Brushing the dust from his clothes and tunic, he then proceeded to the main road where citizens milled about. Falling in step behind a rather hurried gentleman, Bry did his best to keep a low profile.
The re’shahna had a gift for remaining unnoticed, even when exposed like he was now. Born with remarkably ambiguous features, Bry had a face that was hard to remember. His features were pretty generic for a northerner, with hazel eyes that seemed to change depending on what color he was wearing.
His hair, just now growing back after years of being shaved, was a common dirty blonde. Yes, Bry was strikingly ordinary, and he used it to his advantage.
“Curfew starts at sunset,” a guard shouted, spurring civilians to hasten their pace. “This is your final reminder to finish your business. Anyone whose foot steps out of doors after sundown will be detained and questioned.”
Similar reminders echoed throughout the city. Every time Bry turned a corner, there appeared to be more guards about. The fear in the air was thick. Worry creased the faces of every person he passed.
Knowing he should find shelter soon, the re’shahna made for the nearest tavern in the city’s northern district: The Armed Maiden. Located a few blocks from the castle and across from the city’s largest inn, it was a popular establishment until the new curfew began killing evening business.
Even at a quick pace, Bry barely made it in time. Seeing the bartender reaching for the open door, he called out, “Hey!”
The human nearly leapt out of his skin at the sound of Bry’s sudden cry. Seeing him jogging toward the entrance, the man sighed and motioned for his new patron to hurry up.
“Cuttin’ it close, don’t ye think?” he grunted as he closed the door behind Bry.
The re’shahna shed his cloak and sighed. His ears were covered with a maroon cap, concealing his re’shahna heritage. The bartender thought nothing of it, for many horse folk outside of Velagray did their best to pass as humans these days, and the re’shahna themselves were rare.
Since the rest of his clothes were mute, worn, and ordinary, Bry fit right in to the struggling middle class crowd that made the establishment their reprieve. Not that it mattered these days. The Armed Maiden was becoming so starved for business they would welcome anyone who walked through the door with money to spend.
“You’re stayin’ the night, I suppose,” the bartender guessed as he approached the bar, which was barely a quarter full.
Bry slid onto a barstool and cleared his throat as he slipped into the local accent. “Seems I have no choice now.”
“It’s one silver for a night and a copper per drink.”
Digging into the coin purse on his hip, the re’shahna set one silver and three copper pieces onto the counter. “Your prices are rather low, don’t ya think?”
“What’s the point of high prices if people can’t pay ‘em?”
Bry frowned. “When did Velagray become so poor?”
“Between the curfew and the king confiscating all the horses, few people can do business around here. With no end in sight, people are savin’ every coin they can. If the king keeps this up, we’ll all be out of work.”
The barkeep placed a foaming mug of ale before the re’shahna and Bry set another silver coin on the table. “Sounds like a hard time to be a Velagran,” he stated softly. “Consider this my tab for the night. What I don’t drink, you can keep.”
The man stared at the coin, incredulous, before slowly slipping it into his pocket. Holding out his hand, he said, “The name’s Teeg.”
“Rylee,” Bry gave the barkeep’s hand a hardy shake as he chose a name that was fairly common among northern horse folk. “I own a small breeding farm on the border near Whitewood. About a week ago my parents sent a letter that business was poor and they weren’t gonna make rent. It wasn’t the first time, so I thought I’d deliver the money myself and check things out. I don’t ever remember the city bein’ this bad.”
Teeg snickered as he collected a few empty mugs and began to clean them. “Are you even old enough to remember what this city was like before it became Velagray?”
Bry was old enough to remember when Jaycent was a child and his father Donovan was king, but he thought it better not to reveal such things. Chuckling, he shook his head. “Barely. I was six when my parents sent me away to live with my uncle on the farm. A few months later, Shadow was on the throne and Nevaharday was bein’ called Velagray.”
