Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

Smiling, I walk over to him. “You play really well.”

He nods. “I don’t just make amazing food.”

Someone nearby snorts. Keg chooses to ignore him.

I look down at the harmonica, at its polished surface. “Did you make that yourself?”

“No, my gramps did. He’s the one who taught me.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, noting the engravings that resemble grains of wheat.

“Wanna have a go?” he offers, holding it up to me.

I shake my head. “I only play harp.”

A whistle shrills through his teeth. “Harp? Damn, that is fancy, castle girl.”

I won’t tell him that my harp was made of solid gold.

“Maybe one day I’ll hear you play,” he says, dropping his hand. “But if you’re not here for food or music, then to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was actually wondering if you could help me with something.”

His eyes grow curious. “Let’s hear it.”

“How hard would it be to scrounge up a makeshift bath?”

Keg’s black brows lift up as he shoves his spun hair over his shoulder. “A bath? In a traveling army?”

I shrug. “You’ve got the biggest soup pot around, so I figured if anyone knew how to make it happen, it would be you.”

He taps his finger to his lips in thought before jumping to his feet. “Alright, I got it. Come on.”

With an excited smile, I follow him through camp, and he leads me to the tent specifically set up to do laundry. Stepping beneath the tarp, I look around at the giant soaking trays, deep enough to fit a smaller person, long enough if they bend their knees. A smile curves my lips. “Keg, you’re a genius.”

“Cook, musician, genius,” he ticks off.

“My attributes just grow and grow.”

A few of the soldiers using the space look over at us, and Keg snaps his fingers. “Ho there!” He points at a pair of them. “We need that tray.”

The soldiers frown, but they pull out their dripping wet clothes, still soapy, and toss them into the next tray over.

“Good, now we’re gonna need your help carrying it,” Keg says.

The soldiers share a confused look. “Carry it where?”

Keg looks over to me.

“Oh, umm, I’ll lead the way.”

The soldiers hesitate, but with another snap from Keg, they tip the large tin basin of water over, dumping it right outside the tent. When it’s empty, they lift it between them.

“Lead the way, Gildy,” Keg says.

Smiling, I grab a handful of cubed soap pieces from the ground and stuff them into my pocket. Then I hurry out with Keg beside me, the two soldiers dutifully following after us.

I pick the quickest way, having long since memorized the path. Keg frowns beside me. “Aren’t we going to your tent?” he asks.