The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus

by Bethany Hoeflich

  Jax walked by his side as he entered the throne room to see what surprise Cadmus had left for him.

  Lucan waited, gagged and bound hand and foot, lying on his side.

  Jax opened his mouth to call for the guards, but Silvano held up a hand to silence him. Silvano crouched next to him on the floor. All the rage that had been building unleashed in a maelstrom of emotion. So much of his suffering had been caused by this man’s meddling. And now, he could have his revenge.

  Silvano looped a finger through the gag and pulled it free. Whatever Lucan saw on his face caused his eyes to widen, and he made a pathetic attempt to scoot away. “Miestryri, please. Mercy!”

  “So it’s ‘Miestryri’ now, is it?”

  “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. Secrets, money, loyalty. It’s yours. Mercy!”

  “How positively brazen to think you’ll get any mercy from me.” Silvano chuckled under his breath. He leaned down, removing the bonds at Lucan’s ankles, then pulled the adviser to his feet. With a vicious shove, he pushed him toward the door. “Let’s go for a walk. The cliffs are beautiful this time of day.”

  ORDER

  THE DREG TRILOGY BOOK THREE

  BETHANY HOEFLICH

  Dedicated to

  Devan

  Prologue

  Fran stormed up the stairs of the Magi building, taking two steps at a time. Her chest heaved as she turned the corner and barreled down the hall. She was a hurricane ravaging everything in her path. Her arms swung wildly, far from her usual tight control, knocking a thousand-year-old vase from its perch on a spindly table to the floor where it shattered into a thousand antique shards. A pudgy-faced novice jumped at the crash, then plastered herself to the wall, trembling as the Guardian thundered by.

  Her footsteps thudded on the pristine marble floor, each one a promise to the man who made her, then destroyed her.

  I am here. I am coming. You will pay.

  The two disciples stationed outside the wooden door took one look at her face and dove out of the way. Good. Two fewer bodies to hinder her path. Fran thought of the trail of bodies she’d left in her wake and winced. At least most of them would wake up. Not bothering to knock—he knew she was coming—she kicked the door open and burst into Head Magi Cadmus’s office. Her brazen insubordination would be rewarded with a whipping later, but she was beyond caring. Let him decorate her flesh with punishment and pain.

  It was no worse than he’d already done.

  “Hello, Fran. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Cadmus’s silky voice caressed her in its chilly embrace. Calm. Composed. Lethal. In the forty years she’d served the Order, she’d seen him lose his temper only once. His unflappable nature was something she usually admired, but today it fueled her frustration. Did he honestly not know why she was here? Or was he playing his games?

  A lifetime of training had her scanning the room for threats. Not that there would be any, but nothing would make her lower her guard, not even for a heartbeat. Everything was perfectly placed, as usual, from the massive wooden desk in the center of the room to the carefully arranged shelves of keepsakes, baubles, books, and bottles. Keeping her back to the wall, Fran twisted her head to peer around the corners.

  The Head Magi was alone.

  Cadmus stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t bother to turn around, not when she’d entered, and not as he’d addressed her. It showed a certain level of arrogance that blew her away. He sat in his tower, surrounded by the strongest, most powerful fighters on the continent, while she was sent out to do his dirty work. His hands stayed clean while hers were drenched in the blood of innocents. Coward.

  Maybe it would be better to end him now before he could do anything worse.

  Her breathing slowed as she slipped into predator mode. He was alone with no witnesses. It would be so easy to slip her blade from its sheath and slide it up between his ribs. One last kill, then she could disappear. One last tattoo to add to her collection. Her fingers danced along the hilt of her dagger. With him removed from the head of the Order and his wayward son off gallivanting with the traitorous Impriga, they could appoint a new Head Magi. Someone with vision and charisma instead of an old man with a festering vendetta that would get them all killed. As she took another step forward, her boot scuffed the floor and she froze.

