Broken Crown

by Drae Box

  Too easy.

  She scowled. She should have seen it. Raneth should have seen it. Why hadn’t they realised until too late? And why had it taken until her uncle turned his back on their agreement, that dangerous gleam in his eyes, for her to realise it too?

  Before the fiery whip of anger could seize her again and squeeze the hope from her chest, she thought of Rider. She focused on his face, his smile, his dark skin, his hair. That Eastern Barbaric lilt. The grebunar buzzed in her hand and she splayed her fingers. It floated into the air and the image showed her Rider.

  His cheeks were flushed by the cold outside and, looking around him, Aldora could see moss-lined gravestones and an off-white stone statue. Raneth said to meet in the cemetery. A renewed pang of guilt warmed her blood. How long had Rider been there, putting himself in danger by waiting for them?

  “Rider.” She kept her voice low as he looked at her, his gaze trying to see around her, no doubt looking for Raneth. “Rider, they caught us.”

  His eyes widened and his nostrils flared. “What?” he said, teeth gritted.

  “It was a trap. They’re going to execute Raneth tomorrow–”

  An explosive stream of curses raced from Rider’s lips.

  “Aldora?”

  The Brethren. Aldora grabbed at the grebunar, catching it and squeezing the sphere hard. The floating image of Rider’s face vanished as the lock clunked in the door. She slipped the grebunar back into her pocket, rolled onto her back and parted her mouth.

  She closed her eyes as she heard the soft brush of the door against the carpet. His boots crushed the carpet as he stalked into her room, the sound stopping at the end of her bed. She could hear him breathing, feel his eyes upon her.

  “Huh,” murmured Dashiell, and Aldora felt bile rise in her mouth as she remembered the reason why Raneth had arrested this Broken Crown member. She snorted and swallowed, smacking her lips for added effect.

  “If only you weren’t a Leoma,” he said, his voice so low that it rumbled as a growl. He left the room, slamming the door hard and relocking it.

  She’d managed to trick him. As Aldora sat up, she let out a shaky breath.

  I can do this. I’m not the clueless girl that I used to be.

  Slipping the grebunar back into her hand, Aldora glanced at the door suspiciously. Nothing. Dashiell was still there; she couldn’t hear his footsteps in the corridor. She squeezed the magic contraption and allowed it to rise into the air.

  Before Rider could open his mouth, Aldora hissed, “Be quiet.”

  He glared at her.

  She checked on the door. Still closed, the lock still quiet. “I’m under guard. They’re keeping Raneth wherever they kept Alika last night. You need to get him out.”

  “Obviously,” growled Rider, keeping his voice low this time. “But I don’t know where Alika was. Might be easier to grab Raneth when they take him to wherever they’re gonna murder him.”

  “No,” rushed Aldora. “You have to get him out before tomorrow. They were going to hang Alika in here. They said they would put him in the marketplace, but I don’t know if they’ll take him there alive.”

  Rider opened his mouth.

  “There’s a royal official working with the resistance in Icoque. Enos. Blond–”

  “I know him.”

  “Find the resistance and get their help to smuggle Raneth out of here. Enos is here somewhere, pretending to be a Brethren.”

  A slow smile crept along Rider’s lips. “Clever man.”

  “Use the resistance to contact him–”

  “Why don’t you find Enos?” said Rider.

  “I’m guarded by a Brethren who wants to kill Raneth for revenge. I can’t rescue him, not without bringing more danger with me and throwing Enos under scrutiny.”

  “I’ll do it then. For Raneth. Not you.” His glare softened slightly. “Want me to rescue you too?”

  She hadn’t even thought to ask for help for herself. She shook her head. “Not yet. Not until Raneth’s safe.”

  Rider nodded. “Good. Don’t die.” This time he ended the greb. Aldora returned the grebunar to her pocket. Why did it feel as if he didn’t want her to die without him landing the killing blow? She shivered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Raneth

  Sharp and unrelenting pain spasmed through Raneth’s arm as he came to. His Bayre training kicked in and he forced his face to stay neutral, as if he were still unconscious, and listened. First, he listened for the breaths of any others around him. It didn’t sound like there was anyone else there with him, but he remained motionless anyway. His next task was to see what he could discover about his surroundings before he gave away that he was awake, in case there was someone watching him. He was on his front, and the cold press of a hard floor seeped through his shirt. His left arm was by his side and as a low chill breeze crept over him, the burn on his arm screamed again.

