“Tennakawa blesses us…” Erran announced, drawing everyone’s attention. The carpenter smiled and lifted his mead. “A Connor lives, so says a re’shahna. Our cousins, warriors of legend, stand beside him. That is enough reason for me to do the same. What say you, good folk?”
Shouts of “huzzah” rose up among the patrons and Bry couldn’t believe what he saw.
Atuli and Erran were right.
The rahee would follow anyone so long as they bore the Connor name.
A ROYAL PROCLAMATION
Sadikaye stood in the throne room of Moonridge, listening to the massive crowd waiting just outside the balcony’s ornate doors. He could vaguely see them through the translucent glass, like a living mass stirring in anticipation.
His heart pounded. He could hear it in his ears as it tried to drown out the sound that permeated through the castle’s walls. Rahee and elves alike stood in wait for the first appearance of Nevaharday’s heir. Some anticipated Jaycent. Others had no idea what to expect. Nonetheless, they all looked forward to the revelation. Thousands stood shoulder-to-shoulder to catch a glimpse of Sadikaye Connor and hear what he had to say.
The young prince felt the pressure bear down on his chest, its press harder with every breath.
“How are you holding up, kid?” Jaspur asked as he joined his side. Sadikaye took a shallow breath and swallowed the lump in his throat. “That bad, huh?”
Sadikaye nodded.
Jaspur sighed and motioned for Sadikaye to follow him to one of the windows beside the balcony doors. Ushering him in front, the rogue pointed toward the crowd below and spoke over the boy’s shoulder. “This war, Sadikaye, belongs to everyone out there. Elf, rahee, tchaka, soldier, refugee… That fear you feel is theirs, too. We all have much to gain, and much to lose, but it is your job as our people’s future king to bring them comfort.”
“How?” Sadikaye whispered. “Jaspur, I am terrified.”
“We all are.” When the young prince smirked doubtfully at him, the rogue assured, “I am no exception.”
Sadikaye studied Jaspur, his brow furrowed. “You certainly don’t look frightened.”
“Exactly,” Jaspur agreed. “You need to learn when and how to wear the same mask. We are the cornerstone of our people, Sadikaye. We bolster their courage, even when our own begins to falter. It is our duty to lift them up; to serve as a beacon that chases away their doubts.”
“What could I possibly say to them that could hold that kind of sway?”
Jaspur smiled. “That is up to you. Just be honest. They can always feel it when you’re being honest.”
Sadikaye took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the blurry crowd below. Moments later, a hand brushed his palm. He looked down as slender fingers interlaced with his own. When his gaze drew upward, he found Deley standing there.
Seeing the half-elf dressed so finely surprised him. It was quite a transformation. Heels made her taller, her eyes nearly even with his own. The beaded fabric of her dress accented the curve of her hips and the length in her legs, reminding him that she was a woman—not a child.
And neither was he. Not anymore.
Deley squeezed his hand, and Sadikaye felt a twinge braver with her standing by his side. Squeezing hers back, he let the half-elf tug him toward the door.
“Are you ready?” she whispered.
“Not really.”
A playful smile danced on her lips. “Well get ready,” she told him. “Because these people cannot wait to meet you.”
A voice called Sadikaye’s name from the balcony, and the young prince realized quite suddenly that King Mekkai had already given his speech.
The people had been told who he was and the alliance that had transpired. There was no going back now. With a deep breath, he held tightly to Deley’s hand and stepped outside.
Immediately, the crowd roared. Sadikaye’s ears flicked back as he tried not to wince, their voices resounding from every angle of Moonridge’s palace. Casting his gaze upon the many faces below, he found them indistinguishable at this distance, yet they stretched out of the courtyard gates and into the city.
Rahee and elf stood together, their hopes cast upon him through an unyielding gaze. It was both heartwarming and heavy as he struggled to find his voice.
Be honest, he reminded himself. And gods, please don’t let me mess this up. Sadikaye had no idea where to start or what was expected, so he took a deep breath and began with his own feelings, hoping they would align with those of the people below.
