“This meeting is not about me,” Jaspur reminded.
“It is if I decide it is,” Elessara replied.
Jaspur’s ears flicked back. A retort rose up in his throat, but he bit it back.
“You are feisty, too,” she smiled, amused. “I like that. You and your prince may have a seat in front of my desk. Before we get started, I would like to speak with my daughter alone.”
Jaspur glanced at Deley through the corner of his eye. The moment Whitewood’s historian turned around, the half-elf offered the rogue a subtle nod. Elessara may be her mother, but she was loyal to their cause. He could trust her.
Deley followed her mother to a side room. Elessara closed the door to lend them some privacy before wrapping her daughter in a long embrace.
“How many years has it been?” Elessara asked, her hand cupping her daughter’s cheek.
“Too many,” Deley sighed, her eyes a bit misty. “I’m sorry I didn’t write. I—”
Elessara shook her head. “You don’t have to explain yourself or apologize. I understood when you left you would need time to find yourself and decide your place. Your home in Whitewood is only half of who you are. You needed to know your father’s side, though from your company it seems you’ve uncovered far more than either of us could have imagined.”
Deley swallowed back the flood of words and nodded. There was so much she wanted to tell her mother about what she had found in Velagray, and what had happened. It was true Deley had discovered far more than her father’s name and legacy. She had experienced the suffering of Velagray’s people—Rayhan’s people—firsthand.
The half-elf tugged her sleeve further down her wrist to ensure the scar beneath it was hidden. She spent months under Shadow’s thumb as one of his slaves. If it wasn’t for the re’shahna negating the mark on her arm, she would still be there.
But that tale would have to wait. Deley had made her choice to stand beside Jaspur and Sadikaye. The rogue’s deeds had shown her the unyielding loyalty of her father’s people. Like Rayhan, Jaspur was willing to put down his life for others, including a half-elf he barely knew.
When Deley saw that, she no longer felt torn between her mixed lineage. She may look elven, but her heart was that of the horse folk, and she was here now as their ally.
“Tell me, is the boy’s claim really true?” Elessara inquired.
“Yes,” Deley confirmed. “I know it is hard to fathom, but I have met the re’shahna and Sadikaye’s mother, and the stories all align. It seems Prince Jaycent had chosen a mate before he returned, though he never lived to see his heir. His mother, Levee, fled south after Jaycent was murdered, taking refuge with the gypsies in Sarrokye.”
Elessara tapped her finger pensively against her lips. “Is there any evidence other than testimony to back their claim?”
“Sadikaye wears Jaycent’s kunah. I’ve seen it myself, and it appears to be exactly how our records describe it. He looks like the portraits of the late prince, too, don’t you think?”
“Yes…” Elessara murmured. “I have an odd feeling about his guard though. Who is he?”
Deley shrugged. “No one, really. His name is Jaspur. He used to be a soldier that served under Rayhan before Shadow took over. He managed to escape when Nevaharday fell and lived as a rogue until the re’shahna happened to cross paths with him, as they did me.”
Elessara stared at her daughter for a long time, as if trying to ascertain how much of Deley’s story was true. Then, with a sigh, she let it go. There was definitely a story behind this Jaspur character. One she itched to know. However, their priority was to identify the validity of Sadikaye’s claims.
“Let me see this kunah,” Elessara bid. “We will explore the facts from there.”
WHAT MAKES A KING?
As Deley and Elessara returned to the study, all familial attachments were set aside. When it came to verifying Sadikaye’s story, Whitewood’s historian would not risk any bias. She treated the case as any other, starting with the artifact that supported the young prince’s claim.
“Sadikaye, I would like to take a look at the kunah you say belonged to Jaycent,” she held out her hand. “I promise to give it back.”
Rising, Sadikaye pulled the kunah over his head and set it coin first into Elessara’s palm. She thanked him, then studied the trinket under a magnifying glass.
