Ella stood behind a counter in the back of the room. Her face was superficially cheerful as she handed a sack of carrots and vials of dark liquid to a tired-looking mother with a baby strapped to her back. Mara watched the Caeli, noting the tightness in her mouth and the corners of her eyes. Her typically-flawless cloud of poufy black hair was matted in places, and dark bruises under her eyes marred the rich sepia of her skin. She was trying to do too much, and it was beginning to take a toll on her body. Hopefully, Mara’s visit today would help lift some weight from her shoulders.
Mara waited until the mother left, then approached Ella with a tentative smile. “How are you doing?”
Ella sank into the stool behind the counter and covered her face with her hands, drawing a shuddering breath that shook her shoulders. “It never gets any easier. I thought I could handle this, but for every person I help, there are ten more who go without.”
She had grown up here in the outer rings, so she knew about the struggle more than anyone. After her brother had died from the wasting sickness caused by malnutrition, disciples had approached Ella’s parents and offered to take Ella and raise her in the Order. With no other options, they had agreed.
“Maybe this will help.” Mara reached into her pocket and pulled out her coin purse before setting it on the counter. One of the perks of being betrothed to the prince was having access to his social circles. Rich sycophants were more than happy to open their wallets if it meant gaining favor with the royal family, and Mara was delighted to take their money.
The coins clinked together as Ella took the purse and tucked it into the pouch in her apron. “That’s a start.”
A start, but it wouldn’t be enough. Ella needed more support than a bag of gold every few weeks. She needed an entire team of people to keep this operation running smoothly.
“Maybe . . .” Mara hesitated. “Maybe I could come down here and help a few days a week, just to give you a break.”
Mara wasn’t sure what she expected when she made the offer. A tearful thank you followed by a hug? A nod of reluctant gratitude? Excitement? She certainly hadn’t imagined Ella doubling over, smacking the counter as she howled with laughter.
“You’re going to help a few days a week? Girl, with what time? You’re even busier than me!” She sucked in a few breaths and wiped a tear from her eye. “Thanks, I needed that.”
“Well, fine, if I can’t do it myself, why not recruit some help from the newly Gifted?”
“Now that’s a good idea.” Ella stared off into space. Mara could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she thought it over. Out of all of them, Ella had the best head for management and planning. She stretched everything she had and maximized it beyond anything Mara could dream. Mara was sure that if it had been left to her, the project would have collapsed within a day. She had no doubt that a few extra hands would give Ella the support she needed to perfect her system.
“I don’t want to pile on more work, but Evelyn had a request. One of the children they just Gifted is an Ignis, and we need to find his birth parents as quickly as possible.”
Ella shook her head. “That’s not a good idea. Not to mention impractical. Do you know how many Gifted live in Merrowhaven? Hundreds of thousands! What are we supposed to do, go door-to-door asking how many couples had to give up a dreg baby. And in the off-chance that we do find the right parents, what then? I’m sure their friends and neighbors knew they’d had to give up their child. Don’t you think it would be a bit too suspicious if they magically got a child who looks just like them?”
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do then. He can’t stay at the encampment! It would be just as suspicious if a Gifted child were found with all the dregs, plus dangerous! He already burned down one of the houses. At this rate, the rest will be reduced to ash in a week.”
“Fine,” Ella said, blowing out her cheeks. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises, though.”
“Thank you, Ella.”
“Don’t mention it. Do you want to go grab lunch quick? I can shut the shop down for an hour.”
“Maybe another time. I have something I need to do first.”
***
Twenty minutes later, Mara ducked inside the Molten Spoon, pausing to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. This time of day, only serious drinkers and broken men graced the bar, drowning their sorrows in the bottom of a cup for a temporary reprieve from the monsters that dogged their waking hours.
Sunlight filtered in through the dirty windows, highlighting the run-down interior. Paintings hung crooked from the walls, and the ash from last night’s fire had yet to be swept from the stone fireplace.
