The horse Ida had stolen back in Andervale had been good to her so far but needed a rest as much as she did after such a hard ride. This was her first time ever in the village, but Deepwood would do fine, it seemed quaint enough.
Better than sleeping on the forest floor again.
Ida turned back to the direction she had come, observing the haunting, dark, twistedness of the forest. Giant tree roots worming in and out of the earth, the lack of sunlight, owls hooting in the distance.
Deepwood was a welcome relief from the unnerving forest.
Horn lanterns hung on the outer trunks of around twenty trees, indicating those which had residences or shops inside. The village glowed an elegant orange in the sea of greys, dark greens and black surrounding it.
Ida’s horse trotted along at a slow pace to avoid attention. She passed a couple of tree-dwellers who tipped their hats to her politely without uttering a word. Ida did not respond.
Some of the tree structures had hanging signs on their trunks with familiar symbols- a horseshoe banner, a sewing needle banner, a grocer banner.
“Excuse me?” Ida said to a passer-by. The man wore a floppy hat covered in twigs and old, stained clothing. He looked to be a resident of the forest, at least. “Is there an inn here in Deepwood, by any chance?”
The man squinted his eyes, as if judging Ida.
Shit. Does he know who I am?
Ida felt a whisper of panic growing. Had she been found out?
The man relaxed his face, before nodding and gesturing just ahead at a large redwood tree by the edge of the village. “Right up t’ere.”
He doesn’t recognise you. He was probably just curious about a stranger in his town, Ida thought, breathing deep to calm her nerves.
“Thank you kindly.” Ida realised she had sounded far too highborn when she had spoken to the man. She cleared her throat and left the man, keeping her head bowed.
Need to work on my voice. Ida is no highborn.
The door to the inn was open, and from inside came the calming sound of a flute and cheerful conversation.
Ida tied her horse’s reins to a hitching post by the side of the tree. She gathered some hay in a bucket for him from a stack as the horse keenly lent forward to drink from a lichen-covered water trough.
“See you bright and early, big guy,” Ida said, patting the horse’s thick shoulder. She carried her bag over one shoulder from the horse’s saddle.
Entering the inn through the archway carved into the outer trunk of the redwood, Ida saw a small bar and barmaid, with patrons seated at a couple of tables and chairs. The space was small yet somewhat cosy, with small candles lit along the wooden walls instead of a fire or hearth, bathing everything in warm colours.
“Can I help you?” the barmaid asked, her greasy, greying hair tied into a short ponytail.
Ida could not pick the woman’s accent, nor her tone of voice. She was worried that she would be unwelcome, being an outsider and all. But she had no other option.
Ida stepped towards the bar, feeling the wandering eyes of the drinking patrons observing her every move.
“Yes, I was wondering if I could rent a room for the night,” she said as politely as possible.
The barmaid smirked, revealing missing teeth. “You must be lost,” she said.
“I’m sorry?”
“To want to stay in Deepwood, you must be lost!” A patron let out a snarky chuckle.
Ida smiled nervously. “No, I’m not lost, actually. I just need somewhere to stay.”
The barmaid nodded as she wiped down her small bar with a dirty cloth. “Probably for the best. Several travellers comin’ in the past few days have mentioned brigands out in these parts.”
“Brigands?”
The barmaid leant forward. Ida winced at the broken blood vessels in her wrinkled face and the nasty odour of rotting teeth. “Thieves in the night. They ambush trav’lers on these roads while they sleep. Gut ‘em or slice ‘em up, then rob the corpses.”
Ida gulped. “I see.”
“With the invasion up north, the king’s men are already stretched thin, they say. No one left to police the roads no more, so the crims go wild.”
“Not to mention talk of another war between the Seynards and the Blacktrees,” one patron added, overhearing their conversation.
“War?” Ida asked. Tensions were high between the two Houses, sure, but war? It caused her to shudder.
Did I cause all this?
“What’s your name then?” the barmaid said, cocking an unkempt eyebrow.
“Ah, Ida.”
“Ahida?”
“No, sorry,” Ida said, embarrassed, “just Ida.” She realised that some of her black hair had fallen out from underneath the hood, promptly flicking it back out of view.
Did she see it?
“No family name, I take it?”
Ida hesitated. “Just Ida.”
“Right, well, a room is it then, love?” the barmaid asked. “I’ve got nothin’ fancy ‘ere, but I can promise you a good feed and clean sheets. Well, cleanish.”
“That will be fine,” Ida said, handing the lady some marks for payment.
“Last room up the stairs; it’s yours ‘til mornin’. I’ll bring you up some supper.”
Ida climbed the creaky spiral stairs, noticing the rooms built into the upper floors of the enormous tree trunk on warped platforms.
Ida’s room was already unlocked when she reached it. She made sure to lock it as soon as she got in. Gaps in the wooden planks of the floor let in light from the ground floor candles like rays of sun through tree branches.
Her solitary window was open, allowing for the chilly
