Broken Crown

by Drae Box

  Aldora grabbed at his reaching wrists and noticed that one of the assassin’s hands held a needle. “Why—”

  He gritted his teeth as he pushed against her straining arms, trying to jab the end of the needle into any part of her.

  “No.” Aldora shoved back, then thought again of her gift. It was her only advantage. She had to use it. She inhaled deeply and saw as the assassin’s brown eyes widened. He yanked his needleless hand out of Aldora’s and jabbed towards her face. she grunted as his fist connected with her chin. She felt as the needle jabbed her breast. “No!” She sucked in another breath, but the hand that had punched her held onto her chin this time and shoved her face away, so she could only see the direction to the palace.

  Her arms felt heavy. Too heavy. Whatever he’d drugged her with was fast-working. “No.” Weakly, feeling as if her arms weren’t hers and that they were encased in wet concrete, she tried to hold the assassin’s wrists back, but he merely shook her touch off, before he picked her up and slung her onto the back of his horse.

  Chapter Eight

  Raneth

  Standing in the throne room, Raneth looked at the two young royal officials in front of him. Their uniforms — which had until this morning been spotless — were covered in mud and blood, as well as other things that didn’t bear thinking about. Nyack Temp and Oliver Tomb had only graduated at the beginning of the year.

  And their first assignment: collect the bodies of the royals and their travelling companions.

  Raneth felt like a jerk. That shouldn’t have been the first thing they saw on assignment. Shouldn’t have been a task he assigned them, but there were so many experienced royal officials in the field, chasing down Brethren and Guardsmen, that he’d had no choice but to pick two of the new graduates to do the task, along with others of their class.

  They’ll have nightmares for years, he thought, watching as they looked back at him.

  “What did you think when you read the newspaper’s supposition about King Philander’s assassination attempt?” he asked.

  “You can’t feel bad about that, sir,” said Oliver. He was the bulkier of the two. One of the last things Cray had done was to pair Oliver up with Nyack — royal official partners were designed to compliment one another. Whilst Cray had chosen Raneth to partner with Alika when assignments required, he’d gone for a more obvious solution for these two — brain and muscles, but it seemed Oliver wasn’t just muscle. “The newspapers have to take a negative spin on things. They don’t sell otherwise.”

  “Your reputation speaks for itself, sir,” added Nyack. “You’d never do something like that. You’re one of the most patriotic men serving Giften we know. It wasn’t a surprise that you were promoted to be our captain. We must have studied twenty or so of your assignments at the ROU.”

  “Twenty-six,” said Oliver, nodding.

  Twenty-six?

  Raneth frowned. “That’s… more than I expected.”

  Nyack shrugged. “The teachers felt you had a lot to teach us. We did learn a lot. You’ve served since 1999, sir. And in all that time you never took a vacation. Just mandatory time off because of bedrest and such.”

  “Sir,” said Oliver gently. “If you’re worried about the civilians blindly believing the papers… Sure, there’ll be a few. But most people will look at that, then look at what they know of you, and wonder what continent The Giften Daily’s reporter is living on, because it’s clearly not the Common Kingdoms continent.”

  Realising they were getting off-topic, Raneth decided to talk to them about what he wanted to sound out with them. “Terrorist organisations don’t just stop when the leaders are dead,” he said. “They break into factions with new leaders. Some will be more violent, others craftier. And there will be sympathisers — some will help them whilst others just won’t get in their way.” He paused, eyeing the two men. They were the same age as him. His experience made him feel older, and knowing these two men had enjoyed a normal childhood and then enrolled, made the differences between them seem even more bizarre.

  But I’m the weird one, he reminded himself, a hand slipping into his pocket. Although normal childhood isn’t accurate for Oliver. Redler said he moved in with Nyack when he ran away from his abusive father.

  “What do you think of a specialist unit of royal officials and detectives to tend to mopping up Broken Crown?” concluded Raneth. “When I spoke to Master Redler this morning by grebunar, he said you two were the new me and Macario. You were his first two recommendations for the unit — he didn’t even need a second to think. He also recommended a classmate of yours. Cadee Bell.”

