I leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. “You are too thoughtful. I don’t deserve you.”
“No, you don’t.”
***
More than a year had passed since that night—the night before his exile. He had sent Mikkal away as he visited Olielle at her father’s house, so wrapped up in his plans that he had missed his Lucan’s scheming. How young and foolish he had been. But that was a different house, and he was a different man.
Waving to his guards to stay back, Silvano walked up the sea glass-crusted walkway, framed with metal poles and hanging lanterns on either side. While the lawn had been meticulously manicured, the flower beds held only a handful of tropical plants and shrubs, spaced evenly apart. He hummed in appreciation at the mansion, taking in the white polished brick, sloping overhangs, and recessed windows. It reeked of new construction, modeled after the modern, clean architecture of Aravell, and it was only a matter of time before the rest of the upper class ordered renovations for their homes.
Olielle had always been a trend setter, but this stark monstrosity felt nothing like the warmth he remembered. She had filled every inch of her father’s home with treasures they’d find at the beach in memory of her mother who had passed away a decade ago. Her light had dimmed, like a cloud passing in front of the sun, but it had not vanished.
Had his exile been the catalyst for her transformation?
Before he lost his nerve, Silvano rapped on the door. He took a step back and wiped a gloved finger over the nearest window, frowning when it came away clean. They hadn’t washed them in seawater for luck? As much as he despised the old way’s superstitions, this was one that not even he would skip. Did they want to lose their home when the next hurricane passed through?
The door cracked open. An imposing man with ebony skin, a few inches taller than Silvano, filled the doorway. The short, black twists of his hair stuck up like spikes, and he glared down at Silvano with barely-concealed disdain. “You.”
“How positively eloquent! I can see why Olielle likes you.”
The man frowned, as if trying to decide if that had been a compliment or not. Before he burst a blood vessel from thinking too hard, Silvano sighed and said, “I need to speak with your wife.”
“She doesn’t—”
“Wonderful!” Silvano pushed past him and into the foyer of the mansion. Once inside, it was obvious that Olielle had been in charge of the interior decorating—everything was purple, from a soft lilac to a deep indigo. Thick rugs covered the hardwood floors. A mirror, framed with seashells, hung on the wall. Down the hallway, he caught a glimpse of cushioned settees, draped with plush pillows and blankets. Overall, the impression was a strange mix of wealth and comfort, and it was a relief to know that she hadn’t lost herself completely.
The rich smell of seafood chowder and fresh-baked bread filled the space, making his mouth water. At the clanking of a spoon hitting a pot, Silvano turned his head toward the kitchen. “She truly is a fantastic cook, though I’m sure you already knew that. Has she made you her famous saltwater taffy yet? She and her mother would make a huge batch every year, pulling dozens of pounds over that rusty old hook. Does she still have it, by chance?”
The man gave a curt shake of his head. Hm… not the most gregarious fellow then. Such a pity. Olielle had always enjoyed stimulating conversations.
“Ah, such a shame. It was something of an heirloom in her family, though nothing could take those memories away from me. I never understood why they made it at the height of summer when the house was already scorching. Combined with the boiling ingredients and hours of pulling, it’s no wonder her father threw me out of the house before they started shedding their layers.” Silvano waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “But I always got the first taste when the other children came knocking.”
Beside him, Olielle’s husband bristled, perhaps wondering if he would be executed for laying hands on the heir and throwing him outside. Probably. But then again, Silvano wouldn’t do that to Olielle. He peeked out of the corner of his eye at the man, trying to get his measure. He had better treat her like the goddess she was or he’d… dear god, was his eye actually twitching?
“If you’d be so kind as to wait in the sitting room, I will go find her,” he said through clenched teeth, each word sounding like he was crunching glass.
Silvano dipped his head and strode down the hallway, feeling slightly guilty about trying to bait the poor man. It was clear he had a jealous constitution and not enough humor to make up for it. How had Olielle ended up with such a bland shell of a man? He huffed, settling down onto the velvet settee and kicking his legs out before him, ankles crossed. Being here was stranger than he’d expected. He’d never entertained romantic notions about Olielle, despite them being betrothed from infancy. She had been a close friend and confidant, and had they gotten married, it would have been nothing more than a political alliance.
That didn’t stop his heart from racing when she stepped into the room wearing a floor-length gown that was clearly inspired by the Kerani suvali. The pale blue fabric, the exact shade of a tranquil sky, popped against her deep, golden skin and auburn hair. While her dress was peaceful, her eyes were anything but. Twin storms rounded on him, and he swallowed.
Olielle stared at him a moment longer than was polite before lowering her eyes and dipping into a shallow curtsy. “Miestryri, to what do we own the pleasure?” she asked, tight-lipped.
“I’m not Miestryri yet.” His brows creased. This was not how he’d expected her to react. “Am I not permitted to visit a dear friend?”
