Night settled heavily over the forest.
Lily lay in the grass above the small waterfall, trying unsuccessfully to sleep. Below her, water spilled over the rocky ledge in a steady roar before disappearing into the darkness. Scar rested nearby, though every so often the fox raised his head and released a low, uneasy whine.
That did little to calm her.
The warning at the back of Lily's mind had followed her throughout the entire journey. No matter how quickly she ran or how deeply she entered the forest, the sensation remained—a tightening pressure that told her something dangerous was drawing closer.
But what?
She had seen no one following them. She had heard no horses, voices, or heavy footsteps. She was barefoot and had traveled through mud, water, and thick undergrowth, so any trail she left should have been difficult to follow.
She did not even smell bad, probably. Yet the feeling remained.
Lily lay near the edge of the hill, staring down toward the base of the waterfall. Several days earlier, she had seen the armored White Lion men arguing there before riding away. Now the ground below showed even more signs of activity. Hoofprints crossed one another along the muddy trail, and several patches of grass had been trampled flat. Multiple men had been moving back and forth through the area.
Were they the danger she had sensed?
Perhaps they had found her cabin while she was gone. Maybe they had searched it, discovered there was nothing valuable inside, and left.
Lily tried to believe that.
She had already waited above the waterfall for several hours, yet no pursuers appeared on the path below. No torches moved between the trees. No voices rose over the sound of the water.
Was she imagining everything?
Perhaps her confidence had been damaged more than she wanted to admit. After being cheated, threatened, and humiliated in Einsway, maybe she had begun seeing danger everywhere.
Or perhaps it was Art. The idea slipped into her mind before she could stop it.
She imagined him charging through the forest like some hotheaded knight, determined to catch her and drag her back to Camelot whether she agreed or not. He would probably say something ridiculous about protecting her from herself while Reinheart followed behind, wondering how his life had reached such a terrible point.
Lily almost laughed.
Honestly, if she had not left Einsway so quickly, Art might truly have come after her. He had looked far too serious when he made her promise to stay safe. Reinheart was probably the only reason he had not immediately followed.
Her cheeks warmed as she remembered his arms around her, the comfortable bed, and the kiss she had given him.
Lily touched her lips.
It had felt nice. Far too brief, though. Perhaps she should have tried it again before leaving, purely for scientific study.
Her face grew hotter.
"No," she whispered firmly to herself. "Dangerous Albion kissing laws."
Scar lifted his head and stared at her.
"Do not judge."
The fox lowered his head again.
Unable to sleep, Lily reached into one of her pouches and removed the hard piece of bread she had received as payment. Even in the moonlight, it looked more like a building material than food.
She dipped it into the pool above the waterfall and held it beneath the surface until the crust softened. Then she tore off small, soggy pieces and swallowed them with as little chewing as possible.
The method was unpleasant, but it spared her teeth from the tiny stones hidden inside.
"Criminal bread," she muttered.
For a while, Lily sat beside Scar, thinking about everything that had happened. She regretted leaving the lute behind. She regretted not asking Art more questions. She regretted the kiss, then immediately regretted regretting it.
Sometimes she smiled. Sometimes she covered her face in embarrassment. At one point, she giggled so strangely that Scar moved several paces away from her.
Eventually, exhaustion overcame her fear. Lily curled against the fox, using his warm side as a pillow, and drifted into an uneasy sleep with a faint smile still resting upon her face.
When she opened her eyes again, sunlight was shining through the treetops.
Lily squinted upward.
The sun had already climbed high into the sky, which meant she had slept far longer than intended. Her legs ached from the previous day's journey, and her body protested when she pushed herself upright.
Scar stood nearby, watching her impatiently.
The soaked bread was gone. Apparently, Lily had finished it before falling asleep. Only the single copper coin remained in her pouch.
With her stomach no longer completely empty, Lily washed her face in the cool water and followed Scar up the hill behind the waterfall.
They spent the rest of the day moving through the forest.
