Killian was avoiding Gray's gaze.

He watched a small moth fluttering near the ceiling beams. Then back to darting to the exits, watching the few patrons in the pub.

'Humour me, kid.'

'Humour you?' said Gray.

'Was Longwark in this group of friends?' said Killian.

'No,' said Gray, getting frustrated and struggling to push it down. 'I don't know.'

'OK,' said Killian. 'But she was clearly close to Longwark. In Krydon. Wasn't she?'

'No,' said Gray, keeping his tone steady. 'She wasn't.'

Silence settled between them, and Gray sat back, refusing to buckle under the weight of it this time, fighting to school his expression to mirror the irritatingly blank calm that Killian wore.

Eventually, Killian leant his elbows on the table. 'I ask, because Conor made it abundantly clear that he's not just working on Wilde's orders to fuck with the Augustes, but also to destroy a rebel society that includes Longwark. Which has me asking - because rebels would be aiding Wilde's cause to bring down the Augustes, no? - Why the hell would he bother? And it also has me asking, what had Elona so desperate to hide you that she'd seek the help of rebels?' Killian gave a pointed pause. 'Or a secret society of sorcerers?'

Gray's pulse thrummed in his ears. 'Secret society of sorcerers?' he echoed. 'Or a rebel society. You going to pick one?'

'I think they're the same group,' said Killian. 'I think Conor - or Wilde - doesn't know as much as we do. I think when Conor says group of rebels, he doesn't realise he's talking about a secret society that included some - frankly - terrifying sorcerers.'

Longwark's words, from the confrontation in the cave, swirled through Gray's head, whip-fast.

Longwark was working against Wilde.

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

'Did you speak with Longwark,' said Gray, 'when you fought him?'

Killian let out a derisive huff. 'There was no speaking.'

'So - so Baldwin and Cyril told you what I told them, what Longwark told me?'

'I know Longwark's history, I know he's a slimy double agent that will sell out to the highest bidder.'

'I need you to back up,' said Gray, rubbing his temple with sweaty fingertips. 'OK? Elona wasn't a rebel, and sorcerers - they don't - you said - they're psychopaths, they don't work with people-'

'Longwark's worked with Baldwin, he's worked in the army, and he's worked in your school in Krydon. Not well, not pleasantly, but clearly in rare circumstances, it's possible. There's some nuance to sorcerers that perhaps I haven't, ah, acknowledged.'

Gray stared.

Killian softly clicked his tongue. 'They're not all the same level of murderous psychopaths - though ninety-nine percent of them are - but there's the one percent that are just assholes who may or may not stab you in the back the minute it serves them.'

Gray felt his eyebrows shoot up.

'The fact that some sorcerers have been misclassified as mages at different points in history,' said Killian, as though carefully choosing every word, 'means that some of them - very rarely - can be capable of blending in, acting somewhat normal. I know that. We all damn well know that.'

'Do we?' said Gray, shifting in his seat.

'Of course.'

This line of talk was getting dangerously close to the argument Gray and Killians had had about the Augustes. The argument that had ended in Gray getting wordlessly dropped off at the Dierne prison.

Gray examined his hands, keeping his mouth firmly shut.

'But,' said Killian darkly, 'this society of sorcerers Longwark's a part of, it isn't good, Gray. They're sorcerers. They collect apprentices just the same as any sorcerer will, if they come across a decent potential apprentice. They'll collect treasures, people, things, some have committed massacres.'

Something must've shown in Gray's face, because Killian paused.

'You have a question?' said Killian.

Gray shook his head.

'Spit it out, kid.'

'You - you know this for sure?' said Gray. 'Cyril told you?'

'Cyril, Baldwin, Jessica, Loughty - you may not know him, he's one of my bosses … why?'

'You're sure this society of sorcerers is bad?' said Gray.

'Yeah,' said Killian. 'Ah, there's the sorcerer Allaband, our intelligence says he's part of this society, and he was behind the Li Castle massacre. Woodbead, she flooded the village of Bevere, Raynott killed the entire Jullie family - you want me to continue?'

