The Heir of Night

1

Living in the mountains was torture when the winter came in full blast. Theia despised the way the wind brought the ice and snow against her skin, even beneath the large fur-lined coat and wool pants. Somehow, it never grew comfortable in her twenty-four years. Her boots crunched the hard snow as she made her way into the back door of the tavern. The heavy wooden door groaned as she pulled it open and slipped inside, stomping snow from her boots.

The heat from the massive hearth brought goosebumps to her skin as Theia shed her coat and draped it over the hook along the back corridor. Voices were already rising within the open room, training must be finished for the day. With a groan, she made her way behind the bar and tapped the shoulder of her coworker.

"Elena! I'm in," Theia called into her ear over the roar of voices. Damn the evening shift. Elena spun, her wing nearly taking Theia out.

"Oh! Thank the Mother, get your ass over there," Elena instructed, pointing at the end of the bar where grimy warriors slammed their fists against the wooden bar. Gritting her teeth, Theia slid behind Elena and met the calling voices with a glare.

"Ale, darling!" A gritty voice called over the hum, a fist slamming on the counter. Theia paid him no mind, and rather just began filling pitchers and tossing the glasses onto the counter. The males cheered and began taking their fill of the ale. Theia let out a breath and turned, eyeing a group of females at the end of the bar. She made her way over, pressing her elbows onto the hard wood.

"What are you drinking?" The female closest to her squinted and tilted her head, urging Theia to repeat herself. With a roll of her eyes, she did.

"You got wine?" The smaller one in the back asked. Theia shook her head and threw a thumb over her shoulder toward the wooden board with their stock painted on. Ale and whiskey, staples in Windhaven.

"Whiskey, then," the female in the front ordered, three dainty fingers held up. Theia gave a grunt and began pouring the bitter drink over ice, placing three in front of them and heading over to the next group of irritants.

Nearly an hour passed before things calmed enough for Theia to speak with Elena. They leaned against the bar and studied the crowd in disgust.

"Think this wave will be let out soon?" Elena asked, nudging her elbow against Theia's ribs. The shorter female glared at her coworker before studying the group again.

"Mm, no. Some are fresh faces. I think these ones are either transfers or joined late," Theia responded. It was true that there were thousands of warriors in the training camps, but some of these were not ones she saw often, if at all. The females, certainly. They didn't look like warriors, but Theia knew well enough that the dainty, soft handed ones were normally the most lethal.

"I'm sick of serving ale to brutes, Theia. If one more male reaches over this counter to fondle me, I'm joining the camp just to learn how to fillet them."

Elena wasn't wrong. Illyria had done well in recent years for their views on females, but still, some males were raised to see females as nothing more than breeding ground. All they knew was how to fight, drink, and fuck. Though she was terrified for them, Theia was glad to see an influx of females joining the camps.

As much as she despised living under the mercy of males, she refused to join the camps to train. Her sister, Penelope, had joined when Theia was only a child. Back then, even just a decade and a half ago, the views on females training were completely different. Penelope had been cornered by particularly angry warriors and they clipped her wings. Now, seeing as that had been a common situation, it wouldn't be as drastic as what truly happened. These males were drunk and didn't pay attention to where they had walked.