Scar led while Lily struggled behind him, weaving between trees, climbing over fallen trunks, and forcing her sore legs to continue. She did not feel like running anymore. Even walking had become unpleasant.
The deeper they traveled, the more uncertain Lily became. Every tree looked familiar. Unfortunately, every tree also looked like every other tree.
Several times she stopped and wondered whether Scar had led her in the wrong direction. Then the fox would glance back at her with visible impatience and continue onward.
Only as the sun began sinking toward the horizon did Lily finally catch sight of something familiar through the trees.
Her cabin.
Relief flooded through her.
"Home."
For much of the journey, she had feared that she would never find the lake again. Yet Scar had guided her correctly.
Lily pushed eagerly through the bushes, expecting the moss-covered cabin and towering garden walls to emerge before her.
Instead, she slowed.
Something was wrong. She could see far too much of the cabin.
The tall living wall surrounding the garden should have blocked most of it from view. Thick vines, branches, and woven fencing had once formed a green barrier around the property. Now large sections appeared to be missing.
Lily stopped completely.
Had she come to the wrong place?
No.
The shape of the cabin was unmistakable. The mossy roof, the old chimney, the apple tree beside the entrance—this was her home. But it no longer looked like home.
She stepped from the forest into the grassy clearing, and the sight before her made her heart sink.
The garden wall had been torn apart in several places. The gate hung broken from one side, while much of the apple tree near the cabin had been hacked to pieces. Branches lay scattered across the ground, their leaves already beginning to wilt.
The clearing looked like a battlefield.
Dark soil covered the grass where someone had dug deep trenches and wide holes across the property. Berry bushes had been ripped from the ground and tossed aside. Plants Lily had cared for over many seasons lay crushed beneath boots and hooves.
Bodies were scattered among them. Rats most of all, several of which had been cut nearly in half. Others lay crushed in the disturbed soil.
There were a few brave chickens as well, their blood darkening the feathers around them. Lily could hardly breathe at the sight of them.
"No…"
She hurried forward toward New Town.
The small clay settlement had been trampled. Walls were broken, tunnels had collapsed, and several tiny mouse bodies lay beneath the shattered structures as though giants had marched directly through their homes.
Even the lakeshore had been disturbed. Stones from one of Lily's fishing traps had been pushed apart, and the water beside it had turned cloudy with mud.
She dropped to her knees beside the ruins.
There were bodies, but not as many as she had first feared. Most of the mice must have escaped. Perhaps the others had fled as well.
Lily rose again, turning desperately as she searched the clearing.
"Terminator?"
No answer came.
"Mister Terminator!"
Only the evening wind moved through the broken plants.
"Miss Attitude? Sergeant Flap? Sir Pecksalot?"
Nothing.
Lily ran toward the cabin. Stones lay across the roof, as though someone had thrown them at chickens sheltering above. The treehouse still stood, but it was empty.
Where was everyone?
Her heart pounded as she searched for tracks. Near the eastern side of the cabin, she discovered a trail of scattered feathers leading into the forest.
Lily followed it.
At the edge of the trees, the feathers ended beside deep hoofprints. A rough path had been carved through the undergrowth by several horses.
Her thoughts immediately returned to the armored men she had seen near the waterfall.
Those cruel, miserable, naughty Lions had done this. She should have known something was wrong with them.
Lily's anger rose so fiercely that her hands began trembling. She wanted to scream into the forest. She wanted to follow the hoofprints immediately, find the men responsible, and make every one of them regret coming near her home.
Then she saw something lying in the grass. A small circle of crushed flowers. Mister Terminator's crown.
Lily picked it up with shaking fingers.
There was blood nearby and evidence of a fierce struggle. Feathers covered the disturbed ground, yet she found no pieces of his bark armor.
Terminator had fought them, of course he had. He had probably charged men wearing iron armor without the slightest hesitation.
And he had lost.
Lily squeezed her eyes shut. There was no body. That meant he might still be alive.
