Glint (Plated Prisoner Book 2)

Hood up, hands tucked into pockets, I observe the soldiers from the nook I found—a shallow notch in the blue iced cave, just big enough for me to sit in.

The spot is perfect for me to keep isolated, while close enough that I can see the bonfire built into the middle of the hollow hill.

The icicles on the ceiling are dripping from the heat of the flames. Puddles have collected on the ground, but no one seems to mind. They’re too happy to be out of the snow.

The savory smell coming from the spit turning over the fire tells me that somehow, they managed to find fresh meat out in this frozen wasteland. My mouth waters at the scent, but that won’t tempt me to go closer. I’ll have to be satisfied with the soup and bread I got.

Bright side, at least I ate before I stormed out. Next time, I’ll make sure to stay until I’ve had the wine too.

I stay pressed against the sleek ice wall as I watch everyone. I can’t help but be curious about them, to look for their faults, to study their interactions. For all Rip’s bluster about trusting his soldiers, I like to see them for myself. I also like to do it from afar.

I suppose it’s not unusual, after being kept mostly isolated for so many years. For the most part, I still crave interaction with people, despite my unfortunate history. But sometimes, being around so many without the protection of my cage lights me up with sparking nerves. You can’t trust people.

Especially a crowd of them. And this crowd? They’re supposed to be the evilest, the deadliest.

But the more I watch them, the more I realize that they simply don’t fit that narrative. They aren’t a bloodthirsty group with rotted hearts and corrupted morals. They’re just people. They’re an enemy army, yes, but they aren’t monstrous. Not that I’ve seen, at least.

And Rip…

I close my eyes, hugging my knees against my chest. I wish I could say that I do it to keep myself warm, but the real reason is that I’m clutching onto me, trying to keep myself together.

The moment Commander Rip stepped onto that pirate ship and into my life, my world tilted on its axis. Every time we interact, that axis dips just a little bit more.

Rip is smart. These little talks between us are meant to throw me off. He’s manipulating me, trying to turn me against Midas.

I know what he’s doing, and yet, I can’t stop the doubt he’s casting. Like shadows over the ground, it will spread and grow unless I block it out.

Right now, I’m jumbled. Torn. A mess of thoughts and emotions, of doubts and complications. This is probably exactly what Rip wants, and I’m playing right into his hands by letting my mind spin in agonizing circles.

I sit for a few minutes more, just until I can finally inhale without my breath shaking. Just until I can give myself a pep talk to remind myself to stay on guard and not let my walls drop.

Above me, the snow begins to fall harder, the flakes as thick as fingernails scratching across a starless sky.

Casting one more look across the gathered soldiers, I crawl out of my hideaway spot. I tug my coat close around me, burying my hands under my arms. My ribs ache a little, and my cheek still feels a bit swollen, but the cold is good for one thing at least, because for the most part, I’m numb.

But then again, maybe that has nothing to do with the cold.

I walk away from the bonfire, knowing the general direction of where the carriage is, knowing the tent won’t be far off. All I want to do is crawl into my pallet and sleep, but I can’t. Not yet.

I need to always remember who I’m with. I need to stay on track and not let Rip get under my skin.

I let my feet follow my eyes as a new determination fills me.

The tents I pass by are like a patchwork of leather sewn into the snow, every footstep a stitch. I walk past the gathered horses, their breaths huffing out like smoke, noses nuzzling into bales of hay. There’s a launder tent not far off, where soldiers are scrubbing soiled clothes and brushing black wax over scuffed boots.

No one bothers me aside from a few lingering glances, but I keep my eyes averted. My face is cold even with my hood pulled up, the snow already beginning to pile onto the top of the tents, soaking into the fabric and making the scent of wet leather fill the air.

I’ve found that some smells are strings tied around memories. When you catch certain scents, those strings pull taut. Like a boat being brought to dock, forced to float in the sentiment. Unfortunately for me, wet leather does not moor me with a nice memory.

Wet leather. Not dampened by snow, but by the saliva on my tongue, soaking up my taste and voice. Strips torn from Divine knows what. I was too afraid to spit it out.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

Is that memory going to merge with what’s happening now? Wet leather changing from the gag to the cloying scent of Fourth’s tents saturated with snow?

My thoughts swirl and fall.

My king loves me.

Indeed. Loves you so much he keeps you in a cage.

A deep frown pulls my eyebrows together, but I banish Rip’s echoing words.

His aim is to drive a wedge between Midas and me, so I can’t for a second believe he truly just wants to talk. He’s a strategist. An enemy strategist, trying to trick me into switching sides, trying to loosen my tongue.

Which is why I need to find that messenger hawk. I need to find it, send a warning to Midas, and then Rip will know how solid my loyalty is. No matter how respectful and conversational he pretends to be, I have to remember the truth.

“He’s an arrogant, devious bastard,” I mutter beneath my breath.

“Sure hope you’re not talking about me, my lady.”

I whip my head to the left, finding Hojat turned in profile. He’s looking down, stirring a pot of something over a small campfire. The scarred part of his face looks a deeper pink tonight, like the cold is bothering the contorted skin.

No one else is around to share his fire, but as soon as I get a whiff of whatever he’s cooking, I understand why.

I hold my hand over my nose and mouth before I start gagging. “Great Divine, what is that?”

