ã€ŠTo Catch A Sorcererã€‹


 1. Thats ... Not An Alchemists Kid

    The crowd after midnight was always a nightmare, and Gray was getting too old for this shit.

    His boss, Barin, tapped Gray on the forehead.

    His manager badge glinted in the warm lamplight of the tavern, crooked on his massive chest. Sweat beaded his thin upper lip. Auburn stubble was beginning to show on his jowls, and his crow-black eyes narrowed.

    He pressed his mouth to Gray¡¯s ear, so Gray could hear him over the roar of the post-midnight rush and the kitchen.

    ¡®Earn your keep,¡¯ Barin said. ¡®Go back out there, apologise for being rude, mop up the mess, and make her a new drink.¡¯

    Her was sitting in their back booth.

    She reclined like she was sitting on a throne, not a peeling leather seat with old beer stains. Her platinum hair fell over her eyes, catching on her lashes. Rare lion¡¯s fur trimmed the collar of her jacket.

    Gray knew the type. Spoiled lordlings and alchemists¡¯ kids would sometimes stay at the tavern on their way to the north coast. They¡¯d throw their wealth and power around, making everyone scramble to please them.

    This girl had gotten drunk off half a drink, had a horse in their stable worth more than the town mayor made in a year, spoke southern Lismerian like a politician, and had poorly forged stat papers claiming she was twenty-one.

    Gray wrung out his dripping apron and shoved his shaking fists into his pockets. His leather wristband snagged on his frayed hem.

    ¡®She was talking about Alistair,¡¯ he said. ¡®You didn¡¯t hear her ¨C¡®

    ¡®I don¡¯t care if she insulted the damn king,¡¯ said Barin. ¡®You make sure she leaves a good tip.¡¯

    Gray stalled.

    ¡®Go on,¡¯ said Barin. ¡®Go.¡¯

    Barin pushed Gray between the shoulder blades, and he stumbled out onto the busy floor.

    There was a royal wedding in three days, and the king had given every town in the kingdom free mead to celebrate.

    Everyone was taking celebrating very seriously.

    The flagstone floor was puddled with spilled mead. The Tipsy Stag was the largest tavern in town, but with the dark overhead beams, the sweating, too-hot crowd, and three huge barrels taking up the far wall, it felt claustrophobic.

    Gray sidled through the crush, ignoring the rapid pulse fluttering in his ears, and stood before her.

    She stared at Gray through her platinum lashes, her eyes overly bright, her mouth suppressed into a sneer. She tapped her long fingers on the table, displaying manicured, highly polished nails and gold rings. Cocked a pale eyebrow.

    Tightly laced boots.

    Tightly buttoned shirt, right up to the neck.

    She had the lean build of someone who¡¯d had daily horse riding lessons since they were ten.

    This girl had called Gray¡¯s stepbrother, Alistair, a houseboy. She¡¯d offered to pay Alistair one silver coin for the night.

    If she¡¯d done this with any of the other servers, it likely wouldn¡¯t have been a problem. Not that they would¡¯ve accepted ¡­ well, some of them might¡¯ve. But, not Alistair.

    Never Alistair.

    This girl had, metaphorically, hit Alistair right where he was tender.

    Alistair had melted away, face like thunder, and that¡¯s when Gray had come over. The girl had clapped eyes on Gray and her attitude had turned up a notch. She¡¯d said things, Gray¡¯d said things. Gray¡¯d told the girl where she could shove her silver coin. That¡¯s when she threw her drink on him.

    Gray unclenched his jaw and fixed his glare on her overstuffed rucksack stashed in the booth beside her, and then down to the three empty plates on her table.

    She¡¯d eaten three huge meals of slow-cooked beef with chilli on mashed potatoes.

    The Tipsy Stag¡¯s specialty.

    He couldn¡¯t bring himself to apologise, so he snatched up the rag tucked into the knot of his apron and began mopping up the spilled drink from the flagstone floor.

    ¡®It suits you,¡¯ she said, barely loud enough for Gray to hear her over the chatter of the crowd. ¡®Dumb, and on your knees. I expected nothing less from a northerner.¡¯

    Better than a southerner, Gray thought. Those bastards will sleep with anything that stays still long enough.

    Mess cleaned up, Gray stood.

    ¡®I wanted,¡¯ Gray said, ¡®to apologise to you.¡¯

    Silence.

    ¡®So,¡¯ Gray said, fisting his hands in his pockets, ¡®Sorry for what I said. I overreacted. I¡¯d like to make it up to you, by giving you a complimentary drink.¡¯

    ¡®I want,¡¯ she said, ¡®the tall one to serve me. Go get him, little boy.¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s unavailable.¡¯

    Carefully, she slid the silver coin back across the table. ¡®Make him available.¡¯

    Gray dragged his glare away from the coin. ¡®Look,¡¯ he said, ¡®he¡¯s not available, so I¡¯m afraid you¡¯re stuck with me. Unless you¡¯d prefer to leave?¡¯

    ¡®To the flea-bitten bed and breakfast down the street?¡¯ she said. ¡®Or the alehouse run by the goblin? Such great choices. However will I choose?¡¯

    ¡®The alehouse,¡¯ Gray said, flexing his hands inside his pockets, ¡®is run by May Gunstall, and she¡¯s a nice lady.¡¯

    ¡®Lady?¡¯ she said. Her tone was smooth. Her gaze was wide and assessing. It was a waste to have such bright hazel eyes on such a spoiled brat.

    He kept his temper.

    ¡®You can go make my drink now, little boy,¡¯ she said, tilting her chin up.

    ¡®No problem,¡¯ Gray said hotly, before he could stop himself, because honestly, that was the second time she¡¯d called him little boy, and it wasn¡¯t like he was some kid fresh into upper school. ¡®I¡¯ll add a little something extra in it, for you.¡¯

    A muscle in her jaw twitched.

    The girl dropped her gaze, her lips parted. She flexed her fingers, twisting a ring with a stag emblem on it.

    ¡®I¡¯d like to speak to the manager,¡¯ she said.

    Gray hesitated.

    ¡®Now, little boy,¡¯ she said.

    Barin would skin him. Gray stayed rooted on the floor.

    The girl pushed past him. The crowd parted for her, as though sensing a poisonous snake slithering across the floor.

    Gray watched her speak to Barin, and Barin fixed his hot glare onto Gray.

    Gray braced himself.

    ¡®Gray,¡¯ said Barin, from across the room.

    Barin had a voice like a thunderclap when he wanted. It would come out of nowhere and was so powerful it made everyone jump.

    ¡®Scrubbing duty,¡¯ Barin said.

    The room fell silent. Even the five-woman fiddle band jammed in the corner ground to a halt.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡®And the next time there¡¯s vomit,¡¯ said Barin, ¡®it has your name on it.¡¯

    A hot flush crept up Gray¡¯s cheeks.

    Someone snickered.

    The girl leant against the counter, her ankles casually crossed, and a curl on her lips as she examined her nails.

    ¡®Now, make this fine lady a new drink,¡¯ said Barin. He turned to the girl. ¡®I¡¯ll watch him make it, ma¡¯am.¡¯

    Gray turned on his heel, ignoring the heat twisting in his stomach.

    Barin followed him into the kitchen, and stood over Gray while he ducked into the pantry.

    ¡®Smarten yourself up,¡¯ Barin said.

    Gray adjusted his wet apron low on his waist, wiped his sweaty forehead on his sleeve, and straightened his crumpled clothes while Barin watched.

    ¡®Hair,¡¯ said Barin. ¡®Fix it.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s unruly hair had slipped free of its leather tie and was sticking to his sweaty neck. Gray pulled it back, biting the inside of his lip.

    Barin hated Gray¡¯s hair. Gray kept it tied back, so it was out of the way, but Barin would take scissors to it himself a couple of times a month.

    ¡®What¡¯s her drink?¡¯ said Barin.

    ¡®Spiced clementine mulled whiskey,¡¯ Gray muttered.

    Together, they grabbed clementine juice, ginger beer, cinnamon sticks and cloves, and poured them into a saucepan. When it started to bubble, Gray tipped in whiskey, and waited for it to warm through.

    Barin snatched Gray¡¯s sleeve as he darted past him to grab a glass. ¡®Where¡¯s Alistair?¡¯ Barin said.

    Gray shrugged, anxiety flickering in his chest.

    Barin cursed. ¡®Find him,¡¯ he said. ¡®Alistair can serve the girl while you scrub the pots. I¡¯ll keep an eye on him.¡¯

    Gray flexed his fingers. Making Alistair serve the girl who¡¯d called him a houseboy was, emphatically, a bad idea.

    ¡®Gray?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Barin.¡¯

    ¡®Quickly, before the drink spoils.¡¯

    Gray found Alistair in the sooty alley that backed onto the kitchen. Raven Drive.

    The light from the kitchen showed him clearly. Tall and athletic for his eighteen years. He¡¯d inherited cliff¡¯s edge cheekbones and long eyelashes from his mother, Elona, who¡¯d been so fiercely beautiful she¡¯d been a royal consort in her youth, and then on to her third marriage before she passed away.

    Alistair sat, leaning against the overflowing bin, his long legs crossed at the ankle. He pet the ginger stray that liked to hang outside the kitchen. His left hand was covered in black ink naughts and crosses ¨C he¡¯d drawn on himself in class this morning while their alchemy teacher had droned on about firebreath explosions.

    He blinked up at Gray.

    There was a tightness around Alistair¡¯s eyes.

    ¡®Barin says I have to go back in there, doesn¡¯t he?¡¯ said Alistair.

    Gray thought of the mulled whiskey on the stove, and what Barin would say if he let it spoil.

    But, he couldn¡¯t just drag Alistair back to serve that girl.

    It was a special kind of misery, having to go back, smile, and be polite to the entitled rich kids.

    He pushed down the urgency racing within him and made himself lean against the doorframe, like the clock wasn¡¯t ticking and the whiskey wasn¡¯t bubbling, and like Barin wasn¡¯t waiting for Alistair to serve the girl in the booth that very minute.

    ¡®Nah,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I just missed you and your stupid face.¡¯

    ¡®You love my stupid face.¡¯

    ¡®Love is a bit strong.¡¯

    ¡®Please,¡¯ said Alistair. ¡®You want to write a sonnet about my stupid face.¡¯

    ¡®This is getting too weird for me,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You want to be my stupid face.¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, regretting every life decision that had led him to this moment, ¡®I¡¯m uncomfortable now.¡¯

    Alistair shot Gray a strained smile and ruffled his hands through his curly hair. ¡®You trying to soften the blow, huh?¡¯ said Alistair. ¡®I heard Barin. His voice carries like a foghorn.¡¯

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®You¡¯ve got to serve the princess in the booth.¡¯

    Alistair cursed, fisting his hands in his lap, and said, ¡®oh, I¡¯ll serve her,¡¯ while turning an angry red colour that was so unusual for him that Gray faltered.

    ¡®But, you know,¡¯ Gray said, eyeing Alistair, and stepping fully out into the alley and kicking the door closed behind him. He pushed down the rising anxiety in his chest, that Barin would charge out there any minute and shout himself hoarse, for ruining good whiskey and for making that girl wait. ¡®Barin also always says we need to keep this rubbish neat.¡¯

    Alistair narrowed his gaze, climbing to his feet. ¡®Huh?¡¯

    It was true.

    Barin did harp on about the rubbish.

    ¡®Krydon council¡¯ll slap us with a huge fine if we leave rubbish on the ground.¡¯ Gray rocked onto the balls of his feet, gestured to the bin, and made his voice as close to a pompous version of Barin¡¯s baritone as he could. ¡¯Surely fixing the bin is a priority right now. The customers must wait.¡¯

    It was better they waited.

    Just for a minute.

    Sending Alistair into the tavern when he was about to throw hands was like rolling a ticking curse-bomb into the middle of a crowd. It was better to have a yelling Barin than a triggered Alistair. Hell, a triggered Alistair would lead to a yelling Barin. Guaranteed.

    ¡®Oh yeah.¡¯ Alistair, his gaze still narrow and his shoulders stiff, but starting to play along. ¡®We better fix it. I have an idea.¡¯

    Gray knew Alistair too well. ¡®Does it involve fire?¡¯

    ¡®Yeah.¡¯

    ¡®Then, better not.¡¯

    Alistair smiled grimly and then swung himself up into the bin and started stomping and compacting down the rubbish. He slammed his fist through a box. He ripped apart an old hessian potato sack. Gray jumped in and started helping him destroy things.

    He kept his gaze firmly away from the door.

    Barin would slam through it any second.

    The whisky absolutely would be spoiled now -

    ¡®Can I ask you something?¡¯ Alistair said.

    Alistair was a little breathless, and he was still red, but it was less I¡¯m-going-to-mess-everyone-up red and more I-just-kicked-my-heel-through-a-plywood-crate red.

    Gray pinned him with an exasperated stare. Alistair, he was always so dramatic. ¡®We have no secrets. Ask.¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t we, though?¡¯ said Alistair.

    ¡®You¡¯ve literally caught me singing My Sweet Rose, naked, making a sandwich in the kitchen.¡¯

    Alistair grimaced. Shuddered. ¡®You know that wasn¡¯t sanitary. And I still don¡¯t understand why you were naked.¡¯

    ¡®It was dark - it was late - I was so hungry-¡¯

    ¡®And I never will be again.¡¯

    Gray clapped a hand over his face, flushing hard.

    Alistair lowered his voice, pegging mouldy oranges against the side of the bin. ¡®When are we going to get out of here?¡¯

    ¡®We can¡¯t leave,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®Not yet. You know.¡¯

    Alistair hurled an orange. It thudded and rolled out of sight. ¡®Well, I¡¯m ready.¡¯

    Gray scoffed. ¡®You¡¯re ready?¡¯

    ¡®Flipping oath.¡¯

    ¡®You have money,¡¯ Gray said, ¡®fake stats to say you¡¯re twenty-one -¡¯

    ¡®Unimportant,¡¯ Alistair said.

    ¡®Your overall stat numbers need to be above fifty to earn any kind of money-¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ll sort it,¡¯ Alistair said.

    ¡®We haven¡¯t finished school -¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s the nerdiest thing I¡¯ve ever heard you say,¡¯ Alistair said.

    ¡®I kind of like it here-¡¯

    ¡®Like it here? It¡¯s boring,¡¯ Alistair said.

    ¡®I think that¡¯s the point of being here-¡¯

    ¡®So, you are bored,¡¯ said Alistair.

    ¡®Barin would come looking for you -¡¯

    ¡®Horseshit.¡¯

    ¡®He would,¡¯ Gray said, using a high-pitched voice he reserved for puppies and babies. ¡®He loves his little stepson and his stupid face -¡¯

    Alistair burst into laughter and then faded out as the kitchen door creaked open. A dark shadow fell over them.

    Barin poked his auburn oil-slicked-haired head out from the kitchen door. Gray stilled. The long, burnt loaf of bread Gray was holding, drooped in half and fell into the bin with a bang like a brick.

    ¡®Wait,¡¯ said Barin. ¡®Wait. Boys, do you hear that?¡¯

    ¡®What ..?¡¯ said Alistair.

    ¡®Shh, boys! Listen.¡¯

    Alistair and Gray exchanged a glance. A cricket chirruped, and then stopped, as though it also listened. The homeless woman who hung around in Raven Drive turned the corner as though to walk towards the kitchen, noticed them all poised, tense, and then she backed away. There was nothing but the roar of the kitchen in full swing, nothing but the slurring, wild sounds of the post-midnight crowd inside the tavern.

    ¡®I don¡¯t hear anything,¡¯ Alistair said eventually. ¡®Are we listening to the sound of you not caring?¡¯

    ¡®No, no,¡¯ said Barin. ¡®You¡¯re listening to the sound of people working. And it¡¯s glorious. Get the hell back in here, and if I hear one more complaint out of the customers, so help you, I will give you mopping duty until you¡¯re thirty.¡¯

    Alistair waited until Barin had stomped away. He sighed, and swung himself out of the bin.

    Gray followed.

    ¡®He loves his little stepson.¡¯ Gray prodded Alistair in the back. ¡®He loves you.¡¯

    ¡®Quit it.¡¯

    Gray prodded Alistair again. ¡®Barin loves his little stepson.¡¯

    ¡®Shut up.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, he does. He loves you.¡¯

    ¡®Wait,¡¯ said Alistair, swatting Gray away. ¡®You hear that?¡¯

    Gray snorted, thinking Alistair was joking, and then saw his serious expression.

    Gray paused, tilting his head. Scampering. ¡®Rats?¡¯

    ¡®Yeah. Second time today I¡¯ve heard them,¡¯ he said. ¡®I¡¯ll tell Barin we need to get something to get rid of them.¡¯

    ¡®Ratting dogs?¡¯ Gray said, getting a little too excited.

    Alistair opened his mouth. Then he clapped it shut and nodded at something behind Gray.

    Gray glanced back just in time to see an unfamiliar woman approach their stables with an unusually small horse. The woman¡¯s hips swayed as she walked, and she had hair braided down to her ankles.

    She was kind of beautiful.

    Alistair and Gray glanced at each other. Gray could literally see the opportunity blooming in Alistair¡¯s black eyes.

    Alistair went to help her before Gray could. He shot Gray a half-apologetic glance. ¡®Tell Barin I¡¯m busy helping a new customer,¡¯ he called back to Gray.

    Gray sighed, bracing himself for Barin, and the girl.

    He turned to go back inside the kitchen door.

    Only, the girl - the brat from the booth - blocked his way.

 2. Sure, Alistairs Wearing Pants and Theres Something Up His Sleeve

    Gray struggled between you can¡¯t be in the kitchen and go away.

    The girl leaned against the door frame, her ankles crossed, and her chin tilted up. Her gaze followed Alistair as he went into the stables.

    ¡®I offended him,¡¯ she said.

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Gray.

    A stray strand of her platinum hair waved in the cool night breeze. This wasn¡¯t the first time a girl had come chasing after Alistair, and Gray bet his right thumb it wouldn¡¯t be the last.

    ¡®If you¡¯d just flirted with him, like a normal person,¡¯ said Gray tightly, wondering if this girl had been raised under a rock because she had no idea how to interact with people, ¡®he would¡¯ve liked you.¡¯

    ¡®I wanted a night with no complications,¡¯ she said.

    Gray made to go past her, back into the kitchen, discomfort tightening in his chest.

    ¡®Then apologise to him,¡¯ said Gray. Maybe this girl needed it spelled out for her.

    Maybe he¡¯d been fighting with an eloquent simpleton, and that really was a new low for Gray.

    ¡®He¡¯s,¡¯ said Gray, softening a little, ¡®easy to win over.¡¯

    ¡®Easy?¡¯ said the girl, delicately.

    ¡®That¡¯s right,¡¯ said Gray.

    Gods, Gray truly had been an asshole, fighting with such a person.

    Gray had to tell Alistair. Had to warn him, because, despite appearances, there was something very off with her.

    Perhaps she was mind-cursed.

    ¡®Let¡¯s get you back to your booth, hey?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®You travelling with someone? Where are your companions?¡¯

    The girl narrowed her eyes. ¡®I have to win him over?¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s right,¡¯ he said, trying to keep the concern out of his voice and make things soothing. ¡®Just tell him sorry.¡¯

    The girl straightened, blocking Gray¡¯s path, her gaze hard. ¡®Listen, you idiot. I¡¯m not apologising to anyone.¡¯

    Gray stepped back, feeling like he¡¯d been slapped in the face.

    ¡®You tell him for me,¡¯ she said. ¡®Tell him I meant no offence. And he can come to my room. I won¡¯t pay him if it¡¯s offensive.¡¯

    ¡®What?¡¯ Gray said,

    ¡®I expect to be obeyed,¡¯ said the girl.

    ¡®It¡¯s not just the payment that¡¯s insulting,¡¯ said Gray, mentally rearranging his understanding of this girl back to his original opinion. There was nothing wrong with this girl. Well, there was, but not in a way that evoked sympathy.

    ¡®The only insult here,¡¯ said the girl, ¡®is your lack of respect for my orders.¡¯

    ¡®Orders?¡¯

    ¡®Tell him to come to my room.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s not going to work,¡¯ said Gray, something boiling in the pit of his stomach. ¡®You¡¯re treating him like a ¡­¡¯

    From behind her, clear through the roar of the kitchen, ¡®Boys!¡¯

    Barin blew into the kitchen like an attack dog.

    Gray swore.

    When Barin clapped eyes on the girl loitering on the threshold, Gray thought Barin might burst a vein.

    ¡®It¡¯s not safe for you to be in here, ma¡¯am,¡¯ Barin said, ushering her back towards the dining room. He turned around to Gray, and mimed slitting his throat.

    ¡®I¡¯m only in here because there was no service and my drink never came,¡¯ she said. ¡®It¡¯s really not good enough.¡¯

    ¡®Oh? Take a seat, and I¡¯ll bring your drink myself, ma¡¯am,¡¯ said Barin.

    Barin shoved Gray towards the scrubbing sink. It was piled high with pots.

    -

    Gray scrubbed out the last pan, his fingers pruned, aching to fall face-first into his bed upstairs.

    The kitchen was dimly lit - the workers had dimmed the lamps and dampened the fire before they left at 2am ¨C but it was still hot, and full of smells. Strings of onion, garlic, dried thyme and rosemary hung from the wooden beams across the ceiling, and all the pots, pans, knives, and spoons were neatly stacked and ordered, ready for tomorrow morning.

    Finished, Gray hovered at the foot of the stairs and listened to Alistair talk to Barin. Alistair shot Gray a grin when he emerged through the double doors that separated the dining room from the accommodation, brushing past Gray, and he disappeared into the darkness as he thudded up the stairs.

    There was a rumble of voices and scraping of chairs and calls of farewell from the last of the customers. Gray waited until Barin¡¯s favourite chair squeaked ¨C weight against straining leather ¨C and a few seconds of silence ticked by.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    Steeling himself, he approached Barin. The top of Barin¡¯s head peeked over the high back of the armchair, and his reflection was visible in the huge, black window facing the street.

    Gray set down a whisky by the lamp at Barin¡¯s elbow, and a small dish of biscuits one of the cooks had baked that morning.

    ¡®I thought I sent you to bed,¡¯ Barin said.

    ¡®You did. I¡¯m going,¡¯ Gray said, trying to keep things friendly. ¡®I wanted to ask you something first.¡¯

    Barin sipped the whisky, apparently not hearing him. ¡®Finished the dishes?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®Done the mopping in the kitchen?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, sir.¡¯

    ¡®Taken out the rubbish?¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®Checked the horses?¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®Polished the silverware?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, sir.¡¯

    Barin grunted.

    ¡®Er. Barin?¡¯

    He side-eyed Gray. ¡®What?¡¯

    ¡®I ¡­¡¯ Gray stared down at his boots. ¡®I need some money. Please. To get new shoes,¡¯ Gray rushed out. ¡®Mine ¡­ well ¡­¡¯ He gestured to his boots.

    He¡¯d near grown out of them. The soles were almost worn through, and the uppers were straining against the few fraying stitches still clinging on for dear life.

    Barin ran a hand through his auburn hair, disordering its slickness. ¡®I¡¯m not made of money. I need to buy Harriette a new violin next week.¡¯

    Harriette was Barin¡¯s daughter, and Gray had never seen Barin love anything so fiercely.

    Gray waited. Heat flooded Gray¡¯s cheeks as the quiet pulled onwards. Barin sipped his whiskey again. Gray took that as a no. He turned to leave.

    ¡®See my old boots by the door?¡¯ Barin rolled out of his chair and grabbed up his old boots that had been sitting there ever since he¡¯d stepped in a sick horse¡¯s manure.

    He thrust them at Gray. ¡®You clean them up, they¡¯re yours.¡¯

    ¡®Thank you.¡¯

    Gray started to leave, clutching the boots.

    Just as Gray got to the doorway, Barin said, ¡®How old are you, now?¡¯

    Gray hesitated. ¡®Almost fifteen.¡¯

    ¡®How long does your type keep growing?¡¯

    Gray stared down at his legs. He was slight for his age. He hadn¡¯t thought he¡¯d grow any differently from everyone else and he certainly hoped he¡¯d grow more.

    ¡®I don¡¯t know,¡¯ he muttered.

    ¡®Eh? Speak up.¡¯

    Gray cleared his throat. ¡®I don¡¯t know, sir.¡¯

    ¡®Your powers of fortune telling gone astray, have they?¡¯

    Barin was on a knife¡¯s edge, but he was sometimes like this. He wasn¡¯t exactly thrilled to be stuck with a stray kid, courtesy of one of his late wife¡¯s previous marriages.

    Barin eventually snorted, and then broke out into a chuckle, and went back to sipping his whisky.

    Gray left to clean the boots, spending some time getting them fresh, as the tavern around him grew dark and still. He set them by the dying fire in the kitchen to dry. They were good boots, black leather and mid-calf high, but miles too big. He¡¯d have to try trading them at the pawnshop in Endells Lane tomorrow.

    He traipsed up the stairs to the small attic room he shared with Alistair.

    The door was closed. Gray pressed his ear to the timber. After the first time walking in on Alistair with a girl, he knew now that a closed door meant knock or leave.

    ¡®Alistair?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®You decent?¡¯

    Alistair¡¯s voice came muffled through the closed door. ¡®I¡¯m wearing pants, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking.¡¯

    Gray shouldered into the room. The timbers creaked with the force of the wind - they were strong tonight - and the room smelt like cigarettes.

    Their room was all corners and angles, with rough timber floorboards and giant windows that let in cold air. Twin beds piled with blankets were up against one wall.

    Then, Gray noticed Alistair had pulled out all his new clothes Barin had gotten him for his birthday, and his old clothes he¡¯d mostly worn out, and had laid them on the bed.

    Gray stilled, his pulse beginning to strengthen.

    Alistair glanced at him. ¡®Which shirt best brings out my eyes?¡¯

    This was so unexpected, and Alistair said it so casually. Maybe this wasn¡¯t Alistair packing up to run away. Maybe Gray had it wrong.

    ¡®Hot date?¡¯ said Gray, carefully. ¡®It¡¯s a bit late, isn¡¯t it?¡¯

    Alistair dropped his voice to a smooth baritone. ¡®They¡¯re better when they¡¯re late.¡¯

    Alistair smiled, and then shifted underneath Gray¡¯s stare.

    ¡®Going somewhere?¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®Philosophically, or ..?¡¯

    Gray stayed silent.

    ¡®I¡¯m meeting Rosie,¡¯ Alistair said. ¡®And Lilyanna.¡¯

    Gray dropped his gaze, flipping open one of his alchemy books, keeping his mouth shut and his eyes down. He pretended to run his finger down a list of symptoms for compulsion draughts. That stuff was dark. Confusion, forgetfulness, insanity, burst veins ¡­

    ¡®Rosie Thindrall?¡¯ Gray burst out.

    Alistair scratched his neck. ¡®Yeah.¡¯

    Alistair had always told Gray that he didn¡¯t like Rosie, but he certainly seemed to spend a lot of time with her. Gray wondered, sometimes -

    ¡®Are you pissed?¡¯ Alistair said.

    Gray snapped the book shut. ¡®About your hot date? Not really. I mean, you¡¯re cute and all, but you¡¯re really not my type-¡®

    Alistair threw one of his new boots at Gray. Gray dodged, grinning.

    ¡®Actually, not going on a date,¡¯ Alistair said. ¡®I know you like her. Got other plans to put into motion. You know that.¡¯

    Gray didn¡¯t. He didn¡¯t ask for clarification.

    Gray just made himself grin at Alistair, so that he wouldn¡¯t see Gray was a jealous, self-obsessed ass, that he hated Barin, Harriette, Rosie, everyone liked Alistair more than they liked Gray. In that moment Gray hated him for it, stinging like bitter lemon on a cut.

    Gray tossed Alistair back his boot.

    ¡®You look pissed,¡¯ Alistair said.

    ¡®I¡¯m not. That¡¯s just my face.¡¯

    Alistair stalked over and pinched Gray''s cheeks, and wouldn¡¯t let go.

    Muffled, ¡®Alistair.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m so scared,¡¯ Alistair said. ¡®Look at this face. You¡¯re so dangerous. So fierce.¡¯

    Gray shoved him off. ¡®Alistair.¡¯

    ¡®You long-haired dish-rag, you dried chicken¡¯s tongue, you ball-less fey.¡¯

    Gray reeled. ¡®Wow. That¡¯s nice.¡¯

    ¡®You bright-eyed goat fiend!¡¯

    Alistair got him in a headlock and they scuffled until Gray begged for mercy. Alistair planted a kiss on Gray¡¯s forehead, slightly whiskery, then released him.

    Gray slumped against the wall, his hair hanging in his face.

    ¡®I¡¯ll be at the alehouse, mage,¡¯ said Alistair. ¡®Don¡¯t wait up.¡¯

    Alistair snuck out the window, scrambling over the rooftops like a thief.

    Gray started unbuttoning his shirt, finally about to fall into bed, when Barin knocked on his door, which was kind of an issue because Alistair was still running across the rooftops outside.

 3. The Best Room in the Tipsy Stag Tavern

    Gray fumbled with his shirt and jerked the curtains across the window.

    Swearing, he flew across the cold floor and cracked the door open.

    ¡®Good,¡¯ grunted Barin. His pale legs poked out of the bottom of his striped nightshirt and his hair was washed. He gave a huge yawn. ¡®You¡¯re still dressed. Room ten wants a small supper taken up. Lavender tea, crumbly cheese, and shortbread.¡¯

    Room ten was their best room, large with an ensuite, and a view of the small paddock they had out back for the travellers'' horses during the day.

    The best room would undoubtedly have the booth-brat from dinner.

    Gray¡¯s heart sank. He slipped out of the door.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®Eh?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Barin.¡¯

    ¡®Tidy yourself up,¡¯ he said. ¡®They¡¯ve been leaving huge tips.¡¯

    Gray did as he bid, and Barin fussed with Gray¡¯s shirt, scrubbing out a grease stain, and trying to disguise where buttons had fallen off.

    ¡®Smile,¡¯ said Barin. ¡®Be polite. Bring me the tip before you go to bed. I¡¯m going to hit the hay.¡¯

    Barin lumbered off, and Gray listened to the muffled sounds of his footsteps as he climbed back down the stairs.

    Gray sighed, trying to not imagine what the girl would say when she saw it was Gray serving her and not Alistair, and tiptoed down to the kitchen, and made up a tray with the shortbread, cheese, and tea.

    Gray went up the stairs and balanced the tray on his knee so he could rap on the door to room ten.

    There was a moment, right before the door opened, that Gray realised it wasn¡¯t the girl inside.

    The footsteps were wrong.

    Heavy and slow.

    An old man opened the door, with a scraggly grey beard he¡¯d wound around his neck. The table behind him was covered in books and papers and he had black ink smeared over his left hand.

    His clothes were so rich.

    Gold thread. Dozens and dozens of buttons in the southern style. And runes, stitched all over his shirt, his scarf that hung long down by his knees, and on the cloak he¡¯d thrown haphazardly on top.

    There was something odd about his face, and it took Gray a moment to spot what it was.

    His eyes. Bright. Too bright.

    Mage.

    The older the mage and the more powerful, the more their eyes looked unnaturally luminous. This mage must¡¯ve been very old, and very powerful.

    He smiled at Gray vaguely. ¡®What time do you call this?¡¯

    The room was shadowy - lit only by two small lamps, and he¡¯d left one of the windows open. Cold air brushed Gray¡¯s cheeks, and the dewy smell of the paddock wafted in. A large pet crow perched on the impressive bed head, sleeping.

    ¡®Your supper, sir?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Did you ..?¡¯

    ¡®Did I? I suppose I did.¡¯

    Gray hesitated on the threshold, as the old mage continued to smile. The mage¡¯s distracted gaze settled on Gray¡¯s face. Gray didn¡¯t suppose he was much to look at, after working. His skin was greasy from standing over the scrubbing sink. He had a scab, on his right cheekbone, from a scuffle at school with a couple of boys before Alistair realised what was happening and tore them off. He was painfully aware of his crappy boots.

    ¡®Aren¡¯t you cold, sir?¡¯ Gray said, recovering himself. ¡®Is there a problem with the latch on the window?¡¯

    Setting down the old mage¡¯s supper on top of his bed, Gray fussed with the window, getting it closed. When Gray turned back around, the old mage was dunking the shortbread into the tea, hunched over his books at the table.

    ¡®Anything else can I help you with?¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®No.¡¯ The old mage pointed a knotted wand at the huge candelabra overhead, muttered a word Gray didn''t catch, and the room filled with strikingly bright candlelight.

    The old mage waved a hand dismissively and Gray strode across the room to leave, eager to fall into bed.

    ¡®Wait,¡¯ the old mage said.

    So fast, Gray almost missed it, he tossed a coin. High into the air.

    Gray fumbled, taken by surprise, then caught it.

    It was an ardent.

    Gray had never held an ardent before. An ardent was more than they made in a week at the tavern.

    This ardent had a gash across the centre, as though it had been marked by a dagger at some point. Perhaps, marked as it was, the old mage couldn''t use it.

    ¡®I - are you sure?¡¯ Gray said. ¡®I can¡¯t-¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re right,¡¯ he said. ¡®Here.¡¯

    And he tossed Gray a second ardent. It spun and glinted in the bright light. Gray tracked it with his eyes and caught it. Then, another.

    He was damn cracked. Gray grinned, and stuttered way too many thank yous.

    ¡®Here.¡¯ The old mage pulled off his silk, rune-stitched scarf, wadded it up, and threw it at Gray, too.

    Gray caught it, trying not to look concerned. ¡®You want me to hang this up for you?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ he said. ¡®It¡¯ll look better on you than me. And I don''t need it now.¡¯

    ¡®Thanks, but I''m not taking your scarf, sir.¡¯Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    Gray made to hang it on the hook on the back of the door.

    ¡®Wear it, or I''ll take offence,¡¯ the mage said.

    Gray slowly looped it around his neck, shifting under the mage¡¯s bright gaze. ¡®Thank you.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s all,¡¯ the mage said.

    Gray fled.

    Outside Barin¡¯s room, one floor up, Gray knocked sharply.

    ¡®What?¡¯ Barin¡¯s voice was rough from sleep.

    ¡®It¡¯s me,¡¯ Gray said, speaking through the door. ¡®The tip.¡¯

    Barin moved so fast, the door flying open. He snatched two ardents out of Gray¡¯s palm.

    ¡®Clochaint,¡¯ he breathed.

    The third ardent - the one with the gash - was stashed in Gray¡¯s left boot. Gray prayed the stitches held together until he got up into his room.

    If Barin caught Gray with the coin, perhaps Gray could argue he thought it was worthless. It might save him from a hiding.

    Barin held up the coins, his eyes gleaming. ¡®He mean to give you this much?¡¯

    Gray shrugged. ¡®I¡¯m pretty tired, Barin.¡¯

    Barin ignored him, turning the coins over in his hand, his expression shrewd.

    ¡®Night, then,¡¯ Gray said, turning away.

    ¡®Hold it.¡¯

    Gray froze, one foot on the stair. The ardent was hot and uncomfortable under the ball of his foot.

    ¡®Come back here,¡¯ said Barin.

    Gray chewed his lip and stood in front of him.

    ¡®What¡¯s that?¡¯ Barin pointed at the scarf.

    ¡®Do you want it?¡¯ Gray said. ¡®He gave it to me, but you can have it. He insisted. He was a little ¡­¡¯

    ¡®No, just, you serve him, whenever you see him.¡¯ Barin held up the ardents. ¡®You get me more of these from him, every day, for the rest of his stay, and I¡¯ll be a happy man.¡¯

    Gray lowered his gaze. It was hard for him to be excited about this. He doubted Barin would like him any more if he brought in ten ardents a day. ¡®He¡¯s not ¡­ all there. I don¡¯t know if we should-¡¯

    ¡®Just keep him happy. Keep me happy.¡¯

    Barin shut the door in Gray¡¯s face.

    Gray hesitated outside the door, and then traipsed back up to his room.

    ¡®Ali? You here?¡¯ He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark.

    Silence. No Alistair. He was still out.

    Gray filled the bath with hot water in their adjoining bathroom, clumsy with fatigue. He slowly took off his shirt, and then unwound the leather strap from his wrist, revealing an ugly red X burned into his skin.

    He hated looking at it. He hated the stark red, and deeply grooved lines. He would¡¯ve always kept it covered, if sweat, oil, and grime didn¡¯t get trapped under the leather wrap.

    He slid into the bath, dunking his head under the soapy water. He scrubbed himself hard, and then went, dripping, into the shower, to wash again.

    Alistair would always tease Gray about how he liked to be clean. He¡¯d call Gray twenty different slurs for mage, grinning ear-to-ear, every time he caught Gray scrubbing himself free of grease and dirt (which would be several times a day if he had the chance).

    ¡®If anyone saw your bathing habits,¡¯ Alistair would always say, ¡®you¡¯d be carted off to the mage guild in a second.¡¯

    No one had ever carted him off to the mage guild, though.

    No one had come looking for him.

    Not Krupin, the dark sorcerer who collected apprentices like an obsessive hoarder. Krupin - who¡¯d been expelled from the kingdom of Lismere nine years ago, with a huge effort from the army. Not Wilde, the sorcerer who¡¯d murdered Gray¡¯s family, before joining Krupin in hiding.

    Not Lismere¡¯s treasure leagues. That branch of the army were glorified thieves, who collected valuables for the crown, along with magical objects, creatures and - sometimes - unregistered mages.

    No one looked at him twice.

    Gray got ready for bed and then lay down so he could stare at the patch of starry sky and tiled rooftop peaks through the window. The window was their personal exit. They used it to sneak out across the rooftops to go to the alehouse. Sometimes they¡¯d just sit out there, and chat and stare at the ruins and the ancients¡¯ tombs on the mountain above, Alistair, Gray, and sometimes Harriette, with smuggled bottles of apple cider.

    Gray wanted to tell Alistair that he got it. Wanting to leave.

    But they couldn¡¯t. Not yet.

    When they left, they¡¯d do it properly, and they¡¯d do it together.

    -

    A streak of light from the rising sun woke Gray.

    Gray curled his toes under the warm blankets, blinking against the gentle light. Alistair breathed deeply in the bed next to his. Early morning birds sang.

    Then, a tiny tree griffin landed on the windowsill.

    Gray sat bolt upright in bed, sleepiness falling away.

    ¡®Alistair,¡¯ he said, trying to keep his words smooth, and not hoarse, ¡®you have to see this. Wake up.¡¯

    Tree griffins were a little larger than a chicken. Gray had seen them three times in his life. Each time they¡¯d slinked into town from the forest they¡¯d caused mayhem. One had stolen coins out of people¡¯s hands. One had flown into the butcher¡¯s shop and grabbed the meat on display, and last year, a territorial family of them had made a home in an old tree in the town square.

    The one on the windowsill stared at its own reflection in the glass, fluffing his tawny and gold feathers, his tufted tail held high. The griffin looked ¡­ kind of angry, if Gray was honest.

    ¡®Alistair.¡¯

    The tree griffin heard Gray before Alistair did. It clicked its beak and flew off.

    ¡®What?¡¯ said Alistair, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

    Gray excitedly told him about the griffin, shivering in the morning air, pulling on his pants and buttoning up his shirt. Then, he showed Alistair the ardent from last night.

    ¡®We can use it,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®One of us gets a scholarship to one of the academies in Dierne, and we use this to travel there, find somewhere to live. We¡¯d be set. I¡¯ve looked at the brochure for the Alchemy Academy in Dierne, and it looks amazing. Ali. Ali ¡­ you listening?¡¯

    Alistair frowned, running his hands through his messy hair, his blankets pushed down around his ankles.

    ¡®He gave you an ardent?¡¯ Alistair took it from Gray¡¯s hand and turned it over. He fingered the mark marring the coin.

    ¡®Three,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Barin¡¯s got the other two, but don¡¯t tell him-¡¯

    ¡®And a scarf. Why?¡¯ Alistair said, sharply.

    ¡®I,¡¯ Gray said, off balance. ¡®He¡¯s rich.¡¯

    ¡®You stay away from him, yeah?¡¯

    Gray took the ardent back off Alistair, stowing it carefully under his mattress again. ¡®He¡¯s all right. It¡¯s safe.¡¯

    The rare mages they got in the tavern, a decent percentage of them would rave, or speak in riddles. Too much Other blood, people would say. They weren¡¯t the sanest group of people, which, considering their power, was a tad disquieting.

    They¡¯d all been harmless - even gentle - though, and definitely not worth the suspicious whispers that followed them, Gray thought.

    Alistair made a noncommittal sound, turning his back on Gray as he got changed.

    Gray tried to hide his frown, as he silently laced up his boots.

    ¡®Barin sends you up to a guest¡¯s room late at night again, you come get me. You wake me up.¡¯ Alistair roughly dragged a comb through his hair, his back still to Gray. ¡®Maybe I should talk to Barin.¡¯

    The last thing Gray wanted was a fight between Alistair and Barin first thing in the morning, over nothing.

    ¡®Seriously,¡¯ Gray said, ¡®it¡¯s fine. He was nice, the old man.¡¯

    ¡®You aren¡¯t this naive, right? You were raised in a tavern. You know about these things. Some older man starts giving you money and gifts - he¡¯s not being nice.¡¯

    ¡®Oh.¡¯

    There¡¯d been a few moments in Gray¡¯s life when he wanted the ground to split open and swallow him up. This was top of the list.

    ¡®Nothing happened,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®It wasn¡¯t like that.¡¯

    ¡®No?¡¯

    Gray shook his head, a hard knot sitting uncomfortably in his chest, and busied himself buttoning on his braces.

    ¡®I only tell you to put you on your guard,¡¯ said Alistair. ¡®You¡¯re like a baby deer. You need to be tougher, you need to be smarter. I can¡¯t be around to protect you all the time.¡¯

    Gray bristled. Protect me? Alistair hadn¡¯t even damn well been there, he¡¯d been at the alehouse with Rosie.

    Besides, being Alistair¡¯s step brother was an exercise in constant vigilance. Alistair made stupid, self-destructive decisions daily. Gray was always pulling Alistair back to himself.

    Shrugging into his threadbare jacket, Gray muttered, ¡®Fine.¡¯

    ¡®All right.¡¯

    Alistair swept out of the room.

 4. Everyones Dangling At the End of their Tethers

    The girl - the booth-brat from dinner - got up early. This was kind of a problem because Barin had asked Gray to help Harriette study, and the girl was one giant distraction.

    She stumbled into the dining room, her platinum hair catching the gentle morning sunlight flooding in from the large front window. She was already fully dressed. Her jacket was buttoned up tight, right to the neck.

    Harriette stared with her mouth open.

    She wasn¡¯t the only one staring. The girl had the attention of the few scattered patrons they had so early in the morning. She had the kind of face that would earn a fortune in Dierne, from artists and sculptors wanting her to pose.

    She demanded the best table be cleared immediately.

    She wanted a meal made for her, perfectly, that wasn¡¯t on the menu, and her cold gaze followed Barin as he disappeared through the kitchen doors to talk to the head cook.

    She snapped her fingers at Alistair. Alistair winced, and strode over with the coffee pot.

    ¡®I don¡¯t want coffee,¡¯ the girl said. ¡®I need myrtle tea.¡¯

    ¡®We don¡¯t have that here,¡¯ Alistair said tightly.

    ¡®Course you don¡¯t,¡¯ she said, clicking her tongue. ¡®So silly of me to assume you¡¯d have a basic herb to make tea for your paying customers.¡¯

    Harriette leaned in close to Gray, her voice low and fast. ¡®Who¡¯s that?¡¯

    ¡®Nobody,¡¯ Gray said.

    Gray wrenched his gaze away from Alistair and the girl, and focused on the elementary alchemy textbook in front of him. He tugged it closer. His eyes were killing him in the gentle light.

    He was jammed in the far corner of the dining room with Harriette, sitting at a table piled with her books. She had a mug with hot chocolate turned cold in front of her, and had one knee curled up in a childish pose. Gray was trying to eat a bread roll with cheese in between coaching her through her notes.

    Which she was kind of resistant to.

    She¡¯d kept trying to read her new book about some boy called Jack who battled selkies and giants and djinn. Gray had to yank it out of her hands and sit on the damn thing, to get her to focus on her study.

    ¡®OK,¡¯ Gray said, swallowing a huge bite of his bread roll. ¡®Let¡¯s go over this one more -¡¯

    ¡®Nobody is looking at you like you kicked her puppy,¡¯ said Harriette, dusting crumbs off her trousers.

    Gray blinked at her, reaching for his deepest reserves of patience.

    Harriette was four years younger than Gray ¨C only ten ¨C and she had dark auburn hair the exact same shade as her father. She always reminded Gray of a fox ¨C sharp-faced, silver-tongued, and light-footed.

    Gray had been running Harriette through her alchemy notes for almost an hour at the request of Barin. Harriette was at the end of her tether and honestly, so was Gray.

    Gray glanced up at the girl. Alistair had disappeared.

    The girl whistled at Gray, waving him forward with two fingers.

    Gray pressed his hand over his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. ¡®Memorise this formula,¡¯ he muttered to Harriette, pointing at her text book, before standing and walking over to the girl.

    She had a map laid out on her table, her perfectly manicured hands spread over it. She shot Gray a cool stare through her platinum lashes.

    ¡®The road to Sirentown is blocked,¡¯ she said. ¡®I need a local map, a detailed one. I need to know all the other roads out of here.¡¯

    ¡®Buy one at the counter,¡¯ Gray said. He turned on his heel.

    ¡®I¡¯ll tell the manager you¡¯re being uncooperative, shall I, little boy?¡¯

    Gray paused.

    Harriette watched Gray - with that stupid book about Jack and the djinn back in her hands - and was definitely not studying. Gods. Barin would have Gray¡¯s hide. Barin cared deeply about Harriette - heck, Alistair, too - getting good grades.

    If Harriette¡¯s intelligence stat score didn¡¯t go up by at least three points by the end of her exams, Barin would be unbearable.

    The girl huffed out a small laugh. ¡®Thought so. He¡¯s got a tight hold on you, doesn¡¯t he? You owe him a life debt?¡¯

    Gray turned to face her, squaring his shoulders. ¡®I¡¯ll get you a map, ma¡¯am,¡¯ he said. ¡®Two coppers. But it won¡¯t do you any good.¡¯

    She raised a pale eyebrow, leaning back in her booth. ¡®Why¡¯s that?¡¯

    ¡®Unless you want to take the roads that go through the forest - which I don¡¯t recommend unless you have a guide with you - we only have one road out to Sirentown. You¡¯ll have to wait ¡®til they clear it.¡¯

    ¡®I can¡¯t stay here.¡¯ She pressed her lips together. ¡®How long until they clear the block?¡¯

    ¡®It usually takes a few days.¡¯

    She fidgeted with her stag ring. ¡®That can¡¯t be the only option.¡¯

    ¡®You could go back the way you came,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®South. Through the ravine to Reviness. And go from there.¡¯

    ¡®That''s a five-day ride,¡¯ she snapped.

    Thinking they were done, Gray turned.

    Then, coldly, ¡®You take paper currency here? I¡¯m all out of coppers.¡¯

    Gray glanced at the paper note she slid across the table. The king¡¯s haughty face stared up at him from the paper note, along with an embossed numeral ten.

    Gray tried not to double-take.

    A ten ardent note was an obscene amount of money.

    ¡®We,¡¯ said Gray, trying to control himself, ¡®take paper currency.¡¯

    ¡®Forest map?¡¯

    Gray stiffly crossed the floor, doing mental gymnastics to add up her change. Discreetly, behind the counter, he examined the note. But, he¡¯d never handled money like this, and he didn¡¯t know how he was supposed to check if it was real. Judging by the assholery of the girl, she was legit stinking rich. Probably, the note was real.

    He returned with a detailed map and a pocket full of coins.

    ¡®And where do I get a guide?¡¯ she said, carelessly sweeping the change into her silk purse.

    Gray shoved his hands into his pockets. She crossed her ankle over her knee, her immaculate boot on display. Faint freckles dusted her cheekbones. Gray thought she looked younger, in the morning light. The girl was likely around Alistair¡¯s age.

    And travelling alone.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Though, if her travelling companions had gotten sick of her and kicked her out of their group, Gray wouldn¡¯t be surprised.

    ¡®Kyrdon Hall,¡¯ Gray said, reluctantly. ¡®You know where that is?¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®They have representatives there,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®They¡¯ll assign you a certified guide, and your name goes down on a list in case you go missing.¡¯

    She let out a small, disbelieving sound.

    ¡®And they¡¯ll check your ID,¡¯ Gray said pointedly.

    She frowned, and Gray thought maybe she wasn¡¯t familiar with the word ID in their northern dialect.

    Gray struggled to find the words in his rusty southern Lismerian. He and Alistair had always spoken Lismerian with Alistair¡¯s mother Elona, before she¡¯d passed away. But that had been years ago, now.

    ¡®Your stat papers,¡¯ Gray said in stilted Lismerian.

    Every citizen of Lismere had enchanted stat papers, and they laid out everything.

    Name and date of birth? Yep. Parents'' details? Oh, yeah. Job and pay? It was on there.

    And the individual score against the eight different skills most prized by the Augustes? Of course.

    Strength.

    Dexterity.

    Constitution.

    Intelligence.

    Wisdom.

    Charisma.

    Luck.

    Magic.

    This girl¡¯s stat papers were so poorly forged, Gray could see where the scribe had smudged the ink, and the stag symbol at the top had an extra antler.

    She glanced up at Gray sharply.

    To make things even more insulting, her stat papers had a score of forty next to strength, which was on par with someone who¡¯d won three battle tournaments in a row.

    Gray swept his gaze over her.

    A strength score of forty?

    A score of forty in strength meant she could get a job as a soldier or guard, and get paid really well for it, to boot. She¡¯d be working side-by-side with warriors who had trained for years and could snap a person in two.

    Please.

    A clear lie.

    And she had a stat score of thirty-five in intelligence.

    Gray bet if she sat the senior exams today with Alistair, there was no way she¡¯d score a thirty-five. The valedictorian at his school barely had a ten.

    ¡®What did you just say?¡¯ The girl shot at him in clipped Lismerian.

    Gray carefully picked the words out in Lismerian. Maybe he¡¯d said it wrong the first time. ¡®They¡¯ll check your stat papers.¡¯

    She steepled her fingers in front of her, and drew in a deep breath. Sneered. ¡®Nice accent.¡¯

    ¡®Uh-¡¯

    ¡®Who are they?¡¯ She nodded briefly to the booth by the door. Five leather-clad warriors were eating enough food to feed a dragon. ¡®Tell them to stop staring at me.¡¯

    Gray winced. ¡®Tomb guardians,¡¯ he said. ¡®They just got off night shift, so I think they¡¯re just staring into space, and not at you.¡¯

    This was a bald-faced lie. They were absolutely staring at her. Everyone was staring at her.

    Two of the town guards who were eating breakfast by the dying fire were making eyes at her like she was some ethereal goddess who¡¯d descended down from the mountain. Clearly that hadn¡¯t heard her speak.

    She had a moment of unfiltered surprise. ¡®You have Ancients'' tombs here?¡¯

    ¡®Mostly in the old graveyard,¡¯ Gray said, aching to get back to get back to his table. It wasn¡¯t just Harriette who had exams today. All of them did. Gray¡¯d been counting on having time to study this morning. ¡®A few up on the mountain. Underneath the town. Most of them are still intact, too.¡¯

    ¡®Unbelievable,¡¯ she said.

    Out of the corner of his eye, Gray saw Barin and Alistair come through the double doors with trays of food. Alistair slammed down a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, roasted vine tomatoes, stewed apples with cinnamon and yoghurt, and spinach and goat¡¯s cheese hotcakes on top of the map for the asshole.

    ¡®Where¡¯s the ham?¡¯ she said.

    Gray peeled away and slid into the chair opposite Harriette before Barin could yell at him.

    ¡®Let¡¯s go over this one more time,¡¯ Gray said to Harriette quietly, flipping through her textbook. ¡®If you combine chemistry and conversion, it¡¯s alchemy. If you combine alchemy and magic, it¡¯s potion. Got it?¡¯

    Harriette glared at the page of notes in front of her, her chin deep in her palm, her auburn hair pulled into tufts. ¡®Yeah ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Wait,¡¯ said Alistair, slipping into the seat next to Harriette, his rag damp and covered in crumbs. ¡®I have a question. What if I combine chemistry and magic?¡¯

    Gray levelled him with a stare. Tried to quickly judge his mood.

    Alistair¡¯s lips twitched.

    ¡®That won¡¯t be on the elementary exam,¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®OK, but what if I combine chemistry, conversion, and magic?¡¯ said Alistair.

    Gray took another bite of his roll. His mouth was covered in cornmeal crumbs. He struggled not to show his irritation, and gave a muffled, ¡®That means you¡¯re a genius, Ali.¡¯

    ¡®OK, but what if I-¡¯

    Harriette let her head fall onto the table with a thump. ¡®This crap is not helping. Are we done now?¡¯

    Gray bit his lip to stop himself laughing, determinedly not catching Alistair¡¯s eye, and definitely not looking over at the girl, and instead watched the tomb guardians in their booth.

    The tomb guardians were a staple in town, always guarding the Ancients¡¯ tombs in Krydon from tomb raiders. One guardian was new, freshly assigned by the crown in a five year bout of duty as was the protocol, straight from Dierne. One look at her, and you could tell; she had her chestnut hair coiled tightly back in the southern fashion, tightly buttoned and laced clothes, delicate gold jewellery, and brightly painted nails.

    Barin leant against the back wall, an accounts book in his hand, watching her.

    Then, Barin caught Gray noticing him watching her.

    Gray hastily dropped his gaze, clearing his throat, and studied his bread roll intimately.

    It had taken Barin two years to stop being angry after Elona died, and then another year to start looking at women again. Watching the new tomb guardian put him in a good mood, which Gray was all for.

    Alistair ruffled Harriette¡¯s auburn hair. ¡®Since when do you have trouble with this stuff? You¡¯ll be fine.¡¯

    Harriette raised her head. A page of her notes stuck to her face. She snatched it away, crushing it in her fist. Her face was pale and she had tired smudges under her eyes.

    Gray leant in close. ¡®Are you OK?¡¯

    She swept a glance at Gray, and then turned to face Alistair. Alistair was her favourite.

    ¡®There was someone following me. I think. Following me home. Last night, from my violin lesson. He was wailing outside my window.¡¯

    Alistair frowned, but he didn¡¯t say anything. His curly hair was sweaty from standing over the coffee pot this morning, and he had a fresh burn on his arm from one of the ovens.

    But he didn¡¯t give a shit. He hadn¡¯t even run it under cold water.

    ¡®What, like a prank?¡¯ Gray said quietly. ¡®Or kids from school?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know.¡¯

    Alistair helped himself to the remains of Gray¡¯s breakfast. ¡®Could be a swamp-vampire.¡¯

    Gray nodded reasonably. ¡®There are swamp-vampires in the area. They say they have them guarding the oldest vaults within the tombs. We should ask.¡¯ Gray jerked his chin at the group of tomb guardians.

    Harriette gave Gray a glare so hot he was surprised he didn¡¯t explode on the spot.

    ¡®Ah, shit,¡¯ said Alistair. ¡®It¡¯s not a swamp-vampire, Harriette. They don¡¯t exist. We¡¯re teasing you. I¡¯ll walk you home from your violin lesson from now on, OK?¡¯

    Harriette looked like she was going to say something more, but instead leant her pointed chin back into her palm.

    Alistair ferreted around in his pockets and eventually pulled out an old, dented pocket watch. He fiddled with the dial on the side.

    ¡®Here.¡¯ He pushed the pocket watch into Harriette¡¯s hands. ¡®I¡¯ve set it eight hours ahead. According to this watch, it¡¯s always daytime. That will confuse the hell out of swamp-vampires, and they¡¯ll think it¡¯s daytime and leave you alone.¡¯

    ¡®Speaking of time,¡¯ interrupted Barin, his voice booming from the far side of the dining room, ¡®time for school.¡¯

    ¡®Yay, exams,¡¯ said Harriette flatly, wheeling away from the table.

    ¡®Speaking of tomb guardians,¡¯ said Alistair in Gray¡¯s ear, quietly imitating Barin¡¯s baritone voice, ¡®I saw the new tomb guardian with Longwark in Raven Drive last night.¡¯

    Longwark was their alchemy teacher. It wasn¡¯t unusual to see him out at strange hours. He¡¯d collect herbs, fungus, and other bits and bobs from all over town and the neighbouring forest, especially at night. Sometimes he¡¯d disappear for days at a time, hunting down ingredients for alchemic creations. People said he had a huge personal store in his attic.

    ¡®Thanks for that visual,¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®Not with her, with her,¡¯ he said. ¡®It ¡­ did not look friendly.¡¯

    ¡®What the fuck? Should we report him?¡¯

    Alistair frowned deeply. ¡®It looked like he was threatening her.¡¯

    Gray paused, his eyebrows raised.

    ¡®I think he¡¯s trying to break into the tombs,¡¯ said Alistair. ¡®I think he figures the new girl is the weakest link.¡¯

    This was a leap, even for Alistair. He always assumed the worst of Longwark. Honestly, everyone did.

    ¡®Pffft,¡¯ Gray said, shoving him, ¡®you¡¯re so dramatic, you know?¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m serious,¡¯ he said.

    ¡®Nah. Why would he be trying to break into the tombs?¡¯ Gray said. ¡®There¡¯s curses and creatures and protection in there. You¡¯d be mad to try and break in.¡¯

    Alistair shrugged. ¡®Why does anyone try to break in? Treasure.¡¯

 5. At Least He Didnt Smash A Jar Of Pickled Toads

    Gray took a deep breath and kept his gaze on the stone floor as he filed in to take the final alchemy exam of the year.

    He¡¯d never been so unprepared.

    He trailed after Alistair. Alistair sat at a desk in the front row, sprawled in the chair, and he ruffled his curly hair like he didn¡¯t have a care in the world.

    Alistair winked.

    Gray eyed the massive back of Longwark, ignored the butterflies jumping in his stomach, and flashed a small smile back.

    As though sensing joy, Longwark turned and pinned Gray with his intense stare. Gray quickly slouched in the chair next to Alistair, tugging at his frayed leather wrist wrap, running formulas through his head.

    Longwark walked between the desks and cauldrons.

    Longwark was barrel-chested, with blue runes tattooed over his left eyebrow and in the crook of his ear and wrapped down his neck. He always had two sets of eyeglasses stashed in his wild hair. He looked like a Northern-warrior-mad-professor hybrid dressed in a protective tunic.

    He came to a halt in front of Gray and Alistair¡¯s desks. ¡®What are you doing here?¡¯

    Longwark had a soft voice for a man so large. But he didn¡¯t need a loud voice. Everyone were always still enough to hear his barest whispers.

    Gray risked lifting his gaze to meet Longwark¡¯s intense ice-grey eyes. ¡®Pardon me?¡¯

    ¡®Not you.¡¯ Longwark¡¯s steely gaze fixed on Alistair. ¡®Him.¡¯

    Hot red crept up the back of Alistair¡¯s neck. ¡®I¡¯m here for the exam, Mr Longwark.¡¯

    ¡®No. Get out.¡¯

    ¡®What, Mr Longwark?¡¯ Alistair¡¯s voice had gone unusually soft.

    Gray was impressed that Alistair was able to speak at all when faced with a seven-foot-seven angry northerner. Longwark was the only mage in their town - the only resident mage around for miles - and he¡¯d been a mage soldier in the fight against the sorcerer Krupin. Everyone gave him a wide berth.

    Why he¡¯d chosen a job like alchemy teacher was a mystery to Gray. Mages could walk into any job they wanted, and usually, they walked into prestigious roles like scribes or healers, or ran their own businesses.

    Alchemy didn¡¯t even require magic.

    Teaching a bunch of kids how to convert rocks, clay, and other substances into jinxes, curses, and brews you could bottle, didn¡¯t seem to be enjoyable to Longwark.

    Alchemy was enjoyable to him. The loving caress in Longwark¡¯s voice, when he talked about how anyone could use their breath and intent on the end of a conversion to activate it into a curse, was undeniable.

    This converts into that.

    This balances out that.

    This is why that.

    But, teaching?

    Longwark seemed to resent most of his students.

    Elona had always said Longwark was messed up because of the war.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Barin always said Longwark was just a dick.

    ¡®You failed the preliminary exam last week,¡¯ Longwark said. ¡®You can¡¯t be here.¡¯

    Alistair refused to move, his fingers curling around the edge of his chair.

    He¡¯d failed the preliminary? Alistair¡¯d never told Gray.

    They told each other everything.

    ¡®Alistair Keep.¡¯ Longwark leant forward, his fingertips on Alistair¡¯s desk. ¡®You. Can¡¯t. Sit. This. Exam.¡¯

    For a second, Gray thought Alistair was going to stand.

    But, he hesitated.

    Gray understood why Alistair was hesitating. Failing alchemy meant having a permanent mark against his name. It meant being on the bottom rung when he got the hell out of this school after his final exams.

    It¡¯d mess up his stat numbers under intelligence. It¡¯d screw his job prospects. It¡¯d completely fuck up his applications for upper schools next year outside their isolated town, and honestly, that¡¯s all either of them had.

    ¡®I¡¯ll pass the exam.¡¯ Alistair¡¯s voice steadied. It even had an edge to it. ¡®I¡¯ve studied. You¡¯ll see. If I get an A, that¡¯ll bring up-¡®

    ¡®Your abysmal past performance?¡¯ Longwark interrupted. His lips were getting tight. ¡®Because of all the past times you¡¯ve shown me you can get an A? You think you can keep up with these kids?¡¯

    Someone behind them sniggered.

    Alistair¡¯s knuckles whitened as he gripped the sides of his chair. He stayed resolutely sat.

    Longwark shifted his huge weight, his ice-grey gaze narrowing, his arms folded over his protective tunic. ¡®Get out.¡¯

    Gray darted a glance at Alistair.

    He was beet-red in the face, now. But still unmoving.

    Longwark raising his voice was rare, and not good. If Longwark lost his temper, Alistair would have worse than a fail mark against his name. Longwark had a habit of going from zero to one hundred with almost nil warning. Last year he¡¯d smashed a jar of pickled toads against the wall because a girl fell asleep in his class.

    Gray stood up, clasping Alistair¡¯s elbow, urging his step brother up with him. ¡®Come on. Let¡¯s go.¡¯

    ¡®Gray.¡¯ Longwark¡¯s voice was sharper than a dagger¡¯s blade. ¡®Sit down.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m just taking Alistair outside.¡¯

    He roared at Gray, then, sudden enough to make him flinch. ¡®Leave, and I will fail you.¡¯ Spit sprayed from his lips. He unleashed a torrent of northern profanities that hung in the air between them, hot and heavy, and thicker than day-old beef stew.

    Longwark finished. He huffed out once, twice, his breath lifting straggles of his wild hair from his face. He leant forward, still huffing heavily enough for Gray to smell his humid breath.

    ¡®Well?¡¯ Longwark said.

    Gray wavered, the weight of thirty curious stares on his back.

    Gray¡¯d never admit it, but he loved alchemy more than anything. Gray had secretly worked so hard at alchemy that the headmaster of the school had been grudgingly forced to accelerate Gray. The headmaster had even made Longwark put Gray in the advanced class with the seniors because the high scores were good for his own stats.

    The sorcerer Wilde had failed alchemy, at school.

    Alchemy could combat magic, at high levels.

    Gray couldn¡¯t touch magic.

    He refused to.

    But, alchemy?

    Alchemy was everything to Gray. It was going to give Gray an edge over the man who¡¯d murdered his family.

    Slowly, Gray sagged back into his seat.

    Gray never looked up. Not even when Alistair stood so fast, his chair toppled over with the force of it. Not when Alistair slammed the door.

    ¡®Start,¡¯ said Longwark, as though from a great distance.

    Gray stared at the instructions, unable to understand the words.

    Dragon Clay Conversion Practical.

    Did that even make sense? Gray squinted, tugging his exam paper closer, his heart in his mouth.

    Create Dragon Clay from the provided ingredients. Then, convert the Dragon Clay into either

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">A Dragon Stone</li>

    </ul>

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Firebreath Fire</li>

    </ul>

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">Dragon Curse Fury</li>

    </ul>

    Gray fumbled with the ingredients set out on the desk, spilling a pot of crushed apple seeds that he knew - dimly - he could use to make firebreath fire. But, he wouldn¡¯t make the firebreath fire, he wanted to aim bigger, he¡¯d make the most complicated conversion on that list and he¡¯d do it perfectly, because screw Longwark.

    He just needed to calm his rabbiting pulse.

 6. That Time He Almost Exploded The Alchemy Lab

    Ten minutes later, Gray had messed up.

    A hush fell over the alchemy lab, and heat stole up through Gray¡¯s thin boot soles, crept up his legs, and bloomed fire-hot in his cheeks. His pot bubbled in front of him.

    Longwark stalked between the desks and cauldrons. His intense ice-grey eyes were on Gray.

    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ Gray rushed out. ¡®I stopped it ¨C before ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Give me the fierilion essence.¡¯

    Gray handed him the jar of bright yellow essence. He pinned Gray with his glittering gaze, and then drew up the essence through the dropper, and very carefully, squeezed two drops into a clean dish. He nudged the dish towards Gray.

    ¡®Thank you,¡¯ Gray muttered, not quite meeting his eyes.

    ¡®You stupid boy,¡¯ Longwark said, softly. ¡®You¡¯re attempting the Dragon Curse Fury?¡¯

    Gray hesitated. ¡®Yes, sir.¡¯

    ¡®Ambitious little upstart, aren¡¯t you?¡¯ He turned to the rest of the class. ¡®Anyone else who needs volatile ingredients, speak with me first before handling. It says so, right there on your exam instructions. And do not put fierilion essence near your flame.¡¯

    The class murmured their assent. Longwark moved off, sitting behind his desk, and Gray let out a shuddering breath.

    ¡®Gray.¡¯

    Longwark said Gray¡¯s name like one of the northern curse words he¡¯d spat out earlier.

    Gray hesitated. The creation of Dragon Clay needed a close eye on it, else it would develop a skin on the surface while it was in the liquid stage, and be useless. And before that happened ¨C right before ¨C Gray needed to cool it fast enough to create the clay.

    Leaving it even for a moment could mean failing.

    ¡®Gray Griffin. Now.¡¯ Longwark waved Gray forward with two fingers.

    Gray glanced up at him, curling his fists. He stiffly walked up to Longwark. His surname was Keep, he shared Alistair¡¯s surname, Elona had given him that name, but Longwark would switch to Gray Griffin whenever it suited him, like an motherfu-

    ¡®Detention,¡¯ Longwark said.

    ¡®Detention?¡¯

    ¡®I believe you know what that word means?¡¯ Longwark shuffled papers around his desk. ¡®My study. This afternoon, after your last exam. Alistair, too. You tell him.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s mind was half back at his dragon''s clay. ¡®Yes, Mr Longwark.¡¯

    Skin was growing over the mixture, clinging to the edges of the pot.

    Gray grimaced.

    He grabbed up a ladle and began stirring counterclockwise in swift threes.

    It began turning murky brown.

    That was wrong.

    Trying to appear unconcerned, Gray went over to the store cupboard and rustled through the jars and supplies, searching for dragon¡¯s breath and gold dragon scales, and then strolled back with them.

    Gray added these. But it wasn¡¯t working. The murky brown had changed to a black brown. Swearing internally, Gray screwed his eyes shut, trying to picture his textbook and the notes he¡¯d scribbled in the margins.

    Overripe Dragon¡¯s Clay was a component of the Dragon Calling Curse.

    It could be used to call any dragons in the area.

    Dragon¡¯s Calling Curse was not on the list for the exam.

    But otherwise Gray would be handing in nothing. If Gray didn''t even show he could make Dragon Clay, there was no way he¡¯d pass.

    No, decided Gray immediately. If it¡¯d been a Hounds Calling Curse, or a Horses Calling Curse, it¡¯d be worth a shot. But, even if he managed to pull it off, a Dragon¡¯s Calling Curse would as likely land him in jail as it would save him from an F.

    The town wouldn¡¯t appreciate dragons crashing through Krydon in droves.

    Though, Gray wouldn¡¯t mind dragons, right now. They¡¯d be better than the humiliation of bombing his alchemy final.

    Gray rubbed his face, his palm slippery with sweat.

    The only other thing he could think of was Liquid Fool¡¯s Gold.

    Liquid Fool¡¯s Gold wouldn¡¯t cause any chaos or danger to the town. It worked like a love potion, only minus falling in love with a person. You¡¯d become infatuated with the Liquid Fool¡¯s Gold itself - a favourite among con artists and those who¡¯d fallen on the wrong side of loan sharks.

    Liquid Fool¡¯s Gold was complex, though. Gray¡¯d never done something so complex without a partner.

    Gray glanced up at the clock. If he hurried ¡­

    He ran back over to the store cupboard, too stressed to pretend unconcern.

    Mined quartz. He¡¯d need that.

    Fool¡¯s Flower pollen. He¡¯d need that.

    Dragon eyelashes. Fledgling griffin feathers. Ground iron pyrite.

    Arms loaded up with ingredients and herbs, Gray sprinted back to the lab bench. No one noticed. He wasn¡¯t the only one running. Rowan Conn, who worked on the bench behind Gray, had exploded something and the girls next to him were rushing around, trying to salvage their work. Longwark had completely lost it, shouting at Rowan, and trying to control the damage with his wand.

    Gray sweated over the cauldron for the next twenty minutes, fumbling everything in his haste, chewing his lip.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡®Time¡¯s up,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®Everyone step back.¡¯

    Gray wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs. His pot was filled with an amber yellow liquid, and trailing a coy scent.

    It was perfect.

    Longwark walked through the desks and benches, pausing at each cauldron.

    Everyone watched him in silence, waiting for him to ask them to add their breath and words of intent to activate the conversion.

    Small and perfect displays of firebreath fury lit up the room, with fire that snaked and exploded but had no heat.

    The girl beside Gray did it perfectly, leaning over her conversion, and blowing her breath into the pot.

    Heatless fire exploded like miniature fireworks.

    Longwark paused over Gray¡¯s cauldron, his face betraying nothing. He leant over it. Slowly, stirred it with the ladle.

    ¡®What¡¯s this supposed to be?¡¯ he said, without glancing up.

    ¡®Liquid Fool¡¯s Gold, sir,¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®This is not what I asked for.¡¯ Longwark stirred it again, sniffing. ¡®Can you read, Gray?¡¯

    He moved on. Gray¡¯s stomach plummeted.

    Longwark hadn¡¯t even asked Gray to activate it.

    Gray rubbed his face, his hand sweaty.

    Gods.

    Longwark leaned over Rowan Conn¡¯s work, his nose wrinkled. The cauldron had a buzzing, blue fog above it, like a storm cloud heavy with rain.

    ¡®Dragon¡¯s Curse Fury,¡¯ Longwark said, softly.

    Rowan looked at him, a mixture of hope and anticipation. Soot fell out of his hair and eyebrows every time he moved.

    ¡®Do not activate this,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®Do you know why?¡¯

    Rowan shook his head.

    ¡®That brimstone scent,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®Your foundation conversion - the Dragon¡¯s Clay - was poorly prepared. If activated now, we¡¯ll be trapped here for hours with roaring dragons and flames in the sky.¡¯

    ¡®You can salvage it,¡¯ said Longwark softly. The class leaned closer. ¡®It needs tears of a virgin mage.¡¯ He deliberated for a beat. ''Or sorcerer, for more potency.''

    Longwark slowly turned. He and Gray locked gazes over his bench.

    Hot blood flamed Gray¡¯s cheeks. He dropped his gaze onto Rowan¡¯s pot, his breath shallow.

    ¡®Not an easy ingredient to access, though,¡¯ Longwark said softly, to the class. ¡®Mage and sorcerer parts are heavily monitored. As they should be.¡¯

    Silence.

    ¡®And seeing as there¡¯s something like twenty known sorcerers in existence,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®and less than five thousand mages, those ingredients are in very short supply. Not to mention sorcerer tears are the most valuable component in the world, and this school is not going to waste something like that on the likes of you.¡¯

    One of the girls next to Gray muttered something under her breath. Gray only caught the end, ¡®all the same stuff and I¡¯d never touch sorcerer or mage parts.¡¯

    ¡®Same ¡­ stuff?¡¯ said Longwark.

    Longwark was more taught and motionless than a hawk perched on a cliff edge. ¡®It¡¯s the same stuff as ingredients from a domestic dog and a wild wolf are the same stuff.¡¯

    ¡®Right,¡¯ muttered the girl.

    ¡®Mages and sorcerers are entirely different beings,¡¯ said Longwark, his words tight with control. ¡®Power from a sorcerer far out strips a mage¡¯s.¡¯

    There was an unsaid sentiment hovering over the class: sorcerers were violent psychopaths and mages were - well, not. Sorcerers were uncontrollable and mages were kept on a - figurative - royal leash. Sorcerers were executed on sight, and mages were handed every possible privilege a lapdog could want.

    And in the north, neither sorcerer or mage were particularly welcome.

    Sure, they could walk into any job they wanted because they had skills that no one else had, and because they were only a handful of the population.

    But, northerners lived by the axe.

    They trusted what they could see, and what they could fight.

    Magic, at the very least, was barely tolerated.

    The general consensus was that mages could brew what potions people needed, they could scribe what the people needed, but were also soft, poor fighters, prone to speaking nonsense, all magic and no muscle, and not worth wasting arming with an axe.

    Which was not true, in the way that any blanket statement is not entirely true, because Gray had seen - they all had seen - Longwark fight in the town battle tournaments. He was a force and a half to be reckoned with.

    And he never spoke in riddles.

    ¡®Yes, Mr Longwark,¡¯ said the girl. Her voice trembled at the end.

    Gray kept his face ducked, feeling very hot and uncomfortable.

    Longwark made a sound like he was holding back words with difficulty.

    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ murmured the girl, ¡®Mr Longwark.¡¯

    Gray edged away from her.

    There was a long moment.

    ¡®You¡¯ll get your results next week,¡¯ Longwark said. ¡®Dismissed.¡¯

    Gray hightailed it out of there with the crush of kids.

    He wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs and scanned the grounds for Alistair.

    The grounds were quiet.

    A few girls sat on the weedy lawn in the small courtyard, and Gray¡¯s stomach did a weird flop as he noticed Rosie Thindrall, her face tipped towards the sun, in the midst of them. Rosie was a creature made of sunlight, it seemed, with her blond hair and golden eyes.

    Rosie was ¡­ torture.

    You wouldn¡¯t think of it at first glance.

    She always had red laces in her boots and she always walked around everywhere humming and then would blush whenever anyone noticed or pointed it out.

    But, every time Gray got within three feet of her he got paralysed.

    His insides would do this thing, like his soul leaving his body.

    She was a senior with Alistair, generally preferred the company of girls, and Gray was ¡­ Gray. Smelt like horse and grease from working at the tavern. Bastard mage kid. Only had one friend and Gray had just hung him out to dry.

    Gray watched her, as she and her friends took turns scratching each other¡¯s backs.

    Quickly, Gray averted his gaze before she could catch him staring, scuffing his boots at some loose gold and tawny feathers left over from the senior prank last week (Alistair¡¯s brainchild. The pranks were always his).

    Gray searched the quiet grounds for Alistair.

    Mostly the kids were lined up outside the many old-fashioned timber doors shut against the almost-summer sun. He skimmed their faces, but there was no Alistair. It was two minutes until Gray¡¯s next exam.

    He shoved his hands into his pockets, squinting against the glare of light after being in the dimly lit alchemy room, and jogged to the closest boys¡¯ toilets.

    The bathroom was small and gently lit by thin windows set high in the wall, and smoggy with cigarette smoke. Cigarette smoke was a good sign. Gray crossed the puddled floor, his footsteps echoing against the vaulted ceiling.

    ¡®Ali?¡¯

    Gray checked the stalls.

    Empty.

    Gray wanted to tell Alistair it didn¡¯t matter. That they didn¡¯t need that stupid alchemy class anymore. If they entered the royal alchemy and potions competition during the summer, and one of them got scholarship money, split it between them, and they could go to the Alchemy Academy, or one of the alchemy colleges, for a few years at least. It wouldn¡¯t matter, then. The grades in their alchemy exam wouldn¡¯t matter, the competition would override it ¡­

    Gray stared at his reflection in the spotted mirror. He looked like something that had been dragged out of the drain, all messy, dark hair, colourless cheeks, and serious grey eyes. A thin scar sliced through his left eyebrow.

    He couldn¡¯t believe the boy staring back at him in the mirror had failed his alchemy final.

    ¡®Shit,¡¯ he said.

    Gray turned on the cold water and thrust his hands under it, allowing himself a moment to let the water cool his blood. He watched the water stream and swirl, and then shut it off, making his hands as steady as he could.

    The bell out in the courtyard chimed twice. Gray needed to be outside the mathematics classroom right now, lined up with all the other kids.

    He wiped his hands on his trousers and sprinted out of the bathroom and across the courtyard. He skimmed the crowd of kids for Alistair¡¯s familiar curly mop of hair, but he wasn¡¯t there.

 7. Nil To One Hundred With Zero Warning

    Gray leant against the row of lockers outside Longwark¡¯s study that afternoon, carefully crossing his arms and legs to appear calm.

    He would not let Longwark see him care.

    He¡¯d been bang on time for his detention, fifteen minutes ago, and as time kept ticking onwards and Longwark didn¡¯t open his office door, foreboding settled deeper and deeper into his stomach.

    Usually, Longwark was pedantically on time.

    Longwark was inside his office ¨C Gray could hear him moving around inside, talking to a man with a sonorous voice that contrasted with Longwark¡¯s soft, sarcastic one ¨C but he was making Gray wait.

    All the kids had left the school grounds, and most of the teachers too; they¡¯d disappeared through the iron gates that barred them from the rest of Krydon and into the mess of scribbled alleyways.

    The door creaked open. Longwark wore one of his sets of glasses, his wild hair nesting his other pair. His blue rune tattoos were less pronounced in the failing light.

    His intense ice-grey gaze flickered over Gray. Swept right and left. He saw Gray and no Alistair.

    Something in his face hardened.

    He jerked his head. ¡®Go.¡¯

    Gray stared at him. He¡¯d never reneged on an opportunity to have Gray serve detention before.

    ¡®Go,¡¯ said Longwark.

    Gray took one halting step away. Hesitated. This had to be a trick.

    ¡®I know you struggle following instructions, Gray, but surely even you can¡¯t fail to-¡®

    From behind him, muffled, came the sonorous voice. ¡®Who is it, Phineas?¡¯

    ¡®A student,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®He¡¯s leaving.¡¯

    ¡®Is this why you¡¯re trying to throw me out?¡¯

    A man with black eyes and elaborate black robes sidled up behind Longwark.

    Judging by the intensity of his eyes ¨C black as currants and surrounded by withered skin ¨C and the long length of his greasy black hair, and the wand stuck into his belt, he was a mage.

    Probably a colleague of Longwark¡¯s.

    Sometimes strange mage men and women from the mage guild in Dierne visited him ¨C sometimes staying at his house, sometimes staying at The Tipsy Stag Tavern.

    Usually Gray took care not to cross paths with them.

    Gray flickered a glance at Longwark. ¡®Er, I¡¯ll go, then, Mr Longwark?¡¯

    ¡®No need, lad.¡¯ The strange man gathered his layered robes. ¡®I¡¯ll wait for you at your home, Phineas.¡¯

    Longwark thrust a set of house keys into the man¡¯s hands. And then, so fast Gray almost missed it, a large, ugly jar that prickled with magic. ¡®Go straight there.¡¯ Then, to Gray, ¡®In.¡¯

    Longwark made no room for Gray to pass him, so Gray had to squeeze past, hugging the row of lockers. Longwark stalked in after him and the door creaked as he shut it behind him.

    Being alone with Longwark always made Gray¡¯s skin break out into goosebumps. Gray breathed in slow. Slower. Carefully pushed down his discomfort, and reminded himself that he wouldn¡¯t let Longwark see him care.

    ¡®Where¡¯s Alistair?¡¯ Longwark said.

    ¡®Must be home, sir. He didn¡¯t know about this ¨C I couldn¡¯t find him.¡¯

    Longwark¡¯s office was crowded but neat. One wall was lined with books on alchemy and metals and history (The Alphabet Outside AU; The study of Backwards Alchemy by Raif Runcorn, The Rise of the red X; How a Sorcerer Turned Necromancer by Weiss and Windlass; Weightless Iron and its Importance to the Kingdom by Gilda Butcher).

    Dried ingredients, his gnarled magic wand, and strange stones were displayed like trophies over a blackened fireplace.

    He sat down behind his desk and smoothed his wild hair away from his face, surveying Gray with an ice-grey gaze.

    ¡®You know why you¡¯re here?¡¯ he said.

    ¡®I didn¡¯t handle the fierilion essence properly. I¡¯m sorry, sir.¡¯

    ¡®Sorry? You almost exploded the lab.¡¯

    Gray winced.

    ¡®You didn¡¯t follow the criteria set out on the exam,¡¯ said Longwark.

    ¡®I - no, sir.¡¯

    ¡®If I choose to mark you by the same standards as I set for the advanced seniors,¡¯ Longwark said, ¡®you will not be progressing in my class.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s tongue was thick in his mouth. He stood there stiffly, feeling like the world was ending.

    It doesn¡¯t matter, it doesn¡¯t matter, don¡¯t say anything - ¡®You¡¯re kicking me out?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®This is a really tough decision,¡¯ Longwark said, examining his fingernails. ¡®Because you can¡¯t follow directions. You¡¯re completely disrespectful. You turn up to my class scruffy and tired. And you just failed.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s insides were turning into ash. Collapsing. ¡®Mr Longwark ...¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ll be speaking to Barin and the headmaster. I told him you¡¯re too young for that class. Both you and Alistair have failed.¡¯

    Gray glanced up at Longwark through a panicked haze.

    Barin would not care about Gray being sent home with a reprimand and a fail. Barin would care about Alistair, though. He nursed a soft spot for Alistair, no matter what Alistair insisted. Alistair would be in real trouble.

    This wasn¡¯t happening.

    Gray silently urged himself to defend Alistair. Alistair was smart, smarter than Gray. Just unfocused. The numbers of Alistair¡¯s stat papers were bullshit. He deserved to be at fifty already. If he¡¯d gotten an A today, he probably would¡¯ve gotten there.

    Longwark looked on edge, though, and Gray didn¡¯t want to be the one to nudge him over the line.

    Now wasn¡¯t the time to argue with him. If - if Gray could wait for the right moment, maybe -

    ¡®You¡¯ll do your detention, now,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®You can clean my royal awards.¡¯

    Words tangled around Gray¡¯s mind.

    He glanced at Longwark¡¯s row of royal awards. Longwark¡¯s damned pride and joy.

    The awards were heavy silver shields, elaborately engraved and covered in a layer of dust. Longwark kept them propped up on the floor by an ornate timber chest.

    He had one extraordinary valour, one for the aid in the capture of criminal Oscar Hawk, one for his contribution in the take down of the kingdom¡¯s most hated sorceress, D¡¯Oncray. And one, of course, for the Griffin vs Wilde battle in Hobbtown.

    The most famous duel.

    The one where Wilde had killed the entire Griffin family. The five brothers, the elders, all of them, except for the two kids.

    Wilde¡¯d done this right after a huge massacre right in the mage guild itself, after he¡¯d stolen from the catacombs there. People hated him. So, when the Griffin mages weakened Wilde enough to send Wilde running for cover, licking his wounds, they¡¯d been hailed as heroes.

    Posthumously.

    And Gray guessed that hero status had extended to anyone else involved. Like mage soldiers like Longwark.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Gray wrenched his gaze away from the awards.

    ¡®Yes, Mr Longwark,¡¯ he muttered.

    Longwark opened a desk drawer and ferreted around before pulling out a cloth and silver polish. He thrust them at Gray.

    Gray stared blindly at the offered cloth and polish. Reached for them with numb fingers.

    Gray swallowed hard and dropped to his knees in front of the awards. He fumbled to unscrew the crusty lid to the polish.

    He started with the biggest one, the one for the battle that had pushed the dark sorcerer Krupin out of Lismere¡¯s borders - back from when, nine years ago, sorcerers had been a real problem and they¡¯d wreaked havoc down south.

    Then, Gray moved onto the smallest one, the one for culling fifty reborns (Krupin had gotten some of his followers onto a rebirth loop. You¡¯d slay one then whoop they¡¯d rise back up weeks later, clawing out of the ground like some kind of swamp-vampire, or sometimes they¡¯d come back in another¡¯s fallen body).

    This was Longwark¡¯s favourite detention for Gray. Normally, he¡¯d just go into the zone and get it done. But, Gray¡¯s internal control was hanging by the barest thread.

    Gray carefully pushed his thoughts down as he polished the awards.

    Failing alchemy didn¡¯t matter.

    Didn¡¯t matter.

    Longwark didn¡¯t matter.

    Gray polished the grooves around the letter W for Wilde.

    Then, the G for Griffin.

    There was a misfiring in Gray¡¯s brain, as he fought to distract himself from the thoughts of how the heck he was going to keep learning alchemy, and instead, thoughts of his family hissed through him, as though through a crack in a dam wall.

    Gray would lie in bed at night, wishing, wishing, wishing to wake up as anyone else¡¯s son.

    But, it never worked. The best he could do was push his magic so far down, it was barely there anymore.

    He¡¯d feel it, though, sometimes. Whispering and curling delicately up, when he looked at the annual Wanted and Missing posters sent up from Dierne.

    There was always a poster with Conor Griffin¡¯s imagined likeness.

    Conor Griffin - the missing son of the sorceress D¡¯Oncray and mage Ryan Griffin.

    He¡¯d disappeared with his cousin during the Griffin vs Wilde duel nine years ago, and despite the kingdom¡¯s best efforts, he¡¯d never been found.

    Taken by Wilde.

    Collected, perhaps, on behalf of Krupin.

    But, there were a bunch of other rumours.

    The Augustes had ordered Conor Griffin assassinated, after the death of the Griffin brothers, because he was from the D¡¯Oncray bloodline.

    Conor Griffin had been sent for special military and magic training in Foix, because he¡¯d shown unprecedented control of his magic from a young age.

    Conor Griffin was living underground with rebels, he was rallying an army of sorcerers, he had been sighted flying over the Goli Islands, he had started the volcano eruptions in Othoa ¡­

    The southerners that passed through the tavern would often drunkenly argue about the mystery of Conor Griffin and his cousin, where they¡¯d gone, and if they¡¯d ever resurface. And if they wanted Conor Griffin to resurface.

    Half sorcerer.

    Perhaps a new dark sorcerer, like Krupin, laying in wait.

    Or, perhaps the only hope Lismere had at fighting sorcerers, like Krupin, if they became a problem again.

    A mage¡¯s magic stats, the southerners would say, were no match for a sorcerer, no matter how hard they trained. Mages were peace-loving hippies that took special training and years to become anything resembling a soldier.

    And sorcerers strength stats?

    Sorcerers were far stronger. More aggressive. Nothing compared to a regular human, of course, but when their magic was off the charts, adding any kind of aggression and physical strength in the mix was concerning.

    Longwark believed Gray was one of the Griffin family¡¯s illegitimate kids, because - well, because that¡¯s what everyone thought, and everyone knew everything about everyone in Krydon - but also that was what was on his false stat papers when he registered for school when he was in first year.

    The northerners in Krydon didn¡¯t talk about it, they didn¡¯t really care.

    Not like the southerners.

    The Wanted and Missing posters sent up from Dierne were usually only up on the notice board outside Krydon Hall for a day or two before they were covered up with graffiti and northerner news and festival banners.

    Through a quirk of linguistics, the northern words for chosen one were a double entendre for watch out for this one or dangerous one and this often would be scratched over Conor Griffin¡¯s poster. Especially over the eyes.

    But, Gray didn¡¯t look like the image of Conor Griffin in the Missing Posters. Well, a little, but Gray¡¯s features were too childish and the image of Conor Griffin was growing sharper-jawed and more and more like Ryan Griffin by the year.

    Gray didn¡¯t look like a mage much at all, his long hair aside. Even then, a lot of the northerners wore their hair long, twisted, or stylistically shaved.

    Gray¡¯s eyes weren¡¯t overly bright. He didn¡¯t have sharp cheekbones, or ethereal good looks or allure. He looked ordinary.

    And being a mage¡¯s bastard didn¡¯t guarantee being a mage yourself.

    It took two mages to make a mage, and even then, sometimes, it wouldn¡¯t work.

    The fact that Gray was a Griffin had long since faded into the background, and rarely got brought up anymore.

    Except by damned Longwark.

    An illegitimate child of a mage offended Longwark - offended mages in general - because of the tight laws around mage marriages and relationships.

    Apparently the Griffins had done whatever they liked. A lot. Under the protection of the Augustes. Meanwhile, every other mage was strictly following the law, and if they didn¡¯t, the punishments were severe.

    Seducers, Longwark had called the Griffin brothers, once.

    The Captain of the Krydon Guards had twice, under the influence of too much ale, told a story about her friend who¡¯d spent two days in a bed with one of the Griffin brothers.

    Three times there had been reports of other Griffin bastards, only for them to disappear, weeks later.

    Longwark stood close when Gray was part way through polishing the awards, inspecting his work. Gray kept his gaze firmly away from Longwark. Longwark¡¯s closeness was like a nettle about to sting his skin; Gray could see a thick layer of chalk dust coating the toes of Longwark¡¯s boots, and hear his clothes rubbing as he shifted.

    The bottoms of his trousers were scratched up. A blue, mottled lavender weed was stuck in his shoe laces.

    Those lavender weeds grew mostly in the graveyard.

    ¡®You missed a spot,¡¯ Longwark said sharply.

    Gray scrubbed at the spot Longwark had pointed out, trying to push his curiosity away. Longwark would not take kindly to Gray peppering him with questions about his pants.

    Longwark grunted and walked back to his desk.

    Gray was practised at polishing the awards and it didn¡¯t take him long to finish, after that. He straightened up, clearing his throat to get Longwark¡¯s attention.

    ¡®Finished?¡¯ Longwark said, taking the cloth and polish off Gray. He eyed his glittering awards, his chin tilted up.

    ¡®Yes.¡¯ Gray waited in silence, but after a long moment, he said, ¡®Can I go now, sir?¡¯

    ¡®No. Wait.¡¯ Longwark scribbled a note, using an unusually short quill in his huge hand. ¡®Get Barin to sign this, and bring it back tomorrow.¡¯

    Gray nodded. Then Longwark kept hold of the scribbled note, refusing to let Gray tug it from his hand.

    ¡®Alistair has missed an entire afternoon of exams,¡¯ Longwark said. ¡®He¡¯s missed a detention with me. You tell him he¡¯s in for a world of trouble.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s fists were curled and hot, his ink-stained fingernails digging into the note he was still trying to clasp from Longwark.

    ¡®Isn¡¯t that what you wanted, sir?¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®Another detention, I think,¡¯ said Longwark softly.

    Gray tugged the note from his hand.

    Footsteps outside Longwark¡¯s study pounded towards them.

    A young voice barrelled through the door, ¡®Mr Longwark!¡¯

    The office door crashed open. The whole room shuddered with the force of it.

    The new tomb guardian stood silhouetted in the doorway, trembling head to toe, her sword drawn. Her usually carefully coiled hair hung loose. Her lips were pale. She wore leather pants and what looked like a nightshirt. She¡¯d been off duty.

    ¡®Long - Longwark,¡¯ she gasped.

    She stepped inside, traipsing grass and earth. Her chest heaved.

    ¡®Gods,¡¯ said Longwark, slowly standing. ¡®What on sweet -¡¯

    ¡®The Captain sent me,¡¯ she said. ¡®We need a mage. A mountain griffin - it''s in town - you need to come.¡¯

    She sank, trembling and pale, to a crouch. She clutched a stitch in her side.

    ¡®A mountain griffin?¡¯ Longwark snatched up his wand from the mantle, and chalk and some strange stones. ¡®I can¡¯t do much with a mountain griffin, Riverlyn. Have you warned the town? Where is it?¡¯

    ¡®Town square,¡¯ she said, clutching a stitch in her side. ¡®I need to go - Captain said to sound the warning bell -¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Longwark, strapping an axe to his back with military precision. ¡®Go to my home first. My friend Emeric is there. He¡¯s a skilled mage.¡¯ He turned to Gray. ¡®Stay here.¡¯

    ¡®I should check on -¡¯

    ¡®Mountain griffins are three times the size of a horse, and they¡¯ll disembowel you with one swipe,¡¯ he said, tightening a holster around his arm, and sticking a dagger into it.

    Then he locked Gray in his office.

    -

    Longwark¡¯s windows refused to open, no matter how hard Gray pushed, and he didn¡¯t dare smash one. The lock on the door had an enchantment on it, which prickled and zapped when Gray tried to pick it.

    Thirst was becoming an issue. So was needing a bathroom. Horrible thoughts began chasing through Gray¡¯s mind.

    Methodically, he pushed them down. He didn¡¯t need stark mental images of a monstrous half-lion, half-eagle prowling over dead bodies, and stalking the streets.

    Desperately, Gray attempted to distract himself.

    The first hour, Gray went through all of Longwark¡¯s books.

    The second hour, he went through Longwark¡¯s desk.

    The bottom drawer had students'' contraband. Gray spotted Alistair¡¯s slingshot in there. Alistair loved that damn thing. He¡¯d hand-carved it himself. Gray pocketed it.

    The third hour, the bell stopped tolling and a loaded silence fell.

    When Longwark eventually walked back through the door, Gray was in the middle of setting up a small dragon stone explosion, thinking it might expel the enchantment on the lock.

    Longwark froze on the threshold, his blue rune tattoos masked with blood. Something dark and thick dripped from the knife in his belt. He was limping.

    His voice, usually soft and controlled, was hoarse. Exhausted. ¡®What the gods, Gray?¡¯

    Gray had set up a cauldron on the floor between his splayed legs. It was bubbling and bright, emitting an ashy scent and a soft red glow. Gray had ingredients around him within easy reach.

    Nil to one hundred, with zero warning.

 8. He Continues To Have A Really, Really Bad Day

    To be fair, Gray thought, he¡¯d gone through all of Longwark¡¯s things.

    But, Longwark had locked Gray in the office for hours. Gray didn¡¯t know what was happening, if the griffin was rampaging the town, if Longwark was dead and Gray would be stuck in that office forever.

    Longwark grabbed Gray up by the front of his shirt, lifting him off the ground. Gray¡¯s heels knocked together and he latched onto Longwark¡¯s ropey wrists, his breath leaving him.

    ¡®You ¡­¡¯ Longwark seemed to be struggling for words. He trembled. He stank of sweat and forest, and blood.

    Gray¡¯s fingertips pressed into Longwark¡¯s thrumming pulse.

    ¡®It¡¯s,¡¯ Gray said, his throat closing, ¡®it¡¯s just Dragon¡¯s Stone. Sorry. I¡¯ll clean it up.¡¯

    Longwark¡¯s grip tightened. His breath was in Gray¡¯s face.

    ¡®Let - let me down. I¡¯ll clean it up. OK?¡¯

    ¡®You been calling griffins into town?¡¯ he said, softly.

    ¡®No, Mr Longwark. No.¡¯

    ¡®You bonded with any of them?¡¯

    ¡®No - I don''t know how. No, sir.¡¯

    His breath swathed Gray¡¯s face.

    ¡®Griffins are just ¡­ showing up of their own accord, are they?¡¯ he said.

    Gray risked lifting his gaze. Longwark¡¯s face was shadowed.

    ¡®There have been more, in town?¡¯ Gray said. ¡®There was one, this morning. It ¡­¡¯

    ¡®It?¡¯

    Gray shook his head. ¡®Nothing.¡¯

    Longwark hoisted him higher. ¡®You been doing magic?¡¯

    ¡®No - I wouldn¡¯t -¡¯

    Like an angry toddler with a ragdoll, he dumped Gray on the floor outside his office. Gray stumbled, getting his feet underneath him. Longwark threw Gray¡¯s satchel. It hit Gray hard and he staggered, fumbling to catch it.

    In the process, Alistair¡¯s slingshot fell out of his pocket.

    There was this awful, long moment as Longwark and Gray stared at the slingshot.

    Gray clutched his satchel to his chest. Mouthed a soundless word.

    Gray fled.

    ¡®Gray. Gods. Gray.¡¯

    Longwark shouted, a rare northern dialect Gray didn¡¯t know well.

    Gray turned a tight corner. Then another. Into the shadows. Slung his satchel over his shoulders, and threw himself out of the school gates.

    Gray swore, kicking at a loose stone. He blinked furiously, shoving his trembling hands deep into his pockets.

    The street lamps were already lit. The shops nearby were closed. Some had boarded up their windows.

    Huge tawny and gold feathers littered the ground. Some were twice as large as a man. Fresh gashes marked the cobblestones and walls.

    Gray glanced at the clock tower, jutting up high from one street over, and squinted in the fading light. It was after seven.

    He ducked his head, weaving through the nervous crowd emerging from the homes and shops. People were starting to call to each other from across the street. Gray kept his gaze on the cobbled ground.

    ¡®Hey. Gray.¡¯ Harriette ran up to Gray as he crossed the oddly shaped town square, skidding to a halt, barely missing knocking Gray over. Her auburn hair was pulled into tufts.

    ¡®Woah,¡¯ Gray said.

    He was so pleased to see her. He held onto her shoulders as she swayed to keep her balance. She talked at top speed about the mountain griffin. ¡®... And then, the mage guy, the one in room ten, he created this fire shield thing from his wand, and it flew away - the gust blew out the window in the leather shop - and half of Endell Lane¡¯s in ruins, and I can¡¯t believe you missed it -¡¯

    ¡®You OK?¡¯ Gray said. He checked her over. Her lace shirt and linen trousers were crushed. Stained. ¡®You¡¯re not hurt? Was anyone hurt?¡¯

    ¡®Nup,¡¯ she said. ¡®I was inside with dad. He¡¯s fuming. Why aren¡¯t you or Alistair home yet?¡¯

    Gray stilled. ¡®Alistair¡¯s not home?¡¯

    ¡®Nup,¡¯ said Harriette. ¡®You coming?¡¯

    ¡®Uh.¡¯ Gray crunched his shoulders back. ¡®Yeah. I¡¯ll be right behind you.¡¯

    ¡®You better hurry.¡¯

    Gray waited until Harriette had bounded out of sight. His stomach knotted. He ran down a skinny side alley. Alistair liked a night caf¨¦ down there. It¡¯d be weird for him to be there now but ¡­ Gray had to check.

    The caf¨¦ was crowded and thumping with live music. People excitedly talked, heads bent together. There were some kids there from school, crushed against the brightly lit window and clutching red patterned mugs of coffee. Gray withdrew. Alistair wouldn¡¯t be in there, with those particular kids.

    He strode away, running his hands through his hair.

    The clock chimed seven-thirty.

    Gray stilled, glancing up at the clock face.

    Barin would be waiting. Barin would be furious.

    ¡®Shit.¡¯

    The oddly shaped town square bustled with more people emerging from hiding spots, and surveying the damage. Gray dodged a group of workers clearing rubble from a fallen roof and spire.

    Gray checked the now-dark and deserted park. There was a weeping willow, and he and Alistair spent hours behind the green curtain of privacy, Alistair smoking and Gray playing cards. But he wasn¡¯t there.

    Gray bit his lip and stalked out of the park. He checked the town library, tucked away four buildings down from the school. No.

    The crow menagerie. Closed.

    The alehouse that didn¡¯t care they were underage. There were a couple of boys Gray knew from school ¨C Rowan Conn, with his silver eyebrow stud and his shirt sleeves rolled up, frowning into his pint, and Jude James, with his leather jacket and quaffed hair, animatedly waving his hands. They were seniors with Alistair ¨C they hung out with him.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Jude stopped talking as Gray approached. Gray wove through the tables and stools, and Rowan turned his frown on him.

    ¡®Alistair¡¯s not here yet,¡¯ said Rowan shortly. His eyes looked distinctly red.

    Gray averted his gaze. ¡®He¡¯s meeting you? You¡¯ve seen him?¡¯

    Rowan shrugged. ¡®Yeah, I¡¯ve seen him. He told me he and Rosie would meet us here.¡¯ Rowan¡¯s voice was forcibly calm. ¡®They¡¯ll be together somewhere.¡¯

    Gray nodded and walked out, a strange mixture of relief and something else, something hotter, washing through him.

    Last time Alistair had disappeared from the tavern, he¡¯d been with a girl.

    Barin had tracked him down and clouted him over the head for it. Gray couldn¡¯t believe he was doing it again.

    And with Rosie.

    Something hot simmered and then boiled in his stomach.

    He pushed it firmly away.

    It was fine.

    Fine.

    Gray knew Alistair was friends with Rosie.

    Rosie wasn¡¯t Gray¡¯s. Rosie didn¡¯t know Gray existed. The few times Gray had interacted with her, he¡¯d come across as a gormless idiot.

    Shit, he was a gormless idiot.

    The town clock struck eight.

    Wincing, Gray ran out of the alehouse.

    He sprinted the winding back alley, Raven Drive, towards the service entrance to the tavern, sweaty and out of breath, the cobblestones hard underneath his boots.

    He flew past the homeless woman, Kraus, with the curse mark on her face like sprawled lightning, who slept in their street, and past the stray ginger cat that picked food and rats from the tavern bins.

    He slowed as he passed the stables attached to the tavern and through the back door that led to the kitchen. Gray stayed on the threshold for a second, standing on the welcome mat, catching his breath and letting his eyes adjust to the light and bustle of the kitchen in full swing.

    His gaze darted from person to person, searching for Alistair¡¯s mop of curly hair, but he wasn¡¯t there.

    ¡®Gray.¡¯

    Gray held back a wince and faced Barin.

    He had neatly side-parted his auburn hair, which he always oiled down to stay in place for the nighttime rush, and he wore his newest shirt with a winged collar styled in the latest fashion.

    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®I had detention, and then I was stuck in Longwark¡¯s office because of the griffin.¡¯

    ¡®Detention. Why?¡¯

    Gray hesitated, resting his hand on his school bag, but not yet pulling out the note from Longwark. He didn¡¯t want a row between Barin and Alistair. Not this early in the night.

    He needed to speak to Alistair first. Come up with a game plan.

    ¡®Just Mr Longwark,¡¯ Gray said.

    Barin snorted.

    Barin and Longwark loathed each other. A lot of people were wary of Longwark - he was a cantankerous cliche of a mage - but, Longwark really got under Barin¡¯s skin.

    And Gray thought Longwark liked doing it.

    Honestly, the animosity was so bad that Gray was surprised neither of them had issued the other a challenge to fight a duel in one of the battle arenas.

    ¡®You¡¯re a mess,¡¯ Barin said. ¡®You been fighting?¡¯

    Gray glanced down at his crumpled clothes and straightened them while Barin watched.

    ¡¯No, Barin,¡¯ he mumbled.

    ¡®Where¡¯s Alistair?¡¯ Barin said.

    Gray shrugged, pushing the thought of Alistair and Rosie sitting somewhere romantic and sequestered from his mind.

    Gray dumped his school bag underneath a counter, and moved around Barin to get his apron. Gray kept his back to Barin, tying his apron around his waist and made to walk over to the sink. The pans and dishes were already piled up.

    Barin stopped him, a hand on his chest. ¡®Was he in detention with you?¡¯

    Barin would explode into a rage when he knew Alistair failed and got kicked out of alchemy. He¡¯d be mad at Alistair and mad at Longwark, but neither of them was here. Gray was. He¡¯d explode at Gray.

    ¡®No, sir,¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®But?¡¯

    Gray tried to keep his voice cool, ignoring the heat from Barin¡¯s palm pressing into his chest. ¡®Nothing.¡¯

    Barin¡¯s mouth curled. ¡®Nothing?¡¯

    Gray nodded, hoping he¡¯d get a chance to tip Alistair off. Maybe they could forge Barin¡¯s signature on Longwark¡¯s note.

    Barin¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡®Something happen to him?¡¯

    ¡®I think he¡¯s just out with a friend. I don¡¯t know.¡¯

    ¡®Gray? What aren¡¯t you telling me?¡¯

    Gray pressed his lips together.

    Barin shoved Gray, not hard, but it was enough warning for Gray to step back out of his reach.

    ¡®Gray. He¡¯s been gone all afternoon. There was a griffin in town. You¡¯re not worried about him?¡¯

    Gray hesitated, glancing down at his book bag.

    Stupid.

    Barin was damn smart, and he was quick enough to follow Gray¡¯s gaze. He yanked Gray¡¯s bag up and rifled through it, drawing startled stares from the workers in the kitchen. He dumped Gray¡¯s textbooks and notepads and quills and ink onto the flagstone floor. Pages fluttered over Gray¡¯s boots.

    He found the note from Longwark and read it, his eyes widening as he scanned the page.

    His face seemed to swell.

    The whole kitchen whirred to a stop. The only sounds were the sizzling and bubbling of food cooking on the huge stove.

    ¡®Where¡¯s Alistair?¡¯ he said. ¡®He hiding from me?¡¯

    ¡®No. Course not.¡¯

    Barin turned on the kitchen, at the staring staff. ¡®I¡¯m not paying you all to stand around. Get back to work.¡¯

    The kitchen staff hurried back to their stations.

    Barin shoved Gray towards the scrubbing sink. ¡®Start scrubbing.¡¯

    He stomped over to the door and snatched up a random coat. Gray thought it belonged to the head cook.

    ¡®Where¡¯re you going?¡¯ Gray said. ¡®I can help ¨C help look.¡¯

    Honestly, Alistair was more likely to come to Gray than to Barin.

    Barin shrugged into the coat. It was too small across his shoulders, but he didn¡¯t seem to notice.

    ¡®Just earn your keep. I¡¯ll let you know if I need you to scrub more pots or mop up vomit.¡¯

    He glared at Gray, waiting for him to argue.

    Gray silently turned back to the scrubbing sink and began filling it up with hot water.

    Gray waited until he heard Barin stomp out, and then he shut off the water. He dried his shaking hands on his apron. He went back to his spilled books and belongings and gathered them up before the kitchen staff stepped all over them.

    The ink from the smashed bottle had already sunk into the flagstone floor, staining the stones. Gray hastily swept up the glass and then shouldered his bag, about to slip through the tavern to stow his bag safely away in his room, when, ¡®Gray?¡¯

    Gray froze, confused and terrified, his bag on his shoulder, his soul leaving his body.

    ¡®Um, Gray?¡¯

    Rosie Thindrall hovered in the doorway to the kitchen. One of her red laces on her boots had come undone, and she said, with her voice that was always warm from humming, ¡®Can you do me a favour?¡¯

    She handed Gray a slip of parchment that had the Krydon Hall seal on the top.

    It was an order for some Krydon guards¡¯ dinner.

    Gray glanced up at her, slipping his bag gently back onto the floor. ¡®Yeah. Sure.¡¯

    She followed Gray into the busy kitchen and watched as he pulled fresh bread and basil pesto from the pantry. He sliced up cold chicken, feeling coherent thought slowly return to his brain, and gentle warmth from her standing close.

    Say something, Gray urged himself. Say something now.

    Ask her if she was just with Alistair. Tell her to warn him Barin¡¯s out for his blood.

    A sudden thought came to Gray. Maybe this order wasn¡¯t for the guards. Maybe it was for her and Alistair.

    Maybe a midnight picnic, up on the mossy tiled rooftops of Krydon.

    Gray opened his mouth, pausing layering tomato slices over the chicken, his gaze fixed on her.

    But she beat Gray to it.

    ¡®You see the griffin?¡¯ she said.

    Gray shook his head.

    ¡®Man,¡¯ she said, ¡®I know they¡¯re dangerous and all, but ¡­ it was awesome.¡¯

    Gray smiled. Desperately, he racked his brain for something to say. He opened his mouth, and a strange noise came out. He pretended he was clearing his throat.

    ¡®It¡¯s my first night,¡¯ she said. ¡®Just got a summer job in the Krydon Hall kitchen.¡¯

    ¡®Got to love hospitality,¡¯ Gray said.

    She laughed.

    Gray got so flustered he said, ¡®Sorry.¡¯

    ¡®Huh?¡¯

    ¡®Uh.¡¯ Gray quickly wrapped the stack of sandwiches in brown paper. He handed them to her, brushing her fingertips with his. ¡®Let me know if you need anything else.¡¯

    ¡®Thanks. Put it on their tab?¡¯

    ¡®Er. Sure.¡¯ Gray stared at her, hesitating. ¡®If you¡¯re working, where¡¯s Alistair?¡¯

    For a second, she just looked at Gray. Then, her cheeks flushed furious pink. ¡®Alehouse.¡¯

    Gray frowned, vaguely aware something was off.

    He nodded and watched her leave.

    Eventually, he shook his head and slipped through the tavern and to the stairs to store his book bag in his room.

    Only problem was, the old mage was sitting on the foot of the stairs.

 9. The Old Mage Just Levelled Up

    Gray almost ran right into him. He was cast partly in shadows, partly lit by the yellow lamplight that streamed through the double doors to the dining room.

    ¡®I don¡¯t feel quite well,¡¯ the old mage said. ¡®I wonder if you might accompany me to my room?¡¯

    Gray hesitated, thinking of what Alistair said that morning. He tried to peer at him more closely. ¡®Do you need a healer? We don¡¯t have mage healers here, but there¡¯s a physician -¡¯

    ¡®No. Please. Just take me to my room.¡¯

    Gray hadn¡¯t been expected to receive his full weight, and he staggered. Slowly, they made it up one flight of stairs. The mage fumbled for the key in his pocket, his hand shaking.

    ¡®Let me.¡¯ Gray took the key from him, and the door swung open.

    The room was pristine, except for the table, which was a clutter of books and pages and empty ink bottles. Gray settled the mage on the bed and poured him a glass of water from the pitcher by the bed.

    ¡®I¡¯m getting Barin,¡¯ Gray said, turning on his heel.

    ¡®Not necessary,¡¯ he said.

    Gray faltered. ¡®Is it from the griffin? Doing magic?¡¯

    ¡®Not from the griffin. That was a piece of cake.¡¯

    ¡®Honey lemon tea, then. Is it a flu?¡¯

    ¡®No.¡¯ He caught Gray¡¯s wrist, his grip tight. For a moment, his overly bright eyes held Grays.

    Gray blinked and looked away.

    ¡®There¡¯s powdered unicorn horn in my bag. Willow bark. Mint and bilberry root. Do you mind mixing them into a brew? Heavy on the horn.¡¯

    Gray nodded and bid as he was bid. The mage lay shivering on the bed.

    ¡®Are you sure you don¡¯t need a physician?¡¯ Gray said, shredding the mint. ¡®It¡¯s no trouble.¡¯

    He was quiet for so long Gray thought he wasn¡¯t going to answer. Then, ¡®I believe it¡¯s a ryece. Mages go through it every so often, when our power increases. It can happen after a battle. I don¡¯t need a healer.¡¯

    He curled up on his side, on top of the covers.

    Gray needed boiling water. The room had equipment for tea and a special pot from the Ralph smithy in Reviness, to help boil and heat things faster than natural.

    He grabbed this, feeling the prickle of magic, and boiled up some water. Poured it, steaming, into a small teapot.

    Gray fretted over the mixture, adding it to the teapot.

    ¡®Here,¡¯ he muttered, handing the mage the brew for inspection. ¡®Is that right?¡¯

    ¡®Yes. Good boy.¡¯

    The old mage swallowed a few mouthfuls, then lay back down. He unfurled a little, blinking slow.

    ¡®I,¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®Yes?¡¯

    ¡®Nothing.¡¯

    Something must¡¯ve shown on Gray¡¯s face, because he said, ¡®You got a question, kiddo? Ask.¡¯

    Gray licked his dry lips. ¡®No. No question.¡¯

    Gray had a million and one questions.

    But, he pushed the curiosity down. It was pointless, and dangerous, to ask too many questions.

    The table was a mess of herbs and powder from him making the tea. Gray busied himself, tidying it up, and putting items back into place.

    ¡®It¡¯s a terrible tease,¡¯ the old mage said. ¡®You clearly have a question. Curiosity¡¯s good, kiddo.¡¯

    The mage¡¯s face, it was kind. He had this impressive nose, that he scrunched expressively when he talked. If Gray had had grandparents, he thought they might¡¯ve been like him.

    Gray¡¯s chest ached.

    ¡®Maybe,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®maybe when you feel better.¡¯

    The mage grunted, and closed his eyes. Gray backed out of the room.

    He traipsed up the stairs, clutching onto the strap of his bag, his hair hanging in his eyes.

    Gray made it to the attic level, to his room. He stashed his bag by the small desk he and Alistair shared.

    He was almost back at the door when he noticed something.

    Alistair¡¯s clothes chest. It was open and empty.

    Gray frowned. He peered into it, running his hand inside the empty space.

    ¡®No, Alistair,¡¯ he muttered.

    Gray glanced around the room, his stomach sinking. Alistair¡¯s rucksack was gone. The ardent from under Gray¡¯s mattress was gone.

    Alistair was gone.

    Rosie had just lied for him.

    Of this, Gray was sure.

    Gray sprinted down the stairs in threes, and dashed back through the kitchen. Checked the back alley.

    Rosie had disappeared.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Of course.

    Gray must¡¯ve spent a good ten minutes with the old mage.

    Gray stood, torn between checking the stables for any missing horses in case Alistair had taken one, and chasing after Rosie to get her to tell him where Alistair had gone.

    Kraus glared at Gray, her chin resting on her chest, the curse mark on her face maroon in the fading light.

    ¡®You seen Alistair?¡¯ Gray asked her.

    ¡®I¡¯ve seen a snake in the grass,¡¯ she said.

    ¡®I need you to speak plainly, Kraus,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®That¡¯s plain as day, tavern boy.¡¯

    Gray ran into the stables. He checked each stall, his boots scuffing the hay, the horses poking their heads out of their stalls to watch.

    No horses missing.

    Gray scanned the row of potions, curses, and jinxes Barin kept in jars in case of emergency, up the far end.

    Nothing was disturbed. Alistair hadn¡¯t taken anything.

    Gray swore, and ran after Rosie. Krydon Hall, she¡¯d said.

    Gray darted through the groups of people on the streets, and into the main square.

    Kyrdon Hall was there, towering at five levels high, and with a bell tower in the middle. Vines covered the west side. It was grand enough to have prisons in the cellar, offices for the council members and town guards, and accommodation for when anyone important needed to visit (which wasn¡¯t often).

    Gray sprinted up the front steps, and through the large front doors.

    Inside was brightly lit, with giant paintings of forgotten - conquered - nobles on the walls, and dragon¡¯s clay pottery glittering and on display. The crow symbol was everywhere - on the wall paper, etched into doors. Some had been replaced, probably decades ago, with the Auguste¡¯s stag, but the crow was still rife.

    Gray had no idea where to start looking for the kitchen. He spun on the spot, hands in his hair.

    ¡®Hey.¡¯ The Captain of the Krydon guard limped towards Gray, up the front steps. She was exhausted and pale enough to look alarming. Dried blood crusted in the lines around her eyes. A deep scar ran down her left cheek.

    The Captain visited the tavern almost every day. She loved the ale Barin imported from Reviness. She knew Gray, at least by face.

    ¡®You have permission to be here?¡¯ she said.

    Gray ducked his head. ¡®No.¡¯

    Suddenly, he felt childish. Running after Rosie and accosting her about Alistair in a blind panic was stupid.

    ¡®I¡¯ll just go. Sorry, ma¡¯am,¡¯ he said.

    ¡®You¡¯re Barin¡¯s, right?¡¯ She stopped Gray, a huge hand on his shoulder.

    ¡®Yes, ma¡¯am,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Your guest,¡¯ she said brusquely, ¡®the mage. What¡¯s his name?¡¯

    Gray hesitated, a wave of protectiveness rising within him. The last thing the old mage needed right now was a superstitious Captain breathing down his neck. ¡®I don¡¯t know, ma¡¯am.¡¯

    ¡®You don¡¯t know?¡¯ she snapped.

    ¡®I can ask Barin for you?¡¯ said Gray, thinking he at least would have a chance to give the old mage a heads up.

    ¡®No.¡¯ She wiped dried blood from the corner of her eye. ¡®I owe him a drink, is all. I¡¯d like to know who I''m thanking.¡¯

    ¡®Oh,¡¯ said Gray.

    Something must¡¯ve shown in Gray¡¯s face, because the Captain smiled grimly.

    ¡®He¡¯s unwell, at the moment,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I thought - maybe, you weren¡¯t happy with him ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Not happy with him?¡¯ said the Captain. ¡®Longwark and his friend were a godsend. That mage guest from your tavern was on another level. It¡¯s because of them no one was killed. I don¡¯t like to think of what would¡¯ve happened if the three of them hadn¡¯t been there. I know the townsfolk don¡¯t like ¡®em, but mages are useful to someone like me.¡¯

    Despite everything, despite the building panic that Alistair had run away for good, Gray shot her a small smile.

    -

    Gray dried off the last of the cutlery, stashed it away and slammed the draw shut. Crossing the now-deserted kitchen, Gray dimmed the lamps as he went.

    He tripped as the sole of his boot came loose from the upper.

    He stumbled. ¡®Crap.¡¯

    Determined the day wouldn¡¯t be a total loss, he righted himself, tied a length of string around the toe of his boot to keep it together, and scowled around for the best food left.

    There was some lukewarm tomato soup left over from service. Gray helped himself to a generous bowl and the end nub of a loaf of bread.

    Gray sat down on a bench, forcing down bites of soup-soaked bread. Two of the kitchen workers were in the dining room next door with the last patrons of the night ¨C Barin¡¯s best friend, Ronald and his wife, the Mayor of Krydon, Poppy.

    Gray could picture them ¨C Ronald lounging back with his legs spread to make room for his huge stomach, his pouchy eyes gazing glazed at the last of the wine in his glass, and Poppy, her salt and pepper hair curled up into a neat bun and her long neck craning as she searched the room for free leftovers.

    Gray tried to stay out of their way, out of sight.

    They complained Gray constantly smelt like livestock and garlic, from mucking out the attached tavern stables and scrubbing dishes in the kitchen. They were more penny-pinching than magpies ¨C never left tips, even with the friend-discount Barin gave them ¨C though you¡¯d never know it to look at them. They wore the finest clothes, ate the finest food, and kept the finest friends.

    Which included Barin, Gray guessed.

    Barin wasn¡¯t there, not now. He¡¯d come back briefly after not finding Alistair, and charged out again, and Gray couldn¡¯t bring himself to tell him Alistair had run away.

    Gray needed Alistair to change his mind.

    He¡¯d be back.

    He hadn¡¯t been so unhappy here.

    But ¡­ but Gray knew he had been unhappy.

    And no one runs unless they hate where they¡¯re at.

    Gray had ignored Alistair¡¯s blatant warnings. He¡¯d really screwed up.

    Their voices drifted over Gray and he half listened, glaring at his knees. Mostly they chattered about the menu for tomorrow, and the new waiter.

    A couple of times, they talked about Barin and Longwark, their voices lowered.

    ¡®It was amazing,¡¯ said one of the short-order cooks, ¡®One look from Barin ¨C and whoosh ¨C he up and fled.¡¯

    ¡®Wish I could have seen it,¡¯ boomed back Ronald. ¡®That damned mage thinks he¡¯s the King¡¯s gift. After the griffin today, he¡¯s going to be insufferable.¡¯ He paused. ¡®Alistair still missing?¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯ll turn up,¡¯ said the cook. ¡®As soon as he gets hungry.¡¯

    ¡®Has he asked the boy? Thicker than temple thieves, those two.¡¯

    Gray pushed his bowl away and stood up abruptly. He grabbed the bag of rubbish from under the scrubbing sink. Stalking outside, he tied the bag of rubbish tightly, glad to escape the thick heat and smell of the kitchen.

    The street was quiet, and he dumped the rubbish into the bins, startling the ginger stray. He nodded at Kraus, who had her curse-marked chin resting on her chest, but her eyes wide open and glaring.

    Barin hated Kraus hanging out outside their kitchen door and forbade the workers from giving her food. None of them listened to him, though. They¡¯d frequently give her food and ale and old furs.

    Kraus disappeared every winter ¨C Gray had no idea where she went ¨C and every summer she¡¯d return to live in this alley.

    Kraus stared at Gray haughtily. Gray backed away, but he didn¡¯t want to go back into The Tipsy Stag.

    The air was cooler the further he got from the tavern. He impulsively turned down a tight side street on his left, Chester Close, and when he thought about it later, he guessed he sensed something down there.

    Because it was not somewhere he normally went. It was a dead end. Chester Close was the most deserted part of the neighbourhood, the most unused.

    Gray¡¯s shoes left prints in the dusty dirt on the cobblestones, and something in the back of his mind said to keep going, to ignore the dark shadows cast by the wooden beams overhead, to ignore the jokes Alistair always cracked about a ghoul haunting this side street. Because there¡¯s something down here, and you, someone, anyone, needs to see.

    Gray heard the sound of rats ¨C too many rats ¨C scattering away as he approached, and the hairs on his neck stood up.

    A rope creaked, heavy with strain.

    Gray saw him, out of the corner of his eye. Swinging from a beam.

    Alistair.

    Dead.

 10. No Words

    It had been two days.

    Greif pressed over the tavern, smothering everyone.

    In the dark, Gray blinked.

    Gray didn¡¯t know how late it was. Early morning, he guessed.

    He lay still on his bed, carefully curled on his left side, so he wouldn¡¯t see Alistair¡¯s stripped mattress on his right.

    He tore back his covers. Grabbed up his crumpled notepad and charcoal stick.

    He tiptoed down into the tavern, uncaring of how cold the ground was underneath his bare feet. Crossed the kitchen. He stood outside the kitchen service door, breathing in night air, and turning his back on Chester Close.

    Kraus watched him wordlessly, as she¡¯d done every night. She¡¯d been wary of Gray since that night.

    Gray knew he shouldn¡¯t have yelled at her.

    He shouldn¡¯t have lit the place up.

    But he¡¯d figured Kraus had to know something.

    She was right there. Outside Chester Close.

    But Kraus was damned crazy and she never talked sense, and in the end he¡¯d left her, and torn through the town looking for Barin.

    Barin had taken one look at Gray, at his sweaty forehead, at his too-bright skin, and Barin had known, instantly. He¡¯d said, ¡®It¡¯s Alistair, isn¡¯t it?¡¯

    Gray had never seen him so angry.

    Bairn had torn the town apart.

    Everyone had.

    They¡¯d found nothing.

    Gray flickered his gaze down, clutching the charcoal stick between his teeth, yanking his notebook open to a new page.

    It was tradition to bury the dead with letters of farewell from their loved ones. To not do so was the greatest of insults.

    And Gray was trying, even though he was shit with words, and even though his mind had turned into a burnt wasteland that refused to do anything but reread his old favourite books from childhood.

    He¡¯d started Alistair¡¯s letter a dozen times and thrown each start away.

    He had nothing.

    Everything he wrote was bitter and angry, and he knew he couldn¡¯t leave Alistair with a scribbled letter that talked about how pissed off he was, and how, actually, they weren¡¯t mates. Because, apparently, he didn¡¯t know Alistair well enough to know when he truly felt like running away.

    That Gray was furious he hadn¡¯t bothered to tell him before he left.

    Not even to say good-bye.

    That Gray was desperately arguing against all the people who said he¡¯d hung himself.

    That - that pissed Gray off.

    He¡¯d been killed.

    Murdered.

    Gray would find out who did it if it was the last thing he ever did.

    The funeral was this afternoon. Gray had to write something before three pm.

    Alistair ¡­

    His fingers pinched the charcoal.

    Pretend he¡¯s standing next to you, Gray urged himself. Talk to him. What would you say?

    But when Gray pictured Alistair leaning against the wall next to him, his curly hair ruffling in the wind, there was nothing Gray could say.

    -

    Gray¡¯s fingers were smudged with grey. His head was beginning to nod over the blank page.

    Kraus cleared her throat.

    Gray jolted upright, his eyes snapping open.

    Her chin rested on her knees.

    Gray stretched out his cramped hand, gazing at her. ¡®You going to tell me what happened to Alistair?¡¯

    She stretched her legs out like she was going to stand, her lips pressed together.

    ¡®Tell?¡¯ said Kraus. ¡®There should be no telling here. Especially with one such as you.¡¯

    Gray shoved his notebook into his pocket and wiped his charcoal-y hands against his thighs.

    ¡®Right.¡¯ He paused. ¡®You want to come into the kitchen? It¡¯s not safe out here. Just, leave before Barin gets up.¡¯

    ¡®Boy, if I wanted to go into your kitchen,¡¯ she said, ¡®I¡¯d let myself in.¡¯

    For a moment, Gray thought she¡¯d follow him inside the kitchen anyway, but she veered off, lumbering like her muscles were stiff. She disappeared into the darkness, and Gray locked himself back into the kitchen.

    He leant his shoulders against the closed door. For a long time he stayed there, too tired to move, his eyes shut. The tavern and the apartments above were silent. Everyone had gone to sleep hours ago, and the air was still. No creaking of the shop shingles outside, no sounds from any stray revellers walking the alley from the alehouse, no scurrying of mice in the kitchen.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Gray opened his eyes, holding himself very still.

    Something prickled his skin.

    Then, a sound.

    Something walked in the alley outside. It wasn¡¯t the lumbering stride of Kraus. Something stepped, quick and light and careful, and it had enough magic for Gray to feel it inside the kitchen.

    There was the snickering click and creak of the stable door opening and shutting.

    Gray slid his gaze to the prep bench beside him. Slowly, and with precision, he picked up the largest meat mallet.

    He left the warm kitchen once again and stole into the alleyway. It was empty, with the shops and homes closed. Lamps made little pools of light.

    His breath steamed as he walked over to the stables.

    The horses whinnied inside. Something else moved inside, too. Their shoes scuffed against the hay on the floor, and they cursed at the horses in a low voice.

    Human, then.

    Gray tightened his grip on the meat mallet.

    The rage that had pulsed through his blood, the anger that so easily came to the surface now, was rapidly being replaced with something else.

    Gray hesitated. He turned on his heel, to go wake Barin.

    But his hand was slippery from charcoal, and he dropped the meat mallet.

    It clanged onto the cobblestones with the same sound and force as a stray firework.

    Hooves clattered against cobblestone, and the stable door burst open. Out flew a stranger on one of the horses, his dark cloak billowing out behind him.

    Gray recognised the horse instantly. It was worth more than their town mayor made in a year.

    He snatched up the meat mallet and flung it hard. It flew towards the stranger, spinning handle over hammer. It collided with the thief¡¯s back and he grunted and fell.

    He lay prone on the ground, and the horse snorted and danced away.

    He was tangled in his huge cloak, buried in it. He didn¡¯t move. His face was concealed. Gray couldn¡¯t be sure if he was faking unconsciousness.

    Gray stalked over and nudged him cautiously with his boot.

    He was definitely human. Not so much larger than Gray, and with enough magic to raise the hairs on his arms.

    Gray chewed his lip and reached out and felt for the pulse in his wrist. Gray¡¯s fingertips were warm against his cold skin. A faint throb beat. Gray squinted in the dark. His nails were immaculately manicured and shiny, and he had half a dozen golden, jewelled rings on. One, had a stag symbol. The hand was delicate.

    Gray dropped his - er, her - wrist.

    ¡®Oh, no,¡¯ he said.

    Gray pushed aside her cloak, the pit of his stomach hollowing, and revealed her face - the lovely face, the platinum hair, the faint freckles - of the booth-brat.

    Gray rocked back onto his heels, hands twisting in his hair.

    Then, like a lightning bolt, something in Gray¡¯s brain clicked.

    Only one family in the kingdom was allowed to bear the stag insignia. The Augustes.

    Her face. That face.

    Krydon got monthly news scrolls from Dierne, delivered by enchanted crows, that sometimes had illustrations of her. Though, none had quite captured her likeness exactly, nothing like seeing her living, breathing, in person.

    She was the princess Sorena.

    She was supposed to be in Dierne, at the mage guild. She was supposed to be married to the son of the Othoan Emperor that coming day.

    The rumours about the princess had reached even Krydon. She was an ice-cold sadist, and lies dripped freely from her tongue. She was the embarrassment of the royal family, and the kingdom¡¯s biggest liability. She openly hated anyone from the north, because of the assassination of her brother years ago, by a northern rebel.

    A coward to her duties as a princess.

    She was third in line to inherit the throne when she came of age, despite her illegitimacy, despite her mother just being the King¡¯s favourite consort and not the now-pregnant Queen, due to the high death toll of the Augustes during Krupin, Wilde, and ¡­ D¡¯Oncray.

    Gray wiped his sweating hands on his pants. ¡®Oh, shit.¡¯

    She murmured something, her eyelids fluttering, and Gray got a glimpse of bright, hazel eyes.

    She twitched, and then started awake. She scrambled to her feet, knocked Gray over, got tangled in her cloak, and then fell hard onto her hands and knees beside Gray.

    ¡®Ow.¡¯ She slowly lifted her hand and pressed it to the small of her back. ¡®Curse you.¡¯

    Her words rippled with power, and Gray had a moment of panic. The Auguste family was famous for their ability, and their right, to use wandless magic. Static made Gray¡¯s arm hairs stand on end and his flesh broke out into goosebumps. But other than a mild discomfort, nothing.

    No curse.

    She¡¯d be too young, too powerless, to be able to perform wandless magic. But she¡¯d just damned well tried.

    She righted herself, straightening her disordered cloak. ¡®You¡¯ll gift me your silence. Agreed?¡¯

    She examined her hands, checking her rings, and rolling her silk sleeves.

    Then, she glanced at Gray. She stopped dead, her face draining of colour.

    ¡®You¡¯re kidding me,¡¯ she said.

    Like a sharp in-breath, she pulled her magic in. Gray felt it go, sucked in like a wave on the ocean shore. The air was empty without it. Gone was the Auguste princess, and back was the asshole who couldn¡¯t hold her alcohol.

    Her gaze passed over Gray, her expression unreadable. Gray lowered his eyes, his jaw tightening.

    Silence settled over them, loud, and thick, and singing.

    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ muttered Gray, staring hard at his boots. ¡®I thought you ¡­¡¯ he faded out. I thought you were the thing that killed Alistair. ¡®I thought you were stealing the horse.¡¯

    There was a rustle, cloth rubbing on cloth. Then she flung a silk purse onto the ground.

    ¡®To settle my bill,¡¯ she said.

    Gray stooped to pick it up, his cheeks flushing. There had to be enough for a month¡¯s accommodation there.

    ¡®This is too much,¡¯ Gray said, because, suddenly, it made sense. Of course this girl needed basic things spelled out for her - she¡¯d probably never done a damn thing for herself, and never once been told no.

    ¡®I don¡¯t care,¡¯ she said.

    ¡®Your rucksack?¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®Leave it,¡¯ she said, catching her horse. She swung easily up into the saddle.

    She rode off without a backward glance.

    -

    Someone shouted in the street outside in Lismerian. Men with clipped southern accents.

    Gray rolled over in his bed and stared at the ceiling, his eyes gritty and sore.

    The sun still hadn¡¯t risen properly yet and he struggled to see his room in the semidarkness.

    Alistair¡¯s stripped bed to his right. The small desk they¡¯d shared.

    Notes stuck to the wall above, from when they¡¯d been studying for their final exams just days ago. They had Alistair¡¯s impossibly neat handwriting. When he looked at them, he could pretend that time hadn¡¯t passed.

    Barin thundered around in his room below. Gray numbly checked the clock on the wall. It was before five am.

    Gray untangled himself from the sheets, pressing his hand over his eyes. He was so tired he wanted to throw up.

    ¡®Harriette.¡¯ Barin¡¯s voice boomed up through the floor. ¡®Harri. Get up. Something¡¯s happened.¡¯

    Gray listened to the fox-light sounds of Harriette moving around and a murmured conversation between the two. He stared down at his bare feet, curling his cold toes against the rough timber floor, willing himself not to be sick.

    ¡®Oi. Gray.¡¯ Barin¡¯s voice boomed outside his door.

    Gray started.

    Barin creaked the door open with one of his wide shoulders. His usually neatly parted auburn hair was tousled from sleep, and his hairy legs poked out from underneath his striped nightshirt. His eyes were red and he smelt like stale whisky. ¡®Gray.¡¯

    Gray stood, wrapping his arms around his waist.

    ¡®Get dressed,'' said Barin. ''Come down to the dining room. Quick.¡¯

    ¡®Why?¡¯

    His mouth curled in distaste. ¡®Auguste soldiers.¡¯

 11. Call Him Faint Hearted

    A cool breeze slithered past Gray.

    Gray should¡¯ve been anxious. The soldiers¡¯ reputation was grim.

    Gray felt nothing.

    They¡¯d be here, chasing princess Sorena.

    Barin shut the door and stumbled back down the stairs, calling to Harriette as he went.

    Gray¡¯s clothes were in a small chest underneath the window. He couldn¡¯t bring himself to wear what he¡¯d been wearing when he¡¯d found Alistair. He¡¯d left them in a pile, shoved in a shadowy corner.

    That didn¡¯t leave Gray with many options.

    He threw on his black stable-work pants, and an old, black, knitted sweater that had once been Barin¡¯s, not knowing if he¡¯d have time to change before the funeral at three. He rolled up the sleeves so he could use his hands, laced up his boots, and tucked his still blank notebook and charcoal stick into his back pocket.

    He¡¯d have to write something today, no matter what.

    He slowly went down to the dining room.

    The dining room already had Barin and Harriette and the five guests that were renting rooms. But, no old mage.

    The mage hadn¡¯t been well for days.

    A lamp flickered by Barin¡¯s side. His auburn hair was unusually messy, catching the light. Gray slipped into the seat next to Harriette, glancing at the soldiers moving outside the tavern window.

    ¡®Soldiers are searching old Gilly¡¯s place,¡¯ said Barin.

    Janni Gilly was a widow who lived two houses down in an apartment above her boot shop.

    Janni Gilly was so old she was almost bent in two, and her fingers had trouble working the leather and stitches on the boots nowadays.

    ¡®When they finished they came outside and found ¨C something. Someone, actually.¡¯ Barin brushed his auburn hair out of his face, his wide mouth tense.

    For a second Gray felt a faint, foreboding ripple.

    They¡¯d found Sorena.

    Barin took a huge breath. ¡®Rowan Conn. You know him?¡¯

    Gray knew him. Of course. Good at kickball. Burly. Had an eyebrow stud.

    Rowan was in Alistair¡¯s year. Alistair¡¯s friend. Mostly. He and Alistair had fought over a game of handball last month. It was the only time Gray¡¯d seen Alistair brawl.

    Harriette shuddered with a yawn. ¡®No. What¡¯s this all about?¡¯

    ¡®Rowan¡¯s dead,¡¯ said Barin grimly.

    Gray stared at Barin blankly, not hearing the rest of his talk over the hot, waspish buzzing in his ears.

    ¡®Well?'' demanded Barin. ''Gray?¡¯

    With a huge effort, Gray brought himself back. Barin glared, his meaty fists on his hips. The guests were ushering themselves out into the street.

    ¡®What are you waiting for?'' said Barin. ''Those were the soldier¡¯s instructions.¡¯

    ¡®Pardon?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®For the love of ¨C they want to question everyone, boy, and that includes you.¡¯

    Barin hissed instructions into Harriette¡¯s ear.

    Gray heaved himself out of the seat and followed the tavern guests into the dimly lit street.

    ¡®These men aren¡¯t like us, Harri, they¡¯re vicious,¡¯ continued Barin, his voice low. ¡®Be polite and stick to the facts.¡¯ He turned his attention briefly to Gray. ¡®Keep your head down.¡¯

    The street was more crowded than Gray¡¯d ever seen it, and utterly quiet. The residents from the surrounding houses and apartments lined the street and the soldiers ¨C grey uniforms, narrow swords, stiff shoulders ¨C worked their way towards them, standing close to each person in turn as they softly spoke.

    Gray watched them, and then thought maybe he shouldn¡¯t.

    He gazed at the young family standing opposite. For a second he thought he saw Alistair, but then he realised it was just their cousin, visiting from Reviness.

    This kept happening.

    Gray¡¯d see Alistair in the profile of someone, in the movement of someone, and for a second, everything was OK.

    Normal.

    Then, he¡¯d remember it couldn¡¯t be Alistair, and he¡¯d see it wasn¡¯t really him.

    Gray dropped his gaze to stare at a rusty grate in the middle of the cobbled street, swallowing hard.

    ¡®When this is all over,¡¯ said Barin, bending so he could whisper in Gray¡¯s ear, the smell of old whisky a little too strong, ¡®I need you to cover ¡­ I need you to do the breakfast shift on the tavern floor. Waiting tables.¡¯

    Cover Alistair¡¯s shift, he¡¯d meant. Gray nodded.

    Barin had been like this, when Elona had died. He¡¯d marched forward, burying himself in work at the tavern, and dragging the rest of the family with him.

    Barin grunted and straightened up.

    The soldiers neared. They questioned the five guests. They questioned Barin and Harriette. Where were you tonight? Can anyone verify that? Did you see anything? And then, strangely, Have you seen the mage Phineas Longwark?

    They reached Gray. Gray looked up involuntarily, for the smallest of moments. The soldier in front of him lit a cigarette. Something about his mud-crusted boots, and the way he let smoke curl from his lips, and the way lamp light hit his shadowed eyes reminded Gray of a punk, redneck swamp-vampire.

    With a jolt, Gray recognised the symbol of the patch sewn onto the soldier¡¯s uniform.

    Treasure league.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    Ice crawled through Gray.

    The soldier¡¯s hands were red from the cold. He tilted his head, staring at Gray. Then he glanced back at Barin.

    ''He yours, too?¡¯ said the soldier.

    ¡®No,¡¯ grunted Barin. ¡®A stray. His stepmother was my late wife.¡¯

    The soldier stepped closer. ¡®A stray?¡¯

    ¡®Codder.¡¯ The soldier behind him snapped. He was younger and held his back ramrod straight. ¡®Hurry up. I don¡¯t want to spend all night doing this.¡¯

    The soldier eyeing Gray ¨C Codder ¨C twitched his eyebrows. ¡®I¡¯m not enjoying talking to these reject pickings, either.¡¯

    ¡®Get the heck on with it, then.¡¯

    ¡®Are you trying to give me orders, Pickering?¡¯ said Codder, his tone dangerously low.

    Pickering hesitated. ¡®Let¡¯s get this over with, yeah?¡¯

    Languidly, Codder turned back to Gray. ¡®All right, stray,'' he drawled. ''Into the light. Eyes up.¡¯

    Gray felt the stirrings of panic. No one else had been asked to do this. Gray knew the penalty for being an unregistered mage.

    No one would ever pick him for his parentage.

    Gray looked ordinary.

    Was ordinary.

    He looked different to the northerners, but not so much.

    Beside him, Barin grunted.

    ¡®Problem?¡¯ said Codder to Barin.

    Barin cleared his throat. ¡®No, sir.¡¯

    ¡®You have his papers?¡¯ Codder said.

    ¡®They¡¯re inside, sir. I can get them -¡¯

    ¡®No, no,'' said Codder, waving a finger. ''No one leaves until we say.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, sir.¡¯

    Codder manoeuvred Gray into a pool of lamplight. ¡®Look at me.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s mouth was dry. He made himself look at the soldier. He made himself stare at Codder''s angled jaw, at his lit cigarette dropping ash onto his grey uniform, and then, into his empty eyes.

    Pickering came up behind Codder. Flickered a glance at Gray. ¡®He¡¯s nothing,¡¯ he said. ¡®Will you help me finish the questioning?¡¯

    Codder sighed, adjusting his cap with his red hands, turning back to Gray. ¡®All right, stray, back into the line.¡¯

    Gray shoved his fists into his pockets, hunching his shoulders, and returned to his spot by Barin. They moved on.

    ¡®Why do they want Longwark?¡¯ Gray said, leaning towards Barin.

    Barin turned to Gray, his gaze sharp. ¡®Go get your papers from my desk,¡¯ he said. ¡®Keep them on you. Stay inside.¡¯

    He shepherded the guests inside, promising them fresh coffee and pastries would be sent up to their rooms.

    Gray got his papers, shoving them deep into his pocket, and then began wiping down the tables in the tavern. Anything to avoid going back up to his empty room.

    -

    The old mage came down the stairs into the tavern dining room, bright-eyed, and his crow on his shoulder.

    Relief rose through the numbness inside Gray. The old mage slid into the last empty booth and animatedly waved Gray over.

    Gray wove through the crush of people.

    ¡®Better?¡¯ said Gray, pouring him a hot cup of coffee.

    The old mage shot him a big smile. His face was a map of happy lines. Gray hadn¡¯t seen anyone - not a single person in the tavern or the town - smile like that in days.

    ¡®Hungry,¡¯ the old mage said.

    He ordered five rounds of the quail egg and grilled toast for breakfast. He left Gray the best tip of his life, and then disappeared.

    But, he left behind his wallet and his gnarled wand.

    Gray grabbed up the wallet from his booth and eyed the wand but didn¡¯t dare touch it.

    He ran to the doorway and peered into the grim lane, his boots carefully on the threshold of the tavern.

    Barin would¡¯ve killed Gray if he went off the floor.

    The streets were crawling with soldiers.

    And it was damn busy in the tavern.

    People kept dropping in to eat and pass on their sympathies. Everyone was gathering not just for Alistair, but to quietly murmur about Rowan Conn. The five-woman fiddle band was playing Alistair¡¯s favourite jigs and reels. Bunches of flowers were jammed onto the counter. Gray could barely move for the crowd.

    The old mage was skirting the edge of the street, headed towards Gallow¡¯s Alley.

    Gallow¡¯s Alley was not a place for the faint-hearted, and Gray bit his lip, arching up onto his tiptoes. There was a lullaby about Gallow¡¯s Alley that freaking terrified him as a kid. Something about long-fingernailed sorcerers, fanged goblins, and every half-breed demon in between making their home on Gallow¡¯s Alley.

    Gray could¡¯ve caught him if he ran, but he hesitated.

    ¡®Gray,¡¯ said Barin.

    His voice had an edge to it. Gray¡¯d been walking through his shift like the undead and Barin had snapped at him twice already.

    Barin pinned Gray with his bloodshot gaze. He was wearing his new shirt again ¨C the one with the winged collar ¨C but it had lost its pressed quality.

    Barin jerked his head at the messy tables in Gray¡¯s section, his wide mouth lifted in a snarl. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black trousers and waited for Gray to obey.

    Gray dug his fingernails into the fine leather of the wallet. ¡®One second.¡¯

    He turned back to the street and scanned the crowd. The old mage had a real quick stride on him. His pet crow sat on his shoulder. His movement stood out from the locals and the uniformed soldiers from the south, as did his long grey hair and sweeping maroon cloak. He disappeared around the corner, right into Gallow¡¯s Alley.

    He was gone.

    ¡®Gray? Get back to work.¡¯

    Barin said this loudly enough to make the patrons pause in their chat.

    Gray nodded, his face burning, unwilling to test Barin¡¯s temper. Gray put the wallet and wand behind the counter. He strode over to the nearest table and began to clear.

    The tip the old mage had given Gray almost burned in his pocket. He adjusted his stained apron, low on his waist. The mage would realise soon and come back for his things.

    Even though he¡¯d been so old.

    Even though he¡¯d given off a distinct air of dottiness.

    Gray threw down his rag. ¡®Damn it.¡¯

    Gray snatched up the wallet and passed the Thindrall family sitting themselves down in his section. Rosie Thindrall, with her little twin sisters and her parents.

    She¡¯d twisted her long blonde hair back into buns, and she¡¯d shed red laces from her boots in favour of black.

    Gray nodded at them, when Rosie gave him a tentative smile. Her smile was kind of watery, like her eyes.

    ¡®Hi,¡¯ she said.

    Gray opened his mouth. Felt the stirrings of something hard in his chest. Shut it again.

    She had been taken into the Krydon Hall for questioning by the Captain of the guards, the same night Gray had found him. She¡¯d been there, waiting outside the office after the Captain had questioned Gray. Gray had no idea what happened between Rosie and the Captain, and he hadn¡¯t asked her.

    ¡®Back in a moment,¡¯ Gray said, his gaze resolutely on her parents.

    Gray checked over his shoulder, in case Barin was watching. He was busy pouring over the lists he obsessively written for the last three days.

    Gray snatched up the wallet, eyed the wand but still didn¡¯t dare touch it, and then ducked into the lane, knowing he¡¯d pay the price later for his disobedience.

    Skidding on the dewy cobblestones, Gray ran after the old mage, weaving between the early morning foot traffic. He slowed before the corner into Gallow¡¯s Alley, already out of breath, and then ducked around the tight corner before he could talk himself out of it.

    The alley was winding and narrow.

    Deserted.

    Legend told that free-floating curses roamed the oldest streets in the oldest towns during funeral days, and Gray guessed no one wanted to tempt fate.

    Litter skittered past his ankles in a cool gust of wind.

    A shingle creaked, over a doorway with a drawing of a skeletal horse.

    Come on. Just walk.

    Gray tried not to stare at the unfamiliar shop fronts jammed together ¨C shops that sold curses in jars and shrunken heads and forgotten fortunes ¨C and squinted against the morning sun for the mage. His skin prickled from a strong protection spell on a shop front that traded in wishes, and he picked up his pace, promising himself if the old mage wasn¡¯t around the next bend, he¡¯d go back to the tavern.

    This part of Gallow¡¯s Alley was narrower and older, with cobblestones so dark and smooth it was like walking on night itself.

    Gray walked past another creaking shop shingle, over faded white marks on the cobblestones, and through shadowy darkness cast by a small bridge overhead, connecting two tattoo parlours.

    Something ¨C someone ¨C moved quickly out of sight at the far end of the alley. Gray was sure it was the old mage, and he picked up his pace, holding the old mage¡¯s wallet ready.

    That¡¯s when Gray was mugged.

 12. Branbright

    The old mage chanted in an odd, high-pitched language.

    He knelt next to Gray, his maroon robe pooling on the ground. He blocked the light.

    Straggles of his grey hair came loose as he leant over Gray.

    ¡®My head.¡¯ Gray pressed his shaking hand against his temple. It was swollen and sticky. Gray could barely think through the haze of pain.

    ¡®It¡¯s quite bad,¡¯ the old mage said. ¡®I¡¯ve stemmed the worst of it.¡¯

    His words floated around Gray¡¯s foggy mind, not quite making sense. Rough straw poked through the back of his sweater. He must have been lying on a pallet. Luminescent slime dribbled down from a mossy pipe overhead. The room was cold and dank and ¡­ and had a horizontal slit window and a single locked door?

    There was another person there, too. Gray watched her groggily. A girl was crumpled in the far corner, her face hidden beneath her arm, her fair hair twisted in the northern style, her clothes threadbare.