  Don’t clench your teeth, don’t clench your teeth.

  When the pain ebbed away to a constant throb, the royal official captain parted his eyes just enough to see beyond his dark eyelashes. A dark brown leg of wood, curled at the bottom, took up the majority of his view. He lifted his gaze, slowly opening his eyes. The leg belonged to a grey cushioned sofa, its arms decorated with a whirl of engraved wood at the curve of the arm. Flicking his eyes to look towards his feet, Raneth observed a black wooden armoire nestled by a door. Gold filigree decorated the tall armoire with stars and half-moons.

  Not your standard terrorist’s furniture, thought the Bayre. He had a similarly designed wardrobe at the Bayre Mansion, inherited from one of his ancestors. His father had insured it for an amount that had surprised Raneth.

  He rolled onto his back, sweeping his gaze around the room, clenching his jaw as he lifted his screaming left arm away from the cool concrete floor and up to his chest. Tensing his legs and back, Raneth swept his gaze around the rest of the room. He was alone. He sat up, frowning.

  Why aren’t they watching me?

  His blue eyes flicked to the only door to the windowless room. Must be on the other side of that. Sweeping his gaze back to the armoire, Raneth’s focus fell on its four feet, which were carved into half-moons. A thin layer of dust under the armoire had been disturbed, leaving trails to and from the two legs furthest from the door.

  Somebody moved that towards the door.

  And somebody had moved it back. Raneth climbed carefully to his feet, waiting for his body to scream from other wounds, to make him wish he could plunge a blade into any of the Broken Crown members that had attacked him.

  “I can save you too,” Aldora had said.

  Raneth scowled. “Good job, Aldora,” he muttered under his breath, shoving those tumbling thoughts to the back of his mind. He couldn’t think about her. Not right now. He had to figure out how to get free of Broken Crown, rescue Alika and get out. Aldora would have to wait her turn.

  But as he prowled around the room, moving around the sofa he had woken looking at, and a second matching one that faced it, Raneth couldn’t help but hear Aldora’s voice peal in his mind.

  She was just doing what she thought was right. She was wrong, that’s all. Her first major mistake as the Dagger Bearer – but still a mistake. It’s not like my record’s spotless. I can’t fault her for making mistakes.

  Shoving her from his mind again, Raneth ran a hand down the back of each sofa, finding no weapons, no spare change. A narrow bookcase sat in a corner, a plain modern design in black wood. The books were on the ground in front of it, a shelf lying discarded on the floor, with a dried blood splatter against it.

  What happened here? Raneth picked up the bloodied shelf. Until he found a Guardsman to steal a weapon from, the small plank of wood would have to do.

  “You’re relieved. Go.”

  Raneth froze, looking towards the door. He knew that voice.

  “But–”

  “Look,” snapped Rider Catagowli on the other side of the door, his voice a harsh his
s. “If you don’t leave this corridor in the next five seconds, my fist is going to be the next thing you see. I’m going to pound your ugly mug so hard your brain’s gonna come out of your ears. Over and over again.”

  Silence.

  “Five. Four.”

  “Where’s your uniform?”

  Oh-oh.

  Raneth glanced down at himself. He was still wearing the Guardsman jacket he’d stolen. Why hadn’t Broken Crown taken it back? What were their plans for him? Rider didn’t have anything like this when he and Aldora parted from his side, and he wasn’t the sort of royal official that did stealthy.

  “He’s wearing his, isn’t he?”

  “Just go,” said another familiar voice after a second’s pause. “Go before I tell Koyla you denied Adharma’s torturer access to the royal official captain.”

  “Alright, I’m going. Don’t wanna be in Adharma’s sights. Here’s the key.”