Jaspur crossed his arms, his left foot rested on his knee as he watched the historian do her job. The absurdity of his own necklace’s authenticity being scrutinized in front of him wasn’t lost on the rogue. He watched Elessara mumble to herself as she flipped the coin over and leaned into the glass.
Minutes went by like this, until the rogue grew impatient.
“What exactly are you looking for?” he asked.
“Many things,” Elessara replied, the distance in her voice indicating she was absorbed in the task. “The material, the design…”
Jaspur tossed his hands in the air. “It’s a coin. It is old. It has the bust of a unicorn on the front, identical to the Connor family’s emblem. What more is there to decipher? It’s not like it’s made of currency. The royal family had been passing that thing down for centuries. As far as we know, there was only one of its kind ever made.”
“Yes…” Elessara murmured. “All the more reason for someone to replicate it.”
Jaspur fell back against the plush couch and stared at the ceiling. “Who in their right mind would pretend to be Jaycent’s heir? It is a guaranteed bounty on your head.”
“And yet you are here with Sadikaye, asking me to verify that very claim.” Elessara offered the kunah back to the young prince before folding her hands on the desk. “Tell me, Sadikaye, how is it your mother—a gypsy—became romantically involved with Prince Jaycent? It is an odd and unlikely pairing.”
Sadikaye looked down at the kunah in his palm then back at Elessara. When their eyes met, the historian didn’t see the innocent youth who had fumbled through his first greeting. His fingers curled around the coin in his palm, and the words that followed were confident, his story never faltering.
“Before Jaycent disappeared from Nevaharday, my mother, Levee, was an apprentice under his horse mistress, Arelee. They came to know each other through that relationship, and she accompanied him on his scouting mission. The one from which he did not return.”
“I see…” Elessara perched her chin in her hand. “Go on.”
“They were ambushed by mimics and night mares under Shadow’s direction. She and Jaycent were the only two to survive. They narrowly escaped the attack, thanks to Skalabur.”
“The unicorn king?” Elessara interjected, shocked by the revelation.
“Aye,” Sadikaye nodded. “He advised them to seek out the re’shahna, and so they did. They trained under the tribe’s guidance, honing their gifts.
“It was during that time that my mother said they fell in love. They became mates. But when Jaycent sacrificed his life trying to defend his throne, my mother had no choice but to flee and take refuge in Sarrokye. She had no idea until afterward that she was with child…”
Jaspur relaxed, pleased that Sadikaye was clever enough to leave out any mention of Lumiere. The sword was too distinguishable for Elessara to miss. Had he made that slip, the rogue would have had quite a bit of explaining to do.
However, Elessara remained skeptical. “You seem to know the story down to the last detail, Sadikaye.”
“It was recently told to me, along with my birthright,” the young prince confessed. “But I have known the truth of Jaycent’s adventures my whole life. My mother used to tell them to me as bedtime stories. She left out her relationship with the prince, of course, until she was recently captured by Shadow.
“The re’shahna helped us rescue her, and in their company I learned the truth of my origins. When their chief arrives, I’m sure he will confirm all of this. His tribe was the one to mentor the prince and my mother.”
Elessara glanced at Jaspur upon mention of the
re’shahna. The rogue lifted his head, a bored expression on his face. “What?”
“The re’shahna seem to be in the right place at the right time quite often.”
“Aye,” the rogue sat up, eager to reach a conclusion. “It is not a coincidence, either. Shadow has been an enemy of theirs for many centuries. They have always kept close tabs on his activity.”
Elessara frowned. “I am no stranger to Shadow. However, I had no idea how deep his deception ran until it was too late. He sabotaged my first betrothal, killing the alliance between our people before it could begin. I didn’t understand why back then. It wasn’t until he claimed the rahee’s kingdom for his own that I realized his quest for power.”
She stood and walked around the desk. “I will be frank with you, Sadikaye: you may be Jaycent’s heir and you may not. Yet your evidence is enough to satisfy your people, no doubt. Shadow’s hunger for power is insatiable. He does not care who he steps on or kills to gain it. For the sake of the realm, your people need a new king. The fact you are here making this incredulous claim tells me you are willing to take on that heavy responsibility.”
