Broken Crown

by Drae Box

  “No, Uncle Denzel! You promised! Let him go,” pleaded Aldora. She didn’t even resist the hands holding her. “Don’t hurt him! You won’t gain anything from his death. It… it’ll screw up your plans!”

  Denzel lifted a hand. “Wait.”

  Raneth sucked in a breath, watching the sparks flickering in front of so many palms. Most of the Brethren here had the Common Gift of Fire. With that much gift-fire, this wasn’t going to be an easy fight in the slightest.

  Denzel looked to Aldora. “Explain,” he ordered.

  “The other royal officials won’t stand for it, that’s why,” protested Aldora.

  What are you doing, A? Just get free and stab him, the Dagger’s right there on his waist!

  He turned his eyes to Alika. How am I going to get close enough to help her out? If he could get Alika out, if they could somehow escape this trap he’d foolishly let himself and Aldora walk into, he would have another able ally. Another trained royal official. He cursed himself under his breath, cursed his decision not to rally the royal officials to him. Yes, they were safer apart, able to run and flee, or take on the Brethren and blend into their surroundings afterwards. Yet having a team of royal officials, a team that could storm the headquarters with him, would have meant this trap would never have worked. Not with royal officials that also shared Common Classed gifts and more unique ones. Not with royal officials that knew how to dodge and parry any attack flung their way, how to use an enemy’s attack against them and their allies.

  His heart thudded harder in his chest. Even if he got to Alika, she had that sorcerer’s sphere on her hands, preventing her from using her gift, the most unique gift Raneth had seen; she could make people cry uncontrollably with just a glare, sobbing so hard their knees gave way under them, as if everything they had ever cared about in the world had been ripped from them.

  He swallowed, carefully observing the stance of the Brethren around him, and the Guardsmen with their weapons drawn. None of the Broken Crown members had bows or crossbows, hinting that they had decided that the gifts in the room would work for long-ranged attacks. He swung his sword once more, loosening the cold chill setting into his wrist, and flinched as one of the Brethren stepped forwards, her palms sparking more gift-fire.

  “I said wait,” growled Denzel, glaring at the woman.

  The Brethren murmured her apology and stepped back, the gift-fire at her hands dwindling, but not completely leaving.

  Raneth’s attention spun to Aldora as she started to try and have the conversation with her uncle that she had pushed for all this time – refusing to believe that her uncle was the enemy, insisting that she could reason with him.

  “If you hurt him,” said Aldora, her words tumbling from her lips, “if you hurt Raneth and keep running the kingdom like this, you won’t gain Giften’s support, ever. All you’re doing is hurting innocent people and royal officials.”

  Raneth frowned. He could hear the tremor in her voice. Was she scared for him? For Alika? For herself? Had she finally realised how much danger she had truly put herself into, willingly walking into the monster’s den?

  Denzel tilted his head as he frowned at her. “Royal officials are licensed murderers, Aldora.” His fists clenched at his side as he bit out the words. “They must be hunted down and killed, like the men they have hunted down and killed for centuries.”

  Raneth glanced at Alika. She looked entirely ready to murder someone, if she could get free. “Cray only sends us after convicted criminals,” he growled.

  “Quiet,” warned Denzel. There was no warmth in his voice or face.

  “Uncle Denzel,” said Aldora. Her voice sounded a little calmer now, but her eyes betrayed her, wider than normal; Raneth could see the whites of her eyes. If she could just keep calm long enough to out-think Denzel, maybe, maybe, she would save him.

  “Most of them don’t kill,” said Aldora. “Most just make arrests. The only time they kill is when a criminal has been sentenced to death and they flee before their hearing. Or when they escape prison. Or in self-defence.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” asked Denzel. “They should make the arrest and then sentence them in a trial. Not have a royal official turn up on their doorstep, or where they work, or accost them in the street to do it.”

  “Yes, I’d run,” admitted Aldora. She looked at Raneth, her body still tightly held by the Guardsman. She gave him a small sad smile, eyes twinkling with unspilled tears. “Giften law has some iffy areas. But it’s old, Denzel. And it’s looked after us well enough. This isn’t the way to solve anything. And I’ve never met a royal official that took pleasure in killing. They sign up to protect and serve, not kill. They do it because they love their home, love their fellow Giftens.”

