The Rogue Trilogy

by Elizabeth Carlton

  It bothered the rogue to see Levee and Sadikaye suffer in this way. They didn’t deserve this. He had fought and defeated Shadow to put an end to this kind of pain, and yet here it was again.

  Jaspur knew going into this fight that they could not save everyone. Many died to get them here, each of those lives significant to someone. Milo’s still form reminded him that life and death, victory and tragedy, were all part of the save weave. All stories had an ending, and for every life there was a final chapter we had to accept.

  “Jaspur?”

  The rogue looked up to find Levee staring at him curiously. His cheeks flushed as he tried to find the right words to say, only to spout out the wrong ones. “How are you?”

  Levee looked away, her emotions barely in check.

  “A foolish question…” Jaspur reprimanded himself. He pulled up a chair beside her, lowering himself into it with the caution of one who tread a delicate path.

  Levee said nothing, her watery gaze fixed upon Milo’s pale face. It was as if she was lost in a trance, unable to grasp the reality lying before her. Jaspur leaned back, joining the gypsy in her silence as he studied the rahee who took his place. They never truly got along, he and Milo. The tension between them brought on by their mutual love for Levee always put them at odds.

  But he could never say a bad word about Levee’s mate. For all of their banter, he was one of the most honorable souls he had ever met. Like Rayhan, he had a way with people. Within moments of meeting, they became enamored with his charm. It wasn’t the flattery that made him, but the genuineness of his nature.

  His words were honest. His laugh was boisterous. His smile, real. Where Jaspur spent his life wearing a repertoire of masks, Milo was always unapologetically Milo.

  The rogue looked at his former mate and how she held herself together, even though it was clear she wanted nothing more than to fall apart. She needed to. Levee had to release her pain or else it would eat her from the inside. However, the arms she would normally retreat to now lay beside her, still and unmoving.

  Where was she to turn now? Where was the shoulder that was hers to lean upon? Jaspur couldn’t bear to watch her fall into despair. He had spent his life wading in that kind of swamp, trying to stay above the muck.

  “Lev…” he reached forward, grabbing her hand. She tensed, glancing at his fingers as if to question their intent. It pained him. “Let it go.”

  “Let what go?” she demanded, assuming that he spoke of Milo.

  But Jaspur didn’t back down. He would not let her stray down the same path as him. Left alone for too long, she would succumb to the isolation of her pain, and he wouldn’t stand by and watch it happen. “Everything you’re holding in right now, you need to feel it.”

  “I can’t—”

  “You can,” rising to his feet, he pulled her into his arms. Levee struggled at first. She pushed against his chest, her head shaking in denial.

  “Jaspur, you don’t understand.”

  “On the contrary, I understand all too well,” Jaspur held her tight, refusing to let go. “You think if you allow yourself to feel just one thing, all of the emptiness and the hurt and the regret will come flooding in. You’re afraid of it; afraid that once it crashes down upon you, you’ll never resurface.”

  She shook beneath his arms and he knew his words rang true. “If you get it, then why are you doing this?”

  “Because the pain has to run its course,” he turned her around to face the bed. “Look at your mate, Levee Kasateno, and let your heart speak. The hole his absence leaves inside of you is real. You must face it, so be brave. I am right here by your side, and I will not let you drown.”

  It was the invitation she desperately needed. Reality fell upon her, summoning the cry she had suppressed. It rose from her core and into her mouth. As a woeful howl broke free of her lips, her knees buckled.

  Yet when the floor came rushing toward her, Jaspur’s arms were there—just as he promised. He caught Levee, pulling her into his lap as he eased back into the chair.

  The gypsy curled into a ball, her petite frame wracked with sobs. Tears flooded Jaspur’s cotton tunic, soaking it through to his skin as she fell to pieces upon his chest. A moan that could only stem from a tear in the fabric of one’s soul met the rogue’s ears. The sound raked through him, pulling streams of sorrow from his closed eyes as he cradled Levee in his arms.

