it was a book about Faerghus. Hilda flicker through the pages of dense text with a frowned. It wasn’t an old book, yet it was old enough that Duscur wasn’t listed amongst the territories of Faerghus. There was something sad about that.

She wondered what Una had wanted with it. “Is it because it didn’t have enough pictures? Maps? I can find something for you myself if you want.”

“I can read,” Una said, scathing. “I don’t need pictures.”

Hilda hadn’t been sure if she was able to read. A lot of commoners weren’t able… perhaps Marro taught her. “I just meant it might be a bit advanced for you.”

Una folded her arms. “I’m not stupid either,” she muttered. “I told you. It just didn’t have what I wanted to know.”

“What do you want, then?” Hilda asked. “Maybe I can get it for you and then no one would have to borrow without permission from the library where they’re supposed to be a guest.” The last part she addressed pointedly to Hubert, but he ignored her.

Marro seemed, somehow, even less impressed with Hubert than Hilda was. “This is the influence you choose to have on my apprentice? To steal from the nobles of Derdriu? If she was caught—”

“Any blame would be on my head,” Hubert retorted, at the same time as Hilda scowled and said, “By the Goddess, I’m not some barbarian, I’m not going to have a child punished over a stupid book—”

“Arianrhod.” Una’s loud voice silenced the brewing argument as they all turned to stare at her. Quieter, she cast her eyes downwards. “I wanted to know about Arianrhod.”

“The history of Arianrhod is in the book,” Hubert pointed out.

“Not the history! I mean what it looks like! Any weak spots—” Her eyes went wide and she shut her jaw with an audible clack.

An awkward silence fell. Hilda had no idea what the problem was, and anyone who might didn’t seem to want to speak up.

“Una, why did you want to know about Arianrhod?” When she didn’t answer, Marro went to one knee to better look her in the eye. His voice softened. “Una?”

She wouldn’t look Marro in the face. Her eyes darted between Hubert and Hilda, and then settled on her feet. “I… I thought if I could come up with a plan to get in, it would help the Empire a lot, and maybe the Emperor would be grateful enough to give Duscur back to us—”

Hilda wondered how a girl thought she might be able to come up with a plan to get into Arianrhod where the Empire’s best minds have failed, but by the way Marro grimaced, it looked like he might know.

“Does this,” he said, sparing a sharp look for Hubert, “have anything to do with the magic ‘glass mines’ I overheard you talking about the other day?”

Both Hubert and Una attempted to look innocent. It didn’t work very well.

Marro sighed. “We have talked about this, Una. You can do well here. I promised your mother and father I’d look after you if anything ever happened to them—”

“It’s just because you’re a coward!” Una blurted. Marro jerked away like she’d slapped him. She seemed surprised by her own outburst, but the voice gained strength and volume as she continued. “You just ran away! There are people in Faerghus fighting for our home and you’re here making your stupid glass vases for people who won’t recognise you and you could be helping! I’ve seen your magic! You could fight Faerghus—”

“And die,” Marro snapped back, climbing to his feet. “Is that what you want? For every last bit of Duscur to be destroyed in a hopeless fight? For me to make an offering to your parents every night explaining why I couldn’t even keep their last daughter safe?”

Last daughter? A feeling of dread rose in Hilda’s throat. Did Una have siblings once? More children in Duscur who were killed—

Hilda exchanged a look with Hubert, a tightness in his jaw. For once, they seemed to be on the same wavelength, uncomfortable and awkward. She didn’t think they were meant to be hearing this, but she felt trapped and rooted to the spot.

“It would be better to die fighting than to keep living like a coward and not even try.” Una snarled, pulling on her scar. “Stop treating me like a stupid child! I remember too, okay? I remember when the fire consumed the whole village and they waited with sword to kill everyone who tried to escape. I remember they ripped my baby sister from my arms and threw her back into the flames, laughing—”

Hilda forgot how to breath. Her hands were clenched so tightly she could feel the bones of her fingers creaking. A baby. A baby! I don’t… I don’t understand how—

“—I remember—” Una jabbed a thumb at her own ruined face. “—the man who did this to me. I remember him every night. How can you live with yourself if you just let them get away with it?!”

“They already have, Una.” Marro was quiet now, tired. His white hair and sad eyes make him look twice his age. “There won’t be a punishment for them. We’re on our own, and we have to survive, or who will remember all those who died for nothing?”

“The Empire are fighting!” Una threw her arm out towards Hubert, who seemed alarmed to be included. “We could join them! We could help!”

“The Empire doesn’t care about Duscur,” Marro said. “They will put in a new Fódlaner lord and nothing will change. Except more of us will be dead.”

“Nothing will change,” Una repeated, her voice shaking. She spat at Marro’s feet and he winced. “Nothing will ever change if you’ve already decided to give up!” Her eyes were blazing, but a tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away. Hilda realised with numb shock that she was crying, too, and she tried to wipe them away without drawing attention to herself. “And if Duscur can’t ever be restored, I’ll settle for ending the evil of Faerghus. Let no one else’s people be put to the sword like dogs and their ashes scattered to the winds with no memorial.”

Marro’s expression was pained—painful to look at; he was in agony. “Una…”

“I’ll die for that even if you won’t!” Una cut him off with a shout, but her voice broke halfway through, and then, trembling, a choked sob escaped her throat. She fled from the workshop at a run, slamming the door behind her.

She left silence in her wake. Marro rubbed his face and Hilda glimpsed tears in his own eyes before he hid them behind his hands. Hilda remembered him looking tall and intimidating last time they met, but something about him reminded her of Professor Manuela. She was always so graceful and kind, but sometimes—sometimes there was this distant and sad look in her eyes, like she was staring down all of her mistakes at once.

She didn’t—

She felt stupid.

Stupid, stupid. How could she not realise, how could she not know… she knew about Duscur, she heard about it, but she didn’t think…

She didn’t think about the people who’d had their families killed and their villages destroyed and had to live with that. Until a girl practically shoved it into her face. Why shouldn’t Una be angry? Why shouldn’t Marro be frightened?

I’m so stupid.

Hubert cleared his throat, which might have been one of the bravest things Hilda had ever witnessed, because she would not have dared to draw attention to herself right then. “My apologies. I regret that this got out of hand.”

I regret? What kind of stupid thing to say was that? Hilda was embarrassed to be even standing near him. After hearing everything, just—I regret?

I regret not thinking about this sooner—

When Marro looked up from his hands with an expression caught between anger and frustration, Hilda just snapped. She jabbed Hubert in the side and pointed at the door. “Just. Just go. Go after Una. Make sure she gets home safe or whatever.”

Hubert’s expression shifted in the direction of murderous.

“She’s upset, and she’s not thinking straight.” And for some reason she seems to have taken a shine to Mister Sinister, so maybe that will help her to calm down. “Hubert, go on.”

His expression turned towards begrudging tolerance, so at least he was capable of seeing sense. Hubert still spared her one foul look, just to remind her that he didn’t take orders from her and he was only doing this because he agreed and blah blah, ego, and then he swept from the room with a swish of his cloak.

Hilda hadn’t thought far enough ahead for the next step, which was that she was left alone with Marro himself, and now she had to think of something to say, even if it was only a polite way to leave. If there was such a thing as a polite way.

Marro sighed deeply before she could think of anything to say. “I should have expected this… we’ve had this discussion before, but now that she’s actually met someone from the Empire—someone fighting the Kingdom… and then he told her about this ‘glass magic mine’ idea… No wonder she’s angry with me.”

He looked so despairing. “She’s wrong, though,” Hilda said softly. “It’s not cowardly to want to keep your loved ones safe.”

“I wonder if my people in Faerghus would say the same thing.” He snorted. “Perhaps it is pointless either way. The more we fight, the more people we lose, the more of our culture and art is lost. But if we don’t fight and reclaim our home, more will be lost over generations anyway.” Marro rubbed his face in his hands. “Either way, I betray my ancestors. But this way gives me a better chance of fulfilling my promise to Una’s parents.”

“Betray… your ancestors?” Hilda asked. “How?”

“Supposedly,” Marro said, “one of my ancestors fought at the side of Loog, and learned dark magic from his allies. She brought death to all her foes on the battlefield, but grew tired of bloodshed. She hoped when the war was over, there would be more peace, but all Loog would offer her was a place with him as his general. Instead, she returned to Duscur, determined to find some way to use her magic that was not for battle. And so my family’s glassmaking technique was born.”

“A Duscuran who fought with Loog…” Hilda was about to add that she’d never heard of such a thing, but come to think of it, maybe there was a reason it wasn’t in Faerghus’s legends. “But… she must have had her reasons for fighting with Loog in the first place, right?”

Marro didn’t respond.

Hilda swallowed. “Well… if you did want to fight, or make the mine thingy or whatever, I’m sure she’d understand. But if you still don’t… well… I think that’s okay too. Your family technique can survive in Derdriu!”

“For how long?” he asked. “Una’s children, perhaps. Her children’s children. By then, they’ll know nothing of Duscur as it was. And why should they, if there’s no one here to tell them of it?”

She hoped he wasn’t asking for a response, because Hilda had no idea what to say to that. It was a strange thought, the idea that Duscur might just… vanish. How could a whole culture just be gone? But what was a culture apart from its people, its history?

“Perhaps Una is right,” Marro mumbled, mostly to himself again. “I no longer know.” At a normal volume, to Hilda, he added, “Thank you for thinking of Una. I don’t think she would want to see me, but she shouldn’t be alone.”

Hilda took this as a subtle cue that she’d done enough. “You’re welcome,” she said awkwardly. She wanted to say something more than that, offer to help, but really what could she possibly do? She was just one person…

Still, when she left and she glanced over her shoulder to see Marro with slumped shoulders, she felt more useless than she ever had before.

*

Una hadn’t gone far. Hubert heard the sound of crying and winced, but followed it, until he came to a sidestreet not far from where Marro had his stall. Una had tucked herself into a doorway of an old, abandoned house, the hinges rusted almost to nothing. There were not many people about in the artisan district at this time of the day, and the few who walked past spared her not a single glance.

Hubert stopped beside the step. His shadow fell over Una, so he must have noticed him, but her face stayed pressed against her knees and hidden by her arms. Her shoulders shook. If Hubert wasn’t one for condolences, he was even less adept at anything approaching comfort—so he didn’t try. He simply waited until Una was ready.

By that time, the sky was rapidly darkening into twilight. Some lamps were lit outside the homes of important nobles and merchants at night, and some establishments remained open very late, but little of that light reached here. Hubert grimaced and condescended to conjure a ball of fire for light. He found the common reason spells to be simple to the point of boredom, but sometimes they had their uses.

The display of magic was what finally made Una look up. The light of the fire reflected off the tear tracks on her face, making them particularly obvious. She held up her hand and, a little slower than Hubert, made her own firelight as well. “I can do that one.” Una sniffed. “It’s just dark magic I struggle with.”

“You just need practise.”

“Marro can do it so easily,” she muttered. “I don’t understand. Why doesn’t he fight?”

“He’s trying to keep you safe.”

Una glared at him. “So you think Marro’s right?”

“Of course not.” Hubert scoffed when she blinked at him. “Safety above all else accomplishes nothing. Especially prioritising the safety of one person above all others. Without sacrifice and risk, nothing will ever get better.”

Una stared at him for a long moment, until Hubert worried he had overstepped, but then she smiled a little. “So you think I’m right?” The smile dimmed a little. “You think Marro’s a coward?”

No, Hubert thought. He wasn’t sure if he could quite explain why; he could only think of fathers who were ruined and weakened by love. But not afraid of what turning their back on everything his house had ever stood for might mean, never afraid, even at the end. “I believe he’s wrong,” Hubert said eventually. “It’s not the same thing as thinking he’s afraid.”

“I guess.” Una scrubbed at her face with her hands, wiping the last trace of the tears away. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just…” She sighed. “I don’t want to spend my whole life here. I want to go home. And I know it won’t be the same, ever, but… it doesn’t feel right being here, either. People look at me. Even if they don’t see the scar.” She let the little firelight die, and folded her arms across her knees again, resting her chin on them.

This, Hubert did not understand. House Vestra’s existence traded on spies and assassinations, actions taken in the shadows, but the house itself always had a certain amount of visibility as the right hand of the Emperor. It was their duty to be known for all these evil deeds, so the stain of it would never sully the Emperor themselves—the blessed line of Saint Seiros must remain pure.

How sickening to think that at one point, Hubert had believed all of that.

“Your frustrations make sense,” he said at last. “But you must keep a check on your temper if you wish to persuade Marro. If you don’t want him to treat you as a child, you must avoid lashing out at him in anger. Approach him as an adult and give him your reasons. That’s the only way you will get him to agree.”

Una winced. “You’re right. I…” She sighed. “I’ll apologise to him tomorrow. Maybe Grandmother will know what I can say to him. She’s too old to fight, but I know she wishes… she lost everyone, you see. Except for me. Brothers and sisters, sons, grandchildren, friends… from our village, I think it’s only me, Marro, and Grandmother left.”

Hubert was silent. Almost a whole village… for someone in their sixties or even older, that must be everyone they’d ever known or very close to it. Such a scale of loss was difficult to contemplate.

“You don’t say sorry much, do you?” she asked wryly.

“I’m not much for condolences,” he said. “What would I say? ‘Sorry for your loss’ is inadequate for the scale of such senseless slaughter. All I can promise is that the Faerghus which did this to your people will cease to exist soon enough.”

Una nodded, slowly. “What about the Emperor? Will she give Duscur back to us?”

“…She will try if you ask,” Hubert said. It was the most he could promise without knowing what the situation in Faerghus would be like when the war was over. After the losses Lady Edelgard had suffered, she could not fail to be sympathetic to people who had lost even more than she had.

Una frowned at this, probably hoping for something more concrete. She thought for a moment, then asked, “Would you take me to the Empire when you go?”

“With your grandmother’s permission.” She opened her mouth, and he swiftly added, “Not to fight. But you may help in other ways if you wish.”

“Why can’t I fight?!”

“You’re too young,” Hubert said. He was well aware that Petra and Lysithea were fighting at her age, but it was… a different time. And different circumstance. It was by necessity at the time, but after five years of war, sometimes he looked back on it and was discomforted by how young they all were.

Una stewed on this with a deep scowl. Eventually, she said, “Well… fine. Maybe I’ll still go anyway.” She stood and dusted off her clothes. “If I did go, would you teach me dark magic? Not to fight,” she added, after seeing his expression. “I mean… I don’t want Marro to have to find another apprentice. I have to keep practising and getting better.”

Thinking of the future was to be encouraged, so Hubert said, “As much as I am able,” and was rewarded with a bright smile.

“Great!” Una chirped. “Walk home with me and I can ask Grandmother right now!” There was a pause. “I mean, please.”

It was what Hubert came to do anyway, but he was amused by the confidence with which she demanded one of the most important men in the Empire to give up his time. Despite the difference in age and circumstances, she reminded him strongly of someone he’d known a long time ago.

“Hubert, show me the magic again! I want to learn to do it too.”

“Lady Edelgard—”

“How many times do I have to tell you? You should just call me El. At least where your father can’t hear… We’re friends! All my friends call me that!”

Hubert did not pray. But he did hope that Una would be able to stay as she was.

Chapter Text

The rest of the journey to Enbarr was smooth sailing. Claude had never seen someone as glad to be back on dry land as Edelgard. He was sure she would have sprinted off the ship and kissed the pier if she wasn’t trying to look like she hadn’t been violently seasick for the entire latter half of the journey. Claude was about to offer her his arm as he saw her emerge from below decks, when Shamir caught his eye and minutely shook her head.

“What?” he hissed. “Is basic politeness considered too friendly now?”

Shamir rolled her eyes. “It’s an Emperor thing. Doesn’t want to look weak. I fixed her up a bit.”

Claude was still trying to come to terms with the idea of Shamir being in charge of making up Edelgard when she walked past him down the gangplank. A few strands of white hair fell in front of her face and she carefully, precisely, tucked them away. With some colour in her cheeks and the circles under her eyes lighter, she looked like a totally different woman than the one Claude had seen leaning over the side of the ship for whole days at a time.

She caught his eye and gave him a brief smile, lighting up her pale violet eyes. He had no control over his own expression when he smiled back.

He watched her walk to the front of the procession and speak to Ladislava—procession, of course, because the Emperor’s triumphant return had to have some fanfare. He’d never really noticed before, but the way she carried herself, right down to the way she turned her head, was very graceful. She was probably an excellent dancer.

“See? I told you, she’s fine.” Shamir smirked and nudged him in the side as she strode past. “Don’t dawdle.”

Claude rolled his eyes after her, but really, he was eager to get back too. He had several things on his personal list of things to investigate in the archives, and now he could afford to be less careful because he was pretty confident Edelgard wasn’t going to throw him out for spying.

If there were any of those old letters of his mother’s… he wasn’t entirely sure what he would do with them any more. Was it safe to show them to Edelgard?

Probably not, knowing my mother’s language.

The joke landed flat even inside his own head. It was hardly the letters that were the problem, was it? It was what they represented. He’d have to Edelgard eventually, surely… He just needed to wait for the right moment.

After the fanfare of greeting people at the docks, Claude was ushered into a carriage with Edelgard and Ladislava. Ladislava seemed to have minutely warmed up to him since being told the alliance was on… minutely meaning that she regarded him neutrally rather than coolly or with suspicion.

Edelgard breathed a sigh of relief when the door was shut behind them, although it didn’t drown out the cheering. Claude was sure it was more for the return of the Emperor than victory in Brigid, but it was a heady sight, nonetheless.

“Your people really love you,” he murmured.

He wasn’t sure if Edelgard had heard him, so he was a little surprised when she said, “I’m sure many more people elsewhere hate me just as vehemently. I can’t let it go to my head.”

Claude turned away from the window to see her rueful expression. “It’s not something to take for granted either, though. Having the people—support you.” He nearly said accept you.

“I know. I’m grateful.” She stared out the window, her eyes distant. “But these people have also been lucky… the war hasn’t much touched Enbarr, apart from a small increase in food prices, and these people are also seeing the successes of our schools, what we propose to do… in the western Empire, the border regions especially, I doubt they love me just as well.”

It was likely that she had a good point, and to try to temper your expectations when it came to the opinions of your people was certainly better than assuming they would love and adore you just because you were their leader. Nonetheless, Claude found himself irritated by it. If he didn’t know her as well by now, he would have called it false modesty. It was somehow more annoying by being real self-doubt instead.

“I’m sure you don’t give yourself enough credit,” he insisted. “You said you sent you sent out your manifesto all over Fódlan, right? So it reached your people in the west of the Empire as well. And you must have levies and militia from the western Empire. Are they any worse, less loyal, than those from the eastern Empire?”

“No,” Ladislava said, before Edelgard could reply. The Emperor frowned and Ladislava continued bluntly, “Your Majesty, I check every letter and report you receive before it passes to your desk. You can’t blame me if I have read some of them.”

“There are less volunteers from the western Empire,” Edelgard said. It sounded almost petulant.

“A little less,” Ladislava said. “But only a little.”

“…I can’t be sure it’s a love for me more than it is a fear of the Kingdom, though,” Edelgard murmured. By the way Ladislava winced, Claude sensed there might be more truth in this than she wanted to admit.

“Is the fighting particularly bad over there?” Claude’s spies had reported that the borders hadn’t moved very much in five years.

“When King Dimitri comes,” Ladislava muttered. “Then it’s bad.”

Edelgard grimaced. “They’re calling him the Tempest King… when he enters the battlefield, sometimes no one from the Empire is left standing. He won’t accept surrender, so the battlefield becomes a bloodbath… the few who’ve managed to escape talk of his monstrous strength, his hatred for the Empire… the western Empire is terrified of him.”

Claude’s eyebrows were nearly in his hairline. “That’s Dimitri?”

“I know. It sounds so far from the boy we knew in the Academy, doesn’t it?” Edelgard shuddered. “I don’t… know what happened to make him this way. We’re only lucky that his position as king keeps him away from the front lines; he’s more often needed to coordinate. But when we make any significant gains… he pushes us right back.”

“You need to take Arianrhod?” Claude guessed. He hadn’t studied the map of west Fódlan in great detail, but he knew his basics. “It gives them too much control over the border region.”

