“It’s not your fault,” Gordon said. He sat down in an orange armchair opposite Ranun’s desk. He had delivered the terrible news of the massacre at Igor and brought it to Ranun immediately. It had been two days since the incident, but still, Ranun couldn’t help but hurt.
“I can’t help but believe that it is,” Ranun said, his eyes down on his desk, averted away so as not to show his shame of this incident. Hundreds of people… dead, slaughtered in their own homes!
“What in the world makes it your fault?” Gordon asked. He wore his heavy set of shiny orange armor, with their father’s hawk crest painted in silver on his chest plate. The armor of Colorswords changed a lot since Ranun took the crown sixteen years ago. Gordon also had his sword around his waist. A pink mist rose from the Soulgem plugged into the face of the sword’s hilt, meaning his brother practiced before their meeting this afternoon.
“I’m their king,” Ranun said. “Everything that happens to my people is my fault. I failed them. Simple as that.”
“It was out of your hands!” Gordon shouted. Ranun lifted his head, startled. Gordon sighed, leaning forward from the chair. His brother’s abrasive nature usually didn’t show unless he was truly annoyed. “We will find whoever did this, and they’ll pay. I’ll swear on my life; justice will be served!”
Ranun nodded. “But what gets me… who would do such a thing?”
“That,” Gordon sighed. “We can’t say yet. What we know is that they were massacred. All of them inside of Igor that morning. Blood was everywhere, but there were no bodies found.”
“You suppose whoever did this was after Soulgems?” Ranun asked. Killing somebody was one thing, but taking their corpses to harvest their Soulgems? A disgusting theory.
“A good guess for why they took the bodies,” Gordon said. There would be few other reasons why one would clean up after themselves. “But that doesn’t answer much. Why take Igor of all people?”
“They were a poor town,” Ranun said shamefully. Their poverty had been Ranun’s kingly responsibility. While people in Falcon Hill partied at night, they worked mines and herded sheep. “Maybe they thought we wouldn’t seek justice.”
“Perhaps. From what I assume, a town that large should at least have some survivors from such a killing.”
“Suggesting?”
“This was a big group,” Gordon said. He lowered his brows. For Ranun, it was comforting to see his brother speak in passion, taking this seriously. “It has to be a large group with enough carriages to transport the bodies.”
“So our suspects are posing as merchants?” Ranun asked. He looked at the handwritten report in front of him. They were still trying to assess who was out of town so they could confirm how many and exactly who had died. Ranun planned to give a speech honoring the names of those who fell, followed by a promise of justice. After death, that was the most Ranun could do for them.
“Merchants are the most likely entity they’re posing as,” Gordon said. “But it’s an easy disguise, and many independent merchants use our roads daily.”
“Do we check them?” Ranun asked. “Search for the bodies? Give them a proper burial.”
An improper burial was the intent of having your Soulgem robbed after your body decomposed. Soulgem farming had been illegal in all Kingdoms and even the few non-kingdom countries left in Valoria. Ranun cringed at the thought his people were being used to harvest Soulgems.
“I’m sorry, Ranun, but the bodies are long gone by now. The Soucrest roads are on very flat land. If they fled the Kingdom as soon as the massacre ended, they could be on track to Dork, Gleon, or Midhelm by now.”
“Is it wrong to suppose one of our bordering nations was behind this?” Ranun asked.
Gordon grunted. “I don’t see a good motive behind Midhelm doing this. Dork is too incapable, and Gleon is too damn nice. My guess is it’s a faction inside one of those nations, however.”
So look to three places, Ranun thought. Could I even get the other nations to help? King Reagle doesn’t like me, not after the Bouma incident…
“Well, we still have time,” Gordon said. He finally leaned back to enjoy the comfort of his chair, despite his armor he wore. Actually, his suit kind of bothered Ranun, as he feared the armchair would be ruined under him. “You want to get lunch?”
“I don’t know if I can do lunch today,” Ranun said. Truthfully, he couldn’t do lunch most days with the amount of work piled continuously piled in front of him. From filling out forms, confirming precise and vague contracts for business permits, and being ready whenever there was an emergency, Ranun barely had time to breathe. And with the news of Igor, breathing felt a little harder to do. “But come to our house for dinner. Calace will cook us up something great.”
