The door creaked open.

Killian stood in the doorway, a dark figure framed by the gentle light from the lamps in the hall. His hair hung in loose strands over his forehead. The shadows made his battle scars more pronounced and his mouth was set in a hard line.

He stayed on the threshold, his stance rigid and his boots planted. His gaze swept over the room, lingering a moment too long on Gray, who was trying to appear casual, but the tension in the air betrayed everything.

‘Smooth.’ Killian’s voice sliced through the room like a knife.

His dark gaze - half-veiled by his hair - darted to the weapons chest, then back to Gray sitting on the bedroll.

‘You think I was born yesterday, hm?’ said Killian.

Gray forced himself to calmly meet Killian’s dark gaze.

There was no way Killian could know-

‘Go on,’ said Killian. Tell me what you weren’t doing.’

Gray stayed still, fear rippling through him. Silence echoed between them.

‘I,’ said Gray, when he couldn’t handle the silence for another moment, ‘was looking at your books.’

‘Liar.’ The word hung in the air.

Then, he couldn’t help it. Gray dropped his gaze to the sword on Killian’s hip. Just for a second.

But, Killian caught it.

‘Nuh uh, kid,’ Killian said. ‘This is white dragon’s fire forged, goblin blended steel. You aren’t getting near this thing.’

That sword - melted down - would make one heck of a useful component in a bunch of alchemic creations.

He could maybe make a curse bomb with that sword.

Longwark would probably know -

‘Give it to me.’ Killian’s voice was sharper than the fancy sword at his hip.

Gray’s mouth was dry. He staggered to his feet, poised for the beating that would surely come. ‘Give what?’

‘Whatever the hell you’ve got that’s making this place reek of anxiety.’ Killian slowly advanced. ‘Did you find an old nail? More scissors?’ His gaze fell onto the hairpin where Gray had dropped it. ‘Ah.’

With a dark look at Gray, Killian knelt and tested the lid of his weapon chest. It budged a fraction, clicking as the lock tumbled back into place.

‘Planning to stab me in my sleep?’ said Killian.

‘No,’ said Gray. ‘No, I wouldn’t-’

‘Arms out.’

Gray tried to stand like an innocent person while Killian patted him down. After coming up empty, Killian stiffly gestured for Gray to return to his bedroll.

Wordlessly, Killian settled himself down at the table and unrolled a scroll of blank paper.

Breathing out slowly, Gray controlled his face, his hands, his posture.

He wouldn’t let Killian see how on-edge Gray was.

How his heart was beating too fast, and his mind was racing, and his stomach had plummeted to his damn feet.

That hairpin had been a gift from the gods, and now it was gone. So was the brief time alone in the room - well, alone except for Frostvine asleep on the bed, but she didn’t count, because no matter what happened around her, she never so much as twitched.

‘I’ll be putting every available man on watch for this room,’ muttered Killian, glancing at Gray. ‘There’s going to be so many soldiers watching this door and every window in this room, that if you so much as talk too loudly, you’ll have half a dozen swords at your throat. Understood?’

‘Yes.’

Killian sat with paperwork laid before him on the table. But, his gaze was relentless.

It itched at Gray’s skin. It prickled the hair on the back of his neck.

How the hell Killian managed to write - whatever the damn he was writing, reports Gray guessed - and constantly survey Gray and the room at the same time, was a mystery.

And how was Gray supposed to do anything with what he had underneath his bedroll if the cursed man never blinked?

Gray fought down a wave of despair, curling in on himself as he lay on the bedroll.

‘Dinner,’ Killian murmured, ‘Gray, table.’

With some effort and some help from Killian, Gray slipped into a chair at the table. A Hall worker had delivered a thick cut of steak, fried potatoes, and crisp green beans to the table.

And a bowl of oats.

Killian nudged the oats towards Gray. ‘Eat.’

‘I,’ said Gray, ‘already ate in the prison.’

Killian levelled him with a stare. ‘You haven’t eaten shit, kid.’ He prodded the bowl closer. Closer.

Gray had no idea how he ate that bowl of oats.

But, he did it.

Killian finished long before him and was doing paperwork at the table when a Hall worker came in to clear the dirty dishes.

It was Terri, one of the weapons and defence instructors from school. She paused at the edge of the table and chucked Gray under the chin in a manner completely different from when Killian did it.

‘You all right, love?’ she said in northern.

Gray gave her a nod.

The khol around her eyes was caught in her crow’s feet. Her brown hair was pulled back into tight twists. She only wore it like that when she needed it out of the way for fighting classes.

Terri wasn’t a Hall worker.

Unless she’d just started a new job.

‘He’s armed?’ said Terri in casual northern.

Very carefully, Gray kept his bearing and tone as casual as Terri’s.

‘Always,’ said Gray. His voice was too soft. He swallowed, and continued, ‘I think he’s one of the king’s favourites. Careful.’

‘Get the dishes and get out,’ said Killian to Terri sharply.

