The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  “What are you thinking, Captain?” She stopped to admire an orchid in full bloom, its petals fading from a deep navy to the pale blue of a summer day.

  Rayhan’s gaze drew toward Elessara. “I am not sure how to say it, my lady.”

  Elessara let go of the orchid, giving Rayhan her full attention. “Then just say it. If we are to be married...”

  “If?” he whispered beneath his breath. He arched a thick brow, reminding her that, by his customs, they were already joined.

  Elessara fought the urge to smile. There was no telling how many ears followed them from behind the hedges.

  “Speak openly with me, ghenluvi,” she whispered back, using the word his people used to describe the rahenyan equivalent of a husband.

  Rayhan nipped at the inside of his cheek, uncertain. What he wanted to say was possibly too bold, but Elessara had a point. If they were to make this relationship work, they had to be honest with each other.

  “Something felt wrong about our conversation with General Redwood. I cannot yet place it, but his behavior reminds me of someone.”

  Elessara frowned. “Who?”

  Rayhan stopped and took a seat on a small bench. “Siren, in the years when madness made him cruel.”

  Elessara sat beside him, her eyes full of sympathy. “You have a good heart, Rayhan,” she said. “I understand your apprehension, knowing what you have seen and been through, but what’s been proposed is a lot for my father to take in. It is understandable for him to be out of sorts, but he is not Siren. My father is too strong-minded to break so easily. “

  Rayhan pulled back, his hand planted on his thigh as he flexed back his ears, offended. “My father was not weak, Elessara.”

  “But clearly his mind broke.”

  Rayhan shook his head. “Siren was a good person once. He was my mother’s champion before they married, and an honorable soldier. It wasn’t until after I was born that something changed. It was subtle, like a demon coaxing its way inside. I do not know what madness took him, but the rahee who died at General Redwood’s hand was not Siren. Just as I suspect the man in that room was not Halin. Not the one you know, anyway. What if the same affliction my father suffered now strikes your own?”

  “My father is not afflicted, Rayhan,” Elessara stated firmly. “And sick or not, he would never do the things your father did.”

  Rayhan opened his mouth to speak, but guilt sealed it shut. He looked away, his ears flexed tight against his skull as he stared hard at the gravel path. “Right,” he whispered. “Of course not.”

  Elessara noted the shame that overwhelmed her mate and tried to smooth it over with her words. “I’m sorry, Rayhan... I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. You are not Siren. You and I both know that.”

  Rayhan rose quietly to his feet. “No, it is I who should beg your pardon. Perhaps past experiences are stirring up old fears. It was foolish of me to suggest that your father is anything like mine. I...” he sighed. “I believe it is best if I retire to my room for now. I need some time alone. I will see you at dinner tonight.”

  He lightly kissed her cheek, then departed for his guest chamber.

  Elessara watched as Nadel trailed behind him. This was the second time she had forced the captain to walk away. She leaned back on her hands and let her gaze wander to a set of shrubs that formed two galloping horses as she wondered what sort of life this union stampeded toward.

  Act of a Martyr

  Nadel walked beside Rayhan up the winding steps back to his chamber. He didn’t speak of the rahee’s conversation with Elessara in the garden, though he had overheard every word.

  “Nadel, can you arrange to have my lieutenant meet with me privately?”

  “Of course,” the elf replied. “Should I send for your advisors as well?”

  “Not yet.”

  Nadel found the request to be rather curious, but before he could inquire any further, they noticed a guard already posted at Rayhan’s door.

  Nadel motioned for his charge to wait while he held a quick exchange in elven Rayhan didn’t catch. He then turned around with a shrug. “It seems your lieutenant is already here waiting for you, Captain.”

  “Splendid.” Rayhan stepped inside, expecting to find Pip seated within the quaint sitting room. Nadel started to follow, but the guard assigned to Pip held him back, insisting that he needed Nadel’s advice on dealing with his charge.

  Rayhan didn’t think anything of it. Anyone responsible for shadowing his lieutenant was bound to face his or her share of challenges. His suspicions started to rise though when he realized Pip was nowhere to be seen inside the sitting room.

