“Very well, this is sufficient for today. You are dismissed, Miss Yarl.” The Emperor waved a hand in her direction.

“Thank you, my lords and ladies.” Vhalla stood, keeping her eyes downcast.

“Ah, one more thing,” Lord Ophain interjected.

Vhalla searched him with a questioning stare. What was he doing?

“This is the first Windwalker in the West in decades.”

The other nobility were confused; even Aldrik didn’t seem to understand why his uncle was approaching her.

“Vhalla Yarl,” Lord Ophain began, looking down at her. “I cannot correct the mistakes of my forefathers. I cannot expunge the blood of Windwalkers from the stones of my castle. What the Knights of Jadar did to your brethren can never be remedied.”

Vhalla shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Speaking of the genocide of her people after learning more about the reasons behind it put an uncomfortable feeling in her gut that tingled down to her toes. It wasn’t something she even wanted mentioned.

“But what I can do is be a catalyst for a future of hope, peace, and prosperity between sorcerers of all types and Commons. To show that the value I see in you is far greater than your magic.”

She wondered if he was sincere. But the second Lord Ophain’s eyes darted over to the Emperor’s, she had no doubt. This was a statement, one which Vhalla wasn’t sure she was prepared to be involved in or even fully understood the implications of.

“Therefore, it is my honor to bestow upon you a Crimson Proclamation.”

Murmurs clouded the air the moment the words left the Western Lord’s lips. Vhalla shifted uncertainly. Even Aldrik wore a look of dumb shock on his face. Some nobles were confused, but the other Westerners seemed quick to fill in the blanks.

Lord Ophain focused only on Vhalla as he produced a crimson ribbon from his inner coat pocket. It was just over half the length of her forearm and as wide as three fingers. He handed it to her, and Vhalla instantly ran her fingers over the silk. Upon it were Western symbols in silver thread, on the bottom was an ink seal bearing the flaming phoenix of the West.

Vhalla looked back up to him quizzically.

“In truth, this is a hollow title.” Lord Ophain did not make her ask outright. With a nod in the Emperor’s direction, he continued, “Only the Emperor may elevate lords and ladies to the court of nobility. But the West maintains its traditions and honors the old ways. Any who are able to read those words will know that the Lady Vhalla Yarl is considered a Duchess of the West by Order of Lord Ophain Ci’Dan.”

Vhalla stared in awe. Hollow title or no, it was more esteem than she had ever contemplated in her life. She made the mistake of looking to the Emperor and resisted the urge to push the fabric back in Lord Ophain’s palms. Emperor Solaris’s eyes were steely. She gripped the ribbon tighter. It meant nothing, it was a symbol of good faith, of righting wrongs of the past. It posed no threat of change to her current status. Surely the Emperor knew that?

“You honor me, my lord,” Vhalla mumbled, lowering her eyes.

“If you are quite finished, Lord Ophain,” the Emperor said coldly, “Miss Yarl has other places to be.”

Vhalla didn’t, but she was eager to be out of the suddenly oppressive room. She gave one last bow and noticed that suddenly the Western nobility gave her small nods of their heads. All, save for one; a mustached major, whom Vhalla had never so much had laid eyes on before the demonstration, regarded her with thinly veiled contempt.

It was impossible to leave the room fast enough, retreating back to her inn.

Larel and Fritz were waiting for her when she returned. They lounged in a sitting area to the left of the lobby’s entrance. Daniel and Craig occupied the Carcivi board to the right. All of them looked up in interest the moment she entered.

“How’d it go?” Fritz was the first to ask.

“Well,” Vhalla held up the ribbon in white-knuckled grip. “I got a Crimson Proclamation.”

“A what?” Larel asked.

Daniel and Craig seemed equally lost.

“A Crimson Proclamation?” Fritz was on his feet, rushing over to her. “I didn’t think the West gave these anymore.”

“What is it?” Larel asked, crossing over to Vhalla and Fritz.

“Crimson Proclamations were how the old kings of the West built their court. They raised people to noble status with them,” Fritz explained.

“So, are you a noble now?” Daniel went to get a look himself.

“Not really,” Vhalla remembered what Lord Ophain said.

“The Emperor abolished the Western Court,” Fritz continued. “When Mhashan was absorbed into the Empire and became just ‘the West,’ the Emperor didn’t want an uprising from the people who were old nobility. So he formed the Imperial Court as a way to appease them, giving the old nobility new Southern titles and elevating his own lords and ladies to sit among them.”

“He took control of their power then?” Craig rubbed his chin.

Fritz nodded. “And, in effect, absorbed the wealth of the oldest families in the West. But why did you get one?”

“Lord Ophain said it was a gesture of good faith, for the Burning Times,” Vhalla summarized.

Comprehension sunk into Fritz’s face.

“The Burning Times?” Daniel asked.

That launched Fritz into a whole new history lesson. One that, given Daniel’s interest in Windwalkers, took significantly longer. Vhalla listened quietly, still digesting the afternoon.

The Emperor seemed pleased with her demonstration ... but his eyes. She suppressed a shiver. His eyes were void of all emotion each time they fell upon her. The more interactions she had with Emperor Solaris, the less doubt Vhalla had that her place beneath him would never change.

“So, they just, killed them all?” Craig leaned back in his chair in shock.

“Yep.” Fritz nodded. “And Vhal’s the first one since.”

She met her friend’s proud smile with a tired curl of her lips.

“However ... horrible that is, we can’t change it now, and I think we should celebrate Vhalla’s proclamation.” Daniel leaned forward in his chair.

“I don’t know if I can handle another night of celebration,” Larel said uneasily.

“Something quieter. There’s a delicious Western restaurant not far from here.” Daniel stood. “I’d love to treat the Windwalker and her friends.”

Daniel extended a hand to her, and Vhalla stared at it. She wished she could feel his joy. She wanted the excitement that had been evoked in her the first night in the Crossroads, excitement in spite of the sea of power plays and manipulation that she found herself adrift in. Vhalla took Daniel’s hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Sitting and brooding wouldn’t help her find that joy again, and Daniel had been a catalyst for it before—maybe he would be able to summon it again.

The Crossroads did not disappoint. The night was warm, interrupted by a cool breeze drifting through the dusty streets and alleys. Colors were splashed upon every building in the forms of bright murals, tapestries, and awnings. Music and laughter could be heard all around, in harmony with gambling parlors and pleasure halls—it was a good place to forget who you were, Vhalla decided.

The restaurant was nicer than Vhalla expected, and she was instantly overwhelmed by the menu and table setting. Fritz seemed equally lost and Larel surprisingly comfortable. Vhalla could only suspect that growing up the friend of the Crown Prince gave the Western woman insights into etiquette she wouldn’t have otherwise.