“Will Aeryn be there?”
“Of course,” Ranun said. “Why?”
“Well, I just want to see my favorite nephew, of course,” he lied, straight to Ranun’s face. Ranun could always spot a lie by how the eyes moved when someone spoke. Truth saw little movement, while heavy lies had sporadic shakes. The subtle ones, though, were gentle shifts. Though, what Gordon was lying about, he didn’t know. Of course Aeryn had been his favorite nephew. He was his only nephew. That meant Gordon had a motive of some sort.
“What’s this about?” Ranun asked.
“I just want to see how my little warrior is doing,” Gordon said, suddenly truthful. Both Aeryn and Gordon got along well; perhaps Gordon wanted to recruit Aeryn to the Colorswords. Though, Ranun didn’t know if he could let that happen. When in battle, the first to enter every fight had been the Colors, followed by the plains. And men often died in the order they engaged. A paternal part of Ranun believed that Aeryn was still a child, not a grown, eighteen-year-old man. At his age now, he’d already surpassed Ranun’s when he was that young. Maybe it was an excellent time to join the Colorswords, considering the last decade and a half had been total peace worldwide.
“So you’ll be there?” Ranun asked.
Gordon laughed. “I’m not gonna miss Calace’s cooking for anything! Damn right I’ll be there.”
“Is Jaxton coming?”
“The kid? Well, he’s been hard at work studying Igor.”
“The massacre?” Ranun asked.
“No. He’s studying the town, looking for any irregularities that might aid our investigation.”
Ranun smiled slightly. “You found yourself quite the assistant. You should ask him to come, take a break.”
Take a break? Ranun thought. How can you take a break when hundreds of people are being farmed for their souls!
“A break is good for us all,” Gordon said, speaking directly to Ranun. “Even kings.”
“I rest plenty,” Ranun lied. Gordon started chuckling across the desk. For someone so adept at spotting liars through their eyes, Ranun was awful at doing so himself. “Coming home to Calace is all the rest I’ll ever need in life.”
Gordon grinned. “That damn woman holds you by strings. You’re like her puppet.”
“You’re damn right,” Ranun grinned back.
The door burst open. Jaxton rushed inside, stopping right behind Gordon. He adjusted his spectacles with his right hand while holding a book to his waist with his left. “They’ve found two suspects!”
Ranun froze. So soon?
“Are you serious?” Gordon asked.
“They say they found them near Igor. When questioned, they attacked some of the Colorswords. They’re skilled fighters, at least, according to the commotion.”
“Enough to massacre a town of three hundred?” Ranun asked.
“I’m skeptical of that, sir,” Jaxton bowed his head to Ranun, giving his respect to the king. “But they said they are suspects nonetheless. There are only two of them in holding.”
“Unlikely two could pull such a feat off,” Ranun said, standing up. “Where are they?”
“Supreme Commander Symond and Captain Bolt are interrogating them now,” Jaxton said. “In the agency prison hall.”
“Symond and Bolt?” Ranun asked. The two worst men for any interrogation. One ruled with absolute fear, while the other was, at times, a total buffoon.
Jaxton nodded.
Ranun flung his coat over his shoulder, buttoning it up, hurrying to the door.
“And, um… sir,” Jaxton muttered, stopping Ranun before he left. “I sort of eavesdropped on their conversation as they were heading in.”
“So, few know about this? And they didn’t bring it up to their king?”
“It appears not, sir,” Jaxton said. “But, the likelihood of those under interrogation being the true suspects are very low…”
“I know,” Ranun smiled at the lad. The short young man was like a son to Gordon. And if he was like his son, then that made him like a nephew to Ranun. Knowing his brother’s luck with women, Ranun would never be a true uncle.
At the door, he turned around, grinning as kings do. “Oh, and Jaxton. See you at dinner.”
Ranun left his office, outside City Hall, heading toward the Soucrest Elite Agency building.
The Cells lined each side of the wall as Ranun walked through in a hurry. At his pace, he was careful not to stress his body. But before anything got ugly, Ranun had to get there. Between the common holding cells and the classified units were two sturdy, iron doors, guarded personally by a lone Colorsword.
