by Drae Box
Her thoughts stalled as a knock came at the door and it opened to reveal a female Brethren. She stepped to the side to allow a taller woman through the door. That’s the reporter, she thought as she inspected the woman’s long beige coat and the way her red hair twirled at either side of her head in wavy strands. The reporter’s amber eyes zeroed in on Aldora and she flashed her the toothiest grin Aldora had ever seen.
“Miss Leoma, Mr Leoma,” she uttered. “I’m Celia Gwen, head news reporter for The Giften Daily. I usually do celebrity pieces and big events.”
“Then we have the right reporter,” said Denzel as he stood up.
He strode over to the reporter and captured her slim hand in his chunkier one. Aldora winced as her uncle shook the woman’s hand a little too enthusiastically. A black-haired man not in Brethren or Guardsman uniform stepped into the room and Celia glanced his way.
“Hurry up, Mitch.”
The man nodded and pulled a notepad and pencil from his back trouser pocket and stood beside the reporter. Whilst Celia was taller than Aldora, Mitch was taller than both of them. His brown eyes watched those in the room, the pencil poised but still above his pad.
“Shall we get straight down to business?” Celia asked Denzel. “Aldora is giving you the Dagger of Protection officially today, is that right?”
“Yes. Right now,” said Denzel, giving his niece a smile. He moved to the three books on the table and opened the one on top, revealing that all three had been hollowed out and glued together to hide the Dagger of Protection. “Aldora?”
Aldora looked at the Dagger of Protection, then at the news reporter. Celia looked back at her with her head tilted. The Dagger Bearer gave her the most sickly sweet smile she could muster, imitating the one Raneth sometimes threw around. It had the desired effect on the news reporter; Celia stepped closer, took Aldora’s arm and led her a few steps away from Denzel and Dashiell.
“Are you alright?” she asked softly. “The few times I’ve managed to get access to you before, you did anything but smile.”
“No. I’m an idiot and a prisoner,” she stated honestly.
She peered at her uncle around Celia to see him holding the Dagger of Protection in his right hand, glaring at her. Dashiell was hiding a smile under a closed fist in front of his mouth. Why’s he even smiling? Uncle Denzel’s already suspicious. He’s not going to let me touch the Dagger now, but perhaps I can use Celia to help Raneth.
“Why? What’s going on? Are you a prisoner, Miss Leoma?” asked Celia as she gestured frantically for Mitch to join them. He did. “She feels like an idiot and a prisoner,” she told him. “Write that down.”
Mitch did as instructed.
“Raneth and I–”
“That’s enough whispering!” snapped Denzel. He strode over and yanked the notepad from Mitch and inspected what he had written, then he ripped out the assistant’s notes. “None of this goes into print, reporter.” Denzel grabbed the lapel of Celia’s jacket. “None of it. Do I make myself clear? Nothing she has said can be put into print.”
Celia smacked Denzel’s hand. “Let go. Don’t make an enemy of a reporter, Mr Leoma.”
Slowly, Denzel let her go.
“Thank you. King Cray never controlled the news and neither do you. I decide what goes into print. Perhaps you should spend some time with Aldora and we’ll try this again next week.”
Denzel bristled. “Get out.”
“Come on, Mitch. We’re leaving,” said Celia, lifting her chin and turning to the door. She paused, glancing at Aldora over her shoulder. “I’m a friend. Whatever you need, I’m there.”
That the reporter was so willing to challenge her uncle sent a smile creeping across Aldora’s face. She nodded. Brave. Like Raneth.
She looked at her uncle. He was scowling at Celia. His gaze swept to Dashiell and he gestured to the reporters.
“Kill them, Dashiell.”
“No!” Aldora pounced at her uncle, grabbing for the Dagger. She heard Celia’s scream as her uncle took a step back, swinging the Dagger towards her.
Aldora twirled to the side, smashing a fist into her uncle’s gut. He doubled over, a hand reaching to his stomach as his face went red.
Thank you, Raneth.
