The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus

by Bethany Hoeflich

  Today was a strictly a ‘no magic’ practice, and she looked forward to venting some of her frustration.

  Stupid Magi.

  Did he think she wanted this? She had no more say in her future than a gnat about to be swatted. Maybe if things were different. If she had just been Mara, the dreg from Stonehollow. But they weren’t. She was an asset to Esterwyn, and the sooner they both accepted her future, the better it would be for everyone.

  If she said it enough, she just might start believing it.

  Without a thought, she grabbed a wooden short sword and gave it a few test swings. It wasn’t her weapon of choice, but anything pointy would work. She swiveled her feet and lunged, imagining she was driving it through Cadmus’s black heart.

  “Interesting choice.”

  Mara whirled around. Mikkal stood just out of reach, watching her as though she were a coiled viper about to strike. How flattering. She glowered and gestured to the selection of swords, daggers, bows, and staffs. “You have a better suggestion?”

  His face didn’t change, but his eyes glinted with amusement behind a curtain of long, brown hair. “It doesn’t matter which weapon you choose. This will still end with you in the dirt.”

  “Brave words for an unarmed opponent,” she said with as much bravado as she could muster, slipping her right foot back and sinking into the fighting stance he’d taught her. Her fingers tightened on the hilt. Unarmed or not, he was more than capable of leveling her in seconds. Trained Shields were not to be messed with—a lesson she’d learned the hard way. Darby’s words filtered through her head and she watched Mikkal with renewed interest, trying to see what he had.

  A crowd gathered along the fencing and other soldiers stopped their training to gawk. She resisted the urge to fidget. It wasn’t the first time they’d seen the prince’s betrothed scrap with a sparring partner. Or maybe it had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with Mikkal. There was a reason he’d been chosen to guard Crystalmoor’s prince, and none of them boded well for her. No matter how well she fought today, she’d be going to bed with fresh bruises.

  She looked forward to it.

  Anything to distract her from the Magi who was determined to turn her world upside down.

  Mikkal swept an arm out in invitation and she frowned. Wasn’t he going to arm himself? Sure, they were using training weapons, and the most damage she could give him were bruises and splinters, but still. It didn’t seem fair to attack an unarmed man. Then she caught sight of his arrogant smirk, and her temper flared. Oh, it was on.

  She launched to the right, bringing the sword down at his head. He spun around, hands clasped behind his back. Feigning to the left, she jabbed as his side. He laughed and skipped out of reach. Seriously? Grinding her teeth hard enough they might break, she screamed and swung at his neck. He ducked, then rolled, popping up behind her. With a quick blow to the wrist, her sword sailed through the air and landed with a thunk in the dirt. He turned and elbowed her in the ribs. The blow sent her sailing backward, landing hard in the dirt.

  The fight had lasted less than a minute.

  “You cheated,” she wheezed, clutching her aching ribs.

  He offered her a hand up, a vee forming between his thick eyebrows. “So will your enemies.”

  “I know that better than most. Why do you think I’m training every day?”

  “I assumed you were a masochist.”

  “Ha ha, very funny.” She bent to pick up her sword where it landed and turned to face him. “You know what I’m up against here, so why do you insist on crippling me? Cadmus won’t hold back, so why shouldn’t we train with my Gift as well?”

  “You have other sparring partners who are happy to work with your Gift, but you need to master basic combat as well. If you use your Gift as a crutch and neglect your other training, you’ll be helpless without it.”

  “I’ve managed to get by okay, and with my Gift, I’m all but unstoppable.”

  “You’ve been lucky.”

  She bristled at his dismissive tone. She’d worked hard to master her Gift, and he made it seem like she was waltzing through fights without breaking a sweat. “That’s not fair.”

  “I’m not your nanny. I’m not going to coddle you and tell you everything will be sunshine and rainbows while feeding you tarts. You can’t rely on your Gift to save you.”

  “Says the man who used his Gift to beat me.”

  “What happens if the disciples capture you again and force you to drink the suppressive elixir? What if they clamp Deleos around your wrists. What if Cadmus decides you’re a liability, and a Guardian takes your Gift? You’ll be vulnerable.”

