Bethany Hoeflich [Hoeflich - Miestryri

Miestryri

A Dreg Novella

Bethany Hoeflich

Copyright 2019 Bethany Hoeflich

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publishers, except in the case of brief quotations in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover Art by DwBookCovers

For Steel,

who insisted on having

a book of his own.

It was a good day for a funeral.

The waves were still. Quiet. As if the sea itself were holding its breath in homage to a legend. Even the sky had cleared of clouds, leaving no blemish on the cerulean expanse. The morning sun glistened on the gentle waves as they lapped the curving shore. A small crowd, wearing the traditional white mourning clothes of Crystalmoor, had gathered on the pale sands of East Rock to pay their respects to the fallen Miestryri. More still were picking their way down the perilous staircase that had been carved into the cliffside. For many of them, it would be their first and last chance to see the fallen Miestryri with their own eyes.

But no matter how pious and respectful they appeared, the funeral had not drawn them to the beach like lemmings tumbling over the cliff. Nor had the dozen priests, bedecked in splendid ombre robes that began as white at their shoulders and darkened to the deep, gray-blue of an angry sea at their ankles. On their heads, they wore woven crowns of seaweed, and around their necks, strings of sea glass and shells that rattled as they moved like waves on bare feet, sinking into the dance of death to honor the fallen. It was a spectacle that would draw even the most critical eye with wonder, yet no one bothered to watch. Every eye, every gaze, was rooted to the figure waiting in the shadows of the cliff.

The exiled princelong presumed deadhad returned.

Shaking off the weight of the crowds speculative gaze as a horse shakes off the irritating sting of a fly, Prince Silvano Miore watched the procession with his heart in his throat as the priests of the sea god carried his fathers funeral raft past the sheer cliffs and down to the shoreline.

Any moment he expected to wake up and discover that this was nothing more than a nightmare.

Was it only yesterday that he had met with his father in the hopes of reconciling their differences? It felt like a lifetime ago. Instead of the touching reunion hed hoped for, his father had greeted him with an outstretched sword. With no other choice, Silvano was forced to defend himself. Hed cut his own father down like a spindly tree in the forest.

But the people wouldnt accept his explanation, even if he wished to give one. Even now, he heard their accusationskin-killer. Their whispers followed him like feral dogs, nipping at his heels as he strode past the crowd. No matter what he said, they wouldnt accept his defense. In their mind, he was the banished prince. A playboy turned murderer. Disgraced beyond redemption.

And so he stayed silent, accepting their scorn like the sting of a whip in penance. Maybe then it would ease his guilt.

They didnt know that his own father had hired his Shield, Mikkal, to kill him after they crossed the border into Lingatea task that Mikkal had failed, much to Silvanos relief. He very much enjoyed keeping his head attached to his neck where it belonged. While the betrayal still ate away at his mind like acid, the lesson it had taught him was invaluable. He would never again trust blindly.

Muffled footsteps drew near, interrupting his musings. Silvano took a deep breath before turning toward the approaching guard. Dressed in the official uniform of the royal guard, Jax cut an imposing figure in his tailored gray tunic and linen breeches. Due to superstition, few of the Crystalmoor guard would dare wear iron, but Jax wore the chest plate and shoulder guards with pride. Or possibly insanity. Flaunting his disregard for tradition in front of the priests at a funeral wasnt the wisest idea. His proud face was drawn in a frown, and his gaze traveled over the gathering crowd.

Anything to report? Silvano asked. Jax was one of his oldest friends, and it meant the world that he would support him without question, despite the rumors. And with a powerful Gifted at his back, Silvano could breathe easier knowing that his position, while tenuous at best, would be defended to the last.

Jax dipped his head and whispered, Our counts show strong opposition, sire.

Silvano waved him off. None of that formal nonsense. Speak freely.

The majority would support Arianna if she challenged your claim. Jax winced and turned toward the sea, his eyes roving the crowd for a threat, whether real or perceived. I see shes not here.

No, shes not. His sister was the one person who would be an asset to his ascension, or a threat. She was smart, charming, and she had a deep-rooted interest in the peoples wellbeing. On top of that, shed taken a keen interest in politics while Silvano had been out partying and womanizing.

A reputation he had earned only because people were too ignorant to see past their expectations.

Ariannas absence chafed. Why wasnt she here with the rest of the mourners? Their step-mother stood at the head of the procession, dressed in a white gown and veil, her arms wrapped around their half-sister, Lucinda. Even Lucan, his fathers advisor, had been retrieved from the dungeon so he could pay his respects. But not Arianna.

Silvano eyed Lucan with barely-concealed hatred. He wanted nothing more than to throw him from the cliffs.

Sire, Jax began, clearly reluctant to speak his thoughts, we must consider the possibility that shes plotting against you.

Enough. I will deal with my sister when she deigns to make an appearance. Tell me of the rest.

A few would prefer to follow Aravells lead and elect their own representatives. Only a handful will support your reign without question.

So, were in over our heads, he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. He took a deep breath of the salty air, allowing it to cleanse him. Ive faced worse odds. Ill admit, it hasnt been quite the homecoming Id imagined. Then again, what could I expect from a man who paid my own Shield to assassinate me.

Jax shuffled his boot in the sand. Sil what happened? he asked, abandoning formality and letting their childhood familiarity shine through his words.

For a moment, Silvano was transported back to being ten years old, burying Jackson up to his neck in the sand on this very beach. The corner of his mouth tugged up in a smile as he remembered the whipping his father had given him when the tide came in and he hadnt freed his friend yet. Jax had spent the next week coughing up seawater but was otherwise no worse for wear.

His eyes landed on the Miestryris funeral raft, and the reality of the situation slammed into him. They were no longer boys wasting time on the surf. The next few days would have far-reaching consequences on the security of his reign, and he couldnt afford to allow the past to distract him from the future. Silvanos jaw clenched, and he turned his face away, not wanting to see the judgment in Jaxs eyes. I do not wish to speak of it.

Maybe Jax picked up Silvanos tone and decided to drop the subject. Or maybe his sense of duty pulled his attention back to the growing crowd by the shore. Either way, he stopped pestering Silvano, for which he was grateful. If it werent for the tell-tale tick in his jaw, and the way his eye twitched slightly, Silvano might have thought he hadnt heard him at all.

Silvanos eyes roved the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of one person in particular. He spotted her standing at the front, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, with her new husband waiting at her side. Olielle. He swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the flare of acidic jealousy that bubbled up his gut. How quickly his betrothed had moved on in his absence.