Page 81 of The Second Death of Locke
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know what we’re going to do, or how to do it, to be honest.” It was odd to talk about Locke so openly, even veiled as it was. But there was no hiding from the other three: they knew who she was,whatshe was, even if she herself would not put it into words.
“You know you have my sword,” Eron said quietly, “should you need it.”
Grey glanced at him, registering the flush in his cheeks. “Don’t promise me that,” she said, reaching to lace their hands together. “Take your leave, Eron. You owe me nothing—none of you do.”
He started to say something, but they were interrupted by an announcement from the master of ceremonies, signaling the arrival of the High Court and the start of dinner.
They hurried to their places of honor at the high table: Grey sat between Ola and Kier, across from Eron and Brit. Scaelas sat on Kier’s other side, followed by Cleoc and Sela.
“Any good gossip?” Grey asked her mage.
“None. At least three marriage proposals, though. It’s a tempting offer, to be a kept man.” Kier took a long sip of his wine. Grey pinched his thigh under the table.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Incorrigiblyhandsome.”
She barely managed to hide her smirk, glancing at him sideways. It was just… it was just, he was the same as always, her favorite person, herbelovedperson, and she could not fathom that he felt any fraction for her of what she felt for him, no matter how much he insisted he did.
She struggled to hide it, pushing away the heat in her stomach. Then, after a moment of thought, she tethered to Kier and pushed the heat toward him.
He blushed immediately, choking on his wine. When his eyes met hers again, there was a new, dark layer of want buried there.
“Timing?” he questioned. Under the table, his knuckles brushed the back of her hand.
“Mustn’t ignore the High Lord,” Grey said smoothly, flashing an innocent smile, dismissing him to engage with his neighbor on his other side. Kier sighed and turned his attention to Scaelas.
Across the table, Commander Reggin was speaking to Eron, who he thought was Grey. “I have already received requests for a transfer for you, Hand Captain Flynn,” he said, matter-of-fact, as the servers hurried to present the food while it was still hot.
Grey raised an eyebrow, eavesdropping. Kier tripped over a sentence.
“If you would be interested in remaining, I’m sure Captain Seward would understand.”
“You should think about it, Hand Captain,” Brit said, all mirth. They had, quite possibly, had too much wine. Grey kicked them under the table.
“Ah, I need a break,” Eron said. He looked at Grey, and she sighed— if she’d ruined his perfect performance record, he was taking her right down with him. “And I’m terrible with a sword.”
The commander’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Your accomplishments say otherwise. And I do have some very tempting offers…”
Scaelas must’ve gone back to Cleoc, because Kier joined the conversation as plates were set down in front of them. “Unfortunately, Commander,” he said with perfect politeness, “they can’t have my Hand.” His own hand went to Grey’s knee, covered by the long draping of the table. “We’re retired.”
Have you written the words, in earnest, to Grape? If you two keep carrying on like this, you’ll be making your confessions to her grave.
Letter from Lieutenant Lotrain Seward to Lieutenant Kiernan Seward, 9 yearsPD
nineteen
AFTER DINNER, SHE SUFFEREDthrough a particularly dull (and possibly pointed) conversation with the commander about the importance of propriety and did her best to avoid Master Pickett, who she heard commenting to another officer that he must’ve misremembered the appearance, coloring and gender of the honored Captain Seward’s Hand—though of course, he noted, two of those three factors could have changed. More than once, she looked up to see the High Lord’s eyes on her, mouth furrowed into a frown within his red beard. When the dancing started, she was well and truly done—she suffered through one waltz with Eron before she threw caution to the winds and went to free Kier from his admirers.
It took her a moment to break through the circle to find him standing in the middle, sparkling wine in both hands. “Captain,” she said, lowering her eyes demurely.
“Officer Fastria,” Kier said. He handed her one of the half-drunk glasses of bubbly wine; she brushed his knuckles with hers when she took it and flicked her eyes to the door.
“I believe you have duties yet, for the High Lady?”
“Ah, yes,” he said, easily slipping from the conversation. “I did promise to speak to her. If you’ll excuse me…”
They escaped from the circle, and Kier linked his arm in Grey’s. They found Ola and Eron, drunk in a corner, watching Brit spin in circles with a mage from another encampment, with very different but equal versions of longing plainly written on their faces. Grey filed that detail away for later digestion.
