The inhabitants were ordinary folk, locals dropping in for a beer most likely, reading the strangers as though they were newspapers. The proprietor, a lanky stooped man, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down, ran his wet-eyed gaze over her. He handed Tysin a key and nodded in the direction of a rickety set of stairs. The room was large enough for the door to open and allow a slim person to edge alongside the bed. No couch. Not even a chair. Irenya abandoned all thought of them sleeping separately. But it would be better than the hay bales or tree limbs she had endured since she left. Her stomach rumbled.
‘Food,’ she said.
Tysin nodded.
Downstairs they sat at one end of a long table, where they were served a hefty stew of unrecognisable ingredients and doorstops of dark bread. The crowd i
