The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  “What?” Arelee turned to her apprentice, confused.

  Realizing her slip, the gypsy quickly corrected herself, “I have to get Melee to pasture. She’s still unsettled.”

  “Oh, well of course. I have a few stable hands waiting by the door to take our mounts,” Arelee chuckled. “I still can’t believe how you turned things around back there. I’ve been around horses for a long time, and I’ve never seen such control over a panic-stricken creature. It was like magic.”

  Levee smiled humbly, but Melee wasn’t ready to play along so easily. She planted her hooves into the dirt and stood her ground. You stubborn little filly, why won’t you listen to me?

  Because there is nowhere to run, Levee directed her words telepathically to Melee. Think about the mimic from last night and the ogre that hurt Milo. The peril you’re worried about is everywhere. As far as I’m concerned, this is the safest place in all of Nevaharday.

  Arelee waited patiently as Levee rubbed the mare’s neck and withers. Melee snorted.

  Safe? This place is not safe! Whatever is in that castle is more evil than anything out here.

  How do you know? Levee inquired.

  I can feel it. All the horses can. Look around. Can’t you tell?

  As if to prove Melee’s point, a large gelding hitched to a merchant wagon raised its back leg when the owner of the cart slipped past his flank. The merchant quickly reassured the beast with soothing words, his own visage revealing the horse’s reaction to be unusual.

  Levee frowned as she began to notice other horses seemed on edge. Tails swished nervously, and those standing still fidgeted, their hind quarters assuming an antsy sway. The gypsy opened her ears to the voices around her and heard the murmurs of danger that threaded through the equines’ thoughts.

  Well running from it won’t make it go away, Levee reasoned. If something bad is here then we should find out what it is.

  The palomino huffed. Always the heroine. You’re going to have me worry the hairs right off my hide, you know.

  Levee wrapped an affectionate arm around the underside of Melee’s neck. You’ll be fine.

  “Miss Tensley, if you and your pony are ready,” Arelee swept a hand toward the tall double doors that marked the castle’s front entrance. “I think it is time we acquaint you with your new home.”

  As the pair strode forward, several rahee in uniform tunics approached to accommodate Levee. The first removed the packs from her pony’s back while another took Melee’s reins from her hand. The gypsy hesitated, reluctant to leave her mare behind, but the horse mistress urged Levee forward.

  “Don’t fret about Melee. She’ll be well taken care of,” Arelee handed her own mount to a servant and grabbed one of her apprentice’s bags while Levee took hold of the other. Side-by-side, they walked through the doorway that opened into the first of many marvelous rooms.

  Before today, Levee had only seen the Main Hall where most of the festivities were held. Now her eyes fell upon the prince’s home in its entirety. The Connor family’s castle embraced natural beauty over rubies and riches. Stone, furs and thickly woven tapestries consumed the walls and served as heavy reminders of the rahee’s tribal past.

  A broad stairway rose up from the middle of the entry hall which branched into four different wings.

  “These wings house the majority of the castle’s activity, but most of us prefer the ground floor. You’ll see why,” Arelee grinned as the two veered left into a covered walkway that led them toward one of the smaller, adjoining buildings.

  Around them, gardeners had carved a natural utopia out of the small, enclosed landscape. Vines boasting beautiful cobalt blooms curled along the archways while song birds whistled cheery compositions from surrounding trees. A balanced weaving of nature and architecture turned this fortress into a place that felt alive and inviting.

  Arelee stepped up into the next building. “Your room is located on the second floor with mine.”

  They marched up a set of winding stairs into a hallway. The gypsy nearly bumped into Arelee when she dropped Levee’s bag beside a wooden door at the very end of the hall. Chuckling at the girl’s awestruck expression, the horse mistress pulled a key from her belt. Fitting it into the lock, she turned until it clicked before shouldering her way inside.

  Levee grabbed the second bag and followed the mistress. The room was simple by castle standards, but it seemed like so much more to the gypsy. She set her bags on a bed that was nearly the size of her old room and shook her head.