“Yeah, well, I came here after all that mess. Got the tavern at a deal and thought I’d start my own business. Did pretty decent for a while. There’s a lot of sadness in this city. People seek comfort in the taste of a good mead. This new curfew might change all that though. I’m not so sure how much longer I can keep these doors open.”
Bry took a long swing of his ale, “Well, who knows. Maybe you folks will get lucky and the rumors will be true.”
“Rumors?”
“What? You haven’t heard?”
Teeg looked around skeptically, then leaned in close. “Heard what?”
“People are sayin’ the prince of Nevaharday is alive, and he means to come back.”
Teeg coughed. “Come again?”
Bry leaned back and shook his head, taking another swig of his drink. “You didn’t hear it from me,” he warned. “I’ll deny every word of it if asked, but I had a couple come in just the other day to buy a set of horses. They said they were going to join up with some rebels, led by Nevaharday’s heir. I thought they were crazy, but then others came along with the same story.”
Teeg thought back to a patron he had many weeks prior. Quite some time had passed and he never saw him again, but the rogue was too memorable to forget. “What’s this prince look like, anyway?”
Bry shrugged. “Dunno. Never saw ‘em myself.”
“Hmm…”
“Wait,” the re’shahna sat up, eyes wide. “You don’t think it could be true, do ya?”
Teeg grunted and set back to polishing the empty bar. “These days? Anything’s possible.”
Bry shrugged, then lifted his glass in a toast. “Ah, well, here’s to hoping, eh?”
“Yeah,” Teeg muttered. “At this point, it certainly can’t hurt.”
* * * * *
Jaspur was slow in returning from his errands as he took in the sights of the spire through his own eyes. The last time he spent time in an elven city, it was through someone else’s point of view.
Rayhan’s view, to be precise. His gift for visions had granted him glimpses into his cousin’s visit to Whitewood where his arrangement with Elessara was made, and then revoked. Perhaps that’s why Elessara’s company had made him so uncomfortable. In a strange way, he felt he knew her. She looked exactly the same as she had in Rayhan’s memories. Her vibrancy, her grace, and her spirit had not waned over the years.
Those are the dangerous ones, cousin, Rayhan once said. Women who are complicated and adventurous will never cease to enthrall you.
He had been talking about Elessara when he said those words, yet that same night the rogue met Levee. It was just one of many times Rayhan’s wisdom had later nudged him down the right course. Jaspur wished that he was still around to walk beside him and guide him now.
But Rayhan died a martyr at the age of thirty-six. Jaspur saw it all unfold as his cousin gave his life to protect him. The rogue had only recently forgiven himself for it, and only then because his cousin’s spirit had reprimanded him. Rayhan’s claim that Jaspur’s guilt dishonored his death forced the rogue to deal with his pain differently. Now he lived to make his cousin’s sacrifice worthwhile.
However, that promise was no easy thing. Moonridge was the first of many precarious steps toward his forsaken throne, and he would have to tread lightly if they were to succeed. First, Jaspur would have to guide his inexperienced heir through the delicate negotiations that would unfold between Whitewood and the new Nevaharday. What’s more, he would have to keep his royal lineage a secret.
Deley’s mother was already suspi
cious of him, and he doubted her curiosity would dwindle in the coming days. She was a clever elf. Clever enough to unveil Jaspur’s identity should he let even the slightest hint slip.
Veering onto a nearby balcony, Jaspur took in the city below and wondered what Rayhan would suggest if he were standing here now.
“Well, if it isn’t Jaspur of No Import.”
Jaspur’s ears flitted upward. He turned, unsettled to find Elessara standing behind him. Her arrival felt all too coincidental. Had she been following him all this time? A smirk crept across his lips as she approached without hesitation, joining him at the balustrade.
This wasn’t good. He needed to spend as little time as possible with Whitewood’s historian, but he couldn’t just ignore her. The rogue had to keep up the façade that he was of a lower station, which meant acquiescing to certain decorum.
He tossed Elessara a bored expression, hoping she would take the hint that he’d rather be left alone. “Need something, Lady Elessara?”
