The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus

by Bethany Hoeflich

  He forced himself to look, really look, at the crumpled bodies hunched on the road with empty tins at their feet. At the woman desperately trying to trade a strand of shells for three eggs. At a quick-fingered child who was lucky enough to pilfer a fish from a basket and ran off before he was caught.

  How could his father have let things get so bad? He’d seen his share of poverty during his exile, but he’d always compartmentalized it as ‘other’, comparing it to the prosperity of Crystalmoor. What if things had always been this bad, and he’d just been too blind—too privileged—to see it?

  And yet, the people didn’t seem downtrodden or broken by the hardships. There was a charge in the air, as if they were waiting for something to happen—expecting it, even. It felt like hope.

  His stomach grumbled, and he realized he had missed the midday meal. When he’d caught a glimpse of Michelle at the top of the cliff, he’d been so preoccupied with seeing her that everything else faded into a background of unimportance. She deserved an explanation. It was his fault that Mikkal had left Crystalmoor in the first place, and it was his fault that she would likely never see him again.

  The overpowering stench of human waste slapped him in the face, and his boot squished in something suspiciously soft and wet. Perhaps the small council was onto something with their ambitious plans for indoor plumbing. He made a mental note to approve their plans at the next small council meeting. His cry of dismay at the state of his boots drew the attention of too many passersby, and he tugged down the hood over his forehead. It didn’t matter if he dressed like a peasant. If someone caught a glimpse of the sea glass, it would identify him immediately and cause… complications. Despite his best efforts, the majority of the lower-class had not been swayed by his demonstration and, if his suspicions were correct, still supported Arianna.

  Footsteps thudded behind him, and he peeked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t followed. He let out a huff when he realized it was just a fisherman returning home from the docks, then chuckled at his own paranoia. It wasn’t like he was alone. His guards followed at distance, trying to be inconspicuous. Jax had insisted that they accompany him, though their presence was a threat in and of itself. If anyone recognized them, they’d wonder why the Miestryri’s personal guards were wandering the slums.

  He walked up to the tiny hovel and knocked on the rotting wooden door. He frowned. Clearly, his father hadn’t held up his end of the bargain with Mikkal. Or maybe it had taken all twelve gold coins to pay the Healers for Mikaela?

  In Tregydar, Opal had recognized Mikkal immediately from her visions, and as a result, he’d been forced to confess the true nature of Silvano’s banishment. He still couldn’t believe it was true. The day before he and Mikkal had left Crystalmoor, the Miestryri had approached Mikkal with an offer. Mikkal’s niece, Mikaela, had been deathly ill with a growth in her brain. Without Healing, it would have eventually claimed her life. In exchange for breaking his vow as a Shield and killing Silvano, the Miestryri would pay him twelve gold coins—enough to pay an entire team of Healers.

  As hurt as he was over the betrayal, he wasn’t sure he would have made a different choice. If their roles were reversed and it were Lucinda…

  Silvano swallowed. He’d had no idea how sick the girl was, or how desperate his Shield had been. If Mikkal had only told him, Silvano would have ensured they’d have enough resources to take care of the girl. No, he couldn’t blame Mikkal. The Shield had been bound by an oath of silence. The fault, in truth, lay with Silvano. He should have paid more attention instead of going out, partying and wasting his life away. Maybe then this wouldn’t have happened. Then Mikkal would still be by his side, where he belonged. Instead, he was too caught up in cultivating his image and making plans for when he became Miestryri. It was his fault.

  And he’d cast aside his Shield like refuse.

  Somehow, he’d have to make it up to Michelle.

  The door opened, and a woman with long, dark hair filled the doorway. She twisted a stained towel in her hands before brushing the back of her hand across her forehead.

  “Michelle.”

  “Can I help you?”

  Silvano glanced over his shoulder at the near-empty street before pushing the hood back to reveal his face.

  Her eyes widened, and she backed up a step, pressing a hand to her throat. “Miestryri,” she said, bowing her head—whether out of respect or simply so she didn’t have to meet his eyes, Silvano wasn’t sure. She glanced over his shoulder, her eyes darting around the street. “Is Mikkal…?”

