I suppose it’s not unusual, after being kept mostly isolated for so many years. For the most part, I still crave interaction with people, despite my unfortunate history. But sometimes, being around so many without the protection of my cage lights me up with sparking nerves. You can’t trust people.
Especially a crowd of them. And this crowd? They’re supposed to be the evilest, the deadliest.
But the more I watch them, the more I realize that they simply don’t fit that narrative. They aren’t a bloodthirsty group with rotted hearts and corrupted morals. They’re just people. They’re an enemy army, yes, but they aren’t monstrous. Not that I’ve seen, at least.
And Rip…
I close my eyes, hugging my knees against my chest. I wish I could say that I do it to keep myself warm, but the real reason is that I’m clutching onto me, trying to keep myself together.
The moment Commander Rip stepped onto that pirate ship and into my life, my world tilted on its axis. Every time we interact, that axis dips just a little bit more.
Rip is smart. These little talks between us are meant to throw me off. He’s manipulating me, trying to turn me against Midas.
I know what he’s doing, and yet, I can’t stop the doubt he’s casting. Like shadows over the ground, it will spread and grow unless I block it out.
Right now, I’m jumbled. Torn. A mess of thoughts and emotions, of doubts and complications. This is probably exactly what Rip wants, and I’m playing right into his hands by letting my mind spin in agonizing circles.
I sit for a few minutes more, just until I can finally inhale without my breath shaking. Just until I can give myself a pep talk to remind myself to stay on guard and not let my walls drop.
Above me, the snow begins to fall harder, the flakes as thick as fingernails scratching across a starless sky.
Casting one more look across the gathered soldiers, I crawl out of my hideaway spot. I tug my coat close around me, burying my hands under my arms. My ribs ache a little, and my cheek still feels a bit swollen, but the cold is good for one thing at least, because for the most part, I’m numb.
But then again, maybe that has nothing to do with the cold.
I walk away from the bonfire, knowing the general direction of where the carriage is, knowing the tent won’t be far off. All I want to do is crawl into my pallet and sleep, but I can’t. Not yet.
I need to always remember who I’m with. I need to stay on track and not let Rip get under my skin.
I let my feet follow my eyes as a new determination fills me.
The tents I pass by are like a patchwork of leather sewn into the snow, every footstep a stitch. I walk past the gathered horses, their breaths huffing out like smoke, noses nuzzling into bales of hay. There’s a launder tent not far off, where soldiers are scrubbing soiled clothes and brushing black wax over scuffed boots.
No one bothers me aside from a few lingering glances, but I keep my eyes averted. My face is cold even with my hood pulled up, the snow already beginning to pile onto the top of the tents, soaking into the fabric and making the scent of wet leather fill the air.
I’ve found that some smells are strings tied around memories. When you catch certain scents, those strings pull taut. Like a boat being brought to dock, forced to float in the sentiment. Unfortunately for me, wet leather does not moor me with a nice memory.
Wet leather. Not dampened by snow, but by the saliva on my tongue, soaking up my taste and voice. Strips torn from Divine knows what. I was too afraid to spit it out.
Is that memory going to merge with what’s happening now? Wet leather changing from the gag to the cloying scent of Fourth’s tents saturated with snow?
My thoughts swirl and fall.
My king loves me.
Indeed. Loves you so much he keeps you in a cage.
A deep frown pulls my eyebrows together, but I banish Rip’s echoing words.
His aim is to drive a wedge between Midas and me, so I can’t for a second believe he truly just wants to talk. He’s a strategist. An enemy strategist, trying to trick me into switching sides, trying to loosen my tongue.
Which is why I need to find that messenger hawk. I need to find it, send a warning to Midas, and then Rip will know how solid my loyalty is. No matter how respectful and conversational he pretends to be, I have to remember the truth.
“He’s an arrogant, devious bastard,” I mutter beneath my breath.
“Sure hope you’re not talking about me, my lady.”
I whip my head to the left, finding Hojat turned in profile. He’s looking down, stirring a pot of something over a small campfire. The scarred part of his face looks a deeper pink tonight, like the cold is bothering the contorted skin.
No one else is around to share his fire, but as soon as I get a whiff of whatever he’s cooking, I understand why.
I hold my hand over my nose and mouth before I start gagging. “Great Divine, what is that?”
He doesn’t even look up from mixing. “Wormwood, bishopwort, cattle cartilage, and a few other odds and ends.”
My nose wrinkles. “It smells…” I stop short when he looks over at me. “Umm...it smells pungent,” I finish, barely stopping myself from saying what I really mean. Awful. Disgusting. Completely rancid.
I honestly have no idea how he’s leaning over it so closely, letting that foul steam waft in his face like that. “Does it? That’s probably the bit of boiled intestines. It can be quite strong.”
This time, I can’t stop the gag that presses on the back of my tongue and cinches my throat. I gulp some air, keeping my eyes averted from the pot. “Why are you making that, exactly?”
“It’s a new mixture I’m trying out to treat aches and pains.” He suddenly straightens up and faces me, a gleam in his drooping eye. “Would you like to be my test subject?”