The way she looked at him with her chin jutted upward gave off a haughty demeanor that poked at the rogue’s short temper. The elf was toying with him, and she didn’t even bother to hide it. “I’m surprised to find you here, so far away from the prince you were charged to guard.”
“The boy is perfectly safe,” he assured. “I would not have left his side had I doubted that.”
Elessara’s elbow brushed against Jaspur’s as she perched her arms on the railing. The gesture deepened the rogue’s frown, his wide personal bubble burst by her presence. He made an obvious gesture of moving his arm away, but that only made Elessara grin ear-to-ear.
“Have a problem with personal space, do you?”
Jaspur rolled his eyes. “Only when people invade it.”
“You are quite the guarded one, Jaspur,” she hummed, her voice deceptively innocent.
Jaspur prickled, his defenses rising faster than a shield wall. “Is there a point to all of this? Or are you just testing my patience?”
“Actually, there was something I wanted to warn you about.”
“Oh?”
“King Mekkai and I were notified of your trek to Moonridge around the same time. He sent a letter ahead of his arrival requesting I lay the foundation for his negotiation.”
“Foundation?” Jaspur squinted. “So you already know what he will ask of us?”
Elessara’s playful demeanor dissipated. She folded her hands together as she carefully chose her words. “Yes, and it will involve significant cooperation from both Deley and Sadikaye.”
The rogue tensed. “As in an arranged marriage?”
“A noble union that will put Deley by Sadikaye’s side as queen.”
The way she rephrased it made it sound like a favor.
“Forgive me for being skeptical,” the way the words slid out of Jaspur’s mouth told Elessara that he was feeling far from apologetic, “but that is no small request. Your king rejected Rayhan the Chivalrous for an incident that was no fault of his own. Now you expect our people to just smile and accept one of Whitewood’s nobles as queen?”
“She is also Rayhan’s daughter,” Elessara stated. She paused, expecting some reaction out of the rogue but he took the statement as easily as a remark about the weather. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“The tension between our races has led to very little mingling in the last few decades,” Jaspur replied. “Between her rahenyan traits and the fact she wore the general’s ring, it wasn’t hard to deduce.”
“Then surely you see the advantage of this union. We can bridge the gap between our races through one who is a product of both. Deley and Sadikaye could be the union that changes how future generations see one another.”
“Certainly, but what you ask for is more than just social reform. You are putting a member of Whitewood’s nobility next to the throne. That is no small measure of influence.”
“You doubt my daughter’s honor?” Elessara raised a challenging brow.
“No, but I suspect your king will whisper suggestions in her ear when it is convenient. Do not think I did not notice your reaction to Sadikaye Connor. While I understand that his youth and lack of experience are painfully apparent, I warn you not to underestimate him. He is a Connor, after all, and with mentors like myself and the re’shahna behind him, Nevaharday will not have the wool pulled over its eyes.”
Elessara turned to face the rogue, her arms slowly folding into a cross. “Who were you before Nevaharday fell, Jaspur?”
The rogue mirrored her stance, his icy gaze fixed upon her visage. “I was no one, Lady Elessara. Now I am simply no one who has been trained by the re’shahna.”
The way she squinted at Jaspur made it clear the elf wasn’t buying it. “I worry about your prince, No One. Noble blood or not, he is still just a boy, and one who has zero experience in the political realm. I suggest you prepare him for the negotiations ahead. King Mekkai will not change his mind on what he wants.
“If you hope to have the elves behind you in this fight, you should ensure Sadikaye accepts a marital alliance and bring your terms to the table.”
She started to walk away, but paused when Jaspur chuckled.
“Is something funny?”
Jaspur turned and rested his waist against the railing, his elbows perched on either side of him. “No, not at all.”
Elessara narrowed her gaze. “Keep talking. I’m certain to uncover your secret soon enough.”
“What secret?” he shrugged.
