by Drae Box
“Whatever you’ve summoned me for had better be important. Sorceresses need their beauty sleep, Rannie.” She frowned as she took a step closer to him, a hand sweeping to hold his chin. “You’ve been crying.”
Raneth sniffed, turning his face away and out of her hand. “No I haven’t. Bayres don’t cry. We’re soldiers.”
Cally’s frown softened as she slipped her hands to Raneth’s shoulders. Cally’s short height against his meant she was forced to look up at the tall royal official. “I’ve known and served Bayres for over four hundred years. Bayres cry. You might turn into a different creature, but you are human. You all cry. You all feel. What’s wrong, Rannie?”
As Raneth told Cally everything that had happened, Cally rubbed his arms, understanding and pain flashing in her eyes as he went on, explaining his father’s state, Aldora’s, and then looked away from her and towards the beams above them. “You’re the only person I know who might know Giften tongue.”
Cally shook her head. “I don’t. That was before my time too.”
Raneth pointed at the markings above their heads, and then at the wooden boxes that were also marked with numbers, symbols and characters of Common Tongue. “I don’t know the filing system for the Kingdom’s Records. Can you figure it out? I have to finish what I started with Broken Crown. I have to take them down and secure Giften, but I can’t keep sending royal officials against Brethren, Guardsmen or the two leaders that survived — Koyla or Denzel Leoma. Not without more information. I can’t go against them without knowing what to expect either.”
Cally nodded, giving Raneth a slow smile. “Of course,” she uttered, pressing a quick kiss to Raneth’s stubbled cheek. “I’ll get the palace to speak with me.”
The gaslights around the room flickered, and Raneth nodded. He’d always noticed the Bayre Mansion reacting the same way to Cally when she spoke of the Mansion as if it were sentient. Perhaps the two sibling buildings were. “Koyla was a tribune,” he said, “so some of his information will be held at a legion’s records, but I need to know which one.”
“Do you know his last name yet?”
Raneth shook his head and guilt clawed at him. None of the captured Brethren or Guardsmen seemed to know it, and Raneth had used the Shotput of Power to attack Broken Crown’s headquarters, where the answer may have been before it burned.
“I’ll come find you when I’ve found something,” said Cally, before she yanked Raneth to her and squeezed him in a hug. “Don’t blame yourself, Rannie.”
Raneth drew back and frowned at her. “Just find what I need please. I’m going to go and check on Dad and Aldora.”
When he stepped back into the living room, the first thing Raneth noticed was not that Aldora was still unconscious, but that Pedibastet was staring at her from the arm of the sofa where her head was nestled. “How’s her breathing?” he asked, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake his father. The crackle of Dragon’s snores were enough to wake a legion — suggesting he was fine — so Raneth strode to Aldora’s sofa. She looked… Well, she didn’t look unwell. Her pure Giften skin was still as pale as it often was, although with a slightly darker shade of pink hinting at their time in Newer Kingdom. He brushed a strand of her hair away from her eyes, his own skin darker than hers and his father’s.
Without looking up from his fixation upon Aldora’s face, Pedibastet uttered, “She’s… breathing. Why are you asking?”
Raneth tried not to scowl. “You said she couldn’t breathe. Whatever that gas was that you saw, I felt the palace clean the air around me when I came into the corridor. It couldn’t have been completely harmless.”
“We know that from Aldora, and I must admit, I found it hard to breathe until I went outside to wait for you.”
“Yes but…” What was his point? Raneth shook his head. “You’re telling me that all you’ve been doing is just staring at her, waiting for her to wake up?”
Pedibastet lifted his gaze to Raneth. “It’s that or I bite her.”
“Don’t.”
“I was joking.”
“Are you OK?”
Raneth spun around. His father’s blue eyes were looking at him, awaiting his answer. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” said Raneth. He hadn’t even noticed his father’s snores stopping. He should have. A decent royal official would have.
“Pedibastet’s voice drives my dragon-self nuts when I’m asleep.” Dragon winced, and repositioned until his back was against the corner of the sofa, and with his long legs resting along its cushions. “So, are you alright?”
