Turned out, Killian didn’t need to call for backup.

Gray got knocked out during the ensuing scuffle, which Gray discovered as he woke up in the barracks with a splitting headache.

‘Good afternoon,’ said Killian.

‘Good afternoon?’

Gray bolted up - he’d been lying on the floor - wrenching off a brown blanket, and then stopped, holding his head.

The office he was in was militarily sparse.

Desk, chair, barred window.

Cold white walls and a colder white tiled floor.

Gray suspected some of Lunn’s potions lingered in his system, because he should be furious at Killian - and he was, he was - but he couldn’t muster any kind of visceral reaction or any kind of spitting heat.

Killian was by the window, strapping a lethal looking knife to his thigh. He was dressed in a new uniform and if Gray looked past the grey-ish tinge at the edges of Killian’s face and the still-raw skin at his wrists, he looked every inch his usual dangerous self.

The echoing shout of soldiers running drills somewhere outside drifted in.

‘What,’ said Gray, ‘the actual fu-’

‘It was an accident,’ said Killian.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Knocking you out.’

Killian’s voice was clipped. Restrained. His mask, the cold, professional one, was back on. It was in the lines of his face and the tension in his shoulders.

Gray stood there, suppressed fury lapping at his edges like a kind of calm, acid lake. He worked his jaw.

‘I had you checked,’ said Killian. ‘You’re fine.’

‘How many times,’ said Gray through gritted teeth and rubbing his head, ‘can someone be knocked out before they don’t wake up?’

Killian paused in shrugging into a fresh jacket, complete with a pristine wolf fur collar and polished buttons.

‘At least a few more,’ said Killian, ‘knowing you.’

Also turned out, the officers at the Sirentown barracks were scared enough of Killian to do whatever he wanted, no questions asked.

And Killian wanted a lot.

‘... I want better fighters, no stat scores below three hundred, send word to Darcy, I need a meeting with Sulyard, has Jessica replied, replenish my men’s armoury, replenish their rations, get a dragon scale vest for Conor Griffin, prepare a holding cell for Griffin, tell my men to prepare to leave for Krydon …’

Apparently a boat had arrived from Wingland with a famous mage on board.

Yessi Young.

‘Tell her to come to the barracks at once,’ said Killian. ‘She’s to put aside any other business she has, understood? And do not let her out of your sight.’

‘Yes, Major,’ said the soldier, backing out of the room.

‘Griffin,’ Killian spun on his heel and tossed Gray an inky black vest of overlapping dragon scales. ‘Put it on.’

Gray lifted his face off his knees and caught the vest before it hit his face.

He’d been sitting in the corner for the past hour, seething, with only the dull pounding of his head to pass the minutes as Killian barked a hundred different orders at a string of stuttering soldiers and nervous officers.

Gray shoved the vest to the side, as he’d done with the different vials Killian had tossed his way.

Childish?

Oh, yeah.

And it was getting under Killian’s skin something fierce.

‘Seriously?’ said Killian. ‘Do you know how expensive that vest is?’

Gray kicked the vest further away with his Othoan fur-tipped boot.

‘There’s about ten of these vests in the entire world, Griffin,’ said Killian. ‘Do you have any idea of the logistical hoops Captain Doni had to jump through to get his hands on that damn thing so fast?’

Gray nudged it even further away.

‘You fucking need it,’ said Killian tightly, ‘to help contain … you. If you … go overboard with your power again. Understood?’

Shame flooded Gray. Carefully, he reached for the vest. The scales were hard as stones and warm to touch.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

‘What was that?’ said Killian.

Gray put it on, keeping his gaze down as he did up the laces.

‘I ask, you answer, Gray,’ said Killian.

‘I said sorry,’ said Gray, finishing off the laces a little too savagely. ‘If you had explained to me why I needed to wear the vest in the first place, I would’ve just worn it.’

Very slowly, and very stiffly, Killian turned to face Gray. His mouth was in a hard line and his dark gaze was slightly narrowed. ‘I'm a busy man, Gray. But, you act your age instead of sulking in the corner, I’ll grant you a little more of my reasoning.’

‘OK,’ said Gray, straightening up and then leaning his shoulders against the wall in imitation of how Killian would often stand. ‘Better?’

