by Jordan Rivet
Mica relied on Brin’s help to find her way around the palace, though the girl seemed to be in danger of a breakdown at all times. It was difficult to get anyone else to stand still long enough to give her directions, and she occasionally had to turn herself into a lord or lady to get answers. But the nobles themselves were following an intricate set of rules determining where—and with whom—they should and shouldn’t be seen. Mica realized pretty quickly that pretending to be the wrong noble in the wrong corridor could create ripples that would reverberate through the palace for weeks afterwards. The only person who seemed capable of following all the nuances was the princess herself.
Mica had thought she’d have a little more independence as a professional Impersonator. Even soldiers had designated free time. But she was beginning to understand that she was little more than a servant in the eyes of the nobility. Jessamyn was a demanding mistress, the sort who told her handmaids they should never have to rush about the palace, then sent them off on ambitious errands that would take all day if they didn’t run. At first Mica couldn’t tell if she acted on pure impulse or if there was a method to it all.
The princess expected Mica to repeat every conversation she listened in on verbatim and become a perfect copy of people she had only seen in passing. Mica tried to explain that she needed to see people move and hear them speak in order to form a truly accurate impersonation. Jessamyn waved her off as if she were the one being unreasonable. She nearly had a fit when Mica told her she couldn’t impersonate Lady Bellina, whom she’d only glimpsed that first night.
“Why must everything be so difficult for me?” Jessamyn exclaimed. “All I want is for people to do the jobs I hired them to do. Is that so much to ask?”
“I’m sorry, Princess Jessamyn,” Mica said. “If there’s a way I could study the—”
“Do you expect all the ladies to line up for your perusal? Honestly, Talents are so entitled these days.”
Mica briefly fantasized about pushing the princess out one of her vast windows. “I just need to see them for more than a few seconds and hear—”
“Wait!” Jessamyn flung up a hand. “Lining up! Of course. You ought to have thought of it sooner. You must attend a dancing lesson. You can dance?”
“Some,” Mica said. “Not court dances.”
Jessamyn looked at her blankly.
“I mean, I can do a jig,” Mica said, “but I don’t know any—”
“A jig?” Jessamyn closed her eyes and took deep, longsuffering breaths.
“I learn quickly,” Mica said. “I’m sure during the lessons, I can pick up—”
“No one goes to dancing lessons to actually learn dancing. Really, I must speak to my father about increasing funding to the Academy. If they’re not even teaching you how to dance . . .” Jessamyn shook her head. “Very well. Watch from the promenade until you can impersonate all the important lords and ladies. Brin will give you a list of names.”
“That . . . would be helpful, actually. Thank you.”
The princess was already rushing off for yet another outfit change in her inner rooms. She wore a minimum of three different dresses every day in addition to the costumes required for her other activities: riding, harbor cruises, the occasional racquetball match in the palace gardens. Mica hadn’t seen Jessamyn’s dressing room yet, but she imagined it was bigger than the antechamber and the entire servants’ corridor combined.
The next time Jessamyn attended a dancing lesson in the ballroom at the center of the palace, Mica took up a spot on the promenade overlooking the dance floor. The ballroom itself was circular, and it filled one entire level of the Silver Palace’s central tower. The palace consisted of the central tower, which had three expansive levels, and four wings, each with seven floors. At the top of the central tower, beneath the vast silver dome, was Emperor Styl’s throne room. A banquet hall filled the bottom level, and the ballroom was in the middle.
Mica leaned on the promenade’s stone balustrade, Brin’s list clutched in her hand, and studied the people strutting across the polished hardwood dance floor below. She wore her own face, not bothering with an impersonation when no one knew who she was anyway. As the nobles assembled, the ladies greeted each other with kisses on the cheek, and the lords exchanged jubilant handshakes. They milled around for a long time before they actually started dancing, forming groups and dispersing in a different kind of ballet. Most of them kept quarters in the palace itself, rarely spending time in the islands they represented, and they maintained an intricate web of alliances and rivalries Mica was only beginning to unravel.
She started her study with the four people she knew on sight: Princess Jessamyn, Lord Riven, and Ladies Lorna and Bellina. She examined their features and mannerisms, parsing out their voices from the chatter echoing around the ballroom.
Lord Riven was tall and broad enough that she didn’t think she could do a convincing impression of him unless she sat down and hid most of her body beneath a table. She’d have a better chance with the ladies, so she paid special attention to the shape of Lorna’s pout and the shade of Bellina’s curly hair. Identifying a person’s most notable feature made it easier to pull off an impersonation. From the way Bellina tossed her hair, it was clear she was proud of her golden curls, and that was likely how others would identify her as well. And if Mica could get the shape of Lorna’s features exactly right, she doubted a casual observer would notice she couldn’t quite fill out the lady’s generous curves.
After Mica felt confident with those impersonations, she began working her way through Brin’s list, which included a few notes to help her recognize the various nobles. Unfortunately, Brin wasn’t quite as keen an observer as the average Mimic, so the list included entries of dubious use, such as “Lady Ingrid: black hair” followed by an entry for “Lady Amanta: long black hair.”
