Miestryri

by Bethany Hoeflich

  “The strength of your Gift, your power, does not guarantee that the sea has chosen you. Your own uncle was the firstborn in his family, and his ability to manipulate water was legendary. Greater than yours, I would wager, if such things were allowed for us priests. Though it was blasphemous, the lowborn whispered that he was the reincarnation of the sea god himself. But when it came time to choose succession, the sea passed him over in favor of your father.”

  “Why?” Silvano couldn’t stop the question before it escaped his lips. He had never met his uncle, who had left the palace before he was born. Rumor had it that the man had fled in the middle of the night with a schooner and a skeleton crew, never to be seen again. Silvano hadn’t realized that his uncle, not his father, had been the firstborn.

  “Why are some blessed with long, healthy lives while children fall ill and die, beyond the help of our Healers? Why do some set sail in a storm and return triumphant while others disappear in fair weather, never to be seen again. Surely, our fragile brains cannot comprehend the greater mysteries. We must accept that the oldest and most powerful are not necessarily the best choice for the throne.”

  “You will not help me then,” Silvano said, his shoulders sagging.

  “We must wait and watch for a sign. I suggest you meditate on this in quiet reflection. The sea god will better hear your pleas if you first make an offering.” The priest gestured to the fountain, his meaning clear. He would be happy to anoint Silvano… for the right price.

  “Will he?” Silvano asked in a biting voice, unable to mask the hatred from his tone. “And how many widows have you told that very thing as they were praying for their husbands return? How many children as they beg for their mothers while they bleed out? How much have you profited from their hopes and their grief?”

  The priest's face filled with pity. “We have all experienced loss, and it grows no easier as time passes. It is difficult to accept, but if the sea god wants to claim someone for his own, there is nothing we mortals can do to stop it. You can stop death no easier than you can stop the waves from crashing on the shore.”

  “Let me be clear, priest. I have no interest in stopping death. My plans are for the living, and I cannot help them without this power. You will anoint me as Miestryri, or I will find someone who will. I doubt all your priests are as pious as you.” Silvano let the threat hang heavy between them.

  The priest’s lips pulled back from his teeth, and Silvano took a step backward. “You can sit up on your throne and play king as much as you wish, but it changes nothing. Chosen or not, the sea god cannot reach those hidden behind stone walls, so far from the sea.”

  Silvano rushed out of the temple before the priest could see how much his words had shaken him. He blew past an overly-inquisitive Jax and didn’t stop until he came to the fork in the path. If he turned right, it would lead him back to the castle where he could shutter himself in his rooms and refuse to speak with anyone. But that wouldn’t solve his problem. As tempting as it was, he couldn’t ignore the situation, hoping it would fix itself. Reluctantly, he chose the left path.

  There was one person he needed to see. If anyone could help him make sense of this mess, it was Olielle.

  5

  “Don’t fret, my friend. The sea gods haven’t claimed me yet, and they won’t get me tonight, either.” I shoved Mikkal to the side and hurried to Olielle’s house. The overly-clingy Shield had only gotten worse since the assassination attempt, and if he didn’t give me some space, I was going to explode. I ran a hand down my finest silk doublet and adjusted my cloak before knocking on the door. This was the last night I had to keep up this charade, and I was determined to sell it properly.

  Olielle answered the door a moment later. The way her face lit up at the sight of me made me question just how fake our engagement was to her. She pressed a kiss to each of my cheeks, and I stepped back to hold her at arm’s length. “Olielle, you look positively ravishing!”

  She tucked a strand of long, auburn hair behind her ear while tilting her head toward Mikkal. “Won’t you come in, my lord?”

  “With pleasure.” Once I got rid of my Shield, at least. I turned to Mikkal and said, “I’ll be back at dawn, then we’ll embark on a glorious adventure!”