My mouth pops open. “You want someone to drink that?” I can’t keep the horrified tone out of my voice.
“Course not, my lady. I’m going to cook it down to be a topical ointment.”
I can’t blink, because my mind is too busy picturing him rubbing around boiled cartilage and intestines. If my skin wasn’t gold, it would be turning green right about now.
Hojat is still looking at me expectantly, and I realize he’s actually waiting for my answer.
“Oh, umm, maybe next time?”
A look of disappointment flashes over his expression, but he nods. “Of course, my lady. I see your lip has improved.”
I lift a hand, fingers skimming over the healing split. I haven’t seen my reflection in a long while, and I’d rather it stay that way.
“The cheek could be better,” he muses, the accent pulling at his t’s like his tongue wants to drag them under. “You didn’t ice it like I told you, did you?”
“Yes...” I say, trying to keep the guilt out of my tone. “For a couple minutes.”
He sighs and shakes his head, the corner of his lips looking like they want to fuse in a frown. “They always ignore the order to ice it,” he grumbles under his breath.
“I’ll do it tonight,” I assure him quickly.
“Sure you will,” he says, brown eyes rolling, like he doesn’t believe me at all. “If you like, I can make you another tonic for the pain? If you let me check your ribs, that is...”
I quickly stiffen. “No thanks.”
Hojat sighs. “You Midas lot are a distrusting bunch, aren’t you?”
My body goes still.
Midas lot. He’s seen the others.
It takes a lot of effort not to jump in eagerness. “Can you blame us? We’re captives in Fourth’s army.”
“We’re all captives of something, even things we don’t want to admit to.”
I frown at his words, but I don’t have time to linger on them. “I’m actually headed over to visit them right now. I could help you talk them into whatever treatments they need if you want to walk with me?”
It’s a bad li
e. I know it, and based on the way he looks at me, he knows it too.
“You are allowed to do this?” he asks doubtfully.
“Yes,” I answer quickly.
Apparently, he’s not buying my lies, because he shakes his head. “If you want to see the others, you’ll have to get permission from the commander first.”
A breath of frustration slides between my teeth like a hiss.
“Please,” I say, my tone begging. “I’m not going to cause any trouble. I just want to make sure they’re all okay. Surely, as a mender, you can understand that?” It’s a cheap shot, but sometimes, cheap shots have a way of paying off.
A hesitant yet sympathetic look crosses Hojat’s face, and for a moment, I think I’ve got him. But then he shakes his head. “I can’t, my lady. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll take her.”
We both flinch as a soldier suddenly appears beside us, like she materialized out of the shadows.
For a second, I’m so stunned to see a woman soldier that all I can do is openly gape at her. She’s dressed in black and brown leathers, a sword at her hip, and a cocksure expression.
She has beautiful, smooth dark skin like umber, warm undertones that bloom at the apples of her cheeks. Her black hair is cut short against her scalp, and it’s been shaved in intricate designs. At first, I think the designs are pointed petals, but when I look closer, I see that they’re actually sharp daggers shorn around her head like a crown, tips pointing up.
“Who are you?” I ask, my gaze lured to the small piercing above her upper lip. The shard of wood fits perfectly into the middle of her cupid’s bow, topped with a tiny, gleaming red gemstone.
She doesn’t answer me, her attention on Hojat. “You should go get your supper before all the assholes finish off the last of it, Mender.”
The left side of his mouth tugs down roughly, a frown that’s more apt as a grimace. “Soon. I’ve got to stir for at least five more minutes before I can leave this to cool.” He looks from her to me and then back again. “You sure you’ll be alright with the lady?”
He still addresses me as lady, never anything crude, not even setting me apart as a captive. It’s hard not to like Hojat when he does things like that.
The woman smirks. “I can handle escorting our plated prisoner.”
Hojat hesitates. “The commander—”
“It’s fine.” She claps him on the shoulder, successfully cutting him off. “Good luck with your stirring, Mender.”
Hojat shoots me an unreadable look, but then he turns back to his pot, stirring and looking into the mixture like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Uneasiness crawls over me like an insect in my sheets.
The woman looks me up and down. “Let’s go see your saddles, shall we?”
I shoot one more look at Hojat, but he’s pointedly ignoring us.
I clear my throat. “Lead the way.”
Warily, I fall into step with her. My need to see the others is outweighing all of my reservations. Besides, Hojat would’ve warned me if she was bad news…
Right?
Chapter 15
AUREN
The woman beside me moves like a bird.
Light on her feet, she doesn’t stalk, or stomp, or even do what I’d describe as a walk. She flits, moving over packed snow with a swooping grace I didn’t know was possible, while all I can do is try not to slip.
She takes me in the opposite direction I was heading, keeping away from the crowded bonfire at the cave, and even though I don’t see her eyes on me, I can feel them. The prickle on the side of my face tells me that she’s taking my measure.
My shoulders are tight under the silent observation, my lips pressed together to keep from speaking. It’s not until we’re well away from Hojat that she talks to me.
