“So you want to babysit me?” the prince smirked.
“I’m offering you a reprieve, Your Highness. That is nothing to scoff at. Besides, you were one of my best pupils. I could use your input.”
The prince eyed him doubtfully. “And you believe the council will approve this idea?”
“I will make certain they do,” his cousin assured. “Meet me on the training field an hour before sunrise. I will have it all arranged by then.”
“Very well,” Jaycent stretched and rolled his shoulders as if he could shrug off the entire ordeal that led to this conversation. “Shall we head out now? I am eager to see this year’s competitors.”
Rayhan stood, grabbed the linen overcoat from behind his chair, and slipped it over his arms. “Might as well. Arelee requested I stop by the stables before the competitions start. You should join me.”
“Arelee, hmm?” Jaycent wandered to the window, admiring the amber sky above the city as the general finished putting away his things. “Are you sure you aren’t courting her?”
“You really don’t want to let that notion go, do you?”
The prince shrugged. “The idea is growing on me.”
“Sorry to let you down, but I’ll likely spend most of our time together talking about the cavalry’s new war horses.”
Jaycent winked, his true emotions once again tucked away in a place no one could see. “If you insist.”
Rayhan clapped his cousin on the shoulder. “Come. I will walk with you to the stable grounds.”
The two moved at a leisurely pace as they filled the silence with idle talk. In the midst of their chatter, the general motioned toward their destination. He smiled at the prince, an undeniable excitement in his voice.
“Twenty new war mounts will fill those stalls tonight. Arelee's father delivered them this morning. These beasts are impressive, my prince. They may not compare to Diego, but they are bred as well as any elven steed and supposedly more keen.”
Jaycent nodded his approval. “Now we simply need riders to match.”
“You will enjoy that part. Already, I am set on you assisting with the equestrian field training.”
The prince’s eyes lit up. A mischievous grin sprung up from beneath his goatee. “I hope you have chosen strong riders, General.”
“They will be by the time you are done with them. I have been on enough ‘leisure rides’ with you and Diego to know anyone who survives them deserves a medal.”
Jaycent chuckled. “How many recruits do you have this year?”
“About three hundred signed up for training,” Rayhan continued their stroll, his hands folded behind his waist. “Out of that number, only half made the cut. They are a promising group, though. Fifty of them are striving for a position within our cavalry.”
“You push your men to the extreme, Rayhan, yet you never fail to bring out the best in them.”
“Only when we face an ultimatum, do we find where our true strength lies.”
Jaycent nodded, and the two made their way to the stable where Diego was grazing outside. The stallion escaped his stall at will and no stable hand was brave enough to try to put him back.
Shaking his head, Jaycent grabbed the stallion's long forelock as they approached the stable door. “You know I put you in a stall for a purpose, Diego.”
“Is it raining?” the stallion asked.
Jaycent tossed the unicorn a look. “No.”
“Is it hot?”
“Not really.”
“Then what would possibly motivate me to stand idly in a covered box?”
“To keep you from dirtying your coat,” the prince reprimanded.
“Look on the bright side,” Rayhan mused. “At least Diego didn’t roll in the mud this time.”
“Yes,” the stallion grunted. “You’re welcome.”
Jaycent smirked as he left Diego outside the stable entrance while he and his cousin went to fetch the general's mount. Rayhan didn't have to call her name. Siabra already sensed her companion’s presence.
The elemental unicorn stared at them expectantly from the corner stall. She was a beautiful mare with a dun coat and long brown socks that licked her knees. Upon her brow sat a thin, ivory horn that spiraled like the tip of a conk shell.
Slender and lithe, she hardly appeared to be the proper mount for a general. Yet the mare held her own hidden talents that made her a mighty steed. Siabra was born with innate magic that enabled her to influence the landscape around her.
Rayhan opened the bottom half of the door and bowed politely to the mare, who, in turn, nuzzled him affectionately.
“Good afternoon, Siabra,” the prince greeted.
