The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus

by Bethany Hoeflich

  “It’s nothing. He can bark as much as he’d like but it won’t change anything. He’s secure.” The guard stopped outside a nondescript wooden door and pulled a ring of keys from his belt. “Here we are.”

  Silvano waited for the guard to unlock the door before stepping into the room first. The guard let out a sound of protest, but he needn’t have bothered. Lucan was no threat. In his prime, the man couldn’t wield a butter knife without impaling himself. He doubted Lucan could overpower a guppy, let alone two armed men.

  The adviser sat on a wooden chair by the window, flipping through a book. At their entrance, he looked up and smiled. “The prince has come for a visit,” Lucan said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I’m honored.”

  “Miestryri now.” Silvano shut the door behind him and stepped closer. He returned the smile and tapped the sea glass embedded in his forehead. “I’ve won.”

  “Congratulations. Forgive me if I don’t bow.” Lucan turned to the guard and waved the book in the air. “Davis, a pleasure as always to see you. Please inform Beatrice that the reading material has grown rather dry, and I would appreciate something more… colorful.”

  The guard—Davis—shot a glance at Silvano before nodding.

  Silvano tilted his head to the side and studied the old advisor. He expected to see anger or fear, but Lucan appeared almost bored. More than anything, that worried him. “Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Are you here to kill me.”

  “Not today.” Silvano clasped his hands behind his back.

  “Ah, so it’s information you want. How predictable.” He set his book down and adjusted the sleeves of his plain, brown tunic so they exposed his forearms, slow enough to be intentional. He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs at the knee. “Very well. Ask what you must.”

  This was too easy. Silvano’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And do you vow to answer honestly?”

  Lucan’s lips quirked up at the corner. “Perhaps.”

  “That’s a no, then.”

  “Well, it depends on the question, I suppose. You are free to ask whatever you wish, just as I am free to withhold incriminating information.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you to intentionally mislead me.” Silvano reached to the side and called with water from the washbasin on the table. It flowed through the air and coiled around his fingers like a serpent.

  Lucan grew eerily still as he tracked the movement. “I see you’ve learned in your exile. You’ve grown. You’re more cunning than I anticipated.”

  “And more ruthless, I’d wager.” Silvano let the water trickle across the room until it hovered around Lucan’s neck like a quiet sea. “With your trial date quickly approaching, I’d think you’d be inclined to answer honestly to barter for a more lenient sentence.”

  “I’m not foolish enough to believe you’d offer me anything but death, regardless of whether I cooperate or not.”

  “I suppose it depends on your answers,” Silvano said, throwing the adviser’s words back at him. This was not going as he’d imagined. He’d pictured Lucan on his knees, begging for forgiveness, desperate to save his own neck. A spark of rage flared as the man stared back defiantly at him as if he were a child in need of chastisement.

  A muscle in Lucan’s jaw twitched. “I find that I do not trust your brand of justice. Now, ask your questions unless you plan to irritate me to death with circular banter all day.”

  “Careful, now.” Silvano lifted the water until it covered Lucan’s nose and mouth. The adviser’s eyes widened in panic. The reflex would be to take a deep breath, but his lips clamped shut. “You should treat me with the respect afforded my position.”

  A minute passed. Then two. Lucan’s face turned purple. He reached up to claw at the water, as if that would make a difference at all. The water was his to command. He zeroed in on Lucan’s exposed wrists—specifically on his father’s crest, tattooed on the inside of his right wrist. Its twin, darker and fresher, was inked on the left. Silvano waved his hand and the water splashed to the floor. “Are you in league with Arianna?”

  Lucan slumped in his chair and gasped for breath. He wheezed, “I already told you. I serve the one true Miestryri.”

  “I am the Miestryri, old man!” Silvano pointed again to his forehead.

  Lucan was not a stupid man, so there was really no excuse for why he said, “A beautiful delusion, but fantasies rarely become reality, even for the most desperate of individuals.”

