Levee crossed her arms, her hip cocked to the side. “Tolerable?”
“Mhm…” the rogue murmured.
Levee took a step forward and pivoted in front of him, her green-eyed stare telling the rogue she wasn’t letting him off the hook so easily. Jaspur found her determination adorable. He arched an angular brow, daring her to combat his indifference.
“You are stubborn, but I see you. The way you look at Sadikaye tells me you’ve grown protective of him.”
“He is the heir to the throne,” Jaspur reasoned, careful to suppress his mirth under a stoic mask. “Of course I am protective of him.”
“Try to hide it all you want, but I can tell it’s more than that.”
“Is it?”
Levee nodded. “Follow me.”
The gypsy began walking and Jaspur fell in sync with her stride. It had been a long time since he had seen Levee like this. With her defenses down and no anger beaded upon him like an elven arrow, the rogue felt startlingly close to her. He silently reminded himself to tread carefully.
He could not let himself forget the transgressions that had put a wedge between them in the first place. Before he had left for Moonridge, they had made progress in speaking to each other, but it was a small step. Why was Levee being so open with him now?
What had happened to the wounds he had left upon her heart?
Though Jaspur tried not to be hopeful, Levee’s behavior piqued his curiosity. Either the gypsy was up to something or she had somehow found it within herself to let his betrayal go. Seeing Levee’s lively spirit again awakened old emotions in the rogue. Their tendrils stretched into his heart, spurring it to gallop.
“Is there something you want to say?” he inquired as he tried to temper those feelings. “Or did you simply decide it was a nice night for a stroll through the war camp?”
Levee’s laughter made Jaspur’s racing heart stutter. “I wanted to thank you, believe it or not.”
“For what?”
“For taking care of Sadikaye like I asked,” approaching a large tent the re’shahna used for strategic planning, she opened the flap.
The rogue dealt her a curious glance, then entered, expecting at least one of the two tribal leaders to be present. Yet the tent was empty. A table sat in the middle, a rolled up map and a box placed near its lip. In the corner a set of cushions were piled upon a bear skin, offering them a place to sit.
Levee plopped down and waited expectantly for Jaspur to do the same. Baffled, the rogue lowered himself onto one of the pillows. “Forgive my caution, but why are we here?”
“You changed him,” the gypsy continued, ignoring his question as she tucked her feet into a comfortable cross. Jaspur smirked, but kept his silence. “The boy we found in Moonridge was almost hard to recognize. You transformed Sadikaye into a bonafide prince over the span of a few days… How did you do it?”
Was this why she was being so friendly toward him? So that she could gain insight? Jaspur supposed it made sense. Levee certainly wouldn’t have gotten any answers from him by being abrasive. The rogue perched one arm on his knee as he considered that question.
“Sadikaye is a natural leader, Lev. Most of what you see was already there. It simply needed to be brought to the surface. I spent many hours explaining to him what was expected and how one behaves in front of kings and nobility.
“He fumbled a bit at first, and I am certain he will fumble many more times before he takes the throne, but Sadikaye is clever. He picks things up very quickly.”
“Yes he does...”
Jaspur cocked his head in suspicion. “Why do I get the feeling you’re baiting me toward an answer?”
“What I’m referring to is more than just etiquette,” Levee placed her hands comfortably in her lap. “Sadikaye has always admired you. I thought when we told him the truth it would shatter him, but instead it made him stronger. His anger toward you has already dissipated. King Mekkai has nothing but positive things to say about him. I never dreamed that my—” she paused to correct herself, “that our son would follow in your footsteps. Yet here he is exceeding what any of us could have expected.”
“He is a Connor,” Jaspur shrugged, as if that simple statement answered everything.
Levee tucked her legs beneath her as she shifted her seat to face her old mate. The way her teeth bit into her bottom lip made Jaspur tense again. There was more, it seemed. Talk of Sadikaye must have just been her segue.
He nearly excused himself, afraid this would lead to another painful heart-to-heart that would just remind him of all he had put her through. However, when those wide, beautiful eyes rested upon him, he felt pinned.
“Sadikaye’s feats have humbled me, Jaspur. He made me realize the only way for us to move forward is to forgive what has happened in the past.”
The rogue’s breath caught in his throat. He clenched his jaw, preparing for whatever words were to follow.
“While you were gone, I have been talking a lot to Tobiano and Patchi. They gave me a better understanding of who you are now and what you’ve been through. I had no idea…” Her voice wavered and she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for the things I’ve said and for how I’ve treated you. When I first discovered that you were alive, it cut my heart in two. I didn’t understand then, but now… Now I’m starting to get a clearer picture. ”
Jaspur tried to hold strong against the tidal wave of feelings that came crashing down upon him. None of it felt real. He had hoped Levee would one day forgive him, but he never expected that day to come so soon. Closing his eyes, the rogue steadied his trembling breaths.
“Jaspur?” Levee leaned forward as she tried to pull some sort of clue from his silent expression.