“So, you’re the famous gilded woman that everyone’s been talking about.”
“Unless you have another one stashed somewhere.”
She huffs, though I can’t tell if it’s in irritation or amusement. I hope it’s the latter.
We approach a smaller campfire with a group of thirty or so soldiers gathered around it, but she abruptly veers to the left, behind a stack of firewood. I nearly trip from her sudden change in direction.
On the next aisle, there are a few soldiers walking around, and once again, she cuts a corner, making us squeeze between tightly-packed tents as she leads us to another pathway.
A sense of foreboding crawls over my skin as I look around the empty aisle. “You are taking me to see the saddles...right?”
“I said I was, didn’t I?”
Well, that’s not an answer at all.
Every time we see another soldier, she changes direction, until I’m so turned around and worried about her clandestine efforts that I don’t know which one is making me more nauseated. Either the commander really wouldn’t give me permission to see the saddles and she’s breaking the rules, or...
Oh, great Divine. She’s going to murder me.
Every sharp turn and ducking maneuver she performs to avoid nearby soldiers makes me more certain it’s the latter option.
Thanks a lot, Hojat. I’d really started to like the intestine-stirring army mender, too.
My ribbons trill nervously beneath my coat, but just as I’m about to turn and try to make a break for it, the woman claps her hands. “Yes!”
I stop in my tracks, watching as she hurries over to one of the tents and crouches down beside a large wooden barrel sitting right at the front of it.
When she sees me still standing a few paces away, she gives me an impatient look. “What are you doing over there? Hurry up and come help me with this.”
I blink in bewilderment before lurching forward at her glare, stopping in front of the barrel. “What do you want me to do?”
She rolls her eyes. “What do you think? Grab the end of this.” Without warning, she shoves the barrel over, giving me only a split-second warning to catch it.
The weight of it crashes into my arms, and I let out a yelp of surprise. I nearly drop it when she grabs the bottom and heaves it up, forcing me to follow suit.
I straighten on my legs, the barrel lifted between the two of us on its side, liquid splashing around inside.
“Come on, Gildy Locks. Pick up those feet,” she tells me, and then we’re slogging through the narrow path again, but this time, carrying a heavy ass barrel.
“What is in this damn thing?” I ask through gritted teeth, trying not to fall.
“It’s mine,” she replies loftily.
“Okay...and why are we carrying it?”
“Because these left flank bastards stole it from the right flank. So I’m stealing it back.”
The liquid inside sloshes against my ear as we carry it, the rough wood catching into the fingers of my gloves. “And you’re the right flank?” I guess.
“Yep. Now pick up your side more. Don’t make me do all the work.”
I try to glare at her over the barrel, but I nearly trip, so I’m forced to watch my feet instead. My escort is forcing me into thiefdom. Probably not the best circumstance for me, considering I’m already their prisoner.
Bright side? At least she’s not murdering me. I’m just an accomplice to a crime.
The woman adjusts her grip. “So, was it painful?”
I frown, shooting her a confused look as I do my best not to pant. “Was what painful?”
She turns sideways, leading me between a pair of tents in a ridiculously tight squeeze. “Everyone in Orea has heard about you. But now that I see you’re real, not painted or just some bullshit rumor, I want to know if it hurt when King Midas gold-touched you and turned you into...this,” she says, brown eyes flicking over my body.
My mind stutters at her question, surprise nearly making me forget that I’m holding a hundred-pound barrel. She wants to know if being gold-touched hurt me?
No one has ever asked me that before.
Yet because Midas has made me a symbol, they can say whatever they want to assuage their curiosity. They believe my notoriety gives them the right to ask whatever obnoxious question piques their interest.
But this is different. It’s not about what my gold body means to her. It’s what it meant for me.
I realize that she’s still waiting for an answer, that a long pause of silence has stretched between us, spreading like a shadow.
I clear my throat. “No. No, it didn’t hurt.”
She hums in thought, the hilt of her sword lightly tapping against the wood every time she takes a step. “Do you hate it? To be stared at all the time?”
Another thing I’ve never been asked. But this time, I don’t have to pause before answering.
“Yes.” The word comes out like a rush—involuntary, immediate.
Whenever Midas brought me around others—whether it was a throne room full of revelers, or an intimate breakfast meant to impress—it was always the same result. People stare. They talk. They judge.
That’s why befriending Sail was such a breath of fresh air. He didn’t ask me questions about being gold. He didn’t gawk or treat me like a novelty.
He just...saw me as a person, treated me like a friend. Such a simple thing, but for me, it was everything.
But Sail is gone, and I’m here. With a woman I know nothing about, other than the fact that Hojat seemed a little scared of her and she likes to steal barrels in her free time.
Noting the shape of muscles visible beneath the black sleeves of her leathers and the confident way she touches her hilt, to me, she looks like a warrior.
I study her curiously, but my hands are strained, my arms burning and shaky. “I can’t hold this thing much longer,” I warn.
A click of her tongue. “Need to build up that arm strength, Gildy,” she says before she nods toward a circle of tents. “Right up here.”
Glint (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 2) Page 9