Longwark started talking, and Gray was aware, at the fringes of his mind, that this was too easy.

Longwark was not a man who just answered.

He never gave anything away.

Yet, here Longwark was, apparently spilling his guts.

Longwark was working against Wilde.

There was a group of sorcerers also working against Wilde. Working together.

Branbright had been one of them, regardless of the rumours surrounding him. He was no agent of Wilde’s.

Gray listened, the wand hot in his fist, eyeing Longwark, and then the mouth cave. It was dark out there. The wind made shadows slither.

Hiding, Longwark had said, initially. Waiting.

Waiting for what?

A glance around the cave told Gray that Longwark had left there in a hurry to go pull Gray from the carriage. Gray’s gaze hovered over the abandoned meal. Then, the papers strewn over the desk.

Books.

Maps.

Weapons.

‘ … I had information that Wilde was about to target the Othoan palace,’ Longwark was saying. ‘To steal something there …’

Gray's attention snapped back to Longwark.

‘I knew,’ said Longwark, ‘I had to do everything within my power to stop this from happening.’

Longwark kept speaking, and Gray listened, his chest coiled tight, and fury still pounding through him. Longwark might be buying time for something. But Gray could use that time to gather what he could and then - what? Actually kill Longwark?

He wasn’t going to kill Longwark.

Was he?

But, one wrong move from Gray, and Longwark would have a chance to overpower him, and the choice would be out of his hands.

Gray kept his feet planted on the cave floor, his heart beating hard.

‘ … I waited for the Othoan border wards to be lowered in preparation for the admittance of Sorena Auguste for the wedding,’ Longwark said. ‘I snuck into the palace, used an illusion of you to send the guards on a chase, and went to the vaults and took what I needed. Before Wilde could …’

Gray edged towards the desk. Towards the mess of books and maps. Towards a letter addressed to Longwark, covered in the same blue runes as his tattoos. Towards a book on curse marks, and a Conor Griffin wanted poster.

And Longwark noticed. His eyes tracked Gray's every move.

Gray stilled, tightening his hold on the wand, fully focusing on Longwark.

‘I did everything I needed to,’ said Longwark, his lips curling. ‘Everything was seamless. I handed the jar over to my colleague Emeric, to take to the king. To be locked into the vaults here. Far beyond Wilde’s reach. But, Emeric and I were called to fight the mountain griffin before this could happen. And the jar was stolen.’

‘And now it’s gone?’ said Gray. ‘Who stole it?’

‘Now it’s hidden,’ said Longwark. ‘As I told you, in Krydon.’

Gray flickered the quickest glance back at the desk, doing his best to commit everything to memory. He couldn't trust Longwark, but he could trust physical clues and evidence.

Blue runes, curse marks, Conor Griffin.

Longwark had been not only keeping tabs on Gray, he was keeping tabs on Conor, too.

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‘ … Branbright retrieved it,’ Longwark said, ‘and placed it in one of the tombs for safekeeping. That tomb has so much protection in place it makes the Blodrika Dry look like child’s play. No one’s getting it. Branbright saved Lismere, by putting it somewhere not even Wilde will be able to reach it. But, the king needed to be alerted, I needed to explain ...’

‘Why would Branbright save Lismere?’ said Gray.

‘He wasn’t interested in saving Lismere,’ said Longwark. ‘But he did.’

Gray hesitated. His grip on the wand was furious, but the flare had made him sweat and his hold was slipping.

Longwark noticed.

Of course, he did.

Gray clocked the movement a fraction of a second before it happened - Longwark’s shoulders bunched, his elbows bent, his hands pressed into the ground -

Gray didn’t think. He slammed his foot down on the loose fabric of Longwark’s sleeve that was trailing on the ground, pinning him.

Longwark stilled.

Silence stretched between them.

‘Blodrika Dry is the vampiric sorcerer?’ said Gray.

Longwark’s mouth twisted. ‘You want to be careful saying that name. Or any variation of it.’

‘Why?’ said Gray.

Longwark’s glittering grey gaze darted to the mouth of the cave.

Fear jumped up Gray’s throat.

‘What are we waiting for?’ said Gray. ‘Where did you send your crow?’

‘I didn’t send the crow anywhere,’ said Longwark, ‘she chooses to go, or she doesn’t.’

‘What are we doing here?’ demanded Gray. ‘Are we waiting for someone?’

