The walk back to Killian's house was a blur.

Gray barely remembered how he got to be sitting on the couch in Killian's dimly lit living room, picking at a loose stitch on a cushion with nervous fingers. Gruger and a skinny woman in a cloak with a very cold demeanour and about fifteen different types of blades concealed about her body sat opposite him, by the dark fireplace.

Gray wanted to pace.

He wanted to tap his fingers.

He needed to move.

He needed to not be so damn useless. What was the point of all this training, and a magic score of seventy-eight-

No, he told himself.

It was bad enough that Gruger had seen Gray beginning to lose his cool out in the street when Killian left.

Gray forced himself to sit still. Controlled his thoughts.

So far, there had been no major explosions, no signs of mass destruction from the barracks.

And no Killian returning.

The city was eerily quiet, as though it was waiting with Gray, breath bated.

'Tea,' Gruger said.

His tone was calm, and he reclined in the armchair as though he might fall asleep any moment. Behind his shaggy hair and glass eye there were no signs of stress.

Gray immediately got up, glad for the excuse to move, and for some privacy in the kitchen. 'I'll get it.'

But, Gruger followed him.

Gray could feel his gaze on the back of his neck as he filled up the kettle and lit the stove.

'He keeps the tea in the top cupboard there,' said Gruger.

Gray refrained from glancing back at Gruger, but only just. The man knew where Killian kept his tea. He had a key to Killian's house. Of course, Killian was close friends with an assassin.

'You've been signed to any of the military's teams yet?' said Gruger, calmly doling out tea leaves into the three mugs Gray had found.

'No,' mumbled Gray.

'Any of the guilds?' said Gruger.

Gray shook his head, shifting uncomfortably.

'Baldwin's not allowing it?' said Gruger.

Gray glanced at him. 'I, uh, don't know. We haven't talked about it.'

'But, there have been expressions of interest, of course.'

'I,' said Gray, replacing the tea into the top cupboard, and wishing he had something better to say, 'I don't know.'

As Gruger examined him silently, Gray shifted uncomfortably again, and said, 'I only see Killian and the king and some instructors. I don't hear of any offers.'

Gruger nodded.

The quiet stretched.

Then, 'You're not allowed to accept an offer for a position at a guild?' said Gruger.

Gray stared at him.

'That's not the mage guild, of course,' Gruger elaborated.

Gray felt himself turn faintly red. He'd understood Gruger hadn't meant the mage guild. He'd been confused because he had no idea any of the other guilds was even an option. 'I'd make a poor assassin, sir.'

'I was talking of a different guild.'

Gray waited for him to continue.

'Killian had reached out to the Alchemist's Guild,' said Gruger, 'and I thought there was an offer on the table for you, but-'

'What?' said Gray, dropping the teaspoons he'd just gotten from a drawer. 'Sorry, what?'

'-since there had been no announcement, and I figured Killian was pressing his luck, because there's no way Baldwin was going to let his Griffin mage be distracted by studying at a separate guild -'

'The Alchemist's Guild?' said Gray. 'I'd do anything to go to the Alchemy Academy, there's no way I'd qualify for the Guild yet, are you sure?'

'So, are you allowed to accept offers from other guilds?' said Gruger.

Stolen story; please report.

Gray stilled, feeling like a balloon deflating. He stooped to pick up the spoons.

Thinking of the king's iron grip of control and the uncertainty and tension of everything, Gray was leaning towards unlikely. And considering Killian's speech earlier about getting offers and saying no, more like very unlikely.

Though, when Killian had told him to say no to offers, he'd been talking about other military officers, not guilds.

'No?' said Gruger.

'Can mages go to other guilds?' said Gray.

'Sometimes,' said Gruger.

'What if I just tell them yes?' Gray said hopefully. 'I could write to them.'

'For a guild, you'll need a parent or guardian's permission, I'm afraid,' said Gruger, 'until you turn twenty-one.'

'Oh,' said Gray. 'Oh. Right.'

Gray turned his back to Gruger, hiding his face and pretending to search for clean spoons while he got his bitter disappointment under control.

'Or,' said Gruger, 'permission from the crown would suffice, of course.'

'Right,' Gray repeated hollowly.

Face under control, Gray faced Gruger and carefully laid the teaspoons down by the mugs.

Perhaps his face wasn't as guarded as he thought, because Gruger patted his hand.

'I suggest you talk to Baldwin about it,' said Gruger. 'Maybe you'll convince him, if Killian failed?'

'You overestimate … I can't steer him,' muttered Gray.

'Why don't you try?' said Gruger lightly. 'And report back to me. I'd be interested to hear how you go.'

Gray nodded, though the idea of talking to the king about letting him go to the Alchemist's Guild turned his insides to ice, and vaguely aware Gruger was giving him some kind of test. Hearing the words Killian and failed brought reality crashing down around Gray's ears once again.

'Is no news good news?' said Gray.

Gruger didn't ask for clarification. His good eye drifted over to the front door. 'No.'

—-

Gray had no damn idea how he fell asleep.