The sparring sessions were paying off. She turned, glancing at Dashiell as he aimed for Mitch, sparks twirling in front of his glowing hands.
Aldora barked.
The air rippled in front of her as the roar of a lion crashed through the room. The Brethren dropped to the ground, a swelling fireball racing for Aldora’s face.
The ripple of air passed harmlessly over the Brethren’s head as Denzel grabbed her wrist and yanked her out of the way. The fireball burned into the wall above the fireplace. Dashiell climbed to his feet, looked out into the corridor and flung a second fireball at Mitch. The reporter screamed.
Chest heaving, Dashiell turned in the doorway, his body blocking it to Denzel and Aldora.
Aldora winced as her uncle squeezed her wrist tighter, the Dagger of Protection pointed at her face. She swallowed, looking at the gold blade, and swore under her breath.
“You’re never going to be a member of Broken Crown, are you?” asked Denzel, the Dagger still aimed at her face. “Not by choice.”
He can’t kill me with it. As the official Dagger Bearer, I’m a representative of the true king. The Dagger can only hurt me. Still, she didn’t want to risk it with the blade; he could still use it to stab her to death. She felt more than heard Dashiell stomp to her side and grab her arms, pinning her into place and allowing Denzel to let go.
“Well?” asked Denzel.
“I’ll never agree with this,” snarled Aldora. “I’ll never make anyone else join.”
Denzel bristled, but he slowly lowered the Dagger of Protection and slipped it into his belt. “You were to inherit Broken Crown on my death,” he said, his face still red. “But if you don’t want it, don’t want that power…”
Aldora shook her head. “Never. Cray is the–”
“Enough! You’ll co-operate. You have to or I’ll kill your sister and Isadore.” He looked at Dashiell. “Get her out of my sight.”
Aldora winced as Dashiell grabbed her wrist and yanked her from the room. She looked over her shoulder as he pulled her back the way they had come and saw smouldering grey ash where Mitch had been struck. Another indicated where Celia had been struck.
I don’t think that’s the Common Gift of Fire. It’s too hot for normal gift-fire. Gift-fire at least leaves bodies. Not piles of ash. His hands glowed with heat too; she’d never seen anyone else with the Common Classed gift doing that.
“Get off,” grumbled Aldora as Dashiell jostled her through a door and out into the big central room. Instead, he grabbed her hair with his other hand, shoved her back into the wall and pressed his body against the front of hers.
“What in the bleeding heck did you think you were doing?” he hissed. “You can’t openly defy Denzel like that. He’ll just kill you if you don’t play along. You’re family. He wants to turn you into one of us. He needs you to turn into his willing heir.”
With her eyes watering, Aldora held back a sniffle as the hand on her wrist moved to her neck. She caught sight of his watch, blurred but readable. If she could just untangle herself, if she could just get free from Dashiell…
“Are you completely stupid?” continued Dashiell, pulling her head back, exposing her neck. “Are you just a package of flesh, woman?” His other hand settled against the buckle of her belt, but he didn’t try to unfasten it; he pushed against it instead. “Are you?” he yelled.
“I’m screwed either way,” spat Aldora.
She slammed a knee into Dashiell’s groin. He gasped and let go, falling to his knees. Aldora kicked his face and watched as he fell onto his back, holding his family jewels.
“I don’t want to be made out to be supporting Broken Crown, and I don’t want to help my uncle in any way. I was tricked into coming here, into thinking my u
ncle was the good man he’s always been before now. I refuse to be a prisoner, I won’t play along. If you hadn’t killed Celia, people would have known what nasty little snot rags the lot of you are.”
She kicked at Dashiell’s side and he cried out. Then she shoved her foot onto his neck and pushed down just hard enough that his face went pink, but not enough to make him struggle to breathe.
“If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll cut off what you think makes you a man. Do I make myself clear?” She could feel her whole body trembling as cold sweat stuck to her underarms and made her top cling to her spine. “Do I, Dashiell?”