“Good afternoon, Prince Jaycent,” her voice, soft like the wind’s whisper, held little affection. Despite her tender appearance, the unicorn only showed favor toward Rayhan, whom she fawned over like a love-struck yearling. She whipped her lion-like tail at the sight of the prince as if to emphasize that preference.
Jaycent leaned against Diego’s empty stall and waited as Rayhan clipped reins to Siabra’s headstall. The general then laid a handwoven blanket over her back and gently placed a lightweight saddle atop of it. His fingers worked the cinch with such care that Jaycent fought the urge to roll his eyes.
Once Siabra was tacked, they exited the stable where Jaycent found Diego still waiting. The prince was the only rahee on castle grounds known to ride without a bridle or saddle. This was partially due to the unicorn’s pride, for Diego refused to don anything made to control him.
But the pair didn’t need such apparatuses, either. Jaycent rode bareback, using the unicorn’s long mane to keep his bearings while communicating through touch and verbal cues.
Utilizing the wooden railing that lined the pasture, the two cousins mounted their companions and struck out at a relaxed pace toward the main road. Diego led with his high stepping gait, the feathering over his hooves making it look as if he floated across the path.
Siabra, who stood two hands below the regal stallion, made it a point to pace him. Soon the two were itching to break into a canter, but the cousins talked them down. Together, they headed toward the great stone arch that separated the castle grounds from Nevaharday’s bustling streets.
Commoners stopped what they were doing to pay respect to the noble cousins and their esteemed mounts as they rode by. Jaycent and Rayhan nodded their heads in return, content in their silence as they followed the wide cobblestone route through Nevaharday's center to the city's eastern entrance.
Once there, an open field stretched almost a mile between them and the Royal Arena. The cousins took it at a swift canter, careful to avoid the crowds meandering to the same destination. Guests from varying races were included in the masses, none of which the they cared to offend with their hasty mounts.
“I see Arelee,” the general motioned toward the stable that wrapped like a horseshoe around the arena itself, and the pair urged their mounts toward the horse mistress standing beside its main doors. Catching sight of the pair, Arelee handed off a list to one of her stable hands and walked over to meet them.
“There you two are. I suppose being almost early will suffice.” Arelee welcomed their mounts with treats from her pocket. “Let the stable hands cool off the unicorns and get them settled.”
Jaycent and Rayhan slid from their mounts as a young boy approached upon Arelee’s call. When she directed him to take the royal mounts to the stable, the young rahee could hardly contain his joy. He took Siabra's reins, a silly grin plastered on his face as he gave the mare a loving pat.
Yet when he turned to Diego, the boy’s enthusiasm drained with the color in his face. The stallion's eyes were defiant and his ears slid back when the boy reached up to grab his forelock.
Recoiling, the stable hand gave Arelee a pleading look. The horse mistress crossed her arms and turned to Jaycent, her expression telling him to get a grip on his unicorn’s attitude.
Kneeling so that he was eye-to-eye with the stable boy,
the prince offered some advice. “Just lead Siabra and Diego will follow. If you ask politely, he will comply…” He paused as if to consider that statement. “Usually.”
The boy swallowed hard and nodded, anxiously leading the mounts away. Rayhan and Jaycent tried to keep a straight face as they watched the boy disappear with his charges behind the arena, Diego’s nose investigating the kid’s pockets for sugar lumps the entire way.
Arelee huffed. “Both of you follow me. There is something I want to show you.”
The horse mistress linked arms with the cousins and led them into the back of the curving stable where a series of stalls housed the competitors’ mounts. There was nothing to divide the riders of noble descent from the commoners. Like the castle festivities earlier in the week, the arena was a place of equal ground. Only the quality of their tack seemed to reveal the riders’ stations as they focused on preparing their mounts.
“Word is you are looking for a new apprentice,” Rayhan stated discreetly. “Which riders do you have your eye on today?”
