Broken Crown

by Drae Box

  One solid black eye of the muscular-classed navy-blue dragon was open and looking at him. Raneth sucked in a breath. “Dad.” His voice cracked. “Don’t move,” he begged his father as he stumbled back from the royal carriage and sprinted to his father’s side. “Don’t move.”

  He slumped to his knees at the dragon’s side and rested his hands against the blue scales. The same shrapnel had tried to pierce the dragon’s hide but most of it looked to have clattered to the ground. A few pieces of wood and nails had found their mark though — wedged where three scales met together with a small vulnerable patch of exposed skin that was visible if a person drew close enough. None looked to have impaled the dragon’s side too deeply. Certainly not as deeply as those in the first two carriages. He looked at his father’s gift-self’s face, noticing one of the straight, almost wavy black horns was broken. “You’ll be alright,” said Raneth, running his good arm’s hand down his father’s side. His eyes itched from whatever the assassins had used to attack the carriages. “Go to the palace. I’ll join you.” Raneth glanced at the last carriage, the one that had veered slightly to the side, as if it had tried to get away from whatever had attacked the carriages. “Aldora’s there,” he said. “Be nice.”

  The dragon huffed before it climbed to its feet. As Raneth pressed a hand to the earth to push himself up, his father’s dragon-self crashed back onto the ground, taking his weight on his chest.

  He can’t support his weight.

  Raneth stood up, looking for the front paws of his father but noting they were under his chest. His back legs showed part of the problem — a slither of muddy wood as long as Raneth’s arm jutted out of his back leg. His father would need help getting to the safety of the palace. “Alright. Wait,” said Raneth. “Let me check the last carriage.”

  He wended over to the last of the three carriages, his gut churning and his chest tight. Alagar would be in this one. The royal cook, but to Raneth, Alagar was more than that. He’d been a close friend, and they’d served together in the confidential Nebar War, in Newer Kingdom’s capital city. Raneth sniffed.

  The air smelt like those same nights with Alagar in Newer. Salt. Urine. Charcoal and… That other smell.

  Gunpowder?

  Which meant… Barbaric swirls — shrapnel bombs had taken the carriages out.

  Wait. This is… This is the place Cray and I were ambushed before.

  Raneth looked at the grass around him, looking past the scattered pieces of carriages, horses and body parts, looking for any sign of the three tunnels that Broken Crown had used three years before to kidnap King Cray. Near the third carriage, a crater dipped the earth. It might have been the entrance to one of the ambush tunnels, but it was deformed if it had been.

  Maybe they put the bombs in those, but then they would have needed a way to set them off. Why didn’t Dad see?

  Raneth clenched his eyes and jaw.

  Dad wasn’t in the Nebar War. He wouldn’t know to look for that sort of thing. And not here. Not in Giften. I wouldn’t have been looking for signs of buried Barbaric swirls here either.

  He reached the last carriage and looked inside.

  A lot of the shrapnel — both nails and carriage splinters — had pierced the side of the carriage, as well as the driver sitting clear of the riding compartment. The door was still intact, though ajar. “Giften’s soil,” murmured Raneth, taking in what he saw.

  The assassins had finished off the men and women in this carriage. Alagar’s bloodied throwing daggers were still in his hands, but a large blossom of blood was against his chest, and his neck was at an odd angle. An angle that shouldn’t have been possible. At his side, Jewel was also dead. Blood splattered her and her own hands were covered in blood, as if she’d been trying to help one of the others before the assassins had killed the occupants. Like Alagar, she too had been a retired royal official working in the palace, but whilst Alagar had been the cook, she had been in charge of the mission room, and all the Giften-Southern technology within it. A gash on Royal Doctor Quinton’s neck warned how he’d died, and the others in the carriage — servants Raneth vaguely recognised — had been hit by stray shrapnel. It looked as if Alagar and Jewel were the only ones that had gone down fighting.

  Raneth stumbled back. His left arm and fingers were cold and becoming caked in his own blood. The whole royal household. Everyone. They were all dead. Raneth shook his head and clenched his eyes tightly shut. He should have expected this. Should have known as soon as he saw those two in the asymmetrical cloaks. They wouldn’t leave anyone alive. Had they simply assumed his father would die from his wounds? Or were they using him as bait? The Bayre talismans could only tell him where his father was if they were both breathing.

