Gray stared at the ceiling in the dark. The bedroll was soft against his back.

That day had crept past in complete solitude for him until, after midnight, Killian had stalked wordlessly into the room, his uniform soaked in sweat, and - after about three minutes in the bathroom - had crashed into the bed.

It was the first time Gray had seen him actually use the bed.

Gray hadn't tried to speak to him, he'd laid on his bedroll, feigning sleep. He didn't care what had happened with Killian and the fey, he didn't care what Killian and Jessica had been doing to keep them busy all day.

All that mattered was Gray could hold his nerve and pull off what he'd spent the entire day planning out in meticulous detail.

Right now, Killian breathed slowly. Deep. Measured.

The wind blew outside. It whistled through the gaps in the window.

Very slowly and carefully, Gray pulled out his stashed items from underneath the mattress. The soft phoenix feather. The tiny apple seeds - seven of them - delivered hidden in Gray's oats by Rosie earlier that night. Shiny dragon's breath glazed pottery. Killian's spare knife from his weapon's case, and a folded piece of parchment. The prison keys.

Trying not to rustle the blankets, Gray hid them in the pocket of his trousers.

'Uh, Killian?' said Gray.

Killian's breath changed. He rolled over. His voice was hoarse from sleep. 'For fuck's sake, what is it?'

Gray swallowed. 'I need to go to the bathroom.'

He paused, rubbing his forehead. 'Clochaint, kid, can't you hold it?'

Gray stilled, feeling the items stashed in his pocket, and his heart thudding against his ribs. Killian settled back down.

'Killian?'

He snapped upright in the bed. Gray could feel this glare in the dark.

Gray breathed out slowly. 'I think I'm going to be sick.'

'Ah, gods.' He flung himself out of bed, fumbling for the keys to the bathroom door. 'Are you pregnant? What is wrong with you?'

'Hurry.'

'You have the weakest damned stomach – you are so soft and spoiled – I swear …'

He dragged Gray to the bathroom and flung him towards the lavatory.

'You should try looking across a battlefield, kid. What you've seen, what you've experienced, is nothing. You've been coddled up to your eyeballs, huh?'

Gray crawled towards the lavatory and flipped the seat up.

The silence stretched on. Killian huffed. He watched, leaning back against the tiled wall, his arms folded. Exhaustion was written all over him, it made his face grey and his eyes droop. His shoulders hunched.

'Well?' Killian said.

'Uh. It's coming.'

He swore and bustled around the basin, clearing up any toiletries he deemed dangerous.

Gray swallowed, pressing his hands against the porcelain. Killian left. Gray heard the bed creak as it took his weight.

Silently, carefully, Gray picked up the bag of bath salts with trembling fingers. The cleaner by the toilet. Two empty phials Killian had left on the basin. He dumped the potpourri into the bin, freeing up the bowl.

He set everything down in the center of the bathroom. Checked the window over the bath.

Unlocked.

He slid it open, wincing as it snickered for a second - oak whooshing over oak. Then, kneeling over the empty bowl, his knees pressing into cold tile, Gray double checked his ingredients with his breath in his throat.

Phoenix feather. Dragon clay. Apple seed. Salt. Acid.

A basic firebreath composition.

It'd be loud. Flashy.

A perfect distraction.

Gray hoped it would work.

The formula called for fresh dragon's breath clay. A freshly plucked phoenix feather. The right acid, not whatever toilet cleaner this was. And the salt should've come from a Wingland East mine.

But this would have to do.

And he probably had thirty seconds before Killian came to check on him.

For the smallest moment, Gray hesitated over the apple seeds. Seven was too many. Seven teetered on the edge of dangerous. These apple seeds contained a gas that was released when crushed.

Seven apple seeds could turn the firebreath into something big. Eight could make it very unstable. Nine? It wouldn't be firebreath anymore.

Just toxic, very real fire.

But, Gray needed this firebreath - if it was going to work, gods, please let it work - to be out-of-this-world big. He wanted it so big that it would startle any and every soldier within ten miles. It was going to create the illusion of an attack.

Chewing his lip, working fast, Gray crushed the apple seeds and dragon clay, and swept the powder into one of the phials. Estimated the salt. Poured it into the second phial with a dash of toilet cleaner, watching the liquid hiss and froth.

A third of the phoenix feather - no more.

The other two-thirds would come in a moment.

Gray stripped the third of feather down, gripping the rest in his teeth. The loose fronds fluttered into the bowl, brilliant red and gold.

