Page 50 of The Second Death of Locke

twenty-one

G REY FOUGHT .

She managed to knee the guard closest to her in the groin, then use his chin to push the gag low and out of her mouth.

She couldn’t do any more before one of the other guards caught her in the shoulder with the hilt of their sword and another kicked her to her knees, then there were hands in her hair, jerking her head up, and a blade on her throat.

She froze, breathing hard, gazing up at the commander with hatred. He moved slowly, then kneeled before her. She spat at him, but he threw up a shield—he was a mage, and someone else in this room was a well, and Grey now understood why the breakbloom was only on their gags.

“You were found with him, weren’t you? Do you think of yourself as his knight? His protector?” The commander reached forward, tugging her hair. “Or is it something else?”

“The girl is a fool. Obsessed with the captain and always has been,” Mare said, her voice flat and emotionless. “Besotted.”

The commander laughed, like this pleased him. He moved the gag back into Grey’s mouth, then gripped her chin in his hand. “And are you just as besotted, Seward?”

A pause. “She is nothing to me,” he said finally.

“And yet she was in your bed.”

“Do you care about everyone you take to bed?” Kier asked, that awful, devious insouciance creeping back into his tone.

Blood and betrayal . She knew he was doing it to save her, the absolute bastard , but it stung all the same.

“And yet she would die for you, it seems,” the commander said, standing and brushing his hands on his trousers, as if touching Grey had made him filthy.

She felt the blade slip away from her throat, but the hand did not leave her hair, and there was another firm one on her shoulder, keeping her down.

“She’s a fool. She’s been nothing but trouble from the start,” Kier said, and there—there was just the briefest lapse into tenderness.

“Then enough worrying about the girl.” The commander looked at her over his shoulder, his gaze dripping with disdain. “Knight, if you step out of line one more time, I will kill you. And that is a promise.”

“Please,” Kier said very quietly, only for her. “Don’t.”

She wanted to—gods, how she wanted to—but she was no use to anyone if she was dead. She sagged in the arms of her captors.

The commander turned his attention back to Kier. “Severin, then. How can I be certain you’re not just another imposter? That you are truly the heir?”

“I may be a mage, but I carry the dormant power of my mother’s line. I can demonstrate it, if only you would allow me.”

“Not happening,” the commander said, arms crossed. “You will remain drugged and powerless until I can trust you won’t kill me, and I think that will take quite a while.”

“Then how can I prove who I am?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” The commander waved his hand, and Grey heard movement, then a muffled gasp. She glanced behind her to find the soldiers had moved, all of them holding blades to her companions’ throats, all of them ready to deliver killing strikes.

Kier met his gaze and held it. “It was Eprain,” he said quietly, “who attacked. Who sent the ships. Who caused the death of Locke when they tried to take control of the Isle and its power.”

Grey drew a breath, tasting only the bitterness of the breakbloom.

She regretted telling Kier anything. One of the guards gasped; across the room, a few of the other soldiers eyed the commander warily.

Even Mare looked surprised, her brows drawing together, as if she could no longer be certain she had made the right choice in protecting Grey.

But the commander only smirked. He looked Kier up and down.

Grey didn’t know what he was looking for—Kier was younger than Severin by five years, but with the gray at his temples and the impact of battles, he looked older than twenty-six.

She wasn’t sure how anyone else would know them: she and Severin had only been away from Locke a handful of times, and their parents were very careful about who could visit the Isle.

Only they weren’t careful enough.

“Everyone else thought the elder Locke was the well,” the commander said after a moment.

“None but those in the Isle’s confidence knew he was a mage, as is the way when there is more than one possibility for the heir.

Did you know that?” he asked, pitching the question to the room.

A few of the soldiers shook their heads, now looking uneasy.

The commander bowed his head, that grin spreading into a full, cruel smile. “My lord,” he said, his voice heavy with faked deference, “do you remember me? From your past life?”

Grey squinted at him. She could not place him.

He took a step toward Kier, his hand on his sword. A touch lower, he said, “Do you remember my daughter?”

Her stomach dropped as it became clear: Lady Polenna. The girl who came with the ships, the girl Severin killed as his final act before he took Grey to safety. The girl who wasn’t supposed to die—who was only meant to act as a decoy.