‘The folks downstairs want to see the boy,’ said Terri in accented Lismerian.

‘I’m sure they do,’ said Killian, his shoulders tight. In one smooth movement, he stood and got between Gray and Terri. ‘You’ve seen him. He’s fine. You tell them that. Now, get out.’

‘Your treatment of your prisoners is questionable,’ said Terri.

‘I follow my orders to the letter, ma’am.’

Terri edged closer, and Killian shifted, ever so slightly, on his toes.

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‘The folks here are taking great offence,’ she said.

‘Is that a threat?’

Terri’s gaze darted all over Killian. She was fastidiously assessing.

Gray felt stretched tighter than a drum. If she did anything, one wrong move, even one right one, if she hurt the king’s soldiers, the king’s retribution would be worse than anything the soldiers had done.

Gray shook his head minutely.

She held his gaze, and there was an echo of despair there. Gray was desperate to tell her that he had a plan, that he'd do everything in his power to lead the soldiers away from Krydon. He bit his lip.

Slowly, she stepped back.

‘Right choice, ma’am,’ said Killian. ‘Further back, if you please.’

Terri baulked. Then, as though it physically pained her, she stepped back again.

‘Just to make you aware, ma’am,’ said Killian, ‘any attacks on the Hall, and I’ll ensure my prisoners are the first casualties. You understand me?’

‘I understand you,’ said Terri. ‘I understand you completely.’

‘Gray,’ said Killian tightly, not lifting his dark gaze from Terri for a second, ‘back against the wall while I pass this smart lady the dishes, please.’

—

It was before dawn.

The mutterings of night birds outside the window had woken Gray.

That, and the strange absence of Killian from the room.

It niggled at Gray, especially after the lecture he’d sat through the night before after Terri left, with Killian telling him just how many men with swords would be watching Gray’s every move, not to mention how Killian always - he’d said - slept with one eye open.

But, Gray was alone.

Except for Frostvine, deeply asleep and deeply still.

Picking the lock of the weapon chest was out, at least until Gray could get his hands on another hairpin or a paperclip.

But he could get rid of those damn prison keys.

Every moment they stayed in Gray's possession was a risk.

They needed to go.

And the bathroom door was right there.

Probably locked.

But, now was the time to check. He shoved the keys deep in his pocket.

Gray glanced down at his ankle, the bandage still strapped tight. He bent it, just enough to test, and pain lit up his leg like a flare. But it wasn’t as bad as yesterday. He could handle this.

With a hiss of pain, Gray pushed himself upright.

The bathroom beckoned.

He wanted a bath so bad he could taste it. The feel of sweat and grime crawled over him like bugs under his skin. Every inch of him itched, burned, screamed for relief. His eyes drifted to Killian's bathroom - just a few feet away, through that damn carved door. Ornate, polished, and mocking him with its promise of fresh, clean water. Soap. He’d never felt this dirty in his life. It clung to him, a second skin of filth he couldn’t shake off.

Gray edged forward.

One foot down. Then the other.

He leaned into the pain, bracing himself, putting more weight on the injured ankle. And more.

He was almost halfway to the bathroom when -

‘Don’t even think about it, kid.’

Killian’s voice cut through the room like a knife, sharp and cold. Gray flinched, snapping his gaze toward the doorway. There Killian stood, arms folded across his chest, eyes hard. ‘You try walking on that ankle too much, you’ll wreck it for good. You’re not running anywhere.’

Gray gritted his teeth, pushing down the ache in his leg.

It was so early in the morning that stars were still visible in the indigo sky. Gray wasn’t sure Killian had even been to bed yet.

Killian’s scars were faded in the dim light. He was unshaven. His wolf fur collar shifted in the breeze from the open door.

Gray gingerly picked his ankle back up.

Killian ran a finger along his jaw, sweeping Gray up and down with a guarded look.

Gray shifted uncomfortably. Surely, Killian wouldn't be able to smell keys. Or hear them.

But, there was something off with Killian.

It was in the way he stood.

Too still. Too stiff.

His dark eyes held an endless stone wall. They betrayed nothing but a hard barrier.

‘Are you,’ said Gray haltingly, ‘all right?’

‘Dandy, kid.’

Besides the keys stashed deep in his pocket, Gray'd fallen into an exhausted sleep last night. It’d been so heavy he felt a slight unease that anything could’ve happened around him and he’d have slept through it.

‘You sure?’ said Gray, his heart beginning to thud, and hoping he didn’t live to regret asking.

Killian tilted his head.

Gray was learning the different masks Killian wore. This one - this mask - was the dangerous one. It’d been the one he’d worn when they’d first met, the one that had threatened to execute the Haxleys with one hundred percent believability.

‘I’m trying to figure out,’ said Killian, ‘how intelligent you are.’

This was so out of left field that Gray stared at him, mouth hanging open, and trying desperately to join the dots in his mind.

