by Drae Box
The minute Raneth slows down, he’s going to start blaming himself and picking apart his choices. He’s going to drive himself mad that he should have flown out to meet the carriages the last stretch of the way home. I can’t let Raneth do all the work on his own. He’ll need my support.
Aldora looked at Raneth’s father. Dragon looked pale, paler than a pure Giften should look. “I’ll—”
“I’ll go put the kettle on,” interrupted Cally, before she breezed out of the room.
Aldora frowned as she watched her go.
“Cally’s an acquired taste,” said Dragon. “At this point, she’s more a family heirloom than a servant.”
“I heard that,” warned Cally’s voice.
A smile reached Dragon’s eyes as he looked up at Aldora, and she couldn’t help but smile back. She hated that she was smiling though; hated that she was smiling when the royals were dead and Raneth was no doubt throwing himself into his duties without any thought of his own needs. Yet, as she looked at Dragon, the man still smiling, she realised he’s said it on purpose.
He’s trying to make me feel better.
Raneth was like that too. He always tried to make others feel better. Aldora had always wondered how much of Raneth’s being was influenced by Dragon and Bayre training, how much of it was by his royal official training, and how much was from experiencing the world. It seemed this tiny tidbit of Raneth’s good heart had been inherited.
“I’ll do whatever I can to protect Raneth,” she said, deciding she wouldn’t waste another second allowing Cally to stall her. “I know what Raneth’s like. I remember how he went after Cray despite that bloodhex being put on him so he’d die if he got close to Cray. I won’t let anything happen to him, Dragon. I won’t betray his trust in me twice.” She turned and headed to the door.
“Don’t think you’re wife material for him,” warned Dragon, his words sharp. “You have a long way to go, and a little statement like that does nothing to prove otherwise without solid proof to back it up.”
Aldora whirled around. Raneth had warned her, but still. And without Raneth here. She shook her head. “It’s no wonder Raneth always avoided following the Bayre family rules. Just two weeks of people telling me what they think of me — without the facts — and telling me how to act has been like being thrown in a cage and having the bullies shake it. I don’t care if you’re basically king now. I’m not some useless girl anymore. Raneth helped make sure of it.” She jutted her chin out, trying to look more determined, more confident than she felt whilst her heart jabbered away at her ribs. “And Raneth believes in me. You should trust his judgement by now.” She gave Dragon a pointed glare. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a partner to backup.”
She stepped out of the corridor, keeping her hands firmly clenched at her sides to hide the tremors running along her body, and caught sight of a wary-looking Ali Hemmington. He gave her an awkward smile as a blush coloured his cheeks. His grey eyes swept around the palace corridor, as if checking for someone that might tell him off, and then looked again at Aldora. He rushed to her, his smile becoming more relaxed and his blush easing.
“Aldora, is Raneth about?” he asked her as they reached one another. “I have something for you two.”
Aldora wrapped her arms around the older man, smiling. His meaty hands patted her back before Aldora withdrew. “It’s good to see you,” she said honestly. Ali had helped her and Raneth when Broken Crown were in control — he’d made sure they knew everything they needed to, but had failed to stop them from arguing over Denzel’s automatic death sentence.
Not that that was Ali’s fault, thought Aldora. I was the one that wasn’t listening. That thought I could ask a royal official not to follow the law.
“Raneth isn’t here,” added Aldora, watching as Ali shrugged a rucksack off his back. Unknown items clunked inside the painter’s bag. “How’s the capital?”
“Raneth’s orders are getting the city into shape,” replied Ali, a hand digging into his rucksack. “The royal detectives patrolling the streets has definitely made a lot of us feel safer again, especially as they have those royal official trained dogs to back them up in place of actual royal officials.” Ali tutted and withdrew his hand, before pulling at the rucksack’s opening with both hands and kneeling next to it, almost putting his whole face into the hole to look for whatever it was he was fishing for. “Ah.” He slipped his hand back into the bag. “And that messenger relay station is nearly ready to start taking the royal messengers. I imagine that’ll help Raneth and the other royal officials carry out their orders quicker for Cray.”
