Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1) - Raven Kennedy Page 0,65
guards share a loaded look. “That’s the thing. He should’ve been back already.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The guards’ faces are shuttered. Uneasy. Their stances, as they all keep sentry on top of the hill, hold tension, from the line of their shoulders to the poise of their feet.
On top of the unnamed hill over the last stretch of plain in Sixth Kingdom, I suddenly feel exposed, like a tree stripped of its bark.
For a moment, no one speaks. All faces are turned toward the mountain in the distance, to where the scout ventured off. Lone footprints leading away from the group, snowfall already starting to cover them.
Long minutes pass, and though we wait, all eyes peeled, no sign of the scout comes. Beside me, Digby’s lips press together in a firm line, as if making up his mind. He looks over a few of the men. “You three with me to track the scout. The rest of you, stay with the carriages. Be ready to move.”
The three men nod and walk off to mount their horses, while Digby turns to Sail. “Guard her,” he says gruffly.
Sail salutes him by hitting his right fist against his left shoulder plate. “Yes, sir.”
Digby gives me a look that says, Behave yourself.
To reassure him, I attempt to mimic the same salute motion that Sail gave him, except I overshoot and end up punching myself in the arm way too hard. “Ouch,” I mutter, rubbing the spot on my shoulder with a wince.
Digby sighs at me and looks at Sail again. “Guard her a lot.”
“Hey!” I say indignantly.
Sail barely stops his snort of amusement. “Will do, sir.”
Digby places his foot in the stirrup of his horse and hauls himself into the saddle while I clutch my coat tightly around me.
With a whistle, he and the three others go galloping down the hill in the same direction that the missing scout went. One of them carries a lantern pole, leading the way.
I don’t know how in the Divine hell they’re going to be able to see anything out there to find the scout, but I hope they find him and return quickly. Waiting here leaves an uneasy seed to fester beneath the ground I’m standing on, filling me with trepidation. Staying here, dormant, like stagnant water left to spoil.
“You think they’ll find him?”
Sail nods with confidence. “They’ll pick up his trail.”
“Even in the dark?” I ask dubiously.
“Don’t worry.” Sail sends me a comforting look. “Digby is the best guard I’ve ever met. He’s smart and he’s got good instincts. I’m sure the Scout just got turned around. It’s easy to do out here.”
I nod, swallowing down the rest of my worries so they don’t creep off my tongue and find voice.
“Come on, Miss Auren, let’s get you back to the carriage. You’ll be out of the cold at least,” Sail tells me.
I hesitate, still watching the bobbing lantern of the search party, the light getting smaller with the distance. Soon, it’s the only thing I can see, the riders’ shadows totally swallowed up with the night.
I watch that light like it’s one of the fireflies of southern Orea, where it’s rumored that they appear on dark, lonely roads to lead the lost back home with their ultraviolet glow.
Ever since that night, when a blade was pressed against my neck, I’ve depended on Digby’s steady presence. We’ve never spoken about it—that’s not his way—but at night in my cage, I’d roll over from a nightmare and see him there, already standing watch against the wall, even though his shift wouldn’t start for hours.
It was as if he knew I needed him near, like he knew I’d keep seeing that blade, that blood, that line between death and life. He knew, and he came to protect me, every night, even if it was just against phantom dreams.
It’s foolish, but watching him disappear out of sight leaves a raking claw to draw over my back, making the base of my ribbons recoil.
“Don’t worry,” Sail tells me again, obviously picking up on my thoughts. “They’ll be back soon.”
“And if the mountain breaks loose?”
Sail begins to lead me down the hill. “A little thing like an avalanche wouldn’t be enough to stop him. He’s too stubborn.” He smiles over at me. “Too good of a soldier.”
“Is he? He must hate having babysitting duty all the time, then,” I reply with a dry chuckle, an attempt to pretend, to smother the worry.