  He shook his head defiantly, making no move to leave. I could feel Olielle fidgeting behind me, and my nerves began to grate. “Let me remind you that Lucan tried to assassinate my father, not me. Furthermore, I highly doubt that my betrothed has any nefarious designs on my life. I am perfectly safe here. Now, leave me. Go and visit your sister if you must have something with which to occupy your time. That is a command.”

  Without waiting for him to obey, I grabbed Olielle by the arm and hurried inside, slamming the door behind us, making her giggle. She waited a minute before peeking out the window, and her entire body relaxed. “He’s leaving.”

  “It’s about time!” I said, throwing myself down onto the sofa. “Do you know how exhausting it is to be followed every minute of every day?”

  “And how do you think he feels?”

  I twisted in my seat to watch her walk into the kitchen. She returned a moment later with a bottle of vintage red and two long-stemmed glasses. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Her full lips quirked into a smile as she popped the cork and poured the wine before offering me a glass. “It must be torture to deal with you constantly. Between your flaunting authority and rampant partying, I’m surprised he hasn’t killed you already.”

  “How positively vicious! I’m wounded!” I took the glass and gave it a suspicious sniff. “Unless you’re planning on poisoning me yourself. I’m fairly certain that depriving the world of my devilishly good looks is tantamount to treason.”

  “Yes, that would be the real crime for sure,” she said dryly. Then her face softened, and she sat next to me on the sofa. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Personally, I think my father is overreacting a bit, but exile just might be the best thing to happen to me. Now, I’ll have the opportunity to do some digging on the Order. I might even make alliances for when I return. My father will have to see that I’m the best choice to be named successor.”

  “I hope you’re right. We’ve worked too hard to secure your position to lose it now.”

  “And your position? We both know you are the true mastermind here.”

  “Obviously. Without my help, Arianna would have destroyed you by now. Better to be viewed as incompetent and underestimated by your opponents than seen as a threat” She clinked her glass against mine before taking a small sip. “I’ve put together a bag for you. In it you’ll find maps, coin, lists of safe places, and enough food to see you through to Lingate. Don’t worry about Crystalmoor. I’ll make sure to maintain your presence here until it’s safe to come home.”

  I leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. “You are too thoughtful. I don’t deserve you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  ***

  More than a year had passed since that night—the night before his exile. He had sent Mikkal away as he visited Olielle at her father’s house, so wrapped up in his plans that he had missed his Lucan’s scheming. How young and foolish he had been. But that was a different house, and he was a different man.

  Waving to his guards to stay back, Silvano walked up the sea glass-crusted walkway, framed with metal poles and hanging lanterns on either side. While the lawn had been meticulously manicured, the flower beds held only a handful of tropical plants and shrubs, spaced evenly apart. He hummed in appreciation at the mansion, taking in the white polished brick, sloping overhangs, and recessed windows. It reeked of new construction, modeled after the modern, clean architecture of Aravell, and it was only a matter of time before the rest of the upper class ordered renovations for their homes.

  Olielle had always been a trend setter, but this stark monstrosity felt nothing like the warmth he remembered. She had filled every inch of her father’s home with treasures they’d find at the bea
ch in memory of her mother who had passed away a decade ago. Her light had dimmed, like a cloud passing in front of the sun, but it had not vanished.

  Had his exile been the catalyst for her transformation?

  Before he lost his nerve, Silvano rapped on the door. He took a step back and wiped a gloved finger over the nearest window, frowning when it came away clean. They hadn’t washed them in seawater for luck? As much as he despised the old way’s superstitions, this was one that not even he would skip. Did they want to lose their home when the next hurricane passed through?

  The door cracked open. An imposing man with ebony skin, a few inches taller than Silvano, filled the doorway. The short, black twists of his hair stuck up like spikes, and he glared down at Silvano with barely-concealed disdain. “You.”

  “How positively eloquent! I can see why Olielle likes you.”

  The man frowned, as if trying to decide if that had been a compliment or not. Before he burst a blood vessel from thinking too hard, Silvano sighed and said, “I need to speak with your wife.”

