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  The female royal detective’s smile vanished immediately before she yanked out her long blond hair from its elasticated ribbon and rebound it. “It’s him,” she said, looking towards her companion. “The one that got me demoted.”

  Wait, what? Both royal detectives had the emblem on their chest, but the reaction hadn’t been anything close to what Raneth had expected. “I did?” he asked warily. I don’t even recognise her.

  “Yeah. Ten months ago. The so-called ‘Quest’.”

  That’s what everyone calls Aldora’s finding the Dagger of Protection last year… But what’s that got to do with me? Raneth frowned at the woman.

  Her frown deepened in response. “Royal Detective Liera Hall.” She paused, watching Raneth carefully. “The one that couldn’t get Thane Frey to talk about his involvement in the Dagger of Protection’s theft.”

  Oh. Hang on just a second. Raneth shook his head. “That’s not my fault.”

  The male detective tapped his knuckles against the table, making a cup of steaming tea beside him rattle against its saucer. Unlike Liera, a small smile was creeping into place at the corners of his mouth, and his brown eyes twinkled as if from an inside joke. “Royal Detective Inspector Peter Markey.”

  That’s a Southern Kingdom name if ever I heard one. Raneth frowned, tilting his head slightly.

  “I’m part Southern. Drop that look you’re giving me. Just because I’m clearly not a carbantic like you, doesn’t mean you should look at me funny.”

  Raneth purposefully blanked his face. “My apologies.” He thought about pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to ask why they weren’t keeping an eye on the festivities. That’ll just rub them up the wrong way even more.

  The male grinned. “I’m just messing with you. Every Giften gets confused by my name.” He looked to his partner. “So that’s the Raneth Bayre, huh?”

  Liera nodded.

  “Detective Hall, I’m truly sorry if the mess after the Quest screwed with your professional reputation and the stuff that comes with that, but may I get your help?” asked Raneth.

  “Is it true you’re trying to outshine your royal official captain? Isn’t that bad form?” asked Markey.

  I wish the newspapers would stop making up rumours. “No. It isn’t. I respect Rhiannon Danae a lot. She looks after us royal officials well.” Raneth claimed the seat beside Liera at the table and sat down with a grimace. “I just carry out my orders to the best of my ability.”

  “You’re hurt.” Liera looked him up and down, squinting. “Infected wound?”

  “No.” At least I hope not. Quinn usually does a good job. “Although I probably should clean them at some point.” He pointed towards the window. “Never been here during Keepaldell’s festivities before; it’s interfering with my assignment.”

  “Spill the kidney beans, boyo,” said Markey. “What do you need?”

  “Boyo?” asked Liera. “What are you, five?”

  “When I want to be,” replied Markey, grinning. “So, Royal Official Bayre?”

  Raneth leaned against the back of the chair and rubbed the heel of his hand down his side. “I’m tracking a woman who likely has a team with her and a hostage.”

  “Hostage? Isn’t that something the rank below yours deals with?” Liera inhaled sharply. “You were demoted too?”

  Raneth shook his head. “No.” Do I tell them? He looked at Liera’s expectant face, then glanced at Markey. Might be quicker. “The victim is King Cray. I was escorting him at the time.”

  Liera swore. “A demotion’s definitely in your future.”

  Not if I save him first. “The woman leading them has a distinctive tattoo on her left cheek. A black battleaxe. The sort with a blade on either side. She has with her a carriage of Nutlers and Sons’, big enough for eight.”

  “We can send a message to their stables here and find out if they’ve exchanged or dropped off the hires,” offered Markey as he stood up. “I’ll go grab one of the birds and do that now for you.”

  Raneth watched him leave before he looked to Liera. “If they haven’t, how do I find them in this… mess?” He gestured again towards the window. “Someone said the carriages have a route planned for them by you?”

  “Yeah. Hold on. Have a town map?”

  Without thinking, Raneth retrieved a dented silver coloured tin from his left knee pocket before his hands slowed and he shook his head. “I need a clean one. The old one got too tatty.”

