“It won't work, Prince.”
Jaycent peered over the lip of his sheets. At first, all he could see was a blur of colors as the room around him whirled like a leaf from a branch. The prince held his breath until his vision cleared.
Arelee sat at his desk with her arms and legs crossed, her face donning a scowl that could curdle milk. By her side, a pile of clothes sat neatly folded. The prince sat up, confused.
“Who let you in?” he mumbled. “And how long have you been sitting there?”
Arelee huffed. “I'm here because I want to know what's going on.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play coy with me, Your Highness.”
Jaycent’s body tensed. One ear dip back, baffled by her anger.
Arelee softened her glare, caught off guard by his honest bafflement. “You did order servants to prepare a room next to mine?” she clarified. “One for another horse mistress?”
The prince rubbed his head, his lips dipped in a sour frown. “That is what this tantrum of yours is about? Arelee, it is only Levee. I reopened your offer to let her join my court as your apprentice.”
“What?”
“You are welcome. Now will you please leave my bedchamber?”
Arelee began to pace in front of Jaycent, ignoring his plea. “When did you decide this, and why didn't you tell me?”
“It was a surprise?” Jaycent proposed, hoping it would be enough to get the horse mistress out of his room and retrieve his stolen peace. “Really Arelee, I thought you would be delighted.”
“Does Rayhan know?” Her tone was worried, as if she were frightened by the idea of Jaycent making decisions on his own.
Massaging his eyes with the palms of his hands, the prince replied, “The matter does not concern my cousin. I saw no reason to inform him.”
“Who did you consult about this, Prince?”
“No one!” he shouted. Ears slanted back, Jaycent flung the blanket from his battered frame. A pair of silk pants covered his otherwise bare body, and for the first time Arelee caught sight of the scars and bruises that covered his arms and chest. “And I do not need a lecture from you because of it! I am the prince of Nevaharday, for gods’ sakes.”
“What's happened to you?” Arelee whispered. Her gaze trailed from the cuts on his body to the feral look in his eyes. “I’ve heard the rumors, but to see it firsthand… Your Highness, this is serious.”
The prince took the pitcher of water from his bedside table and poured himself a glass. “I am handling this as well as anyone could. Just let me rest. I will be fine come afternoon.”
“It is afternoon,” Arelee whispered, shaking her head all the while. “Why are you are shielding the truth? If you would just let Rayhan and I help—”
“I do not need your help!” Jaycent threw his glass and Arelee winced as it shattered against the wall. He leaned against one of the bed's ornate posts, his eyes fixed on the crystal shards that now littered the floor. Arelee’s ears drooped beneath her wild black curls as she took a wary step toward the prince.
“Why are you so guarded now, Your Highness?” Arelee pressed. Holding her arms out to the side, she gave a defeated shrug. “I just want to be your friend, and you push me away. Rayhan wants to protect you, yet you fight his every effort. It’s like you see us as strangers now.”
“Don’t you get it, Arelee?” Jaycent’s eyes never left the sharp fragments as he muttered a cold reply. “We are strangers. You and Rayhan see what you want me to be, but when you get a glimpse of this...” He held his arms out wide, “All I see in your eyes is disappointment.
“Who I really am, you don’t want to see. So just go... Play with your horses and stop looking for the person you think me to be. He is not here. He never was.”
Stung by his words, the horse mistress snatched the pair of clothes she had set on his desk and whipped them onto the bed. “The general is waiting for you in his office,” she said. “Whoever you are should go see him.”
She left, slamming the door shut with a resounding thud that made the prince cry out in pain. He fumbled with the handle to his bedside table drawer, wrestling it open. Lifting up the bottom, Jaycent pulled out a small pouch of pain powder and poured another glass with a shaky hand. A pinch would cure any headache, but he wanted to ward off more than that. Dumping the whole remedy in his drink, he stirred the concoction and downed it quickly.
