Jaspur’s head fell into his hands as he tried to come to grips with the revelation in Milo’s outburst. This wasn’t the first time someone hinted that Sadikaye’s origins may be more than they seemed. Tobiano had pointed out the similarities between the boy and the rogue once before, but it was done in passing, as if the suggestion were nothing more than speculation.
Milo’s reaction left little for debate.
“Jaspur?” It was Deley’s voice. When she saw the rogue hunched with his head in his hands, she set aside the firewood she was carrying and knelt in front of him. “Are you okay?”
The rogue couldn’t speak. Not at first. He had intended to answer Milo’s inquiries, but instead the rahee had left Jaspur with questions of his own. Was it possible for Sadikaye to be his son? He thought again about the boy’s age. He was seventeen going on eighteen, which meant the lad was conceived around the time Nevaharday fell into Shadow’s hands. Jaspur remembered the last night he had spent with Levee, and it didn’t take a genius to do the math. The likelihood of her falling into Milo’s arms so quickly after that was almost impossible.
But then why hadn’t anyone told him?
Immediately, Jaspur’s mind went back to his earlier ponderings. His eyes widened over a second epiphany. If what Milo said was true, then there was a reason why Patchi hadn’t approached him about leading the rebellion. It wasn’t hesitation over whether Jaspur was willing to commit. Most likely, it was because he didn’t intend for Jaspur to fill the role at all.
There was a better option on the table now. Sadikaye would give the rahee and their kingdom a clean slate. No one would question why he was gone for so long, and their loyalty to the Connor line would make his claim to the throne indisputable.
He was the perfect solution.
“Jaspur?” Deley grabbed his shoulders, shaking him gently.
“By the gods,” he murmured.
“What is it?”
The rogue gently brushed Deley’s hands away and rose to his feet. “I need to speak with Patchi. Now.”
He had a son; a seventeen year old son, and that boy’s life was about to change dramatically.
Revelations
When Deley left, Levee ran out of excuses not to talk to her son. Sadikaye sat in front of her, humming quietly to himself as he mended a tear in his cloak. He looked more like an adult than a boy these days, his 6’ frame hunched over with a needle between his lips while he inspected the seam. Flicking his long, mahogany hair out of his face, he squinted at his work.
“Do you want some help?” Levee offered, though she already knew the answer.
“Mm-mm,” Sadikaye said through pressed lips, shaking his head “no” in emphasis. He was determined to master the task himself. The boy was as stubborn as his father—both biological and not.
“Suit yourself,” Levee shrugged. She tried not to laugh as he removed the needle and began sewing again, his teeth nipping his bottom lip as he carefully pressed the needle through the fabric.
Sadikaye had grown into the spitting image of a young Jaycent Connor: long locks, a lean frame, and a narrow face that was more pretty than masculine. If it wasn’t for the freckles over his nose and cheeks and the almond shape of his lager tinted eyes, few would believe he was her son.
Levee cocked her head to the side, watching him work as she tried to muster the courage to tell her son the truth.
“Sadi, I…” she began, hoping that if she just stopped thinking and simply started speaking she wouldn’t have the chance to second guess her decision.
Sadikaye looked up from his mending, ears perked in curiosity. “Yeah, Ma?”
Levee’s mouth snapped shut, her heart suddenly hammering like a smithy. She cleared her throat, hoping to try again.
“I…” she began, but each time the words stuck in her throat.
Sadikaye’s ears slowly drifted back, his eyebrows pressed together in concern. “You’re worrying me, Ma…”
Levee rose suddenly, a burst of air breaking from her lips in a sharp huff. “I need to go speak with Patchi. Will you be okay by yourself?”
Sadikaye looked around, then shrugged, clearly not getting why his mother was so flustered. “Yeah, of course. It’s just camp. I think I can handle manning the fire and mending a cloak on my own.”
Levee nodded. “Just… promise me you’ll stay near the fire. I’ll be back soon.”
“Fine, I promise,” he frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Levee tousled his hair, much to Sadikaye’s chagrin. “Don’t worry about me. Just focus on your sewing.”
