Page 70 of The Second Death of Locke
She propped herself up on her elbows, wincing, ignoring the scowl Ola aimed in her direction. “You have been calling me Captain, not Hand. Pretty much since the inn. That’s Kier’s title, not mine.”
Ola blinked at her owlishly. She handed over the hot mug andGrey propped her shoulder against the wall to give herself stability to drink. “I suppose,” Ola said finally, “we see you as equals. You and Kier.”
Grey gagged a little at the salty taste of the tea. “Do we have anything to consume that isn’t ghastly?” she muttered.
“You’re lucky you missed dinner. Eron tried to be creative to make us all feel better.”
Grey sighed, but she forced herself to drink. There was a timid knock at the door, and she and Ola looked up as Sela peeked inside.
“Come in,” Ola said. “I doubt we can do much more to offend Grey’s modesty.”
Grey shrugged. After years living in shared tents, she didn’t have much modesty to begin with. “Kier mentioned something about clothes,” she said, glancing down. Her vest was different, and she didn’t remember these breeches either—they weren’t the black ones she’d been wearing on the road.
Ola and Sela exchanged a look. Three wells in a room, Grey thought neutrally, and two as good as useless.
“Your clothes caught on fire,” Sela said.
“Notfire, really—”
“What?”
Ola shot Grey a glare. Chided, she went back to sipping her tea. “We didn’t see the whole thing,” she said, “and the captain is unwilling to give us details. But there was a great flare of light, and then you were screaming—Brit ran out to help because they’re incapable of following orders.”
“You were on fire,” Brit said from near the wall. Grey hadn’t even heard them come in. “Sorry—I’m supposed to tell you Kier is relieving Eron on watch.”
“He shouldn’t,” Grey said grimly. She set the empty cup down and pulled herself fully into sitting position. She felt mildly better and annoyed about it. Ola took the cup and set to brewing a new blend of tea and herbs.
“He has been…” Ola searched for a word.
“Unmanageable?” Brit offered.
“Unstable?” said Sela.
“Stressed,” Ola said, glaring at both of them. “He has beenworriedabout you. With good reason. Brit ran out, then they carried you back in, smoldering and naked, choking on blood, with a full company dead outside. Magesandwells.”
Grey winced. She accepted the full cup Ola offered and tried to sip without pulling a face. “I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I didn’t mean for things to… end like that.”
Ola sighed. “Sela, sweetheart,” she said, turning to the girl. “Can you go fetch Grey some bread?”
Sela nodded and went out. As soon as the door shut behind her, Ola leaned forward. Brit moved in front of the door, their shoulder pressed against it so they’d catch it when Sela came back.
“That’s not normal power,” Ola said, an unsteady edge to her voice.
Grey was too tired for this. “Kier and I are bound,” she said, as if that was explanation enough.
Ola shook her head. “Magic can’t kill wells, Captain.”
Grey met her gaze. She felt half-dead and exhausted, but the weight of Kier’s confession had given her new buoyancy—perhaps, she thought, she was ready to gamble.
“If you’re trying to say something,” she said, “it’s best to get on with it.”
“You knew Sela wasn’t Maryse of Locke.”
At least that one was easy. “Leonie left notes. I knew she was too young.”
Ola grimaced, pushing that away. “Clever. But how did you knowfor certainthat she wasn’t a Locke? How did you have that much power?”
Brit crossed their arms. “There are just a few things that don’t add up,” they said apologetically. “Nothing against you, Captain, but I’ve never seen Ola catch fire and burn all her clothes off.”
