Chapter Text
Petra was tired. And, above all else, she was profoundly, undeniably sweaty.
She wore her Ataran Jurist ensemble - a sharply pleated, cream-and-blue tunic fastened at the shoulder by a heavy bronze brooch, layered beneath an elegant woolen drape meant for the temperate courts of Atara. In the arid heat of the Eufaula, the swathes of cloth had transformed into a personal sauna. It left her flushed, suffocating, and desperately fanning herself with a thick leather-bound folio.
She hauled her massive trunk off the train platform, her short frame straining against the weight. It thunked down the wooden staircase, thumping in near-perfect time to the headache throbbing behind her eyes.
Huffing, she blew a few stray wisps of brown hair out of her face and silently cursed her Ataran colleagues. They had insisted she travel in full Jurist regalia.
“What you lack in height will be more than made up for in first impressions when they see you in your Jurist’s Chiton,” one particularly stuffy, geriatric colleague had consoled with a dismissive wave of his hand.
He, of course, had never been to the desert.
She felt her bottom lip wobble, the sting of tears threatening to spill over. Pull yourself together, Petra, she told herself fiercely. You’ve overcome hardships much worse than these. She sniffed loudly, shaking the moisture from her eyes. “A little sunstroke never hurt anyone.”
“On the contrary, I think you’ll find sunstroke’s done plenty of hurtin’,” a deep voice drawled from behind her.
Petra whipped around,a snarky retort poised on the tip of her tongue, only to freeze when she came face-to-face with a giant… goat?
A giant, goggle-wearing goat.
“Uh… hello?”
Petra had heard that some unusual creatures made their home in Sandrock - creatures that had once been considered normal livestock but had been altered by the ancient fallout of the Day of Calamity.
A giant, goggle-wielding talking goat, however, had definitely not been on her syllabus.
“Oh! Um… do you have a lot of experience with sunstroke, sir?” Petra asked the goat, clearing her throat and trying to summon her best diplomatic tone. For all she knew, these apparently sentient creatures held positions of high office out here on the frontier.
It was then she tilted her head up and noticed - to her immense chagrin - that a man sat atop the enormous beast. He smirked down at her, tipping the edge of his leather Yakboy hat in a lazy salute. Beneath the brim was a striking shock of white hair, though the man appeared to be not much older than herself.
“Have a lot of experience with talking goats?” he shot back dryly. With a chuckle, he swung his leg over the side of his saddle and jumped down. His heavy leather boots struck the dusty ground, sending up a miniature cloud of red motes into the air.
Petra was in absolutely no mood for banter, but she bit her tongue and smoothed the frown from her face into what she hoped passed for a mild expression. Standing at his full height, the man was easily as tall as his towering steed. Petra had to shield her eyes with her hand, craning her neck just to get a proper look at him.
“To answer your question: no, I cannot say I have a lot of experience with talking goats,” she said, doing her best to school her features into the calm mask of a professional. “Nor with blazing temperatures. So, if you would be so kind as to direct me to the Civil Corps, I would greatly appreciate it.”
The man regarded her for a quiet moment before stepping easily around her massive trunk. “Well, as luck would have it, I’m headed there myself.” He stopped a meter ahead of her, gesturing with a tilt of his hat toward the main street behind him. “C’mon. I’ll take you.”
Petra let out a ragged sigh of relief and took a step in his direction. “Oh, thank you. I really appreciate this, Mr…” She stared at him expectantly, waiting for a name.
“Logan,” he intoned with a brief nod. “And judging by your fancy get-up, I’d wager you’re the big-shot Ataran lawyer we’ve been expecting.”
“Jurist,” Petra corrected automatically.
Logan merely stared back, his expression blank.
Petra cleared her throat, offering a polite smile. “The correct term is Jurist. But yes, I’ve been sent as an envoy from the Ataran government to act as the interim Alliance liaison.”
Logan’s blank stare melted back into a soft smirk. “I see. And does this Jurist have a name?”
“Petra,” she replied, shooting her hand out toward him.
He took it in his, offering her a brief but firm handshake. She immediately noted the rough, heavy callouses on his palm and wondered what kind of work had caused them. He nodded once more, then bent down to retrieve her luggage.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that…” she stammered, though her protests quickly died out as she watched him swing the massive trunk over his shoulder as though it were filled with feathers rather than bulky legal tomes. Without a single word of complaint, he set off down the dusty path at a leisurely pace.
“Stay, Rambo,” Logan called over his shoulder.
Petra shot a backward glance at the giant goat - Rambo, she presumed - who simply blinked, regarding her like a mad scientist from behind his absurdly large goggles. Giving the beast an awkward, tentative wave, Petra hoisted her heavy woolen cloak and hurried to catch up with Logan's long strides.
The Civil Corps office was much like the other buildings she had seen on her short walk up the main street - a bit dilapidated, but charming all the same. Logan balanced her trunk with one hand while using the other to shove the heavy office door open. Inside, Petra observed two men and a short, middle-aged woman whispering together conspiratorially.
