Broken Crown

by Drae Box

  “Aldora,” uttered her uncle. “I’m sorry you had to see that. How about I let you see your father?”

  Dad’s here too?

  Her heart numb, Aldora nodded and allowed the two Brethren that had barred her access to her uncle to lead her, two more falling into step behind her as Denzel took her hand and walked at her side. They walked through corridors and up stairs and Aldora grew suspicious. The factory was essentially a square-shape and the central room connected all four wings. Why were they taking such a roundabout way?

  Are they trying to make me get lost?

  If she got the chance to flee, to try and find Raneth and her sister, it would be easy to find the central room and start searching systematically from there. So why were they bothering? And why was her father here? Was he here by choice? Had her father’s kindness towards Raneth the past four years been a show she had swallowed willingly?

  The Brethren and her uncle led her into a room swamped with Guardsmen sitting at tables, writing. I have to make sure Raneth and Alika don’t get killed. But how? How am I going to help them when, so far, everything I’ve done since we got back to Giften has made things worse?

  “I thought you would be lenient,” she murmured.

  “I’m not killing your sister after she tried to murder me. That’s lenient enough, don’t you think? The royal official captain doesn’t deserve any leniency.”

  “He’s my best friend,” snapped Aldora.

  “Then you should pick your friends more carefully.”

  Denzel shoved her to the other end of the crowded room before leading her down another corridor, and paused at a door guarded by a Brethren. The Brethren unlocked the door without a word and held it ajar. Denzel’s hand guided Aldora inside and he shut the door behind her. The lock sounded.

  Aldora twirled and slammed a fist on the door. “Hey! Let me out!”

  “Aldora.”

  The Dagger Bearer turned and inspected the room, her brown eyes landing on the familiar sight of her father running to hug her. She stepped into his hold.

  “Are you OK? Where’s Raneth?” whispered Isadore Leoma.

  “I’m OK. They have Raneth. They knocked him out.” Aldora drew her face back reluctantly from her father but stayed in his arms. “Why are you locked up?”

  Isadore stepped free of Aldora’s arms and strode towards the back of the room, where two black leather armchairs faced one another. He eased into one.

  “He doesn’t like that I question what he’s doing. He killed Alika–”

  Aldora frowned at her father. “Alika’s alive. Uncle Denzel was using her as bait for me and Raneth.”

  And I can’t believe we walked right into it.

  She took a slow, juddering breath and walked over to the other armchair. She slumped into it, resting the backs of her knees over the arm.

  “I came to rescue Alika, talk to Uncle Denzel and reclaim the Dagger,” she said.

  I thought Uncle Denzel would be capable of listening to others.

  “Good luck with that,” uttered Isadore. “I hope Denzel rots. Raneth will see to it, and if he doesn’t, I ruddy well will.” He sighed and scrubbed his bristled jaw with a hand. “At least you’re alive. Raneth promised to look after you, but it sounds like you need to rescue him. What happened?”

  Aldora watched as her father stood up and began to pace the room. She rubbed at her collarbone and looked away from him. “I was determined to think Uncle Denzel would listen to me,” she said. “I didn’t feel we had a choice. I had to protect all of you and Uncle Denzel, and Raneth, and get the Dagger back.” She explained everything, her lower lip trembling as she pushed back the tears. If she cried now her father wouldn’t understand her, and he was the closest thing to an ally she had to help her find and rescue Raneth and Alika. She had to get him up to speed fast.

  “And now?” asked Isadore when she was done. “What do you feel now?”

  The Dagger Bearer nipped at the inside of her cheek. “Bad,” she whispered, the warm pressure of tears salting her eyes. “I was trying to save everyone. I was terrified that I had failed as the Dagger Bearer. Uncle Denzel wouldn’t listen to reason. Now I’ve put Raneth into Uncle Denzel’s hands, gotten myself captured and I still don’t have the Dagger. I…” she hesitated, replaying Raneth’s request for her to stay with him. “I hurt him. I hurt Raneth.”

  “My sweet girl,” said Isadore gently, his own eyes blurred by the glisten of tears. “You can’t save everyone.” He stepped behind Aldora and gently clasped her shoulders in his strong hands. “Were you working together? You and Raneth?”