Calling in a servant, Jaycent demanded a hot bath, then he turned his attention to the outfit Arelee left crinkled before him. Just the sight of the old tunic caused the prince's jaw to stiffen.
The silk ensemble boasted of regality, its soft fabric shifting between silver and blue under the window’s light. Silver plated arm guards crested with azure gems matched the ornate circlet sitting beside them. If she was trying to punish Jaycent, the horse mistress was hitting below the belt. He hadn’t worn this outfit since the day his parents died.
“Damn the horse-feathered wench,” he growled. Approaching the bathing chamber linked to his bedroom, he shooed the servants with an irritable wave. “That is enough.”
“But Your Highness, the basin isn’t even full yet,” the servant protested.
“I don’t care.”
“But Your Highness, you always—”
“Leave! Now!”
The servant ducked out of the room like a dog with its tail tucked under, and Jaycent stripped down before easing his body into the water. Within seconds his arms began to burn. He bore it with gritted teeth until the pain subsided.
Things weren’t getting any better. His dreams had become a subconscious battlefield, no less painful and scarring than the actual thing. Weariness seeped into his bones and bruised his eyes. Rayhan had called every healer in the realm to tend to his unusual ailment, but it was no use.
Like the summer season, Jaycent felt himself fading. Time tapered thinner as his mortal body weakened against lack of sleep and mental exhaustion. It was difficult for him to think without his mind drifting.
He scrubbed the stench of sweat and old wine from his skin and hair, pausing only when he noticed the light fragrance that wafted from the sudsy bubbles.
Lavender. The scent caressed his nose, recalling the image of a young rahee in a green dress. Her eyes had been so bright, so light, and so heavy—all at once. The prince turned his head and stared at his reflection in the oval looking glass on the wall to his left, guilt and comfort mixing like oil and water inside his chest.
Bringing Levee to the palace had been a selfish act. Her usefulness last night convinced Jaycent it would be beneficial to keep the gypsy close at hand, but he hadn’t even considered how the drastic move would affect her. Wiping a wet tendril of hair from his face, Jaycent mentally decided to check in on the girl to ensure she was content.
Once the water cooled, the prince climbed out of the tub and dried off, determined to find a way to pull his life back together. Stepping back into his chamber, he glanced in the tall mirror against the back wall, scornful of the hollow-cheeked image staring back at him. Shifting his attention to the royal ensemble on his bed, he dabbed the droplets from his damp body.
“I cannot sit here and wait for Rayhan to scour the realm for answers,” he muttered. “If Patchi is right, I can fix this myself.”
Snatching up the tunic, he began to dress. Each piece of clothing added a new layer of confidence to Jaycent’s image. After brushing his hair clean of knots, he requested his personal maid to help him look more like the royalty he was.
“I can’t remember the last time you let me do your hair, Your Highness,” Neena remarked, her agile hands weaving braids through Jaycent’s long, mahogany locks. “Used to be you wouldn’t start your day ‘less you looked the part of a prince.”
“Perhaps it was time to remind myself of who I am,” His Highness replied.
“Perhaps,” the older woman hummed. As she finished, the maid clipped his hair into place before gingerly positioning the circlet across h
is brow. “There,” she beamed. “Handsome as ever.” With an assuring wink, she exited the room, leaving the prince to his privacy.
Fitting his hilt around his lean waist, Jaycent strode out of his chamber. Servants shuffled out of his path as the prince moved down the steps toward the west wing. His expression was grim as he mulled over Rayhan’s summons.
If Arelee had shown up in his room unexpectedly, then the general must not be in a pleasant mood. He pushed through the broad doors of the general’s office without so much as a knock and stood expectantly in front of his desk. Rayhan broke away from a conversation he was having with one of his charges and raised a single eyebrow at Jaycent’s abrupt entrance.
“Lieutenant, if you will excuse me for a moment,” the general pardoned himself as he stood and approached the prince, his brown eyes never leaving Jaycent’s indifferent stare. “Is there something I can help you with, Your Highness?”
“You tell me, General. You were the one who summoned me.”
