Broken Crown

by Drae Box

  Tea?

  She blinked, trying to look through the bag for any movement in the light that was coming through it.

  There.

  It was a figure. She couldn’t tell if it was a man or not, but she looked up towards her hands. They were hanging from something above her head, and whatever was binding them in place was really digging into her wrists.

  “Ah. You’re awake.”

  Aldora’s skin crawled. She knew that voice. She’d struggled to talk safely around him — Pedibastet and Raneth had both tried to protect her from saying the wrong thing in front of him. But now she was with the man again. Would talking to him be like sparring with watermelons once more?

  She heard the clunk of footsteps approach before the black cloth was yanked from her head, along with a handful of her hair. She winced, both from the sharp pain at her scalp and because of the light stabbing into her eyes.

  “I hope you don’t mind I borrowed you,” stated Commander Algernon as he smiled at her.

  She glared at the bulbous waxed moustache under his nose.

  “But I need to use you as a pawn.”

  A pawn?

  Aldora scowled at him, before she slipped her attention to her wrists. They were handcuffed with a similar set to those that Raneth carried folded in one of his belt pouches. These ones had no chain between them, but were one solid unit of metal. A hook from the ceiling held her in place, and as Aldora looked down at her feet, she observed that there would be a one foot, maybe two foot drop if she got off the hook, which could hurt her knees if she didn’t bend them.

  I’m not the useless, clueless girl everything thinks I am, she reminded herself as she took in the large round table with a map across it, the bookcases along the wall, the thick heavy door behind her. Regina’s map room. That means…

  She was in Newer Kingdom.

  How long was I out?

  Her gut bubbled. If Raneth wasn’t already busting his way through the Newer Kingdom’s royal palace, with the travel time taking a few days even on his griffin-self whilst flying, then her attackers would have taken longer, not to mention, they would have had to somehow smuggle her across the Giften-Newer Boundary Wall. Raneth was unlikely to know where she was.

  That’s fine, she assured herself. He made sure I could look after myself. Master Redler did too. I’ll be fine.

  But her stomach clenched tighter, and her heart thundered in her chest. She wanted to ask why, why had the commander kidnapped her, and with fake royal officials too? But with the gag, she could only glare at him.

  He looked back at her, smiling, with a cup of steaming tea in his hand. Aldora’s skin crawled. He was looking at her as if she were a prized racehorse, and he’d just bought her for a quarter of the price she was worth.

  A pawn… That can’t be good news.

  She looked around the room again, but it was exactly how she remembered it. Regina’s private room, away from Algernon, and yet, here he was.

  What’s happened here since we left?

  The gag was getting in the way. If she could at least talk to the commander, she might get some answers, including how to get back home to Giften. She sucked in a breath around the gag, thinking of the gift-form of Raneth’s father — a muscular-classed dragon. She pulled at her gift, tugging it to the surface as she imagined it ripping the gag from her mouth as she gift-screamed.

  She roared the deafening warcry of a dragon. The gag ripped somewhere behind her head and she spat it out. “Why am I here?” she asked the commander, watching as he smirked at the falling gag before he strolled to the map table and sat on a chair there. He crossed his legs at the knees and set his cup down.

  Irritated, Aldora sucked in another breath. This time, she thought of the fox. The sharp yap burst from her lips and the air between her and Algernon rippled, but when it dissipated within a foot of the commander.

  Algernon’s smirk grew. “The handy thing about Newer having gift-labs before our alliance with Giften, was the discovery of ways to block gift-attacks. I kept a few labs running, and they came up with this.”

  Aldora’s eyes narrowed. Of course he would gloat. Despite herself, she watched as he plucked from under his black shirt a pendant, hanging from his neck on a thick black leather rope. It was ring-shaped, with two bands of metal weaving around one another — one silver, the other copper in colour. “Your gift is powerless here.”

  “Why have you kidnapped me, with fake royal officials, with fake orders?” snapped Aldora. She needed to know what he was up to, because Raneth would need to know. If he was an active royal now, he’d need to make sure Queen Regina — Giften’s ally — was alright.

  “And why would I tell you?” said Algernon, before he sipped at his tea. He reached up to the handcuffs and gave them a quick jiggle, before he strode to the door. “It’s a shame your uncle still has the Dagger.” He tugged the door open and stepped out into the corridor beyond, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Worth a try. Aldora looked up at the handcuffs and the hook she was being kept on. Her shoulders were screaming from the discomfort of hanging from them, but her gift might be able to knock her free, maybe even break the handcuffs completely. She sucked in a breath, thought once more of the fox, and screamed.

  Chapter Ten

  Raneth

  “What are you doing?”

