She resumed massaging Reiya’s palm, though her touch had a distant quality, as if her thoughts were drifting to another place and time.
“One day, he came into my father’s shop, selling pearls and fine wood carvings. He intrigued me, the way he seemed more at ease on the road than most noblemen were in their own homes. I thought, ‘This man belongs to the world, not just one place.’ I envied that.”
Something in Su Lian’s words resonated deeply, stirring the familiar ache that had driven her to leave her own gilded cage.
She tilted her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “So . . . you followed him?”
Su Lian chuckled wistfully. “Not right away. But eventually, I realized there was more freedom with him than in the capital. Xûen-Sarai may be lauded as one of the grandest in the nine kingdoms, but it’s an illusion. The emperor’s greed drains the people—food is scarce, taxes keep rising, and those who can’t pay . . . they disappear, or they’re sent to labour camps.”
Reiya stilled. Xûen-Sarai had always seemed an empire of wonders to her, famed for its splendour. She pictured vast palaces, with picturesque courtyards filled with lotus ponds, pillars decorated in glittering limyerite, and intricate jade carvings on temple gates that had stood for centuries. It was a place of legend, where art and tradition flourished, where even the smallest crafts seemed woven with purpose and meaning.
Yet this image of a gilded empire clashed with Su Lian’s words, hinting at hardship hidden beneath its opulence.
“Did anyone resist?” she asked, though she knew all too well how easily such resistance could be crushed in a world so tightly bound by its own rules.
“People tried,” Su Lian murmured. “But the emperor rewards loyalty and punishes rebellion until there’s no one left to fight.”
She sighed and looked outside at the passing scenery, her expression turning morose. “It’s been nearly a decade since I last saw my family. I used to wonder if they still had the shop, if the house was still standing. But after a while, I stopped asking.”
The thought of such separation gnawed at Reiya. She already missed her own family—the comfort of her mother’s embrace, her father’s gentle encouragement, even her brothers’ teasing jabs that once irritated her.
Nearly a decade, not knowing if home still stood or if her family was safe . . .
She gently squeezed Su Lian’s hand. “I haven’t been away from my family nearly as long, but I think I understand a little of what you must feel.”
Su Lian’s face softened, returning the squeeze. “You’re kind, Yara. Jun’s cautious with strangers—and I wouldn’t have him any other way. But the moment I saw you, I sensed you had a good heart.”
Reiya’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “A good heart? Is this you, or the Fox in you talking?”
Su Lian blinked, then let out a light, genuine laugh. “I like you, Yara. I think you’ll fit in here just fine. Tell me, do you know which animal you were born under?”
Reiya shook her head, a flicker of awkwardness running through her. In Aethonia, they didn’t mark births by animals or celestial signs. Still, she wished she could offer something—some piece of herself to bridge the gap.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” she said, smiling a small, apologetic smile. “But I was born in the year Thirty Four of the Allied Calendar. Perhaps you can tell me?”
Su Lian’s gaze sharpened slightly while her fingers moved one by one, as if turning the date over in her mind.
Then, her eyes lit up. “Ah, the Year of the Reindeer.”
“The Reindeer?”
“It’s a sign of endurance and strength. Those born under the Reindeer often grow into themselves slowly, but when they do, they stand taller than most. People see the Reindeer as gentle, but that’s only part of the truth.”
A knowing smile tugged at the woman’s lips. “The Reindeer knows when to fight and when to walk away. It carries its antlers with grace but sheds them when the season calls for change.”
Reiya let out a soft laugh, hand patting the top of her head. “Mine must not have grown in yet.”
Su Lian chuckled and continued working the salve into her skin. “Maybe not yet. But the Reindeer rarely knows its own strength until the moment it’s tested.”
The words lingered, stirring doubt inside her, but also something dangerously close to hope. She glanced down at her palm and wrists, watching how her fingers and weltsdidseem better now.
Wouldn’t it be nice, she thought with a small smile, if she could prove she was as strong as the Reindeer when the time came?
The wagon rumbled along the Great Salt Road—a ribbon of earth worn smooth by centuries of trade. Sometimes it hugged the ocean’s edge, close enough for spray to mist the air, the rhythmic crash of waves thrumming through the soles of her feet. Salt clung to her skin, and the breeze teased her hair, curling it with the scent of kelp and distant shores.
But the road didn’t stay gentle for long.
It twisted inland, climbing through sun-scorched plains where the cracked earth gaped open, thirsty and brittle. Dry winds, sharp from the Numeria Desert, rattled across the rocks, lifting grit into the air, scouring every breath raw. The dust stung her eyes, dried the inside of her mouth.