Page 68 of The Second Death of Locke

Leonie shook her head. “I was moved after the raid, shortly after you left.” She saw something over Grey’s head and her smile grew even wider. “Captain Seward—or Commander now, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Kier said, leaning to kiss Leonie’s hand. “We’re lucky to have you.”

“Ah, better than the last place I was in,” Leonie said. She gently slipped out of Grey’s arms and went back to her list. “It’s good you’re here, actually. For supplies, who do I ask?”

“Um. Me?”

“You’re the High Lady. You shouldn’t worry yourself with trivial matters.”

Grey looked at Kier, but he only shrugged. “Report to me,” she said. “If you come to the fortress and ask for me directly, I’ll make sure they know to admit you.”

Leonie eyed her shrewdly over her notebook. “Be careful who you tell that to, Locke,” she said. “Or else you’ll have everyone in the Isle asking for you.”

Grey rolled her eyes. “I’ll be back when I can,” she promised.

Scaelas and Cleoc did not linger at the harbor, but went into the war room for more arguing as soon as they reached the Isle.

Though she had not been reunited with him long, with every look at Scaelas, Grey could tell with absolute certainty that he was furious, and she had little doubt as to the object of his anger.

They were served food as night fell, still debating strategy; as the hours crept on, one by one the captains left to assign watches and make sure their camps were properly established, followed by the masters, until only the commanders remained.

It was nearing midnight when Kier finally said, “There’s not much more we can do tonight. Locke?”

She hated the uncertainty, but she agreed.

Reggin and Dainridge and their Hands moved to stand; Cleoc and Scaelas did not move. “If we may have a moment with the Lady?” Scaelas said. At Kier’s withering look, he sighed. “Commander, you may stay.”

The four of them lingered in the room. Cleoc said, “It was a worrying decision, to directly attack one of your ally’s commanders then jump off a cliff.”

Grey crossed her arms. She would not be chastised like a child. “I saved your soldiers’ lives.”

“Nearly at the risk of your own. It’s like you learned it from Seward.”

She leaned back against the table. “I did what I had to do.”

“You nearly died ,” Scaelas said, his voice full of scarcely concealed rage. “That is certainly not what I agreed to. Now that we only just have you, you threaten us with your death?”

Cleoc shot him a warning glare. “It is more worrying for an ally to make such rash decisions without consultation,” she said. “I have put my trust in you. Do not make me regret that.”

Before Grey could answer, Cleoc swept out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

“Commander Seward,” Scaelas said quietly. “A moment alone with the High Lady?”

“Whatever you need to say to Grey, you can say to me.”

Grey sighed. “Go, Kier. I’ll be up soon.”

He paused for a second, two; then, seeing she wouldn’t change her mind, he too left. Grey turned to face Scaelas, her hands balled into fists.

“I am not your daughter,” she said. “You cannot come here to find me, a grown woman, sovereign to my own nation, and deign to parent me.”

“A cliff , Gremaryse?” Torrin seethed. “ A cliff?”

“You told me I could save him!”

“I told you, whatever you did, to not do it alone.”

She threw up her hands. “What else was I to do! Let Kier die?”

“You asked for my help, and then you did that ! I don’t know—you could have followed the rules, for once in your life. Even if you ran off with Captain Seward, you should’ve brought him back to the fort, to your allies . We could’ve handled this correctly and safely.”

“I was doing what I thought was best.”

“You don’t know anything about how this works,” Torrin snapped.

“You’ve made your stance on the matter very clear. But as I would remind you, your majesty— you are not my father .”

Torrin shook his head slowly. “I am not,” he said. The fight went out of him; he, too, leaned on the table, his arm against hers. “Do you feel them press upon your heart, Maryse?”

She felt her jaw tighten, the weight of them crushing down. “Yes,” she said finally. “Sometimes.”

“As do I.” He looked down at her—he was nearly a foot taller, built like one of his nation’s hulking trees—and she saw the sadness in his eyes.

“Your father was like a brother to me. The first person in this world I ever knew. They say, in the old religion of Scaela, mages and wells were one soul cleft in two: if that was true, he was mine.”

“We don’t have that story on Locke.”

“I know. Probably because it requires trusting another person.” Blood and betrayal. That is your legacy .

She pushed that aside. “You’re a well,” she said.

“Yes.”

“And my father’s Hand, before he married my mother.”

Torrin looked away. “Yes.”

“Did you love him?”

“Not in the way of you and your commander,” he said, considering. “But in my own way. As, I suppose, we all do.”

Grey nodded. That she could understand.

“To lose you would be like knowing his death all over again,” Torrin said quietly. Behind them, the fire was crackling low in the grate; soon, it would be only embers. She did not move to prod it back to life.

“I am not yours to lose,” she said, but gently this time.

“I know,” Torrin said. “That doesn’t make it easier.”

Kier barely stirred when she finally came down from the tower, where she’d been pacing and watching the sea. She found one of his shirts, exchanged her own clothes for it and slid into bed. He immediately turned, pulling her against his chest.

“You’re cold,” he said against her shoulder, adjusting her so her back was flush with his front, his legs pressed to hers.

“I wasn’t ready for sleep,” she admitted. “Did anyone question you, when you came to my rooms?”

“No. You have no guard. The others went to sleep hours ago.”

“Oh.”

He pressed a kiss to the space under her ear. “Was he very disappointed? Scaelas?”

“No,” Grey said, unable to fully account for the lump in her throat. She laced her fingers with Kier’s and pulled his arms even tighter around her. “He told me about my father.”

Kier was quiet for a moment. “Perhaps it’s a good thing,” he said, “to have some part of him. Of his memory.”

Grey nodded. “Perhaps,” she said. But she lay awake in the dark for a long time after that, thinking of her ghosts.