  “She doesn’t—”

  “Wonderful!” Silvano pushed past him and into the foyer of the mansion. Once inside, it was obvious that Olielle had been in charge of the interior decorating—everything was purple, from a soft lilac to a deep indigo. Thick rugs covered the hardwood floors. A mirror, framed with seashells, hung on the wall. Down the hallway, he caught a glimpse of cushioned settees, draped with plush pillows and blankets. Overall, the impression was a strange mix of wealth and comfort, and it was a relief to know that she hadn’t lost herself completely.

  The rich smell of seafood chowder and fresh-baked bread filled the space, making his mouth water. At the clanking of a spoon hitting a pot, Silvano turned his head toward the kitchen. “She truly is a fantastic cook, though I’m sure you already knew that. Has she made you her famous saltwater taffy yet? She and her mother would make a huge batch every year, pulling dozens of pounds over that rusty old hook. Does she still have it, by chance?”

  The man gave a curt shake of his head. Hm… not the most gregarious fellow then. Such a pity. Olielle had always enjoyed stimulating conversations.

  “Ah, such a shame. It was something of an heirloom in her family, though nothing could take those memories away from me. I never understood why they made it at the height of summer when the house was already scorching. Combined with the boiling ingredients and hours of pulling, it’s no wonder her father threw me out of the house before they started shedding their layers.” Silvano waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “But I always got the first taste when the other children came knocking.”

  Beside him, Olielle’s husband bristled, perhaps wondering if he would be executed for laying hands on the heir and throwing him outside. Probably. But then again, Silvano wouldn’t do that to Olielle. He peeked out of the corner of his eye at the man, trying to get his measure. He had better treat her like the goddess she was or he’d… dear god, was his eye actually twitching?

  “If you’d be so kind as to wait in the sitting room, I will go find her,” he said through clenched teeth, each word sounding like he was crunching glass.

  Silvano dipped his head and strode down the hallway, feeling slightly guilty about trying to bait the poor man. It was clear he had a jealous constitution and not enough humor to make up for it. How had Olielle ended up with such a bland shell of a man? He huffed, settling down onto the velvet settee and kicking his legs out before him, ankles crossed. Being here was stranger than he’d expected. He’d never entertained romantic notions about Olielle, despite them being betrothed from infancy. She had been a close friend and confidant, and had they gotten married, it would have been nothing more than a political alliance.

  That didn’t stop his heart from racing when she stepped into the room wearing a floor-length gown that was clearly inspired by the Kerani suvali. The pale blue fabric, the exact shade of a tranquil sky, popped against her deep, golden skin and auburn hair. While her dress was peaceful, her eyes were anything but. Twin storms rounded on him, and he swallowed.

  Olielle stared at him a moment longer than was polite before lowering her eyes and dipping into a shallow curtsy. “Miestryri, to what do we own the pleasure?” she asked, tight-lipped.

  “I’m not Miestryri yet.” His brows creased. This was not how he’d expected her to react. “Am I not permitted to visit a dear friend?”

  Her eyes darted to where her husband lurked in the doorway, and Silvano could almost taste her panic. So that’s what she was worried about? In Crystalmoor, betrothal bonds could only be broken by death—some archaic nonsense about the woman belonging to the man, body and soul, as soon as the contract was signed. It was one of those outdated laws that his father had never bothered changing during his reign. By rights, Silvano could kill her new husband and claim her for himself. It hurt that she thought so little of him. “You know I would never do that to you.”

  “You killed your father,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice.

  He stared at her a long minute, debating whether or not to be honest. “I did.”

  A pause, then, “Was it intentional?”

  “You should know be better than that by now, after everything we’ve been through.”

  “I knew the boy who left, but the man who returned is a stranger. I don’t know what he’s capable of.”

