Page 11 of The Second Death of Locke

five

“G IVE ME ONE REASON, Captain Seward,” Attis said, fingers steepled in front of her on the desk.

Her clear, stern eyes were focused on Kier as if Grey wasn’t even in the room, and Grey chewed on the inside of her cheek at the weight of that stare, glad it wasn’t anywhere near her.

“One reason why I shouldn’t demote you, separate you and your Hand, send her on the first convoy out to an infirmary as far away as I can manage and keep you on the front as a typic. One.”

Because Kier was a pain in the ass first and a mage second, he said, “Because we’re too good for that.”

Grey very nearly kicked his chair.

They were in Attis’s office, Kier seated in front of her desk, Grey positioned behind him with her hand resting on his shoulder.

He was fully dressed, which was an improvement, and only winced occasionally when he moved—partially for the drama.

She’d possibly gone too far in healing him, into a territory that was nigh unattainable for a regular well, but having him whole and hale was more important than anything else.

She’d warned him about what Concord had said, but shockingly, Grey was not the one being reprimanded, and no one had asked about her capacity. Hopefully Kier was playing it up enough that Attis wouldn’t want to see his wound, wouldn’t want to look any closer.

“You nearly killed your Hand.”

“Hand Captain Flynn knows her limits.” A dangerous line of conversation, if they went probing into Grey’s limits.

“But do you ?”

Grey’s fingers dug into Kier’s shoulder: a warning. “I trust her,” he said, very carefully. “She untethered from me, Master Attis, when it became too much, as she was trained to do.”

Behind Attis, Mare’s face twitched—the only indication that she was paying any attention at all. Grey wanted to jump over the desk and shake her: What did you say?

“You let your guard down,” Attis snapped, and that was the one thing Grey couldn’t argue with.

With Kier in the infirmary, she hadn’t had a moment to speak to him alone.

Why had he given the girl his armor? Why had he untied her restraints?

What had the girl said to him? These were the questions she’d wrestled with the night before, alone and insomniac in their tent.

“She was just a scared girl,” Kier said. “I was doing my duty. Trying to help.”

“She’s a prisoner , Captain.”

Silence hung between them, and Grey swallowed any protestations she had. She felt herself softening, her own angry questions withering away.

This was the line, the thing that she and Kier could never quite get over: the people they fought, the people they killed …

It didn’t matter what Attis or the others high up in command said.

They were just people. These wars, these endless battles over land and territory, they all amounted to nothing.

She’d been disillusioned with war since the first soldier died under her hands at sixteen, but it wasn’t like there was anything better.

The battles never ceased. The armies were never sated.

No one was actually going to avenge the death of Locke, and until that happened, Scaelas and the other high rulers would not be satisfied.

She, Kier, and Lot had realized when they were children that they could either wait for some attacking army to stomp through and burn their village or they could enlist and fight back.

There were no other options. Never had been.

The soldiers they fought had the same choice. The prisoner was just another person with no other decisions to make.

Attis sighed. “I need to know you can follow orders, Captain Seward.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever put that in doubt. Though you might dislike my methods, I did deliver you the asset.”

“Nearly at the cost of your Hand,” Attis snapped. “Captain Seward, I know your history. I know you and Hand Captain Flynn have been paired for a while. I know you two are very good at what you do.”

Grey tensed, her gaze flicking to Mare. But the Hand’s face was unchanged. If she’d told Attis something, there was no way to know now.

“Your power is like that of a bound pair,” Attis said. “Which you could be investigated for if an accusation is made.”

It took a lot of Grey’s concentration not to let anything show on her face. Binding was foolish and forbidden, and the military didn’t care about the value of sacred acts or devotion.

It was a shame they’d been forbidden from doing it. It was an even bigger shame that they’d disobeyed that order years before.

But it was the only guarantee of Grey’s safety. She did not regret it.

Kier did not give in. “This isn’t about my command, or the fact that you can’t accept my Hand is powerful.

This is about the prisoner. And you sent us in without any indication of the stakes or the cost. It’s no wonder my Hand was forced to use so much of herself and I was nearly killed—we did not know what they were fighting for, and we still don’t. ”

It was justified, but perhaps not the best way to go about it.

