Chapter 6: You Will Serve As Payment For Your Father's Debt

The knocking came like thunder.

It wasn't the polite knock of someone seeking entry. It was the sound of something violent being held back, the fist of a man who had every intention of breaking down the door if it wasn't opened. Immediately.

"MORGANA OF THORNWICK!" The voice that accompanied the knocking was deep and brutal. "OPEN THIS DOOR THIS MINUTE!"

Morgana's eyes snapped open.

For a moment, she didn't understand what was happening. Sleep still clung to her like cobwebs, and the world was disorienting and wrong. The knocking came again....harder this time, if that was possible, and the sound of it jolted through her entire body like lightning.

She scrambled out of bed, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her hands shook as she pulled on her gown, the fabric catching on her fingers in her haste. The knocking didn't stop. If anything, it got worse, louder, more insistent. Like the door was about to splinter under the force of it.

When she stumbled into the sitting room, she saw her father.

He was still in his corner chair, exactly where he'd been when she'd gone to bed the night before. Empty bottles lay scattered around him like fallen soldiers. His mouth was open. His body was slack. And he hadn't moved an inch despite the sound that surely should have woken the dead.

Morgana's throat tightened.

She moved toward the door, every instinct screaming at her that this was wrong. That whatever was on the other side of that wood was not something good.

The moment she opened it, she froze.

They were massive. The men standing at her threshold were the kind of men who seemed to take up all the space, all the air, all the possibility. These were the Kings' men. The collectors. The enforcers.

One of them...the bulkiest, with a scarred face and eyes that had seen violence in ways most people couldn't imagine, moved forward before she could even think about closing the door. He pushed it open easily, like she weighed nothing, like her resistance was a thing that had no meaning.

"Morgana of Thornwick," he said, and his voice was the kind that made fear run cold down the spine. "We are here to collect the King's debt."

"What?" The word came out small. Confused. "My father doesn't owe the Kings anything."

But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't true. She knew, somehow, that this was connected to yesterday. To the Kings in the market. To that moment when one of them had touched her face like she was something precious and terrifying all at once.

Then another man stepped forward.

This one was different. Where the first man was pure muscle and menace, this one had the look of someone who dealt in coin and consequence. His face was thin and cruel, and when he smiled, Morgana saw teeth that had decayed to a sickly yellow. The sight of them made her stomach turn.

"Your father owes Corvus....that's me, a very substantial amount of money," the man said, his voice almost conversational. "Money that he gambled away to me and to others like me. Money that he will never be able to repay."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"That debt now belongs to the Kings. And we are here to collect."

Morgana felt the blood drain from her face. "How much?

Corvus named a figure.

It was impossible. The amount was so large it might as well have been the wealth of kingdoms. For a moment, Morgana couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. It was like being stabbed directly in the chest with something sharp and cold.

She became aware, slowly, that there were other people outside. Neighbors. Villagers. They had gathered at the edges of her cottage, drawn by the commotion. Mrs. Elain was there, and Rohan, and people whose names she didn't know. They were all staring. All watching. All bearing witness.

"That's..." Morgana's voice broke. "That's impossible. We don't have that kind of money. My father doesn't have...."

"I know," Corvus said simply. He stepped closer to her, and Morgana forced herself not to back away even though every cell in her body was screaming at her to run. "That's not my problem, girl. Your father made agreements. Your father lost money he couldn't afford to lose. And now the debt is due."

He reached out and ran his hand over her face.

His touch was cold and wet and absolutely revolting. She could smell the rot on his breath, could see the decay in his teeth up close, and the violation of it, the casual touching of her without permission, made her entire body recoil.

"You," Corvus said, and there was something predatory in his smile now, "are going to serve a purpose."

"No," Morgana breathed. "No, please...."

"Your father knows the consequences of being unable to pay his debts," Corvus continued, speaking over her as if she hadn't said anything. "When a man cannot pay what he owes, we take what he values. And since you are the only thing of value I can see in this pathetic cottage, you will serve as payment."

Morgana's scalp went numb.

"But...." she started, but Corvus cut her off with a look that was sharp enough to draw blood.

