Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

“That even if you are tricking me, I’m grateful. For all of it.”

Rip doesn’t reply, but he’s tense beside me. I can’t hear him breathe, don’t see his chest rise.

“You saved me from the Red Raids, but I think you also saved me from myself. And even if it is a manipulation, a ploy, it’s worth it, for what I learned.”

A pause. Then, his voice in the dark. “What did you learn?”

“I’ve been in a cage of my own making.”

I finally turn to him and look at the profile of his face, the scales that perfectly follow the line of his cheekbone. I see the hard set mouth, the drawn brows, the spikes raised along his back. The waves crash again, and the brined mist sprays up, kissing my face.

“I’m loyal, but...I feel guilty about the hawk.”

I know that it was a test from the goddesses. I’m just not sure if I failed or if I passed. What I do know is I’ve been churned and tangled up inside ever since I sent that message.

Rip doesn’t say anything for a moment, but I see the slight drop of his shoulders, his spikes in a bend, like they’ve let out a sigh. “It doesn’t matter that you sent that letter. Not in the way you think.”

My brows lift, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“He already knew. King Ravinger sent a missive to Midas when I first got you.”

Inside my chest, my heart missteps, trips over a beat.

He knows. Midas already knows.

The roar in my ears is louder than the crashing waves, and I have to shake my head to clear it. “Why would your king do that? I thought the plan was to shock Midas and leave him to scramble? Why get rid of the element of surprise?”

“Fourth’s army doesn’t need the element of surprise,” he says, and even if it’s arrogant, I don’t disagree. “King Ravinger likes to intimidate and brag. I’m sure telling Midas that Fourth’s army has his most prized possession pleased Ravinger immensely.”

I let that truth settle as my thoughts whirl, but I don’t want to swim neck-deep in games of kings. Not tonight.

So instead, I let out a long breath and change the subject. “When I asked you before what you were doing out here, you said you were waiting. What did you mean?” I ask, hoping that this time, he’ll answer me.

He looks up and points. “I was waiting for that.”

Following the direction of his finger, I notice that there’s been a change in the sky. There’s a blue tinge to the moon now, a melancholy sapphire veil. As I watch, I see a star drop beside it, streaking downward, before it disappears behind the horizon.

“Wow. I’ve never seen the sky look like that.”

“It’s a mourning moon,” Rip says, voice low, almost...sad. “It happens every few years. The fae used to gather to watch it in this realm.”

My throat bobs as I glimpse another star falling, fading out of sight, like it dove into the dark sea. I instantly understand why they call it a mourning moon. She looks so blue where she hangs in the sky, so somber. All around her, the night is crying tears of starlight.

“The goddesses make this night so that we can remember,” Rip tells me, and chills sprinkle over my arms. “The fae watch so we can honor the ones that we mourn. To remember them.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him who he honors, who he mourns. But that’s too personal, and I have no right. Instead, I watch the blue glow of the moon become deeper, its color painting the clouds.

His head drops down, turning, and we meet each other’s eyes. I used to think that his were as black as a bottomless pit, but I was wrong. They aren’t suffocating or soulless. Something swims in them when he looks at me.

I’m afraid that if I look too long, that same thing will swim in my eyes too. I look away again, using the sky as an excuse.

There’s a tentative truce between us, and the relief of it releases something heavy that was weighing on my shoulders.

When another star drops, I think of how I can offer my gratitude to him, and I decide to settle on a truth, freely given.

“You asked me before where I was from, but I didn’t answer.”

I feel him look over at me, those black eyes soaking in like dew against a parched leaf.