Gild (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 1)

by Raven Kennedy

  “There’s no need for bloodshed between us,” the commander replies evenly, unruffled. “In fact, I’ll be helping you.”

  “And how’s that?” the captain snaps.

  Commander Rip takes a single step forward. One step, such a negligible thing, and yet, the menace of that stolen space between them has the captain’s hand going to the hilt of his knife—the same one he used to plunge into Sail’s heart.

  “You were all too eager to write to potential buyers, bragging of the spoils you pilfered. But I’m going to do you one better, Fane, and make it easier for you.” His voice is no louder than before, but for some reason, the tone makes me wince, makes my teeth capture my bottom lip in worry. “You have Midas’s traveling party. I’ll buy them.”

  Captain Fane gapes. “You? Why?”

  Even though he still has his helmet on, I somehow get the feeling that the commander grins. “That’s between Midas and Ravinger.”

  My stomach twists in a corkscrew, like it wants to wring itself out and dig itself down. I hear one of the saddles gasp, the sound full of dread.

  It’s one thing to be stolen by vile pirates. But it’s another thing entirely to be bought by King Rot’s commander. The male is notorious for his heartlessness on the battlefield, the entire army itself a brutal force that has never been defeated.

  And now he wants us.

  That’s between Midas and Ravinger.

  With that vague explanation, there’s not a single doubt in my mind of why Commander Rip is way out here in the Barrens, why he’s striking this deal. King Ravinger sent his army to confront Midas. And we just fell into the palm of his hand.

  Captain Fane shares a look with Quarter, the glance loaded and considering. When he turns back, he drops the hand away from his hilt.

  “As I’m sure you read in all of my letters,” the captain begins testily, “I have Midas’s royal whores, plus a few of his soldiers who lived. I was planning on bringing them to the coast to be split up and sold.”

  The commander finally looks away from the captain. His head turns, and I swear, I feel his eyes land right on me. My breath gets stuck against that gaze, like a fly to sap. I’m trapped, unable to move, unable to escape. My pulse skips ahead.

  But then he just continues his visual sweep, head turning, those hidden eyes passing over the group of saddles with bored consideration. I’m finally capable of letting a shaky breath slip through my lips, a fly ripping free from the clinging trap.

  “Like I said, I’d be saving you the trouble,” Commander Rip says, facing the captain once more. “I’ll buy all of them. The horses too, though you can keep their gaudy gold armor. They’ll have no need of it.”

  Captain Fane narrows his eyes, as if suspicious of just how much information the commander seems to have.

  “It’ll be a hefty sum. I was anticipating multiple offers.”

  “I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” the commander says with bold certainty.

  Captain Fane shifts on his feet. “My men were expecting at least a couple of weeks to enjoy our prizes before I sold them off.”

  That wringing in my stomach tightens and twists. Captain Fane has no shame, complaining that he and his men won’t get to play with us if he sells us straightaway. The thought, the debasement of it, makes bile burn in my throat, hot enough that I want to breathe fire and scorch him where he stands.

  “As I said, I think we can come to an agreement, Fane.”

  Silence ticks by. The wind is the only thing that moves or makes noise. Everyone else watches, saddles, pirates, soldiers. Every eye trained on the commander and captain, waiting to see what will happen.

  Above us, the night carries on, as bleak and dark as ever. It makes me wonder if it will ever ebb or if I’m doomed to be stuck in these bleak shadows forever, to go from one bad circumstance to a worse one.

  Finally, Captain Fane nods. “Alright, then. A meal is in order, I think. I always say an agreement is best made over wine and food.”

  The commander tips his head and lifts an arm. “Then lead the way, Captain, and you can tell me all about what transpired this night. I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about.”

  Captain Fane grins. “Aye. When Midas finds out that you and your king have his men and his whores, he’s going to lose his head.”