“An unlikely competitor,” Arelee sprouted a clever grin.
“What event is he competing in?” Jaycent inquired.
“She, I suspect, will be riding for the agility title,” The horse mistress released the two cousins’ arms as she scanned the stalls.
She? Jaycent’s thoughts immediately went to the rumor he had overheard the night before about a gypsy sneaking into the competition.
Arelee motioned to a slender rahee decked in old riding chaps and a tight-laced vest. Her back was to them as she braided the creamy mane of a palomino pony. “I met the girl when she and her male companion came to check in. His name is on the roster, but the pony is far too small for someone of his size. My guess is she plans to enter under his name,” Arelee whispered. “And not a word of opposition will come from either of you if my suspicions prove to be true. I want to see how well this girl rides.”
The cousins nodded, both of them sharing her intrigue.
“Levee Tensley!” Arelee called.
The rahee with her back to them turned and glanced over her shoulder. She smiled when she caught sight of the horse mistress, but her expression changed when she noted the company tagging along. Nervous, Levee tied off the end of her mare's tight braid and wiped her hands on her britches.
“Miss Tensley, this is General Mendeley,” the horse mistress introduced.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the general greeted.
“By all means, the pleasure is mine,” Levee offered an awkward bow that made Rayhan smile.
Then her eyes fell on Jaycent and the prince’s mouth suddenly felt parched. He recognized those striking green eyes. He had seen them only a few nights before. She was alluring then, with just enough mystery to pique his interest.
Now the tavern gossip put a bitter taste on his tongue when he realized that was just the sort of impression a clever gypsy would leave.
“And this is—” Arelee began, but the prince cut her short.
“We have met,” he said. Levee bowed respectfully and the prince nodded in acceptance. His eyes weren’t as kind as they appeared that night on the balcony, but Levee didn’t shy away from their stare. “I hear your Sarrokian friend is competing in the agility race,” the prince began.
“His name is on the roster,” Levee replied as she tried to pinpoint the reason for His Highness’ ire, but Jaycent had no intention of revealing that.
“I admit, I am fascinated by his choice in mount,” the prince nodded his head toward the palomino in the stall. “It seems like an odd match, don’t you think?”
Arelee inhaled sharply; a subtle warning to Jaycent not to ruin the girl’s chances of sneaking into the competition.
Levee looked straight into Jaycent’s eyes in a way that bothered him more than a little. “A wise rahee once told me you cannot judge a dance until you’ve tried it for yourself.”
“Wise, indeed,” the prince muttered. The two remained locked in their stare, both unyielding.
“Well,” Arelee cleared her throat. “I suppose we will have to wait and see, now won’t we?” Tugging Jaycent’s arm, she offered Levee a polite nod. “Best of luck to you both, Miss Tensley. We will see Master Kasateno and his pony in the arena.”
The peasant gave another polite bow to the prince and his company just as Milo approached the stall. When the Sarrokian’s terracotta eyes caught sight of the prince and his royal companions, his ears dove beneath his dark curls.
“Best of luck, Levee Tensley,” the prince bid as Milo joined them. Without lingering for a response, Jaycent followed Rayhan and Arelee to the viewing box above the arena.
Levee watched as the trio walked away, unnerved by the prince’s attitude. It wasn’t his suspicions that bothered her. Anyone with eyes should be able to piece together the truth behind Milo’s entry. It was his reaction to it all, as if he had every intention of watching her a little more closely, that set Levee on her guard.
The gypsy shook her head. Other than this competition, she had done nothing to deserve anyone’s scrutiny. Her conscience clear, she tried to focus on the task at hand. Gingerly urging a bit into Melee’s mouth, Levee pulled the bridle over the palomino’s ears and slid the reins around her neck. Placing a blanket and saddle onto the mare’s back, Levee’s thoughts drifted inward while she altered the straps.
Milo noted her distraction as he began adjusting the stirrups on the other side of the saddle. “Are ya so nervous that you forgot how to say hello?” he asked as he measured the length with his forearm. Satisfied, he rested the stirrup across the saddle.