‘It’s a start.’

Gray held Killian's dark gaze unflinchingly.

‘What’s the mage for?’ said Gray.

Killian busied himself with a complex map on his desk. ‘I want the mage for many things.’

‘Fahrenning,’ said Gray. ‘Right?’

‘Correct.’

‘You’re not asking that mage to fahren me to Dierne,’ said Gray. ‘Not after I helped you.’

Because that's what Yessi Young was for, that's why Killian was so demanding of some famous mage before she even set foot on Lismerian soil. He needed a mage to fahren the whole distance from Sirentown to Dierne.

And it was hitting Gray like a sucker punch.

He'd gone back to save Killian from the poachers, instead of running.

And now everything Gray had done had been for nothing.

‘You,’ said Killian, lifting his dark gaze from the map, ‘are getting too bold.’

Perhaps Gray’s words had been too on the nose, perhaps he should be exercising more caution.

But, as there was no trembling, physical anger within him, nor was there any palpable fear.

He was muted.

‘You wanted me to act like an adult,’ said Gray.

‘You're not an adult,’ said Killian. ‘Nor are you acting like one. I said to act your age.’

Words were piling up inside Gray, and it took everything within him to keep his mouth closed.

‘You stay calm,’ said Killian, shooting him a sidelong glance. ‘We’re not going to Dierne yet. I need to complete my orders in Krydon first. And I want to damn well retrieve Frostvine.’

‘You,’ said Gray, straightening off the wall, ‘you checked Krydon for a death curse? Branbright -’

‘I haven’t exactly had a lot of spare time, kid,’ said Killian. ‘No, I haven’t checked Krydon for a death curse.’

‘You need to,’ said Gray.

‘I know,’ said Killian abruptly.

‘You,’ said Gray, as Killian guided him out of the office by his arm. ‘You know my paper, from the library, the one you picked up?’

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

‘Yeah.’

‘I think there might be a vampiric sorcerer in Krydon.’

Killian didn’t miss a beat. ‘I know.’

‘You know? You - you’re doing something about it, then? Because -’

‘Of course I'm doing something about it,’ said Killian as though affronted. ‘What do you think I’ve been doing all morning, while you’ve been sulking in the corner?’

'I could help,' said Gray, 'if you let me go back to the library.'

'I don't need your help, kid,' said Killian.

They were moving down a wide corridor, past closed doors, past soldiers hastily saluting Killian.

‘Where are we going?’ said Gray.

‘Your holding cell,’ muttered Killian.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Gray, ‘and hear me out, I know it’s a reach, but there’s stories about swamp vampires guarding some of the tombs, and I think-’

‘Swamp vampires are a myth,’ said Killian, his voice getting harder. ‘It’s a sorcerer.’

‘Right,’ said Gray. ‘Right. But, if you look at the folktales around swamp vampires - and I don’t know much, well, anything really, about vampiric sorcerers, but from little I do know there’s some crossover-’

‘Kid-’

‘I think it’s worth looking into because there’s specific traditions that-’

‘Kid. I’m on it. Stop talking and rest. You have to be feeling pretty rough, still. Rest, hm?’

‘You need to look into the history of the area, as far back as the naming of the streets at the very least, or I can do it if you let me go to the library-’

‘Holy shit,’ said Killian softly, ‘this is the most you’ve ever talked. I didn’t know you could talk this much. Remember when you were shy?’

‘I was angry,’ says Gray, taken aback, ‘not shy. I’m still angry. Really angry. I talk. Clearly, you don't remember the poachers, because Lunn would get right annoyed by my talking …’

Killian swiftly spun Gray to face the closest lamp.

He was peering into Gray's eyes like he was searching for his soul.

‘What the hell did that fae give you?’ said Killian. Then, as though to himself, ‘Maybe you have reached your limit of head knocks.’

Gray hesitated, because, sure, he didn’t exactly feel normal, there was that suppressed fury inside and his tongue did feel loose, and there was an underlying beast of anxiety - a curled up, sleeping dragon deep within - that felt like it could rear up at any second, because once he was dragged off to Dierne, that would be the end of everything.

But, honestly, Gray was fine.