“Right. But we don’t have the troops to spare to take it whilst he have to have men stationed at the border with the Leicester Alliance.” Edelgard brightened. “But that will change soon. And hopefully we can finally put an end to this.”

“Will your uncle notice if you start drawing men away from the border now?” Claude asked. “Our alliance is going to surprise the kingdom as much as it’s going to surprise him. We could launch a surprise attack on Arianrhod straight away.”

Ladislava and Edelgard shared an inscrutable look. He was intrigued to know what they were silently communicating, but there was no hint of it on their faces. Finally, Edelgard turned back and said, “Officially, Count Bergliez commands the army, and he’s loyal to me over my uncle. He wouldn’t willingly betray us. On the other hand…” Edelgard grimaced. “You heard from him when we journeyed to Enbarr, when Lord Arundel turned up unannounced—he should not be able to, but…”

“But he does,” Claude said. “His spies might be able to alert him. Hmm…” If I could get Nader to come, she wouldn’t have to move troops away from the border…

But… that would require a lot of explanation that he didn’t know how to give, yet. To either of them.

“…I’ll consult with Shamir and Ferdinand and see what can be done,” Edelgard concluded eventually. She brightened. “Oh! But I’ve been thinking about where we can have meetings! Apart from Lysithea’s room of course. There’s a lot of old rooms in the attic space above the oldest wing, but there’s one which is a secret room accessed behind a bookcase—”

“A bookcase, huh? Very stereotypical.”

She made that face like she wanted to pout but was stopping herself from doing it. “Well, the entrance through the old fireplace is too small now—it’s meant for children,” she said, like this was a defence and not simply hilarious.

“So, what you’re saying is that only you and Lysithea could fit? That’s very considerate to the rest of us, isn’t it, Ladislava?”

“I am not— …that short.”

Ladislava’s lips had become so thin as to have almost disappeared, but Claude was pretty sure that this time, it was from good humour.

He always knew he’d win her over eventually. Probably. Maybe.

Edelgard hmphed, then squared her shoulders. “Well, regardless, if you’re quite finished, I thought I could show you later this evening. With Ferdinand and Shamir as well, if they’re amenable. Although Ferdinand has no doubt worked himself too hard, so maybe he’ll need to rest…”

He noticed that she automatically discounted Lysithea’s being able to attend, and most of his good humour drained away. Edelgard probably knew her condition the best of anyone except Lysithea and Hanneman themselves, so unless there had been a miraculous turnaround over the time they’d been in Brigid…

“Claude?” Edelgard prompted. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I was just thinking.” If Edelgard knew better than anyone, there was no need to give her a painful reminder. “You know, I believed I was owed a look some sort of book? A book that I remember someone left with Lysithea before we went to Brigid, leaving me to suffer for weeks and weeks from the most desperate boredom?”

“It was not weeks and weeks! And you’re the one who insisted on borrowing the most dreadful book possible from Sylvain and nothing else,” Edelgard retorted, with a cutely furrowed brow and scowl. He’d started to be able to tell when she wasn’t seriously angry from how much he experienced the sudden urge to tweak her nose.

“Yes, well, I might have asked for something else if I hadn’t mortally offended him in the process of borrowing the first book.”

“A man of true talent,” Ladislava said dryly, making Claude and Edelgard snort at the same time.

Edelgard’s expression settled into more serious worry, and she added, “Sylvain is very hard to truly offend. I’m sure he’s forgiven everything by now.” Claude was briefly confused by her wide, insistent eyes. She flushed a little when he blinked at her. “I’m just letting you know.”

Oh. She was reassuring him. That was… sweet. And not expected. “Right. Thanks.”

An awkward silence fell after that. Claude glanced out of the window, and then wondered if that might be making himself too shut off, so he moved his gaze back into the carriage again, just in time to catch Ladislava rolling her eyes.

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

Edelgard must not have been sure what to say either. They might have agreed to an alliance, but it would still be more time before they really knew each other. Especially as there were so many things Claude hadn’t said yet. Yet.

“Anyway,” he said, trying to bully past the awkward silence through sheer force of personality, “I’m sure there are some Emperor things you have to take care of when you return, but after that, why don’t we both go see Lysithea? I’m sure she’s dying to hear from you anyway.”

It was obviously the right thing to say. Edelgard’s bright smile was thrilling. “She’ll be so pleased when I tell her as well,” she said. “She was, uh, very encouraging when it came to the alliance.”

“Really?” Claude had obviously made a better impression on Lysithea than he remembered. “Well, all the better then. I’ll meet you there.”

It would have been a wonderful note on which to return to Enbarr, if the first thing an attendant hadn’t said to Edelgard after ‘Welcome home, Your Majesty’ was, “Lord Arundel has requested an audience with you at your earliest convenience.”

Edelgard, Claude could see, was very careful not to grimace. Her expression was as still and perfect as her ramrod straight back. “Thank you for letting me know,” she said. “Please inform him I will attend with him shortly.” The attendant nodded and scurried off. Edelgard whirled and spoke to them both in an urgent tone. “Ladislava, tell Shamir to perform her usual checks and then hurry back to escort Claude to Lysithea.”

Claude wasn’t sure who of him and Ladislava wanted to object more, but Ladislava was silenced by a look from the emperor.

“I can make my own way there,” Claude reminded her.

Edelgard grimaced. “Just… to be on the safe side. And don’t say anything to Lysithea yet, not until Ladislava has checked the safeguards around her room.”

“Safeguards?”

“Some things of Hubert’s invention. They should hold up, but we haven’t had a chance to test them too strenuously—” She shook her head and sighed. “I can’t explain this right now. Please, Claude, just do as I say this time.”

This time and how many other times? Claude thought, but it wasn’t as mulish as it might have been—he could see the strain on her face. If, he supposed, Lord Arundel was truly worried about an alliance developing between Claude and Edelgard, the most efficient way to prevent one from happening would be to have him killed.

Still, it seemed paranoid. They’d barely been back in the city an hour—surely even the treacherous Lord Arundel needed more time to arrange an assassination than that.

He might have said this out loud, but the tension in Edelgard’s jaw worried him. There was something she wasn’t tell him, some reason why she was so tense. When he said, “Alright, alright, but you owe me one,” and she practically drooped from relief, the alarm bells in his head began to ring.

“Thank you,” Edelgard said, smiling, and she briefly reached out as though to grab his hand. The soft fabric of her gloves ghosted the skin of his wrist before she remembered herself and then pulled back. “I shouldn’t keep him waiting too long—sorry, as soon as I can.”

She took a step back and schooled her expression to something distant, severe and cold—the Emperor she should have been—and walked away at a quick pace. Ladislava parted with a brief, murmured promise to return swiftly.

Claude was left staring after Edelgard’s retreating back, unsure what to do with the phantom burning sensation where she’d touched him.

*

Lysithea’s smile was only slightly dimmed by the open door revealing Claude rather than Edelgard, who she’d presumably been hoping to see. To Claude’s relief, she was only sitting on her bed rather than encased in it like an invalid, and she happily jumped off and dashed to the door to greet him. “You’re back! Tell me all about it!”

Ladislava gave Claude a significant look before he could even open his mouth. Really, what did she take him for? His memory could handle information given to him scarcely ten minutes ago.

“All is well, Ladislava,” said another voice, smooth and faintly amused. “I have already seen to it.”

Claude and Ladislava stepped a little further into the room to see Professor Hanneman sitting at Lysithea’s bedside. Well, no longer Professor Hanneman, Claude supposed—it was hard to resign from the Church in grander style than casting meteor spells over their walls. Even Professor—even Manuela had only removed herself from the fight and surrendered to the Empire afterwards. Though if Edelgard had been a professor at Garreg Mach rather than a student, Claude was sure she would have tried to outdo Hanneman.

He fit so well with the eccentric professor archetype that even Claude, who had been at Garreg Mach at the time, found it hard to connect him to the spells which had reduced portions of the grounds to smouldering ash.

“Welcome back, Duke Riegan,” Hanneman said, adjusting his monocle and smiling politely. “I hope you had a successful trip.”

Lysithea rolled her eyes. “Don’t call him Duke Riegan, he doesn’t need any more of an ego.”

“That’s my title,” Claude protested.

“So, Claude,” Lysithea continued, blithely ignoring him, “how was it? I heard the Empire and Brigid won from the letter Edelgard sent ahead, but she barely told me anything else! How is Petra? Bernadetta? Shamir? Sylv—”

“Everyone is fine or will be fine in short order,” Claude said. “Edelgard is fine as well now.”

Lysithea’s nostrils flared. “Edelgard was injured? She didn’t tell me that!”

Uh oh. Edelgard was going to be in for it.

“Perhaps she feared it would aggravate your condition,” Hanneman said.

This, if anything, made Lysithea angrier. “I’ll show her aggravating my condition,” she muttered darkly. “When she shows her face—”

“She was called to an urgent meeting,” Ladislava put in. “Although we only just stepped off the ship within the past hour.”

Lysithea and Hanneman grimaced in nearly identical fashion, until Lysithea scowled… but her anger was clearly muted. “Well, she still should have told me.”

“I will be back shortly, Duke Riegan,” Ladislava said. “I just need to see to a few things.”

“Ah, as I already mentioned—” Hanneman’s words were cut off by Ladislava shutting the door behind her. “…I have already ascertained the protections are still…” He sighed. “She never seems to believe a word I say.”

“The first thing you did when you met her was ask if she could give you a blood sample for your machine,” Lysithea said flatly. “Even knowing that she wasn’t a noble.”

“And I have explained to her many time since that control samples are also very important to my research!” Hanneman protested. “Indeed, we are now beginning to forge an understanding of how Crests act on the human body thanks to comparisons of non-Crested individuals, which is an area that Crestologists have sorely neglected—”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very good for the research, but you can’t just go up to people and ask for some of their blood without so much as a ‘by your leave’! It’s not seemly!”

Hanneman frowned. “It was far from the first thing I said to her. I introduced myself first and made sure to inquire after her health. After all,” he added, “I would not want to accept a sample if it might cause undue stress or complications.”

Yep. It sure was the same old Hanneman, alright.

“You mentioned protections?” Claude asked, before the man could get further sidetracked.

This drew Hanneman up short and he peered at Claude carefully for a moment. “I gathered from Ladislava’s manner that you were already aware of them?”

“On a technicality,” Claude said. “I don’t know what or how.”

“Ah! Well, young Hubert constructed them from magic. He is quite talented in that manner. Takes after his father. Still, Bertrand and I shared many discussions about magical theory over the years, so I was easily able to understand their construction myself after a little study.”

“You really should tell Hubert that at some point,” Lysithea said dryly. “His ego needs denting, as well.”

It took Claude several seconds to parse who in the hell ‘Bertrand’ was supposed to be—Bertrand von Vestra, Hubert’s father and predecessor. And, allegedly, his murder victim. Edelgard, Claude thought he could probably get along with, but he doubted he would ever understand her spymaster.

“It isn’t pleasant for a young man to be shown up by an old friend of his father’s,” Hanneman replied. “Anyway, I’m sure his studies will surpass his father’s before too long. But, what I mean to say is—” He addressed this to Claude. “—that if you have something to say to Lysithea that needs to be said in private, it is quite safe to do so at present.”

“Uh,” Claude said awkwardly, wondering if there was a way to politely ask Hanneman to leave, “perhaps we should wait for Edelgard, actually?”

Lysithea gasped and seized Claude’s arms in delight. She seemed better than when he’d last seen her, but he was startled by how little strength there was in her grip. “Claude! Claude don’t tell me—did you agree? Edelgard finally—! Oh, I’m so glad she listened to me!”

Hanneman also brightened. “Excellent news! And congratulations, I suppose, on your impending nuptials.”

Claude would have buried his face in his hands if Lysithea wasn’t still holding on to his arms. “It’s not supposed to be common knowledge.”

Lysithea frowned and let go of his arms. “What? Why?”

At the same time, Hanneman’s expression darkened. “Arundel.”

Claude was taken aback by the disgust on his face—he didn’t know Hanneman was capable of holding such ill-feeling towards anyone. “Yes, because of Arundel. Edelgard insists he’s invested enough in the defeat of the Church not to start a civil war immediately because of a new alliance, but there’s still no sense in giving him too much advanced notice.”

Hanneman and Lysithea exchanged a long look. Something about the seriousness of their expressions made Claude nervous. Once again, he felt as though there was something he was missing…

Eventually, Lysithea shook her head and turned back to him, smiling. “All the same, it’s excellent news! War won’t come to Leicester, and we can look forward all the sooner to seeing Edelgard’s new world come to fruition. Well, and yours too, Claude,” she added.

“What a generous concession,” he said dryly, covering for his disappointment. He probably should have guessed that Lysithea hadn’t recommended him to Edelgard specifically; she’d only been worried about the people of the Alliance. That was fair, he supposed. There were a lot more of them than there were of him.

“You said Edelgard was coming to meet you here?” Lysithea asked. “Was there a particular reason?”

“Well, she was going to tell you herself, but since I’ve spoiled that surprise, I guess all that’s left is the book,” he said.

“The book? Oh!” Lysithea dived back towards the bed and fetched a thick book from under it. “This book? The legends of the constellations?”

“That’s the one,” Claude replied, but she was confused when she thrust it into his arms right then and there. “Thanks?”

“It’s good!” Lysithea told him. “My favourite one is the one about the brothers, the mortal and the—well, never mind now.”

Claude was lost.

She glanced towards Hanneman, and then back to Claude again. Tentatively, she smiled at Claude. “Maybe you should take some time to read it now? Um, since I’m sure you and Edelgard will be busy with—well, with alliance things and that in the future. This might be your only chance for a while.”

Claude raised her eyebrows and her smile became a little stiffer, but didn’t dim. “Right,” he said. I think I would have been less offended if she’d just told me she wanted me to leave. “Maybe I’d better go and do that right now then.”

“That’s a good idea!” Lysithea hesitated. “And maybe you could come back tomorrow and tell me what you thought so far?”

It was a minor peace offering, but it was something. Claude sighed and resisted rolling his eyes. If she’d wanted to talk to Edelgard privately, couldn’t she have waited? Still, he supposed Lysithea was entitled to a little bit of immaturity, what with her impending death, and all.

As he closed the door behind him, he heard Lysithea ask, “…Do you think I offended him?” and Hanneman reply, “Goodness, why on earth would you think that, child?”

What is it about that man’s voice?! I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not!

*

Edelgard resisted a sigh of relief after leaving the meeting with Thales only from sheer force of will and knowing that he might be able to overhear it. This was meant to be a return of triumph, damn it, and she would not let him ruin it. He hadn’t even wanted to say anything, really, just to remind her that he was there, the power he held… a conversation of nothing except power plays that Edelgard had to pretend, to greater or lesser extents, that she was cowed by.

Some of Thales’s implied threats hit closer to home than others. She would breath a true sigh of relief when she could be sure that Lysithea was safe and well. Edelgard trusted in Hubert’s knowledge, and Ferdinand’s promise that he would look out for her, but still, she couldn’t help the way that Thales’s insinuations itched underneath her skin like poison, shrivelling her up from the inside out…

She briefly knocked and then opened the door to Lysithea’s room, feeling the clouds part as she passed through the threshold. She and Claude would tell Lysithea and then—

...Where is Claude?

Instead of Claude and a curious Lysithea, she found only Lysithea and Hanneman fixing her with rather hard stares. “…What?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Lysithea demanded, aghast. “El, you might as well have sent him straight into the lion’s den—”

“Of course I told him!” Edelgard protested.

“You didn’t tell him the whole truth, however,” Hanneman pointed out.

She deflated. “No, but… I did the best I could… it’s not official, yet, he could still change his mind, and then—”

“What?” Lysithea huffed. “So you’ll just wait until he signs on the dotted line and he can’t back out?”

“No!” Edelgard said, and then she winced. “I don’t know… I… Of course he should know, but I can’t just…”

Her faltering brought even Lysithea to have pity on her. “When are you going to tell him, then?”

“When I can be sure,” Edelgard said. She was aware this was a weak response.

Lysithea sighed. “You have to at least tell him some of it—the body double thing, at least, that’s the most dangerous to him, if he thinks someone is still an ally, but really—”

“I know!” Edelgard snapped.

“Uncle Volk? Why do we have to go to the Kingdom?”

“It’s not safe for you, El… one day, I pray, we’ll come back to the Empire. But for now, we need to leave.” He squeezed her hand and smiled, stroking her hair until she scowled.

“I’m not a baby any more!” she protested. “I’m nearly an adult, you know.”

“Of course.” Uncle Volk was still smiling, but he looked sad, somehow. “You look so much like your mother now.” El preened under this praise, and he let out a soft chuckle. “You will have to be a brave girl until we can return, but don’t worry. I promised your mother I’d keep you safe. Nothing bad will happen to you, El.”

“You haven’t seen Mother in years.”

He knelt until they were face to face and tapped her on the nose, laughing when it made her go cross-eyed. “It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. You are my sister’s daughter. I’ll always take care of you.”

…

“Uncle Volk?” El tried not to make her voice sound as small as she felt. Since they got in the carriage, he hadn’t said a word to her, played none of their usual games… he just kept staring out the window. “Are we going home?”

“Yes, Edelgard,” he said flatly. “I already told you.”

She hesitated at his clipped tone, but she made herself ask, “Does that mean all my siblings are safe? Everything is okay now?”

“Yes, all is well in the Empire. That’s why we’re leaving, Edelgard.” Uncle Volk smiled, which made her feel a little better, even if it wasn’t as warm as his usual smiles. “You will be with your family soon. Now be a good girl and be patient. Don’t bother me again.”

El folded her hands together in her lap, kicking her legs in front of her so she wouldn’t shout for joy. Oh, she’d missed everyone so much… but it was going to go back to normal now. She was going home!

It came out harsher than he meant, and Lysithea flinched. Edelgard took a deep, slow breath to steady herself. “Sorry,” she said. “But I—I know. How dangerous it is. I know.”

“Your Majesty,” Hanneman said gently, “I understand your trepidation… but it is important that Claude knows how to protect himself, correct?” He waited for her to nod. “Even if the alliance were still to fall apart—which I certainly hope it does not!—that is something you would still want him to know, isn’t it?”

“I…” He was right, of course he was right. In fact, the last thing she would want, both as Edelgard and as Emperor, was for Claude to… to be replaced. “Yes. I do want him to know. I’ll talk to him as soon as I can.”

Lysithea smiled. “Good.”

A shiver went down Edelgard’s spine suddenly. “Where… is Claude?”

“Lysithea very politely forced him to leave.” Hanneman look at Lysithea with a raised eyebrow.

“So it wasn’t my most graceful social interaction,” she mumbled. “But I needed to talk to you in private.”

“He left by himself.” Edelgard grimaced. Of course he did. I tried to tell him…

Lysithea folded her arms. “Well, he knows where his room is!”

“Arundel is here.”

She twitched, her arms loosening. “He’s not… is he? Ferdinand said he left yesterday.”

“He must have come back. I just met with him.”

Lysithea paled. “Arundel wouldn’t act so boldly so soon… would he? He doesn’t want too much suspicion to fall on himself…” Her voice was not as certain as the volume she put into it might suggest. She shuddered. “I should go after him.”

“No, I’ll go,” Edelgard said.

“I will go,” Hanneman announced, shaking his head when they turned on him with identical expressions of offence. “You should both rest. I’m sure Lysithea is right and Arundel would not attempt anything untoward when he could have the blame cast so clearly on himself. Besides,” he added, with a small smile, “I understand that the secrecy is for Arundel’s benefit. He may become suspicious if you start running after Claude at any possible sign of danger.”

Edelgard nodded, and then eyes widened. Shamir isn’t going to like this. “…You aren’t supposed to know that.”

“Am I not?” Hanneman asked.

She explained Shamir’s reasoning. Lysithea put her head in her palms. “This is my fault. I guessed and just blurted it out.”

“No need to worry,” Hanneman asked. “My old age must be catching up to me, for I seem to have suddenly forgotten everything that was discussed in the last, oh, twenty or thirty minutes. Lysithea is overcome with a sudden desire to apologise to our Duke and I must fetch him.”

“I will not be lectured by you on social graces!” Lysithea called, just as he close the door behind him.

Edelgard had missed her.