“I never knew my father growing up. All I had were stories my mother told me. Yet through those stories, I felt a bond with the hero that was Jaycent Connor. Before I was old enough to even understand what a prince was, I wanted to be like him. His courage inspired me to become who I am today: someone who looks upon a tyranny of someone as powerful as Shadow and chooses to stand against it.”
Another roar, this one more deafening. Jaspur watched silently, his hands folded in front of his waist as he listened to Sadikaye speak. A wet sheen glazed over his eyes, unbidden.
As the crowd calmed down, Sadikaye took another deep breath and stepped forward, placing his hands on the balcony’s rail. “For nearly eighteen years, I’ve been on the run, never staying one place in fear for my life. Now, with your help, I can finally say ‘no more’. Now I’m stepping back onto my home’s soil, and I’m taking my family with me. Not just my mother, but my brother and sisters—that is, all of you below and those who remain in the city.
“I’m tired of talking about this place where I belong but have never been. I’m tired of dreaming of bigger things than caravans, boats, and tents. Let’s go home,” with those words, Sadikaye felt a rise of energy swelling in his chest, its strength compounding with every word. “Let’s show Shadow Silverhorn the might of the horse folk and their allies. Let him be the one to cower when we stand together!”
A deafening crescendo rose up to the balcony where King Mekkai, Sadikaye, and their company stood. From the mountains their voices echoed until the earth trembled at its volume.
The sound was overwhelming, but the young prince kept his ears erect. He let their cries flow over him, consuming him until he knew without a doubt one thing:
He would not let them down.
* * * * *
Sadikaye’s speech marked their final day in Moonridge. Shortly thereafter, he and his companions set out on their one-way journey to Velagray with a vast army behind them.
The going was slow, their movement hampered by sheer numbers as well as the refugees that tagged along with them. Sadikaye and his company rode at the forefront alongside King Mekkai and his entourage, while those of lesser rank followed behind them.
It was an odd separation for the young prince, who not too long ago would have stood among those common folk staring at their leaders’ backs. As they settled into camp their first night, he found himself standing by his tent and gazing at the mass of others set apart from him.
“What are you, lost?” Jaspur walked up and clapped the boy’s shoulder. “Those are your people, Sadikaye. Go over there and get to know them.”
The boy’s ears perked. “I’m allowed to do that?”
The rogue tossed him an incredulous look. “You think just because you are wearing fine clothes, you are above them now? Of course you are ‘allowed’, Sadikaye. Those people are going to war under your banner. You should memorize their faces. Learn their names. The better you know them, the better you will serve them.”
“That’s good advice,” Milo walked up, his staff by his side. “Shame you never could remember mine.”
Sadikaye grinned when he saw Milo, his arms immediately embracing him in an elated hug.
“My boy,” the Sarrokian hooked his free arm tightly around his adopted son’s back, a proud smile on his lips. When they pulled away, he clapped a hand on the young prince’s shoulder. “Heard that speech of yours…”
“Yeah?” Sadikaye seemed a bit nervous at the mention of his firs
t address.
“I couldn’t be prouder,” Milo assured. Stepping back, he held the young prince at arm’s length and whistled. “They sure did clean ya up, too. Is that silk?”
Sadikaye laughed. “Yeah, and silver,” he cocked his head to the side, showing off his new set of earrings.
Milo gently flicked the small circlet on the boy’s brow, his eyes a little misty. “That doesn’t look bad on you either.”
Jaspur watched the exchange unfold before him. A strange twinge of jealousy caught him off guard, but he quickly brushed it off. The rogue had never considered what kind of father he would have been, but seeing Milo’s relationship with Sadikaye made him both envious and grateful. Milo had always viewed Jaspur as a rival, yet he never failed to step up to the plate when the prince’s efforts fell short.
