No one spoke.

The mage soldier’s gaze darted down at Gray.

His excited expression was slipping off his face.

‘Boy,’ said the king, ‘you're the son of Faye D'Oncray?’

Gray forced the words out. 'I don't know, sir.'

'You said yes before,' said the king coldly.

'I,' said Gray, his fingers curling into the ground. 'I don't know.'

The king broke off his stare to glare at the far wall covered in vines. He was still.

It was as though the air had gone from the courtyard.

‘He’s,’ said Darcy, ‘he’s lying. I've read the reports of his power - you've read the reports, sire. This is clearly Conor Griffin. Killian-‘

The king held up a hand, and Darcy stammered into silence. The king turned to the mage solider. ‘You have a report from Othoa for me?’

‘Yes, your majesty,’ said the mage soldier. ‘General’s on his way south as we speak. We couldn’t fahren with Conor Griffin, he has the power to block it, sire.’

‘Block it?’ echoed the king, his eyebrows rising. ‘My, my.’ He turned to Gray. 'Can you do that?'

Gray's voice had flown away. His breath was gone.

He shook his head.

Very slowly, the king shifted his cold gaze onto Killian and then Darcy.

‘General’s requested permission to take Conor Griffin immediately to Foix,’ continued the mage soldier, ‘for de-programming and training …’ he trailed off, quailing underneath the pressure from the marked silence of the king.

‘In what world,’ said the king, turning to the mage soldier, ‘would I want Conor Griffin in Foix?’

‘I … I apologise, Your Majesty. General thought, you wanted, as you discussed previously …’

‘I want Conor Griffin kneeling at my feet as prettily as this one here. You bring him to me before he goes anywhere.’

The mage soldier paused, glancing at Gray again, and then nodded.

He backed up a step.

‘I’ll tell him,’ said the mage soldier, ‘I’ll tell General straight away, Your Majesty.’

‘And tell him,’ said the king, ‘I’m not pleased with him announcing it with this kind of fanfare without seeking my permission first.’

‘Yes,’ said the mage. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

‘I want a list of all the women Ryan Griffin fucked,’ said the king. ‘Get me a list for Wynn. All the brothers.’

‘Yes.’ The mage bowed his head, edging back again. He'd visibly flinched at the king's vulgar use of fucked, as though this was some lethal curse the king had uttered. ‘I’ll pass it onto the appropriate people, sire.’

The king gestured to Gray with his sword. ‘He’s like this one?’

The mage hesitated, glancing at Gray again. ‘He’s - as you’d expect, your majesty. He’s like Ryan.’

‘So, powerful, stubborn, and devastatingly handsome,’ said the king. For a moment it was as though the king could’ve been joking. The words devastatingly handsome were out-of-place coming out of the king's mouth. It took Gray a moment to notice that the air was chilled. That the king's eyes were vicious. ‘He’s untrained, I meant,’ said the king, coldly. ‘Like this one. Feral? Stunted?’

Considering everything, considering that Gray had almost just lost his head, and still might, and had just learnt that he’d been hiding his identity for no damn reason, and that he was covered in a bunch of muck and tears in front of the king, he still managed to be kind of bristled at being called stunted.

The mage soldier swallowed. ‘No. Wilde’s trained him to the teeth, Your Majesty. This isn’t accidental magic he’s doing. He fights stronger than our best mage soldier. Wandlessly.’

When the king made no move, except to continue to stare down the rapidly blinking mage solider, he continued, ‘He’s athletic. Tall for sixteen. Could be Ryan’s twin, Your Majesty.’

‘So,’ said the king, ‘there’s no doubt he’s truly Conor Griffin?’

‘It’s him, Your Majesty. No doubt at all.’

There was no hesitation in the king. He changed his grip on his sword. In one swift movement, he stepped towards Darcy and slashed Darcy's throat.

Darcy’s look of startled surprise crumpled. It disappeared behind a spray of hot blood.

He stumbled to his knees.

Fell, face down on the ground.

Gray jolted back. His breath snagged.

Killian was stockstill, his uniform and face spattered with fresh red. The king strode over to him. Brutally ripped the stars off Killian’s uniform.

Threw them into the pooling red on the ground.

‘Leave,’ said the king to the rigid mage soldier. ‘Tell General to bring Conor Griffin here.’

The mage soldier bowed and quickly backed out of the courtyard.

The king slowly pinned Killian with his intense gaze. ‘Who the hell is this, Killian?’

Gray had never seen Killian at a loss for words. Never seen anyone so pale. There were flecks of blood all over Killian. All over his cheeks. He was staring at his discarded stars on the ground.

‘Is this Wynn’s son?’ said the king. ‘Did I almost kill Wynn’s son on your word?’

‘That,’ said Killian, his voice controlled, ‘is not a mage.’

Silence stretched.

‘I told you not to execute him,’ said Killian.

The silence was unbearable.

‘You,’ said the king, ‘told me you’d found Conor Griffin.’

‘Two sorcerers were attempting to collect him,’ said Killian. ‘At least two.’

‘Sorcerers sometimes do collect mages, Killian. They steal our best and turn them against us. I’ve - seen - it. You’ve seen it. You remember?’