    Someone wailed in the distance, the words too slurred to distinguish, and then a sharp, ¡®Quiet, convict,¡¯ in Lismerian silenced them.

    Gray¡¯s fingers curled. He wasn¡¯t great with small spaces. ¡®Am I ¡­ are we in prison?¡¯

    ¡®Yes. Underneath Krydon Hall.¡¯

    Gray blinked at him, trying to understand his words.

    ¡®You were mugged,¡¯ he said. ¡®Clochaint knows why.¡¯

    ¡®Mugged?¡¯ Gray slowly glanced down at his pants and dirty apron and scuffed boots ¨C the left one held together with string.

    ¡®Your ¨C your wallet,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I had it. You forgot it. I meant ¨C I meant to give it back ¡­ They must have seen it.¡¯ Gray swallowed. ¡®Shit, I was stupid.¡¯

    ¡®Not stupid,¡¯ said the old mage. ¡®Just not street smart.¡¯

    It had definitely been stupid. Like, stupid-should-now-be-Gray¡¯s-middle-name stupid.

    Gray let go of his head and attempted to sit.

    The old mage leant forward to stop him, and his grey beard coiled neatly around his neck. This close, Gray could see the faintest traces of rune tattoos over his eyebrow and down his neck. He folded his long legs underneath him with a groan.

    ¡®You don¡¯t have my wand, do you kiddo? I checked your pockets, but ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Uh ¨C no. No, sorry.¡¯

    He quirked his mouth. ¡®How much do you remember?¡¯

    Everything came back in a rush ¨C the awesome tip (now gone), the forgetful old mage (now sitting next to Gray in a prison cell), and Barin preoccupied with whisky. Barin and Harriette, dressed in black, already ready for Alistair¡¯s funeral at three pm.

    ¡®Shit.¡¯ Gray struggled against the old mage, his vision blackening, and his stomach churning. ¡®What¡¯s the time?¡¯

    The old mage pressed him back with surprising strength. ¡®Calm down.¡¯

    ¡®I can¡¯t ¨C I can¡¯t be here. I can¡¯t be here. What¡¯s the time?¡¯

    He stretched his neck to look out of the narrow window, his eyes searching for the sun, his arm still pressed down on Gray. ¡®Perhaps midday. Maybe one.¡¯

    Gray stopped struggling, clamping a hand over his eyes.

    ¡®Somewhere to be, kiddo? Left a pie in the oven at that tavern of yours?¡¯

    Gray glanced down at his apron with the words The Tipsy Stag emblazoned across the middle. Barin would be pissed Gray¡¯d blatantly disobeyed him. If he kicked Gray out of home, he was up the creek.

    Gray held back a curse.

    ¡®You remember anything?¡¯ the mage prompted.

    ¡®A pale guy in an old-fashioned tunic.¡¯ Gray clenched his jaw. Gods. A single guy had clocked him out with one hit to the head with his fist. The blow had been way too hard and fast for Gray¡¯s embarrassing defence skills. ¡®But, why am I in prison?¡¯

    ¡®The overzealousness of the king¡¯s soldiers is why. I told them I saw the whole thing, that you were mugged by that hooligan.¡¯

    Cold seeped into Gray¡¯s lungs. ¡®Yes?¡¯

    ¡®And that you must have had my wallet and wand.¡¯ He saw the expression on Gray¡¯s face, and he put out a placating hand. ¡®I didn¡¯t tell them you had stolen it, but they jumped to conclusions and demanded to see your papers.¡¯If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Gray kept very still. ¡®My papers?¡¯

    His papers might hold up to professional scrutiny.

    They might not.

    ¡®They,¡¯ said the old mage, ¡®then thought I was with you -¡®

    ¡®Shit.¡¯ Gray curled his fingers hard into the straw of the pallet. ¡®I can explain to them you don¡¯t know me.¡¯

    The old mage adjusted his legs underneath him, his wrinkled hands holding himself steady against the damp floor, turning his back half to Gray.

    ¡®Very kind,¡¯ he said, ¡®but I don¡¯t know if it¡¯ll help. When things really started to get out of control I unleashed wandless magic. Accidentally, of course, but none-the-less ...¡¯

    Gray¡¯s eyes bulged. ¡®Oh.¡¯

    The old mage bowed his head.

    He must have been very powerful to pull it off in the first place, but it was kind of a case of the more powerful the wandless magic, the more likely you end up dead.

    And, unless you were an Auguste, definitely illegal.

    Gray inched away from him. ¡®Do you do wandless magic often?¡¯

    ¡®No.¡¯

    ¡®You just did it on me,¡¯ Gray said, slowly realising. ¡®You healed ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    He turned his back to Gray. Gray tried to focus on breathing in and out. The walls were not moving in on him.

    The mage glanced back at Gray reluctantly. ¡®Hey. You all right?¡¯

    Gray meant to explain to him that he only wasn¡¯t good with small spaces, and that he needed to be out by three pm, but instead out came a sound that sounded entirely too much like a gasp. Gray turned away, mortified, rolling to face the wall.

    The mage eased Gray back, his hand on his shoulder. ¡®Breathe.¡¯

    Gray struggled to inhale.

    Why the heck did he feel like he was about to die?

    He needed to pull it together, he really-

    ¡®Talk to me, kiddo. Tell me your name.¡¯

    ¡®Gray.¡¯

    ¡®Calm yourself.¡¯

    Gray knew what the kingdom did to unregistered mages. And he knew the sorcerer Wilde was waiting - waiting for any Griffin to return, to show up again. All it would take was one loose-lipped guard.

    Gray wasn¡¯t ready for him, yet.

    Gray inhaled again.

    ¡®There you go. Keep breathing.¡¯ He clumsily patted Gray¡¯s face. ¡®I¡¯m Branbright.¡¯

    Gray had heard his name before, but his thinking was too muddy to pinpoint where.

    His skin grew hot and his stomach churned. ¡®Uh-¡® His body shook and he was about to toss whatever he had left in his stomach. ¡®Pardon.¡¯

    Gray staggered to his feet, and was sick in the corner, his hand pressed against the cold wall to prop himself up. He stayed facing the corner, growing cold, his dark hair clinging to the sweat on his face and neck.

    ¡®Finished, kiddo?¡¯

    Gray nodded and slipped down the wall to sit. There was a lump in his back pocket. His notebook with his not-written farewell note for Alistair.

    ¡®I need to be out by 3pm,¡¯ Gray muttered.

    ¡®You should lie down.¡¯ He got Gray¡¯s arm in a gentle hold.

    Gray eyed the other prisoner curiously. ¡®Who ..?¡¯

    ¡®She was in here when we arrived. She hasn¡¯t moved.¡¯

    Raucous laughter sounded a way off outside the cell and then broke out into a chorus of a folk song Gray had never heard before.

    ¡®The soldiers are having fun,¡¯ Branbright said.

    A strange sensation wafted through Gray¡¯s mind. Soldiers? Guarding the prison?

    ¡®Where are the Krydon guards?¡¯ he said.

    ¡®Not here, kiddo.¡¯

    He clasped his cool fingers around Gray¡¯s wrist, right underneath where he wore his frayed leather band. Branbright¡¯s fingernails were long, thick, and yellowed, and made Gray think of the Gallow¡¯s Alley lullaby. His memory slowly clunked into place.

    ¡®Did you say your name was Branbright?¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®Ah. Yes.¡¯

    This man was dangerous. A sorcerer. He¡¯d been involved in a civil war between halflings and humans twenty years ago, and had caused a load of damage to an ancient library and burial ground.

    Gray shifted, so that some of his hair fell free from its tie, and partially hid his face.

    ¡®Your pulse is very fast,¡¯ said Branbright. ¡®I¡¯m a little worried.¡¯

    Gray slipped his hand free. ¡®I¡¯m fine.¡¯

    Branbright kept his gaze downcast, his withered mouth in a firm line.

    ¡®I¡¯ll speak to the soldiers,¡¯ he said. ¡®I might be able to get you some medicine.¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ Gray said, ¡®Not them.¡¯

    But he was too busy pressing his face against the window in the door to listen.

    He shouted for the soldiers.

    Gray screwed his eyes shut against the sound of the loud conversation and hoped that they knew enough about Branbright not to egg him into losing control of his magic.

    The next thing Gray knew he was being propped up by a cursing soldier, and Gray choked on some foul-tasting tonic, and Branbright peered into his eyes, pulling them open. Then, strangely, Branbright checked Gray¡¯s teeth and hair.

    Gray brushed him away.

    ¡®Well, sorcerer?¡¯ demanded the soldier, his voice in Gray¡¯s ear, dropping a vial to the ground with a clatter. ¡®What is he?¡¯

    ¡®I can¡¯t be sure ¡­¡¯ said Branbright.

    ¡®Get sure.¡¯

    A second soldier hovered. ¡®Look yourself, Pickering. We need to give Major answers and they better be correct, or else we¡¯ll answer for it. The icy bastard.¡¯

    A third soldier came in.

    Then, more. More. Gray could tell by their faces they were bored, they were flooding into the cell because they wanted something to do.

    One was so damn young, he couldn¡¯t have been any older than Alistair, and he had a huge tear in the knee of his trousers. One had a tattoo on his cheek of the mark from one of the most famous underworld gangs in Lismere.

    And one stunk like cigarettes. His mud-crusted boots blurred in Gray¡¯s periphery. His face swam into focus through Gray¡¯s watery eyes.

    This soldier tilted his head, looking at Gray. He stepped closer. ¡®Hello, stray.¡¯

 13. You Know, Blending In With The Other Guys In The Prison Cell

    Gray curled his fist and stared at Codder.

    Prepared himself.

    Codder must have sensed this, because his shadowed gaze narrowed.

    They stayed like that for a tight-roped moment ¨C Codder standing too close, his mouth hanging open as he breathed his cigarette-scented breath, Gray slumped against the prison cell wall and about to swing a fist - and then it passed.

    ¡®Major¡¯s coming,¡¯ someone shouted, from outside the cell.

    The call echoed, taken up by other soldiers from down the hall.

    ¡®Major¡¯s coming.¡¯

    Immediately, the soldiers in the cell exchanged glances. They hastily straightened their uniforms and adjusted their swords.

    Branbright shifted, his face tight, but he gave Gray a shadow of a wink.

    Gray uncurled his hand. He tried to make himself inconspicuous ¨C you know, blend in with all the other guys sitting in the prison cell.

    A soldier glowered from the doorway. His presence clawed over the whole room like poisonous fingers.

    He was all battle scars and hard lines. His Auguste uniform was perfect - immaculate - with wolf fur trimming the collar. He had one sword on his hip, catching the meagre light in the cell, and the handle of a dagger stuck out of his polished boot. His dark hair fell over his watchful eyes from underneath his soldier¡¯s cap, and he moved softly into the cell.

    He held a staff with a glittering lion on the head over his left shoulder. He handed this to one of the soldiers, along with jangling keys. ¡®Catalogue the town treasury,¡¯ he said. ''Any items that are magical or over the value of five hundred ardents, pack into crates.''

    He took in the soldiers and then the girl, Branbright, and Gray as though examining a dead fly on his lunch.

    ¡®Who are they?¡¯ he said.

    ¡®They¡¯re my gift to you, Major,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®You¡¯re welcome. Easiest million ardents you¡¯ve ever made.¡¯

    Branbright was pressed against Gray¡¯s side. Violent shivers were running through his body. Gray hoped Branbright would give him some warning before he unleashed wandless magic.

    Gray tried to shift his legs without the soldiers noticing, so he was ready to spring up.

    ¡®This here,'' drawled Codder, ''is Wolfric Branbright, I believe, Major ¨C he certainly matches the description.¡¯

    ¡®Branbright?¡¯ said the Major. There was a long pause. ¡®Get extra security down here. Now.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major. He¡¯s been doing wandless, sir. He obliterated poor Johnson-¡¯

    ¡®I know what Branbright¡¯s capable of,'' said the Major. ''Send an urgent request to Dierne for mage soldiers. Explain we have Branbright, and they should send them.¡¯

    One of the soldiers raced out of there.

    The Major¡¯s gaze swung to the young soldier with the tear in the knee of his trousers. ¡®What are you doing in here, rookie?¡¯

    The boyish soldier turned bright red. ¡®I was on prison duty, Major. They needed help.¡¯

    ¡¯Needed help?¡¯ said the Major. ¡®Oh, I see. You¡¯re helping.¡¯

    The boy frowned minutely.

    ¡®You¡¯ve got experience with sorcerers, have you, rookie?¡¯ said Major.

    ¡¯No,¡¯ said the boy. ¡®No, Major.¡¯

    ¡®But, you¡¯ve got experience dealing with dangerous magical creatures, then, rookie?¡¯

    ¡¯No, Major.¡¯

    ¡®What about very dangerous human prisoners?¡¯ said the Major.

    ¡®No, Major.¡¯ The boy¡¯s chest was rising rapidly.

    ¡®You¡¯re,¡¯ said the Major softly, ¡®not ready to be in here. Get out. I don¡¯t want to see you inside any of these cells. Go back to your post.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    The boy fled.

    ¡®Brown, you too. And you, and you. You. Anyone with a total stat number below three hundred. Get out.¡¯Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Grit ground underneath the soldiers¡¯ boots as they filed out.

    A few soldiers remained - too many - though they were close to the cell door now, and holding themselves carefully, eyeing the Major more than Branbright.

    ¡®Codder, well done,'' said the Major. ''I¡¯ll be sure to mention this next time you go for your Lieutenant exam.¡¯

    Gray flickered a glance at Branbright. Do something. Do something now.

    Branbright scrunched his impressive nose and leant in closer into Gray, his maroon cloak providing warmth down his side.

    ¡®Wolfric,¡¯ said the Major, pinning Branbright with his dark gaze. ¡®Fancy seeing you here. Last I was told, you were in Othoa. You haven¡¯t been working with Longwark, or murdered two boys, have you?¡¯

    ¡®Honestly?¡¯ said Branbright. ¡®No. Not lately.¡¯

    Silence sung across the cell.

    The Major stood against the opposite side of the cell, settling his shoulders against the wall, but he was still close enough that Gray could see the stitches on his boots and the dust on the hem of his trousers.

    His gaze lingered on Branbright, then passed over Gray, and then locked onto the girl passed out in the corner.

    The Major frowned. He approached the girl, and then slowly crouched. He hesitated and then slammed his hand down on the wall above the girl¡¯s head.

    The girl flinched so hard she thwacked her head on the wall behind her. She winced and then glared at the Major with a defiance that was at odds with her closed-in body language.

    The wide hazel eyes. The freckles. Platinum lashes.

    She¡¯d shed her rich clothing, jewellery and royal rings. She¡¯d twisted her hair like a local. Even smeared kohl around her eyes.

    But, she was undeniably Sorena Auguste.

    The Major gripped the girl''s jaw for a second, and then let go.

    ¡®You fucking idiots,¡¯ he said softly. ¡®This is the princess. Did you hit her?¡¯

    ¡®I - the princess?¡¯ said a soldier. ¡®Johnson knocked her out -¡¯

    ¡®How long has she been in this cell?¡¯ said the Major.

    The remaining soldiers gaped and stuttered.

    ¡®I¡¯m not the princess,¡¯ said the girl. ¡®But, yes, your men are idiots.¡¯

    The Major paused. ¡®I¡¯m going to have to contact your father, highness. He¡¯s got half the army out looking for you.¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t you think I''d know if I were the princess?¡¯

    The Major grabbed her jaw again, tilting her face to the meagre light. Then he let go. ¡®Sorena, I know you. Remember me? Killian.¡¯

    ¡®Not,¡¯ she said, ¡¯Sorena.¡¯

    ¡®Have you lost your memory?¡¯ He turned to the soldiers. ¡®Get a healer.¡¯

    ¡®There¡¯s no mage healers here, Major.¡¯

    ¡®Who the hell are you to say I¡¯ve lost my memory?¡¯ she said. ¡®I¡¯m not her.¡¯

    The Major carefully adjusted his cuffs. ¡®You played with my boys all the time when you were .. . five? Carlin and Alby. Remember them?¡¯

    The girl glared at the wall.

    ¡®Come on,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®Up. I¡¯ll message your father, get you in a proper room. Get you some food. I¡¯ll make this right.¡¯

    ¡®Fine. Good,¡¯ she said. She shifted slowly, staggering against the wall as she straightened. ¡®Just, I¡¯m not her. And I don¡¯t particularly want to be in the path of a pissed off Auguste. You make it clear to him I tried to tell you I¡¯m not Sorena.¡¯

    The Major ran a finger along his jaw. ¡®Why do you have false papers?¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s none of your business.¡¯

    With a cool look at the girl, the Major snatched the offered papers off Codder.

    ¡®These are a pretty poor forgery, Sorena,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®You got ripped off.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m sure I did. Yes, the papers are false. But, you can¡¯t imprison me for false papers. Issue me a fine, and let''s be done with it.¡¯

    The Major cocked his head. ¡®Who do I make the fine out to?¡¯ He glanced down at the papers. ¡®Annie ¡­ Marr?¡¯ He clicked his tongue softly. ¡®It¡¯s not even a mage name. Silly choice, Sorena.¡¯

    ¡®Does it matter? I¡¯ll give you any amount you ask.¡¯

    The Major leant back against the wall, studying her through half-lidded eyes. ¡®You¡¯re trying to bribe me?¡¯ he said. ¡®You really don¡¯t remember me.¡¯

    Sorena opened her mouth. Shut it. Closed her eyes, briefly. ¡®My name¡¯s Isabelle.¡¯

    ¡®Isabelle what?¡¯ said the Major. ¡®I¡¯ll need your surname for the paperwork.¡¯

    Sorena¡¯s gaze slid to the side. ¡®I¡¯ll pay the fine. What is it, twelve ardents? Then, will you let me go? I¡¯m not an apprentice, I¡¯m twenty-one. It¡¯s not illegal for me to be out on my own, you can¡¯t keep me here.¡¯ She dug around in her pockets, and then slowly stopped, lifting her head to stare at Codder. ¡®You took my money and my wand. You¡¯ll give them back.¡¯

    Codder grinned. ¡®I¡¯ll do no such thing, sweetheart.¡¯

    ¡®How did you -¡¯

    ¡®Enough.¡¯ The Major¡¯s voice was low and dangerous. ¡®You really want to continue to deny you¡¯re Sorena Auguste?¡¯

    The girl held her lips tense. There was a long moment in the cell. ¡®I¡¯m not her. At this point, I''m wishing I was.¡¯

    The Major raised an eyebrow. ¡®That means staying in this prison until I can sort out who you are.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ve done nothing wrong, you can¡¯t -¡¯

    The Major dangled the false papers from his fingertips. ¡®I would consider it my duty to keep a potential mage apprentice from wandering off into danger.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m twenty-one, you imbecile.¡¯

    The Major leant close to the girl. ¡®See, the problem is your papers are false, you have every physical marker of a mage - the bright eyes, the shiny nails, the lashes - and you look twenty, at a push.¡¯

    Sorena glared at the floor.

    ¡®That would make you an apprentice mage, and it¡¯s against the law to release you without guardians or guards.¡¯ The Major stepped back, giving the girl her space. ¡®Unless you want to confess your real name, and then we can confirm your level at the mage guild?¡¯

    She sat back down on the floor of the cell with a thwump.

    ¡®Prepare a cell for her,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®The furthest cell from Branbright. Get a physician if there¡¯s no healer. Get her water.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    There was a scuffle as one of the soldiers hurried out.

    The pipe dripped overhead.

    Drip. Drip.

    Gray stared hard at his knees, waiting for what was coming.

    He didn¡¯t hear the Major move in front of him, or crouch. His joints didn¡¯t crack or pop, his breath was silent.

    But there the Major was, crouched in front of Gray, his wrists balanced precisely on his knees, his gaze carefully watching.

    ¡®You¡¯re pretty good at making yourself small and unnoticeable, aren¡¯t you?¡¯ said the Major.

 14. That Soldiers Really Going To Become A Problem

    Gray¡¯s muscles locked.

    The Major continued to examine him, his dark hair hanging in his eyes. ¡®Why isn¡¯t mummy and daddy down here, mewling for your release?¡¯

    Self-satisfaction radiated off Codder, like a fog. ¡®He was with Branbright, Major.¡¯

    The Major glanced at Branbright. ¡®This your protege, Branbright?¡¯ He jerked his chin at Gray.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Branbright.

    The Major raised his eyebrows. ¡®No? So, you¡¯re not attached? You won¡¯t mind if I take him and interrogate him?¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ll mind it as much as I mind everything you do,¡¯ said Branbright. ¡®But, I don¡¯t believe you¡¯ll hurt him.¡¯

    ¡®I won¡¯t?¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re the Augustes¡¯ favourite babysitter. You take this kiddo here to interrogate, the next thing I¡¯ll know, you¡¯ll be making him cocoa and tucking him into bed.¡¯

    ¡®Seems you have me all figured out,¡¯ said the Major.

    ¡®I know exactly what you are,¡¯ said Branbright.

    ¡®Yeah? Why don¡¯t you tell me, then?¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re a soft, scared wolf.¡¯

    ¡®Oh.¡¯ The Major smiled and it was all bared teeth. ¡®I think you can do better than that, Branbright.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re young, and in over your head.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s a compliment, in a way,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®Come on, Branbright. You know who I am?¡¯

    ¡®I know you can¡¯t sleep at night,¡¯ said Branbright, ¡®because you can¡¯t stop seeing the people you¡¯ve killed.¡¯

    The Major stared Branbright dead in the eye. Didn¡¯t move. ¡®I have killed a lot of people. Including thirteen sorcerers. Lismere¡¯s record.¡¯

    Something shifted in Branbright, so slightly, so small, that Gray barely felt it.

    Gray pressed his fingers into Branbright¡¯s thigh, warning him.

    He¡¯d heard of wolf-shifters. They had a lethal temper. The king loved them because of their devotedness to the crown, and their skill on the battlefield.

    If this Major was a wolf, as Branbright claimed, it was best to tread carefully.

    ¡®You¡¯re blinded by your own loyalty,¡¯ said Branbright, ¡®your own nature, to a king that chewed you up and spat you out, before your brain even finished developing.¡¯

    There was no change in the Major¡¯s face or body. There was a small change behind him. A soldier shifted.

    ¡®That king demanded so much from you,¡¯ Branbright¡¯s tone had gone from playful to deliberate. He sounded almost dangerous, ¡®he took what little time you had with your family away.¡¯

    The air sat heavy in the cell.

    ¡®You were working for Baldwin,¡¯ said Branbright, ¡®and they all died before you even got to know them.¡¯

    Drip.

    ¡®You¡¯re terrified of not getting Baldwin results,¡¯ Branbright said, ¡®in case he reprimands you again, despite you having given him everything.¡¯

    Tension sang.

    Two of the soldiers exchanged glances.

    One soldier silently slipped out the door.

    A hoarse whisper, from one of the soldiers, ¡®Major ¡­¡¯

    He stammered to a stop, as the Major raised his hand to silence him.

    The Major, carefully, traced his lips with his thumb, his gaze hard. ¡®You¡¯re right. I¡¯ll do almost anything to get Baldwin his results. And right now, I need to know how you¡¯re involved with Longwark.¡¯

    ¡®Longwark?¡¯ said Branbright.

    The Major drew in a slow breath. Waited.

    ¡®When¡¯s the last time you got someone like me to cooperate with someone like you?¡¯ said Branbright. ¡®If it doesn¡¯t involve cutting off a sorcerer¡¯s head, you¡¯ve got no idea what you¡¯re doing, little pup.¡¯

    ¡®Dealing with someone like you is difficult.¡¯ The Major nodded slowly. ¡®I¡¯m all brawn and no brain. I guess I¡¯ll just take your little protege and break his fingers, to get him to tell me how you¡¯ve helped Longwark.¡¯

    ¡®See,¡¯ said Branbright, ¡®that might work. If I thought you had the stomach to hurt a child. If he was my protege. But, he isn¡¯t, he knows nothing, and I¡¯ve caused no trouble here. You keep on this track, though, and I will.¡¯

    ¡®Oh, we are being protective.¡¯ The Major stood up, and resumed his position, leaning against the far wall.

    ¡®He¡¯s a local lad, Major,¡¯ said one of the soldiers tentatively. Gray recognised him as Pickering, from the questioning on the night the soldiers found Rowan. Pickering held his back ramrod straight, his face was dotted with a few small moles, and his blue eyes were observant.

    ¡®It might be a case of wrong place, wrong time,¡¯ continued Pickering. ¡®I don¡¯t think he¡¯s Branbright¡¯s. He¡¯s messing with you, sir. We saw the boy last night, Codder and me, after we found the body. He has family here.¡¯

    ¡®Uh uh,¡¯ said Codder, stepping forward. ¡®Don¡¯t try to diminish my work, now, Pickering.¡¯ He leant in close to the Major. ¡®Sir, locals say he¡¯s the Griffins'' only known living relative.¡¯

    The Major did a double take. ¡®Griffin?¡¯

    Self-satisfaction radiated off Codder, like a fog. ¡®Yes, Major. I¡¯ve got more evidence, waiting for you, in the Krydon Captain¡¯s office. I found it in Longwark¡¯s house.¡¯

    ¡®Well done, Codder.¡¯

    Codder smiled.

    The Major stayed still, his gaze steadfastly on Branbright. ¡®It¡¯s a huge coincidence he¡¯s been found with you, eh, Branbright?¡¯

    ¡®Unfortunate for the lad,¡¯ said Branbright. ¡®As coincidences go, it¡¯s pretty bad.¡¯

    ¡®Definitely,¡¯ said the Major. His gaze carefully still on Branbright, he said, ¡®How old are you, kid?¡¯

    Gray stared blindly at his scuffed knuckles. Tried to work his dry tongue. Couldn¡¯t.

    ¡®I have his stat papers, Major,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®Fourteen, they say. Mother, Elsa Keep. Father, unidentified Griffin.¡¯

    ¡®Not fifteen? On the cusp of sixteen?¡¯

    ¡®No, Major. Almost fifteen.¡¯

    ¡®What¡¯s his magic stat?¡¯ said the Major.

    ¡®Twelve.¡¯

    ¡®Twelve?¡¯ said the Major. ¡®I have a magic stat of twelve in my big toe.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s what they say, sir.¡¯

    ¡®Let me see them,¡¯ said the Major.

    There was a rustle as Gray¡¯s papers exchanged hands. The silence was so long, so sharp, it was like a needle threading under Gray¡¯s skin.

    ¡®Elsa Keep,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®Keep.¡¯

    The Major strode over to the window, inspecting the papers in the light. He glanced back at Gray, and then Branbright.

    The Major started pacing. ¡®There was an Elona Keep, married to Ryan Griffin.¡¯ He turned to his men. ¡®Check the town for an Elona Keep. She¡¯ll be a stunner. Should stand out a mile.¡¯ He cocked his head, and said to his men, ¡®Who was Ryan married to before Elona?¡¯

    ¡®D¡¯Oncray?¡¯ said Codder breathlessly.

    ¡®D¡¯Oncray,¡¯ said the Major.

    ¡®Oh, Clochaint.¡¯ Pickering edged away from Gray. ¡®No. There¡¯s no way. Major, you don¡¯t think this is ..?¡¯

    ¡®Conor Griffin,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®The child prodigy, the top person on our watch list, the last of the D¡¯Oncray bloodline, and the Griffin¡¯s, too.¡¯ The Major¡¯s voice held disdain within it, it held sneering lips and shrouded loathing. ¡®Conor Griffin, the precious chosen-one gem of Lismere, according to your common, misinformed idiot.¡¯

    ¡®Major, you think ..?¡¯

    ¡®Body was never found at the duel site,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®It¡¯s assumed Wilde took him.¡¯The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    The Major took three steps one way in the small space.

    Three steps back.

    ¡®Some of the Griffins tomcatted around something fierce,¡¯ said the Major, ¡®so there¡¯s no guarantee ¡­ and this kid¡¯s not even shaving yet, he¡¯s small for almost sixteen ¡­ and these stat papers are flawless ¡­ but that¡¯s three potential sorcerers in one area.¡¯

    Deliberately, he folded Gray¡¯s papers into his pocket.

    Echoing silence settled over the cell, thick and uncomfortable.

    ¡®If he¡¯s a sorcerer,¡¯ said Pickering, ¡®that¡¯s another million ardents. We¡¯ll all get ¡­¡¯ he turned to Codder.

    ¡®We¡¯ll all be able to live like damn kings,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®That¡¯s what we¡¯ll get.¡¯

    ¡®If he¡¯s Conor Griffin,¡¯ said the Major, his voice soft, ¡®we¡¯ll all be getting special rewards and land from the king for finding him, too.¡¯

    The excitement in the cell was almost palpable. Gray scraped his fingernails against the grimy floor, sweat dribbling down his temples.

    ¡®You¡¯ve checked him?¡¯ said the Major, softly. ¡®He¡¯s got physical markers, yes?¡¯

    Codder opened his mouth, but Pickering beat him to it.

    ¡®No physical markers,'' said Pickering. His back was painfully straight. ''Aside from maybe mage hair and lashes. He¡¯s shown no sign of magic, yet, Major. He¡¯s not on the mage register, either. There''s been no reports of him performing magic.¡¯

    ¡®Major,¡¯ drawled Codder, shooting Pickering a loaded glance, ¡®you told me that having hair that grows quickly and a double lash line are typical markers of a mage, but they¡¯re not exclusive to them. Sorcerers sometimes have hair that grows quickly.¡¯

    Pickering waved a hand at Codder, shushing him. ¡®And humans can have a double lash line,¡¯ he said dismissively. ¡®I can quote the Major, too. Are you done brownnosing?¡¯

    ¡®Sounds like you don¡¯t want him to be Conor Griffin, Pickering,¡¯ said Codder, his voice low. ¡®If you don¡¯t want the money, I¡¯ll take your share.¡¯

    ¡®I want the money,¡¯ shot back Pickering.

    ¡®Then, what¡¯s your problem?¡¯ said Codder.

    ¡®I don¡¯t want to tell the king we have Conor Griffin if we don¡¯t,¡¯ said Pickering.

    ¡®Please-¡¯

    ¡®No sorcerer markers?¡¯ interrupted the Major.

    ¡®No, sir,¡¯ said Pickering.

    ¡®Teeth, nails?¡¯ said the Major.

    ¡®Looks human, sir.¡¯

    The Major clicked his tongue, as though disappointed. Then, ¡®D¡¯Oncray didn¡¯t develop any of her sorcerer markers until she came into her power. By then she was in her mid-twenties,¡¯ he said.

    ¡®So,¡¯ drawled Codder, jutting his chin out as he glared at Pickering, ¡®he still could be -?¡¯

    ¡®Perhaps,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®He one of Longwark¡¯s students?¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s on his class list, yes, Major.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯ve outdone yourself, Codder.¡¯

    Codder shuffled until his mud-crusted boots stood on the loose cloth of Sorena¡¯s pants. His tone lowered. ¡®Maybe you can reward me for all this donkeywork, Major?¡¯

    There was a long pause, one Gray didn¡¯t understand.

    ¡®I¡¯m not letting you have Sorena Auguste,¡¯ said the Major. He sounded mildly put off.

    Gray dug his fingers into Branbright¡¯s warm cloak.

    Honestly, it wasn¡¯t like Gray hadn¡¯t anticipated this.

    He knew about the Auguste soldiers¡¯ reputation. Especially the treasure leagues. No one talked about it ¨C not openly ¨C but everyone knew. Any prisoner they took who didn¡¯t look old or haggard didn¡¯t last long.

    ¡®She¡¯s not Sorena Auguste,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®Said so herself.¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said the girl, staring back at Codder with a remarkably composed expression, considering the intensity of Codder¡¯s gaze, ¡®I could be. You shouldn¡¯t risk it.¡¯

    ¡®Pffft,¡¯ said Codder. ¡® She¡¯s our prisoner. It¡¯s within my rights.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯ll,¡¯ said the Major dangerously, ¡®get a finder''s commission on top of your share of the prize money. And the board will hear how you captured these three.¡¯

    ¡®I want more, Major.¡¯ He nudged the girl¡¯s leg with his mud-crusted toe. ¡®There¡¯s nothing so pretty to spend money on in this shithole.¡¯

    Barely audible, ¡®Are you going to cause me problems, Codder?¡¯

    Codder seemed to sense danger, because he took the slightest step back from the girl. ¡®No, sir. But - Major General would let me - General would say it¡¯s within my rights -¡¯

    ¡®Major General or General would not let you have her,¡¯ said the Major.

    Codder said nothing, then he swung his gaze onto Gray.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®If he turns out to be Conor Griffin, he could hex you from here into the next world.¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s harmless, sir. Untrained. Didn¡¯t even have a wand on him.¡¯

    The Major said nothing.

    Gray stayed rigidly still. Say something. Say no. His mouth wouldn¡¯t cooperate.

    Codder nudged Sorena with his boot. Then again, more intimately.

    There was a long silence, broken only by the steady drip, drip.

    ¡®Gods, just give him Griffin so he¡¯ll let me be,¡¯ said Sorena.

    Gray looked up and met the wolfish gaze of the Major.

    He looked around Barin¡¯s age. Hard with cold eyes.

    Gray shook his head. Just a fraction.

    He wasn¡¯t above pleading.

    Not after the stories he¡¯d heard in snatched whispers.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said the Major. His voice was slow and steady.

    ¡®Major, you¡¯ve said I¡¯m your best man-¡¯

    ¡®You are my best,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®My most intelligent. My most educated-¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s not saying much,¡¯ muttered Branbright.

    The Major slapped him so hard and fast, all Gray felt was a whip of wind. An ugly crack echoed in the cell.

    Then, as if nothing happened, as if Branbright wasn¡¯t breathing raggedly and shifting back upright, ¡®So use your brain, Codder. I¡¯m not going to let you have him. And I¡¯m definitely not going to let you have her. I catch you so much as looking at her the wrong way, I¡¯ll castrate you myself.¡¯

    Codder sucked at his bottom lip, looking more and more like a punk, redneck swamp-vampire, looking like he was going to keep arguing until the dawn.

    ¡®Get out,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®Pass the word this cell is off limits. And go check on Johnson.¡¯

    Codder stormed out. The cell was still.

    The Major breathed long and slow. ¡®Griffin talk properly? Or he speak in riddles?¡¯

    Pickering cleared his throat. ¡®He¡¯s not said anything, yet, Major.¡¯

    The Major stalked towards Gray. The Major snatched a fistful of Gray¡¯s sweater and yanked him up like he weighed nothing, dragging him up onto his tiptoes. Suddenly, Gray was face-to-face with the Major.

    Gray was falling apart. His skin was slick with freezing sweat.

    The Major¡¯s watchful gaze narrowed. ¡®You speak Lismerian? Or just this northern rubbish?¡¯

    Gray couldn¡¯t get his mouth to cooperate. Words swirled inside his head.

    ¡®You were following at least some of the conversation,¡¯ said the Major.

    Gray lowered his gaze, his vision blurring.

    ¡®Soldier,¡¯ said the Major, ¡®get Vaddenham.¡¯

    ¡®I -¡¯ Gray said, mentally groping for the words, ¡®I speak Lismerian.¡¯

    There was a long pause, as the Major examined Gray¡¯s face. ¡®What¡¯s wrong with you?¡¯

    Gray shook his head.

    ¡®Kiddo¡¯s a bit panicked, is all,¡¯ said Branbright.

    Gray felt a surge of gratitude for him.

    ¡®Panicked?¡¯ said the Major to Branbright, like it was a private joke.

    ¡®Your man there is the lowest kind of scum in this world,¡¯ said Branbright. ¡®If I''d caught his eye, I¡¯d be panicked, too.¡¯

    The Major¡¯s jaw clenched. ¡®You like getting slapped, Branbright?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Branbright. ¡®I wouldn¡¯t do it again if I were you.¡¯

    ¡®Then don¡¯t talk about my men.¡¯ The Major released his grip on Gray, letting him stumble back against the wall.

    Gray slid back down to sit by Branbright.

    ¡®You having a panic attack, kid?¡¯ The Major - with a seemingly huge effort - smiled, his gaze dark and wolfish, and it skittered over Gray and settled on his left boot with the sole of the toe tied to the upper with string.

    The Major sat on his haunches, getting into Gray¡¯s space. ¡®Who looks after you, hm, if it¡¯s not Branbright?¡¯ He tugged at the string knot. ¡®You¡¯re in pretty good nick. You¡¯re not living rough.¡¯

    Gray swallowed, pressing his lips together.

    ¡®Give me your apron,¡¯ the Major said.

    Gray hesitated and then fumbled with the knot. The Major snatched it.

    ¡®The Tipsy Stag tavern,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®You¡¯re too young to be legally working. Family business?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ Gray croaked.

    ¡®No?¡¯ he said. ¡®Your papers say you are. Is the information on them incorrect?¡¯

    ¡®The information - the information is correct,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Is this town exempt from Lismere¡¯s child labour laws?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray.

    The Major grasped the apron in his scarred hands. Gray couldn¡¯t read him.

    ¡®What¡¯s your guardian¡¯s name, kid? Tell me now, and I''ll be more lenient. She¡¯ll only get a fine.¡¯

    Gray swallowed. ¡®No.¡¯ He stared at his grubby hands, his heart thudding, his clothes sticking to his skin. ¡®Please. He¡¯ll kill me.¡¯

    The Major hesitated for a split second. ¡®He¡¯ll kill you?¡¯

    ¡®Not kill me,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®He¡¯ll - he¡¯ll ¡­¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯ll?¡¯ prompted the Major, his voice patient.

    ¡®He¡¯ll kick me out. Don¡¯t ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Oh.¡¯ The Major nodded, the tightness around his eyes easing slightly. ¡®You¡¯ve got nowhere else to go? You¡¯ll end up in an orphanage. Those places aren¡¯t fun.¡¯ He tapped Branbright casually on his red cheek. ¡®Hm, Branbright?¡¯

    The silence coming from Branbright was deafening.

    Gray fisted his hands.

    The Major sighed, running a finger along his jaw. ¡®What¡¯s your guardian¡¯s name, kid? I¡¯ll see him myself. I¡¯ll explain it all. I can be very persuasive.¡¯

    Gray hesitated, staring hard at him. ¡®This is - just a mix-up. You don¡¯t need to ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Tell me his name, hm? I¡¯ll sort it out. It¡¯s all right.¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s more a boss than a guardian, you really don¡¯t need to -¡¯

    ¡®You live under his roof?¡¯ said the Major.

    Gray¡¯s mouth was sand.

    ¡®You eat his food?¡¯ said the Major. ¡®He smacks you when you get into mischief?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ murmured Gray, ¡®but he¡¯s not-¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s your guardian.¡¯ The Major¡¯s jaw eased. His gaze softened. ¡®Tell me his name, there¡¯s a good lad.¡¯

    Branbright shifted beside Gray, and Gray flickered a glance at him. No good could come of sending soldiers straight to Barin. But, they had Gray¡¯s apron. They¡¯d find him anyway. Barin was smart. He might¡¯ve known to take precautions when Gray disappeared.

    Gray could promise to work off the fine.

    So, reluctantly, ¡®Haxley, sir. His name is Barin Haxley.¡¯

    ¡®Does Barin Haxley know he¡¯s been harbouring an unregistered mage?¡¯

    Gray licked his lips. ¡®No, he didn¡¯t - I¡¯m not mage -¡¯

    ¡®Let¡¯s pretend I believe that. Does Barin Haxley know he¡¯s potentially been hiding a sorcerer¡¯s child?¡¯

    Gray stared at him, panic fluttering in his chest. ¡®No.¡¯

    The Major¡¯s smile slid off his face. He paced two steps and then came back. ¡®Right. Pickering, locate this Barin Haxley. When you find him, line him and his family up in the town square, get the locals out to watch, and then come get me. I¡¯ll execute them myself.¡¯

    ¡®What ¨C why? Wait-¡® Gray said.

    He hauled Gray to his feet. ¡®Keep your mouth shut.¡¯

    ¡®Wait ¨C¡®

    Gray didn¡¯t see the Major¡¯s fists move.

    But, one second he was standing, and the next he was bowing over his knees with the air knocked out of his lungs. He gasped, desperate for breath. A hard hand clamped on the scruff of Gray¡¯s neck and yanked him up like a misbehaving dog.

    ¡®You. Come with me.¡¯

 15. He Does Not Keep His Mouth Shut

    Not to brag, but Gray was a fast runner.

    He twisted free. He was through the open doorway and into the corridor before the Major swore and jerked him backward.

    Gray¡¯s skull hit the ground with a dull thud, the ache of the mugger¡¯s attack throbbing hard. Gods. The world closed around the edges as his vision tunnelled as though he was peering down an endless pit.

    The Major loomed over Gray. His cold gaze was piercing.

    Gray blinked his watering eyes at the Major, and then at Sorena, and then Branbright. Branbright had stood up in the second Gray had been thrown to the floor. He hovered in the shadowy corner, his long grey beard hanging half unwound from his neck.

    Gray unstuck his throat. ¡®They don¡¯t know ¨C they don¡¯t know anything ¨C¡®

    The Major balled his fist. Gray flinched, tensing.

    Waited.

    Gray opened his eyes. The Major¡¯s scarred knuckles millimetres from his eyelashes.

    He wanted to shy away.

    But, he made himself hold still. Made himself stare straight into the dark eyes of the Major.

    ¡®Kid,¡¯ The Major said, voice calm but cold as ice. ¡®Open your mouth again and I¡¯ll break something. Understood?¡¯

    Stay quiet. Just keep your mouth shut. But Gray¡¯s voice slipped out before he could stop it. ¡®They haven¡¯t done anything wrong. You don¡¯t have to-¡®

    The punch came fast. He didn¡¯t think his cheekbone was broken but - gods - it hurt like hell. His words died in his throat as he tried to pull away, but the Major grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking him back into place.

    ¡®Kid ¨C I¡¯ll tell you again. You talk only when I tell you to talk. Got it?¡¯

    His hand was like a claw. But then, tumbling out of Gray¡¯s mouth, ¡®They¡¯re no threat ¨C¡®

    The Major¡¯s grip tightened.

    Gray¡¯s eyes streamed.

    ¡®Got it?¡¯

    It wasn¡¯t Gray¡¯s noblest moment when he said, ¡®yes¡¯ against the squeeze of the Major¡¯s hand.

    The Major dragged him upright, jerking him into a sitting position before hauling him to his feet. Gray swayed, unsteady, his legs barely holding him. The Major didn¡¯t wait - steering him to the side of the corridor with a sharp jab.

    ¡®Get the girl into her own cell. Now.¡¯

    There was a scuffle as Sorena was dragged out past Gray.

    Gray could hear Branbright¡¯s laboured breathing in the cell. He was as good as dead because he¡¯d helped Gray.

    Like Barin and Harriette.

    Shit.

    Where were the Krydon guards?

    Where was Krydon¡¯s Captain of the guards?

    She wouldn¡¯t just stand by and let them be mown down.

    ¡®Branbright,¡¯ said the Major, ¡®Any time you want to stop the interrogation of your protege, you let my men know.¡¯

    ¡®Not my protege, you dog.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯ll be able to hear his screams down here, sorcerer.¡¯

    He locked Branbright in. Gray swayed.

    Branbright pressed his face against the window in the cell door.

    ¡®Come on, kid,¡¯ said the Major.

    The Major gripped Gray¡¯s arm and dragged him down the corridor.

    The corridor was dark, with three doors on either side. They only had six cells in Krydon. The stones of the prison floor were hard and curving under the thin soles of Gray¡¯s boots. Soldiers stood at the far end, watching their progress, their necks craned.

    ¡®Intercept Vaddenham and tell him I don¡¯t need him,¡¯ the Major called to them, loud enough to echo against the towering stone walls.

    ¡®You don¡¯t need to,¡¯ said an unfamiliar voice.

    The man who said this looked out of place in the grimy prison, with his gold thread stitching on his dark uniform. He had an aristocratic swell of his stomach and his hair was meticulously combed over his balding head.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    ¡®I told Vaddenham to stay with the Krydon Mayor,¡¯ said the man. ¡®Is there an issue?¡¯

    ¡®Wolfric Branbright,¡¯ said the Major, ¡®is in the last cell, Major General Darcy.¡¯

    ¡®Branbright?¡¯ Something cold and delighted swept over Darcy¡¯s features. ¡®You mean to tell me I have Branbright in my custody?¡¯

    The Major cleared his throat. ¡®Codder captured him.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯ve told General?¡¯ said Darcy.

    The Major was silent for a beat too long. ¡®Not yet, sir. I¡¯ll -¡®

    Darcy cut him off with a wave of his meaty hand. ¡®No need. I¡¯ll tell him.¡¯

    ¡®Sir, I¡¯ll tell him-¡¯

    ¡®General is in a very important meeting,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®It¡¯s above your clearance. I will tell him.¡¯

    The Major was all stiff lines, loud silence, and heavy air. ¡®You¡¯ll tell him Codder captured him, will you, sir?¡¯

    ¡®Oh, Killian,¡¯ said Darcy, ¡®you know I will.¡¯ His attention slid over the Major and settled onto Gray. ¡®What¡¯s with the boy?¡¯

    The Major¡¯s fingers dug into Gray¡¯s arm. ¡®He¡¯s - I¡¯m taking him to the office, sir.¡¯

    Darcy lumbered close. His rich uniform strained over his stomach, chest, shoulders, and thighs. Either he was very well-fed, or he was a wall of muscle.

    ¡®Why?¡¯ Darcy said.

    How Darcy got so much disdain into one syllable, Gray would never know.

    ¡®It¡¯s the best room for interrogation in this gutter town, sir,¡¯ said the Major, his voice getting soft. ¡®He was found with Branbright, so-¡¯

    Darcy raised his eyebrows and glanced at the soldiers listening at the end of the hall. ¡®You should be interrogating Branbright, surely?¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m not going to risk interrogating Branbright while my mage is still out.¡¯ Then, tacked on, ¡®sir. I have a strategy, sir.¡¯

    Darcy ran his tongue over his teeth, his gaze darting over the Major¡¯s shoulder, and settling down the corridor. ¡®As you wish. If this all goes south, I¡¯ll make sure they¡¯ll know it was your failing.¡¯

    ¡®Of course, sir.¡¯

    The Major resumed his clawed grip, and they were moving again.

    They passed the soldiers, and one hissed something Gray didn¡¯t catch. The Major shoved Gray around the corner and started dragging him up a set of dirty stone steps.

    Gray needed the Major to slip up. He needed to run and warn Barin before the soldiers found him.

    ¡®Is there ¨C is there any particular reason you¡¯re after Longwark?¡¯ Gray asked.

    The instant the words left Gray¡¯s mouth, he was knocked into the wall. And gods, there went Gray¡¯s head again. He felt it start to freshly bleed, the mugger¡¯s wound.

    ¡®Why are you talking?¡¯ the Major said.

    ¡®Maybe - maybe I can help,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®if you tell me why-¡¯

    ¡®Longwark is a traitor, he¡¯s in league with a sorcerer or a sorcerer himself, and you don¡¯t speak unless I say.¡¯

    Sorcerer?

    Gray thought of Longwark and the last thing he said and did to Alistair. About what he must¡¯ve done as a mage soldier in the fight against Krupin.

    But Gray had known Longwark for ages, had him as a teacher every year at school since he was six, and if there was one thing Longwark was, a traitor against the kingdom wasn¡¯t it. He just couldn¡¯t.

    As for being a sorcerer - there was no way.

    ¡®Are you sure?¡¯ Gray said.

    The Major gripped Gray¡¯s chin.

    Gray clasped his hands around the Major¡¯s muscled wrists, his fingertips on the man¡¯s thrumming pulse.

    From the bottom of the steps, a soldier called, ¡®You all right, Major?¡¯

    The Major ignored him.

    ¡®Your Lismerian,¡¯ the Major said softly, ¡®it¡¯s very good, kid.¡¯

    Don¡¯t act afraid. Don¡¯t act afraid. Gray¡¯s throat was so dry. He wanted to say, coolly, calmly, that they taught everyone Lismerian in school, that everyone could speak it a bit.

    But the words drowned in his mouth.

    The Major raised his eyebrows.

    ¡®You haven¡¯t gone through your first ryece yet, have you?¡¯ said the Major. ¡®Good.¡¯

    He couldn¡¯t swallow against the Major¡¯s hold. Gray struggled. The Major wasn¡¯t going to slip up.

    ¡®I¡¯ll tell you one more time, kid. Don¡¯t talk. Or I will break your face.¡¯

    Gray sensed, rather than saw, a soldier moving at the foot of the steps. ¡®You all right, Major?¡¯

    The Major broke his stiff glare. ¡®I¡¯d like an escort. In case he slips free again. You and Brown. Follow me to the office. No, rookie, you stay there.¡¯

    They were moving up the steps again.

    ¡®Next time,¡¯ said the Major softly to his men, ¡®when I ask for Vaddenham, you ensure I get Vaddenham. Not that slimy weed of a social climber. Not General. Understood?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major,¡¯ muttered the soldiers.

    The Hall was bustling with quiet activity and urgent whispers. Silence immediately fell when the Major strode past, dragging Gray alongside, with the two soldiers bringing up the rear.

    The Hall was still operating, Gray realised dimly. Of course it was. The world hadn¡¯t come to a stop, but it still surprised him. Council members and workers parted way, some staring, but most avoiding eye contact.

    Up more stairs, these ones covered in plush carpet, and with circular windows overlooking the garden behind the Hall. Two workers pressed against the wall to make way. One was blonde and beautiful. Rosie. Gray locked eyes with her desperately.

    Tell Barin. Warn him. He and Harriette must run.

    Gray¡¯s mind was a panicked blur. Everything was in fragments.

    Dark hall. Tables. Glittering pottery. An open door with a meeting inside, that paused at the soldier¡¯s thundering steps, and then hastily continued when they saw who it was passing.

    Turn a corner. Light hall, paintings. Stairs, only three steps up, to a dark landing.

    They reached a door with a worn stag head door knocker, and they barged in.

    ¡®Return to your stations. Let me know when Branbright¡¯s feeling chatty,¡¯ the Major muttered to the two soldiers.

    He slammed the door closed, shutting him and Gray in the office, but didn¡¯t release his grip.

    Gray had been in here before.

    Krydon¡¯s Captain of the guard''s office.

    Gray barely registered the airy room with a dark tapestry of a battle scene on one wall and wanted posters stuck up on another. A desk was brightly lit by the window that looked out into the town square.

    Gray stared at the view out the window as though through a haze. The Krydon guards were in a huddled clump. And a mess that Gray recognized as wearing the Krydon¡¯s captain¡¯s uniform was in the middle.

    She¡¯d been executed.

    Bile rose in his throat. Burned.

    Not good, not good.

 16. Hes Aggressive ... For A Mage

    Gray planted his feet, not giving a shit if the Major broke his face for it, his heels dragging in the carpet.

    Gray tugged free, swaying to get his balance.

    ¡®Sit, kid,¡¯ said the Major.

    The Major reached into his pocket and offered him a handkerchief.

    Gray stared at it, dazed.

    ¡®You¡¯re bleeding,¡¯ said the Major, shaking his handkerchief.

    Gray refused to reach for the handkerchief, didn¡¯t care if his head was on fire.

    The Major jerked his eyebrows and stowed his handkerchief back in his pocket.

    ¡®How old are you, really?¡¯ said the Major.

    There was no way the Major was asking Gray this, not with the view they were looking down on from that window, with the fresh carnage and chaos just below them.

    ¡®I¡¯ll say something, and you tell me if I¡¯m getting warm,¡¯ said the Major.

    The quiet pounded in the air between them. Gray could barely understand the words coming out of this man¡¯s mouth.

    ¡®You weren¡¯t fed properly,¡¯ said the Major. He waited and waited for Gray to reply. Then, ¡®Your guardian is ignorant of the diet required for a mage or a sorcerer. You guys need a lot of food. That¡¯s why you¡¯re small. Really, you¡¯re almost sixteen. Yes? I¡¯m getting warm?¡¯

    Gray said words, said cold, and no, or perhaps he just mouthed them, because there was a ripple of hard impatience on the Major¡¯s features before he shuttered his expression. He walked to the desk and flipped through a stack of books there. They were burned and curled around the edges from fire, long ago.

    ¡®Codder found these in Longwark¡¯s home.¡¯ The Major tossed them at Gray¡¯s feet, one by one. ¡®Property of Ryan Griffin. Property of Wynn Griffin. Aiden Griffin. Rory. Tyler. Which one was dad, kid?¡¯

    Gray rubbed his jaw, blinking sweat and blood out of his eyes, slowly dawning horror opening in the pit of his stomach. Longwark¡¯s home. That couldn¡¯t be right. Elona had taken him and Alistair up to Krydon. Longwark had nothing to do with anything.

    When Gray didn¡¯t answer, the Major looked up. ¡®You can speak now. When I ask you a question. Which one of the Griffin brothers was your father?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know,¡¯ Gray whispered.

    For a second the Major stilled, glancing at something that had darted past the window.

    A crow.

    ¡®It¡¯s clear to me,¡¯ the Major said, ¡®Longwark took you from the Griffin home. He was there at the sight of the Griffin and Wilde duel. And so were you.¡¯ He nodded at the books. ¡®You¡¯re not some random bastard mage born out of wedlock.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m not - I swear -¡®

    ¡®There¡¯s about a one in a billion chance of a bastard mage happening. You creepy motherfuckers nearly always need to be carefully bred to happen.¡¯ He fixed Gray with his careful gaze. ¡®You came from the Griffin home. You¡¯re not illegitimate.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s lips parted silently. He was unsure what the hell he was supposed to say to such a thing, but he got the feeling if he didn¡¯t respond, the Major would knock him flat, get mad, do something-

    ¡¯No,¡¯ said Gray. The word sounded so tremulous and was so obviously a lie, even to Gray¡¯s own ears, that he hurried to cover it up with more words, ¡¯No, that¡¯s not - right. No, I¡¯m not mage, so ¡­¡¯

    But he couldn¡¯t keep just saying words, words with no feeling or strength behind them. The Major¡¯s eyebrows were creeping higher and higher up on his forehead as he watched Gray.

    Gray was digging a deeper hole for himself and he needed to shut up.

    Gray¡¯d always known his papers were false. Elona had organised it herself, to hide him. But, she¡¯d always refused to answer Gray¡¯s questions. She didn¡¯t trust him not to let information slip to the wrong person. Alistair - Alistair had known, too. But, Alistair hated talking about it, how they came to live in Krydon. Alistair¡¯s traumatised ass remembered everything, whereas Gray remembered nothing.

    ¡®Longwark took you from the Griffin home,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®After the duel. Nine years ago. It wasn¡¯t Wilde, was it?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know,¡¯ said Gray softly. ¡®No. I¡¯m not ¡­¡¯

    There was a horrible silence, and Gray tried to rein in his fear, his breath.

    ¡®Sit, kid, before you faint.¡¯

    When Gray stayed frozen, the Major broke eye contact and began poking around the office, opening drawers and lifting papers from the desk.

    ¡®I¡¯m seeing a lot of family resemblance,¡¯ the Major said, eventually. ¡®I worked with some of the Griffins. They all had your dark hair and grey eyes.¡¯

    Gray chewed the inside of his lip.

    ¡®That thing you¡¯re doing with your mouth,¡¯ said the Major, his thumb tracing the corner of a stack of paperwork on the desk, ¡®that¡¯s telling me you¡¯re scared, Wynn - did you know him? Wynn Griffin? - he¡¯d do that, too. Every time before a fight.¡¯

    Gray stopped chewing the inside of his lip.

    ¡®You¡¯re untrained, yes?¡¯ said the Major.

    Gray couldn¡¯t speak, couldn''t move.

    ¡®When I ask a question, you answer. You¡¯re not trained? Branbright, Longwark, they taught you nothing.¡¯

    ¡®No.¡¯

    ¡®I can tell.¡¯

    The Major examined a quill from the drawer and then dropped it back.

    ¡®No wand,¡¯ he continued. ¡®No mastery in your voice. We have laws for registration and training for a reason, kid. Other than you being a chaotic magic-bomb waiting to go off when you wave your damn hand the wrong way, you¡¯re a sitting duck for poachers and the black market. You¡¯re lucky you haven¡¯t been torn apart and had your blood, sweat, hair, and tears bottled and sold.¡¯A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡®Poachers?¡¯ Gray said, numbly.

    ¡®Yeah. Poachers. Clochaint, how protected have you been here?¡¯

    Gray pressed his hand to his sore jaw, staring hard at the string tying his boot together.

    ¡®You Wynn¡¯s boy?¡¯ said the Major, eventually.

    ¡®I don¡¯t know - I don¡¯t know him.¡¯

    ¡®Knew him,¡¯ corrected the Major. His eyes were dark. ¡®You Ryan and Faye¡¯s child?¡¯

    Gray shook his head.

    ¡®No, hm? No sorcery blood in you, course not. That wouldn¡¯t be why you¡¯re hiding out in this shithole, covered in Branbright¡¯s scent, unregistered and untrained, and your boot tied together with string, instead of living in the ridiculous luxury of the mage guild. Where Wynn¡¯s boy should be. He should¡¯ve been there for two years, now.¡¯

    The Major¡¯s voice, his stance, was neutral. Casual even. ¡®Sit.¡¯

    He nimbly unbuttoned his jacket and flung it over a rack by the fire. It slipped off and tumbled to the floor.

    Gray stayed rigidly still, his eyes on the fallen jacket.

    The Major moved in closer, slow and deliberate. ¡¯Sit down, answer my questions, and you¡¯ll walk away just fine. But if you make me -¡®

    ¡®You don¡¯t have to execute them,¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®Sit down.¡¯

    ¡®Harriette¡¯s just a little girl. She¡¯s only ten.¡¯

    The Major twitched his eyebrows, his gaze watchful. ¡®You should¡¯ve been down on the mage register, regardless of if you have magic or not. Even mage bastards need to be registered. Everyone knows the penalty for harbouring an unregistered mage. I¡¯m just following the law.¡¯

    ¡®Please-¡¯

    ¡®Sit.¡¯

    ¡®You don¡¯t have to -¡¯

    ¡®Are we still going over this? Sit down.¡¯

    The door, Gray thought. It couldn¡¯t be so far behind him. He stepped back.

    The Major reached out a hand so fast Gray didn¡¯t see it. Gods, Gray¡¯s cheek was on fire so hot it was beginning to numb.

    ¡®Sit,'' said the Major. ''Answer my questions. Understand?¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re making a mistake-¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯ve made a mistake. They¡¯re going to die, because they¡¯ve been hiding you. Don¡¯t blame me for following the law.¡¯

    Gray trembled. Tried to push down his panic. He couldn¡¯t breathe. ¡®Harriette¡¯s had nothing to do with anything-¡¯

    ¡®Harriette will lose her head.¡¯

    ¡®You can¡¯t-¡¯

    The Major backhanded him so hard, Gray gave an involuntary cry.

    ¡®Sit down,¡¯ said the Major.

    Anger erupted inside Gray¡¯s gut, spilling out to his fingers and toes. He started hissing words, so hot, so full of rage, they carried power like a curse. Like Sorena had done, that night outside the stables.

    Like a damned idiot.

    Because he didn¡¯t have wandless magic.

    Because his curses landed no punch.

    Because it was confirming to the Major that Gray was what he thought he was.

    The Major clamped his cold hand over Gray¡¯s mouth, stemming the flow of words.

    His breath huffed against Gray¡¯s cheek. He shuddered. There were goosebumps on his arms, the hair on his hands standing on end.

    ¡®Gods,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®Fuck. I knew it.¡¯

    Slowly, he peeled his hand off Gray¡¯s mouth.

    ¡®One more curse out of you, kid, and I¡¯ll throw you back into the cells. I¡¯m a king¡¯s soldier. You could be put to death for throwing your magic ¨C¡®

    Gray made a mad bolt for the door.

    His fingertips barely grazed the handle when pain burst in his ankle. His leg buckled and he crashed to the floor, palms grazing against the carpet and chin smacking hard enough to make his teeth clack.

    He cried out and rolled away, but a  hand clamped down on his leg, dragging him back across the rough carpet like he was nothing.

    ¡®No,¡¯ Gray gasped, the agony in his ankle overwhelming. He¡¯d never felt pain like this. ¡¯No!¡¯

    The Major grabbed a fistful of Gray¡¯s sweater, yanking him up and shoving him into the chair. Gray swung at him, a weak, desperate punch barely landing on the Major¡¯s eye.

    ¡®Did you just try to hit me?¡¯ the Major said.

    ¡®Go to hell.¡¯

    ¡®Aggressive,¡¯ he said, ¡®for a mage.¡¯

    The Major grabbed Gray¡¯s injured leg. He was too close to Gray ¨C Gray could smell him, his sweat, and something wilder, something animal.

    ¡®Stop struggling,¡¯ the Major said coolly. ¡®Stop struggling, answer my questions, and the pain stops. My word.¡¯

    Gray gritted his teeth. ¡®Your word doesn¡¯t mean shit to me.¡¯

    The Major¡¯s grip on his leg tightened. ¡®You got zero sense of self preservation, kid.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s hands hovered uselessly over the Major¡¯s, trembling. The threat of more pain hung heavy in the air. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out. But when he opened them again, the Major¡¯s gaze was fixed on his face, steady and cold.

    The Major considered him for a moment. He stood up and ran his hand over his jaw, his dark hair hanging in his eyes.

    ¡®Are you going to calm down and answer my questions?¡¯

    ¡®If you ¨C promise not to hurt anyone,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®Don¡¯t execute them.¡¯

    He raised his eyebrows. ¡®You don¡¯t get to call the shots, kid.¡¯ He paused. ¡®When did you last see Longwark?¡¯

    Gray curled his fingers into a fist. Stayed silent.

    The Major stayed silent, too.

    Waiting.

    It was the sort of silence that hung in the air like a black storm cloud, the sort of silence that happened in the moments before lightning lanced onto baked earth, silence so complete it almost clapped and dragged like too-close thunder.

    The muscles around the Major¡¯s mouth tightened. His jaw clicked. ¡®Fine. I¡¯ll go attend to Barin Haxley and ¡­ Harriette.¡¯

    He bustled through the drawer of the desk and pulled out and examined a phial.

    Gray needed to stall him, he needed to convince him-

    ¡®Wait,¡¯ Gray said, his voice coming out hysterical. ¡®Just wait before you-¡®

    The Major held Gray¡¯s face and forced the tonic down his throat. Gray sputtered and struggled, and his magic came to his skin, like it rarely would when he was utterly panicked, lighting up the room. Gray thought, the Major mustn¡¯t have known he didn¡¯t have enough power to perform wandless magic ¨C but Branbright would¡¯ve known.

    Branbright could¡¯ve told the Major that Gray posed no threat.

    Branbright wasn¡¯t there, though, he was locked in a dingy cell somewhere beneath them. The Major tipped the rest of the bitter tonic down Gray¡¯s throat, swearing a string of swear words Gray had never heard before in that particular combination.

    Dull calm swept through this body.

    Gray slowly stopped blathering and struggling. His magic dimmed. The room seemed strangely dark in its absence.

    ¡®I¡¯m not going to execute them, kid,¡¯ the Major said, as though from a great distance. ¡®I¡¯m not a monster.¡¯

    He hoisted Gray up and threw him easily over his shoulder. Gray¡¯s ankle screamed.

    ¡®Thanks for showing me you are, though,¡¯ the Major said. ¡®A monster. That was sorcerer level magic. You just raised my bounty from one million ardents to two.¡¯

    They were barely out of the office before Gray was dragged into a heavy sleep.

    ¡ª

    Fuzzy carpet brushed Gray¡¯s lashes. The carpet pressed into Gray¡¯s cheek with a certain heavy quality that told Gray he¡¯d been lying on it for some time. Loud, clipped Lismerian jolted through the fog in his head, in a tumult of crowded voices. The argument was hot. Fierce.

    It was too fast for Gray¡¯s groggy mind to keep up with.

    Gray tried to open his eyes.

    Couldn¡¯t.

    Tried to move.

    Couldn¡¯t.

    With a huge effort, he tried to wrench himself into consciousness, and only halfway made it, his eyes opening a slit.

    Polished boots were in front of Gray. His sight was too blurred, he couldn¡¯t tell how many pairs there were.

    He couldn¡¯t keep his eyes open.

    But, he had to.

    He had to.

 17. She Talk, He (cant) Walk

    The smell of sewerage and mildew burned Gray¡¯s nostrils. His pulse thundered in his head. Nearby, there was a thick drip, drip, drip.

    He tried to move ¨C straw stuck through his sweater and trousers and prickled his skin ¨C but his body was too heavy to obey. The aftertaste of the medicine from earlier lingered on his tongue. Slimy damp clung to his skin.

    Finally, his eyelids responded, and he stared at the dark cell. Panic instantly fluttered in his chest. The room spun.

    Breathe. In. Out.

    Gray focused hard on the dark window, breathing shallowly. Outside, the yellow light from a lamp flickered.

    He pressed his hand over his eyes. It was night, then.

    He¡¯d missed it. Alistair¡¯s funeral.

    His hand trembled. In a rush, he remembered Barin and Harriette were in big trouble because of him.

    But he - the Major - said he wouldn¡¯t execute them. Gray clung to this thought, a single thread he could clutch.

    In. Out.

    Pain flared in his ankle and he bit down on his lip, drawing blood. His jaw was stiff and his cheek was swollen. He pushed the pain away, his gaze darting from one dark corner of the cell to the next.

    No Branbright. But Sorena, with her platinum hair twisted back and her threadbare clothes, who was crumpled in the corner again, stared at the ceiling as though it had personally offended her.

    Something hardened in Gray¡¯s chest at the sight of her.

    Her words from earlier ¡®let him have Griffin¡¯ replayed in his mind.

    She was supposed to be in her own cell.

    Gray sat up, hissing as he jostled his foot.

    Sorena started and pinned Gray with her cold hazel stare. ¡®Sshh.¡¯

    Gray ignored her, attempting to stand, but crumpled hard onto the cold ground. He cried out as his ankle bent underneath him.

    ¡®Will you shut up?¡¯ Sorena wedged herself more tightly into the corner. She seemed to be attempting to hide herself in a patch of darkness, but her platinum hair and pale skin weren¡¯t doing her any favours.

    Gray screwed his eyes up, his vision a hazy red with pain, and eased himself back onto the pallet.

    For a second he thought he saw Branbright in the corner of the cell.

    But it wasn¡¯t him. Only shadows.

    Branbright had been released. And Gray¡¯d been left in here to ¡­ what? Be questioned?

    And Longwark, what had he done?

    He¡¯d brought the soldiers here.

    Gray swallowed back rising bile that had nothing to do with the throbbing pain in his head and ankle.

    He¡¯d barely hoisted himself back onto the pallet, when a soldier pressed his face to the barred window on the door.

    ¡®Oh, perfect,¡¯ said Sorena.

    ¡®Want some attention, do you?¡¯ he said.

    Gray shivered. Tried to remember how to speak.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®Piss off.¡¯

    He was different to the soldiers Gray¡¯d seen earlier ¨C not mouth-breathing Codder, not straight-backed Pickering ¨C though he shared the same southern accent.

    ¡®Didn¡¯t sound that way to me,'' said the soldier. ''You cried out.¡¯

    He wrapped his hairy fists around the bars in the window.

    His gaze crawled over Sorena.

    Sorena stayed silent, resuming her glaring at the ceiling.

    The soldier was breathing too heavily.

    ¡¯She¡¯s,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®off limits.¡¯

    This only increased the intensity of the soldier¡¯s breathing.

    ¡®Aren¡¯t you just a pale glass of milk,¡¯ drawled the soldier. Keys jangled, out of sight.

    Gray tensed. This man was suicidal. The King had once pulled out the innards of a man while he was still alive because he¡¯d written a love note to one of the royal consorts. Gray couldn¡¯t imagine what the King would do to a man interfering with his daughter.

    The keys kept jangling. They jangled faster.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    The soldier was doing something with his belt.

    Gray realised what, feeling sick.

    At the same time, Sorena snapped, ¡®You¡¯re right. I am. But, to come in here, and get to me, you have to get past that.¡¯

    She pointed at Gray.

    ¡®You know what that is?¡¯ she said.

    ¡®That¡¯s what I¡¯ll have a go at,¡¯ heaved the soldier, ¡®once I¡¯ve had a go at you.¡¯

    ¡®That,¡¯ she said, ¡®is the son of D¡¯Oncray.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s breath caught in his throat.

    The jangling stopped.

    The soldier stilled.

    ¡®It is not,¡¯ he said.

    Gray desperately pushed down the panic at Sorena blithely telling this random man that¡¯s the son of D¡¯Oncray.

    That¡¯s Sorena Auguste, Gray wanted to say. Touch her and the king will kill you. Then, he¡¯ll bring you back to life to kill you again.

    Gray turned to Sorena. ¡®When did you say the Major was going to check on you?¡¯

    Sorena didn¡¯t miss a beat. ¡®Any time now.¡¯

    ¡®Major¡¯s busy,¡¯ said the soldier. ¡®He¡¯s always busy.¡¯

    Gray loathed to engage with this guy at all. But, he fixed his gaze on the soldier¡¯s sweaty face and started muttering. He imitated what Branbright had been chanting only hours earlier.

    Quietly.

    ¡®You know what the sorceress Faye D¡¯Oncray did to those who didn¡¯t manage to flee, during the palace massacre?¡¯ said Sorena to the soldier coldly, over Gray¡¯s mutterings.

    The soldier stepped back.

    ¡®I know what she did,¡¯ said the soldier, a rough edge to his voice. He spat, and it landed inches from Gray¡¯s foot. ¡®None of that, eh.¡¯

    Gray shoved down the urge to flinch. Forced himself to raise his voice.

    His words were slurring. His words were nonsense. Gray could barely work his tongue over the influence of the sedative Killian had poured down his throat. The soldier would see through him. He¡¯d come in, he¡¯d -

    The soldier stepped back again.

    He hovered.

    He snarled out some choice slurs, and then his footsteps faded as he walked away.

    Gray shut the heck up, his chest heaving.

    Sorena refused to meet Gray¡¯s eye. She fisted her trembling hands.

    Gray swallowed hard. Pushed down his firm dislike of the girl. Used the softest voice he could. ¡®Where¡¯s Branbright?¡¯

    The question hung between them for so long, just with the drip of the pipe counting the time passing, that Gray thought she wouldn¡¯t answer at all. He closed his eyes, fighting against the grogginess overwhelming him.

    ¡®Branbright¡¯s been executed.¡¯

    Her whisper was so quiet, and it was masked under the drip of the pipe and the sounds of the soldiers outside, that Gray could have imagined it. Her gaze was cold.

    Gray¡¯s stomach twisted and dropped. ¡®What?¡¯

    ¡®As of half an hour ago. That¡¯s when Killian put me in here with you. He¡¯s imprisoned the entire Krydon guard. The place is full.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s heart clenched inside his chest, certain this must¡¯ve all been some kind of perverse joke. His throat tightened as the words sunk in, and he pushed this feeling down, knowing it was the worst thing for him to do right now - to be seen upset over Branbright.

    ¡®Why?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Why what?¡¯

    ¡®Why¡¯d they execute him?¡¯

    ¡®Seriously?'' said Sorena. ''You don¡¯t know what that old sorcerer¡¯s done?¡¯

    Gray shook his head, curling his freezing fingers.

    ¡®The General himself ordered him beheaded before he could do any more wandless,¡¯ she said. ¡®They¡¯ve been hunting him for years. Branbright was Wilde¡¯s assassin.¡¯

    Wilde¡¯s assassin.

    Cold shot through Gray.

    He swallowed and lay back on the pallet, careful of his ankle, rolling to face the wall. The walls of the cell loomed over him, shrouded in shadows. Unseasonable rain fell in torrents outside - the first rain Krydon had had in a month - and somewhere outside the cell someone wailed in a language he¡¯d never heard.

    Gray shivered. His heart wouldn¡¯t slow.

    Branbright, there, in Krydon, where nothing ever happened, and only five thousand people scratched out a living in a mess of scribbled alleyways.

    Branbright, an assassin for Wilde.

    Gray pressed his hands over his chest. The pallet he lay on was in full view from the door. Totally exposed. He eyed Sorena, who was tightly curled up and determinedly not looking at Gray. Then, Gray glanced at the corner by the door.

    Pressing his lips tightly together, he very slowly and carefully manoeuvred his legs off the pallet. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from making a sound as pain flared in his ankle the moment he tried to move it.

    He unlaced his boot, and slowly, agonisingly, pulled it off.

    He didn¡¯t know if it was broken. It was swollen, and when he tried to move his toes, barbs of pain shot up his leg.

    Gray rested his head in his hands. Dug his fingernails into his scalp.

    A rat scurried past on the far side of the cell. It burrowed through an impossibly small space between the rocks on the wall and disappeared.

    There was a shudder of a whisper. The girl must¡¯ve said something. For a moment, they locked gazes.

    She wrapped her arms around her knees.

    The sound of heavy rain settled around them, filling the silence.

    Then, ¡®Can¡¯t you do wandless?¡¯ Gray whispered. He pointed at the sliver of a window on the outside wall. Moss sprawled down from it. ¡®If you got rid of the bars, I could fit through.¡¯

    She lowered her gaze. Gray couldn¡¯t read her expression.

    ¡®Branbright left his wand at the tavern,¡¯ Gray said, after a long pause. ¡®I could bring it to you. I know where Barin stored the extra money, from your payment. There are horses in the stable. Spare coats. I promise if you do wandless -¡¯

    ¡®I can¡¯t. Not yet. Not properly. Father never had time - to teach ¡­¡¯

    This was the closest she¡¯d gotten to admitting she was Sorena Auguste.

    ¡®Can you try?¡¯ whispered Gray, his throat dusty dry.

    Her lips parted as she let out a quiet breath. ¡®No, I ¡­ I¡¯ve not eaten in almost a day. I can¡¯t.¡¯ She resumed her glaring at the ceiling. ¡®And I wouldn¡¯t free you, sorcerer, and leave myself rotting in here, if I could.¡¯

    Gray dropped his gaze away from her, his jaw tight.

    Slowly, Gray slipped his boot back onto his sore ankle, figuring it was better to have it on, acting like a cast.

    Inch by inch Gray lowered himself onto the cold floor. He pressed down the agony in his ankle and dragged himself backwards. He wedged himself into the corner by the door, hoping his olive skin would blend him into the darkness.

    A shadow moved by the window.

    A crow.

    It poked its beak in, its eyes sharp and intelligent.

    Then, it was gone.

 18. This Power Struggle, Though

    There was a clap like thunder.

    Gray flinched awake so suddenly, he jolted his bad ankle. He aborted a cry of pain.

    It took a fraction of a second to orient himself inside the dark prison cell - the stone walls, the mossy pipe dripping slime, the slit window with a flickering street lamp outside.

    He glimpsed Sorena standing in the centre of the cell with two other women - one wearing the Auguste soldier''s uniform and with her hand possessively on Sorena¡¯s shoulder, one woman in layered mage robes, muttering an incantation. And then - with another deafening clap, and a huge rush of static - they were gone.

    They¡¯d be taking her back to the mage guild, or perhaps back to the palace. Or, maybe, she was being taken to marry her Othoan betrothed.

    Someone in the shadows tutted their tongue. ¡®Did I give you permission to move from the pallet to that corner?¡¯

    The Major loomed by the door, his fur collar shifting in a slithering breeze. His dark gaze was focused on the chalk circle in the centre of the cell - part of the process, Gray knew, of how mages fahrened.

    The Major started scuffing the chalk circle out with his toe. ¡®You don¡¯t move unless I say. You do nothing unless I say. You hear me?¡¯

    Gray locked his gaze onto him. He was still groggy from the tonic. He was taking too long to process the Major¡¯s Lismerian.

    He struggled to keep his fear in check. Struggled to push down the pain in his ankle and head.

    ¡®Didn¡¯t know I needed your permission,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Well, now you do,¡¯ said the Major. Chalk circle gone, he jerked his thumb at the pallet. ¡®Get back over there. Now.¡¯

    There was no way Gray had the strength to stand and walk back over to the pallet. He¡¯d be damned if he crawled in front of the Major. Not for some stupid power move - because that¡¯s what the Major was doing. They learnt this tactic in their weapons and defence classes in school.

    ¡®Pallet,¡¯ said the Major. ¡®Now.¡¯

    Gray darted a glance at the distance to the pallet, and then back up to the Major¡¯s scarred face. He set his jaw.

    ¡®We really going to do this again?¡¯ The Major¡¯s lips twitched like he was holding back a laugh. ¡®You remember how it went for you earlier? Or do I need to jog your memory?¡¯

    Gray let out a shaky breath and pressed his forehead against the damp wall, closing his eyes. His ankle throbbed, sending a jolt of pain up his leg. He winced. ¡®No,¡¯ he muttered, his eyes squeezed shut. ¡®I remember.¡¯

    ¡®So, do as I tell you. I don¡¯t want to interrogate you crouching in that dark, piss-soaked corner, kid.¡¯

    Gray couldn¡¯t - think.

    ¡®What,¡¯ Gray said, ¡®what happened to the Haxleys?¡¯

    The Major frowned. ¡®What do you think?¡¯

    Horror lanced through Gray. ¡®You - you didn¡¯t ¡­¡¯ he faded out. He couldn¡¯t say it, he couldn''t think it.

    ¡®Execute them?¡¯ The Major tilted his head. ¡®No. I told you I wouldn''t. They¡¯re gone, kid. They fled.¡¯

    ¡®Gone?¡¯

    Numbness crept through Gray. He should be happy that Barin and Harriette were safely away from the Auguste soldiers. They¡¯d risked enough for him.

    Gray¡¯s chest was painfully tight. He curled his frozen fingers, staring at them blindly.

    ¡®Hm.¡¯ The Major dropped down onto his heels in front of Gray.

    Gray wished he¡¯d look away. He swallowed over the lump in his throat.

    ¡®You,¡¯ said the Major, softly, ¡®didn¡¯t officially tell me what they call you here?¡¯

    ¡®You didn¡¯t ask,¡¯ said Gray, shifting his stare to the wall. His voice was hoarse.

    ¡®Well?¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s Gray.¡¯

    ¡®Not Conor?¡¯

    ¡®No, sir.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m Major Killian Slate, Gray.¡¯This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Some dank strands of Gray''s dark hair fell over his face, but he didn¡¯t dare move to brush it back.

    ¡®I can see you¡¯re scared,¡¯ said Killian. Gray could hear the smile in Killian¡¯s voice. His teeth would be bared. ¡®So, I¡¯ll let you off not saying ¡®nice to meet you¡¯ just this once.¡¯

    Gray shut his eyes.

    ¡®I want to lay some things out for you. You, my young friend, were in the company of Branbright. To anyone looking in from the outside, it seems Branbright was trying to collect the son of D¡¯Oncray.¡¯

    ¡¯Not,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®the son-¡¯

    Killian¡¯s eyebrows shot up. ¡®Not the son of D¡¯Oncray? True, you seem to have forgotten how to perform wandless magic, judging by your clumsy attempt earlier.¡¯ Killian clicked his tongue. ¡¯That attempt was so embarrassing for such a famous magical prodigy, Gray. But, it was a little too good to be anything other than a giant red flag.¡¯

    Gray drew in a ribboned breath, his body unbearably tense.

    ¡®Oh, and you were right at the centre of two horrible murders.¡¯ Killian paused. ¡¯The red flags are piling up, kid.¡¯

    Something spiked inside Gray. He glared at the wall, shivering, listening hard.

    Killian rocked back, huffing warm breath onto his fingers. ¡®Your name has never come up before in Dierne. It¡¯s obvious to me you¡¯ve enjoyed this town¡¯s protection, due to some lingering affection for your father¡¯s family.¡¯

    Shit.

    Gray pressed his lips together. ¡®No.¡¯

    ¡®No?¡¯

    ¡®You don¡¯t bring them into this,¡¯ said Gray. ''You leave these people alone.''

    ¡®You¡¯re real fucking cute, kid.¡¯ Killian gave a dark smile. ¡®I¡¯ll bring whoever I want into this.¡¯

    ¡®The northerners don¡¯t - know about the kingdom¡¯s convoluted laws, OK? They¡¯ve done nothing wrong.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s dark gaze narrowed, just for a moment.

    ¡®That¡¯s not for you to decide, is it, Gray?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray swallowed. Words died inside him. The hard stone floor and walls were freezing, the cold seeping through his thin clothes.

    ¡®Normally,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®it¡¯s execution on the spot. For being from a sorcerer¡¯s line. But you - you¡¯re going to Dierne. The king will decide your fate there.¡¯

    Honestly, this was more than Gray had expected. A tiny flame of hope flickered to life inside his chest.

    ¡®Why?¡¯ he said.

    ¡®That¡¯s the king¡¯s business,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®And mine.¡¯

    Gray dared a glance at Killian. Just for the tiniest second.

    Killian¡¯s face, his body language - it betrayed nothing. He was like an immobile predator, waiting for his prey in the long grass.

    ¡®Make no mistake, kid, the king wanting to see you, doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯ll keep your head, and it makes everything a lot more complicated for me.¡¯

    The tiny flame in Gray¡¯s chest snuffed out.

    ¡®People are still talking about Conor Griffin like he¡¯s the answer to all their problems,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®The only contender for Wilde. And Krupin. They¡¯re idiots, of course. But, they¡¯re not the only ones who¡¯d like a piece of D¡¯Oncray¡¯s son. If word gets out that I have Conor Griffin in my custody, things could get ugly, very fast.¡¯

    Gray bowed his head.

    ¡®Your best shot at not being torn apart in here,¡¯ said Killian, speaking carefully, ¡®and once we reach Dierne, is pleasing me. Answer my questions. Don¡¯t throw your magic around. Let me dangle you in front of Longwark, to help me draw him out. Do that, and I¡¯ll tell the king what a good boy you are, and maybe he¡¯ll look favourably on you.¡¯

    It was Killian¡¯s use of the word favourably that steeled Gray¡¯s resolve.

    The king¡¯s favour was messed up. It meant nothing. Nothing real. Gray had heard Elona¡¯s stories, when she and Barin had thought they were all in bed, from when she was a king¡¯s consort, about the Augustes and their brutal coldness.

    The king¡¯s favouritism hadn¡¯t helped the Griffins when the time came. Wilde had still obliterated them.

    ¡®Now,¡¯ said the Major, straightening up to his full height. ¡®Get over to the pallet. Tell me what you know about Longwark¡¯s patterns.¡¯

    Gray locked his gaze onto Killian¡¯s dark stare for a brief second, before blinking away. He stayed resolutely still.

    Something flashed through Killian, so fast, Gray barely felt it.

    It was a ripple, a chafe, in Killian''s air.

    There, and then buried.

    ¡®Not a smart move, Gray,¡¯ said Killian.

    Killian reached down and grabbed Gray¡¯s collar.

    He tugged hard. Gray bit down a cry as his ankle bent. He suppressed a gasp, and he went limp, determined not to give Killian any satisfaction.

    Killian dragged him to the pallet and into the light. With some effort, he forced Gray onto the pallet. Gray turned away the moment he let go, trying to hide his trembling. He curled into himself, favouring his ruined ankle.

    Killian leant over him. ¡®Was that worth it?¡¯

    Gray ignored him.

    ¡®Well?¡¯

    Gray took a shuddering breath. ¡®I¡¯m deciding.¡¯

    Killian huffed an amused breath. There was a rustle, and then he tossed something onto Gray. Gray spared it a half glance.

    It was an ankle compression bandage.

    Gray brushed it off him.

    Killian nailed it back. ¡®Put it on, Gray, or I''ll put it on for you.¡¯

    Gray stayed rigid.

    Killian¡¯s fingers were already working on Gray¡¯s bootlaces, pulling them apart like he owned the damn boots.

    Gray sat bolt upright, spine pinned hard against the stone wall.

    ¡®Don¡¯t touch me.¡¯ The words were forced steady.

    Killian paused, his scarred fingers hovering over Gray¡¯s scruffy laces. ¡®You need the bandage so it won¡¯t hurt as much when I make you stand and then kneel in front of the court in Dierne. They¡¯re going to have a big stage in the grand stadium, waiting for you.¡¯

    ¡®Get away from me,¡¯ said Gray firmly. His heart hammered.

    ¡®Kid, put on the bandage.¡¯

    Gray refused to look away.

    Killian pressed his lips together in a hard line. ¡®Here¡¯s the deal. You put on that bandage and I¡¯ll back off til morning. Give you time to chew on everything I said. But, if it slipped your notice, kid, I¡¯m the one holding all the power. Don¡¯t push your luck.¡¯

 19. Are People Scared Of Him Now?

    The untouched bowl of cold oats was a big deal.

    It sat by Gray¡¯s heel, as he leaned back against the damp prison wall, barely visible in the faint morning light. Four soldiers were discussing it in hot whispers outside his cell.

    They were gesturing to the bowl of oats a lot.

    Or maybe, thought Gray, closing his eyes and turning his face away, they were gesturing to him.

    It was taking everything within Gray to battle the waves of grief that kept threatening to overcome him. He¡¯d be OK - well not OK, but not mentally fighting back the urge to curl in on himself like his life depended on it - then, bam, it¡¯d hit him.

    He couldn¡¯t afford to fall apart right now.

    And he didn¡¯t give a flying fuck about eating.

    He needed to plan. He needed to think.

    There was a sharp scuffle by the door, and one of the whispering soldiers stumbled into his cell. Gray watched from his periphery.

    It was the rookie. The others had shoved him in.

    He hovered, just out of reach.

    Gray waited, his muscles locked.

    ¡®You have to eat, prisoner,¡¯ said the rookie.

    He spoke northern, and it surprised Gray enough that he faced him.

    The rookie had mended the tear in the knee of his trousers. His cheeks were flushed with high colour, and his eyes were as alert and darting as a rabbit¡¯s. He¡¯d rolled the sleeves of his uniform up, revealing threatening skull and bones tattoos that contrasted with his cautious body language.

    Earlier, the rookie had drawn the short straw, and had been shoved into Gray¡¯s cell, to wake him from a nightmare. Gray¡¯s magic had been coming to the surface. It had lit up the cell.

    A powerful mage - let alone a sorcerer - in a nightmare was no joke. Broken windows, shattered ceiling, violent storms.

    Earlier, the rookie had shaken Gray out of it, with a trembling hand on Gray¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡®You¡¯re scaring the shit out of the men,¡¯ the rookie had said with an anxious breath, ¡®and your guards.¡¯

    And now, the rookie was here again, and he was speaking northern.

    ¡®You have to eat, prisoner,¡¯ the rookie repeated.

    In northern.

    He didn¡¯t look northern, but then, neither did Gray.

    ¡®I¡¯m not hungry,¡¯ replied Gray in northern, eyeing the tattoos and then the sword at the rookie¡¯s hip warily.

    The rookie hesitated.

    ¡®That¡¯s all I know how to say,¡¯ said the rookie, switching back to Lismerian and stepping closer to Gray.

    He hesitated again, casting a sweeping glance over Gray. ¡®I bought a northern dictionary last night. And I could buy more books on northern if I wanted to. Do you know how much they pay us to be in the treasure league? I mean, besides the prize money, which is no small amount. It¡¯s dangerous, of course, and the Major is a right icy prick ¡­¡¯ The rookie cleared his throat, the colour on his cheeks deepening. ¡¯Stop my tongue.¡¯

    Gray watched him out of the corner of his eye, his heart thudding in his chest.

    ¡®Quit yapping,¡¯ snapped one of the soldiers from the doorway. ¡®Make him eat, rookie.¡¯

    Another hissed something so fast, Gray didn¡¯t catch it. The rookie nodded at the soldier, squaring his shoulders.

    The rookie cleared his throat again. ¡®You have to eat.¡¯

    Gray darted a glance at the soldiers in the doorway, before dropping his gaze onto the bowl of oats. Gray¡¯s stomach flipped.

    ¡®Why do you care?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Major cares.¡¯ The rookie stepped closer. ¡®He says to make sure all the prisoners eat. And they all have. Except you.¡¯

    ¡®He won¡¯t have his prisoners dying of starvation,¡¯ called one of the soldiers. ¡®Eat, sorcerer.¡¯

    The rookie must¡¯ve caught something in Gray¡¯s expression because he nudged the bowl towards Gray with his toe. ¡®Eat. Or, Major will make you. And that¡¯ll be bad for everyone.¡¯ He thrust his hands into his pockets. ¡®I¡¯ve seen him do it. You don¡¯t want him to feed you.¡¯

    ¡¯This ain¡¯t a fucking date, rookie,¡¯ called a soldier. ¡®You¡¯re not buying him the damn dinner. Make him eat, before Major gets down here.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m doing it,¡¯ said the rookie, his shoulders tight. ¡®Give me a minute.¡¯ With one swift movement, he crouched in front of Gray.

    Gray flinched, and then felt his cheeks flush, hating himself.

    ¡®Look,¡¯ said the rookie, ¡®please eat.¡¯

    ¡®Throw it away,¡¯ whispered Gray. ¡®Tell him I ate.¡¯

    ¡®Nah,¡¯ said the rookie. ¡®He¡¯s got this uncanny way of knowing when you lie. He can hear it or smell it or something. I dunno.¡¯ He felt around in his jacket pocket and then pulled out a beat-up deck of cards. Carefully, he pressed them into Gray¡¯s freezing hands.

    ¡®It¡¯s,¡¯ said the rookie, ¡®missing an ace. But it¡¯s yours. If you eat.¡¯

    His rabbit-fast eyes were clear green and completely guileless.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    ¡®Take your cards back,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I¡¯ll eat.¡¯

    The rookie stood up and left, leaving the cards in Gray¡¯s hands.

    ¡ª¡ª

    Eating the oats was stupid-hard work. Gray was damn well sweating.

    He set aside the half-empty bowl by the deck of cards, bowing his head between his knees, his hands gripped in his hair.

    The hair on the back of Gray¡¯s neck rose. Something was in the cell with him.

    Very carefully, he lifted his head.

    He blinked rapidly, trying to get the face looming over him into focus.

    Wolf fur trimmed his collar. Dark hair underneath a kingdom soldier¡¯s cap. Cold-eyed and hard-mouthed.

    Major Killian Slate.

    He¡¯d slipped inside the cell more silently than a ghost.

    A wave of burning hot loathing and fear rose inside Gray.

    ¡®What¡¯s that?¡¯ Killian''s dark gaze was fixed on the bowl by Gray¡¯s foot.

    Gods.

    Gray took up the bowl, and prepared himself to scrape the sides down.

    But, before he could, Killian was on his haunches in front of him and shuffling the deck of cards with deft fingers. Killian pinned Gray with a dark look. ¡®Rookie,¡¯ Killian called. ¡®Come here.¡¯

    There was a soft padding up the corridor, and then the rookie skidded to a stop outside Gray¡¯s cell.

    ¡®Major?¡¯ the rookie said, his flushed face peering in at them.

    ¡®Did I tell you to stay out of these cells, rookie?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray shifted, his heart hammering. ¡®He didn¡¯t-¡®

    Killian stopped Gray with a sharp gesture. ¡®You¡¯re confused about your name, kid?¡¯ he said to Gray.

    ¡¯No,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®But he-¡¯

    ¡®Is your name rookie?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray ignored the cold ripples echoing within him. He stayed calm and made himself meet the Major¡¯s dark gaze.

    ¡®Have you gone through three years of military training,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®and passed all the tests?¡¯

    Gray refused to drop his gaze.

    ¡®Are your stat scores high enough to meet the standards of our world-class military, kid? Perhaps, that measly total of forty-one on your papers is false?¡¯

    Gray made himself stay still. No, he wanted to say.

    But, he was angry enough for it to come out in his voice. His voice would break. It would be rough.

    There was no way he¡¯d let this man see him lose control again. Not like he¡¯d done so stupidly in the Captain¡¯s office.

    ¡®You¡¯re the freshest piece of meat here, Gray,¡¯ said Killian darkly, ¡®but you¡¯re nowhere near the privilege of being called rookie. Don¡¯t speak for him. Understood?¡¯

    Gray stayed stock still, his heart thudding.

    ¡®You¡¯re the shit underneath his shoe,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You¡¯re not his voice. Understood?¡¯

    When Gray didn¡¯t speak, Killian leant so close Gray felt his sharp breath. ¡®I asked you a question. Smart thing to do would be to answer.¡¯

    Gray shifted his glare to the wall, his jaw tight.

    He¡¯d been manipulated so easily before. He couldn¡¯t let it happen again.

    He wouldn¡¯t.

    He had to stay - mentally - one step out of reach. Everything that Killian said, Gray had to examine it before he let himself be turned into Killian¡¯s puppet again. This man had just tugged once, twice, on Gray¡¯s strings, and Gray¡¯d spilled his magic out like a little bitch, like he¡¯d never done before in his life, and now, Gray was completely screwed.

    Barin was screwed.

    Harriette.

    If they were ever found, they¡¯d be imprisoned, at the very least.

    Killian¡¯s hard hand gripped Gray¡¯s chin, turning Gray¡¯s head so he was forced to shift his glare onto the Major.

    Killian squeezed Gray¡¯s jaw. ¡®Understood, Griffin?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ hissed Gray.

    Killian leant back on his haunches with another sharp breath. ¡®Rookie, did I tell you to stay out of these cells?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Rookie, his voice ringing across from the door, ¡®Major.¡¯

    ¡®Go to the Mayor¡¯s office here,¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡¯Tell her to take off any cleaning staff she has in this building, until further notice. You¡¯ll be scrubbing the toilets from now on. Got it?¡¯

    The rookie was quiet for a beat. ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    He slowly padded away.

    Killian sat further back, pocketing the cards and giving Gray some space. ¡®How¡¯s the ankle?¡¯

    When Gray didn¡¯t reply, Killian slowly leant forward. ¡®You¡¯re having trouble with the whole question-answer concept, kid?¡¯

    Gray had no interest in another smack over the head. The way the Major¡¯s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, was a warning.

    ¡®It hurts,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Ankle bandage helping?¡¯

    Gray gritted his teeth. ¡®Yes.¡¯

    Killian waited, his eyebrows creeping up inch by inch. ¡®And?¡¯ he said. ¡®In the south, this is when we say thank you.¡¯

    Gray was on the verge of hurling expletives at him. Perhaps Killian knew this because he smiled his gods-awful smile that was all teeth, and tapped Gray under the chin.

    ¡®One battle at a time, hm?¡¯ he said. ¡®I¡¯ll have you spouting good manners in no time.¡¯ Killian shifted slightly, his polished boots grinding against the prison floor. ¡®You going to behave yourself? You thought about what I told you last night?¡¯

    Gray hadn¡¯t. He couldn¡¯t think past the blind panic his mind was stuck in. He was exhausted, he was wired, he was furious, he couldn¡¯t stop damn shaking -

    ¡®Kid?¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, rubbing his jaw with a trembling hand, ¡®I¡¯ve thought about it.¡¯

    ¡®And?¡¯

    The words, and I think you can go screw yourself were on the tip of Gray¡¯s tongue. ¡®I haven¡¯t decided.¡¯

    Killian stayed stock still, the smallest breath of disbelief leaving him.

    ¡®From what I saw,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®if these people turn on you - let alone my men - you¡¯re not going to be able to fight them off. The northerners didn¡¯t train you very well, hm? They have no idea of what it takes to train a mage - excuse me, a sorcerer.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s dark hair was a tangled mess. He made himself ignore it. He ignored the tightness clutching at his chest and ignored the words pushing themselves forward in his mind, to his tongue.

    ¡®You want me on your side,¡¯ said Killian.

    With great difficulty, Gray suppressed the physical urge to throw up.

    ¡®You want to be torn apart in here?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Let alone Dierne?¡¯

    Gray couldn¡¯t read Killian.

    He didn¡¯t know if Killian was full of bullshit.

    But, Killian was waiting for an answer, his eyebrows lowered, his gaze cold, and his wrists balanced on his knees as he crouched in front of Gray.

    Gray couldn¡¯t afford to hurt more than he already did.

    He knew what he had to say, even if he was still trying to figure out exactly how to read the stone-cold Major.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray reluctantly. ¡®I don¡¯t want to be ¡­ torn apart.¡¯

    ¡®You have your answer, then.¡¯ Killian¡¯s expression was hard. He stood. ¡®You¡¯re working with me. My priority is Longwark. That bastard is skirting the edges of the town. He¡¯s watching. Either he¡¯s hidden the item in here somewhere, or he wants you. Come, up. You¡¯re going to help me draw him out.¡¯

    ¡®Longwark won¡¯t come out for me,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®He won¡¯t give a f-¡¯

    There was a knock on the cell door and the hairy-fisted soldier from earlier peered in through the window. He gave Killian a stiff salute.

    ¡®Yes, Brown?¡¯

    ¡®We¡¯ve got a problem, Major.¡¯

 20. Lets Go Pick A Fight With A Sorcerer

    Killian¡¯s dark gaze bored into his soldier. ¡®So handle it.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s ¨C it¡¯s not ¨C Lieutenant sent me to get your instructions, Major - he doesn¡¯t know what -¡®

    ¡®Spit it the heck out, Brown.¡¯

    ¡®We received the king¡¯s correspondence,¡¯ Brown stuttered. He edged away, his lips pale. ¡®The guild can¡¯t spare any mages to help. Not for a week. All mages halfway decent for field work have been assigned elsewhere. King has requested you use any of the local mages.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s jaw clicked. He stood up and stalked out of the cell, straightening his uniform as he went.

    Gray strained his ears to hear them.

    Brown stood at attention in front of Killian out in the corridor, but his gaze flickered onto Gray, then back at Killian¡¯s face.

    Killian snatched the correspondence from Brown.

    Brown flinched.

    ¡®Local mages?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®That¡¯s the orders, sir.¡¯

    He groaned and adjusted his cap. ¡®There are no mages here. Even as far down as Reviness. They¡¯ve all damn disappeared.''

    ''Dis-disappeared, Major?'' said Brown.

    Killian seemed to deliberate. ''They might be here. I''m not sure. I can smell something - either mages or sorcerers - they¡¯re here, skirting the town, same as Longwark. They¡¯re playing some sort of fucking game of cat and mouse. It¡¯s ¡­ unusual behaviour.¡¯

    ¡®What are your orders, Major?¡¯

    ¡®Get a group together. Get Lieutenant D¡¯Orsay to lead you, but I want Codder in charge of tracking. Be smart about it. Mages are a tightly-knit lot. Protective of their own. Do what you have to. Question their friends, their familiars. Go to Sirentown, if you must. Bring me a mage. A good one. They need to be able to fahren large distances.¡¯

    Gray sat up slowly, pushing aside the pain in his ankle and various other pulsating injuries littering his body, as he cautiously watched the two men through the doorway.

    Killian said something low and soft to Brown that Gray didn¡¯t catch, and then turned and saw him watching.

    Gray swallowed and lowered his gaze.

    The door clicked as Killian strode back in. He crouched in front of Gray. ¡®Eavesdropping, kid?¡¯ His tone was softly polite, but there was an edge to it that hadn¡¯t been there when he¡¯d spoken to Gray a minute ago.

    ¡®No,¡¯ Gray lied.

    Killian offered his hand. ¡®As much as I love this vomit hole, we¡¯ve got to go pick a fight with a sorcerer.¡¯

    Gray stared at Killian¡¯s outstretched hand. There was no damn way Gray was going to help this man. This man was delusional.

    Physically fighting against him, though, was not an option.

    Pushing down every screaming instinct within him, Gray grabbed Killian¡¯s wrist and let him haul him to his feet.

    Filtered sunlight lit the prison corridor.

    The familiar faces of some of Krydon¡¯s guards were pressed to the barred windows from inside the cell doors.

    The sounds of them shifting, coughing, and softly talking echoed off the walls.

    Killian¡¯s imprisoned the entire Kyrdon guard, Sorena had said.

    You scared the shit out of your guards, the rookie had said.

    Gray felt the burn of their gazes tracking him and Killian down the corridor.

    The Krydon guards inside the cells were growing quiet.

    Killian manoeuvred Gray past the soldiers on duty and around the corner.

    Gray staggered, but Killian kept him upright. Gray couldn¡¯t help the moan that worked its way out of his throat at the sight of the set of stairs leading up out of the prison.

    ¡®Come on, then.¡¯ Killian hefted Gray¡¯s weight a little. ¡®Up we go.¡¯

    They set up the dirty stone steps. Sludge dripped from a pipe further up, and it clung to the cracks in the stones and dribbled down.

    ¡®You¡¯re looking pale, there, Gray.¡¯

    Gray strained to keep his grimace in check. Sweat beaded his face. His ankle was on fire. It was agony, every step.

    They reached the landing. Gray choked back a sob, hating himself. His pulse pounded in the wound from the mugger¡¯s attack. Killian hustled him along a stone corridor, not even out of breath, the stench of the prison ebbing away.

    In the hall, paused before them with a folder clutched in her fist, was Poppy, Mayor of Krydon. Her salt and pepper hair was not in its usual neat bun.

    Their gazes met, and then she slammed through a door and disappeared.

    Killian took him out a side door, through the garden, and into the streets.

    After ten minutes of Gray being hoisted alongside Killian, and seeing the few townsfolk scurrying on the street away from them, Killian dumped Gray in a chair outside a coffee den on the outskirts of Krydon¡¯s border, that looked out onto the mountain and forest.

    Killian went inside to order, while Gray wiped sweat off his brow and tried to push down the screaming pain in his ankle.

    Killian came back with a mug of coffee for himself, and a glass of water for Gray.

    Gray watched him sip his coffee, fury and confusion swirling inside him.

    ¡®See here,¡¯ said Killian, leaning back and propping his elbow on the back of his chair, ¡®we act like we¡¯re talking. We¡¯re talking about something important. You should lean forward and whisper.¡¯

    Gray stared at him.

    Wariness coiled through the confusion within him. This man, his bearing, his movement, was different to the man he¡¯d been moments ago in the prison and the corridors. He reminded Gray of the stage players who travelled through Krydon during the summer festivals. They wore masks layered upon their faces - they¡¯d finish playing one character, pull off a mask, to reveal the mask of another character underneath.

    Killian in front of his men was dangerous. Killian on his own was ¡­ unpredictable.

    ¡®Help me out here, kid,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I thought we had an agreement.¡¯If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Gray swivelled his glare to the tree line.

    ¡®Not exactly the chatty type, are you?¡¯ Killian said. ¡®No matter. It¡¯s probably enough for him just to see you with me. If he¡¯s watching.¡¯

    Gray reached for the glass of water. His fingers trembled.

    ¡®You didn¡¯t finish your oats?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray hesitated.

    ''What do you want?'' Killian jerked his chin towards the coffee den.

    Gray¡¯s muscles in his shoulders were bearably stiff. Confusion peaked within him. Maybe this man was actually delusional, in the medical sense.

    Maybe he was nuts.

    More likely, though, this was Killian¡¯s attempt for Gray to drop his guard and - what? Reveal his magic again? Confess his papers were indeed false? Tell him the coordinates of Longwark¡¯s location in exchange for a damn coffee?

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, carefully, ¡®I really want a bath.¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t think they sell those here,¡¯ said Killian.

    He disappeared back into the coffee den.

    Gray glanced back out to the forest. If his ankle hadn¡¯t been wrecked, he could¡¯ve run into the treeline, easy.

    Killian dropped a sweet bun in front of him, and Gray started.

    The bun was huge, with sticky peach icing and coconut dusting the top. Gray normally would¡¯ve devoured it in ten seconds flat. Now, though, the smell alone made his stomach churn. His jaw was sore and stiff. His lip was busted. Physically, eating that thing -

    ¡®Eat, kid. You¡¯re no good to me if you pass out.¡¯

    Killian was watching him. He was watching every move.

    Slowly, Gray went to pick it up, but then stopped, glancing at his hands.

    They were filthy. Torn up. His nails were caked with moss from the prison cell floor.

    He battled with himself for a moment, before glancing around for something - a cloth, a napkin, a water fountain - to clean them.

    His stomach churned, hot and volatile. He could smell the bun, smell the hot sugar, the coconut.

    ¡®Here.¡¯ Killian offered his handkerchief.

    Gray paused, his shoulders tight.

    Killian waited, holding the handkerchief. It fluttered in the breeze, and then stilled.

    ¡®I¡¯ve worked with you creepy bastards long enough to know your ways,¡¯ he said.  His cold gaze settled on Gray¡¯s face, in the same way a mountain lion¡¯s gaze would settle on a passing meal. ¡®Well, not sorcerers, so much. Never sorcerers, actually. You''re the longest I¡¯ve kept a sorcerer alive.¡¯

    Gray stared at him and imagined ten different ways he could kill him.

    ¡®But,¡¯ said Killian, his teeth bared in a horrible smile, ¡®your genetic cousin, the mage? Plenty. And it¡¯s all the same shit.¡¯ He waved the handkerchief. ¡®Go on.¡¯

    ¡®If you¡¯re trying to get me to react,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®if you think Longwark will come out because he thinks I look uncomfortable or angry, you¡¯re going to be talking nonsense like this all day. He won¡¯t care.¡¯

    Killian carefully stashed his handkerchief away.

    He straightened from his relaxed posture and sipped his coffee, his entire bearing controlled.

    ¡®You¡¯re angry,¡¯ said Killian lightly.

    Gray kept his jaw shut, already regretting opening his damn mouth.

    He would¡¯ve done better to keep completely silent.

    He should¡¯ve let Killian rabbit on.

    Carefully, Gray kept still. Calm. ¡®Do I look angry to you?¡¯

    ¡®It wasn¡¯t a question, kid.¡¯

    Gray drew in a long and slow breath.

    ¡®Most people,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®it¡¯s relief. Sometimes fear. Anger, however? That¡¯s unusual.¡¯

    Gray slowly took up the bun. He desperately tried to ignore the filthy conditions of his hands. Tried not to care, not to think.

    Killian sat in steely silence while Gray took tiny bites of the bun, until he managed to eat about half of it.

    He dragged Gray to the blacksmith near the road to Sirentown, barking at Gray to stand where he could be seen from the road when Gray attempted to lean in a pocket of shade against the side of the smithy.

    He did the same when he hauled Gray to the fruit shop near the road to Reviness, and to the leather shop and mill that backed onto the stream that ran down from the mountain.

    By the time they stopped at the butcher near one of the forest trails, Gray was covered in sweat from the effort of hobbling, and his stomach churning.

    Gray leant against the cool glass outside of the butcher display. He glared at his feet to avoid the stares from any passing townsfolk, tried not to hear the shocked whispers of ¡®Barin¡¯s boy?¡¯, or the oily catcall from a soldier passing by the end of the road. He listened to Killian try to order meat from the butcher. The butcher refused to speak Lismerian and was calling Killian every northern slur under the sun, in a friendly, polite tone.

    Gray hid a small smile.

    Gray slid down and sat, not caring he was on the hard, cobbled ground, and eyed the grate in the middle of the street. If he could get over there, pull up the grate -

    A shadow fell over him.

    Killian cocked his head. ¡®You¡¯re not so visible tucked down there, Gray. Bait needs to be seen. Come on, stand up.¡¯

    Gray fisted his sweaty hands. ¡®I need more water,¡¯ he said stiffly.

    ¡®This is the first damn thing you¡¯ve said to me in nearly an hour. You must really need that water.¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    Killian considered him. ¡®Tell you what. I¡¯ll get you that water. I¡¯ll even get you something for the pain. I¡¯ll let you have a damn bath. But, you talk to this idiot in the butcher for me, and then, later, you answer my questions.¡¯

    Gray hesitated.

    Every fibre within him was fighting against helping Killian in any way.

    But, if Gray was going to figure out how to get the heck out of this situation, he needed to know Killian. He needed to know how to make Killian slip up.

    Maybe, if Gray got Killian talking about something other than bullshit, Gray would learn a weakness.

    ¡®Hm?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Yes, what?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Killian.¡¯

    A pause. ¡®Close enough.¡¯

    Killian hauled Gray inside the cool shop of the butcher. The butcher was one of Barin¡¯s suppliers for the Tipsy Stag tavern, and she nodded tightly at Gray, her wild red hair pulled back underneath a white cap. A tiny black crow was tattooed underneath her left eye, and she had kohl lining her intelligent brown eyes.

    ¡®I need enough meat for my division for two nights,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Fifty pounds of good meat - beef or lamb.¡¯

    Gray translated this to the butcher.

    ¡®I¡¯ll give him off cuts and dog meat,¡¯ said the butcher in fast northern. ¡®Are you all right, lad?¡¯

    ¡®Yeah.¡¯ Gray swallowed. ¡®Careful. He''s sharp.¡¯ He glanced up at the hard face of Killian, and said to him in Lismerian, ¡®She doesn¡¯t have it. Let¡¯s go.¡¯

    ¡®Tell her to get it,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I think it¡¯s better we go,¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian¡¯s jaw tensed. ¡®I need to feed my men. You don¡¯t want to see them hungry.¡¯

    Gray hesitated. He didn¡¯t want the butcher to get into strife. There was no way Killian was going to negotiate well with this butcher, striding into her shop in his Auguste uniform, after killing their Captain, stealing from their treasury, and imprisoning their guards. Her son was -

    ¡®She¡¯s refusing to sell me the meat?¡¯ Killian said, softly.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray at once. ¡®Uh,¡¯ to the butcher in quiet northern, ¡®He and his men¡¯ll be angry if they don¡¯t get good meat.¡¯

    ¡®There¡¯s a lot of angry people here, lad,¡¯ said the butcher. ¡®He gets meat from me, there¡¯ll be poison in it.¡¯

    Gray refused to glance at Killian. There was a certain appeal in poisoning the Major and his men.

    But, if the king got wind of it, Krydon would be burned to the ground.

    ¡®She doesn¡¯t have it,¡¯ Gray said in Lismerian, staring hard at his boots. ¡®She¡¯s a small butcher. Let¡¯s just go.¡¯

    Killian refused to move.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I know where you can get food. Better than here.¡¯

    Silently, Killian bunched up the back of Gray¡¯s sweater in his fist, and stalked out of the butcher, dragging Gray with him.

    They made their way through the alleyway, back the way they¡¯d come. Gray¡¯s ankle was on fire. He stumbled.

    ¡®She¡¯ll be reported,¡¯ said Killian coldly. ¡®For refusing to-¡¯

    ¡®There¡¯s meat in the tavern,¡¯ said Gray, quickly. ¡®In the cellar. We source the best meat, it¡¯s good. Your men¡¯ll like it. With Barin gone ¡­ it¡¯ll just be sitting there. We have meat, ale, fruit, everything. OK? It¡¯ll feed your men for a few days at least.¡¯

    Killian stopped, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

    ¡®You don¡¯t want her meat, anyway,¡¯ said Gray. He wiped his brow with a trembling hand. ¡®Ours is better.¡¯

    His dark gaze was fixed on a point down the street. He was quiet for so long that Gray followed his line of sight.

    Nothing. Just an empty street, with some rubble piled on the corner from when the griffin had rampaged through.

    Perhaps this was how Killian thought. Barin would sometimes do the same thing when adding sums.

    ¡®Ours is better,¡¯ said Gray, more firmly. ¡®Don¡¯t trouble yourself, writing out a report. You must be busy. She¡¯s done you a favour, I swear.¡¯

    Killian slowly shifted his dark gaze onto Gray. There was a strange quality to it that Gray couldn¡¯t decipher.

    ¡®Back to the office,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I have some questions for you, while you¡¯re being talkative.¡¯

 21. What If The Alchemy Teacher Was Actually A Sorcerer, Though?

    The Major shouldered into the office and dumped Gray unceremoniously into a chair.

    The large window let in soft daylight, illuminating the large tapestry on the wall and the dozens of wanted posters on the other.

    Gray couldn¡¯t help himself. He flickered a glance out the window and into the oddly shaped town square. There was a crowd there, like yesterday, bustling in a large clump.

    ¡®You with me, Gray? You¡¯re being very quiet.¡¯ He followed Gray¡¯s gaze. ¡®They¡¯re dismantling the stage.¡¯

    ¡®Was there a performance?¡¯ Gray said, stupidly. There had been a parade and a show last week to celebrate the upcoming - now probably cancelled - royal wedding, and to celebrate the beginning of summer.

    ¡®Not quite,¡¯ said Killian.

    Something in his tone caught Gray¡¯s frayed attention, and some details clunked into place in his muddy mind.

    ¡®You¡¯re looking at the stage where Branbright was executed yesterday,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®for everyone to see.¡¯

    There were blackened marks on the cobblestones surrounding it ¨C the marks of a death curse unleashed by a powerful sorcerer.

    Gray clenched his jaw. Well, shit.

    From his little knowledge of Branbright and his affinity with accidental wandless magic, Gray was hardly surprised he¡¯d released a death curse. Death curses happened rarely ¨C they needed wandless magic to happen ¨C and they happened during the sorcerer¡¯s last moments before death, but they were devastating.

    Killian had brought down the wrath of Branbright on himself, on Gray, on everyone involved in Branbright¡¯s death.

    Everyone in Krydon was screwed. They were all as good as dead. Everyone, including the Major, all his morally-damaged soldiers.

    Gray stared at Killian, his gaze blisteringly angry. Idiot.

    He was too angry to unclench his jaw to speak.

    ¡®Problem?¡¯ Killian damned well smiled. He took off his sword and laid it across the desk.

    Gray managed a stiff nod.

    ¡®Well, speak, kid.¡¯

    ¡®You ¨C he ¨C unleashed a death curse.¡¯

    Gray could barely articulate the words past the hot anger raging through his veins. He tried to remember what he¡¯d learnt about death curses in history in school (how long did they have to stop the worst of it?) but he needed his books to be sure.

    He could only remember that the last death curse had been almost one hundred years ago, when the sorcerer Greymeath was killed in a brawl in Dierne. Winter and plagues had swept the city for seven years. It had nearly halved the population before the authorities figured out the cause.

    It had been too late to stop it, then. They¡¯d just had to wait it out.

    Killian looked out the window. He strode over, hand pressed against the glass. He glanced back at Gray.

    ¡®Why would you think that, kid?¡¯

    ¡®Look at the scorch marks.¡¯

    ¡®You see scorch marks?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®They¡¯re right there!¡¯

    ¡®You feel something?¡¯

    Gray felt nothing but anger and fear, and his pulse in the wound on his head, and his ankle, and where Killian had hit him.

    ¡®Hm?¡¯ Killian¡¯s lips were tight.

    Gray gave a tiny shake of his head. A tiny shrug.

    ¡®General knows about sorcerers,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®So does Darcy. One of them, surely, would¡¯ve removed Branbright¡¯s tongue.¡¯

    Gray curled his toes in his boots, his heart hammering. ¡®You weren¡¯t there? Ask your General ¨C¡®This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡®He¡¯s gone. He and Darcy had their own orders. They¡¯ll be unreachable for a few days.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s mouth fell open. He stared at the town court.

    ¡®I¡¯ll get my mage to check,¡¯ Killian said, ¡®when she wakes.¡¯

    Killian quietly sat on the edge of his desk. He poured Gray some water into a chipped teacup, out of the old kettle sitting on the fireplace. He handed him a draught Gray was familiar with - they''d used it for headaches back at the tavern.

    The pain ebbed away.

    Slowly, deliberately, Killian pulled Branbright¡¯s scarf out of the top desk drawer.

    Gray sat bolt upright. ¡®You went into my room?¡¯

    ¡®The attic?¡¯ Killian said. ¡®Yeah.¡¯

    The thought of this Major traipsing around his room, going through the place that was his and Alistair¡¯s, was almost more than Gray could bear.

    Gray closed his eyes, just for a second.

    ¡®Where¡¯d you get this, kid?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray swallowed.

    ¡®I ask, you answer,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®It¡¯s the last time I''ll warn you. Where¡¯d you get this? It¡¯s a lot nicer than anything else you own.¡¯

    Gray hesitated, knowing the truth was not going to sound good. ¡®It - someone gave it to me.¡¯

    Killian leant on the desk, his polished boots crossed at the ankles. Angled sunlight deepened the scars on his face. ¡®Who?¡¯

    Reluctantly, ¡®Branbright.¡¯

    ¡®Not Longwark?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray gave a slight shake of his head.

    ¡®Are you sure about that?¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®Why would Branbright give you this very valuable scarf?¡¯

    ¡®I - don¡¯t know,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®These scarves offer protection - but you know what else they can do?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®They can be used to call or signal the owner.¡¯

    Gray felt his eyes widen. He started shaking his head.

    ''I''ll ask you again. Are you sure it''s not Longwark''s?''

    ''No. Look, I think you''ve got the wrong end of the stick with Longwark,'' said Gray. ''He''s just a mage, he fought in the war against Krupin, against Wilde, he''s weirdly loyal to the king - to Lismere-¡®

    ''I know his history,'' said Killian. His grip tightened around the scarf. ¡®Why would Branbright give you this?¡¯

    ¡®He was a guest at the tavern,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®That¡¯s all. He was nice.¡¯

    ¡®Nice?¡¯

    For a second, Killian reminded Gray of Alistair. The tilt of the head, the careful gaze, the tone of voice. Gray struggled to get a grip on himself, to not fall apart. He wiped sweat out of his eyes.

    ¡®He gave me the scarf,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®as a tip. He gave me lots of tips.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s called collecting, kid.¡¯

    ¡®It wasn¡¯t like that!¡¯

    Killian put his scarred hands up, placatingly. ¡®In my field of work, it¡¯s what we call it when a sorcerer finds a younger sorcerer they want to mentor, and recruits them.¡¯

    Gray shook his head. Branbright hadn¡¯t been trying to do that.

    ¡®There aren¡¯t a whole lot of sorcerers around, kid,'' said Killian, ''so when a master sorcerer finds a half-decent potential apprentice, they pull out all the stops to collect.¡¯

    ¡®Even if he was,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®even though he - to me - was a good man, I wouldn¡¯t have gone with him.¡¯

    Killian stayed very still. ¡®Why¡¯s that?¡¯

    ¡®A sorcerer - killed my family. You think I don''t know that? I want nothing to do with magic. I''m definitely no sorcerer. I''d never agree to learn anything from any sorcerer. You''re giving me way too much credit - I''m not anything - I''m not -¡¯

    Gray stopped himself. He was gibbering. His fear was spilling out.

    ¡®See,¡¯ Killian said, ¡®the problem with that - with anything you say - is that a sorcerer will lie through his teeth, and feel no anxiety, no hitch of confidence, nothing. How do I know you¡¯re not lying?¡¯

    ¡®Give me a truth potion.¡¯

    ¡®Truth potions are a myth, kid. I have to go by my gut. My gut tells me that you¡¯re exhibiting a lot of aggressive behaviour - and way too much power - for a mage.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s not true - I¡¯ve seen Longwark -¡¯ Gray cut himself off, his stomach sinking.

    Killian stayed silent, his dark eyes watching.

    ¡®Longwark gets angry,¡¯ Gray whispered. ¡®He has a temper.¡¯

    ¡®Violent?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Kind of a psychopathic dick?¡¯

    Gray closed his eyes. Sometimes.

    Could he have been wrong about Longwark? Everyone in Krydon had been wrong about Longwark? This whole time ¡­

    ¡®I¡¯m shocked,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®that he¡¯s been accused of sorcery.¡¯

    Gray let out a shuddering breath.

    ¡®Longwark had you working for him, didn¡¯t he?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You¡¯d run errands with him?¡¯

    ¡®No.¡¯

    ¡®You sure about that?¡¯

    Gray frowned. ¡®I¡¯m sure.¡¯

    His jaw clicked. For a second, his shoulders bunched, like he was going to strike out.

    Gray flinched, but after a long moment nothing happened. He cautiously opened his eyes.

    Killian stared at Gray. ¡®See, that raises a few questions. If I¡¯m to believe what you say. Because, I¡¯ve been looking at some of the old Captain¡¯s paperwork.¡¯

    He slid a thick piece of parchment towards Gray. It was curled at the corners and looked like it had been handled a lot.

    It had Gray¡¯s face on it. It had his thick eyebrows lowered with the thin scar slicing through the left. It had his lips lifted in a snarl so he looked more menacing than anything he could achieve in real life. The words on it were in a foreign script, Othoan script, but it was clear what it was.

    A wanted poster.

    It took Gray an age to process what was in front of him. The anger that swarmed and buzzed like mites inside his veins slowly died and turned to ice.

    Then Killian slid another wanted poster across the desk. It was the same foreign script, the same menacing layout, but with Longwark¡¯s face instead of Gray¡¯s.

 22. His Face On The Wanted Poster (Leads To Trouble)

    Wanted.

    For what?

    ¡®Any idea what this is about?¡¯ Killian said.

    Cold dread swarmed Gray.

    Killian tilted his head. ¡®I¡¯d like an answer today, Gray.¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know. What it¡¯s about.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s smile was frozen. ¡®You don¡¯t know a lot of things, hm? How do the Othoans have a picture of your face?¡¯

    A million thoughts scurried through Gray¡¯s head and got jammed there, like a rush hour crush. He couldn¡¯t talk, he couldn¡¯t recover himself, he couldn¡¯t stop damn frowning.

    Longwark had been a mage-soldier for the army ¨C he¡¯d been just like one of those men led by Killian. But he was retired.

    So Gray had thought.

    They were miles and miles from the Othoan border, and there were wards and protection in place, not to mention the forest, to prevent anyone going in or out.

    But, maybe for a master mage like Longwark, that wasn¡¯t an issue. Distance surely wouldn¡¯t be. He could just fahren himself.

    The wards, though. How would he get past the border?

    Why would he want to?

    Killian tapped his hand under Gray¡¯s chin. Gray glared at him, a wave of loathing so hot and fresh sweeping up inside him, he felt on fire.

    ¡®What about you and Longwark, hm? This makes it look a lot like you worked together, went into Othoa together, and now you¡¯re both wanted for theft.¡¯

    ¡®Theft? I haven¡¯t stolen anything.¡¯

    ¡®But, you were working with Longwark?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®No. He¡¯s my teacher, that¡¯s all.¡¯

    He stared at Gray, with an air of a man prepared to wait.

    ¡®Longwark hates me,¡¯ Gray muttered. ¡®You can ask anyone. I have nothing to tell you.¡¯

    Killian paused. ¡®Two dead bodies in a week. That¡¯s a little above your town¡¯s average, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡¯

    Gray tried to keep his face still, tried not to show Killian he was thrown by the abrupt change of topic.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray tightly.

    ¡®What if it was a way to get to you?¡¯ Killian said casually.

    ¡®Get ¨C to me? What the fuck does that mean?¡¯

    He clucked his tongue. ¡®Language, Gray. Out of a sweet face like yours.¡¯

    Clochaint, Gray had never hated someone so much in his life.

    ¡®There are plenty of people out there who would take a crack at you, child of D¡¯Oncray.¡¯ He tossed the wanted poster into Gray¡¯s face. ¡®Kingdom zealots, Othoan bounty hunters, your standard crazies ¡­ But especially someone like Branbright or Longwark. Those murders are the exact type of shit a sorcerer pulls when they¡¯re trying to mess with someone, or get a collection running to them, for protection, safety, or comfort.¡¯

    ¡®Branbright - Longwark wouldn¡¯t ¡­¡¯ said Gray slowly.

    ¡®I¡¯ve seen a lot of awful things, kid. A sorcerer trying to collect you would.¡¯

    Killian stared at him.

    ¡®It was your stepbrother, first,'' said Killian, ''wasn¡¯t it? Alistair? You found him?¡¯

    Horror was sinking deep inside Gray.

    ¡®Then,'' said Killian, ''it was the other boy - your schoolmate? He was a friend?¡¯

    Guilt churned in Gray¡¯s stomach. He was sick with it.

    Gray should have gone out of the alchemy classroom with Alistair. He should¡¯ve said something; he should have looked at him before he walked out of the exam.

    He could have helped him. Someone should have been there to help him.

    Gray was his best friend.

    It should¡¯ve been him.

    Gray couldn¡¯t speak. His eyes burned.

    ¡®Sorcerers do this. Especially if they have competition for a collection,¡¯ continued Killian. ¡®Son of D¡¯Oncray. You¡¯d be a valuable protege. Were Longwark and Branbright fighting over you?¡¯

    Say something. But Gray couldn¡¯t. This was some kind of nightmare.

    Killian tilted his head, his expression unreadable.

    He took off his cap, carefully placing it on the desk. He ran his hands through his brown hair, pulling it out of his dark eyes. ¡®Same shit happened with Wilde. Four sorcerers killed each other over trying to collect him. Krupin swooped in at the last minute, of course.¡¯Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡®No,¡¯ croaked Gray.

    ¡®No?¡¯

    ¡®Longwark wouldn¡¯t have me,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®not if he was desperate, not if I was the last person left in the world. He didn¡¯t even want me studying alchemy with him.¡¯

    Killian stared at him, carefully observing. Waiting.

    ¡®Check with the headmaster at my school,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®He¡¯ll tell you the same.¡¯

    ¡®That doesn¡¯t mean much to me,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®It just tells me Longwark¡¯s intelligent. Providing himself - and you - cover, in case anyone comes looking.¡¯

    ¡®You know I haven¡¯t been taught anything - this is all bullshit - you told me -¡¯

    ¡®Longwark was probably waiting for your first ryece. To snatch you up. Start teaching you. Until your first ryece, you¡¯re basically just a baby human. Until your first ryece, there¡¯s no rush. But - oh! - here comes Branbright, and suddenly, there¡¯s a race to get you attached and willing to learn with -¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s not what was happening.¡¯

    ¡®What was happening?¡¯

    Gray held his head in his hands. Silence pounded the room.

    ¡®Hm? What was happening, kid?¡¯

    Gray clasped his hands together. Shook his head.

    ¡®Odds are,¡¯ said Killian softly, ¡®Longwark or Branbright killed your stepbrother. His death was fucked up enough to be committed by a sorcerer.¡¯

    It was strange, thought Gray, that Killian calling Alistair¡¯s death fucked up and a murder, was oddly comforting. Like he wasn¡¯t being so childish to be so upset by it, for it to be a physical pain.

    ¡®You don¡¯t owe Longwark or Branbright anything,¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray swallowed.

    ¡®So, why don¡¯t you help me? I need some honesty from you. You¡¯ll feel better. You and Longwark went into Othoa together, yes? You stole an item, you probably know where it is, or have an idea. Hm?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray.

    Something hard and vicious flashed over Killian¡¯s face before he managed to shutter it.

    Carefully, Killian opened a desk drawer and pulled out a notebook. He flipped through the pages.

    ¡®You were in Longwark¡¯s office, the night he disappeared,¡¯ said Killian, his tone controlled. ¡®One of the tomb guardians saw you.¡¯

    ¡®It was detention,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I failed my alchemy exam.¡¯

    ¡®There was a mountain griffin in town - which I will get to in a second - and everybody, the whole of Krydon - is shut inside. Is that right?¡¯

    ¡®I was shut inside, too. Longwark - he locked me in his office. I can¡¯t give you a first-hand account. I saw nothing.¡¯

    ¡®It would be the perfect time for someone to hide a stolen item.¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray firmly. ¡®Longwark was seen. So was Branbright. They were fighting the griffin. The whole crowd in the tavern saw them. Harriette told me.¡¯

    ¡®But, they didn¡¯t see you?¡¯

    ¡®I haven¡¯t hidden anything. I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about.¡¯

    Killian considered Gray, his gaze dark.

    ¡®You get mountain griffins here a lot, kid?¡¯

    Gray shook his head slightly.

    ¡®You know what some of the Griffin mages could do - how they got their name, a long time ago?¡¯

    Gray glanced at him, quickly.

    ¡®You call that griffin into town?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®No.¡¯

    ¡®No?¡¯ said Killian, flexing his scarred hands.

    ¡®I swear to you.¡¯

    ¡®Sure, kid.¡¯

    Gray tried to inhale. The walls were closing in.

    ¡®See, I think, whatever it is that Longwark and you stole from the Othoans, it¡¯s still here. You knew the Othoans would be coming. You knew we were coming. You hid it somewhere, while the town was distracted with the griffin.¡¯

    ¡®Look,¡¯ said Gray, pushing down the tightness in his chest, ¡®Longwark - he - he had a friend visiting him. In the office. That afternoon. Longwark gave him something.¡¯

    ¡®Who?¡¯

    ¡®He called him Emeric. Mage. Black robes. But, Emeric was there, fighting the griffin. You ask-¡¯

    ¡®What did he give him?¡¯

    ¡®It was a jar.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s gaze sharpened. ¡®A jar?¡¯

    ¡®It had magic, I could feel it.¡¯

    ¡®What kind of magic, kid?¡¯

    Gray shook his head, frowning. The prickling magic. ¡®Protection,¡¯ he said, slowly.

    ¡®Where did Emeric go?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know. He was staying at Longwark¡¯s house. Have you searched-¡¯

    ¡®Of course I¡¯ve searched his house,¡¯ Killian said dangerously.

    ¡®Then, find Emeric.¡¯ Gray clenched his jaw. ¡®He probably has what you want. If it¡¯s that jar.¡¯

    Killian strode over to the door and bellowed, ¡®Soldier!¡¯

    The cry went up over the Hall, echoing.

    Thirty seconds passed, and then a panting soldier skidded to a halt in front of the door. Then a second, and a third, clutching a stitch in his side.

    ¡®Send word to the mage guild. Fire mage called Emeric. I need to speak with him.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, sir.¡¯

    He slammed the door shut in their faces.

    ¡®I didn¡¯t say he was a fire mage,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Black robes mean he specialises in fire,¡¯ said Killian absently.

    He paced.

    Killian rubbed his forehead, his gaze steadfastly on the fireplace. ¡®Why have all the mages gone from the region?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t ¨C I don¡¯t know anything about that.¡¯

    ¡®Are they with Longwark?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know.¡¯

    ¡®You don¡¯t want me as your enemy, kid. You want me on your side.¡¯ Killian leant against the desk, glancing down at Longwark¡¯s wanted poster. He traced the Othoan words with his long index finger. ¡®You¡¯ve already made a powerful enemy. You don¡¯t want to anger Othoa. And we all know who¡¯s hiding out in Othoa, influencing the government there.¡¯

    Yeah. They all knew.

    Krupin.

    And Wilde.

    Gray glanced sideways at the wall of wanted posters. Wilde was up there, glowering down from amongst the other faces. He stood out, with his vampire-pale skin and his empty black eyes, and collarbones protruding starkly underneath his neck. He looked like he was daring you to come find him.

    Gray rubbed his left wrist, feeling the flaky leather of his wristband.

    Killian was in front of Gray, so fast, so quick, that Gray had no chance to react.

    Killian bared Gray¡¯s left wrist, pushing up, ripping, the sleeve of Barin¡¯s sweater, revealing his frayed leather wristband.

    Gray tried to wrench his wrist free, terror lancing inside him. They struggled - a furious, fast struggle - but Killian was too strong.

    Gray glared at him, dull pain shooting in his ankle.

    Killian¡¯s hot fingers unwrapped the soft, old leather. He turned Gray¡¯s arm, so he could see Gray¡¯s wrist properly.

    Gray glanced down at his wrist, though he didn¡¯t really need to see it. He knew what was there.

    On the outside of Gray¡¯s wrist was the ugly, red burn in the shape of an X.

    The symbol of sorcerer Wilde.

 23. X For Sorcerer

    Gray slid back in the chair as Killian stepped away.

    Hunching his shoulders, Gray wiped his face with his torn sleeve.

    Killian considered Gray, running a hand through his hair.

    Then, he grabbed up the abandoned leather wristband and tossed it to Gray.

    Gray layered the band over the ugly X, not looking up, and using his teeth to tie it into place.

    If he¡¯d been screwed before, now, he was completely fucked.

    A bead of sweat ran down his temple.

    Being caught with Wilde¡¯s X on his wrist by the man who held Lismere¡¯s record for executing sorcerers surely meant it was only a matter of minutes before he ended up with the same fate as Branbright.

    Explain, echoed in his mind.

    Tell him. Tell him you want Wilde dead as much as anyone.

    More than anyone.

    You¡¯ve worked hard your whole life to figure out how you¡¯d be ready to take him down, if Wilde ever came back, looking for the last Griffin.

    But, Gray couldn¡¯t. He was too panicked. He couldn¡¯t get the words past his tongue.

    Killian circled him.

    Gray kept his head down, and tried not to move, not to breathe too fast.

    ¡®That,¡¯ said Killian softly, ¡®is one hell of a sorcerer¡¯s mark, kid. It¡¯s not fresh, either. It looks old.¡¯

    Gray kept his gaze lowered. Tried to breathe through the weight crushing his chest.

    ¡®How long have you had it?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Always,¡¯ Gray said, so quietly Killian asked him to repeat himself. ¡®Always.¡¯

    Killian stared at him hard. ¡®Now is the time to tell me specifics.¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t have any specifics. I told you, I don''t - remember.¡¯ Gray tried to push down the panic fluttering in his chest, trying to master himself. ¡®This isn¡¯t what you think.¡¯

    ¡®And what do I think?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®It¡¯s not a big deal, OK?¡¯

    Killian¡¯s expression was immovable.

    ¡®I¡¯m not ¨C I promise I¡¯m not a traitor ¨C I¡¯m not a reborn - I¡¯m not his ¨C Wilde killed my family ¨C I¡¯d never, never ¨C I¡¯m loyal to ¨C¡¯

    ¡®Calm down, before you light up this room.¡¯

    Gray squeezed the arms of the chair, his knuckles white, trembling.

    ¡®Calm down,¡¯ said Killian.

    But he couldn¡¯t. He couldn¡¯t push his magic down. His control was tenuous at the moment, and he could feel tendrils of hot, gushing warmth - power - slipping free.

    ''Calm yourself.''

    Killian hauled Gray''s chair with Gray in it, over to the window and flung it open. ¡®You¡¯re at least half air mage. Inhale. Look at the sky.¡¯

    Gray shoved him off. He couldn¡¯t - breathe.

    ¡®Control it, kid.¡¯

    Gray could as soon as control a stampede of horses. It was as though he was crouched in front of the herd, watching the dust coming, the hooves pounding closer, and he couldn¡¯t move.

    ¡®Right now,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®you¡¯re OK. Nice room, with a nice fire, huh? I¡¯m going to let you have a bath. For as long as you want. Look at the sky.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s hands were on his shoulders. Squeezing.

    ¡®Breathe with me,¡¯ Killian said, his voice clipped and controlled. ¡®Inhale.¡¯

    Gray - couldn¡¯t. His panic soared.

    His skin was so hot, that he thought he must burst. He couldn¡¯t stay like this. He¡¯d have to break.

    He was vaguely aware of Killian muttering a string of swear words. Killian was gone, rifling through the desk drawers, and then swearing again.

    Killian was sprinting past him, calling out the door, ¡®Medic! Calming draught!¡¯

    Then, Killian was back again.

    ¡®Gray, you don¡¯t get Wilde¡¯s mark by being loyal to him. This-¡¯ Killian clutched Gray¡¯s wrist, ¡®shows me you¡¯re not.¡¯This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    Gray could barely make out Killian¡¯s scarred face.

    ¡®You¡¯re not seeing the king yet,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®We¡¯re not going anywhere until I get what I need from Longwark. OK? Right now, you¡¯re OK.¡¯

    Breathe. In. Out.

    Gray gasped in a huge breath.

    Then another.

    He kept his line of sight on the mountains and the blue sky above, through his streaming eyes.

    Clouds scuttled.

    His power dipped.

    Killian¡¯s head was bowed. He was on one knee, in front of Gray, his chest heaving.

    Problems with control was not like Gray. Gray was all about control. On the rare times his magic had come to the surface, lighting him up, it had faded as quickly as it rose.

    Control wasn¡¯t - shouldn¡¯t - be an issue.

    This was worse than it had ever been.

    Moving achingly slow, Killian glared up at him, his dark hair hanging in his dark eyes.

    An apology died on Gray¡¯s lips. Ice-cold sweat dripped down his face.

    ¡®Inhale,¡¯ muttered Killian, his jaw muscles bulging. ¡®For four counts. And out, for four. Look at the sky, not me.¡¯

    There was a knock on the door.

    ¡®Keep breathing, Gray,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Enter.¡¯

    Gray kept his gaze on the sky, and focused on breathing, as Killian stood closely and spoke with a soldier with a red armband.

    Then, the soldier was gone.

    Killian pressed a vial into Gray¡¯s clammy hand.

    Gray stared numbly down at it. He struggled to read the Lismerian script on the label.

    Calming Draught, non-drowsy.

    Gray was OK now. He didn¡¯t need this. But, he couldn¡¯t face arguing with Killian about it. Gray could barely sit upright, he was exhausted, and he was so embarrassed. Wordlessly, Gray uncorked it and skulled.

    ¡®You fucking useless creature,¡¯ said Killian, dragging the chair back into the middle of the room.

    Gray¡¯s skin was drenched. He couldn¡¯t look at Killian. Calmness was drifting lazily through him, blanketing the strewn remains of the panic.

    ¡®You don¡¯t remember anything?¡¯ said Killian, quietly.

    Gray knitted his brows, not understanding, humiliation swirling in his stomach, thick and uncomfortable. This asshole was the last person Gray wanted to know he was terrified. Panicked. Losing control.

    Gray wished he could be the sort of person who could face down danger and not lose their cool.

    He was nowhere near ready to face Wilde.

    Gray sagged in the chair.

    ¡®You don¡¯t remember living in Hobbtown?¡¯ said Killian. He was in front of Gray again, on a knee, his hands on the armrests, and peering coldly into Gray¡¯s face.

    Gray shook his head.

    ¡®You don¡¯t remember the duel?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®The Griffin brothers, against Wilde?¡¯

    Gray shook his head.

    ¡®Did Longwark know you have the mark?¡¯

    ¡®No, sir,¡¯ whispered Gray.

    ¡®Did Branbright?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ Gray mumbled. ¡®I don¡¯t - I don¡¯t show it around. Harriette doesn¡¯t even know I have it.¡¯ Despite himself, curiosity raised its head inside him, like a skittish ally cat poking its head out of a dumpster. ¡®Why?¡¯

    ¡®Branbright was Wilde¡¯s agent. He ¡­ Branbright was trying to collect you. Of that, I¡¯m sure. But he wouldn¡¯t want a protege marked as an enemy of Wilde. He mustn¡¯t have known. If he¡¯d seen that mark, he would¡¯ve killed you.¡¯

    Gray stared down at the place where Branbright had been executed in the town square. He eyed the scorch marks. ¡®He has killed me. The death curse.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s unlikely there¡¯s a death curse,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®My mage will check. When she wakes. You have my word.¡¯

    Gray rubbed his face.

    Killian paced, his voice soft and fast. ¡®Branbright¡¯s behaviour, to me, in the cell, was odd. For a sorcerer, he was acting like he was your damn grandfather. He saved you, at the expense of himself.¡¯

    Something snagged inside Gray. ¡®Perhaps you shouldn¡¯t have executed him so fast. Perhaps you should¡¯ve talked with him.¡¯

    ¡®That was the plan,¡¯ snapped Killian. ¡®But, what¡¯s done is done. I¡¯ve got to work with what I¡¯ve got. And what I''ve got is a baby sorcerer who doesn¡¯t know his arse from his elbow, with Wilde¡¯s mark on his arm.¡¯

    He rubbed his temple, drawing in a deep breath.

    ¡®You,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®weren¡¯t always conscious - my men said you were knocked out, by a mugger ¡­¡¯ he trailed off. ¡®Do you get muggings here often?¡¯ he said sharply.

    ¡®No.¡¯

    ¡®Who mugged you?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know. I didn¡¯t know him.¡¯

    ¡®What did he take?¡¯ demanded Killian.

    ¡®Branbright¡¯s - Branbright¡¯s stuff. His wallet.¡¯

    ¡®Where were you?¡¯

    ¡®Gallow¡¯s Alley.¡¯

    Killian stilled. He turned to look at Gray. ¡®You have a street here called Gallow¡¯s Alley?¡¯

    Gray nodded.

    Killian¡¯s eyes were narrow slits.

    Gray¡¯s brain clicked into gear. He sat straight. ¡®Alistair,¡¯ he said, ¡®Alistair he - he -¡¯

    Gray couldn¡¯t say it. He couldn¡¯t think the words.

    ¡®I know, kid,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I read the reports. He was hanged.¡¯

    ¡®Rowan?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®He - he -¡¯

    ¡®He was the same.¡¯

    Gray couldn¡¯t breathe.

    ¡®Kid, a sorcerer will do this shit, they¡¯ll play -¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®This is something else. There¡¯s a lullaby, about Gallow¡¯s Alley-¡¯

    A heavy knock thudded against the office door, rattling the frame.

    Killian didn¡¯t even flinch. ¡®Not a word Gray,¡¯ he muttered, his eyes flicking towards the door. Then, louder, with an edge of impatience, ¡®Yeah?¡¯

    The door swung open and Codder strolled in like he owned the place, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He was drenched in sweat, streaks of blood drying on his skin, his uniform a mess of grime and gore.

    Gray¡¯s breath snagged in his throat.

    Killian¡¯s gaze swept over Codder, slow and calculating. ¡®Looks like your mage hunt got a little ugly.¡¯

    Codder grinned around the cigarette, giving a languid salute. ¡®Ugly¡¯s an understatement.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s eyes narrowed, catching every drop of blood, every twitch of Codder¡¯s smug expression.

    Codder let smoke curl from his lips, and he shrugged. ¡®Major General Darcy gave me special permission to use force. Gave me a licence and all. The same one you have, Major. He was doubting our capabilities. He¡¯s going to vouch for me, at the next exam-¡®

    Dangerously, Killian said, ¡®What the hell happened, Codder? Report.¡¯

    He smiled slowly. ¡®We got a mage to help with transport, Major.¡¯

    ¡®A capable mage, one who can make a long journey? We can¡¯t have recovery time for the mage. Too much opportunity for something-¡¯ he flickered a glance at Gray, ¡®-to go wrong.¡¯

    ¡®Major, you¡¯ll be pleased, I promise. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯ll pose a problem, though.¡¯

    Killian stayed very still, like a predator waiting for his meal, his gaze studying the blood on Codder¡¯s uniform, face, and hands. ¡®Why?¡¯

    ¡®Because it¡¯s Longwark, Major.¡¯

 24. What Codder Caught

    Killian froze. ¡®You¡¯ve got Longwark?¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s in the prison below, Major.¡¯

    He huffed out an amazed breath. ¡®How the damn did you do that, Codder?¡¯

    Codder bit his lip, a wide smile spreading across his face, his shoulders rising. ¡®I¡¯m just that good, Major. Picked him up near the forest border. Said he¡¯s willing to pay whatever price he must, that he¡¯ll cooperate, as long as we take him to Baldwin Auguste first.¡¯

    Killian paced the length of his office, rubbing his scarred knuckles.

    When he turned around and glanced at Codder, he looked at him with something akin to pride.

    ¡®Good work. Very good work. But,¡¯ he said, ¡®we¡¯re not using Longwark for transport. Obviously. Get a different mage.¡¯ He rubbed his forehead. ¡®It¡¯s even more urgent, now. Fifty-mile radius. Get the fastest horses and riders. I want a mage who will cooperate by tomorrow. This has gone on long enough. Am I understood?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major. It¡¯s just that I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯ve spooked them by what we¡¯ve just done to their friends, or what tactics they¡¯re using to cover their trail, so it might not be-¡®

    ¡®Don¡¯t give me your excuses, Codder. Get me a mage, now.¡¯

    ¡®Sure thing, Major.¡¯

    Codder¡¯s gaze drifted past Killian and locked onto Gray like a predator spotting wounded prey. His grin was sharp, almost feral. ¡®What about this one?¡¯ he said, jabbing his thumb in Gray¡¯s direction. ¡®Bet stray knows where those little treasures have scurried off to.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s stomach flipped. He shook his head, panic rising. ¡®I don¡¯t - I mean, they could be anywhere.¡¯

    Codder¡¯s grin widened, eyes gleaming. ¡®Anywhere, huh? So how exactly have they managed to disappear when I¡¯ve got soldiers crawling all over this place, stray?¡¯

    Gray swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay even. ¡®Maybe ¡­ Maybe your soldiers are just inept.¡¯

    Codder¡¯s smile faltered, just for a second. Killian, watching from the corner, clenched his jaw.

    OK, his voice wasn¡¯t so calm.

    Gray couldn¡¯t keep his fury at bay. Gray shoved his trembling hands into his pockets, out of sight. He wished they¡¯d damned well leave Krydon already. He wished he¡¯d let the butcher poison them all.

    Killian narrowed his eyes.

    ¡®You think we¡¯re inept, stray?¡¯ Codder drawled, as he slowly looked Gray up and down. ¡®You¡¯ve been taken prisoner and incapacitated with barely a by-your-leave. You¡¯ve been taken as our Major¡¯s pet while some of your little friends lie dead for protecting the northern mages'' whereabouts.¡¯

    Gray sat rigidly, trying to ignore the sensation that his insides were slipping down into his toes. ¡®What?¡¯The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡®Well, they¡¯re not all dead. Some of them we decided to end slower, like. Some of them were still screaming. That¡¯s what I call inept. Don¡¯t you think, stray?¡¯

    Killian snapped.

    Zero to one hundred with less warning than Longwark.

    He slammed Codder against the wall, hand on his throat, squeezing before Codder could even blink. Codder gasped, the cigarette flying out of his hold, hissing like a mountain cat as he tried to pry Killian¡¯s hand off his throat.

    ''Who''s your commanding officer?'' snarled Killian, his face inches from Codder''s.

    ''You - you are, Major.''

    ''Did I issue you a licence?''

    ''No - no, Major.''

    Killian was barely an inch taller than Codder, and barely had any extra weight to him, but with one swift movement, he slammed Codder hard against the wall again. He was dragging Codder around like a ragdoll.

    ¡®You¡¯re going to pay for this,¡¯ Gray said quietly, starting to shake. He couldn¡¯t stop it. He couldn¡¯t control it. ¡®You¡¯re not going to get away with this.¡¯

    ''I have gotten away with it, you sanctimonious ash-stink,'' rasped Codder. ''The board will do nothing.''

    Gray saw red. ''How dare-''

    ¡®Shut up, Gray. You stay calm.¡¯ Killian said, half glancing at Gray. ''How you''ve lasted so long in this world without being ripped apart is a damn wonder.''

    Gray shut his mouth, his pulse beating hard, and glared at the opposite wall.

    Killian breathed in long and slow, seemingly satisfied Gray wasn¡¯t going to keep talking.

    ¡®I did what I had to, Major,¡¯ Codder rasped, stilling and waiting for his release. ¡®I got you your results. I got you Longwark, didn¡¯t I?¡¯

    Slowly, Killian unwrapped his grasp from Codder¡¯s neck, stepped back and let him free. Codder rubbed his neck and wiped tears from his chin, stepping on his cigarette stub before it could smoulder the carpet alight. He sucked in his bottom lip, glowering at the carpet.