Grey wanted to point out that they had bigger problems—if Attis could prove her suspicion that she and Kier were bound, they could be punished, or discharged, or even sent to the High Court if she was angry enough. It wasn’t a small infraction.

Attis’s lips twitched. “Then let’s talk about the prisoner.”

Grey’s chin inched up. She hadn’t had time between keeping Kier alive, putting herself back together and helping Leonie with the wounded to get more information on the girl—or to find her and give her a solid kick in the stomach to repay her for what she did to Kier.

“Very well,” Kier said.

Attis was silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Grey watched Mare’s hand on Attis’s shoulder—she’d flinched, calling attention to it, and now Grey saw how tightly the Hand gripped her mage.

“Hand Master Concord and I have our suspicions, but in this case we are willing to set them aside. There are bigger issues afoot, and it has become clear that you and your Hand are a strong pairing, for whatever reason.”

“Master Attis, I can assure you—”

“Keep your lip service for someone else, Seward. We have an assignment, and it looks like you and Flynn might be the only two here equipped to carry it out.”

That was… a far cry from being reprimanded, and Grey couldn’t fight the feeling that they were being tricked.

She wished she could tell Kier to be careful in how he proceeded.

She didn’t like the narrow line of Attis’s mouth, the way she kept her gaze on her own hands, the tight grip Mare had on the master’s shoulder.

“Are we being reassigned?” Kier asked, and Grey knew him well enough to detect the palpable relief in his voice. After all, they’d been here, on the front against Luthar, for six months, and right on the border of Cleoc Strata for nearly a year before that. They were due an easy assignment.

“Not exactly,” Attis said. It took Grey a second to identify the emotion on the master’s face, but when she did, her chest felt very, very cold. Master Klara Attis, the most put-together of any commanding officers they’d yet faced, was terrified .

“Master,” Kier said, finally betraying the depths of his exhaustion.

“I don’t mean to push, but in the last forty-eight hours, I have been stabbed and nearly died at least twice.

I am tired. My Hand is tired. I have followed each instruction you have given me to the letter.

The least I can ask of you is that you are forthcoming with our assignment. ”

“I need your discretion. This assignment—the future of Scaela, the hopes of our military, the promise of a day without battle, they all rest on this. Do you understand the weight of what I am telling you, Captain?”

Kier made a small noise, a half-sigh. Grey interpreted it as one of his favorite lines, reserved for when he was ill and she asked him to do the bare minimum, like eat: I suffer and I suffer, and yet.

And yet, you ask me to suffer still? She felt his pulse jump, ever so slightly, and she frowned at the master in front of them.

“Yes,” Kier said, resigned, because he could not accuse the master to her face of adding to his suffering. After all, what could they possibly do to protect the future of Scaela?

Do you promise to let us go?

Grey wrestled with the memory like it was a physical attacker, pushing it away before it could take root. She set her jaw, clenched her teeth. She’d need to ask Leonie for a sleeping draft tonight. She couldn’t keep dreaming like this.

“What do you know of the Isle of Locke?”

A pause. Grey’s back went ramrod straight, and she had no doubt her fingers were clenched on Kier’s shoulder tight enough to bruise.

When Kier spoke next, his tone was even, cautious.

“I was a child when the Isle was destroyed, Master. But my Hand and I are from a village on the eastern coast—we know enough of it.”

“You remember its destruction, then.”

Grey bit the inside of her cheek. Kier said, “The air tasted like smoke for days, when it vanished.”

“I imagine it did,” Attis said, sweeping right past the trauma of the event. “Captain Seward, every nation has been searching for years for the lost heir to Locke, to no avail. Could you imagine the sheer power in Scaela if our own High Lord found Severin of Locke, if he restored it?”

Grey could imagine the sheer power. She worried that she was breaking Kier’s skin under his jacket. As if he could hear the thudding of her heart, he reached back with one hand, covertly hidden by the desk, and wrapped it around her thigh.

Perhaps it was the combination of Locke prickling in her ears, Kier’s near-death, and the warmth of his hand on her, but it only took that much for Grey to forget herself.

“No one could have survived that,” she said before she could think better of it.