Killian kept himself very still, his head bowed. ‘I remember.’

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Then, Killian broke the resounding silence, saying, ‘We check the sorcerer General’s extracted. We check it’s actually Conor Griffin. General - makes mistakes-’

‘At least one of you,’ said the king, ‘has indeed made a very big mistake.’

‘This boy’s power’s large. He’s - aggressive.’

The king’s eyebrows shifted slightly, casting a glance at Gray. ‘Aggressive?’

‘For a mage. His age - is about right. His power … I’m not telling you this to give you excuses,’ said Killian, his voice soft. ‘I mean to … explain that …’

The king was very close to Killian. ‘Do I need to send you to novice training again? You seem to have forgotten the basics.’

‘I’ll do whatever you ask of me,’ said Killian. ‘Like I always have done. If that turns out not to be Conor Griffin - if I’ve fucked up - I’ll do whatever I need to, to fix it.’ His breath caught in his throat. ‘Check him. Check this boy.’

‘Test him, you mean,’ said the king.

‘Yes.’

‘Obviously,’ said the king. ‘Obviously, I will now have to do a very costly and time-consuming test.'

'Your licensed alchemist will be up to the task,' said Killian.

'I think enough idiots have been involved in this whole situation,' said the king. 'I'm doing the damn test. I'll personally ensure its integrity.'

Killian said nothing.

'I'll have to dig into my very limited supply of Vinkie stone. I'll have to use several manticore tears, which are extinct, Killian.’

'It'll,' said Killian, 'be expensive. I understand that.'

The king shifted his gaze from Killian onto Gray. Then, he wrenched out a handful of hairs from Gray’s head.

Gray was so numb he didn’t feel it.

‘You will owe a debt to the crown,’ said the king to Gray. ‘One million ardents for the test.’

Gray didn’t care, he didn’t care. One million ardents was too impossibly huge for him to grasp. His identity had been ripped away from him just as fast as his hair had been - and it was good, it was good, but he couldn’t stop shaking, and he was so damn confused.

Conor Griffin.

A cousin perhaps.

Or something else.

Whatever he was, Conor Griffin sounded formidable.

And, Conor Griffin was not Gray.

Not Gray.

The king considered Gray and swung his gaze onto Killian. ‘We’ll know if he’s mage in seven weeks’ time.’

-

‘Up,’ said the king, motioning for Gray to stand with two fingers.

Just like how Sorena would command Alistair or Gray to come to her table at the tavern.

Gray staggered upright, trying not to slip in the mess from Darcy any more than necessary. He made the mistake of looking the king in the face. The coldness there shattered the trembling hollowness that had taken up residence within Gray, and he swiftly bowed his head to hide his aching shock. Wiped his palms on his Othoan trousers.

‘You can handle another fahrenning?’ said the king to Gray.

Gray tried to speak. But he had no idea if he could handle another fahrenning, he had no idea what the king was even talking about.

‘We’ve come from Sirentown, by way of Krydon,’ said Killian softly. ‘Another fahrenning might be pushing it.’

‘Fine. Follow,’ said the king. ‘Killian, bring Longwark.’

Gray trailed after the king, back through the glittering hallways of the guild and listened to him issue a string of orders to a wide-eyed and trembling servant dressed in blue finery.

Through the glittering halls.

Through the crowd in the grand space in front of the guild.

The king never looked back over his shoulder to check Gray was there. He strode forward, his robes whipping, utterly assured that his word would be followed to the letter.

Gray didn’t hear the whispering voices or the still-going trumpets and bells. He didn’t see the blurred faces watching the king with Gray and Killian trailing behind. The crowd parted for the king. Gray kept his head bowed and his eyes down.

Down they went, down the polished marble steps.

Along the pale cobble-stoned streets.

Parting the traffic.

Through a quickly gathering crowd, starting to press too close in their curiosity.

And then, eventually, through the golden gates of a large and well-guarded royal palace.

-

Gray sat on the lavish seat outside the king’s office and listened to the king demolish just about every belonging he had in there. The king’s cold - icy, rippling - rage had turned into something much more violent. It shuddered through oak doors carved with beautiful branches, leaves, and birds.

Gray listened to him rave at Killian.

Listened to Longwark’s voice interrupt more calmly and with more reverence than Gray ever thought possible for Longwark.

Gray felt muted surprise at this. Longwark must’ve woken.

The raw power of the king’s magic washed through the door, the whole damn palace, like stormy waves.

Uncontained. And so much like Sorena's.

The guards stood outside the office at attention, and despite their golden masks, it was clear they were distinctly on edge. Their eyes darted to each other, on high alert.

Normally, Gray would’ve been eavesdropping like his life depended on it.

But he felt as though he was sitting under water.

Everything was blurred around the edges.

Soft.

He couldn’t have understood the rapid and fiery Lismerian from inside the king’s office, even if he’d not been sitting there and staring at his blood-stained knees - Darcy's blood, this king had just killed his own Major General like a maniac - in a kind of stiff disassociation.

Several times, different officials and servants, and the Grand High Master Mage one time, made to approach those beautifully carved doors.

