After a few minutes of fruitless searching, the rogue caught a flicker of light from the corner of his vision. Jaspur spun around. His eyes darted to and fro, but he saw nothing out of sorts. Frowning, he started to turn back when something grabbed him from behind.
The rogue's hand shot up to find a cold, solid fist clamped around his shoulder. Instinct kicked in and he responded by twisting the wrist outward as he turned to face his attacker.
He was greeted by a figure consumed in blinding light.
“A spirit?” Jaspur threw his arm over his burning eyes. Such beings didn’t belong in the Veil. It was a place composed of magic, not energy. That didn’t seem to matter to this one though as it rammed itself into Jaspur’s chest. The rogue flew off his feet before he had a chance to react, his back landing hard against the Veil's misty ground.
Jaspur cringed as the burning sensation of the spirit’s energy spread through his body. Though he tried, he couldn’t move. He could only watch as the ground expanded into an open portal beneath him.
With a shuddering groan, it swallowed him whole.
* * * * *
Jaspur remembered nothing of the fall. Only that he suddenly found himself pacing inside a white guest chamber. The setting sun bathed the room in an amber light. He looked around to find furniture and curtains that felt vaguely familiar. The rogue sniffed the air, struck by the strong scent of oak and earth. Where was he?
Before he ended up here, he had been attacked. By whom, he didn't know. Where had the spirit brought him? The rogue pondered these things as he paced back and forth until he caught sight of his figure in the looking glass. Suddenly, those questions became afterthoughts. Set against the wall was a full-length mirror that revealed a reflection, but it wasn’t his own. The rahee looking back at him was Rayhan Mendeley.
Had his magic led him here or was this the spirit’s work? Before him stood a much younger version of his cousin than Jaspur remembered. Beyond rich brown eyes, thick chestnut hair, and a chiseled jaw sat a restlessness that wasn’t present in Rayhan’s later years.
Jaspur approached his cousin's reflection, or rather Rayhan approached his own. He realized then that his cousin had been pacing on his own accord, not by Jaspur's command.
This wasn't like most of his visions. Here, the rogue wasn't an observer, he was a passenger. Such a thing had only happened to him once when he had relived the fall of an ancient city named Bresan T'ahnya years ago.
With Lumiere's help, he had possessed the body of his great-grandfather, Connor Clovenhoof. Inside his ancestor's body, he was able to connect with Connor's thoughts, memories, and instincts. If this experience was the same then he should be able to sync with Rayhan and watch history unfold through his cousin's eyes.
Jaspur listened closely and found he could sense Rayhan's thoughts. Stilling his own mind, he tried to focus on his cousin's inner voice. The merger was like stepping through a wall of thick gel. For a moment, a flurry of feelings overwhelmed his thoughts, their clarity muffled by the steady drum of Rayhan’s heartbeat.
Jaspur steeled his mind and forced himself to accept Rayhan’s presence the same way he accepted his visions. Two souls melted together like wax under a flame until their thoughts melded completely.
* * * * *
Rayhan stopped pacing and turned to look at the two formal tunics spread out across the bed. Hours had passed since his guard had dumped him off in this guest chamber. Soon, the elf would return to escort him to an evening meal with the king, and the captain couldn’t decide if he wanted that moment to hurry up or never come at all.
He was keenly aware of Whitewood’s animosity toward the Mendeley name. The list of lives affected by his father’s brutality remained dreadfully long. His uncle had sent him here to bridge the tension between their cities, but what could he do or say to these elves to even begin to make amends? Apologies would be a poor recompense. No one here would want them, especially not from him.
Rayhan blew a tuft of chocolate hair out of his eyes. He grabbed one of the tunics in front of him and sat on the edge of the bed. He started to rehearse what he would say to the king’s company under his breath, but those thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Come in,” he called.
