Glint (Plated Prisoner Book 2)

You’d think that after weeks of traveling, I’d be used to using a latrine dug in the ground to relieve myself. But nope. There’s something about having to lift your skirts and squat in the snow that really drags a girl down.

I do my business as quickly as I can. Bright side, I manage to do it without splashing on my own boots or falling ass-first into the snow. It’s all about the small victories right now.

Luckily, I get done before anyone else walks up to use the latrine, so I don’t have to worry about being watched. Scooping up some powdery snow, I use it to rinse my hands before I straighten and run my palms over my wrinkled skirts.

Now that my most pressing need is out of the way, I cross my arms around myself to ward off the chill that’s easily cutting through my wool dress and the pirate captain’s feather coat.

I take a moment to look around and get my bearings, but all I can see is the same landscape more or less that I’ve seen for days. Snow and ice and nothing.

The flat expanse of the Barrens seems to go on forever, the dark outline of the mountains far in the distance, the gentle sloping snow drifts never ending.

Commander Rip is right. I could run right now, and maybe I could even evade him and his soldiers for a while, but then what? I have no provisions of my own, no shelter, no true sense of direction. I would freeze to death out there.  

Still, the empty horizon taunts me, a bitter temptress that mocks me with her open freedom. It’s a lie, one that would wrap me in its freeze and shatter my brittle body like ice.

With a hardened jaw, I turn and walk away, heading back into camp. The soldiers made quick work of setting it up. It’s nothing fancy, just crude leather tents speckled every few feet and campfires peppered throughout, but even so, this army doesn’t seem to shirk from the cold, doesn’t seem to be breaking down from the harsh elements.

As I breach the first of the tents, I glance around warily, keeping a look out for the commander or any of his soldiers who might slink out of the shadows and try to hurt me or force me into my tent.

But no one comes.

I don’t trust this fake freedom, not for a second.

Completely on my own, I wander the grounds, my eyes peeled. I don’t see any of the saddles or Midas’s guards, but the sheer numbers in this army make it hard to spot much of anything.

Even though I’m tired and aching, I force myself to push past it for a little while longer, to take advantage of this time alone while I have it, because I might not get this opportunity again.

Back on the pirate ship, a messenger hawk was sent to Captain Fane, alerting him of Commander Rip’s impending arrival. Which means that the commander has at least one hawk, if not more. I need to find them.

As I skirt tents and groups of soldiers eating around their fires, I stay quiet, keeping my head down but my eyes up, searching and watching, my ribbons dragging in the snow behind me, leaving feather-light tracks in my wake.

The scent of food makes my angry stomach pitch a petulant fit, but I can’t succumb to my hunger or my dragging body. Not yet. 

I don’t think messenger hawks would be kept in a tent, so I ignore those. If I had to guess, I’d say the animals are being transported in covered carts, so that’s what I look for, though I try to seem like I’m just walking around aimlessly. It’s not difficult, considering I am aimless, unsure where to go.

The sounds of the army surround me. Soldiers talking, campfires burning, horses whinnying. Every gruff laugh or cracking spark from the wet logs makes me jump, my entire body anticipating someone grabbing me at any moment.

Soldiers watch me as I go. My body stays tense, but aside from their distrustful eyes following me, no one approaches me. It’s disconcerting, unexpected, and I don’t know what to think of it.

What is Commander Rip’s game?

Finally, when my boots are soaked from trudging through the slush and I’m shivering with cold, I spot several wooden carts covered in leather tarps across the way, on the outskirts of the camp.

My stomach leaps, and I get a sense of urgency, but I don’t dare head straight for them. I don’t dare rush.

Instead, I circle around, forcing my shaky steps to go unhurried, making sure to keep my face timid, my eyes desultory.

After being as careful as I can possibly be, I make it to the carts, the full dark of night helping to hide me in the shadows.

There’s a campfire thirty feet away, but only four men are sitting there, and they’re in deep discussion about something, though I can’t hear what they’re saying.

I carefully walk down the line of carts, peeking beneath tarps as I go, trying to be quick because I don’t want to be caught.

