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  The warm air of Haethowine’s breath on her back made her glance back at him, even as his calloused hand grabbed her shoulder. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Jake strolled up, still lugging his army rucksack on a shoulder.

  You know what I was doing, or you wouldn’t have said no. Turning her gaze back to the street in front of her, Aldora ran her focus to the rooftops. Not there, but then there wasn’t enough time for him to climb up. She slipped her shoulder free of Haethowine’s touch and stalked forwards. “It looked like him. The criminal Raneth was chasing.”

  Haethowine’s face looked awash in tomato as he stole a breath. A vein at the side of his neck pulsed, making the collar of his top quiver. “I don’t care. You don’t go chasing suspected murderers. Not until you’ve had more than ten blasted sessions on defence, fighting, whatever it is they’ve been teaching you at the Royal Official University. Track, report and protect only. Didn’t you see how he stood watching the gate?” added Haethowine. “If that was Rivermud, he was waiting for something or someone — your royal official warned us about how he can be more dangerous if his sons arrived. You could have ended up outnumbered.”

  But what if I want to protect the royal official assigned to arrest him? What if I want to help him catch a breather so he doesn’t get himself killed? Aldora turned to face Haethowine, and held the Dagger of Protection between them and shook it. “What good is a magic artefact designed to protect the people that live here if I’m not allowed to use it? I’ve had ten weeks worth of training with that tutor at the Royal Official University. Not hours. Weeks.”

  Haethowine and Jake exchanged a look. “Al,” uttered Jake, giving Aldora a small smile. “It’s not that you’re not allowed to use the Dagger, or that we don’t trust in the excellence of your training. It’s just…”

  “Everyone worries,” confessed Haethowine. “You can’t ask your predecessor for help like most of the old Dagger Bearers could.”

  “But if I don’t try to use it, I won’t get better at using it.” And then what’s the point in even being the Dagger Bearer? Aldora spun around and followed the street once more. Jules Rivermud had to go this way. Where else could he go?

  She looked skyward as she heard the clattering of water against the ground somewhere nearby. What’s that? It’s not raining and it’s too early for someone to be watering their garden. She surged forwards as a slightly familiar scream ripped into the air.

  “Aldora!” Haethowine ran after her. “What did I just say!”

  Chapter Five

  Raneth

  “How is Cray missing?” pushed Queen Louise. She stood at the end of the bed, her tall but slim frame encased within a dark blue dress. Her ginger hair was tied into a bun at the top of her head, and loose strands hinted that she had repositioned it as she awaited Raneth’s waking.

  The royal official looked at her hands. The pale Giften skin was taunt against her knuckles as she gripped the metal frame at the end of the bed, her knuckles white from squeezing. Raneth reached for a cup of water in Lady Lemuela’s hand at his side. Lemuela was Cray’s heir, and the similarities between them were clear — her shoulder-length hair was the same black, her brown eyes were replicas of her father’s and she was even the same height. She ran a hand over Raneth’s short black hair, sweeping it back into position. “It’s not his fault, mother.”

  Louise glared at Lemuela. “His job was to guard your father and get him to the meeting with Regina and Philander, to talk through any issues our nearest allies are having. Of course it’s his fault.”

  She’s just scared, thought Raneth, refusing to turn his gaze when Louise focused hers onto him. He gulped down the cold water before placing the cup into Lemuela’s hands with a smile of thanks. A year older than Raneth, the two had played together growing up. I would be scared too if someone I loved was kidnapped. “Your Highness, I would have—”

  “I don’t care for what you would have done. What are you going to do now?”

  That’s a good question. Raneth looked down at his lap, his back pressing against the metal headrest, the screw heads digging harmlessly into him. The heat prickling his eyes and the roll of his stomach warned him exactly what he wanted to do. Wanted to stop. I have to find him alive and bring him home. “Queen Louise, I’ll go and rescue him.”

  “No, you will not.” Royal Doctor Quinton stepped out of his office. “Lou, Lemmie, Raneth was shot.”