  Still, Cadmus didn’t turn to face her. A small smile tugged on his thin lips, as if he knew what she planned to do. “You are more than welcome to try, dear Fran. Why not add another tally to your already impressive track record? After all, your hands have been coated in blood so many times it’s a wonder you can wash away the stains. What’s one more murder between friends?” He hissed the last word like he knew it would break her.

  No matter how many times she’d washed on the journey home, she still saw nothing but red. Red coating her hands and clothes. Red falling from the sky like rain. Staining her skin forever like the markings on her arms—a permanent reminder of her brutal legacy. She quivered as her rage returned in full force, and the lean muscle on her tattooed arms bulged. It had been years since she’d allowed herself to feel emotion, and now it strangled her as effectively as if he’d wrapped his skeletal hands around her throat. Her carefully-constructed speech disintegrated on her tongue, and all she managed to choke out was, “Why?”

  “Fascinating. You’ve never once questioned an assignment before.” He bowed his head and chuckled softly under his breath. “I’m rather surprised you aren’t inking the victory into your skin already.” Fran twitched. Her right arm still burned from the needle, and she rubbed her wrist over the new tattoos. Though there was no bare skin left on her arms, she hadn’t wanted these to be hidden. She wanted to see them. She wanted to remember. The movement wasn’t lost on Cadmus as he finally turned and eyed her slowly with that infuriating smirk. “Or . . . perhaps you already have, and that’s what prompted this visit? I heard you were particularly fierce this time, cutting them down like they were nothing more than weeds. The disciples are all talking about it. No doubt you have earned a starring role in their nightmares. Would you care for a toast to celebrate another seamless mission?”

  “The children, Cadmus?” Her voice broke. She had just returned with her team from Stonehollow where they had wiped out everyone. Every man, woman, and child. She could still hear their screams. It was true—she’d never questioned the Head Magi’s orders before today, no matter how ruthless or severe, but this hadn’t been justice. It had been a slaughter.

  “My dear Fran . . . are you growing soft on me?”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could still smell the air, thick with smoke and flames as the Ignises burned everything to the ground.

  Before Cadmus had inherited the position of Head Magi, Guardians were the continent’s peacekeepers. With the power to remove someone’s Gift, only the Guardians stood against the evils of the world. What Gifted would abuse their power and risk losing their Gifts forever? It was a proud heritage, and it had been perverted by the Head Magi when he turned the Guardians into his own personal attack dogs. Their tattoos, once worn with pride, were nothing more than macabre trophies.

  Her eyes snapped open. She couldn’t let him see how he was affecting her. “Don’t turn this on me, Head Magi. You wouldn’t let me drain the Impriga after she murdered my twin. You claimed it was wasteful, but wiping out an entire village is okay?”

  If Cadmus was surprised by her outburst, he didn’t show it. He strolled over to the shelves and selected a decanter of spirits and two glasses. He carried them back to the desk and carefully poured the drinks. “Yes. You could even say it was necessary, if it would bring you comfort. Parents are more likely to behave if their children’s lives are at stake.”

  His smile vanished. He pushed one drink toward her and lifted the other to his lips. Fran stared at the glass but made no move to pick it up. How could he dismiss her so easily? While the two had not always agreed, he’d always listened to her concerns before. And i
n the end, she always obeyed. She lifted her gaze, refusing to fall into the black depths of his eyes. “The people of Stonehollow don’t have that chance, now that they’re all dead.”

  He waved his hand. “Semantics, my dear. Consider it a message to the surrounding towns then. Once the word spreads, they will think twice before disobeying the Order.”

  Cadmus weighed her with his stare. She knew she should submit to his authority. She should kneel and ask for mercy for questioning his decisions . . . but not this time. She couldn’t keep the bite from her voice as she said, “I didn’t realize there was open rebellion in Stonehollow. From all accounts, they were loyal.”

  “For now, but the future is . . . murky.” His eyes rolled back into his head for a fraction of a second and she shuddered. No matter how many times she’d seen him Read, she would never get used to seeing those eyes go blank. “Had Mara remained a dreg, the only people who would have supported her were her parents. But as a powerful Gifted, and the future empress of Esterwyn . . . “

  “You used me.” Her hands balled into fists. “You ordered us to kill them for a crime they hadn’t even committed.”