Her eyes darted to where her husband lurked in the doorway, and Silvano could almost taste her panic. So that’s what she was worried about? In Crystalmoor, betrothal bonds could only be broken by death—some archaic nonsense about the woman belonging to the man, body and soul, as soon as the contract was signed. It was one of those outdated laws that his father had never bothered changing during his reign. By rights, Silvano could kill her new husband and claim her for himself. It hurt that she thought so little of him. “You know I would never do that to you.”
“You killed your father,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice.
He stared at her a long minute, debating whether or not to be honest. “I did.”
A pause, then, “Was it intentional?”
“You should know be better than that by now, after everything we’ve been through.”
“I knew the boy who left, but the man who returned is a stranger. I don’t know what he’s capable of.”
Perhaps for the first time, Silvano was at a loss for words. What was he capable of? He closed his eyes, remembering the past year away from Crystalmoor. As difficult as it had been, he had grown up in that time. But underneath it all, he was still the same man. And now, he had a chance to make things better for his people. “I need your help.”
Her eyebrows shot upward. “What can I do?” she asked, her voice skeptical. He couldn’t blame her. In his twenty-six years, his greatest accomplishment thus far was swallowing a toxic, purple-spotted octopus without vomiting immediately—not exactly a stellar recommendation for his capacity to rule.
It was a question he’d expected, nevertheless. And if he could win her over, perhaps he would have a chance. Silvano gestured between them. “There’s a reason why you and I were betrothed. You and your father were two of our biggest social influencers among the upper circles. As much as I would have liked to have been welcomed home with cheers and acclaim, that will clearly not happen. The priests are refusing to anoint me. Let’s just say that my hold on Crystalmoor is tenuous, at best. If I’m to maintain my title and become Miestryri, I need the backing of the upper class more than ever.” He told her about Arianna, the small council, and the priest’s refusal to anoint him.
She nodded slowly and reached up to run a finger over her lower lip—a sure tell that she was absorbing his words. He could always count on her to gather the facts before making a decision. Even when playing tiles,
she would take agonizing minutes before moving her piece. It was a trait that he once cursed, but now he valued. Olielle took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot for not coming to me sooner.”
Her husband gasped, but Silvano merely laughed. “That goes without saying. Do you see how dire my situation is?”
“You’ve had your share of trouble in the past, but this is…” Her eyes bulged, and she pressed a palm to her forehead. “What about Arianna?”
“I need her support as well.” When Olielle protested, Silvano held up his hand. “No, it’s true. Think about it beyond the nobility. She’s beloved by the people. If she were to challenge me now, I don’t think I would win.”
Olielle released her breath and adopted a calculating look that he knew all too well. “And I suppose she hasn’t shown her face yet?”
“Not even a glimpse since I returned. I don’t like what it suggests.”
“Neither do I. Either she believes the reports and is in hiding, or she is preparing her assault to challenge you.” She clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace around the room, her face scrunched in concentration. “You’ll need to move quickly to secure your place.”
“How is that possible, considering the priests are refusing to anoint me?”
“They haven’t outright refused though, correct?” When he mumbled an assent, she said, “You should be more… generous.”
His eyebrows rose. He hadn’t expected her to agree with bribing the priests. “You would have me give in to extortion?”
Olielle spun to face him, placing her hands on her hips. “Do you want my help or not?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then stop questioning my methods. If you want results, you need to show them you’re willing to cooperate. Give a generous donation to the priests, and they will change their tune. And then there’s your Gift. I’ve heard rumors that you’re the strongest Irrigo alive.”
“How does everyone seem to know my business this quickly? It’s honestly ridiculous!”
“I assume you are being rhetorical, but the answer is spies, most likely. I’m sure your sister has several. If you want to win, you first need to know your enemy. So, is it true?”
“Well, I don’t like to brag—” She let out a very unladylike snort and he said, “Fine. Yes, it’s true. But the priest said that didn’t matter. Did you know that my uncle was firstborn and a powerful Irrigo, too, yet the sea passed him over in favor of my father.”
Olielle shot him a pointed look. “The sea passed him over? Or did your father make a sizeable donation to ensure the rule passed to him instead?”
“Fair point.” The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but it would make sense.
“Now, you will still need to win over the people. Your father was heavy-handed with taxes which kept the lines between the upper and outer classes sharply defined. Arianna has been sowing good-will with the people for years, so you’ll need to do some catching up here. I would recommend a six-month grace period in taxes for the poor.”
“How am I supposed to bribe the priests without the revenue?”
“You haven’t seen the treasury then. I would have assumed that was the first place you’d have gone after coming home.”
“I have more important things on my mind than money.”
“Clearly. Now, money is only one small portion of this, and it won’t be enough in and of itself. The people will need to see a display of your power. You will show your skeptics that the sea chose you because of your might.”
“You’re suggesting I organize a demonstration.”
“Exactly. You won’t win everyone over, but it will make your sister question the wisdom in challenging you.”
“I would need a large audience for this to be effective.”
“The bigger the better in this case. As soon as your anointing is complete, you’ll need to send out a mandate and gather everyone at the cliffs. Once they see what you can do, they won’t be able to help themselves. They will support you.”