The first four carts aren’t covered, and they’re empty and smelling of leather, probably where the tents were stored. The next several are filled with bales of hay and barrels of oats for the horses, and after that, I come upon cart after cart of provisions for the soldiers. I’m running out of hope.

When I get to the last one, I see the square shape of some kind of crates—animal crates? 

I duck behind it, praying to the great Divines that this is it. With a deep breath, I glance around before flipping the tarp back to check it, but as soon as I do, my hope drops straight through my sodden boots. Not crates. Just a cart full of tightly folded furs.

I stare at it in defeat, though I try to keep my emotions in check. I know I’m exhausted and emotionally bombarded, but this failure makes my shoulders slump and my eyes prick with panic.

Where the Divine hell are they? If I can’t warn Midas…

“You lost?”

I jerk at the voice, my hand dropping the tarp as I whirl around. I look up and up and up, finding a bear of a man towering over me.

I recognize him immediately, based on the mass of his body alone. Back on the pirate ship, Rip was flanked by two soldiers, and even though they had their helmets on at the time, I just know that this huge man was one of them, that he led Rissa and me off the ship.

Now, without his armor or his helmet, I see his round face, bottom lip pierced through with a short, twisted piece of wood resembling the sigil of Fourth Kingdom’s gnarled tree. He has brown leather straps wrapped around his thick biceps and black leather covering the rest of him.

Somehow, he seems even larger than before—a good three heads taller than me, legs as thick as tree trunks and fists as big as my face.

Great. I had to be discovered by this big bastard?   

Honestly, I don’t know what I did to piss off the goddesses so much.

I tilt my chin up at the brown-haired brute, suddenly very glad that I visited the latrine, because he’s scary enough to make someone pee their frozen pants.

I clear my throat. “No.”

He lifts a bushy brow, brown eyes filled with a scowling suspicion, long hair hanging around his face and flattened at the top from its time in a helmet. “No? Then what are you doing over here, so far away from your tent?”

He knows where my tent is? That’s disturbing…

I turn and snatch a fur from the cart behind me, draping it over my shoulders. “I was cold.”

He gives me a look that tells me he doesn’t believe a single word out of my mouth. “Cold? Then maybe Midas’s golden pet should have gone to her tent.”

I tug the sleek black fur tighter around my shoulders. I’ve known men like this, they’re nothing but bullies. The worst thing to do is to let him walk all over me and make myself an even easier target.

I raise my chin. “Am I not allowed to walk around? Am I going to be forced in there against my will?” I challenge, because it’s what I expect, and I want to beat him to the chase.

The scowl on his face deepens, and my heart pounds in my chest like it wants to get out and go hide. I don’t really blame it. If this man wanted to, he could take my neck between his meaty hands and snap it in half.

Instead, he crosses his arms in front of him, his intimidating posture bearing down on me. “Rumor is, that’s exactly the way you like it, pet.”Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

Anger surges through me. That’s the second time tonight I’ve been looked at so scathingly, judged for the cage I live in.

“Better to be safe with the Golden King than to serve in the army of your rotten monarch who’s nothing but a scourge to the land,” I spit.

As soon as my words hit his ears, he goes preternaturally still.

I know I’ve made a mistake. I’ve way overstepped. I let him get to me, and I allowed my mouth to run away with my anger and fear instead of being that unmovable stone I need to be.

I went from standing up to a bully to bullying him back. Considering his heft, that probably wasn’t the smartest move.

I wasn’t paying attention to the murmuring voices at the campfire, but I do when I hear the soldiers go quiet. There’s a tinge of tense excitement in the air, as if they can’t wait to see what he’ll do to me.

My heart gallops with the need to flee, trapped in the thrumming of my pulse.

With deadly enmity, the man leans down until his face is just an inch from mine. Furious eyes glare bright, burning up any hope of air for me to breathe.

His voice goes as low as a warning growl from a wolf, and it makes my blood run cold. “Insult my king again, and I don’t care what color your fucking skin is, I’ll whip the flesh from your back until an apology sobs out of your throat.”

I swallow hard.

He means every word. Of that, I have no doubt, because I can see it in his face. He’ll toss me down in the snow, right here and make pain my only reality.