The rogue reached out and clasped her fingers within his calloused palm.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Their gazes met, and it nearly broke Jaspur to see the love that was still there. Although Milo had come to take care of her the way the rogue should have long ago, there remained some small part of this remarkable woman that belonged to him. It was a beautiful and dangerous truth, he knew. As her confession burned away the years of guilt he had carried inside, he reminded himself it was not his place to love Levee.
But as her arms reached out in an offered embrace, he could not resist. The rogue pulled her close to his chest, his arms squeezing around her lean frame as he buried his face into the crook of her neck.
Upon that touch, the dam that held his emotions in check crumbled and broke. The tears he had held in for so long now flowed freely, soaking Levee’s skin. She stroked his hair, her body trembling underneath his grip as the gypsy tried her best to stay composed.
“Gods, I’ve missed you,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. Perhaps that was saying too much, but he had held those words inside for too many years.
Gently, she pulled away from him so she could see his face. Tugging her sleeve over her palm, she wiped the tears from his cheeks, though new ones still welled at the edge of Jaspur’s eyes.
“I believe you,” her words, so quiet, fell upon his ears like music.
As he gazed into those evergreen eyes, their almond shape framed by a trail of freckles, he fought to keep his desire in check. He could feel the energy between them, its pull as magnetic as it’s ever been.
He leaned forward, his forehead pressed against hers. They could hear each other’s breaths, short and quick and full of unspoken yearning. Jaspur’s hand reached up and laced around a tendril of her hair, and Levee did not resist.
The rogue ran his knuckles softly across her cheek. “I should go,” he whispered. Before she could speak, Jaspur pulled away and was on his feet. “Velagray’s walls will be on the horizon before you know it, and we do not know what fates it will bring. Seek out your family, Lev. Spend as much of time with them as you can. I will see you on the battlefield.”
She started to protest, but Jaspur turned around and left. He knew that if he lingered he would not hold back. There were
few emotions that could sway him anymore, but this was one. T’was was not lust, but love. The sort that ached so deep, it tore at his every seam.
For the second time in his life, Jaspur walked away from Levee and his feet dragged with every step. As much as it pained him, the rogue chose to tread the higher road. Not because it was what he wanted, but because that was the type of man he swore to become.
* * * * *
When Milo returned to the tent he shared with Levee, she was already there. Curled up in the pair of bedrolls that served as their makeshift bed, she did not move or speak when he stepped inside.
Milo looked at her still form and closed eyes, Sadikaye’s words still fresh in his mind. They had hardly spoken over the last few weeks. His insecurity over Jaspur’s return and the jealousy he felt in his presence had made Levee’s struggle even harder.
You need to be brave for her, his son had said. For many, many years Milo had been just that, protecting and loving Levee, then her son, as they carved a life for themselves in the south.
Now Sadikaye and Levee needed little protection from anybody, much less a Sarrokian with no magical talents, no royal blood, and a bad hip. Milo felt his confidence fading under their might, and with it his relevance.
But that was his fault. Not Levee’s, and certainly not Sadikaye’s. Taking a deep breath, Milo rested his walking stick on the ground and crawled onto the bedroll next to his mate, his arm curling around her waist.
“Milo?” she murmured, stirring at his touch.
“Aye, my love,” he replied, his deep voice tickling her ear.
She rolled over, her tired eyes seeking his gaze, and he could tell by the red in them that she had been crying.
His chest grew tight. Immediately, Milo wondered whether Jaspur had said or done something, but he bit the accusation back. “What’s wrong, Sweets?”
She curled up against him, her face buried in the soft fur that showed through the deep v-cut of his shirt. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Her fingers found the black curls of his ponytail. Levee twirled them as she spoke, her voice thick with fatigue. “For letting my past come between us.”
Milo propped himself up on one elbow, causing Levee to turn and rest on her back. “Ya mean Jaspur?”
She nodded, seemingly reluctant to bring him up. He couldn’t blame her. Milo hadn’t taken well to this topic since the day they learned who the rogue was.
With a deep breath, the Sarrokian rested his hat on the floor of the tent before gently rubbing his fingers across the length of her arm. “About that,” he sighed. “I haven’t exactly been the best mate through it, now have I?”
Levee didn’t answer.
“Thought so,” he chuckled. “It was my job to be there for you, but instead I let my fear get in the way. I love ya, Lev. Always have, and so when Jaspur stepped back into the picture I became terrified of losin’ you.
“It’s no excuse, but it’s the truth. Instead of bein’ there for you, I became defensive and you needed me to be better than that.”
Levee sighed. “I haven’t exactly made it easy for you.”
“Well,” straddling her with his elbows, Milo climbed on top of his mate. She eyed him curiously as his legs intertwined with hers, a charming smile sprouting from between the patches of black scruff on his face. “Lucky for you there ain’t a damn thing in this world that could drive me away.”
“Nothing?” she asked, almost as if it were a dare.
He laughed. “Levee Kasateno, there are times when you drive me absolutely mad. But even on the worst of those days, I would never give up on you.”
Milo followed those words with his lips, kissing her passionately. Levee pulled the ribbon free of his hair, letting it fall down across his shoulders as he enveloped her in his embrace.
She had meant to tell him about Jaspur, and what had transpired that night. Levee was never one to keep a secret from Milo, but as she considered what the rogue had said about Velagray and the days to come, she decided against it.