Ranun made an effort to remember every name he could, especially those in service to him, be it the Colors, the agents, or the plains. The short but burly man with a long, slender ponytail was easy to differentiate. Ranun recognized him as Henri, a junior Color. While not accomplished—not that there was much to accomplish in a time of peace—he had good grit to his name. Patriotic, too, as he saluted his fist over his heart.
“Good afternoon, Henri,” Ranun saluted back. “May I enter?”
“Well…. Um…” Henri hesitated.
“Surely whatever is going on behind this door,” Ranun paused, smiling slightly. “Isn’t above the station of the king.”
Henri gaped, lost on what to do. Usually, Ranun wouldn’t use the “king card,” but he didn't mind using it when it was in jest. It sounded absurd to say, whether it had been true or not. King, Ranun was king. Yet he didn’t wear his crown, as it felt pretentious wearing it.
“Symond and Captain Bolt are in there, correct?”
Henri nodded.
“Well, open the door for me,” Ranun said. “They can’t blame you for letting the king enter through the door of his own building.”
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Henri nodded, pulling out a key from his pocket and unlocking the door from the outside, turning the door's levered handle, pushing it slightly back for Ranun to enter.
“Thank you,” Ranun smiled, bowing his head once again. He shoved himself inside, brushing past the iron door. Symond had strict control over most Agencies as Supreme Commander, while Ranun served more as a governor and king, often sharing leadership over the Colors. He, however, had his Kingsguard, which was like an agency of his own.
The heavy door slammed behind Ranun after he entered. Immediately, he saw Symond Whyte in all of his glory, standing with crossed arms staring into the cell, while Captain Bolt had his hand on the bars with a face growing red. Suddenly, Bolt’s shouting exploded across the hall as he spat words into the cell in front of him. Symond didn’t wear his armor or carry his swords. Neither did Bolt today, as apparently he was “off duty.” But he brought his sword everywhere he went, as was a tradition among the Colors.
“You dumb… You dumb bitch! You almost killed four of my men,” Captain Bolt said, flushing red. Jaxton noted that the two were skilled in fighting, and almost killing four Colors was an impressive feat, to say the least. And a girl too? Uncommon, but very welcome in modern times. “Even if you get cleared of the massacre, I’ll make sure that you pay for your crimes! Your life is as good as over!”
Symond’s head turned down the hall, noticing Ranun. He nodded. Thankfully, he didn’t seem enraged.
Yet.
Bolt at his side, however, kept his scowl directed at the two inside. The rage in his voice made him oblivious to Ranun’s loud footsteps walking down the hall. The captain had blond hair, cut short to match Ranun’s own. As king, he had many who tried to imitate not only his actions but his appearance as well. Ranun found it about as creepy as it was flattering. However, Bolt couldn’t copy height as he had been two inches under six-foot, about half a foot shorter than both Ranun and Symond.
Where Ranun was slender, Symond had the width of a boulder and the strength of two. Veins nearly popped out of his aging muscles. Symond, at fifty-five years of age, should have been losing his grasp on such strength. Despite it all, he remained the strongest warrior in Soucrest, if not the entirety of Valoria. His nickname had been the Sixth Wonder of the World, as he had slain men by the thousands in Ranun’s rebellion. Unfortunately, a large chunk of that had been Ranun’s men and not his tyrant brother’s. Regardless, they consolidated, came together, and created a better kingdom after defeating Nolan together.
“What are you looking at?” Bolt hissed as the eyes of a young lady drifted to her right, looking at Ranun. Her eyes suddenly soured, and her face twitched into a bitter grimace. Bolt shouted over her expression. “You don’t even know the beginning of what’s in store for you! Your life is over!”
“Come now,” Ranun said, putting his hand on Bolt’s shoulder.
Bolt turned his head in shock, shaking Ranun’s hand off before kneeling with his head bowed. “My king! You honor us with your presence.”
“Now now,” Ranun said, hovering his hand over the captain’s head, gesturing him to stand up. On his way back to his feet, Ranun patted the top of his head, giving the same affection to a grown man that an owner would give his dog. Ranun teased. “Maybe if you started treating women like you treat your king, you would finally settle down with one. You’re much like my brother.”
