Philip had summoned the mage that had tested their firstborn to conduct the examination again.
With black robes and skin paler than death, he always sparked a pang of uneasiness within Ingrid. Her nightmares forced her to relive clashes against silhouettes enclosed in the scorching remains of an unknown battlefield, surges of dark magic igniting their fingertips. She tried to regain her composure to avoid appearing rude, but her Isaac surely perceived the furrow in her brow or the way she cradled him closer, since he began to recoil and whine in the examiner's presence. Ingrid chastised herself. Anxieties haunted every battle-hardened soldier. How could she be so careless as to terrify her child?
Despite the attempts, her worry only grew as bleak prospects emerged. If her newborn had a Crest, it would mean a better future for both of them. The baby would receive more attention and care from Philip, and Ingrid would likely be spared from another multitude of discomforting pregnancies and the excruciating pain of labor. Although she was a warrior, she was also fond of steeling herself. Those battle were not ones she could be prepared for.
But, if she didn't have one…
She looked at the beautiful baby girl in her arms, her little Julia, and could not see her. She could only look for that piece of her that may or may not exist, that may determine her life. Please, I beg of you, let her bear a Crest, she pleaded to the heavens.
And she hated herself for it. She loathed to have become everything that had taken her dreams away.
Sylvain had also noticed her anguish. He had arrived soon after the birth to aid the family, and Ingrid could not find the words to thank him. His ability to see right through her helped him know when to hug her, make her laugh or shower her with flattery. She would often smack him lightly on the arm when he got carried away, though. If her husband hadn't left to deal with official business, she was certain that he would have pulled out his axe. He was fine with her friends' numerous visits and had even gotten particularly chatty with Annette and Mercedes, but the surly look in his eyes suggested that he knew about the margrave's skirt-chasing tendencies.
There was nothing to worry about, obviously. Ingrid was a married woman and constantly reassured him that Sylvain was just an old friend, even if she wasn't sure her words could sway him. She was pleasantly surprised when, after some time, Philip's skepticism dwindled to the point of allowing Sylvain to stay at their guest room while he was travelling. Although a part of her, one that wanted to maintain a distance in the arrangement, insisted that he had done it out of indifference, she chose to believe that he knew just how comforting it was for her to have her lifelong partner by her side.
Her servants did most of the job since Sylvain's housework skills were still pretty lousy, as she often reminded him playfully. Back when she was unfortunate enough to end up on kitchen or stable duty with her dear classmate, she had to drag him to do his share, or, on the more extreme cases, barricade the exits. Even so, there was no denying that his help now was invaluable. She couldn't think of something that brought a smile to her lips faster than Sylvain running around with Isaac on his shoulders or making silly faces at Julia.
"You will frighten her," she had once cautioned.
"Hey! I was the first one to make Isaac smile and I'm not planning on breaking my streak, thank you very much. Besides, girls love me."
"Oh, sure. Nothing says 'I love you' more than holding back tears."
Life seemed to enjoy tossing Ingrid around, guiding her from place to place and towards all kinds of people. She knew better than to grow fond of routines, for they would likely fade away like intricate snowflakes in the cold winds, their beauty forever out of her sight.
But Sylvain's friendship was the one constant in the ocean of change. After Glenn's death, he had sat day and night by her door, waiting for the moment she opened it to flash her a goofy grin and show her a great book he had read. After the announcement of Dimitri's execution, he had embraced her until her body stopped shaking and no more tears trickled down her face.
He always reminded her of the reasons why she kept moving forward, the day of the analysis being no exception.
"Hey, Ingrid!"
The tousled red-head ran into the solar, his shirt improperly buttoned and his pants stained with dirt. Isaac must be in need of a bath, she thought, a fond sigh escaping her mouth. As he hurried to sit beside her, Sylvain looked over at her arms, where she cradled a sleepy Julia.
He leaned in to whisper: "You remember the culinary adventure we always spoke of having but never actually did anything about? Well, I was thinking, when the little guys are a bit older, we could go to some former Alliance territories." He caressed Julia's cheek. His scarred hands looked gigantic compared to her tiny head. "Uncle Sylvain could show them some crazy good restaurants around there!"
At that moment, Julia began to whimper, turning towards Sylvain's finger with a motion that the experienced mother recognized all too well. She held her daughter closer, who, sure enough, nuzzled against her chest.
"Speaking of food," Ingrid cooed, "I think someone's hungry again."
She turned to Sylvain, his mouth agape and eyes wide in a look of absolute awe that had no business being so unbearably endearing. She almost couldn't bring herself to speak, but she cleared her throat.
"Sylvain."
As if snapping out of a trance, his gaze shot up to meet hers. She gestured to the baby in her hold, who was smacking her lips above her clothed breast, and his eyes darted back and forth between them.
A bright shade of pink colored his face.
"O-Oh, right!" Sylvain sprung up from his seat in a manner that was anything but graceful. "Sorry. I'll, uh, I'll be right by the door."
Ingrid giggled as he left. The almighty margrave could be such a boy sometimes.
That afternoon, as soon as the medical preparations were done, the mage loomed over with a syringe in wait for her permission. Ingrid had never felt uneasy around blood. No knight had that luxury, and her experience on the front lines intimately familiarized her with a myriad of nauseating textures and smells. Nevertheless, tears stung her eyes as the needle pierced her wailing daughter's fist, and Ingrid searched the couch for the comfort of Sylvain's hand.