  A dark, gravelly chuckle comes from behind the dark helmet, sending chills down my arms. “I’m counting on it, Captain.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I’ve seen foxes in a henhouse before. Bursting in on the poor birds, stalking them when they were just trying to do their job and lay their eggs. The foxes taunted them, tried to make them fly. I’ve seen an entire coop get destroyed in an explosion of feathers and noise and fear.

  This dinner is a lot like that.

  The Red Raids are the foxes, taunting and groping, trying to see if they can make one of the saddles attempt to fly away in a panic.

  But this dinner doesn’t just have foxes. We have wolves too.

  Commander Rip’s twelve soldiers take up an entire bench in the dining room. They sit, squeezed together, shoulder-to-shoulder, dark and looming and entirely too big for the space. They’ve taken off their helmets to eat, but they’re quiet. Watchful. Stalking wolves amidst the rabble.

  “Not you.”

  I get stopped by the guard dog before I can go into the dining room, my hands full with two pitchers of wine.

  “What?”

  He looks to Rissa behind me and tips his head. “You. Take the pitchers in for her.”

  Rissa arches a blonde brow. “I’m already carrying this tray,” she points out.

  “Do I look like I give a shit? I said take them.”

  Rissa’s lips press together, but she flicks her eyes to me and gestures to the tray full of hard biscuits. “Stack them on.”

  I pile the biscuits on one side as best I can, and then set the pitchers on top. As soon as she has it all, her load considerably heavier, Rissa sweeps past us, heading into the dining room where the rest of the saddles are already serving, some of them pulled onto laps, enduring hands slipping up skirts.

  I stand awkwardly outside the doorway, shooting a glance at the pirate. “What am I supposed to do?”

  My guard dog leans against the outside wall and pulls out his knife, edging the blade beneath his nails to clean them. “Don’t know. Cap’n just said you weren’t allowed in there while Fourth’s men are here.”

  Realization dawns like a cold morning. “The captain doesn’t want the commander to see me.”

  The pirate just smirks, continuing to clean his disgusting nails.

  I look into the brightly lit room, the ship oddly quiet at its continuous standstill. From my vantage point, I can see Fourth’s soldiers at the bench closest to the door. Captain Fane and Commander Rip are at the front of the room, sitting at a small, two-person table where they can look out at the long benches before them, their backs facing me.

  The commander has his helmet off, but at this angle, I’m unable to see his face. I can rule out the horns, though. Instead, all I see is thick, short black hair on top of his head.

  “I’ll just go grab more stuff from the kitchens,” I mumble, turning to walk away.

  Unfortunately, my guard dog follows, so I don’t get a chance to slip away, not that I was expecting anything to be that easy.

  When I make it back to the galley, I’m barely through the door when something comes flying at my face. I duck, hearing the splat of a rag landing on the wall where my face just was.

  “Get to cleaning,” Cook barks from the other end of the room.

  I suppress a sigh before pulling off my one remaining glove and slipping it into my dress pocket. I pick up the wet rag and start scrubbing the long countertop, surreptitiously working on my ribbons all the while.

  Finally, with my back hunched over and sweat gathering at my neck, I get a knot undone. My heart races at the small but worthy victory. I chance a look over my shoulder, but the two pirates
aren’t looking at my back. Cook is too busy eating his meal alone in the corner, and my guard dog is now picking at his teeth with the same knife he cleaned his nails with.

  Head facing forward again, I continue to scrub, continue to unknot. Persistence. It just takes persistence.

  I’m almost through scouring the place when Polly comes in, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shiny. “They want more ale,” she says dully, her tone beaten flat like overworked dough.

  “What do I look like, a serving wench?” Cook barks at her. “Go fucking get it, then.”

  Polly looks at a loss, so I quickly straighten up and toss the rag down. “It’s over here,” I tell her, leading the way.

  She follows me to the pantry where I show her the tankard and the last remaining pitchers. I feel her gaze on me, the questions brimming as she glances at me from the corner of her eyes. “Can you use those things? To hurt them? To escape?” Her question is no more than a hum, secrets spoken with barely a breath, but I know what she means.

