Miestryri Page 2

Her eyebrows formed a vee and she tilted her head as if she were considering his words seriously. “Is that possible?”

  “If only.” Silvano sighed. He looked out beyond the horizon, imagining the possibilities. “We could swim away from this mess and start over, just the two of us. We could discover a new island, full of mangoes and coconuts and no rules.”

  “Oh, there would be rules—I would make them. I’d be queen with a crown of seaweed and shells, and you’d be my advisor.”

  “Just so.” His lips quirked up into a genuine smile, and he tapped her on the nose. If only their lives could be so simple.

  Lucy puffed herself up to her full height and her voice dropped an octave lower as she tried to be regal. “And as queen, my first decree is this; lobsters will no longer be on the menu.”

  “Lobsters? Really?”

  “Yes. I met a grandfather lobster who claims to be four hundred years old.”

  Silvano choked back a laugh at her serious expression. “Lobsters can count?”

  She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “What is harder to believe, that a lobster can count or a lobster can lie?”

  “That’s a fair point.”

  “Exactly. It seems cruel to eat something that smart.”

  “If lobsters are so intelligent, don’t you think chickens, cows, and pigs have a similar mental capacity?”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “But I can’t speak to them.”

  “Well then, I suppose you’re correct.” Without warning, he leapt toward her, wrapping his arms around her middle. She squealed as he threw her back into the sea. A moment later, she burst from the surface, her hair plastered to her face. Long strands of curled seaweed crowned her head. Silvano sank into a mocking bow. “All hail Queen Lucinda, protector of crustaceans.”

  She giggled and picked the seaweed from her hair. He ducked as she threw it at him, but it still managed to hit him on the shoulder. “I changed my mind. The first rule is now ‘No irritating brothers allowed on my island’,” she said as she waded out of the surf.

  Silvano walked to the end of the dock and stepped onto the sand. He offered her the crook of his arm. “Come on then, let’s get you back to your tutors.”

  Lucy reached for his hand but hesitated before her fingertips could brush his palm. She clamped her lip between her teeth.

  His stomach sank. “What is it?”

  “Sil… I heard what the people are calling you. Is it true?”

  Silvano stiffened, fighting to keep his expression neutral. “It doesn’t matter what they call me. What do you believe?”

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. “No matter what, I hope you know that I would never harm you or our sister. I… I need you to trust me. To believe me when I tell you this. The two of you are the only family I have left, and we need to stick together.”

  She trotted over, her feet leaving footprints on the wet sand, and wrapped her small arms around his waist. “Okay, Sil. I trust you.”

  He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, blinking away the burning in his eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  A wave of protectiveness flowed through him. He would protect her, would keep her safe in the coming months, no matter what happened.

  But those hurt worst by conflict were rarely the ones directly involved.

  3

  Hours after he had delivered a squawking Lucinda into the capable arms of her tutors, Silvano found himself seated in the council room, suffering through his small council’s discussion on the most insipid subjects known to mankind. His eyes glazed over as the minister of sanitation highlighted the advantages of building an underground sewer system beneath the city, and the logistics of installing indoor plumbing in every house. By the time the council started haggling over the benefits of copper versus lead pipes, Silvano had abandoned all pretense of listening.

  Jax paced inside the door, throwing questioning glances his way every twenty seconds. Silvano had managed to ignore them so far, but his patience was wearing thin. To make things worse, one of the servants had built up an impressive yet unnecessary fire in the stone fireplace. Unfortunately, it made the room stifling, and he wasn’t sure if the sweat running down his face was as a result of the heat, or his growing guilt.

  He still hadn’t opened up to his guards or advisors about his exile or the circumstances of his Gifting. He wanted their approval and support more than anything, but for some reason, he’d held his tongue. Which was ridiculous, when he thought about it. Having a Gift should make him more qualified to be Miestryri, in theory, but he was afraid that they would abandon him if they learned the truth. Perhaps they would say that the Magi had left him a dreg for a reason, and he was playing with the natural order by being Gifted later in life.

