The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus

by Bethany Hoeflich

  Opal laughed. “Gone, and you will not find them, even if you searched for a thousand years.”

  Making a growling sound in the back of his throat, the disciple gave her a rough shove that sent her sprawling into the snow. Her knee twisted beneath her, aggravating her old injury. She refused to cry out from the pain.

  “Arthur, forget the others. Cadmus only wanted her anyway.” A man stepped up, wearing the midnight blue robes of a Guardian. His long obsidian locks twisted back from his face, revealing a face that seemed too young for his position. His eyes were haunted, and his hands shook at his sides.

  “Fine. Can you handle this one, or are you going to cry again?” the disciple sneered.

  The Guardian swallowed and nodded, turning his sad eyes on her. “I’m sorry . . .”

  Opal closed her eyes and smiled as the Guardian reached for her.

  1

  Mara paced lazily around her cramped cell, running an apathetic hand over the cool bars. Though no windows lined the dungeons, buried deep underground, the painful cramping in her stomach told her it was morning.

  Cadmus would send for her soon. He always did. Some days, it was just to gloat that he had finally captured her, and others, with threats. By this point, she wasn’t sure if he preferred to use her as a weapon or as a bed partner. Both options left her with a sour taste in her mouth. But with each rejection, her conditions grew worse. How soon would he grow tired with her stalling? At first, Cadmus had treated her like an honored guest, making sure she had warm bedding and three meals each day. Then slowly, the privileges disappeared until the cell was as empty as her soul.

  Two weeks had passed since their attack on Order Headquarters to rescue Tova. Two weeks since they’d discovered she was a two-faced betrayer who was a disciple of the Order, luring them into a trap. Two weeks since her best friend . . .

  Her breath hitched. She still couldn’t believe Ansel was gone. Any second, she expected him to trot around the corner with his goofy grin and say something stupidly funny, just to make her laugh. She would punch him on the arm, then drag him off on an adventure. What she wouldn’t give to have one more day at their lake. It wasn’t fair. All he’d wanted was to live a quiet life, using his Gift as an Armis to protect the people he loved. It should have been her, laying lifeless on the ground. She would gladly trade her life for his if she could.

  Mara sagged against the stone wall. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a shaking breath, trying to tamp down the familiar rage that bubbled up her torso, threatening to consume her. Her heart thudded. All she could see was his triumphant grin turning to shock as a blade appeared through his ribs. His body falling to the ground in a heap. The Guardian’s vicious smirk, taunting her. A tortured howl escaped her throat and she slammed a hand against the hard, icy floor of her cell. Completely numb, she could barely feel the painful jolt radiating up her arm. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to be as cold as the stone against her back. The only thing keeping her from sinking into a black pit of depression was cramming the feelings down until she couldn’t feel them anymore. She didn’t want to feel them. To remember . . .

  The constant drip, drip, drip of musty water matched the rapid beating of her heart. She blinked into the darkness, remembering how she had come unhinged, slaughtering everyone in a twisted need for justice. But it wasn’t justice; it was merciless revenge. Mara pulled at the chains binding her wrists— Deleos, designed to drain her energy and block her Gift. Since her capture, the disciples hadn’t given her any more suppressive elixir, and her powers were slowly returning to normal, simmering just below the surface. For once, she was grateful for the Deleos. It was too dangerous otherwise. She was too dangerous. The irony did not escape her notice.

  For her whole life, she’d wanted a Gift more than anything. She thought that having a magical ability of her own would solve her problems. How wrong she’d been. Her Gift had caused nothing but pain and suffering for everyone around her, and now, she wished Cadmus would just give up and have a Guardian remove it once and for all. She didn’t deserve to be an Impriga, not after abusing her powers. But he wouldn’t. Of course, he wouldn’t. As a dreg, she would be useless to him. And now, with no hope, no chance of escaping, she was completely at his mercy.

