The guards didn't announce me.
They never did when I visited her.
The Empress didn't need fanfare. She didn't need silk shoes or jade hairpins. She didn't even need the throne. She had already outlived it.
I stepped into her chamber quietly, the scent of sweet almond oil and dried plum skin filling the air. The latticed windows were half open, letting in the late afternoon chill. She sat in a low chair near the brazier, cloaked in layers of muted crimson, her hair loose down her back.
She didn't look up.
"I was wondering when you'd come," she said softly, fingers tracing the edge of her tea bowl.
"You knew I would."
"Of course."
I crossed the room, not bothering with formality. I took the cushion opposite hers and sat down, arms resting on my knees. The quiet between us wasn't awkward. It never had been. Silence, like loyalty, only mattered when it was broken.
"I'm going south," I said.
She finally looked at me then.
