Broken Crown

by Drae Box

  “Listen,” said Acharya. “You have a gift, don’t you? It doesn’t matter that it’s not a Common Class gift. We welcome anyone with a gift to be a Brethren if their gift could be of use against those who would go against Broken Crown.”

  Aldora nudged the jacket with the toe of her boot, but it barely moved from the slight tap. “This isn’t something I’ll ever do. Coming to Denzel was a mistake on my part. I just wanted to save Raneth and my sister.”

  As soon as the last word was out of her mouth, Aldora spotted Adharma’s mouth flick up into a smirk on the right side of his face, and he looked at Acharya with an I-told-you-so look.

  “I won’t betray Raneth,” she warned them.

  “What does it matter? Broken Crown will track him down and kill him. Denzel’s already talking about creating elite units of Brethren for that very purpose. He reckons if we can wear Raneth down to a point where there’s no way he can fight back, where he’s constantly on the run, underfed and can barely get any sleep, we’ll ferret him out within the year.”

  No way are you doing that to him. Not if I can stop it.

  Aldora nudged the heavy material with her foot again. “You tricked me into betraying Raneth and the kingdom. I will never do it again.”

  “Koyla says Bayre won’t, can’t, marry you now,” stated Adharma as he stood up, his hands planted on the table in front of him as he leaned forwards a little to frown at her. “You should accept that and step into Broken Crown for your own happiness. We can give you the life you want.”

  “Stop that, Adharma. She has to make the decision herself. Aldora, keep the jacket. In case you change your mind.” Acharya stood up and drew close to her, picking up the jacket and folding it before placing it into her hands. “It won’t hurt.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Raneth

  The tingle rushed through Raneth’s body, dutifully prickling him awake as the sun rose, waiting for him to take action. Reluctantly, the young Bayre rolled off the uncomfortable cot and stood up. Silently, he stretched his stiff body, glancing at his friend. Rider was still asleep in one of the other cots, his incredible snores rumbling through the room, providing Raneth with comforting familiarity. He rubbed at the corners of his eyes, sat back down on the bed and listened to the building around him.

  The rest of the attic was still, the royal detectives apparently not having joined them that night. Odd. Or do they prefer somewhere downstairs, where there are more exits? Or is it because of that? He turned his gaze to the Shotput of Power, which sat on one of the chairs by the window. He turned to look at the wall that faced towards Broken Crown’s headquarters, where last night the Shotput had pummelled its way through and smacked into his lowered hand. To say he and Rider had nearly soiled themselves was an understatement. Although I don’t know why it didn’t occur to us it would just take the quickest route if summoning it did work. They hadn’t bothered to plug the hole in the wall.

  The Shotput rolled off the chair and swept over to his feet, which were clad in his boots; he’d gone to bed with them on, in case he and Rider had to be ready to fight or flee instantly upon waking. Raneth reluctantly picked up the Shotput of Power and grimaced, waiting for it to do something in his hand, but the Shotput stayed dormant. Thank goodness for that. He shoved it into a pocket near his knee then strolled over to Rider’s cot. He patted his friend’s shoulder and an eye looked up at him, the snoring abruptly dying.

  “I’m going downstairs. I can’t hear the detectives. If I yell your name, don’t forget to come for me?”

  “You wish I’d forget,” said Rider through a smile. He slipped his hands behind his head. “Ready to come and save you, bro.”

  He didn’t look it, but Raneth knew Rider would be with him in seconds if he yelled for him. If there’s one thing Rider likes, it’s the challenges that come from fighting and being a royal official.

  “See you in a bit then,” said Raneth.

  He inspected the staircase in front of him. Empty. Good, just how I like it. He cast his focus onto the skirting board running along the left side of the stairs, where he and Rider had made tiny nicks with a throwing dagger to indicate which steps creaked in the middle, which ones creaked on an outer edge and which did both. He slowly climbed down, avoiding the creaks he could without risking falling down, grateful that the building was newer and that the stairs weren’t yet too bad.