Mica made her lower lip grow and shrink as she tried to figure out which of the four ladies with black hair could be Ingrid and Amanta. She wished Brin had been free to watch the dancing lesson with her, but the maid was off on an errand, and Mica knew it would push her luck with Princess Jessamyn to request a helper.
She missed her friends from the Academy as she lurked on the promenade alone. It would be so much more fun to watch the ladies dance with Sapphire and explore the endless corridors with Danil. She’d barely had time to think about her missing friend since her arrival. The longer she went without news, the more she feared something terrible had happened to him.
She pushed away the worry, attempting to focus on the task at hand. She hated feeling two steps behind, as she had since the day her carriage pulled through the palace gates.
“She looks like an Ingrid,” Mica muttered, spotting a woman with black hair piled on top of her head, a hawkish nose, and severe cheekbones. “Now which one is Amanta?”
“Lady Amanta isn’t here today.”
Mica turned to find a young man in a well-cut silk waistcoat standing beside her. He had tousled brown hair and a familiar smile. It was the young local from that evening in Gullton!
“You guessed right about Ingrid, though,” he said. “I never thought about how much she looks like her name.”
Mica gaped at him, momentarily at a loss for words.
“I didn’t startle you again, did I?” he said when she didn’t speak.
“Some people say hello before they jump right into conversations, you know.”
“Do they? No wonder I’m always surprising people off cliffs.”
Mica couldn’t help grinning. “A common problem, is it?”
“You have no idea.”
The young man brushed a hand through his hair, and Mica found herself cataloguing the planes of his broad face, the way his hair fell around his slightly pointed ears. The light was much better than it had been atop the cliff, giving her a better look at his handsome features. Her impersonation hadn’t done him justice.
“That one is your real face, isn’t it?” he said, studying her features in return.
“That’s how you looked when we walked back to town.”
“Yep, this one’s mine.” On a sudden impulse, she turned her right eye bright blue and then back to its usual hazel, a Mimic’s version of a wink. “Like it?”
He tipped his head to the side and scrutinized her closely, as if he’d never seen anyone quite like her. “I do, actually. Very much.”
Mica blushed, suddenly feeling a little shy. She probably shouldn’t be so forward. She didn’t often flirt with handsome young men in her own form. Seduction was a time-honored skill among Impersonators, but it was usually done in disguise, with a specific mission in mind. But she’d felt lonely in the midst of the hectic palace life, and it was nice to talk to someone familiar.
Then the music drifting from below changed, and she remembered where she was. “What are you doing in the Silver Palace, anyway?”
“I live here most of the year,” the young man said. “My quarters are over in the west wing.”
“Your quarters . . .”
The puzzle pieces clicked together in Mica’s mind as she took in his fine waistcoat and remembered how he’d walked her straight to the inn where Lord Ober’s party had stayed in Gullton.
“You’re Lord Caleb! I’m so sorry, my lord, I didn’t realize who you were before.”
He chuckled. “I did figure that out. I’m not in the habit of approaching young women alone in the darkness. I wouldn’t have bothered you back in Gullton if I knew I was a complete stranger to you. Please accept my apology.”
“It’s . . . it’s all right.” Mica felt slightly mortified. She had spoken too familiarly with him, both in Gullton and a few moments ago. She had been in the palace long enough to know she wasn’t supposed to make casual conversation with the lords.
But Lord Caleb didn’t seem bothered. He rested his hip against the balustrade beside her and took the list of names from her hand.
“May I?”
Mica watched him read through it, thinking back through their conversation on the cliff. Had she said anything bad about the nobles in front of the young lord? She was pretty sure she hadn’t. She should be safe.
Then he read aloud from the parchment. “Lord Caleb: messy hair, square face.”
“I didn’t write it,” Mica said quickly. “One of the maids is helping me study.”
She tried to take the parchment back from him, but he held it out of her reach with a grin. “Is this normally how you do it?”
“I don’t usually learn so many impersonations at once. It’s . . . challenging.”
“Is there a limit to how many you can learn?”
“Not really.” Mica gave up on trying to snatch the paper. “Faces come in infinite varieties, but it’s easy to get them confused.”
“How many could you do right now?”
“I have about thirty standard impressions.” She nodded at the list in his hand. “I’m working on another thirty now.”
Caleb read through a few more entries with that same frank curiosity Mica had noticed back in Gullton, and then turned it over to examine the other side. He looked up.
“Princess Jessamyn only wants you to learn lords and ladies?”
“We’re starting here. Then there will be servants and guards and probably other people I haven’t thought of yet.” Mica broke off, worried that she was starting to sound frazzled.
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Why are you working in the palace? Did you apply for this job?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
Caleb chuckled. “You sound like my uncle.”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Mica said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right.” He met her gaze steadily. His eyes were deep blue, like the sea at twilight. “And you needn’t call me my lord, if that isn’t too forward of me to say.”
Mica wasn’t sure what was forward or not. She was walking on unfamiliar ground with this noble who looked directly at her and spoke to her as if she were an equal.
