Page 96 of The Second Death of Locke
Grey swallowed hard, her pen pausing, remembering the spread of Mare’s blood. “Is she still at Mecketer?”
“I don’t know. We’ll need to ask.”
She had no loyalty to Klara Attis, but she could not imagine not being there if something happened to Kier. She would at least check in on the mage, at least tell her how her Hand had died.
Ola and Sela sat at a desk next to her, muttering over sketches. Grey did not have the mental capacity to understand what they were doing until Sela said, “Grey, stand up,” and withdrew a length of measuring tape from somewhere on her person. Grey blinked up at her, bewildered.
She’d been surprised that Cleoc had allowed Sela to retire here, to this upper room, where Brit and Ola and Eron restlessly followedGrey’s instructions as she tried to attempt to be the leader of a nation. But Sela had said, “Ma, they kept me alive for weeks,” so her mother had no choice, on the caveat that Sela brought a duo of guards to stand outside the door.
Grey regretted letting the girl join as Sela dragged her bodily out of her chair and pulled off her jacket. She announced measurements to Ola, who dutifully recorded them as Eron and Brit looked on. They all had work to be doing—Scaelas had provided Brit with a list of armory overages, with instructions for them to mark down what they could possibly use to outfit Locke; and before the casualty lists arrived, Eron was working out how many borrowed soldiers they would need to get Kier back, theorizing strategy with Grey when she was able to respond to him. Both were stationed by the window further down the room, where they could see the Bay of Locke clearly, watching for an enemy ship in case Luthar or Eprain moved early.
“What is all this?” Grey asked, allowing herself to be prodded.
“I’ve ordered you clothing,” Sela said. “A gift for your new position.”
“Thank you,” Grey said quickly, “but doesn’t that feel… trivial?” She did not bring up the fact that it felt trivial because Kier was gone and he could be killed at any moment, and her nerves felt gnawed to the quick, because Sela already knew all of that; she probably also saw the growing panic on Grey’s face the longer she was away from her task, her distractions.
Grey bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. Sela put her hands heavily on her shoulders to still her, like Grey was the child. “You must look the part,” she said.
“I don’t even know what the Lady of Locke is meant to look like,” Grey said.
“You’re the only one whodoesknow,” Sela said, “but I can hazard a guess.” She removed her hands and wrapped the measuring tape back up. “I’ve had Scaelas provide a list of tailors—I’ll have at least half a wardrobe for you by daybreak. A shame we’re not in Isidar—that’s the capitol of Cleoc Strata, you know—”
“Wedo,” Ola muttered, “as we are not unculturedswine.”
“—because I could certainly have a full wardrobe made for you overnight there,” Sela finished, barely missing a beat. She looked atGrey, the flicker in her eyes making something odd and vulnerable twist in her gut. “Besides keeping me alive, you gave me time when you didn’t have to. I owe you for that.”
Grey took a shuddering breath. Maybe that was what it meant to be the High Lady of Locke. What it took. Time, when she didn’t need to, when it meant more to someone else than to her.
Kier, she thought, a little desperately.If only we get more of it. The tether ached within her, dormant and still, but at least she could feel its presence.
Time, and a bit of ruthlessness.
“Sela,” she said, reaching to grab the girl’s hand. “Promise me you won’t come with us. You’re welcome on Locke, but only when it’s safe.”
Sela shrugged. “I can only do what I’m told.”
A knock sounded on the door. They all jumped, too uneasy for this. Grey fussed, her hand instantly going to check her braids, but her hair was still down, and she only managed to hit herself on the bruised side of her face.
The others were looking at her. In a voice she hoped was chilly and regal, she said, “Come in.”
It was one of the High Lord’s house guard, one he’d brought with him from the capital. “You have been requested, your highness,” he said with perfect formality. Grey sucked in a breath, her hand gripping Sela’s for the barest second.
“Thank you,” she said. She looked back at the others. “Can I bring my guard?”
Ola raised an eyebrow.
“Of course,” the man said. “I will wait to escort you, if you would like to finish your business, your highness.”
Grey nodded, letting the door shut behind him, and released her breath. “I don’t mean it like—”
“No,” Ola said quickly, “but youshouldhave a guard.” She looked at Eron and Brit, something passing between them. “And it makes sense, for now, as long as you’re okay with it, that it should be us.”
Grey looked down at her hands, chipped nails, scarred from battles long since past. Who was she to think she could be sovereign? Couldhave aguard?
She ached for Kier. Longed for him in a space beyond thought, beyond words. It caught her every time she had one of these thoughts, every time she found herself needing counsel, or just someone else to tell her that she was not utterly ruining her namesake.
“I’ll have you,” she said, “if you’ll have me.”
