Page 52 of The Second Death of Locke

“I think we need to speak to my godfather,” she said. “Because there is an imposter claiming my title, and my commander has been taken captive, and we may still have allies yet.”

“Who is her godfather?” Brit asked.

“Contextually, I would assume it is Scaelas, you cretin,” Ola murmured back.

Grey ignored them, stretching out her hands, looking at the scars that marred them from fighting Scaelas’s wars. “I’ve given most of my life for him. The least he could give back is his protection.”

She started through the woods, not caring which way she was going—she would find her home; Locke was always there within reach when she went looking. “Kier has made a mistake trying to save me. And we’re going to find him and force him to his knees and make him fucking beg for forgiveness.”

“There she is,” Eron said quietly. “That’s our girl.”

“Going in the wrong direction, Locke,” Ola said, not unkindly.

It was hard to be the High Lady of Locke while traipsing through the mud without direction in borrowed boots, but Grey made the best of it.

At the next village, they realized they were just over the Luthrite border, and though there were some close calls with patrolling forces, they made it safely into Scaela.

Getting into Grislar was another story.

“I’m Hand Captain Grey Flynn,” Grey hissed at one of the guards at the city’s gate.

The town was in lockdown due to the presence of both Cleoc and Scaelas, the gates guarded, the towers peopled with soldiers.

She could see the streets of the city, the encampment spread far below, the rolling hills that dropped off at the cliffs.

“We need to speak with Commander Reggin.”

But the boy—he was a boy, dammit, probably barely older than Sela—said only, “I have instructions to only allow in those who have papers.”

Grey very nearly punched him. Ola slid neatly in front of her and said, “Do you know who you’re talking to? Captain Flynn led the retinue that saved Cleoc’s daughter.”

“Then she should have papers ,” the boy said, exasperated.

Ola rose to her full height, still shorter than the guard, and pointed at Grey. “She is a war hero . In two nations.” An icy pause swelled between Ola and the guard. “And frankly, if I had my papers, I would shove them up your ass.”

“So close,” Brit murmured. “So good, until the last moment.”

“I have orders,” the boy said.

Frustration welled up inside of Grey, fierce and insistent and— If she was going to be this, be her, then the least she could do was get through a fucking gate.

“I come with a message from the nation of Locke,” she snarled.

“And I require an audience. It’s a life-or-death matter, and your commander needs to know about it immediately. ”

The others looked at her with mixed expressions of pride (Ola) and consternation (Eron). She wondered how often she’d deferred to Kier, letting him lead as she worked quietly in the background.

The boy hesitated, an unknown emotion flickering on his face. “The best I can do,” he said finally, “is fetch my captain.”

“Then go fetch your captain ,” Grey said through gritted teeth.

“Grey,” Brit said when the boy darted into the guard tower. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“There’s no taking it back now,” Grey said.

And more than that: she let the power slip over her, the strength of her mother’s line running heavy in her veins; they were the only nation in which the founding family had remained in power, even after all this time, and she would not break that now.

She had always been a Locke. She would always be a Locke.

“It’ll be even more conspicuous when I raise a dead island if I don’t claim it now. ”

It didn’t work quite as effectively as she’d hoped: they were taken to the boy’s captain, who agreed to bring her to the commander because Grey was both of rank and part of the Stratan girl’s retinue, though he only sighed when the guard said she had a message from Locke.

He looked at her, then at the boy, and said, “For a dead nation, I’ve been hearing quite a lot of it lately. ”

They were taken to the commander, who looked almost chipper. His expression dimmed significantly when he took them in, their clothing and the blood on it, and the conspicuous absence of Kier. “I was expecting Captain Seward,” he said, almost mournful. “I thought he’d considered my offer.”

“Captain Seward is indisposed,” Grey said through gritted teeth. Even speaking his name hurt.

He shuffled through papers on his desk. His Hand stood resolutely behind him. Grey couldn’t help her gaze flicking back to him, thinking with some grief of Mare Concord. How resigned they all were to being devoted and used.

But wasn’t she the same? Here she was running into more danger after Kier. The difference, she supposed, was that Kier hadn’t asked her to do it. In fact, he’d explicitly asked her not to do it. If he had his way, she’d be halfway to Lindan by now.

“Yes, well. Where did you go the other night? I haven’t received Captain Seward’s report.”

“Commander.”

Reggin looked at her, then narrowed his eyes. “What happened to your face, Fastria?”

Oh, what a tangled mess they’d gotten themselves into. They’d be lucky, Grey thought grimly, to be granted an audience, let alone get out of Grislar without visiting the prison first.

“Flynn,” Eron corrected.

“Sorry?” Reggin’s eyes flicked up, already impatient, like he didn’t have time for them.

Grey sat heavily in the chair in front of his desk.

She felt Ola and Brit move to flank her, Eron behind her.

One of them touched her very lightly on the back, where Reggin couldn’t see.

She was grateful for this, that they stood by while she found the words.

They let her lead in her own way. It was all or nothing—there was no backing down now.

“Captain Seward has been taken by a combination of Luthrite and Eprainish forces. I believe the two nations are allied, and they are convinced that Kier is Severin of Locke.”

She’d managed to stun the commander, who blinked at her owlishly. “And why would they think that? He’s a mage, yes, and a powerful one at that, but…”

Grey stretched her hands out on her knees, twisting the silver ring on her thumb. “They’re not exactly wrong. Kier is a powerful mage, but it’s only because I’m a powerful well.”

“But you’re not a well,” Reggin said. His own well’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Flynn?” he said, looking at Eron.

Eron smiled grimly. “I’m sorry. I’m not Hand Captain Flynn—she is.”

Reggin blinked at them, confusion clouding his face, turning quickly to anger. They wouldn’t have his attention much longer before they were all punished for insubordination.

Grey pressed on. “The issue is, Kier is not Locke. I am. And I request an audience with Scaelas under the banner of my nation.”

“If you expect me to believe…” Reggin started, that anger brewing.

Grey, hours removed from breakbloom and restored to her full power, shook her head. “Believe me or don’t. If you refuse, I will go to Cleoc, who will believe me. And unless you want to be at war again, I suggest you listen.”

He regarded her distastefully for a long moment, long enough that Grey started to doubt the merit of this idea. “All I can do is ask. I cannot guarantee he will accept, Hand Captain Flynn.” He spat her name as if it was an insult.

For the first time since Kier was taken, Grey smiled, all teeth. “He will.”