Glint (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 2) Read online

  Was it really just yesterday morning that Sail was alive? That Digby was barking out gruff orders to his men? It seems like weeks, months, years ago.

  Time changes with torment. It stretches on, lengthening seconds, extending minutes. I’ve learned that pain and fear have a way of prolonging. And as if that weren’t cruel enough, our minds make sure we relive those moments again and again and again, long after they’ve passed.

  What a bastard, time is.

  I know that I’ve left a part of me behind on that pirate ship. I’ve been through enough tragic moments to recognize the feeling of rawness left to ache.

  Every heartbreak I’ve endured in my life, every harrowing pain, it’s ripped a part of me away. I’ve felt every piece of myself that’s been torn off, seen each bit where it fell behind me in the path of my past like breadcrumbs, only to be snapped up by vicious birds of prey.

  In Highbell, people sometimes traveled for weeks just to look at me. Midas would let me stand beside him in the throne room as they gawked.

  But no matter how long I stood there on the pedestal for them to look, no one really saw me. If they did, they’d know I’m just a girl with jagged rips and pitted holes inside of her, with golden skin hiding a broken heart.

  My eyes burn, telling me that I’d be crying again if I had any tears left to fall, but I guess that’s drained out of me too.

  I have no idea where the other saddles or guards are, and I have no idea what the commander intends to do with me, but I’m not a fool. King Rot sent the might of his army to Fifth Kingdom to confront Midas, and I fear for my king as much as I fear for myself.

  I shiver when the last sliver of sunlight finally drops down to be tucked beneath the blanket of the horizon. Day has officially ended, and with it, I force myself to lock away my emotions.

  Now that dusk is turning into the promise of night, the carriage comes to a lurching halt. When you’re on this side of the world of Orea, night descends swiftly and brutally, so it’s no surprise that Fourth’s army begins to make camp.

  I’m left inside the motionless carriage while I listen to the sounds of the soldiers. Horses on either side block me from being able to see much out the windows, shadowed figures moving swiftly to do one job or another.

  After nearly a half hour of waiting, I’m squirming, the need to relieve myself urgent. My body is pitching a fit, my thirst and hunger refusing to be ignored, exhaustion lapping at my limbs like a turmoiled sea that wants to drag me underwater.

  I just want to sleep. Fall asleep and not wake up until everything stops hurting—physically and emotionally.

  Not yet, I remind myself. I can’t rest yet.

  I pinch myself on the arm, forcing my senses to stay alert, my ears trying to filter through the many sounds outside as the last of the light dims, the press of night draping over me like a chilled blanket.

  Resting my head back against the carriage wall, I close my eyes for a moment. Just a moment, I tell myself. Just to relieve the fire burning in my swollen eyes, just to help ease my many aches.

  Just for a moment…

  I lurch, my eyes springing open at the sound of a key shoved into a lock.

  The carriage door suddenly swings open as swiftly as the gasp of my breath, and then there he is, standing menacingly under the cover of dark, a pair of cavernous eyes staring me down.

  Commander Rip.

  Chapter 3

  AUREN

  I hold my breath, watching the commander without blinking, my body tense and alert. In this moment, I’m going to find out what it truly means to be his prisoner.

  My mind whirls. Endless possibilities flit through my thoughts one after another as I attempt to brace myself.

  Will he snatch me by my hair and drag me out? Will he threaten me, manhandle me? Will he force me to strip so he can see the gilt on every inch of my skin? Will he pass me around to his soldiers? Will I be forced to wear chains?

  I don’t dare let my thoughts show on my face. I can’t give any indication of the what-ifs pounding against my skull.

  All the grief, all the worry, I wrap it up like old yarn on a spool, tucking away every frayed strand. Because if I show him my fear, if I reveal my weaknesses to this male, he’ll latch onto those threads and yank them all, unraveling me completely.

  Shove down weakness, and strength will rise...

  Those old, nearly forgotten words float up from out of nowhere, as if my mind saved them for me, ready to pluck them out when I needed them most.

