Then darkness took hold, and he plummeted into the crates, the wooden cubes raining down upon him.
* * * * *
Levee tried to occupy her mind during Milo’s absence. She busied herself with every chore she could think of, taking her impatience out on the unfortunate weeds bold enough to poke their heads above the garden soil. By late afternoon the barn had been swept and every one of its stalls mucked and bedded. But none of it was enough to peel her thoughts away from Milo’s audience with the prince.
The heaviness of it all was written on the Sarrokian’s solemn countenance when they parted ways at the arena. He bore the stress of his village’s hopes as the fate of New Haven rested in the prince’s hands. Relocation was a frightening prospect for many neighbors, whose families had lived in the same homes and tilled the same fields for numerous generations.
Levee wasn’t so attached. Had it been her own decision, she would have gladly taken the prince’s gold and assumed Tennakawa had set her upon a new journey. But this house belonged to Milo and his mother, and what mattered to them was important to her.
Afternoon waned, its light slipping fast below the distant mountains. Levee leaned back against the pasture fence and observed the barn before her. It had been built by Milo’s own hands, just like this land had been tilled, tended, and harvested under his nurturing care. But there was more to why Milo fought so hard to keep it.
The Sarrokian had finally carved himself a respectable living and now it hung in the balance. What would become of it if the prince didn’t change his mind? How would Milo handle such a loss? She rolled against the railing so that her arms hung over the top rung. Melee glanced up from her grazing and whickered.
“Where is he?” the gypsy murmured. The palomino flicked her ears, then craned her neck in order to see the road in front of their cottage.
It isn’t like the oaf to stay gone for so long, Melee’s words grazed Levee’s consciousness as the pony trotted over to join her. The news must not be good.
Levee’s green eyes trailed just south of their village where the torchlight dotting the city walls winked in and out. The faint call between the guards could be heard as they changed shifts, followed by the echo of clanking chains as Nevaharday’s portcullis closed for the night. She tugged nervously at one of the strands of her auburn hair. “He should have been home hours ago.”
He will return when he is ready, the palomino assured.
The mare’s reply brought little comfort at this late hour. “Perhaps we should try to find him.”
Melee snorted and shook her head. No. We should wait. If he returned while we were gone, the Sarrokian would fret.
Levee sighed and buried her head into Melee’s milky mane. Lately, Milo did his best to keep up a strong front so that she and his mother, Tay, didn’t sense his fears. But Levee saw through the façade.
“As soon as he and Danna show up, I’m going to make him tell me everything,” Levee said it more to herself than to Melee, but the pony didn’t waste a moment to throw in her opinion.
You know him better than that. The colt-boy isn’t going to do anything he doesn’t want to.
Levee pulled away from Melee. “But he can’t do this all on his own, either. I can help if he’d just give me a chance.”
The palomino gave her head a rough shake. What could you possibly do that he hasn’t tried already?
Levee climbed onto the fence and took a seat. “I would think of something.”
She absentmindedly scraped her muddy boots against the bottom rung of the fence as she sorted through her scattered thoughts. There was little Levee could do to sway the prince’s mind. Yet she wanted so badly to help Milo shoulder this burden, just as he had always been there to help her.
Hoof beats kept Levee’s thoughts from drifting any deeper, and she was relieved to find Milo and his horse galloping toward them. Without a second thought, Levee pushed off the fence and ran to the barn to greet him.
The first thing she saw when the Sarrokian approached was his frown. Levee stopped a few paces short as Milo dismounted, his feet hitting the ground before Danna came to a complete halt.
“What are ya doin’ out here in the dark?” he reprimanded.
Levee furrowed her brow. “I was waiting for you. You met with the prince at noon, Milo. Why is it you’re just now coming home? I’ve been fretting all afternoon.”
Milo shooed her away from the gate so he could herd Danna into the pasture. “I’ll explain later. Get yourself in the house.”
