Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1) - Raven Kennedy Page 0,77

moment only long enough to blink. To look.

Sail’s eyes are suddenly on mine again, blue depths of an ocean he’s never seen. And that kind gaze of his keeps speaking. His nod keeps promising.

It’s okay, it’s okay.

But it’s not okay. Not at all. Because before that nod is even finished, the captain has unhooked a knife from the scabbard at his waist and rammed it into Sail’s chest.

Straight through to his heart.

“No!”

I’m running before I’ve made the conscious decision to do so. But I don’t even make it three steps before someone grabs me, a pair of meaty arms closing around my middle.

I scream, a horrible rage tearing out of my throat, my voice an unearthly noise that rents through the air, hollowing out the night, thrashing through the mountain pass, cursing at the covered stars.

My scream makes the nervous horses whinny and the fire claws hiss. It muffles the Gale Widow’s cries, and it blames the fates. Even when a hand slams over my mouth to quiet me, the sound rips out, as if I could make a tear in the world, as if I could shatter the skies.

Blood blooms over Sail’s chest, soaking into his cotton tunic like a scarlet flower gaping. Hot tears roll from my eyes one after the other in uncontrollable tracks, freezing on my cheeks.

The hand falls away from me as I fall on the ground, scrabbling for him on hands and knees. I don’t feel the bite of the ice as I crawl. But his name falls from my lips again and again, as time seems to stop, to inhale with a shocked breath.

His blue eyes are still on me, but blinking, blinking. They flick down to the blade. To the red.

I reach him just as his body curls forward, just as he falls.

Even with my hands landing against his shoulders, Sail still goes down. All I’m able to do is twist him up, to keep his face pointed at the sky.

Mouth dribbles red life, breath like choked water. Blue-tinged lips to match his eyes as they rain.

My heart shatters itself against my ribs. He looks at me, my teardrops landing on his. I sob. He shudders.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I cry. Lying for him, as he did for me.

And with his last breath, he nods.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

My heart stops raging. Stops hammering. It slumps, defeated, gone as quiet and still as Sail’s chest.

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