The rogue had a lot to thank him for, but also a lot to think about. In the beginning, he had been more than happy to leave Sadikaye in Milo’s capable hands. He had looked upon his son as a stranger and thought he was better off with Levee and Milo as his family.
Yet the more Jaspur came to know Sadikaye, the fonder he grew of him. He wanted to be there for his son even after this war was won. But he could not take the place of Sadikaye’s surrogate father, nor did he deserve to try.
“Milo, you know all about the common folk and what they care about,” Jaspur stated.
The Sarrokian squinted at the rogue as he adjusted his hat. “What are you gettin’ at?”
“Sadikaye wants to meet them, and I think you should tag along. Introduce him to his people. They deserve to know who they’re following, and he should know them, too.”
It was a simple request, but it carried with it a much deeper message. Milo nudged the young prince toward the refugee’s tents. As the pair began to walk away, he glanced over his shoulder once. Jaspur offered a silent nod, which the Sarrokian offered back, his gaze a little less skeptical than before.
Jaspur had wanted to share this moment with Sadikaye. He wanted to walk beside him and see how he reacted to the response of the people who looked up to him. Yet at the end of the day, it was an honor that should go to Sadikaye’s true father.
And Jaspur knew Milo had earned that title. Not him.
* * * * *
Sadikaye was thrilled to have Milo accompany him as he walked toward his people’s tents. It wasn’t that he was afraid to go alone. The young prince had never been shy. The truth was that he was excited to meet his people for the first time as their leader, and to experience that honor with his surrogate father by his side only made it exponentially better.
Milo’s words after he greeted him meant more to Sadikaye than a hoard of gold. He had always sought to earn his father’s pride, and this was his chance to really shine. There was only one person missing that he wished was with them.
“Where’s Ma?” he asked, his gaze searching the massive camp.
Milo sighed. “That’s a great question. I wish I could answer it. When Lev isn’t wranglin’ night mares, she’s talkin’ with Patchi and that elf king about war plans. It’s all above my pay grade, if you catch my meanin’.”
The young prince came to a sudden stop, his bright eyes crinkled with worry. “Is everything okay? It seems like ever since we joined with the re’shahna, you two haven’t been yourselves.”
The Sarrokian adjusted his hat again. It was a nervous gesture, and Sadikaye picked up on it immediately. “Your ma has a lot to think about, Sadi. Findin’ her first mate alive was no easy thing for her. She loved the prince dearly. In fact, I don’t think she ever stopped. It’s no fault of hers, but him bein’ around now puts a strain on us.”
Sadikaye scowled. “She loves you too, Pa. Jaspur showing up out of the blue doesn’t erase that. Whatever they had was a long time ago. We’re her family now.”
Milo smiled, but it was coated in sadness. “Of course…”
Sadikaye crossed his arms. “You’re worrying. I can see it.”
Milo chuckled. “It’s hard not to, Sadi. Your mother’s the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known, but I also know her inside and out.”
“Ma would never leave you,” Sadikaye insisted.
“No,” Milo agreed. “But that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t.”
Sadikaye clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Stop it.”
Milo frowned. “What did you say?”
“Stop it,” Sadikaye reiterated. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Ma loves you. She would do anything for you, so quit talking like a martyr. You’re her mate and you need to be brave for her.
“Besides, you were right when you said Jaspur isn’t all that bad. He promised not to interfere with our family, and I believe him. So stop worrying so much and just be who you’ve always been for her.”
Milo snorted. “Well, I certainly didn’t expect that lecture. But I hear ya.”
“Good,” Sadikaye continued walking, his gait sure. “Now let’s go meet these people.”
The Sarrokian shook his head, amazed. “Boy, have you grown up,” he murmured to himself as he doubled his pace to catch up with the young prince.
Sadikaye didn’t realize it, but he had certainly changed. Milo couldn’t help but note how much he reminded him of a young Jaycent Connor. From the way he looked to the way he carried himself, Sadikaye had a natural regality about him. What was once tenacity and a taste for adventure had evolved into determination and courage.
