Gleam (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 3)

by Raven Kennedy

  A sad laugh creases the tears into my cheeks. “I remember.”

  We fall into silence for a moment, but there’s so much I want to say to him, so much undone in the threads of this raw moment. But I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance like this, which is why I clear my throat and say, “You were the closest thing I had to a father,” I admit, my voice small, eyes cast down as I twirl the ribbon around my finger. “I knew I drove you nuts sometimes, but you always made me feel safe. And I never thanked you enough.”

  He makes a noise, like a shaken breath past a graveled throat. “It was always my pleasure to serve you, my lady.” Then, in quiet gruffness, he adds, “Any father would be damn lucky to have you for a daughter.”

  A vapor of melancholy condenses in the air between us. Every breath I take in saturates my soul with its drizzling grief.

  After a while, I let the ribbon drop from my fingers, let it land on the floor.

  “Look at us now, Dig,” I say, trying to smile up at him, though my face pulls into a grimace instead. “I bet you wish you would’ve played that drinking game with me.”

  A short, rasped chuckle escapes him. “Aye, my lady,” he breathes out with a sigh. “Aye.”

  My lids droop, shivers covering my skin.

  If I can rest for a bit, then hopefully I won’t be too drained once dawn comes, and I can fight back. I just need the sun. Once it rises, I will gold-touch every guard in my path if I have to in order to get Digby out of here.

  Slade will be worrying. I was supposed to meet him in the library, so he’ll know something’s wrong since I didn’t show up. I just need to rest, to bide my time and pray for the day to come.

  After a few quiet minutes tick by, the heaviness of my body drags me into an in-between place where pain doesn’t exist. I drift, like a boat without an anchor, lost in a shallow sea.

  Yet I’m washed right back up to the rocky shore again, jerking against a collision of awareness when a noise clanks in the hall.

  The door suddenly swings open, making me jerk upright, sending my back into snaps of torment again.

  I barely have time to react before four guards rush in and grab me. Two of them hoist me up by my arms, another one blocks my feet when I try to kick out, and the last one is Scofield, who steps up and blocks my view of Digby.

  I can hear Digby cursing and some kind of scuffle ensuing, but my eyes widen when Scofield holds up familiar white petals, freckled with blood-red dewdrops.

  “No!” Through panic and frenzy, I struggle to fight off the guards, but the moment one of them grazes against my back, I cry out in agony, the fight pouring out from the wounds.

  “Is that too much?” one of the other guards questions.

  “King Midas’s orders,” Scofield replies, a look of guilt flashing past his eyes for a moment, though it does nothing to placate the hate I feel for him. “Just hold still, my lady,” he pleads, as if he wants me to make this easier for him.

  “Fuck you!” I heave, vision bursting with circles of black that threaten to stain my consciousness.

  “Don’t hurt her!” Digby shouts before hissing in a breath.

  A snarl rips from my throat when Scofield moves just enough for me to see ginger-headed Lowe holding Digby down.

  “Open, my lady.”

  My gaze is ripped away from Digby as Scofield shoves the petals toward my mouth, but I snap at him, teeth as vicious as a timberwing, hard and quick enough that I draw blood.

  He curses and flinches his hand back, looking at me with a flash of anger. Using his other hand, he grips my cheeks and then squeezes hard on my jaw, forcing my lips to part. Before I can so much as curse him, he shoves three petals inside my mouth, clamps my jaw shut, and then covers both of his hands over my mouth and nose.

  I feel the saccharine liquid coating my tongue, feel the petals dissolving in my mouth. I try to spit, but Scofield presses my lips hard against my teeth, not letting me open. The inside of my lip slices open as I struggle, but I can’t breathe with his hand clamped over my face.

  My body panics at the lack of air, and then it betrays me by swallowing. The second I do, horror fills my eyes.

  Too much. They gave me too damn much.

  Scofield lets go, and I cough out huge gasps of torn breath that rip right from the center of my chest. “Get your fucking hands off her!” Digby growls.

