The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  He plopped into his seat with a triumphant chuckle, its sound muffled by the pouch clenched between his lips. Now that he had his hands free, he pulled the pipe he’d bought from his belt, dropped the pouch into his lap, and opened it. Pinching out a bit of pipe weed, he packed it in. With a flint and a bit of struggle, he even managed to light it.

  “Not bad, Sadikaye,” he murmured to himself before raising the stem to his mouth. He made it about halfway through his draft before lurching forward in a coughing fit.

  This was his first time smoking a pipe; a thrill he had been waiting all day to try. With both of his parents away from camp, he finally had the chance. Sure, they could return at any second, but that only made his small act of rebellion more exciting.

  At seventeen, Sadikaye was just cresting the bridge into manhood, though he seemed to be taking it at a sprint. With their growing force congregating in the north, he would soon be just one of many young rahee abandoning youth for a chance to fight. Murmurs of war stirred among their camp, and to be quite honest Sadikaye couldn’t be happier.

  As refugees who had seen Shadow’s wrath firsthand, his parents made certain he knew how to fight well. He had picked up a bo staff at an early age and practiced with it daily. Being able to defend himself was a necessity in the world he grew up in.

  For as long as he could remember, they had been on the run from Shadow, who desired to have Levee’s gift at his disposal. But now—finally—they were fighting back. Sadikaye would have the chance to put his hard-earned melee skills into practice, and he was determined to make the most out of it.

  As he started to get the hang of this pipe smoking business, he perched one arm behind his head and let his gaze wander to the camp nestled in the valley. The people here were stern and serious, their faces clouded by dark memories Sadikaye had never experienced. He knew it had to do with their enemy though, and the impact Shadow had on the horse folk.

  Like his name, Shadow cast a dark and ominous presence upon the rahee and re’shahna. Sadikaye never knew firsthand what the kingdom was like before the tyrant took over, but he had heard it used to be the pride of their people. Under the Connor family’s rule, it had elevated the rahee as a civilized race more skilled in equestrian arts and breeding than any of the surrounding kingdoms.

  But when it fell into Shadow’s hands, all of that changed. Many who tried to start anew elsewhere found it dangerous to cross the border. Those who succeeded didn’t fare much better. They struggled to make a new start, their race’s reputation tarnished by Shadow’s misdeeds. Rahee started to conceal their ears in attempt to pass as humans just to avoid the oppression that had stunted their ability to thrive over the last eighteen years.

  But Sadikaye wasn’t willing to go to such lengths. No threat would sway him to hide what he was. He was proud of the horse-like ears that poked through his thick brown hair. Twin gold studs pierced his right lobe and he kept the tips of both painted black like Milo’s, drawing even more attention to them.

  Whatever Shadow wanted the rahee to be, Sadikaye refused to bow to it. He never knew the Nevaharday his parents called home, and yet that didn’t stop him from feeling a kinship with it. All of his life, Sadikaye had been displaced and on the run, yearning for the day his family could return home. Before, Shadow stood as an untouchable obstacle stonewalling them from that desire.

  But not anymore.

  The boy gave a resolute nod, asserting that last thought as he chewed on the stem of his pipe. He marveled at the chance of being part of such an exciting chapter in history. His name would find a place in the scrolls. He was certain of it. They would give him a title, just like that old general, Rayhan the Chivalrous.

  He wondered what it would be. Sadikaye the Sly? No, that sounded too devious. Perhaps Sadikaye the Swift. He was definitely quick with a staff! He uttered the words, trying the title on for size. The alliteration rolled smoothly across his tongue, inciting a smile around the pipe’s wooden stem.

  “Sadi?”

  Sadikaye froze. It was his mother’s voice. Flicking his ears back, he scrambled to snuff out his pipe. Tucking the weed pouch into his smallclothes, he then shoved the pipe up his sleeve.

  “Yeah, Ma?” he called out, wincing when a stray piece of ash trickled out of the pipe’s bowl and onto his wrist. He gave his sleeve a violent shake before climbing back down the tree.