    ¡®Go. Get. A. Mage,¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡®Do it quietly, without making more enemies here.¡¯

    Codder did a sullen salute. ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    As soon as Codder left the office, Killian ran his hands through his hair. ¡®Fuck.¡¯

    He strode over to the door. ¡®Vaddenham!¡¯ he bellowed.

    The cry of Vaddenham! echoed through the hall outside.

    Gray took a deep breath and asked quietly, ¡®He was lying, wasn¡¯t he? He - he wouldn¡¯t-¡¯

    Killian ignored him, pacing back and forth, his hand grasped in his dark hair.

    ¡®Killian! Are some of them ¨C are they ¨C¡® Gray broke off, getting up from the chair and balancing on his good leg. ¡®They¡¯re good people. They don¡¯t deserve -¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t even talk to me, kid. I¡¯m not in the mood for your bullshit. I need to speak with my advisor, so I know how I can repair this. I¡¯ve got problems coming out my ears and I ¨C¡®

    ¡®You can¡¯t ¨C just leave them out there,¡¯ Gray said, hobbling towards Killian. He put too much weight on his bad ankle, and he hit the floor with a solid thump.

    Killian walked over to where Gray was crumpled, his expression unreadable.

    ¡®Those people aren¡¯t responsible for any of this,'' rushed out Gray, blanketed panic rising. ''They know nothing about mages - they don¡¯t like mages - they¡¯re not hiding them ¨C or me ¨C they aren¡¯t ¨C those people don¡¯t deserve to die like -¡¯

    ¡®Fine.¡¯ Killian grabbed up his sword. ¡®I¡¯ll kill them for you. Nice and quick. Will that stop you mewling?¡¯

    ¡®What?¡¯ Gray attempted to climb to his feet. ¡®Wait, that isn¡¯t what I ¨C¡®

    ¡®You don¡¯t get it both ways, Gray.¡¯ Killian opened the office door. ¡®Stay here, and stay quiet. This won¡¯t take long.¡¯

    A plump man poked his head around the door. ¡®You called, Major?¡¯

    ¡®Come with me,¡¯ Killian said, ushering him out. ¡®We have a situation ¡­¡¯

 25. How To Anger A Wolf

    Killian slid the bolt into place outside the door with a rough clank.

    Gray was so far out of his damn league.

    He''d been thinking of escape, and figuring out Killian''s weaknesses, all the while Killian and his men were prepared to murder innocent townsfolk without a second thought.

    Gray slowly pulled himself up against the chair. He swayed where he stood, and bit down on his wrist to stop himself from crying out as his bad ankle took a bit of his weight.

    The desk. The draws.

    The window.

    Gray patted down the cluttered desk, lifting papers and shifting spare ink bottles, searching for something, anything he could use to defend himself.

    It didn¡¯t take very long for him to find an unusually sharp phoenix feather quill.

    Gray stared at it, the red and gold feather soft against his hand.

    They had used phoenix a lot in alchemy. Gray had tested Alistair only days ago, holding up flashcards. Alistair had nailed it, too ¨C remembered all twenty-two brews, potions, and transformations that used phoenix feather.

    Useless alone ¨C phoenix feather.

    Powerful in a brew, potion, or transformation.

    Gently, Gray pocketed it and kept searching. He found something better.

    A pair of scissors was tucked away in the bottom drawer. His fingers played over the cold metal as he considered his options.

    If Gray were honest, Killian would probably just grab the scissors and stab him with them. The guy had talents that went way past the defence classes and weapons drills Gray had barely scraped through in school. Hell, it wouldn¡¯t even be a fight.

    But what were Gray¡¯s other options? Sit in here and do nothing while a bunch of psychopathic soldiers terrorised Krydon?

    Guilt so hot, so alive, roiled inside him, he thought he¡¯d choke on it.

    He should¡¯ve left, as soon as the kingdom soldiers had shown up.

    Killian - he couldn''t control his men.

    Gray had to do something.

    Escaping wasn''t enough.

    He had to lead the soldiers away from Krydon. And he had to do it soon, before they hurt anyone else.

    Gray released his tight grip on the scissors. He let them lay flat in his palm. He doubted he could use them against Killian. Gray couldn¡¯t run. Not far, anyway.

    But maybe Gray didn¡¯t need to get far. Maybe ¡­

    There was dragon-breath glazed pottery scattered around on end tables and side tables and in the halls.

    Phoenix feather. Dragon¡¯s breath clay.

    It was the start of something.

    Gray slid the scissors into his pocket, and very slowly wrapped his arms around his waist.

    Just about everything hurt, but his head and his ankle were a constant throbbing he struggled to block out.

    Gray hobbled over to the window. The window was locked. He reached into his pocket, thinking to use the end of the scissors to break the glass ¨C shit, he¡¯d smash the glass with his fist if it meant being free ¨C but three soldiers were standing underneath in the garden.

    Before they could see Gray, he ducked out of view, sliding to the floor, holding back a cry as he bent his ankle slightly. He slithered back to where Killian had left him on the floor by the chair.

    Gray shifted, the chair legs hard against his back.

    He pressed his hand over his eyes. Who had the soldiers killed, in their search for a mage? Who had been left in agony?

    Surely there was a chance some of them could be saved. With proper medical care, people could survive near anything. Gray had seen it happen. The battle tournaments they held in town resulted in terrible injuries sometimes.

    There was a chance.

    He didn¡¯t look up when Killian came back. He was too tired to meet Killian¡¯s cold and dark eyes.

    ¡®You¡¯re still awake?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray slowly curled his fingers against the floor, not understanding Killian¡¯s surprise. How the heck was Gray supposed to sleep right now?Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    ¡®You-¡¯ Gray¡¯s voice cracked. ¡®You killed them all?¡¯

    ¡®Every last one.¡¯ Killian stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his uniform streaked with blood. He wiped his hands on his thighs like it was just another day at the office. ¡®You¡¯re welcome, by the way.¡¯

    Shit - was he really going to start crying right now? He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping Killian wouldn¡¯t see. ¡®I didn¡¯t want them dead.¡¯

    ¡®There wasn¡¯t another way, kid.¡¯

    The floor creaked under Killian¡¯s boots as he stopped just shy of Gray, polished leather practically touching. He didn¡¯t move, not at first. Then, he hooked his hands under Gray¡¯s arms and hauled him to his feet like he was lifting a child.

    Gray stood there, slack, still reeling. Shock, that¡¯s what it was. Numb.

    ¡®Codder really tore through your neighbours,¡¯ Killian said softly. ¡®Believe me, what I did for them - it was mercy.¡¯

    Oh, gods.

    ¡®Hush.'' Killian said. ''Come with me.''

    Easier said than done. Gray stumbled beside him as they walked out of the office and down the hall. The weight of the scissors thumped against Gray¡¯s thigh. Killian was on the opposite side of it.

    Movement helped. Shock lifted enough for Gray''s goal to become clear in his mind.

    Draw the soldiers away.

    ¡®Where are we going?¡¯ said Gray.

    He tightened his grip on Gray, and for a second Gray braced to be flung into the wall, but the moment passed. ¡®My quarters. I need to wash and change.¡¯

    ¡®You need me for that?¡¯ Gray¡¯s heart thrummed in his chest.

    ¡®I thought you wanted a bath, too? You can use my bathroom after I¡¯m done. Unless you''d prefer to go straight back to the prison?¡¯

    ''No,'' said Gray.

    Gray let his bad leg drag a bit. He got out of step with Killian. Killian¡¯s rhythm faltered. Gray clenched his teeth, knowing he¡¯d have to put all his weight on his ankle, that his ankle wouldn¡¯t hold his weight for a second before buckling, but he didn¡¯t think he¡¯d get a better chance than this.

    Gray kicked Killian as hard as he could in the side of the knee.

    Killian fell, but he didn¡¯t let go. Gray landed on top of him, his knee slamming down on Killian¡¯s chest. Killian let out a breath of surprise and his eyes were wide. Gray knew he¡¯d have maybe half a second ¨C if that ¨C before Killian flipped him off him.

    Gray held the open blade of the scissors against Killian¡¯s throat.

    The corridor was dark, but the scars on Killian¡¯s face caught what little light there was, casting shadows that twisted as his mouth curled, amused, like this was funny. His hand crept toward the blade.

    ¡®Don¡¯t,¡¯ Gray said, his voice steady - at least on the surface.

    He pressed down harder than he meant to. The scissors were either sharper than he realised or his hands were shaking more than he wanted to admit, because blood immediately welled up, thick and dark, around the metal.

    Killian winced, just a flicker. ¡®Get off me Gray, before you hurt someone.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s heart pounded, but his mouth moved anyway, and his voice came out cold as ice. ¡®No.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s lips twitched, his eyes pitiless in the dark. ¡®You don¡¯t have it in you, kid.¡¯

    ¡®Yeah? I¡¯m not so sure.¡¯

    Sweat beaded Gray¡¯s frozen skin and his stomach flipped. His hands trembled, the scissors sinking deeper. Gray¡¯s breath hitched in his throat. He could taste bile rising.

    Just injure him enough, Gray thought, to keep him down long enough to grab the pottery.

    He pictured it and almost threw up. Beneath him, he felt the steady, unbothered rhythm of Killian¡¯s heartbeat. Killian¡¯s chest rose and fell, shallow breaths, but not panicked. Not afraid.

    Gray was terrified enough for the both of them.

    ¡®Looking pale, Gray. If you¡¯re going to puke, do it to the side.¡¯

    He¡¯s hurt people. Lots. Killed people.

    He killed D¡¯Oncray.

    Gray¡¯s hand shook harder.

    Killian reached for the scissors again.

    ¡®Move and I¡¯ll kill you,¡¯ said Gray.

    Gray¡¯s voice broke when he said that, but Killian stopped mid-reach, his palms up. For a heartbeat, everything was still.

    Truth be told, Gray wasn¡¯t much of a fighter. Never had been. Running? That was his thing, but with his ankle a wreck and his heart hammering in his chest, running wasn¡¯t much of an option either. Still, instinct told him to stick with what he knew.

    He was going to have to run, and get the pottery, very fast.

    It was going to hurt.

    ¡®You stay there,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®You just ¨C stay on the floor.¡¯

    Gray got up. Fell. He scrambled up again, using the wall for support, holding the scissors at Killian as though it were a dagger, biting down the agony in his ankle as he jarred it.

    Killian raised his eyebrows, lying very still on the floor, his palms up.

    Gray turned and hobble-ran.

    Gray¡¯s ankle screamed with every jolt, and he was stupidly holding a sharp pair of scissors, and he wasn¡¯t thinking too clearly.

    And Killian, he didn¡¯t stay where Gray had told him to stay. Killian would have been faster than Gray even on his best day. Gray didn¡¯t think Killian expected him to get so far, though.

    Small consolation.

    Gray looked for the hall that led the way out. He saw it ¨C familiar landscape paintings on the wall, side table with dragon¡¯s breath glazed pottery ¨C he staggered into the side table. His balance was off. Pottery smashed.

    Gray¡¯s eyes locked on the pottery, mind already spinning on how to grab it.

    One second he was upright, the next his ankle wobbled, buckled, and he was pitching forward, arms outstretched to break the fall. His hand came down hard on a piece of smashed pottery and he skidded face-first into the floor.

    It didn¡¯t hurt, not at first. He blinked, dazed, pushing himself up. His ankle screamed like it was on fire.

    Then he felt it - something warm and slick running down his elbow, soaking into the shredded fabric of his sleeve.

    Gray brushed at it absently and then when the sting hit, sharp and brutal.

    Doors opened along the hall, people called ¨C Krydon council members, and soldiers who must¡¯ve been staying in the hall.

    Gray ignored them.

    The pottery.

    And he had it, he had a shard of glittering pottery, it was stashed in his pocket, and now he needed a weapon, something to defend himself, because Killian would be right behind him, and then he saw it -

    The scissors.

    The handle stuck out from under the side table.

    As Gray reached for it, two scarred hands wrapped around his neck.

 26. Theres Something In His Pocket

    Gray threw all his weight backwards and Killian grunted. They fell onto the ground and Gray punched him as hard as he could. Pain jolted in his fist.

    ¡®You¡¯re pissing me off,¡¯ said Killian.

    His hands closed around Gray¡¯s throat again. In an instant, he got Gray underneath him. Gray stared up at him, his face out of focus as Gray¡¯s eyes watered.

    Killian paused. ¡®What have you done to your arm? There¡¯s blood everywhere. Gods.¡¯

    He pulled Gray up by the front of his sweater.

    ¡®I¡¯ve been very lenient with you, kid. You don¡¯t want to see me get angry.¡¯ Killian rounded on the gathering crowd. ¡®This isn¡¯t a show,¡¯ he snarled. ¡®Get back to work.¡¯

    The crowd scattered.

    He dragged Gray up two flights of stairs, and slammed through a door.

    Gray¡¯s vision blackened. Then came back, startlingly bright.

    They were in a large suite, with huge windows that looked out onto the rooftops of Krydon, and then out to the ruins on the mountain. A fire crackled gently from inside an ornate fireplace, and giant artwork inside gold frames was up on the wood-panelled walls.

    There was a woman, deeply asleep, on the large bed.

    Gray could immediately identify her as a mage, from the complex twists and braids and ornamentation in her long silvery hair, and by her complicated and layered robes.

    She breathed, deep and serene, and completely unaware of the very, very angry officer glowering in the doorway.

    Gray felt himself go limp. His vision blackened again, for a second, seeing stars.

    Killian shoved Gray to the floor inside the door, bit out a sharp, ¡®don¡¯t get blood on the rugs,¡¯ and his footsteps stormed away, muted by thick carpet.

    Then, he was back, every hard line on his face furious. He ripped the already torn sleeve of Gray¡¯s sweater even more, and he roughly cleaned and then bandaged Gray¡¯s arm.

    He yanked off Gray¡¯s boots, not bothering to undo the laces, and Gray couldn¡¯t help gasping, his ankle pure agony.

    Killian froze.

    It took an age for Gray to register that Killian was staring at something that had fallen out of Gray¡¯s pocket.

    It was all for nothing, thought Gray miserably. He''s seen the shard of pottery.

    Killian snatched it up, and held it in Gray¡¯s face. ¡®What¡¯s this?¡¯

    It wasn''t the shard of pottery Gray had stolen. It was Gray¡¯s notebook, with his not-written farewell letter to Alistair.

    Gray thought he might cave into himself.

    Killian shot him a look of pure loathing and then flipped through it. He halted, on the last page.

    ¡®I - I had it on me,¡¯ mumbled Gray. ¡®When I was mugged.¡¯

    ¡®You write this, kid?¡¯

    Gray shook his head, knitting his eyebrows.

    Killian ran his thumb over the pages, and then hissed, pulling his hand back as though stung.

    ¡®One for a fear,¡¯ Killian read out, his voice tight, his voice fuming, ¡®two for a tear, three for a jeer, four for a seer. Five for the moon, six for the sun, seven for a truth you cannot outrun. Eight for a kiss, nine for bliss, ten for a raven you must not miss. Hm? What¡¯s that?¡¯

    Gray stared, feeling like he might pass out, his mouth working soundlessly.

    ¡®Well, kid?¡¯ Killian snapped.

    ¡®It¡¯s from ¨C a local tale ¨C the tale of the ten ravens. I didn¡¯t ¨C I didn¡¯t write it.¡¯

    Killian kept completely still.

    ¡®It¡¯s from Branbright.¡¯ Killian crushed the notebook in his hand. ¡®You been lying to me, Gray? Branbright been passing you messages?¡¯

    ¡®No.¡¯

    Killian bared his teeth in a snarl, for the smallest moment. ¡®Ten ravens. Ten marked.¡¯

    ¡®Huh?¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian looked like he was doing some very quick thinking. His face was pale.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡®Fine.¡¯ Killian strode over to his trunk and grabbed out a vial.

    Gray struggled as Killian forced some kind of potion down Gray¡¯s throat. His magic came to his skin, hot and bright, but nothing like it had been before.

    Gray coughed and spluttered.

    But he was too weak from blood loss to fight back.

    And, eyeing the ugly look on Killian¡¯s face, he didn¡¯t dare to, even if he could.

    Killian latched his fingers through Gray¡¯s dark hair and pulled him up.

    Gray refused to cry out, but it was a close thing.

    ¡®You need to eat,¡¯ said Killian. A vein pulsed in his temple. ¡®A blood-replenishing potion on an empty stomach means a mess on my floor.¡¯

    Gray couldn¡¯t speak. He flinched as Killian shouted for a Hall worker and for a soldier.

    He dragged Gray over to a wash stand outside the bathroom door, and he crumpled to the floor as Killian suddenly let go. Killian dipped the washcloth into the scented water, and then threw it at him. Gray recoiled as it hit him in the face and then began cleaning himself with grim determination.

    Gray flickered a glance at the mage.

    Surely, she couldn¡¯t continue to sleep through the noise.

    But, she hadn¡¯t moved.

    ¡®You touch her,¡¯ said Killian, following Gray''s gaze, ¡®and I will kill you.¡¯

    He set up his bedroll on the opposite side of the room, near the fireplace.

    A worker arrived at the same time as one of Killian¡¯s men. Pickering.

    ¡®Oats,¡¯ barked Killian at the worker. He was whispering rushed instructions to the worker. Then again, slower. The worker darted a sharp glance at Gray, before nodding to Killian.

    To Pickering, ¡®watch him, while I shower.¡¯ He crouched in front of Gray. ¡®You want to act like a prisoner? You¡¯re going to be treated like a prisoner. Your meals will be prisoner fare. You¡¯re going to be watched like a hawk. No baths.¡¯

    He stalked off into the bathroom, slamming the door.

    Pickering glanced at Gray, his watchful blue eyes wide. He blew out a long breath, raising his eyebrows.

    ¡®Holy Clochaint,¡¯ Pickering said. ¡®What did you do?¡¯

    Gray pressed his lips together, shaking.

    ¡®The last time I saw him like this,¡¯ said Pickering quietly, turning his watchful gaze onto the bathroom door, ¡®he single-handedly obliterated thirty-some tomb raiders over a golden locket.'' He shuddered. ''I still dream about it.¡¯

    Pickering helped Gray over to the small dining table set up under one of the large windows.

    ¡®Don¡¯t,¡¯ whispered Pickering in a rush, as the sound of the shower stopped, ¡®don¡¯t talk back, don¡¯t look at him, just - keep your head down, and we both might get out of here in one piece.¡¯

    A worker knocked on the door with the food, and Pickering slid a bowl of oats soaked in cold water in front of Gray.

    When Killian came out of his bathroom in a fresh uniform, Gray kept his gaze down, staring dully at his bowl of oats.

    ¡®Dismissed,¡¯ muttered Killian to Pickering. ¡®No - wait.¡¯

    Pickering hovered.

    ¡®I need,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®you to stand guard outside the door. You hear anything in here, you come in, and check. Yes?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    Pickering left as quickly as possible without it technically being classed as running.

    Killian stared out the window, at the view of the forest and mountain, and the old, sprawling graveyard on the fields above, his shoulders stiff.

    ¡®Why aren¡¯t you eating?¡¯ Killian snapped.

    Gray hastily took up his spoon.

    Killian stood over him while he clumsily fed himself a few bites of plain oats.

    Only, the more he ate the oats, the more he tasted ¡­ something.

    Something that reminded him of alchemy class.

    Makie root.

    Makie root was the base for many edible jinxes.

    This asshole had put some kind of jinx in Gray¡¯s oats.

    ¡®Clochaint, kid, you¡¯re dripping oats everywhere.¡¯

    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ muttered Gray, panic warring with exhaustion within him. He put the spoon down.

    ¡®You finish that bowl,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I¡¯m done,¡¯ said Gray, trying to sound non-confrontational. ¡®Thank you.¡¯

    ¡®Eat the whole bowl, kid.¡¯

    Gray heaved himself to his feet. ¡®No-¡¯

    His next words were muffled by Killian clapping his hand over Gray¡¯s entire face, and pushing him back down into the chair.

    ¡®Eat. I¡¯m this close, Gray.¡¯

    ¡®What did you put in here?¡¯ said Gray, staring down at the bowl of oats sitting innocently on the table, and trying desperately to keep control of himself. He wanted to hurl the bowl at Killian, he wanted to run, to fight, but he was shaking -

    ¡®It¡¯s just oats,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®What jinx?¡¯

    ¡®Oh.¡¯ Killian was stockstill. ¡®We are sensitive, hm?¡¯

    ¡®Screw you-¡¯

    ¡®Eat,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®It¡¯s not going to hurt you, it¡¯s standard army practice for valuable prisoners who prove themselves to be a - ah - flight risk.¡¯

    His hand was on the back of Gray¡¯s head. His other was on the spoon.

    You don¡¯t want him to feed you, the rookie had said.

    Shaking, Gray took up the spoon. ¡®You¡¯re going to pay for this,¡¯ he said.

    ¡®Sure I am, kid,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You¡¯re fucking adorable.¡¯

    Gray forced himself to eat the oats. He tried to think of what jinxes would be likely for the army to give prisoners, but his mind was getting slow. His thoughts were thick.

    His shoulders curled. His eyes were heavy.

    ¡®You done eating?¡¯ said Killian tightly.

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®And?¡¯

    Gray hesitated. He had no energy left to be defiant. He couldn¡¯t - think. ¡®Thank you for the food, sir.¡¯

    ¡®We¡¯ll get there, slowly but surely, won¡¯t we, Gray?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s lips parted. He swallowed a silent word.

    ¡®Soldiers outside,¡¯ Killian said, his face in Gray¡¯s. ¡®Soldiers inside. Pickering¡¯s right there.¡¯

    Gray nodded.

    Killian dragged Gary over to the bedroll by the fire and helped him settle. Pressed a hand against his chest, forcing him to lie down.

    Killian pointed a finger in his face. ¡®Don¡¯t move. I¡¯ll be back. I¡¯ve got to go ask Longwark a lot of questions.¡¯

 27. This Potion Gives You Whacked Out Dreams

    Rumour had it that blood-replenishing potions gave the drinker whacked-out dreams.

    Gray had been having bad dreams anyway ¨C trouble sleeping at all ¨C ever since Alistair.

    The oats sat heavily in his stomach, and he tried to put off sleeping. He darted a glance at the sleeping mage on the bed.

    She was completely out.

    Gray pushed himself to sit. He fumbled through his pants and found the shard of dragon¡¯s breath-glazed pottery. The phoenix quill feather was still deep in his pocket.

    He hid them underneath the bed roll and then collapsed onto his back. His arm throbbed under the tight bandage.

    Gray¡¯s breath slowed. He couldn¡¯t put it off. Sleep claimed him.

    At first, it was just a memory.

    Raven Drive. Dark sky above. No stars, no moon, and the air was heavy and damp with rain.

    Alistair and Gray stared at the overflowing bin outside the tavern.

    ¡®I need your help,¡¯ said Alistair, his hands on his hips. ¡®We need to make plans for the senior prank. Rosie wants to leave little wooden rabbits all over the school, to baffle the teachers.''

    ''Nah,'' said Gray, ''you got to think bigger.''

    ''Exactly,'' said Alistair. ''I''m thinking a griffin curse fury.¡¯

    ¡®You want to get arrested?¡¯ said Gray.

    Alistair grinned his lit-from-within grin. ¡®What about a griffin feather flurry, while everyone''s in class. Do you think you can make one?''

    ''A what?'' said Gray.

    Then, the dream changed.

    Gray sat at a table in The Tipsy Stag, with Alistair, Harriette, Elona and Barin, like they¡¯d done a thousand times before Elona¡¯s death. They traded battle tournament collector cards, like they¡¯d never done, but they all seemed totally fine with it.

    Then Alistair slipped Gray a pouch of salt.

    ¡®Why do I need this?¡¯ said Gray.

    Alistair winked. ¡®I promised you, you know.¡¯

    Before Gray could protest that Alistair had not promised him this, that Gray didn¡¯t want that pouch of salt, Alistair turned into Rosie and started humming the Gallow¡¯s Alley lullaby.

    Gray jolted awake.

    He scrambled off the bedroll, losing his balance, his palms slick with sweat, and stumbled painfully to the bathroom. He was sick before he could make it to the toilet.

    Gray clenched his eyes shut, his throat burning, his stomach heaving.

    Clochaint, Killian was going to be pissed.

    Gray scrambled around, looking for a cloth, a rag, anything, to clean the tiles.

    Before he could, Gray was sick again.

    -

    Gray had spent an uncomfortable few hours on the tiles on the bathroom floor. His throat burned. His stomach ached.

    He was half dozing, when he heard soft footsteps and a muttered curse in clipped Lismerian.

    Killian.

    Gray stirred, his heart beating fast.

    When Killian stalked over to where Gray lay curled around the toilet, Gray started stuttering.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡®Killian, I tried to make it to the toilet in time-¡¯

    ¡®Gods.¡¯ Killian sidestepped a pool of sick. He crouched. His scarred face was in shadows, and Gray couldn¡¯t make out his expression or body language. ¡®You finished?¡¯

    ¡®I think so.¡¯

    Killian stood up abruptly. Strode out.

    ¡®Service!¡¯ Killian bellowed.

    Gray heard him rustle around outside the bathroom, muttering. He was tending to the mage on his bed.

    Then, he was back, with Rosie hovering behind him.

    Gray kind of wanted to die.

    ¡®Gray?¡¯ she said.

    ¡®Clean up the mess,¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡®You¡¯ll need a mop and bucket.¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ moaned Gray, rallying himself. ¡®I¡¯ll clean it - don¡¯t make her -¡¯

    ¡®Gray, are you all right?¡¯ said Rosie in rapid northern. She stared at him, her blond hair tumbling over her shoulders.

    Before Gray could say anything, Killian said, ¡®Go get the mop.¡¯

    Gray attempted to get to his feet. Staggered. ¡®Please, don¡¯t make her -¡¯ He was sick, clutching the toilet just in time.

    ¡®What¡¯s wrong with him?¡¯ said Rosie to Killian in stilted Lismieran. ¡®What did you do?¡¯

    Gray could feel the glare from Killian.

    But, Killian didn¡¯t know Rosie. She was the most outspoken kid in the entire senior class when she felt the need. She and Alistair together had been an unstoppable force, causing mayhem in school and Krydon.

    One time, Rosie had snuck into Longwark¡¯s office and stole dragon scales from his store cupboard. Another time, Rosie¡¯d set a herd of sheep loose in the town square as a dare.

    It was Rosie who¡¯d pulled off the senior prank - the griffin feather flurry - with Alistair.

    She wasn¡¯t going to be put off by a glare.

    Fear thudded through Gray. Rosie could get into real trouble. If Killian hurt her -

    ¡®I¡¯m fine,¡¯ said Gray, wiping his mouth. ¡®Really. Let me clean this.¡¯

    Killian fixed his cold stare into Gray. Then swung it back to Rosie. ¡®This your girlfriend, kid?¡¯

    Rosie''s expression hitched, and Gray knew she''d understood Killian''s Lismerian. He covered his face with his hands.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray, muffled through his hands.

    ''No,'' confirmed Rosie in halting Lismerian. When Killian continued to stare, she said, ''I ... I was with his brother.''

    Gray couldn¡¯t stand. He slid down the wall and sat by the toilet.

    Why the gods would she say that?

    Maybe Rosie had mistranslated.

    ¡®OK,¡¯ said Killian, turning to Rosie. ¡®Get out. Send someone who doesn¡¯t know Gray. Tell them to bring a mop.¡¯

    ¡®Everyone knows Gray,¡¯ said Rosie. She tilted her chin. ¡®It¡¯s a small town.¡¯

    ¡®Get out. Send someone else. I won¡¯t tell you again.¡¯

    Rosie ducked her head. Walked away.

    ¡®He can¡¯t eat some foods,¡¯ she said in her accented Lismerian, on the threshold. ¡®Alistair said once ¡­ What food did you give him?¡¯

    ¡®I know how to feed a damn mage and ¡­¡¯ Killian trailed off. ¡®He¡¯s overheated. It¡¯s the combination of medicines I gave him. Bring cold ginger tea. Ice cold.¡¯

    Gray heard Rosie leave.

    Killian bustled around the bathroom. He was locking away his shaving kit and nail scissors in the cupboard underneath the sink, nudging aside a pouch of bath salts to make room. Gray eyed it, remembering the dream with Alistair.

    Killian¡¯s scarred hands were raw over the knuckles. Gray pushed down the urge to be sick again.

    ¡®You¡¯re real high maintenance,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You¡¯re more work than my mage in there.¡¯ His gaze was dark.

    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ mumbled Gray.

    His mind was on Rosie. Why would she have said that?

    ¡®Yeah, well ¡­¡¯ Killian looked like he was withholding a swear word. ¡®If I bring a husk of a kid to the king, I¡¯ll be in as much trouble as you.¡¯ He stood up and abruptly left.

    Gray sat pressed against the toilet, his clothes sticking to his damp skin. He shivered.

    A little while later, Killian returned, with the rookie carrying a mop and bucket. The rookie halted in the doorway to the bathroom, his flushed face falling in poorly-hidden dismay.

    ¡¯This isn¡¯t brain surgery, rookie,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Clean it and get back to your toilets.¡¯

    The rookie arranged his face into a neutral expression. ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    Killian handed Gray a cup of ice-cold ginger tea. He stood over Gray while he sipped.

    Humiliation swirled as the rookie cleaned up the mess in the bathroom. Gray screwed his eyes shut.

    -

    Gray woke too soon. He pushed down the aches in his body and slowly sat.

    The vague memory of Killian hauling him out of the bathroom sometime after midnight and dumping him on the bedroll drifted through his mind.

    His head pounded like it would split in half.

    He was thirsty.

    The sky was dark outside the window.

    The fire crackled behind him, illuminating the mage sleeping on the bed. Killian was slumped asleep on a pile of papers and maps at the table, his dark hair covering his eyes.

    Someone wailed outside the Hall.

    Gray forced his eyes back open.

    Something had woken him.

    There was a vibration in the air. A disturbance in the energy.

    It was a familiar buzz.

    Gray had felt this energy before - the night when the soldiers came to Krydon. But it couldn¡¯t be.

 28. When Men Talk Behind A Wolfs Back

    ¡®Killian,¡¯ whispered Gray.

    Nothing.

    Nothing from Killian or the mage on the bed.

    Killian continued breathing in and out, his expression more relaxed and open than Gray had ever seen it. He looked younger. Younger than Barin. Older than Alistair. Somewhere in between.

    Gray tried to stand. Couldn¡¯t. His body shook.

    His voice and his throat were in bad condition. Gray forced himself to raise his voice.

    ¡®Killian?¡¯

    Killian bolted upright, a paper fluttering down from the table. His gaze was immediately alert. ¡®Gods, kid, don¡¯t - what is it?¡¯

    ¡®Someone¡¯s here,¡¯ said Gray. His voice broke.

    Killian frowned, and then peered out the black window, brushing his hair back from his face. He glanced back at Gray.

    ¡®What?¡¯ Killian said.

    ¡®A mage just arrived,¡¯ Gray breathed, pressing his hands over his eyes. The light from the fire was too bright.

    Killian stood, and there was a rustle and clang as Killian snatched up his jacket and sword. ¡®A mage fahrened here, you mean?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®It - I think it¡¯s Sorena.¡¯

    Killian halted in the middle of shrugging into his jacket. ¡®Sorena?¡¯

    Gray nodded.

    Killian was in front of Gray, saying something, it might¡¯ve been ¡®where in town is she?¡¯ or ¡®why is she in town?¡¯ but Gray¡¯s mind was blurring and turning dark.

    -

    Someone rattled the doorknob.

    Gray curled his fingers into his blanket, frowning against the persistent rattle and the headache that drummed against his skull.

    Waking was always hard.

    Waking meant an onslaught of realisations and crystal clear memories about what had happened to Alistair - since Alistair.

    Gray fought his way to consciousness. He couldn¡¯t afford to sleep right now.

    It left him too vulnerable.

    Then Gray remembered the feeling of Sorena¡¯s magic waking him earlier.

    Sorena was rattling the doorknob?

    Gray wrenched his dry eyes open. Red light from the sunrise stabbed his eyes, his skin, his head.

    The rattling stopped.

    For a moment.

    Then started again, harder.

    A voice cursed in Lismerian. Too masculine to be Sorena. Too young to be Killian.

    Gray peered against the vicious dawn light.

    The double doors were yawning wide open, revealing the corridor beyond.

    The room was empty. Still.

    Save for the mage deeply asleep on the bed, and the rookie kneeling at the locked bathroom door. He had a bunch of keys clamped in his fist, sweat beading the back of his flushed neck. A bucket of cleaning supplies was placed haphazardly at his heels.

    Fleeting, a thought whipped through Gray¡¯s mind.

    Killian¡¯s left me unguarded.

    Had Gray just missed his opportunity to leave?

    But, he couldn¡¯t.

    He couldn¡¯t leave Krydon without taking the cursed soldiers with him, and he didn¡¯t have the strength to stand, let alone flee.

    Gray¡¯s heart sank.

    ¡®Crap,¡¯ the rookie muttered, banging his open palm against the locked bathroom door, and shoving the keys into his pocket. He kicked the door for good measure, and spun around, his rabbit-fast gaze locking onto Gray.

    ¡®Oh, gods,¡¯ said the rookie.

    Silently, Gray pushed himself up. And almost hurled as his head throbbed hard. Exhaustion clawed at Gray, pulling him back towards darkness.

    ¡®Do you,¡¯ said the rookie, edging forward, ¡®know where the keys are to his ensuite? I have to ¡­¡¯ he faded out, his cheeks fire-red.

    He has to clean Killian¡¯s toilet. Or, Gray thought, sifting through his hazy memory of last night, perhaps the bathroom was still a mess. If Gray¡¯s blood wasn¡¯t busy pounding a tattoo inside his skull, it would have lit up his cheeks as red as the rookie¡¯s, for sure.

    Yesterday, he¡¯d been cleaned up like a child.

    He could not - would not - repeat this in front of anyone, let alone an Auguste soldier. Ever again.

    Gray swallowed over his aching throat. Shook his head.

    The rookie cursed again.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡®I¡¯ll tell him you tried,¡¯ said Gray hoarsely.

    ¡®Nah.¡¯ The rookie pressed his lips tight together. ¡®He¡¯s a mercurial prick. That might make things worse, I dunno. I¡¯ll ¡­ come back later.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s vision was blackening around the edges, and his arm was starting to shake at keeping him propped up, so he was glad to see the rookie gather his cleaning supplies and head towards the open door.

    Only, there was a question burning within him.

    Gray cleared his throat. ¡®Sorena is here?¡¯

    Why is Sorena here? is what he wanted to ask. He could feel her. She was here, and she wasn¡¯t masking her magic.

    Sorena being here was dangerous. It would draw more soldiers. It would draw northern rebels.

    It would draw her father.

    The rookie glanced at him, juggling his bucket of cleaning supplies. ¡®Sorena?¡¯ he said, frowning. ¡®Sorena ¡­ Auguste, you mean?¡¯

    When Gray opened his mouth, a movement by the door caught his eye.

    He clamped his mouth shut.

    Two soldiers leant against the doorframe.

    They framed the rookie¡¯s path out of there. One was very tall, and the other was small and compact.

    There was a quality to how they both stood that radiated trouble. It was in the confidence in their shoulders, and the angle of their chins. One hadn¡¯t bothered to finish doing up the buttons on his uniform, and the other had his sword belt slung much too low on his hips. They both watched the rookie like he was lunch.

    Gray¡¯s chest constricted.

    The tall soldier adjusted his shoulders, languid and utterly at-ease, and his polished boots crossed at the ankles. He swept the room with his gaze.

    ¡®I came looking for the Major. This,¡¯ drawled the tall soldier, ¡®is much better. Huh, Russet?¡¯

    The rookie - Russet - stood stock still, face drained of colour, the cleaning supplies clasped in his hands. The compact soldier dragged a lazy gaze over him, slouching on the threshold.

    Gray controlled his breath.

    ¡®Griffin,¡¯ said the tall soldier, locking his gaze onto Gray, ¡®I didn¡¯t see you there.¡¯

    ¡®Killian¡¯s due back any minute,¡¯ said Gray.

    Gray wished he could say more. Wished he could stand to his full height, on both legs. Darkness was crowding his vision.

    ¡®Killian?¡¯ The compact soldier raised an eyebrow. ¡®On first name terms with the sadistic bastard, are we, Griffin?¡¯

    Stay awake.

    If there was ever the worst time to fall unconscious, it was now.

    The two soldiers considered him.

    ¡®You think the bastard¡¯s training him up?¡¯ the tall soldier said to his comrade. ¡®He¡¯s desperate for a decent mage.¡¯

    ¡®More like he¡¯s slowly poisoning the kid and enjoying watching. He hates sorcerers.¡¯

    ¡®Half sorcerer, though,¡¯ said the tall soldier.

    ¡®It doesn¡¯t work like that.¡¯

    ¡®Oh, and you know how it works?¡¯ said the tall soldier, casually finishing up the buttons on his uniform.

    Russet was murmuring something, but Gray¡¯s mind was drifting.

    Gray¡¯s eyes were impossibly heavy.

    Don¡¯t fall asleep.

    Not yet.

    There was movement in the hallway, behind the soldiers. One of the Major¡¯s lieutenants stalled behind them, stress etched onto his face. His grey uniform was soaked with sweat.

    ¡®Smith,¡¯ the lieutenant said. ¡®Wood. Thank Clochaint.¡¯

    The change in the soldiers was instant.

    Within a blink, the two soldiers went from slouching on the doorframe to standing to attention.

    The lieutenant glanced past the soldiers, to Russet. ¡¯Don¡¯t you have toilets to clean, rookie?¡¯

    Russet rushed out of there, his cheeks flushed.

    Gray fought against sleep with everything he had.

    ¡®Smith, Wood, with me. Major¡¯s been asking for you. He needs his trackers ¡­¡¯

    Silence encroached.

    -

    A murmur of voices woke Gray.

    For a long moment, Gray stayed stock still and focused on keeping his breathing the same.

    He listened hard.

    He only heard a woman saying, ¡®we find the mages, then at least we give the king answers, instead of a huge fucking problem,¡¯ before it was interrupted by -

    ¡®Excuse me,¡¯ said a controlled voice. Killian. ¡®He¡¯s awake.¡¯

    The murmur of voices silenced.

    Gray pushed himself up, rubbing grit from his eyes.

    He took in the sunlit room - it had to be midmorning - and he took in the art on the walls, the plush carpet, the large windows. There was a small crowd gathered around Killian¡¯s dining table.

    The group was paused there, their shoulders and jaws tense, heads bent together over a map.

    The group was mostly Killian¡¯s men. There were a few women there, also, wearing the same grey uniform. One was the officer who¡¯d taken Sorena away. Her lapel glinted with half a dozen gold star pins.

    But, her mage wasn''t there.

    No mages at all, aside from ...

    Gray glanced around for the princess, and then laid eyes on Sorena¡¯s prone form, right next to Killian¡¯s sleeping mage on the bed.

    Sorena looked like she hadn¡¯t changed - hadn¡¯t bathed - since her stint in the prison cell. Kohl smeared around her closed eyes, and her platinum hair was a twisted mess. Her threadbare clothes were covered in grime, and her trousers were ripped.

    Gray flinched as Killian crouched in front of him.

    There was no fatigue on Killian¡¯s scarred face and no hint of what had brought Sorena back in Killian¡¯s dark eyes. No urgency, no fear.

    But, something had happened.

    The group gathered around the dining table were haphazardly dressed, and all bore weapons.

    ¡®You look like shit, kid.¡¯ Killian pressed a vial into Gray¡¯s sleep-warm hand.

    It was a type of calming draught.

    Gray recognised it as the same type of calming draughts Alistair used to take when he was a kid. Alistair used to have angry outbursts out of nowhere - cat turned vicious lion at the slightest trigger. Eventually, he¡¯d grown out of them.

    ¡®Why is Sorena here?¡¯ Gray¡¯s voice came out as a hoarse whisper. He could barely hear himself. There should¡¯ve been no way Killian could¡¯ve heard him.

    But, he did.

    Killian¡¯s bearing went from casual to immobile. ¡®You really think I¡¯m going to answer that?¡¯

    Gray lowered his gaze, his lips clamped.

    Killian tapped the vial in Gray¡¯s hand. ¡®One every morning,¡¯ said Killian tightly. ¡®Understood?¡¯

    Gray glanced up at Killian, hesitating.

    Last time he¡¯d taken something out of a vial, it hadn¡¯t gone well for him.

    Killian seemed to sense this, because he said, ¡®It won¡¯t make you sick.¡¯

    Still, Gray hesitated.

    ¡®Half the men in my league are on some variation of this,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Just take it.¡¯

    Gray eyed him, curling his fingers around the glass vial.

    ¡®Kid, do you want to feel like you did yesterday?¡¯

    Yesterday, when he¡¯d almost split apart at the seams from his magic.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray. His face flushed.

    ¡®So,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®One every morning.¡¯

    Gray uncorked the vial and downed it.

    Killian jerked his chin at a small pile of clothes at Gray¡¯s feet. It was his black sweater and pants. ¡®Get dressed. I¡¯ve got a job for you.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s tone held something within it.

    It took Gray a moment to realise it was restrained anger.

    Gray thought of the phoenix feather, the shard of pottery stashed under the bedroll, and the pouch of salt in the bathroom - a half-baked, half-formed plan to draw the soldiers away from Krydon - and one he couldn¡¯t do if he was locked down in the prison.

    For now, he¡¯d do whatever he needed to stay in Killian¡¯s good graces.

 29. Note: Hes Not Happy

    Staying in Killian¡¯s good graces was easier said than done.

    Man was pissed with a capital P.

    Gray could see it underneath the clipped and controlled tone he used with the group gathered around the table, as he ordered them to take a ten-minute break. It was underlying the movements he used to change the dressing on Gray¡¯s arm, as he helped Gray into a fresh ankle brace, and as he opened a jar of bruise salve.

    His jaw bunched as he fastidiously dabbed the salve into Gray¡¯s face.

    The salve was cool and stinging against Gray¡¯s skin.

    Gray kept his gaze down, uncomfortable with Killian in his space. This close, now Gray knew it was there, Killian¡¯s anger was palpable.

    What happened?

    But, Gray didn¡¯t dare ask him.

    The one time Gray darted a curious glance at Sorena¡¯s sleeping form on the bed, Killian grabbed Gray¡¯s jaw, directing his gaze onto Killian¡¯s scarred and guarded face.

    ¡®Uh uh,¡¯ Killian said firmly, ¡®none of your business.¡¯

    So, when Killian briskly tied a shiny, brand-new, charm around Gray¡¯s ankle, and held a finger up to his lips, in a silent gesture to keep it secret, Gray gave a reluctant but obedient nod.

    But, Gray could feel the charm.

    The charm was something. Something sticky, something that whispered in trails through the air.

    Involuntarily, Gray glanced around.

    There. In the bin by the door.

    There was a brown paper bag there with a skeletal horse logo. He recognised it, from his walk down Gallow¡¯s Alley.

    Any kind of charm purchased from Gallow¡¯s Alley couldn¡¯t be good.

    He stiffly met Killian¡¯s dark gaze.

    Killian raised his eyebrows the tiniest fraction.

    Gray desperately wanted to take the charm off. He wanted to ask Killian what in the gods the charm did.

    Killian''s dark gaze held his. ¡®What are you going to do about it, kid?¡¯

    Gray controlled himself. Stay in his good graces. It¡¯s just words. Just say it. ¡®Whatever you want me to,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®We¡¯ll make a good little sorcerer of you yet, hm?¡¯ said Killian. He tapped Gray under the chin, the way that Gray hated.

    He tugged the knot on the thick twine tying the charm to Gray¡¯s ankle.

    ¡®Undo it,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Pardon?¡¯

    ¡®Quickly, kid, untie it. I need you to take it off. I made a mistake.¡¯

    Gray fumbled with the knot. ¡®What?¡¯ The knot was so tight. It was impossible. Gray was making it worse. ¡®What mistake?¡¯

    Killian watched him, his dark hair hanging in his eyes.

    ¡®I can¡¯t untie it,¡¯ said Gray, desperately.

    Killian knocked Gray''s hands away from the knot. ¡®Good.¡¯

    Realisation hit Gray, and he withheld a wince.

    Asshole.

    More than that, Gray was a damn idiot.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    He thought of Alistair¡¯s words you need to be tougher, you need to be smarter.

    Killian roughly pulled on Gray¡¯s sock to cover up the charm and made to pull his boot on for him.

    ¡®I¡¯ll do it,¡¯ said Gray, taking the boot.

    But, Killian took over anyway, briskly tying up the laces.

    ¡®I can tie my own laces,¡¯ said Gray, trying to sound non-confrontational.

    ¡®Oh, how advanced,¡¯ snapped Killian, and for the first time that morning, Gray got a glimpse of true, wild fury in Killian¡¯s gaze.

    Gray was fighting down the urge to either kick Killian in the face or pull his foot away when the door creaked open. The female soldier with the stars on her lapel slipped back inside.

    Unlike the others of the group that had been in the room when Gray woke, the female soldier looked flawlessly prepared. Her gaze was steely. Her black hair was slicked back into a perfect bun, her uniform had not a single wrinkle or button unpolished.

    She had the standard issue narrow sword at her hip, and two broad blades sheathed into a harness on her back.

    ¡®It¡¯s been ten minutes already?¡¯ said Killian, shooting her a glance.

    ¡®Why,¡¯ she said, coming up behind Killian, the stars on her lapel glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and her stance wide, ¡®do you have a prisoner out of his cell?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t need you questioning me, Jessica,¡¯ said Killian quietly.

    ¡®Who is that?¡¯ she said.

    Killian deliberated. ¡®A prisoner.¡¯

    Jessica folded her arms. ¡®Why is a prisoner in your room?¡¯

    ¡®Why?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Are you jealous?¡¯

    ¡®We both know what your type is,¡¯ said Jessica. The crow''s feet around her eyes deepened, and she jerked her chin at Gray. ¡®That ain¡¯t it.¡¯

    Killian wore a strange expression.

    Was he shy?

    Every southerner that had come through the tavern had been anything but shy. They were undiscerning with partners, gender, and barely monogamous. They¡¯d pleasure each other right in the booths like it was nothing. The Kyrdon guards had jailed a bunch for doing this.

    Gray desperately tried to blend into the background, wishing he could disappear.

    ¡®I won¡¯t,¡¯ said Jessica, choosing her words deliberately, ¡®have someone dangerous housed in the same room as Sorena while she sleeps.¡¯

    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t class him as dangerous,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I¡¯m pretty sure Sorena could take him.¡¯

    ¡®I won¡¯t have a prisoner kept in the same room as her,¡¯ said Jessica, her voice rising.

    ¡®You need to trust me,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®You¡¯re playing very fast and loose with the rule book-¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t bring my tactics into this,¡¯ interrupted Killian. ¡®You¡¯re angry because your mages deserted, and Baldwin¡¯s going to nail you for it. I¡¯m trying to help you fix your problem. You don¡¯t need to take your anger out on me.¡¯

    Her mages deserted?

    Was that why she was here?

    Killian had mentioned mages hiding outside the town, playing cat and mouse.

    Gray had never heard of this happening before. He couldn¡¯t think why -

    ¡®Get off your high horse,¡¯ Jessica said, colour rising in her cheeks, ¡®you¡¯re just as bad-¡¯

    Over on the bed, Sorena snorted.

    Killian and Jessica rushed over.

    Jessica examined Sorena, pulling her eyes open and taking her pulse.

    But, whatever she was looking for, she didn¡¯t seem to find it. She backed away, her gaze fixed on the girl.

    Sorena¡¯s breathing returned to slow and rhythmic, and other than her chest rising, she was utterly still.

    ¡®She¡¯ll wake soon,¡¯ said Jessica.

    ¡®You need to attend to her,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®If Baldwin arrives and sees his daughter in such a state - forget losing our positions, we¡¯ll lose our heads.¡¯

    ¡®You attend her,¡¯ said Jessica, ¡®I¡¯ll attend your prisoner.¡¯

    She stepped towards Gray.

    Killian blocked her. ¡®You will not.¡¯

    ¡®Stand aside, Killian,¡¯ she said.

    Killian hesitated. Then, he shouted towards the door, ¡®Pickering!¡¯

    Jessica shoved Killian aside, and Gray was surprised to see he didn¡¯t fight back or retaliate - he just let Jessica shove him hard enough he staggered to keep his footing - frustration etched into every line and scar on his face.

    In the time it took for Jessica to stand over Gray with her arms folded, Pickering burst through the door, panting.

    ¡®Stand up,¡¯ Jessica barked to Gray.

    ¡®The kid¡¯s leaving. Jessica, relax.¡¯ Killian turned to Pickering. ¡®Get him out of here. The prison, as discussed.¡¯

    ¡®The prison?¡¯ said Gray. He thought of the dank, airless space. Of his half-formed plan. ¡®I¡¯m not going back there, am I?¡¯

    He glanced desperately at Killian. Killian¡¯s dark gaze was a wall of ice.

    Pickering advanced.

    ¡®Killian,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®I¡¯ll do whatever you ask.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re not going to talk your way out of this one, kid,¡¯ said Killian.

    Jessica stopped Pickering with a single raised hand.

    Stalling, Pickering bit his lip. He turned his watchful blue gaze onto Killian.

    ¡®Jessica?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You wanted the kid gone, he¡¯s gone. Let¡¯s focus on the problem at hand, shall we?¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯ll address me as ma¡¯am,¡¯ she barked.

    Silence fell over the room.

    ¡®Yes, ma¡¯am,¡¯ said Killian, his lips tight.

    ¡®Stand up,¡¯ said Jessica to Gray. ¡®Don¡¯t look at Major Slate, boy. Stand up.¡¯

 30. He Heaves Out The Longest Sigh Known To Man

    Awkwardly, and using the wall for support, Gray stood.

    Jessica¡¯s gaze roved over him. ¡®Not dangerous?¡¯ she said, with a swift glance at Killian. ¡®You disabled him. You took out his knee? Ankle? And he¡¯s an eyesore. He must¡¯ve put up a half-decent fight at some point.¡¯

    ¡®He,¡¯ said Killian, sounding as though he was grinding out each word against his better judgement, ¡®can run, ma¡¯am. He¡¯s resistant to interrogation. He¡¯s not ¡­ dangerous to Sorena, ma¡¯am. He¡¯s soft. Poor fighter.¡¯

    Gray tried not to bristle. He tried not to react. He shoved his hands in his pocket, pushing down a sick heat rumbling through his stomach.

    ¡®Poor fighter?¡¯ said Jessica. ¡®Don¡¯t the northerners train their children in axe fighting from birth?¡¯

    Killian cleared his throat. ¡®Pretty much.¡¯

    The wheels were turning behind Jessica¡¯s steely eyes. Her gaze was on Gray¡¯s feet. His hands. His neck. It settled on his face.

    ¡®Your men were giving him trouble?¡¯ she said. ¡®That¡¯s why he¡¯s up here?¡¯

    ¡®My men know he¡¯s off limits, ma¡¯am,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®They obey me.¡¯

    Cracking her knuckles, Jessica stepped so close to Gray that he could count the lines around her eyes.

    Then, something shifted in her demeanour. She said, ¡®but, he¡¯s mage.¡¯ She smiled at Gray. ¡®You¡¯re mage, yes?¡¯

    Gray risked darting a glance at Killian. But, Killian stood there with his eyes closed, and he seemed to be in the middle of heaving out the longest sigh known to man.

    ¡®And you speak sensibly,¡¯ Jessica said, smoothing Gray¡¯s hair in a rather maternal manner.

    Gray hadn¡¯t been handled like that since Elona, and he wasn¡¯t quite sure what to do.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray, blankly. Then, because most of the time he was a stuttering mess, he said, ¡®Usually.¡¯

    ¡®Huh,¡¯ she said. She spun around to Killian. ¡®He been assigned to anyone¡¯s division, yet?¡¯

    ¡®You can¡¯t have him, Jessica,¡¯ said Killian, tightly.

    ¡®You want him,¡¯ Jessica said. She broke into a half-smile, shaking her head. ¡®That¡¯s why he¡¯s here. You shit. You¡¯re trying to weasel around Baldwin¡¯s refusal to give you first pick of the mages. You¡¯re saving him for yourself.¡¯

    ¡®Hardly.¡¯

    ¡®Just as well. There¡¯s more to do in my division,¡¯ she said.

    ¡®Baldwin already gave you three mages. One of them is a Drake.¡¯

    She jerked her thumb at Gray. ¡®He¡¯s hard to identify as mage. He blends in. Good for covert work, yes?¡¯ To Gray, she said, ¡®you¡¯re a good talker? You know how to charm, smile?¡¯

    ¡®Uh,¡¯ said Gray, edging away.

    ¡®Your league is all female, Jess,¡¯ said Killian, a hint of exasperation leaking through.

    ¡®I¡¯ll ask Baldwin to make an exception.¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s not trained,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®No problem,¡¯ said Jessica. ¡®He can complete his apprenticeship while he does his military training. For my division. We all know war is on the horizon. Especially since Sorena snubbed-¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s completely untrained.¡¯

    ¡®Obviously.¡¯ Jessica paused. ¡®That¡¯s why you have him prisoner. He¡¯s unregistered. You¡¯ve been too hard on him, Kill. If the mages see him like this, they¡¯ll tear you a new one. And the Grand High Master, he¡¯ll ¡­¡¯ She trailed off, eyeing Killian.

    Slowly, and with restraint, Killian said, ¡®Unconfirmed.¡¯

    Jessica frowned. ¡®Excuse me?¡¯

    ¡®He ¡­ might not be mage.¡¯

    ¡®Not mage?¡¯ said Jessica.

    ¡®Probably, very likely, almost definitely, is not mage.¡¯ Killian winced slightly. ¡®His power''s ... large.¡¯

    ¡®What?¡¯

    ¡®He can¡¯t use it,¡¯ said Killian quickly. ¡®He¡¯s got no idea what he¡¯s doing, he hasn¡¯t gone through his first ryece yet, he can¡¯t access his power properly. He¡¯s not a danger to -¡¯

    ¡®Is this a sorcerer?¡¯ said Jessica breathlessly. She reached for the sword at her hip.

    Killian opened his mouth. Closed it.

    ¡®Are you sleeping with a sorcerer in your room?¡¯ said Jessica, her eyes wide.

    ¡®Are you listening to anything I¡¯m telling you?¡¯ said Killian, his shoulders tight underneath his uniform.

    ¡®What¡¯s his lineage?¡¯

    Killian hesitated, his dark gaze falling onto Jessica¡¯s tapping foot.

    ¡®The less people who know,¡¯ he said, ¡®the safer we all are.¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t need you protecting me,¡¯ said Jessica. ¡®What¡¯s his lineage?¡¯The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡®Griffin,¡¯ he said softly.

    There was a long pause.

    ¡®You¡¯re telling me,¡¯ she said, ¡®this is Conor Griffin?¡¯

    Killian seemed to be reaching for words. ¡®It ¡­ appears ¡­¡¯

    Jessica was furious red. She looked moments away from launching herself at Killian.

    ¡®Are you shitting me?¡¯ said Jessica.

    ¡®No-¡¯

    ¡®Conor Griffin?¡¯ she said, her voice echoing off the walls.

    ¡®A little louder, Jessica,¡¯ said Killian, with a grimace. ¡®I don¡¯t think the whole town heard you.¡¯

    ¡®You didn¡¯t think to tell me,¡¯ said Jessica through gritted teeth, ¡®that you had Conor fucking Griffin in your custody?¡¯

    ¡®Jessica, there¡¯s no wards on these rooms -¡®

    ¡®And you¡¯re just wandering around with him?¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m not wandering around with him,¡¯ said Killian, colour rising in his face. ¡®I have my orders, and I need a damn mage who can make the journey to Dierne, and Frostvine isn¡¯t powerful enough, even if she¡¯s to wake -¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ll have Sorena fahren him when she wakes.¡¯

    ¡®Absolutely not,¡¯ said Killian firmly. ¡®You¡¯re not asking her to make that journey. You forget her station. And it¡¯s not just the kid, it¡¯s Longwark, too. And there''s a task I need to complete before anyone goes anywhere.¡¯

    ¡®Baldwin knows?¡¯ she demanded.

    ¡®Of course, he knows,¡¯ said Killian.

    Something unspoken passed between Killian and Jessica.

    Jessica heaved in a giant breath. She glanced back at Gray curiously. ¡®He¡¯s small.¡¯

    ¡®I know.¡¯

    ¡®Wynn had a baby -¡¯

    ¡®I know he did,¡¯ said Killian coldly. ¡®He left my team to go take care of him.¡¯

    ¡®Oh, yes,¡¯ said Jessica, the edge leaving her tone. Her stance got a little less wide. ¡®I forgot. You worked with all the brothers.¡¯

    ¡®Four of them,¡¯ said Killian, his voice positively icy, his shoulders getting stiffer. ''That''s Ryan''s son, not Wynn''s.''

    Gray watched them closely, his pulse thudding.

    Jessica looked like she was going to clasp Killian¡¯s arm, and then thought better of it. She fingered the handle of her sword at her hip. ¡®You want me to take him?¡¯ she said, her tone softening. ¡®Because -¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t need you to,¡¯ Killian said. ¡®Pickering, take him to the prison.¡¯

    Pickering gripped Gray¡¯s arm, and as soon as they crossed the threshold, Jessica slammed the door shut. Raised voices came through the door.

    ¡®I hate it when mum and dad fight,¡¯ said Pickering, half grinning, and seemingly forgetting who he was talking to.

    Gray raised his eyebrows.

    Pickering cleared his throat and straightened his back. ¡®Come on, then.¡¯

    ¡ª

    Gray slouched on the bottom step of the prison. He watched Pickering and three other soldiers clear out a cell at the very end of the hall.

    The cells were crammed with the Krydon guards. Most of them wore their indigo guard uniforms from when they must¡¯ve been ripped from their guard duty with no warning. Every single one wore a dark expression of mutiny. The prison was filled with the sounds of them muttering and coughing, and their boots ground against the stone floor as they shifted.

    The guards from the end cell straggled out into the corridor under Pickering¡¯s clipped instructions. One caught sight of Gray sitting on the bottom step, as he was distributed into a new cell.

    This guard had his head half shaved, and half with his light brown hair twisted back into a warrior¡¯s tail. His movements were still, and his nostrils were flared.

    Gray knew him. He was one of those closest to the (now dead) Captain.

    Sephon was his name, Gray remembered dimly.

    Gray tugged at his sweater collar with cold fingers, a dull pain in his stomach.

    Sephon started singing a nursery rhyme in lilting Northern.

    Pickering shunted him. ¡®Quiet, prisoner.¡¯

    Sephon raised his voice, his defiant gaze on Gray. His fellows turned to stare. Then, one-by-one, the rest of the guards locked their sights on Gray. They took up the nursery rhyme.

    Their voices reverberated off the cold, stone walls. Deep, and bellowing.

    ¡®Ash-stink, ash-stink, what¡¯s that smell?

    He killed the cattle and dried the well.¡¯

    Guards'' faces were pressed to the slits in the doors. There were a lot of fierce, dark eyes peering out.

    ¡®Bright-eyes, bright-eyes, sound the bell,

    If you catch him, make him yell!¡¯

    This old nursery rhyme, Gray knew it well, from kids singing it at him at school, when he first started. Alistair had put a stop to it ¡­ Gray slouched further down, letting his dark hair hang over his face. His neck and cheeks burned.

    A pair of shiny boots stopped in front of Gray. Gray kept his head bowed and wished his cheeks would cool.

    ¡®What are they singing?¡¯ said Pickering.

    Gray glanced up, fisting his hands. Pickering¡¯s jaw was tense. His back was ramrod straight.

    ¡®Nothing,¡¯ muttered Gray.

    Pickering¡¯s blue eyes narrowed. He helped Gray to his feet.

    Picking helped Gray slowly walk to the end of the corridor.

    Sephon banged against his cell door. ¡®Set fire to the soldiers in the Hall, mage,¡¯ he said, in fast northern.

    Another guard snarled, ¡®Get us out of here, mage.¡¯

    ¡®Now,¡¯ said a third.

    Then, they took up the nursery rhyme again, singing in deep tones.

    Gray had never heard the nursery rhyme sung like this.

    Not teasing, not mean.

    Rousing.

    And loud enough to make the three soldiers kick the doors, vicious in their alarm. They banged the walls with their narrow swords. Shouted for quiet.

    Quiet settled over the prison in a staggering drunk falling to the floor. In bits and pieces, then all at once.

    Pickering shoved Gray into the end cell, his eyes wide, his jaw clenched. He turned to the closest soldier. ¡®Ask for Vaddenham to come. I need him to translate what they¡¯re saying. Quickly.¡¯

    The soldier nodded and sprinted off.

    ¡®Hey,¡¯ shouted a guard from the cell opposite Gray. He spoke in heavily accented Lismerian. ¡®Scumbags. How many did it take?¡¯

    Pickering stiffened. The remaining soldiers glanced at each other.

    ¡®What?¡¯ said Pickering, his voice sharp.

    ¡®How many of your grown men did it take to beat up that boy in there?¡¯

    Pickering¡¯s expression hardened. He glanced at Gray and then murmured something quickly into the ear of the soldier on his right. The soldier took off down the hall, his footsteps echoing.

    ¡®If you ever feel like not acting like a coward,¡¯ growled the guard, pressing his face against the bars, ¡®open this door so you can try it on with someone your own size.¡¯

    Pickering stepped close to the guard, stopping just out of reach. ¡®That door was just open, prisoner,¡¯ said Pickering. ¡®And all you did was sing.¡¯

    Pickering locked Gray in the cell, and strode away, banging his sword against the doors as he went.

    Heart hammering, Gray turned to sit on the pallet.

    Only, there was someone curled up on it.

    A huge man.

    He was on his side with his back to Gray. He didn¡¯t move.

    He was large with wild hair and blue rune tattoos creeping over the side of his neck.

    ¡®Mr Longwark?¡¯ Gray said.

 31. Is This Crow A Crow-Worker?

    Longwark didn¡¯t respond.

    Gray waited to see if his chest was rising.

    It was.

    Gray took his cue from Longwark and cast around the cell in silence.

    The cell was the same one he¡¯d been in earlier. Dimly lit. Dripping pipe. Gray found the softest patch of ground to sit on that was not easily seen from the door, awkwardly slithered down, and leant his back against the damp wall.

    He kept his eyes trained on the sliver of sky visible through the window in the far wall, twisting his fingers together. The walls were not moving in on him.

    ¡®Are you ¡­ hyperventilating?¡¯ mumbled Longwark.

    Gray started.

    If Gray hadn¡¯t been looking right at him, he wouldn¡¯t have recognised Longwark¡¯s voice. It wasn¡¯t sharp, or sarcastic.

    Gray wasn¡¯t hyperventilating. He was OK. He breathed out slowly and returned his gaze to the sky outside.

    He was burning to pepper Longwark with questions.

    Was he a traitor? A spy?

    A sorcerer?

    But Longwark ¨C Gray wasn¡¯t sure he trusted him. And hell, he¡¯d not forgiven him ¨C not for forcing Alistair out of his classroom that day, not for bringing kingdom soldiers to Krydon.

    A crow hopped past the thin window on the outside wall. It paused, head tilted, staring at Gray with bright eyes, a glinting coin in its beak.

    It slipped through the narrow space and landed neatly inside the cell.

    Longwark rolled over at the sound. He darted a glance at Gray, then back at the crow.

    The crow ignored both of them, inspecting the far corner of the cell. Then, carefully, gently, the crow placed the coin on the ground.

    Gray held out his hand.

    The crow looked at Gray, and then resumed hopping around the cell.

    Longwark watched silently. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and the other was almost as bad. His lip was split.

    Gray dropped his hand into his lap.

    Longwark sat up with a horrible groan. He clicked at the crow. ¡®Come.¡¯

    He slurred his words and Gray suspected Killian had punched him on the jaw a lot more and much harder than he had done with Gray.

    The crow considered him. Swaggered closer, then stopped just out of reach.

    Longwark muttered a northern profanity. ¡®Come, damn it.¡¯

    It clicked its beak, and with a soft whip of wings, it landed on Longwark¡¯s outreached hand.

    Longwark muttered to it, low and fast, in a language that wasn¡¯t any northern dialect Gray knew, and definitely not Lismerian.

    The crow hurried back to the window. It gauged the distance, and then neatly flew back outside.

    Gray staggered upright, and hobbled over to the window. The crow was already a black speck in the sliver of sky. He cast around, and stooped to pick up the coin in the corner.

    It was an ardent.

    The ardent was cold and clean with a small gash across the centre.

    Gray¡¯s heart thudded. He turned the ardent over, his fingertips tracing the outline of the king¡¯s face and crown embossed in the metal.

    This ardent.

    It was the one Gray had kept and hidden from Barin. It was the tip from Branbright.

    The ardent Alistair had taken when he¡¯d disappeared.

    Gray pressed together his trembling lips, winded. Curling his fingers painfully around the coin, Gray glared blindly at his clenched fist.

    Where the actual gods had the crow gotten this ardent?

    And it had brought the ardent here ¡­

    Gray was sure the crow was Branbright¡¯s. He thought maybe the crow was looking for his lost guardian, or returning his guardian¡¯s lost things.

    ¡®What you got there?¡¯ slurred Longwark.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Keeping his back to Longwark, Gray tossed the ardent across the floor to him.

    It clattered and rolled.

    There was a moment of quiet, as Gray imagined Longwark examined the coin.

    ¡®He¡¯s put you in here to test me,¡¯ said Longwark.

    Gray struggled to compose himself. He hobbled back over to his corner, and awkwardly sat down.

    Despite himself, pity stirred in Gray¡¯s stomach. Longwark was so beat up.

    ¡®He¡¯s a fool,¡¯ Longwark said. ¡®Doesn¡¯t know the first thing about my kind. He¡¯s taken my wand. There¡¯s nothing to draw with. I¡¯m not bleeding Wilde. I can¡¯t go anywhere without my tools.¡¯

    More to hide the bald surprise snaking its way through Gray¡¯s insides than anything, Gray stared hard at his hands.

    Longwark¡¯s words whirled in his mind.

    My kind.

    I¡¯m not Wilde.

    Longwark was as good as admitting he was a sorcerer.

    And he said it so casually.

    ¡®He¡¯s not cut out your tongue, has he?¡¯ said Longwark.

    ¡®No,¡¯ Gray said gruffly. It was a relief not to speak Lismerian. ¡®He ¡­¡¯

    The charm was tight around his ankle and felt almost like it was pulsing.

    Longwark was looking at him, waiting.

    But, Gray hesitated. The image of Killian raising his finger to his lips, in the gesture to keep the charm secret, sprang to his mind. ¡®I¡¯ve got a job for you,¡¯ he¡¯d said, and then just ¡­ tied a charm around his ankle.

    Some charms could be triggered by certain words or actions ¡­

    Gray barely had time to meet Longwark¡¯s good eye and shake his head, before a chorus was taken up in the prison.

    An old northern war cry this time.

    ¡®Here comes the traitor, striding wide,

    Here comes the traitor, on the wrong side,

    Here he comes,

    Here he comes.¡¯

    Gray glanced up at the slit in the door, just in time to see a balding, middle-aged man peer into his cell. Gray recognised him as the plump man who¡¯d poked his head into the Captain¡¯s office, yesterday.

    He beckoned Gray towards him.

    Clumsily, Gray approached the man.

    ¡®Gray, is it?¡¯ said the man.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray slowly.

    ¡®I¡¯m Mr Vaddenham, Gray,¡¯ he said, speaking rapid northern. ¡®You all right?¡¯

    Gray stared hard at him. ¡®Yes, sir.¡¯

    ¡®The men here,¡¯ said Vaddenham, ¡®they were singing the ¡­¡¯ he trailed off, shifting his weight. He blinked rapidly. Cleared his throat. ¡®... ash-stink nursery rhyme, yes?¡¯

    ¡®It was nothing,¡¯ said Gray.

    Vaddenham was flushed and so was Gray.

    Out of all the slurs for a magic user, ash-stink was Gray¡¯s least favourite.

    ¡®I heard them,¡¯ said Vaddenham.

    Gray dropped his gaze.

    ¡®Gray,¡¯ Vaddenham continued, ¡®I want you to promise me you won¡¯t let anyone talk you into doing something dangerous,¡¯ said Vaddenham.

    Gray suppressed a frown.

    ¡®You care for the safety of the people here, yes?¡¯ said Vaddenham.

    ¡®I don¡¯t want anything bad to happen to anyone,¡¯ said Gray quickly. ¡®I want no trouble.¡¯

    ¡®The men¡¯s attitude towards you is troubling me,¡¯ said Vaddenham.

    ¡®They won¡¯t harm me,¡¯ said Gray.

    Vaddenham hesitated. ¡®The men here are angry enough to go against their traditions and ¡­¡¯

    Gray edged forward. ¡®What?¡¯

    ¡®They¡¯ll use you.¡¯

    Vaddenham¡¯s pouchy eyes were taking everything in. He was staring at Gray¡¯s gaze, his expression, his stance.

    He was intimately observing Gray¡¯s state.

    ¡®Are you,¡¯ said Gray slowly, ¡®are you evaluating me? As a threat?¡¯

    Suddenly, Killian was standing behind Vaddenham, looking hassled.

    His soldier''s cap was pulled low over his scarred face.

    He¡¯d arrived without footsteps echoing off the stone walls, without the guards singing his arrival.

    ¡®What¡¯s the problem, kid?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®There¡¯s no problem,¡¯ Gray muttered. ¡®There¡¯s no threat.¡¯ It took a moment, of looking at Killian''s slightly furrowed brow, for Gray to realise he¡¯d spoken in northern. ¡®No problem,¡¯ he corrected, speaking careful Lismerian.

    Killian¡¯s dark gaze narrowed. ¡®Pickering,¡¯ he called. ¡®Why the fuck am I here?¡¯

    In the cell across the hall, the guards were stirring.

    ¡®Set fire to this one, mage, and we¡¯ll be eating roasted wolf for dinner,¡¯ one guard said.

    Another one, his yell bouncing off the walls, ¡®Come on, mage. Do something.¡¯

    Gray dropped his gaze.

    ¡®Ah,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I see.¡¯

    He heard Killian¡¯s soft, almost silent, retreat.

    No - not retreat.

    He was prowling. Back and forth. He was dragging a dangerous energy with him, like a predator gleefully messing with its prey. His presence clawed, it filled the whole corridor, and then swallowed the mutinous mutterings from the guards inside the prison cells.

    A hush fell.

    ¡®I like quiet in my prison,¡¯ said Killian. His voice was barely audible. It sent a shiver down Gray¡¯s spine. ¡®If I hear anything above a sneeze down here, I won¡¯t be happy.¡¯

    Silence echoed.

    ¡®Vaddenham,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Come with me.¡¯

    Gray quietly went back to his corner, careful of his swollen ankle, and listened to the faint echo of footsteps retreating.

    Longwark glared at Gray through his swollen eyes, his hair wilder than ever, as though electrified.

    ¡®You could use this to your advantage,¡¯ rasped Longwark.

    Gray frowned. ¡®What?¡¯

    ¡®Advantage, Gray,¡¯ said Longwark, his tone becoming disdainful. It was as though they were back in the alchemy lab, and Longwark was explaining a simple concept for the third time already. ¡®That animal is being very soft with you.¡¯

    Gray let out a disbelieving breath.

    Longwark¡¯s lip lifted in contempt. ¡®Perhaps you prefer to be a little victim. Perhaps you don¡¯t want to use any advantage.¡¯

    Anger swept through Gray, and he struggled to keep a lid on it. ¡®Advantage?¡¯ Gray said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. ¡®How? I¡¯m locked in a prison. I¡¯m - I¡¯m completely screwed.¡¯

    Because of you lingered between them, unsaid.

    ¡®If you can¡¯t use his softness to your advantage,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®then your head is as much use detached from your body as it is on.¡¯

 32. Heel, Boy

    Longwark rolled back, facing the wall.

    They stayed like that for hours.

    Gray alternated between obsessively going over everything that had happened in his head, asking himself the same questions, and a dull, blank numbness. He was in one of these numb phases as he watched the sky slowly darken outside. He shivered. He heard the soldiers change shifts.

    ¡®Grub.¡¯ A soldier banged two metal bowls against a slot on the door.

    Longwark got up and grabbed them before Gray could get himself upright, pulling himself up against the wall.

    It was oats.

    ¡®You can have mine.¡¯ Gray refused the bowl Longwark offered.

    Longwark shoved the bowl into Gray¡¯s hands without looking at him.

    Gray placed the bowl by the pallet and went back to his spot against the wall, abandoning the food.

    Two soldier¡¯s voices carried into the cell from down the corridor. They were getting closer.

    ¡®Major says he¡¯s off limits.¡¯

    ¡®What the Major doesn''t know won¡¯t hurt him.¡¯

    That drawl. It was Codder.

    Gray frowned and tried to get himself tucked further into the shadowy corner, just in case. Longwark watched, spooning himself oats from Gray¡¯s abandoned bowl.

    ¡®We¡¯ll all get punished if you¡¯re caught, Codder.¡¯

    ¡®See, this is why I¡¯m his favourite. I¡¯m not scared of risking my neck to get results.¡¯

    Gray felt rather than saw someone pressing close to the door window. Felt them scan the room.

    ¡®Hey,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®Stray? You in here?¡¯

    Gray kept his gaze fixed on the wall, staying utterly still in the shadows.

    ¡®Hey. Sorcerer. What have you done with little stray?¡¯

    Codder turned to the soldier out of sight when Longwark brutally ignored him. ¡®Emwell said he was in here.¡¯

    The soldier murmured something back, too soft for Gray to catch.

    ¡®Go get the Major,¡¯ snapped Codder. ¡®He thought this might happen. And give me the damn keys.¡¯

    There was a jingle of keys.

    Gray¡¯s breath hitched, and he darted a desperate glance at Longwark. Longwark glanced back at Gray, and then bent his face over the bowl of oats, casually scooping out the last of them with his fingers. He didn¡¯t look back up, even as the Codder stepped into the cell, pinned Gray with his shadowed swamp-vampire gaze, and then strode over to where Gray sat huddled.

    ¡®Hiding, stray?¡¯

    ¡®No.¡¯

    Codder smirked. ¡®No? Looks like Lismere¡¯s precious little chosen one is terrified, filthy, and hiding from big, bad Codder. Ineptly, I might add.¡¯

    Gray clenched his jaw, anger stirring, hot and sick.

    ¡®You¡¯re in the perfect position,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®to give me ideas.¡¯

    Gray fisted his hands but otherwise stayed unmoving.

    Codder crouched in front of Gray. ¡®Not so tough without the Major standing over your shoulder, are you?¡¯

    Gray got a brief impression of Codder¡¯s shadowed gaze and mud-crusted boots before he locked his gaze away.

    ¡®Huh?¡¯ Codder¡¯s voice was almost gentle.

    Gray didn¡¯t damn well care. He was so sick of this. Even being in Dierne, being dragged forward to be executed, would be better than this shit.

    Codder pulled a folded map out of his pocket, and he sniggered as Gray flinched.

    ¡®See this map here, stray?¡¯ said Codder. ¡®You point your finger to where the mages are hiding in the forest.¡¯

    Gray frowned. Whatever he¡¯d been expecting from Codder marching into this cell, that hadn¡¯t been it.

    ¡®I don¡¯t know where they are,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I - I can¡¯t help you.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ve seen Frostvine do this exact thing for the Major. Just close your eyes and use your creepy motherfucking powers to point to where the mages are.¡¯

    ¡®Frostvine?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Major¡¯s mage, stray.¡¯

    The sleeping mage. She had a name.

    Gray pressed his lips together.

    ¡®You¡¯re in a real vulnerable position here,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®I could help you, if you help me. Play your cards right.¡¯

    He flicked Gray''s left boot tied together with a filthy string. ¡®You need some new shoes, stray. I¡¯m surprised Major hasn¡¯t bought his little chosen-one pet a pair already - the state of these must be driving him mad.¡¯

    Considering the ever present state of Codder¡¯s muddy boots, Codder had to be talking a bunch of bullshit.

    Gray ignored him.

    Codder moved closer.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, getting a sudden - stupid - idea, his gaze flickering to the ardent by the pallet, ¡®I could trade you.¡¯

    Codder stilled, stroking his angled jaw. ¡®New shoes for the mage¡¯s location.¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡®New sweater, then?¡¯ drawled Codder. ¡®This one¡¯s looking pretty ripe, stray.¡¯

    ¡®No. You,¡¯ said Gray, keeping his voice steady, and choosing his words carefully, ¡®you tell me how you found Rowan, and I¡¯ll point on your map.¡¯

    Behind Codder, Longwark paused.

    ¡®Who the hell¡¯s Rowan?¡¯ said Codder, clocking Longwark¡¯s halt in rhythm. Codder eyed him, with the tiniest hint of wariness, before returning his gaze to Gray.

    ¡®Rowan Conn,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®The boy you found on your first night in Krydon.¡¯

    ¡®Why,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®would you want to know about that?¡¯

    Gray set his jaw. ¡®Tell me how you found him.¡¯

    Codder stretched his neck to the side, spreading his knees on the prison floor. ¡®Not so fast. You point first, stray.¡¯

    ¡®No deal,¡¯ whispered Gray.

    Codder was so close that his cigarette breath was hitting Gray¡¯s ear. ¡®Do you know what I could do to you, little stray? You. Go. First.¡¯

    Gray stayed completely still. Locked his gaze away.

    After an age, there was a scuffle against the damp prison floor, as Codder inched closer.

    ¡®He¡¯d been strung up, stray,¡¯ Codder said. ¡®Like he¡¯d been visited by the hangman.¡¯

    Gray knew this was coming, but he hadn¡¯t expected this to be so hard to hear. Blood rushed in his ears. ¡®Anything - else?¡¯ he said.

    Codder watched him with his shadowed gaze. ¡®Rats. Dozens of them. I thought your town had a rat problem, stray, but I never did again see so many.¡¯ Codder spread out the map. ¡®My turn. Point.¡¯

    Rats.

    ¡®Wait,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I need - I need books - er, The Complete Guide to Dark Creatures of the North by Hubert Huntsman, and A Short History of Folk Songs and Lullabies, by Grimm and Grimm ¨C and ¨C and ¨C¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m not running around getting you a fucking library, stray. Point.¡¯

    Gray pointed at random on the map.

    ¡®Do it properly, you little shit, or I¡¯ll -¡¯

    ¡®I told you I can¡¯t help you,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I don¡¯t know how.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re playing me for a fool? You have no idea of what I¡¯m capable of. Point on the map properly, or I¡¯ll mess you up so badly you won¡¯t know where you begin and I end.¡¯

    ¡®We both know how tight Killian is holding your leash,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®You can¡¯t do anything to me unless he says so.¡¯

    Codder¡¯s face hardened. His tongue swept out across his bottom lip.

    ¡®Careful, now, little stray. You ought not to poke the dragon.¡¯

    Gray steeled himself before leaning into Codder¡¯s space. His voice was barely above a whisper. ¡®Heel, boy.¡¯

    Codder¡¯s whole body stiffened. He inhaled and Gray glimpsed his messy teeth. His eyes widened. ¡®You cocky goats-tongue ¡­¡¯ He scrunched the map up and thrust it into his pocket, then snatched up Gray¡¯s collar and dragged him towards the cell door.

    Gray¡¯d expected to be hit, right there in the cell. Getting dragged out to gods-knew-where by Codder could not be good.

    Gray pulled and thrashed against him, not feeling the pain in his ankle, not giving a shit how hurt he got in the process.

    But Codder was too strong.

    ¡®Mr Longwark.¡¯ Gray¡¯s voice broke. ¡®Longwark.¡¯

    Longwark did nothing, just lay aside his empty bowl, his gaze inscrutable. Codder dragged Gray out into the corridor and locked Longwark back into the cell with one hand, while his fierce grip clamped on Gray.

    ''Longwark, please,'' shouted Gray.

    Longwark did nothing.

    But, the guards in the prison stirred.

    They went from stirred to full-scale riot within seconds.

    Their fury shook the doors.

    Their screams crashed against the ceiling.

    In his hysterical panic, Gray saw their dark, furious eyes peering through the doors, their strong arms reaching through the bars. Heard them destroying the cells behind the shuddering walls.

    Gray¡¯s skin was getting too hot.

    Too bright.

    But, it was oddly muted.

    Like steam building under a clamped lid.

    Gray felt Codder hesitate as he struggled to keep hold of Gray. The keys jangled.

    Codder shouted something, red blotches blooming on his cheeks, but Gray couldn¡¯t hear him over the ringing in his ears and the screams from the men.

    Opposite them, the timber of the cell door splintered and cracked.

    There was another crack. For a wild second, Gray thought the guards had broken through the doors, but then pain flared in his face, over his mouth. Codder had hit him.

    Then, pounding towards them, down the stairs, pushing past the other soldiers on duty, and along the corridor - a shadow.

    A predator.

    Killian.

    With each pounding footstep, the riot quietened down.

    The screams faded. The doors stopped shaking.

    Codder froze. He dropped the keys and Gray.

    Gray buckled to the floor, his chest heaving, his skin glowing from suppressed power.

    Killian backhanded Codder so fast that his hand was a blur. He bodily dragged Codder halfway down the corridor and threw him hard against the ground.

    There was a sickening thud, and Codder let out a muffled sob.

    Gray eyed the keys, inches from his hand. Grabbed them in his sweaty palm, and tucked them up his sleeve.

    Struggled to breathe.

    In. Out.

    Killian was in front of him, open fury on his scarred face, as he propped Gray to sit up against the wall.

    ¡®Inhale,¡¯ he said, his voice harsh.

    ''It''s fine,'' gasped Gray. ¡®You¡¯re safe.¡¯

    There was a murmur from inside the cell closest to Gray.

    It was Longwark.

    He - was he laughing?

    ¡®Shut the fuck up, sorcerer,¡¯ snarled Killian.

    Silence fell.

    Killian¡¯s dark gaze was back on Gray. ¡®Close your eyes,¡¯ he said. ¡®Picture the open sky.¡¯

    Gray obeyed and exhaled slowly.

    His magic was dipping. The glow faded.

    He inhaled and exhaled with Killian three more times.

    ¡®I¡¯m upping your dose,¡¯ said Killian.

    ''You don''t need to.'' Gray slumped against the wall, damp with sweat. ''I had it under control.''

    ''Oh, really,'' said Killian.

    Killian hung his wolfish gaze on Codder, who lay still on the corridor floor and then returned his attention to Gray. He paced two steps, rubbing his knuckles, and then came back.

    Longwark sniggered. The sound bounced off the cold stone walls.

    Killian peered through the cell door window. ¡®Longwark, something entertaining?¡¯

    ¡®If you wanted to teach your man a lesson,¡¯ came Longwark¡¯s rough voice, ¡®you should¡¯ve let him take the boy.¡¯

    ¡®And if I want to teach you a lesson,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®I¡¯ll shove the kid in your cell next time he has a panic attack.¡¯

    ¡®Flare,¡¯ slurred Longwark.

    ¡®Excuse me?¡¯

    ¡®They¡¯re called flares.¡¯

    Killian was stiff as a board. ¡®Are you teaching me the correct sorcerer terminology, Longwark?¡¯

    ¡®I could teach you a lot more,¡¯ Longwark said, ¡®if you took me to the king. I¡¯m playing very nice, Major.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re playing nice,¡¯ said Killian, his voice low and controlled, ¡®because you¡¯re shaking in your boots like a child. You think playing nice is going to save your thick neck.¡¯

    Longwark huffed. He muttered something in northern so softly that Gray didn¡¯t catch it.

    Killian edged closer to the window. ¡®Hm?¡¯

    ¡®Give me chalk,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®and I¡¯ll take us all to Baldwin. The longer I¡¯m here, the more dangerous it is. You bleeding dimwit.¡¯

    ¡®What did you just call me?¡¯ said Killian. He turned to the soldiers huddled together at the end of the corridor. ¡®Open on Longwark.¡¯

    ¡®I apologise,¡¯ rushed out Longwark. ¡®Just offering to help. No need to come in here, sir.¡¯

    Killian held up a hand, and the approaching soldier halted, midstep, over Codder.

    ¡®Sorcerer,¡¯ said Killian dangerously, ¡®if I accept any offer of help from you, things have gone very backwards.¡¯

    Longwark stayed quiet, which was probably for the best because Killian looked seconds away from violence.

    Killian surveyed Gray, running a finger along his jaw. ¡®Oh, for Clochaint¡¯s sake. Kid, come with me.¡¯

 33. Her Presence Here Will Ruin Everything

    Codder¡¯s hand twitched as they stepped over him.

    Gray staggered into the wall.

    The keys stashed up his sleeve hit the rock wall, making a soft, metallic clang. For a horrible second, fear cut through Gray like glass.

    But, Killian was focused on Codder.

    Slowly, Killian pulled at the corner of the map sticking out of Codder¡¯s pocket. He smoothed it out, his expression closed.

    ¡®Get a medic for him,¡¯ said Killian.

    One of the soldiers raced up the stairs.

    ¡®When he recovers,¡¯ said Killian, speaking to the remaining soldiers on duty, ¡®send him to me. I¡¯ll deal with you all after your shift.¡¯ He turned and let his voice echo down the corridor. ¡®As for the prisoners, no rations for twenty-four hours. If there¡¯s a ruckus again, there¡¯ll be lashings.¡¯

    Killian hauled Gray up the dirty stone steps.

    Gray¡¯s pulse thudded. With each step, each time he reached his arm out to steady himself against the wall, he felt the keys up his sleeve.

    Taking the keys had been impulsive. And completely stupid.

    Gray had no plan for the keys, he didn¡¯t need them. He didn¡¯t want to think what Killian would do to him if he found them.

    They would check. Soon they would figure out the keys were missing.

    They¡¯d search, they¡¯d change the locks ¡­

    They reached the landing, and Gray filled his lungs with fresh air spilling through an open window looking out into the garden. Dusk was falling outside, the sky a riot of darkening colours and a pale full moon.

    The corridors were quiet. The workday must¡¯ve ended.

    Killian adjusted his grip on Gray¡¯s arm and waist, and they made their way through the Hall in silence.

    Gray¡¯s mouth was sore and inflamed where Codder had hit him. His dark hair was a matted mess, slipping free of the leather tie and hanging in his eyes.

    Gray stumbled as though in a daze.

    It wasn¡¯t just the keys on his mind.

    The information from Codder filled every corner of his brain.

    Rats.

    Something had killed Alistair.

    Not a sorcerer. Rats meant a creature, surely.

    Or, perhaps some kind of curse.

    But, he needed those books to be certain.

    Killian had executed Krydon¡¯s Captain and he¡¯d imprisoned their guard. Barin was gone. The town was under siege by the soldiers.

    The thing that had killed Alistair was roaming free, and no one was doing a damn thing about it. It would be forgotten as the townsfolk dealt with the fresh carnage. The longer the soldiers were in Krydon, the more damage they committed, the more likely Alistair and Rowan¡¯s death would go without justice.

    Killian slowed to a stop, and helped Gray sit on one of the carpeted stairs.

    ¡®Rest here a minute,¡¯ Killian murmured, stretching out his shoulder.

    A night shift worker padded down the stairs behind them. Gray started.

    Blonde. Beautiful. Red shoe laces.

    Rosie.

    She was carrying a stack of dirty plates.

    ¡®Gray,¡¯ she said, nodding as she passed. For the smallest fraction of a second, she paused, her gaze on Gray. She continued, fixing Killian with a loaded stare. Then, in northern, to Killian, in the same polite tone she¡¯d used to address Gray, ¡®dipshit.¡¯

    Killian eyed her retreating back.

    Gray slouched, groaning. How Rosie always saw him when he was at his worst ¡­ he rested his head in his shaking hands, his elbows on his knees.

    Killian shifted, taking a step back, and sitting on a step a few below Gray¡¯s. He leant back against the polished bannister with his gaze on the view from the circular window.

    ¡®The northerners don¡¯t like mages, hm?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Well, they seem to like you well enough, don¡¯t they?¡¯

    Like was a strong word. Gray flexed his trembling fingers. He thought about what Vaddenham had said, that the guards were angry. Vaddenham was probably right. The guards needed help. They were desperate. They¡¯d likely thought Codder was taking away their best shot at revenge or escaping.

    Longwark would¡¯ve gotten the same reaction, if not worse.

    As though reading his mind, Killian said, ¡®They didn¡¯t do that shit for Longwark. You could hear them all the way across the town square.¡¯This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Maybe ¡­ maybe that was because Longwark was seven foot seven, and had military training.

    Codder would never have attempted that crap with Longwark in the first place. Longwark didn¡¯t need anyone to step in to help him.

    Gray swallowed, pushing down frothing rage. And something else. Something hotter, something sicker.

    ¡®It¡¯s their sense of honour,¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian¡¯s eyebrows rose. ¡®Honour?¡¯

    ¡®Here, you don¡¯t fight someone smaller, weaker than yourself ¡­ everyone looks out for ¡­ everyone.¡¯

    ¡®Is that so?¡¯

    Gray wasn¡¯t about to further explain the concept of honour or community to this man. He gazed out the window, his mind filled with what Codder had told him and how the damn he was going to get his hands on those books.

    If - if he could talk to Rosie, for just a second -

    ¡®Though, having the surname Griffin probably helps you, hm? They were very popular. Even before they fucked up Wilde. Lismere¡¯s best duellists.¡¯

    It took Gray a moment to bring himself back and focus on what Killian was saying.

    ¡®They don¡¯t ¡­¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Hm?¡¯

    ¡®They don¡¯t care about that,¡¯ muttered Gray, struggling hard to keep himself steady. ¡®That¡¯s southerner rubbish to them.¡¯

    ¡®Really?¡¯

    ¡®I ¡­¡¯ said Gray, ¡®I serve them beer and beef at the tavern, and I take care of them when they¡¯re drunk. That¡¯s all. I¡¯m more one of them than I am Other. Longwark ¡­ Longwark¡¯s ¡­¡¯

    No one messes with Longwark, Gray wanted to say.

    But, Gray had to remember who he was talking to - who this man was, and what he was capable of, and how easily he¡¯d manipulated Gray. Gray couldn¡¯t let his guard slip. He shouldn¡¯t share anything with Killian.

    The quiet built between them for too long. Killian shifted.

    ¡®Come,¡¯ said Killian, standing up. ¡®Let¡¯s go.¡¯

    They were moving again, through the quiet corridors, and padding over the thick carpet of the upper floors of the Hall.

    Killian shouldered through the door of his room.

    And, unlike Gray who let out a silent breath, was completely unsurprised that Sorena sat at the dining table laden with food.

    Sorena¡¯s platinum hair was damp from a shower, her skin was clean and healthy. She wore crisp cotton trousers and top, and expensive wool socks, purchased - Gray recognised - from the luxury clothing shop across the square.

    Her lips parted in surprise. Gray dragged his gaze away from them as, slowly, his stomach sank.

    Her presence here was going to ruin everything.

    There was absolutely no way he¡¯d achieve any kind of escape plan with this girl in the way.

    ¡®Killian?¡¯ said Sorena.

    Sorena tracked Killian¡¯s movements with her cold eyes as he gave her a stiff bow, her fork paused over a generous serving of chicken pot pie that smelt like heaven.

    ¡®Highness,¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡®Just give me a minute to settle Griffin.¡¯

    Sorena pinned Gray with her bright hazel eyes, her face settling into bitter dislike. ¡®Settle ¡­ Griffin.¡¯

    ¡®Yep,¡¯ said Killian, his voice tight.

    ¡®You¡¯re not keeping the son of D¡¯Oncray in the same room as me.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m doing,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Are you trying to punish me?¡¯ said Sorena.

    Gray shouldn¡¯t be insulted, he really shouldn¡¯t, because that¡¯s exactly what she wanted, but gods, this girl was a piece of work.

    She pinned Killian with her cold stare. ¡®You put him somewhere else.¡¯

    ¡®I have a few suggestions for where you might stick her,¡¯ muttered Gray.

    ¡®Excuse me?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®You know what D¡¯Oncray did to my family,¡¯ said Sorena, dropping her fork with a clatter.

    ¡®Of course I know, Sorena,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®There¡¯s nowhere else to put him. He¡¯s staying here.¡¯ When Sorena opened her mouth, he said, ¡®He¡¯s not staying in the prison.¡¯

    Killian dumped Gray on the floor of the threshold of his room, with a curt, ¡®Stay off the carpet. Remove your boots.¡¯

    Killian stalked across to the bathroom and locked it.

    The room - gods the room - had been completely changed, aside from Frostvine still sleeping on the large bed, breathing peacefully, and the bedroll Gray had slept on the night before.

    Fresh-cut flowers in delicate glass vases sat on every flat surface. An antique mirror almost as tall as the ceiling leant against the wall by the window, with a bolt of bright crimson silk hung over one corner.

    Piles of boxes from the shops in Krydon were neatly stacked, and a large playing board with glittering marbles lay on the floor by the fire, atop a white fur rug.

    An additional cot had been added, pressed up against the far wall.

    Killian¡¯s trunk had been moved out of the way, next to Gray¡¯s bedroll, a little way off from the fire.

    Gray undid his laces, and gingerly removed his shoes, placing them neatly by the door.

    Killian crouched in front of him, pulling the dagger out of his boot. With precision, he pulled down Gray¡¯s sock, and sliced through the twine tying the charm around Gray¡¯s ankle.

    Cutting the charm away was like wiping off sticky honey. Relief washed through Gray.

    With a dark look at Gray, Killian took the charm and sat down at the dining table with Sorena, pulling out a very thick piece of parchment from his pocket as he went.

    Gray staggered upright, curiously craning his neck to see.

    Killian pressed the charm firmly to the parchment and waited expectantly.

    Then, it was as though an invisible hand was writing a very fast script over the parchment.

    The writing was tight and cramped. It quickly filled one side of the parchment, and then continued over the next.

    Sorena frowned, peering over the plates of food. She had a damn bowl of chocolate bonbons there. ¡®Want me to translate the northern for you, Killian?¡¯

    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t dream of it,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®That¡¯s why Vaddenham¡¯s here.¡¯ He shot her an indulgent smile. ¡®Nothing for you to worry about, hm?¡¯

    Gray had a double flash of insight.

    The charm was an eavesdropper charm.

    Of course.

    It had been listening, he realised with alarm. He guessed it was telling Killian what words had passed between Gray and Longwark.

    And the room. Gray had assumed it was Sorena¡¯s doing, or Jessica¡¯s.

    But, it had been Killian. Whether to impress the king or because he was just spoiling Sorena, Gray couldn¡¯t guess.

    Though, Branbright had said -

    Killian was in front of Gray, gripping his arm. ¡®The bedroll¡¯s your space. You don¡¯t go off it. Understood?¡¯

    Gray nodded as Killian settled him on the bedroll.

    ¡®You don¡¯t eat her food, you don¡¯t touch her things, and if you touch her, gods help you, I¡¯ll skin you alive. Got it?¡¯

    ¡®Not going to be a problem,¡¯ said Gray, grimly.

    There was a knock on the door.

    Killian clicked his tongue in annoyance. ¡®Enter.¡¯

    It was a soldier, nervously taking in the tension of the room. ¡®We - we just received word from the fire mage Emeric, Major.¡¯

 34. He Makes A Deal With The Princess

    The nervous soldier was short and stocky, perfectly dressed in his grey uniform, and like many of Killian¡¯s men, had a nervous stutter to go along with the wariness in his gaze.

    ¡®That was fast,¡¯ said Killian, tightly.

    ¡®He¡¯s ¨C deemed it an emergency,¡¯ said the soldier, shifting uneasily underneath Killian¡¯s dark stare. ¡®He used an enchanted crow that¡¯s-¡®

    ¡®Wait, Musgrave,¡¯ said Killian, rubbing his forehead. ¡®We¡¯ve discussed this before, yes? There¡¯s a time and place for delivering messages.¡¯

    The stocky soldier ¨C Musgrave ¨C closed his mouth, standing stiffly to attention. ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    Killian straightened, adjusting the sword on his hip.

    It was the perfect opportunity for Gray to hide the prison keys underneath the bedroll.

    He stuffed them away and hoped to the gods neither Sorena nor Killian noticed.

    He needed to get rid of the damn things. Perhaps he could flush them down the closest drain when he got access to the bathroom.

    Killian clicked at Musgrave. ¡®Out.¡¯

    Musgrave hustled back out into the corridor, and Killian bowed to Sorena, and swiftly stalked out of there, closing the door behind him.

    Sorena marched after him, grabbed the doorknob, and pulled.

    And pulled.

    The door refused to budge.

    ¡®He locked me in,¡¯ Sorena said, wheeling around. ¡®Fine. Be like that.¡¯

    She pulled a delicate hairpin out of her damp hair and began picking the lock.

    ¡®Er,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®he¡¯ll probably have a soldier standing guard outside.¡¯

    Sorena stopped, and without acknowledging she¡¯d heard him, she stalked to the windows, and one-by-one tried to open them.

    Gray pulled his gaze away from her, pushing down his curiosity. Did he want to know what had brought Sorena back? Yes. Did he want to talk to this girl? No. Did he want Killian to catch him talking to this girl? Definitely not.

    Gray fidgeted with a loose thread on the bedroll.

    He could still feel Longwark¡¯s intense grey eyes, coldly watching. He could hear the screams from the guards, Codder¡¯s drawl -

    He needed something to do.

    Gray slowly stood. He eyed the stack of books Killian kept on the windowsill near the table. Cast a hesitant glance back at the door.

    Chewing his lip, and steadfastly ignoring Sorena, Gray hobbled over to the books.

    They were all in Lismerian.

    Speaking Lismerian was all well and good. Reading it, not so much. Gray had barely scraped a pass in the reading and writing portion of Lismerian lessons in school. Lismere had a habit of taking in parts of the languages of those they conquered. Lismere, at one stage, had mages powerful enough to create portals to other universes and worlds, and they¡¯d borrow language from those, too. Their alphabet was more mixed than a street mongrel.

    Gray fisted his shaking hands and hobbled back over to the bedroll.

    The clock on the wall ticked.

    The sounds of Sorena trying to pick the bathroom door lock with the hairpin scraped.

    Gray could still feel the ghost of Codder¡¯s breath, his hands, he couldn¡¯t stand it, he needed to move his mind to -

    ¡®What happened?¡¯ said Gray.

    Sorena ignored him.

    ¡®You were attacked?¡¯ said Gray.

    Sorena shot him an icy glance. ¡®Don¡¯t talk to me.¡¯

    Gray clenched his jaw.

    But, the longer Gray sat there doing damn well nothing, the harder his hands shook. And it wasn¡¯t just his hands, now. He needed to be tougher than this. Nothing had happened in the prison. He was fine.

    His mind would not cooperate.

    It was being a bitch.

    It would not be told he was OK. It would not stop replaying Codder and Longwark, and the screaming, rioting guards -

    ¡®I can tell you which paths in the forest are safe,¡¯ blurted out Gray. He cleared his throat, hoping to clear the shaking desperation out of his voice. ¡®So you can stay off the main road. Which ones will take you to Sirentown.¡¯

    Sorena stilled.

    She turned on her heel and began pushing at the windows again.

    ¡®That¡¯s where you wanted to go, right?¡¯ said Gray.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡®Don¡¯t. Talk. To. Me. Sorcerer,¡¯ said Sorena, pounding her palm against the glass of the window.

    Gray pressed his trembling hands into his thighs, stilling them. ¡®I can help you.¡¯

    ¡®You said I needed a guide,¡¯ she said, with a humourless laugh.

    ¡®Yeah. You¡¯ll need to be careful. Very careful.¡¯

    ¡®And I¡¯m supposed to believe that you¡¯re not sending me out into a trap, or onto the most dangerous path in the forest?¡¯

    What kind of world was the south, where people tricked each other like this? The further Gray got away from these people and Dierne, the better.

    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t do that,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I wouldn¡¯t wish that on my worst enemy.¡¯

    Sorena cast him a glance so icy Gray was surprised his blood didn¡¯t freeze in his veins. ¡®I¡¯m not your worst enemy?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray.

    Sorena made a snorting sound that startled Gray.

    ¡®You¡¯re not even in my top ten,¡¯ Gray said, attempting a joke. Poorly, judging by the look of disgust Sorena shot his way. He cleared his throat. ¡®It¡¯s just a saying .. you know, I wouldn¡¯t wish that on my worst enemy ..?¡¯

    Gray trailed off and wished the floor would open up and swallow him, at the same time as his mouth would permanently shut so that he¡¯d stop talking.

    Gods, this girl was narcissistic as heck to assume she rated as an enemy.

    Or that he even had enemies. Like normal people went around thinking of others as enemies.

    What the hell.

    Well ¡­ if Gray was being honest, there was Wilde.

    But it was less thinking of him as an enemy and more thinking of being ready for the bastard when Wilde eventually found Gray.

    ¡®Please,¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®You hate me and I hate you. Though, being a sorcerer, you probably don¡¯t have the emotional bandwidth to distinguish the sensation of hate from whatever else it is that sorcerers are capable of feeling.¡¯ She paused, as though thinking. ¡®Which is possessiveness and ruthlessness, probably.¡¯

    As the quiet stretched between them, Gray said, ¡®I imagine you feel about me the same way I feel about Wilde. You¡¯re not my worst enemy.¡¯

    Sorena stilled again. Then, stiffly returned her attention to the windows.

    ¡®Well, I hate you,¡¯ she said. ¡®I want to make that plain.¡¯

    Gray was getting a really clear picture as to how Sorena Auguste had gotten so unpopular with the people.

    Every conversation with Sorena was combative.

    Her reputation was accurate, down to the tee.

    Except for the lies drip from her tongue part of her reputation.

    She was brutally honest about her thoughts.

    ¡®And,¡¯ said Sorena, ¡®I don¡¯t trust you.¡¯

    ¡®OK,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You¡¯ll show me these safe paths if I tell you why Jessica and I have come back here?¡¯ she said, sceptically.

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Your Highness.¡¯

    Gray watched her jiggle the locked latch of the window over the table, pushing down rising regret within him.

    He¡¯d wanted this.

    And it was working. His hands were steadier and he was distracted.

    ¡®We doing this or what, Your Highness?¡¯ said Gray.

    Sorena slowed her pushing at the windows. She cast a cool glance at the scrolled maps Killian kept by the table.

    Neither of them moved.

    ¡®Well?¡¯ she said. ¡®He could be back any moment. Hurry.¡¯

    Firmly shoving down hard dislike, Gray staggered upright and hobbled over. He flipped through the maps, until he found one with the familiar line of the forest, and spread it out on the table.

    ¡®The old miner¡¯s trail,¡¯ said Gray, pushing down the urge to check over his shoulder to watch the door, ¡®it starts here.¡¯ He traced his finger over the map.

    ¡®It¡¯s not marked,¡¯ said Sorena.

    ¡®No. It¡¯s more of an animal track. It¡¯s hardly used.¡¯ Gray drew in a breath. Sorena was close. He could smell her soap, smell her. Carefully, he leant back. ¡®There¡¯s Stubbin¡¯s path. Here. It¡¯s marked. Fairly safe. But, more people know it, and use it.¡¯

    ¡®Both lead to Sirentown?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®There are some plants you need to be aware of. Which I¡¯ll tell you. After you tell me why you¡¯re here.¡¯

    Sorena didn¡¯t even glance up from the map. Her gaze roved over the paths Gray had traced out, as though committing them to memory. ¡®All the mages in the north have gone,¡¯ she said. ¡®Including the mages in all the military divisions stationed here.¡¯

    Gray watched her. ¡®Gone where?¡¯

    ¡®We don¡¯t know. Killian has a theory that they¡¯re here, near Krydon. He thinks he can smell them.¡¯

    ¡¯Smell them?¡¯

    Sorena levelled him with a cold stare. ¡®You know he¡¯s a wolf shifter, right?¡¯

    Gray frowned. Yeah, he knew that.

    ¡®The northerners don¡¯t have wolf shifters?¡¯ she said, delicately. ¡®They probably kill them on sight. They have no idea what an asset they are.¡¯ She tilted her chin up. ¡®You know that word? Asset? I think there¡¯s no northern equivalent.¡¯

    ¡®The northerners,¡¯ said Gray, echoing what he¡¯d once heard Elona say, ¡®are too humane to put someone through the process of becoming one. You know that word? Humane?¡¯

    Sorena¡¯s cold hazel eyes narrowed. ¡¯Not in my vocabulary, no.¡¯

    ¡®What a surprise,¡¯ Gray muttered.

    ¡®I mean,¡¯ said Sorena, ¡®where you¡¯re concerned, it¡¯s not in my vocabulary.¡¯

    ¡®Oh, sure,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Killian came to my father already turned,¡¯ said Sorena. There was something odd about her face. ¡®Father rescued him when he was sixteen. How¡¯s that for humane?¡¯

    Was she being defensive?

    Gray lifted his eyebrows, his lips clamped tight.

    ¡®Killian can smell what you had for dinner last night,¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®He can smell which of his men have been sniffing whisp powder. He can smell which have been sleeping in the whorehouse, and which ones get excited when they¡¯re asked to execute a prisoner. If he says he can smell magical creatures here - mages, sorcerers, whatever - then he¡¯s probably right.¡¯

    ¡®Can he smell your long-windedness?¡¯ said Gray.

    Sorena¡¯s hazel eyes widened. ¡®You can¡¯t just talk to me about my wind.¡¯

    ¡®I said long-windedness - I wasn¡¯t talking about your wind.¡¯

    ¡¯I beg your pardon?¡®

    ¡®I meant you take a long time to say things,¡¯ Gray said. Sorena was flushing, which, for some reason, was making Gray flush in turn. ¡®I think I mistranslated,¡¯ Gray rushed out. ¡®I didn¡¯t mean to talk about you breaking wind-¡®

    ¡¯Breaking what?¡¯ said Sorena.

    ¡®It¡¯s OK,¡¯ said Gray, hastily trying to push down the heat in his face, ¡®I know girls ¡­¡¯ For some reason, Gray couldn¡¯t form the word he needed to say.

    Gray couldn¡¯t look at her flushed face. He was so hot he was beginning to sweat.

 35. He Knows Nothing About Fahrening

    Sorena spun away and stuffed her knuckles in her mouth. Her shoulders shook.

    It took Gray a beat to realise what was happening.

    She was trying very hard not to laugh.

    Gray breathed in slowly to push down the heat that threatened to bubble up and make his face unbearably redder.

    She¡¯d been messing with him.

    ¡®You are five,¡¯ said Gray.

    Slowly, Sorena turned back around.

    Gray couldn¡¯t make himself look at her. ¡®I have a little sister,¡¯ he said. He hesitated. Why the heck was he still talking? ¡®Not a sister, but she¡¯s like a sister. She¡¯s ten. She - she -¡®

    ¡¯She¡¯d kill you for telling any kind of story involving her wind, I¡¯m sure,¡¯ said Sorena.

    Gray clapped a hand over his face. ¡®Fair.¡¯

    Carefully, Gray lowered his hand. Sorena sat at the table with one leg curled underneath her, her face dipped to hide her expression.

    When she continued to maintain a long silence, Gray said, ¡®Will you tell me what happened to you and Jessica?¡¯

    She leant her chin in her hand.

    ¡®Mages,¡¯ said Sorena, like Gray wasn¡¯t still bright red in the face, ¡®are the heart of our military power. Without them, we¡¯re ¡­ vulnerable. Especially somewhere like here. Jessica and I were caught in the middle of some northerners realising our mages had deserted. Let your imagination fill in the rest.¡¯

    ¡®Where were you?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Reviness.¡¯

    ¡®Not Dierne?¡¯ said Gray, frowning.

    Sorena gave him a cool glance. ¡®You don¡¯t know much about fahrening, do you?¡¯

    Gray was not about to admit the only thing he knew about fahrening was the mage stood inside a chalk circle, chanted some words, and then disappeared in a rush of noise and energy.

    ¡®And you came here?¡¯ he said.

    ¡®Well, I wasn¡¯t going to take us to the palace. Father¡¯s at the palace. He¡¯s ¨C very annoyed with me right now.¡¯

    Gray waited for her to elaborate, but she sat there like the silence wasn¡¯t a bother, like she¡¯d happily let Gray squirm in the quiet.

    ¡®I meant,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®why wouldn¡¯t you go up to Sirentown, or - or -¡¯

    Sorena folded her arms, a gleeful smile spreading slowly across her face. ¡®You know absolutely nothing about fahrening.¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®I know ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Gods,¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®You know nothing about fahrening.¡¯ She paused, her gleeful smile turning into something entirely more sly. ¡®Or even magic in general, I bet.¡¯

    When Gray didn¡¯t contradict her, she let out a disbelieving breath.

    ¡®Holy Clochaint,¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®How embarrassing.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®not embarrassing. In the north, we ...¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s embarrassing,¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®Even I¡¯m embarrassed for you, and I hate you.¡¯

    Gray stood poised in the following quiet, expectantly waiting.

    When Sorena offered no further explanation, Gray said, ¡®You¡¯re not going to explain fahren-¡®

    ¡®Was that part of the deal?¡¯

    Gray stood, stunned. ¡®No.¡¯

    She was so damn smug, and it took everything within Gray not to let irritation spill onto his face.

    Gray lowered his gaze to the map spread on the table. He pushed past his irritation to ask the next question burning within him, and not certain at all if Sorena would answer. ¡®Why would the mages leave?¡¯

    Sorena traced the miner¡¯s path on the map, her fingernails catching the light. ¡®Why would they come here, is what I want to know.¡¯

    Gray watched her. He stared at the curving lines of her lashes, cheek and lips, the graceful line of her arm. The delicateness of her hands. He wrenched his gaze away and started rolling up the map. Clearly, he was going to get nothing else out of her.

    Sorena slammed her hand down on the map. Gray stopped.

    ¡®The plants?¡¯ she said.

    Gray glanced back at the door. If Killian found them now, Sorena would get a slap on the wrist, and Gray would probably get the beating of a lifetime.

    ¡¯Star mushroom grows here, here, and here,¡¯ he rushed out, pointing at the map. ¡®Do you know-¡¯

    ¡®I know how to handle star mushrooms, thank you.¡¯

    ¡®Pity,¡¯ said Gray.

    Sorena shot him a cold glance.

    ¡¯Tendril vines here, envy herbs here, and giant spiders here,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®And avoid this pool.¡¯

    ¡®Why?¡¯

    Gray pressed his lips together. ¡®It steals souls, they say.¡¯

    ¡®What about this trail? It goes to Sirentown.¡¯

    Gray winced. ¡®Don¡¯t use that trail. Fey use that trail. And they don¡¯t like people.¡¯

    ¡®Holy Clochaint,¡¯ said Sorena.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡®Yeah, you¡¯re not in the south anymore. You go into the forest, you keep your wits about you.¡¯

    Sorena rolled up the map. ¡®I¡¯d say pleasure doing business with you, but I hate you and wish you a slow and painful death, so ¡­¡¯

    She was standing very close. Gray breathed slow. Her soap.

    Lavender.

    Involuntarily, Gray felt a tug in his body. A familiar one. The kind he got when he was close to Rosie.

    His soul leaving his body, no forest pool required.

    Gray clenched his teeth. Shit.

    It¡¯s nothing, he told himself firmly. A misfiring in your brain, because she looks like Rosie. You¡¯re messed up because of everything that¡¯s happening. You don¡¯t like her, the opposite, she¡¯s awful -

    The energy between them had shifted.

    And Sorena had felt it, Gray realised in alarm.

    She was holding herself stiffly. Her muscles were taut.

    Gray could see the slap coming a mile away.

    Her hand was swinging back, it was flying in the air, wind from the force of it was lifting the hair off his face ¡­

    Her open palm collided with his cheek.

    Gray didn¡¯t even try to dodge. His cheek burned. He was flushed, toe to head, mortified at himself and that she¡¯d sensed it so quickly.

    The second slap was unexpected.

    Slap.

    BANG.

    The door crashed open at the same time Sorena slapped Gray for the third time.

    Killian stood on the threshold. His dark gaze darted from Sorena to Gray, back to Sorena, and then down to the map rolled up in her hand. Then, very slowly, his gaze travelled back to Gray.

    Gray ducked his head, painfully aware of how red he was. His cheek burned. Sorena stood close to him, her breath strained.

    With startling swiftness, Killian stalked over and jabbed Gray hard in the chest. Gray stumbled back.

    Killian¡¯s face was in his. ¡®Bedroll.¡¯

    Gray hobbled to the bedroll, keen to put as much distance between himself and Sorena as possible.

    Gray heard Killian talking to Sorena, his voice distorted as though they were underwater.

    Then, he was in front of Gray. He was speaking.

    Gray forced himself to focus.

    ¡®What did you say to her?¡¯ said Killian. ¡¯She won¡¯t tell me.¡¯

    ¡®I didn¡¯t say anything,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®It was his vibe,¡¯ said Sorena stiffly.

    Killian¡¯s dark gaze narrowed. ¡®You slapped the shit out of him,¡¯ he said to Sorena, ¡®because of a vibe?¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s eyes were narrowed slits. He looked like he was about to squash Gray under his thumb like a bug. ¡®Did you touch her?¡¯ He turned to Sorena. ¡®Did he?¡¯

    She pulled a disgusted face. ¡®Is he dead?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Killian, pursing his lips.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®It won¡¯t happen ever again, OK?¡¯ He shot a glance at Sorena. ¡¯It was a brain fart.¡¯

    Sorena made a sound like an angry cat.

    ¡¯She¡¯s very beautiful, hm?¡¯ Killian¡¯s quiet words had a bite to them.

    ¡®She,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®She has the personality of a snake.¡¯

    Killian raised his eyebrows. ¡®Is that an answer?¡¯

    Gray clenched his jaw.

    ¡®I hate you,¡¯ said Sorena.

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I know.¡¯

    ¡®Hate. You.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m aware,¡¯ snapped Gray.

    Killian rolled his dark gaze back to Sorena. ¡®This genuinely is because of a vibe?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Sorena, widening her stance and folding her arms.

    ¡®Does vibe mean something I don¡¯t know? Kids¡¯ slang?¡¯

    Sorena frowned minutely. ¡®Vibe means vibe.¡¯

    Killian pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡®Fucking mage shit ¡­ how you fuckers haven¡¯t gone extinct yet is beyond me.¡¯ He jabbed Gray again in the chest. ¡®Keep your vibes in your pants, got it?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray, fighting down his flush. ¡®It was - temporary insanity.¡¯

    Killian sharply waved a hand as though wafting away thick smoke. ¡®Your hormones are off the charts. Do your breathing.¡¯

    ¡®Gods, Killian.¡¯ Gray pressed his hands against his temples, horrified.

    ¡®Gross,¡¯ said Sorena.

    ¡®I don¡¯t like her,¡¯ hissed Gray through gritted teeth, glaring hard at Killian. Gray was blushing so hot, any moment he would spontaneously combust. ¡®You ¨C she ¨C has nothing to worry about. Even if I did, that¡¯s not how ¨C we don¡¯t ¨C I ¡­¡¯

    Gray trailed off because, really, he was digging himself a bigger hole at this point and he needed to stop.

    ¡®How would your kitchen girlfriend feel about this, hm?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray levelled Killian with a stare.

    ¡®Betrayal,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Spreading your vibes around like a dog.¡¯

    ¡®OK,¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian looked like he was struggling hard to keep himself from saying more. He stood over Gray, the toes of his boots on the bedroll, his hand on the handle of his narrow sword.

    Sorena smirked and settled herself at the table, and began picking her food again.

    Killian bent so his face was close to Gray¡¯s, his voice low. ¡®I¡¯m serious. Whatever the fuck a vibe is, if she doesn¡¯t like it, don¡¯t do it. Understood?¡¯

    It was like a shutter had rolled down over Killian¡¯s bearing. Like a mask had snapped back into place. Back was the serious man with the dark gaze who¡¯d slammed his best soldier down in the prison like it was just another Tuesday.

    Gray made himself stay very still. ¡®Yes, sir.¡¯

    -

    It was decided, shortly after, that Sorena would be moved out.

    Well, Jessica had barged into the room, and after a hot and angry conversation with Killian with lots of glares shot Gray¡¯s way, had demanded Killian make Codder give up his private room so that Sorena and Jessica could board there.

    Away from Gray.

    In came a stream of Hall workers on night shift, and a line of Jessica¡¯s women. They packed up the beautiful belongings - the clothes, the books, the flowers, and the playing board on the fur rug.

    Killian stood over Gray, the toes of his boots on the bedroll, his hand on the handle of his narrow sword. ¡®Stay,¡¯ he said.

    When the last item had been carried out of the room, Killian walked Sorena out, and the door clicked closed behind them.

    Gray ¨C save for Frostvine asleep on the bed ¨C was completely alone.

    He picked up an item dropped on the carpet.

    A hairpin.

    -

    Picking the lock of Killian¡¯s weapons chest with a hairpin was an exercise in patience.

    And damn persistence.

    Gray drew in a long breath, pushing down the urge to fling the hairpin across the room, and after a quick glance at Frostvine ¨C asleep, thank the gods ¨C and the door ¨C still bolted shut ¨C he continued to pick the lock.

    His palms were sweating.

    Killian was so light-footed that there¡¯d be little to no warning if he was approaching the door.

    But, Gray had seen glimpses of what Killian kept inside the weapons chest. There were metals in there Gray could use to create something that might help him draw the soldiers away from Krydon.

    What exactly he could create, Gray didn¡¯t know.

    Heck, he didn¡¯t know if he was wasting his time altogether. Maybe Gray wouldn¡¯t be able to cobble together any kind of alchemic creation, let alone one strong enough to bait the king¡¯s men into a chase.

    But he was going to damn well try.

    Gray adjusted his weight on his knees, digging them deeper into the carpet, and his neck aching as he craned to see into the small space of the lock.

    That¡¯s when he felt it.

    There was no sound.

    But the air changed.

    It was a subtle cloaking of movement, like a shark gliding through dark ocean waters.

    Killian.

    He was coming.

    The hairpin slipped from Gray¡¯s slick fingertips.

    He swept away the tiny filings of iron from picking at the lock, hopped and then flung himself onto the bedroll just in time for Killian to unbolt the door.

 36. Poking At Some Limits

    The door creaked open.

    Killian stood in the doorway, a dark figure framed by the gentle light from the lamps in the hall. His hair hung in loose strands over his forehead. The shadows made his battle scars more pronounced and his mouth was set in a hard line.

    He stayed on the threshold, his stance rigid and his boots planted. His gaze swept over the room, lingering a moment too long on Gray, who was trying to appear casual, but the tension in the air betrayed everything.

    ¡®Smooth.¡¯ Killian¡¯s voice sliced through the room like a knife.

    His dark gaze - half-veiled by his hair - darted to the weapons chest, then back to Gray sitting on the bedroll.

    ¡®You think I was born yesterday, hm?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray forced himself to calmly meet Killian¡¯s dark gaze.

    There was no way Killian could know-

    ¡®Go on,¡¯ said Killian. Tell me what you weren¡¯t doing.¡¯

    Gray stayed still, fear rippling through him. Silence echoed between them.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, when he couldn¡¯t handle the silence for another moment, ¡®was looking at your books.¡¯

    ¡®Liar.¡¯ The word hung in the air.

    Then, he couldn¡¯t help it. Gray dropped his gaze to the sword on Killian¡¯s hip. Just for a second.

    But, Killian caught it.

    ¡®Nuh uh, kid,¡¯ Killian said. ¡®This is white dragon¡¯s fire forged, goblin blended steel. You aren¡¯t getting near this thing.¡¯

    That sword - melted down - would make one heck of a useful component in a bunch of alchemic creations.

    He could maybe make a curse bomb with that sword.

    Longwark would probably know -

    ¡®Give it to me.¡¯ Killian¡¯s voice was sharper than the fancy sword at his hip.

    Gray¡¯s mouth was dry. He staggered to his feet, poised for the beating that would surely come. ¡®Give what?¡¯

    ¡®Whatever the hell you¡¯ve got that¡¯s making this place reek of anxiety.¡¯ Killian slowly advanced. ¡®Did you find an old nail? More scissors?¡¯ His gaze fell onto the hairpin where Gray had dropped it. ¡®Ah.¡¯

    With a dark look at Gray, Killian knelt and tested the lid of his weapon chest. It budged a fraction, clicking as the lock tumbled back into place.

    ¡®Planning to stab me in my sleep?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®No, I wouldn¡¯t-¡¯

    ¡®Arms out.¡¯

    Gray tried to stand like an innocent person while Killian patted him down. After coming up empty, Killian stiffly gestured for Gray to return to his bedroll.

    Wordlessly, Killian settled himself down at the table and unrolled a scroll of blank paper.

    Breathing out slowly, Gray controlled his face, his hands, his posture.

    He wouldn¡¯t let Killian see how on-edge Gray was.

    How his heart was beating too fast, and his mind was racing, and his stomach had plummeted to his damn feet.

    That hairpin had been a gift from the gods, and now it was gone. So was the brief time alone in the room - well, alone except for Frostvine asleep on the bed, but she didn¡¯t count, because no matter what happened around her, she never so much as twitched.

    ¡®I¡¯ll be putting every available man on watch for this room,¡¯ muttered Killian, glancing at Gray. ¡®There¡¯s going to be so many soldiers watching this door and every window in this room, that if you so much as talk too loudly, you¡¯ll have half a dozen swords at your throat. Understood?¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    Killian sat with paperwork laid before him on the table. But, his gaze was relentless.

    It itched at Gray¡¯s skin. It prickled the hair on the back of his neck.

    How the hell Killian managed to write - whatever the damn he was writing, reports Gray guessed - and constantly survey Gray and the room at the same time, was a mystery.

    And how was Gray supposed to do anything with what he had underneath his bedroll if the cursed man never blinked?

    Gray fought down a wave of despair, curling in on himself as he lay on the bedroll.

    ¡®Dinner,¡¯ Killian murmured, ¡®Gray, table.¡¯

    With some effort and some help from Killian, Gray slipped into a chair at the table. A Hall worker had delivered a thick cut of steak, fried potatoes, and crisp green beans to the table.

    And a bowl of oats.

    Killian nudged the oats towards Gray. ¡®Eat.¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®already ate in the prison.¡¯

    Killian levelled him with a stare. ¡®You haven¡¯t eaten shit, kid.¡¯ He prodded the bowl closer. Closer.

    Gray had no idea how he ate that bowl of oats.

    But, he did it.

    Killian finished long before him and was doing paperwork at the table when a Hall worker came in to clear the dirty dishes.

    It was Terri, one of the weapons and defence instructors from school. She paused at the edge of the table and chucked Gray under the chin in a manner completely different from when Killian did it.

    ¡®You all right, love?¡¯ she said in northern.

    Gray gave her a nod.

    The khol around her eyes was caught in her crow¡¯s feet. Her brown hair was pulled back into tight twists. She only wore it like that when she needed it out of the way for fighting classes.

    Terri wasn¡¯t a Hall worker.

    Unless she¡¯d just started a new job.

    ¡®He¡¯s armed?¡¯ said Terri in casual northern.

    Very carefully, Gray kept his bearing and tone as casual as Terri¡¯s.

    ¡®Always,¡¯ said Gray. His voice was too soft. He swallowed, and continued, ¡®I think he¡¯s one of the king¡¯s favourites. Careful.¡¯

    ¡®Get the dishes and get out,¡¯ said Killian to Terri sharply.

    ¡®The folks downstairs want to see the boy,¡¯ said Terri in accented Lismerian.

    ¡®I¡¯m sure they do,¡¯ said Killian, his shoulders tight. In one smooth movement, he stood and got between Gray and Terri. ¡®You¡¯ve seen him. He¡¯s fine. You tell them that. Now, get out.¡¯

    ¡®Your treatment of your prisoners is questionable,¡¯ said Terri.

    ¡®I follow my orders to the letter, ma¡¯am.¡¯

    Terri edged closer, and Killian shifted, ever so slightly, on his toes.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡®The folks here are taking great offence,¡¯ she said.

    ¡®Is that a threat?¡¯

    Terri¡¯s gaze darted all over Killian. She was fastidiously assessing.

    Gray felt stretched tighter than a drum. If she did anything, one wrong move, even one right one, if she hurt the king¡¯s soldiers, the king¡¯s retribution would be worse than anything the soldiers had done.

    Gray shook his head minutely.

    She held his gaze, and there was an echo of despair there. Gray was desperate to tell her that he had a plan, that he''d do everything in his power to lead the soldiers away from Krydon. He bit his lip.

    Slowly, she stepped back.

    ¡®Right choice, ma¡¯am,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Further back, if you please.¡¯

    Terri baulked. Then, as though it physically pained her, she stepped back again.

    ¡®Just to make you aware, ma¡¯am,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®any attacks on the Hall, and I¡¯ll ensure my prisoners are the first casualties. You understand me?¡¯

    ¡®I understand you,¡¯ said Terri. ¡®I understand you completely.¡¯

    ¡®Gray,¡¯ said Killian tightly, not lifting his dark gaze from Terri for a second, ¡®back against the wall while I pass this smart lady the dishes, please.¡¯

    ¡ª

    It was before dawn.

    The mutterings of night birds outside the window had woken Gray.

    That, and the strange absence of Killian from the room.

    It niggled at Gray, especially after the lecture he¡¯d sat through the night before after Terri left, with Killian telling him just how many men with swords would be watching Gray¡¯s every move, not to mention how Killian always - he¡¯d said - slept with one eye open.

    But, Gray was alone.

    Except for Frostvine, deeply asleep and deeply still.

    Picking the lock of the weapon chest was out, at least until Gray could get his hands on another hairpin or a paperclip.

    But he could get rid of those damn prison keys.

    Every moment they stayed in Gray''s possession was a risk.

    They needed to go.

    And the bathroom door was right there.

    Probably locked.

    But, now was the time to check. He shoved the keys deep in his pocket.

    Gray glanced down at his ankle, the bandage still strapped tight. He bent it, just enough to test, and pain lit up his leg like a flare. But it wasn¡¯t as bad as yesterday. He could handle this.

    With a hiss of pain, Gray pushed himself upright.

    The bathroom beckoned.

    He wanted a bath so bad he could taste it. The feel of sweat and grime crawled over him like bugs under his skin. Every inch of him itched, burned, screamed for relief. His eyes drifted to Killian''s bathroom - just a few feet away, through that damn carved door. Ornate, polished, and mocking him with its promise of fresh, clean water. Soap. He¡¯d never felt this dirty in his life. It clung to him, a second skin of filth he couldn¡¯t shake off.

    Gray edged forward.

    One foot down. Then the other.

    He leaned into the pain, bracing himself, putting more weight on the injured ankle. And more.

    He was almost halfway to the bathroom when -

    ¡®Don¡¯t even think about it, kid.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s voice cut through the room like a knife, sharp and cold. Gray flinched, snapping his gaze toward the doorway. There Killian stood, arms folded across his chest, eyes hard. ¡®You try walking on that ankle too much, you¡¯ll wreck it for good. You¡¯re not running anywhere.¡¯

    Gray gritted his teeth, pushing down the ache in his leg.

    It was so early in the morning that stars were still visible in the indigo sky. Gray wasn¡¯t sure Killian had even been to bed yet.

    Killian¡¯s scars were faded in the dim light. He was unshaven. His wolf fur collar shifted in the breeze from the open door.

    Gray gingerly picked his ankle back up.

    Killian ran a finger along his jaw, sweeping Gray up and down with a guarded look.

    Gray shifted uncomfortably. Surely, Killian wouldn''t be able to smell keys. Or hear them.

    But, there was something off with Killian.

    It was in the way he stood.

    Too still. Too stiff.

    His dark eyes held an endless stone wall. They betrayed nothing but a hard barrier.

    ¡®Are you,¡¯ said Gray haltingly, ¡®all right?¡¯

    ¡®Dandy, kid.¡¯

    Besides the keys stashed deep in his pocket, Gray''d fallen into an exhausted sleep last night. It¡¯d been so heavy he felt a slight unease that anything could¡¯ve happened around him and he¡¯d have slept through it.

    ¡®You sure?¡¯ said Gray, his heart beginning to thud, and hoping he didn¡¯t live to regret asking.

    Killian tilted his head.

    Gray was learning the different masks Killian wore. This one - this mask - was the dangerous one. It¡¯d been the one he¡¯d worn when they¡¯d first met, the one that had threatened to execute the Haxleys with one hundred percent believability.

    ¡®I¡¯m trying to figure out,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®how intelligent you are.¡¯

    This was so out of left field that Gray stared at him, mouth hanging open, and trying desperately to join the dots in his mind.

    ¡®Your intelligence stats are all right,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®But I¡¯m completely convinced those papers are false.¡¯

    ¡®They¡¯re not-¡¯

    ¡®You tell Sorena how to escape this Hall?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Is that what the slapping was about, last night? Then, you distracted me with the attempt on my weapons chest, so I¡¯d put all my spare men on this room, and not hers?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s chest clenched. Words tangled and knotted in his mind.

    Killian waited, completely still.

    ¡®What?¡¯ Gray managed to spit out.

    ¡®Did you tell Sorena how to escape?¡¯ said Killian, his words holding a steely edge to them.

    ¡®Sorena¡¯s gone?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Not for long,¡¯ Killian continued, tightly. ¡®Jessica¡¯s tracking her with her team.¡¯

    Gray fought down the urge to run his hands through his hair.

    Sorena had wasted no time at all.

    ''How did she escape?'' The words slipped out of Gray''s mouth before he could monitor them.

    Of course Killian wouldn¡¯t answer, and he wouldn¡¯t be open to discussing this topic with Gray. The thought of Sorena managing to slip past not only Jessica and whatever security she had on her room, but Killian too, was so impressive that Gray had fifty questions flying around in his mind, and this one had just slipped loose.

    ¡®I told Jessica to watch -¡¯ Killian cut himself off. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. ¡®Perhaps Jessica will be able to answer if you told Sorena how to escape when she catches her, hm?¡¯

    ¡®Sorena¡¯s cunning enough to figure that out on her own,¡¯ said Gray, his heart beating hard. ¡®She wouldn¡¯t listen to anything I have to say.¡¯

    For a long moment, it looked like Killian was holding himself back from diving off the edge of a cliff. Holding back words. The accusations and swear words he was clearly longing to say were almost palpable in the air.

    His muscles were controlled. His expression shuttered. Then, all at once, Killian closed the distance between them and slapped a vial into Gray¡¯s hand.

    It was a calming draught, but this one said Extra Strength.

    Gray stayed still, casting a wary glance at Killian.

    ¡®Take it,¡¯ said Killian, gesturing to the draught. ¡®Quickly now. I¡¯ve got another job for you.¡¯

    ¡®I need to use the bathroom,¡¯ muttered Gray.

    ¡®Hold it,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®This won¡¯t take long.¡¯

    Killian grabbed Gray¡¯s arm, swinging it over his shoulder. He paused, adjusting his grip around Gray¡¯s arm, staring at a small hardcover book partially covered by a blanket on Gray¡¯s bedroll.

    Gray kept his face immobile. He¡¯d ended up taking a book last night, from Killian¡¯s fastidiously neat stack on the windowsill by the dining table. It was a dry text in difficult-to-read Lismerian about battle strategy.

    Honestly, Gray would¡¯ve rather read anything else, but Killian only had texts on battle strategy and navigation.

    And reading the Lismerian was like picking apart a code.

    ¡®You been reading that?¡¯ said Killian sharply.

    ¡®Where are we going?¡¯ Gray asked, hopping to keep his balance.

    ¡®Answer the question, kid.¡¯

    ¡®Uh ¨C yes ¨C I was bored, is all -¡®

    ¡®What did I tell you about staying on the bedroll?¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®I thought you wouldn¡¯t mind.¡¯

    Killian maintained a tight silence, steering Gray out of the room and down the stairs.

    They were making their slow way down the staircase with the circular windows. A solitary Hall worked sprinted past them, and disappeared into a dark corridor.

    He led them out into the town square. Something small shifted in Killian¡¯s bearing, and his grip became tighter.

    It took a moment for Gray¡¯s eyes to adjust from the gently lit corridors of the Hall to the darkness of pre-dawn outside.

    But, something was wrong.

    There was too much movement for so early in the morning. Too many people.

    The square was crawling with soldiers and subdued townsfolk. A neat row of shroud-covered bodies lined the far side. Gray swept his gaze around the square and spotted the huddled mass of grieving families.

    This had to be the people Codder and Killian killed.

    Gray staggered, but Killian kept him upright. He tried to pull away but Killian¡¯s arm tightened around his waist.

    ¡®You couldn¡¯t bury them?¡¯ Gray¡¯s voice cracked, his throat tight. This wasn¡¯t right. They never left the dead out like this.

    Killian¡¯s face was stone. ¡®We¡¯ll get to it.¡¯

    The bile rose fast in Gray¡¯s throat, burning. He swallowed hard, the sour taste lingering. His eyes skittered away from the shrouds, trying to focus on anything else.

    ¡®Come on,¡¯ Killian grunted, shifting his weight, all business. ¡®Time to meet our guests.¡¯

    ¡®Guests?¡¯ The word felt like ash in Gray¡¯s mouth. He bit down on his lip, trying to keep from leaning too heavily into Killian¡¯s support. His ankle throbbed with every step, a dull, relentless reminder.

    They crossed the square slowly, feet crunching over the cobblestones, the silence thick with the weight of grief.

    ¡®We found a couple mages,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Useless. Can¡¯t fahren worth a damn, yet. Too young. They may be useful in other ways, however. They refuse to speak, but I thought you might persuade them.¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t think ¨C I can persuade them if you can¡¯t,¡¯ Gray said, trying to keep his tone calm and fighting the urge to press back.

    ¡®We¡¯ll see,¡¯ said Killian.

    They passed into a side alley and stopped in front of a weapons shop Gray had never stepped inside before.

    Clochaint, Gray did not want to go in there.

 37. The Apprentice Who Wouldnt Talk

    Gray didn¡¯t start to resist until Killian shoved open the creaky shop door.

    The smell of iron and ash hit him hard.

    The weapons shop was small and shadowy, and way more crowded than Gray had expected. A row of five soldiers stood to rigid attention, buttoned up tight in their grey uniforms. Axes, swords, and arrows neatly lined the shelves on the far wall. They glinted in the dancing light of the flame in a firepit where - Gray assumed - the shop owner did repairs.

    A mage was tied to a chair in the small space in front of the counter.

    He was big, as most northerners were. His broad shoulders strained. His robes were filthy, and his pale skin was marked with bruises and dirt.

    His dark brown eyes were brightly intense and locked onto Gray. His braided auburn hair was stiff with sweat and worse. His mouth opened and shut soundlessly before he forced his face back into a mask of calm.

    He had that quality to him that most mages had - that ethereal, beautiful edge to his appearance, as though he didn¡¯t quite belong to the grimy cities of Lismere, but to the wild and mysterious forests, mountains, lakes, and oceans.

    Gray recognized him almost instantly, as though from a different lifetime when Barin would take Gray down to Reviness to help with the horses. They¡¯d travel to Reviness to deal with suppliers and bring horseloads of ale and spiced nuts back up to Krydon.

    Dillon Ralph, from Reviness.

    Dillon was on the cusp of his twenties, trained at the mage guild in Dierne.

    His parents and four grandparents counted for six of Reviness¡¯s twelve practising mages, and they were all blacksmiths.

    Their smithy had a reputation for volatile explosions of fire and magic, and flakes and shards of metal littered the cobblestone streets for yards and yards beyond the front smithy doors.

    Gray stared at Dillon, clenching his teeth together.

    Beside him, huddled on the floor by the counter, were his younger sister and brother. They looked like Dillon with their broad shoulders, braided auburn hair, bright brown eyes, and sharp cheekbones, and were both old enough to be wearing mage robes - dirty, torn mage robes that stunk of forest - but only just.

    They couldn¡¯t be any older than Gray.

    Probably, they¡¯d only just started at the mage guild.

    Gray didn¡¯t know their names, even though he recognised them from Barin¡¯s dealings, just in passing.

    They were always chatty and grinning.

    But not now.

    Fear was etched into every line on their faces.

    Gray restrained from clenching his fists. Tried to control his face.

    ¡®So, kid,¡¯ Killian muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the strangers, ¡®who¡¯re our guests?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know them,¡¯ Gray replied, forcing his voice flat like he wasn¡¯t trying to keep the rising heat from cracking it wide open.

    This asshole would not see him angry.

    Killian¡¯s grip tightened. ¡®Answer honestly, kid.¡¯

    ¡®No, I ¨C¡®

    ¡®Give me their names. What their family does. Where they¡¯d hide in the forest. And why the fuck they won¡¯t talk.¡¯

    Gray struggled to get his breath under control. ¡®I don¡¯t ¨C Killian ¨C just let them go ¨C they¡¯re kids ¨C let the littlest one go, at least ¨C¡®

    He gripped harder. ¡®Give me an answer, Gray.¡¯

    ¡®I just gave it to you ¨C let them go.¡¯

    Killian released him with a muttered profanity and turned his attention onto Dillon.

    ¡®And you?¡¯ he asked. He gripped the back of Gray¡¯s shirt, shoving him in front of Dillon. ¡®You know who this is, hm?¡¯

    Dillon glared at him wordlessly. His jaw was swollen.

    Dillon¡¯s breath shuddered.

    Killian waited.

    And waited.

    One of the soldiers cleared his throat.

    Thwack.

    Killian hit Dillon hard. Gray took the opportunity to put as much space between himself and Killian as possible.

    Dillon sagged against his bonds, his breath ragged.

    ¡®What if I told you,¡¯ said Killian, his face inches from Dillon¡¯s, ¡®he¡¯s mage. You mages like to look out for each other, yes?¡¯

    So, I¡¯m mage now, Gray wanted to hiss, because gods, the rage was building inside him. He needed to push it down and stay calm.

    Killian had called Gray a liar, but this man was manipulative as all heck, and nobody could trust one word out of his hard-lined mouth.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Dillon stilled. He darted a glance at Gray. Then, slowly, he rolled his fierce eyes back onto Killian.

    Silence echoed.

    Killian crouched in front of Dillon, elbows propped on the man¡¯s thighs, fingers steepled like a caretaker about to deliver bad news.

    Dillon swallowed. A strand of matted auburn hair caught on his eyelashes.

    ¡®You know my reputation?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You know my men¡¯s reputation?¡¯

    Silence.

    ¡®What do you think your mages - all of you hiding out there in the forest - are going to do when they find out I¡¯ve got a mage kid, hm? I¡¯ve had him for days.¡¯

    Killian waited, his eyebrows high.

    ¡®Nothing?¡¯ said Killian. ¡¯Not a peep, hm?¡¯

    He straightened up, brushing lint off his uniform. ¡®All right, lad, change of tactics. Gray, come here.¡¯

    Gray hobbled over warily and stopped just out of reach of his hands.

    ¡®Closer, kid.¡¯

    Gray hesitated.

    Killian rolled his eyes and grabbed the front of Gray¡¯s sweater before he could dodge away. ¡®Down you go. On your knees.¡¯

    ¡®Pardon?¡¯ Gray said.

    They struggled until he pushed Gray down onto his knees. He bit down a cry as his ankle bent. He huffed loudly, sweat dotting his whole body, his teeth clenched.

    Killian latched his fingers through the turf of Gray¡¯s hair and turned to the three Ralphs.

    ¡®Where are the other mages?¡¯ said Killian.

    No one answered. Gray kept his gaze firmly down.

    ¡®Did I mention,¡¯ said Killian softly, leaning towards Dillon ever so slightly, ¡®that this kid¡¯s surname is Griffin?¡¯

    There must have been a shift in Dillon, because Killian made a quiet sound with his tongue, like he was calling a hesitant cat. ¡®That got your attention, hm? That made it personal enough for you? Of course it does, we all know mages are elitist ingrates. And this mage kid¡¯s got an important name.¡¯ Quiet stretched. ¡®Important enough for you to answer me?¡¯ muttered Killian.

    Apparently not, judging by the resounding silence coming from Dillon.

    Killian slid his needlepoint knife out of his sleeve. ¡®Johnson. Cut off his hair.¡¯

    Gray stayed still, his teeth clenched, sweat covering his body with slickness, as Johnson stepped forward from the line of soldiers, and hacked off Gray¡¯s messy ponytail.

    ¡®How much do you think that¡¯ll be worth, Johnson? Last Griffin¡¯s hair?¡¯

    ¡®Mage¡¯s hair goes for twenty ardents a gram in Dierne, Major. This much¡¯ll be a king¡¯s ransom.¡¯

    Killian nodded agreeably. ¡®Hey, how much will his blood be worth? His sweat? Tears?¡¯

    None of them moved. Dillon¡¯s eye was fixed on Killian with unmatched loathing.

    ¡®Get the phials, Johnson.¡¯

    Killian crouched in front of Dillon, leaning his elbows on Dillon¡¯s knees again. ¡®How far are you going to let this go?¡¯

    The faintest hiss escaped Dillon¡¯s gritted teeth. Then, so quietly Gray could¡¯ve imagined it, Dillon said, ¡®We¡¯re not hiding from you.¡¯

    Killian paused. The only sounds in the shop were the crackling of the fire.

    Very carefully, Killian tapped two fingers on Dillon¡¯s knee, as a friend might when trying to catch your attention. ¡®Who are you hiding from, then?¡¯

    Dillon clenched his mouth shut.

    Killian slowly stood up. ¡®Let¡¯s make Griffin cry, Johson. Tears. Got to be worth a pretty penny.¡¯

    Gray stiffened, darting a glance at Dillon. Killian wouldn¡¯t.

    ¡®You don¡¯t want to see him cry, do you?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®If cutting a mage¡¯s hair is taboo, tears must be unbearably forbidden, no?¡¯

    Gray breathed through his nose, clenching his eyes shut. He heard Killian pacing in front of Dillon and the two younger Ralphs with a steady and soft pad, pad, pad.

    Johnson approached, moving stiffly. Gray turned away.

    ¡®Ah, come on, Gray,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You were near sobbing in the square back there. Do I need to drag you back out there?¡¯

    ¡®Stop it,¡¯ Dillon snarled, straining against his restraints. His voice was strong and lilted with a thick northern accent. ¡®Shut your filthy mouth, you overgrown dog. Show some respect.¡¯

    Killian froze. The row of soldiers didn¡¯t move.

    There wasn¡¯t a breath.

    Killian tilted his head. His hand was very precisely on his sword. ¡®You¡¯re wrong. I¡¯m a lot worse than an overgrown dog. Best thing for you to do is to tell me where I can find a master mage, else you¡¯ll find out exactly what I am.¡¯

    A muscle spasmed in Dillon¡¯s clenched jaw.

    Silence stretched for so long, Gray braced for Killian to punch Dillon again.

    But, then, as though wrenched from deep inside, ¡®This isn¡¯t about you,¡¯ hissed Dillon. ¡®This is bigger than you and your soldiers. We¡¯re hiding to protect you, protect Krydon, you asshole. Our silence is to protect you. Everyone - not just mages. We don¡¯t want anyone - harmed.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s shoulders were square. His dark gaze swept Dillon up and down, and then darted to the two Ralph kids huddled on the floor.

    ¡®Protect from what?¡¯ said Killian softly.

    Dillon¡¯s lips were a hard line. Sweat dribbled down his temple.

    Killian crouched, his hands on Dillon¡¯s thighs. ¡®You¡¯re a tough nut, hm? I¡¯m impressed. How did you get missed in the military sign-up?¡¯

    Dillion let out the slightest breath.

    ¡®It didn¡¯t need to be this way,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You could¡¯ve opened your mouth before I made you.¡¯ He gazed at Dillon, through his dark hair.

    Dillon sagged in the chair, his breath shuddering.

    ¡®I just need a master mage here,¡¯ said Killian, his voice low and restrained, ¡®to aid in orders that have come from the king. You have parents, right? Grandparents?¡¯

    Dillon inhaled shallowly, his nostrils flaring. ''You''re going to fuck up everything.''

    ¡®Course you do,¡¯ said Killian, as though Dillon hadn''t just spoken. ¡®You could all be charged for obstruction, for fleeing from me.¡¯

    In the following silence, Killian hauled Gray up by the scruff of his neck.

    ¡¯Tell you what, lad, this is what¡¯s going to happen. You¡¯re going to leave here today, and you¡¯re going to go back to the other mages hiding in the forest, and you¡¯ll tell them what I told you. That should bring them running.¡¯

    Dillon refused to meet Killian¡¯s eye.

    ¡®And if that doesn¡¯t work, you¡¯ll tell them exactly what I¡¯m doing with their precious baby Griffin kid. He¡¯s looking pretty rough. He needs them here. Am I clear?¡¯

    In the resounding silence, Dillon continued to avoid Killian¡¯s gaze, and instead stared at the younger Ralphs.

    ¡®Or,¡¯ said Killian, his face close to Dillon¡¯s, and forcing eye contact, ¡®I could keep your little brother and sister, and they could take Gray¡¯s place.¡¯

    Dillion hissed, shifting his legs like he wanted to kick out.

    ¡®There we go,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®There¡¯s your motivation. Johnson, take the kids.¡¯

    Gray had expected Dillon to fight like his life depended on it. But he sat, utterly still, the muscles corded in his neck like he¡¯d been carved out of marble.

    ¡®Hm?¡¯ said Killian, tilting his head.

    Silence.

    ¡®Go get your damn mummy and daddy,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®and bring them here. Grandparents would be even better. No tricks. No magic.¡¯

    Dillon¡¯s expression hardened, and his eyes flickered to Killian.

    ¡®I¡¯ll get them,¡¯ he said. ¡®And they¡¯ll obliterate you.¡¯

    ¡®I welcome them to try.¡¯

 38. So, He Lost His Cool

    Killian got some soldiers to walk Dillon to the north edge of town and gave him a horse.

    Johnson grabbed up the two Ralph kids, and shunted them along, out of the shop, behind Dillon.

    If the Ralphs were close, they would learn what Killian had done, fast. If they fought, as Dillion implied they would, they would get themselves killed.

    ¡®You look concerned, kid.¡¯ Killian turned to the last remaining soldier. ¡®I want eyes on the road. The moment the mages set foot into Krydon, I want to know about it.¡¯

    ¡®Right, you are, Major.¡¯

    Killian watched him leave before turning his attention back to Gray. ¡®Let¡¯s go. You¡¯ve served your purpose.¡¯

    Gray allowed himself to be manoeuvred out of the weapons shop. His freshly cut hair curled in his face. He tugged against Killian¡¯s hold before they reached the town square, pausing and taking a deep, fortifying breath. Dillon and the accompanying soldiers and horses were already almost out of sight. The younger Ralphs were almost through the Hall doors. The girl glanced back, her long auburn braids askew, and for a second she and Gray locked eyes.

    Gray focused his gaze on the cobbled ground and limped slowly alongside Killian.

    He heard hissing remarks as they passed by the soldiers, and realised they were blatantly about him.