  Aldora frowned as she realised she hadn’t been working with Raneth like normal. “I wasn’t listening,” she stated. “He was telling me Uncle Denzel was the enemy, that he wouldn’t listen to me.” She looked up at her father. “How do I save him, Dad? How do I save Raneth?”

  “By taking it one step at a time, but doing it fast,” replied Isadore. “Your first job is getting away from where I’m held.” He waved his hands around, gesturing at the building. “You need to get away from watchful eyes and move about freely. Saving Raneth will require you to take some risks.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Aldora firmly, moving away from her father’s hold and giving a small nod. “There’s no way I’m letting Raneth die.”

  She strode towards the door and knelt down in front of the keyhole to peer through it. The other side was black. Must be the Brethren. There’s got to be a way out of here that doesn’t require a key or kicking the pants off that guard. She swept her gaze around the room, looking at the small stretch of wall above the bookshelves, which didn’t quite reach the ceiling. A small, rectangular but clouded window allowed in some of the day’s light. Can I squeeze through that if I can get high enough?

  “What do you think they’ll do with Raneth’s bag?” she asked quietly, as she walked back on her knees away from the door.

  “Why are you worried about his bag?” asked Isadore.

  “It has the Shotput of Power in it.”

  Isadore’s lips parted as he stared at his daughter. His grey gaze climbed away, to the door, then back to Aldora. “By Giften soil, Aldora. They have two Weapons of Protection? No royal official in their right mind will ever be able to get close enough to Denzel to put him down.”

  “Is that what you want? For somebody to kill Uncle Denzel?”

  “Don’t call him that. He’s not your uncle anymore,” snarled Isadore, surprising Aldora by clenching his fists. He gritted his teeth for a moment before he relaxed his body. “He’s gone against what is good for the family. He threatened to kill Alika. And he’s turned us into the bad guys and destroyed our businesses. I can’t give you and Alika the blacksmith’s because it doesn’t exist anymore. I built that up to protect you both in the future. To keep you both financially safe.”

  Aldora nodded. Never seen Dad this angry before. I hope Uncle Denzel knows what he’s doing. Dad’s much stronger than he is. That’s probably why he’s been locked up.

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, Dad.”

  “You can’t be everywhere at once, Aldora.” Isadore strode to the door and rested his fist against it, but didn’t bang against the wood. “You just need to save yourself now, and Raneth and Alika if you can. That’s all I care about. That you and Alika get out of this safe. And Raneth – the kingdom needs him.”

  Aldora folded her arms. If I make sure Alika is safe, she won’t be for long. “You realise Alika will rally the royal officials she knows and go against Uncle Denzel?”

  “I know. She’s a good girl. She can’t help but want to put this right. Grabbed her uniform the minute everything went bad. She’s a good Giften.”

  Aldora resisted the urge to nod again. What does that make me?

  “But even if I get out of here, what can I do? I don’t have the Dagger anymore. I’m just a normal girl now.”

  Isadore smiled slightly. “Not normal, Aldora. You might not have the Dagger but you are still
the girl that saved our home when nobody else could.” He exhaled heavily. “I knew you were like your sister, that you wouldn’t willingly join Broken Crown or give Denzel the Dagger, but I’m glad your actions are confirming it.”

  “I didn’t exactly stop the Dagger’s theft, Dad,” murmured Aldora.

  Isadore waved away her concern. “There’s something I can tell you that might help.”

  Aldora frowned up at her father. “What is it, Dad?”

  “There’s a royal official in here pretending to be a Brethren.”

  Whoa. How’d they manage that? wondered Aldora.

  “He’s working for a small group of men and women in the village who are working against Broken Crown. He’s feeding them whatever information he can get his hands on. They’ll know you need help. His name is Enos Malay.” Isadore brushed a hand over his black hair. “He has really short blond hair, almost stubble, and he’s not that much taller than you. He might be the same height, actually. Denzel’s aware of the group – they’ve been causing problems for him since day one. Nowhere else has the kingdom started to rally together to get rid of Broken Crown, but here in Icoque? They’ve always been that little more proactive than most other settlements.”