Elessara turned and sauntered over to him. “A rogue who wears bracers made of unicorn horn is either chosen or tainted. The fact you wield a white sword on your hip made of the same material and are allied with the re’shahna tells me you are the former. It is no small thing to garner the re’shahna’s respect, nor to wield such an incredible wealth of magic. You are somebody significant, Jaspur, and I am two steps closer to finding out who you really are.”
Jaspur’s heart skipped a beat, but his expression did not waver. “Is that so?”
“I will have your real name before my king steps foot inside this spire.”
Elessara turned and disappeared back into the winding hall, leaving Jaspur alone with that promise. The rogue’s smug expression turned into a frown.
“That woman is troublesome,” he whispered. “Very troublesome.”
BROKEN PROMISES
Jaspur didn’t sleep much that night. Elessara’s revelation over King Mekkai’s expected arrangement placed him in an uncomfortable seat of responsibility. He had assured Sadikaye he would not trap him in the path to kingship, but now the political pieces had shifted.
“Tsk,” the rogue clicked his tongue as he dressed himself in a separate room adjacent to Sadikaye and Deley’s. Yanking his cloak around his neck, he latched it with a sharp jerk of his wrist. “Jaspur, you fool.”
They could not agree to a marital union only to have Sadikaye pass the throne off to someone else. The boy would have to honor the agreement, cementing his fate as king.
Jaspur had hoped to ease his son into the heavy burden of leadership by allowing him to choose the responsibility for himself. He didn’t want Sadikaye to feel shackled to his birthright, but the rogue should have known better than to make such lofty promises. His unexpected compassion toward Sadikaye had fogged his judgment.
Now he had two choices: feign ignorance and wait until the negotiations to reveal King Mekkai’s intentions or do what a true advisor would and prepare him for what was to come.
Jaspur didn’t know which was better. He barely knew Sadikaye at all, so he couldn’t predict how the boy would react. Perplexed, he waited for Deley to rise before inviting her to take a walk with him through the city.
“Should I wake Sadikaye?” she asked, glancing at the young prince still fast asleep beneath the covers.
“No, let him sleep. He needs rest more than we do.”
Deley nodded, agreeing with that sentiment. Shutting the door behind her, she fell in step bes
ide the rogue as they began the long trek down the spire’s staircase.
The half-elf was in a spectacular mood. Be it the sense of homecoming this trip had brought or something else, she had seemed to grow self- confidence overnight. As they stepped outside, the morning sun shimmering off the fresh coat of snow that was still coming down in silent flakes, she appeared content.
“You are rather chipper this morning,” he pointed out.
Deley cocked her head as she noted the rogue’s tone lacked its usual annoyance. “I suppose I’m just glad our visit is going so smoothly.”
“Ah…” Jaspur’s words trailed off as he considered the best way to bring up his concerns. They walked in comfortable silence, wrapped in the warmth of their cloaks. It was hard to admire the architecture on days like this. The sun glistened against the crystalline towers as well as the snow, nearly blinding anyone who looked upon them.
The water was still flowing though, and it trickled gently beside the paved road they walked. Jaspur watched it ripple past them as they strolled north toward the large garden planted in the city’s wealthy district.
“Is something on your mind, Jaspur? You seem distracted.”
The rogue chuckled at Deley’s perceptiveness. “Indeed. I was actually hoping you could help me sort through a dilemma of sorts.”
Drawing toward one of the benches beside the water, she took a seat. Jaspur lowered himself down beside her with a sigh, his elbows planted on his thighs. Staring down at the perfectly cut stone beneath his boots, the rogue began to break the news.
“I spoke with Elessara yesterday. She offered up without any solicitation details on what King Mekkai would request in our negotiations. I assume you know your mother fairly well. Perhaps you can tell me whether I can trust the information she gave?”
Deley gave a pensive hum. “My mother is extremely loyal to Whitewood. If she told you something, it was likely at the bidding of King Mekkai. What did she say to you?”
The Rogue Trilogy Page 96
