Gild (The Plated Prisoner, #1)(56)

“You’re either gonna be dead from their razor claws or burned to a bloody crisp from their flames. Not a good way to go, either way.”

I don’t want to go anywhere near those things. Unfortunately, the pirates begin to tug us down the other side of the sloped hill, heading closer to the beasts, heading closer to the ships and the hundreds of more pirates below.

My eyes take in as much as I can, searching for familiar faces, both hoping I’ll see them and praying that I won’t. As we get closer, I can see signs of struggle, more dead horses, another carriage that’s being stripped bare and hacked up into pieces, every gilded inch pried away and carried onto the ships.

The pirates work methodically, pilfering everything, right down to every trunk and carriage curtain.

The surviving horses are being led onto one of the smaller ships too, their hooves clopping against the wooden ramp as they go, most of them eyeing the fire claws nervously. Crisp is one of them. I spot him by his tail, by the gold twine I braided into it.

Pirates crawl everywhere, hauling screaming saddles away, looting through all of our things. Fighting and taunting our vastly outnumbered guards. Every single one of them wears the same white fur clothes, the same red cloth wrapped around their faces and heads, leaving only their eyes exposed.

The flames from the fiery feline paws light up the scene, basking it in flickering red, somehow making all of this so much worse. My eyes sweep down from one of the ships, and I notice the blood splattered over the white snow—so dark that it looks black. And then I start to notice the unmoving guards littered on the ground.

Beside me, Sail goes still. Silent. Dread curls into my chest like acrid smoke, burning my eyes, polluting my chest.

Everywhere I look, there are dead or captured guards being stripped down to nothing but their underwear. The ones alive are battered and bloodied, shaking from the cold, even their boots stolen from them as their clothes and armor are thrown into a pile, to be distributed to the ships.

I bite my tongue so hard that the taste of copper drips against my cheek. I hold it there, crush it between my teeth, biting, biting.

When we get closer to the ships, the heat from the rows of fire claws chips away at the fierce chill of the night, but it doesn’t warm me. Doesn’t hold a lick of comfort.

I search the guards, seeking past the swarming pirates, but I don’t see the face I’m searching for. I don’t see Digby.

A gruff pirate sees us approaching and cuts over to us. “Another saddle?” he asks, looking me over. “Bring her over there.” He jerks his head to the left, and my head turns in the direction. The saddles are there, lined up, a group of pirates looking them over, leering, touching. Rosh, the male saddle, gets shoved onto his knees, the pirates mocking him, spitting on him. His blond head hangs down.

I whip my head back around. “Sail.” My voice cuts off, because I’m already being dragged away, while the pirates holding him head in another direction.

“It’ll be okay,” he promises, but even in my state of shock, I can hear the lie tremble from his lips.

“Sail!” His name is a cry. Panic expanding, bursting all at once. “Sail!” I scream again, struggling against the man who holds me.

Nothing. My struggles do nothing. Even if it did, even if I managed to break away from him, there are hundreds more to grab hold of me.

“It’s okay,” Sail calls, voice tight, face agonized. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

His repeated reply sounds like a plea.

I’m wrenched away, Sail torn from my line of vision as I’m shoved toward the twelve other saddles. I get lined up with them in front of the largest ship, dozens of fire claws at our backs, their paws of red bringing steam from the snow, a haze turning the ground ruddy with temper.

When I’m put in line at the end of the other saddles, I face forward, my back to the ship, and I see Sail being dragged across the way, where he’s shoved onto his knees in the snow, next to the other guards who are still alive.

The pirate leading him sends a crushing kick to his side, ensuring he stays down. But even as Sail coughs and clenches his arms around his middle, he keeps his head up, keeps his eyes on me. Like he wants to make sure he doesn’t lose me, or that he wants to show me that I’m not alone.

At the sound of a whimper, I look to my left and realize it’s Polly trembling beside me, with tears running down her freckled face. She’s crying so hard that she’s having trouble breathing, her dress ripped in several places, the top bodice in pieces. And though her shaking hands try to hold the scraps together, it’s too ruined, her breasts nearly bare.

Anger rises in me, anger and despair. I quickly remove my coat and place it over her shoulders to help cover her. She flinches when I touch her and tries to smack my hand away, but when she sees that it’s me, the fight seeps out of her. “What are you doing?” she asks, the usual mocking bite from her tone absent.

I ignore her question and instead grab her arm and shove it through the arm of my coat before helping her arm through the other side. When her arms are in, I do up buttons, though my hands are shaking so hard that it takes me several tries just to get the top one done.

When she’s covered, she looks over at me, a harsh line slashed against her cheek, clearly marking where she’s been slapped. “Thanks,” she mumbles.

I nod, feeling the cold air bite at me more aggressively now, but bright side? At least I still have on my heavy wool dress and leggings. One look at the mostly naked guards is enough to make me grimace for them. If they don’t get out of the cold soon, they could go into hypothermic shock and be at risk of having frostbite.