Mara leaned forward in her seat, the edge of the table cutting into her ribcage. She hardly dared to breathe for fear he would stop talking.
“Everything went as expected until your Reading. It was like the Magi was frozen inside of a nightmare. Whatever he saw shook him badly enough that he threatened to kill you.”
“What did he see that made him so violent?”
“I don’t know. I’ve spent the past eighteen years digging for answers during my trips to Merrowhaven, but I had to be careful. People who question the Order tend to disappear,” Eli said, swallowing. He took a long drink from his cup and wiped his mouth of the sleeve of his tunic. “During my last trip, I spoke to a Healer. She mentioned that some disciples had paid her a visit, removing all records of the dregs’ births. They’re trying to cover something up. Something big.”
Mara gnawed on the inside of her cheek, brows knitting together. “How do you know this?”
“I watched as a Guardian removed her Gift—the punishment for the worst of criminals.”
She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “They made her a dreg just for talking?”
He nodded. “And they nearly caught me as well. I escaped by blending into a dreg encampment outside the city.” Eli stood, carrying his empty plate into the kitchen and dropping it in the sink. He turned, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “There were whispers of a safe haven for dregs up north. Somewhere the Order isn’t allowed, where a dreg can live a normal life and even start a family. Most likely fairytales and wishful thinking, but all tales hold a grain of truth. Promise me, Mara. If anything happens, go north.”
“You want me to leave home?” Mara asked, reeling from the information. A place free from the Order’s persecution sounded fantastical, even to her ears. And yet, she wanted it. The chance to have a family. To have children. She wanted all of it. But harsh reality set in, blowing the fantasy away like dust in the wind. That place didn’t exist.
“Only if you have no other choice,” Eli said.
“Okay, no more talking. I think you’ve been cooped up long enough,” Sarai said, leaning down to kiss the top of Mara’s head. “Don’t be out too late.”
“I’m free?” They didn’t have to tell her twice. She scooted her chair back a little too fast causing it to scrape across the floor.
Before she reached the door, her father’s voice made her pause. “Mara, the pendant. Keep it hidden and don’t show anyone.”
She tucked it inside her tunic and slipped outside, closing her eyes and tilting her head back as the sunshine warmed her face. Her restless feet moved of their own accord, leading her to the training field on the outskirts of town.
Mara took her first deep breath in weeks, inhaling the smell of old blood and sweat that had watered the barren ground for generations. A row of straw targets lined the far fence, overgrown with a tangle of briar and nettles. Eager to release some of her pent-up energy, she trotted over to the rack of training weapons and selected a bow and a quiver of arrows.
She smiled, thinking of the first time Ansel had brought her here to train and she had socked him for running his mouth. When he told her that she hit like a girl, Mara had said, “I am a girl,” and slugged him again. They stayed long after sundown that day until Ansel was satisfied she could leave a bruise. While the villagers in Stonehollow might not appreciate her efforts, she wanted to be ready to defend her hometown if the need arose. Nocking an arrow, she exhaled, aiming at the nearest target, and let it fly.
Mara lost track of time, shooting arrow after arrow. Once she hit the targets half the time, she moved on, trading the bow for a wooden training sword. Two oak poles, wrapped in canvas, stood along the fence next to the weapon’s rack. Adjusting her grip, she tried to replicate the movements she saw Ansel use when he trained. Mara swung the sword at the pole. Dodge. Swing. Jab. Repeat. She tripped over her own feet and nearly fell.
She threw the sword to the ground with a curse. He made this look so easy! Frustrated, she punched the pole over and over until her knuckles dripped red from ragged gashes.
Thomas and Mr. Fitz’s dumpy son, Byron, walked into the field. Mara groaned. Could this day get any worse? Over his shoulder, Thomas carried an obnoxiously large sword—so big that he looked like a child playing with his father’s weapons. He swaggered over like he owned the grounds and sneered, “I don’t know why you’re wasting your time. Swinging that sword around all day won’t make you an Armis.”