  “Brethren?” said Rider. “Not a word of this to anyone. We wouldn’t want the rabble outside to hear we tortured him before we killed him, would we?”

  “No, sir.”

  Raneth waited, the shelf still in his right hand, and watched the door expectantly. He frowned as the key turned the tumblers in the lock. That’s not like Rider. There was a very good reason Cray hadn’t promoted Rider to be Royal Official Captain, despite pressure to do so from the legate of the First Legion. Tricking a guard wasn’t like him at all. Neither was using a key. He cocked an eyebrow at his friend as the door swung open and Rider grinned at him. He turned to someone just past the doorway.

  “Go and get the crate we saw.”

  “That thing is going to weigh a–”

  “You have more muscles than me so don’t complain, Malay. Or it’ll be your face I smash in.”

  “Don’t leave without me… sir.”

  Enos Malay. Raneth smiled. That made another royal official in Icoque. Like Rider, Raneth knew Enos too. They had fought together along the Southern-Barbaric border wall eight times, aiding their Southern Kingdom allies with the probing attempts from Eastern Barbarians.

  Rider stepped inside and shut the door softly. “Right,” he said. “One, Aldora’s a –”

  Raneth gave him a warning glare.

  “And two,” said Rider, jumping over his first point, “she told me about a resistance. I found Enos – he’s their inside man – by waiting for him to leave this weird-ass factory, and we’ve teamed up to rescue you.” He flashed Raneth a grin. “You really need to learn to rescue yourself. It’s a handy skill, you know.”

  “Shut up,” growled Raneth as another breeze from under the door made his burn tingle, as if a thousand fire ants were biting it. “Where did you send Enos?”

  “We saw a crate big enough to smuggle you out in.”

  “You’re going to carry me out of here in a box?”

  Rider nodded. “Enos said he needs his cover intact. I figure him being in here with these scum could be useful.”

  Raneth nodded.

  A resistance.

  He smiled. This was the best news he’d had since setting down on Giften soil. It meant he didn’t have to start from scratch if he did decide to bring together a team to take out Broken Crown.

  I probably should. I can’t afford to get caught out by that many Brethren without back-up again.

  They heard Enos before they saw him.

  “What is he doing?” murmured Raneth, glancing at Rider as he stepped towards the door.

  The scrape of something against the concrete floor caught their ears again. Rider opened the door just enough to poke his head out.

  “It’s what it sounds like.” He shut the door and turned to rest his back against the wall by the door. “Your arm.”

  “It hurts,” admitted Raneth.

  Rider nodded, carefully continuing his examination of Raneth’s condition as the door opened, revealing Enos Malay. He was shorter than Raneth, but carrying far more muscle, and he smiled as his green-grey eyes noted Raneth’s stance. His buzz-cut short blond hair did almost nothing to hide his pale scalp, which was almost as fair as the rest of his Giften skin. He pulled a long wooden crate in behind him.

  Rider shut the door. “In you get.”

  Raneth looked at the crate, then Enos.

  “It’s taller than you are, boss,” said Enos.

  “And wider?”

  Enos and Rider looked at the box.

  “We can always dislocate a shoulder if it’s not,” suggested Rider.

  And you mean that too. Raneth scowled at his friend. “That wouldn’t exactly heal if I formed, don’t forget. We can’t afford to weaken my arms right now, or risk pinching a nerve if we shove it back into place wrong.”

  Rider shrugged, so Raneth eased himself into the box and watched as his friends put the lid on over him. It was tight, but there was an inch’s breathing room spare to one side of him, and almost a foot above his head. “We’re going to nail you in. Stay still.”

  What?

  “Why?” barked Raneth.

  “So if we get stopped, they won’t decide to look in the box. They’ll just ask,” said Enos.

  I suppose that makes a bit of sense. Too much effort to stop, question and open the box...

  “Alright. Get on with it.” Raneth closed his eyes as a precaution as the two royal officials took some nails from Enos’ pocket and used their daggers’ pommels to hammer the thin steel tears home. Raneth took a steadying breath. They’d let him out again. It was fine, and he could trust these two perfectly capable royal officials to keep him alive. Their skills complemented each other. He knew that from having worked with both of them.