As they stepped into the town-sized row of tents, those who were present grew very quiet, their gazes settling on Sadikaye with both awe and curiosity. Milo listened to their hushed remarks, knowing full well his son could hear them, too.
“He looks so much like Prince Jaycent.”
“He has to be a Connor… Look at how he carries himself.”
“Did you hear his speech? I was so nervous before, but now I actually think we have a chance.”
Milo’s heart swelled with pride. However, somewhere in the back of his mind spoke an unpleasant voice. One that said his own family had surpassed him. He tried to shake the feeling as he introduced Sadikaye to some of the refugees he had met during their travel to Moonridge, but it lingered like the pinch in his hip.
“Prince Sadikaye,” a rahenyan girl scarcely younger than the prince walked over.
Sadikaye set the child who had practically leapt into his arms back on his feet and turned to the voice that was calling him. “Yes?”
She approached reverently, her expression solemn. “Will you be fighting in this war, too?”
“Of course,” Sadikaye assured. “What kind of leader would I be if I did not?”
Milo’s ears perked. His son’s eloquence had improved. It was like Sadikaye turned off his Sarrokian roots the moment he was addressed as a prince.
The girl looked at him with fear in her eyes. “You… haven’t met Shadow, have you?”
“No, not directly. But I know many who have, including my mother.”
Drawing up her sleeve, the girl showed Sadikaye the brand that had marred her forearm, its lines broken by a new scar that freed her from its curse.
“I have,” she explained. “And I have never before witnessed such terrible magic. I want to believe in you, but I have my doubts. Please do not hate me for asking, but how can you even think you can beat Shadow? We are rahee, not wizards. We don’t have that kind of power.”
Milo watched his son grow very serious. He did not get angry, nor did he reprimand her. Instead, he asked, “What is your name?”
“Pan,” she replied, her courage wavering.
Sadikaye closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, there was a faint, golden glow behind his irises. It shimmered through the veins in his arm only to sprout like sparks from his palm.
Everyone who saw it gasped, their eyes wide. Few of the rahee had ever shown any sort of magical talent, and those who did had no idea they were capable of such a feat.
As a small orb began to swirl and spark in his hand, Sadikaye replied, “You are right, Pa
n. We are rahee, and we are capable of more than you can imagine.” He snapped his palm shut and immediately the orb and its magic was absorbed back into his body. Closing the gap between them, Sadikaye reached out and took Pan’s hand between his palms. She stared at them, speechless.
“Have faith in me,” the young prince bid. Turning to the crowd that had formed around him, he spoke louder. “And have faith in our allies, and in each other. Together is how we will win this war. If we believe in one another, I know that we can succeed. Elf, rahee, tchaka, re’shahna, gypsy— whatever your are—we’ll work together as one to make sure Shadow never harms anyone again.”
Huzzahs rose up around Sadikaye, bolstered by his encouragement.
“Long live the prince!” Milo shouted.
His words echoed through the voices around him as the rahee turned the Sarrokian’s proclamation into a chant. It stirred goosebumps across the young prince’s skin as he listened to their resounding faith.
“Long live the prince! Long live the prince! Long live the prince!”
LINGERING FEELINGS
“That was really kind of you.”
Jaspur turned around, surprised to find Levee standing behind him. The rogue had been distracted, his thoughts on Sadikaye as he disappeared into the crowd of tents. Now he had to gather his wits, as if seeing her standing there didn’t shake the very foundation of his composure.
Averting his gaze, he said, “This is a proud moment for Sadikaye. His father deserves to walk beside him, and title belongs to Milo, not me.”
“What is this I hear?” Levee bumped shoulders with the rogue. Glancing at the gypsy, he caught the hint of a smile teasing her lips. “Not only is Jaspur humble, but he almost sounds fond of Sadikaye.”
Her demeanor was so different tonight. It caught Jaspur off his guard. He grunted at her assumption, trying to maintain his detached façade. “The boy is tolerable.”
The Rogue Trilogy Page 101
