The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus

by Bethany Hoeflich

  Cadmus, Head Magi

  Eli’s words echoed in her mind. He said there might be a safe haven. Could it be true? She reread the last line and frowned. Mara reached over to the desk to steady herself, feeling dizzy. She heard footsteps approaching the door and rushed back into her chair.

  Ethan walked in, brushing his dark hair back from his face. “My apologies, Mara.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. She shook her head, trying to clear the fuzzy feeling. “I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well.”

  He placed a hand on her forehead, eyes widening. “You’re burning up. Please allow me to walk you home.”

  She swayed as heat flashed through her body. The floor spun beneath her feet and then she was falling. She vaguely registered a soft curse and firm arms catching her as the world went black.

  4

  Mara’s body burned like she had swallowed the sun. Each breath brought an agony that reached deep inside her bones. She opened her mouth to cry, but all she could manage was a weak rasp. Thousands of needles stabbed at her skin. She writhed, desperate for relief. It was too much. She was going to die.

  Then she was frozen, teeth chattering so hard Mara feared they would shatter. Her body convulsed, tearing into a million pieces. A building energy thrummed from her core to her limbs. She felt a pop and the room filled with bright white light. She screamed and fell back into darkness.

  ***

  “What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing, I swear it.”

  “You expect me to believe that? You’re not welcome here.”

  Mara barely registered faint voices in the other room followed by a slam that shook the house. She blinked her crusted eyes. Her bedroom came into focus as her vision cleared. Light trickled in from her open window. A shelf by the door held dozens of wooden carvings and a vase of fresh flowers. She ran a hand over the blue quilt on her bed, tracing the uneven stitching. Her mother was certainly not a Sartor.

  She tried sitting up, but fell back to her mattress with a groan. Her tongue felt like sandpaper as it raked across the roof of her mouth. She gagged, and bile rose in her throat, choking her.

  “Water,” she croaked. She tried again, louder. “Water . . . please . . .”

  The doorknob rattled, and Sarai peeked her head in, eyes widening when she saw Mara awake. She rushed over, throwing herself on the bed and pulling Mara into an embrace. “Oh, my darling girl. I was so worried.”

  “Water.”

  “Oh my goodness, yes. One moment.” Sarai ran her palms down the side of Mara’s face once before hurrying out of the room. She returned a minute later with a mug of water.

  Mara gulped it down, spilling half down the front of her shirt.

  “Listen very carefully. Did that horrible man do anything to you?”

  “What horrible man?”

  “The Magi,” Sarai hissed, her face contorting in anger. For a moment, Mara didn’t recognize her. In place of her quiet, gentle mother sat a terrifying woman who radiated pure aggression.

  Mara recoiled. “Nothing?”

  “You can tell me the truth. You were perfectly fine that day when you left the house. Next thing I know, the Magi knocks on our door, carrying your unconscious body. What did he do? Did he make you drink anything?”

  “I am telling you the truth. I mean, he bandaged my hands but . . .” Mara paused, and her mother’s words registered. “Wait, that day? How long have I been asleep?”

  “Three days.” Sarai’s eyes softened, though the lines on her forehead seemed deeper. “I was scared you wouldn’t wake up.”

  Mara leaned into her mother’s soft body, shuddering at the thought. “That means the Harvest Festival is only two days away.”

  “You will not be going.”

  Mara opened her mouth, but a stern look silenced her words. “Where’s Father?”

  “He wanted to stay, he really did, but he couldn’t delay his trip to Merrowhaven any longer. Gods know I couldn’t manage another winter without him.” Sarai pulled the quilt over Mara and smoothed her hair back. “Now, you rest, and I’ll bring you something to eat, okay?”

  No matter what Sarai said, she would go to the Festival. She wasn’t about to stay shut in the house again because of her mother’s paranoia.

  Mara frowned, mentally retracing her steps. What had happened to her? She was too old for the usual childhood illnesses. Maybe it was something she had eaten? Or maybe her mother was right. Had Ethan done something to her that caused the fever? He had been nothing but polite and kind the whole time. She wasn’t about to weave friendship charms for him, but maybe he wasn’t as bad as she thought.

