Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

“Stay inside and back away from the door, miss,” one of the guards orders.

My head snaps up. “Fuck you!” I shout back.

In a moment of clarity, I send a ribbon squeezing beneath the small slit at the bottom of the door. I crouch down to give it plenty of length, and I hear a guard shout in surprise.

I close my eyes in concentration while my ribbon reaches for the handle on the other side, searching for a flip lock. But my hopes are dashed when all I find is a keyhole too small for my ribbon to squeeze into.

Someone tries to grab hold of it, so I yank my ribbon back beneath the door and onto my side again for fear of them trying to pin it in place.

Chest heaving, I glare at the door as if it’s my nemesis.

My ribbons quiver like overworked muscles, and I yell out another curse of frustration as I whirl around and search for something, anything, to help me get the hell out.

I stalk into the cage, determined to look through it to see if my dead decoy had anything in there that might help. I have no idea what that might be, but I can’t just do nothing. I have to try.

Because I meant what I said. I won’t live like this anymore.

I start searching the cage with manic desperation, while gold continues to drop from my bare palm like a steadily bleeding vein.

Just as I’m tossing aside the mattress to see if the woman hid anything beneath it, I feel it—the change in the sky. I don’t need a window to know that night has just fallen, because my prickling skin is proof.

The sun flees, and my gold-touch magic flees with it.

“Dammit!” I shout, kicking at a tray of food at my feet. My power is gone, sapped, the last of the gold curdling against my palm as the incessant drip goes suddenly dry. I curl my hand, not wanting to watch the metallic sheen soak into my skin.

At least with my gold-touch, I’m a walking weapon. But now, I’m just an irate woman with strength-sapped ribbons and no way out.

I really, really hate the goddesses.

My legs threaten to give out, either from the weight of my fury or because of my depleting strength as my power gets stripped out of me, dormant for the night.

My ribbons manage to catch me, but they’re struggling too. I stumble forward, clutching the bars of the cage. I’m a mess of tangled hair and shaking ribbons, but my fury for Midas’s betrayal keeps me standing.

Just as I’m about to force myself to bang on the door again, something else changes in the air. Something heavier, darker, more ominous than night.

It’s subtle at first, like an inhale, a hum. The fluttering of lashes against a cold cheek, the strike of a match right before it catches.

Then, there’s a sudden shout outside my door.

I hear more exclamations of surprise, cursing, yelling, the guards sounding confused and authoritative at first—but it changes into something more like desperate begging. There’s the unmistakable noise of swords being yanked from their hilts and running footsteps, but it’s all followed by a series of ominous thumps.

And then...nothing.

&

nbsp; No sounds at all.

My heart races and my stomach roils, while fear squeezes me in its nefarious grasp.

Then, the doorknob jiggles. Just once. Like someone tested to see if it was locked. A second later, I see the handle fall away completely, disintegrated into grains of golden sand.

I tense as the door swings open, and a silhouette appears in the threshold like a demon stepping out of hell.

The dim light of the room shouldn’t be enough for me to recognize who it is, but I know. I think even in the pitch black, I’d know.

Because I can feel it.

Just like when I was on that hill, his power seems to travel from the ground and soak into my feet. Another wave of nausea roils through me, making my fingers curl tighter around the bars as King Ravinger himself steps into the room.