Gild (The Plated Prisoner, #1)(61)

Blood draws a line from his parted lips, landing behind his ear, a small splatter in the snow.

Behind me, all around me, the Red Raids move, speak, laugh. I ignore them as I lay my hand on Sail’s cold face.

“Get her onboard.”

My palm scrapes against Sail’s cheek as I’m hauled to my feet. I try to keep looking, to keep our eyes locked, but I’m pulled away. Sail’s gaze doesn’t follow me. It just stays still and unblinking, snow landing heavy against his blond lashes where he lies.

This time, when the sound of thunder fills the air, it really is from the clouds. I look up as I’m taken toward the ships, seeing the tremble that moves through the sky.

When I’m led to the ramp of the largest ship, the wind begins to whip, lightning buckles, and a storm opens up with a growl.

The soft, hovering snowfall is gone, and in its place is a punishing surge, frozen rain sluicing down like spikes. It crashes over us, as if the clouds went angry, as if they’re lending me vengeful tears for what’s been done below them.

But not even the plunging needles can pierce through the raw ache in my heart. Because my friend—my kind, teasing guard—is dead.

Sail is dead.

All because he was trying to protect me. To stand up for me. To bolster me.

Sharp. The sorrow is so damn sharp.

When I see some of the pirates kick at Sail’s body, roughly, callously, I lose it. I start to fight, kicking and screaming. But Quarter comes over and places a brutal hold on my jaw, squeezing it to the point of threat. “Enough of that.”

The pirate behind me gets a firmer hold of my arms, keeping me still. An enraged snarl comes out of me, a noise that doesn’t sound remotely human, as I stare at Quarter with hate—so much hate for all the Red Raids, his captain in particular.

Quarter’s eyes narrow on me before his hand delves into a pocket, and then he’s stuffing a filthy cloth in my mouth, holding it there, so thick I can’t even try to bite his fingers. “Quiet,” he snaps, pushing so far back that I start to gag.

I’m shoved the last step up the incline of the ramp, sending me sprawling onto the ship’s deck. My already sore body crashes into the wood, and I nearly choke on the fabric lodged in my mouth.

I snatch out the offending gag, coughing and sputtering with breaths as I toss it away. Before I can get up, the other saddles are shoved right alongside me, and we’re all pushed together on the deck like we’re just another pile of the pirate’s plunder.

A hand appears in front of my face, and I look up to find Rissa above me. I glance warily at her palm for a moment. “Well?” she says, clear impatience in her tone.

I reach up and take her hand, and Rissa pulls me up, helping me to my feet before she lets go. I begin to mutter out a thanks, but I’m elbowed at my side.

Turning, I see one of the other saddles—Mist—sneering at me. Her black hair is in knots, her eyes red and swollen. “Watch it,” she snarls, wiping her sleeve where I happened to brush up against her.

And maybe it’s because I just watched my friend get murdered before my eyes, maybe it’s because my nerves are frayed, or because we just became captives of notoriously brutal pirates, but red-hot rage comes galloping up in me, and I’m unable to stop it.

My ribbons, all twenty four of them from up and down my spine, unravel. Her eyes flicker with confusion at their movement—confusion and then shock as they thrust forward and shove.

She goes flying back, toppling other saddles and even some pirates behind her. She screeches as she lands, and then she’s up and on her feet in an instant, not to confront me about my ribbons and how the hell I moved them, but ready to attack.

Her fingers curled like claws, I brace myself for her, but Rissa steps between us before Mist can launch herself at me.

“No squabbling,” Rissa snaps, shooting looks at both of us. “Or have you forgotten where the hell we are?”

With a ragged exhale, my ribbons go limp behind me at her words, but Mist isn’t so deterred. She glares at me from over Rissa’s shoulder, and the intensity of her hate-filled gaze throws me off-balance.

I thought that her flare of temper from before was just from emotions, from stressful circumstances. But this—this expression on her face isn’t that. It’s not distress that’s making her lash out irrationally. Not when her eyes hold such personal vitriol.

“It’s her fault we’re here!” Mist hisses.

I frown, exasperated. “What the hell are you talking about? How is any of this my fault?”

Mist looks around at the other wide-eyed saddles huddled around us. “You heard them. Protect the king’s favored.” She scoffs with an ugly, humorless sound.

I go still. Those words—Sail’s words, called out right as the snow pirates ambushed us. I hadn’t thought, hadn’t even considered, how it would sound to the other saddles.

“When it came down to it, the guards weren’t going to protect us. It was just her. Midas always keeps her safe, keeps her special. Even on this damn journey, she got special treatment, didn’t she? Don’t travel too long during the night, because we don’t want to tire the king’s favored. Don’t eat more rations, because we have to make sure the king’s favored has extra. Don’t go too fast, because the king’s favored wants to ride a bloody horse she has no business being on! It’s all her! All the time!”