  “There you are,” Levee sighed as she watched her son climb down to meet her. “We want to speak with you.”

  Sadikaye jumped the last six feet, landing in a crouch before rising. His eyebrows shot up when he saw the rogue standing beside his mother. Jaspur’s high cheek bones and sharp jaw somehow made his frown more menacing.

  Sadikaye offered a disarming smile, but it didn’t put a dent in the rogue’s stern countenance. Intimidated, Sadikaye turned his attention back to his mother. “Is this about leaving camp unattended? I was within sight of it the whole time…”

  “No, Sadi, but please sit down. This is important,” Pressing a hand against his back, she urged him to take a seat by the fire before she and Jaspur found a spot on the opposite side.

  Sadikaye drew cautiously into a cross-legged seat, his worry compounding. Did she know about the pipe he bought from the re’shahna? He had gone to great lengths to make sure he was discreet about it. “What is it?”

  Levee took a deep breath and tried to explain. “Sadi, I—well, that is to say, we…” Sadikaye rarely saw his mother fumble over her words like this. It worried him. After several failed attempts to form a sentence, Levee tossed the rogue a pleading glance.

  “Who do you think I am, Sadikaye?” Jaspur asked.

  “I know who you are.”

  “Humor me. Who am I?”

  Sadikaye looked back and forth between his mom and the rogue. “You want me to say it out loud?”

  “Just this once you may.”

  Sadikaye’s voice was firm but discreet. “You are Jaycent Connor, Prince of Nevaharday.”

  “Not anymore,” Jaspur corrected. “The rogue you see before you is what I have been reduced to since Shadow claimed my throne. I have wandered the wilds for eighteen years, estranged from my own kingdom where my people suffer. There are many ways to describe a coward like that, but princely is not one of them.

  “So I will ask you again, who do you think I am?”

  Sadikaye smirked. “You are Jaycent Connor, Prince of Nevaharday.”

  Levee’s heart swelled over her son’s conviction. It was a proud moment to see Sadikaye hold his own in front of Jaspur. Few grown men had the courage of this seventeen-year-old boy.

  “Why do you think that?” Jaspur asked.

  “Shadow can take away your throne, but he can’t take away who you are any more than he can take away who I am. I look at that city and I know it is my home. I feel it in my bones. I may have been born in Sarrokye, but I am still a Nevahardan. So is Ma. So are you. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be fightin’ so hard to take it back.”

  The corners of Jaspur’s eyes crinkled in what may have been the hint of a smile. “What do you think it means to be a prince, Sadikaye?”

  “It means protecting your people and your kingdom, whatever the cost,” he replied.

  “But what if the cost negates your personal beliefs? Surely, you have seen in Sarrokye how devious politics can be. Even the most pure intentions can be sullied by crawling through its web.”

  The way the boy frowned told Jaspur he had witnessed his share of dirty dealings. “My Pa once said we all get caught up in someone else’s game at some point. The trick is being smart enough to end it on your own terms.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  The boy shook his head. “No, I suppose it isn’t. But that’s why you had people like your general, is it not?”

  Jaspur leaned forward, curious. “Elaborate for me.”

  Sadikaye scratched his chin as he tried to think of a way to explain his thoughts. “I imagine it is a bit like manning a ship.”
>
  “Go on...”

  “Every ship has a crew, even if it’s a small one. One person can’t do it all alone. Just like a captain has his first mate, boatswain, and deckhands, you had to have people on your side to help you keep the kingdom shipshape.”

  Jaspur arched an angular brow. He looked at Levee again, the mirth fading from his expression. “A seventeen-year-old deckhand is already a better prince than I am.”

  Levee shook her head. “I still believe this is your burden to bear.”

  “That all depends on his choice.”

  “What choice?” Sadikaye was growing frustrated now. Their conversation was making less sense the more they talked. “What is this all about?”

  “Who is your father, Sadikaye?” Jaspur asked.