Wrapping her cloak around her torso, she then set out in a beeline for the re’shahna chieftain’s tent. Sadikaye would surely be wondering what just happened, but when she looked at her son, Levee just couldn’t tell him the truth. Not without knowing for certain it was the right decision.
The gypsy needed a second opinion. Stress expanded like a balloon inside her chest as her thoughts drifted toward the rogue that was once her mate. Did he know? If not, how would he react once he learned he had a son?
These days, Levee couldn’t even begin to guess. In some ways he was just as she remembered: pensive, confident, intelligent. The prince had always carried an intense presence, yet she knew he experienced emotions very keenly, or at least he used to. When it came “Jaspur”, Levee wasn’t so sure. As much as she wanted to convince the rogue he was still the same person, even she had to confess to certain obvious differences.
A few of them were positive. He was more patient, for one. He also spent more time thinking about what he said rather than acting upon his emotions. But Levee suspected this was the result of more than just personal growth. Something about his demeanor remained chillingly stoic, as if he strived to relate to a world he was now detached from.
She shook her head. Trying to wrap her mind around who Jaspur was and what Sadikaye could become was like shooting arrows in the dark. Looking up toward the valley’s higher ground, she spotted a tent surrounded by several re’shahana.
“Patchi will know what to do,” she whispered to herself.
Levee knew Patchi well. Raised among one of the rahee’s nomadic tribes—commonly referred to as gypsies—she was taught to look to him for wisdom and guidance. The gypsies had followed Patchi’s teachings since the early days of Nevaharday’s founding, choosing to remain true to the roaming ways of the herds rather than settling down. If anyone could enlighten her to the right path, it was he.
The thought brought strength to her steps as she marched toward where he set his camp. She almost felt lighter, until she drew upon the chieftain’s tent. As quickly as she had gained momentum, Levee stopped, caught off guard by the sight of Jaspur nose-to-nose with a white haired re’shahna standing before the tent’s entrance.
It took a moment for the pair to notice her. When they did, the guard tossed her a flustered glance while Jaspur quickly averted his gaze. Levee perked her ears, trying to catch what she could of their conversation.
“If he isn’t here, where is he?”
“I cannot say,” the re’shahna replied, his heavy accent stilting his use of the common tongue. “You will have to wait—”
“This cannot wait,” Jaspur insisted.
The re’shahna shrugged, his hands outstretched by his sides. “He is not here, Rogue. Nor did he say where he was going. I cannot help you.”
Jaspur closed his eyes, his teeth gritted together as he offered his frustration a moment of silence. Levee couldn’t help but smirk. She certainly recognized that temper. Perhaps the soul of the prince wasn’t entirely gone, though to his credit he kept his annoyance in check rather well.
“Did he say when he would return?” she inquired, hoping it would lend her entry into the conversation.
The re’shahna shook his head. “Patchi is not one for revealing details unless it is necessary.”
“Then I will find him myself,” Jaspur reasoned. “Which way did he go?”
The re’shahna shrugg
ed again; a gesture that nearly skewered the rogue’s patience. “I did not notice.”
“You expect me to believe your chieftain walked away and no one noticed—”
Before he could finish, Levee spotted Tobiano working his way toward them. Nearly as tall as Jaspur, Patchi’s second-in-command now lacked the warm demeanor he had shown her earlier. She pursed her lips together, her ears dipping against her auburn hair as she wondered what was amiss. Tobiano’s eyebrows drew toward his nose, crinkling the dark birthmark that ran like a blaze across his forehead and between his eyes.
“What fuss is this and why do you bring it to Patchi’s tent?” he demanded of all three of them.
The rogue glanced once more at Levee, his expression troubled. “I need to speak with Patchi.”
“Patchi is not here, but I am. What troubles you?”
“I am sorry, my friend, but this time I must speak with Patchi directly. It is a question only he can answer, and it cannot wait. My concerns regard our next step in this rebellion.”
“Mine too,” Levee chimed in, drawing everyone’s gaze. She shrugged and offered a meek smile.