  Turning his gaze to his father, Raneth noted that Dragon Bayre had reformed. Blue eyes that matched Raneth’s looked back at him, and the large piece of wood that had been in his father’s leg was discarded nearby. He was leaning against one of the trees at the edge of Little Wood, watching his son. “The royals?” asked Dragon.

  Raneth shook his head. “Dead. They’re all dead.”

  Chapter Two

  Aldora

  In the royal palace kitchen, Aldora sat at the island counter with a cup of green tea clenched in her hands. She nipped at the inside of her left cheek. Raneth had been avoiding being personal with her these past two weeks. Ever since he had saved Giften Kingdom from her uncle. He’d explained it twice now. He wanted the same future she did, but his father and the king wouldn’t see her as suitable anymore.

  One lousy mistake.

  Aldora scowled, then looked to the doorway as Prince Pedibastet stepped into the room, meowing once to announce his arrival.

  What right do they have to dictate Raneth’s whole future? Yes, he’s the Bayre heir, but he’s a person too!

  The Prince of the Cats padded on silent white paws to the island counter and leapt up to sit beside her arm. “Where did Raneth go running off to? He was whiter than my whiskers,” said the cat. Like all cats born or gestated on Giften soil, Pedibastet was able to talk due to magic pollution in the soil from Giften’s more magical history, along with the theory of two cats, some spilled spells and one of their most famed sorcerers. It was Pedibastet’s duty to represent Giften cats, as well as his mother when she wasn’t around to do the job.

  “Something’s wrong.” Aldora shook her head, a hand toying with the steaming cup. “Something to do with his dad.”

  The tabby-and-white cat’s black tail swished once. “Oh?”

  Aldora shrugged. “That’s all I know. I was just getting him to open up again, to let me be his partner again...” She shook her head again. “Whatever it is, it’s bad, right? The way Raneth went running out of here… His father’s the Master Bayre. He should be able to deal with pretty much anything, so whatever it was, it’s bad.”

  Maybe I should go and find Raneth. I might be able to track wherever he rode off to. He’s taught me a little about tracking. I should be able to find him, and he might need my help.

  Pedibastet’s green eyes watched Aldora intently for a moment, before his white ears twitched and he cast his focus to the side door, which most familiar with the palace used to get to the royal stables behind it. “There’s someone at the door.”

  The door handle rattled as Aldora looked towards it. Her gut tightened, like somebody pulling on barbed wire inside her torso. She swallowed, her heart thumping in her ears as she looked at the nine square windows that made up part of the door.

  The palace only protects those of royal blood. That’s not me.

  She reached for the Dagger of Protection at her waist, then looked down as her hand gripped nothing.

  Screw you, Uncle Denzel.

  Denzel Leoma and Koyla still had the primary Weapon of Protection. “Giften’s soil,” murmured Aldora, flinching as the person at the door smashed a gloved hand through one of the window panels and reached for the door’s lock.

  “Quick. Move,” hissed Pedi
bastet, with his long white, brown and black fur puffed up. He swallowed before growling deep in his throat, with his ears flat against his skull and his green eyes flared. The lock snicked as the hand turned the mechanism and Aldora backed out of the kitchen.

  The armoury. There’ll be something in there Raneth and Master Redler taught me to use.

  Before she could turn her back to the door and run to the armoury, the back door opened. A man in a grey cloak stepped into the kitchen.

  Barbaric assassin!

  Aldora swore, before she turned and fled into the armory. I’m not the useless girl I was before I was the Dagger Bearer, she reminded herself, ploughing into the room further down the corridor. Her brown eyes swept along the walls, looking at swords, halberds, spears, quarterstaffs, throwing daggers, twelve inch knives, crossbows and the Kingdom’s Shield. Suits of armour twinkled in the gaslight, but Aldora looked for a pair of swords the same length as each other — the bolts for the crossbows were nowhere obvious, so she couldn’t just shoot the intruder.