Her heart clenched painfully at the sight of her father, hunched over the lacquered counter, his hand clasped so tightly around a glass she thought it might shatter. He’d become a shell of the man he once was, as if his soul was no longer contained in his body. His once thick hair hung limp and greasy around his ears, and she could just make out a few new bare patches of scalp from where he’d yanked it out. His wrinkled tunic was stained and hung loose on his once-muscular frame. Just how much weight had he lost? Was he even eating?
She didn’t want to look him in the face. To see his sunken-in eyes—eyes that had once sparkled with joy and laughter were now hollow and devoid of passion. It would break her.
If she were braver, she would just bash him over the head and drag him unconscious to the palace. A week of rest and healthy food wouldn’t heal his spirit, but it would be a step in healing his body.
From behind the bar, Vera waved frantically at Mara, her underarms jiggling with the motion. The matronly owner of the Molten Spoon gestured toward her father; a sure sign he’d gone over his tab. Again. He’d already been kicked out of twelve taverns in the middle ring for failing to settle his bills, and if he kept up this pace, he’d be dead, either from destroying his liver or at the hands of the brutish debt collectors who took payment in blood or coin. She couldn’t keep bailing him out.
Enough was enough.
Mara closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to work up the courage to confront him. A thick cloud of cigar smoke hung in the air, burning her lungs and clinging to her clothes. She slid onto the stool next to him and reached for the glass. “This isn’t going to help.”
His hand tightened on the glass before his fingers relaxed, enabling her to pry the drink from his hand. Amber liquid sloshed over the rim and splashed on the counter. She reached across the bar and dropped it into a bin of sudsy water before sliding a few silver pieces to Vera.
Grumbling the whole time, Vera mopped the spill then slapped the wet rag over her shoulder. She crossed her arms and glared at the silver. “Not enough.”
Mara sighed and added two more stacks next to the first.
Vera snatched them off the counter and tucked the coins into her till. “You best get him out of here. If he can even stand, that is.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m sorry.”
“I try not to judge my customers—it’s not my concern what brings them here night after night—but he’s drinking me out of business.” She scowled. “Do you know how long his tab is? I’ve been as forgiving as I can, but it’s time that I call the collectors.”
Panic seized Mara in its icy grip and she begged, “No, please don’t do that. I’ll send someone down tomorrow to settle his account, and I promise he won’t come back.”
“He better not.”
Mara nodded and placed a hand on her father’s back. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
Staring blankly at the wall, he showed no signs that he’d heard her at all. A lump formed in her throat and she blinked, refusing to allow her tears to fall. He’d given up, and she had no idea how to reach him.
She stood and wrapped her arm around him to help him up, but his voice, raw and strained, made her freeze. He turned to look at her with glazed-over eyes. “You look just like her. Each time I see you, it’s like I’m looking at her. For a moment, i
t fools me into thinking that it is her and this has been nothing but a terrible dream. Then, the light hits your hair just right, and another piece of my heart dies. Maybe that’s why I can’t bear to look at you,” he slurred, swaying on the stool.
His words were a dagger, twisting in her gut. A sob caught in her throat and she ducked her head so Vera wouldn’t see her crying.
Eli continued as if he couldn’t see how his words were cutting her. “Do you remember how much she loved that little garden of hers? Your uncle inherited the farm, but the soil was in her blood. She’d spend hours out there, tending to it and singing to the plants. I teased her about her off-key voice, but she swore it helped them grow faster. She was out there when the Order came. She—”
He cut off abruptly as sobs wracked his body. Mara pulled him into her arms and he rested his head in the crook of her neck, tears soaking through her dress. “Shh . . . it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“She never knew that I hated mint tea. She loved it so much, so I drank it to keep her happy. Now, I hate it even more. I can’t even smell mint without being reminded of her.” He covered his face with his hands. “I wish I were dead, too.”
“Look at me.” When his hands stayed plastered to his face, Mara reached up and gently pulled them away. “I lost my mother. Please don’t let me lose my father, too. I need you.” Her father wavered, and Mara seized the chance. She helped him to his feet and began to guide him to the door. “Move into the palace with me. The emperor has personally invited you to stay in the guest wing with us. You’ll be safe and cared for.”
