They took the fastest carriage and went careening through the lamp-lit streets.

Gray clung onto the seat, his knuckles white.

He needed to come up with some kind of explanation because there was a large stack of books in his cell that Killian had deemed dark and messed-up when Gray’d asked for them back in Krydon.

‘Who do you know in Dierne?’ said Killian, raising his voice to be heard over the clattering horse hooves and the wheels against the cobblestones.

Gray frowned down at his white-knuckled grip as he fought to hang onto his seat.

‘No one,’ said Gray, doing everything to keep his voice steady, ‘this isn’t what you think.’

‘Look, kid,’ said Killian, looking as though he was straining every muscle in his face to arrange it into a mask of calm, ‘I know you, I know your particular skills. Your track record’s not great. You better off telling me before we get to the prison. So, who was it and what are you planning?’

Gray dug his fingernails into the plush seat, staring hard out the window.

This did not help, because the streets were plastered with Conor Griffin’s wanted posters and recruitment messages for the military.

And then, they raced past several charred ruins. They were cast in darkness, the street lamps blown out. Gray could feel that magic had been there, and it had been big.

Sorcerer-level.

A shiver ran down his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

‘What happened here?’ said Gray.

‘What do you think happened?’ Killian snapped. ‘Are you going to tell me who visited you?’

Gray clamped his mouth shut as the view flying past the window changed back to lamp-lit streets with poster-lined brick walls.

‘If you’re allowing yourself to get manipulated, probably by some sorcerer that just freshly crawled out of the ground, if it’s not damn Longwark-‘

‘Manipulated?’ said Gray, straining to stay calm. ‘Give me some credit.’

‘Look, kid, I’m the one who’s going to get the heat for it. I’m already getting the heat for it. Baldwin was mad. You understand this?’

‘It has nothing to do with you,’ said Gray. ‘No one needs to take the heat for anything.’

‘I’ve just talked Baldwin around to give me back my rank, my pay - he’s even considering letting me choose my own team - because of the work I’ve done on the vampiric sorcerer crisis, and if you vamoose in a puff of smoke with some ill-thought-out plan, like a raging idiot-‘

‘Would you blame me if I did?’ said Gray.

‘I would not blame you,’ said Killian. ‘But it would be colossally stupid, because there are several people working very hard right now to turn things around for you.’

Gray was surprised enough to be momentarily speechless.

‘Who’s trying to turn things around?’ said Gray.

‘Several people,’ said Killian bluntly. Angrily.

‘That’s specific,’ said Gray. ‘Thanks, Killian.’

‘Jessica,’ said Killian. ‘And about ten officers are circling, because they’d kill to have a novice on their team with your power, and they don’t care if you’re the damn son of a cyclops, not if you’re agreeing to work with them, and you better believe they’re in Baldwin’s ear.’

Killian’s anger seemed to be steadily increasing the more he talked.

Gray grabbed onto the side of the carriage as they ran over a pothole, and he was glad to have something to do with his arms because he was feeling weirdly embarrassed.

‘That’s just the tip of the iceberg,’ said Killian, glaring out the window. ‘But, you can’t mess it up by disappearing.’

‘That’s not the plan,’ said Gray.

‘What’s the plan, huh?’

‘The plan is there’s no plan.’

‘There’s a lot on the line here, and so help me, if you disappear from that prison after I put you in there, Baldwin will have my head,’ said Killian. ‘Who was it?’

Gray dropped his gaze to his knees, his chest tight.

They were almost at the prison.

‘You lasted how many days,’ said Killian, his face furiously white, ‘before you were captured by poachers and almost sold to the Othoans?’

‘I’m not planning an escape, OK? Have you seen that prison? There’s no way.’

‘Gray.’

Gray hesitated.

He couldn’t talk to Killian. Killian was so close to blowing his lid already.

Gray couldn’t tell him about Codder, because Killian’d probably go straight to Codder and - and Gray didn’t want to think what Killian would do.

Whatever he would do, Codder would for sure know that Gray had told.

Barin and Harriette would be screwed.

And Killian was so loyal to the king and kingdom. Gray didn’t trust Killian not to punish Barin and Harriette for fleeing from the army.

For hiding Gray for so many years.

‘Gray?’ said Killian.

They pulled to a screeching halt outside the prison.

‘Last chance to come clean,’ said Killian.

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

Gray stayed silent.

Killian’s jaw tightened. He kicked the carriage door open. ‘Out.’