    Word was getting around that he was the son of D¡¯Oncray.

    Some said chosen one.

    Others said sorcerer.

    A scuffle broke out between two soldiers, which was quickly broken up by the other men.

    Killian tightened his hold.

    The townspeople watched as the soldiers catcalled. Gray kept his gaze steadily down, hot, sick shame roiling in his stomach, as he stumbled beside Killian.

    Some of the hot, whipping whispers said foul things.

    D¡¯Oncray ¡­ she¡¯d been loathed on a level unparalleled. More than Krupin or Wilde.

    Gray had never been harassed like this ¨C never heard or seen such degrading gestures and words aimed towards anyone ¨C in his life.

    There was something wrong with these men. They fed off each other.

    It was a relief to get inside the Hall.

    ¡®Come on,¡¯ said Killian softly.

    They made their way up to his room and through the doors. Killian locked up and checked on Frostvine while Gray untied his boots in silence.

    ¡®The mages will come,¡¯ Killian muttered, leading Gray to the table and helping him to sit. ¡®His reaction proved that easily enough.¡¯

    Gray bowed his head, his lungs constricted.

    Killian slowed, glancing at him. ¡®You¡¯re not hurt. Chin up.¡¯

    ¡®You shouldn¡¯t have provoked them,¡¯ said Gray, focusing hard on steadying his voice. ¡®They can be threatening.¡¯

    He gave a long sigh. ¡®Kind of what I was going for, kid. They won¡¯t be too threatening - why do you think I used you, and not one of their own kids? They¡¯ll be pissed off just enough to come here and comply with my commands.¡¯

    ¡®You shouldn¡¯t have taken their kids. They¡¯ll ¡­¡¯

    ¡®They¡¯ll what?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Come here to get them?¡¯

    Gray could still hear and see the words and gestures coming from Killian¡¯s men in the square. And the hacking off of his hair had felt like a violation. Worse than whenever Barin had done it.

    ¡®They¡¯ll be plenty threatening,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®You don¡¯t know them -¡¯

    ¡®You do know them?¡¯ Killian interrupted.

    Gray winced. He was such a damn idiot.

    One of Killian¡¯s scarred hands twitched. His jaw clenched.

    ¡®This is the north,¡¯ said Gray, dodging the question. ¡®I don¡¯t know what the mages are like in Dierne, but up here, the only mages left have survived in a society that doesn¡¯t like them. They¡¯re tough, they¡¯re smart, and they¡¯re powerful enough to scare the superstitious away. You forget where you are.¡¯

    ¡®I haven¡¯t forgotten where I am.¡¯ Killian narrowed his dark gaze. ¡®Who were they?¡¯

    ¡®The people here don¡¯t need an excuse to be angry at the men wearing your uniform.¡¯

    ¡®Who were they?¡¯

    ¡®Where¡¯d you put the kids?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Not the prison?¡¯

    ¡®Kid.¡¯

    ¡®You wouldn¡¯t dare leave them in the prison,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Gray.¡¯

    ¡®Your men can¡¯t be trusted, you need to move them, bring them here-¡¯

    ¡®I won¡¯t ask you again, Gray.¡¯

    ¡®The Ralphs,¡¯ snapped Gray. Stupid, so stupid, but he wanted Killian to know how dangerous of a game he was playing. He wanted to see Killian worried, scared. Wanted to know if it was even possible. ¡®They forge weapons.¡¯

    Killian was very still. ¡®That was the apprentice Dillon Ralph?¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®The Ralph master mages will be coming here?¡¯

    If anything, Killian looked mad. There wasn¡¯t an iota of fear on his scarred face.

    ¡®They can be dangerous,¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian pressed the hard line of his lips together, as though holding back a scoff. ¡®What does that make me?¡¯

    Gray muttered, ¡®an asshole¡¯ under his breath before he could stop himself, before he could think.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    The side of his face was smashed flat against the hard timber of the table before he had a chance to tense. Killian leant over him, his hand hard on where his neck met his skull. ¡®What does that make me, Gray?¡¯

    Gray grabbed his wrist but didn¡¯t actively try to push him away. Gray couldn¡¯t afford to hurt more than he already did.

    But, Clochaint, he¡¯d never hated someone so much in his life.

    Every time Gray looked at him, he saw the man who¡¯d ripped his life away from him, and who¡¯d killed the people covered in the white shrouds in the town square. Gray had to let this man inspect his ankle and healing progress like a farmer checking a prized herding dog for ticks. He had to be polite to him while his terrible men spread Gray¡¯s biggest shame - D¡¯Oncray.

    This man had killed her.

    He¡¯d killed her whole family line, under the command of the king, under the belief that sorcery ran through bloodlines.

    They studied it in history in school.

    ¡®I don¡¯t like being used,¡¯ Gray said, keeping his temper. ¡®You use me like that again and I¡¯ll-¡®

    Killian''s grip was immovable. ¡®You¡¯ll what?¡¯

    Gray gritted his teeth.

    His hot breath brushed Gray¡¯s jumping pulse in his neck. ¡®Sorry kid, but I¡¯ve got all the power here. Your only use is how I display you. Next time I ask you who¡¯s that and you know, you answer honestly. Immediately. The fact I had Dillon Ralph in my custody would¡¯ve been useful to know fifteen damn minutes ago.¡¯

    Gray closed his eyes, pushing down the urge to retaliate.

    ¡®Now apologise,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You can¡¯t call me that.¡¯

    ¡®Then kill me already,¡¯ Gray muttered.

    ¡®What did you say?¡¯

    Gray swallowed, and then he couldn¡¯t help struggling.

    It took Killian by surprise and Gray managed to push him off. There was a compass on the table next to him and he hurled it at Killian. Killian dodged it, but only barely, his dark eyes wide. It smashed against the wall.

    ¡®Kill me, execute me,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®Don¡¯t keep dragging me around and using me. You cut and sell my hair again and I¡¯ll-¡®

    Killian shoved him back, so hard and fast Gray didn¡¯t see it coming, didn¡¯t have time to tense. He stumbled and fell. Gray bit down a yell as his ankle banged against the carpeted floor.

    ¡®This is about your hair?¡¯ Killian said. ¡®I would have thought you¡¯d be used to that by now. By the sounds of it, that Haxley sold your damn hair to a trader every week-¡®

    ¡®Don¡¯t you dare talk about Barin,¡¯ Gray said, heat rising inside him. ¡®You ¨C you don¡¯t know ¨C you¡¯re doing NOTHING about Alistair ¨C you ¨C¡®

    ¡®I¡¯m not here to solve a small-town murder.¡¯ Killian¡¯s face was a mask. Unrepentant. ¡®I¡¯m here on the king¡¯s orders. I¡¯m here to retrieve the item you helped Longwark-¡¯

    Rage exploded inside Gray.

    This bullshit.

    ¡®I have nothing to do with that.'' Gray''s pulse pounded in his chest. His skin throbbed.

    It rose within him, like billowing steam, scalding him from the inside out.

    But - it wasn''t steam. It wasn''t just rage.

    It was words.

    Words fired through him.

    He couldn¡¯t stem the flow. He flung them out. Words that raised the hair on the back of his neck. He hissed in the old tongue, the mage tongue, a language Gray didn¡¯t know he remembered, that he hadn¡¯t thought of in over nine years.

    Killian hung back, his expression darkening. Anger poured off Gray, the air getting thick with static.

    It hung over them, building like pressure from a storm cloud.

    It filled every corner.

    It was suffocating.

    Gray didn¡¯t care.

    He grabbed the nearby chair and hurled it at Killian. Killian dodged and it smashed against the far wall, landing with a bang that shuddered the room, and one of its legs rolling loose.

    Gray hunkered over himself, trying not to gasp like a winded animal.

    The room was still. It was as though the air listened to Gray heave breaths in and out.

    Waiting.

    Gray shuddered.

    The words hadn''t done anything. Not really. Nothing tangible aside from releasing the pressure inside Gray and making the atmosphere within the room very thick.

    Killian cleared his throat. ¡®You done?¡¯

    His voice came as though from across a chasm.

    Gray ignored him, fury still swirling way too close to the surface. It would only take one moment, one slip, and it would burst out in a storm of words again.

    ¡®Sorcerer,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®this behaviour is unacceptable.¡¯

    Killian approached. The floorboards underneath the carpet squeaked as they took his weight. His polished boots stopped in Gray¡¯s periphery. They blurred in and out of focus.

    ¡®You,¡¯ whispered Gray, ¡®you back the fuck up.¡¯

    They edged back.

    Sweat dribbled down Gray¡¯s temple. He shook.

    ¡®I¡¯m a king¡¯s soldier,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You don¡¯t throw your magic around like that at me. Understood?¡¯

    Gray''d expected a boot to the head. Not boots at a dutiful distance and restrained words.

    Gray remained still. Maybe, if he stayed silent, Killian would leave him be. Maybe he¡¯d need to go out and attend to work.

    Gray swallowed. Pushed down his shaking.

    Killian exhaled slowly. Four counts, Gray realised dimly.

    ¡®Why don¡¯t we,¡¯ Killian said, as though he was forcing each careful word out, ¡®sit down at the table.¡¯

    Surely, Killian didn''t really mean for Gray to sit down at the table. Killian would throw him back into the prison. If Gray had pulled this shit with Barin, Gray''d be out on his ear before he could say sorcerer. That, or he''d be locked in the whiskey chest.

    The swirling fury was dying down, like froth on the head of a beer. It was rapidly being replaced with ¡­ regret.

    Not smart.

    Not smart at all.

    Gray closed his eyes, considering his options. He had no energy left. No fight left. Even if he did, Killian would damn well win.

    Gray knew he shouldn¡¯t have thrown curses around like that. It was the second time in his life he¡¯d done it, and Killian had been the subject of it both times.

    He couldn¡¯t keep losing control like this. It did him no good. He couldn¡¯t afford to put Killian on edge.

    Gray had to keep his plan in mind.

    Draw the soldiers away.

    Nothing else mattered.

    ¡®Fine,¡¯ Gray said, in a reasonably calm voice. ¡®I¡¯ll sit.¡¯

    Killian moved closer, but halted as Gray gestured for him to stop. ¡®You,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®don¡¯t touch me.¡¯

    ¡®If you insist.¡¯ Killian tracked him, his dark hair hanging in his eyes, as Gray slowly stood and hobbled over to the dining table.

    Killian stretched his shoulders. His expression was unreadable. ¡®How does your ankle feel? Have you ruined it?¡¯

    Gray''s heart sank. Here it comes, he thought. Here comes the discipline, the punishment -

    ''Gray?''

    ¡®No.¡¯

    ''Arm?'' said Killian briskly.

    ''It''s fine.''

    ''Will you let me check them?''

    Gray met Killian''s dark gaze, restraining his surprise and a flickering spasm of wariness. Gray didn''t know what would happen if he said no, and he didn''t have the energy to find out now.

    ''Yes,'' Gray said.

    Killian did the routine check of arm, ankle, and application of bruise salve. Gray watched every movement, braced for the moment when Killian would bunch his muscles or he''d draw back to strike. But, if there was anger near the surface, it was carefully chained down.

    ¡®I¡¯ll get you food,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You must be hungry after that little display. Expending magic like that when it¡¯s got nowhere to go ¡­ you''re a damn fool.¡¯

    There was a warning in Killian¡¯s words, but Gray could see him physically straining to keep his voice and bearing casual. He reminded Gray of how Barin and Alistair would act after a huge row, but were forced to work together on the tavern floor.

    ''I,'' Gray said. ''I don''t need ...'' he trailed off as Killian moved away.

    Killian shouted for service from the door. After a few minutes and a brief exchange with a servant, he pushed a bowl of oats into Gray¡¯s hands.

    Gray held onto the food, his fingers curling around the edge of the porcelain bowl. He thought of the smell of the weapon¡¯s shop and the sight of Dillon, and the shroud-covered bodies in the town square outside. His stomach knotted. He put the food down on the table.

    ¡®Eat,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I''m not having you keel over in front of the court in Dierne.¡¯

    Gods.

    Killian shoved the bowl of oats closer to Gray. ''The court does not want to see the brutality of the military. They only want to see the results. You will eat and you will heal, got it?''

    Before Gray could answer, a soldier knocked on the door and swaggered in.

    Codder.

 39. Cigarette-Breath Is Back

    An inflamed bruise marred one side of Codder¡¯s face. His skin was pallid.

    He stood on the threshold, his usually open mouth clamped shut. No cigarette. Just a pale and serious soldier in his grey uniform and with rigid shoulders. His usually mud-crusted boots were polished to a high shine.

    Gray stiffened at the sight of him and determinedly turned his gaze down to his oats.

    Gray could feel Codder¡¯s shadowed gaze darting between him and Killian. He was taking in Gray¡¯s cut hair. He was taking in the room. The sweat on Gray¡¯s skin, the twitching muscle in Killian¡¯s jaw.

    He would be feeling the stifling pressure in the air from the magic.

    ¡®Major,¡¯ said Codder.

    Codder¡¯s voice had none of its previous cockiness. His drawl was cold and guarded.

    ¡®Codder, good to see you up ¡­¡¯

    Gray waited for Killian to acknowledge why Codder had been bedridden.

    They watched each other, unsmiling and professional.

    ¡®We¡¯ve got some news, Major,¡¯ Codder said.

    The Ralphs, thought Gray, a jolt running through him. They¡¯re here.

    ¡®The fire mage Emeric,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®he sent word again, and he¡¯s adamant the jar was stolen before he left Krydon. He¡¯s requested to speak with Longwark -¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®In no uncertain terms is he to make contact with Longwark. You make that clear to him.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ll write to him right away, Major.¡¯

    Codder turned.

    Killian squared his shoulders and clicked his fingers sharply at Codder. ¡®Wait, soldier. I wanted to speak with you.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s heart hammered in his chest. He did not want to witness any kind of dressing down that Killian might serve Codder. Codder was dangerous enough towards Gray already. Gray didn¡¯t want to give him any more motivation to hate him, just as Gray needed Killian to forget he¡¯d just thrown the equivalent of a magic fit.

    ¡®Your room,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®it¡¯s been handed over to the princess and the Lieutenant General. They¡¯re not there at the moment, but under no circumstances are you to touch their possessions or go into that room. I¡¯ve had your things put in with the other men.¡¯

    ¡®Uh,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®what was that, Major?¡¯

    ¡®You heard me.¡¯

    Codder sucked his teeth with his tongue. ¡®Is this retribution for touching your golden boy, Major?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s skin crawled. He dared a glance at Killian.

    Killian¡¯s hand was white-knuckled on the table.

    ¡®You¡¯re referring to our prisoner, Codder?¡¯ said Killian. His tone was almost disinterested.

    Codder inched forward. ¡®Did he tell you what he said to me?¡¯

    Killian examined Codder for an uncomfortably long time. Codder shifted, his shadowed gaze dropping.

    ¡®I know what he said,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®So, he¡¯s being disciplined, then?¡¯

    Killian tilted his head, his gaze dragging up and down over Codder. ¡®I didn¡¯t realise you were a schoolboy who tattled on his bullies, Codder.¡¯

    Codder flushed an ugly red, sucking his bottom lip.

    ¡®I thought,¡¯ said Killian, returning to his breakfast, ¡®you were the best man in my division, on the cusp of being promoted to lieutenant.¡¯

    Every line in Codder¡¯s flushed face was tense. ¡®Major ¡­¡¯

    ¡®If you can¡¯t handle a single boy, how do you hope to handle thirty men?¡¯

    ¡®I was handling it-¡¯

    ¡®When I found you, you¡¯d incited the other prisoners to a riot. They smashed a door, which I¡¯ve had to replace at a cost to the crown. I handled it.¡¯

    Codder refused to meet Killian¡¯s gaze. His chest was rising rapidly.

    ¡®Don¡¯t make me lose my respect for you again,¡¯ said Killian.

    Codder gave Killian a restrained nod. He turned stiffly on his heel.

    ¡®Codder?¡¯

    Codder froze on the threshold, casting an inscrutable look back.

    ¡®The next exam for lieutenant is in one month,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®They just set the date. I¡¯ll go over some exam prep with you this morning. Get you ready.¡¯

    ¡®Uh,¡¯ said Codder, stepping haltingly back into the room. ¡® ¡­ Yes, Major.¡¯

    ¡®You master certain aspects of yourself, you¡¯ll be formidable.¡¯

    Codder flashed Killian a half smile. A glimmer of his former cockiness returned. ¡®Sure thing, Major.¡¯

    ¡®Go and fetch Pickering, Emwell, Brown, Mayver and Johnson. Meet me in the Captain¡¯s office. We¡¯ll spend the first hour today going over your exam prep.¡¯

    Codder gave a salute and swaggered out.

    Gray picked at his oats as Killian ate his own breakfast. Giving Codder a promotion seemed like an epic mistake. People talked about sorcerers being psychopaths. Well, normal humans could be, too. Codder would likely be as terrible as Krupin or Wilde, if he was given enough power.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    Killian sipped his third cup of coffee.

    They sat in strained silence.

    Gray rested his temple against the cool glass of the window and methodically pushed down any words that rose within him.

    Killian seemed to be stalling. His gaze kept straying from his coffee to Gray. His cup was empty.

    There was movement from the bed.

    Both Killian and Gray jumped.

    Frostvine had rolled onto her side.

    She began snoring.

    She¡¯d never so much as twitched since Gray had first seen her. She¡¯d done nothing but breathe peacefully and lay on her back.

    Killian rushed over to the bed. Tapped her face. ¡®Frostvine. Frostvine.¡¯

    She didn¡¯t wake.

    He moved around her, settling her robes, and adjusting her into a more comfortable position on her side.

    The question fell out of Gray before he had a chance to stop himself. ¡®What¡¯s wrong with her?¡¯

    Killian shot him a strange glance.

    ¡®Nothing¡¯s wrong with her,¡¯ he said tightly.

    ¡®She,¡¯ said Gray, wishing he¡¯d said nothing - he needed to not piss off Killian, Codder, everyone, more than he¡¯d already done. He needed to be damn invisible. ¡®She doesn¡¯t wake.¡¯

    ¡®You tried to wake her?¡¯

    There was a sharpness in Killian¡¯s words.

    ¡®No,¡¯ muttered Gray quickly, ¡®I meant, only - she doesn¡¯t wake.¡¯

    Killian frowned at him. ¡®She¡¯s just in an unwakeable sleep.¡¯

    Gray swallowed, and pushed down his curiosity and confusion.

    ¡®You know what an unwakeable sleep is?¡¯ said Killian slowly, his attention fully on Gray.

    ¡®Yes. A,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®a sleep where you don¡¯t wake up.¡¯

    Killian hid his face as he finished with Frostvine, then, stiffly, he sat back down opposite Gray.

    ¡®You call yourself a sorcerer,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®You call me a sorcerer,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®And a lot more than that, I imagine.¡¯

    If he could get Killian distracted from what he¡¯d just done, maybe there''d be no reprisal. Maybe Gray hadn''t messed up so badly ...

    Killian¡¯s face and body were immobile for a beat. ¡®I call you a poor liar.¡¯ He pinned Gray with his dark gaze, his ankle crossed over his knee. ¡®And I call you my retirement fund.¡¯

    Gray dropped his gaze down to the table. Every time he thought he saw some glimmer of humanity in Killian, he stripped it away.

    ¡®I didn¡¯t realise you were that old,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®You look good for sixty-five.¡¯

    Killian let out a controlled breath. ''I just nailed you for calling me an asshole. You don''t have one lick of self-preservation, do you?''

    The air was still stormy with pressure, too thick to be cut by a jibe.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray. Every instinct within him was screaming to shut the heck up.

    Gray closed his mouth.

    Quiet filled the space between them.

    Why wasn¡¯t he leaving?

    Gray¡¯s hair was sweaty on his forehead. The length of his cut hair was just so that it was curling into his eyes.

    Killian¡¯s gaze was as guarded as it was dark. He stiffly turned to watch Frostvine. ¡®She¡¯s OK. She will be. An unwakeable sleep, it¡¯s common. If a mage extends themselves too much, they get exhausted, and they¡¯ll sleep for days, sometimes weeks, until they recover their energy.¡¯

    ¡®She was in a battle?¡¯ Gray said tentatively.

    Killian shook his head slightly. ¡®She fahrened my division here, kid.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s difficult to do?¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian tilted his head, his gaze darting back to Frostvine. ¡®Yes, for some mages.¡¯ Killian shifted his attention back to Gray. ¡®You¡¯re curious about it?¡¯

    Gray hesitated.

    ''Hm?''

    Gray shook his head, busying himself picking at a small burn on the tabletop.

    ¡®The northerners here,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®they really have nothing to do with mages. This is all very basic, common knowledge.¡¯

    Killian frowned at the rising sun through the window. The golden light lit every scar on his face, every bristle of stubble on his unshaven chin.

    He drained the last drop of coffee from his mug.

    ¡®Come on, then,¡¯ he said.

    Killian made to haul Gray out of the chair, then abruptly stopped himself.

    ¡®Let¡¯s go, kid,¡¯ said Killian. ¡¯Stand.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s heart sank. ¡®Where are we going?¡¯

    You¡¯re coming with me to the exam prep,¡¯ said Killian.

    When Gray continued to hesitate, Killian said, ¡®I don¡¯t want Frostvine waking up alone with you in the room.¡¯

    Gray drew in a long breath. ¡®Oh.¡¯ Then, gradually, ¡®I won¡¯t hurt her. I wouldn¡¯t do that.¡¯

    ¡®She¡¯ll hurt you. If she gets a fright, she¡¯ll slam your untrained, unryeced ass.¡¯

    Gray followed Killian out of the room. He hobbled, using the wall for support, and ignoring the impatient sighs coming from Killian.

    By the time they got outside the old captain¡¯s door with the worn stag head knocker, a handful of soldiers had already set up inside, sitting in mismatched chairs and books open on their laps. Someone had wheeled a blackboard inside, and chalk lay broken on the cluttered desk. Gray spotted Codder and Pickering.

    Killian shoved Gray down onto the floor, against the wall with the wanted posters. ¡®Someone get him a workbook.¡¯

    Pickering tossed Gray a blank notebook and a pencil.

    Codder trained his shadowed gaze on Gray. He was tracking his every movement.

    ¡®Sir,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®Major, can you go over how to spot the difference between a mage and a sorcerer first? Seeing as we have a live, practical example here.¡¯

    Killian surveyed Codder. ¡®You won¡¯t be tested on that. Not until you¡¯ve completed your mage training when you do your exam for Captain.¡¯

    ¡®Major,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®my friend Roderick said he did get tested on it, sir, in the verbal.¡¯

    Killian raised an eyebrow. ¡®Our sorcerer is shy as shit and volatile this morning. No.¡¯

    ¡®But, Major-¡¯

    ¡®You ever heard the saying recipe for disaster, Codder?¡¯

    ¡®What if I get asked about it, sir?¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s too young to be of much use as a practical demonstration,¡¯ Killian said, exasperation creeping into his voice.

    ¡®Then, how did you know, Major?¡¯

    Killian traced his jaw with the tip of his finger. ¡®You captured him, Codder. You tell me.¡¯

    Codder was stunned into silence for a fraction of a second.

    ¡®He was with Branbright, sir,'' said Codder. ''Branbright I could spot a mile away. Branbright was fighting to keep us off him like it was the last stand, Major. I figured if he wanted the boy so badly, I should want him, too.¡¯

    ¡®Yeah, you wanted him,¡¯ sniggered a soldier from the back.

    Killian snatched the blackboard duster, and in one swift movement, threw it at the soldier with inhuman accuracy.

    It hit him hard in the face. The soldier sat in stunned surprise, clutching his face. Chalkdust floated around him.

    The atmosphere of the room shifted.

    ¡®Then,¡¯ continued Codder haltingly, eyeing Killian apprehensively, ¡®I asked around, and the locals said a Griffin mage bred his get on a beautiful woman from the south, and the result was stray here.¡¯ Codder jabbed his thumb in Gray¡¯s direction.

    ¡®That¡¯s not completely true,¡¯ said Pickering, sitting rigidly in his chair. ¡®You were watching him-¡¯

    ¡®Look at him. He¡¯s no northerner. I thought it was mighty odd for him to be up here in a small northern town,¡¯ drawled Codder. ¡®I didn¡¯t know he was a sorcerer.¡¯ Codder turned to Killian. ¡®Please, Major. I already know tracking and navigation. I already know leadership and management.¡¯

    Killian paced like a caged wolf prowling the length of his enclosure. The men watched him in tense silence.

    Then, Killian stopped in front of Gray, his boots polished within an inch of their life. Gray lifted his gaze.

    ¡®Up,¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray clenched his jaw. Codder was messing with him. Killian had to know this.

    But, he had to do what Killian wanted. He needed Killian to lower his guard again. He couldn¡¯t afford to make Killian angry.

    Forget angry.

    After this morning, even irritation was off the table.

    Gray slowly accepted Killian¡¯s offered hand.

 40. The Lesson On Sorcerers

    Don¡¯t panic.

    Don¡¯t piss off Killian.

    This was Gray¡¯s damn mantra until he got what he needed to draw the soldiers away from Krydon.

    Killian¡¯s scarred face looked off. Perhaps it was the dark smudges underneath his dark gaze or the stale bristle on his clenched jaw.

    Even the wolf fur on his collar looked less ¡­ immaculate.

    Gray had really messed up by losing control earlier.

    But, he remembered, Killian had been strained since Gray woke up this morning.

    There were a whole bunch of things prodding at Killian¡¯s restraint, including the fact that Sorena had run away. Gray had piled on top of it by throwing his magic at him.

    Killian manoeuvred Gray so he was standing by the blackboard. Gray stared over the heads of the men, leaning his weight on his good leg, and determined to not let Codder - anyone - see how hard his heart was hammering.

    ¡®Physical markers of a mage,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Pickering, go.¡¯

    Pickering went red in the face, his blue eyes wide. ¡®Um, bright eyes. Bright nails. Hair that grows too quick, and double lash line.¡¯

    ¡®Physical markers of a sorcerer,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Brown?¡¯

    Gray flitted a glance at Killian. His shoulders were tight. His scarred face was controlled. Killian must¡¯ve felt Gray¡¯s eyes because he met them with his own dark gaze.

    Brown asked something, something about bright eyes. Gray ducked his head, not registering the talk around him, straining to keep his breath slow.

    Stay cool.

    ¡®It can be a shared trait,¡¯ Killian said, ¡®yes. What else?¡¯

    ¡®Uuh,'' said Brown, ''extra molars, and thick nails, and three crowns in their hair.¡¯

    ¡®Correct,¡¯ said Killian, scribbling this onto the blackboard. ¡®But, here¡¯s where you run into trouble. Sorcerers - and mages - have developed a defence mechanism.¡¯

    Killian waited, an air of expectancy filling the room. When the silence went on for a bit too long, Killian clicked his tongue. ¡®Turn your damn brains on, soldiers. What could the defence mechanism be?¡¯

    ¡®Huge power?¡¯

    ¡®A love of violence.¡¯

    ¡®Psychopathy.¡¯

    ¡®No.¡¯ Killian let out a quiet huff. ¡®We¡¯re talking about physical markers - what defence mechanism could they have developed? Look at the kid.¡¯

    Gray fought down a throbbing flush as several sets of eyes stared at him. He could feel the gazes on his face, his skin, his clothes. They were taking in more detail about his appearance than he¡¯d ever want anyone to see.

    There was birdsong outside the window, and this was the loudest thing as the soldiers looked over Gray and glanced at each other. Codder squinted down at his workbook.

    ¡®He,¡¯ ventured Pickering, ¡®looks ordinary. I wouldn¡¯t look at him twice if I passed him in the street.¡¯

    ¡®Good,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Why would this be an advantage to him?¡¯

    Pickering opened and closed his mouth. His blue eyes swept back and forth from the blackboard to Killian, searching. ¡®He doesn¡¯t have his magic yet?¡¯

    ¡®He has his magic,¡¯ Codder said.

    ¡®No he doesn¡¯t,¡¯ said Pickering.

    ¡®I¡¯ve seen it,¡¯ said Codder, lounging back in his chair.

    ¡®We¡¯ve all seen it,¡¯ said Pickering, ¡®all he does is bloody glow, it¡¯s not him doing magic-¡¯

    ¡®He does,¡¯ said Codder.

    ¡®Oh, fuck off, Codder, he does not, not really.¡¯

    ¡®How do you get through life not knowing shit, Pickering?¡¯ said Codder.

    ¡®Why are we all sitting here with a sorcerer in the room if he has his magic?¡¯ said Pickering.

    ¡®Because he¡¯s a little weeny,¡¯ said Codder, leaning forward and his mouth settling into a curl of contempt. ¡®He¡¯s already done magic today and he¡¯s exhausted, and the reason why he looks like a normal human is because mages and sorcerers are bad at hand-to-hand combat without specialised training-¡¯

    Killian cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand.

    Gray clenched his jaw, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, and struggled to gain control of his breath.

    Slowly, Codder leant back again in his chair. Pickering turned his watchful blue gaze back onto his Major.

    ¡®Sorcerers,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®like mages, are most vulnerable when they¡¯re young. Their access to their power is extremely limited. Their access to their power and the control of this access increases with every ryece. Many will be camouflaged as a basic human until they start developing their claws, so to speak.¡¯

    Killian tapped Gray under the chin. ¡®Kid, look up.¡¯

    Gray chewed the inside of his lip, determinedly looking over the heads of the men.

    Dark fury was rising within him. It scraped at his walls.

    Very carefully, he pushed it back down.

    It¡¯s just words, he told himself. Ignore it. Stay cool.

    Stay out of the prison.

    ¡®This one,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®so far, has two subtle but typical mage markers - hair and lashes. No typical sorcerer markers yet. But, sorcerers and humans can sometimes - rarely - have hair that grows quickly. They can have a double lash line. While those traits are typical to mages, they aren¡¯t exclusive to mages. Without more, this doesn''t tell us anything definitive.¡¯

    One of the men let out an expletive. ¡®That makes it bloody hard, Major.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, it does.¡¯

    Gray fisted his hands. The slightest tremor ran through him, with the effort to keep his fury at bay.

    Killian¡¯s scared hand was on Gray¡¯s jaw. ¡®Getting grumpy, kid?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray tightly.

    ¡®Breathe, you fucking fool.¡¯

    Silence sung.

    Killian¡¯s sharp rebuke in front of the men felt like a slap to the face.

    He must¡¯ve sensed this because his grip tightened painfully.

    Don¡¯t touch me, Gray wanted to snarl.

    But, he couldn¡¯t.

    He mustn¡¯t.

    Something must¡¯ve shifted in Gray¡¯s bearing, though, because Killian¡¯s whole body tightened. Killian¡¯s chained-down control was turning into something much more fragile.

    Sorena¡¯s words from earlier echoed in Gray¡¯s mind.

    Killian¡¯s a wolf-shifter.

    Gray wondered exactly what it took for a man to transform into a wolf.

    Unaware, Codder''s drawl reverberated from across the room. Gray didn¡¯t hear him over his pulse beating in his ears. Neither, apparently, did Killian.

    ¡®Excuse me?¡¯ Killian said.

    Codder inched forward in his seat. ¡®I have more questions, Major.¡¯

    Killian dragged his gaze away from Gray and pinned Codder with it.

    The moment stretched.

    ¡®I¡¯ll be quick, Major,¡¯ said Codder.

    No one moved.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡¯My friend Roderick ¡­¡¯ Codder trailed off.

    Killian¡¯s teeth were bared.

    His grip on Gray¡¯s chin trembled.

    An unspoken understanding seemed to be rippling through the men. Some of them drew back in their hard chairs.

    No one spoke.

    Killian¡¯s trembled harder. Gray¡¯s eyes watered. An instinct deep within him told him to stay still.

    He pushed down his anger, like clamping the lid down on an overflowing kettle of boiling water.

    The sounds of late dawn - birdsong and people outside in the square - couldn¡¯t pierce the airlessness in the room.

    Even Codder didn¡¯t dare to speak again.

    ¡®I¡¯ll ask the questions,¡¯ said Killian, releasing his grip and grinding out the words with a huge effort. ¡®Listen. Answer. That''s how it''ll be in the verbal in your exam. Codder, take notes if you want to learn.¡¯

    There was a rustle as all the men flipped through their workbooks and started scribbling.

    Gray refrained from rubbing his jaw. He made himself stand stock still, his head bowed.

    ¡®What do you do,¡¯ said Killian, his words coming out as though it was against his better judgement, ¡®if you come across a suspected sorcerer who hasn¡¯t come into any definitive markers yet?¡¯

    The room was quiet. The men were pale and still.

    ¡®First, you check for parents and collectors,¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡®Before you do anything. Before you make any kind of move. You do not want an angry sorcerer mother unleashing her fury. She will kill you, she¡¯ll kill your team, she¡¯ll kill anyone in her way, and it¡¯ll be an ugly death.¡¯

    Killian turned to write on the board. The sound of the chalk scraped against Gray¡¯s ears.

    ¡®And you absolutely do not want a sorcerer collector making you a target. A sorcerer who¡¯s gone into collection mode is ¡­ possessive and dangerous. These bastards will straight up steal an apprentice from his or her home if they can¡¯t convince the child to willingly leave. If you attempt to unwittingly take a collection from a sorcerer, they will turn things very - ah - personal. They¡¯ll hunt down and kill your whole family, and they¡¯ll make you watch.¡¯

    The men were utterly silent.

    They¡¯d stopped writing in their books.

    A few had their mouths open, aghast.

    ¡®The reigning theory is this is a vestige of the fey in them. There certainly are some parallels with what we know about fey culture. Watered down, of course, over millennia. They¡¯re nowhere near as dangerous as the fey. We don¡¯t fuck with the fey. First rule of the army, yes?¡¯

    One of the men dropped his book.

    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ the man muttered, picking up his book.

    ¡®If the way is clear, you get your suspected sorcerer to show their power,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Or, as Pickering so deftly put it, you make them glow.¡¯

    Pickering leant forward in his chair, his mouth twisted in unease. ¡®Major, that was a slip of the tongue, I didn¡¯t mean-¡¯

    But, Killian cut him off. ¡®A sorcerer¡¯s level of power is going to far outstrip a mage¡¯s. But, getting a sorcerer - or mage - to show their power is easier said than done, especially if they¡¯re young or untrained. This one is both. Any ideas what you¡¯re going to do in such a situation?¡¯

    Codder raised his hand. Every eye was on him. ¡®You made him flip his lid, Major.¡¯

    Gray forced his gaze onto the wall of wanted posters. Then, to avoid staring into Wilde¡¯s dead eyes, he locked his gaze onto the view out the window. The pale sky was streaked with pink and orange.

    In.

    Out.

    ¡®Yes. Induce panic.¡¯ The squeaking of chalk shattered the quiet, as Killian wrote on the board. ¡®The official tactic is to induce panic, then settle them. Panic, then settle. Over and over. It shakes loose their hold on their magic.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s insides were stretched tight. Words and tendrils of fire were sneaking and crawling through his body, and it was taking most of his focus to chase them down and contain them.

    ¡®It¡¯s risky,'' Killian was saying. ''If you don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing you can wind up, at best, seriously injured, and, at worst, dead in the middle of a crater. If you¡¯re going to do this to a potential sorcerer, you better be ready to bring them right back down after their power¡¯s come up to the surface.¡¯

    Gray heard Killian ask, as though echoing over a great distance, ¡®How do you measure the level of power, men?¡¯

    ¡®You get them tested by a licenced mage or alchemist, Major,¡¯ said a man from the back of the group.

    ¡®Oh,¡¯ said Killian, raising his eyebrows, ¡®you think your general or your king will assign you a licensed mage or alchemist for your team, as a mere lieutenant? And they will give you the coin for a very, very costly test? How ¡­ naive.¡¯

    Quiet.

    ¡®That¡¯s not a quality we value in Lismere¡¯s army,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Major, I-¡¯

    ¡®Dismissed, soldier,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®What, Major?¡¯

    ¡®Leave, Emwell. I¡¯m not putting forward a soldier for the lieutenant exam, just to have you embarrass me with your naivety. You¡¯re not ready. Go.¡¯

    Emwell¡¯s breath hitched. He was a man Gray had never seen before, with a mop of curly black hair and a hooked nose. Sweat beaded his brow. He packed up his workbook and left, the back of his neck flushed deep.

    ¡®You¡¯re in the field,¡¯ said Killian to the remaining men. ¡®You don¡¯t have a mage soldier, let alone a licensed master mage to test your prisoner. You don¡¯t have a spare several thousand ardents in your allowance. You¡¯ve made your potential sorcerer reveal his power. Now, how do you measure it?¡¯

    Not a single man even glanced up from writing notes in their workbook. Each head was fastidiously down, avoiding Killian¡¯s dark gaze.

    ¡®The light,¡¯ Killian said. ¡®If you need to close your eyes against it, that¡¯s generally classed as a dangerously high level of magic.¡¯

    ¡®And that¡¯s what he has, sir?¡¯ said Codder.

    There was a tight beat.

    ¡®Obviously,¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray waited for Killian to boot Codder out for asking a simple question.

    He paused, then paced.

    ¡®There are no other ways to tell, that we know of,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Our knowledge of sorcerers is sparse, due to the fact they¡¯re not exactly forthcoming about their ways, and their rarity. It¡¯s unlikely you¡¯ll come up against too many sorcerers, thank Clochaint.¡¯

    To Gray, quietly, ¡®kid, go sit down.¡¯

    Gray stumbled over to his spot by the window.

    ¡®Now, how are you going to induce panic in a sorcerer - keeping in mind sorcerers have precious few attachments and will coldly slit the throat of any stranger in their way - and how are you going to calm them down?¡¯

    Gray glared down blindly at his workbook. He clenched the pencil in his fingers, trying to master himself. He barely registered the sounds of Killian and the men talking, as they got more and more engrossed in the topic.

    Gray didn¡¯t know how much time had passed. His gaze was trained on his blank workbook.

    Someone cleared their throat way too close to him.

    Gray jolted.

    Killian was crouched in front of him.

    The man needed a damn bell or something.

    ¡®They don¡¯t teach you how to write in these northern schools?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray frowned. Behind Killian, Pickering nodded his head towards the blackboard.

    Killian had drawn on the board. Gray blinked, struggling to read the Lismerian.

    It was a navigation problem, about the speed of a convoy crossing a desert, to get to a base two hundred miles away, and with a contrasting side wind.

    They¡¯d moved on from sorcerers.

    Coolness inched through the heat inside Gray.

    ¡®You want me to ¡­¡¯ said Gray, fumbling with sweaty fingers as he adjusted the pencil in his iron grip.

    ¡®Do I want you to work out the problem, instead of sitting there like a lump? Yes, kid.¡¯

    Killian got up abruptly and stalked off to prowl between the men.

    Gray had done problems just like this only days ago for his mathematics exam. He worked it out, checked it over for mistakes, and then sat back, staring at the patch of cloudy sky visible through the window, his shoulders hunched.

    The scratch-scratch-scratch of pencils filled the room, as though a nest of mice had moved in. Killian prowled between the chairs, his boots padding softly against the carpet. He didn¡¯t speak, didn¡¯t make a sound beyond his footsteps, but his presence rippled like a cold breath on the back of the neck.

    ¡®Time''s up,¡¯ Killian said.

    All at once, pencils froze mid-scratch, soldiers lifting their heads.

    ¡®Johnson.¡¯ Killian stretched out his hand.

    Johnson¡¯s fingers trembled as he handed over his workbook. Killian flipped it open, his eyes scanning the pages with mechanical precision. Then, a slow curl of disgust crept across his face.

    ¡®No.¡¯ He flung the workbook back at Johnson, like tossing away a piece of spoiled meat. ¡®Have you even been studying, soldier?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    Killian moved on, his boots padding again, slow and deliberate.

    ¡®Mayver,¡¯ he said.

    Mayver grinned, trying too hard to look confident. He practically shoved his workbook into Killian¡¯s hand, as if expecting praise. Killian barely glanced at it before his lip curled.

    ¡®Wrong.¡¯

    Mayver¡¯s grin faltered, but Killian was already moving on.

    ¡®Pickering.¡¯

    Pickering swallowed hard, his knuckles white as he handed over his workbook. Killian snatched it, gave it a quick glance, then let out a low growl from deep in his throat. His jaw clicked, the sound like bones grinding together.

    ¡®Very wrong.¡¯ He didn¡¯t even bother tossing the book back this time¡ªjust threw it at Pickering¡¯s chest, the pages fluttering in the air. ¡®You¡¯re supposed to be using your free time to study.¡¯

    Gray''s heart started to hammer. He buried his face in his workbook, eyes darting over the scrawl of numbers he¡¯d scratched out.

    Next to him, Codder took the blow. Killian¡¯s voice dripped with venom as he tore into the man¡¯s work.

    ¡®You know navigation, Codder, really?¡¯ Killian said, voice soft. ¡®Convoys sure as hell don¡¯t march a hundred miles per hour. And how the damn did you end up in the middle of the Forbidden Sea? Did you even think before you wrote this?¡¯

    Codder stiffened under the assault, but Gray didn¡¯t hear the rest. His ears were buzzing, the sound of his own blood rushing as Killian¡¯s shadow fell over him.

    ¡®Kid.¡¯

    Gray froze, his heart a wild, caged thing inside his chest. Killian bent down, snatching the notebook from his wooden fingers before Gray could offer it. Killian¡¯s eyes swept over the page. For a long, agonising moment, he said nothing. His shoulders tensed, his jaw worked, and Gray braced himself for the explosion that would come next.

    But Killian just stared. Then, in a voice tight with something Gray couldn¡¯t place, he said, ¡®Yes.¡¯

    He shoved the notebook back at Gray, harder than necessary, and stalked off without another word.

    Gray didn¡¯t dare look up. His hands shook as he clutched the workbook to his chest, but beneath the fear, a strange flicker of pride burned in his gut.

    As Killian wrote down the solution on the board, he broke a piece of chalk, he was pressing so hard. Then, a second.

    Gods.

    Killian wrote up another problem. Same thing, but with a horse rider crossing a moor.

    Gray worked at the problem with the other men, silently scratching in their workbooks. Gray¡¯s hands were beginning to tremble again. He thought, perhaps he should work mistakes into his solution.

    ¡®Griffin!¡¯

    Gray started. Killian had written another problem on the board. It was about a dragon rider flying in a crosswind to a certain destination. It was more complicated. Killian pointed at it. ¡®You do this one. Understood?¡¯

    Gray swallowed over his dry tongue. ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®You know how to start it?¡¯

    ¡®Uh, I ¡­ find the angle ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Good,¡¯ he said. ¡®Very good. Try it.¡¯

    ¡®You want me to try that one, too, Major?¡¯ said Codder.

    Killian breathed in, precise and controlled. ¡®When you prove to me you have more intelligence than a child, soldier, you can try this one.¡¯

    Pickering snorted. Then, with a scared glance at Killian, hurriedly returned to his work.

    As soon as Killian turned his back, Codder pierced Gray with a glance.

    He sucked his bottom lip, his shadowed gaze darker than Gray had ever seen it.

 41. Three Times The Size Of A Man

    When the last of the men filed out of the office, Killian sat stiffly behind the desk.

    Gray trained his gaze ahead to the fireplace, watching the glowing logs. He pressed his back hard against the wall and waited for the words to come, down to the prison you go, kid, or I have a job for you ¡­

    Seconds crawled by.

    Killian¡¯s breath changed.

    It deepened.

    Gray dared to cast a glance at him. Killian¡¯s soldier¡¯s cap was pulled down over his eyes. His jaw was relaxed. His body was languid in the chair.

    Asleep.

    Fully, genuinely asleep.

    Gray hesitated.

    There was no way.

    He waved a hand.

    Studied Killian long and hard.

    He - Killian was definitely asleep.

    Killian, Gray was sure, had not slept the night before. Killian was an inch from losing it - Gray knew nothing about wolf shifters but he was damn sure Killian had almost transformed right there in the office during the soldiers¡¯ lesson.

    Perhaps this was normal, perhaps this was what Killian did - sleep at random times and places. Killian had said he slept with one eye open, but the man was drooling.

    Gray chewed his lip. Achingly slowly, Gray stood. The carpet muffled his steps. Three more hobbling steps, and he¡¯d be able to reach the door.

    Two more.

    One.

    The ornate door knob was cool in his hand. It opened silently. The landing outside was deserted. His heart thudded hard.

    Killian remained asleep.

    No angry yell.

    Go.

    Now.

    Gray dallied, his hand on the door and tried to calm his mind.

    If he wanted to draw the soldiers away he needed to run, yes, but he needed a huge head start, and he needed to goad Killian so badly he¡¯d put every man onto Gray¡¯s trail.

    Gray couldn¡¯t do anything with just the clay and phoenix feather stashed underneath his bedroll, and the salt in the bathroom.

    He needed more.

    But, if Killian - anyone - caught him, Killian¡¯d be beyond mad, and Gray couldn¡¯t do anything if he was stuck in the prison. Or dead.

    Gods.

    Risk prison, or risk not being able to do a damn thing to force the soldiers to leave town?

    Gray rubbed his tight chest.

    If he was careful, if he was very, very fast, perhaps he could search for any components he could use, and then be back before Killian knew better.

    He doubted he¡¯d get a better opportunity than this.

    His mouth dry, Gray hobbled down the steps from the landing, and along the corridor. A group of voices reverberated up from the floor below.

    So, Gray went up.

    Up, up, up a cramped stairwell that he¡¯d not used before. Along the windowless hall on the floor beneath Killian¡¯s room. There seemed to be a mix of accommodation and council offices.

    There was a point, when the third worker Gray passed came to a complete stop, staring at him, that he thought, maybe, he¡¯d made a mistake.

    But, he couldn¡¯t turn back now.

    Gray sped up.

    He just needed to be methodical about this.

    Search left to right.

    He should grab anything he could use - leaves from any pot plants, any tiny decorative figurines made out of stone or metal, anything.

    But, there was nothing so far.

    This corridor only had paintings of fruit on the walls, and no side tables, shelves, or plants.

    Gray passed a room where Hall workers were holding a soft-spoken meeting. Poppy was speaking, her salt and pepper hair bent close to other council members.

    Gray ducked his head and tried to walk normally. Then, a very bright, very large painting caught Gray¡¯s periphery. A still life, a bowl of fruit.

    Apples.

    Gray¡¯s heart leapt. Of course. It was so simple.

    He needed the kitchen, he needed -

    Distracted as he was, Gray ran headlong into a soldier.

    Gray banged into him hard enough that the polished buttons from the soldier¡¯s uniform hurt his face.

    It was the soldier from the exam prep - the one that had been booted out for suggesting to use a licenced mage or alchemist to identify a sorcerer. His hooked nose screwed up in surprise.

    Emwell was his name, Gray remembered dimly.

    This one soldier, Gray might¡¯ve been able to handle.

    Handle, pfft. Gray couldn¡¯t handle shit.

    Convince this man to accept a lie, though?

    Maybe.

    The pack of five soldiers that rapidly came up behind Emwell, however, not so much.

    Gray recognised this pack of soldiers as some of the men who¡¯d been jeering as he and Killian had crossed the town square that morning.

    They were coming out of what looked like a dorm.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Gray wheeled back, his heel catching on an uneven bit of carpet, and he stumbled. His chest tightened, panic beginning to settle deep inside him like a coiled snake.

    ¡®Where¡¯s Major?¡¯ Emwell muttered, rubbing the crook of his hooked nose, eyes darting around as if Killian might materialise out of the shadows.

    In the second it took for Emwell to glance away, the pack spotted Gray.

    One of them made a low, guttural noise like someone had just taken a punch to the gut. Another let out a high-pitched hoot, sharp as a whip-crack.

    ¡®Here, sorcerer, sorcerer,¡¯ one of them called.

    Say something, Gray thought. Anything to get them to leave you alone.

    But his mouth was dry. His gaze flicked up to Emwell, who didn¡¯t seem in a hurry to help him. No, Emwell was just watching, his black eyes uncertain.

    ¡®Hey, Emwell,¡¯ called one of the pack, his voice slick with amusement. ¡®What you got there, huh? What¡¯s that, a pet sorcerer?¡¯

    ¡®Nothing,¡¯ Emwell said, turning toward them, his voice steady but low. ¡®I got nothing. Mind your damn business.¡¯

    The pack didn¡¯t care. They were moving in now, too close, the air thick with their hot breath.

    Gray¡¯s pulse quickened. This was going very wrong.

    The soldiers circled in, a pack of lions scenting blood.

    ¡®You got something, Emwell,¡¯ sneered a soldier with pockmarked skin. His eyes gleamed like a predator¡¯s. ¡®Yeah, you got the little ash-stink right here.¡¯ He reached out, fingers grasping at the ends of Gray¡¯s cut hair. Gray jerked back just in time, swatting the hand away. Barely.

    ¡®D¡¯Oncray¡¯s spawn, innit?¡¯ Another one chimed in, shoving Gray¡¯s shoulder with a rough hand. ¡®A cat-tongue.¡¯

    ¡®A goat-eye.¡¯ Push.

    ¡®A mind-messer.¡¯ Jab.

    They were bouncing him back and forth and Gray''s ankle - still aching, still weak - throbbed under the abuse. He needed to run, dodge, but his body wouldn¡¯t cooperate. He was being shoved, jostled, fists curling uselessly at his sides. His damn brain refused to create a lie to get him out of the situation, and if he couldn''t run, he was going to have to fight.

    ¡®Leave him,¡¯ one of them hissed. He jostled the others. ¡®We need him. To end Wilde. Krupin. End them forever.¡¯

    ¡®We don¡¯t need him,¡¯ said another.

    ''Back off,'' Gray snarled, forcing his voice past his dry throat.

    Emwell¡¯s hand shot out, grabbing Gray by the collar of his sweater, knuckles cold against his skin. He yanked Gray close, teeth bared. ¡®Yeah, back off,¡¯ Emwell said, voice low and dangerous, but the pack was closing in, growling now, their words turning to noise - threats, curses, all too loud, too close.

    ¡®D¡¯Oncray¡¯s seed, ending Wilde?¡¯ This man¡¯s voice boomed above the rest. He had a thick moustache that quivered with every word, his breath foul as it spilled out. ¡®She cursed every last soul in that palace, killed ¡®em all. Boiling blood. Even the horses. You know what that¡¯s like? Cleaning up boiled horses?¡¯

    Moustache grabbed Gray¡¯s sweater, pulling hard enough that the fabric stretched, threads straining like a body about to snap.

    And then it tore. The sweater ripped apart.

    Gray moved on instinct, his fist swinging up. His knuckles slammed into Mustache¡¯s neck, landing hard on his jugular. The man gasped, his grip faltering, and Emwell yanked Gray away, dragging him through the gap that had opened in the pack.

    Gray¡¯s heartbeat pounded in his ears, his breath ragged as Emwell pulled him back, step by step. His shoes slid on the carpeted floor, worn soles offering no grip. The pack was shouting, their voices merging into a wild, chaotic roar.

    ¡®You wait ¡®til Major hears about this! We¡¯re not supposed to touch him!¡¯ Emwell shouted, his voice sharp, his finger jabbing at the air. ¡®He¡¯ll flay you all!¡¯

    The noise echoed down the hallway, bouncing off the tall walls. Doors creaked open. Hall staff poked their heads out, eyes wide and confused.

    The pack wasn¡¯t backing off. Not really. They followed, their eyes filled with a hunger that Gray knew wouldn¡¯t be sated by words. They were jostling each other.

    Arguing with each other, as they continued forward.

    Two of them didn¡¯t want trouble with the Major.

    The others didn¡¯t care.

    Emwell was shouting again, his words coming too fast for Gray to catch, his anger pouring out in rapid Lismerian. The pack shouted back, their insults turning into a feverish frenzy. And then, suddenly, like a match dropped into dry brush, the pack exploded into violence.

    Against each other.

    And rapidly headed towards Gray and Emwell.

    Gray barely registered it - fists flying, boots slamming into flesh, the sounds of grunts and cries rising into an awful symphony.

    Emwell dragged Gray back down the stairs, fingers still locked on the back of his neck, a vice that wouldn¡¯t let go. They were running now, flying down the corridor, the sound of the fight fading behind them.

    Back to the old captain¡¯s office.

    Emwell peered inside, his chest heaving, and saw Killian was fast asleep, still sitting in the chair.

    ¡®Please don¡¯t tell him,¡¯ Gray said miserably.

    Emwell didn¡¯t dignify that with a response. He didn¡¯t seem keen on waking Killian, however, because he nudged Gray in, and very quietly, shut Gray inside.

    Gray stood rigidly on the other side of the door. Tried to quieten his breath.

    With all the mistakes Gray¡¯d made in his life, this was up there with not walking out of the alchemy exam with Alistair.

    He had nothing he could use to create something out of the clay and phoenix feather.

    And, Killian would be very, very angry with him.

    Shit.

    Gray pressed a trembling hand over his eyes.

    He needed his body to feel steadier before he risked moving to sit back down by the window. One wrong stumble, and he¡¯d wake the sleeping wolf.

    Only, the more Gray tried to steady his body, the more he felt something tugging at the fringes of his attention, like a shy customer trying to hail him over a crowded tavern floor.

    Gray swallowed. Slowed his breathing.

    Slower.

    Carefully, Gray lowered his hand.

    His gaze locked on the window.

    The window -

    There was something in the sky. Several dark specks marked the expanse of clear blue. They were growing rapidly bigger. Coming closer.

    Flying.

    Gray¡¯s breath hitched.

    ¡®Killian,¡¯ he said.

    His voice must¡¯ve carried Gray¡¯s alarm.

    Killian snapped awake. He went from deeply asleep to standing wide-eyed and to attention in less than a second.

    ¡®What?¡¯ he snapped, running a hand through his dark hair.

    ¡¯Something¡¯s coming,¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian¡¯s dark gaze narrowed as he took Gray in.

    Gray could only imagine what he looked like. The pack of soldiers had roughed him up, torn his sweater, and Emwell had dishevelled him more, dragging him back down the stairs.

    ¡¯Something¡¯s coming,¡¯ Gray repeated, pushing down his panic. Time was really an issue here. Every second that passed, those things were getting closer. ¡¯Sound the warning bell. Get everyone inside.¡¯

    ¡®What happened to you?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Killian -¡¯

    ¡®What did you do?¡¯ The edge in Killian¡¯s voice was pure steel.

    ¡®Sound the warning bell.¡¯ Gray pointed at the sky. At the things coming closer.

    Killian glanced at the dark specks. He moved right up to the window. ¡®Birds?¡¯ he said, his voice utterly controlled.

    Why wasn¡¯t Killian doing anything?

    There was no urgency in him. No panic.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray. He could feel them. These things weren¡¯t birds. ¡®They - they¡¯re angry - arm your men. Sound the bell.¡¯

    Killian threw the window open, squinting against the morning light. ¡®Dragons?¡¯

    ¡¯Now, Killian!¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®I need to know what they are,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Different creatures require different arms.¡¯

    They had to be three times the size of a man.

    Could disembowel you with one swipe.

    Gold glinted in their feathered wings.

    Gray knew, he knew ¡­ but before, where it had been one and fought off by Branbright, Longwark, and Emeric, now it was too many to count.

    ¡®Mountain griffins,¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian¡¯s scarred hand was around Gray¡¯s throat before he could tense. He dragged Gray and slammed him against the far wall with a guttural growl.

    Gray¡¯s head banged against the plaster of the wall.

    A painting fell down.

    ¡®What did you do?¡¯ snarled Killian.

    He clenched at Killian¡¯s wrist. Gray was aware he looked guilty as hell.

    ¡®It wasn¡¯t me,¡¯ he said, breathless against the squeeze of Killian¡¯s hand. ¡®Wasn¡¯t me.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s dark eyes were febrile. His upper lip curled.

    ¡®There¡¯s people outside.¡¯ Gray¡¯s eyes watered, hot and stinging. ¡¯Sound - sound the bell. The griffins are almost here. They¡¯re angry.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s hand tightened. Gray couldn¡¯t breathe. Couldn¡¯t swallow. Could barely struggle.

    Killian would strangle him here, while the griffins descended on the town with no warning.

    Every line on Killian¡¯s too-close face, every battle scar, showed Killian¡¯s loathing. His breath was hot against Gray¡¯s face. His bared teeth were inches away.

    Gray closed his eyes. Forced himself to open them and meet Killian¡¯s brutal glare. ¡®Killian.¡¯

    His vision was darkening at the edges. He¡¯d drown, under his tears and Killian¡¯s hand.

    ¡®Kill me after,¡¯ choked Gray. ¡®Griffins first.¡¯

 42. The Fine Art Of Dealing With Angry Griffins

    The pressure lifted from Gray¡¯s throat. He crumpled to the floor, blind and breathless. His throat - his lungs - didn¡¯t work.

    Killian¡¯s footsteps pounded against the carpet. The door crashed open.

    ¡®ARMS,¡¯ Killian bellowed. ¡®GOBLIN STEEL.¡¯

    His bellow was taken up immediately, echoing throughout the Hall from a chorus of soldiers'' deep voices, ¡®Goblin steel. Goblin steel.¡¯

    ¡®TOWN SQUARE,¡¯ Killian bellowed. ¡®CIRCLE FORMATION.¡¯

    ¡®Circle formation. Circle formation.¡¯

    Killian was manhandling him. Binding his wrists together with rough rope. Throwing him over his shoulder.

    Gray slipped into blackness.

    And came to, with fresh air on his face, and his vision shadowed.

    Chaos bombarded his ears.

    The screams of the griffins clashed with the cries of panicked Lismerian and the deep shouts of northern. The ground shuddered as mossy tiles rained down. A roof had collapsed.

    Cold cobblestones pressed hard against Gray¡¯s cheek. Grit crumbled underneath the thin layers of his clothes. A metallic scent burned his nose.

    His throat and neck hurt.

    Gray was lying on his side on the old cobblestone ground of the town square.

    A shattered roof tile lay inches from Gray¡¯s bound hands. A soldier lay next to him. This soldier lay, too still and too pale, with a fleck of blood on his slack lips.

    Gray¡¯s breath caught in his throat.

    Move.

    Stay alive.

    Gray staggered to his feet, off balance with his hands bound.

    He pressed his back hard against the external wall of the Hall.

    Soldiers in grey uniforms were in a tight circle in the centre of the town square. They hid behind a wall of glinting shields. Their alert gazes were trained on the sky.

    Gray looked up through the dust and debris particles hanging in the air. His muscles locked.

    The griffins.

    There were so many more of them than he¡¯d expected.

    And they were huge.

    He stood there, on the edge of the mayhem, his feet glued to the ground.

    Their wings blocked the sun, shifting the town court into flashes of shadow and light as they soared across the sky. Their feathers gleamed brown and gold. The beat of their wings deafening - like the sound of being stuck inside a windstorm. It shattered windows and splintered timber doors. It buffeted people and stone.

    They swooped and soared so fast that Gray could barely track them.

    They landed on rooftops and their tails knocked over chimneys, sending bricks flying. They dug their claws into the sides of buildings and homes, ripping open stone walls as easily as tearing flimsy cardboard. Their talons grazed the ground, scattering people and carts and haphazard barricades.

    One grabbed a stray soldier - he had been running, sprinting, flying across the courtyard to join the formation, and there was something wrong with the soldier¡¯s hand because he couldn¡¯t hold his sword properly, it was flailing dangerously as he ran, and he was shieldless and his uniform was shredded, the whites of his eyes exposed, his face pure terror, and Killian¡¯s voice was cutting through the brutal noise, ordering him to stay, stay soldier, drop soldier, but he kept running - and then the griffin just lifted him right off the ground, claws bigger than a bear trap.

    Gray¡¯s heart stopped.

    The soldier¡¯s screams mixed with the awful screeching and then faded into the sky as the griffin soared with him behind clouds.

    Gray wanted to run, but he couldn¡¯t move and not just because his damn ankle would buckle. All he could do was think how small he - everyone - was compared to the griffins, like ants in the hulking shadow of something too colossal, too dangerous to grasp, a presence that loomed like a storm, raw and unstoppable.

    One griffin tumbled and spun through the air - a whirl of giant eagle and lion, talon over wing over claw. It plummeted to the ground in an uncontrolled fall and barrelled into the perfect circle formation of soldiers.

    Soldiers sprawled.

    Cobblestones flew and the griffin shrieked, clamouring to right itself, and it flew back up with a huge gust of wind.

    Gold and tawny feathers scattered through the air, catching the sunlight.

    ¡®CIRCLE FORMATION. HOLD.¡¯ Killian¡¯s voice was a primal bellow that shuddered over the thunderous noise of the carnage.

    The soldiers were scrabbling to regroup.

    Back into a hastily formed circle formation, filling the gaps where men had fallen, snatching up dropped shields and swords.

    Killian moved like a shadow in a nightmare.

    One second he was there, the next he was gone. He was too fast for the eye to follow. He was by the barricade that shielded a group of townsfolk. He was scaling the lattice work up to a Hall balcony.

    He was on the edge of the soldiers¡¯ circle.

    His gaze was locked on the biggest griffin - the one busy tearing into a prone soldier¡¯s body and shredding it like it was wet paper.

    Gray pressed harder against the wall, his back scraping through the thin layers of his clothes, his breath stuck in his throat.

    There was something wrong with the way Killian moved.

    It was too smooth, too sure, too calm, as if this wasn¡¯t madness to him.

    As if he belonged in it.

    There was no hesitation.

    He wheeled from one griffin to the next, disrupting and scattering their attacks.

    His sword sang from speed.

    The griffin''s screams went from rage to something stronger, something sharper.

    Cold, creeping discomfort clawed up from Gray¡¯s stomach.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Killian was scaring them.

    He wasn¡¯t just fighting. He was playing some kind of calculated game, making them startle into the air. They¡¯d launch off in frustration, in rage, in panic. Their wings thrashed and their claws scraped against stone. They landed on rooftops, sending moss-covered tiles crashing to the ground.

    Gray watched, his mouth sand.

    Killian was giving space for his men. A chance to recover, just for a second. Every moment he kept the griffins unsettled, every moment he made griffins scatter was a moment his men strengthened their position in the circle formation and righted their injured comrades.

    Gray shivered, testing the bonds of the rope around his wrists.

    Soldiers and townsfolk lay, scattered and dying.

    Had Gray done this?

    Had he called the griffins?

    He must¡¯ve. Somehow. He hadn¡¯t meant to, but -

    Killian was in front of Gray, breathless.

    A deep gash marked his cheek. He blinked blood out of his dark gaze. His face, his body, was steel.

    Killian¡¯ scarred hand was on the rope on Gray¡¯s wrists, checking the knot was secure. He clasped the scruff of Gray¡¯s neck.

    ¡®WEDGE FORMATION,¡¯ Killian shouted, dragging Gray through the chaos of griffins, debris, and the injured.

    The soldiers shifted seamlessly.

    Killian pushed Gray forward, inside the group of soldiers, and to the front, to the point of the wedge.

    Killian¡¯s mouth was against Gray¡¯s ear. ¡®Get the leader to leave. The rest will follow.¡¯

    His fist was hard and damp on the back of Gray¡¯s neck.

    Get the leader to leave?

    When Killian shoved Gray out of the front of the wedge, to stumble out in front of the biggest griffin he ever could¡¯ve imagined - the griffin picking at the intestines of the disembowelled soldier - it became clear.

    This griffin was the leader of the pride. He had to be.

    Gray could feel it, feel him. The weight of his presence was heavy and the world narrowed as Gray stood before him.

    His wings could block out the sky. His claws were like swords, crushing into the ancient cobblestones underneath as his weight shifted. He owned the ground he walked on.

    He growled as he ate the soldier, low and deep, vibrating the air. The sound crawled up Gray¡¯s spine.

    The griffin didn¡¯t notice Gray right away. Or, maybe, Gray didn¡¯t register as a threat.

    The griffin was busy eating the sprawled innards of the soldier.

    Then, it clocked a bright gold eye onto Gray and pulled itself up to its full height.

    Gray looked up, up, up.

    Someone - probably Killian- had had a decent go at him already. The feathers in his left wing were askew, and one of his legs dripped blood from a deep cut. His beak was outlined in gore.

    Gray stared into the bright gold gaze.

    There was no connection in his eyes, no understanding. Just a glittering and dangerous intelligence, like he was looking through Gray and could see his next move, and his next, and none of it mattered or made any difference - not to him.

    Gray stumbled back.

    A hard hand on his shoulder shoved him back.

    ¡®You brought them here,¡¯ shouted Killian. ¡®Now, make them leave.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s stomach burned.

    He whirled around, staring at the steely face of Killian and the wall of overlapped shields of the soldiers in formation. Their swords were held ready, balanced. Near the peak of the wedge formation, peering desperately over the top of his shield, was the rookie. Russet. His rabbit eyes bored into Gray, whites exposed and eyebrows high.

    A townsperson lay close, in as much danger of getting trampled by the soldiers¡¯ boots as the griffins, blood pooling from her side. Gray knew her auburn hair and crow tattoos. The butcher.

    Killian shoved Gray back again - a hard jab to his chest with the handle of the sword - and Gray fell, skidding on the - uurgh, he didn¡¯t want to know what the heck he just skidded on.

    Killian darted forward, grabbed Gray in a tight grip, and used Gray as a shield to step close to the griffin.

    Closer.

    ¡®You ride off on that thing,¡¯ said Killian, his voice furious and hot in Gray¡¯s ear, ¡®I will hunt you to the ends of the land and rip you limb from limb. I will find you, and I will kill you. Got it?¡¯

    Gray gave a tight nod.

    Another hard shove, between the shoulder blades. Gray stumbled before the griffin.

    There was a scuffle behind Gray, as Killian stepped back to the head of the wedge formation.

    ¡®MAKE HIM LEAVE,¡¯ bellowed Killian. ¡®NOW.¡¯

    Gray stared at the griffin. It was fluffing its feathered wings. It was pecking at the dead soldier¡¯s eye-

    Gray collapsed to his knees and heaved.

    The smell.

    He was sick again, hunched over himself.

    Behind him, pandemonium crescendoed. The screams were unending.

    Gray wiped his face with a trembling hand.

    He couldn¡¯t just stay here and die, kneeling and throwing up. And he couldn¡¯t let the townsfolk be rampaged by a group of griffins any more than he could let them be terrorised by these soldiers.

    It had taken three mages to clear off one griffin last time.

    No - two sorcerers and one mage.

    He¡¯d just seen Killian fight. Killian was deadly. A predator playing with his very dangerous prey.

    But, even he couldn¡¯t kill them.

    There wasn¡¯t one single dead griffin amongst the fallen.

    Only people.

    People Gray knew, people that shouldn¡¯t have died.

    Fighting against the griffins with force wasn¡¯t going to work.

    His heart in his mouth, and against every instinct in him, Gray staggered to his feet.

    Breathed slow.

    Slower.

    The griffin glared down at him.

    Immobile.

    Behind him, the screaming of the griffins was quieting. The clash of steel slowed.

    But, Gray didn¡¯t dare turn away from the fierce glare of the griffin to see what was happening.

    The griffin tilted his head.

    Gray didn¡¯t blink.

    Didn¡¯t move.

    Neither did the griffin.

    And because he couldn¡¯t speak, he couldn¡¯t fight, he had no other options, with a shuddering breath, Gray - carefully, slowly - lifted his bound hands.

    Touched the griffin¡¯s beak.

    His beak was as smooth as polished stone under Gray¡¯s palm. Like battle-warmed steel, hard and with edges sharp enough to cut. The griffin didn¡¯t move - just let Gray inch closer as the power behind the stillness of the griffin made his heart pound a tattoo in his chest. His hands glided up.

    The heat of the griffin¡¯s breath surrounded Gray''s fingers, his skin.

    This griffin could snap Gray¡¯s hands off with one move, and there¡¯d be nothing Gray could do to stop it.

    But there was something else, too, beyond the power of the griffin and his smooth-as-stone beak and hot breath. Something ancient. Like touching a weapon that had been in the battles of the Ancients.

    Gray¡¯s fingers tingled, half with fear and half with something beyond his understanding. Like maybe, inch by slow inch, breath by breath, the griffin was letting him in.

    Accepting not just his touch.

    But, him.

    This was ¡­ amazing.

    An awed smile tugged at Gray¡¯s lips.

    He pushed down to the urge to let out a shout of wonderstruck laughter.

    Maybe, he could - if he wanted - fly off.

    Maybe, he could go anywhere.

    Everywhere.

    The world was theirs to explore and admire.

    The quality of the griffin¡¯s gaze was subtly changing, and slowly - so, so slowly - there was a connection there, in the griffin¡¯s fierce gold eyes. It was just like a bond with a beloved wise and old dog, like that of a brother or sister, a best friend with whom you¡¯d grown up together for ever and ever, like a warmth of souls meeting and knowing each other from end to end and beginning to beginning.

    A protectiveness.

    Like plunging into the feeling of home.

    Then, the griffin twitched. He blinked.

    The movement was tiny.

    But, the connection between Gray and the griffin shut off.

    As sudden as it had come.

    It ripped apart, and it - the loss of it - hurt.

    Gray physically buckled from the force of it.

    And he saw, as though in slow motion, the griffin rear up onto its back legs, the lion¡¯s claws digging into cobblestone and the dead soldier. It lifted one giant claw.

    As big and as deadly as a bear trap.

    It slammed Gray, and it threw him hard against the cold ground, its claw pinning him in a lethal cage.

 43. He Wont Stand Idly By To Threats To His Early Retirement

    Gray was pinned in a cage of talons, winded. The claws cracked the ancient cobblestones and dug into the grit.

    Killian swung his sword. Light bounced off the blade.

    ¡®Stop!¡¯ cried Gray. His voice broke. His voice ached.

    The sword stopped, less than a millimetre from the leg of the griffin.

    The cold of the cobblestones seeped through Gray¡¯s torn clothes. His breath ripped out of him in a shudder.

    The weight of the griffin¡¯s claw was steady. Ready to crush at one wrong move.

    ¡®Killian,¡¯ whispered Gray. ¡®Get back.¡¯

    ¡®No.¡¯

    ¡®Get back.¡¯

    ¡®Nice try, kid, but I¡¯m not going to let him fly off with you.¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s angry, he¡¯s not going to fly off with me-¡¯

    The griffin let out a powerful huff.

    The heat of his breath was almost steam, it almost burned.

    The soldiers shuffled back.

    Killian, with a very precise movement, pulled back his sword. He backed away, ever so slightly.

    The griffin leant close to Gray.

    The sharp edge of his beak touched the point of Gray¡¯s chin. Then, down to Gray¡¯s exposed neck.

    The griffin tilted his head, so that Gray was suddenly looking him very closely in the eye.

    Gold and so damn angry.

    Gray couldn¡¯t hold its gaze.

    Carefully, Gray turned his face away.

    The griffin moved closer, his weight threatening in his claw. His breath huffed into Gray¡¯s ear.

    Like a physical punch, Gray was hit with sensations. An involuntary groan ripped from him.

    Sensations flooded his chest.

    It was anger, at the Ancients being pulled up and violated. Protection, and the desire to keep their resting places intact. Sadness, at the looting of the lovingly selected gold and goods the Ancients had been buried with.

    It was too much. Gray needed to curl in on himself. He needed to hold his head.

    Gray felt his magic curling up in response.

    Fear rippled through him.

    The tendrils of his magic were snaking up within him, too fast.

    Out of control.

    It was ripping through hairline cracks in some internal wall.

    It was lighting up his skin.

    No.

    Gray struggled to push his magic down.

    Down, down, down.

    His skin thrummed as he battled to get his magic down.

    You are not doing this here, he told himself firmly.

    Not now.

    Control it.

    But, the griffin was pulling his focus. He could barely breathe for the heat and power washing up and down like stormy waves within.

    The griffin was bombarding him with images.

    The soldiers - Killian - and tomb guardians breaking down some of the most sacred  resting places - the wisest philosopher in the old graveyard - the silver lady in the oldest alleyway - the sweet child in the ruins near the forest -

    ¡¯Stop.¡¯ The word was wrenched from Gray¡¯s tongue. It pierced the air.

    He didn¡¯t know if he meant the soldiers had to stop stomping through the tombs, searching, searching, or if he couldn¡¯t bear the fury and despair from the griffin, or if he needed his magic to stop breaking through the internal walls he was building.

    Gray held the golden glare of the griffin. ¡®I¡¯ll ask them to stop.¡¯

    The weight of the claw pressed threateningly.

    Gray¡¯s ribs groaned.

    ¡®I¡¯ll stop them.¡¯

    The griffin remained still.

    ¡®I¡¯ll stop them,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®But, you must leave now.¡¯

    The griffin was so close, Gray could see the swirls of brown and honey in his gold eye. The iris contracted.

    ¡®I promise you.¡¯ The words were ripped from Gray. They echoed against the town square.

    With one last press of weight from his huge claw, the griffin straightened. He stretched out the enormous expanse of his wings, and with enough force to buffet the formation of soldiers back in a tumble of swords, shields, and scattered caps, the griffin took flight.

    Up, he flew. Through stunned fighters. Past shattered third story windows, and over the crumbled rooftops.

    The power of his wings thudded the air, and wind blew through Gray¡¯s torn clothing, chilling his skin.

    One by one, the other griffins followed.

    Stillness settled.

    No one moved.

    No one made a sound.

    Then, from those left standing, erupting -

    Chaos.

    ¡ª

    Killian hauled Gray up.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    It was like someone was lighting a candle and then blowing it out in a pitch black room. Gray could only take in moments, like his consciousness dropped out every two seconds, only to roar back with startling clarity.

    Bodies were pressing close.

    Soldiers.

    Townsfolk.

    Gray¡¯s ears rang.

    The screaming crowd blurred in and out of focus.

    Hands grabbed him.

    Gray stumbled.

    His knees buckled.

    Someone tried to yank him backward, their fist strong on the back of his sweater.

    ¡®Back.¡¯ Killian¡¯s command rang over the clamour of voices and the scuffles of the feet.

    Killian held Gray close, pulled under his arm, tucked in an iron grip against his body.

    His sword was out. Pointed. Dripping blood. He spun in a tight circle, dragging Gray. Steel glinted in the sun. It kept the press of the chaos at bay.

    Killian stepped forward.

    The crowd was forced back, at sword tip.

    Again.

    And again.

    Gray couldn¡¯t tell if the crowd was friendly or angry. Excited or scared. His head lolled forward.

    -

    They were inside the Hall. The muted sounds of the chaos outside drifted to Gray¡¯s ears. His pulse thudded, making his head ache.

    ¡®They going to return?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Hm, kid?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ murmured Gray. ¡®I don¡¯t know.¡¯

    Up the main staircase, shoving past clamouring workers. Killian¡¯s sword was still drawn.

    Up, and into his room.

    Gray staggered, sliding down the wall.

    Killian locked the door. He dragged a dresser and set it up against the door as a barricade.

    Exhaustion was flooding Gray. His hearing flickered.

    He wanted to sleep for a hundred years.

    ¡®Nope,¡¯ said Killian, roughly untying the rope from Gray¡¯s wrists, ¡®you stay with me.¡¯

    Gray was sitting in a chair. Barefoot. He was rolling forward, towards sleep. Everything went very dark and very still. It felt so, so good.

    ¡®I need answers, Gray. There¡¯s a time for sleep, and it¡¯s not now.¡¯ Killian pushed him upright, hard against the back of the chair. He waved some kind of powder underneath Gray¡¯s nose. ¡¯Don¡¯t you dare.¡¯

    Gray startled away from the sharp sting of the powder.

    Killian peered into his eyes. ¡®You going to tell me what the damn that was?¡¯

    ¡®Huh?¡¯

    ¡®The griffin.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s dark gaze was nothing after staring into the griffin.

    His dark hair was matted with sweat and blood.

    His uniform was torn.

    ¡®That looked a lot like master and servant,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®And you weren¡¯t the master.¡¯ Killian hesitated for a moment. His dark gaze swivelled up and down Gray. ¡®Bonded griffins don¡¯t behave like that.¡¯

    ¡®No shit,¡¯ said Gray hoarsely. A wave of fury and humiliation was rampaging through him. This man had smashed him in the office when he¡¯d tried to warn him the griffins were coming, like he was nothing. He¡¯d thrown up in front of those soldiers, like some overprotected prince who¡¯d never seen gore before. He¡¯d been owned by that griffin in front of everyone.

    You know I haven¡¯t been trained, he wanted to yell. I could¡¯ve died.

    He fought it down.

    It wasn¡¯t important now.

    ¡®You¡¯ve been into the tombs,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®That called them. The griffins.¡¯

    There was no change in Killian¡¯s stance. No change in his face.

    ¡®You¡¯ve been breaking into them,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®You¡¯ve been looting-¡®

    ¡®I collect and protect valuables for the crown. It¡¯s not looting. This is my job.¡¯

    ¡®You call the griffins when -¡¯

    ¡®I call the griffins?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®You called them. You call them when you desecrate the tombs.¡¯

    ¡®Desecrate -?¡¯

    ¡®They¡¯re angry,¡¯ said Gray. It was vital Killian understood this. ¡¯They protect the tombs. You¡¯ve been breaking into too many resting places - they¡¯re upset -¡®

    Killian rounded on him. ¡®They protect the tombs? Griffins?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®No.¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®The Ancients didn¡¯t use griffins.¡¯

    ¡®I ¡­¡¯ Gray faded out, confused, unsure what the damn Killian was talking about.

    ¡®Some of the Ancients used dragons to protect their most important tombs,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®They didn¡¯t use griffins ¡­ there¡¯s no records of ¡­ not that I ¡­¡¯ Killian¡¯s voice was growing soft. ¡®The griffin told you this?¡¯

    ¡®He showed me, he showed me which ones you desecrated, I can tell you exactly which ones, you mustn¡¯t go into any more -¡®

    ¡®He showed you?¡¯ Killian¡¯s face was stone. ¡¯You didn¡¯t call those griffins?¡¯

    ¡¯No.¡¯

    ¡®And now, you¡¯re taking orders from them?¡¯ Killian said.

    ¡®You are,¡¯ said Gray, his voice cracking. ¡®You go into any tombs, they¡¯ll come back -¡®

    Killian made a derisive sound, and began pacing. ¡®Mages ride griffins, they call them, they don¡¯t take bleeding orders from them-¡¯

    ¡®You will take their orders!¡¯

    It would¡¯ve been a lot more impressive if Gray could raise his voice.

    It came out as an angry hiss.

    Killian stopped his pacing, facing the window. Probably searching for the threat of more specks in the sky.

    ¡®You didn¡¯t feel it,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®You - you didn¡¯t see what he showed me. I don¡¯t care what your job is. You can¡¯t go in there any more.¡¯

    ¡®I do what my king tells me. I don¡¯t obey griffins. And I certainly don¡¯t obey damn baby sorcerers who can¡¯t even get a griffin to cooperate-¡¯

    ¡®He - he cooperated - in a way ¡­¡¯

    Killian whirled around. His face was frozen. His shoulders were tight. ¡®The last time a mountain griffin came here ¡­ it was for the same reason?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know,¡¯ said Gray, fighting to keep the heat out of his voice.

    Killian¡¯s head was bowed. He held himself perfectly still. ¡®They come when there¡¯s a threat to the tombs?¡¯

    Gray opened his mouth to say yes, and then paused, turning his head sharply.

    Listening hard.

    The distant clamour of noise, the chaos outside, was getting louder.

    Closer.

    It sounded like they were inside the Hall.

    Coming up the stairs.

    Killian gripped a scarred hand hard in his sweaty hair. His shoulders were tight. ¡®Gods.¡¯

    He snatched up his sword, and jostled the dresser away from the door.

    ¡®You,¡¯ said Killian, way too calm for how loud the storm of voices and footsteps were, ¡®push this back across the door. And then you get underneath the bed. Understood?¡¯

    This was crazy. Gray forced himself up out of the chair. ¡®They¡¯re not going to-¡¯

    ¡®They will.¡¯

    ¡®Why -?¡¯

    ¡®Because,¡¯ Killian said, and there was an edge of pure ice in his voice, ¡®they¡¯re fucking idiots.¡¯

    And suddenly Gray was moving, he was hopping across the floor, he was blocking Killian from moving the dresser, and he was in the way of the door. Because he¡¯d seen Killian like this right before he¡¯d gone out and finished off the poor souls Codder had injured, and he knew what was coming.

    ¡®You can¡¯t call them that,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®they aren¡¯t idiots-¡¯

    ¡®Move.¡¯

    ¡®Let¡¯s talk to them,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Don¡¯t -¡¯

    ¡®Oh yeah,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®I¡¯m risking losing one million ardents because you want to play diplomat to a bunch of fools who don¡¯t have two brain cells to rub together.¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t kill them-¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m not killing anyone, my men are being fucking idiots, too. I¡¯m going to take care of it.¡¯

    There was way too much menace in Killian¡¯s words.

    ¡®You,¡¯ said Gray, swatting away Killian¡¯s hands hard enough that he raised his eyebrows in warning, ¡®you think-¡¯

    ¡®I think,¡¯ said Killian, his words rushed, fast, as the clamour of voices and footsteps were now much too close, ¡®to an untrained eye, it looked semi-impressive. You were glowing - because you can¡¯t control your damn magic, you¡¯re a damn walking hazard - you yelled I promise, and the deadly griffins flew away.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s not-¡¯

    ¡®To someone who knows a thing or two about griffins and sorcerers, you looked like a numpty. Which you are. That griffin made you his bitch.¡¯

    ¡®You already -¡¯

    ¡®A bunch of these people think they can tear you apart, very easily, and make a lot of money. Which they can.¡¯

    ¡®Killian-¡¯

    ¡®And a bunch of these people think you¡¯re some kind of fated chosen one that¡¯s going to lay all their fears about the boogeyman to rest.¡¯

    ¡®No-¡¯

    ¡®Which you¡¯re not, you can¡¯t do shit,¡¯ said Killian, leaning very close, the smallest hint of a snarl in his curled lip. ¡®Which is why when I tell you to put this dresser back across the door and hide under the bed while I take care of this, you need to obey me. Because I''m not risking one million ardents and an early retirement, kid.¡¯

 44. Hiding Under The Bed

    Gray locked the door after Killian and shoved the dresser against it as a barricade, his arms shaking with fatigue.

    ¡®Don¡¯t make me cut you, Musgrave,¡¯ came Killian¡¯s soft voice. He was barely audible. He was out in the corridor, he was walking, striding, making the floorboards creak underneath the carpet. ¡®I need you in my service.¡¯

    Musgrave answered, but Gray couldn''t make it out over his pulse pounding in his ears.

    Out in the corridor, there was a muted series of thuds and yells.

    Someone banged on the door.

    It cut off.

    Gray edged towards the dresser, gripping the sides.

    Behind him, someone snorted. Gray started.

    It was Frostvine.

    Frostvine.

    She snored gently, still fast asleep.

    Gray¡¯s stomach lurched. She was utterly defenceless if anyone came in the room.

    Hobbling over, Gray dragged Frostvine off the bed.

    She was a dead weight and Gray¡¯s strength was tapped out. Frostvine¡¯s long hair caught under her shoulders. Her complicated robes and sashes and ties twisted as he tried to roll her under the bed. She wore jewellery and gems everywhere Gray wanted to grip to drag.

    One of her many hair slides, encrusted with pearls and with a wicked long stem, fell out of her silvery hair.

    Gray tucked it up his sleeve, because that thing was as close to a knife he was going to find - because, surely, if anyone came in to tear Gray apart to sell his hair, tears, blood, whatever, then they¡¯d do the same to Frostvine, too, in a heartbeat.

    With some effort, Gray got Frostvine hidden underneath the bed.

    Gray hesitated, eyeing the small, dark space.

    And then, forced himself to squeeze next to her, slick with sweat, his heart pounding, and desperately tried not to focus on the airlessness.

    He stared hard at the ethereal profile of Frostvine, at the curl of her thick lashes over her high cheekbones, the curve of her lips, the dimple in her chin, as he listened to the brutal thuds, yells, and then the following disturbing silence.

    Waves of fatigues washed through Gray. They were so irrepressible that it swept over the adrenaline that had flooded his blood, that was pounding in his chest, and he dropped out of consciousness, once, twice -

    Someone was in the room.

    They¡¯d come in, and he hadn¡¯t heard them, he must¡¯ve blacked out as they¡¯d forced the door open, past the dresser.

    There were no footsteps.

    No pad against the carpet.

    But, the floorboards creaked. So slight and subtle underneath the thick carpet.

    Agonisingly slow.

    They were crossing the room.

    No - they were canvasing it. They were checking, searching.

    Gray stopped breathing. He could hear the whisper of movement from the person¡¯s clothes. The softest crack of a joint. The slide of a hand over a surface.

    His lungs burned. He got the hair slide ready in his fist. Carefully, silently, he reached his arm across Frostvine, ignoring the faint buzz of magic from being so close to her - a sensation so much more gentle, more peaceful than the goosebumps of Longwark and the prickle of Sorena, Frostvine¡¯s magic was kind of sensation he wished he could hold and keep - and he held himself ready.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    The floorboards creaked.

    And stopped, at the foot of the bed.

    They were visible through the sliver of a gap between the bed curtain and the carpet.

    Whoever it was, they weren¡¯t a soldier.

    Nor a northerner.

    Northerners wore boots prioritised for stop-start movement. To dodge, lunge, and run during axe training and tournaments. The treads of northern boots were made for traction. For snow and ice during the long winters. Thick, loud.

    This person wore old fashioned boots covered in glittering grey dust. The soles were cracked from age. Thin. Slippery. Flexible as a dancer¡¯s slipper. And utterly silent. The leather was crumbling.

    The hair slide dug into Gray¡¯s palm, he was gripping it so tight. He braced his arm over Frostvine, his muscles strained, sweat coating his skin like oil.

    He waited.

    They shifted, in the crack of sunlight. The breeze from their movement ruffled the bed curtain.

    Gray¡¯d never seen boots fashioned like this, styled like this, except for in the old portraits Barin hoarded in the back room of the tavern-

    The door crashed open.

    Someone had smashed through it like it was a pile of children¡¯s building blocks.

    Gray startled, glancing behind him, clutching Frostvine close.

    Hands reached under the bed. Twisted in his sweater. Said hands dragged Gray out unceremoniously, hard enough that Frostvine came, too, robes and hair sprawling, clasped in Gray¡¯s white-knuckled grip.

    The carpet burned against Gray¡¯s exposed skin, through the thin layers of his clothes. He blinked in the sting of full daylight, in the rush of fresh air.

    Gray barely registered Killian - still dragging him, looming over him, imposing and cold as steel, dripping gore, uniform blackened with debris - as Gray struggled to right himself, to see the person who¡¯d stood at the end of the bed.

    But the space right where they¡¯d stood was empty.

    Gone.

    They couldn¡¯t have moved that fast, they couldn¡¯t have hidden themselves so completely. But the room was empty. Still.

    ¡®Someone¡¯s here,¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®I know,¡¯ Killian said, his voice impossibly tight, coiled. ¡®I told you not to let anyone in.¡¯

    It didn¡¯t occur to Gray to set Killian straight, not with his heart pounding in his chest like it was, not with the threat of someone hiding in the room. Someone who¡¯d moved so fast that they¡¯d evaded Killian.

    Killian strode across the room, checking, checking, rifling through the curtains, throwing open wardrobe doors. His hair, slick with sweat and dirt, clung to his forehead. He stopped just short of the closed bathroom door. Flexed his scarred fists at his sides, veins bulging with strain.

    Kicked the bathroom door open.

    Edged in. Disappeared from view.

    Gray waited, all his senses on fire.

    ¡®Who?¡¯ Killian strode back out. His hand clenched the hilt of his sword, steady, simmering a threat that he was at the very edge of his patience. ¡®Who did you let in?¡¯

    Gray shook his head. He gripped the hair slide tight in his hand, nudging aside the drapings hanging down from the bed head with his bad foot.

    They were empty.

    Peered cautiously behind Killian¡¯s clothes chest.

    Nothing.

    ¡®There¡¯s no one here,¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray stood in shocked silence as Killian checked Frostvine and settled her back on the bed. He stood over her like a looming storm, streaked with blood and smeared with grime, his movements precise with restrained power. His gaze took her in, narrowed and dark, his jaw a sharp line.

    Unwilling to take his eyes off the room for a minute, Gray strained his ears, distracted by the complete silence coming from the corridors, the floors below, outside.

    There was no movement.

    The chaos was gone.

    And it sounded like every living soul was gone, too.

    ¡®What did you do?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®What are you talking about?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Why¡¯s it so quiet?¡¯

    Killian clicked his tongue. ¡®Not your concern, kid.¡¯

    Killian brusquely checked Gray, checking the bandage on his arm, his ankle, his head, checking his neck and throat.

    Killian¡¯s hands were sticky. Gray repressed a shiver.

    ¡®What¡¯s wrong with your breathing?¡¯ Killian said sharply. ¡®You succumbing to magic fatigue? You need more spark powder?¡¯

    Unwilling to test Killian right now by saying hell no to more of that stinging powder, right after he¡¯d - what, killed a bunch of people? Hurt them? - Gray shook his head. Tried to make his breathing less slow and deep. Less like he was about to fall into a coma.

    ¡®I¡¯m getting some,¡¯ said Killian. He clicked his fingers at the table by the window. ¡®You. Sit.¡¯

    When Gray hesitated Killian steered him towards the table with a sharp jab. ¡®Sit down, kid.¡¯ He strode towards his supplies near the window. ¡®I need answers-¡¯

    Killian stopped.

    He was right where the person had stood at the end of the bed, staring down at the floor.

    Chewing the inside of his lip, Gray hobbled forward curiously.

    There was glittering grey dust, coating the carpet, so delicately and so easy to miss.

    With a sharp glance at Gray, Killian crouched and rubbed his bloodstained fingertips over the dust. The muscles in his neck locked.

 45. He Gets Offended

    ¡®Killian?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Shut up.¡¯ Killian stood abruptly, rubbing the dust between his fingertips.

    He barged into the bathroom again. He flung open the wardrobe doors. Checked behind the curtains. Wrenched down the vent in the ceiling.

    Gray tracked him, his mouth dry. ¡®What is it?¡¯

    ¡®I told you to sit.¡¯

    Reluctantly, Gray sat down at the table.

    Killian¡¯s bloodstained fingers locked the bathroom door. He slid the bolt across every window. He slotted the vent back into the ceiling, turning the screws so hard to secure it that tiny pieces of plaster scattered for the floor.

    Wordlessly, Killian paced to the door and back again. Righted the dresser and the door half hanging off its hinges. Muttered a strong swear word.

    ¡®I need to look in on Longwark,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®The kids. The prisoners. You stay here.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s stomach dropped.

    Gray spoke over his sore throat. Pointed at Frostvine on the bed, and tried not to think how good that bed looked, so soft, so inviting. ¡®She¡¯s vulnerable. She can¡¯t protect herself.¡¯

    ¡®There¡¯s no one here,¡¯ said Killian sharply.

    ¡®I mean,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®I need a dagger - or an axe.¡¯

    ¡®No.¡¯ Killian let out a long, controlled breath.

    ¡®Go,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®But, give me a weapon.¡¯

    ¡®Never going to happen, kid.¡¯

    Killian paced back over to the door and stilled. His hands gripped the edges of the dresser. ¡®How long have they been coming, kid?¡¯

    Gray frowned. ¡®Huh?¡¯

    ¡®The griffins. How long have they been coming?¡¯

    It took a moment for Gray to orient his mind.

    ¡¯They don¡¯t come often,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Recently, just the morning of - of the murder. A small one. A tree griffin. Then the mountain griffin that afternoon.¡¯

    ¡®A tree griffin wasn¡¯t in any of the Captain¡¯s reports,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®didn¡¯t report it.¡¯

    The silence felt like an accusation.

    Gray strained to keep the defensiveness out of his hoarse voice. ¡®I didn¡¯t realise it was important.¡¯

    ¡®Looks like it¡¯s very important,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Yes?¡¯

    Gray frowned, mentally stumbling behind in the wake of the line of Killian¡¯s questioning.

    Someone had been breaking into the tombs.

    Since before the soldiers arrived in Krydon.

    And they were skilful enough at it that they¡¯d not alerted any of the tomb guardians.

    But it had alerted griffins.

    Numbness swept through Gray.

    Killian raised his eyebrows. ¡®What aren¡¯t you telling me, kid?¡¯

    Gray shook his head.

    ¡®Hm?¡¯

    Gray hesitated, and Killian waited. Gray shifted underneath his gaze.

    ¡®Look,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®I¡¯m - very tired, you¡¯ve reached magic fatigue - I know you¡¯re close to collapsing, let¡¯s not make this more difficult than it needs to be. You have information to tell me?¡¯

    Gray chewed the inside of his lip. ¡®I ¡­¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s about Longwark,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Yes?¡¯

    Gray stilled, and then fisted his clammy hands to hide his reaction. It always came back to Longwark, and somehow Killian could read it, read him so easily.

    ¡®The jar?¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s nothing,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®The Othoans?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ Gray muttered.

    Killian was still in a strained kind of way, except for his fingers tapping against his thigh.

    ¡®Kid,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®I don¡¯t particularly want to fuck up your face, I need you presentable for the king, but I know you¡¯re withholding information and I will do what it takes-¡¯

    ¡®OK,¡¯ said Gray, anger lurching inside him, wild recklessness building through the thick fatigue, and desperately wanting to tell Killian to get screwed, but he couldn¡¯t, he had to stay calm and keep playing the game until he could take every last soldier away from Krydon. ¡®You¡¯re not going to-¡¯

    ¡®You will be honest with me, kid. You know I have ways of loosening your tongue, and none of them are pleasant for you.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s nothing. Nothing,¡¯ said Gray, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, shoving the hairslide still clamped in his sweaty fist in there. His fingertips brushed the cold metal of the prison keys - the damn keys he¡¯d stolen and he¡¯d forgotten he was carrying around with him the whole morning like a fool - and he bowed his head to hide his face.

    Holy Clochaint.

    Gray needed Killian to back off. He needed a moment to throw away the keys.

    And he absolutely could not afford a confrontation that resulted in Killian shaking the keys loose or feeling them in some way.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Slowly, he looked up, to see if there was anything in Killian¡¯s bearing to show he¡¯d realised what Gray had just felt in his pocket.

    ¡®It¡¯s clearly not nothing,¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray shifted his weight in the chair, his chest tight.

    ¡®The way I see it,¡¯ said Killian, his jaw clenched, ¡®we have the same goal here, kid.¡¯

    ¡®Do we,¡¯ said Gray faintly.

    ¡®You want to remove the threat to this town?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray carefully controlled his reaction. He pushed down the urge to tell Killian he and his men were the biggest threat to this town, and were actively ignoring the threat that had killed Alistair and Rowan.

    ¡®Hm?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray forced his jaw open. ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®So, you have something to tell me?¡¯

    Silence pounded the room. It filled the air, building second by second

    Shit. Gray rubbed his forehead, feeling heavy. ¡®Alistair ¡­ he thought ¡­¡¯

    Killian waited, his lips tight.

    ¡®Alistair,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®thought Longwark was trying to break into the tombs.¡¯

    Killian regarded him wordlessly.

    ¡®Alistair saw Longwark threatening a tomb guardian,¡¯ said Gray. Each word was a weight being pulled from him. Gray had been shielding Longwark, keeping information from Killian, because he didn¡¯t want to help this man. He -

    ¡®When?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡¯The night before - before ...¡¯

    ¡®Before what?¡¯

    ¡®Before Ali - the night I found him. In Chester¡¯s Close.¡¯ Gray drew in a shallow breath, his shoulders hunching inwards. ¡®Alistair thought Longwark was trying to get into the tombs, by intimidating a guardian.¡¯ Gray pressed his filthy hands to his face. Shame was ripping through him. ¡®I - I dismissed it. I dismissed him. Ali.¡¯

    ¡®Ali tell you anything else?¡¯ said Killian.

    Ice shards were flooding Gray¡¯s blood. Gray stared at him, words swimming around his sluggish mind. Had Alistair gotten caught up in some stupid, self-destructive prank or scheme involving the tombs, or he¡¯d confronted Longwark, or Longwark knew Alistair knew-

    No.

    The rats, Gray reminded himself.

    It had to be some creature or curse that had slunk out of the forest, and it had gotten Alistair and it had gotten Rowan, and it wasn¡¯t the first time because there was that damn creepy lullaby about Gallow¡¯s Alley. If only Gray could remember the exact lyrics, maybe it would give him some idea about what and why. Longwark wouldn¡¯t have killed-

    ¡®Kid?¡¯

    Gray shook his head. ¡®I was distracted. We had to get to school. We had exams.¡¯

    Killian watched him, his shoulders controlled. ¡®Give me details. I need something to work with.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s voice was hoarse and low. Broken. ¡®What details?¡¯

    ¡®Think, kid.¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t-¡¯ Gray stilled as a memory surfaced, swallowing painfully. ¡®Longwark¡¯s pants - in detention, before - before everything - they were torn at the hems. He had a mottled lavender weed stuck on his shoe. It was fresh. They - they grow in the graveyard, where most of the tombs are.¡¯

    ¡®Stealing from the Othoans,¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡®And stealing from the tombs. He¡¯s quite the thief, hm?¡¯

    Gray chewed the inside of his lip. ¡®Maybe.¡¯

    ¡®It doesn¡¯t surprise me. Sorcerers love collecting ¡­¡¯ Killian hesitated ¡®¡­ things. The rarer and more powerful the better.¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t have proof,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Nothing real. You need proof.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re a lawyer now?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray clenched his jaw shut, glaring blindly out the window, his hands hot in his lap. He couldn¡¯t get into an argument with Killian, he needed Killian to get the heck out of the room, to leave him alone for a minute.

    ¡®We,¡¯ said Killian softly, ¡®can¡¯t enter the tombs without griffins seeking retribution, or coming at us?¡¯

    ¡¯Right,¡¯ mumbled Gray.

    ¡®But, you¡¯re here,¡¯ said Killian, his voice growing steadily softer as though he was talking to himself. Gray struggled to hear him. ¡®And you can communicate with the griffins. In a fashion. Perhaps negotiate with them. Yes?¡¯

    ¡®There wasn¡¯t a lot of give and take in that exchange.¡¯

    ¡®You could learn. If you had the right teacher.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m not helping you go into any tombs,¡¯ said Gray, his jaw clenched. ¡®You can¡¯t go in them.¡¯

    ¡®You misunderstand me,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You¡¯re not helping me do shit. You¡¯re going to the king as soon as possible. He wants you kneeling in the grand stadium, which ¡­¡¯

    Killian made a choked kind of sound.

    For a wild second, Gray thought maybe he was crying.

    But, then, he realised Killian was withholding laughter. He held his head in his scarred hands.

    And then he was pacing, fast, faster, his head in his hands, and Gray could practically see the wheels turning as he was figuring something out, and he was damn half smiling, like someone had just said something wild, something borderline taboo, that danced on the edge of black humour.

    ¡®Krupin and Wilde¡¯s agents loot tombs,¡¯ Killian eventually said, his voice strained with pushed-down amusement, ¡®It was so strange, Wilde¡¯s assassin protecting his marked enemy. He was here for the tombs. You¡¯re a tool. He needed you to help him get what he wanted.¡¯

    It took Gray a moment to understand who Killian was talking about.

    Wilde¡¯s assassin.

    Branbright.

    ¡®Tool seems about right,¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian glanced at Gray, a strange expression on his face. ¡®Branbright thought you were Clochaint sent, didn¡¯t he? A Griffin kid, falling right into his lap, right where the tombs are guarded by griffins. It¡¯s all too neat.¡¯

    Gray opened his mouth. Closed it.

    ¡®You were planted here,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Yes?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re ¡­ Branbright didn¡¯t ¡­¡¯

    Killian waited, staring darkly through his hair. Silence built.

    Eventually, Killian leant forward, the hard line of his lips curled ever so slightly in contempt. ¡®I¡¯m talking about Longwark. He¡¯s from here. He knows about the tombs. He damn well brought you here from the Griffin home in Hobbtown after the duel, and that¡¯s why. Isn¡¯t it?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s heart hammered.

    ¡®Hm, kid?¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®don¡¯t know. I don''t think Longwark knew about the griffins - he was angry when ...¡¯

    ''When?''

    ''... when the first griffin came.''

    Killian paced. ¡®Was Longwark competing with Branbright, jostling for favour?¡¯

    ¡®Favour with who?¡¯ said Gray.

    There was a loaded silence.

    Slowly, Killian leant forward, his gaze dark. ¡®The big boss.¡¯

    His words were loaded with decades worth of heat.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Is Longwark working for Wilde?¡¯ said Killian, very precisely, very clearly, as though Gray hadn¡¯t understood him the first time, like Gray didn¡¯t know who the big boss was, as though Gray¡¯s answer couldn¡¯t really be no. ¡®And Krupin?¡¯

    ¡®I - Longwark¡¯s not working with Wilde.¡¯ He couldn¡¯t. He just couldn¡¯t. ¡®He¡¯s not working with anyone.¡¯

    ¡®Not you?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray felt an offended flush of red in his cheeks. ¡®Absolutely not.¡¯

    Killian dusted his fingers off, and the tiniest trail of glittering dust drifted to the floor.

    Gray watched it fall.

    ¡®Longwark¡¯s playing a very long game,¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡®Isn¡¯t he?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®He brought you here, and he was waiting for your first ryece,¡¯ said Killian. He raised his eyebrows, pinning Gray with his gaze. ¡®But, then, along came Branbright. Gods, he must¡¯ve been so mad. How mad was he, kid?¡¯

    ¡®You can keep asking me these questions,¡¯ said Gray, straining to keep his cool. ¡®And I can keep telling you I don¡¯t know. Longwark doesn¡¯t share his plans with me. He barely talks to me.¡¯

    Killian shot him an appraising glance.

    ¡®Branbright and Longwark weren¡¯t just competing to collect you, were they?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Hm, kid?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know,¡¯ said Gray coolly.

    ¡®They were competing over tombs, too. Yes?¡¯

    Gray stilled.

    Killian clocked it, and for some damn reason it pleased him. A slow smile spread over his face.

    ¡®There¡¯s something really good down there,¡¯ said Killian, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡®Something worth killing for. And if they¡¯re risking angering those griffins, they think it¡¯s worth dying for, too.¡¯

 46. These Flashbacks Are Part Of A Bigger Plan, I Promise

    Gray watched Killian set himself up at the table with parchment and a quill.

    ¡®We¡¯ll need special forces here,¡¯ he said. ¡®More men are on the way, but we¡¯ll need ¡­¡¯

    ¡®More soldiers?¡¯ said Gray. His lips were numb. He could barely stand to talk.

    Killian barely shot him a glance. He abandoned his papers at the table and stalked over to his neatly folded clothes by his trunk. ¡®Yes. We¡¯ll need them, to get into the tombs -¡®

    ¡®You can¡¯t go into the tombs!¡¯

    Gray had stood without realising. He swayed.

    It was more than not knowing what would happen if Gray broke a promise he¡¯d made to the griffins (disembowelled, probably). Killian was trampling through very old and sacred spaces. Defiling them. Stealing.

    It was bad enough that he¡¯d raided their town treasury.

    Killian shoved one of his spare undershirts and sleeping shorts at Gray. ¡®Shut up. Clean yourself. Then, sleep.¡¯

    Gray dropped the clean clothes. His mind was pulled in five different directions, but he was aware, underneath everything, that the prison keys were deep in his pocket, and he couldn¡¯t risk changing clothes and having the keys fall out.

    ¡¯You¡¯re endangering the people here,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®The griffins will return.¡¯

    This got no reaction from Killian. At all. He calmly sat back down at the table and took up the quill again.

    ¡®How many of your men did they kill?¡¯ said Gray, pushing his voice louder.

    ¡®Shut up, Gray. Wash. Sleep.¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t you need to check on Longwark?¡¯ Gray edged forward. ¡®The Ralph kids, you should-¡¯

    ¡®Silence.¡¯

    Gray stayed still, his fists curled.

    Killian¡¯s dark hair hung in his dark eyes.

    Gray clenched his jaw, despair sweeping through him. A crouched predator was lurking behind Killian¡¯s stare. He wasn¡¯t going to back down.

    ¡®You going to pick up my clothes?¡¯ said Killian.

    Carefully, Gray stooped to pick up the clothes, grimacing at the pain in his ribs, and he made his way over to Killian¡¯s chest, folding them back up and stacking them back onto Killian¡¯s pile of clothes.

    He would¡¯ve loved to change into clean clothes.

    To wash, to be dressed in fresh clothing was a dream and it itched at Gray that his sweater and trousers were disgusting.

    He could use the wash cloth, at least. Hobbling over to the wash basin, Gray stared longingly at the locked bathroom door, and then wrenched his gaze away, not wanting Killian to catch him. He wouldn¡¯t let Killian see him care.

    The filth, the dirt, the grimy clothes.

    It didn¡¯t matter.

    He started stripping off his torn sweater. He stilled partway, hissing.

    ¡®Shut the fuck up, kid,¡¯ said Killian, over the scratching of his quill, ¡®I won¡¯t tell you again.¡¯

    Gray wiped guts off his arm in silence. He was fighting fatigue off with every breath.

    He cleaned off something black and sticky from his fingernails, his movements getting slower. More clumsy.

    Gray pulled his sweater back on.

    And slid down to the floor. He breathed slow and heavy, his head bowing lower and lower.

    ¡®Bed.¡¯ Killian¡¯s voice was distant. Gray dimly registered the sound of him rolling up paper, and corking the ink bottle.

    Gray cast a slow glance at the huge bed next to him, at Frostvine, peacefully lying on her side with her silvery twists and braids tucked neatly out of her face.

    ¡®Not that bed,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Your bed.¡¯

    But, Gray¡¯s bedroll was across the room.

    And the carpet underneath him was soft. It was the thickest carpet he¡¯d ever felt.

    He needed to get to his bedroll, though. This was important. It was best that he got himself to the bedroll, and lay down, and hid those damn keys, somehow, back underneath ¡­

    Gray staggered upright. Stumbled to his bedroll. Collapsed.

    The keys were hard underneath his hip.

    Someone was peering into his blurring eyes and their warm hand was on his shoulder. ¡®Gray?¡¯ The voice was low.

    ¡®Mmm,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®What were you doing, before the griffins?¡¯

    Gray breathed slow. What had he been doing?

    ¡®You were trying to leave?¡¯ the voice coaxed.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    ¡®No,¡¯ breathed Gray, folding in on himself. ¡¯I ¡­¡¯

    ¡®You were looking for something?¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    Gray should be more guarded. He should take care ¡­

    ¡®What were you looking for?¡¯

    ¡®Apple ¡­¡¯

    No, said a quiet voice inside Gray¡¯s mind. Sshh. Gray frowned, his eyes impossibly heavy, mad at the quiet voice. It was disrupting the encroaching warmth and stillness.

    Silence fell, broken only by Gray¡¯s steady breath. His fingers curled into the bedroll.

    The hand was back on his shoulder, its weight reassuring. The low voice continued, ¡®You stole the burgfestean jar from the Othoans with Longwark?¡¯

    ¡®No ¡­¡¯

    ¡®He made you hide it?¡¯

    ¡®I ¡­¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s in the Hall?¡¯

    ¡®He ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Gray. He has a hold on you?¡¯

    Blackness was beckoning, warm and still. The gentle voice dissolved.

    -

    And was replaced by Rowan Conn¡¯s.

    ¡®I¡¯m throwing a party before exams,¡¯ Rowan said, grinning widely. ¡®Blow off some steam before the stress begins. You¡¯re invited.¡¯

    It was a crystal clear memory, and dazzlingly bright.

    Rowan Conn stood with Jude James loitering behind him, his shadow stretching over Gray and Alistair as they sat on the school lawn. Jude James with his perfectly quaffed hair, and Rowan Conn with his eyebrow stud and his beat up leather jacket he always wore, no matter how hot or cold it got.

    And - oh boy - the sun was hot. Oppressive. Sweat trickled down the back of Gray¡¯s neck. Dried grass prickled through his clothes. Summer was just around the corner, and the promise of freedom hung in the air.

    Gray glanced at Alistair, who was reclined with his hands behind his head, squinting. His school lunch was half eaten, sitting beside him on its brown wrapping. Alistair looked like he wasn¡¯t about to rush into anything - least of all, a party.

    His curly hair ruffled in a much needed breeze.

    ¡®Oh, I don¡¯t know, old chap,¡¯ Alistair said. ¡®I¡¯ll have to check my schedule.¡¯

    ¡®You want to check your ego, too?¡¯ said Rowan.

    A smile crept across Alistair¡¯s face, utterly irrepressible.

    ¡®Your sidekick can come,¡¯ said Rowan, nodding at Gray.

    ¡®His what?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®He¡¯s less my sidekick,¡¯ said Alistair, ¡®and more the nerd to my jock.¡¯

    ¡®The what?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®In a good way,¡¯ said Alistair reassuringly. ¡®Studiousness is way too undervalued in our society.¡¯

    ¡®You reckon you could knock up a bunch of snapdragon fireworks?¡¯ said Jude, peering at Gray over Rowan¡¯s shoulder. ¡®I got a bunch of fiery snap rocks. You can transform them, right? I¡¯m thinking red and gold, to really spice things up at the party.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s why I¡¯m getting an invite,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Knew there had to be a catch.¡¯

    ¡®Can you?¡¯ said Jude eagerly.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray, without the slightest hesitation. ¡®Yes, I can.¡¯

    ¡®Woah.¡¯ Alistair sat up. ¡®Hold on, sidekick. He¡¯s not your alchemy monkey. We haven¡¯t accepted the invite, yet.¡¯

    ¡®Seriously?¡¯ said Rowan. ¡®You ditched last time. Rosie and her friends left when you didn¡¯t show. You owe me.¡¯

    Alistair let out a theatrical sigh, settling his shoulders back against the grass. ¡®Rosie¡¯s her own woman. I don¡¯t dictate what she and her friends do.¡¯

    ¡®Come to the damn party, Ali,¡¯ said Rowan.

    ¡®Are we going to be required to use our party manners?¡¯

    Jude peered over Rowan¡¯s shoulder again, and snorted. ¡®If you mean shower first and not vomit on his mum¡¯s prized daffodil garden this time, yeah.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s a lot to ask,¡¯ Alistair said, ¡®but what the hell. We¡¯re in.¡¯ He turned to Gray. ¡®Right?¡¯

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Gray with a grin.

    Rowan and Alistair did a complicated handshake, and Jude clapped Rowan on his shoulder, steering him away to a group of girls by the school gate - Rosie among them. The sight of her made something twist in Gray¡¯s gut.

    Alistair nudged Gray. ¡®You know what we should do? Set off firebreath at their party, not snapdragon fireworks. And make the firebreath out-of-this-world big.¡¯

    ¡®Uh.¡¯ Gray winced. ¡®I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea.¡¯

    Alistair hoed into the remains of his lunch. ¡®Why not?¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t you ever get that little voice in the back of your head? The one that tells you you¡¯re about to get into trouble?¡¯

    Alistair stared at him, mid-chew on his sandwich. ¡®No.¡¯

    ¡®That checks out,¡¯ Gray said.

    Alistair grinned, his black eyes alight. ¡®Look, if you¡¯re so worried, we can do something else. Something bigger than snapdragon fireworks. Something that¡¯ll get you noticed. Make the girls look at you. You gotta get over Rosie.¡¯

    ¡®How did this conversation find its way to Rosie?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You got to broaden your social circle,¡¯ said Alistair. ¡®Stop being so shy.¡¯

    Gray groaned inwardly. ¡®Please. No.¡¯

    ¡®There¡¯s always Lily-Anna-¡¯

    ¡®Pfffft,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Lily-Anna¡¯s got way too much taste to go for me.¡¯

    ¡®-Lily-Anna¡¯s little sister,¡¯ finished Alistair, grinning broadly at Gray. ¡®You got to stop falling in love with older women.¡¯

    ¡®And women out of my league,¡¯ said Gray, nodding agreeably.

    ¡®Wait, I¡¯ve got it,¡¯ said Alistair, waving his sandwich crust around. ¡®You create a diversion at the party, and I¡¯ll set loose a bunch of drake-mites. Chaos. It¡¯s perfect.¡¯

    Gray blinked. ¡®There¡¯s so much wrong with that I don¡¯t know where to start.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s flawless,¡¯ said Alistair, ¡®because it¡¯s simple. And because anything¡¯s better than snapdragon fireworks.¡¯

    ¡®Drake-mites?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡¯They¡¯re a special breed of mites. They start fires.¡¯

    Gray rubbed his neck. ¡®I¡¯m not helping you with this. This will make everyone hate us.¡¯

    ¡¯Small fires,¡¯ said Alistair.

    ¡®You belong in jail. You know that?¡¯

    ¡®No one ever got hurt by a small fire,¡¯ said Alistair.

    ¡®Are you insane?¡¯

    Alistair grinned. ¡®Oh yeah.¡¯

    ¡®The gods help me.¡¯

    ¡®Fine, have it your way - we¡¯ll stick with the out-of-this-world big firebreath fire. No muss, no fuss, no one gets burnt. Happy?¡¯

    Alistair settled his shoulders back on the grass, grinning his lit-from-within grin.

    Gray dropped his water flask onto the grass and closed his eyes. ¡®This is why I left the law academy brochure on your bed. I hope you applied-¡¯ Gray paused. ¡®You¡¯re messing with me?¡¯

    ¡®Whenever I can, yes.¡¯

    Gray hit him on the stomach.

    Alistair curled away, laughing. ¡®Let them have their measly little snapdragon fireworks. Give the ants a show.¡¯

    ¡®OK,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Not a bad plan, though, eh? The firebreath.¡¯

    Mentally, Gray searched for something to distract Alistair, because Ali absolutely would think an out-of-this-world big firebreath fire would be a good plan, but he also had the sort of mind that would jump from thing to thing and latch onto another topic easily enough.

    ¡®Did you hear something last night?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Barin snoring?¡¯ said Alistair.

    ¡¯No - like wailing in the street. It was kind of eerie, honestly.¡¯

    Gray plucked a straggling fierilion weed from the grass and shredded it apart. He glanced over his shoulder towards the alchemy lab, in case Longwark appeared to shout at Gray for carelessness with volatile plants.

    Alistair checked over his shoulder, too, catching Gray¡¯s nerves, and then shook his head. ¡®You know me, I sleep like the dead.¡¯

 47. She Moves Like A Dryad

    Gray woke, too warm, and his pulse beating too hard.

    He rolled onto his side, seeking coolness and to disrupt the dream. He slipped his hand out from underneath the blanket.

    He focused on the sounds of the dying fire.

    His pulse steadied.

    Better.

    The air outside the blanket held a lack, though.

    The lack was strange enough that Gray, against his every desire, made himself open his eyes, and pushed himself into full wakefulness.

    He was on the bedroll. His hair had grown back as it always did, ever determinedly shoulder-length. He blinked through the dark strands in his face. The room was shadowed, lit only by the flickering orange light of the fire, and a sputtering lamp on the dining table.

    Killian sat in a chair at the table. Papers were piled in front of him.

    He was so still, he could¡¯ve been sleeping.

    When Gray clumsily pushed himself up, though, Killian¡¯s eyes darted to him. The firelight was reflected in his dark gaze.

    He¡¯d been reading, Gray realised. There was a tattered book on his lap.

    Gray glanced around the room.

    ¡®What¡¯s wrong, kid?¡¯ said Killian.

    Killian put the book onto the table, straightening up.

    Gray frowned.

    ¡®Who¡¯s here?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray cast another glance around. Killian must¡¯ve gone in and out of the room at some point, because the dresser was back in its usual spot, away from barricading the door.

    The door was slightly ajar.

    Gray¡¯s frown deepened.

    That¡¯s when Gray noticed it.

    The giant bed.

    Empty.

    ¡®Where¡¯s Frostvine?¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian glanced over his shoulder at the bed.

    He leapt to his feet, the chair tumbling over. ¡®Fuck.¡¯

    He barged into the bathroom. Out, his hand clutched in his dark hair.

    ¡®She moves like a dryad. She¡¯s silent, she¡¯s ¡­¡¯

    Killian sprinted out of the room.

    His voice called, as he pounded down the corridor. Then, moments later, it tore up from outside the Hall. Killian was bellowing at the top of his lungs, tracking her outside.

    Gray stared at the dark hall, visible outside the gaping door to the room. His chest was tight.

    People were stirring in the Hall. Footsteps padded in the corridor.

    Distantly, in the back of Gray¡¯s mind, rose a sharp thought.

    Killian had a weakness.

    This was the second time Gray had seen it.

    Killian slept heavily. For all his talk of sleeping with one eye open, the man slept as heavily as Frostvine at times. He had a habit of working himself to exhaustion. Killian must¡¯ve fallen asleep while reading, long enough for Frostvine to wake and leave the room ¡­

    Gray staggered upright just as Killian sprinted back into the room. His scarred face was pale. His lips were tight.

    ¡®Kid, come here,¡¯ said Killian, urging Gray over to the table.

    Killian spread out a map.

    ¡®Killian,¡¯ said Gray, shaking his head, knowing what Killian was going to ask him, ¡®I-¡¯

    ¡®Close your eyes,¡¯ Killian snapped.

    His uniform was half unbuttoned. His dark hair was a mess.

    Gray swallowed, knowing saying no to Killian right now was not an option.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    But, Gray did not want to -

    ¡®Close your eyes, Gray.¡¯

    ¡®You can¡¯t track her?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®The trail is hours old. She - can - fahren. I need to efficiency right now. Close your eyes!¡¯

    Gray obeyed.

    ¡®Get out of your mind.¡¯ A pause, and Killian¡¯s soft voice was more controlled. His hand was pressing on Gray¡¯s chest. ¡®Feel here. Just feel and let it be. Don¡¯t try.¡¯

    Warm tendrils of power were curling up inside Gray, and they were definitely not delicate.

    They were stampeding.

    Gray wrenched his eyes open.

    The power rising within him stopped.

    Simmered down.

    Killian stared at him, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

    ¡®Close your damn eyes, kid,¡¯ he said.

    ¡®I don¡¯t -¡®

    Killian slammed his hand down on the map. ¡®Tell me where she is.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s - all or nothing. I can¡¯t control-¡¯

    ¡®Fine,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Give it all.¡¯

    Reluctant humiliation was sweeping through Gray.

    ¡®A two-year-old mage could do this,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I¡¯m not-¡¯

    ¡®Now¡¯s not the time for your shit.¡¯ Killian clenched his mouth shut, into a hard line. ¡®Focus. Close your eyes.¡¯

    His voice was tighter than Gray had ever heard it. Any second now it would snap, it would shatter, and wild fury would emerge.

    Gray edged back.

    ¡®Close your eyes,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I don¡¯t want to hurt anyone,¡¯ Gray mumbled.

    ¡®I won¡¯t let you.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s hand was on Gray¡¯s shoulder, dragging him back close to the edge of the map.

    ¡®You can feel another mage¡¯s signature,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You felt Sorena when she came, yes? This is the same thing. You can do this in your sleep.¡¯

    ¡®Killian, I-¡¯

    ¡®Come on,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Close your eyes.¡¯

    He couldn¡¯t let it be. Letting it be unleashed the furore of power within him.

    But, it was either face the wrath within him, or the wrath of Killian.

    Letting out a long breath, and against every instinct within him, Gray closed his eyes.

    Gray prodded at the sensation within him, around him, at the quiet lack in the air.

    He tried to follow it, but it was tangled, tangled, deliberately tangled. It hurt to unravel like a snarl in his hair resisting a comb.

    He needed more force. More power.

    More.

    Power came gushing up, like steaming air through a puncture.

    Frostvine had gone through this room. Through the Hall. Through Krydon, to the very edge, into the forest-

    And Gray felt something horrible. It was a pain worse plunging through sharp ice into freezing water. Gray¡¯s skin crawled.

    Gray wrenched his eyes open, stumbling back from the map. He slammed an internal wall over the gaps his magic had risen through, slammed it so hard he gasped, clutching the collar of his sweater in his fist.

    Killian watched, his dark hair hanging in his eyes. ¡®Where is she?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know.¡¯

    ¡®Where?¡¯

    ¡®Forest -¡¯ Gray fumbled with the map, to the last point he had contact with Frostvine¡¯s trail, ¡®-but she¡¯s moved, there¡¯s something awful-¡¯

    ¡®Who¡¯s she with?¡¯

    ¡®She¡¯s - concealing her trail, she doesn¡¯t want to be followed-¡¯

    ¡®WHO¡¯S SHE WITH?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know. Don¡¯t ask me-¡¯

    Killian snatched the map. Gray flinched.

    ¡®Fine,¡¯ Killian growled. ¡®That¡¯s just fine. That¡¯s how you want to play it. You want to be useless to me? Be useless. You coddled, pampered, useless child.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s cheeks were horribly hot.

    He stalked to the corridor. ¡®Soldier!¡¯

    Gray¡¯s pulse pounded in his ears. He trained his gaze carefully on the landscape painting by the bathroom door.

    Russet ran up, skidding to a halt in front of Killian. His boots were unlaced and the topmost buttons on his uniform were undone.

    He clutched his side, his rabbit-fast eyes glancing from Killian to Gray and back again. ¡®Major?¡¯

    Killian glared at him, and Russet fumbled with his buttons and then crouched to tie his laces.

    ¡®Bring me Codder,¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡®Or Pickering or Brown. Whoever you find first. Quickly now.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    Russet was fast. Within seconds he sprinted back, a pale-faced Pickering at his heels.

    ¡®Watch the kid,¡¯ said Killian to Pickering softly. ¡®I want you inside the room. Bolt the door. Don¡¯t open it for anyone but me, got it?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    ¡®Rookie, you too. Watch all entry points. Understood?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    Then, Killian was gone. Pickering hastily bolted the door, and then he and Russet turned to look at Gray.

    Pickering held himself stiffly. His back was ramrod straight. His face was an emotionless mask, rather like the one Killian often wore. His face and body bore signs of the fight against the griffins - two of his fingers were strapped together, and flecks of grazes marked his face and neck.

    Pickering was young, but he was tall and well-muscled. If he wanted to tear Gray apart, Pickering absolutely could.

    Russet edged into the room, eyeing Gray.

    Gray shifted, and then after an uncomfortable moment of silence, he sat down heavily at the table.

    He didn¡¯t damn well care if Pickering tore him apart.

    He stared hard at his knees.

    After a moment, Pickering joined him.

    Behind him, Russet moved quietly, and Gray turned sharply to watch him. Russet was picking tiny splinters of wood out of the carpet, from where Killian had smashed through the door and dresser earlier that day.

    Neither of them spoke. Gray waited for them to speak. To ask where Frostvine was, or what had happened, why their Major was so on edge.

    Pickering reached into his pocket.

    Gray watched him warily.

    Pickering pulled out a worn deck of playing cards. He shot Gray a glance. The few moles dotting his face were barely visible in the soft orange firelight.

    ¡®You know,¡¯ said Pickering, ¡®how to play pairs?¡¯

 48. How To Unintentionally Cultivate Friendships

    Gray, Russet, and Pickering were playing pairs as the sun rose.

    Fingers of golden sunlight crept across the room, highlighting tiny dust particles hanging in the air.

    ¡®Everyone thought he¡¯d killed you,¡¯ said Russet.

    His cheeks were flushed a faded pink, and he¡¯d rolled up his sleeves to reveal his skull and bones tattoos. He spoke as though commenting on the dawn, like he was talking about the redness of the sky.

    Gray paused, mid-slide of a card.

    Pickering pulled a discrete face at Gray, shaking his head minutely, mouthing no. He sat opposite Gray, his sword within easy reach and his back ramrod straight. His blue eyes were watchful.

    Russet caught it.

    ¡®It¡¯s true,¡¯ said Russet. ¡®Last time there was a fuss about a prisoner, he slit his throat.¡¯ Russet¡¯s voice was thin around the edges, betraying his calm exterior. ¡®Right in front of us. To teach us a lesson, he said. To deprive us all of the prize money, as punishment.¡¯

    Gray sat still in his chair. Any time he thought his heart couldn¡¯t beat any harder, he found out - yes - it could.

    ¡®That¡¯s not,¡¯ said Pickering, a little stiffly, ¡®entirely true. Stop talking shit, rookie.¡¯

    Russet was staring hard at the pile of cards on the table. ¡®It was a halfing. Half selkie. Rare. The Augustes pay well for any captured. Some of the men went crazy, thinking they could ¡­¡¯ Russet glanced up, clearing his throat. ¡®Anyway, he hasn¡¯t killed you.¡¯

    Pickering snorted. ¡®He¡¯s not killing him. Are you kidding me?¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m just saying what everyone¡¯s saying,¡¯ said Russet.

    Pickering snorted again. He was going to shake something loose up there. ''Then we run in different circles.''

    Russet leaned forward. ''If you''d let me sit with you and Codder during meals-''

    ''I''m not sitting with Codder during meals,'' said Pickering. ''He''s always just - there. And you don''t go near him. He''s dangerous.''

    ''More dangerous than Major?'' said Russet.

    Pickering shut his mouth, his blue gaze down on his cards. He cleared his throat.

    Eventually, Pickering said, ¡®Major went into intimidation mode. Not kill mode. He ¡­¡¯ Pickering glanced at Gray. ¡®He¡¯s intimidated everyone here enough that they¡¯ll leave you alone. You don¡¯t touch Major¡¯s payday. And there¡¯s more to the selkie halfling story, I promise you.¡¯

    Gray would¡¯ve rather talked about anything else - hell, awkward silence would be better than this topic - and he slid a card across the table.

    ¡®Pair,¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®Your townsfolk can fight, though, eh?¡¯ said Russet.

    ¡®What?¡¯ said Gray, lifting his gaze sharply.

    Pickering pushed the pile of cards Gray had just won across the table, rolling his eyes. ¡®Rookie¡¯s got a man-crush on every northern warrior he sees wield an axe.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ve never seen northerners fight,¡¯ said Russet. ¡®I¡¯ve never seen northerners, never been here before. I¡¯m a southern boy. Clochaint, they¡¯re good.¡¯If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    ¡®Killian hurt them?¡¯ said Gray, clutching the cards.

    ¡®Hurt their pride,¡¯ said Pickering. ¡®They¡¯re not used to being bested, eh?¡¯

    ¡®Bested?¡¯ said Gray, his stomach dropping. ¡®What did he do?¡¯

    ¡®There were half a dozen of them caught up in the crush after the griffins flew off. They were lucky Darcy wasn¡¯t here. General, too. If General had seen them fight against the Major, they¡¯d be conscripted into the army like that.¡¯

    ¡®Oh,¡¯ said Gray, shifting uncomfortably. ¡®I think the Augustes tried that before. It didn¡¯t go well.¡¯

    ¡®They¡¯re brilliant,¡¯ said Russet. ¡®Do you think they could teach me some of their moves?¡¯

    ¡®They¡¯re not going to teach you any of their moves,¡¯ said Pickering. ¡®Use them on you if you dare ask, maybe.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ll ask nicely,¡¯ said Russet.

    ¡®They¡¯ll kill you nicely,¡¯ said Pickering. ¡®You know what we did, how we conquered them, eighty years ago?¡¯

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Russet. ¡®It was ages ago, they¡¯re over it-¡¯

    ¡®They¡¯re not,¡¯ injected Gray.

    ¡®Right,¡¯ said Pickering, starting to grin. ¡®See, rookie?¡¯

    ¡®They won¡¯t kill me,¡¯ said Russet. ¡®They¡¯ll be flattered.¡¯ He paused, turning to Gray. ¡®Hey, they put their fighting techniques down in books?¡¯

    There was a hard rap on the door.

    ¡®Pickering,¡¯ called Killian.

    He stalked in wordlessly after Pickering let him in, scrubbing a scarred hand over his face.

    Alone.

    Gray and Russet exchanged a glance and hastily packed up the cards.

    ¡®Nothing to report, Major,¡¯ said Pickering. ¡®It¡¯s been quiet here.¡¯

    Killian hung his dark gaze on Pickering. Slowly, he swivelled his gaze to the room, taking in every detail.

    The room had been righted and cleaned within an inch of its life. The three of them had worked together, making sure there¡¯d be nothing for Killian to find fault with when he returned. In part, Gray had just wanted the peace of mind that no one was lurking in any small, impossible space, and also because he needed something to do - because sitting doing nothing was a kind of torture for Gray.

    But mostly they were all hoping to appease Killian if he happened to return empty handed.

    Killian was taking in every detail. He stopped at Gray, who was fumbling to shove the cards back to Pickering. Killian paused, taking in Gray¡¯s appearance.

    Gray had used the string from some of the correspondence to tie back his hair. Pickering had lent Gray his sewing kit (tucked in the fold of his army-issue socks), and Gray had done his best to repair the tears in his sweater. He¡¯d washed from the basin again, cleaning himself as thoroughly as he could with a cloth.

    ¡®Clearly.¡¯ Killian¡¯s mouth was a hard line. He turned to Pickering. ¡¯Soldier, what are you doing?¡¯

    Pickering was all tension. His blue eyes were watchful. ¡®Babysitting, Major.¡¯

    ¡¯Soldier, what should you be doing?¡¯

    Pickering chewed his lip, for the smallest fraction of a second. ¡®Guarding, Major.¡¯

    Killian jerked his chin at Gray. ¡®That¡¯s not one of your little brothers, soldier.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s not one of your little brothers, either,¡¯ said Killian, gesturing at Russet. ¡®That¡¯s a colleague.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major,¡¯ said Pickering.

    ¡®I have no place for a soft soldier on my team,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Pickering, ¡®I understand, Major.¡¯

    ¡®Toughen up, and do it fast.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    ¡®Dismissed,¡¯ Killian muttered to Pickering. ¡®Go get your breakfast. Rookie, you too.¡¯

    Killian went straight to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. The shower started.

    Pickering straightened his uniform, pulled a face at Gray, and hightailed it out of there with Russet at his heels.

    Gray sat rigidly at the table. Seconds crawled by.

    Killian stayed so long in the shower that Gray wondered if he could risk picking the lock on his weapon¡¯s chest with Frostvine''s hair slide. He''d picked off the pearls and it would do nicely ...

    When Killian emerged, steam billowed out of the door behind him.

    He was perfectly dressed in his uniform. He deftly armed himself with his various knives and daggers from his weapons chest. He said, his voice tightly clipped, ¡®You cultivating friendships with my men, kid?¡¯

 49. The Phrase What Are You Really Mad About? Comes To Mind

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian gestured to the room - a tiny, controlled movement, a single finger swirling. ¡®Who cleaned here?¡¯

    Gray stalled.

    ¡®You all did?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray dropped his gaze. He kept his mouth shut because there was a warning edge to Killian¡¯s words - one sharp enough that alarm bells were ringing inside Gray¡¯s head - and he didn¡¯t know if the truth would get Pickering and Russet in strife.

    ¡®You like Pickering? Rookie?¡¯ said Killian.

    Uncertainty coiled inside Gray. ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray. This was absolutely some kind of trap. ¡®They¡¯re good soldiers,¡¯ said Gray carefully.

    Killian let out a disbelieving breath and darted a dark glance at Gray.

    ¡®You will not work with them in any way, unless I expressly say so. Got it?¡¯

    Gray hesitated. ¡®I don¡¯t think I-¡¯

    ¡®Got it?¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®The fastidiousness of this room has you written all over it, kid,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Except for there, where the books haven¡¯t been stacked according to subject - Pickering did those? And there, where the tassels are knotted on the curtains - clearly Russet. Maybe Pickering, too - but if Pickering was righting this place with you, so was Russet.¡¯

    Gray thought it was a bit rich for a man as detail-oriented as Killian to describe him as fastidious. This was beyond stupid - so damn stupid to be mad about a cleaned room - but Killian was in a very dangerous mood, and Gray didn¡¯t fancy pointing this out to him.

    ¡®You like being neat, hm?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray stared at him. Killian was trying to pick a fight, trying to goad Gray, but Gray wasn¡¯t sure why and he had no damn clue what was the best course of action.

    ¡®You¡¯re not supposed to do anything unless I tell you,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Did I say you could use the basin again? Fix your clothes?¡¯

    ¡®I figured,¡¯ said Gray, desperately trying to claw Killian back to some kind of sense, ¡®the smell would bother you-¡¯

    ¡®Kid, you smell like anxiety and magic and unwashed boy. It bothers me. But not nearly as much as the stink of the grown northerners here. And not as nearly as much as it bothers you.¡¯

    Gray leaned back, controlling his reaction.

    ¡®It bothers you a lot,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®doesn¡¯t it?¡¯

    Gray stared out the window.

    ¡®You can feel it,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®can¡¯t you? Every speck of grime. Every smear of sweat. It itches you, doesn¡¯t it? You can¡¯t stand it.¡¯

    Gray kept his temper.

    ¡®If you really want to be clean,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®you know what you could do?¡¯

    Gray dug his toes into the carpet, steeling his face. His heart beat hard.

    ¡®You could talk to Longwark for me,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®With the eavesdropper charm.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s lips parted.

    ¡®And actually talk to him, this time,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I need answers. I need to know where the jar is, what¡¯s in the tombs, and I need to know why the hell the mages are hiding out in the forest.¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t think he¡¯ll talk to me,¡¯ said Gray slowly.

    ¡®Make him talk.¡¯

    ¡®Longwark,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®He¡¯ll see through me in a second.¡¯

    ¡®You don¡¯t want to do it?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You¡¯re trying to protect him?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray, trying to stay calm. ¡®Longwark - he¡¯s ¡­¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s what?¡¯

    Gray drew in a sharp breath.

    Killian stared at him.

    ¡®He¡¯s huge,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®and he flies off the handle over nothing. You - you don¡¯t know ¡­¡¯ Gray broke off, staring at the table. ¡®I¡¯m not going into a confined space and prodding at him, over sensitive topics - he¡¯ll know what I¡¯m doing. He¡¯ll get angry, and I won¡¯t stand a chance.¡¯Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Killian was immobile.

    ¡®Have you seen him fight?¡¯ said Gray. When Killian remained icily silent, Gray continued, ¡®He¡¯s been trained. Probably by someone like you. He¡¯s strong.¡¯

    Gray locked his gaze to the view out the window, his heart hammering.

    ¡®You - you want to collect your prize money?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Don¡¯t - put me in his cell again.¡¯

    ¡®Oh, I wouldn¡¯t do that.¡¯ Killian¡¯s hand was tight on the handle of his sword. ¡®He won¡¯t hurt you.¡¯

    He will. ¡®He ¡­¡¯

    Killian tilted his head. ¡®He was fighting Branbright to have you as his little protege. He won¡¯t hurt you.¡¯

    Longwark had let Codder drag Gray out of the cell. Longwark hadn¡¯t batted an eye. He didn¡¯t give a hoot about Gray.

    ¡®He - wasn¡¯t,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®You don¡¯t understand.¡¯

    ¡®You could poke him in the eye,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®and ask him why the sky¡¯s blue, and he won¡¯t hurt you.¡¯

    This was so blatantly wrong that Gray leant back in the chair, shocked. Anger was burning at his edges, it was smouldering, and carefully, he pushed it down.

    ¡®He came out of hiding for you,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Are you sure about that?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®If I walked into his prison cell with you, and acted like I wanted to train you, have you on my team, he would get very possessive. And very dangerous towards me. I¡¯d be willing to bet my life on that.¡¯

    ¡®If that¡¯s true,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®then sorcerer mentorships are toxic as shit.¡¯

    Killian folded his arms. ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡¯He hates me.¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s a sorcerer,¡¯ murmured Killian. ¡®He hates everyone.¡¯

    ¡®Well,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®yeah.¡¯

    ¡®Doesn¡¯t mean he doesn¡¯t want you.¡¯ Killian paused. ¡®He won¡¯t harm one hair on your head, kid.¡¯

    Gray wasn¡¯t explaining this very well. Sure, Longwark was as far from a people person as you could get, but there were some people in town that Longwark seemed to absolutely loathe. Barin, Alistair, and Gray were on the list.

    ¡®I didn¡¯t realise you were a coward,¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray fisted his hands, his temper slipping free before he could catch it. ¡¯That crap¡¯s not going to work on me.¡¯

    ¡®Excuse me?¡¯

    Shut up, just shut up. But anger was too near the surface, and his control was disintegrating with each moment he spent with Killian. He was desperate to put his plan into motion, to draw the soldiers away from Krydon, but he was damn stuck, he couldn¡¯t even get his hands on something as simple as apple seeds.

    ¡¯That crap you do with Codder,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®With me. Everyone.¡¯

    Killian paused for one dangerous beat. Gray braced to be hit, but he didn¡¯t care, he didn¡¯t damn care -

    ¡®What did you say to me?¡¯

    ¡®I didn¡¯t lose Frostvine,¡¯ said Gray. Because that was what the problem was, that was why Killian was in a towering black mood, why he was throwing out words like barbs. And Gray wasn¡¯t going to do some kind of verbal dance with this asshole, he was going to lay it all out-

    Killian¡¯s eyebrows were high on his forehead. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

    ¡®You sure as hell didn¡¯t find her, either,¡¯ said Killian.

    The words neither did you were on the tip of Gray¡¯s tongue, and he only held them back by the skin of his teeth. ¡®She doesn¡¯t want to be found,¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian held himself rigidly still. He drew in a long breath. Very slowly, he let it out.

    ¡®So,¡¯ said Killian. He smiled, with the same apparent effort as a man pushing a boulder up a mountain. Gray could¡¯ve counted his teeth. ¡®If you don¡¯t want to question Longwark, then you don¡¯t want a bath.¡¯

    Gray fisted his filthy hands. He could barely stand to be in his own dirty skin.

    ¡®Hm?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®A bath?¡¯

    ¡®A long, hot bath.¡¯ Killian was speaking with the same strain his smile was under. This man was a breath from losing it. ¡®Filled with as much soap as you want. Then a shower afterwards. That¡¯s how the mages at the guild do it.¡¯

    Gray stared at the table, swallowing hard.

    ¡®I¡¯ll buy you a special kit,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®With all the specific brushes and scrapers and scrubs that the mages like. You can clean those nails and hands real good, hm?¡¯

    ¡¯Stop,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®I¡¯ll even buy you fresh clothes to change into. Nice clothes. Presentation¡¯s important, isn¡¯t it?¡¯

    ''Stop,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Brand new. I¡¯ll even order them in from the finest Foixan clothes makers. You ever had brand new Foixan clothes before? Their cotton feels like heaven.¡¯

    Gray levelled Killian with a steady stare. ¡®It¡¯s not going to work.¡¯

    ¡®You don¡¯t want these things?¡¯ said Killian, with that damn strained smile on his face.

    Gray clenched his jaw before locking his gaze away.

    ¡®Hm?¡¯

    Gray pushed down the urge to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier. If it came down to the choice between being a conniving, weak bastard who got to have a bath (though one who stayed on Killian¡¯s good side), and maintaining the smallest speck of self respect, Gray knew what he was going to choose.

    Not right now, not with his anger so close to the surface.

    ''No bath?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray wrenched his jaw open. ¡®I¡¯m not spying on Longwark for a bath. He. Will. Kill. Me.¡¯

    ¡®Are you listening to me?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®He won¡¯t. You think I¡¯d risk one million ardents on a whim?¡¯

    ¡®I think your grasp of the situation is all wrong,¡¯ said Gray recklessly. ''You''re not from here. You don''t know Longwark.''

    ''That gives you an advantage, then,'' said Killian. ''Use it to get him to talk.''

    Gray maintained a brutal silence.

    ¡®Look, kid, you can do this voluntarily, or I can make you.¡¯

    Gray narrowed his eyes, fury building inside him, because, really, damn staying calm, damn Killian, damn the plan to stay on Killian¡¯s good side - the bastard didn¡¯t even have a good side - and leant forward into Killian¡¯s space. ¡®Make me.¡¯

 50. No One Warned The Widow

    Longwark sat shackled on the end bed in the temporary infirmary the soldiers had set up in the Hall. His huge legs were splayed. His wild hair was snarled around his beaten face, and his blue run tattoos were smeared with grime.

    Gray sat opposite him, as the medic prodded at his ribs. Purpling bruises clawed over Gray¡¯s torso.

    He suppressed the tremble in his limbs. The furious fight with Killian, all the way to the infirmary, had not been pleasant.

    Gray¡¯d been tossed around like an errant cub by a very angry mountain lion mother.

    Across the room. Through the corridors. Down the stairs, and past wide-eyed stares and muffled laughter and hisses. Killain pointing his finger steadily whenever Gray twisted out of his grasp. Gray dodging, and somehow, to his surprise, always landing right into Killian¡¯s hands. Getting dragged by the scruff of his neck. Two soldiers had been crying tears from laughing so hard.

    And, now, Gray sat on the bed in the infirmary that Killian had forced him onto, and if he returned to Killian with nothing, he didn¡¯t know what the consequences would be.

    Losing his temper had been damn stupid.

    So stupid.

    The infirmary was crowded and reeked of disinfectant. Golden morning light streamed through large windows looking over the wreckage in the town square.

    Nearly all the men were sedated, save for a couple near the door, who were watching Gray and Longwark like it was their damn hobby.

    Gray darted a glance at Longwark.

    Longwark had bruises on bruises. His eyes were both swollen slits. Dried blood caked his lips. It was difficult to tell, but it seemed like Longwark was studying the sky. This was odd to Gray, who was having difficulty dragging his gaze away from the debris in the town square.

    ¡®Arms up,¡¯ said the medic to Gray.

    Gray obeyed, withholding a wince, and the medic deftly bandaged Gray¡¯s ribs.

    ¡®Damaged cartilage,¡¯ said the medic. ¡®Nothing broken.¡¯

    Gray nodded, his mind on how the heck he was supposed to get Longwark to talk.

    He had to do it quickly. The medic was finishing up with the bandage.

    ¡®Major asked me to give you more calming draughts,¡¯ said the medic. ¡®Wait here.¡¯

    This was it.

    Gray inched towards Longwark. Longwark¡¯s eyes were so swollen, Gray couldn¡¯t tell if Longwark was watching him or not.

    ¡¯Their mage has gone,¡¯ murmured Gray in northern.

    There was no reaction from Longwark.

    ¡®She left last night,¡¯ rushed Gray.

    Very slowly, Longwark turned his head towards Gray.

    Gray felt all his muscles lock.

    ¡®Who strangled you?¡¯ said Longwark.

    Longwark¡¯s voice was messed up. Longwark was messed up. Gray was surprised he was still able to sit upright.

    Involuntarily, Gray reached up to brush his fingers over his throat.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡®Uh,¡¯ said Gray, forcing himself to speak calmly. ¡¯She joined the others in the forest, didn¡¯t she?¡¯

    Longwark wrapped one of his giant hands around his own thick neck. ¡®Him?¡¯

    Some of his thick fingernails were missing. Gray wanted to shudder. He wanted to spring to his feet. He wanted to bolt. ¡®If,¡¯ he said, so softly that Longwark leant forward to hear, ¡®I wanted to join her, join them, where might I go?¡¯

    ¡®He did a poor job of it,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®You¡¯re still talking.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s heart hammered. The medic was crossing the floor, and headed their way. ¡®Mr Longwark, where do I go in the forest, to find them?¡¯

    ¡®You keep talking,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®and I¡¯ll show him how it¡¯s done.¡¯

    ¡ª

    Gray stood in front of Killian, leaning his weight on his good leg and digging his toes into the carpet.

    Bright sunlight lit the room, the artwork on the walls, the dining table, and the giant, empty bed.

    The sun could fuck right off.

    Killian glanced up from the parchment covered in Gray and Longwark¡¯s conversation. Vaddenham had come in briefly to translate the northern, with a faint frown on his brow.

    It only covered half a page.

    ¡®I got nothing,¡¯ muttered Gray.

    ¡®You got nothing,¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡®No bath.¡¯

    Gray hadn¡¯t been expecting a bath anyway, after the whole dragging-fight-through-the-Hall earlier. He fisted his hands and glared at the sun streaming in from the window.

    ¡®You¡¯ll try again,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Try again,¡¯ Gray said, faintly.

    ¡®I¡¯ll arrange for Longwark to need to attend the medic again. And you.¡¯

    Gray couldn¡¯t stop himself from shaking his head. ¡®I won¡¯t do this. Damn your bath.¡¯

    ¡®You will,¡¯ said Killian, steel creeping into his tone.

    ¡®He knows what I¡¯m doing,¡¯ said Gray, trying to keep the frustration out of his face. He felt sick. The guilt was almost unbearable. ¡®I can¡¯t go in there again, and start asking questions. Again. He¡¯s already suspicious.¡¯

    ¡®You really need to learn the pecking order here, kid. You¡¯re not Krydon¡¯s coveted little Griffin orphan anymore. Until I hand you over to the king, I own you. I say jump, you say how high. Got it?¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s too smart,¡¯ said Gray through gritted teeth.

    Killian leant close. Gray could see every detail of the battle scars on his face.

    ¡®Be,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®smarter.¡¯

    ¡ª

    Gray sat on the same damn bed in the infirmary and tried to block out the sounds of Longwark getting the bones set in his hand.

    If Gray didn¡¯t get something useful from Longwark soon, he didn¡¯t want to think what injury the soldiers would give Longwark next.

    Gray clenched his jaw. His sleeve was rolled up. He was supposed to be getting the cut on his arm cleaned and re-bandaged, and he buried his chin into his shoulder as the medic moved on from Longwark and started dousing Gray¡¯s wound in stinging disinfectant.

    One glance at Longwark, and Gray knew there was no way he was getting anything out of him.

    Not without a throttling.

    But he had to.

    Gray glared out the window, down at the rubble in the town square.

    And froze.

    Several soldiers surrounded a farmer¡¯s cart.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray.

    Gray knew this farmer. He knew those piles of carrots and onions. She was a wizened old widow who sold vegetables at nearly every market day. Mrs Farrack.

    No one had told Mrs Farrack. No one had warned her there was no market this week.

    Krydon was a danger zone.

    Mrs Farrack should be safely away at her farm.

    How had the damn soldiers watching the roads not warned Mrs Farrack away?

    Unless ¡­

    Of course.

    The soldiers were grabbing sackfuls of vegetables and carting them off. They were taking her produce.

    Mrs Farrack shouted, and they shoved her.

    A local man came to the widow¡¯s aid, swinging a punch at the closest soldier.

    And another local. And another. One swung his axe, and it lodged in a soldier¡¯s arm with a sick thud.

    A northern curse slipped out of Gray¡¯s lips. He jumped off the bed, ignoring the protests of the medic.

    He pressed his hands against the glass and stared down, aghast, just as the soldier down in the town square drew his sword and in one vicious movement slashed the man¡¯s neck.

    Gray didn¡¯t even wait to see the spray of hot blood. He pushed past the medic, hobble-ran through the infirmary, and was out in the corridor before anyone had a chance to react.

 51. Cigarette-Breath vs Dark Horse

    Gray could see the front doors of the Hall - the ones that lead out to the town square - when Codder fell into step beside him.

