The scent of the forest enveloped Gray.

And he knew he was near Krydon.

But the air was different.

There was an acidic sting. A heaviness.

Gray blinked, clearing his vision from the crushing darkness of fahrenning. They’d landed outside the remains of Krydon’s crumbling northern town wall - Killian, Yessi, and an unconscious Longwark being hauled by a non-too-gentle Killian. Killian had Longwark over his shoulder like a slack-limbed sack.

Before fahrenning, before letting Gray out of his holding cell in Sirentown, Killian had walked into Longwark’s cell like he was taking an afternoon stroll and just had - punched him. One jab to the head. And Longwark had fallen unconscious.

Gray had gracefully obeyed whatever Killian had asked of him, then.

Because watching Killian bring down a man like Longwark had been brutally sobering.

Killian had ordered the Ralphs and Sorena to stay in their holding cells in Sirentown.

They, too, had just said, ‘yes, Killian.’

Gray’s palms and knees were bruised, and he wiped his grassy hands on his thighs as he straightened cautiously.

‘Still,’ said Killian.

Gray and Yessi froze.

There was something wrong with Krydon.

There was no noise.

No voices or laughter floating down the skinny streets. No clopping of horses on the cobblestones. No banging of smithies, no dogs barking, no shouting of children.

There was a pile of tables - dining tables, school desks, work benches - barricading the entrance to the nearest street. Gray caught the slightest movement in the corner of his eye and he glanced up.

A glint of metal on the rooftop.

Someone was hidden up there, and they were armed.

More than one person, Gray realized.

‘Your soldiers,’ said Gray. ‘Are they still here-?’

‘Shush.’ Killian dropped Longwark onto the grass with a heavy thud. He held his hands up and called out, ‘here to help.’ Then, when an arrow whipped through the air and landed way too close to Killian’s feet, he said softly, out of the corner of his mouth, ‘Gray, in northern, if you please.’

Gray drew in cool, forest-scented air into his lungs. The people on the rooftops were townsfolk. Not soldiers. They’d blocked this street and probably any other that would allow access into Krydon.

‘What happened here?’ said Gray, eyeing Killian. ‘What did you do?’

‘Kid,’ said Killian, softly, fast, ‘tell them I mean no harm.’

Gray hesitated, and then shouted to the rooftops - and probably to armed fighters concealed behind the barricade, and likely lurking behind Gray too, hidden in the field, behind boulders, trees, in long grass - in northern, ‘he says he’s here to help you. You need help?’

Silence answered them.

‘They don’t want us here,’ muttered Gray.

‘Yessi,’ said Killian.

Yessi stepped forward, her knotted wand gripped tight in her hand.

Her electrifying magic was expanding, it was filling the air around Gray and Killian and Longwark.

‘No,’ said Gray. ‘Don’t send a mage in there. Not while they’re -’

‘She’s not going in there,’ said Killian. ‘She’s going to fahren us very precisely into the Captain’s office in the Hall. Yessi, you can do this?’

Yessi hesitated. The silver ribbons in her dark hair glittered in the late afternoon sun.

‘Yes or no, Yessi,’ said Killian.

‘I believe so.’

‘Not inspiring me with a lot of confidence, Yessi. Can you do it?’

‘Yes,’ she said, dipping her head.

‘Yessi, draw the circle.’

Yessi moved to get her chalk.

An arrow whipped through the air and tore through Yessi’s robes, through the fluttering hem, and landed into the grass.

It was a clean shot. It had gone through Yessi’s robes only.

A clear warning.

Yessi stilled, her bright eyes darting from rooftop to rooftop.

Killian’s jaw bunched. His face hardened.

‘Wait,’ said Gray, recognising the signs of Killian about to unleash hell. ‘Wait.

‘I left over twenty men here, and there were several high ranking officials,’ said Killian. ‘Major General Darcy. Darcy - my men - wouldn’t have allowed the northerners to take the town like this. If they’ve killed them, if they’re holding them prisoner, this is about to get very ugly.’

‘Wait,’ said Gray. ‘Just wait before you do anything.’

‘I don’t have time to do this nicely, kid.’

‘Wait,’ said Gray. ‘Give me - give me a second.’

Gray went to walk forward towards the barricade.

Killian snatched the back of Gray’s dragon scale vest, jerking Gray back. ‘You are drugged. You have the attention span of a gnat right now. No.’

