Page 48 of The Nightblood Prince

I moved as fast as I could through the unfamiliar terrain.

But the land between the camp and Changchun was sandy and barren, crisscrossed with too many intervening paths and footprints leading from all corners of the empire.

Navigating them would be difficult even for those who regularly used these roads.

I thought it would be easy, following an army, but these men moved in units.

They traveled on different roads in case of ambush.

Which was a great idea, usually, but not right now.

I had no idea which direction Siwang had gone.

All I could do was head for Changchun and hope for the best. However, between frequent checks of the map and getting myself lost on the wrong roads, even my fastest wasn’t enough.

Especially since my visions gave me only glimpses of what would happen, not directions to get there.

Eventually, I did come across small groups of people carrying heavy bags, some pushing carts full of the elderly, children, and amassed belongings. Too heavy for a trip between villages to visit family.

I had seen people like them during my travels over the past year. Wind-beaten folks forced to leave behind all that was dear to them, all they had ever known, to flee for their lives. Like too many had done since Lan’s rise.

In war, there were three types of people: those who ran, those who fought, and those who stayed to die.

I remembered Siwang’s warnings about Lan’s vampires, who needed blood to survive. I hoped these people could find refuge farther north, where they might live to see more dawns and watch their children grow.

Day by day, as I passed the sun-bronzed faces of the escapees, who became more and more frantic, their steps hurried and fearful, I knew I was getting closer to Changchun.

When I started seeing bloodied soldiers peppered throughout the crowd, clad in the faded reds of our uniform, stripped of their armor, heads low to avoid attention, I knew the battlefield was not far.

Deserters. Men who did not want to fight, or merely feared the prospect of dying—as they had every right to.

War was fought in the name of empires and conquerors. Nobody would remember these nameless foot soldiers in a hundred years. No honor, no glory. The men at camp liked to shame the deserters, but until one experienced this kind of trauma, we had no right to judge.

I kicked Beifeng into a sprint.

I could still atone for my mistake, showing Lan Yexue mercy when I should have driven my blade through his heart and ended his tyranny before it could begin. But by protecting Siwang, and helping him win this war however I could, it was still possible to prevent my nightmares from coming true.

Fate had given me my powers for a reason. If I could wield them and foresee the future, we might have a chance at achieving the impossible. If not by defeating Lan once and for all, then at least by reminding them that Rong was not an empire they could conquer so easily.

I took in the hollowed faces of those who were paying the price of this war.

They were the people these supposed “heaven mandated” emperors and armies should be fighting for.

Not to conquer, but to protect. Instead, they waged wars for pride and greed, and passed these human lives from one rapacious hand to another.

Lan might claim these lands from Rong today, but someday someone would claim these lands from Lan. As was the way of life.

Empires rise, empires fall.

However, the ones whose hunched backs built these empires were always the first to suffer. The collateral damage, seeking refuge in any city that would take them, praying for the amity that might never come and a bounteous son of heaven who might not exist.

When would these borderlands know peace?

If I condemned myself to a life behind palace walls, would that buy the continent a few decades of peace?

…Or could there be another way to fulfill the prophecy and become empress of all empresses?

I pushed the thought away before it could take root.

To become an empress, I had to first rescue my prince from certaindeath.