  “No, he’s not with me.” Silvano grimaced. He was so eager to speak with her, but now that he was here, he didn’t know what to say. “He’s… well, it’s a long story. May I come in?”

  She hesitated for a moment, long enough to make him wonder if she would refuse him. Then she opened the door wider and stepped back so he could enter. “You may.”

  He flashed her with what he hoped was a friendly smile, then stepped inside the one-room home. “I’m glad you could make it to my demonstration this morning.”

  “I was looking for Mikkal. When I heard you had returned, I had hoped to see him again. But he never came for a visit.”

  Silvano’s nose wrinkled at the dirt floor, the bucket of water in the corner, and a wood-burning stove that would provide heat and fuel for cooking. There were no decorations. No trinkets. Nothing that would suggest this barren room was a home. It wasn’t enough. How could she live in a place like this?

  Michelle folded the towel and leaned over to set it down by the bucket, then seemed to think better of it. She straightened back up and started twisting the towel again. A thousand questions flitted through her eyes. “I’m surprised he isn’t with you.”

  He glanced at her briefly before he continued taking in the sparse interior. The castle was well-furnished beyond anything he’d truly need. Perhaps he could send his men with proper beds and furniture, at least? It wouldn’t be much, but it would make their lives more comfortable. His eyes paused on the single pallet, shoved up against the wall. Only one? Belatedly, he realized that Michelle had asked him a question. “Hmm?”

  “Mikkal. I thought he’d be with you.” Her knuckles tightened on the rag, and she refused to meet his gaze.

  Silvano tugged at his collar and focused on the pallet, finding it equally as difficult to look at her. “Oh, yes. Well, he and I had a bit of a falling out.”

  Her breath hitched in her throat. “You know then. You know what he did.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  She reached a hand out and braced it against the wall to steady herself. Taking a few deep breaths, she closed her eyes as if to steel herself against the news. “Is he dead?”

  “No.” Silvano debated if he should offer her comfort. She seemed so on edge that even the smallest contact might break her, but at the same time, all ships needed an anchor in a storm. Before he could talk himself out of it, he crossed the small room and took her hand in his. “I couldn’t. Not after everything we’d been through together.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and Silvano could almost imagine the tension flooding out of her body. He felt guilty for getting her hopes up, but she deserved to know the truth. “He’s… I couldn’t let the betrayal go unpunished, so I banished him from my side.”

  She tore her hand from his and pressed it against her mouth. Silvano marveled at her reaction. Surely she knew that the punishment for treason was death and mere banishment was a mercy.

  “I’m sorry. Truly I am. I realize now that I may have… overreacted.” Silvano held his arms to the sides, hoping she would listen to him.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Her face grew cold.

  “I thought you should know what happened to him. Believe me, if I could go back and do things differently, I would.” And that was the truth. No matter what deals his Shield had made, Mikkal had stayed true to the end. If only it were possible to go back and retract his harsh words.

  “If you’re looking fo
r forgiveness, you won’t find it here. Mikkal gave up everything, his whole life, to protect you. He would have followed you anywhere.”

  “I know… I—”

  “Why are you here?”

  He swallowed. “Mikkal told me why he did it. No matter what oaths he had to swear, his family would always come first to him. I understand that. Some might say that it made him weak, but I believe that bond made him stronger. When he took that deal, he knew that it meant his death, and he did it anyway. He was willing to die in order to save his niece. In order to protect you.”

  He waited for her to say something, but she kept her lips pressed shut as she stared at him with judgmental eyes. His eyes darted to the single pallet again. “I had hoped to see Mikaela. To see how she is doing.”

  Pain flashed across Michelle’s face. Then she deflated. She nodded slowly and said, “I’ll take you to see her.”

  ***

  Silvano knelt beside a tiny grave outside the city. It was under a tree, next to a shallow stream that twisted playfully through the countryside. A pair of speckled warblers sang nearby. Michelle set down a potted daphne and a trowel. After they’d left her home, she insisted on visiting the market first to buy the sweet-scented flowers. When he’d asked again where Mikaela was, her demeanor had seemed evasive. Now he knew why.

