My ears perk at that. “What do you mean?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing for you to know.”
Frustration narrows my gaze. “What happened to tell a truth for a truth?”
“I’ve told you one from me. The truths of King Ravinger aren’t part of the game.”
“How convenient for you.” I look away at the weak smoke spilling from the logs still steaming in the snow. “Osrik and the others—did they see? Did they hear what I said?” I ask, not wanting to look at him.
“Yes.”
I close my eyes, squeezing, squeezing—ribbons as tight as my lids. “You’re ruining me,” I whisper, cold air brushing against my face like a sorrowful kiss.
I don’t hear him come closer, but I feel it. How could I not? There’s something in him that keeps pressing against my skin, keeps demanding my every sense to awaken.
“Sometimes,” he murmurs, “things need first to be ruined in order to then be remade.”
A heartbeat pulses in that peeking star.
It takes a long moment for me to open my eyes, to take a steadying breath. “I want to see the guards.”
Just as I knew he would be, he’s so close that if I leaned in a few inches, I could press my ear to his chest.
Rip tips his chin. “Alright, Goldfinch. I’ll take you to see the guards.”
He leads me out of the circle, footsteps pressed into snow like a pockmarked ground.
I slip my torn coat over me, thankful that the damage is only at the back and I can still wear it, because I’m suddenly freezing. Anger has a way of burning enough to keep you warm, but when you let it drain away, the absence of that heat leaves you bleak with cold.
Rip keeps us to the edge of camp, not drawing us in toward the tents. In the dark, with only scattered firelight to illuminate us every once in a while, I don’t feel so intimidated by him. Our shadows move together, crossing and melding with one another, like they recognize something familiar.
“How long have you been with King Ravinger?” I ask, voice quiet, though I know he hears my every word, my every breath. Maybe even the staccato of my heartbeat.
“Feels like forever.”
I know the feeling.
“And does he know that you have me?”
Rip nods. “He’s aware.”
Dread becomes a hard block of ice in my gut. I don’t really know why, since I’ve been Fourth’s captive all this time. But having Rip in charge as my captor versus King Rot are two very different things. If the king knows about me, it’s only a matter of time until he figures out how he wants to use me.
I’ve come to learn that’s what men do. They use.
“If he orders you to kill me, would you do it?” I ask boldly, a curious glance cast his way.
He pauses, as if caught off guard by my question. “That won’t happen.”
My eyebrows jump up at his naivety. “You don’t know that. I’m Midas’s favored, and the two of them are enemies.” I drop my voice down to a whisper, in case there are any wandering ears. “And if that isn’t enough to condemn me, I just confessed to being a full-blooded fae, the most hated betrayers in Orea. Three of your soldiers heard me, and they could easily slip him that fact.”
“They would never breathe a word to anyone unless I ordered them to. They’re my Wrath.”
I frown. “Your what?”
He gives me a sidelong look. “Lu came up with the name years ago. But the three of them, they’re my handpicked team. They help advise, they each lead their own regiment in my army, and if I have a sensitive mission, they’re the ones who carry out what must be done when I can’t do it myself.”
I’m slightly taken aback. Not at the thought of Rip having a small team of soldiers that he trusts, but at the conviction of his words. He really does trust the three of them—I can hear it in the timbre of his voice.
Still, that doesn’t mean that I trust them.
“They just heard me confess to being a fae. You really think they’re not going to tell anyone? Not tell your king?”
“I don’t think. I know.”
He sounds so certain, and a creeping suspicion has me asking my next question. “They know that you’re fae too, don’t they?”
A single nod in the dark. “They do.”
If we weren’t walking, I’d have sat down for a moment to process that. My head spins as I shake it, lips parted with so many unasked questions. “But that’s...it’s... How?”
“As I said, they’re my Wrath, and they’ve worked alongside me for a very long time. I trust them more than I trust myself sometimes. They would never betray me.”