  Against her better judgment, she had believed Ethan when he said he would help her, but so far, he hadn’t kept his promise. He told her to trust him, then vanished. So much for that. She should have known better than to trust a Magi. Now, her only company were the hoard of rats that plagued the dungeon. Mara rubbed the bite marks along her leg. As long as she had shared a portion of her meals, the rats had left her alone. Mostly. But once Cadmus stopped sending food down to her cell, she was helpless to stop the vindictive creatures.

  Footsteps echoed down the hall. Mara walked over to stand by the bars, watching the flickering light trickle closer. It must be breakfast time. Her stomach rumbled as if on cue. Two disciples stopped outside of her cell, unlocking her cell with a screech and a clank. One scowled at her with a look that promised death, while the other swallowed and stepped back, his eyes tightening at the corners, as though he expected her to break through the Deleos and attack.

  Mara kept her head down, following obediently. Her lungs burned as they climbed the seemingly endless staircase. A wave of dizziness passed through her, and she paused, placing a hand on the wall so she didn’t fall back down all three hundred and forty-two steps. A rough prod in the back forced her to move until she continued up the stairs and into the foyer of the Magi building. Early morning light slipped past six tall buildings to caress her face like a whispered promise through the arched doorway. Everything would be all right. Even now, Halder, Steel, and Wynn would be forming a plan to help her escape. At least she hoped.

  She choked on the clean air, free from the smell of decay and mold and rot. Were they okay? Had they gotten away in time? She slammed the gates on her thoughts, refusing to consider the alternative. If they hadn’t gotten away… if they were collateral damage from her rampage, she would have nothing left to live for.

  Chancing one last glance outside before the disciples prodded her to move, Mara stared longingly at the courtyard. She wished they would take her out, even for a few minutes, just so she could feel the sunshine on her face again. Everything she had destroyed had been rebuilt, including the fountain, which now boasted a statue that bore an uncanny likeness of Cadmus. His ego truly had no bounds.

  “Move it,” the angry disciple said, aiming a vicious kick at her back.

  She sidestepped out of the way before it landed. “You could just ask nicely, you know.”

  If anything, his scowl deepened as he grabbed her arm, nearly dragging her up the ten flights of stairs that wound around the interior of the Magi building like a coil. Mara got the sense that he’d prefer to toss her over the ledge rather than deal with her any longer. The disciple pulled her down a hallway that spindled off the staircase.

  The disciple raised his hand to knock on the door, stained a deep umber, but before his knuckles made contact with the wood, a voice called out, “Come in.”

  Cadmus reclined in his chair, sitting behind a massive wooden desk, positioned perfectly so he could lord over all who entered his office. He ran a finger over his lower lip as he watched them lead her in. A table sat by the window, covered with a crimson table cloth and a vase of fresh flowers from the greenhouses. The walls were a radiant white, polished until they gleamed. Along the far wall was a bookshelf, packed full of books, stacked neatly side by side. Some of the shelves displayed trophies and souvenirs from all over the continent. One held dozens of bottles, each containing some sort of liquor, and crystal goblets etched with an eight-pointed star. Everything was neat and orderly—a stark contrast to Ethan’s office in Stonehollow, which had looked as though a pack of children had torn through it, leaving books and papers scattered over every surface.

  On either side of her, the disciples fell to their knees, heads bowed. Chin raised, Mara
remained standing until they jerked on her chains, sending her sprawling to the floor. The metal cuffs bit into her wrists as she caught herself before her face smashed into the marbled floor. She doubted that Cadmus would waste a Healer on her to fix a broken nose.

  “You may stand.”

  Mara glared at Cadmus as she struggled to her feet. What sort of torment would she be subjected to today? Oh, he never laid a finger on her. Men like Cadmus preferred more psychological methods to make her suffer, but no matter what he threatened, she wouldn’t give in. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing her beg.

  “Mara, what a pleasure to have you join me for breakfast.”

  Her eyes tracked him as he pushed away from his desk and walked toward the large picture window that overlooked the courtyard. Not for the first time, she imagined pushing him through it.

