Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

“My family is dead,” I choke out.

He pauses. “A name, Goldfinch.”

His question presses, demanding. I shouldn’t have traded truths with him. I should’ve known the payment would be too steep.

“I don’t remember my family’s name.” My confession hurts. It scrapes something inside, leaving me raw.

He gives me a second to settle in the silence, maybe to trick me into thinking he won’t keep digging, but I know he will. All he does is challenge and poke and prod and cleave. Maybe that’s why they call him Rip—because he tears through people, rips open their truths.

“Where are you from?”

“Why do you want to know?” I shoot back. “How are you going to use this against Midas?”

I see the dark outline of his hand curl into a fist. “Like I told you before, we’re not talking about him.”

All the quiet calmness that was between us is suddenly gone, no trace of it left behind. But it’s better this way, I try to tell myself. It’s better for us to be at odds, where we belong.

“Osrik told me when I first got here that you expected me to sing, to spill all Midas’s secrets,” I point out. “The least you could do is not deny it and make me feel stupid. Don’t try to trick me.”

He scoffs, a rough, malignant sound. “The only person tricking you is your golden king. Tell me, when did you decide to trade your ruination for his?” he asks cruelly.

My lips press together in a firm line, but his viciousness reminds me what an asshole he is, reminds me of what he is to me. His anger sets me back on more familiar ground than whatever confusing misstep we took tonight. We’re not friends. We’re not allies. We’re on opposing sides.

“I’ll always choose him,” I say, facing off against him in the dark.

“So you’ve said,” he retorts scathingly. “I wonder, if the roles were reversed, if he’d so easily give up his truths for yours. What sacrifices has your king made for you?”

“He’s done plenty,” I retort.

His expression goes flat, as cold as the night air. “Right. Like tau

ght you to be ashamed of everything you are.”

My spine goes rigid and fuses with hurt. I feel tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I dash them away before they can fall, furious with myself. Why am I giving his words any leverage? How is it that he can always slash through me with a single swing of words?

Rip turns and points, and my eyes follow the direction of his hand. A few paces away, there’s some kind of large walled cart—the kind where prisoners are kept. Beside it, there are several of Fourth’s soldiers standing watch near a small campfire. Some of them are looking our way, nervous glances traded between them.

“Your guards are kept there. I’m sure they’ll be good company for you. Go swap stories of Midas’s greatness. I’ve got better things to do.”

My chest twinges as he abruptly turns and stalks off, barking an order at the gathered soldiers to let me visit, but to watch me. Then he disappears into the camp without giving me a second glance, not staying to see the tear that freezes on its way down my cheek.

The ache in my chest doesn’t go away, not even when I finally lay my eyes on the guards and reassure myself that they’re okay. Because even though I’m glad to see them, to know they haven’t been hurt or killed, I’m gutted, devastated.

Devastated, because who I was really looking for, who I really wanted to see, isn’t there. The only person who gives me a sense of home when I’m around him, is absent.

The pain of not finding Digby’s face in the group is a punch to the gut. It hurts. The last of my hope is cut, and it hurts.

Midas’s guards are okay, but my guards are not.

Sail is drifting somewhere in a tomb of snow, and Digby is lost forever. And I have to face that now, alongside Rip’s digging words that are scraping against my chest.

Crystal tears fall as I walk back to my tent alone. Above me, that squinting star closes her eye and hides behind the clouds.

Chapter 26

QUEEN MALINA

“Dammit.”