Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1)(70)

It’s not a question, but even I can hear the demand for information.

Captain Fane shares a brief look with Quarter before replying. “We had a tip. It pulled us back this way, and fortunately, it paid off. We’ll return to the docks soon enough.”

My hands, still frozen on my ribbons, drop down to my sides.

We had a tip.

A tip? A tip to bring him here? Frowning, I look at the captain, as if staring at him hard enough will give me answers.

“Interesting,” Commander Rip replies. He shifts his arms, the scarlet light catching on those spikes of his, drawing the captain’s eye. “And would this tip have anything to do with the dozen messenger hawks you sent out a couple of hours ago?”

Captain Fane stiffens. “How do you know about that?”

Instead of answering, the commander holds up his fist. He opens it, letting a piece of rolled parchment fall to the deck...followed by his soldiers behind him also opening their hands and tossing down eleven more.

The captain’s expression turns outraged. His mouth opens and shuts, a gaping fish without water. “What...How did you—”

The commander tosses up a pouch in the air, and Quarter barely catches it in time. “Compensation. For the hawks.”

Quarter and Captain Fane stare at the commander, completely caught off guard.

“You intercepted all of my messages?” the captain demands, fury coating his throat.

The commander tilts his head. “I did.”

Captain Fane’s jaw tightens, wooden teeth grinding. “And do you want to tell me why? That’s an act of enmity, Commander. My Reds have killed for far less.”

The threat does nothing to affect the commander or the soldiers behind him. If anything, it’s the Red Raids who appear nervous, exchanging glances with one another, as if dreading a fight between them and Fourth’s soldiers.

“There’s no need for bloodshed between us,” the commander replies evenly, unruffled. “In fact, I’ll be helping you.”

“And how’s that?” the captain snaps.

Commander Rip takes a single step forward. One step, such a negligible thing, and yet, the menace of that stolen space between them has the captain’s hand going to the hilt of his knife—the same one he used to plunge into Sail’s heart.

“You were all too eager to write to potential buyers, bragging of the spoils you pilfered. But I’m going to do you one better, Fane, and make it easier for you.” His voice is no louder than before, but for some reason, the tone makes me wince, makes my teeth capture my bottom lip in worry. “You have Midas’s traveling party. I’ll buy them.”

Captain Fane gapes. “You? Why?”

Even though he still has his helmet on, I somehow get the feeling that the commander grins. “That’s between Midas and Ravinger.”

My stomach twists in a corkscrew, like it wants to wring itself out and dig itself down. I hear one of the saddles gasp, the sound full of dread.

It’s one thing to be stolen by vile pirates. But it’s another thing entirely to be bought by King Rot’s commander. The male is notorious for his heartlessness on the battlefield, the entire army itself a brutal force that has never been defeated.

And now he wants us.

That’s between Midas and Ravinger.

With that vague explanation, there’s not a single doubt in my mind of why Commander Rip is way out here in the Barrens, why he’s striking this deal. King Ravinger sent his army to confront Midas. And we just fell into the palm of his hand.

Captain Fane shares a look with Quarter, the glance loaded and considering. When he turns back, he drops the hand away from his hilt.

“As I’m sure you read in all of my letters,” the captain begins testily, “I have Midas’s royal whores, plus a few of his soldiers who lived. I was planning on bringing them to the coast to be split up and sold.”

The commander finally looks away from the captain. His head turns, and I swear, I feel his eyes land right on me. My breath gets stuck against that gaze, like a fly to sap. I’m trapped, unable to move, unable to escape. My pulse skips ahead.

But then he just continues his visual sweep, head turning, those hidden eyes passing over the group of saddles with bored consideration. I’m finally capable of letting a shaky breath slip through my lips, a fly ripping free from the clinging trap.

“Like I said, I’d be saving you the trouble,” Commander Rip says, facing the captain once more. “I’ll buy all of them. The horses too, though you can keep their gaudy gold armor. They’ll have no need of it.”

Captain Fane narrows his eyes, as if suspicious of just how much information the commander seems to have.

“It’ll be a hefty sum. I was anticipating multiple offers.”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” the commander says with bold certainty.

Captain Fane shifts on his feet. “My men were expecting at least a couple of weeks to enjoy our prizes before I sold them off.”

That wringing in my stomach tightens and twists. Captain Fane has no shame, complaining that he and his men won’t get to play with us if he sells us straightaway. The thought, the debasement of it, makes bile burn in my throat, hot enough that I want to breathe fire and scorch him where he stands.

“As I said, I think we can come to an agreement, Fane.”