The captain’s ears twitched as the hinges creaked open and the familiar sound of hard-heeled boots strode across the wooden floor. His lieutenant, Pippit Delgone, wore a crooked grin above his navy blue uniform, its edges trimmed in gray. A leather patch over his right eye blended neatly with his slick black hair, and the hairy shadow that usually hid his cheeks had been shaved to reveal a pair of impish dimples. Pip’s one good eye, red as cranberries, looked around the room, then at Rayhan who stared at the silk ensemble in his hands. “Giving your tunic a pep talk, Captain?”
“I was thinking of what to say at tonight’s meal,” he chuckled. “You never know when a king will demand a speech.”
Pip leaned his shoulder against one of the bed posts. “Again?” he shook his head. “I thought Mekkai almost wet himself over your introduction this morning.”
“This is a precarious diplomatic endeavor, Lieutenant. Our success depends upon a flawless representation.”
Pip shrugged. “So don’t do your Siren impression in front of him.”
The young captain dealt Pip a scolding glance, then stood and reconsidered his clothing options. “Is there something you needed from me?”
Pip plucked an apple from a fruit bowl set upon the dresser and shined it against his tunic. “I assumed I would be joining you at this fancy dinner.”
“As a silent companion,” the captain reminded. He picked up the blue and red tunics from the bed and compared them in front of the looking glass. It was one or the other. He looked too much like his father in his military uniform. “I expect you to keep an eye on our surroundings, just in case.”
“You fear your father’s legacy may cause a skirmish,” Pip was serious then, his concern evident.
“I prefer to play it safe.”
“You know my one eye is better than any two.” Pip looked over Rayhan’s shoulder at the captain’s reflection before tapping the cobalt silk in his right hand. “This one. Blue has been said to be calming.”
Rayhan raised a curious brow. “Where did you learn that?”
Pip chomped loudly on his apple before throwing the rest into a rubbish bin. “It was one of the few useful facts I caught while listening to your two noble birds twitter incessantly to one another on the ride here.”
Rayhan grinned at Pip’s reference to Terreen and Gwan as he hung the red ensemble in the open wardrobe and proceeded to put on the blue one. “Occasionally, they find ways to be useful.”
“It’s a shame target practice isn’t one of them.”
Rayhan shook his head. Pip’s only duty on this mission was to protect him and the accompanying nobles, and for good reason. While he was an exceptional soldier, he was also a cad who offended more than he charmed. The captain preferred him to keep a low profile during their stay. “Now that I think of it, I do have a task for you.”
“Anything to put a spear through my boredom.”
“When you are not with me, I would like you to stay close to our little birds. Terreen and Gwan will feel safer in your presence, and it will keep me at ease knowing they are well-protected.”
Pip groaned. “You relish in torture, don’t you, Mendeley? You get your jollies off watching my ears bleed from their blather.”
The captain smiled as he tied a black belt around his waist. “I marvel at how well you know me.” Rayhan freed his long hair from its typical ponytail and nodded toward the door. “Go now. I will see you at dinner soon enough.” Pip departed, grumbling to himself, but the captain knew an act when he saw one. For all his bristling, the lieutenant enjoyed nothing better than an opportunity to pester nobility.
Rayhan waited for the door to click shut before he let out a sigh. His own act proved to be better than his lieutenant’s. Rayhan ha
d known Pip long enough to recognize his visit for what it was. He had stopped by for a read on the captain; something that would assure him things were unfolding according to plan. The last thing Pip needed to pick up on was Rayhan’s fear.
The captain had never shied from anything before. It was a strange and unsettling feeling, but then again, this wasn’t a battle he was fighting. It was the ghost of his father.
Siren Mendeley was the reason he became such an extraordinary swordsman. Quick thinking and clever instincts had saved Rayhan from his father’s fists many times in his childhood. He once believed he would be free of Siren’s legacy after his father died in the war, but it had been the hope of a naïve boy. Instead, the old general’s sins took on the effects of a plague, and Whitewood was the heart of the outbreak with scars on every face.
Rayhan paused when he realized he was pacing again. He took another deep breath and composed himself as he stepped out onto the small balcony. Curling his fingers around the railing, he reminded himself, “I am not my father.”
