I can hear the steady splashes through the water, and I cut another nervous glance over my shoulder, seeing the man getting closer, though it’s clear he’s not much of a swimmer.
After another moment, Mara says, “You pay for passage, but you won’t be idle, neither. You’ll scrub the floorboards every day till we get to Second Kingdom. We need a new scrubber anyway.”
My eyes widen and my lips part in surprise.
Second Kingdom.
I’ve never been to the southernmost part of Orea, but I know that the desert land is scarce on rain and it’s an ocean away. Just the thought of the sun and the distance is enough to make my heart leap.
“You’ll take me? You’re a captain?” I’ve never seen a woman captain before, and I can’t help but think that this really was divined by the goddesses. That it was meant to be that I should run now, when I could land in her little boat.
Yet that thought is solidified when she nods her head at a ship in the distance. “Aye. She’s mine.”
My gaze follows hers, only to lock onto cerulean blue sails with a billowing sun.
Hopeful tears flood into my eyes. I’m leaving. I’m actually leaving.
Hock sighs and drops hold of my arm. “I’ll take care of the fish.”
I turn just as Zakir’s man reaches the back of the boat. I flinch away as his arms come up and he tries to hoist himself inside, but Hock spins around, grabs an extra oar, and then smashes it into the man’s head.
The goon cries out, falling back into the ocean with a splash and sputter. I watch the water nervously, but...he doesn’t come back up again.
With a satisfied nod, Hock simply sits back down with the oar, while the third man pulls a pipe from his pocket and starts to smoke.
“Unless you wanna take a swim and go back, I suggest you sit your ass down, girl,” Mara says.
Instantly, I jerk down onto the floor of the boat, my movements rocking it slightly. She and Hock row, while I pant with breath that doesn’t quite seem to settle in my lungs.
The last of the sunset bleeds away into shades of gray, stealing the sun in a watercolor night. But I stare in disbelief at the dock, at Zakir’s second man standing there with his hands on his hips, watching as he gets smaller, watching as Derfort gets further away.
I have to pinch my arm to show myself that this is real. It’s taken ten years, but I’ve used the weight of a coin pouch to draw up like an anchor and let me sail away.
This time, when I turn my face into the ocean breeze, it doesn’t hold the stench of Derfort Harbor. It smells like a chance for me to start over somewhere new. A chance where I can be safe, far away from men like Zakir West and Barden East.
Because me, I’m going south.
Chapter 44
AUREN
Tufts of snow surround me.
This place looks familiar and yet, not. I look around with a frown marring my face, eyes squinting.
For as far as I can see, there’s nothing but an expanse of bright white snow blown in, resembling the sand dunes of Second Kingdom. Its curved crests slope up like raised bumps along chilled skin, though I feel no cold.
The sky above me is nearly as bright and colorless as the ground. My fingers dig into the snow, cupping a handful of it and letting it pour back out. When I glance down at my hand, my skin is gleaming, shining with light, though there is no sun to reflect it.
With my frown deepening, I try to get up from this snow that’s neither cold nor wet. Yet before I can try to push up, I hear a sound.
My head jerks to the right, and I see Digby lying on his back ten feet away from me. His face is a mess of bruises, lips so swollen I almost miss it when they move. “Guard her,” he says.
I blink with confusion. “What?” I ask, though my voice echoes, repeats, like I’ve shouted down an endless cave.
“Guard her.” His voice is solid to my hollow, matte to my gloss.
“Digby, are you ok?”
But he just says, “Guard her,” again, the same gruff order, same fierce look in his eye.
And that’s when I remember.
That was the last thing he said before he rode off in the Barrens, before the Red Raids attacked. It was the last thing he ordered Sail. To guard me.
“Dig...”
“GUARD HER!”
The shout is so unexpected that I flinch backward in the snow, though this time, instead of having no temperature at all, it’s searing hot.
A yelp escapes me as I jerk my hands off the ground, but when I glance up at Digby again, it isn’t him.