He nods as he looks me in the eyes. “Good. I can see you’re taking things more seriously now.” He’s still standing entirely too close, still stealing all my space, my air, an invisible bubble bursting with his invasive presence. “You’re not with that gilt prick Midas anymore. You’re here now, with us, so if I were you, I’d be respectful, and I’d make myself very useful.”

My eyes widen at the dark things his words imply, but he cuts off my train of thought.

“Not that. None of us are interested in having Midas’s gold-plated leftovers,” he sneers, and I immediately exhale in relief. But I shouldn’t. “You want to make your life easier? Then be the caged bird that you are and sing.”

Comprehension dawns on me like a jaundiced sun. “You think I’ll give you information? You think I’ll betray my king?”

He lifts a shoulder. “If you’re smart.”

Loathing hammers inside of me in a fierce melody. Whatever he sees in my eyes makes the cruel giant lean away, straightening up to his full height with a sigh. “Hmm. Maybe not. What a shame.”

My hands curl into fists. “I will never betray King Midas to you.”

A wicked grin splits his mouth. “We’ll see.”

The hammering melody skips, thumps, crashes into my gut. I don’t know whether I should be more offended that he thinks I’m so weak, or fearful that I’ll turn out to be.

“Where are the other saddles?” I ask suddenly, wanting to take the reins of the conversation and steer it in my favor. “The other guards?”

He says nothing, arrogance rising off him like steam.

I dig in my heels. “If any of you hurt them—”

He lifts his palm up to cut me off, and I notice an old scar there, a straight slice cut all the way across. “Careful, there,” he growls. “Fourth’s soldiers don’t take kindly to threats.”

My eyes dart to the left. Still sitting around the campfire, still quietly watching, the other soldiers within earshot are staring right at me, forearms leaned over knees, knuckles cracking, eyes glaring. Hatred glows over their faces alongside the orange flickering flames.

Whatever I was about to say on behalf of my traveling party dies beneath the smoking threat. Maybe this is the game. Maybe Commander Rip left me to wander on my own so that his soldiers would punish me however they wanted.

The man in front of me makes a noise of amusement, and I tear my eyes away from the others. “Run along now. Your tent is back that way. I assume Midas’s pet knows how to find her kennel?”

I give him a scathing look as the man turns and stomps away, settling his body at the campfire, joining the glaring men.

Holding the fur close to my chest, I turn away, feeling their sharp gazes on my back like the edge of a blade scratching down my spine. I walk away as quickly as I can without running, their mocking laughter tossed at my retreating form, making my cheeks burn.

I stick to the paths of footsteps that have made crude tracks in the snow, trying to keep my boots from sinking into the thicker patches as I take a more direct route to where my carriage and tent—my apparent kennel—is located.

It could be my imagination, but every soldier I pass by eyes me with a gaze that feels heavier, more malignant. Without a word spoken to me, with only their exuding energy as a declaration, I’m put in my place.

I’m the enemy, one they expect will break. I may not have a guard at my heels, but they’re watching me. Ready to pounce. And still, none of them do.

I ignore them all, not looking at anyone, not faltering when their conversations immediately die down upon my passing. I keep my eyes forward as I walk, though my entire body is trembling, my skin tight, heart galloping.

I don’t care what they think, I won’t betray Midas. I won’t. 

With every step in my cold, wet boots, I inwardly curse myself. I didn’t find where the messenger hawks are kept, and I was obvious enough to warrant that soldier approaching me. If I’m going to survive Fourth Kingdom’s army, I need to be better, smarter, stealthier.

And stronger. I need to be strong in the days to come.

Determined anger rises up in my chest, making me fist my hands inside the pockets of my coat. Tomorrow. I’ll try again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.

I won’t give up until I’ve searched every inch of this damned army and found a way to warn Midas. And through it all, I won’t break. I won’t give them anything they could use against my king.

The commander thinks so little of me that he doesn’t even keep a guard on me, so I’ll repay him tenfold. I’ll use his cockiness to tear away their element of surprise, and I’ll do it with a smile on my golden lips.

They think I’ll buckle, but they’ll soon realize I’m not that kind of saddle.