Raneth gestured at his father’s blood-stained shirt. “Shouldn’t that question be aimed at you?”
“I’m the Master Bayre. It’s my job to ask you,” said Dragon.
Raneth joined his father by sitting on the sofa arm Dragon was half resting his back against. His father stood up and limped in front of Raneth, wincing, before he eased the fabric away from Raneth’s wound near his armpit, and the other on his left arm. “What are these? Crossbow bolts?” pushed Dragon.
“Gun,” said Raneth, watching as Dragon’s blue eyes lifted to look at his.
“Gun?”
Raneth nodded. “It’s fine, Dad. I haven’t formed today. I was trapped doing paperwork here. I just need to get one bullet out and clean them.”
“Stupid boy,” muttered Dragon, shoving his son’s right side until Raneth slipped onto the sofa’s seat. He grabbed at the medical supplies Raneth had left on the floor by the sofa, and inspected the slim forceps. “This’ll hurt.”
I’m not an idiot, thought Raneth, giving an acknowledging nod.
Dragon plunged the forceps into Raneth’s wound.
Raneth clenched his jaw, refusing to scream as the burn from the wound intensified, thrusting all thoughts but what his father was fishing for from his mind. Raneth looked down, watching his father, before he opened his royal official jacket with his free hand. “Here,” he growled. “Get a better look.”
Dragon’s burning fishing paused and he slipped the left side of Raneth’s royal official jacket off his son’s shoulder. The forceps dipped back into the wound and Raneth watched warm blood slide down his already blood-encrusted skin. “I think… I’ve got it.” Dragon eased the forceps free, a clump of metal held at their pincer end. Blood rushed after it, streaming down Raneth’s torso. His father wasted no time cleaning the wound, then set to work cleaning Raneth’s arm, where the second bullet had grazed him.
Focused on his breathing, Raneth looked at Aldora over his father’s head.
“You realise Aldora’s not suitable now, don’t you?” asked Dragon softly. “She can’t be your wife. I forbid it.”
“I’m not discussing this right now,” growled Raneth.
Dragon was quiet for a moment, his focus returning to Raneth’s wound. “She walked you into a trap and joined her uncle.”
“No, she didn’t.” Raneth flinched as Dragon dabbed at the wound, a little rougher. “We chose to walk in there to save Alika,” said Raneth. He should have expected this conversation. Should have known his father would spring it on him when he didn’t expect it. “It went wrong because I didn’t plan for the number of Broken Crown members there were, and Aldora tried to save me and Alika by talking her uncle down.”
“Talk?” Dragon scoffed. “Like that’s ever worked.”
“Works for peace treaties,” said Raneth.
Dragon shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“Denzel wouldn’t listen but her argument was sound, Dad. So she traded herself for me and Alika. She tried to save me. Denzel agreed but didn’t honour the trade — he took all three of us prisoner, but Aldora was key to getting me to safety so I could deal with Broken Crown later.” Raneth hissed as his father disinfected his wound, his wound screaming as if a thousand tiny metal snakes were burning through his skin.
“How?” demanded Dragon, his hands pausing as he looked up at his son. “How was she key to saving you?”
“She fed Rider information an
d had him team up with a resistance group in Icoque. Told him to come and get me—”
“I’m not convinced you couldn’t escape on your own. Were you hurt?”
Raneth pointedly looked at his left arm. The forearm was marred with a fresh scar from gift-fire.
“You still could have escaped with that,” stated Dragon, taking Raneth’s left hand and inspecting the scar more closely. “Brethren do that?”
“Yep.”
Dragon sighed heavily, then squeezed Raneth’s left hand. “I’m still unconvinced. A Bayre’s wife…” Dragon shook his head, a hand settling onto Raneth’s knee. “A prince’s wife...” His face twisted as if he’d just heard something that pained him. “Your wife needs to know to protect you with a blade too.”
“I’ve trained her. Master Redler too,” protested Raneth.
“But she still picks words over swords.”
