At sunrise, another day of captivity began.
Beyond the wooden walls of Boating came the morning calls of roosters, joined by the creak of opening gates and the voices of villagers beginning their work. Hunters passed through carrying bows and spears, woodcutters walked toward the forest with axes over their shoulders, farmers headed for the surrounding fields, and fishermen made their way toward the pond and river with nets bundled beneath their arms.
Before long, Lily, Robin, and the four brothers joined the morning traffic entering the village.
Boating reminded Lily of Einsway, only smaller and considerably less impressive. It possessed the same wooden palisade, muddy roads, inward-facing homes, and people already worn down by work despite the early hour. Its inn was a squat two-story building called the Boating Inn, which Lily considered an insultingly unimaginative name after the Dancing Dragon.
The place offered only a few rooms for travelers and a cellar used mostly for storing barrels and brewing supplies. One cramped room with two narrow beds was all the brothers intended to rent for the six of them.
Unfortunately, they did not have enough coin to pay for it.
The tall archer negotiated with the innkeeper, a grumpy one-eyed man with thinning blond hair, while his equally elderly wife watched from behind the counter with folded arms. After several minutes of muttering, bargaining, and complaints about prices, they reached an arrangement.
The room would be reserved until nightfall, and the brothers would pay once they had earned enough coin during the day. As a sign of good faith—and as temporary payment—they left Lily behind.
The old couple could put her to whatever work they wished.
Lily stood silently beside the counter as the archer handed over the rope attached to her collar as though lending them a useful animal. She wanted to protest, but one look from him reminded her of the branding iron and every painful lesson that had followed it.
So Lily became the Boating Inn's morning cleaner.
The innkeeper's son and nephew, who normally performed most of the work, had apparently traveled south toward the coast on errands. The old couple therefore had more work than they could comfortably manage and seemed pleased to have acquired a free pair of hands for the day.
To Lily's relief, cleaning was not difficult. Her left arm had begun working again, although the shoulder still ached whenever she lifted anything heavy or stretched too far. She could sweep, wipe tables, carry small objects, and scrub with both hands as long as she remained careful.
She even liked the thought of helping the elderly couple. Although the fact that she had no choice in the matter complicated the feeling somewhat.
Robin left the village with the archer to hunt and gather anything they might sell. The short brother led the muscular and fat brothers elsewhere on some business of their own, leaving Lily alone inside the inn with only the old couple and five traveling peasants seated around a table in the corner.
The five men spoke loudly as they ate and drank. From what Lily could understand, they were searching for work farther north, perhaps as guards or scouts along the River Rose. Garrison service paid far better than farming or ordinary crafts, especially where Lycan raids made the work dangerous.
They appeared serious about it. Between them they possessed two short bows, several knives, three spears, and rough wooden shields painted with simple markings.
Lily swept slowly across the common room while glancing toward the doors and windows.
None of the brothers were visible. No one was standing outside to watch her. Even the rope had been removed from her collar.
But why would they leave her alone?
Perhaps this was a test. Perhaps one of them was watching through a window, waiting to see whether she attempted to run. After everything that had happened, Lily did not yet possess the courage to take that chance.
But escaping was not the only thing she could try.
Keeping her black hood low, she continued sweeping until she reached the travelers table. One of the men noticed her and pushed an empty wooden mug into her hands without bothering to look properly at her.
"Slave girl. Bring me another ale."
Lily set the broom against a nearby table and accepted the mug.
This was her chance.
She gathered what courage she had left, widened her violet eyes, and tried to make her voice sound as small and harmless as possible.
"I was kidnapped," she whispered. "Please help me, kind sirs."
The five men looked at one another.
The man who had handed her the mug had a swollen red nose that looked as though it had been stung by a bee. He studied Lily for several moments, then gave an annoyed grunt.
"What has that to do with us?"
Lily's hope faltered.
"I not criminal," she insisted. "Those men take me. They burn me, put collar—"
"Enough." The man pointed toward the bar. "Be a good little slave and fetch my ale before your master hears you complaining."
The others laughed.
One guessed that Lily was probably a thief who had used her unusual appearance to fool people until she was finally caught. Another suggested she had run away from some household and was now inventing stories to escape punishment.
The man with the swollen nose leaned closer, his smile twisting into something ugly.
"Keep causing trouble, and someone may decide you need a harsher lesson."
Something in the way he looked at her made Lily's skin crawl. The others wore the same expression, entertained by her fear rather than troubled by it.
She understood enough to know she was not safe with them.
Without another word, Lily snatched up the empty mugs and hurried back toward the bar, their laughter following her the entire way.