  Raneth looked up. A woman in grey leather trousers and a close-fitting white button-up shirt smirked at him. It wasn’t her athletic form that caught Raneth’s attention though, although the smirk did catch his attention. It was the many knives strapped around her body — there were eight on each thigh, two swords at her hips, and even more knives between them. Whoever she was, she was not an average civilian. Raneth took in her stance. She was leaning against the building directly opposite him with her arms folded and her ankles crossed. If she knew anything about fighting — which her personal stash of weapons suggested she did — then the crossed ankles hinted that she felt more than confident in her abilities to assess her immediate surroundings for danger.

  “Tracking something,” said Raneth. He didn’t want to tell this woman more than that, not if he could help it. It was almost the middle of the day, and since arriving in Icoque, he’d spotted this woman two times around him, suggesting that she wasn’t partaking in normal movements like the rest of the villagers. Add the weapons to that, and Raneth’s gut instincts were in overdrive. This woman, whoever she was, was not to be trusted.

  “The fake royal officials, I’d guess,” she said, unfazed. She gave a one shouldered shrug. “And your girlfriend, of course.”

  Raneth stood up, his attention abandoning the cobblestones at his feet. He’d been following sightings, second-hand accounts and gossip in an effort to find out more about what had happened to Aldora. It was possible too much time had passed — the newspaper had already run the story, and plenty of civilians that approached him, or that he approached, added their own flare or guesswork into the mix, making them all pretty unreliable. So Raneth had followed the locations that were mentioned multiple times, such as this T-junction, in the hopes he could find something to track. He wasn’t having much luck though.

  The woman strode to his side and squatted, a hand touching the tobacco spit that had caught Raneth’s attention. “Soggy,” she said, looking up at Raneth with eyes that seemed familiar. She straightened, surveying their surroundings. “This is a handy spot for observation,” she added. “It’s a few metres down from the actual intersection of the two streets and you’d see everything. The right clothes, the right stance, and anybody would think you were waiting for one of the shops to open. Maybe stand in line at that bakery to blend in a little more.” She gestured at a long line of civilians standing outside a bakery. The sweet smell made Raneth’s stomach gurgle. “From what I’ve found out,” continued the woman, “your girlfriend realised they weren’t real royal officials, challenged them, and then ran for it.”

  “Who are you, and why are you looking into
this?” asked Raneth.

  “Oh, you don’t recognise me, baby Bayre?” She grinned, flashing all her teeth as she pressed a hand to her chest. “Kacela Frey, surviving heir of Thane Frey.”

  Oh no.

  Raneth rushed to inspect the rooftops around them. Empty. The streets: nobody was overly paying them attention, and the windows had nobody staring back at him. He swallowed as his heart thumped into overdrive, and he took in the sounds of everything around him, paying far more attention than he had been before. Every cough, every sniffle, every spoken word—

  “Relax,” uttered Kacela, a gloriously happy laugh rippling through the word. “Rule twenty-three of the Bayre-Frey Feud.”

  Raneth frowned and pressed his back against the wall to protect it, and slithers of white mist curled into being around his fingers, ready to be flung. He didn’t feel like relaxing. “You and your father…” he uttered warily. “You won’t come after me and my dad?”

  “He survived? Nice.” She shrugged. “Look, I’ve got better things to do than chase some weird-ass loyal-to-the-throne family just because my ancestors did. I can think for myself. I have my own dreams, and I’m not sacrificing those for some long-dead relative’s dream.”

  “You’ve more than ten knives on you, and two swords,” said Raneth.

  “Twenty, actually. At least that’s how many are on show. I take weaponing up very seriously.”

  If she wasn’t interested in the Bayre-Frey Feud, then why did she care about rule twenty-three, and why was she here with so many blades strapped to her? It didn’t make sense to Raneth. “The Frey heir isn’t supposed to reveal themselves unless the Master Frey has died…”

  “Oh, my father’s fine,” said Kacela, tilting her head slightly as she watched Raneth. “Thane sent me ahead to remind you that your family is now off-limits to us, per our family’s shared rules and the amendment to Apocolettio Law. He’s getting himself and what remains of our Followers ready to assist you.”

  Unsure if his wariness was just because she was a Frey, or because she was a heavily weaponed individual that he didn’t quite understand yet, Raneth tried to calm his nerves. In response, his stomach did a somersault, as if a flock of birds were migrating in circles in his gut. “What do you mean, assist?”

  “Assist,” said Kacela loudly, as if she were talking to an idiot. “Help,” she added, rolling her eyes. “Clearly you lack some basic Bayre-Frey Feud training.” She smirked, “but then, from what I understand, you’ve been a bad Bayre.”

  Raneth scowled.

  “Rule twenty-three,” stated Kacela, “‘in the event the blood-gifted Bayres become active royals of Giften — or Southern — once more, the Frey will ensure their protection, thereby ensuring their right to bleed the Master Bayre’s eldest — the blood-gifted heir — to re-establish the Bayre-Frey Feud upon the birth of a non-blood-gifted Bayre to inherit the throne.’ Remember?”