“Aye, approximately three hours ago. As you can see I’m now in a meeting which you have interrupted.”
“Your meeting can wait. What I have to speak to you about is of paramount importance.”
“Paramount indeed,” his cousin muttered. “I expect a full report on last night’s rendezvous of yours.”
Jaycent rolled his eyes. “Of course. That is part of the reason why I am here.”
Both studied one another with their ears bent back as they digested the exchange. A silent dare smoldered in Jaycent’s eyes, but Rayhan refused to act on it. He returned his attention to his lieutenant.
“Tasleer, divvy up the new cavalry into two units of fifty. Have them go through the combat drills we practiced last week. When you are done, report back to me with your analysis of each soldier’s performance.” The lieutenant gave a sharp salute and went about his orders, leaving the cousins to deal with the tension that consumed the round room.
“That was a bold entrance, Your Highness,” Rayhan approached the prince with his hands behind his back. “Tell me, did you just wake up and decide you felt like leading a kingdom today?”
“Say what you have to say, cousin. The sooner you finish, the sooner we can discuss more imminent matters.”
Rayhan lifted one of the prince’s sleeves in mock inspection. “Combining your blatant flaunt of power with this upgrade in attire almost has me believing you are a real prince.”
“Cease your condescending tone,” Jaycent snapped. “I am not one of your white-tailed recruits.”
“Really?” The general barked back. “Because you listen half as well as one! What happened to you keeping me informed of your actions? And where was your escort last night?”
“Diego was with me,” Jaycent reasoned. “And I’m standing here in your office, informing you now.”
Rayhan shook his head. “Your stubbornness is unmanageable. How do you expect me to serve you when you insist on doing everything on your own?”
“Oh, please,” Jaycent grumbled. “I’m tired of waiting for answers, General. Sleep has been a leisure I have lacked for too many weeks. I did what I had to do, and now I’m here to share with you the lead I have found. If you spent as much time hearing me out as you did giving orders, you would know that already.”
Rayhan motioned a stiff arm to the chair in front of his desk. “Then take a seat, Your Highness.”
“I'd rather stand.”
“So be it,” Rayhan turned and began to pace slowly back and forth in front of his desk. “Recount to me what took place last night.”
“Last night I met with Patchi—” the prince didn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence before the general’s protests began.
“Alone? Your Highness, what were you thinking?”
With a sigh, Jaycent held up his hand, commanding the right to speak.
“He explained these dreams I’m suffering from are a tainted form of visions. The only way for me to conquer them is to regain control of my gift.
“However, in order to do this, I need insight. Someone or something that can guide me through this...” the prince swiveled his wrist in a churning motion as he searched for the right words, “spiritual muddle.”
The general threw his hands in the air. “Did it not occur to you this might be a ploy of sorts? Your illness is a weakness Patchi could easily exploit to gain more control over his portion of the land.”
“It is not a ploy,” the prince assured. “Patchi is a tricky character to pin, but he is not a liar.”
“I do not trust him,” the general stated.
“Nor do I. Not entirely. That is why I employed the help of another gypsy. One we can trust.”
“Another gyp—” Rayhan’s face fell into the palm of his hand. “Have you been fraternizing with the queer folk every time my back is turned?”
“No more than Arelee has,” Jaycent rested his hands against the back of the overstuffed chair in front of Rayhan's desk. “I made arrangements for Levee Tensley to join the castle’s court. A room has been prepared for her next to the horse mistress’ chamber. I suspect she is settling in as we speak.”
With heavy doubt over his younger cousin's sanity, the general tucked his fists between his arms. “What in the four realms are you talking about, Your Highness?”
The side of Jaycent's mouth rose into a clever smirk. “Arelee's apprentice is a former gypsy and a loyal convert to Nevaharday's populace.”
Astonishment flickered in Rayhan's eyes, but dissipated under a quick rationale. “I suppose that explains her uncanny way with horses. But how is it you trust her?”