  ***

  Mara stood on her front porch, staring toward the town. It was the morning of the Harvest Festival and, despite her mother’s protests, she was determined to go. Still, it didn’t hurt to be prepared. She patted the concealed dagger on her thigh, comforted by its familiar weight. Hopefully she wouldn’t need to use it. She headed down an alley towards the town square, twisting the string on her necklace as she walked.

  A gaggle of children ran through the alley, filling the air with carefree laughter. The smallest of the bunch tripped, sending his toy flying at her feet. Mara bent to pick up the carved bear and held it out to the boy with a smile. He reached to take it, but a girl, no older than six or seven, smacked his hand away.

  She stood protectively in front of the boy, jutting her chin out. “Mama said never trust a dreg.”

  Another child piped up. “My papa said that if I’m bad, the dregs’ll come snatch me away.”

  “And eat you for breakfast!”

  “No, that’s a Guardian, idiot. Dregs are just dirty.”

  “That’s just ridiculous.” Mara gave her tunic an inconspicuous sniff, just to be sure. They watched her with distrustful expressions, as though they expected her to morph into a three-headed sea monster before their eyes. She sighed, placed the toy on the ground, and walked away.

  The square opened up before her and she took a moment to appreciate the festive decor. The villagers had outdone themselves this year. Thousands of colorful ribbons hung from the shopfronts. Pumpkins and fragrant mums dotted the walkways. The smell of apple and cinnamon treats wafted on the gentle breeze and her stomach rumbled. Mara would get an apple dumpling, and gods help anyone who stood in her way.

  She spied Mr. Fitz’s cart across the square. Mara drooled, imagining biting into the buttery crust and sweet apples. She hurried over, nearly getting trampled by a horse that was giving rides to children. Intent on jumping in the Pistor’s line, Mara threw an apology over her shoulder, only to be thwarted by a familiar pair planted in her way.

  “It’s just so good to see you, Mara,” Oona simpered. Ansel stood as far away as Oona’s talon-like grip allowed, looking uncomfortable. “We thought you were a goner for sure.”

  “I bet you were so concerned.” Mara craned her neck around the couple, quailing at the already long line. Mr. Fitz had better not run out of dumplings. “I mean, it’s not like you tried to have me murdered after all.”

  “Indeed.”

  Ansel shook his arm until Oona let go and stepped closer, taking Mara’s hand. “How are you feeling? I tried to visit, but Sarai wouldn’t let me in the house,” he said, scanning her from head to toe.

  Mara fidgeted under his intense stare and pulled her hand away. His betrothed was right there for gods’ sake! “It was just a fever, Ansel. It’s not like I lost an arm or something.”

  “See, I told you she was fine,” Oona hissed and stormed away, disappearing in a throng of people.

  “Well, she’s as cuddly as a two-headed snapping turtle, isn’t she? You sure the elders paired you with her?” Mara asked, shaking her head.

  “Believe me, I’ve checked . . . and double checked. Anyway, I’m glad you came to the Festival.”

  “Me, too. Mother threatened to lock me in the cellar, not that it would stop me.” Mara tugged on his sleeve. “Come on, I’m dying for a dumpling.�
�

  Ansel brightened. “Maybe he’ll have some fritters left, too.” They strolled across the square together. “My father and I are leaving for Merrowhaven tomorrow. I was afraid I wouldn’t get to say goodbye.”

  “I can’t believe I forgot! How long will you be gone?”

  He shrugged. “It depends. If a master Armis takes me on, I’ll be gone a whole year. Otherwise, we’ll be back before winter.”

  “You will find one. I can’t believe no one has trained you, yet.”

  “That’s the downside of being the only Armis in a remote farming village. The masters in the capital hand pick their students from the noble born. They’ve spent their lives training . . . how can I compete with that?”

  “So basically, you need training in order to get training. That’s backwards.”

  “Tell me about it,” Ansel said. He took her arm, guiding her into the line. She pulled away, putting a respectable distance between them. No sense adding more fuel to the rumors if she could help it.