A muscle twitched in Longwark’s tattooed temple.

‘Who is it?’

‘I’ve had enough of you asking questions,’ said Longwark.

Something clunked into place in Gray’s mind.

The storm.

The burning in the air.

It didn’t feel right.

Gray adjusted his grip on the wand, and he stepped back, away from the mouth of the cave. He kept the wand pointed steadily at Longwark.

’This is a sorcerer’s storm,’ said Gray.

Longwark slowly clapped, a sarcastic expression of being impressed on his face.

A sorcerer was coming to the cave.

Or they were hiding from one.

Gray strode forward and thrust the end of the wand back onto Longwark’s forehead. It dug into his skin.

Longwark stopped clapping.

‘Who is it, Longwark?’

Silence.

‘Perhaps I’m not making this clear enough,’ Gray said. ‘I will kill you. You tell me.’

‘Go on, then,’ said Longwark.

Fury hammered within Gray.

Longwark let out a bitter laugh.

’This cyngryd,’ said Gray darkly, ‘it’s not sharp. It would hurt a lot if I stabbed it - in your eye, maybe?’

'Graphic,' said Longwark. 'I've taught you for years, I know you're not going to-'

‘Who?’ said Gray.

A freezing gust of wind whipped through the cave. Leaf litter scuttled into the cave, swirling. The gust sent Longwark’s laundry flying, it tipped over one of the mismatched dining chairs. It picked up a bunch of maps and papers from the desk.

The wanted poster of Conor Griffin landed right at Gray’s feet.

Ice slammed his veins. The anger within him dissolved.

Longwark’s face deepened from a sudden flash of lightning. ‘I did not invite Conor here,’ he said, his tone guarded.

There was a deafening crack of thunder.

'You invited someone?' Gray muttered, his lips numb.

Longwark glanced at the cave mouth again. 'A colleague. They want to meet you.'

‘Who is coming, Longwark?’

Gray could feel the power in the storm more clearly now, and this was not a friendly magic. It was cold and uncomfortable. Deeply ruthless.

This was a sorcerer as Kilian had always described them. Vicious. Inhuman.

‘Is Krupin here?’ said Gray.

But, it couldn’t be. Krupin couldn’t get through the border wards, and he was with Wilde, everyone knew Wilde was Krupin’s protege, they were together. Longwark had just spent the past few minutes saying he wasn’t with Wilde. Longwark wouldn't have sent the crow out to bring Krupin.

‘WHO?’ shouted Gray.

But, Gray could see, he could shout all he wanted, but Longwark wasn’t going to answer, and even if he did, Gray couldn’t trust him to be honest.

Thunder cracked.

‘No,’ said Longwark.

‘No?’ said Gray. ‘No, it’s not Krupin?’

‘No, you don’t do what you’re thinking of doing,’ said Longwark.

Gray’s pulse thrummed.

In the split second Gray weighed his options - not many, really not many, because he couldn’t do magic, he couldn’t fight, he was here alone with Longwark who never gave a straight answer and didn’t care about anyone - another flash of lightning lit up the sky.

‘You’re an inch away from fleeing,’ said Longwark, ‘I really recommend you don’t-‘

Gray kicked Longwark - brutally fast, brutally hard - under the chin and ran.

He was running out of the cave before he knew what he was doing, before Longwark even had time to recover.

Longwark wanted him to stay? Screw that, Gray was getting the hell out of there.

He’d lingered too long already.

He dropped Longwark’s wand, the wand was useless, and he needed his hands as he crashed through the trees, stumbled and skidded down the mountainside, in the pitch black. He barrelled down the mountain, slapping branches out of the way.

The ground tilted hard beneath him. He hit a steep decline and had no choice but to commit, half-running, half-falling down the mountain.

Behind him, Longwark followed.

Moving powerfully fast, snapping branches.

Calling out in northern. Shouting Gray’s name.

The storm was rolling in.

Cold air and thunder was sweeping in faster than Gray was sprinting, falling, skidding. It swallowed the sky, it smothered all light.

A huge gust of wind slammed into him, it rattled the trees. Thunder cracked. Lightning struck, and for a moment, it was blinding daylight. Gray could see every tree, every branch.

Gray ran faster. Falling. Catching himself. Running again.

He had no idea where he was going.

Doesn’t matter. Just move.

Gray slammed straight into something.

No, someone.