‘They won’t hurt me,’ said Gray. ‘I promise. I’m fine. It’ll be fine. Just let me-’

‘They won’t hurt you?’ Killian’s face was stone. His dark gaze was a hard wall.

‘They won’t hurt me,’ said Gray, firmly.

Killian grabbed Gray so fast he couldn’t even tense. Killian had him in a choking hold. The cold point of metal nicked Gray’s skin, and he knew he had a knife held to his throat.

The hold was too tight for Gray to speak. He could barely breathe. His gaze blurred.

‘Not here to hurt anyone,’ called Killian again. ‘Allow my mage to do her business peacefully, no one gets hurt. We all want the same thing.’

Gray tried to grip onto Killian’s ropey arm. 'Are you insane?' Gray gasped. 'Their aim - they will - this isn't ...'

Killian dragged him close to Yessi and Longwark. In front. A shield.

‘Draw the circle, Yessi,’ said Killian. ‘Now.’

Yessi stooped, drawing the circle.

A knife flew through the air, from somewhere off to the side. It whistled through the air. The throw was strong. Straight.

It hit Killian in the shoulder.

If anything, Killian’s hold on Gray tightened. His breath shook.

Yessi had paused, and Killian snarled at her to keep going.

Yessi was chanting the words in the mage tongue, her brow was furrowed, her face was pale. Her bright gaze crept to the forest. Sweat beaded her forehead. She stammered to a stop.

‘Yessi,’ spat Killian. ‘Focus.’

Yessi clutched her wand tight. Wrenched her gaze from the forest. Stared at Killian.

‘Fahren,’ said Killian. ‘Captain’s office inside the Hall.’

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‘Yes,’ said Yessi. Her frown deepened. ‘Yes.’

‘Quickly,’ said Killian. ‘Before they throw an axe at us.’

Yessi rushed through the words, faster than Gray had ever heard Sorena do it. There was the deafening CRACK of the fahren. They were pressed into black. They were tossed back and forth. There was no air. They were being drowned in crushing darkness.

And then Gray landed, buckling to his hands and knees into soft carpet.

He was met with a deep, startled shout of Lismerian.

Gray shoved Killian away, pushed away the knife, and blinked to clear his vision.

They were in the old Captain’s office. In Krydon Hall. It was unchanged, with the dark tapestry up on one wall and the wanted posters up on the other, and the desk underneath the window.

Major General Darcy stood behind the desk, his face like thunder.

His uniform - dark with gold stitching - was crumpled and stained. The hair combed over his balding head was a mess. His stomach strained as he breathed in and out like an angry bull.

‘Not dead, then, sir,’ said Killian coolly, like he didn’t have a damn knife sticking out of his shoulder. Like his uniform wasn’t blooming red with blood.

Killian hunched over on his knees.

Darcy’s face was red. Veins strained in his temples, in his neck. ‘Not dead,’ said Darcy. ‘The barbarians have just laid siege to us here.’

‘That worked well,’ gasped Gray, glaring at Killian. 'You asshole.'

‘Yes,’ said Killian. ‘I’m an asshole. Yessi, if you’d be so kind-’

Yessi knelt next to Killian, muttering a string of words. The pressure of her magic was building in the room. Gray folded his arms against the sensation, edging back, his skin breaking out into goosebumps.

Killian pulled out the knife, silently, swiftly, his jaw clenched, and dropped it onto the carpet.

Beyond the tear in Killian’s uniform, underneath the tip of Yessi’s wand, the skin was knitting together. The blood remained, staining Killian’s uniform.

Yessi’s words slowed to a stop.

She lifted her wand.

‘Done?’ said Killian.

‘Done,’ said Yessi. ‘Try not to get injured again.’

Yes,’ said Killian breathlessly, straightening up. ‘Understood.’

Longwark was an unconscious lump at his feet.

Yessi crossed to the window and peered out. Her elegant fingers brushed the windowsill, and the afternoon light hit her bright eyes so that they were dazzling shards, and for a second it took Gray’s breath away.

She was steady. Her breath was even.

This, Gray caught himself thinking, was a powerful mage.

Fahrenning. Healing.

She hadn't broken a sweat.

Darcy’s powerful shoulders were hunched. He looked over Killian, and then at Longwark at Killian’s feet. Gray. And then stopped at Yessi. Something calculated rippled over Darcy’s features.

‘Sir,’ said Killian, ‘you received my correspondence? My plan-’

Darcy pointed with such force that he could’ve split the air. His arm was trembling. ‘That’s Phineas Longwark?’