One minute he was sitting on the couch, tea turned cold in front of him, mid-conversation with the cold-looking woman in the robe - who, turned out, spoke fluent northern, though with an accent, and insisted that she wanted to practice - and the next, the red light of dawn was flooding in through the living room window. Gray's head was heavy against the couch cushion.

Gruger and two soldiers were clustered around a very injured Killian. The cold woman was gone.

Gray pushed himself up from the couch, shoving hair out of his face to see better.

He barely had time to process the scene - the prone shape of Killian laid out before the unlit fireplace, his uniform in tattered rags, his dark hair soaked, and deep gashes everywhere, burns everywhere, gore everywhere, trailing over the living room to where the men had laid Killian, Gruger calmly digging through a first aid kit - before Gray heard the clipped command of one of the soldiers.

'Where's the healer?'

The soldier who said this held his back ramrod straight. Gray didn't need to glimpse the moles dotting his face, or the cautious blue eyes to recognise the voice of Pickering.

What happened? Gray wanted to say. His mind and mouth weren't connecting. He wrenched his gaze away from Killian, his stomach roiling. The gore was fresh enough that they'd just arrived.

'I don't know,' said the other soldier. 'I sent for them twenty minutes ago.'

That drawl.

That swagger.

The muddy boots that he'd not bothered to remove.

Gray's heart dropped like a stone. Like a boulder. With the force of a star shooting towards land.

Codder.

What was Codder doing, in uniform - a torn, bloodied, burnt uniform - with the Treasure League patch on the front?

What was he doing in Killian's house?

Gray stepped back silently in a kind of muted horror, watching them from the corner.

'… the hospitals are overrun, stretched thin, we need to drag a damn healer here, we can't move him any more …'

'Go,' grunted Gruger. He waved a hand at Codder. 'Go get a healer. Fast.'

Codder turned on his heel and strode towards the door.

His hand on the doorknob, he turned his shadowed gaze towards Gray. 'Hiding, stray? How different for you.'

Gray stepped forward, heat spiking within him alarmingly fast.

Codder raised his hand, and for a second, Gray thought Codder was about to strike him.

Instead, he shoved a torn, bloodied note into Gray's chest. For a wild moment, Gray wondered if this was a message from Harriette or Barin.

'Your cousin left a note, we found it on Major,' drawled Codder. 'Ash-stink. Chosen One. Coward. Which is it again?'

'Stop pissing about and go, Codder,' yelled Pickering.

Gray snatched the note and Codder slammed out of the door.

For a moment, Pickering locked gazes with Gray, before he returned to helping Gruger. Killian was silent. Still, save for the shallowest rise of his chest.

Gray fumbled with the note, his heart in his throat. He unfolded it and scanned the elegant script inside.

Next time, bring him with you.

Him.

Gray, him? Baldwin Auguste, him? Who, him?

Why not write a name?

From the depths of Gray's mind, the memory of Killian saying kid, sorcerers do this, they'll play with you surfaced.

He crushed the note in his fist. Dropped it.

'What happened?' said Gray.

His mouth, his mind, his tongue moved like he was calm. Cool.

Gruger paused, glancing at him.

'We had to retreat,' said Pickering. His voice was hoarse. He took the antiseptic off Gruger, crouching over Killian. 'He took us completely by surprise.'

'Conor's still there?' said Gray. Calm. Cool.

Gruger slowly stood, his one good eye trained onto Gray.

'He was there when we left,' said Pickering, 'but I doubt he's still there now. He was after some papers in the General's office. We - tried … to stop him …' Pickering's voice shuddered and died.

'You help me look after Killian, son,' said Gruger to Gray. 'You come here.'

Gray was rooted to the ground. 'What papers did he want?'

'I don't know,' Pickering said. 'Maps. Old maps. I don't have the clearance, I …'

Gray swivelled his gaze back to Gruger. Old maps.

Gruger took up his cane

'What maps?' said Gray. And then, because it was always about this, because sorcerers loved collecting treasure, especially Krupin, especially Wilde, and now Conor, for sure, because - if the king was right - Wilde had taken an element of Conor's will and bound it to him, 'Tombs?'

There was no change in Gruger.

'He'll be going there now,' said Gray, 'if he's already got the maps he wants. What tombs?'

The room was silent, save for the shallow breaths coming from Killian as Pickering cleaned his wounds.

'Krydon tombs?' said Gray. 'Tombs here? What tombs?'

'I don't know, Pickering here doesn't know, and you don't know,' said Gruger. 'You know what you do know? You don't have the skill, the control, to do anything about whatever tombs he's going to.' He walked forward, leaning heavily on his cane. 'You also know that if you make smart choices and train hard, one day, you will be able to do something.'

Gray clenched his jaw, the cold rage within him shattering into pieces as suddenly as it started. His breath shuddered.

'Good lad,' said Gruger. 'There you go.'

It took everything within Gray not to glare at Gruger.

'You know you're going to make the smart choice,' said Gruger. 'You know you're going to come over here and help Killian.'

Gray levelled him with a stare.

I know Conor sees well in the dark. I know sudden bright light hurts him.

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