  “Two weeks and we haven’t made any progress with your compliance. I’ll admit, I’m a bit disappointed.” He clasped his hands behind his back, tilting his head in a way that Mara found infuriating. He chuckled. “It would be lovely if you would stop imagining my death. If you can’t manage to control your thoughts, at least try to be more creative, for my sake. Twelve consecutive visions of you throwing me through my window tends to get tedious.”

  Her eyes narrowed on the Augeo—her Augeo—dangling proudly from around Cadmus’s neck. Just how far into the future could he Read, now that he had the pendant to augment his Gift? Mara spoke through clenched teeth, her hands tightening into fists. “Nothing of the sort, I assure you.”

  “Indeed. Well, if that’s the case, I imagine you’re hungry.” While his voice was cordial, his eyes glinted with a hard edge that promised punishment if she refused. He gestured to the table. “Why don’t we eat and enjoy each other’s company. I must say, it’s been delightful to have you as a guest at Order Headquarters.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Mara said, making no move to accept his invitation.

  His lips puckered in displeasure at her small act of defiance. “Perhaps you’re not hungry then? I’m sure James and Redmond would be happy to escort you back to your room.”

  Her stomach growled, physical needs warring with her desire for rebellion against her captor. Shoulders slumping, she walked over to her chair and sat down.

  Cadmus waved a hand at the disciples before sitting across from her. One of the disciples opened the door, and the last person she expected to see strolled through.

  “Oona?” Her eyes bulged, and she half-rose out of her chair.

  The girl in question shot her a look of pure loathing as she pushed a cart into the office. Her once-long hair was cropped short, falling just to her chin. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, unlike the last time Mara had seen her outside of Kearar when Oona’s face had been red and blistered. Apparently, Healers had tended to her wounds since then. At the sight of the grey robes Oona wore, Mara rocked back into her seat. She was a disciple now? Why was she here and not in Stonehollow?

  “Ah, I thought the two of you might know each other. When Oona mentioned she was from Stonehollow, I knew that I simply had to arrange a reunion. Isn’t this wonderful?”

  Considering the last time Mara had seen Oona, the jealous Avem had tried to kill her, wonderful wasn’t how Mara would describe it. Guilt wormed its way through Mara’s gut, turning her stomach sour. If Ansel had gone back to Stonehollow with Oona instead of following her, he would still be alive.

  Face pinched in a permanent scowl, Oona pushed the cart over to their table. The tantalizing smell of sweet spices leaked out from beneath the covered dishes, making Mara’s stomach growl again. Oona sat Cadmus’s dishes in front of him, careful not to let it spill. She added a carafe of fresh goat’s milk, a tea pot, and two goblets. As she turned her head, Mara noticed the shadows hanging below her bloodshot eyes. Had she been crying?

  Mara’s face pinched in concern, and she reached out, placing a hand on her arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

  Judging by the way Oona’s hands tightened on the dish, Mara imagined the girl would rather bash her over the head with it, rather than serve her. If their positions were reversed, Mara might be tempted to do the same. Oona slammed it down on the table before Mara. Something runny leaked out from beneath the metal dome, spoiling the tablecloth.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Oona said, drawing out the words sarcastically.

  “That’s quite all right, my dear. No doubt your fingers slipped. These dishes can be quite hot, after all.” Cadmus flicked his hand in the air, making it clear that she was dismissed. With one final glare over her shoulder at Mara, Oona sauntered out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  “What is she doing here?”

  “It’s the most peculiar thing. Just last night, a scrawny girl with a burned face—and more emotional baggage than I care to describe—showed up at our gates requesting to serve the Order. I saw no reason to deny her. Here, let me help you with that.” He reached over, lifting the domed lid to reveal a bowl of spiced oatmeal with nuts, honeyed fruit and cream. Mara grabbed her spoon, ready to shovel it all down her throat. Cadmus slammed the lid back down. “First, have you given anymore thought about my offer?”

  Mara growled. If she shoved his hands out of the way, just how much could she eat before she was punished? She gripped her spoon in her hand until her knuckles turned white. “The offer where I agree to be your weapon? Never going to happen.”