  “Quick!” Pedibastet ploughed into the room. “He’s right behind me.”

  Aldora grabbed two swords almost the same length as her arms and spun around.

  The assassin didn’t step straight into the room. He hesitated at the doorway, grey eyes looking back at Aldora. His dark skin gave away his Eastern Barbaric origins, but Aldora watched as he swept his gaze to the frame of the armoury’s doorway, and inspected it.

  Aldora swung the swords. Every day for the past two weeks, when she wasn’t out in the nearby settlements helping to fix her uncle’s mess, Raneth had sparred with her every spare moment he’d had. Pushing her again and again, and knocking her to her backside more than once. Almost as if he knew something was coming, she thought warily. The assassin stepped into the room, a hand dipping into the folds of his asymmetrical cloak.

  Aldora took a calming breath, watching the hand closely as it withdrew.

  What on Giften’s soil?

  In the assassin’s hand was a glass vial, with two cork stoppers — one at either end. One half of the vial was filled with yellow liquid and the other half was hidden in the man’s hand. He flung it at her.

  Aldora jerked back, almost tripping over Pedibastet as he ran behind her.

  The vial struck the rug where Aldora had stood and broke apart. Its innards hissed as a white cloud grew into the room. Aldora’s eyes stung as she blinked and when she stepped to the side, trying to keep her eye on the assassin through the small gas cloud, she noticed her throat felt as if she had swallowed glass when she swallowed.

  What do I do?

  She looked at Pedibastet. He was backing up into the very back corner of the room, pressing his back against it, and his eyes were on the gas cloud. His focus flicked to look at her, then past her. “Look out!”

  Aldora spun to the side, narrowly missing the swipe of a blade as the assassin sliced it through the air where her head had been. He wasn’t fooling around. The assassin’s blade came at her again, low this time. Aldora blocked.

  I’m trapped whilst my back’s to the wall.

  She shouldn’t have dallied in the armoury. Her thoughts stilled as her hands worked to keep up with the assassin’s strikes. Left. Right, up, down. Twice she jabbed but the assassin dodged with ease. He was too fast for her. Too experienced too.

  I need to get ahead of this. What would Raneth do?

  “Your gift, Aldora. Use it!” said Pedibastet.

  Aldora tripped on the edge of the rug as she stepped back, swords rushing up to greet the blade of the assassin as he struck at her, his torso twisting to make the blow stronger. The blade missed as Aldora’s backside hit the ground.

  She sucked in a gasp. A fox’s yap. She screamed.

  Her gift-scream ripped into the air, the air visibly cracking between her and the assassin, but it curved around him and smashed into the wall and doorway. The wall cracked where it struck, and the assassin jabbed his blade down.

  Aldora rolled, then swallowed as the tang of bile filled her mouth.

  Oh Goddess. I’m gonna puke.

  She swallowed it back and clenched her teeth. She kicked at the assassin’s wrist and it snapped. The assassin sucked in a hissed inhale.

  Aldora leapt to her feet, stumbled, and grabbed the assassin’s wrist — the one she’d hurt. He hissed through his teeth as Aldora wrenched it around, spinning him and her so that her back was to the corridor — so she could get out.

  “Pedi, move!” snapped Aldora.

  The tabby-and-white-cat plunged forwards, fleeing the room and screaming for Raneth.

  Aldora headbutted the assassin and her vision blurred with the thump of pain as she withdrew and let go of the assassin. Her chest was tightening. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t...

  The gas. It’s doing something to me.

  She sucked in what little air she could manage, thinking of her gift again. Aldora screamed again; a blue ripple of air reached for the assassin’s torso to sever him in two, but the wave of air crashed past him and struck the back wall.

  Part of the ripple bashed against the Kingdom’s Shield and the three gold rings in the black shield’s centre glowed. A second burst of Aldora’s gift-scream, small and concentrated, raced from the Shield towards the assassin’s back.

  It burrowed deep and the assassin stumbled to a knee, his sword swiping at Aldora as he fell.