When she returned with their drinks, she kept her eyes lowered and placed the mugs upon the table as quickly as she could. She had barely set down the last one when the swollen-nosed man suddenly grabbed her through the fabric of her cloak.
Lily squeaked, her entire body going rigid with shock.
"That is a fine little backside," the swollen-nosed man said, grinning up at her. "How much does your master charge for your company?"
Uneasy laughter rippled around the table.
Lily wrenched herself free and tried to flee, but his hand closed around her arm before she could escape.
"Not so quickly."
With almost no effort, he dragged her backward and hauled her onto his lap. One thick arm locked around her waist while the other lifted his mug in triumph, as though he had claimed some grand prize.
A few of the men cheered, but the other two exchanged uncomfortable looks.
"What do you think you are doing?" one of them asked. "She is not your slave. Let her go before her master sees you and demands compensation."
Lily twisted and struggled, but the swollen-nosed man merely tightened his hold, pinning her against him.
"Do not be so soft," he sneered. "It is not as though I mean to hurt her."
He leaned closer to Lily, his voice dropping low enough that only she could hear the warning beneath his words.
"Now calm yourself, girl. We are only having a bit of harmless fun. Besides, you are a slave. That means you smile, behave yourself, and treat the customers nicely. Understand?"
Lily went still.
To the others, his words might have sounded like another crude joke. The two uneasy men frowned but made no further attempt to intervene.
Lily, however, heard the threat beneath every word.
Before she could pull away, the man pressed the rim of his mug against her lips.
"Drink, girl. You look thirsty."
She hesitated, then reluctantly obeyed. He tipped the mug too quickly, spilling bitter ale across her lips and down her chin. Lily coughed and struggled to swallow, her whole body trembling despite her efforts to remain composed.
The men smirked. Even the two who had objected appeared amused now, as though this were nothing more than harmless teasing at the expense of a slave girl.
Still trapped in his grasp, Lily became painfully aware of how easily he controlled her. The difference in their strength was horrifyingly clear. She could struggle with everything she possessed, and it would mean nothing to him.
Then, to her surprise, he pressed a soft piece of bread and a copper coin into her hand.
"For your trouble, girl," he said, as though the small gifts settled the matter. "And take some advice. Do not go against your masters again, or someone else may decide to discipline you properly."
His smile hardened.
"Keep your head down, do as you are told, and you might live long enough to learn your place."
With that, he released her as casually as though the entire ordeal had been harmless.
Lily stumbled from his lap and fell to the floor, drawing another burst of laughter from the table.
Clutching the bread and coin, she scrambled to her feet and hurried away before any of them could seize her again.
Near the bar, she glanced back while coughing the last of the ale from her throat. Anger briefly overcame fear, and she stuck out her tongue at them.
The swollen-nosed man shoved himself halfway out of his chair as though preparing to chase her.
Lily spun around and ran.
This time, all five men laughed as she disappeared behind the counter.
Humiliated, frightened, and furious, Lily still did not fully understand what they had wanted from her—or how they could treat another person with such contempt merely because she wore a slave's collar.
But one thing had become painfully clear.
No one was coming to save her.
After that, Lily asked no one else for help. Taking the man's warning to heart, she lowered her head, kept her thoughts to herself, and concentrated on her work.
First, she swept and scrubbed the common room. Then she cleaned the tables, carried empty mugs into the kitchen, wiped benches, and gathered the previous evening's rubbish. The old woman sent her upstairs to clean the guest rooms, where the bedding was damp, the floors were muddy, and the air carried sour smells Lily preferred not to investigate.
After that came the outhouse.
By the time she finished, Lily had discovered several new reasons to hate medieval civilization.
She washed her hands with water from the village well. A kind boy helped lift the bucket when he noticed her struggling with her injured arm, though he hurried away before she could explain anything about the collar.
Once Lily returned to the kitchen, the innkeeper ordered her to carry out the rubbish.
"Where take it?" she asked.
The old man laughed as though the answer should have been obvious.
"The river, of course."
Lily stared at him.
Then, remembering the men at the table and the brothers somewhere beyond the inn, she decided not to argue.
She carried the heavy bucket toward the riverside. Inside were moldy pieces of bread, spoiled vegetables, torn cloth, bones, ashes, and several other things she refused to identify. At the bank, she emptied everything directly into the flowing water.
The waste drifted downstream toward Boating Pond.
Lily watched it go with growing horror.
People fished from this water.
They probably drank from it too.
A short while earlier, Lily had considered washing her face in the river. Now she wondered whether swimming in any water near a settlement was worth the risk.