Levee stood with her jaw slack, dumbfounded by Milo’s curtness. When he turned around again, his hand hovering over the dagger at his waist, she understood there was a reason bigger than a bad day behind his ire.
“Go!” the Sarrokian ordered.
Levee made a frightened dash for the cottage, spooked by Milo’s urgency. Pulling the door shut, she climbed onto the wooden window seat and peered out the glass. Her concern swelled as she watched Milo rush to strip Danna of his tack. He didn’t bother to brush or tend to the gelding. He simply let him out to pasture with Melee while he, too, fled for the back entrance of their home.
The wooden door slammed behind him and he secured the lock. Levee trailed on his heels as Milo crossed the common room to bolt the front door as well. Questions lingered by the dozen on her lips, but she couldn’t find a moment between Milo’s hurried movements to voice them. He blew out all the candles and drew curtains over every window.
Finally, Levee couldn’t take any more. “Milo, what is going on?”
He placed a finger over his lips before taking the gypsy’s hand and leading her to his room. Now Levee was truly scared. Milo had on no uncertain terms marked his bedroom off limits in an effort to keep the neighbors from misconstruing their relationship. For him to cross his own lines meant something was terribly wrong.
She leaned against the wall and nibbled at her nails as Milo pulled a scimitar out from underneath his bed. Drawing it close to his side, the Sarrokian then tucked two fingers beneath the curtain of his bedroom window and peered outside.
“Milo…” Levee’s voice barely crested a whisper.
“I lingered in the city after meetin’ with the prince. It did not go well, darlin’,” his burnt amber eyes remained glued to the window pane as he whispered an explanation. “I grabbed me a quick meal at a tavern in the city and spent the afternoon ridin’ off some steam. Then I took the eastern road home. Figured a longer route would gimme more time to think. That’s when I came across two Nevahardan soldiers lyin’ dead on the road and what looked to be two more investigatin’. Their horses were shifty. I shoulda known somethin’ was amiss.”
Milo swallowed hard as he let the curtain drop back over the glass. “I stopped, thinkin’ I’d offer to fetch ‘em more help. But then I noticed they were speakin’ that old language you use sometimes.”
“Niradakra?” Levee cocked her head. Few still spoke the horse folk’s ancient tongue, even among the gypsies.
“Aye. I don’t think I was supposed to hear it, either. As soon as I got close enough, one of ‘em unsheathed their sword and swung at me. No questions asked, just attacked. I kicked Danna into a gallop and raced home. They both took up the chase. I lost ‘em when I cut across ol’ Windol’s corn field and through the edge of his pond.”
Levee’s eyes widened. She shifted from the wall to a seat on the bed as she let Milo’s story sink in. “Who were they?”
“I dunno, Lev. Could be they were bandits posin’ as soldiers… I don’t think they were gypsies. Their accent was Nevahardan, even when they spoke in the old tongue.”
“And you’re certain they were rahee?” Levee asked.
Milo nodded. “Aye, that they definitely were.”
Levee hugged one of Milo’s pillows against her chest. “Should we bring Tay in here too?”
Milo shook his head. “Let Ma sleep. Her heart’s too weak to be frettin’ about things like this. We’ll only wake ‘er if we have to.”
; The hollow clop of trotting hooves sounded outside. Milo lifted the curtain again, and Levee poked her head under his arm so she could see, too.
Outside, two riders fitting Milo’s description trotted down the road. They moved like typical soldiers on patrol: heads high, eyes alert. Only the horses seemed out of place, their ears set back against their heads. The sweat on the mounts’ hindquarters glistened in the moonlight and Levee pointed out the way their tails whipped angrily.
The pair watched as the two armored rahee passed by the cottage without breaking their march, carrying out Nevaharday’s typical patrol.
“Strange,” Levee observed. “It’s like they weren’t even looking for you.”
“They weren’t,” Milo muttered.
Levee drew away from the window and leaned back against Milo’s bed. “Well that’s a good sign.”
To Levee, the soldier’s diverted attention was evidence that danger had passed them by. Milo smiled reassuringly, but said nothing. When she eventually rose to return to her room, his eyes trailed back to the empty window.
