Page 102 of The Second Death of Locke
Kier shrugged with his good shoulder.
“It has been too long since we met like this,” Cleoc continued. “Since we spoke sensibly and peacefully.”
“I have no interest in your speeches,” Luthos said shortly.
“Then present your terms,” Torrin said, “and we can move on.”
Luthos and Epras exchanged a glance, and Grey was not sure what to read in it. She glanced at Kier again, but he was staring at the ground at her feet, his face unchanged. She reached for him with atether, as if she could push all effects of the drug away with the force of her mind alone. She kept her hand resting lightly on the pommel of her sword, not quite able to calm her racing heart.
“We have found and recovered Severin, the lost heir to Locke,” Epras said. “As such, the High Lord shall restore his Isle, take a consort from my court and continue the line of Locke in the name of Epras.”
Torrin looked at Luthos—who was much younger than the other sovereign, Grey remembered, only a few years into his reign. “And you agreed to this?” he asked, incredulous. “You allied with Epras, and yet will allow him to seize control of power?”
“Epras is capable of seeing reason,” Luthos said flatly. “Unlike others.”
“All those years, and the heir was right under your nose,” Epras said, his tone dripping with contempt. “All those years, and the power could’ve been yours.”
“It was never the power I wanted,” Torrin said.
“Gentlemen,” Cleoc cut in. She turned her gaze to Epras. “It is not your role to rule Locke. He may be your prisoner now, but what happens if he kills your bride? Controlling power is not so easy.”
“Not if he’s bound to his bride,” Epras said, “as is the Isle’s custom.”
Cleoc sighed. Grey tried again for a tether, forcing through the fog of the breakbloom that clouded Kier’s system. Nothing.
“It looks like you have made up your mind, then,” Cleoc said. “Locke shall be restored, and Epras shall rule. But I will raze your Isle. I will kill your bride. I will destroy everything you create, Epras.”
Cleoc had never reminded Grey so much of her own mother. Not for the first time, she wondered if this was what the throne did to women like them.
“Then I will remove your power,” Epras said.
Cleoc raised an eyebrow. “How do you intend to do that?”
“Because,” Epras said, leaning forward, his smile poisonous, “I shall control Locke.”
“I believe we’re getting off topic,” Kier said quietly. “My lord, my lady, I have agreed to marry Epras’s choice and name her my consort. I have agreed to restore the Isle. But I will do it only on theunderstanding that the fighting will cease and the united council will re-form.” He looked utterly resigned to his fate. “There is no reason for the death to continue.”
“And you will restore power equally?” Scaelas asked.
A pause. “I will equip Epras and Luthos with a renewal of power,” Kier said, “since they have rescued me and restored me.”
Cleoc and Scaelas exchanged a glance. Grey drew a breath—so this was what they wanted. It was in Locke’s power to distribute wells unevenly; because Grey’s father had been Scaelan and their alliance was strongest, Scaela was the most power-rich nation when the Isle fell.
But now? Now it was all going to crumble. And Kier had agreed to it because he did not think he had the power for his promises to be fulfilled.
“We will not assent to that,” Cleoc said. As if sensing her unease, her horse danced under her. “All power should be restored equally—you cannot convince us of this farce. Locke is your prisoner, not your ally.”
Epras smiled thinly. “Semantics.” He nodded back to his soldiers. “And it matters not—we have brought the festivities here. Our chosen bride waits, and we have agreed to this meeting so you can witness the marriage—and our alliance.”
Grey’s heart dropped. Kier was still not looking at her, but it hardly mattered. She reached. She prodded. Shepushed.
The thinnest thread of her power caught, and it held.
She pushed as much emotion his way as she could: love and apology and fury and relief, as much as she could muster. She was so busy pushing that it took her a moment to realize that the only feeling Kier was sending back was cold, hopeless dread.
“Eron,” Grey murmured. “Something is wrong.”
“Besides everything?” he whispered back.