  “I definitely liked you better when you couldn’t talk.” He was right, as much as she hated to admit it. She swallowed thickly, remembering her time at Order Headquarters. There was no way she would go through that again. She’d die first. She pulled her hair back in a leather thong and rolled her shoulders before retrieving the sword from the ground. “Again.”

  He nodded and gave her a small smile before charging.

  ***

  She was dying. There was no other explanation for the way her muscles seized and protested each step. Just drawing breath took a gargantuan effort. Mikkal had promised to test her limits, but his apparent delight in tossing her around like a sack of flour was completely uncalled for. Not even Halder had pushed her so hard. Dripping with sweat and mud, Mara stumbled to her room, only to freeze in the doorway. Wynn had already made herself at home on the bed with a tray of cookies and a mug of steaming chocolate. A violet gown hugged her lithe body and draped over the duvet. Her black hair, which was just long enough to reach her jawline, was curled attractively around her scarred face.

  “Oy! Mary!” Wynn sat her mug on the end table before fishing a cookie from the heaping pile. She took a bite, then waved it around like one of her dirks. A few crumbs escaped her mouth as she said, “Tell Simon to go easy on the ginger next time, would ya? These are making my mouth pucker like Pete’s hag of a wife when she caught us snitching goodies from her kitchens.”

  Mara’s mouth dropped open as her maid bustled out of the powder room, face flushed. A few gray hairs stuck to her face. She leaned over the bed, plucked the platter from Wynn’s lap, and tsked. “There’ll be no biscuits if you can’t control that vinegar tongue, Miss Wynn.”

  Wynn pouted—a full-on, infantile pout—and tried to grab the tray back. When Mary danced out of reach, looking far sprier than her sixty years of age, Wynn crossed her arms and huffed like a spoiled toddler about to have a tantrum. Mara’s eyes bulged at the sight. What happened to the woman who was tough as year-old deer jerky?

  “I’ll have none of that, now,” Mary said, wagging her finger at Wynn. “I’ll cut you off, and then where will you be? No snacks outside of mealtimes, that’s what! And it’d serve you right.”

  “Come on, Mary. It’s not my fault Simon banned me from the kitchens.”

  “You scared the man half to death! Plates of morsels disappearing every night… he was convinced a ghost was stealing from his bake room. Poor man has a weak heart. Would you like to leave his wife a widow? Is that it?”

  Unable to stay quiet a moment longer, Mara burst into the room, her fatigue vanishing. “So this is what you’ve been doing while I’ve been training every day? Lazing about and stuffing your face with sweets?”

  Mary jumped, dropping the tray of cookies to the floor with a clatter. Wynn groaned at the destruction of her afternoon snack and threw herself back on the pillows. “I was gonna eat those!”

  “Wynn, I can understand. But you, Mary?” Mara quirked a brow at her maid, letting her displeasure coat her words. Here she was, trying her best to train, cater to the frivolous wishes of the empress, and build a rebellion under Cadmus’s hawkish nose, and Wynn had nothing better to do than behave like a pampered, highborn lady? Unreal. “I never took you to be an enabler.”

  “So sorry, Miss Mara.” She wrung her hands, looking abashed. She ducked
out of the room and returned with a broom and dustpan. “It just gets lonely up here while you’re away, and Miss Wynn offered to keep me company. Surely you understand.”

  “I’m sure the bribery had nothing to do with it,” Mara said as Mary knelt to sweep up the mess.

  “Bribery!” Hurt flashed across her maid’s face. She dropped the broom, pushed her way past Mara and out the door.

  Wynn jumped off the bed and jammed a finger in Mara’s face. “Ya had no right treating Mary like that. She’s a bit stuffy and old fashioned, but ya just suggested that the only reason I spend time with her is because she feeds me. How do ya think that makes her feel?”

  “Don’t try to turn this on me,” Mara shot back, tamping down her guilt at the look on Mary’s face. “You used to be a fighter. A survivor. You should be training with me.”