  Oh great. Raneth watched the doctor stride to Louise’s side and grasped her hand in his. Now I have to sneak out. He looked towards the bed at the end of the room, farthest from the doorway that led out of the palace ward. Royal Official Rider Catigowli was snoring, but it was a snore that didn’t sound right for the half Giften, half Eastern Barbarian. He’s faking being asleep.

  “He’s suffered serious damage from forming with the bolts still in him,” protested Quinn as he and Louise pushed back against one another verbally. “He’s lucky they didn’t kill him immediately on his reformation.”

  Looking up at Lemuela, Raneth found her looking back at him. “What now?” she whispered, smiling softly. “I’ll help.”

  “He can transform into his griffin-self to speed up the recovery,” snapped Louise, oblivious to her daughter’s words. “It’ll just hurt afterwards and scar over.”

  “No, Louise. If you really want to send him, I can only agree to it if his assigned partner is summoned to work with him.”

  “Alika? She’s not even a high rank,” said Louise.

  “Because she refuses the promotions.”

  “Well?” whispered Lemuela, her gaze still upon Raneth.

  Gotta do it. Cray would come and find me. And Louise is right. It was my job to protect Cray. I failed. I have to right that. Raneth pulled the bedsheet off his lap, gritting his teeth as pain burst into his side and gut. He clenched his eyes tightly for a moment. Better form as soon as it makes sense to do so. As the pain eased into a dull but persistent throb, Raneth opened his eyes.

  “See?” Quinton gestured at him. “He’s too injured to go traipsing Goddess knows where.”

  Louise jabbed a finger against the doctor’s chest. “Don’t push your luck, Quinn. I could retire you with a snap of my fingers, old man.” She twirled to face Raneth, her hands returning to the end of the bed. “You’ll go and find him?”

  “Immediately, ma’am.” Raneth shuffled to the edge of the bed and gritted his teeth. Horse riding is out of the question until I’ve formed. Man this hurts. It had been a while since Raneth’s last impalement, suffering only slashes, being beaten and knocked out more recently in the line of duty. Just gotta take it slow. Follow the family training, ignore royal official protocol. Standing slowly, Raneth rested a hand against his wounded side, the pain bubbling. “I’ll be fine,” he hissed through clenched teeth before striding from the room.

  “But—” Whatever else Quinton wanted to say was missed as Raneth headed upstairs, pausing on each step to suck in a pained breath.

  New uniform, weapon up, save the transformation for an emergency or if the wounds get unbearable. Then get out there and back to the ambush site.

  Reserving his one daily chance to form into his griffin-self meant returning to the crime scene took Raneth longer than he would have liked. Prowling warily towards the two unblocked tunnels, Raneth watched the one nearest the palace carefully as he came alongside it. Nobody had come back to close the makeshift lid. Squatting beside the entrance, Raneth tried to ignore the pain erupting in his body and instead focused on finding hints of Cray or where he’d been taken. The sun splashed the world in colour as Raneth looked into the tunnel. No rubbish. Almost no grass strands or loose clumps of dirt either. They were careful, and the construction suggests whoever built these tunnels knew what they were doing. Turning his gaze to the lid, Raneth flipped it almost closed, giving himself a better view. It was made of a metal frame, with a lip that held the patch of grass that covered the lid. That’s why the grass hiding it didn’t die but
it still would have felt different to the horses that stepped over it. The royal official glanced towards his dead horse. Not that it matters when your rider has you run straight into one. Clenching his teeth, the royal official withdrew one of six throwing daggers at his regulation belt. He held the blade partially in the tunnel, twisting the blade slowly until he could see deeper into the tunnel with the reflection on the blade. Nobody waiting to ambush me in the first bit, he noted. Keeping the blade in a hand, Raneth slowly lowered himself into the tunnel. Wide enough for a grown man, Raneth had a little more room than most due to his wiry frame. They made sure to make this wide enough to accomodate more muscular people than me but not beefcakes as wide as Drigoe. Mentally storing the intel on the attackers’ physiques, Raneth walked down the tunnel, squinting as the lessening backup of the sun left his eyes at a disadvantage.