Perhaps the men had been impressed by his size, his armor, or his willingness to attack them. Maybe they had captured him to sell as some strange fighting rooster.
The thought gave her something desperately needed.
Hope.
They had horses and perhaps several days of distance between them, but Lily could still find him.
She had to.
Scar stood nearby, watching her with sorrowful eyes. Lily knelt and wrapped one arm around his neck.
"Do not worry," she whispered, though her voice trembled. "It not over. We find them. We rebuild again, like before."
Scar did not appear convinced.
Neither was Lily.
She wiped her eyes and returned to the clearing, forcing herself to examine the destruction more carefully.
Several dead rats formed a trail leading from the cabin. From the signs inside, Lily guessed that they had been stealing food from her storage pots while she was away. When the mercenaries entered, the rats had tried to escape and fought when their path was blocked.
The rats had been thieves, but they had still been citizens. Or at least troublesome residents under complicated legal supervision. They had not deserved this.
Inside the cabin, the destruction was even worse.
Almost everything had been taken. Her pot was gone. Her tools had vanished. Storage containers lay broken or empty. Parts of the wooden floor had been torn up, exposing dirt and roots beneath the cabin.
It looked as though someone had searched for buried treasure.
But why?
What treasure could anyone possibly believe she possessed?
She was a poor forest girl with a rusty knife, one copper coin, and a government largely composed of chickens.
Why had they done this?
Lily stepped farther into the cabin.
Her bow lay broken in one corner, the wood split cleanly in half. Then her gaze drifted toward the fireplace.
Eggshells rested among the ashes.
Beside them lay several small chicken bones.
Near the entrance, caught against a splintered floorboard, were soft white feathers marked with familiar spots.
Big Mama's feathers.
Lily stopped breathing.
Her legs gave way, and she collapsed to her knees.
They had eaten them.
The mercenaries had invaded her home, torn apart her garden, slaughtered her citizens, stolen everything she owned—and then cooked some of her friends over her own fire.
Tears blurred Lily's violet eyes.
The cabin stood empty around her. The floorboards had been ripped apart. Her straw bed was destroyed. Her tools and supplies were gone. Her animals had either fled, been killed, or been dragged away. Nothing remained.
For years, Lily had built this place one small piece at a time. Every garden bed, clay house, trap, wall, and pathway had been shaped by her own hands.
It had never been merely a shelter. It had been her kingdom. Her family. Her entire world. And now it was gone.
Lily pulled the rusty knife from her belt.
As her fingers tightened around the worn handle, she made a silent promise.
Whoever had done this would pay.
She did not care how many of them there were. She did not care who they served, how much armor they wore, or how powerful they believed themselves to be.
They would pay.
Lily struck the broken floor with her fist. Pain shot through her knuckles, but she hit it again. She wanted to scream until the forest shook. She wanted to chase the mercenaries immediately and bury the knife in every one of them. She wanted to curl upon the ruined floor and cry until there was nothing left inside her.
But tears would not bring anyone back.
She needed to find Mister Terminator. She needed to learn where the others had gone. If any of them had been captured, she had to rescue them.
Yet as Lily knelt among the ruins, a terrible truth settled over her.
She was not strong enough. The mercenaries had armor, horses, weapons, and numbers. Lily had a ruined home, a rusty knife, and one copper coin.
Even if she found them, what could she possibly do?
Her shoulders trembled. The task felt impossible, but she had to try.
A low growl came from outside.
Lily lifted her head.
Scar stood in the doorway, staring toward the forest with his ears pressed flat. He growled again, then raced into the clearing, circled once, and darted toward the trees as though urging her to follow.
Lily wiped her eyes and forced herself upright.
"What is it?"
Scar disappeared into the undergrowth at the side of the cabin.
Then Lily heard movement directly ahead. Heavy rustling came from beyond the broken garden wall. Something was approaching through the bushes.
Her strange sense of danger awakened again, but this time Lily did not run.