  “I spent my life barely scraping by, wondering if the Order would finally catch up and finish what they started. I’m finally safe here. And cared for. So if I want to spend a few months being pampered and eating sweets, then I deserve it.”

  “Unbelievable.” Mara shook her head and threw her hands up. “Mikkal was right; you’ve gotten soft.”

  “I’m not soft.” Lips pulled back from her teeth, Wynn stepped closer until they stood nose-to-nose. Her eyes glinted. “Say that again and I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? Bludgeon me to death with a cookie?”

  “I—” Wynn cut off, before taking a step back. She patted the fabric at her hips, her face growing panicked as time ticked by. “Never mind.”

  Mara snorted. “What’s the matter, Wynn?

  “Nothing.” Wynn cleared her throat. She stood to her full height, back straight, and brushed her hands down her skirts. Two pink splotches appeared on her cheeks. “It appears that I left my knives in my other dress.”

  Mara shot her a pointed look. “Not going soft my—”

  A knock sounded on the still open door. She took her eyes off Wynn for a second and immediately wished she hadn’t. The moment her gaze strayed, the scarred woman barreled into her, full force, sending the both of them tumbling into the wardrobe before landing in a heap at its base. The back of her head flared with pain and black spots flooded her vision. Mara choked on a scream as the wardrobe tipped precariously, threatening to crush them both.

  A feral cry ripped from Wynn’s throat, and she grabbed Mara around the neck. If it weren’t for her fear, she could have laughed. What was the point of strangling her when they were about to be flattened by five hundred pounds of polished walnut?

  Wynn’s form flickered, and a strange, tingling sensation washed over Mara. Almost like she was being taken apart, piece by piece. She squeezed her eyes shut and braced for the pain.

  The sound of the wardrobe smashing to the ground echoed in the room, followed by an explosion of splinters, but the expected feeling of bones breaking never came. Mara cracked her eyes open a fraction. Then they nearly bugged out of her sockets, and her mouth dropped open.

  They were clear across the room, on the other side of the bed.

  “What?” Mara surveyed the destruction, struggling to put coherent two words together. “How… how did you transport me? You’ve never been able to move anyone but yourself, right?”

  “Never.”

  “Then… How did you know it would work this time?”

  “I didn’t. Just got lucky I guess.” Wynn shrugged, appearing unbothered by the thought of Mara being crushed to death if her insane plan hadn’t worked. Lovely.

  “Just got lucky?” Mara shoved Wynn backward until her knees hit the bed. Wynn hadn’t known she could teleport someone else, and she thought that this was a prime time to test her theory? Sparks flared on Mara’s fingers. She grabbed Wynn’s shoulder with one hand and drew the other back into a fist, ready to pummel her friend into the carpet.

  Someone cleared their throat.

  She glanced up in surprise, and the energy curling around her fingers fizzled out.

  Ethan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and an infuriating smirk tugged at his lips. Instead of his usual black robes, he had changed into a plain, white tunic, the laces undone at the top, giving her a glimpse of the unblemished skin on his chest. Her eyes flew upwards, and her face flamed as his smirk deepened. Stupid, arrogant, infuriating Magi! What was wrong with her?

  “Now is not a good time, Ethan,” she snapped, wincing at her harsh tone.

  “I was going to escort you to dinner so we could talk, but it appears as though Wynn has plans to murder you instead. Should I come back in an hour?” He tilted his head, his gray eyes sparkling with humor.

  Painfully aware of how she must look in a mud-splattered tunic, her frizzy hair threatening to escape its leather thong, Mara released her grip on Wynn’s shoulder before throwing her shoulders back, trying to reclaim some semblance of dignity. She cleared her throat. “I am competent enough to find my own way there, thank you.”

  “If you insist.” He ducked his head in a bow, and Mara got the impression that he was laughing at her.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Wynn whistled low between her teeth and fanned her face with her hand, their apparent feud forgotten. “Tension’s thicker than honey, love.”