Now was not the time. The war against Shadow was nigh, and none of them knew how it would end. It would be a brutal battle, with many losses on both sides. There was no getting around that. All they could do was cherish what time they had together now, and hope it would continue even after Shadow was slain.
If he was slain.
None of them knew what fate awaited behind the walls of Velagray.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
Shadow awoke in the middle of the night to what sounded like a never-ending roll of thunder. It jolted through his subconscious, causing him to yank the sheets off his body before he was even truly aware of what was going on. He rose from his bed, his bony feet half-shuffling, half-stumbling to the balcony. With his eyes still partially closed, he pushed aside the thick curtains and reached for the railing’s edge.
Open your eyes, Shadow Silverhorn.
“Shut up,” he hissed at one of the many voices that had made a home inside his head. They were with him always now, harassing him with their taunts and warnings. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Shadow blinked several times to clear his vision.
When he did, he looked out at across the city and over its outer walls. Far out upon the horizon, a dark form moved. It rumbled low and deep, its rhythm pounding like a steady drum: ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump.
It is him.
The prince.
War approaches your city.
Justice marches toward your gates.
Soon, you’ll be with us.
Soon.
“No,” Shadow growled, his fingers curling around the edge of the balustrade. His nose twitched in a silent snarl as his sick frame began to shake. Rage twisted his narrow face into an ugly, primal visage, his cabernet eyes bent upon the approaching army.
They were still several miles out, their forms like ants, but Shadow could tell their numbers were in the thousands. So the voices in his head spoke the truth? Jaycent Connor or someone who claimed his name was daring to challenge Shadow for the throne.
“Darthek!” the tyrant shouted.
It is too late, the voices continued to taunt.
You did not listen to us.
The people here will not back you.
Your time as king is up.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” the king slammed his fist against the rail, cracking the stone beneath it. Eyes on his feet, he paced through the apparitions that surrounded him on the balcony, his movements sharp and erratic. “We prepared for this. The walls have been fortified; the soldiers given a plan for our defense. Velagray is ready. I am ready. Whoever brings trouble, let them come. They will die upon my soil!”
By whose hand?
Yours?
You are weak.
Your mind is cracked.
Shadow is a shadow of himself.
How long until your sanity disappears?
“DARTHEK!” the roar behind the tyrant’s shout held the fury of a riled predator. Beneath the balcony, soldiers were already responding to the threat, their forces dispersing toward the outer walls. Shadow had been wondering why the rahee had grown bolder lately.
Ever since they lost track of Melah, his kingdom had begun to spiral into discord. The rahee acted suspiciously, hiding from the eyes of the Velagran Guard even more than usual.
Shadow had interrogated many civilians, but all of them claimed nothing was amiss. Aside from the anger brought on by their horses being confiscated and altered, the people were merely trying to get by. It baffled him, but Shadow had a hard time believing the rahee would lie on pain of death, or worse—torture brought on by Shadow’s infamous illusions.
Yet somehow, after eighteen years, the rahee had found their courage. The pathetic, backstabbing little rodents! Rumors of this army and its leader must have reached their ears somehow. He should have known the ungrateful sods would betray him at the first opportunity.
No wonder the rahee digressed in their abilities. Blin
d, unyielding loyalty like that which they gave to the Connor name stunted them from ever becoming anything more than funny-looking humans with horse sense.
“But I am a patient master,” Shadow murmured to himself. “I will teach them. For their disobedience, they must pay. Those who survive will learn never to cross me. But first…” he spun back around, his attention drawn to the army in the distance, “…I must deal with this.”
As the king was giving himself a pep talk, Darthek had managed to slip inside the room. He had done so quietly, listening to the half-mad ramblings of Velagray’s king. The assassin had seen enough of Shadow’s illness to know he had walked into a precarious situation.
Opening the door again, he slammed it shut so that the king would hear it. “You called for me?” he then asked as he walked toward the balcony.
“What took you so long?” Shadow demanded, still pacing in his bed clothes.
“Your castle is quite hectic at the moment, what with an army approaching,” Darthek’s voice was calm, his demeanor nonchalant. “Your general asked me to bring you to your hidden quarters, just in case this battle takes an unexpected turn.”
“To hide, like a coward?” Shadow spun around, his hands curled into fists. “I will not sit back and let these idiots defend my kingdom on their own. Half of the time they stumble over their own incompetence. I need to make sure they execute my orders correctly.”
“He said you might say that,” the assassin nodded. “To which I was told to remind you that your health is not as strong as your will. You may fight, but if you use your magic in any way, they cannot guarantee you will withstand the effects, whatever that means.”
Shadow growled again, the veins in his neck pressing against his sweat-beaded skin. It was like watching a caged animal, except an animal would be far more predictable.
Darthek stood very still, his eyes the only thing moving as he watched the re’shahna argue with himself. Patchi had been right. Whoever or whatever Shadow Silverhorn used to be was no longer in control. All that was left was a madman clinging to what few strands of sanity still dangled in his consciousness.
The Rogue Trilogy Page 102