Gray climbed down from the carriage, his mind racing.

‘In,’ said Killian. He pointed to the reception. ‘There.’

Gray had been to the prison reception once before, when Killian had dropped him off the first time, for Gray to be processed.

The reception was brightly lit, with a smattering of prison guards lounging behind a large desk.

The guards on duty flung themselves to attention.

‘Major Slate,’ said one, the colour draining from his face.

‘Major Slate?’ said the other, doing a doubletake.

‘Visitor log?’ said Killian.

They gaped at him.

‘Where’s the visitor log?’ demanded Killian.

One of the guards rifled through the desk drawer and handed a tattered visitor log over to Killian.

There were a tense few minutes as Killian flicked through the visitor log in silence.

He must’ve found nothing, because he flipped back and forth a few times.

Then, Killian snapped his dark gaze onto the guards.

‘Give me the name of Griffin’s visitors,’ he said.

‘His visitors?’ said one of the guards.

There was an awful pause.

‘In the prison you mean?’ said the guard.

Something shifted in Killian’s bearing.

A slamming down of one of his masks.

A twisting tide, turning his energy.

‘Give me the names of Griffin’s visitors in the prison,’ said Killian, his voice dropping, soft and serious. Dangerous. ‘That clear enough for you?’

One of the guards backed up.

Then, all the guards started speaking at once.

‘We don’t have that information off-hand-‘

‘We’d need to check the files-‘

‘It might take some time, Major-’

Killian advanced around the desk. He slammed the closest guard hard against the wall, his forearm keeping the man locked in position. His bared teeth were an inch away from the man’s ear.

The other guards scattered.

Gray had no idea what Killian said, but the man started stuttering the names of Gray’s visitors.

‘The royal guard Ellery Drake,’ said the guard, his voice hoarse. ‘Tom - Tom Smith-’

Killian dropped the guard.

‘Who’s Tom Smith?’ Killian said. ‘He’s not in the log.’

No one moved.

Two of the guards exchanged a glance.

Killian raised his eyebrows.

‘He …’ said one, his forehead beaded with sweat.

‘Who is he?’ said Killian.

‘Tom Smith’s a younger gentleman,’ said one of the guards. His voice shook. ’Dark hair. Dresses like he has money.’

Killian raised his eyebrows higher. It was the smallest of movements, but it made the guards start speaking in a cascade of voices and explanations.

‘Kind of has a presence that makes your insides crawl,’ said one.

‘The boys have a bet going that he’s some kind of Other,’ said another.

‘About so tall,’ the first guard said, holding his hand up as a measurement. ‘Has eyes that will give you nightmares.’

The guards stared at Killian, and Gray stared at the guards in horror, because they couldn’t have chosen a worse way to describe Codder.

Killian was utterly still. ‘Where’s Griffin’s cell?’

‘Wait a second,’ rushed Gray, ‘Killian, I know how it sounds, but it’s not a sorcerer-‘

‘Smith blackmailed us, Major,’ said one of the guards, possibly panicking at the ugly look on Killian’s face. ‘You wouldn’t believe it-‘

‘The threats, Major-’

‘- he promised to slice off my great uncle’s thumb, Major, if I didn’t cooperate, and I believed him, too-’

‘Where’s this prisoner’s cell?’ said Killian. ‘Take me.’

Two guards grabbed up keys and led them through the dark and quiet prison.

Until they arrived at Gray’s cell.

‘This is it, Major Slate,’ said one guard, his voice low to avoid waking the sleeping prisoners.

Killian stepped into the cell alone, and immediately grabbed one of the books stacked neatly by the bed.

‘What the hell is this?’ said Killian, holding the book up to Gray. ‘Who got you these?’

Gray’s heart was in his mouth. ’Tom.’

‘Tom.’ Killian’s jaw clicked. ‘Has Conor been visiting you, Gray?’

‘Conor?’

‘Has he?’

‘No,’ said Gray quickly. ‘The guards will tell you - everyone knows his face now - Conor has not been here.’

‘Conor,’ said Killian, ‘can change his face. Temporarily. He can create illusions to look like people you know. Any half-competent master mage can do this, let alone someone like Conor. You need to be on your guard. You understand me?’

‘Yes,’ said Gray, his heart pounding. ‘But it wasn’t him.’

‘How do you know?’ said Killian.

‘I,’ said Gray, ‘can feel magic. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t any sorcerer.’

‘Brand new books,’ said Killian, after a pointed silence. ‘These would cost a lot. He’s investing a lot in some kind of deal with you, hm?’

