Page 43 of The Second Death of Locke

It was nearing noon the next day when they reached the edges of the city.

Grislar was an old place, stone buildings crowding closer and closer until they reached the cliffs.

The soldiers’ quarters were on the far side of the city, close to the fortress that served as Scaelas’s summer residence, pressed up against the sea.

They’d sold Pigeon to a kindly farmer in the valley just after sunrise, so they walked into the city in a loose knot around Sela.

There was very little fanfare when they made it to the camp, but quite a lot of staring.

There were whispers in town about the High Lord’s approach the day before, unscheduled.

Even more rumors circulated about a party with diplomatic immunity moving down from Cleoc Strata, and an armistice between the nations while the High Lord was in residence.

Grislar was one of the more established forts: real stone walls and a great tower looking out to sea, shining a light toward Eprain for any supply ships that entered the Bay of Locke. Grey paused on the hill that led down to the command building, staring out at the bay.

Home. She felt the press of it, the call of the sea, of the Isle that was once there.

Kier’s hand graced her arm, barely a touch. She looked at him, the weight of his stare, as if he could ask if she was okay. She nodded, and they moved on.

They were hustled through corridors until they reached a nicely appointed office, usually reserved for the highest-ranking officer, who had been temporarily moved.

“Commander Reggin will be with you shortly,” the lieutenant said, before he left the group to wait.

“ Commander?” Brit whispered when the door shut behind the man, leaving them alone.

Kier stood at rest, perfectly at ease near the window. Grey felt she could not mirror any ounce of his easy grace. “I imagine they realize the importance of what is happening,” he said.

“But a commander?”

He shrugged. Scaelas had two commanders, one for the east and one for the west, the dual-headed authority of his military. Commander Reggin, the eastern commander, generally operated out of the capitol.

Grey watched Sela, who kept looking anxiously at the door, then the window. The room they were in faced out to sea. Sela perched on the wide edge of the window, back flattened to the wall, as if she could see the cliffs of Cleoc Strata in the distance if she only looked hard enough.

Grey moved to lean against the wall next to her, then caught the girl’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “You have nothing to be afraid of,” she said quietly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Sela looked at her for a long moment, and Grey thought she was going to claim she wasn’t afraid. But then she shifted closer, resting her head on Grey’s shoulder. “Do you promise?” she asked.

Grey wrapped her arm more securely around her. “I swear it.”

Kier came close, dipping his head toward Grey. “Will Scaelas recognize you? If you look like your mother?”

Grey chewed her lip. “It’s not impossible.”

“Hmm.” He frowned. Before she could react, he pulled the tie out of her braid and arranged her hair so it fell around her shoulders, partially obscuring her face.

“Kier—”

He didn’t wait for any further discussion; just moved off toward the other three, leaving Grey blinking after him. She did not hear what he said to them.

It was only a few more minutes of anxious shuffling before the door opened again, admitting a tall, stern man. The assembled guards straightened immediately; Sela did not move, other than to squeeze Grey’s hand even tighter.

“Leave us,” Reggin said to the guards, who obeyed immediately, leaving the commander alone with the retinue.

Grey regarded him, from the gleaming polish of his boots to his salt-and-pepper hair, the serious set of his mouth, the absence of his sword.

His Hand followed only a few steps behind, a young person with close-cropped auburn hair.

The commander only nodded to the retinue as he went around the desk and sat down.

Grey watched him watch them, then studied the way the Hand commander stared straight ahead, hands behind their back, firmly at rest. She wondered how such a young well had ended up at Reggin’s side.

“Captain Seward,” the commander said finally, folding his hands on his desk. “I have received… interesting reports from your journey.”

“We only did what we were told,” Kier said, slipping back into his captain voice. She hadn’t realized how much authority he carried in these meetings, but it was all posturing. Even now, in worn travel clothes, he looked just as refined as the commander.

Reggin nodded to the chair in front of his desk. Kier sat down. Before Grey could move to her place behind him, Eron stepped forward, blank-faced. Grey froze, every muscle tensed as she watched him stand behind Kier and rest his hand on the captain’s shoulder.

No one else moved. No one even looked surprised. Looking from face to face, Grey realized that they had planned this. She knew Kier well enough to understand: he would present Eron as his Hand when they met the High Lord too, allowing Grey to slip into the background, posing as a typic.

