'I made you chicken soup,' said Gray.

Killian turned his bloodshot and very annoyed gaze onto him. He was propped up on pillows on his large bed.

His bedroom was spacious, unlit with the curtains drawn against the morning light, and quiet. The gentle sounds of Gruger, Pickering, Codder, and a possibly forcibly coerced mage healer talking in undertones downstairs drifted up through the wooden floorboards. They were talking potions, the timing of when Killian had to have them, and in what specific order.

Killian was lying prone on his back on the pillows on his bed and was in no condition to rise any time soon.

'Gray,' Gruger called up the stairs.

Gray straightened his training blacks. He really had to go. He'd only come upstairs for a quick shower, and had noticed Killian awake in bed as he'd emerged from his bathroom. But Gray wasn't exactly looking forward to being in an enclosed office with the king after a resounding and humiliating defeat from Conor at the barracks.

Nor was he keen to face - well, anyone.

Conor had brutally murdered hundreds, perhaps thousands, of soldiers. Destroyed complex enchantments on the barracks. Stolen classified maps. Probably had already stolen from whatever tombs he'd visited.

He'd messed up Lismere's best warrior.

Almost killed him.

The rage had gone from within Gray (mostly), but it had been replaced by a tight pressure in his chest that refused to budge, and an urge to puke at the thought of showing his face - that was so like Conor's - out in public. It got a whole lot worse whenever he let his mind slip to the details of what Conor had just done.

'They're going to force-feed you a bunch of potions,' Gray told Killian, gesturing to the sounds of quiet conversation coming up the stairs.

He made himself crack a small grin as Killian's bloodshot gaze narrowed.

'But,' said Gray, 'my chicken soup will heal you from the inside out better than any potion, I promise you. Old lady Linnie handed that recipe down to our head cook at the tavern, and I swear it works miracles. It's on the stove, it needs to simmer for another hour. Gruger said he'll bring it up when it's ready. I, uh, cleaned downstairs. It was pretty disgusting, actually. Bio-hazard disgusting.'

'Kid.'

'Yes?'

'I have to ask,' Killian said through a stiff and swollen jaw, 'you some questions.'

Gray raised his eyebrows.

Waited for Killian to ask.

Waited.

He waited for so long that he started to fidget.

'You've had about twenty crows in the last hour, by the way,' Gray mumbled, unable to stand the quiet and the dark, slightly muzzy, stare coming from Killian, 'and about half of them from Jessica by the looks of it, and she was here earlier, asking after you - she brought you flowers and everything. She likes you, huh? They're in the kitchen, but I can bring them up here if you like. She looked OK. Beat up and tired, but OK.'

Jessica had come in with Codder when he'd returned with the healer. 'Killian saved us,' she'd said, her steely gaze breaking down to something much more raw than Gray'd ever seen from her - ever been able to imagine from her - and an irrepressible tremor in her hands. 'Thanks to him I evacuated as many as I could, it could've been much worse. The whole thing was done in near silence, there was no warning, nothing …'

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

'I've put all your correspondence on your chair, there,' said Gray, 'but I'm tempted to move it so that you don't work, because nearly all of them have a military or royal seal on them-'

'Where did,' Killian said, 'we first meet?'

Gray faltered. 'Krydon prison.'

'Specifics, kid.'

Gray's stomach sank. 'You don't remember?'

'I remember.'

Gruger's voice floated up the stairs, again. 'Gray!'

Gods. Gray did not want to leave this house.

He knew he needed to. He knew he needed to keep on track, keep training. It was important. More important than adhering to the urge to avoid the king and facing reality outside.

'Last cell in the row,' Gray said, quick and quiet, 'there was a dripping pipe overhead. Branbright was there, Sorena, too, and a lot of your men. Pickering, Russet. Codder. Who, I'm, uh, kind of confused about, actually, because it looks like he's back on your-'

'Gray!' Gruger called from downstairs.

'You're you,' slurred Killian.

'Yes,' said Gray tentatively.