  Denzel pointed at Raneth. “And him?” he asked Aldora. “He’s come here to kill me, hasn’t he?”

  Raneth stiffened this time as Aldora looked at him. He blanked his face, his lords’ training finally coming in useful. She shook her head, turning her attention back to her uncle.

  “No. He came here to save Alika. I asked him to come here to save Alika. Were you really going to kill her?”

  Denzel nodded. “She tried to murder me with a fork.” He pulled down his shirt collar, revealing four deep gouges that ran across the side of his neck and stopped at his collarbone.

  If only she’d managed it.

  “Can you blame her? Have you seen what your Brethren are doing?” asked Aldora. “If Broken Crown is supposed to be a better option, then why are your Brethren killing people in the streets and why do you need curfews, Uncle Denzel? If your way was better, there would be street parties and Broken Crown could focus on keeping Giften stable. All you’re doing is making Giften weak.”

  “Weak? Weak!” Denzel’s face burned red, teeth flashing. “Giften has been weak for centuries! Ever since our knights turned into royal officials, ever since they came under the direct orders of the Apocolettio family, Giften has been eroding.” He snarled at Raneth. “Going to the dogs.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Aldora.

  Raneth’s eyebrows rose.

  “The royals know what they’re doing. They’re trained to protect and serve the Three Ks – the Kingdom’s People, the Kingdom’s Royals and the Kingdom Herself. Any orders Cray has given to the royal officials have been in our best interests. To protect us. Yes, his father was a monster, but Cray isn’t, and Cray’s royal officials aren’t either! You’re better than this, Uncle Denzel. Do you even care for Giften, or is this all about your hatred of royal officials?”

  “Of course I care about Giften!”

  Watching Denzel, seeing how the man was vibrating with rage now, it was hard to tell if he spoke the truth or not. He was so angry. Furious. Raneth glanced at Alika. How could she and Aldora be related to his man? Their father was so much calmer. Nicer. Is this where Aldora got her temper from? Had Isadore Leoma merely learned to control his mood better? As Aldora pushed her uncle again, posing another question, Raneth realised that Denzel hadn’t denied whether all this work to topple King Cray had been because of his hatred. Did this really come down to the one unlucky day when Denzel had been misidentified?

  “Royal officials are thrown into the field with five years of intense training. They’re still soldiers. They still have to follow orders and when they’re in the field, they have to make hard decisions. They have to, to protect us.”

  “Stop it!” Denzel screamed at his niece, spit splattering her face. The veins in his neck and temples showed now. “Stop arguing with me!”

  But Aldora just shook her head. Her temper had flared too and she wasn’t going to back down.

  You’re going to get yourself killed. You’re going to get all of us killed.

  “Did you have Rhiannon Danae murdered?” hissed the rightful Dagger Bearer.

  Rhiannon. Raneth had never liked the royal official captain who had served before him. She was too quick to anger, too quick to judge and too quick to hate any royal offic
ial that started to outshine her record. The battle-scarred woman had been mostly fair though, brilliant even, when it came to protecting her fellow royal officials from moral judgement calls they didn’t want to make. Raneth’s gut twisted. Her murder had gone unsolved, her mutilated body arranged so carefully on her bed in her home that everyone knew a message was being sent. He and Cray had assumed it was connected to whoever had ordered the kidnapping of Cray three years earlier, but they hadn’t been able to find any proof. The royal detective in charge had even snapped that they were jumping to conclusions and told them to ‘go and play with your maps!’ Rhiannon’s organs hadn’t been found before he had left for Newer either. Whoever had killed her had taken them with them, denying the dead royal official captain access to the hidden realm, the Goddess’ realm.

  “Yes.” Denzel’s voice had cooled as he dragged the word out. “And I enjoyed every second of it.”

  He killed her? Aldora’s uncle killed Rhiannon Danae?

  If that was who Denzel really was, a cruel sadistic murderer who tortured a person’s family and their soul – if you believed in that – then there was no way Aldora was safe. She couldn’t stay here. Not with Broken Crown. Not with him.