  Silvano’s fists clenched and unclenched. He would admire the adviser’s backbone if it weren’t so utterly infuriating. As it was, he wanted to throttle the man into submission. In the end, he took a deep breath and let it go. The adviser’s defiance was inconsequential. The trial would be soon, followed quickly by the execution. The only thing that mattered now was getting as much information from him before he was nothing but a corpse. “What are Arianna’s plans? Why hasn’t she come to see me yet?”

  “You expect me to betray the trust of my master?”

  Silvano gripped the chair’s hand rests and leaned forward. His voice was dangerously quiet as he asked, “Why not? It appears that betrayal comes easy for you.”

  “I have betrayed no one.” Lucan’s chin lifted, and he glared back defiantly.

  “I have not come here to debate semantics.”

  “Good. Then ask your next question.”

  “Miestryri, I would be happy to ensure that he’s more… forthcoming,” Davis said, holding his hand to the side and flexing his fingers like he was just itching to manifest his weapon.

  “That won’t be necessary.” Silvano retreated a few paces. He sat on the edge of the bed and crossed his legs, mirroring Lucan’s position. Davis had mentioned secrets… specifically about trade agreements. It gave him an idea. He studied Lucan carefully as he said, “I’ve heard you trade in secrets. What do you know of Lord Pierce’s recent trade agreement with Aravell?”

  Lucan’s face gave nothing away. “Depending on how recent, you would likely know more than I,” he gestured around the room, “as I’ve been sequestered in this box.”

  “There’s no need to be modest. We both know your network is extensive, and a trade deal of this magnitude must have taken months to arrange,” Silvano bluffed. For all he knew, Lord Pierce had traded a shipment of sandstone for a lifetime supply of salted pork or something equally as boring.

  “Why do you want to know?” he hedged.

  “Curiosity, mostly.” Silvano asked, keeping his face blank even as his mind raced. If the trade was innocuous, why was Lucan being so tight-lipped? Was Lord Pierce, despite his vocal support of Silvano, working with Arianna? Or did the advisor truly know nothing?

  “Many lords and ladies enter into private agreements without the blessing of the Miestryri. It’s not illegal.” At Silvano’s nod, Lucan continued. “From what I understand, Lord Pierce is arranging something special for the navy.”

  Silvano’s brow furrowed. That was not what he expected. “What is it, exactly?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. If I were in your place, I would ask the admiral. Unfortunately, from what I understand, you have not appointed one yet, and your naval officer is barely out of his small clothes.”

  He glanced up sharply. “So you do know more than you’re letting on.”

  “Only if you admit that you appointed a veritable child to lead your naval fleet.”

  He bristled under the criticism. “What he lacks in experience, he more than makes up for in knowledge and enthusiasm. In addition, he’s loyal, which is more than could be said for you.” Silvano pulled himself up short, realizing he was handing out information that would better be kept quiet. “Why am I even telling you this?”

  “What can I say? I’m easy to talk to.” He stood from his chair and brushed his trousers. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’d appreciate it if you left. You’re infringing on my daily nap. Thank you for stopping—"

  “Why did you and my father plot to have me killed?”<
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  Lucan sighed and sat back down, the chair creaking under his weight. “I wondered how long it would take to get to that question.”

  “Answer it.”

  “Do we need a reason to dispose of a wayward prince who destroys everything he touches? Do fishermen need a reason to dump chum in the water?”

  “You owe me an explanation. I know my father and I never had a close relationship, but did he truly hate me that much?”

  “Your father.” Something akin to madness flashed in Lucan’s eyes. “Aye, he hated you. He couldn’t even look at you without—”

  “Without what?”

  “You don’t know how close we came to succeeding.” Lucan began to laugh, his voice cold and cruel when he said, “The only reason why you’re alive is because of a servant girl’s incompetence.”