  For a long time, they sat together, enduring the emptiness. No words were spoken, for none could dampen the profound absence of one so beloved. All Jaspur could do was be there for Levee.

  But being there… that was enough.

  When the time came to carry Milo to his resting place, the rogue’s silent support gave Levee the courage to stand. She fell in step beside her son in a private procession as four re’shahna wrapped Milo’s body in fabric and carried him to the catacombs beneath the grounds behind the castle.

  Each time her steps began to falter, a hand found the small of her back. Its gentle press gave her the strength to remain upright, her feet continuing forward as they descended into the deep halls reserved for the dead.

  While Sadikaye and Levee’s gaze was glued to Milo, Jaspur watched them both. A gentle squeeze of Sadikaye’s shoulder; a chest for Levee to lean upon when she felt unsteady; when one grew weak, Jaspur was there.

  After all these years, he was there.

  A NEW ERA DAWNS

  Not even a day after Milo was laid to rest, Sadikaye Connor found himself behind the door of his throne room, awaiting the coronation that would solidify his fate.

  The castle itself was a bustle of activity. Every trace of Shadow’s reign had been torn down and disposed of while artisans returned the names Nevaharday and Connor to its halls.

  It would be a long time before the transformation was finished, but those changes would be overseen by its proper king. A young rahee whose people hardly knew him, but placed their faith in him without reservation.

  All because he was the son of Jaycent Connor.

  Sadikaye leaned against the small door that led out onto the dais, his eyes closed as he tried to convince himself he was ready. Out there stood an entourage of people, including Patchi, Tobiano, King Mekkai, and many others. Beyond them, a sea of citizens stood shoulder-to-shoulder, with many others spread out across the royal grounds and into the city. Everyone who could come was here to celebrate his coronation.

  Except the father that raised him.

  “Careful not to let them see you cower, Your Majesty. Your people might think you’re nervous.”

  Sadikaye opened one eye to find Deley standing in front of him, her playful smile chiseling at the fear that had been mounting inside the young prince.

  “I’m terrified,” he confessed.

  “Don’t be,” Deley stepped forward, adjusting the stiff collar around his neck. “You became their king the moment you challenged Shadow and won. This?” she motioned to the door behind him. “This is all just a formality.”

  “Have you seen Jaspur?” Sadikaye turned, peeking through the peep hole. “He promised he would be here.”

  “Not yet, but if he promised to attend then he will show,” Deley rested a hand on the prince’s arm, diverting his attention back to her. “Sadikaye, I know this feels like a lot, but trust me when I say you are ready. Shadow is dead. The hardest part is over. Now you get to start the greatest journey of your life. Does that not excite you?”

  Sadikaye sighed, his ears downcast. “It did.”

  Deley cocked her head. “Did?”

  “Deley, in attempt to get here I lost Milo. We left Sarrokye to rescue my mother, not an entire kingdom. When I accepted this birthright, I dragged him into this and now…” Sadikaye paused, his eyes searching the ceiling as he fought a fresh wave of emotions. “Now he’s dead, Deley. Milo is dead.”

  The half-elf reached up and took her betrothed’s face in her hands, forcing him to look down upon her. “Milo died fighting for what he believed in.”

 
“What? Nevaharday? He isn’t even from here.”

  “No, Sadi,” she shook her head. “You. He believed in you, and now you are about to step out there and make him proud by putting on that crown and claiming what is yours.”

  Sadikaye gave a subtle nod as Deley’s words tempered the storm of grief inside his heart.

  “You’re right,” he said, then smirked. “How are you always right?”

  Deley smiled. “T’is a gift.”

  Sadikaye wrapped his arms around his future queen, his chin rested atop her head as he gave another long sigh. The announcement of their engagement would come soon after his coronation, but to him she was already a queen. Her faith in him rooted Sadikaye, giving him strength when his own waned.

  “Stay by my side?” he bid. “I need you, Deley.”

  She smiled. “And I am here for you, Sadikaye. You and me, we are in this together.”