She stood in the doorway with the knife clutched tightly in one hand. A furious part of her hoped it was the mercenaries.
Let them come. It would save her the trouble of finding them.
The calmer, more rational part of her screamed that fighting armored men alone was suicide. She should hide, climb onto the roof, or follow Scar into the forest.
Before she could decide, the bushes parted and two figures stepped out of the forest. Both wore dirty green cloaks with their hoods pulled low.
Lily's rage faltered, replaced by confusion.
She recognized them. They were two of the hooded men from the Dancing Dragon—the same low-budget assassins who had watched her from the corner of the common room.
What were they doing here?
Yet the moment their eyes settled upon her, pain prickled sharply across the back of Lily's skull.
Danger.
Before Lily could speak, the shorter man smiled unpleasantly.
"So this is where you live?" he asked, glancing over the ruined garden. "I expected something grander from a little witch like you. Then again, you are rather young—and apparently all alone."
The two men continued toward the broken garden fence.
Lily raised her knife.
"Stay back!" she shouted. "I not know what you want, but this is my land. You not welcome here!"
The shorter man stopped, though his smile only widened, as movement came from both sides of the cabin.
Lily glanced left and saw the tall, thin man with the bow stepping from between the trees. On her right, a fourth figure appeared—a broad-shouldered brute whose arms looked almost as thick as Lily's body.
They had surrounded her.
"Oh, come now, little girl," the short man said, as though discussing nothing more serious than the price of a chicken. "There's no need to make this difficult. We only want to conduct a little business."
From beneath his cloak, he produced a narrow black leather collar.
It was small enough to fit Lily's neck. Thin strips of iron had been sewn inside the leather to keep it from tearing, while a metal ring protruded from the front where a rope or chain could be attached—no different from a collar made for a dog.
Lily's stomach dropped.
The man turned it casually between his hands.
"We don't mean to damage you. Quite the opposite. A strange little thing like you—with that hair, those eyes, that sweet singing voice, and perhaps even a touch of magic—could fetch an excellent price."
His companions watched her with the indifferent interest of merchants inspecting livestock.
"You walked into Einsway alone," he continued. "By nightfall, half the inn was staring at you, and two boys were nearly fighting over who would have you. Even that wealthy young monster hunter took an interest. Anyone with eyes can see you're valuable."
He held the collar toward her.
"Put this on, behave yourself, and we'll treat you gently. You'll be fed, kept clean, and sold to someone rich enough to appreciate what they're buying. That's better than starving alone in this ruined little hut, isn't it?"
His smile made the offer feel fouler than an open threat.
Lily tightened her grip on the knife.
"And if I say no?"
The men laughed.
The short one shrugged, as though her answer hardly mattered.
"Then we become less gentle, put it on you ourselves, and carry you away. Either way, little girl, you're coming with us."
Cold fear spread through Lily's body.
As Bruce, she had been a large grown man—someone criminals usually avoided rather than tried to drag away. He had faced guns, knives, and death without ever feeling this helpless. But now he stood in the body of a small girl while four armed men calmly discussed selling her as though her life already belonged to them.
Bruce knew enough from history and police work to understand what happened once someone like Lily disappeared. Her unusual appearance would not protect her; it would only raise her price. She might be displayed in some wealthy household, passed between owners, locked away, or forced into whatever role earned the most coin. By the time anyone offered freedom—if they ever did—there might be very little of Lily left to save.
Her eyes darted between the men.
All four carried proper weapons. Their blades were longer than her arm and far sharper than her rusty knife. The archer stood far enough away to shoot her if she crossed the clearing, while the broad man had positioned himself between her and the nearest path into the forest.
She could not fight them, and she could never surrender. That left only one choice.
She had to run.
Lily's eyes searched desperately for a way out.
Scar crouched among the bushes beyond the clearing, his body low and tense, but she dared not call to him. If he attacked, the men would cut him down before he reached them.
Too many of her friends had already died.
