Gray yanked his hood up on his coat.

'I don't want to hear it,' he muttered, his face red as he strode out through the palace gates.

He plunged into the dark streets, keeping to the pools of light cast by the lamps and averting his gaze from the increased number of Wanted Posters for Conor Griffin plastered onto the walls. It was quiet, save for the city patrols, who were more heavily armed than usual.

'Kid, did I say anything?'

Somehow, though, really it should've been impossible, Gray thought, feeling how hot his cheeks already were, his face turned even redder.

It was on the back of his neck, his ears were on fire, his damn chest.

Ten minutes ago, Gray had been in the middle of asking Baldwin for permission to accept the alchemy guild's invitation. His palms had been sweating, he'd been poised to run, in case this was the tipping point for Baldwin to turn full psychopath. But, he'd reasoned there was no better time to do it, because Baldwin had looked near pleased that Gray had shown control with the three orbs five times over.

Five minutes ago, Baldwin had been giving Gray a brutal no.

Four minutes ago, Gray had - out of some stupid stupidly stupid instinct - fallen to his knees and begged. And it had worked. Kind of. Baldwin had said 'you may attend night classes at the Alchemy Academy here, it's up the road, and it mustn't disrupt your mage guild studies. But, no alchemy guild …'

Three minutes ago, Sorena had swept back into her father's office to report she'd succeeded with the Foixan prince, spotted Gray on his knees, and said a snide, 'just where I like to see you.'

Two minutes ago, Gray had said, before he could control his tongue, and still elated that he was going to be attending the Alchemy Academy, and slightly stunned that Baldwin had referred to Gray attending the mage guild like it was a given, like Gray had a future that was safe or certain, 'you like to see me?'

It had slipped out in a moment of thoughtlessness.

If he'd taken a second, hell, a fraction of a second, to think, he would've said something else. Or nothing at all. He would've changed his tone. And he would've kept a grip on the sensation within himself, the one he always got around Rosie, of his soul leaving his body.

Sorena had felt it. Baldwin had felt it. Mali had felt it.

Baldwin had raised his eyebrows in one controlled move, his cold gaze moving from Sorena to Gray, and back again.

Now that Gray had some tiny spec of experience with magic, he knew it was something from his deep well of power within. His soul leaving his body? More like his soul reaching for the essence of another. Another being Sorena.

That, combined with the flirty way the words 'you like to see me?' had come out of him - Gray hadn't even known he could say something in such a tone, have his words come out so confident, playful, loaded, and clear - meant there was no way to say it had been accidental. He'd seen men get smacked for less back in the tavern in Krydon.

Which, about one minute ago, Sorena had.

'Will you slow down?' said Killian. 'I'm not up to sprinting through the streets because you're embarrassed.'

Instantly, Gray slowed.

'Sorry,' he said, ashamed. He waited for Killian to catch up. 'How are you?'

Killian levelled Gray with a very dark stare.

'Dandy, kid.'

'Did you eat your chicken soup?' said Gray, frowning at him.

Killian pinched the bridge of his nose. 'We're really going to sidestep the fact you just flirted with Sorena right in front of Baldwin?'

Gray was going to burst a vein or something, with how red he was flushing. 'Yes, please.'

'Fuck,' Killian muttered. His jaw was bunched. 'I told you no flirting, no nothing.'

'I,' said Gray, running a hand through his hair. What the hell was wrong with him?

How badly had he just messed up? Gray rubbed his mouth, feeling sick. If he'd just screwed up going to the Alchemy Academy, if Baldwin was now going to refuse to let Gray go to Krydon, he'd - he'd …

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'You're lucky,' said Killian, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath, 'that, physically, you're about as threatening as a bunny rabbit.'

'You couldn't choose something more manly -?'

'You're lucky,' said Killian through gritted teeth, 'you have a skill with griffins that's rare and that Baldwin needs. You're lucky he likes you.'

Gray covered his face with his hands. He could still feel the burn of Sorena's handprint. 'I thought she or him was going to slit my throat, actually.'

'I'll slit your throat,' said Killian darkly, 'if you do that again.'

'No need,' said Gray, slowly lowering his hands. 'I'll do it to myself if it happens again.'

Killian glared, his dark hair hanging in his eyes.

His mouth twitched.

'It's not funny,' said Gray.

'I know it isn't, kid.'

Gray stood still, too mortified to move. Killian's mouth twitched again.

'I don't like her,' said Gray, unable to stop himself from trying to explain himself.

'Oh,' said Killian. 'Sure.'

'It's - she's so beautiful.' Gray pressed his hands to his temples. 'I've never seen anyone so beautiful. Not that it's - I know it's not OK to talk to her like ...'

Killian raised his hands as Gray faded out, looking mildly put off. 'Don't look at me, I'm not going to finish your excuses for you.'

'It's like I can't look away when she's near. I …'

'You're doing a great job of digging yourself a deeper hole,' said Killian.

