Unless he had it all wrong. As the rogue spiraled out of the Veil and into Rayhan’s past, he began to see those events through a different lens. Shadow had never found the prince’s body after he died. He never bothered to seek evidence of his demise. That was unusual, indeed, for Shadow never left anything to chance.
Perhaps it wasn't the code that was wrong then.
Perhaps reducing the prince to a merciless rogue had been Shadow's plan all along.
* * * * *
Vision walking without magic wasn’t a transition. It was a brutal collision. Jaspur’s spirit plummeted through sky and trees, then castle floors, before he slammed like a boulder straight into his host.
Rayhan sat up in his bed, a cold sweat beading across his brow. His hand leapt to his chest which hurt for reasons he wasn’t sure of. He rubbed his tender ribs when he felt a stir at his side.
“Ray?” Elessara’s voice was still heavy with sleep. The captain looked out his window. Dawn had yet to break. Elessara sat up with him, concerned. “Is everything okay?”
“Aye,” he slid back against the mattress. “Just a nightmare, I suppose.”
Elessara’s soft hair draped across his ribs as she rested her chin on his chest. “What was it about?”
Rayhan wove his fingers around her large curls before sliding the back of his palm across her cheek. “You know, I don’t even remember.”
Elessara kissed his fingers, eliciting a smile from Rayhan.
“You should leave,” he warned. “The guard will be changing shifts soon. They cannot catch you here before our union.”
“Let them find me,” Elessara teased. She crawled up to nip at the sensitive tips of Rayhan’s ears, and the captain nearly gave way to her suggestion.
Jaspur gave an inaudible sigh of relief as Rayhan eventually pulled away and slid out from beneath the sheets. He didn’t want to relive any more of the couple’s intimate moments. One awkward memory was enough.
Elessara’s gray eyes fixed upon the captain’s body as he dressed quickly, racing the sun’s ascent. They had tempted fate with their evening rendezvous. Rayhan kissed Elessara goodbye, her tongue caressing his and nearly drawing him back into the tangle of blankets. He balled his fists against the sheets and nipped at her lips before he pulled away. “Last night you said you knew of a discreet way out of here?”
She smiled and nodded to the wash room. “The servant halls. All of the walls here are hollow, creating a hidden network leading to every room and floor.”
“Are you certain it is safe?” he whispered.
Elessara kissed his chin. “I have been using them since I was a child. I will be fine—”
Rayhan’s chamber door swung open, and Elessara buried herself beneath the sheets. The captain spun around, his heart racing, only to find Pip standing slack-jawed in the doorway. “Captain?”
Rayhan herded his lieutenant out of the room so quickly Pip was stumbling backward just to keep his footing. The captain shut the door behind them, leaving the pair to stare incredulously at one another.
“Wow,” Pip broke the silence with a harsh whisper. “I never thought Rayhan the Chivalrous capable of such scandal.”
The captain straightened his posture, his expression stern. “It is not like that.”
“Oh? So you didn't just sleep with the general's daughter? If so, her lying naked in your bed is only slightly misleading.”
Rayhan grabbed Pip's arm before he could rat him out to Terreen and Gwan. “It has already been discussed, Pip. Elessara and I are to be wed.”
Pip rolled his eyes. “Does General Redwood know of this ‘joyous’ arrangement?”
“He will. The king intends to present the council with the arrangement today.”
“So your engagement isn’t really an engagement? It’s just an idea, and one that has yet to even be discussed with the lady’s father. This,” he wagged his finger in the air between them, “this is a disaster.”
“Why?”
“Clearly, General Redwood has no idea of his king’s arrangement. When he does, heads will roll. He will seek out any reason to break this merry union, and you just gave him the perfect one!”
“General Redwood won’t find out because you will not speak of this to anyone,” Rayhan shot back.
“I am not the one you should be concerned about. Many eyes watch you here, Captain. I just hope none of them saw what I did.” Pip turned and made for the exit, his ears pressed back against his slick black hair.
