Threat

by Drae Box

  “You alright?” asked Rikward as Raneth approached. His brown eyes took in Raneth like a hawk.

  “In a word, no,” admitted Raneth, noticing that the other royal official had changed his hair style; instead of having a parting, Rikward’s brown, almost black hair had been swept left to right so there wasn’t one, and had the slightest suggestion of a fringe on the right side of his forehead.

  Raneth followed Rikward into the entrance corridor and waited as the other royal official set about unlocking the bronze coloured doors. “Do you need Quinn?” asked Rikward.

  “My dad’s gonna insist on it.”

  Rikward glanced at Raneth over his shoulder as the last lock clicked open. “I’ll go and get him while you report in then.” He pushed the double doors open and strode along the red strip of carpet that ran from the entrance to the thrones, striding past Lady Lemuela and into the corridor behind the two human thrones. Raneth watched him charge up the spiral stairs nestled into the right side of the corridor.

  Lemuela stood up from her father’s throne. “Raneth, is dad with you?”

  He watched her as she walked towards him, a hopeful smile barely visible at the corners of her lips. His breath shortened the closer she drew and he swallowed, wishing he had better news than he did. Wishing he could still get close to her father. “No,” he said, the word rushing out from his lips so fast he barely heard himself say it. “But he’s alive.”

  Lemuela’s lips twitched. “You’ve seen him?”

  Eagerly, Raneth nodded. “Yeah. But there’s bad news too.” He settled his weight evenly on his feet and clasped his hands behind his back.

  Lemuela looked him up and down, eyebrows raised. “Goddess’ breath, you’ve never taken the royal official stance with me before.”

  Raneth inwardly cringed.

  “Is he dying?” she asked.

  “No! No.” Raneth shook his head and attempted to loosen his tight shoulders. He folded his arms, trying to make his future queen more comfortable by abandoning the attentive stance royal officials were taught to take when giving official reports, but Lemuela bit her lower lip at his posture’s change. “There’s a sorceress with him,” said Raneth. “Under two hundred years old.”

  Lemuela closed her eyes as she shook her head. When she opened them, she gently took Raneth’s hands into hers. “You had another MIR attack? Is that where Rikward’s going? To get Quinn?”

  “Yeah.” Raneth looked over his shoulder and through the entrance corridor; his father was taking a little longer than normal to reform. Or does it just feel like that because I have to tell her I can’t rescue Cray after all? “Dad came and found me. It was a more serious attack.” Raneth rubbed at the black stubble under his chin. “I tasted metal.”

  “That’s your body’s warning of an attack that could kill you, isn’t it?” asked Lemuela. Raneth nodded but flinched as Lemuela swore. He’d never heard a bad word leave her mouth before. “Come on.” She turned and headed down the corridor that led to the private areas of the palace, her footsteps confident as she led him upstairs to the royal ward. Raneth followed her, picking up on the soft thuds of his father’s boots behind him as they stepped into the ward. Rikward was there, but the royal doctor was dusting down a bed near the large windows.

  “Take a seat, Raneth,” asked Quinton, giving him a smile. “Let’s look you over.”

  “That’s my cue to leave,” stated Rikward, before squeezing past Lemuela and the two Bayres. “I’ll go and inform Louise.”

  Raneth sat on the bed, legs crossed under him, and waited patiently as Quinton ran through the checks he always conducted whenever Raneth had been around young magic. He answered the doctor’s questions calmly, excusing how Quinton’s fingers occasionally prodded him in a less than comfortable manner. He was wincing as Quinton poked the gland at the front of his neck when Queen Louise stepped into the room.

  “Be nice,” warned Dragon, a warning stare at the queen. He stood against the wall beside the door with his muscular arms folded.

  Louise looked at him and rose a brow. “Dragon.” It was the most unfriendly Raneth had ever seen them around one another; normally Dragon and Louise shared smiles, stories and soft laughs. “You don’t look injured,” said the queen, looking to Raneth for answers.

  Quinton readjusted the thin glasses on his nose and levelled her with his professional warning look. “MIR attack,” he said. “Doesn’t look too bad, but some of the glands are raised.” He gave Raneth a small smile. “Is it hard to swallow?”

