It was the boy in the hold who had reported her.
Someone aboard understood their language. Perhaps he had only hoped to earn better treatment by reporting her, but without a doubt, after she was discovered, their lives remained unchanged, and their treatment did not improve at all.
Because even without his report, she would have struggled to survive the long voyage on that meager food.
But she did not die.
When she woke again, she had been hung like a trophy inside a cage used to keep large birds.
She was too thin.
Someone could even pick up the cage with one hand and show her off, admiring her like a pet.
But she never said a single word.
Even when those people asked about her experiences in a language she understood, she remained silent.
For sailors and crew who spent long stretches at sea, sailing was unbearably dull. They were more than happy to subject stowaways who had illegally boarded their ship to a spell of bloody torture, then sink them into the sea to feed the fish before reaching shore.
No law protected anyone here. The captain was the only law.
But she did not die.
This was no divine protection. It was simply because she was so insignificant, like a seabird that had landed on the deck. Their reason for keeping her was just as simple: like keeping a monkey or a myna, she could provide amusement on this tedious voyage. Or, like those respectable gentlemen of the upper classes, they could keep a little canary of their own in a ballet theater.
There was another reason.
She really was beautiful.
Even reduced to skin and bones, even at only a few years old, she already showed enough promise to make it clear that she would