Page 126 of The Second Death of Locke
Grey nodded, barely able to speak past the tightness in her chest. “But.”
“He’s walking now.”
“I was offered a trade. By the goddess.”
“Grey…”
She shook her head. She could not say it for a moment of quiet breathing, and then she forced the words out: “I have time, yet. But I can either keep my power… or Kier can keep his freedom.”
Leonie sucked a breath through her teeth. “And if you lose your power, will all power fade?”
“No,” Grey said, considering. “The goddess said Kier will still be able to draw from the Isle, and my own heir will continue the line. So it is just… me.”
“And if Kier gives his freedom?”
“IfIgive it,” Grey corrected, feeling the distinction was important. “Then Kier can never again leave the Isle. He will live the rest of his days here, and then he will die here.”
“He can never go home.”
“No,” Grey said.
Leonie nodded thoughtfully. She ran the tip of her finger over the wrinkled edge of the bottle’s label. “And have you decided?”
Grey rubbed her eyes. That was the question, wasn’t it? Every time she opened her mouth to tell Kier, every time the words tangled on her tongue—because she had decided, and the decision made her ache.
“He’s already given everything up for me,” she said, the words thick in her throat. “I cannot take more from him.”
Leonie’s hand stopped moving. “So you would give it up? You would give away everything?”
“It’s no more than he already sacrificed,” Grey said, the knot finally breaking. She took a ragged breath and wiped away her tears with her sleeve.
That was when she saw him, in the shadows of the doorway. He had one hand on the door still, frozen, halfway through pushing it open.
“Leonie,” Kier said. His voice was quiet, but the intensity of it made Grey’s blood run cold. She reached for the tether—but in that very moment, Kier snapped it. “If I may, I need to speak with the High Lady.”
Cold dread spread through her at the tone of his voice. She knew, with utter certainty, that she had made a grave mistake in not telling him—and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it, no defense she could use, no high ground she could take.
Leonie paled, turning to look at Kier. She twisted to look back at Grey, but Grey only shook her head. The damage was already done.
“Of course,” Leonie said. She left Grey one more lingering glance, took her bottle and the glasses and went out. Kier shut the door behind her.
He raised his eyes to Grey, finally. Only then did she see the full extent of his anger, written in the paleness of his face, the sharpness of his gaze, the ticking muscle of his jaw. She’d seen that expression before—but she’d never seen it directed at her.
He was still dressed, despite his earlier beckoning for her to come to bed—he had probably been working, too, at the desk in their room. Preparing for the battle to come. She regarded him, taking in the lines of his face in the firelight; she could not read him.
“What was I to do?” she asked, when she could not bear the silence anymore. She didn’t know how long he’d been there, how much he’d heard, but he’d certainly caught the worst of it.
“You should’vetold me,” he said, his voice shaking with fury.
Blood and betrayal. That’s the legacy of Locke.
She rose to her feet like a thundercloud. “You cannot be mad at me for saving your life.”
“You didn’t save my life!” Kier shouted. “Idied, Grey. Don’t you think I deserved to know that?”
“I was going to tell you,” she said, fighting to keep her own voice level, “once I decided what to do.”
“And you don’t think I should get a say?” He whirled, finding an inkpot on one of the bookshelves. He threw it; she winced when it hit the stone wall above the fireplace and shattered in a spray of black drops and glass. “Fuck!”
