The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus

by Bethany Hoeflich

  Jax shuffled his boot in the sand. “Sil… what happened?” he asked, abandoning formality and letting their childhood familiarity shine through his words.

  For a moment, Silvano was transported back to being ten years old, burying Jackson up to his neck in the sand on this very beach. The corner of his mouth tugged up in a smile as he remembered the whipping his father had given him when the tide came in and he hadn’t freed his friend yet. Jax had spent the next week coughing up seawater but was otherwise no worse for wear.

  His eyes landed on the Miestryri’s funeral raft, and the reality of the situation slammed into him. They were no longer boys wasting time on the surf. The next few days would have far-reaching consequences on the security of his reign, and he couldn’t afford to allow the past to distract him from the future. Silvano’s jaw clenched, and he turned his face away, not wanting to see the judgment in Jax’s eyes. “I do not wish to speak of it.”

  Maybe Jax picked up Silvano’s tone and decided to drop the subject. Or maybe his sense of duty pulled his attention back to the growing crowd by the shore. Either way, he stopped pestering Silvano, for which he was grateful. If it weren’t for the tell-tale tick in his jaw, and the way his eye twitched slightly, Silvano might have thought he hadn’t heard him at all.

  Silvano’s eyes roved the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of one person in particular. He spotted her standing at the front, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, with her new husband waiting at her side. Olielle. He swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the flare of acidic jealousy that bubbled up his gut. How quickly his betrothed had moved on in his absence.

  As if she could feel his scrutiny, Olielle turned to look at him and their eyes locked. Silvano’s heart skipped a beat. Though their relationship had never been romantic, he couldn’t help but notice the way her golden skin sparkled, or how her deep auburn hair caught the sunlight just right. If he wished, he could still claim her. He shook his head to clear it. It was never meant to be.

  The priest beckoned Silvano forward. His hand darted to the pocket of his white doublet where a single gold coin weighed heavier than a brick. Those who followed the sea god believed that a person was reincarnated according to their adherence to the old ways. While most had abandoned their beliefs, the superstitions remained. When someone died, they would place a coin on their tongues as payment for their new bodies when they were born into a new life. Silvano believed it was nonsense, but he wasn’t willing to take that chance. How could he deny his father if it were true?

  The crowd’s murmurs grew louder as he stepped toward the sea—toward the Miestryri’s funeral raft. In life, his father had seemed as great as a giant, but in death, his cheeks were sunken into his skull. Though the skin was stretched tight across his face, the perpetual scowl he’d always worn was absent, making him look peaceful. If only he’d been as stoic in real life.

  Without waiting for further instruction, Silvano placed a palm on the dead ruler’s chin, opened his mouth, and slipped a gold coin through his teeth to rest on his tongue. He closed his eyes, sending a wordless plea to the sea god in the hopes that the next life would be better than this one had been. While Silvano believed it was nonsense—his father’s body was likely going nowhere but a hungry shark’s stomach—catering to the beliefs of the people couldn’t hurt.

  Four priests stepped forward and took hold of the poles at each corner of the raft, lifting it to rest on their shoulders as they waded deeper into the water. In rich, baritone voices, they incanted, “From the sea we come, to the sea we return.”

  “We anoint his head with salt.”

  “We bathe his feet with foam.”

  “May the sea god guide his way to the depths of Paradisillo.”

  “Or return him with glory and honor, reborn.”

  The priests lowered the raft into the water, the waves crashing against it, threatening to overturn it in the sea. Silvano stepped forward so the water splashed against his boots. He lifted his hands and pushed, commanding the sea to take his father’s body. A hush descended over the crowd as they observed his power, as he dared to claim a duty that should have been performed by a priest. It didn’t feel right to leave such a personal task for the impersonal priests. If he couldn’t reconcile with his father, the least he could do was honor him in this way.

