I tilt my head in thought, because...this could actually work in my favor. “On one condition. I want to see Digby.”
A hush cascades between us like silent falls, placid water to hold us in the plunge.
“Okay.”
I jerk back in surprise. Even my ribbons twitch around my waist. “You mean it?”
“I’ll take you to see him tonight. You’ll have earned it.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to demand that I see Digby first, but I know Midas. If I push him, he’s more likely to scrap the whole thing. Which is why I nod and say, “Alright.”
One more day of letting him use me for my power. One more, and then I’ll know where Digby is—finally confirm that Midas has him. Then I can save my guard and leave this place forever.
Midas smiles, pure charm dripping from his features. I wonder if he charms himself too. “Excellent. Let’s get to work, and when you finish, you can see your guard.”
Midas’s “finishing touches” turn out to be more like relentless gropes. With bare feet and slicked hands, I turn whatever he asks me to, blocking out everything else, my mind’s eye tunneled into one goal: get this done so that I can see Digby.
I become so focused that the hours of the day are no longer made up of minutes. They’re made up of drips of gold. Precious metal replaces the grains of sand in an hourglass, each drop I create another second to spend.
So I spend.
And I spend.
And I spend.
Clothing and plates, walls and coins. Tapestries and bannisters, ice sculptures and sconces.
It’s not the morning that passes, but me as I move through each room, touch every item. It’s not the afternoon that lengthens, it’s the stretch of my magic through Ranhold, creating more wealth in Midas’s name.
He keeps me busy through it all, one thing after another, my power pervading every item until it gleams. But I do it all gladly, tirelessly, not once complaining even as the day drags on and my gold-touch clogs up.
Because I’m not going to do a single thing to risk seeing Digby tonight. I will let Midas steer my reins one last time, and then I will take a page out of Slade’s book and rot them to proverbial dust.
One thing. He has one last thing dangling over my head, and I’m about to take it back from him.
I’m in the ballroom when the familiar tingle across my skin occurs. With heavy-lidded eyes, I glance over at the window, though I don’t need to see the sky to know that the sun has set.
Finally.
I set down the empty pitcher I’m holding, as the last of my power dries up. The weakened magic swirls around the pewter base, only making it halfway before it solidifies and stops mid-gild. I let go of it, turning my palms up to look at the damage. They’re coated in sticky gold, clumps like curdled milk drying on my skin.
“You’ve done so well, Precious,” Midas praises.
He stuck to my side the entire day, which is different from his usual “watch from afar” habit. Maybe he was being more careful in the ballroom in particular, since a random servant tried to come in once. Or perhaps he simply wanted to be more involved. For whatever reason, I was able to keep my head down and just go through the motions, so I didn’t let him get to me.
Despite the long day, Midas’s clothes still look impeccable. His neat hair is nearly as gilded as the floor, handsome face lacking any stubble, still looking as fresh as this morning.
On the other hand, I probably look a wreck, because I feel like one. My weakened corset has broken in two more places, and my braided hair has loosened, frayed ends poking out every which way. My brow has a sheen of sweat gathered, my feet and hands are throbbing from how much magic poured through them, and my dress has splatters of viscid gold all over it.
“Look at everything you’ve accomplished,” Midas says as he glances around the room. Rather than critical, his expression is almost...awed.
I let my own eyes wander, noting every bit I’ve adorned, including the pillars and beams and floor, since I have to be careful to keep the integrity of the castle. I don’t want it to come crashing down from all the weight like the pillow did to Slade’s bed.
But to me, it’s just a color. I don’t look at it and see wealth, because what freedoms has it ever bought me? Every time I gold-touch something, I just keep paying a price that grows steeper and steeper. Gold is just a four-letter word for greed.