  Silvano knew that his father had wanted him dead, but having it confirmed by Lucan’s words was a knife in his gut. He didn’t understand. What could he possibly have done to earn the Miestryri’s wrath?

  “The Miestryri made every effort to get rid of you. He shipped you off to Kearar, hoping that you would stay put. Or perhaps you would offend the Rei and be strung up in the desert for the jackals and carrion birds. Instead, you returned wild and untamed. You were a threat, even if you tried to act like a fool. I knew what you were up to. You can’t hide secrets from me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you?” He leaned forward in his chair. “I know all about the plotting you and Olielle were doing behind the scenes. She told you about a threat to your life, and she concocted this scheme to present you as a reckless playboy. Maybe that would have fooled the Miestryri, but it didn’t fool me. I told him what I’d learned, and he agreed that you needed to be handled. Permanently.”

  Silvano shut his eyes, not wanting to believe it. Mikkal had told him as much—that his father had planned the assassination. But even now, hearing the truth stung sharper than a stingray’s barb. He took a deep breath. He needed to hear the full story.

  “We agreed to poison you. Just a dose of Lyspine, which would mimic the wasting sickness. Nothing serious enough to warrant a Healer, who would recognize the poison’s effects immediately. You would wake up feeling ill, but no amount of rest would help you improve. Each day, you would grow weaker and weaker until one day, you wouldn’t wake up at all. He’d planned to blame it on the fact that you were a dreg, and no one would question it. The night of the banquet, I poisoned your cup, but the serving girl delivered it to the Miestryri instead. He almost died.”

  “That’s why he had you arrested.”

  “Yes. He was understandably furious and spread the rumors that I’d been trying to assassinate him all along. Not the best course of action, but no one is capable of controlling their emotions at all times, I suppose. Eventually, he paid me a visit, and we formed a new plan. This time, he would handle its execution.”

  “Mikkal,” Silvano said in a flat tone.

  Lucan nodded. “Mikkal. It was the perfect plan.”

  “And yet, after all this, you still haven’t told me why. Why did he want to kill me so badly?”

  “I’m afraid our little chat is over, prince.” Lucan stood and crossed his arms. “Davis, if you would be so kind to escort my visitor back to his rooms.”

  Silvano stormed across the room and glared down at the adviser. “It’s over when I say it’s over.”

  “Feel free to torture and starve me, but I’ve been more than generous with you,” Lucan said as though he were bestowing a great honor on Silvano just by allowing him in his presence. “You won’t get me to speak further. Remember, I’m not the only person who deals in secrets.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Silvano backed up a step. Must everyone speak in riddles?

  “It must have been difficult to return home, only to find your betrothed married to another man. Tell me, have you visited with Olielle’s father since your return?”

  “Lord Maynard?” His face scrunched up in confusion. “Why?”

  “You might find the conversation… enlightening. Farewell.”

  Silvano flew from the room before his anger got the best of him. Oh, he would go and pay Lord Maynard a visit immediately. Perhaps that conversation would prove more satisfying than this one had been. Now, more than ever, he needed to know the truth. Why did his father hate him so much, and what did Lord Maynard have to do with it?

  Once they were down the hall, he turned to Davis and said, “Withhold his rations for a week.”

  “Sir?”

  “There’s no point in wasting food on a dead man, and hunger might loosen his tongue.” He took the steps two at a time. “You will accompany me to Lord Maynard’s house.”

  Davis jerked his chin to acknowledge the order and hurried after him.

  An out-of-breath guard met them at the top of the stairs. “Miestryri. You must come at once.”

  Silvano opened his mouth to lecture the guard about giving orders to the Miestryri, but one look at his unnaturally pale face made him hold his tongue. “What is it?”

  “A package just arrived for you.” The guard nodded at Davis, and they both took positions on either side of him. “It’s in the throne room.”

  “A package from who?” Whispered conversations cut off abruptly as he approached. He noted more than a handful of tear-stained faces as he walked through the arched hallway and into the courtyard. He blinked, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight.