'And you're extremely nervous,' said Killian slowly, his dark eyes narrowed slits, 'because you're a jabbering, trembling wreck-'

'Sshhh,' Gray interrupted. 'The healer told you not to talk.'

'I need you to not be nervous right now, I need you to talk me through what the hell was happening last night, and-'

'Gray, now!' called Gruger.

'And you're late,' Killian continued to slur, squeezing his eyes shut. 'Fuck. Of course, for your lessons. The questions will have to wait. Go, you better make a good impression on Baldwin-'

'Hush,' said Gray.

'Kid, Baldwin will be waiting-'

'Sshh,' said Gray.

'Do not keep him waiting-'

'Shut up now,' said Gray soothingly.

'You little sh-'

From downstairs, 'GRAY!'

Gray stayed stock still, rooted to the floor.

Heavy footsteps started up the stairs.

Gray cursed, rubbing his face.

'You don't want to go?' slurred Killian.

'Uh,' said Gray. 'No, I - I do, I know I need to, I'm going to see this through, I have to …'

'Why don't you want to go?' said Killian. 'I thought your training was going well. Judging by Baldwin's face last time I saw him, it's going very well.'

Gray shrugged a shoulder and attempted a wide grin. 'I like your house. I like it here, it's pretty good. Outside has lots of people …'

'You're scared of Baldwin,' said Killian, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

'Of course, I'm scared of him,' Gray said, his false grin slipping off his face. 'You're scared of him, imagine being …' Gray faded out, gesturing to himself.

'One hundred pounds soaking wet?' Killian said.

There was a beat. Gray stood stockstill.

'I was going to say,' Gray said, doing everything within his power to keep the annoyance out of his tone and face, 'Conor Griffin's cousin.'

'Ah.'

'Yeah.'

'He's not going to care about that, kid.'

Gray felt Gruger hovering in the doorway behind him.

'He'll care if you're applying yourself in the areas he wants you to succeed,' said Killian. 'So go apply yourself. And screw what anyone else says or thinks.'

Gray withheld a sigh. Killian said it like it was so easy. 'All right,' he said slowly.

'Apply yourself like there's no tomorrow,' said Killian.

Gray reluctantly let out a small smile.

'I'm serious,' said Killian.

'I know,' said Gray. 'I am, too. Just, you're being dramatic.'

'Apply yourself,' said Killian, 'like you want nothing more than to bring down that vampiric sorcerer.'

'There's nothing more I do want,' said Gray.

—-

Killian was right.

The king didn't care.

And, true to his word, Gray applied himself hard in his training.

It didn't matter what was happening around him. What mattered was mastering the next step from his instructors, and the next, the next, and doing it as fast and precise as humanly possible.

Nor did it matter that the king's office was a tumult of interruptions and raised voices. It didn't matter that the king was storming around in the kind of icy rage that - Gray knew - could so quickly turn into a violent, murderous temper.

And it didn't matter that hard stares followed Gray's every move. And whispers. Some intended to carry, and some not.

Did you hear …?

The sorcerer spared him.

Baldwin is forging him.

I'd want two eyes on him at all times. Even when he sleeps.

One wrong move and the barracks won't be the last thing to burn.

It doesn't matter, Gray told himself. What mattered was the focus within him, honed like an Ancient's blade, and getting sharper with every glance, every whisper.

You want me to recite and write the twenty runes I can use for protection? Done.

You want me to be more aggressive with the enchanted axe? Quicker? Done.

You want me to harmonise two orbs on command? The exact moment I close my eyes? And then with them open? Done.

You want me to harmonise three-?

No.

Gray wrenched his eyes open and impatiently brushed a strand of sweaty, dark hair out of his face. The three orbs sat before him, silenced as he pulled his focus away from his magic - the walls around his magic - and glanced up at Mali.

'No good?' she whispered.

Gray clenched his jaw hard. Shook his head.

'I can see you're frustrated,' Mali whispered, 'but-'

'Still can't do three, Gray?' the king called from behind his desk. He was mid-meeting with an elderly mage who'd been talking him through her suitcase filled with alchemic curse bombs imbued with magic.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.