Page 50 of The Second Death of Locke
“We are.”
Ola blinked owlishly, like she hadn’t expected Grey to actuallyconfirm—it was odd how well Brit mirrored that expression, how similar the two of them were, yet Brit had not told Ola that Grey and Kier were bound. It was information, Grey thought, that she would not keep from Kier. Eron choked on his tea, sputtering, “Sincewhen?”
“A while,” Grey snapped.
“Sorry,” Sela said, very quiet, “but what does that mean?”
Meanly, Ola said, “When a mommy well and a daddy mage love each other very much—”
“Oh, fuckoff, Ol,” Brit said, surprising Grey. She raised a brow before she could stop herself, then quickly composed her expression into neutrality. “You’re pushing this too far.”
“I’msorry,” Ola exclaimed. “I thought that would be necessary information! We are on a highly dangerous mission, and the least—the literalleast—I expected was to know if we had two capable, interchangeable wells and mages in case of injury, and I can’t even get that? Not to mention that binding is highly forbidden in the first place. What kind of mission are you running, Captain?”
“I’m bound to Grey,” Kier said. “It has never been detrimental before. I apologize for not telling you—for not telling any of you—but it was a matter of safety.”
“Not to come back to this,” Sela said, “but why does it matter?”
“How do younotknow what a bond is?” Eron asked. “Isn’t that basically mage/well ‘don’t do this if you don’t want to fucking die’ rule number one?”
“She’s not a soldier,” Grey murmured. “Not everyone is a soldier, Fastria.”
But Ola was frowning too—and Brit.
Kier sighed again, rubbing his eyes. “Grey, don’t.”
Grey did. “She’d know if she wasn’t a fucking kid. What are you, thirteen?”
“I’m fifteen,” Sela said, indignant as only a mislabeled teenager could be.
“Hold on,” Eron began at the same time Brit said, “Fifteen? Impossible. That’s…”
The blood drained from Sela’s face.
“How old was Maryse?” Eron asked.
“It is impossible,” Ola said very carefully, “because Locke disappeared sixteen years ago. And you didn’t tether to Brit earlier because…”
“Because she couldn’t,” Grey said. “Because she wasn’t trained.”
“Congratulations, Ola,” Kier said, ever-suffering, ignoring Grey for now. “You win the prize.” To Sela, he said, “You’re not Maryse of Locke. So who are you? Andwhy?”
“Wait,” Ola said, even more indignant. “You twoknew?”
Sela had gone a very interesting shade of greenish-yellow ivory. Grey, who’d spent quite a lot of time with the ill and dying, did not associate that shade of skin with a living body. “If I tell you,” the girl said, pulling at the fabric of her dress anxiously, “do you promise not to kill me?”
“No,” Grey said, but there wasn’t any heat to it. At the girl’s stricken expression, she said, “Sorry, Sela; we promise. You were… very helpful yesterday when I could not be, and I am thankful for that. You’re forgiven for stabbing Kier.”
“I don’t think you can apologize formystabbing,” Kier said. “But… Sorry. What happened with her yesterday?”
“We’ll talk later,” Grey said. She turned back to Sela. “We won’t kill you. But we do have to know—because there are a lot of people after us, and if you’re just a peasant girl caught up in a lie, this is going to be very difficult to explain. Sela, who are you?”
For another moment, the girl looked like she was going to vomit all over the table. She put her elbows on the surface and dropped her head to her hands, her dark hair falling in a choppy curtain around her, hiding her face. “My name is Wilisela Naudé.”
“Naudé?” Eron repeated, chewing it over. “Why do I know that name?”
But Kier was staring at Grey, sending a heady blend of frustration and exhaustion over the tether. She caught all of it, sending back equal measures of annoyance. He was basically telling her he’d told her so—they should’ve deserted. They should’ve left and not even considered this damn mission.
He raised his eyes skyward. “I suffer and I suffer,” he muttered. “And yet. Andyet.”