    ¡®Where we going, stray?¡¯ he drawled. ¡®Or should I call you dark horse, huh?¡¯

    Gray made himself keep going. He pushed down the urge to falter or to look up at Codder¡¯s shadowed gaze and angled face.

    One front door was propped open, letting in golden sunlight and brutal thuds. Someone screamed.

    Codder lengthened his stride, and stepped into Gray¡¯s path. Gray halted. His nose was inches from the tarnished buttons on Codder¡¯s uniform.

    ¡®You¡¯ve been keeping some things about yourself mighty quiet,¡¯ said Codder.

    ¡®Get Killian,¡¯ muttered Gray, sidestepping Codder.

    Codder nimbly blocked his path again. ¡®Get Killian,¡¯ Codder said, mimicking Gray¡¯s accent. ¡®That¡¯s awfully familiar of you, stray. That icy bastard allows this?¡¯

    Gray swallowed, his pulse thudding in his ears. An old woman shouted insults in northern outside, over the bodily thuds and clashes of iron.

    Mrs Farrark.

    ¡®Hair¡¯s grown back, I see,¡¯ said Codder. He lifted an almost finished cigarette to his mouth, completely unbothered. Ash fell onto his chest.

    Gray made himself not react, despite the crawling sensation climbing over his skin.

    He held his ground, his shoulders tight.

    ¡®Had a trader come through just before,¡® said Codder, ¡®asking for it.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s fascinating,¡¯ Gray said. Gray shoved him. He was in the damn way, and Mrs Farrark was screaming bloody murder outside, and gods, why was no one stopping the fighting?

    Codder barely stumbled back one step. He angled his sharp jaw, sucking his bottom lip. ¡¯See, stray, I was hoping you¡¯d -¡®

    ¡¯Soldier!¡¯

    Killian¡¯s voice broke over them like a whip. Killian stalked forward and stood inches from Codder. His immaculate uniform was backlit by the sunlight streaming in from the open doors. His fur collar must¡¯ve been irritating in this warmth.

    ¡®I didn¡¯t touch him, Major,¡¯ said Codder.

    Time dragged.

    Codder bowed his head as Killian stepped close.

    Closer.

    Codder was completely still, his shoulders drawn in.

    Gray¡¯s pulse beat hard. It wasn¡¯t just Mrs Farrark screaming now -

    ¡®Go and shut them up, soldier,¡¯ said Killian, softly.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Shut them up?

    ¡®Right you are, Major,¡¯ said Codder.

    If it had been Pickering, or Emwell, it might¡¯ve been OK. But, not Codder.

    ¡¯No,¡¯ said Gray, pushing past them.

    Codder reached for him, and Gray ducked, feeling the whipping wind of Codder¡¯s hand just missing him.

    ¡®Fuck,¡¯ Killian muttered.

    Gray burst out into the town square, blinded by the sunlight.

    He was down the steps. He stumbled as his ankle buckled, his ankle hurt so bad it was numb, but he kept going.

    Starting across the square, his eyes adjusting, he could see how the northerners were holding their own, shielding Mrs Farrack¡¯s cart, gods, there¡¯d be such trouble-

    Gray was dragged back by a pair of strong hands. Codder swaggered calmly past him, down the Hall steps, flicking his cigarette stub away, and strolled into the panicked chaos of the town square.

    Gray was slammed back into the darkness of the Hall. The timber wall was hard against Gray¡¯s back. He could feel the decorative carvings through his sweater.

    The ropey muscles in Killian¡¯s forearm pressed against Gray¡¯s throat.

    Killian¡¯s battle-scarred face came into focus. He couldn¡¯t block out the sounds from outside. He screwed his eyes shut. Then, he drew in a controlled breath. ¡¯What exactly do you plan to do,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®if I let you out there?¡¯

    ¡¯Stop,¡¯ said Gray, ¡¯stop Codder.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re not going to stop Codder, kid,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I trained him myself. Since he was barely older than you are now. I¡¯ve practically raised him. He¡¯d eat most of my men alive, let alone you. He¡¯ll run this army one day. When he gets his shit together enough to pass the exams.¡¯

    ¡®I meant you,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®You stop Codder. Call him back. I don¡¯t know - what I was trying-¡¯

    Men were running past them, out into the town square. They were a blur of grey uniforms and stomping military boots. Killian stayed immobile, using his body to block Gray from sight, his fist bunching Gray¡¯s sweater, his forearm pressed against Gray¡¯s throat.

    Gray could barely think past the panic building within him. ¡®You can stop him,¡¯ he said. ¡®Stop him. No one needs to get hurt because a man hit your soldier.¡¯

    ¡®You can be killed for touching a king¡¯s soldier, kid,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I saw. The notherner swung first. I back my men, you understand?¡¯

    ¡®Call Codder back,¡¯ said Gray, panic screaming through him. ¡®Call him back. He¡¯ll make everything worse. If he kills more of them-¡¯

    ¡®No one¡¯s killing anyone. I¡¯d prefer to have the co-operation of these people. I¡¯m not about to piss them off by idly killing them.¡¯ Killian¡¯s hold tightened. ¡®You cool down.¡¯

    This was such bullshit. Codder was all wrath and no mercy. ¡®You hurt them, you won¡¯t get away with it. They will fight. You will pay.¡¯

    ¡¯Of course I will, kid,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You¡¯re real damn cute.¡¯

    The screaming stopped.

    Codder must¡¯ve acted.

    Horror shredded Gray.

    He was too late.

    It was done.

    They were moving, up the stairs. Gray allowed himself to be jostled along, in a haze.

    They were in Killian¡¯s room. Gray stood by the door as Killian locked them. He bent his face, pretending to struggle with the knot in his bootlaces.

    ¡®What did you get from Longwark?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray didn¡¯t trust his voice. Fury burned through the shock within him. Keeping his head bowed over his boots, he shrugged.

    ¡®I asked you a question, kid.¡¯

    ¡®Nothing,¡¯ said Gray huskily. Gray fumbled with the knot on his laces. His fingers shook. His bad ankle was on fire.

    Killian was standing too close.

    Gray stopped pretending to try to untie his laces.

    ¡¯So,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You got nothing from Longwark?¡¯

    ¡¯No,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Well,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®you¡¯ll try again.¡¯

 52. Longwark Speaks

    Longwark lay back on the infirmary bed, his hand still being tended to by the medic.

    Gray sat stiffly on the bed opposite, his gaze locked on the view from the window. The town square was deserted. Blood stained the cobblestones. There was no sign of Mrs Farrack, her donkeys and cart, or the man who tried to help her.

    No one¡¯s killing anyone, Killian had said.

    But, that was an awful lot of fresh blood.

    The medic was in front of him, cleaning the exposed wound on his arm again. ¡®You have a fever?¡¯ said the medic. ¡®You¡¯re sweating.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m fine, sir,¡¯ muttered Gray.

    The medic bandaged his arm. ¡®I¡¯ll sterilise the thermometer. Stay. I¡¯ll be right back.¡¯

    Gray kept his gaze locked onto the view from the window.

    There was movement, behind a half-pulled curtain in the axe shop across the square. Gray leant closer to the glass, trying to see.

    ¡®What did he offer you?¡¯ slurred Longwark in slow northern.

    Gray tore his gaze away from the axe shop. Longwark lounged back on the bed, too huge to fit.

    ¡®It must be good,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®if you keep coming back.¡¯

    Gray frowned.

    ¡®He offered you a pardon?¡¯ said Longwark.

    ¡®No.¡¯

    ¡®Ah,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®I see. It¡¯s not even good, what he offered you.¡¯

    Gray was keeping such tight control of himself he felt like he could barely breathe.

    ¡¯Did you see what happened out there?¡¯ said Gray stiffly. ¡®Did you see Mrs Farrark?¡¯

    There was the slightest twitch of Longwark¡¯s busted lips.

    ¡®Just give him what he wants,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Then, they¡¯ll leave.¡¯

    ¡®He wants my head,¡¯ said Longwark.

    ¡®He wants the jar,¡¯ hissed Gray. ¡®Give him the damn jar.¡¯ Gray knew he should be careful. He had to go calmly. He drew in a controlled breath. ¡®They¡¯ve killed people here. People you know. Innocent people.¡¯

    ¡®He wants a pat on the head from the king,¡¯ said Longwark, his slurred northern dripping with disdain. ¡®You give him that, he¡¯ll leave here. Jar or no jar.¡¯

    Gray gritted his teeth. ¡®Give him the jar, Longwark.¡¯

    ¡®No one can give him the jar,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®He cut off the head of the one person I know who had the skill to go retrieve it.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s muscles locked. ¡®Branbright?¡¯

    Longwark¡¯s swollen eye twitched.

    ¡®Retrieve from where?¡¯ said Gray.

    There was no change in Longwark. Gray might as well have been talking to a wall.

    ¡®It¡¯s here?¡¯ said Gray.

    Longwark smiled, his battered face contorting like a nightmare. ¡®The jar is safe. Very safe. It¡¯s safe even if Wilde or Krupin himself was stalking these streets.¡¯ He¡¯d switched back to Lismerian. He leant close, and Gray held himself very still. ¡®You hear that, wolf? You don¡¯t know shit. About me. About sorcerers. About Branbright. Anything. It¡¯s not safe to have me here. Take - me - to - the - king.¡¯This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    ¡ª

    Killian looked up from the parchment filled with scrawling from the eavesdropper charm, and the translation Vaddenham had written out for him. He was completely unreadable.

    He took a moment, silence stretching, his mouth a hard line.

    ¡®You have no tact,¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray bit down a flash of anger. ¡®Excuse me,¡¯ he said, ¡®for not being more experienced at weaselling information out of psychopaths.¡¯

    ¡®Ryan would¡¯ve had him singing his soul out within two minutes,¡¯ said Killian carelessly.

    Gray¡¯s muscles tensed. He refused to look at Killian.

    Killian had tensed, too. Gray could feel it.

    The parchment rustled as Killian read over it again.

    ¡®You got me useless information from Longwark,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I ¡­¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You know what I needed?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I needed the location of the jar and the mages in the forest. I need to know what the hell is down in those tombs.¡¯

    Have you got that information out of Longwark? Gray wanted to say. He bit his tongue, hating Killian with every fibre of his being. ¡®They¡¯re - they were working together. Longwark and Branbright. Not competing.¡¯

    Killian tilted his head.

    ¡®It¡¯s the way he talks about him,¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian examined him, and then the parchment.

    The silence stretched for so long, unbroken, that Gray stammered, ¡®That¡¯s how he talks about his colleagues from school. And the mage guild. He was - complimentary.¡¯

    Very slowly, Killian pinned Gray with his dark stare.

    The air between them was dangerous, and Gray didn¡¯t know why the damn Killian was suddenly so triggered. One wrong word, and it would explode into heat and fire.

    Gray clenched his jaw shut.

    ¡®You think this deserves a bath?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I don¡¯t want a bath,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®don¡¯t want a bath?¡¯ His eyebrows were high on his forehead. His dark gaze was watchful. ¡®A bath¡¯s not good enough for you now?¡¯

    ¡®I want a bath,¡¯ muttered Gray. He really wanted a damn bath. ¡®But there¡¯s something else I want more.¡¯

    ¡¯Something else?¡¯ said Killian carefully.

    ¡¯I-¡®

    ¡®Not only did you get me useless information,¡¯ said Killian dangerously, ¡®You let him into your head.¡¯

    ¡®No one¡¯s in my head,¡¯ said Gray quickly.

    ¡®You¡¯ve let Longwark get into your head. This is what sorcerers do. They¡¯ll get into your head and mess with it.¡¯

    ¡®No-¡¯

    ¡®A bath is a very good reward,¡¯ said Killian, tossing the parchment into the rubbish. ¡®for useless information. You¡¯ve been wanting a stupid bath since the first day.¡¯

    Silence pounded between them.

    ¡®Well?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Ask, kid.¡¯

    Gray edged forward, his heart beginning to pound. He hated to ask, he hated the idea he¡¯d owe Killian anything, but he had to try. ¡®Take the Ralphs out of the prison.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s dark gaze narrowed. ¡®And where would I put them, Gray?¡¯

    ¡®Here,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®No.¡¯

    They way Killian said no was harder than stone.

    ¡®They aren¡¯t safe there,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®I said no.¡¯ Killian clenched his jaw. ¡®Now, you want your bath, or you have any other inane requests to try first?¡¯

    Gray glared down at his hands.

    ¡®Tactically,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®I can¡¯t have them here while I have you here. You understand?¡¯

    Gray didn¡¯t. If he could think clearly, maybe. But his insides felt like a burnt wasteland. And his mind ¡­ he had to push to link two thoughts together, let alone make any kind of mental leaps.

    ¡®Hm?¡¯

    Gray needed Killian to explain. But he couldn¡¯t get the words out past his tongue. Perhaps this is what happened to make so many mages rave and speak in riddles. They had too many damn encounters with military officers.

    ¡®You don¡¯t keep your most valuable prisoners together,¡¯ said Killian briskly. He paused for the tiniest moment. ¡®Despite the rights the law gives them over prisoners, my men won¡¯t touch them. They won¡¯t touch any of the prisoners. If they do, privately, they¡¯ll answer to me. No ifs, ands, or buts. They know this. The most they¡¯ll dare is to ask my permission first. OK, kid?¡¯

    Gray slowly met Killian¡¯s dark gaze.

    Did Killian not know how close his soldiers had come to barging into his and Sorena¡¯s cell, what that one soldier had done, right outside the cell door?

    ¡®Well?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray hesitated, his gaze dropping to the carpet. ¡®If you get the Ralphs out-¡¯

    ¡®I said no. You¡¯re trying the very end of my patience today, kid.¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, thinking the next words tumbling out of his mouth might be Killian¡¯s tipping point, but he just had to ask, just had to grit his teeth and bear it and ask, while he still had a chance, ¡®there¡¯s some books I want.¡¯

 53. Bargaining Like A Fey

    Killian waited, still as a statue.

    ¡®Wong¡¯s Encyclopedia of the Others,¡¯ mumbled Gray, ¡®and A Short History of Folk Songs and Lullabies by Grimm and Grimm, and The Complete Guide to Dark Creatures of the North by Hubert Huntsman.¡¯

    Silence settled around them like a too-thick blanket.

    ¡®Those sound expensive,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I¡¯ll work for it,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®It won¡¯t be charity.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯ll,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®work for it?¡¯

    ¡®I - yes.¡¯

    ¡®I feel like I''m losing brain cells, trying to follow you.¡¯ Killian gestured to the tossed-out parchment. ¡®This wasn¡¯t working for it?¡¯

    Gray felt himself turn red, and he didn¡¯t damn well know why, and then he was embarrassed to be flushing, making everything worse.

    But, getting those books and figuring out what had killed Alistair was more important than Gray turning red.

    ¡®Kid?¡¯

    ¡®I didn¡¯t get you what you wanted,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I know I didn¡¯t. I¡¯ll do something else for you. So I don''t owe you anything.¡¯

    ¡®Like track Frostvine?¡¯ said Killian dryly.

    Gray¡¯s lips parted.

    ¡®You bargain like a fey,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You have nothing to trade but tricks.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s not -¡¯

    ¡®Your only use to me,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®is as an ornament. In how I can dangle you to draw out others who have magic. And one million ardents in my pocket.¡¯ Killian settled his shoulders against the wall, examining him. ¡®If you could do magic for me, then things might be different.¡¯

    Gray swallowed down an unpleasant sensation rising within him.

    ¡®What are you going to do for me, Gray?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Can you fight? In comparison to my men and your warrior northerners?¡¯

    Haltingly, ¡®No.¡¯

    ¡®Can you hunt, compared to my trained soldiers?¡¯

    ¡®No.¡¯

    ¡®I think we¡¯ve established you can¡¯t get a damn thing out of Longwark. What are you going to do for me, Gray?¡¯ Killian tilted his head, his gaze dark.

    Humiliation burned through Gray.

    ¡®I ¡­¡¯

    Killian considered him slowly, his face pensive, and his fingers steepled. ¡®Yeah, you¡¯re not getting those books.¡¯

    Gray hesitated.

    ¡®Every time I start thinking you might be more mage than sorcerer,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®you pull some shit like this, and it just reaffirms I¡¯m right.¡¯

    ¡¯Shit?¡¯ said Gray, numbly.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    ¡®The books, kid.¡¯

    ¡®They¡¯re just books,¡¯ said Gray, the pit of his stomach hollowing.

    ¡®They sound like some dark, messed-up shit,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Over my dead body are you getting those books.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s not for me to do anything,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®It¡¯s - it¡¯s for research. Alistair. He-¡®

    ¡®Is your brain on a coffee break?¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡®Alistair was murdered by Branbright or Longwark.¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®He - he - there was ¡­ there were rats. There¡¯s this lullaby about Gallow¡¯s Alley ¡­¡¯

    Words were piling up inside Gray, getting jammed. He couldn¡¯t articulate this properly. Killian was staring at him with an odd expression on his face, and Gray was freezing up.

    ¡®Listen to me,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I¡¯ve been doing this for a long time. Alistair was murdered by Branbright or Longwark. They - were - fighting - over - you. They were trying to get you to go running to them. If I¡¯d arrived any later, there probably would¡¯ve been more sorcerers joining in. Because of your level of magic, I might add. The same magic you refuse to use to track Frostvine.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s heart beat hard.

    Like he was running for his life.

    Like he was about to enter an arena stage with an audience of a thousand.

    There were so many things that Killian had wrong, he was making the wrong assumptions.

    ¡®I¡¯m not refusing to track her,¡¯ Gray managed to say. ¡®She¡¯s refusing to be tracked.¡¯

    ¡®Tracking Frostvine is too difficult for you, I see,¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray bit down on his reply, because he knew what Killian was trying to do, he could see through Killian so clearly at this moment, and this man wasn¡¯t going to get Gray twisted around his finger.

    But, to Gray¡¯s absolute horror, his throat tightened.

    He had no damn clue why he was reacting like this. Killian wasn¡¯t even trying to upset him like this, Killian was trying to goad him into doing the work that Frostvine would¡¯ve been doing, because Killian was desperate for a mage, and even a half sorcerer would do.

    Gray fought it down with everything within him, his head bowed. He regretted asking. Asking had been a mistake. He shouldn¡¯t have brought it up.

    Gods.

    And then, because Gray couldn¡¯t just keep standing there in silence with his head bowed to mask how tight his throat was, because he could feel Killian¡¯s stare, Gray said, ¡®You know why I can''t use my magic.¡¯

    He didn¡¯t intend to have such soft tones when he¡¯d said that, he didn¡¯t intend for his voice to make the words mean more than what they were on the surface.

    He only meant his magic was difficult to access, and he couldn¡¯t control the flow, and, and Killian knew this more than anyone.

    Absolutely, he did not mean to imply what he could see in Killian¡¯s face - that something huge was lying in wait within him, it was the cause of so much grief, and using it would be bad, so damn bad, and if only every other sorcerer had refused to use their magic, the world wouldn¡¯t be so messed up right now.

    He¡¯d be at home with his family. With Alistair, even Elona might¡¯ve ¡­

    Killian was immobile. ¡®Because your magic might give away what you are?¡¯

    Gray couldn¡¯t make himself move either.

    ¡®Is this you admitting your papers are false, and that your mother was, indeed, Faye D¡¯Oncray?¡¯

    Gray was frozen and he couldn¡¯t make himself shake his head, but he needed to, he needed to -

    ¡®Are you admitting that you¡¯re Conor Griffin?¡¯ The room was utterly still. And so, so quiet. ¡®You¡¯re not a random bastard from a nameless Griffin brother?¡¯

    Killian waited, and waited, as he was prone to, when he wanted Gray to make the next move, his next mistake.

    But Gray couldn¡¯t break the silence this time, not with him teetering on the brink of the unthinkable, of him breaking apart in front of this complete asshole.

    Eventually, Killian ran a hand over his face. ¡®Who did you go running to? When it happened?¡¯

    Gray forced himself to speak. He didn¡¯t have to ask what it was. ¡®Barin.¡¯

    ¡®Barin,¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡®They underestimated your attachment to your ¡­ boss, yes?¡¯

    Barin loved Alistair. Barin was a force to be reckoned with, especially when shit went down. If it had been Alistair in his place, if it was Alistair being kept prisoner by Killian, Barin would¡¯ve had him freed already. He ploughed through bad situations to get things done. It was one of the few qualities Barin had that Gray could see Elona falling in love with. Of course, Gray went to Barin when Alistair needed help. Going to Branbright or Longwark hadn¡¯t even crossed his mind.

    Killian had it wrong. That¡¯s not what had been happening. They hadn¡¯t been trying to collect him, and they hadn¡¯t killed Alistair.

    It was something else.

    ¡®Go to your bedroll,¡¯ said Killian, rubbing his forehead. ¡®No bath. Definitely no books.¡¯

 54. Her Ire Is Legendary And Calculated

    Gray had turned into a shell of himself and the timing couldn¡¯t have been more inconvenient.

    Because Gray needed to draw the soldiers away from Krydon - he needed to do it more than ever, after seeing them with Mrs Farrack - and he could barely muster up the energy to sit upright.

    Something had happened inside Gray during that last conversation with Killian. Like a cold mist creeping within him. A numbing.

    He¡¯d felt like this before, after Elona had died and after Alistair, in between the intense sting of grief, there¡¯d been waves of numbness just like this.

    Like all the fire and motivation within him had been smothered. Like he¡¯d let his anger burn too bright and he¡¯d let it wipe what made him him clean from his body, and all that was left was ash and nothing.

    A kind of giving up.

    But, he couldn¡¯t.

    He mustn¡¯t.

    No help was coming.

    Gray had to get himself out of this, and he had to give the town at least a reprieve from the soldiers. Before they took any drastic action into their own hands.

    And the northerners would. They would fight.

    They were at a tipping point, they had to be.

    If the soldiers left, the northerners would cool down, they would recover ¡­

    Weak morning light, filtered through a layer of grey clouds, fell onto Gray¡¯s dirty hands resting on the table in Killian¡¯s room.

    He blankly stared at the dishes on the table that the workers had forgotten to clear from the night before.

    Killian was sitting opposite him. The chair creaked as he shifted.

    He was speaking to Gray. Asking him something. Gray¡¯s mind was too slow, and he only caught the ¡®hm?¡¯ at the end.

    He barely had the strength to lift his gaze and maintain eye contact.

    ¡®You with me, kid?¡¯ Killian tapped Gray under the chin.

    This used to damn well piss Gray off.

    There was a weird flop in Gray¡¯s chest, and it took Gray a moment to identify it.

    Faint annoyance.

    OK, so he wasn¡¯t a complete shell of himself.

    Three quarters shell.

    Killian nudged the dishes aside with his elbow, irritation written all over him.

    Last night, Killian had invited his lieutenants for dinner, they¡¯d drunk up a storm - well, the lieutenants had, while Killian sat stiff and restrained and, honestly, kind of socially awkward - while Gray had sat on the bedroll, staring blankly into the fireplace. The ceiling. The wall.

    And now, as Gray sat at the table for breakfast with Killian, the dirty dishes sat neatly stacked on the table, along with the remnants of a pitcher of ale, Gray could do nothing but stare blankly at his filthy hands.

    The smell of the old ale congealed, reminding Gray of the tavern.

    Rosie backed into the room with the breakfast tray.

    She was a little pale, there was darkness under her eyes which Gray¡¯d never seen before.

    But otherwise she was the same. Red-laced boots. Long blond hair twirled back out of her freckled face.

    ¡®I told you I don¡¯t want you in here,¡¯ said Killian.

    Rosie must¡¯ve been expecting to be questioned, because she didn¡¯t miss a beat. ¡¯Some of our staff have passed. It¡¯s either me or you walk down to the kitchen yourself,¡¯ she said.

    Killian watched as she set out a bowl of oats for Gray, and eggs, toast, sausages and a bowl of fragrant strawberries for him. He was fully dressed in his grey uniform, minus the cap and sword belt.

    ¡®Wait,¡¯ he muttered. ¡®I have laundry.¡¯

    He unlocked the bathroom door.

    ¡®Gray, are you OK?¡¯ Rosie whispered in fast northern.

    Gray needed to work his tongue. He needed to talk to Rosie. He was taking too long to form words in his mind.

    ¡®You forgot my coffee,¡¯ said Killian, as though from the other side of a mountain. ¡®Bring a whole pot here. Clear these dishes.¡¯

    And just like that, Gray had lost his opportunity to talk to Rosie without Killian overhearing - or, maybe, Killian would¡¯ve heard from across the room and it was just as well Gray hadn¡¯t -

    ¡®What¡¯s wrong with him?¡¯ Rosie demanded, over Gray¡¯s head.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡®It¡¯s a type of melancholy,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I¡¯ve seen it before in my prisoners. In my men.¡¯

    ¡®Well, fix it!¡¯

    ¡®I beg your pardon?¡¯

    ¡®What kind of man does this?¡¯ Rosie hissed.

    And gods, the gears were starting to turn back on inside Gray, because fuuuuuck, if he didn¡¯t nip this in the bud, Rosie would throw a giant sized fit.

    Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Well, hell hath no idea what fury even damn well was, until it met Rosie when she felt like an injustice had been committed.

    Her ire was legendary.

    ¡®You¡¯re a grown man, messing around a boy like a snivelling coward. You have no honour.¡¯

    Gray flexed his hands at snivelling coward.

    Because, for Clochaint¡¯s sake, if there was one thing guaranteed to rile up Killian, it had to be accusing him of being a coward.

    ¡®Listen, girl, if you don¡¯t watch your tongue -¡¯

    ¡®Stop,¡¯ said Gray, wrenching the thoughts and words together with a huge effort. ¡®Stop fighting.¡¯

    ¡®Stop?¡¯ snarled Rosie in northern. ¡®He can¡¯t treat you like this.¡¯ She rounded on Killian. ¡®We don¡¯t treat prisoners like this. The same goes for our guards in the prison. Their rations are not enough.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m following procedure,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Your procedure¡¯s inhumane!¡¯

    Gray closed his eyes.

    Because, it was too late.

    The only way to stop Rosie from a tirade once she¡¯d started was to physically take her by the hand and change her location - which, for some reason, seemed to distract her enough to put a pause in things.

    Though, often, it made everything worse. Once, she¡¯d tackled Alistair to the ground when he tried to relocate her, then gave him a swollen lip and refused to speak to him for three weeks, to boot.

    ¡®Girl,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Go on,¡¯ said Rosie, striding up to him. Oh sweet gods, she was getting in his space. ¡®If I don¡¯t watch my tongue - what? What¡¯s going to happen?¡¯

    Killian stared down at her, his dark hair hanging in his gaze. His eyes were half lidded, as though bored by the entire thing. The tiniest muscle flickered in his jaw.

    Rosie started in earnest, then. She jabbed her finger in Killian¡¯s face, she shoved him, she screamed in northern. Gray knew he had to pull himself together, because there was only one thing he could do, and he had to do it before Killian lost his patience.

    Because he¡¯d been exactly where Rosie was, losing his mind, his control, and he would¡¯ve given anything for someone to be there to pull him back.

    Gray heaved himself out of the chair, and took Rosie¡¯s hand.

    It was heated. Clammy.

    Gray entwined his fingers with hers.

    Her skin was so hot, and his was cool. And he pulled her back a step.

    And she let him.

    She had to.

    Because, while Rosie was furious and she was one of the best fighters in the school, she didn¡¯t have a death wish. Where was this leading, her screaming at one of the king¡¯s officers? She¡¯d end up in jail - oh gods, no - or she¡¯d get hurt so badly.

    She had to know this, even through the rage spilling out of her.

    Gray pulled her back, achingly slowly, as she continued to scream at Killian. Back again. Again.

    And Gray was murmuring in her ear in northern, even though there was no way she¡¯d hear him over her screaming tirade, and it¡¯d likely earn him an angry slap from Rosie if she did, ¡®let¡¯s go. Let¡¯s get out of this room. Come.¡¯

    Then, because Gray was more awake now - half shell - and they were almost at the door, he continued to murmur, ¡®apple seeds. Dinner time. Hide them in my oats.¡¯

    The apple seeds were the only item missing.

    He needed them, to make firebreath fire.

    To pull off his plan, to draw the soldiers away from Krydon in a chase.

    His shoulder was against hers, as she resisted being nudged over the threshold, crying out a stream of curse words, of complete vitriol, at Killian. Gray squeezed her hands. ¡®Don¡¯t work nights,¡¯ he breathed. ¡®Tell the others.¡¯

    Maybe, this had been Rosie¡¯s plan all along. To give her and Gray two seconds to talk without Killian - maybe - hearing. To scream, until Gray snapped out of it. Well, not snapped. It¡¯d been more like dragged out, temporarily, just enough to have his head mentally above water to gasp in a breath. And she couldn¡¯t scream at Gray, because Gray would¡¯ve shattered, but she could scream at Killian.

    At great personal risk.

    And this made more sense than Rosie just losing her mind at a king¡¯s soldier.

    Because she was brave. Smart. So damn smart. And she had this wisdom where she could almost see the future, could see that this leads to this, and then this, and this.

    And that was why Gray had spent most of his life barely being able to function in her presence.

    It wasn¡¯t her beauty. Though, she was beautiful.

    It was just her.

    All of Rosie.

    Rosie locked eyes with Gray, just as she stepped back through the doors and out into the corridor.

    Her golden eyes were narrowed and so stressed, and smudged kohl was caught in her lashes and the tiny pock mark at the corner of her right eye.

    But, there was something in them that made Gray feel that maybe, she¡¯d heard him.

    Maybe, if she got him those apple seeds, they were going to be OK.

    As long as Killian hadn¡¯t heard Gray over Rosie¡¯s screaming.

    And if Killian had, hopefully he hadn¡¯t understood the northern.

    ¡ª

    They sat in thick silence after that.

    It certainly seemed like Killian hadn¡¯t heard or understood what Gray had murmured to Rosie.

    But, Killian was damn unpredictable, and Gray wasn¡¯t sure of exactly how keen Killian¡¯s hearing was - how sharp were wolf-shifters'' senses, really?

    Gray¡¯s old dog Jax, who¡¯d died years ago, used to have the kind of hearing that was so sensitive he¡¯d get overwhelmed at loud sounds.

    Were wolf-shifters¡¯ hearing like that?

    Gray picked at his oats, his head bowed, not even daring to glance up at Killian. The silence was unbearable.

    Killian stilled. He stilled so hard that Gray watched him, out of his periphery.

    He was in the middle of taking a bite of his eggs, some kind of report clutched in his hand that had been delivered by a crow that morning.

    His nostrils flared.

    ¡®You feel something?¡¯ he said softly. ¡®Gray?¡¯

    Gray tightened his grip on his spoon, dripping oats over his lap. ¡®I don¡¯t - feel anything right now.¡¯

    Killian tutted his tongue, his brow furrowed. He dropped his report and strode over to the door and flung it open just as Jessica raised her hand to knock.

    Sorena was flung over Jessica¡¯s shoulder, completely limp, in a tangle of long limbs.

 55. First Rule Of The Army Gets Smashed

    Sorena¡¯s boots and pants were covered in dried mud and leaf litter.

    But, that wasn¡¯t what had Gray¡¯s mouth hanging open.

    Jessica¡¯s expression was pure red fury. Her glossy black hair fell over her face in a snarled mess. Her shoulders - already formidable - seemed to have grown in her rage. Her chest heaved as she dragged her bloodshot gaze over Killian, over the room, as though searching for the next thing she needed to stab.

    The sword at her hip was dark with old blood, and she had something dark and sticky covering her hands all the way up to her elbows.

    ¡®Jess,¡¯ said Killian.

    She shoved past Killian, and dumped Sorena like a sack of flour onto the bed. Sorena crumpled, unconscious.

    ¡®Your man,¡¯ snarled Jessica, ¡®took his room back. I want him out of there in the next ten minutes, or gods help you Killian, I will boot you and your little sorcerer so far out of this Hall, you¡¯ll be in the next world.¡¯

    ¡®Right,¡¯ said Killian. Much too calmly, in Gray''s opinion, he took up his cap and sword. ¡®Yes, ma¡¯am.¡¯

    ¡®Your men have taken over my ladies dorm, too. Move them.¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯ He paused at the door, glancing back. ¡®Watch him, Jess?¡¯

    ¡®Oh, I¡¯ll watch him.¡¯

    Killian locked eyes with Gray for the briefest, coldest second, and then strode out of there.

    It was clear, as Gray watched Jessica settle Sorena on the bed, that Sorena had gotten very far into the forest. Maybe even to the other side, where it came out near Sirentown. Some of the leaves crushed into the tread of Sorena¡¯s boots were bright blue, from the Jettle tree that only grew deep in the forest. And there was a trail of sandy earth over the carpet. All the soil in and around Krydon, even the soil deep in the forest - to Gray¡¯s knowledge - was dark and rich.

    Not sandy.

    Sorena had almost made it to the coast.

    She was going to be deeply angry when she woke up.

    Gray swallowed uneasily.

    It was for the best that they got their own room. He did not want to be present when Sorena realised where she was.

    Or, for that matter, as he became aware of Jessica¡¯s steely glare burning into the side of Gray¡¯s head, did he want to be around Jessica any longer than necessary.

    As she strode over and stood before him, Gray, very unwillingly, lifted his gaze.

    Her stare was angry, and she was looking into his eyes as though demanding for his soul to come out, as though she could see into him.

    ¡®Where did Major Slate put your stat papers?¡¯ she demanded.

    ¡®I - I don¡¯t know, ma¡¯am,¡¯ said Gray, forcing the words out past his thick tongue.

    She rooted through Killian¡¯s things as though each item had just spat in her face. Gray dodged a spare set of Killian¡¯s socks, and a dogeared notebook, before she emerged with Gray¡¯s stat papers clutched in her fist.

    She held it up against the light. Examined it every which way. Read it over.

    ¡®Your magic score is only twelve,¡¯ she said.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, ¡® don¡¯t do any magic, ma¡¯am. I¡¯ve never touched it.¡¯

    She fisted a filthy hand.

    Gray¡¯s pulse was loud in his ears.

    You needed tests, exams, tournaments, battles, and competitions for your stat scores to go up. Ones approved or ordered by the crown. Of course his magic stat was twelve. Honestly, he was surprised it was above seven, which was the highest possible score for regular humans.

    ¡®What can you do?¡¯ she said. ¡®Can you track?¡¯

    Gray winced. ¡®No, ma¡¯am.¡¯

    She raised a dark eyebrow.

    ¡®Killian tried with me ¡­¡¯ said Gray. ¡®If you want me to track your lost mages, I¡¯m afraid I ¡­ I can¡¯t. They - they¡¯re concealing themselves ¡­¡¯

    She stared at him, tapping her toe, the buttons on her uniform straining as she breathed in and out.

    ¡®What magic can you do? Anything combative?¡¯

    ¡®No, ma¡¯am,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Elsa Keep,¡¯ she said, reading off the stat papers. ¡®Elona¡¯s sister?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s gaze slid to the side.

    ¡®Look at me,¡¯ said Jessica. ¡®Elona¡¯s sister?¡¯

    ¡®She,¡¯ said Gray, forcing himself to meet Jessica¡¯s gaze. ¡®You knew Elona?¡¯

    ¡®I make it a habit of knowing all the king¡¯s consorts. Eyes on me. Elona¡¯s sister was your mother?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s cheeks were getting warm, because he knew how the next words out of his mouth were going to sound.

    ¡®I don¡¯t remember,¡¯ said Gray.

    Gray remembered the day when Elona had organised the false papers for Gray - it was one of the first memories he had, though he couldn¡¯t remember exactly where they were. He knew it hadn¡¯t been Krydon. He¡¯d been sat on Elona¡¯s hip while she talked with the scribe. And Alistair had caused trouble in the scribe¡¯s office, pulling over a stack of books.

    Jessica¡¯s eye twitched.

    Gray¡¯s skin was getting damp. He couldn¡¯t help dropping his gaze, just to rest his eyes for a second.

    ¡®Eyes on me.¡¯ Jessica stepped closer. Her stance, her gaze, was steel. ¡®Elona¡¯s sister was your mother?¡¯

    It was as though a hundred cold fingers were crawling over Gray¡¯s skin. Jessica was doing something to Gray, and it was taking everything within him not to let the word ¡®No,¡¯ be ripped from his tongue, just as the griffin had wrenched words out of Gray against his intention.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    And Gray didn¡¯t have the strength for any test of will right now. He was barely holding himself upright, let alone able to push back a very, very strong desire to throw truth out to this steely woman.

    But, Jessica could see it.

    There was hard realisation in her face, as she stared Gray down. She could see the desperate struggle within Gray, the mental battle to stop the words spilling out of him.

    She was close now.

    Gray could count the stitches on her uniform.

    Gray¡¯s chest heaved. What kind of fuckery was this?

    ¡®Eyes. On. Me.¡¯ She inched closer. Her jaw was clenched. ¡®Elona¡¯s sister was your mother?¡¯

    No.

    The papers are false.

    ¡®I have a sister,¡¯ Elona had said to Gray, all those years ago, in the scribe¡¯s office. She adjusted Gray on her hip and brushed his hair back with familiar affection. ¡®You could be hers. You want to share my name? You like the name Keep?¡¯

    Gray gritted his teeth. He had to drop the eye contact, he didn¡¯t care if she -

    She grabbed his jaw. ¡®Elona¡¯s sister was your mother?¡¯

    And the words were coming up, and Gray couldn¡¯t stop it. But, he had to.

    He had to.

    Otherwise he¡¯d be getting others in trouble, deadly trouble.

    ¡®You realise it¡¯s dangerous for us to keep you?¡¯ Barin had said to Gray, all those years ago. He¡¯d dragged Gray away from a group of mages, through a bustling street - not Krydon, but northern - and he was fuming.

    Barin had known, he knew everything, and that put him in a dangerous position, and Gray wasn¡¯t going to repay him by spilling out information he was forbidden to share.

    A groan ripped from Gray¡¯s throat - deep and strange, and Gray¡¯d had no idea he could make such a noise - and he wrenched himself free from Jessica¡¯s grasp.

    ¡®What are you doing?¡¯ Gray gasped.

    ¡®It¡¯s a compulsion charm?¡¯ said Killian from the doorway. Gray started, and so did Jessica - the damn man really, really needed a bell. Killian folded his arms as he leant against the doorframe, a sharp quality to his dark gaze. ¡®Where¡¯d you get one so strong? Baldwin gave it to you?¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s a vial of the fey queen¡¯s blood,¡¯ said Jessica, fishing a tiny gold vial out of her pocket. ¡®Some mages have difficulty lying to certain higher-ups in fey society.  Something to do with their Other blood.¡¯ She swivelled her steely stare back onto Gray. ¡®Sorcerers, too, apparently.¡¯ She paused. ¡®I almost had him.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s face was drained of colour. ¡®Where did you get that?¡¯

    ¡®I ran,¡¯ said Jessica, ¡®into trouble in the forest. There was a trade that I don¡¯t wish to discuss.¡¯

    ¡®Fuck,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Yeah.¡¯

    ¡®Gods, Jess.¡¯

    ¡®I know,¡¯ said Jessica.

    ¡®The fey queen¡¯s blood.¡¯ Killian was aghast. It was as though all his layers of masks had tumbled down in the sheer horror pulsing through the man underneath. ¡®Did you trade your firstborn?¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m not discussing this with you.¡¯

    ¡®Why would you do this?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Killian, I will pull rank-¡¯

    Killian was stepping forward as though approaching the edge of a crumbling cliff. ¡®To question this kid? He¡¯s nothing - he¡¯s not worth - you didn¡¯t even ask him the right question -¡¯

    ¡®No, believe it or not, it wasn¡¯t to question this kid, but I have it now, and you better believe I¡¯ll use it.¡¯

    ¡®Baldwin can¡¯t help you out of this,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®He doesn¡¯t have to.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re better off returning it,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Go back on whatever deal you made.¡¯

    ¡®I can¡¯t-¡®

    ¡®You can. You must. I¡¯ll go with you,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®There¡¯s no point. It¡¯s already going off. It¡¯s only good for about twelve hours.¡¯ Jessica shook up the tiny gold vial. ¡®It¡¯s not working properly.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s working,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®He¡¯s just a resistant little bastard. I told you.¡¯

    Jessica didn¡¯t say anything, shaking her head.

    ¡®Let¡¯s take it back now,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Come. Let¡¯s go.¡¯

    ¡®Killian, calm the hell down,¡¯ said Jessica.

    Gray thought it was bold of Jessica to say this, when Jessica herself looked like she was about to split apart at the seams.

    ¡®You¡¯re about to bust out into wolf form,¡¯ Jessica continued.

    Killian stilled, his lips tight. He was utterly rigid, his dark eyes wide. Then, he shuttered his expression. ¡®I¡¯m not about to bust out into wolf form, thank you.¡¯

    He turned on his heel and tended to Sorena on the bed, keeping his back to the room.

    ¡®Killian.¡¯ Jessica¡¯s face was blotchy red. Her arms were folded tight.

    ¡®Your room is ready,¡¯ said Killian calmly. ¡®I¡¯ll take Sorena for you.¡¯

    Jessica clicked her tongue. ¡®Unnecessary. I¡¯ll take her.¡¯

    ¡®Leave the vial here, then,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I beg your pardon?¡¯

    He held out his open hand.

    ¡®You¡¯re going to try to return it to the fey, aren¡¯t you?¡¯ said Jessica.

    Killian was completely immobile.

    ¡®You can¡¯t,¡¯ said Jessica. ¡®I can¡¯t.¡¯

    ¡®Why?¡¯

    Jessica pursed her lips. ¡®It,¡¯ she said, her voice hard, ¡®it wasn¡¯t me that made the deal.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s eyes were wide. ¡®Sorena made the deal?¡¯

    Jessica cast a sidelong glance at Gray before giving a tight nod.

    Killian let out a small, disbelieving breath. He spun on the spot. He strode over to the door. ¡®PICKERING - Oh, rookie. What do you need, rookie?¡¯

    Russet edged towards the Major with a bunch of notes clamped in his fist. His cheeks were flushed, his uniform buttoned up tight. His sleeves were rolled up in the warmth, revealing his skull and bones tattoos.

    ¡®We just got word, Major,¡¯ said Russet. ¡®Major General Darcy¡¯s returning early. And the additional men and mages will be here tomorrow.¡¯

    Russet edged forward, offering the notes to Killian.

    His rabbit-fast gaze darted between the three of them, and then landed on Sorena. His lips parted, just for a second, before he composed himself.

    ¡®There¡¯s - others coming, sir, ma¡¯am. Colonel Zachary ¡­¡¯ Russet haltingly listed off a bunch of names and titles.

    Ice crawled through Gray.

    Russet chewed his lip, before finishing the string of names and titles with, ¡®... and the Field Marshall.¡¯

    Killian crunched his shoulders back, his dark gaze hanging on Russet¡¯s nervous face.

    Jessica marched past him, holding her hand out to Russet. ¡®Let me see, lad.¡¯

    There was a long moment of quiet, as Jessica read over the letters. She glanced up at Killian. She seemed to be having trouble working her tongue. ¡®That¡¯s a lot of big wigs and big egos for one little town.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s because of Longwark,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®He¡¯s slippier than an eel and a flight risk.¡¯

    Jessica clamped her mouth into a hard line, shaking her head. She thrust the letters at Killian. ¡®It¡¯s because I lost my mages.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s because of Longwark.¡¯ Killian took them, but didn¡¯t read them. ¡®They say this?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Jessica. ¡®But, they don¡¯t need to. I know why-¡¯

    ¡®Baldwin wants the jar,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®It¡¯s me catching the heat, not you, I assure you.¡¯

    Jessica was stiff.

    ¡®Baldwin¡¯s coming?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®There¡¯s no mention,¡¯ said Jessica, her voice hoarse.

    ¡®Rookie,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®run and tell my lieutenants to prepare their good uniforms for tomorrow. I want to present them. Pickering and Codder, too. And tell Pickering to come here at once. I want him standing guard outside this room. I have business in the forest this morning and no one comes near the kid on pain of death. Got it?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    Russet fled.

    Killian turned to Jessica. ¡®You do what you need to here. Use my men if you wish to continue searching for your mages. Codder - the man from your room - is very good. I¡¯ll only be gone a few hours. Then we can prepare everything here.¡¯

    Her jaw was jutted and her eyes were narrowed. ¡®You¡¯re going to negotiate with the fey and return within a few hours? You¡¯ll never do it.¡¯

    Killian opened his weapon chest and strapped an extra knife to his belt. ¡®Watch me.¡¯

 56. Firebreath

    Gray stared at the ceiling in the dark. The bedroll was soft against his back.

    That day had crept past in complete solitude for him, until, after midnight, Killian had stalked wordlessly into the room, his uniform soaked in sweat, and - after about thirty seconds in the bathroom - had crashed into the bed.

    It was the first time Gray had seen him actually use the bed.

    Gray hadn''t tried to speak to him, he''d laid on his bedroll feigning sleep. He didn''t care what had happened with Killian and the fey, he didn''t care what Killian and Jessica had been doing to keep them busy all day.

    All that mattered was Gray could hold his nerve and pull off what he''d spent the entire day planning out in meticulous detail.

    Right now, Killian breathed slowly. Deep. Measured. Wind blew outside. It whistled through the gaps in the window.

    Very slowly and carefully Gray pulled out his stashed items from underneath the mattress. The soft phoenix feather. The tiny apple seeds - seven of them - delivered hidden in Gray¡¯s oats by Rosie earlier that night. Shiny dragon¡¯s breath glazed pottery. Killian¡¯s spare knife from his weapon¡¯s case, and a folded piece of parchment. The prison keys.

    Trying not to rustle the blankets, Gray hid them in the pocket of his trousers.

    ¡®Uh, Killian?¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian¡¯s breath changed. He rolled over. His voice was hoarse from sleep. ¡®For fuck¡¯s sake, what is it?¡¯

    Gray swallowed. ¡®I need to go to the bathroom.¡¯

    He paused, rubbing his forehead. ¡®Clochaint, kid, can¡¯t you hold it?¡¯

    Gray stilled, feeling the items stashed in his pocket, and his heart thudding against his ribs. Killian settled back down.

    ¡®Killian?¡¯

    He snapped upright in the bed. Gray could feel this glare in the dark.

    Gray breathed out slowly. ¡®I think I¡¯m going to be sick.¡¯

    ¡®Ah, gods.¡¯ He flung himself out of bed, fumbling for the keys to the bathroom door. ¡®Are you pregnant? What is wrong with you?¡¯

    ¡®Hurry.¡¯

    ¡®You have the weakest damned stomach ¨C you are so soft and spoiled ¨C I swear ¡­¡¯

    He dragged Gray to the bathroom and flung him towards the lavatory.

    ¡®You should try looking across a battlefield, kid. What you¡¯ve seen, what you¡¯ve experienced, is nothing.¡¯

    Gray crawled towards the lavatory and flipped the seat up.

    The silence stretched on. Killian huffed. He watched, leaning back against the tiled wall, his arms folded. Exhaustion was written all over him, it made his face grey and his eyes droop, and his shoulders hunched.

    ¡®Well?¡¯ he said.

    ¡®Uh. It¡¯s coming.¡¯

    He swore and bustled around the basin, clearing up any toiletries he deemed dangerous.

    Gray swallowed, pressing his hands against the porcelain. Killian left. Gray heard the bed creak as it took his weight.

    Gray made retching sounds. Grabbed up the bag of bath salts with trembling fingers. The cleaner by the toilet. Two empty phials Killian had left on the basin. Emptied the potpourri into the bin so Gray could use the bowl.

    He set it all down in the centre of the bathroom. Checked the window over the bath. It was unlocked. Gray slid it open, wincing as it snickered for a second ¨C oak whooshing over oak.

    Phoenix, dragon clay, apple seed, salt, acid.

    It was a basic firebreath composition. It wouldn¡¯t be hot. It wouldn¡¯t do much damage.

    But it¡¯d be showy.

    It¡¯d be one giant damn distraction.

    Gray didn¡¯t know if the transformation would work, though.

    It was supposed to have freshly made dragon¡¯s breath clay, the phoenix feather was supposed to be freshly plucked, he didn¡¯t know if the toilet cleaner was the same kind of acid they used in alchemy class, and the salt should have come from a mine in Wingland¡¯s East.

    And the seven apple seeds, it was too many.

    Seven apple seeds was bordering on dangerous.

    But, Gray wanted this firebreath to be out-of-this-world big. He wanted it so big that it would startle any and every soldier on their posts and would send them running in a panic.

    Gray crushed the apple seeds and the pottery using the base of one of the phials. Swept it into one phial, his movements clumsy. Estimated out the salt and poured it into the second phial with a dash of the toilet cleaner. Stripped a third of the feather down, gripping the rest in his teeth.

    A third now.

    Two thirds later.

    He rubbed the loose fronds of a third of the phoenix feather into the bowl. They fluttered down, brilliant red and gold.

    Checked for sounds of Killian.

    All was quiet.

    Shook the salt and cleaner in the phial. It frothed and hissed. Poured a third into the bowl with the phoenix feather fronds and counted to thirteen.

    Then, added a third of the crushed apple seeds.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Blew in his breath and intent to activate it.

    Gray had ten seconds.

    Ten seconds and he¡¯d know if it worked.

    But Gray couldn¡¯t sit around and wait. That wasn¡¯t the plan.

    The plan was to draw the soldiers into the Hall. Every last one. The soldiers watching the roads, the soldiers standing guard at their posts, the soldiers stationed around Krydon, hell the soldiers standing at their posts inside the Hall. He''d send them running right to where he wanted them. So Gray¡¯d be free to run out into the town square.

    Gray unfolded the piece of parchment with his scrawled message to goad Killian, held it against the timber frame of the mirror above the basin, and dove Killian¡¯s knife through it to hold it into place so it¡¯d be the first thing he saw.

    Then, Gray gritted his teeth to stop himself crying out as he clambered through the window. He clung to the edge, his bare feet dangling in the cold night air. His fingers burned as they took his whole weight. He prayed no soldiers would see him, dangling in the dark. That he wouldn¡¯t land wrong on his bad ankle. That he wouldn¡¯t break the phials of the remaining salt mixture and apple seeds stowed in his pocket.

    Gray swung his good leg out to the right, and he felt the curve of a drain spout. He blindly struck out his hand to grab onto it and pulled himself over, his fingertips bleeding as he gripped the shardy stone.

    Gray knew it worked a split second before the explosion went off.

    It was like something had sucked all the noise, all the air out of the night. No whistling wind. No movement of branches. No hooting of owls.

    Fire exploded out the window, curling and sparking like an overwrought, angry firework. It lit up the other windows of the bedroom.

    It swept through the entire floor, like a furybeast of pure spiralling, licking fire.

    It had worked.

    It had worked so well.

    Gray slithered down the drain, grazing his hands and knees, and awkwardly clambered into the window underneath. He tumbled inside and clenched his teeth to stop crying out as his bad ankle took his weight.

    He was in a dark conference room. Empty.

    Gray lay for a second, on his back, winded, numb. Then, he let out a shout of laughter, covered by the roar of the firebreath above. The fire lingered, and then grew, sparking and crackling out the windows above, like a horde of angry wasps.

    Like a million drakemites.

    It had worked way too well.

    It shouldn¡¯t be that big.

    It was unstable.

    Move. Move now.

    Soldiers, people, shouted outside and inside the Hall. The town bell clanged.

    Gray crouched in the shadow, holding back the pain in his ankle, in his lungs, and unstoppered the two phials. Got the phoenix feather ready.

    Gray waited.

    Waited.

    People, soldiers, were stampeding past. No one bothered to glance into the dark conference room.

    Gray waited until he heard stomping of the soldiers'' heavily booted feet all over the floor above. They needed to stay up there, to give Gray time to run.

    Gray had no bowl, but he hoped it wouldn¡¯t matter.

    He tipped the ingredients straight onto the floor, counting, ignoring the frantic thrum of his pulse.

    Without waiting to see if it worked, Gray stumbled, back through the window and down to the next floor.

    He was in a cluttered office.

    But, he barely saw it.

    The prison.

    The Ralph kids.

    The guards.

    However bad things had been for Gray ¨C it had to be worse for the Ralph kids stuck in the prison.

    And those guards had been in there for days.

    He struggled to his feet. He poked his head out of the doorway. He recognised it, from being hauled around by Killian. The prison stairs were close.

    Gray hobbled, using the wall for support, and then peered around the corner, down the dirty stone steps that lead to the prison.

    The soldiers who usually stood watch were gone.

    Heart in his mouth, he crabbed down the stairs, hugging the wall, in case soldiers were lurking in the prison corridor.

    It was empty.

    Gray jammed the key into the lock of the first door. He glimpsed a crowd of dark shapes through the small window, heard quiet mutterings in northern from the guards crammed in there. They yelled as a particularly large explosion went off in the Hall. Angry red light spilled in from the slit windows in the cells. The firebreath must¡¯ve spilled out of the Hall windows.

    One guard spotted him.

    Sephon.

    His indigo uniform was a mess. His warrior tail was matted. But his dark eyes were fierce and his nostrils were flared, and when another large crack from the firebreath shuddered the building, he didn''t flinch.

    ¡®Mage,¡¯ he said.

    ¡®Hey,¡¯ Gray whispered.

    Gray swung the door open.

    He barely had a chance to jerk his head at the open doorway, before they stormed out of the cell.

    He was buffeted back and forth in the crush of guards. They took over the keys, rushing to open the other cells.

    Gray pressed himself against the wall, so as not to get trampled.

    The last to pass him were the two Ralph kids.

    The girl skidded to a halt, her auburn braids a matted mess. Her dark eyes were fierce.

    Gray had been worried what he¡¯d see, what he¡¯d find, but both the Ralph kids were defiant. Strong.

    ¡®Go,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I¡¯m not sure how long we¡¯ve got.¡¯

    ¡®We¡¯ll help you,¡¯ said the girl.

    It was faster, with the two Ralph¡¯s helping. They made it back up the stairs, and out the side door.

    They snuck along the shadow cast by the Hall. The girl ducked her head around the corner, checking the state of the town square.

    The town square was well lit. Townspeople were hurrying out of their houses, dressed in their night things. A line of soldiers pushed them back. More soldiers were appearing, sprinting into the Hall, to help put out the fire. Several were fighting, saying it was a curse fire, that water wouldn¡¯t work. Gray didn¡¯t have long before they figured out it was just huge firebreath.

    Gray and the Ralphs moved, keeping to the shadows, hugging the edge of the town square.

    There was an explosion from the top floors. It waa the biggest yet. More unstable.

    The crowd screamed, and Gray ducked into a side alley, against the crush of people rushing out of their homes.

    Gray stumbled along with the Ralphs, nothing but roaring in his ears, grasping at the dark stone walls of the houses, his arm slung over the shoulders of the Ralph girl, and the boy bringing up the rear.

    ¡®Where are we going?¡¯ she said. ¡®I don¡¯t know this town.¡¯

    ¡®The tipsy stag tavern,¡¯ breathed Gray. ¡®Tall building. Over there. We go to their stable. The horses.¡¯

    If the horses were still there.

    If the soldiers hadn¡¯t taken them, or if the stablehands hadn¡¯t let them loose when Barin left.

    If they were in any kind of condition to be ridden.

    ¡®Oliver,¡¯ said the girl, ¡®check it¡¯s clear. Careful, now.¡¯

    ¡®Your name?¡¯ said Gray.

    She glanced at him. ¡®Lyrie.¡¯

    It was clear.

    Everything was lining up.

    Gray staggered along the alleyways he knew so well. Came out in Yew Crescent. Then the side alley near the tavern kitchen.

    Sweat stung his eyes. His ankle was agony. He wished he could run, sprint, like he used to be able to.

    Gray saw Kraus. Sitting in her usual spot, outside the kitchen door of the Tipsy Stag, her curse-marked chin resting on her chest like the night sky wasn¡¯t lit bright as day from sparking and curling flames.

    Gray breathed out, staggering forward towards the familiar smells of the horses and alley. One hundred more metres. And they¡¯d be free.

    Then a voice called behind Gray.

    A drawling voice.

    A voice he hated.

    ¡®Aren¡¯t you a little far from home, stray?¡¯

 57. Cigarette-breath

    Mud-crusted boots.

    Smoking a damn cigarette.

    And leaning, languid and completely unbothered, against the wall at the end of the alley.

    Codder blew out curling smoke and dropped the cigarette onto the cobblestones. He didn¡¯t bother to step on it to put it out.

    The alley was narrow and long. There was a good distance between them and Codder. But not enough for Gray and the Ralphs to outrun him.

    Codder straightened up, adjusting his uniform. ¡®You wouldn¡¯t be behind all that trouble in the Hall, now, would you, stray?¡¯

    Gray shoved the Ralphs towards the stables. ¡®Go.¡¯

    ¡®What?¡¯ hissed Lyrie.

    ¡®I¡¯ll be right behind you. Go to the old well, on the miner¡¯s trail in the forest. I¡¯ll meet you there.¡¯

    She hesitated. Stray auburn strands from her braids shifted in a slithering breeze.

    The sky was so bright from the firebreath fire - it was still growing, exploding, roaring - and the air stung with the salt and acid and whatever the damn was in phoenix feathers. Light shifted and shadows changed constantly from the firebreath. Lyrie was squinting against it, and Oliver was rubbing his eyes, tears streaming. Gray¡¯s nose and throat burned.

    The firebreath shouldn¡¯t have been like this. It was messed up. Longwark would¡¯ve given Gray a bright red F for this firebreath.

    But, it didn¡¯t damn well matter.

    All that mattered, in the second that Lyrie hesitated, and in the shifting light and shadows, was that Codder had swaggered towards them.

    He was closing in.

    ¡®Take your little brother,¡¯ Gray said angrily. She was wasting time. ¡®Go. I¡¯ll take care of him.¡¯

    She hesitated again and Gray pushed her shoulder.

    ¡®Shit,¡¯ she said.

    Lyrie grabbed Oliver¡¯s hand and ran towards the stables. Gray heard them leading two horses out seconds later. She mustn¡¯t have saddled them. Maybe she didn¡¯t know how.

    Maybe she didn¡¯t care.

    Codder moved so fast Gray wondered for a second if he was actually a swamp-vampire.

    In a second he had Gray tight in his grip. Gray¡¯s soft sweater did little to protect his skin from the harsh bite of the wall, and Gray winced as the back of his shoulders scraped.

    Codder¡¯s upper lip was curled. His shadowed gaze was dark.

    ¡®No Major to protect his little pet, huh?¡¯ he said.

    Gray wrapped his hands around Codder¡¯s wrist. He was going to fight Codder with everything he had within him, he didn¡¯t care how hurt he got, he was going to fight Codder, silently, fast-

    ¡®No, no,¡¯ tutted Codder. ¡®You¡¯ve got that look in your eye. I¡¯m not here to stop you, stray. I¡¯m here to make a deal.¡¯

    ¡®A deal?¡¯ The words tumbled out of Gray¡¯s mouth, fast and run together and filled to the brim with scepticism.

    ¡®That¡¯s right,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®You do what I want, and I¡¯ll do what you want. I can send all the men running in the wrong direction.¡¯

    Gray clutched his veiny, pale wrists. This wasn¡¯t happening. The stables were right - there.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡®Your word is worthless,¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®I promise, stray. I do this all the time. Let¡¯s strike a deal.¡¯

    Gray tried to make his voice collected. Calm. He needed time to think ¨C but he didn¡¯t have time. Killian would have figured out by now the firebreath wasn¡¯t doing anything. He¡¯d be focusing on finding Gray.

    Gray pressed his lips together.

    Gods.

    ¡®What do you want?¡¯ Gray snarled.

    ¡®Are you going to be compliant?¡¯

    Gray said nothing, confused, staring at his shadowed eyes as he searched for Codder¡¯s meaning, his cigarette-scented breath mixing with the stinging air.

    His hand moved from Gray¡¯s shoulder, up to his neck and his face. His hand then moved round to the back of Gray¡¯s head, his fingers dug into his hair.

    Gray¡¯d never hated his hair more. His back was rigidly against the wall.

    ¡®It¡¯s worth more if you¡¯re compliant,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®And it¡¯s got to be worth my while, stray, if I''m not going to get my share of the prize money from dragging your ass to Dierne.¡¯

    ¡®You want my hair?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Willingly.¡¯

    They didn¡¯t have time for this bullshit. Codder was stalling him, he was angling for something else, there had to be another motive here-

    ¡®Crying, stray?¡¯

    Gray wasn¡¯t damn well crying. His eyes burned from the sting in the air from the heatless firebreath, his ankle was killing him, and he was furious that everything was getting messed up by Codder.

    ¡®I¡¯ll take whatever you got.¡¯ Codder offered Gray a handkerchief with his free hand. ¡®You want to wipe yourself up, stray?¡¯

    Gray punched him, hard, fast, faster than he¡¯d ever hit anyone in his entire life. There was a world of pent up anger and disgust behind that punch.

    It landed well.

    Right on the jaw of Codder¡¯s sneering face. It hit so hard that Codder¡¯s face rippled as his expression turned to shock, and then pain and anger. Codder¡¯s teeth clacked from the force.

    It was the best punch of Gray¡¯s life by a damn mile.

    His hand hurt. Pain jolted down his wrist, his arm, his elbow, and into his shoulder.

    Gray shook out his hand. ¡®You want to go to hell, Codder?¡¯

    They fought violently, silently for a second then Codder pushed Gray back against the wall. Gray clenched his fists, his ankle on fire, his ankle total agony.

    Codder muttered swear words under his breath, the words edged with sharp fury. ¡®Where¡¯re you going to go?¡¯

    Gray wiped his face with his sleeve. He was trembling. He quickly dropped his fisted hand. ¡®Wingland,¡¯ he lied.

    Codder sucked his bottom lip. ¡®All right. You head west, to Wingland. I¡¯ll take the men south.¡¯ He raised his eyebrows. ¡®Hair. Now. Before Major gets here.¡¯

    This had been a mistake. Gray glanced around for the Ralphs, but they were gone, melted into the dark shadows of the alley. The horse hooves were no longer clacking against the cobbles. Gray shoved at Codder, too scared to yell.

    He should just let Codder take his hair. But, he couldn¡¯t.

    Gray began to struggle, his magic lighting up hotter and brighter than it¡¯d ever been, panic overwhelming him.

    He couldn¡¯t. He couldn¡¯t lose control here, he couldn¡¯t light this alley up, it would bring Killian straight to him.

    His lungs were tight, they wouldn¡¯t draw in air, and his skin was getting unbearably hot.

    This couldn¡¯t be the end, him exploding from his own cursed magic and leaving a smoking crater behind where Krydon used to be. Though if he took Codder out with him, maybe it would be worth it.

    A huge shape barrelled into Codder.

    Gray was knocked backwards, banging his head on the bricks.

    He blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus. Trying to get his magic under control.

    Kraus.

    Kraus was beating the living shit out of Codder.

    No, Codder was too strong.

    He was on top. He was hitting her.

    ¡®Get off her,¡¯ Gray shouted, not caring about staying silent, staying unseen. Everything was screwed up -

    Gray staggered to his feet, just as someone slipped out of the shadows, and held a wand to Codder¡¯s temple. Her platinum hair fell over her face, concealing her expression.

    She was haphazardly dressed; expensive clothes layered carelessly, her boots unlaced, her hair still mussed from sleep.

    But there was a quality to her stance and her voice that screamed danger.

    It was in the angle of her jaw. The way she glided closer. How she held her wand.

    Her magic filled the cold air of the alley.

    The hair went up on the back of Gray¡¯s neck.

    Codder stilled, his fist drawn back, mid-punch.

    ¡®Are you going to kill me, pretty?¡¯ said Codder.

    Sorena dug her wand into Codder¡¯s throat. ¡®I think I¡¯ll play with you first,¡¯ she said.

    Codder glared at her, sucking his bottom lip.

    Sorena swivelled her gaze over to Gray for the barest second. ¡®You said you had money?¡¯ Without waiting for an answer, she muttered, ¡®get it. And get a horse ready.¡¯

 58. What Alistair Left Behind

    The stables.

    Gray had no idea how he got there.

    He didn¡¯t remember the hundred-metre journey, to the desk in the tavern where Barin kept spare change, then past Kraus climbing to her feet, past Sorena holding Codder at wand tip, past the ginger stray. Past cursed Chester Close.

    Gray pressed his palm against the familiar carved timber of the stable door and undid the latch.

    The door creaked open. It was dark inside. Gray could just make out the shape of tack hanging up on the far wall. Most of the stalls were empty. They kept quite a few empty stalls, ready for use for guests at the tavern.

    Or they used to.

    Gray stumbled past where Barin¡¯s horse had been. Gone.

    Harriette¡¯s horse. Gone.

    The Foixan purebred. Gone.

    The black draft horse. Gone.

    The dappled mare that knew how to unlatch the stable door. Gone.

    But there was one left. Alistair¡¯s favourite ¨C Fudgie, named for her rich brown coat, huge and big-boned ¨C was whinnying and stamping in the very last stall.

    She looked OK.

    She¡¯d been cared for.

    Thank Clochaint.

    Gray approached the stall, and Fudgie snorted and nearly reared. Gray was too panicked, too sweaty and shaky; he was spooking her.

    Gray sank to the ground, onto the stray straw on the stone ground, wiping his face with his sleeve.

    Pull it together. Pull it together now.

    The firebreath would be over by now. Killian would know it had been Gray. He¡¯d know Gray¡¯d escaped.

    Maybe even knew the Ralph kids were gone.

    He¡¯d be fuming.

    He¡¯d underestimated Gray once ¨C slipped up once ¨C and Gray doubted he¡¯d allow that to happen again.

    Gray didn¡¯t trust Codder not to tell.

    The sting left over in the air from the firebreath was too much.

    He heaved. Impatiently wiped his eyes.

    Then, something caught his attention in his peripheral.

    The strap of a rucksack that had been kicked under the bench they used to drape saddle blankets.

    Gray crawled over and tugged it out.

    Alistair¡¯s rucksack.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    The one he¡¯d packed the night he¡¯d died.

    It was like the air had been punched out of Gray¡¯s lungs. He¡¯d been here. He¡¯d been here, planning to take Fudgie. How had they missed this? They¡¯d torn apart the tavern, the stables, Krydon, searching for evidence of what happened.

    Gray wanted to tear through the rucksack, immediately, looking for clues, looking for reasons.

    But he couldn¡¯t. Not now. He slung it over his shoulders, took a deep breath, and grabbed what he needed to start saddling Fudgie.

    Sorena burst in, her platinum hair flying out behind her. She skidded to a stop, and helped Gray finish with Fudgie.

    She drew a circle on the cobblestones.

    ¡®Get the horse inside the circle,¡¯ she snapped.

    They were going to farhen, Gray realised with a jolt. ''Kraus - is she -?''

    ''Circle,'' snarled Sorena.

    ¡®What about the Ralphs?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Get in the bloody circle, sorcerer! You''re coming with me, you''re going to guide me through the forest!¡¯

    ¡®Killian¡¯s going to be furious. I¡¯m not leaving the Ralphs for him to track.¡¯

    Sorena looked like she was about to deck Gray. Her cold hazel eyes were wide. Her cheeks were bright red and damp with sweat.

    ¡®Where?¡¯ she said.

    ¡®We¡¯re meeting at the miner¡¯s trail.¡¯

    ¡®Fine. We¡¯ll go there first,¡¯ rushed Sorena, her jaw tight.

    Gray led Fudgie into the circle.

    Sorena clutched her wand, and muttered a stream of words under her breath.

    There was a whoosh. A crack. Gray felt like he¡¯d been lifted from the ground and then thrown back down with impossible force.

    He staggered to his knees. They cracked on hard cobblestones. On hay.

    Fudgie shrieked and bucked away.

    They were still in the stable.

    Still in Krydon.

    ¡®What the gods,¡¯ said Sorena, shaking out her arms.

    She clutched her wand tighter, her face impossibly flushed, her shoulders hunched.

    ¡®Get that horse,¡¯ she said.

    Gray coaxed Fudgie back into the circle.

    Sorena muttered incantations again.

    Again, they were thrown. Weaker this time.

    Gray glanced up at Sorena from the cobblestones and willed himself not to puke. She coughed a hacking, horrible cough.

    Blood was trickling down from her nose.

    ¡®I can¡¯t,¡¯ she said breathlessly. ¡®I can¡¯t.¡¯

    ¡®What¡¯s wrong?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®I - I just rolled Codder.¡¯

    ¡®Rolled Codder?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Did you kill him? Holy shit, Sorena, he¡¯s Killian¡¯s favourite, Killian will destroy-¡¯

    ¡®I didn¡¯t kill him, but he¡¯ll wish I had for the next two minutes,¡¯ snapped Sorena.

    ¡®Mount,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®We¡¯ll ride double.¡¯

    Gray raced over to the shelf where Barin kept curses and jinxes in jars, in case of emergency.

    He grabbed a Horse¡¯s Calling Curse from the range of jars up high on the shelf, and a single fierilion from a dried bunch hanging from a hook.

    ¡®What are you doing?¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®Let¡¯s go.¡¯

    ¡®One second.¡¯

    He crushed the fierilion in his trembling palms, and then opened the curse jar, and mixed the two together, before whispering the names of the three horses he wanted excluded, then, blew it free.

    Gray didn¡¯t wait to see if it would work.

    He prayed the Ralph kids were OK. That they had found the rocky, overgrown miner¡¯s trail and the old well.

    He climbed onto Fudgie, nudging his toe underneath hers in the stirrup, and got behind Sorena.

    ¡®Which way?¡¯ said Sorena, tucking her wand in her waistband, and taking the reins.

    ¡®Right.¡¯

    Fudgie, Sorena and Gray fled after them. They fled east.

    And all the horses from all the stables in town, all the neighbouring farms and studs, all the horses from the Auguste soldiers - and probably Mrs Farrark¡¯s donkeys, too - pelted through Krydon. Gray prayed it would cover their tracks.

 59. The Name On The Map

    Outside Krydon, in the dark, Gray lost his bearings.

    And it was a damn waste of time.

    Killian would be hot behind him. Every moving shadow, every trick of the light, Gray was sure Killian would appear behind him, fury etched onto every scar and line on his face.

    They rode to the edge of the forest, but Gray couldn¡¯t find the entrance to the miner¡¯s trail. Fudgie didn¡¯t like being this close to the forest, didn¡¯t like the quiet rustlings and snapping of twigs and the strange night bird calls.

    Gray muttered a curse. Pushed down rising panic.

    He couldn¡¯t leave the Ralphs.

    Not to be dragged back to prison by a very, very angry Killian.

    ¡®Where to?¡¯ said Sorena.

    Her voice rang across the darkness, clear as a bell. There was a momentary silence in the night bird¡¯s calling, and a momentary stilling of whatever creatures were making the undergrowth rustle.

    Gray didn¡¯t want to admit to her that he couldn¡¯t find the trail.

    Sorena¡¯s body was hot against his. She was trembling.

    There was a sudden movement. Shapes emerged from shadows within the forest treeline. It was the two Ralphs, on the dappled mare and the draft horse from the stables.

    Their faces were pale and tight under the moonlight.

    Despite himself, Gray did a double take. They¡¯d both mounted two very large horses, with no aid of a saddle, stirrup, nothing. They were handling the horses like they had been born up there.

    The darkness hid the filthy state of their mage robes, and the once-luxurious layers of fabric flew out behind them.

    The horses huffed as they got closer.

    Gray could feel their stares lingering on Sorena, taking her in in complete silence.

    ¡®Is that,¡¯ said Oliver, who managed to sound quietly horrified, ¡®who I think it is?¡¯

    Sorena turned in the saddle to give Gray a cold and pointed stare.

    ¡®We¡¯re so screwed,¡¯ said Oliver. ¡®They¡¯re going to send every last soldier to scour this forest.¡¯

    ¡®Happy?¡¯ muttered Sorena to Gray. ¡®They¡¯re here. They¡¯re fine. Let¡¯s go.¡¯

    ¡®We couldn¡¯t find the trail,¡¯ Lyrie said.

    There was an expectant silence, every eye on Gray.

    Gray hesitated, staring out at the dark silhouette of the forest.

    There was no detail he could see, nothing, the hairs were going up on the back of Gray¡¯s neck -

    ¡®You¡¯re lost,¡¯ said Sorena. She seemed to sense danger too, because her voice, usually so icy, was now a hot whisper. ¡®You¡¯re lost.¡¯ She snatched the reins tightly in her hands. ¡®You stupid little boy.¡¯

    Swearing, Sorena turned Fudgie around, not that she needed much encouragement, and they cantered over the open field, back to the dirt road. The Ralphs followed closely.

    ¡®Which way?¡¯ Sorena said. She clocked the Ralphs following. ¡®You stay here. Find your family.¡¯

    ¡®We can¡¯t find them,¡¯ said Oliver. ¡®We¡¯re not staying out here, in the open, do you know what¡¯s lurking -¡®

    ¡®Then piss off into the forest,¡¯ said Sorena, kicking her heels into Fudgie. Fudgie stubbornly slowed to a very plodding walk.

    ¡®We¡¯re not going in there alone,¡¯ said Lyrie. ''We can''t find any of the trails.''

    ¡®We¡¯re not leaving them for Killian to track, Sorena,¡¯ hissed Gray.

    Sorena shook her head. Gray could feel the heat coming off her. She was sweating. Her shoulders were caving inwards. If she passed out, Gray was going to have a hell of a time getting them out of there.

    Lyrie¡¯s mouth was clamped shut. Her eyebrows were knitted over her fierce black eyes.

    ¡®You should return to Reviness,¡¯ said Sorena.

    ¡®My family forbade it,¡¯ said Lyrie. ¡®We shouldn¡¯t even be here, we shouldn¡¯t be talking-¡®

    ¡®Great,¡¯ snapped Sorena, ¡®shut up and go.¡¯

    Lyrie reeled back, her eyebrows shooting up. ¡®Woah.¡¯

    ¡®You shut up,¡¯ said Oliver, narrowing his eyes at Sorena. ¡®You¡¯re not giving the orders here, you don¡¯t even know this place.¡¯

    ¡®I own this place, you insipid child,¡¯ said Sorena.

    ¡®Hey,¡¯ said Lyrie, her voice sharp, her lip curling as she took Sorena in. Gray could clock the exact moment Lyrie¡¯s opinion of Sorena solidified into hard dislike. ¡®Don¡¯t talk to my brother like that.¡¯

    ¡®Your father owns this place,¡¯ said Oliver hotly. He¡¯d pinned Sorena with his dark stare like he could pierce her with it. ¡®You own nothing.¡¯

    ¡®You can¡¯t talk to me like that.¡¯

    ¡®OK,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®Nobody talk to anybody-¡¯

    ¡®He just did, princess,¡¯ interrupted Lyrie, ¡®and he¡¯ll do it again if you continue to be an asshole.¡¯

    Sorena made to jump down from Fudgie.

    Gods help them, they were so going to get caught.

    Arguing, fighting, riding a plodding horse.

    They needed to be running.

    Gray held her back. ¡®Get a grip,¡¯ he said. ¡®You want to get hauled back to Krydon? Dierne?¡¯

    Sorena stilled. Her pulse thudded against him. Her trembling was becoming more violent. ¡®Remove your arm,¡¯ she spat.

    Gray snapped his arm off her, clutching onto the back of the saddle.

    But, Sorena, at least, seemed to have come to her senses. She drew in a sharp breath, and resettled herself into the saddle, maintaining a stony silence.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡®Follow the road downhill,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®Stay out of the forest for now.¡¯

    They headed towards the closest town.

    Stupid, because it would be easy to track.

    But it was the fastest.

    Right now, they needed speed.

    They rode to Kerrville.

    It took the rest of the night.

    Past all the dark farms and fields and patches of forest that encroached on the road. Picking their way in the black. Following the moon as it crossed the sky and sank lower and lower.

    Fudgie was done.

    The Ralphs were done. Oliver was keeping up a steady stream of complaints, and Lyrie kept hissing at him to shut up, shut up.

    Gray was done.

    He thought he¡¯d permanently messed up his ankle. He couldn¡¯t feel it any more. It was like his body had given up trying to send warnings.

    But, Gray wasn¡¯t thinking. He got to Kerrville¡¯s edge and stared at the terracotta rooftops all jammed together in the dusky light, broken up by chimney stacks and tower spires. He thought about how he had too many ties there, from when he¡¯d run errands for Barin, getting apples and cider from the orchards and brewery there.

    People knew him here.

    Killian would expect him to go here.

    He couldn¡¯t bring the soldiers there.

    He needed somewhere bigger.

    They had to keep going.

    Gray slipped off Fudgie and crumpled onto the dirt road, grazing his palms and knees. The sky was beginning to blush as it neared dawn. Fudgie snuffled the back of Gray¡¯s neck and then wandered off when he didn¡¯t move.

    Sorena stared at him, completely cold and emotionless.

    The Ralphs had dismounted.

    Sorena slid lightly off the horse, like she hadn¡¯t been riding for damn hours. She didn¡¯t even have dust on her boots. With a cool glance at Gray, she joined the Ralphs, some little way off.

    They were whispering. Arguing. The word asshole got thrown around again. So did the phrase idiot northerers.

    Gray didn¡¯t care.

    There was a tightness in Gray¡¯s chest that refused to budge, and he could feel it in sharp detail now that the adrenaline had long died down.

    Gray should¡¯ve checked Kraus was all right. He should¡¯ve got her out of there, too. He should have damn well left Krydon as soon as the soldiers arrived.

    Lyrie was touching Gray¡¯s shoulder with her fingertips.

    ¡®We going in there?¡¯ she said, nodding her head towards Kerrville.

    Lyrie was painfully recognisable as mage, with her mage-styled hair, and sharp cheekbones, and bright black eyes. It was in her voice - lilting, too lilting to be anything other than a trained singer or a mage - and in how she moved - smooth, too smooth - and her bright fingernails, peeking through underneath the layers of dirt. Hell, she was recognisable as a Ralph mage, with her auburn hair, broad shoulders, and fierce gaze.

    Oliver was the same.

    And Sorena ¡­

    Sorena was so stunningly beautiful, so head-turning, that it was going to be a serious problem. Not to mention her acidic tongue.

    And the way she didn¡¯t know how anything in the real world worked.

    ¡®I don¡¯t know. Give me a minute.¡¯ Gray sat unmoving in the dirt.

    His skin tingled.

    Like a flash of lightning, Gray remembered the jinx Killian had forced him to eat - as though, from a lifetime ago, but really it had only been a couple of days - in the moments after Gray had held that pair of scissors against Killian¡¯s throat, when Gray had proven himself to be a flight risk.

    The jinx in his oats.

    It had been activated.

    Oh, shit.

    ¡®We have to split up,¡¯ said Gray.

    Gray staggered upright, stumbling over a tuft of hardy grass growing up in the middle of the dirt road.

    ¡®What?¡¯ said Sorena.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®I think - I think I have a tracker jinx. Killian, he made me eat ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Perfect,¡¯ said Sorena coldly. ¡®Just perfect. Now you mention it. Thanks a lot, Griffin.¡¯

    I only just felt it, Gray wanted to say.

    But, it wasn¡¯t important. Not now.

    ¡®I know you want to go to Sirentown,¡¯ Gray muttered to her. ¡®But, I think it¡¯s a bad idea. Killian knows -¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s the closest place with ships,¡¯ snapped Sorena. ¡®I know they¡¯ll follow me there, I''m not stupid. But, once I''m on a ship, they can¡¯t do anything about it.¡¯

    Gray glanced up at her and briefly wondered why she was so desperate to leave everything she knew. Would marrying an emperor¡¯s son really be that bad?

    He turned to the Ralphs. ¡®You go with Sorena.¡¯

    ¡®We¡¯re not going with her,¡¯ said Lyrie.

    ¡®I¡¯m being tracked,¡¯ said Gray, his jaw tight. ¡®They - will come after me.¡¯

    ¡®They¡¯ll come after Sorena, too,¡¯ said Lyrie. ¡®They¡¯ll come after her more than you.¡¯

    Gray muttered a curse, rubbing his face. ¡®Let me - let me think for a second.¡¯

    He was still wearing his old black sweater and trousers, with the left pocket heavy with coin from Barin''s desk. His feet were bare. He had Alistair¡¯s rucksack on his back.

    Slowly, Gray shrugged the rucksack off. Carefully went through Alistair¡¯s belongings.

    Gray¡¯s chest ached. His vision blurred.

    Gray went through it again. Laid everything out in front of him. Turned the rucksack inside out.

    Just clothes and Ali¡¯s stat papers and two maps.

    A crumpled one, so old it was torn along the folds. It showed the locations of the Ancient¡¯s tombs in Krydon.

    On the second map, Alistair had circled a location ¨C Sirentown ¨C and printed Wong¡¯s in neat handwriting.

    Gray folded the maps back up.

    He stared at Alistair¡¯s stat papers. The word DECEASED had appeared, scrawled across everything, in bold red lettered. His fist shook.

    Ali had left no reasons. No notes explaining.

    Carefully, Gray pushed down the rising heat within him. He turned to the others. ¡®Lyrie, Oliver, change your hair, change your clothes.¡¯

    Gray turned his gaze away as the Ralphs climbed into Alistair¡¯s clothes.

    They¡¯re just clothes, he told himself firmly. Alistair doesn¡¯t need them anymore.

    Alistair wouldn¡¯t care in the slightest.

    He¡¯d be pleased to know his clothes were helping -

    ¡®Here,¡¯ said Lyrie, passing Gray two filthy sets of Mage robes. Her auburn hair was tied back in a messy bun. Oliver¡¯s too. ¡®Will they fit in your rucksack?¡¯

    Gray nodded, keeping his face down.

    Gray dressed himself in Alistair¡¯s clothes, as well ¨C his trousers that were almost new (Barin had bought them for his birthday) and his collared shirt and vest. A soft set of leather shoes that were ill-suited for walking or riding, but they were the only ones packed. Ali¡¯d been wearing his only other pair when ¡­

    Gray pressed his lips together and pushed the image of Alistair out of his mind. He glanced down at himself. More than anything Gray wanted to bathe. But, that¡¯d have to wait.

    Alistair had been taller and broader than Gray. Than all of them. Gray rolled the trousers up above his ¨C Alistair¡¯s ¨C shoes, and had to button on braces to keep everything in place, but otherwise, it was OK. He shouldered Alistair¡¯s bag.

    The Ralphs and Sorena watched him.

    He limped over to where Fudgie was resting. She snickered affectionately as Gray gently held his hand to her nose.

    ¡®Feel up to a bit more?¡¯ Gray said.

    She snorted. Tired, but maybe not done, after all.

    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ Gray murmured. ¡®Didn¡¯t mean to insult you.¡¯

    Gray clambered clumsily on, more pulling himself up with his arms than properly mounting, his ankle suddenly flaring agony again.

    The Ralphs and Sorena continued to watch him.

    ¡®We going into this town?¡¯ said Sorena.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®We keep going. Get on.¡¯

    ¡®My brother really needs to eat and sleep, Gray,¡¯ said Lyrie.

    Gray felt a pang. Oliver was pale, and sitting cross-legged by the side of the road, his arms folded.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®You can¡¯t be seen by anyone here. This is one of the first places the soldiers will check. We keep going. We find food somewhere else.¡¯

    ¡®So, what¡¯s the plan?¡¯ said Sorena coldly.

    ¡®if we''re going to Sirentown together,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®we need to get there fast. Then, as soon as we arrive, we split up. We can¡¯t be near each other. We divide and weaken the army¡¯s resources.¡¯

    Sirentown was a city so big, it was over three million large. A city with the largest library in the known world.

    Alistair had been planning to go there. But, he''d been stopped.

    Avenging Alistair was rising so hot within Gray now, it was burning any fatigue he had, any fear, into ash.

    ''If we''re going to Sirentown together ...'' Gray repeated. He turned to Sorena. ¡®Speed and distance. This is going to be a race. What do you need, to be able to fahren?¡¯

 60. The Wolfs Failure

    Killian woke up and all he could see was fire.

    After he figured out he wasn¡¯t being burned alive or dying - which, admittedly, took him longer than it should¡¯ve - Killian crashed into the bathroom.

    A knife stabbed through the timber frame of the mirror, holding a note written in the kid¡¯s messy scrawl and a ten ardent note.

    Killian,

    If you¡¯re reading this,

    Here¡¯s ten for the sorcerer you just missed.

    C

    Killian¡¯s knife. From his locked weapons chest.

    Killian¡¯s ten ardent note.

    It was damn ruined.

    A smouldering bowl lay on the tiled floor, and the window over the bathtub was open, letting in cool night air.

    And no Gray.

    ¡®Gods.¡¯

    Killian barely registered the urge to punch a hole in the wall.

    Very carefully, Killian kept a hold of himself. Precisely, and with restraint, Killian strode over to the window and checked below.

    No shadow scaling down the side of the Hall.

    No stupid-damn-shadow lying prone right below him on the ground.

    No shadow darting across the garden.

    So, no prize money, no finder¡¯s fee, no award ceremony for special services for the kingdom, no gifts of land.

    No Griffin to present to Baldwin as specifically instructed.

    The kid was suffering from melancholy. It had made Killian complacent, thinking he had the kid resigned. Pliant for the journey to Dierne and for the presentation with Baldwin.

    But, maybe, it worked the opposite way with the kid.

    It happened sometimes. Sometimes melancholy made a prisoner dreadfully reckless.

    That¡¯s when about half of Killian¡¯s men rushed in with buckets of water and fire blankets.

    Then - THEN - a second explosion went off underneath their feet. It was so big it shook the entire Hall.

    The ceiling cracked. Plaster fell into Killian¡¯s eyes.

    Fire licked out of the windows beneath them. Fire so big, so bright, it was lighting up the entire night sky, blocking out the view of the stars and moon. Fire that crept back up to their floor, so that Killian hurriedly gestured for the men to shut the bedroom doors against the racing flames pouring towards them.

    There was something wrong with the fire.

    It had no heat.

    It made the air sting with an acidity that had Killian concerned about drawing breath into his lungs, and about his men being exposed to it for too long.

    Killian would not send his men into that fire. He¡¯d seen fire weaponised too many times, by sorcerers and mages alike, to risk his men being enchanted or cursed if they were to pass through it.

    Killian shouted - over the explosive fire - for the men to divide into groups and sweep the town.

    They couldn¡¯t go down the stairs. Killian had to send the men out the damn window.

    An unpleasant sensation built inside Killian¡¯s chest.

    The sort of magic to pull off this fire was on par with Krupin.

    The kid had been hiding his abilities very convincingly. If the kid could fahren, things were about to get very difficult for Killian. If he couldn¡¯t fahren ¡­ well, the kid still had the jinx in him. It¡¯d be there for a good week or longer. Killian would be able to track him easily. And the kid¡¯s ankle was wrecked. Killian would be faster. He¡¯d catch up to the kid in no time.

    Killian had been blindingly stupid. He made himself breathe - calm, calmly - and push his mind past the all-consuming rage that was threatening to overwhelm him. He¡¯d been taken in by the kid. The kid looked like a lost damn deer. Acted like a damn lost deer.

    But he wasn¡¯t.

    Of course he wasn¡¯t.

    This was Conor Griffin.

    This kid had wiped out one of Wilde¡¯s lackeys, wandlessly, as a bleeding child.

    Killian needed to know exactly what the kid could do.

    He needed to know exactly how screwed he was.

    But, he couldn¡¯t be rash.

    No panic.

    No more bad or weak choices.

    So, when Killian could finally access the stairs, when he¡¯d taken a calming breath, he stalked down the stairs with no sense of hurry. He went down to the prison.

    And stopped short.

    He stalled on the bottom step of the prison, his lips parting.

    His men were gone from their posts. The damn idiots must¡¯ve been spooked by the explosions.

    He¡¯d flay them.

    If Baldwin found out, he¡¯d execute them.

    The cell doors. They were all swung open.

    And the cells were empty.

    Empty.

    Killian¡¯s mouth turned to ash. His insides crumbled. He was hollow.

    The keys were in one of the locks. The keys Killian had instructed Codder to keep safe. Had Codder done this? Surely not. He had no reason, no motivation, to free the damn guards and Ralph kids.

    The kid had done this. The kid had asked Killian to free them ¡­

    Had the kid managed to steal the keys off Codder? And Codder hadn¡¯t even noticed, hadn¡¯t even reported them missing?

    The breathless words came out of Killian, tearing through the carefully curated calm within him, ¡®holy fuck.¡¯

    He turned on his heel, to race back up the prison stairs.

    Stopped himself.

    Curled his sweating fingers into fists.

    There was one door still locked.

    His door. Longwark.

    He needed to speak to him.

    He needed to do it now.

    Keeping tight control of his breath, Killian stalked to the last cell - the only cell that still had a locked door.

    ¡¯Sorcerer.¡¯ Killian unhooked a lamp from the wall.

    Not that Killian needed the lamp. His eyesight in the dark was good. And the light from the fire above, still sparking, still glowing, provided some visibility.

    But he wanted Longwark to see him. See every battle scar, the dark intent in his eyes, and the expression he¡¯d carefully cultivated for when he needed to be obeyed, no questions asked.

    Killian opened Longwark¡¯s cell and set the lamp onto the dank floor.

    Longwark slowly rolled over and sat up on the pallet. His appearance nettled under Killian¡¯s skin. His hair was wild and frizzed out around his head as though it could barely contain the static of his magic. His tattooed runes over his left eyebrow and ear and neck were smudged over with grime and bruises and blood.

    He reeked.

    He folded his arms. Raised his eyebrows. ¡®It wasn¡¯t me.¡¯

    Killian stayed calm. ¡®I know it wasn¡¯t you.¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t lose your shit-¡®

    Killian hit him. Under the jaw. Right where he knew it would hurt Longwark most. It killed Killian¡¯s fist, but Longwark was too busy gasping and rolling away to see Killian¡¯s grimace of pain.

    ¡®My shit is firmly under control, sorcerer.¡¯ Killian breathed out. Slowly. So slowly. ¡®You haven¡¯t been entirely honest with me about the kid. Have you?¡¯

    ¡®What did he do?¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®He¡¯s run?¡¯

    Killian settled his shoulders against the far wall, refusing to shiver from the feeling of Longwark¡¯s magic, from the prolonged eye contact from his intense ice-grey eyes. He made himself stand like time wasn¡¯t a problem, like he didn¡¯t desperately want to be tracking the kid this very second.

    ¡®Are you trying to ask me questions, sorcerer? You know how that goes for you.¡¯The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    If Killian hadn¡¯t been watching Longwark so closely, he would¡¯ve missed the tiny twitch of Longwark¡¯s upper lip. Stark satisfaction curled in Killian¡¯s stomach. He was getting to the bastard.

    ¡®Why do you think I haven¡¯t been honest, Major?¡¯ Longwark said.

    Killian surveyed him. His ice-grey eyes and his axe-wielder body. He was a damned liar. And a traitor. His head should¡¯ve been separated from his body already, for what he¡¯d done.

    Stealing from Othoa while the wards were down to accept Sorena, in preparation for her and the emperor¡¯s son¡¯s marriage. Leaving a pathway open through the border walls, which could draw Wilde back into their kingdom.

    Or Krupin.

    Killian suppressed a deep shudder.

    All in exchange for an old wish jar the Othoans had hoarded.

    The Othoans hoarded and guarded magical objects like a mother dragon guarding eggs. They had precious few mages. Lismere had taken most of them during a series of wars and raids, centuries ago. Not Lismere¡¯s finest hour. Othoa compensated for their lack of mages by hoarding magical items.

    If Lismere - Killian - couldn¡¯t return the jar, there¡¯d be war again.

    Lismere couldn¡¯t afford it yet. Not yet.

    They were still recovering from Krupin, Wilde, and D¡¯Oncray demolishing their mage population.

    Longwark¡¯d deliberately hidden his sorcery ancestry. He¡¯d expertly concealed what he was from his apprenticeship at the guild to his service in the army. Baldwin had trusted him - the whole royal family had trusted him. He¡¯d been given the highest honours and awards in the fight against Krupin.

    If Killian had to guess, Longwark had likely been acting as a kind of double agent. And he¡¯d never been caught.

    He¡¯d been flipping awarded.

    ¡®Did you,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®instruct him on how to perform his little stunt tonight?¡¯

    ¡®What is it?¡¯ said Longwark. His accent was thick. His swollen jaw made his words slur. Killian struggled to understand him.

    Longwark had the gall to turn his back to Killian, as he peered out the window.

    ¡®I only heard a ruckus,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®I assume it¡¯s some sort of curse fire bomb-¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s a fire that doesn¡¯t burn. A fire that snakes and curls and sparks like a giant firework.¡¯

    Longwark actually started laughing. He laughed so hard that tears streamed out of his intense eyes.

    ¡®That isn¡¯t magic, you fool,¡¯ he wheezed, when he¡¯d finally controlled himself. ¡®That is firebreath. It¡¯s a basic composition of phoenix and salt -¡®

    Killian cut him off with a sharp jab to his swollen eye.

    ¡®I didn¡¯t tell him how to do it,¡¯ hissed Longwark, holding his eye. ¡®Well, I did. In class. It¡¯s alchemy. Your dimmest halfwit of a non-mage soldier could do it. It went very wrong, by the sounds of it. I don¡¯t know why. Maybe he didn¡¯t do it right.¡¯ He paused. ¡®Don¡¯t they teach firebreath in the alchemy classes in the Dierne schools?¡¯

    ¡®Wasn¡¯t raised in Dierne.¡¯ Killian clenched his jaw. With sorcerers, his extra senses were useless. He couldn¡¯t tell if Longwark was stressed or if he was angry or excited. Longwark¡¯s heartbeat drummed a steady and calm thud, thud, thud.

    But, it was likely he was lying.

    It was in a sorcerer¡¯s nature to deceive.

    ¡®Alchemy,¡¯ said Killian, straining to keep the heat out of his voice. His hands shook. He shoved them deep into his pockets. ¡®Not magic.¡¯

    Longwark raised a bushy eyebrow. His tattoos moved.

    ¡®What magic is the kid capable of?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Can he farhen?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know.¡¯

    Killian flexed his fist.

    Longwark shifted. ¡®If he can, you¡¯re shit out of luck.¡¯

    Silence stretched.

    ¡®Can,¡¯ repeated Killian, struggling to push down the unpleasant sensation in his chest, ¡®he fahren?¡¯

    ¡®Professional opinion?¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®Unlikely.¡¯

    Silence.

    Killian tilted his head one way. Then the other. Looked Longwark dead in the eye. His heartbeat was still the steady thud, thud, thud.

    ¡®He has a block,¡¯ said Longwark. His tone was on the very edge of insolence that Killian would allow from a prisoner.

    Killian pushed down his reaction and pushed down the spike of surprise. A block. That was a steaming pile of bullshit if he''d ever heard it. He remained casually leant against the damp prison wall, crossing his ankles, and watched the shifting light on Longwark¡¯s face and body as the firebreath and the guttering lamp waxed and waned.

    ¡®Even if you¡¯ve used some very nasty tactics,¡¯ said Longwark with a slow smile, ¡®to prematurely shake loose his hold on his magic, to speed up his first ryece, he can do cheap tricks but nothing real. Yet. That''s my guess.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯d know about those tactics,¡¯ said Killian, softly, refusing to be baited into asking why the damn he''d want to speed up the kid''s ryece. ¡®Wasn¡¯t it you who caused the Hury explosion in the Dierne barracks, fifteen years ago?¡¯

    The smile slid off Longwark¡¯s face. ¡®You know nothing about that. Fifteen years ago you were still in training diapers.¡¯

    ¡®Fifteen years ago I was twenty. And already a major of Lismere¡¯s best field team, because I was that good.¡¯

    ¡®Good until your defeat at the mage guild massacre. Good until Wilde stole the sacred sword of Clochaint right out of your hands.¡¯ Longwark clicked his tongue. ¡®Devastating, that. I remember the reports in the news journals and military scrolls.¡¯

    Killian raised his eyebrows. ¡®Oh, I understand. We¡¯re trading stories about career failures. I¡¯d tell you some more of yours, but I don¡¯t have enough time for that tonight.¡¯

    ¡®And good,¡¯ said Longwark, raising his slurring voice, ¡®until you failed to report for guard duty at the Griffin home the night Wilde turned up. Isn¡¯t that why you¡¯re now in charge of this league of petty criminals and dregs? Too many colossal fuck ups and the king¡¯s been punishing you ever since.¡¯

    With great difficulty, Killian turned on his heel. Away.

    ¡®I¡¯ve been a good prisoner, haven¡¯t I?¡¯ said Longwark.

    Killian steeled his body, his face.

    Longwark had a habit of throwing unexpected words like gas clouds. They¡¯d sit in your psyche and slowly release over time, making you question everything.

    Sorcerers would do this.

    Mind messers.

    ¡¯Not resisted once,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®Didn¡¯t even try to leave when you shoved him in my cell - which was transparent as hell, by the way. I¡¯m not working for Wilde. I¡¯m not trying to start a war with Othoa. I¡¯ve not been secretly instructing the boy. Take me to the king and let me speak to him.¡¯

    Killian ran a finger along his jaw, feeling the bristles, studying Longwark.

    ¡®Or,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®I can help you get the boy back. Quickly. Quietly. Let me out, and give me my wand.¡¯

    Killian kept his face still. ¡®Please, yes, please. I need the help of a sorcerer who can¡¯t even do wandless magic. One who¡¯s so bad at magic, he¡¯s been mistaken for a mage his whole life. Just what I¡¯ve been looking for.¡¯

    ¡®You think every sorcerer is doing wandless magic like Krupin?¡¯ Longwark tutted his tongue softly. ¡®Oh, Major, you really do need my help.¡¯

    Killian gave a breathless laugh.

    ¡®You¡¯ve got no mage here,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®Your men are rubbish. The king sends you his worst. You¡¯re so fucked, you can already feel the bite of the king¡¯s sword at your neck. You¡¯ve no idea what kind of mess you¡¯re in.¡¯ Longwark leant forward. ¡®You need me.¡¯

    This was a waste of time. Longwark was screwing with him. Killian had a kid to catch.

    ¡®Right,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You stay here, sorcerer.¡¯ He tapped Longwark on his bruised cheek and stalked out of the cell.

    He strode past the empty cells, forcing calm over the raging heat within him.

    Killian paused, almost at the foot of the dirty stone steps. He stared up at the light coming down the prison stairs.

    There was a soft whoosh of wings behind him.

    From the last cell.

    Crows wings.

    Killian spun on the spot and sprinted back down the corridor.

    Sprinted harder.

    Faster.

    Longwark¡¯s rough voice was muttering the incantation - one that Killian knew by heart - and just as Killian skidded into Longwark¡¯s cell, there was a huge CRACK.

    Static hung in the air.

    Longwark.

    Freaking Longwark.

    Gone.

    Killian¡¯s gaze swept the empty cell. His mind refused to believe it.

    A crow had flown here, and delivered Longwark, what? - his wand, chalk?

    And Longwark had fahrened.

    ¡®FUCK!¡¯

    There should''ve been wards on those windows. There should''ve been nothing getting in or out, but this was the damn backwaters of Lismere and not a damn thing was up to code.

    Killian pounded out into the town square.

    Rage tore through him. The night air was cold against his hot skin. People lingered in the square. Mostly townsfolk. Some soldiers stood on watch, walking in pairs, but most of them were gone, searching the streets and wilderness nearby for the kid.

    The Hall windows still glowed and sparked with the dying firebreath fire.

    Killian glanced around, searching for Jessica''s familiar broad-shouldered form, but she wasn''t anywhere nearby. He turned, to go check her room.

    And stopped.

    The ground shuddered beneath Killian. He glanced up, scanning the sky for a fresh danger or attack.

    He smelt them before he saw them.

    Horses.

    Hundreds of them.

    The few soldiers left, the few townsfolk still loitering, screamed and ran for shelter.

    Killian darted up the Hall entrance steps, out of the way.

    A huge, confused herd of horses stampeded through the town, shaking the cobbled streets, knocking over signs and plants and benches, whinnying and neighing and screaming.

    Slowly, they filtered out. A few straggling horses jogged after the herd.

    Killian stalked back down the steps, barely able to think through the wrath tearing through his body.

    Through the haze of his anger, Killian was aware of Krydon¡¯s guards - the damn guards that the kid had let out of the prison - were knocking on people¡¯s homes.

    Stirring Krydon awake.

    Speaking guttural northern.

    Codder swaggered up, pale and sweaty. ¡®Bit weird. Think that was the kid, Major?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, it was the damn kid,¡¯ Killian snapped. He drew in a long breath. This was good news. The kid hadn¡¯t - couldn¡¯t - fahren. Longwark hadn¡¯t been lying about that, at least. And the kid had forgotten - or didn¡¯t know about, not properly - the jinx. ¡®He¡¯s on horseback. He¡¯s trying to cover his tracks with a Horse Calling Curse.¡¯

    Codder winced. ¡®About that. Got a fresh trail, Major. Believe he¡¯s headed east and then up to the forest.¡¯

    Killian eyed him, his chest heaving. He strained to keep his mind clear. He¡¯d never had such a humiliating fuck up in his entire career. He¡¯d fix it. Else he¡¯d lose his damn stars. Right on the eve of some of the most important people in the kingdom were due to arrive.

    But, something was off. With Codder. Something was always bloody off with Codder. Most of the time, Killian didn¡¯t want to know. Codder could¡¯ve been great. But, he was his own worst enemy.

    ¡®The kid,¡¯ said Killian, heat thrumming under his skin. ¡®He¡¯s all over you.¡¯

    Codder shifted under Killian¡¯s gaze. He swallowed. Inched back. His hand fluttered to his pocket where he kept his cigarettes and handkerchief.

    Something caught Killian¡¯s attention out of the corner of his eye.

    It was his movement. The kid¡¯s stumbling hobble.

    Killian shoved Codder out of the way and sprinted down a side alley.

    It was dark, and the shadows cast by the tall houses made it hard to catch.

    But, it was him. His slight form and tousled ponytail. The damn kid.

    Killian chased him through the winding alley.

    Around a tight corner.

    ¡®Gray,¡¯ Killian shouted.

    The kid turned, just enough for Killian to see the angle of his cheek, the curl of his dark lashes. The kid hurried faster down a deserted street.

    Killian closed in on him. The kid was only feet away. He kept hobbling, staggering and pushing himself off against the walls. He stumbled around another corner, towards the dive where Killian got his coffee from the night cafe in Shadewalk Lane. Killian knew it was a dead end. Knew he had the little bastard.

    His fingertips snatched the back of the kid¡¯s sweater.

    The kid disappeared.

    Silently.

    Like smoke. Like nothing.

    Killian froze, his empty hand outstretched. His pulse thudded in his ears.

    This trick.

    This illusion.

    It was the oldest one.

    Killian spun on the spot, dirt grinding under his heels, gazing into the quiet shadows of the narrow street.

    Heard the shifting of many pairs of feet behind him. Heard the smooth draw of a sword.

    ¡¯Turn around, nice and easy,¡¯ said a deep voice Killian had never heard before. A smooth voice. Almost silky, almost ¡­ thrilling.

    A mage¡¯s voice.

    A grown one. One that had mastered his power.

    Killian turned around. A huge man with auburn braids and fierce - luminous - eyes had a machete levelled at Killian¡¯s throat. Behind him stood five others, wands and swords raised, grim-faced and intense-eyed.

    ¡®Nice of you to show up,¡¯ Killian said. ¡®You must be the Ralphs. Not the best time, though.¡¯

    The northern mages did not look pleased.

    Killian¡¯s hands trembled.

    Behind him, emerging from the dark homes, axes and knives glinting in the moonlight, townsfolk. They were surrounding him from behind, cutting off his exit in this dead end street.

    Killian knew they were assembling throughout the entire town.

    Knew the fight that was coming.

    From the mages.

    From the townsfolk.

    He¡¯d fucking destroy them all.

    He shifted into his wolf form and attacked.

 61. The Wolfs Rules

    With a great effort, Killian shifted out of his wolf form.

    An old curse was wrenched from his tongue. The loss of the heightened sense of smell and hearing hurt. The loss of the wolf was agony. His bones groaned. He staggered, and then silently pushed himself back up.

    Killian was naked, and he didn¡¯t damn care, not one bit.

    The injured and dying warriors of Krydon piled around him in a semicircle. They¡¯d come at him, at him, at him, until they¡¯d actually started to back off or flee.

    And the northern mages were wrecked.

    They were huddled in a pile, their backs against the stone buildings of the alley. They were magic-fatigued and close to death.

    Killian wiped blood from his mouth and face, his hand trembling. Softly, he stalked towards the injured mages like a nightmare.

    Ralphs and ¡­ and ¡­ Yarrows and ¡­

    Damn his mind.

    Killian shook his head, trying to bring himself back to his mind and remove the remnants of the wolf.

    There were a few dangers with being in wolf form, but the biggest one by far was Killian could lose himself to him.

    Rule one of the wolf: spend too much time in the form of a wolf, and that¡¯s where you¡¯ll stay.

    And time had ticked onwards without him realising, judging by the movement of the stars and moon in the sky.

    Rule two: spend too long in the form of a wolf, you¡¯ll stop caring about time.

    It really was a trap.

    Transforming into a man with the mind of a wolf was not a fate Killian wanted for himself. Nor was remaining a wolf for the rest of his days, when truly he was a man.

    He¡¯d been born a man.

    He¡¯d damned well die as one.

    His entire body shook.

    He continued to stalk towards the northern mages.

    A couple of the mages, predictably, screamed. One tried to run, but Killian caught him easily, shaking him hard when he resisted.

    He dragged the mages through Krydon, his fists bunched in their robes, their hair, stalking through the dark with complete ease. He crashed through the barricades the townsfolk had set up earlier - before the wolf had destroyed them, warrior people be damned, they were nothing compared to the wolf - and ignored the shouts from any surviving townsfolk and his soldiers. He threw the weakened mages at the first soldier who dared to make eye contact with him.

    Rookie.

    Rookie¡¯s cheeks were flushed red from stress. His eyes darted all over Killian.

    ¡®Major,¡¯ rookie said, clutching onto the mages¡¯ robes and yanking them behind himself with a protectiveness that made Killian¡¯s lip curl in disdain, because, really, Killian was handing over the mages and if he¡¯d wanted to hurt them further he would¡¯ve, and a pipsqueak like the rookie wouldn¡¯t be able to stop him. ¡®Major, you¡¯re covered in blood. Major, you¡¯re nude. Let me get you your clothes. Let me walk you to your room. Let me-¡¯

    ¡®The kid?¡¯

    The rookie gaped at Killian, and then collected himself. ¡®Still searching, Major. There¡¯s parties in every direction in case he¡¯s managed to divert the jinx-¡¯

    ¡®Longwark,¡¯ Killian said. ¡®Any sign?¡¯

    ¡®No, nothing-¡¯

    Killian transformed back into the wolf, not giving a shit about the screams and chaos erupting around him. Not caring about the brutal pain, the impossible shifting of bones, senses, mind.

    He padded into the Hall, down to the prison, and into Longwark¡¯s cell. Got his scent.

    And then, went out, crossing the town, then the boundary, and into the cover of the forest.

    Searching.

    Longwark had been in bad shape.

    There was a chance. The wolf might get him.

    The wolf pulled at him, more, more, more, with every moment he spent within his body.

    Rule three: lose yourself to the wolf, no one¡¯s coming to save you.

    If he didn¡¯t get his prisoners back, if he didn¡¯t somewhat redeem himself before all the military big wigs and mage soldiers arrived in mere hours, he would lose the reputation he¡¯d spent years rebuilding.

    The wolf covered miles and miles easily and fast, eating up the ground with his wolf trot.

    Mages and sorcerers might be able to fahren.

    But wolves can run.

    And they don¡¯t need damned hours, days, weeks to recover between distances.

    And Longwark, he¡¯d been on a diet that weakened sorcerers - well, it weakened mages, no one really had any damn clue about the diet sorcerers required, but it was assumed it was the same as mages, seeing as they got misclassified as mages at different points in history, they¡¯d gotten into the guild, the military, the government, and their eating habits had never been identified as different.

    Longwark had been pretty messed up. Honestly, it was impressive he¡¯d managed to farhen at all, even if he¡¯d been given chalk and a wand by that damn crow.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Rule four: the wolf will kill, when he needs, when he wants, with no thought of the law.

    Rule five: almost nothing has the power to stop the wolf, aside from silver, some sorcerers, and himself.

    The wolf kept running.

    Hunting.

    The sun was high in the sky, through the dappled sky visible through the trees. A tiny, human concern whispered through the wolf.

    The Major General Darcy, the mages, will be at Krydon by now. They will have been greeted by the chaos there.

    When the wolf scented Longwark, he didn¡¯t care.

    He had him.

    Had the traitorous bastard.

    Wind ruffled his fur. He paused, still. He was invisible in the dappled shadows, one paw off the ground, his ears pricked forward.

    Then the wolf saw Longwark.

    Longwark, he almost damn killed.

    The wolf stopped, his jaws around the northerner¡¯s neck, his teeth digging into his flesh. The northerner¡¯s jugular moved. His pulse jumped.

    Erratically.

    Dangerously fast.

    The whisper of the memory of Longwark¡¯s infuriatingly steady thud, thud, thud, through all the interrogations, through every intimidation tactic, every attempt to unmake him, vibrated through the wolf¡¯s mind. It whispered again. Like his late wife, her soft lips to his ear, her gentle breath warm, and her voice lilting, while they lay in bed as the sun rose. Quietly, quietly, so as not to wake their sons.

    That snapped Killian back.

    Killian transformed and ripped the wand out of Longwark¡¯s grasp.

    The wand stung Killian as he touched it - zapped with static and magic and it bloody hurt - but he showed no pain, no weakness, as he hauled Longwark up.

    Longwark stared at Killian, his ice grey eyes intense.

    The shock on Longwark¡¯s face was the first open expression he¡¯d seen on the sorcerer, the first sign of genuine emotion.

    It took Killian a long moment to remember how to talk, how to think beyond instinct. It had never taken him this long to bring back his human mind. Being human again was dizzying. Painful.

    ¡®Come on,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®We have a long walk.¡¯

    And he didn¡¯t let go of Longwark, not for one second. He dragged Longwark back, back through the forest, not caring about his nakedness, though Longwark remarked on it several times in accented Lismerian, and then in northern so harsh that Killian could guess the meaning.

    After a few hours, these snide comments stopped. Longwark got harder to drag.

    What had taken Killian hours in his wolf form took until the next dawn by foot. He hauled Longwark along, eventually leaving the forest behind and crossing through fields and farms, and then over the crumbling wall that marked Krydon¡¯s boundary.

    They were met by Codder.

    Killian had to deal with Codder.

    But, not now. Not while the wolf lurked, so very ready to break through and take control of everything.

    He¡¯d kill him right now, if Codder admitted what Killian already knew - Codder had fucking messed with the kid, after he¡¯d explicitly told him not to, or he¡¯d been involved with the escape. Hell, if Codder even lied to him about it, Killian would tear him apart.

    Codder grabbed Longwark and bound his hands and caught Killian up on who¡¯d arrived from Dierne and the guild, and when.

    ¡®The mage soldiers, Major,¡¯ drawled Codder, his pale face drawn. Tight. Seemingly unaware that Killian was a hair''s breadth from snapping his neck in two. ¡®They were here maybe half an hour before they ¡­¡¯

    ¡®They what?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®They disappeared, sir. They ran.¡¯

    Ruthlessness pulsed hard and deep within Killian. Very carefully, Killian laid his gaze on Longwark.

    But, Longwark, even if he gave Killian answers, could not be trusted. Killian couldn¡¯t tell when he was being truthful or deceptive. Longwark was nothing but a liability. Longwark was trouble, and he knew what was going on, perhaps had even engineered it, and Killian could do damn all about getting real information out of him. Killian could kill Longwark, easily. He should.

    ¡®They,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®you - you should¡¯ve seen the Major General Darcy, sir. He¡¯s so angry.¡¯ Codder¡¯s voice shook, which was so unusual for him - the man had an almost pathological level of fearlessness which Killian loved - and that rattled Killian. For Darcy¡¯s anger to decompose Codder, he could only imagine the state of his other men.

    Now, more than ever, he needed them focused. Strong.

    Not in a damn shambles and making choices out of fear.

    Desertion could become a real threat.

    If his reputation was already at risk of being in shambles from the kid and Longwark, he could only imagine how mass desertion would reflect upon his leadership.

    Clochaint.

    ¡®Major, maybe it was good you weren¡¯t here-¡¯

    ¡®Clothes,¡¯ Killian growled. ¡®Codder, get me my uniform, so I don¡¯t walk up to them naked.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    Codder disappeared, jerking Longwark along behind him, and they faded into the black shadows cast by the tall, skinny houses bordering the alley.

    Killian stayed, waiting, his chest heaving, and his trembling out of control. Killian hated letting Longwark out of his sight. But, Longwark was seriously injured. He was exhausted - Killian could see it and smell it, even in his human form. Longwark would not be a threat until after he¡¯d slept and eaten, at least.

    That left the mage soldiers.

    And the kid.

    Killian shut his eyes.

    What a fuck up.

    Someone headed towards Killian. Their footsteps echoed off the high walls of the alley. Their breath was ragged.

    Pickering emerged, pausing for only a second at Killian¡¯s appearance.

    ¡®Major - they said you were down here - Major, something awful-¡¯

    The kid, Killian thought immediately. Not content with firework fire, not content with bewitching the local horses ¡­

    Pickering mouthed soundlessly.

    ¡®Spit it the damned well out, Pickering.¡¯

    Pickering swayed, his face drained of colour. His eyes were stark.

    ¡®Rookie, Major. Russet.¡¯

    Killian frowned. He stepped forward. He pushed down the fear that his men had already started deserting. ¡®What¡¯s he done?¡¯

    If those northern mages had given the rookie the slip, Killian would have him cleaning toilets for the next year. Rookie was too soft. He hadn¡¯t seen much of the world yet, despite being captured off one of the worst pirate ships that plagued the waters on the south coast. He knew boats. Not mages.

    ¡®He¡¯s - he¡¯s been killed. Major.¡¯ Pickering stood in front of Killian, weeping.

    Stinging fear rippled through Killian. Pickering never cried. Not when he¡¯d gotten captured by goblins that one time. Not when his bunkmate had gotten stabbed in front of him by a tomb raider three years ago. Not when he¡¯d gotten the news his grandmother had passed away, and now his seven little brothers had to be raised by the uncle he hated.

    ¡®Someone strung him up,¡¯ said Pickering, his voice hoarse as he visibly struggled to control his tears, ¡®from the bridge in Gallow¡¯s Alley. He¡¯s - he¡¯s dead. Some of the men could - feel it. I - can feel it. There¡¯s magic at work here. Dark ¡­¡¯

    ¡®That,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®doesn¡¯t make sense.¡¯

    ¡®Major ¡­¡¯

    Killian barely registered Pickering¡¯s cry as he stalked past. Barely heard the shouts as he stormed through Krydon. Damn naked.

    There was a sorcerer here.

    One Killian had missed. One hiding.

    But, he¡¯d been wrong. It wasn¡¯t about the kid, this sorcerer wasn¡¯t here to collect him. Or if it was, it was blind, because the kid was miles away.

    Killian had one mission in mind.

    Talk to the Ralph mages. The mages with history here. The mages who¡¯d been hiding from something, who had been playing cat and mouse with something - likely a damn sorcerer - that scared them more than Killian or the king.

    The Ralphs knew something.

    They couldn¡¯t lie like Longwark.

    And, Killian could make them break their silence.

    Killian would find who had murdered his rookie.

    Then, he¡¯d find the damn kid.

 62. The Curse Of Cherry Wine

    Gray twisted his grip on the strap of his rucksack, his dark hair hanging in his eyes, and, against every instinct within him, he paused.

    Ravestead town lay before him.

    They were close enough to the coast that the air was changing from forest-scented to balmy, and the soil was changing to sandy.

    Gray stood on the cobbled road that led down to the main gates - ancient gates carved all over with twists and axes and ravens - sand gritty underneath his shoes, the reins of Fudgie in his free hand, mouth open.

    The noise coming from the town washed over him like frothing waves.

    It was a roar of voices calling, hammers pounding in smithies, and livestock bleating. It was wheels clattering on cobblestoned streets. It was singers and fiddle players performing on the streets, and a hundred banners - depicting different shields, family shields - flapping in the wind.

    Ravestead¡¯s walls were built from black stone with spikes jutting from the top and were so tall that Gray, hell even Fudgie, looked like ants. The towering buildings beyond the wall were crammed so close together that their tiled roofs almost touched.

    ¡®You¡¯re so green it hurts,¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®Wait until you see Sirentown. Let¡¯s go.¡¯

    Sweat beaded her forehead, and her platinum hair was a tangled mess. She sat hunched on Fudgie.

    She¡¯d fahrened them over three nights, and even with Gray¡¯s limited knowledge of magic, he could see that she was really pushing it.

    She couldn¡¯t hide the tremble in her hands.

    The thinness of her breath.

    Fahrenning was brutal. It was like being drowned, crushed into darkness, tossed back and forth, and then being thrown gasping onto the ground of a strange place.

    But, however brutal it was for Gray, Lyrie and Oliver, and however much the horses hated it, it was worse for Sorena.

    ¡®You¡¯re so rude it hurts,¡¯ muttered Lyrie under her breath, so only Gray and Oliver could hear. ¡®You go.¡¯

    Perhaps, she was getting too exhausted to fight with Sorena. She certainly looked exhausted, with her auburn braids fraying every which way and her complexion going damn grey. Her eyes looked less fierce with every mile they travelled.

    Lyrie barely talked at all, unless it was to fight with Sorena. Oliver, too. Gray knew her family had commanded her not to talk due to whatever the reason was that was making the mages hide in the forest. Sometimes she¡¯d watch the treeline of the forest when they got close, her hands tight in the horse¡¯s mane and her shoulders drawn in.

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Oliver, a bit too loudly. Oliver, Gray was learning, would back his sister to the death, even if she was wrong as heck. ¡®You go.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re so stupid I can¡¯t even deal,¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®I will go. I¡¯ll go, get out of the open and if you stay behind then father¡¯s army will capture you.¡¯

    ¡®Did you just call my brother stupid?¡¯ said Lyrie, edging her horse forward.

    Sorena narrowed her cold hazel eyes. ¡®I¡¯m calling you both stupid, stupid.¡¯

    ¡®No one¡¯s stupid,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You¡¯re all stupid,¡¯ said Sorena, her voice pure ice.

    ¡®This is stupid,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You don¡¯t know my father,¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®My stepmother. I need to get into a hotel. A nice one. Rest. And then keep going.¡¯ She made to dismount.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray quickly. He could only imagine how things would go if Sorena marched into that town, into any of the hotels, and started making demands. ¡®Stay. I¡¯ll sort it.¡¯

    -

    Gray sorted it, after being buffeted on the busy streets, his shoulder bumped when he stood still for too long, disoriented by so many people and the mess of narrow streets.

    He sorted stabling for the horses, sorted a cheap canvas cap for Sorena to wear to cover her distinctive hair and at least half shield her damn beautiful face.

    And, after some effort, he sorted a place for them to rest for a few hours.

    It wasn''t a hotel.

    He''d gotten turned away from every hotel he tried. Which, to be fair, would¡¯ve been exactly what Barin would¡¯ve done if a guest had turned up at the tavern as Gray was (covered in insect bites from sleeping in the open, the remains of faint bruising on his face, limping, no stat papers, and looking hunted).

    Instead, he found a cosy pub in the centre of Ravestead, and it was plush enough with brightly coloured cushions and curtains, and a cheery fire in an enormous hearth, to be deemed nice in Sorena¡¯s eyes.

    They sat huddled around a small table and tried to be discrete.

    Sorena ate a giant meat pie, chips and salad. She ate a bowl of onion soup and a hunk of bread. A giant slice of lemon and hazelnut cake. Her hands went from trembling to just a slight tremor.

    She said she was almost ready to fahren them again.

    But not quite.

    And the horses needed more rest. Honestly, they¡¯d be pretty screwed if the horses got injured.

    That¡¯s when the wine happened.

    Because, as Lyrie pointed out, they couldn¡¯t just sit at the table in this pub for hours and twiddle their thumbs.

    They had to blend in. And cherries, Lyrie had said, were on the list of foods that strengthened a mage¡¯s power. The pub didn¡¯t have cherries, but it had cherry wine.

    And now, the bottle of cherry wine was nearly drained, the girls were doing everything but blending in.

    They were the damn loudest table in the pub.

    Somehow, Lyrie and Sorena went from arguing in hissing whispers for three days straight to leaning their foreheads against each other and then laughing in about the span of one hour.

    Gray watched them, his eyebrows knitting. Sure, they¡¯d drunk a lot of cherry wine but it wasn¡¯t strong. Maybe it was because they were all sleep deprived. Stressed. He himself felt frayed around the edges, but still, watching Lyrie and Sorena going from something bordering on hate to this sudden intense closeness was giving Gray whiplash.

    Gray had such a racing sense of panic at being still so close to Krydon that he felt like he could hurl at any second.

    He could feel the jinx.

    Under his skin.

    Pulsing, just slightly off from his heartbeat.

    Killian was homing in.

    Getting closer.

    It would be so easy for Killian to stalk into this cosy pub, flip over the tables in a rage, and drag not only Sorena and the Ralphs, but Gray too, back into the nightmare that was Krydon.

    Killian would be very, very angry.

    And everything Gray had worked for would be for nothing. He was determined to keep the soldiers chasing them, drawing them further and further away from Krydon.

    Gray tried to exchange a glance with Oliver - you know, a girls-am-I-right? kind of deal, to see if Oliver was feeling as confused as he - but Oliver was slumped against the back of his chair, fast asleep with his mouth open.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    ¡®Clochaint.¡¯ Gray leant forward to catch Sorena¡¯s attention. ¡®Sorena?¡¯

    ¡®Forget the guild,¡¯ Lyrie was saying to a very enraptured Sorena, who completely ignored Gray, ¡®I just want to lay in fields and pick shapes out of clouds, and pluck peaches from trees. Is that too much to ask?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®No, it isn¡¯t. You¡¯re so right.¡¯

    ¡®Have you ever had a peach straight from a tree?¡¯ said Lyrie.

    ¡¯No,¡¯ said Sorena, frowning. ¡®Everything I eat has to be tested for poison first.¡¯

    ¡®Gods, that¡¯s terrible.¡¯

    Lyrie was crying now, and Gray was pushing down building panic within him, but only just.

    ¡®Girls,¡¯ he said. ¡¯Sorena. We kind of have to focus. It could do badly if we don¡¯t.¡¯

    ¡®Do you hear something?¡¯ said Lyrie.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®I only hear the piping of an unbroken voice, and it does nothing to penetrate my mind.¡¯

    ¡®What the fuck,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®My voice has actually broken, I¡¯m trying to not startle you-¡¯

    ¡®Only,¡¯ said Sorena to Lyrie, ¡®cherries would be better.¡¯

    ¡®Cherries?¡¯ said Lyrie.

    ¡®Not peaches,¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®From the trees.¡¯ She swirled the dregs of the cherry wine, and they both laughed loud enough for the elderly couple at the neighbouring table to give them a very disapproving glare.

    Gray waved an apologetic hand at the elderly couple and snatched the wine bottle out of their reach. ¡®Is this spiked?¡¯

    It took two more goes before Sorena untangled herself from Lyrie and hit Gray with a very drunk, very hazy stare.

    ¡®You need anything else?¡¯ he said. ¡¯To prepare you for fahrening again?¡¯

    ¡®Fahrening?¡¯ she said.

    Oh, gods.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray firmly. ¡®You need to fahren us again. As soon as possible. To Sirentown. Remember?¡¯

    ¡®Right,¡¯ said Sorena.

    She staggered upright, and Gray¡¯s heart lurched. Why the damn had he let her drink? He knew it only took the barest bit of alcohol to turn her messy. He¡¯d thought, at one point, that maybe the Sorena he¡¯d met at the Tipsy Stag had been a very convincing act.

    But, no. She could get very drunk off half a drink, let alone a load of cherry wine.

    ¡®No, no,¡¯ said Gray. ¡¯Sit. Tell me, and I¡¯ll get it.¡¯

    ¡®Myrtle tea,¡¯ she said.

    And, as Gray crossed the pub floor to ask if they had myrtle tea - gods he hoped so - Sorena yelled out, ¡®And be discrete about it, little boy.¡¯

    Gray stiffly ignored the looks from the other patrons.

    ¡ª

    At some point, the girls got sleepy. They were too sleepy for them to do any kind of magic let alone for Sorena to fahren them. Oliver was damn impossible to wake.

    Gray leant against the counter at the bar inside the cosy pub, chewing the inside of his lip.

    The owner of the pub was an elderly woman with a tough squint to her eyes. She looked Gray up and down and then glanced over his shoulder, through the crowd that had trickled into the pub as the sun had set, and at Gray¡¯s table. At the three slumped forms there.

    ¡®Any room you have,¡¯ Gray begged.

    There was accommodation available on the floors above the pub. The sign outside said so.

    This had not been the plan. The plan had been to eat and recover, and get moving again in a matter of hours. Half a day at most.

    Damn cherry wine.

    They were so screwed.

    There was a twist to the woman¡¯s mouth that told Gray he was about to be charged at least double the going rate.

    She knew they had money. They¡¯d spent a small fortune on food already between the four of them.

    ¡®These rooms are pricey,¡¯ said the owner.

    ¡®How much?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Two silvers, lad.¡¯

    Ouch. Gray clenched his jaw, and dug two silvers out of his pocket. He handed them over, his shoulders tense.

    ¡®I don¡¯t know,¡¯ said the owner, tucking the coins into the front pocket of her apron. ¡®No parents, no stat papers. It¡¯s awfully suspicious, lad. I don¡¯t want trouble with the law.¡¯

    She was smiling a smile that wouldn¡¯t have looked out of place on a shark. Gray sighed and knew the next step he had to take in this dance. He slid a precious ardent coin across the counter.

    ¡®Your tip,¡¯ said Gray tightly. ¡®For being so accommodating. I¡¯m very appreciative, ma¡¯am.¡¯

    The owner squinted at the coin and let out a sharp breath. Then, she snatched it up faster than a cat battering a mouse. ¡®Room 202 is available. Second floor.¡¯

    -

    It took a lot of work, and way too much attention from surrounding patrons for Gray¡¯s liking, to get Sorena, Lyrie, and Oliver up the stairs and into room 202.

    It was a simple room with floral wallpaper, rough timber flooring, and a window that looked out into the street.

    There was a large double bed, and one-by-one, Gray poured them into it.

    ¡®You know,¡¯ said Lyrie, slurring in northern, ¡®someone in Krydon said you were a sorcerer. Conor Griffin. You aren¡¯t famous, are you? You¡¯re not a sorcerer?¡¯

    Wordlessly, Gray settled her next to Oliver, taking off her boots. Her eyes were half lidded. He opened his mouth to ask her what he¡¯d asked her two times already - why were the mages hiding in the forest?

    As she was, she¡¯d probably answer him.

    And, in the morning she¡¯d kill him.

    If she remembered.

    ¡®Maid,¡¯ said Sorena, sitting lopsidedly on the opposite side of the bed. She held up her wrist. The cuffs of her expensive shirts had a complicated weaving of laces and buttons. ¡®Attend me.¡¯

    ¡®Drink your myrtle tea,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®It¡¯s right next to you.¡¯

    ¡®Maid.¡¯ Sorena lifted both her wrists.

    ¡®You¡¯re drunk,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You¡¯re angry,¡¯ said Sorena, narrowing her gaze.

    Yes, Gray wanted to say. How had this happened, how the damn had they gotten blind drunk off one bottle of cherry wine?

    They didn¡¯t have time for this.

    ¡®Go to sleep, Sorena,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Maid. My laces.¡¯

    ¡®Do I look like your maid?¡¯

    ¡®You look,¡¯ said Sorena, ¡®like the portrait of Ryan Griffin in my father¡¯s office. Only angry. You always have done. I suspected it, the moment I met you.¡¯

    Gray''s stomach jolted. Suddenly, his throat was very dry.

    ¡®So,¡¯ he said faintly, ¡®not your maid.¡¯

    He undid her damn laces on the cuffs of her wrists anyway, firmly pushing down rising anger and cold anxiety.

    But, he couldn''t curtail the sharp curiosity burning through him.

    Sorena lay down, the loose laces from her cuff trailing over the blankets.

    ''Why does your father have a portrait of Ryan Griffin in his office?'' said Gray.

    She lay her arms over her head, resting her hands on the pillow. Gray had never seen her so unguarded.

    ''Why would I know?'' she said.

    ''He''s your father. You haven''t asked him?''

    ''He''s got lots of portraits,'' said Sorena.

    She blinked slow.

    Slower.

    She was asleep.

    The three of them slept through the noise coming up from the pub. They slept through Gray pushing an armchair against the door. They slept as the night wore on and the pub below grew quiet.

    Gray eyed the adjoining bathroom, desperate to bathe, but didn¡¯t dare break his attention, not for a second. He paced back and forth in the room, his gaze alternating between the dark window and the barricaded door.

    The floorboards creaked underneath his feet. Soft and subtle.

    Spindly tree branches scratched at the window.

    Oliver lay snoring next to Lyrie. Sorena slept so deeply and lay so still that Gray resisted the urge to prod her to make sure she¡¯d not fallen into an unwakeable sleep.

    There was movement in the street. Lismerian.

    Heart in his mouth, Gray crossed to the window and peeked out.

    Soldiers.

    They were travelling fast.

    And it looked like they were in small groups.

    Gray scanned them for Killian.

    For Codder.

    But, it was dark, and the soldiers avoided the pools of light from the street lamps.

    Gray was at the bed, shaking everyone awake, so fast.

    Sorena was the hardest to wake.

    Lyrie shouldered the rucksack and Oliver was tying his shoelaces, and Gray was still rousing Sorena.

    She sat, slowly.

    And stared at Gray, looking rougher than he¡¯d ever seen her, her fingertips pressing to her temples. Her un-done laces from her cuffs trailed.

    ¡®I see you¡¯re yourself again,¡¯ said Gray, pressing cold myrtle tea into her hands.

    ¡®This,¡¯ said Sorena, ¡®is not myself.¡¯ She stared down at the myrtle tea as though it was a cup of dirt.

    ¡®They¡¯re here,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®We have to go. You all right?¡¯

    Sorena gulped down the myrtle tea.

    Underneath them, through the floorboards, was a tumult of voices.

    Deep. Clipped. Lismerian.

    Gray was pulling Sorena upright, and helping her with her shoes, while Lyrie drew the chalk circle on the floorboards. Oliver shoved Sorena¡¯s wand into Sorena¡¯s limp grasp.

    ¡¯Now, Sorena,¡¯ said Gray.

    The soldiers were in the hall.

    They were outside their door. Talking to the guest in the room opposite.

    Killian - Killian¡¯s voice barrelled through, ¡®I expect your cooperation, ma¡¯am¡¯-

    Gray¡¯s insides froze. He realised they didn¡¯t have time to get the horses from the stable, that the soldiers surely would be there, checking, waiting, and it was like a kick in the gut - no horses, no Fudgie, who had been Alistair¡¯s favourite, Fudgie who was naughty and clever and had been so amazing through the brutal fahrenning, and he had to abandon Fudgie here in this town and Alistair would be fuming -

    Sorena coolly muttered the words, as they all stood huddled together inside the chalk circle.

    Gray glanced over at the barricaded door, just as someone - someone impossibly strong - kicked it open in one movement.

    Killian was silhouetted in the doorway. His soldier cap was pulled low over his eyes, and the wolf fur collar was in immaculate condition, undisturbed by travelling fast and hard.

    He stepped over the threshold.

    For the smallest fraction of a second, Gray made eye contact with Killian.

    Then,

    CRACK.

    They fahrened.

 63. His Alchemy Teacher Would be So Mad

    The problem with fahrenning with a hungover mage - heck, she might¡¯ve still been drunk - is that their judgement¡¯s not great.

    Gray had assumed Sorena would take them into the forest. Somewhere hidden, but close by. Just somewhere near Ravestead, so they could get their bearings and then fahren again after Sorena had had a second to breathe.

    Gray landed blindly, the lingering crush of darkness from fahrenning obscuring his vision.

    His knees cracked on sandy cobblestones. His palms skidded in a slippery puddle of brine. Gods, he hoped it was just brine.

    Startled cries rose around him, cries deep enough that Gray could picture the people without having to see them.

    Northerners. Huge. Male.

    Underneath the startled cries was the distant sound of ocean waves crashing against a cliff.

    He gasped in a breath and the air was salty. The tang made him stagger to his feet, blinking furiously to get his eyesight to clear.

    Because, for Clochaint¡¯s sake, did Sorena just fahren them right into Sirentown city?

    He stumbled, glancing desperately around for Sorena, for Lyrie and Oliver.

    And instead was met with several dark, surprised stares from the guards manning a huge set of gates.

    One guard leant against the guardhouse door, his axe resting loosely in his hand, its blade tapping out a bored rhythm on the cobblestones. Another slouched against the gate itself - against the giant hinges - his head tilted in shock as his gaze swept over Gray, mid-chew of a piece of dried meat. Two more sat cross legged on the ground, paused in their game of cards.

    They wore uniforms accented in turquoise and had more knives on their belts than Gray had seen anyone carry, including Killian.

    Gray wasn¡¯t inside Sirentown city, he realised, craning his neck as he glanced up. A salty breeze buffeted against his back, whipping through his clothes, and flinging his dark hair every which way.

    The gates towered, they were designed for giants, and they were set into walls so high that they disappeared into the black night sky.

    ¡®Care to explain yourself, boy?¡¯ said the guard tapping his axe, his eyebrows raised, his lips starting to curl in amusement as his gaze swept over Gray.

    Gray rubbed his eyes to clear his sight properly, his pulse thudding in his head, feeling like he¡¯d left his stomach up in the air and like he had a current of static running through his blood.

    He¡¯d never been thrown apart from the group like this during a fahrenning. Sorena¡¯s fahrenning had always landed them shoulder to shoulder with each other.

    Before Gray could think of something to tell the guards, a chorus of deep northern yells went up somewhere far on his left, ¡®mages!¡¯

    The guards near Gray shifted. A few of them reached for their knives. The one closest to Gray folded his arms, tilting his chin up as he stared at Gray hard.

    ¡®You mage?¡¯ said the guard, his thick eyebrows raised so high now they were near his hairline. ¡®I thought they weren¡¯t allowed out on their own so young. Where are your guards, eh? Where are your parents? There''s poachers in this city.¡¯

    ''Not mage,'' Gray gasped. ''Just - just travelling with them-''

    A loud cry, ripping through the night air, from somewhere on the right, ¡®the princess. The princess Sorena. She¡¯s here. Call the Captain!¡¯

    Gray swore.

    The closest guard grabbed Gray. His huge hand twisted the back of Gray¡¯s vest. Gray watched, as though a by-stander to a nightmare, as more guards dressed in that uniform accented in turquoise dragged first Lyrie and Oliver, and then Sorena, in from the darkness.

    Sorena was completely limp, thrown over the shoulder of a hulking guard, her platinum hair dancing in the wind from the sea.

    Gray had a split second.

    A split second to lock eyes with Lyrie. For her to mouth ¡®go¡¯.

    Because, by now, Lyrie knew Gray could move.

    And she knew that Alistair¡¯s vest was too big for Gray.

    That Gray could slip free.

    Gray hesitated.

    Slipping free meant leaving Sorena, Lyrie, and Oliver to deal with the guards alone.

    He needed Sorena to be running as much as he needed to be running. He needed her to divert the army''s resources. And he''d led Lyrie and Oliver here and he couldn''t just leave them to be handed over to Killian the minute he arrived in Sirentown.

    He couldn''t.

    Gray let himself be dragged behind the others.

    Through the gates of Sirentown.

    ¡ª

    The guard who dragged Gray was huge.

    Stinking.

    His iron grey hair was twisted down his back in a warrior¡¯s tail. His dark eyes were lined in messy kohl. His uniform was crumpled enough to tell Gray this guy had already had a long, hard day.

    Every few steps he¡¯d shake Gray, as though to get him off balance.

    Gray was already off balance. His ankle was killing him. Sirentown - for what Gray could make out in the dark night - was a city of steps. It was cut into the mountain that faced the north sea. The steps and the uphill climb made his legs and chest ache.

    The streets were dark, but not entirely quiet. They were being dragged up what seemed to be the main thoroughfare.

    The guard tightened his grip on the back of Gray¡¯s vest. They were last in the straggling line, heading up to - Gray assumed - a particularly large building at the top of the next turn.

    He could see Sorena hanging over the shoulder of the guard in front of them.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    Shit.

    Gray¡¯s heart thudded.

    He needed just one moment of clear calm, to think.

    The guard holding Sorena was relaxed, and his grip on her was loose. It wouldn''t take much to grab her and - what? Drag Sorena?

    If they were going to grab and drag a sleeping Sorena they needed time. Time to hide, time to carry her and find somewhere safe until she woke.

    His pulse beat harder in his chest. His legs shook from the climb.

    They passed a side street lined with market stalls that were closing up for the night. Some of the vendors were haggling with the odd late-night customer.

    Gray glimpsed a stall selling fireworks.

    There were braziers of fire every few yards, spilling heat and spiralling smoke.

    Gray chewed the inside of his lip, his mind whirring.

    If dividing the army''s resources would weaken them, then so would dividing the guards''. Gray could keep them busy ...

    Praying that Lyrie and Oliver would take the opportunity to pull Sorena free if Gray created enough for a ruckus, Gray twisted in his guard''s grasp.

    He twisted free.

    And sprinted down the side street towards the closing-up market stalls before the guard even realised he was holding an empty vest.

    -

    The fireworks hung on display from the canvas roof of the market stall in a riot of different colours, shapes and sizes, and lay invitingly on the tabletop. The stall vendor was busy packing up his wagon for the night. Beside him was a herbologist selling bunches of dried fierlion weeds.

    It was almost too easy.

    The gods wouldn¡¯t have put such an easy opportunity in his path.

    But, Gray didn¡¯t have time to question it.

    His heart thudding, Gray darted out his hand as he sprinted and snagged the last firework on the table. A small golden one, in the shape of a lion.

    He snatched a whole bunch of fierilion herbs.

    And he tossed the whole lot into the closest brazier.

    Gray knew it could backfire - hell, to have such an easy diversion practically handed to him on a silver platter? Maybe there was a small chance everything would turn out, maybe his luck was turning around - even if you did not mix fierilions and open flames.

    Longwark had given him detention for this.

    And you really did not mix those with fireworks.

    Gray did not expect it to go off like a bomb.

    But, damn, it did.

    -

    Gray was knocked flat on his back.

    His pulse roared in his ears.

    Golden light blinded him.

    He staggered to his feet, not caring that he couldn¡¯t see, that he felt like he¡¯d been run over by a stampede of horses.

    Stumbling, Gray groped forward, something light and soft fluttering down onto his skin.

    Ash.

    Huge firework lions were exploding in the sky and they spilled out of the brazier, loping down the street. They were running through the whole city, looming over the rooftops, roaring, lighting up Sirentown so that Gray glimpsed it for the first time, bathed in golden light.

    Gray looked back at the mouth of the side street just in time to see Lyrie, Oliver and Sorena¡¯s guard fighting. They fought over Sorena in a messy, furious tug-o-war.

    He ran towards them.

    People were getting up from being knocked over by the blast.

    So many people were screaming.

    Gray reached Lyrie and Oliver. He savagely kicked the guard in the knee and the guard buckled.

    Lyrie and Oliver got Sorena, they were dragging her back, back-

    The guard staggered upright and lashed out at Gray with a huge fist.

    He clipped Gray''s ear and Gray fell, stumbling down the steps he¡¯d just been dragged up. The guard advanced.

    There was no time to think.

    Gray ran.

    -

    The guards were fast, and they knew this city.

    Gray wished he could run, run, run like he used to. Wished he knew which streets were dead ends, and which ones were busy enough to provide cover.

    The golden light from the lion fireworks had quickly faded and was replaced by the growing red light of dawn.

    And the city was awake - startled by the explosion, pulled from their beds by the emergency bells tolling - and the people were alert on the streets.

    Gray knocked over a cart of fish, spilling them over the road behind him. He scaled a stone wall, and he slipped through an impossibly narrow space between two buildings.

    His chest would burst.

    He couldn¡¯t keep this up.

    He¡¯d been travelling for days. Farhening was brutal. He¡¯d been fed on a diet of oats and water, and knocked around for days before that. The firework blast had messed up his hearing, his balance, his skin.

    One tight corner led to another. Another.

    The guards kept coming.

    They got closer.

    The longer Gray could keep them chasing, the longer Lyrie and Oliver had a chance to drag Sorena to safety.

    He had to keep going.

    It didn¡¯t matter how much his lungs burned. It didn¡¯t matter that his ankle was on fire, or that his legs shook.

    Stopping wasn¡¯t an option.

    Somehow, with the blurred backdrop of the city of Sirentown sprawling below, and the endless stretch of the ocean beyond, Gray had stumbled into the rich part of town.

    The streets here were wide and provided no cover.

    And Gray stood out a mile.

    The people here wore brightly coloured silks. They kept their hair neat, and they were expensively groomed. They turned, clutching their jewellery, as Gray flew past.

    There were more guards.

    Some kind of palace.

    Gray pressed himself into an alcove, the rucksack digging into his back, and his chest heaving. Sweat dribbled down his temples. His hair hung lank.

    The guards shouted. Gathering more men.

    They were getting closer.

    He had to run now, or be cornered.

    Gray sprinted again, pushing against the pain, his ears thudding with his blood.

    He knocked over a shop¡¯s display of expensive rolls of brightly-coloured silks, and they spilled behind him, in tangled, slippery colour.

    It wasn¡¯t just the guards shouting now. It was the people. A man stood in the street, in front of Gray, and Gray had nowhere to turn. He couldn¡¯t go back. He couldn¡¯t even stop, he was running too fast.

    The man stood, his arms stretched, his stance wide.

    Gray skidded through his legs. He rolled. Grazed his cheek, his palms. His ankle buckled as he tried to get back to his feet.

    Hands were on him.

    He wrenched free.

    Stumbled.

    Kept running.

    And fell, spectacularly, down an impossibly steep set of stairs.

    Down, down.

    He bounced hard against the stone of the steps. His skin bled as he fought to right himself, to stop.

    He kept tumbling down.

    He bounced against a hard timber door. It was painted bright red, or maybe Gray¡¯s vision had turned red, because he couldn¡¯t breathe, and he¡¯d hit his head, his shoulders, his knees.

    The door opened, and Gray rolled in.

    He kicked the door shut behind him just as he heard the shouts of the guards from the top of the stairs.

    Gray staggered to his feet, leaning against the closed door.

    And looked up.

    A tall woman stood before him, in long skirts and a crisp apron. She had her hair twisted like a northerner more glinting jewellery than Gray had ever seen on one person.

    The room had large posters of human anatomy on the walls, and diagrams of herbs and plants. Shelves stuffed with books and papers and jars were shoved underneath the steep stairs leading to the upper levels. An empty table stood in the middle of the room.

    But it was the woman that had Gray¡¯s attention.

    She swept a long glance over Gray in complete silence. Her gaze was intelligent.

    Gray couldn¡¯t have spoken even if he wanted to. He had no breath, no strength.

    She stepped closer.

    Her gaze narrowed. It was on Gray¡¯s hands, his face, his hair.

    She seemed to be having an internal battle.

    Outside, the stomping of the guards'' boots were closing in.

    ¡®Did you kill somebody?¡¯ she said.

    Gray shook his head.

    She jerked her chin at the steps leading up. ¡®There¡¯s a hatch that leads to the rooftop.¡¯

    ¡®Thank you,¡¯ Gray gasped.

    Gray kept running.

 64. When The Angst Is Angst-ing

    Gray pressed his back against a smooth stone chimney stack, fighting to stay in a patch of shadow and not slip down a very steep roof.

    Sweat clung to his skin. It stung his grazes and burns.

    Heat swathed him in a cloud.

    He tried to control his ragged breath. Every gasp in was filled with the briny air of the ocean below and the fumes from the silversmithies for which Sirentown was famous.

    The bright turquoise tiles of the rooftops of Sirentown were coated in some kind of glaze that made scaling the roofs a deadly exercise.

    Not to mention that Sirentown was cut into a damn mountain and he was exposed to the houses above as much as he was visible to the people below, if they chose to look up at certain angles.

    Gray had never seen so many people or such bustle.

    He¡¯d never seen so many guards.

    They patrolled the turreted walls, the gates, the roads outside and inside Sirentown, wearing their turquoise accented uniforms and hard expressions. A never ending sprawl of houses and palaces were cut into the side of the mountain, and the roads wound up in intricate patterns. The city stretched around Gray, further than he could see. It would take a lifetime to memorise these streets.

    He wanted, desperately, to go back to the market. He wanted to find Lyrie and Oliver - hell, he¡¯d have given anything to see Sorena - but he didn¡¯t dare.

    Thirst clawed at him.

    It made it hard to think clearly, to make sensible decisions not based on getting water regardless if it exposed him.

    He lingered on the roofs, moving anytime the guards got too close on the streets below, shivering as the air changed from warm and bright to dark and cool as evening pressed in.

    He listened to the conversations of the people passing by.

    The people here wore brightly coloured clothes of red, turquoise and gold. They walked fast and talked faster.

    But, no one mentioned Sorena, or the Ralphs.

    No one mentioned the lion fireworks.

    In Krydon, if someone had something like what Gray had done, it would¡¯ve been all anyone talked about for days.

    Forget days, months.

    As it grew darker, the shadows grew deep and long, and the people on the street changed - as did the feel - and Gray decided there was nothing for it but to find somewhere to sleep for the night.

    He slipped awkwardly off the roof and dropped into an alley filled with overflowing rubbish bins, biting back a hiss as he jarred his ankle.

    He made for the first inn shingle he saw.

    -

    Gray was aware, as he stood in front of the recoiling receptionist inside the inn entrance, that he looked and smelt like something that had crawled out of the closest drain.

    ¡®I got mugged,¡¯ Gray lied quickly, before the receptionist could open his mouth.

    ¡®Congratulations,¡¯ said the receptionist.

    ¡®But, I can pay,¡¯ said Gray, praying he had enough coin still stashed in his pocket.

    ¡®The muggers didn¡¯t do a very good job, then, did they?¡¯ said the receptionist.

    ¡®Uh,¡¯ said Gray.

    Gray honestly had no idea how he¡¯d managed to get this far in life, with being so stupid. Apply the tiniest amount of pressure and straight-up idiocy was his default.

    Gray withheld a wince.

    ¡®Lucky for you,¡¯ said Gray, attempting a winning grin, ¡®they didn¡¯t. Worst muggers in Sirentown, I¡¯d wager.¡¯

    He dug around in his pocket, grasping what money he could into his grazed palm.