“Go on then.” Caleb moved a little closer, and Mica felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach. “Why don’t you ask me some questions?”
“Okay.” Mica cleared her throat, searching for a neutral topic. “Why did you miss the Assignment Ceremony?”
“I was ill during the beginning of our journey.”
“How did you know who I was?”
“My uncle pointed you out at the inn. It was crowded. You may not have noticed me.”
She was certainly noticing him now. “Did you follow me in Gullton?”
He seemed taken aback, and she instantly regretted asking. If there was a line of propriety here, she may have just crossed it.
“I didn’t,” he said before she could backtrack. “I was going for a walk when I came upon you doing your exercises.”
“And running into me today?”
“A mere happy accident.”
Mica blushed, glancing down at the paper he held. Caleb’s hands were square and strong, distinctive enough to please any Impersonator. She met his eyes.
“Here’s another question for you. Princess Jessamyn told me no one goes to the dancing lessons to actually learn dancing,” Mica said. “What does that mean?”
Caleb burst out laughing, and a few of the nobles glanced around as the sound rang through the ballroom. They were taking a break, and they had scattered into clusters around the dance floor below.
Caleb leaned out over the balustrade, inviting Mica to join him.
“Take a look at that group of ladies there.” He gestured to where Lady Ingrid and another one of the ladies with black hair were listening to the animated whispers of a sharp-nosed redhead in a bold red dress. “What do you think they’re talking about?”
Mica shrugged. “Dresses?”
“Well, Lady Elana, in the red, probably is talking about dresses. But Lady Wendel, the very tall one, comes from Pegasus Island, where the primary exports are mutton and wool. A disease severely reduced the sheep population a few years back, and Pegasus wool production suffered. The fashion in Jewel Harbor has been shifting to silk in the meantime, which comes from outside the empire. Even though the farmers on Pegasus are building up their sheep population again, the market for their products has shrunk. But if Lady Wendel can convince Lady Elana to wear fine-spun wool dresses this winter, she will in turn influence the fashion in the capital. That fashion will slowly spread to the other cities in the empire, helped along by Lord Dolan over there. He’s influential in the merchants’ guild, and you may have noticed that Lady Wendel was dancing with him earlier. Before you know it, Lady Wendel’s people will enjoy the prosperity they once had as demand for fine-spun wool dresses explodes throughout the empire. And all because Lady Wendel always wants to hear about Lady Elana’s dresses at dance class.”
Mica’s eyebrows had been steadily rising throughout this speech. She admitted she hadn’t thought these nobles were doing anything important. She knew they came from the many different islands making up the empire. They kept quarters in the Silver Palace and spent half the year or more in the capital. She assumed they were there to enjoy the decadent lifestyle and Emperor Styl’s famous hospitality. Apparently, they had other goals as well.
“What about you?” Mica said. “What are you hoping to accomplish at these dancing lessons?”
Caleb shot her a grin. “I’m here for the company.”
Mica smiled back, and a thrill of warmth went straight to her toes.
Then a voice doused the feeling like a pitcher of cold water.
“Caleb, darling! You’ve been avoiding me!”
They turned to find Princess Jessamyn herself standing on the promenade. Mica ducked into a curtsy, but Jessamyn barely glanced at her. She launched herself at Caleb, flinging her arms around his neck in what looked like a genuinely warm hug.
Mica blinked in surprise as Caleb lifted the princess right off her feet before setting her down. “Jessa, you
get lovelier every day.”
“Oh, stop. How long has it been since you dropped by for tea?”
“Too long, my princess.”
Jessamyn put her hands on her slim hips. “What could you possibly be doing that’s more important than visiting your very dearest friend?”
“You know I was traveling with Uncle Ober and—”
“And you’ve been back for a week.”
Caleb offered a deep bow. “Forgive me for depriving you of the pleasure of my company.”
“Don’t let it happen again,” Jessamyn said, slapping him on the arm. “Oh, I see you’ve met my new Impersonator. Isn’t she adorable?”
Mica tried not to let her features shift out of place as they both looked at her.
Lord Caleb’s voice was perfectly polite as he said, “Miss Micathea was very kindly answering my questions about her Talent.”
“You ought to hire your own Impersonator, darling,” Jessamyn said. “I know how Talents fascinate you. Anyway, you’ve already missed half the lesson. Lady Bellina has been asking about you again.”
“We’d best not keep her waiting.” Lord Caleb dipped his head at Mica before following Jessamyn back down to the dance floor.
Mica watched him go, feeling slightly bereft in his absence. It was the first time since she’d arrived in Jewel Harbor that someone had taken the time to pause and speak with her. Lord Caleb may only be interested in her Talent, but at least he had looked at her like a fellow human. He was a member of the nobility, though. She’d likely never speak to him with her own voice again.
When they returned to the princess’s rooms after the lesson, Jessamyn made Mica demonstrate every face she had studied while no fewer than three handmaids fussed over the princess’s outfit and wove her hair into an intricate pile to support a silver tiara. Then Jessamyn was off for yet another social engagement, trailing yellow ribbons in her wake.