Sadikaye licked his lips. Was he willing? In spite of Jaspur’s promises that he wouldn’t have to commit to the throne once they reclaimed it, the young prince couldn’t help but feel like his path was growing more narrow. Elessara spoke of him not as a prince, but as the future king.
He knew this was the expectation, but hearing it aloud made him feel lightheaded. This felt so much bigger than anything a young fisherman like himself could handle. However, they needed this alliance.
With a fistful of doubt in his throat, Sadikaye nodded to Elessara in agreement.
“Very well,” she said. “I will arrange a meeting with King Mekkai, but be prepared to negotiate. Even though we all agree Shadow must be dealt with, Whitewood’s help will not be free.
“Be prepared to set your egos at the door and think only of what is best for your people. Decades ago, we were allies and it was a fruitful relationship for both kingdoms. Form the alliance Rayhan could not, Sadikaye, and you will guarantee the rahee a promising future.”
* * * * *
Upon that heavy warning, Elessara dismissed the trio and had them escorted to a set of guest quarters located in the library’s spire. The rooms were quaint, with single beds, a small table, and a window to alleviate the claustrophobically tight walls.
Sadikaye sat in the lone chair, his pack at his feet as he toyed with the kunah around his neck. Jaspur excused himself, eager to get the unicorns stabled and send a message to Patchi relaying the day’s events, which left Deley alone with the young prince.
However, Sadikaye was so distant she might as well not even be in the room. She watched him for a while, wondering how long it would take for him to notice, but his lager eyes were fixed somewhere distant as he traversed his thoughts with zero awareness of the room around him.
“Hey,” Deley leaned against the table, a smile on her lips. “Why the long face? Today went well, you know.”
Sadikaye twitched, his consciousness jolted back into the room by the sound of her voice. Whatever was on his mind, he must have been wading deep within it. The young prince’s eyebrows drew toward one another, his ears pressed back against his hair. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Deley’s heart skipped a beat. An awkward pause passed between them.
“What do you mean?” she finally asked.
“I am barely coming to grips with my role as a prince, and Elessara is talking about me being a king. I am nobody, Deley. I spent most of my life on the sea throwin’ nets or sellin’ horses among gypsies. Now I am supposed to make decisions on behalf of thousands of people?
“It’s madness. Who would entrust this kind of responsibility to a kid like me?”
Deley squeezed Sadikaye’s shoulder. “Relax. This won’t be as hard as you think. Jaspur will know how to negotiate for you. All you’ll have to do is take his advice and sign the paper.”
Frustrated, Sadikaye stood and wandered to the window. “You’re just provin’ my point.”
“Proving,” she corrected.
Sadikaye threw up his hands. “See what I mean? I’m not qualified for any of this. Your king is going to see I’m just the puppet through which Jaspur and the others make decisions. I am way out of my league here.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am!”
“Sadikaye, listen to me.”
The young prince turned around so his back was to the glass. Resting his elbows on the sill, he leaned casually back. “Let me guess… You’re about to give me a pep talk?”
Deley strode up to the young prince and poked a determined finger against his chest. “First of all, every king has his advisors, and as far as yours go, I’d say you’re pretty lucky. Jaspur and Patchi both know politics, and I bet you they will be mindful of how they make you look in front of King Mekkai.”
Sadikaye shrugged. “Even if that is true, it still doesn’t change the fact I have no idea what I’m doing. Jaspur coached me on etiquette all the way here, and the first thing I did was make an elementary mistake in front of Lady Elessara. I’m not cut out for this life, Deley.”
“What? You think rule number one when you become king is to never make any mistakes?” the half-elf laughed. “If you managed that, you would be the first king in history with a flawless legacy.”
Sadikaye looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “You don’t get it.”
“Is that so?” she crossed her arms.