“I don’t need your chivalry,” the girl scoffed from inside the cell. Her dark hair was a fine contrast with the golden complexion of her skin. Brown eyes filled with genuine hatred daggered Ranun. “Especially from you!”
What did I do to you? Ranun wondered. He sighed, however, not trying to make an enemy out of anyone. “You’re right. You don’t,” Ranun bowed an apology. “But us men often do.”
It had been a while since one looked at him so unfavorably. No matter what Ranun did wrong, everyone seemed to praise him despite his failures. This… hatred boiling up in front of him was a strange surprise. Ranun turned to Bolt. “Apologize. You don’t treat our guests with such disrespect, even if they bite.”
Before Bolt could apologize, the lady scoffed. “I would rather die than accept this filth’s apology.”
“It’s clear there is no point in talking to her,” Symond said. “Do us a favor, Bolt, and take her to a cell further down the block.”
“No!” shouted the man next to the woman. His blond hair and white skin—while not foreign to Soucrest—paired with the girl’s browner complexion suggested they came from up north, near Midcrest or perhaps Donta-Montal, where both tones were quite common. Something about the young man seemed familiar as if they had met before. It was on the tip of Ranun’s tongue…
The woman grabbed the boy’s face. She kissed him on the forehead, gentle and soft, the touch of lovers. “Don’t do anything crazy,” she said, speaking fast while Bolt unlocked the cell door. “We have to be calm. We don’t have to talk. They have no evidence of anything.” She turned her head to Ranun. “Because there is no evidence. We didn’t do what you think we did.”
Behind the young man’s back, he fumbled something in his hands, thinking he was clever. A wooden frame in the cell hung off the wall, with shards missing from the bottom left corner. The picture inside was also upside down. The fools…
The cell lock clicked.
“Who are you?” Ranun asked, giving up his attempt at remembering. The distant memory in his head pointed to Midhelm, but who in Midhelm? Who is this boy?
“They said they were slaves,” Symond said, grunting.
“A clear lie,” Ranun noted. “No, they have a fighter’s build.”
Bolt pulled the cell door open. “They are playing to your pity. They know of your work freeing slaves, thinking that would spare them for what they did.”
“What exactly did they even do?” Ranun asked. “I assume they were running from something, and when confronted, they fought back.”
“Don’t, Dean,” the lady whispered under her breath, eying behind the boy’s back.
Dean? No, it couldn’t be…
Bolt took a step inside.
“Unless you want a wooden shiv up ur calf, I would suggest stepping back, Captain Bolt,” Ranun said, stopping Bolt in his tracks. Bolt looked to Ranun, then back to Dean.
Symond sighed, breathing like a bull as he pulled Bolt by his shoulder away from the cell before entering himself. The boy lunged for him, but Symond swung his foot forward, kicking Dean in the chest, knocking him to the back wall. He was stunned, as anyone would be against a blow like that. His breaths turned to desperate pleas for oxygen. The woman didn’t struggle being lifted and tossed over Symond’s shoulders. The Supreme Commander walked out the cell, going down the hallway, hauling her like a rolled-up carpet.
“Please,” Dean used the little breath he managed to grab, clenching his stomach with his right hand and caressing the back of his head with his left. “Don’t take her from me. She’s all I have…”
Ranun scratched his head, seeing a young lovestruck boy plead. “Symond!” Ranun called out. The commander turned around, showing his usual grimace. “Bring her back. We can work this out here.”
The old warrior huffed, turning back to the cell. He didn’t like the idea of going through all that effort just to bring her back. Symond threw her back in before slamming the cell door closed.
Thunder struck from the bars, vibrating the adjacent cells in Symond’s wrath.
“I know why they don’t want to talk,” Ranun said, smiling at Dean.
“Why is that?” Symond asked.
“He’s the Prince of Midhelm,” Ranun grinned.
Dean’s eyes widened. He eventually cracked a smile himself. They had met when he was only a child. The visit was brief and before all the animosity between the two nations. These days, Dean’s father had some problems with Ranun. And as it seemed, so did the prince’s lover.