He shook the salt and cleaner, then poured a third of it over the phoenix feather fronds into the bowl. Then, added a third of the crushed apple seeds into the bowl, too.

He leaned in, focusing, focusing so hard, adding his intention into the mix. Activating it.

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Seconds. He had only seconds before he'd know if it worked.

But waiting wasn't part of the plan.

Gray unfolded the parchment with his scrawled message for Killian. He pressed it against the timber mirror frame, then drove Killian's knife through it, pinning it in place.

It would be the first thing Killian would see.

Gray turned. No more hesitation.

By the time the firebreath erupted, he'd already be gone.

Gray gritted his teeth to stop himself from crying out as he clambered through the window. He clung to the edge, his bare feet dangling in the cold night air. His fingers burned as they took his whole weight. He prayed no soldiers would see him, dangling in the dark. That he wouldn't land wrong on his bad ankle. That he wouldn't break the phials of the remaining salt mixture and apple seeds stowed in his pocket.

Gray swung his good leg out to the right, and he felt the curve of a drain spout. He blindly struck out his hand to grab onto it and pulled himself over, his fingertips bleeding as he gripped the shardy stone.

Gray knew it worked a split second before the explosion went off.

It was like something had sucked all the noise, all the air out of the night. No whistling wind. No movement of branches. No hooting of owls.

Firebreath exploded out the window, curling and sparking like an overwrought, angry firework. It lit up the other windows of the bedroom.

It swept through the entire floor, like a furybeast of pure spiralling, licking fire.

It had worked.

It had worked so well.

Gray slithered down the drain, grazing his hands and knees, and awkwardly clambered into the window underneath. He tumbled inside and clenched his teeth to stop crying out as his bad ankle took his weight.

He was in a dark conference room. Empty.

Gray lay for a second, on his back, winded, numb. Then, he let out a shout of laughter, covered by the roar of the firebreath above. The fire lingered, and then grew, sparking and crackling out the windows above like a horde of angry wasps.

Like a million drakemites.

It had worked way too well.

It shouldn't be that big.

It was unstable.

Move. Move now.

Soldiers, people, shouted outside and inside the Hall. The town bell clanged.

There was a deep bellow from outside, and Gray recognised the voice of one of Killian's lieutenants.

'Caution, men! Possible active assassination. Lockdown procedures!'

Lockdown? Thought Gray desperately. No. No, no, no.

Gray crouched in the shadow, holding back the pain in his ankle, in his lungs. Gray had thought they'd all go running, to protect their leader. He'd meant to trap them up there with Killian with a second explosion while he escaped.

Clearly, that was not their training.

Killian was not the sort of leader who needed protection.

His breath hitching, Gray wrapped his fingers around the two phials. A few soldiers stampeded past, but not enough, not nearly enough.

There was stomping on the floor above him.

Everywhere around him, echoing through the hall, was the fast and efficient slamming of doors. Barricades were being erected, he could hear furniture being moved, and clipped Lismerian as soldiers talked to each other.

Clochaint.

But, thought Gray, his thoughts faster than a barrage of fired arrows, and glancing down at the two phials in his hands, at the remaining pheonix feather, if that first firebreath had been that big, and that was only a third, this next one was going to be huge.

This would rattle the bones of the Hall itself.

You want to go into a lockdown? Thought Gray grimly, hastily unstoppering the two phials. Or you going to want to run?

It would mean more soldiers outside the Hall, which was not what Gray wanted. It was going to make everything harder. But not harder than a lockdown.

Because he needed to get the prisoners out.

However bad things had been for Gray, it had to be worse for the Ralph kids stuck in the prison. And those guards had been in there for days.

Gray had no bowl for this bout of mixing up firebreath, but he hoped it wouldn't matter. He tipped the ingredients straight onto the floor, counting, ignoring the frantic thrum of his pulse. Without waiting to see if it worked, Gray stumbled, back through the window - carefully, careful, soldiers were moving through the garden now - and the firebreath went off.

Underneath Gray's desperate grip, the drainpipe shuddered. For a second, gut-wrenching silence reigned.

The air pulsed.

It silently erupted.

Then came the roar. It was the kind of roar that would've put the largest dragon to shame. It was a monstrous, concussive BOOM that ripped through the night.

Firebreath poured out shattered windows, through cracks in the stone walls.

It swallowed everything whole. An uncaged beast.

It was too bright.

The world heaved underneath Gray. Firebreath wasn't only above him, but all around him, blasting through the air like grasping fingers, snatching and covering everything in alchemic flames.