‘Your intelligence stats are all right,’ said Killian. ‘But I’m completely convinced those papers are false.’

‘They’re not-’

‘You tell Sorena how to escape this Hall?’ said Killian. ‘Is that what the slapping was about, last night? Then, you distracted me with the attempt on my weapons chest, so I’d put all my spare men on this room, and not hers?’

Gray’s chest clenched. Words tangled and knotted in his mind.

Killian waited, completely still.

‘What?’ Gray managed to spit out.

‘Did you tell Sorena how to escape?’ said Killian, his words holding a steely edge to them.

‘Sorena’s gone?’ said Gray.

‘Not for long,’ Killian continued, tightly. ‘Jessica’s tracking her with her team.’

Gray fought down the urge to run his hands through his hair.

Sorena had wasted no time at all.

'How did she escape?' The words slipped out of Gray's mouth before he could monitor them.

Of course Killian wouldn’t answer, and he wouldn’t be open to discussing this topic with Gray. The thought of Sorena managing to slip past not only Jessica and whatever security she had on her room, but Killian too, was so impressive that Gray had fifty questions flying around in his mind, and this one had just slipped loose.

‘I told Jessica to watch -’ Killian cut himself off. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. ‘Perhaps Jessica will be able to answer if you told Sorena how to escape when she catches her, hm?’

‘Sorena’s cunning enough to figure that out on her own,’ said Gray, his heart beating hard. ‘She wouldn’t listen to anything I have to say.’

For a long moment, it looked like Killian was holding himself back from diving off the edge of a cliff. Holding back words. The accusations and swear words he was clearly longing to say were almost palpable in the air.

His muscles were controlled. His expression shuttered. Then, all at once, Killian closed the distance between them and slapped a vial into Gray’s hand.

It was a calming draught, but this one said Extra Strength.

Gray stayed still, casting a wary glance at Killian.

‘Take it,’ said Killian, gesturing to the draught. ‘Quickly now. I’ve got another job for you.’

‘I need to use the bathroom,’ muttered Gray.

‘Hold it,’ said Killian. ‘This won’t take long.’

Killian grabbed Gray’s arm, swinging it over his shoulder. He paused, adjusting his grip around Gray’s arm, staring at a small hardcover book partially covered by a blanket on Gray’s bedroll.

Gray kept his face immobile. He’d ended up taking a book last night, from Killian’s fastidiously neat stack on the windowsill by the dining table. It was a dry text in difficult-to-read Lismerian about battle strategy.

Honestly, Gray would’ve rather read anything else, but Killian only had texts on battle strategy and navigation.

And reading the Lismerian was like picking apart a code.

‘You been reading that?’ said Killian sharply.

‘Where are we going?’ Gray asked, hopping to keep his balance.

‘Answer the question, kid.’

‘Uh – yes – I was bored, is all -‘

‘What did I tell you about staying on the bedroll?’

‘I,’ Gray said. ‘I thought you wouldn’t mind.’

Killian maintained a tight silence, steering Gray out of the room and down the stairs.

They were making their slow way down the staircase with the circular windows. A solitary Hall worked sprinted past them, and disappeared into a dark corridor.

He led them out into the town square. Something small shifted in Killian’s bearing, and his grip became tighter.

It took a moment for Gray’s eyes to adjust from the gently lit corridors of the Hall to the darkness of pre-dawn outside.

But, something was wrong.

There was too much movement for so early in the morning. Too many people.

The square was crawling with soldiers and subdued townsfolk. A neat row of shroud-covered bodies lined the far side. Gray swept his gaze around the square and spotted the huddled mass of grieving families.

This had to be the people Codder and Killian killed.

Gray staggered, but Killian kept him upright. He tried to pull away but Killian’s arm tightened around his waist.

‘You couldn’t bury them?’ Gray’s voice cracked, his throat tight. This wasn’t right. They never left the dead out like this.

Killian’s face was stone. ‘We’ll get to it.’

The bile rose fast in Gray’s throat, burning. He swallowed hard, the sour taste lingering. His eyes skittered away from the shrouds, trying to focus on anything else.

‘Come on,’ Killian grunted, shifting his weight, all business. ‘Time to meet our guests.’

‘Guests?’ The word felt like ash in Gray’s mouth. He bit down on his lip, trying to keep from leaning too heavily into Killian’s support. His ankle throbbed with every step, a dull, relentless reminder.

They crossed the square slowly, feet crunching over the cobblestones, the silence thick with the weight of grief.

‘We found a couple mages,’ said Killian. ‘Useless. Can’t fahren worth a damn, yet. Too young. They may be useful in other ways, however. They refuse to speak, but I thought you might persuade them.’

‘I don’t think – I can persuade them if you can’t,’ Gray said, trying to keep his tone calm and fighting the urge to press back.

‘We’ll see,’ said Killian.

They passed into a side alley and stopped in front of a weapons shop Gray had never stepped inside before.

Clochaint, Gray did not want to go in there.