WARNING: This story contains depictions of violence and/or death that may be upsetting to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
My father raised a respectable young woman—the kind who always stood with her shoulders back, chin tilted, head high. When I was just a girl, he'd parade me around the kitchen of our cabin, poking at my back whenever I slouched. He raised me to be somebody who'd get somewhere in Veymaw.
He didn't raise a thief; I became that all on my own.
Night is darker in the forge; the street lanterns can't pierce through the thick fog that lingers at the base of the mountain, only an iridescent glow to light the streets. As I linger in the shadows of a narrow passage, concealed by his old, black cape, I can't help but wonder what my father would think if he were to see me now.
Unlike in Veymaw, where the streets are deserted at this time of night, the forge is bustling with life. Foreign traders, crooks, and thieves shove their way through the crowd. You don't go to the forge unless you're looking for a brawl, a drink, or a shifty deal, especially not at night. Casimir would kill me if he knew where I was. And yet I wait in the shadow of a low-hanging bar sign.
On any other night, I'd slip amongst the crowd and slide my hands into unsuspecting pockets. Though rare, drunk traders from Ayrith are the easiest targets, bumbling around the entrance of the Grebis pub, rambling in a language I can't understand. On a good night, I might pocket a few gold coins. Rings or jewellery are good too, though harder to trade with back in Veymaw. But tonight, it's not the loot that I'm after.
People churn through the narrow street. I stare at the faces as people pass, trying to sort them to their categories—traders, criminals, and somewhere amongst them, deserters. Two hours pass before I eye a figure moving differently than the rest. Clothed in all black, hands in pockets, face concealed. They glide through the crowd like it's a predetermined dance. But there's an urgency in their step.
Slipping into the main street, I keep my head down and concealed by the black cape. My breath clouds around me as the crowd shoves me from all angles. I reach for the dagger in my pocket, keeping my hand wrapped around the hilt, my father's engraved initials rough against my palm.
The crowd carries me past the Grebis pub, a cacophony of drunken laughter filling the air. I risk a glance up, in search of the figure. They've reached the other side of the crowd, veering off into a side street. I pick up the pace, heart racing as I resist the direction of the crowd, leaving disgruntled protests in my wake.
The figure disappears into the darkness, the two buildings bordering the street climbing high into the fog. The crowd spits me out. My feet pat against the ground, cobblestones uneven and jagged, but I push on into the darkness until I can't see anything anymore.
The fog wraps around me, thicker away from the glow of the streetlamps. Beneath me, the earth shifts, cobblestones transitioning into dirt. I've reached the end of the forge. My fingers brush a tree branch when I reach out. My heart sinks as I step back, breath ragged.
They're gone.
I have to get back to Veymaw before school starts. Or worse, before Casimir notices I'm missing. My movements are sluggish as I drift back to the main street, feet dragging. In the past year, I can count on one hand the number of times I've suspected a deserter in the forge, and the disappointment of losing one tonight deflates me.
But venturing into the forge at night is dangerous enough. Wandering into the forest that borders the Elel mountains would be suicidal.
***
Veymaw is radiant in the glow of the morning sun.
Vines claw up the cottages, concealing their cracks, and the cobblestoned streets are more even than in the forge, untainted by decades of drunken street brawls. Lower down the mountain, the sky is a vibrant blue as the sun pierces through the arch of the mountains above. We're only just heading into autumn, but the Elel mountains are already dusted with snow.
I pick up my pace. There isn't enough time to get home before class starts; I can only pray that Casimir won't check my room before he heads to work. If he does, I'll be expecting much more than a lecture when I get home.
Anton, owner of the Veymaw bakery, hangs out the window swatting a web with a tea towel. "Mornin' Freya."
I wave a hand as I bustle past. A few months ago, Anton caught me returning from the forge in the early hours of the morning. I was terrified he'd tell someone, and it'd get back to Casimir, so I paid him off with a couple of coins I'd nicked. He never said anything.
I sidestep a bunch of children playing with a ball outside the orphanage. By the time I reach the school building, it's 7:05am. I breathe a sigh of relief, slipping into the classroom. All heads swivel to me–all except for Professor Fin, who's scribbling on the blackboard. I spot Cadence's golden hair and slide into the empty seat beside her.
"Freya," Professor Fin says without turning around. "You're late."
"Sorry, Professor."
"What was it this time?" He turns to face me, a tired frown on his face. "I do hope you're not making a habit of this."
"It's only five minutes."
"Five minutes you can make up during the break." My classmates snicker as I sink into my seat. "As I was saying, we have a new teaching assistant. Mr Killian Li, please continue."
