“Where is who?” he asked innocently.
Levee crossed her arms, her frown telling Tobiano he was a terrible liar.
The re’shahna slumped his shoulders and sighed. “Jaspur returned to our camp.”
“Jaspur?” Levee frowned. “He still uses that name?”
“Jaspur is his only name now, Melah,” the re’shahna stated quietly. “The Jaycent you once knew is not the rogue who saved your life today. He has changed.”
“I appreciate the warning, but I’d like to speak with him regardless.”
Tobiano nodded. “As you wish.” He stopped a passing warrior and instructed him to take Levee’s family back to the main camp, then returned his attention to Melah, his face etched with sympathy. “I suspect this is a conversation best held in private.”
“Preferably, yes.”
“T’is quickest to go by hoof. I can take you there myself.”
Levee smiled. “You are a good friend, Tobi.”
The re’shahna squeezed her shoulder in unspoken support, then reverted to his equine form once more. As reluctant as he was to fulfill her request, he knew it was far more difficult for Levee. Her lack of hesitation as she climbed upon his back was a testament to her bravery, and Tobiano wished he could lend her more as he took off at a swift gallop back to the place where it all began.
* * * * *
Jaspur heard Tobiano coming long before he saw him. He’d been pacing beside the small pond where his Awakening had been held as he waited for the inevitable confrontation. Diego paced with him, echoing the rogue’s distress.
All these years, Levee had been led to believe that Jaspur was dead. Now that she knew the truth, the rogue doubted it brought her any consolation. Levee would come here angry, and she would want answers. She deserved answers. Jaspur owed her that much. Kicking a stray pebble near the water’s edge, he listened to Tobiano come to a halt several yards away.
“Jaycent?”
The rogue pricked his ears. The sound of Levee’s voice filled his heart in all the ways it had before, and he knew his love for the gypsy hadn’t faded. Not even slightly. He smiled to himself, for the memories of this woman were no burden to him, even if they belonged to a life he had left in his past.
“Levee,” Jaspur shed his cowl. Tobiano kept his distance, giving the two the privacy necessary for a reunion as awkward as this.
The gypsy walked toward him, her evergreen eyes crinkled in doubt. Jaspur fought to keep his expression neutral as he absorbed every detail about her. Eighteen years of war and strife and change had been better to her than they had to him. She still looked young, and the freckles he so loved still blanketed her nose and cheeks.
Jaspur said nothing as Levee reached up and touched his face. She swept aside his hair that was now cropped to match the re’shahna’s traditional cut before staring hard into those pale blue eyes. They stood there for many moments while she silently digested the truth Jaspur had kept hidden from her: he was alive, and had been this whole time.
Levee swallowed against the feelings that settled in her throat. Years of emotion washed across her face as shock gradually melted into disappointment, then hardened into resentment. It stung his heart, then his skin as she slapped him hard across his face.
“You coward,” she accused. “I waited for you. Even when they said you were dead, I didn’t believe them. I still looked north, and hoped…”
Jaspur’s eyebrows crinkled in empathy. “My lady—”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “You have no right. Not anymore.”
Jaspur sighed. “Levee… the man you waited for is not the man who stands before you. If anything, he is a ghost.”
“Ghost?” Levee shoved his chest and Jaspur loosed a short grunt. “This doesn’t feel like a ghost. This…” She punched him once, then again, until the rogue was forced to seize her wrists to spare himself a pummeling he surely deserved. “This feels pretty real to me!” She glared at him, her face flushed as hot tears slipped freely down her cheeks. “No, you’re not a ghost, Jaycent. Just a coward who ran away from the only good thing that ever happened to him.”
“Jaspur,” the rogue quietly corrected.
Levee yanked her hands free and hugged her arms across her chest. “What?”
“My name. It’s Jaspur.”
“You think changing your name changes who you are?” A soft chuckle escaped her lips despite the pain in her heart. Staring up at the night sky, she shook her head. “I have used so many names running from Shadow, there have been days I’ve woken up uncertain which alias I was going by. But it didn’t change who I am. Gods, Jaycent! All these years… you could have sent word. Just once. A letter saying, ‘I’m alive’ would have sufficed. Was I that much of a fool to believe that you loved me? Did you really care so little that you simply let me think you were dead?”
