Standing near the king, one-on-one, was like standing next to a chemical fire.

‘Well?’ said the king.

The word reverberated in the empty room. There was a sinking power to the king’s voice and an expectation that Gray understood what was required from this word.

Gray hesitated, glancing at the gentle sunlight streaming in through the windows.

Was he supposed to report? Ask the king a question, broach the subject of Longwark?

‘Why,’ said the king, ‘were you out of the prison with Killian?’

‘He didn’t tell you?’ said Gray, surprised. He wondered what the fight between Killian and the king had been about, if not this. ‘I spoke with the Grand High-’

‘I’m asking you,’ said the king. ‘He’d had more than ample time to deliver you to the prison at the time of the attack.’

Gray drew in a controlled breath. ‘He wanted to talk to you.’

‘Why were you with him?’

‘He wanted to talk to you about me, I think,’ said Gray.

‘You,’ said the king, ‘were in the prison, in part, because of its security. As a precaution. You understand this?’

Gray’s jaw was clenched shut.

‘You were also in the prison because you broke my laws,’ said the king.

The world was narrowing as anger ran up Gray’s spine. Very carefully, he pushed it down. He had broken laws. Anger was always rising so readily within him, at a snap of a finger. He needed to get a grip. Stay calm.

‘You intentionally caused harm to my soldiers,’ said the king. ‘You caused damage to one of my cities, and to my people. You fled from my officials while undergoing investigation. Have you forgotten this?’

‘I’ve not forgotten this,’ said Gray stiffly.

There were plenty of things Gray would’ve loved to say. Your soldiers intentionally caused harm to your people, the northerners are your people, too. Someone had to do something.

‘Yes?’

‘You soldiers,’ said Gray, ‘were brutal-’

‘My soldiers follow my laws and their rights,’ said the king, ‘as should the northerners, and if they don’t, it’s not up to you to put them in their place.’

Engaging in a fight with the king - about this, of all things - when his eyes were dark and dilated with fury, after he’d just fought with Killian, and while his magic was sweeping through the room, hell, probably the whole guild, in frothing, boiling rage, would not be a good idea.

But, there must’ve been something defiant in Gray’s face or body language because the king’s eyes narrowed to furious slits.

The king took a deliberate step forward.

‘You made a fool of some of my best men,’ the king said. ‘You wasted a good amount of my resources. You helped my daughter almost disappear. I don’t care about your motivation. I don’t care about your reasoning. You do not run around my kingdom, breaking my laws and causing harm to my people, my land, with zero consequences. Not only am I not pleased by your past actions, any other civilian would’ve been charged and executed. That is why you were in the prison.’

Gray’s heart beat hard against his ribcage. As quickly as it had risen, his anger was fast dissolving into something else entirely.

What he’d done in Sirentown plagued his conscience.

The explosions and destruction. The people he’d hurt.

It flashed through his mind whenever his thoughts were left unguarded, with the same intensity as the memory of Alistair in Chester’s Close. It collided through his sleeping hours.

The king was right about Sirentown. Gray had made choices. They'd not been good ones.

The king was raging in earnest now. He paced the length of the classroom. ‘I have been very merciful towards you … had you not been from a powerful mage line when my kingdom most needs powerful mages, you would not be standing here… I am the king. You are not. I have the bigger picture. You do not …’

Every word out of the king’s mouth was sharper than a cutting blade.

‘… Killian should not have removed you without my permission.’

Gray silently examined the sodden leather of his boots, heat pooling in his stomach, because apparently Killian - no one - had told the king yet about what had been in Gray’s cell.

‘Last night was not Killian’s fault,’ said Gray.

The king turned to face Gray with the deadly precision of an eagle spotting a mouse. ‘Excuse me?’

’I mean, the decision to take me from the prison wasn’t …’

‘Wasn’t what?’

Gray just had to grip the bandaid and rip it off and tell the king, because the guards certainly would.

Gray had to get this out before the king spoke to any guards.

Take control of the narrative.

Gray’s heart was in his mouth. ‘He removed me because I …’

‘Because the guards disobeyed me,’ said the king. ‘Because they allowed themselves to be bribed. They’ll be dealt with.’

Gray shivered.

‘He,’ Gray said, ‘he removed me because I - had items, I shouldn’t-‘

‘Books,’ said the king, glancing furiously at the door. ‘Yes.’

‘Chalk,’ said Gray. ‘Luna moth-’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I used alchemy to create chalk, and …’ Gray faded out at the look on the king’s face. And then ploughed on, his stomach sinking, ‘No one gave it to me, to be clear, I made it, from limestone and salt and heat-’

‘I know how you transform limestone into chalk,’ said the king.

‘He also removed me because I don’t enjoy it there-‘

‘Enjoy?’ said the king dangerously. ‘You are not here on a holiday. Let me put this in terms you’ll understand.’ He leant forward, his face inches from Gray’s. ‘You are not the sun. This world does not revolve around you. It is not my priority to make you comfortable. And if that is too complicated for you, perhaps you’ll understand that I am concerned about adequate security around you. Do you understand that?’

