He could have his secrets, for now.
* * *
The Crossroads were finally in sight.
The Western Waste had seemed like it would never end and then, suddenly, out of nowhere: civilization. The first sighting of it on the horizon was enough to set her heart racing. Now, every step closer filled her with apprehension and excitement.
This would be the end of her journey with her family, and the start of something a mere year ago she never would have expected.
“It will be similar to how it was when we came to get you,” Romulin said from her side. “We shall be in front, just behind some flag bearers this time. Then some more flag bearers on horses. A couple guards around. Then, the rest of the infantry.”
“Right,” Vi murmured, watching as said flag bearers assembled posts to make tall staffs, to which they affixed pennons emblazoned with the sun of the Empire. She fussed with the headscarf that had been keeping the heat off her brow. A heavy, rope-like braid fell down the center of her back.
“You’re not wearing your scarf anymore?” Andru asked from Romulin’s side. The two were together more often than not. And, while Romulin had yet to say anything outright, Vi was beginning to assume that Andru had mentioned she was in the know.
“No, not for when we enter. I’ve been told I look like my grandmother, Princess Fiera. I think showing my hair and face could only garner favor.”
“A brilliant idea, sister.”
“Thank you.” Vi gave her brother a smile. They had yet to really address what had happened two nights ago, but she took their easy rapport today as a sign they were headed toward some kind of peace—and that was the best she could hope for, before she set off for Meru. “I’ll take it out of the braid when we get closer, otherwise the wind will make it a knotted mess.”
“I admire that you learned the Southern braids from Mother,” Romulin said softly. “It was a nice gesture.”
Mother.
They hadn’t spoken much since Vi found out about her affliction. She stared at her mother’s back, at the cape bearing the blazing sun and lined in Western crimson. Vhalla rode strong and tall. If Vi hadn’t known better, she would’ve never suspected the illness ravaging her.
An hour later, they passed under the great northern gate of the Crossroads.
The Crossroads were unlike anything she’d ever seen. Certainly, the treetop cities of the North were magical and breathtaking in their own right, but the West was its own unique form of magic.
Canvas shades were pulled over the alleyways and streets to guard those below from the sun. The filtered light illuminated the white of the road ahead in reds and oranges. But the streets were mostly empty. Only a few lined their path forward, regarding them tiredly. Perhaps even warily.
Her eyes scanned over their heads, to the buildings behind them. Mostly squat and constructed of a smooth stone that looked almost like the sand itself, they had square windows and ashen timbers jutting out between floors.
Vi’s attention settled on the doors. Painted in a rough hand over a few was a white circle. Others bore an X.
“The White Death,” she muttered. She’d seen a similar mark in the North.
“Slightly different from the Northerners. Here, the circle marks places where the afflicted live… the X marks somewhere with a confirmed death. They haven’t set up any kind of central clinic,” Jayme said solemnly from Vi’s side. “When I came through a few months ago, I don’t recall seeing half as many marks.”
“The plague has hit the West the hardest so far,” Romulin agreed. His tone just as grim. “This is a better turnout than we had on our way up, if you can believe it. Though they look even less happy to see us…”
“Do you know how many?”
“How many the West has lost? Or how many have turned out to greet us?”
“The former,” Vi clarified.
“Elecia will have more up-to-date numbers… last I heard, it was in the range of twenty thousand.”
Vi gripped her reins so tightly the horse’s head jerked sideways. She hastily loosened her fingers and gave her mount an apologetic pat.
“There must be a cure.” Vi turned to Romulin, giving him a hard stare. His eyes darted between her and the people. She was putting him on the spot, confronting the harsh reality of their circumstances, but she didn’t care.
“If only,” Andru said softly. “I think hope of one passed with our Late Emperor.”
The Imperial party marched into the center of the Crossroads—the center of the world.