I don't notice him until he shifts in the chair at the front. He's broad-shouldered, his frame dwarfing the desk as he turns to face the class. His inky hair shimmers beneath the harsh light from the window, eyes raking across the room. When he speaks, the entire room leans on the edge of their seats.
It isn't often that we get outsiders, and when we do, they're old and retired, coming to Veymaw because there is nowhere else for them. His eyes scan past me. Despite his broad frame and strong features, he looks young, too young to be a professor.
I can't focus on his words, distracted by his accent and the way his r's are slightly rolled. Despite being exposed to most of the different accents in Elel from lingering in the forge, I don't recognise the lilt to his. It almost sounds like the traders from Torinne, but I haven't spotted a Torinnians for months now, and there's no way someone from a different country would migrate to Veymaw.
Beside me, Cadence waggles her eyebrows, nodding towards him.
She leans over to whisper in my ear as Professor Fin picks up the lesson, droning on about the war. "How old do you think he is?" she whispers. "He doesn't look much older than us, right?"
"Cadence," Professor Fin says before continuing.
She leans back, drumming her knee on her desktop, her eyes still on Mr Li. He looks bored as he folds his arms and leans back against the wall, expression blank.
"Been canoodling with traders, have you?" Cadence tugs on my cape, her voice quieter this time.
I'd forgotten I was wearing it. Black capes are common amongst traders in Elel. I'd nicked this from one a month ago, but most unusual for us villagers. What's worse is the pair of Casimir's trousers I have on underneath. I wrap it tighter around myself, cursing myself for forgetting.
"You don't like it?" I ask.
"You look like an evil baker," she deadpans.
"An evil baker? Is there such a thing?"
"There is, and you look like one."
"Cadence, Freya, please," Professor Fin scolds.
"Sorry, Professor," we mumble in unison.
He sighs before continuing. I zone out, staring out the window at the courtyard the school borders. There are a couple of people lounging on the wooden stools—not the smartest place to hang out when skipping class, they can be seen from all four of the school buildings. Cadence and I made that mistake in second year.
"Who can tell me what date the treaty was signed?" Professor Fin asks the class four painful hours later. Cadence shoots her hand up, citing a date before any of us were born.
The details of the treaty are drilled into us every year from the day we start school. Now, at 18, I know the document like the back of my hand. They talk about it as if it's a sign of mutual respect between us and the shifters in the Elel Palace, but that's just a mask for what it really means—we provide the shifters with what they need, and in return, they don't kill us.
"Lovely, Cadence," he praises. "As the next Red Moon is approaching, our unit over the coming weeks will focus on these terms."
The heat of my classmates' gazes burn into my skin. Keeping my gaze forward, I don't give them any sense that I'm bothered by the topic of conversation. Over the past year, I've grown used to the hidden stares whenever the topic of the Red Moon is brought up.
The chimes echo from the courtyard into the classroom. We pack our things, despite Professor Fin still talking. I watch Mr Li from the corner of my eye as he rises to his feet, towering over Professor Fin as they exchange words.
"We'll pick up tomorrow morning. And Freya?" I look at Professor Fin over my shoulder, my eyes straying to Mr Li by his side. He doesn't look at me as he turns back to his desk, adjusting the collar of his shirt.
"Yes, Professor?"
"Don't be late."
***
It doesn't take much for Cadence to convince me to meet her at the Tavern after school. It's the last thing I want to do, but her complaints about my lack of a social life have only grown over the past year, and last night, I promised Casimir I'd pick up a few loaves of bread for dinner.
Cadence is already seated at the booth in the far corner when I wander in. Jakob and another girl, Raven, are there.
"Hey," I say, settling opposite Raven. She eyes the blue smock I changed into before coming here. "Have you ordered yet?"
"Got you the usual," Cadence says.
"We were just talking about the time Professor Fin taught the whole lesson with his shirt inside out," Jakob says, eliciting a laugh from Raven. "It was hilarious."
"Is he always so strict?" she asks.
"Always," Cadence drawls. "And he's got it in for Freya."
"It doesn't help that she's late every day."
"I'm not late every day, Jakob." I run a hand through my thick hair, teasing out some of the knots. "I can't wait to be done with school anyway. Do something meaningful with my time."
Jakob snorts. "What? Like work in the fields?"
"Very funny." I shoot him a look.
"Wasn't joking."
"Working as a harvester is meaningful," Cadence defends. "Without them, we couldn't eat like we do."
I offer a grateful smile. "How's Casimir doing anyway?" she asks, trying to divert the tension and unknowingly making it worse. "Enjoying his work?"
"As much as anyone enjoys harvesting."
"I bet he's working so hard. You must see less of each other." There's a look in her eye that irks me. "How's the harvest this year?"