  If only they knew the truth—that the Order had been selectively Gifting people for hundreds of years for no reason other than an obscure prophecy. But people had believed their lies for so long that the truth would seem false.

  Sweeping away the pile of correspondences heaped on the table, Silvano lifted his head to stare at Jax. Between approving a dozen permits to build new homes and shops, and filtering through hundreds of citizen complaints, he was beginning to realize how tedious running a kingdom could be. No wonder he’d escaped as frequently as possible in his adolescence. Why would anyone willingly subject themselves to the horrors of paperwork when they could literally be doing anything else instead? Sweat dripped into his eye, and he wiped a palm across his face to ease the sting.

  The newly appointed naval officer leaned forward in his chair and slid a stack of papers across the table. Silvano eyed him appraisingly, comparing him to his father’s veteran officer, currently rotting in the dungeon next to Lucan. He seemed too young for the position, and too in love with his freshly grown mustache which he twisted as frequently as possible. He’d have to move quickly to secure the respect of his men, otherwise they’d eat him alive. “Sire, this is my official request for a dozen new ships.”

  Silvano raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware that we were at war.”

  “Well,” the naval officer shifted in his chair and pulled at the collar of his uniform, “We’re technically not yet, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. With the Rei invading Lingate, it’s only a matter of time before he sets his sights east. These ships could very well be the difference between victory and defeat.”

  “I see.” Silvano twisted to look at the treasurer—a woman who looked like she was moments away from a nap or death. It wasn’t entirely clear. She’d been the treasurer when his grandfather was still in diapers, and with each passing year, her hairline receded further. “Can we afford to fund the construction?”

  “If we impose higher taxes, yes,” she said in a frail voice. “You could begin construction within a month.”

  “At what cost?” The minister of the people protested. He half rose out of his seat, palms plastered to the table. His chest heaved with indignation, and spittle pelted everyone unfortunate enough to be seated nearby. “Sire, I beg you to see this madness for what it is. If you impose additional taxes, you will see riots in the streets. The people are suffering enough! Why should they pay a single coin more for glorified pleasure yachts?”

  “Pleasure yachts?” The naval officer slammed a fist to the table. “Each vessel is equipped with two dozen crossbows and harpoons!”

  “Can the people feed their children with crossbow bolts? We haven’t had a war at sea in over a century!”

  “Belosian pirates—”

  “Those godless heathens slinging pig dung are hardly a formidable naval fleet. A half-trained child is strong enough alone to capsize their boats. This request is unreasonable.”

  “Enough!” Silvano pressed his palms to his temples and took a deep breath. “It might come as a surprise that Kearar, being a desert nation, does not have a naval fleet. If they were to attack, it would be from land. Further
more, Rei Tomar and I are childhood friends,” he said, completely glossing over the fact that Tomar had captured him during his last visit to the Mubali Oasis with the intention of selling him back to his father. After all, what friendship didn’t have petty squabbles and misunderstandings? He shook his head. “I will not take food from children to fund shiny new toys for the navy!”

  “But, sir—”

  “No, my word on this is final. You’re dismissed. We’ll reconvene in a week’s time to discuss the rest.” No one moved. The council exchanged loaded looks, causing Silvano’s temper to flare. “Was I unclear?”

  “Forgive us, sire, but there’s one last issue on our docket for today.” The minister of the people shot a pointed look at Silvano’s unblemished forehead. “While we appreciate that you took time from your busy schedule to arrange this meeting, you haven’t been anointed Miestryri yet. Until you are, you simply don’t have the authority to—”

  “Rest assured that the matter is being handled promptly. Once I am Miestryri in an official capacity, your loyalty will be rewarded. I don’t think I need to express how I would reward disloyalty,” he said, allowing the unspoken threat to hang in the air. He sat back in his seat as the council gathered their papers and filed out the door. It might not have won him any favors, but they needed to be reminded of who was in charge during these crucial decisions. He had faith that the council would be working smoothly within a month’s time. Jax stopped pacing, crossed his arms, and fixed Silvano with a hard stare. “Yes?”