“And what do you plan to do between now and our meeting, Lieutenant?” Rayhan demanded to know.
Pip glanced over his shoulder on his way out the door. “Prepare for the worst.”
Jaspur was perplexed. Before these visions started, he had been aware of Pip’s many years in Nevaharday’s service. The lieutenant had earned Rayhan’s trust, and eventually King Donovan’s before he secretly murdered His Majesty and Queen.
But this Pip wasn’t the same person the rogue had killed over two decades later. He was rude, aye, and quick to speak his mind, but something was missing.
A motive.
Rayhan returned to his bed chamber, but Elessara had already dressed and disappeared. Straightening his tunic, he marched out of his room and down the hall in search of his advisors. Pip had stirred a fire in him. Or was it the heat of guilt?
No, not quite. What he and Elessara had done was private and sacred. Rayhan refused to feel ashamed of their actions. If anything, he was afraid to lose what he just gained.
Nadel approached him from behind, his lips pressed in a frown that never seemed to disappear from his lips. “Your lieutenant looked furious,” the elf remarked as he caught up to Rayhan’s side, his thin brows knitted together. “And you, worse than furious.”
“Politics,” Rayhan said.
“Hmph,” the guard grunted in unexpected agreement. “Come. I know what you need.”
Nadel redirected the captain to a narrow hall and down a flight of winding steps. The pair passed through the armory. Three elves dealt Rayhan a skeptical glance, but said nothing about his entry. The captain made sure not to linger too far behind Nadel, and soon they entered into a lower room with a single, stained glass window. Sunlight poured in from a private courtyard above, filling the room with a myriad of colors.
The elf nodded to a rack in the corner as he shrugged off his cloak. “There are sparring blades against the wall.”
Rayhan hesitated, unsure of how to take Nadel’s offer. “Is this a trick?”
“This,” he walked over and grabbed one of the padded swords, “is an outlet. Storming down the halls will insult our nobility and erase what little traction you have gained thus far. Sparring will free you of this negative energy and clear your mind before you do something stupid.” He picked up the second weapon and offered it to Rayhan. “It is your choice. Will you accept or not?”
Rayhan took the sparring blade offered by his guard. “I’m flattered you would care enough to offer such a thing.”
Nadel smirked. “I am not entirely callous, Captain.”
Rayhan gave the padded sword a practice swing, familiarizing himself with the weight. “Careful, Nadel. I might actually start to think you like me.”
Rayhan seized the offensive, engaging the match with a downward slice that had the lithe elf ducking under his blade.
A muted thump sounded between them before Nadel thrust his sword forward. Rayhan skipped right, dodging a stabbing blade as he spun around to strike at the elf's back.
Nadel turned with a quickness far beyond Rayhan's own. Deflecting the rahee’s strike, he launched into a flurry of attacks that had Rayhan dancing on the defensive. He parried each blow, trying to place Nadel's rhythm, but the elf was constantly changing his approach. He was a natural fighter, creatively altering between attacks that seemed to blend seamlessly from one style of swordplay to the next.
Rayhan felt a rush of adrenaline as he dodged a horizontal slash, then swung his blade down to sweep aside Nadel
's jab as the elf's sword doubled back. Taking advantage of the moment, he threw an elbow toward Nadel's chest, but the elf skipped nimbly out of range.
“You trust me enough to let me swing a sword at you—”
“A fake sword,” Rayhan clarified as he crossed the gap between them.
“But not enough to tell me the truth that brought us here?”
The elf's words caused a hesitation that nearly cost Rayhan the match. The rahee thrust forward a second too late, for Nadel had already taken a deft step back, the tip of his sword brushing Rayhan’s tunic as he passed.
“What truth is that?” Rayhan asked.
“I have known Elessara longer than you have been alive, Captain,” the two danced in a circle, exchanging parries between words. “Who do you think showed her how to move unseen about the palace?”
Suddenly, the race of Rayhan's heart had nothing to do with the thrill of the match. “Are you threatening me?”
