Miestryri

by Bethany Hoeflich

  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 advisor 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 parchment. 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 advisor 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.

  “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 advisor 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 some
thing 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 advisor’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 advisor’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 advisor’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 advisor’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?”

  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 sta
y 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?”