Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

I give her a shaky smile. “You’re right,” I say. I don’t tell her that it’s because I don’t have one.

As she yanks up the sheets on the other side, Natia nods at the table. “There’s a token there for you. Take it.”

The skin at my back flinches, feeling tight. I don’t even want to look at the money. “You keep it. I’m sorry the beds are always such a mess.” My cheeks burn as I say it, and I’m forced to glance away.

Six weeks. It’s been six weeks

of coming here to The Solitude every day to meet whatever person Zakir sends. I never thought I’d actually miss begging on the streets. I never thought I’d miss being made to pickpocket all night from drunks and thieves, even when it meant I was caught and roughed up sometimes.

Can a person break in six weeks?

It feels like I am. It feels like I might be tearing at the seams, like a rag doll handled one too many times.

Maybe that’s why my back keeps quivering, my skin constantly going tight with pinches and prods. Maybe it’s because that’s where my cracks are going to start to show.

It would be fitting, wouldn’t it? For me to fracture down my back. Ironic, seeing as how I’ve bowed in submission at Zakir’s feet.

I startle when Natia suddenly comes up to my side and grabs my hand, shoving the coin into my palm before giving it a squeeze. “Now you listen here, girl,” she says sternly. “I’ve seen that look a thousand times.”

“What look?”

“That look of giving up.” Her fingers dig into my hand, the coin kept between us like a secret. “I’ve been around long enough to see it. You’re not the first of Zakir’s girls to use a room here.”

If I thought my cheeks burned before, it’s nothing to how hot my face feels now.

She nods toward the window. “You’re always looking out at those ships, but I can tell you never think you’ll be on one.”

I blink in surprise that she noticed something like that. I’ve only seen her for a couple minutes every time...after.

“Well, I won’t, will I?” I reply, tone tainted with bitterness.

“Why not?” she challenges.

I’m filled with new irritation at her question, and I pull my hand from her grasp, slamming the coin down on the sill. “What do you mean, why not? Zakir would never let me leave, and you know what happens to stowaways.”

She leans in, her apron brushing against my dress as her brown eyes fill with defiance. “Who said anything about stowaways?”

For a moment, I just stare at her, not understanding. But then, her gaze falls down to the coin again. “Like I said, take your token, girl.”

My fingers are a little shaky as I reach over and pick it up. It’s not the first time I’ve been tipped, but I’ve left every single coin behind. I’ve been too ashamed, too loath to touch them. But when Natia reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out a small patchwork pouch, I already know what’s inside.

“This isn’t for Zakir West, you hear? These are yours. It’s up to you how you use them.” She tips her head toward the harbor again. “I hear the ships with the blue sails and yellow suns are from Second Kingdom where it doesn’t rain for weeks on end, and the hot desert sand is as fine as powder.”

Just the idea of being dry and warm in a desert instead of constantly soggy from the cold port rain makes me shiver.

“But that’s not something a given-up girl thinks about, I guess,” Natia finishes with a shrug. “Is that what you are? A given-up girl?”

I swallow hard, my eyes flitting back and forth between her and the trio of ships with the yellow sails floating in the distance.

This thing she’s suggesting, this hope of escape, it’s what I’ve been aching for. And yet, if I were caught, if I failed...

Tears spring to my eyes, and my body trembles. Zakir wouldn’t just punish me, he might actually kill me if I tried to get away. Or he’d give me to Barden East once and for all, and then I’d wish I were dead.

“I can’t.”

“You could,” the old woman retorts, glaring at me with her hands on her hips and a scowl beneath her thickly arched brows. “That’s your fear talking, and it’s a weakness that you have to shove down before it towers over you.”

She’s right, I am weak. Her “given-up” nickname isn’t far off.