Rumour had it that blood-replenishing potions gave the drinker whacked-out dreams.

Gray had been having bad dreams anyway – trouble sleeping at all – 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.

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‘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.