“Hand Captain,” Reggin said, nodding at Eron. Eron greeted the commander formally, in the perfect posture of a Hand. Grey squeezed Sela’s hand back fiercely.

She never got to watch Kier’s face in these meetings, since she spent most of them behind his back with her hand on his shoulder.

Now she watched Eron—she hadn’t realized before how similar they were in height and build, though Eron’s skin was medium brown whereas Grey was pale, and his hair was black and curly against Grey’s brunette.

But with only a name and rank and maybe a few statistics, who would know the difference?

“It’s good that you left when you did,” the commander said, sitting back in his chair. “Mecketer was attacked shortly after your departure.”

Grey’s heart dropped. The others exchanged uneasy glances. They all had friends back at Mecketer, and though they were not planning to return… “What happened?” Kier asked, obviously stressed. “I left Lieutenant Chappelle—”

“Chappelle lives,” the commander said. “As does most of your company. They fought well.”

Kier did not answer. Most did not mean all . Even now, death followed them, darkening every place they’d once been.

“I’ve received word from Scaelas that we’re to host a convoy from Cleoc Strata—you must understand how much trouble it has been to prepare for such a change in plans—and though it’s a shame we haven’t found Locke, your diplomacy in this situation has been noted.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

So Reggin knew that they didn’t have Locke. Grey let a pulse of relief slip free to Kier.

“If you will hand over the girl, we will make sure she is comfortable until the assembly from Cleoc arrives.”

Sela squeezed Grey’s hand so tightly her nails dug into Grey’s palm. Grey shifted, wrapping an arm around the girl’s waist.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said—she was never good at holding her tongue, but Kier would’ve wanted her to speak, she was sure—“but if it’s no trouble, we’d like to remain with Sela until then.”

The commander’s eyebrow rose as he regarded her. “And you are?”

“Officer Eron Fastria, sir,” she said. That was insubordination, but she was going to retire anyway. What were they going to do?

“Fastria,” he repeated. Grey did not look at the others, but she felt a pulse of warning down the tether. That muscle in Kier’s jaw was tense again. “Do you not trust my guards? I have hand-selected them for the task.”

Grey shook her head. “It is not that, sir. But we all promised to keep Sela safe until we handed her personally into her nation’s care. It would be disrespectful to my gods to leave her now.”

It was a lie, but so was her entire life.

“To… your gods,” Reggin repeated slowly.

Religion was not widespread in Scaela, but other soldiers had dedicated their lives at the knife-edge of death and remembered to stop at altars and pray for the rest of their lives, certain they had survived due to a deliverance. Perhaps he would think her a fool.

She shrugged. “And as a matter of the captain’s honor.”

Kier only sighed.

“Dutiful to the last, Captain,” Reggin said mildly.

“Unfortunately, Fastria is right. We would be honored if you would allow us to keep watch over Sela until we can hand her over. And we will, of course, ensure her safety.”

“I’m sure you will,” Reggin said, shuffling through papers on his desk. “I’ll allow it. If that’s settled, there’s one more matter at hand: Captain Seward, you have been put forward for promotion to master.”

Silence settled in the room, and now Grey knew the others were watching her face. She kept her eyes on Kier, watching as his hand twitched—it was his only break in composure. “That’s not what was agreed,” Kier said.

Reggin frowned. “And what is it you have agreed to, then?”

“Papers, please?”

Grey reached into her jacket pocket, where she’d made sure the papers were this morning. She handed them to Eron, who gave them to Kier. “Signed orders,” he said, putting them down a bit too forcefully in front of the commander. “Hand Captain Flynn and I have been promised retirement.”

It would be a challenge, Grey thought grimly, to switch back now—but it was doubtful that the commander would meet either her or Eron ever again; and if he did, she was fairly certain her own position would be significantly different.

She glanced at Eron, who met her gaze. There was a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his mouth, and she was fairly certain he wasn’t mad at her for dragging his perfect record through the mud.

The commander read the letters and sighed. He looked back up at Kier—and Grey looked too. If he agreed to it, he’d be the youngest master in Scaela. Perhaps the youngest master ever in Scaela.

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” Reggin asked.

Kier said, “Hand?” He glanced at Eron, but Eron let his gaze slip to Grey, eyebrow raised.

She nodded, the smallest movement of her chin. Even that was probably conspicuous, but right now, she didn’t care.

“No,” Eron said, speaking as Grey. “The captain and I are ready to go home, if you please.”