Trailing his eyes across the countless bridges strung between the treetops, Rayhan let the truth of those words calm his stampeding heart. King Donovan was not a fool. If his king had faith in him, it was because he believed Rayhan could make amends here.
The door clicked open again. Rayhan’s fingers slid from the railing and he turned, ready to issue Pip a stronger reprimand, but the words fell from his lips when he saw it was his guard instead.
“I apologize if I am intruding, but I did knock,” Nadel stated, rather annoyed. “You didn’t answer. It is my duty to ensure your safety.”
“I apologize, good elf,” Rayhan exhaled. “I thought you were someone else.”
“I see,” the guard muttered. He joined the rahee on the balcony. “You have been provided a companion for dinner tonight.” His voice was stiff, as if his words were chosen carefully before he spoke. “Her name is Elessara. She is the niece of King Mekkai and one of the palace’s historians.”
“I am honored,” the captain genuinely replied. “May I ask what she studies?”
“Rahee,” Nadel grumbled.
“Well,” Rayhan wasn’t sure what to make of that exactly, but he chose an optimistic approach. “Luckily, I happen to be quite familiar with the subject.”
Nadel didn’t express any amusement. Not even a hint.
The captain met the blonde elf’s heated stare from over his shoulder, curious. “Is there something else you would like to say, sirrah?” he inquired. “I can see you are holding back.”
Nadel narrowed his hazel eyes. “I prefer to hold my tongue.”
Rayhan turned to face the elf and folded his hands disarmingly behind his back. “I won’t challenge your right to do so, but I will say in my six years of service, I have never seen peace grow out of silence.”
Nadel gritted his teeth. “In my two centuries of service,” he retorted, “I have seen words turn into quarrels, and quarrels into wars. Allow me to fulfill my duties without having to suffer through trivial attempts at conversation and we will get along well enough.”
Rayhan flinched. He was used to being younger than the majority of his peers, but here he was an infant compared to the centuries Whitewood's citizens held over him. Still, the captain tried. He placed a hand on the elf’s shoulder. “I can respect that, but the offer stands should you change your mind.” When Nadel stared at Rayhan's hand as if a bird had relieved itself on his tunic, the captain cleared his throat and wisely pulled away. “When are we departing for the king’s feast?”
“When you are ready.”
Rayhan slid his leather gauntlets over his forearms and tightened them quickly. They were a decorative set with a unicorn bust embossed into the leather and painted in silver. Each creature bore sapphires for eyes and diamonds in their mane.
“Lead the way,” Rayhan motioned toward the door, and the elven guard turned sharp on his heels in compliance.
They walked in silence through the winding walkway that led down to the king’s great hall. Each elf they passed stopped to stare, their eyes burning unseen holes through Rayhan’s tunic. He kept his chin high and his mouth shut, never straying beyond a polite nod. Nadel made no effort to ease the tension, and Rayhan understood that this was the atmosphere he would have to cut through over the next few weeks while King Mekkai considered their arrangement.
His stomach churned inside his abdomen, though he was careful not to show it. Rayhan was doing a fine job until they reached the open doors of the great hall. Before them stretched a long table with the king’s golden chair at the forefront. Over half of the seats had been filled by various elven nobles, their jovial conversation filling the room.
Those voices fell silent when Pip rose from his seat between Terreen and Gwan. All eyes shifted at once to the entryway where Nadel stood like a suit of armor beside the rahenyan captain. Terreen and Gwan, too, rose from their seats. No one else moved, their eyes fixed upon a visage that looked familiar in all the wrong ways.
“Captain Mendeley, thank you for joining us!” King Mekkai raised his glass, a sincere smile bringing credence to his welcome. “Come,” he motioned to an open chair two seats down from his own. “Take a seat.”
Rayhan swallowed back his trepidation and moved to join the king. The eyes in the room followed his every step. Those in his company stood in honor until the noble captain was finally seated, his elven guard taking an attentive post a few feet behind the king’s chair.