Gray heaved himself through the closest shattered window. He was in an office, but it was filled with spiralling, explosive firebreath. Sprinting, hobbling, moving through the firebreath, Gray made his way to the door and corridor.

The corridors were fire and shadows of running men. Shifting light. Explosive sound.

Men screamed conflicting orders. Stay, hold! Evacuate! Arms!

But, Gray barely registered it.

The prison.

The Ralph kids.

The guards.

Gray recognised this corridor from being hauled around by Killian. The prison stairs were close.

Gray hobbled, using the wall for support, and then peered around the corner, down the dirty stone steps that lead to the prison.

The soldiers who usually stood watch were gone.

Heart in his mouth, he hurried down the stairs, hugging the wall, in case soldiers were lurking in the prison corridor.

It was empty.

Gray jammed the key into the lock of the first door. He glimpsed a crowd of dark shapes through the small window, heard quiet mutterings in northern from the guards crammed in there. They yelled as a particularly large explosion went off in the Hall. Angry red light spilled in from the slit windows in the cells. It threatened to rush down the stairs.

One northerner prisoner spotted him.

Sephon.

His indigo uniform was a mess. His warrior tail was matted. But his dark eyes were fierce and his nostrils were flared, and when another large crack from the firebreath shuddered the building, he didn't flinch.

'Mage,' he said.

'Hey,' Gray whispered.

Gray swung the door open.

He barely had a chance to jerk his head at the open doorway, before they stormed out of the cell.

He was buffeted back and forth in the crush of guards. They took over the keys, rushing to open the other cells.

Gray pressed himself against the wall, so as not to get trampled.

The last to pass him were the two Ralph kids.

The girl skidded to a halt, her auburn braids a matted mess. Her dark eyes were fierce.

Gray had been worried what he'd see, what he'd find, but both the Ralph kids were defiant. Strong.

'Go,' said Gray. 'I'm not sure how long we've got.'

'You did this?' said the girl breathlessly.

'You need to go,' said Gray.

'Clochaint,' said the boy, his eyes huge.

'Go,' said Gray.

'We'll help you,' said the girl.

They insisted, and Gray didn't have time to argue.

And it was faster, with the two Ralph's helping. They made it back up the stairs, and out the side door.

They snuck along the shadow cast by the Hall. The girl ducked her head around the corner, checking the state of the town square.

The town square blazed with light.

Townspeople spilled from their homes in their nightclothes, screaming, pointing, some clutching their children close. A tight line of soldiers shoved them back.

More soldiers sprinted past, vanishing into the Hall, their shouts sharp over the roar of the firebreath. A group stood back, arguing. Their voices were raised, their tempers were flared. It's a cursed fire, Gray caught them shouting. Sorcery. Water won't work.

Gray's pulse hammered. They hadn't figured it out yet. But they would. And when they did - when they realised it was just huge firebreath, and not some unstoppable fire - he'd be out of time.

He moved with the Ralphs, keeping to the shadows, hugging the edge of the town square.

There was an explosion from the top floors. It was the biggest yet. Roof tiles rained down, shattering against the cobblestones of the square.

The crowd screamed, and Gray ducked into a side alley, against the crush of people rushing out of their homes.

Gray stumbled along with the Ralphs, nothing but roaring in his ears, grasping at the dark stone walls of the houses, his arm slung over the shoulders of the Ralph girl, and the boy bringing up the rear.

'Where are we going?' she said. 'I don't know this town.'

'The tipsy stag tavern,' breathed Gray. 'Tall building. Over there. We go to their stable. The horses.'

If the horses were still there.

If the soldiers hadn't taken them, or if the stablehands hadn't let them loose when Barin left.

If they were in any kind of condition to be ridden.

'Oliver,' said the girl, 'check it's clear. Careful, now.'

'Your name?' said Gray.

She glanced at him. 'Lyrie.'

'It's clear,' said Oliver.

Everything was lining up.

Gray staggered along the alleyways he knew so well. Came out in Yew Crescent. Then the side alley near the tavern kitchen.

Sweat stung his eyes. His ankle was agony. He wished he could run, sprint, like he used to be able to.

Gray saw Kraus. Sitting in her usual spot, outside the kitchen door of the Tipsy Stag, her curse-marked chin resting on her chest like the night sky wasn't lit bright as day from sparking and curling flames.

Gray breathed out, staggering forward towards the familiar smells of the horses and alley. One hundred more metres. And they'd be free.

Relief surged through Gray's chest.

Then a voice called behind him.

A drawling voice.

A voice he hated.

'Aren't you a little far from home, stray?'

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