Page 97 of The Second Death of Locke
A hand gripped hers. She looked to find Ola there, sure as always, biting as always.
“We had you as our captain,” she said. “It would be an honor to have you as our lady.”
“Okay,” Grey said. She took a second, forced herself to remain calm. “Okay.”
With nothing left to discuss, they went out into the hall and followed the guard down the stone passageways and stairs. Grey walked with Sela, the others falling behind like shadows, in the same way Grey was taught to orbit Kier.
They arrived downstairs to a small, well-appointed meeting room dominated by a large table. It was one of the council chambers, Grey thought, based on the anteroom, which acted as a holding area for guests until they were admitted. Cleoc and Scaelas were already seated in the chamber beyond, a small retainer of guards blending into the shadows between each of them. The rest of their counselors had been dismissed—perhaps, Grey surmised, the other rulers were not quite ready to reveal Grey as Locke. She had seen herself in the mirror lately; she understood.
Sela nodded once to Grey and took the seat next to her mother. Though Grey was at rest and content to stand, Eron pulled out a chair to the other hand of Scaelas. He did something with his eyebrows, probably a reminder that she was now publicly the Lady of Locke, and she would have less trouble if she acted like it.
She sat and allowed him to adjust her chair, and did not look behind her as Eron, Ola and Brit faded like the other guards. It was a comfort to have them behind her, to hear their familiar breathing.
Cleoc regarded her with open curiosity. Here, unmasked, shewas Locke uncontested. She folded her hands in front of her on the table, conscious of her lack of finishing; that she was battle-made and bruised and nothing like a High Lady should be.
In another world, she would’ve been raised to live up to her title. Once she was fully grown, it would’ve been announced that she was the heir instead of Severin; in the tradition of Locke, he would have then been able to leave the Isle, if he chose. Until that time, she would’ve been shaped by her parents into something hard as iron. She would’ve traveled, maybe—perhaps been trained for a year in Lindan, like Sela, or one of the other nations on the continent. Probably not, though, since Locke tended to keep to itself. But she would’ve been taught diplomacy and respectful negotiation and the means of survival in enemy courts. She would’ve learned the words to say, the expressions to make.
But Alma and Isaak were dead, and had been for sixteen years, long enough that Grey had learned very few lessons. She clung to the ones she had, the ones she remembered, squaring her shoulders and sitting ramrod straight like her mother always used to.
“You must know I believe you,” Scaelas said finally, breaking the silence. “I’m just not certain how to convince my council.”
“You’ve already taken a risk on an imposter,” Grey said. “At least this time you’d be correct.”
He inclined his head, allowing that.
She looked between Scaelas and Cleoc. “What did you decide, then?”
“Why do you need to recover Captain Seward?” Cleoc asked.
Grey searched for a way to explain her relationship with Kier. “He is my mage, your majesty.” She felt the tether inside of her, limp but there. She felt with an iron certainty that he was not dead. Harmed, maybe, but at least he was alive, and if he was alive, then she could still save him.
“Mages are replaceable,” Cleoc said, her finger dancing up and down the line of the pen in front of her. Grey did not know if Cleoc was a mage or well herself. Most of the sovereigns hid that information as if it was a weakness.
“It is non-negotiable. If you unite with me, you have me—and Locke, restored in full power—as your ally. Surely that is enough toentice you, even if you don’t believe me fully. I will keep my word.”
“You’re asking both of us to engage in open warfare with Luthar and potentially Eprain, if you are correct about their recent alliance,” Scaelas said, not meeting her eye. “Along with any outside allies they may have.”
“You’re already at war with both Luthar and Eprain.”
“Iam not at war with Luthar,” Cleoc said. “And tensions with Eprain are easing. Why would I endanger my nation, again, for your mage?”
Grey turned toward her. Cleoc wanted a confession, she could tell—she wanted to see Grey’s weakness. She felt that simmering anger inside herself. She didn’t want to proclaim her love for Kier to them, because it washersand she was not willing for it to be a bargaining chip. She wanted to hold that love deep and protected in her chest, keep it where no one could see it or hear it or feel it, and protect Kier in the same way.
“He is my mage,” she said again. “I know the old meaning of that does not persist on the mainland, but I am Locke, and it matters to me.”
Scaelas’s eyes snapped to hers. Before he could say anything, Cleoc said, “You cannot be both Hand and High Lady, loyal to your mage and your nation. There must be a choice there. It is easier to make it now.”
Grey stood, her feet moving before she had even fully made the decision to do so. “If you refuse to do this, allow me to make things easier: I will not negotiate and there is no need for me to prove myself. Either you lend your forces and assist in the rescue of Captain Seward, or you do not. Either you unite with the nation of Locke and reap the benefits, or you do not. I cannot make that choice for you, but I will not stand here and listen to such distrust and doubt.”
“Hold on, Locke,” Torrin said wearily. “That’s not… that’s not what we mean. We have our nations to think about.”
“And I have mine,” Grey said.
“Then help us to help you,” Cleoc said. “Give us a reason.”
She did not sit. Torrin looked at her, a strange expression onhis face, until he said finally, “Cleoc, if you will permit, I’d like to dismiss my guard and yours. Everyone in this room apart from the three of us.”
“Grey…” Ola started immediately.
