Some of them had been in pretty bad shape, but they were nothing compared to this. My people back in the Thorn and Rowan lands were on rations right now, but beside these gaunt, starving people, my own kingdoms were practically feasting every day. Likewise, the cobbled-together winter attire I’d seen on my people was downright luxurious next to the pathetic scraps of the Palm Land’s residents. The clothing barely covered their bodies. An uneasy feeling spread over me.
“Are my villages like this?” I asked to anyone who would answer. Since my return, I’d only talked to those who worked in my castles, not those who lived elsewhere. Those in the castles always had a little more than those in the villages and towns.
“No, Your Majesty,” said Danil, the guard, coming up beside me. “I’ve been to this kingdom in the past—before the blight. It was prosperous and lush. The weather was so mild that fruit and plants grew in abundance. You could walk outside your home and pick dinner. They had no need to save for winter or trade.”
“And so they had nothing when the blight came,” I guessed. Things had been far from easy in my kingdoms, but a few things had helped us through this disaster. The Thorn Land had to import a lot of food normally, meaning there were always extra supplies in storage. When the blight had destroyed most of the food found in the wild, there had been some of that backup to go around and share between both of my kingdoms. Likewise, the Rowan Land’s more temperate climate meant there’d been warmer clothing and supplies already in production to share back to the Thorn Land, whose residents (like the Palm Land’s) would normally never need anything more than the lightest of attire.
“They must be terrified of us,” I murmured as we reached the town’s center. “Most seem to be hiding.”
Rurik glanced at me, just before he dismounted. “Most are probably dead.”
He walked ahead to do our negotiating. I wondered if he was our wisest diplomatic choice, but no one else offered protest. I couldn’t hear all of the conversation, but someone who seemed to be a leader gestured to some huts while talking to Rurik. The same man also kept glancing warily at our weapons.
“He probably wants to demand food in exchange for lodging,” said Pagiel. “But knows he doesn’t have a way to stop us if we don’t heed his demands.”
“I wish we could give them food,” I said. I saw a few children’s faces watching us from inside the huts, and they broke my heart. I kept thinking of Isaac and Ivy and what it would be like if they too were in these conditions. “I’d take a cut in my rations.”
“I’d encourage you to,” said Dorian, not unkindly. “That is, if I knew exactly how long our journey will last. The supplies we brought were just a guess. If they were accurately measured out, you shorting yourself a day or two wouldn’t matter. But for all we know, we’re two weeks low on food. We can’t risk it—not when we have the chance to undo the blight altogether.”
I nodded, knowing he was right, but that didn’t stop me from feeling bad.
Rurik returned, looking puzzled. “They say we can stay in a bunch of huts they have. They’re empty.” He didn’t need to point out the grim reason as to why there was so much empty lodging.
“What do they want in return?” asked Kiyo.
“That’s the weird thing,” said Rurik. “They didn’t ask for anything—just to protect them while we’re here.”
I raised an eyebrow at this. “Protect them from what, exactly?”
“Well, they weren’t exactly clear on that. Mostly all I got from them was ‘the storm,’” said Rurik. This, naturally, made all of us glance skyward. Nothing too different showed itself above, and my senses didn’t really pick up on any impending blizzard. With the blight’s nature, it was hard to say what might happen. “I agreed to whatever they wanted.” Rurik glanced at us for affirmation.
“You did fine,” I told him. I climbed down off my horse, unsurprised to find my body stiff and sore from riding. I knew I’d adapt in a couple of days, but they were going to be long days. “Let’s check out our accommodations.”
There were plenty of huts to go around. We each could have had our own, though Jasmine assumed she and I would share. I honestly think she didn’t want to leave me alone with Kiyo around. The huts were deceptively small, but as we entered ours, it was obvious this had once housed a family. There was plenty of space and even partitions to create common and sleeping rooms. We had clean cots and a dining table, and mercifully, no personal items of the lost family remained. The walls and roof looked as though they’d been built to keep out any breezes or tropical rain but had little effect on temperature control. A fire pit that had been intended for cooking was going to be our heat source.
We’d barely been in there a minute when a young woman came scurrying in behind us. She looked no older than Jasmine, yet at the same time had a haggard appearance from harsh living that had aged her beyond her years. She knelt by the cooking pit and began to deftly light a fire.
“Oh,” I said, “you don’t have to bother with that. We know how to make a fire.” It was a skill one had to acquire in a world devoid of lighters and kerosene.
“It is no bother, my lady,” the girl replied, not meeting my eyes.
“Eugenie. My name’s Eugenie.”
“I know who you are, my lady.”
The fire roared to life and caught so quickly that I suspected our helper probably had some sort of magical fire ability. Definitely a skill to possess in these times.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Rhona,” she said, getting to her feet. With her facing me now, I was able to get a better look and could see just how harshly the blight had treated her. Her cheeks were sunken in, and there were bags under her eyes. The scraps she wore to stay warm were hardly adequate and showed a figure that was mostly ribs. I also noticed she was missing two fingers off of her left hand and wondered if that was the work of frostbite. The hand had bandages on it, indicating a recent injury.
In that moment, I so badly wanted to give her food that my hands began to move of their own accord toward my travel pack. Dorian’s words came back to me, and I forced myself to look ahead. Giving her something—even a strip of dried meat—seemed like such a small thing. But what if that meat would keep someone in my party alive when we reached the Yew Land? What if it meant the difference between stopping the blight and failing?
Making a decision, I reached for my pack—and pulled out a sweater.
“Here,” I said. “Take this.”
Rhona’s brown eyes went wide. “Lady, I cannot. It’s too fine.”
Fine? It was one of the items I’d scraped together at a secondhand store in Tucson, a red wool Christmas sweater with white snowmen on it.
“I insist,” I said, summoning my most imperious, queenly voice. “It will be a grave insult if you don’t take it.”
My bluff worked. Rhona snatched the sweater and clutched it to her chest. “Thank you, my lady. Thank you,” she kept repeating. She backed out toward the door, bowing over and over. When she was gone, Jasmine sighed.
“You shouldn’t have done that. What if you need it later?”
“I have a couple others. And she needs it a lot more.” Noting Jasmine’s skeptical look, I added, “How can you see all that and not be affected by it?”
“I try not to see it,” she said bluntly. “Or think about it. It’s the only way I’ve gotten by these last couple months.” It sounded harsh at first, but then I realized I could understand her reasoning—and didn’t like that I could. She tossed her pack unceremoniously on the floor and stretched. “I’m going to go hang out with Pagiel for a while.”
I knew Pagiel had his own hut for the night and wondered if I should be attempting some sort of chaperoning. In the end, I let her go without a word. She’d become a lot more responsible in our time together, and besides, who was I to deny her some happiness in these times? I pulled a chair as close to the cooking pit as possible and warmed myself while trying not to ruminate on what Isaac and Ivy were doing right now.