  I remember suddenly how that was hummed against my ear, spoken softly, but carrying an edge of steel.

  They echo through me now, and it helps me to pull my shoulders back, helps me to tip my chin up to face the commander head-on.

  He has a helmet tucked beneath his arm and his black hair is slightly rumpled from the long hours of wearing it. I take in his pale face, the short and blunted row of tiny spikes above each dark eyebrow. His pressing aura saturates the air, coating my tongue like icing sugar, clogging every taste bud.

  It tastes like power.

  I wonder how people would react if they knew what he truly was. Not a man with residual magic running in his veins from distant fae ancestors. Not someone whose body was corrupted and morphed by King Rot. Not just an army commander with a bloodthirsty rage who enjoys ripping the heads off his enemies.

  No, he’s something deadlier. More fearful. A full-blooded fae, hiding in plain sight.

  If they knew the truth, would they run in fear? Or would they rise up against him like Oreans did hundreds of years ago, killing him, like they killed all the rest?

  Some fae fought back during that dark time, but they were outnumbered, and even with their superior magic, it wasn’t enough. For some fae, they simply didn’t want to fight. They didn’t want to kill the people who they considered friends, lovers, family.

  But one look at him, and I know that Commander Rip would fight. He would fight, and Orea would lose.

  It may have been hundreds of years since Orea and Annwyn—the realm of the fae—were cleaved apart, but even still, I’m shocked that no one knows, that no one sees what he truly is, when it’s so incredibly obvious to me.

  Based on the intensity of Rip’s gaze, I know that I’m not the only one whose mind is turning as we study each other in silence, judging, analyzing, considering.

  Curiosity tumbles through me like a windswept plant with no roots. I wonder how Commander Rip got here, what his purpose is. Is he simply King Ravinger’s hired guard dog, put out on a leash to snap and snarl at enemies? Or does he have another agenda?

  He assesses every inch of me while I sit, trapped in the confines of the carriage, and I can see him mentally taking notes. It takes everything in me not to fidget, not to cringe beneath his stare.

  His eyes catch on my swollen cheek and split lip before dropping down to my crumpled ribbons sprawled throughout the space. I don’t like his interest in them. Every time he looks at them, I want to hide them away. I would’ve wrapped them around my torso to keep them out of sight if they weren’t so sore.

  When he’s finally done with his appraisal, he lifts his black eyes to look into mine. I tense, waiting for him to haul me out, bark orders, or issue threats, but he just continues to look at me, as if he’s waiting for something.

  If he wants me to break or cry or plead, I refuse. I won’t fold under the pressure of his scrutiny or shatter beneath his piercing silence. I’ll sit here all damned night if I have to.

  Unfortunately, my stomach doesn’t seem to have the same stubborn will as I do, because right then, it lets out an obnoxiously loud growl.

  The commander’s eyes narrow at the sound, as if it personally offends him. “You’re hungry.”

  If I wasn’t so terrified, I’d roll my eyes. “Of course I’m hungry. I’ve been in this carriage all day, and it’s not as if the Red Raids gave us a lavish meal after they captured us.”

  If the disrespect i
n my tone surprises him, he doesn’t show it.

  “Goldfinch has some bite to her beak,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking over the feathers on my coat’s sleeve.

  I bristle at the nickname, my jaw going tight.

  There’s something about him. Or maybe it’s something about me after the hell I’ve faced. Whatever the reason, be it circumstances or a clash of natures, anger begins to dominate my emotions. I try to clamp down on the response like a spring in a mouse trap, but it doesn’t want to settle.

  I should stay impassive, untouchable. I need to be a stone in the middle of his rushing current. I’m in the thick of it now, more vulnerable than ever, and I can’t afford to get swept away.

  The commander tips his head. “You’ll stay in the tent right there,” he says, his hand motioning to his left. “Food and water will be brought to you. The latrine is at the outskirts of the camp to the west.”

