Page 66 of The Second Death of Locke

twenty-nine

G REY DID NOT KNOW how much time did or did not pass as they readied the Isle.

She measured the days in her own way as they worked until they were tired, then slept in her great bed, too exhausted for anything but sleep (or perhaps Kier was no longer interested in that kind of relationship; but he still kissed her at every chance, so she wondered at it).

On the first day, they went through the armories, making note of weapons and supplies, preparing for an army that had not yet arrived.

On the second, she prepared rooms for diplomatic guests while Kier walked the Isle, learning the lay of the land, making his own maps; that evening, they set up the war room in one of the chambers that looked out toward the rest of Idistra.

She woke on the third day to a thin light streaming in from the window.

Kier’s side of the bed was empty but still warm—she sat up to see his shadow on the side of the room.

She rubbed her eyes, calmed by the sound of the gulls and the crashing of the waves, the shout of the wind; all the familiar sounds of Locke.

All the familiar sounds.

She froze. “Kier?”

“I know.”

When she looked up at him, she realized that he was not dressing in the clothes they’d worn to work over the last few days; he was laying out his armor, dark gray as the banner of Locke, the rocks, the stormy sky. He was dressing for war.

“You can keep sleeping, love,” he murmured. “I already went to the tower. We have time.”

She ignored him, slipping from the bed and going to the window. She squinted out at the bay, at the continent: she could only just see the coast. There were ships in the distance.

“I suspect we have an hour,” she said. She went back to the bed and sat heavily on the edge.

It was no new sight, to watch Kier prepare for battle, his hair still wet from bathing in the early hours of the morning; but now it was her armor he wore, her crest of a blade over two linked rings embroidered on the surcoat draped over the chair, her battle he was preparing for.

“Maybe more. They’ll worry about the shields.

We should fly a banner for Scaelas and Cleoc, to let them know it’s safe. ”

“We should,” he said, but his voice had changed. Grey looked up— and felt the pulse of desire through the tether.

Something had caught Kier off guard when he glanced over at her. He crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside the bed, between her legs. His hands slipped around her calves. His eyes never left hers as he pressed a kiss just above her knee.

“It’s just… your thighs ,” he confessed, almost mournful. As if to prove his point, he moved his hands upward, thumbs digging in, fingertips tracing the backs of her knees. “I could write odes to your thighs. I might actually have dreams of your thighs.”

She raised a brow. “Is that so?”

“They’re perfect,” he lamented. She shuddered, watching the dimpling of his fingers into her flesh, falling back onto her elbows.

“You’ve never mentioned it.”

“A grievous error on my part.” He bent to kiss the freckle above her left knee.

“Kier,” she said, running her hands through his hair even as she knew it was a bad idea—but she hadn’t been with him since Grislar, and even through the exhaustion, she wanted . “We could be at war in a few hours.”

“Mm,” he hummed against her skin. Gently enough so it only just hurt, he bit the soft flesh of her inner thigh—the feeling went straight to her center. His hands came up, framing her hips. “I’m aware.”

“I have to make you look like a commander,” she said, even as her head tipped back.

“Shouldn’t take long. You never had trouble making me look like a captain.”

“And I have to look like a fearsome lady of an iron isle.”

“You are fearsome, even in only my shirt and your socks.” He pushed the aforementioned shirt up over her stomach.

“We shouldn’t be distracted.”

He pressed a kiss up higher, at the soft fold where her thigh met her hip. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” he said. “But if this is the last morning of our lives, I want to spend it right here.”

She raked her nails over his scalp. “And if I don’t tell you to stop?”

His laugh was warm and smooth against her skin as his hand parted her thighs. “Is that a yes?”

“ Yes .”

Not much later, Kier went to the tower to raise the banner of Locke while Grey went into her mother’s room.

There, she found a sharply cut coat that looked more like armor than fashion and armored trousers that fit tight to her skin.

She strapped her father’s sword to her hip, scabbard shining in the first light of morning.

Before she could think better of it, she slid the signet ring of Locke on her finger.

When they were ready for war, Locke and her commander walked together to the harbor in Maerin.

The first of the ships had drawn closer, flying Scaelan colors, nearly within reach of the shield.

The harbor was not big enough for warships, but it dropped anchor just outside the shimmering blue of the outer shield.