  “It’s okay, Dig,” I gulp, because I can’t let him take another beating. I need him to live. Need him to let me go without a fight that will only leave him even worse for wear.

  “It’s not fucking okay!”

  The drug hits me instantly, like being pushed into a lake, the slap of the surface jolting me from head to toe. My mind folds in, the pages of a book creased right down the center, jumbling my thoughts, crimping my words.

  I can’t even think straight. I’m just full body spasms, a shredded tongue, a bowed spine, a spinning stomach. And heat. Unbearable heat connected to my core that makes me throb right at the center.

  No...

  My burning eyes lift to Digby one last time before I’m dragged out of the room. My chin slumps against my chest, body succumbing to unnatural warmth. I fade into unconsciousness, hearing Digby’s last shout and the door slamming shut.

  But in my head, I’m whispering, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

  Chapter 43

  AUREN

  Ten Years Ago

  I’ve started sitting beneath the dock of the harbor.

  It spans at least a hundred feet, its worn wood roped by boats that bob alongside its straight-laced reach. It’s been built right into the sloped shore, so the start of it has an angle of sand right at its base, the perfect size for someone to hide.

  So I do.

  Inside deep divots of beach sand, I sit with my knees bent in front of me while ocean waves curl and flatten. I lean against the post, watching the ships in the distance. The one with the yellow sun in the middle of bright cerulean sails is practically gleaming, like it’s beckoning to me.

  But I stay here in my hidden spot, anchored to Derfort, slumming in the shadows on stolen time. Every breath I take in is the brined air of a sea breeze, tainted with the scent of bogged-down ships and netted fish. And man. I can smell the man I was with like he’s saturated my pores, stained every place he touched.

  Repressing a shudder that has nothing to do with the cool air, I yank my eyes away from the ship. I can’t recall how many times I’ve come here over the past several weeks, looking out longingly toward the sea.

  It’s always in the late afternoon that I come, when I’ve finished with my customer at The Solitude. I return to Zakir’s under escort and then slip right back out again by sneaking out a window and climbing the rain gutter to the roof.

  I’ve become surprisingly nimble at jumping the waterlogged shingles before climbing down three buildings over where I then slip into the alleyway and head to the beach.

  The rampant rainstorms always help me to sneak out here without too much attention. When rain falls, most people look down, face shielded from the onslaught, so they don’t notice the golden girl beneath her ratty hood hurrying by, because everyone else is doing the same.

  Right now though, there’s only a slight drizzle, and the noise of the drops hitting the wooden boards above me is almost soothing.

  I let my hands dip into the soft beach sand, watching it fall between the cracks of my fingers as I pile it up again. Here beneath the dock, it’s cool to the touch, little sprinkles of iron peppered in the grains.

  I’ve gotten lucky in this spot, with no one bothering me except for the old beggar woman who sometimes sleeps here, curled around the beam beneath layers of raggedy clothes. But right now, I have the small wedge to myself, mostly hidden by the curve of the hill at my back, while the sounds of the port roar as steadily as the crash of the waves.

  At this time of day, the dock is far less busy. The fishermen have all come back in with
the tide, the docked ships have lowered their gangways, and the sailors are already in the heart of Derfort Harbor to eat, drink, sleep on a bed that doesn’t rock with the waves, or find a saddle to ride.

  I’ve stayed too long today.

  The sun is kissing the sea, the clouds in front of the horizon singed around their billowed edges, burning bright orange and pink. Such a pretty sunset in Derfort Harbor is rare.

  So here I sit, soaking in the sight, hoping it can heal my weary spirit.

  It doesn’t.

  I clump the soft sand in my palm again, watching the grains pour down while I ignore the shouts from the people and the caws of the gulls. My mind isn’t on them. It’s on the small pouch lying heavy against my thigh where it’s been sewn beneath my skirt.

  Hidden there, tied with twine to ensure it doesn’t jingle, lies tips from pleased customers—thirty coins to be exact.