“A single touch, and you can do all this,” Midas goes on, glancing down at the buffet in front of us, now laden with golden tableware. He picks up one of the plates, so shiny that it reflects his image. His thumb brushes over it like one would caress a lover. “Gold is the epitome of wealth and power. It’s the one constant in this world that will always ensure I can get whatever I want. That people will bow down at my feet. With such unattainable riches as this, I can always have the upper hand.” He speaks with reverence, the pious worshipping at his altar, and I’m the tithe.
Midas turns to look at me after he sets the plate back down. “Your magic truly is remarkable, Auren. You are exceptional.”
Feeling uncomfortable with his praise, I look away and wipe my hands on the front of my dress. “I’d like to see Digby now.”
“Of course,” he says without missing a beat. “I gave you my word.”
Thank the Divine.
The squeak of a hinge echoes through the huge room, and I turn to see the servant’s door at the back of the ballroom open and a maid bustle in.
“Ah, right on time.”
The woman comes over and sets down a tray on the table beside us before she curtsies and departs.
“I wanted to ensure you had some refreshments at dusk,” he tells me. “I knew you’d be exhausted again, and I wanted to provide for you.” With a flourish, he removes the lid on the tray, revealing the food and wine beneath. “Sit down, Precious. Eat and drink, and then I’ll take you to your guard.”
As annoyed as I am with having to wait even longer, I am starved. And he’s right, I do feel exhausted again, nearly as drained as I was the night that Slade found me on the staircase and carried me to my room. I can’t be collapsing on the floor with the present company, especially not right now when I need to be alert for Digby.
I sit down on the low bench in front of the table and start to eat while Midas pours me a goblet of wine. I quickly devour the cold cuts and cheese, my empty stomach growling in satisfaction while Midas putters with the items on the table like he’s cataloguing their combined worth.
Between bites of food, I gulp down the wine too, though it’s nearly as thick and sweet as syrup. In the back of my head, on the back of my tongue, I’m wishing for a different drink. Because this room-temperature, perfectly aged and sweetened wine is okay, but it doesn’t hold a candle to a certain ice-cold, corked, bottom-of-the-barrel wine from Fourth’s army. Now that was good.
Then again, maybe it was just the company.
Still, I down it all and then finish off a sugared tart too, knowing that my body needs whatever energy I can give it. My body is aching from my power depletion, and the call for sleep comes in the form of a sting against my eyes, but I shove it away and shore myself up.
Feeling anxious, I get to my feet, wiping some crumb remnants off my dress. “I’m finished.”
“You sure you had enough?” Midas asks, gaze running over the tray and all the pieces of food I’ve left behind. Except for the wine. I polished that sucker right off.
“I’m sure,” I say with a definitive nod, edginess taking over. “I just want to see Digby.”
Shoulders stiff, ribbons coiled, I wait to see if he tries to put me off again, if he’s going to try to go back on his word, but Midas nods and says, “Then I’ll take you to him now.”
My defensive posture loosens with a breath.
I’m coming, Digby.
Chapter 41
AUREN
I follow a step behind Midas as he leads the way out of the ballroom
and into the great hall. His guards are waiting for him, and they peel away from the wall when they see us coming, falling in behind with matching strides.
I’m a pulped mesh of exhaustion, yet corners of anxious anticipation sharpen my edges. Even with the food I’ve eaten, I can feel my body weakening with every step until I have to look down at my feet to keep them moving.
Midas takes me out of the great hall, down a corridor and to a set of stairs. I try to memorize the path so that I can relay it to Lu later in case she hasn’t found the way yet, but it’s a struggle to pay attention because of how drained I feel.
I squeeze my stinging eyes shut and then miss a step from my lack of concentration. Luckily, my ribbons help catch my fall.
“Careful, Precious,” Midas murmurs.
I take my time down the steps, gripping the railing in a tight hold. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I blow out a breath of relief.
I’m tired. So tired.
A brisk cold in the air makes me shiver, and I take a second to look around, though aside from the shadowed lighting, the space is unremarkable. Just plain and gray, like a servant’s passageway.