He silently disagreed.
Equine Spirit
Jaycent awoke the next afternoon under a layer of familiar blankets. He rose with a start, baffled to find himself in his own bed. Leaning back against his arms, he tried to recall the night before and winced when a sharp pain nipped at his right shoulder. Lifting the sleeve of his tunic, he found a dark bruise from where his arm struck the wooden crates. Everything after that moment was lost to him, and he feared what might have transpired after he lost consciousness.
His heart railed against his chest as he considered the implications. Was someone trying to kill him? Who brought him back? The soldier? The gypsies? Or did a concerned citizen find him out cold in a back alley, the scent of cheap drink on his breath? So many answers hung in the balance; so many consequences, none of them good.
“Relax,” Jaycent told himself as he took a steadying breath. “Panicking will not solve anything. You will figure this out one step at a time.” Looking around, the prince spied a letter perched against the silver circlet on his bedside table. He smirked. “Starting with this.”
Snatching the letter up, he dug his fingers into the envelope and pulled out a small parchment.
I want to see you in my chancery the moment your eyelids open.
-Rayhan Mendeley
Jaycent flinched at the direct command. The prince didn’t need to hear Rayhan’s voice to know a longwinded lecture awaited him upstairs. He dressed quickly, exchanging last night’s attire for one of the embroidered tunics hanging neatly in his closet. Tying his long brown hair into a loose tail, Jaycent slid the circlet from his bedside table over his brow and, with another steadying breath, trudged out the door.
The great room staircase wasn’t nearly as long as he’d wished. It led him swiftly to the upper west wing reserved for personnel. At the end of the hall stood two wooden doors carved as one canvas to display a rearing unicorn. The beast was adorned with plated armor forged in silver, its forelegs raking the air in a proud display of courage and strength. The unicorn’s corded muscles and flaring nostrils once impressed the prince as a child, but Jaycent thought little of it now.
He had seen the entrance to Rayhan’s office countless times.
It took a hearty shove, but he opened the massive doors and slipped inside. The prince’s boots hardly made a sound as they padded across the woven carpet. Visiting his cousin was like undergoing the scrutiny of every significant leader in Nevahardan history. Portraits of deceased heroes stared somberly at him from every wall.
“Something on your mind, Your Highness?” Rayhan asked.
Jaycent looked in front of him to find his cousin staring expectantly from his desk.
“Perhaps you would like to give an account for last night’s behavior,” the general hinted.
The prince stiffened. “I was going to ask you the same. I do not remember—”
“Of course you don’t,” Rayhan slammed his hands against the desk with such a force that Jaycent nearly jumped out of his skin. The prince’s eyes widened as his cousin rose to his feet and proceeded to circle him with the scrutiny of a hawk. “Yesterday morning you arrived late to an audience that you scheduled in a state that was an embarrassment to both yourself and your kingdom. There you proceeded to display poor conduct by expressing disinterest in the commoner’s plight, followed by a bullying threat that painted you in an unfavorable light.
“To make matters worse, you disappear again that very evening only to return late, carried by three gypsies who claimed they found you inebriated and unconscious in a pile of crates! That, Jaycent Connor, is enough reason to have what little authority you wield removed on the premise of recklessness. Perhaps even madness, for who in their right mind would make such foolish mistakes?”
Rayhan’s words cut a chink in the prince’s honor. He had never been so berated in his life.
“You will do no such thing,” he growled.
“No,” the general responded, his tone resolute. “Because I believe somewhere inside of you is a leader worthy of this kingdom. But you must let go of the demons that have made you so careless, Your Highness!”
Jaycent had expected a stern lecture, but it was worse than that. Rayhan was a hair’s breadth away from seizing control of his already limited position. Without his authority as Nevaharday’s next ruler, Jaycent had nothing to leverage. He was just a puppet forced to play out the general’s every discretion.