    The receptionist was a middle-aged man with a bitter twist to his thin lips. The remains of his jet black hair was scraped back into a northern style twist, and he had swirls stitched into his vest that matched the pristine wallpaper.

    He watched Gray. Waited.

    Tapped his finger against his desk.

    From the outside, the inn looked ordinary. Bordering on run down. The stone was crumbling, and the turquoise paint on window frames was peeling.

    But, now Gray was inside and taking a second to glance around, he could see he¡¯d messed up.

    There was a flawlessly clean window behind the receptionist showing a spectacular view of lights twinkling in Sirentown, mapping the streets and homes, and lights on the ships on the ocean. Inside, the delicate furniture in the reception was too ornate to be anything but decorative, and a large candelabra glinted gold overhead.

    This place was way too nice.

    As in Sorena-level nice.

    ¡®Where are your parents?¡¯ said the receptionist.

    Gray hesitated.

    He was damn well in here now, like a moron, and if he turned around and walked out, there was a chance the receptionist would call the guards, because that¡¯s just what Barin would¡¯ve done if some beat up kid had strolled into the tavern, told an obvious fib, and then legged it out of there.

    Gray was committed to convincing the receptionist to work with him now, for better or worse.

    ¡®They sent me ahead to settle a room,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®They¡¯re with the guards, filing a report.¡¯

    The receptionist leant back in his chair, steepling his fingers. ¡®Stat papers?¡¯

    ¡®The,¡¯ said Gray, licking his lips, ¡®the muggers took them.¡¯

    ¡®The muggers valued your papers more than your purse,¡¯ said the receptionist. ¡®I see.¡¯

    Gray gave a false laugh. ¡®Right? Worst muggers ever.¡¯ He rubbed the coins in his palm, trying to feel how much he had, and tilted his chin, just so, like the richest guests had done in the Tipsy Stag. ¡®So, I¡¯ll need a room for the night with two large beds, a private ensuite, a good view, and I want a meal sent up immediately.¡¯Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    The receptionist slowly scratched his nose, his gaze travelling up and down Gray in a scrolling look.

    Gray tried not to blink. Not to mess up.

    Even though he had poor written all over him.

    It may as well have been a flashing sign over his head.

    ¡®Country lad?¡¯ said the receptionist.

    ¡®Reviness,¡¯ lied Gray.

    ¡®Your parents do that to you?¡¯ said the receptionist.

    He nodded at Gray¡¯s face, and Gray knew he still had the faint remains of bruising on his skin underneath the muck from the past few days.

    ¡®That¡¯s none of your business,¡¯ said Gray, hardness building in his chest.

    ¡®I¡¯ll need your parents to provide some form of ID,¡¯ said the receptionist. ¡®Even if their stat papers have also been - ah - stolen.¡¯

    ¡®You bother my parents with foolish requests,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®they will not be pleased.¡¯

    The receptionist raised his eyebrows. ¡®Oh?¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s right.¡¯

    ¡®Which orphanage have you escaped from, eh?¡¯ said the receptionist. ¡®Clancy¡¯s? Lu¡¯s Home for Boys?¡¯

    Gray pushed down rising panic. This jerk could see it.

    He could see that no one gave a shit about Gray. That Gray didn¡¯t know which way was up, and no parents were coming for him. He was on his own.

    Gray edged closer and slammed what coin he had onto the desk, because the receptionist wasn¡¯t buying the bullshit Gray was selling, not one bit. ¡®Look, I can pay. I¡¯ll pay extra, for your discretion. I¡¯ll take whatever room you have free. Just one night. I¡¯ll be gone before dawn.¡¯

    The receptionist gave Gray a long look, and then dropped his gaze onto the coins.

    ¡®You¡¯ll need more than this,¡¯ said the receptionist, ¡®for me to look the other way.¡¯

    ¡®How much?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®I get one silver for every runaway I report to the Hall. We get a lot of them, what with the port here and all. And I get two silver for every runaway I report to the Captain of the Tide Voyager. He¡¯d snap up a boy like you in a second.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s mouth was dry.

    ¡®I get three silver coins,¡¯ said the receptionist, a slow awful smile spreading over his face, ¡®for every runaway I report to the Silver Axes, if that runaway shows any kind of enterprising spirit. Pickpocket that you are,¡¯ he said, gesturing to the coin, ¡®I¡¯d call you enterprising.¡¯ He paused. ¡®The Silver Axes are a gang-¡¯

    ¡®I know who the Silver Axes are,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You get me seven silver coins,¡¯ said the receptionist, ¡®I¡¯ll let you stay here, quiet as a mouse, and not tell a soul.¡¯

    ¡®Seven?¡¯ said Gray tightly.

    His smile widened. ¡®Seven silver coins, or the three of them will be alerted within minutes, and we¡¯ll see who gets you first, eh?¡¯

    Silently, furiously, Gray went through the rucksack.

    Lyrie and Oliver¡¯s robes.

    They had silk, they had gold thread, pearl buttons, jewelled brooches ¡­

    Feeling sick, Gray dumped them onto the desk.

    The receptionist froze. ¡®You¡¯re mage?¡¯

    ¡®No-¡¯

    ¡®Why¡¯ve you come in here looking like a gremlin if you-¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m not mage.¡¯

    ¡®So, you attacked a mage? Stole their robes?¡¯ The receptionist was going through the robes like they contained a live viper. ¡®Two? Two metal mage apprentices?¡¯

    ¡®No-¡¯

    ¡®Ralphs?!¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray, his face hot.

    The receptionist shook his head, pushing the robes back at Gray. ¡®Look, I don¡¯t want trouble.¡¯

    ¡®There¡¯ll be no trouble,¡¯ said Gray, firmly. ¡®You¡¯ll take them as payment?¡¯

    The receptionist appeared to be doing some very quick thinking. ¡®I don¡¯t want the wrath of a mage family, here, looking for their young.¡¯

    ¡®No family will come looking,¡¯ said Gray.

    Gray said this with enough sincerity that the receptionist¡¯s expression shifted.

    Slowly, he took up the pile of mage robes. ¡®Fifth floor.¡¯ He slid a key across the desk. ¡®Room five.¡¯

    ¡®You can send up a meal?¡¯ said Gray.

    The receptionist glanced at Gray. He looked at him hard. Then, ¡®yes. I¡¯ll send up a meal.¡¯

    ¨C

    Exhaustion clawed at Gray as he climbed the stairs and made his way to room five.

    He didn¡¯t trust the receptionist.

    Anxiety warred with fatigue, at the thought of Lyrie, Oliver, and Sorena trying to find somewhere safe with no coins, nothing.

    He¡¯d lead the Ralphs and Sorena to pure folly.

    His mind was on Krydon. How he¡¯d left things there ¡­

    And he had no damn clue what his next move would be. Where he¡¯d go. Wong¡¯s written on Alistair¡¯s map of Sirentown was all well and good until Gray had seen Sirentown, how big it was, how fast, how diverse.

    A single word on a map was nothing to go on.

    He jiggled the key in the lock to room five.

    He closed the door to the room behind him and locked it. It was large, with a double bed under a window that looked over the view of the city that stepped down the mountain and into the sea, now all twinkling lights in the darkness.

    Dropping Alistair¡¯s rucksack by the door, Gray checked the bathroom. It had a shower. Brilliant white tiles. A tiny window that had the same view of the city. A row of bottles of lotions and soaps that smelt like mint and woods.

    Gray went back into the bedroom and dug around in the rucksack and then pulled out Alistair¡¯s shaving kit and used it to hack off his hair. He needed to disguise himself as best he could, he¡¯d cut this off as often as he needed, to keep it from being long.

    Cutting his hair felt painful, but he didn¡¯t care, it was better to have it gone. He could still feel Codder¡¯s fingers digging through it, twisting it, using it. He wanted it gone.

    He cropped it so short it looked shaved.

    There was a sharp knock at the door.

    He let in a sullen girl barely older than Gray, balancing a tray of food - a simple meal consisting of a baked potato topped with ham and cheese with a side of shaved carrot and wilted spinach, and a green fruit he¡¯d never seen before - and watched her leave and locked the door again.

    Gray sat on the edge of the bed, hunger suddenly filling him with an alarming intensity. He demolished the whole meal. He could¡¯ve eaten it three times over.

    ¡®Shit.¡¯ Gray ran his hands over his cropped hair.

    He washed the meal down with about a pint of water and hobbled into the bathroom. He scrubbed his skin raw in the shower. Then, had a second shower. The room filled with steam and the warm smell of mint and woods. The pain in his ankle slowly eased under the hot running water, as did the knots and aches that littered his body.

    He scrubbed his teeth and mouth. His nails. Carefully cleaned every scrape and graze and bite.

    He must have spent more than an hour in there. He climbed into an old shirt and shorts of Alistair¡¯s that he found bundled at the bottom of the rucksack.

    Then, he fell face down into the soft bed and slept.

    It seemed like minutes later when Gray woke to the sounds of people banging doors on the floor above him. He blinked, disoriented, wondering for a moment why people were on the roof of the tavern. Glanced to his right for Alistair.

    But it was just a dark, unfamiliar room with a view of sprawling city lights. Gray was alone. He pressed his shaking hand over his eyes and rolled onto his back, feeling the tingle of the tracking jinx under his skin grow stronger, remembering where he was.

    Everything flooded back, all at once.

    Alistair. Rowan.

    The soldiers.

    Killian.

    Krydon.

    Hot, sick guilt swirled inside his chest.

    He ran his hand over his head. His fingers got caught in long tangles.

    He sat upright.

    He stumbled into the dark bathroom. He could just make out his reflection from the lights outside. His hair was back to its usual shoulder length, unruly and black. He bent his head over the basin and tried to control his breathing.

    Gray¡¯s hair shouldn¡¯t make him feel like this. He knew his hair would grow back. Honestly, it had been stupid to cut it before sleeping, he should¡¯ve waited until morning to disguise himself. It wasn¡¯t his hair making his breath run out of control. Something had gotten mixed up in his processing of this. He needed to stay calm. Clear. Stop glaring at his mage hair in this dark bathroom in this strange city.

    But, irrepressible, irrational, burning hot anger built inside him and he slipped to sit on the floor and punched the tiles with his fist. Again. And again.

 65. Beware The Barrels Of Squid

    True to his word, Gray slipped out of his room well before dawn, nursing a bad hand and a load of regret.

    What had seemed tile-punch-worthy last night now seemed stupid. Maybe one day he¡¯d have time to bitch about life and his damn hair.

    Today was not that day.

    Gray sidestepped a pool of yellow lamplight.

    For so early in the morning, the streets were concerningly busy. Gray hunched his shoulders, the cool breeze ruffling through his cropped hair, and he tightened his grip on his rucksack.

    He could see the silhouetted rooftop of his destination peeking above the skyline. The Sirentown Hall.

    Not somewhere he¡¯d choose to go if he could help it, seeing as it would likely be crawling with guards and officials, but Sirentown Hall would have a directory of everyone living there - every resident, every business.

    Anyone with the name Wong.

    Gray had cut his hair short and taken care to shave a pattern of swirling northern knots along the sides. He¡¯d applied layers of smudged kohl around his eyes. He¡¯d pilfered a change of clothes from the inn¡¯s laundry room in the basement.

    Most importantly, he¡¯d bathed again, and there must¡¯ve been something in the inn¡¯s lotions or washes because the burns, cuts, and bruises on his face and body had faded and healed.

    They were there.

    If anyone looked too closely.

    But, at a glance, he was a world away from the boy who¡¯d been chased through the streets yesterday.

    Pain flared in his ankle and hunger gnawed at his stomach as he walked towards the Hall.

    His limp was a real problem. Gray did his best to disguise it, but concern built inside him as he continued onwards, because his gait could immediately mark him out to Killian and his men.

    He hurried past street lamps flickering in the early morning darkness, past vendors carrying barrels up steep and crooked streets made of steps.

    The workers in the streets were hanging colourful strings of flags overhead and pinning up large banners that flapped in the breeze.

    Gray tilted his head to read one.

    Summer Festival.

    Of course, Gray thought, ducking his head and picking up his pace as he reached the main thoroughfare, and steering well clear of the side street where he¡¯d set off the lion fireworks and fierilion weeds. It was close to the time for Summer Festival and if Sirentown was anything like Krydon, it¡¯d pull out all the stops to celebrate.

    Workers were setting up small stages along the main road, making it a tight squeeze to get past. They were setting up market stalls and small tents and stands of fresh cut flowers. One shopkeeper from a place called The Salty Dog¡¯s Spices was in a roaring fight with a young sailor delivering casks of cinnamon and saltpeter.

    Gray ducked his head and picked up the pace.

    As Gray drew closer to the Hall, he saw two main problems.

    One - the Hall doors were locked up tight.

    Perhaps it was closed because of the Summer Festival. Perhaps it was just too early. To be fair, it was basically still night. The sun was still hours from rising.

    Two? Several Auguste soldiers lounged on the Hall steps.

    Gray was so distracted by the workers setting up for the summer festival that he¡¯d allowed himself to get way too close to the soldiers. He could see them in the light of the lamps around the Hall. He could see the dark smudges under their eyes, the sweat stains on their soldier caps, and the dirt caked into their nails. They were leaning on the steps like they¡¯d been painted onto the stone, all hunched shoulders and crumpled uniforms and heads drooping from exhaustion. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Letting out a startled breath, Gray flattened himself against a wagon piled with barrels of squid.

    He had to move-

    ¡®The further away I get from Krydon,¡¯ said a soldier in drawling Lismerian, ¡®the happier I am.¡¯

    Gray froze.

    He strained to listen over the thud of his pulse in his ears and the racket made by the early morning workers.

    ¡®The place is cursed,¡¯ said another solider, his voice deep, slow, and heavy.

    Gray pressed himself hard against the rough timber of the wagon. He couldn¡¯t stay here, but he desperately wanted to hear about Krydon and the people there. They flitted in and out of his dreams as night, as much as he dreamt about Alistair.

    ¡®Major is cursed,¡¯ said yet another solider. ¡®Did you see him ¡­¡¯ his voice faded out, drowned underneath a nearby hammering as a worker strung up colourful streamers over the main road.

    ¡®Throw ¡®im a steak,¡¯ a soldier was saying, when the hammering stopped. ¡®It¡¯s near the full moon. Might improve ¡®is mood.¡¯

    ¡®Maybe,¡¯ said a solider, his voice setting Gray¡¯s heart into a painful and erratic tattoo, because he knew the voice, it was Brown, the soldier with the hairy fists and the eye for Sorena, and when in front of Killian, a stutter. ¡®Maybe,¡¯ said Brown, ¡®if you stopped stumbling around like a drunk donkey, you¡¯d get less of his ire.¡¯

    ¡®His ire?¡¯

    Gray didn¡¯t know who was replying to Brown, but he¡¯d heard his voice before and he was sure, if he peered over the wagon of squid, that he¡¯d recognise his face from the scads of men under Killian¡¯s command.

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Brown. ¡®His ire.¡¯

    ¡®Look at you with your fancy words,¡¯ said the soldier. ¡®He¡¯s sadistic. If he expects me to be running up five hundred of these fucking stairs after he made us ride for three days straight, and he made me bloody crawl through that swamp ¡­¡¯

    His voice faded out as the laughter of the soldiers took over.

    Their laughter had a sharp quality to it, like they were out of practice. Like they hadn¡¯t laughed in some good while.

    Gray sidled down the wagon, carefully drawing away from the soldiers.

    So intent was he to get away from the soldiers that he missed the vendor unloading his barrels of squid.

    He missed the vendor turning sharply, as he hoisted a barrel off the wagon.

    The barrel whacked him hard in the side of the face.

    Gray fell backwards, and all he could see was flashing lights.

    -

    A tumult of voices assaulted Gray¡¯s ears. The vendor was hauling him to his feet, apologising profusely. Someone was insisting he allow her to take him to the healer up the road. Someone was dusting him off and their hands were creeping into his pockets. Someone else was pulling at his rucksack. And someone was calling for the soldiers, because they had medics, and they¡¯ll check that hit to the head, lad-

    ¡®I¡¯m fine, thank you,¡¯ Gray mumbled. ''Thanks.''

    He wrenched himself free, clutching the strap of his rucksack, and shook his head to clear his vision. He stumbled down a tight gap between two tall buildings, pushing himself off against the walls until he came out into a small courtyard. There were steps, leading up ¡­

    There were footsteps behind him, and there was a quality to the stomping that was much too familiar.

    Soldier¡¯s boots.

    Gray staggered up the steps and came out on a narrow alley.

    The alley was so dimly lit that Gray could see the moon and the stars int he sky. It was lined with homes and a few shingles. One of the shingles bore the looping healer''s symbol and hung above a door painted red. Gray stumbled towards it, away from the shouts in Lismerian.

    He rapped on the red door.

    He didn¡¯t wait for an answer, he twisted the doorknob in his slick grip, and stumbled inside.

    -

    Gray understood, as he leant his forehead against the door and waited - hoped - with his breath caught in his throat for the soldiers to pass by, that he¡¯d violated some kind of unknown social boundary.

    He could feel it emanating off the woman behind him. He¡¯d glimpsed her as he¡¯d come in, before he¡¯d hastily turned and slammed the door shut, his hand holding the door knob in a white-knuckled grip to try and stop anyone following him inside.

    She was dressed as the woman with the red door from yesterday had been dressed. Long skirts and a crisp apron and a lot of very expensive looking jewellery.

    She cleared her throat.

    Gray swallowed and pushed himself upright as he turned around to face her. She was young, with a heavyset brow and a large overbite.

    She looked like she could deck Gray, no problems.

    In fact, she looked like she wanted to.

 66. Master Mage Powls Assistant Likes Her Protocols

    The woman¡¯s long skirts rustled as she folded her arms over her crisp apron. Her heavy-set brow furrowed as her frown deepened.

    ¡®Oh,¡¯ said Gray, brilliantly, like he hadn¡¯t noticed her glowering at him the second he¡¯d crashed in there. ¡®Hi.¡¯

    ¡®By the soul of Clochaint,¡¯ she said, her voice as deep and thuggish as her appearance - fine clothing and jewellery aside, ¡®what do you think you¡¯re doing?¡¯

    Gray stared at her, his mouth hanging open, his heart still thudding a frantic beat in his chest. He''d do anything he needed to stay inside for a few minutes. His gaze swept over her again, desperately searching her expression and body language for clues on what he¡¯d done wrong.

    ¡®Help is provided during the day,¡¯ said the woman.

    Stepping forward as though to slam Gray out of the door like the bruisers in the tavern would with troublesome drunks, the woman continued, ¡®unless it¡¯s urgent. Is your life in danger? Are you dying this very instant?¡¯

    Words seemed to have flown from Gray. He couldn¡¯t step out into the street just yet. The soldiers would see him.

    He opened his mouth, he made to speak, but nothing came out.

    A knock on the head wasn''t exactly an emergency. He wasn¡¯t bleeding, no bones were broken, and despite the hammering of his heart, it wasn¡¯t going into failure. His fading injuries and skinniness aside, he was kind of the picture of health.

    The woman pounced on his hesitation.

    She stopped three feet from Gray and pointed her finger at the door. ¡®You have no right to burst in here uninvited. This is not a hotel. It¡¯s not a pub. This is a workspace and a home. You disrespect Master Mage Powl''s protocols.¡¯

    ¡®Protocols?¡¯ Gray managed to say.

    He was rooted to the spot, his mouth dry and his pulse banging against the knock on his head from the barrel. He glanced over his shoulder at the door.

    She edged closer, but only barely. She pointed again at the door, as though Gray was a small child being sent to the corner.

    ¡®No mask,'' she said. ''No appointment, no history of which ports you¡¯ve travelled. Your person and clothing has not been checked for vermin. You have tracked dirt into a sterile house. You - you ¡­¡¯ She faded out, her gaze on his face. It was on his hands. His ankle, as though she could see through the layers of cloth.

    ¡®I¡¯ll clean it,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯

    ¡®You can¡¯t clean it,¡¯ she said. ¡®I have to clean it. Master Mage Powl will know. There¡¯s a specific technique.¡¯ She paused. ¡®You¡¯re injured.¡¯

    ¡®Sort of,¡¯ said Gray.

    The woman heaved out a sigh. She seemed to be chewing on her tongue as she peered at Gray with her set of observant brown eyes.

    ¡®Make an appointment,¡¯ said the woman, ¡®with the receptionist. She''ll be here during business hours. You may leave before I call the guards.¡¯

    But, he couldn¡¯t go out onto the street.

    Not yet.

    Gray edged forward, reaching his hand out to stop her turning away. ¡®You¡¯re - not a healer?¡¯

    The woman furrowed her heavy-set brow. ¡®Do I look like a mage to you?¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®you ¡­¡¯

    She didn''t look like a mage, but, as Gray knew, not having high cheekbones or bright eyes didn''t rule her out.

    The woman paused, her frown deepening. ¡®Have you been mind cursed?¡¯

    Gray pressed his hand against the side of his head where he¡¯d just been whacked.

    ¡®No,¡¯ he said, feeling like he should be insulted, but fear was tearing through him that the soldiers would crash through the door behind him any second, they¡¯d figure out he¡¯d ducked in here and hadn¡¯t run down the street.

    And if the soldiers were here, Killian had to be disconcertingly close.

    He couldn''t stand here, lingering by the door.

    And neither should she.

    ¡®I¡¯m only an assistant,¡¯ said the woman, edging closer and taking in every inch of Gray. ¡®One hundred percent bonafide human. There¡¯s no mage healers in town right now. None at all. It''s a city-wide disaster. There¡¯s a physician, only twenty minutes walk away, but he won¡¯t be open yet.¡¯

    ¡®Right,¡¯ said Gray faintly. ¡®Look,¡¯ he said, because she was keeping her distance and he thought maybe it was important judging by her tirade, and maybe - just maybe - it might convince her to allow them both to move the heck away from the threshold, ¡®I haven¡¯t sailed in from a port. I¡¯ve never set foot on a boat.''

    The woman heaved out an aggressive breath. ¡®What happened to you?¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®got hit in the head. By a barrel of squid.¡¯

    The woman clucked her tongue. She seemed to be having a strong internal battle. ¡®For Clochaint¡¯s sake. Come in, I¡¯ll look at you.¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, ¡® I can¡¯t pay.¡¯

    The woman shot him an odd look. ¡®Which country town did you just roll out of?¡¯

    ¡®Uh,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Have you never been to see a mage healer before?¡¯ she said.

    ¡®No,¡¯ admitted Gray.

    ¡®Well,¡¯ she said, hustling him into a long hall. ¡®I¡¯m a mage healer¡¯s assistant. I¡¯m paid by the crown.¡¯

    -

    For a sterile, windowless room, it had an overwhelming buzz of magic.

    Gray could feel it pulsing from the array of bottled and corked potions stored on the shelves on the opposite wall.

    Aside from a small sink on the other wall underneath a scattering of framed certificates - all bearing the name Master Mage Powl - and another set of shelves cluttered with some sterile looking instruments, the room was bare.

    Gray dropped his rucksack onto the floor.

    The assistant pushed Gray onto the examination table.

    She was brusque and busy, barely glancing at Gray, not even bothering to close the door to the windowless room, and instead digging through the shelves with the instruments and jars.

    ¡®You¡¯ve been in the wars,¡¯ she said. ¡®What have you done to your leg?¡¯The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Gray wrenched his attention away from the alluring magic of the potions on the shelves. He didn¡¯t care about his damn leg, or the whack to the side of his head. Not really. He only cared about those soldiers outside in the street, and he was on tenterhooks as he listened for any sound they might be coming through the door.

    ¡®It¡¯s OK,¡¯ Gray muttered. ¡®Just the ankle.¡¯

    ¡®You don¡¯t need me to check it?¡¯ she said.

    ¡®Er,¡¯ said Gray distractedly. He paused in his listening for the soldiers. He couldn¡¯t come in here, pretending to be begging for a healer, and then act like he wasn¡¯t interested.

    He needed to be calm. Let himself be tended to, but listen for the telltale crash of Killian kicking down the door.

    And then what? He¡¯d run? Hide? This room only had one exit.

    Gray chewed the inside of his lip. He¡¯d essentially trapped himself.

    ¡®It¡¯s fine,¡¯ he said.

    The assistant dumped a variety of jars onto the examination bed beside Gray. Her brown gaze lingered over his face, his neck, and down to his hands, and then back up to his face. She stilled, for the smallest moment, her hand on the days-old wound on Gray¡¯s temple from the mugger.

    Her intelligent eyes held onto Gray¡¯s. Her heavy brow knitted.

    He blinked and lowered his gaze.

    The assistant turned on her heel and closed the door behind her, shutting herself and Gray inside the windowless room.

    She dallied there for a moment before returning her attention to Gray.

    ¡®How far do these injuries go?¡¯ she said. ¡®They on the rest of you?¡¯

    Gray hesitated.

    ¡®Shirt off,¡¯ she said.

    She raised her eyebrows, waiting.

    Gray grabbed the hem of his shirt, uncertain why his insides had turned to ice all of a sudden. He knew what the damage was under there, and it wasn¡¯t shamefully bad, honestly, his head and ankle were the worst of it, she wasn¡¯t a kingdom soldier, she wasn¡¯t a leering or sneering an oily catcall, and perhaps it was just the cold clinicalness of it all, how she so easily and professionally saw everything with just one glance-

    She reached out to stop Gray, her hands on his wrists. ¡®Never mind. I can work around your clothes.¡¯ Her tone had shifted, as had her air, to something that had too much understanding and Gray wasn¡¯t entirely sure that he hadn¡¯t preferred the brusque briskness.

    She examined his hands, his head and his eyes, gave him a vial of sweet smelling potion and watched him closely as he drank it.

    ¡®How do you feel?¡¯ she said.

    The effects of the potion eased through his body, loosening knots and soothing inflammation. His thrumming caution and anxiety was falling away like sand through his fingers. The throbbing in his head from the barrel whack dulled to something like a light tapping of fingers that wasn¡¯t entirely unpleasant.

    Gray cleared his throat. ¡®Good.¡¯

    Her gaze lingered and then she deftly applied some kind of cold oil to the knocks on his head.

    ¡®What happened to your arm, there?¡¯ she said, pointing her chin at the healing cut peeking out of Gray¡¯s rolled-up sleeve. ¡®Looks nasty.¡¯

    Gray drew in a controlled breath. ¡®Scissors.¡¯

    She moved onto Gray¡¯s leg, picking up a jar of pulsating green paste and placing it close for easy reaching. ¡®Can you roll up your trouser leg for me?¡¯

    He was on the verge of telling her not to bother, that his ankle was fine, and really he should be going now.

    But, she¡¯d been fast so far, and maybe it wouldn¡¯t be so bad to have his ankle looked at if she was going to be as speedy with it as she had been with everything else.

    Gray swiftly rolled up the leg of his pilfered trousers, exposing his bad ankle.

    It was a riot of colourful bruising and swelling.

    ¡®The wound on your temple,¡¯ she said, easing off Gray¡¯s - Alistair¡¯s - shoe with nimble fingers and unexpected gentleness, ¡®who healed that for you?¡¯

    Gray gritted his teeth as she kneaded his ankle. He pushed down rising curiosity and surprise at her perceptiveness and concentrated on keeping his voice even. ¡®Uh, I don¡¯t remember his name.¡¯

    She shot Gray a glance. ¡®Well, he did a very good job. I¡¯ve never seen anything like it. High Master Mage level. Higher, even. Yes?¡¯

    ¡®Perhaps,¡¯ Gray said, focusing on breathing in and out as she massaged the paste from the jar onto his now on-fire ankle.

    ¡®A mage healer with a skill like that,¡¯ she said, ¡®Master Powl would know them. She probably trained under them.¡¯

    Gray gave a non-committal sound.

    ¡®Whoever he is, he likely saved your life. A blow to the temple like that ¡­¡¯ She finished kneading the ointment into Gray¡¯s ankle. ¡®You reported the assault?¡¯

    Gray shifted on the table, his stomach clenched, and his cheeks growing warm and uncomfortable. ¡®They - they know about it, ma¡¯am.¡¯

    Rolling Gray¡¯s trouser leg back down, she said, ¡®Better?¡¯

    Gray experimentally bent and wriggled his toes. Relief filled him, and something light and warm spread through his chest. Better was an understatement. It felt almost normal.

    ¡®Loads,¡¯ said Gray, feeling a genuine smile light up his face. ¡®Thank you.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯ll need more sessions. Master Powl could heal it in one go, in a heartbeat. Without her ¡­¡¯ The assistant briefly met Gray¡¯s gaze. ¡®It¡¯ll take three or four more days. You can come back?¡¯

    It would be very unwise for Gray to come back to anywhere he¡¯d visited. He wasn¡¯t exactly sure how the tracking jinx worked, but one strong possibility was it left a trail for Killian to follow.

    Gray was hit with a surge of overwhelming regret for walking through this door. He¡¯d be bringing trouble to this assistant who¡¯d done nothing but help him.

    ¡®Anything else?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray, hopping off the table. ¡®Thank you. I can¡¯t - thank you enough.¡¯

    He teetered on the edge of warning her that she should perhaps leave Sirentown as her master mage had done, at least for the next few days.

    She lowered her voice as she bundled up her jars from the table. ¡®This isn¡¯t the first time an apprentice mage has been attacked and it won¡¯t be the last. You need to have your guard with you. There¡¯s poachers in this city.¡¯

    All the potion''s warmth and pleasantness fast crumbled within him.

    ¡®Master Powl¡¯s potion,¡¯ said the assistant. ¡®It gave you away.¡¯

    Gray grabbed up his rucksack, swinging it over one shoulder.

    ¡®It has a high level of magic,¡¯ she said. ¡®Most normal people have a reaction. They get magic sick, they¡¯ll get tremors or sweats.¡¯

    ¡®Is that so,¡¯ Gray said. He crossed the room swiftly and tugged on the door.

    It was locked.

    Gray spun on his heel. He was aware on the fringes of his mind that he wasn¡¯t as anxious as he should¡¯ve been, and his natural caution had all but disappeared and his confidence was beginning to soar as high as a hawk flying above the clouds. Was this from the potion, or was it because he was feeling better than he¡¯d done in days - hell, years - and the weight of grief was gone from his chest and shoulders, and gods, his confidence was fair soaring higher -

    ¡®What¡¯s your name?¡¯ She watched Gray carefully.

    ¡®Keep.¡¯

    ¡®That your first name or last?¡¯ she said.

    Confidence made him state his name baldly, it was taking away any nuance from his speech, but it didn''t matter because he didn''t need it. He squared his shoulders, looking her straight in the eye.

    ¡®Gray Keep,¡¯ he said, ¡®is my name.¡¯

    ¡®Stat papers?¡¯ she said.

    ¡®Stolen.¡¯ Gray resisted the urge to tug on the doorknob again, just to be sure. ¡®Look, I need to leave. I have to go, now.¡¯

    ¡®I know every mage family,¡¯ she said. ¡®Got a great memory for names. Not one of them is a family named Keep.¡¯

    ¡®Because you¡¯re mistaken,¡¯ said Gray, bowing his head.

    ¡®Are you a Drake? A Roseheart? Urkskin?¡¯

    She was getting irritated. Gray wanted to get out.

    ¡®I¡¯ll be seeing them all in less than a week at the guild summer festival,¡¯ she ploughed on. ¡®That is, if Master Powl decides to turn back up.¡¯

    ¡®Right,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®I can help you search for your family if you¡¯ve been separated by them.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m not looking for my family,¡¯ said Gray, keeping his tone polite. He didn¡¯t - and nor did she - need to turn this conversation ugly despite anger building within him at being denied his leave. He¡¯d be just fine, he¡¯d handle whatever was thrown his way. ¡®Thank you-¡¯

    ¡®Why are you hiding?¡¯

    ¡®This is a misunderstanding,¡¯ Gray lied easily. There was no usual warming of his cheeks at the lie.

    ¡®You¡¯re,¡¯ she said, ¡®going to be in serious trouble with the Grand High Master, mage. You¡¯re not permitted to cut your hair like that or wear clothes like that. I¡¯m trying to help you-¡¯

    ¡®Then let me go,¡¯ Gray said, keeping his temper. ¡®And you should go, too. They¡¯ll come looking for me. They¡¯ll be here any minute, probably.¡¯

    ¡®Who¡¯s they?¡¯

    Gray stared at her, pressing his fingertips against his thighs, and his breath slow and controlled.

    The assistant glared back, her overbite more pronounced in her agitation, and her heavy brow drawn low. There was a stain from the green paste on her crisp apron.

    ¡®You should leave when I do,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯

    ¡®You think that scares me?¡¯ said the assistant.

    ¡®I¡¯m not trying to scare you,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I don¡¯t want to bring you trouble.¡¯

    ¡®Who are you?¡¯

    ¡®Open the door.¡¯

    ¡®Fine,¡¯ she said. ¡®Fine. Go. This city¡¯s trouble. Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you.¡¯

 67. His Trail Of Chaos

    Gray stormed out of the red door.

    He kept his eyes peeled for soldiers or Killian, his hands thrust deep in his pockets as he sidestepped the pools of light from the lamps.

    The street was quiet.

    No soldiers.

    No Killian.

    Gray picked up his pace, his mind racing.

    Frustrated guilt warred with any of the lingering warm lightness and high confidence in Gray¡¯s chest as he stormed away from the healer¡¯s quarters, past a bakery spilling the smell of fresh bread into the air.

    Imposing his trail of chaos on innocent bystanders was not something he wanted to continue to do.

    Gray ducked into a skinny lane made of steps.

    The tracking jinx gave a particularly sharp throb under his skin, and Gray paused, standing in a patch of shadow until it passed.

    He had to get rid of the jinx.

    Now.

    He needed to know how it worked.

    Gray let out a ribboned breath, his fingertips clutching the strap of his rucksack. Sirentown had the largest library in the known world. He could go there, find whatever book he needed on tracking jinxes.

    He¡¯d sort it.

    He¡¯d be fine.

    Litter swirled past him on the empty street in a cool breeze and caught on his ankles. Gray went to kick it aside and then froze.

    His face was on the litter.

    Glancing either side of him for any sign of approaching soldiers, Gray stooped to pick it up.

    It was a leaflet, so hurriedly printed that the ink was smeared and the cut from the printer¡¯s guillotine was ragged. Gray¡¯s face, with his long hair pulled back as he usually wore it, with his scar through his eyebrow, and the words:

    Conor Griffin.

    Do Not Approach.

    Report Any Sightings to the Sirentown Guard or Army.

    And then, in tiny print at the bottom:

    Approved by Major General Darcy under the authority of the crown.

    His heart should¡¯ve been hammering. Panic should¡¯ve been spiralling within him, threatening to light up Gray¡¯s skin.

    The image of Conor Griffin had gone from the sharp-jawed youth who looked so much like Ryan Griffin to ... Gray.

    With steady fingers, Gray shredded the leaflet, his jaw tense.

    This complicated things.

    He watched a group of masked performers rehearsing in a small alcove similar to the one in which he was hiding, his gaze catching on their masks with golden feathers, bright leaves, and flowers, with horns and beasts¡¯ snouts. Soon, the place would be a riot of colour and noise and people. Summer Festival would begin with the rising of the sun, if they celebrated the same way here as in Krydon.

    If Gray could get rid of the tracking jinx then the guards, the soldiers, hell even Killian, would have trouble finding him through the festival over the next few days.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    But, first Gray would need to disguise himself further than he¡¯d already done.

    -

    Gray¡¯s heart ached as he placed Alistair¡¯s shoes onto the counter of the pawn shop.

    The hairs on the back of his neck were on end. They had been on end for a good ten minutes, ever since he¡¯d entered this neighbourhood that had broken street lamps and pock-marked lanes that stank of sour beer and wet stone. Smoke curled along the alleyway outside the window, swallowing the shingles that hung above the row of all-night pawnshops and dragon puff dens.

    The man behind the counter had long fingers, greasy grey hair, and was slowly polishing an old axe blade. Some of the northerners here wore their kohl differently to how they wore it in Krydon, and this man was one such person - it was painted over the entire top half of his face.

    Wordlessly the man picked up the shoes and examined them closely.

    ¡®One silver coin,¡¯ he said. ¡®Or five store credits.¡¯

    Alistair¡¯s shoes were good, worth more than one silver coin.

    But, Gray didn¡¯t have time to haggle, so he accepted the store credit, firmly pushing down the memory of Ali getting those shoes for his birthday from Barin, and traded Alistair¡¯s shoes for a cheap pair of boots that fit him better and a rough canvas jacket with a hood.

    Gray hightailed it out of the pawnshop.

    His boots had a good grip on the bottom, and he splashed through a puddle with an oily sheen without losing his footing, and when he darted to the side of the street and stopped suddenly, the boots were completely silent.

    The leaflet with his face and the stark lettering of Conor Griffin was pasted on the wall opposite.

    And two soldiers were rapidly walking towards it.

    Yanking up his hood, Gray pretended to examine the stonework of the wall, keeping his back firmly to the soldiers and the leaflet.

    ¡®... you need to mark it on the map, you tosser,¡¯ one soldier said in clipped Lismerian. ¡®Each one that we take back down.¡¯

    There was a grunt and a rip.

    Curiosity overcame him. Gray dared to glance back, just in time to see one of the soldiers tearing down the leaflet from the wall.

    ¡®I¡¯m not keen on defying direct orders from Darcy,¡¯ said the other soldier sullenly, his head bent over a map as he marked it with a pencil.

    ¡®I¡¯d rather not defy the Major, you know what I mean?¡¯

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ replied the other soldier, more sullen than ever, as they moved on. ¡®I know what you mean. Major kind of chills your insides when he gets frothing.¡¯

    ''If someone snatches Conor before Major gets his hands on him, I think I''ll ask you to break my leg so I can be out of service until he gets over it.''

    ''I''m not breaking your leg for free.''

    ''I ain''t going to pay you to do it.'' Then, ¡®Who do you think would win? Out of a fight between our Major and Darcy, I mean ¡­¡¯

    Gray waited until long after their voices faded out before he let himself turn away from the wall.

    Confusion curled within him.

    The soldiers had conflicting orders? Darcy wanted the leaflets up and Killian wanted them down. Why?

    Hunching his shoulders, Gray dove into his rucksack. Pulling out Alistair¡¯s kit and using his faint reflection in the glass of the window beside him, Gray smeared kohl over the entire top face of his face.

    Surreptitiously wiping kohl off his fingertips, Gray walked fast with his head down and hood up.

    He followed the signs to Sirentown Library. He prayed it wasn¡¯t closed.

    -

    The standing stone outside the Sirentown Library said - in one of the more ancient northern dialects - that it never closed.

    At least, that was what Gray guessed from the engraving carved into the large standing stone, teetering on the edge of a particularly large cut in the mountain, and in front of the biggest and grandest building he¡¯d ever seen in his life. He deciphered the words ¡®our doors stand open, no lock, no gate shall bar your way, for wisdom sleeps not ¡­¡¯ and that was enough to spur Gray onwards and up the steps.

    Gray¡¯s shoes scuffed over the worn and ancient stone steps. Each step up into the vast shadow of the library was colder and darker.

    He should¡¯ve been intimidated.

    The library loomed, silhouetted against the pre-dawn sky.

    With domed ceilings and rooms built into the rockface of the mountain itself, the library was colossal. Above, overhanging and etched eternally in stone, was the gaze of hundreds of scholars and philosophers.

    Gray pressed through the front doors - doors as large as the Sirentown gates - and was hit by the smell of books and incense and the hush of academics studying.

    He paused inside, his eyes adjusting.

    Bookshelves towered so high that they disappeared into the shadowy domed ceiling.

    Gray realised his mouth was hanging open and he quickly shut it.

    Tried to look like he belonged.

    He¡¯d seen drawings of palaces, he¡¯d explored the ruins of the castles and fortresses on the mountain near Krydon, he¡¯d heard stories of the Sirentown library.

    But nothing prepared him for the scale of this.

    Scrolls, tomes, tablets, and more were packed into the shelves and on tables. Books, bound in every colour, towered around him, illuminated in the warm light of dozens of lanterns.

    And before everything, in front of it all, and as bustling as the city of Sirentown itself, was a huge counter. Librarians of every size, creed, colour, and shape whispered to early morning visitors and academics - or perhaps, very late night, for the sky was barely lightening into dawn yet - in half a dozen different languages.

    Gray didn¡¯t have time for queues.

    The plan was simple. Get information on the jinx and get out.

    Keep moving.

    He slipped past the front desk and started searching for the section that would have books about tracking and hunting jinxes.

 68. This Librarys Lost And Found

    Gray was lost in a library, and while he¡¯d once had good dreams about such a situation, right now was not the time for it.

    Letting out a controlled breath, Gray kept walking.

    Faster.

    The topic of tracking and hunting jinxes wasn¡¯t niche. It wasn¡¯t obscure.

    There had to be books upon books on it here.

    Somewhere.

    His footsteps were silent in the vast space. The towering shelves of books were starting to all look alike, and he was so sure he¡¯d already passed by that sign pointing to the Ancient Prophecy Record, and he¡¯d absolutely seen that statue of the djinn rising out of the jar before, and if it hadn¡¯t been so hushed, so quiet, so serious in this part of the library, Gray would¡¯ve sworn out loud.

    He came to a stop next to the statue of the djinn. The memory of Harriette with her book on Jack''s adventures with the djinn and giants and selkies rose in his mind, and he firmly shifted his thoughts away, his chest aching.

    Being utterly lost like this - in a library for Clochaint¡¯s sake - was fast carving through Gray¡¯s remaining confidence and warmth from Master Mage Powl¡¯s potion.

    The library was a maze of endless shelves.

    There was no wall-mounted directory, no card catalogue, not that he¡¯d found.

    He must¡¯ve missed it.

    Shoving his hands in his pockets, Gray took a stab at backtracking his steps, back towards the front desk. He was grateful to find it and not be forever wandering the maze of bookshelves, but also his thoughts were pounding with how he¡¯d wasted time getting lost. And now he had to risk talking to someone, for them to see him up close, and perhaps recognise him.

    Gray joined the back of the queue, his hood up.

    The librarian who eventually waved Gray up to the counter couldn¡¯t have looked less like a librarian if he tried.

    His hair was like Gray¡¯s - short with a pattern shaved into the sides - and wore enough kohl to match Gray. His gaze was settled into the kind of slack boredom you got from doing a repetitive task for too long. He wore a leather pauldron on one shoulder over his white woven shirt, as though he was expecting an axe fight to break out inside the library at any minute.

    Or perhaps, thought Gray, eyeing the librarian¡¯s bored expression and the lean of his elbow on the counter, hoped an axe fight would break out.

    Gray approached the librarian and tried to not look like a fugitive.

    ¡®Er,¡¯ Gray said, leaning in closer when the librarian responded by giving him a small smile. ¡®I¡¯m after books on tracking and hunting jinxes.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m going that way,'' said the librarian, perking up. ''I need to shelve these. Come.¡¯

    Gray followed him as the librarian heaved a tall stack of books onto his shoulder (perhaps the reason for the pauldron) as he led Gray further into the library.

    The deeper they went into the library, the more hushed it became.

    Still, the librarian led Gray forward.

    They were very deep inside the library now.

    There didn¡¯t seem to be any strict order to the library when it came to placement of the different sections and subjects.

    History was crammed next to Alchemy. World Maps sprawled next to Agriculture. And the Others and Creatures section -

    Gray halted.

    Something had fitted together in his mind.

    Like a cog slotting into place within a bigger mechanism.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Wong ¡­

    Wong¡¯s Encyclopedia of the Others.

    The librarian turned when he realised Gray had stopped dead in the middle of the library and was now - probably - a hazard to any passing student with their nose in a book.

    ¡®You all right?¡¯ said the librarian.

    Gray told himself to stay calm and not jump to conclusions.

    Exercise caution.

    There wasn¡¯t just one Wong in the world and Alistair hadn¡¯t even indicated if Wong was a person or a place. A scholar.

    Honestly, Wong could refer to anything.

    ¡®I¡¯m fine,¡¯ Gray heard himself say. ¡®I - think I can take it from here.¡¯

    The librarian hesitated, adjusting his grip on his stack of books. ¡®You can get turned around in here. Some say the Ancients enchanted the library.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ll be OK,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I promise.¡¯

    ¡®All right. Straight ahead and then take a left for the jinxes section. From memory, the writer Ziggor has good volumes on tracking and hunting jinxes. He¡¯ll be at the very end of the row.¡¯

    ¡®Thank you,¡¯ Gray said.

    He waited until the librarian had disappeared up a narrow spiral staircase.

    Then, Gray¡¯s feet pounded against the stone floor, just slow enough to be classed as a walk but fast enough to draw stares from the early morning students and academics.

    Straight into the Others and Creatures section.

    Gray hunted for the Ws.

    Surely - please, please - they¡¯d have Wong.

    Gray let out a long breath when he found him.

    The scholar Wong had written more than the Encyclopedia of the Others. He had yards and yards of shelf space. Some of the books were thick leather-bound tomes and were precious enough to be chained to the shelves.

    His heart was beating a little too fast.

    Gray needed to come back here after he¡¯d fixed the jinx.

    But, his fingertips were already touching the Encyclopedia. Gray pulled it down and he was brushing dust off the embossed cover and he was flipping through the pages, just for a minute - one minute.

    He ran his finger over the encyclopaedia''s Index at the back, searching for rats.

    The list of creatures that pulled rats, scared rats, fed off rats, controlled rats, were some kind of rat was huge. Gray let out a sharp breath and checked over his shoulder.

    No one was watching him.

    No cry of ¡®Conor Griffin¡¯, no soldiers, no guards.

    No person marching forward with a leaflet in their hand.

    Gray snatched up a piece of parchment and pencil from a stack on the bench behind him and started scribbling down a list, so fast.

    He just had to be methodical.

    Very fast, but methodical.

    Check each creature associated with rats in any way, ensure it was consistent with how Ali and Rowan died, list it down if it did, then cross reference it with Hubert Huntsman''s Guide to Creatures of the North to narrow it down to ones that could possibly live near Krydon ¡­

    -

    Gray¡¯s hand was smeared with graphite from the pencil and cramped from his frantic writing. Wong¡¯s encyclopaedia had illustrations that sometimes were so graphic that Gray was pretty sure they¡¯d haunt him in his dreams.

    His eyes skimmed over the pages, and he wrote as fast as he could, continuing his list of possible creatures.

    Malochanters ¡­ these ancient creatures will use rats as familiars and to assist them in their dark deeds ¡­ they are creatures most vile, almost as vile as pure sorcerers ¡­

    Gray hastily scribbled Malochanters onto the list.

    Scullery Pipers ¡­ these legendary entities rule over beasts of vermin ¡­ but pose no threat to humans, unlike sorcerers who are an apex predator ¡­

    Gray continued onward, his eyes going faster than his hand.

    Unseelies ¡­ these shadow beings act as spies for malevolent forces, using rats ¡­ akin to the vile legacy of sorcerers ¡­

    These, these, these.

    The list of possible creatures was too long.

    Gray needed more time.

    And Wong was obsessed as heck with sorcerers. He frequently referred to sorcerers as a comparison to every dark being, which seemed needlessly long winded to Gray, and was kind of setting his teeth on edge each time he had to shift through it to get to the bare facts.

    He couldn''t do this in one hour let alone one minute.

    Gray clenched his jaw, rubbing his eyes. He really needed to go and fix the jinx, and then he could focus on getting his hands on this book again, and he¡¯d get textbooks from Hubert Huntsman, and Grimm and Grimm.

    But, as he went to flip the cover closed, a sentence caught his eye.

    These are among the selective array of immortal creatures that the Ancients used to guard certain tombs containing the biggest hoards of treasure, precious curses, and high status deceased, and will pull scavengers including rats ¡­

    Gray backtracked over the section, his heart banging.

    ¡®Tombs,¡¯ he muttered under his breath.

    There had to be a reason Ali had a damn map of the tombs along with the map of the north with Sirentown circled.

    Vampiric Sorcerer, said the Encyclopedia.

    Vampiric Sorcerers were once mortal sorcerers who made a pact with a vampiric entity to extend their lives indefinitely. Classified as dangerous undead magical creatures, and with known affiliations with tomb warriors and the Eternal Watch ¡­

    It continued on over three entire pages of the encyclopaedia. Gray¡¯s gaze flew over the pages, taking in fragments, his heart beating too fast to force himself to slow down and read it properly.

    Vampiric Sorcerers are rarely encountered outside of their assigned domains, as their existence is bound to the tombs or sanctuaries they were tasked to protect ¡­

    Gray glanced up.

    A soldier¡¯s silhouette was at the far end of the section of the library.

    The outline was enough to identify him, even if Gray hadn¡¯t felt the cold shifting in the library air and the goosebumps rising on his skin.

    The soldier¡¯s cap.

    The hair hanging in the eyes.

    The wolf¡¯s fur collar.

    The tense shoulders, the powerful stalking stride, the glinting of the dagger in the boot.

    Killian had found him.

 69. Insert Nice Pun Here

    Gray¡¯s breath snagged in his throat.

    Several soldiers were following Killian, fanning out.

    ¡®Griffin,¡¯ called Killian. ¡®Stay right there.¡¯

    His voice wasn¡¯t loud but the library came to a hushed stop at the rippling disturbance in the steely edge of Killian¡¯s voice, so out of place amongst the soft library murmurs and rustling pages.

    There was no hesitation in Gray. No moment of deciding what to do or where to go. His body responded before he was even aware of what he was doing.

    Gray ran like he¡¯d never run in his life.

    Nothing was going to stop him.

    He vaulted over a table to bypass a group of students and something surged in his chest because this was more like it. This was how Gray should be able to move. His ankle was barely noticeable. The twinge of pain was nothing against the adrenaline flooding his blood.

    Killian shouted a command to his soldiers. The Lismerian was too rapid, too clipped for Gray to understand.

    Gray didn¡¯t dare break his momentum to glance back.

    He pushed himself to run harder.

    His feet were flying over the stone floor of the library.

    Gray¡¯s list of creatures was crushed in his fist and he was sprinting too fast to do anything but hang onto it. Then, as he slammed through a side door of the library and out into the unexpected and startlingly red light of the rising sun, he skidded to avoid crashing into a group of young kids and he dropped it.

    And he couldn¡¯t do anything but abandon that list and keep running.

    All that frenzied work.

    Work that was inching him closer to finding out what and how Alistair had died.

    His stomach jolted at the loss.

    But he didn¡¯t have time to process it, to think, as cool morning air tore against his face and through his clothes as he kept running.

    The side door he¡¯d torn through had brought him to a walled garden. It was open on one side, but that was fast closing up with a silhouetted line of soldiers.

    Gray spent precious seconds scaling the garden wall. He balanced on the top, glimpsing a striking view of Sirentown spilling down the mountain, half in pre-dawn duskiness, half illuminated in red sunlight, and a sunrise beyond everything, blindingly brilliant as it rose out of the sea.

    Directly below him, yawning like a chasm, a narrow well-kept street lined with tall townhouses. The drop was far enough to kill. Gray gripped onto the wall so tight the stone cut into his hands.

    There was a curt command behind him, Killian directing his soldiers, ¡®cut him off.¡¯

    Then, because he couldn¡¯t allow himself to be cut off, because there were already soldiers entering the narrow street below Gray, he launched himself up.

    And across.

    It was as though the world had fallen away.

    As though the air hung silent.

    For a moment he was weightless, suspended in the air with nothing but cobblestones three stories below.

    He slammed into the side of the townhouse, his breath forced out of him, his fingertips scrabbling for purchase. With a strangled gasp, Gray hauled himself up with shaking arms, swinging a leg over the gutter and rolling onto the turquoise roof tiles.

    For a second, Gray lay there, staring blindly up at the sky, his blood roaring in his ears and his lungs refusing to work.

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    There was a soft thud directly underneath him.

    Killian.

    Fear spiked. Gray¡¯s mouth was dry.

    He scrambled to his feet and zigzagged across the slanted roof, dodging chimneys and loose tiles that threatened to send him tumbling. Past clotheslines filled with flapping laundry drying in the sea wind. His hands and knees stung from a hundred scrapes.

    Gray didn¡¯t look around. The padding of Killian behind him was almost silent.

    There was no roar of pursuit or pounding of boots. This was the run of a man who meant business, that was done playing around and was ready to end things.

    Gray ran over the slippery rooftops, as the red dawn slipped into full daylight.

    But he was flying. He was going too fast.

    So fast his run was becoming uncontrolled.

    He slipped.

    Down, down a section of roof and he could see the edge coming.

    Panic ripped through Gray.

    He clawed at the glazed tiles.

    There was nothing to grab on to, nothing to stop him falling over the edge.

    Gray fell silently.

    There was no primal scream, no shout for help.

    He didn¡¯t have time.

    The ground rushed up to meet him, and then -

    He slowed.

    He¡¯d grabbed onto a clothesline, without knowing what he was doing, without realising.

    It cut into his palms and it snapped, and Gray continued to fall, in a pile of colourful laundry smelling like salty ocean and lavender and silversmith fumes.

    It slowed his fall just enough so that Gray didn¡¯t die.

    At least, as he lay winded on the ground, dazed and blinded, unable to breathe for the pain in his lungs and over the kind of numb throbbing throughout his entire body, Gray didn¡¯t think he''d died.

    Gray pushed himself up and tried not to puke.

    Assessed his legs, his back, his arms. He felt them blindly, not waiting for his vision to clear.

    He was OK.

    He staggered into the wall of the alley he¡¯d fallen into. An ancient woman in a knitted shawl watched from her front doorway, and then, as though in slow motion, she looked up.

    So did Gray.

    Killian peered over the edge of the rooftop.

    Gray made himself keep running.

    Badly.

    He¡¯d messed up his lungs, his body was shaking, shutting down, going into shock.

    He turned down a skinny alley, and it was surprisingly busy.

    Gray yanked his hood up.

    Kept going, alternating between brisk walk and hunched stagger.

    And then he stumbled out into the main thoroughfare.

    -

    The main thoroughfare twisted down the mountain, and was already bustling with enough sound and colour to assault Gray¡¯s shutting-down senses.

    His lungs burned as he tried to regain his breath. Blending in with this throng was his best option, there were masks, hoods, costumes, and kohl everywhere.

    People swarmed and vendors cried out, thrusting wares at the crowd. The press of people made Gray¡¯s head spin.

    Summer food stalls and stages lined the steps down, and shops had their doors flung wide open, their wares on display on the street to tempt buyers. Smoke curled from the stalls and the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, vegetables, fried dough and spun sugar.

    Gray didn¡¯t dare pause.

    His chest tightened with the urge to move, to slip through the current of people.

    Someone elbowed him, someone else trod on his heel. He was getting jostled.

    Voices mixed with the beat of drums from stage performances and buskers playing the fiddle. Masked dancers and fighting displays caused crushes of spectators and sharp bellows of cheers.

    ¡®GRAY.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s shout was so cutting that Gray involuntarily turned around, and he stumbled as his momentum broke, his toe catching on an uneven rock on the ground.

    The soldiers had fallen way behind. For a split second, he glimpsed them high on the street, bellowing at the people to make way. Killian was close enough to Gray to see in detail, to see his face pulled into hard lines and his battle scars stark in the rising sunlight.

    Killian wasn¡¯t out of breath.

    He wasn¡¯t struggling.

    Someone thrust lemonade samples at him.

    Killian knocked it away.

    Another tried to pull Killian aside to have his fortune told.

    Killian elbowed them back.

    Gray¡¯s chest burned, his blood roaring in his veins.

    Killian¡¯s anger and power was growing more tangible with each step, and the crowd was starting to part for him.

    Starting to stare.

    Getting his feet underneath him, Gray kicked up into a painful sprint again, his hood flying back, weaving through a parade of dancers and ducked behind a cart piled with steaming buns. The tang of salt and spices hit him like a wave as he approached The Salty Dog¡¯s Spices spice shop with open casks of brilliant red, yellow, and brown powders.

    And then, a flash of a memory of Longwark droning on in alchemy classes.

    Gray had an idea.

    Because Gray would not be able to outrun Killian.

    Gray needed cover.

    Something to give him a moment to disappear.

    His breath ragged, Gray skidded to a stop beside the Salty Dog¡¯s Spices display. Quickly assessed because he did not want to repeat the disaster of the fireworks and fierilion weed. He snatched a measured fistful of saltpeter, some powdered dragon spice, and then some raw sugar.

    The owner came out of the shop, shouting.

    But Gray was already gone.

    Long ago, Gray had learnt the quickest and easiest way to make a smoke bomb was to combine saltpeter, dragon spice, sugar and fire.

    He hurled the powders into the open flame of the closest food stall.

    The flame roared to life.

    There was a delayed burst of brilliant sparks.

    Then, thick, choking smoke billowed out in all directions.

    Shouts erupted as people scattered, coughing and shouting, the festival thrown into chaos.

    Gray didn¡¯t wait to see if Killian had been swallowed by the smoke.

    He kept running.

 70. Silk, Not Slick

    Sweat ran down Gray¡¯s temples. His jacket was stuck to his skin.

    He ducked his head and lengthened his stride, resisting the urge to cast a glance behind him.

    He knew Killian would still be able to track him through the jinx, but he couldn¡¯t hear him or feel him, and honestly, Killian wasn¡¯t the main threat he was worried about right now.

    Gray hadn¡¯t thought it would be possible to find a neighbourhood sketchier than the one with the pawn shop from earlier.

    He was wrong.

    These streets gave him bigger heebie jeebies than Gallows Alley back in Krydon.

    It was as though these streets had eyes.

    The feeling of being watched raised the hackles on the back of Gray¡¯s neck. There were too many armed people loitering in groups, too much graffiti on the walls warning him away.

    Gray averted his gaze from three women who had no teeth, and went to shortcut through a small park.

    A little old lady snagged the sleeve of Gray¡¯s jacket.

    ¡®You have a death wish?¡¯ she said, her voice wobbling with age. ¡®Silver Axes own that park.¡¯

    Well, shit.

    Gray murmured his thanks, turned on his heel to go around.

    And saw Killian.

    Dodging down a shadowy alley - so skinny it was more of a walkway - Gray realised too late that it was a dead end.

    Deserted.

    The walls were sheer.

    The only door was locked.

    The only windows were three stories up.

    There was an airlessness to this alley that would¡¯ve had Gray¡¯s heart skipping a beat even if he wasn¡¯t being pursued by a furious wolf-shifter.

    There was magic here.

    Or perhaps a mage, nearby.

    But, Gray remembered all the mages were gone - a city wide disaster - and that made the creeping sensation of nearby magic worse.

    Because whatever he was sensing was not a mage.

    Gods.

    The only place to hide was behind a bunch of rotting barrels and a giant metal bin, and Gray would be damned if Killian caught him hiding.

    There was a soft pad, pad, pad behind Gray. It slowed to a stop.

    Swallowing hard, Gray turned around and faced Killian.

    Killian¡¯s gaze was dark.

    Completely fixed on Gray.

    ¡®You about done?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray pretended to think. He could barely breathe, barely talk. He made himself stand straighter and stare Killian right in the eye.

    Killian raised his eyebrows. Slowly, he slipped a piece of parchment out of his pocket. ¡®How about a negotiation, hm, kid? You want this? You can have it if you stop being a fucking pain in my ass.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s list.

    Carefully, Gray made himself not edge forward. He made himself keep his face shuttered.

    Despair was creeping through him.

    He wouldn¡¯t go back, he wouldn¡¯t be a prisoner again, he couldn¡¯t let himself be dragged away and forced to abandon helping Alistair.

    He was dead anyway if he went with Killian.

    ¡®It doesn¡¯t matter,¡¯ Gray said hoarsely. ¡®It doesn¡¯t matter if I¡¯m-¡¯

    There was a soft whip through the air.

    Almost faster than Gray could track, a man dropped off the roof and landed neatly behind Killian.

    The agileness of him was slightly off, his movements were too quiet, too quick.

    He was holding some kind of silver amulet.

    Killian turned and had the man on the ground with his boot on the man¡¯s throat in an instant. There was a clatter as the silver amulet fell from the man¡¯s grip.

    The man.

    There was an etherealness to him, a dangerous intelligence in his bright eyes. His black coat pooled on the ground around him.

    He was Other, Gray realised. Full Other.

    Not fae - they¡¯d be dead if the man was fae - not goblin, not dryad. Something else.

    The hard line of Killian¡¯s lips had lifted into a cold snarl, and he was about to say something - his mouth was opening - when someone pressed a blade against Gray¡¯s throat from behind.

    They grabbed Gray, the cold metal of the blade digging into his skin, and dragged him back, dragged him up. Gray¡¯s tiptoes scraped.

    Fear lanced through him.

    He could feel, smell, the thug holding him, their arm strangling him was covered in thick black hair.

    Gray latched onto their arm, his toes dragging, and tried to twist free.

    Couldn¡¯t.

    Killian threw his dagger at the thug with deadly precision

    There was an ugly thud as the dagger found its mark.

    Gray wrenched himself free from the hairy arm. The thug fell with a bang and his blade skittered over the damp cobblestones.

    Gray glimpsed the thug. He was a huge man - bigger than Longwark, bigger than any man he¡¯d ever seen, with a blond beard braided into two and wearing fighting leathers - with the dagger wedged neatly between his glassy eyes.

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    The dagger was into the thug¡¯s skull to the hilt. The throw had been so fast, so precise and deadly that the death had been instant. There was barely any blood.

    Gray glanced up at Killian.

    ¡®Kid,¡¯ said Killian, applying a concerning amount of pressure onto the throat of the man - Other - on the ground, his boot digging into the poor man¡¯s flesh, and the man had become awfully still, ¡®You¡¯re freaking out. I can see it in your face.¡¯

    Gray was shaking. He didn¡¯t know why. He¡¯d seen way worse than this.

    ¡®You stay calm,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Don¡¯t-¡¯

    And in that instant - that quarter of a second that Killian was focused on Gray - an arrow shot through the air and hit Killian¡¯s shoulder.

    Killian stiffened.

    The arrow glinted silver in the streaks of sunlight that reached through the alley.

    Killian dropped like a ton of bricks. His knees buckled, they clapped in a jarring whump against the cobblestones.

    All colour drained from Killian¡¯s face.

    The silver arrow hissed against Killian¡¯s body, spiraling steam. Killian clawed at the arrow. He withdrew his hands as though stung. His shoulder was getting soaked with blood, his uniform turning dark red.

    A crew of people stood at the mouth of the alleyway.

    Gray¡¯s heart was hammering so hard he could barely make them out, their faces were blurred.

    There was a scuff of their shoes over the cobblestones and a chinking of axes and knives concealed beneath leathers as they walked in with a predator¡¯s grace.

    Slow and deliberate.

    Like they owned every cobblestone their boots touched.

    One of them stopped, staring down at Killian.

    He was a tall, lean man. Gray had the brief impression of oiled, dark hair swept back, and a set of unsettling blue eyes. He was dressed like a careful nobleman, all brass buttons and velvet cuffs.

    He picked at Killian¡¯s wolf fur collar. ¡®A king¡¯s wolf shifter. Caught by silver. Tut, tut. Very sloppy.¡¯

    ¡®Silk,¡¯ said one of the crew. ¡®He killed Ruggor.¡¯

    ¡®My men are coming,¡¯ said Killian, his voice strained. ¡®They¡¯ll outnumber you five to one.¡¯

    ¡®Thanks for the warning.¡¯ Silk cast a leisurely glance over Killian, and then to the thug with the dagger in his face.

    ¡®You just killed my champion,¡¯ said Silk. He glanced down at the man who¡¯d gone horribly still underneath the pressure of Killian¡¯s boot. ¡®And my faerie.¡¯

    Sweat beaded Killian¡¯s forehead. He closed his eyes. His teeth were bared.

    Silk paused, glancing at Gray. ¡®This your pup?¡¯

    ¡®This kid?¡¯ hissed Killian, as though deeply offended. ¡®No. A delinquent.¡¯

    Silk frowned slightly at Gray. ¡®There''s something wrong with him.¡¯

    ¡®He fell off a roof,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®He''s in shock. He¡¯s an idiot.¡¯

    Silk made a subtle signal with his hand and one of the crew had Gray in a chokingly tight hold again, a small pen knife pressed against his ribs.

    ¡®What,¡¯ snarled Killian, ¡®poachers are taking delinquent humans, too, now?¡¯

    Gray¡¯d assumed these people were the Silver Axes, but they were poachers, or perhaps the Silver Axes had poachers-

    The kind of panic ripping through Gray, the tightness in his lungs, the feeling like he was going to damn well die couldn¡¯t have come at a worse time.

    Though it had been building since the thug - Ruggor - had fallen at his feet with the dagger planted between his eyes. Gray knew it was only a matter of seconds before his magic would rise to the surface of his skin, it would light him up, and then he¡¯d be truly screwed.

    Breathe.

    In. Out.

    He couldn¡¯t.

    But, the seconds were passing by, and Silk and Killian were talking, and Gray¡¯s panic was soaring, and he couldn¡¯t breathe, and his magic hadn¡¯t so much as rippled.

    The curling whisper of the thought - fear, answer - at the back of his mind of Powl¡¯s Potion. Perhaps - perhaps it had done something -

    ¡®How much will you get for him?¡¯ Killian was saying. ¡®A few silver coins? If you¡¯re so desperate for income I could employ you-¡¯ He cut off with a restrained groan. His head bowed forward and he let out a low swear word.

    ¡®A naive wolf-shifter,¡¯ said Silk. ¡®Charming. You¡¯re speaking of employment like you have a future beyond what I have planned for you.¡¯

    ¡®My men,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®They¡¯re coming.¡¯

    ¡®We¡¯ll take care of your men,¡¯ said Silk lightly.

    Killian stilled, breathing shallowly.

    ¡®Besides,¡¯ said Silk, ¡®I think I¡¯d rather just have the fortune I¡¯d earn from a wolfshifter¡¯s hair, blood, and tears, than ever join that motherfucker¡¯s army. Thank you.¡¯

    Killian glanced up, his dark gaze wide. He locked eyes with Gray.

    ¡®Kid,¡¯ he said, ¡®kid, pull it together. Inhale.¡¯

    Not taking his eyes off Killian, Silk waved a graceful hand at his crew. ¡®Check the boy.''

    Someone was pressing hard metal against Gray''s neck, against his cheek. He glimpsed the glinting of silver.

    The silver amulet was lifted from Gray¡¯s face.

    ¡®Not a wolf, boss,¡¯ said the man.

    ¡®Bring him closer.¡¯

    Gray was dragged forward.

    ¡®You¡¯re a little bit passive,¡¯ said Silk, his voice low and leaning in. ¡®You¡¯re in shock? Or you some kind of Other?¡¯

    Gray bristled and bit back the words why don¡¯t I hold a knife to your throat and see how passive you become?

    ¡®I¡¯m trying to decide how to kill you,¡¯ said Gray.

    Which was stupid, because his voice was breathless and trembling, and it was all cringey bluster. It made the whole crew burst out into laughter - the kind of laughter that was all sharp edges and ice.

    ¡®Wipe the kohl off him,¡¯ said Silk.

    There was a tense silence as one of the crew roughly wiped Gray¡¯s face with his crusty sleeve.

    Silk held a finger to his lips, as Gray¡¯s face was revealed.

    ¡®Don¡¯t I know you?¡¯ Silk said.

    Killian said something. Or he tried, before it was interrupted by his own groan. His fingers clawed into the cobblestones. He was drenched in sweat.

    Silk smiled widely. ¡®I could¡¯ve sworn the army was handing out fliers with your face on it.¡¯ He pointed at Killian and then back at Gray. ¡®You wouldn¡¯t be Conor Griffin, would you?¡¯

    Silence thudded like heartbeats.

    Some of the crew muttered oaths and shifted back.

    Not Silk, though. He remained still as steel, his gaze steadily watching Gray.

    ¡®Fuck,¡¯ breathed Killian.

    Silk turned to his crew. ¡®Maybe he was trying to decide how to kill us.¡¯

    There was no laughter this time.

    There was a sting to the following silence. The person holding the pen knife to Gray let out a shallow breath and adjusted his grip. His fingers were growing slick.

    ¡®If you are deciding how to kill us,¡¯ Silk leant close to Gray again, as though sharing a secret between friends, ¡®you¡¯re taking a dreadfully long time to do it.¡¯

    He paused.

    Seconds stretched.

    Silence thudded and panic coiled in the pit of Gray¡¯s stomach. He glanced desperately at Killian, but Killian was curled in on himself, breathing shallowly.

    ¡®You going to do anything?¡¯ said Silk. He addressed his crew, ''He''s not going to do anything.''

    ''Silk,'' said the man holding Gray. He was sweating so much that he dropped his knife. ''Should we be taunting Conor Griffin?''

    Silk looked Gray square in the eye. ''Should we?''

    Gray did what he least wanted to do. What he¡¯d refused to do his whole life until it had taken a dark turn and everything had gotten so messed up.

    He reached inside himself, searching for the delicate coiling of his magic, he was mentally groping, he was trying to let it be and let it come up.

    His skin was lighting up.

    His heart was hammering hard, he was shaking head to toe.

    Let it be.

    But, he couldn¡¯t. He could just let it be and unleash a wave of magic within him that would rip him apart.

    And he had no idea what he was supposed to do with his magic even if he could let it unleashed.

    He¡¯d never been trained.

    ¡®Very impressive,¡¯ said Silk. ¡®I could use you as a night light.¡¯

    ¡®Kid,¡¯ uttered Killian. ¡®Inhale.¡¯

    ¡®Are you going to do anything else, Conor?¡¯ said Silk.

    ¡®Shut your damn mouth,¡¯ Killian said, his voice ripped from him, his voice drenched in pain, ¡®you fucking idiot. Gray, we¡¯ll sort this out, don¡¯t-¡¯

    There was a brutal thud and Killian was cut off.

    Gray¡¯s skin was too hot, too tight.

    ¡®You know,¡¯ Silk said, his voice lowered conspiratorially and with slow, burgeoning delight. ¡®I don¡¯t think you can.¡¯

    Maybe being exploded in a crater would be a better fate than what awaited him with the poachers.

    Gray¡¯s magic burst through him like a tsumani shattering a city.

 71. Sometimes A Smile Isnt Helpful

    All Gray could see was rushing light, and then all he could see was his old study hall, back at his school in Krydon.

    Hundreds of kids sat in the rows of desks.

    Alistair peered at Gray from across the aisle, leaning back in his chair.

    Gray could feel the burn of Alistair¡¯s stare and the ping against Gray¡¯s cheek, as Alistair flicked a tiny piece of scrunched up parchment.

    Ignoring him, Gray bent his head over his alchemy text. After all, it was Alistair who had tasked Gray with building the Griffin Feather Flurry for the senior prank and the transformation was beyond complex.

    If Gray was going to get it ready in time for the senior prank for Alistair, he needed to focus.

    Ping.

    A second tiny ball of parchment hit Gray¡¯s temple.

    Ping, ping.

    ¡®You know I¡¯m not going to stop,¡¯ said Alistair, ¡®until I get your attention.¡¯

    Shooting him a hot glance - a can-I-bloody-help-you kind of deal - Gray privately wondered if Alistair had a death wish.

    Longwark was supervising the study hall. He patrolled the long spaces between the desks, wearing his two sets of glasses in his wild hair, his protective leather tunics, and an expression that had every single student cowed into silence.

    Except Alistair.

    ¡®I completely stand by what I said when I was drunk,¡¯ said Alistair.

    Gray frowned and eyed Longwark¡¯s massive back, incredulous that Alistair wanted to risk ticking off Longwark to talk about last night.

    ¡®You were yelling at me,¡¯ said Gray, his voice lowered furiously, ¡®about how we don¡¯t deserve sheep dogs.¡¯

    ¡®Listen. We live in a cruel world that¡¯s dark and angry. Have you seen sheep dogs, Gray? They¡¯re soft and fluffy and pure.¡¯

    ¡®Old man Tanner¡¯s isn¡¯t ¡­ are you crying?¡¯

    ¡®They¡¯re entirely too pure for this ugly world. We must protect them.¡¯

    ¡®Are you still drunk?¡¯

    Alistair sighed. ¡®A little bit.¡¯

    Gray rustled through his bag when Longwark reached the far side of the hall and was busy helping Rowan Conn with his work. He slapped a sober tonic into Alistair¡¯s rough palm.

    Alistair downed it in one. ¡®You¡¯re such a mother hen.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s right. I¡¯m the mother hen, and you, my drunk son, concern me. You bring great shame to our family.¡¯

    ¡®How much ale do you think Longwark can handle?¡¯ said Alistair.

    ¡®More than you,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®This is why you fail classes and your stat score is so embarrassing.¡¯

    ¡®Sshh. I¡¯m going to ask Longwark a question.¡¯

    Gray''s eyebrows shot up and he leant close to Ali. ¡®You better not be asking him how much ale he can handle - Ali - seriously-¡¯

    Longwark spotted Alistair¡¯s hand waving in the air. His intense ice-grey eyes narrowed. He was so damn smart, he smelt a rat even from the far side of the room.

    Gray hastily stopped whispering and slouched low in his chair as Longwark approached, desperately wishing he could evaporate on the spot.

    ¡®Yes?¡¯ said Longwark, looming over Alistair.

    Gray trained his gaze down onto his desk and moved his chair away slightly.

    ¡®I¡¯m having trouble with the firebreath theory, sir,¡¯ said Alistair.

    ¡®Are you wasting my time right now?¡¯ Longwark levelled Alistair with a glare. ¡®Firebreath composition is so easy a child could do it with their eyes closed. Are you more stupid than a child, Alistair Keep?¡¯

    Alistair hesitated. Gray darted a glance at him. His cheeks were flushing red and the other kids around had completely stopped all work to watch.

    ¡®Well, that¡¯s just it, sir. What happens when you try firebreath, sir?¡¯

    ¡®What?¡¯

    ¡®What happens when a mage like you creates firebreath - compared to someone like-¡¯ Alistair reached across and casually slapped Gray on the shoulder ¡®-say, Gray here?¡¯

    Gray was frozen in his chair, the spot on his shoulder where Alistair had slapped burning. He slowly lifted his gaze to Longwark, aghast.

    Longwark huffed, blowing wild straggles of his grey hair out of his face. ¡®If you had half a brain to rub between the two of you, you¡¯d know that any mage can use his magic to alter the effects of any alchemical transformation.¡¯

    ¡®So, sir - in theory - someone powerful, like Wilde, could turn firebreath into a month of fire and heat? Or he could transform it into a firebeast?¡¯

    The whole study hall, as one, tensed. If Longwark was the tinderbox, the mention of Wilde or Krupin was the flame.

    Gray closed his eyes and waited for the blow to fall.

    ¡®Alistair, if - in reality - someone idioctic, like you, can turn a single study hall session into a week of detentions,¡¯ said Longwark softly, looking down at Alistair and Gray as though they were something disgusting stuck to the bottom of his shoe, ¡®anything is possible. Congratulations, boys. My office, after school.¡¯

    Longwark moved away.

    ¡®Are you crazy?¡¯ hissed Gray.

    Alistair grinned, like he hadn¡¯t just gotten a week¡¯s worth of detentions, because he was damn crazy.

    ¡®That was Longwark¡¯s way of saying yes,¡¯ whispered Alistair. ¡®Yes, a mage could turn firebreath into a firebeast. Or, if you applied it to a similar situation, turn a Griffin Feather Flurry into something enormous.¡¯ He paused. ¡®You know what I¡¯m getting at here?¡¯

    Yes, because Alistair had the subtlety of a hammer, and because he consistently overestimated Gray¡¯s abilities - which wasn¡¯t hard, but it was annoying because Gray¡¯s abilities were nothing.

    Less than nothing.

    So nothing they were in the negative.

    He wasn¡¯t going to be turning a Griffin Feather Flurry into anything more than a senior prank, and it was going to be by pure alchemy.

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    No magic, no mage rubbish.

    Alchemy.

    Gray¡¯s cheeks were hot. His voice came out, full of disbelief. ¡®You just baited Longwark.¡¯

    Longwark swivelled on the spot, half a hall away, as though magically called by the merest whisper of his name. He seemed to draw closer, though he hadn¡¯t moved.

    Gray froze, pinned in his chair by Longwark¡¯s stare.

    ¡®Are you still talking after I just gave you and your idiotic stepbrother a week''s worth of detentions, Griffin?¡¯

    There was no answer for this. Gray winced, bracing for the inevitable.

    Longwark roared, shouting loud enough for the whole of Krydon to hear, gave Gray a hundred lines on top of his detentions, and kicked him out of study hall. Gray had to stand outside the door for an hour.

    ---

    Gray hadn¡¯t expected death to include someone muttering murderously nearby in a northern dialect just similar enough to the one he spoke so that he could understand the important stuff.

    ¡® ¡­ destroy you for bleeding all over my sleeves ¡­¡¯

    ¡® ¡­ feast on your pathetic heart ¡­¡¯

    ¡® ¡­ go, miserable mortal, and I will bring you back to life to hack you apart ¡­¡¯

    Nor did he expect death to include so much all-consuming pain.

    And he absolutely did not expect it - when he clawed his eyes open against what seemed a decade¡¯s worth of dried crust - to have a fae leaning over him, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

    The illustrations of fae in the books in the school library had been beautiful and otherworldly. Terrifying.

    And they entirely missed out on the way fae smiled with too many teeth.

    The ice of the fae¡¯s gaze.

    How the fae postured their shoulders, to scream lethal and untouchable, like a warning.

    And how the sensation of their magic crawled over and under your skin at the same time.

    The faintest traces of dark veins branched underneath the fae¡¯s skin like roots from a decaying tree, on his neck, face, and on his long fingered hands. His black hair was braided back and long enough to touch the ground.

    The fae was barely lit by the dim light of a lantern set into the ceiling above them - he was inside somewhere, Gray realised - and the fae sat on the edge of Gray¡¯s cot as though it might contaminate him.

    ¡®I was told,¡¯ said the fae, in resentful Lismerian and his too-many teeth on display in a forced smile, ¡®that smiling puts human young at ease.¡¯

    His smile was the kind of smile that was aggressively pasted on the face of someone filled with rage, but bitterly trying to hide it.

    Gray couldn¡¯t have replied if he wanted to.

    His tongue was utterly dry.

    He curled his aching fingers into the rough cotton sheets beneath him, glancing down at his body. His two feet, two legs, one middle, two arms, hands, hands that worked ¡­

    Alive. Whole. But burning.

    Even his nostrils burned.

    Bleach.

    Ammonia.

    Vinegar.

    The scent of a physician¡¯s ward. A hospital.

    But, the light flickering from the lantern showed only a cold concrete floor. No windows at all.

    This was no hospital.

    Stop smiling, Gray wanted to tell the fae.

    But, surely that would be too rude, and while he barely knew anything about fae, he knew enough to not go around offending them.

    That, and the fact that the fae was talking - and his robe was whispering as it swept over the concrete floor, the sigh of his leather bag opening wide at the foot of Gray¡¯s bed - had to mean something good.

    Right?

    Elona had once said: You only hear fae when they want you to hear them.

    Said fae was picking through the vials and pouches in his large leather bag at the end of Gray¡¯s cot. Slowly, he pulled out a silky cloth.

    A vent whistled beside Gray, set in the concrete wall. Cool air slithered over him.

    His breath was shallow.

    The fae moved up to Gray¡¯s head and was dabbing at it with a cold cloth.

    ¡®Do not be worried,¡¯ said the fae. ¡®If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn¡¯t be wiping drool off your worthless chin right now.¡¯

    Fear inched through Gray.

    Achingly slow.

    He was in a cell. Iron bars allowed him to see into the next cell and the next, and the next.

    Only the end one was occupied.

    Killian was slumped in the corner, his uniform in tatters, and dark with old blood.

    He was destroyed.

    And stiff enough to be a corpse.

    There was no rise of his chest, not that Gray could make out in the shadowy light.

    His stomach turned, and for a second, he was in real trouble.

    Do not throw up in front of a fae.

    ¡®This is not your habitat,¡¯ said Gray hoarsely, his voice rough.

    The concrete floors. Iron bars. Fae needed forests and sky. Earth and water.

    The fae stilled for the smallest moment. His dangerous gaze met Gray¡¯s.

    ¡®Nor yours,¡¯ said the fae.

    Finished with Gray¡¯s face, the fae carefully examined a lethal looking metal instrument from his bag.

    ¡®I have given you many potions,¡¯ said the fae, ¡®of my own creation. While you take them your heart will not beat beyond what is healthy for a human, and nor will the fog of human concerns cloud your mind to the point of irrationality.¡¯

    The fae was using the lethal looking instrument to do something to the bottom of Gray¡¯s foot. He could feel tugging, as though the fae was cleaning a gash on the bottom of Gray''s sole.

    ¡®I tell you this,¡¯ said the fae, ¡®because, aside from needing you unexploded, my lady is most - ah - upset. It is important you do not upset her further. You killed her son. The inner circle of her son''s crew. You destroyed a large part of the city she calls home. She has been forced out of retirement to deal with infighting amongst her son¡¯s remaining men.¡¯

    With a huge effort, Gray sat up. His joints groaned, his body shook. He gripped his hair - long, dark tangles - as his mind pieced everything together.

    Silk.

    His crew.

    Exploded.

    He¡¯d wrecked Sirentown? Part of it?

    Killed people?

    ¡®If you feel the effect of any of my potions waning,¡¯ said the fae, ¡®you must tell me. I will not suffer my lady¡¯s displeasure as I have suffered it over the past three days for not being able to repair her son.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s breath wasn¡¯t working.

    The fae tilted his head. ¡®Such as now,¡¯ he said coldly. ¡®This is an example of when you should tell me.¡¯

    The fae grabbed a potion from his leather bag.

    ¡®Ordinarily,¡¯ said the fae, ¡®a human using his power to explode himself to explode more humans is something I¡¯d thoroughly support.¡¯

    He gestured for Gray to take the potion with a cool, long fingered hand.

    Gray obeyed in a daze.

    ¡®As it is, I need you to not do it again. Until you¡¯re out of my care. Then you may explode as much as you want. Indeed, I encourage it.¡¯

    Gray must''ve looked lost, because the fae stilled to survey him.

    This close, Gray could see every detail of his dark veins underneath his skin. The wisps of black hair at his temples that were too short to be neatly braided back. ¡®What do you think happened?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s hand was in his hair again, fisted tight. He stared down at his knees, exhaustion and confusion and an overwhelming desire to puke warring within him.

    The fae let out a small breath of contempt, just loud enough to ensure Gray could hear.

    ¡®I scraped your blood off the cobblestones,¡¯ said the fae. ¡®I picked your flesh from the wreckage. I gathered your spilled organs from the street. Perhaps, I even salvaged your puny human soul from the air, though I would not presume to know the mysteries of here-¡¯ he tapped his fingertip onto Gray¡¯s chest, his heart, and it was the lightest shiver of a touch ¡®-and what lies beyond.¡¯

    The shadows from the lantern were making the fae¡¯s hard gaze grow colder.

    ¡®I sewed you back together,¡¯ said the fae, ¡®as one might patchwork beasts¡¯ skins into a cloak. So that my lady might profit. Rip yourself apart like that again, however, and even the skill of the fae will not save you.¡¯

    This was a lot to process, least of all the implication that Gray had died and then been healed by a fae.

    ¡®You said,¡¯ said Gray, his voice rasping against his dry throat, ¡®your lady ¡­¡¯

    Because, as much as the fact that he¡¯d been healed by a fae was beyond Gray¡¯s ability to process right now, the thought that someone had bound a fae to serve them, was inconceivable.

    Then, a thought gradually ticked over.

    A lick of fear.

    ¡®Your lady¡¯s profit?¡¯ whispered Gray.

    Because suddenly everything was sliding into place, answers were slotting into the blank spaces in Gray¡¯s mind.

    He was being held by the poachers.

    The same group of poachers that had cornered him and Killian in that narrow alley.

    And they had enough power to have bound a fae to them.

    The fae paused and gave Gray the kind of look that would freeze the bravest soul¡¯s insides. Slowly, he pulled a folded piece of parchment out of his pocket.

    It was the Othoan Wanted Poster.

    The one Killian had shown Gray in Krydon.

    The one with Gray¡¯s face on it, in the menacing snarl.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said the fae. ¡®My lady has buyers for you.¡¯ His head was dipped, as though deep in thought. ¡®I think humans call them bounty hunters.¡¯

 72. Red Is For The Bounty Hunters

    ¡®Crimson,¡¯ said the fae, holding a bolt of cloth against Gray. ''Othoan crimson.''

    The tailor nodded, pale and tight lipped as he eyed the fae, and mumbled ¡®two yards othoan crimson¡¯ as he scribbled it down in his notes. The tailor¡¯s forehead was damp with nervous sweat.

    From what Gray could gather - and he couldn¡¯t gather much against the muffled thinking of his mind - the poachers were working at making him presentable.

    He¡¯d already been fitted with a pair of trousers and boots that had enough fur details to tip Gray off that he was being dressed as an Othoan. He¡¯d been roughly washed by the fae which had resulted in a black eye (the fae), and a punch to the ribs (Gray), and a crack in the concrete floor (magic).

    It had also resulted in Gray being fed a string of potions and tonics by the very annoyed fae, that kept him slow.

    Time slipped in and out.

    -

    Killian was not dead.

    The fae came and went from Killian¡¯s cell. Sometimes Killian was utterly unresponsive and still. Sometimes he wasn¡¯t. Sometimes he was lucid enough to watch Gray.

    His dark hair would hang in his half lidded gaze, he¡¯d slouched against the bars of his cell, his arms wrapped around himself, his uniform tattered and stained. He¡¯d eye Gray as though confused.

    He never responded to Gray''s attempts to talk.

    It was as though he didn''t know how. Or couldn''t. Perhaps his hearing was messed up.

    The last time the fae had gone into Killian''s cell he¡¯d put up a weak fight, and the fae put shackles on him that must¡¯ve been silver, or enchanted, or perhaps enchanted silver - Gray didn¡¯t know exactly how it worked with wolf-shifters - but whatever it was, it made Killian moan and the metal softly hissed.

    Gray kept his face turned away. He blocked his ears. But it didn¡¯t stop his stomach from turning. The fae took his sweat, blood, hair, and tears.

    This was some dark, messed up stuff.

    No sorcerers required.

    Gray was sick so often that the fae - who¡¯s name, Gray had come to learn, was Lunn - resentfully left bleach and ammonia right outside the cell.

    Indeed, he was sick so often, Lunn¡¯s potions and tonics couldn¡¯t keep up. Gray¡¯s mind would return to him sometimes, sharp and motivated by cold fury.

    Gray was on a knife¡¯s edge, waiting for the poachers to start collecting from him.

    Not that he ever saw anyone other than Lunn.

    But, sometimes he¡¯d hear people - humans, northerners, Silver Axes - their voices drifting through the vent near Gray¡¯s cot.

    ¡®If she catches you playing cards today, you¡¯ll end up in there with them ¡­¡¯

    ¡®... don''t stare at the fae for too long, it doesn''t like it ¡­¡¯

    They¡¯d gotten their hands on Killian¡¯s stat papers and they¡¯d go over the numbers obsessively, ¡®strength stat of 1755 ¡­ Ruggor¡¯s strength was near 500, you remember ¡­¡¯ and laugh and laugh over this one detail ¡® ¡­ one million ardent debt to the crown ¡­¡¯

    It seemed they did not dare enter the room imprisoning the wolf-shifter and the sorcerer.

    It was always Lunn.

    -

    Lunn made a mistake.

    He left a Marri stone by Gray¡¯s cot at all times.

    Marri stones absorbed the moisture and heat from the air, as well as some toxins.

    They could also be transformed into a gas, with the right application of bleach and ammonia, that could make the most stubborn-willed person fall deeply asleep within seconds.

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    Lunn wiped at Gray¡¯s face with a cold cloth. His long fingered hands never touched Gray¡¯s bare skin if he could help it, and his expression of murderously wanting to be anywhere else never left him.

    He caught Gray eyeing Killian in the far cell.

    ¡®You have caused my lady much grief,¡¯ Lunn said. ¡®She will continue to make use of you and use of your friend, and she will not trouble herself to not make it drawn out.¡¯

    Gray moved his gaze away from Killian¡¯s prone form. He reminded himself to act slow, to act like he was under the calming influence of Lunn¡¯s potions.

    ¡®He¡¯s not my friend,¡¯ said Gray.

    There was an iron cuff on one of Lunn¡¯s wrists. It peeked out from underneath his sleeve as he put away the cold cloth into his leather bag.

    Fae and iron were even further from being friends than Gray and Killian, and Gray had guessed that this was part of the process of how Lunn had been bound.

    Gray was starting to form a wild - crazy - plan, but no matter how Gray sliced it, Lunn would definitely be a problem, because he didn¡¯t know if a sleeping gas that worked on people would work on fae.

    That, and the sheer power of a fae.

    Having a fae on your team was the surest way to be unbeatable.

    Gray licked his lips, drew in a controlled breath, and went for it. ¡®Iron doesn¡¯t last forever.¡¯

    Gray made his words slurred. Slow.

    He may as well as have said no words at all, for all that Lunn acknowledged him.

    ¡®It will decay,¡¯ said Gray.

    Lunn was silent, mixing a powder into a paste.

    Gray¡¯s heart couldn¡¯t hammer right now, but it was definitely trying to.

    ¡®I am older than the human race,¡¯ said Lunn. ¡®You think there¡¯s anything you could tell me that I don¡¯t already know?¡¯

    ¡®Ailill powder will speed up the decay,¡¯ said Gray, wondering if he¡¯d end up strangled at the hand of a freshly-freed fae. Or even a bound one. ¡®Most physicians have it in their kit-¡¯

    ¡®I know this is difficult for you, for all of your kind,¡¯ said Lunn, ¡®but it would be wise to guard your tongue around me as much as you should around my lady.¡¯

    Gray curled his fingers into the rough cotton bedding. ¡®She¡¯s coming here?¡¯

    ¡®She has already come here,¡¯ said Lunn. ¡®It was a blessing you were unconscious. But she will come again.¡¯

    -

    The bounty hunters meant business.

    They kept turning up in larger and larger numbers.

    Some would walk confidently into the room. Some would lean their shoulders against the far wall as they laid their eyes on Gray. Most came in alone, but some came in groups of twos and threes.

    Many of them bore dark insignias tattooed on their skin.

    And most were Othoans.

    Gray counted every single one that came by his cell. Marked every one of their faces. Kept his breath and heart controlled, despite the ice shooting through him.

    Othoans shouldn¡¯t be inside the kingdom of Lismere.

    Unless something had changed politically while Gray had been out of it.

    Some of the Othoans were stoic figures in mismatched combinations of finely tailored fur coats and battleworn leathers, and some were disguised, dressed every inch as Lismerians. Most had eyes hardened by years of violence. They would demand, with gestures from their hands - hands crisscrossed with scars - that Gray stand up, but not come close. Show he was alive.

    They would pass pieces of parchment to Lunn with bids written on it.

    The upside was that the Othoans didn¡¯t seem to want to take Gray apart to use his sweat, hair, tears, and blood.

    On the downside, Gray was pretty sure they were working for Wilde.

    And Krupin.

    Their names kept getting dragged up, which were the only words Gray understood from the Othoan¡¯s mouths.

    Another upside was they were treating Gray as though he was dangerous. The other downside was they¡¯d seen Gray fall on his face several times, watched him beg whenever Lunn approached him with another vial, and knew Gray enjoyed flipping through the illustrations in The Seaman¡¯s Guide to Creatures of the Deep - which Lunn had thrown to Gray in a fit of irritation to get him to stop talking.

    So the jig was just about up. There was no way the Othoans were going to be feeling threatened by Gray for much longer.

    Soon one would - what? - buy him? Break down the bars and take him so they could collect their bounty? Gray was surprised they hadn''t already, that they were all acting in this cool, civil manner, doing business negotiations instead of, you know, bounty hunting.

    And, if being brought to the Othoan government for stealing was not going to be fun, being brought to Wilde instead would be so much worse.

    But, if Gray came face-to-face with Wilde, he¡¯d do everything within his power to make him pay for killing his father, his uncles, his entire family.

    For tearing apart Lismere so that they were still rebuilding it almost ten years later.

    One of the Othoans - one with hair so long it almost touched the ground - walked up to the iron bars, her hips swaying. She was kind of beautiful.

    She gestured for Gray to come close.

    Closer.

    Close enough to touch.

    She took Gray¡¯s arm in her hands, and inspected the X on Gray¡¯s wrist.

    Gray kept his gaze trained on her. Tried not to recoil from her touch. She said something short to the two Othoans behind her.

    Gray had seen her before. In Krydon. Walking into the tavern stable with Alistair and her unusually small horse.

    Gray was so damn stupid - how had he not known she was Othoan? How had Barin, fuck, even Alistair, not seen she was Othoan?

    Her eyes - were brightly intense. Mage eyes.

    Though, as Gray had learned, bright eyes could be a shared trait with sorcerers.

    An Othoan mage or sorcerer running around Lismere was not good.

 73. The Crow Is OK

    Gray ducked his head between his knees, his hands gripped in his hair.

    The door at the far end of the room creaked as it opened. Someone heavy walked towards him and their clothes rustled as they came to a stop. Gray shivered in discomfort, his skin breaking out into goosebumps.

    They were followed by the whisper-quiet swish of Lunn¡¯s robes.

    And the gentle thud of Lunn putting his leather bag onto the concrete floor.

    Gray ignored them, tensing for the bang on his cell bars, or the sharp Othoan commands for stand up.

    ¡®Child,¡¯ said Lunn. When Gray didn¡¯t respond, Lunn said, ¡®Irritation. Thorn in my side.¡¯

    Gray''s whole never-offend-a-fae rule had gone out of the window the same day Gray had given Lunn a black eye, and it absolutely had gone out of the window when Lunn had forced Gray to drink a foul-tasting potion only minutes ago. It was sliding down his throat.

    Stealing through his body.

    And, for gods sake, Lunn was back with his leather bag. Which meant more potions or tonics or drugs.

    Gray brutally ignored Lunn.

    It was Gray¡¯s one piece of power in these concrete cells. That he could sometimes make Lunn and the bounty hunters work to get what they wanted from him.

    Which was movement.

    Eye contact.

    ¡®Pathetic human child,¡¯ said Lunn.

    Gray ignored him.

    ¡®Idiotic mortal,¡¯ said Lunn.

    Gray stayed completely still.

    ¡®Puny meat-eater of the lowest order,¡¯ said Lunn, really getting into his stride. ¡®Feeble lifeform I could crush like a bug. Ugly virgin who pales next to my magnificence.¡¯

    Gray gave Lunn a rude gesture with his hand, and spoke muffled into his knees, ¡®I¡¯m alive. Happy? You giant dirt-¡¯ he lifted his head, to stare whoever the latest bounty hunter was, and it was Longwark, ¡®-bag.¡¯

    Gray froze.

    A black crow perched on Longwark¡¯s shoulder.

    Branbright¡¯s crow.

    Longwark¡¯s wild hair, usually so frizzed out, was looking damp with grease. Shadows of bruises marked his face, his neck, his hands, masking his rune tattoos.

    He looked like he¡¯d crawled out of the Krydon prison and - somehow - gotten his hands on a wand. And a small axe, which dangled from his belt.

    His face betrayed nothing. There was no hint in his gaze if Longwark was here to help or -

    Killian had stirred in his cell.

    Gray slid his gaze to the side, to check him. Just for a second.

    Killian watched, his dark hair hanging in his eyes. He looked like death warmed up.

    ¡®Why have you got that Othoan costume on him?¡¯ said Longwark, stepping closer to the iron bars of Gray¡¯s cell.

    His voice was soft and sarcastic. Filled with his usual disdain.

    It was rubbing Lunn the wrong way. Or perhaps it was Longwark¡¯s complete lack of fear in Lunn¡¯s presence. The way he turned his back to Lunn, and when he deigned to look Lunn¡¯s way, Longwark met his gaze without flinching.

    Lunn flexed his long fingered hands, his cold gaze growing hard.

    ¡®It offends you, sorcerer?¡¯ said Lunn, the slightest inflection in his tone indicating he was delighted to have caused offence.

    ¡®The stupidity of thinking a costume will increase the bids on this boy is offensive,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®Or you only deal with fools?¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m dealing with one now,¡¯ said Lunn.

    ¡®Now,¡¯ said Longwark, his crow fluffing up on his shoulder, ¡®I¡¯m offended.¡¯

    ¡®Hey, asshole,¡¯ said Gray, because hold gods, holy Clochaint, was Longwark here to throw shit at the fan? The egos battling over offence was next level. Lunn would kill him. ¡®Take a walk.¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s got a mouth on him,¡¯ said Lunn. ¡®Good child.¡¯ A pause. ¡®Though, Wilde prefers that, yes? An ability to talk?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know what Wilde prefers,¡¯ said Longwark.

    ¡®You said to my lady,¡¯ said Lunn, ¡®you were one of Wilde¡¯s.¡¯

    Longwark grunted, moving closer to the iron bars to peer at Gray. ¡®Did I?¡¯

    Gray staggered upright, pressing his back against the wall, his skin growing slick.

    Lunn would absolutely kill Longwark.

    The fae was drawing himself up to his full, impressive height. The sensation of his magic - magic that crawled over and under Gray¡¯s skin at the same time - was growing in intensity.

    Longwark wasn¡¯t holding his wand. He wasn¡¯t holding his axe. It wouldn¡¯t matter if he were - there would be no way he¡¯d be faster at magic or combat than a fae.

    Though his huge fist was closed and he¡¯d not opened it once. Gray¡¯s jaw was clenched, because he suspected that there was something inside Longwark¡¯s fist, but even if there was a damn miniature curse bomb in there, directly confronting a fae was suicide.

    Alchemic curses could fit into tiny jars, sometimes - the Dragon Curse Fury could fit into a bottle the size of a hazelnut.

    ¡®Sir,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®you need to take care.¡¯

    ¡®You know what bid I think I will offer?¡¯ said Longwark, his intense gaze on Gray. ¡®Eleven star pebbles.¡¯

    Like lightning, Gray remembered the day in alchemy class when they transformed star pebbles into bright lamplight, and something had gone wrong in the alchemy lab, resulting in a painfully bright light.

    Gray felt his shoulders tense in alarm.

    It was though time slowed.

    Longwark was turning. He was raising his fist. Throwing something at Lunn. The crow was flying up in the air.

    Gray hadn¡¯t even buried his face in his shoulder when glass shattered against the concrete floor.

    Stingingly bright light flooded the cells.

    And a furious silence. The kind of silence that thrummed with beats. Silence that expanded.

    Gray didn¡¯t know what alchemy this was, didn¡¯t know if it was a curse or some kind of complex magic.

    Gray couldn¡¯t cover his eyes enough, he couldn¡¯t screw them shut any tighter. The light was blinding. His eyes watered. Gray pressed himself into the wall.

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    The light, the silence, whatever the heck Longwark had just released, made Lunn cover his face with his hands.

    Longwark had his wand in his hand.

    But before he could do anything, Lunn launched himself at Longwark with the force of a bull.

    They smashed into the iron bars so hard.

    It jostled the entire row, it rippled the silent air and dented the iron bars.

    Killian staggered to his feet.

    Longwark and Lunn tousled on the floor, in furious silence. Magic sparked - whether from Longwark or Lunn, Gray didn¡¯t know - and they were propelled into the air.

    They smashed against the ceiling and dropped back down.

    Gray dodged a blast of energy - white hot, and singeing the air - and his skin was prickling with the build of power from Longwark and Lunn as they fought. The crow flew overhead and swooped on the pair on them, adding to the chaos.

    Gray grabbed his cotton sheets, and ripped them up with trembling fingers, so fast, to use it as a kind of mask.

    He snatched the ammonia and bleach outside his cell, and then he was reaching, reaching for Lunn¡¯s leather bag. His fingertips scraped it.

    He latched onto the bag with the very edge of his fingernails and dragged it.

    Until it was close enough to open.

    Gray rushed through the bag, throwing aside potions and bandages.

    Until he found it.

    Alill powder.

    It was in a silk pouch, right near the bottom of the bag.

    Gray rubbed the alill powder onto the iron lock of his cell, his breath hitching and his ears pounding with his pulse.

    He didn¡¯t know how alill powder worked, not properly, he didn¡¯t know how long it would take or how much he needed. But the iron lock was starting to smoke. His fingers were burning.

    The silence was suffocating.

    All Gray could hear was the pulse beating in his ears.

    Forcedly careful with his measurements, he poured ammonia and bleach onto the Marri stone by his cot.

    It started transforming into sleeping gas almost straight away.

    Gray leapt away from it and rushed over to the vent.

    He pulled at the metal casing.

    Pulled.

    And pulled.

    It was lodged into the concrete wall too firmly. Gray was reaching for the alill powder in his pocket, his heart in his throat, and then there was a movement behind him.

    Gray whirled around.

    Killian had smashed through the weakened lock of his door.

    Gray stood stunned, staring at Killian.

    Killian stood like a nightmare, like the walking undead, trailing silver chains. His face was pale. The battle scars were stark. Fresh and old wounds marked the pallor of his skin.

    But he shoved Gray aside, gripped the vent in his bloodied hands, and wrenched it free.

    Then, turned to Gray, white faced and hollow eyed, with an expectant intensity.

    Gray gestured for Killian to cover his nose and mouth, and felt a ripple of shock when Killian obeyed.

    He shoved the Marri stone, which was spiralling gas and quickly disintegrating, into the vent. He hoped - prayed - that the sleeping gas would work, that it would carry into the next room, and whatever rooms lay beyond.

    Anything to give them the slightest chance of getting the hell out. Give them a chance to disappear.

    The magic had stopped flying over their heads, and Gray looked over.

    Longwark had Lunn in a kind of chokehold - a hunter holding down a very angry mountain lion. Lunn was weakened, slower and Gray had no damn clue what Longwark had done to mess up a fae like this.

    Longwark was shredded. White spittle was on his lips. Veins bulged in his neck, his temples, his wrists as he struggled to keep a hold on Lunn.

    They had to leave, before the sleeping smoke got to Longwark.

    Longwark had a wand, he could fahren them.

    Gray couldn¡¯t guess at Longwark¡¯s motivations, but he did seem hellbent on getting Gray the heck out of there.

    Lunn¡¯s face was turning pale. The dark veins branching over his skin were more stark.

    Killian stalked over.

    Past the dark and soft form of the crow lying on the concrete.

    And with one swift movement, in complete thrumming silence, he hit Lunn in the neck.

    Lunn winced. His eyes narrowed in cold rage.

    Killian shook out his hand, and then struck Lunn again. In the same spot.

    He must¡¯ve been going for a specific spot, Gray thought, as Killian struck Lunn over and over.

    Until, after Killian had gotten flushed - which was saying something because this guy did not have any blood left to spare - and Lunn crumpled to a limp heap in Longwark¡¯s arms.

    And Killian crumpled, too. He propped himself against the concrete wall, breathing shallowly, his eyes shut and his face like stone, as Longwark gently pocketed the crow, and then used chalk to draw a circle on the ground.

    Longwark¡¯s hand was shaking as he gripped his wand. Gray¡¯s heart was in his mouth, because Longwark was messed up, Killian was messed up, and Gray was feeling more and more strange with every second that ticked by.

    Longwark¡¯s eyes were closed and he was mouthing words - the incantation to fahren - and Killian was dragging himself into the circle.

    And Lunn was stirring.

    His murderous eyes were opening, just a slit.

    And, because maybe it would help him, because Lunn was as much a prisoner as Killian and Gray had been prisoners, and fuck it, Gray kind of liked Lunn, Gray tossed the silk pouch of alill powder at him.

    It landed right next to Lunn¡¯s long fingered hand.

    But he didn¡¯t grab the silk pouch. He flicked his fingers in such a way that sent chills down Gray¡¯s spine, and that increased the feeling of Lunn¡¯s magic.

    He was still moving his fingers when Longwark, Killian, and Gray fahrenned.

    CRACK.

    Sound returned and it was like gasping in a breath of fresh air.

    The crack of the landing the fahrenning reverberated in Gray¡¯s ears, and he landed hard.

    He fell to his hands and knees.

    The sharp scent of bleach, ammonia, and Marri stone clawed at Gray¡¯s throat, overpowering the faint musty dampness of the echoing large room they¡¯d landed in.

    A basement.

    Bare. Cold.

    With about twenty people, all crumpled and unconscious.

    Thick, twisting streams of smoke poured through the vent in the wall, coiling and gathering like storm clouds.

    Longwark had only fahrenned them to the next room.

    Lunn must¡¯ve done something, something to stop them fahrenning.

    Longwark was muttering in northern, and he had his chalk out again, drawing a circle onto the ground.

    Two men slumped over the table nearest the vent, their chests rising and falling in a deep sleep. Killian staggered over, holding his cotton scrap of fabric tight over his mouth and nose, and snatched up papers from the desk. He moved with a frantic clumsiness, stuffing papers into his tattered uniform.

    Then, his dagger, fumbling it out of the limp grasp of one of the men. His fingers trembled, the weapon slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor. Gray lunged, grabbing the dagger before it could be lost.

    ¡®Griffin,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®Here. Now.¡¯

    Longwark swayed on his feet. He was holding his sleeve over his mouth.

    And then the door behind them opened, and Lunn leant in the doorway, breathing heavily, his black hair askew from the braid, his robes disordered from the fight.

    Longwark had dealt Lunn a good deal of damage, but Gray wasn¡¯t going to stick around to find out how much.

    As one, Killian and Gray bolted into the circle.

    Lunn was moving his fingers again. He was pushing himself upright from the doorframe with a shaky arm. His fingers were moving, faster, up, down, in, out-

    CRACK.

    They were outside. Outside a nondescript door with no handle and a lot of old, rusted clutter.

    In a steep street.

    Into the dusky light of very late night and balmy air and silversmith fumes.

    They were still in Sirentown.

    The smell of ammonia and bleach and Marri stone lingered. Smoke furled out through the crack on the bottom of the door with no handle.

    Killian staggered and fell.

    He didn¡¯t get back up.

    Gray jammed a rusty wheelbarrow against the door, and Longwark was drawing another circle on the ground, and then grabbed Gray by the scruff of the neck and dragged him into the circle.

    Longwark was muttering the incantation.

    Killian was staggering to his feet.

    Gray thought he was coming, he was going to get inside the circle, he was going to fahren with them.

    But, Killian yanked Gray from Longwark¡¯s grasp and pulled them both out of the chalk circle.

    Longwark disappeared in a rush of static and with a loud BOOM.

    And Gray stared up at Killian, at first completely confused. And then hot fury flooded his veins.

    He shoved Killian hard.

    Again.

    Harder.

    Killian bounced off the brick wall behind him.

    ¡®What the hell,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®Lunn¡¯s coming.¡¯ He could feel Lunn approaching. Steadily. Carefully. The intensity of his magic was growing. ¡®We should¡¯ve gone with Longwark. Lunn¡¯s coming.¡¯

    ¡®Then run.¡¯ Killian¡¯s voice was broken. Shattered. ¡®I¡¯m not letting that motherfucker have you.¡¯

    Gray hesitated. Didn¡¯t know if Killian meant Longwark or Lunn or Lunn¡¯s lady.

    But he didn''t ask him.

    Gray ran.

    He sprinted down a coiling street that had too few lamps and even fewer people.

    Then, because Killian was beyond destroyed, and because that pure asshole had helped them get out of the cells, and because even a bastard like Killian didn¡¯t deserve to be kept in a cell and slowly drained of their life, Gray stopped.

    Gray ran back.

    If Killian was still there, if Lunn hadn''t come outside yet, then maybe - maybe - Gray would help him.

 74. Thats One Fine Roundhouse Kick

    There was a problem.

    When Gray went back to get Killian, he was already surrounded by a group of very exhausted, very confused Silver Axes.

    Five of them, Gray counted. All huge.

    They were half way through the act of dragging Killian back through the non-descript door.

    No Lunn.

    Which was a miracle, truly, but it brought Gray up short, because honestly he would¡¯ve preferred to keep Lunn in sight.

    Because Lunn had to be there somewhere.

    Lunn would be so angry.

    The cloud of sleeping smoke, billowing out of the non-descript door, had thinned to the consistency of a mist.

    Doing some wild thinking - that, honestly, might¡¯ve been influenced by whatever potion Lunn had last given him, because Gray felt so damn strange - Gray stalked towards the group of Silver Axes.

    ¡®Hey,¡¯ said Gray.

    As one, the men turned.

    They were drooping at the shoulders. One was flat out leaning against the brick wall. They all wore pale, greying expressions of annoyed tiredness like toddlers woken too soon from their naps.

    Gray stretched out his hand.

    Moved his fingers in imitation of how Lunn had moved them. Up, down, in, out.

    Did his best impression of his Othoan Wanted Poster illustration, lowering his eyebrows and lifting his upper lip in a snarl.

    The men were still. Their mouths hung open.

    Two turned and clumsily fled. Two backed up, through the doorway.

    One strode forward and did a roundhouse kick.

    And Gray stood there, his arm uselessly outstretched, and he knew that there was no damn way he was going to have the skill or strength to block that kick.

    It was the best kick Gray had ever seen anyone do ever in his life.

    Viciously fast.

    Graceful.

    The man''s form was a thing of beauty.

    If this was this man''s kick while still suffering the influences of the sleeping smoke, Gray was glad to not have crossed paths with him while he was stone cold sober.

    The man''s foot hit Gray¡¯s mouth with shuddering force and Gray flew through the air. He landed hard, skidding on the cobblestones on his side, his vision black, overwhelmed by the pain in his mouth and the tang of blood.

    He must¡¯ve slipped out of consciousness, just for a second, because the next thing he knew there was a rattle of silver chains and Gray blinked to clear his vision.

    Killian stood over the prone body of the roundhouse-kick man.

    Like a corpse come to life.

    Like a nightmare.

    Then he collapsed to his knees.

    The man was moving, clutching his bleeding cheek. Killian hadn¡¯t knocked him out properly.

    Gray staggered up and grabbed Killian¡¯s arm.

    ¡®You have to help me,¡¯ Gray said, his words slurred with urgency and fear and pain. He spat out a mouth full of blood. ¡®I can¡¯t carry you.¡¯

    Killian got his feet somewhat under him, and Gray heaved, and then they were stumbling down the street, because there was no way they could¡¯ve made it up the hill.

    Gray heard the man get to his feet behind them.

    But, Gray didn¡¯t dare glance back to see if he was following.

    The streets were dark and quiet, and Gray and Killian were making way too much noise. Their breaths were ragged, they echoed against the sheer walls of the houses in these streets, they crunched clumsily over cobblestones and dirt and banners torn down from the Summer Festival.

    How long had Gray and Killian been inside that basement?

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Time had lost all meaning while he was down there, with no light or clock to count the passing of the sun. It could¡¯ve been days. Weeks.

    Gray¡¯s head thudded.

    He was coated in sweat.

    Killian would faint and then come back to consciousness, and every time he was a dead weight for a moment, and Gray would buckle.

    Surely, The Silver Axes would follow.

    Lunn would follow.

    They¡¯d be laughably easy to track.

    Gray forced himself to go faster, prodding Killian to keep up.

    He was taking every random twist and turn in these steep streets that he possibly could, staggering blindly through the streets. Gray had no idea where in Sirentown he was, or where he should go.

    Killian fainted and he didn¡¯t regain consciousness, and he fell to the ground as Gray crumpled with him.

    ¡®Get up,¡¯ said Gray, not caring that his voice was too loud. ¡®Get up, I can¡¯t carry you. You utter bastard, they¡¯ll find you here.¡¯

    Perhaps, the trick to getting Killian to wake out of a faint was to call him bastard.

    Because his dark eyes opened half a slit. He breathed in. And then heaved himself up with a pained sound.

    They kept going.

    -

    Getting a room at the first inn Gray came across was a lot easier than he expected considering Gray was dressed as an Othoan, and he was propping up a bleeding, half-conscious man in the scrappy remains of a soldier¡¯s uniform and with chains on his wrists.

    The inn was damp, took payment by the hour, and had a smashed window out the front.

    And when Gray assured the receptionist behind the desk that Killian would settle the bill the next morning, the woman could not have given less of a shit if she tried.

    ¡®Room 3H,¡¯ she said, chewing on some kind of stalk, and not removing her gaze from her history novel.

    She didn¡¯t even ask for stat papers.

    Guessing this was probably a giant red flag, that guess turned out to be right, as Gray walked down the hall towards the stairs.

    Black mold coated patches of the peeling wallpaper, and a single lamp flickered on and off at the foot of the stairs.

    Two men were in a screaming match some way down the hall. Below, through the rough floorboards, were the cries of a crowd watching a fight or game. And above, a different kind of screaming that was making him distinctly hot around the neck.

    Probably, Gray thought, as he dragged Killian up the stairs, sweating more than he¡¯d ever sweat in his life, his head pounding, and feeling like his back might not ever be the same, it was not the best idea to stay in the first inn he¡¯d found.

    The Silver Axes, Lunn, would be searching for them.

    But, Killian was a dead weight, and Gray could not haul him any further.

    The room - if possible - was worse than expected.

    The room was warm in a damp kind of way, and smelt vaguely fishy. It had a single, narrow window which was stuck shut, and the grimy glass distorted the outside lamplight into a sickly yellowish hue.

    ¡®Stand,¡¯ muttered Gray.

    Killian stood, swaying on the spot.

    With some work, Gray managed to get his wrecked soldier shirt off him, wincing in sympathy as he had to pull it off over Killian¡¯s scabbing skin.

    The man was so messed up.

    Gray poured Killian onto the sagging bed, yanking off the blasted remains of Killian¡¯s boots and setting them by the door, right near a thick cobweb.

    That¡¯s when Gray¡¯s gaze snagged on a rusted nail, sticking out of one of the worn floorboards.

    With trembling fingers, Gray worked at the silver shackles on Killian¡¯s wrists with the rusted nail. Those silver chains made way too much sound every time Killian moved and would be a sure giveaway if any Silver Axe walked through the inn¡¯s halls.

    Wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand, Gray glared down at Killian. Hurriedly filled up a chipped teacup with some water from the cracked basin by the door and set it on the bedside table. Considered leaving Killian his dagger, but honestly, Killian could have the rusted nail.

    Gray leant against the far wall, holding his busted mouth in his hands.

    He was beginning to form a plan.

    He wasn''t going to stick around in Sirentown and wait for The Silver Axes or Lunn or the authorities to find him. Nor was he going to wait around for Killian to regain his strength and drag Gray to the king.

    He had to move.

    Fudgie might still be at the Ravestead pub.

    Maybe.

    If Gray could get to Fudgie, then maybe he could have a shot at really disappearing. Staying on the move, one step ahead of anyone searching for him. The feeling of the jinx was gone from within Gray. He could no longer feel the beat of it. He had a lead, maybe, with the vampiric sorcerers, and he could continue to help Alistair if he stayed free.

    This decided, Gray went to turn on his heel.

    Paused.

    Because Killian was concerningly still.

    He was vulnerable to attack right now.

    But, Killian wasn''t Gray''s responsibility. Killian was the reason they were in this filthy inn, and not safely away with Longwark ... though Gray did not know where Longwark had planned to take them.

    Gray didn''t know what Longwark had in mind at all.

    Rubbing his forehead, Gray swore. He couldn''t stay there, minding Killian.

    Gray waited until he felt a puff of cool breath against his fingers before he left Killian and staggered out of the room.

    Down the dank stairwell.

    Gray crashed out into the alley outside. It was a steep and dirty street. The buildings were too tall for Gray to get a sense of his bearings.

    The sensation from Lunn¡¯s last potion was growing in strength.

    It was fluttering in Gray¡¯s mind.

    Banging at his skin.

    His legs were clumsy.

    He squared his shoulders and strained to keep his face neutral. The bored woman from the reception desk was watching through the front smashed window of the inn. Two large men were approaching from the far end of the street.

    Gray turned blindly down a side alley, grasping Killian¡¯s dagger in his hand.

    He just had to keep going.

    Get to Fudgie.

    Keep ...

    Going ...

 75. So, He Didnt Sleep Through The Apocalypse

    This was so embarrassing.

    Gray didn¡¯t know how long he¡¯d been in that side alley, but it¡¯d been a damn while. Night had been replaced by day. The summer sun beat down.

    Any effort he made to get up and keep running was overthrown by crippling weakness and a kind of emotional pain he¡¯d not felt since - since Alistair - and made him curl in on himself.

    The few souls that ventured down this way gave Gray a wide berth. If they noticed him at all. He was somewhat hidden between piles of old cardboard boxes and a giant metal bin.

    In Krydon, if someone had been slumped and having a quiet emotional breakdown in a random street, they would¡¯ve been hauled to the nearest pub for beer and a meal in an instant.

    In Sirentown, the people skirted around him and averted their eyes.

    But honestly, right now, Gray was grateful for the space.

    He just had to pull it the damned well together and then get the hell out of Sirentown.

    As soon as he could stand.

    He held onto Killian¡¯s dagger, keeping it ready.

    His strength refused to return and the shadows grew long in that side alley.

    -

    There was a soft pad, pad, pad as someone approached.

    Gray didn¡¯t need to look up because he knew those footsteps.

    He hadn¡¯t thought his heart could sink any lower than it had been all day.

    But it could.

    Those footsteps belonged to the last person he¡¯d ever want to see him like this - well, top three, at least, because there was Lunn. And, you know, Wilde. That guy with the roundhouse kick, too.

    Killian still looked like he¡¯d crawled out of some kind of war trench.

    His uniform was tattered, charred, missing buttons, and nearly entirely covered in mottled dark stains. The skin around his wrists was raw. His dark gaze was hollow and his battle scarred cheeks were gaunt. But there was definitely a hint of colour in his face and he was moving like he was ready to pick a fight with the first person who looked at him the wrong way.

    ¡¯Not a smart move,¡¯ said Killian as he watched Gray without batting an eye. ¡®Out here alone. There¡¯s a lot worse than poachers in this city. Right now, you¡¯re perfect prey.¡¯

    So this was how they were going to play it, Gray thought dimly. No hellos, no acknowledging of the past days in the basement or the horror of the escape.

    No mention of the urgency of the situation, because the Silver Axes had to be angry and searching, and here Killian and Gray were, out in broad daylight.

    No thank you, Gray, for saving my life. Though, to be fair, Gray had nearly killed Killian in the first place.

    And no efficient and brutal dragging of Gray to the king.

    Which was unexpected.

    Perhaps Killian didn¡¯t have the strength quite yet.

    ¡®The Ralphs,¡¯ said Gray, because gods, if the Ralphs had run into trouble in this damn city, if they¡¯d run into poachers, he¡¯d never forgive himself. ¡®Sorena,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®They¡¯re here, they¡¯re ¡­¡¯

    ¡®I found them,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®They¡¯re somewhat - easier - to handle than you are. They¡¯re at the barracks here.¡¯

    Gray was too shaky to fully extract himself out of the boxes, though he made a good effort. He ended up sitting against the sooty alley wall, Killian¡¯s dagger held limply in his hand.

    Gray¡¯s cheeks were hot and wet. His head was pounding from the kick to his mouth and dehydration.

    Killian crouched in front of him. ¡®This,¡¯ he said coldly, easily tugging his dagger back, ¡®is enchanted, you boiled potato of a child.¡¯

    Killian stashed the dagger in his boot, and then watched Gray again, looking mildly put off.

    No matter what, Gray could not stop sobbing.

    He couldn¡¯t - control - it.

    And he kind of wanted to die.

    ¡®It¡¯s the drugs,¡¯ Killian said, his dark hair hanging in his dark eyes. ¡®They give it to mages to harvest their tears. It¡¯ll pass in a few days. Maybe a week. Whatever you¡¯re feeling, it isn¡¯t real.¡¯

    ¡®It feels real,¡¯ Gray said hoarsely. ¡®You know, those guys are assholes. Laughing can make you cry.¡¯

    ¡®You want to be laughing like a maniac in this alley?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®They - they could¡¯ve made a potion that tugs at the heartstrings - in a good way - that can make a person ¡­¡¯

    He ducked his head between his knees, not wanting Killian to see.

    ¡®That¡¯s not going to help you, kid,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You - are - half - air - mage. Head up, look at the sky.¡¯

    ¡®Damn the sky.¡¯

    There was a sharp sigh. Killian¡¯s heels ground against the dirty cobblestones as he shifted. ¡®Let me fucking see you, hm? They clocked you pretty good, and pumped you full of gods know what.¡¯

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Gray thickly, refusing to lift his face from his knees. ¡®That roundhouse kick was something.¡¯

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Killian. ''Your head might be full of concrete, but surely that kick fucked you up.''

    When Gray continued to hide his face, Killian said, ¡®I¡¯ve seen you every which way, kid. You¡¯ve got no dignity left. You may as well let me see you. I¡¯ve seen you crying, your nose running, your face busted, glowing to the damn heavens, throwing your guts up ¡­¡¯

    There was a hard pause.

    ¡®Look, you¡¯re not going to like this, kid, but it¡¯s the fastest way to make you stop weeping. Which, frankly, is making me uncomfortable. Then, will you let me look at your damn head?¡¯

    Making Killian uncomfortable was enough motivation for Gray to lift his face. He ignored Killian''s wince. His busted lip must''ve been spectacular, but he didn''t care, he barely felt it, aside from throbbing numbness.

    ¡®Like what?¡¯ said Gray warily.

    ¡®Either you can do it, or I can do it,¡¯ said Killian, his voice harder.

    That ¡­ could not be good.

    ¡®Do what?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You need to get the drugs out of your system. Although, maybe it¡¯s too late ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Do what, Killian?¡¯

    Killian winced again. ¡®Dragon¡¯s fire charcoal.¡¯

    ¡®Huh?¡¯

    -

    ¡®You¡¯ll need the bathroom,¡¯ said Killian, as he shoved a brown paper bag with dragon¡¯s fire charcoal into Gray¡¯s hands.

    Killian was trembling just enough that Gray was beginning to wonder if it had been a good idea for him to go walking around the neighbourhood to go and find the dragon¡¯s fire charcoal. Sweat covered his too-pale forehead in a sheen.

    Not to mention he had to be giving any poor person who passed him good cause to have nightmares.

    He was very distinctive.

    Rememorable.

    You know, the opposite of lying low.

    His tattered uniform was the kind of get-up you¡¯d expect to see on one of Krupin¡¯s undead.

    Gray had been curled up on the sagging bed in the same room in the same sketchy inn from the previous night, and he slowly sat up, clutching the paper bag.

    ¡®Bathroom?¡¯ he said hoarsely, wiping his face on his shoulder.

    That did not bode well.

    He¡¯d had enough of bodily fluids to last him a lifetime.

    Ten lifetimes.

    As well as taking stuff. Potions, draughts - if Gray lived through this, he was never taking anything ever again.

    ¡®It¡¯ll give you sweats,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Fever. But, that means it¡¯s working. It¡¯s what you want.¡¯

    Killian staggered and sat down on the floor near the closed door, his legs splayed and his head tilted back against the wall as he regained his breath.

    ¡®You going to take some?¡¯ said Gray, carefully extracting himself from the blankets.

    Killian was quiet, his eyes closed.

    Then, ¡®I¡¯m a wolf-shifter, kid. We¡¯re pretty tough. That fae¡¯s crap is already clearing from my system.¡¯

    Gray peered into the brown bag. It was exactly what he expected. Lumps of porous charcoal, with the distinctive glimmer of a dragon¡¯s fire product.

    ¡®Being ¡­¡¯ Killian hesitated, and ended up waving a vague, exhausted hand at Gray, ¡®... what you are, I¡¯m not exactly sure how you¡¯re going to react, but you will get overheated, at the very least, which is dangerous ¡­ for you. Run a cold bath.¡¯

    -

    The charcoal worked as promised.

    Honestly, it kind of worked wonders, because Gray was feeling the effects of Lunn¡¯s potion draining from him, like poison being extracted from a bite.

    Not cleared entirely, but miles better.

    In the bath, Gray felt his head drop. He started back awake. Then, his chin was on his chest again.

    He was dimly aware of being lifted from the cold of the bath, being wrapped in a rough towel. Gray rested his forehead against charred buttons.

    Then, he was on the sagging bed, and he¡¯d never slept on anything so comfortable.

    -

    Sunlight was on Gray¡¯s face, yellow and hazy.

    He stretched. Gingerly. Slowly. The sagging bed underneath him groaned.

    Running a hand through his hair, Gray swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet touching the rough floorboards.

    He felt -

    Gray froze.

    Killian was slumped against the closed door, drenched in blood.

    It wasn¡¯t real fresh. It had been on him for a while.

    It pooled underneath him.

    Like someone had thrown a bucket of the stuff-

    Gray¡¯s stomach wasn¡¯t so strong as to be tested right now and he turned away, covering his mouth.

    His breath hitching, Gray made himself move, made himself cross the tiny space of the inn room, to check, because Killian was still enough to be dead, but he couldn''t be, the man was near indestructible, and what the actual hell had happened?

    Killian moved so suddenly that Gray staggered backwards and tripped into the bed.

    ¡®Did I sleep through the apocalypse?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®It¡¯s not mine. I,¡¯ said Killian, stiffly getting to his feet, ¡®ah, found Longwark.¡¯

    Gray felt as though his eyes had popped out of his head. ¡®You murdered Longwark?¡¯

    ¡®No, I-¡¯ Killian glanced down, as though double checking the blood, ¡®-Longwark¡¯s in the barrack¡¯s prison. An apt prison. One with wards to stop damn crows and familiars getting in. I, ah-¡¯

    ¡®How the hell did you find Longwark?¡¯ said Gray, his mind reeling.

    Killian answered Gray with a dark look and a soft snort.

    ¡®He was close?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Of course he was,¡¯ said Killian.

    This made no sense. Unless Longwark was too weakened to fahren too far, unless something had gone wrong.

    His confusion must¡¯ve been on his face because Killian clicked his tongue in annoyance.

    ¡®Kid,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Denial is not a helpful quality. He was fucking loitering around, sniffing like a damn stray dog, waiting for his opportunity to take his precious little apprentice.¡¯

    Gray rubbed his forehead.

    He did not want to get into an argument with Killian over this collection rubbish even though he thoroughly disagreed.

    ¡®So,¡¯ said Gray slowly, ¡®all this blood is his?¡¯

    ¡®Some,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®And I took care of the poachers.¡¯

    ¡¯Took care of the poachers?¡¯

    ¡®I went back to their lair, and I ¡­ took care of them.¡¯

    Gray stared at Killian in frozen disbelief.

    ¡®Don¡¯t look so shocked, kid,¡¯ said Killian, an edge creeping into his words. ¡®Those cowards had no chance against me without the handicap of silver.¡¯

    ¡®You,¡¯ said Gray, the words slipping out without him thinking, unable to wrench his gaze away from the mess covering Killian, ¡®kill a lot of people.¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Killian impatiently. ¡®Look, they tried to harvest every damn thing from me, and from you, very slowly and painfully. They do this on the regular. They were bad people. It is my job to get rid of people like that.¡¯

    ¡®Have you ever thought, perhaps, jail would do?¡¯

    Killian fixed him with a very dark stare. ¡®Death is too good for them, true. I¡¯m too merciful.¡¯

    ¡¯Not what I was trying to say,¡¯ muttered Gray. ¡®Lunn - you - you ¡­¡¯

    Killian raised his eyebrows. ¡®The fae wasn¡¯t there. I don¡¯t know where he went. He wasn¡¯t in the basement.¡¯

    Maybe Lunn was free. Somehow. Maybe he was in the forest, right at that very minute, staring up at the open sky and breathing in the scent of the trees.

    ¡®Why didn¡¯t you shower?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®You - you¡¯ve got blood everywhere. That¡¯s not - it¡¯s dangerous - we¡¯ll have to pay a fee, I''ve got no money, nothing-¡¯

    ¡®Trust me,¡¯ said Killian, stiffly adjusting his dagger in his boot. ¡®They¡¯re not going to be asking us for payment. If anything, they¡¯ll pay us to leave.¡¯

    Gray waited for Killian to head to the bathroom.

    But, Killian remained where he was, blocking the doorway.

    Flexed his scarred hands.

    ''Now,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®are you going to behave yourself, or do I have to signal for back up to take you to the barracks?¡¯

    ''Beg pardon?''

 76. Running Back To The Mess Theyd Fled

    Turned out, Killian didn¡¯t need to call for backup.

    Gray got knocked out during the ensuing scuffle, which Gray discovered as he woke up in the barracks with a splitting headache.

    ¡®Good afternoon,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Good afternoon?¡¯

    Gray bolted up - he¡¯d been lying on the floor - wrenching off a brown blanket, and then stopped, holding his head.

    The office he was in was militarily sparse.

    Desk, chair, barred window.

    Cold white walls and a colder white tiled floor.

    Gray suspected some of Lunn¡¯s potions lingered in his system, because he should be furious at Killian - and he was, he was - but he couldn¡¯t muster any kind of visceral reaction or any kind of spitting heat.

    Killian was by the window, strapping a lethal looking knife to his thigh. He was dressed in a new uniform and if Gray looked past the grey-ish tinge at the edges of Killian¡¯s face and the still-raw skin at his wrists, he looked every inch his usual dangerous self.

    The echoing shout of soldiers running drills somewhere outside drifted in.

    ¡®What,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®the actual fu-¡¯

    ¡®It was an accident,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Excuse me?¡¯

    ¡®Knocking you out.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s voice was clipped. Restrained. His mask, the cold, professional one, was back on. It was in the lines of his face and the tension in his shoulders.

    Gray stood there, suppressed fury lapping at his edges like a kind of calm, acid lake. He worked his jaw.

    ¡®I had you checked,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You¡¯re fine.¡¯

    ¡®How many times,¡¯ said Gray through gritted teeth and rubbing his head, ¡®can someone be knocked out before they don¡¯t wake up?¡¯

    Killian paused in shrugging into a fresh jacket, complete with a pristine wolf fur collar and polished buttons.

    ¡®At least a few more,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®knowing you.¡¯

    Also turned out, the officers at the Sirentown barracks were scared enough of Killian to do whatever he wanted, no questions asked.

    And Killian wanted a lot.

    ¡®... I want better fighters, no stat scores below three hundred, send word to Darcy, I need a meeting with Sulyard, has Jessica replied, replenish my men¡¯s armoury, replenish their rations, get a dragon scale vest for Conor Griffin, prepare a holding cell for Griffin, tell my men to prepare to leave for Krydon ¡­¡¯

    Apparently a boat had arrived from Wingland with a famous mage on board.

    Yessi Young.

    ¡®Tell her to come to the barracks at once,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®She¡¯s to put aside any other business she has, understood? And do not let her out of your sight.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Major,¡¯ said the soldier, backing out of the room.

    ¡®Griffin,¡¯ Killian spun on his heel and tossed Gray an inky black vest of overlapping dragon scales. ¡®Put it on.¡¯

    Gray lifted his face off his knees and caught the vest before it hit his face.

    He¡¯d been sitting in the corner for the past hour, seething, with only the dull pounding of his head to pass the minutes as Killian barked a hundred different orders at a string of stuttering soldiers and nervous officers.

    Gray shoved the vest to the side, as he¡¯d done with the different vials Killian had tossed his way.

    Childish?

    Oh, yeah.

    And it was getting under Killian¡¯s skin something fierce.

    ¡®Seriously?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Do you know how expensive that vest is?¡¯

    Gray kicked the vest further away with his Othoan fur-tipped boot.

    ¡®There¡¯s about ten of these vests in the entire world, Griffin,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Do you have any idea of the logistical hoops Captain Doni had to jump through to get his hands on that damn thing so fast?¡¯

    Gray nudged it even further away.

    ¡®You fucking need it,¡¯ said Killian tightly, ¡®to help contain ¡­ you. If you ¡­ go overboard with your power again. Understood?¡¯

    Shame flooded Gray. Carefully, he reached for the vest. The scales were hard as stones and warm to touch.

    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ he muttered.

    ¡®What was that?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray put it on, keeping his gaze down as he did up the laces.

    ¡®I ask, you answer, Gray,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I said sorry,¡¯ said Gray, finishing off the laces a little too savagely. ¡®If you had explained to me why I needed to wear the vest in the first place, I would¡¯ve just worn it.¡¯

    Very slowly, and very stiffly, Killian turned to face Gray. His mouth was in a hard line and his dark gaze was slightly narrowed. ¡®I''m a busy man, Gray. But, you act your age instead of sulking in the corner, I¡¯ll grant you a little more of my reasoning.¡¯

    ¡®OK,¡¯ said Gray, straightening up and then leaning his shoulders against the wall in imitation of how Killian would often stand. ¡®Better?¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s a start.¡¯

    Gray held Killian''s dark gaze unflinchingly.

    ¡®What¡¯s the mage for?¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian busied himself with a complex map on his desk. ¡®I want the mage for many things.¡¯

    ¡®Fahrenning,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Right?¡¯

    ¡®Correct.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re not asking that mage to fahren me to Dierne,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Not after I helped you.¡¯

    Because that''s what Yessi Young was for, that''s why Killian was so demanding of some famous mage before she even set foot on Lismerian soil. He needed a mage to fahren the whole distance from Sirentown to Dierne.

    And it was hitting Gray like a sucker punch.

    He''d gone back to save Killian from the poachers, instead of running.

    And now everything Gray had done had been for nothing.

    ¡®You,¡¯ said Killian, lifting his dark gaze from the map, ¡®are getting too bold.¡¯

    Perhaps Gray¡¯s words had been too on the nose, perhaps he should be exercising more caution.

    But, as there was no trembling, physical anger within him, nor was there any palpable fear.

    He was muted.

    ¡®You wanted me to act like an adult,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You''re not an adult,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Nor are you acting like one. I said to act your age.¡¯

    Words were piling up inside Gray, and it took everything within him to keep his mouth closed.

    ¡®You stay calm,¡¯ said Killian, shooting him a sidelong glance. ¡®We¡¯re not going to Dierne yet. I need to complete my orders in Krydon first. And I want to damn well retrieve Frostvine.¡¯

    ¡®You,¡¯ said Gray, straightening off the wall, ¡®you checked Krydon for a death curse? Branbright -¡¯

    ¡®I haven¡¯t exactly had a lot of spare time, kid,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®No, I haven¡¯t checked Krydon for a death curse.¡¯

    ¡®You need to,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®I know,¡¯ said Killian abruptly.

    ¡®You,¡¯ said Gray, as Killian guided him out of the office by his arm. ¡®You know my paper, from the library, the one you picked up?¡¯

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡®Yeah.¡¯

    ¡®I think there might be a vampiric sorcerer in Krydon.¡¯

    Killian didn¡¯t miss a beat. ¡®I know.¡¯

    ¡®You know? You - you¡¯re doing something about it, then? Because -¡¯

    ¡®Of course I''m doing something about it,¡¯ said Killian as though affronted. ¡®What do you think I¡¯ve been doing all morning, while you¡¯ve been sulking in the corner?¡¯

    ''I could help,'' said Gray, ''if you let me go back to the library.''

    ''I don''t need your help, kid,'' said Killian.

    They were moving down a wide corridor, past closed doors, past soldiers hastily saluting Killian.

    ¡®Where are we going?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Your holding cell,¡¯ muttered Killian.

    ¡®I¡¯ve been thinking,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®and hear me out, I know it¡¯s a reach, but there¡¯s stories about swamp vampires guarding some of the tombs, and I think-¡¯

    ¡®Swamp vampires are a myth,¡¯ said Killian, his voice getting harder. ¡®It¡¯s a sorcerer.¡¯

    ¡®Right,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Right. But, if you look at the folktales around swamp vampires - and I don¡¯t know much, well, anything really, about vampiric sorcerers, but from little I do know there¡¯s some crossover-¡¯

    ¡®Kid-¡¯

    ¡®I think it¡¯s worth looking into because there¡¯s specific traditions that-¡¯

    ¡®Kid. I¡¯m on it. Stop talking and rest. You have to be feeling pretty rough, still. Rest, hm?¡¯

    ¡®You need to look into the history of the area, as far back as the naming of the streets at the very least, or I can do it if you let me go to the library-¡¯

    ¡®Holy shit,¡¯ said Killian softly, ¡®this is the most you¡¯ve ever talked. I didn¡¯t know you could talk this much. Remember when you were shy?¡¯

    ¡®I was angry,¡¯ says Gray, taken aback, ¡®not shy. I¡¯m still angry. Really angry. I talk. Clearly, you don''t remember the poachers, because Lunn would get right annoyed by my talking ¡­¡¯

    Killian swiftly spun Gray to face the closest lamp.

    He was peering into Gray''s eyes like he was searching for his soul.

    ¡®What the hell did that fae give you?¡¯ said Killian. Then, as though to himself, ¡®Maybe you have reached your limit of head knocks.¡¯

    Gray hesitated, because, sure, he didn¡¯t exactly feel normal, there was that suppressed fury inside and his tongue did feel loose, and there was an underlying beast of anxiety - a curled up, sleeping dragon deep within - that felt like it could rear up at any second, because once he was dragged off to Dierne, that would be the end of everything.

    But, honestly, Gray was fine.

    ¡®What¡¯s your name?¡¯ said Killian with the same air as a man placing his first bit of weight on a frozen lake.

    Gray frowned. ¡®You know my name.¡¯

    ¡®Who were your parents?¡¯ said Killian, edging closer.

    ¡®I don¡¯t know, Elona never answered my questions, I wasn¡¯t allowed to ask ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Are your stat papers real?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I¡¯m not tripping,¡¯ said Gray.

    Because, Barin had done the same too-close inspection of Alistair''s eyes when he''d caught Ali sneaking in through the window after experimenting on dragon''s puff one time.

    ¡®Face to the light,'' said Killian, prodding Gray closer to the lamp. ''Let me see your pupils.¡¯

    Gray complied.

    Seconds passed.

    ¡®Well?¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian clicked his tongue softly and jabbed Gray back into a brisk walk. ¡®You¡¯re still drugged.¡¯

    ¡®You need to talk to the tomb guardians,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®And if you look at the local-¡¯

    ¡®Please,¡¯ said Killian, somewhat stiffly, ¡®continue to tell me how to do my job.¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian waited, his eyebrows high.

    Gray struggled to keep his mouth clamped shut.

    ¡®I know,¡¯ said Killian, his voice low and fast, ¡®there¡¯s a vampiric sorcerer stalking Krydon. I know it''s come from one of the tombs. And I know the mages have been playing cat and mouse with it to lure it away from town. I don¡¯t know what the hell it¡¯s doing there or how to get rid of it. No one does. And I don''t know how to stop losing mages to their game with it. Some fucking mage shit that I don''t understand and that they won''t talk about.''

    Gray stared at Killian¡¯s tense face.

    ''Yessi will go, too. I''ll lose her within half an hour to half a day,'' said Killian. ''That''s the time frame I have to operate in,''

    Gray swallowed hard.

    ''Happy?'' said Killian. ''Will you shut up now?''

    ¡®There must be a way,¡¯ said Gray, his mouth dry, ¡®because the Ancients used vampiric sorcerers to guard-¡¯

    ¡®I know.¡¯ Then, ¡®I¡¯ll send someone for more charcoal,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®because you¡¯re not yourself. Try being shy and quiet again, hm?¡¯

    Gray bristled and Killian must¡¯ve sensed it because he let out a small huff.

    ¡®I don¡¯t mean shy as an insult,¡¯ said Killian placatingly, like he was bargaining with a five-year-old.

    Gray shoved his hands into his pockets, holding back a stream of fast and loose words with extreme difficulty. Absolutely something was off. Letting his tongue run loose like this?

    Willingly letting Killian walk him to a holding cell?

    He should be fighting with everything within him.

    After the holding cell would be Krydon. Then Dierne, and then kneeling before the king in the grand stadium.

    It was like some kind of slow release potion had crept through Gray¡¯s blood, had evaded the first dose of charcoal. Gods knew what else was lingering in there.

    Gray stopped.

    And Killian let him. They were outside a door that had a sign on it, with the words: Holding Cells.

    Gray stood, gripping his hand in his hair, and feeling his cheeks grow unbearably warm in about .3 seconds flat. He was filled with mortifying self awareness, fleetingly.

    He''d been jibber jabbering his every damn thought like he''d never done in his life.

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®I think I need more charcoal.¡¯

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Killian, his dark hair hanging in his eyes.

    Gray remained still, his head bowed and his hand in his hair. ''Why the hell would Lunn have given me this shit?''

    Killian cleared his throat. ''If it keeps you from turning into a ball of energy, I''m not complaining.''

    ''He was following orders,'' said Gray.

    ''Just be glad you''re not seeing Baldwin yet,'' said Killian. ''You do not want to be running your mouth then, kid.''

    ''Just running,'' said Gray darkly. ''You know, you''re stopping Longwark from leaving. You''re stopping Sorena and Lyrie and Oliver. Or are they gone-''

    ''Kid,'' said Killian, his voice getting steely, ''this isn''t your business, this isn''t your problem to solve, and I''ve already been very generous with the information I''ve given you. Don''t push it.''

    ''But, why not stop Yessi from leaving, and work at a distance, or-

    ''Kid.''

    ''Why not stop Yessi or any mage you can find-''

    ''Because it killed one of my men,'' said Killian.

    Gray stilled. ''Codder?''

    Was that why Codder wasn''t there in Sirentown - not that Gray had seen.

    Killian drew in a long and controlled breath. ''Not Codder.'' Stiffly, ''I could take away Yessi''s wand and her chalk and shove her into a warded cell. Because this thing affects proper mages, mages who''ve gone through several reyces. And that is Yessi Young. But I''m not going to, because that creature killed my man, and I''m ready to end it. So, I''m going to Krydon with an armed mage and I''m not wasting any more time.''

    A hundred questions swarmed Gray''s mind, a hundred icy tendrils of fear and confusion.

    Then, Gray''s concern, his train of thought, dissolved.

    ¡®But,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®It is important you listen. About the swamp vampires and the local lullabies. You¡¯re listening, right?¡¯

    For a beat, Killian stared at him. Muttered an oath.

    Then, wordlessly, Killian swung open the door.

    The holding cells were rooms of thick stone walls at the bottom and reinforced bars at the top. Bare and functional, they were lit by warded windows and lamps set in sconces.

    Gray immediately saw Sorena peering through her bars, her platinum hair catching the light and her cold hazel eyes assessing the situation. A little way down was Lyrie and Oliver, their auburn hair pulled out of their faces and their fierce eyes goggling at Gray.

    Longwark was there, too, housed completely separately. He was sat on his bed, making it sag with his huge weight, and he didn¡¯t look up at the sound of Killian and Gray entering.

    Killian shunted Gray into a holding cell between Sorena and the Ralphs. Longwark was opposite them.

    ¡®Killian?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Are you listening to me?¡¯

    Killian wasn¡¯t even looking him in the eye now. He was locking Gray in.

    ¡®What happened to you?¡¯ said Sorena, staring at Gray coldly.

    ¡®Did you explode Sirentown?¡¯ said Oliver, his eyes wide. ''That''s what everyone''s saying.''

    ¡®I ...¡¯ said Gray, momentarily distracted, because he had not exploded Sirentown, he¡¯d seen that he hadn¡¯t-

    ¡®Part of it,¡¯ said Lyrie, goggling at Gray.

    ¡®The vile part,¡¯ said Sorena.

    ¡®Oh, and that makes it OK?¡¯ said Lyrie. ¡®You judgmental, privileged, icy-¡¯

    ¡®Did I say it was OK?¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®Clean your ears, you pleb.¡¯

    ¡®Oh, nice,¡¯ said Lyrie.

    ¡®Why are you dressed as an Othoan?¡¯ said Oliver to Gray, his eyes practically popping from his sockets. ¡®You are Conor Griffin.¡¯

    ¡®Why didn¡¯t you tell us?¡¯ said Lyrie.

    ¡®Conor Griffin¡¯s very disappointing, if that¡¯s what he is,¡¯ said Sorena, waving a hand at Gray¡¯s - well, everything.

    ¡®I¡¯m not-¡¯ said Gray, wrapping his hands around the bars. ¡®Killian.¡¯

    Longwark glared at them silently, his hands pressed to his temples.

    Someone - a stranger - being held some way down the row, called out, ''Will you all shut the hell up?''

    ¡®Killian,¡¯ said Gray, staring at his retreating back.

    ¡®Gray, how are you alive?¡¯ said Lyrie.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, glancing at her, and then at Killian. He was almost at the door. ¡®Long story. Killian.¡¯

    ¡®Your face is a mess,¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®More so than usual.¡¯

    Gray darted a frustrated glance at her. ¡®I was kicked,¡¯ he said. ¡®It¡¯s was pretty impressive-¡¯

    ¡®How your head caught a foot was impressive?¡¯ said Sorena. ¡®Killian, don¡¯t leave me here with these people.¡¯

    ¡®Your father¡¯s direct orders, Sorena,¡¯ called Killian through the closing door. ¡®Gray, stop talking.¡¯

    ''All of you stop talking,'' called the stranger from down the row. His voice held enough deep anger that everyone fell silent.

    Gray paced back and forth in his holding cell.

    Time passed achingly slow.

    Finally, the door opened again and Killian walked through.

    He was followed by a beautiful mage in long robes, ears glinting with dozens of silver piercings, and dark hair twisted back with silver ribbons.

    She radiated power.

    Her bright gaze swept along the row of holding cells, once, twice, and then landed curiously on Gray.

    ''This is him?'' she said.

    Gray wrapped his cold hands around the bars.

    Her voice was soft and held a smooth thrill of power. Gray''s arm hairs were standing on end.

    ''We have to leave now, Yessi,'' said Killian. ''Darcy''s losing his mind in Krydon.''

    Yessi Young came to a stop in front of Gray''s holding cell. She trailed a faint scent of lavender and something electric. Gray counted three knives and five potions on her belt.

    She turned to glance at Killian. ''Unlock his door, then, and we''ll go to Krydon.''

 77. Hes A Social Climber And A Foil

    The scent of the forest enveloped Gray.

    And he knew he was near Krydon.

    But the air was different.

    There was an acidic sting. A heaviness.

    The sound of dozens of soldiers shifting - soldiers carefully selected by Killian from Sirentown, soldiers with high stat scores, trained and lethal and ready for a fight - righting themselves and adjusting their weapons, filled Gray''s ears.

    Gray blinked, clearing his vision from the crushing darkness of fahrenning. They¡¯d landed outside the remains of Krydon¡¯s crumbling northern town wall - the soldiers, Killian, Yessi, and an unconscious Longwark being hauled by a non-too-gentle Killian. Killian had Longwark over his shoulder like a slack-limbed sack.

    Before fahrenning, before letting Gray out of his holding cell in Sirentown, Killian had walked into Longwark¡¯s cell like he was taking an afternoon stroll and just had - punched him. One jab to the head. And Longwark had fallen unconscious.

    Gray had gracefully obeyed whatever Killian had asked of him, then.

    Because watching Killian bring down a man like Longwark had been brutally sobering.