Midas keeps walking down the corridor, and I swipe my hand over my forehead to get rid of the sweat gathered against my hairline. “Are we close?” Even my voice sounds weary.
“Yes, we’re here,” Midas tells me, and I jerk my head up to look as he comes to a stop in front of a plain wooden door.
He nods to one of the guards, and the man steps forward with a key, shoving it into the lock. My heart is pounding in my head, in my temples, in my veins.
I feel so sick with worry. Or maybe I’m just plain sick. Too much power use has left me to feel like every drop of gold my skin created was me slowly bleeding out.
I try to push past the feeling, but it just keeps getting worse, my limbs tingling, my vision bending.
When the door swings open, Midas looks at me with a smile and then strides inside, while I gulp in a breath and tell myself to get my shit together. Stumbling forward, I pass through the threshold, because I don’t care how sick I feel, nothing is going to keep me from seeing Digby. Not even myself.
As soon as I’m inside, the guards close the door behind me to leave us in privacy.
I take two steps before coming to an abrupt stop.
My mouth opens in a soundless pant, eyes sweeping over the dimly lit room of plain gray floors and walls, a crescent window too high to reach, a cot on the floor.
I blink, trying to register what I’m seeing, though it’s difficult past the haze that’s descended in my mind.
“Digby?”
The steps I take forward are like slogging through deep sand, each lift of my feet a weighted struggle. My vision has gone tunneled, drops of black ink staining around the edges.
When I reach the bedside and look down, my stomach slants like the steep pitch of a roof, meant to make everything slip off before it can settle. My legs and face both crumple, and the only reason I stay upright is because I manage to catch myself on the wall, palm abraded against the stone as I stare down in horror.
The man lying on the bed is unrecognizable.
It’s not skin I’m looking at, it’s a map of mottled bruises showing where each injury travelled, the passages that took them from black and blues to yellows and greens. Swollen cheeks, split lip, fingernails gone black, and gray hair darkened by grime and plastered against his forehead.
My hand slaps over my mouth like I want to stifle the agony that courses through me, but I could never cover that up.
Because Digby is broken.
This is not the man I remember. This isn’t my strong, gruff, stoic guard. The person lying on this cot is a mess of injuries and pain, skin too many colors to count. If it weren’t for the wheezing from his lungs, I would think he was dead.
My wet eyes begin to drip, tears scalding my cheeks as my world tilts. My hands hesitate over him, hovering over his tattered and filthy uniform, the golden fabric tarnished and torn. I’m too afraid to touch him in case it causes more pain, so I reach out with one ribbon to gently brush against his arm.
“Why is he like this?” I ask, my voice coming out in a hoarse whisper, though it thunders in my chest. When I don’t get an answer, I round on Midas, but spinning that fast makes my dizziness worse. “What did you do?” I’m able to shout it out this time, the thunder audible as it rents through the air.
Midas leans against the wall with his hands in his pants pockets, looking back at me with a dispassionate gaze. “Me?” he asks, and then he starts to slowly shake his head. “Oh, I didn’t do this, Auren. You did. Whenever you broke a rule. Every time you tried to pull away from me, you did this. I warned you.”
My mouth drops open, but he pushes off the wall and strides over to me, stopping just an inch away. I lift my chin and glare at him, though the outline of his face has starbursts of fractured light around it, prisms of refracting colors that wobble every time I blink.
“You think I don’t know about you sneaking out of your room? You think I don’t know about your visit to Mist last night?” he demands, something lurid and callous in his voice. “That was very stupid of you.”
Nausea roils in my stomach, beads of strain brining against my brow.
“She sent word to me the moment you left her rooms,” he informs me before his hands clamp around my arms, the grip digging in with a painful pinch. “She’s loyal. Which is what you should’ve been.”
“I was!”
And look where that got me.
Midas shakes his head in disgust. “You’re lucky you’re indispensable to me, Auren,” he says, tone warped with a warning that bows between us.