*

Claude was feeling so put out from being shooed off with a book, by Lysithea of all people, that it took him a minute to remember what Edelgard had said when they stepped out of the carriage—her insistence that Ladislava not let Claude walk alone.

He’d thought it was a little too paranoid then, and he did now. All the same, he suddenly noticed that the corridor was deserted and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The guards couldn’t be everywhere at once. This wasn’t noteworthy.

But Claude knew a bad omen when he saw one.

He quickened his pace, hoping to deposit the book in his room, and then retreat into the gardens or perhaps turn back to see if he could catch Edelgard at Lysithea’s room after all, but he hadn’t gone more than three paces when he was stopped in his tracks by a silky voice saying, “Duke Riegan, I’m so glad we have the opportunity to converse once again.”

When Claude turned around, no sign of his discomfort showed on his face. “Lord Arundel! Hm, I thought you would still be in the meeting with Her Majesty.”

“Well, it was not much of a meeting, really.” Arundel affected a contrite expression, but his cold, clinical gaze did not alter one bit. “Just a foolish uncle seeking to reassure himself of his niece’s well-being. Especially as she was injured in Brigid!”

Claude was very careful not to react. He should expect Edelgard to have written to Arundel saying that, if he was really her uncle. Of course if she hadn’t even told Lysithea, she would certainly not have told him. “I heard that it wasn’t as serious as it looked. At least, from my perspective, she looks just as fit and healthy as before.” He inclined his head. “I hope that eases your concern.”

But where did he hear about it?

“Your words help a great deal. Thank you for your consideration, Your Grace.” Arundel sighed. “I suppose one cannot help but worry after all of my niece’s siblings were lost to that dreadful illness. Most of their mothers perished as well, and His Majesty’s health was permanently damaged… he, too, died young.”

What was he getting at? “You mentioned this last time,” Claude said. “A tragedy. Of course, you must be relieved that your sister escaped the plague.”

For the first time, Arundel seemed caught off guard. He frowned and there was a noticeable pause before his next reply. “Quite.” Claude didn’t get a chance to continue the line of questioning, because he hurried to add, “I do apologise for my repetition; I’m afraid I quite forgot we had discussed this before. My concern for my niece has brought it all to the surface again.” He shook his head. “Of course, this allowed my niece to take the throne, and look at the glorious future she is leading us all into! So perhaps it was the work of this so-called Goddess after all.” His smile showed too many teeth and didn’t reach his eyes.

Was it a subtle threat? ‘Plague’ was the polite fiction that had been put out to explain the sudden disappearance of most of the royal children after the coup; Claude was sure that almost no noble in Fódlan really believed it. He remembered Grandfather had talked about it with particular distaste. He had no love for the Empire, but to so callously destroy those of the blessed line of Saint Seiros—he had seen it as something approaching blasphemy. And Arundel was supposed to have been part of the whole thing…

But the emphasis on Edelgard’s survival, in particular, was too strange to ignore. “Others might disagree with you about whether Providence was at work,” Claude replied.

“Perhaps you will change your mind and marry my niece after all.” Arundel’s eyes gleamed. “Be a part of the Empire’s future? Of course, with the history of ill health in her family, it would so ease my mind if she had a husband to support her… Dare I say, someone who could continue her work should she fall ill…”

Ah.

That’s what this was.

He had to tread carefully. Sound too interested, and Arundel might genuinely start acting against Edelgard. Sound too disinterested, and Arundel might become suspicious of why Claude was turning down such an incredible offer… although only an idiot would jump at a chance offered by a man as suspicious as Arundel, who had turned on some of his co-conspirators as soon as it was convenient.

Claude made a thoughtful noise, but shrugged. “Either way, I’ve never put much stock in the words of the goddess. Maybe Providence and I are destined to part ways.”

Arundel laughed, short and cold. Claude thought he’d struck the right balance—distasteful of the goddess, something Arundel approved of, but giving a non-committal answer for now. “That may be so. Well, I will leave you to contemplate the path Providence has laid out for you, Your Grace. I’m afraid I have other matters to attend to.”

“Of course. After the long journey, I was hoping to rest, so don’t let me keep you.” Claude said that, but he stayed in the corridor without moving and watched Arundel go. He didn’t want the man to think he wasn’t wary. Let no one mistake Claude for easy prey.

It was only when Arundel had turned a corner and even Claude’s straining ears could no longer hear his footsteps that he relaxed.

“Ah! There you are, and no worse for wear!”

Claude jumped and grasped at his chest. “Professor Hanneman,” he breathed.

Hanneman looked taken aback. “I’m sorry to have startled you.” He studied Claude for a moment longer, and then asked: “Arundel?”

Claude nodded, still trying to stop his heart from leaping about his chest. He hadn’t realised how tense he’d been the whole time. Even if Lysithea hadn’t told Claude Arundel was the kind of man to experiment on children and even his own niece had called him evil, there was something about him which was impossibly sinister… almost inhuman.

“Ah.” Hanneman studied him for another moment, but there was more softness around his eyes. “You truly do seem no worse for wear, however, which is a relief. I believe Lysithea wishes to apologise for, er, encouraging a swifter exit than may have been warranted.”

“Oh, now she does, huh?” Claude shook his head. “Well, thanks for coming to let me know, anyway.”

Hanneman cleared his throat. “There is one other matter.”

Claude blinked at him.

“…I understand, of course, that you are tired from the long journey, but I wonder whether you might consider offering another blood sample when you are recovered? I know that you very generously did the same thing at the Officer’s Academy many years ago, but—”

Hanneman went on to describe how useful it was to compare the same person’s blood sample before and after use of a Relic, and also how age changed a person’s use of their Crest, and in general, though of course this was no reflection on Claude’s family, Hanneman had not had as much opportunity to study the Crest of Riegan as he might have wished which was disappointing as the Crest’s unique healing properties—

Claude let the lecture wash over him and nodded along at the right moments. Suddenly, he felt much more relaxed. It was exactly like being back in the Academy. “Sure, Professor.” He yawned. “Anything for science.”

“Wonderful news!” Hanneman beamed. “But please, do not rush yourself. I understand you are to, er—remain in the Empire for a few more months, at least, so there is time.”

Remain in the Empire—ha. It hit Claude what a limited window they really had to work with. A few months to craft plans and write a treaty—maybe he would have to find some way of getting news to Nader, after all—

All things that could be considered in the morning. He yawned again. “Could you do me a favour and tell Lysithea she can apologise to me tomorrow? I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

Who knows, maybe I’ll actually read the book.

Chapter Text

Edelgard tried not to be worried when Claude didn’t resurface for the rest of that day. She was sure Lysithea hadn’t offended him that badly. The meeting with Arundel was just getting under her skin. And Hanneman had reported that Claude met with Arundel too, so she could hardly blame Claude if he’d wanted some time to himself after that.

She couldn’t erase the feelings, but she could be firm with herself and make herself be reasonable instead.

When she didn’t see Claude for the entire next morning nor was there any sign of him as midday approached, then it became more difficult to rationalise her worries. Perhaps we did offend him. Perhaps Arundel said something. Perhaps he’s changed his mind… No, no, Edelgard, don’t be foolish. It’s only a morning.

She did, however, wonder how they were supposed to arrange secret meetings to discuss their future together if they did not have any meetings at all. When she sent a servant off to find Claude with a request to take their afternoon tea together again, the servant returned saying that ‘His Grace was busy in the archives and must regrettably turn down the invitation’.

This was probably for the best as it would have put the servants out to arrange something at short notice, but Edelgard was still frowning about it when she took some more casual tea with Lysithea in her rooms instead. It was impossible to stew on the matter for too long, however, after seeing Lysithea seeming so much better than before Edelgard left for Brigid—they even took a walk in the gardens after their tea, and Lysithea didn’t seem strained by the end of it.

“Did Hanneman come up with something?” Edelgard asked. “You seem much improved.”

Lysithea subtly preened. “It was my idea,” she said. “Manuela helped, though. It’s not a permanent fix, but it helps manage my symptoms. You know that we found out what was killing me?”

Edelgard winced at the description, but nodded. An initial early breakthrough in the first year of the war, which had led to a lot of hopes that were then disappointed, Hanneman and Linhardt had discovered that it was Lysithea’s heart which had somehow been altered in order to artificially produce blood with the power of dual Crests. Unfortunately, whatever had been done also put the heart under enormous strain, resulting in fainting spells and difficulty supplying blood and energy to the rest of the body, and the heart only grew weaker over time.

The effects of the Crests themselves on a body that was not intended for them could be devastating, too, as Edelgard well knew—the backlash could be damaging even to those who naturally bore Crests as well, so that wasn’t a surprise. But at least the use of Crests could be minimised and it was possible to heal from the after-effects. The discovery about Lysithea’s heart explained why her symptoms persisted even after she stopped making use of her Crests.

“And you remember that we speculated you weren’t as badly affected because the Crest of Flames also heals?” Lysithea continued. “Well… I had the idea that instead of trying to heal my heart with faith magic, perhaps there was a way to treat it with medicine, instead.”

“Medicine has side effects…” It was why faith magic was often preferred on a practical level, as well as the belief that the Goddess was the original source of faith magic and magical healers were thought to be guided by Her will.

“What side effect is worse than death?” Lysithea asked, making Edelgard wince again. “It’s been alright, so far. I feel nauseous sometimes and I’ve been sick once or twice, but that’s it.”

Edelgard frowned, but she couldn’t deny the improvement in Lysithea’s condition. The trade in symptoms must have been worth it. “What was the medicine?”

“Well…” Lysithea grimaced. “It’s not really a medicine, per se… Manuela knew of a poison, made from a common flower, which kills you by affecting your heart’s rhythm. But, in small doses, it actually makes it easier for the heart to beat. I’m not sure how it works exactly, and neither is Manuela, but—”

“You’re taking a poison,” Edelgard said flatly. “A poison, and you can’t even explain how it works. And Manuela agreed to this?”

“Anything is a poison if you swallow enough of it,” Lysithea countered. “Medicine is just smaller amounts of poison. That’s what Manuela said. She still ran a thousand tests before she let me try any, and I don’t take very much.” She held up her thumb and forefinger nearly pressed together to show just how little.

Edelgard still felt queasy just thinking about it. This was what Lysithea had been reduced to—poisoning herself? The fact that it worked made the whole thing worse, somehow. It would help if they knew what it was doing.

Still… Lysithea was happier than she’d been in months… years even.

“I actually thought of this a long time ago,” she admitted. “It’s just taken this long for Manuela to decide on a safe amount and actually let me take it.”

Until she got bad enough that Manuela decided the benefits outweighed the risks. Edelgard’s heart sank, but there was little she could say about it. “We’ll find some way of removing your Crests, some kind of permanent fix, so that you won’t need this. But at least… it gives you more freedom, I suppose.”

“I can help more now,” Lysithea said. “I don’t want to be a burden, everyone just worrying about me all the time…”

“Lysithea, you’re never a burden.”

She made a low, humming noise which could have been taken as agreement, but which Edelgard suspected was intended otherwise. “But speaking of help… how can I help you and Claude? My family is a weak part of the Alliance, but we still have a seat at the round table. My parents will help if I ask them to.”

Edelgard sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since yesterday when we got to the palace. You don’t… think he’s avoiding me, do you?”

“Not on purpose,” she replied. “At least, I don’t think so. Claude was like that in the Academy sometimes as well… he’d be cheerful and friendly, then he’d suddenly retreat within himself for a few days, work at odd hours to avoid us… then he’d come back and it was like he’d never been gone at all. I think he just needs a break, sometimes.”

Edelgard remembered he’d been a bit like that on the boat, too—he would spend whole days peppering her with questions about the Church of Seiros (she wasn’t sure where the new interest came from, but she’d been educated thoroughly in the history of the Church and she was happy to answer what she could), but then other times he would spend hours doing nothing other than sit at the front of the ship and watch the clouds pass overhead.

Lysithea was probably right and he was just in need of some space. “Alright. I’ll try to stop worrying, then.”

Grinning, Lysithea nudged her in the side. “Oh, El, were you getting the self-doubt already? What has it been, a week?” More seriously, she added, “I don’t think you need to worry. Claude can be cagey and sometimes annoying—very annoying. But when he says something, he means it. And he’d be a fool to not to stay on your side. Claude’s many things, but he’s not a fool.”

Edelgard feared that Lysithea might be a bit biased, but her smile was infectious. She went back inside more relieved and cheerful than she’d been since Claude accepted her hand.

The mood did not last when she had barely sat down in her study only for one of the guards to knock and announce that Lord Arundel was there to see her. Edelgard accepted with an outward civility that she did not feel, and rose to greet Thales. He did not take a seat, and neither did she. She would not let him cow her.

“My dear niece,” Thales said. He stretched the skin of his lips over his teeth in a mockery of a smile. Of all the things Edelgard hated about him, it was the farce of how he tried to imitate her real uncle’s feelings which she haunted her the most. “I am terribly sorry to interrupt you during your work, but I did have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”

“Of course, Uncle,” Edelgard said through gritted teeth. “You know how eager I am to hear your advice.”

With the guards right outside the door, she had to keep up the pretence of their relation in her speech—more for their sake than hers, as Thales and ilk his would hardly think twice about killing simple guards who had come within even a mile of discovering their secret—but her expression could be her own. She stared at him with utter loathing.

The smile approached something closer to real. “I noticed that you and Duke Riegan did not take your normal tea today—have you had a falling out? You need not keep up this pretence of negotiation for an alliance if so. I’m sure the agreement could be ended early.”

“We are simply both engaged in other matters today.” It would be to Thales’s benefit if the alliance fell through, so she couldn’t sound too encouraged, but she added, firmly, “I believe some progress was made during our trip to Brigid, so perhaps we will soon see this alliance come to fruition.”

“I see… Perhaps it will be as you say, niece.” Thales’s eyes were cold and his expression slipped back into a frozen mask. “Perhaps the alliance would not benefit you as you think.”

Edelgard’s heart beat faster, but she clung on to her composure. “Oh? What do you mean, Uncle?”

“I had the benefit of short discussion with Duke Riegan yesterday,” he said. “Of course, I want to make sure of the suitability of any man who might claim the hand of my niece. So I asked him some pressing questions. His answers were… interesting.”

She remained silent.

“It seemed to me that,” Thales continued, “if Duke Riegan did show interest in an alliance, a marriage with the Emperor, it may be to further his own interests rather than ours.”

‘Ours’—as though she was just a puppet who danced at their command. No, Thales and his men might have given Edelgard the hideous strength and, by killing her siblings, the path to the throne that made all this possible. But beyond the end of the Church, their interests were far removed.

Thales chuckled. “Ah, niece, you are so stubborn. Did you think that he’d taken a liking to you at your little ‘tea times’? Why then did he seem so interested in the idea of what the Emperor’s husband might have to do in her stead, if she became sick?”

Disgust rose in her. “Perhaps you misunderstood him, Uncle. Or perhaps—” She raised her eyebrows. “—you only saw the response you were most looking for.”

It would be quite a coup for Those Who Slither, wouldn’t it, if they could create another Insurrection, give the political power over to another, and leave Edelgard powerless, blackmailing and bribing her into doing their bidding, being their weapon against the Archbishop?

She’d received the crown from her father under Thales’s nose, and she wasn’t about to lose it to him—and the chance to make a real difference—now or ever.

Thales shook his head. “Ah, my precious niece. Always so confident, even in matters you know so little about. Well, if you think so highly of Duke Riegan’s character, though even his parentage and upbringing are still unknown, let it not be me who proves otherwise. Still, I think that it would be much easier to negotiate with Count Gloucester.”

Gloucester was more Thales’s ally than Edelgard’s, and they both knew it. There was little doubt, of course, that he would switch sides if it benefited him, so he had been careful not to completely alienate anyone in the Empire—he was known for his cunning, not his honour. “Count Gloucester is not the leader of the Leicester Alliance,” Edelgard said. “Duke Riegan can bring the others houses on side.”

“Hm. Though it could be said that any sufficiently motivated leader of the Leicester Alliance could do the same.” Thales shrugged, leaving Edelgard gritting her teeth again. “Well, that is all I came to say, dearest niece. I will leave you to your work now.”

When the door shut behind him, Edelgard sighed. She knew was he was insinuating… if Claude died, Count Gloucester—already their ally—would be well placed to push for himself to be named the next leader, and bring Leicester on side much more easily… But even on a purely pragmatic level, this didn’t suit her purposes nearly as well as it suited Those Who Slither in the Dark.

Count Gloucester could probably take control of the Leicester Alliance, but not without pushback. House Daphnel, though no longer part of the Alliance Roundtable, still had considerable prestige and influence, and there was no doubt Judith would bring it all to bear against a repugnant man like Gloucester. Lord Holst of House Goneril was preoccupied with the border, and would most likely follow the advice of his sister, Hilda, who would not countenance supporting someone who had very likely had Claude killed for his own benefit. House Edmund would side with Gloucester, but not unreservedly: Lord Caspian Edmund was a shrewd, cautious man and he knew Count Gloucester’s method of gaining power won plenty of enemies as well as friends.

All in all, it would result in an Alliance in disarray, with in-fighting both in the open and behind doors, weakening them as a military and political power, and leaving plenty of avenues to splinter them still further. Even if Claude had been dead against her, at least the decisive defeat of the anti-Empire faction left the hope that the in-fighting would be halted, or at least minimised.

Of course… the Leicester Alliance following Claude, intact, would be the best possible outcome for her.

Her hands curled into fists under the table. Just wait, Thales… your time is limited.

*

Claude had had a reasonably productive time in the archives, if a bit dull. In a sense, that was quite pleasant, though. Relaxingly dull.

After the disturbing discussion with Lord Arundel yesterday, Claude had been trying to remember how much Lysithea said about him, but his overriding memory of the conversation was his disgust on finding out that Arundel was responsible for her condition. Which… was a strange one… if it was something to do with her Crest…

Claude frowned. Maybe it had been an attempt to supercharge her Crest somehow. He’d heard of similar tales in his own research, people claiming to have Major Crests rather than Minor, usually in inheritance disputes. It was more folk tale than real history, as no such method had ever really been found, just potions to enhance one’s stamina and enable more frequent use of their Crest, enough to confuse an onlooker. In all the stories the potions were very deadly and the one faking a Major Crest always came to a sticky end—so very folk tale.

Still, the fact that there were so many stories like that told Claude there was something to the idea, but most Fódlan nobles, he guessed, hadn’t really had much reason to use such techniques for the past hundred years or so. There had been few large wars, and Major Crests had grown so rare that claiming to have one in a dispute would just invite more scrutiny.

Plus, Hanneman’s work had led to a more accurate method of revealing a person’s Crest. Such trickery wouldn’t hold up any longer. And no one had yet found the method to give someone a Crest they didn’t have.

All this really had nothing to do with what Lord Arundel had said yesterday, but it was percolating in Claude’s head nonetheless… Crests… experiments… Arundel’s insistence on constantly calling Edelgard, the only survivor of the royal children, his ‘niece’…

There was something in there. Claude’s instincts were screaming at him, but he just didn’t have enough information. Which is why it would help if he could remember more of his conversation with Lysithea, but alas… he would have to go for the direct method instead.

“Johan,” Claude called across the room. “Could I talk to you for a minute? It’s not urgent, finish whatever you’re doing first.”

“Of course, Claude!” Johan replied, practically throwing down his pen and hurrying over. Claude sighed. Can’t say I didn’t try… “What seems to be the problem?”

“It’s not a problem, per se… More curiosity and, well, a wish not to offend Her Majesty.” Claude offered him a sheepish smile. “I was wondering… about the Insurrection… what exactly happened?”

Johan winced.

“I know that her siblings died, of course,” he said. “And that her father was stripped of his political power. But… there are some things that don’t seem to add up. You must have been around then, right? Since Edelgard said you worked in Enbarr for a long time before coming to work on this project.”

“Y-Yes…” Johan shifted, averting his eyes, and he seemed on the verge of refusing. But after a moment he clasped his hands together and said, “I will tell you what I can. It was… a difficult time for many of us, though of course, Emperor Ionius and his family were to suffer much worse…”

Claude’s ears perked up. “‘Were to’?”