Then an old man approached the bank.
He paid no attention to Lily. He simply lowered his trousers, crouched at the river's edge, and relieved himself directly into the water.
Lily's face twisted in disgust.
She turned away so quickly that she nearly dropped the empty bucket.
"Oh, God."
Her stomach rolled.
The thought that she had almost washed her face there made her feel ill.
Had nobody taught these people anything about hygiene? Did they not understand that dumping refuse and filth into their own water would eventually make them sick?
Lily suddenly missed her lake with painful intensity.
Her home had been primitive, but it had been clean. The water had been clear, the forest quiet, and every problem had belonged to her. She had known which plants were safe, where the animals lived, and how to keep waste away from her food and water.
Then another thought came.
What would have happened if she had never met Art? What if she had stayed home instead of following him toward civilization?
Perhaps she would have been there when the armored mercenaries attacked. Maybe she could have warned the animals, hidden her supplies, or defended the garden.
Or perhaps she would simply have been captured along with Mister Terminator. There was no way to know.
The thought left Lily feeling even worse.
With her head lowered, she returned to the inn and continued working until late in the day.
The brothers finally came back near evening, with Robin walking among them and an unfamiliar young man at their side.
He appeared to be in his early twenties, with short brown hair, green eyes, and a clean-shaven face. His clothes were worn but colorful compared with those of the brothers, and a lute rested across his back.
Lily recognized the profession immediately.
A bard.
The tall archer noticed her staring and gestured toward the newcomer.
"Lily, meet Whimsy Warbler. Your new partner in music."
Lily gave the man a small, polite bow.
"Well met, Whimsy Warbler. Mama call me little Lilypad, but you can call me Lily."
Whimsy smiled kindly and returned the bow with considerably more grace.
"Well met, Lily. These brothers have told me remarkable things about your singing. I look forward to hearing you perform tonight."
Lily raised one questioning eyebrow and turned toward the archer.
He smiled.
"Indeed. It is time for you to earn your keep, girl." His eyes moved toward the kitchen. "Assuming you wish to eat tonight."
Worry tightened Lily's stomach.
She had last eaten that morning. Since then, she had spent the entire day sweeping, scrubbing, carrying rubbish, cleaning rooms, and enduring every unpleasant task the old couple could find for her.
Now, once again, she would be forced to sing while hungry merely to earn the right to eat.
That evening, once the day's work had ended, villagers began gathering inside the Boating Inn.
The fat brother lifted Lily onto the small stage with a borrowed lute in her hands. A rope still ran from the iron ring of her collar to his fist as he stood beside the stage, watching her closely.
Lily looked over the growing crowd and released a tired sigh.
No sympathy appeared on their faces. Men, women, and children watched her with curiosity and expectation, but almost nobody seemed disturbed by the collar around her neck. To them, it apparently explained everything they needed to know.
Before Lily could begin, the fat brother placed a wooden bowl on the edge of the stage and addressed the room.
"You want to hear this pretty little thief sing and play? One copper to begin."
Lily frowned, confused by what he was doing.
A middle-aged woman near the front tossed him a copper coin. He caught it neatly, dropped it into the bowl, and stepped aside.
"Come on, then," the woman called. "Let us hear her sing."
Lily stared at the coin.
So that was how this worked.
They were treating her like a music box. Feed the bowl a copper coin, and the strange little slave girl would sing.
The thought left her cold.
A light tug tightened the collar against her throat. Lily looked toward the fat brother and found him staring back, silently ordering her to begin.
Humiliation burned through her yet again.
She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to tear the collar from her neck, throw the lute at his head, and demand that everyone stop looking at her as though she were an entertaining animal.
Then she saw the villagers whispering and snickering among themselves.
She stood alone before them. No one here would defend her. If she protested, the brothers would punish her, and the crowd would probably consider it deserved.
So Lily swallowed her anger.
She drew a slow breath, adjusted the lute's strap across her shoulder, and sat upon the stool provided for her. Her left arm still lacked its full strength, making it difficult to hold the instrument properly, but the strap took most of the weight.
Her fingers settled against the strings.
This time, she chose no cheerful song about farms, animals, or blessed countryside life. She played something slower and sadder—a song about refusing to disappear merely because the world misunderstood her.
She sang of being treated like a question no one wished to answer. Of people deciding who she was without ever knowing her. Of refusing to become whatever others demanded, and of holding on to the hope that somewhere, somehow, she might find a place where she truly belonged.
Her voice strengthened as the song continued.
They could bind her, rename her, and pretend she was nothing more than what they saw.