“It was never that simple, Lev,” Jaspur leaned against one of the trees and rubbed his eyes, subtly wiping a stray tear away before it could drip down his cheek. “If there had been another way, I would have chosen it, but there wasn’t. Who you gave yourself to had to die in order to be reborn into something else; something capable of winning our people’s freedom back.”
Levee stared at him, her head shaking in subtle denial as she refused to accept his words.
“By the grace of the goddess, I survived Nevaharday’s fall,” Jaspur continued. “My life was spared so I could forfeit it in a ritual called the Awakening. It gave me new abilities, including the form you saw today, but those gifts came at a price.”
Jaspur lifted Levee’s chin, their faces so close he could feel her shuddering breaths against his lips. He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking with her own as he looked at the love he had given away in order to give his people a fighting chance. “I am sorry, Melah. For the pain I’ve caused you… for the promises I broke. Know of all the things I have given up, letting you go was the hardest.”
Levee grabbed the fur lining around Jaspur’s cowl, pulling him down so that their foreheads touched. He closed his eyes, his lashes wet in lament over the years lost between them. Then he felt a shock as her lips, salty from tears of regret, curl around his bottom lip.
Jaspur inhaled sharply, his hand falling against Diego’s harness. He ignored the stallion’s surprised grunt as his fingers curled around the leather strap. His other arm wrapped around Levee’s petite waist, embracing the touch he’d dreamed about for many years. For a moment, he almost thought Levee had found it in her heart to forgiven him.
A longing sigh quickly turned into a groan of pain as a pair of teeth sank into his lip. He squeezed her waist, pulling her back in a seething breath as he dabbed at the blood flowing down his chin. Levee spat against the ground, her ears pressed back as she glared at the man she once called her mate.
Jaspur shook his head and chuckled. “Levee Tensley,” he muttered. “You have lost none of your spirit.”
“It’s Levee Kasateno now, and clearly I have lost nothing at all.”
She walked away from him then. Diego followed her for a few steps, whickering in a weak request for her to stay, but Levee didn’t respond, nor did she look back. Tobiano’s shoulder brushed Jaspur’s as they watched Levee head toward the fire that marked the main camp.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
The rogue wiped his lip on his sleeve and stared at the crimson stain. “Letting Levee go was never just about her safety, was it? Patchi knew I would have to face the Awakening trial when he saved my life eighteen years ago.”
“Aye, he did,” Tobiano confessed. “He also knew if Levee fled to Sarrokye, it would turn Shadow’s attention south, away from you. For every decision Patchi makes, there are many reasons. They may not all be apparent at first, but they are always for the best.”
“I recognize this speech,” Jaspur groaned. “It always ends with you preaching to me about the ‘bigger picture.’”
Tobiano offered a sad smile. “One day you will see it.”
&
nbsp; “Unfortunately, I think I’m starting to.”
“What can I do to make it easier, brother?”
“Let us go find Patchi,” the rogue hooked an arm around his mentor’s shoulders and gave them a rough shake. “Suddenly, I feel like starting a rebellion.”
Together, they left the privacy of the small cluster of trees and headed toward the camp hurriedly set by Patchi, Tobiano, and Jakke. Deley spotted Jaspur from her seat beside a few re’shahna scouts huddled near the fire. She waved and the rogue nodded. On the far side of camp, Qualle stood beside a newly erected tent where he spoke with a Sarrokian wearing a cowpoke hat.
“Milo,” Jaspur murmured. He replaced his cowl, not wanting to draw that one’s attention. It would be better if he heard the truth from Levee first.
“I… assume you know, yes?” Tobiano whispered.
“Aye. Patchi informed me of their relationship years ago.”
“I speak of the boy,” Tobiano corrected.
Jaspur ears lifted in sync with his eyebrows. “The one from the cave?”
Tobiano nodded to the tall teenage boy walking toward them. He was lanky in frame with long brown hair and sun-kissed skin. “Master Clovenhoof?”