And each time they paused, shot a glance at the uneasy guards, at the shuddering doors, at Gray sitting stiffly with his hands in his lap, and then turned on their heel and left.

There was a huge smash.

The king must’ve broken a window.

And then, seconds later, there was a CRACK.

And a stunned silence.

Then a softer, more controlled CRACK.

The doors crashed open and Killian strode out. His uniform - the part with the wolf fur collar - was gone. Torn off and ripped away as his stars had been. He locked eyes with Gray. His gaze was wild and dark.

‘Up,’ he rushed, guiding Gray by the arm. ‘Come.’

‘What happened?’ said Gray.

‘Longwark fahrenned. His fucking crow broke through the window.’

Gray was trotting to keep up. They were fair flying through the palace halls. Killian seemed to know his way around very well.

‘Baldwin’s gone after him,’ said Killian. ‘We don’t want to be here when he gets back. Got it?’

‘Yes,’ said Gray, stumbling to keep up and desperately trying to clear his thinking. Get his body working. ‘What did he do?’

No reply.

'Killian? What did Longwark do?'

'Not your business, kid.'

They tore through the palace. The guards made to salute Killian as they passed out through the gold gates and paused, mid-salute, at the sight of Killian's ripped uniform.

Then, Gray was back out into the pale cobble-stone streets. The crush of the people, the rush of the city, was overwhelming.

Killian strode into the bustling streets, hustling Gray along.

‘Where are we going?’ said Gray.

‘I’m going to track Longwark, as soon as Baldwin’s backed off,’ said Killian. ‘Longwark’s pretty weak, I should be able to get him if Baldwin hasn’t already.’

Gray and Killian were attracting more than their fair share of stares and frowns, and it was no wonder, with Killian in his torn and bloodied uniform and Gray in his Othoan clothes.

‘You’re going to the prison,’ said Killian.

Gray stopped dead. Tugged back against his arm as Killian made to drag him forward.

‘You have to,’ said Killian, ‘you have to. But it’s not going to be like Krydon-’

‘Are you kidding me?’ said Gray, getting buffeted by the crowd. He tried to yank his arm free from Killian, his mouth dry. Feeling like he’d been sucker punched.

Again.

‘How could I be so stupid,’ said Gray.

He’d thought Killian was maybe helping him … honestly, Gray didn’t know what he’d thought. His mind was utterly blank.

He tried to yank his arm free again, furiously.

‘I’m not him,’ Gray said. 'I told you and I told you. I'm not him.'

Killian’s jaw bunched. ‘It’s not because of you’re him. Where are you going to go, kid? Longwark’s going to be trying to get you, first opportunity he has.’

‘That’s not-’ said Gray. ‘He’s not-’

‘Can you fight him off, if it came to it?’

Gray stared hard at his Othoan style boots. ‘No. But maybe I'd rather go with him. Not like it's going to come to that-’

‘You blew up part of Sirentown, kid.’

‘I - yes-’

‘You created a huge firebreath fire in the Krydon Hall,’ said Killian. 'That messed up the lungs of several of my men - king's soldiers, kid.'

‘There were circumstances - I didn’t mean-’

‘I know the lion firework incident in Sirentown was you,’ said Killian.

‘It sounds bad when you-’

‘You’re not getting thrown into some poor, unsuspecting person’s lap. You’re not going into the orphanage here. You have no family. Where you going to go? Hm? You've been officially labelled as a threat, as dangerous. And the prison has the resources to guard-’

Gray tried to yank his arm free from Killian again.

Killian held fast. ‘Gray.’ Then, ‘Baldwin - in a good mood - is going to order you into the prison anyway.’

Gray wrenched his arm free. Strode through the crowd and came to an abrupt stop at the curb. The streets spilled out in every direction.

Everything here was foreign.

The Lismerian on the signs and shops. The way the people dressed. How they stared. Spoke. Everyone was in a rush. The air felt different, which was ridiculous, because Gray was in the same kingdom he’d always been in, but he’d never felt so out of place in his life.

Gray swept a hand through his hair. Turned back.

Killian stood, watching, stress etched onto every hard line, every battle scar on his face.

‘OK,’ said Killian. ‘So ..?’

Gray teetered on the edge of lashing out at Killian.

‘Better you sitting safely away in prison,’ said Killian, ‘than you sitting outside Baldwin’s office when he returns from finding Longwark. Or not finding him. He ordered-’

‘You’re not still taking his orders?’ said Gray, his cheeks hot with suppressed anger.

‘I am,’ said Killian. ‘Always. And so are you.’

‘You’re not dragging me into whatever toxic dynamic you have going on with that madman. He killed Darcy.’

‘Darcy was an idiot,’ said Killian.

‘You know he’s a sorcerer, right?’

Killian looked rooted to the spot.

Like he’d just been slapped.

‘He fits the profile to a tee,’ said Gray, fuming. ‘Sorena, too. I’m not a mage? He’s not a mage. This whole time - all his policies against sorcerers-’

Killian clapped his hand over Gray’s mouth. ‘Shut up. Watch your damn tongue. Understood?’