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Edelgard sees it happen before it does. The sun haloes Petra, a blinding speck against the teal Brigid sky.
Minutes ago, quick and agile atop her wyvern, Petra promised to dart ahead and secure aid. "I…was hearing reports of Imperial prisoners, to the west. We should be freeing them."
Now that she is closer, however, Edelgard can see the fort is no prison. There are no guards; the windows are flung open.
She's always been a clever one, hasn't she?
—
Edelgard would sometimes catch Petra watching her. She'd stand from yards away, eyes clear and sharp; sometimes whetting her blade, sometimes restringing her bow. When she noticed Edelgard—almost always instantly—she'd drop her work and stretch, fingers interlaced, palms flexed towards the sky. Languid, casual. There was something feline in the arch of her back, the curl of her lip.
—
Bernadetta stands beside Edelgard, shaking, bow at the ready. Her voice is frightened, but strong. "Lady Edelgard?" A single arrow to the wing and Petra would be grounded, mount and all.
—
Only a few nights before they landed in Brigid, Edelgard laced her gauntleted fingers between Petra's own. "Do you believe your grandfather will aid us?"
With her free hand, Petra traced the tattoo along her bicep. "I am hoping so."
"You oughtn't discount your ability, Petra. I am sure he will be persuaded."
"Your words are kind, Lady Edelgard."
"Petra—you know I am very fond of you."
Petra brushed her ponytail off her shoulder, revealing bare skin. "You make my heart warm. I am grateful to be relying on you."
"It is my pleasure." Edelgard swallowed. "What do you see yourself doing, after the war?"
"I will be returning to Brigid and helping my grandfather." Petra's response was fluid, immediate; practiced. "Eventually, I must rise to the throne."
"Of course. I imagine governance will keep you quite busy. Do you think you will make time to visit the Empire, nonetheless?" Edelgard looked up at Petra. "Brigid is not so far from Enbarr."
"What is in your thoughts?" Petra asked, earnest.
"I suppose I speak both politically and personally," Edelgard said. "I would like for Brigid to develop stronger ties to Fódlan—to become more equal to the existing houses of the Empire."
"We are neighbors," Petra agreed.
"But I hope to see more of you, Petra. I find your company invaluable. You are my…dear friend."
Something behind Petra's eyes seemed to click, then. She squeezed Edelgard's hand. "I would be liking that greatly, Lady Edelgard!"
—
Edelgard can’t bring herself to give the order. The words choke in her throat. Instead, Petra calls out loudly in what Edelgard recognizes to be the native tongue of Brigid. Then, in clear, perfect Fódlanese: “Attack!”
Soldiers pour from not only the fort, but the forest that surrounds them. Trios of Pegasus Knights emerge on the horizon. Most fighters look to be of Brigid, but Edelgard, with a dawning sense of dread, recognizes others wearing Church colors—white and scarlet.
Petra glides down with effortless grace; takes her time dismounting, until they're eye-to-eye.
"I must be leading my people," Petra says. "Not to become one with Fódlan, but to be strong ourselves. The way we have been, for centuries."
It might be an explanation, but it is certainly not an apology.
“Black Eagle Strike Force, retreat!” Edelgard shouts, as though hearing the words from the mouth of another.
Hubert gives her a look. "Your Majesty." Dark miasma gathers at his fingertips: he has a clear line of sight.
Edelgard steps backwards once—twice—before falling into a stumbling gait. "Retreat," she manages, once more.
—
They return to Hevring to regroup. Hubert sits beside Edelgard when he gives his report later that day.
"Brigid occupies critical territory between Fódlan and Dagda. Especially with the support of the Kingdom, there's the possibility that they attempt to broach an alliance."
The words wash over Edelgard. "Hubert?"
At instant attention: "Yes, Your Majesty."
"I've made enough mistakes today." She lifts her crown from her brow. "Shall we retire for the night?"