The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  Not that Tobiano could blame him. It seemed pieces of the rogue’s dead cousin were showing up at every turn. To tack it up as coincidence now seemed absurd. Whether it was the goddess speaking or Rayhan himself, someone was clearly trying to get the rogue’s attention.

  “So are you going to say something, or are you just supposed to stand there looking intimidating?”

  Tobiano looked down upon the elf still stroking Siabra’s back. “Depends,” he answered in the common tongue. “Does the elf wish to speak?”

  The hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “If the re’shahna is nice to her, then perhaps.”

  Tobiano considered her invitation. He had yet to explain the peculiar details about the elf to Patchi. The chief had his hands full with Qualle as he tried to form an alliance with the tchaka. The two had been locked inside of Qualle’s caravan for hours now, with not a sound to tell them which way the negotiations were going.

  He might as well find out what he could while they waited. “Why would King Shadow take an elven slave?”

  The girl shook her head. “I am only part elven. My father was a rahee. He died in battle the night Shadow took the throne.”

  Tobiano cocked his head, curious. “Your father… Who was he?”

  “Maybe you can tell me. I was arrested at the public library for inquiring about the name of my father, who fought on behalf of Prince Jaycent. The Velagran guards took me before King Shadow to be questioned. When I told him what I knew of my father, the king said he was an enemy of Velagray, and that I had to pay his dues in service to the kingdom. He wouldn’t even give me the satisfaction of knowing his name. The king thought it humorous that I didn’t know ‘such an infamous failure’.”

  The re’shahna was quiet for several moments as he tried to follow what the half-elf was saying. “I do not understand. How did Shadow know who your father was?”

  The half-elf held up her hand. “He recognized his ring.”

  * * * * *

  Jaspur paced back and forth like a wild animal outside the tent, stopping only for a second here and there to stare at its flap. He knew he would have to face her. The elf harbored the answers he needed, but he was afraid to ask them.

  By now it was clear the rogue’s cousin was trying to reach out to him. Either that or the gods had finally decided exile wasn’t enough and had taken to torturing Jaspur with reminders of the past.

  The only way to know for certain was to face the incredible situation, but he just... couldn’t. He tried. Many times, Jaspur had stepped toward the tent, muttering to himself to summon an ounce of courage.

  And every time his feet would grow roots of dread and plant themselves just outside the flap. Panic reared inside of him, pressing against his ribs as it threatened to claw its way through his chest. He had fought in battles and wars and had faced the certainty of death, but this was too much.

  Every time he thought of the ring the elf held in her possession, his cousin’s face would flash across his mind. He would see his eyes again, an unspoken question in their depths as his life faded before him.

  Jaspur groaned, his pace growing faster. Every detail was seared into his mind. He had watched as Rayhan’s lifeblood ran down his neck, soaking his tunic until it seeped onto the floor. He never knew a single body could hold so much blood. It just kept pouring...

  Jaspur closed his eyes and clinched his head between his hands as he tried to push the image from his mind, but he couldn’t. The moment rushed back with paralyzing force. Agony of an incredible extreme threw him to his knees. His entire body quivered relentlessly as a cold sweat beaded his skin. Somewhere in the distance sounded a howl that made his soul crawl.

  Figures moved frantically around him. There were voices calling Jaspur’s name, but he couldn’t hear them. The rogue gritted his teeth against the pain as he gasped for breath. He rocked back and forth on his knees, screaming against the sounds of the past that replayed in his head.

  He didn’t know how long it lasted. It seemed like an eternity. Then the nightmare went away in a breath, like someone had blown out the candle on reality. His nausea and shivering slowly started to ease, and he noticed the terrible sounds of drowning breaths and cold steel had been replaced by something more pleasant: the sound of birds.

  Jaspur opened his eyes. It was the middle of the night, long past the hour for rose feathers and blues. Yet he could hear them very clearly. Looking around, the rogue saw the door he had built inside his mind and understood.

  He was inside himself, standing at the doorway between the present and the Veil. Beside the door, a window with thick gray curtains glowed bright with a false sun. A persistent pecking tapped against the windowsill, and Jaspur pulled the curtain back to find a red bird twittering anxiously on the other side.

  Jaspur leaned toward the glass. The bird looked back, his head twitching back and forth with beady-eyed curiosity.

  A pound on the door startled them both. Jaspur jumped and the bird flew away, screeching like a crow. The rogue watched the wooden beams shiver against every knock. Common sense told him not to touch it. Two visions in a day had left him weak. Another would be testing his limits. Yet some instinct deep inside Jaspur whispered for him to take the risk. Without thinking it through, the rogue reached for the door.

  He opened it to reveal a figure cast in light. He squinted against its glow, unable to make out anything other than the relative shape of his humanoid form.

  “It's you,” Jaspur whispered. “I saw you in the Veil. You knocked me down, right before I fell into one of Rayhan’s memories.”

  Jaspur thought about his cousin again, and how it all seemed to be related. His cousin, whose memory had just brought him to his knees in pain and despair…

  Before he could fall down that rabbit hole again, the figure stepped forward. He walked into the rogue like one would walk through a curtain, and Jaspur lost his breath. Light consumed him, and his ears sang with a loud ring.