  The crowd was mercifully silent as the raft slipped beyond the reef. For all his faults, the Miestryri had maintained peace in Crystalmoor for the past thirty years. He had expanded trade with Kearar and Talos, and he’d protected the fleet from Belosian pirates. The people were safe, for now, and probably terrified of what would happen under the next Miestryri’s rule.

  When the raft was no more than a dark speck on the horizon, Silvano turned to the priests as they waded back to shore. It was time for him to claim his birthright. He tilted his chin upward and broke the silence. “I would have you anoint me now.”

  The eldest priest, with long, white hair that hung to his shoulder blades and a nose that could cut through paper, frowned at him. “Would you disrespect the dead?”

  Silvano raised his voice to carry to the crowd. The priests wouldn’t dare humiliate him in front of the people. “It is our custom for the successor to be blessed immediately. Would you break a tradition that has spanned centuries for petty gossip?”

  “Gossip? You—” he looked over Silvano’s shoulder and lowered his voice, perhaps unwilling to incite a riot. “You murdered the Miestryri. This is unprecedented.”

  “I was defending myself, priest. And you’d do well to remember it.”

  The priest puffed out his chest and raised his chin. “This matter needs further investigation. Do not presume to force our hand. It will go poorly for you.” The priest’s eyes darted to a point over Silvano’s shoulder, and he could feel the weight of the crowd’s gazes on his back.

  He fought back a shiver. How quickly the crowd could sway, and a riot would not necessarily benefit him. With great reluctance, he nodded and stepped back so the priests could pass to the shore.

  The priest’s words echoed in his mind long after the crowd had dispersed. It didn’t matter if the people supported him or not. Without the priests’ backing, his rule was doomed before it started. He needed to win them over, and fast.

  2

  After the funeral, Silvano wandered toward the docks where the smaller pleasure yachts and fishing boats bobbed in the water. The water here was too shallow for the naval fleet, which was kept elsewhere. Soft sand squished beneath his bare feet, and the waves washed in, licking at his toes before retreating back into the sea. The constant push and pull of the tides echoed within him. What he wanted to do and what was best for his country warred in his mind. His eyes rose to the cliffs where the water raged against the rocks, pummeling everything in its path with a savage brutality.

  If he couldn’t gain control of his throne, would that be his fate as well?

  Silvano held a hand to the side, absentmindedly pulling at the waves, allowing the seawater to hover for a moment before dropping it back down again. With a violent sweep of his arm, he shoved the water back and sat on the now-dry patch of sand, resting his head on his knees. What was he going to do now? The priests had turned against him. Half of the guards and castle staff had deserted before his father’s body was even cold. The rest stayed out of fear.

  Had the Seer been wrong?

  He peeked back the way he’d come. Jax followed at a distance, respectful of Silvano’s need to be alone after the disastrous funeral. He hadn’t pushed Silvano for details of his exile, even though it was obvious that he burned with curiosity. The guard trusted him implicitly. If only the rest of the people could do the same. Still, maybe it was time for him to be honest and share his story, at least with his most trusted guards and advisers.

  A shriek pierced the silence, followed by a giggle and a loud splash. Silvano’s head snapped up, and his eyes roved the water before catching sight of movement by the docks. Frowning, he pushed himself to his feet
and moved closer to investigate.

  “Glass, stop that! No, no. Not that one! Go get another pink one!” a child’s voice squealed.

  “Lucinda?” he called out, jogging closer. His nine-year-old sister treaded water just past the shallows. Seaweed hung from her tight, black curls, and water droplets beaded on her bronze skin. A mound of sea glass, coins, and shells were stacked on the edge of the dock. A small, gray dolphin nudged her shoulder with his nose.

  Her green eyes widened when she caught sight of him, and her mouth stretched into a wide smile. “Sil! Come on in, the water’s great. I’ll even tell Glass not to nip at you this time.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your invitation.” Silvano eyed the dolphin—her familiar—warily as it swam in circles around Lucinda. His hand went to his thigh where Glass had bitten him two years ago. Foul beast.