  Michelle knelt beside him, stroking the grass over the grave as tears trickled down her cheeks. “She was only nine, you know. So full of life, even as death came for her.”

  His heart clenched painfully. Nine. The same age as Lucy. “I don’t understand. What about the Healers?”

  She shook her head and picked up the trowel. She gently cut into the soil, heaping the dirt to the side. “Hours after you and Mikkal left, three of the Miestryri’s guards burst into our home and took the money Mikkal had given us. They said that Mikkal had stolen it, and they threatened to throw me in the dungeon as well. There was nothing I could do. I sold everything I could, but there was nothing left to pay the Healers. It wasn’t enough.”

  Rage welled inside Silvano. It had been the perfect plan. His father would have told the people that Mikkal had gone rogue. Then, when Silvano’s body would have inevitably shown up, his father could have denied any involvement, blaming it on the actions of a single man. A dog turned on its master. His death wouldn’t have been traced to the Miestryri.

  “She lived two more wonderful months before she went to sleep and never woke up again.” Her voice broke and she stared off into the distance.

  Silvano carefully pried the trowel from Michelle and took over digging. “Why is she here? Why wasn’t she given to the sea?”

  “Mikaela never felt the call of the sea. No, this was her favorite place. The sea is too violent and full of power, but her spirit was gentle. Since she was a baby, I would bring her here as much as I could and lay her on a blanket by the stream. She’d spend the whole day playing with the water if I let her. Then, she got sick. She tried so hard to be strong for me and hide the pain, but the sickness was a thief, stealing the light from her eyes. I brought her here one last time, the day she died. By then, she’d lost the ability to speak, and the shakes were so frequent I was afraid she’d hurt herself. But the moment I laid her by the stream… It was like her whole face filled with joy, as if it were the only time she felt truly alive. This is the only gift I can give her now.”

  Silvano’s eyes burned, and he turned his face away from her. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Michelle.”

  If she heard him, she didn’t show it. She lifted the daphne from its pot and cradled its roots before lowering it into the hole on the grave. Silvano reached over and helped mound the dirt over the roots, patting it down firmly.

  He watched Michelle out of the corner of his eye. By banishing Mikkal, he’d inadvertently taken away the last of her family. She was all alone in the slums, and if he was correct, she’d just spent the last of her coin on the flowers. He spoke hesitatingly, “Michelle, I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Please, let me help you. You don’t have to stay in the slums any longer. I can prepare rooms for you in the castle where you will be more comfortable.”

  “You want to know how you can help me? You’ve wasted more coin in a single day than most people earn in a year. Twelve measly gold coins would have meant nothing to you.” Her face hardened, leaving a bitter shell of a woman left behind. “If you really want to help, you can leave me in peace, Miestryri. I have nothing left to live for except death.”

  He jerked back as if she’d struck him.

  “Go!” Her face twisted into something violent and feral before sobs shook her body. She curled up in a ball as grief took her.

  Reluctantly, Silvano stood. He glanced at the tiny grave one last time before turning toward the castle. Guilt wracked his body, making him stumble on the path. It was his fault. That little girl didn’t need to die. Michelle was right. If he’d been more aware of the problem, he could have paid for one hundred Healers if need be. All he could do now was vow that it would never happen again. He would take responsibility, making sure that everyone received the treatment they needed to not only survive but also to thrive. It was the least he could do to repay this life, taken too soon.

  8

  Silvano returned to the castle with his mind in tatters. He stopped by the kitchens for something to eat, but not even the scent of freshly baked bread and steamed shrimp could tempt him. His stomach turned as the weight of his burdens slowly crushed him. How could he keep his hold on Crystalmoor when his own people were suffering? Moving forward, he would need to make radical changes, starting with the small council meeting tomorrow. His proposal would undoubtedly test the strength of their loyalties.

