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.’

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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 – not openly – 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 – why? Wait-‘ Gray said.

He hauled Gray to his feet. ‘Keep your mouth shut.’

‘Wait –‘

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.’