  “Oh wow, Captain. This is… Cadee’s a great friend—” said Nyack.

  “So we’re biased,” added Oliver, smiling.

  Nyack nodded. “But she’s a hard worker. She always outshone us.” He paused, frowning. “But it’s not something Giften’s done before, is it? A team dedicated to one specific issue.”

  “No, but Southern Kingdom has done it for years. It seems to work nicely for them. We don’t have enough royal officials at top rank to deal with Broken Crown, and you’ve all been great at accepting the assignments to chase down their members regardless, but we need to free up royal officials for regular assignments again. We need to support Giften entirely, not just against Broken Crown.” It was a decision Raneth had made in the shower this morning. “I’d make sure the royal officials and royal detectives in the unit got additional training — not just what me, Macario and Catigowli got when we became top rank, but other training as well. Gun warfare and what have you. Storming a building as a team. All of that. Anything that you could need.”

  “We’re happy to help out, sir. What can we do in the meantime?” asked Nyack.

  Raneth glanced at Oliver. He was nodding. Seems like these two are always on the same page, he noticed.

  “You don’t need a moment to—”

  “We had last night to come to terms with what we saw, sir. We’re ready to pitch in and help Giften however you think is best.”

  “I booked a therapist,” admitted Oliver. “One that’s allowed to work with royal officials, but we knew the kind of thing we were getting into when we enrolled. Didn’t expect to see something like that so early on without having a scuffle with some Eastern Barbarians, but we’ll be alright.”

  “A lot of royal officials still haven’t reported in since Denzel Leoma took Giften. I don’t know if they’re dead, in hiding, or unsure of me because of what happened.”

  “You want us to find them and report in,” guessed Nyack.

  Raneth nodded, his focus sweeping away from the two men and to Alika Brice storming into the throne room.

  “Oi,” she growled, a hand pointing at him. “What do you think you’re doing arresting Aldora? For Cray’s death?” She came to a stop almost toe to toe with him, and glared up at him. Her hands were fists at her sides, as if it was the only thing stopping her from grabbing him or punching him in the face — Alika wasn’t the sort of woman who slapped — and her whole body was trembling. She wore civilian clothing; black trousers caked in mud, a white top and a long brown riding coat.

  Raneth shook his head. “Alika—”

  “There’s no way the Dagger Bearer was involved. Barbaric shrapnel bombs were used,” said Nyack, his words directed at Alika. “Don’t be so—”

  “Nyack.” Oliver gripped his friend’s shoulder. “Let Captain deal with this.” He looked at Raneth. “We’ll go grab our paperwork. Is it in Cray’s old royal official office?”

  Raneth nodded and watched as the two royal officials left the room, leaving him with his assignment partner. He and Alika had worked a few assignments together over the years, but not as many as other paired officials, as Cray had felt most of their assignments were within their abilities to tend to by themselves. “I saw Aldora when she was on her way to see your dad,” said Raneth. His gut was churning. He hadn’t read the papers yet. Was this the same reporter as the Philander assumption? “Ev
erything was good between us. What have you heard?”

  Alika’s anger hadn’t even slightly cooled down. “Two royal officials chased her out of Icoque, on your orders, for killing Cray.”

  “Alika, you’ve known me since you had to retake the final year at Royal Official University. Eleven years. Do you really think I’d send two royal officials to deal with Aldora if I thought she had a hand in it? That I wouldn’t go personally? I didn’t send them. Everything is good between us. Aldora knows that.”

  Alika’s glare of death wavered and she took a step back. “Then what on Giften’s soil is going on? Is it Denzel? Koyla?”

  “Still unaccounted for, and I don’t know. You’ve seen the papers?” asked Raneth.

  Alika nodded.

  “The men that attacked King Philander had badly forged royal official assignment packages. Philander is interrogating the attacker that survived, and I’ve promised to get to the bottom of whatever this is.”

  “Then find Aldora.”

