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?’

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‘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.’

—

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.