  Aldora nodded, thinking of the time she had entered Icoque Village after rescuing her village and the Dagger of Protection. She had barely been able to move through the crowd of villagers as they lined up along the main street to see her.

  “I can get out,” she said, glancing towards the window above the bookshelves, “but I don’t think I can just walk up to every Brethren with short blond hair and ask for help to rescue Raneth, you and Alika.”

  Isadore shrugged. “He found me easily enough. I’ve been telling him whatever I learn that might help, but it’s a little difficult from in here. Get out of the building, lose Broken Crown in the village and find the resistance. You can work with Enos through them.”

  “I need to start moving.” Aldora stood up and went to the wall of bookshelves with the window above it, gritting her teeth as a flash of pain burst in her bruised ribs. “Make sure I don’t fall, Dad?”

  Isadore joined her without a word, but just then the door’s lock clicked and swung open. A Brethren stepped inside.

  He was taller than Aldora, and he strolled into the room, leaving the door behind him open. Aldora peered at it then warily eyed the Brethren, who smirked as his brown eyes watched her closely. He’s daring me to make a run for it, she realised. She raised an eyebrow at him. He said nothing but took three more steps towards her. He smiled, his pale Giften skin wrinkling at the corners of his mouth, before dipping his head respectfully to her.

  “Miss Leoma.”

  This can’t be the royal official Dad was talking about, she decided as she folded her arms and took a step back from the Brethren. He’s bald.

  “Brethren, what do you want?”

  “Hey, no need to be so hostile,” said the Brethren as his smile grew to reveal his teeth. “I’m Dashiell Jaxon, your personal guard. I’m to take care of you while you’re in the building. If you want to leave, you’ll need a few more guards.”

  “Guards? Does that make you my protector, or my jailer?” asked Aldora.

  “Whatever makes it easier for you to behave.”

  “Why are you to watch over me? Why not the one at the door?”

  “Your uncle picked me specifically,” stated the Brethren as he readjusted the shoulders of his jacket, which gaped open at the front, revealing to Aldora and Isadore his tight-fitting black dress shirt underneath. “He picked me because I would love to see Bayre dead.”

  Great, thought Aldora. That’s not going to help me sort my mess out. “Why?”

  Dashiell lowered the left side of his trousers to reveal a circular scar on his hip. “Bayre did that when he arrested me last year.” Dashiell lifted his trouser back up to hide the scar and looked down at Aldora. “He put me in hospital before I could be imprisoned.”

  “Did you resist arrest and attack him?” asked Isadore.

  “Yes, of course I did. I wasn’t going to give up my freedom just because some blue-and-green-wearing lapdog of the King’s said to let him cuff me, even if I had been found guilty by so-called evidence and a trial.”

  “So you were let out early or something?” asked Aldora. “Why aren’t you still in jail?”

  “I was shoved in Sandy Prison.” Dashiell patted the right side of his jacket, where a purple crown snapped in two pieces was embroidered. “Then Denzel Leoma offered me an escape and revenge. Quite fitting, I think. So he put me with you. He knows if you go near Bayre and I’m with you, there won’t be a hanging tomorrow. I’ll personally throttle the life out of your pet royal official.” Dashiell held his palms close together, his fingers curled inwards slightly as his hands turned a bright yellow, then red, before two tongues of fire flicked out from the palms of his hands. “And I’ll make sure he chokes to death even if I have to use my gift.”

  Now I can’t go near Raneth even if I find out where he is, realised Aldora as she eyed the warm glow of Dashiell’s hands. Clever but irritating.

  “What crime was Raneth sent after you for?” she asked.

  Dashiell’s brown eyes glanced at Isadore then pinned to Aldora. “I was accused of certain actions against women. I’m sure you can guess what exactly.”

  “And Denzel’s put you near Aldora?” uttered Isadore, stepping close to his daughter and putting an arm between them, shoving her gently back. “He’s bonkers.”

  “Come with me, Miss Leoma,” said Dashiell, gesturing towards the door. “I’m to get you settled into your room here.”