“Gods, no.” The pair locked blades. “But I will do what I must to protect her, just as I am sworn to protect you.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Rayhan pushed the elf back and followed through with a diagonal slash. Nadel tried to parry, but the strength of Rayhan’s swing tore the blade from his hands.
Before Nadel had a chance to react, the door to the training room swung open. Rayhan lowered his padded blade as General Redwood shouldered his way inside, his face red with fury.
“Drop your weapon, Mendeley! Now!”
Rayhan immediately released his grip on the training sword, his hands held out in front of his chest to show he meant no harm. Nadel stepped in front of his superior, slowing Halin’s charge.
“General, sir,” he saluted respectfully as Elessara's father glared down at him. “It was just an exercise. No reason to be alarmed.”
The general scoffed. “Captain Wintergray, have you lost all sense?”
“I assumed you would not disapprove of an opportunity to swing a sword at a Mendeley, even if it is a harmless one.”
That last note seemed to deflate some of the general's wrath, albeit only slightly. Rayhan stood rigid beneath Halin's glare, his instincts on edge as he studied the clouded fury in his gaze. He had seen that look before. It was painted on the noble that had tried to murder him in the inn.
And on his father, Siren, before that. Rayhan nearly choked on his next breath, and Jaspur, feeling his cousin's instincts, had to smother the urge to gouge the bloodlust from Halin's eyes.
Rayhan shook his head as he began to understand the connection. Anger could be tempered; fury abated; but this was something beyond reason. These men were consumed by a blinding urge that buried their better senses.
“You,” Halin barked. Rayhan met the general's stare again and the captain knew he had struck the nail on its head. This elf practically dribbled at the thought of slaying him.
“Have I offended you, General?” The rahee stood very tall and very still, ready to leap into action should this exchange result in blows. “If so, I assure you, it was not my intention.”
“Make no mistake, rahee,” he growled. “King Mekkai's mercy is the only thing keeping that ugly head on your boarish shoulders.”
“General,” Nadel put a steadying hand upon Halin's trembling bicep. “I need not remind you of the delicate agreement His Majesty expects us to procure.”
“A treaty for peace,” lips snarled beneath the marring scar that crossed Halin's face. “I saw the way you looked at my daughter last night, Mendeley. If you have any honor in you, you will stay away from my Elessara.”
Rayhan ground his teeth and reminded himself to tread lightly. “Your daughter and I have nothing but respect for one another, General. Neither of you have anything to fear from me.”
“Trust that I am looking out for Elessara,” Nadel added. “With me watching over Captain Mendeley, there is nothing for you to fear.”
Nadel guided Halin like a child out the door, encouraging the general to prepare for the upcoming peace talks. When he returned to the sparring room and shut the door behind him, his expression was disheartening.
“The king has not told Halin about our arrangement,” Rayhan swept a hand across his worried face.
“I suspect he plans to bring the offer of union to the table where General Redwood cannot refuse,” Nadel replied.
Rayhan chewed on that plan, its sly political motives grating against his moral compass. When asking a father to give his daughter in marriage, it should be a question poised in privacy, not upon a table like a bartering piece. Given Halin's unstable hatred for the Mendeley family, he doubted the general would respond objectively.
“This meeting will not be pretty,” Rayhan lamented.
The elf gathered their practice swords, his head shaking all the while. “I would rather fight another war than be in that room, Captain Mendeley.”
NEVER STEAL A PARAGON
Levee’s captors took no risks when it came to her gift. A cloth soaked in a fluid made from the vines of a tree called unicorn’s tail found her lips and nose the second she was shoved inside the rickety carriage. It was a potent concoction that sent her into eight long hours of dreamless sleep.
She awoke with a stiff neck, her slender frame squeezed between two hired muscles on a hard carriage bench. Careful not to tip them off to her consciousness just yet, Levee gave a sleepy sigh and shifted slightly.