  The pitch shifted and wavered until once again, Jaspur was hearing birds. He sat up from beneath a mound of silk blankets, a soft breeze drifting through an open balcony. Upon its white railing stood a red bird, his head cocked as he whistled at the rahee inside.

  Jaspur slid his hand across his face—no, Rayhan’s face. His cousin was in control again, throwing his legs over the bed and sliding to his feet with a loud yawn. Jaspur took a deep breath and eased back inside his cousin’s consciousness as he let the captain play his role.

  Rayhan dressed himself in silence, choosing a plain green riding tunic over his more expensive ensembles. He hadn’t seen Elessara since his first night in Whitewood. When he asked about her, the king merely told him to be patient. They had spent the last week hunting with His Majesty's retinue.

  The captain thoroughly enjoyed their excursions. They put him out of the city and into nature where there were fewer eyes to judge him. However, it was only a temporary reprieve, and he knew it. Nevaharday’s relationship with Whitewood would not improve by avoiding the majority of the elven people.

  So today’s plans were different. He ran a brush through his wavy brown hair before tying it back in a green ribbon. The king had granted him access to Whitewood’s city under the protection of Nadel and his Guard. It was time he faced the victims of his father’s deeds, and his own.

  It didn’t matter that there were two sides to every war. The elves' forgiveness would be dealt sparingly. Rayhan took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reciting to himself the oath he’d sworn when he was barely sixteen.

  “In the face of anger, I will show patience. I will address any and all injustice with integrity,” he let the words remind him of his purpose, their cadence calming his spirit, “because I stand for a cause greater than my pride. I am an example of courage and mercy. So long as I live, I will serve my king and my people with honor. I am the embodiment of Chivalry’s Code.”

  A knock at the door interrupted his meditation. He bent over to grab his belt off the chair and quickly buck
led it into place. “Come in,” he called, assuming it was Nadel. “I was hoping we could stop to break our fast along the way. Perhaps a local establishment—” His words stopped short when he turned around to find an entirely different visitor standing at his door. “Lady Elessara?”

  Elessara seemed just as unnerved as he was. “Captain Mendeley. Good morning.”

  Confusion claimed Rayhan’s expression. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Well I was hoping—that is, if you were willing…” She stared at the book in her hands as she tried to find her words.

  This was a stark contrast to the heated elf he had met the week prior. Concern washed over Rayhan and he motioned to the small couch in the middle of the sitting room. “Would you like to sit down?”

  Elessara took a deep breath and shook her head.

  “Perhaps you would like to join me on the balcony then? Nadel should be arriving shortly.”

  Elessara nodded and followed the captain out onto the balcony where he rested his forearms on the railing. She approached his side, her arms still clutched around her book. Her gray eyes fell upon Rayhan again as she tried to see him as someone other than his father.

  The young captain was handsome. While his face was similar to Siren’s, there were subtle details that set the two Mendeleys apart, like how Rayhan’s eyes felt kind where his sire’s were always brooding.

  Elessara held her book out to him and cleared her throat. “I brought you this. It’s my mother’s research journal. She started it when your people first came over the mountains to our side of the realm. It’s been enchanted against age and rot so the pages will never fade. I thought you might like it. Her sketches were drawn on site at the first camp our people encountered...”

  Rayhan reached out and gently took the book from her hands. “Why would you give this to me?”

  The elf crossed her arms to hide their trembling. “I deceived you the first evening you were here. It was a terrible mistake. I thought I was doing the right thing, but when I watched you make that oath, I… I realized I was wrong.”

  Rayhan nodded. “Aye. You were.”

  He spoke softly, but the captain’s words packed a heavy hit to Elessara’s conscience. She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I’ve read that the custom among rahee when they want to make amends is to give away their most valuable possession.”

  Rayhan ran his hand across the half-man, half-horse figure embossed into the leather cover. “Yes. It’s our way of expressing the depth of our sincerity.”

  Elessara wrung her hands behind her waist. “A book cannot erase what I did, but perhaps it will help you see I want to make things right between us. You were right when you said our people deserve a chance at peace. I shouldn’t let my own experiences deny them the opportunity.”

  Rayhan thumbed through the pages. “If you wanted to make amends with me, Lady Elessara, all you had to do was ask.”

  The historian shook her head again. “I want to do it this way if you will allow me.”

  Rayhan stared at the book in silence, digesting her offer. Admittedly, he hadn’t expected the elf’s sincerity. Her absence led him to believe she had abandoned all attempts at peace, but her gift told a very different story. He tapped his forehead with his fingers and extended his arm in gratitude. “You are forgiven.” With a smile, he added, “Now would you care to enjoy this sunrise with me?”

  He held out his hand and Jaspur wanted to shake his head as the elf softened beneath the influence of Rayhan the Chivalrous. His cousin could charm the feathers off a peacock. The pair stood side-by-side, watching in silence as the horizon flaunted an amber spectrum.

