Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

I feel the blood drain from my face.

“Did people...pluck at you because of those?” Rip asks, gesturing to my ribbons.

A breath sucks in through my teeth, but I’m saved from answering because a dry, scratchy cough tears out of my throat and splits the seams of his question.

Hojat, still frozen on the other side of the tent, suddenly comes alive at the sound. “Pardon, Commander,” he mumbles before coming over to me.

He kneels down at my pallet and pulls off his satchel, digging through the contents inside. “I know you have a fever and a cough. Is that all that ails you, my lady? Is it your ribs?”

I let out a breath and press a thumb against my aching temple. “My throat is a little scratchy, and my head hurts,” I admit. “But my ribs feel healed.”

His eyes quickly skate over my face. “Your cheek and lip healed, too.”

My fingers rub over the areas. “Yes, all better.”

“Okay, let’s get the rest of you right as rain.” He brings out three vials along with a cloth that has some herbs wrapped inside it. He wisely places everything on the furs beside me, careful not to touch me.

I eye the glass bottles. “None of those happen to have boiled intestines in them, do they?”

Hojat shakes his head, and some of the lingering trepidation eases off his face. “No intestines this time, my lady.”

“Bright side,” I mumble un

der my breath before coughing again.

He taps on the vial nearest me, the liquid green and oily. “Drink half of this now to help that cough. We don’t want it settling into your chest.”

I dutifully pick up the vial and pop the cork off, downing half of it with a grimace on my face, expecting the taste to be awful. However, it’s surprisingly sweet. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” I admit, sealing it again before handing it back.

“There’s some honey in there to cover the taste of the—”

I quickly toss up my hand. “Don’t tell me.”

His lips seal, though his brown eyes twinkle with amusement. It’s a relief that he’s no longer looking at me with skittish unease.

“This one can be rubbed on your chest if the cough gets worse,” he instructs, tapping on the second vial. “And this third one can be soaked into the cloth, mixed with some snow to hold over your eyes and forehead for the headache. The snow will also help ease the fever.”

I nod, glancing at the dried herbs wrapped in the cloth. “And those?”

“They’re to put under your pillow.”

My brows pull together. “Why?”

He picks up the cloth and unwraps it. They’re not herbs like I thought, but dried flowers. “Where I come from, it is good luck to place peonies beneath your pillow when you are ill, my lady. You’ll have to settle for putting it beneath the furs, though,” he says, winking with his good eye.

“You’re giving me these?” I whisper in touched surprise.

The tops of his cheeks redden slightly, his accent thicker with his sudden shyness. “Here.” He holds them out for me to take.

They’re delicate, three blooms on dried stems, parts of their leaves cracked off and crumbled. I turn them around in my hand, the pink color of the flowers gone dusty, the edges of their petals browned like the crust of bread.

“Thank you,” I murmur, tears springing to the backs of my eyes.

Peonies for good health. A willow branch for luck. Cotton stems for prosperity. The fleshy leaf of a jade to bring harmony.

Hojat hesitates, maybe noting the way the flowers are affecting me. I take a steadying breath and set them aside, blinking away the watery blur.

“Keep snow on your head, but send for me if you start to feel worse,” he tells me.