Summoning a small wave of magic, she felt for the creature leading the carriage. Behind the black backdrop of her closed eyes, smoky wisps twirled into the vague, elk-like shape of the hart she had seen in the marketplace. It was the illusion of a living entity, nothing more. Levee was in dangerous company.
Slowly extending her fingers, the gypsy dared to reach a little farther. Tendrils of magic invisible to the naked eye spilled from her palm. Unhindered by the physical rules of this world, they drifted through the carriage walls. She saw what her magic saw as it traveled outward. Behind Levee’s eyes, a landscape started to take shape. Wooden wheels rumbled down a drought-touched road, its dusty path riddled with a thirsty web of cracks.
Beyond them, sparse trees rose like skeletons, broken only by spindly excuses for vegetation. They must have taken Bandit’s Pass. She reached as far as she dared, searching for some promise of an equine presence, but there appeared to be nothing.
How was that possible?
Levee refused to give up. She reached a good three miles out until finally she caught a spark of amber. She focused on that light, hot and angry, in an attempt to grasp the physical nature of its spirit. Horror swept through her like a wave, flashing in her mind an alarming answer as to why the road was so barren. Her eyes snapped open and she swallowed her galloping heart back into her chest.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
Levee looked to the owner of that voice, but refused to reply. The man who kidnapped Levee sat calmly on the bench in front of her as he carved a blood orange he’d pulled from his bag. He seemed at ease in her presence, as if all of this was just another day’s work.
When it was clear Levee wasn’t going to humor him with a response, he offered her a piece of fruit. She turned her nose away and sniffed; a silent act of defiance. He nodded, completely unbothered by her reaction.
“You are brave,” he remarked. “King Shadow’s many warnings of your strength and cunning may very well be justified.”
Levee crossed her arms and stared out the window. There wasn’t much to see. Dust caked the view, leaving only vague hints of a jutted landscape to entertain her.
“You will not see a single horse on our journey north,” her captor remarked.
“Night mares will do that,” she snapped. “Shadow—”
“King Shadow,” one of the henchman squeezed into the seat beside her corrected.
“He is not my king,” Levee shot back.
She was nearly corrected by a fist, but the human who looked like a nobleman caught the henchman’s hand mid-strike and shook his head.
&n
bsp; “If Shadow is not your king, then who is?”
Levee narrowed her gaze, but she could tell by his tone that the question wasn’t posed in mockery. This man showed no hatred for her. He did not sneer or scold or play coy. But she wasn’t foolish enough to mistake that lack of aggression for compassion either.
Like the hart, she could tell this man was empty on the inside. There was no feeling invested in her kidnapping. It was as if this entire act was nothing more than a business transaction, and their conversation was just a way to pass the time.
It disgusted her, but she understood it. Shadow was wrapped so tight in vengeance that he could not feel empathy. In fact, he viewed such emotional entanglements as weaknesses to be exploited. Seeing that this man operated on nothing but cold logic and curiosity only made sense.
Shadow wouldn’t hire someone whose heart could compromise the operation.
Levee shook her head at the man’s question. “I am not going to talk politics with my captor.”
The man shrugged and finished off his fruit. He then wiped his hands on his britches and pulled the gilded rings from his fingers and dropped them in a pouch.
Levee took note of his behavior, which only solidified the notion that the human was far from what he seemed. Her captor had done a fine job of playing the gullible nobleman in the marketplace. She had believed him to be a victim of foul play, not the agent himself. But Levee was a gypsy, and no stranger to deception. She had learned from the best that the most intimidating enemies were the ones you could not place.
She could tell by the rigid postures of the two men seated beside her that her reputation had preceded her. Melah was rumored to be a powerful enemy. Even her captor had fessed up to that.
“You know, even with night mares patrolling the roads, I find it hard to believe a man can carve an equine-free path from here to Velagray.”
“I agree! But it wasn’t me who arranged the trek back,” Darthek leaned against the bench, his shoulders swaying with the rocking carriage. “You have met King Shadow before. I doubt I need to explain to you all that he is capable of.”
The Rogue Trilogy Page 67