“Sail?” I choke out.
Cerulean blue eyes lock on me. As bright as a different kind of sail.
A pang resonates through my chest, leaving me to ache. I think it will always hurt, this sense of loss. I don’t think that will ever go away.
That’s the curse of the survivors. We have to live with our dead.
Lu’s earlier words repeat in my head, and I feel a tear drip from the corner of my eye. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
It’s okay, he mouths.
A second later, his brow creases, and he drops his head to look down, just as a patch of blood sews into his chest.
I try to scramble to my feet so I can go to him, to get my body to move, but the snow seems to stick me in place. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, limbs flailing over the ground that’s heavy and hot, while frustrated tears drip from my eyes when Sail begins to fade away.
“Sail!” I scream, but he just shakes his head. Mouths that, it’s okay.
Those words are a requiem that will always lament in my ears.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating this, hating that I still can’t save him, can’t save Digby. But then, a gasp tears from my throat, and my eyes shoot open again.
I blink heavy lids, realizing there is no snow, no heat, no Digby or Sail. Coming back into consciousness is like clearing smoke, trying to wave it away with my hands, but it doesn’t dissipate the haze.
I shove off the layers of blankets piled on top of me and sit upward in a bed I don’t recognize, my back slightly twinging. There’s a blazing fire burning in the hearth across from me, making me even hotter than the blankets I’m trapped in. Seconds coalesce, smoke thickening in my head.
Was I dreaming? I can’t remember now. My cheeks feel stained with tears, but I don’t know why. My head feels like it’s been stuffed with downy feathers, and there’s a throbbing between my legs, a wetness there.
I try to move, to talk, but I can’t.
Worry springs to my consciousness, and a low ache I can feel down my spine. I know there’s something important, something significant about all of this, but I’m not sure what it is.
Where am I?
Before my emotions strangle me, the haze beckons to me again, calling with a whisper of a breath. I lie down on my side, embracing the calm, humming at the delicious heat that’s clutching my body like a shroud.
I’m in and out.
Noises, voices I can’t decipher. Fuzzy images. There’s Scofield with his back to me. Another guard I don’t know. There’s a maid bringing in a tray. There’s Polly, sitting on the chair near my bed, holding a familiar little box, a stack of white petals inside.
So warm...
I press my thighs together, a throb at the apex of them that demands friction I can’t seem to give. My stomach is cramping slightly, and my breasts feel heavy, sensitive.
Every time the silk sheets shift against my skin, I feel it like a caress. My nerves are alight with the sensation. I try to drag off my gloves and tug at my nightgown so I can have the air on my bare skin, but my hands don’t work right.
Frustrated, my eyes close, and I just feel. I feel hands holding me on the railing of a stairwell. A mouth running up the side of my neck, and lips pressing against it with the barest hint of teeth. My body burns, the flames flooding my head with even more smoke.
I need more.
Something drags a
gainst my arm, and then I feel a wetness gather there too, like the trail of a tongue. I peel open my eyes and find Midas standing beside my bed. The thing touching me is a fur shawl, the wet sensation is my gold-touch leaking from my arm.
He moves the shawl away, and then there’s a dainty looking crown being pressed against my skin. Then, shells gathered along a silver chain necklace. Each thing that grazes me feels so good that I nearly moan aloud, my body hungry for touch.
Brown eyes flick up to me, and lips tilt up. “Ready for the ball, Precious?”
A ball? I envision supple dresses and honeyed wine and sweet tarts. I picture sensual music and my body being held as I dance.
I nod dazedly. Yes. A ball.
“Good. Sit up so you can dress.”
It takes effort to do as he says and push myself up, to slip my legs over the side of the bed. Meanwhile, he carries the items he held against my skin and takes them to the door, passing them to someone outside the room.
When he comes back to the bedside, he’s carrying a gown draped over his arm, white in color, looking as soft and smooth as butter.
“Put this on.”