  “It’s so... big.”

  Arelee chuckled. “That was the same look I wore when I moved here from my father’s ranch.”

  Levee plopped onto the bed. “You didn’t grow up here?”

  The horse mistress’ constricted smile started to unravel. She leaned against the wooden bed post and motioned to her brown breeches and leather vest over a plain cotton shirt. “Do I look like I belong in a castle?”

  “Not really,” the gypsy confessed. Arelee was nothing like the delicate females that filled Jaycent’s large court. She dressed like a stable hand and spoke like Levee, an educated commoner. “But if you aren’t nobility, how did you become the royal horse mistress?”

  The horse mistress pushed away from the post and walked over to the oak bureau with feet carved to look like hooves. She traced her fingers across its horse-head knobs. “I became friends with the prince when we were both very young. We used to play together while my father helped the soldiers with their horses,” she hugged her arms across her chest as if talking about the prince filled her with mixed feelings. “As we got older, he used to ask me what I wanted to do if I had a choice, and I told him I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps.

  “All of nobility thought me daft. They laughed every time I said I wanted to be the first horse mistress. But not Jaycent. He always told me everyone deserved a chance to do what they wanted.

  “I assumed he was just being polite until my father resigned. Immediately, the prince insisted the king offer me a chance to prove myself, and sure enough...” Arelee shrugged.

  Levee propped herself up on the bed using a down pillow. “His Highness sounds like a kind soul.”

  Arelee sighed. “Usually. Lately, the prince hasn’t been feeling well, and it’s left him rather irritable. I’d suggest you keep your distance for a while. Give him time to rest.”

  “This illness,” Levee paused as she considered her words. She had promised to keep silent about her awareness of the prince’s dreams, but surely there was no harm in asking about something that was already common gossip, “Is he getting worse?”

  The horse mistress dealt her a curious eye. “It’s hard to tell, but I’m sure he’ll pull through. The prince is strong. He always has been. You just focus on what you’re here to do.”

  “Right,” Levee rolled off the bed and busied herself with unpacking her meager belongings. Two short stacks of clothing accompanied an empty water skin that Milo had made for her and a leather wrap full of cornbread Tay had tucked into her pack the night before. Levee placed the items in a drawer, touched by her adopted family’s gifts, and turned to Arelee. “Are we still running a patrol this evening?”

  “Before dusk, yes. This is the real deal, Tensley, not a training exercise. You and His Highness will be leading one group, and the general and I will take up the second. There’s been talk of foul creatures on the prowl lately, so come prepared.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  “That’s why I chose you,” Arelee patted her back. “Let me show you the library. There are a couple of books I want you to read while you have the time.”

  “Books?” Levee’s ears poked through her auburn hair as she tagged along on Arelee’s heels.

  “Yes, books. I assume you can read?”

  “Of course!”

  They rounded the circular corridor that branched off their hall and arrived at an ornate wooden entrance. The frame boasted a series of intricate carvings that recounte
d scenes from rahenyan lore. Levee ran delicate fingers over the side, marveling at the little details.

  “Get used to that look. You’ll be wearing it for weeks,” Arelee pushed through the door and made a beeline for an older gentleman settled in front of an oversized desk.

  Levee smiled at the librarian hunched over the desk’s surface. One finger traced the words scribed upon a yellowing scroll, and he adjusted his spectacles while muttering under his breath. It wasn’t until Arelee rang the small hand bell on his desk that he snapped out of his studies.

  “Oh, L-lady Denicarli. What a pleasure to see you!” Pages flung every which way as the rahee scrambled to get his desk in order. “Yes, yes, quite a pleasure.”

  “Did you find the books I asked for earlier, Bardo?”

  “Certainly, Mistress. They are right here. Or… were. Oh, pardon my mess, my lady. Much to research today, you see.”

  “As there is every day,” Arelee blew a tuff of hair from her eyes.

  “Is this the girl you spoke of?” Bardo asked, eager to dampen her impatience. “Your promising apprentice?”