  Aldora backed up, a hand settling onto the doorframe. She wheezed in a breath. She stepped back and into the corridor. Then she looked towards the door that would take her to the throne room, to the front door of the palace. Raneth. She wheezed in a second breath and strode through the corridor, a hand rubbing at her chest. Her knees felt weak. They were trembling. Raneth could be in danger. I have to find him.

  Pedibastet trotted at her side, green eyes looking up at her. “You didn’t kill him.”

  “I… I can’t—” Aldora collapsed to the ground and tried to inhale, closing her eyes, focusing. “Can’t breathe.”

  The Prince of the Cat’s cool fur pressed against her arm as he rubbed a cheek against it. He was panting. “I’m here, Aldora. I won’t leave you.”

  Aldora opened her eyes, a heavy hand reaching for Pedibastet. Her fingers slipped into the soft fur and he looked back at her with flared eyes.

  Her eyesight was getting fuzzy. Unfocused. She gasped in another breath but her throat felt too tight. It didn’t feel like air was getting to her chest. I’m going to die. She desperately tried to breathe in again but looked away from Pedibastet as she heard something metal from the armoury.

  “That’s the safe,” uttered Pedibastet as Aldora’s world darkened. “He’s opened the safe.” Aldora blacked out.

  Chapter Three

  Raneth

  Cray was dead. Raneth clenched his jaw, looking towards the white stones of the palace. Just a few more metres. Just a few more. Shivers raced through his body, a constant torrent of tremors that sapped at Raneth’s flagging strength. His father limped at his right side and had his arm around Raneth’s shoulders, letting his son carry his weight each time they took a step. Raneth inspected the palace windows for movement, but if there were more assassins, he and his father would be safe inside the palace. It was one of the Creator’s children — one of three magic buildings Giften’s most powerful sorcerer had built. The palace recognised all those with Giften royal blood, including the Bayres.

  “Come on, Dad. Just a bit more.”

  His father’s breathing was strained but he looked ahead at Cray’s home. Dragon Bayre gave a nod, swallowed, and frowned. “Pedibastet’s at the door.”

  Raneth swept his gaze to the doorless entrance corridor. On the bottom step, the Prince of the Cats sat, swishing his black tail side to side. “He doesn’t look happy,” said Raneth. His bulletwound screamed as his father took another step, but Raneth had stopped paying attention to the warm blood trickling down his torso. “Prince?”

  “Assassin!” shrieked the cat as he surged towar
ds them. “Inside!”

  His stomach felt like exploding concrete as Raneth inwardly shuddered. “Aldora?”

  Please. Not Aldora too.

  “She can’t breathe!”

  Raneth looked at his father. Dragon’s mouth was set in a grim line. “Giften need her,” said his father. “I’ll make my own way from here. Go.” Dragon slipped his arm free from Raneth’s shoulders and stumbled away from his son, but caught his weight with a hand.

  “This way,” said Pedibastet, looking up at Raneth before he raced back into the palace.

  Raneth ran after him. His wounds screamed in protest as he ignored his body’s warnings. He pounced over the three entrance steps and his boots squeaked in the short corridor. The double doors at the end were closed, but as Raneth braked himself against it with his hands against the doors, the doors glowed.

  They swung inwards, giving Raneth a clear view of the throne room and the corridor beyond. He stumbled forwards and froze.

  Aldora.

  He forgot how to breathe as he saw her facedown in the corridor beyond the throne room.

  No. No. No.

  Pedibastet nipped his ankle. “Save her!”

  Raneth jerked forwards, ignoring the scounes as they flared, brightening the palace around him as he ran to Aldora’s side. He crashed to his knees, skidding the last foot to Aldora. “Aldora?” He looked past her warily, checking for the assassin Pedibastet had warned of, before he switched his attention back to Aldora. He turned her onto her back.

  No blood.

  He looked to Pedibastet. “There was gas,” said the cat, “from a vial.”

  The walls of the corridor hissed around Raneth, and a flush of cool air swept through the corridor as he checked for Aldora’s pulse. It was there. Weak.

  She’s not dead yet.

  Raneth sucked in a breath of clean air and lowered his mouth to Aldora’s, pinched her nose and breathed into her. He rested his bloodied hand against her midriff. Her body was reacting to his breathing for her. He could save her. Maybe.