  Not a chair sat out of place. The cushions were without crease, but there was a fold in the corner of the rug as if someone had tripped over its edge.

  Grabbing the hanging rod out of the armoire, Rayhan tested its weight before approaching his bedroom. There was no legitimate reason for Pip to be inside, but it was the only other door in the room.

  Rayhan flung open the chamber door and quick-stepped inside and to the right. When the door slammed shut behind him, the captain turned on the balls of his feet and ducked into a crouch, the rod held in a defensive guard. Before him, Halin stood with Siren’s jeweled dagger tucked beneath Pip's chin.

  “Call for help and your lieutenant loses his head.”

  Rayhan held his position, his mind racing for a way out of this that didn't involve drawing blood. “I assume this has to do with my betrothal to your daughter.”

  “I expect you to refuse the union,” Halin stated.

  “I cannot do that.”

  The blade on Pip's neck tightened and the lieutenant gritted his teeth.

  “Your choice,” Halin replied. “A dead body in your chamber would be just as persuasive.”

  Rayhan recognized the feral look in the general’s eye. It was amazing how much he looked like Siren as he glared over that remarkably familiar blade. “How long have you been carrying my father’s dagger?”

  “Do not change the subject!” Spittle flecked from Halin’s lips, his tone revealing a desperation that certainly didn’t match the general’s reputation.

  “Let us assume for a moment that I will consider refusing this marriage,” Rayhan stalled. In the corner of his eye, he could see Nadel stepping silently out from the secret door Elessara had used previously. The elf crouched low, his footsteps soundless as he stalked up behind the mad general. “How do we proceed from here? You have a blade to my lieutenant’s neck, and there is nothing to stop me from stepping out that door and telling the guard everything that is taking place right now.”

  Pip, noting the captain's line of sight and how it aligned with the growing shadow on the floor, took action. Grabbing Halin's blade wrist, he slammed his head back into the elf's face. Stunned, Halin released his grip slightly, giving the lieutenant enough room to slip away and stumble toward his captain's side. Snatching the captain’s own dagger from the bedside table, he flanked Rayhan’s side with a mean sneer.

  Nadel took the general by surprise, striking with a right hook that sent him sprawling to the floor. Taking Siren’s dagger, he tucked it into his belt and shook his head at the unconscious elf at his feet. “Are you all right?” He asked, his gaze trailing up to the captain.

  “We are fine,” he replied, satisfied that his lieutenant only suffered a minor nick. He walked over and looked at the elf that was supposed to be his father-in-law crumpled on the floor. “But what do we do about this?”

  The elf shook his head at the entire scene. “Guards!”

  Footsteps ran through the sitting room and the chamber door flung open. Nadel pointed to Halin's unconscious body. “Arrest General Redwood for attempted assault upon Lieutenant Delgone and Captain Mendeley.”

  “Truly?” One of the guards hesitated, thrown by the incredulous order.

  “Do it!” Nadel commanded. The pair quickly bound Halin's hands and lifted him with a grunt out the door.

  Rayhan shook his head. �
�Something wasn’t right, Nadel. Halin was under some influence other than his own.”

  “Clearly!” the elf barked.

  Pip threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “You shouldn’t have called the guards. By arresting him, you gave the general the right to plead his case before the king. A case that is mostly comprised of he said, she said, and who better to win that argument than a well-respected general?”

  “The both of you, follow me,” Nadel started out the door.

  “Not until you tell us where we are going,” Pip demanded.

  “To speak with the King,” Nadel shot back. “And you either come upon your own accord or I drag you there. Which looks better in court, Lieutenant?”

  Rayhan tossed the hanging rod he had used for a rudimentary defense onto the bed and sighed. “Listen to him, Pip. Nadel witnessed the scene. He knows what happened here. If we speak to the king with his testimony to back us, we have a chance at settling this quietly.”

