To Catch A Sorcerer

Codder’s hand twitched as they stepped over him.

Gray staggered into the wall.

The keys stashed up his sleeve hit the rock wall, making a soft, metallic clang. For a horrible second, fear cut through Gray like glass.

But, Killian was focused on Codder.

Slowly, Killian pulled at the corner of the map sticking out of Codder’s pocket. He smoothed it out, his expression closed.

‘Get a medic for him,’ said Killian.

One of the soldiers raced up the stairs.

‘When he recovers,’ said Killian, speaking to the remaining soldiers on duty, ‘send him to me. I’ll deal with you all after your shift.’ He turned and let his voice echo down the corridor. ‘As for the prisoners, no rations for twenty-four hours. If there’s a ruckus again, there’ll be lashings.’

Killian hauled Gray up the dirty stone steps.

Gray’s pulse thudded. With each step, each time he reached his arm out to steady himself against the wall, he felt the keys up his sleeve.

Taking the keys had been impulsive. And completely stupid.

Gray had no plan for the keys, he didn’t need them. He didn’t want to think what Killian would do to him if he found them.

They would check. Soon they would figure out the keys were missing.

They’d search, they’d change the locks …

They reached the landing, and Gray filled his lungs with fresh air spilling through an open window looking out into the garden. Dusk was falling outside, the sky a riot of darkening colours and a pale full moon.

The corridors were quiet. The workday must’ve ended.

Killian adjusted his grip on Gray’s arm and waist, and they made their way through the Hall in silence.

Gray’s mouth was sore and inflamed where Codder had hit him. His dark hair was a matted mess, slipping free of the leather tie and hanging in his eyes.

Gray stumbled as though in a daze.

It wasn’t just the keys on his mind.

The information from Codder filled every corner of his brain.

Rats.

Something had killed Alistair.

Not a sorcerer. Rats meant a creature, surely.

Or, perhaps some kind of curse.

But, he needed those books to be certain.

Killian had executed Krydon’s Captain and he’d imprisoned their guard. Barin was gone. The town was under siege by the soldiers.

The thing that had killed Alistair was roaming free, and no one was doing a damn thing about it. It would be forgotten as the townsfolk dealt with the fresh carnage. The longer the soldiers were in Krydon, the more damage they committed, the more likely Alistair and Rowan’s death would go without justice.

Killian slowed to a stop, and helped Gray sit on one of the carpeted stairs.

‘Rest here a minute,’ Killian murmured, stretching out his shoulder.

A night shift worker padded down the stairs behind them. Gray started.

Blonde. Beautiful. Red shoe laces.

Rosie.

She was carrying a stack of dirty plates.

‘Gray,’ she said, nodding as she passed. For the smallest fraction of a second, she paused, her gaze on Gray. She continued, fixing Killian with a loaded stare. Then, in northern, to Killian, in the same polite tone she’d used to address Gray, ‘dipshit.’

Killian eyed her retreating back.

Gray slouched, groaning. How Rosie always saw him when he was at his worst … he rested his head in his shaking hands, his elbows on his knees.

Killian shifted, taking a step back, and sitting on a step a few below Gray’s. He leant back against the polished bannister with his gaze on the view from the circular window.

‘The northerners don’t like mages, hm?’ said Killian. ‘Well, they seem to like you well enough, don’t they?’

Like was a strong word. Gray flexed his trembling fingers. He thought about what Vaddenham had said, that the guards were angry. Vaddenham was probably right. The guards needed help. They were desperate. They’d likely thought Codder was taking away their best shot at revenge or escaping.

Longwark would’ve gotten the same reaction, if not worse.

As though reading his mind, Killian said, ‘They didn’t do that shit for Longwark. You could hear them all the way across the town square.’

Maybe … maybe that was because Longwark was seven foot seven, and had military training.

Codder would never have attempted that crap with Longwark in the first place. Longwark didn’t need anyone to step in to help him.

Gray swallowed, pushing down frothing rage. And something else. Something hotter, something sicker.

‘It’s their sense of honour,’ said Gray.

Killian’s eyebrows rose. ‘Honour?’

‘Here, you don’t fight someone smaller, weaker than yourself … everyone looks out for … everyone.’

‘Is that so?’

Gray wasn’t about to further explain the concept of honour or community to this man. He gazed out the window, his mind filled with what Codder had told him and how the damn he was going to get his hands on those books.

If - if he could talk to Rosie, for just a second -

‘Though, having the surname Griffin probably helps you, hm? They were very popular. Even before they fucked up Wilde. Lismere’s best duellists.’

It took Gray a moment to bring himself back and focus on what Killian was saying.

‘They don’t …’ said Gray.

‘Hm?’

‘They don’t care about that,’ muttered Gray, struggling hard to keep himself steady. ‘That’s southerner rubbish to them.’

‘Really?’

‘I …’ said Gray, ‘I serve them beer and beef at the tavern, and I take care of them when they’re drunk. That’s all. I’m more one of them than I am Other. Longwark … Longwark’s …’

No one messes with Longwark, Gray wanted to say.