Tobiano crossed his arms, clearly not pleased with their secrecy. “Patchi has not rested since we arrived in the valley. Can these inquiries not wait a few hours?”
“No,” the pair said in unison followed by a suspicious glance at each other.
Tobiano sighed before turning to the re’shahna standing at the front of the tent. “Let them inside for now. I will find and retrieve our chieftain.”
The re’shahna nodded and stepped aside, allowing the pair to enter. As Jaspur started forward, Levee slid around him, cutting him off as she entered first.
“I will need to speak with Patchi alone,” the rogue said as he stepped inside.
“So will I,” Levee settled on the ground near a still-lit lantern, making it clear that she had no intentions of leaving.
What followed was an exchange far more akin to a bickering couple than two highly respected members of the rahenyan race. Jaspur stood with his hands on his hips, his weight cocked to one side as his attention wandered to anything except the gypsy in front of him.
Minutes laced with tension stretched long between them. Levee tried focusing on counting the heartbeats echoing in her ears as she waited for Patchi to arrive. A part of her felt childish, but a larger part felt justified. If it wasn’t for the rogue’s selfishness, she and Sadikaye wouldn’t even be in this predicament.
In fact, Sadikaye wouldn’t be here at all. Her heart leapt into her throat at the thought, and she tried to picture life without her son. Jaspur could be accused of many things, but she could not blame him for giving her Sadikaye. That, no matter the circumstances, was a gift in and of itself.
“Do you really need a private discussion?” Jaspur asked, breaking the silence. “Or are you just being difficult?”
Levee blinked. “What?”
“Are you impeding on a private meeting just to rattle me?”
“How petty do you think I am?”
“Lately?” Jaspur arched a thin brow. “Quite.”
Levee abhorred his sarcasm. Like a spare dagger, it had a vicious cut. “What is the matter with you, Jaycent?”
“Jaspur,” the rogue corrected, yet again. “And please refrain from using that name. Should it reach the wrong ears, it could stir up a lot of trouble. ”
Clinching her fists, Levee struggled to fathom how she let someone so taciturn be the father of her son. Perhaps Tobiano was right. Perhaps Jaycent did die only to be “awakened” as someone different.
Refuge from that spiraling thought came with a sweep of fabric as Patchi entered the tent. Tobiano had not exaggerated when he said Patchi hadn’t slept. Immediately, she noticed the two dark circles under the his brown eyes. His flaxen hair was tousled, its tendrils falling over a pair of furry ears to brush his narrow shoulders.
No wonder their former mentor had been so displeased with them. Levee glanced at Jaspur who seemed to share her surprise, and she wondered if he felt the same twinge of guilt for adding to the chieftain’s exhaustion. It would prove he still had some emotion, at least.
“Patchi,” Jaspur greeted. “I am sorry to bother you. I know you have a lot—”
The chieftain waved him off. “Sit. Please,” he bid as he reclined against his pack. “Tobiano told me of your insistence. I can see from your expressions his words were true. What troubles you both, and how can I help?”
For the first time tonight, Levee saw Jaspur falter. He started to speak, but paused before the first word could leave his lips. Turning a serious countenance upon Levee, he reiterated, “I would rather not say until we can speak privately.”
Levee crossed her arms. “I feel the same.”
Patchi was shaking his head before the gypsy even gave her input. He motioned to the two of them. “This divide… It is personal, but it bleeds into our efforts. You must settle this tension. Sit, talk, fight, forgive—do whatever you must in order to work together again. We cannot afford to have our strongest pieces work against one another. You both said to Tobiano that your concerns relate to our efforts, correct?”
Jaspur offered a subtle nod. “Yes.”
“Sort of,” Levee said a bit more hesitantly.
“Then I see no purpose in having separate discussions. Jaspur, you speak first.”
The rogue took a moment to compose his thoughts. Levee leaned forward, eager to know what it was he was trying to hide from her.
“Now that camp is settled, we must decide who the figurehead of this rebellion will be…”
Patchi nodded. “Who do you think we should choose?”
