Page 70 of The Second Death of Locke

Leonie’s hand slipped; she nearly dropped the bottle, but recovered quickly. She set it down, out of the range of the papers, as Grey took a long sip of her wine. “Grey—I just saw him. He sent me. I told you.”

Grey shook her head. “That’s not what I mean.”

Leonie raised a brow and leaned in closer, her elbows on the desk.

“When we raised Locke,” Grey said miserably, the ache of it returning to her chest at even the slightest thought of it—she wondered if she would always have it, right there within reach, when she recalled the absence of his heartbeat.

“Kier… was not alive when we arrived on the Isle. I checked his pulse. I tried to bring him back. For a while , Leonie.”

Leonie nodded slowly, looking away. She knew Grey’s training: if Grey had declared Kier beyond saving, if she had given up on him coming back, then he was surely dead.

“My mother appeared to me, and my father and brother, and the goddess Kitalma. They told me that to resurrect the Isle, a sacrifice was needed.”

“And that sacrifice was Kier,” Leonie said. “But…”

Grey nodded, barely able to speak past the tightness in her chest. “But.”

“He’s walking now.”

“I was offered a trade. By the goddess.”

“Grey…”

She shook her head. She could not say it for a moment of quiet breathing, and then she forced the words out: “I have time, yet. But I can either keep my power… or Kier can keep his freedom.”

Leonie sucked a breath through her teeth. “And if you lose your power, will all power fade?”

“No,” Grey said, considering. “The goddess said Kier will still be able to draw from the Isle, and my own heir will continue the line. So it is just… me.”

“And if Kier gives his freedom?”

“If I give it,” Grey corrected, feeling the distinction was important. “Then Kier can never again leave the Isle. He will live the rest of his days here, and then he will die here.”

“He can never go home.”

“No,” Grey said.

Leonie nodded thoughtfully. She ran the tip of her finger over the wrinkled edge of the bottle’s label. “And have you decided?”

Grey rubbed her eyes. That was the question, wasn’t it? Every time she opened her mouth to tell Kier, every time the words tangled on her tongue—because she had decided, and the decision made her ache.

“He’s already given everything up for me,” she said, the words thick in her throat. “I cannot take more from him.”

Leonie’s hand stopped moving. “So you would give it up? You would give away everything?”

“It’s no more than he already sacrificed,” Grey said, the knot finally breaking. She took a ragged breath and wiped away her tears with her sleeve.

That was when she saw him, in the shadows of the doorway. He had one hand on the door still, frozen, halfway through pushing it open.

“Leonie,” Kier said. His voice was quiet, but the intensity of it made Grey’s blood run cold. She reached for the tether—but in that very moment, Kier snapped it. “If I may, I need to speak with the High Lady.”

Cold dread spread through her at the tone of his voice. She knew, with utter certainty, that she had made a grave mistake in not telling him—and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it, no defense she could use, no high ground she could take.

Leonie paled, turning to look at Kier. She twisted to look back at Grey, but Grey only shook her head. The damage was already done.

“Of course,” Leonie said. She left Grey one more lingering glance, took her bottle and the glasses and went out. Kier shut the door behind her.

He raised his eyes to Grey, finally. Only then did she see the full extent of his anger, written in the paleness of his face, the sharpness of his gaze, the ticking muscle of his jaw. She’d seen that expression before—but she’d never seen it directed at her.

He was still dressed, despite his earlier beckoning for her to come to bed—he had probably been working, too, at the desk in their room. Preparing for the battle to come. She regarded him, taking in the lines of his face in the firelight; she could not read him.

“What was I to do?” she asked, when she could not bear the silence anymore. She didn’t know how long he’d been there, how much he’d heard, but he’d certainly caught the worst of it.

“You should’ve told me ,” he said, his voice shaking with fury.

Blood and betrayal. That’s the legacy of Locke .

She rose to her feet like a thundercloud. “You cannot be mad at me for saving your life.”

“You didn’t save my life!” Kier shouted. “I died , Grey. Don’t you think I deserved to know that?”

“I was going to tell you,” she said, fighting to keep her own voice level, “once I decided what to do.”

“And you don’t think I should get a say?” He whirled, finding an inkpot on one of the bookshelves. He threw it; she winced when it hit the stone wall above the fireplace and shattered in a spray of black drops and glass. “ Fuck!”

“You have no reason to be furious about this,” Grey said, her nails digging into the wood of the desk. “And if you insist on it, you can go home and be mad in your mothers’ house. When this battle is over, you are free to leave, if you wish.”

He whirled on her, face blank for the barest second as he processed, then his fury intensified. His hands were clenched into fists at his side. “ You. Will. Not. Give. Up. Your. Power.”

She stared at him, jaw throbbing from how tightly she was clenching it. When it was clear he was not going to say anything else until she did, she said, “I will not take your freedom, Kiernan.”

“Give me that choice,” he hissed.

“I give you all the choices!” Grey shouted back. She wanted to throw an inkpot herself, but she did not.

He shook his head, the vein in his temple throbbing.

He went over to the fireplace and picked up the biggest piece of ink-stained glass from the mantel before he threw it in the fire.

“I have never made a choice without consulting you,” he said, his voice pitched so low she barely heard it.

Grey watched the fight run out of him as he gripped the mantel like it was the only thing that would keep him upright through this betrayal.

She swallowed, forcing the pain down. “I love you. Every choice I have made, that I am making, is because I love you.”

His hand tightened on the mantel, knuckles going white. “Why must you always sacrifice yourself, and call that love?”

She drew a sharp breath. It was a fatal blow, and they both knew it.

Kier did not look at her. He did not say anything as he turned away and went out, shutting the door behind him, leaving her standing in the wake of his destruction.