Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

This is all happening entirely too fast.

Nile throws open the latch, making as much noise as he can at the same time that Jeo and Pruinn break through the window. Then Nile is racing through the open door with his sword held high and a threat from his mouth while Jeo jumps out the window.

The moment Jeo’s on the other side, I’m shoved and pulled simultaneously by the men. I topple out, my saddle’s hands gripping my waist as he yanks me the rest of the way. But the skirts of my dress get snagged on the serrated edges of the window as I’m pulled forcefully out, and the glass cuts right through, making blood rise from the tears in my skin. Right when I let out a hiss of pain and land on my feet outside, a scream rents the air.

Nile.

Just like before, the shout echoes and stretches, until it suddenly cuts off in a way that you know life was cut with it.

With horror and terror pounding in my veins, Jeo takes my hand just as Pruinn jumps out of the window behind me. Then we all race toward the cart, feet slogging through snow that’s up to our knees. The horses are stomping, heads shaking, blowing out frenzied breaths of fearful whinnies. Pruinn sprints past us and jumps into the driver’s seat, grabbing hold of the reins before the animals bolt.

“Hurry, Malina,” Jeo prompts, nearly dragging me through the snow to the back of the cart. Right as my hands brace against the rough wood and his hands come to help lift me up, something dark moves in my peripheral. I turn my head just in time to see a shadow move against the side of the house, and terror stabs down my spine.

“Jeo…”

He whirls around with his dagger in hand, but nothing is there. My eyes dart around, because I know I saw something, but the shadow is gone, and—

There.

My eyes fly over to the left as wisps of strange black smoke seem to peel away from the house’s shadows. I watch, frozen in fear, as it dissipates slowly, coalescing into a man with a hood over his face. The man seems to be shrouded in a dark veil, like shade is clinging to him. Even the sword in his hand is obscured, fresh blood dripping from its edges to land like a menacing threat.

Jeo whips around and shoves me hard. “GO!”

My body topples forward, hip bumping into the edge of the cart, head smacking into the frozen wood. I clamber the rest of the way in just as the reins crack like a whip from Pruinn’s hand. The cart lurches forward, and I scrabble to find a handhold as Pruinn’s hoarse “Ya!” calls out.

Jeo sprints after us, just a foot away from the cart, and he manages to grab the back ledge. Yet the man is right on his heels, racing forward. His shadows conform and melt over his body so that he turns almost invisible against his surroundings, perfectly blended in as he distorts both dark and light.

Jeo nearly trips in the thick snow, and I know within seconds, the speed of the horses will make him lose his chance, and he knows it too. With a determined grunt, he pushes himself forward and manages to grip the edge.

Yet just as he starts to pull himself up, a sword appears in the air, held aloft by this invisible demon who wields it. I open my mouth to call his name in warning, but it’s already too late.

The sound it makes as it stabs straight into Jeo’s back and through his chest is like the gasp before a scream.

My saddle’s wide blue eyes lock onto me. With shock, with fear. With death.

Jeo’s hands slip away from the back of the cart as blood blotches his coat, and he staggers in place. The cart keeps racing on without him, but his gaze stays stuck to mine, horror etched in both of our expressions.

Just a second later, the hooded shadow man wrenches his sword from my saddle’s back, making a scream tear from Jeo’s mouth.

Blood drips, stains, leaches from the hole ripped through his body, the color perfectly matching his hair.

Jeo’s scream breaks off as his knees land in the snow. I get one more second of his eyes on me, and then he falls face-first in the snow and doesn’t get back up.

The horses have gained their momentum now, going so fast it nearly sends me skidding off the back, but I hold on, eyes frosting over as I stare and stare at where Jeo lies.

I know it’s shock, but I have no breath to scream, none to whisper. My tongue is frozen to the roof of my mouth, unable to form his name. All I can do is watch as shadow and light swirl together beside Jeo’s discarded body, hiding the man responsible. Magic clings and splits in deathly calm wisps that not even the punishing wind seems to touch.

Tobyn and Nile lie unmoving in front of the safe house like a macabre garden planted by Death. Planted there where their blood has taken root, where the ground has soaked in their life and sprouted their end.

Pruinn yells again at the horses to hurry, and the assassin’s power dissolves in the air. I suck in a breath as he stands there like Menace made flesh. Not a force of soldiers sent to kill me, not a band of cutthroats. Just a single deadly man with evil power curling around him.

The man pulls back his hood slowly, and then I see his dark eyes watching me from a patchwork face of two-toned skin. As if that too is playing with light and shadow.

Our eyes lock, and I’m unable to tear my gaze away, unable to do anything except stare as bile battles with my throat. He looks at me with a dangerous promise, but I look at him right back.

You, we both seem to say.

You.