Gild (The Plated Prisoner 1)

I look away. “Well, that was my goal. Though, like you said, the execution was a little rough.”

“See?” he challenges, as if I just proved a point. “You’re different. And you don’t deserve to have such a rough time of it.”

I eye him as we trudge through the snow, tucking my hair behind my ears. I’m touched, to be honest. For the things he’s saying, for the way he sees me. But I don’t know how to respond. I’m not good at opening up, at speaking any kind of truths. Why would I be, when for my entire life, I’ve worked to suppress everything?

Sail must see my struggle, know that I’m getting trapped beneath the weight of his observations, so he does what I’ve come to love about him. He lightens the mood once again, managing to put a smile back on my face and settle us back on easy, even ground.

“Word of advice, though? Maybe no more book chucking.”

My lips curl. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two of us finally reach a crest of a small hill where I see everyone gathered ahead, their shadowed silhouettes lit up by the lanterns they’re holding. My hair whips around from the wind, trying to escape my hood, so I quickly stuff it back under as we approach everyone.

Most of the guards are still on their horses, but a few of them are on the ground talking, though most everyone is looking straight out at the horizon in the distance. I find Digby with a cluster of guards at the very front of the group, his face trained forward.

“What are you looking at?” I ask, sidling up next to him.

A slow, heavy sigh escapes Digby before he turns to Sail. “What is the king’s favored doing out of her carriage?”

Sail scratches the back of his neck nervously. “Well, see, what happened was...umm, she—”

I cut him off so he doesn’t get into trouble. “It’s not his fault, I insisted. What’s going on?”

Digby sighs again, but surprisingly, he answers. “Scouts told us they saw a disturbance in the snow.”

“Like...footprints?”

He shakes his head. “Like movement, far ahead. Snow shifting.”

“What would cause that?”

The men share a look, and one of them says, “Avalanche.”

My eyes widen.

“That mountain there,” another guard explains, this one with a thick beard the color of caramel. He raises his hand up so he can point in the direction he’s referring to. “Though we’ve been watching it and haven’t seen anything. Another scout went ahead to where the movement was noted to see if they could hear anything, find any warning that the mountain is going to cut loose.”

I squint where he indicated, but all I see are the black-lined crests of mountains ahead. And before us, all around us, are the Barrens. The wide open, frozen grounds between Sixth and Fifth Kingdoms, nothing but an iced wasteland stretching miles and miles.

“Could an avalanche reach us?”

“Yes,” Digby answers grimly.

Caramel beard explains, “We got a lot of extra snow and movement from the storm. An avalanche from that mountain would come clear across the Barrens. The flat ground is slick, nothing around to block or make it slow. If anything, it would help it gain speed. It would reach us easily.”

I swallow hard, a cold lump to land in my stomach.

“What if we wait here and monitor things?” Sail asks.

“We wait, we risk more exposure, more use of supplies,” Digby begins. “Sitting ducks for the snow to swallow.”

Caramel beard speaks up again. “And we have to go through that valley. It’s the only way to cross into Fifth Kingdom.”

I rub my hands up and down my arms as more of the cold seeps in, exposed as we are on top of this hill. “When will the scout be back?”

The guards share a loaded look. “That’s the thing. He should’ve been back already.”

Chapter Twenty-Three