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‘Yes, sir,’ said Gray haltingly.

The king rigidly straightened, his eyes alight. ‘You do not seem to be taking the threat of Longwark seriously. The Othoans are preparing for war as we speak. It’ll happen any day, unless we can return the jar to them. They’re hammering at our northern borders, and we can’t send any mages north to mend or reinforce the wards.’

Gray edged backwards. Oh, shit.

‘They attack us as we are now,’ said the king, ‘we will struggle to fend them off. Do you want this kingdom ripped apart by war?’

No. Gray did not want that. He didn’t want that for any kingdom.

‘These sorcerers running through Lismere,’ said the king, ‘they will kill you, or they will take you. Do you know what happens to an apprentice collected by a sorcerer?’

’No, sir-‘

‘No,’ said the king. ’They take away an element of your free will. They get into your mind. They bind you. It’s utterly abhorrent and forbidden by my laws. It increases their own power, it elevates their stats.’

‘I,’ said Gray, ‘I didn’t know-‘

‘I’m aware your education has been sorely lacking,’ said the king. ‘You are also the only apprentice I have with enough power to pull sorcerers. Which is fortunate for you. I need you. I need you onside and I need you cooperating with me. Getting rid of the vampiric sorcerer so that my master mages can get into Krydon without disappearing is an utmost priority. If you’re willing to work with me and follow my orders, I will give you every tool you need to not be collected. I will tell you everything you need to know.’

‘You do not need to convince me to take on the Krydon job,’ muttered Gray. ‘Taking down the thing that killed Alistair - it’s what I’ve wanted from the beginning.’

‘We are in agreement, then,’ said the king coldly. ‘Yes?’

Gray’s heart hammered. There was only one answer that Gray knew he’d give, even if this king was mad, and even if it meant throwing himself back into danger.

‘Yes,’ he said. 'Of course, yes.'

‘The burgfestan jar is a wish jar. It contains a djinn,’ said the king. ‘Do you know what a djinn is?’

It took everything within Gray to not physically reel.

Telling him everything was starting right now?

Gray’s stomach twisted. His fingers twitched at his side. Steady, stay steady.

He’d expected information about Longwark. Longwark’s loyalties, who he was working with, what had happened in the storm. Maybe even information about the vampiric sorcerer.

A djinn?

Djinns were creatures so rare, so formidable, that wars had been fought over them in ancient history. Hell, some were waged over the merest whispers over where one might be hidden.

People killed over less.

Gray lowered his gaze, uncertainty and curiosity coiling in his chest. This information had to be dangerous. The king may as well have told Gray the code to the royal vaults.

‘Yes,’ muttered Gray, thinking of Harriette with her books about Jack and the djinn and the giants, back in the Tipsy Stag. The djinn statue in the Sirentown library.

But the king was telling him that this was not a djinn in a story or on the parchment of an old text in a library. This was a djinn, here and now, in Gray’s home.

The king pressed his lips together. ‘Do you understand what it means if a sorcerer like Wilde gets his hands on a djinn?’

‘Wishes,’ said Gray hoarsely. ‘Power. Unmatched power.’

‘Enslaved, unfathomable, unmatched power,’ said the king. ‘You understand now why it’s so important we keep that jar safe?’

Gray looked up at the king sharply. ‘It,’ he said, ‘Longwark said it’s safe, it’s in one of the tombs in Krydon. Branbright put it there, no one can get it. Not even Wilde.’

‘I’m not willing to leave that up to chance. Wilde is young. His power and skill will increase. As will Krupin’s and Conor’s. Regardless, the Othoans will wage war if I don’t return the jar to them, and soon.’

Gray lowered his gaze, shuttering his expression, and his fingers pressed against his thighs.

Holy Clochaint.

Baldwin Auguste was not someone Gray would trust with a djinn. Neither was the emperor of Othoa. Not Wilde.

Hell, anyone.

Branbright, thought Gray, had made a very unexpected move. Or, perhaps, just calculated.

He’d not opened the jar, he’d not used the huge power-

‘The goal is to return the jar. It is not use of the djinn,’ said the king, watching Gray very closely. ‘There is a cost to using the djinn’s power that I will not pay. You understand?’

Gray felt his head shaking, as though someone else was doing it.

‘You don’t understand?’ demanded the king.

‘You’re going to return the jar to the Othans?’ said Gray carefully.

‘That’s right.’

There was something in the king’s tone, something in his stance, that had Gray suppressing a frown.

‘You can’t return the jar to the Othoans,’ said Gray. ‘It was almost - it was stolen from the Othoans. Way too easily.’

‘I wouldn’t exactly call what Longwark achieved easy,’ said the king. ‘Rest assured, I will be putting measures in place, to ensure the safety of the djinn.’