  With no other option — not when Dashiell could just as easily use his gift against her — Aldora strode towards the door, glancing just once at her father over her shoulder. Isadore looked back, worry ruining his face.

  The bedroom Denzel had provided Aldora gave her the creeps. The bed sat almost in the centre of the room, just slightly closer to the wall to the right of the door. Its covers crawled with flowers in faded colours. The pillowcases weren’t much better, with their green, yellow, red and purple flowers jumbled together as if they had all been cut and thrown into a pile. Opposite the bed and tucked into the corner opposite the door was Aldora’s dressing table. A window faced the door, and there was a bookshelf that held a few books – most were non-fiction, about the royal family and their failures. Aldora had no interest in reading them.

  She lay on the bed, listening and watching the door. Dashiell had locked it after shoving her in and, although she had tried slamming her fists on the door, screaming every foul name she knew, he hadn’t opened it again. Hadn’t even responded. She knew he was there though, still behind the door. Guarding.

  Not guarding, she told herself. Watching.

  She closed her eyes, but Raneth’s face glowed behind her eyes and made her heart wrench.

  “Please stay with me,” he had said, eyes glassy with tears.

  Had his vision been blurred as the gift-fire swarmed at him?

  No. Couldn’t have been. He didn’t miss a step until they started to overpower him.

  So much gift-fire had been flung at him. What did that mean about him? Raneth’s stamina to resist, to use his Common Classed Gift of Ice? She knew he had mastered it but… She took a shaky breath. He hadn’t stood a chance. Hadn’t been strong enough to fend them off, even though his father had been training him to fight since he was four, and he had been trained at the royal official university too. When he’d graduated, he’d been the youngest royal official Giften had ever had. He’d been eleven, eleven years old. And despite all that training, and ten years experience as a royal official, it still hadn’t been enough.

  Of course he understood what my uncle is.

  Raneth had seen Denzel Leoma for the monster he was before he had even laid eyes on him.

  She swallowed as a hard lump caught in her throat and a cold cord curled inside her chest. He’d yelled at her to help him. Help him.
But she hadn’t. She should have used her gift as soon as he had said it, as soon as she realised Denzel wouldn’t uphold his end of the bargain. Like a fool she had tried to grab the weapon he’d thrown for her. A weapon she couldn’t grab because that criminal was holding too tightly. Raneth’s sword.

  The icy rope in her chest wrapped harder around her heart, squeezing and squeezing with each breath she took. She wasn’t sure, but there was a chance that the sword, designed by Raneth’s dead mother, was his most cherished possession. Would that Brethren keep it as a trophy? Would her uncle? Her nostrils flared as she remembered the taste of aftershave on the scarf they’d shoved in her mouth when she had finally tried to use her gift. She was a fool.

  She grabbed a pillow and shoved it against her face as she sobbed. She’d been wrong. Talking sense hadn’t worked. Raneth had been right. Her uncle deserved the death sentence. Denzel was too far gone. Too determined.

  Mad?

  She shook her head. No, not mad. Merely blinded by his hatred of royal officials and the king.

  Her face warmed against the pillow, the smell of lavender clogging the material. Whoever had washed the bedding had used too much soap. Guilt, shame and anger rushed through her, shedding more water from her eyes as she muffled her sobs against the pillow, ignoring the press of tears against her eyes and cheeks. Each time she breathed, another burst of fury at herself, the gut wrench of shame and the stabbing of guilt, coursed through her.

  Eventually she lowered the pillow, sniffing up snot as she quickly checked the door. It was still closed.

  Aldora’s hand slipped into her pocket. The Brethren, Dashiell, hadn’t searched her. He didn’t need to – without the Dagger she didn’t have a weapon. She hadn’t thought to put a spare blade in her boot or a short sword at her belt. There would have been spares in the palace. She should have grabbed one. She squeezed the warm metal of the grebunar and pulled it free.

  If I can’t free Raneth, maybe, just maybe, Rider can.

  If he truly was the same rank as Raneth, he would be able at least to get in. When she and Raneth had done it, getting inside had been, had been…