It’s probably better if I don’t reveal Cray’s death.
Deciding against commenting on Raneth’s idea to start building messenger relay stations throughout Giften — including repurposing the Watchtowers of Old to add to the network of buildings and messengers — Aldora decided to change the topic. “How’s the shop?”
Ali was still digging around in his bag. “Closed for now,” he said, pausing his efforts and looking up at her instead. “I’m using it to help give out supplies and to give space to those that lost their homes to Brethren. Some of them, anyway.” He glanced at the doorway Aldora had come out from. “Did I interrupt something in there?”
Aldora looked over her shoulder at the living room’s doorway, and spotted Pedibastet peeking out from it, looking at her. “Just the same thing I’ve been dealing with since Raneth destroyed my uncle’s headquarters,” she admitted, returning her gaze onto Ali. He was standing now, and holding a small notebook that barely fit in his palm. “Judgements and opinions.”
Ali nodded thoughtfully. “Judgements and opinions only reflect a person’s innards. Not those they stick them to.” He smiled. “Don’t listen.” He opened the notebook and slipped free a folded piece of paper, which he started to unfurl.
“Those look like designs,” murmured Aldora, catching a glimpse of blue and red lines on the semi-transparent paper. She looked at a piece close to her — Ali was still unfolding the abnormally large sheet. “Armour designs?”
“Yes,” said Ali, grinning, holding the design fully open for her to inspect. “Leather ones, for you and Raneth. I thought with everything that happened — especially all those Brethren with gift-fire — you two could probably do with some protection.” He paused to fold the designs back up again, and slipped them into Aldora’s hands. “I know leather’s not good protection when compared to metal plating and what have you, but you’d rather wear this than cook in metal armour if you’re attacked by gift-fire.” He clasped Aldora’s hands. “And I figured, the two of you would prefer stealth over something clattering or reflecting light to give your position away.”
Her nose tingled with happy tears that gathered in Aldora’s eyes. She crushed Ali into another hug. “Thank you. Raneth will love these.” She drew back, slipping the designs into a pocket. “Especially with everything that’s happening.”
Ali frowned. “What do you mean? What’s happened now?”
The clatter of cups against saucers drew Aldora’s attention to Cally, who strolled towards her with a silver tray in her hands. She took a cup of steaming green tea and handed it to Aldora on its saucer, then held one out for Ali. He declined politely. “If you’re going to take guests, Aldora, you should at least take them to the living room,” stated Cally.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” said Ali, smiling at Aldora. “I’m not staying that long. I just wanted to drop off those designs.”
Without a word, Cally raised her brows at Aldora, before she walked into the living room. As Aldora and Ali were silent, the Dagger Bearer heard Cally order Dragon to drink up. Aldora returned her attention to her friend. “My father is skilled in tanning,” she told Ali. “He started outsourcing it when his metal work and horse businesses grew in demand, but he could make your designs. He’s in Icoque, helping with the rebuilding work there.” She gave Ali another smile. “I’ll ask him to make them when he’s got time. Thank you a
gain. They look wonderful, Ali.”
“Just check the sizes before he starts working on them — I guessed yours and Raneth’s measurements. Last thing you want is the buckles pinching.”
“I will. I’m heading over to Icoque now, so I can drop them off with Dad when I get there. Do you need to borrow a fresh horse? I can saddle one up for you.”
“If the palace can spare a horse, I’d appreciate it,” admitted Ali. “My knees aren’t as young as they used to be.”
“The messengers have been kept busy by Raneth,” said Aldora, “but there should be a few rested horses. Come on. I’ll grab some weapons and then get us saddled up.”
Chapter Six
Raneth
The royal official captain looked up at the evening’s black sky. It had taken him longer to leave Icoque Village than he’d expected; Elenee Sigmund — Icoque’s village leader — and Erasmus Esai had both been at the fire station. They’d jumped at the chance to catch up with Raneth since their assault on Broken Crown’s headquarters. Unfortunately he hadn’t thought to ask if there was any food he could eat, and Raneth hadn’t eaten all day.