She would not lose another.
Her gaze flicked toward the cabin, and an idea formed.
Slowly, Lily returned the rusty knife to its sheath.
The men visibly relaxed.
"There we are," the short one said, lowering the collar slightly. "Clever girl."
Lily turned and ran.
For half a heartbeat, none of them reacted.
Then someone shouted, "Get her!"
Heavy boots thundered across the clearing.
Lily sprinted through the broken doorway and raced across the cabin. The men were already gaining on her. Their longer legs ate up the distance far faster than hers could, and she heard one of them crash through the doorway only a few strides behind.
The cabin offered nowhere to hide. The floor had been torn apart, the furniture destroyed, and every corner searched.
Only the fireplace remained.
Lily dropped low, scrambled into the cold stone hearth, and forced herself into the narrow chimney. Bracing her feet against one wall and her hands against the other, she began climbing.
The space was barely wide enough.
Rough stone scraped her shoulders and knees. Soot smeared across her face as she hauled herself higher, pushing frantically with hands and feet.
A man lunged into the fireplace beneath her. His fingers locked around her ankle.
"Got you!"
Lily screamed. The sound tore from her like the cry of a terrified child as the man yanked her downward. Her body slipped several inches, skin scraping painfully against the stone.
"No!"
She threw her free foot against one wall and pressed both palms against the other, desperately wedging herself in place.
The man pulled harder.
"Come down here, you little—"
Lily could not turn around. She could not kick him. The chimney was too narrow for her to bend far enough to reach his arm.
Her hand flew to the knife. She drew it, twisted her wrist, and released it.
The rusty blade dropped point-first into the darkness. It struck the man's exposed forearm. The knife did not sink deeply, but it cut enough.
"Aaagh!"
His grip loosened.
"You little bitch!"
Lily ripped her ankle free and climbed. She did not stop until she had forced herself far beyond their reach. Beneath her, the wounded man cursed while the others shoved into the fireplace, trying one after another to grab her.
Hands clawed upward.
A knife flashed through the darkness and scraped against the stone beneath her foot. Another blade stabbed blindly into the chimney, missing her leg by inches.
Lily climbed higher still and wedged herself into the narrowest part of the shaft. Her feet pressed against one wall, her back against the other.
Below, the men could no longer reach her. Above, the chimney opening was too narrow for any man to enter.
For the moment, she was trapped—but safe.
Although her knife was gone. She could hear it clattering somewhere below, followed by one of the men kicking it across the floor.
Lily closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe quietly.
Maybe they would leave. Maybe, once they realized they could not reach her, they would decide she was not worth the trouble.
The men cursed beneath her. Boots crossed the floor. Furniture scraped. Their voices dropped into low whispers she could not understand.
Lily remained perfectly still. Minutes passed, then more.
Her legs began to cramp. Her arms trembled from holding herself in place. The stone pressed painfully against her back, and soot filled her nose whenever she breathed too deeply.
She had no food, no water, and no knife to defend herself with.
Still, she waited.
Through the chimney opening above, she watched the last pale light disappear from the sky. Night settled over the forest, leaving only moonlight and a few scattered clouds above the moss-covered roof.
The men did not leave. Instead, the sounds below changed.
Lily heard wood being dragged across the floor. Twigs snapped. Dry leaves rustled. Something hard rolled across the hearth—perhaps acorns gathered from outside.
She looked down and saw that the men were filling the fireplace.
Broken pieces of furniture, sticks, bark, leaves, acorns, and handfuls of dry straw were being piled directly beneath her. Some of the straw had been torn from the cabin roof.
Lily stared at it, not understanding at first.
Then a burning branch landed upon the pile. Flames caught immediately.
Her eyes widened as she realised that they were trying to burn her out.
Smoke rolled upward. The first thick cloud struck Lily's face, filling her eyes, nose, and throat. She coughed violently and nearly lost her grip.
Heat followed.