  His eyes narrowed—the only outward sign that she had reached the end of his patience. “Careful, Guardian. Our little Impriga needed to learn that her actions have consequences. My only regret is that our guest of honor wasn’t able to make it to Stonehollow in time.”

  “I completed my mission. If you’re unhappy with the raid in Merrowhaven, take it up with the Head Disciple.”

  “Ah.” Cadmus took a sip of his drink. “Unfortunately, Arthur has been relieved of his position, and his head.”

  It took all her self-control not to flinch. “I see. And who is his replacement?”

  “Why, Tovaline, of course.” Her skepticism must have shown on her face because Cadmus purred, “You disapprove?”

  Fran chose her reply carefully. “She’s a bit . . . young.”

  “Young, but experienced. Her number of successful missions is higher than Gifted twice her age. I have no doubt she will thrive in her new position.”

  “Yes, Head Magi,” Fran replied, turning to go. Her shoulders sagged. She might have completed the mission, but she had lost in the long run. Cadmus would continue to grow more depraved until nothing could stand in his way. But who could possibly oppose him when he had so much power?

  Cadmus’s voice stopped her before she reached the door. “Don’t you wish to meet our guests?”

  Ice flooded her veins. There was no one else in the room. She was sure of it. Yet . . . the space behind the desk was blocked from her view. Fran stepped closer and peered over the desk. Two sleeping children were curled up at Cadmus’s feet. The boy looked no older than five with flaxen hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose while the girl had deep bronze skin and curly, black hair. Fran didn’t miss the Deleos cuffed around both of their wrists. “Who?”

  “This is Bastien, the son of Delegate Anderson of Aravell, and this is Princess Lucinda of Crystalmoor, sister to the Miestryri.” Fran’s eyebrows rose, and Cadmus continued, “While you were performing your duty, I took it upon myself to pay the new Miestryri a visit at East Rock. In exchange for his loyalty, my disciples squashed the rebellion against his rule.”

  “And the princess?”

  “Is now our guest at Order Headquarters.”

  Her eyes narrowed on the Deleos.

  Following her line of sight, Cadmus explained, “She’s a Squama and her familiar was killed. The Deleos are there to suppress her Gift while she heals from the trauma. The disciple responsible for the dolphin’s death has been dealt with. I trust you’ll do what you must should the Miestryri renege on our deal.”

  The girl looked so innocent. Peaceful. Her full lips parted slightly as she slept with one hand nestled her face. Despite the sharp pain in her heart, Fran swallowed and nodded. She had no choice. She could only hope that the Miestryri remained loyal to the Order, for all their sakes.

  “You’re dismissed.” Before she reached the door, Cadmus asked, “Oh, and Fran? Out of curiosity, if I had revealed my motivations for Stonehollow before you had left, would you have followed through with the order?”

  “Yes.” No. The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. She kept her face turned away, unable to look at him a moment longer. All she wanted was to run back to her room where she could fall apart in private. “I am loyal.”

  “Keep it that way. And please, do say hello to your daughter for me.”

  Fran inhaled sharply and glanced over her shoulder. Cadmus stared back, his face hard and his eyes expressionless. Unforgiving.

  She turned and fled down the hall.

  1

  They’d been followed.

  That much was clear as Mara glanced over her shoulder to see two of the emperor’s guards in their outlandish blue uniforms, designed more for show and stealth. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she stifled a snort. The guards might have blended in better inside the inner ring where bright colors and opulence were worn like a second skin, but here in the outer ring, they couldn’t have stuck out more if they’d pranced down the street naked.

  “Focus, Mara,” Mikkal said as they weaved through the crowded streets. The Shield hadn’t looked behind him once, but Mara would have bet money that he knew the exact positions of the guards and was cataloging all possible escape routes should this go poorly.

