Page 65 of The Second Death of Locke
He took a breath, the panic on his face clearing, resolving into a peaceful calm she did not understand. It scared her, then, how much he looked like their father. “I need you to do something.”
She looked up at him, terrified. There were boots on the stairs, then fists slamming the doors. Severin looked up, over her shoulder, and sucked a breath through his teeth. “We don’t have much time.”
Agony tore through her. Maryse gasped, gripping her stomach as some great power extinguished. She screamed, trying to keep the pain at bay, but it was no use. She fell forward onto her hands. Severin caught her and held her close. He shook against her, and when she looked up, her brother was crying.
“Locke has fallen,” he said, reading the expression on her face. He closed his eyes for one brief moment. Maryse could not stop the sobs that racked her body, the wailing noise coming from somewhere deep in her chest. There was a crackling sound behind them, and she sobbed harder as the door behind Severin smoked, then burned.
He shook his head. “Stay quiet.”
She stayed quiet. He repositioned them so they sat on the floor, facing each other. She tried to wipe her nose, but he caught her hand and held it. He took her free hand with his. A closed circuit.
There was pounding overhead, pounding behind her, crackling flames behind him.
“You are Locke now,” Severin said, very quietly. “Do you understand?”
She shook her head.
“I need you to do it, Maryse.” He did not explain, and he did not need to. He wanted her to do the thing she had been expressly told she mustn’t do unless the Isle itself was at stake. He wanted her to do the thing that hurt more than anything else, the thing that feltthe very best of all.
“I can’t.”
“Youmust.”
“I—”
“Maryse, if they find you, if theytakeyou, they’ll get all the power of Locke. They will find a way to control it.” He spoke quickly, so quickly that his words were tangled, but she understood them all the same. It was the same thing her mother had always told her, had always warned her might come to pass.
“We can run. Together.”
“Wecan’t,” Severin said, and now the tears flowed freely down his cheeks. “If they take you, if you refuse to let them control you, they will make you bear an heir as soon as you’re able. One who will hand over all the power, who they can control—and then they’ll kill you anyway. I can’t save you. You have to save your power, Maryse—you have to save yourself.”
She knew. She knew all of it, and what would happen to her if she didn’t use her own power. She could barely breathe, choking on tears.
“After it’s done, you have to run. You will live, Maryse, if you forget us.”
“No.”
“Do you promise,” Severin whispered, “to let us go?”
“No,” she whimpered. She did not hug him; she did not break the circuit. He squeezed both of her hands, and it hurt.
“You have to,” he said.
As she sobbed, the door behind Severin exploded in a shower of sparks. They both ducked, but the hot embers showered down on Sev’s body. Above her, he screamed in pain even as he shielded her. She felt the tether take, the most familiar sensation in the world.
“Now, Locke!”he shouted.
Maryse relented. She reached out, felt the swell of the island below her, felt the swell of the power as she stripped it from every other well on the Isle. It all rushed into her in one great torrent, so much power for such a small body,toomuch power. She pushed it at Severin even as he screamed.
Eyes shut, his hands gripped in hers, they detonated Locke andeverything with it.
It is not a weakness, Alma—or should I only call you Locke now?—to love. I wish my own union had been as lucky, and frankly, I envy you. It is a mighty, powerful thing for someone to see your worst faults (and as your sister, I assure you there are many) and want all of you anyway.
Letter from Wren Locke Teinek to Alma, High Lady of Locke, 18 yearsAD
sixteen
HER CHEST FELT LIKEit was splintering to pieces. Something warm was pressing on it, hard enough to break her. Her eyes were already open when she focused on the bleary shape above her. It was his hands on her heart, forcing it to beat.