‘You’re working with the Othoans?’ said Gray, confused.

‘Not exactly.’

Gray’s mind ticked over. ‘You giving them a replica?’ said Gray. ‘A fake jar? Or-’

The king leant forward. ‘We need to return the real jar to the Othoans. We don’t have time to create a replica. We need to get the djinn out, fix the ancient seal on the jar, and return the empty jar to them.’

Reseal it?

But, the Othoan’s rage would match the king’s, if they found they’d been tricked by Lismere like this. It was a big risk to take.

Gray’s lips, his mind, his body, was numb. ‘The Othoans might inspect the jar.’

‘Obviously,’ said the king. ’They will definitely check the jar. But, the Othoans don’t know half of what they horde and the other half they don’t know how to use. The seal on a burgfestean jar is ancient, complicated magic. The Othoans would not dream of anyone being capable of such a feat as repairing a broken seal.’

We have someone capable of this? Gray wanted to ask.

The king must’ve had someone.

Still, it was one hell of a risk.

’Talk to the Othoans,’ said Gray.

The king turned his head to this side, letting out a disbelieving breath.

‘We are not discussing a plan,’ said the king. ‘You are not an advisor. I’m telling you what you need to know, to work for me and to not be collected.’

‘I,’ said Gray, staring blindly past the king, ‘need to know this?’

The king squared up to Gray.

‘You have not met all your instructors yet. There is one more. Her name is Corentin, and she will not be able to conduct her lessons with you in my office. They’ll be in the stables. Under my supervision.’

Stables?

The king advanced, as though Gray had said this numb, fleeting thought out loud.

‘Griffins,’ said the king.

Like a whip, a thought raced through Gray’s mind. Griffins guarded the tombs.

Gray bit back the words are you mad? just in time. ’Those griffins won’t negotiate.’

His heart was hammering in his chest. Anger was rearing back up, much too fast, much too easily. This was so risky. Too many things could go wrong. He swallowed it back.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Gray. ‘This is a hard no.’

‘No?’

‘I promised those griffins,’ said Gray grimly. ‘I would stop any further desecration of those tombs.’

‘This is not desecration,’ snarled the king. ’That jar does not belong there.’

Gray glared at the window, his jaw clenched.

‘Gray.’ The king’s eyes were wide in apoplectic rage. ‘I will order them not to desecrate the tombs. Yes?’

Gray hesitated.

‘Corentin?’ said Gray. ’She -?’

‘Corentin is a riddlespeaker,’ the king said, his voice and posture frigid. ‘I can’t send her. If I had an alternative, I would use it. You are not plan b or plan c. You are plan z. That is where we are. You understand this?’

’This is not-‘

‘This is why it’s important you are not collected. Not by the vampiric sorcerer. Not by Longwark. Once the vampiric sorcerer is dealt with, after you’ve instigated a fight, you need to move straight into dealing with the griffins, to allow my team access to the tombs to acquire the jar. I promise you, there will be no desecration of the tombs.’

‘The,’ said Gray, clawing onto his tone to control it, keep things polite, to keep his heart rate in check, ‘the Othoans have sorcerers working for them.’ He explained about the Othoan bounty hunters from when he was with the poachers. The woman with her hair down to her ankles. ‘They could check. Check the seal. They might know how this all works.’

The king pierced Gray with his deadly gaze.

‘Leaving aside,’ he said icily, ‘that this is something you should’ve told me, or anyone, much earlier, even Othoans aren’t so foolish as to hand a jar containing a djinn over to a sorcerer to inspect. The emperor will not allow any magic user close to it.’ He added, delicately, ‘Not on purpose.’

‘Only,’ said Gray, chewing the inside of his lip, ‘only magic users can command the djinn?’

‘It’ll take a skilled magic user to open the jar,’ said the king, looking like he was straining to stay patient, like he wanted nothing more than to knock Gray aside and stride out of the room. ‘The djinn is enslaved to the opener.’

‘Unless the opener has …’ continued the king, ‘… prepared. There are rings, certain pieces of jewellery, metals, that can also contain a djinn, if you have them ready upon releasing a djinn and if you wish to avoid enslavement, wanting to capture instead. This was Longwark’s orders.’

Gray blindly stared out the window, through the gentle sunlight that now seemed so strange a backdrop to having this conversation with the king.

He dug his fingernails into his palms.

Yeah.

He was awake.

‘Wilde nearly took the djinn,’ said the king, his furious gaze unwavering. ‘The Othoans were blind to it. I will not trust them with a djinn. We secure the djinn. We keep it out of Wilde’s hands. We pacify the Othoans with a sealed empty jar. And we ensure my kingdom does not collapse under the weight of another war. That was Longwark’s mission - the djinn only, no stealing of jars, no trace he was in Othoa - and he panicked. He disobeyed. He ruined everything.’