  Pip cursed under his breath and reluctantly handed the captain his father’s old dagger. Rayhan tossed it into the bedside table’s drawer and followed Nadel, ensuring he kept a confident air. It was all for show to reassure his lieutenant, for Rayhan remembered the warning King Mekkai gave him when he first entered Whitewood.

  When it came to second chances, the Mendeleys’ were spent.

  The Thing About Gypsies

  Milo cantered up beside Bry, his dark amber eyes staring down the difficult road ahead. Bry’s scout had insisted the carriage had traveled down this way, but that gave Levee’s mate no comfort. Their horses were hardy. Decades of delicate breeding had given these animals long-lasting endurance even under Sarrokye’s harsh climate, yet the closest they came to finding Levee and the man’s caravan were tracks that were several hours old.

  Magic was aiding their enemy’s flight, and Bry could only push his horses so far without risking their health. As dawn brought fire to the eastern skies, Milo knew they would have to stop and make camp soon, but they were losing ground with every passing hour, and he feared Levee would be handed over to Shadow long before they made it to Velagray.

  His fears didn’t go unnoticed. Bry tried to give what encouragement he could, but all he could offer was the stubborn hope that Levee was more clever than her foes.

  “She is strong, Sarrokian,” Bry said. “Have faith in Melah. Her gift has lost none of its potency through the years.”

  “If anythin’, it’s grown stronger,” Milo readjusted the lip of his hat as he steered his mount around the numerous ruts and holes in the road. “Ya know, I used to tell her to hide that gift of hers. Now it just might save her life.”

  Bry shrugged. “You wanted to protect her and for good reason. Nevaharday would not have taken kindly to her talents. Any gypsy that stood out in that city was quickly reminded of their place.”

  “S’pose so...” Milo glanced back at Sadikaye, who rode without the use of reins or a saddle. It was clear he carried more than a little of his mother’s kinship with equines, trusting his instincts as he guided the horse through distributions of weight and touch.

  “Has the boy shown any signs of being gifted?” Bry asked, eager to take Milo’s mind away from his fears.

  “Not yet.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aye. We’re guessin’ he didn’t inherit his mother’s magic.”

  “Unlikely,” Bry muttered. As a re’shahna, he knew that such gifts were a dominant trait. Sadikaye should have exhibited some sign of innate talent by now. He glanced curiously at the boy with the golden eyes. “We could train him. Let him learn from our warriors how to fight and when to remain hidden.”

  Milo slowed his mount to a steady trot. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want Sadi joinin’ the gypsy life unless he makes that choice for himself.”

  Bry nodded. “Of course, but we protect our own, Sarrokian. Say the word and I will have my best teach him regardless of whether he joins our band. Melah and Sadi are gheva. Family. And by association, so are you.”

  Milo tipped his hat in thanks and Bry gave a small salute. Suddenly, both of their horses stopped mid-stride, their ears tilted north. Sadi pulled up short behind them, as did the others in their company as they gauged their horses’ reactions.

  All of the mounts lifted their necks, their eyes cast far down the road as if they were listening. Sadikaye urged his horse beside his father, his own ears tilted in the same direction.

  “They’re listenin’,” Milo muttered.

  “Aye,” Bry squinted in the distance, but nothing moved on the horizon. “How far can Melah call them now, Milo?”

  “Several miles,” the Sarrokian replied.

  “Pa.” Sadikaye trotted forward a few steps, an incredulous expression upon his face. “Pa, tell me you hear that.”

  “Hear what?”

  Sadikaye winced. His ears went back, and he shook his head. “‘Anger, ache, fury, and fear,’” he muttered. “‘Through light, white and sorely bright, your name I hear.’”

  Milo looked to Bry, baffled.

  The gypsy stared unblinking at Sadikaye, an unsettled expression on his face. “Keep going, Sadikaye.”

  The teenager took a deep breath, clearly effected by whatever he heard. “‘Melah, Voice of the Herds, your voice is loud.’” His eyes snapped open and he clenched his fists. “‘With fire and agony, I shall drown you out.’”

  “What in the Abyss,” Milo muttered.

  Sadikaye looked to his father, terror in his eyes. “Tell me you heard that,” he pleaded. When Milo shook his head, Levee’s son turned to the re’shahna in their company. “Bry?”