The young lady next to him looked more worried than angry. Ranun had found them, and now they were at risk of exposure.
Ranun brought his hand to hover a couple of feet off the floor. “You were this big when I first met you. Man, you’ve grown!” he laughed. He pulled out his wallet from his pocket, handing over a picture of his son Aeryn through the bars. “This is my kid now. You two are around the same age. He’s a little taller than you, but he just doesn’t stop growing. One day, he’ll be taller than me!”
Somehow, someway, Ranun found himself talking about his son. Dean smiled regardless, returning the photo back to Ranun.
“And who is this stunning young woman?” Ranun asked. He looked to the girl, who scowled back at Ranun.
“She’s Quin, sir,” Dean introduced, pronouncing Quin as keen. A Guilis descendant, sworn to serve the Novac family under two separate clans.
There hadn’t been many reasons why a Hrole or a Dolle would hate Ranun so much. The most he had interacted with them had been during the war, where—
“Oh,” Ranun said. He flushed, guilty.
“You murdered my brother,” Quin spat. “At the Battle of Bouma, you killed him! Or how the history books called it, the Betrayal of Bouma.”
“Quin!” Dean grabbed her shoulder. “Please, we hardly know the truth behind that night.”
“Quin Hrole,” Ranun spoke softly. He remembered her brother. All too well, actually. Ranun reached for his gut. Her brother haunted him to this day, but his presence had been mostly physical. “Sister of Din Hrole? Am I correct?”
She showed her teeth like a growling dog. Bringing up Din infuriated her. His death must bring you a lot of pain. I’m sorry.
Reagle Novac ruled his family line much like his father and grandfathers. He trapped the Guilis heirs to a life of servitude, then used the men as bodyguards and the woman as servants. Quin, however, appeared to be a fighter. Perhaps killing Din turned her into one, as every Novac heir needed one.
“Captain,” Ranun said, sorrow in his eyes as he looked to Quin. Am I about to tell her?
“Yes, my king?”
“Please leave us for a moment,” Ranun said. “I need to speak with our guests in private.”
The Captain nodded, turning to the door. He left Ranun and the other in silence, as Ranun assessed what to do and if he should show her. On the one hand, it could ease her mind. On the other, it was a secret Ranun and a select few guarded. It would be foolish to tell them. But I’d be heartless not to...
“So? Do you have nothing to say? Pathetic. They call you the Great King, yet all I see is a scared—”
Ranun lifted his shirt from under his jacket, revealing his swollen, purple bruised gut. It stunned her, so perhaps she understood what Din had done to Ranun.
“Ranun!” Symond shouted. “What are you doing!”
“When we took control of Bouma,” Ranun started. “The first thing the Middlemen turned to after gaining control of the town was pillaging. They were going to raid their homes, steal their food… rape their women.”
Quin looked distraught.
Symond gritted his teeth over Ranun’s right shoulder, but not about Bouma or the atrocities Midhelm was about to commit, but the wound in Ranun’s stomach that had been their second greatest kept secret.
“I didn’t want to betray,” Ranun said. “I just wanted to defend those who needed it the most. I am a traitor in your eyes for that, I understand. But if it meant turning my sword against my allies to save those men and women from such pain and despair, then that was simply how it had to be.”
Quin lowered her brows. “Your stomach, that’s—”
“The poison from your brother’s blade,” Ranun confirmed. “He cursed me. Every second my body is overly active, the mark expands, slowly eating me up from the inside. He cursed me out of being a proper warrior.”
“Ranun!” Symond shouted again. Ranun ignored him.
Dean gasped. “You’re still king, though? If you can’t fight, then how…”
Ranun nodded. In a meritocracy, the crown went to the strongest warrior. Since Ranun couldn’t defend his crown or kingdom, he was a false king, someone who holds power without the fundamental right to rule.
“I have battles left in me,” Ranun explained. He wouldn’t go deeper into it. He risked too much to admit he had only three fights left in him. “I’m saving it for when my kingdom needs me most. I’m more governor than a true king. I can hardly even train. You see these boots I wear? All for show. I’ll lower my lifespan every second I use them.”
His boots were a large part of Ranun’s reputation. They were considered a legendary weapon, despite being a piece of armor.