"I don't know, Cadence. Why don't you ask him?"
I don't mean to snap at her, but I hate the way they talk about Casimir. I've been friends with Cadence for longer than I've even known Casimir, but we've never been as close. I've never opened up to her the way I do Casimir, and it's always bothered her. She doesn't understand Casimir and I are bonded by something deeper than friendship.
"I'll bet he looks good doing it, too," Jakob adds.
"Shut up, Jakob. Or I'll—"
"You'll what?" he snickers. "Careful with those threats, Freya. I'd hate to have to report you to the council for sounding like a deserter."
I shudder. It's a taunt; Jakob is always full of them, but he's closer to the truth than he thinks.
He turns to say something to Raven. Something about Casimir and his 'large biceps'. I shoot Cadence a look of annoyance as if to say 'see, this is why I don't socialise'.
She just shrugs and attempts to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Despite his annoying implications of my future career being meaningless, Jakob isn't entirely wrong. When Cadence finishes school, she'll follow in her father's footsteps and help with their seamstress business. Jakob will take over his father's store, Raven will work in the bakery with her uncle.
They all have predetermined paths laid out for them, paths much more respected than becoming a harvester. I did too, once. My father was once a very respected trader. But the path was destroyed one year ago when my life crumbled to pieces. Now, my only option is to work in the fields with Casimir. It pays just as well as Cadence will get as a seamstress but is much more physically demanding. Most harvesters don't live past 50.
The volume in the Tavern increases slightly, murmurs spreading across the guests. I glance over my shoulder. The newcomer, Killian Li, walks in. He has to duck his head to miss the low-hanging sign across the entryway. Everyone in the Tavern seems to pause to watch him as he wanders over to the bar and murmurs something to Alexei, the worker.
I study him as he waits, leaning against the bar, either unaware of the eyes on him or completely unbothered.
"Wow," Cadence murmurs. Raven giggles.
"I think you might be drooling a bit," Jakob says.
"I suppose you're not used to that sort of reaction," Cadence says. He shoots her a glare which is quickly directed at me when I snicker.
"Where'd he say he was from again?" I wonder.
"Don't you listen? Portson," Raven says.
The accent makes sense now. Portson is a village on the coast, the main trading village in all of Elel—it makes sense there'd be a twinge to his words as they interact with traders from multiple different countries.
Alexei comes back with a brown paper back and hands it to him. He nods before turning and walking towards the door. He seems to suck all the energy with him, leaving behind only a small spark that ignites into a loud chatter. I swallow as the door shuts behind him, turning back to the others.
"We should invite him to lunch tomorrow," Raven suggests.
I frown. "He's our professor."
"He's a teaching assistant," she corrects. "He can't be much older than us, and I'm sure he would appreciate making some friends."
"Right. And do you want to be the one to invite him?" Jakob asks. Raven flushes, pale skin bright red. "I didn't think so."
"I'll invite him," Cadence volunteers. "We can give him a tour of the village."
I tune them out as they scheme a plan to spend time with the newcomer. Whatever they do, I don't plan on being with them. With the Red Moon so close, I don't have time to try to make friends with strangers. No matter what they look like or what kind of status they may hold.
"Do you think they have Red Moons in Portson?" Raven asks. "It's getting closer now, I wonder if he's ever heard of one."
"Of course he has," Jakob scoffs. "They live under the same treaty we do. The shifters come each Red Moon and search the same way they do here, but they've never taken anything."
He looks at me. Not like they did here. I stare at the grains in the table, gritting my teeth together.
"How do you know all this, Jakob?" Cadence says, drawing his stare away from me.
"Pa told me." His father is a trader, one of the only ones left in Veymaw. "He thinks that last years Red Moon—"
"Oh look, the food is here!" Cadence exclaims with much more enthusiasm than necessary. She takes the opportunity to ramble on about the bread, but I'm distracted, my stomach churning as a bowl of broth is placed in front of me. I stare at the mustard colour, the chunky vegetables floating around. A usually appetizing aroma wafts in the rising steam, but my stomach sways.
"Freya?"
"Huh?"
Raven blinks at me from across the table. "I asked if you were okay. You've gone pale."
"I'm actually late to meet with Casimir." I force a smile, avoiding Cadence's gaze. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."
I don't wait for a reply before shoving to my feet, earning multiple scowls when I bump into the crowd gathered by the doorway on my way out. I don't care, squeezing my eyes shut and breathing in the fresh air outside.
A year ago, I'd agonise over an exit like that. But a year ago, I'd cared about what the residents of Veymaw thought of me. Now, there are more important things to me than my reputation.
I have to find the deserters before the Red Moon.