  “Come on, please?” She pouted and batted her eyelashes. “I’ll show you the underwater cavern I found. And there’s a mama whale who’s due to give birth any day now. She promised that I could name her calf.”

  “That sounds lovely, but…” His eyes scanned the beach. Other than Jax, it was deserted. Who had allowed her to go to the beach alone? “Lucy… you know better than to come down here by yourself. It’s not safe.”

  “Because father’s dead?” she asked, not even flinching. But then again, she’d always been the strongest of them all. Silvano’s mother had died after giving birth to Arianna, and his father hadn’t wasted time remarrying. When Lucinda came along a few years later, it was as though an old crone had been born inside the unusually silent newborn. She saw more than she spoke, and she seemed to spend her days in fantasy.

  Silvano shook off his discomfort and crouched on the edge of the dock. “Because the country is destabilized. It’s not fair, but someone might take advantage of that fact and use you against me. You’d be safe at the castle.”

  Her face puckered. “But Glass is down here. I can’t…”

  “I know.” He sighed. Lucinda was a Squama, and like Brutums and Avems, she couldn’t be separated from her familiar for long periods of time without feeling like her soul was being torn in two. Still, it was better to feel temporary pain than to be dead. He raised a palm and commanded the sea, lifting a wave beneath Lucy and depositing her on the dock, dripping wet. “You shouldn’t be out here unprotected.”

  “I’m not unprotected.” She scowled and jabbed a finger at him. “You’re here.”

  “Not for much longer. I have responsibilities, just like you. Your tutors are probably beside themselves with worry, and you don’t want to miss more of your lessons.”

  Lucy made a face. “They can’t teach me anything I don’t already know.”

  “Oh really? Can you calculate the distance between East Rock and Orgate? Can you speak all seven languages with as much fluency as our own? Do you know the proper etiquette for greeting the Magnate of Aravell without starting a war?”

  “Why would I need to know all that? It’s not like I’ll ever leave Crystalmoor.” She gestured toward the sea. “This is my home.”

  “Oh?” he teased. “Are you planning on growing gills and fins and spending the rest of your life in the water?”

  Her eyebrows formed a vee and she tilted her head as if she were considering his words seriously. “Is that possible?”

  “If only.” Silvano sighed. He looked out beyond the horizon, imagining the possibilities. “We could swim away from this mess and start over, just the two of us. We could discover a new island, full of mangoes and coconuts and no rules.”

  “Oh, there would be rules—I would make them. I’d be queen with a crown of seaweed and shells, and you’d be my adviser.”

  “Just so.” His lips quirked up into a genuine smile, and he tapped her on the nose. If only their lives could be so simple.

  Lucy puffed herself up to her full height and her voice dropped an octave lower as she tried to be regal. “And as queen, my first decree is this; lobsters will no longer be on the menu.”

  “Lobsters? Really?”

  “Yes. I met a grandfather lobster who claims to be four hundred years old.”

  Silvano choked back a laugh at her serious expression. “Lobsters can count?”

  She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “What is harder to believe, that a lobster can count or a lobster can lie?”

  “That’s a fair point.”

  “Exactly. It seems cruel to eat something that smart.”

  “If lobsters are so intelligent, don’t you think chickens, cows, and pigs have a similar mental capacity?”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “But I can’t speak to them.”

  “Well then, I suppose you’re correct.” Without warning, he leapt toward her, wrapping his arms around her middle. She squealed as he threw her back into the sea. A moment later, she burst from the surface, her hair plastered to her face. Long strands of curled seaweed crowned her head. Silvano sank into a mocking bow. “All hail Queen Lucinda, protector of crustaceans.”

  She giggled and picked the seaweed from her hair. He ducked as she threw it at him, but it still managed to hit him on the shoulder. “I changed my mind. The first rule is now ‘No irritating brothers allowed on my island’,” she said as she waded out of the surf.