He shook his head, staggering slightly as they walked. “My whole life I’ve earned my own way. I won’t start accepting handouts now, not even if he is the emperor.”
It was the same argument they’d had dozens of times and she had reached her limit. “If you’re too proud to accept charity, then I’ll stop paying your tabs. A few days in jail should sober you up.”
“I never asked you to cover for me. I’ll be fine.”
“What will you do?”
“Open a shop, maybe, as soon as I get enough coin. I hear the army’s always looking for new recruits.”
Her head whipped around to stare at him, mouth agape. “The army? But you’re not a fighter! You’re just a craftsman. What could you possibly do?”
“Just because I’m no Armis don’t mean I can’t learn to hold a sword.”
“And then what? Wait to be cut down in battle? You’re going to die.”
“It’s my life. I’ll spend it as I please.”
She let go of his arm and he stumbled to the side, bracing himself against the iron pole of a street light. “Go ahead then, but don’t expect me to hang around and watch you do it.”
He didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure if he was sober enough to even understand. They walked the rest of the way to his run-down flat in silence.
8
The gardens behind the palace were vacant as Mara ambled along the path, letting her hands brush the pruned shrubs. Snow crunched under her boots. Beyond the landscaped gardens was a wall that overlooked the Ester Sea on the western coast of the continent. In the quiet solitude, she could just barely hear the whisper of water as it crashed on the jagged coast.
She plucked a dead rose from its vine and crushed it in her hand, letting the petals scatter on the ground as she wandered toward a reflecting pool. Ice had begun to form around the edges. Mara leaned over and peered at her reflection, unable to recognize the person staring back. Thanks to the emperor’s abundance of food and hard training she’d enjoyed the past few weeks, she’d put on a bit of weight. Her cheekbones could no longer cut glass and her body was softer than her previously bony shape. Even her hair, which had once been wild and unmanageable, was now tamed under the careful care of her lady’s maid.
She was beautiful.
She wasn’t herself anymore.
Disgusted, Mara wandered deeper into the garden.
A statue of a lithe woman with a pitcher resting on her head waited at the turn of the path, a serene smile frozen eternally on her marble face. The path to the right would take her back to the palace where servants waited to grant her every request and the nobility waited to judge her.
She reached up and pulled her hair from its carefully styled braid, letting it hang free as she turned down the left path.
The crisp, cool air numbed her face and whipped her hair around in the wind. She pulled her cloak tighter around her with one hand and gripped the railing to the ice-covered stairs with the other. The smell of impending snow clung to the air, dredging up old memories. By now, the final harvest would have been completed in Stonehollow. It was a beloved tradition, and now, it would never happen again. Her heart clenched painfully, but she forced herself to remember. Everyone would come together to process and preserve enough food to last through winter. The men would go hunting, bringing back pheasants, turkeys, and rabbits for a feast to celebrate. Wrapped in blankets, they’d gather around tables and fires to eat and tell stories. At some point after they cracked into the second barrel of cider, Elder Lionel would pull out his fiddle and everyone would dance and sing throughout the night. She’d be expected to do her share of the work, but she would never feel welcome. She’d always be the outsider.
Somehow, nothing had changed.
Sure, she attracted enough attention. She was a novelty here—the Impriga who had captured the prince’s heart, or so the tabloids told it—but none of the gawkers and gossipers dared get closer than polite acquaintance.
Mara leaned against the railing at the top of the wall and stared out at the sea. The blackened water churned, turning into violent sprays of white as it beat against the shore. Ships bobbed by the docks, their pale blue sails snapping in the wind. She closed her eyes as gulls squawked in the distance, wishing she could be home in her woods surrounded by the melodic songs of finches and nightingales.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Mara twisted around as Ethan approached the railing where she stood.
“It’s fake.”
“Most things in life are. That’s why when you find something that’s truly beautiful, it’s worth more than the rest combined,” he said, turning away from the horizon to focus his words on her.
