Glint (Plated Prisoner Book 2)

I shouldn’t be startled by his sudden presence, but fear locks my knees and traps the breath in my throat, and for a second, I can’t move.

The commander stops short upon his entry, his black eyes widening when he sees my nakedness.

My momentary shock-stillness snaps, and I yank up the chemise to hold it in front of me. “What do you want?” I demand with a shrill voice, but I know. Of course I know, because it’s what all men want, and why should he be any different just because he’s fae?

The commander’s eyes snap up to my face, irritation showing with a tic in his jaw that makes the muscle jump. Without saying a word, he turns and walks out, the curved spike between his shoulder blades nearly catching on the flap as he goes.

I stand there in shock, gaping at the place he just was, emotions filtering in one after the other like scents in a garden. I’m embarrassed, baffled, angry, and vulnerable. Entirely too vulnerable.

Why did he just walk out?  

With trembling fingers, I quickly snap into action, pulling the chemise on over my head. He left, but he could be back.

I hear footsteps outside, and I curse as I yank up the dropped fur and clutch it against my chest. Even with my chemise on, I feel naked, terror coursing through me as I look around for a weapon.

“Coming in.”

I frown at the voice, because I know for certain that it’s not the commander. It’s too high-pitched, too…friendly.

A man I don’t recognize steps inside, instantly straightening up as soon as the flap drops behind him. The first thing I notice about him is how slight he is.

The second thing I notice is that the left side of his face looks deformed, as if it were burned many years ago, healing badly with creases of skin and marks of ruin. He has no eyebrow on that side, his eyelid droops, and the corner of his lips doesn’t quite split correctly.

He’s probably in his forties, with thin brown hair and olive skin, and instead of the leathers that all the soldiers wear, he has on a thick black coat that goes all the way down to his knees, secured by a belt at his waist.

“I am Hojat,” he says, voice thick with a south Orean accent that I haven’t heard in years. “I am here to see you.”

My eyebrows pull together, mind leaping as the man watches me. The commander catches a glimpse of me naked, and now he’s sending in his men to have a peek too?

My face hardens, fingers tightening on my fur, my throat clamping with a readied scream. “Get out.”

Hojat blinks, head rearing back at the vitriol sparking from my tongue. “Pardon? The commander gave me leave to have a look at you.”

Terrified fury makes my body go rigid. “Did he? Well I don’t give you leave to look at me, no matter what the commander said. So you can turn around and leave. Now.”

Hojat blinks. “But I… No. My lady, I am a mender.” 

Now it’s my turn to look confused. My eyes sweep over him again, noticing for the first time that he’s carrying a satchel and has red bands stitched on both of his sleeves around his biceps. The customary mark of an Orean army healer.

“Oh,” I say, anger immediately deflating. “I’m sorry. I thought… Never mind. Why did the commander send you?”

He nods at my split lip and what I can only imagine is a very bruised cheek. “I think I can see why, my lady.”

I’m surprised at the formality he’s using. I would’ve expected an army’s healer to be gruffer, especially given which army he serves.

“I’m fine. It’ll heal.”

He doesn’t let my dismissive tone faze him. “All the same, I still need to look you over.”

My lips press together. “Let me guess. Because the commander ordered it.”

One side of his mouth tips up in a smile, the scarred side left behind. “You catch on quick, my lady.”

“It’s mostly just aches and pains, and you can call me Auren.”

He nods and sets his satchel down. “Let’s take a look anyway, lady Auren.”

I huff a breath out, half in humor at the title he insists on using, and half in exasperation. “Honestly, I’ve had worse.”

“Not something a mender likes to hear, I don’t think,” Hojat mutters before he walks over, eyes scanning me as he steps in close. Fortunately, his gaze is clinical, nothing leering or intimidating about it. “How did you get this?” he asks, motioning to my cheek.

My eyes flick away. “I was struck.”

“Hmm. And any pain when you speak or chew?”

“No.”

“Good.” Brown eyes move down to my swollen lip, though I can feel that the split is scabbed over.

“And this here, any aching or loose teeth?”

“Thankfully, no.”

“Good, good, good,” he says. “Any other injuries?”

I fidget on my feet. “I fell and landed on a rock. I think it pierced me on my shoulder, but I can’t see it to know for sure.”

He hums in his throat and moves to my side, but I hesitate. “Umm, only look. Don’t touch it.”

He pauses, but nods and stays where he is. Keeping one eye on him, I pull the collar of my chemise down to expose the back of my shoulder. He leans in close but, thankfully, doesn’t try to touch. “Yes, there’s a small wound here. Let me get something for it.”

He goes over to his satchel and digs around, pulling out some kind of tincture. I watch, standing awkwardly as he tips the glass vial over onto the corner of a cloth, grabs another vial, and then walks back over.

Hojat reaches up to put the cloth against my skin, but I instinctively jerk back. He stops with wide eyes. “Sorry, my lady. I forgot.”

I clear my throat. “It’s fine. I’ll do it.”

He passes it over, and I take the cloth, pressing the damp material against the wound. It stings instantly, and Hojat tips his head at my hiss. “It hurts a bit, but it’ll get it clean.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I say dryly.  