  The boy fell silent.

  “Well?”

  Sadikaye didn’t like where this was going. He scowled. “Milo is my father.”

  “Is he?”

  No. Could it be? The boy’s breathing quickened as he felt the weight of their silence sinking onto his chest. He glanced back and forth between the pair in front of him, but both Jaspur and his mother just stared somberly back.

  “Ma?” he looked to Levee, expecting her to contradict what the rogue was insinuating.

  Levee reached for the necklace she always kept hidden beneath her blouse, and the air Sadikaye was taking in so greedily suddenly found itself caught inside his throat. The thought occurred to him that he had never seen nor questioned what hung from that leather cord. She had worn it his entire life, but it had always remained tucked beneath her clothing.

  As she pulled the necklace over her head and handed it to her son, Sadikaye quickly identified it as a kunah. Typically, such trinkets were reserved for male rahee. They wore them like totems that represented their identity. Highly cherished among their people, each one was fashioned or inherited around early adulthood and worn for the entirety of a male rahee’s life. Some even added a second trinket to represent their mate once they promised themselves to another. The only females to wear these precious items were widows who donned their mate’s necklace in honor of their legacy.

  Sadikaye’s hand shook as he studied the trinkets sitting in his palm. There were two: a bone hook that matched the one on Milo’s kunah, and an old copper coin with the bust of a unicorn embossed upon its surface. Sadikaye rubbed his thumb across the familiar symbol.

  When he spoke, his words were barely audible. “This is the emblem of the Connor family…”

  Levee nodded. “I was eighteen when I became the prince’s mate. We were training together under Tobiano’s tutelage when he gave me his name. However, our time together was short-lived. General Mendeley’s forces held the upper hand against Shadow until several of his soldiers turned against them mid-battle. Later, we learned that they were agents of the enemy who had spent years working their way into the ranks specifically for that purpose.

  “By the time the prince and I had returned to Nevaharday, the battle was almost over. Shadow held the throne and his minions were working diligently to suppress the people. Yet the prince—loyal to his duty—chose to challenge Shadow head-on, in spite of the odds.”

  “I know the story,” Sadikaye interrupted, his voice trembling with emotion.

  “No, Sadikaye. You only know part of the story,” Levee pointed to the pendant he held, determined to finish her explanation. “He gave his kunah to Milo to give to me because he suspected he wouldn’t return.

  “Until recently, Milo and I believed the prince had died defending his kingdom. Everyone did. The rumor had spread across the realm. We took refuge in Sarrokye where I soon discovered I was pregnant with you. Milo chose to raise you as his own son. He never even hesitated, though it wasn’t until you were three that he asked me to be his mate.”

  By the time Levee finished her story, Sadikaye was holding his head in his hands. He stared pensively at the ground, his eyebrows pressed together as he tried to reason through it all.

  What was the point of this revelation? What purpose did it serve? His mother had argued that whatever it was should be Jaspur’s burden, and yet the rogue claimed Sadikaye had a choice.

  Surely that didn’t mean…

  Sadikaye slowly lifted his head. “If he is my sire, what does that make me?”

  Jaspur clenched his hands together. “The heir to Nevaharday.”

  “Uh-uh. Forget it,” the boy rose to his feet. “Wherever this discussion is going, I don’t want to be a part of it.”

  “You already are, so you might as well let us finish,” the rogue remarked.

  “Sadi, please,” Levee begged. “Hear us out.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” with a chilling glare, Sadikaye tossed the kunah at Jaspur’s feet before walking away. “This is your responsibility. Not mine.”

  Levee started to pursue him, but the rogue picked up the necklace from the ground and grabbed her wrist.

  “Let me,” he bid.

  Overhearing the rogue’s words, Sadikaye growled. If Jaspur wanted to play father, he would have to catch up to him first. Eyeing the trees, he sprung onto a low branch and clamored upward. Spying the perch he had used earlier, he skittered out onto a far limb and leapt onto it.

