Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

I bite my lip, looking down at the ground, pinching my arm as a reminder not to cry. “It—it’s raining, Sir Zakir. I don’t get as much when it’s raining,” I explain shakily.

“Bah!” Zakir waves a hand dismissively. He digs through the front pocket of his checkered vest to pull out his box of matches, relighting the end of his pipe where the leaves got soggy from the rain. “Get back out there.”

My bottom lip wobbles. I’m hungry, cold, tired. Inara is a bad sleeper, and I got stuck next to her all night, crammed between her flailing legs and the corner of the room, so I’m dragging even more than normal. I’ve been looking forward to getting out of the rain, to being allowed to eat and rest.

“But—”

“You got rain in your ears, girl? I didn’t ask for argument.” Zakir flicks the used match at the ground. I watch it land in a puddle, flame smothered in an instant. “Six more coins, or else you won’t be sleeping inside tonight.”

Collar pulled up against his neck, hat placed on head, Zakir leaves, probably to go meet with the other kids, while I slink back to my designated corner in the market square, knowing full well I won’t earn six more coins.

I can usually get people interested enough to stop instead of walk by like I’m invisible, but under the shadow of dripping clouds, I’m just a wet beggar child, far beneath notice.

Still, I stand at my muddy corner between a hatmaker and an egg stall, and I smile. I wave. I make eye contact with everyone who passes by, stuck in the heart of a foreign city that smells of fish and iron.

The shoppers don’t stop, the merchants ignore me.

No one can tell the difference between tears and raindrops on your cheeks. No one sees your watery smile when you’ve got the clouds to compete with. Even if they could, they wouldn’t do anything, anyway.

So I beg all day and well into the night, with wet hands cupped out in a plea. If anyone really looked at me, they’d know I’m not begging for money. Not really.

But no one looks, and I don’t earn those six coins.

When I finally drag my pitiful self to Zakir’s house much later, I curl up in a puddle on the front doorstep—me and one other kid who didn’t meet his quota. Even though we could offer each other warmth and comfort on this dreary night, the boy shuns me too, deciding to climb up the dilapidated eaves and sleep on the roof instead. None of the kids like me much.

That night, I promise the goddesses to never complain about Inara’s sleep-flailing ever again, because getting kicked is a whole lot better than sleeping outside alone.

My chest aches as that memory fades. I sniff, like I’m getting rid of the scent of the sopping village, the saltwater fish, and Zakir’s pipe smoke. I was with him for a long time. Too long. I spent many nights where the only blanket I had was the cover of darkness.

From five years old to fifteen, I never truly had a good night’s sleep—not until Midas rescued me.

“You’re safe now. Let me help you.”

It’s so strange to think about—how I went from that girl begging on a muddy corner, to a woman adorned in a gilded castle. Life takes you on paths you don’t have a map for.

I turn my face to the carriage window, seeing the snow flurries drifting by, fog clouding up the glass. What I wouldn’t give for Midas to ride in right now with torch and sword in hand to rescue me.

But he doesn’t know where I am, doesn’t even know that I’m in trouble. Which is why it’s more important than ever that I get a message to him. Not just for myself, but because the last thing I want is for this army to sneak up on Fifth Kingdom and slaughter them all.

If I don’t do everything in my power to warn Midas of what’s coming, then the fate of Fifth Kingdom will be my fault.

I can’t fail.

A warning is all I have to offer. It’s not much, but hopefully it’s enough to help Midas meet the threat on a more even footing.

Once he finds out that I’ve been taken, I know there’s nothing he won’t do to get me back. Nothing.

When the gloom of a gray dusk descends, my carriage lurches to a stop, and I feel the jostle of my driver jumping down from his seat. I swipe my sleeve against the window, leaving a clear streak to peek out.

Outside, there’s a singular rise in the ground, a hill that slopes gently up like a dune of snow. At its center, the hill is hollow and shockingly blue. It’s so bright, even in the dark, that it almost seems unnatural, like a giant who’s fallen asleep on the ground, a blanket of snow covering all of him except for that dazzling blue iris peeking out.

The soldiers make their main camp right at the center of the short, yet wide length of cave. Soon, they have a large fire built right at its pupil, a glittering wink of flame that sheds light on the deeper part of the cavern.

The click of my lock sounds, and the carriage door swings open, revealing Osrik. I step down, the ground slightly slippery beneath my shoes. All around me, tents are being put up, horses gathered, fires lit, a latrine being shoveled.

“Commander wants to see you.”

I look up at him. “Why?”