Page 79 of The Second Death of Locke

epilogue

O N A NIGHT THREE months after the resurrection, the Isle sparkled with pale golden magelights.

The boats had been arriving for nearly two days, pausing off the coast so the visitors could admire the glimmering new shields, before depositing guests in the harbor.

For the first time in Grey’s memory, Maerin and Osar were both full to bursting, loud with sounds of mirth and happiness and laughter.

Grey was in her rooms, getting ready for the feast, the second event in a week-long festival.

They’d already spent most of the afternoon in Osar: everyone wanted to bow to Grey, or kiss Kier’s hand or cheek (which was, frankly, a reaction she understood very well), or throw flowers at both of them and Grey’s close group of guards and advisers.

Pia, Kier’s ma, was behind her, pulling her corset strings tight as Laurella, his mom, absolutely destroyed her son at a game of cards. Imarta perched on Laurella’s chair, commenting on her cards in a way that made Kier more and more frustrated.

“I told you not to play with them,” Grey said, breathless, running her hands over the boning of her corset as Pia tied it off. “You always lose, and you’re always cross about it.”

“I don’t always lose,” Kier grumbled.

There was a knock at the door. Pia, who cared more for Grey’s modesty than Grey did, threw a dressing gown over her shoulders. Tress, one of Grey’s new attendants, pushed inside. “The ship from Cleoc has arrived, your majesty,” she said.

“Oh,” Grey said, relieved. “Can you send for the others? They all can come here. I’ll meet them in my sitting room.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“I’ll never get used to that,” Pia muttered when the girl was gone.

“Just wait until you hear what they call Kier,” Grey said.

“I’ve heard jackass bandied about a bit down in town,” Laurella offered. There was a low noise of irritation from the table as she beat him at another hand.

Imarta moved to Grey’s dresser, going through her earring collection. Most of it had been taken from her mother’s rooms. She settled on a pair of garnets, which she handed to Pia.

“I can put on my own earrings,” Grey said, taking them herself. “And get dressed. Truly, you’re all clucking over me like hens.”

“I’m not,” Laurella protested.

“No, but you’re putting Kier in a mood, and I’m the one who has to spend the evening by his side.”

There was no protest at that, but they also didn’t let Grey put her hair up herself.

Finally, she waved them off, asking if they would please go to Osar ahead of time to make sure everything was to their liking.

Imarta paused after Pia and Laurella left, her hand pressed to Grey’s cheek.

Over the last two days, during long walks along Locke’s paths, Grey had told her everything—with no redactions.

“I’ll make your excuses,” she said, dropping a kiss on Grey’s forehead.

“Thank you,” Grey said, squeezing Imarta’s hand once more before she went.

Kier came to her back as she pulled on her heavy dress, his hands pushing hers aside to do up the little buttons. She knew he was annoyed, because he did not press a kiss to her bare shoulder blade or the curve of her neck.

“I told you not to,” she said, unable to hide her smile as he met her gaze in the mirror.

“Oh, shut up.” Buttons done, his hands fell to her waist, tightening around her. “You look exquisite tonight.”

She studied him in his formal suit, gray and black and severe, making him equal parts fearsome and handsome; his hazel eyes were clear and startling in their depth.

“As do you,” she said, her smile deepening.

She turned in his arms and leaned up onto her toes, gripping the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss her.

“We can’t,” he said after a moment, pulling away. “Places to be, and so on.”

“We could skip,” Grey murmured, kissing his jaw.

“We shouldn’t. It’s in your honor.”

“And yours,” she protested. “If I recall, it’s also to celebrate the shields. And the Isle wouldn’t be back and safe without you.”

“Your majesty?” Tress had returned, hesitating at the doorway, eyes lowered.

Grey stepped away from Kier. Though some who worked in the fortress had guessed the nature of the commander’s relationship with the Lady, she liked to keep it protected, close to her chest—she worried that, someday, someone might see Kier as her weakness.

It was a feeling she was trying very hard to get over.

“Your guests are in the sitting room,” Tress said, curtsying.

“Thank you,” Grey said, nodding to dismiss the girl.

She moved quickly, keeping her eyes down.

According to the rumors, much of Locke still feared her for her power—but that, too, was something she was trying to get over; and late at night, when it worried her, Kier told her over and over again all the reasons why a healthy dose of fear was a good thing.