  “Peter! Grab a map of the town too, will you?”

  “Gotcha!”

  “I’ll draw it on the map for you,” offered Liera.

  When the royal detective inspector returned with the map, Liera grabbed a pen from a pot in the centre of the table and drew across the map as Raneth watched. “This is the route,” she said as she slid the map back to him.

  “That’s helpful. Thank you, Royal Detective Hall.” Raneth was used to the superior detail on maps for law enforcement in Giften, so after a few moments of inspecting the route, he lifted his gaze, looking to both detectives. “There’s not many places for them to stop here. It’s almost completely through residential streets.”

  “Most of the shops are closed today anyway,” explained Liera. “Only pubs, and general stores are open today.”

  That means Reinette wouldn’t be able to rest her people here. They’d have to just head straight through. And with the festival, there’s a higher chance Cray would be recognised. I don’t remember seeing many people with masks on the way here. “Are masks allowed?”

  “No.” Markey shook his head. “Whenever masks were allowed in the past, crime grew.”

  Raneth rubbed at his side. “So how do the visitors to the town get around easily? Find somewhere to stay during the festivities?”

  “Ask for directions or look at street signs.”

  “Doing their research before they turn up,” added Liera.

  “If someone was bound, it would be noticed, right?” asked Raneth. “Amongst all this, it would still be suspicious?” Both royal detectives nodded. “Alright. Thanks for the help. I don’t think they’d stick around in that case. Not with Cray likely trying to escape at every moment.”

  A tap on the doorframe where Markey had gone to send word drew Raneth’s and the detectives’ attention. A third royal detective stood in the doorway, a slip of paper in a hand. “Peter, Nutler said they’ve had no business today. They were expecting at least one carriage and horses of the same hire but they’ve neglected to turn up.”

  “That sounds like my quarry.” Raneth stood up and folded the map until it would fit in his travel tin. “Thanks for all the help, guys. I appreciate it.”

  “Bring him home safe, royal official,” said Markey with a small nod.

  Liera nodded. “Don’t go screwing it up.”

  The gentle tone of Liera’s voice suggested it wasn’t a verbal attack, but gentle unsolicited advice, so Raneth nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Wait.” The royal detective in the doorway stepped into the room, her eyes upon Raneth. “You’re not from around here, are you?” Raneth shook his head. “Then we should probably warn you the festival continues all night. It only stops tomorrow dawn.”

  “Thank you for telling me.” Raneth headed outside.

  Following the streets the detective had indicated on the map, Raneth stalked the carriages, stepping around the horses’ droppings. Now that he knew where they were going, it didn’t take him long to spot a carriage, slowly easing its way through a small gaggle of civilians. Raneth weaved through the people between it and him and settled himself alongside it, but clear of the turn of the wheels. Too small to carry eight people. He strode ahead, taking advantage of the slow progress the carriages were making as people neglected to pay the road mind, too intent on following others elsewhere, engrossed in their conversations or ogling the costumes of others. A few noticed him and greeted him politely, sometimes with a quick hello and others with a silent nod of the head. Raneth returned e
ach in kind, grateful that their simple reaction let him know they recognised he was a real royal official, not another festival-goer. It’s illegal to dress up as a royal official anyway, he remembered.

  The second carriage looked large enough for eight. Raneth jogged a little ahead of it and motioned for the driver to halt the horses. The man paled slightly as he took in Raneth’s uniform. Raneth signalled again for him to draw the horses to a stop, this time adding a verbal command. The driver did as asked, so Raneth drew close and lifted his royal official tags from under his top, but didn’t remove the ball chain from around his neck. “Just need to check your passengers. Won’t take long,” promised Raneth. He strode to the one of the left side doors and tugged it open.

  Lined with velvet, the carriage looked like it would be warm on a cold night. The centre of the carriage had two rectangular seats back-to-back, facing two more wedged into the front and back walls of the carriage. In a pinch, this one could hold ten passengers. There were only three inside the carriage — a woman and two men. None wore costumes, but they were wearing smart clothing; the two men, both of which were balding and looked to be brothers, wore matching grey suits with waistcoats to match. One had a light blue shirt underneath and the other a bold red. The woman wore a tight-fitting white dress and was slowly suffocating the men with a heavily-scented lavender and orange perfume.

