Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

Even in my exhausted sleep, he never once tried to take advantage, never even got up from his pallet. I wasn’t chained or watched or hurt. He wasn’t even worried that I’d do something to him while he slept.

Being his captive...it isn’t what I expected. It’s mind games rather than physical harassment. It’s pointed questions instead of vague threats.

I don’t trust it one bit.

One of my ribbons curls in front of my face, moving in a clear order to get going. I bat it away playfully, carefully peeling away from the furs as I quietly get to my feet.

My body is sore, my bruised side twinging as soon as I stand, but at least my shoulder feels better, so whatever

ointment Hojat used on me must’ve helped. The tonic clearly helped too, because while I’m still aching, it’s not nearly as bad as it was yesterday.

I’m immediately cold without the covers, goose bumps rising along my skin. I wish I could dive back beneath the warmth of my pallet, but instead, I grab my dress from where it’s hung and yank it over my head.

With the aid of my ribbons, I get dressed quickly and quietly. I’m so relieved at how much better they feel after only a night’s rest. With one eye on the commander, I slip into my leggings and boots before snatching up the gloves and pulling them on nearly to my elbows, and then I tug on my coat.

I plait my hair in a simple braid down my back that I quickly stuff into the hood of the coat before pulling it over my head. Finished, my ribbons slip beneath the coat and wrap around my torso in loose yet secure loops, adding another layer of insulation.

I creep to the entrance of the tent and duck out, casting one last glance back at the commander. I doubt he’s much of a heavy sleeper, and I don’t want to be caught sneaking out before dawn.

As soon as I’m outside, my breath hitches with the lonely cold that greets me like the empty bedside of an absent lover.

With boots crunching over packed snow, I head toward the latrine so I can get it over with, while the hint of morning begins to cast a gray pallor over the sky.

It seems even colder today than it was last night. My teeth are chattering loudly by the time I leave the latrine, just in time for it to start snowing. I walk back to camp briskly, trying to get my blood moving so I don’t feel so frozen, and I’m greeted by the sounds of the army waking up.

The scent of food drifts over, and I turn to follow it, letting my nose lead me. I pick my way past tents and grumbling men, some yawning, some coughing up phlegm, past more who are breaking down their tents to ready for another day of travel.

I make it to a low burning fire, finding a man presiding over a tripod of sticks with a large iron pot cooking on the flames. He has black skin and long spun hair, pieces of wood dangling from the lengths in tribute to his kingdom’s sigil.

In front of him stands a line of already-dressed soldiers, each of them holding an iron cup. One by one, the man plops a spoonful of whatever it is he’s serving into the cups. As I get closer, I can hear him jabbering to the men he’s serving.

“Don’t give me that look, or you’ll get my foot up your arse. This is what I’ve got to serve.”

Plop.

“Next! Yeah, yeah, walk a little slower, why don’t you?”

Plop.

“You’re sick of porridge? We’re all sick of porridge, you bandy-legged prick,” he says, making the soldier stomp off.

The next one who comes up looks down at the slop with a frown. “Can’t you put some spices in it or something, Keg?”

The man—Keg—tips his head back and laughs, the movement making the wooden pieces in his hair strike together, tinkling hollowly. “Spices? Look around,” he says, swinging his dripping spoon to point at the frozen wasteland. “Does it look like there’s any spices to be had out here in this Divine-forsaken place?”

The soldier walks off with a sigh, but when the next one comes up for his turn, Keg shakes his head and taps his spoon against the huge bowl. “Uh-uh. You know you already got your ration for the day. Get out of my line unless you want my foot up your arse.”

Keg seems to like that threat.

I hesitate behind the soldiers, my stomach grumbling, gaze flicking over to the horizon. There’s a good fifty soldiers in front of me. Maybe I should see if I can find food somewhere else. If I hurry, I might be able to make it to those carts again and—

“Ho there!”

I snap my head over and find Keg looking right at me, but I glance around just in case. All the other soldiers are turning around to peer at me too.

I tug my hood tighter over my face before pointing a finger at my chest. “Me?”

Keg rolls his eyes. “Yes, you. Come on up here.”