“I never liked Pen anyway,” the shorter of the two men intoned seriously. “He had absolutely no respect for the geological integrity of Sandrock.”
The other two nodded at him solemnly, as though this statement made perfect, undeniable sense. Logan cleared his throat, a low sound that made all three of them jump apart and snap their heads toward the door.
“Logan!” the woman exclaimed, the bun on top of her head waving perilously like a buoy in rough water. “We were waiting for you - and look! You’ve found Jurist Petra. I’m Mayor Trudy.” She smiled warmly, offering a small bow before turning to her colleagues. “This is Justice, Sheriff of the Civil Corps here in Sandrock,” she said, gesturing to the taller man, “and this is Unsuur, his deputy.”
Justice strode over just as Logan was lowering the heavy trunk to the floor, slapping him loudly on the shoulder the moment he straightened up. “Can always count on Lady Killer over here to help a damsel in distress.”
Logan shot Justice a flat look beneath the brim of his hat. “She ain't in distress, Sheriff. Just meltin’. Found her treatin’ Rambo like a government official at the station.”
Petra felt her cheeks redden and bristled slightly, but kept her tongue in check. She wanted to earn the trust of the Civil Corps - she was here to help them, after all, and ensure the townspeople received the justice they deserved.
“If by distress you mean overheating at a dangerous pace, then yes, I would agree,” she joked half-heartedly. Truthfully, she was beginning to worry she actually was suffering from sunstroke.
Trudy noticed her flushed discomfort and stepped forward. “Let's get you settled into your lodgings first, then, Jurist Petra, before you have to deal with the prisoners.”
“Petra is fine,” she offered with a weary smile. “And that won’t be necessary. I just need a glass of water and a quick sit-down, and I’ll be right as rain.”
Needing immediate relief, Petra unfastened the heavy woolen drape from around her neck and laid it over what appeared to be a large, carpeted cat tree in the corner. Stripped down to just her linen tunic, her arms were finally, mercifully bare. It was a small win, even if the fabric still trailed along the dusty floor when she walked.
Unsuur promptly grabbed a small wooden stool and plonked it down directly in front of her. She nodded gratefully, sinking onto it. The moment she sat, a glass of water was offered to her almost reverently by the deputy.
“I appreciate this,” Petra said between sips. “I understand water has become something of a scarcity these past months.”
Trudy, Justice, and Unsuur all nodded in somber unison. “With your help, Petra, we hope to get to the bottom of this mess and start the process of healing our town,” Trudy said, her voice laced with quiet confidence.
The “mess” they referred to was the recent, devastating attack by the Duvosian army, led by Commander Lefu. Petra had heard terrifying stories about the zealous, battle-hardened commander. He had spearheaded most of the offensive attacks that her home country of Ethea had endured over the years. He was an impulsive man, driven by a near-religious devotion to the Duvosian cause, which made him entirely unpredictable - and extremely dangerous.
“I’m deeply sorry for everything Sandrock has gone through,” Petra offered softly, knowing all too well the cold brutality of the Duvos Empire. “The betrayal by your own townspeople... that is a special kind of treachery.”
“I mean, we kind of saw it coming with Pen,” Unsuur shrugged, totally deadpan. “We let him go unchecked for too long. His head was getting bigger by the day - literally. I think it’s becoming a medical emergency.”
Justice cleared his throat, resting his hands heavily on his gun holsters. “A word of warning, Petra. As I’m sure you’re aware the prisoners are devout members of the Church of the Light.” He looked as though it physically pained him not to roll his eyes. “They’ll put everything they've done down to ensuring the betterment of the Free Alliance. But… I’ve got a feeling they’ve been allied with Duvos for a long time.”
Petra nodded. “I understand, Sheriff. I grew up in Ethea, and we get our fair share of Church pilgrims. They’ve been trying to infiltrate the monarchy for years. The Crown Princess has to personally oversee the hiring of staff for the palace ever since she caught a housekeeper trying to drown an electric feather duster.” She laughed humourlessly at the memory. “They are utterly blinded by their fear of technology. And that fear makes them easily manipulated.”
Petra finished the last of her water and stood up, fanning out her long skirts. “I think I’ve slightly overdressed for the occasion,” she said wryly. “I might need to take a trip to the tailor to shorten some of my clothing - make it a bit more desert-proof.”
“You are the very picture of juristic poise, Petra,” Trudy said sagely, “but I agree, those robes are far too heavy for the Sandrock climate. Once we’ve finished with the prisoners, I’ll have Vivi take your measurements.” She appraised her thoughtfully. “In fact, you might be the same height as Elsie, give or take a few inches. We can ask if she has any spare clothes she can loan you in the meantime.”
Petra smiled at the Mayor’s kindness. “Thank you, Trudy. That’s very thoughtful.”
Trudy nodded, then looked up at Logan, who was still standing quietly near the doorway. “I know this will be hard for you, Logan, but it would really help to have you there when we speak with Pen.”