  Sadikaye kissed her cheek. “Together,” he promised. His hand trailed down her arm to find her palm, squeezing it tightly.

  “May I present to you Sadikaye Connor,” announced King Mekkai from beyond the door.

  “Go claim your crown, my king,” Deley whispered.

  Sadikaye took one last deep breath and opened the door.

  * * * * *

  Jaspur stood within his old chambers and stared at the room that was once so familiar. The furniture had not changed. The scratch on the bed post from when he and Rayhan sparred in his room as children still marred the wood.

  In the closet, the chest his father gave him still sat, though its contents had long been emptied. He ran his fingers across the leather straps, wiping the dust from its surface just as he did to all the memories he had kept tucked inside his head.

  These walls held so much history. Stepping out of his old bed chamber, he strode down the hall, his mind recreating the thick banners and portraits that once lined them.

  With Velagray’s dark colors stripped from its surface, Nevaharday’s castle started to revive its old majesty. It called to Jaspur, whose innate ability to see into the past stirred with every scent, sight, and touch. The urge to step inside those memories; to hear the voices of those who once made this place feel like home begged to be fed.

  But Jaspur resisted. This place would always be familiar, but it was not the same. As Jaspur turned the corner and walked down the wide staircase into the main foyer once more, he clung to the present, forcing himself to see this place as it is, not as it was.

  The portraits of Jaspur’s father, his family, and his ancestors were gone. Most relics Shadow had burned or disposed of in attempt to erase the Connor family and the long history that presided in this place.

  Yet it wasn’t truly a loss. There were those who remembered, and they put their gifts to work. Newly woven banners with the Connor family’s emblem had already been hung, their silver and blue threads bringing vibrancy back to the gray stone.

  Against a freshly scrubbed foyer floor, a fractured spectrum of colors shimmered. The former prince’s eyes drifted up to the massive stained glass skylight. What was once a portrait of Skalabur was now an image of Jaspur’s unicorn form crossing horns with Shadow’s as Sadikaye wrangled the enemy from upon his back.

  Tearing his eyes away, the rogue ran his hand against the balustrade, its wood freshly polished. The rahee here had spent many long years yearning for a kingdom lost, and though it would never be the same, the spirit of the horse folk had endured.

  As Jaspur’s feet left the final step, he turned and took in the second story wrap-around walkway, then the third. Up there was his cousin’s office, the great carved doors unmarred in spite of Shadow’s destructive tirade. Closing his eyes, he pictured Rayhan dressed in his blue uniform, his chestnut hair tied neatly back in a matching ribbon.

  “We did it, cousin,” Jaspur proclaimed. His voice echoed up the stairs, and somewhere he knew that Rayhan was listening, his eyes crinkled in a quiet smile. “You were right. Victory may have taken longer than I had hoped, but in the end, the just have prevailed.”

  Those words struck a chord within the remnants of Jaycent Connor still inside of the rogue. He found it hard to breathe as a swell of warm tears filled his eyes. The long battle he had fought with Shadow and with himself was finally over.

  Nevaharday was won.

  His soul was at peace.

  The war that had created the royal rogue had finally come to an end. The realization forced Jaspur off of his feet. He knelt before the steps that led to a life he once loved.

  And there, he wept.

  Not in grief. Though his heart still ached for the souls unable to see this day, it paled in comparison to the joy in his heart. Finally, the shadow that had cloaked his people for so long had been lifted. The rahee were free to lead their own lives; to choose their own path.

  The future’s potential stretched as endlessly as the horizon, and it was a gloriously liberating thought. Jaspur stared up at the blinding colors of that stained glass window, tears streaming down his cheeks. Under his breath, he thanked the goddess for guiding his cynical and stubborn heart to this day. They had never been on good terms, Tennakawa and the rogue. But here in this place, he found an accord with her, for it was she that had led him here, through Rayhan, through Tobiano, and through the Awakening he had somehow survived.

  “Jaspur?”

  The rogue’s ears twitching toward Levee’s voice. He looked at her from over his shoulder, a smile stretching wide beneath his tearstained cheeks.