  Bry shook his head. “It seems you are gifted like your mother after all, but in a dark and dangerous way. I confess, in the many centuries my tribe has existed, we have only heard stories of such a thing.”

  “What do you mean,” there was a quiver in Sadikaye’s voice.

  “The voice, it’s equine in nature,” Milo guessed.

  “Aye,” Bry grimaced. “But not just any equine. What he uttered was an incantation of a sinister nature. It seems Levee has engaged a magical creature not of the surface realms.”

  “You mean a night mare?” Sadikaye asked, horrified by the suggestion.

  Bry nodded, confirming his fears. “You hear the voices of demons, Sadikaye Kasateno.”

  Sadikaye looked at the road before them as he considered Bry’s words. The idea terrified him, and yet in that moment he thought it quite convenient. “This incantation?” he pressed. “What does it do?”

  “It is fighting Levee’s influence by transposing its own suffering upon your mother.”

  “Then what are we standing around here for?” Sadikaye kicked his horse into a gallop, renewing their pursuit with added fervor.

  Milo, Bry, and the gypsies followed, throwing themselves into their chase with reckless abandon.

  * * * * *

  The carriage dragging Levee to Velagray never stopped. Her captor’s hart held no need for things like food and rest, its undead legs powered by the will of its master. Not that Levee noticed. Ever since her heated conversation with the man who had kidnapped her, they had decided not to take any chances. They drugged her yet again with unicorn’s tail to keep Levee in a sedated state.

  It was a clever move from a man Levee had come to believe was quite brilliant in his trade, but she was a gypsy. A detail that her captor, apparently named Darthek, did not fully understand.

  Unicorn’s tail had first been discovered by the re’shahna, who used it for medicinal purposes, as well as a hallucinogen to help those new to their gifts visualize their magic. Levee had adopted the practice years ago when she trained among the re’shahna, so when the cloth soaked in unicorn’s tail rose to meet her again, she took a shallow breath and let its influence take hold.

  There she had been weaving her magic around one of the night mares that trailed them. It was an arduous task. One she wasn’t even sure was possible to complete. Every time she reached int
o the consciousness of the demonic mare, she felt herself assaulted by swells of rage and agony so fierce, it was impossible to hear the creature’s thoughts.

  She had tried over and over again, only to be left with a headache that drew beads of sweat across her brow. No matter how deep she reached, the screaming pain inside the mare made it impossible to reason with the beast, much less influence her. Levee winced, growling through the sting as she curled into a ball on the hard wooden seat.

  “Sir?” she could barely hear the voice of Darthek’s henchman, though his grip held her like iron.

  “Ignore her,” Darthek ordered. “It’s the unicorn’s tail. They say it sometimes stirs up suppressed feelings and makes them into something you can hear, feel, and see. The only way to make her stop is to let the emotions run their course.”

  His words bounced around Levee’s mind, rebounding off of the furious echoes that radiated like ripples of heat from the night mare’s consciousness. Let the emotions run their course...

  Of course!

  Levee reached deep into her magic, folding it like armor around her consciousness before she dove back into the demon mare’s mind. The chaos of emotion jostled and swayed with the force of a hurricane inside the creature, but this time Levee didn’t try to sort through it.

  She absorbed it all, letting herself feel every ounce of agony that boiled furiously inside the creature. She felt the hate, the searing pain, the thirst for aggression, and the need to inflict it all on someone else so they would understand how it feels.

  Death felt like a kinder fate and for a moment she wished it upon herself, regretting that she ever let her desperation push her into this mare’s horrific state of consciousness.

  Then, thankfully, it all began to recede as she let those emotions flow out of her mind like water over a cliff. Levee found her consciousness pushing forward like one would against a strong wind until finally the resistance stopped.

  Levee opened her mind’s eye and saw the night mare standing still against the blowing sand, her nostrils flaring in a winded pant. Her magic could not force the gypsy out any longer. Levee had weathered her influence, and her spirit stood tall before the mare.