Midnight Moon (The Bleeding Crown Book 1)

Chapter 8 - New Places, New Faces

It was a relief to stand on the soil of Levea. Though Veanna hadn't been certain they had crossed the border until Tia told her, the knowledge of being back in her homeland lifted a vice from her chest.

Veanna rolled her shoulders and shifted the strap of her pack, still unaccustomed to the weight of provisions that would usually be carried by wagons or horses. Her back was stiff from sleeping on the frozen ground rather than warm bedding, and the cold had seeped into her joints.

She had thought she was hardy enough to take care of herself but, ancestors, she couldn't wait to get home.

"We will need to find a guide," Tia said, breaking Veanna from daydreams of a soft bed back at the palace. She nodded towards the cluster of buildings that formed the village of Ironclaw. "There are many criminals and bandits in these parts; I cannot guarantee our safety without a secure route northward."

Veanna shifted her feet. "I thought we agreed that it was too dangerous to ask for assistance," she said. "And the people around here are some of the least trustworthy we could find. The border towns are notorious as places to escape official notice from one kingdom or another."

Tia nodded, her expression grim. "Ironclaw is certainly a refuge of criminals, traitors, and thieves."

"Then why are we getting one of them to help us?" Veanna asked, fighting to swallow her alarm.

"Because you can rely on most people to do what you ask, as long as you pay them enough." Tia stopped as the track they walked turned into a more recognisable road. "We will need to go into the tavern to find someone, and I am not leaving you out here alone. Keep your hood up and your head down; we can trust no one to see your face if avoidable."

Apprehension coiled in Veanna's chest, but she set her jaw and pulled her cloak over her head.

Tia followed suit, casting shade across her face. The shadows that dropped under her sharp cheekbones blended into the tattoos on her neck, as if her face was materialising from the darkness. She swiftly raised her scarf to cover the ink.

"Keep a good hold on your pack," she added, "Thievery is hardly uncommon here."

Veanna secured her bag around her hips, tucked under her cloak, and they followed the dirt road towards the building at the centre of town. The noise inside got louder as they approached; a cacophony of shouts and cheers and singing.

The tavern looked as though it was squeezed into a gap which had never been intended for a building, its first floor towering over the squat houses slumping into the mud on either side. Its doorframe was bent and peeling, cracks in the windows were clumsily patched with wood, and a sign over the entrance bore the faded name 'The King's Head'. Veanna swallowed - she could not remember any noteworthy historical decapitation, meaning the name was a twisted joke or a veiled threat. Neither boded well for her.

As they neared, a tankard smashed through one of the remaining windows and a man lurched backwards through the door, collapsing instantly. Tia ducked easily from the path of the jug, then strode over the figure on the floor as it groaned.

"Is he..." Veanna started, her steps faltering. She peered down at the man, the pallor of his face emphasised by the rosiness of his nose and the purpling bruise around one eye.

"I am sure he is fine," Tia answered, opening the splintered door and continuing briskly. The idea of being left alone in the village was worse than entering the chaos, and Veanna followed.

Tia cut a path through the throng inside, weaving her way between people and tables as Veanna hurried in her wake, head bowed and shoulders tensed. The sooner this was done, the better, whether or not they emerged with some crook to keep them alive for a good enough wage.