But, Gray had to remember who he was talking to - who this man was, and what he was capable of, and how easily he’d manipulated Gray. Gray couldn’t let his guard slip. He shouldn’t share anything with Killian.

‘Come,’ said Killian, standing up. ‘Let’s go.’

They were moving again, through the quiet corridors, and padding over the thick carpet of the upper floors of the Hall.

Killian shouldered through the door of his room.

And, unlike Gray who let out a silent breath, was completely unsurprised that Sorena sat at the dining table laden with food.

Sorena’s platinum hair was damp from a shower, her skin was clean and healthy. She wore crisp cotton trousers and top, and expensive wool socks, purchased - Gray recognised - from the luxury clothing shop across the square.

Her lips parted in surprise. Gray dragged his gaze away from them as, slowly, his stomach sank.

Her presence here was going to ruin everything.

There was absolutely no way he’d achieve any kind of escape plan with her here.

‘Killian?’ said Sorena.

Sorena tracked Killian’s movements with her cold eyes as he gave her a stiff bow, her fork paused over a generous serving of chicken pot pie that smelt like heaven.

‘Highness,’ said Killian softly. ‘Just give me a minute to settle Griffin.’

Sorena pinned Gray with her bright hazel eyes, her face settling into bitter dislike. ‘Settle … Griffin.’

‘Yep,’ said Killian, his voice tight.

‘You’re not keeping the son of D’Oncray in the same room as me.’

‘That’s exactly what I’m doing,’ said Killian.

‘Are you trying to punish me?’ said Sorena.

Gray shouldn’t be insulted, he really shouldn’t, because that’s exactly what she wanted, but gods, this girl was a piece of work.

She pinned Killian with her cold stare. ‘You put him somewhere else.’

‘I have a few suggestions for where you might stick her,’ muttered Gray.

‘Excuse me?’ said Killian.

‘You know what D’Oncray did to my family,’ said Sorena, dropping her fork with a clatter.

‘Of course I know, Sorena,’ said Killian. ‘There’s nowhere else to put him. He’s staying here.’ When Sorena opened her mouth, he said, ‘He’s not staying in the prison.’

Killian dumped Gray on the floor of the threshold of his room, with a curt, ‘Stay off the carpet. Remove your boots.’

Killian stalked across to the bathroom and locked it.

The room - gods the room - had been completely changed, aside from Frostvine still sleeping on the large bed, breathing peacefully, and the bedroll Gray had slept on the night before.

Fresh-cut flowers in delicate glass vases sat on every flat surface. An antique mirror almost as tall as the ceiling leant against the wall by the window, with a bolt of bright crimson silk hung over one corner.

Piles of boxes from the shops in Krydon were neatly stacked, and a large playing board with glittering marbles lay on the floor by the fire, atop a white fur rug.

An additional cot had been added, pressed up against the far wall.

Killian’s trunk had been moved out of the way, next to Gray’s bedroll, a little way off from the fire.

Gray undid his laces, and gingerly removed his shoes, placing them neatly by the door.

Killian crouched in front of him, pulling the dagger out of his boot. With precision, he pulled down Gray’s sock, and sliced through the twine tying the charm around Gray’s ankle.

Cutting the charm away was like wiping off sticky honey. Relief washed through Gray.

With a dark look at Gray, Killian took the charm and sat down at the dining table with Sorena, pulling out a very thick piece of parchment from his pocket as he went.

Gray staggered upright, curiously craning his neck to see.

Killian pressed the charm firmly to the parchment and waited expectantly.

Then, it was as though an invisible hand was writing a very fast script over the parchment.

The writing was tight and cramped. It quickly filled one side of the parchment, and then continued over the next.

Sorena frowned, peering over the plates of food. She had a damn bowl of chocolate bonbons there. ‘Want me to translate the northern for you, Killian?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Killian. ‘That’s why Vaddenham’s here.’ He shot her an indulgent smile. ‘Nothing for you to worry about, hm?’

Gray had a double flash of insight.

The charm was an eavesdropper charm.

Of course.

It had been listening, he realised with alarm. He guessed it was telling Killian what had passed between Gray and Longwark.

And the room. Gray had assumed it was Sorena’s doing, or Jessica’s.

But, it had been Killian. Whether to impress the king or because he was just spoiling Sorena, Gray couldn’t guess.

Though, Branbright had said -

Killian was in front of Gray, gripping his arm. ‘The bedroll’s your space. You don’t go off it. Understood?’

Gray nodded as Killian settled him on the bedroll.

‘You don’t eat her food, you don’t touch her things, and if you touch her, gods help you, I’ll skin you alive. Got it?’

‘Not going to be a problem,’ said Gray, grimly.

There was a knock on the door.

Killian clicked his tongue in annoyance. ‘Enter.’

It was a soldier, nervously taking in the tension of the room. ‘We - we just received word from the fire mage Emeric, Major.’