  “Why?” shrieked Aldora. “Why! If Cray was misusing royal officials, if you had proof, you should have gained the support of some tribunes and taken your worries to Rhiannon! That’s part of why there is a captain!”

  “Royal official captains are the worst of all,” spat Denzel. “They hide the screw-ups of their men. The king’s ultimate lapdog. They’ll do anything.” He jutted his chin at Raneth. “I bet if the king said bend over, he would, and he would thank him for it afterwards.”

  What? Raneth scowled back.

  “And besides,” snapped Denzel. “I have a tribune. Koyla.”

  Koyla.

  He and Aldora had heard that name, but they didn’t yet know how he fit into all this.

  “Just one tribune?” asked Aldora.

  “That’s all I need!” screamed Denzel. “You don’t understand. Can’t understand! You love that murderer!” He pointed at Raneth.

  The Bayre bristled, accidentally letting a snarl slip free. “I’m not a murderer. I’m a soldier.”

  “Shut up!” screamed Denzel.

  He’s losing it. He’s too angry. Aldora needed to get out of that Guardsman’s grip, now.

  “Kill him! Kill him now!”

  Raneth swore and sprinted forwards, nearer to the centre of the room, and twirled around, spinning his blade in front of him. “By the Three Ks, I order you to stand down,” he snapped as he and his blade jerked to a halt, the tip pointed at Denzel. “You are hereby charged with treason under class–”

  “I told him all that when I tried to stab him!” yelled Alika, stamping on her holder’s toes again. “Get the heck off me!”

  Gotta get Alika free to up our chances of surviving. Raneth hesitated as the Brethren all raised their palms into the air above them, a few pointing outwards towards him. Unfair. His mist crept along his blade, gliding down and swirling off the end onto the ground. There, the mist separated into three pieces, and ice spheres formed at his feet.

  The first fireball launched into the air. Raneth twirled around and swung his sword out in front of him. White mist flew from the blade, smothering Raneth from their view and the Brethren from his. It funnelled upwards and smashed into the fireball. Only smoke remained as the fireball died.

  When it cleared, Raneth looked at Aldora. She was staring at him, her face paler than normal.

  “Aldora, Use your gift!” roared Raneth, flinging his sword to her. It crashed near her feet. “Help me!”

  She wrestled with her captor, her eyes upon Raneth’s sword. A Guardsman stepped nearer to her and his colleague holding her and took a thin scarf from his neck. He gagged Aldora with it as she tried to gift-scream at him.

  Raneth rolled to the side as a wave of snotty water rushed at him from the youngest Rivermud. It crashed into a Brethren, missing the royal official entirely. He climbed to his feet and ran towards a second group of Brethren, who were not yet attacking him. The nearest raised his palms towards Raneth and white mist began to form there. Another Common Gift of Ice! Raneth flung an icicle into his throat. He spun to the side and looked back at the three ice spheres he had left in the centre of the inner room. He flung a hand at them. Two rolled towards Brethren guarding the doors, the third was aiming towards Denzel’s group. Raneth eyed Aldora. She was too close. Thanks, A. He glared at her as the sphere heading for Denzel’s gaggle of Brethren curled its trajectory and swept towards another barred door. Raneth clenched his fist. The spheres exploded, white mist and tiny icicles sweeping up and outwards.

  Brethren screamed.

  “Somebody put this royal official out of his misery, now!” ordered Denzel, yanking the Dagger of Protection from his belt. “Why are you taking turns? Everyone aim and shoot! How hard is that?”

  Raneth warily watched as fireballs burst into more than a dozen hands, white mist started to form in other Brethren’s hands, and the youngest Rivermud thrust his palms towards Raneth. The Bayre jerked to the right and threw himself to the ground as a fireball swept towards him. He rolled onto his back as the fireballs joined and descended onto him. He threw up a wall of white mist, the mist exploding from his forearms and palms, and pummelling into the fire as it drew closer. Lightning from the Dagger of Protection somehow missed him and he heard Denzel scream in unfiltered rage. Raneth turned his head to the side as the heat warmed his skin. He clenched his teeth and thought of his Common Gift of Ice pushing back the fire. Instead, the sheet of fire drew closer still, burning though his protective mist wall.