  “Arianna.”

  That one word was enough to send Silvano racing across the cobblestones. Jax peeled away from the wall and rushed to Silvano’s side. With a gut full of trepidation, Silvano pushed through the courtyard and into the eastern hall. “Is she here?”

  “I don’t know, Miestryri. I was following your sister’s men and only just returned myself. Wait while I clear the room.” Jax motioned for additional guards to surround Silvano before racing ahead into the throne room. Unsure what he should do, Silvano followed at a slower place, suddenly afraid of seeing what was causing this grief. His boots dragged on the polished floors. Whatever had happened, somehow, he knew it was his fault.

  The two guards at the doors to the throne room bowed, but they did so with deep scowls etched onto their faces. It was enough to give him pause.

  At Jax’s anguished cry, knew he couldn’t wait. Silvano burst through the doors. Jax collapsed to the floor and pounded a fist to the stone. At his left was a melon-sized black bag that was wet at the bottom, as though something had leaked through. His heart thudded in his chest. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.

  “What…”

  Jax shook his head. “Mateo.”

  Silvano didn’t want to look. He couldn’t look, but how could he not? He reached out a shaking hand and opened the bag, immediately wishing he hadn’t. He retched as the stench of rot hit his nose. It was the head of the guard he’d sent to follow Bas. Fresh guilt rushed through his mind. He hadn’t even known his name. He swallowed bile and asked, “What happened?”

  Jax held up a note. His voice cracked as he read, “Don’t follow me again. I’ll be seeing you soon, brother.”

  9

  Night had fallen over Crystalmoor, and a sliver of the waning moon glistened over the restless sea. Silvano stood in the throne room, staring at the throne he hadn’t dared claim. Carved from driftwood and encased in clear resin, it had stood for generations of Miestryris before him. And he wanted nothing more than to burn it to ashes. Without the respect of the people, it was nothing but an empty chair.

  Even with the coerced support of the priests, it wasn’t enough. His hold on the country was too brittle. It would be so simple, to just walk over and sit down, but for some reason, his body wouldn’t obey. He ground his teeth in frustration and whirled away, clutching the cool stone of the windowsill as if it would steady him. It didn’t work. His mind continued to spin as he replayed the events of the past few days. There were so many t
hings he wished he could have done differently.

  After Mateo’s head had been delivered to the palace, Jax had retreated into his rooms, refusing to eat. Silvano knew that Jax blamed himself for allowing the boy to go on a mission he was wholly unqualified for, but the fault was really his. He should have never sent such a young, inexperienced guard to trail Bas. Judging by the way the guards refused to speak to him outside of mandatory orders and reports, they all blamed him as well. But how was he supposed to know that Arianna would stoop to such measures?

  He caught sight of his reflection in a mirror. The skin around his sea glass had grown red and puckered. That shouldn’t happen. With every Miestryri before him, the glass had merged perfectly with the skin without scabbing. Had the priests done something to the glass when they crowned him? He dismissed the thought immediately. They wouldn’t dare offend the sea god like that.

  Or would they?

  He glanced back at the empty throne with a deep sense of foreboding and more than a little longing. It was his now, but he no longer believed he deserved it.

  “If you want it so badly, why don’t you just sit down?”

  Silvano jumped and looked toward the sound of the voice—a voice he’d know anywhere. Arianna crouched on the windowsill and scowled at him. The light, musical lilt of her voice did little to hide the animosity that radiated from her posture. She clutched the windowsill, her body coiled as if she were about to launch herself at him. She had a dagger strapped to her thigh, but other than that, she appeared unarmed. He tried to picture her as the child he knew, but all he could see was the blood on her hands.

  “No matter what you’ve done, we can work it out. We don’t have to be enemies,” he whispered to not alert the guards stationed outside the doors. He didn’t want to harm her, but the guards would want revenge.