The prince’s voice shifted from apologetic to defensive. “What exactly would you have me do, cousin?”
“First, you must abandon your drinking habit.”
“You have my word. I will no longer overindulge—”
Rayhan held his hand up in a bold request for silence. “I have already ordered the winery to cease its delivery until further notice. The cooks have also been informed that no ale or spirits will be served unless I grant them permission in person.”
“You do not have the authority—” Jaycent began, but Rayhan spoke over him, his voice growing louder as he drilled these new regulations into the prince’s head.
“You will have either a guard or companion accompanying you at all times for however long I deem necessary. Every decisions you make shall be passed through me or your advisors before they are carried out, from the meals you request to the rulings you pass.”
“And if I refuse to oblige?”
“Your Highness, do not question me as if I am the one who is out of line!” Rayhan glared up at Jaycent, undeterred by the prince’s temper. “For two years I have watched you sulk and tolerated your shamelessness, but this morning you made it clear that intervention is necessary.”
The prince’s ears dipped low against his skull and his eyebrows knitted together. “General, I know my actions last night seem inexcusable, but it was not what it looks to be. If you would take a moment to hear my side of the story, you would not judge me so harshly.”
Rayhan sat on the edge of his desk where he heaved a great sigh. “Jaycent, I know you suffer. Two years ago you were robbed of your family only to be thrown into a responsibility you were not prepared for, and for that I empathize. But I will not let Nevaharday fall because of it! You must deal with the pain life throws at you, not wallow in it.”
“I must deal?” Jaycent scoffed. “Cousin, I have been dealing since the day my parents died! I navigate through my anguish alone while trying to avoid the alternate agendas my father warned me against,” Jaycent beat his chest in rhythm with his words. “Yet every word, every breath, every action I take is predetermined by a court who demands I show no sign of vulnerability.
“I cannot be honest, even with myself, because every waking moment of my life is dictated by a kingdom I must crawl out of my own balcony to see.
“So forgive me for showing some signs of weakness, for I am only a mere mortal!”
Rayhan threw his arms out wide in frustration. “How many times have I told you I am here for yo
u, cousin? Since we were children I have looked out for you, and that is precisely what I am attempting to do now, but I cannot do that when you fight me at every turn!”
Jaycent ran an irritated hand across his face as he tried to compose himself. There was no point in arguing any further. Rayhan had made it clear that he would not believe any excuse the prince presented. If he were to be honest now and tell his cousin what transpired last night, the general would likely tack it up as a bluff.
The prince would have to find his own answers, just as he always did. His cousin had said the gypsies were the ones to bring him home last night. At least he knew who to question the next time he was able to steal away from these troublesome walls.
For now, though, he had to redeem himself in the eyes of Rayhan and the ruling council that undoubtedly stood behind him. He took a deep breath, pretending to give in to Rayhan’s offer. “Fine. Tell me what I must do to earn your trust again, and I will do it.”
The general rubbed his forehead. “For one, we must repair your reputation. I have already made certain there will be no gossip about last night’s rendezvous. Now it is your turn to show our citizens that you can be the face of this kingdom.”
Rayhan returned to his chair and Jaycent drew closer, perching himself on the corner of his cousin’s desk. “Starting with this afternoon’s competition?”
The general adjusted the map on his desk, his rare temper subsiding. “Aye, it’s a start.”
Jaycent fiddled with the soft plume of a quill that sat inside an inkwell until Rayhan moved it out of reach. The general then leaned back in his chair as he contemplated what to do with Jaycent. Discipline wasn’t the answer to His Highness’ problems. The prince needed guidance.
“How would you feel about a change of pace, just for a while?”
Jaycent slowly raised his head. “What do you mean?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to give you a lighter schedule,” Rayhan reasoned. “I can approach the council and request you spend the next few weeks assisting me in directing patrol groups and training the fall recruits. It will release you from your daily hearings, appearances, and meetings while providing you with a healthy outlet as you wean yourself off of your appetite for wine and ale.”
The Rogue Trilogy Page 6