“I like that about her. We can come at problems with two ways to find solutions. Isn’t that better than slaughtering all the time?” said Raneth.
Dragon inhaled sharply as he scowled. “I don’t like it. A dead opponent causes less problems.”
Raneth slapped his father’s hands away as Dragon reached for his wound again, a bandage in one. “I didn’t ask you if you liked it.”
Both Bayres stood up, glaring at one another. Behind Dragon, Pedibastet watched warily, tail swishing. “I’m your father, Raneth,” ground out Dragon. “And forgetting all this. Forgetting we’re now…”
“Active royals,” supplied Pedibastet.
Dragon nodded. “By the Goddess, I hoped that would never happen.” Dragon slumped onto the sofa and extended his wounded leg with a grimace, rubbing it with a hand. “Especially with you being so close to Cray, Raneth.”
Raneth tried to ignore the wave of guilt that punched a hole into his chest.
“I still have a say over who you marry. Cally too,” continued Dragon.
“If I have to, I’ll use the Bayre Trial of Binding,” warned Raneth.
His father raised his hands, surrendering the conversation. “We’ll discuss who you marry when Giften is stable and you’ve stopped Denzel Leoma.”
“I’ve been working on that,” said Raneth, giving a small grateful smile at his father as he sat back onto the sofa arm. “We should rest so we can form in the morning.” He looked towards the empty door. “Cally?”
The short, slightly overweight woman strolled into the room as if she had been lingering just out of view. Raneth knew better than to believe it. “Yes?” she asked as she strolled in, observing both Bayres, then Pedibastet and Aldora.
“Keep an eye on Dad and Aldora. Protect them, and organise with one of the royal messengers to get a doctor to come here from Wisner City. Have them check Dad over if forming doesn’t sort him out completely.” He pointed towards the royal official office Cray had used to tend to the assignments of royal officials and his work associated with them. “Go into the ROO too. Recall any nearby royal officials and task them to retrieve the bodies of Cray and the others.” Raneth eyed the thick red carpet near Aldora’s sofa.
I could sleep there until morning. At least Dad and Cally wouldn’t have any problem with that.
“I’m going to sleep—”
Cally wiggled a slip of paper in his face.
Raneth grabbed at it. “What’s this?” He turned it over, viewing Cally’s familiar penmanship.
“I found a Tribune Koyla. First Tribune Jovian replaced him at your assigned legion.”
Koyla was the First Tribune of Giften?
Raneth frowned. “I don’t remember a Koyla in the First Legion. Especially not a tribune.”
“You were busy running around after murderers,” stated Cally. “I bet you can’t name all the current ones attached to the First Legion either, other than Jovian, and only because he latched himself onto your career after Cray was kidnapped by that Reinette woman.”
She’s got a point.
Raneth looked at Cally’s writing. It was an address in Icoque Village. “What is this?”
“If I’m right and this Koyla is the one you’re looking for — Koyla Rifthold — then he inherited that house through his aunt. Something a royal official might not know without Kingdom’s Records.”
Sleep can wait. Cally will tend to Dad’s and Aldora’s needs.
As his griffin-self, Raneth would be able to reach Icoque before a royal messenger, especially as none of them were in the palace right now. He could tell Rider Catigowli — his friend who was the royal official Raneth had assigned to find Denzel and Koyla. Or he could go himself, recall Rider and Royal Official Enos Malay, and then ride back to the palace with them.
If I form, I’ll heal faster too.
“I’ll go check it out. Thanks, Cally. There’s a file in my captain’s office here with all the current legates’ contact details. I need you to chase up the intel I asked for about Koyla. None of the legates have come back to me and they’ve had two weeks now to look through their files for Koyla. If you’re right about Koyla being of the First Legion, make sure to remind Rider’s dad how important this is to kingdom stability.”
Cally grabbed his arm as he stepped past her. “Put a clean uniform on first, Rannie.”