  Reaching the bottom step, Raneth prowled through the corridor and into the reception room. A quick inspection revealed that it was empty, so he walked to the back rooms, striding past the stairs before slipping silently into the small kitchen. Marcia sat at a small round table in the centre of the room, dunking a teabag in a cup in front of her. She looked up and gasped at Raneth, her hand thudding against her chest.

  “Sorry,” murmured Raneth. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Next time clear your throat or something,” whispered Marcia. “Do you want a drink?”

  “I’ll get one.” He strolled to the sink, took one of the clean glasses sitting beside it and poured some tap water. Then he joined Marcia at the table. “Where’s your friend?”

  “She hasn’t come back. I’ve been up all night waiting for her.”

  Quietly observing the royal detective, Raneth noticed that the bags that had been under her eyes yesterday were darker in shade now, warning that further lack of sleep had been piled on to her sleep deprivation.

  “You could have woken us up. We would have gone looking.”

  “No,” said Marcia, standing up, her cup in hand. She eased towards the sink and dropped the teabag in it before returning to the table. She sipped at her drink. “Doing that would mean two royal officials potentially not coming back. I’m lucky you two are here. The last thing I need is to lose two of the kingdom’s best-trained fighters. The kingdom needs you.”

  “Royal officials don’t need protecting,” stated Raneth, dropping the urge to whisper. “We’re trained to look after ourselves.”

  “Is that why Broken Crown’s already killed one hundred and twelve of you that we know of?”

  Raneth didn’t answer as he frowned at Marcia. And where did she get that figure from? He rubbed at the back of his neck, then ran a hand over his hair.

  “How do you know how many they’ve killed? I heard about the hostages to force Cray to give over the Kingdom’s Shield. Is that number the ones that were royal officials?”

  “Likely some of them. It’s from before the kingdom was taken. Royal officials were going missing,” said Marcia.

  “Royal officials have always gone missing here and there. We usually turn up. Sometimes dead, but usually just in a hospital somewhere.”

  “This was different,” explained Marcia. “It was a sudden spurt of failures to report in. His Majesty got worried and chose to deal with it. He said you were away on assignment in Newer and he couldn’t wait for you. First, he put all the royal detective headquarters on alert. Then he asked every settlement to look into it, to check for any sightings of missing royal officials and find where the trails went cold. After three days, Cray came back with that figure.”

  “But how do you know they’re dead?”

  “The ones that weren’t used against Cray were found dead. They probably resisted capture. Aren’t royal officials supposed to be willing to die for the Three Ks?”

  “We are and we do,” confirmed Raneth with a small nod. He glugged down some of his water. “But Cray makes a point of treating every royal official like family and close friends. He gets to know us, sometimes more intimately than we’d like. He can tell what most of us are thinking, or how we’ll react to most things he’ll say, and odd things he might spring on us. Cray probably resisted his training to let us die. He probably couldn’t bear to risk us.”

  “That’s good, I suppose – that he cares.”

  Raneth gave a nod and folded his arms on the table. “He might have thought about the effect losing all those hostages would have on the Three Ks too and decid
ed the risk was worth taking for the kingdom’s security. Crime’s been on the rise for a while. Before I left for Newer the royal officials were at breaking point.”

  “Why were you in Newer?” asked Marcia with a curious frown.

  Raneth looked down at his water. “That’s classified, I think.”

  “You don’t know if what you were doing is classified?”

  Raneth lifted his gaze. I could tell her. She’s an RD, and if I pull out the Shotput or she starts asking questions about the loud bang last night, I might have to tell her anyway. More so if I start using it. He’d lied when she had run upstairs the night before to see what the bang was that reverberated through the building – Raneth had said Rider got angry and used a gift-horse to attack the wall. The Bayre slid his hand into the pocket where the Shotput was hidden. He slipped it free and placed it on the table between him and the royal constable.

  “This is why.”

  “What is it?”