Killian threw aside the book.

With a dark glance at the guards, Killian tossed the mattress and pulled apart the bedding. He moved onto the window, feeling around the border. Felt around the edges of the gate.

He pulled up the lid of the toilet.

Then, he felt behind the small sink.

And pulled out the homemade piece of brown chalk.

Gray’s insides turned to ice.

Killian held it up, so the guards could see. His voice was barely above a whisper. ‘Which miserably foolish fucker gave this prisoner chalk?’

They gaped at Killian. The prisoners in the surrounding cells had woken at the ruckus of Killian tossing the cell, Gray could see their movement in the shadowy darkness.

But when they’d usually be hollering over their disturbed sleep, now they seemed to sense crawling danger. They seemed to sense the predator lurking underneath Killian’s surface because it was quiet enough to hear the ragged breathing of the nervous guard holding Gray.

‘We didn’t, Major,’ said the guard. ‘We wouldn’t. No man here would violate his duty.’

‘Not a Major right now,’ said Killian softly. His tone made this small fact terrifying.

A threat.

‘Killian,’ said Gray, feeling like he was about to throw up, ‘I - made it. It’s only to write with. I don’t know how to do fahrenning or anything, you know this. There’s just nothing to do in here.‘

Killian felt behind the basin again. He pulled out the small piece of limestone wrapped in dragon hide and the luna moth in the tiny jar. Killian held these up, too. The guards blanched.

Killian stalked towards them. ‘This is a high-security prisoner. Why does he have these items?’

‘We didn’t-‘

‘We’ve searched the cell every time we were instructed, Major-‘

Killian held up his hand, silencing them.

There, right by the bigger guard’s boot, on the floor. A cigarette stub.

Very slowly, Killian trapped Gray with his glare.

Gray dropped his gaze, his mouth pressed together, forcing himself to hold his ground as Killian stepped closer.

‘Who visited you, Gray?’

Gray hesitated, his hands flexing.

‘Do not tell me Tom Smith,’ said Killian.

Still, Gray held his ground. ‘It’s not what you think,‘ he said grimly.

‘And what do I think?’

Gray darted a glance at the guards. Silence stretched.

‘I want you to tell me his name,’ Killian said.

Gray’s skin was beginning to get too hot. He was not going to light up in the damn prison. Not over this, not over Codder.

Gray bowed his head and struggled with himself. He needed to flip this whole thing, he needed to get Codder as far out of Killian’s mind as possible, because there was no scenario where Killian confronting Codder or being mad at Codder in any way would turn out well for Gray.

Or for Harriette and Barin.

But, no brilliant lie jumped to mind.

His mind was coiled too tight. It was refusing to think beyond steadily building panic that Gray had screwed this whole thing up so badly.

The stakes were getting too high, and he needed to think.

But, he couldn’t.

Gray locked his jaw.

‘Now is not the time for you to be stubborn,’ said Killian. ‘You give me the name and I can help you.’

Killian’s gaze flickered to the guards, and it was as dark as Gray had ever seen it, and his stomach twisted.

‘The guards,’ said Gray, ‘didn’t know-‘

‘These guards should know.’ Killian’s words rung through the prison, followed by a heavy silence. ‘That is their job. Give me the damned name.’

Gray fisted his hands, blinking furiously. ‘He’s no sorcerer, OK? If that’s what you’re worried about.’

Killian was stockstill.

Gray’s palms were slick.

‘I want some honesty from you,’ said Killian. ‘I want you to tell me who’s been sneaking you these things.’

‘No one.’ Gray’s voice was strong. ‘I caught the moth - it came through the window. And that’s just limestone from the window sill. And I used the dragonhide from my vest. See? And the chalk, I made it from limestone and salt - right? It was just to make chalk and a reading light. So I could write and read after dark. It’s alchemy …’

Killian’s neck was strained. His dark hair hung in his eyes, his gaze guarded. Then, he strode across the cell and snatched up the books, one at a time, and threw them on top of the mattress which was lying haphazardly on the floor.

Gray’s list of the seventeen rituals fluttered loose, and it landed at Killian’s feet like some kind of gently floating paper of doom.

Killian tilted his head, reading the scrawled list.

‘Oh, shit,’ breathed Gray.

‘You going to start talking?’

But, then, Killian paused with the king’s alchemy book in his hand. He glanced up at Gray sharply. ‘This is Baldwin’s.’