  Raneth frowned. He’d been too busy feeling the guilt clawing at his guts like a raven’s talons to notice. He swallowed experimentally, finding it a little difficult on the right side, as if a lump were there, pressing on his throat. He patted it with a finger. “Yes. Here. And there’s been at least a good few hours since it happened.”

  “Hmm.” Quinton straightened his stance before he strolled into his office.

  “Well?” called Dragon. “What does that mean, it’s doesn’t look too bad? He slept most of the way here.”

  I did? Raneth frowned. He didn’t remember that. Then again, Giften sky looks the same unless you look at the ground.

  The doctor’s head appeared from the other side of the office doorway, a hand grasping the doorframe. “He’s not going to die. If he was, he’d already have done so. He’ll be fine, Dragon. Bed rest is recommended.”

  “But what about Cray?” Louise stormed to the end of Raneth’s bed and clasped the bed rail, leaning forwards and frowning at Raneth. “You said you’d rescue him.”

  “He got bloodhexed, Lou,” said Dragon as he drew closer. “Cray’s blood. He was bloodhexed from Cray.”

  The queen let go of the bed and glanced at each person in the room, her focus falling last on the other royal official in the ward, Rider Catigowli. He was sitting up in the same bed Raneth had seen him in the night of the ambush, furthest from the entrance to the ward but closest to the office. Rider was frozen, a pair of glasses sitting on the very edge of his nose as he pursed his lips together. In his hand was a battered book. “What? I don’t need the glasses for reading. My eyes are just tired.”

  Louise sighed and ran a hand over her hair, pausing at the high bun and yanking it loose. Her ginger hair flung itself to her shoulders and framed her face. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Rider.”

  “I can see perfectly fine. I can still hunt down murderers.” Rider yanked the glasses off his nose and dumped them in his lap. “I can help find Cray. A sorceress is nothing. I can take her out, no problem. I’d love to help Raneth.”

  “You’re not leaving. Those breaks in your leg can’t be put at risk if you want your career to continue.” Quinton gave the injured royal official his professional stare before he spun it onto the others in the room, gentler this time. “I’m afraid a bloodhex is beyond my knowledge to remove.”

  It wouldn’t be for Cally. Raneth glanced at his father hopefully. His Godmother had always done everything possible to protect blood-gifted Bayres since joining the Bayre household as a servant in the sixteen hundreds.

  Dragon shook his head, looking knowingly at Raneth. “I’d ask Cally,” he said, “but she insisted last week that she was taking her annual leave. You know what she’s like when she’s decided to take time off.”

  Sometimes Raneth wondered if Cally really was a servant to the Bayre household. Sure, she had the Bayreson name, an old reminder of how servants used to work — back when they essentially sold themselves into servitude — but all modern servants got a fair wage, personal rooms, healthcare, personal time, the option to take the servant version of the family’s name, and could leave whenever they wanted. Of course, both the Bayres and Frey had some extra clauses for when their servants left, but none had left during Raneth’s eighteen years. Not yet anyway. Whenever Cally announced she was taking her personal time away from the Bayres, nobody saw or heard from her, and nobody knew where she went or what she was doing. It’s a wonder she even gave Dad mo
re than a night’s warning, thought Raneth, thinking of how the sorceress often sprung it on them, and the fuzzy memories of nights he had wailed for her as a toddler when she would go. With his mother’s death, Cally had spent more time and attention on Raneth, which sometimes irritated Dragon enough that he’d complain. “Whenever she goes, we’re not allowed to summon her,” explained Raneth to Louise.

  “I said I’d—”

  “No, you will not help, Rider.” The doctor sighed. “You royal officials need to learn to be better patients. If you cherish your career, you’ll stay.”

  Rider grumbled something under his breath then went back to reading his book, without his glasses. Raneth watched his friend squinting, trying to read the words before it dawned on him. He’s not trying to read, he’s just waiting for us to continue talking. “Queen Louise, the sorceress knew Cray somehow. About his having some grasp of magic. She had him bound with a sorcerer’s sphere. Do you two know someone called Reinette Osric?”

