Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

She shoves me in the chest.

It’s not a hard push, but it shocks me so much that I stumble back, mouth gaping wide. She never would have touched me before. She wouldn’t have dared.

The guards are on their feet in an instant, stepping forward to intervene. “Enough of that,” the man barks at her. “Get back inside.”

Polly’s eyes flash in vindication, like their reaction just solidified my treason. With a hateful smirk, she turns and pushes back into the tent, leaving me to stare at the place she just was.

I can’t even look at the guards as I turn away, my shame and embarrassment battering me. It makes my shoulders slump and my head tilt down, a flower wilted, given up on the reach.

“Don’t worry about them, my lady,” one says.

Quickly nodding, I walk away before I do something stupid, like cry in front of them.

Bitter shame carries the weight of my footsteps as I go.

I hug the shadows while I walk, ears tuned to the quiet of the sleeping camp of soldiers, who apparently believe I’m Rip’s whore.

Don’t come back again, traitor.

Tears threaten to rise, but I shove them down; let them be swallowed in a well of anger instead. Polly’s venomous words are my fears spoken aloud—of my loyalty slipping, of my mind being tainted.

I’m not a traitor.

I’m not.

Determination sweeps over me, fuels me. Like coals suddenly burning to life again.

The glowing white of the moon is now a fingernail behind a cloud, though two stars hover at her side like fireflies caught in the wax of her crescent.

I have just enough light to see, but not too much to take away the shadows. Perfect for searching without being seen. With sure steps and fierce eyes, with Polly’s accusation burning my ears, I follow pure instinct, like I know exactly where to go. Or maybe it’s the firefly goddesses directing my way.

Just as I pass a large group of huddled horses, heads bent, eyes dozing, I hear it.

A soft screech.

I jerk to a stop, head tilting, ear cocked. The noise comes again, quieter this time, but that’s all I need to home in on its direction.

My feet turn, steps and pulse quickening. Despite how consumingly cold it is, a flush spreads over my body.

Just past the horses, nearly obscured by a cart full of hay bales, I see it.

Covered in sleek black wood, sides unadorned, I hear rustling within the small black carriage and nearly break out into a run. Instead, I force myself to walk the rest of the distance toward it.

I reach the transport, though instead of doors on the sides, it has a smaller opening at the back. I look around, but the only movements are the occasional huff or shift of the horses, their quiet breaths puffing from lowered noses.

Lifting a hand, my shaky fingers grasp the handle, and the door opens easily, without so much as a creak. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and see what’s inside, but as soon as they do, triumph tosses me up into the air, making my stomach dip.

Staring back at me with reflective yellow eyes, with talons gripping their perches, is what I’ve been searching for.

The army’s messenger hawks.

Chapter 28

AUREN

It’s dark inside the carriage, but the flash of eyes and the movement of their shadowy figures reveals the four hawks inside.

It’s a testament to their training, because they don’t startle or snap, they just look at me with boredom.