Her breath caught, and she blushed. “Do you remember what you said to me when we first got to Merrowhaven? That this place was like biting into a peach and finding it rotten. I didn’t understand what you meant then, but I do now. It’s hard to appreciate beauty when it’s only superficial.”
He hummed in agreement.
“Ethan?” His gaze turned expectant. She should ask him what he wanted to talk about the other day in the alchemy room. This was the perfect chance to clear the air between them and move forward as friends—to hear him out and put it to rest for good—but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Instead, she blurted out, “Do you believe in destiny?”
His face scrunched up in confusion like he was baffled by the change in subject. “Why do you ask?”
“That night when Tobias was executed . . .” she spoke slowly, trying to gather her thoughts so they would make sense, “if that hadn’t happened, we’d still be in Stonehollow right now. Well, I would probably be dead.” Ethan flinched, and she hurried to continue. “I never would have met Wynn or Steel or Mikkal. None of them. I wouldn’t have been captured by the Order. I never would have learned the truth about Gifts. It’s overwhelming to think about how one small blip in the course of a life can have such devastating consequences, and now I’m part of something that is so much bigger than myself. Something that will affect every dreg and Gifted on the continent. I’m terrified. If fate isn’t forcing me into this . . .”
“Destiny is something people believe in when they don’t want to take responsibility for their actions. It’s easier to blame destiny instead of swallowing the hard truth that our actions carry weight. If fate is guiding the strings of our existence like a marionette, then nothin
g we do matters because it was all predestined to begin with. The paths we take are paved from the choices we make. You chose to defend Tobias when no one else would. Ansel could have turned his back and let you die. Instead, he gave up everything to rescue you. Don’t cheapen their sacrifices by blaming something as ambiguous as fate.”
They stood silently side-by-side, and Mara considered what he’d said.
“Your father made his choice then.”
Mara looked up sharply.
“I can see the look on your face. No one else would have the power to hurt you this much.”
That wasn’t strictly true any longer. Didn’t Ethan realize how much he meant to her? “I don’t understand why he won’t listen to reason.”
“You don’t have to. I just hope you know it’s not your fault.”
Her grip tightened on the railing, the cold metal bleeding through her gloves. “How can it not be? If it weren’t for me, Stonehollow would still be standing. He’d still be home, and my mother would still be alive.” A few tears escaped before she could stop them, and her face twisted in pain as her grief crashed down on her.
“Stop,” Ethan said, pulling her into his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder, tears bleeding into the soft fabric of his cloak. One hand tightened on her waist and the other stroked her hair softly. “That was Cadmus. It was all Cadmus.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I promise you, I’m not. Go back all the way to the beginning. Magi Samuel forgot to give you the suppressive elixir, which meant you would have developed your Gift over time. The village would have declared it a miracle. Word would have gotten back to Cadmus, and he would have destroyed everyone anyway, just to keep that secret hidden. You can’t take the blame for his actions.”
“What should I do? What if I make the wrong choices and it makes everything worse?”
“Then at least you have the comfort of knowing that you tried when so many do not. We have to have faith that there is some good left in the world, no matter how small or insignificant is seems. I used to idolize Cadmus.” At her horrified look, he said, “Not his methods, but his charisma. When I was a boy, before I learned that he’d killed my mother, I thought he was the greatest man alive. I saw how the disciples treated him like a god—they would have done anything for the man. As I grew older I began to see him for what he was, but I couldn’t help wanting to please him. In retrospect, it was sick. Twisted. No matter how many times he ordered me whipped, I only wanted him to be proud of me. Every time I saw the scars on my back, they only made me want to try harder. Maybe if I finally succeeded, he would love me. By the time I left for Stonehollow, I had finally let go of the illusion, but it made no difference. I had no power to overthrow him. I kept my head down, blindly obeying even though it eroded me to my core. My only hope was escape. I thought that maybe if I was assigned my own village to care for, I would never have to see him again. I could finally live my life in peace.
The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus Page 74