  “Reinette?” Louise’s shoulders pinched up. “Yes. When we were growing up. Cray was studying demonology, to protect himself from his father. Nicodemus didn’t know. We couldn’t afford for him to know.”

  “He would have assumed Cray planned to kill him and seize the throne early,” added Quinn, nodding. “Nicodemus was very paranoid. It’s almost a shame he died from choking on a chicken bone.”

  “That’s how he died?” asked Lemuela.

  “Cray’s mother begged your father not to release the truth of his death to the public,” said Louise, resting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “She feared the laughter of the Kingdom’s People. She shouldn’t have worried so much though. There were still street parties everywhere, outwardly to celebrate his life, truthfully, to celebrate the kingdom’s freedom from that monster.” Louise shook her head. “Raneth, Dragon, Cray knew Reinette because he studied under the same sorcerer. Cray blamed Reinette for his mentor’s murder and he banished her. It wasn’t one of his best moments as a prince, admittedly.”

  “Could that be why she’s taken him? Because he banished her?” asked Raneth. “She seems to have had something to do with the attack on the Brown Buzzard Village last year too. That woman with the battleaxe tattoo — that’s her.”

  Louise shook her head. “I doubt the banishment is her motive. That happened so long ago. But a bloodhex, that’s the sort of thing Cray would have learned about alongside his demonology. Blood magic is considered a vital part of every demonologist’s training. Curses, including hexes, would have been the sort of extra thing Cray studied hard on. In case he ever needed to use them against his father.”

  It must have been a relief when the Cruel King died. Raneth glanced at his father, grateful his had always loved him. So much of Cray’s personal life as a prince wasn’t public knowledge, and Cray was careful not to speak of it even around his most trusted friends and officers. What little Raneth had learned made it sound as if Cray had to fear for his life from, and because of, his father.

  “Your assignment partner will be temporarily partnered up with another of your rank to clean up your mess and bring Cray home,” said Queen Louise.

  Rider Catigowli cleared his throat. “Uh, Your Highness, with me and Raneth here, that just leaves Ramage at our rank. He’s in the Barbaric East.”

  “Blast it all on a dog’s breath,” murmured Louise. “Then one of you two will have to grow some steel balls and head back out there.”

  “There’s no way in the Goddess’ name I’ll let either of these two royal officials out of my ward. Cray could have saved himself by summoning a demon when they were ambushed, but he didn’t. He chose to protect Raneth. He gambled on Raneth to come and find him. If you send him or Rider back out there when they should be bed bound and Cray does come home, he’ll be rather miffed at you. So they’re staying here until Rider’s healed and Raneth’s cured of the bloodhex. The longer Raneth’s exposed to it, the more likely he’ll have more MIR attacks from it being in his bloodstream, even without Cray close by,” said Quinn.

  What? That’s a thing too? Raneth looked at his father but spotted the familiar look of surprise on his face. I don’t want another MIR attack, but if I couldn’t get close to the sorceress, I doubt Alika could, no matter who she gets partnered with.

  “We need more options, not less.” Queen Louise cast her focus around those in the room. Raneth shrugged.

  “What about the Dagger Bearer?” suggested Lemuela.

  “Don’t be absurd,” blurted Dragon, “she barely has any experience as it is and just training alone isn’t going to cut it rescuing the king from a sorceress.”

  Aldora has the Dagger of Protection though, theorised Raneth. It could be possible she’s exactly who we need to rescue Cray, and Cray said to go and get her. He rubbed his eyes and strangled a yawn. If there’s a chance my MIR is going to kill me, I might as well go out saving Cray. And Louise said there was a chance Cray would know about bloodhexes, which means he’ll know the cure. He glanced at Quinton, who was gesturing angrily at him and Rider as he once again argued with Louise. Lemuela butted in with Aldora’s name, throwing her trust behind the Dagger Bearer. I’ll sneak out as soon as Dad and Quinn have left the ward. I can try to deal with Reinette from a distance with my gift.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Aldora

