Page 93 of The Second Death of Locke
“Locke,” Eron said, crouching so his face was level with hers. He had such kind eyes; she’d always envied the soldiers who’d kept any kindness after so much bloodshed. “What are we going to do?”
Grey sighed. It wasn’t the sacrifice that was the hard part; it was the running head-first off the cliff that she and Kier had always been so very good at. Perhaps it was the surviving that was worse. She remembered his face on the night she’d given him all the power she had, the flash right before he used it; she remembered his gaze last night, which now felt so long ago, the way he’d gripped her as he said,You are everything I’ve ever wanted.
She slipped Lot’s ring onto her thumb, as it was too big for her other fingers. Grey stood up. She squared her shoulders, wincing at the ache even as she remembered Kier’s broken collarbone, the echo of the pain she would’ve felt through the tether.
“Well?” Brit said. “Are we marching into the sea?”
Grey was quiet for a long moment, turning over the rumors and her memories, examining each of them in turn. The truth was, she was one person, one sovereign without a nation, and she had gone so long without thinking about what that meant. She thought of Cleoc and that little obsidian moon, of Scaelas’s hand in hers when she was only a girl.
“I think we need to speak to my godfather,” she said. “Because there is an imposter claiming my title, and my commander has been taken captive, and we may still have allies yet.”
“Who is her godfather?” Brit asked.
“Contextually, I would assume it is Scaelas, you cretin,” Ola murmured back.
Grey ignored them, stretching out her hands, looking at the scars that marred them from fighting Scaelas’s wars. “I’ve given most of my life for him. The least he could give back is his protection.”
She started through the woods, not caring which way she was going—she would find her home; Locke was always there within reach when she went looking. “Kier has made a mistake trying to save me. And we’re going to find him and force him to his knees and make him fucking beg for forgiveness.”
“There she is,” Eron said quietly. “That’s our girl.”
“Going in the wrong direction, Locke,” Ola said, not unkindly.
It was hard to be the High Lady of Locke while traipsing through the mud without direction in borrowed boots, but Grey made the best of it. At the next village, they realized they were just over the Luthrite border, and though there were some close calls with patrolling forces, they made it safely into Scaela.
Getting into Grislar was another story.
“I’m Hand Captain Grey Flynn,” Grey hissed at one of the guards at the city’s gate. The town was in lockdown due to the presence of both Cleoc and Scaelas, the gates guarded, the towers peopled with soldiers. She could see the streets of the city, the encampment spread far below, the rolling hills that dropped off at the cliffs. “We need to speak with Commander Reggin.”
But the boy—he was a boy, dammit, probably barely older than Sela—said only, “I have instructions to only allow in those who have papers.”
Grey very nearly punched him. Ola slid neatly in front of her and said, “Do you know who you’re talking to? Captain Flynn led the retinue that saved Cleoc’s daughter.”
“Then she should havepapers,” the boy said, exasperated.
Ola rose to her full height, still shorter than the guard, and pointed at Grey. “She is awar hero. In two nations.” An icy pause swelled between Ola and the guard. “And frankly, if I hadmypapers, I wouldshove them up your ass.”
“So close,” Brit murmured. “So good, until the last moment.”
“I have orders,” the boy said.
Frustration welled up inside of Grey, fierce and insistent and— If she was going to be this, beher,then the least she could do was get through a fucking gate. “I come with a message from the nation of Locke,” she snarled. “And I require an audience. It’s a life-or-death matter, and your commander needs to know about it immediately.”
The others looked at her with mixed expressions of pride (Ola) and consternation (Eron). She wondered how often she’d deferred to Kier, letting him lead as she worked quietly in the background.
The boy hesitated, an unknown emotion flickering on his face. “The best I can do,” he said finally, “is fetch my captain.”
“Then gofetch your captain,” Grey said through gritted teeth.
“Grey,” Brit said when the boy darted into the guard tower. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“There’s no taking it back now,” Grey said. And more than that: she let the power slip over her, the strength of her mother’s line running heavy in her veins; they were the only nation in which the founding family had remained in power, even after all this time, and she would not break that now. She had always been a Locke. She would always be a Locke. “It’ll be even more conspicuous when I raise a dead island if I don’t claim it now.”
It didn’t work quite as effectively as she’d hoped: they were taken to the boy’s captain, who agreed to bring her to the commander because Grey was both of rank and part of the Stratan girl’s retinue, though he only sighed when the guard said she had a message from Locke. He looked at her, then at the boy, and said, “For a dead nation, I’ve been hearing quite a lot of it lately.”
They were taken to the commander, who looked almost chipper. His expression dimmed significantly when he took them in, their clothing and the blood on it, and the conspicuous absence of Kier. “I was expecting Captain Seward,” he said, almost mournful. “I thought he’d considered my offer.”
“Captain Seward is indisposed,” Grey said through gritted teeth. Even speaking his name hurt.