“You must understand,” Johan said, “when the coup happened, it looked much like any other political dispute. There was some fighting in the capital, but once the Emperor’s children were captured, he surrendered quite willingly. I think less than a dozen died then. Ionius’s steward and the royal guards protecting the youngest children. Comparatively, it was quite bloodless.

“This was not the first time in the Empire’s history that the Emperor had been weak,” he continued. “And taking the royal children as hostages was immoral, perhaps—” There was a derisive snort from Meredith. “—but quite normal, as these things go. Many of the rest of us in the Palace had ties in one way or another to those involved—my nephew Karl, of course, and little Prince Walter—”

Claude felt himself go pale and cut him off. “Wait, wait. Your family was related to one of the Princes?”

“Yes, of course.” He must have sensed Claude’s confusion, because he added, “The Emperor’s wife and concubines, and their children, can exercise a great deal of influence over Imperial politics—alongside, of course, the possibility of becoming the next Emperor themselves. It’s only natural that the noble houses of the Empire, great and small, would want the daughters of their house to become part of the Emperor’s private household.”

It sounded a little like the system in Almyra, actually, although Claude knew his Almyran grandmother and great-grandfather had been trying to limit the number of possible heirs, because the resulting fights for the throne tended to end with, at best, one child quietly murdering all or nearly all of their siblings and half-siblings, and destructive civil war at worst. Claude’s father had taken three lovers besides Claude’s mother, who was elevated above all of them as Queen, and only two of them had born him children.

And then Claude’s status as the child of the favoured outsider had driven all of his siblings to band together against him, so if nothing else, it seemed like the family tradition of murdering all your siblings might be over!

He shook that thought away. “And… Prince Walter’s mother was of House Hevring?”

“That’s right,” Johan said. “The second-youngest. He was another of my great nephews. His mother, Gisela, was my niece, and Count Hevring’s sister. Ionius was her second courtship. The poor girl was widowed far too young…” His eyes grew distant. “She married for love the first time, you see.”

So Linhardt’s cousin? And his aunt? Were they both dead or just the young prince? Claude tried to school his expression into something less surprised. “So Count Hevring conspired in the coup that killed his own nephew?”

“It wasn’t like that then,” Johan said swiftly, sharply, the first hint of anything negative Claude had seen in the jovial man. “The royal princes and princesses had ties to many houses across the empire. Of the six great houses, I think only Vestra and Aegir lacked a connection, though Varley’s was more indirect, a cousin to the Count, I believe. That was precisely why they were such good hostages. The Emperor didn’t want to hurt his own heirs and children, but neither would any of the noble houses aligned against him allow harm to come to them, because their own interests and bloodline were bound up in those children—and even to hurt one of the children tied to a different noble house would invite reprisal. Politically, I suppose, it was quite neat.”

Claude’s heart sank to match Johan’s expression falling into deeper sadness. “But that’s not what happened, was it? I mean, did they really die of illness?”

“It’s never been confirmed what they died of.” He sighed. “But no. It wasn’t illness. Anyone who was there in Enbarr at the time would know… As soon as Lord Arundel returned with Princess Edelgard, the only child to escape the coup, things changed in Enbarr. Count Bergliez took his sons away from the capital, although his eldest had been educated here for most of his life. My great-nephew Linhardt went with them for a time. Duke Gerth’s young half-siblings were all swiftly dispatched home. Minor families simply fled altogether. Servants’ children disappeared too—whether through nefarious means, or their parents sensing the mood and spiriting them away… within the course of a week, the court of Enbarr became nearly deserted.”

The hairs on the back of Claude’s neck stood on end. “Why?”

“I do not know,” Johan admitted. “Whether it was threats or a secret communication, I did not receive any intelligence. My dearly departed wife and I were never blessed with children… something I was never grateful of before then.” He swallowed. “All that is known is that the royal children disappeared from the wing of the palace that they had been trapped in, and some servants on the lower floors reported they could hear their screaming at night.”

Screaming at night. Spirits. Edelgard had escaped a coup, only to be returned to all this… reunited with her siblings, only to have them all suffer. There must have been a reason for it all, but what? “…And this all happened when Arundel returned?”

“Yes.” Johan shuddered. “I don’t know what agreement he reached with the others when he was originally so eager to flee, but… since then, Lord Arundel has held a certain spell on the court. It continues even now, to an extent. That no one knows exactly what became of the royal children, that none of the six whose relatives were killed dared act against him, I think, increases the fear of him.”

“Is that why no one talks about them?” Claude was hit by a sudden thought. “Their mothers—?”

“Many of them died, I understand,” Johan said. “Perhaps some were taken away by their families. I hear that others cooperated, initially, but they soon changed their minds. They were, in the end, the only ones with the courage to fight. Prime Minister Aegir had all their portraits—the children, the mothers—put away and started punishing those who dared to speak of them.”

Claude was not sure what to say to this.

Luckily, he didn’t need to find something to say, because Meredith did it for him. “Why not simply show him the painting?”

“What painting?”

Johan wrung his hands. “The painting is meant to be for Her Majesty!”

“And yet you keep on not telling her of it,” Meredith snapped. “Always you insist that it must be finished another time!”

“I don’t know if she would be willing to speak to me, or to Lord Ferdinand—”

“What painting?” Claude repeated, a little louder.

Meredith sighed. “Come with me.”

She didn’t dawdle and Claude, still taken off guard by this turn in the conversation, had to dash to catch her as she abruptly left the room. Johan followed them. Claude wasn’t sure if he was wringing his hands still, but she sure sounded like it.

“Lord Ferdinand asked us to keep this a secret, remember?”

“Lord Ferdinand,” Meredith said, “asked us to help. Which we have not done, because you keep wringing your hands over the whole thing!”

Claude glanced behind him in time to see Johan’s hands drop to his sides.

They didn’t go far. They stopped outside a room adjoining the archives. Large doors barred the way, with a handle so rusted from disuse that it took Meredith three tries to open it. When she did, she gestured impatiently for Claude to follow her inside, although Claude’s curiosity would not have been able to stop him at that point.

He stopped as soon as he passed under the doorframe, making Johan bump into him and then apologise profusely. Claude waved him away, his attention entirely drawn by the enormous painting which dominated the room.

It was obviously meant to be exhibited somewhere grand, maybe even the throne room itself, because of the sheer scale of it. But where most paintings of that kind depicted battles, glorious victories to glorify the king, this one had a family in it.

Three young adults, the eldest maybe a little younger than Claude’s age now, sat at a table in the centre of the room of the painting, taking tea together. Only they were not occupied with their tea. One of the men at the table glanced over his shoulder, sternly lecturing a pair of boys in their teens, who must have been twins from their identical pleading expressions. Whilst the elder was distracted, a girl, a little younger than the twins, made to snatch a cake from his plate, her tongue sticking out in determination as she leaned forward on one foot.

The other man at the table had a young boy and girl on each of his shoulders. He calmly sipped at his tea whilst the younger ones threw their hands up in the air, joy obvious in their expressions. They seemed to weigh nothing to him, but one of the broad-shouldered man’s eyes was open and glancing upwards, keeping a careful eye on them.

Not far from this main table, another, smaller, table was engaged in an even less decorous tea party. These were the obviously youngest children in the painting. A small, green haired boy (Walter? Claude thought with a wince) seemed to be in the middle of stuffing an entire cake into his mouth, a feat which he had already attempted based on the jam smeared on his face. Smaller than him by a head, a small girl-ish figure in a dress drew pictures in the jam on her plate, but her face was unfinished, an uncannily blank spot in the picture.

Standing over this small table with an adorable scowl, wagging her finger and mouth open mid-lecture, was a thin slip of a girl with brown hair and violet eyes.

“It was Princess Wilhelmina’s commission,” Johan said, interrupting Claude’s thoughts and drawing his attention to the only woman at the large table. Princess Wilhelmina had dark hair and eyes which pierced through Claude as he studied her self in the painting.

She was the only one of the family looking out of the painting, towards the viewer, he realised. All the others were looking only at their family. Wilhelmina, though a fond smile played on her face as she held her teacup, looked out to the viewer with hard eyes. Claude could almost read her thoughts from the perfect details of her expression. This is what I’m protecting. Try me if you dare.

“There was political turmoil even then,” Johan added, “over whether Wilhelmina, the eldest and daughter of the Empress, born with a Crest of Lamine, ought to inherit, or whether the throne was better to go to her one-year younger brother, Maximilian, who had a Crest of Seiros like his father, but whose mother came from only a minor noble family. Both of them were highly capable…”

Johan seemed to have something to share about everyone in the painting. Frederick, the other adult at the first table, had been born Crestless but wowed the court with his feats of strength. The twins, Hans and Klaus, had no Crest either, but it made no difference to their full-blooded younger sister Ilse, who led them through all their games despite being younger; the twins took more pride in her Crest of Macuil than she did.

On Frederick’s shoulders sat Agnes and Paul, neither with a Crest, but nonetheless devoted to the Goddess. Agnes’s mother left the court to join a nunnery, but returned often to visit her daughter, whom she left in the care of Paul’s mother, who herself left a nunnery not long before she met Ionius. Agnes and Paul would joke that only one of their mothers was allowed out of a convent at a time or the whole Church would collapse.

Of the youngest three, Walter (Johan’s voice caught in his throat) was a cheerful child who only wanted to make others smile, even at a young age, leaving the mother of Hedwig, the youngest Hresvelg of all, to despair when she tried to copy his example.

“And of course, Her Majesty herself.” Johan’s voice became wistful. “She was only older than two of her siblings, but she took her duties as an elder sister very seriously. Perhaps too seriously… she was often squabbling with her immediately younger or elder siblings for trying to correct them, to get them to play less roughly, to say their prayers to the Goddess every night…”

Apart from the praying, that all sounded very much like Edelgard. Claude understood why Prime Minister Aegir would have hidden this painting after the Insurrection, even in its unfinished state. The challenge in Wilhelmina’s eyes, the whole point of the painting, was to show them as a family. Their personalities shone from the canvas. No one could fail to look at it and think of the lives that had been lost, and no one looked very well on the murderers of children. However terrifying people found Arundel, or however cowed they were by the power the Prime Minister wielded, he would have had difficulty exercising his power over the court even without constant reminders: this is what I did.

So you had to put it away, and hope people would forget.

“…But, nonetheless, they were never found far apart from her, and she would never hesitate to stand up to her elder siblings, or even the Emperor himself if she thought someone had treated her family unfairly.”

That… also sounded a lot like the Edelgard that Claude was getting to know. People heard the Hresvelgs’ screaming at night. No matter what Aegir did, he’d never be able to make Edelgard forget. This must have haunted her all this time, all through the Academy…

Why the screaming? Torture? But for what purpose?

And why was Edelgard’s hair coloured brown in the painting?

There’s something there. I know there is, but…

“Thanks for showing me this,” he murmured.

Wilhelmina’s expression was uncomfortable, the defiant challenge in her eyes somehow more powerful knowing that she was dead, as though she was accusing them all from beyond the grave. ‘What did you do, cowards? Did you turn your face away whilst we died, did you try to bury our ghosts as well as our bodies?’

Claude hadn’t even been in Fódlan when the Insurrection happened, but he averted his eyes and swallowed. Johan was also looking at his own clenched hands rather than the painting itself. “You said that Ferdinand gave you this?”

“Oh, yes!” Johan replied, seeming surprised to be addressed. “I understand he recovered it from his father’s—from one of the former Prime Minister’s stores, and expressed a wish to see it completed. I’m afraid that the original artist is… no longer with us, however, and finding another artist of the same calibre has been…”

“People are afraid of angering Arundel,” Meredith said bluntly. “They sense the tension at court and don’t wish to throw in their lot in one way or another before the outcome is known.” She looked at the painting and the hard lines of her face softened. “So here the children remain.”

Innocent, brown-haired Edelgard continued to lecture her siblings, having no idea what was to come. Claude wondered if she ever caught herself doing the same thing to Lysithea and felt sad.

Brown-haired, and now white. Lysithea. Like sisters. There was something… right on the tip of his tongue…

*

Edelgard retired to bed late, still trying to catch up on what she’d missed while she was in Brigid—mainly minor back-and-forth at the border, all to no avail. Her mood was sour when she finally finished brushing her hair, in her nightgown ready for bed. She sighed. Thales’s visit hadn’t helped today. The idea of him watching over her every move, looking for errors, excuses to act ‘on her behalf’…

With how much he’d been on her mind, she dreaded what her nightmares would be like. This comforting thought followed her as he got into bed, only to be interrupted by a knock on the window.

Edelgard muffled a shriek as she whirled around. She grabbed the lamp from her nightstand and approached the window with it high above her head, as though she might beat someone over the head with it—

—Which she seriously considered when she saw that the one sitting on the sill of her window was Claude. Relief and annoyance and exasperation warred in her all at once. “What are you doing here in the dead of night?”

“We didn’t get a chance to speak today!” he replied, as though this was a totally reasonable justification for scaring someone half to death and accosting them in their night-things. And as though it wasn’t his fault. “Can I come in?”

She was tired and half-tempted to refuse him, but she was also worried that Claude might do all of Thales’s work for him by falling from the window sill and breaking his neck, so she hastily opened the window and helped him squeeze in. “How did you even get up there? You might have fallen!”

“Relax,” Claude said, although he revealed some strain and leaned over to breathe more easily. “I just shuffled over from a few windows down. It’s actually pretty easy on most fancy buildings. I had to—” He stopped, rather abrupt, and there was a pause before he continued, “Well, suffice to say I’ve practised a bit.”

“You could have just replied to my note!” Edelgard groused, or tried to, but she found herself asking, “Is it really that easy?”

“Oh no you don’t.” Claude let out a wheeze of a laugh, straightening. “I think Ladislava is just starting to like me, I’m not going to make her mad… by… uh…”

“What?”

“Uh.” He gestured vaguely at the front of his shirt. “Do you want to put something…”

She was, she realised with sudden mortification, only wearing her nightgown. Her light summer nightgown—

Edelgard let out an undignified squeak and whirled around, putting her hand to her neckline. She hadn’t slipped down and made her indecent. She breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t mentioned her scars either… how stupid of her not to think. But the light was poor, and he wouldn’t be paying particular attention to her hands, or her chest, she hoped, and anyway, what could she have done, just left him hanging outside the window?

She shuffled to the end of her bed whilst keeping her back to Claude and swept up her robes, wrapping herself in it as quickly as she could. With the nights getting colder, it was thicker than her gown and a little large. She kept her hands tucked within it, revealing only her fingertips.

“So,” she said, trying to pretend her face wasn’t entirely red and her voice wasn’t still high-pitched from embarrassment, “what did you want to say?”

“I…” It might have just been her own imagination trying to make her feel better, but she thought Claude was blushing as well. “Sorry, I didn’t really think this through, did I?”

“It’s fine!” Edelgard replied. She cleared her throat. “I mean, we are to be married eventually, so there’s nothing to—” He’s in my bedchamber. Her voice cracked and became squeaky again as she tried to pretend that thought hadn’t entered her head. “Well—well, anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

“Right. I’m sure you’ll see my scars eventually too, fair is—”

Edelgard froze.

Claude did too, like he’d suddenly been struck by lightning.

He’d seen.

He stared directly into her eyes, and Edelgard was trapped, unable to look away or escape. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach and crawled up her throat, suffocating.

“Scars,” he said, soft and gentle, but it may as well have been a physical blow; she squeezed her eyes shut as though that would save her, but he continued in a jumble, “and the hair—your hair’s the same.”

No.

“Edelgard, whatever happened to Lysithea—” She heard him swallow, as though he was afraid of what he was about to say himself. “—did the same thing happen to you, too?”

Chapter Text

The white hair. He never would have thought of it if he hadn’t seen the picture of Edelgard as a child, the different colour, but—oh, suddenly it made so much sense. Hadn’t he thought that with that rare, white hair, they could be sisters? Hadn’t he remarked on how close they were, despite the history between the Empire and House Ordelia? How strange it was that Arundel and the Empire were responsible for her condition, but still, she loyally stayed at Edelgard’s side?

Because Edelgard understood, whatever it was. Because Edelgard had been through the same thing.

‘Our future died.’ That’s what Lysithea said. All of House Ordelia’s children. No one ever knew exactly what happened to the Hresvelgs. All dead. Screaming in the night. Except Edelgard, now white haired—

The thick, red mottled band at her wrists, as though she’d been chained, the strange circular scars surrounding her wrists and trailing all the way up her arm, sunken rough, ugly scabs… raised lines by her collarbone that he’d barely even glimpsed, now covered by the robe. She always wore gloves. Lysithea—Lysithea preferred long sleeves, too. Even in the height of summer she’d worn long sleeves. Wasn’t that strange?

“What happened?” Claude demanded. He couldn’t help the edge to his voice. Lysithea and Edelgard, the other royal children, all suffering for something—Lysithea’s sickness followed her her whole life; Edelgar,d still forced to ally with the uncle who’d delivered her home, to her siblings screaming in the night. Lysithea’s Crest… “What did they do to you? Why?”

She flinched and turned her face away.

Claude stopped. He realised he’d moved closer, leaned forward into her space. She looked small, wrapped up in the over-large robe, hiding away—

He pulled back, took a step away. He breathed and centred himself. Like meditating. Know your own mind. Put the anger away. “What happened?” he asked again, gentle.

She shook her head anyway.

“Edelgard…”

“I can’t talk about this right now,” she said in a rush, a torrent of words. “Claude, I—please don’t ask.”

“But…”

He trailed off. It was pointless anyway. She didn’t trust him enough to tell him, of course not. Why would she? Why would she ever?

The longer the silence went on for, the more of herself Edelgard recovered, standing straighter—shoulders back, her head rising, even if she still wouldn’t meet his eyes and he could tell her breathing was so steady only because she was keeping a tight rein on it.

“It’s not…” she began, surprising him. “It’s not… why I am doing this. Why we are doing this. So I think it’s better to focus on the work to be done. Not… personal issues.”

Not why we are doing this. Perhaps it wasn’t, for her. And perhaps Claude could settle for that too, to never belong anywhere, never be accepted by anyone, but to know that he was the last one, or at least one of the last ones. To see the world where there would be no one beaten or rejected just for having two mother tongues, belonging to both, and therefore to acceptable neither.

Perhaps.

Nonetheless, Claude could not deny that the bitter, choking taste at the back of his tongue was disappointment, couldn’t deny that he’d been foolish enough to hope for more. Again.

Edelgard folded in on herself again, bracing for her own rejection.

“I see,” was all Claude could say. “Goodnight then, Princess.”

She faltered and made an abortive movement to reach out to him, but withdrew her hand before the sleeves of her robe could slip to reveal the scars he’d already seen. “Claude…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he heard himself say. Half of him meant it and half of him wanted her to contradict him.

It almost looked like she might, so rather than listen to platitudes that never took the sting out of the truth, he fled.

*

Claude stewed on it in the archives the next day, barely able to keep his mind on the text in front of him. He just wanted, needed to know. What happened to Lysithea, and to Edelgard? It must have happened, from her reaction. Why was Edelgard not as badly affected as Lysithea? Or was she just better at hiding it, and really, she was close to death herself?

It would certainly put a different spin on Arundel’s offer. And Edelgard’s. Maybe she wasn’t really… it was just desperation.

Edelgard had promised to help him, to give him the power to change the world, not to give him the whole story. But it was hard to imagine the future he wanted if there were things he couldn’t say to her, if he was constantly wondering about what she was holding back. How would he tell her about Nader if he couldn’t tell her—

And he could. He could give her his real name, his real history, everything. He could hand her all it would take to destroy him when she was still trying to evade things obvious to his own eyes.

Claude snatched up a book with sudden vigour and flipped through it, trying to push the thoughts out of his mind with occupation. After a few seconds of reading he put the book onto the erotica pile with a sigh. Even baiting Meredith into complaining about ‘blasphemers’ didn’t appeal right now, nor did he feel like challenging her on how many ‘blasphemy points’ one got for siding with the Emperor warring against the Church. Claude was pretty sure he’d been winning on blasphemy points since birth, anyway.

He picked up another book at random, but when he opened it, a sheet of paper fell out. He caught the word ‘Gloucester’.

And ‘Riegan’.