At the mention of the man’s name, Logan’s expression darkened. He paused, the heavy silence stretching for a beat before he tipped his head. “I know, Trudes. Just gonna be difficult not to punch that bastard right in his smug face.”
A look of sad understanding crossed Trudy’s face . “He’ll pay for what he’s done to your family, Logan,” she said softly.
With that, she turned on her heel and headed toward the door at the top of the staircase, followed closely by Justice and Unsuur. Petra climbed up after them, immediately feeling Logan’s looming presence at her back. As her leather shoes tapped against the wooden steps, she ruminated on what Trudy had meant when she referred to Logan’s family, tucking that critical piece of information away for later inspection.
The interrogation had proved frustratingly futile. They went in circles, Pen denying everything and Miguel insisting his actions were done solely for the good of humanity. Petra had remained a quiet observer throughout, entirely ignoring the way Pen repeatedly tried to catch her eye and shoot her a wink.
“Who’s the chick?” he had asked the moment she walked into the foyer of the holding cell.
“This chick is the Jurist,” Justice responded. “And her name is Petra. I’d ask you to have some respect, but I don’t think you’ve learned that emotion yet.”
Pen ignored Justice’s comment and let out a dramatic groan of relief. “Finally! They’ve sent me a lawyer. Truth be told, I would have preferred someone a bit more…” He trailed off, his gaze filtering down Petra’s body. “Well… more.”
“Shut the fuck up, Pen,” Logan growled. “And Petra isn’t your lawyer. She’s been sent by the Atara to oversee your sentence.”
Pen’s eyes had widened slightly at that, and he remained stubbornly evasive for the remainder of the interrogation.
Now, Petra finally found herself in her new lodgings. She was staying in a cosy house that belonged to one of the town's resident builders, Mi-an, who was currently on a secondment in Walnut Grove. Logan had, once again, insisted on carrying her heavy trunk to the abode while she trailed behind. After setting it down, he looked at her for a moment, as though he wanted to say something. Deciding against it, he tipped his hat and strode toward the house directly opposite hers.
“This is me. Just holler if you need anything,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing inside.
Petra wondered what that look had meant. It was clear that Pen’s treachery wasn’t just to the town, but ran deeper when it came to Logan. She wanted to understand; needed to if she was going to help keep his pardon legally sound. But she also didn’t want to press on what was obviously a very sore subject.
No, this would have to wait until tomorrow, she decided.
Petra had immediately showered in the tiny wash closet, rinsing the accumulated sweat and dust from her skin. It took two thorough washes before she felt her hair was sufficiently clean. She kept it long, but usually wore it braided into a neat coronet, as was the style of Ataran Jurists. It suited her well enough in this heat, and once it had air-dried, she quickly braided it back and away from her face.
Trudy had arrived shortly after Logan left, with an energetic, red-haired young woman in tow. The girl excitedly introduced herself as Elsie, a monster-hunter-in-training, and handed over a small bundle of what felt like soft cotton and linen. She nattered non-stop, and Petra managed to catch that she lived with her parents on the ranch near the train station. Trudy eventually ushered the girl out the door, telling her to “let Jurist Petra rest,” for which Petra was profoundly grateful. She sagged with relief when the door finally clicked shut, leaving her in comfortable silence.
Because the lodge belonged to a builder, it was kitted out with various appliances - including, mercifully, a powerful air-conditioning unit. Petra sat at the wooden kitchen table, a glass of ice-cold yakmel milk in hand courtesy of Elsie, and began to plan the challenging week ahead.
In truth, the Alliance of Free Cities intended to extradite Pen and Miguel to Atara regardless of how this interrogation played out. Their actions were a direct attack on the Alliance Constitution, meaning their ultimate fate would be decided by the Supreme Court in the capital.
What the Civil Corps and the Mayor didn't realise was that Petra had been quietly sent to make sure Sandrock remained compliant. After the Duvosian assault, this small desert town had suddenly become the center of a massive diplomatic mess. With the threat of a full-blown war hanging between Ethea and Duvos, Petra was in a unique position - she could untangle the legal chaos while staying perfectly placed to help broker peace talks if the Ethean Crown Princess needed her.
She traced the rim of her glass, her thoughts drifting back to the Ethean capital. It was a heavy burden for an interim liaison, but Princess Alessa hadn't just chosen a qualified Jurist for this assignment - she had chosen a friend. They had been inseparable since childhood, a bond formed in the safety of the palace after Petra and her mother had fled the cold, gray borders of Duvos.
The Princess and the Refugee, she thought wryly.
The air conditioner hummed loudly, sending a forceful blast of beautifully freezing air straight across the kitchen. Petra blinked, pulled out of her memories as a sudden shiver ran down her bare arms.
She looked at her glass, took another sip of the surprisingly sweet yakmel milk, and let out a soft sigh. Diplomacy would have to wait for tomorrow. For tonight, she had a cool room, a soft bed, and a town full of incredibly strange, goggle-wearing locals to get used to.