Gild (The Plated Prisoner 1)

He protects me, bolsters me, there in those kind blue eyes.

So I don’t look away from him when another one of our guards crumples to the ground. I don’t look away when a fire claw growls, so close that I swear it’s about to slash a line down my back. I don’t look away when one of the women wails and begs. Her cries like a shatter through brittle ice.

I don’t look away.

And then, someone descends. From a ramp lowered on the largest ship, heavy boots sound against the white wood. Each step scares a heartbeat to skip, and only when I hear him right behind me do I finally let my eyes tear away from Sail’s face.

The Red Raids go still as the man stops at the foot of the ramp, every single pirate stopping to face him. My eyes hover at the side, taking him in, noting the white fur on his body and the red band around his face, same as the rest—but I also note the grisly pirate hat sitting proudly on his head, the color like rusted crimson, as if the leather was soaked in blood. A single black feather sits at its plume, like a mark of death, and it’s this that tells me exactly who I’m looking at.

The captain of the Red Raids.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The pirate captain is met by a man at the bottom of the ramp. “How’d we do, Quarter?”

“Best haul we’ve had, Cap’n. The gold on this lot? You were right—it’s Midas’s.” Even with the red cloth over his face, I can hear every word, can see the excited glint in the man’s—Quarter’s—eyes.

“Hmm,” the captain replies, his gaze sweeping over the snow. It lands on the guards kneeling, and he walks over to them, a black brow cocking up. “Stripped them down already?”

Quarter chuckles as he walks up from behind him. “Their armor was plated gold. Even their boots were tipped with it.”

The captain rubs his hands together, but it’s not to keep them warm. It’s the satisfied friction of a crook. “Excellent.”

“The horses are good stock, too. Already loaded ’em on the ship,” Quarter continues.

The captain nods and then turns, his eyes finally deigning to land on us. “This many women?”

“Whores, by the looks of ’em.”

This news piques the captain’s interest. He walks over to survey our line, his boots crunching in the sodden snow, his intense eyes taking in every inch of us.

“Hmm, not just whores,” he murmurs, fingering the dress of one of the women. She trembles, her gaze down, eyes buried in the snow. “They’re dressed far too fine for common whores.” He turns to Quarter, and even though his face is still covered, somehow, I know he’s grinning. “These are Midas’s royal saddles.”

Quarter’s eyes widen, and a low whistle escapes him. “Well, shit. Y’hear that, Reds?” he calls out to the gathered pirates. “We’ll be ridin’ some royal saddles tonight!”

A roar of approval rises up, like a pack of wolves howling at the moon in rabid jubilation. Beside me, Polly whimpers.

The captain walks down the line of women, eyeing each of us carefully. By the time he reaches Polly, she’s shaking so hard that I worry she’ll pass out. When he sees her wearing the fur coat, he flicks an impatient hand.

Quarter comes up and takes hold of it, snapping the buttons right off as he rips the front open. Polly lets out a shrill scream, trying to pull it back together, but another pirate comes up and yanks her arms behind her, holding her still.

Now that she’s being held, the captain pushes her scraps of dress away to get a look at her body. “Nice tits. Midas has good taste, at least.” His eyes travel lazily back up from her breasts to her face. “Look at me, girl.”

But Polly has her eyes shut tight, and she shakes her head no, keeping her chin down, keeping her shoulders curled.

The captain’s dark eyes narrow. “Hmm, these royal saddles are a bit stuck-up, aren’t they, Quarter?” he muses.

The bulky man—probably his second-in-command—nods. “Aye. But we can teach ’em some manners, Cap’n.”

Quarter takes a step forward and grips Polly roughly by her blonde hair, wrenching a cry from her as he tilts her head back, her eyes flaring wide. “You ain’t a royal saddle no more, girl. If Cap’n Fane wants a look at ya, then you give it to him. Y’hear?”

Polly whimpers and then her eyes suddenly roll back, her whole body going slack as she passes out. All three of the pirates let her fall, let her delicate body crash into the snow. Not one of them bothers to lift her back up.

Captain Fane makes a tsking noise. “Weak. We’ll have to train them.”

Inside my dress pockets, my hands shake.

Above me, the blanket of night smothers, holds itself over us, keeps me hostage. Far behind, the mountain pass breathes, a yawning divide that would’ve led us to the border, would’ve led us to Fifth Kingdom.