  “It is. Bardo, this is Levee Tensley,” the horse mistress pushed Levee forward. “Levee, meet Bardo, our royal scholar. He will talk your ears right off, but you’ll learn more than you ever dreamed of in the process. Bardo’s agreed to educate you in the history of equine and rahenyan relationships, starting with the books he’s trying to excavate from his desk.”

  “I will find them, don’t you worry. They’re under here somewhere!”

  Levee stifled her humor. “Can I help you find them?” she asked politely.

  “No, no! This desk is meticulously organized!” Bardo exclaimed. The gypsy lifted two incredulous eyebrows as she tried to fathom how the scattered parchments and leaning stacks of books could possibly be defined as organized.

  Arelee tossed her a hopeless glance. “Best of luck. I’ll see you on the field.” She left Levee in the hands of the eccentric character half-buried under his disheveled materials.

  “I know they were here somewhere…” he grumbled.

  Levee plopped into one of the overly stuffed chairs, her cheek perched dubiously on her hand. “I’m sure they are, sirrah.”

  * * * * *

  Jaycent tucked the elven book inside the outer vest of his tunic and snatched the torch from its iron holder. A new urgency gave flight to his feet as he leapt the dusty steps three at a time. After weeks of suffering through painful visions, the prince had finally stumbled upon a lead.

  Already, his mind had linked several connections between the past and present. What concerned him was the girl he suspected to fall under the category of a “speaker”. One little gypsy fit the bill, but could he protect her from the very thing that was killing him?

  The prince pushed away his fear. He’d find a way. Jaycent Connor always found a way. Stuffing the torch into a hook beside the iron door, His Highness stepped out of the archives into the well-lit library. He winced against the stark greeting of daylight. As his vision came into focus, he shook his head. It was as if fate had become his personal caterer!

  Levee sat curled in a plush chair, her back to him as she patiently watched Bardo’s frantic search for… what? His Highness couldn’t guess. It didn’t matter, though. Whatever plans she had would change now that Jaycent had found her.

  Plucking the leather bound book from his vest, he leaned over Levee’s shoulder and presented her the key to their new venture. Levee tilted her head upward, green eyes seeking the bearer of such gifts. She was met with Jaycent’s bright smile, his pale blue eyes complimented by a silver circlet. Regal braids peeked from beneath his straight, mahogany mane. Each hair was brushed until it boasted a perfect sheen that matched his silk ensemble.

  “You will never guess what I have found,” his voice hummed teasingly in her ear.

  “A new wardrobe?” she whispered back.

  Rolling his eyes, the prince motioned to the door. “Follow me.”

  Levee nodded at the librarian digging through one of the deep desk drawers stuffed with musty knickknacks. “What about Bardo?”

  “Forget the librarian. When you return, he will probably be in the same place rummaging for the same thing.”

  That answer was as good as any. Levee slipped from the chair, unobtrusive as a mouse, and slunk toward the door.

  “Now where did I leave those confounded—ah ha!” Jaycent pushed the gypsy through the doorway just as old Bardo launched to his feet in triumph. “I knew they were in here somewhere! Now, where to begin?”

  The librarian licked his fingers and flipped through several pages. “Ah yes, the language of the equine! This is one of my favorite studies. You will certainly enjoy this.”

  Adjusting his glasses, Bardo turned toward the empty chair. “Miss Tensley?” His birdlike neck twitched in every direction, searching for his promising, new pupil. “Oh dear. The mistress will not be pleased. No, no,” the librarian clicked his tongue. “Not pleased at all.”

  TEACH ME TO SEE

  Giggles resounded off the narrow corridor as Jaycent led Levee back to the main hall. He turned and placed a hushing finger to his lips before they tiptoed down the staircase into the grand foyer. High above them a dome shaped ceiling plated with colored glass reflected Nevaharday’s unicorn symbol.

  The afternoon light poured through it, heightening the vibrant spectrum of colors that pooled across the smooth floor. Levee’s feet slowed as she marveled at it until Jaycent gave her a coaxing nudge through another door. The gypsy reluctantly watched the foyer disappear, then drew her attention back to the prince.