  “Look, I don’t want you to think that I’m questioning you or doubting you in any way. You will always be my Miestryri, no matter what happens.” He resumed his infernal pacing, wringing his hands together. “But when things happen that I can’t explain, then I start wondering what you’re trying to hide…”

  “Jax, for the love of the sea god, stop rambling and just spit out what’s bothering you.”

  Jax nodded and pulled a chair out from the table to sit down. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I saw you manipulate water, both at the funeral and at the docks, and I wasn’t the only one. Your step-mother is spreading rumors among the elite and sowing discord amongst your supporters. They think it’s some kind of trick. I held my tongue this long, but I think we deserve some answers. When you were exiled, you left as a dreg. Now, somehow, you return as an Irrigo. How… how is this possible?”

  “It’s a long story,” Silvano said, releasing a shaking breath. “Honestly, I don’t know where to start.”

  “The beginning seems appropriate. What happened when you were exiled?”

  “Mikkal and I crossed into the southern border of Lingate. He wished to be discreet and stick to the wilds, but I was stubborn and insisted that no one would dare harm a prince, even if he was a dreg. Mikkal seemed distant at the time. I thought he was upset with me or the situation itself—what Shield would be delighted to train for a decade only to serve a disgraced prince? I had no idea that he was struggling with his morality instead. Unbeknownst to me, my father had approached Mikkal the night before we left and paid him to assassinate me. We traveled for a week until we reached the southern outpost of Canaich where the Rudven clan had settled to gather strength. I insisted on lodging in an inn and purchasing a hot meal for the two of us.

  “It was one foolish decision in a long line of foolish decisions. It doesn’t matter where you go in Lingate, the strong rule and the weak are prey. And for them? All dregs are prey, regardless of their birth. I still don’t understand how they found us. Maybe they had a Veniet, or maybe Father had sent out wanted posters, but we were cornered…”

  The inn had seen better days. It had probably been a welcoming beacon to weary travelers in its heyday, or at least it had once possessed a functioning door. I walked up to the gaping hole in the wall and peered inside. For someone who had grown accustomed to the refined behavior of the upper echelons of society, Lingate can be quite a shock. The patrons were dragging no fewer than three dead bodies from the room while the apparent victors were throwing back one celebratory drink after another. There was no way we’d blend in, not with me wearing my best silk doublet and crimson cloak. That suited me just fine. I had no intention of being overlooked like some commoner.

  Mikkal took one look at the inn and turned around, probably debating if he should simply tie me up and haul my spoiled behind to the nearest cave to hide.

  “Mikkal, unless you wish to snap the hilt of your sword off entirely, I suggest you relax.” My smile widened as his scowl deepened.

  He shot me a look as if to say, ‘Unless you want to be a corpse, I suggest you follow my lead.’ It can be a tricky thing to communicate with someone who doesn’t speak, but after being around my Shield for a decade, I find that he’s more expressive than most people if you know how to read him. I pushed past him into the room and flashed my coin purse to the nearest worker—who needs strength when you could buy it? In retrospect, I’m surprised Mikkal didn’t run me through right there and save himself the trouble.

  The barmaid told us to have a seat anywhere we liked, and she’d bring out some cottage stew. I eyed the central table with longing, but Mikkal grabbed my arm and dragged me to a dark corner booth, shoving me in as far as I would go before sitting on the edge of the bench. He left his sword in its sheath, but he drew a dagger and laid it on the bench next to him—a warning for anyone who might cause us trouble.

  I scoffed at his paranoia.

  As promised, the barmaid soon brought over two troughs of stew, two pints of ale and a loaf of dark, seeded bread. I had just lifted a spoonful of the slop to my lips when a rough-looking man with arms larger than my thighs stomped over to our booth. I assume he had at one point owned a mouth full of teeth, but some were conspicuously missing now, and the ones that remained were stained a deep yellow. And the smell… phew. If I had eaten anything at that point, it would have promptly made a reappearance.