“Speaking from experience?” Mara asked, gesturing to the sword. Thomas had the Gift of farming. As a Cultor, he would one day inherit a farm of his own and grow food for their village. It was more than she had, and yet, he still wasn’t content. The thought left her bitter and she snapped, “Even if you train from sunup to sundown, it’s not like you’ll be anything other than a Cultor.”
His face turned thunderous and she snapped her mouth shut. Oops, that might have been a bit too far.
“At least I have a Gift. You, on the other hand, will always be worthless.”
“Says the boy who gets his kicks from beating helpless old men.”
“You’ll pay for speaking to me that way, trash.” Thomas growled, blocking her exit and pointing his sword at her. She backed away, paling in the face of sharpened steel. Yep, she definitely took it too far this time. Not that he didn’t deserve it.
Mara jumped the fence and sprinted away, glancing over her shoulder to check for pursuit. Thomas and Byron scampered off in the other direction, no doubt to tell the elders about her insolence. She rounded the corner of the general store and collided into someone. Reaching out instinctively, she clutched rough wool and curly hair, saving the victim from a certain fall into the dirt.
“Watch where you’re going, dreg!”
Mara’s eyes widened in horror at the sight of the old woman. She wore an air of authority along with a hideous pink cloak. Obediently, Mara dropped to the ground, head bowed. “Mrs. Carry, I’m so sorry.”
Mrs. Carry, the wife of an elder, looked down her abnormally large nose at her, cheeks puffed out in righteous indignation. “I should have you whipped for this.”
“Please forgive me.” She tampered down the urge to scream. That’s what she gets for saving the old hag from a dust bath. After a minute of silence, Mara glanced up. The older woman was looking around frantically, no longer paying attention to her.
“Mr. Wiggins! Where are you, silly cat?”
Afraid to draw Mrs. Carry’s wrath, she rose slowly. If her beloved pet was lost, Mara was sure to pay tenfold in flesh. Her hand went to the scars on her shoulder and her heart pounded at the thought of another beating. Mara’s eyes darted around the street. Perhaps if she could find him first, all would be forgiven.
A tall figure emerged from the shadows, holding a spitting ball of orange fur at arm’s length. “Madam, I believe this animal belongs to you,” the Magi said, looking eager to hand over the feral cat before acquiring some scars of his own. Mara edged away, hoping he wouldn’t notice her. Technically, her parents didn’t say if he could be trusted or not and she wasn’t eager to find out for herself.
“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Magi!”
The Magi locked eyes with her. “Mara, wait!”
Mrs. Carry plucked the hissing creature from his arms, peppering its face with kisses. “Oh, you are such a blessing for Stonehollow, Magi. How can I ever repay you?” She corralled him in a corner, showering him with blubbering gratitude.
Mara pretended she didn’t hear him, using the distraction to slip into the alley between the butcher shop and bakery, plotting a course for home. She’d had enough excitement for one day and wanted nothing more than a warm bath and the comfort of her bed.
Ansel stepped out of the side entrance to the bakery carrying a basket in his arms. His face brightened when he saw her. “Hi Mara! I was going to stop by your house, but the last time I did, you slammed a door in my fa—"
“Not here!” She dragged him
by the arm into the smaller path behind the bakery, nearly sending his pastries flying. Curse his sweet tooth!
“Ugh, Mara. What did you do to your hands?”
“Not important.” She peeked around the corner. Did the Magi follow her?
“But you’re bleeding on my new tunic.”
“Just rinse it with cold water and it’ll come right out. Now shh.” She checked again to see if the coast was clear before turning to Ansel. “I have something to show you.”
“Wait! I have a present for you. I was planning on giving it to you later,” he said, holding out a vaguely cylindrical package covered in a mess of paper and tack. He had obviously wrapped it himself. “Happy birthday, Mara.”
“Thank you.” She tore open the paper to reveal a fine quiver of a dozen arrows and pulled one out to inspect. The cedar shaft was smooth and straight from the tip to the fletching. It was the most perfect thing he could have given her. She tied the quiver around her waist and pulled him into an embrace, swallowing her emotions.