“They’re launching a boat,” Kier murmured. They stood on one of the long docks, the wind whipping their hair. Above, the sky was steely and gray.

Grey watched the little boat as it drew closer, her breath catching when she made out the figures of the expedition party, their own retinue waving from the deck, relief swelling through her.

They were close enough to hear the collective whooping from the occupants as the boat swept unharmed to the dock.

“They’re safe,” she said, as if to convince herself.

Kier moved, stooping down at the edge of the dock as Brit tossed him a line.

He tied it off and helped to pull the boat in.

Eron crossed over first, helped by Brit and Ola on one side and Kier on the other.

His knee was bound and his arm was in a sling, but he was alive, and walking, and he hugged Kier fiercely before he moved on to Grey.

“What did you do ?” she asked, her fingers digging into his back as she embraced him.

“You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t.”

He sighed. “I fell from my horse, in the retreat.”

She had lied: she laughed. “I’m sorry!” she said at his poisonous glare. But he didn’t look that angry as he hugged her again.

“You fucking legend,” Brit said, kissing both Grey’s cheeks as they too crossed to the dock. “You absolute power-ridden bitch.”

“They mean that in a positive way,” Ola clarified, pushing past Brit. She gripped Grey’s cheeks, pushing the wind-blown hair out of her face as she searched for any sign of strain. “Love, how are you?”

Grey wanted to cave in to Ola. It was a triumph in itself that she remained upright. “I’m here. We’re alive.”

Ola’s grin warmed as she looked to Kier, releasing Grey. “Captain,” she said affectionately.

“Commander,” Grey corrected. Kier’s hand tightened on her hip in response. She turned back to the sea, to the new boats launching, circling closer. She reached down, found his hand, and squeezed.

“Ready, Locke?” he murmured.

“As I’ll ever be,” she said.

Boat after boat set off, unloaded and returned.

Commander Reggin arrived with Cleoc’s Commander Dainridge, a gray-haired woman in her forties with a glare as cold as ice, her skin tanned and wrinkled from years of wind and sunlight.

They sent ambassadors, too: Ikaaron, from Scaela, and Yearna, from Cleoc.

“The High Lord plans to arrive this evening,” Ikaaron informed Grey after their introduction, when they’d moved off the dock to the paved area near the harbor. “He wanted to come earlier, but we insisted he wait until the Isle is secure.”

“I’m sure he did,” Grey said drily. “Commander?”

“Yes, my lady?” Kier replied.

“I will take my ambassadors to their rooms. Will you show those responsible for command our armories, then direct them into the war room and have their captains arrange their forces?”

“Yes, my lady.” He hesitated, for just a second. “Will you take Ola and Brit with you?”

“I will, if you bring Eron.”

He nodded, and took leave of her without another word. Her new ambassadors did not seem to notice anything at all between Grey and her commander—she wasn’t hiding their relationship, but she wasn’t yet sure how she wanted to navigate it publicly.

They made their way up from the docks to the fortress. There, Grey showed the ambassadors the new war room and then the rooms she and Kier had prepared for diplomatic guests, where she left them to clean up and change.

They beat Kier and the commanders into the fortress. In the war room, without the others, Grey locked the door and turned to Brit and Ola. “Okay,” she said. “I don’t know how much time we have, but what happened since we left? How long has it been?”

Ola winced. “About two days. After you and Kier jumped, there were a few skirmishes, but no real engagement. Waiting to see what happened next, I suppose.”

Grey nodded. It had been longer than two days on the Isle, but she was glad for the time dilation and the reprieve it granted. “Did you have the chance to see Scaelas?”

“Yes. He was furious at you.”

“They didn’t really know what to do with us at first,” Brit said, leaning against the table, already spread with maps.

“Sela was with us for a bit and told us what she could, but otherwise we just kind of… watched. And waited. Pretty much as soon as you two jumped, there was this thick fog over the bay—both Scaelas and Epras sent ships, but it was the oddest thing. They came sailing back within the hour, turned around and redirected. No one could get the full way across, through the fog.”

Grey nodded. She had suspected some sort of shielding, some natural protection as the Isle came back into existence.

“We thought you were dead,” Ola said, not meeting her eye.

“You know me better than that.”

Someone tried the door, paused, then knocked. Grey sighed and reached for the handle. “Let me,” Ola murmured, shooing her away. Grey went, taking her seat at the head of the table.