He managed a slight nod, his chin patting against the top of her boot as he did. Aldora withdrew her foot and slammed it into his kidney for good measure. She watched him curl up as he cried out, turning his back on her. She grabbed his arm and pulled down the sleeve, revealing his watch.
It was time.
Before she could let go, Dashiell grabbed her left hand and twisted her onto the ground. He climbed on top of her, one hand to her throat and the other still gripping her hand. He’d been faking. Had to have been. How else would he recover so quickly?
Aldora bucked, trying to get Dashiell off, but he was too heavy. She slid the knife to her palm as he started to squeeze her throat, muttering unpleasant names as he slammed her head against the floor.
Aldora’s vision blurred as she swung a hand up towards Dashiell’s face, the other hand thrusting the knife into his side.
He snarled. “You bitch!”
The heel of her hand smashed against the underside of his chin, forcing his head up, exposing more of his neck. She twisted the knife as she yanked it free from his side and warm blood slid down the blade onto her hand. She sliced Dashiell’s neck and grimaced, shutting her eyes as the hot blood splattered onto her, spreading across her jacket and top, running down her face and neck as he eased back, a hand smashing to his own throat as he choked. The Dagger Bearer wiggled free and got to her feet. The knife dripped in her hand as she watched him.
He rolled onto his side, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth, and when he coughed the blood splattered across the floor. She looked down at the knife in her hand and tightened her grip around it. Numbly, she turned her brown eyes to the blood on her clothes and felt more sliding down her face and neck, mourning the body it belonged to. Quietly, Aldora looked at Dashiell.
“I should be sorry,” she rasped. “But I’m not.”
She rubbed at the front of her neck and winced. She could feel her body trembling with the adrenaline and the realisation of what she had done, but another part of her slowly surfaced, bubbling to the fore; days of training with Raneth in the back garden of her father’s blacksmith whispered to her, warning her to get on with the task he’d given her.
At least I won’t have to follow through on my threat, she thought, glancing briefly at Dashiell’s groin before she turned to the cellar door.
There was a loud bang. She glanced towards the source of the noise and watched as two Brethren stepped out from a doorway in the ground to her right, tears streaming down their faces. Aldora smiled.
Right where Raneth said Alika was.
She sprinted away from Dashiell, past the two sobbing Brethren, and scrambled down into the cellar.
She blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust and listening to the fast beating of her heart in her ears. She stormed through the cellar, ignoring the cardboard boxes of tinned tuna and other meats, until she reached a corner of the cellar that was surrounded by metal fencing.
“Alika?”
Her elder sister stood behind the fencing, her green eyes glaring back at her suspiciously. The sorcerer’s sphere lay by her feet, the hinges twisted and the sphere’s surface heavily dented. “Sister.”
Aldora drew close, giving in to the urge to look over her shoulder. There was nobody there.
“We don’t have much time,” she confessed. “I just killed the Brethren they assigned to me. Raneth has a plan, but we have to get out.”
She grabbed the padlock that secured a chain through part of the gate in the metal fencing. She yanked on it.
“That won’t work,” said Alika as she watched her sister try it a few more times. “You know where I am now, so come back with something to pick the lock with. I’ll walk you through it.”
Aldora frowned. “We don’t have time for that. Raneth said–”
“Is he OK?”
“He got out. He’s working with Icoque’s resistance,” replied Aldora as she quickly inspected the cellar. “Where’s Drigoe? Is he alright?”
Alika’s eyes darkened with fury. “He was taken and bound with anti-gift handcuffs. I don’t know where he is.” She gripped the fencing. “Go, Aldora. Secure yourself first and bring something to help bust me out later, OK? I’ll handle our escape.”
Aldora shook her head. “Raneth said I had to get you out now. He’s providing a distraction. He said I could probably use my gift to break the lock.”
Alika eased away from the lock. “You’d better not miss.”
Aldora eyed the padlock, gritting her teeth.
How does Raneth expect me to use my gift against metal?