Chapter Four
Raneth
Somebody had been here. Raneth scratched at the new scar on his left side as he cast his focus around the room again. He’d already checked he was the only one in the house, but the living room had drawn his attention even as he made his sweep. The rest of the house had been covered in dust sheets, with furniture still cluttering the rooms, but the living room’s dust sheets had been cleared away. They sat crisply folded in a corner of the room. The room itself was small compared to the palace’s living room, but larger than a modern house. It was decorated with a colour scheme — a soft mint green and blinding white. As Raneth turned away from the white marble mantelpiece between two high multi-pane windows, he looked instead at the green sofa facing the fireplace, its contrasting dark wooden frame making the sofa catch Raneth’s focus. He crept closer, his boots silenced by the thick carpet, and ran a hand over the sofa cushions. It didn’t feel or look dusty.
He looked at the white teacup and saucer abandoned on a table at the sofa’s left side. Something yellow circled the interior, and the barest touch of water still remained in the bottom, bits of green tea settled within it.
What am I missing?
This was the only room that showed signs somebody had been here recently. Even the kitchen — despite the wayward teacup — looked untouched and with nothing out of place. It was just this room. Raneth turned back to the mantelpiece and eyed the burnt timber in the fireplace. Whoever had been here, they’d not been for at least a day or two; long enough for the timber to get cold and burn itself out, but not enough time to let sufficient dust build up to create a more helpful timeline. He ran a finger along the top of the mantelpiece, checking for dust there, but little clung to his finger afterwards, and it barely changed the glint of the marble. Raneth squatted and turned his gaze around the room once more.
There.
He smiled as he walked on his knees back to the sofa and reached under it. His hand wrapped around cool metal and he withdrew his prize. A silver pen. Like everything else in the room, it wasn’t covered by enough dust. Raneth’s smile grew as he turned it round. A First Legion Ten Years Service pen. Pure silver pens were given to tribunes for serving the same legion for ten years, and if Cally was right — that this Koyla was the one the kingdom needed to arrest — then ten years would be a bare minimum for somebody to become Giften’s First Tribune; the most expensive lawyer and a man who would be able to claim far too many soldiers’ accomplishments as his own.
It might not be his pen though, Raneth warned himself as he unscrewed its components. He looked into either side of the pen, checking for any hidden folds of paper, but there wasn’t anything. Raneth reassembled the pen and tucked it into the pocket at the side of his right knee. Mig
ht as well go and look for Rider and Enos.
He crept back to the front door and stepped outside, relocking the door behind him with his lockpicking kit. When he lifted his gaze away from the door and turned around, he couldn’t help but smile as a grinning Enos Malay strolled towards him.
Enos was an old friend and bordered on unofficial family; Raneth and he had served side by side during small military scuffles to protect Giften’s and Southern’s borders from Eastern Barbarians over the years, with the First Legion making them the commanding officers of the 411 — a unit of them and seventy-eight other men. Unofficially and more recently, Enos had helped rescue Raneth from Broken Crown and brought him and Rider to the resistance in Icoque. Whilst Enos approached, Raneth took a moment to assess his friend’s well-being — his buzzcut blond hair was clean, as was his face, and his green-grey eyes twinkled with what looked to be a mixture of relief and happiness at seeing Raneth. Enos was in full royal official uniform too, silently assuring the civilians around them with just his presence that things were OK. That everything would turn out fine, because a royal official — Giften’s specialised soldiers that dealt with law’s justice during peacetime and war during hostile times — were here. The blue splodges along Enos’ trousers were clean, and his torso, encased within a tight-fitting long-sleeved navy blue top, was also unblemished. Whatever Enos was doing this end of Icoque, he hadn’t encountered any trouble.
Yet.
Aldora had once said she’d hate to be a royal official. That it would only lead her into further trouble. Now, with everything that had happened because of her uncle, they were likely to become trouble magnets, if they weren’t already. “Hey, Enos.”
“Hey, Cap,” said the more muscular royal official as he strolled to stand in front of Raneth. He didn’t bother with the royal official salute. Things had been less about protocol between them since their first skirmish together four years before. Raneth had never cared about being saluted either, although as the captain of the royal officials, some of the others were making a point of saluting him.