'Gods.' Gray gripped a hand in his hair, horror creeping through him, his mouth dry. 'What if - what if I do like her? For argument's sake ...'

'Look at that,' said Killian. 'You can get yourself out of denial.'

'Clochaint,' said Gray, his breath leaving him. 'I better not like her.'

'Well,' said Killian, his voice dropping low, 'almost.'

Sorena was not kind, she wasn't warm. She was spoiled, entitled, and demanding. Gray shouldn't like her. Physically cringing, Gray sagged against the closest brick wall, his back against menacing Conor Griffin Wanted Posters.

'No,' whispered Gray, his voice hollow. Despair filled him. 'I think I like her.'

'Oh, dear,' said Killian softly.

Gray let out a sharp breath, staring blindly down the street. 'What do I do?'

'You stay out of her way.' Killian bent so that he was eye-to-eye. 'And you think of dead puppies, kid.'

'I - I'm aware of that tactic, but I ...' Gray stammered to a stop, his face so hot his eyes were beginning to water. If the ground could have opened up right then, Gray would've jumped into the crack.

Killian cleared his throat. 'You have much more important things to focus on.'

Gray slowly straightened up. Shook his shoulders out. 'True.'

'Come on,' said Killian, steering Gray down the street with a firm hand on his shoulder. 'Pub.'

'Pub?' said Gray.

'I ate all your soup,' said Killian. 'There's no food left in the house. I don't feel like cooking and you should've been in bed about two hours ago. I know a place that'll feed us in ten minutes. Which is just about enough time for you to answer some questions.'

—

'I know,' said Gray, his voice barely above a whisper, 'that you want to know what happened last night, but there's not much to tell, and I wanted to talk to Jessica, but I haven't-'

'You ready to order?' said the waiter.

Gray started. The waiter had appeared silently and without warning. His lank hair hung in his eyes and he kept a carefully extended distance from Killian and Gray's booth.

'Steak,' said Killian to the waiter. 'Rare. Gray?'

'Cider,' said Gray.

'For me? Oh shucks, kid, thanks.' Killian turned to the waiter. 'He'll have the roast chicken with cheesy bread, spinach, and golden potatoes. And avi flower tea for him, too.'

The waiter hovered uncertainly. He had a pencil stuck behind each ear, and a third gripped in his hand as he wrote down the order. His hands were trembling as he took in Killian.

Killian was far from his usual threatening self, but some of the people at the pub seemed to know or recognise him - or maybe, Gray thought, sliding low in the booth, they just feared the wolf fur collar and soldier's uniform. The soft chinking of mugs and the low murmur of half-whispered conversations had paused as Killian had entered, and again, as Killian had spoken to the waiter.

The pub was tucked down a cobbled backstreet, wedged in a tiny space between a candle shop and a book bindery, not two minutes walk from Killian's street. Gray could feel the fringes of the layered protection enchantments from Killian's townhouse, it was that close.

'Did you - want the cider,' the waiter said nervously, 'or ..?'

'No cider,' said Gray, 'I was joking, I'm sorry.'

The waiter's eyes landed on Gray and stayed a little too long. Gray resisted the urge to slide even lower in his seat. He should've kept on his coat with the hood, but it was warm inside the pub and quiet enough that someone slinking in and refusing to lower their hood would be even more conspicuous than not.

It was so quiet that if this was the Tipsy Stag, Barin would've sent Alistair and Gray out into the streets to holler discounts to draw in customers. Not his favourite thing. Gray chewed his lip at the memory of Barin - gods, Harriette - fixing his gaze on the lanterns hanging from the slanted ceiling.

'Er,' said the waiter, 'right.'

He slipped away faster than smoke in a gale.

Killian leant his elbows on the table, ignoring the sliding glances directed his way, and dropped his voice low.

'I've talked to Jessica,' said Killian, 'and she told me to pass on that you are not to deviate from the plan she's already established. She'll talk to you tomorrow. Understood?'

Gray glared down at the scrubbed table. 'Understood.'

Uncomfortable silence settled between them. Gray glanced up. 'You want me to tell you about Conor?'

'I want you to tell me about Elona first,' said Killian. 'I want you to tell me about the fake stat papers she organised for you, and why the hell she went to such lengths to hide you.'

This was so unexpected that Gray sat there, his mind in a kind of freeze.

'Then,' said Killian, 'I want you to tell me what the damn was happening during the barracks attack, and I want you to tell me why Conor didn't go after you.'

'Maybe,' said Gray, his mind struggling to unfreeze, 'he just didn't realise I was there. You got me out so quickly.'

'You knew he was there. He certainly must've known you were there.'

Gray frowned, uncertainty coiling inside him.

'Because it tells me two things, kid. Either he thinks you're no threat - which doesn't add up, because Wilde marked you kid, he marked you young, all those sorcerers know you're going to be a big threat - or he has some attachment to you.' Killian leant closer, but he was all stiff lines and battle scars and too-pale skin and fading bruises. 'And sorcerers don't do attachments, unless they're collecting, or they're a mother.'

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