‘Yes,’ said Killian. There was a hint of wariness in his voice. ‘Sir, we have limited time, as I’m sure you’re-’

‘And that,’ said Darcy, barely raising his voice over Killian, but there was a quality to the tone of his voice that sent shivers down Gray’s spine and sent his stomach plummeting down to his feet, ‘is Conor Griffin?’

Darcy had locked his cold gaze onto Gray like a mountain cat choosing which deer from the herd to kill and eat.

Killian stalled.

‘Is that Conor Griffin, I said,’ said Darcy.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Killian.

‘And now I have a mage,’ said Darcy, pointing at Yessi as he’d done to Longwark. ‘Good. I’m leaving this forsaken town. Immediately.’

Killian drew himself up.

‘No, sir,’ said Killian, tightly. ‘We’re not leaving. Not yet. I have a strategy-’

‘This is the strategy,’ said Darcy. ‘Leave. While we can. Before this mage disappears. Which could happen at any second.’

‘I wrote to you,’ said Killian. ‘Sir-’

‘Mage,’ said Darcy. ‘Run and fetch the group in the Raven Suite on the third level. Bring them here. You’ll fahren us all to Dierne.’

Yessi wrenched her gaze away from the window. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Or,’ said Darcy, ‘I’ll tell Baldwin Auguste you refused a direct order.’

‘I’m not Baldwin Auguste’s subject,’ said Yessi, raising an eyebrow. Her wand was clutched in her hand. ‘Do you know who I am?’

‘Darcy,’ said Killian. ‘Yessi, I’ll sort this. Sir, you’re not-’

‘Mage,’ said Darcy, striding past the desk and opening the door. ‘Do as I say, or Baldwin Auguste will be informed that you refused to help a group of some of his most valuable officials, some of his nearest and dearest, to safety.’

Yessi glanced at Killian, her jaw tight.

Yessi might have been armed to the teeth, she might’ve been a famous and powerful mage from Wingland, but she did not have the stature or the body language of a fighter. She was uncomfortable. Her attention was constantly drawn to the window.

Killian let out a sharp breath, his fists clenched. ‘Go,’ he muttered to Yessi, ‘while I speak with my Major General.’

Yessi muttered something in a lilting foreign language and then strode out of the room, her robes whipping in her wake.

As soon as she closed the door, Killian stepped over Longwark’s form and stood close to Darcy, hissing whispers so fast Gray couldn’t track the Lismerian.

And Darcy shoved him back in less than ten seconds.

‘Sir,’ said Killian through gritted teeth.

‘Stay here, then, Killian,’ said Darcy. ‘I’ll give you my permission for you to stay. I’ll go to the king, saving the group here, and bringing him these two prisoners.’

Killian was all stiff lines. His fists were clenched so hard that the tendons were bulging.

‘You may keep your men with you, if you want to attempt a damn suicide mission,’ said Darcy.

Darcy’s meaty hand was on the scruff of Gray’s neck, bunching his shirt underneath the dragon scale vest.

‘Killian,’ said Gray, his heart beginning to thud in his chest.

They should’ve stayed in Sirentown. This was not happening.

They were not about to go to the king.

‘Killian,’ said Gray. ‘You told me we weren’t going to Dierne yet.’

‘Baldwin wanted him presented to the court,’ said Killian to Darcy, his face white underneath his battle scars. ‘Baldwin will need time to prepare the grand stadium. He specifically instructed me-’

‘You’ve lost both of these prisoners once already, soldier. Longwark twice,’ said Darcy. ‘I’m sure Baldwin would rather them both at his feet now, than give you a chance to fuck up again?’

Gray’s heart was trying very hard to race.

‘He specifically told me,’ said Killian, his lips tight, ‘he - Major General - Baldwin will be at the mage guild summer festival now. He will not take kindly to-’

‘He’ll not take kindly to being told he’s lost over fifteen very valuable mage soldiers? That the northerners laid waste to his men? That you and Pruitt let his daughter get away twice?’

‘He - no - he knows about Sorena - he knows about everything-’

‘Good thing I’ll be able to hand him Conor Griffin and Phineas Longwark,’ said Darcy. ‘He'll have that, at least. I’m doing it now.’

‘Sir, he needs to be notified first, the kid’s still drugged to the eyeballs, there’s protocols-’

‘NOW.’ Darcy tightened his grip on Gray. ‘Stand up straight, mage!’

