Longwark lay back on the infirmary bed, his hand still being tended to by the medic.

Gray sat stiffly on the bed opposite, his gaze locked on the view from the window. The town square was deserted. Blood stained the cobblestones. There was no sign of Mrs Farrack, her donkeys and cart, or the man who tried to help her.

No one’s killing anyone, Killian had said.

But, that was an awful lot of fresh blood.

The medic was in front of him, cleaning the exposed wound on his arm again. ‘You have a fever?’ said the medic. ‘You’re sweating.’

‘I’m fine, sir,’ muttered Gray.

The medic bandaged his arm. ‘I’ll sterilise the thermometer. Stay. I’ll be right back.’

Gray kept his gaze locked onto the view from the window.

There was movement, behind a half-pulled curtain in the axe shop across the square. Gray leant closer to the glass, trying to see.

‘What did he offer you?’ slurred Longwark in slow northern.

Gray tore his gaze away from the axe shop. Longwark lounged back on the bed, too huge to fit.

‘It must be good,’ said Longwark, ‘if you keep coming back.’

Gray frowned.

‘He offered you a pardon?’ said Longwark.

‘No.’

‘Ah,’ said Longwark. ‘I see. It’s not even good, what he offered you.’

Gray was keeping such tight control of himself he felt like he could barely breathe.

’Did you see what happened out there?’ said Gray stiffly. ‘Did you see Mrs Farrark?’

There was the slightest twitch of Longwark’s busted lips.

‘Just give him what he wants,’ said Gray. ‘Then, they’ll leave.’

‘He wants my head,’ said Longwark.

‘He wants the jar,’ hissed Gray. ‘Give him the damn jar.’ Gray knew he should be careful. He had to go calmly. He drew in a controlled breath. ‘They’ve killed people here. People you know. Innocent people.’

‘He wants a pat on the head from the king,’ said Longwark, his slurred northern dripping with disdain. ‘You give him that, he’ll leave here. Jar or no jar.’

Gray gritted his teeth. ‘Give him the jar, Longwark.’

‘No one can give him the jar,’ said Longwark. ‘He cut off the head of the one person I know who had the skill to go retrieve it.’

Gray’s muscles locked. ‘Branbright?’

Longwark’s swollen eye twitched.

‘Retrieve from where?’ said Gray.

There was no change in Longwark. Gray might as well have been talking to a wall.

‘It’s here?’ said Gray.

Longwark smiled, his battered face contorting like a nightmare. ‘The jar is safe. Very safe. It’s safe even if Wilde or Krupin himself was stalking these streets.’ He’d switched back to Lismerian. He leant close, and Gray held himself very still. ‘You hear that, wolf? You don’t know shit. About me. About sorcerers. About Branbright. Anything. It’s not safe to have me here. Take - me - to - the - king.’

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—

Killian looked up from the parchment filled with scrawling from the eavesdropper charm, and the translation Vaddenham had written out for him. He was completely unreadable.

He took a moment, silence stretching, his mouth a hard line.

‘You have no tact,’ said Killian.

Gray bit down a flash of anger. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘for not being more experienced at weaselling information out of psychopaths.’

‘Ryan would’ve had him singing his soul out within two minutes,’ said Killian carelessly.

Gray’s muscles tensed. He refused to look at Killian.

Killian had tensed, too. Gray could feel it.

The parchment rustled as Killian read over it again.

‘You got me useless information from Longwark,’ said Killian.

‘I …’ said Gray.

‘You know what I needed?’ said Killian. ‘I needed the location of the jar and the mages in the forest. I need to know what the hell is down in those tombs.’

Have you got that information out of Longwark? Gray wanted to say. He bit his tongue, hating Killian with every fibre of his being. ‘They’re - they were working together. Longwark and Branbright. Not competing.’

Killian tilted his head.

‘It’s the way he talks about him,’ said Gray.

Killian examined him, and then the parchment.

The silence stretched for so long, unbroken, that Gray stammered, ‘That’s how he talks about his colleagues from school. And the mage guild. He was - complimentary.’

Very slowly, Killian pinned Gray with his dark stare.

The air between them was dangerous, and Gray didn’t know why the damn Killian was suddenly so triggered. One wrong word, and it would explode into heat and fire.

Gray clenched his jaw shut.

‘You think this deserves a bath?’ said Killian.

‘I don’t want a bath,’ said Gray.

‘You,’ said Killian, ‘don’t want a bath?’ His eyebrows were high on his forehead. His dark gaze was watchful. ‘A bath’s not good enough for you now?’

‘I want a bath,’ muttered Gray. He really wanted a damn bath. ‘But there’s something else I want more.’

’Something else?’ said Killian carefully.

’I-‘

‘Not only did you get me useless information,’ said Killian dangerously, ‘You let him into your head.’

‘No one’s in my head,’ said Gray quickly.

‘You’ve let Longwark get into your head. This is what sorcerers do. They’ll get into your head and mess with it.’

‘No-’

‘A bath is a very good reward,’ said Killian, tossing the parchment into the rubbish. ‘for useless information. You’ve been wanting a stupid bath since the first day.’

Silence pounded between them.

‘Well?’ said Killian. ‘Ask, kid.’

Gray edged forward, his heart beginning to pound. He hated to ask, he hated the idea he’d owe Killian anything, but he had to try. ‘Take the Ralphs out of the prison.’

Killian’s dark gaze narrowed. ‘And where would I put them, Gray?’

‘Here,’ said Gray.

‘No.’

They way Killian said no was harder than stone.

‘They aren’t safe there,’ said Gray.

‘I said no.’ Killian clenched his jaw. ‘Now, you want your bath, or you have any other inane requests to try first?’

Gray glared down at his hands.

‘Tactically,’ said Killian, ‘I can’t have them here while I have you here. You understand?’

Gray didn’t. If he could think clearly, maybe. But his insides felt like a burnt wasteland. And his mind … he had to push to link two thoughts together, let alone make any kind of mental leaps.

‘Hm?’

Gray needed Killian to explain. But he couldn’t get the words out past his tongue. Perhaps this is what happened to make so many mages rave and speak in riddles. They had too many damn encounters with military officers.

‘You don’t keep your most valuable prisoners together,’ said Killian briskly. He paused for the tiniest moment. ‘Despite the rights the law gives them over prisoners, my men won’t touch them. They won’t touch any of the prisoners. If they do, privately, they’ll answer to me. No ifs, ands, or buts. They know this. The most they’ll dare is to ask my permission first. OK, kid?’

Gray slowly met Killian’s dark gaze.

Did Killian not know how close his soldiers had come to barging into his and Sorena’s cell, what that one soldier had done, right outside the cell door?

‘Well?’ said Killian.

Gray hesitated, his gaze dropping to the carpet. ‘If you get the Ralphs out-’

‘I said no. You’re trying the very end of my patience today, kid.’

‘I,’ said Gray, thinking the next words tumbling out of his mouth might be Killian’s tipping point, but he just had to ask, just had to grit his teeth and bear it and ask, while he still had a chance, ‘there’s some books I want.’