    Killian had ordered the Ralphs and Sorena to stay in their holding cells in Sirentown.

    They, too, had just said, ¡®yes, Killian.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s palms and knees were bruised, and he wiped his grassy hands on his thighs as he straightened cautiously.

    ¡®Still,¡¯ said Killian.

    They all froze.

    There was something wrong with Krydon.

    There was no noise.

    No voices or laughter floating down the skinny streets. No clopping of horses on the cobblestones. No banging of smithies, no dogs barking, no shouting of children.

    There was a pile of tables - dining tables, school desks, work benches - barricading the entrance to the nearest street. Gray caught the slightest movement in the corner of his eye and he glanced up.

    A glint of metal on the rooftop.

    Someone was hidden up there, and they were armed.

    More than one person, Gray realized.

    ¡®Your soldiers,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Your team. Treasure league. Are they still here-?¡¯

    ¡®Shush.¡¯ Killian dropped Longwark onto the grass with a heavy thud. He held his hands up and called out, ¡®here to help.¡¯ Then, when an arrow whipped through the air and landed way too close to Killian¡¯s feet, he said softly, out of the corner of his mouth, ¡®Gray, in northern, if you please.¡¯

    Gray drew in cool, forest-scented air into his lungs. The people on the rooftops were townsfolk. Not soldiers. They¡¯d blocked this street and probably any other that would allow access into Krydon.

    ¡®What happened here?¡¯ said Gray, eyeing Killian. ¡®What did you do?¡¯

    ¡®Kid,¡¯ said Killian, softly, fast, ¡®tell them I mean no harm.¡¯

    Gray hesitated, and then shouted to the rooftops - and probably to armed northern fighters concealed behind the barricade, and likely lurking behind Gray too, hidden in the field, behind boulders, trees, in long grass - in northern, ¡®he says he¡¯s here to help you. You need help?¡¯

    Silence answered them.

    ¡®They don¡¯t want us here,¡¯ muttered Gray.

    ¡®Yessi,¡¯ said Killian.

    Yessi stepped forward, her knotted wand gripped tight in her hand.

    Her electrifying magic was expanding, it was filling the air around Gray and Killian and Longwark.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Don¡¯t send a mage in there. Not while they¡¯re -¡¯

    ¡®She¡¯s not going in there,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®She¡¯s going to fahren us very precisely into the Captain¡¯s office in the Hall. Yessi, you can do this?¡¯

    Yessi hesitated. The silver ribbons in her dark hair glittered in the late afternoon sun.

    ¡®Yes or no, Yessi,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I believe so.¡¯

    ¡®Not inspiring me with a lot of confidence, Yessi. Can you do it, without landing any of us inside a wall or a floor?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ she said, dipping her head.

    ¡®Yessi, draw the circle.¡¯

    Yessi moved to get her chalk.

    An arrow whipped through the air and tore through Yessi¡¯s robes, through the fluttering hem, and landed into the grass.

    It was a clean shot. It had gone through Yessi¡¯s robes only.

    A clear warning.

    Yessi stilled, her bright eyes darting from rooftop to rooftop.

    Killian¡¯s jaw bunched. His face hardened.

    ¡®Wait,¡¯ said Gray, recognising the signs of Killian about to unleash hell. ¡®Wait.

    ¡®I left over twenty men here, and there were several high ranking officials,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Major General Darcy. Darcy - my men - wouldn¡¯t have allowed the northerners to take the town like this. If they¡¯ve killed them, if they¡¯re holding them prisoner, this is about to get very ugly.¡¯

    ¡®Wait,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Just wait before you do anything.¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t have time to do this nicely, kid.¡¯

    ¡®Wait,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Give me - give me a second.¡¯

    Gray went to walk forward towards the barricade.

    Killian snatched the back of Gray¡¯s dragon scale vest, jerking Gray back. ¡®You are drugged. You have the attention span of a gnat right now. No.¡¯

    ¡®They won¡¯t hurt me,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I promise. I¡¯m fine. It¡¯ll be fine. Just let me-¡¯

    ¡®They won¡¯t hurt you?¡¯ Killian¡¯s face was stone. His dark gaze was a hard wall.

    ¡®They won¡¯t hurt me,¡¯ said Gray, firmly.

    Killian grabbed Gray so fast he couldn¡¯t even tense. Killian had him in a choking hold. The cold point of metal nicked Gray¡¯s skin, and he knew he had a knife held to his throat.

    The hold was too tight for Gray to speak. He could barely breathe. His gaze blurred.

    ¡®Not here to hurt anyone,¡¯ called Killian again. ¡®Allow my mage to do her business peacefully, no one gets hurt. We all want the same thing.¡¯

    Gray tried to grip onto Killian¡¯s ropey arm. ''Are you insane?'' Gray gasped. ''Their aim - they will - this isn''t ...''

    Killian dragged him close to Yessi and Longwark. In front. A shield.

    ¡®Draw the circle, Yessi,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Now.¡¯

    Yessi stooped, drawing the circle. Around all of them.

    A knife flew through the air, from somewhere off to the side. It whistled through the air. The throw was strong. Straight.

    It hit Killian in the shoulder.

    If anything, Killian¡¯s hold on Gray tightened. His breath shook.

    Yessi had paused, and Killian snarled at her to keep going.

    Yessi was chanting the words in the mage tongue, her brow was furrowed, her face was pale. Her bright gaze crept to the forest. Sweat beaded her forehead. She stammered to a stop.

    ¡®Yessi,¡¯ spat Killian. ¡®Focus.¡¯

    Yessi clutched her wand tight. Wrenched her gaze from the forest. Stared at Killian.

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    ¡®Fahren,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Captain¡¯s office inside the Hall.¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Yessi. Her frown deepened. ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®Quickly,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Before they throw an axe at us.¡¯

    Yessi rushed through the words, faster than Gray had ever heard Sorena do it. There was the deafening CRACK of the fahren. They were pressed into black. They were tossed back and forth. There was no air. They were being drowned in crushing darkness.

    And then Gray landed, buckling to his hands and knees into soft carpet.

    He was met with a deep, startled shout of Lismerian.

    Gray shoved Killian away, pushed away the knife, and blinked to clear his vision.

    They were in the old Captain¡¯s office. In Krydon Hall. It was unchanged, with the dark tapestry up on one wall and the wanted posters up on the other, and the desk underneath the window. The room was at capacity with too many soldiers, too many bodies.

    ¡®That worked well,¡¯ gasped Gray, glaring at Killian. ''You asshole.''

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I¡¯m an asshole. Soldiers, out into the hall. Yessi, if you¡¯d be so kind-¡¯

    As the soldiers cleared out, as Yessi moved to help Killian, Gray laid eyes on Major General Darcy.

    Major General Darcy stood behind the desk, his face like thunder.

    His uniform - dark with gold stitching - was crumpled and stained. The hair combed over his balding head was a mess. His stomach strained as he breathed in and out like an angry bull.

    ¡®Not dead, then, sir,¡¯ said Killian coolly, like he didn¡¯t have a damn knife sticking out of his shoulder. Like his uniform wasn¡¯t blooming red with blood.

    Killian hunched over on his knees.

    Darcy¡¯s face was red. Veins strained in his temples, in his neck. ¡®Not dead,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®The barbarians have just laid siege to us here.¡¯

    Yessi knelt next to Killian, muttering a string of words. The pressure of her magic was building in the room. Gray folded his arms against the sensation, edging back, his skin breaking out into goosebumps.

    Killian pulled out the knife, silently, swiftly, his jaw clenched, and dropped it onto the carpet.

    Beyond the tear in Killian¡¯s uniform, underneath the tip of Yessi¡¯s wand, the skin was knitting together. The blood remained, staining Killian¡¯s uniform.

    Yessi¡¯s words slowed to a stop.

    She lifted her wand.

    ¡®Done?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Done,¡¯ said Yessi. ¡®Try not to get injured again.¡¯

    Yes,¡¯ said Killian breathlessly, straightening up. ¡®Understood.¡¯

    Longwark was an unconscious lump at his feet.

    Yessi crossed to the window and peered out. Her elegant fingers brushed the windowsill, and the afternoon light hit her bright eyes so that they were dazzling shards.

    She was steady. Her breath was even.

    Darcy¡¯s powerful shoulders were hunched. He looked over Killian, and then at Longwark at Killian¡¯s feet. Gray. And then stopped at Yessi. Something calculated rippled over Darcy¡¯s features.

    ¡®Sir,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®you received my correspondence? My plan-¡¯

    Darcy pointed with such force that he could¡¯ve split the air. His arm was trembling. ¡®That¡¯s Phineas Longwark?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Killian. There was a hint of wariness in his voice. ¡®Sir, we have limited time, as I¡¯m sure you¡¯re-¡¯

    ¡®And that,¡¯ said Darcy, barely raising his voice over Killian, but there was a quality to the tone of his voice that sent shivers down Gray¡¯s spine and sent his stomach plummeting down to his feet, ¡®is Conor Griffin?¡¯

    Darcy had locked his cold gaze onto Gray like a mountain cat choosing which deer from the herd to kill and eat.

    Killian stalled.

    ¡®Is that Conor Griffin, I said,¡¯ said Darcy.

    ¡®Yes, sir,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®And now I have a mage,¡¯ said Darcy, pointing at Yessi as he¡¯d done to Longwark. ¡®Good. I¡¯m leaving this forsaken town. Immediately.¡¯

    Killian drew himself up.

    ¡®No, sir,¡¯ said Killian, tightly. ¡®We¡¯re not leaving. Not yet. I have a strategy-¡¯

    ¡®This is the strategy,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®Leave. While we can. Before this mage disappears. Which could happen at any second.¡¯

    ¡®I wrote to you,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Sir-¡¯

    ¡®Mage,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®Run and fetch the group in the Raven Suite on the third level. Bring them here. Send the soldiers to gather what''s left of Killian''s men. You¡¯ll fahren us all to Dierne.¡¯

    Yessi wrenched her gaze away from the window. ¡®Excuse me?¡¯

    ¡®Or,¡¯ said Darcy, ¡®I¡¯ll tell Baldwin Auguste you refused a direct order.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m not Baldwin Auguste¡¯s subject,¡¯ said Yessi, raising an eyebrow. Her wand was clutched in her hand. ¡®Do you know who I am?¡¯

    ¡®Darcy,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Yessi, I¡¯ll sort this. Sir, you¡¯re not-¡¯

    ¡®Mage,¡¯ said Darcy, striding past the desk and opening the door. ¡®Do as I say, or Baldwin Auguste will be informed that you refused to help a group of some of his most valuable officials, some of his nearest and dearest, to safety.¡¯

    Yessi glanced at Killian, her jaw tight.

    Yessi might have been armed to the teeth, she might¡¯ve been a famous and powerful mage from Wingland, but she did not have the stature or the body language of a fighter. She was uncomfortable. Her attention was constantly drawn to the window.

    Killian let out a sharp breath, his fists clenched. ¡®Go,¡¯ he muttered to Yessi, ¡®while I speak with my Major General.¡¯

    Yessi muttered something in a lilting foreign language and then strode out of the room, her robes whipping in her wake.

    As soon as she closed the door, Killian stepped over Longwark¡¯s form and stood close to Darcy, hissing whispers so fast Gray couldn¡¯t track the Lismerian.

    And Darcy shoved him back in less than ten seconds.

    ¡®Sir,¡¯ said Killian through gritted teeth.

    ¡®Stay here, then, Killian,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®I¡¯ll give you my permission for you to stay. I¡¯ll go to the king, saving the group here, and bringing him these two prisoners.¡¯

    Killian was all stiff lines. His fists were clenched so hard that the tendons were bulging.

    ¡®You may keep your men with you if you want to attempt a damn suicide mission,¡¯ said Darcy.

    Darcy¡¯s meaty hand was on the scruff of Gray¡¯s neck, bunching his shirt underneath the dragon scale vest.

    ¡®Killian,¡¯ said Gray, his heart beginning to thud in his chest.

    They should¡¯ve stayed in Sirentown. This was not happening.

    They were not about to go to the king.

    ¡®Killian,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®You told me we weren¡¯t going to Dierne yet.¡¯

    ¡®Baldwin wanted him presented to the court,¡¯ said Killian to Darcy, his face white underneath his battle scars. ¡®Baldwin will need time to prepare the grand stadium. He specifically instructed me-¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯ve lost both of these prisoners once already, soldier. Longwark twice,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®I¡¯m sure Baldwin would rather them both at his feet now, than give you a chance to fuck up again?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s heart was trying very hard to race.

    ¡®He specifically told me,¡¯ said Killian, his lips tight, ¡®he - Major General - Baldwin will be at the mage guild summer festival now. He will not take kindly to-¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯ll not take kindly to being told he¡¯s lost over fifteen very valuable mage soldiers? That the northerners laid waste to his men? That you and Pruitt let his daughter get away twice?¡¯

    ¡®He - no - he knows about Sorena - he knows about everything-¡¯

    ¡®Good thing I¡¯ll be able to hand him Conor Griffin and Phineas Longwark,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®He''ll have that, at least. I¡¯m doing it now.¡¯

    ¡®Sir, he needs to be notified first, the kid¡¯s still drugged to the eyeballs, there¡¯s protocols-¡¯

    ¡®NOW.¡¯ Darcy tightened his grip on Gray. ¡®Stand up straight, mage!¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s a sorcerer,¡¯ said Killian, his face furious white, his voice impossibly controlled and soft. ¡®That¡¯s the whole point-¡¯

    ¡®Are you trying to correct me, soldier?¡¯ said Darcy.

    ¡®I rank a sir,¡¯ said Killian through gritted teeth, ¡®and a salute.¡¯

    ¡®I was commanding your rank when you were being squeezed out of your mother.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re not,¡¯ said Killian, edging forward, his dark hair hanging in his dark eyes, ¡®taking Griffin to Dierne dressed like that, sir. Presenting him to Baldwin, dressed like a subject from one of Lismere¡¯s oldest enemies. He¡¯ll take offence.¡¯

    ¡®Othoa is a potential ally,¡¯ said Darcy. ''I should know that better than you, seeing as I was just there with General.'' He released Gray so suddenly that Gray stumbled to get his footing. ¡®Where the damn is my transport?¡¯

    Darcy strode out, calling for Yessi.

    Killian stood like a marble statue, his tendons visible in his tense neck and his breath ragged. ¡®Fuck.¡¯

    Then, he turned on the spot. Paced, his hands gripped in his hair.

    Stopped.

    ¡®Fuck,¡¯ he muttered again, breathlessly.

    He strode over to the door. ¡®ALL SOLDIERS. OFFICE. IMMEDIATELY.¡¯

    The command wasn¡¯t echoed as it had before Gray had fled Krydon. There was a thin uptaking of voices - a skeleton crew of soldiers - shouting the command over the different floors of the Hall.

    Suddenly Killian was in front of Gray, straightening Gray¡¯s clothes.

    ¡®Bow,¡¯ said Killian, talking low and fast. ¡®Don¡¯t look Baldwin in the eye, don¡¯t speak unless spoken to, don¡¯t speak northern, he hates northern, don¡¯t turn your back to him. Be very, very polite. Understood?¡¯

    Killian¡¯s hands were shaking and that scared the shit out of Gray, and suddenly Gray was shaking harder than he¡¯d ever done in his life.

    Fear flooded him.

    And then, it dissolved.

    ¡®You¡¯re fixing the situation here, right?¡¯ said Gray, staring hard at his Othoan style boots. ¡®Someone needs to fix things. The vampiric sorcerer?''

    ''Kid. Darcy is my superior. And a raging idiot. I have to-''

    ''You were listening,'' said Gray, ''to what I told you about the swamp vampire and the street names? And my horse, Fudgie-¡¯

    ¡®Kid. Fuck.¡¯ Killian was adjusting the laces on the dragon scale vest, pulling it tight with trembling fingers. ¡®You need to hold your tongue.¡¯

    ¡®Why do you care?¡¯ said Gray, his whole body strangely numb. ''I''m going to die anyway.''

    Killian¡¯s face was very white. His dark eyes were wide. ''We don''t know that. We don''t know what Baldwin''s going to do.'' Killian swallowed. ¡®No one wants to see him lose his shit.¡¯

    Gray clamped his mouth shut, suppressing a flood of words.

    ¡®I¡¯m not staying here,¡¯ muttered Killian. He was speaking too fast. He was stumbling over his words like Gray had never witnessed him do. ¡®My men will not be staying here. I¡¯m not letting Darcy take all the credit for Longwark and you. I''m not letting him spin whatever tale he wants to Baldwin. He''ll ruin me.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s pulse was a dull beat in his ears.

    ¡®You with me?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Give me some eye contact, hm? A nod. Something to let me know you¡¯re processing this.¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You¡¯ve been taught court manners?¡¯ rushed out Killian. ¡®Elona taught you how to bow? There¡¯s the mage bow and the regular bow, I think you should-¡¯

    Before Killian could finish, before Gray could say he¡¯d never been taught how to bow, Darcy strode back in with Yessi and a motley group of soldiers and officials.

    They poured into the room at an alarming rate.

    The room was overrun with uniforms and flashing buttons and leather boots. Polished Limserian accents. Epauletted shoulders jostling for space.

    The crowd was taking all the air from the room. Their voices bounced off the walls - voices edged in fear, in outrage, in haste.

    Yessi fumbled with her wand, juggling a stick of thick chalk.

    ¡®We¡¯re in a hurry, mage,¡¯ said a man in a dark uniform with gold stitching like Darcy¡¯s. ¡®Draw your damn circle. Darcy, well done. Getting a mage here is a blasted miracle. Knew you¡¯d pull through.¡¯

    Darcy¡¯s meaty hand was back on the scruff of Gray¡¯s neck. He turned to Killian.

    ¡®Get Longwark, Killian,¡¯ Darcy barked. ¡®You take care of Longwark, I¡¯ll mind Griffin.¡¯

    Gray had a split second to see Killian, in a huge display of strength, haul Longwark over his shoulder.

    Yessi was muttering the fahrenning enchantment.

    Then,

    CRACK.

    They fahrenned to Dierne.

 78. Clochaint, The Mage Guild

    Gray squeezed through the blackness.

    Tumbling, rolling.

    He was buffeted one way and then another.

    There was no air.

    And then he slammed onto the ground on a hill just outside a hamlet.

    His palms skidded on dewy grass. The sweet scent of grass cascaded over him.

    The smell of livestock and gentle smoke, too.

    There was a tumble of men, as they fought to right themselves from being thrown onto the ground. Swords tripped them, uniforms were soiled by grass and dirt.

    Yessi sat hunched on the ground next to Gray, drinking one of the potions from her belt.

    The roofs of the homes in the hamlet below were thatched instead of the northern style of tiles and steep spires. The sunlight breaking through the clouds was stronger and brighter than what Gray was used to in the north.

    Yessi was drawing a circle into the ground.

    They weren¡¯t at their final destination, Gray realised. They were south, but not so far south as Dierne. They were preparing to fahren again.

    And Gray thought, this was it, if there was a time to get out of this, it was now. All he had to do was dive out of the circle right before Yessi muttered those final words to the enchantation.

    As though sensing his thoughts, Darcy¡¯s hand was on the scruff of Gray¡¯s neck, dragging him into the centre of the circle.

    Yessi chanted the words, and then they were plunged into darkness once more.

    They slammed hard onto smooth, pale cobblestones. Noise roared around Gray. Voices, people, traffic, light, the crash of the sea bombarded his senses. He was in a city.

    A huge one.

    He was in Dierne.

    And there was a huge magical presence nearby.

    It hummed in the air, it drew Gray¡¯s attention up a set of grand marble steps in front of him.

    Killian fought his way through the chaotic crush of freshly fahrenned.

    ¡®Sir,¡¯ said Killian, white as a sheet, adjusting his grip on Longwark¡¯s huge form over his shoulder, ¡®listen to me-¡¯

    ¡®Come, Killian,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®Bring Longwark with me.¡¯

    Darcy was flushed red. The gold stitching strained on his uniform and the hair was askew on his balding head.

    Gray rubbed his watering eyes and then hissed as Darcy shook him.

    ¡®Stand up straight.¡¯

    ¡®Just let me walk,¡¯ said Gray, his lips numb. ¡®Stop dragging -¡¯

    Darcy¡¯s finger was in Gray¡¯s face, in the small space between his eyes. ¡®Don¡¯t. Bloody. Talk.¡¯

    Four guards were approaching them - at least, Gray assumed they were guards because of their swords and their stature - but these were not city guards.

    They were dressed like mages. Layered robes, hoods, wands in holsters.

    Gold masks covered their faces.

    Darcy was completely unfazed. He pointed to the stars on his uniform and shoved them aside. ¡®Make way.¡¯

    And they did. They stepped back.

    Darcy dragged Gray up the marble steps. Gray stumbled, trying to get his body to work faster, to get his legs underneath him, to get his head to clear. The soldiers and officials had scattered, Yessi had disappeared, Killian had shouted for his men to wait at the barracks. Gray turned, his Othoan red shirt and dragon scale vest twisting in Darcy¡¯s clawed grip, and the vest was laced too tightly for Gray to slip out of, and he was hit with the full weight of the realisation that he wasn¡¯t going to be able to slip free.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    This was going to happen.

    He was being taken to the king.

    His lungs wouldn¡¯t work.

    His heart beat a tattoo in his chest.

    He glimpsed towering, sheer walls of marble and gold. Towers and towers of it.

    Towers scraped the clouds.

    Almost too blindingly brilliant to look at, in the afternoon sun.

    And Gray could feel it.

    The overwhelming magical hum that almost vibrated the air, that swathed his skin like a warm breath.

    Gray swallowed.

    This had to be the mage guild.

    Gray clenched his eyes shut, impatiently wiping his face on his sleeve, stumbling up the steps. The marble steps were unending. Every inch of them was polished and glittering. Smooth. Ancient and pristinely kept in a way that screamed wealth and power. Darcy dragged Gray faster than he could keep up, holding him too high, so that he was slipping on the polished marble.

    Darcy passed more guards, shouting commands at them, and knocking them aside with his broad shoulders when they didn¡¯t move fast enough.

    The air buzzed this close to the mage guild.

    Gray had never been near a large magical institution, or any magical institution, and it gave the air a thrill, a life, that brought his own magic to his skin.

    Darcy shook Gray again. ¡®Control it.¡¯

    It was controlled. Mostly. It flared up and down, as fear and magic tore through Gray, only to dissolve moments later.

    Gray gasped as the full front of the guild came into view.

    It was a palace, as large as a city.

    Power emanated from every inch of glistening marble.

    It was built, right up to the very edge of a sheer cliff that dropped straight down to a crashing ocean. It was so close to the cliff edge that it might tumble into the waters.

    There were more and more people as they neared the top of the marble steps.

    More pressing magic.

    Too much magic.

    It was piling onto Gray like too many thick blankets on a sweltering summer night.

    There were mages here. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them.

    Gray¡¯s skin flared, too hot, too bright.

    Marble was carved and shaped into dragons guarding the grand stretch of space before the guild entrance, life-size and intricately detailed. Rubies glinted in place of their eyes.

    The area in front of the golden front doors to the guild stretched as far as a country field and it was crammed with mages.

    It was a riot of coloured robes and movement.

    Dancing.

    Celebrating summer.

    Gray was overrun by the sensation of a thousand different magical signatures.

    A thousand different scents of food, laughter, and music. Brightly coloured flags and banners fluttered in the breeze edged in sea salt.

    Darcy dragged Gray through the crowd. It parted for him, growing quiet, the laughter and music slowing. The people stilled their revelry, watching.

    Darcy seemed to be searching, searching.

    But he mustn¡¯t have found who he wanted, because he suddenly halted and threw Gray onto the ground. Gray landed hard, and got his hands out just in time to stop himself falling on his face, his nose inches from the marble ground.

    ¡®Stay down.¡¯

    The cool tip of his sword pressed through Gray¡¯s hair on the nape of his neck. The crowd was silent.

    ¡®You so much as think of moving, and I¡¯ll slice you open,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®Eyes down!¡¯

    Gray glared hard at the marble ground, at the swirls of gold and cream mixed into white, his hands trembling in front of his face. His magic flared enough to burst something glass nearby.

    People screamed.

    ¡®Get the king,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®I have a gift for him, in celebration of the summer festival.¡¯

    A piece of popcorn, trodden into the marble, was close to Gray¡¯s left pinkie finger. He stared at it, barely able to keep himself in this awkward kneel.

    Gray desperately tried to remember what Killian had told him.

    Bow.

    Don¡¯t look him in the eye.

    Don¡¯t speak-

    ¡®Major General Darcy.¡¯ The voice that exclaimed this was ancient. Deep. Vibrating with raw power.

    Gray didn¡¯t dare look up.

    Didn¡¯t dare move.

    ¡®You interrupt our summer festival,¡¯ continued the voice. ¡®What will our visitors think of Lismere?¡¯

    ¡®Grand High Master,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®This is a gift I wish to personally present to the king.¡¯

    ¡®The king is with important guests. He is fostering delicate relations at the moment.¡¯

    ¡®I will wait,¡¯ said Darcy, ¡®right here, with his gift, if he cannot come now.¡¯

    There was a strained silence.

    ¡®One of your gifts,¡¯ said the Grand High Master, ¡®is uncontrolled. He appears to be untrained. I do not advise you to wait here with such a tempestuous gift in the middle of a crowd of people.¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s wearing a dragon scale vest,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®I would not be so foolhardy, Grand High Master.¡¯

    ¡®May I also advise you,¡¯ said the Grand High Master, stepping closer and his voice dropping, ¡®a gift displaying uncontrolled magic like this is humiliating not only for our guild - especially in front of our international guests - but also for our country¡¯s reputation.¡¯

    Darcy took a long moment to answer. The pressure from his sword eased on the back of Gray¡¯s neck. ¡®He¡¯s not one of yours ¡­ there¡¯s no shame reflected on you ¡­¡¯

    Something rippled through the crowd.

    A chill.

    A silence.

    Gray glanced up, for the smallest of moments. There was a large crowd pressing close. There was a mixture of mages and ordinary, ethnicities and nationalities, old and young.

    The air coming from the crowd was not friendly.

    It was scandalised.

    Fearful.

    Offended.

    Dimly, Gray was aware of someone pointing to his wrist and he glanced down. His sleeve had been pulled up. Wilde¡¯s X was out for everyone to see.

    An old mage stood in front of Gray and Darcy, with long silvery hair twisted back and wearing layered golden robes. His bright eyes - eyes surrounded by weathered and aged skin - were fixed on Darcy as though he was a mildly interesting spectacle.

    And the crowd was wordlessly parting behind him.

    For one man.

    He was as Gray had seen in the news scrolls delivered from Dierne. As he¡¯d seen on the ten ardent note.

    His silvery hair was braided back. The angular, haughty angles of his face caught the afternoon light. Powerfully built, he walked forward as a panther might stalk through a deadly jungle. Confident.

    Unbothered.

    He had a sword at his hip, partially concealed in his layers of mage robes. His wand was stowed away in a leather holster on his wrist, but everyone knew he didn¡¯t need it. He could do wandless magic as easily as Wilde and Krupin.

    Being in his presence was like being next to lightning in a jar.

    Baldwin Auguste, king of Lismere.

 79. He Has A Flair For The Dramatic

    Darcy shoved Gray down, and Gray resumed his awkward kneel. His eyes were locked onto the marble in front of him.

    ¡®An Othoan mage,¡¯ said the king. ¡®This is most unusual.¡¯

    ¡®Majesty,¡¯ said Darcy, ¡®in celebration of the summer festival, in display of your strength as ruler, and as a hail to the might of Lismere, I present to you, your prisoners Phineas Longwark and Conor Griffin.¡¯

    There was a long and stunned silence.

    The hem of the king¡¯s robes were close enough for Gray to reach out and touch.

    He didn¡¯t dare move. Didn¡¯t dare breathe.

    ¡®And you brought them here?¡¯ said the king.

    ¡®Yes, sire,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®There have been too many delays. I give them to you.¡¯

    ¡®You do, Darcy,¡¯ said the king.

    His voice was colder than ice. It was winter storms, it was frozen gales so frigid they could kill.

    There was a long moment. Gray fought back chills running up and down his body.

    ¡®Longwark I know,¡¯ said the king. ¡®Though it has been many years.¡¯

    ¡®You know of Conor Griffin, too,¡¯ said Darcy. His voice was too loud.

    There was a furious rise in whispering and shifting from the crowd.

    ¡®Clochaint,¡¯ someone hissed, close by. ¡®They¡¯ve brought sorcerers here.¡¯

    ¡®So you claim,¡¯ said the king. ¡®Where are his papers?¡¯

    ¡®Killian?¡¯ said Darcy.

    ¡®I wrote to you,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®explaining. But I think we¡¯ve beaten the crow here. I can give you a proper report in private-¡¯

    ''You do not have them?'' said the king lightly.

    ''No,'' said Killian.

    ¡®You must be getting fatigued,¡¯ said the king, ¡®from holding up such a weight, Killian.¡¯

    Killian cleared his throat. ¡®I¡¯ll put him down wherever you tell me, sire.¡¯

    ¡®Son of Ryan Griffin?¡¯ The king tipped Gray¡¯s chin up with surprising force. ¡®Son of Faye D¡¯Oncray?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ Gray said, his voice so soft and mumbled that the king frowned and the grand high master stepped closer.

    Gray couldn¡¯t keep looking at them, couldn¡¯t keep looking at the crowd. He wished he could be the sort of person to stare into the face of Baldwin Auguste and say no. He felt the childish hope rising within him, that someone, anyone, would come in and save him. But, no one was coming. It was just Gray, and he needed to get himself out of this.

    He trained his gaze on the popcorn on the marble ground. It blurred in and out of focus.

    The king tipped Gray¡¯s face further, angling it up into the sunlight.

    ¡®I¡¯m so glad,¡¯ he said, ¡®that he¡¯s not bruised and swollen so that I might actually see his face.¡¯

    ¡®Killian?¡¯ said Darcy.

    ¡®It happened,¡¯ said Kilian softly, ¡®at the poachers. There¡¯s not been enough time to bring down the -¡¯

    ¡®Your magic is spilling, little boy,¡¯ said the king, and for a brief second Gray could hear Sorena in his voice, in his tone. ¡®Did you smash that glass vase? Wandlessly? While wearing a dragon scale vest?¡¯

    Bow. No eye contact. Don¡¯t talk - unless spoken to. Be very, very polite.

    ¡®I don¡¯t know, sir,¡¯ said Gray, keeping his forehead practically pressed against the marble.

    The king swiftly turned on his heel. ¡®Come.¡¯

    They were moving.

    Moving fast.

    Through the staring crowd, through mages hurrying to make way, through hissing whispers and pointing fingers. Darcy dragged Gray along in the king¡¯s wake.

    They entered a side door and Dracy dragged Gray into the cool quiet of the guild.

    Gray could barely take in his surroundings.

    His mind was working. Working, working on how the damn he could get out of this.

    There was nothing he could use here.

    There would be no explosive alchemic escape.

    His only weapon was his mouth, but he had no idea what he could even say, and he had barely any filter at the moment.

    Their footsteps echoed in the grand space, against glittering floors and walls, reverating off giant artwork on the walls and ornately carved golden doors.

    ¡®Darcy,¡¯ said the king. ¡®The orders I gave you did not include making an embarrassing spectacle at the most important event of the year. The grand high master of the Foix mage guild is appalled. The Mage Champion of Unnor - a new, delicate friendship - was visibly outraged.¡¯

    ¡®I was displaying your strength, sire,¡¯ said Darcy. But his voice had lost its confidence. He was almost jogging to keep up with the king¡¯s speed, and because he was, so was Gray.

    ¡®My strength?¡¯ said the king. ¡®How so?¡¯

    ¡®You - we - I tracked down a formidable and infamous sorcerer. He was kneeling and shaking at your feet.¡¯

    ¡®Dressed as an Othoan. How pleasing for all those here who have suffered at the hands of Othoa.¡¯

    ¡®Uh,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®The Mage Champion of Unnor lost some of his family in the fight against Faye D¡¯Oncray,¡¯ said the king.

    ¡®All the more that this is a cause for celebration, sire,¡¯ said Darcy.

    ¡®The kingdom of Unnor,¡¯ said the king, ¡®has successfully eradicated sorcerers from their kingdom for several decades. Throwing Conor Griffin in front of Unnor¡¯s champion, while he¡¯s damn well lighting up and performing wandless magic, was not wise. You have made me look weak. Foolish. Unable to control my own population. You¡¯ve reminded them of our failings as a country at a time when we need them to look past it. You have forced my hand, and that makes me distinctly unhappy.¡¯

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    ¡®Forced your hand, sire?¡¯ Darcy faltered. ¡®That was not my intention.¡¯

    ¡®I know you wish to please me,¡¯ said the king. ¡®Which is why I¡¯m allowing you one more chance. You too, Killian. I gave you specific instructions on how I wanted Longwark and Griffin handled when they came to Dierne.¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I did not intend to rush into this,¡¯ said the king. ¡®But, for the sake of Unnor and our new, budding friendship, this uncontrolled Conor Griffin will have to be executed immediately.¡¯

    ¡®Baldwin,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Darcy,¡¯ said the king, ¡®you can present the head to Unnor¡¯s Mage Champion.¡¯

    ¡®The head-?¡¯ said Killian softly.

    ¡®Unnor deals with sorcerers in the same manner we do,¡¯ said the king.

    ¡®Yes, sire,¡¯ said Darcy.

    ¡®You don¡¯t answer to Unnor, Baldwin,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®We¡¯re not desperate for their alliance.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m bending over backwards,¡¯ said the king, ¡®to keep war, sorcerers, and rebels from our land. In the past two years, Unnor has overtaken us in mage population. They are on the verge of drawing up a ten year mage soldier contract with us. We need them, and you will bend over backwards with me, Killian.¡¯

    They crashed through a door and entered a deserted inner courtyard with walls covered in vines. A water fountain bubbled in the centre and off to the side was a garden of colourful flowers.

    The sounds of the revelry from the summer festival reached Gray as though from a different planet.

    ¡®Kneel,¡¯ said the king, hanging his gaze on Gray.

    Gray knelt as though someone else was going through the motions.

    The king¡¯s own sword was out, at the nape of Gray¡¯s neck. Gray started trembling. He wanted it to be over. He didn¡¯t want to go through this part.

    Killian¡¯s face was expressionless. He dumped Longwark onto the ground. ¡®He¡¯s marked,¡¯ he said. ¡®By Wilde. The kid.¡¯

    ¡®I have eyes, Killian,¡¯ said the king.

    ¡®If Wilde wants him dead,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®then perhaps we should keep him alive.¡¯

    ¡®You want a sorcerer kept alive?¡¯ said the king, peering at Killian.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You know my feelings on this. This goes against everything within me. I¡¯m thinking of the throne. I¡¯m trying to be strategic -¡¯

    ¡®You know what¡¯s better for the throne than I?¡¯ said the king.

    ¡®Shut your mouth, Killian,¡¯ said Darcy.

    ¡®I think,¡¯ said Killian stiffly, ¡®we should be playing to Wilde¡¯s weaknesses. I also think you¡¯re resourceful enough to find another way to appease Unnor¡¯s Champion, if you must.¡¯

    ¡®Oh, my sweet Killian,¡¯ said the king. ¡®My boy. If you don¡¯t have the stomach for this, then tell me.¡¯

    Killian stood rigidly still, boldly holding the king¡¯s eye, his chin tilted up. ¡®Baldwin, think about this for a second, who cares about offending Unnor, we need to do what¡¯s best for Lismere, and if Wilde¡¯s marked this kid -¡¯

    ¡®Watch yourself, Killian,¡¯ said the king mildly. He turned his cold gaze onto Gray. ¡®Last words?¡¯

    Killian let out a small breath, turned on his heel, and slammed out through the courtyard door.

    The silence after his departure whistled.

    Darcy rubbed his neck. ¡®My apologies, sire. He¡¯s - difficult - to handle, at times.¡¯

    ¡®I find him quite easy to handle,¡¯ said the king. ¡®Killian, come back.¡¯

    The silence of the courtyard stretched.

    The king made a small movement with his hand, and then, moments later, Killian stormed back into the courtyard.

    ¡®I¡¯m not swinging the sword for you,¡¯ said Killian, his cheeks colourless.

    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t ask you to,¡¯ said the king. ¡®I need your verbal report on Krydon and Sirentown when I¡¯m done here.¡¯

    Killian leant his shoulders against the courtyard wall, his dark hair hanging in his eyes.

    Once again, the king¡¯s gaze settled back onto Gray. ¡®Last words?¡¯

    Gray hadn¡¯t been expecting any kind of hint of humanity from the king. Last words? This man had ripped the throat out of a famous northern rebel, in the grand stadium. With his bare hands.

    There had been no last words then.

    This was it.

    Say something, Gray told himself. Anything. Get yourself out of this.

    But there was nothing he could say to get out of this, nothing he could think of, and maybe he shouldn''t be thinking of talking to save his head, maybe he should be genuinely thinking of what his last words should be.

    ¡®My horse,¡¯ Gray said numbly. ¡¯She¡¯s in The Five Sisters pub in Ravestead. Her name¡¯s Fudgie, she¡¯s - she¡¯s got a brown coat and one white sock and she likes potato crisps ¡­¡¯

    An image of Alistair brushing Fudgie, only weeks ago, burst into Gray¡¯s mind.

    The numbness within him cracked. Suddenly, his cheeks were hot and wet. He was falling apart. Panic was rising, pushing through the layers of suppressed calm from Lunn¡¯s potions.

    ¡¯Someone has to take care of her,¡¯ said Gray hoarsely, bowing his head to hide his face. His hands trembled. His skin was getting hot. Brightness threatened.

    ¡®That¡¯s it?¡¯ said the king.

    Gray wanted to ask the king to look into Alistair¡¯s death - to keep going with what Gray had started.

    And perhaps the king would oblige. Or perhaps it would make everything worse, because the king had known Elona intimately, and he would¡¯ve known Alistair, Alistair had lived at the consort palace with his mother when he was very young.

    All before Elona had married Ryan and they¡¯d moved into the Griffin home in Hobbtown.

    Gray couldn¡¯t speak. Tears splashed onto the pavings.

    The king adjusted his grip on the sword.

    ¡®Krydon,¡¯ said Gray, panicking and forcing himself to speak. ¡®I think it¡¯s under a death curse. Someone has to check Branbright didn¡¯t-¡¯

    ¡®What?¡¯ said Darcy, striding forward.

    The king swiftly fixed his gaze above Gray¡¯s head. He must¡¯ve been staring at Darcy. ¡®Death curse?¡¯

    ¡®There¡¯s no death curse,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®Why would you say such a thing? He¡¯s raving, sire.¡¯

    ¡®Did you remove Branbright¡¯s tongue, Darcy?¡¯ said Killian, his head tilted. ¡®I¡¯ve asked you before, but you¡¯ve never said-¡¯

    ¡®General swung the axe,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®You¡¯ll have to ask him when he returns from Othoa. There¡¯s no evidence ¡­¡¯

    He trailed off as the king fixed him with his too-intense gaze.

    ¡®You were there, Darcy,¡¯ said Killian, an edge creeping into his tone. ¡®You don¡¯t know if Branbright¡¯s tongue was removed?¡¯

    ¡®And you weren¡¯t there,¡¯ said Darcy. ¡®You were pouting in the office, so I think you should be silent on the matter.¡¯

    ¡®Lower your voices, both of you,¡¯ said the king. ¡®I don¡¯t want rumours of a death curse ripping through my kingdom.¡¯ The king looked down at Gray. ¡®Why do you say there¡¯s a death curse?¡¯

    The king said this as though inquiring into the state of Gray¡¯s health, as though this was some sort of boring but necessary small talk.

    Thought took an age to form in Gray¡¯s frayed mind. Finally, he said, ¡®There were scorch marks around - around where he was beheaded-¡¯

    ¡®There wasn¡¯t,¡¯ said Darcy angrily. ¡®This boy wasn¡¯t present at the execution, sire, you can¡¯t be entertaining this.¡¯

    ¡®Can¡¯t I?¡¯ said the king.

    Darcy stammered into silence.

    ¡®I think it¡¯s best you stay quiet for the moment,¡¯ said the king.

    Silence echoed in that courtyard. It was louder than the gentle bubbling of the fountain, and the overspilling voices and music from the summer festival.

    ¡®You were saying?¡¯ said the king to Gray.

    Gray swallowed. ¡®He - Branbright was doing accidental wandless magic, right before. And intentional. He - healed me. No wand. There was unseasonable rain after he - the weather was odd, but the scorch marks was the main thing ¡­¡¯

    The king said nothing. His intense stare bored into Gray. Then his gaze slowly swivelled back up to Darcy. ¡®I¡¯ll alert Linus and have Sallow and Fernby go and check Krydon. If they¡¯re incapable of a second fahrenning, I¡¯ll give them my formal orders for two of the high master mages to go with them. They are not to linger. They investigate the area where Branbright was executed and then they return immediately.¡¯

    Outside the courtyard, the noise was rising.

    There were shouts.

    Trumpets sounded.

    Bells started tolling.

    The king looked up. They all did.

    And then, as though decided this was unworthy of his attention, the king eyed Gray again.

    Took precise aim.

    Swung back his sword.

    A mage burst through the courtyard door, dressed in simple black fighting leathers and a black hood flying out behind him. He was armed with several daggers that had clearly seen recent action, judging by their condition.

    He wore a leather holster for his wand exactly the same as the one the king wore.

    Gray had never seen a mage dressed like this, without the elaborate and layered robes, without the ornate and expensive jewellery, without the complicated twisting, braiding, and styling of the hair.

    This mage was sweating.

    Out of breath.

    Marked with fresh bruising and dirt.

    ¡®General found Conor Griffin, Your Majesty,¡¯ said the mage.

    The king¡¯s sword halted, cold steel biting into Gray¡¯s neck.

    ¡®Excuse me, soldier?¡¯ said the king.

    The mage rushed on, his face alight, and clutching a stitch in his side. ¡®General extracted Conor Griffin from Wilde in Othoa, Your Majesty.¡¯

    The king was silent.

    The mage waved a curled piece of parchment. ¡®I have the announcement here, sire. Written in General¡¯s own hand. General has him. Conor Griffin.¡¯

    The king yanked the parchment out of the guard¡¯s hand. His intensely bright eyes moved as he read it.

    ¡®Conor Griffin?¡¯ said Darcy, frozen in place. ¡®Conor Griffin is here.¡¯

    The mage hesitated, glancing at Gray. ¡®That¡¯s not Conor Griffin.¡¯

    ¡®It is,¡¯ said Darcy.

    ¡®I saw him,¡¯ said the mage excitedly. ¡®Spitting image of Ryan. He wiped out General¡¯s men with one wave of his hand. He created a fire tornado in an attempt to escape. Wandlessly. Didn¡¯t even break a sweat. Conor Griffin.¡¯

    ¡®Baldwin,¡¯ muttered Killian breathlessly. ¡®Baldwin-¡¯

    ¡®Wilde?¡¯ said the king, dropping the parchment.

    ¡®He - he escaped. We have agents tracking him, Your Majesty.¡¯

    ¡®Conor,¡¯ said the king delicately, ¡®Griffin.¡¯ He leant on his sword, ever so slightly, so that Gray held back a wince. ¡®Then, who the hell is this?¡¯

 80. Conor Griffin Sounds Like A Boss

    No one spoke.

    The mage soldier¡¯s gaze darted down at Gray.

    His excited expression was slipping off his face.

    ¡®Boy,¡¯ said the king, ¡®you''re the son of Faye D''Oncray?¡¯

    Gray forced the words out. ''I don''t know, sir.''

    ''You said yes before,'' said the king coldly.

    ''I,'' said Gray, his fingers curling into the ground. ''I don''t know.''

    The king broke off his stare to glare at the far wall covered in vines. He was still.

    It was as though the air had gone from the courtyard.

    ¡®He¡¯s,¡¯ said Darcy, ¡®he¡¯s lying. I''ve read the reports of his power - you''ve read the reports, sire. This is clearly Conor Griffin. Killian-¡®

    The king held up a hand, and Darcy stammered into silence. The king turned to the mage solider. ¡®You have a report from Othoa for me?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, your majesty,¡¯ said the mage soldier. ¡®General¡¯s on his way south as we speak. We couldn¡¯t fahren with Conor Griffin, he has the power to block it, sire.¡¯

    ¡®Block it?¡¯ echoed the king, his eyebrows rising. ¡®My, my.¡¯ He turned to Gray. ''Can you do that?''

    Gray''s voice had flown away. His breath was gone.

    He shook his head.

    Very slowly, the king shifted his cold gaze onto Killian and then Darcy.

    ¡®General¡¯s requested permission to take Conor Griffin immediately to Foix,¡¯ continued the mage soldier, ¡®for de-programming and training ¡­¡¯ he trailed off, quailing underneath the pressure from the marked silence of the king.

    ¡®In what world,¡¯ said the king, turning to the mage soldier, ¡®would I want Conor Griffin in Foix?¡¯

    ¡®I ¡­ I apologise, Your Majesty. General thought, you wanted, as you discussed previously ¡­¡¯

    ¡®I want Conor Griffin kneeling at my feet as this one is here. You bring him to me before he goes anywhere.¡¯

    The mage soldier paused, glancing at Gray again, and then nodded.

    He backed up a step.

    ¡®I¡¯ll tell him,¡¯ said the mage soldier, ¡®I¡¯ll tell General straight away, Your Majesty.¡¯

    ¡®And tell him,¡¯ said the king, ¡®I¡¯m not pleased with him announcing it with this kind of fanfare without seeking my permission first.¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said the mage. ¡®Yes, Your Majesty.¡¯

    ¡®I want a list of all the women Ryan Griffin fucked,¡¯ said the king. ¡®Get me a list for Wynn. All the brothers.¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯ The mage bowed his head, edging back again. He''d visibly flinched at the king''s vulgar use of fucked, as though this was some lethal curse the king had uttered. ¡®I¡¯ll pass it onto the appropriate people, sire.¡¯

    The king gestured to Gray with his sword. ¡®He¡¯s like this one?¡¯

    The mage hesitated, glancing at Gray again. ¡®He¡¯s - as you¡¯d expect, your majesty. He¡¯s like Ryan.¡¯

    ¡®So, powerful, stubborn, and devastatingly handsome,¡¯ said the king. For a moment it was as though the king could¡¯ve been joking. The words devastatingly handsome were out-of-place coming out of the king''s mouth. It took Gray a moment to notice that the air was chilled. That the king''s eyes were vicious. ¡®He¡¯s untrained, I meant,¡¯ said the king, coldly. ¡®Like this one. Feral? Stunted?¡¯

    Considering everything, considering that Gray had almost just lost his head, and still might, and had just learnt that he¡¯d been hiding his identity for no damn reason, and that he was covered in a bunch of muck and tears in front of the king, he still managed to be kind of bristled at being called stunted.

    The mage soldier swallowed. ¡®No. Wilde¡¯s trained him to the teeth, Your Majesty. This isn¡¯t accidental magic he¡¯s doing. He fights stronger than our best mage soldier. Wandlessly.¡¯

    When the king made no move, except to continue to stare down the rapidly blinking mage solider, he continued, ¡®He¡¯s athletic. Tall for sixteen. Could be Ryan¡¯s twin, Your Majesty.¡¯

    ¡®So,¡¯ said the king, ¡®there¡¯s no doubt he¡¯s truly Conor Griffin?¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s him, Your Majesty. No doubt at all.¡¯

    There was no hesitation in the king. He changed his grip on his sword. In one swift movement, he stepped towards Darcy and slashed Darcy''s throat.

    Darcy¡¯s look of startled surprise crumpled. It disappeared behind a spray of hot blood.

    He stumbled to his knees.

    Fell, face down on the ground.

    Gray jolted back. His breath snagged.

    Killian was stockstill, his uniform and face spattered with fresh red. The king strode over to him. Brutally ripped the stars off Killian¡¯s uniform.

    Threw them into the pooling red on the ground.

    ¡®Leave,¡¯ said the king to the rigid mage soldier. ¡®Tell General to bring Conor Griffin here.¡¯

    The mage soldier bowed and quickly backed out of the courtyard.

    The king slowly pinned Killian with his intense gaze. ¡®Who the hell is this, Killian?¡¯

    Gray had never seen Killian at a loss for words. Never seen anyone so pale. There were flecks of blood all over Killian. All over his cheeks. He was staring at his discarded stars on the ground.

    ¡®Is this Wynn¡¯s son?¡¯ said the king. ¡®Did I almost kill Wynn¡¯s son on your word?¡¯

    ¡®That,¡¯ said Killian, his voice controlled, ¡®is not a mage.¡¯

    Silence stretched.

    ¡®I told you not to execute him,¡¯ said Killian.

    The silence was unbearable.

    ¡®You,¡¯ said the king, ¡®told me you¡¯d found Conor Griffin.¡¯

    ¡®Two sorcerers were attempting to collect him,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®At least two.¡¯

    ¡®Sorcerers sometimes do collect mages, Killian. They steal our best and turn them against us. I¡¯ve - seen - it. You¡¯ve seen it. You remember?¡¯

    Killian kept himself very still, his head bowed. ¡®I remember.¡¯

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    Then, Killian broke the resounding silence, saying, ¡®We check the sorcerer General¡¯s extracted. We check it¡¯s actually Conor Griffin. General - makes mistakes-¡¯

    ¡®At least one of you,¡¯ said the king, ¡®has indeed made a very big mistake.¡¯

    ¡®This boy¡¯s power¡¯s large. He¡¯s - aggressive.¡¯

    The king¡¯s eyebrows shifted slightly, casting a glance at Gray. ¡®Aggressive?¡¯

    ¡®For a mage. His age - is about right. His power ¡­ I¡¯m not telling you this to give you excuses,¡¯ said Killian, his voice soft. ¡®I mean to ¡­ explain that ¡­¡¯

    The king was very close to Killian. ¡®Do I need to send you to novice training again? You seem to have forgotten the basics.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ll do whatever you ask of me,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Like I always have done. If that turns out not to be Conor Griffin - if I¡¯ve fucked up - I¡¯ll do whatever I need to, to fix it.¡¯ His breath caught in his throat. ¡®Check him. Check this boy.¡¯

    ¡®Test him, you mean,¡¯ said the king.

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®Obviously,¡¯ said the king. ¡®Obviously, I will now have to do a very costly and time-consuming test.''

    ''Your licensed alchemist will be up to the task,'' said Killian.

    ''I think enough idiots have been involved in this whole situation,'' said the king. ''I''m doing the damn test. I''ll personally ensure its integrity.''

    Killian said nothing.

    ''I''ll have to dig into my very limited supply of Vinkie stone. I''ll have to use several manticore tears, which are extinct, Killian.¡¯

    ''It''ll,'' said Killian, ''be expensive. I understand that.''

    The king shifted his gaze from Killian onto Gray. Then, he wrenched out a handful of hairs from Gray¡¯s head.

    Gray was so numb he didn¡¯t feel it.

    ¡®You will owe a debt to the crown,¡¯ said the king to Gray. ¡®One million ardents for the test.¡¯

    Gray didn¡¯t care, he didn¡¯t care. One million ardents was too impossibly huge for him to grasp. His identity had been ripped away from him just as fast as his hair had been - and it was good, it was good, but he couldn¡¯t stop shaking, and he was so damn confused.

    Conor Griffin.

    A cousin perhaps.

    Or something else.

    Whatever he was, Conor Griffin sounded formidable.

    And, Conor Griffin was not Gray.

    Not Gray.

    The king considered Gray and swung his gaze onto Killian. ¡®We¡¯ll know if he¡¯s mage in seven weeks¡¯ time.¡¯

    -

    ¡®Up,¡¯ said the king, motioning for Gray to stand with two fingers.

    Just like how Sorena would command Alistair or Gray to come to her table at the tavern.

    Gray staggered upright, trying not to slip in the mess from Darcy any more than necessary. He made the mistake of looking the king in the face. The coldness there shattered the trembling hollowness that had taken up residence within Gray, and he swiftly bowed his head to hide his aching shock. Wiped his palms on his Othoan trousers.

    ¡®You can handle another fahrenning?¡¯ said the king to Gray.

    Gray tried to speak. But he had no idea if he could handle another fahrenning, he had no idea what the king was even talking about.

    ¡®We¡¯ve come from Sirentown, by way of Krydon,¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡®Another fahrenning might be pushing it.¡¯

    ¡®Fine. Follow,¡¯ said the king. ¡®Killian, bring Longwark.¡¯

    Gray trailed after the king, back through the glittering hallways of the guild and listened to him issue a string of orders to a wide-eyed and trembling servant dressed in blue finery.

    Through the glittering halls.

    Through the crowd in the grand space in front of the guild.

    The king never looked back over his shoulder to check Gray was there. He strode forward, his robes whipping, utterly assured that his word would be followed to the letter.

    Gray didn¡¯t hear the whispering voices or the still-going trumpets and bells. He didn¡¯t see the blurred faces watching the king with Gray and Killian trailing behind. The crowd parted for the king. Gray kept his head bowed and his eyes down.

    Down they went, down the polished marble steps.

    Along the pale cobble-stoned streets.

    Parting the traffic.

    Through a quickly gathering crowd, starting to press too close in their curiosity.

    And then, eventually, through the golden gates of a large and well-guarded royal palace.

    -

    Gray sat on the lavish seat outside the king¡¯s office and listened to the king demolish just about every belonging he had in there. The king¡¯s cold - icy, rippling - rage had turned into something much more violent. It shuddered through oak doors carved with beautiful branches, leaves, and birds.

    Gray listened to him rave at Killian.

    Listened to Longwark¡¯s voice interrupt more calmly and with more reverence than Gray ever thought possible for Longwark.

    Gray felt muted surprise at this. Longwark must¡¯ve woken.

    The raw power of the king¡¯s magic washed through the door, the whole damn palace, like stormy waves.

    Uncontained. And so much like Sorena''s.

    The guards stood outside the office at attention, and despite their golden masks, it was clear they were distinctly on edge. Their eyes darted to each other, on high alert.

    Normally, Gray would¡¯ve been eavesdropping like his life depended on it.

    But he felt as though he was sitting under water.

    Everything was blurred around the edges.

    Soft.

    He couldn¡¯t have understood the rapid and fiery Lismerian from inside the king¡¯s office, even if he¡¯d not been sitting there and staring at his blood-stained knees - Darcy''s blood, this king had just killed his own Major General like a maniac - in a kind of stiff disassociation.

    Several times, different officials and servants, and the Grand High Master Mage one time, made to approach those beautifully carved doors.

    And each time they paused, shot a glance at the uneasy guards, at the shuddering doors, at Gray sitting stiffly with his hands in his lap, and then turned on their heel and left.

    There was a huge smash.

    The king must¡¯ve broken a window.

    And then, seconds later, there was a CRACK.

    And a stunned silence.

    Then a softer, more controlled CRACK.

    The doors crashed open and Killian strode out. His uniform - the part with the wolf fur collar - was gone. Torn off and ripped away as his stars had been. He locked eyes with Gray. His gaze was wild and dark.

    ¡®Up,¡¯ he rushed, guiding Gray by the arm. ¡®Come.¡¯

    ¡®What happened?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Longwark fahrenned. His fucking crow broke through the window.¡¯

    Gray was trotting to keep up. They were fair flying through the palace halls. Killian seemed to know his way around very well.

    ¡®Baldwin¡¯s gone after him,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®We don¡¯t want to be here when he gets back. Got it?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray, stumbling to keep up and desperately trying to clear his thinking. Get his body working. ¡®What did he do?¡¯

    No reply.

    ''Killian? What did Longwark do?''

    ''Not your business, kid.''

    They tore through the palace. The guards made to salute Killian as they passed out through the gold gates and paused, mid-salute, at the sight of Killian''s ripped uniform.

    Then, Gray was back out into the pale cobble-stone streets. The crush of the people, the rush of the city, was overwhelming.

    Killian strode into the bustling streets, hustling Gray along.

    ¡®Where are we going?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®I¡¯m going to track Longwark, as soon as Baldwin¡¯s backed off,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Longwark¡¯s pretty weak, I should be able to get him if Baldwin hasn¡¯t already.¡¯

    Gray and Killian were attracting more than their fair share of stares and frowns, and it was no wonder, with Killian in his torn and bloodied uniform and Gray in his Othoan clothes.

    ¡®You¡¯re going to the prison,¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray stopped dead. Tugged back against his arm as Killian made to drag him forward.

    ¡®You have to,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®you have to. But it¡¯s not going to be like Krydon-¡¯

    ¡®Are you kidding me?¡¯ said Gray, getting buffeted by the crowd. He tried to yank his arm free from Killian, his mouth dry. Feeling like he¡¯d been sucker punched.

    Again.

    ¡®How could I be so stupid,¡¯ said Gray.

    He¡¯d thought Killian was maybe helping him ¡­ honestly, Gray didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d thought. His mind was utterly blank.

    He tried to yank his arm free again, furiously.

    ¡®I¡¯m not him,¡¯ Gray said. ''I told you and I told you. I''m not him.''

    Killian¡¯s jaw bunched. ¡®It¡¯s not because of you¡¯re him. Where are you going to go, kid? Longwark¡¯s going to be trying to get you, first opportunity he has.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s not-¡¯ said Gray. ¡®He¡¯s not-¡¯

    ¡®Can you fight him off, if it came to it?¡¯

    Gray stared hard at his Othoan style boots. ¡®No. But maybe I''d rather go with him. Not like it''s going to come to that-¡¯

    ¡®You blew up part of Sirentown, kid.¡¯

    ¡®I - yes-¡¯

    ¡®You created a huge firebreath fire in the Krydon Hall,¡¯ said Killian. ''That messed up the lungs of several of my men - king''s soldiers, kid.''

    ¡®There were circumstances - I didn¡¯t mean-¡¯

    ¡®I know the lion firework incident in Sirentown was you,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®It sounds bad when you-¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re not getting thrown into some poor, unsuspecting person¡¯s lap. You¡¯re not going into the orphanage here. You have no family. Where you going to go? Hm? You''ve been officially labelled as a threat, as dangerous. And the prison has the resources to guard-¡¯

    Gray tried to yank his arm free from Killian again.

    Killian held fast. ¡®Gray.¡¯ Then, ¡®Baldwin - in a good mood - is going to order you into the prison anyway.¡¯

    Gray wrenched his arm free. Strode through the crowd and came to an abrupt stop at the curb. The streets spilled out in every direction.

    Everything here was foreign.

    The Lismerian on the signs and shops. The way the people dressed. How they stared. Spoke. Everyone was in a rush. The air felt different, which was ridiculous, because Gray was in the same kingdom he¡¯d always been in, but he¡¯d never felt so out of place in his life.

    Gray swept a hand through his hair. Turned back.

    Killian stood, watching, stress etched onto every hard line, every battle scar on his face.

    ¡®OK,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®So ..?¡¯

    Gray teetered on the edge of lashing out at Killian.

    ¡®Better you sitting safely away in prison,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®than you sitting outside Baldwin¡¯s office when he returns from finding Longwark. Or not finding him. He ordered-¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re not still taking his orders?¡¯ said Gray, his cheeks hot with suppressed anger.

    ¡®I am,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Always. And so are you.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re not dragging me into whatever toxic dynamic you have going on with that madman. He killed Darcy.¡¯

    ¡®Darcy was an idiot,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®You know he¡¯s a sorcerer, right?¡¯

    Killian looked rooted to the spot.

    Like he¡¯d just been slapped.

    ¡®He fits the profile to a tee,¡¯ said Gray, fuming. ¡®Sorena, too. I¡¯m not a mage? He¡¯s not a mage. This whole time - all his policies against sorcerers-¡¯

    Killian clapped his hand over Gray¡¯s mouth. ¡®Shut up. Watch your damn tongue. Understood?¡¯

 81. He Just Wants To Call Em Sorcerers

    Killian dragged Gray down a side alley, away from the main crush of people.

    ¡®I can¡¯t believe,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®you¡¯re so stupid as to have said that out loud in the middle of a busy street. I¡¯m going to take my hand off you, and you¡¯re going to shut the hell up. Blink if you understand me.¡¯

    Gray blinked. Killian lifted his hand off.

    He kept his mouth shut, too furious to talk, and too uncomfortable with the stares and whispers from the people who¡¯d watched them go down this alley to lift his gaze.

    It wasn¡¯t only that Gray had had something incredibly dangerous - but probably damn true, honestly - in the middle of that crowded crossroads. They were also splattered in Darcy¡¯s mess, with Killian¡¯s uniform torn and Gray dressed like an Othoan.

    Gray was surprised they hadn¡¯t been stopped by city guards yet.

    Gray moved away mulishly, further along the alley and away from any lingering curious audience, wiping off the sensation of Killian¡¯s rough hand onto his sleeve.

    ¡®Can you,¡¯ said Killian, his shoulders tense, ¡®keep your mouth shut right now? You nod or shake your head. I don¡¯t want to hear your damn voice, kid.¡¯

    Gray flexed his fingers, letting out a long breath, glaring at the ground.

    Killian rubbed his forehead like he had a bad headache coming on. ¡®Is that a yes or a no?¡¯ When Gray didn¡¯t answer immediately, Killian swore. ¡®So, it¡¯s a no?¡¯

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Gray, glaring at his feet and wishing he could give a different answer. ''It''s a no.''

    ¡®Gods.¡¯

    -

    Killian led the way to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant with no sign out front, peeling wallpaper, and a single rickety table for customers. It also seemed to be some kind of front for smuggled goods judging by the amount of people who came and went furtively with coins but no food.

    ¡®Stay,¡¯ muttered Killian, jabbing Gray towards one of the two only chairs.

    He left to speak to the owner and then returned shortly afterwards with a bowl of steaming soup that smelt suspiciously like bitter broccoli.

    ¡®Eat,¡¯ said Killian, nudging the bowl towards Gray.

    Killian sat down opposite Gray, his ankle propped up over his knee.

    He was all irritation and impatience. He jiggled his foot and glanced compulsively at the clock on the wall every three seconds or so.

    ¡®What is this?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Soup.¡¯

    Gray resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He leant forward. ¡®Am I going to prison or not?¡¯

    ¡®You want to say that a little louder?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Maybe some people outside could hear you if you projected from the diaphragm.¡¯

    ¡®Are you going to tell me what is this?¡¯ said Gray, pushing the bowl away.

    ¡®It¡¯s a damn prayer,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®This soup literally makes your tongue lazy for a couple of hours. It might shut you up and stop you from spouting treason in the damn street.¡¯

    ¡®It won¡¯t stop me thinking it,¡¯ said Gray darkly.

    And carelessly.

    Gray regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth.

    The way he was talking and what he was saying, it was like he was sitting opposite Alistair, not a stiff and pale soldier - ex-soldier? - who seemed to be utterly devoted to a madman king with all of his heart.

    The air in the tiny restaurant seemed to drop by twenty degrees.

    ¡®Do you want to be killed?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray fisted his hands in his lap, doing everything in his willpower to bite his tongue.

    It was hard.

    ¡®Finish the bowl,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®And do it quickly, kid. I don''t want you talking like this while I''m with you. Else we''ll both be screwed.¡¯ He let out a small breath. ''More screwed. You for being stupid and me for not reporting you.¡¯

    Gray knew that he needed to stop talking, he needed to stop calling the Augustes sorcerers.

    Gray clumsily snatched up the spoon in his trembling hand and tasted the soup. It tasted worse than it smelt.

    ¡®Gross?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray nodded.

    ¡®Good,¡¯ said Killian, a little too savagely.

    Wincing, Gray made himself eat.

    ¡®You¡¯ve been listening to the rumours,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®What rumours?¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian shook his head, prodding Gray to keep eating.

    ¡®I¡¯m not surprised,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®if there are rumours he¡¯s-¡¯

    ¡®You will shut up if you know what¡¯s good for you,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Shut up and listen. If you¡¯re going to be blabbing - and gods help me, you likely will be - at least you can be somewhat informed so you stop talking bullshit.¡¯

    Gray lowered his gaze to the spiralling steam from his bowl.

    ¡®Sorcerers kill,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®They massacre. And they rarely have a discernible agenda. There¡¯s no way to reason with them, no way to negotiate. And we barely have the power to check them, let alone stop them. That¡¯s not Baldwin. And it¡¯s certainly not Sorena.¡¯

    But it was Baldwin Auguste.

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    It was exactly Baldwin Auguste.

    Killian was blind if he couldn¡¯t see this.

    And surely Killian wasn¡¯t actually this blind, surely Killian was just ¡­ trying to get Gray to see some twisted perspective so that he¡¯d stop calling the Augustes sorcerers.

    ¡¯To be fair,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®I can see Sorena being exactly like that.¡¯

    ¡®To be fair? That¡¯s not Sorena at all. You don¡¯t know her. You¡¯re just mad,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®because you got a crush on her and she has zero interest in you. There¡¯s no to be fair about what you just said. That¡¯s a serious and stupid accusation.¡¯

    Gray lowered his gaze to avoid Killian¡¯s dark look of disappointment, heat creeping up the back of his neck. Shame flooded him.

    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ said Gray quickly. ¡®I don¡¯t know why I said that. I think those words - my words - came out wrong. It¡¯s not what I meant to say. I mean, I meant to say them, but I didn¡¯t mean-¡®

    ¡¯Shut the fuck up and eat your soup.¡¯

    Gray stiffly stared at the bowl and grabbed the spoon. His cheeks were unbearably hot.

    ¡®Calm down,¡¯ said Killian. ¡¯Stop - flushing. You¡¯re drawing attention.¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t point it out,¡¯ said Gray, his voice low and bowing his face. ¡®That makes it worse.¡¯

    And it was worse.

    Much worse.

    ¡®Gods,¡¯ said Killian, raising an eyebrow, ¡¯calm down.¡¯

    ¡®If you¡¯d not embarrassed me,¡¯ Gray muttered, ¡®I wouldn¡¯t be flushing at all.¡¯

    ¡¯Oh, my apologies,¡¯ said Killian, glaring at the clock and his ankle jiggling so hard it was rattling the table, ¡®for pointing out how stupid and careless you¡¯re being.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m embarrassed because you¡¯re pointing out I¡¯m embarrassed,¡¯ said Gray, somehow growing even hotter. His whole body was red at this point. ¡®Not because you pointed out-¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re embarrassed because I¡¯m talking about your little crush.¡¯

    Gray let out a scoff so loud that a passing customer shot him a startled look. ¡®I don¡¯t have a crush on Sorena.¡¯

    Killian shot Gray a sidelong glance. ¡®Yeah, OK.¡¯

    ¡¯She¡¯s - you know ¡­¡¯

    Killian¡¯s mouth was a hard line. ¡¯Sorena¡¯s like a niece to me, so don¡¯t finish that sentence.¡¯

    ¡®I was going to say terrible, I wasn¡¯t going to talk about her looks, I don''t think of her in that way, all right-¡¯

    ¡®You think a man wants you calling his niece terrible?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®You brought it up!¡¯

    ¡®You did,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You said something dangerous and untrue about her. I just have to say the word Sorena to you and I know what your ¡­ intentions are. You can¡¯t lie to me about this.¡¯

    ¡®We both know you can be very wrong about this stuff.¡¯

    ¡®I can smell it, kid.¡¯

    ¡®OK,¡¯ said Gray, scooting back in his chair. Honestly, there would never be enough distance that Gray could put between them. ¡®You are way too up in my business. Stop. Stop smelling.¡¯

    ¡®I can¡¯t stop smelling, I can¡¯t help it.¡¯

    ¡®Holy gods,¡¯ said Gray, burying his face in his hands.

    ¡®I wish I could help it,¡¯ muttered Killian, glancing at the clock again, and then the door. ¡®Look, let me help you understand something about the Augustes, OK?¡¯

    Gray slowly lowered his hands.

    ¡®But you eat,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Got it?¡¯

    Gray nodded and busied himself by eating the scalding soup.

    Killian hesitated. ¡®You know how bad Wilde is?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®And I know you do. Well, Krupin¡¯s much, much worse.¡¯

    Gray frowned, uncertain of where Killian was trying to go with this.

    ¡®The last time there was a sorcerer at the mage guild,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®it was Wilde. The mage guild massacre. You''ve heard of it.''

    Yeah.

    Yeah, Gray had heard of it.

    He gave a small nod.

    ''He killed nearly every mage in the place. He stole from the tombs underneath. Clochaint¡¯s tomb.¡¯ Killian dropped his voice even further. ¡®And that was when Wilde was Krupin¡¯s little protege, kid. Nine years have passed. Gods know what he¡¯s like now. Krupin collected that asshole. Does that give you some idea, some teeny tiny grasp, of the power of Krupin?¡¯

    Gray didn¡¯t need to be told about the power of Krupin.

    He knew this.

    ¡®You¡¯re seeing Baldwin at his absolute worst,¡¯ said Killian, fast and low. ¡®You can train a mage to be aggressive and ruthless and powerful. It¡¯s not easy, but with the right mage, you can do it. You better believe the Augustes have all been trained, harder and more than any of the mage soldiers, that¡¯s why they¡¯re ¡­¡¯

    Gray raised his eyebrows. ¡®They¡¯re acting like sorcerers?¡¯

    Killian closed his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡®Stop saying that.¡¯

    When Gray kept his mouth closed, Killian slowly opened his eyes.

    ¡®I¡¯m going to give you some leeway,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®because you¡¯re drugged. You think you know a sorcerer when you see one? I¡¯ve seen sorcerers. I¡¯ve fought against them. More than anyone. The Augustes don¡¯t have any of the physical markers-''

    ¡¯Neither did D¡¯Oncray,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®D¡¯Oncray did,¡¯ said Killian gruffly. ¡®They came in late.¡¯

    ¡¯Sorcerers don¡¯t always get markers - you said-¡®

    ¡®You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re saying,'' said Killian, ''and you¡¯re clearly naive as shit-¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re naive,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I can¡¯t believe how naive you are. I can¡¯t believe I thought you were terrifying and competent. If you genuinely believe that - that family is not-¡¯

    ¡®Enough.¡¯ Killian said. ¡®The wrong person overhears you, you will be killed. And it won¡¯t be a swift sword to the neck. There¡¯ll be no last words, aside from you screaming for mercy. You understand me?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s world was crumbling, his entire understanding of Lismere and its history, its policies, was shifting fast.

    ¡®I don¡¯t understand you,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I don¡¯t understand you at all. You can stop lying to me about it, stop trying to convince me they¡¯re mages. It¡¯s clear to me what they are, and yet they killed entire family lines because they had sorcerer blood, it¡¯s ¡­ it¡¯s ¡­ and you¡¯re ¡­ you fight for him, defend him ¡­¡¯

    Gray trailed off, his voice fading.

    The words were too hard to say.

    The soup must¡¯ve started working.

    An ugly flush of red stained Killian¡¯s cheeks.

    ¡®All right,¡¯ said Killian, his voice low and dark. ¡®Let me spell it out for you, you arrogant, idealistic little shit. Baldwin is the way he is for a reason. And he¡¯s king for a reason. Lismere wouldn¡¯t last a second with a king that was all lollipops and rainbows. You take any of those mages from the guild and try to put them on the throne, and the world will burn within minutes. Be grateful it¡¯s Baldwin Auguste on the throne. Because if he wasn¡¯t there, it would be Krupin.¡¯

    Gray was frozen, his curled curled tightly around the spoon.

    ¡®Are you telling me we need a sorcerer on the throne?¡¯ said Gray slowly.

    ¡®I¡¯m telling you we need Baldwin on the throne,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®And don¡¯t you ever, ever call him sorcerer ever again.''

    Gray let out a disbelieving breath. It told Gray damn nothing.

    Perhaps Gray had pushed it too far because he¡¯d never seen Killian look so angry.

    Killian didn¡¯t talk to him as Gray finished the soup, nor the whole way through the bustling streets as they walked through the city. He didn¡¯t speak when they arrived at the Dierne prison.

    He left Gray there without a word.

    -

    It was cleaner and lighter than the Krydon prison.

    It had a military-style organisation to it.

    And it was huge.

    Gray walked down a thin hallway, flanked by steely-faced prison guards who jangled with keys. There were prison cells either side, filled with prisoners who called out as Gray and the guards walked past.

    Until Gray reached his own cell. And the gate was shut behind him, locking him in.

    The cell had a small window that faced the ocean, and it prickled with magical wards. There was a small sink to clean up in. A narrow bed and a concrete floor and walls. Gray curled up on the bed. It had a thick blanket, and the prison wasn¡¯t cold, his prison-issue clothes were soft, and the bed smelt industrially clean. They¡¯d left him in the dragon scale vest, with strict instructions never to take it off.

    Gray shivered on the bed as the shock wore off.

    Hours crept by and the sunlight turned into night.

    Night turned into morning.

    And that morning turned into days.

    Gray refused to leave his cell.

    Refused meals.

    Refused any attempts from surrounding prisoners - mostly boys his own age or slightly older, Gray figured he was in a youth wing of the prison - to make conversation.

    The prisoners were allowed letters and news scrolls.

    But, Gray refused any news scroll offered.

    He didn¡¯t care what was in it.

    Lismere was a lie, the whole system was gamed, and he didn¡¯t care what was happening.

    Any time he tried to organise his thoughts they got tangled in a web.

    The Augustes were probably sorcerers.

    Gray wasn¡¯t Conor Griffin.

    He was just Gray.

    There might be a death curse in Krydon.

    Something huge was going on there. A vampiric sorcerer had killed Alistair, it had killed Rowan, and it had killed a soldier.

    Gray paced the length of his cell. He lay on the bed, sleepless. Sat on the floor.

    Trying, trying, trying to make sense of everything, trying to unravel what had happened, and why, and how. Why the damn had Alistair been interested in the tombs, why the hell had he left, just packed up and left without saying goodbye, so fast, only to be murdered ¡­

    Until, one afternoon, three days after Gray had first entered the prison, he felt something tug at the fringes of his magic.

    Gray looked up and saw Baldwin Auguste standing outside his cell.

 82. When A Madman Gives A Gift, Accept

    Gray jolted to his feet.

    The prisoners close by were all utterly quiet.

    A lamp flickered overhead.

    Baldwin eyed Gray with his intense gaze. His silvery hair was braided back, and the haughty angles of his face looked skull-like in the patchy lighting of the prison. His elaborate mage robes brushed the concrete floor. His wand was in his holster at his wrist.

    With a small movement from his hand, the gate to Gray¡¯s cell clicked open.

    And the king stepped into Gray¡¯s cell.

    Gray panicked.

    He tried to bow and back away at the same time and ended up hitting the small sink behind him. With a hiss of pain, Gray made to bow lower. Tried to find his voice.

    But, he was speechless.

    There was no stream of thoughts to words, no unfiltered conversation, no loose tongue. Gray realised Lunn¡¯s potions were, at last, gone from his system. He was himself again. Angry and terrified heat was rapidly building deep within him, at the sight of this man.

    Gray couldn¡¯t tell if the sentiment was reciprocated by the king. There was nothing but a cool and disinterested countenance to the king as he took in Gray¡¯s cell with a single sweeping glance.

    Left with too much time on his hands and a load of tangled thoughts about the events over the past few weeks, Gray had become even more fastidious about his cleanliness. He¡¯d used the small sink several times a day, keeping the cell, himself, and his grey prison clothes in order. The swelling and pain from the round-house kick was fast dying down. His dark hair was tied back.

    ¡®Up,¡¯ said the king. ¡®In the circle. I don¡¯t have much time.¡¯

    In the circle?

    They were going to fahren.

    But, it hadn¡¯t been seven weeks. It had barely been three days. The king couldn¡¯t know if Gray was a sorcerer yet. And would it even matter - the fact he was a sorcerer-

    ¡®Boy. Now.¡¯

    Gray stood rigidly still as the king drew a chalk circle in the small cell. Gray had no weapons on him. The king would be able to overpower Gray easily anyway. But, Gray was not going to let him just slice his throat, as he''d done with Darcy, he wasn''t going to go down without a fight.

    But, Gray was going crazy - fighting the king was crazy - Gray would have to talk his way out of this, or just run first chance he got, like he''d never run before in his life.

    The king got out his wand and muttered the enchantments to fahren.

    Gray was crushed into blackness.

    And was thrown onto a lush carpet inside a very large and lavish office.

    Gray climbed to his feet, his breath shuddering, shaking his head to clear his vision and stumbling to put as much distance between himself and the king as possible.

    He was searching, searching, for the door.

    The far wall was covered in paintings and portraits, and shelves with wands and keepsakes. Another wall was covered in bookshelves, groaning under the weight of books. A cold, empty fireplace, gilded and large enough to stand in, took up another wall.

    And then, underneath a large window, a large workbench made from dark and polished wood. An alchemist¡¯s pot bubbled there, perched over a small blue fire.

    Gray stilled, staring at it, all thoughts of sprinting through the closest exit completely leaving him.

    The king strode across to the workbench as though he hadn¡¯t just been pressed into nothingness, as though fahrenning was no big deal at all.

    Doing a distracted double take, Gray glanced at the portraits up on the wall again. They were all mages. Most of them Augustes. Sorena''s face was up there.

    He was in the king''s office, Gray realised. Inside the royal palace.

    The king waved Gray over to the alchemist¡¯s pot. ¡®I need your blood and breath. Come.¡¯

    Gray flexed his fingers, chewing the inside of his lip, his heart hammering hard. He glanced behind him. The door was right there, ornately carved.

    ''Now, little boy,'' said the king.

    Gray made his way over to the workbench, his boots sinking into the deep carpet. The view from the window - the window, perhaps, that Branbright¡¯s crow had smashed through - was spectacular. The whole of Dierne spilled out before them, all blue rooftops, temple spires, organised streets, and the grand stadium in the middle.

    Gray stood, his lungs tight, as the king pricked Gray¡¯s finger over the cauldron, and then commanded him to breathe into the pot.

    The king worked at the cauldron, and every movement was precise and controlled. He worked differently to Longwark - Longwark had the same precision and control but edged with an intense fascination. Longwark would always lean so close over his work, eyeing every detail as though he wanted to get inside it to see how it worked.

    The king had a smooth confidence, a coldness. A businessman running a practised eye over accounts.

    Gray stood off to the side, awkwardness settling over him, over the beating of his rapid pulse.

    Breathe.

    In.

    Out.

    This close, Gray could see the workbench was scarred and stained with burn marks and spills. It had been used a lot. Glass jars and bottles were lined up and ordered, filled with glittering powders and luminous liquids. Brass scales balanced on a neat stack of thick tomes, weighed down by a lump of black rock Gray couldn¡¯t identify and tools were laid out on a leather roll; pincers, knives, and a thin, spiralling spoon.

    Gray tilted his head to see the work the king was doing at the pot - he was doing something to the alchemic mixture, he was using his wand, muttering a string of words in the mage tongue.

    The king spared Gray half a glance. He made a small movement with his free hand, the same movement Gray recognised from the mage guild courtyard, how the king had called Killian back. ¡®You¡¯re done here, boy. That¡¯s all I needed. My servant will take you back to the prison.¡¯

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    Gray stepped back.

    When the servant didn¡¯t immediately come through the office doors, Gray found his gaze dragged back over to the alchemic pot.

    The king glanced at Gray again. ¡¯You can¡¯t tell yet,¡¯ he said.

    Gray accidentally made eye contact and hurriedly dropped it. He swallowed, uncertain if he was meant to speak, or bow, or-

    ¡®It¡¯s not ready,¡¯ said the king. ¡¯The transformation test.¡¯

    ¡®Oh,¡¯ said Gray, forcing himself to talk. ¡®No, sir, I ¡­ I know. Seven weeks, you said ¡­¡¯

    He trailed off awkwardly, the sound of the pot bubbling filling the silence.

    ¡®You like alchemy?¡¯ the king said coolly.

    Gray¡¯s throat was dry. He should say no. Gray didn¡¯t want to give the king anything of himself, especially not his love of alchemy.

    But, the king probably already knew what the answer was. And Gray was wary of saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing, heck, breathing wrong. The image of the king slicing Darcy¡¯s throat was burned into Gray¡¯s mind.

    ¡®Very much,¡¯ Gray said, honestly.

    The king was leaning over the pot. Distractedly, he felt around on his workbench with his free hand until he clapped his palm on a small book.

    ¡®Here,¡¯ he said, offering it to Gray without glancing away from the pot.

    Gray hesitated and then took the book. His fingers curled around the hardcover.

    It was small and well-worn, with splatterings of something blue on the front. Harnessing The Elements of Alchemy by Alira Fickle, Gray read.

    The king had to be joking.

    He knew - surely - he knew Gray¡¯s background. What he¡¯d done in Krydon. In Sirentown.

    Absolutely this had to be the king¡¯s version of a twisted joke.

    Perhaps it was a reprimand.

    The king seemed to have sensed Gray''s panicked confusion because he said, as cold as ever, ¡®You must be bored in that prison. Take it with you.''

    This man had almost chopped his head off three days ago.

    Or, perhaps, it wasn''t that deep, perhaps Gray was freaking out over nothing.

    Staring open-mouthed at the king, Gray waited for him to turn around with his mouth contorted in a sneer, or burst out laughing, or even burst into a raving rage like how he¡¯d done to Killian. But, there was none of this. There was just the king with his back to Gray, moving with complete and utter confidence as he worked over the alchemy pot, while Gray was within close reach of knives.

    Gray was still standing there, shell-shocked, when the servant opened the office door.

    ¡®Yes, Your Majesty?¡¯ said the servant.

    ¡®Take him to the prison. You may use a carriage if no mages are available to fahren,¡¯ said the king. ¡®And I want no interruptions here for the next hour.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Your Majesty.¡¯

    The king was adding a white powder into the alchemy pot. ¡®Gray, in the south,¡¯ he said, ¡®this is when we say thank you.¡¯

    Gray clutched the alchemy book. His pulse beat hard in his ears. He dropped his gaze to the book. Could a book burst into flame or curse a person? Maybe this was some kind of test.

    Gray swallowed, his voice dropping. ¡®Thank you, Your Majesty.¡¯

    The king stirred the pot, waving a cool hand at Gray.

    The servant bowed out and Gray got the hell out of there, too.

    -

    Posters lined the streets as Gray made his way back to the prison in a gilded carriage.

    There was enough traffic for the carriage to slow so that Gray got a really good look at them.

    Wanted! Conor Griffin.

    The image of Conor Griffin on the wanted poster was a lot like Ryan Griffin. His long and messy dark hair hung in his eyes. His thick eyebrows were furrowed in a fierce frown. Sharp jawed. Determined mouth.

    Gray¡¯s stomach dropped. He turned to the servant and the guard travelling in the carriage with him.

    ''But,'' Gray burst out, ''they caught Conor. The General has him, he''s bringing him south.''

    The servant and the guard exchanged glances. They''d been travelling in silence, the three of them inside the rattling carriage, and Gray digging his fingers into the plush velvet of his seat as they drew nearer to the prison.

    The guard¡¯s face was concealed behind her gold mask, but the servant was a middle-aged man with very open face. Fear crossed it, as easy to read as those large wanted posters.

    The servant fidgeted with his marriage ring on his finger. Shifted his weight uneasily. ''They caught Conor? They keeping you in solitary or something?''

    ''Er,'' said Gray, ''no - no, I ...''

    The servant and the guard exchanged glances again.

    ''Yeah,'' said the servant. ''They caught Conor Griffin. And then Conor killed the General.¡¯

    Gray''s insides turned to ice. Killed the General.

    ¡®He escaped,'' said the servant, ''as soon as he crossed the Lismere border.¡¯

    But, the king had seemed so composed.

    So unbothered.

    Gray dropped his gaze to the king''s alchemy text in his lap, his mouth suddenly dry.

    Had Gray just been collected? Was that what the damn alchemy book was? Perhaps that''s how this whole thing worked, perhaps this was what Killian had talked about.

    ¡®Not only that,¡¯ said the servant, leaning forward. ¡®He killed the entire team escorting him. A lot of our top officers and soldiers are gone.¡¯

    Gray let out a cold breath. ''What?''

    ¡®And to think,¡¯ said the servant, ¡®many of us were celebrating at having found him. We thought he was going to fight for us. We thought we were going to have an unbeatable mage - half-sorcerer - on our side.¡¯

    ''I don''t like you talking about this,'' said the guard, shuddering, and her brown eyes wide behind her gold mask. ''Not with ... this prisoner.''

    An uncomfortable silence settled over the carriage.

    Running a hand through his hair, Gray stared back out at the posters lining the streets.

    At the face of Conor Griffin.

    Gray¡¯s heart thudded.

    The guard followed his gaze. ''You look like him a bit.''

    Her tone was not casual. It was a warning.

    ¡®He¡¯s in Lismere?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said the servant, his voice wobbling, when the guard didn''t answer. ¡®He¡¯s in Lismere.¡¯

    -

    Now that Gray knew there was tension in the air - rippling through the whole city - he couldn¡¯t stop noticing it.

    It was there as he paced in his cell, as he overheard his neighbours talking about how vulnerable Lismere was now.

    It was there as he lay, curled up on his bed, and read the offered news scroll claiming that more sorcerers were coming out of the woodwork, that they were beginning to wreak havoc in the kingdom once again.

    Just like they¡¯d done, nine years ago.

    And it was there when the guards handed Gray his dinner, and asked him if he¡¯d heard from his cousin, the sorcerer.

    Cousin.

    Gray had no damn idea if Conor Griffin was his cousin.

    And he had no damn idea of what to think.

    If he could just meet him, talk with him, perhaps they could sort everything out. Perhaps this was all some huge, epic, misunderstanding.

    A misunderstanding where Conor Griffin had killed a bunch of people, and had seemed to have engineered getting captured, just to get inside the Lismere border¡­

    As days passed, things only grew more thickly tense.

    ¡®Conor Griffin,¡¯ one of Gray¡¯s neighbours said - a boy with a shock of red hair and tattoos on his knuckles, ¡®wiped out an entire team of elite mage soldiers. The higher-ups are running fucking scared. They can''t catch him. Can''t fight him. He''ll break the border wards, he''ll let in Wilde and Krupin.¡¯

    Conor Griffin, Gray read in one of the news scrolls, blew up the tower bridge in Brinny City. The people there won¡¯t have supplies for a week, until they can repair things.

    Conor Griffin is working in tandem with other sorcerers of unknown origins.

    Conor Griffin destroyed a fleet of ships bringing military relief from Unnor.

    ¡®Your cousin,¡¯ said one of the prison guards to Gray, handing him his dinner (oats), ¡®was sighted in Reviness.¡¯

    The first week passed. It was as though Gray¡¯s stomach was twisted in knots. He¡¯d wake at night, damp with sweat, and his skin too hot and bright. There was too much time, too much thinking, inside the prison. Gray devoured the king''s alchemy book, cover to cover. It was filled with the king''s handwritten notes in the margins.

    But it wasn''t enough to distract him for long.

    Gray didn¡¯t think he could stand to be there for much longer.

    -

    Prisoners were allowed letters, and Gray got his first part way through the second week.

    You do what I want, and I¡¯ll do what you want.

    There was no signature, but Gray had a creeping sensation that he knew who it was from, anyway.

    The guard who¡¯d delivered the letter through the bars of Gray¡¯s cell watched him read it.

    ¡®He¡¯s passing through security now,¡¯ said the guard.

    Gray glanced up, clutching the letter in his hand. Icy cold was creeping through him. ¡®What?¡¯

    The guard turned his head at the sound of footsteps coming up the narrow hall. ¡®Here he comes.¡¯

    Codder came to a halt outside Gray¡¯s cell, ignoring the calls and hoots from the prisoners, holding a brown paper parcel by the twine string. He dangled it from his fingers like he was holding a cigarette.

    His shadowed gaze swept over Gray, taking in the grey prison clothes and the dragon scale vest.

    Codder wasn¡¯t dressed in his uniform. There were no mud-crusted army-issue boots. Only simple cotton trousers and an expensive-looking leather jacket in the dark tones so favoured by the locals in Dierne.

    Gray stared at him like it wasn¡¯t costing him everything he had within him, like the sight of Codder didn¡¯t wind him.

    Codder sucked his bottom lip and stepped closer to the bars.

    But not close enough for Gray to reach out and grab him by the throat like he wanted.

 83. Cigarette-Breath Is Back And Being The Worst

    Codder dropped the parcel just out of Gray¡¯s reach, the thud of its weight loud on the prison floor.

    The salty air gushing through the cell window plunged about ten degrees.

    There was no privacy in the prison. Gray¡¯s neighbours were watching.

    ¡®You don¡¯t look dangerous enough to warrant a dragon-scale vest,¡¯ Codder said. His lips twitched with something too sharp to be a smile. ¡®But then again, you never did, did you?¡¯

    Gray didn¡¯t move. He didn¡¯t trust himself to. The presence of Codder slithered over him, bringing up every memory of Krydon that he wanted to bury. He tore his gaze off Codder, away from his plain clothes. Was he not dressed in his soldier uniform because whatever deal he¡¯d come to broker was personal?

    Wordlessly, Codder crouched and unwrapped the parcel on the ground. The brown paper rustled.

    It was books.

    Three of them.

    Wong¡¯s Encyclopedia of The Others.

    The Complete Guide to Dark Creatures of the North by Hubert Huntsman.

    A Short History of Folk Songs and Lullabies, by Grimm and Grimm.

    ¡®You want these?¡¯ drawled Codder.

    Gray shoved his hands in his pockets and controlled his breath. ¡®What are you doing here, Codder?¡¯

    Codder jerked his eyebrows and let out a long sigh. ''I guess you don''t want them.'' He started wrapping the books back up.

    Gray edged forward.

    Codder paused, his shadowed gaze sharp. ¡®Last chance, stray. You want these?¡¯

    Gray lowered his gaze to the books, schooling his expression.

    He wanted those books more than anything. Yeah, he now knew it was likely a vampiric sorcerer stalking Krydon, but that wasn¡¯t much to go on. Every day in the prison, he read every single word on the news scrolls and there¡¯d been no news about Krydon, nothing about the vampiric sorcerer or the murders. Nothing about anyone doing anything about it.

    Killian had said he didn¡¯t know how to capture and kill a vampiric sorcerer - no one did - and while he¡¯d seemed willing to at least try, he was now no longer even an officer in the army.

    Gray feared no one was doing anything about it, probably because they didn¡¯t know how and because now there were bigger problems in Lismere.

    If - if Gray could get the right information to the right person - and gods, that was a big if - maybe the northerners in Krydon at least could do something.

    ¡®Three, two, one,¡¯ said Codder. ¡¯Time, stray.¡¯

    ¡®I want the books,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You know,¡¯ drawled Codder, ¡¯I don¡¯t like your tone-¡®

    ¡®What the hell do you want, Codder?¡¯

    Codder sucked his teeth.

    He was staying a careful distance away, very precisely out of reach from the bars of Gray¡¯s cell.

    ¡®I know,¡¯ said Codder, his voice lowered to a drawling whisper, ¡®you want revenge on what killed your two little friends from Krydon. You risked your skinny neck to ask me for these books in Krydon prison before you referred to me as a dog.¡¯

    ¡®I should apologise,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®It was an insult to dogs.¡¯

    ¡®Careful, now,¡¯ said Codder, even more softly. ¡®You¡¯re up to your eyeballs in hot water already. You control your tongue around me, or I¡¯ll tell the guards you were spitting curses. Lighting up the cell. Attempting magic.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re not going to do that,¡¯ said Gray, staring hard at Codder. ¡®You want something from me.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ll do it,¡¯ said Codder, his voice soft and full of malice. ¡®Don¡¯t underestimate how much I hate you, stray. I will do it.¡¯

    Gray stepped forward, and Codder immediately stepped back.

    ¡®You ain¡¯t touching me,¡¯ whispered Codder. ¡®You''re not even getting close. That icy prick will know. You stay right there, stray.¡¯

    Gray shoved his hands deep into his pockets, struggling to keep a stream of pointed insults out of his mouth. Codder seemed to sense this, because the cords in his neck tightened, and his shadowed gaze narrowed.

    ¡®They seem to be very certain that you¡¯re not Conor Griffin any more, stray,¡¯ said Codder, his voice so soft Gray could barely hear him, ¡®but the slightest hint that you¡¯re the product of Ryan Griffin fucking around with another sorcerer or fay or any other kind of magical boogeyman, and this cell you¡¯re in will seem like a luxury. Don¡¯t test me, stray. You control your tongue.¡¯

    Gray clenched his mouth shut, his chest tight.

    ¡®I¡¯ll give you these books,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®and you put your little noggin to use. I want what you find out. I give you these books, and you give me something very, very good to give Major.¡¯

    ¡®Major?¡¯

    ¡®You deaf, stray?¡¯ whispered Codder. ¡®Yes, Major.¡¯

    Gray let out a disbelieving breath. ¡®You don¡¯t even know.¡¯

    ¡®Know what?¡¯

    ¡®He was dismissed.¡¯ Gray paused, his heart still hammering at the damn sight of Codder, uncertain how to convey the brutal way the king kicked Killian out of the army. ¡®Harshly. He''s not a Major anymore. Pretty sure he''s nothing now.¡¯

    Codder froze. ¡®What?¡¯

    Gray edged forward again, forcing Codder to back up. Gray wrapped his hands around the prison bars and eyed Codder over again, at the civilian clothes and the hungry desperation in Codder¡¯s gaze. ¡®You were kicked out, too,¡¯ said Gray, suddenly realising. When Codder said nothing, Gray continued breathlessly, ¡®The king dismissed Killian¡¯s whole team?''

    There was barely any change in Codder; he simply turned - slightly stiff - to glance down the corridor as a prisoner called out some distance away, as he appeared to be doing some quick thinking.

    But, why would Codder be here, uncomfortable, desperate, out of the loop, and trying to get back on Killian¡¯s good side? If the whole team had been dismissed, Codder would know about Killian, surely.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    ¡®Killian kicked you out,¡¯ said Gray, his mouth falling open in shock, ¡®before he was dismissed. What did you do? You had a falling out?¡¯

    Codder pinned Gray with a very pointed glare, and he nudged the books with his toe. ¡®We have a deal or not, stray?¡¯

    ¡®But,¡¯ said Gray, frowning. ¡®Why? What''s the point if you-¡¯

    ¡®Major is ambitious,¡¯ snarled Codder. ¡®This job is his life. He¡¯ll be figuring out how to get it all back. And when he does, he''s going to be making a beeline for that thing in Krydon. I know he will. He was - very angry.''

    ''I don''t think he''s getting back into the king''s army,'' said Gray.

    ''Major is the king¡¯s biggest earner,'' said Codder. ''He pulls in the most treasure by far. Baldwin loves Major more than he loves his own children.¡¯

    Unbidden, Sorena flashed into Gray¡¯s mind, and he felt a stab of pity. He really hoped that wasn''t true.

    ¡¯In case you hadn¡¯t noticed, stray, your older cousin is killing all our officers. The king will need Major. And I¡¯m going to be back on his team if - when - this happens.¡¯ Codder leant forward, lowering his voice. ¡®And you will not be on his team. Understood, stray?¡¯

    ¡®Not on his team?¡¯ Gray repeated, his frown deepening, only half paying attention.

    Because, Codder hadn¡¯t seen the king. Hadn¡¯t seen the cold rage, the way he¡¯d ripped the stars off Killian¡¯s uniform. Gray doubted there was any way that Killian would get back into his favour.

    Gray didn¡¯t want to lose the books Codder had brought, though.

    If Codder wanted to give Gray these books, mistakenly thinking Killian would be able to get back into the army and take Codder with him, then so be it. Gray crouched, his knees cracking, and dragged the books through the bars, with Codder watching from a carefully measured distance.

    ¡®You will say no,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®Understood?¡¯

    ¡®He - I¡¯m - they¡¯re testing me, they think-¡®

    ¡®They think you¡¯re Wynn Griffin¡¯s son,¡¯ said Codder.

    This got Gray¡¯s attention. ¡®I know.¡¯

    ¡®Are you?¡¯ said Codder.

    Gray straightened up and carefully stacked the books on his bed. ¡®I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t remember.¡¯

    ¡®You were six or seven when the Griffins were killed,¡¯ whispered Codder sceptically, ¡®and you don¡¯t remember?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t remember, OK?¡¯

    ¡®Ooh,¡¯ said Codder, dropping his voice even lower. ¡®Touchy topic, I see. Watch your tone, stray.¡¯

    Gray glared at the books, already regretting taking them.

    ¡®If things get bad,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®and they decide to put caution to the wind, if they determine you as mage and not sorcerer, if they¡¯re desperate for powerful mages, and Major comes strolling up here and asks you to be on his team, what are you going to tell him?¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s not going to happen,¡¯ said Gray.

    There was something shuttered behind Codder¡¯s eyes. ¡®Then it should give you no qualms to promise me you¡¯ll say no, stray.¡¯

    Gray ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head.

    ¡®Is that a no, stray?¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re mistaken,¡¯ said Gray.

    Codder watched him wordlessly.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I don¡¯t-¡®

    ¡®I¡¯ve known Major for a long time. He¡¯s got something in mind for you. He was already fucking training you, whether he knows it or not. He was teaching you navigation, stray.¡¯

    ''He wasn''t,'' said Gray. ''That''s not what was happening then.''

    ''He was,'' hissed Codder. ''I was there.'' Codder hesitated and then stepped closer. ¡®He¡¯ll come in here and he''ll ask you to join his team, and you¡¯ll say no.¡¯

    Gray clenched his jaw, and searched Codder¡¯s words, his expression, looking for the trap and the lie.

    Even if this bullcrap was true, there was no way in hell Gray would ever agree to work for Killian. He¡¯d never work for Baldwin Auguste¡¯s army. They could piss right off.

    ¡®You get conscripted and assigned to his team, stray,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®you kick up the biggest stink of your life and make sure they put you somewhere else.¡¯

    Conscripted?

    Gray kept his face still. Tried to not let his thrumming pulse betray him. Mages didn¡¯t get conscripted. They walked into any job they desired. This couldn¡¯t be true. Besides, only weeks ago everyone had seemed so sure that Gray was a sorcerer. Codder was damn well delusional. He was trying to play 3D chess with half the pieces missing.

    ¡®I want him focused on me, stray,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®I don¡¯t want him spending his limited time developing your skills over mine. I¡¯m getting back on his team, I¡¯m passing the lieutenant exam, and I¡¯m going to be his lieutenant. I¡¯m going to be earning commission from being in the best treasure league, and I¡¯ll be doing it at a lieutenant¡¯s share. You will not fuck that up for me.¡¯

    ¡®There - there¡¯s not going to be treasure leagues if there¡¯s a war with sorcerers coming,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®and I¡¯m not-¡®

    ¡¯Sorcerers collect treasures, stray,¡¯ drawled Codder, tilting his head. ¡®At least Wilde and Krupin do, and you can bet your firstborn that they¡¯ve trained your cousin to do the same. The treasure leagues will be huge.¡¯

    Codder sucked his bottom lip.

    ¡®Give me your word, stray,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®that you¡¯ll say no, and I¡¯ll get you what you need most. Which I¡¯ve already got a plan lined up for.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re so sure I¡¯ll agree?¡¯

    ¡®You will when you hear what I can get you.¡¯

    Gray dropped his gaze down to the books stacked on his bed, trying to hide the shiver running up his spine. Then, carefully, Gray lifted his chin. ¡®And what''s that?¡¯

    ¡®You need a parent, stray,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®Well, parent-s would bet better, at the rate you go through family, but let¡¯s stick to one problem at a time.¡¯

    ¡®You want to go to hell, Codder?¡¯

    ¡®You need a family, Griffin. Someone to live with until you come of age. Else you¡¯ll end up in the consort palace with the rest of the king¡¯s strays and bastards. The place is basically a gilded orphanage.¡¯

    Gray wrenched his jaw open. ¡®You¡¯re so full of shit, you don¡¯t know what the king¡¯s test will say - I don¡¯t know what it¡¯s going to say - you don¡¯t know anything-¡®

    ¡®I know it¡¯s not going to say you¡¯re Conor Griffin,¡¯ drawled Codder. ¡®I know you¡¯re a sanctimonious weeny and you don¡¯t act like any sorcerer I¡¯ve ever heard of - you¡¯re an overpowered freak of a mage with no control. That¡¯s obvious to me, and I don¡¯t need no bleeding test to add two and two.¡¯

    Gray wasn¡¯t so sure. There was a huge power inside him. He could feel it. And he had felt real dangerous fury scraping his insides. If he had been trained, and if he was prodded in the wrong way, both of these would come tearing out of him and do terrible damage.

    ¡®The king¡¯s not putting Wynn Griffin¡¯s son in an orphanage or into foster care,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®Without a family, you¡¯re going into the consort palace, stray.¡¯

    I thought he was going to keep me in prison, Gray wanted to say. He¡¯d been classed as dangerous.

    But, he kept his mouth shut, his heart beating hard.

    ¡®Everyone knows,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®that whoever ends up in the consort palace Baldwin ends up-¡¯

    ¡®I know what they end up doing,¡¯ snapped Gray, having quite enough of Codder¡¯s crap, and thinking of Elona and Alistair and everything he¡¯d ever overheard when they thought he wasn¡¯t within earshot.

    Codder¡¯s lips curled. ¡®Get your mind out of the gutter, stray.¡¯

    ¡®Your mind¡¯s in the gutter,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®It¡¯s always in the damn gutter. Hell, your entire brain is made up of gutter.¡¯

    ¡®I wasn¡¯t referring to what you think I was referring to,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®but if you want to go there-¡¯

    ¡®What do you want, Codder?¡¯ said Gray, raising his voice for the first time. His voice was loud enough for the watching neighbours to hoot and holler.

    ¡®As I was saying,¡¯ whispered Codder, an ugly smirk contorting his angular face, ¡®whoever ends up in the consort palace Baldwin uses them in his long game of politics and power. How papa Griffin would roll over in his grave, if he knew his precious son was in danger of being Baldwin¡¯s pawn. How hard he fought, to not be in that place-¡®

    ¡¯What do you want?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s heart hammered. Bile rose in his throat.

    Codder could be messing with him. Was definitely messing with him. But very real fear was stealing through Gray¡¯s veins because while living in the consort palace was better than being in prison (or beheaded), the place was a viper pit.

    Codder inched closer. ¡®I¡¯ll track down Barin Haxley and make him take you back, so that you have a guardian, you have family, ready and willing to take you back. Fighting to take you back. So you don¡¯t end up in Baldwin¡¯s consort palace. If you give me your word you¡¯ll say no to Major.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s throat was dry. ¡®You can find Barin?¡¯

    ¡®I can find anyone, stray.¡¯

    ¡®He - he won¡¯t take me back, he ¡­¡¯

    Barin would say no. There was no way Barin would take Gray back. Gray had destroyed his life, he¡¯d endangered Harriette. The guilt ate at him, every day.

    Gray wanted to go home so badly that his chest ached with it. He wanted to be in Krydon with Alistair and Harriette, where he knew how everything worked. He wanted to be drinking smuggled bottles of cider with them on the roof of the tavern and looking out at the ruins on the mountain above.

    ¡®I¡¯ll make him,¡¯ said Codder.

    Gray rushed forward. ¡®Don¡¯t make him. Don¡¯t you dare. Hurt them and I¡¯ll annihilate you.¡¯

    The corner of Codder¡¯s lip lifted. ¡®You want to be in the consort palace, stray?¡¯

    ¡®No.¡¯ Gray held his head in his hands. Dropped them. ¡®If you find Barin and you - you just ask him - ask him only, Codder - and he says yes, then ... just - bring me proof that Barin and Hariette are OK. I¡¯ll tell Killian no.¡¯

    Codder watched Gray for a long moment and then nodded. He jerked his chin at the books stacked on Gray¡¯s bed. ¡®You¡¯ll get me something good?¡¯

    Gray glanced at the books.

    Determination filled him with a sharp intensity.

    ¡®Everything I can,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Read fast, stray,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®Major will be at the Cat and Fiddle pub tomorrow night, meeting a friend. That¡¯s my only opportunity to talk to him.¡¯

 84. Hes Running On Fumes And Luna Moth Light

    Gray carefully opened the cover to Wong¡¯s Encyclopaedia, trying not to think how much a book like this would¡¯ve cost.

    The idea that Codder was so desperate to get back into the good graces of Killian that he¡¯d spend hundreds - shit, maybe thousands - of coins on these brand new books, the latest editions, made him wonder what the damn Codder had done.

    Gray breathed slow, flicking through the pages, towards the Vs at the end.

    Working with Killian. Conscripted to Baldwin¡¯s army. Gray held back a snort.

    Gray would¡¯ve told Killian no anyway.

    And there were so many ifs.

    If Killian got his position back.

    If Codder could get Killian to take Codder on again.

    If the king didn¡¯t find Gray to be a sorcerer.

    Codder was full of hidden agendas, and Gray didn¡¯t trust him one bit. But, if it meant Gray finally had access to these books and he could somehow get the information to Krydon, then that was amazing.

    Gray bent over the books as the light became dim in the cell. And then, the guards shouted that it was lights out, and every lamp in the prison snuffed out.

    Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gentle moonlight coming in through the window, Gray kept his finger in the book to mark his place. He¡¯d gone through everything Wong had written about vampiric sorcerers and then some, and now he was going through the northern lullabies, trying to find the one about Gallow¡¯s Alley.

    The darkness in the cell was a real problem. Gray was determined to keep researching, but without light, it was impossible.

    He could convert simple granite or limestone into a star pebble, if Gray could get his hands on ground firefly wings, dragon hide, and heat. Star pebbles glowed, if done right, which would give him enough light to read by. Gray ran a free hand over his dragon scale vest. The ties were leather. They couldn¡¯t be dragon leather. Could they?

    Heart in his mouth, because if Gray was caught doing alchemy he¡¯d be in real trouble, Gray hopped up to the window, to see what insects were nearby, and if there were any granite or limestones he could work loose from the mixed concrete that made up the window sill.

    -

    Gray¡¯d gotten a small chunk of limestone, but there were no fireflies.

    And the window had some pretty serious magical enchantments protecting it.

    Gray had gotten zapped twice, cut his knuckles on some of the salt that clung to the building, and used up a whole lot of his precious reading time.

    But he¡¯d eventually gotten his hands on a luna moth instead of a firefly, and a luna moth might work.

    The luna moth had flown gently through the enchantments on the window, too small and ethereal to register as any kind of threat, right to where Gray was using his palms to reflect moonlight to attract it. The heat he¡¯d used from a patch of exposed pipe underneath the sink was almost as good as a flame. He¡¯d singed his fingertips, holding the limestone wrapped in dragon hide to it to start the transformation, and then he glanced at the luna moth fluttering around his cell.

    He couldn¡¯t bring himself to kill it and pull its wings off to complete the transformation.

    It was one thing to use these components when they were already separated from the creature, stored in glass jars. It was another thing to damn well kill the glowing moth that so resembled a butterfly, and that preened itself like a cat when it landed on his hand.

    Honestly, if Gray couldn¡¯t bring himself to do this, he was screwed.

    He''d done way worse than pulling wings off moths, for gods sake. He was pulling a major double standard, and he just had to damn well do it. He was being beyond stupid.

    ¡®Fuck,¡¯ Gray said, dropping the hot limestone wrapped in the severed piece of dragon hide.

    He emptied the toothpaste powder from the tiny, unbreakable glass jar that all prisoners were issued with, and captured the luna moth in it.

    He angled the lid so that the moth would still have air.

    It was no star pebble.

    But, the luna moth provided just enough light to read by, if he almost pressed his nose to the page.

    ''I''m not naming you,'' Gray murmured to the moth (that definitely looked like an Evie. Evan if it was a boy.). ''Absolutely not.''

    He lay on his stomach on his bed, the jar with the luna moth carefully laid next to him.

    Rustling through the pages, Gray found the Gallow¡¯s Alley Lullaby.

    It was a translation from an older dialect that was now lost, and Gray wondered briefly if this would matter - if any of the meaning would be changed.

    There was a page analysing the meaning and history behind the lullaby - it had come from a legend of a creature that had stalked Krydon - and used as a story for the unexplained deaths of seven people.

    Gallow¡¯s Alley Lullaby

    Giddy up, Gallowman,

    Running through the town,

    Hush, hush, bitty baby,

    Don¡¯t show him your frown.

    He¡¯ll take one who¡¯s brokenhearted,

    He¡¯ll take two who¡¯ve hidden fears,

    Hush, hush, bitty baby,

    He will take all your tears.

    Giddy up, Gallowman,

    With his fingernails so long,

    Hush, hush, bitty baby,

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Don¡¯t sing your wailing song.

    Gray skimmed the rest of the lullaby, his heart and mind racing too fast to make him read slowly. Phrases jumped out at him.

    He¡¯ll hang one down his alley, he¡¯ll hang two down his way ¡­ he wants number three, a sorcerer sets us free ¡­

    Until, Gray¡¯s gaze caught on the last verse.

    Giddy up, Gallowman,

    Back to your post in silence,

    Hushed by the bitty baby,

    With a curse made by giants.

    Gray curled his fists, his breath growing short. Abandoning the books and the luna moth, Gray paced silently in his cell.

    There were other books he needed.

    Lismere¡¯s Oldest Towns; Past, Present, and Future by Rosie Brown. He¡¯d need that.

    Dark Rituals and Darker Beasts. He¡¯d need that.

    And while he might¡¯ve been drugged when he¡¯d thought of the mythical swamp vampire having cross-overs with the very real vampiric sorcerer, he still thought it was worth checking out.

    Gray thought of another - 1001 Uses for Tears, Blood, Sweat - when a guard started walking towards his cell, the light from his lantern swinging.

    Quickly, Gray stashed the luna moth and the abandoned star pebble attempt out of sight underneath his bed, and climbed under the covers, feigning sleep.

    -

    Gray woke in the dark, covered in sweat.

    Nightmare.

    He swallowed, rubbing his face, and slowly sat up.

    He¡¯d not meant to fall asleep.

    The guard had patrolled for so long, and Gray had to fake sleep the whole time, so he must¡¯ve drifted off for real.

    Adrenaline ran through him. He pushed his blanket off and silently paced the dark cell. His ankle twinged - it still gave him a hint of trouble, sometimes - and he swore softly and pulled the luna moth out from underneath his bed.

    It was resting, slowly fluttering its glowing wings.

    Pulling his books towards him, he set himself up on the bed again, cross-legged.

    And there he stayed, hunched on the bed, nose to the books, until morning.

    That was how Codder found him.

    Gray hastily stood when he realised Codder was outside his cell. He hadn¡¯t expected to see him so soon.

    ¡®I have two minutes,¡¯ Codder said. He dragged on a cigarette and let the smoke curl from his lips. ¡¯So talk fast, stray.¡¯

    It was so early that the guards hadn¡¯t given anyone breakfast yet. Codder swept his shadowed gaze over Gray¡¯s cell, resting on the luna moth in the tiny jar.

    But he didn¡¯t mention it.

    Gray rubbed his sore eyes and snatched up the Folksongs and Lullaby tome and flicked to the Gallow¡¯s Alley Lullaby. ¡®It¡¯s happened before, see?¡¯

    ¡®Lower your voice, stray. It¡¯s very quiet in here and these walls have ears.¡¯

    Gray dropped his voice to a whisper. ¡¯This translation was recorded about seven hundred years ago. Sometime before that, there¡¯d been murders a lot like the one from the vampiric sorcerer happening now. But they called him Gallowman. It¡¯s drawn to fear or melancholy or something. And judging by how the mages were acting, I think it might also be drawn to voices.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s drawn to mages,¡¯ drawled Codder, tilting his head and watching as Gray put down the Folksongs book on the ground with the Gallowman page open, and then fumbled with the Complete Guide to Dark Creatures. ¡®It enchants them or something.¡¯

    ¡®Yes - yes, I have a theory that it likes the magic of mages, or it wants their tears and voices, but that aside -¡¯

    ¡®There¡¯s no mention of mage tears, here, stray.¡¯ Codder squinted at the open book and flicked ash off the end of his cigarette. ¡®Just tears.¡¯

    ¡®Right,¡¯ said Gray, ''but-''

    ¡®It does mention sorcerers,¡¯ said Codder, squinting harder at the book. ¡¯We need a sorcerer to get rid of it? A sorcerer to beat a sorcerer. Heard that before.¡¯

    Gray dropped his gaze, discomfort blooming in his chest, ¡®I don¡¯t know if we should take everything in the lullaby so literally, and it¡¯s a translation, see-¡®

    ¡®Sorcerers are in pretty short supply, what with us killing them off poste-haste whenever we find them. That could be a real problem.¡¯

    ¡®Maybe.¡¯ Gray clutched the Dark Creatures book, frowning.

    ¡®Maybe?¡¯ whispered Codder. ¡¯Sorcerers are rare, they¡¯re notorious for being uncooperative. And right now, they''re busy fucking shit up in the kingdom with your cousin.¡¯

    ¡®I know,¡¯ said Gray shortly.

    ¡®If we need a sorcerer to kill this thing, we¡¯re done. It''s over. Major won¡¯t be pleased, and I won¡¯t be getting back onto his team by telling him that.¡¯

    ''We don''t know anything for sure yet,'' said Gray quickly, alarmed at how quickly Codder was losing his cool.

    Codder raised his eyebrows. ¡®I need what it wants and how to kill it, stray.¡¯

    Gray hesitated. ¡®I think it¡¯s trying to perform a ritual. Seven victims. Tears. There are - uses for tears. And some dark creatures, er, you know, consume them. I don¡¯t know about vampiric sorcerers, but, it could maybe be a motivation.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s disgusting.¡¯

    Gray thought it was a bit rich for Codder to call anything in this world disgusting, but he held his tongue.

    ¡®A ritual,¡¯ said Codder.

    ¡®Maybe,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®what with seven being a significant number magically and in alchemy, but I don¡¯t think we should rule out any theory at this point, and if we find a motivation then maybe we can figure out a weakness-¡®

    ¡®You haven¡¯t figured out a weakness?¡¯ drawled Codder, his eyebrows lowering and gesturing at the books. ¡®What did I spend all this coin for?¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s a vampiric sorcerer,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®I think they¡¯re originally designed to not have any weakness. Immortaly, so.¡¯

    ¡®Everything has a weakness, stray.¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I mean, it¡¯s part sorcerer, so it probably has a sorcerer¡¯s weakness.¡¯

    ¡®Which is?¡¯ said Codder.

    ¡®Competition,¡¯ said Gray.

    Codder was utterly still. Then he let out a sharp breath of disbelief. ¡®Competition over collections,¡¯ Codder said. ¡®They¡¯ll kill each other over ¡­¡¯ he trailed off, eyeing Gray, ¡®¡­ apprentices.¡¯

    ¡®Not just apprentices,¡¯ said Gray.

    Codder paced one step. Came back. ¡®A vampiric sorcerer will kick a regular sorcerer¡¯s ass, though, stray.¡¯

    ¡®The problem¡¯s there¡¯s not much information on vampiric sorcerers,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®so nobody knows for sure-¡¯

    ¡®Then figure it out,¡¯ said Codder.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, keeping his temper, because, honestly he had every damn reason to want to figure this out and Codder knew that, ¡®I think there might be some cross-over in the legends of swamp vampires and vampiric sorcerers, which might give me more information-¡®

    ¡®Swamp vampires?¡¯ Codder¡¯s lips twitched. ¡®Pull the other one, stray.¡¯

    Gray fumbled with the Dark Creatures book. ¡®There¡¯s not much here, because, you know, they¡¯re classified as not real, but Huntsman does mention swamp vampires differing from real vampires for feeding on things other than blood-¡®

    ¡®Griffin,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®it¡¯s dawn. Spare me the feeding-on-blood talk, yeah?¡¯

    ¡®I think you should look into swamp vampires,¡¯ Gray muttered, ¡®but you can¡¯t tell Killian this, he¡¯ll know it came from me.¡¯

    ¡®Yeah, all right, I know how to play it.¡¯ Codder took one last drag from his cigarette and threw the butt onto the ground. ¡®You got anything else? I need something really good.¡¯

    ¡®I need - more books. Er, 1001 Uses For Tears, Sweat, and Blood, and Dark Rituals and Darker Beasts-¡¯

    ¡®You need more books, stray,¡¯ said Codder, ¡®then the deal¡¯s going to change. This is getting very pricey, and I¡¯m unemployed now.¡¯

    Gray barely expected Codder to honour any deal, but he absolutely did not want Codder with any kind of major upper hand.

    ¡®Are the books worth more than your career?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®It¡¯s not the career I care about, stray,¡¯ said Codder.

    ¡®The prize money, then.¡¯

    Codder sucked on his teeth. A guard called from down the corridor.

    ¡®That¡¯s time up,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®Well, that was disappointing, stray.¡¯

    ¡®Disappointing?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Deal¡¯s off. You¡¯re on your own.¡¯

    Codder turned to leave. Gray¡¯s stomach plummeted.

    ¡®Wait,¡¯ said Gray, desperately hoping Codder wouldn''t just give up and not pass the information on, ¡®just wait a second. There¡¯s mention of a curse at the end of the lullaby, right? It might be a solution ¡­¡¯

    Gray trailed off as Codder slowly stepped back, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

    ¡®Magic,¡¯ said Codder softly, his face deadpan, ¡®to get rid of the vampiric sorcerer. Very enlightening.¡¯

    ¡®There are alchemic curses,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®It doesn¡¯t have to be magic.¡¯

    Codder folded his arms. He squinted down at the lullaby. ¡®You know any giants, stray? Because I¡¯m pretty sure they¡¯re all extinct.¡¯

    ¡®What if giant just means enormous?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Out-of-this-world big?¡¯

    Codder kept his gaze down at the lullaby, completely still. ''That''s not how I interpret it.''

    ¡¯Silence, it says,¡¯ continued Gray. ¡®And a huge curse. I think this thing uses its voice as part of its power. Maybe that¡¯s why it¡¯s attracted to voices in the first place. It¡¯s stealing what it needs. Growing its power. There was wailing in the streets in Krydon, in the dead of night, for weeks before the first murderer. I mean - I just heard it once. Wailing. And then right before ¡­ Ali died. Harriette heard it. Maybe you need to curse its voice.¡¯

    Codder was very still. ¡®You curse its voice and then this thing goes crawling back home?¡¯

    ¡®I - I mean, it probably doesn¡¯t go crawling back home-¡®

    ¡®Obviously,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®But it has less power to kill you. Or,¡¯ he continued, rubbing his jaw, ¡®less power to beat the sorcerer we pit against it.¡¯

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I mean, it¡¯s all speculation, but ¡­ yeah.¡¯

    The guard called again from the end of the corridor, more sharply this time.

    ¡®OK, stray,¡¯ whispered Codder. He hesitated. ¡®Everything goes well for me tonight, you just bought yourself two more books. All right?¡¯

    Gray hated to be making any kind of deal with Codder, but at least he was finally getting somewhere.

    He was going to get the damn thing that had gotten Alistair and Rowan.

    Gray looked straight into Codder¡¯s shadowed gaze. ¡®All right.¡¯ Gray hesitated. ''How many has it killed? I haven''t had - any news here, about it.''

    ''Why?'' said Codder.

    Gray ran a hand through his dark hair. ''I don''t think we want it to get to seven. Whatever the ritual is, I don''t think it''ll be good.''

    ''Yeah,'' said Codder, turning to leave. ''No shit.''

 85. This Sorcerer Has Been Hustling

    The next two books arrived one day later, stamped with the approval of the prison inspector and with an accompanying note:

    Read fast.

    The guard - who Gray had learnt was called Bob - passed Gray the books and note, along with the news scroll for the day, with raised eyebrows and a tight jaw. Gray waited for Bob to say something about the books, but, instead, he glanced down at the news scroll in stony silence.

    Conor Griffin¡¯s face was plastered over the front.

    He¡¯d attacked a village in the north. The north, weakened by their absence of mages, had been razed. And that absence of mages was spreading further and further south each week. Not that the presence of mages seemed to make any difference to Conor.

    He¡¯d been spotted in Old Town, which was home to several powerful mage families.

    In Roolie, which had a training ground for novice mage soldiers.

    In Dierne.

    He¡¯d blown up two of Dierne¡¯s main mills and supplies of wheat and oats. He¡¯d capsized the king¡¯s prized fleet. Killed a mage soldier with an overall stat score of 1000.

    A mage with an overall stat score of 1000 was impossibly strong. A mage like that was likely on par with the Augustes in terms of power.

    Gray stared at the news scroll, his ears ringing.

    There was no mention of the vampiric sorcerer in Krydon being the cause of the mages disappearing from the north, leaving the towns and people there so vulnerable to Conor.

    Bob reached through the bars and tapped Gray on the wrist - right where his X scar was - to get his attention. He was saying something, and with a huge effort, Gray brought himself back.

    ¡®¡­ rations will be cut.¡¯

    Gray drew in a short breath. ¡®Pardon?¡¯

    ¡®All rations will be cut,¡¯ said Bob.

    Bob was older than the hills, with a few wisps of white hair clinging to his temples, and age spots covering his withered skin. He had a surprisingly strong grasp, though, and had fast eyes and speedy reflexes. Gray¡¯d had to change his hiding spot for his luna moth and limestone every day because Bob was so switched on and had searched Gray¡¯s cell almost daily.

    Unspoken words hung in the air between Gray and Bob. Cut rations would mean some very unhappy prisoners. Unhappy prisoners could mean serious trouble.

    ¡®The prisoners are always the first to get their rations cut,¡¯ said Bob, lowering his voice, ¡®when food chain supplies go down.¡¯

    Gray carefully kept his gaze away from any of his neighbours.

    ¡®What¡¯s Conor playing at, eh?¡¯ said Bob. ¡®What¡¯s he trying to achieve?¡¯

    Gray frowned down at the news scroll. How was he supposed to know what Conor was trying to achieve? Killian¡¯s words rippled through him sorcerers rarely have a discernible agenda.

    The neighbours around Gray were calling. Enough of the prisoners had received their news scroll that the latest devastation caused by Conor was spreading. The prisoners were putting two and two together. Conor¡¯s name was whipping past Gray in hissing whispers and furious, outraged shouts.

    ¡®He¡¯s coming for you?¡¯ said Bob, lowering his voice even further.

    Gray¡¯s instinct was to say no.

    But, he didn¡¯t know this. All he knew about Conor was that he was powerful, looked like Ryan Griffin, and was Wilde''s protege.

    Gray glanced down at the X on his wrist.

    Fear was beginning to shred his insides at the thought of coming face-to-face with him.

    -

    Gray reread the last page in 1001 Uses For Tears, Blood, and Sweat for the tenth time, his hands gripped in his hair.

    The book was propped on his knees as he sat huddled on his bed, desperately trying to find something - anything - that would be helpful in figuring out what a vampiric sorcerer would want with seven sets of tears.

    But, Gray didn¡¯t know enough. He needed a whole damn library to cross-reference any reports on vampiric sorcerers and the history of Krydon and rituals of the dark and magical kind.

    He didn¡¯t even know if he was poking around in the right direction. Maybe it wasn¡¯t a ritual about tears, or maybe it wasn''t a ritual at all. Maybe he had everything wrong.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    So, when footsteps neared Gray¡¯s cell with a steady finality, Gray winced.

    He had nothing to give Codder.

    Perhaps - perhaps he could convince Codder to get him some more books, or swap these ones out for-

    ¡®Open on Griffin,¡¯ said an unfamiliar voice.

    Gray started up, the book tumbling off his lap. A royal guard stood outside his cell, his gold mask glinting in the light from the hall. His robes brushed the concrete floor and his wand was held ready in his hand. Bob opened Gray¡¯s cell and let him in.

    The royal guard barely glanced at Gray, said absolutely nothing, as he drew a chalk circle on the floor.

    ¡®In,¡¯ commanded the royal guard.

    Gray¡¯s heart hammered. It hadn¡¯t been seven weeks. He¡¯d not gotten in trouble - as far as he knew - with any of the prison officials. Unless they¡¯d found the luna moth and the limestone without Gray realising.

    ¡®Where are we going?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Palace,¡¯ said the guard. ¡®In, Griffin.¡¯

    Gray stepped inside the chalk circle, trying to keep his head cool. ¡®Has something happened with Conor?¡¯

    The guard was completely unreadable, with his gold mask and rigid body language. ¡®Nothing that concerns you. King¡¯s requested for you to have your stats scribed. Hush, now, I need to focus.¡¯

    Stats scribed?

    ¡®Wait,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Why would the king-¡¯

    CRACK.

    -

    CRACK.

    They landed outside the palace gates. Gray stumbled behind the royal guard, trying to get his breath under control and his vision to clear from the fahrenning.

    Scribing stats was expensive.

    Real expensive.

    Every citizen got their stat papers on birth, where everyone pretty much started on even footing. Except for mages and Others. They always had an advantage.

    But, if you lost your stat papers and had to get them replaced?

    It was a lot of money.

    Wanted a stat score questioned? Or needed a stat paper changed, or replicated? It would set you back at least several ardents.

    And, it made absolutely no sense for the king to want stat papers for Gray right now.

    It was a waste of money, time, and skill. What if Gray was a sorcerer, what if the alchemic test showed him to be something that the king was going to execute anyway?

    The stat papers only showed the current level any person was at.

    And Gray¡¯d not gone under any special exams or competitions or tournaments that you needed for your stat scores to go up. Just school exams. No special training, no tutors, no extra classes. And he¡¯d done nothing with magic. His magic score would just be his base score, it wouldn¡¯t be anything -

    ¡®Keep up,¡¯ said the royal guard.

    The royal guard was striding through the halls, past the lavish furnishings and gold leaf on the walls. His broad shoulders clipped the corner as he whipped past it.

    The path they were taking was familiar, and it was with slowly dawning horror that Gray recognised the route they were taking as the one that Killian and Gray had sprinted through to escape the king¡¯s office a few weeks ago.

    Just as Gray opened his mouth to ask who was going to be doing the scribing, they turned onto the hall with the king¡¯s office.

    There was some kind of cohort standing outside the king¡¯s office - a man wearing a gold circlet and silk clothes speaking a fast foreign language with a scandalised courtier, and was that the prince of Foix? - when the royal guard tugged at Gray''s collar.

    ¡®Move along,¡¯ he said. ¡®The scribes are further up the hall.¡¯

    Gray nodded and picked up the pace. They squeezed past the Foixan cohort, and Gray ducked his head, lengthening his stride, conscious of his prison greys.

    The jabbering of Foixan cohort was fading behind Gray when there was a huge, shuddering crash.

    As one, Gray and the royal guard spun on the spot.

    Sorena had crashed out of the king¡¯s office doors.

    Her face was dark as thunder, her eyes were freshly red, and her stride was hard and long.She shoved past the prince of Foix, past his cohort. Her platinum hair was not-so-neatly braided.

    The entire Foxian cohort was frozen, watching.

    And she was followed by the king.

    ¡¯Sorena,¡¯ he shouted, following her down the hall. ¡®You will not defy me.¡¯

    ¡®Watch me.¡¯ She shoved past the royal guard, past Gray, and disappeared around the corner.

    The king came to a halt beside the royal guard, who''d swiftly folded into a neat bow. The king was full of strained rage. His angular face was stark white in his suppressed fury, his silvery hair braided away from his intense and cold eyes.

    He stared after his daughter and then slowly swivelled his attention to the Foixan cohort. With a small nod, he acknowledged them.

    The strained way the king was moving, it was almost as though he was embarrassed - furious, a clear madman - but, humiliated.

    Gray had to take a moment to admire the serious size of Sorena¡¯s cojones. Stupid cojones, but still serious cojones. Then, as Gray watched in slow horror, with zero power to stop it, the king turned and clapped his cold and furious gaze on the royal guard, and then down to Gray.

    If Gray had the power to fahren, he would¡¯ve been gone quicker than a snap of the fingers. He waited, his heart beating in his throat.

    Waited for the king to snap.

    To turn his terrifying rage, his lethal temper, onto Gray. Onto every person who¡¯d just witnessed him being humiliated by his daughter.

    Perhaps the king was aware of the watching Foixans. Perhaps he cared to make a good impression on the Foixan prince, who was standing some yards away with his mouth hanging open.

    Because, with a slow and obvious effort, the king turned a strained smile on the Foixans.

    ¡®You would not fight with your father so, I¡¯m sure,¡¯ said the king.

    His voice carried, as he apparently intended it, to the Foixan prince.

    The Foixan prince gave a curt bow of his head. ¡¯I fight with mine quite badly sometimes, sire.¡¯ He spoke neatly, in perfect Lismerian with the smallest hint of a sliding Foixan accent.

    The king swept his cold gaze from the Foixan prince back to Gray.

    It took a breath too long for Gray to collect himself, to remember he needed to bow and not make eye contact.

    The king held himself still, outwardly completely composed, but the hum of his magic made Gray¡¯s arm hair stand on end.

    ¡®You been reading that book I gave you?¡¯ said the king.

    Gray stayed frozen in his bow. Was there a correct way to bow? Was he supposed to straighten now? Honestly, he just didn¡¯t want to die today, he didn¡¯t want his throat slashed, as Darcy¡¯s had been, without any damn warning-

    ¡®Yes, sire,¡¯ muttered Gray. Then, because it couldn¡¯t hurt, and the man was still so furious Gray could feel it in the air, and Gray wasn¡¯t above being a kiss-ass if it saved his life, not while he was finally making headway on figuring out how to vanquish the thing that had murdered Alistair, and his principles and ego could go hang, honestly, ¡®thank you, sire.¡¯

    The king glanced at the royal guard who was in a deep bow with his hand over his heart.

    ¡®I want his stat papers as soon as they¡¯re available.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Your Majesty,¡¯ said the guard.

    And then the king was gone, his robes sweeping over the floor, and the Foixans following him into his office in reverent silence.

    ¡®Come,¡¯ said the royal guard to Gray, straightening up and heaving out a ribboned sigh. ¡®Let¡¯s get this over with.¡¯

 86. His Goal Is Simple: Dont Die Today

    There was a stern warning in bold letters on the wall behind the scribes¡¯ desk.

    Tampering with or falsifying stat results can result in a fine of 50 000 ardents or execution.

    Sweat trickled down Gray¡¯s temple. Down his back. His palms were slick.

    Gray straightened his dragon scale vest, his fingers fumbling over the laces, making sure that it was on tight.

    Don¡¯t die today, he told himself firmly.

    No executions.

    No fines.

    The scribing office was much larger than he¡¯d expected. It was a long hall with an impossibly high ceiling, furnished in the same lavish fashion as the rest of the palace. Everywhere there were gold details, carved oak, and huge windows overlooking the city of Dierne. And some kind of obstacle course that was kicking Gray¡¯s butt to the next world.

    Gray stood before the scribes, his breath echoing in the large hall.

    The five scribes sat at a long desk on a high stage, each with a quill writing magically in front of them.

    Writing down what had to be an embarrassingly low score for Strength.

    Gray¡¯d had just lifted a twenty-kilogram weight until his arms had given out, and then gone onto push-ups and shoulder taps until he¡¯d given out again, and then jumping onto a three-foot high platform until - you guessed it - his legs had refused to cooperate.

    And they were only on the first quality.

    There were still six more to go; dexterity, constitution, intelligence, wisdom, charisma, luck, and magic.

    ¡®Dexterity,¡¯ said the royal guard, who¡¯d been watching the whole thing with his arms folded, his bright eyes narrowed behind his gold mask and - if Gray wasn¡¯t imagining things - a judgemental tilt to his chin.

    The royal guard carefully placed a bundle of fine silk thread and about one hundred needles on the ground in front of Gray.

    ¡®First dexterity test is to thread the needles,¡¯ said the royal guard, ¡®without breaking the silk. You have - one minute.¡¯

    Gray fell to his knees in front of the needles and thread, wiping his damp palms on his grey prisoner uniform, and started threading.

    -

    The tests for constitution were next (Gray¡¯d walked up an endless set of stairs while trying to ignore thoughts of failure brought on by an oily black potion), followed by intelligence (Gray¡¯d played an aggressively fast and complicated game of memory against each of the scribes), and then finally the soft tests for wisdom, charisma, and luck (Gray¡¯d held various humming orbs that seemed to communicate a stat score to the scribes).

    ¡®Magic,¡¯ said the royal guard.

    Gray¡¯s hair stuck to the back of his sweaty neck as he passed back the cold orb from the luck test, his chest tight.

    He had no idea how he¡¯d performed. The scribes sat too far up on the stage for him to read what their quills were writing.

    The royal guard gestured for Gray to hold his hand out.

    He gingerly placed another glass orb into Gray¡¯s palm.

    ¡®Don¡¯t drop it,¡¯ he said.

    Gray¡¯s hand was sweaty and shaking from fatigue. ¡®What happens if I drop it?¡¯

    The glass orb seemed innocent, but perhaps something would happen if he dropped it, perhaps the orb was magically dangerous.

    ¡®It¡¯ll go on your already substantially large tab,¡¯ said the royal guard. ¡®That¡¯s what.¡¯

    ¡®Right,¡¯ said Gray grimly, blinking sweat out of his eyes. He curled his fingers around the orb, the glass smooth and cool against his skin.

    ¡®Light the orb,¡¯ said the royal guard.

    Gray glanced at the royal guard and then the scribes, who were sitting and watching expectantly. They were all mages with their bright eyes, complicated robes, and twisted and plaited hair. Their wands lay scattered on the desk. The quills kept scribbling, and the scratching sound echoed. His heart began to hammer.

    ¡®I,¡¯ Gray said. His voice faded into the large space.

    He fumbled with his dragon scale vest again, with his free hand. Checking the laces.

    ¡®Don¡¯t worry. You do a Sirentown in here,¡¯ said the royal guard, drawing his wand out of the holster on his wrist, ¡®dragon scale vest or not, I¡¯ll take you out faster than you can blink.¡¯

    Gray chewed the inside of his lip, trying to hide the trembling in his hand.

    ¡®Just light the orb,¡¯ said the royal guard, as Gray continued to stand there.

    Tossing one last wary glance at the royal guard, Gray closed his eyes. Brought forth Killian''s words in his mind.

    Feel here. Don¡¯t try. Just be.

    But, Gray wasn¡¯t going to just let it be. He was never, ever going to let it be ever again. The thought of accessing his magic made fear claw at his throat.

    ¡®Griffin,¡¯ came the royal guard¡¯s voice, as though from across the room, ¡®if you manipulate the results, the king will not be pleased. He already has an idea of what your score is going to be - light the orb, please.¡¯

    Maybe he could just let through a tiny bit, just enough to light the orb.

    Gray was screwing up his eyes in concentration, fighting to breathe through the rising fear, and the glass orb warmed in his palm.

    ''Griffin,'' came the royal guard''s voice again, stern and clipped. ''He knows you have more than this.''

    It happened in an instant.

    Gray tried to let just the smallest bit more of power through, and it burst like a geyser of hot steam shattering the land, and suddenly Gray was clenching his eyes closed against the blindingly brilliant light, and sharp shards of glass cut into his palm.

    Power coursed through him, flooded his veins, pounded in his pulse.

    It roared in his ears, it was drowning his lungs.

    Pull it back in, pull it back, back.

    But, Gray could as soon as rein in a rabid wolf.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    All he could see was light through his clenched eyes.

    The hard end of a wand was pressed against his temple.

    Gray had to pull it in. He couldn¡¯t explode in a tumble of magic and power and light.

    Or, with the dragon scale vest, implode.

    Inch by grudging inch, Gray grasped at the power within him and pushed it down.

    Down.

    He gasped in a ragged breath.

    Once.

    Twice.

    Then he lost his grasp on his power, and the magic surged again, wild and utterly out of control.

    -

    The next thing Gray knew, he was on the floor, his fingers curling into the polished timber of the floor.

    Sweat pooled underneath him, and his breath snagged on his throat.

    He raised a trembling hand to his head, right where the wand had pressed into his temple.

    ¡®I had to take you out.¡¯ The royal guard was hauling him to his feet, he was dusting off Gray¡¯s dragon scale vest. He turned to the scribes at the desk. ¡®You got that?¡¯

    His voice, which had been so professional and clinical, was now it was edged with excitement.

    There was a stark silence.

    ¡®We, uh,¡¯ said one of the scribes, her voice smooth, ¡®we got that. Next test, please.¡¯

    Gray staggered, glancing down at his palm that had been cut from the glass orb.

    It had been healed.

    Gray shook his head, getting sweat out of his eyes. Grasped a stitch in his side and focused on staying upright. ¡®I think I¡¯m going to pass out,¡¯ Gray mumbled.

    ¡®Don¡¯t pass out yet,¡¯ said the royal guard, with a steadying hand on Gray¡¯s shoulder, his smile audible in his voice. He slid a rune puzzle in front of Gray. It hummed with magic. ¡®You¡¯ve got several more tests.¡¯

    -

    Gray stood on shaking legs in front of the scribes.

    He¡¯d lost count of the different tests they¡¯d run him through to determine his score in magic.

    He¡¯d had a ticking instrument swinging over him that displayed some kind of count to the scribes, stood in front of several gemstones that vibrated, dodged an enchanted stone blindfolded, over and over, until the scribes were satisfied, and more.

    The process of consolidating the scribes¡¯ documents into one stat paper was taking a long time.

    The scribes were performing several spells, muttering in the mage tongue and moving their wands in complicated patterns.

    Until, finally, it was done.

    One of the scribes collected the stat papers and passed it down to Gray.

    Much of the space at the top of the stat papers that was usually filled with details like family, job, and pay was blank.

    But the qualities were done.

    Strength 5

    Dexterity 8

    Constitution 6

    Intelligence 7

    Wisdom 5

    Charisma 5

    Luck 6

    Magic 78

    Total score 120

    Debt to the crown: 1 250 000 ardents.

    The debt to the crown was so much larger than Gray had been expecting.

    Was the extra 250 000 ardents for the stat test?

    But, that was crazy, stat tests were expensive, but they weren¡¯t that expensive-

    ¡®The orb I broke,¡¯ muttered Gray to the royal guard, ¡®how much did it cost?¡¯

    The royal guard adjusted the collar of his robes. ¡®It¡¯s best not to think about it. Don¡¯t worry about that now ¡­¡¯ he trailed off as one of the scribes leant forward and started speaking.

    ¡¯The stats will automatically update,'' said the scribe, ''whenever you do a test, competition, battle or the like, sanctioned by the crown. The personal details will fill out at the crown¡¯s discretion.¡¯

    Gray wiped his forehead. Crown¡¯s discretion?

    The royal guard slapped Gray on the shoulder. ¡®Seventy-eight as a base score. Not bad, eh?¡¯

    Gray swayed on the spot, too exhausted to feel anything

    ¡®We should really be getting this to Baldwin now,¡¯ said the guard, taking the stat papers off Gray. ¡®Come.¡¯

    Gray staggered behind the royal guard, out of the room and barely had time to numbly wrench his thoughts away from the 1 250 000 ardents scrawled in red at the bottom of his new stat papers as they reached the king¡¯s office door.

    The royal guard had a verbal exchange in rapid Lismerian with one of the guards standing outside the king¡¯s office, before the door swung open.

    The king stood in the doorway.

    The guards halted their exchange.

    Gray hurriedly imitated the royal guard¡¯s bow.

    He felt the coldness of the king¡¯s gaze steadily taking them in. The office behind the king was silent and still. The Foixans must¡¯ve left. The king stared at them, and then pointedly dropped his gaze to the paper rolled up in the royal guard¡¯s hand.

    Gray hadn¡¯t expected the king to open the stat papers and read them immediately, but he did.

    They waited in silence.

    There was no change at all in the king¡¯s stance or his expression.

    ¡®Get Gray a meal,¡¯ said the king, ¡®before he falls into an unwakeable sleep.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, Your Majesty.¡¯

    The king tucked the stat papers into his pocket and swiftly shut the door.

    The royal guard straightened, heaving out a low breath. ¡®Come,¡¯ he said to Gray, quickly leading him away. ¡®Let¡¯s get out of here while he¡¯s still in a good mood.¡¯

    -

    Gray¡¯s legs were shaking by the time they fahrenned from outside the palace to the prison.

    The royal guard quietly spoke with the men on duty, then raised a hand in farewell to Gray. Bob ushered Gray into a small room that was scattered with tables and chairs.

    Bob slid a bowl of cold oats in front of Gray. ¡®I¡¯ve given you a double serve. Don¡¯t tell the others.¡¯

    ¡®Thanks.¡¯ Gray shot Bob a grin and then clumsily fed himself the oats. Bob sat down opposite him.

    ¡®Ellery told the boys your stats,¡¯ said Bob, leaning in close. ¡®They¡¯re good.¡¯

    Gray shot Bob another grin because a total score of 120 was good, it was higher than he could''ve ever imagined his stat score being, and then he dropped his gaze to his bowl of oats. He knew Bob couldn¡¯t be referring to his strength stats - any of his stats - except for magic.

    A base magic stat of 78 was within the normal range for a mage. It was on the higher end, sure, very much on the higher end, but it wasn''t wildly inconceivable, and it wasn''t indicative of Gray being sorcerer or part sorcerer or anything else that haunted scary bedtime stories. Not that anyone really knew sorcerers stats, but Gray hadn''t just signed his own death warrant with that score.

    Which was a huge relief.

    But, thinking of the magic stat made Gray''s mind jump back to the 1,250,000 ardent debt on his papers.

    His chest tightened in panic as he thought of it.

    ''Ellery was pleased as punch. You get your name cleared by the king and they train you up in the guild, you''ll be a real contender, eh?''

    ¡®Ellery?¡¯ asked Gray.

    ¡®Ellery Drake. The royal guard.¡¯

    Even Gray, living up in Krydon, had heard of the Drake mages. If Gray hadn¡¯t been close to passing out, he would¡¯ve felt more than a strange flop in his stomach. The Drakes were as famous as the Augustes were.

    And almost as phenomenally powerful.

    ¡®You have a guest waiting for you at your cell,¡¯ said Bob.

    Gray stilled, the oats turning into ash in his mouth. ¡®I,¡¯ he said, after he¡¯d swallowed, ¡®I can¡¯t see him right now.¡¯

    He wasn¡¯t ready. He had nothing to give Codder. And he had no plan as to how he¡¯d convince Codder to get him yet more books.

    He didn¡¯t imagine it was going to be easy.

    ¡®I¡¯m afraid he''s insisted,¡¯ said Bob, avoiding Gray¡¯s gaze. His white wisps of hair were waving in a balmy breeze coming through a cracked window. ¡®He''s been waiting for you to return.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s worst fears were confirmed as he walked towards his cell with Bob.

    Codder paced the space outside Gray¡¯s cell like a lion pacing in a too-small cage.

    ¡®What happened to you, stray?¡¯ said Codder, keeping a careful distance as Bob opened the cell with his keys.

    Gray withheld a sigh and strolled in, keeping his back to Codder until he heard Bob walk away.

    ¡®They started training you, stray?¡¯ hissed Codder. ¡®Has Major-¡¯

    ¡®He doesn¡¯t come here,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡¯How do I know you''re not telling porkies, stray?¡¯ said Codder, his drawl low. ¡®Why do you look like you''ve been put through the wringer?¡¯

    ¡®I promise you he doesn''t come here,¡¯ muttered Gray, frowning at Codder. ''No one''s going to be coming here. Not until the test is complete.''

    Codder prowled back and forth, his shadowed gaze dark.

    Gray ran a hand through his still-damp hair.

    ¡®What have you got for me, then?¡¯ said Codder. ¡®I¡¯m meeting Major again tonight, so make it good.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s gaze darted to the stack of books by his bed. Someone had come into his cell while he was away, and brushed away the chalk circle.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray tightly, ¡®don¡¯t have anything-¡®

    Codder made a small, ugly sound. Almost too fast to track, he pulled something out of his pocket and tapped it onto the bars of the cell.

    It was a small, dented pocket watch.

    Gray¡¯s mind was filled, so quick, with the memory of Alistair giving Harriette this pocket watch the morning in the tavern when Gray had been running Harriette through her alchemy notes.

    ¡®I¡¯ve set it to eight hours ahead,¡¯ Alistair had said that morning in the tavern. ¡®That¡¯ll confuse the hell out of swamp-vampires and they¡¯ll leave you alone.¡¯

    Gray froze.

    Codder tapped the pocketwatch once more and then stepped precisely back, out of reach. ¡®You know what this means,¡¯ said Codder. ¡®Good.¡¯

    ¡®You found them?¡¯ said Gray.

    His heart was racing. Relief and worry warred within him.

    ¡®They¡¯re close?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®In Dierne?¡¯

    Codder swung the pocket watch by its chain. ¡®What have you got for me, stray?¡¯

    ¡®Codder,¡¯ said Gray, starting forward.

    ¡®Uh uh,¡¯ said Codder, holding up a hand to halt Gray. ¡®You stay right there. What do you have for me?¡¯

    ¡®Codder, are they-¡¯

    ¡®What do you have?¡¯ Codder¡¯s drawl rung out loud enough to make the surrounding prisoners quieten.

    And then they started hollering. Banging on the bars.

    Gray stood rigid, in the middle of his cell, his tongue-tied.

    ¡®Stray?¡¯ said Codder.

    Gray turned on his heel, blindly picking up the top book from his stack.

    But he had nothing, nothing he could give Codder, and gods, he¡¯d fucked up, because there was no way Harriette would''ve just given Codder Alistair''s watch, Alistair had been her favourite, if Codder had hurt them-

    ¡¯Today, stray,¡¯ said Codder.

    ¡®I¡¯ve narrowed it to a list of seventeen potential rituals,¡¯ said Gray, his heart beating loud in his ears.

 87. All He Has Is Nothing And Bluster

    Codder pocketed the watch, his movements languid, and his shadowed gaze dark.

    ¡®Seventeen rituals?¡¯ said Codder.

    ¡®It could be more,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®this isn¡¯t a comprehensive-¡¯

    ¡®You better have something better than that, stray.¡¯

    Gray dropped the book and fumbled with the next one in the stack. ¡®I wrote the rituals down, I have a list here.¡¯

    Gray tore out the page he¡¯d scribbled on. He¡¯d been using a chunk of limestone he¡¯d transformed into brown chalk as a pencil.

    ¡®Defacing the new books I gave you,¡¯ said Codder. He clucked his tongue. ¡®I ain¡¯t touching that. You keep that list. Tell me, I¡¯ll remember.¡¯

    Gray hesitated and then listed off the names of the seventeen rituals.

    Codder listened, his head bowed. Then, ¡®What else?¡¯

    ¡®If this thing feeds off melancholy, or wants tears, or ¡­¡¯ Gray trailed off as Codder gestured for him to hurry up. ¡®It might be a good idea to use curses not just for silence, but also for joy - there might be a way to combine curses-¡¯

    ¡®Clochaint, stray, I didn¡¯t realise you were this stupid,¡¯ said Codder. ¡¯Something good, I said. Combining curses is the sort of shit I¡¯d expect a pre-schooler to come up with.¡¯

    Gray felt his cheeks warm as he blindly grabbed up another book.