Wrenching out of his hold, I stumble back, my shoulder hitting the wall. My body is suddenly burning hot, my vision murky, bogged down by a fog that isn’t there.
“What are you going to do to Mist?” I demand. “Are you going to let your new betrothed kill her?” My voice echoes, bounces off the walls—or is that just happening in my ears?
He narrows his eyes. “All you need to focus on now is how your actions have affected this man.”
With acid crawling up my throat, I look back at Digby, my vision swaying. Like walking across a capsizing ship, I try to get to him. I unravel my ribbons so I can drag him out of here, but I trip over them, knees landing on the hard ground as I cry out from the impact. Bursts of color explode in my vision, my limbs zinging with electric pulses.
On my knees, I lean toward my guard, my hands coming up to gently shake his shoulder. “Digby, can you hear me?”
Nothing.
I shake him a little more, but I’m so terrified of hurting him more than he already is. “Digby, wake up!” Panic comes in the lash of my voice and the crack of my jaw.
A horribly hot wave washes over me, making me feel strange, growing worse when the dizziness strikes me again.
And that’s when I realize...
“Something’s wrong.”
Palpitations thrum erratically against my ribs like an off-tempo beat. I can taste the flaring light that’s prisming my vision, and my body keeps flushing with this uncomfortable heat. This isn’t just me feeling power-drained. This isn’t just shock from seeing the state of Digby.
Something is very, very wrong.
Midas comes around to stand in front of me, his shadow oppressive. “I’m sure you’re feeling strange, but you’ll get used to it.”
“What do you mean?” Slurred words, heavy lids. “What did you do?”
“It’s just the effect of the dew. You must be reacting poorly since it’s your first time, especially since you’re depleted. I made sure you had quite a high dose.”
Horror crashes over me.
A gasp tears from my lips, ragged fear leaking out.
I’m choppy and uneven, snatched up in the blades of a water mill, yanked from the depths just to be flipped over and dropped back down again.
I struggle to get to my feet, using the edge of Digby’s cot to pull myself up. “You...you drugged me?”
I start to gag, like my mind is trying to jumpstart my body into dispelling the dew he slipped into me, but I know it’s far too late for that. I feel it everywhere, from my tingling toes to my sparkling vision.
“I’ve tried everything to get through to you. It’s partly my fault for being too busy to deal with you sooner, but now I’ll have things well in hand.”
“You fucking bastard!” I lob back, pure fury straightening me up, the ends of my ribbons wobbling as they try to help me stay upright.
Midas comes nearer and places an unyielding grip on my quaking chin. “Just breathe through it, Precious. Stop fighting it. The dew will make you feel good if you just relax.”
Make me feel good.
Flashbacks of visiting the saddle wing for the first time come rushing forward. I remember the bloodshot eyes and giggles. The languid bodies and carnal craving.
Oh goddess...
My eyes squeeze shut, prickles of tears crushed in the corners, left to leave me sodden and stuck. That horrible heat flushes across my skin again, and I groan, not in pleasure, but immeasurable dismay, because this can’t be happening. I can’t let this horrible drug make me feel lust toward him.
I would rather die.
“Shh, it’s okay, Precious. I’ll take care of you. With the dew, you’ll be so much more relaxed from now on.” Hands move, squeezing my tense shoulders, bunching the knotted muscle with his unwanted touch.
“No...”
He ignores me, stroking the curve of my arms, petting up and down, down and up. My body is in a riot, flooded with too much dew, magically drained and exhausted, adrenaline spiked with shock. It’s all too much, my senses a chaos of crisscrossed directions that leave me with nowhere to go.
Midas pulls me to him, hitting me with his scent that always carries a hint of metallic sharpness. The dew wants me to give in to him. I can feel its lecherous claws digging in, and he’s counting on me to fall under the weight of its inebriated delirium.
Gleam (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 3) Page 42