Gild (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 1), Raven Kennedy [good books to read TXT] 📗

“I need to bring more ale than this,” she says, voice at normal level now as she hefts the full pitchers in her arms. “Can you carry the other two?”

I hesitate for a moment, but then nod and fill two more. Together, we carry the pitchers out, Cook glaring at us as we go, the guard dog on our heels.

When we’re just outside the dining room, I stop. “I’m not allowed inside.”

Polly looks over at me with a frustrated sigh. “Fine. I’ll send someone else out to grab those.”

She takes a breath before going inside, trying to hold her head up high, trying to keep an easy smile on her face. She barely even flinches when one of them smacks her ass as she leans over to pour for him. A performance. It’s all a performance.

The room is rowdy and loud, the pirates obviously deep into their cups, the food already eaten. I see Polly head over to Rissa, saying something in her ear in passing. Rissa glances over at me before she rushes over to grab the last two pitchers.

“They sure do drink a lot,” I say quietly as I pass them over to her.

“Good for us,” she murmurs with a wink. “If we can get them drunk enough, some of them might pass out. One less bastard to deal with tonight.”

She turns away with a sultry smile plastered on her face, her act ready to appease them, ready to work the room to the best of her ability so she can come out unscathed.

Like she told the others earlier, they’re professionals, and it shows in every smirk, every tease, every sway of their hips. Fawns forced to gratify the predators. To entice them to watch, to appreciate. Persuading them to not harm, not bite.

I just hope it works.

My vision of the room gets cut off when a furious face steps in front of me. Mist’s black hair hangs in limp knots around her, the bodice of her dress sagging, either from the earlier rain, or some attention she received in here. “Typical,” she says with a snort. “The favored doesn’t even have to serve like the rest of us.”

“I’m not al—”

“Save it,” she snaps. “Can you at least take these dirty dishes back to the galley, or are you too good to even do that much?”

My teeth grind. “I understand your anger, I do,” I begin. “But instead of being so nasty toward me, save your energy for them,” I say, nodding toward the quiet soldiers.

“As if you care.”

I do, of course, but she won’t believe me no matter what I say.

She shoves the dirty dishes into my arms before spinning around again. I take my armful to the kitchen, where I stay for the next hour in front of a bucket of cold, barely sudsy water and scrub every dish clean.

The saddles file in one after another, bringing me more to wash until my back is aching, my hands chapped and numb. But I use my time well. I scrub out my frustration on the dishes while my ribbons keep plucking at the knots, inch by sluggish inch. I use the sash to my advantage, hiding their every move.

Keep going. All I can do is keep going.

When I’m finally done washing, the guard dog hoists me up by the arm. “Come on, I want to get up there to see what’s happening.”

I wipe my wet, freezing hands on the front of my dress, feet tripping to keep up with his impatience. He’s obviously bored of being my babysitter.

“Stay at my side and keep your mouth shut, got it?”

With a nod, I follow beside him as we go upstairs to the main deck, where I find all of the saddles lined up in front of me.

Soon, they’ll all be gone. They’ll leave with Fourth’s men, and I’ll be left here. I’ll be trapped, kept without any bars, but no less captive.

I don’t know which is worse. Wolves or foxes. Merciless pirates or enemy soldiers.

I wish Midas were here.

The thought surges into me so violently that tears fill my eyes. I would give anything to see him right now. For him to swoop in, to rescue us, to protect me once more. Just like he saved me from those raiders all those years ago. My vagabond savior. My champion king.

But Midas isn’t here.

He’s not coming, because he has no idea I’m even in any trouble. And by the time he finds out, it’ll be too late. Far, far too late.

Chapter Thirty-Five

My hands twist in front of me, as tangled as the knots at my back.

This is a crossroads, forged on the deck of a pirate ship. I don’t know which fate is worse or which captors are more brutal.

Better the devil you know, but what happens when the devils are always new? Always strangers creeping up unexpectedly to snatch you away?

Short of Midas coming in to rescue me, I have no hope of escaping the pirates or the soldiers. And where would I go if I did? We’re in the middle of the frozen Barrens, miles of arctic waste all around. I could wander for days on my own, easily get lost in the white blanketed wind, or caught up in a blizzard and never find my way.

But maybe that would be better. Maybe it would be a blessing to fall into the snowbanks and never wake up. A gentler embrace than what these men have in mind, that’s for sure.

Despite not knowing which captor is worse, I do know that the thought of being split up from everyone I know fills me with panic. Even though the saddles don’t like me—some might even hate me—at least they’re a part of home. A reminder of safety.

A particularly large knot at my back makes my ribbon stab with pain, but I suppress my wince and keep at it as I stand on the deck. Alone. I’m going to be here,