Gray frowned down at his hands.

'By all reports,' said Killian, 'they cooperate with each other because they bloody hate Wilde. I use cooperate loosely, here - Cyril said there's been three murders within this society, they do fight and kill each other, so I don't know how loyal they are to each other if they're not working towards the common goal of ending Wilde.'

And,' said Killian, tightly, 'there are some humans in there, too. It's not all sorcerers. Longwark had reported to Baldwin of working with northern rebels in the society.'

Gray's hands shook.

'Kid, I'm not trying to upset you, it's the last thing I want.'

'I'm not upset. I just think you're wrong about Elona.'

'You're right. I could be,' said Killian. 'Which is what I'm trying to determine with you here. So, I'll ask you again, were Longwark and Elona close?'

'He liked her, it wasn't anything - they weren't close. It was one-sided, she wasn't part of any society.'

'Liked her?' said Killian.

'He was in love with her.'

'Really?' said Killian mildly.

'It wasn't unusual,' said Gray. 'She had a lot of - there were always men. Longwark was one of them. She was kind. But, I wouldn't even have classed them as friends. They weren't close. They weren't part of a society together.'

'Gray,' said Killian. 'Elona's not in trouble.'

Gray jiggled his foot, picking at a nail that had gotten torn during Hunark's lesson that day.

'I suspect,' said Killian carefully, 'Longwark took advantage of a scared Elona, and took it as an opportunity to move the damn Griffin kid up to Krydon, to be ready to break into the tombs when you had your first ryece. Which is not a man in love. And then, along came Branbright, of course.'

Branbright, who was part of the secret society working against Wilde, according to Longwark.

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Branbright, who was Wilde's assassin, according to the Augustes.

Branbright hadn't shown any signs of recognition when Gray had met him. He'd not attempted to force Gray away, he'd only been kind, and a little strange. He'd saved Gray's life.

There was a sudden burning in Gray's stomach.

It faded as fast as it had come.

'Longwark didn't take me up to Krydon,' said Gray. 'Elona did. She - organised everything.'

'Yes?' said Killian.

Gray hesitated. His palms were sweating.

'Right,' said Killian. 'I'm dropping it. Now, who scribed your papers?'

Gray darted a glance at him.

'Hm?' said Killian.

Rubbing his forehead, Gray scanned his memory. He'd been in an office, on Elona's hip, and Alistair had knocked a pile of books …

'I don't remember,' said Gray.

'Try harder.'

'I …'

'This scribe had access to your original papers?' said Killian.

Gray groped through his memory.

'They were a master mage, yes?' said Killian. 'Or a high master mage?'

'I can't remember the scribe.'

'What robes were they wearing?'

Gray ran a hand through his hair.

'Gray, I only want to talk to them. They're not going to catch any heat.'

Gray shut his eyes, trying to bring detail to the memory.

The scribe had round glasses and wore a lurid green scarf that reminded Gray of the turtles that would nest on the banks in the canals back in Hobbtown.

'They,' said Gray, forcing the words out, 'she wore glasses …'

'Her robes, Gray?'

'There's huge blank spots in my memory, and the harder I try, the blanker it gets.'

Killian sat back, his hands up, showing his palms. 'OK.' His dark gaze surveyed the pub, going from exit to exit. 'So, there was no deeper motive for getting false stat papers for you? For hiding you, when you should've been in training?'

Gray stilled. 'If you want to ask me something, just ask.'

Killian's dark gaze snapped back onto Gray. 'This is a friendly chat. I'm not accusing you of anything.'

Gray's chest was a little too tight.

'I ask,' said Killian, 'because your stat papers might have held some extra details we're now missing.'

'If - this is about my parentage-'

'No,' said Killian, casually. 'This is simply about understanding Elona's motives. I want to know why she'd risk execution not just for herself, but for Alistair, to hide you, if she indeed knew you weren't Conor Griffin.'

Gray frowned. 'She hated-'

'She hated the Augustes,' said Killian. 'Yes.'

Killian's mouth was a hard line.

