The nervous soldier was short and stocky, perfectly dressed in his grey uniform, and like many of Killian’s men, had a nervous stutter to go along with the wariness in his gaze.

‘That was fast,’ said Killian, tightly.

‘He’s – deemed it an emergency,’ said the soldier, shifting uneasily underneath Killian’s dark stare. ‘He used an enchanted crow that’s-‘

‘Wait, Musgrave,’ said Killian, rubbing his forehead. ‘We’ve discussed this before, yes? There’s a time and place for delivering messages.’

The stocky soldier – Musgrave – closed his mouth, standing stiffly to attention. ‘Yes, Major.’

Killian straightened, adjusting the sword on his hip.

It was the perfect opportunity for Gray to hide the prison keys underneath the bedroll.

He stuffed them away and hoped to the gods neither Sorena nor Killian noticed.

He needed to get rid of the damn things. Perhaps he could flush them down the closest drain when he got access to the bathroom.

Killian clicked at Musgrave. ‘Out.’

Musgrave hustled back out into the corridor, and Killian bowed to Sorena, and swiftly stalked out of there, closing the door behind him.

Sorena marched after him, grabbed the doorknob, and pulled.

And pulled.

The door refused to budge.

‘He locked me in,’ Sorena said, wheeling around. ‘Fine. Be like that.’

She pulled a delicate hairpin out of her damp hair and began picking the lock.

‘Er,’ said Gray, ‘he’ll probably have a soldier standing guard outside.’

Sorena stopped, and without acknowledging she’d heard him, she stalked to the windows, and one-by-one tried to open them.

Gray pulled his gaze away from her, pushing down his curiosity. Did he want to know what had brought Sorena back? Yes. Did he want to talk to this girl? No. Did he want Killian to catch him talking to this girl? Definitely not.

Gray fidgeted with a loose thread on the bedroll.

He could still feel Longwark’s intense grey eyes, coldly watching. He could hear the screams from the guards, Codder’s drawl -

He needed something to do.

Gray slowly stood. He eyed the stack of books Killian kept on the windowsill near the table. Cast a hesitant glance back at the door.

Chewing his lip, and steadfastly ignoring Sorena, Gray hobbled over to the books.

They were all in Lismerian.

Speaking Lismerian was all well and good. Reading it, not so much. Gray had barely scraped a pass in the reading and writing portion of Lismerian lessons in school. Lismere had a habit of taking in parts of the languages of those they conquered. Lismere, at one stage, had mages powerful enough to create portals to other universes and worlds, and they’d borrow language from those, too. Their alphabet was more mixed than a street mongrel.

Gray fisted his shaking hands and hobbled back over to the bedroll.

The clock on the wall ticked.

The sounds of Sorena trying to pick the bathroom door lock with the hairpin scraped.

Gray could still feel the ghost of Codder’s breath, his hands, he couldn’t stand it, he needed to move his mind to -

‘What happened?’ said Gray.

Sorena ignored him.

‘You were attacked?’ said Gray.

Sorena shot him an icy glance. ‘Don’t talk to me.’

Gray clenched his jaw.

But, the longer Gray sat there doing damn well nothing, the harder his hands shook. And it wasn’t just his hands, now. He needed to be tougher than this. Nothing had happened in the prison. He was fine.

His mind would not cooperate.

It was being a bitch.

It would not be told he was OK. It would not stop replaying Codder and Longwark, and the screaming, rioting guards -

‘I can tell you which paths in the forest are safe,’ blurted out Gray. He cleared his throat, hoping to clear the shaking desperation out of his voice. ‘So you can stay off the main road. Which ones will take you to Sirentown.’

Sorena stilled.

She turned on her heel and began pushing at the windows again.

‘That’s where you wanted to go, right?’ said Gray.

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‘Don’t. Talk. To. Me. Sorcerer,’ said Sorena, pounding her palm against the glass of the window.

Gray pressed his trembling hands into his thighs, stilling them. ‘I can help you.’

‘You said I needed a guide,’ she said, with a humourless laugh.

‘Yeah. You’ll need to be careful. Very careful.’

‘And I’m supposed to believe that you’re not sending me out into a trap, or onto the most dangerous path in the forest?’

What kind of world was the south, where people tricked each other like this? The further Gray got away from these people and Dierne, the better.

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Gray. ‘I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.’

Sorena cast him a glance so icy Gray was surprised his blood didn’t freeze in his veins. ‘I’m not your worst enemy?’

‘No,’ said Gray.

Sorena made a snorting sound that startled Gray.

‘You’re not even in my top ten,’ Gray said, attempting a joke. Poorly, judging by the look of disgust Sorena shot his way. He cleared his throat. ‘It’s just a saying .. you know, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy ..?’

Gray trailed off and wished the floor would open up and swallow him, at the same time as his mouth would permanently shut so that he’d stop talking.

Gods, this girl was narcissistic as heck to assume she rated as an enemy.

