Glow (The Plated Prisoner, #4)

by Raven Kennedy

Manu and Keon stand in front of me, facing Ranhold Castle, and they both push me back protectively while our guards surround us.

The gold-touch power was real, there’s no doubt about that. And he’s never gold-touched another living person, other than Auren. This must be why.

“Get the fuck out of her!”

face. Because that piece—that single scrap of rot that I should’ve just ripped out of her when I got knocked on my ass—is still there. It’s still. Fucking. There.

“I did this.” Three words cut from the keenest guilt.

“Get your shit together,” my brother fumes over me, kneeling even as he lifts me back up from where he sucker punched me. My furious eyes latch onto his face. “You’re leaking rot all over the Divine-damned place. Suck it up right now. You don’t have the luxury of losing control.”

“Good.” He lets me go, and I equal parts want to slam my own fist into his face and thank him for snapping me out of the power pull.

I start to walk away, but Digby hobbles in front of me, expression murderous. “I told you to fix her.”

Lu just shrugs. “We’ve all got a little rotten in us, and I wouldn’t change that for anything. It’s how we’ve survived.”

“You don’t have to be cruel to be strong. You don’t have to be mean to seem brave. You don’t have to look down on others in order to stand tall. Having emotions does not mean you’re weak. It means you’re smart enough to let yourself feel.”

“You know I hate flying,” Judd replies as he strips off his cloak and hangs it on the peg, beside the fire where the rest of our cloaks are already hanging. “Plus, we went right through the damn storm. That rain turned to sleet, and that sleet turned to hail. Ever been pummeled by hail while you’re trying to stay on a frozen saddle with a mender who hates heights?” he asks as he yanks off his boots. “Not recently, no.” He gives another hair shake. “Well, it’s hard.” Hojat frowns. “It was my first time on a timberwing, Captain Judd,” he says, shuddering slightly as he too takes off his wet boots. “And your flying … it is not the best.”

The four of them look at me like I’m a kid throwing a tantrum. They give me this look a lot.

The moment her back is bared, a jagged inhale cuts through my lips and slices down my throat. I hear my Wrath take in a collective gasp, all of them stepping in closer to see. Yet I don’t step closer. Instead, I’m rooted to the spot.

The boy is barely ranked, only joined the army this past summer, and he’s been grateful for me accepting his application ever since. Caught him spit-shining my shoes once when I didn’t remember to put them away.

“I’m captain of the whole damn army right now. Who the fuck are you?” I counter, though she looks familiar.

“Yeah, she did. Gildy is way too fucking nice,” I grumble under my breath.

But survival is also about choosing your loyalties wisely. When it comes to those I’m loyal to, I’m a fierce fucker.

“What?” she says with careless indifference. “This is what you want, right? You want me to pay for your services, Captain? I’m just a disloyal saddle, so I’d better compensate you for your generosity.”

“No, brother. I wouldn’t dare to order the great King Rot around,” he bites back.

With complete confidence, he carefully rolls her body, keeping the blanket as a layer between them. As soon as he moves her, the pooling liquid begins to cascade down the side of the bed.

My lips tip up into a smirk, while her eyes taper in suspicion. Oh, Goldfinch, I see you.

“Oh, I see,” I say casually as I take off my stained coat, letting it drop to the floor, before slowly rolling back the sleeves on my arms. “You don’t want to be nice. You want to fight.”

But I know a thing or two about dual natures.

“You’re gorgeous when you’re unhinged,” I tell her. Then, I slam my lips against hers.

Come on, Goldfinch.

I feel the heat of his body in front of me, the shadows cast from his body mingling with mine. “I claimed you that night in Ranhold,” he tells me, his tone so full of unfaltering fire that it draws my gaze back up. Heat flushes my face, as if he really were ablaze, his words igniting the packed-down snow of my spirit. “And then you claimed me right back, in the middle of a ballroom for everyone to hear. Or don’t you remember?”