'You know why the people here were calling Conor Griffin the chosen one?' said Killian. 'Before he showed his true colours, of course.'

Gray lowered his gaze, ignoring the thud, thud, thud of his heart.

'He was unusually powerful for his age,' said Gray. 'He fought off Wilde's men, wandlessly, when he was six or something.'

'Right,' and Killian. 'Anything else?'

Gray's heartbeat surged, and he fought to get it under control as his nervousness turned into something very close to heat.

This was so unexpected that it took a moment for Gray to identify it.

Hot anger.

And he had no damn clue why he'd be angry about this line of questioning. He shouldn't be angry. It was just a question. He didn't need to be bothered by it, else Killian might make it into a bigger deal than it needed to be.

'There was a prophecy,' said Gray.

Killian waited.

Gray fought down the mad urge to get up and walk out.

Killian tilted his head, seeking Gray's gaze. 'Prophecies are cliche bullshit, hm?'

Gray nodded.

'You with me?' said Killian.

Gray couldn't get words out of his mouth. He nodded again.

'Prophecies are cliche bullshit,' Killian repeated, more firmly. 'OK, kid?'

Some heat evaporated from Gray's thrumming pulse. He nodded.

'Every twenty years or so,' said Killian, 'someone decides the vague rantings of a riddlespeaker mage are coming true. Some poor sod gets thrown into the role of chosen one, saviour, champion, villain.'

Reluctantly, Gray lifted his gaze, trying to get a read on Killian's body language.

Killian was picking at his crust of bread that had come with his steak with deliberate care, his fingers slow and steady, and his movements loose and unhurried. His dark eyes were watchful.

'Did Elona ever talk about a prophecy and Conor?' said Killian.

Elona never had. Nor had the northerners, not really.

There had been a prophecy section in the Sirentown library, but surely that was only a matter of covering all information and books, because northerners didn't put stock into such airy notions as prophecies.

Sometimes, Gray would hear the southerners passing through the tavern, talking about Conor being the chosen one. And Killian's men had certainly talked about it.

'Maybe,' said Killian, 'Elona talked about a prophecy and you?'

'No,' said Gray.

'She didn't ever talk about how the wrong Griffin kid had been pegged as a chosen one?'

Silence settled between them.

'No,' said Gray.

'The stag will fall and darkness will grow,' muttered Killian. 'Lismere will be on its knees with woe. But lo, a griffin shall save the stag and usher light. Born with a score of ninety-one, the griffin is Lismere's sun. Hm?'

'I,' said Gray. 'I've heard southerners talk about a bunch of different prophecies. I'm sorry, I know you love Baldwin, but I'm not saving the Augustes-'

'I'm not expecting you to save the Augustes,' interrupted Killian. 'I'm not calling you or Conor the chosen one. Never have, never will. But not everyone's of the same mind. Quacks, mostly.'

Gray made a noncommittal noise.

'Your original stat papers, the base scores, before you started school, started moving your scores up with exams, tests, competitions, it couldn't have been ninety-one?' said Killian.

'I don't ... I don't remember that.'

'Elona didn't mention it?'

'She didn't talk to me about that.'

Killian nodded slowly, running a finger along his jaw.

'She certainly wasn't hiding me to stop me from saving the Augustes because of some prophecy,' said Gray. 'And she wasn't hiding me with the help of a secret society of sorcerers. Is that what you're asking?'

'Hush, now.'

Gray had barely been speaking above a whisper. Everything in him - his muscles, his tone, his shoulders - were tightly controlled. Killian must've been referring to the rapid pulse beating in Gray's veins. Killian put his palms up in a placating gesture.

'Is that what you wanted to know?' said Gray.

Killian dropped his hands.

'Yeah,' said Killian bluntly. 'It's what I wanted to know.'

'Well, you have your answer.'

'Yeah,' said Killian. 'Yeah, I have my answer.'

'Elona hid us becasue she hated the Augustes and because we weren't safe.'

'OK, kid.'

Killian's mouth was a hard line.

'Can I talk to you about Conor and the barracks?' said Killian. 'Or do you need a break?'

