Cut To The Bone

Chapter Five

Willowdale was the village closest to the Rousseau cottage, though Azima rarely visited unless absolutely necessary. Hunters and Imermen were the revered saviors of the known world, but she always felt a strange sense of judgment by those unfamiliar with their ways. So she avoided civilians at all costs unless she needed something from them.

And at the moment, she needed somewhere to sleep.

The road through Willowdale was well lit by the town's public buildings and with lamplight and finding her way to the central inn was easy enough. She kept her head down to avoid glances from passersby as she walked towards it, rubbing at the brand on her chest as though its presence beneath her clothing would give away who she was. Quietly, she entered the establishment as if she were just another traveler looking for a place to stay for the night.

Or she would have, if there wasn't already someone in the inn's common room making enough of a ruckus she was surprised every demon within the surrounding mile wasn't already making its way to the village.

"I have as much right to be here as anyone else!" the young man exclaimed to anyone who would listen.

It was the same man Azima had previously crossed paths with. The one with the winged tattoo.

An Imerman.

The matron of the establishment, a short, plump woman with a bust as rotund as her stomach, stood behind the tavern's counter, looking anything but amused.

"I know who you are. This is my inn, and I can deny anyone I choose," she snapped, returning to running the rag in her hand through the goblet in the other.

"I have the gold to pay!" he argued.

"I can do without your gold," she said sternly, "especially if it's from a blasphemer's coffers. The last thing I want to do is jeopardize the reputation of my inn just so you can pay with your gold."

The Imerman's countenance darkened, and she found her hand instinctively moving towards her blade. If Azima could have found another inn for the night, she would have, especially as the young man turned and met her stare. Recognition flashed across his eyes and her breath caught as his gaze, as green as fresh grass even in the dim light of the common room, held her stare, pleading. "You're looking for a room, too, aren't you?"

Her jaw dropped slightly. "I... uh..."

"Will you accept her gold?" he asked the bar's matron, challenging her earlier claim.

The matron turned to look at Azima, and she felt like cattle being inspected before the slaughter. "Are you looking for a room, girl?"

"I... I am," she stuttered out, clearing her throat as she stepped forward.

With a smirk on her face and a glance at the young man, the woman put out her hand in Azima's general direction, curling her fingers in a gesture that suggested she was looking for the gold in question.

Azima's coin purse was around her neck, buttoned beneath her jacket for safekeeping. She angled herself away from prying eyes as she worked at freeing the gold from underneath her shirt.

A quiet gasp from the man made her pause, and she realized how far she had undone her jacket, how open her shirt fell... just enough to display the V-shaped brand on her chest over her heart. Her eyes widened as she met the young man's, his gaze pointedly on her chest, and if she had been anywhere else, she would have slapped him. Instead, she pulled out the pouch, poured enough coin into her hand, and replaced the purse around her neck. Straightening her clothes before she turned around, she slammed the gold on the counter between the matron and the man.