Midnight Moon

Chapter 34 - Treachery

Calu edged out of the room, rubbing his foggy eyes. He had barely clung to sleep; fading between memories twisted into nightmares, the present darkness, and daunting glimpses of the future. He didn't know which he hated more.

Yet there was worse: Veanna's comatose body in the room behind him. She was pursued because he couldn't hold off the people who raised him, she was weakened because he had put her through a traumatising ritual, and she was unconscious because he could neither protect her nor heal her wounds.

Tia's words made a dent in the chasm of doubt within his chest, but that was a small victory against years of accumulated fear. She may have admitted - albeit reticently - that he could be helpful without fighting, yet that did not change the fact that he would have to fight again, and soon. He didn't know if he was ready for that, nor what he would do when the time came. The vision he'd had of his hand covered in blood was not an encouraging prospect: either he was doomed to severely injure another, or his own lifeblood was to be spilt.

Calu shook his head. The one thing he was able to do now, the one thing under his control, was finding Neyerith.

The inn was quiet, though it retained stirrings of life that were absent in the silent, sleepy town beyond its walls. Calu's footsteps were loud as he passed the other rooms on the corridor, but fell below the low hum of voices as he descended to the bar.

They were not the only restless ones in the building, nor was Neyerith alone in turning to drink in these dark hours. The few late-night patrons were well entrenched: a huddle of figures in one corner engaged in a card game, a man sank in his seat with a bottle clutched to his chest, a woman snored with her head resting amongst a cluster of empty tankards on her table.

Neyerith was easy to spot, perched on a stool and grinning widely as he chatted with a barmaid, leaning so far forward that he seemed at risk of falling face-first down her dress. Calu's stomach sank as he approached, already uncomfortable with the number of eyes following his steps.

What did these people know; where did they come from? Were they Order spies, or corrupt investigators for the army? Perhaps they were ordinary citizens, but that didn't mean they posed no threat. They could have run to tell someone of the Princess lying upstairs, of the suspicious strangers who smuggled her in.

He swallowed and edged closer to Neyerith, desperately wishing the other man would notice him. Yet he remained oblivious to choked coughs and sharp hisses until Calu resigned himself to action and tugged on Neyerith's sleeve. He expected the man to be annoyed at the interruption, but his eyes brightened as he turned.

"Calu!" he cried, drawing all eyes again as he clapped Calu on the back. "Come to join me, have you? Sit down, the ale is excellent and Yiral here is very charming." He shot a wink at the barmaid, and the young woman's cheeks reddened as she giggled.

Despite his whispered protestations, Calu was hustled onto a stool as Neyerith slung an arm around his shoulders.

"Another two ales please, beautiful!" Neyerith called with another grin as he flicked a coin onto the bar. Judging by the slur to his words and the scent of alcohol clinging to him, he had already drunk plenty.

Yiral gave a mock curtsey as she twirled to retrieve tankards, throwing a smile over her shoulder that he returned with a faux-solemn bow of his head.

"I used to be a Lord, you know," he declared in a mumble.

"Don't you think we should go back upstairs?" Calu suggested quietly, plucking at his sleeve.

Neyerith's bleary gaze turned back to him. "It's not the first time a man has tried to take me to his room, but as ever, I must decline. It's just not for me. I prefer having more to..." He rocked upright and retracted his arm to wave his hands, grasping at the air as he searched for the right word. "Squish."