    But, whatever he gave Codder, it would all be nothing and bluster, because Gray hadn¡¯t figured out anything.

    ¡®Uh,¡¯ said Gray, staring down at the book, the words blurred, jumbled, meaningless.

    Gray knew nothing, he was sure of nothing, and he would¡¯ve given anything to have answers. Not because Codder was tapping his fingers in impatience, but because it was the least Gray could give Alistair.

    ¡®There¡¯s reference of the ancients using vampiric sorcerers not only as guards for tombs,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®but also as assassins, so there¡¯s clearly a way to negotiate with them-¡®

    ¡®Which is?¡¯ said Codder.

    ¡®I - I don¡¯t know, they don¡¯t say-¡®

    ¡®You know what the little girl said when I turned up on her doorstep, stray?¡¯

    Gray was rigid. Wordless.

    ¡®Have you come to take us home, she said,¡¯ drawled Codder.

    ¡®Codder,¡¯ said Gray through numb lips, ¡®are they OK? Where are they?¡¯

    ¡®You need to give me something good, for me to answer those questions, stray.¡¯

    ¡®This wasn¡¯t part of the deal,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I¡¯m doing everything you¡¯re asking-¡®

    ¡®You aren¡¯t, though,¡¯ said Codder.

    ¡®I don¡¯t have enough information. You need to be talking to experts, scholars. I need to get into the library, Codder-¡®

    ¡®I have bought you a damn library, stray,¡¯ hissed Codder. ¡®I have spent a fortune. You get me something good. Do we understand each other?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Don¡¯t look at me like that, stray. We want the same thing, you and I.¡¯

    Codder turned and walked away, and it took everything within Gray not to launch himself at the bars and drag him back.

    -

    That night, as Gray paced the cell, his head in his trembling hands, he began thinking of ways of escaping.

    For real.

    The thought had crossed his mind several times before, but the prison was locked up so tightly that he¡¯d deemed it impossible.

    But, he had to.

    He¡¯d find Harriette and Barin before Codder could do anything, and he¡¯d convince them to move, to go into hiding, better hiding, and then ¡­ Gray swallowed, staring at the dark night sky through his window, his muscles locked.

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    And then he didn¡¯t know what.

    There was no way Barin would let Gray join them in hiding.

    And it wasn¡¯t a good idea, Gray would only endanger them further.

    Only, running hadn¡¯t gone so well for Gray last time.

    But, he was more experienced now. He knew what to watch out for.

    Gray crawled under his small sink and pulled out the luna moth in the tiny jar. He¡¯d been feeding the moth a few of his water-soaked oats each day, and it seemed to eat them, because the oats were always gone whenever he checked.

    He¡¯d just set himself up with the luna moth and Wong¡¯s encyclopaedia, in a kind of desperate search for any ideas on how to blow out the wards on the window, when a guard started walking down the hallway, his lantern swinging.

    Gray cursed under his breath and hastily stashed the luna moth back behind the sink, before silently flinging himself on the bed and pretending to sleep.

    He lay on the soft bed, trying to control his breath.

    Keys jangled outside his cell. Gray felt a thrill of familiar magic run up his spine and he slowly sat up.

    ¡®Griffin,¡¯ whispered the guard. Not Bob, but one of the nightshift guards that Gray didn¡¯t know well.

    The guard was trailed by Baldwin Auguste.

    The sight of the king still made Gray¡¯s stomach drop, still made his heart race as though it knew he was in mortal danger and this man had come very, very close to swinging a sword at his neck.

    Had swung a sword at his neck.

    And had stopped just in time.

    Gray shifted under the cold and assessing stare of the king, waiting for him to speak or step into the cell.

    The king silently frowned at the stack of books by the bed. Very cooly so.

    His power was heightened. He was edged in mild irritation. Gray¡¯s skin was breaking out into goosebumps from standing so close.

    There was a disapproval emanating from the king, as though the king had read Gray¡¯s intentions, his mind, as though he knew Gray had just decided he had no option but to escape from the prison.

    ¡®You¡¯re needed at the guild,¡¯ said the king.

    Gray bowed, fumbling with a loose button on his sleeve, checking the laces of his dragon scale vest, hiding his surprise.

    The king gave Gray a brief, scrolling look, his haughty face settling further into cold displeasure.

    Gray resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably, pushing down the thought that the king was annoyed by Gray¡¯s appearance, but when the king swept another cold glance over Gray, Gray couldn¡¯t help fidgeting with his clothing.

    He was aware that he was one huge mess right now.

    The night was warm, and stress had made Gray sweat. He¡¯d been running his hands repeatedly through his hair, disordering it. His prison greys were crumpled from the nonstop pacing, and he¡¯d spilled water from the sink onto his collar the last time he¡¯d washed his face.

    Gray hurriedly bowed again as the king opened the cell door with a small movement of his hand.

    ¡¯Stop bowing,¡¯ said the king. ¡®You don¡¯t need to bow five damn times every time you see me. Yes?¡¯

    ¡®Yes, sir.¡¯

    ¡®Clear the way, I need to draw the circle.¡¯

    Gray grabbed up his socks and boots and scrambled into them, doing his best to stay well clear of the king¡¯s circle.

    ¡®In.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, sir.¡¯

    The king said the words, the rush of power overwhelmed them, and then,

    CRACK.

    -

    CRACK.

    They landed at the base of the marble steps of the mage guild.

    For a fleeting moment, as Gray staggered to his feet, breathing hard, he thought about running. The thought raced through his mind like a flying arrow, there and then gone.

    The king¡¯s hand fell onto his shoulder, and that was enough to push all thoughts of running from Gray¡¯s mind.

    The grip was firm. Heavy.

    ¡®Up,¡¯ said the king.

    The steps of the Mage Guild loomed. The broad sweep of marble was so polished it looked like ice in the moonlight. Gray followed without thinking, climbing after the king towards the giant marble dragons guarding the entrance. The place hummed faintly, a vibration he could feel through the soles of his boots. The familiar buzz of power, layered into the stone itself.

    Somewhere in the distance a clock chimed eleven.

    ¡®This way,¡¯ said the king.

    Gray¡¯d expected shadows and silence as they swept into the guild, a kind of foreboding stillness. But inside the guild was warmly lit, golden chandeliers gleaming high above the glittering marble floor. The air was warm, faintly scented with parchment and candle wax, and people moved through - mages in flowing robes, messengers darting to and fro.

    Not bustling exactly, but awake.

    Gray kept his head down as they climbed staircase after staircase. The king didn¡¯t slow or falter. His steps were measured and even, utterly assured of his path and that Gray would follow.

    At last, they reached a high floor in one of the towers. The air was thinner here, cooler. They stopped outside a heavy, carved door bearing a plaque etched in curling gold letters: Grand High Master Mage.

    The king¡¯s hand came down on Gray¡¯s shoulder again, steering in through the door, as though sensing Gray¡¯s overwhelming hesitation.

    The room beyond was packed, filled with mages clustered in groups. Some bowed low at the king¡¯s entrance, others stepped back, clearing a path.

    ¡¯Sit,¡¯ said the king, his hand tightening briefly before letting go. He nudged Gray towards an empty chair near the far wall.

    The king turned to leave, but paused when Gray opened his mouth. The words were halfway out - what am I doing here? - when they died on his tongue. The king was clearly upset about something, and Gray wasn''t about to put himself into the king''s path any more than needed.

    ¡®Yes?¡¯ said the king.

    Gray swallowed. ¡®Never mind, sir.¡¯

    The king¡¯s gaze swept the room, taking in the bowing, murmuring figures. ¡®No talking,¡¯ he said, his voice cool.

    He strode through one of the many adjoining doors. For a second, Gray saw the room beyond - a vast boardroom with a polished table and a serious crowd of mages and military officers gathered around it. Then, the doors closed behind him, sealing Gray in with the room full of mages.

    Quiet followed.

    The mages straightened slowly, their bows dissolving into hushed murmurs and stretching onto their tippy toes to see where the king had gone. Gray sat, staring fixedly at the door the king had disappeared through.

    He didn¡¯t dare look at the others, as they settled their bright-eyed and nervous gazes on him in awkward silence.

 88. He Paces, Confused

    The girl next to Gray kept talking, even after being reprimanded by a gold-masked Ellery Drake, two other gold-masked royal guards, and a surly looking teenage mage who¡¯d deemed herself in charge.

    ¡®Everyone here is an apprentice,¡¯ the girl next to Gray whispered. ¡®Except for him.¡¯ She pointed at a startled-looking mage in black robes. ¡®Journeyman. And him. Journeyman. Journeyman, journeyman. Journeywoman.¡¯

    Gray gave her a non-commital sound and tried to put distance between them, scooting his chair slightly away.

    ¡®You know the levels within the guild, right?¡¯ she continued, scooting her chair to close the gap between her and Gray. ¡®It goes apprentice, journeyman, master-¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s OK,¡¯ Gray said under his breath. ¡®I know the levels.¡¯

    Getting hauled out of prison in the middle of the night and brought to the mage guild was sketchy enough on its own without continually ticking off the royal guards watching over the room.

    The girl had introduced herself as Zana, had clever black eyes behind round glasses and glossy black hair, had ears and a mouth too large for her face, and wore mage robes of scarlet, cream, and gold.

    Gray bowed his head, his thoughts warring within him over the anxiety blooming in his chest from guessing why the heck he was there in the mage guild, and over Harriette and Barin, and how the damn he¡¯d get them far away from Codder.

    If he could just get them a warning, then maybe it would be enough. Perhaps he could write to them.

    But, address the letter to where?

    ¡®You have a button missing from your sleeve,¡¯ Zana whispered.

    Gray quickly folded his sleeve to hide the missing button.

    Honestly, a missing button was the least of his concerns, and considering how messy and out-of-place Gray looked in this room full of elaborately dressed and styled mages - considering his dragon scale vest declaring him a walking hazard - a missing button was nothing.

    ¡®So,¡¯ said Zana, ¡®they scoured the guild for any apprentice staying here over the summer, and any living in Dierne and surrounds.¡¯

    Gray made another non-committal sound.

    Zana wasn¡¯t the only one talking, but she certainly was the most blatant. If Gray listened hard he could hear half a dozen whispers from the mages around him, running through theories about why they were there.

    ¡®They came to my room, woke me up, and escorted me here,¡¯ she said. ¡®Wild, eh? Do you know why we¡¯re here?¡¯

    ¡®You idiot,¡¯ hissed the surly girl, who¡¯d taken to loitering over her and Gray to prod Zana into silence whenever she continued talking, ¡®that¡¯s the Griffin boy.¡¯

    ¡®Griffin?¡¯

    ¡®Not that Griffin.¡¯ The surly girl lowered her voice. ¡¯Sirentown? Krydon firebreath?¡¯

    ¡®Oh, yeah,¡¯ Zana said, pretending to doubletake, before hitting both Gray and the surly girl with a grin. ¡®The summer festival drama. Thought you seemed familiar. Don¡¯t you have Wilde¡¯s enemy mark on your arm?¡¯

    Gray slid low in his chair, clapping a hand over his face.

    ¡®He¡¯s staying in the prison,¡¯ said the surly girl, missing the playful sarcasm in Zana¡¯s demeanour or perhaps not caring. ¡®He knows nothing. And he¡¯s dangerous. Get away from him.¡¯

    ¡®He came in with the king,¡¯ said Zana, an edge entering her voice for the first time.

    ¡®We all saw him come in with the king,¡¯ said the surly girl.

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    ¡¯So, he might know-¡®

    ¡®Master Drake,¡¯ called the surly girl, ¡®Zana and the Griffin boy keep talking. Aren¡¯t we supposed to be waiting in silence?¡¯

    Gray turned in his chair, raising his eyebrows at the surly girl. Her dark hair was immaculately twisted, and adorned with blue jewels. There was some kind of silk sash layered over her complicated mage robes, covered in runes.

    Ellery strode over, his robes billowing. It was hard to make out his eyes behind the gold mask with only the lantern light overheard to see by, but his shoulders were stiff.

    ¡®There¡¯s more than twenty high-ranking mage masters in the next room,¡¯ said Ellery, leaning close and his voice low and annoyed, ¡®along with the Grand High Master Mage, several military officers, and the king. They have asked you to wait in silence.¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ Zana muttered.

    ¡®Yes, sir,¡¯ said Gray, shifting uncomfortably.

    ¡®Gray, move,¡¯ said Ellery.

    Feeling slightly nettled that he was getting reprimanded when he¡¯d not been the one talking, Gray got up and wove his way through the crush of curious apprentices to stand by the dark window.

    The room was reflected in the glass, and Gray saw when one of the apprentices peeled himself away from the others. He strolled over, slow and deliberate, until he settled besides Gray.

    The apprentice leaned against the wall, his posture a study in cultivated indifference - shoulders slouched, ankles crossed just so, and a casual flick of his wrist to push aside his ornate robes that displayed a disregard for their value. They shimmered faintly, embroidered with threads of gold and blue.

    His elbow-length ashy hair was twisted back. In one hand he spun a wand - a sleek, slender thing of bone-white wood.

    ¡®Fi lets the power get to her head,¡¯ the boy murmured, his voice a bored drawl.

    Gray followed the boy¡¯s line of sight in the dark window pane. The surly girl - Fi - had claimed Gray¡¯s vacated seat. She sat with a prim, straight back.

    ¡®Fi was made champion of the apprentices,¡¯ said the boy, twirling his wand. ¡¯Now she thinks she¡¯s some kind of gift from the gods, and we mere mortals are all her subjects.¡¯

    Gray gave a small nod, not really understanding what the boy was talking about, being made champion of the apprentices. He eyed Ellery¡¯s reflection in the dark glass, unwilling to reply and risk being told off again.

    ¡®There¡¯s a bunch of the court in there,¡¯ said the boy, lowering his voice and sounding even more bored. And completely unaware that Gray¡¯s insides were slipping down to his toes. ¡®Everyone thinks we¡¯re getting presented. Pffft.¡¯

    Presented?

    The court.

    ¡®What happens when you¡¯re presented?¡¯ said Gray quietly.

    The boy shrugged. ¡®I don¡¯t know. Highly guarded secret, of course. But we¡¯re not getting presented.¡¯

    Gray let out a small breath, his shoulders relaxing.

    ¡®Mother told me it¡¯s some kind of test.¡¯ The boy cast a bored glance over the ground assembled in the room. ¡®I¡¯d say it¡¯s a recruitment of the best apprentices for one of the bigwigs, but Zana is here, and her magic stat is barely over 50, with the help of her team of ten tutors, so maybe not.¡¯ The boy scratched his nose.

    Gray barely registered how much the boy reminded him of the sneering rich kids that would pass through the tavern in Krydon. He stared blindly at the window.

    He couldn¡¯t pass any kind of test.

    He knew nothing about magic, he couldn¡¯t even use his magic, he couldn¡¯t access it properly.

    The boy held out his hand for Gray to shake. ¡®Archer Fernby,¡¯ he said.

    Gray hesitated and then glanced down to distractedly shake Archer¡¯s hand.

    ¡®Gray -¡¯

    ¡®Griffin, I know,¡¯ said Archer. He eyed Gray keenly. ¡®Wynn Griffin¡¯s son, right?¡¯

    ¡®Uh,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You can tell me,¡¯ said Archer. ¡®That¡¯s what everyone¡¯s saying.¡¯

    Gray frowned, clocking a group of Archer¡¯s friends, all watching from a distance.

    The silence stretched between them for long enough for it to become awkward.

    ''You can''t say, all right, I get it.'' Archer shifted, resettling his shoulders against the wall. ¡®You know, we need as many decent mages as we can get right now, you don¡¯t have to be in the prison, my mother can -¡®

    Whatever Archer¡¯s mother could do was lost as the doors opened.

    A severe-looking woman in black robes stepped out.

    ¡®Archer Fernby,¡¯ she called.

    Archer shot Gray a cool glance and then stepped forward. ¡®Here.¡¯

    ¡®Come with me, please.¡¯

    Gray sat down in the closest chair and watched Archer disappear through the doors.

    -

    Gray didn¡¯t know what kind of order they were calling the mages, nor did he know exactly what was going on in the next room.

    The apprentices were getting called in, one by one.

    And Gray was now one of the last people left. He gripped onto his chair as a flash of light bloomed through the crack of the door.

    None of the mages who¡¯d gone into the room had come out again - or if they had, they¡¯d gone out a different exit - because no one passed back through the office.

    Then, it was just Gray and Zana.

    She pulled a face at him, sitting cross-legged on her chair, completely unconcerned that Ellery was watching her with an annoyed tilt to his head, and that there was a series of muffled shouts from behind the door.

    The severe-looking woman came out of the doors and called for Zana.

    Then it was just Gray.

    Gray paced. He checked the window. It was warded. He paced more, ignoring Ellery and the other royal guards tracking his every move from behind their gold masks, and then,

    ¡®Gray?¡¯ The severe-looking woman held the door open for him. ¡®They¡¯re ready for you.¡¯

 89. The Pop Quiz

    Gray walked into the room, his heart hammering hard in his chest, and his prison-issue boots sank into the plush carpet as he forced one leg in front of another.

    The crowd was blurred.

    ¡®Gray Griffin,¡¯ someone said.

    ¡®Yes?¡¯ said Gray, shoving his trembling hands into his pockets to hide them.

    ¡®Stand at the front of the room, Griffin, by the trestle.¡¯

    A temporary trestle table was set up off to the side, with a bunch of stones, wands, and orbs similar to those used in the stat test. Gray eyed the trestle table nervously.

    He desperately didn¡¯t want to embarrass himself, not here, not in front of these people, and more than that, he didn¡¯t want to show himself as any kind of sorcerer-level danger when it came to magic.

    The king sat at the head of the table, a row of dark windows behind him. His arms were folded and his angular face was settled into cold contempt.

    Beside him was the Grand High Master Mage. He leant his elbows on the table, fatigue dragging his shoulders, and an angry red flush in his cheeks. His gold robes were splayed over his chair, and his bright eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

    ¡®You know how to use a cyngyrd?¡¯ said the Grand High Master, his voice vibrating with raw power.

    ¡®Thank you, Cyril,¡¯ said the king, shifting his cold gaze onto the Grand High Master - Cyril - as a lion might eye off a gazelle. ¡®I¡¯ll take it from here.¡¯

    ¡®You will not, sir,¡¯ said Cyril. ¡®This is my meeting.¡¯

    ¡®Your selection of apprentices and journeymen has been lacking,¡¯ said the king. ¡®And this one is not yours. He does not attend the guild.¡¯

    ¡®Precisely,¡¯ said Cyril. ¡®None of us know anything of his level of education or skill.¡¯ He dropped his powerful gaze onto Gray. ¡®Do you know how to use a cyngyrd?¡¯

    Gray hesitated, his pulse beating in his ears. He edged forward. ¡®Pardon?¡¯

    ¡®Cyngyrd,¡¯ said Cyril. ¡®You know how to use one?¡¯

    Gray hesitated again. He hated to ask for clarification a second time. At this point he was guessing the answer was no, he didn¡¯t know how to use a cyn-thingy, but before he could open his mouth, someone else spoke.

    ¡®Cyngyrd,¡¯ said a woman in a military dress uniform that Gray didn¡¯t recognise. She sat to Cyril¡¯s right. She leant back in her chair, her undereyes dark with fatigue.

    ¡®Wand, Griffin,¡¯ said a voice from the back of the group. ''They mean a wand.'' The voice was blunt and laced with exhaustion.

    Gray didn¡¯t react, but it was a close thing, as he clapped his eyes on the speaker.

    Jessica Pruitt.

    Jessica was at the back of the group. Her black hair was pulled back into its usual sleek bun, and despite the exhaustion in her voice, her posture was steely. Her uniform was perfect, buttoned up and pressed.

    ¡®I told you,¡¯ Jessica muttered, leaning forward to address the table at large, ¡®Killian said he¡¯s completely civilian-raised.¡¯

    ¡¯So,¡¯ said Cyril, ¡®you can¡¯t use a cyngyrd?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ mumbled Gray. ¡¯Sorry.¡¯

    ¡®Pick up the enchanted panyte then, Griffin,¡¯ said Cyril.

    Gray turned blindly towards the trestle, examining the different stones and orbs there. ¡¯The - what, sir?¡¯

    ¡®Panyte,¡¯ said Cyril.

    Silence stretched. It beat in Gray¡¯s ears.

    He felt himself flush. ¡®I don¡¯t know what that is, sir.''

    ¡®He hasn¡¯t been trained,¡¯ Jessica said impatiently.

    ¡®My point exactly,¡¯ said Cyril.

    ¡¯So we can¡¯t even test him,¡¯ someone said.

    ¡®It doesn¡¯t matter,¡¯ said Jessica.

    ¡®It does,¡¯ said Cyril. ¡®We¡¯re not sending in a lemming who can¡¯t even use a cyngyrd to defend themselves, into the eye of a death curse location. I¡¯m not having that on my conscience.¡¯

    Gray swayed. His breath left him.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    They were talking about Krydon.

    Death curse?

    ¡®How luxurious for you,¡¯ said Baldwin, ¡®to indulge such a thing as a conscience. What will your conscience say when an entire town within my kingdom is destroyed, not only by a vampiric sorcerer, but also by the death curse that¡¯s marked several key players of my military?¡¯

    ¡®Baldwin,¡¯ said Cyril.

    ¡®And what will your conscience say,¡¯ said the king, ¡®when news of this reaches our neighbours and enemies, placing the kingdom into further danger of attack when they know we are so weakened?¡¯

    Cyril pursed his lips, fixing his bright gaze onto the ceiling again.

    ¡®We need to get into that town,¡¯ said the king. ¡®We need master mages to be able to get into Krydon to work against the death curse. Before it seriously damages anyone in my army, and before it spreads. I can not do that while the vampiric sorcerer is there.¡¯

    ¡®And I suppose the burgfestean jar¡¯s last known location being in Krydon has nothing to do with this?¡¯ said Cyril.

    The king answered with a silence so dangerous that Gray¡¯s skin crawled.

    The king¡¯s magic was emanating from him, large and whisper-close to spilling out like a tsunami.

    Cyril sat, still as stone, the aged skin on his face still flushed an angry red.

    ¡®You would do well,¡¯ said the king, his voice like a shard of ice, ¡®to take care when you speak.¡¯

    ¡®Why would you think I have not measured every word?¡¯ said Cyril. ¡®I do take care.¡¯

    Very carefully, Gray took a step back. And towards the door.

    Because he could feel the fury of the king rising close to throat-slitting levels, and his magic was coming up with it. Cyril¡¯s magic was, in contrast, cold and controlled and pointed in a way that was no less alarming.

    The hair was up on the back of Gray¡¯s neck.

    His flesh was covered in goosebumps.

    The sensation of magic and wills was like suffocating smoke to him, and he drew in long and slow breaths of air, telling himself his lungs were working, that he was getting enough oxygen.

    ¡®Calm down, Baldwin,¡¯ said Cyril. ¡®You¡¯re scaring the boy.¡¯

    Gray glanced down at his hands, checking them for his worst nightmare - glowing skin, magic lighting him up - but there was no brightness.

    ¡®Gray,¡¯ said the king, ¡®check your vest.¡¯

    Gray fumbled with the laces on his vest, but they were secure, they were tight and neat.

    ¡®It''s OK, sire,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®There¡¯s no danger.¡¯

    There was an uncomfortable pause.

    ¡®When - when you saw me at the summer festival,¡¯ said Gray, his face flushed red, ¡®I - was drugged. I thought I was about to ... I - there were circumstances. You¡¯re safe, and I would tell you if I was close to feeling ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Uncontrolled?¡¯ supplied Cyril. He shot the king a pointed glance. ¡®I should hope so.¡¯

    ¡®I will be there, Grand High Master,¡¯ said Jessica, after another uncomfortable pause. ¡®There¡¯ll be no need for any apprentice to defend themselves. They will not be in any real danger. I¡¯ll take care of them.¡¯

    ¡®Forgive me,¡¯ said Cyril, ¡®but the vampiric sorcerer - has it or has it not, already killed three people? One of them being your soldier?¡¯

    Gray stood stock-still, his stomach twisted into one giant knot.

    ¡®He was Killian¡¯s soldier,¡¯ said Jessica. ¡®And the fact it only managed to get one of them - while Killian was mage-less - is a credit to him.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m not trying to discredit Killian Slate,¡¯ said Cyril coolly. ¡®I¡¯m pointing out the danger.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m aware of the danger,¡¯ Jessica said.

    ¡®This thing is crippling us in the north,¡¯ said another. ¡®We can¡¯t continue to lose our mages to it while we need them most.¡¯

    ¡®This is a waste of time,¡¯ said the king.

    The room fell into an exhausted and heavy silence.

    ¡®By all reports,¡¯ said the king, ¡®there¡¯s already been two sorcerers attempting to collect Gray. Correct?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Jessica. ¡®Maybe even it. It was definitely circling around. At the very least, it¡¯s a strong possibility we¡¯ll have Longwark fighting the vampiric sorcerer over this boy.¡¯

    They were talking about bait. For the vampiric sorcerer and Longwark to fight over a collection.

    Codder had passed on what Gray had found, he¡¯d talked to Killian, and Killian must¡¯ve talked to Jessica.

    The king settled back in his chair, folding his arms again. ¡®We did not need this lacklustre show of apprentices showing they don¡¯t have enough power to attract a collection. Not while, all along, I''ve been saying Gray¡¯s the perfect candidate.¡¯

    ¡®If he does get collected,¡¯ said Cyril, ¡®if this does go wrong-¡¯

    ¡®You think,¡¯ said the king, ¡®for one second, I would risk handing over this boy to anyone, let alone a sorcerer? Especially now, in the current climate? I¡¯ve told you, I will have several fail safes in place.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s heartbeat drummed in his ears. He stepped forward. ¡®I¡¯ll do it.¡¯

    The room fell still.

    ¡®Wait a moment, Griffin,¡¯ said Cyril. ¡®We¡¯ve very clearly established that you haven¡¯t been trained, you don¡¯t even know the correct mage terminology for a cyngyrd.¡¯

    ¡®Then I¡¯m perfect bait,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®They¡¯ll think I¡¯m an easy target. It¡¯s better to have a sorcerer underestimating us, isn¡¯t it?¡¯

    Cyril sat back slowly, his face a mask and his fingers steepled. ¡®It¡¯s not underestimating if it¡¯s assessing a genuine weakness.¡¯

    At the back, a group of three master mages were murmuring softly to each other.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®I want to do it. I¡¯ll do it.¡¯

    ¡®You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re agreeing to,¡¯ said Cyril.

    ¡®He¡¯s somewhat aware,¡¯ said Jessica, ¡®of the situation. I told you we don¡¯t need to endanger any of the other apprentices. Griffin has already been marked.¡¯

    ¡®All the more reason to keep him safe until he can be trained.¡¯

    ¡®We do not have time for any extensive training, Cyril,¡¯ said the king. ¡®I need this dealt with immediately.¡¯

    Cyril resettled his bright-eyed gaze onto the ceiling. ¡®Stat papers, Griffin?¡¯

    Gray wiped his trembling palms on his trousers. ¡®I - don¡¯t have them on me.¡¯

    ¡®His magic stat is 78,¡¯ said the king. ¡®Total score is 120.¡¯

    The woman in the dress uniform leant close to Cyril and whispered something in his ear. Then, she leant forward. ''Sire, did you say 78?''

    ''Yes,'' said the king.

    The room erupted in hissing whispers, it was a drone of blurred words that Gray couldn''t make out.

    Gray stepped forward again. ¡®Please let me do this. I won¡¯t let you down.¡¯

    The king cleared his throat.

    Silence settled over the room.

    Blood beat in Gray¡¯s ears.

    ¡®Gray,¡¯ said the king, ¡®go outside while we discuss this. The door behind you, there.¡¯

    Gray went out a side door, and stepped into what had to be the Grand High Master Mage¡¯s personal office. He got a brief impression of a handsomely large desk in the centre of the room, and a curved stone wall with generous windows, and stacks upon stacks of books.

    He stood stiffly outside the door, adrenaline sweeping through his body, and then pressed his ear to the carved timber. He strained his ears.

    ¡®Eavesdropping, kid? Really?¡¯ said a voice behind him. Concerningly close and softly dangerous.

    Killian was tucked against the far wall, next to three young kids who could only be the king¡¯s own children.

 90. No Wolf Fur Collar, No Stars, No Fancy Sword

    Killian seemed unsurprised to see Gray there.

    Gray paused at the sight of him and the three children, and then swiftly turned on his heel and started pacing, ignoring the youngest boy¡¯s relentless staring.

    The office was beautiful and cluttered, following the curve of the tower. Gray¡¯s eyes were drawn to the huge bookcase behind the handsome desk and a large portrait of a beautiful woman with fiery red hair.

    ''I''m getting the silent treatment, hm?'' said Killian.

    ''No,'' muttered Gray. ''I''m ...''

    ''Trying to eavesdrop?''

    ''Right, and it''s taking all my attention,'' Gray said, attempting a joking tone, but it fell flat with the force of a boulder dropped from one hundred floors high.

    ¡®Sit down, Gray,¡¯ Killian said.

    Gray paused.

    ¡®I¡¯m fine, thank you,¡¯ said Gray, awkwardly.

    There was a drawn-out silence, made more stark by the ticking of an antique clock by the desk.

    ¡¯Suit yourself,¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray took up pacing again, too anxious to even think of sitting down.

    From what Gray could see from the corner of his eye, Killian was dressed in normal clothing.

    No uniform.

    No fur collar.

    No stars.

    No gold or black details.

    And no fancy sword.

    Just a plain brown top with dozens of buttons and laces in the southern style, and a simple dagger stuck into the top of his polished boot.

    In the two weeks that had passed, Killian had completely healed and moved on from the imprisonment with the poachers. His shoulders were squared and there was high colour in his cheeks. And judging by the guarded glance he gave Gray and the edge in his voice, he¡¯d not moved on from the argument they¡¯d had right before he¡¯d dropped Gray off at the Dierne prison.

    Then, Killian averted his gaze as he watched the entry points of the office with his dark hair hanging in his eyes - the side door, the windows, the ceiling vent, and the door to the boardroom.

    He must¡¯ve been on guard for threats to the king¡¯s kids.

    ¡®Hi,¡¯ said the smallest boy brightly to Gray, completely unaware of the thick atmosphere.

    ¡®Uh,¡¯ replied Gray, ¡®hi.¡¯

    ¡®Bye,¡¯ said the boy, even more brightly.

    ¡®Bye,¡¯ said Gray, pretending to hide behind his hands. He dropped them. ¡®Oh, hi,¡¯ he said, in exaggerated surprise.

    The boy let out a delighted laugh. He had to be two or three, with the same silvery hair as Baldwin, only as wispy as dandelion fluff.

    His sister sat beside him, a couple years older, and pale as chalk. She swung her legs back and forth, her eyes a bright brown. She laced her pale hands underneath her face and leant forward to study Gray.

    The other kid was a stony-looking boy, a few years shy of ten, with the same pointed face as Baldwin, the same silvery hair, only his was short and slicked back from his face, emphasising a stark window¡¯s peak.

    Gray paced the office, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and fixed his gaze on the door that led to the boardroom full of mages and officers.

    He strained to hear what was going on, but couldn¡¯t distinguish any words properly through the door.

    After several minutes, Killian broke the ticking silence. ¡®Gods, kid, will you stop pacing?¡¯

    Gray halted, as close to the door as he dared, listening hard and ignoring the sharp sigh coming from Killian.

    ¡®You¡¯re really going to eavesdrop on a confidential meeting, right in front of me?¡¯ said Killian. ¡¯Sit down.¡¯

    When Gray stayed rigidly standing Killian shifted, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

    ¡®You met Kester and Laoise?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You seem to already be friends with Torryn.¡¯

    Gray let out a long breath and faced the three kids. ¡®Nice to meet you.¡¯

    ¡®You should bow,¡¯ said the stony-looking kid.

    ¡®This is Kester,¡¯ Killian said, patting the stony kid on the shoulder and looking like he was starting to enjoy himself. ¡®And you should bow.¡¯

    Gray wasn¡¯t in the mood to let anyone order him around, but he wanted them to be quiet so he could listen, so he gave a quick bow, before turning back to the door.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡®You bow like a peasant,¡¯ said Kester.

    ¡®King in, king out,¡¯ said the girl - Laoise. ¡®He¡¯ll emerge with a pout.¡¯

    Gray glanced at Laoise. ¡®A riddlespeaker?¡¯

    ¡®Looks like,¡¯ said Killian shortly. ¡®You going to sit or what?¡¯

    Gray shook his head, and before he was aware of what he was doing, began pacing again.

    ¡®You need to do what Killian tells you,¡¯ said Kester.

    ¡®The peasant is a present,¡¯ said Laoise. ¡®The king knows his fated foes, and the peasant present will strengthen his throws.¡¯

    ¡¯Well, peasant?¡¯ said Kester.

    Gray slowed his pacing. ¡®It¡¯s a little past their bedtime, isn¡¯t it?¡¯ he said to Killian.

    ¡®It¡¯s past yours, too, isn¡¯t it?¡¯ said Killian, leaning back casually, his mouth twitching. ¡®How old are you again? Twelve?¡¯

    Gray let out a disbelieving breath. ¡®I think that¡¯s your emotional maturity age, actually.¡¯

    Killian broke out into a broad grin.

    ¡®Ten years older than yours, then,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®That¡¯s why you get along so well with Torryn, hm?¡¯ He leant forward, his voice lowered, using his hands to gesture a balanced scale. ¡¯Same level.¡¯

    Gray pressed a hand over his eyes. ¡®OK.¡¯

    ¡®Kid, come on. You¡¯re high-strung as all hell. Take a seat, all right? Do your breathing.¡¯

    Gray eyed the chair Killian had nodded to.

    ¡®If Baldwin comes out that door and sees you loitering around, eavesdropping, you¡¯re going to get it. And I¡¯m going to sit back and laugh.¡¯

    Stiflly, Gray obeyed.

    ¡®You¡¯re a mess,¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡®You let yourself be seen in front of those people, like that?¡¯

    Gray hesitated and then shoved his hands back into his pockets.

    ¡®Those people have the power to grant you some clemency if you impress them,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You would¡¯ve done better to tidy yourself up.¡¯

    ¡®I thought you were fired,¡¯ Gray said.

    ¡®I am fired,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Why do you think I¡¯m babysitting at one in the morning and being shut out of that meeting?¡¯

    ¡¯Sounds like your normal work day to me,¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian leant back in his chair and gave an amaused huff. ¡®How about we talk about normal work days when you don¡¯t need fake stat papers to buy a beer.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re still working for him,¡¯ said Gray, side-eyeing Killian again, and keeping his tone very careful, because Kester, Laoise, and Torryn were listening raptly. ¡®You¡¯re minding his kids.¡¯

    ¡®And I¡¯m this close to being re-instated back to Major,¡¯ said Killian, straightening his shoulders. ¡®Anything else you¡¯d like to add?¡¯

    Gray shifted uneasily. ¡®No.¡¯

    Time crawled by.

    Then, ¡®You couldn¡¯t have tidied your hair or something?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I didn¡¯t have a lot of warning,¡¯ Gray muttered, irritation rising within him. ¡®I didn¡¯t know what I was walking into.¡¯

    ¡®You need to always be ready, regular hours mean nothing right now,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Presentation is important here. It''s important to him.¡¯

    Gray was retying his hair back as Killian adjusted his collar when the door opened, and the king stood in the doorway.

    The room beyond him was empty, save for Cyril pouring over a stack of scrolls at the large table.

    Everyone else had left.

    Gray bolted upright from the chair and waited for the king to say the verdict of the meeting.

    ¡®Escort Gray back to the prison, Killian,¡¯ said the king. He gestured for his three kids to go into the room, and they jostled with each other as they pushed past the king with zero regard for how volatile the king¡¯s temper could be. Perhaps the king reserved the worst of his actions for those not related to him.

    ¡®Return immediately, Killian,¡¯ said the king. ¡®I wish you to escort Kester, Laoise, and Torryn back to the consort palace once we¡¯re done here.¡¯

    The king began to retreat.

    Gray stepped forward, his heart hammering, because he knew he wasn¡¯t supposed to go running after the king, he wasn¡¯t supposed to talk to him without some kind of invitation, he wasn¡¯t supposed to look even him in the damn eye.

    But, Gray had to know.

    ¡¯Sir,¡¯ said Gray, folding into a low bow as the king paused. He could feel Killian¡¯s stunned stare on the back of his neck. ¡¯Sire. What did you decide?¡¯

    ¡®Not now, Gray,¡¯ said the king coldly.

    The king shut the door, and it clicked into place with a heavy finality.

    ¡®What does he mean, not now?¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian stared at him, aghast. ¡®Don¡¯t ever do that.¡¯

    ''Why wouldn''t he just tell me yes or no?''

    There was no confusion in Killian. Nothing in his expression except shock. He knew, he knew what the king was talking about, and he knew what the meeting was about and why Gray was there. It confirmed to Gray that Codder had spoken to Killian and that Killian had pulled the strings.

    Killian slowly raised his eyebrows. ''Why wouldn''t the king of a very powerful kingdom tell a gremlin-child-felon the outcome of a confidential meeting? Gods, let''s ponder this one long and hard, huh?''

    ''It involves me,'' muttered Gray.

    ''Well, maybe it doesn''t,'' said Killian. ''Maybe that''s your answer.''

    Gray''s heart dropped as disappointment filled him. ''He - said I was the perfect candidate.''

    ''Kid, being the perfect candidate doesn''t always get you the job. Welcome to the real world.''

    Gray kept his mouth pressed shut, staring at the carved oak door.

    ''They probably haven''t decided yet,'' said Killian. ''Look, they¡¯re going to choose you, let Jessica work her magic, it might take a day or two. You need to take a breath-''

    The door swung open.

    The king poked his head back over the door and waved Killian close.

    He whispered something to Killian and Killian stiffened, before nodding.

    The king gently clicked the door closed, and Killian glared at the oak panel of the shut door. Then, he swiftly turned his glare onto Gray.

    ¡®All right, kid, who was it? Who came to your cell?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s stomach plummeted down to his toes. Out of all the curve balls he¡¯d been anticipating, this was not on his list. Nowhere even near.

    Gray hunched his shoulders, trying to get his brain to switch gears.

    ¡®Was it Longwark, hm?¡¯

    Killian¡¯s mouth was set in a hard line.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray, offended, and beyond confused that he had no answer about going to Krydon. The king was the king. Feared. All powerful. If he wanted Gray as the one who went up to Krydon, then why wouldn''t he just order it?

    He shouldered through a side door and started down a set of spiralling stairs, not knowing where he was going, but he had to start moving otherwise he''d do or say something very stupid.

    Killian''s footsteps followed him, pad, pad, pad.

    ¡®You didn¡¯t manage to catch Longwark, then?¡¯ said Gray, straining to keep his voice steady.

    Killian forced Gray to come to a halt.

    ¡®Baldwin certainly thinks someone¡¯s been paying you visits,'' said Killian.

    ¡®I¡¯m allowed visitors-¡®

    ¡®You most certainly are not,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You¡¯re a high-security prisoner.¡¯

    Gray glanced over Killian''s shoulder, down the spiralling stairs. This was news to him. Codder must¡¯ve bribed some of the guards to be allowed in. Bob must¡¯ve been bribed. A lot of people were about to get into trouble.

    Gray did not want Bob to get the heat. And he absolutely did not want Codder to know he¡¯d been found out. Harriette and Barin were in enough danger as it was without a vengeful and pissed-off Codder being thrown into the mix.

    Well, more vengeful and pissed-off.

    ''Who was it, Gray?¡¯

    ¡®He - misinterpreted the situation.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s eyes grew huge. ¡®The situation?¡¯

    Gray clamped his mouth shut.

    ¡®What the hell is the situation, then?¡¯ said Killian, his voice low. His muscles were locked. ¡®You up to something, kid? You planning something?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray.

    Every battle scar on Killian¡¯s face was edged in steely anger.

    He tapped Gray¡¯s clammy forehead with his finger. ¡®But, you¡¯re fucking smart, aren¡¯t you? Those guards won¡¯t know what hit them. Let¡¯s look at your cell. Check it for smoking bowls or firework fire or lions in the sky.¡¯

 91. The Plan Is Theres No Plan

    They took the fastest carriage and went careening through the lamp-lit streets.

    Gray clung onto the seat, his knuckles white.

    He needed to come up with some kind of explanation because there was a large stack of books in his cell that Killian had deemed dark and messed-up when Gray¡¯d asked for them back in Krydon.

    ¡®Who do you know in Dierne?¡¯ said Killian, raising his voice to be heard over the clattering horse hooves and the wheels against the cobblestones.

    Gray frowned down at his white-knuckled grip as he fought to hang onto his seat.

    ¡®No one,¡¯ said Gray, doing everything to keep his voice steady, ¡®this isn¡¯t what you think.¡¯

    ¡®Look, kid,¡¯ said Killian, looking as though he was straining every muscle in his face to arrange it into a mask of calm, ¡®I know you, I know your particular skills. Your track record¡¯s not great. You better off telling me before we get to the prison. So, who was it and what are you planning?¡¯

    Gray dug his fingernails into the plush seat, staring hard out the window.

    This did not help, because the streets were plastered with Conor Griffin¡¯s wanted posters and recruitment messages for the military.

    And then, they raced past several charred ruins. They were cast in darkness, the street lamps blown out. Gray could feel that magic had been there, and it had been big.

    Sorcerer-level.

    A shiver ran down his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

    ¡®What happened here?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®What do you think happened?¡¯ Killian snapped. ¡®Are you going to tell me who visited you?¡¯

    Gray clamped his mouth shut as the view flying past the window changed back to lamp-lit streets with poster-lined brick walls.

    ¡®If you¡¯re allowing yourself to get manipulated, probably by some sorcerer that just freshly crawled out of the ground, if it¡¯s not damn Longwark-¡®

    ¡®Manipulated?¡¯ said Gray, straining to stay calm. ¡®Give me some credit.¡¯

    ¡®Look, kid, I¡¯m the one who¡¯s going to get the heat for it. I¡¯m already getting the heat for it. Baldwin was mad. You understand this?¡¯

    ¡®It has nothing to do with you,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®No one needs to take the heat for anything.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ve just talked Baldwin around to give me back my rank, my pay - he¡¯s even considering letting me choose my own team - because of the work I¡¯ve done on the vampiric sorcerer crisis, and if you vamoose in a puff of smoke with some ill-thought-out plan, like a raging idiot-¡®

    ¡®Would you blame me if I did?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®I would not blame you,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®But it would be colossally stupid, because there are several people working very hard right now to turn things around for you.¡¯

    Gray was surprised enough to be momentarily speechless.

    ¡®Who¡¯s trying to turn things around?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Several people,¡¯ said Killian bluntly. Angrily.

    ¡®That¡¯s specific,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Thanks, Killian.¡¯

    ¡®Jessica,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®And about ten officers are circling, because they¡¯d kill to have a novice on their team with your power, and they don¡¯t care if you¡¯re the damn son of a cyclops, not if you¡¯re agreeing to work with them, and you better believe they¡¯re in Baldwin¡¯s ear.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s anger seemed to be steadily increasing the more he talked.

    Gray grabbed onto the side of the carriage as they ran over a pothole, and he was glad to have something to do with his arms because he was feeling weirdly embarrassed.

    ¡®That¡¯s just the tip of the iceberg,¡¯ said Killian, glaring out the window. ¡®But, you can¡¯t mess it up by disappearing.¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s not the plan,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®What¡¯s the plan, huh?¡¯

    ¡®The plan is there¡¯s no plan.¡¯

    ¡®There¡¯s a lot on the line here, and so help me, if you disappear from that prison after I put you in there, Baldwin will have my head,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Who was it?¡¯

    Gray dropped his gaze to his knees, his chest tight.

    They were almost at the prison.

    ¡®You lasted how many days,¡¯ said Killian, his face furiously white, ¡®before you were captured by poachers and almost sold to the Othoans?¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m not planning an escape, OK? Have you seen that prison? There¡¯s no way.¡¯

    ¡®Gray.¡¯

    Gray hesitated.

    He couldn¡¯t talk to Killian. Killian was so close to blowing his lid already.

    Gray couldn¡¯t tell him about Codder, because Killian¡¯d probably go straight to Codder and - and Gray didn¡¯t want to think what Killian would do.

    Whatever he would do, Codder would for sure know that Gray had told.

    Barin and Harriette would be screwed.

    And Killian was so loyal to the king and kingdom. Gray didn¡¯t trust Killian not to punish Barin and Harriette for fleeing from the army.

    For hiding Gray for so many years.

    ¡®Gray?¡¯ said Killian.

    They pulled to a screeching halt outside the prison.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    ¡®Last chance to come clean,¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray stayed silent.

    Killian¡¯s jaw tightened. He kicked the carriage door open. ¡®Out.¡¯

    Gray climbed down from the carriage, his mind racing.

    ¡®In,¡¯ said Killian. He pointed to the reception. ¡®There.¡¯

    Gray had been to the prison reception once before, when Killian had dropped him off the first time, for Gray to be processed.

    The reception was brightly lit, with a smattering of prison guards lounging behind a large desk.

    The guards on duty flung themselves to attention.

    ¡®Major Slate,¡¯ said one, the colour draining from his face.

    ¡®Major Slate?¡¯ said the other, doing a doubletake.

    ¡®Visitor log?¡¯ said Killian.

    They gaped at him.

    ¡®Where¡¯s the visitor log?¡¯ demanded Killian.

    One of the guards rifled through the desk drawer and handed a tattered visitor log over to Killian.

    There were a tense few minutes as Killian flicked through the visitor log in silence.

    He must¡¯ve found nothing, because he flipped back and forth a few times.

    Then, Killian snapped his dark gaze onto the guards.

    ¡®Give me the name of Griffin¡¯s visitors,¡¯ he said.

    ¡®His visitors?¡¯ said one of the guards.

    There was an awful pause.

    ¡®In the prison you mean?¡¯ said the guard.

    Something shifted in Killian¡¯s bearing.

    A slamming down of one of his masks.

    A twisting tide, turning his energy.

    ¡®Give me the names of Griffin¡¯s visitors in the prison,¡¯ said Killian, his voice dropping, soft and serious. Dangerous. ¡®That clear enough for you?¡¯

    One of the guards backed up.

    Then, all the guards started speaking at once.

    ¡®We don¡¯t have that information off-hand-¡®

    ¡®We¡¯d need to check the files-¡®

    ¡®It might take some time, Major-¡¯

    Killian advanced around the desk. He slammed the closest guard hard against the wall, his forearm keeping the man locked in position. His bared teeth were an inch away from the man¡¯s ear.

    The other guards scattered.

    Gray had no idea what Killian said, but the man started stuttering the names of Gray¡¯s visitors.

    ¡®The royal guard Ellery Drake,¡¯ said the guard, his voice hoarse. ¡®Tom - Tom Smith-¡¯

    Killian dropped the guard.

    ¡®Who¡¯s Tom Smith?¡¯ Killian said. ¡®He¡¯s not in the log.¡¯

    No one moved.

    Two of the guards exchanged a glance.

    Killian raised his eyebrows.

    ¡®He ¡­¡¯ said one, his forehead beaded with sweat.

    ¡®Who is he?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®Tom Smith¡¯s a younger gentleman,¡¯ said one of the guards. His voice shook. ¡¯Dark hair. Dresses like he has money.¡¯

    Killian raised his eyebrows higher. It was the smallest of movements, but it made the guards start speaking in a cascade of voices and explanations.

    ¡®Kind of has a presence that makes your insides crawl,¡¯ said one.

    ¡®The boys have a bet going that he¡¯s some kind of Other,¡¯ said another.

    ¡®About so tall,¡¯ the first guard said, holding his hand up as a measurement. ¡®Has eyes that will give you nightmares.¡¯

    The guards stared at Killian, and Gray stared at the guards in horror, because they couldn¡¯t have chosen a worse way to describe Codder.

    Killian was utterly still. ¡®Where¡¯s Griffin¡¯s cell?¡¯

    ¡®Wait a second,¡¯ rushed Gray, ¡®Killian, I know how it sounds, but it¡¯s not a sorcerer-¡®

    ¡®Smith blackmailed us, Major,¡¯ said one of the guards, possibly panicking at the ugly look on Killian¡¯s face. ¡®You wouldn¡¯t believe it-¡®

    ¡®The threats, Major-¡¯

    ¡®- he promised to slice off my great uncle¡¯s thumb, Major, if I didn¡¯t cooperate, and I believed him, too-¡¯

    ¡®Where¡¯s this prisoner¡¯s cell?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Take me.¡¯

    Two guards grabbed up keys and led them through the dark and quiet prison.

    Until they arrived at Gray¡¯s cell.

    ¡®This is it, Major Slate,¡¯ said one guard, his voice low to avoid waking the sleeping prisoners.

    Killian stepped into the cell alone, and immediately grabbed one of the books stacked neatly by the bed.

    ¡®What the hell is this?¡¯ said Killian, holding the book up to Gray. ¡®Who got you these?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s heart was in his mouth. ¡¯Tom.¡¯

    ¡®Tom.¡¯ Killian¡¯s jaw clicked. ¡®Has Conor been visiting you, Gray?¡¯

    ¡®Conor?¡¯

    ¡®Has he?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray quickly. ¡®The guards will tell you - everyone knows his face now - Conor has not been here.¡¯

    ¡®Conor,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®can change his face. Temporarily. He can create illusions to look like people you know. Any half-competent master mage can do this, let alone someone like Conor. You need to be on your guard. You understand me?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray, his heart pounding. ¡®But it wasn¡¯t him.¡¯

    ¡®How do you know?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®can feel magic. It wasn¡¯t him. It wasn¡¯t any sorcerer.¡¯

    ¡®Brand new books,¡¯ said Killian, after a pointed silence. ¡®These would cost a lot. He¡¯s investing a lot in some kind of deal with you, hm?¡¯

    Killian threw aside the book.

    With a dark glance at the guards, Killian tossed the mattress and pulled apart the bedding. He moved onto the window, feeling around the border. Felt around the edges of the gate.

    He pulled up the lid of the toilet.

    Then, he felt behind the small sink.

    And pulled out the homemade piece of brown chalk.

    Gray¡¯s insides turned to ice.

    Killian held it up, so the guards could see. His voice was barely above a whisper. ¡®Which miserably foolish fucker gave this prisoner chalk?¡¯

    They gaped at Killian. The prisoners in the surrounding cells had woken at the ruckus of Killian tossing the cell, Gray could see their movement in the shadowy darkness.

    But when they¡¯d usually be hollering over their disturbed sleep, now they seemed to sense crawling danger. They seemed to sense the predator lurking underneath Killian¡¯s surface because it was quiet enough to hear the ragged breathing of the nervous guard holding Gray.

    ¡®We didn¡¯t, Major,¡¯ said the guard. ¡®We wouldn¡¯t. No man here would violate his duty.¡¯

    ¡®Not a Major right now,¡¯ said Killian softly. His tone made this small fact terrifying.

    A threat.

    ¡®Killian,¡¯ said Gray, feeling like he was about to throw up, ¡®I - made it. It¡¯s only to write with. I don¡¯t know how to do fahrenning or anything, you know this. There¡¯s just nothing to do in here.¡®

    Killian felt behind the basin again. He pulled out the small piece of limestone wrapped in dragon hide and the luna moth in the tiny jar. Killian held these up, too. The guards blanched.

    Killian stalked towards them. ¡®This is a high-security prisoner. Why does he have these items?¡¯

    ¡®We didn¡¯t-¡®

    ¡®We¡¯ve searched the cell every time we were instructed, Major-¡®

    Killian held up his hand, silencing them.

    There, right by the bigger guard¡¯s boot, on the floor. A cigarette stub.

    Very slowly, Killian trapped Gray with his glare.

    Gray dropped his gaze, his mouth pressed together, forcing himself to hold his ground as Killian stepped closer.

    ¡®Who visited you, Gray?¡¯

    Gray hesitated, his hands flexing.

    ¡®Do not tell me Tom Smith,¡¯ said Killian.

    Still, Gray held his ground. ¡®It¡¯s not what you think,¡® he said grimly.

    ¡®And what do I think?¡¯

    Gray darted a glance at the guards. Silence stretched.

    ¡®I want you to tell me his name,¡¯ Killian said.

    Gray¡¯s skin was beginning to get too hot. He was not going to light up in the damn prison. Not over this, not over Codder.

    Gray bowed his head and struggled with himself. He needed to flip this whole thing, he needed to get Codder as far out of Killian¡¯s mind as possible, because there was no scenario where Killian confronting Codder or being mad at Codder in any way would turn out well for Gray.

    Or for Harriette and Barin.

    But, no brilliant lie jumped to mind.

    His mind was coiled too tight. It was refusing to think beyond steadily building panic that Gray had screwed this whole thing up so badly.

    The stakes were getting too high, and he needed to think.

    But, he couldn¡¯t.

    Gray locked his jaw.

    ¡®Now is not the time for you to be stubborn,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You give me the name and I can help you.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s gaze flickered to the guards, and it was as dark as Gray had ever seen it, and his stomach twisted.

    ¡®The guards,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®didn¡¯t know-¡®

    ¡®These guards should know.¡¯ Killian¡¯s words rung through the prison, followed by a heavy silence. ¡®That is their job. Give me the damned name.¡¯

    Gray fisted his hands, blinking furiously. ¡®He¡¯s no sorcerer, OK? If that¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about.¡¯

    Killian was stockstill.

    Gray¡¯s palms were slick.

    ¡®I want some honesty from you,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I want you to tell me who¡¯s been sneaking you these things.¡¯

    ¡®No one.¡¯ Gray¡¯s voice was strong. ¡®I caught the moth - it came through the window. And that¡¯s just limestone from the window sill. And I used the dragonhide from my vest. See? And the chalk, I made it from limestone and salt - right? It was just to make chalk and a reading light. So I could write and read after dark. It¡¯s alchemy ¡­¡¯

    Killian¡¯s neck was strained. His dark hair hung in his eyes, his gaze guarded. Then, he strode across the cell and snatched up the books, one at a time, and threw them on top of the mattress which was lying haphazardly on the floor.

    Gray¡¯s list of the seventeen rituals fluttered loose, and it landed at Killian¡¯s feet like some kind of gently floating paper of doom.

    Killian tilted his head, reading the scrawled list.

    ¡®Oh, shit,¡¯ breathed Gray.

    ¡®You going to start talking?¡¯

    But, then, Killian paused with the king¡¯s alchemy book in his hand. He glanced up at Gray sharply. ¡®This is Baldwin¡¯s.¡¯

 92. Because Seventy-Eight Is A Little Higher Than Twelve

    Stunned shock was stripping away Killian¡¯s momentum. His fingernails dug into the cover of the alchemy book.

    ¡®When did Baldwin give you this?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®A while ago.¡¯

    ¡®Why did he give you this?¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®I¡¯m not sure.¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s been seeing you?¡¯

    ¡®Uh ¡­¡¯

    Killian waited for Gray to continue, motionless in the middle of the cell.

    ¡®He needed extra things,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®for the alchemic test. He came and got me.¡¯

    ¡®He came and got you,¡¯ Killian repeated softly.

    ¡®I ran into him when I was getting my new stat papers scribed.¡¯

    Killian waited a beat. ¡®And what was your score? Your magic stat? Twelve?¡¯

    Gray faltered, but there was no way around this, because it would be so easy for Killian to get his hands on the stat scores when he went back to the king, and, hell, even the prison guards already knew his magic stat.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray eventually, staring hard at the toes of his boots.

    ¡®What was it?¡¯

    ¡¯78.¡¯

    Silence rang.

    ¡®That¡¯s the base score?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray gave the slightest of nods.

    ¡®That¡¯s a little higher than twelve,¡¯ said Killian, his words loaded. ¡®Isn¡¯t it?¡¯

    Gray avoided his gaze. ¡®It¡¯s not out of the ordinary range.¡¯

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Killian tightly, ¡®if you¡¯re Clochaint.¡¯

    Gray continued to look anywhere but Killian¡¯s eyes.

    ¡®I¡¯ve never met a mage with a base score higher than fifty,¡¯ said Killian.

    ¡®It,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®happens.¡¯

    ¡®Well, we knew it was going to be high,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Didn¡¯t we?¡¯

    ¡®I guess.¡¯

    ¡®Total score?¡¯ commanded Killian.

    ¡®120.¡¯

    When Killian continued to stand there in thick silence, Gray drew in a deep breath and said, ¡®and the king came here tonight. To take me to the - meeting.¡¯

    ¡®He came and got you tonight?¡¯ Killian held a hand to his forehead, his dark eyes wide. ¡®He came here tonight and saw these books?¡¯

    Gray nodded.

    ¡®Gods, Gray. You¡¯re lucky he didn¡¯t burn your cell down.¡¯

    ¡®There¡¯s something wrong with these books?¡¯

    ¡®These books are evidence of his orders being disobeyed,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You - are - high - security.¡¯

    ¡®He,¡¯ said Gray, his throat dry, ¡®was quite calm.¡¯

    ¡®Quite calm?¡¯ Killian was utterly still. Then he began pacing, his hand gripping his hair. He tossed a side glance at Gray.

    Gray kept his mouth shut as Killian continued to pace. His footsteps echoed softly, pad, pad, pad.

    All the colour had drained from Killian¡¯s face.

    ¡®How does the alchemy test work?¡¯ Killian said. ¡®Can you predict a result early, or what?¡¯

    ¡®I - I mean,¡¯ said Gray fumbling for words and frowning because Killian didn¡¯t know something so basic, ¡®sometimes, yeah, you can see a transformation test beginning to change, and you¡¯ll have a good idea of the way it¡¯s going to turn out, but - I don¡¯t know about the test the king¡¯s doing, it¡¯s complicated, I don¡¯t know much about it. You don¡¯t learn this kind of transformation in school, I¡¯d have to study at the alchemy academy for years to be able to tell you-¡®

    ¡®It¡¯s not in his book?¡¯

    ¡®No, that¡¯s just some basic alchemy.¡¯

    ¡®Theoretically,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®he could know early? He could have some idea? He¡¯s talked to you about this?¡¯

    ¡®We haven¡¯t discussed that.¡¯

    ¡®And what have you discussed?¡¯

    ¡®Nothing,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I¡¯m making it sound like he¡¯s conversing with me ¡­ he¡¯s not, he just gave me the book because he thought I¡¯d be bored here.¡¯

    Killian¡¯s mouth was pressed into a hard line. His battle scars were faded in the lantern light. Then, he bowed his head, clutching the book. He placed it carefully onto the window sill, slow and measured, his back to Gray and the guards.

    ¡®Is that why he¡¯s been in a good mood for the past couple weeks?¡¯ said Killian softly. ¡®He thinks he knows already? The outcome of the alchemic test?¡¯

    ¡¯I,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®don¡¯t know.¡¯

    Frowning down at the floor, Killian rubbed his forehead. Adjusted his shoulders. Muttered an oath. Then, sharp, quiet, ¡®A magic stat of 78 is a very high starting point.¡¯

    Gray kept his mouth clamped shut.

    ¡®You know that, right?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®It¡¯s exactly two points from being classed as a dangerous base score.¡¯ He shook a finger at Gray. ¡®You need to be trained.¡¯

    Gray gathered his voice. ¡®Well, yeah.¡¯

    Killian was pale. The battle scars were stark on his face.

    ¡®He¡¯s treating you like you¡¯re Wynn¡¯s,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®He thinks you¡¯re Wynn and Cori¡¯s son. He thinks he¡¯s found a new Griffin mage to train up. A dueller.¡¯

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Gray faltered. ¡®Cori?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®Cori. Wynn and Cori. He believes you¡¯re Wynn and Cori¡¯s son?¡¯

    Gray lowered his gaze, shielding his expression. He¡¯d never heard the name Cori before, and something was crumbling within him at the sound of it, a memory flitting in and out of his mind faster than he could catch and hold it.

    ¡®Cori,¡¯ said Killian, his eyes narrowing, and edging closer, ¡®Cori was Wynn¡¯s wife.¡¯

    ¡®Oh.¡¯ Gray¡¯s voice was whisper-quiet.

    Killian edged closer, his brow deeply furrowed. ¡®Cori was the mother of Finnley.¡¯ He edged closer again. ¡®Finnley, the missing son. Wynn and Cori¡¯s son.¡¯

    ¡®I know what you¡¯re doing,¡¯ said Gray, leaning back. ¡®You¡¯re doing your wolf thing. Stop.¡¯

    Gray knew the name Finnley.

    He¡¯d seen it on the wanted and missing posters sent up to Krydon every year. Conor¡¯s had always been more prominent, but Gray was aware of the other missing Griffin kid - Finnley.

    For some damn reason, Gray felt wobbling in his chin, and he hurriedly rubbed his mouth, slamming one hundred mental shields in place.

    Killian held himself rigidly still. Then, he held his head in his hands. He muttered an oath, long and drawn out.

    ¡®Look kid,¡¯ said Killian, immovable and sounding distinctly uncomfortable. ¡®I think I¡¯ve fucked up. I think - maybe I¡¯ve fucked up really badly. I think maybe Baldwin was right to fire me.¡¯

    Gray was aware of the guards standing right beside him outside the cell, and the prisoners listening from the shadows. He was not talking about this here.

    And not with Killian.

    ¡®It¡¯s fine,¡¯ interrupted Gray.

    ¡®I understand this is a sensitive topic, and I don¡¯t mean to push, but I¡¯m going to ask you-¡®

    ¡®No.¡¯

    Killian tilted his head. ¡®No?¡¯

    ¡®You don¡¯t get to ask me - that.¡¯

    ¡®You know what I¡¯m going to ask you?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray.

    Killian was going to ask him if he was Finnley Griffin, and he was going to ask it point blank, with no wriggle room, because Killian thought he''d prodded at something, he''d made Gray react, and Gray was sick of being asked about who he was when he didn¡¯t know.

    He¡¯d told Killian this already.

    He¡¯d told him so many times.

    Killian held his hands up placatingly. ¡®OK.¡¯ Then, ¡®You¡¯re to have nothing to do with Codder from now on, OK?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s breath left him.

    Killian was still talking, he was waving his hand to dismiss the guards, and all the while, Gray was having an internal breakdown because he was so beyond screwed, Killian knew it was Codder, of course he knew.

    And the guards were walking away, their footsteps were fading down the corridor.

    And Killian was still talking, and Gray could barely breathe, barely think.

    ¡®¡­ Baldwin¡¯s treating you like one of his favourite mages. I knew it, I knew you were too familiar with each other in his office ¡­ He should¡¯ve knocked you flat for talking out of turn, but just not now, Gray, like you were one of his damn kids ¡­¡¯

    Killian clicked his fingers sharply in front of Gray. ¡®You listening?¡¯

    ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®Get in here.¡¯

    Gray stepped into his cell as though his legs were made of wood. ¡®Killian, you can¡¯t-¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯ll have nothing to do with Codder from now on,¡¯ Killian repeated.

    ¡®Right,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®I¡¯ll keep that in mind the next time I have the urge to track him down.¡¯

    ¡¯Stop sassing him, stop baiting him. You¡¯ll issue no challenge to him, am I clear?¡¯

    Gray let out a short breath. ¡®Challenge?¡¯

    ¡®You hate him.¡¯

    Silence settled around them.

    ¡®Am I clear?¡¯ said Killian.

    Gray glared hard at the small window, at the dark night sky. Killian wasn¡¯t in charge of him, but Gray knew it would sound stupidly childish to say this so he couldn¡¯t bring himself to utter the words.

    ¡®Save the attitude, kid. I¡¯ve seen men hate each other as much as you and Codder,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I know where this path can lead. It leads to duels, it leads to fights in the tournament ring, it leads to a big old mess.¡¯

    Gray shoved his hands into his pockets.

    ¡®Kid?¡¯

    ¡®I won¡¯t fight Codder,¡¯ said Gray stiffly.

    Killian, his movements controlled, laid out the luna moth jar, the chalk, and the limestone on the floor in front of Gray, right next to where he¡¯d thrown the books. ¡®What was the deal with Codder, hm?¡¯

    ¡®There was no deal-¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s playing you?¡¯

    ¡®No.¡¯ Words started spilling out of Gray¡¯s mouth, because if Killian already knew, if he was already adding everything together, maybe it was better to come clean. At least in part. ¡®He wanted information. Answers. About Krydon. That¡¯s all.¡¯

    Killian waited, his shoulders tense.

    ¡®He gives me the books I want,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®And I give him what I find. That¡¯s it. That¡¯s - it.¡¯

    ¡¯To pass onto me,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®What else? Hm?¡¯

    ¡®That¡¯s it.¡¯

    Killian held up his hands. ¡®Look, you need to be careful. Codder¡¯s not my man anymore. I don¡¯t have any power to pull him into line. I can¡¯t stop him if you¡¯ve entered some foolish verbal contract with him.¡¯

    But, Killian had barely ever pulled Codder into line even when he did have authority over him. Codder nearly always did whatever he wanted.

    ¡®How do you know if you¡¯ve entered a verbal contract?¡¯ said Gray, anxiety coiling inside his stomach.

    Killian pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a string of words under his breath.

    ''Killian, how do you know?''

    ''What wording did he use?'' said Killian.

    Gray pressed his fingers to his temples. ''I don''t - remember. I don''t remember.''

    ¡®All right, calm down. What¡¯s he got over you? Hm?¡¯

    Gray tried to collect himself. He had to collect himself. There was no other option. He lowered his voice. ¡®You can¡¯t tell him you know.¡¯

    ¡®What¡¯s he threatened you with?¡¯

    ¡®Promise me. Killian, please.¡¯

    Killian stared at him, his mouth in a hard line. ¡®I promise you.¡¯

    Gray felt his shoulders sag.

    ¡®I don¡¯t entertain blackmail or threats, kid. Nor should you. You really going to let him take all the credit for your work?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t care about the credit,¡¯ whispered Gray, ¡®I care about someone doing something about all this. Someone has to do something.¡¯

    ¡®Gray, believe me, I¡¯m doing something. I¡¯m not letting it go. I see through what I start, for better or worse.¡¯

    ¡®You were fired,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Yes, I was. It¡¯s not going to stick.¡¯

    ¡®You were really fired. It was bad.¡¯

    ¡®Are you kidding me?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®That was nothing, you should¡¯ve seen Baldwin after I lost the Old Town skirmish against Krupin.¡¯

    Gray just shook his head.

    Killian could downplay it, but the firing had been terrible. Gray had seen how rattled Killian had been.

    Killian ran a hand through his hair.

    ¡¯Now,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®what do you need? Hm?¡¯

    Gray stared at his boots, the words echoing hollowly within him.

    ¡®Gray?¡¯

    ¡®You - get made Major,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®can you put him back on your team?¡¯

    ¡®That dickhead,¡¯ said Killian abruptly. ¡®Baldwin gives me everything he¡¯s promised, you better believe I¡¯m choosing the strongest team I can muster. Codder¡¯s bloody excellent, I¡¯ve put a lot of time into him, but he needs to be able to obey me to even think of qualifying.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s mouth was dry.

    ¡®You going to come to your senses and stop dodging my questions? Tell me what his leverage is, kid, then we can figure out what you need to get you out of this mess.¡¯

    Examining the toes of his boots, Gray desperately tried to think through his options, of what was and wasn¡¯t safe to say to Killian.

    ¡®Gray. We need to get back to the guild. We have a lot to discuss with Baldwin.¡¯

    Gray teetered on the edge of telling Killian.

    Words tangled.

    His tongue wouldn¡¯t cooperate.

    Gray glanced at his closest neighbour. Listened to the sounds of prisoners shifting in their cells.

    Killian let out a sharp sigh. ¡®I trained my men until they were on another level. They had to be, to survive the work. But especially Codder. You try to sit at the adult table with him, kid, he¡¯ll make you the meal. Let me help you, hey?¡¯

    Gray breathed in. For four counts.

    Out.

    ¡®I¡¯m not mad at him, OK?¡¯ said Killian. ¡®You¡¯ll tell me now?¡¯

    But, Killian was mad at Codder, Gray could see it, feel it.

    Killian let out another sigh, but this one was long and controlled.

    ¡®I can teach you, so that this,¡¯ Killian tapped the books, ¡®doesn¡¯t ever happen again.¡¯ There was a long pause. ¡®Hm?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s insides turned to ice.

    Because Codder was right. Major has something in mind for you.

    ¡®I can teach you to fight,¡¯ said Killian. ¡®I can make you so formidable that no one will even try this crap with you. Not even Codder.¡¯

    There was no air in the room.

    Because if Codder was right about this-

    ¡®I get made Major,¡¯ said Killian, ¡®and you agree to be my novice, I¡¯ll get your total stat score up to three hundred within a year.¡¯

    Gray couldn¡¯t make himself look at Killian.

    ¡¯No,¡¯ said Gray, so quietly that Killian couldn¡¯t have heard him.

    But he did.

    Right,¡¯ Killian said tightly. ¡®Fine. That''s fine.¡¯

    He snatched up Gray¡¯s luna moth, chalk, and limestone wrapped in dragonhide.

    ¡®Grab your things,¡¯ said Killian, his face a guarded mask. ¡®Follow me. You¡¯re not staying here anymore.¡¯

    Gray faltered, paralysed.

    ¡®Or would you rather stay?¡¯ said Killian.

    This had to be a trick.

    ''Excuse me?'' said Gray.

    Killian stalked out of the cell.

    ''Leave the prison?'' said Gray.

    ''Yes, kid.''

    ''I''m allowed to do that?'' said Gray.

    ''You''re concerned about the rules, now?''

    ''I ...''

    Killian looked him dead in the eye. ''You coming?''

    Trick or no, Gray wasn''t going to risk missing out on the opportunity to leave.

    Gray collected up his books and followed Killian out of the prison.

 93. All Right, Who Invited These Two Sorcerers?

    Gray knew something was wrong a split second before it happened.

    He¡¯d been sitting opposite Killian in the carriage on the plush velvet seat, headed back towards the mage guild, the streets passing by in a hazy-lantern glow, stack of books held steady between his feet, when he felt the ripple in the air.

    The ripple was cold.

    An icy hand brushing over skin, an invisible and lightning-fast undercurrent.

    And identical to the feeling from the charred ruins he¡¯d passed on the way to the prison only a short time ago. Only fresher. Bigger.

    Gray opened his mouth, alarm making his voice strong, the hairs on the back of his neck on end, and got out the words, ¡®stop the-¡¯

    The world detonated.

    Gray was thrown inside the carriage as it teetered and then tipped over.

    He tumbled head over heels. The carriage skidded on its side. It continued to explode apart, there was fire in the air. Splinters rained down. Somewhere above him, Killian was moving. His hands grabbed the doorframe, his boots shoved against the wreckage. His voice cut through the roar.

    ¡®Stay, kid. Stay where I can see you.¡¯

    Gray coughed, choking on heat. The books - his books - were ash and fluttering scraps. His palms skidded against something wet.

    The street was raining debris. The carriage was wrecked, obliterated to charred ribs.

    Gray clutched onto shredded velvet. Damp sunk through his clothes. The fire was so strong it was blinding. All Gray could make out was a single silhouetted dark figure with a wand, and Killian¡¯s silhouette stalking towards them.

    There were more explosions. The ground lurched. Gray forced himself to move, belly-crawling out from the debris, his body sluggish with shock.

    And stopped.

    Someone stood in front of him.

    Gray hadn¡¯t heard anyone approach. Hadn¡¯t seen them. One second, empty space. The next, boots planted on the cobblestone, blocking his path.

    This was no dark silhouetted figure with a wand.

    Gray¡¯s skin broke out into goosebumps.

    Their boots were huge. Close enough for Gray to see hyper detailed. Frayed laces. Scuff marks on the toes. Ash drifted onto them.

    Gray looked up, up, up, up heavy-duty canvas pants, up several layered belts and harnesses for axes, daggers, potions. A wand strapped to a wrist holster. Gray¡¯s gaze climbed up. Up a sweat-damp, unkempt, northern-style shirt. Blue rune tattoos on the neck.

    Gray¡¯s gaze landed onto Longwark¡¯s face.

    Longwark¡¯s hair was wilder than Gray had ever seen it. His glasses were cracked.

    Branbright¡¯s crow was on his shoulder, puffed up from fright.

    Longwark¡¯s mouth moved, but Gray heard nothing except for a high-pitched ringing in his skull. The fire warped everything, air and light and sound. The sensation of magic in the air was rough, it hit Gray like a current of static, crawling under his skin and pulsing in his bones.

    Then, Longwark¡¯s hand fisted the front of Gray¡¯s dragon-scale vest, hauling him up like a sack of grain.

    He dragged Gray away from the wreckage. Away from the explosions. Away from the sorcerer now battling Killian in a brutally fast and vicious fight - magic was flying, white hot, but Killian was faster, he was dodging, he had the sorcerer, his hands were on the sorcerer¡¯s neck - until Longwark jerked Gray around the street corner.

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    Gray¡¯s back smacked against a brick wall.

    They were in a wide lane.

    Metal shop across from him. A swinging shingle for a herb specialist above him. Smoke curled in from the exploded street, it illuminated the surrounds in flickering orange light.

    Longwark was fumbling with chalk from his belt, he was drawing a circle on the cobblestones with startling speed.

    The brick was rough against Gray¡¯s back. His heart was in his mouth.

    Longwark said something again, but Gray couldn¡¯t hear, there was still roaring ringing in his ears.

    But, he did hear the-

    CRACK

    -

    CRACK.

    Gray landed hard, his palms scraping on stony ground, and the scent damp grass and leaf litter mixing with the lingering scent of smoke and charred ruins that had come through with Gray and Longwark.

    Shaking his head to clear his vision and stumbling to his feet, Gray saw he was in the mouth of some sort of cave in the side of a mountain, overlooking the nightscape of Dierne in the distance.

    The dark silhouette of trees and brush lined the mouth of the cave.

    Gray¡¯s clothes, hair, skin, stunk of smoke. He stared down at his trembling hands, which were blackened and dirty and covered in splinters.

    Behind him, Longwark had already righted himself, lit several lamps with his wand, and was now fussing through a desk drawer. There was a full house set up inside the cave, complete with a tattered armchair with the stuffing coming out of the side, and a dining table with mismatched chairs.

    It looked like Longwark had settled in this cave for some time.

    There were the remains of a solitary dinner on the dining table - meat pie and mashed potatoes turned cold, wild strawberries, ale in a tankard - and laundry hung over a line strung from two jutting bits of rock.

    Longwark pulled an orb from the drawer and strode over to Gray, holding the orb over his head. He seemed to be waiting for something from the orb, because after a minute, he pocketed it, and pulled out his wand.

    Longwark did something to Gray with his wand, and Gray could hear again.

    ¡®You have trackers?¡¯ Longwark asked in northern.

    Gray stared at him.

    At all seven-foot-seven angry and dishevelled sorcerer.

    It had been a while since Gray¡¯d used northern, and that, along with his mind trying to make sense of what had just happened, was causing a stall in Gray¡¯s thinking.

    ¡®Boy, you have trackers? The army or the guild or palace gave you trackers?¡¯

    ¡®No,¡¯ replied Gray in northern, numbly. ¡®I don¡¯t think so.¡¯

    ¡®Negligent of them.¡¯

    Longwark whispered to his crow, and the crow took off, flying into the dark and stormy night sky. He unhooked his various harnesses holding his axes and potions, placing them on the desk.

    ¡®Killian¡¯s going to be angry,¡¯ said Gray. So angry. ¡¯The king¡¯s going to be very angry.¡¯

    ¡®Yeah,¡¯ said Longwark. He dusted ash off his sleeves, his thick eyebrows drawn into a frown. His blue run tattoos over his eyebrow shifted as his frown grew deeper. ¡®Probably. He has a lethal temper. He''ll need a decent amount of time to cool off.¡¯

    Was Longwark scared of the king?

    ¡®Very, very angry,¡¯ said Gray.

    There must¡¯ve been something in Gray¡¯s expression that Longwark didn¡¯t like because he sharply adjusted his wand in his holster. ¡®I just saved your sorry skin,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®The proper response would be gratitude. Or grovelling.¡¯

    ¡®Saved?¡¯

    Gray waited for Longwark to explain what had happened, and what they were doing there.

    But Longwark just sank down into the tattered armchair. He reached for a broken puzzle ball that had been sitting on the cave ground.

    Gray stared at him.

    What just happened? Gray wanted to say.

    He couldn¡¯t get the words out.

    He could barely breathe.

    His fists trembled.

    His mind was a boiling turmoil of what had just happened, of Killian and the sorcerer fighting in the street.

    He glanced behind him at the opening of the cave, at the twinkling lights of Dierne.

    ¡®There¡¯s a storm coming tonight,¡¯ said Longwark, his expression shuttered. ¡®By all means, leave, and get caught in gale force winds, lightning, and rain so heavy it¡¯ll sting your skin. There might even be hail.¡¯

    Gray eyed the sky.

    Clouds were coming.

    The air was changing.

    And it felt cold.

    Burning.

    ¡®What are we doing here?¡¯ said Gray. He kept his voice level. Barely.

    ¡®Hiding,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®Waiting.¡¯

    ¡®For what?¡¯

    Longwark grunted, twisting the puzzle ball between his fingers.

    Gray waited for a reply.

    And waited.

    ¡®Killian,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®the king, they¡¯ll think I was in on this. They¡¯ll think we planned this together. To escape. They think I helped you with the jar-¡®

    ¡¯Slate is a halfwit,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®And they don¡¯t think that any more.¡¯

    ¡®What?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®I told the king,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®the reason your face was on that Othoan wanted poster was because I used an illusion of you, to distract the Othoan guards while I entered their vaults.¡¯

    There was a callousness to Longwark¡¯s words. A dismissiveness.

    Like this was a passing fact.

    Unimportant.

    Gray¡¯s joints were locked. His knees were fused. His jaw wouldn¡¯t work.

    ¡®You need to be more careful about who has access to your hair,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®It¡¯s easiest to create a full functioning illusion from mage and Other hair. A perfect little phantom, wearing your face. I wonder how many of you are walking this world already?¡¯

 94. When Anger Equals Agency

    Longwark glanced up, for the barest second. His blue rune tattoos were stark in the lamplight of the cave. Then he dropped his attention back down to his puzzle ball.

    Gray wrenched his jaw open. ¡®You what?¡¯

    Longwark continued to play with the puzzle ball. Boiling heat was tearing through the shock within Gray. He stalked over and snatched the puzzle ball out of Longwark¡¯s hands.

    Gray was fast enough that Longwark didn¡¯t pull it out of the way in time, Longwark barely had time to move, except to twitch his eyebrows as he glanced up.

    Gray pegged the puzzle ball out of the cave. Hard.

    Weeks ago, Gray would never have dared.

    Longwark was notoriously volatile. Gray was all about control. Longwark was big enough to swat away a full grown man with one hand. Gray was small and skinny.

    Gray didn¡¯t damn well care.

    ¡®What - are - we - doing - here?¡¯ said Gray.

    And Longwark was still damn sitting there, comfortable, relaxed. He¡¯d been here, this whole time, eating freaking meat pies and potatoes and piles of strawberries. He was acting like they weren¡¯t in some damp, dark cave up a mountain in the south, like they weren¡¯t a million miles from home and everything they knew, like Gray hadn¡¯t been through hell, like Alistair had never died, Rowan, too.

    Like him kicking Alistair out of the advanced alchemy final hadn¡¯t tipped Alistair over the edge into running away.

    Like he¡¯d not brought the soldiers to Krydon.

    Like he¡¯d not started this whole damn nightmare.

    Like he felt nothing.

    No remorse. No guilt. No shame.

    A switch flipped inside Gray.

    A pitch black fury like Gray had never felt was flying through him.

    ¡®What am I doing here?¡¯ The words were screaming through Gray. His throat was tearing.

    Anger was shifting through Longwark, Gray could see it, he could see the fast building of Longwark¡¯s famous temper, and Gray was angry enough to be glad to see it, because he was damn ready, he¡¯d fight this man.

    He¡¯d kill him.

    ¡®Why did you steal their stupid jar? Why did you bring it to Krydon? WHY DIDN¡¯T YOU JUST GIVE IT TO THE SOLDIERS?¡¯

    And Longwark didn¡¯t even answer; he sat in his armchair, his temper visibly rising, staring at Gray like Gray was being unreasonable.

    Gray launched himself at Longwark.

    Longwark struck out to throw Gray back, but Gray dodged, his boots skidding on the damp cave floor.

    Gray landed on Longwark with enough force to knock him out of the armchair and they rolled onto the ground. The chair tipped on top of them. They scuffled.

    Raw anger gave Gray strength, speed. His internal walls were smashed around his magic, and it was lighting up his skin, the cave, the side of the mountain.

    ¡¯STOP,¡¯ Longwark shouted.

    Longwark was on top, but the chair had knocked him off balance, and Gray slithered free, Longwark¡¯s wand in his hand.

    The wand zapped with static.

    It prickled like water filled with electric eels.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Gray didn¡¯t care. He didn¡¯t care if the wand contained lightning. He was angry enough not to care about any pain.

    He pointed it at Longwark.

    Right at Longwark¡¯s chest.

    Gray was flat on his back, both hands on the wand, and hot, uncontrolled power bursting through him.

    Gray could barely see for the light. It was unbearable. Raw.

    Longwark was on all fours. He reached out a huge hand. ¡¯Stop.¡¯ He was angry, his face was deep red.

    ¡®I don¡¯t think I will, thanks,¡¯ said Gray. His hands shook.

    His whole life, Gray had refused to so much as touch a wand. This one was solid, rough. Like Longwark had walked up to the closest tree and snapped off a twig.

    ¡®You don¡¯t know how to use that, do you?¡¯ said Longwark.

    ¡®Can¡¯t be too hard,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®It will be,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®while you¡¯re having a flare.¡¯

    ¡®Then why are you scared?¡¯

    Longwark¡¯s ice grey eyes slid to the side. His mouth was twisted in contempt. ¡®You don¡¯t go picking up another¡¯s wand without permission. It¡¯s uncomfortable, yes?¡¯

    Gray drew in a shuddering breath.

    ¡®By all means,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®have a go.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s hands shook harder.

    ¡®I¡¯ll even tell you the words to say,¡¯ said Longwark.

    ¡®You want to try your reverse psychology somewhere else, Longwark. I was trained in this battle strategy bullshit at the same school as you.¡¯

    ¡®You were trained in axe fighting at the same school as me, too, but you¡¯re nowhere near the same level I was at your age.¡¯

    Longwark started to move.

    ¡®No,¡¯ snarled Gray.

    Longwark slowed, but didn¡¯t stop.

    ¡®Back up,¡¯ said Gray.

    Longwark was inching closer. Gray¡¯s flare was dipping. The magic was fading, it was water quickly swirling back down a drain.

    ¡®Back the hell up,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I want you in the middle of the room, hands up. I mean it.¡¯

    ¡®You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing.¡¯

    ¡®Really?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I¡¯m holding your cyngyrd. You can¡¯t do wandless magic. You have no weapons.¡¯

    Longwark stopped. His wild hair obscured his vision for a second as a strong, cold wind whipped in through the cave mouth. His hands clawed into the cave floor. ¡®Oh,¡¯ said Longwark delicately. ¡®They¡¯ve taught you a word.¡¯

    ¡®I want answers,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®I only answer my king,¡¯ said Longwark.

    ¡®You will answer to me.¡¯

    ¡®Put down my wand,¡¯ said Longwark.

    Gray tightened his grip on the wand and swiftly stood up.

    Pressed the end of the wand to the centre of Longwark¡¯s forehead.

    Longwark¡¯s intense gaze narrowed. ¡®Ask your question, then.¡¯

    He said it like they were in class, like they were in the alchemy lab at school, and not inside a dark cave filled with mismatched furniture and he was being held at wand tip.

    ¡®What the hell was that in the street,¡¯ Gray demanded, ¡®what just happened?¡¯

    ¡¯That,¡¯ said Longwark, his upper lip curled, ¡®is unimportant. Ask a better question.¡¯

    ¡®Humour me.¡¯

    Heat shot through Gray, and he felt it aim straight for the wand, like lightning going for the metal spire on a tower.

    Longwark flinched. His face darkened.

    ¡®You think,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®you¡¯re any scarier than everything else I¡¯ve faced in my life?¡¯

    ¡®I think,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®you haven¡¯t come this far to be killed by a fourteen-year-old in a cave.¡¯ Gray pressed the wand against him harder. ¡®I also think, if I were in your position, answering an unimportant question is worth less than my life. But, that¡¯s just me.¡¯

    Longwark glared up at Gray.

    ¡®That was a sorcerer called Rikkie,¡¯ muttered Longwark through clenched teeth. ¡®He likes to blow up carriages. He likes to blow up anything. He likes the mayhem.¡¯

    Gray adjusted his grip on the wand. Longwark eyed him, his nostrils flared.

    ¡®I - ah - was aware,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®you were riding back to the guild in the royal carriage, and I knew Rikkie was waiting. I was too late to intervene. But not too late to haul you out of danger.¡¯

    ¡®Why?¡¯

    ¡®Why what?¡¯

    ¡®Why are you hauling me out of danger? You don¡¯t give a shit. You don¡¯t care.¡¯

    Longwark was completely motionless.

    ¡®You used an illusion of me to steal from Othoa,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®you didn¡¯t care about the danger then, and that was a huge part of the reason why I - why they thought I was your apprentice. A sorcerer. That put me in huge danger.¡¯

    ¡®The Othoans are morons,¡¯ muttered Longwark. ¡¯They have almost no mage population, they know almost nothing about magic, they don¡¯t know how to spot an illusion when they see one. To this day they don¡¯t know it was an illusion they were chasing.¡¯

    Gray dug the wand in hard. ¡®Not what I asked.¡¯

    Longwark locked his intense ice-grey eyes onto Gray.

    ¡®I do what I have to, to succeed in my orders,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡¯The Othoans are aware of Conor. Your face is similar enough to Conor¡¯s that I knew they¡¯d throw every Othoan guard into chasing you through that palace. It worked perfectly. Sometimes I have to make difficult choices. It''s called being an adult.¡¯

    ¡®Orders?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Everything would¡¯ve been fine, there would¡¯ve been no real danger to you if the Blodrinka Dry hadn¡¯t been released, if Slate hadn¡¯t come-¡®

    ¡®Who¡¯s giving you orders, Longwark?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s mind was reeling, it was bombarded with a million thoughts, questions, sharp as knives.

    What the damn was a Blodrika Dry?

    And Longwark was skirting questions. There was information he did not want to share. But, one at a time, Gray told himself. And sorcerers get in your mind and mess with it, Killian had once said. Gray had to be careful.

    He breathed in slow. Focused.

    ¡®Who¡¯s giving you orders?¡¯ Gray repeated.

    ¡®They really told you nothing, Griffin?¡¯

    Longwark¡¯s gaze fell to the exposed X on Gray¡¯s wrist.

    It was the smallest movement.

    Fast.

    But, Gray caught it.

    ¡®You tell me, then,¡¯ said Gray.

 95. This Is Not A Man Who Just Answers

    Longwark started talking, and Gray was aware, at the fringes of his mind, that this was too easy.

    Longwark was not a man who just answered.

    He never gave anything away.

    Yet, here Longwark was, apparently spilling his guts.

    Longwark was working against Wilde.

    There was a group of sorcerers also working against Wilde. Working together.

    Branbright had been one of them, regardless of the rumours surrounding him. He was no agent of Wilde¡¯s.

    Gray listened, the wand hot in his fist, eyeing Longwark, and then the mouth cave. It was dark out there. The wind made shadows slither.

    Hiding, Longwark had said, initially. Waiting.

    Waiting for what?

    A glance around the cave told Gray that Longwark had left there in a hurry to go pull Gray from the carriage. Gray¡¯s gaze hovered over the abandoned meal. Then, the papers strewn over the desk.

    Books.

    Maps.

    Weapons.

    ¡® ¡­ I had information that Wilde was about to target the Othoan palace,¡¯ Longwark was saying. ¡®To steal something there ¡­¡¯

    Gray''s attention snapped back to Longwark.

    ¡®I knew,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®I had to do everything within my power to stop this from happening.¡¯

    Longwark kept speaking, and Gray listened, his chest coiled tight, and fury still pounding through him. Longwark might be buying time for something. But Gray could use that time to gather what he could and then - what? Actually kill Longwark?

    He wasn¡¯t going to kill Longwark.

    Was he?

    But, one wrong move from Gray, and Longwark would have a chance to overpower him, and the choice would be out of his hands.

    Gray kept his feet planted on the cave floor, his heart beating hard.

    ¡® ¡­ I waited for the Othoan border wards to be lowered in preparation for the admittance of Sorena Auguste for the wedding,¡¯ Longwark said. ¡®I snuck into the palace, used an illusion of you to send the guards on a chase, and went to the vaults and took what I needed. Before Wilde could ¡­¡¯

    Gray edged towards the desk. Towards the mess of books and maps. Towards a letter addressed to Longwark, covered in the same blue runes as his tattoos. Towards a book on curse marks, and a Conor Griffin wanted poster.

    And Longwark noticed. His eyes tracked Gray''s every move.

    Gray stilled, tightening his hold on the wand, fully focusing on Longwark.

    ¡®I did everything I needed to,¡¯ said Longwark, his lips curling. ¡®Everything was seamless. I handed the jar over to my colleague Emeric, to take to the king. To be locked into the vaults here. Far beyond Wilde¡¯s reach. But, Emeric and I were called to fight the mountain griffin before this could happen. And the jar was stolen.¡¯

    ¡®And now it¡¯s gone?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Who stole it?¡¯

    ¡®Now it¡¯s hidden,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®As I told you, in Krydon.¡¯

    Gray flickered the quickest glance back at the desk, doing his best to commit everything to memory. He couldn''t trust Longwark, but he could trust physical clues and evidence.

    Blue runes, curse marks, Conor Griffin.

    Longwark had been not only keeping tabs on Gray, he was keeping tabs on Conor, too.

    Stolen story; please report.

    ¡® ¡­ Branbright retrieved it,¡¯ Longwark said, ¡®and placed it in one of the tombs for safekeeping. That tomb has so much protection in place it makes the Blodrika Dry look like child¡¯s play. No one¡¯s getting it. Branbright saved Lismere, by putting it somewhere not even Wilde will be able to reach it. But, the king needed to be alerted, I needed to explain ...¡¯

    ¡®Why would Branbright save Lismere?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®He wasn¡¯t interested in saving Lismere,¡¯ said Longwark. ¡®But he did.¡¯

    Gray hesitated. His grip on the wand was furious, but the flare had made him sweat and his hold was slipping.

    Longwark noticed.

    Of course, he did.

    Gray clocked the movement a fraction of a second before it happened - Longwark¡¯s shoulders bunched, his elbows bent, his hands pressed into the ground -

    Gray didn¡¯t think. He slammed his foot down on the loose fabric of Longwark¡¯s sleeve that was trailing on the ground, pinning him.

    Longwark stilled.

    Silence stretched between them.

    ¡®Blodrika Dry is the vampiric sorcerer?¡¯ said Gray.

    Longwark¡¯s mouth twisted. ¡®You want to be careful saying that name. Or any variation of it.¡¯

    ¡®Why?¡¯ said Gray.

    Longwark¡¯s glittering grey gaze darted to the mouth of the cave.

    Fear jumped up Gray¡¯s throat.

    ¡®What are we waiting for?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Where did you send your crow?¡¯

    ¡®I didn¡¯t send the crow anywhere,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®she chooses to go, or she doesn¡¯t.¡¯

    ¡®What are we doing here?¡¯ demanded Gray. ¡®Are we waiting for someone?¡¯

    A muscle twitched in Longwark¡¯s tattooed temple.

    ¡®Who is it?¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ve had enough of you asking questions,¡¯ said Longwark.

    Something clunked into place in Gray¡¯s mind.

    The storm.

    The burning in the air.

    It didn¡¯t feel right.

    Gray adjusted his grip on the wand, and he stepped back, away from the mouth of the cave. He kept the wand pointed steadily at Longwark.

    ¡¯This is a sorcerer¡¯s storm,¡¯ said Gray.

    Longwark slowly clapped, a sarcastic expression of being impressed on his face.

    A sorcerer was coming to the cave.

    Or they were hiding from one.

    Gray strode forward and thrust the end of the wand back onto Longwark¡¯s forehead. It dug into his skin.

    Longwark stopped clapping.

    ¡®Who is it, Longwark?¡¯

    Silence.

    ¡®Perhaps I¡¯m not making this clear enough,¡¯ Gray said. ¡®I will kill you. You tell me.¡¯

    ¡®Go on, then,¡¯ said Longwark.

    Fury hammered within Gray.

    Longwark let out a bitter laugh.

    ¡¯This cyngryd,¡¯ said Gray darkly, ¡®it¡¯s not sharp. It would hurt a lot if I stabbed it - in your eye, maybe?¡¯

    ''Graphic,'' said Longwark. ''I''ve taught you for years, I know you''re not going to-''

    ¡®Who?¡¯ said Gray.

    A freezing gust of wind whipped through the cave. Leaf litter scuttled into the cave, swirling. The gust sent Longwark¡¯s laundry flying, it tipped over one of the mismatched dining chairs. It picked up a bunch of maps and papers from the desk.

    The wanted poster of Conor Griffin landed right at Gray¡¯s feet.

    Ice slammed his veins. The anger within him dissolved.

    Longwark¡¯s face deepened from a sudden flash of lightning. ¡®I did not invite Conor here,¡¯ he said, his tone guarded.

    There was a deafening crack of thunder.

    ''You invited someone?'' Gray muttered, his lips numb.

    Longwark glanced at the cave mouth again. ''A colleague. They want to meet you.''

    ¡®Who is coming, Longwark?¡¯

    Gray could feel the power in the storm more clearly now, and this was not a friendly magic. It was cold and uncomfortable. Deeply ruthless.

    This was a sorcerer as Kilian had always described them. Vicious. Inhuman.

    ¡®Is Krupin here?¡¯ said Gray.

    But, it couldn¡¯t be. Krupin couldn¡¯t get through the border wards, and he was with Wilde, everyone knew Wilde was Krupin¡¯s protege, they were together. Longwark had just spent the past few minutes saying he wasn¡¯t with Wilde. Longwark wouldn''t have sent the crow out to bring Krupin.

    ¡®WHO?¡¯ shouted Gray.

    But, Gray could see, he could shout all he wanted, but Longwark wasn¡¯t going to answer, and even if he did, Gray couldn¡¯t trust him to be honest.

    Thunder cracked.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Longwark.

    ¡®No?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®No, it¡¯s not Krupin?¡¯

    ¡®No, you don¡¯t do what you¡¯re thinking of doing,¡¯ said Longwark.

    Gray¡¯s pulse thrummed.

    In the split second Gray weighed his options - not many, really not many, because he couldn¡¯t do magic, he couldn¡¯t fight, he was here alone with Longwark who never gave a straight answer and didn¡¯t care about anyone - another flash of lightning lit up the sky.

    ¡®You¡¯re an inch away from fleeing,¡¯ said Longwark, ¡®I really recommend you don¡¯t-¡®

    Gray kicked Longwark - brutally fast, brutally hard - under the chin and ran.

    He was running out of the cave before he knew what he was doing, before Longwark even had time to recover.

    Longwark wanted him to stay? Screw that, Gray was getting the hell out of there.

    He¡¯d lingered too long already.

    He dropped Longwark¡¯s wand, the wand was useless, and he needed his hands as he crashed through the trees, stumbled and skidded down the mountainside, in the pitch black. He barrelled down the mountain, slapping branches out of the way.

    The ground tilted hard beneath him. He hit a steep decline and had no choice but to commit, half-running, half-falling down the mountain.

    Behind him, Longwark followed.

    Moving powerfully fast, snapping branches.

    Calling out in northern. Shouting Gray¡¯s name.

    The storm was rolling in.

    Cold air and thunder was sweeping in faster than Gray was sprinting, falling, skidding. It swallowed the sky, it smothered all light.

    A huge gust of wind slammed into him, it rattled the trees. Thunder cracked. Lightning struck, and for a moment, it was blinding daylight. Gray could see every tree, every branch.

    Gray ran faster. Falling. Catching himself. Running again.

    He had no idea where he was going.

    Doesn¡¯t matter. Just move.

    Gray slammed straight into something.

    No, someone.

 96. The Real Storm Is The One Inside Him

    The world recoiled.

    There was a sharp ¡®oof¡¯ or surprise.

    Gray stumbled back, breath ragged, and in the dark, his panicked mind took an extra half-second to register the royal guard robes and the wand holster on the wrist. The build. The voice. The tilt to the chin.

    Ellery Drake.

    No gold mask.

    Just his face, unshaven and lined with concern.

    Beside him, a huge, hulking wolf.

    The wolf was running up the mountain before Gray could think, before he knew what he was seeing.

    Ellery drew his chalk circle on the steep side of the mountain. He jerked Gray close, he spun on the spot, and

    CRACK.

    -

    CRACK.

    They were outside the guild in Dierne, the marble towers looming over them, the polished marble steps splayed before them.

    ¡®We saw you light up that mountain like a lighthouse,¡¯ said Ellery, dragging Gray up the guild steps. Lightning split the sky. Thunder followed. Rain started to fall in huge drops. ¡®Killian got me immediately. We need to-¡¯

    Gray wrenched free.

    ¡®I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I¡¯m not going anywhere with anyone.¡¯

    ¡®Gray,¡¯ said Ellery, his hands held out pleadingly, his face stark with worry, ¡®I have to get back to Killian. Now. He¡¯s alone with Longwark. You understand?¡¯

    Fury pounded within Gray. Fear warred inside him. ¡®Another sorcerer is going there.¡¯

    ¡®What?¡¯

    ¡®Another sorcerer is going to Longwark. He¡¯s making this storm. He¡¯s probably already with Longwark-¡®

    ¡®Who?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t know.¡¯

    Ellery¡¯s face was pale.

    ¡®I have to go,¡¯ said Ellery. ¡®Killian will need backup. And you need guards.¡¯

    As though summoned by Ellery¡¯s words, guild guards were running down the marble steps, their cloaks billowing, their masks glinting in the lamp light.

    Rain was falling in earnest.

    ¡®No guards,¡¯ snarled Gray.

    ¡®Gray,¡¯ said Ellery. ¡®I have to go. Stay with the guards. Longwark almost collected you. The guards are for protection.¡¯

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    Gray shut his eyes. Fisted his hands. Whatever the hell had just happened, it wasn¡¯t collecting. Longwark¡¯s agenda seemed to be to bring Gray safely to someone else.

    Someone else with the most stone-cold, ruthless magic he¡¯d ever felt.

    ¡®Gray, please!¡¯

    ¡®Fine.¡¯

    In a blink, Ellery had drawn another chalk circle on the ground and, in a rush of energy and sound, was gone.

    Shimmering air took his place.

    And then guards swarmed Gray.

    They escorted him up to the guild.

    -

    The king¡¯s three kids were slumped against the far wall, asleep together on a plush-looking couch.

    How they slept through the storm beating the towers of the guild, through the bright flickering lamplight, through the bustle was an impressive feat to Gray.

    Cyril was issuing orders to a string of mage masters that were in and out of his office with startling and quiet speed.

    His ancient and powerful voice vibrated underneath the thunder and rain.

    Gray stood in front of the king, his legs trembling and fatigue crashing down on him with the force of a giant¡¯s fist.

    Rain hit the windowpanes like frothing rapids in a river.

    The claps of thunder were so loud they shook the building.

    ¡®Someone else,¡¯ said the king. ¡®And Longwark.¡¯

    Gray¡¯d told the guards that another sorcerer was up in those mountains with Longwark, and they¡¯d spread the word faster than Gray¡¯s been escorted up to the Grand High Master Mage¡¯s office.

    Gray¡¯s chest was tight.

    ¡®Report,¡¯ said the king.

    ¡®Report?¡¯ Gray¡¯s voice was hoarse. His throat clawed.

    He was wet from the rain. Sooty. Covered in cuts and grazes.

    ¡®Tell me what happened, and it needs to be fast,¡¯ said the king coldly. His words were clipped. Utterly impatient. ¡®I need to help capture Longwark.¡¯ Fury was emanating from him.

    Cold. Precise.

    Vicious.

    Rage lurked so closely under the surface of Gray that he didn¡¯t care how furious the king was. He didn¡¯t care if the king was terrifying or violent.

    Anger tied Gray¡¯s tongue.

    ¡®What happened?¡¯ said the king.

    Gray struggled to keep his temper at bay.

    The king raised an eyebrow. ¡¯Something happened, because you lit up that mountain, Gray. I saw it. Cyril here felt it.¡¯

    Gray forced words out. ¡¯We argued.¡¯

    ¡®About what?¡¯

    ¡®It doesn¡¯t matter,¡¯ said Gray, struggling to keep his tone in check. ¡®It was all lies.¡¯

    ¡®I say it does matter,¡¯ said the king. ¡®Report. Quickly, now.¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s been working for you.¡¯

    The words burst out of Gray, and he didn¡¯t have time to temper the anger or heat out of them. The accusation hung in the air between them.

    There was the smallest shift on the king¡¯s expression. The slightest tightening of his shoulders underneath his robes. ¡®He told you he¡¯s my agent,¡¯ said the king coldly. ¡®Was.¡¯

    ¡®See, lies,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®He¡¯s retired.¡¯

    ¡®He¡¯s,¡¯ said the king, ¡®not retired. I need useful details, Gray.¡¯

    A memory flashed through Gray¡¯s mind, of Longwark frequently disappearing from Krydon, sometimes for days at a time. People always said it was for hunting down alchemy components. But perhaps it had been for something else.

    ''I have nothing useful for you,'' said Gray.

    Gray wasn''t ordinarily someone with a death wish. Rage was making him utterly reckless.

    ''Let me decide that. Report.''

    ¡¯You¡¯ve been giving him orders?¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Longwark has two masters,¡¯ said the king, a cutting edge to his words. A warning.

    Anger coiled within Gray. ¡®One master is you. Who¡¯s the other?¡¯

    The king stepped close, much too close. Gray¡¯s skin prickled, but he refused to move, refused to back away.

    ¡®Your choice right now,¡¯ said the king, low and fast, ¡®is to be uncooperative and childish, to delay me, while there are good men and women out there who not only risked themselves to bring you back to safety, but have also risked themselves to fight someone who¡¯s betrayed this kingdom.¡¯ The king lowered his voice even further. ¡®Do I have that right?¡¯

    Heat crept up the back of Gray¡¯s neck. He didn''t want anyone else hurt, not tonight, not by Longwark.

    The king waited for a response.

    ¡®He has weapons,¡¯ Gray said stiffly. He listed the weapons and potions that Longwark had. The layout of the furniture within the cave. The access. He described the magic he¡¯d felt coming in with the storm.

    The king eyed Gray. ¡®This conversation isn¡¯t finished. I expect you to be here when I get back, Gray.¡¯

    The king turned on his heel and spoke briefly with Cyril.

    Cyril threw up his arms. ¡®I¡¯m a little busy, Baldwin, I can¡¯t babysit your latest star-¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t disobey me.¡¯

    The king fahrenned right out of the office with a soft, controlled crack.

 97. A Thousand Tiny Sunbursts

    Gray stood stiffly in the office.

    ¡®This,¡¯ Cyril muttered, ¡®is precisely why I don¡¯t want apprentices involved.¡¯

    He yanked a drawer open at his desk and pulled out a boiled yellow sweet wrapped in cellophane. Pushing it into Gray¡¯s tender palms, he snapped, ¡®the sugar will help stabilise your nerves. Sit still. I¡¯ll find you a potion.¡¯

    Cyril pointed Gray to the plush chair behind the desk, and began fishing through a bunch of the cupboards underneath his bookshelves. He threw his long, silvery hair over his shoulder in frustration. His layered robes dragged on the ground as he crouched.

    For a very old man, he was extremely spry.

    Gray perched on the chair, eyeing Cyril. His fingers trembled as he ripped the cellophane. His clothes clung to his skin, damp with rain and sweat, and he was focused on controlling his breath. The storm continued to rage outside the windows. Gray watched the sleeping kids on the couch, wishing desperately he was one of them.

    Fatigue was beckoning him harder and harder.

    The sweet was a burst of lemon and fizzing sugar on Gray¡¯s tongue.

    ¡®But, no,¡¯ Cyril continued to mutter, his ancient voice growing more acidic, ¡®let¡¯s toss untrained mages into the mix. Brilliant strategy. That¡¯s bound to turn out spectacularly for all of us.¡¯

    Cyril pulled out a large leather bag and hauled it onto the desk with a thump.

    ¡®We don¡¯t have enough mages left for this kind of waste. And yet, Baldwin treats them like disposable weapons,¡¯ Cyril said. ¡®Do you have any idea how many mages used to walk these halls?¡¯

    Gray gave a small, noncommittal sound, unsure whether Cyril was actually addressing him, or if Cyril was doing the mental preparation for an argument with Baldwin, just out loud.

    ¡®Hundreds of thousands,¡¯ said Cyril, answering himself and pulling out chaotic handfuls of potions, bandages, and instruments from the bag and dumping them onto the desk. ¡¯Sixty, seventy years ago, it was close to a million. Now, we¡¯re down to thousands. Thousands! And half of them speak in riddles, you can¡¯t get any sense out of them, they¡¯re difficult to train ¡­¡¯

    He trailed off, as another small crowd of master mages appeared at his door.

    ¡®Stay here while I deal with them,¡¯ he said sharply to Gray. He gestured at him like Gray was a puff of smoke about to evaporate. ¡®Stay - still.¡¯

    Whatever the exchange was with the master mages, they left very quickly, and Cyril returned to Gray even more nettled.

    Cyril pulled his wand out of his holster and pointed it at Gray.

    Gray flinched.

    ¡®I¡¯m going to dry you,¡¯ Cyril explained. ¡®You¡¯ll catch your death, sitting in wet clothes like that.¡¯

    Gray shifted, embarrassed. ¡®All right.¡¯

    He waved his wand, and warm, drying air gushed over Gray. Plucking a potion out of the mess on his desk, Cyril examined it in the lamplight and then handed it over to Gray.

    Gray drank the potion, and calm warmth spread through his body. His shaking stilled.

    Taking up Gray¡¯s hands, Cyril irritably clucked his tongue.

    Gray had expected Cyril to pull out his wand again, but instead, he picked out a set of tweezers from the chaos on the desk and started deftly pulling splinters and grit from Gray¡¯s hands and forearms.

    Like he did this all the time. An experienced surgeon.

    He was all steady hands and irritated frown lines.

    ¡®Baldwin needs to change his strategy,¡¯ Cyril said, ¡®or we will be a dying kingdom.¡¯

    Cyril tugged Gray¡¯s hands closer to the lamp on his desk.

    ¡®He can¡¯t rely on mages for his military power any more,¡¯ said Cyril darkly, ¡®but does he want to hear this? Of course not. He refuses to adapt, refuses to consider any other way to secure the safety of his kingdom. He takes my strongest talent, throws them into his wars and gets them killed, burns them out, destroys them. And he can¡¯t wrap his mind around this, he refuses to see his own patterns, and he doesn¡¯t listen to me.¡¯

    Cyril finished pulling splinters and stepped back with a sharp sigh. He looked Gray in the eye for the first time that night.

    ¡®I¡¯m genuinely impressed you didn¡¯t die or get kidnapped,¡¯ said Cyril. ¡®Well done.¡¯

    Gray nodded, under the impression if he said or did the wrong thing, he¡¯d be stuck in this office with Cyril ranting for a good long while.

    ¡®You fought Longwark off?¡¯ said Cyril. ¡®What happened?¡¯

    ¡®I ¡­¡¯ said Gray, eyeing Cyril and lowering his voice as more master mages appeared at the door, waiting for their Grand High Master Mage.¡®I, uh kicked him,¡¯ said Gray, dropping his voice even more, because he wasn¡¯t super proud of this. He wished he could say he overpowered Longwark and used some cunning way to escape. But he couldn¡¯t. ¡®In the face and ¡­ ran.¡¯

    Cyril stared at him, his expression completely unreadable.

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    Slowly, he backed off. He rubbed his face, hiding his expression.

    Muffled laughter escaped through his hand.

    Then, the room was filled with it, with his resonant, genuine laughter. It bounced off the walls, it seemed to weaken the intensity of the crashing thunder outside.

    One of the waiting master mages edged forward into the office. Her robes were plastered down with rain.

    ¡®Yes, yes,¡¯ boomed Cyril, striding over to her. He spoke to the group of mages, fast and clipped, and dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

    ¡®You were very lucky,¡¯ said Cyril, coming back over to Gray and picking up a bottle of disinfectant. ¡®If only more people had kicked that man in the face, we¡¯d all be better off.¡¯

    Gray gave an uncertain smile.

    ¡®Longwark doesn¡¯t have a cyngryd with him?¡¯ said Cyril.

    ¡®He did,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I, uh, took his cyngryd.¡¯

    ¡®You took his wand?¡¯

    ¡®I dropped it,¡¯ Gray said hastily. ¡®When I was running.¡¯

    Cyril glanced down at the desk, an echo of his laughter still in his expression, but it was mixed with something else that Gray couldn¡¯t put his finger on.

    ¡®We,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®came to blows. I slipped it out of his pocket.¡¯

    Cyril seemed to be struggling with himself, he looked on the verge of speaking.

    He pressed his withered mouth into a hard line and then continued to heal Gray¡¯s hands in silence.

    ¡®It wasn¡¯t personal,¡¯ said Cyril, shrewdly, ¡®in the meeting just before. I was making a point, I was demonstrating the folly of Baldwin¡¯s plan. He doesn¡¯t respond to heartfelt pleas. At least, not from me. You have to hammer the message sometimes. You were in the crossfire.¡¯

    Gray locked gazes with him for a second. He nodded.

    Cyril¡¯s face was grim.

    ¡®It¡¯s my responsibility to protect the mages in my care,¡¯ said Cyril. ¡¯Sometimes, the only way for me to do that is to be quite cruel.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s OK,¡¯ said Gray. The disappointment at being passed over for the Krydon job had been stinging, but after what had just happened, his focus was mostly on surviving the night. ¡®I¡¯d want to protect them too, given the chance.¡¯

    Gray had liked nearly every mage he¡¯d met. Bookish peace-loving hippies, as Killian had described them, were his kind of people. He liked the riddlespeakers he¡¯d come across in the tavern, he liked the Ralphs, hell, he liked Ellery Drake.

    Cyril grunted. There was the smallest shift in him as he started packing up the healing kit. His brow relaxed. His breath gentled.

    ¡®You¡¯ll tell me what happened with Longwark tonight?¡¯ said Cyril.

    Stillness pressed the room as the windows were lashed by the storm.

    ¡®Everything?¡¯ Cyril paused. ¡®Escaping from a sorcerer like Longwark is no small feat, but, I think, perhaps, you¡¯re a master at masking your own competence.¡¯

    Gray suppressed a frown, confused.

    Cyril bent so he was eye-to-eye with Gray. ¡®And,¡¯ he said, ¡®I think you should do less of it. You don¡¯t need to be invisible any more. We¡¯ve seen you already, and here you stand, alive and whole.¡¯

    Gray dropped his gaze to his freshly healed hands. This man¡¯d had three exchanges with Gray and now he was dolling out advice?

    ¡®What competence?¡¯ said Gray flatly. ¡®I kicked him and ran.¡¯

    ¡®We¡¯ve never had an apprentice return from an attempted collection,¡¯ said Cyril. ¡®What does that tell you?¡¯

    Gray opened his mouth to say he didn¡¯t believe it had been a collection attempt, and then promptly shut it. Irritation echoed with him, at Cyril talking this way. With Longwark, Gray had been lucky, he hadn¡¯t known what he was doing, and there had been no competence in the whole situation.

    But, Gray pushed it down. The irritation was not going to help him right now, and he couldn¡¯t say there had been no collection attempt, not if he wanted to be the one to go to Krydon.

    Gray groped for something to say, because Cyril was watching him closely, clearing requiring a response.

    ¡®You can be killed for having too much power,¡¯ Gray muttered.

    ¡¯True,¡¯ said Cyril lightly. ¡®But I¡¯m not talking about magic. You didn¡¯t use magic to escape tonight. There¡¯s more to you than magic, yes? You have a head, a mind, a heart, a history. I¡¯m asking you to tell me what happened tonight, with no holding back.¡¯

    Cyril smiled at him, his ancient face wrinkled, and Gray softened. After an awkward moment, Gray started speaking.

    He launched into the sorcerer''s attack on the carriage, and continued, speaking for a long while and pausing only when Cyril needed to attend to master mages at his door. He honestly answered every question Cyril asked.

    Gray¡¯s voice grew more and more hoarse.

    His eyes grew heavy. His vision blurred.

    ¡® ¡­ and then,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®your guards escorted me here.¡¯

    Cyril had abandoned the mess on the desk from the healing kit. He leant against the far wall, his fingers steepled in front of him.

    ¡®Longwark was not entirely lying to you,¡¯ he said. ¡®Some of it matches our intelligence. Some of it doesn¡¯t. Wolfric Branbright ¡­ he has hunted down and assassinated every person marked with Wilde¡¯s enemy symbol. If that¡¯s not working for Wilde, I don¡¯t know what is.¡¯

    Gray rubbed the X on his wrist with numb fingers as Cyril slowly made his way over to Gray, who was slumped in the desk chair. The old mage began tidying the healing pack once again.

    He opened his mouth, turning to Gray. Then closed it, silently returning to packing up.

    Needing something to do, Gray helped him pack up.

    ¡®You speak northern?¡¯ said Cyril abruptly.

    Gray hesitated. ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t speak it myself, I¡¯m afraid,¡¯ said Cyril. ¡®Not many around here do.¡¯

    Gray was uncertain of how to reply. He busied himself rolling an unraveled bandage and handing it to Cyril.

    ¡®Your firebreath in Krydon,¡¯ said Cyril, ¡®it was all alchemy? No magic?¡¯

    For a moment, Gray considered saying he¡¯d used magic to amplify it.

    ¡®All alchemy,¡¯ said Gray. Then, to fill the silence, ¡®And a lot of luck.¡¯

    ¡®You did it to antagonise the army?¡¯ said Cyril.

    ¡®No,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Yes. I,¡¯ Gray handed Cyril a bunch of potions. ¡®Krydon was about to retaliate to their treatment from the army. I figured I could antagonise the army and get them chasing me out of Krydon, leaving everyone in Krydon alone ¡­ avoid a bigger catastrophe, you know?¡¯

    Cyril had a very closed expression on his face. ¡®You speak to me through subtext on purpose?¡¯

    ¡®Uh,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®excuse me?¡¯

    Shoving the remaining mess of potions and bandages into the bag, Cyril let out a very controlled sigh.

    ¡®I barely speak through - text-text,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®I don¡¯t mean to imply anything.¡¯

    Cyril¡¯s lips twitched.

    ¡®By all reports,¡¯ said Cyril, picking his way through his words carefully, ¡¯the firebreath was quite good. Weaponising it was creative.¡¯

    Gray glanced at him, surprised.

    ¡®I do not approve,¡¯ said Cyril, ¡®of using apprentices, or any mage, as bait. The situation in Krydon is extremely dangerous, and if I could help it, I would not be sending even my master mages in there. But, if you ¡­¡¯

    Cyril drew in a deep breath.

    ¡®If you truly understand the dangers, if you understand this is life or death,¡¯ Cyril said, as though every word was being wrenched out of him against his better judgement, and Gray waited, his heart leaping, but trying desperately to temper it, because Cyril couldn¡¯t be saying what he thought he was saying.

    Could he?

    ¡®If you really want to do this,¡¯ said Cyril, ¡®to go and be bait for a sorcerer fight, and on the condition you go through a boot camp first - you must learn control - I won¡¯t be the one to stop you. I will talk to Baldwin. You have proven yourself several times over. I¡¯ll give him my blessing, not that he needs it, but he seems to want-¡¯

    The rest of Cyril¡¯s words were cut off as a thousand tiny sunbursts exploded in Gray¡¯s chest.

    Gray spent a split second to check it wasn¡¯t a literal explosion - no crashing of magic, no brightness - and then gripped Cyril¡¯s ancient hands, stilling Cyril¡¯s packing up of the healer¡¯s kit.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray. Then, louder, grinning. ¡®Yes.¡¯

 98. Hello, Entourage

    Gray couldn¡¯t keep the smile off his face as he followed Cyril and a very sleepy Kester and Laoise down a marble hall towards one of the dorms in the guild.

    He adjusted Torryn on his hip, who was flat out asleep and drooling on his shoulder. His wispy hair was mussed from sleep.

    Stop grinning, Gray told himself.

    They were still in the middle of a dangerous storm, and no one had returned from the mountain. Every mage and person they passed looked grim. Gray couldn¡¯t go walking around, smiling. Not right now. And there was coiling anxiety deep in Gray¡¯s stomach, underneath the huge relief in his chest.

    Gray had the job.

    He was going back to Krydon. He was going to make everything right. He would do this.

    Gray trailed behind Cyril and the kids, down a series of steps and into a quiet wing of the guild, and into a cosy room with four beds piled with pillows and blankets and a cheery fire crackling in a fireplace.

    -

    Raised voices woke Gray.

    He was so comfortable; the bed was so warm and soft that Gray didn¡¯t move.

    Barin¡¯s arguing with the head cook, Gray thought. Too much garlic in the stew again.

    He stayed still, his breath deep and slow, and his eyes closed against the gentle sunlight streaming through the window. Something tugged at his mind. And then it pulled hard at his magic.

    Gray bolted upright in the bed, blinking against daylight.

    The sensation pulling at his magic, it was raging. Those raised voices were Killian and Baldwin. They cut off suddenly. Someone slammed a door. Footsteps echoed off marble.

    Gray scrambled out of the bed and had a second to take in the room - three empty beds, the king¡¯s kids were gone, a muddy trail of half-dried footprints covered the polished floor, burnt out logs in a dark fireplace, a cloudless blue sky outside the window and a view of a city covered in debris from the storm - before the doors flew open.

    Baldwin Auguste stood on the threshold, his haughty face stark against his silvery braid and flowing robes of midnight blue. He was followed by a large entourage. He threw a bundle of black clothes at Gray.

    ¡®Get dressed,¡¯ he said, ¡®and come with me.¡¯

    His magic was huge, his energy was icy rage. Things must not have gone well last night.

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    Gray glanced down at the clothes.

    The clothes were dark, close fitting, and battle-worn. And not new, Gray realised. It¡¯d been pulled out of the wardrobe of someone else, and that someone else had worn these a lot.

    They were built for movement and not remotely like the complex and layered robes traditionally worn by mages. Flex panels sewn into the joints. Leather guards for the forearms and shins, scuffed from action.

    ¡®Fighting blacks for training,¡¯ said the king. ¡®They should be your size. I¡¯m organising other clothes for you, they¡¯ll be ready by the end of the day.¡¯

    Fighting blacks?

    After last night, Gray¡¯d expected an argument, a severe talking-to, something like how the king had raged at Killian and Longwark the day he¡¯d killed Darcy. Even something worse.

    Not this.

    Gray got into the clothes, laced up his vest over the top with steady fingers, steady breath, and had no choice but to shove his feet into his still damp prison-issue boots.

    The king beckoned Gray with two sharp fingers, and Gray strode down the corridor, following the king at a distance, hurriedly tidying his hair. But the king snapped his fingers, demanding Gray walk nearer.

    ¡®This is Mali,¡¯ the king said tightly, pointing out one of the mages from the entourage. ¡¯She¡¯ll train you in control.¡¯

    Gray glimpsed a small mage with a lip ring, a wary expression, and a very fast stride. She wrenched her stressed gaze from the king to Gray. He nodded at her.

    ¡®This is Daremid, he¡¯ll be your instructor for runic warding, and that¡¯s Hunark, she¡¯ll teach you thaumaturic weaponry ¡­¡¯

    The king continued to introduce the entourage, one-by-one, as they tore through the halls and stairs at top speed.

    Close quarters combat.

    Tactical warfare.

    Ranged combat and mobility.

    You have three days.

    ¡®You will train in my office,¡¯ the king said, ¡®where I can see you, at all times. You will not practice outside of my office or where anyone else can see you. You are not to go telling anyone what you are doing, what you¡¯re being trained in, or who your instructors are. You will not tell anyone anything. Is that clear?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®Good.¡¯

    ¡®What happened to your kids?¡¯ Gray said tentatively.

    ¡®Killian took them back to the consort palace,¡¯ said the king.

    A very lethal edge to his tone told Gray Killian was in some deep strife.

    ¡®Killian¡¯s OK?¡¯ said Gray, knowing he was pushing his luck, but he had to ask, he had to know.

    The king maintained an icy silence.

    Mali stepped forward, her voice low. ¡®Killian killed the sorcerer Rikkie Cuppage last night, one-one-one.¡¯ She was breathless. ¡®Winning a one-on-one fight against a sorcerer is unheard of.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s not unheard of,¡¯ said one of the entourage.

    ¡®When¡¯s the last time someone defeated a sorcerer one-on-one?¡¯ Mali said.

    ¡®A long time ago, but it¡¯s not unheard of, and Rikkie Cuppage was a hack of a sorcerer.¡¯

    ''A hack of a sorcerer?'' said another. ''Are you listening to yourself?''

    ¡®What he did,¡¯ said Mali, raising her voice, ¡®was absolutely incredible, the man¡¯s going down in history as a legend. This is what he used to be like, before-¡¯

    ¡®Thank you, Mali,¡¯ the king said.

    Mali immediately fell back.

    ¡®What about Ellery?¡¯ Gray asked the king, keeping his tone careful. ¡®You got Longwark? Who was out there-?¡¯

    The king halted.

    He waved his hand, and within a blink, the entourage rapidly disappeared down the stairs.

    And the king shoved open the closest door and pointed Gray in.

    The room was a small classroom, packed up to the side, like Gray¡¯s school back in Krydon did over the summers. Desks and benches lined up against one wall. A rolled up carpet, tucked against another.

    The king closed the door behind him, his movements precise and controlled.

    ¡®We need,¡¯ said the king, his voice pure ice, ¡®to finish our conversation.¡¯

 99. A Jarring Situation

    Standing near the king, one-on-one, was like standing next to a chemical fire.

    ¡®Well?¡¯ said the king.

    The word reverberated in the empty room. There was a sinking power to the king¡¯s voice and an expectation that Gray understood what was required from this word.

    Gray hesitated, glancing at the gentle sunlight streaming in through the windows.

    Was he supposed to report? Ask the king a question, broach the subject of Longwark?

    ¡®Why,¡¯ said the king, ¡®were you out of the prison with Killian?¡¯

    ¡®He didn¡¯t tell you?¡¯ said Gray, surprised. He wondered what the fight between Killian and the king had been about, if not this. ¡®I spoke with the Grand High-¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m asking you,¡¯ said the king. ¡®He¡¯d had more than ample time to deliver you to the prison at the time of the attack.¡¯

    Gray drew in a controlled breath. ¡®He wanted to talk to you.¡¯

    ¡®Why were you with him?¡¯

    ¡®He wanted to talk to you about me, I think,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®You,¡¯ said the king, ¡®were in the prison, in part, because of its security. As a precaution. You understand this?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s jaw was clenched shut.

    ¡®You were also in the prison because you broke my laws,¡¯ said the king.

    The world was narrowing as anger ran up Gray¡¯s spine. Very carefully, he pushed it down. He had broken laws. Anger was always rising so readily within him, at a snap of a finger. He needed to get a grip. Stay calm.

    ¡®You intentionally caused harm to my soldiers,¡¯ said the king. ¡®You caused damage to one of my cities, and to my people. You fled from my officials while undergoing investigation. Have you forgotten this?¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ve not forgotten this,¡¯ said Gray stiffly.

    There were plenty of things Gray would¡¯ve loved to say. Your soldiers intentionally caused harm to your people, the northerners are your people, too. Someone had to do something.

    ¡®Yes?¡¯

    ¡®You soldiers,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®were brutal-¡¯

    ¡®My soldiers follow my laws and their rights,¡¯ said the king, ¡®as should the northerners, and if they don¡¯t, it¡¯s not up to you to put them in their place.¡¯

    Engaging in a fight with the king - about this, of all things - when his eyes were dark and dilated with fury, after he¡¯d just fought with Killian, and while his magic was sweeping through the room, hell, probably the whole guild, in frothing, boiling rage, would not be a good idea.

    But, there must¡¯ve been something defiant in Gray¡¯s face or body language because the king¡¯s eyes narrowed to furious slits.

    The king took a deliberate step forward.

    ¡®You made a fool of some of my best men,¡¯ the king said. ¡®You wasted a good amount of my resources. You helped my daughter almost disappear. I don¡¯t care about your motivation. I don¡¯t care about your reasoning. You do not run around my kingdom, breaking my laws and causing harm to my people, my land, with zero consequences. Not only am I not pleased by your past actions, any other civilian would¡¯ve been charged and executed. That is why you were in the prison.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s heart beat hard against his ribcage. As quickly as it had risen, his anger was fast dissolving into something else entirely.

    What he¡¯d done in Sirentown plagued his conscience.

    The explosions and destruction. The people he¡¯d hurt.

    It flashed through his mind whenever his thoughts were left unguarded, with the same intensity as the memory of Alistair in Chester¡¯s Close. It collided through his sleeping hours.

    The king was right about Sirentown. Gray had made choices. They''d not been good ones.

    The king was raging in earnest now. He paced the length of the classroom. ¡®I have been very merciful towards you ¡­ had you not been from a powerful mage line when my kingdom most needs powerful mages, you would not be standing here¡­ I am the king. You are not. I have the bigger picture. You do not ¡­¡¯

    Every word out of the king¡¯s mouth was sharper than a cutting blade.

    ¡®¡­ Killian should not have removed you without my permission.¡¯

    Gray silently examined the sodden leather of his boots, heat pooling in his stomach, because apparently Killian - no one - had told the king yet about what had been in Gray¡¯s cell.

    ¡®Last night was not Killian¡¯s fault,¡¯ said Gray.

    The king turned to face Gray with the deadly precision of an eagle spotting a mouse. ¡®Excuse me?¡¯

    ¡¯I mean, the decision to take me from the prison wasn¡¯t ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Wasn¡¯t what?¡¯

    Gray just had to grip the bandaid and rip it off and tell the king, because the guards certainly would.

    Gray had to get this out before the king spoke to any guards.

    Take control of the narrative.

    Gray¡¯s heart was in his mouth. ¡®He removed me because I ¡­¡¯

    ¡®Because the guards disobeyed me,¡¯ said the king. ¡®Because they allowed themselves to be bribed. They¡¯ll be dealt with.¡¯

    Gray shivered.

    ¡®He,¡¯ Gray said, ¡®he removed me because I - had items, I shouldn¡¯t-¡®

    ¡®Books,¡¯ said the king, glancing furiously at the door. ¡®Yes.¡¯

    ¡®Chalk,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®Luna moth-¡¯

    ¡®I beg your pardon?¡¯

    ¡®I used alchemy to create chalk, and ¡­¡¯ Gray faded out at the look on the king¡¯s face. And then ploughed on, his stomach sinking, ¡®No one gave it to me, to be clear, I made it, from limestone and salt and heat-¡¯

    ¡®I know how you transform limestone into chalk,¡¯ said the king.

    ¡®He also removed me because I don¡¯t enjoy it there-¡®

    ¡®Enjoy?¡¯ said the king dangerously. ¡®You are not here on a holiday. Let me put this in terms you¡¯ll understand.¡¯ He leant forward, his face inches from Gray¡¯s. ¡®You are not the sun. This world does not revolve around you. It is not my priority to make you comfortable. And if that is too complicated for you, perhaps you¡¯ll understand that I am concerned about adequate security around you. Do you understand that?¡¯

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡®Yes, sir,¡¯ said Gray haltingly.

    The king rigidly straightened, his eyes alight. ¡®You do not seem to be taking the threat of Longwark seriously. The Othoans are preparing for war as we speak. It¡¯ll happen any day, unless we can return the jar to them. They¡¯re hammering at our northern borders, and we can¡¯t send any mages north to mend or reinforce the wards.¡¯

    Gray edged backwards. Oh, shit.

    ¡®They attack us as we are now,¡¯ said the king, ¡®we will struggle to fend them off. Do you want this kingdom ripped apart by war?¡¯

    No. Gray did not want that. He didn¡¯t want that for any kingdom.

    ¡®These sorcerers running through Lismere,¡¯ said the king, ¡®they will kill you, or they will take you. Do you know what happens to an apprentice collected by a sorcerer?¡¯

    ¡¯No, sir-¡®

    ¡®No,¡¯ said the king. ¡¯They take away an element of your free will. They get into your mind. They bind you. It¡¯s utterly abhorrent and forbidden by my laws. It increases their own power, it elevates their stats.¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, ¡®I didn¡¯t know-¡®

    ¡®I¡¯m aware your education has been sorely lacking,¡¯ said the king. ¡®You are also the only apprentice I have with enough power to pull sorcerers. Which is fortunate for you. I need you. I need you onside and I need you cooperating with me. Getting rid of the vampiric sorcerer so that my master mages can get into Krydon without disappearing is an utmost priority. If you¡¯re willing to work with me and follow my orders, I will give you every tool you need to not be collected. I will tell you everything you need to know.¡¯

    ¡®You do not need to convince me to take on the Krydon job,¡¯ muttered Gray. ¡®Taking down the thing that killed Alistair - it¡¯s what I¡¯ve wanted from the beginning.¡¯

    ¡®We are in agreement, then,¡¯ said the king coldly. ¡®Yes?¡¯

    Gray¡¯s heart hammered. There was only one answer that Gray knew he¡¯d give, even if this king was mad, and even if it meant throwing himself back into danger.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ he said. ''Of course, yes.''

    ¡®The burgfestan jar is a wish jar. It contains a djinn,¡¯ said the king. ¡®Do you know what a djinn is?¡¯

    It took everything within Gray to not physically reel.

    Telling him everything was starting right now?

    Gray¡¯s stomach twisted. His fingers twitched at his side. Steady, stay steady.

    He¡¯d expected information about Longwark. Longwark¡¯s loyalties, who he was working with, what had happened in the storm. Maybe even information about the vampiric sorcerer.

    A djinn?

    Djinns were creatures so rare, so formidable, that wars had been fought over them in ancient history. Hell, some were waged over the merest whispers over where one might be hidden.

    People killed over less.

    Gray lowered his gaze, uncertainty and curiosity coiling in his chest. This information had to be dangerous. The king may as well have told Gray the code to the royal vaults.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ muttered Gray, thinking of Harriette with her books about Jack and the djinn and the giants, back in the Tipsy Stag. The djinn statue in the Sirentown library.

    But the king was telling him that this was not a djinn in a story or on the parchment of an old text in a library. This was a djinn, here and now, in Gray¡¯s home.

    The king pressed his lips together. ¡®Do you understand what it means if a sorcerer like Wilde gets his hands on a djinn?¡¯

    ¡®Wishes,¡¯ said Gray hoarsely. ¡®Power. Unmatched power.¡¯

    ¡®Enslaved, unfathomable, unmatched power,¡¯ said the king. ¡®You understand now why it¡¯s so important we keep that jar safe?¡¯

    Gray looked up at the king sharply. ¡®It,¡¯ he said, ¡®Longwark said it¡¯s safe, it¡¯s in one of the tombs in Krydon. Branbright put it there, no one can get it. Not even Wilde.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m not willing to leave that up to chance. Wilde is young. His power and skill will increase. As will Krupin¡¯s and Conor¡¯s. Regardless, the Othoans will wage war if I don¡¯t return the jar to them, and soon.¡¯

    Gray lowered his gaze, shuttering his expression, and his fingers pressed against his thighs.

    Holy Clochaint.

    Baldwin Auguste was not someone Gray would trust with a djinn. Neither was the emperor of Othoa. Not Wilde.

    Hell, anyone.

    Branbright, thought Gray, had made a very unexpected move. Or, perhaps, just calculated.

    He¡¯d not opened the jar, he¡¯d not used the huge power-

    ¡®The goal is to return the jar. It is not use of the djinn,¡¯ said the king, watching Gray very closely. ¡®There is a cost to using the djinn¡¯s power that I will not pay. You understand?¡¯

    Gray felt his head shaking, as though someone else was doing it.

    ¡®You don¡¯t understand?¡¯ demanded the king.

    ¡®You¡¯re going to return the jar to the Othans?¡¯ said Gray carefully.

    ¡®That¡¯s right.¡¯

    There was something in the king¡¯s tone, something in his stance, that had Gray suppressing a frown.

    ¡®You can¡¯t return the jar to the Othoans,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®It was almost - it was stolen from the Othoans. Way too easily.¡¯

    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t exactly call what Longwark achieved easy,¡¯ said the king. ¡®Rest assured, I will be putting measures in place, to ensure the safety of the djinn.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re working with the Othoans?¡¯ said Gray, confused.

    ¡®Not exactly.¡¯

    Gray¡¯s mind ticked over. ¡®You giving them a replica?¡¯ said Gray. ¡®A fake jar? Or-¡¯

    The king leant forward. ¡®We need to return the real jar to the Othoans. We don¡¯t have time to create a replica. We need to get the djinn out, fix the ancient seal on the jar, and return the empty jar to them.¡¯

    Reseal it?

    But, the Othoan¡¯s rage would match the king¡¯s, if they found they¡¯d been tricked by Lismere like this. It was a big risk to take.

    Gray¡¯s lips, his mind, his body, was numb. ¡®The Othoans might inspect the jar.¡¯

    ¡®Obviously,¡¯ said the king. ¡¯They will definitely check the jar. But, the Othoans don¡¯t know half of what they horde and the other half they don¡¯t know how to use. The seal on a burgfestean jar is ancient, complicated magic. The Othoans would not dream of anyone being capable of such a feat as repairing a broken seal.¡¯

    We have someone capable of this? Gray wanted to ask.

    The king must¡¯ve had someone.

    Still, it was one hell of a risk.

    ¡¯Talk to the Othoans,¡¯ said Gray.

    The king turned his head to this side, letting out a disbelieving breath.

    ¡®We are not discussing a plan,¡¯ said the king. ¡®You are not an advisor. I¡¯m telling you what you need to know, to work for me and to not be collected.¡¯

    ¡®I,¡¯ said Gray, staring blindly past the king, ¡®need to know this?¡¯

    The king squared up to Gray.

    ¡®You have not met all your instructors yet. There is one more. Her name is Corentin, and she will not be able to conduct her lessons with you in my office. They¡¯ll be in the stables. Under my supervision.¡¯

    Stables?

    The king advanced, as though Gray had said this numb, fleeting thought out loud.

    ¡®Griffins,¡¯ said the king.

    Like a whip, a thought raced through Gray¡¯s mind. Griffins guarded the tombs.

    Gray bit back the words are you mad? just in time. ¡¯Those griffins won¡¯t negotiate.¡¯

    His heart was hammering in his chest. Anger was rearing back up, much too fast, much too easily. This was so risky. Too many things could go wrong. He swallowed it back.

    ¡®I¡¯m sorry,¡¯ said Gray. ¡®This is a hard no.¡¯

    ¡®No?¡¯

    ¡®I promised those griffins,¡¯ said Gray grimly. ¡®I would stop any further desecration of those tombs.¡¯

    ¡®This is not desecration,¡¯ snarled the king. ¡¯That jar does not belong there.¡¯

    Gray glared at the window, his jaw clenched.

    ¡®Gray.¡¯ The king¡¯s eyes were wide in apoplectic rage. ¡®I will order them not to desecrate the tombs. Yes?¡¯

    Gray hesitated.

    ¡®Corentin?¡¯ said Gray. ¡¯She -?¡¯

    ¡®Corentin is a riddlespeaker,¡¯ the king said, his voice and posture frigid. ¡®I can¡¯t send her. If I had an alternative, I would use it. You are not plan b or plan c. You are plan z. That is where we are. You understand this?¡¯

    ¡¯This is not-¡®

    ¡®This is why it¡¯s important you are not collected. Not by the vampiric sorcerer. Not by Longwark. Once the vampiric sorcerer is dealt with, after you¡¯ve instigated a fight, you need to move straight into dealing with the griffins, to allow my team access to the tombs to acquire the jar. I promise you, there will be no desecration of the tombs.¡¯

    ¡®The,¡¯ said Gray, clawing onto his tone to control it, keep things polite, to keep his heart rate in check, ¡®the Othoans have sorcerers working for them.¡¯ He explained about the Othoan bounty hunters from when he was with the poachers. The woman with her hair down to her ankles. ¡®They could check. Check the seal. They might know how this all works.¡¯

    The king pierced Gray with his deadly gaze.

    ¡®Leaving aside,¡¯ he said icily, ¡®that this is something you should¡¯ve told me, or anyone, much earlier, even Othoans aren¡¯t so foolish as to hand a jar containing a djinn over to a sorcerer to inspect. The emperor will not allow any magic user close to it.¡¯ He added, delicately, ¡®Not on purpose.¡¯

    ¡®Only,¡¯ said Gray, chewing the inside of his lip, ¡®only magic users can command the djinn?¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯ll take a skilled magic user to open the jar,¡¯ said the king, looking like he was straining to stay patient, like he wanted nothing more than to knock Gray aside and stride out of the room. ¡®The djinn is enslaved to the opener.¡¯

    ¡®Unless the opener has ¡­¡¯ continued the king, ¡®¡­ prepared. There are rings, certain pieces of jewellery, metals, that can also contain a djinn, if you have them ready upon releasing a djinn and if you wish to avoid enslavement, wanting to capture instead. This was Longwark¡¯s orders.¡¯

    Gray blindly stared out the window, through the gentle sunlight that now seemed so strange a backdrop to having this conversation with the king.

    He dug his fingernails into his palms.

    Yeah.

    He was awake.

    ¡®Wilde nearly took the djinn,¡¯ said the king, his furious gaze unwavering. ¡®The Othoans were blind to it. I will not trust them with a djinn. We secure the djinn. We keep it out of Wilde¡¯s hands. We pacify the Othoans with a sealed empty jar. And we ensure my kingdom does not collapse under the weight of another war. That was Longwark¡¯s mission - the djinn only, no stealing of jars, no trace he was in Othoa - and he panicked. He disobeyed. He ruined everything.¡¯

 100. One Way To Find Out

    We need to return the jar.

    But, take the djinn out first.

    Longwark ruined everything.

    Gray sat cross-legged in the middle of a patch of sunlight in the king¡¯s office in the palace, his eyes shut, and trying very hard to breathe deeply, relax, and make three orbs hum in harmony.

    And failing.

    If he cracked his eyes open just a slit, he could see the orbs sitting about a foot in front of him.

    They cast rainbows of light in the sun.

    One orb had already been replaced after Gray had accidentally shattered it. Another had hummed so loud that a palace guard had burst into the room in alarm before Gray could silence it.

    ¡®Gray,¡¯ said Mali. ¡®You¡¯re trying too hard.¡¯

    Gray resettled his shoulders and breathed in deeply.

    Let it be.

    But, there was no damn way Gray was letting it be. Uncontrollable fear lanced through him at the mere thought of letting his power loose.

    And the tension of several people staring made Gray¡¯s chest refuse to cooperate in breathing deeply. He¡¯d been here for nearly an hour, trying to improve his control.

    To make these orbs hum together.

    The other instructors were spread out across the office. They¡¯d cleared a large space, setting aside furniture and anything breakable. There was an array of training equipment, weapons, and magical tools waiting. A model of Krydon, made from plaster, hastily and roughly.

    Two of the instructors had left, promising to return in the afternoon.

    Another had gone into an adjoining room to do a scheduled lesson with some of the king¡¯s kids.

    The king was working, alternating between attending the alchemic test on his workbench, paperwork, and sweeping out of the room to talk with a constant string of people.

    And Gray¡¯s mind was alight with thoughts. It was busier in there than the streets around the palace, and those were filled with people clearing the debris from the storm. The city had been wrecked. People had been killed. Injured. Homes lost.

    Gray drew in a steadying breath.

    The king hadn¡¯t told him what had happened with Longwark or the sorcerer creating the storm, and Gray had been too numb with the information of the djinn and griffins to ask. The king had continued to talk as they¡¯d walked from the guild to the palace, but it was about the difficulties the mages would face when trying to get into those tombs. He was furiously worried about it.

    Longwark was clearly some sort of spy. A covert operations soldier, Gray thought.

    He¡¯d betrayed his orders. Wasn¡¯t cooperating as the king wanted him to.

    Two masters.

    And, if Branbright was Wilde¡¯s agent, then why would he be hiding the jar from him?

    Unless, Longwark had been telling the truth about it, and the intelligence the Augustes had about Branbright was wrong.

    Though Gray couldn¡¯t exactly condemn Longwark¡¯s choice (or perhaps Branbright¡¯s) to keep the djinn out of the hands of Baldwin Auguste and Wilde in one fell swoop. The thought of Branbright hiding the jar beyond the reach of anyone, and then the king¡¯s policies against sorcerers had created the huge problem for the king of eliminating the one person with the skill to retrieve it tickled the darkest part of Gray¡¯s humour.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡®Open your eyes,¡¯ said Mali.

    Gray blinked against the sunlight.

    Mali¡¯s lip ring glinted. ¡®You have a block?¡¯

    Mali¡¯s appearance was intimidating, like a fierce fey warrior you wouldn¡¯t want to cross paths with in the forest, and ethereal as nearly every mage was, but contrasted with piercings and severe eyebrows. Despite this, so far, her nature had been patient.

    ¡®No,¡¯ Gray muttered. ¡®No, I¡¯m just not focusing properly. Hang on.¡¯

    Gray closed his eyes, expanding his chest in a huge breath.

    The sound of the alchemic test bubbling was drilling into Gray¡¯s ears. Someone was tapping their fingers against a table.

    There was a long sigh.

    ¡®Centre yourself,¡¯ said Mali. ¡®Control your breath.¡¯

    Gray wrenched his eyes open.

    ¡®Look,¡¯ said Mali, casting a wary glance over at the king, ¡®Gray, I know it¡¯s a lot. Most get a year or more to practice control. You¡¯ve had a ryece yet?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t think so,¡¯ said Gray.

    ¡®That¡¯s a no,¡¯ said Mali. ¡®Your control right now¡¯s not going to be great. So, in the meantime, you continue to wear your dragon scale vest. And you hold onto this if you feel yourself spiraling.¡¯

    She fished a stone out of her pocket and offered it to Gray.

    ¡®Earth will temper air,¡¯ said Mali. ¡®We¡¯ll come back to control after you¡¯ve expended some nervous energy, yes?¡¯

    Gray curled his fingers around it. It was smooth. Plain brown. ¡®All right.¡¯

    She moved off to speak to the king, and after a rushed and quiet conversation, the king glanced up.

    ¡®Hunark,¡¯ said the king, ¡®you¡¯re up.¡¯

    A mage covered in old scars stepped forward, her grey braid swinging down her back. She tossed a small axe at Gray. Gray caught the handle.

    The axe had a magic entwined through it. It ran across Gray like a light current.

    ¡®You¡¯ll not be fighting the vampiric sorcerer,¡¯ said Hunark, her voice smooth and at odds with her scarred appearance. ¡®Nor should, with everything going to plan, it be inclined to attack you. But, in the event that something goes, ah, awry, you need to be able to defend yourself for long enough for help to arrive.¡¯

    Gray nodded nervously.

    ¡¯Thaumaturgic weaponry is the fusion of magic and combat.¡¯ Hunark walked over to her array of weapons with the grace of a trained warrior and picked up a wooden staff. ¡®You will learn how to use enchanted weapons, and you¡¯ll learn which weapons you¡¯ll need to survive against different creatures. A vampiric sorcerer is classified as an undead dark creature. For that, you need metal imbued with several enchantments, including the beornan enchantment. It has the power of fire, to burn those it cuts. Speed, for the wielder. Heightened senses. Agility.¡¯

    Gray turned the axe over in his hand, running his fingers over the blade. It was wicked sharp, and covered in runes.

    ¡®The northerners trained you in their axe fighting?¡¯ said Hunark.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ said Gray, adjusting his grip on the axe handle, getting a feel for its weight.

    For its magic.

    ¡®You any good?¡¯ said Hunark.

    Gray faltered. They weren¡¯t going to practice with real weapons. No cover on the blade, no padding, nothing?

    ¡®One way to find out,¡¯ said Hunark.

    She advanced with the wooden staff.

    Hunark didn¡¯t slow her strikes and she didn¡¯t hold back. Her hands were a blur as she battered Gray¡¯s axe from his grasp.

    ¡®Work with the axe,¡¯ she said, as Gray grabbed his axe back up from the carpet. ¡®Feel the enchantment.¡¯

    Gray eyed her. ¡®I don¡¯t want to clip you.¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯re not going to clip me, boy.¡¯

    Gray hesitated.

    ¡®It¡¯s the same as dancing with a partner,¡¯ said Hunark. ¡®Listen to the axe, and it¡¯ll guide your movements. Breathe in.¡¯

    She turned her staff lazily in her grip, but her bright eyes stayed sharp. ¡®Ready?¡¯

    Gray barely got the axe up in time before Hunark struck. The impact jarred his arms and sent a bolt of pain through his shoulder. He pivoted, redirected the force, and in a split second, as Gray inhaled a breath, he felt it.

    The axe whispering.

    A guiding hand on his back.

    An echoing instinct.

    Hunark¡¯s staff whistled as it whipped through the air. Gray blocked her attack.

    Gray was forced back, back, back. One step at a time. All thoughts fell away from his mind, and all that mattered was his axe and his opponent.

    They were moving in sync, they were -

    Hunark¡¯s boot caught Gray¡¯s ankle, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

    ¡®Better,¡¯ Hunark said. She offered a hand to help Gray up. ¡®On your feet. Vampiric sorcerers don¡¯t wait for you to be ready.¡¯

    Gray sucked in a deep breath and stood, weight on his toes, ready to move, and adjusting his grip. Determination filled him.

    ¡®Ready?¡¯ said Hunark.

    It took nearly an hour before Hunark was satisfied, with a gruff, ¡®well done.¡¯ That wasn¡¯t something Gray¡¯d ever achieved in his weapons and defence lessons in Krydon, but working with the enchanted axe was different. Easier.

    Gray wiped sweat from his brow, feeling a welt forming on his wrist from where Hunark had hit him hard with her staff.

    ¡®Whitlock,¡¯ the king called cooly from the other side of the office. ¡®You¡¯re up.¡¯

    Gray drew in a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for the next instructor - Whitlock, close quarters combat - approaching.

    He was a man with ginger hair, burly shoulders, and smatterings of freckles and pock marks on his skin. There was a curious scar across his neck. He adjusted his powerful shoulders underneath his fighting leathers. Not a mage.

    ¡®I¡¯ve heard,¡¯ Whitlock said, ¡®you¡¯ve shown more aggression than your typical mage.¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t be too hard, Whitlock,¡¯ the king said, ¡®I need him to go down to the stables soon.¡¯

    This was going to be a big day.