I want to feel it against my skin, so I grip the nightgown around my waist and take it off. When I grab the new dress and pull it over my head, my skin washes it in gold, and this time, I do let out a moan. The bodice rubs against my bare breasts, peaking my sensitive nipples. The waist cinches like a lover’s hands gripping me, and the skirt strokes over my smooth thighs.
Delicious.
There’s a pause after the noise my throat rumbles out. “I’ve made you feel good, haven’t I, Precious?” Midas murmurs.
“Yes,” I breathe, basking in the feel of the creamy texture hugging my curves.
He lets out a little laugh. “These next.”
Stockings, gloves, shoes, I put them all on, one after another. When I’m finished, I close my eyes, head falling back, because every drag of fabric across my heated body feels so...sensual.
I’m vaguely aware of my hand moving, of brushing my hair, though I don’t remember when I was handed a comb.
I don’t remember standing up either, now facing Midas, comb gone. I don’t remember Polly coming into the room, but here she is. Wearing a golden dress, the sheer fabric draping off her body, held together by a clasp at her throat, just like mine. It showcases her every curve, her silhouette a carnal shadow beneath the layers. I wonder if that’s what I look like...
Midas is speaking with her, and although I can hear him, I can’t quite grasp the words.
“—at all times. No one is allowed to touch her. Give her one more before you leave. You know where to go. I’ll be expecting you.”
“Yes, my king.”
“You’ll earn a full box tonight,” he tells her, petting her head, and she practically purrs.
He strides over to me while I sway on my feet. “I’ll see you soon, Precious.”
More time must pass, because the next thing I know, I’m standing at the balcony door, staring at the gentle snow falling down. The light is waning gray, a somber sterling to soak the sky.
I’m not sure how long I watch the snow, but my feet twinge, as if I’ve been standing for a long time. A movement reflected in the glass has me turning around, finding Polly walking over to the door and opening it. She’s talking to a guard, but I don’t comprehend the words.
Instead, my attention snags onto her blond tresses piled atop her head with a strip of gold silk. Something taps against my fuzzy mind as I stare at her tied bow, at the end of the strand that dangles down the side of her neck.
For reasons lost on me, I feel my hand lift, feel myself reaching behind me.
My fingers bump against the fabric of my closed-back dress, but something seems off. Instead of layers of ribbons beneath, there’s just pain.
A frown splits between my brows, drawing a line of confusion. Something is wrong. Something is missing.
But it’s like trying to catch the seeds of a dandelion in the wind. Every time I get closer to the blowing puff, it twirls just out of my reach.
I blink, and Polly is suddenly in front of me. Her cheeks are dusted with rouge that matches the red bloodshot of her lined eyes, while the gray daylight casts a gloom against her beauty. “Time to go to the ball,” she says, motioning me forward.
The frown doesn’t leave my face, but I take a step forward, and before I know it, I’m following her out and gliding down the hall.
Blinks and steps.
Steps and blinks.
Something is wrong.
Something is missing.
I stumble on the stairs, my gloved hand gripping the railing to catch myself. Polly whirls, though she doesn’t look at me. “Don’t touch her,” she hisses—at the guards I think, though I’m too dazed to look.
“Something’s wrong,” I mumble, and for a second, memory zings.
Have I said that before?
Polly glances back at me and scoffs with contempt. “You don’t deserve dew. It’s wasted on you.”
Dew?
When she turns to walk again, I’m distracted by that dangling ribbon once more as it sways from her hair.
Ribbon...
A hand plucks a stem. A mouth blows dandelion seeds.
“Up here, miss.”
Polly gathers her skirts in her hands, and then we’re walking up again, on a different set of stairs this time. Passing through the narrow door, I immediately squint at the barrage I’m hit with.
Music amidst a backdrop of hundreds of voices. The warmth of bodies, of candlelight dripping from the icicle chandeliers gilt with gold. I step forward, realizing that I’m standing atop the mezzanine of the ballroom, the small indoor balcony overlooking the space below.
