Page 107 of The Second Death of Locke
But Grey would not accept that—shecouldnot accept that. “In the old stories,” she said shakily, “the ones my mother used to tell, of the gods and their power. When you and your bride fought for the Isle, you won, but she perished. When Retarik fell—when she died—you did everything in your power to bring her back. You begged the sea for her life, and the sea listened.” A touch softer, she said, “I am pleading now. I am calling upon you, in all of your power. Will you not listen to me?”
“I am here to give you the mantle of power, and you ask more of me?”
“I have giveneverythingup for you and your power,” Grey said, her voice turning bitter. “I have proven again and again that I would die for that power. Everyone I love died to protect it, to protectme. Even Kier. You cannot ask me to keep going without him.” But it felt fruitless, an eternity of bargaining that she would never find the end of. “Please. He is all I ask for. Hislifeis all I ask for.”
Kitalma watched her, her gaze otherworldly. “You have made him one of my own,” she said finally. “A sacrifice has been made, and a sacrifice must be kept.” Grey opened her mouth, already searching for words, but the goddess held up a hand. “But I do pity you, daughter of Locke—’tis a sorrowful thing, to be alone in the world.”
Grey regarded her warily, uncertain she understood, too heartbroken to hope.
“As such, I will offer you three choices. Under my terms.”
Grey’s shoulders sagged. There would be terms—there would always be terms. She felt the weight of her exhaustion, tempered with grief. She just wanted to wake up. To wake Kier up. “Of course,” she said. “Just tell me what to do, and it is done. I will give up anything to bring him back.”
“The sacrifice has been made. I cannot just give him back to you without keeping something in return.” Kitalma spread her hands, the gleam of the dagger and its gems winking in the light. “The first choice: I will keep the boy’s life, and you will keep the Isle, as we stand now. Sometimes, daughter, the best way is to accept what has come to pass.”
“I will not accept it,” Grey said savagely.
“Very well, then. The second choice: I keep the boy, but only his freedom. You may have him as long as he remains here. Should he leave, his life again is forfeit.”
Grey stared at her, uncomprehending. “What… what does that mean?”
“If I breathe life into him,” Kitalma said, her eyes gleaming—they were black as the Isle’s cliffs, Grey realized. Black as the deepest part of the sea. “He can never again leave this isle. He will be as he was, as long as he remains here until the end of his days.”
Grey sucked a breath through her teeth. Kier’s freedom—she could not fathom cursing him like that, sentencing him to a life here, forever. “I cannot give you that.”
“Then the third choice: he may have his life and his freedom, and leave this place as he wishes. In return, you surrender to me your power. It is your choice, Gremaryse, daughter of Locke.”
Grey’s stomach dropped. Without her intending to, her hand went to her middle, palm pressed to her sternum, where she felt her power unfurling strong and true.
“Maryse…” Alma started.
But Isaak only watched her sadly. “What is love without freedom?” he asked. “Is that love at all?”
Grey met his gaze. It was like he had pulled the words directly from her own heart. “I cannot give my power,” she said through numb lips. “I am Locke. Kier isn’t a well—he can’t… There will be no grounding for the Isle.”
The old goddess raised a brow. “Do you doubt me?”
“No.”
“All will be well, daughter. Your own heir will continue the line of Locke,” she said, as if it was a foregone conclusion that Grey wouldhavean heir.
“But without my power—”
“I could just keep his life,” Kitalma said flatly. “But the boy is already one of mine, by your own rite. If he lives, he would be connected to the very foundation of the Isle.”
Grey’s heart sunk. Torrin was right—she had no idea what she’d done, how she had changed him, when she had bound to Kier.
“I have given you choices. If you want his life back, you must either give me his freedom, or hand me your power. Remember, this is a mercy—I could leave him free and dead, and your power intact. Those are my terms.”
Grey forced herself to breathe. Here she was, fighting with a goddess. No wonder she always got written up for insubordination.
“I would prefer he not be free and dead,” she said. The power mattered less; she could not imagine holding it without him. The very idea of tethering to someone else made her sick. She needed to think rationally, but she found it impossible—if she finished this conversation, she could have Kier back. Whatever followed was a matter for the version of her who didn’t feel like this. “And what… When do I have to decide?”
Kitalma gazed up, as if she could see anything in the gloom. “Keep the Isle, daughter. You may have one cycle of the moon, and then we shall meet again, at my altar, and I will need your answer. Until then, I will give your mage back to you and await your decision.”
Grey chewed her lip, but what else could she do? She could barely think past her own grief—she did not know how she would be able to make a decision with his body there, in front of her. She did not know how she could look upon him, dead, and not die herself.
“Thank you,” she said, “for your mercy.”