  “Get back!” The woman’s hands moved fast, shooing at the air in between her and Raneth. “Out, out. Leave us.”

  “What in Common Kingdoms is someone like you bothering us for?” added one of the men.

  Raneth frowned. Newers. He knew their reactions to his uniform wasn’t completely of their own doing but came from centuries of anti-royal official propaganda Newer’s civilians had endured. I helped them survive the Nebar War and they still hate royal officials. Sometimes it just sucked to be loaned out to an allied kingdom of Giften. “Easy now,” he said. “I’m just checking the carriage for a particular criminal—”

  “A real one or just somebody you hate?” asked the woman.

  Don’t bite her head off. It won’t help. Raneth gave a strained smile. “A real one. Anyway, I can see she’s not with you so I’ll let you get on. My apologies for disturbing you.” He closed the carriage door and gave the driver a thumbs-up.

  Reaching the town gates, Raneth had only encountered businessmen caught off-guard by Keepaldell’s festivities. He strode away from the worn road that the carriages were using. This would be much faster by air. He rubbed at his aching side, grateful that the painkillers were keeping the majority of the pain at bay. It’s getting dark. Might as well use my griffin-self’s sharper eyes to see through the night and use the transformation to heal my wounds. He checked the lining of his royal official jacket, spotting a few white feathers sewn into the hems and repeated the check with his top, belt and trousers. Sewing them into his clothes and gluing some of the feathers onto the back of his weapons’ sheathes was the only way to ensure he didn’t transform back into his human-self naked. He formed quickly, focusing on the red and white of his feathers to pull him into the beginning of the transformation, and then continued on, allowing his blood-gift to flow without pause.

  Once fully formed, he unfurled his wings and the griffin darted forward on four lion paws. His wings pushed at the air beneath them until his paws left the ground. Tucking them against his torso, Raneth swept his griffin-sight across the dancing grass below him, large swathes of the grass yellowed and broken by the winds he was missing. Swimming through the air, he dipped and drove himself upwards, following what little air pockets he could find to carry him, forcing his wings to work twice as hard between them. Without a breeze and with the ground cooling under him, the flight would be hard work. But I’ve done it before. I can do it again, especially for Cray. Reaching for the uppermost limit of the sky where he would still be able to see the ground below, Raneth ignored as his wing joint muscles screamed. Panting through his sharply tipped beak, he pulled himself higher into the air before circling, adjusting the long feathers on the outer edges of his wings to ensure he didn’t lose altitude. There. Further along than he would have expected, a carriage was sitting idle, away from the tracks in the grass where carriages had worn down the grassy tufts. He angled himself away from the road and circled the carriage, listening for anything that might hint this was where Cray was, but the beating of his wings was too loud. Giften’s soil. He was slipping lower in the air, distracted from his height by the carriage. He climbed back up, watching the horses as the driver tacked them to a wooden rail at the back of the carriage. Their ears were flicking about, listening intently, and occasionally, they looked towards something further away. Tracking the curiousness of one, Raneth spotted a small deer in the distance, hobbling on three legs, the four one mangled from a previous break.

  The left carriage door opened and a man stepped out. Muscular. Unharmed walking gait. The man had short dark hair but the lack of sunlight stopped Raneth from being able to identify exactly what colour. Others stepped out after him, leaving Raneth with the driver, five men, a woman and the unmistakable outline of King Cray. Found you. Judging his distance to the ground briefly, Raneth climbed back upwards, making sure the humans wouldn’t be able to hear the flap of his wings nor see him. Raneth circled the carriage again, wings flapping, as he tried to see the woman’s cheek clearly enough to identify if it was the same woman he had been hearing about, and the same woman he wanted to capture for Aldora’s sake as well as Cray’s. We have a lot of questions for you, Reinette, but I can’t sneak up on you as my griffin-self. One of you would see or hear me before I wanted you to. Sweeping back the way he had come, Raneth didn’t work as hard to gain the distance that the carriage had somehow managed since leaving Keepaldell.

