Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1)(47)

It lurches to a stop, either on purpose or because of the thick snow, and then Digby is there, wrenching the door open, eyes scanning over me to check that I’m okay.

“I’m fine,” I assure him.

“Carriage is stuck,” he explains, holding the door open.

I climb out, my feet sinking into the deep snow that nearly reaches my knees.

“Alright?” Sail hollers as he brings Crisp forward.

All I can do is nod, because the howling wind would only rip my voice away. I use the stirrup to haul myself up, and as soon as I’m seated, Sail grasps both the reins and leads our horses through the thick snow, their heavy hooves forcing a path through the white.

Squinting past the wind, I look back to see that the other carriages are stuck too, the snow an easy three feet deep, holding the wheels hostage.

Guards are scrambling and shouting at each other, trying to free the horses and help the saddles, while leading everyone toward cover.

As soon as Sail and I reach the trees, we get instant relief from the hail. A few pellets still manage to hit us through the branches but not nearly as much.

The guards are chopping and stacking wood, making quick work to build a fire. When they try to light it, it spits and smokes, the stubborn, wet pieces refusing to light. Until Digby marches over, stern as ever. One cast of his flint sends sparks flying, catching onto the kindling like it doesn’t dare disobey him.

Sail leads me where the other horses are gathered, the snow cleared away so they have a spot to rest, a bale of hay already there waiting for them.

I jump down, ready to help with Crisp, but Sail insists that I go sit and get warm while he tends to the horses. He directs me to one of the downed logs in front of the growing fire, and I take a seat, feeling exhausted and shivering all the way through, even the marrow in my bones feeling brittle with cold. The other saddles slowly filter in too, sitting on other logs surrounding the flames, huddling next to each other for extra warmth.

I watch as the guards stack wood, set up tents, haul trunks, and shovel snow out of the way to build up a windbreak, not one of them idle while I shiver beside the weak fire, holding out my shaking, gloved hands to the flames.

The guards pile lightweight bricks near it, and I know each and every one will be gone as soon as they’re hot, to be stuffed into sleeping bags, helping to warm our feet while we rest.

The guards work efficiently and quickly, amazing me at how fast they get everything done. Soon, everyone is gathered near the fire, tents scattered everywhere a gap in the trees allows it.

The hail falls. Pebbles of ice peppering down, ricocheting off bark and branches alike, leaving splintered wood in its wake. It clacks against the trees like small explosions, while the branches overhead groan from the push of the wind.

It was just a matter of time before a storm rolled in. We’re lucky that we had mild nights for as long as we did.

I spot Sail off to the left setting up my tent, and I walk over to him where he’s busy staking the tarp into the ground and pulling the fabric taut.

“Want help?” I ask, my voice raised so I can be heard over the hail.

But Digby walks by with my rolled-up furs in his arms. “No. You don’t help.”

“We serve you, Miss Auren. Not the other way around,” Sail tells me.

“That’s good, because I don’t actually know how to put up a tent,” I joke, making Sail laugh.

After he gets the whole thing together, he and Digby quickly pile furs inside, along with my own lantern to give off both light and a little bit of heat, even though my tent is nearest to the fire.

I feel a little guilty at the special treatment, especially knowing that the guards and other saddles have to share a tent with five or six others, while I get one all to myself. Though, at least they get to share the body heat.

I practically inhale my portion of travel rations and boiled water, and then head for my tent early. There are a few more hours of night left, but we won’t be able to get back on the road for hours yet, based on the strength of the storm.

When he sees me coming, Sail gets up from his spot on the stump next to my tent, the spot he’ll be keeping watch while I rest. He holds the flap open for me to get in. “Looks like you lost that bet, hmm?”

“Ah, but I didn’t actually get to take the bet, did I?”

Sail laughs and shakes his head. The fact that he can always be in such good humor, regardless of what’s going on around him, is a testament to his character. “You got lucky this time. I won’t let you off the hook so easily next time.”

“Thanks for the warning. Good night.”

“Night, my lady.”

I duck inside, tying the flaps closed before I quickly strip and get dressed into a thick woolen nightgown and burrow myself beneath the covers of my furs, while I leave my boots to dry beside the lantern.

The hot brick at my feet feels like heaven, but I know its warmth won’t last for long. Not with the hail pelting the tent, not with the wind that seems to cut through every layer around me, slicing straight through.

The weather held for seven days, but now it’s broken into a million powerful pieces, sending shards raining down from the sky.

Outside, the storm seethes like a warning.

I’ll realize too late that I should’ve heeded it.





Chapter Twenty-One