Or that he even had enemies. Like normal people went around thinking of others as enemies.

What the hell.

Well … if Gray was being honest, there was Wilde.

But it was less thinking of him as an enemy and more thinking of being ready for the bastard when Wilde eventually found Gray.

‘Please,’ said Sorena. ‘You hate me and I hate you. Though, being a sorcerer, you probably don’t have the emotional bandwidth to distinguish the sensation of hate from whatever else it is that sorcerers are capable of feeling.’ She paused, as though thinking. ‘Which is possessiveness and ruthlessness, probably.’

As the quiet stretched between them, Gray said, ‘I imagine you feel about me the same way I feel about Wilde. You’re not my worst enemy.’

Sorena stilled again. Then, stiffly returned her attention to the windows.

‘Well, I hate you,’ she said. ‘I want to make that plain.’

Gray was getting a really clear picture as to how Sorena Auguste had gotten so unpopular with the people.

Every conversation with Sorena was combative.

Her reputation was accurate, down to the tee.

Except for the lies drip from her tongue part of her reputation.

She was brutally honest about her thoughts.

‘And,’ said Sorena, ‘I don’t trust you.’

‘OK,’ said Gray.

‘You’ll show me these safe paths if I tell you why Jessica and I have come back here?’ she said, sceptically.

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, Your Highness.’

Gray watched her jiggle the locked latch of the window over the table, pushing down rising regret within him.

He’d wanted this.

And it was working. His hands were steadier and he was distracted.

‘We doing this or what, Your Highness?’ said Gray.

Sorena slowed her pushing at the windows. She cast a cool glance at the scrolled maps Killian kept by the table.

Neither of them moved.

‘Well?’ she said. ‘He could be back any moment. Hurry.’

Firmly shoving down hard dislike, Gray staggered upright and hobbled over. He flipped through the maps, until he found one with the familiar line of the forest, and spread it out on the table.

‘The old miner’s trail,’ said Gray, pushing down the urge to check over his shoulder to watch the door, ‘it starts here.’ He traced his finger over the map.

‘It’s not marked,’ said Sorena.

‘No. It’s more of an animal track. It’s hardly used.’ Gray drew in a breath. Sorena was close. He could smell her soap, smell her. Carefully, he leant back. ‘There’s Stubbin’s path. Here. It’s marked. Fairly safe. But, more people know it, and use it.’

‘Both lead to Sirentown?’

‘Yes,’ said Gray. ‘There are some plants you need to be aware of. Which I’ll tell you. After you tell me why you’re here.’

Sorena didn’t even glance up from the map. Her gaze roved over the paths Gray had traced out, as though committing them to memory. ‘All the mages in the north have gone,’ she said. ‘Including the mages in all the military divisions stationed here.’

Gray watched her. ‘Gone where?’

‘We don’t know. Killian has a theory that they’re here, near Krydon. He thinks he can smell them.’

’Smell them?’

Sorena levelled him with a cold stare. ‘You know he’s a wolf shifter, right?’

Gray frowned. Yeah, he knew that.

‘The northerners don’t have wolf shifters?’ she said, delicately. ‘They probably kill them on sight. They have no idea what an asset they are.’ She tilted her chin up. ‘You know that word? Asset? I think there’s no northern equivalent.’

‘The northerners,’ said Gray, echoing what he’d once heard Elona say, ‘are too humane to put someone through the process of becoming one. You know that word? Humane?’

Sorena’s cold hazel eyes narrowed. ’Not in my vocabulary, no.’

‘What a surprise,’ Gray muttered.

‘I mean,’ said Sorena, ‘where you’re concerned, it’s not in my vocabulary.’

‘Oh, sure,’ said Gray.

‘Killian came to my father already turned,’ said Sorena. There was something odd about her face. ‘Father rescued him when he was sixteen. How’s that for humane?’

Was she being defensive?

Gray lifted his eyebrows, his lips clamped tight.

‘Killian can smell what you had for dinner last night,’ said Sorena. ‘He can smell which of his men have been sniffing whisp powder. He can smell which have been sleeping in the whorehouse, and which ones get excited when they’re asked to execute a prisoner. If he says he can smell magical creatures here - mages, sorcerers, whatever - then he’s probably right.’

‘Can he smell your long-windedness?’ said Gray.

Sorena’s hazel eyes widened. ‘You can’t just talk to me about my wind.’

‘I said long-windedness - I wasn’t talking about your wind.’

’I beg your pardon?‘

‘I meant you take a long time to say things,’ Gray said. Sorena was flushing, which, for some reason, was making Gray flush in turn. ‘I think I mistranslated,’ Gray rushed out. ‘I didn’t mean to talk about you breaking wind-‘

’Breaking what?’ said Sorena.

‘It’s OK,’ said Gray, hastily trying to push down the heat in his face, ‘I know girls …’ For some reason, Gray couldn’t form the word he needed to say.

Gray couldn’t look at her flushed face. He was so hot he was beginning to sweat.