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 – 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 – 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.’

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

‘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 – 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.