  The blue eyes of the Bayre swept to the Shotput, then Marcia, then back to the silver sphere. It doesn’t exactly scream what it is. The Dagger at least looks the part of a fancy Weapon of Protection. This could just be an ordinary silver ball of leftover metals from a smithy.

  “It’s the Shotput of Power.”

  Marcia’s eyes widened and she reached out for it. Raneth pulled it back to him.

  “Best you don’t hold it,” he said gently. “I don’t think it’s as friendly as the Dagger of Protection. It’s accepted me as a Bearer, but there’s no telling what it’ll do if it doesn’t want somebody to touch it.”

  “You’re talking like it’s conscious.”

  “It’s not. I don’t think so, anyway. But it reacts to those who hold it. First time I held it, it threw fire down my arm.”

  Marcia pointed at his bandaged forearm with raised eyebrows.

  “No, that was Broken Crown. The fire didn’t burn, just scared the pants off me.”

  “Oh. I’ll trust you with that then. There’s not a much more trusted person in Giften than the royal official captain.”

  Raneth sent a frown her way. I hope she’s not messing with me, because I have no idea if that was a joke or not.

  “So what’s the plan with Shai Rivermud?” he asked instead as he slipped the Shotput back into his pocket.

  “You and I can go and interrogate him whenever you’re ready. I’ve already made him some tea and breakfast.” She paused and eyed Raneth closely. “Speaking of which, you should probably eat too, and your friend. Let’s feed your muscles. If Giften doesn’t get righted any time soon, you’ll need to grow yours. I’ll make you some egg whites and bacon.”

  Well, that’s rude. I’ve managed with what I’ve got since my teens. Raneth smiled, opting not to grumble when she was trying to be kind.

  “Thanks. I’ll go get Rider.”

  “There are some handcuffs in one of the observation rooms if you need them to move the Rivermud about.”

  “I’ll grab them,” confirmed Raneth.

  After breakfast, of which Rider ate more than his fair share, Raneth led Shai Rivermud into one of the two interrogation rooms. He led the criminal to the bolted-down chair, but didn’t handcuff him to the bar in the centre of the table that was usually used to secure criminals. He instead slipped the cuffs from around Shai’s wrists, folded them in half and slid them into one of the front pockets of his royal official belt.

  “Did you enjoy your breakfast, Shai?” he asked as he took his own seat, to the right of Marcia and opposite the criminal, furthest from the door.

  Shai looked back at Raneth then folded his arms. “It was good, thanks. What do you want?”

  “We were hoping you could give us some information,” said Marcia gently, flashing Shai a warm smile. “Do you know when Denzel Leoma will next be leaving Broken Crown’s headquarters and how many guards he will have when he does?”

  Shai glanced at Raneth then sniffed and shrugged.

  “It would help a great deal if you could just tell us what you know, Mr Rivermud,” added the royal constable.

  Raneth sat next to her quietly as she tried to encourage the criminal to start opening up and telling them what they needed to know, but the Rivermud wasn’t co-operating. The captain kept a close eye on the criminal, as he had been trained to do when accompanying a royal detective of any rank in an interrogation. Rivermud wasn’t moving with any agitation; his breath was calm and his movements naturally fluid rather than sharp and large. But he was barely moving, barely pulling any facial expressions, and he was leaning back in his chair. He won’t tell us what we need to know unless we try a different tactic, realised Raneth. He turned to Marcia.

  “Can we have a word?” he asked. “Outside?”

  The royal constable nodded without question and stood up. “We’ll be back in a moment, Mr Rivermud. Would you like me to bring you back a drink or anything?”

  “Another tea would be nice.”

  “Of course. Raneth.”

  Raneth stood up and watched the Rivermud closely as Marcia stepped outside. When the Rivermud made no move against him when the detective left the room, Raneth headed out the door and locked him in. He prowled into the observation room next door, where a mirror acted as a window into the interrogation room, a trick Giftens had picked up from Southern Kingdom’s law enforcement. Rider stood there, watching Shai on the other side of the mirror. “He’s not going to tell us anything this way,” stated Raneth as he watched the Rivermud smiling to himself and picking his nose. Well, at least he’s comfortable, I suppose. He turned his gaze to Marcia. “His body language suggests we need a different approach.”