Claude scanned it with wide eyes. One edge of the paper was uneven and ragged, like it had been torn out of something. He shook the book to see if anything else fell out and then went through the rest of the box, but there was nothing. All he had was this one page, offering only the complete and awful truth: the Church knew and did not act, not even to investigate further.

They let it pass. His Uncle’s death.

Claude wasn’t sure why seeing it in writing bothered him so much. Every child in the Alliance probably knew Godfrey von Riegan’s death was suspicious; if Church didn’t think the same, he would have wondered how they lasted so long.

But they’d been sure enough to put it in writing. Draw up a whole report on it, even if Claude was missing the rest. How many eyes had seen it, he wondered? ‘This has Count Gloucester written all over it, but we can’t work out how he got the demonic beasts there…’

Ha. Perhaps he’d been listening to Edelgard and her friends too much, if it hit him so hard. What was in it for the Church except for them to raise a fuss for no reason? Count Gloucester paid all his tithes and lip service to the Church flawlessly. Why would they turn against him, just because he’d had some people murdered for his own purposes?

Claude stared at the paper until the words became a blur.

His even coming to Fódlan had been spurred on by this event, the promise of danger and opportunity in one fell swoop. It had been a while since Claude really thought of leaving. His mother sending him off with prayers and proud eyes, but she didn’t say anything, didn’t tell him that the Goddess she prayed to would have him called a beast and had him slaughtered like one.

Father had been more worried, but Claude had asked him if it would really be safer for him to stay as a prince of Almyra, and he let Claude go. ‘Come back triumphant, to prove your worth to all those who would doubt you,’ he said. It was a task that Claude half-thought impossible, but still, he’d been determined to try.

What had Claude done since then? Spent the time adapting, always a few steps behind Edelgard von Hresvelg. So in the end, the best thing was to join her at the finish line… if he could get there. This had never been a game and the stakes had always been deadly. But he had never before felt like victory was in sight, except—except if he could never tell Edelgard his real name, it would be a victory in name only. He could never go home. There would never be a home to go to.

Which was to be expected, of course. That was exactly what he told Petra: he didn’t expect to be trustworthy, but he could work with that.

But remembering what Petra said to him… Edelgard on the ship, just them and the moonlight… Edelgard last night reaching out again, pulling her hand back at the last moment, afraid—

Afraid to be seen, maybe, by someone unproven. Claude wanted to pretend he didn’t understand that, but the uncomfortable feeling of alikeness bubbled up from the pit of his stomach.

He stared at the page—Gloucester and Riegan and the struggle for supremacy in the Alliance. Raphael’s parents died then, didn’t they? A private thing that Claude never commented on because he wasn’t sure he was supposed to have learned of it. Innocents… who’d died only because they were there. Of course Raph never spoke of it. If the Church didn’t step in, certainly a commoner had no power to do anything about it.

Edelgard… Gloucester was the Empire’s ally, nominally, but… she might. She might.

The foolish, lonely boy who looked up at the stars his whole life and dreamed of what it would be like if they were in reach was never quite gone, no matter how Claude tried to bury him. No one had ever found him worthy. But…

Maybe it’s worth a try, to prove I am. One more attempt.

Claude folded the page up carefully and hid it inside his sleeve.

Not a moment too soon, either. The door to the archives opened and Lysithea’s head poked through.

“Oh good, you are here,” she said. “Claude, I need you to compare notes with me on that book. Can you spare some time?”

He had a moment of reprieve whilst Lysithea fielded three different questions about her health from Meredith. He used it to calm his heart, ease the tension in his chest. Claude’s plans always seemed to walk on knife edges, but this was the closest he’d felt to actually bleeding for them.

“Really, I’m fine,” Lysithea was in the middle of saying with increasingly frayed patience. “The new medicine from Manuela is working wonders. I’ll join you in the archives later in the week and then you’ll see for yourself.”

“I suppose if anyone could discover something miraculous in so short a time, it would be Lady Manuela,” Meredith said. “The Goddess blessed that woman with many gifts.”

Wait a minute… was she blushing? Meredith was blushing? Over ‘Lady’ Manuela? She was surely not the first person in Enbarr to fancy Manuela, but probably the most hilarious. Actually, for her, it was kind of sweet, that such a stickler for rules and order should admire the disorganised chaos that was his old professor.

Lysithea waved him over with a scowl. “Come on, Claude.”

Now wasn’t really the time to tease Meredith anyway. He filed the thought away for later. “Alright, alright, I’m coming.”

*

Edelgard tried not to pace back and forth at the table, but her nervous energy came through with her wringing hands. She had no idea how Claude would look at her after she’d so bluntly chased him away last night.

It was her own fault, really. She should have been more careful. Edelgard had grown used enough to his presence that she hadn’t really thought…

A few of the other Black Eagles, she was sure, must have noticed her scars by now. Lysithea must know, at least. None of them had pressed her on it, had let it pass by, but of course Claude—Claude, with his insatiable curiosity, wouldn’t not ask. And even if he’d taken her off guard, if this went well he was always going to see them eventually. Edelgard should have rehearsed something, a clinical enough explanation that she would have been able to finish it without choking, or a graceful way to turn the question aside until—

Until. She didn’t really have an end point for that ‘until’. But if she was truly going to enter into a partnership with him, he needed… perhaps deserved… the whole truth. She’d given Byleth the whole truth as easy as breathing, but it had always been different with her. With Byleth, Edelgard had never had to prove anything or be anything other than what she was. Byleth’s open eyes encouraged honesty and betrayed no hidden motives.

Claude. Claude would never look at her like that. He was always poking, prodding, searching for some kind of answer to his own secret questions. And even if Edelgard had started to think that some of the questions he was asking were questions she had asked herself as she pulled herself back together and was forced to reach out to others for the sake of her goals, even if he was also just looking for someone to trust, someone safe, it—it wasn’t the same. He…

He didn’t make it easy. Not like Byleth.

There was no reason it should be easy, that he should make it easy. Edelgard was not easy. Maybe part of her just wanted to punish him for not being Byleth, but that wasn’t fair. Claude reached out on the boat. She opened her hands to him and he answered. He was trying. She had to remember that.

“What do you think, Edelgard?” Ferdinand asked, breaking into her thoughts.

She blinked and realised she hadn’t been attending at all. At least it was Ferdinand and she could honestly say, “I’m sure it will do as a starting point. We can add and take out clauses as we go.”

Edelgard thought it was a very diplomatic answer, so she was confused when Ferdinand and Shamir exchanged a significant look.

Shamir sighed. “Alright. Out with it. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Edelgard protested.

“Ferdinand,” Shamir said dryly, “was wondering if some of us ought to clean the place up before the next meeting.”

…Right. Edelgard winced and glanced around. The attic room had been created above an old, private chapel, but the chapel itself hadn’t been used since her Grandfather’s time, so everything up to the steeply pointed ceiling was covered with dust. Only their footprints and activity at the battered old table that had been left in the room disturbed the blanket of grey.

“It’s not the healthiest air to breathe, I suppose,” she said. “I’ll ask Ladislava to see what she can do.” Cleaning was a little bit beneath such a skilled soldier, but she didn’t want anyone outside of their small circle to think that the room was in use again.

Of course, Shamir wouldn’t let her get away with that. “Glad you agree. Now that that’s settled—what has you so distracted?”

“It’s not important,” she tried. Seeing that neither of them believed her, Edelgard relented. “Claude and I had a minor… disagreement, that’s all.”

“Minor and unimportant, and that’s why you’re completely lost in thought over it?”

She had no answer for Shamir.

“If you’re still thinking about it,” Ferdinand offered gently, “perhaps it is because you feel there was some merit to what he said.” He smiled. “I don’t doubt it sounds strange to hear it from me, but maybe moderation and compromise is the order of the day.”

“It is never strange to hear good advice from you, Ferdinand,” she retorted. Edelgard deflated with resignation as she added, “I will think about what you have said, thank you. Please, do not let my inattentiveness distract from the meeting any further.”

He didn’t know what he was advising her on, yet what an echo to her own thoughts it was. Perhaps Claude was right to ask for the truth, the full truth, but… Edelgard resisted the urge to scratch at her wrists. She was wearing gloves and long sleeves as she always did, of course, but they didn’t feel as—complete as usual. As safe.

That was, naturally, the perfect time for Claude and Lysithea to enter. She did her best to flatten away a wince, but Claude’s gaze lingered on her nevertheless.

If he noticed anything, he chose not to comment. “Is this everyone?”

“This time, yes,” Edelgard said. “It would be too suspicious if we all gathered every time. Anything that comes from Ferdinand, Lysithea, or Shamir, you may accept as though it comes from me.”

“Well then…” Claude raised his eyebrows at the huge stack of notes in front of Ferdinand. “Where shall we start?”

To hammer out a peace treaty was not the work of a single meeting, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. Edelgard tried to keep a careful eye on Claude throughout, but he was a closed book, always raising counterpoints with the idea of how it would play to the Alliance roundtable, never his own opinion. His points were always good and his suggestions better, but…

Finally, Lysithea descended into a coughing fit which very abruptly halted the meeting. Ferdinand escorted her out whilst Edelgard looked on with worry and Shamir frowned after them.

“…She’s been a lot better, lately,” Claude said. “I’m sure it was just the dusty air.”

Edelgard couldn’t tell if it was reassurance, or just an observation, and she hadn’t decided which was more likely before he turned to her and asked, “Can I talk to you in private for a minute?”

“Ah—yes?” She hated how taken off guard she sounded.

Shamir’s piercing eyes slid from Claude to Edelgard, but after a pause, she only said, “I’ll watch the exit, just in case.”

Edelgard’s wrists began to itch again when she left. She was acutely aware of the position of her hands and no stance seemed comfortable. She settled for folding her arms across her chest, where it was a little less obvious if she clenched her fists.

Claude didn’t seem to be paying attention to her hands. He fiddled with his sleeve and his distant gaze was fixed somewhere by her ear.

The silence dragged on. Edelgard hesitated, and then said, “Claude?”

He blinked and quirked his lip. It wasn’t a smile, not even a false one, but perhaps that honesty was a good sign. “I found… something in the archives that maybe you should see.”

She’d been worried he would say something about the previous night. If he was happy to ignore it for the time being, she was grateful to accept the reprieve. “I can arrange to come down later if you…”

Claude shook his head and took a sheet of paper from his sleeve, offering it to her. His expression was muted, not guarded exactly, but—watchful. “I know Meredith would have my head if she knew, but I couldn’t leave it there.”

As so often the case with him, Edelgard was conscious of how closely she was being observed. When she accepted the paper and opened it, her eyes found the word ‘Gloucester’ and she immediately understood his solemnity… and why he was studying her so closely for answers.

There wasn’t anything new or surprising in the summary—the tail end of a secret report for the Church, it looked like. With everything else the Church had ignored or swept under the rug for its own purposes, that they had not acted or investigated further into the assassination of Claude’s uncle was entirely expected.

She was acutely aware, however, of what dangerous territory she was in. “Lord Godfrey and his party were overcome by demonic beasts, were they not?” she asked, careful to keep her voice neutral and steady.

“That’s right?” Claude said. “The merchants were Raphael’s parents, if you remember him from the Academy.”

Edelgard hadn’t known him very well, but she remembered the broad-shouldered young man being kind to Bernadetta, so she had always thought of him positively for that alone. How sad to think he’d lost his parents in such a pointless way, for petty noble politics…

Or not to petty so far as Count Gloucester was concerned.

“Count Gloucester is your main ally in the Alliance, isn’t he?” Claude asked.

It would hardly do her any good to deny it. Claude had known this when he accepted her offer. “He is. It’s purely from necessity, I can assure you of that.”

“Of course it is,” Claude said. He didn’t sound sarcastic, or even begrudging, only thoughtful. “If you’re willing to work with Lord Arundel after what he did, then Gloucester would present no issue.”

Edelgard winced at the reminder of Claude’s realisation from last night, but ignored it. “Did you want to ask something… specific?”

If he asked her if the Empire had had any part in the assassination, she would be honest with him. She would have to be honest with him, because it would inevitably come out at a later date, anyway. As much as she dreaded having to tell Claude more of Arundel, which would only reveal more of her own personal history with him, more of Those Who Slither in the Dark and what they’d made from her, on this, there was no way she could be silent.

But that wasn’t what he asked.

“What about after the war?” Claude asked. “After helping you to secure victory, Gloucester will be expecting a reward. What will you give him?”

“After…” Edelgard bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t want to make promises she couldn’t keep, but the answer was obviously important to Claude. A test. “You know that there are other enemies who will be my first priority.”

Even here, she didn’t quite dare say Arundel’s name out loud. Claude nodded, which she took as a good sign.

“But,” she continued, “I do not foresee Count Gloucester belonging in the Fódlan I intend to build.”

Claude raised his eyebrows. “If you remove him from power after your victory, your other allies might take it as a sign. Act against you.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” she said. “I’m not doing this for my own sake, but for the sake of everyone and all those who would be born into a world where their future is decided at birth.”

She thought of Raphael, kind and cheerful, living in a world where everyone knew who was at fault for his parents’ deaths, and where everyone stood by and did nothing. She was guilty of that, too. Edelgard wouldn’t blame him if he hated her for making an ally of Gloucester. She wouldn’t blame Claude for it either. It wasn’t the most disgusting alliance she had had to make, but it was no small evil in its own way, either. Gloucester could have had Lord Godfrey killed some other way—poison, stabbing. He decided on one with collateral damage because it was easiest for him, gave the greatest plausible deniability.

In a way, Edelgard thought there was even greater repugnance in that. Commoners killed not because they offended you, but because it was convenient. To consider innocent lives, not merely beneath you, but entirely irrelevant to you. To reduce the existence of people who had done you no injury, committed no crimes, to the same significance as daisies trampled beneath your feet on an afternoon walk…

“If I am to create a world where anyone may make a home and thrive,” she said finally, “then I cannot have it led by people who would throw human lives away without a thought.”

“You have to have people who care,” Claude agreed. His expression was still frustratingly blank, but his eyes were piercing. “If they don’t care, they won’t fight for it. I understand.” A flicker of something—frustration? Reluctance? Thoughtfulness?—crossed his features as he pursed his lips. “Gloucester’s not a fool. If I can understand it, he probably can as well.”

Edelgard wasn’t sure what answer Claude was looking for, so she remained silent.

It wasn’t clear if he knew what answer he wanted, either. The silence dragged on, and he didn’t press. After a while, he only cleared his throat and said, “Well, consider that a warning, I guess.”

He turned to leave. The utter lack of energy made Edelgard grimace. She’d asked him to join her, and finally he agreed, only for her to keep him at arm’s length when she’d offered him a partnership. She knew she was doing it, but when she opened her mouth and said, “Claude, wait—”

When he paused, half-turning, his expression shaded by the poor light—

Her courage failed her. “About… my uncle’s people.”

He turned fully, looking faintly confused. “Yes?”

“An important… strategic consideration.” Edelgard licked her lips. Her palms were clammy under her gloves. This was important for him to know, this was factual. This should not be hard. “They have some kind of—spell. I believe it has a steep cost because they seem to use it sparingly, but they can… they can take on the appearance of others. Their exact likeness.”

Claude blinked at her.

It was a difficult thing to believe, she knew. “It’s what happened to—Tomas!” She was momentarily elated at having found such a good example. “He was—”

“He was recommended to the Church by House Ordelia decades before he apparently turned against the Church,” Claude murmured.

He’d grasped it so quickly. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes. It’s likely that Tomas was replaced with my uncle’s agent Solon when Tomas when to visit Ordelia territory again.”

“A sudden personality change,” Claude continued saying, like he hadn’t heard her. “But of course no one leaps to, ‘they were magically replaced’…” He started to pace. “They could put agents anywhere—you have codes to confirm peoples’ identity? Of course you do—”

Edelgard hadn’t even had time to open her mouth to answer.

Claude stopped pacing and whirled to face her. His expression creased. “Your uncle.”

Her heart stopped.

“It makes sense suddenly. Why he would take you away from Enbarr, then suddenly return to the conspirators—” Claude’s words left his mouth so quickly they became a babble. “It was still dangerous, it made no… but obviously someone who isn’t really your uncle, isn’t the real Lord Arundel…” He shook his head vigorously, as though trying to clear it of something. “So for all this time, you’ve had to pretend…”

“Claude, please—” Edelgard shut her eyes against sudden dizziness. “We’ve been over this. My personal life is… not relevant.”

“Edelgard, your uncle was killed and replaced by someone who still goes around pretending to be your uncle.” His voice was filled with disbelief. “You don’t think that’s relevant?”

“My uncle died a long time ago. Whatever Thales is doing in his guise is a problem of now, not years ago,” she snapped.

‘Thales’, she saw Claude mouth, rolling the strange name around on his tongue. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him that. If Claude found any loose thread he would pull and pull until he’d unravelled everything holding the secret together.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t be angry. I… simply mean to say that perhaps we should… focus on our goals. Whatever happened in the past doesn’t have to affect how we build the future.”

“Doesn’t it?” Claude asked, in a tone that didn’t expect any answer.

He sounded distant, hollow, and her forced smile slipped, showing her uncertainty. She resisted the impulse to tuck the feeling away. Claude… deserved that much openness.

Their eyes met. Claude smiled, showing perfect, even teeth. “I guess it doesn’t. I understand, Princess. You can’t tell that to someone you don’t really know. Not until they’ve proven themselves.”

Edelgard winced. “I don’t mean—”

“It’s fine. I said I understand.” He was still smiling, with wide and watchful eyes. “You don’t know my nature, after all. Like the scorpion and the turtle. It’s a fable for a reason.”

Turtle? His voice was light and easy, his body language relaxed and open, but prickles of foreboding ran down Edelgard’s spine. “That’s not—I don’t mean to say anything about you.”

He looked at her with soft, almost fond eyes—like when they’d been stargazing. Like he was watching something far out of reach.

What did I say that was so wrong?

“Of course you didn’t mean to,” Claude replied. “Teatime like normal tomorrow, yeah?”

He didn’t wait for the answer. Edelgard opened her mouth, but he was gone.

She groaned and buried her face in her hands. Why did he have to be so… so…

Difficult. It was just difficult with him. Even when she had expected Byleth to stand against her, she had known why it would happen, why the hands of a damned and lost soul could never compare to the Goddess’s regard—destiny, it could have been called, since Byleth had been singled out in some special way. That was easy to understand.

She had pushed Claude so far away and she didn’t even know how. She’d said the same thing about focusing on the future, not the past, hadn’t she? And he had seemed to understand then, even if he had been a bit—stung.

At least, she’d thought he had. But maybe that was wrong as well.

Oh, Claude, why can’t you just… Edelgard sighed and didn’t even finish the thought. Because if he was easy to understand, if he offered up everything of himself to her without asking her to prove she deserved it, he wouldn’t be Claude.

And Claude wasn’t Byleth, but—as frustrating as he could be, she was starting to like Claude for being Claude, with his sharpness and his wit and his curiosity and his sometimes odd way of looking at things. She’d asked him to join her for political reasons, but now there were also a few personal ones why she didn’t want to lose him.

She suspected he wasn’t as forgiving as Byleth had been, and if she didn’t find some way to understand him better, she would lose him.

“Edelgard?” Shamir stepped inside the room, voice low. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, it’s nothing—” Edelgard stopped. Something Claude said… “Actually, I have a strange question. Have you heard of a fable called ‘the scorpion and the turtle’?”

Shamir rarely betrayed any surprise, but this time she paused and gave her a very confused look.

“Have you?”

“I have,” she replied, still bewildered. “Though I’m surprised you have. It’s similar to the story told in Fódlan about the scorpion and the frog, but the scorpion can’t pierce the turtle’s shell and they both make it across the river safely. I’m still not sure why the scorpion and the frog die in your version. Did you… have a reason for asking about an old story?”

“Not really,” Edelgard said. “Thank you, Shamir. I’m sorry for keeping you.”

There wasn’t necessarily anything significant in stories. But there were worse places to start in understanding someone than the stories they chose to tell.

Chapter Text

If Hubert thought Hilda’s strange new behaviour was a ploy, he would be more concerned. As it was, it was merely disconcerting, akin to seeing—well… a swift personality change. And although she had not suffered that kind of personality change (Hubert had made sure of it), it did rather… if Hubert would go so far to admit that she had some modicum of instinct for spywork… take the challenge out of everything, if he was permitted to come and go around Derdriu as he pleased.

