Page 95 of The Second Death of Locke
Sela would speak the truth, and they would have to believe her. And though their beginning was rocky, Grey knew Sela would want to save Kier.
“Hand Captain Flynn,” Scaelas said as the combined guard filtered in, filing along the wall, the door shutting behind them. Cleoc moved easily to sit in an armchair by the fire, Sela standing at her side. Scaelas himself stayed in the middle of the room, dressed more simply today in a finely cut tunic with a waistcoat, breeches and boots. A single gem shone in his ear. On his left hand he wore the heavy gold ring of state. “I was told you have an urgent matter to discuss.”
Someone must’ve informed him about Grey and Eron’s switch, or maybe he just knew. When he looked, he looked at her.
“Where’s Kier?” Sela asked, glancing around.
Grey stood. She looked at the High Lord. Vearn Torrin was his name, before he was Scaelas, before he had a nation under him; according to Grey’s father, he hadn’t gone by Vearn since he was in the nursery.
She had a speech ready on her lips, rehearsed with the others when they were alone, but now that he stood in front of her, the words fled. She looked at him, seeing his red hair and beard, remembering his hand in hers when she was barely up to his knee.
“I didn’t want you to find me.”
Silence stretched over the room. Torrin staggered back as though she’d struck him. “I…”
She squeezed her hands into fists, nails biting into her palms. Her voice was tight in her throat, raw and painful. She felt the burr of her old accent, hertrueaccent, slipping in, as it always did when she was upset, like she couldn’t hold the lilting Scaelan vowels on her tongue. “After. When the smoke was still in the air. They say you searched fornearly a year for any sign of survivors, but I didn’t want you looking for me. Severin told me not to, because there was no way we could be certain you’d keep me safe.”
His hand went to his chest, resting over his heart, as if she’d dealt him a fatal blow. He searched her face.
“I would have,” he said. “I would’ve done anything in my power.”
Grey held her ground. “You couldn’t guarantee it.”
“Alma,” he said finally, the pain flickering on his brow so quickly she nearly missed it. “You look so much like Alma. But you have Isaak’s eyes.”
Grey did not allow her gaze to soften.
Torrin took one step forward, then another. Hesitantly, waiting for permission, he reached out. Grey inclined her head. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and gently moved her head so he could see the uninjured side of her face, then again, to study her bruise. She felt the rough fingers against her skin, his hands scarred with battle. He himself had been a soldier once, she knew—he’d fought in the wars, for the first decade; before his reign, he’d been in his father’s army, alongside Grey’s own father, before Isaak was married to Locke.
“Someone has harmed you,” he said quietly.
“Not for the first time,” Grey said.
He tilted her head back to face him straight-on. “I did look for you, at first,” he said. “And then the letter—” He drew a breath. “The letter. It was you, wasn’t it?”
No hesitation. “Yes.”
He glanced away, at the window behind her head. “Grey…” he murmured, looking at nothing. “Of course, it’s just another nickname.”
“Maryse would’ve been too obvious,” Grey said. “Gremaryse was impossible.”
“And Flynn?”
Grey pulled back. Torrin’s hand fell, fingers twitching. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I was fostered by a widow, on the coast.”
“You were here, in Scaela, the entire time?”
She looked at him, her High Lord, the only person alive whoremotely resembled family. “I have served you as a well and sword for eight years now,” she said. “I have marched under your banner—and nearly died under it more than once.”
He stepped back. “And now you come to me as a nation. Not as my goddaughter, I presume.”
Grey nodded slowly, ignoring the muttering from the guards in the background. There was no sound from Cleoc, no change; Grey wondered if Sela had already told her, or more accurately, if she had heard Sela’s stories about their travels and guessed at the truth herself.
“I need your help,” Grey said.
In an upper room, they waited while Scaelas and Cleoc spoke to their necessary counselors. Grey, with no counsel of her own, kept an eye on the clock. Every second that passed could mean the end of Kier. She sat at a desk facing the window, writing two lists. The first was the names of those she trusted, those she knew she could rely on. Not all of them were physically close, which was an issue, but when she was back, and when she had Kier… The second list was her demands.
Behind her, Eron said, “Attis is accounted for.” He was skimming through the casualty reports from Mecketer, recently delivered at Grey’s request, searching for anyone else they knew who was missing or dead.