The fire crackled below, growing brighter and hotter as the dry material burned. Smoke crowded into the narrow chimney until Lily could barely see.
She pressed herself higher, trying to escape it, but there was nowhere left to go except out. If she stayed, she would choke or burn.
So Lily climbed.
She shoved through the moss and flowers blocking the chimney opening and dragged herself onto the roof.
Cold night air struck her soot-covered face.
She collapsed against the straw, coughing and gasping while smoke curled from the chimney behind her. For several seconds, she could do nothing except breathe.
Then she forced herself to look around.
Moonlight washed the ruined clearing in pale silver. Thin clouds drifted overhead, and the path to the lake lay empty.
No men were visible. The only sound came from the fire crackling inside the cabin, so Lily guessed they were still below, watching the flames and waiting for her to come down.
Her gaze shifted toward the dark water.
That was her only chance.
She could not stay on the roof. One of the men carried a bow, and if they came outside and spotted her silhouetted against the moonlit sky, she would make an easy target. If they surrounded the cabin or began climbing after her, she would have nowhere left to go.
She had to move now.
Keeping low, Lily crawled down the slope of the roof while smoke curled from the chimney behind her. When she reached the edge, she fixed her eyes on the lake across the clearing and pushed herself off.
Only after she was already falling did she notice the shadow pressed against the cabin wall below.
One of the men had been waiting for her.
There was no time to change direction.
Lily struck the ground, tucked her shoulder, and rolled with the impact.
For one hopeful instant, she thought she had landed beyond his reach.
Then a hand seized the back of her cloak. The fabric snapped tight around her throat and dragged her backward.
Lily gasped as a powerful arm closed around her body, pinning her against the man's chest like an iron bar.
"Hah!" he shouted. "I have her! Brothers, I caught the little witch!"
Lily twisted, kicked, and clawed at his arm, but he barely moved.
Boots pounded inside the cabin. The others were coming.
She had seconds.
Lily grabbed the cord fastening the cloak around her neck and tore it loose. She ducked, twisted, and slipped out through the opening.
The man was left clutching an empty black cloak.
"What—?"
Lily ran.
She sprinted toward the lake, her bare feet tearing across the ruined garden.
The man recovered quickly. His heavy footsteps charged after her.
Lily could hear him gaining with every stride.
Her leather pouches bounced painfully against her hips, slowing her down. Without hesitation, she ripped one free and threw it behind her.
The pouch struck the man across the face.
He cursed and stumbled, but only for a moment.
The other pouch followed. It vanished into the darkness along with everything inside it—which was the single copper coin she had worked so hard to earn.
Lily did not look back, she just ran faster.
The man was still coming. His breathing grew louder behind her. His hand brushed her hair, fingers grazing the end of her ponytail.
The lake was only a few steps away.
Lily pushed off the ground and dove.
She struck the water hard. Mud exploded from the shallow lakebed, turning the water around her into a thick brown cloud. Lily flattened herself against the bottom and kicked forward.
A second splash crashed down behind her.
The man had followed.
One of his boots slammed into the mud beside her, missing Lily's back by inches. His hands swept through the cloudy water, grasping blindly for her arms and hair.
Lily twisted away and swam deeper.
She had spent years in this lake. She knew how to move through it without wasting strength. She knew how to stay low, how to use the mud as cover, and how to hold her breath until her lungs screamed.
The man did not.
His legs churned clumsily behind her, stirring the bottom and making the water even darker.
Lily kept swimming, pushing deeper into the dark water until the shouting above faded into nothing.
Her lungs burned, but she refused to rise.
She had lost her mother's knife, Art's cloak, her pouches, her coin, her home, and perhaps even her friends.
But it was not over.
As long as she was still alive, she could rebuild. She could make new tools, grow another garden, find her people, and take back everything those men had stolen.
Four thugs with a collar would not defeat her.
She was Lily of the Lake.
And Lily of the Lake did not surrender.
With that thought, she kicked harder and disappeared into the darkness.