This was her chance. If Kier got it wrong, they would know he was not Severin. But, of course, he was too smart for that, because he was her other half and she had told him too much.

“I remember her death,” he said, his voice steadier now, back to his captain’s manner. “You may think her blood is on my hands, but you underestimated the Isle. Her blood is on yours .”

The commander’s hand moved, almost too quick for Grey to see—but she heard the sound of flesh on flesh; she watched Kier’s head whip to one side. The commander’s ring cut into his cheek, leaving a gash within the reddening skin.

“You know what I’m capable of,” Kier said, a deadly undercurrent to his voice.

The commander stepped back, recovering his composure. Flatly, he said, “I do.”

“Then you know that if you do not safely release my companions, I can—and will —kill everyone here.” Kier’s voice was smooth, deadly, beautiful.

“And then, when you are dead, I will find your family, Commander. Anyone and everyone you love. And I will look them in the eye and tell them exactly why they are sentenced to die. I will tell them how you sent your daughter to the slaughter; how you were so determined to kill my line that you did not care to spare her. I will find your High Lord, Commander, and end him too. You think the company you found was the worst of what I can do? I will make them all suffer, and I promise it.”

The commander regarded him. “Pretty words, for a man who ran from his own dying family. You are just as guilty as I, and you have no power.”

Grey winced.

“But I will,” Kier said, moving forward until the restraints stopped him.

She could not see his face, but she could see Mare’s, and the Hand master looked like she had never really seen Kier before.

“Sometime soon, your guard will fail.” Somehow, impossibly, Grey felt the sensation of a thread from Kier, reaching out, pushing through the dullness of the breakbloom.

He’d been ungagged long enough to be able to tether, but she was still drugged. She had no control of her power…

They were bound. They were bound, and she was Locke, and her power called to him. She felt the barest thread of a tether take, then the faintest trickle of power flowed from her stomach. He was siphoning from her.

A guard in the corner shouted out, gripping his heart. Before anyone could grab him, he fell. Another fell shortly after, and Grey felt the slice of pain in her stomach, the awful forced pull of power through the haze of drugs in her system.

Chaos fell over the room: the commander threw up a shield, the magic shimmering in the dimness, and two of the guards near Kier pushed him to the ground.

Someone shouted, “Flynn!” and another guard took down Eron, pushing his face into the damp stone.

A few others gathered around their fallen comrades, attempting to revive them—but it was no use.

“You cannot draw from your well,” the commander snarled. “That should be impossible .”

“I am Locke,” Kier seethed from the floor, his bloody side pressed down. “I can draw any power. It is my right .”

It was a lie. A bluff. But he had them afraid, and Grey was terrified alongside them. With Kier on the ground, he was nearly close enough for her to touch. She sagged forward, trying to get closer, to give him any contact with her skin if that would get them free, but she was still too far away.

“ Enough .” The commander’s voice rang through the scuffle. “I will free your companions, if I must. But you will stay, and you will resurrect the Isle. If you do not comply, Locke, I will not hesitate to kill you—and I will not use magic to do it. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” Kier said.

The commander spun on Mare next. “You told me,” he hissed, “that he was bound to his well. That they were useless without one another.”

Mare shook her head. “I… I don’t know. I only thought—”

“You are of no use to me anymore.”

Mare’s eyes filled with fear. She looked at Grey— they never need you as much as you need them , she’d told her once.

“Concord—” Kier started, but it was too late.

One of the soldiers moved forward, quick as a viper, and cut Mare Concord’s throat. Her eyes locked on Grey’s face, Mare barely even flinched as the blade carved a deadly path.

Someone screamed, muffled by their gag. Grey watched, nauseous with fear, as the blood poured from Mare’s throat, staining her shirt. She fell; the soldiers released her as she dropped to her knees, then her hands, then landed face-down. The pool of blood around her grew and grew.

We’re all going to die in this armor . Grey closed her eyes.

“I will release your companions,” the commander said, “but if you do not cooperate, Locke, I too will kill everyone you love. You are not the only one capable of threats.”

They were led away, Grey dizzy with the breakbloom and adrenaline and fear. Kier was taken with them down the hall, to a small room with a door.

“I would just like to say goodbye,” he said.