“But you’re fae. Oreans hate us. Even if your Wrath kept it a secret, how has no one guessed what you are? How has the truth not slipped out?”
Eyes flash over in the dark. “I could ask the same for you.”
“I stay hidden,” I counter. “Or I did before I left Highbell. But you, you’ve been notorious since King Ravinger made you his commander. How does no one see?”
His shoulder lifts. “People accept what they hear if it agrees with their predispositions. They believe I’m the made-monster of King Rot, and I let them because it suits my needs.”
“Does your king know?”
The corners of his lips tilt up. “That’s another question of the king, and like I said, we’re not playing for those.”
I chew on his words like a wad of meat, turning it over, trying to digest it all. “I hope you’re right about your Wrath.” If not, I’m screwed.
“I am. But you owe me a truth now.”
Nervousness takes off like a flock of birds in my stomach. “What do you want to know?”
“Who is your family?”
The bones of my chest seem to fuse, my breath snapped into stillness, my surprise palpable. I wasn’t expecting him to ask me that.
“My family is dead,” I choke out.
He pauses. “A name, Goldfinch.”
His question presses, demanding. I shouldn’t have traded truths with him. I should’ve known the payment would be too steep.
“I don’t remember my family’s name.” My confession hurts. It scrapes something inside, leaving me raw.
He gives me a second to settle in the silence, maybe to trick me into thinking he won’t keep digging, but I know he will. All he does is challenge and poke and prod and cleave. Maybe that’s why they call him Rip—because he tears through people, rips open their truths.
“Where are you from?”
“Why do you want to know?” I shoot back. “How are you going to use this against Midas?”
I see the dark outline of his hand curl into a fist. “Like I told you before, we’re not talking about him.”
All the quiet calmness that was between us is suddenly gone, no trace of it left behind. But it’s better this way, I try to tell myself. It’s better for us to be at odds, where we belong.
“Osrik told me when I first got here that you expected me to sing, to spill all Midas’s secrets,” I point out. “The least you could do is not deny it and make me feel stupid. Don’t try to trick me.”
He scoffs, a rough, malignant sound. “The only person tricking you is your golden king. Tell me, when did you decide to trade your ruination for his?” he asks cruelly.
My lips press together in a firm line, but his viciousness reminds me what an asshole he is, reminds me of what he is to me. His anger sets me back on more familiar ground than whatever confusing misstep we took tonight. We’re not friends. We’re not allies. We’re on opposing sides.
“I’ll always choose him,” I say, facing off against him in the dark.
“So you’ve said,” he retorts scathingly. “I wonder, if the roles were reversed, if he’d so easily give up his truths for yours. What sacrifices has your king made for you?”
“He’s done plenty,” I retort.
His expression goes flat, as cold as the night air. “Right. Like tau
ght you to be ashamed of everything you are.”
My spine goes rigid and fuses with hurt. I feel tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I dash them away before they can fall, furious with myself. Why am I giving his words any leverage? How is it that he can always slash through me with a single swing of words?
Rip turns and points, and my eyes follow the direction of his hand. A few paces away, there’s some kind of large walled cart—the kind where prisoners are kept. Beside it, there are several of Fourth’s soldiers standing watch near a small campfire. Some of them are looking our way, nervous glances traded between them.
“Your guards are kept there. I’m sure they’ll be good company for you. Go swap stories of Midas’s greatness. I’ve got better things to do.”
My chest twinges as he abruptly turns and stalks off, barking an order at the gathered soldiers to let me visit, but to watch me. Then he disappears into the camp without giving me a second glance, not staying to see the tear that freezes on its way down my cheek.
The ache in my chest doesn’t go away, not even when I finally lay my eyes on the guards and reassure myself that they’re okay. Because even though I’m glad to see them, to know they haven’t been hurt or killed, I’m gutted, devastated.
Devastated, because who I was really looking for, who I really wanted to see, isn’t there. The only person who gives me a sense of home when I’m around him, is absent.