  Cadmus’s lips quirked up at the corner as he watched her, as though she were a wayward child, amusing him with her antics. “Oh, I can be fairly persuasive when I wish.”

  She ground her teeth, hating every moment she had to suffer in his company. But if she wanted to eat, she had to play his games. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t force me.”

  “Can’t I? It seems as though you’re not in a position to make decisions at the moment. Still, I’m a reasonable man.” He pulled the lid off her bowl and sat back in his chair, motioning for her to begin. “It must be hard for you to be so far from home. I’m sure you miss your family.”

  Wasting no time on manners, she dove into her bowl and shoveled the warm oatmeal into her mouth. She frowned, pausing as she chewed, and peered at him with suspicion. She didn’t trust the sudden glint in his eyes, and the malicious slant to his mouth set her on edge. Why would he ask such an obvious question? “Yes . . .”

  “Then I’ll make this simple. You have one more week to consider my generous offer. If you refuse again, I will send you their heads,” Cadmus said in a matter-of-fact voice, as though he were talking about the weather, or where to plant a bed of roses, rather than the murder of her parents.

  She choked on a bite of fruit and reached for her goblet. Her hands shook, threatening to spill the milk over the edge. “What?”

  “In fact, I won’t stop with them. I will send my disciples and eliminate every man, woman, and child in Stonehollow. I will level your town to the ground, much like you attempted to do with my home. It’s only fair, when you think about it. Poetic, even.”

  Mara bristled. “You’re bluffing. Stonehollow is a main source of food for the capital. You wouldn’t dare to risk the Emperor’s wrath by destroying it.”

  “You overestimate its importance. Emperor Edgard has hundreds, thousands, of agricultural towns all over Esterwyn. I promise you, he won’t miss one backwards village.” Cadmus poured a cup of tea, adding a cube of sugar. He peered at her over the rim as he took a sip, his lips pulling up in a sinister smile. “Perhaps you’d like to witness it for yourself?”

  All of the blood drained from Mara’s face and her voice grew hoarse as she asked, “Why are you doing this? I don’t understand… the prophecy…”

  “Ah, there’s that pesky little noose around my neck.”

  When Mara and her friends had arrived to Tregydar, a Seer named Opal revealed a centuries-old a prophecy—the child of the black sun will rise and bring about the star’s demise—which foretold the Order’s destruction at the hands of a ch
ild born during a solar eclipse. To prevent the prophecy from coming to fruition, the Order systematically refused to Gift anyone born during an eclipse, feeding them an elixir that prevented their Gifts from manifesting in adolescence.

  Mara pushed her bowl away and whispered, “If you were smart, you would have killed me the second I surrendered.”

  “Are you so eager to die?”

  “Death would be preferable to working for you.”

  “Unfortunately for you, I don’t like wastefulness.” Cadmus sighed and ran a smooth hand across his face. “It’s curious that you believe you’re the child referenced. Are you so certain?”

  “I . . .” Mara paused. She’d only heard of the prophecy recently, yet everyone was convinced she was this ‘child of the black sun.’ Frowning, she shook her head slowly and said, “I don’t know . . . Opal seemed to think so.”

  Cadmus hummed in the back of his throat. “And you were so eager to believe her? Opal would place a crown on a donkey’s backside if she thought it would accelerate my downfall. Regardless, you aren’t the child of the prophecy, Mara.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, you have the right credentials. You were born on the correct day, and you are obnoxiously strong, even without the Augeo. But you failed. You attacked my home, killed my disciples, and you failed. Pretty pathetic chosen one if you ask me. But how could we expect differently? Out of thousands of dregs, why would you be qualified?”

  Leaning forward, Mara rested her head in her hands. Was he telling the truth? Opal had seemed too certain that she was the one meant to overthrow the Order. She hadn’t wanted to believe it at the time, but if it wasn’t her . . . if she wasn’t the child of the prophecy . . . where did that leave her?