Glint (Plated Prisoner Book 2)

I get lost on my way back trying to find my tent. At one point, I take a wrong turn and walk in a circle, passing by the same set of soldiers twice. They chuckle, sharing knowing looks, but not one of them offers to point me in the right direction, and I refuse to ask. They wouldn’t help me even if I did.

By the time I spot the black carriage I rode in all day, I sigh in relief, my teeth chattering, face cold despite the hood pulled over my head.

Heading to the carriage, I note that the tent Commander Rip told me to use is much farther off than the rest of the camp’s set up. Instead of clumped together with the others, it’s set off on the outskirts.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

I pause in front of it, looking around. The nearest tent to mine is several yards away. It seems like it would be a good thing, more privacy allowed, but dread shifts through me.

There can only be one reason why my tent is so far away. It offers more chances for someone to sneak in, for them to hurt me without anyone hearing or seeing a thing. Easier for everyone to turn a blind eye and claim obliviousness.

With a lump forming in my throat, I step forward, only to frown down at the ground. Someone has shoveled a path straight to the tent flaps, clearing the way so my boots don’t sink into the deep snow.

I look around again, but no one is watching me. The nearest campfire is a good distance away, the soldiers bathed in shadow, not looking at me.

Why would someone shovel a path to make it easier for a prisoner to go to her jail? A quick glance around shows that the other tents don’t have the same treatment, trails made through the thick snow only by their booted steps.

Unable to shake off my uneasiness, I turn back to the tent and duck beneath the black leather flaps. Inside, I’m immediately greeted by a soft glow and a blanket of warmth that has my shaking body sagging in relief.

Kicking my boots off at the entry, I brush away as much of the snow as I can before straightening up and looking around.

The lantern is sitting on an upturned bucket next to me, but the delicious warmth and more of the glowing light is coming from a carefully arranged pile of smoldering coals in the middle of the floor. Circled with blackened stones, they give off enough warmth to make me whimper.

There’s a pile of sleek black furs in one corner and a pallet making up a bed on the other. Just as the commander promised, there’s a wooden tray with my dinner waiting for me, and there’s even a pitcher of water next to a bowl, a tiny square of soap, and a cleaning cloth.

I check the tent flaps, but there’s no way to secure it. Honestly, what would a leather tie do anyway? If someone wants to come in here, they will.

I bite my lip, considering, but I can’t just stand here too afraid to move. So I pull off the fur from around my shoulders and set it on the ground, though there’s already furs laid out on the floor, keeping the snow at bay. I sit down on it, my feet curling beneath me as I tug the tray onto my lap.

There’s a hunk of bread and a piece of salted meat, plus a bowl of some kind of broth. Even though it’s a modest soldier’s ration, my mouth waters and my stomach growls as if it’s the most delicious meal I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I immediately devour it, eating every bit and sucking down the lukewarm broth without coming up for air. The food hits my empty stomach, appeasing its angry hunger, and I feel instantly better.

When it’s all gone, I lick my fingers and lips, wishing I had more but knowing I’m lucky to have gotten this much. Everyone in this regime will be rationing as they march, and I doubt they’ll look kindly on their prisoner asking for more food.

I gulp down the pouch of ice-cold drinking water, no doubt collected from melted snowfall. I don’t care that it’s cold enough to make my teeth ache, it eases my cloying thirst in an instant.

Now that I’m fed and watered, the tempting furs are calling to me, but I know I need to wash first. Maybe it’s only in my head, but I swear I can still smell Captain Fane, and I want to scrub my skin clean of him, as if I can rinse away the memory of his hands on me, of my time with him on the ship.

It probably doesn’t help that I’m wearing the coat I stole from his room, but I can’t abandon it. It’s not like I have anything else to wear, and I gave Polly my other coat.

Careful not to bend the brown feathers out of place, I lay the coat on the floor and then quickly strip out of my heavy wool gown. Getting undressed without the help of my ribbons almost feels like I’m short a limb…or twenty-four.

I let my gown pool at my feet before lifting my legs up and peeling off my thick stockings. Left in only my golden chemise, I shiver despite the heat coming off the simmering coals. I need to be quick, because I don’t trust this privacy, not for a second. I quickly strip the rest of the way, hands trembling in both cold and anxiety.

Naked, I’m able to see my injuries for the first time. Just like I assumed, there’s a large bruise marked over my ribs where Captain Fane kicked me.

I brush my fingers over the tarnished spot, and even that slight touch makes me hiss in pain. It looks worse than I imagined, my entire left side black and mottled, like soot rubbed into the glint of my skin.

Dropping my hand away, I walk over to the pitcher and pour out the water into the shallow bowl. I dip the cloth into it, braced for icy water to wash with, but I’m pleasantly surprised that the coals have made it almost lukewarm.

All these furs, this private tent, steaming coals, food rations, water that’s not frozen, no guards trailing me, no chains to bind me… It seems like a bribe, some kind of play that the commander has planned.

That male doesn’t do anything that isn’t calculated. Maybe he’s giving me a false sense of security, tricking me into relaxing, softening me up, but I won’t fall for it. I will take advantage of it, though.

With a frown on my face, I quickly dampen my skin, stroking soapy water all over my body and then wiping down every inch of myself, including my ribbons.

I swipe the cloth over my arm, only to pause when I see a streak of red stained into the cloth. I stare at it, knowing it’s blood, knowing that it’s Sail’s.

I don’t know why I’m so shocked to see it. Even though I washed up on the ship, there was bound to still be some blood on me. I caught him as he was dying, held him as he took his last breath.

Seeing it makes my eyes water. This is the last of him. The only thing I have. It may seem strange, but it’s his life. And I just washed it away, erasing him completely.

A sob shakes my lip, forcing me to tuck it between my teeth and hold it there. He’s gone. I’ll never see that smile in his blue eyes again, but I’ll always hear the last it’s okay on his lips.

My fault.

I wash the rest of my body in a haze of grief, vision clouded over like I’m walking through mist. I wish I knew where Digby was. It was easier to sleep knowing he was near, watching over me.

I feel so alone.

I finish up with my body, but I don’t attempt to wash my hair. Tackling the long golden strands and their countless tangles without the help of my ribbons is too daunting in my current state. Tomorrow. I’ll deal with that mess tomorrow.

By the time I dry myself off, my skin has pebbled from my calves to my chest, and I’m standing as close to the coals as I can without getting burned.

I bend down to pick up my chemise, but at that exact moment, the tent flap opens.

A burst of cold air flies in, provoking the chills already covering my body, but I freeze in an entirely different way, for an entirely different reason as Commander Rip steps inside.