The pain of not finding Digby’s face in the group is a punch to the gut. It hurts. The last of my hope is cut, and it hurts.
Midas’s guards are okay, but my guards are not.
Sail is drifting somewhere in a tomb of snow, and Digby is lost forever. And I have to face that now, alongside Rip’s digging words that are scraping against my chest.
Crystal tears fall as I walk back to my tent alone. Above me, that squinting star closes her eye and hides behind the clouds.
Chapter 26
QUEEN MALINA
“Dammit.”
My hissed curse makes Jeo, the handsome male currently stretched out on my chaise, look over at me. “What’s wrong?”
I glance up from the letter and sigh, tossing it on my desk. “Franca Tullidge can’t meet with me because she isn’t currently in Highbell. She’s gone traveling for six months,” I say with irritation.
“And this is bad?” Jeo asks.
I rub my temples before leaning back in my chair to give him my full attention. “Yes, it’s bad. The Tullidge family has a private guard of seven hundred men. Men I might need, so it’s important I get her loyalty settled.”
Jeo springs to his feet, and I get momentarily distracted. Currently shirtless, the freckles on his skin are like flakes of cinnamon sprinkled over him, spice added to the muscled, decadent body they adorn.
He picks up the crystal pitcher on the table and fills two glasses of honeyed wine. I take a moment to enjoy his physique as he comes over with cups in hand, his walk like a panther, strong and graceful. The thick red hair on his head reminds me of the color of a fresh kill.
He places one glass in my hand before leaning against the edge of my desk. With his knee pressed against my thigh, I can feel the heat of his body even through the multiple layers of my skirt and his trousers.
“If it comes to that, if you need the noble houses to band with you, they’ll do it,” he says confidently, tipping the wine into his mouth as he swallows half the contents in one gulp.
I take a sip, amused. “Is that so?”
He nods. “It is so, my queen.”
“You sound awfully confident.”
Jeo downs the rest of it. “I am,” he replies with a shrug, setting the glass down. “You are a Colier. Orea might be dazzled by Midas’s gold, but it’s your bloodline, your name that Sixth Kingdom trusts. If you put out the call to arms, they’ll answer.”
I tap my fingertip against the glass. “We’ll see.”
I hope it doesn’t come to that, hope that I can get the pieces in place to force Midas’s hand, but I have to plan for every contingency. Tyndall, while lacking as a husband, excelled as a ruler. Not because he was trained for it as I was, but like Jeo said, he knows how to dazzle.
That man knows how to leave an impression, how to spin a narrative, how to gain the people’s awed fascination. He’s made a lot of nobles rich—nobles that I’ll never win over.
But, he’s also made a lot of enemies. He’s left a lot of people to complain at their lack. When King Midas turned Highbell Castle gold, he failed to realize exactly what kind of shadow it cast.
The commoners, the peasants, the laborers—those are the ones he neglected, the ones he deemed beneath him.
Once I’m finished going through the list of nobles I think I can sway, I’ll go for those forgotten masses next. The ones who were left to wallow in envy, left to stare after the castle in its immeasurable wealth.
Yes, a lot of people hate the king. His wife just happens to be one of them.
A slow smirk crosses my wine-whetted lips. I’m going to utterly destroy his narrative, wreck his public platform, crush his shiny façade.
By the time I’m through with him, I will make the Golden King a thing to despise. I will be the queen, beloved.
Jeo’s face morphs with a knowing grin. “I know that look,” he murmurs, pointing at me. “You’re plotting.”
A small laugh escapes me. “Of course I am.”
Plotting is what I’m best at. A good thing too, since I lack both of the traits that this world respects: power and a penis.
A shame that I lack the first, but the second? I’ve found that most of the people who have those are altogether disappointing.
My gaze shifts to Jeo’s crotch. Well, except for the ones you can buy.