Milo and Levee’s son. Jaspur couldn’t help but flinch. Patchi had never mentioned the boy in his reports. During the battle, the rogue hadn’t had time to digest this revelation. Now that he saw him, he wondered just how long Levee “waited.”
“You are Melah’s son,” Jaspur acknowledged.
The boy gave a humble bow. When he rose, his eyes, as gold as fine lager, were full of admiration. “I am. Sadikaye Kasateno’s my name, though I mostly go by Sadi. It’s easier to say, anyway.”
“You fought well tonight, Sadi,” Jaspur stated, though in his mind he was noting all of the details that reminded him of Levee. He had wide eyes, full of curiosity and ambition. Vague freckles dotted his nose, though they were well hidden by his tan skin, and there was something about his presence. He was an optimist. Jaspur could tell by the lack of weight in his smile and the levity of his stance.
“Thank you,” he bowed again. “You have no idea how much it means to hear you say that.”
Jaspur furrowed his brow. He looked at Tobiano, who gave an unhelpful shrug.
“Why would my opinion carry such weight?” the rogue remarked.
“Because I know who you are,” Sadikaye said with a nervous chuckle. “You’re kind of a legend.”
Tobiano tensed. His eyes scanned the many tchaka within their camp before ushering Jaspur and Sadikaye into one of the tents.
“What do you mean I’m ‘kind of a legend?’”
Sadikaye cocked his head, confused. “You are Prince Jaycent, are you not?”
“The prince died eighteen years ago,” Jaspur corrected. His shoulders relaxed. He even smiled. “Perhaps you should brush up on your history.”
Sadikaye mirrored that grin. “I know my history quite well, sirrah. My ma told me stories about you as a child. I know all about how you two trained with the re’shahna, and how you acquired that sword,” he pointed to the pearlescent hilt poking from Jaspur’s belt. “That’s Lumiere, right? When I saw it on your hip, I knew why my mother was crying. She thought you were dead, but you’re not. Bet that’s quite a story, eh?”
“This is Lumiere, but I am not the prince.”
“Only a descendent of Connor Clovenhoof can wield that blade.”
“Aye, and my name is Jaspur Clovenhoof.”
“That is the alias Jaycent Connor used when he was exiled from his kingdom,” Sadikaye crossed his arms in triumph.
“What is it you want?” Jaspur asked. “Clearly, you see this theory as a bargaining chip. I am curious to know what you think it will buy?”
“The warriors in the camp say you’re planning to start a rebellion to win back Nevaharday. I want to be a part of that, and when the chance comes to face Shadow, I wanna fight beside you.”
Jaspur crossed his own arms, and Tobiano couldn’t help but notice that the pair seemed like mirror images.
“I already have an apprentice,” Jaspur stated.
The re’shahna coughed to hide his humor, for the rogue saw Deley as more of a nuisance than an apprentice.
“I’m not asking to be an apprentice,” Sadikaye corrected. “I just want to fight this battle with you.”
“Really?” Jaspur raised a single brow. “Does your mother know about this?”
“I am seventeen. My choice is my own.”
“Seventeen...” Jaspur muttered. The rogue knew he should consult Levee on this matter, but the realization that she had conceived a child so soon after his “death” made him more inclined to grant the annoying kid’s wish. “Fine,” he consented.
“What?” Sadikaye perked his ears, unsure if he heard that right.
“I saw you fight, albeit briefly. With rigorous training, you could serve us well enough. But I expect you to forget this foolish notion that Jaycent is still alive. Rebellions are risky enough without such rumors painting a target on our backs.”
Sadikaye winked. “Not a soul will hear of it.” He darted for the tent flap, eager to tell his parents, only to pause mid-stride and bow to Jaspur. “You have my thanks!”
“Get out of here, already,” Jaspur scolded. “Before I change my mind.”
Sadikaye did as he was told, leaving Jaspur and Tobiano alone again.
The re’shahna shook his head. “Your former mate spared no detail, it seems.”
“Oh, I’m sure she skipped a few,” Jaspur smirked. “You will speak with her about quelling that rumor before it spreads?”