  Levee closed the gap between them. Cupping his face in her hands, she found herself sharing his tears.

  “Oh Jaspur...” Her voice barely crested a whisper as she wiped his cheeks clean. “This is quite a day for you, isn’t it?”

  “It is quite a day for all of us,” he replied, breathless.

  Levee said nothing more. She always seemed to know when words fell short. Instead, she gently stroked the rogue’s cheek, her gaze telling him everything he felt in that moment was well deserved. Swept again by emotion, the rogue wrapped her in a hug and buried his face into her shoulder.

  The gypsy’s eyes widened in surprise, but she didn’t push him away. As Jaspur’s tears soaked her new dress, she brushed his mane of hair over his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” he murmured.

  Levee furrowed her brow. “For what?”

  Jaspur pulled away from her shoulder to rest his forehead against hers. Their eyes met, and Levee’s heart stuttered at the honesty in his gaze. “This victory would have been impossible without you. I know we are not on the best of terms...”

  “It doesn’t matter. Our battle against Shadow wasn’t about us. It was about our people.”

  The rogue pressed a finger to his lips, then said, “Please, let me finish.”

  Uncertain of where this was going, Levee hesitated, but eventually nodded.

  “I know things between us are awkward at best,” he took Levee’s hands and squeezed them tightly. “But I ask that you let me pass Diego on to Sadikaye. He will protect him as he once did me, and as I should have done for you throughout these long years.”

  Levee’s jaw fell open. Jaspur gently tugged her hands, urging her to sit with him upon the foyer’s bottom step.

  “My second request may be too much to ask, but I will offer it anyway. I have already spoken with Tobiano, and he agrees it would be best if I stayed in Nevaharday—at least for the next few years as Sadikaye settles into his role.

  “He will need help navigating Nevaharday’s recovery and I can help him choose his court, a board of advisors, and teach him the lessons my father taught me. I will remain in the background, of course. I do not want an official role of any sort, but I can be a mentor to him. I have been in his boots, and trust me... he will need one.”

  “Yes.”

  Levee’s instant response surprised Jaspur. He squinted. “You are certain?”

  “Yes,” Levee said again, but more firmly this time. “Sadikaye needs you, Jaspur. Your son needs you. You
and I...” she took a deep breath. “That will take time to mend, but in time perhaps we can. You were right when you said you aren’t the mate I once knew. If we are to be honest with one another, I think that is a good thing. This rogue you have become is a much better person.”

  Jaspur nodded. “That is more than I could hope for, thank you.”

  “Come,” Levee pulled the rogue to his feet. “We have a coronation to attend.”

  Jaspur nodded, allowing her to guide him toward the side door that led to a crowded throne room. He didn’t miss the weight of that high tiered chair, but his heart swelled with pride when he saw his son sitting upon it.

  Dressed in a newly sewn silk tunic, Sadikaye wore Jaspur’s old coin necklace around his neck and silver earrings in his ears. It felt nostalgic, and yet there was a distinctly different flavor to the new king of Nevaharday.

  His eyes were lined neatly in black charcoal, like the re’shahna who had fought alongside their people, and his dark brown hair was beaded and braided in the fashion of the northern gypsies.

  Sadikaye smiled as his mother approached, joining him on the dais. Then his attention turned to Jaspur, who stood discreetly in the corner of the room, his shoulder propped against one of the columns. The rogue bowed his head toward his son, a tilted smile curving at one corner of his lips.

  He watched Patchi present Sadikaye, the descendant of the “late” Prince Jaycent, as the new king of Nevaharday. Sadikaye stood tall as the crown was placed upon his brow. When he was guided out of the room, through the foyer, and onto the front steps of the castle, the roar of his people waiting to see their new king was deafening.

  “T’is a new dawn,” remarked Tobiano.

  Jaspur turned to his old friend, who always seemed to appear out of nowhere.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Jaspur mused, “but it looks like the cogs are already turning inside that head of yours.”