  Continuing to walk for a few metres, Raneth frowned as his probing blade slid easily into something cold, the lack of guard letting him feel as the earth crumbled at the disturbance and peppered his hand. He freed his blade with ease before turning and heading back, his steps faster this time. Getting back out made the royal official pause. He’d overlooked how to climb back out. This’ll hurt. He shook his head. But I’m not staying here. He reached up for the edge and yelled as his side and gut screamed. Should have grabbed painkillers before I left. Quinn was right to want to keep me out of the field. Raneth forced his body to pull him out of the tunnel then rolled onto his back, clenching his eyes as the pain raced through his body. He barely dared to breathe as the pain pulsed through him but slowly it calmed to an irritating throb. There’s no way I can move Blacky to investigate the one he fell down but once I’ve checked the other, I’d better head back and get painkillers or I’ll not get far.

  The other tunnel welcomed him into its embrace, and as Raneth stalked deeper into the tunnel, tree roots began to twist and hack at the otherwise perfectly straight tunnel walls and ceiling. Some of the roots had been hacked, leaving a messy spiky clump in its place. With barely any light to see by, the royal official slowed until he was barely walking, shuffling ahead to test the ground in front of his feet with the touch of his boots before advancing each step. Bereft of the warming touch of the sun, Raneth was shivering, his back and shoulders stiffening as he advanced slowly to the other end of the tunnel. This one feels like it continues on longer than the first. There was light at the other end, growing increasingly visible with each extra step he took.

  After emerging from the tunnel at the other side, the royal official looked around, checking he was safe before sweeping his gaze to the sky. Weird. I couldn’t have been down there that long, surely? The sun wasn’t as bright as it had been, suggesting the walk had taken the Bayre even longer than he had expected. Where am I? He turned his attention onto his immediate surroundings; Little Wood was nowhere in sight and the ground around him was smooth and flat, just like the majority of the Giften Kingdom’s mainland. Grass greeted him everywhere he looked but was broken a little distance away, further long the direction the tunnel had taken him. A wide wooden bridge curled up towards the sky, like a cat’s stretching back, before lowering itself back down. The burbling of water somewhere near reached Raneth’s ears, breaking the otherwise almost silent surroundings. That’s got to be Tricolq Bridge. The bridge was one of the few in Giften for getting over the widest river that cut a path through the kingdom. The royal official turned around, looking back in the direction he came. I doubt they dug it for this long without good reason. They must have planned to take Cray to Tricolq City. At least I can get painkillers there on my allowance. He strode towards the city, trying not to think how easily it could be for the blocked tunnel to have led to Wisner City, the city closest to Little Wood besides Brown Buzzard Village, and which had an underground criminal bazaar in many of the disused sewer tunnels. Tricolq means dealing with Haletifah.

  He looked at the outer protective wall of Tricolq City, nestled near the river and to the left of the bridge. The grey stone bricks were larger than those many of the other settlements had, and were easily twice as large as an average person’s head. Remembering the rumours that they were that big so Lord Haletifah’s ancestors could hide their murder victims’ identifiable parts within the wall, Raneth wasn’t surprised to note the city gates were unguarded. The current Lord Haletifah had caused royal officials and legionaries guarding the gates so much trouble that King Cray and the city’s mayor had agreed to allocate the personnel to other settlements and assignments.

  A clocktower raced into the city’s sky, the large hands intricately woven to have triangular breaks all along their length and ending with a wickedly tipped curve at the end, pointing to the numbers racing across the clock. Raneth watched as the numbers spun around the clock face just once, the magic in the clocktower from the fourteen hundreds still watching for the comings and goings of those entering the city. It’s a wonder anyone can accurately read the time. He took a moment to note the evening hour. His head pounding and his stomach gurgling, Raneth considered his next steps. Painkillers first, then Haletifah. If I’m to pick up the kidnappers’ trail with ease here, it’ll be faster to go directly to the local criminals.