  Silvano walked to the end of the dock and stepped onto the sand. He offered her the crook of his arm. “Come on then, let’s get you back to your tutors.”

  Lucy reached for his hand but hesitated before her fingertips could brush his palm. She clamped her lip between her teeth.

  His stomach sank. “What is it?”

  “Sil… I heard what the people are calling you. Is it true?”

  Silvano stiffened, fighting to keep his expression neutral. “It doesn’t matter what they call me. What do you believe?”

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. “No matter what, I hope you know that I would never harm you or our sister. I… I need you to trust me. To believe me when I tell you this. The two of you are the only family I have left, and we need to stick together.”

  She trotted over, her feet leaving footprints on the wet sand, and wrapped her small arms around his waist. “Okay, Sil. I trust you.”

  He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, blinking away the burning in his eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  A wave of protectiveness flowed through him. He would protect her, would keep her safe in the coming months, no matter what happened.

  But those hurt worst by conflict were rarely the ones directly involved.

  3

  Hours after he had delivered a squawking Lucinda into the capable arms of her tutors, Silvano found himself seated in the council room, suffering through his small council’s discussion on the most insipid subjects known to mankind. His eyes glazed over as the minister of sanitation highlighted the advantages of building an underground sewer system beneath the city, and the logistics of installing indoor plumbing in every house. By the time the council started haggling over the benefits of copper versus lead pipes, Silvano had abandoned all pretense of listening.

  Jax paced inside the door, throwing questioning glances his way every twenty seconds. Silvano had managed to ignore them so far, but his patience was wearing thin. To make things worse, one of the servants had built up an impressive yet unnecessary fire in the stone fireplace. Unfortunately, it made the room stifling, and he wasn’t sure if the sweat running down his face was as a result of the heat, or his growing guilt.

  He still hadn’t opened up to his guards or advisors about his exile or the circumstances of his Gifting. He wanted their approval and support more than anything, but for some reason, he’d held his tongue. Which was ridiculous, when he thought about it. Having a Gift should make him more qualified to be Miestryri, in theory, but he was afraid that they would abandon him if they learned the truth. Perhaps they would say that the Magi had left him a dreg for a reas
on, and he was playing with the natural order by being Gifted later in life.

  If only they knew the truth—that the Order had been selectively Gifting people for hundreds of years for no reason other than an obscure prophecy. But people had believed their lies for so long that the truth would seem false.

  Sweeping away the pile of correspondences heaped on the table, Silvano lifted his head to stare at Jax. Between approving a dozen permits to build new homes and shops, and filtering through hundreds of citizen complaints, he was beginning to realize how tedious running a kingdom could be. No wonder he’d escaped as frequently as possible in his adolescence. Why would anyone willingly subject themselves to the horrors of paperwork when they could literally be doing anything else instead? Sweat dripped into his eye, and he wiped a palm across his face to ease the sting.

  The newly appointed naval officer leaned forward in his chair and slid a stack of papers across the table. Silvano eyed him appraisingly, comparing him to his father’s veteran officer, currently rotting in the dungeon next to Lucan. He seemed too young for the position, and too in love with his freshly grown mustache which he twisted as frequently as possible. He’d have to move quickly to secure the respect of his men, otherwise they’d eat him alive. “Sire, this is my official request for a dozen new ships.”

  Silvano raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware that we were at war.”

  “Well,” the naval officer shifted in his chair and pulled at the collar of his uniform, “We’re technically not yet, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. With the Rei invading Lingate, it’s only a matter of time before he sets his sights east. These ships could very well be the difference between victory and defeat.”

  “I see.” Silvano twisted to look at the treasurer—a woman who looked like she was moments away from a nap or death. It wasn’t entirely clear. She’d been the treasurer when his grandfather was still in diapers, and with each passing year, her hairline receded further. “Can we afford to fund the construction?”