“You’re supposed to sit in this chair over here and wait,” Polly tells me, but her voice goes in one ear and out the other. My senses are caught up in the sway of bodies dancing below, the instruments thickening the air with its melody, perfumes lilting alongside. Yet I’m searching, looking through the crowd before I even can grasp who I’m looking for.
When my search is fruitless, my attention snags at the long drapes of golden tapestry hanging from behind the dais where four throne-like chairs have been brought in.
I stare at the huge strips of fabric, remembering...remembering...
My fist closes at my side, clutching a clump of those slippery dandelion memories.
This time when my hand goes behind me, my fingers feel along my spine.
Something’s wrong.
Something’s missing.
My fingers touch, pain sprouts, and I’m suddenly flooded with the vision of a sword as it arced down, my spine arcing with it.
A tiny breath flows. “My ribbons...”
“What?” Polly questions.
I slap a palm over my mouth as a confused cry wrests out of me, and I whirl around, dizziness coming over me like an undulating wave.
“What’s wrong with you?” Polly asks, her nose wrinkling as she sees me curl over into myself, body trembling as I remember.
I remember.
The vicious cleave of a sword. Petals forced in my mouth. A hacked strip floating to the floor.
My ribbons…
Agony fills my heart that far surpasses what I feel physically. The drug must be numbing some of the pain, because all I feel is a steady throb that follows the curve of my empty back. It’s like having missing limbs, trying to wriggle fingers you no longer have. My muscles bunch and strain, trying to move what’s no longer there.
Gone.
gone gone gone gone...
My breaths are coming in quick now—too quick. I’m gulping in heaves of air that don’t reach my lungs, suffocating in my own inhales. Awful heat drenches me, holding me under as my stomach cramps, my sex throbbing.
Oh goddess...I’m so high.
My mind scrambles, trying to remember my timeline and how long I must’ve been gone
since I gold-touched things in the ballroom. But I can’t grasp it. Not with the way my mind floats. Not when I keep fixating on the way my dress feels against my skin, like a sun-warmed petal dragged across my legs.
“Just relax. The king will be coming up here to do his demonstration soon,” Polly snaps at me, drawing my attention. “Why he wants you up here, I’ll never know.”
“I need to go. I need to go.” The panicked words are a rasp, but Polly narrows her blue eyes.
“You can’t go yet. He specifically wants you up here.” She reaches into her cleavage and pulls out a tiny pouch. Dipping her fingers inside, she plucks two petals from it, and proceeds to plop one of them into her mouth. Then she holds the other out for me to take. “Here. It’ll make you feel good.”
Feel good... My body purrs with decadent promise, but I shake my head, trying to shoo away the haze that threatens to settle around me. “No.”
Polly’s lips purse. “Listen, you gilt cunt, the king wants you to stay put and be calm. I’m not going to lose out on my reward because you’re having a freak out. So you will eat this, and you’ll be grateful for it!” she hisses.
An angry flutter rustles in my gut, though my mind roils. “No.”
Her eyes harden as sharp as glass. “Fine, then I’ll make you.”
She moves to shove it toward my mouth, but my gloved hand shoots out, albeit clumsily, and I manage to grab the petal and smash it between our fingers. Her eyes go wild with manic anger as I ruin it, letting the crushed pieces fall to the ground.
“You bitch!” The blaring music drowns out Polly’s furious yell, but I hear nothing else except the hate pouring off her tone.
My vision fills with prisms of light as it spins. The dew coursing through me is strong, muddling me, making me forget, filling me with a wave of heat again that makes me groan. I just need to lie down. I need to rest. I need...
Curses are spewing from Polly’s painted lips while she kneels on the floor, trying to collect the little bits of ruined petal. But I barely hear her. My entire body is throbbing, needy, at war with my consciousness trying to fight past it. Goddess, I’m so hot.
Why am I so hot? Why am I so dizzy, why is Polly yelling, why is my back hurting, why...
Gleam (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 3) Page 45