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 – I promise I’m not a traitor – I’m not a reborn - I’m not his – Wilde killed my family – I’d never, never – I’m loyal to –’

‘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.’

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

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.’