When the wind and snow swept past Graystone Fortress, frozen earth and churned mud mingled on the old trade road, jolting travelers until their heads spun.
Even the luxurious carriage's wheels creaked under the strain whenever they sank into a pothole, as though protesting the cruelty of this wilderness.
Sorel sat steadily inside the carriage and checked the door and window seams. Only after confirming that everything was tightly shut did he take a worn silver pendant from a hidden pocket in his undershirt.
He opened the clasp. Inside was a charcoal sketch the size of his thumb, depicting a little girl holding a rag doll.
Her face was pale, her eyes disproportionately large, yet she tried to offer a faint smile to someone beyond the picture, clutching her doll tightly.
Sorel gently brushed his fingertips over the drawing and briefly closed his eyes.
Then he snapped the pendant shut, as though tucking a secret back into a gap in his armor.
Sorel cracked open the carriage window and looked outside.
The wind immediately rushed in, its cold stinging like needles.
Dead stretches of the Black Pine Forest sagged crookedly beneath the snow. Corpses lay curled beside the road, some buried until only half a face remained visible.
Refugees who looked scarcely human lived in ramshackle shelters. When they raised their heads to watch the carriage, their eyes were so numb that they seemed to have long since abandoned any thought of survival.
Chimney smoke had all but vanished across this stretch of wilderness. The air smelled only of rotting flesh and cold wind.
Sorel stared at it all.
He knew he should maintain the courteous restraint expected of an imperial envoy, but the arrogance bred into his noble southern blood rose unchecked.
Sorel gave a quiet, mirthless laugh.
"Now