The horse Raneth had borrowed from Erasmus began panting so he eased it into a walk. It wasn’t used to longer journeys. He slipped a hand into the left pouch on his royal official belt and withdrew a small gold sphere, with intricate circular markings engraved across its surface. The horse continued to make slow progress towards the royal palace as Raneth squeezed the heirloom grebunar in his hand and thought of King Philander. It buzzed softly in his palm and Raneth let go, allowing the grebunar to levitate into the air, just a little ahead of his face and slightly to the side. A blue stream of light extended from the sphere, roping itself into a circle. Within it, a flat image of King Philander II of Southern Kingdom glared back at him.
“How dare you greb me after what you’ve done? When Cray reaches the palace, I’m telling him and your career — your life — will be over.”
He didn’t know if it was the venom that laced Philander’s words or his hunger, but Raneth swallowed down a mouthful of nausea. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, a hand settling onto the saddlehorn as he raised his other hand, indicating for Philander to slow down. “I never sent royal officials to attack you, and neither did Cray.” Raneth clenched his eyes shut as the nails jutting out from Cray’s cheek and temple burned into his brain. He clenched his jaw, feeling the fizz of tears in his eyes, nose and molars. “I’d never. I’d never.” Raneth inhaled sharply, trying to regain control of his emotions. Cray wasn’t his first brush with a friend’s death — he’d known plenty of royal officials that had died. His mother too. He sucked in a breath and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. Distantly, he was aware that his horse was turning back towards Icoque without his guidance on the reins.
“Why are you crying?”
“Giften’s soil,” uttered Raneth, his voice breaking as his body seized against him; his chest tightened before a loud, uncharacteristic sob escaped the Bayre. He pressed his palms tighter to his eyes, abandoning his awareness of his surroundings, of how safe he may or may not be. “Cray’s—” He gasped in a sharp breath. His eyes stung with tears as they kissed against his palms. “They murdered him.” A loud harsh exhaled sob. “They murdered everybody.”
Alagar. Rikward. Lemuela. Quinn.
The tears were beyond stopping now. Raneth snorted as he lowered his hands, grabbed at the horse’s reins and turned it towards the palace. Everything was blurred by tears; he could see nothing. Raneth gasped in small breaths as the attack site swarmed his mind, shoving the bloody memories of his friends’ bodies into his eyes. “They’re all. Shrapnel. Just. Just my dad survived.”
“Calm down. I need you calm, Raneth,” said Philander through the grebunar. His deep voice was calm and controlled, catching Raneth’s ear. “Right now,” pressed Philander.
Raneth sucked in a breath and clenched his eyes shut as he held it. He counted to three, mentally shoving the images away again. He sniffed, coughed, then exhaled slowly. His chest was shaking with sobbing attempts but Raneth listened as Philander continued to talk to him gently but firmly, and focused on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. One. Two. Three. Raneth didn’t bother wiping his eyes as he looked up at Philander and blinked back the remnants of his tears.
Maybe I need to find a quiet room at the palace, lock the door and cry my eyes out so I can control this better, he thought, blinking up at the Southern King, his distant cousin.
“Sorry,” said Raneth. “I’m sorry. I. What they did. It was… I’ve never seen—”
“Whatever you saw, shove it to the back of your mind. You’re a God-damned soldier, cousin,” ordered Philander, all gentleness gone.
Raneth swallowed. Shouldn’t have fallen apart in front of him, he thought.
“Sorry,” he uttered again, voice cracking.
Philander was still for a moment, worry etched over his brows as he looked closely at Raneth. “Just tell me who killed Cray?”
Just focus on answering his questions. You can’t afford Giften and Southern to fall out.
“It has to be Broken Crown,” said Raneth. “They were Eastern Barbaric assassins, but Aldora and I had to deal with one in Newer, when we were there recently. Our assignment there may have been caused by Broken Crown, so them hiring more assassins isn’t an impossibility.”