“It’s just something small. I know how much you’ve been practicing, and the training arrows are awful.” He shrugged.
“It’s wonderful, Ansel. Thank you.” She looked around to make sure they were alone and pulled the pendant from beneath her tunic. “Look what my parents gave me.”
He gasped, reaching out to touch it. “Why is it glowing?”
Mara hissed and turned away, the pendant clutched in her hand. She slapped her other hand across her mouth, shocked by her own reaction. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what came over me,” she cried, regretting her decision to show him. Is this why her father told her to keep it hidden?
He gulped. “What is that?”
“I don’t know. My father gave it to me this morning. He said it’s some sort of family heirloom and that I have to keep it secret, though I didn’t think that applied to you.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Me neither.”
A small cough interrupted them. Mara whipped around coming face to face with the Magi. Somehow, he had slipped away from Mrs. Carry and followed her. Too late, she realized the pendant was still visible and quickly tucked it back under her tunic.
“Forgive me, Magi. We didn’t notice you there,” Ansel said, nodding his head in greeting.
Mara’s heart pounded. Did he see the pendant? She’d failed her father’s warning mere hours after he gave it. Just her luck, the Magi would assume she stole it, no doubt.
“No trouble at all. I was hoping to beg a moment of Mara’s time,” the Magi said, his dark eyes boring into her. She looked at him, incredulous. Was he actually giving her a choice? His expectant smirk was answer enough and she nodded, wrapping her arms around her torso.
Ansel opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but the Magi cut him off.
“Wonderful! Pleasure seeing you, Ansel.” He offered the crook of his arm to Mara. She eyed it like a yellow-bellied pit viper, making no move to take it. Displeasure flashed across his face, but he smoothed it away, dropping his arm to his side. As a compromise, she fell into stride beside him.
Mara peeked at him out of the corner of her eyes. Why did he seek her out? Maybe he believed the lies Thomas was spreading and now he was going to punish her. She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants, debating whether she should run or not.
“Beautiful weather, is it not? I love watching the leaves change color . . . the slight chill in the air.” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Not to mention Mr. Fitz’s succulent apple tarts. I swear I could eat a dozen, though my waistline wouldn’t thank me.”
She cocked her head to the side and scoffed, “You interrupted my visit with my best friend to talk about the weather and baked goods?”
“Do you make a habit of visiting people in dark alleyways?”
She frowned. “I’m not a criminal, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
“And yet, for someone who doesn’t wish to be seen as a criminal, you seem to be injured quite often,” he said, pointing to her bleeding hands. “What was it this time? A homicidal potato?”
She blushed and looked down at the dirt path. “A wooden post.”
“A worthy opponent, no doubt.” He chuckled and clasped his hands behind his back. “You’ve been sneaking around after dark lately.”
“How would you know that? Have you been Reading me?”
“Hardly. A Magi has to touch someone to Read. Well, the current Head Magi can Read without physical contact, but he’s the only one. The point is that your behavior seemed suspicious.”
“I don’t see why my business is your concern,” she challenged, jutting her chin out defiantly. Then her breath hitched. Disrespecting a Magi would get her beaten or worse. She bowed her head and gritted her teeth. “Forgive me, Magi.”
“It’s quite alright. I’ll admit, I thought that the townspeople were right about you at first. It was . . . refreshing to be proven wrong.”
“Is that really so hard to believe?”
“For a dreg, yes. In the Order, we are taught that dregs are a danger to civilized society—a threat that needs to be stamped out.” A shadow fell over them and he stopped, turning to face her. “You’ve been caring for that other dreg, Tobias, right?”
She didn’t answer, frozen at the sight of the Order banner flapping in the breeze. The Magi looked between her and the brick building, realization dawning on his face. “I’m not going to kill you, Mara.”