  Even there, in a hidden pocket, they feel dirty.

  But every time I add another coin to it, I feel the weight of its added presence like a watchful stare. Like it’s waiting. For Zakir to find it or for someone on these rabid streets to steal it or...

  Or.

  It’s that or that keeps me up at night.

  It’s that or that drags my feet to sit beneath this dock and watch the bobbing ships as they draw anchor and set sail toward the sunset.

  Somewhere behind me, there are bodies hanging, fleshly flags of warning to thieves and murderers and stowaways.

  But still, I consider that or.

  Shouts from above draw my eye, and I see the shadows of heavy boots passing over the cracks of the boards, hear the thumps of steps as they walk down the dock.

  I envy those people. They get to hop on a boat and leave this place. “Got it all?” a gruff voice asks.

  “Yeh,” someone else replies, an accent thick on his tongue.

  “Good, I wanna get the fuck out of this place.”

  “Captain’s on the way.”

  I take that as my own cue to get up, since I need to get back before the others start trickling in and return to Zakir’s from their daily duties. If I’m gone, they’ll rat me out in an instant and be rewarded generously for it.

  With my hood drawn up, I crawl out from my wedge and slog through the deep sand, stepping on bits of broken shells and dried seaweed.

  I crest the slope and head for the sand-drenched boardwalk that’s attached to the dock. It leads to the cobbled street just beyond, the start of the market dividing beach from buildings.

  The last of the merchants and workers who stay out on the dock all day to sell wares or shine shoes or braid nets are leaving too. They walk along with slumped backs and chapped fingers, some rolling their carts behind them, causing constant thumps of uneven wheels over the rickety planks.

  I stay to the edge, making sure to give them plenty of room to go around me, while avoiding the eyes of the sailors heading back to the boats. Walking with my head down while being aware of everything around me is a necessary skill I’ve learned.

  Which is why it’s so jarring when someone suddenly shoves into me from behind, nearly making me topple over. I jolt to a stop, an apology already stuttering past my lips. I’ve learned the hard way to always apologize, whether it’s your fault or not. People have been stabbed here for less.

  “I’m sorry—”

  A smooth voice cuts me off. “The painted girl of Derfort Harbor.”

  My head wrenches up, and I look up at an unfamiliar face. Tawny skin, long black hair secured at the nape of his neck, a smooth face with plump cheeks. I’d think the man was friendly if it weren’t for the pin secured to his loose blue tunic. A pin of a sundial pointing due East.

  He grins, showing a few missing teeth. “Hello, pet. Barden wants you to come see him so you two can talk,” the man says, and despite the smoothness of his voice, his words scrape down my spine.

  I don’t care what he says. Barden East does not want to talk.

  He wants me in his employ. To take me from Zakir and work me for himself. Barden doesn’t appreciate the customers I’ve been pulling in. I’m competition.

  My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth as the man moves like he’s going to grab my arm, only to stop when he looks over my shoulder. I follow his gaze with a hasty glance, finding two of Zakir’s goons cutting their way toward me from the street.

  Oh no.

  Barden’s man curses under his breath and then pins me with a look. “Come find him, girl. Trust me, you don’t want him to come find you.” With those parting words, he turns and walks away.

  I’m frozen in place, my eyes flying back and forth between the man’s retreating form as he heads back to East’s territory, and Zakir’s goons as they stalk toward me.

  The hair on the back of my neck lifts, and my heart pounds. The pouch of coins beneath my skirt weighs my choices.

  How long? How long can I keep living like this, sold for a coin day after day? It’s just a matter of time before Barden snatches me up, either with a deal struck by Zakir...or something more sinister.

  Zakir certainly won’t believe me that I had nothing to do with being approached by Barden’s man. I’ll be punished, since he’s grown increasingly paranoid about losing me.

  But does it really matter who owns me? Am I really any better off than those bodies swaying on their ropes?