Levee found herself holding her breath as Jaspur lowered himself into a seated position. “It must be someone with a valid claim to the throne,” he stated. “At first I thought the duty would fall upon my shoulders, but when you never approached me about it, I began to question why.”
Patchi nodded. “Why do you think?”
“At first I was baffled. Then I discovered there may be another…” he looked pointedly at Levee, whose face went pale. The involuntary reaction was all he needed to confirm his suspicions. He turned back to Patchi. “The fact that you never approached me leads me to believe this is the road you have chosen.”
Patchi blinked lazily, his relaxed posture giving off the same incredulous composure Levee had noticed in Jaspur. As the chieftain’s attention shifted to her, she felt herself begin to sweat. “Levee?”
“Hm?” was all she could manage.
“Before we continue with Jaspur’s concerns, tell me what brought you here?”
Levee licked her lips, but even her tongue felt dry. She tried to find the will to speak, but her voice felt trapped inside her chest. Panic rang in her ears until Jaspur’s voice broke through the noise.
“Sadikaye is my son, isn’t he?”
Everything inside of Levee just stopped. She froze, eyes wide as hot tears began to blur her vision.
“Levee,” the rogue’s voice softened, and for a moment Levee could feel its tug pulling her back to reality. “This is not a question of fault or accusation. I am here for his sake as much as yours. If my suspicions are true, Sadikaye has inherited a great obligation to his people.”
“It isn’t your right,” Levee quietly said.
Jaspur squinted, not quite following her reasoning. “What isn’t?”
“Pressuring him into this decision. You cannot make him do this.”
“We have not pressured Sadikaye into anything yet,” Patchi assured. “No one has spoken to him about his birthright or about claiming it. But now that we are here with the prospect before us, we must consider it.”
“He must consider it,” Jaspur clarified, inciting another glare from Levee. “I understand your trepidation. No one here comprehends the weight of that crown better than I do. But if Sadikaye is my son, this is his choice—not yours. He is a prince of Nevaharday, and as such he must decide for himself whether he will
take up that responsibility.”
“I suggest you speak with him now while there is still time for him to think it over,” Patchi added.
Levee bit her lip. “But ultimately it will be his choice?”
Patchi nodded. “Your fates as Melah and Jaspur are already sealed, but his is not. Let the lost prince decide whether or not he will aspire to meet his destiny.”
“Then I must tell him soon,” Levee sighed.
“You must tell him now. Take Jaspur with you.”
“What?” Finally, something jarred the rogue from his unnatural composure.
“I suspect the boy will have questions for you,” Patchi rose, shooing them both out of the tent. “Go now. Shadow will not wait for us to find our nerve.”
Jaspur and Levee stumbled out of the tent together, neither of them enthused about this decision. Levee felt numb as she headed back down into the valley, the rogue walking steel-faced beside her. Mixed feelings still plagued her heart.
“How long have you known?” she garnered the courage to ask.
“I had little time to consider it until today, but when I calculated Sadikaye’s age, the rest was not hard to piece together.”
“Did someone tell you or did you figure it out on your own?”
“Does it matter?”
No. It didn’t. Not at this point. Now that Levee knew Patchi had intended this path all along, their conversation with Sadikaye was inevitable.
She only hoped that her son would take the revelation better than she expected.
The Lost Prince
Sadikaye grunted through the pouch clinched between his teeth, his shoulders tight as he hoisted himself up a thick vine. One hand rose above the other and again in methodical repetition, his upper body straining against the pull of his weight until he reached the first branch of a broad, old oak.
Forty-five feet above the ground.
Height had no sway over his confidence. He climbed higher into the boughs in search of the twilight sky just beyond the tree’s leafy head. Years of manning the crow’s nest on his father’s boat had swept the fear from his heart. He moved swiftly and with confidence, edging his way from the tree’s branches toward the precipice jutting out from the valley’s slope. It was just large enough to sit upon with both legs dangling over the edge and gave him a bird’s-eye view of the campfire below.
The Rogue Trilogy Page 84