  She nodded sharply—the only outward acknowledgment that she’d heard Mikkal. She couldn’t afford to get sloppy. It didn’t matter if the guards looked like preening peacocks in dresses—they were downright lethal, and more than capable of knocking her on her backside. How did she know? Because those same two guards had taken an unnecessary amount of pleasure in tossing her around like a sack of flour during training this morning. Repeatedly. She rubbed her side where a fresh bruise was forming, and Mikkal’s lips tugged up in amusement.

  “I don’t even want to know what you’re smiling about.” She chanced another peek behind her. The guards had stopped at a sparsely-covered table where a hopeful woman was selling paper-wrapped meat pies to the Gifted as they headed to work. A copper glinted in the early-morning sunlight as it changed hands, and the woman slid the pies across the table to the guards. For a moment, Mara dared hope that she was wrong, and the guards were in the outer ring on other business instead of trailing her like she was a disobedient child. No such luck. They spotted her.

  She growled in frustration as they unwrapped their pies and resumed following her, even though it wasn’t their fault. They were just following orders. Three weeks ago, a group of disciples had attacked Mara and Prince Isaac. Cadmus, the Head Magi of the Order, had twisted the story, claiming that the disciples were rogues working outside of their duties and would be hunted down as traitors. It was a credit to the strength of their alliance that the emperor took the Head Magi’s word at face value, refusing to retaliate against the attack. And while Mara had fought off the disciples, the emperor had increased her security detail. Mara had protested, pointing out that the disciples had dispatched the prince’s guards with ease, but the emperor refused to back down when it came to her safety.

  A kind gesture, despite its self-serving nature, but one that made her job so much harder. If the emperor discovered what she was doing, he’d be planning an execution instead of a wedding.

  “Eyes forward.” Mikkal nudged her to the right and they ducked behind a fruit cart before continuing down the street. The sickly-sweet smell of rotting fruit filled her nostrils. “You rely too much on your Gift when you fight. It’s too easy for them to get past your defenses now, and you have nothing else to fall back on.”

  “Make up your mind. First, you want me to fight exclusively with my Gift, and now you’re telling me that I use it too much? Thanks, Mikkal. That makes so much sense.”

  “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

  Mara rolled her eyes. “I think I liked you better when you didn’t talk. Any other brilliant observatio
ns?”

  “Sure. You favor your right side, leaving your left open and vulnerable. Just before you move, you look to where you’re going to attack. You may as well just announce what you’re going to do to your opponent! And when you use your Gift, you hold back because you’re afraid to hurt anyone.”

  “I bet I could make you yield in five minutes, Gift or not,” she snapped, regretting it the moment the words left her mouth.

  Mikkal’s eyes flashed, and he shot her a wicked grin. “You’re on.”

  Oh, she was going to pay for that one when they sparred later. No doubt, she would earn a few more bruises before the day was over. She was still debating whether she was too proud to grovel when Mikkal asked, “Ready to lose your tails?”

  “How far?”

  “Ten paces.”

  So close? She rubbed her sweaty palms on her suede leggings, resisting the need to look back. She couldn’t get caught. All the dregs were counting on her. “Meet me out back in twenty minutes.”

  “Go!”

  She dove into the nearest alleyway at the same time Mikkal hurtled across the street, knocking over a cart of furniture in the process. The outraged Farber shook his fists and yelled after Mikkal’s disappearing form. Mara hoped nothing was damaged, but the diversion was successful. In the chaos, the guards had lost her. She turned and ran down the alley.

  A month had passed since she arrived in Merrowhaven. Since then, she’d gotten lost dozens of times trying to navigate the outer ring. The main road wasn’t a problem, but the moment she veered off path, it was like stepping into a labyrinth. Her fingers brushed against the walls—stone, brick, wood, metal—too narrow to stretch her arms out completely, and in some places, she had to turn to the side to fit through the compressed space. More than once, Mara had squeezed around a corner, afraid she would find the skeleton of a poor, lost sod leaning against the grimy walls.