“Wow, Hubert,” Dorothea said. “You really did a number on her.”

He raised an eyebrow, but she remained in thoughtful repose, watching Hilda barter at one of the market stalls, and didn’t notice. Hubert sighed. “Is this why you asked me to come out with you? Sympathy for the enemy?”

“She’s a person,” Dorothea replied. “Not an enemy.”

“She is both, and you shouldn’t let your emotions cloud your judgement.”

At this, she glowered at him. “My emotions are not clouding anything, thank you. Besides, she isn’t an enemy yet, and might never be, if Edie pulls of her alliance with Claude.”

He snorted. “That will not happen.”

“Don’t let your dislike of Duke Riegan bias your judgement, Hubie,” Dorothea said primly.

He glared at her, but she remained unaffected.

“Anyway,” she continued, “you’re pestering that poor man so much, he’s going to get sick of the sight of you. Haven’t you ever heard ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’?”

“I’m not trying to make him fond of me, I am trying to persuade him of the benefits of a business proposition,” Hubert said. “And I have not been pestering him. If anything, I am the one being pestered, by his apprentice.”

“To be pestered you have to dislike the attention.” Dorothea sniffed. “She really looks up to you. You shouldn’t underestimate how important that is.”

That she seemed to find something to admire in Hubert was the part that troubled him. Young girls should look to greater, better things than spymasters. He had to admit, however, that pestered was not the right term. “I’m only saying that if anyone has a right to complain, it would be me. Not that I am complaining.”

Dorothea shook her head with a small smile playing across her face and went to engage Hilda in conversation.

Hubert sighed. He supposed that her understanding of people, her interest in them, was also what made her able to make such keen insights like those against Ignatz. A pity the advantage had both been short-lived, and her effort ultimately wasted, as Lady Hilda Goneril simply… gave up.

Perhaps that was why Hubert was bothered. Dorothea might have an ease with people which he did not, but he prided himself on his own judgement of people, too. At the Academy, Hubert had been wary of Goneril; she was a spoilt brat, but much like Dorothea, she had her own way of accurately assessing people and there was… something about her which made him suspect there was some substance behind that vapid facade.

That impression had only been strengthened after meeting her in Derdriu. Behind the pretty face and girlish outfits was a woman with a spine of steel and a quick mind. Hubert could admit that even he had underestimated her at some points. Why she’d finally decided to make the best use of her abilities in Claude von Riegan’s service, he didn’t know. And what had suddenly taken her drive away he also didn’t know.

Hubert’s understanding was incomplete. He didn’t like that. He did not like leaving things ‘incomplete’.

But it seemed like at the current time he had no choice. He sighed, but he was hardly going to continue to hover around the square on the chance that Dorothea would get bored of Hilda’s company, and there was another task which he would regret leaving incomplete: tutoring Una.

She was… not precisely gifted, but Hubert had not expected her to be. What she was was determined, and that was sufficient.

In some ways she was too determined. Hubert had never needed to slow down in his own learning of dark magic, so he scrambled to think of exercises that would not leave Una with burns from overuse of magic when she inevitably practised them on her own, again and again.

When Hubert arrived at the workshop, however, Una was nowhere to be seen.

“I sent her on an errand,” Marro said without being asked, and without looking up from twisting a thin rod of glass. This one was shot through with colour pattern as well—the spell Luna. Hubert hadn’t expected him to be capable of the more advanced spells. “You visit a lot, lately.”

“Your apprentice is persistent.”

Marro snorted. “That is certainly true.”

He stopped to reheat the rod again, narrowing the casting of a fire spell between his thumb and forefinger to increase the temperature. It was delicate spellwork, but he did it without strain. He bent the end of the glass around an anvil and chipped off the excess.

“Your offer of joining the Empire… it still stands?”

Hubert stood a little straighter and tried not to look too interested. “You have reconsidered?”

“I have been thinking about it.” Marro sighed. “Una has been urging me to change my mind. Perhaps it will give her some sense of peace. I do not know.”

“I think she would be pleased to be aligned with the enemy of Faerghus,” Hubert replied. After he had offended Marro previously, however, he was wary of undoing what progress had been made, so he changed the subject. “How does the eagle progress?”

“Two wings are complete.” Marro studied the twisted glass in his hand with a critical eye. “Attaching them to the main body will be difficult, however. They may need to be started anew soon enough.”

Hubert frowned. “After so many hours of labour?”

“Glass is a temperamental material. It can only be bent and shaped so far. Sometimes critical flaws hide in the clearest material. Any who wish to create art with glass must accept we are fighting against its very nature.” Marro gave the twisted glass one more look over, sighed, and dropped it into a bin by his feet, where it shattered. “The challenge in its creation is what gives the objects their beauty. Each represents the triumph of human ingenuity and spirit.”

Hubert failed to see how the method of production could increase the aesthetic value of the final product, but he supposed that this philosophy would please Lady Edelgard, and made the choice of gift all the more appropriate.

Marro did not make further conversation and so neither did he.

It was not long before Una returned from her errand. She gave both of them looks of dismay. “How long have you been standing in silence?”

“Why?” Hubert asked.

She sighed, handing over a small parcel to Marro. “You’re both so weird. Master, may I practise with the Marquis if he is free?”

Marro looked up with a frown. “You’re only so formal when you fear I might say no.” He paused. “Did you complete all the tasks I set for you this morning?”

“…Most of them.”

“So ‘no’, then,” he said dryly. “Finish your work and then you may do as you please.”

“But Hubert—the Marquis is already here!” Una whined. “We can’t waste his time!”

“He has been waiting for you here for some time; if he has nothing better to do, I dare say he could wait a little longer.”

Hubert scowled. It was more true than he would like. Time in Derdriu often seemed to pass at a crawl. He couldn’t help but think of all he could be accomplishing in this same time if he were still at Her Majesty’s side in the Empire.

Una made a noise of distate and stomped to the back of the workshop, disappearing behind the largest furnace. There was the loud clattering of glass, followed by something smashing and a curse.

Marro paused in unwrapping the parcel to study Hubert’s reaction. “I apologise for my apprentice’s behaviour. It seems she is far from her best today.”

“She acts her age,” Hubert said. Marro narrowed his eyes, and he added, “When she’s older, she’ll understand the gift you were trying to give.”

Marro continued to eye Hubert suspiciously, but allowed, “Perhaps she will.”

Despite what Una said, Hubert wasn’t sure if ‘cowardly’ was the right word to describe Marro, and ‘thoughtless’ certainly wasn’t. To give someone the experience of a normal childhood, or make the attempt, at least, despite everything was not… easy. It wouldn’t have been easy for a normal man, but Marro had lost as much as Una had. It was clear that all his priorities had been with the girl. There was honour in that.

But honour didn’t bring comfort in the dead of night nor the satisfaction of knowing your loved ones were avenged. Well-intentioned as he undoubtedly was, Marro had been shortsighted—seeing Una too much as the child who had been taken into his care, and not the unjust world she would grow up in and rage against.

Dorothea chose that moment to enter, pausing at the threshold. “Well I see you gentlemen are getting along famously.”

“Lady Dorothea!” Una said in a delighted voice. Her head briefly appeared from behind the back of the furnace before Marro coughed, and she slunk away again with a loud, exaggerated sigh.

However irritated with Marro she was, Una was never afraid of him. Even when she claimed he wasn’t thinking about what she wanted, she never truly believed it, or she would hesitate to try his patience so obviously.

Raising her as just a girl might have been a mistake, but it was not… without some unique value of its own.

“You’ve taught her to fill a room with her displeasure very well, Hubert,” Dorothea said.

“That is not what I have been teaching her,” Hubert groused. The last thing he needed was to renew Marro’s suspicions of him as a ‘bad influence’ just as the man might be becoming more amenable to Hubert’s ideas.

“I’m only teasing, Hubie.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “As delightful as that is, what I actually came to say was that I’ve persuaded Hilda to come out for a night on the town with me. Reinvigorate her spirits. Ignatz is going to be your escort whilst she’s with me and you are not to frighten the poor young man to death.”

Hubert opened his mouth—

“And don’t tell me Hilda is our enemy and I oughtn’t be kind to her or any of that.” Dorothea sighed. “If you keep acting like that, you’ll make it come true, and you know Edelgard will be trying her best to make this work.”

His lips thinned. “Hmm,” was all he was willing to admit on that front.

“You should be thanking me,” Dorothea said tartly. “I can tell you’re bored without her needling you all the time.”

Hubert would not be thanking her for that ‘kindness’. Boredom was a small price to pay for peace… even if it grated and reminded him of how useless he was, so far from Her Majesty. “We will see if you feel the same way after several hours in her company.”

“Oh, she has done a number on you, hasn’t she?” She laughed when Hubert frowned. He wasn’t sure if he fully grasped what she was insinuating but he didn’t like it. “Just teasing again. See you later, Hubie.”

*

By the time Una had finished her chores, Ignatz had appeared as promised. He blinked at her scar with wide eyes, but wisely didn't comment on it. He introduced himself to her with a short bow and a stutter. Hubert had to discretely inform her that he was always like that before she took offence.

Una soon forgot about it anyway. She practically vibrated with excitement as they walked into the small yard at the back of the workshop for another magic session.

“I did the miasma spell last night!” she said before Hubert had so much as opened his mouth.

No wonder she had been so eager. “Show me.”

With a furrowed brow, she extended her arm. A whole second passed before the magic took on solid form. Like a pair of purple snakes, its wound down her arm, which shook from the effort. The twin lines of magic met in Una’s palm and swirled, creating a maelstrom which darkened to nearly black as it grew and formed a sphere, the surface bubbling like in a cauldron.

“Good,” Hubert said. “Now cast.”

Una baulked at this and the spell fluctuated wildly, losing its shape.

“You will not be able to hurt me. Cast.”

She grimaced, pulling the sphere back into shape. Her focus was obviously affected, because it took nearly as long as it had to gather the magic in the first place, but she managed it.

Then, after a split-second of hesitation, she threw it at Hubert.

Hubert, instead of dodging or deflecting caught it, maintaining the spell with a counter-balance of his own magic long enough to examine it. The strength of it had been weakened by the time of maintaining it, which was unsurprising, but was a more serious flaw for one who intended to use the spells in work rather than as weapons on the battlefield, where the waning of its power could be overcome by immediate casting.

Still, the form of the spell was correct in all the essentials. All that was needed was more focus when casting it; the focus of the caster reflected in the spell, allowing it to hold its shape for longer. ‘Remember’ its shape, if one were being poetic, perhaps.

When Hubert was learning dark magic, his demand was to become deadly in as efficient a manner as possible. His father obeyed the request with alacrity, and Hubert’s practise had taken place daily regardless of how rested he was. Feedback on his progress consisted of the ways that his spell would have failed to kill the enemy, an enemy that increased in strength and expertise as Hubert’s own abilities increased, so that it was not always possible to detect any progress at all.

The sense of constant failure had driven him. Hubert already had an example of what failure cost in the stark white of Lady Edelgard’s hair; he was not prepared to find out what the cost of further failures might be.

As Una’s lessons were not for nearly as urgent a purpose, Hubert took the opposite approach to his father’s example, stressing the progress she had already made, and praising the construction of the spell, before giving his critique.

Unfortunately it was only this last that Una seemed to mind. “Focus again?! Ugh!” Her scowl made her scar particularly ferocious. “I am focusing! Can’t you be more specific? How do I focus better?”

“It will come with practise,” Hubert told her.

This was not what a young girl wanted to hear. Her scowl deepened.

“It might help if you were able to relax a little?”

Una blinked and turned towards Ignatz with a look of bafflement. Had she really forgotten he was there? Not that it mattered, Hubert reminded himself, as she wouldn’t be fighting. Her situational awareness did not need to be so finely honed.

Ignatz’s face reddened under the attention, but he continued with only a slight stutter. “P-Professor Manuela referred me to Professor Hanneman for my reason magic, and, well, that’s um—that’s what he said my problem was. I had the same issues with the focus, but when I tried to focus more, all I was thinking of was—was trying to focus, and not actually thinking of the spell. It helped a lot when Professor Manuela taught us to meditate. I mean… not that you need to do that, but… I hope that made sense!”

This halting commentary was far from reassuring to Hubert, but Una hummed thoughtfully at the end. “Focusing too much on focusing… you know, it reminds me of something Marro once said.”

“Which was?”

“I asked him how he could do dark magic so easily and work at the same time. He said that actually made it easier. I didn’t get it, but…” She finished with a determined nod. “Let me try again!”

This time, there was a lengthy pause before she gathered any magic. Her eyes were closed, and when she did hold out her hand and the spell formed in her palm, her progress was faster and significantly more stable. Una only opened her eyes to cast it at Hubert again.

He caught it; it was immediately apparent that she had been more successful. The shape of the spell was firmer, with less bleed-off of magic, to the point where Hubert was required to cast it at the ground instead of being able to simply disperse it by disrupting the core of the spell.

Una observed this with a delighted grin. “I did it!”

“Indeed you did.” Hubert even allowed his own small smile as an acknowledgement. “What did you do differently this time?”

“I imagined I was like Marro, and I was working the spell into the glass! He’s right, it does make it easier.”

He tutted. “Your master is an expert in his craft. You shouldn’t be so surprised that his advice will benefit your progress.”

Una grumbled something under her breath before a grudging, “Maybe.”

She jumped when Marro’s voice broke in, as he stepped out from the back of his workshop. “I am touched by your faith in me.”

“Does this mean my break is over?” she asked with a pout.

“It means your break was over fifteen minutes ago,” Marro said dryly. “But I am pleased that the Marquis has been able to help you progress.”

Hearing this, it would have been difficult for Una to complain of unfairness or demand more time for training, although she made a valiant attempt that was stonewalled by Marro’s unchanging expression.

“Fine! I’ll go clean up.” Una’s sigh was less than she was capable of, so she appeared to still be in a good mood. “Am I good enough to learn putting the spells into the glass yet?”

“No.”

“Great!” she chirped. “So you won’t mind if I go back to the Empire with the Marquis to work on my magic some more! Grandmother said I could go if I had your permission as well.”

She skipped inside, her cheerful whistling a sharp contrast to Marro’s sigh.

Hubert’s expression was very carefully neutral, but Ignatz laughed and then looked abashed when Marro turned a baleful glare on him. “Ah! S-Sorry, I was just thinking that she reminded me of Hilda then.”

Though he would never admit it, Hubert had had the same thought. He felt a moment of kinship with Marro when his grimace mirrored his own.

“Speaking of the Empire,” Marro said, “Una has convinced me to more seriously hear out your proposals. You may have a little of my time for this now.”

He didn’t sound enthusiastic, but Hubert was pleased by this progress. His own powers of persuasion were no little thing, but must pale in comparison to Una’s when Marro took his duty of care towards her so seriously.

With this in mind, he outlined all the material advantages of having Her Majesty’s favour in the Empire, including Una’s future career when she eventually mastered Marro’s arts and took on her own apprentices. If he never quite warmed to the subject, Marro accepted Hubert’s assurances with thanks and promises to consider the matter carefully.

He left more optimistic than he’d felt in some days.

*

Hilda usually liked to be the life and soul of a party. Even though the Dorothea Arnault would have put up stiff competition for the role, under most circumstances, Hilda would have relished the challenge of making herself the centre of attention without appearing to show Dorothea up at all.

She tried to make an effort, she really did. She smiled at all the most important people in the room, danced with them and avoided having her feet trodden on to give them the illusion of being pleasant dance partners—all the usual things Hilda did at these parties. But her heart wasn’t in it. Her heart hadn’t been in anything over the last few days, except maybe the letter she’d finally managed to finish and send to Marianne alongside the necklace. Poor Marianne. She always doubted herself so much, Hilda couldn’t resist wanting to make her feel better. It felt like an unambiguous good thing.

That was the problem, Hilda had realised. She felt useless and stupid and uncomfortably selfish. Of course she’d always been a little bit selfish, really, or at least she thought so, but she’d tried not to be mean about it, always making sure to thank people for the help she manipulated them into, giving out compliments freely—she was so good at giving compliments that really meant things to people! That was an important skill!

A little bit of selfishness in such a crowded world was no real bad thing. Except it felt it, now. When she’d been swanning around thinking of all the good her artisan school could do, all the people who could be trained, people who didn’t have the connections to the guilds—how proud she’d felt of herself, whilst people gleefully murdered children for no reason, for being part of a people of whom some had done a bad thing.

She remembered being suspicious of Marro that first time Hubert ran off from her with a wince, not because her suspicions were wrong, but because if Marro had decided to burn the whole of Derdriu, he would have been no more unjustified than the people who massacred his village, and what could Hilda have done to show him he was wrong, that they weren’t all like those men? Show him a stupid selfish young woman who didn’t care and never thought about the worst thing that ever happened to him, the worst thing that could happen to him?

Hilda was so proud of herself, coming to Derdriu with Claude—using her talents for good, she thought, since her artisan school wasn’t getting off the ground any time soon. Claude needed someone to manage people, and she was really and truly good at it, and she took over Derdriu in his stead because she could finally prove it was okay for him to trust people, because Claude needed that, he needed it proven. And Hilda really thought she could do it, could fix it, because she didn’t know what Claude was doing but it was something good, she was sure of it, she knew he was a good person and her instincts about people were never, ever wrong.

What was she proving to Claude, except that she was useless, couldn’t beat the Emperor’s spymaster in home territory when the only ally he had was Dorothea? Proving that Claude was right to trust no one, rely on no one else? Certainly not to rely on Hilda.

Small, exclusive parties like this were the perfect place for Hilda to work the crowds of nobles, convince them of all the good her artisan school could do when there weren’t any advisors to whisper in their ears. But it felt pointless, and so she watched Dorothea twirl around the room instead with an uncomfortable churning in her gut. Dorothea whispering in peoples’ ears, Dorothea making friends in high places, Dorothea emphasising mutual friends, asking for news…

Hilda sat up straight.

Dorothea, entertaining Derdriu’s great and powerful—if not all the players in Alliance politics themselves, then certainly the pieces being played with, minor nobles who had their retinues directed here and there, who were called on to provide funding, run ‘militia exercises’… you could learn a lot, from them. Especially when the drinks flowed, the music was loud, and Dorothea was just so charming and interested in what you had to say!

That’s not possible. Hilda tried to reason against the dawning realisation. We read all of Dorothea’s letters back to the Empire. No info leaves Derdriu in them. Not even in code!

It was reasoning in vain, the voice in her head didn’t even sound like her own, because Hilda knew exactly how she would have managed it even before she heard Dorothea say to someone, “Oh, but you really must write to Manuela! Haven’t you heard she’s considering a return to the stage?” A laugh. “Oh yes, a tour of Fódlan—this war really is such an ugly business, the people need a bit of lightness, don’t you think? A show performed by the star songstress herself, for you and your allies, perhaps even your men?”

Why write down important details in your own letters where they could be seen, and your enemy would know what you knew, when you could get your sources to write to the Empire themselves? Sure, maybe the information wouldn’t be quite as direct as you might like, perhaps you’d have to write a few letters back and forth to encourage them to give you what you wanted, but still—what better way to take advantage of the fractured state of government in the Alliance?

Hilda watched a middle-aged man blithely tell Dorothea who his closest political allies were and divulge, in an attempt at an undertone, that he’d blackmailed his regional Lord Lieutenant to understate the number of men he was required to fund in a militia, all because he wanted to reassure Dorothea that he would be able to put on a lavish display if Manuela, and most especially Dorothea herself, were to do him the honour of performing in his territory.

Maybe Edelgard is right, Hilda thought with a scowl. Maybe nobility really does need doing away with. If the nobles of the Alliance don’t do away with themselves through sheer incompetence before she ever gets to them.

And if that was all true—if it was Dorothea gathering information, then Hubert…

Hubert von Vestra, notorious imperial spymaster who looked every inch the part, practised dark magic, swept around in a black cloak—he even had an evil-sounding laugh, for Goddess’s sake—he was impossible to overlook or underestimate, he was bound to be up to no good, so you’d have to make sure to have eyes on him at all times—

Hilda hissed through her teeth. “That fucker.”