I finish dabbing it, and with a nod from Hojat, I hand the cloth back to him. “Let it dry a bit before you cover it again,” he instructs.  

“Okay.”

Hojat turns to put the cloth away, but he accidentally steps on my ribbons. I suck in a breath as he unintentionally pulls them taut, sore lengths crushed under his heel.

At the grimace on my face, he immediately jumps back. “Oh, apologies, lady, I—” Eyes dropping, he notices what he stepped on, and his words cut off. “What… What’s this?”

I grab my ribbons and push them behind me. “They’re just the ties to my chemise.”

His expression tells me that he doesn’t believe me at all, and honestly, he shouldn’t, because they’re obviously too thick and long.All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

A shift of his eyes has me stiffening, as he no doubt notices that the ribbons are poking out from beneath my chemise, not over. I quickly wrap the fur around my body to cover my back, but I know it’s too late.

“Is that all?” I ask, hoping that I can get him to leave.

Hojat clears his throat and jerks his eyes away. “Ah, no. The commander mentioned an injury on your ribs.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine, they’re—”

“I’m afraid I must insist. Commander’s orders.”

I clench my teeth. “And I’m afraid I must insist. I said it’s fine, and it’s my body.”

In order to see my ribs, I’d have to lift up my chemise way higher than I’m comfortable doing, or I’d have to take it off completely, and I’d be even more vulnerable than I am now. He’d be able to see my body and my ribbons, and that’s not something I’m willing to allow, mender or not.

Having the commander walk in on me was enough.

Hojat’s face softens. “You have nothing to fear from me, lady Auren. Just disrobe, lie down on the pallet, and I’ll be quick—”

My chest constricts. “No.”

Just lie down on the pallet, girl. This will be quick.

The voice that springs up from my memory is hoarse, bristly. I recall it with perfect clarity, and it makes me break out into a sweat. I can almost catch the scent of a wet wheat field, manure sodden in its soil. My stomach churns.

I’ve let myself wallow for too long today, left too many wounds open. My mind is vulnerable, letting things slip out that I buried long ago.

With a shaky breath, I shove away the jagged memory as hard as I can. “I’d like to rest now, Hojat.”

The mender looks like he wants to argue some more, but instead, he simply shakes his head with a resigned sigh.

Will the commander punish him? Will he punish me?

“Very well,” Hojat says.

My tense shoulders relax slightly as he turns away. I watch him fiddle around in his satchel again, then kneel at the flaps of the tent, scooping up some snow from outside and dumping it in a small rag that he ties at the corners.

I’m about to ask what he’s doing when he walks over with the tied bundle and another vial that he holds out to me. “Cold compress and some Ruxroot. It will help with the pain and sleep.”

I nod, taking them both. I pop open the cork of the small vial, pouring the contents in my mouth. As soon as it hits my tongue, I cough, nearly gagging, the heat and bitter taste so odious that tears flood my eyes. I barely manage to swallow it down.

“Great Divine, what is that?” I choke out. “I’ve taken Ruxroot plenty of times, and it never tasted like that.”

Hojat gives me a sheepish look as he takes back the empty vial. “Sorry, my lady, I forgot to warn you. I mix all of my remedies with henade.”

My eyes widen incredulously, my throat bobbing like it’s still trying to get rid of the burn. “You spike your medicinal brews with the strongest alcohol in all of Orea?” I ask.

He shrugs with a smile. “What did you expect? I’m an army mender. I mostly treat pissed-off soldiers fresh off the battlefield. Believe me, the more alcohol, the better in those cases. It helps deaden the pain for even the most brutal of wounds, and it improves their foul moods,” he says with a wink from his good eye.  

I wipe my mouth on the fur hanging over my shoulder. “Ugh. I prefer wine.”

He chuckles and motions to the pack of snow I’m holding in the other hand. “Ice your cheek and lip tonight. The swelling will go down.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

“Good rest, my lady.” Hojat gathers his satchel and walks out, leaving me alone once again.

While I wait for the liquid on my shoulder to dry completely, I clean up my tray of food, and then I take the time to check over my dress and scrub out as much of the blood as I can before hanging it up on one of the poles of the tent to quasi-dry.

I swig down the last drops of my water to try and clean out the taste of the horrible tincture, but it doesn’t do much of anything. I hope that henade was the only extra ingredient mixed in there.

I probably shouldn’t have trusted Hojat so easily, but I was too relieved to be offered a pain suppressant that I didn’t even think. The mender doesn’t seem the type to slip me poison, but I really shouldn’t dismiss anyone in Fourth’s army.

Feeling like I’m nearly ready to collapse, I fold back some of the furs on the pallet and practically fall into the makeshift bed, carefully arranging my ribbons so they won’t tangle with my legs during the night.

I cover myself from cheeks to toes with the heavy furs, rolling up another to stuff under my head. Once I’m settled, I take the cold compress and hold it against my cheek.

My body soon warms beneath the thick layers, and I sigh, feeling the effects of Ruxroot begin to work itself through me.

But just when I start to close my heavy eyes, the tent flap lifts again, blowing in fresh snow. My eyes snap over to the commander as he ducks inside, the flaps falling closed behind him.

I have a feeling that this time, he won’t be walking back out.