Codder pocketed the watch, his movements languid, and his shadowed gaze dark.
‘Seventeen rituals?’ said Codder.
‘It could be more,’ said Gray, ‘this isn’t a comprehensive-’
‘You better have something better than that, stray.’
Gray dropped the book and fumbled with the next one in the stack. ‘I wrote the rituals down, I have a list here.’
Gray tore out the page he’d scribbled on. He’d been using a chunk of limestone he’d transformed into brown chalk as a pencil.
‘Defacing the new books I gave you,’ said Codder. He clucked his tongue. ‘I ain’t touching that. You keep that list. Tell me, I’ll remember.’
Gray hesitated and then listed off the names of the seventeen rituals.
Codder listened, his head bowed. Then, ‘What else?’
‘If this thing feeds off melancholy, or wants tears, or …’ Gray trailed off as Codder gestured for him to hurry up. ‘It might be a good idea to use curses not just for silence, but also for joy - there might be a way to combine curses-’
‘Clochaint, stray, I didn’t realise you were this stupid,’ said Codder. ’Something good, I said. Combining curses is the sort of shit I’d expect a pre-schooler to come up with.’
Gray felt his cheeks warm as he blindly grabbed up another book.
But, whatever he gave Codder, it would all be nothing and bluster, because Gray hadn’t figured out anything.
‘Uh,’ said Gray, staring down at the book, the words blurred, jumbled, meaningless.
Gray knew nothing, he was sure of nothing, and he would’ve given anything to have answers. Not because Codder was tapping his fingers in impatience, but because it was the least Gray could give Alistair.
‘There’s reference of the ancients using vampiric sorcerers not only as guards for tombs,’ said Gray, ‘but also as assassins, so there’s clearly a way to negotiate with them-‘
‘Which is?’ said Codder.
‘I - I don’t know, they don’t say-‘
‘You know what the little girl said when I turned up on her doorstep, stray?’
Gray was rigid. Wordless.
‘Have you come to take us home, she said,’ drawled Codder.
‘Codder,’ said Gray through numb lips, ‘are they OK? Where are they?’
‘You need to give me something good, for me to answer those questions, stray.’
‘This wasn’t part of the deal,’ said Gray. ‘I’m doing everything you’re asking-‘
‘You aren’t, though,’ said Codder.
‘I don’t have enough information. You need to be talking to experts, scholars. I need to get into the library, Codder-‘
‘I have bought you a damn library, stray,’ hissed Codder. ‘I have spent a fortune. You get me something good. Do we understand each other?’
‘Yes,’ said Gray.
‘Don’t look at me like that, stray. We want the same thing, you and I.’
Codder turned and walked away, and it took everything within Gray not to launch himself at the bars and drag him back.
-
That night, as Gray paced the cell, his head in his trembling hands, he began thinking of ways of escaping.
For real.
The thought had crossed his mind several times before, but the prison was locked up so tightly that he’d deemed it impossible.
But, he had to.
He’d find Harriette and Barin before Codder could do anything, and he’d convince them to move, to go into hiding, better hiding, and then … Gray swallowed, staring at the dark night sky through his window, his muscles locked.
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And then he didn’t know what.
There was no way Barin would let Gray join them in hiding.
And it wasn’t a good idea, Gray would only endanger them further.
Only, running hadn’t gone so well for Gray last time.
But, he was more experienced now. He knew what to watch out for.
Gray crawled under his small sink and pulled out the luna moth in the tiny jar. He’d been feeding the moth a few of his water-soaked oats each day, and it seemed to eat them, because the oats were always gone whenever he checked.
He’d just set himself up with the luna moth and Wong’s encyclopaedia, in a kind of desperate search for any ideas on how to blow out the wards on the window, when a guard started walking down the hallway, his lantern swinging.
Gray cursed under his breath and hastily stashed the luna moth back behind the sink, before silently flinging himself on the bed and pretending to sleep.
He lay on the soft bed, trying to control his breath.
Keys jangled outside his cell. Gray felt a thrill of familiar magic run up his spine and he slowly sat up.
‘Griffin,’ whispered the guard. Not Bob, but one of the nightshift guards that Gray didn’t know well.
The guard was trailed by Baldwin Auguste.
The sight of the king still made Gray’s stomach drop, still made his heart race as though it knew he was in mortal danger and this man had come very, very close to swinging a sword at his neck.