Levee did the same on her side and offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Milo.”
The Sarrokian ruffled Levee’s hair and inspected Melee’s hooves to make sure nothing looked aggravated. “How was she on the way here?”
“Sound as can be.”
“Good,” Milo walked around the pony, patting her neck as he passed, then turned his attention upon Levee. In spite of the butterflies he knew were dancing in her stomach, the young gypsy never looked happier. This was her moment, and Milo’s heart told him Levee would shine.
“How are you?” she suddenly asked. The Sarrokian tilted his head at the question. “You were up all night,” she explained, her voice lowered so that only they would hear. “I heard you pacing.”
“Just nervous about today,” he lied as he brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Nothin’ for your pretty head to fret about.”
Trumpets sounded. The prince and his entourage were introduced and escorted to their seats, followed by cheers and laughter when the jesters began their pre-competition entertainment. Milo barely acknowledged it. He took the gypsy’s face in his hands. “You be careful out there, ya hear?”
Levee hugged him so tightly it nearly knocked the wind out of the tough farmer. “I will,” she promised. Milo wrapped a pair of strong arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on top of her head. Glancing at the palomino pony, he whispered, “Keep your footing, Mare.”
Melee gave the Sarrokian’s face a reassuring nudge. Stop worrying, colt-boy. I’ve been taking care of her longer than you have.
Levee giggled. “She says you have nothing to fear.”
Milo gave Levee’s shoulders one more squeeze before pulling away. “Go get ‘em, Princess,” he said, tweaking her nose. “I’ll be cheerin’ you on.”
Levee winked. “I’ll be the one kicking up dust.”
He laughed and said goodbye, leaving Melee and Levee by themselves. She kissed her mare’s muzzle. “Are you ready for this, Melee?”
The pony breathed against her companion’s vest and Levee could feel the adrenaline flowing through her veins. This was her element.
Levee’s blood ran thick with an equine spirit that linked her to the mare standing before her. The gypsy would sense where Melee’s hooves would fall before they ever left the ground.
She knew it. Her pony knew it.
They were one.
And today, they would win.
“Levee, it’s time,” the competition director that Milo had befriended came to fetch her. Levee bit her lip, then nodded and led her mare toward the wide double doors that opened into the arena. Pulling down her stirrups, she mounted.
“First in the agility race is Milo Kasateno, a Sarrokian farmer from the village of New Haven!” the announcer, a rahee with a voice that sounded as if it could carry into the next realm, cried.
Levee’s fingers laced around the reins and Melee trotted forward, pausing at the gates. She drowned out the faces that circled the arena, zeroing in on nothing but the obstacles in front of her and the voice that would start the race.
A hush fell over the crowd as they noticed the rider was neither male, nor Sarrokian. Melee pranced in place.
“Steady, whoa,” Levee coaxed, one hand gripping the pommel of her saddle. The wooden stands were packed tight on every side, their benches filled with more than just rahee.
The trade faire had brought faces from all races and realms to the event. Elves, men, and dwarves included. The announcer gawked before looking up at the royal booth for some direction.
Arelee Denicarli stood, her voice as horse mistress taking precedence over the judges. “State your name, young rider,” she commanded.
“Levee Tensley,” the gypsy replied without a single waver in her voice.
“Why do you ride in the Sarrokian’s stead?”
Levee gave a salute from her saddle and spoke honestly. “Lady Denicarli, I beg your forgiveness but this was the only way for me to compete. For three years I have wanted to participate in our city’s grand competition, and for three years I was unfairly disqualified. So with Milo Kasateno’s permission, I ride in his stead today. May I, by your blessing, proceed?”
Even from a distance, Levee could see the horse mistress’ approval. With a commanding voice, she said, “Will Milo Kasateno rise and confirm Miss Tensley’s statement?”
The Rogue Trilogy Page 7