“Give me a moment.” Philander looked to the left, out of the grebunar’s projected view. “Bring their effects here.” Philander’s brown eyes looked over Raneth carefully as he waited for something, the sound of his fingers tapping against his desk whilst Raneth inspected his surroundings. He appeared safe for the moment, and completely alone save for the horse and Philander’s projected image. “Thank you,” uttered Southern Kingdom’s king as he took an offered bundle of items. Raneth heard paper crinkling. “Raneth,” said Philander, “I’m going to take you at your word. Nobody can fake a meltdown like that.”
Meltdown?
Raneth scowled.
“Is this from a real royal official assignment package?” Philander held up a sheet of paper with handwritten black ink, detailing the assignment — to kill Philander for Giften security — in perfectly written, sharp uppercase letters.
“It isn’t,” said Raneth. “Cray has always used blue ink for royal official paperwork and a typewriter. That’s not even Cray’s writing. The As are all wrong and Cray’s writing is curvy. It doesn’t have sharp points even when he writes… wrote in capitals.”
Philander turned the sheet of paper towards his own face, frowning, as he looked at it again before he lowered it out of view. “I thought you dealt with that terrorist organisation? Isn’t that why Cray was coming home? Because it was safe for him to leave mine?”
Raneth looked up at the sky, assessing where he was with the constellations he recognised, then eased his horse slightly to the left. He looked back the way he had come for Icoque’s village walls, but the evening’s darkness had already swallowed it. Raneth focused on the Bayre talisman at his collarbones. The tug suggested he was going in the right direction, as long as Dragon was still in the palace. The distance the tug hinted at felt right. “Two of the leaders escaped. They must have organised it.”
Philander shook his head. “One of the men that tried to kill me is in my castle cells. I was going to have him executed as an example, but I’ll have my men interrogate him first to make sure your theory is correct…” He paused, looking so closely at Raneth that the Bayre drew his horse to a stop.
“What?”
Does he think I’m losing it? Just because I lost control of my emotions?
“Raneth, the attack on me suggests more than just Giften is at risk. If more than one kingdom is at risk, our continent — everything Cray’s side of the family worked towards with their Alliance Treaty — is at risk of being severely weakened. And there’s something else you need to know. Princess Araminta sent word to Cray here but missed him.”
Princess Araminta? The Barbar
ic princess…
“What did she want?” asked Raneth suspiciously.
“There’s been sightings of Silver Kingdoms’ warships in the Giften-Barbaric Stretch. With you both having joint ownership, she highly suggests Giften and Southern bring reinforcements to protect the waters. She’s preparing the Northern Barbaric Island’s fleet.”
Damn it. Enos was right. If the Silver Kingdoms continent plans to invade ours… We’re so screwed. Giften’s not in any state to fend off attackers. Not with me and Dad in charge. Dad at least bothered to get the royal training, but I avoided it. All I can do is help as the royal official captain, as a centurion too, and hope on Giften’s soil that I don’t screw us up further.
“Whatever this is, whether Cray’s death is related to the Silver Kingdoms or Broken Crown...” Raneth heard Philander’s voice catch in his throat. “It needs to be resolved fast.”
Raneth nodded. “I’ll get to the bottom of it. Do whatever you must to keep your family and kingdom safe.” He reached for the grebunar. “I’ll report in when it’s over.” Clasping the grebunar in his palm, Raneth squeezed it, and the image dissolved. He tucked the grebunar back into his pocket then surveyed his surroundings, spotting something moving against the horizon ahead of him.
A horse and rider.
The captain squinted, trying to get a better look.
Aldora.
He trotted his horse towards her, a hand on his sword’s grip just in case he was wrong, but he wasn’t. “What are you doing here?” he said.
“That grebunar lit you up like a campfire in the dark,” warned Aldora. She drew her horse to a stop beside Raneth’s, close enough that their knees touched.
“Are you alright?” asked Raneth. She looked OK. “You—”
“I’m fine,” Aldora promised him, leaning over in the saddle and pressing a kiss to his stubbled jaw. Raneth watched as she pulled a face; she wasn’t used to kissing his stubble — he usually shaved. “I’m going to see Dad,” she explained, gesturing in Icoque’s direction. “Ali came by with some leather armour designs for us. Cally gave me your measurements before I escaped.”