Had swung a sword at his neck.
And had stopped just in time.
Gray shifted under the cold and assessing stare of the king, waiting for him to speak or step into the cell.
The king silently frowned at the stack of books by the bed. Very cooly so.
His power was heightened. He was edged in mild irritation. Gray’s skin was breaking out into goosebumps from standing so close.
There was a disapproval emanating from the king, as though the king had read Gray’s intentions, his mind, as though he knew Gray had just decided he had no option but to escape from the prison.
‘You’re needed at the guild,’ said the king.
Gray bowed, fumbling with a loose button on his sleeve, checking the laces of his dragon scale vest, hiding his surprise.
The king gave Gray a brief, scrolling look, his haughty face settling further into cold displeasure.
Gray resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably, pushing down the thought that the king was annoyed by Gray’s appearance, but when the king swept another cold glance over Gray, Gray couldn’t help fidgeting with his clothing.
He was aware that he was one huge mess right now.
The night was warm, and stress had made Gray sweat. He’d been running his hands repeatedly through his hair, disordering it. His prison greys were crumpled from the nonstop pacing, and he’d spilled water from the sink onto his collar the last time he’d washed his face.
Gray hurriedly bowed again as the king opened the cell door with a small movement of his hand.
’Stop bowing,’ said the king. ‘You don’t need to bow five damn times every time you see me. Yes?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Clear the way, I need to draw the circle.’
Gray grabbed up his socks and boots and scrambled into them, doing his best to stay well clear of the king’s circle.
‘In.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The king said the words, the rush of power overwhelmed them, and then,
CRACK.
-
CRACK.
They landed at the base of the marble steps of the mage guild.
For a fleeting moment, as Gray staggered to his feet, breathing hard, he thought about running. The thought raced through his mind like a flying arrow, there and then gone.
The king’s hand fell onto his shoulder, and that was enough to push all thoughts of running from Gray’s mind.
The grip was firm. Heavy.
‘Up,’ said the king.
The steps of the Mage Guild loomed. The broad sweep of marble was so polished it looked like ice in the moonlight. Gray followed without thinking, climbing after the king towards the giant marble dragons guarding the entrance. The place hummed faintly, a vibration he could feel through the soles of his boots. The familiar buzz of power, layered into the stone itself.
Somewhere in the distance a clock chimed eleven.
‘This way,’ said the king.
Gray’d expected shadows and silence as they swept into the guild, a kind of foreboding stillness. But inside the guild was warmly lit, golden chandeliers gleaming high above the glittering marble floor. The air was warm, faintly scented with parchment and candle wax, and people moved through - mages in flowing robes, messengers darting to and fro.
Not bustling exactly, but awake.
Gray kept his head down as they climbed staircase after staircase. The king didn’t slow or falter. His steps were measured and even, utterly assured of his path and that Gray would follow.
At last, they reached a high floor in one of the towers. The air was thinner here, cooler. They stopped outside a heavy, carved door bearing a plaque etched in curling gold letters: Grand High Master Mage.
The king’s hand came down on Gray’s shoulder again, steering in through the door, as though sensing Gray’s overwhelming hesitation.
The room beyond was packed, filled with mages clustered in groups. Some bowed low at the king’s entrance, others stepped back, clearing a path.
’Sit,’ said the king, his hand tightening briefly before letting go. He nudged Gray towards an empty chair near the far wall.
The king turned to leave, but paused when Gray opened his mouth. The words were halfway out - what am I doing here? - when they died on his tongue. The king was clearly upset about something, and Gray wasn't about to put himself into the king's path any more than needed.
‘Yes?’ said the king.
Gray swallowed. ‘Never mind, sir.’
The king’s gaze swept the room, taking in the bowing, murmuring figures. ‘No talking,’ he said, his voice cool.
He strode through one of the many adjoining doors. For a second, Gray saw the room beyond - a vast boardroom with a polished table and a serious crowd of mages and military officers gathered around it. Then, the doors closed behind him, sealing Gray in with the room full of mages.
Quiet followed.
The mages straightened slowly, their bows dissolving into hushed murmurs and stretching onto their tippy toes to see where the king had gone. Gray sat, staring fixedly at the door the king had disappeared through.
He didn’t dare look at the others, as they settled their bright-eyed and nervous gazes on him in awkward silence.