‘He’s a sorcerer,’ said Killian, his face furious white, his voice impossibly controlled and soft. ‘That’s the whole point-’

‘Are you trying to correct me, soldier?’ said Darcy.

‘I rank a sir,’ said Killian through gritted teeth, ‘and a salute.’

‘I was commanding your rank when you were being squeezed out of your mother.’

‘You’re not,’ said Killian, edging forward, his dark hair hanging in his dark eyes, ‘taking Griffin to Dierne dressed like that, sir. Presenting him to Baldwin, dressed like a subject from one of Lismere’s oldest enemies. He’ll take offence.’

‘Othoa is a potential ally,’ said Darcy. 'I should know that better than you, seeing as I was just there with General.' He released Gray so suddenly that Gray stumbled to get his footing. ‘Where the damn is my transport?’

Darcy strode out, calling for Yessi.

Killian stood like a marble statue, his tendons visible in his tense neck and his breath ragged. ‘Fuck.’

Then, he turned on the spot. Paced, his hands gripped in his hair.

Stopped.

‘Fuck,’ he muttered again, breathlessly.

He strode over to the door. ‘ALL SOLDIERS. OFFICE.’

The command wasn’t echoed as it had before Gray had fled Krydon. There was a thin uptaking of voices - a skeleton crew of soldiers - shouting the command over the different floors of the Hall.

Suddenly Killian was in front of Gray, straightening Gray’s clothes.

‘Bow,’ said Killian, talking low and fast. ‘Don’t look Baldwin in the eye, don’t speak unless spoken to, don’t speak northern, he hates northern, don’t turn your back to him. Be very, very polite. Understood?’

Killian’s hands were shaking and that scared the shit out of Gray, and suddenly Gray was shaking harder than he’d ever done in his life.

Fear flooded him.

And then, it dissolved.

‘You’re fixing the situation here, right?’ said Gray, staring hard at his Othoan style boots. ‘Someone needs to fix things. The vampiric sorcerer?'

'Kid. Darcy is my superior. I have to-'

'You were listening,' said Gray, 'to what I told you about the swamp vampire and the street names? And my horse, Fudgie-’

‘Kid. Fuck.’ Killian was adjusting the laces on the dragon scale vest, pulling it tight with trembling fingers. ‘You need to hold your tongue.’

‘Why do you care?’ said Gray, his whole body strangely numb. 'I'm going to die anyway.'

Killian’s face was very white. His dark eyes were wide. 'We don't know that. We don't know what Baldwin's going to do.' Killian swallowed. ‘No one wants to see him lose his shit.’

Gray clamped his mouth shut, suppressing a flood of words.

‘I’m not staying here,’ muttered Killian. He was speaking too fast. He was stumbling over his words like Gray had never witnessed him do. ‘My men will not be staying here. I’m not letting Darcy take all the credit for Longwark and you. I'm not letting him spin whatever tale he wants to Baldwin. He'll ruin me.’

Gray’s pulse was a dull beat in his ears.

‘You with me?’ said Killian. ‘Give me some eye contact, hm? A nod. Something to let me know you’re processing this.’

‘Yes,’ said Gray.

‘You’ve been taught court manners?’ rushed out Killian. ‘Elona taught you how to bow? There’s the mage bow and the regular bow, I think you should-’

Before Killian could finish, before Gray could say he’d never been taught how to bow, Darcy strode back in with Yessi and a motley group of soldiers and officials.

They poured into the room at an alarming rate.

The room was overrun with uniforms and flashing buttons and leather boots. Polished Limserian accents. Epauletted shoulders jostling for space.

The crowd was taking all the air from the room. Their voices bounced off the walls - voices edged in fear, in outrage, in haste.

Yessi fumbled with her wand, juggling a stick of thick chalk.

‘We’re in a hurry, mage,’ said a man in a dark uniform with gold stitching like Darcy’s. ‘Draw your damn circle. Darcy, well done. Getting a mage here is a blasted miracle. Knew you’d pull through.’

Darcy’s meaty hand was back on the scruff of Gray’s neck. He turned to Killian.

‘Get Longwark, Killian,’ Darcy barked. ‘You take care of Longwark, I’ll mind Griffin.’

Gray had a split second to see Killian, in a huge display of strength, haul Longwark over his shoulder.

Yessi was muttering the fahrenning enchantment.

Then,

CRACK.

They fahrenned to Dierne.