  After stopping by a doctor’s office and getting a tub of painkillers, Raneth stalked the streets with more ease, the irritating throb mildly mannered to just a twinge. The other painkillers clattered in the pocket by his right knee but he ignored it. He worked his way through the streets towards the clocktower before following black iron fencing that encased an estate in the very centre of the city. Reaching the gates, Raneth wasn’t surprised to find a heavy-set male sitting on a foldable wooden chair, a pair of thin-rimmed glasses barely on his nose as he inspected a book in his hand, enjoying every sentence as only a voracious reader could. Raneth cleared his throat but the reader paid him no mind. “Oliver.”

  The massive male muttered under his breath as he folded the corner of his current page and looked towards Raneth, slipping his glasses to hook into the top of his brown coat’s collar. “Bayre. Is he expecting you?”

  “You know he’s never expecting me,” replied Raneth, giving the larger man a smile. It always helped to be friendly with professional guards. You never knew when they would slip some intelligence a royal official’s way. “Any other unexpected visitors today?”

  “Two, actually, although both came with their own followers.” Oliver rose his eyebrows at Raneth, tilting his head slightly to the side.

  Followers… As in Thane Frey and his lackeys? Raneth smiled and gave a small nod. “Thanks for the warning. Do you think he’ll see me? It’s urgent.”

  The guard tucked the book into a small wicker bucket under his chair and stood up, rolling his shoulders and arching his back. “It’s always urgent with you.” Raneth nodded. “I’ll let you in as long as you don’t arrest him.”

  “You know he hides behind Lords’ Law Act,” said Raneth, giving a nod. “I can’t arrest him no matter how much I may want to.”

  Content with his answer, Oliver unlocked the gate and beckoned Raneth inside. Raneth walked alongside the broader male across a wide yellow sandpath, with bursts of autumn colours either side from rows of trees shedding their leaves. “You’re walking different,” said Oliver.

  “Uh… Yeah.” Raneth eyed the professional guard warily. “I’ve hurt my side.” The royal official straightened his posture and held back the grimace that wanted to rip across his lips. Gotta look like I’m not injured, even if Oliver will tell Haletifah afterwards. If Thane’s still here, I can’t look weak. The painkillers helped but didn’t prevent the extra pain coursing through his side and gut as he continued to adjust how he moved as they drew closer to the grey-bricked mansion. Its black rooftops were speckled with moss and as one of the few buildings that didn’t have to worry about royal officials running across its rooftops, the building was safe from the fine that came from not keeping your rooftop clear. Birds were chattering, swiftly singing the verses of their nightly song, warn
ing of the coming gloom of the night.

  The guard led the royal official into and through the building although the escort was unnecessary. He knocked on a wooden door, dark wood panels giving way to four lighter panels in the centre of the door with curls and swirls carved into the lighter wood. The lower half of the walls either side of the door held black wood panels before it gave way to a royal purple wallpaper.

  “Enter.”

  Oliver opened the door and stood in the doorway. “Lord Bayre’s son is here to see you, my lord.”

  “I see…” Raneth heard the chink of delicate cups on the other side of the door before Lord Haletifah’s voice rumbled through the doorway. “Let him in, Oli. Thank you.”

  Oliver turned to Raneth and gestured for him to enter the room, smiling.

  Without a pause, Raneth strode into the room, lifting his head to ensure he looked more than a little confident. He stopped rounding his shoulders and tried for a smile for Lord Haletifah, who stood in front of an armchair with a cup in his hand. Spotting his family’s enemy sitting on the red and gold sofa partially facing the doorway, his smile failed. Stay calm. It’s just Thane. You’ve been around him before.

  Thane Frey’s grey eyes slowly appraised Raneth. “Raneth.” Thane dipped his head slightly, giving a small smile.

  “Thane.”

  Haletifah smiled. “So, what does the law want with me today, Bayre Heir? I see you’re still pretending you’re not a lord’s heir.” He gestured at Raneth’s uniform.

  The royal official wiped a hand down his royal official jacket’s green torso. “I work for my living, Haletifah. What my father inherited is for emergencies only.”