  I don’t dare look over my shoulder at the pirates to see if they’re watching us. “No. The captain knotted them. I can’t get them out yet.”

  She breathes out through her nose, a small sound of disappointment, a deflation of hope rushing out.

  “I need to bring more ale than this,” she says, voice at normal level now as she hefts the full pitchers in her arms. “Can you carry the other two?”

  I hesitate for a moment, but then nod and fill two more. Together, we carry the pitchers out, Cook glaring at us as we go, the guard dog on our heels.

  When we’re just outside the dining room, I stop. “I’m not allowed inside.”

  Polly looks over at me with a frustrated sigh. “Fine. I’ll send someone else out to grab those.”

  She takes a breath before going inside, trying to hold her head up high, trying to keep an easy smile on her face. She barely even flinches when one of them smacks her ass as she leans over to pour for him. A performance. It’s all a performance.

  The room is rowdy and loud, the pirates obviously deep into their cups, the food already eaten. I see Polly head over to Rissa, saying something in her ear in passing. Rissa glances over at me before she rushes over to grab the last two pitchers.

  “They sure do drink a lot,” I say quietly as I pass them over to her.

  “Good for us,” she murmurs with a wink. “If we can get them drunk enough, some of them might pass out. One less bastard to deal with tonight.”

  She turns away with a sultry smile plastered on her face, her act ready to appease them, ready to work the room to the best of her ability so she can come out unscathed.

  Like she told the others earlier, they’re professionals, and it shows in every smirk, every tease, every sway of their hips. Fawns forced to gratify the predators. To entice them to watch, to appreciate. Persuading them to not harm, not bite.

  I just hope it works.

  My vision of the room gets cut off when a furious face steps in front of me. Mist’s black hair hangs in limp knots around her, the bodice of her dress sagging, either from the earlier rain, or some attention she received in here. “Typical,” she says with a snort. “The favored doesn’t even have to serve like the rest of us.”

  “I’m not al—”

  “Save it,” she snaps. “Can you at least take these dirty dishes back to the galley, or are you too good to even do that much?”

  My teeth grind. “I understand your anger, I do,” I begin. “But instead of being so nasty toward me, save your energy for them,” I say, nodding toward the quiet soldiers.

  “As if you care.”

  I do, of course, but she won’t believe me no matter what I say.

  She shoves the dirty dishes into my arms before spinning around again. I take my armful to the kitchen, where I stay for the next hour in front of a bucket of cold, barely sudsy water and scrub every dish clean.

  The saddles file in one after another, bringing me more to wash until my back is aching, my hands chapped and numb. But I use my time well. I scrub out my frustration on the dishes while my ribbons keep plucking at the knots, inch by sluggish inch. I use the sash to my advantage, hiding their every move.

  Keep going. All I can do is keep going.

  When I’m finally done washing, the guard dog hoists me up by the arm. “Come on, I want to get up there to see what’s happening.”

  I wipe my wet, freezing hands on the front of my dress, feet tripping to keep up with his impatience. He’s obviously bored of being my babysitter.

  “Stay at my side and keep your mouth shut, got it?”

  With a nod, I follow beside him as we go upstairs to the main deck, where I find all of the saddles lined up in front of me.

  Soon, they’ll all be gone. They’ll leave with Fourth’s men, and I’ll be left here. I’ll be trapped, kept without any bars, but no less captive.

  I don’t know which is worse. Wolves or foxes. Merciless pirates or enemy soldiers.

  I wish Midas were here.

  The thought surges into me so violently that tears fill my eyes. I would give anything to see him right now. For him to swoop in, to rescue us, to protect me once more. Just like he saved me from those raiders all those years ago. My vagabond savior. My champion king.

  But Midas isn’t here.

  He’s not coming, because he has no idea I’m even in any trouble. And by the time he finds out, it’ll be too late. Far, far too late.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  My hands twist in front of me, as tangled as the knots at my back.

  This is a crossroads, forged on the deck of a pirate ship. I don’t know which fate is worse or which captors are more brutal.