Having worked this out, Hilda probably should have done something to stop Dorothea, but it seemed a little late in the day for that, and her head was in such a spin that she left the party early without telling anyone and went back to her quarters instead. Maybe Claude will marry Edelgard and it won’t matter anyway. Ha!

Hilda was furious, and she wished she could be more furious and less impressed—then she could be comfortably mad at Hubert instead of herself.

She wrote half of another letter to Marianne about being an idiot, decided not to finish it, and then turned in for a night of fitful sleep.

When Hilda woke in the morning she felt no more refreshed or clear-headed. She felt humiliated and resolved not to show her face to anyone, but she as picked up and put down books, trinkets, and the letter to Marianne over the course of the morning, the humiliation turned into frustration.

Am I really so useless?

Hilda looked at the sentence she’d just written and stewed. If this was five years ago she wouldn’t mind being useless. In fact, she’d be proud of it. How much hard work had she put into making people think she’d be useless?

It was wrong of her to even write that in a letter to Marianne. Although she could never have faith in herself, Marianne wouldn’t let other people get away with the same thing: if Hilda wrote that in a letter to Marianne, she’d get an entire screed back about how she was not to doubt herself and what a kind friend she was and blah blah blah. Very ego-boosting, but Marianne would spend the whole letter talking about Hilda, and not telling Hilda if she was okay herself. (Marianne was never quite okay, but there were different levels of not okay, and Hilda had been watching carefully for the wrong kind of not okay.)

Alright, this has been a very whiny letter, Hilda continued writing, but now I’ve got it out of my system, it’s time to do something about it. I am not useless. Will update later with how things went.

Hilda put her pen down with a small feeling of satisfaction. It didn’t quite feel true yet, but she was more determined for having put it in writing. She’d promised Marianne; she couldn’t let her down.

And Goddess forbid Hilda let Hubert von Vestra get the better of her.

She tidied herself up, doing away with the evidence of her depressing morning, and left her rooms in a state of determination but with no actual destination or purpose in mind. Before this had time to discourage her, she hunted down a clerk and asked after Ignatz.

“I believe he’s accompanying Marquis Vestra today, my lady,” the clerk said. Her lips thinned. “They’ve gone to that Duscuran glassmaker again. Master Victor is also taken with him, for whatever foolish reason. Lady Hilda, I’m glad you mentioned this, because I had some concerns about the influence of foreigners—the Victor family—”

Hilda cut the clerk off before she could really get started and make Hilda’s excuses for her. Right now she didn’t need to hear that mirror to her own suspicions and misgivings about Claude’s policies, or she would talk herself into being useless again. She needed to act.

An idea was beginning to crystallise in her mind, but like all her ideas, it was best nurtured by not looking at it too directly and allowing it to grow on its own. Hilda’s instincts had always been her greatest asset, and for all her rational misgivings, her instincts said she had something to make up for.

So she would.

*

Hubert very much wished to press Marro again on the possibility of coming to the Empire—he’d spent several hours the previous evening working on more precise figures and benefits, things he was confident of Her Majesty being able to offer.

Unfortunately, and to his surprise, he was stymied by Ignatz Victor, who had monopolised Marro’s conversation for the past hour. It was even more galling because it was entirely accidental. Ignatz was really just that enthusiastic about Marro’s work. Captivated by the idea of preserving spells in glass, he’d been asking—pestering—about the possibility of doing it with reason magic, and becoming increasingly excited by Marro’s affirmations, however monosyllabic they were.

“Oh! What you could do with thunder magic!” Ignatz chirped. “Imagine being able to capture a lightning bolt in glass—what a picture you could make around it, a storm in a bottle! Or, or a beautiful frosted morning, preserved forever, with real ice magic—the possibilities are endless! Even my father couldn’t fail to appreciate—”

At the mention of the senior Victor, the owner of the largest mercantile business in the Alliance, Hubert decided that he must step in. “I am no expert, but those do sound like valuable suggestions for expanding Marro’s range of wares. The Empire is host to a large number of accomplished magic users to whom they would be of particular interest.”

Not his most subtle work, perhaps, but it turned the conversation in the direction he wished. “I wonder when I might find the time to create these new wares if I am to be teaching at this school of yours.”

“I do not envision it taking up all of your time.”

Marro’s grumble in response did not sound convinced, but Hubert considered it promising that he was already thinking of what it might be like to teach at such a school.

So did Una, who helpfully chimed in with, “I think it’s a great idea, Marro!” for the fifth time that morning alone.

“Marquis Vesta,” said another voice in mock-offence, “did you steal the idea of an artisan school from me?”

Hubert wasn’t sure if he was more exasperated, surprised, or (begrudgingly) impressed when Hilda Goneril strode into the workshop in every appearance of her usual, highly irritating form, as though her low moods of the last few days had never happened at all.

He decided on exasperated when she added, “Well, they do say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Hubie, if you admired me so, you could have just said as much! A lady loves a little flattery every now and then.”

“When I next meet a lady, I shall be sure to take your advice,” Hubert replied sourly. This was surely punishment for ever even remotely missing what minute challenge Hilda’s interference had provided. He had only himself to blame for the beginnings of a headache behind his left eye.

Hilda ignored his comment by turning to Marro with a beaming smile. “I’m sure the marquis has been tempting you with any number of promises. He does have Her Imperial Majesty’s ear, so I’m sure his promises are all very good, and you can certainly trust them.”

Hubert’s irritation began to warp into mild alarm.

“But there’s nothing for you and your people in the Empire,” she continued. “Revenge, maybe, if that’s what you want, but the Empire are going to fight Faerghus anyway. A place in an Imperial artisan school will change nothing for you.”

“Apart from the material benefits of Her Majesty’s patronage,” he said, sharp and pointed.

“I’m sure you have been promised money and favour,” Hilda countered, without even looking at Hubert. Marro’s expression had hardened into something stony and impenetrable, not even Hubert could read it, but she didn’t hesitate. “Those aren’t small things, I know. Useful to a man who has his young apprentice to think of. No one would blame you for looking out for her future.”

Marro’s eyes flickered briefly to Una without his expression changing one iota.

“But,” she said heavily, “that’s a bit short-sighted, isn’t it? Maybe you can secure her against cold and hunger, but you can’t preserve your whole people against it, you can’t save your traditions and culture. Your glasswork will stop being of Duscur and start being known as of the Empire.”

“What,” Marro asked, “and the Alliance offers something different?”

“Not the Alliance. Me.”

Marro blinked.

“The idea for an artisan school was first mine,” she said, for the first time in the whole conversation briefly acknowledging Hubert to glare at him. “Something I conceived for the purpose of allowing the people who the guilds would not acknowledge to thrive. Because it would be mine, and mine alone, it wouldn’t be subject to the power plays of an Imperial school, and my successor would have to only consider how to further my goals for the school—not Edelgard’s successor, who will have to consider every itty-bitty part of her Empire. Who might find it expedient to be rid of an unpopular Duscuran instructor if it saves them from worse political compromises.”

Marro’s eyes narrowed. Hubert still couldn’t read his expression, and hoped he wouldn’t be swayed by such irrational and emotional appeals.

“More importantly than that,” Hilda continued, “I won’t offer only security for you and your apprentice. I extend you this offer: anyone of Duscuran heritage will have free place at my school. Any craftsman of your people may find a place there as a teacher. And those who don’t want to teach will still be invited to come and share their techniques to that they can be preserved and taught to the next generation of the Duscuran people. That’s what I offer you.”

Though Marro’s expression had barely changed, Una’s mouth was hanging open and her eyes darted between her master and Hilda. There was a long pause and she finally scowled and spoke. “Marro, you don’t really believe her, do you? Marquis Vestra helped me, but she doesn’t care about us at all!”

“My apprentice has a point,” Marro said. “You have no love of my people. Why would you offer this?”

“It’s true, I don’t have any reason to especially care about your people,” Hilda replied, but now there was something of a snarl in it. She never raised her voice, but it thrummed with something suppressed. “Except for what was done to them. Done to them by people who claim to be like me! People who claim to worship the same Goddess that I do!”

Anger, Hubert realised. Her fury turned her careful speech into something harsh that she spat as though it were poison.

“A whole people massacred because of a few, their culture vanished, it’s an abomination to anyone with an ounce of decency! It’s blasphemy to claim it could be done in the Goddess’s name, with the Goddess’s favour!” Her voice shook, and she made a visible effort to regain control of herself, continuing in a quieter voice. “My hatred of it could never be what yours is, I know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see that it isn’t right, it could never be right. And I can’t make it right, I can’t bring back the dead or return your lands to you, but…” Hilda’s expression hardened, her mouth firming into a determined line. “It’s in my power to make it less wrong. And so I will. That’s what I promise you.”

Silence reigned for a long time. Even Hubert did not dare to break it. Whatever change had come over her, she wasn’t the same Hilda Goneril who had looked at Marro with disdain on merely seeing him.

And to his frustration, she was partially right: Hubert could never in good conscience promise what she did, because Her Majesty might not be able to deliver it. Her ambitions were for the good of all of Fódlan, and if politics forced her to make a choice between delivering her educational programs to help everyone in Fódlan, or doing some justice to the suffering of the Duscuran people, her principles would force her to pick the good for the greater number of people.

Hubert didn’t think she was wrong, either. In the long run, the path Lady Edelgard was taking would change Fódlan for the better for all, including the people of Duscur. Once the people were shown the lies of the Church for what they were, all such outdated prejudices would fall away.

But the work of Lady Edelgard might take decades to complete, and Hubert could understand the feeling of urgency that might come from seeing the devastation of your people, if Marro could even completely believe in the Empire’s good will.

He was resigned, therefore, and not surprised, when Marro said, “If you can further convince me of your sincerity, then, Lady Goneril, I will accept.”

Chapter Text

Claude turned up for teatime the next say and acted determinedly normal, despite Edelgard treating him like a wild horse ready to bolt.

The worry was sweet. He could see her genuineness in the small wrinkle between her brows and the way she pouted, disconcerted, when she thought he wasn’t looking. It was… cute. But he wasn’t sure why. She was right! You couldn’t trust just anyone with these intimate parts of your past, your self…

Claude wasn’t tripping over himself to share with Edelgard, either. Maybe she even sensed it, that he was holding so much back, and it was why she wouldn’t trust him. He wasn’t sure if there was a way to achieve his dream without telling her about himself, but the words got stuck in his throat when he even thought about it and he just couldn’t. He’d buried so much of his past before coming to Fódlan, suppressed a whole language, as many tics as he could, barely even thought his own name—

He couldn’t peel away his facade and expose everything. A deep pit opened up in his stomach at imagining Edelgard’s reply. He couldn’t imagine what she would say, and until then…

But Petra believed in Edelgard, and she’d told him it was all possible. Even if he couldn’t see it, he’d decided to trust Petra, so Claude—Khalid—would have to find a way to prove to Edelgard that he could be trusted. Something she couldn’t ignore, or explain away, even if she thought the worst.

Luckily, he already had an idea.

*

Claude poked his head into the archives, saw Johan, and immediately changed his mind. “Meredith, may I ask your opinion of something?”

Meredith kept her eyes fixed to the book she was studying. “Five minutes.”

Claude grinned. “If you make it sooner, I can put in a good word for you with Manuela!”

“Wh—” Meredith startled so badly that her quill flew out of her hands. “I am—you—that is not!”

Claude waited a beat, but that appeared to be a complete sentence. Her face was bright red, but she hadn’t gone back to the book. “A word from a former student has to mean something, after all.”

Johan looked up from his own work to add: “Lady Manuela is a kind and very accomplished woman—”

Because it was Johan, he would doubtless have said more, but Meredith strode quickly to the door and shoved Claude aside so she could slam it shut behind her.

She gave him a venomous look. “If that man now sees fit to give me advice on my love life, I am holding you personally responsible.”

“If I help set you up with Manuela, he won’t need to, will he?”

Meredith grimaced, but her blush became luminescent, so he was pretty sure she wasn’t as displeased as she tried to make out. “I’m sure Lady Manuela has better things to do than tolerate your jokes. Or, worse, Johan’s clumsy interference. At least his intentions are good…” She let out a long breath through her nose and some of the colour receded from her cheeks. “What do you want, Claude?”

“Actually, it’s sort of a personal favour.” Her expression threatened an imminent refusal, so he hastily added, “For Edelgard.”

He wasn’t even sure adding that would help, but Meredith’s expression became a fraction less threatening. “For… Her Majesty.”

“That’s right.” Claude couldn’t appear too altruistic, he supposed. “You know. A gift to win her over. Something big and grand.”

Meredith’s mouth set into a severe line, like she’d swallowed a whole bucket of lemons. “Of course.”

At least she was still there to hear him out, and Claude had no fear that rumours of his benevolence and closeness to the Emperor would come from her. “The painting of the Hresvelgs—the last daughter—where would I find a portrait of her to copy?”

Whatever Meredith had expected him to ask, it wasn’t that. She blinked and her brows disappeared behind her thick fringe. “I told you we hadn’t been able to find an artist willing to work on it. The portrait would do you no good without one.”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

She frowned. There was a long pause. “I believe… the mother of the youngest child was exiled to a convent. Johan will most likely know where.”

“I’m sure he will, but I’d like it to be a surprise. You understand.” He gave Meredith his handsomest grin.

She was unmoved. “I’m sure he would be delighted to be taken into my lord’s confidence.”

Claude continued to smile winsomely.

“…Oh, fine.” Meredith sighed. “If it will get you to go away and let me go back to my work, I will ask him.”

“Thanks,” Claude said. “You know he couldn’t keep a secret like that. He’d be too delighted. You know, I really will put in that good word with Manuela—”

“I am not doing it for you,” Meredith snapped, colour rising in her cheeks. “Or for—for this flirtation between myself and—whatever you imagine I feel about…” The flash of anger faded as quickly as it had come. She put a hand to her temple and rubbed at it. “I apologise for my shortness. Whatever your motives, it’s more than anyone else has tried to do for those poor children. I doubt Arundel has a shred of remorse left in him, but… people should be made to look on those children’s faces and understand the sins they have committed.” Her expression hardened. “Maybe there’s still time enough for them to beg the Goddess’s forgiveness.”

Claude had nothing to say to that.

*

Edelgard closed the door on another tea time with Claude and suppressed a sigh. For the past week, she felt like she’d hit a wall with him. All progress seemed to have been lost, as he shrugged off every inquiry, every offer to share something—hiding everything behind that handsome, bright, manufactured smile of his.

No… not all progress. She really did sigh at this thought. If she had ruined everything, it would make more sense, but Claude had been engaged in the other meeting they’d been able to hold. More than engaged; he’d driven it, leaving the rest of them struggling to keep up with him. A full draft of the treaty had been drawn up (albeit only in concept, not in full legal language) and he’d started pushing for plans of action against the Church and Arundel’s faction, making many of his own suggestions. He was clearly still firmly behind their alliance.

But not behind Edelgard.

She always knew a loveless, political marriage was on the cards for her. Next to everything else, what was that? How small a sacrifice for so great a gain?

Yet, with it looking imminent, Edelgard found herself shrinking at the prospect. Perhaps it was because she felt like they had had a chance and then—then—she squandered it somehow. Edelgard didn’t know if she had maybe turned him away for good, but she hoped that someone might.

She turned to one of the guards. “Could you kindly send a message to Manuela for her to meet me in my study at her earliest convenience?”

The guard—Tobin, she thought his name was—saluted. “At once, Your Majesty!”

It was a bit of an impulsive request. Alone in her study, Edelgard pace and wondered what, precisely, she was even going to ask, and how she could put all her worries into words.

She still hadn’t made up her mind by the time Manuela arrived, looking flustered. “I’m sorry I took so long, I was waylaid—are you alright?”

Edelgard grimaced at being found so obviously discomposed. “It’s nothing serious! I simply… wished to get your advice on something.” To buy herself some time, she added, “But before we get into that, how is Lysithea?”

“She’s doing well.” Manuela gave her a rueful smile. “I know you have your misgivings about this medicine, and I did too, but to see it give her a new lease of life—even if a cure is never found, I have hope we can find new ways to manage her condition and she’ll live a long life yet.”

“That’s good news,” Edelgard said. She was still suspicious of the use of poison as medicine, but the longer Lysithea continued well, the weaker her objections became. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for her.”

“Nonsense. I would never have done any less.” Manuela waved her hands expansively. “I always say the mark of a good healer if that they never let a patient go completely… or perhaps that’s just was overemotional old maids say.” She shrugged, collapsed in a chair, and raised her eyebrows at Edelgard. “But you didn’t call me here just to ask about Lysithea, did you?”

“I…” Edelgard walked over to the window, looking out over the grounds and the sunshine bathing the grass. It was easier to imagine herself talking to no one than to Manuela in particular. “I need your advice. About… Claude.”

“Men are always causing such trouble.” Manuela must have read something in her body language, because her voice grew lighter. “Oh, don’t mind me grousing. What seems to be the issue?”

“I said… something to him recently. Something that’s made him close off completely.” Gathering her courage, Edelgard took a deep breath. “Not an insult. Or at least it wasn’t intended as such, but he seems to have taken it that way. I think.”

“He’s angry with you?”

“No.”

There was a pause, followed by the rustle of fabric and Manuela’s warmth stood at Edelgard’s shoulder by the window. “Why don’t you explain the whole thing to me?”

She didn’t explain the whole thing so much as explain around it, but she was sure Manuela understood anyway. The woman had seen Edelgard’s scars before, in her capacity as a healer, as well as Lysithea’s… it wouldn’t have been hard for her to put two and two together. Not that it was seemingly that hard for Claude, either, she thought ruefully.

Manuela, though, had been the soul of discretion and never mentioned it. Even now, though she pursed her lips like she’d tasted something sour, Manuela didn’t berate Edelgard for being evasive.

That made the feeling that Edelgard had disappointed her somehow much worse. “I don’t understand,” she said, aware she sounded childish. “I was trying not to hurt his feelings, but…”

Manuela sighed. “Oh, Edelgard… I know how you feel, but how did you think he would react when you lied to him?”

“I didn’t!”

“You told him that it ‘didn’t matter’,” Manuela said gently. “That your personal life wasn’t relevant. Hand on heart—could you look me in the eye and sincerely tell me that now? That nothing that happened to you mattered. That it has nothing to do with who you are now, or what you’re doing.”

Edelgard bit her lip. The blossoms of the orchard outside swayed in a light breeze, some petals drifting away and swirling in the wind.

Her silence was enough of an answer. “I thought so. If you lie about something like that, so obviously, to someone you’re supposed to marry, it’s bound to go down poorly.”

“So I have to tell him.” Edelgard swallowed.

“No.” When she drew away from the window, blinking at Manuela in astonishment, she offered her a gentle smile. “I’m not saying that you have to share anything that’s too painful or too personal… but at least it’s worth being honest with Claude about why you won’t tell him. He’s the type to fear a concealed truth more than anything ugly but honest. And even in a political marriage, you have to trust enough and be honest enough to set these boundaries with each other, or you’ll be constantly running into difficulties.”

It was such good advice that Edelgard pretended not to hear Manuela add, ‘Probably, anyway’ under her breath. In fact, it was rather like what Bernadetta had said, wasn’t it, about small bits of truth? How quickly Edelgard had forgotten… “Do you think I still have a chance to mend things with him?”

“I’m sure you do,” Manuela said soothingly. “If you come clean—well, clean enough—when he returns, I’m sure he’ll accept it.”

Edelgard froze. “When he… returns?”

“Yes, he said he shouldn’t be gone more than a…” Seeing Edelgard’s face, Manuela’s pleasant expression morphed into one of concern. “You don’t know. I assumed you knew! He said—well, no, he never said, he only implied in that way of his—”

Edelgard’s insides seemed to have turned to solid stone for all she could feel them, and perhaps that was how she managed to sound so much calmer than she felt. “Where was he going?”

“A research trip,” was the miserable reply. “That’s what held me up, we ran into each other and he said a brief goodbye—he left me a message to give to you…” Manula threw her hands in frustration and swore under her breath. “Oh, how could I have been so stupid! Of course you wouldn’t send him off without an escort of some kind! I didn’t think—”

“He left alone?”