“Rayhan Mendeley is the nephew of King Donovan, and an ambassador of Nevaharday,” the king announced to the table. “I expect you all to show him the fine courtesy of Whitewood. Though our past has been marred by war, King Donovan and I both agree it is time to move beyond our quarrels. Let us raise our glasses in toast to peace and the potential of a renewed alliance.” He raised his wine high.
Rayhan lifted his glass. “To peace and a renewed alliance.”
The table responded with mixed huzzahs and clinking glasses before small conversations rose up again. Rayhan lifted his napkin and folded it neatly in his lap, glad to feel some of the attention fall away from him.
However, there was one set of eyes that didn’t relent. An elven woman sitting to his right studied him intently, her chilly stare making it difficult to focus on the full plate a servant placed in front of him.
“Captain, I would like you to meet my niece and one of Whitewood’s finest historians, Elessara Redwood,” the king tipped his glass toward the owner of that fierce gaze.
Rayhan hid his surprise behind his goblet. When Nadel had spoken of a historian, he had envisioned a bland individual who preferred decrepit scrolls over good company.
Elessara was nothing of the sort. She had a smooth complexion that reminded him of Sarrokye’s pale shores. Her ears were long and pointed, their tips swept back against her skull. Eyes gray as river stones contrasted the burgundy highlights in her rich brown hair. There was something about her expression, too; something that caught Rayhan’s breath and set his guard.
“Rayhan Mendeley,” she rested her fingertips upon her forehead, then arched her arm toward him until her palm returned to her lap. “Welcome to Whitewood.”
Rayhan’s ears perked, and he returned the gesture. “Thank you, my lady,” his voice was deep and kind. “I am honored to be here.”
“The honor,” she paused and took a deep breath, “The honor is mine.” How she said those words, as if they choked her, made the captain feel uneasy. Still, to her credit, she continued to play her part. “It is not often we entertain rahenyan nobility.”
Rayhan smiled humbly, wondering how he could possibly put this striking lady at ease. “I hope I leave a fond impression.”
Elessara bit her tongue. Rayhan was the youthful image of Siren Mendeley. The smooth tan in his skin, the wave in his dark brown hair, and the way his jaw—so perfectly sculpted—accented the strength of those russet eyes. She fought the urge to vomit at the reminder. “We shall see.”
R
ayhan sensed the fear behind Elessara’s false smile and tried to steer their conversation toward a comfortable subject. “Nadel told me you study rahenyan culture. You seem to have a firm grasp on our customs. Few outside our race have ever attempted to greet us in our own way.”
“I find the gesture rather charming,” her reply was flat, her posture stiff.
Rayhan leaned back in his chair as he feigned comfort and ease. He took a sip of his wine and allowed the rich flavor to roll across his tongue before he spoke. “Do you know why we greet one another the way we do, Lady Elessara?”
She cocked her head to the side, unsure of his motives. “Unfortunately, Captain Mendeley, none of my books explain it.”
“I doubt they could,” he set his glass down and looked at her again. “Most of our culture was passed down through oral tradition. King Donovan explained it to me once when I was a boy, and I admit I’m rather fond of its meaning.”
By now he had captured King Mekkai’s attention and several others close enough to listen in on their conversation. Elessara folded her hands nervously in her lap. “Will you explain it to me?”
Rayhan nodded. “For centuries, our people have believed we were all connected through the same spirit.”
“You speak of your deity, Tennakawa,” she assumed.
“Aye. It was a bond so deep the horse folk believed words could not describe it. Instead, they would touch their forehead,” he repeated the gesture, “and extend their palm to acknowledge that spiritual connection between themselves and another.”
“Please accept my apology then,” she turned away, clearly embarrassed.
Rayhan was about to take a bite of his meal, but quickly set his fork down, his right ear cocked in confusion. “What for, my lady?”
Elessara looked up at him, her eyes squinted in confusion. “I am not a rahee, Captain,” she stated as if the answer were obvious. “It was audacious of me to use such a sacred gesture.”
The Rogue Trilogy Page 51