"You are being offered to the Kings as payment for your father's debt," he said, each word a hammer blow. "The Kings themselves have arranged this. They demand payment, and you will satisfy that debt. Do you understand me?"

The Kings. She was being given to the Kings. As payment. As if she were a thing to be bought and sold. As if her life was currency for her father's greed.

"Please," Morgana whispered, and her voice was shattered now, broken into pieces. Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Please, Tell them I'll pay back. I'll pay back with interest. I'll...."

Corvus's face twisted with fury. He stepped forward so quickly that she stumbled backward, nearly falling.

"How DARE you make demands to the Kings?" His voice was thunder and rage. "How dare you presume to negotiate with powers you cannot comprehend? You will go to them, you will serve them, and you will be grateful for the opportunity to clean your father's debt with your body and your service. Do you understand?"

Morgana didn't respond. She couldn't. The world had narrowed down to this moment, this impossible, devastating moment, and there was no way out of it.

She turned and stumbled back into the house.

"Father." Her voice was desperate now. "Father, wake up. Please, wake up."

She shook him, her hands gripping his shoulders, trying to shake him out of the stupor that alcohol had created. His head lolled against the chair. He mumbled something incoherent and reached for a bottle that wasn't there before settling back into unconsciousness.

He didn't wake.

Outside, the voices of the villagers were rising. She could hear them calling to her, demanding that she come out, that she cooperate with the Kings' men. There was no sympathy in those voices. No offers of help. Just resignation. The village knew how this worked. Debts were paid. Consequences were collected. And daughters of men who gambled away their lives had to bear the price.

"Come now, girl," Corvus called from the doorway. "We have a long way to go. The Kings are waiting."

Morgana looked back at her father one more time.

His face was slack. His mouth was open. He was a man who had gambled away his daughter's freedom, and he didn't even have the decency to stay awake for it.

She stood.

Before she could even take a step, the bulky man who had first knocked on the door pushed into the cottage. He was so large that he seemed to fill the entire space. When he reached for her, she didn't struggle. What was the point? Her father couldn't help her. The villagers wouldn't help her. The Kings...the Kings who ruled with absolute power, had decided her fate.

His hand closed around her arm like a manacle.

He yanked her forward, pulling her toward the door. Her feet barely touched the ground as he dragged her through the sitting room, past her father's still-sleeping form, toward the threshold.

Morgana looked back one more time.

The cottage that had been her whole world for her entire life was disappearing behind her. The small room where she'd baked bread and cared for an useless man and tried to maintain some semblance of hope. It was all ending. All of it.

The morning air hit her face like a slap.

The carriage was waiting.

It was enormous, black, pulled by horses that looked like they belonged to something other than this world. The moment the man shoved her toward it, Morgana understood that this was not negotiable. This was not something that could be reasoned with or argued against.

She climbed into the carriage.

The moment she was inside, the door slammed shut behind her with a sound like a coffin closing. The darkness was immediate and absolute. She pressed her hands against the wood, but it didn't give. Wouldn't give.

And then the carriage lurched into motion.

Through a small window, she caught one last glimpse of Thornwick. The villagers were still gathered, still watching. And in that brief moment of sunlight, she saw them shaking their heads. Saw them turning to each other with expressions of grim inevitability.

"Aldric's daughter has been taken as payment for his debt," she heard someone say.

And then the carriage turned a corner, and Thornwick was gone.

***

In the cottage, Aldric continued to sleep.

The alcohol had done its work thoroughly. He was beyond consciousness, beyond awareness, beyond the reach of anything that might wake him to the consequences of his actions. The bottles lay empty around him like accusers.

One of the villagers...an older woman named Mera, walked into the cottage after everyone else had dispersed. She walked slowly, with the weight of someone who had seen this kind of tragedy before. She looked at Aldric for a long moment, at the man who had been a neighbor, who had once been respectable, who had gambled away his daughter's life for coin and ale.

She shook her head.

And then she spat on the floor.

Without another word, she turned and walked out, leaving Aldric alone in his cottage with his bottles and his choices and nothing else.