  I covered my nose with my hand and said, “Good evening, sir. Can we help you with something?”

  Without a word, he swept an arm across the table, sending our food flying. Hot stew splattered over my clothes. “No dregs allowed,” he said in that gravely, savage accent of Lingate.

  Mikkal jumped from his seat, drawing his sword in one fluid motion, keeping me hidden. The man pulled an axe from the strap on his back and swung it in a brutal arc toward his throat. Mikkal blocked the blow and pushed him backward into a table, sending tankards flying. The man roared and charged again. More patrons crowded near, eager to see the action, and two more joined the fight against us.

  Well, not us, per se. Mikkal. I was useless. Up until that point, I’d shown no interest in swordplay, and the swordmaster at East Rock swore that I would be skewered by the time I hit adulthood. He was wrong, thankfully, but his opinion on my skills was painfully accurate. What use was learning to fight when I had a legendary Shield to guard my back? Leaving Mikkal to handle the ruffians, I did what I do best—save my own skin. I slipped out of the booth and through the kitchens past the gaping Pistor who clutched a meat cleaver in his shaking hands. I had just stepped outside when rough hands grabbed my stew-splattered doublet and slammed me against the wall. A blade pricked my neck and I froze.

  “Don’t move or I’ll cut ya.”

  I held my breath and lowered my eyes to look at my attacker. She barely came up to my chest in height, but I’d never seen a more terrifying creature. Her face and arms were riddled with deep scars, and the top of her ear had been cut off. Her tunic was dirty and full of holes. But the real terror was in her eyes—desperation. It was clear that she was a survivor. Someone who had experienced true suffering, and now she had nothing to lose. She was like a scavenger, letting the sharks fight over a meal then darting in for the kill while they were distracted. With Mikkal fighting the thugs inside, I was in very real trouble.

  I swallowed and plastered a tight smile on my face. I was Crown Prince Silvano Miore’, I could charm my way out of any situation, no
matter how unpleasant. “My lady, perhaps there’s something I can do to assist you? If you’re in need of a hot meal and lodging, it appears as though a few rooms have been recently vacated.”

  A loud crash followed by shouts from inside the inn punctuated my claim. I dared a glance at the door, but there was no sign of my Shield anywhere. What was taking so long? Was he fighting everyone one at a time?

  “Shut up with yer fancy words.” She ran a hand down my side, and I felt the strings of my coin purse loosen.

  “If I might be so bold, there’s no need to rob me when I’m more than willing to assist you.”

  “Welcome to Lingate, love. If ye’re not the hunter, ye’re the prey.” She juggled the coin purse in her hand, a satisfied grin blossoming on her face at the weight. Then her face hardened, and she dug the tip of her dirk into my neck. “Don’t bother following me. If I see ya again, I’ll kill ya.”

  And with that, she backed away and ran off into the darkness.

  I stared after her, the beginnings of desire forming. Oh, not romantic. Not by any stretch of the imagination. She was fierce, brutal, and dangerous. Surviving my exile was proving more challenging than I’d anticipated, and I wanted that demon woman on my side.

  Silvano trailed off at the memory. Mikkal had tracked the woman to a small lean-to a few days south of Canaich but she hadn’t been alone. It turned out that she was protecting a tiny slip of a girl named Tova, and she was more than willing to kill to keep her safe. After some tense negotiations and even more death threats, the woman, Wynn, had agreed to team up with us. Their odds of survival increased with numbers. “We spent the next year on the run, watching each other’s backs. I knew that one day, I wanted to return home. I wanted to reclaim my position as heir. But first, I needed to learn more about the Order and why some people are Gifted while others are cursed to be dregs. I heard about a library in the ancient ruins of an old castle in southern Esterwyn, and we decided to investigate. On our way there, we ran into two fellow travelers. The woman, Mara, claimed that she’d been a dreg her whole life, but the power in her spoke of a different story. Now, I needed to know more. If it were possible for her to develop a Gift, I wanted one, too. For the first time, I felt hope.”