When a knock on the door sounds, I let out a little sigh. I shouldn’t be surprised at the interruption. It’s hard to go even a few hours without someone needing something. Although, it’s a problem I embrace, because finally, I’m the one they come to. It’s my order they wait for. As it should be.
“Come in.”
My advisor, Wilcox, strides inside, his blue eyes skating straight to Jeo. His thin lips press together tightly, the only outward sign of dislike that he’ll show in front of me. Though I know on the inside, he’s ranting, just like he did when I first came down to dinner with Jeo on my arm.
Wilcox believes it’s unsavory for me to keep a saddle of my own so publicly, an opinion he let known at the dinner table.
Funny, I doubt he ever said such a thing to my husband, who kept a harem of saddles at all times. Not to mention that golden bitch.
Jeo straightens up from my desk and turns with a grin. He loves to rankle Wilcox now that he knows the older man disapproves so thoroughly.
My advisor stops in front of my desk, sweeping low with a bow. “Your Majesty, I hope I wasn’t interrupting.”
“Not yet,” Jeo says with a salacious wink.
Wilcox’s lips clamp down in irritation, though he likes to think the gesture is hidden behind the messy gray whiskers growing over his chin.
He ignores Jeo as my saddle walks around my chair to stand behind me. His large, strong hands come down to start kneading my shoulders. A display—to touch the queen so freely is a power play—and I allow it.
“Hmm, so tight, my queen,” Jeo coos.
My advisor’s face turns slightly mottled, while I try not to smirk. I can’t figure out if he hates our display because it’s a show of my blatant disloyalty to Tyndall or if it’s simply because I’m a woman who has her own saddle.
Perhaps it’s a bit of both.
“Did you need something, Wilcox?” I ask evenly, while Jeo’s deft fingers continue to massage my skin in deliciously firm strokes.
Wilcox’s gaze snaps back to me from where they’d drifted to Jeo’s touch. “Pardon. This missive came for you,” he says, stepping forward.
I reach my hand out, taking the rolled parchment from him. “Thank
you.” When my eyes fall to the red wax seal, my pulse jumps, though I don’t let anything show on my face. “You’re dismissed, Wilcox.”
My advisor turns on his heel and leaves, apparently all too ready to be gone from my saddle’s presence.
As soon as the door closes behind him, I release the breath that got caught in my chest.
“What’s wrong? I’d say you’re white as a ghost, but that’s always true,” Jeo teases.
I don’t give him a dry laugh, though. I’m too busy staring down at the blank stamp pressed into the cracked wax, sigil absent—telling of exactly who this letter is from.
“It’s the Red Raids.”
Jeo’s touch pauses on my neck. “The pirates answered?”
A hum is my only reply before I slip my finger beneath the curled flap and break the seal. Unfurling the small scrap of paper, I quickly read the letter, noting the smeared ink, the sloppy scrawl. Honestly, I should be glad the thieves can even write.
I read the message again, chest pounding. “Great Divine...”
“What is it?” Jeo asks, coming around, his beautiful face marred with a frown.
My eyes flick up at him as all the implications run through my mind. “They don’t have her.”
His blue eyes widen. “The golden bitch? Why the hell not?” he demands. “You gave them plenty of time to get their sorry asses to the Barrens in time.”
Shaking my head, I drop the letter and stand up from my seat, pacing a few steps away.
“Malina...”
I spin to face him, and he blinks in dumbfounded surprise at the brilliant grin that’s spreading over my face. “Fourth’s army came to their ship,” I whisper, awed. “They took the saddles, the guards, everyone.”
His red brows shoot up. “The gilded cunt?”
My smile is so wide my cheeks hurt. “They have her too.”
Jeo’s lips pull back, cheeks moving to match my grin. He knows what a win this is for me. I thought the Red Raids would be a good place for her. But this? This is so much better. “Fuck, yes!” Jeo exclaims. “This calls for more wine.”
Glint (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 2) Page 18