  The crate smelled of freshly cut wood that danced through his slow breaths as the hammering stopped. Raneth opened his eyes but the only light came from a slither of a gap to his side, creeping in from between two pieces of the crate. “Now what?” he asked.

  “That’s a dumb-ass question,” murmured Rider. “On three. One, two, three.”

  Raneth pressed his hands to the sides of the crate as his friends picked it up, but his head still hit the wood before they straightened it out. Ow. He would have scowled at them if he could. Instead, he steadied his breaths, which seemed far too loud within the crate, and strained to hear what was going on outside.

  The crate wobbled with each step Rider and Enos took, and Raneth did his best not to slide around the box each time one of them readjusted their hold, but he grunted each time they did.

  “Stop wiggling or we’ll drop you,” whispered Enos.

  “You’re rocking me about,” said Raneth. “I can’t not slide if you won’t keep this–”

  “Shush,” hissed Rider.

  The captain quietened, and within moments he just managed to hear the soft thud of a third person’s feet against the concrete floor. They weren’t stopped; whoever it was just strode past them.

  “Did you grab the crowbar?” asked Rider, his voice low so the Broken Crown member wouldn’t hear him.

  “I thought you did,” said Enos.

  Raneth clenched his eyes as he bit down a profanity.

  “Should we go back for it?” asked Rider.

  “That gift of yours,” murmured Enos. “You can use that instead, right?”

  “It could hurt Raneth if we open it that way. Let’s put him down and I’ll go back and grab it.”

  “We’re nearly at the exit,” said Enos. “Let’s get him out and around a corner, then I’ll come back in and grab it, sir.”

  The crate continued to sway as they moved on and Raneth could do nothing but wait. He continued to school his breathing but he still grunted when the crate tilted to the side and he slammed against it.

  “Round the corner, remember,” murmured Enos.

  Unable to help, and worried that if he spoke any more he would lessen their chances of getting out unharmed, Raneth mulled over Aldora and Alika instead, specifically the lack of help he had received from either of the Leoma sisters.

  Alika
would have helped if she could.

  His mind swept to the glares of the Brethren that had surrounded Denzel, and the glimpse of a smile on the elder Leoma’s face as he fought, a smile Raneth hadn’t consciously noticed at the time but could see clearly now.

  That smile suggested he wanted to enjoy my death, that there’s something about killing a royal official that’s a pleasure for him. Raneth frowned. Which makes him abnormal for a Giften – but then, he’s stolen a kingdom and brutally murdered Rhiannon Danae. He’s anything but normal. He’s a traitor to the Three Ks. I just have to hope he hasn’t killed Aldora or Alika. Either way, I’ll find out if he has.

  With ease, Raneth quelled the question he wanted to ask Rider and Enos and turned his attention to the apology Aldora had given him before she had stepped towards Denzel. His breath caught in his throat, tugging at his voice box as the warm touch of a tear broke from his lashes and glided down the side of his face. His throat tightened with the need to cry out in anger or at the crushing wave of sadness that whispered behind his angry disappointment in Aldora.

  I have to try and ignore that, ignore her betrayal. Her mistake, he thought as he felt his heart lurch in his chest. I can’t work if I’m distracted by her. I’ll get myself killed.

  He grunted as the crate thudded against the ground, knocking him from his thoughts. He slammed a hand against the wood to stop himself from sliding and banging his head into it.

  “Back in a minute,” said Enos, and Raneth heard his footsteps move away.

  Rider was quiet for a moment, but Raneth heard the brush of clothing against a brick wall to his right, a part of Rider similarly grazing against his hiding spot.

  “How did Aldora tell you to come for me?” asked Raneth.

  “Aldora contacted me through the grebunars,” said Rider. “I still don’t like her,” he added sharply. “But she told me you needed rescuing, and she said I wasn’t to save her. Not yet anyway.”

  “Why? Does she still think she can talk to that piece of–”

  “No idea,” said Rider. “If I had to guess, she just wants you safe.”