“You tell us this?” Quin sneered. “What makes you think we won’t spill your secret?”
“We’ll kill you before that happens,” Symond said.
Ranun shook his head immediately. “No,” he said. “You have no business telling anyone anything about this. You are running away from Midhelm, right? Through our border. Where are you heading to?”
“Freedon,” Dean said. The island east of Gleon. A small land where humans, elves, and swoles lived peacefully together. “We want to live there in peace and exile.”
“Because you two can’t be together under your family names, is that correct?” Ranun asked.
Dean nodded.
“Then, how about you work under me instead,” Ranun said. Dean beamed immediately. Quin didn’t look too thrilled, however. “You’ll be free to marry here if that’s what you wish.”
“Ranun!” Symond growled. “Think who you are suggesting this to. Reagle Novac’s son! You two have bad blood as it is. Maybe returning him could gain you a little more favor.”
“I couldn’t possibly do that,” Ranun said.
“And why is that?” Symond asked with rage growing deep in his throat.
“Because he knows my secret,” Ranun grinned. You risked more backing down from bold actions than simply reinforcing them. If he returned them, they might be more inclined to spill his vital secret.
“You’re unbelievably… stupid!” Symond said.
“Why, thank you,” Ranun bowed his head. He grinned. “How about we send Dean back. Maybe he will run away again, and maybe Quin will be waiting near the docks in Steepcreek, where a ship just so happens to be making its course to Freedon.”
The suggestion pleased all parties. At least, it should. It kept the problems associating with harboring a runaway prince from poisoning Soucrest while also allowing them to have their freedom. It was a win-win.
“Wherever he goes, I go,” Quin said, immediately foiling the benefit-all plan.
Symond scoffed. “You’re better off dead.”
“Symond!” Ranun raised his voice. Symond was a much greater warrior than Ranun, someone who would be a true king. Yet, Ranun could give stern commands when he had to, even getting Symond to follow in line. “Settle down.”
Symond grunted, crossing his arms.
“I don’t want to go back,” Dean said. “At least let us go to Freedon! Pretend you haven’t seen us.”
Ranun grabbed his chin. “You’ve injured a few of our men, even if you were in your defense. And your name isn’t so easily lost among our men.”
“Please!” Dean dropped to his knees.
“Send him back to Reagle,” Symond said. “I don’t care what we do with the girl.”
“Would you tell our secret if we returned you to Reagle?” Ranun asked. A stupid question, but Ranun wanted to test his eyes.
“I wouldn’t tattle,” Dean said, but he frowned. Ranun read the truth through his eyes and expression, giving him some credibility. “But when I return, I’ll just run away again.”
Ranun smiled. “Then you can return and run away again back here. I’ll give you the ride to Freedon when you return.”
“Father will watch over me for seasons! He’ll also separate Quin from me, if not kill her on the spot. He’ll think her responsible for my escape.”
“Then join me,” Ranun suggested again. “I’ll protect you.”
“A bad idea,” Symond said. “His father’s gonna be pissed. He has ties to many Kingdoms, and the Church favors them over us. Taking his son could be reason enough for him to declare war!”
“As long as I’m king, they can’t touch Soucrest,” Ranun said. His influence passed through all of Valoria. His name influenced the world as if it was his religion. Even if it had been all facade, the Great King was an enviable figure. Besides, hearing of a king helping a young prince run away with his love might sound more honorable than treacherous. Unlikely, but you never know what the public will favor or won’t. “He’ll be safe in our order of things.”
“Ranun, I’m sorry,” Symond said. “I cannot agree to such a deal.”
Dean frowned. Quin grabbed his back to comfort him. They almost reminded Ranun of Calace and himself when they were that young—almost mirroring perfectly. Calace had been Ranun’s boulder, keeping him grounded and secure throughout his young adulthood.
Ranun sighed. He couldn’t cross Symond’s judgment so easily, and yet, he didn’t want this young man to return to his father’s scrutiny. Quin was special to him, and if someone took Calace away, Ranun would fight to stay with her. “Then we’ll solve this the traditional way,” Ranun said. “Dean Novac, you will duel Symond Whyte for your fate.”