Gleam (The Plated Prisoner 3)

My head jerks to the right, and I see Digby lying on his back ten feet away from me. His face is a mess of bruises, lips so swollen I almost miss it when they move. “Guard her,” he says.

I blink with confusion. “What?” I ask, though my voice echoes, repeats, like I’ve shouted down an endless cave.

“Guard her.” His voice is solid to my hollow, matte to my gloss.

“Digby, are you ok?”

But he just says, “Guard her,” again, the same gruff order, same fierce look in his eye.

And that’s when I remember.

That was the last thing he said before he rode off in the Barrens, before the Red Raids attacked. It was the last thing he ordered Sail. To guard me.

“Dig...”

“GUARD HER!”

The shout is so unexpected that I flinch backward in the snow, though this time, instead of having no temperature at all, it’s searing hot.

A yelp escapes me as I jerk my hands off the ground, but when I glance up at Digby again, it isn’t him.

“Sail?” I choke out.

Cerulean blue eyes lock on me. As bright as a different kind of sail.

A pang resonates through my chest, leaving me to ache. I think it will always hurt, this sense of loss. I don’t think that will ever go away.

That’s the curse of the survivors. We have to live with our dead.

Lu’s earlier words repeat in my head, and I feel a tear drip from the corner of my eye. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

It’s okay, he mouths.

A second later, his brow creases, and he drops his head to look down, just as a patch of blood sews into his chest.

I try to scramble to my feet so I can go to him, to get my body to move, but the snow seems to stick me in place. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, limbs flailing over the ground that’s heavy and hot, while frustrated tears drip from my eyes when Sail begins to fade away.

“Sail!” I scream, but he just shakes his head. Mouths that, it’s okay.

Those words are a requiem that will always lament in my ears.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hating this, hating that I still can’t save him, can’t save Digby. But then, a gasp tears from my throat, and my eyes shoot open again.

I blink heavy lids, realizing there is no snow, no heat, no Digby or Sail. Coming back into consciousness is like clearing smoke, trying to wave it away with my hands, but it doesn’t dissipate the haze.

I shove off the layers of blankets piled on top of me and sit upward in a bed I don’t recognize, my back slightly twinging. There’s a blazing fire burning in the hearth across from me, making me even hotter than the blankets I’m trapped in. Seconds coalesce, smoke thickening in my head.

Was I dreaming? I can’t remember now. My cheeks feel stained with tears, but I don’t know why. My head feels like it’s been stuffed with downy feathers, and there’s a throbbing between my legs, a wetness there.

I try to move, to talk, but I can’t.

Worry springs to my consciousness, and a low ache I can feel down my spine. I know there’s something important, something significant about all of this, but I’m not sure what it is.

Where am I?

Before my emotions strangle me, the haze beckons to me again, calling with a whisper of a breath. I lie down on my side, embracing the calm, humming at the delicious heat that’s clutching my body like a shroud.

I’m in and out.