  The afternoon passed quickly, and Silvano grew more restless. After pushing away dinner, unable to eat a bite, he decided that a distraction was in order.

  If a visit with his father’s treacherous adviser couldn’t snap him out of this melancholy mood, nothing would.

  As he descended the steps to the lower level of the castle, he decided that the dungeons were perhaps misnamed. The word ‘dungeon’ conjured images of dark, moldy cells, iron bars, prisoners screaming from torture, and a copious number of rats. Instead, prisoners were not starved or beaten. The Miestryris of the past declared the practice barbaric and fashioned the cells for seclusion and relative comfort. The rooms beneath the castle were just that—rooms. Each was fully furnished with a bed, table, chair, washbasin, and a locked door from the outside, of course.

  When Silvano was a child, he often wondered why the accommodations were so fine. What would dissuade people from committing crimes if their punishment was a cushy stay in the palace? His father had adopted a particularly terrifying smile and replied that, for the most deserving of criminals, justice was swift and brutal, usually involving sharks of some kind. Now, he realized that his father was simply trying to scare him. Most criminals never set foot inside the dungeons. Justice for petty crimes such as theft was handled by the chief overseer in each zone of East Rock, freeing the cells for those accused of treason, espionage, and sedition until the time of their trial. In reality, it was a genius tactic. Harsh punishments for minor crimes would turn the people against the Miestryri and incite a rebellion. The nobility appreciated knowing that their sons and daughters would not be tortured as traitors for the rebellious thoughts associated with youthful insolence.

  He stepped off the stairs and strode down the hall. A guard that Silvano didn’t recognize walked by his side. He seemed like a steady sort of man—middle-aged, with a close-shaved beard and a head of tightly-coiled black hair that fit his scalp like a helmet. Desperate to break the uncomfortable silence, Silvano asked, “He seems in good spirits?”

  The guard jumped as if startled by his words. Hm, perhaps not as steady as he’d thought. “Yes, Miestryri. He eats all his meals and asks for seconds.”

  “Does he ask for entertainment?”

  “Just a quill and parchmen
t. He’d asked if we could send a letter to relatives outside the castle, but I declined his request. Then he asked for books. He must do little but read because he goes through two a day.”

  “Hmm… that doesn’t sound like a man who’s been defeated.” Silvano frowned. From what he could remember, Lucan had never been much of a reader. Old age and confinement must have softened him to the hobby.

  “Far from it. The way he smiles… it’s like he knows a joke that the rest of us miss.” The guard grimaced and gestured for Silvano to follow him down a hall to the right. “I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but perhaps it would be best to move his trial up.”

  “I can assure you that it’s a top priority. Who has been caring for him?”

  The guard spoke slowly, as if he thought Silvano would be upset with his answer. “Only me, sire, and an elderly chamber maid named Beatrice. No one else will go near him.”

  Silvano scoffed, “Are my guards such cowards that they’re afraid of a single, unarmed man? That isn’t a comforting thought.”

  “You misunderstand, Miestryri. They’re not afraid of being harmed physically. Lucan deals in secrets, you see, and the rest have enough secrets to drown a whale.”

  “Secrets?” He tilted his head.

  “Alliances, marriages, trade agreements, and the like.” The guard shuddered and cast a sidelong glance at Silvano. “The things he knows… it’s unnatural.”

  “So why are you different?” Silvano’s eyes narrowed, and he examined the guard further. Judging by the lack of physical weapons on his person, Silvano assumed he was a general, run-of-the-mill Armis. There was nothing that would make him remarkable. If Silvano passed him on the street, he wouldn’t look twice.

  The guard shrugged. “I have nothing left to lose.”

  “Did he threaten you?” Silvano asked, genuine curiosity bleeding into his tone. He had known Lucan his entire life, and the adviser wasn’t the most social man. He’d kept to himself, lurking in the shadows more often than not when he wasn’t whispering in his father’s ear. If he did know as much as the guard claimed, it was as a result of an extensive spy network, and not through his own doing. That could prove useful, provided he could wheedle any information from the swine.