“That’s exactly what a killer would say.” She shook her head, backing away. “No offense, but my past experiences with the Order haven’t been pleasant.”
“I give you my word that I won’t hurt you. I would have done so already if that were my intention.”
She frowned. Could she trust him? Every facet of her being screamed no, yet his words rang with truth. The fact that she was still breathing spoke volumes. He could have killed her the second he arrived, and no one would have blinked.
The Magi watched her in silence, allowing her the space to decide without forcing her. She took a deep breath and walked towards the building. He shook his head and opened the door for her. A true gentleman, this Magi.
Mara crossed the threshold and took a moment to survey her surroundings, eyes widening at the absolute disaster. The desk in the center of the room was buried beneath a pile of scrolls and letters. The shelves were decorated with a dreadful mismatch of books, stacked in haphazard fashion, like they were discarded on a whim. She threw a questioning glance at the Magi, who merely shrugged in response, as if he couldn’t bother wasting precious seconds of his time to tidy up. He gestured to the only empty chair in the room before digging through a cabinet next to the shelves. Mara perched on the edge of the cushion, leaning forward at the sight of an old leather journal that lay open on the desk. She squinted, trying to make out the words scrawled at the top of the page. The Child of the Bl—
The Magi closed the journal before she could read the rest. Giving her an apologetic smile, he knelt on the floor next to her chair and held up bandages and a jar of salve. “May I?”
She nodded and held out her hands.
He slathered a generous scoop of the salve on her cuts. “So, are you related to Tobias?”
“No,” she said, wincing as it stung her knuckles.
He wiped his hands on a rag and began wrapping her injuries with bandages. “And yet you take care of him; you bring him clean clothes and plenty to eat. I’m not sure what to make of it all,” the Magi said, head tilting to the side as though she were a puzzle that he needed to solve.
She pulled away and glowered down at him. “What am I supposed to do? Let him starve? I’m not an animal.” Feeling lightheaded, she sat back down. “Forgive me, Magi. I should not speak to you that way.”
“You may call me Ethan when we are alone.”
“And when we’re not?”
“It’s best that you remain respectful and obedient in public.” He walked around the desk, clearing a stack o
f papers off his chair before sitting down.
“How do I know this isn’t some sort of trick? Like you’re trying to lull me into being complacent and then you’ll skin me alive or burn me at a stake.” Her vision blurred, and she shook her head, trying to focus. That was odd. Maybe she’d had too much sun?
Ethan groaned, running a hand across his face. “My predecessor must have treated you horribly. Is that really what you think of us?”
She thought back to all of the stories she had heard. “Umm . . . yes?”
“Mara, I wish you wouldn’t paint all Magi with the same brush. Not all of us—"
A knock on the door interrupted what he was about to say. A gray-robed disciple stepped inside and bowed at the waist. “Apologies, sir. A missive came for you from Headquarters.” He walked over and handed him a scroll.
Ethan unrolled it, eyes scanning the document. His face darkened.
“Sir, all of Magi Samuel’s things are packed and ready for the journey north. Is there anything else?”
Ethan paused, laying the open scroll down on the desk. His eyes stared into space and he rapped his fingers on the desk. “Yes, it appears as though six of you will be heading home.” He reached over and picked up the journal. “This should go as well. Cadmus will find it . . . informative.” He glanced at her briefly before he said, “Mara, if you will excuse me for a moment?”
She nodded. His eyes flitted to the scroll once before he and the disciple left. A few minutes passed, and he still hadn’t returned. What was in that scroll? Mara stood and walked over to the desk, chewing on her lip. Should she read it? She glanced over at the door. If he walked in and caught her with it . . . Curiosity won, and she picked it up.
Magi Ethan,
Greetings. The situation in Tregydar has become, unfortunately, critical. The dreg sympathizers have managed to deflect our every effort to subdue them.
Unless the situation is handled swiftly, our position will be compromised. Send half of your disciples back to Order Headquarters immediately. That is not a request. If the truth gets out, it will ruin everything.
The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus Page 4