But she still knew who she was.
She was still there.
The common room gradually fell silent.
Men lowered their mugs. Women stopped whispering. Even the children watched without fidgeting as Lily's voice carried through the inn, clear and lonely above the lute.
When the final refrain faded, silence held for several heartbeats.
Then the common room erupted into applause. Villagers cheered, raised their mugs, and began talking among themselves as though they had just witnessed some grand performance.
That was when Lily noticed the swollen-nosed man standing near the stage with the tall archer.
A heavy pouch rested in his hand. He spoke quietly while the archer weighed it in his palm, both men glancing toward Lily as though discussing livestock at market.
The swollen-nosed man watched her with an interest that made her skin crawl.
Lily's stomach tightened.
For several uncomfortable seconds, the archer appeared to consider the offer. Then he judged the weight of the pouch once more, shook his head, and returned it.
Whatever the man had offered, it was not enough.
Relief passed through Lily, though it brought little comfort. The archer had not refused because the idea offended him. He had simply decided she was worth more than the peasant could afford.
The swollen-nosed man frowned but did not argue. Instead, he approached the stage, drew out a single copper coin, and dropped it into the bowl.
The fat brother looked inside and shook his head.
"One copper started the first song," he announced. "The next costs more."
A few villagers grumbled, but more coins quickly followed, striking the wooden bowl one after another.
Soon enough, one song became another.
The rest of the evening unfolded much as her performance in Einsway had. Villagers paid to hear familiar melodies repeated and unfamiliar songs explained. Children demanded cheerful choruses. Older listeners preferred tales of lost homes, distant roads, and ancient heroes.
The most important difference was that Lily did not faint this time.
She remained on the stage deep into the night, playing until her fingers ached and her voice grew tired. Customers continued dropping coins into the bowl, sometimes paying extra whenever they wanted one more song.
At last, the brothers decided they had earned enough.
The fat man tugged the rope and ordered Lily down despite several villagers offering more coin to keep her performing. He emptied the overflowing bowl into a leather pouch, smiling broadly at the weight of it.
Lily watched the coins disappear.
People truly paid well for music.
They had paid again and again simply to hear her continue.
The realization filled her with anger.
Had the people in Einsway assumed she had been performing only for amusement? Would they have paid her too, had she simply placed out a bowl and asked?
More infuriating still, Lily had earned nearly every coin in that pouch, yet none of it belonged to her.
Her entire day of labor—sweeping floors, cleaning rooms, scrubbing the outhouse, carrying rubbish, and performing late into the night—earned her only a little bread, watery soup, and a mug of water.
The brothers, meanwhile, crowded around a round table and ordered meat and ale with the money she had made.
Lily was not allowed to sit with them.
Slaves ate on the floor.
So she sat in a corner beside Robin, holding her bowl in her lap while the brothers laughed, drank, and tore into their food only a few paces away.
At least Robin was there.
He looked just as tired and humiliated as she felt, his collar hidden poorly beneath his clothes as he sat beside her upon the hard boards.
Whimsy Warbler continued playing onstage with the lute Lily had borrowed. His familiar local songs filled the inn while the remaining customers drank and talked beneath the candlelight.
Lily listened quietly.
The music soothed her, but not enough to bury her anger.
She had worked all day, earned a pouch full of copper, and still had no money, no proper meal, and no bed. When the inn finally closed, the brothers claimed the two narrow beds upstairs while Lily and Robin were ordered to sleep upon the floor.
Looking at their situation, Lily realised that this life would destroy her if it continued.
She was still growing. She needed proper food, warmth, rest, and time to heal. Sleeping upon hard boards and surviving on scraps would never allow her to become strong enough to escape.
Something had to change soon.
Lily lay beneath Art's damaged cloak with her fists clenched against her chest, too furious to sleep.
Then Robin moved closer and carefully slipped one arm beneath her head.
Lily stiffened.
Her anger, already close to exploding, immediately found a new target. She turned toward him, prepared to demand what he thought he was doing.
But Robin was not grinning or staring at her strangely.
His bruised face looked exhausted, but completely sincere.
"Do not mind me," he whispered. "Pretend I am not even here. Use my arm as a pillow if you wish. I only want to stay beside you."
Lily's expression softened.
The offer was clumsy, but she understood what he meant. Robin could not give her freedom, a proper meal, or a warm bed. All he had to offer was his body heat, an arm beneath her head, and the quiet promise that she would not have to endure the night alone.
Lily slowly relaxed against him.
Perhaps they truly could survive this.
Perhaps, together, they might even find their way back to freedom.