  Raneth’s scowl remained. “I don’t need a lecture on the Feud Rules or my family’s. And I don’t know what stupid ancestor of mine decided that rule was a good idea, but my dad isn’t going to have another kid just because he’s technically Giften’s new king.”

  “And now you see why I think the whole Bayre-Frey Feud stuff is dumb,” said Kacela. “Our ancestors were idiots. What good has all that killing done? Nothing, except make the grass grow, and your family cremates. So you aren’t even being grass food. And now us Frey have to make sure to preserve one of you, so our way of life remains. That’s screwed-up. If you’re going to obliterate a family, get on with it.”

  Raneth continued to eye Kacela. Except for her grey eyes and dark hair, she was nothing like her father. What was a Bayre supposed to do with a talkative Frey?

  She huffed out a breath, her hand settling to rest against her side. “If I wanted to kill you, I’ve already had six chances this morning, baby Bayre.”

  “You could at least call me Raneth. Your father does,” said Raneth after a pause.

  She shrugged. “If I feel like it, but remember, if your father does decide to have a new Bayre with his wife—”

  What wife? He hasn’t remarried.

  “Then you’ll never have to be a royal, and if I have my way, you’ll be free of the Feud too.”

  Raneth touched the hilts of his six throwing daggers, spaced around his royal official belt, but didn’t draw any of them. “You say that like you know I’d hate to be a royal.”

  “Until we’re free of the Feud — our fathers following tradition — it’s my job to know you. My father has made extensive notes about you.”

  I bet he has.

  “You won’t be able to track them. The fake royal officials. I saw what happened outside the settlement. I was in Brave Wood,” said Kacela.

  Raneth thought back to the ground outside Icoque. He’d taken the time to look over the ground, but Alika had been right; it was a mess of heavy traffic, and with the tracks further muddled by the rain, the only thing Raneth had observed out of place were two dead horses. One looked to have died from shock after breaking two of its legs and being abandoned, the other seemed to have been cleanly beheaded. “What happened? What did you see?”

  “I would have thought that was obvious,” said the Frey. “That that was why you came to the village streets.”

  “What happened?” growled Raneth. “I’m not in the mood to screw about. If you want to help, then help, otherwise back off.”

  “Settle down.” Kacela’s grin softened into a small smile. “The assassins had an accent. Barbaric, but I’m not sure which one. Anyway, when they caught her, the one that survived—”

  “One didn’t?” He hadn’t seen a human body outside of the settlement.

  “When the survivor caught your girl, he said something — I didn’t catch what and I only know about the accent from asking around — and he and his dead partner dematerialised with your girl. I tasted the air once they were gone but it wasn’t magic. So maybe a gift.”

  Tasted the air. She’s a… sorceress.

  “Oh, don’t look so worried,” laughed Kacela. “I’m not here to kill you by setting your magic allergy off.”

  “Then why tail me?” said Raneth, “Why not reveal yourself straight away? Especially if you think the Feud is pointless.”

  “Pointless, no,” replied Kacela. “Best training a person can beg for, other than your royal official training. I’m here to be your personal guard.”

  “Don’t be insane,” snapped Raneth. He’d had enough of this Frey. She talked too much, she didn’t stab — or attempt to stab — him enough. A Frey determined to hurt him, or chase him to observe his patterns was within tolerance. It was something he knew how to deal with. But this? Some talkative blade-loving Frey that wanted no part in being a Frey? What was he supposed to do with that? With her?

  “I’m not—”

  Raneth’s attention snapped to his grebunar as it began buzzing. He freed it and squeezed it, answering the greb. Legate Tribulous Catigowli looked back at him. “I don’t need a personal guard,” he told Kacela quickly, before giving Rider’s father a smile. “Legate.”

  “Technically, you do until you have a sibling,” said Kacela.

  The legate frowned, but then dipped his head slightly in respect towards Raneth. “Centurion Bayre, have you heard from my son since we last spoke?”

  “Rider’s happy in the field, sir. He reported in as scheduled.”

  The legate of the First legion nodded gratefully. “Good. I looked into Tribune Jovian’s records here at base and I found his address. He’s on leave at the moment so you’d best start at his home. I’ll let you know if he returns early… Thirty-one Greaves Avenue, Trillabee Village.”

  “Thanks,” said Raneth. He watched the legate nod once more before Legate Tribulous ended the greb. Raneth caught his grebunar as it fell from the air, and slipped it back into his belt pouch.

  “Trillabee,” murmured Kacela. “The snobby people’s village.”

  Raneth rose a brow. T
he Frey were said to be one of the richest families in Giften. “And what are you?” he asked.

  “I’m not a snob. I actually get my hands dirty.”

  I’m not getting anywhere with Aldora’s location, and if this Frey is telling the truth, if they dematerialised, then this is a dead-end until there’s a sighting or a body found… I should follow up the Jovian lead.

  “If you’re going to stick around, why don’t you find some horses and supplies?”

  Kacela rolled her eyes. “If I must.”

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