“This,” he motioned to the hair and charcoal Deley had done for him earlier, “is a façade. It’s not real. Your king is going to take one look at me and see a kid just trying to fake his way into glory.”
“My king?” Deley shook her head.
“What?”
“Sadikaye, why do you think I am here? Open your eyes,” she reached out and clasped his face in her palms. “I am looking at my king right now.”
Sadikaye’s eyes widened. Deley looked up at his incredulous expression and met it with an encouraging smile.
“Why do you put so much faith in me?” he whispered.
Deley tucked his stubborn forelock behind one of his pressed ears. “Because you have the intelligence and empathy we need. Being a good king isn’t about how much you know or how well you play the game. You’re worried about mistakes, but you’re going to make them no matter how qualified you are, so you need to get over that.”
“Deley, my mistakes could impact thousands of people.”
“And yet King Mekkai has made more of them than I can count,” she replied. “So get over this idea that you’re not good enough to rule a kingdom. The moment you accepted your birthright, you became a king, too. Throne or no throne, you are the leader of your people.”
Sadikaye pushed himself away from the sill. Placing his hands on Deley’s shoulders, he leaned forward until their foreheads touched. Deley held her breath, overwhelmed and startled by his sudden nearness. She watched as the young prince closed his eyes, his voice barely cresting a whisper.
“Thank you.”
The earnestness of his words and the vulnerability of his gesture tugged at Deley’s heart. When he finally pulled away, she had this notion that some unspoken understanding had passed between them. With her faith so blatantly placed in him, Sadikaye seemed to walk a little taller.
“Good night,” he bid before blowing out the candle and returning to his bed.
Deley settled by the window, her heart full of hope. “Dream well, Sadikaye Connor.”
SPIES AND SPECTERS
Bry lifted his torch so he could study the dome-like room hidden in the belly of Nevaharday’s undercity. The flame illuminated the cobweb riddled chamber, highlighting the vast emptiness that extended into an abandoned network of rooms and tunnels. The dust was thick here. It floated through the air, swirling and falling like flakes of snow. Reaching out, he traced his fingers against the wall until he found a hastily scrawled s
ymbol written in an ancient tongue. Sprouting a crooked smile, he began trotting down a tunnel to his right.
As Patchi’s master spy, Bry was one of the few who even knew about this place. It was the city’s first underground network of tunnels, this one connected to the royal catacombs instead of the castle itself. Originally built as an escape route for the royal family, Bry now used it as his skeleton key to nearly every section of the city.
Counting the number of passageways branching off this tunnel, Bry entered the fourth one and scaled the stairs with light, nearly soundless steps. When he reached the top he had to crawl, for the ceiling was barely three feet above the final step. Slipping his torch into a metal holder on the wall, he looked at the low hanging ceiling. Upon it there was a panel, nearly seamless, which he pressed his ear against.
Holding his breath, the re’shahna listened for a long time, his senses straining to catch any sound of movement or voices. When all that met him was silence, he reached his feet up and pressed against the stone panel.
With a pop and a thick cloud of dust, it opened. Righting himself into a crouch, Bry slowly raised the panel above his head and took a peek at the surface.
It was pitch dark except for the light of his torch spilling up from the stairway. Crates were stacked throughout the room, their surfaces covered in old blankets half-eaten by moths and other pests. No one had entered this basement for many years, at least.
Climbing his way into the room, Bry grabbed the torch and sought a way out. Weaving through the maze of crates, he noted an old rope hanging from the ceiling.
Praying the mechanism still worked, he gave it a hard tug. With a creak and several groans, a set of rudimentary stairs lowered to the ground. With it came the welcoming light of day, which filtered in through the open windows of the warehouse above.
Bry moved quickly, replacing his torch and the panel before sweeping away the dust that captured his boot prints. Climbing up the steps that led out of the basement, he made his way to a nearby window facing an alleyway. After a cautious glance to ensure no guards were about, he slid out of the window.
The Rogue Trilogy Page 95