“I want to go see the cave.” “You want to keep avoiding everything,” he counters. A barbed laugh scrapes past my lips. “And if I do? That’s my prerogative. I have been controlled and owned for over twenty years of my life,” I say, eyes flashing. “So if I want to avoid something and see a damned cave, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

I’ve always been treated like treasure, but with Slade, I’m simply treasured.

He shakes his head in frustration. “You want to cook dinner, you want to see the cave, you want to go back inside … you can’t keep running from this, Auren.”

“I don’t care if he’s gentle,” I say, turning around to shove my feet back into the boots. I don’t even bother to do up the laces, because I just need to get away. Out there, in the depths of the cave, where its secrets stay hidden and depths stay untouched. “I’m going back out.” “Auren—” “He’s not looking me over, and I’m going back out to the fucking cave!”

That’s the thing with trauma to the body—it shows up instantly. In breaks and bruises, in burns and in blood. But the trauma on the inside, that’s harder to see. It creeps around your mind, poisons you with disquiet. It can hit you out of nowhere, debilitating and ruinous. There are no marks visible for those. None, save the shadows in your eyes.

I sob and I grieve, and it’s not subtle or quiet, but a violent wracking of mourning that digs itself out of me and lands in a messy, hurtful heap. But all the while, Slade squeezes my hand and Digby stands watch.

“I don’t want to be weak ever again.” He absorbs my determined declaration with quiet study. I see his dusky green eyes flicker just beside my face, as if he’s looking at my aura.

we aren’t strong because of our trauma. We were always strong to begin with.

Which is why I meet Slade’s eye, and I don’t waver when I say, “I want to be so strong that I never have to fear anyone else in this world. That if I need to, I can make them all fear me. And I want you to teach me.” Silence reigns like a rigid monarch. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve crossed a line. If I’ve shocked him. Worry makes me want to gnaw on my bottom lip. But then, Slade grins.

I can feel his words when he murmurs. “Oh, Goldfinch. I’d thought you’d never ask.”

The soldier actually lights up, as if this is an honor. “Right away, Captain!”

But now, as I pitch to the left again and again, reality lands hard and heavy, like bricks sinking into my gut. I stare at Judd, eyes gone wide, and it feels like my internal temperature plummets, ice filling my tightening veins. “Gildy?”

He nods, but then cocks his head as if he’s reconsidering. “Except maybe Ryatt. He might teach you something just to fuck with you.”

His hazel eyes glitter with something like pride. “That sounds good to me, Gildy.”

I let out an ugly laugh, yanked from the center of my chest. “I can’t even stand,” I spit out, but my tone isn’t directed at him or Judd, it’s directed at me. “Because I keep losing my balance. Because I let him … I let him …” My words choke off. Strangled, like a fist around my throat. I let him. For ten Divine-damned years, I let him.

You never notice what’s keeping you balanced until you realize you’re not standing straight anymore.

I glare at him. “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Don’t placate me. Don’t stand there all confident and encouraging.” “Would you rather I be doubtful and disparaging?”

“I’m not quitting,” I hiss through my teeth. “I’m just taking a break before I try to punch your kingly army commander.”

Slade is in front of me with his Wrath, while my wrath burns deep in my gut. Churning like magma ready to spew.

And then, my stoic, steady, inscrutable guard cries.

Right here at the table, pain etches out of him in unwanted waves. His other hand covers his face, as if he wants to try and smother the grief. His fingers are bruised, his pinky stained permanently black and held at an awkward angle, lost against its battle with frostbite, just as he’s lost the battle with his unflappable disposition.

“You are very beautiful.”

“You’ll see.” Then he turns and kneels down in front of me. “Hop on.” I blink. “What?” “I saw your grimace every time you took a step. I want to carry you, but I don’t want to hurt your back. So hop on.” My feet shift in place, but even that sends a shock of pain down my arches. “Are you sure?” He glances at me over his shoulder. “Am I sure that I want your body pressed against mine while I carry you so that you’re not in pain? Yes.”

“Oh, Goldfinch, I’d follow you to the end of the world and tip right off the edge, all because of a crook of your finger.”