  Mara stood in line for a full thirty seconds before recognizing the man in front of them, wearing his brown tunic. Surprising, considering most of the town would expect to see him wearing the white robes of a Magi today.

  Ethan turned to greet them. “Mara, I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

  Before she could respond, Ansel said, “So, are you going to watch the exhibition later?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it! How many people signed up this year?” She asked.

  He paled. “Twelve. That’s twice as many as last year . . .”

  She punched him in the shoulder. “And you’ll still beat them all. I don’t see what you’re so worried about.”

  “Speaking of which, why didn’t you sign up? Afraid I’ll beat you?” Ansel nudged her in the arm.

  “I know you’ll beat me.” She shifted from foot to foot, eyes flicking to Ethan, who was placing his order with Mr. Fitz. “I just didn’t want to.”

  “Oh, come on. Why not? After all the training you’ve put in this year, it’s a shame to not show off a bit.”

  It’s not like she didn’t want to show off. She wanted to let everyone know that she could be useful if the town was threatened. If she had been fully healthy, it might have been different. But now? She’d probably collapse after two swings.

  Mr. Fitz raised his high-pitched voice. “No, Magi. I’ve told you time and time again. I won’t be taking your coin! That’s not how we do things here.”

  Ethan tucked his coin purse back under his tunic and accepted the bulging brown paper bag. “It’s a bit odd, I’ll admit.”

  “You provide a service for the town, so you don’t pay. Plain and simple.”

  “Much appreciated.” Ethan glanced over his shoulder, nodding once to Mara before walking off.

  Ansel stepped up to the cart, drooling. Mara resisted the urge to wipe his mouth with her sleeve.

  “Ahh, Ansel! What can I get for you today, my boy? The treats this fall are the best you’ve had yet, mark my words!”

  “Don’t tempt me, Mr. Fitz, or I’ll eat everything you have. Just one fritter, please.”

  “Coming right up!” Mr. Fitz slid a fritter into a brown paper sack and handed it to Ansel with a wide smile. “Enjoy! I look forward to watching your match today.”

  “Thank you, sir. It should be a good one.” Ansel turned to Mara with a guilty look. “Would you mind…”

  “Nope. Not at all. You go on ahead and I’ll see you there, okay?”

  “You’re the best!” Ansel said, trotting off.

  Mara stepped up to the stand, overwhelmed by the choices. Her mouth watered at the selection: apple tarts with a crumb topping, chocolate walnut cookies, pumpkin cupcakes with a whipped frosting and more.

  “Just what do you want?” Mr. Fitz said, his jovial demeanor falling the instant he saw Mara.

  “One dumpling, please,” Mara said.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and fixed her with a hard stare. “All out.”

  Was he joking? She raised an eyebrow and pointed at the heaping tray. “I can see them right there!”

  “As if I’d waste them on the likes of you.” His jowls quivered, spittle flying every which way.

  Mara put her hands on her hips, glaring down at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You heard me, dreg. Now step aside. You’re holding up my line.”

  “Fine, I didn’t want your stupid dumplings anyway.” She turned on her heel and marched off, arms swinging wildly.

  ***

  The villagers gathered around the old training grounds. Stacked hay bales formed a ring around the perimeter for the exhibition. Mara elbowed her way right to the front for a better view. She leaned forward on the bales, feeling the hay scratch her arms.

  “Mind if I stand with you?”

  Mara groaned at the sound of Ethan’s voice and laid her head on her arms. “Don’t you have someone else you’d rather bother?”

  “Not really, no,” he replied.

  “Well, go away. I’m wallowing.”

  “Perhaps I can help with that,” he said, dropping a bag on her arms.

  Her head shot up and she opened the brown paper sack, letting out a gasp. “A dumpling? Why?”

  “I happened to overhear your conversation with Mr. Fitz.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she pulled out the sticky treat. “You didn’t poison it, did you?”

  He patted the front of his brown tunic. “It appears as though I left my poisons in my other robe.”