  “So what is it that has you kidnapping me from my studies?” Levee asked, intrigued.

  Jaycent waved the old book he had shown her earlier. “An epiphany.”

  The clack of their boots faded into the soft crunch of spongy grass as they entered a courtyard. Sunlight splashed across whitewashed stones leading to a granite fountain that, upon closer inspection, Levee discovered wasn’t a fountain at all.

  Two-foot tall walls bordered a stream that meandered through the castle itself. Like many pieces of nature found in this beautiful place, the architects had utilized the stream as an integral part of the castle; a source, she guessed, that enabled nobility to have running water.

  The prince took a seat on the edge of the wall and rested his elbows on his knees. He scanned the pages in front of his nose, searching for a specific passage. “Listen to this: We know not its name, but the enemy's red eyes haunt many unfortunate souls. Particularly those who possess the prophetic gift. The power of this enemy seems to prey upon the rahee.

  “Our dreamers dream of terror so cold and frightening, it robs them of peace until exhaustion takes their lives. Only the speakers—those whose childlike souls lie closest to our equine kin—seem impervious to its evil.

  “In fact, the enemy fears them.”

  Levee took a seat beside His Highness, her hand grasping the edge of the book as she read over his shoulder. “You think this is talking about the wolf in your visions?” Her ears dipped, followed by her brow as she read further down the page. “Who wrote this?”

  “According to the text, this was an anonymous letter, though I suspect by its eloquence it was written by a member of the fallen city’s nobility. Possibly even its final ruler.”

  “Dikan Thunderhoof,” Levee noted.

  Her knowledge satisfied Jaycent. “You’re one of few rahee who still know that name.”

  “I was raised a gypsy, Your Highness,” she stated matter-of-factly. “All of us are well-versed in the past.”

  “I had hoped as much. Perhaps you can enlighten me as to what Patchi meant when he said I need to rediscover what our people have forgotten.”

  Levee turned away from the open pages, her chin rested on her shoulder. “I would if I knew what it was, but unfortunately…” she shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

  Jaycent clamped the book shut. “You do know, Levee.” When the gypsy just stared at
her toes, he placed an encouraging hand on her shoulder. “Tell me what it is.”

  The gypsy hesitated. Only her family had embraced Levee’s innate gift, and they died because of it. Today had been a unique incident when she used her ability to save her and Melee from a gruesome accident. She had no intention of reviving her dormant abilities.

  “You are afraid,” Jaycent sensed.

  Levee ran a hand through the cool water, her voice distant. “I’m careful.”

  A flash of blue silk passed through the edge of her sight, and she felt the prince’s hand press against her cheek. In a tone as gentle as the water running through her fingers, Jaycent said, “Look at me.”

  She complied and the prince found a war behind those emerald eyes; a battle between trust and caution.

  “I know there’s something special in you,” he stated, his tone quiet but certain. “Patchi saw it in an instant and praised you for it. That alone should tell you that whatever it is you carry is worth acknowledging.”

  “You think I’m one of the speakers your book was talking about,” Levee turned away again. “I don’t even know what that entails, Your Highness.”

  “Neither do I, Melah,” he used the nickname again as if it was supposed to mean something. Did it? To acknowledge her gift would be embracing the fact she was different from everyone else.

  Yet Levee couldn’t deny the truth forever. Nor could she ignore the prince’s request. The gypsy saw the ticking clock behind the shadows on his face. Whatever haunted him was slowly stealing the life from his body, just as the passage warned it would. Seeing the weight of his needs, Levee caved.

  “What is it you want me to do?”

  Jaycent’s fingers gingerly swept the hair that dangled in front of her eyes over her ear. Their gazes met, and Levee noticed the wall around his true self had started to crack.

  No longer was the prince stone-faced in front of her. Signs that he could feel in spite of his hollow image worked their way to the surface. The creases at the corners of those striking blue eyes deepened, and in a quiet voice he pleaded, “Teach me to see what you see.”