  Better the devil you know, but what happens when the devils are always new? Always strangers creeping up unexpectedly to snatch you away?

  Short of Midas coming in to rescue me, I have no hope of escaping the pirates or the soldiers. And where would I go if I did? We’re in the middle of the frozen Barrens, miles of arctic waste all around. I could wander for days on my own, easily get lost in the white blanketed wind, or caught up in a blizzard and never find my way.

  But maybe that would be better. Maybe it would be a blessing to fall into the snowbanks and never wake up. A gentler embrace than what these men have in mind, that’s for sure.

  Despite not knowing which captor is worse, I do know that the thought of being split up from everyone I know fills me with panic. Even though the saddles don’t like me—some might even hate me—at least they’re a part of home. A reminder of safety.

  A particularly large knot at my back makes my ribbon stab with pain, but I suppress my wince and keep at it as I stand on the deck. Alone. I’m going to be here, used by the captain, completely alone. If I can just get my ribbons undone, I might have a chance. Maybe just enough to buy me some time.

  Near the middle of the ship, Captain Fane and the commander are deep in discussion, the commander once again wearing his black helmet.

  They go back and forth for a while—negotiating it seems—until at last, the captain nods. A deal is struck. Just as a previous pact was made—one made between two kings.

  Men making deals on the behalf of women never seems to go very well for the women.

  I see the commander nod over his shoulder, and one of his soldiers walks forward holding a trunk. Captain Fane opens it, eyes glinting and mouth dropping wide at the overflowing coins inside.

  He grins, his mouth curling in wicked gratification. “Well, you have yourself a deal.”

  He starts to take the trunk, except the soldier doesn’t let go. Captain Fane shoots a look at the commander. “Problem?”

  “I’ll take my purchases now.”

  The captain nods. “Of course. Quarter will accompany you to the other two ships. You’ll find Midas’s men and horses there.”

  The commander nods, and his soldier releases the trunk at last. The captain takes hold of it with a grunt, before quickly passing it off to two of his pirates to haul
off.

  “Enjoy the rest of your night, Commander. Give your king my best,” the captain says with a tip of his hat.

  “One moment, Fane.”

  The captain stops, turns. The pirates carrying the loot pause. My wringing hands waver.

  “The amount agreed upon is for all of Midas’s people,” the commander announces.

  The captain blinks, brows pulling together in a frown. He’s confused for a split second, but I know. I know it a moment before the commander’s helmet-clad head turns in my direction, cutting through the people standing in front of me, as if he were aware I was standing here all along.

  A gauntlet raises, a finger pointing at me. My heart freezes in the center of my chest. “That includes her.”

  Captain Fane gapes as understanding crashes over him like an unforgiving wave. “No,” he begins with a sharp shake of his head, his black feather wavering on the top of his hat. “She isn’t for sale. Never was, because I’m keeping her. You bought all the others.”

  Commander Rip’s hand lowers as he looks at the captain. Even from this distance, I can sense his displeasure. “I said all, Fane, and I meant it.” That rocky, jagged voice is as harsh as the Barrens’ cold. “Did you actually think I was giving you a trunk’s worth of gold just for some saddles, snow stallions, and half-dead soldiers?” A shake of his head. “No. Midas’s favored will be coming with us as well.”

  My chest goes tight, stuck, like the weight of that coin-filled trunk just slammed down on top of me. My drum-beat heart rhythm is back in full force, reverberating in my ears.

  Captain Fane’s fists clench at his sides, eyes blazing. “And if I refuse?”

  A callous, cruel chuckle comes from the commander. It’s the kind of sound you hear before being tortured by a madman. The kind of laugh from a cold-blooded villain. “You won’t like what happens if you refuse. But by all means, the choice is yours.”

  A tic appears in the captain’s jaw as he takes in the soldiers standing at attention, their stoic postures unwavering. Even though the pirates outnumber them, I have a feeling it doesn’t matter. “How did you know about her? I didn’t mention her in any of the messages I sent.”