  Raneth brought his hands closer to his chest. His eyes were starting to feel like sandpaper every time he blinked. The orange flames licked towards him and he screamed as his left sleeve caught fire. White mist swallowed the burning fibres, but the sheet of fire above him was too close. He pressed his arms to his sides, the space between him and the fire lost. He inhaled the dry hot air, unable to see the red blinking of the diamond in the Bayre Talisman at his throat, warning his father that he was in danger of dying. There’s got to be a way out of this. His father was protecting Cray. He wouldn’t come back to Giften unless Raneth was dead. Their duty to protect the Apocolettios trumped protecting each other. It had to for the sake of Giften’s security.

  The gift-fire swept away from Raneth, and a strong wind picked him up and threw him into a wall. He flung out his hands as he fell to the ground. As his burned arm gave way under him, he smacked his head against the concrete. He heard feet at his side, so he rolled onto his back and flung a hand out at the face above him. A splutter of white mist juddered free of his hand, but fell back down onto him. I’m so dead.

  Chapter Twelve

  Aldora

  “Mhumeff!” Aldora broke free and lurched forwards, but Denzel grabbed her wrist and squeezed hard as he jerked her back to his side. She snarled, wishing she could tear off the sweaty scarf the Brethren had shoved in her mouth.

  She tugged at her arm, but he was too strong. She swept her gaze back to Raneth’s unmoving form and watched as a male Brethren inspected him. Please, please be faking it. Please stab him in the foot or something. Please, Raneth. She yanked at her captured wrist.

  “Mmm muh mu!”

  The Brethren that owned the scarf stepped closer but paused to breathe into Aldora’s ear. “I’m going to take the scarf off now,” he said, his breath tickling her. “Use your gift and you die.” The Brethren took the scarf off and wrapped it back around his neck.

  “Let him go!” hissed Aldora.

  “Save your breath,” huffed Alika as she was dragged towards a doorway. “Our uncle is a liar and a traitor!” Anything else Alika might have told her sister was swallowed as the door swung shut behind her and the two Brethren tugging her away.

  The Dagger Bearer frowned. What had she done? She watched Raneth closely. Was he even breathing?

&nb
sp; Maybe.

  Her throat seized, choking with the tears that gleamed in her eyes. What had she done? Snarling, Aldora stamped her heel onto Denzel’s foot, and he yelped and let go.

  She grabbed Raneth’s sword and ran to him. The Brethren picked Raneth up and slung the royal official over his shoulder.

  “He’s alive but unconscious, sir,” stated the Brethren. “His gift must have taken a lot out of him, fighting off all our gifts with his.” The Brethren grinned, as if it were a great accomplishment.

  A second Brethren stepped between Aldora and Raneth, and yanked Raneth’s sword from her grip. “Just in case you’re having ideas,” he said, grabbing her wrist with his other hand, squeezing with a vice-like grip.

  Aldora scowled at him then looked at Raneth’s face, wrinkling her nose at the smell of his burned arm. “Let me look him over, please.” She reached out and gently rested a hand against Raneth’s left cheek. His skin was warmer than normal from his close shave with the gift-fire.

  The Brethren shook his head and turned Raneth away from Aldora. “Nope. Not unless Mr Leoma wants you to.”

  Aldora looked to her uncle. Show me you’re the kind man I thought you were.

  “Take him to where we held Alika last night. Aldora’s not to see him, and nobody is to treat that wound. We’ll string him up in the market square tomorrow morning as a warning to all royal officials that there is no going back to Cray.”

  “Uncle Denzel, no!” cried Aldora.

  She yanked her arm free and ran back to her uncle. Two Brethren stepped in front of Denzel, barring Aldora from him. Her lower lip trembled as she looked towards Raneth again. The very thing she had been trying to stop was going to happen. Her uncle was going to kill Raneth and it was all her fault. She inhaled a sob before it could burst from her lips. She couldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of her uncle. Aldora looked up towards the glass ceiling, and stiffened as a hand clamped onto her shoulder.