Midnight Moon (The Bleeding Crown Book 1)

Chapter 6 - Vulnerabilities

The mountains of Niskas felt cold and bleak to Veanna, nothing like the rolling hills of Levea's farmland. The view was practically indistinguishable from the day before; rocky peaks patterned with scrubby trees and bushes. Though the landscape yielded precious metals and jewels to those willing to mine, it looked harsh and hostile under the steel-grey sky.

It had been over a decade since Levea and Niskas were at war, but there was still something unsettling about looking on enemy lands. Her childhood had been overshadowed by the War of Two Kings, and there had been skirmishes in this area for generations. It hardly made her feel safe.

"Are you able to make a fire?" Tia's voice broke through her thoughts as the Outlander laid an armful of wood on the cave floor. She hadn't broken a sweat striding up and down the hillside, while Veanna felt flushed all day despite the chill air.

Veanna bit her lip. "Yes," she said with false confidence. She had been taught, but that was years ago. Still, she wanted to be able to do something given all the other woman did for her, and how difficult could it be?

Tia handed her a flint and moved into the cave, taking charge of the packs and bedrolls. Veanna concentrated on her task - hard enough that she cursed herself for the effort it took - and was happy enough with the kindling she built.

"Come on," she muttered to herself as she struggled to strike a spark. She was a princess, she could command cities and armies; she should be able to produce a single flame. She would not be weak, she would not be useless, she would not be helpless again.

The flint slipped between her fingers and smacked against her palm, sending a wave of pain through her tender wounds. Veanna yelped and dropped the flint, cradling her throbbing hand in her other, which ached in sympathy.

Tia crouched noiselessly beside her and picked up the flint without a word. Veanna watched through a blur of tears as the other woman struck a flame and coaxed the fire to life. The Outlander's face was carefully impassive, but Veanna had seen the look of surprise at her lack of survival skills. She could not blame her.

"Has your cut reopened?" Tia asked gently.

Veanna looked at her hand, blinking back her tears. It stung, but her palm felt dry and no blood leaked through the bandages. "No, I don't think so." An apology for being a burden hung on her lips, but she couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Good." Tia lightly blew on the fire, persuading the wood to catch.

Veanna swallowed the lump of pride in her throat. "Do you want me to get the food? Or... or prepare the bedding? I can do... something."

Tia laid a hand on her shoulder, her gaze warm. "Let me; I can look after you."

Veanna pursed her lips, but acquiesced and sat back. Surely every nomad in the desert tribes knew how to care for themselves from the moment they could walk and yet, here she was, almost the leader of a country, and she could not even light a fire, let alone find shelter or food.

If only she could get out of this by reciting her grandfather's battles, the army's oath of allegiance, or the tangled lines of inheritance in her court. Her father had taught her statecraft, her mother had demonstrated diplomacy, and various tutors had instructed her on topics that seemed vital at the time. Yet here and now, she would die without the help of this woman who owed her no fealty.

"Are you a mercenary?" Veanna asked hesitantly, and a corner of Tia's lips twitched upwards.

"I have been," she answered in a measured tone.

"And now?"

"Now... I travel. I do whatever I wish." The Outlander's eyes glinted as if she relished being drawn into conversation. Veanna wondered how long she had been alone. "Borders and politics mean little to me."