  “You would forgive me? Just like that?” Her voice was skeptical. “Captain, I heard the promise you made that night. You swore to give your life—”

  “By living honorably, and so I will,” he finished for her. “I made that promise long ago when I swore my life to Chivalry’s Code. What I said that night changes nothing at all.”

  “But it doesn’t excuse the fact that I put you in that situation.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “So how can you let go of my transgression so easily?”

  “There is wisdom in granting second chances,” the captain turned and perched his hand upon the rail, “when a person truly means it.”

  “Do you speak for yourself or for Nevaharday?”

  Rayhan gave a long sigh as he stared at the fiery horizon. “I speak as someone who needs to forgive as much as he needs to be forgiven.”

  Elessara swept a few stray grains of dirt from the railing. “Do you always watch the sunrise, Captain Mendeley?”

  “Most of them,” he confessed. “And please, call me Rayhan. I can tell my surname pains you.”

  “I am sorry…” she began, but he was already shaking his head.

  “Do not be.”

  “What was it like?” she asked. “Growing up with Siren as a father?”

  The captain stiffened. “My father…” he sighed. “My father was sick, Lady Elessara. His mind was poisoned by the horrors of war. I was never exempt from his abuse. I grew up with his demons, and they are not a pleasant memory.”

  “Forgive me.” She tapped her finger against the railing. “I just want to know who you are, though I am afraid I'm failing at every turn.”

  “You want to know I am not Siren,” the captain corrected. He turned his back to the rising sun, his tan complexion accented by the morning light. When his eyes fell upon her again, she found she could not turn away. “Be honest with me. Will your tests or my promises ever convince you of my honor?”

  The historian’s jaw quivered as she considered his question. She slowly shook her head. “I’ve thought about that for days, but I fear they cannot.”

  “I sense your fear,” he slowly reached out and placed his palm over her hand. The elf flinched, then closed her eyes, ashamed of truth. Rayhan gave a meek smile before he pulled his hand away. “The only way I can think to dispel that fear is for you to get to know me. Are you willing to do that, my lady?”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I am,” she whispered.

  Rayhan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Folding it neatly, he offered it to Elessara, a somber expression on his face. “I cannot erase the sins of my father, nor my own,” his voice was gentle; compassionate. “Just as we cannot erase the war that marred us. But today doesn’t start with the past. It starts with us. Wipe your tears, Elessara. Let us try to start over.”

  He took a step back as Elessara dabbed her cheeks and bowed gracefully before her. “My name is Rayhan Mendeley, nephew of King Donovan and Captain of Nevaharday’s 21st Division.”

  A tentative smile curved her lips as she placed her hand in his. “I am Elessara Redwood, one of Whitewood’s historians and the niece of King Mekkai.”

  “A historian? What a coincidence. You see, I recently acquired this old research journal…” He held out the volume she had given him earlier. “Perhaps you could tell me more about it?”

  Rayhan smiled when a gleam of interest brightened Elessara’s face. “Are you sure I won’t bore you with the details?”

  He pulled out one of the two chairs from the small table on the balcony for her. “Not at all.”

  Elessara took a seat and opened the book as Rayhan settled into the chair across from her. With tender fingers, she smoothed the first page.

  “Well, Captain Mendeley—”

  “Rayhan,” the rahee corrected. He smiled again.

  “Rayhan,” she repeated, and found it was far more comfortable to say. “This book begins several centuries ago, when your people first trickled in from the mountains. We had never seen your kind before their exodus from Bresan T’ahnya. The elves were intrigued. We called your people the horse tribes, and they have been a subject of study for us ever since…”

  Rayhan sat and listened to the she-elf recite a history that, for the most part, he already knew. It wasn’t the discussion that caught his in
terest. It was Elessara’s obvious passion. As she spoke, the captain realized her desire for history was driven by more than a sense of duty. Despite her apparent trepidation around him, Elessara seemed allured by his culture.

  Rayhan leaned back in his chair as she slid an open page in front of him. It was a scene worth sketching. Her eyes lit like stars on a clear summer night when she spoke, and it stirred in him an attraction he dared not show.

  “The genuine simplicity of your culture is refreshing,” she said. “Elves look at the world and ask why. Your people are the opposite. You welcome the mysteries of life as if they’re… holistic.”

  Rayhan twitched his ears. “Is that so unusual?”

  She spoke with her hands, her entire body telling a story. “For us, it is. The rahee do not spend their lives dissecting what elements in their blood creates the magic that binds them to equines. Instead, your people relish in their gifts and use them to experience life more fully.”

  When she finally slowed down, Elessara found Rayhan leaning with his chin in his hand. The way he studied her made her shiver, but not in a terrible way. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  The captain sat up. “I just find your words remarkably ironic.”

  Elessara frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Is it not a historian’s job to look at the past and ask questions like what, when, how, and why?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes those questions are a double-edged sword, Captain.”

  Her cryptic words reminded Rayhan that an experience had scarred this beautiful elf. He opened his mouth to speak, but a knock at the door stopped him. He sighed. “Come in!”

  This time it was Nadel, who already looked grumpy before the day had a chance to start. He pursed his lips at the sight of Rayhan sitting close to Elessara. “Time to go,” his words were sharp. “Are you ready?”