“Drink, Nan.” And because even her most gentle voice was bred to command, Nan obeyed.

When Lady Eluned had first given her a coin all those years ago, neither of them could have thought it would turn out like this. It started as a simple request, a moment’s transaction that tangled the life of a serving girl with that of a great lady, whose rival was a monstrous and lustful lord. It ended with Oliver dead, and Nan scarred but saved – and with this undying gratitude, these deep bonds. There was no such thing as silence between them, not truly. Still, she braced herself for the words that must be spoken.

“Your sister,” said Lady Eluned. Not a question or a command. Just an offering, an opening. Just a word, with a wealth of understanding behind it.

“She is a whore and a bawd, outside the walls of Lincoln.” Nan watched shadows drift across the floor before the window, clouds moving across the sky. “You warned me, my lady. You said there are things worse than death that might befall her.”

She had also warned of hurts from which Nan could not protect herself, because there was no defense against them. Sometimes she thought Lady Eluned saw everything, even before it happened.

“Is it worse than death, to be a whore and a bawd?” Lady Eluned asked, her voice mild. “If she lives that way unwilling, I know well you would bring her out of it, no matter the cost.”

Nan fixed her eyes on the rich golden yellow of Lady Eluned’s gown, a heavy silk velvet. Just one sleeve of it was worth more than the purse of coins given to Bargate Bettie, and that had been two years of Nan’s own wages.

“She’s not forced to be what she is, my lady. She likes it very well. And it’s not that she’s a bawd, but that she was intent on whoring a child.”

She watched Lady Eluned’s face harden, the familiar pinch that formed in her lips. It made tears press behind Nan’s eyes. It was such welcome solace to see the instant disapproval, the outrage even to think of a girl treated so foully. The words poured forth then, and she told of how she had taken the girls from the brothel and found places for them, how she had crippled the tanner, how her sister had seen no wrong in what she did.

It was like it always was, when she put the worst into words and said them to Lady Eluned. It made her feel stronger, like telling it staunched the flow of blood from a mortal wound. When she said that Bargate Bettie had lied to the constable about the tanner’s wound, Lady Eluned made a sound of disdain, but there was sadness written across her face.