  I wait for more instructions, or threats, or violence, but none come. “That’s it?” I ask with distrust.

  He cocks his head, the move so very fae-like, and I catch a glimpse of the highest spike between his shoulder blades. “What were you expecting?”

  I narrow my eyes. “You’re the most feared army commander in all of Orea. I don’t expect you to behave any other way but to reflect your reputation.”

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth, he leans in, arms braced against the frame of the carriage, the wicked spikes along his forearms on display. The faint gray iridescent scales along his cheekbones glint like the flash of a silver blade, a warning all its own.

  The breath I was inhaling stops in its tracks, sticking in my chest like syrup, clogging my throat.

  “Since you seem to already know the character of the person whose custody you’re in, I won’t waste your time on explaining anything to you,” Rip says, his voice low, a chilling edge slicing the tip of each word. “You seem to be an intelligent female, so I shouldn’t need to tell you that you can’t leave. You’d freeze to death out here on your own, and I’d find you anyway.”

  My heart gallops in my chest, his promise teetering on a threat.

  I’d find you.

  Not his soldiers would find me, but him personally. I have no doubt he’d search all over the Barrens and hunt me down if I tried to get away. He really would find me, too. That’s just the kind of luck I have.

  “King Midas will kill you for taking me,” I say in response, even though my entire body wants to cringe back from his nearness, from his overwhelming presence that fills up the interior of the carriage.

  The corner of his mouth curves as much as his bowing spikes. “I look forward to the attempt.”

  His arrogance turns my stomach, but the problem is, I know his cockiness is warranted. Even without the powerful, ancient fae magic I can sense in him, he’s a warrior through and through. With muscles boasting of strength and a demeanor that confesses his deadliness, he’s not someone I want anywhere near Midas.

  Some of my thoughts must slip through the cracks of my stoicism, because he straightens up, expression melting into condescension. “Ah, I see now.”

  “See what?”

  “You care for your King Captor.” He practically spits the words, accusation as sharp as his fangs.

  I blink at him, at the hatred dripping off his lips like a slow, cold rain. If I confirm it, what will he do to use it against me? If I deny it, would he believe me?

  He makes a derisive noise at the look on my face. “The goldfinch likes her cage. What a shame.”

  My hands curl in anger. I don’t need his judgment, his scorn, his complete assumption that he knows me and my circumstances or has any right to criticize my relationship with Midas. “You don’t know me.”

  “Don’t I?” he fires back, his voice grating against my ears. “Everyone in Orea knows about Midas’s favored as much as they know about his golden touch.”

  My eyes flash. “Just as everyone knows about King Rot sending out his leashed monster to do his dirty work,” I say, giving the spikes on his forearm a pointed look.

  A dark reverberation in the air around him coils, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Oh, Goldfinch. You think I’m a monster now, but you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  The implied threat sweeps in like an arid wind, making my mouth go dry.

  I need to be very careful with this male. I need to avoid him at all costs, skirt around his viciousness, and try to come out unscathed. But I can’t plan ahead if I don’t know what to expect.

  “What are you going to do with me?” I ask, risking the vulnerable question in hopes it will give me a hint of what’s to come.

  A dark, threatening smile forms on his lips. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m bringing you back to the captor you miss so much. What a reunion that will be.”

  Without another word, the commander turns on his heel and leaves me there to stare after him, my pulse pounding in tune with his footsteps.

  I’m not sure what he has planned for my king, but I know it’s nothing good. Midas is expecting his saddles and his favored to arrive, not an enemy army marching up to his doorstep.

  Forcing myself to get out of the carriage, my ribbons dragging behind me in the snow, a knowing resignation fills me. I know what I have to do. I need to figure out a way to warn my king.

  I just hope it doesn’t cost me my life.

  Chapter 4

  AUREN

  You’d think that after weeks of traveling, I’d be used to using a latrine dug in the ground to relieve myself. But nope. There’s something about having to lift your skirts and squat in the snow that really drags a girl down.