“Posthaste.” The re’shahna pulled out his pipe and began stuffing it with fresh weed. “Is it just me, or does that boy remind you of someone?”
Jaspur sucked on his wounded lip as he considered for just a moment the possibility hinted in Tobiano’s statement. “Gold eyes, dark skin…” the rogue snorted, quickly dismissing the idea. “That boy is clearly Sarrokian.”
Jaspur walked out of the tent in search of Patchi, ending the debate before it could even begin. Tobiano smiled to himself. Whatever Sadikaye’s origins, it didn’t really matter. There were bigger things to care about. After eighteen long years, the prophecy the re’shahna had banked on had come to fruition. Jaspur, the chosen savior, had risen into his role.
The re’shahna glanced at Qualle’s band still wandering with wide eyes among the re’shahna warriors. Soon, Jaspur would begin stirring the same hope among the people in Velagray. He would inspire their faith, and in turn they would join him in a massive rebellion that would rid the realm of Shadow Silverhorn once and for all.
Tobiano let himself envision the possibilities. Retaking the throne was only the beginning. The re’shahna had more in store for their rahenyan cousins. Behind their valiant efforts sat a plan that would change their lives in ways they couldn’t imagine.
“Finally,” he took a draft of his pipe and smiled. “The real fun begins.”
Lost Prince of Nevaharday
BOOK III
PROLOGUE
I once sat upon the throne of a kingdom. Now I spend my nights shivering under weathered canvas. Boots that have crossed the timeless plains of the gods are battered and dirty from a life of exile. If anyone knew what it meant to fall from grace, it was I…
The royal rogue.
Until recently, I was a pitiful being; a fallen “hero” torn asunder by the tragedies spurred by my own failures. Through the years, my hatred had devolved into misery. It molded me; changed me. Set upon a spiral of self-destruction, I became dangerous in every sense of the word.
Yet somewhere inside that shell of my former self was something the gods saw fit to redeem. I died, only to be revived with air in my lungs and magic in my veins.
My name is Jaspur Clovenhoof, and I don’t know whether I am blessed or cursed. Yet as I sit upon this cliff, its lip jutting from the mountainside like a defiant fist, I’ve never been more certain of my purpose or w
ho I am.
But to understand me, you must first understand my past.
I had another name once. In another life, I was known as Jaycent Connor, Prince of Nevaharday. It was home to a race known as the rahee, or “horse folk,” as we were called in the common tongue. We looked the part. Though human at first glance, our goddess, Tennakawa, had fashioned our ears to mirror those of our equine cousins.
However, our name represented more than our appearance. It was a nod to our remarkable bond with equines. Witnesses claimed we could speak to our horses in a language they could understand. While this was true for a very select few, for most rahee it was more of an instinctual understanding. We are kindred spirits of our equine companions and in Nevaharday, it showed.
My kingdom became known as the birthplace of the realm’s greatest steeds. We bred, trained, and sold them to nobility in surrounding territories.
But alas, one does not rise in prosperity so quickly without making enemies. As our economy grew, Nevaharday’s name spread until it caught the attention of a mad and overwhelmingly strong foe. Little was known about the illusionist Shadow Silverhorn, but his hand in our history reached much deeper than we knew.
For years, he had been manipulating Nevaharday’s politics, severing its strongest alliances and weakening the Connor family’s grip upon its throne. All of this was done in secret, his subtle influence virtually unnoticed as he manipulated powerful noblemen and infiltrated our ranks with his spies. By the time I caught on to his intricate web, it was too late.
His plan had come to fruition, and I was too weak to stop him.
Thus, eighteen years ago, my throne and everything it represented were ripped from my hands in a coup d’état we were ill prepared for. The war was brutal. Bloody. It scarred my people with memories and wounds no healer could touch. I was no exception.
That tragedy marked the death of who I was and the birth of who I have become. Jaspur Clovenhoof is an entity that took over a decade and a half to break apart, mend, and refine. I was mortally wounded only to be resurrected through a ritual called the Awakening. It granted immortality while imbuing me with enhanced magic and insight that I have only just begun to comprehend.
The Rogue Trilogy Page 78