Page 120 of The Second Death of Locke
Grey raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her features as cool as possible. “They want tomarryme?”
“Yes, my lady,” Ikaaron said. “With you married and bound to their suitor, they will see a re-emergence of power simply by being aligned with you, and when you bear an heir, it would be in your line. It has been custom, as long as Locke has existed, to marry strategically for such redirections of power.”
Grey winced. “And if I do not?”
He nodded to Commander Dainridge. Grey turned to face her.
“They have threatened to turn their combined forces on the Isle,” Dainridge said. “Either to decimate everyone who remains here and take you prisoner, or to circle us until we starve.”
“Right,” Grey said flatly.
“You’ve been given three days to make your choice, and if you are not presented for marriage in that time, they will attack.”
She rubbed her temple. She reached through the tether to Kier,but found it curiously blank—he was holding back his own emotions until she made a decision without his influence.
“Those are the terms proposed,” Ikaaron said. He glanced at the others gathered, focusing for a second on Yearna, Cleoc’s ambassador, before he continued. “I have been instructed that we will assist you in defense of the Isle, if you choose to fight; but you could marry instead, if it pleases you. I recognize I am only the Scaelan ambassador and not your own adviser, but if my lord were here, he would offer this counsel: though marriage may seem a bloodless option, he personally would not advise it.”
She was growing quite tired of decisions like this, the choices predetermined and ironclad.
“I willnot. That sounds like the fastest way to get killed in my own bed.” She felt an instant, undeniable rush of relief through the tether.
“I would think so too, your majesty,” Ikaaron said. “With your permission, we will send a messenger with your response.”
“So we will fight,” Kier said, “to keep the Isle.”
Grey got up and set to pacing. From here, she could not see down the Isle to Maerin, but she could see the choppy sea, and the ships that had started circling.
“Commanders, what do you propose?” she asked.
They argued over maps and troop formations for hours. If Eprain and Luthar were permitted onto her shores, they would not stop until Grey was dead, so they had to do everything in their power to hold the Isle, to ensure that didn’t happen.
“Is there something we can do?” Reggin’s Hand said when Grey’s head had already been aching for the better part of an hour. “A show of strength? A manipulation of power?”
Grey shook her head. “I don’t know what Icoulddo.”
“Don’t you control it?”
She looked at him, the boy whose youth she hadn’t been able to see past when she first met him. Now, she wondered at it. She glanced at the list she had in front of her, of the names of those sitting before her: the commander’s Hand was listed asA. Reggin. She would eat her own hat if he wasn’t related to the commander, and something about that made her uneasy.
“We could send Locke back to Scaela,” one of the captains near the end of the table said. “Or Cleoc, if they will have her. Just until the Isle is secure.”
Grey glanced at Kier. He looked like he was actually considering it.
“No,” she said. “I will not leave again.” If she did, it would require her to leave Kier—and who knew if she’d be back before the next full moon, to tell Kitalma of her choice? She could not risk it.
They argued until the sun was high in the sky, at which point Grey ordered them to take a break. When she left the war room, she was surprised to find the Isle caught in a swell of activity. She told Ola and Brit to rest and eat, then set off for the highest tower.
No one had established a base there yet. She leaned against the crenelations, wind whipping her hair, threatening to tear it from its braid. At sea, the ships circled, but no one moved to attack.
There were soldiers camped in both Osar and Maerin, with tents pitched in the hilly fields and taking up the villages between. She could see the progress at the harbor, the workers small as ants, as little boats brought supplies ashore, which were then carted to the cities and the fortress. She watched the progress of those tiny people, of those great ships.
Boots sounded on the stairs; she did not turn. “Why won’t you consider going back to Scaela?”
She snorted. “Not a chance.”
Kier came behind her, framing her hands with his, resting his chin on top of her head. “It would be safer,” he said, but it was already a losing battle, and he knew it.
“Safety is overrated.”