Finally, after a short eternity, the mage took the sample and left for a room where he had mounted his equipment. Ingrid was sitting quietly, clenching her dress, when the familiar beat of a dragon's wings drew near. The minute she stood up, the mahogany double doors of the manor flew open and her panting husband rushed in. She tensed up. Of course, he would not want to miss the analysis.
As soon as the mage spoke the results, a surge of conflicting emotions overwhelmed her.
She was relieved, for once. Philip pulled her into a hug, surprisingly, and Sylvain uttered convincing congratulations. The news spread like wildfire among the staff, each of its members lining up to extend their good wishes on the new heir. Dusk had yet to arrive when the estate of Reiner, usually shrouded in silence and repose, lit up with glorious celebrations.
But Ingrid's mind wandered repeatedly to the moment her husband stormed out of the room, a cloud of tense whispers settling in the air. To the day when the world turned its back on the Crestless boy she held in her arms, labeled inadequate. A failure.
The goddess could cram her path with misery for all she cared, but her stomach turned at the thought of a grim fate awaiting her son.
The seasons passed, and Ingrid could have sworn time flew by as she watched her little ones discover the wonders around them. To her delight, Julia grew to adore the legends of chivalry she read to her every night, to the point where she handed her the books that she wanted to hear. On the other side, Isaac was the sweetest bundle of energy, constantly showing his sister his favorite toys and asking everyone nearby to play make-believe with him. He received a significantly larger amount of side-eyed glances than Julia, but no one was foolish enough to scoff at her son in her presence, at the very least.
Philip was away for most of it. While he didn't tell her much about his missions, the workers and townsfolk had informed her that many western lords had set off to supervise a worrying amount of minor villages in the territory whose people had fallen ill. She almost jumped on her steed, ready to depart with her husband, but reality hit her like a brutal slap. She had a duty away from weapons and battles whose urgency she could not negate.
That was, until the King himself summoned the heads of House Reiner.
Delivering reports to the castle was nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, the family often provided wyvern riders for the royal guard and, in turn, received food and revenue for their lands. But the abrupt request for both the lord and lady's presence in Fhirdiad warned of an urgent situation, and Ingrid had no choice but to leave her children in her servants' care.
The journey to the capital, once merely inconvenient, tired her after just a few days, forcing her to admit that the renowned warrior had become shamefully frail. As she guided her pegasus below the clouds and to the city, Ingrid found comfort in the icy breeze that tousled her braid and the sight of imposing buildings and paved roads. This prospering Fhirdiad differed from the images in her memory, yet it still felt like home.
Getting to see one of her dearest friends cemented that feeling, and it took every ounce of her remaining strength to avoid throwing her arms around his neck the instant they entered the castle's great hall.
"Hello, Your Majesty." She bowed along with Philip. "It has been a while."
She was sure that Dimitri's giant smile mirrored her own. "More than a while, Ingrid."
Her husband stood on the sidelines, only speaking when spoken to, as the two war heroes caught up and reminisced in manners that no written letter could allow. His hair was pulled back neatly and short stubble framed his face in a way that reminded her of the kings of old, their likeness captured in the finest paintings. A part of her heart wished she could have been there to see the change.
Their time was cut short that evening, however, when they assembled with a few other lords of the west specialized in training elite soldiers and began discussing the dire conditions of several towns in their lands. She wondered why Dimitri would summon a crowd of combatants with little medical knowledge, but it soon became clear enough.
Expert physicians had determined that an infectious disease wouldn't have such a large range of varying symptoms. It was most likely that the gruesome conditions that ailed the citizens were actually curses, their unknown casters a threat to the Kingdom.
Sickening images flashed through her mind. People with pure white eyes and cracked, bloodied skin that made them resemble monsters ran through the blazing wreckage of a once peaceful village.
"Your Majesty." Her words tumbled out before she could consider them. "Do you think this may be connected to the Remire Calamity of a few years ago?"
She instantly regretted her question.
"It may be," Dimitri said through gritted teeth. "The soldiers that were allied with the Empire… Some escaped during the battle at the Imperial Palace."
As Dimitri clenched his fists, Ingrid tensed, recalling the savage and bloodthirsty puppet of the dead that they had found long ago at the ruined monastery. As much as she tried to distance the honorable monarch she yearned to serve from that wretched figure eternally surrounded by corpses, she couldn't deny the darkness that sometimes possessed his gaze.
"And, to think, they may have been involved in the Tragedy of Duscur as well." Dimitri's voice took on a terrifyingly gruff tone. "Cowards. Beasts. Anyone involved in such events deserves the worst punishment…"
She had just opened her mouth to speak when Philip's hand grasped her own. His gray eyes, usually calm and aloof, met the King firmly.
"Your Majesty," he drawled, as if facing a rabid animal, "we have provided you with our finest troops, and we will make sure to assign mounted scouts to the affected regions. If there is any suspicious activity, trust that we will be the first to know and report back." He glanced at Ingrid, then at him again. That instant was enough for her to notice his uneasiness. "I am terribly sorry for being so rude, but we can't afford to leave our territory unattended for much longer. I pray you will forgive us."
The King allowed them to take their leave, a sympathetic look on his face, as if nothing had troubled him before. Philip grabbed Ingrid's hand and started heading for the exit. A storm of questions and demands churned inside her, but the last thing that she wanted was to make a fuss in the royal palace.
She elected to pull her arm away, but there was no choosing to stay.