She glanced at Alika. “You’ve had lessons with giftologists recently, right?”
Alika nodded.
“How do I…? My gift always attacks as a wave or ripple. If I use it here…” Aldora looked around the cellar, her heart squeezing hard. “I could kill you.”
“Shut that thought up right now,” snapped Alika. “We don’t have time for you to be a scaredy-cat. You’re the Dagger Bearer, Aldora. You just said you killed a Brethren, so concentrate and aim your gift. All gifts want to affect a wide area or multiple people. You have to focus it into a shape and aim it towards your intended target. Do it. Do it now.”
The Dagger Bearer looked at the padlock. It was the smallest thing she had ever aimed her gift at.
I can do this.
She looked at Alika’s furious green eyes, grateful the anger was directed at their uncle and not her. I can do this.
She closed her eyes briefly, thinking of an air ripple that would transform into a small spearhead and slice into the padlock.
I can do this.
She opened her eyes and released a gift-scream. The air rippled in front of her, almost reaching Alika before it sucked itself together into the spear tip she had pictured. It hovered just in front of the padlock and Aldora felt her body warm with sweat, her knees trembling.
Stab it. Break it open.
The air spear sliced forwards.
The metal shrieked as it gave way and the locking arm fell out of the padlock. The chain fell away.
Yes! Aldora yanked open Alika’s prison.
“Let’s go,” she said. “We have to get out.”
“What about Dad?”
“Enos is getting him.”
Chapter Nineteen
Raneth
With the Brethren jacket hugging Raneth’s frame and a Guardsman’s jacket swamping Rider’s torso, the two royal officials inspected the north wing of Broken Crown’s headquarters. Lying on a rooftop in front of the building, Raneth watched the shadows and figures of those inside sliding past the windows on the ground floor, while Rider did the same for those on the next floor up.
“Forty-two movements,” stated Rider. “Moving on to the floor above.”
“Understood,” murmured Raneth, continuing to count those on the ground floor, but he hesitated as he struggled to remember what number he had gotten to. He glanced at Rider beside him on the roof. “There’s a lot of movement in those two large windows Shai made us pay attention to.”
He watched as Rider surveyed the two larger windows on the north wing’s ground floor – the first two on the west side.
“That’s not good,” he murmured.
Raneth hummed his agreement. “I’m thinking mist it, smash the window down with more ice, and if we encounter any trouble, I’ll explode icicles out of the
mist. Like a Southern Kingdom shrapnel bomb.”
“A what?”
Raneth frowned at his best friend. “Considering that would be just the sort of thing Cray would ban you from using, I’m surprised you don’t know what one is. It’s a bomb that explodes and hurls bits of metal everywhere. Very damaging.”
“Sounds like the sort of thing I’d beg to have, yeah.” Rider nodded towards the HQ. “Are we gonna do this?” He slipped a hand into a pocket, withdrawing a cracked watch they had borrowed from Elenee. “It’s time.”
“Yeah. Me first, so I can mist it without risking you.”
Raneth swung his legs over the side of the roof and slid down a drainpipe, before turning and facing the Broken Crown building. He inspected the windows closest to him and those above; they were empty, so the Bayre trotted over to the first of the two large windows and crouched down. White mist poured from the centre of his hand, sliding silently through the air and curling at his feet, slithering around itself like a snake as it shimmered in the day’s light. When enough had pooled at his feet and under the windows, Raneth swept the white mist up towards the panes of glass. Then he thrust a hand forwards and the white mist swirled into small spheres that smashed through the glass. He heard screams and yells of surprise and pain as the glass gave way to the onslaught. Raneth vaulted into the common room.
The Brethren there were all either standing or kneeling on the ground. A few had their hands up to their faces, yelling in pain as blood slid from behind their hands. The long, rectangular room was more populated than he had imagined. At least twenty-five men and women were in the room, and a few were starting to recover. As one locked eyes with him, Raneth swept some of the white mist into him, turning it to ice around the man’s face and blocking off his air passages.