  Here should do. He landed on the grass. Closing his eyes, he felt a twinge at the back of the eyes as the muscles changed, switching back into his human ones. The wings grew smaller, sinking into his back, the feathers vanishing into the folds of skin between the wingbones before the skin drew away from the bones, leaving them exposed as the skin seemingly retreated to Raneth’s back whilst the muscles there rippled into different positions, their shapes twisting and turning, reshaping themselves into his back muscles as his chest widened, becoming more human. His shoulders shifted position as his claws became fingernails, the bones between his knuckles grew longer, his ankles became shorter, his feet became a little longer and his shins straighter.

  Once his reformation was complete, Raneth quickly patted each weapon around his belt, ensuring they were there and hadn’t failed to rematerialise, before he turned his focus towards where he had seen the carriage and Cray. He stalked towards his king. Looking at the sky, he had a little moonlight to aid him, but it wouldn’t be enough to see the men and woman that had taken Cray unless he was really close. I’ll have to rely on what I remember from the air and my hearing. His walk was slow but confident, his attention occasionally sweeping his surroundings, making sure he hadn’t missed anyone following the carriage from behind or to the side that had been riding on a lone horse. He crouched as a spark seemed to burn into the back of his eyes as it flared ahead of him. Ignoring the cold touch of the ground seeping through his trouser knee, he watched as the spark was renewed and this time caught the soft snick that went with it. Somebody’s making a fire.

  That could both help and hinder. I’ll just have to be extra careful. I can’t let them keep him any longer. His gut twisted as he dropped to his stomach and crawled closer on his arms, looking for the horses. The fire glinted in the eye of one of the horses, giving their position away even as Raneth heard one huff. He just made out as one of the horses turned its head to look his way so he stilled and waited. Last thing I need is for you to spook. Just settle down and ignore me, horse. The horse lowered its head to the grass at its hooves, so Raneth crawled closer.

  “Here. Stop your shivering.” Raneth froze, listening to the woman’s voice. Her form was highlighted by the fire they had
set, and Raneth watched as she dumped a threadbare blanket against the shoulders of someone sitting by the fire. Their shoulders twitched from the cold nip of the air.

  That’s gotta be Cray. The one shivering didn’t adjust the blanket on his shoulders. He can’t wrap it around himself if his hands are still bound. He paused, judging his distance to the carriage, fire and the horses. He was getting a little too close to the horses. I should sweep around them and the carriage, use it as cover. He stayed where he was though, fixating on Cray. His dad was so hated that Cray was trained to send signals to royal officials watching him if he was taken. Raneth clenched his teeth. The lack of light and his probably still being bound isn’t going to help me there though. I’ll just have to do this without any intelligence he would normally share with me. He curved around the horses, watching their ears twitching. He kept his progress slow, making sure he didn’t unnerve them enough for the king’s kidnappers to notice. He flexed his left fist, trying to bring some of the warmth back into his fingers.

  “Bring some of the food out. Might as well start cooking it so we don’t freeze to death.”

  Sounds like the woman’s in charge, which matches what the stablemaster said about her. Raneth watched as the heavy-set male that had secured the horses went into the carriage. I can always use my Common Gift of Ice if they spot me too early. He crawled closer until the carriage stood between him, Cray and the woman. He paused, listening for the driver and the other men. One was a little closer to the front of the carriage but with his back to Raneth, and the thud of the larger man’s boots in the carriage drew Raneth’s attention to the carriage’s right side. Curtained so he shouldn’t see me. Raneth slowly climbed to his feet but stayed hunched over as he drew closer to the carriage wall and wheels. The man on his side of the carriage flicked the glowing red end of a cigarette away. Raneth drew one of the throwing daggers at his belt and tilted his wrist back. Any second now. Don’t screw this up.