  The creak and rumble of carriage wheels woke the Dagger Bearer. Hearing men murmuring in low voices made Aldora keep her eyes closed and her body still. What do I do? It didn’t feel as if she were bound by anything. Just dumped on the cold wood flooring of a carriage. She listened to the horses’ saddlery chattering at the joints before she clenched her teeth. The floor wasn’t the only thing cold — the air was too. Hardly daring to breath, Aldora slowly opened her eyes. The men that had been with Jules — the four men that seemed to have the same blood-gift as him — were sitting on two benches. Two were by her head and the other two were by her feet, looking over her at each other. The fifth man was laying next to her. He wasn’t breathing. She moved her head slowly, giving herself a better view of the four men sitting around her. They don’t have the Dagger, she realised, inspecting their belts one at a time. She sat up but winced as a strong hand grabbed her hair. She grabbed his hands and opened her mouth to gift-scream at him, but the man sitting next to him grabbed a scarf and shoved it into her mouth. Aldora inhaled sharply through her nose, the pain at her scalp making her eyes water.

  “Hold her still,” asked one of the men at Aldora’s feet. Aldora flinched as the Rivermuds’ blood-gift substance gushed from his palm, splattering against her and gluing her into place. “You can let go now.”

  The one holding her hair did as suggested. “Dad should just let us kill her.”

  So definitely the sons Raneth warned me about.

  “You’re an idiot. Everyone knows if a royal official is after you and you want to escape, you give them a deal they can’t refuse.” The one that had slimed Aldora gestured at her. “Birdie-boy cares about the Dagger Bearer. We steal her and he comes running without precautions. Then we offer a trade — Dad’s life for hers. He’ll pretend he had to kill Dad in self-defense and we get to live free.”

  Don’t you dare use me against Raneth. Aldora glared at the Rivermud son, wishing she could say as such despite the scarf still in her mouth. She pushed against it with her tongue until she could wiggle it from her mouth. She held back from gift-screaming at them. If she encouraged them to return the scarf to her mouth, she wouldn’t get to ask questions. Raneth had to put off finishing his Denman assignment because of me last year. I can’t be the person that’s always in his way. I have to get myself free, but how? She wiggled in the hardening blood-gift substance but it was no good. Her arms were too tightly pinned into place. “What is this stuff?”

  The one that had originally spoken to her at the Brown Buzzard gates stopped talking to one of his brothers and looked at her, a small smile tugging at the right side of his lips. “The boy that ran. He knew.”


  Aldora looked at the substance trapping her. Ew. It really is snot? She looked up at the son again but he laughed at her look. He continued his conversation with the Rivermud next to him. Gross. Aldora inspected the mucus-like substance trapping her again, and then she inspected the carriage. There has to be something here that can help me get free. Raneth wouldn’t just wait. He’d look for a way to escape. She clenched her teeth. I should have insisted I get more training from him and Master Redler. Redler taught Raneth. Whatever Raneth knows about escaping this sort of thing, it comes from the Royal Official University and his family’s training for the Feud. The floor of the carriage was almost entirely bare, but scrape marks cut into the wood, some old, but some a little fresher. Three loose nails rolled in circles under one of the benches the Rivermuds were on, as if they had gotten loose somehow.

  Hang on a minute. Aldora frowned, sweeping her gaze up towards the ceiling. A thin metal plaque was barely visible in the darkening confines of the carriage. Property of the Leoma Blacksmith. This is Dad’s carriage! Her father had done similar ownership plaques on multiple carriages over the years. They weren’t exactly anti-theft-proof, but they slowed down a thief considering stealing one and at best, it left tell-tale signs of its having been on the ceiling, letting anyone who knew to look know that the history of the carriage was a bit suspect when an ownership plaque had been removed. Dad would have carved the carriage ID into the wheel axles too. She resisted the small urge to smile, glancing at the Rivermuds sitting in front of her. The last thing she needed to do was tip them off that she had just figured out one element of her escape; the horses pulling them would recognise her. It would make no sense to steal other horses when her father stored the carriage with his equines. Stealing different horses meant more time to be discovered, and if they wanted her so badly, they had to make sure that they caught her on their terms, not when she found them by chance leading horses to a carriage.