  It feels like I stand stuck at a mental crossroads for hours, when really, it’s just a second.

  I’m afraid. Dreadfully so. My heart is pounding a drumbeat against my muscles, pumped blood shoving at me to move. To try.

  Shove down weakness and strength will rise.

  The innkeeper’s voice rises up in me, but this time, I hear it in my own voice, feel it in the pinching of my back.

  I could let Zakir West’s men take me. I could give in to Barden East.

  East and West.

  Two directions, both of which will leave me to drift in hopelessness.

  Or...

  My head turns, gaze latching onto the people walking along the dock, at the boats floating on the water. At the sun on the cerulean sail shining against the sky like my own personal lodestar.

  And right now, in this moment, I seize it like it’s a sign from the goddesses.

  So I turn around and run.

  I run like I’ve never run in my entire life. My feet pound against the boardwalk, skirt whipping around my legs, hair flying back with my hood.

  I can hear shouts, but it just makes me go faster, my steps avoiding the merchants and sailors that I pass, darting around them when I leap onto the dock.

  My too-tight boots punish my toes as my feet pound against the timeworn wood, my lungs burning from the demand of my sprint, but I don’t stop.

  Not even when my foot catches on a rolling cart, nearly sending it and me toppling over. Not even when the merchant curses me while several others turn to look. I just keep going, eyes set on the closest boat on the dock and its rope being untwined from the post.

  I can make it...I have to make it.

  Please let me make it.

  The trip up with the cart lost me precious seconds—precious distance—so I don’t dare chance a look over my shoulder. I can’t afford to look. Every second, every step, counts.

  “Stop!” one of Zakir’s men shouts.

  But I won’t stop, not now, when I’ve finally decided to try.

  One more pounded step along the dock, and then, I jump.

  I jump right for the little boat already starting to row away, for the small open space right at the back of it.

  For a moment, both time and my body seem to suspend.

  And then I hit feet-first in a landing that shoots pain up both legs. I nearly topple overboard, capsizing the boat with me, but surprised shouts ring out, and the people I’ve unceremoniously joined manage to hold it steady before it can tip.

  A man with a weather-worn face and sunspots along his cheeks snarls a
t me as he grabs my arm. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, girl?”

  “Just throw her over, Hock!” another man in the boat says.

  “No! Please!”

  Hock ignores me, of course, and starts to yank my arm, but he pauses when a voice says, “Stop.”

  The man and I freeze, both turning to look at the woman sitting at the front of the boat, a pair of oars clasped in her hands. She’s tall, and has chin-length brown hair shorn crooked, and a hard face in blotches of pink and peel.

  “Why are you all gold?” she questions boldly.

  “Oh, um.” I fumble for a moment before saying, “Some of the saddles here paint themselves. Drives up customers.”

  She lets out a scoff but continues to row, as if she’s not even bothered that a painted girl just practically leapt in her lap.

  Shouts from the dock have me whipping my head back to see Zakir’s men skid to a stop, their arms waving as they shout for the boat to turn around and return me. My stomach roils at the look on their faces, and one of them starts to rip off his shirt, like he’s going to dive in and get me.

  “You trying to escape, gold girl?” the woman asks, drawing my attention back to her.

  Her brown eyes are without warmth, but they don’t hold cruelty either. She looks like the sort of person who shoots straight.

  “Yes, but I can pay,” I answer quickly. “Please. Just take me to your ship, and I’ll ask your captain for passage. I’m not a stowaway. I have coin for the trip.”

  Her shoulders roll, heaving the oars back, continuing to row us along. A splash behind me sends my heart racing, and I know that one of Zakir’s goons is swimming toward me.

  “Mara...” the other man in the boat cautions.

  “Quiet,” she barks, still looking at me with a tilt of her head. “How much you got?”

  I swallow hard, darting a look at all three of them. “Enough.”

  I know better than to tell them how much or to reach for my coin pouch in front of anyone.

  A smirk creases her face. “Not stupid, then. That’s good.”