  Perhaps for the first time, Silvano was at a loss for words. What was he capable of? He closed his eyes, remembering the past year away from Crystalmoor. As difficult as it had been, he had grown up in that time. But underneath it all, he was still the same man. And now, he had a chance to make things better for his people. “I need your help.”

  Her eyebrows shot upward. “What can I do?” she asked, her voice skeptical. He couldn’t blame her. In his twenty-six years, his greatest accomplishment thus far was swallowing a toxic, purple-spotted octopus without vomiting immediately—not exactly a stellar recommendation for his capacity to rule.

  It was a question he’d expected, nevertheless. And if he could win her over, perhaps he would have a chance. Silvano gestured between them. “There’s a reason why you and I were betrothed. You and your father were two of our biggest social influencers among the upper circles. As much as I would have liked to have been welcomed home with cheers and acclaim, that will clearly not happen. The priests are refusing to anoint me. Let’s just say that my hold on Crystalmoor is tenuous, at best. If I’m to maintain my title and become Miestryri, I need the backing of the upper class more than ever.” He told her about Arianna, the small council, and the priest’s refusal to anoint him.

  She nodded slowly and reached up to run a finger over her lower lip—a sure tell that she was absorbing his words. He could always count on her to gather the facts before making a decision. Even when playing tiles, she would take agonizing minutes before moving her piece. It was a trait that he once cursed, but now he valued. Olielle took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot for not coming to me sooner.”

  Her husband gasped, but Silvano merely laughed. “That goes without saying. Do you see how dire my situation is?”

  “You’ve had your share of trouble in the past, but this is…” Her eyes bulged, and she pressed a palm to her forehead. “What about Arianna?”

  “I need her support as well.” When Olielle protested, Silvano held up his hand. “No, it’s true. Think about it beyond the nobility. She’s beloved by the people. If she were to challenge me now, I don’t think I would win.”

  Olielle released her breath and adopted a calculating look that he knew all too well. “And I suppose she hasn’t shown her face yet?”

  “Not even a glimpse since I returned. I don’t like what it suggests.”

  “Neither do I. Either she believes the reports and is in hiding, or she is preparing her assault to challenge you.” She clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace around the room, her face scrunched in concentration. “You’ll need to move quickly to secure your place.”
>
  “How is that possible, considering the priests are refusing to anoint me?”

  “They haven’t outright refused though, correct?” When he mumbled an assent, she said, “You should be more… generous.”

  His eyebrows rose. He hadn’t expected her to agree with bribing the priests. “You would have me give in to extortion?”

  Olielle spun to face him, placing her hands on her hips. “Do you want my help or not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then stop questioning my methods. If you want results, you need to show them you’re willing to cooperate. Give a generous donation to the priests, and they will change their tune. And then there’s your Gift. I’ve heard rumors that you’re the strongest Irrigo alive.”

  “How does everyone seem to know my business this quickly? It’s honestly ridiculous!”

  “I assume you are being rhetorical, but the answer is spies, most likely. I’m sure your sister has several. If you want to win, you first need to know your enemy. So, is it true?”

  “Well, I don’t like to brag—” She let out a very unladylike snort and he said, “Fine. Yes, it’s true. But the priest said that didn’t matter. Did you know that my uncle was firstborn and a powerful Irrigo, too, yet the sea passed him over in favor of my father.”

  Olielle shot him a pointed look. “The sea passed him over? Or did your father make a sizeable donation to ensure the rule passed to him instead?”

  “Fair point.” The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but it would make sense.

  “Now, you will still need to win over the people. Your father was heavy-handed with taxes which kept the lines between the upper and outer classes sharply defined. Arianna has been sowing good-will with the people for years, so you’ll need to do some catching up here. I would recommend a six-month grace period in taxes for the poor.”

  “How am I supposed to bribe the priests without the revenue?”

  “You haven’t seen the treasury then. I would have assumed that was the first place you’d have gone after coming home.”