‘What’s your name?’ said Killian with the same air as a man placing his first bit of weight on a frozen lake.

Gray frowned. ‘You know my name.’

‘Who were your parents?’ said Killian, edging closer.

‘I don’t know, Elona never answered my questions, I wasn’t allowed to ask …’

‘Are your stat papers real?’ said Killian.

‘I’m not tripping,’ said Gray.

Because, Barin had done the same too-close inspection of Alistair's eyes when he'd caught Ali sneaking in through the window after experimenting on dragon's puff one time.

‘Face to the light,' said Killian, prodding Gray closer to the lamp. 'Let me see your pupils.’

Gray complied.

Seconds passed.

‘Well?’ said Gray.

Killian clicked his tongue softly and jabbed Gray back into a brisk walk. ‘You’re still drugged.’

‘You need to talk to the tomb guardians,’ said Gray. ‘And if you look at the local-’

‘Please,’ said Killian, somewhat stiffly, ‘continue to tell me how to do my job.’

‘I,’ said Gray.

Killian waited, his eyebrows high.

Gray struggled to keep his mouth clamped shut.

‘I know,’ said Killian, his voice low and fast, ‘there’s a vampiric sorcerer stalking Krydon. I know it's come from one of the tombs. And I know the mages have been playing cat and mouse with it to lure it away from town. I don’t know what the hell it’s doing there or how to get rid of it. No one does. And I don't know how to stop losing mages to their game with it. Some fucking mage shit that I don't understand and that they won't talk about.'

Gray stared at Killian’s tense face.

'Yessi will go, too. I'll lose her within half an hour to half a day,' said Killian. 'That's the time frame I have to operate in,'

Gray swallowed hard.

'Happy?' said Killian. 'Will you shut up now?'

‘There must be a way,’ said Gray, his mouth dry, ‘because the Ancients used vampiric sorcerers to guard-’

‘I know.’ Then, ‘I’ll send someone for more charcoal,’ said Killian, ‘because you’re not yourself. Try being shy and quiet again, hm?’

Gray bristled and Killian must’ve sensed it because he let out a small huff.

‘I don’t mean shy as an insult,’ said Killian placatingly, like he was bargaining with a five-year-old.

Gray shoved his hands into his pockets, holding back a stream of fast and loose words with extreme difficulty. Absolutely something was off. Letting his tongue run loose like this?

Willingly letting Killian walk him to a holding cell?

He should be fighting with everything within him.

After the holding cell would be Krydon. Then Dierne, and then kneeling before the king in the grand stadium.

It was like some kind of slow release potion had crept through Gray’s blood, had evaded the first dose of charcoal. Gods knew what else was lingering in there.

Gray stopped.

And Killian let him. They were outside a door that had a sign on it, with the words: Holding Cells.

Gray stood, gripping his hand in his hair, and feeling his cheeks grow unbearably warm in about .3 seconds flat. He was filled with mortifying self awareness, fleetingly.

He'd been jibber jabbering his every damn thought like he'd never done in his life.

‘Yeah,’ said Gray, ‘I think I need more charcoal.’

‘Yeah,’ said Killian, his dark hair hanging in his eyes.

Gray remained still, his head bowed and his hand in his hair. 'Why the hell would Lunn have given me this shit?'

Killian cleared his throat. 'If it keeps you from turning into a ball of energy, I'm not complaining.'

'He was following orders,' said Gray.

'Just be glad you're not seeing Baldwin yet,' said Killian. 'You do not want to be running your mouth then, kid.'

'Just running,' said Gray darkly. 'You know, you're stopping Longwark from leaving. You're stopping Sorena and Lyrie and Oliver. Or are they gone-'

'Kid,' said Killian, his voice getting steely, 'this isn't your business, this isn't your problem to solve, and I've already been very generous with the information I've given you. Don't push it.'

'But, why not stop Yessi from leaving, and work at a distance, or-

'Kid.'

'Why not stop Yessi or any mage you can find-'

'Because it killed one of my men,' said Killian.

Gray stilled. 'Codder?'

Was that why Codder wasn't there in Sirentown - not that Gray had seen.