  Raneth was used to Alika’s hot anger, but he clenched his jaw. He’d never cared much for rank protocol, but even without his captaincy, he was her senior officer, and she should know better than to charge up to him, accuse him of being an arsehole to Aldora, and then give him orders. “I will,” he growled. “Instead of coming in here barking like an untrained dog, put your uniform on. Get off your family leave and actually help.”

  Alika jutted out her jaw defiantly. “And what about Drigoe?”

  Raneth frowned. “What about him?”

  “He’s still missing. You didn’t notice the head royal messenger was missing?”

  “Uh… No.” Raneth’s stomach clenched. No wonder Alika was having a difficult time leashing her anger. He took Alika’s hands in his. “I’m sorry. I should have,” he said softly, letting go of his own irritation at her. “I’ll have some detectives look into it… Have you written up what you know?”

  “Should have hit your desk already,” she said, her voice softening.

  Raneth winced. “I’m… There’s a backlog.”

  Alika drew her hands back and began pacing the length of the throne room. “How in-over-your-head are you?” she asked.

  She’s calming down, realised Raneth. He thought about the royal official office and the captain’s office next to it, and lowered his tense shoulders. He shook his head. “I can’t keep up with the paperwork coming in,” he admitted. “I’m barely keeping on top of assignment reports. Dad’s resting from the attack — he was the only survivor with Cray’s convoy — and I’m trying to sort out this Broken Crown stuff—”

  Alika spun on her heels, her pacing paused as she faced him. “Who do you think is responsible for Cray’s death?”

  Raneth shrugged. “Timing suggests Broken Crown. That Denzel and Koyla aren’t happy about the heavy attention from royal officials cleaning up.”

  “I’ll help out with the paperwork side of things — your captain stuff and Cray’s usual stuff. Can you authorise me to do that?”

  “As the captain, yeah,” confirmed Raneth. He looked down, feeling the familiar tap of a cat’s paw. It was Pedibastet.

  “Messages are slowing everything down,” said the King of the Cats, tail wafting as he looked up at Raneth. “Cats can help.” He turned his green gaze onto Alika. “Order a few thousand collars and those message cylinders you put on trained birds. I can ask the cats across Giften to work in the same manner as Raneth’s messengers, using the relay stations. We just need a human at agreed locations to swap collars when cats tire.”

  A network of cat messengers?

  It was such an obvious solution to work alongside the royal messengers that Raneth couldn’t help but wonder why no other representatives of Giften’s cats had suggested it. He looked to Alika.

  “We’ll set it up,” she assured him.

  Pedibastet purred and rubbed his brown cheek against Raneth before he rubbed his side against Alika’s legs.

  Watching the King of the Cats brought Raneth’s attention back to Alika’s news — that Aldora had been chased by fake royal officials claiming to be working under his orders. “Regarding Aldora,” he said, watching as Alika’s focus snapped to him. “I’ll go to Icoque myself to look into it. The royal detectives up there are still trying to sort out this Broken Crown mess. I can’t ask they look into her location when—”

  “When she’s just a civilian unless you get yourself royally murdered,” said Alika.

  “Maybe she got away,” said Raneth.

  Alika gave him a dubious look. “From what I heard, she fled on horseback. But with all the activity in and out of Icoque, the ground is too churned up to read it with any confidence. I tried before I came here.”

  “I’ll still look. Logically, Aldora would have aimed for here, both for answers and protection,” said Raneth. “So I’m still going to look.” Raneth ran a hand down Pedibastet’s back before he strode to the kitchen.

  His father was there, sitting at the island counter, on the red stool Cray normally chose, sipping from a steaming cup. He gave Raneth a slight smile and a nod. Raneth’s stomach twisted as he considered his father’s potential reaction to what he had to say, but he took a slow calming breath. “Dad, I need you to take a more active role in stabilizing Giften.”

  Dragon frowned at Raneth. “Like what?” he asked. “I don’t want to step on your toes.”

  “Let Alika manage the royal officials’ assignments and their paychecks. Pedi the messengers — with Alika’s help — and I need you to do everything else; oversee the kingdom. Make sure the farms aren’t suffering from Broken Crown members fleeing and pinching as they go. Deal with the settlements’ damage complaints, the insurance companies that are complaining they don’t cover death by terrorism, deal with relations with Philander and Regina, broach security of the Giften-Barbaric Stretch with Princess Araminta, and check in with the Governess of Seaus Island. Everything that doesn’t come under my responsibilities as the royal official captain. I can’t do everything.”