“Well, I don’t… perhaps he was meeting someone at the gate?” It was obviously offered more in hope than in expectation. “I should go check—or you—should we?” Manuela let out a frustrated growl. “If he arranged a trip without you hearing about it, maybe he also slipped it past Arundel? Could we be putting him in danger by drawing attention to it?”

Edelgard faltered. Her instinct had been to throw everything at it, to rescue Claude instantly, but—perhaps she was right? Thales had spies everywhere, but Enbarr was also full of Edelgard’s people, and Claude could be so crafty—but Thales always seemed to know much than she wanted… oh, why would Claude suddenly go off somewhere like this?

It wasn’t… possible that he was going back to the Alliance… was it? That all of it had been a trick?

She shook her head, trying to shake the suspicions free. Claude had been—she couldn’t believe he’d faked the moment on the ship. She knew the fear of revealing yourself better than anyone; when she’d seen it in him, it had been genuine, she was sure of it. He’d been showing her something real, and he’d been just like her: terrified and hopeful all at once.

It had been genuine then, at least. Maybe she’d offended him more than she thought. Maybe—

That doesn’t matter now, she told herself sternly. What matters is that Claude might be in danger.

“You’re sure he didn’t say where he was going? Even a clue? A hint?” Maybe she could get there earlier and intercept Thales’s men, if any were there—

“No…” Manuela, distraught, shook her head. “He just wanted me to tell you he’d be back in a few days, and that… he couldn’t tell you why he left now, but he would later.”

Was that as genuine reassurance, or did he just want me to think he was coming back? Edelgard gritted her teeth and ignored the voice in the back of her head. Even if she had driven Claude away, she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She wouldn’t let anything happen to him under her watch and—most importantly—somehow she’d win him back to her side. Whatever it took.

But it order to do it, she had to act now.

“Get Shamir in here immediately.”

*

Claude watched the idyllic countryside roll by the carriage window. This close to the capital, you might expect more large towns, but it had been almost entirely farmland and small hamlets Claude had seen on his journey north; maybe he’d just gone in the wrong direction for large gatherings of people. After all, what he’d learned about his destination suggested it wasn’t a place designed to receive a lot of visitors.

There were many religious houses dedicated to Saint Cethleann, the healer, throughout Fódlan—one in the heart of Derdriu, even. Predictably, if a sweet kind of predictability, the nuns or monks of these institutions ran hospitals and free healing clinics, open to all who might come, and often sent missions into infected areas where others might fear to tread.

Not the nunnery Claude was going to. Most people who joined its numbers never left the grounds again. Meredith had reported that it was known colloquially as ‘the house of the incurable’. Amongst the nobility, it was sometimes called ‘the house of undesirables’.

There was only one undesirable here that Claude was interested in, though, and that was the mother of the youngest Hresvelg.

Gleaming white stone welcomed him long before the carriage pulled through the gatehouse and into a small courtyard. Neat little flowerbeds in a riot of colours surrounded the large square, whilst hedges with shiny green leaves surrounded the nearby stable block, eyed with interest by the horses as they were led away by a groom—one of the lay members of the order by the neat, but distinctly uncleric, uniform she wore. She spared a respectful nod to Claude and an offer of refreshments to the driver.

All in all, his first impressions hardly matched the foreboding reputation of the place.

Grand oak double doors opened from what must be the main building of the nunnery, and an elderly woman hurried out of them towards Claude.

“Your Grace,” she said, with a short curtsy. Despite her age, there was nothing about her that was decrepit; she seemed nearly as healthy as the flowerbeds. “I am the Mother Superior here, Sister Elyssa. You are most welcome to our house.”

“Thank you.” Claude managed a short bow of his own, feeling awkward. “I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but the place seems immaculate. A warm welcome indeed.”

The corners of her mouth turned down. “You have heard the rumours about us, no doubt. I do not deny that some of the order’s… reputation has been well deserved in the past, but I have transformed this house, and it is not what it once was.”

She was being a lot more direct with the issue than he expected, but Claude was relieved not to beat about the bush. “A house for undesirables?”

The Mother winced. “That is what we have been called, yes,” she admitted, “and to some nobles, I don’t doubt that many of our Sisters are still ‘undesirable’… but that is not a word I have allowed to be spoken inside these halls for many years.”

Claude was intrigued, but he did have actual business here. “And Sister Clara has been here for many years, has she?”

“Since the dreadful business of the Insurrection, yes,” she said. “But I assure you—and so will she—that it is entirely of her own volition. I believe she finds comfort in the work we do here. I know you are anxious to speak to her on another matter, so I won’t delay Your Grace any further. Please, follow me.”

Despite this assurance, the route they took seemed suspiciously circuitous. Rather than enter through the grand doors, Sister Elyssa led Claude around the side of the building, through an orchard and a large open space where another of the Sisters, this one a middle-aged woman with wispy brown hair, was happily scattering chicken feed to a bunch of waiting hens, humming loudly to herself.

“Sister Amelia,” the Mother Superior explained, leaping on Claude’s look of mild interest. “Her mind never developed beyond a child’s understanding, but she finds a fulfilling life here, taking care of our animals.”

Claude instantly understood exactly what kind of undesirables the nobility stuffed away in this house, although not why the Mother Superior was so eager to explain it to him. As to its reputation… he looked back at Sister Amelia uneasily as they entered the main building through a side entrance, but nothing interrupted the cheerful humming, not even the enthusiastic wave she gave when she noticed the Mother Superior. Her colour seemed healthy and she wasn’t thin or starving. That was all Claude had time to notice before he was led inside.

Inside, the Mother Superior’s agenda was even clearer. He was taken first to their hospital wing, where the Mother Superior talked briefly and warmly with the few patients there—no injuries that suggested foul play—before saying that she had ‘mistaken’ Sister Clara’s schedule and she was in a different area of the building. They bumped into a further three Sisters who simply had to tell the Mother Superior about the chores they had been doing today, or the progress of another Sister who had had an ‘attack’ but was now ‘much calmer’…

For the fact that the Mother Superior had all the subtlety of a rock to the head, Claude was none the wiser why she was so keen to show him these things by the time he was finally delivered to Sister Clara in the library; two chairs had been pulled away from the desks against one wall, one occupied by her, the other she gestured towards by way of invitation. She looked as though she’d been waiting for him and was not surprised by his lateness.

The Mother Superior gave her a significant look. “Please return His Grace to me when your interview is finished. I will be in my office.”

Once she’d closed the door behind her, Claude felt like he could breathe a little easier. It was just the two of them in the library, so he felt a little less like he was being scientifically examined.

“So, Duke Riegan.” Sister Clara folded her hands together across her knees, perfect posture evident even sitting down. “I think it’s finally time why you told me why you’re here.”

Despite the signs of middle-age, she was still beautiful, with pale skin and bright, dark eyes. Stray curls of blonde hair escaped from her wimple in a way that seemed artful and deliberate, but not, Claude thought, in order to tempt him, or indeed anyone—not with that sharp, expectant gaze she pinned on him, anyway. “I admit, I expected that question to come before meeting you in person.”

“The Mother Superior’s idea, of course.” Clara waved a dismissive hand. “She has so looked forward to your visit; wealthy nobles who take an interest in our order are very welcome to her.”

Claude laughed, despite the nerves which made his gut churn. “She might prefer you to phrase that differently.”

“Oh, she would,” she replied, examining her elegant nails. Her expression was as sharp as when they’d begun, making it seem like she wanted to gouge someone with them. “The Mother Superior believes in the capacity for people to change, even the nobility, if they are only ‘shown the light’. But I am not so naive. If you believe in the work of our order, you will help. If not, honeyed words alone couldn’t convince you.”

“Do you believe in the work of the order?”

She lifted her head to regard him coolly, as though searching for a motive in his face. “I was put here first as a lay sister. I took orders so I that I could not be taken away from it, even though I don’t believe in the Goddess we pray to daily. Does that answer your question?” Clara’s eyes narrowed. Claude was beginning to feel like he was being dissected. “Because you didn’t get answer mine. Why are you here, Duke Riegan?”

Claude licked his lips, although his mouth seemed just as dry as they were. His instinct was to stall, to dig more—dig for something he could use. Claude always had an angle, something to offer up; he needed to, to get anything from anyone.

But when Sister Clara had written her reply and insisted he come, Claude hadn’t been able to prepare anything. Nothing concrete. And Claude could count the number of people who had given him something just for asking on one hand.

“I…” Her expression was stony, unyielding. “I need… a favour.”

“A favour,” in a monotone that could have been used to shatter glass.

He was not going to win her over by looking so weak. He made an effort to stand straighter. “Do you have a portrait of your daughter?”

Clara’s eyebrows drew together. “A portrait? Of Hedwig?”

“Yes—just to borrow, of course.” She didn’t seem upset yet, and Claude ploughed on, clinging to that slight relaxing of her shoulders. “There’s a large painting in the palace—”

“Of the whole family,” Clara said, cutting him off. “Princess Wilhelmina’s commission. I remember.”

Claude helf his breath as her gaze grew distant. The sharpness in her features softened. He could imagine what she might be thinking of and so said nothing.

“Why do you want it?”

He started. She still didn’t look at him; he wasn’t even sure she saw the room, but her voice was clear and strong, commanding attention. “To finish the painting.”

Her eyes flickered to him then with displeasure. “Yes,” she sais, as though addressing a simpleton, “but why?”

Why?

Because the alliance with the Empire might be his only chance. Because Edelgard might be his only chance. Because he had felt lost for so long, an outsider to everyone, and even plans within plans within plans couldn’t disguise the fact that Claude wanted, so very badly, to belong somewhere.

Edelgard looked to the future, but sometimes it seemed like her heart had been left with the dead, and maybe Claude was hoping—hoping—that is he could find some way to touch it, if only he could give her a way to bring the dead with her.

He said, “Edelgard has no pictures of her siblings.”

Clara recoiled like he’d struck her and she bowed her head, shielding her face from his view. Silence. Then: “I suppose the grand alliance proceeds better than many expected. Good news.”

Claude winced, but she didn’t talk as though she expected an answer.

“Edelgard was always a sweet girl. Impatient though, and bossy. Hedwig stuttered and Edelgard would finish all her sentences for her, no matter how often I scolded her for it. But why would she listen to me? I was barely older than Princess Wilhelmina, and she certainly never listened to her big sister when she thought she was right.”

Her voice grew thick and choked. The hands clasped in her lap turned white at the knuckles. “I still think of her as about my age, you know. Princess Wilhelmina, the woman who never was. Like my little girl.” A shaking hand pressed to her mouth. She swallowed and took it away. “It’s strange that she would have been a woman herself, now. It always feels like time stopped when she did. But of course it did not.”

Sister Clara took a deep breath, and then raised her hand. Her eyes shone in the afternoon sun. “Edelgard staffs her ministries with my daughter’s killers. I will not help you for her sake. But I will help you, on one condition.”

Claude’s mouth had gone dry again. “What?” It came out as a croak.

“The painting must be on display,” Clara said, half a snarl. “Everyone must see. I will not let my daughter become a ghost they can exile. If they want to cling to power, let them look upon who they sacrificed for it.” She turned away with a bitter laugh, adding, “I hope Hedwig’s face is burned into his memory. I hope he dies thinking of her.”

“Her?” Claude frowned. Duke Aegir? He supposed it didn’t matter who she meant. “I can make sure it’s done. As long as you don’t tip anyone off beforehand.”

“Who do you expect I would tell?” She snorted, but at his urgent look, “Yes, yes, I know, court politics. I do not play the Empire’s game; I have seen what kind of rewards are on offer. I will keep your secrets. Leave now. Write me when you have an artist at hand for the painting, and I will have Hedwig’s portrait sent to you.”

There was an unmistakeable finality to her tone, and Claude didn’t dare push his luck. With a murmured thank you, he was at the door when Clara’s voice came again.

“Edelgard—” A pause. “Does she… think of them often?”

“Every day,” Claude answered, soft. “Every hour, I think.”

“She’s never written to me.” Then: “She didn’t ask you to come, did she?”

Claude turned, but Clara only regarded him calmly.

“She was always a sweet girl,” she muttered. Claude wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or to herself. “She would never eat the treats I gave her until she had made sure everyone had their share.” Clara shook her head. “I don’t know if that girl is still there. But if she is… I’m glad… she has someone who will think of her, when she will never think of herself.”

“She’s still there,” Claude blurted. His voice came our hoarse. “The Edelgard you remember.”

Sister Clara gave no indication she had heard him apart from a deep sigh and a hand tightening on her skirts. “The Mother Superuir’s office is the second corridor on the left, last door at the end of the hall.

Claude took the opportunity and fled.

*

The corridor to the Mother Superior’s office was deserted, which gave Claude time to recover his wits. What was he doing? He shouldn’t even be here. There were too many risks. There was no way of being sure it would work, finishing the painting. It seemed a fine idea when he was in the capital, but now he was here and he might actually be able to pull it off, and only meeting Sister Clara did he realise how small a gesture it really was, in comparison to all that had been lost.

But it still felt a lot like a last chance, which it shouldn’t—with an alliance secure, the future looked brighter than ever for him. But it felt like every time he tried to get closer to Edelgard, something happened to push her away, and the more he wanted to know what it would be like to close that gap.

One thing was for sure: standing here accomplished nothing. Claude shook himself and knocked on the Mother Superior’s door.

“Come in,” she replied in a clear voice.

The office was smaller than Claude expected, barely large enough to house the desk under the window. Soft rugs and furnishings has been added to give the appearance of more comfort, along with two squishy chairs and a low table bearing a tea service, which Elyssa, rising from her seat, now gestured to with a smile.

Claude glanced out the window and couldn’t help the slight recoil when he saw it looked out over a graveyard.

“I find it keeps me focused,” the Mother Superior said. “I see Sister Clara did not escort you as I asked. She is dedicated, but very free-spirited. I ask for your understanding over her disobedience.”

“I’m not offended,” Claude said.

Silence fell as the Mother Superior prepared the tea. She moved with sure, swift movements, whilst her mind was clearly elsewhere, so it was something she did habitually, and she had not just dismissed a servant to give the appearance of humbleness for some reason. Good. Claude’s interactions with authorities of the Church had been limited, but this seemed a good sign to him. Pretentiousness never made any conversation better.

Finally, the tea was ready. Elyssa still took her time before she opened her mouth. “I’m afraid I do not have your measure, Your Grace, though your grandfather and uncle I had the pleasure of knowing well.”

Claude blinked. A foundation in the Empire was a strange place for the Duke of Leicester and his heir to… write? Visit? Donate to?

“You do not know,” she said softly, surprising him. “I wondered if you might, even though you only wrote to Sister Clara…”

Now he was completely lost, and had no way to steer the conversation into calmer winds.

The Mother Superior watched him. Her expression wasn’t piercing or pointed, only sad. “You are young and healthy, I suppose. The young do not think of such things unless they are made to.”

“Think of what?” Claude was forced to ask.

One of her fingers tapped at her cup in a simple rhythm. He couldn’t tell if it was a sign of anxiety, but she put her cup down firmly and clasped her hands together in her lap, so perhaps it was. “The reputation of this place, you already know. But perhaps you did not know it is one of the most richly endowed orders in the whole of Fódlan. Much land has been gifted to us, from all corners of the continent—so much so that the Archbishop has sometimes forced us to part with it.”

There was a pause. When she didn’t continue, Claude thought he must be expected to add something. “But…?”

“We are not richly endowed out of devotion,” she said, blunt. The hand in her lap clenched tighter. “The wealth of this order is built on bribes.”

“You were… bribed?”

“Not me; it was before my time as Mother here. But the order…” She abruptly stood and took the two steps to the window, staring out into the graveyard. “Whatever you have heard about our past was almost certainly understated. The Mother Superior here was a coveted position amongst the higher ranks of the Church, because of the wealth of its lands, little of which went to service the inmates here. And make no mistake, inmates is what they were. Prisoners. Those with conditions which made them an embarrassment to their noble families—sometimes political embarrassments, but more often when something was… not quite right. Those bribes were to sweep away such embarrassments.”

Claude paused. It sounded horrible, but the Mother Superior had already shown him—had gone to some lengths to show him—that it wasn’t like that any more. There was some other purpose, beyond just to shock him, but he didn’t know it. “And you’re telling me this, because…?”

The Mother continued as though she hadn’t heard. “The inmates lived in squalor; improperly fed by indifferent caretakers, many died of disease or neglect. Each tiny cell was shared between two or more people, and they were rarely able to leave them, let alone to write.” She paused and took a deep breath. “My sister was twenty when she started hearing voices.”

He jerked in surprise at her bluntness, nearly spilling the tea all over the table. Those details, so clinically given in that strained voice, made more sense now. “She… was mad?”

She turned, frowning. “Mad? I suppose so, yes. I don’t like the word, though. It was always thrown at her like an accusation, like it was something she could simply stop. But she was only trying to help people. She thought her family were in danger. Her voices…” Trailing off, her gaze was inexorably drawn to the graves framed by the window. “My father sent her here when he could no longer hide her… behaviour. She wailed and fought tooth and nail because she truly believed he was dooming himself and me without her aid.”

Her voice had become so quiet that Claude was forced to rise and move closer to the window.

“Perhaps she was mad. But she loved us, as little as my father deserved it. And he threw her away.”

The bitterness on the last was unmistakeable, not that Claude thought it unreasonable. “She’s buried here.” It wasn’t a question. He looked at the graves. “Which one is hers?”

“None of them,” the Mother said, her voice hard and brittle as flint. “They buried them in puts and unmarked graves, depending how many they have to dispose of at once. I know this was her cell, because she described the view to me, in one of the few letters she was able to send.” Her gaze seemed so fixed on the view that she took Claude by surprise again when she turned to look him dead in the eyes. Even after all this time, there was grief in her that nearly equalled her rage. “Your great-uncle lies in one of those unmarked graves, too. I am the Revered Mother here because your grandfather helped me.”

Claude froze. Only his right hand moved, clenching and unclenching. He hadn’t even known he’d had a great-uncle. But that was what happened to people who became mad, he supposed; they vanished like ghosts, never spoken of, as if you could banish their existence by never talking of it. Claude had felt a certain amount of sympathy for those ghosts, outsiders within also, in their own way.

Her story made a lot of sense, now. Grandfather had never mentioned a brother. Claude wished he would have done. Even if they had not been close, it would have been good to know his grandfather had cared for someone enough to change the world in a small way.

There were plenty of Claude’s relatives who would happily turn him into an unmarked grave; he couldn’t bring himself to care for a stranger just because they shared blood. Perhaps if Grandfather had told him about this great-uncle, it would be different, but…

He understood what the Mother Superior wanted. Despite Edelgard’s protestations and the continued loyalty, those within the Church must be uneasy about their future in the Empire. An ally outside the Empire could help secure that future, and the head of the Leicester Alliance would be a better ally than most, especially one that had a tie to this place, that wouldn’t betray them if it became politically convenient.

She obviously cared about her order, about giving people the dignity her sister hadn’t received. Claude could see it, and respect it, and sympathise with it, but he couldn’t give her the reassurance she wished. If he could help, he would, but his own dream had driven him for so many years and was written into the centre of his being. He couldn’t put anything higher than it.

But at least he wouldn’t pretend otherwise, either, and give false hope. At his pause, her expression darkened with disappointment—not that it dampened her spirits, as she set her mouth in a determined line that seemed oddly familiar. When Claude said he would help how he could, but he wasn’t sure how much he could promise, she nodded, already expecting it, and he could see that she was creating new plans.

What drives someone to fight so hard for the living for the sake of the dead?

As soon as the thought popped into his head, Claude breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he could give her the guarantee she was seeking, just not in the way she had expected. “You should seek an audience with the Emperor and tell your story to her. If a guarantee of your sanctuary is what you seek, I think she’s more likely than anyone to give it to a kindred spirit.”

“A kindred spirit?” Her brow furrowed, but when Claude didn’t explain more, her expression softened, becoming something more thoughtful. “Your Grace is kind to give his advice.”

Claude couldn’t explain it, like forgetting a word but knowing it was right on the tip of your tongue, constantly thinking around it—kindred spirits—maybe he didn’t have to hang all his hopes on this painting thing, maybe… he could give Edelgard the same thing that the Mother Superior, an assurance, something binding—

He just… wasn’t sure what that was, and it felt like the time to find out was slipping through his fingers.