'No, I,' said Gray. Steeling himself, Gray straightened his shoulders. He wanted this over with.

'Go ahead,' said Gray.

'Has Conor gone into collection mode?' said Killian.

'No. I don't know.'

'Does he have some kind of attachment or affection for you?'

'I,' Gray pressed his lips together and stared hard at the waiter as he delivered a steaming bowl of roasted potatoes to a neighbouring patron. He could feel the dark gaze of Killian boring into the side of his face.

'Kid?' pressed Killian.

How would Gray know what was going through Conor's mind?

'Maybe,' said Gray.

'Maybe,' echoed Killian. 'Why do you say that?'

Gray's tongue was knotted. He groped for words. He just needed to damn well tell Killian about the memory he got back at the barracks.

'Let me explain this better for you,' said Killian. 'You heard of the sorcerer Barrah?'

Gray shook his head.

'He was a sorcerer a while back, during the purge - anyway, I saw my soldier kill Barrah's uncle right in front of him, and the guy didn't bat an eye.'

Gray sat silent for a second, horrified. 'That's a nice story.'

'If Conor has a famliar attachment to you, it's weird as hell, and I'm exploring every other angle I can think of to explain why Conor bypassed one of his master's marked.'

Gray kept himself tightly controlled.

'And I'm drawing up short,' said Killian. 'I've got nothing.'

Killian carefully laid his scabbed hands on the table.

'If that's the case,' said Killian, 'if Conor has some attachment to you, it looked to me like it was stronger than whatever binding magic Wilde's put on his little protege. You must tell me if this is the case, because I've never heard of this before, not between cousins or removed relatives of sorcerers, and because it could give us … a significant advantage …'

Gray's mind, his words, were jammed.

'I understand,' said Killian, after a long moment of silence, and measuring every word, 'that this is difficult for you. I understand there might be lingering loyalty. I want to remind you that you're not committing a betrayal against your family. This person - Conor - has done some very messed up shit. He's caused a lot of harm. And he will continue to do so.'

I know that, Gray wanted to say.

But, instead, words started spilling from Gray's mind, his mouth.

'But it's Wilde,' said Gray, 'isn't it? Not Conor. Baldwin told me what happens to an apprentice when they're collected, and it's not Conor doing these things.'

Killian breathed out, leaning back. 'Did Conor put some kind of enchantment on you at the barracks?'

Gray swallowed.

'You need to get tested,' said Killian, peering more closely at Gray. 'I'm taking you to a healer.'

'No,' Gray rushed. 'You misunderstand. I …'

'What do I misunderstand?' said Killian.

'I was getting a memory back,' said Gray, 'at the barracks. That's what was happening.'

'You were getting your memory back?' said Killian.

'Some of it,' said Gray dismissively. 'A small piece. From Hobbtown. I think Conor was doing to me what he did to you.'

Killian's face was white. His battle scars and bruising were stark. 'What memories?'

'The night Wilde came to …' said Gray, with some difficulty, 'my home.'

'The Griffin family home?' said Killian.

'Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was.'

'You saw Wilde take Conor?' said Killian softly.

'No - no, Conor was checking on me. Checking I was hidden. That I was safe.'

Killian was taking his sweet time to talk. He was steepling his scabbed hands, his chin tilted back as his gaze swept over Gray and then to the pub's exits.

The warm glow cast by the lanterns swinging from the crooked ceiling seemed out of place for how hard Gray's heart was beating. The air shouldn't have smelt of gentle smoke and ale.

It was so close to the smell of the Tipsy Stag. Home.

Maybe that was lulling Gray into dropping his guard and speaking so earnestly. He couldn't believe he'd just let himself so desperately defend Conor Griffin.

Even if it was true. Conor's mind was bound, according to Baldwin. And no one else had seen Gray's memory of that little boy checking on Gray as he hid underneath the stairs as the threat of the Dark Sorcerer approached, and the concern in Conor's face …

'That,' said Killian, 'does not sound like what he did to me. To me, that sounds like he was warning you to stay hidden.'

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