  “Just checking,” she replied, taking a bite. It was every bit as good as she imagined, and she barely stifled a moan. “Can’t be too careful, you know?”

  “You are the most frustrating person I’ve ever met,” Ethan said, shaking his head. “Is it really that hard to believe people can be nice?”

  Mara snorted, almost inhaling the flaky crust. “For a Magi? Yes,” she said, throwing his words back at him. She devoured the dumpling in seconds and licked the crumbs from her fingers. Ethan stared at her, mouth agape. “What?”

  “Well, by all means, don’t bother to enjoy it.”

  She wasn’t about to apologize for eating. “I’ve been dying for one of these all day.”

  “I can certainly understand that sentiment. Compared to the Pistors we have at Order Headquarters, Mr. Fitz is downright magical when it comes to baked goods. My sister would love it here.”

  “You have siblings?” Mara asked, genuinely curious. For some reason, she’d imagined him as an only child. Having a sister made him seem more . . . human.

  “Half-sister, technically.” Ethan turned and gestured to the ring where Ansel stood, shrugging off his tunic, much to the enjoyment of the crowd. All the single women, and some of the married ones, swooned over his bulging muscles. Oona was a lucky girl, that’s for sure. “I was told there would be an exhibition, but I wasn’t expecting this kind. If he starts removing his trousers, I’m leaving.”

  Mara laughed. “You’ll have to excuse him. Ansel’s a bit of a showoff.”

  “Apparently,” Ethan said. “Typical of an Armis, from my experience.”

  “Excellent fighting skills and—"

  “An over inflated ego?”

  “Exactly. Wait, how did you know?”

  Ethan nodded towards a disciple with short brown hair and a trimmed goatee who stood across the ring. “Geoff is an Armis.” He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Between you and me, he’s a bit pompous.”

  “Ansel’s not pompous. He just . . . enjoys the attention. A lot.” Mara turned her focus back to the ring. Ansel picked up a wooden sword, giving it a few test swings. “If anything, he deserves it. You did hear about what happened three years ago, right?”

  “With the bandits? Yes, I hear at least five different accounts every day.”

  “Not surprising. He’s become a bit of a celebrity here.”

  “So, what’s the real story?” Ethan asked.

  Mara leaned agains
t the hay bales. “Three years ago, the Scott family had gone north to sell their pottery in Merrowhaven. You’ve met them, right?”

  “Oh, yes. I know them. I just Gifted their son, matter of fact.”

  “That’s awesome! What’s his name? What Gift did he get?”

  “Simon. And surprisingly, he’s a Saxum. Not common in a family of Farbers.” Ethan cocked his head, appraising her. “You’re not jealous?”

  She snorted. “Of course I’m jealous, but I wouldn’t wish this life on a helpless baby. What am I, a monster?”

  A cheer arose from the crowd, drawing her attention back to the ring. Ansel stood in the center as his challengers entered. Ten were a mix of Farbers and Cultors. Craftsman and farmers wouldn’t pose much of a challenge, in her opinion. The other two, however, would be more entertaining. A Saxum stood, juggling head-sized rocks in his hand. An Irrigo placed a barrel of water on the sidelines.

  “Anyway, their trip was important. All the money they had earned would pay for the things we can’t grow or make. Things like sugar, iron and that sort of stuff.”

  “They wouldn’t keep the money for themselves?”

  “Of course not. Look, I don’t know how it is where you came from, but around here, we don’t pay each other for things. Everyone pitches in and helps where they’re needed, and everything is shared equally. In fact, some of the older folk never bothered to learn their numbers.”

  “So, what happened with the bandits?”

  “Ansel tied them up and waited for the marshals. Last I heard, a Guardian dealt with them. Now, shush, they’re about to start,” she said.

  Ansel stood facing six of his challengers. The others stood back, waiting. He twirled the wooden sword in his hand and spun to face them. Two nodded, then rushed at Ansel. He dodged out of the way, twisting his sword to disarm one, then the other.

  “Why is he using a wooden sword?” Ethan asked, raising his voice above the cheering crowd.

  “What else would he use? He doesn’t want to kill them! Now, shush!”