Killian drew in a long and controlled breath. 'Not Codder.' Stiffly, 'I could take away Yessi's wand and her chalk and shove her into a warded cell. Because this thing affects proper mages, mages who've gone through several reyces. And that is Yessi Young. But I'm not going to, because that creature killed my man, and I'm ready to end it. So, I'm going to Krydon with an armed mage and I'm not wasting any more time.'

A hundred questions swarmed Gray's mind, a hundred icy tendrils of fear and confusion.

Then, Gray's concern, his train of thought, dissolved.

‘But,’ said Gray. ‘It is important you listen. About the swamp vampires and the local lullabies. You’re listening, right?’

For a beat, Killian stared at him. Muttered an oath.

Then, wordlessly, Killian swung open the door.

The holding cells were rooms of thick stone walls at the bottom and reinforced bars at the top. Bare and functional, they were lit by warded windows and lamps set in sconces.

Gray immediately saw Sorena peering through her bars, her platinum hair catching the light and her cold hazel eyes assessing the situation. A little way down was Lyrie and Oliver, their auburn hair pulled out of their faces and their fierce eyes goggling at Gray.

Longwark was there, too, housed completely separately. He was sat on his bed, making it sag with his huge weight, and he didn’t look up at the sound of Killian and Gray entering.

Killian shunted Gray into a holding cell between Sorena and the Ralphs. Longwark was opposite them.

‘Killian?’ said Gray. ‘Are you listening to me?’

Killian wasn’t even looking him in the eye now. He was locking Gray in.

‘What happened to you?’ said Sorena, staring at Gray coldly.

‘Did you explode Sirentown?’ said Oliver, his eyes wide. 'That's what everyone's saying.'

‘I ...’ said Gray, momentarily distracted, because he had not exploded Sirentown, he’d seen that he hadn’t-

‘Part of it,’ said Lyrie, goggling at Gray.

‘The vile part,’ said Sorena.

‘Oh, and that makes it OK?’ said Lyrie. ‘You judgmental, privileged, icy-’

‘Did I say it was OK?’ said Sorena. ‘Clean your ears, you pleb.’

‘Oh, nice,’ said Lyrie.

‘Why are you dressed as an Othoan?’ said Oliver to Gray, his eyes practically popping from his sockets. ‘You are Conor Griffin.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ said Lyrie.

‘Conor Griffin’s very disappointing, if that’s what he is,’ said Sorena, waving a hand at Gray’s - well, everything.

‘I’m not-’ said Gray, wrapping his hands around the bars. ‘Killian.’

Longwark glared at them silently, his hands pressed to his temples.

Someone - a stranger - being held some way down the row, called out, 'Will you all shut the hell up?'

‘Killian,’ said Gray, staring at his retreating back.

‘Gray, how are you alive?’ said Lyrie.

‘I,’ said Gray, glancing at her, and then at Killian. He was almost at the door. ‘Long story. Killian.’

‘Your face is a mess,’ said Sorena. ‘More so than usual.’

Gray darted a frustrated glance at her. ‘I was kicked,’ he said. ‘It’s was pretty impressive-’

‘How your head caught a foot was impressive?’ said Sorena. ‘Killian, don’t leave me here with these people.’

‘Your father’s direct orders, Sorena,’ called Killian through the closing door. ‘Gray, stop talking.’

'All of you stop talking,' called the stranger from down the row. His voice held enough deep anger that everyone fell silent.

Gray paced back and forth in his holding cell.

Time passed achingly slow.

Finally, the door opened again and Killian walked through.

He was followed by a beautiful mage in long robes, ears glinting with dozens of silver piercings, and dark hair twisted back with silver ribbons.

She radiated power.

Her bright gaze swept along the row of holding cells, once, twice, and then landed curiously on Gray.

'This is him?' she said.

Gray wrapped his cold hands around the bars.

Her voice was soft and held a smooth thrill of power. Gray's arm hairs were standing on end.

'We have to leave now, Yessi,' said Killian. 'Darcy's losing his mind in Krydon.'

Yessi Young came to a stop in front of Gray's holding cell. She trailed a faint scent of lavender and something electric. Gray counted three knives and five potions on her belt.

She turned to glance at Killian. 'Unlock his door, then, and we'll go to Krydon.'