  Dragon stood up, a hand resting on the counter. “I haven’t been sitting idle, Ran. Since I formed to heal, I’ve been looking after the messengers’ horses. I was just taking a breather for my injuries’ sakes. You know of the phantom pains from using our blood-gift to heal ourselves.” He tilted his head, his blue eyes trailing down Raneth’s body. “Have you eaten today?”

  “Just give me a ration bar,” said Raneth, shaking his head. “I’ve had a report that Aldora was chased down by royal officials, supposedly for Cray’s death.”

  “Like Philander being attacked by fake royal officials…” uttered Dragon, clearly making the same connections Raneth had. He went to a side cupboard and opened it, grabbing a royal official ration bar. He threw it at Raneth.

  Raneth nodded, catching the food bar. “I’m going to go and look into it. I’ll come back here afterwards.” He strode through the room, heading for the back door, but Dragon caught his wrist.

  “Be careful.” He let go of Raneth.

  After stepping outside, Raneth picked one of the better-rested horses from the palace stables and slipped the saddle and bridle into place. He led it outside, but paused in front of the stable doors as a buzzing vibration rippled through his royal official belt from one of its pouches. He retrieved the grebunar and squeezed the small sphere, before watching as it rose into the air to be near eye level. Raneth climbed into the saddle, unsurprised when the grebunar and its image of King Philander II repositioned.

  “Raneth,” said the Southern King, “Have you heard of a Giften tribune called Jovian?”

  Raneth frowned at his distant cousin and then nodded. “Yeah. He’s the First Tribune.”

  “My attacker insists he was paid by Jovian. He and his… colleague, are assassins from a guild in the Barbaric East.”

  “And you’re sure that’s the truth?” asked Raneth, easing his horse to walk in the direction of Icoque.

  “Positive. Or, as positive as you can be without lethal me
thods. I thought you’d appreciate the lead,” explained Philander.

  “Thanks. I’ll see what he has to say for himself.” Raneth plucked the grebunar out of the air and slipped the communication device back into the pouch with his handcuffs.

  Jovian, a king-killer?

  It didn’t quite track with the Jovian Raneth knew, but tribunes were tricky individuals at the best of times. Giften’s lawyers and the army’s paper-pushers, they were the only people other than Giften’s ruler that could bend or shape the law. Being the First Tribune — Giften’s best tribune — meant greasing palms, knowing the laws inside and out, knowing how to handle investigations, how to change the perception of a suspected criminal’s case in court, and how to make connections in all the right political places.

  And one of those connections, at least for Jovian, was Raneth. The Bayre didn’t exactly consider Jovian a friend, but he wasn’t an enemy either. Just a tribune that had hitched a ride using Raneth’s career the past three years to get from Second to First Tribune.

  He eased his horse to a halt. Do I go and see Jovian, or look into Aldora’s situation? He rubbed his horse’s shoulder. Aldora could be dead. Jovian should be alive. The storm clouds that had reached the palace the night before released a vicious downpour. Raneth tugged at the collar of his royal official jacket and pressed the collar button to its other half until it popped securely shut.

  But I know where to look for Aldora, and I’ll have to work with the First Legion for Jovian. He probably thinks he’s safe too, so he won’t be a moving target.

  His decision made, Raneth surged his horse towards Icoque.

  Chapter Nine

  Aldora

  Her shoulders hurt. Frowning, Aldora blinked, realising that she wasn’t seeing right either; somebody had put a black cloth over her head. Some light was getting through, including the hiss of gas lamps that let her know she was indoors. Her jaw ached, likely due to the cloth gag she could taste in her mouth. Her chest ached where the needle had struck her too, but Aldora sniffed, trying to get more information about where she was. The scratchy black cloth around her head smelled like hessian, and nearly overpowered every other smell available, except for the smell of a pungent...