  “I remember reading a newspaper article about you a few years ago,” stated the royal constable as she too turned her focus away from the one-way glass. “You and the Dagger Bearer were on your first date – the first one the reporters knew about, anyway.”

  Raneth nodded, smiling slightly as he remembered taking Aldora to The Golden Goat Restaurant, before the smile dropped and he glanced towards Shai, who was still rooting deeply in his nose. He turned to Marcia. “Shai and his three brothers came to attack us in retaliation for the death of their father. Me and Aldora killed one of them, and Aldora killed the fifth son before our date to protect herself.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Is he still angry with you?”

  “The youngest one definitely is,” said Raneth, remembering how the younger Rivermud had gladly joined in with the other Brethren to try and take him down in Broken Crown’s headquarters. Just as well there was so much gift-fire, otherwise I would have been covered in their gift-snot and unable to move too.

  “But you’re not sure about this one?”

  “He hasn’t attacked me when he could have, not seriously anyway, and not for a while at least.”

  “You should ask the questions then. You have a connection with his past and it might help to break down some of his barriers, OK?”

  “OK,” agreed Raneth.

  “I’ll go make him fresh tea.”

  Raneth returned to the interrogation room and reclaimed his seat, following protocol to allow the royal detective to take the chair nearest the door for a quick escape.

  “Shai,” uttered Raneth.

  The criminal wiped his finger and then his nose along his sleeve and tucked his hands back under his elbows as he refolded his arms. His brown eyes glanced towards the door, then to Raneth.

  “Where’s the woman?”

  “Getting your drink,” said Raneth. “Do you like being a member of Broken Crown?”

  The Rivermud frowned at the question and shrugged. “Compared to?” he asked hesitantly.

  “I don’t know. Your everyday life before all this.”

  Shai shrugged again. “It’s alright. I didn’t really think it was a good idea, but Simon insisted we should join when Harry got over-enthusiastic about Broken Crown and signed up as a Brethren in…” He frowned, thinking. “Must have been 2007.”

  A year after their dad
died, realised Raneth. Simon’s trying to keep Harry under control and Shai’s stuck helping.

  The door opened and Marcia stepped back in with the tea. Without a word, she placed it in front of the criminal before settling into her seat. She glanced at Raneth once she was ready. Raneth smiled back at her then turned his focus back to Shai.

  In my negotiation training, I was taught to make trades where needed. Little trades. Ones that weren’t actually that difficult to do. Raneth scratched at the black stubble lining his jaw. Normally I’d just break the official rules and trade myself, then find a way to overpower the hostage-taker. But the standard trading training could apply here. He turned to Marcia.

  “He doesn’t know anything.”

  He watched as the royal constable’s eyes flicked to view the Rivermud, before rushing back to Raneth.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. He’s happy enough to talk to me, but he can’t tell us anything about Broken Crown, or Denzel. He’s a low-ranking lackey. Not worth our time. We can throw him in the cells and forget about him.”

  The royal constable frowned before turning her gaze to the Rivermud. With her attention refocused on the criminal, Raneth turned to Shai too. He resisted the urge to smile when he spotted the familiar angry frown of the Rivermud, the same angry frown they had all inherited from their father.

  “I’m a Broken Crown general,” stated Shai defensively as he leaned forward in his seat and pressed his hands on the table. “I know stuff about Broken Crown.”

  “Alright,” uttered Raneth, making sure to look upwards as he said it. “Like what?”

  “Stuff,” growled Shai. “I’m not gonna just tell you everything.”

  Raneth shrugged. “Fine. If you want to play it that way then you should know that even though you’re in custody–”

  “You haven’t given me my rights.”

  “You’re held here under Apocolletio Law,” stated Raneth. “That’s the law for when some idiot tries to eliminate the royals or kick them off their thrones. Which means you don’t have any rights, technically.”