It was Jaycent's turn to be surprised. He took a moment to contemplate why he had so much faith in the girl. “Levee is easy to read, cousin. She is a guileless creature, pure in heart and honest to a fault.”
“Pure and honest...” Rayhan studied the prince's countenance with careful scrutiny. “Those are soft words from a prince with little heart to speak of.”
“I find her innocence useful,” Jaycent tapped his hands on the back of the chair. “Now on to other matters: Patchi hinted to a possible war on the horizon. He offered an alliance of sorts that would benefit both our people.”
“War with whom? The elves?” Rayhan scoffed. “Our relationship with them is rocky at best, but they do not wish to wage war with us again. We have nothing they desire, nor do we pose any threat to their kingdom.”
“No, not the elves...”
“Then what threatens us?”
“That I'm not certain of, though we believe it is associated with the fell beasts drifting into our territory.”
The general shook his head gravely. “My patrols have been looking into that. It could be that these beasts are strays seeking new grounds for food. But history tells us mimics and ogres are herd-minded creatures. They do not organize attacks on their own. Have you thought that perhaps this war is fabricated by the gypsies?”
Jaycent adamantly shook his head. “Patchi needs our city. Nevaharday holds the only influx of trade they can tap into. Without that, he hasn’t the means to support his people. Besides, even they are taking shelter here at night.”
“Fine. Let us assume for a moment that the gypsies’ leader is being honest. The only way we are going to better understand his intent is if we know who this enemy is and why he fears them.” Rayhan made for the door and motioned for Jaycent to follow. “You say Patchi isn’t a liar, but he doesn’t have to be. He speaks with a prophet’s tongue, forcing us to try to interpret what is really being said. How much do you know about the history of the gypsies?”
“They are descendants of those who survived the ancient city’s destruction,” Jaycent summarized. “Rebellious against our rule, they believe the old city will rise again one day like a phoenix from the ashes.”
“Exactly. They are heavily influenced by the past, and I would put gold on the assumption that this alliance is connected with their prophecies. Come with me.”
The duo entered the va
st library that spanned over two stories of the outer eastern wing. It was a beautifully ornate room illuminated by a massive stained glass window. But the meat of the palace’s literature didn’t sit upon open shelves. The general wove around the front desk where an older gentleman sat owl-eyed behind his spectacles, and subtly snatched the keys from the open drawer.
“Now General Mendeley, you wait just a minute there,” an elderly rahee crowed from his perch in front of the old oak desk. His demeanor changed when he caught sight of the prince. “I’ll find what you’re looking for, Your Highness. You just tell old Bardo what you need. But you…” he wagged a gnarled finger toward Rayhan. “You made a mess of my map archives last week. It took me two hours to get everything back in order!”
“My apologies, librarian,” the general grinned. “But I figured you could do a much finer job of putting them in order than I could. After all, you are the expert.”
“Yes, yes. I certainly am,” appeased by the compliment, Bardo took the keys Rayhan offered him and unlocked a door that led down a winding stairway. The musty scent of old parchment and dust wafted through the up draft and Jaycent muffled a cough in his sleeve.
“You know, young prince, down here you can find records dating back to before Nevaharday even began. We preserve every journal, war log, and letter that has ever come through these doors, be they from other kingdoms, leaders, or even lovers,” he winked. “Many secrets linger down here, long forgotten. But the past can say a lot about the future.”
Rayhan intervened in the librarian’s ramblings in attempt to keep them on track. “Bardo, we need to see any and all documents pertaining to the gypsy clans dating as far back as you can take us.”
The librarian twitched beneath his thick spectacles before shuffling deep into the old stacks that surrounded them like yawning caves. “You know, even before the ancient city of Bresan T’ahnya fell there was much quarreling between our ancestors and those of the so-called gypsies,” the old rahee’s voice echoed back. “Yes, yes! In fact, the roles were quite reversed. We were the nomadic clans and they were the royal kingdom.”
The Rogue Trilogy Page 18