  “What?” Mara ran a hand over her hair, smoothing the uncooperative locks back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Lies.” Wynn stepped around her and snagged a cookie from the floor. Apparently near-death experiences did nothing to dampen her appetite. “If ya ask me, ya should just go bash him over the head before he gets away. I’ll help drag him back here and tie him up.”

  She blinked, certain that she’d misheard. “Bash him over the… what are you talking about?”

  “Ya know. When ye’re in love with a man and ya want to start a family. Ya knock him unconscious and take him back to yer house. Then, he has to marry ya.”

  “I’m not in love with—” she trailed off, bewildered. “Back up a second. What man in his right mind would marry a woman that assaulted him?”

  “A smart one! A man needs a good, strong woman to bear him children. What better way to prove she’s strong than to go hunt her mate?” At Mara’s blank stare, Wynn shrugged and said, “That’s how we do it in Lingate, anyways.”

  “That’s insane. In Stonehollow, marriages were arranged by the elders. We didn’t have a say in our partners at all.”

  “Well, that’s ridiculous.” Wynn dunked the cookie in her mug of chocolate before taking a bite. She chewed thoughtfully. “How do ya know ya won’t be saddled with some weak-blooded sponge head?”

  “There is something seriously wrong with you,” Mara said.

  “Right on back at ya, love.” Wynn shrugged. “Guess we’d better get ready for dinner then before they have to come drag ya there.”

  Mara groaned. The only thing she wanted to do was crawl into bed. Her muscles were screaming. The last thing she wanted to do was go talk with the fancy people and smile and pretend to be a prim, proper young lady worthy of marrying the prince.

  But by now, she should have learned that you rarely get what you want most.

  4

  Ten minutes into dinner and Mara was already plotting her escape.

  It wasn’t because the company was unpleasant. Prince Isaac was his typical charming self, though his endless chatter about the latest opera he’d dragged her to was enough to make her wish she’d requested wine instead of water with her meal. Nor was it because the dress Mary had shoved her into was coated in a mile’s length of itchy lace. And it certainly wasn’t because the food was terrible—it was exceptional, as usual. The roasted lamb shank, crusted in herbs and spices, melted on her tongue, producing an out-of-body euphoria. The food was the only reason why she’d stayed this long.

  And now she was regretting it.

  The emperor’s gaze bored holes into the side of her head.

  Trembling, Mara reached for a pillow-soft roll and the crock of butter. She managed to snag one before knock
ing the rest, basket and all, onto the floor. A servant girl scurried over to clean up the mess, brushing away Mara’s mumbled apology. The clatter drew more than one set of cunning eyes in the gathering, greedy for juicy gossip. She wanted to sink down into her chair and disappear under the table. She was used to blending into the background and not drawing attention to herself. Attention would typically lead to pain. She didn’t think much was different here, regardless of the circumstances.

  In the back of the room, Mikkal, Alex, Oona, Tamil, Wynn, Ella, and Ethan were laughing over some joke, oblivious to the spectacle she was making. Not for the first time, she wished she could sit with her friends.

  She peeked at the emperor out of the corner of her eye. He was attacking his meal with the battle lust of a soldier, stabbing the lamb with his fork and sawing through to the bone with a knife, the whole while staring at her, like he was imagining cutting through her instead of the meat.

  What had she done to earn this level of animosity?

  It wasn’t like she got along with her future father-in-law, but at least he’d had the decency to hide his loathing before. Now, the tension was as palpable as being dunked in a vat of oil, and he stood above her with a lit flame.

  She lifted her goblet to her mouth with a shaking hand.

  He couldn’t possibly know, could he?

  No, it was impossible. Betsy had helped her escape the market in exchange for a favor. A favor that he had yet to specify. He wouldn’t throw away his connection with the palace over before he had time to collect, right?

  Or would he? No matter how often she’d patronized his booth, nor how much coin she’d put in his pocket, Betsy was a business man. If selling her out to the emperor earned more coin, he would probably gift wrap her for the guards and dance on her grave.

  As if reading her thoughts, Isaac leaned over and said, “You’ve been spending a lot of time in the outer ring.”