They went into the sitting room. Eron had already found the wine Grey kept for guests and was pouring a round, passing glasses to Brit and Ola.

Near the door, Sela paced; when she saw Grey, her eyes lit up, and she flung herself at her.

Grey caught her with a huff as Sela squeezed her even tighter than her corset.

“You’re wearing the dress,” she said against Grey’s shoulder. “It’s my favorite.”

“I love it,” Grey said. She pulled back to study the girl’s face, noting the dark marks of sleeplessness under her eyes. “The whole wardrobe has been invaluable.”

“The armor did fail, though,” Kier said, smirking, as he took Sela from Grey’s arms for his own hug.

“It was decorative!” she protested.

“First lesson of working with Flynn? Anything that looks like it could be fought in will be fought in.”

Sela sighed, but she didn’t maintain a frown for long.

She sat between Grey and Kier on one of the plush sofas, kicking her feet up to rest on the edge of the little table.

Grey accepted the wine from Eron and took a sip.

“We can’t stay long,” she said sadly. “At any moment, any number of clerks or guards or attendants could burst in and demand my attention.”

“We get it,” Ola said, shifting her weight. She kept her right arm tucked tight to her chest, the shirt pinned just under her elbow. “You’re important.”

Grey winked at her. “But never too important for you .”

Ola scoffed. “Tell that to your damn guard. I swear, I tried to come see you the other day, and that burly one with the eyebrows—”

“Rabbit?” Kier offered helpfully.

“What kind of fucking name is Rabbit?” Eron said.

“Nickname,” Kier explained. “Big as a tree? Curly hair?”

“Well, fucking Rabbit told me I didn’t have the clearances. The clearances! Gods alive, Grey, the fact that I was turned away by some brute called Rabbit .”

Grey sighed. “I’ll have a word,” she said, letting her head fall back on the cushions.

Only months ago, the three of them had been her only guard, but she had forced them to take the six months of leave they’d been promised for delivering Sela.

If they chose to return to her service after that time? Well, Kier would have space for them.

And if they chose to do anything else, go anywhere else? That was fine, too.

In the meantime, it made it easier for Grey to keep slipping her guard if they were strangers.

Brit was waggling their eyebrows at her; for her part, Grey was doing her level best to ignore the question in their eyes.

“Good. Because the next time I see your bunny, I can’t promise what my hand will do.”

“He’s not that bad,” Kier murmured. “And he keeps Grey safe.”

“Oh, shut up, Kier,” Ola sighed without heat.

“Eron?” Grey said, shifting her gaze. “Any grievances to air, while we’re here?”

“None at all,” Eron said primly. He was, Grey had discovered recently, spending a lot of time in the kitchens. She did not know if it had to do with the fact that he was now interested in the art of cooking, or because there was excellent food there at all hours.

“Brit?” she said, wincing.

The mage only looked at her, taking a long sip of their wine. “Oh,” they said, “you know. Feeling a little… burdened with anticipation.”

Grey raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps,” she said slowly, “that is something we can discuss tomorrow.” She had taken a risk, trusting Brit with a secret—she trusted Brit with a lot, but secrets were an entirely different territory—and she wasn’t going to let them ruin it now, mere minutes before she shared it with Kier.

They flashed her a bright smile. “Excellent news. I will be up at dawn waiting for your summons.”

Grey rubbed the bridge of her nose. On Sela’s other side, Kier looked a little confused, but he was smirking, as he always did when they didn’t feel so keenly the weight of their new roles.

“We should go, though,” Eron said sadly. “Yearna had some very pointed threats for me if we kept Sela away from her guard for too long.”

The others shuffled to prepare, pulling on jackets and finishing their wine.

Kier moved to follow them out the door, but Grey grabbed his arm and held him back.

“We’ll meet you there,” she said to Ola, who shot her a questioning glance.

Brit only smiled; Ola shook her head and muttered something under her breath about other rabbits.

“What’s wrong?” Kier asked, moving to adjust one of the jewels that had shifted in Grey’s hair.

“Nothing. Just a surprise.”

He raised a brow, but did not ask for further clarification.

Grey pulled on her cloak and led him out. When she dismissed her guard, telling them to go to the feast without her, they protested. “I’m with the commander,” she said. “I will be fine.”

“Sir?” one of them said tentatively. He never unmade her decisions— but he did push for her safety.

Kier only shrugged. “Go on, then.” Grey couldn’t fight her wicked smile as they left.