He doesn’t even look up from mixing. “Wormwood, bishopwort, cattle cartilage, and a few other odds and ends.”

My nose wrinkles. “It smells…” I stop short when he looks over at me. “Umm…it smells pungent,” I finish, barely stopping myself from saying what I really mean. Awful. Disgusting. Completely rancid.

I honestly have no idea how he’s leaning over it so closely, letting that foul steam waft in his face like that. “Does it? That’s probably the bit of boiled intestines. It can be quite strong.”

This time, I can’t stop the gag that presses on the back of my tongue and cinches my throat. I gulp some air, keeping my eyes averted from the pot. “Why are you making that, exactly?”

“It’s a new mixture I’m trying out to treat aches and pains.” He suddenly straightens up and faces me, a gleam in his drooping eye. “Would you like to be my test subject?”

My mouth pops open. “You want someone to drink that?” I can’t keep the horrified tone out of my voice.

“Course not, my lady. I’m going to cook it down to be a topical ointment.”

I can’t blink, because my mind is too busy picturing him rubbing around boiled cartilage and intestines. If my skin wasn’t gold, it would be turning green right about now.

Hojat is still looking at me expectantly, and I realize he’s actually waiting for my answer.

“Oh, umm, maybe next time?”

A look of disappointment flashes over his expression, but he nods. “Of course, my lady. I see your lip has improved.”

I lift a hand, fingers skimming over the healing split. I haven’t seen my reflection in a long while, and I’d rather it stay that way.

“The cheek could be better,” he muses, the accent pulling at his t’s like his tongue wants to drag them under. “You didn’t ice it like I told you, did you?”

“Yes…” I say, trying to keep the guilt out of my tone. “For a couple minutes.”

He sighs and shakes his head, the corner of his lips looking like they want to fuse in a frown. “They always ignore the order to ice it,” he grumbles under his breath.

“I’ll do it tonight,” I assure him quickly.

“Sure you will,” he says, brown eyes rolling, like he doesn’t believe me at all. “If you like, I can make you another tonic for the pain? If you let me check your ribs, that is…”

I quickly stiffen. “No thanks.”

Hojat sighs. “You Midas lot are a distrusting bunch, aren’t you?”

My body goes still.

Midas lot. He’s seen the others.

It takes a lot of effort not to jump in eagerness. “Can you blame us? We’re captives in Fourth’s army.”

“We’re all captives of something, even things we don’t want to admit to.”

I frown at his words, but I don’t have time to linger on them. “I’m actually headed over to visit them right now. I could help you talk them into whatever treatments they need if you want to walk with me?”

It’s a bad lie. I know it, and based on the way he looks at me, he knows it too.

“You are allowed to do this?” he asks doubtfully.

“Yes,” I answer quickly.

Apparently, he’s not buying my lies, because he shakes his head. “If you want to see the others, you’ll have to get permission from the commander first.”

A breath of frustration slides between my teeth like a hiss.

“Please,” I say, my tone begging. “I’m not going to cause any trouble. I just want to make sure they’re all okay. Surely, as a mender, you can understand that?” It’s a cheap shot, but sometimes, cheap shots have a way of paying off.

A hesitant yet sympathetic look crosses Hojat’s face, and for a moment, I think I’ve got him. But then he shakes his head. “I can’t, my lady. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll take her.”

We both flinch as a soldier suddenly appears beside us, like she materialized out of the shadows.

For a second, I’m so stunned to see a woman soldier that all I can do is openly gape at her. She’s dressed in black and brown leathers, a sword at her hip, and a cocksure expression.

She has beautiful, smooth dark skin like umber, warm undertones that bloom at the apples of her cheeks. Her black hair is cut short against her scalp, and it’s been shaved in intricate designs. At first, I think the designs are pointed petals, but when I look closer, I see that they’re actually sharp daggers shorn around her head like a crown, tips pointing up.

“Who are you?” I ask, my gaze lured to the small piercing above her upper lip. The shard of wood fits perfectly into the middle of her cupid’s bow, topped with a tiny, gleaming red gemstone.

She doesn’t answer me, her attention on Hojat. “You should go get your supper before all the assholes finish off the last of it, Mender.”

The left side of his mouth tugs down roughly, a frown that’s more apt as a grimace. “Soon. I’ve got to stir for at least five more minutes before I can leave this to cool.” He looks from her to me and then back again. “You sure you’ll be alright with the lady?”

He still addresses me as lady, never anything crude, not even setting me apart as a captive. It’s hard not to like Hojat when he does things like that.

The woman smirks. “I can handle escorting our plated prisoner.”

Hojat hesitates. “The commander—”

“It’s fine.” She claps him on the shoulder, successfully cutting him off. “Good luck with your stirring, Mender.”

Hojat shoots me an unreadable look, but then he turns back to his pot, stirring and looking into the mixture like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Uneasiness crawls over me like an insect in my sheets.

The woman looks me up and down. “Let’s go see your saddles, shall we?”

I shoot one more look at Hojat, but he’s pointedly ignoring us.

I clear my throat. “Lead the way.”

Warily, I fall into step with her. My need to see the others is outweighing all of my reservations. Besides, Hojat would’ve warned me if she was bad news…

Right?