  The moon was bright tonight and the sky clear, illuminating the rock face. Scanning its surface, Sadikaye sought some place to hide. There, about ten feet above him, was an opening that looked like a shallow cave. Using whatever handholds he could find, he managed to climb up and into the open crevice.

  The light was meager here and fading quickly as he wandered a few paces into the cave’s depths. Sinking into the darkness, he softened his breath and waited to see if Jaspur would follow him.

  Much to his surprise, he soon saw fingers reach through the crevice. Beneath the loose tunic, armor, and thick fur cloak, the rogue was apparently much leaner than he seemed. He slid through with almost the same ease as Sadikaye, blocking the moon’s soft light.

  Stubbornly, the boy turned and started slinking farther back into the cave, his sight dissipating completely.

  “Please stop running,” Jaspur’s voice echoed after him. “It isn’t doing either of us any favors.”

  Sadikaye complied, but only because the world felt like it was spinning too fast. He tried to steady his breathing, but instead he found himself hyperventilating. Sinking into a crouch, he pressed his palms against his forehead as memories began to resurface.

  He had idolized Jaycent. The stories his mother told him painted the prince as a hero worth aspiring to be like. As Sadikaye grew older, he realized the warm way she spoke of the prince wasn’t so different from the way she spoke of Milo. He had guessed there had been some sort of spark between them once upon a time.

  But he had never expected to be a product of it.

  What did all of this mean for Sadikaye? Had he any right to bear the Kasateno name or that of his true sire? At the end of the day, who was he: a prince or a fisherman’s son?

  “Sadikaye,” Jaspur stepped in front of the boy as his denial shifted into anger. Unsheathing Lumiere, the rogue summoned a bit of magic to awaken its blue glow so they could see one another.

  “If you’re my father, and you’re alive, why am I just now hearing of this? Am I a bastard?”

  “No.”

  “Did you even love my mother?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Then why did you never come back for us?”

  “Because it is like you said: being the heir to the throne means doing what is best for your people, no matter the cost.”

  The gravity of Jaspur’s statement killed the flood of angry words that were about to spill from Sadikaye’s mouth. He listened quietly to the sound of shifting pebbles as the rogue knelt before him.

  “Listen to me, Sadikaye. This revelation has undoubtedly left you with many questions, but do not spend too much time trailing down useless rabbit holes. The parents you have always known are still your parents. What changes now is not your family, b
ut the path that is in front of you.”

  He held out the necklace Sadikaye had tossed at him earlier. “Your mother was my mate when you were conceived. That is why she had this kunah. Like it or not, Nevaharday is your inheritance. So the question you need to ask yourself is not who I am or who Milo is, but rather who will you choose to be. Will you accept your birthright, or will you forsake it?”

  Sadikaye’s knees buckled. He fell into a seated position, his whole body now trembling. “So I’m supposed to help you defeat Shadow and take over your throne?”

  “My time has passed, Sadikaye. I can no longer take the throne for many reasons, so the responsibility of Nevaharday now falls upon your shoulders. It is not an easy burden to carry, but you will have one advantage I did not.”

  “Really?” Sadikaye gave a doubtful chuckle. “What advantage is that?”

  “When the time comes to defeat Shadow and take up the crown, you won’t have to do it alone.”

  “Jaspur, I’m not qualified to do anything! I know nothing about running a kingdom.”

  “You do not have to. Beside you will be myself, Patchi, Tobiano, your mother… All of us will help you along this path. You will experience life in a way few rahee ever have the honor of doing, and you will experience it the right way: with the people who love you by your side, and the unyielding loyalty of the rahee behind you.”

  The boy hesitated. “How desperately do you need me to say yes?”

  “We are quite desperate.”

  “And you are certain no one else can do this but me? What about Patchi, or Tobiano, or my mom?”

  “None of them are a part of my bloodline like you are. We need the rahee to stand behind us without question. If our people hear the rightful heir has come to take his throne, the loyalty triggered by that rumor alone will unite them.”