Page 118 of The Second Death of Locke
“I have to make you look like a commander,” she said, even as her head tipped back.
“Shouldn’t take long. You never had trouble making me look like a captain.”
“AndIhave to look like a fearsome lady of an iron isle.”
“Youarefearsome, even in only my shirt and your socks.” He pushed the aforementioned shirt up over her stomach.
“We shouldn’t be distracted.”
He pressed a kiss up higher, at the soft fold where her thigh met her hip. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” he said. “But if this is the last morning of our lives, I want to spend it right here.”
She raked her nails over his scalp. “And if I don’t tell you to stop?”
His laugh was warm and smooth against her skin as his hand parted her thighs. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
Not much later, Kier went to the tower to raise the banner of Locke while Grey went into her mother’s room. There, she found a sharply cut coat that looked more like armor than fashion and armored trousers that fit tight to her skin. She strapped her father’s sword to her hip, scabbard shining in the first light of morning. Before she could think better of it, she slid the signet ring of Locke on her finger.
When they were ready for war, Locke and her commander walked together to the harbor in Maerin. The first of the ships had drawn closer, flying Scaelan colors, nearly within reach of the shield. The harbor was not big enough for warships, but it dropped anchor just outside the shimmering blue of the outer shield.
“They’re launching a boat,” Kier murmured. They stood on one of the long docks, the wind whipping their hair. Above, the sky was steely and gray.
Grey watched the little boat as it drew closer, her breath catching when she made out the figures of the expedition party, their ownretinue waving from the deck, relief swelling through her. They were close enough to hear the collective whooping from the occupants as the boat swept unharmed to the dock.
“They’re safe,” she said, as if to convince herself. Kier moved, stooping down at the edge of the dock as Brit tossed him a line. He tied it off and helped to pull the boat in. Eron crossed over first, helped by Brit and Ola on one side and Kier on the other. His knee was bound and his arm was in a sling, but he was alive, and walking, and he hugged Kier fiercely before he moved on to Grey.
“What did youdo?” she asked, her fingers digging into his back as she embraced him.
“You’ll laugh.”
“I won’t.”
He sighed. “I fell from my horse, in the retreat.”
She had lied: she laughed. “I’m sorry!” she said at his poisonous glare. But he didn’t lookthatangry as he hugged her again.
“You fucking legend,” Brit said, kissing both Grey’s cheeks as they too crossed to the dock. “You absolute power-ridden bitch.”
“They mean that in a positive way,” Ola clarified, pushing past Brit. She gripped Grey’s cheeks, pushing the wind-blown hair out of her face as she searched for any sign of strain. “Love, how are you?”
Grey wanted to cave in to Ola. It was a triumph in itself that she remained upright. “I’m here. We’re alive.”
Ola’s grin warmed as she looked to Kier, releasing Grey. “Captain,” she said affectionately.
“Commander,” Grey corrected. Kier’s hand tightened on her hip in response. She turned back to the sea, to the new boats launching, circling closer. She reached down, found his hand, and squeezed.
“Ready, Locke?” he murmured.
“As I’ll ever be,” she said.
Boat after boat set off, unloaded and returned. Commander Reggin arrived with Cleoc’s Commander Dainridge, a gray-haired woman in her forties with a glare as cold as ice, her skin tanned and wrinkled from years of wind and sunlight. They sent ambassadors, too: Ikaaron, from Scaela, and Yearna, from Cleoc.
“The High Lord plans to arrive this evening,” Ikaaron informed Grey after their introduction, when they’d moved off the dock to the paved area near the harbor. “He wanted to come earlier, but we insisted he wait until the Isle is secure.”
“I’m sure he did,” Grey said drily. “Commander?”
“Yes, my lady?” Kier replied.
