Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3) - Page 175

Digby nods and says, “Rode straight here to alert the king so he could send help. I’ve been in this room ever since.” His voice is even more grating than mine, and I wonder if it’s from disuse. When I calculate how long he must’ve been in here, hurt and alone...

My stomach clenches between fists, wrung out until I can taste bile on my tongue. “He never should’ve done this to you,” I say, the anger in me fighting with the drugged haze in my system.

“I failed you, my lady. He was right to lock me up.”

“Stop with the my lady shit, and don’t you dare think that any of this is justified. It’s not.” None of it.

My eyes fall unbidden to the floor again, to the ribbon I’m still clutching in my hand.

Digby’s gaze follows, but he doesn’t speak about them. Maybe he can sense that I’m barely holding on by the ruined stubs that hang limp along my spine. For once, I’m grateful for his penchant for few words.

Yet even though he doesn’t bring it up, I see his hand curl into a fist, though his pinky doesn’t move. From fing

ernail to second knuckle, it’s stained like he dipped it in an inkwell. Claimed by the bite of frost, probably while he rode to Fifth to help save me.

How much more of him has been deadened? What other parts of him are hurt irrevocably because of Midas and me?

I close my eyes and let my head drop against the wall beside me, the cold stone pressing against my tender cheek. “Sail died,” I whisper, and even now, I feel my chest constrict at saying those words aloud.

“He was a good soldier.”

“He was a good man,” I reply. “He died protecting me, and now you...”

“Don’t you worry about me,” he retorts. “I want you to worry about you. I want you to be safe even when I can’t stand guard.”

Water rushes into my eyes, and my bottom lip trembles. My heart isn’t just beating—it’s taken a beating too.

“I’m so sorry, Dig,” I say softly, my throat squeezing shut. When I open my eyes again, he’s still looking at me, no blame in his expression, no hate. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of here. Strike a deal with Midas to get him to let you go.”

But Digby shakes his head. “I’m your guard, Miss Auren. My place is with you,” he declares, as though it should be obvious.

Something sharp and small stabs right through my heart. Who knew loyalty could hurt so much?

“Now isn’t the time to be stubborn.”

“I’m not.” He rolls his neck a bit so he can look up at the ceiling. Maybe it’s just as hard for him to look at the tattered remains on the floor as it is for me. “The second I was assigned the post to be your guard, I found my purpose, my lady. All those other shits weren’t good enough to watch over you.”

I let out a shaky smile. “You really were the only one I could ever trust in Highbell,” I tell him. “Even when I was just a snotty girl complaining about being bored, or all those hours of practicing the harp, you were always there. You were my steady.”

He swallows hard again like he’s digesting my vulnerable words. Then, “You were bad at playing that thing. Had to come in with bits of kerchief stuffed in my ears.”

A sad laugh creases the tears into my cheeks. “I remember.”

We fall into silence for a moment, but there’s so much I want to say to him, so much undone in the threads of this raw moment. But I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance like this, which is why I clear my throat and say, “You were the closest thing I had to a father,” I admit, my voice small, eyes cast down as I twirl the ribbon around my finger. “I knew I drove you nuts sometimes, but you always made me feel safe. And I never thanked you enough.”

He makes a noise, like a shaken breath past a graveled throat. “It was always my pleasure to serve you, my lady.” Then, in quiet gruffness, he adds, “Any father would be damn lucky to have you for a daughter.”

A vapor of melancholy condenses in the air between us. Every breath I take in saturates my soul with its drizzling grief.

After a while, I let the ribbon drop from my fingers, let it land on the floor.

“Look at us now, Dig,” I say, trying to smile up at him, though my face pulls into a grimace instead. “I bet you wish you would’ve played that drinking game with me.”

A short, rasped chuckle escapes him. “Aye, my lady,” he breathes out with a sigh. “Aye.”

My lids droop, shivers covering my skin.

If I can rest for a bit, then hopefully I won’t be too drained once dawn comes, and I can fight back. I just need the sun. Once it rises, I will gold-touch every guard in my path if I have to in order to get Digby out of here.

Tags: Raven Kennedy The Plated Prisoner Fantasy
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