Silvano clasped her hands in his. “Thank you, Olielle. You are a true friend.”
“It’s no more than we’d already planned, except this time, you’ve returned as a fully Gifted instead of a shamed dreg. You’ve earned this.”
“I can only hope the people feel the same way.”
“They will.” Her face fell, and she pulled him into an embrace. “Sil… when I heard the reports that you’d died…”
“Why didn’t you wait for me?” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.
Her eyes turned glassy, and she reached up to cup his jaw in her hand. “I tried. When I heard that you were dead… it was like a knife in my heart. I wanted to wait, but my father married me off as soon as the mourning period was over. It turned out for the best though. Autoro is a good man.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “Are you happy?”
A soft smile bloomed on her face, transforming her features until she was the vision of a goddess. Slowly, she lowered her hands until they rested on her belly. “We are.”
“Congratulations!” Silvano beamed at her. “May your home and family forever be blessed.”
“Thank you.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Now get out of here. You have work to do!”
6
The next morning, Silvano stood at the edge of the sea and inhaled the comforting scent of seawater as gulls cried nearby. The waves crashed over his boots in a violent caress, greeting their new master. He craned his neck to look up at the sheer cliffs where perhaps a thousand had gathered to watch. From this distance, they were nothing more than tiny specks, but that wouldn’t make a difference in a moment. It was time. After this, it would leave no question that he was the rightful ruler of Crystalmoor. He would prove he was strong enough to lead them into the future. A better future for them all, nobility, commoners, and dregs alike.
Wherever his sister was, he hoped she was watching.
The thought brought a smile to his face. He didn’t know what game she was playing, but it was irrelevant. He had won.
After visiting with Olielle, Silvano had sent two of his guards to the treasury to retrieve a veritable fortune which he promptly dumped at the feet of the high priest. Miraculously, the priests declared that the sea god had spoken, choosing him to be the Miestryri.
He touched a teardrop of sea glass now embedded between his brows. The ceremony had been painful, just as it was meant to be—a reminder that the Miestryri must be willing to suffer and bleed for his people. The priest had anointed him with seawater, symbolizing his rebirth as Miestryri, shedding his former identity and attachments. A Miestryri must put his people first before anyone else. Afterward, the priests had taken a ceremonial blade and carved his forehead before slipping the sea glass beneath the skin. The Healer had healed it cleanly, leaving behind a permanent symbol of rule. A crown could be taken by force, but the sea glass was bonded to his flesh. From today until his last day, he lived to serve his people.
So why did it feel like he lived to serve the priests instead? He hadn’t missed the high priest’s saccharine smile, or his parting, “We’ll be in touch,” the moment the Healers had closed the wound. Somehow, he didn’t believe that the high priest would be content with gold and jewels. Though he couldn’t imagine what the priest would actually want. Outside of anointing Miestryris, the priesthood stayed out of politics, choosing to live their lives in service to the sea god.
He shook off the concern and focused on the task at hand. There would be plenty of time to worry about the high priest’s meddling later.
The sea churned around his legs, and his power swelled deep inside his core in response. It begged to be channeled and used, and he was more than delighted to oblige.
The warm breeze carried a gentle murmur from the cliffs. He took a deep breath. It was time.
Without wasting another moment, Silvano reached his hands to the side, gathering the water beneath him. He was about to do somethin
g he’d never attempted before. If he succeeded, his people would talk about this moment for generations to come. If he failed now, he would be shamed in front of his people. He could not fail. When Opal had awakened his Gift weeks ago in Tregydar, it had become apparent why the palace Magi had refused to Gift him as an infant—he was obnoxiously strong. Strong enough to threaten the Order. Strong enough to scare the Head Magi.
Strong enough to claim his birthright.
His blood called to the water. Even now, standing with his boots in the sea, he could almost hear it roaring at him. He was the Master of the Sea, the Miestryri Lei Miore’, and it was time his people knew it.
He pulled the streams of water slowly, letting them swirl around him like liquid serpents. His crocodile-skin coat flapped in the wind. He pulled more, feeling the waves rise beneath his fingertips. And still, it wasn’t enough. He’d barely tapped into his potential. If he wished, he could raise a tsunami that would crest the cliff and punish the people for their gossip and lies. The thought of that much power gave him a heady feeling. The people were at his mercy. The people were his to protect.
The water swirled faster, spinning around him in a cyclone. He fastened it around his torso like a clamp, allowing it to lift him up into the air. A laugh escaped his lips, and he channeled more water into the funnel, lifting him higher and higher until he was at eye level with those standing on the cliff. The people backed away from the edge, giving him wide-eyed stares. Some sank to their knees immediately. Others looked like they were trying to decide if they should run.
What did they see when they witnessed his power? A conqueror? A savior? A god?
He moved closer to the cliff and stepped onto the rock, lifting the water behind him until it formed a wall. He tilted his head up so the sunlight would catch the sea glass in his forehead. Even if they still questioned him, the authority of being anointed Miestryri should win them over.
The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus Page 60