  I do my business as quickly as I can. Bright side, I manage to do it without splashing on my own boots or falling ass-first into the snow. It’s all about the small victories right now.

  Luckily, I get done before anyone else walks up to use the latrine, so I don’t have to worry about being watched. Scooping up some powdery snow, I use it to rinse my hands before I straighten and run my palms over my wrinkled skirts.

  Now that my most pressing need is out of the way, I cross my arms around myself to ward off the chill that’s easily cutting through my wool dress and the pirate captain’s feather coat.

  I take a moment to look around and get my bearings, but all I can see is the same landscape more or less that I’ve seen for days. Snow and ice and nothing.

  The flat expanse of the Barrens seems to go on forever, the dark outline of the mountains far in the distance, the gentle sloping snow drifts never ending.

  Commander Rip is right. I could run right now, and maybe I could even evade him and his soldiers for a while, but then what? I have no provisions of my own, no shelter, no true sense of direction. I would freeze to death out there.

  Still, the empty horizon taunts me, a bitter temptress that mocks me with her open freedom. It’s a lie, one that would wrap me in its freeze and shatter my brittle body like ice.

  With a hardened jaw, I turn and walk away, heading back into camp. The soldiers made quick work of setting it up. It’s nothing fancy, just crude leather tents speckled every few feet and campfires peppered throughout, but even so, this army doesn’t seem to shirk from the cold, doesn’t seem to be breaking down from the harsh elements.

  As I breach the first of the tents, I glance around warily, keeping a look out for the commander or any of his soldiers who might slink out of the shadows and try to hurt me or force me into my tent.

  But no one comes.

  I don’t trust this fake freedom, not for a second.

  Completely on my own, I wander the grounds, my eyes peeled. I don’t see any of the saddles or Midas’s guards, but the sheer numbers in this army make it hard to spot much of anything.

  Even though I’m tired and aching, I force myself to push past it for a little while longer, to take advantage of this time alone while I have it, because I might not get this opportunity again.

  Back on t
he pirate ship, a messenger hawk was sent to Captain Fane, alerting him of Commander Rip’s impending arrival. Which means that the commander has at least one hawk, if not more. I need to find them.

  As I skirt tents and groups of soldiers eating around their fires, I stay quiet, keeping my head down but my eyes up, searching and watching, my ribbons dragging in the snow behind me, leaving feather-light tracks in my wake.

  The scent of food makes my angry stomach pitch a petulant fit, but I can’t succumb to my hunger or my dragging body. Not yet.

  I don’t think messenger hawks would be kept in a tent, so I ignore those. If I had to guess, I’d say the animals are being transported in covered carts, so that’s what I look for, though I try to seem like I’m just walking around aimlessly. It’s not difficult, considering I am aimless, unsure where to go.

  The sounds of the army surround me. Soldiers talking, campfires burning, horses whinnying. Every gruff laugh or cracking spark from the wet logs makes me jump, my entire body anticipating someone grabbing me at any moment.

  Soldiers watch me as I go. My body stays tense, but aside from their distrustful eyes following me, no one approaches me. It’s disconcerting, unexpected, and I don’t know what to think of it.

  What is Commander Rip’s game?

  Finally, when my boots are soaked from trudging through the slush and I’m shivering with cold, I spot several wooden carts covered in leather tarps across the way, on the outskirts of the camp.

  My stomach leaps, and I get a sense of urgency, but I don’t dare head straight for them. I don’t dare rush.

  Instead, I circle around, forcing my shaky steps to go unhurried, making sure to keep my face timid, my eyes desultory.

  After being as careful as I can possibly be, I make it to the carts, the full dark of night helping to hide me in the shadows.

  There’s a campfire thirty feet away, but only four men are sitting there, and they’re in deep discussion about something, though I can’t hear what they’re saying.

  I carefully walk down the line of carts, peeking beneath tarps as I go, trying to be quick because I don’t want to be caught.